#how much i can safely or maybe should be forcing my skin and incision to stretch. without damage? is that crazy | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sinkix · 4 years

Text

Haikyuu!!│Obsessive/Yandere HC’s │

Warning - Contains dark themes, mentions of emotional and physical abuse & sexually suggestive/explicit (18+) content, reader’s discretion is advised.

Characters - Hinata, Kuroo, Daichi, Tsukishima, Yamaguchi, Oikawa, Bokuto, Tendou & Kageyama.

Important Note: This is in no way romanticising or normalising toxic/abusive behaviour, you should not do as such as this is incredibly dangerous and unhealthy. If you identify any of these in your own relationships please seek help from a member of authority, counsellor or someone who can remove you from and aid in your recovery from the situation. This is a great contrast from all my other work on here so please read with caution. Stay safe <3

Hinata - The Hell-bent Visionary

Danger level: 6.5/10

So you’ve caught the eye of Karasuno’s ray of sunshine?

Bask in it’s warmth while you can, for the sun sets and leaves a chilling dark in it’s wake.

When he becomes focused on something, it’s hard to break the dedication he has. It’s unyielding, firm and persistent. Once you light a fire in him, it’s near impossible to put out.

And you didn’t just spark a flame, you formed a whole inferno.

Blowing up your phone with texts, calls and the tapping of rocks against your bedroom’s glass from late night visits to your doorstep. Greeted with the sickening scent of blood-red roses filling your nose at a reminder of how firmly he has you in his hold that will never falter. The lingering scratch marks adorning the window panes that you could have sworn were not there the night before.

He can’t get enough of you, and the more time he spends with you, the more addictive your presence becomes.

He’s hooked, reaching the point of rivalling his sporting passion.

He learns to balance the two equally, and any second that isn’t spent practising, he is by your side or doing everything in his power to be.

It’s tunnel vision. All he sees is you, and the ball, nothing else matters. Relentlessly chasing for both long after his lungs tire and legs give out.

He is a dark, unwavering force of nature, itching to monopolise you and eradicate any threat on what belongs to him. Yet around everyone else, he's a bundle of lovable sunshine who wouldn't dare hurt a fly, and while he doesn't show an outright aggressive nature, you know there's something sinister lurking underneath that might one day snap.

It’s his stare that haunts you the most.

That ominous, chilling stare which pierces through your heart and impales it on a stick, out on display for him to marvel at in all it’s vulnerable beauty. The level of intensity and sheer devotion glinting in his eyes is nothing short of haunting.

Luckily for you, Hinata will not cause physical harm, but it’s his presence and ‘Jekyll & Hyde’ nature which will slowly but surely chip away at you until your sanity is reduced to dust. The worst part? Since he is loved by everyone, no one sees the twisted side you do, and as a result left permanently in a state of self-doubt and second guessing. Your mind will eventually spiral into a descent to madness until your right where he wants you.

Be careful, for even the sun’s light burns out eventually. And when it does, you’ll be swallowed by the darkness.

Kuroo - The Devil’s Reciprocal

Danger level: 9/10

Ahhh, the bad boy who smells of cigarettes and sex, the one who lurks in bars long after midnight eyeing up his prey. This man gives Satan a run for his money. I hope you’re prepared. What did you do to catch his eye, anyway?

Whatever it was, it’s doomed you to an eternity in hell on earth.

Or heaven, if you’re a glass half full kind of person.

Kuroo drew you in like a moth to a flame, you knew he had no glinting halo, but that was his appeal.

He was the incarnation of everything your parents warned you about, and you couldn’t get enough of it.

Hell, you still can’t. But that doesn’t minimise the damage done to you every second he turns the light on, reeling you in once again, further and further until there’s no escape, utterly blinded by his deceiving tactics.

He has many admirers, you know. So in his eyes he feels you should be privileged to be given so much of his attention, that once received would leave any sane person running.

Unfortunately, you don’t seem to be sane enough, and he recognises this. He knows he’s got you hooked on his every word, dragging out the syllables like a lullaby that leave you entranced and begging for more.

What can I say? The man has a way with words, and you’re totally enthralled by every sentence.

Kuroo recklessly waves his charm like a gun, never a moment of hesitation to utilise it in order to get what he wants.

And he always gets what he wants.

It’s so dangerous it will leave you down on your knees in an act of submission and prepared to do anything to please him. The tip of the pistol aimed at your temple as if daring your defiance.

He revels in seeing that doe-eyed expression, fully aware of how much control he holds over every cell in your body. All of them scream out for him, for Kuroo. To kiss you, touch you and whisper sweet-nothings into your ear that linger with his hot breath scathing your neck, burning his scent into your memory until it’s one you’ll never forget.

With all that temptation comes consequence though, because once you give in, you’ll face the sadists horns that lurk underneath.

Intertwining your bodies and tracing a switchblade across your jugular, he’ll stretch his lips into a wide, cunning grin, slamming into you and rutting his hips until they connect with yours. Throwing your head back in ecstasy, your whine will be stifled and cut short by the piercing slit of a blade shallowly opening the skin of your throat, the sharp sting lingering as his tongue deepens the incision with delight.

He is incredibly possessive, so anyone he deems a threat will be mercilessly eradicated, soon to be forgotten though. He will never allow your thoughts to be consumed by anything but him.

Grinding his body against yours, the husky murmuring of pillow talk he is all too skilled at will leaves your knees trembling and buckling before him, with the one question he will only ever accept one answer to.

“Tell me sweetheart, who do you belong to...?”

Shuffling the cards and dragging cigar smoke across his lips, he’ll sip that glass of gin snidely and lock you in place with his smouldering gaze. Forever a reminder there’s no escape from his enslaving curse.

Daichi - The Despotic Protector

Danger level: 6/10

Karasuno’s father figure and reliable captain rolled into one. I hope you’re prepared for a lifetime of suffocation, because he’s never letting you go.

He takes on an almost a parental role in the relationship, and a toxic one.

Controlling, overbearing and monitoring your every move. He will never allow you to do anything without his permission out of fear for your safety.

I mean, what if something happens to you while you’re not within his peripherals?

That’s a thought he simply couldn’t bear.

He’ll lock you in the confines of his home if he has to. But don’t get mad sweetheart, it’s because he cares for you.

Soon enough Daichi will have isolated you from the world, never seeing the shining of sunlight unless your arm is looped around his in a crushing hold.

Friends? You can forget them, he made sure to steer you far, far away from those. He just can’t risk them laying a finger on you or putting you in harms way, he would never forgive them.

Daichi desperately tries to convince you he has your best interests at heart, and unluckily for you, you fall right into his trap.

Your whole life is consumed by him, and only him. Watching the clock tick by aimlessly until you hear his footsteps up the driveway, scurrying to the door to greet him like an obedient dog upon his arrival.

Pulling you into a loving hug that threatens to squeeze the life out of you, you can’t help but let your mind roam and ponder the question lurking at the back of your thoughts.

Has he ever killed with these hands?

They seem too crushing. Like a brute, inhuman force. You can picture his fingers wrapped around someone’s throat and draining them of oxygen almost too easily.

Little did you know, your hypothesis was painfully accurate.

An old childhood friend of yours, currently 6 feet under in the yard. Your bare feet trampling over his grave and none the wiser every time he allows you to set foot in the garden.

You’ll never know, though. It’s not like you can check your phone without his permission anyway, he’s already blocked their contact.

Days, weeks, months pass by of his constant monitoring and controlling behaviour. The CCTV’s scattered in every corner of the house, the social deprivation and loneliness that creeps in every time he’s not there as you roam the barren household, the purple finger marks roping your wrists from when he kept you in a paralysing grip,daring your disobedience.

and you can’t help but wonder,

Maybe the person you needed protecting from was him.

Tsukishima - The Mendacious Manipulator

Danger level: 8.5/10

How unlucky you are to be paired with this mentally destroying sadist.

At first Tsukishima’s wit, sarcasm and clever quips were what allured you, never did you think they would be used against you. Wielded like a weapon with a blade sharp enough to slice you in two.

And I’m warning you, every cut hurts.

There’s no escaping from it, a string of degrading remarks whispered cruelly in your ear while holding hands in public, appearing to be a cute and affectionate couple, but a sinister secret lurks underneath that only you know of.

He’ll treat you like a dog, expecting you to be at his every beck and call, serving on your knees with a painted smile that’s woefully forced on with every ounce of strength you have left.

You are his puppet, his useless little play thing that he makes painfully aware of how disposable they truly are.

And don’t take him for a fool, he will discard you if he sees fit.

Unmerciful, cruel, snide, are the some of many words that can describe Tsukishima, and as you’ll soon find out none of them are pleasant.

He will craftily make you open up to him. Revealing your deepest insecurities,traumas and troubles then sheath it like a sword to your neck, holding you hostage to your own weaknesses in order to gain that empowering sense of control he oh-so revels in. Endlessly striving to achieve his selfish, favourable outcome.

This Yandere is one of most intelligent of the bunch, and unfortunately for you, does not use his intelligence for charitable or good-natured purposes.

He knows exactly what to say to leave you curled up in a ball, tears streaming and wracked in emotional agony as you plead for forgiveness on something that isn’t even your fault. He knows this, but finds it comical and all too amusing to see you so broken over something when you weren’t the one to blame. He gets off to your mental anguish.

You’ll be left stumbling the streets at 2 in the morning, contemplating your life and everything as you know it, he will warp your perception of the world until he is the only one you can crawl to. After all, it’s your fault, right? He’s the only one who could tolerate you, everyone else abandoned you because you were so insufferable.

...is what he’ll have you believe. In reality, Tsukishima was pulling strings behind the scenes to ensure you would distance yourself from friends and family, resulting in them doing the same. Wrapping you around his finger and twisting your behaviour into one that’s volatile and unapproachable, until you’re left totally alone.

You’ll never know though.

That mental fortitude will soon shatter, and when it does, he’ll cackle at it’s pathetic remains.

Yamaguchi - The Diffident Vampire

Danger level: 5/10

I’m sad to say, but your tween Twilight fantasies will be crushed when you stumble upon this mess of a monster.

I don’t mean to say he’s a literal vampire, but you’ll understand the use of this metaphor once we delve into some of his tendencies.

He is incredibly insecure, the walking embodiment of the very word.

Now that isn’t the reason you should be warded off, everyone has self-esteem issues. However, this trait of his plays a huge part in siphoning the life out of you.

He captured your heart with his soft and sympathetic nature, easily startled and somewhat skittish.

You didn’t see what was below the iceberg however, and once you did, he sank his teeth in and began to suck before you could escape, draining you dry until you have no more left to give. Nothing to spare until he is licking his lips in satisfaction, swelled with the abundance at the emotional dependency he has built up on you.

He needs reassurance like a life line, and while some might find this endearing at first, it undoubtedly becomes highly toxic and emotionally exhausting.

Yamaguchi is incredibly volatile with his sensitivity, you have to watch your words and be sure he doesn’t misinterpret them and become dejected. He will read into everything you say and question every little detail.

This is one of those Yandere’s that wouldn't do it intentionally I don’t think, but by the time he catches himself it’s too late, he’s in far too deep to stop and I don’t think he ever will once he realises how addicted he is to you, your words boosting his sense of worth and being the only form of confidence he’s ever felt in his life.

It’s quite sad, really.

Don’t pity him too much, though. That’s the trap. That’s how reels you in until the teeth marks adorning your neck are a harsh reminder that you are nothing more than food for his ego.

If you ever think about leaving, he will have no qualms grovelling at your knees, razor to his wrists and begging you to stay. A cruel memoire at what keeps you tied here in the first place.

Pity.

Care.

The mutual empathy you saw in him that drew you in was now broken and one-sided, his selfishness far outweighing this trait of his and becoming your death-sentence.

The marks will never fade. One day you’ll collapse to your knees and cave, but he won’t stop until he has bled you bare.

Oikawa - The Venusian’s Nightmare.

Danger level: 8/10

Oh charming Oikawa. The pretty boy with enough carnal seduction to rival his greek goddess counterpart. Hair smooth as silk, eyes glinting with mischief and a smirk that could bow you down on all fours. He has everything, or so it seems.

Sanity isn’t one of them.

He is VERY demanding when he craves your attention, which let’s face it is pretty often. If he doesn’t get it? Definition of a nightmarish brat.

He will whine, complain, blow up your phone. Still not available?

He’ll simply disappear.

For how long? Who really knows. He likes the thought of you on edge and anticipating his return, thoughts of him plaguing your mind to the point you question if you’re the one who’s obsessed.

Don’t worry though, when he returns he has enough sensual suave to make you forgive him ten times over.

You may think his bratty and sulking nature is the worst of it.

Oh how wrong you are.

Push him to his limits or the closest thing to it and you’ll face a cut-throat, teasing sadist who will tie you to the bed with a sickening sparkle in his eyes, marvelling at your skin jaggedly sliced open like a sheet of paper, tracing the wounds with his tongue and lapping up the blood before pulling you into a heated kiss which seems almost loving, if it weren’t for the metallic taste intertwining your tongues as a harsh reminder that you’re not here by choice.

He is definitely the type to mock you and howl with laughter as your body spams and writhes in pain, degrading you with the most vile remarks till tears spill from your eyes.

“Awh poor (Y/N)-chan, crying like a baby. Can’t handle the pain? What a pathetic little whore. Maybe if you beg enough, I’ll ease up the pressure~”

Sometimes he’ll leave you there wrist-bound to the bed post for hours, coming back in occasionally until your level of pleading satisfies him.

His change in treatment is paradoxical in the aftermath, he will release you from your restrains and rub your skin with such tender care, it’s agonisingly deceiving.

One of the most dangerous things about him is his intuition, it’s damn near supernatural and makes for a natural born lie detector. Oikawa will sense the slightest shift in your mood, tone and body language. He knows you like the back of his hand, making it all the more unnerving to be in his presence.

This can be a positive if he is looking to fill you with ecstasy, since he knows every sweet spot, curl of his fingers and words to whisper that leave you trembling in mind-numbing pleasure.

Though you know once coming down from your high, your moments of heaven will slip through your fingers before crashing back down to reality.

He can read you like a book that he wrote with his own hands and it’s horrifying, he can predict what you’re going to say or do before you’ve even made up your mind. Which as you can guess, makes escape or wheedling out of a threatening scenario a null alternative.

If you decide to make the suicidal mistake of lying, your body will never quite function the same once he’s through. not to mention the plethora of emotional scarring that comes along with it.

After catching you in your mendacity and deeming your punishment enough, he’ll decorate your body in cuts, bruises and hickeys that throb from the abuse of his teeth. Laying you down in bed and tucking you in gently, wrapping an arm around in an act of ‘protection’ that was formerly wrapped around your throat in an act of threatening asphyxiation.

Eyes fluttering closed hours after he drifted off beside you, your heart rate quells and the tears staining your cheeks dry, preparing for the repeated cycle when the sun rises.

How foolish to be lured in by such a facade, even the most beautiful of creatures can be hideous.

Bokuto - The Volcanoes Slaughter

Danger level: 9.5/10

The ticking of a time bomb, the cracking of the ground beneath your feet.

Once you are swept up in this man’s wrath you know there will never be an escape.

and he’s fucking terrifying.

His energy and vigour were what charmed you, his upbeat enthusiasm that while volatile, was very contagious and encouraging.

If only you had known what kind of disaster was laying low under the surface.

Akaashi had tried to warn you, but you simply never listened.

He pities you now, for you’re in the same boat as him.

Eternally putting up with his violent tempers and erratic nature, which you often get the brunt of behind closed doors, left to cover the scars with a scarf and cheap pot of concealer.

His moods switch as quick as the direction of the wind, a gust too strong that leaves you flying back like a ragdoll against the wall.

Or that may just be because he actually threw you in a fit of rage, itching to see your limp body crack against the drywall to soothe his rage. Drowning the voices in his head with the sound of your soothing whimpers filled with agony.

While he may beat you black and blue whenever the overflow of emotions take over, he still does ‘care’ for you in his own sickening way, and would never have any qualms snapping a neck or two if it prevented anyone else laying a finger on you.

Though to be honest it’s the furthest thing from care, it’s downright monopolisation of something he deems his object.

How dare they hurt his personal punching bag, don’t they know you’re his and his alone to mark up in any way he pleases?

To everyone else, he seems like a very loving and protective boyfriend who has the occasional mood swing. If only they could pick up on the flinching of your body when his voice raises even a decibel, or the way you retract in fear at the swatting of a hand too close to your face.

The anxiety felt when in his presence is indescribable, your whole body will soon become accustomed to trembling in fear, your fight or flight kicking in at the mere mention of his name. His voice sends every hair standing on end, bracing for the impact that may or may never come from his grazed fists.

Treading on eggshells and analysing every word before you speak will become second nature, even the tone of your voice or the way you arrange a question will be heavily thought over before even daring to let it escape your mouth.

You just can’t risk it, even hearing a word he doesn’t like will result in the tectonic plates shifting, getting closer to his impending eruption.

Once you hear the rumbling, you’ll know it’s far too late to run. Burned by the raging lava and consumed whole in a flood of pain and misery, it will destroy everything in it’s wake, even you.

Tendou - The Jesters Despair

Danger level: 10/10

You really opened pandora’s box with this one.

And once you so much as cracked it for a peak, just that little inkling of curiosity, the lanky arm of a redhead yanked your wrist and dragged you in with him.

Tendou’s eccentric and offbeat disposition was something you had always admired, it was what made your heart flutter.

Now? That eccentricity is put to the most horrifying of uses.

Mind games, manipulation, and unpredictability beyond your worst nightmare.

Tendou is the type to sink a blade into your skin and cackle maniacally while you cry and plead for him to stop. Edging himself and eyeing you up greedily at the painful fear in your eyes, blood trickling down your skin with each incision.

He’ll pull your hair back and slide his tongue along the cuts, his lustful gaze boring into your own as the pooling saliva leaves a chilling feeling on your skin, nose wrinkled in disgust at the thought of his DNA entering your bloodstream.

He thrives on trickery and deception. He’s the type to say something incredibly warm and soft-centred, one that makes your pupils expand in newfound hope with the question of “...really?” rolling off your tongue. That inkling of hope sparking the thought that maybe, just maybe he’s changed.

Only to burst into a fit of laughter at your naivety, teasing you relentlessly for how gullible and moronic he thinks you are.

This yandere is incredibly incalculable. Here one minute, gone the next. Don’t even bother trying to figure out what he’s doing or where he is, you’ll never know. It keeps you on your toes in the most negative and unnerving sense of the expression, he gets a buzz off leaving you wondering, and takes great satisfaction in knowing you’re probably thinking about him.

However, he expects you to be there whenever he needs you, regardless of circumstance. And if you’re not? You’ll have consequences to face.

I’m sorry to say, but there is no chance in hell you’re surviving this experience, there’s no doubt you’ll be murdered eventually.

After all, he does get bored easily. Not so much as giving it a second thought on disposing of you once you are no longer a source of fresh entertainment for his sadistic desires.

With each passing day his treatment becomes increasingly brutal, searching for new ways to fulfil that empty feeling in his heart and cold, hollow look in his eyes. Don’t even bother trying to save him, not even he would know where to start.

Every night as you shut your eyes on the hardwood floor beside his bed, you can’t help but wonder if this is the last time you’ll ever close them.

And for your sake? You’d better hope it is.

Charming you with the humour of a Jester and putting on a show, he’ll make it certain every time you laugh, will be paid back with tears twofold.

Kageyama - The Majesties Tyrant

Danger level: 7/10

Kneel before your highness or face his wrath. Kageyama Tobio is the most commanding of them all. Permanently trapped in his dictatorship with no hope of revolt.

He doesn’t become set on things very often, but once he does it’s something he’ll never give up until he’s conquered it wholly.

Stubborn, moody, domineering and demanding. With just enough of a soft side he uses to persuade you back again.

Fuelled by ego, pride, and a sense of superiority, he will never stop until he has your total obedience.

Being the dense man he is, this is usually achieved through simplistic means of intimidation and threats of aggression.

Kageyama will not hesitate to raise his fist and back you into a corner, cowering in recoil at his menacing aura that itches to do damage

You will do what he says, whenever he needs it, no if’s but’s or objections.

For such a hard headed ruler, he’s surprisingly childish and unsure about how to express anything other than abuse.

I think a part of him genuinely does like you, but it’s far too clouded by his toxic nature that it could never be seen as even slightly redeemable.

The most you’ll ever get out of Kageyama is the occasional hug, in which he squeezes you far to tight and resurfaces the pain of last nights bruises.

He doesn’t resort to physical violence often, as he is always reprimanded by the team to control his anger. If only they knew what he was like behind closed doors. I suppose you could credit it to Karasuno that he hasn’t accidentally killed you yet.

Yet.

When it comes to matters in the bedroom, he is focused solely on his own gratification, yours being a second thought he never so much as acknowledges.

Collared and threaded by chain, you will crawl beside him and take it all until you’re gasping for air. The only thing he cares about is climaxing and leaving you with the cleanup.

He’s quite self conscious, so don’t expect much physical affection unless he’s chasing a particularly intense release.

Kageyama is highly jealous and frequently painted green with envy, so expect your social life to dwindle significantly once he has his hands on you, literally and metaphorically.

Thankfully, he won’t isolate you entirely, but it’s enough to leave you feeling segregated from the rest of the world. A lone member of his regime that you are forever trapped in with no chance of escape.

Bow down with a meek mutter of “Yes...master.” His crown will twinkle in the moonlight as a symbol of your everlasting enslavement.

The king of the court, and the ruler of your heart.

517 notes · View notes

fascination-street-writing · 4 years

Text

She Rings Like a Bell Through the Night | Yan!Bruno Bucciarati x Reader

You remind him of a cat - and he has always had a pension for strays.

100 Follower Giveaway 2nd Place Piece

Content Warnings: Not S/F/W Content, Yandere Behaviors, Stalking, Non-Con Elements (Non-Consensual Touching & Dubious Consent), & Homelessness

You are glad for the distortion of the puddle’s reflection – if instead you had a mirror, you might simply wither in the alley where you stand. It is better this way. Truthfully, you would rather not know how positively filthy you have become since taking to the streets. The space between Il Cestino del Pane and Via dei Libri – a bakery and a bookstore – is your domain. You do not call the covered niche betwixt two dumpsters your home; it is simply the place you happen to come back to every night.

At the lip of the alley, she stands. An entity, you suppose, though she does not speak to you. And yet, you are utterly convinced that she is capable of reading your very mind. She acts without command – she behaves in a way you find deplorable; but, without her, you would starve. You have before you the necessary evils of survival.

You observe the bustle of the market, eyes flicking from patron to patron: a child clutching a doll as her mother argues with a vendor over the price of goods; an elderly woman ushering a greyhound by a worn leash; a man lifting a spoon filled with gelato to the mouth of his partner, who accepts the treat gleefully. No one catches your eye . . . Until a man clad in an open-chest white suit steps out from the bakery and joins the rabble on the street.

His clothing practically flaunts his wealth. His bobbed dark hair, completed with two gold clips, is exquisite, and not a single strand falls out of place. You think that he would make a lovely target – and she agrees.

You are careful to leave a considerable amount of space between yourself and him. You know little of your entity’s capacities; however, the copious amount of times you have used her to steal food, never to be traced back to you, has taught you that she is invisible to everyone.

Everyone except for you, of course.

You do not consider yourself a thief, for it is not your hand slipping into the pocket of the man’s jacket. An accessory to crime, maybe, but never the thief. You rationalize your actions as this: he should have known better than to venture towards this end of Napoli dressed in such a way – one making him stand out amongst the locals. Anyone who comes here knows pickpocketing is a common practice.

You can feel the wallet through her touch – firm leather to your fingertips. She appears before you, dropping the stolen article into your waiting palm. With a grin, you look up to offer a silent gesture of appreciation.

Only to be met with the glare of two sapphire-blue eyes.

You freeze, dumbfounded. Never have you been caught before. The wallet feels like a lead weight, practically scorching your skin. Out of fear? Guilt? You do not dwell on the possibilities pulsing in your racing mind. Instead, you turn on heels covered with a set of mismatched shoes and run. A cold sweat saturates your spine. The clattering of rushed footsteps echo behind you. A crash resonates, followed by the accusatory spats of the vendors. You weave through the crowds with no true destination in mind. Yet, as if coerced by muscle memory, your legs carry you to your shelter.

Somehow, amidst the market congestion, you have lost him. You slink down the alley and hide behind a heap of discarded cardboard boxes. The passage of time is indiscernible, and so you count the steady ticking of waterdrops from the rainspout attached to the bakery. It is only after you reach a hundred do you decide you are finally safe. Standing, you open the wallet to count your prize.

As you dig for loose lira, the brick wall before you separates; a diagonal golden zipper appears seemingly out of nowhere, and the man steps through the black void created by the incision. In your state of confusion, the wallet clammers from your hand. You stumble backwards and trip over a broken trashcan lid. The asphalt meets your hip with bruising force.

The man says nothing to you. He reaches for the wallet, which has earned a newly acquired scuffmark. With no means of escaping the situation, you helplessly watch him check its contents. Wordlessly, he produces a stack of bills and extends it to you. Suspicious of his intent, you do not move to take the money. You scuttle away, whimpering at your newfound pain.

“My name is Bruno,” he says to you. Though you struggle to create a greater space between you two, he does not move to approach you. “Take it.”

You shake your head. He holds the wallet in his opposite hand, emphasizing its presence.

“You wouldn’t have stolen this if you didn’t need the money.”

Bruno is absolutely right. But you do not trust him. After moments of refusal pass, he sets the money on the ground and steps away. It is only once you deduce that he cannot grab you do you snatch the money. You bound off in a hobbled sprint, vacating the alley and leaving him behind. He is unable to tear his gaze away from the shabby heap of boxes you typically dwell beneath. Your apprehensiveness is undeniably disheartening, but nothing to lose sleep over, for he will do whatever it takes to earn your faith in due time. He knows you cannot be blamed for your actions; to Bruno, it is obvious you have been beaten down by the very system that has forced many women into the same circumstances as yourself.

A mound of tattered blankets makes up what he believes is your bed. Cans of half-finished, spoiled foods collect in a heap by the foot of your bedding. You remind him of a cat – and he has always had a pension for strays.

Days later, Bruno returns to the alleyway of Il Cestino del Pane and Via dei Libri carrying a basket filled with fresh bread and softened figs. It is a mere gamble that you might have returned after the incident. Before your shelter, he catches the sight of you hunched over a rusted water pail. You splash water on your face to cleanse the grime from your skin.

He wonders if you stayed because you wanted him to find you.

You know he is there, yet you do not cower. Still, you grow tense in his presence. You allow him to come close enough so he might, for the first time, gaze upon your cleaned face. He realizes just how beautiful of a woman you are – his Medusa, cast from the holy temple by the ones who scorned you; reduced to living on the streets with narcotic addicts and rapists, as if you are one of them.

A woman like you deserves to be loved. You deserve the very worship he is so willing to bestow upon you, in a home shared with you alone.

He opens the basket and bequeaths to you its contents. You salivate at the loaf of bread in your grasp, though you refuse to eat. You will not do so until he is gone. Begrudgingly, he takes his leave, though not before offering you a kind smile.

One day, he reckons, you will return the gesture.

When the sun sets over Napoli, the city transforms into a haven for the less reputable members of society. Men and women of the brothels take to the corners at the behest of their procurers. Cab drivers lie in wait of drunken tourists to scam with overpriced fare. Would-be human traffickers hide in the blackest pools of alleyways until a pretty foreigner is unlucky enough to walk by.

And you have learned how to avoid them all – the prostitutes and the pimps, cab drivers and tourists, human traffickers and foreigners. There is not much a homeless woman such as yourself can offer to any party of the night.

Not for anyone, except Bruno Bucciarati, the young Capo of Passione. From the shadows, he watches as you make your way through the street of shops and send your entity to collect food and other necessities. You carry on until your arms are full. He admires your resilience.

You do not see the division in the sidewalk until you have already fallen to the ground. Your collection of stolen goods scatters across the cobblestone street, lost to the darkness. On your hands and knees, you scramble to gather anything that has not split open or fallen into puddles. A man with a pocketknife in his hand and pock marks on his arms approaches, unbeknownst to you – but very known to the ever-aware Bruno.

It is not an uncommon practice for the homeless of Napoli to prey on each other. The man wielding the knife wants nothing more than a scrap of the food lying before you. To Bruno, however, he is a potential threat to what limited sanctity you might have. The man creeps closer, closer, closer.

And he is gone before you have the chance to turn around. The remnants of a zipper mark the spot where he once stood. You are alone again. Grateful that the night is still young, you send your entity to another vacant market stall to replace what has been lost.

Bruno emerges from the earth like a child born. He brings a white handkerchief to his cheek to wipe away the smudge of blood marring his skin – the evidence of his indiscretion. Carelessly, you wander ahead as if you were not in such a compromising situation only moments ago. But then again, you cannot be blamed for ignorance: how could you have known, if not for Bruno interference?

Grinning faintly, he folds the soiled handkerchief and tucks it into his pocket, beside his wallet – the catalyst and inspiration for his conquest of your affection. He is your protector when you cannot be.

It is a gratification that fills him with unmeasurable delight.

Bruno has lost track of how many times he has visited you; he has made a habit out of bringing you food every day that he can. It does not upset him too terribly much when he fails to find the time in his arduous work schedule to visit you, because he trusts your capabilities of stealing necessities with the aid of your Stand.

However, he cannot deny the nagging feeling blooming in his belly, reminding him that you should not be in the position of scavenging when he is perfectly capable of providing for you – of spoiling you – himself.

Today, he gifts to you cactus pears from Catania and homemade piadina – his mother’s recipe, no less. As always, you refuse to eat whilst he gawks at you. You do not notice the way his jaw clenches in utter vexation this time, or how his long, manicured fingers curl into a tight fist. In truth, he has grown frustrated with your antics. Bitterly, he contemplates his options: to whisk you away here and now would be far easier than playing this game any longer.

Finally recognizing his rigid composure, you back away from him. As if struck, Bruno releases his hand and sighs. He could not do such a thing – it is foolish thought. Trust is built upon honesty, and honesty alone. The legitimacy of such a bond cannot be fabricated. Per habit, he leaves you to your meal.

A light drizzle hails from the grey sky. The further he strays from the alleyway, the heavier the rainfall. Bruno supposes that the inclement weather must be the cause for the near vacancy of the market street. Despite the pattering against the sidewalks, he catches the sound of clumsy footsteps behind him. A pair of eyes practically bores into his back.

He stops to turn. Separated only by a narrow row of stone-crested townhouses, you stand there, watching him. You, too, have ventured far from the security of your alleyway. You cower behind a streetlamp, as if it could mask the pleading look in your gaze.

Please, don’t leave me.

Bruno’s mouth falls agape. Perhaps his gattina randagia is ready to come home, after all.

The water pools around your bare form, concaving to every curve and crevice of your body. Though you graciously allowed Bruno the role of bathing you, you keep your knees bent and taut to your chest, refusing him to look upon your intimate regions. It is a most uncomfortable feeling to expose yourself to someone else; yet, you do not wish to be left alone, for you are beholden to his company.

He shields your eyes with his palm before pouring the basin over your shampooed hair. You practically lean into his touch. He is glad you cannot read his mind; it is a battle within his conscience to contain himself. He maintains his collected façade – despite how badly he wants nothing more than flip you onto your stomach and take you, forcing your body to rim of the bathtub.

The hand on your eyes falls and dips into the water. Bruno pulls his arm back and forth, tracing a figure-eight in the water. His mind has wandered, to be sure. In his other hand, he holds a washcloth, which he has been using to wash your skin. Slowly, he drags it over the backs of your thighs, gingerly scrubbing.

You push his arm away when the cloth ghosts over your slit.

“Give me the soap,” you suddenly demand – the first words you have ever spoken to him, full of malice no less. Bruno frowns. “I can do it myself.”

He grabs the bar of soap; however, he does not pass it to you. Instead, he slathers the washcloth and brings the linen back over your thighs. He wants to take care of you. This time, the hook of his finger brushes against your folds. You lash out and grab his arm, nails biting into his skin, leaving crescent-moon shaped marks as a receipt of the transgression. With far more force than before, you shove his arm away.

“Stop it. Give me the soap.”

Bruno pulls away and slumps against the side of the tub. You hug your knees tighter, expecting an apology from the man who took you in off the streets. Something dark flashes behind his eyes, and you wish you had enough room to scurry away.

“I just want to take care of you, mia gattina,” he insists, his eyes pleading with you. “Won’t you let me do that?”

His words do little to ease you. The third time he touches your folds, you strike him across the face with pruned fingers. In a flurry of black hair, his neck whips to the side. It is only when you attempt to rise from the tub that he snaps out of his stupor and throws his arm against your chest, pinning you down and leaving you with no choice but to expose yourself to him.

The water sloshes as you thrash around. Water collects in the delicate threads of Bruno’s attire, soaking him as you do the faux-marble tiled floors. Nothing seems to faze him. “Please, let me take care of you,” he begs, his grip unrelenting. You whimper, begging him to let you go. He denies you: “No, no. It’s all I want.”

Again, he palms your slit, only now you freeze and accept that you cannot stop him. You grip the edge of the tub to keep your head above the water. The coloring leaves your knuckles. A single tear rolls down your cheek.

“Don’t cry, dolcezza. Sii una brava ragazza per me.”

At once, a finger from the very hand that kept you fed for so long slides into your core with ease. Your walls involuntarily clench around him, and you grimace in pain. Whining, you attempt to buck your hips to dislodge him; he mistakes your defense for eagerness, and with a sigh, he inserts another and curls his fingers inside you.

He works you until a familiar, albeit long forgotten, throbbing sensation claims your womanhood, and incitement builds within you. Eventually, with each stroke of your folds, you relax and release the edge of tub. Your snivels of an insistence for him to stop become mewls, imploring him to continue. It has been far too long since you felt affection like this, and you find yourself melting at Bruno’s touch – as if you are a candle and he the flame.

“Brava ragazza.”

The arm on your chest disappears. Bruno braces it around your shoulders, pulling you into a seated position. When his thumb rubs your hardened nub, you whine and call his name. A prayer for him; he groans, holding you tighter.

Your hands reach out and at once, you pull his face towards your own so that your lips might meet. You allow him to explore the cavern of your mouth, and he swallows every moan blossoming from your throat. He takes your bottom lip between his teeth, swiping his tongue over the swollen blush before breaking away to admire the way you huff at the command of his fingers, your eyes shut tightly. Pleasure or distress, he knows not why – though, he suspects the former.

He reaches the deepest nook of your core. You respond to the intrusion with a breathless cry, and you bury your face into the damp crook of his neck to satiate the noises escaping you, while gripping the silken tendrils of his primp hair.

“Brave ragazza. Brava gattina, il mio amore.”

His words – his praise – send you over the edge with a shudder. The coil in your belly snaps, and you come undone on Bruno’s hand. He lets out a sigh. Slowly, he detaches from your core and moves to embrace you. Exhausted, you veer into his touch, practically buzzing with spent arousal and fervor.

Around you, the bathwater has gone cold, but Bruno’s arms are enough to keep you warm. You allow him to rub his palm against the soft skin of your back. He presses a kiss to the crown of your hair, lingering as if debating whether to do it all again.

Content, you concede and drift away, lulled to sleep by the whispering of praises in your ear.

“Il mia bellissima gattina. Ti amo tanto.”

| 3048 Words |

#bruno bucciarati x reader #bruno bucciarati #bruno x reader #jjba x reader #vento aureo #yandere

247 notes · View notes

professional-benaddict · 3 years

Text

Double amputee Little!Peter oneshot

collab with @sugar-and-spice-parker

inspired by anon prompt and @starkersideblog

Daddies Stephen and Tony, +18 Little Peter, doctor Steve, nurse Bucky, Littles are Known, dark, noncon medical procedures, noncon body modification, post double leg amputation, whump, crying, manipulation, angst, 1.5k

No one knows, no one can see. Everything is normal. Peter is normal, and there is nothing to see. Except, there is, and Peter is not normal.

When they get to the waiting room of the clean smelling clinic, Tony lifts Peter out of his stroller, revealing to the world his two stumps. At the sight, Peter gasps quietly, still not used to it. He tucks his angry face into Tony’s neck.

“Shh, baby.”

Peter knows his legs are gone. He understands that well enough. He just does not know why. Everything was fine two weeks ago. He was playing tag on the playground and running around like normal. Then, he was at the hospital. Then, he was taking a nap. Then, he had no toes. Peter knows his Daddies are in charge. They know what is best for him. Usually, he gets it.

He does not.

When Peter asks about what happened two weeks ago, his Daddies get a weird look on their faces. They say his legs were getting sick, and they had to take them away to stop the sickness from spreading. But, Peter had felt totally fine. He had been running, jumping, skipping and hopping. And now, all he can do is sit on his bum and wait to be picked up.

Peter likes to try and crawl, since it is the only way he can think of that might let him get back a little bit of his mobility, but Daddies always put him in timeout and give him early naptime for trying that.

Peter just does not get why.

“It’s for your own good, Peter.”

He does not know why.

Everything is for his own good lately. Whenever Peter has a question, more often that not that is the response he gets. And he knows the doctor will repeat the same thing to him today.

After just a short wait, Peter’s name is called. They always go and see the nurse first. This time, it is Bucky who greets them, and suddenly Peter does not hate the idea of having his finger pricked. Bucky is nice, and he is like a little stream of sunlight that lights up Peter’s day. The doctor, Steve, is another story.

“Hey, Peter. How are you today?” Bucky asks, reaching out to pinch Peter’s cheek lovingly. Peter wiggles a bit in his Daddy’s arms. He wants down, but he cannot get down.

“Oh. A little fussy, then. That’s alright.” Bucky coos, escorting them through the halls and towards Steve’s office.

It has been two weeks since Peter had that long nap where he woke up after without his legs. Since then, he has been to see Steve lots, and Bucky too. Each time, the nurse pricks his finger to get a few drops of blood. Peter is quite used to it now and does not react much when Bucky pricks his little finger. However, what comes after is much worse.

Peter sits still on the little bed, the scratchy paper feeling funny against his skin because he is wearing shorts. Bucky is quick, as always, drawing the blood and then immediately giving Peter an Elmo Band-Aid. Bucky even kisses it for good luck, which is coincidentally the signal to Peter that Steve is about to come in.

On cue, the door opens up. Peter tries to pay attention to the fishies on the wall, or the clouds and hot air balloon painted on the ceiling. There are pretty things all over, and Peter forces himself to pay attention to them.

Peter almost wonders if this is more for Daddies’ and Steve’s sake than his. The three caregivers chat animatedly and laugh heartedly. Stephen is holding one of Peter’s hands, stroking the back of it with his thumb lazily. Peter keeps his gaze locked on the hot air balloon, wishing he could fly away in it.

“So, how is my favourite little guy? How’s the last week been since I last saw your adorable face?” Steve asks, going to wash his hands. Peter knows the doctor is not done yet. “Your stumps looked great last week, so I’m not expecting anything looking worse since then. Have your Dadas been putting on the cream like I told them to, hm?”

Peter does not bother answering, and instead gives a blank look in Steve’s direction. Of course his Daddies are using the cream. Why would he even ask Peter? He debates asking his Daddies for cotton candy when they are done. Maybe something sweet will help his mood pick up. Or give him cavities. Either or.

Steve laughs.

“Oh, someone’s grumpy. Okay, okay. You’re a cutie, know that?” He teases, but Peter does not laugh. He wants to go home. He wants his legs back. “Alright, then. Let’s see how we’re doin’, kiddo.”

Peter holds onto Stephen’s forearm as Steve begins to remove the thin layer of bandages around his left stump. The incision is sealed, but the skin is still sensitive and prone to infection, so Peter has coverings when they go outside. Luckily, the raw smell of blood is gone now. The first week, it made Peter sick to his stomach every time his bandages were changed. He does not want to have to have his Daddy hold a rag soaked in peppermint oil up to his nose all the time anymore, so at least one good thing has come out of this appointment. Peter knows he is safe to breathe without feeling violently sick at the smell of his healing body.

“The ends are healing nicely.” Steve explains. “I’d say we can remove his stitches in a few days, then we can let him heal all the way. And you’re still certain you don’t want prosthetics?”

Peter tears his gaze away from the wall at that. The word sounds familiar, and he is pretty sure it means fake legs made of plastic and metal.

“I get new legs?” Peter asks, sitting up. The boy has not been this vocal in weeks, and the Daddies give him a nasty look.

Stephen helps him to lay down again, placing a warning hand on his chest.

“We are certain. We want him just like this.” Tony says.

Peter whines. He wants new legs. He does not want to be left like this. Why don’t Daddies ever seem to care what he wants?

“Peter, no fussing.” Stephen threatens with a point and a glare. This same argument has been going on for too long. “Daddies know best, keep it to yourself and you’ll get cuddles in the big bed later.”

Steve is touching around his stumps now, pressing his fingertips around the incisions. Peter absolutely hates it. He is not quite sure where the sensation is. It feels like it is on his shins, but he does not have his shins anymore. Peter has to bite his lip to stop himself from crying. He is so desperate for some sort of comfort, that he holds onto Stephen’s forearm again.

“Oh, it’s okay, bubs. I know it’s scary. Just breathe.” His Daddy quells, but Peter can only tighten his hold. He wants this all to be over. To go home and get his big bed cuddles and have Daddies promise they will let him get the new legs and never ever ever have to see Steve again.

Peter is not sure if that is possible.

“Right, everything looks good. I think you can start weaning him off the bandages. Get him used to having his stumps uncovered. Keep them clean and dry still, of course, and use the cream twice a day.” Steve says, getting new bandages to cover Peter’s stumps. Tony helps by lifting what remains of Peter’s leg by the upper thigh. Peter despises the feeling. His legs should feel heavier than that. Longer than that.

In his own sense of despair, Peter lets himself cry.

Harder.

Then louder.

Soon, Peter can barely hear what is being said around him over the sound of his own misfortune. There is a ‘healing’, a ‘your choice’ and a ‘he won’t’. It does not make sense.

He tries to quiet, hoping to hear them a little better, but it barely makes a difference.

“Shhh, shhh, little one. I know. I know. Calm down. It’s been a long day, hasn’t it?” His Daddy says, and suddenly everyone in the room is cooing at him. Doting on him. Telling him how sweet he is and how nice it is gonna be once he has taken his afternoon nap.

It has not been a long day. It is not that simple anymore.

Peter is a limp and sad mess on Tony’s shoulder. The man’s swaying motions do nothing to calm him. Only the idea of new legs will comfort Peter now.

“Same time next week then? All right, great. I’ll see you then. Get some rest till then, Peter cutie. Bye bye!”

Peter does not bother answering Steve, let alone look at him. All Peter wants now is to sleep, so that just for a moment, he can forget about all this.

82 notes · View notes

darkdevasofdestruction · 4 years

Text

Sugar Plum Fairy - Spencer Reid

“Okay, carefully put the body on the table...Yeah, that’s perfect. Okay, thank you for your work.” I smiled briefly at the policeman. “I don’t know the details, but I heard this one is top priority. Can you finish it today?” he asked, making me grin even wider. “Of course! My colleagues were very diligent, so today I have only this one left. Even better, I’m all alone here, so my efficiency will sky-rocket.” I explain, getting a quick look at the cadaver on the table. “Very well, we will go now. Take care.” the other policeman nodded his head at me, before they both left the room, and now I was alone in the whole building. “Yes, finally!” I fist-pumped the air. “Time to listen to AC/DC and cut this bitch up.” I rubbed my hands together, putting the music at max volume around the lab, no longer having to listen to music with my headphones on.

The Y-Incision went by with no problem, then the removal and weighting of the organs was just as smooth, and now I started searching the stomach contents, when the phone started ringing in my lab coat.

“Cutiepie is calling. Do you want to take this call, or hang up?” my phone robot asked. “Answer the call.” I vocally activated it and carefully put the gaming headphones on, seeing as they have a microphone attached, so I could speak while also working. “Uhm...Can you turn down the music, please?” Spencer asked softly, making me chuckle. “Oh, yes, sorry about that, I forgot about it...There, all good. So how is my lovey dovey Sugar Plum Fairy doing?” I asked in a sweet voice, which only earned silence on his end, and some giggles and teasing from the background, making me drop my scalpel in shock. “Y-You’re...On speaker...” Spencer managed to say, and I could already imagine his flustered face. “...Oh my God, Spencer, I’m so sorry...You called me from your private number, I didn’t think you’d call me from work...I’m so so so sorry, Spencer!” I spoke frantically, only to hear a tired sigh. “It’s...It’s fine...You’re right, I called you from the wrong phone, it’s my fault. Anyway, I called because that body that was brought over to your work place is a key piece of our latest case. Can you tell me anything out of the ordinary so far?” he asked in a more formal voice. “...Sometimes it’s weirdly difficult not to call you some cutesy nickname, Spence. I’m at the 3rd stage of the autopsy, and the only out of the ordinary thing is how hilarious her tits are hanging to the side...Uhm...Pretend you didn’t hear that...” I facepalmed internally, realising how stupid I was. “Should I call in an hour or so?” he tried to spare both of us the embarrassment, before I gasped in realisation. “No, wait, hold up a second, I think I’m on to something...On her waist, she seems to have an epidermis tattoo...But the thing is...This epidermis tattoo is a shade different from her actual skin colour. I don’t know who did this, but they traced the actual tattoo perfectly, which means I can easily trace it on a paper and send you a picture, maybe it will help you.” I explained, taking off my gloves and started drawing the tattoo on the paper, quickly taking a picture of it and sending it to Spencer. “I tend to forget how smooth and nicely you can draw. This is spot on, I’m sure Garcia can find out about this. Thank you, Y/N, you’re the best.” his voice was sweeter than sugar, and I could already feel my cheeks burning up. “Always happy to help. Do you want to stay on the phone while I look around the stomach contents, or should I call you when I find anything interesting?” I asked, putting a new pair of gloves on. “I...have a few minutes free to hear your voice. Talk to me, I missed you.” he spoke gently, as I opened the stomach. “Well...I missed you too, sweetheart. Wait, I’m not still on speaker, right? I don’t want to embarrass you...Again...” I muttered, biting my lip. “No, darling, it’s okay, nobody’s around, they’re looking for the tattoo.” he explained, making me sigh in relief. “Good, good...I hope we get to spend some quality time soon. Until then, I suppose I’ll have to indulge in my unhealthy obsession with binge-playing video games. Remember my 20 hour speed-run of Diablo 2?” I laughed, taking out a sort of cloth neatly folded from the stomach. “Please don’t do that again. You slept for 16 hours after that.” he sighed in amusement and worry. “Spence...I think I found something...” I muttered, carefully taking the paper and putting it on a different glass dish, where I carefully opened it with the help of tweezers. “What is it?!” he asked quickly, filled with curiosity. “Uhmm...Darling...This looks like an ominous death threat and a meeting arrangement...A-And the same tattoo design is drawn here...I’ve had my fair share of creepy encounters in my life, but this tops it all, I think. She was forced to swallow this paper...That means they knew she was going to be discovered and used for an autopsy...But who is supposed to see this...?” I rant my ideas, while Spencer was silent, and yet, there was a dark atmosphere taking over the both of us. “Spencer...?” I asked in a soft voice, feeling anxious. “I think you should get out of there...Now.” Spencer spoke seriously, but just as he said that, somewhere outside my lab, I could hear a very faint sound. “Spencer...I-I think there’s someone here...And I don’t think they’re nice people. I have nowhere to hide or escape. What should I do?” I asked in a shushed voice, not sure what to do. “Hide the paper back in the stomach and pretend you don’t know anything. We’ll be coming for you shortly...Please, please, please, Y/N, stay safe. I can’t stand the idea of you...I...I can’t even say it. Also...Don’t forget what we talked about before.” his voice was restless as I could hear him talking to his co-workers. “Honey...I’ll put you on mute, just in case something happens. You can hear what’s being spoken, but nobody will hear what you say, so you can discuss with your colleagues.” I explain, biting my lip. “Y/N...I love you. Please be safe.” I heard his worried voice, as sweet as usual, making me smile even despite the fear I harboured in my heart. “I love you too, darling.” I muttered, before muting the phone and putting it in my lab pocket.

I put the headphones around my neck as to not arouse too much suspicion, anxiety surging through my veins, until finally, the door was kicked open, revealing a huge, burly man, smirking down at me...So here I had to start acting.

“U-Uhmm...H-Hello...?” I asked, my voice trembling with fear, not able to look up at him. “Ahh, who’d have thought! Such a lil’ missy taking care of my girlfriend’s dead body! That’s perfect, I wouldn’t have wanted some sleezy ol’ man touching my girlfriend, or...Seeing her tits hanging to the side like that.” he grinned darkly, making me gulp in fear. “So, uhm...Wh-What can I do for you...?” I squeaked like a mouse, not able to look anywhere but down. “You could start by continuing the autopsy. I’m sure you’ll find something rather interesting that would be valuable for me.” he smirked, going to lean on a desk, motioning for me to continue my work. “O-Okay...” I nodded vigurously as I hurried to do my job.

Just then, his phone rang and speaking to it, I had to strain my hearing to try to pick up and understand what the person on the other end was saying, and thankfully enough, I could understand what they wanted to do:

Find the paper and kill the witness.

I started breathing heavily, biting my lip, feeling how my heart was going into tachycardia as I started having a flashback to a conversation I had with Spencer over a year ago, just a few months after we got together.

-----

“Honey, it’s going to be okay! You did nothing wrong! You did everything you could to survive and make sure the mission is a success. Please don’t blame yourself.” I hugged him tightly, stroking his hair to sooth him. “But Y/N...I killed someone. I did. With my own hands. I pulled the trigger. I robbed someone of their life...” he sighed, closing his eyes. “You killed someone who robbed so many others of their lives! He was a criminal, he would have tortured and killed again! Better dead than a fugitive! And think of the victims’ families, you gave them a certain kind of closure by catching the culprit!” I reassured him, kissing his forehead softly. “...You want to say something more, don’t you? Why are you holding back?” he asked, raising his gaze to look at me. “I...It’s...It’s selfish. You shouldn’t hear it now.” I looked down, biting my lip in shame. “Please tell me, Y/N. I want to know what’s on your heart. I want to know you.” he put his hands on my face as if I was the one needing reassurance. “Spencer...If anything...I-I want you to live...For me...No matter what happens out there, I don’t want to lose you. I know it’s dangerous out there, but...But...I don’t want the only person I’ve ever loved in my life to be taken away from me. I-I don’t know what I’d do...” I bit my lip harder, trying not to imagine such a fatalist scenario. “I understand...I feel the same way, Y/N. So why don’t we promise each other something? That way, you won’t have to be afraid of being selfish. We’ll both be selfish.” I could see the glint of mischief in his eyes. “What is it...?” I asked in a shushed voice, as he pulled me to his chest. “If anything happens, you have to live. If I promise to kill in self-defense, so should you. I don’t want to lose you either, but with the work I’m doing, no matter how private I am, I’m afraid that someone might come after you. So if anything happens...You know what to do. I know you swore a vow to never harm a living person, but that is thrown out of the window once that person tries to kill you. What do you say?” he spoke seriously, as I’ve never seen him before - He was still afraid, desperate. “Is that...Really...Okay? I’m not in the law enforcement...I don’t want to go to jail...” my bottom lip trembled in slight fear. “Self-defense will never get behind bars. Trust me, I know the laws inside out better than I know my own house.” he explained with a soft smile. “Okay...Okay, Spencer...We’ll be okay. We have to be.” I nodded, putting my forehead to his, staying like that for a while as we both tried to calm down.

-----

“Didja find anythin’, girly?” the man asked in a rough, aggressive voice, and I suddenly got an idea on how to escape. “Y-Yes, I found this paper, but it’s bloody and I have to clean it up to see if there’s anything on it. It won’t take too long, I promise.” I explained, showing him the paper with my tweezers, and he only nodded, watching me like a hawk.

I put a few water droplets with the pipette after neatly stretching the paper on a glass plate, putting it under the microscope and trying to catch the right angle where the ink would be rather stained from the blood and water I messed it up with.

“Uhm...There’s something written on it, but I can’t quite understand the writing. Normally, I’d take a picture and send it to the police where they have people special for that, but I’m pretty sure you don’t want that. Maybe you can understand the writing style?” I explain, stepping away from the microscope and motioning for him to step in. “Can’t even read some words...” he grumbled in anger as he bent down, looking around with the microscope, visibly frowning. “That’s such a messy writing...What the hell did he do with that hand of his...?” he groaned, as I slowly took out the scalpel from my lab coat. “Who knows...?” I ushered, plunging the scalpel in his carotid artery, hearing him scream bloody murder, as I screwed the blade around, doing more damage, his blood gushing away like a fountain. “Wh-What.......?” was the last thing he could stutter as he fell down on the ground and it took everything I had not to stand there and stare at what I had just done.

I have to save myself, not stare at life slipping out of him. I carefully changed the scalpel blade and put a knife in his hand, before leaving the room, only to be met by 2 goonies who were definitely of his gang.

“H-Hey, are you with that guy?! He just injured himself! I can’t save him by myself, you have to help me!” I cried out in desperation, praying they will be fooled by my act. “Ehhhh?! That idiot got himself injured? Let’s go check it out.” the one of the left patted the one on the right on the shoulder, before going to check it out. “It’s serious, we have to do something!” I said as I slowly took out the keys from my lab coat and locked them there, as they were too busy checking his body. “YOU BLOODY WHORE, WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING?!” they roared, as I ran out of there, to the elevator, continuing to lock all doors behind me, as I unmuted Spencer. “In 2 minutes I’ll be outside. Where are you?” I asked, panting, trying to keep myself down. “We’re almost there, don’t worry. As soon as you leave the building, go down the street to your left. We’re getting out of the car and walking towards you, so we won’t attract too much attention to you.” he explained, and I could only nod, barely remembering he can’t actually see it. “Don’t know how I won’t attract attention when I have blood all over me.” I mumbled, stepping out into the open. “Did he...?” he trailed on, not wanting to say it out loud. “Yeah...He’s dead. And I locked the 2 other goonies inside. I just hope there’s no one else.” I took a deep breath, rushing down the street, and thankfully enough, I could see a 2 people coming my way, one of them being my beautiful chestnut haired boyfriend.

Unfortunately, just as I thought everything was okay, I feel myself being grabbed from behind in a choke hold, something cold pressed to my temple -

It was a gun.

As tears started welling up in my eyes and I could barely stop myself from shedding them, I could see Hotch extending his arm in front of Spencer, so he wouldn’t do anything stupid and that he’ll handle it.

All I could do was look at Spencer while my sight remained blurry and my body was trembling like a leaf - I had no idea what to do, how to react, all I knew was that I was afraid and I had a scalpel in my pocket.

As Hotch tried to negotiate with the criminal, the man got pissed off, pushing me behind him as he started trashing his gun arm left and right.

That’s when I knew I had to act. I couldn’t have anyone accidentally or intentionally hurting my Spencer...

I threw my arms over his gun one from the side, pulling it backwards, away from the 2, one hand over the gun, while the other stabbed the man’s inner wrist, easily destroying the veins.

Thankfully, this gave Hotch the opportunity to shoot the man before he could do anything bad, and not before long...The enemy fell to the ground with an empty expression.

I quickly kicked the gun away, crouching down to make sure he’s really dead, and when I confirmed it, I got up, shakily stepping backwards, the scalpel falling from my hands as I tried to get myself back together.

“It’s over now, sweetheart. It’s over. You’re here, with me, nobody will hurt you again.” I felt Spencer hug me tightly, and the warmth and emotions behind it made me start crying from the shock, panic and fear that I felt. “I-I was so scared...” I managed to stammer over my words, as my lovely boyfriend put his hands on my face, tilting it up so I could see him, my eyes staring into his. “I know, darling, I know. We can go back home now, it’s okay.” he tried to reassure me, but Hotch came over. “Before you go home, I need you to tell us what you know from the autopsy. I’m sorry to stress you out after going through such a traumatic experience, but we need to catch the criminals.” the man said, and seeing Spencer frowning in protest, I sighed, resting my head on his shoulder. “It’s okay, I understand. Let’s go. I’ll be okay.” I managed to mutter.

Spencer put his arm around me, kissing my temple as we went to his workplace, and sure, seeing his colleagues all at once was rather overwhelming, but my sweetheart easily handled everything and put a blanket over my shoulder, pulling me to his chest to calm me down, while I explained everything in detail.

While everyone was working on the case, two blonde girls that I found out were Penelope and J.J. and they were sweet enough to try to calm me down by chatting with me.

“So how did you and Spencer meet? You look so cute together!” Penelope asked, grinning from ear to ear. “A while ago, at a cafe. There were no empty seats and the waitress asked me if he could stay there, as he’s a regular, so of course, I said why not.” I smiled softly, holding his hand, our finger intertwining. “She was reading Lord Of The Rings, when she got a phone call from her boss and she got out her case files from the morgue and started explaining all the details.” he stroked my hair soothingly. “And then you took a look at the pictures and randomly started giving your theories and we managed to solve the case together.” I chuckled weakly, my smile growing wider. “Awwwwww, that’s so cute!!” she chirped. “When is the marriage?! Can I be a bridesmaid?!” she continued, making the both of us blush and hide our faces in embarrassment. “Garcia, be gentle with them! They’re soft!” J.J. grinned, nudging her with her elbow. “Who’d have thought that Genius Boy is such a Lover Boy? Sugar Plum Fairy~! And what’s her nickname? Now I’m curious!” Garcia leaned closer to us. “...Sleeping Beauty...I like to sleep...A lot...” I muttered, feeling my cheeks warmer than before. “And you like to be woken up with a kiss~?” she continued to tease us. “..........Yes.” I managed to whisper, hiding my face in the blanket. “When will I find someone as sweet as Lover Boy?! You’re just SO cute together!” she hyped us up, and we could only sigh and look at each other with a smile. “Okay, okay, we’ve done our job, let’s give them some privacy. We’ll come back to tell you when you can go home. Oh, by the way, Spencer...I’m pretty sure I heard them talk about giving you a week off or something. You’ve worked hard for us, you deserve it, especially now after everything you’ve been through.” J.J. smiled down at us, putting her arm around Garcia, guiding her fangirling self out of the office. “Well, hear that, I have vacation. Where do you want to go?” he kissed my lips gently, looking at me with a tender look. “We’ll think of something. The seaside, the mountains...We have time for everything.” I grinned softly, cuddling closer to him. “I love you, Spencer.” “Yeah, we have all the time in the world. I’m so glad you’re safe...I’m sorry you had to go through all that, but I’m so glad nothing happened to you. I love you so much, my Sleeping Beauty.” he kissed me once again, just as sweetly as before. “I would never leave my Sugar Plum Fairy alone.” I gazed at him lovingly, before settling for a comfortable silence, waiting to go home.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagine #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds imagine #penelope garcia #J.J.#aaron hotchner #BAU #FBI

257 notes · View notes

friendlylocalwhumper · 4 years

Text

six and a half hours

It’s a long, slow process, Lux being broken down. Emory’s seen all the different stages of it. He’s seen the beginning, when discomfort builds up until Lux starts to get overwhelmed, grows restless. He’s seen loud, messy sobs wracking Lux’s body as he reeled in the aftermath of being hurt, his mind lost in a mess of grief and horror and shame. Over enough years with Lux he’s seen it all.

Now, though, he’s being forced to see it all at once, in order, the whole process. They’re at the point, now, where Lux is taking quick shaky breaths, pinned between hands and the table, a knife pressing into his abdomen. Lux is making soft panicky sounds. Those are the sounds he makes when he’s been pushed past his limits, when he’s in so much pain that he can’t process it all. When he’s scared, when he knows there’s no way out, and he’s going to scream soon.

Not the yell that comes with sudden pain - no, he’s already let out a few of those. The kind of screaming that’s coming is the kind that makes Emory want to crawl into a small dark space and hide from the world. It’s a sound that hurts his heart, makes everything feel hopeless and pointless because that’s how Lux feels. It’s such a raw sound, so rich in distress. Emory’s skin crawls in horrified anticipation.

There’s blood on the floor, dripping from the edges of the table. Not a crazy amount, not spilling and splashing, just falling in fat drops to plop into little puddles below. Dried blood cracks along Lux’s side from the first cuts hours ago. There’s so much blood on his chest, pooling at his navel, that the man with the knife has to take a cloth and wipe it away to see where to push the knife in next.

There’s a diagram on a laminated piece of paper at Lux’s side. A diagram of a body, and lines drawn along it. Smaller diagrams along the side and in the corners that go into more detail about how to cut, what to do once incisions are made.

He’s experimenting on warlocks. Lux shuddered when they were told that, when he was first being strapped down - said something about a lab, and an angel, and that he couldn’t do this again.

There are still things Lux hasn’t told Emory, ways he’s been hurt, but that sounds like a big thing to keep secret.

There’s a clock on the wall in stopwatch mode. The seconds flick by, milliseconds running tirelessly, as they pass into the fifth hour. The pleading stopped before the first hour was up.

The thing is, Emory can tell Lux has accepted this. He was being hurt in the mindfucker’s cellar for a year - and thinking on that for any longer than in passing yields some awful realizations. Like that if Lux was chained up long enough for his shoulders to be as bad as they are now, then he must have been kept chained up even when he was asleep, not even able to lie down. And how he perks up, scarcely breathing, when a door opens or someone approaches unexpectedly, as if an echo of when he must have waited all day only for the cellar door to open, his torturer finally in the mood to hurt him again.

So he was in that place for a year, being hurt at someone else’s whims, in their house, on their time. That probably means every day, every day for a year, he had to lie pinned or sit restrained or hang from chains, withstanding whatever was done to him. His mind must have gone places, his thoughts must have been on a short loop of pain, half a thought interrupted by a flinch, pain again.

The sixth hour comes. It’s terrible, but Emory is bored. Still horrified, still devastated and angry and worried, but bored. His arms are getting sore from the ziptie keeping his wrists together behind his back, and his legs are numb from staying kneeling. He’d stretch if his ankles weren’t tied together too, and a tie looped between his wrists and ankles to keep him sitting like he is. His knees hurt, and his neck is stiff.

Lux is lethargic, nearly passing out here and there only for his expression to crumple and a whine to escape him as the knife is pressed in harshly to startle him back into awareness. There’s no screaming, and no more pleading. Emory is probably the worst person in the world for this, but he almost wants it to be over more for his own sake than for Lux’s. Almost.

He shouldn’t need the reminder. He shouldn’t be bored, shouldn’t be mentally listing all the ways in which he himself is having a less than comfortable time. But a shuddering gasp comes out of Lux, new enough to catch Em’s attention, and then there’s that scream. The one that makes Emory want to curl up and hide. It took - he glances at the clock, blanches - took six and a half hours to get that scream out of Lux. Just enough pain, enough time spent pinned and struggling to cope, enough exhaustion and overstimulation in the form of being sliced into.

The pleading has returned, too. Screams and choked-out sobs and no, no, no no please, s-s-stop I can’t, please no more I can’t I can’t, ple-e-ease sto-op!

Emory shudders. The knife trails up to Lux’s throat, the point tapped against the underside of his chin. “I can make you quiet for good, you know,” Says the man with hands drenched in blood, and Lux keens, the begging dying out again. His limit, his hard limit, has been reached. There’s something like madness in those teary blue eyes. Deep, desperate need for it to end, and the conviction to do something about it.

A faint glow comes to Lux’s palm, out of the torturer’s line of sight. Emory stares in shock. If Lux hasn’t used his magic by now, it’s because it’s not safe to, there’s something Emory doesn’t know that’s kept him docile. And besides, Lux’s instinct when pushed past his limits isn’t to fight, it’s to break, to show he’s broken, to crumble and obey.

And yet the magic works, grows brighter in his hand as the knife drags along his skin again, opening maybe the last scar left healed closed on his whole front. The knife presses in again, somehow not tearing open anything inside that’ll kill Lux in the next few hours - bloody fingerprints smudge the diagrams as the man keeps true to their guidance - and then the knife is out, its bloody tip pressed lightly to Lux’s cheek, the man above him letting out a sigh.

“I’ve learned all I could without causing damage that’ll kill you. Guess it’s time to let you and your man go.”

The magic flickers out in an instant. “Le-et… let us go?” Voice small and rough from hours of tension and pain noises, Lux watches with wide eyes as the man unlocks each restraint.

“Yes. I’ve learned all I could. Followed my template here, didn’t find anything much. Hmm, maybe I should stitch you up, this is a lot of blood.” A hand presses to Lux’s sternum to discourage the warlock’s attempt to push himself up.

“Nnh, I, m-most of it’s dried, I can - do it m’self, please let, let us go n-now.”

Wrists and ankles free, all Lux has to do to get out is convince the uncertain man above him. It must be his eyes that do it, big and sad. He didn’t fight very hard, didn’t lose his mind screaming or anything. He’s as good a victim as a sick fuck could hope for.

The hand leaves Lux’s chest to slip around under him and help him up. Two hands grip onto his shoulders to keep him from swaying so hard he topples to the floor. Lux is released to stumble across the room to Emory; the man follows to crouch beside Em and cut open the zip ties.

And then it’s done. Dizzy, Lux clings to Emory, eyes empty with a kind of shock at being allowed to go. Blood sizzles and pops as the man pours something onto it from a bottle, sponges and a mop bucket getting pulled out to clean up. Emory has to stop walking, face twisted up, to let the pins-and-needles feeling that comes after resting his weight on numb legs. Poor Lux, pale and barely keeping himself conscious, holds a trembling hand over the area of his stomach with the most concentrated stab wounds.

“I’m sorry,” Gasps Emory as they start walking again before the pins-and-needles sensation is completely gone. He knows he’s wasting time, being selfish. He got bored while Lux was being tortured. “I’m sorry, Curls. Let me carry you.”

Each step Lux takes is punctuated by a soft whimper. He shouldn’t be up on his feet, shouldn’t - this is so fucked up, all of this - he’s been brushed off, sent to stumble away from where he was strapped down and cut into for six and a half hours. What the hell is that?

With all the blood, all the times that knife dipped into Lux’s body, Emory is so glad that the man had diagrams and patience and a plan to let them go. There’s no way Lux would be alive otherwise.

The warlock doesn’t protest the idea of being picked up. Maybe he’s on the verge of fainting; he seems to be drifting, now that he doesn’t have to focus to make sure he’ll get out of there alive. Emory scoops him up as smoothly as he can, cringing at the raw keen it draws out of his boyfriend.

“I’ve got you, it’s okay. Hurts to get picked up but now you don’t have to walk, isn’t that… better?” Emory’s words falter as he looks down to see Lux pass out, eyelids fluttering shut, breaths slowing, head flopping back. Lux’s whole front, chest and stomach, is an awful thing to see. Seeing it up close, Emory wonders how someone could stay awake for six hours while that was being done to them. That’s like, a quarter of a whole day. He walks, rolling his steps, starting to worry worse now that Lux is unconscious. Lux shouldn’t have to wake up, feel the pain of the stab wounds, and work up the courage to heal himself. No, Emory’s going to get ahold of a healer and let Lux wake up to a friend watching over him, fixing the damage, taking away the pain. After - he can’t even wrap his mind around it - after six hours of a knife pressing into him over and over again, Lux deserves to be taken care of.

#whump #drabble #mine #lux #emory #restrained #stabbed #knife #blood #pain #losing consciousness #guilty #bored #begging #i just wanted to make lux suffer long and slow #and make emory watch #torture

109 notes · View notes

kirk-spock-in-the-impala · 4 years

Text

Follow You Down (3 of 13)

CHAPTER 3: ESKEL

ON AO3 HERE

CW: Geralt’s headspace; hunting and field dressing of venison; subdrop

Story Summary:

Geralt was never supposed to survive the Trials. A submissive witcher was an abomination, an insult to the order of the world. He must never let anyone know his nature, must never accept a gentle touch or a kind word. It's too risky, too dangerous. He might slip up, and that would mean the end of everything.

But Jaskier refuses to keep to the script. After the boisterous (alluring), overly invasive (affectionate), and stupidly persistent (brave) Dominant walks into his life with bread in his pants, Geralt starts to think that maybe her could break this endless cycle of deprivation and pain. If only he could figure out how to deserve it.

CHAPTER 3: ESKEL

Approx 8,100 words under the cut

It took Geralt two weeks to fully heal from the cave in. He was functional on the third day after his injury, but only in the sense that he could press through the pain and function at the risk of worsening his injury. Jaskier had insisted Geralt refrain from hunting until he was completely healed despite his protests of functionality. The only way Jaskier had gotten Geralt to agree was by reminding him that if, due to his injury, he couldn’t perform at full capacity, Jaskier, Roach, or Potato might get hurt as a result. Taking a break to protect himself was unnecessary, but Geralt wouldn’t risk the safety of his travel companions.

And so, for two weeks Jaskier had played in inns from Brugge to Dorian, gathering crowds and coin in every nameless village along the way. Geralt had heard of a harpy problem on the sea cliffs outside Gors Velen, so they were heading in that direction, traveling slowly so as not to tire the horses needlessly while Geralt healed. If the harpy contract didn’t pan out, they could always head to Novigrad; there was never a shortage of contracts in a city that large.

Today, Geralt and Jaskier had pitched camp about half a day’s ride from Gors Velen. Geralt, finally healed and free from restriction, went off to hunt fresh game for their dinner while Jaskier set up camp and settled the horses. He hadn’t said as much, but his joy at being free to roam again was writ large in his eagerness to hunt, to provide for Jaskier properly again.

Geralt tracked a herd of deer through the woodlands just outside the border of Brokilon, careful to never stray within its bounds lest a volley of arrows from the dryad guards within end his life. The woodland buzzed with the sounds of mid-summer, cicadas chirping in the trees, rabbits bounding through the underbrush, and birds frantically hunting to feed their growing chicks. Geralt breathed deeply, enjoying the scents of warm grass, rich dirt, and blooming wild flowers.

He carefully followed the trail of the deer herd, walking soundlessly over the forest floor and keeping well downwind. He was patient, willing to take on a longer hunt for the greater reward venison would provide, pleased the long days afforded him the extra time.

As the shadows lengthened in the deepening afternoon, Geralt caught up to the herd where it rested alongside a small, bubbling brook. Geralt crouched in the shade of a large oak tree, unmoving, taking in the scene. The herd leader stood watch, nose raised into the wind, nostrils flaring to catch any possible scent. The does grazed around him, tails idly flicking flies away from their rumps. The fawns cavorted with each other, tumbling head over heels in the long grass as they chased each other about. Geralt scanned the herd for the most appropriate target, selecting an older doe with a cut down her leg. She was unlikely to survive the season with a wound like that. At least an arrow would be a quick death.

Geralt raised his crossbow, already loaded, and took careful aim. Vesemir had always taught him that he should only shoot when he was certain his arrow would strike true, ending the target’s life without pain. It would not do to cause needless suffering. Taking a deep breath and letting it out, steadying his aim as his lungs emptied and his arm stilled, Geralt loosed the arrow. It struck true.

The rest of the herd scattered at the sound of the shot, bounding off into the woods. Geralt rose, hooking the crossbow back onto his sword belt, and headed out in the clearing. When he reached the deer, he retrieved his arrow and flipped the carcass on its back to field dress it. Spreading the doe’s hind legs with his, he cut a long incision up her belly before carefully removing her organs and flipping the carcass back over to drain the blood. Out in the open like this, it was safer to dress the deer well away from their campsite to avoid attracting corpse eaters or scavengers.

As the doe drained, Geralt dug a deep, narrow hole in which to bury the deer’s organs and viscera so they wouldn’t attract necrophages or wolves that might harm passing travelers. Finally satisfied with the field dressing, Geralt bound the doe’s legs together, one binding for each pair, front and back, and lifted the carcass up onto his shoulders for the trek back to camp.

He smiled to himself as he thought of Jaskier’s pleased reaction to the bounty. With a haul this good, they would eat well for at least a couple weeks. They had plenty of salt to cure the meat and could smoke it dry overnight to preserve it as jerky for the road ahead. The deer hide should even fetch a decent price at the market in Gors Velen.

Geralt knew he wasn’t the best travel companion – or even a passable one most days – but he did his best to compensate for his many failings by keeping Jaskier safe and well fed on the road. After two weeks of uselessness, of burdening Jaskier with his care, the least he could do was replenish their meat stores and ensure Jaskier didn’t go hungry.

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

It was dusk by the time Geralt returned to camp with the doe. Jaskier had already prepared a fire and a smoking rack in anticipation of Geralt’s success and he was delighted at the prospect of a good venison stew and the opportunity to replenish their stores with fresh jerky.

As Jaskier prepared the stew pot, Geralt skinned the deer and prepared the best cuts for the stew, dumping the chunks into the pot with the root vegetables and herbs Jaskier had already prepared. While the stew cooked, Geralt cut the remaining venison into thin, even strips, handing each to Jaskier to salt and lay out on the smoking rack to dry.

The smell was mouthwatering and Geralt’s stomach rumbled in anticipation. Jaskier chuckled at the sound, casting Geralt a fond look over the fire as they worked. Geralt’s appetite was formidable when he allowed himself to eat his fill. Jaskier planned on encouraging him to do just that while they had such abundance.

Suddenly, the wind shifted and Geralt caught a new scent in the air. He froze, bloody hand raised partway toward clasping his sword hilt, head tilted to the side as he listened hard and scented the air. Jaskier stopped his work, watching Geralt with concern.

“Geralt?” He asked quietly, “what is it?”

Geralt’s eyes narrowed in concentration, focusing completely on the new scent and sounds. “Someone’s coming.” He said.

As the person grew closer, their scent became clear and Geralt abruptly relaxed, face breaking out in an unrestrained grin as he leapt to his feet.

“It’s Eskel!” He exclaimed, shooting Jaskier a delighted grin before bounding off into the woods.

Geralt tore through the underbrush making no attempt to hide his approach. It wouldn’t do to surprise another witcher, though he had no doubt Eskel had already caught wind of them. Within moments, Geralt caught sight of Eskel and jogged up to him, Eskel welcoming him with a strong embrace.

“Geralt! What a pleasant surprise.” Eskel said, grinning down at Geralt. Eskel had a few inches on Geralt in all directions, bulky where Geralt was lean. His dark hair was cut short and a thick, ropy scar cut across his handsome face from his right ear to the corner of his mouth. His tattoo was exposed below the elbow under his rolled-up sleeves, thick Dominant mark on full display within the intricate design. He was leading a black mare laden with his packs, a calm look in her intelligent eyes.

“Eskel, it’s good to see you.” Geralt said happily, nudging his head under Eskel’s chin, greeting him as a brother. “You look well. What are you doing this far north?” Eskel usually stayed in the Southern Kingdoms outside of winter, so it was unusual to run into his brother this far into the Northern Kingdoms’ realm.

Eskel ruffled Geralt’s hair affectionately before wrapping an arm around his shoulders as they started walking back toward the camp. “I received word of a valuable contract for a harpy nest in Gors Velen from one of my recent contractors. I was already near the coast, albeit much farther South, so I decided to take a detour from my usual haunts and get a break from the summer heat.” He gave Geralt a rough, playful squeeze before releasing him. “And you, Geralt? What brings you here?”

“Same contract, it seems.” Geralt frowned, looking down and away before continuing. “I was slow hunting a kikimora swarm and got caught in a cave in. Took me two fucking weeks to recover. Jaskier wouldn’t let me hunt so he had to support us.” Geralt’s shoulders tensed, anticipating Eskel’s reaction. He knew he fucked up and he wouldn’t hide it from Eskel.

Eskel stopped, gently grabbing Geralt’s shoulder and turning Geralt to face him. He ran his hands up and down Geralt’s arms, scrutinizing him for injury. “And are you well now?”

Geralt nodded, still looking down.

“I’m glad you’re all right, those swarms can be vicious.” Eskel dropped his head and bumped his forehead against Geralt’s. “I bet you killed them with extreme prejudice.”

A small smile forced its way onto Geralt’s face. It was hard to hold onto his self-flagellation in the face of Eskel’s good nature. He always had been the steadiest and kindest of all of them. “Aye, crushed them all under a ton of rocks.”

Eskel barked a laugh, releasing Geralt so they could continue walking, knocking his shoulder into Geralt’s and shoving him slightly off the path. “They’re dead and you’re not, that’s all that matters.”

They walked in comfortable silence until they reached the camp, Jaskier jumping to his feet when they appeared, smiling brightly. He turned to Eskel, holding out his hand in open greeting. “I’m Jaskier. You must be Eskel. I’ve never seen Geralt so happy to see someone!”

Eskel took his hand, shaking it firmly. “Well met, Jaskier. I heard a lot about you over the winter.”

“Did you now?” Jaskier asked, eyeing Geralt, a pleased grin on his face. Geralt looked pointedly away, admitting nothing.

Jaskier grinned at him as he stepped back, gesturing to the pot and the stew bubbling over the fire. “Please, join us. Dinner is almost ready.”

Geralt took the reins from Eskel’s hand, waving him off to go sit down while he cared for the black mare, tying her to the line with Roach and Potato before removing her tack and dropping Eskel’s pack next to his.

Jaskier tasted the stew and declared it done, pulling over the bowls he’d laid out earlier for their meal. “Geralt, please grab another bowl while you’re there.” Geralt opened the right pack and pulled out their extra bowl and spoon, wordlessly handing them to Jaskier.

Jaskier’s nose wrinkled as he caught sight of the deer blood still staining Geralt’s hands. “Go wash that off before you eat.” Jaskier directed, raising an eyebrow when Geralt started to protest. Geralt huffed but complied, heading off to the nearby stream to clean his hands before his meal.

Eskel watched the scene with a bemused smile, glad to see his first impression of Jaskier matched the stories Geralt had told over the winter at Kaer Morhen. Eskel had never agreed with Vesemir’s approach to Geralt’s submissive nature, finding it cruel to deny him relief for so long, but he didn’t have a good alternative to suggest that wouldn’t put Geralt at risk given that there were too few witchers for a pair of them to travel together. Witchers were feared and reviled enough as it was without giving potential attackers the idea to use a Dominant’s Voice to subdue a submissive witcher alone on the Path. The outcome of such an attack would be horrifying, if not deadly. But if Geralt had found himself a Dominant he could trust, and Jaskier certainly seemed a good man on first blush, Eskel would rest easier.

“It seems you have me at a disadvantage.” Jaskier said as he handed Eskel a full bowl of stew. “Geralt hasn’t told me anything about you beyond that you are a fellow witcher.”

Eskel took the stew with a nod of thanks, glad to have a hot meal he didn’t have to hunt and cook himself. “I’m not surprised, he’s not exactly the most forthcoming.”

Jaskier chuckled, shaking his head fondly. “For sure he isn’t. So, tell me about yourself. I would like to know more if you’re willing to share.”

Eskel sat back with his stew, speaking in between bites of the soft, fresh meat and tender vegetables. “Geralt and I were in the same training group at Kaer Morhen. We’re probably of an age, or close to it, though neither of us knows for sure how old we are exactly.”

Jaskier gave a sympathetic frown at that, but didn’t question it, knowing most witchers were Child Surprises. “We, along with Lambert, were among the few to survive the selection and the Trials. Geralt and I learned everything together, even if I did have to save his ass more often than not when we ran the training courses together around the Keep.” He said that last bit with a teasing grin on his face, hearing Geralt approach, pitching his voice to be sure Geralt caught every word.

“You saved me?” Geralt asked incredulously as he rejoined their circle around the fire, “have you lost your memory in your old age?” Geralt took the bowl Jaskier handed him, sitting down across the fire from Eskel, next to Jaskier. Jaskier just sat back and grinned, eating his dinner as he watched them bicker, delighted to see this more open side to his favorite witcher.

“Well, maybe we saved each other.” Eskel conceded, impish grin making his amber eyes dance with mirth.

Geralt huffed indignantly, rolling his eyes, but turned his focus to his meal rather than continuing, embarrassed to be to the focus of the conversation. “Tell me about the contract,” he said in an attempt to change the subject.

Eskel followed his lead. “It’s a harpy nest on the sea coast outside Gors Velen. I heard there are over thirty individuals in the nest and that they’ve caused well over a dozen deaths among passing travelers and sailors.”

Geralt frowned. “Unusual to see thirty in a nest.”

“Aye, I could use your help with this, if you’re willing.”

Geralt looked up in surprise. “You want to share the contract?”

Eskel nodded. “Thirty harpies on the sea cliffs doesn’t make for good odds and I’d rather not add myself to their list of victims.”

Geralt considered the offer for a moment before accepting. “Makes sense. Your magic will be helpful too. I fucking hate the ones that fly.”

Eskel chucked his spoon at him, his bowl empty, laughing as it bonked Geralt on the head. “Yeah, you never were good at catching.”

Geralt looked murderous, moving to place his bowl down and leap over the fire at Eskel, but Jaskier stopped him with a hand on his knee. “Eat your dinner first, then you can fight with your brother.” Geralt growled, but subsided, picking his bowl back up and finishing his meal, sulking. Eskel watched in amazement at how easily Geralt listened to Jaskier. He was certain now that Jaskier was Geralt’s Dominant.

When Jaskier looked away, he chucked the spoon back at Eskel. “I saw that.” Jaskier said, a note of warning in his tone. “Don’t waste food by letting it get cold. Eat.”

Geralt pulled a face, but settled, using Eskel’s thrown spoon to finish his serving and half of another before gathering the dishes and the pot and heading back to the stream to clean them while Jaskier banking the fire under the smoking rack for the night. As Jaskier worked, Eskel retrieved his bedroll, setting it up beside Geralt’s and removing his armor, piling it next to his pack.

When Eskel was certain Geralt was out of earshot, he spoke to Jaskier. “Thank you for taking care of him.”

Jaskier looked up from the fire, startled. “Whatever do you mean?”

“He looks happier than I’ve ever seen him since he started on his Path. You’re good for him. And I heard you kept him from hunting until he healed from his injuries, something I’ve never managed to do.” Eskel bowed his head to Jaskier. “You have my gratitude for your care of my brother.”

Jaskier flushed from the praise, uncertain how to respond to Eskel’s open display of emotion. “It is my pleasure to care for him. He’s very dear to me.” He finally said. He looked up at Eskel, smile slightly pained. “I only wish he’d let me do more.”

Eskel knew that feeling well. “Geralt has had to rely on himself all his life and he’s had to constantly hide himself from those who would hurt him. Given who and what he is, that’s most of the world, unfortunately. It’s hard for him to accept help, it always has been.” Eskel cocked his head, hearing Geralt approach. “But I think you’re just the person to get through to him. He deserves to be happy.”

“He does.” Jaskier agreed, “and I’ll do whatever I can to make him so.”

Eskel shushed him with a gesture, indicating Geralt had come back within earshot. He knew Geralt would not thank them for talking about him behind his back, no matter how well meant their words.

Geralt looked between the two of them suspiciously when he arrived back at the camp. Scowling, but without evidence to make any accusations, he repacked the pot and dishes, removed his boots, and settled on his bedroll. He glared at Eskel when he saw how he’d placed his bedroll between Geralt and the woods, protecting him by keeping him in the center of their camp with Jaskier on the other side of the campfire and Eskel at his back. But he didn’t protest or move his bedroll, not wanting to draw attention to what Eskel had done and make Jaskier suspicious as to his motivations. For all that he was glad to see Eskel again before winter, putting him in contact with Jaskier greatly increased the risk that Jaskier would discover his secret.

With the chores done, the three men settled in for the night, soothed to sleep by the good food and the soft, ambient noise of the summer forest.

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

Two days after their reunion, Geralt and Eskel lay on a cliff edge overlooking the harpy nest off to their south, well downwind of the strategizing witchers. Geralt had let Eskel pick up the contract – even on the rare occasion witchers worked together, they did not share that information with the Alderman and risk inviting doubt as to their abilities – while he settled the horses into the stables at the local inn. Jaskier procured them two rooms, as the innkeeper did not allow more than two adults per room, and left it up to Geralt to decide with whom he would bunk for the night. Jaskier had made it clear either choice was perfectly fine with him.

Jaskier was safely back at the inn having been sternly dissuaded by both witchers from following them on this hunt. The risk that a harpy from the massive nest would catch sight of him and carry him off was far too high. With such a large hoard expected, Geralt and Eskel would be hard-pressed to protect themselves, let alone Jaskier. Mollified by Eskel’s promise to tell him about the hunt afterwards and spare no detail, Jaskier stayed behind, planning to spend the day and night entertaining the locals at the tavern below the inn.

The harpy nest was almost two hours from Gors Velen on foot. Neither Geralt nor Eskel was willing to risk their mount to the harpies’ appetite, so Roach and Eskel’s black mare, Ember, were safely back at the inn’s stable with Potato, the old gelding delighted to be in the company of two fine mares.

Upon reaching the coast, Geralt and Eskel had stayed well upwind of the nest, choosing a vantage point for surveillance before plotting their attack. From their location, they could see the large cliffside cavern that was serving as the harpy’s nest. It overlooked a natural harbor, giving the harpies plenty of prey from the marine animals and unwitting sailors who came to rest in the harbor’s protected waters. To further boost their yields, the main trading route between Nilfgaard and Novigrad ran along the coast, giving the harpy nest an ample supply of travelers on whom to prey. According to the Alderman, the harpy nest had appeared two months ago and only grown from there. The high contract price was funded by both Novigrad and Gors Velen in the interest of a quick resolution.

“Seems the best angle is to approach from upwind and draw the nest away from the coast.” Geralt said, pointing out a shallow depression along the coastline. “If we can get them down in there, we shouldn’t have too much trouble.”

“Agreed. And once we clear out the flyers, we can toss a couple bombs down into the cavern to draw out any stragglers before we climb down there to destroy the nest itself.” Eskel said, adding a selection of bombs from his pack to the pouch tied to his belt.

Geralt did the same with his selection before loading his crossbow quiver and looping that onto his belt as well, priming the crossbow with a bolt and laying it gently on the grass as he downed two potions from his pack to bolster his abilities – Thunderbolt for attack power and Swallow for vitality.

Ready, he turned to Eskel. “Your Signs are stronger, so if I draw them out to the depression, can you knock them down with Aard? I’ll concentrate on taking them out once they’re grounded.”

Eskel nodded, giving his armor buckles a final check and swallowing his own potions – Petri's Philter to increase the power of his Signs and Tawny Owl to increase his stamina and allow him to cast more Signs for longer. Eskel was the most magically powerful of all the witchers and Geralt the most skilled with the blade, so it made sense to plan their attack to play to their strengths.

“Ready?” Eskel asked.

“Ready.”

They slunk down the coastline, keeping low and out of sight in the scrub brush, careful to mind the play of the wind. If it shifted, they would need to attack quickly to maintain the element of surprise.

Fortunately for them, the wind cooperated and they were able to reach the harpies’ nest undetected. While Eskel hid in the brush surrounding the small depression, Geralt darted between cover until he reached the harpy sentry situated on the far edge of the depression, facing out toward the ocean. Silently, he slit her throat, letting her body drop soundlessly to the sea grass below. He crept closer to the cliff’s edge, coming within sight of the second sentry posted on the cliffside itself. He drew his crossbow, embedding the loaded bolt into the harpy’s eye before she could make a sound, killing her instantly. Her body dropped hard into the mouth of the cave below, startling the nest and drawing the swarm out to investigate.

After shooting the second sentry, Geralt had immediately retreated back to the planned battleground, positioning himself in the center of the depression. He loaded another bolt in his crossbow, taking down the first harpy to come in range. Her sisters screamed, dive bombing him from all directions. He managed to shoot only one more before they descending on him. He switched to his silver sword, dropping the crossbow, the hybrid oil he’d rubbed into it lending him extra power against the harpies.

When most of the swarm was within the depression, Eskel burst out of the scrub brush, casting a powerful Aard sign that blew the harpies out of the air. His control was such that he was able to cast the Sign just above Geralt’s head, close enough that he felt the wind from the air displaced by the powerful blow without being affected by it. Harpies fell along around Geralt, stunned by the blast from Aard. Geralt quickly jumped into action, fitting his silver blade through the ribs of each fallen harpy and piercing her heart, Eskel doing the same behind him.

There were too many for them to dispatch before the stun wore off, and the surviving harpies, still at least fifteen, rose quickly back into the air, screaming and brandishing their long talons and sharp wings as they dove down around the two witchers.

Eskel and Geralt stood back to back, rotating as one so Eskel could knock the harpies down and Geralt could end their lives with a swift killing blow. They moved as if dancing, certain of the other’s steps without needing to look, a deadly whirl of magic and sharp silver.

Finally, the assault ceased. Eskel dropped his hands and Geralt let the point of his blade brush the ground. Both panted from exertion, lungs bellowing. As they caught their breath, keeping a wary eye on their surroundings, they crept toward the cliff’s edge, cautiously peering over the side toward the cave below. Harpies were crafty beasts and it was not beyond them to plot an ambush for their executioners.

Seeing nothing, Geralt stood back, sword ready, as Eskel lay on his stomach and tossed a series of bombs down into the cave mouth. As they exploded, outraged shrieks echoed from below as seven more harpies burst through the smoke and slammed into Geralt, bypassing the prostrate Eskel. They surrounded him on all sides, too low for Eskel to safely blast off with Aard and too close for Geralt to have time to cast any Signs of his own.

Eskel saw Geralt’s silver blade flash as a harpy’s body dropped back, blood spurting from her slashed neck. He leapt into the fray, his own sword taking the head off one harpy and the wing off another as he reached Geralt’s side, positioning them back to back again. From there, Eskel could safely cast Aard to throw the remaining four harpies out of the air, Geralt dealing a killing blow to each as Eskel watched for more, dispatching the one harpy who had fallen at his feet.

A slash from a talon cut across Geralt’s upper left arm, slowly dripping blood. Eskel gestured at it. “Serious?”

Geralt glanced down, grimacing at the injury caused by his carelessness. “No, just a scratch.”

Eskel nodded, trusting Geralt to let him know if his fighting abilities were impaired. Geralt may be dismissive of his own needs, but he wouldn’t put Eskel at risk by hiding any impediment to his usual prowess.

Together, they crept again toward the cliff edge and repeated the bomb tactic. This time, no harpies appeared. They waited again, listening hard. Silence.

One by one, starting with Eskel, they climbed down the cliff edge, dropping in the mouth of the cave. Each downed a Cat for visibility in the dark, the toxicity making their matched eyes go completely black. Eyesight boosted, they slowly worked their way through the cave, swords at the ready. They found the nest at the back of the relatively shallow cave system, human bones thick on the floor and blood splattered on the walls, but, thankfully, no more harpies. They dispatched the nest with a pair of grapeshot bombs and cast Igni to destroy it completely. It would do no good to clear out the occupants while leaving a perfect home ready to attract the next nest of harpies.

With a last check around the cave, they climbed back up to the top of the cliff and set about harvesting the corpses, collecting valuable alchemy ingredients and taking the tongue of each harpy as a trophy to prove the hunt complete. By the time they were done, they counted forty-seven harpies.

“I’ve never seen so many in one nest.” Eskel commented as they walked back to gather their packs from their surveillance post. “We’ll have to update the beastiary at Kaer Morhen and tell Vesemir about this over the winter. We don’t want Lambert or any of the other witchers surprised by the size of a nest.”

Eskel reached out and ruffled Geralt’s hair as they walked. “Without you here too, I doubt I would have survived this. Thank you.”

Geralt looked up at him from under Eskel’s hand before shoving it off. “You would’ve been fine. You’re practically a mage with all that power.” Geralt tried to ignore the throbbing in his left arm. He was the one who got careless and let a harpy cut him. Jaskier would fuss now when they returned, focusing on him when he should be free to play and enjoy the company of other softer, better submissives who deserved his careful attentions for the evening.

Eskel elbowed him, shoving him over to the left. “I know you, Geralt. I can practically hear you berating yourself for that cut.” Geralt looked away but didn’t respond. “The only reason I was able to cast so effectively was because you drew them off. It’s my fault you got swarmed and that harpy had a chance to slash you – I should have been better prepared to cast them down when they came over the cliff edge.”

Geralt looked up at that, protesting immediately. “But you had to lean over the cliff to throw the bombs, you couldn’t have gotten up any faster.”

“And you were ready for them so you can’t be blamed for one harpy in seven getting in a lucky hit when you were swarmed. I’m only glad you weren’t seriously hurt.” Eskel said, drawing Geralt close with an arm around his shoulders, careful not to brush the long scrape.

Geralt huffed, but let it drop as they reached the spot where they’d left their packs, knowing Eskel would never see his failure clearly. He was far too fond of Geralt for that, for reasons Geralt would never understand. As they started the long walk back to Gors Velen, trophies in hand, Geralt could only hope that Jaskier would be too distracted – by the crowd, by a pretty submissive, or by Eskel’s company – to notice Geralt’s wound.

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

Geralt’s wish was granted. By the time they returned to Gors Velen and Eskel traded the trophies for the contract price with the unusually grateful Alderman, Jaskier had finished his performance and had left word with the innkeeper for them that he had already retired to bed. The innkeeper implied he’d retired alone, but Geralt doubted it. Jaskier was a rare type of Dominant and he attracted favorable, well-deserved attention wherever he went. Geralt pushed down the pang of jealously that thought caused. He should be grateful for Jaskier’s company. He would never, could never, have the right to even hope for more.

Using his unwillingness to wake Jaskier this late as a cover for his real reasons – not wanting to cause Jaskier undue upset over his injury or risk seeing another submissive in his bed – Geralt followed Eskel back to his room, grateful he’d thought ahead to leave his packs in there for after the hunt.

When they reached the small room, they saw Jaskier must have arranged for a bath for them before he retired. A small, wooden tub sat before the fire, half-filled with cool water, with a large cauldron over the fire full of hot water waiting to be used. Between the two of them, they easily lifted the cauldron and filled the bath completely. Eskel cast a controlled Igni to add a little more heat, satisfied when the water was just shy of scalding.

Geralt gestured for Eskel to take the first bath and Eskel didn’t argue, stripping off his armor and settling back into the steaming water. Geralt tossed the wash cloth at his head from behind before carefully placing the wash basin with the soap fragment next to the tub. Soap was too precious to risk wasting.

Eskel, unlike Geralt, didn’t enjoy long soaks, so he quickly scrubbed himself down while Geralt removed and cleaned his own armor. Finished, he dried off and left the bath to Geralt before turning his attention to cleaning and oiling his gear.

Geralt stripped, dropping his dirty clothes with Eskel’s beside the tub to wash later, sinking into the steaming water with a satisfied groan, closing his eyes and letting his head rest on the back edge of the tub.

“Hedonist.” Eskel teased, grinning over at Geralt.

Geralt made an obscene gesture at him without opening his eyes, comfortable letting his guard down under the watchful protection of his brother. Eskel wouldn’t let anything happen to him while he bathed. Not that Jaskier would either, but Jaskier was unpredictable in other ways. He might decide to try helping Geralt with his hair or offer to scrub his back, things Geralt wanted almost as strongly as he rejected those offers. Eskel knew better than to offer things Geralt shouldn’t have.

Eventually, the water cooled and Geralt finished his bath, cleaning himself thoroughly to remove the characteristic stink of harpy, paying careful attention to the slash down his left arm. It wasn’t deep and would heal well on its own as long as made sure to clean it properly.

Finished, he stepped out of the bath, dried off, and dropped his and Eskel’s dirty clothes in the bath, scrubbing at any stubborn stains before leaving them to soak.

He redressed in his spare outfit, pulling on only the loose pants and linen shirt for now, finger combing his long hair before leaving it to air dry. Once he was dressed, he removed the laundry from the bath and started to wring out the clothes, Eskel joining him to help. They hung the wet clothes on the line by the fire, kindly provided by the innkeeper. It was a familiar routine for them, sharing baths and chores in a small room by the fire, much like their housing at Kaer Morhen. While the Keep had a laundry for the larger items, each trainee was expected to wash, mend, and maintain his own clothing and armor. As Eskel and Geralt had been roommates, they frequently shared these chores, with Geralt taking on the mending and Eskel the bulk of the washing, as was their preference.

Tasks complete, Eskel grabbed a small book from his pack, a precious resource for one who loved to read as much as he, and settled on the edge of the bed to read by the candlelight. Geralt went to check on Jaskier and, hearing nothing but his soft breathing through the door, returned to Eskel’s room for the night. Jaskier was safe and Geralt would not disturb his rest.

Exhaustion pulled at Geralt, both from the fight and from the strain of nearly six months without a drop. Soothed by his brother’s easy, familiar presence, Geralt let some of his usual control slip, allowing a soft expression to come to his face, limbs loose and gait relaxed. Seeing Eskel sitting on the side of the bed in that familiar reading pose, Geralt joined him as he had many times in their youth, sinking to his knees beside his brother and resting his head on Eskel’s thigh. Warmth immediately flooded him as the first tendrils of subspace cossetted him, easing the ache of long deprivation.

Eskel placed a gentle hand on his head, seeing the vaguely unfocused look in Geralt’s eyes. “You shouldn’t do that here, Geralt.” He said softly, looking down on his brother with only kindness in his amber gaze.

Geralt felt as if a bucket of ice water had been thrown over him. Pulled roughly from his relaxed drift, his heartrate skyrocketed as a cold weight settled in his chest. He shoved himself back and away from Eskel, sprawling on the floor and staring up at him, stricken. He should have controlled himself better. He shouldn’t have put Eskel in the position to need to remind him of his place. Shame washed over him and his vision blackened at the edges from the rapid drop.

Eskel looked startled by the violent reaction, immediately reaching out to Geralt to soothe him, but Geralt flinched away. “Easy, Geralt.” He said, attempting to calm him. “I’ll get Jaskier for you and all will be well.”

Geralt looked up at him in anguished confusion. Why the fuck would he get Jaskier? If Jaskier saw him like this, he might suspect the truth and then Geralt could never travel with him again. Geralt shook his head vehemently, incapable of speech, reaching out to stop Eskel.

Eskel turned back from the door and crouched in front of Geralt, lowering his head to force Geralt to meet his eyes. “You don’t want me to get Jaskier?” He asked in disbelief. He couldn’t understand why Geralt wouldn’t want his Dominant to help him.

Geralt shook his head, panic joining the shame and making his breathing come in short, quick pants, his pupils blown.

“All right, I won’t get him.” Eskel reassured, horrified with himself for having forced Geralt into such a violent subdrop. He had the sinking feeling he had read Geralt and Jaskier’s relationship all wrong and hurt Geralt as a result.

Eskel added a hint of his Dominant Voice into his speech in an attempt to help Geralt get his breathing back under control by speaking directly to his subconscious. “Match my breathing now, Geralt. In and out, nice and easy.”

Geralt responded to Eskel’s familiar Voice through his panic and the cold haze caused by the subdrop, doing his best to match Eskel’s breathing. Eskel slowly, carefully reached out and took Geralt’s hand, holding it onto his chest to help Geralt feel the even rhythm of his breath, praising him for each deeper breath he took. After what felt like an age, Geralt’s breathing steadied, matching Eskel’s example.

With his breathing under control again, Eskel encouraged Geralt to move from the floor to the bed, positioning them so they sat side by side, backs resting against the wall, Geralt’s head cushioned on Eskel’s shoulder. They had spent many nights together like that as children while they recovered from the brutal abuses heaped upon their young bodies in the Trials. The familiar pose comforted them both.

When Eskel felt Geralt stop shaking and slump fully onto his shoulder, exhausted by the drop, he spoke. “Jaskier isn’t your Dom, is he?”

Geralt shook his head, speech still beyond him. He knew he should move, that he shouldn’t lean on Eskel like this, but he couldn’t find the strength. The cold feeling in his chest made his bones ache from the shame of his weakness, at how he’d given in to his base instincts at the first opportunity, forcing Eskel to take care of him instead of waiting for his scheduled drop like he knew he should.

Eskel closed his eyes, internally berating himself for making assumptions. “Forgive me, Geralt. I shouldn’t have assumed. I should have trusted you to know what you need and asked you about Jaskier before correcting you without cause.”

Geralt forced himself to speak, sitting up and moving away from Eskel’s warm hold, unwilling to let him blame himself for Geralt’s failings.

“No, I shouldn’t have done that. Vesemir taught me better.”

Eskel’s expression was pained. “I’m not sure Vesemir is right. If there’s a trustworthy Dom who can help you during the year, there’s no reason you should have to suffer like this.”

Geralt shook his head, turning away from Eskel and his words.

Eskel persisted. “From what I’ve seen of him and how much he cares for you, I’m sure Jaskier can be trusted with this. I can’t imagine he would betray you.” Eskel said gently.

“It’s not that.” Geralt said to the wall.

“Then what is it?”

“It’s not his duty to take care of me.” Geralt said flatly.

Eskel frowned. “But what if he wants to?”

Geralt curled in on himself, misery pouring off him in waves. “I can’t do that to him. He would feel obliged to take care of me if he knew, but he deserves better. He deserves a real submissive who’s soft and gentle and everything I’m not. A house on a hill with a family, a dog, servants, the whole deal. Not walking the Path with me.”

Eskel’s heart ached for his brother. He had seen how the trainers’ actions, how Vesemir’s scheduled drops, had changed Geralt over the past decades. He’d been a bright, happy child, even throughout their training. But the strain of nearly a century of deprivation and the brutal, clinical drops Vesemir imposed on him to save his sanity had hardened him, convinced him that there was little more to life than pain and duty. That meeting his biological needs was a burden imposed upon Vesemir because no one else would deign to help him. Eskel suspected there was little, if any, aftercare provided in those sessions, leaving Geralt to suffer through a harsh subdrop alone each time. Eskel knew Vesemir did it out of care for Geralt in his own way, that he was calling on practices he’d learned as a young Dominant nearly four hundred years ago, but all the good intentions in the world didn’t spare Geralt the consequences.

“You should tell him. Let Jaskier make his own decision about what he wants from his life.” Eskel said finally, knowing it was futile to try and convince Geralt of his own worth. Or that Vesemir might have been wrong when he decided how Geralt’s submissive side should be handled.

“No!” Geralt said sharply, turning a harsh glare on Eskel. “And don’t you dare tell him either.”

Eskel held up his hands, appeasing. “I wouldn’t do that without your permission and you know it.” Eskel grinned, trying to lighten the mood. “After all, I still haven’t told Vesemir it was you who put the blackberry juice in his hair oil that one time.”

Geralt snorted a laugh in spite of himself at the memory of Vesemir’s purple striped hair. It had taken weeks for the color to fade. His expression relaxed and he leaned back against Eskel’s shoulder.

“I’m glad we ran into you, Eskel.” Geralt said, changing the subject. “Where will you go next?”

Eskel followed Geralt’s lead, sitting back and crossing his ankles, enjoying the warmth of his brother at his side. “Probably back south again. There’s plenty of work with all the unrest down in Nilfgaard. What about you?”

“Novigrad for now. Unless I hear of another contract along the way.”

“And then you’ll work your way back north?”

Geralt hummed in agreement.

“I’ll work my way back east and then start to head north by mid-autumn. I don’t want to get caught out by a blizzard on the way back to Kaer Morhen like I did last year.” Eskel said, grimacing at the memory.

Geralt elbowed him, grinning. “Yeah, you came in looking like a drowned rat.”

“Oh, shut up.” Eskel said, shoving him lightly away. “Like it’s never happened to you before.”

They grinned at each other before relaxing again, enjoying the easy, fraternal companionship as they sat side by side, staring into the fire. Eskel finally broke the silence. “Best we get some rest before morning.” He said, moving to lie flat and pulling the blankets up over himself. Geralt mirrored him, settling down on the other side of the modestly-sized bed. Eskel extinguished the flame in the candle before casting a controlled Igni to stabilize the banked fire for the night.

“Show off.” Geralt muttered.

“You know it.” Eskel teased back.

They lay quietly together until they drifted off to sleep, curled toward each other under the warm blankets just as they had done when they were children.

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

The next morning, after Eskel gave Jaskier all the details of their hunt over breakfast, they parted company, Jaskier and Geralt heading north toward Novigrad and Eskel heading back south toward Nilfgaard. They stood at the crossroads outside town, each man holding his own horse.

Geralt and Eskel embraced, pounding each other on the back, Geralt briefly pushing his head up under Eskel’s chin in a brotherly farewell.

“Think about telling him. I think you’ll be surprised by how well it goes.” Eskel whispered in Geralt’s ear before they broke apart. Geralt frowned at him, shaking his head, glad Jaskier couldn’t see his face.

“Don’t get dead out there.” Geralt said to Eskel. “Walk your Path with honor.”

Eskel nodded. “May your Path be smooth and may your sword strike true.” Eskel said, completing the traditional parting words.

Eskel turned to Jaskier, pulling him into a rough embrace as well. Jaskier was surprised at the open affection – he was used to Geralt’s far greater reserve – but he returned the embrace easily. Eskel was a cheerful, kind soul and Jaskier had come to like him in their short time together. Hopefully, they would see each other again one day.

“Take care of this idiot.” Eskel said, stepping back toward his horse.

Jaskier laughed at seeing Geralt roll his eyes. “I’ll try my best!”

Eskel locked eyes with Jaskier for a moment, the sudden seriousness of his gaze belying his light tone. Jaskier briefly bowed his head, message received. He would do his best to care for Geralt in his brother’s place.

Jaskier sensed there was more going on here than he knew, but he wasn’t sure what yet. He had his suspicions given Eskel’s protectiveness over Geralt and the fact that Eskel’s tattoo proudly showed off his Dominant’s stripe whereas Geralt’s intricate pattern covered his whole arm, wholly obscuring his mark. He had seen how Geralt briefly nuzzled under Eskel’s chin too, though he drew no attention to it at the time. It was common gesture of greeting or farewell among family members, but typically done between submissives and Dominants, with only the rare neutral extending a Dominant relative that same affectionate courtesy. Jaskier didn’t know enough about witcher customs to know if that held true for them, and he certainly wasn’t going to ask Geralt, but he filed the observation away in his mind to analyze when future, contextualizing evidence presented itself.

With a final wave, Eskel turned south, mounting his black mare and directing her down the main road. Jaskier and Geralt mounted as well, Potato and Roach happily walking side by side north toward Novigrad.

“I hope we run into him again.” Jaskier said after a moment, looking back at Eskel’s retreating figure.

“Hm, not likely. He usually stays in the Southern Kingdoms until he needs to head north for the winter.”

“Do you each have your own region to patrol?” Jaskier asked curiously.

“In a sense. We each chose the regions we prefer. With so few of us left, it made sense to break the Continent up and spread our services.” Geralt answered.

Jaskier was pleased at the open response and decided to see if he could encourage Geralt to share a bit more while his good mood lasted. “Who patrols each region?”

Geralt glanced over at him, assessing. Jaskier kept his gaze open and curious. Satisfied Jaskier’s question was simply as it appeared, he answered. “I stay more toward the western part of the Northern Kingdoms. Eskel patrols the Southern Kingdoms, as I said, and Vesemir does as well, though he tends to go only in response to a particular contract rather than as a general patrol given his age. Lambert patrols the eastern side of the Northern Kingdoms.”

“What’s Lambert like?” Jaskier asked, having caught the oddly painful weight given to Vesemir’s name in Geralt’s response and deciding not to poke at a potential sore spot.

“He’s an asshole. Arrogant, loud, never shuts up.” Geralt’s tone took on a teasing edge. “You’d probably get along.”

Jaskier gasped in mock offense. “You take that back!”

Geralt grinned at him before spurring Roach into a gallop. “Make me!” He shouted back.

Jaskier urged Potato to follow, knowing the older gelding would never catch the fleet-footed mare, the two horses’ hooves pounding into the dirt as they raced northward to Novigrad.

@thesunshinemanman

@humbae

#kirk-spock-in-the-impala writes #follow you down #chapter 3 #the witcher #geraskier #geralt/jaskier #geralt of rivia #sub!geralt #dom!jaskier #gerlion #jaskier #fic

50 notes · View notes

losingmymindtonight · 5 years

Text

Trope: Losing Powers

Peter had been gone for 28 days, 17 hours, 43 minutes, and 27 seconds when F.R.I.D.A.Y. finally got a hit on his location.

Tony knew that because he’d had the counter running across every free screen for weeks.

There was no time wasted when the notification came in, not a second for gathering or regrouping or slowing to breathe. Just Tony, pushing the team forward with one-minded desperation. Steve scrambled to keep up, shouting terse orders and jogging just behind Tony as he stalked towards the Quinjet.

It took 3 hours and 16 minutes to get to the kid’s location. 4 minutes for everyone to organize. 7 minutes to advance on the heavily guarded research facility. 19 minutes to take out the guards, break into the winding hallways illuminated by fluorescent lights. 2 minutes for Tony to smell the blood.

It was all over the kid’s cell. The walls, the floor, the exposed pipe in the corner. Fresh and old, small smears and massive puddles. It was everywhere he looked. Blood, blood, blood.

Peter was in the center, strapped down to a medical table by fucking zip-ties. He’d been stripped down to a stained pair of boxers, hair longer than Tony remembered it being, eyes duller than he’d remembered them being. The kid let out a deep, guttural whine when the door opened, face twisting in a flinch, like he was expected a blow.

“Peter,” he breathed, staggering towards him, disengaging his gauntlets in his rush to touch, skin-to-skin, to offer the comfort he’d been deprived of for way too fucking long, “Peter.”

Glazed, brown eyes stared back at him. His pupils were blown. Drugs? Fear? The kid squinted like he was struggling to see him. Drugs, then. Maybe. Probably. “Mister Stark?”

“Yeah, yeah. It’s me. It’s me, buddy.”

Peter’s head dropped back, lungs deflating. A delirious smile curled across his face, words lazy with relief. “You’re... a little short for a Stormtrooper.”

He blinked, brain still preoccupied with the metallic scent of blood aching in his nose and the incisions littering every visible inch of the kid’s skin and the fact that he could map every single one of his ribs and how sick he looked, how delicate and fragile and very not like the Peter he knew.

Then, he forced out a chuckle. Act normal, act cool. He had to hold it together for Peter. That was his only job. “Of course you’d make a Star Wars reference.”

“‘S my best quality.” The words must have sparked the kid’s memory, because some of the exhaustion on his face faded, and a thrum of panic took its place. He jerked against his restraints, chest heaving. “Mister Stark, I have to tell you something. I-”

“Shh,” he created a small knife with the suit’s nanites and started sawing through the zip-ties, carefully not to nick Peter’s already raw skin, “we can go through all that later, okay?”

“No, you don’t-”

He set a restraining hand against the kid’s collarbone. “Does this information put us in imminent peril?”

“No-”

“Then hush.” He finished with the zip-ties around his wrists and ducked to his ankles. “How bad are you hurt?”

“I dunno.” Peter’s voice was faint, eyes fixed on the ceiling. “Stopping feeling it weeks ago.”

Oh, Peter.

“Okay,” he choked out, wishing he was strong enough to hide the way that statement cut through his bones, “that’s okay. We’re gonna get you to the Quinjet, get you pumped full of the good stuff, and Helen’ll take care of you.”

“I don’t know if she can,” Peter whispered, voice broken.

“Hey,” he returned to the kid’s face, cupped his cheek, “none of that. Whatever she can’t fix, we’ll fix. Together. Okay?”

For a few beats, Peter just stared at him, wavering between his fear and the intrinsic trust he had in Tony.

The trust won. It always did.

“Okay.”

“Good boy.” He finished with the zip-ties, reengaged the gauntlets, but kept his helmet lowered. One of his arms slipped under the kid’s knees, wary of the dark bruising flaring across the left one, while the other went to support his back. Before fully scooping him up, he paused. “Ready to blow this joint?”

Peter rested his head against the suit’s metal shoulder, voice a tired murmur. “So ready.”

“Good.” The kid was light. Way lighter than he remembered him being. He tried to make a joke of it as he walked to the door, his precious cargo cradled closely to his chestplate. “We’ll have to get a burger in you ASAP, squirt.”

For some reason, the comment made Peter choke on a sob. “Y-Yeah. I guess.”

Despite how much the sound of the kid crying hurt, he consigned the reaction to the hysteria of being freed rather than anything more serious. He could still remember the plane flight back from Afghanistan, sitting against the wall, feeling something tickle his face and reaching up to realize that they were tears. Rhodey kneeling in front of him, concern written all over his expression. Are you okay, Tones? He’d shrugged. I don’t know.

He’d locked himself away in the bathroom for the breakdown, waited out the episode before stumbling back to his seat and staunchly ignoring Rhodey’s stares. Peter, on the other hand, just turned his face into Tony’s shoulder and quivered, teeth digging into his lip as he cried.

“It’s alright.” Tony soothed, moving silently through the smoky halls. Which side had set off the smoke bombs? He couldn’t remember. “You’re safe now.”

Peter nodded, short and sharp, hiccuped on a sob, then coughed.

At first, Tony thought he’d just worked himself up enough that his lungs were rebelling. He’d done it before. Or it could’ve been the smoke, although it had dispersed enough that it wasn’t bothering him, even without the helmet.

“Easy,” he muttered, catching a glimpse of the exit in front of them, “we’ll be out of here soon. A little sunshine’ll do you good, I think.”

He’d expected the kid’s coughing to abate once they got into fresh air. Except... it didn’t. If anything, it was getting worse. He jogged up the ramp to the jet, ignoring the team’s questioning looks, and made a bee-line for Cho.

She met him halfway, eyes already cataloging Peter’s visible injuries. “When did the coughing start?” She asked, guiding them over to a medical bunk.

Tony deposited Peter carefully, letting the suit leak away and pressed his bare palm against the kid’s shoulder, a silent reassurance. “Two minutes ago, maybe?”

“It was probably the smoke. His body’s struggling to adjust.” She shoved an oxygen mask into his hands. “Here. I need to check out these incisions.”

He knelt by Peter’s arm, lightly setting the oxygen mask over his face and brushing a few curls out of his eyes in the process. “There, buddy. Just try to relax.”

Peter groaned, another agonizing cough cutting the sound off short. His expression was twisted up in discomfort. Tony glanced over at Helen as he scrambled to keep the mask pressed firmly over the kid’s face, feeling strangely frantic. “He’s in pain. Can we fix that, please?”

She nodded, stepping back. “I brought his pain meds. Let me just-”

“No,” Peter rasped, shaking his head violently enough that it spurred him into another round of coughing, “no, don’t.”

“You don’t have to be brave about this, Pete, it’s alright to need-”

“Can’t.” A wheeze. Peter winced. “You’ll... You’ll overdose me.”

Cho scoffed. “Peter, I’ve been treating your metabolism for long enough to-”

“They took my powers,” Peter rasped, cutting Tony off. “They-”

The end of the sentence got lost in another round of wheezes and gags, but it had been enough to get the point across.

Tony’s frantic eyes met Cho’s surprised ones.

He shook his head, desperate not to believe it. “That... it can’t be...”

“It makes sense, Tony,” she murmured, shock melting into thoughtful understanding, “his muscle mass is severely depleted, and his healing factor hasn’t been working properly. Some of these wounds are days old, and they’ve only just started to heal.”

No. No. “Could just be malnutrition.”

“Maybe. But we should trust him.” Cho glanced over Peter with concern as his breaths got shorter. “It’s better to assume the worst so we can prepare for it. If he’s really lost his powers, that means that any medical issues he had before would be back. Is there anything-”

Tony’s eyes widened, symptoms clicking into place. God, he was so fucking stupid. “Shit, Cho. He had asthma. Has asthma. He... He has asthma. Really bad, I think.”

Understanding fell across Cho’s face. Her eyes darted to Peter’s heaving chest, then up to the ceiling. Her voice was terse. “F.R.I.D.A.Y., do we have any albuterol on board?”

“Yes. It is located in Medical Locker 12A.”

Cho was moving all at once, grabbing tubing, a mask, a dark black box that Tony assumed must be something important, and a handful of other things. She put them together with the kind of familiarity he imagined didn’t come only with being in the medical field, she’d done this before, often enough that each action had become muscle memory, but he didn’t comment on it.

“This is a nebulizer. It’ll get the albuterol into his lungs more effectively than a rescue inhaler at this point,” she explained. Her voice softened as she finished assembling everything, eyes landing on Tony’s. “He has to sit up.”

“On it,” he replied, slipping behind Peter and settling his back against his chest, shushing him gently as he tried to gag in another breath.

Cho handed him the nebulizer’s mask without another word, and he tossed the oxygen aside in favor of the new setup.

“Just do your best to breathe, Peter.” Cho flicked on the machine, and it hissed. There was a surprising amount of sympathy on her face. “I assume you probably know the drill.”

The kid nodded, then dropped his head had against Tony’s shoulder, staring up at him like he was an anchor, something to tether him to Earth.

“Hey,” he whispered, desperate to fulfill the role Peter was so obviously imploring him to take, “you heard Cho. Just breathe. The meds’ll help soon.”

They did, too. Five minutes later, and Peter was slumped against him, breaths deep and borderline greedy, eyes shut with exhaustion, Cho was prepping an IV of plain-old morphine, supplies laid out to clean the dozens of wounds scattered across the kid’s body, and Tony was still holding the kid, one arm braced around his chest and the other holding the mask to his face.

The nebulizer stuttered, and Cho gently slipped it out of his hands. “We’ll do another treatment in 20 minutes or so, just to be safe. Are you feeling better now, Peter?”

“Yeah,” he breathed, eyelids fluttering open. He stared at Tony, expression full of guilt, “I’m sorry.”

“For what? Scaring the shit out of me? Yeah, you should be.”

Peter let out a wet laugh. “You’re gonna be doing this a lot now.”

“Doing what?”

The kid gestured at himself. “This. My body’s stupid. Can’t even breathe right. I step wrong and I sprain my ankle.” He glanced away, cheeks red. “‘M useless.”

“First of all, you’re not useless.” He used his free hand for force Peter’s gaze back to his face. “And second of all, you’re talking like I’m not gonna fix this. Which I am, by the way. You’ll be back to Spider-Manning and scaring the shit out of me in increasingly inventive ways before you know it.”

“What if you can’t?”

“Do you doubt me?”

“No, of course not.” There was something needy in Peter’s eyes. “But what if you can’t?”

He studied him silently, picking each word with caution. “Then I guess I’ll add a rescue inhaler to the list of things I keep in my pockets at all time. No biggie.”

That seemed to relieve whatever fear had been lurking under the kid’s skin, because he sank back into his chest and didn’t even flinch when Cho placed his IV. “Thank you, Mister Stark.”

He smiled, warm and fond. “I am gonna fix it, though. Just saying.”

The kid’s eyes fell shut again, mouth quirking up in amusement. “Of course you will.”

#I'm trying to use these as writing exercises #so if some of them seem a little off #that's why #ANYWAY if y'all want some quality lost powers whump #check out iron_spider's fic 'don't leave me now'#that shit hurted #in all the right ways #irondad #tony & peter #irondadbingo #tony stark #peter parker #tw: asthma #tw: aftermath of torture #tw: blood #losingmymindtonight writes

958 notes · View notes

pumpkin-spice-whump-latte · 5 years

Text

Unfixable: Carlos

I didn’t really understand how fun it was to cut your own character to pieces until I wrote it.

briefly references #17: Stay With Me

might have been what was happening during #18: Muffled Scream, or at least for part of it

tagging @straight-to-the-pain because they inspired me~

content includes: VIVISECTION, descriptive gore, blood, intimate whumper, creepy whumper, noncon touching, passing out, and because I can’t seem to go a few days without it, torture

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

Carlos thought at first that someone had set him on fire.

He came to with a sharp, deeply violent burning in his midsection, making him gasp and squirm against the leather straps that held his ankles and wrists. There was nowhere to hide from it though; he couldn’t even curl up on himself. The only thing he could do was look down and see–

See Dr. Tillman cutting into him with a scalpel.

He let out a blood curdling scream, prompting the scientist to glance up from his work with a small smile.

“Ah, good. You’re awake.” The burning Carlos had felt had been his body trying to process the pain of something very sharp opening a bloody, fleshy line through the muscles of his abdomen. It carved it’s way down in a long diagonal line, upper right all the way down to left hip, slicing through layers of skin and muscle. His entire body tried to thrash away from the pain, back arching up as far as it could from the operating table, but the blade always followed him wherever he tried to wiggle. Soon enough the scientist had a hand down against him, forcing him to be still as he finished opening a bloody mouth where there should never have been one.

Carlos tugged at his restraints, panic gripping him and turning his blood to ice. Turning his will to live into something stronger than his common sense, and he would have torn off his own limbs or broken a damn bone if it meant getting away from the horror and pain. But with all that screaming and struggling he only succeeded in getting a gentle hand petting through his hair. Trailing blood along his forehead in little warm, drippy lines.

“Oh, shh. Shh, shhh now. Don’t worry. I know what I’m doing. I’m a man of science.” When Carlos met Tillman’s eyes he could see a strange glint behind them. The normally placid, detached blue was glassy, the pupils blown. There was a fire that danced behind those eyes that just made everything feel that much more Wrong.

A dread settled deep within him then. Bigger than the fear. More ancient even than pain.

Then the scientist made another incision, this time in an opposite diagonal line across the first. It made a large X across Carlos’ stomach, and then he couldn’t see those doom-bringer eyes anymore. He couldn’t see anything anymore as he threw his head back and screeched against the pain. This time he was only answered with a low, dark chuckle. Tillman was amused and Carlos actually might have laughed too. He might have laughed and laughed and laughed until he went crazy, because that seemed like a better fate than staying lucid for this. He thought that at the very least he might pass out from the agony, from the shattering knowledge that he was being cut open and couldn’t stop it, but blessed darkness never came.

A few moments later he could feel cool air rushing against a part of him that hadn’t ever been meant to feel it. He felt the four cross sections of his skin being pulled back and clamped open, so that when he dared to glance back down…

He could see himself. The inside of himself. Dark red like murder, wet and sloppy looking, and terrifyingly vulnerable.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING TO ME? WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON?” His words came out sharp with rage and fear. Bruised with pain. None of the monolithic dread yet but that’s because Carlos was still, in part, himself. He still had a good bit of his own fire.

Tillman only slipped two gloved fingers into the mass of his blood and guts. “You’re doing very, very good Carlos. Hang in there my boy. Wasn’t time for… For any anesthetic. You were fading fast. Had to do something.” Carlos could barely keep up with what was being said, let alone understand any of it. He was too busy feeling every soft, intimate drag of those fingers as they practically fucked into him. Some perverse imitation of a lover. All the while Tillman’s eyes held Carlos’ gaze captive, not allowing him to look away or deny this was really happening to his own body.

“Arrg… Stop! PLEASE!” His chest heaved, beads of sweat stood out on his forehead, and the rest of him shuddered helplessly as Tillman sank his hand further into his guts. It made a sickening squelching sound that he could somehow hear between his panting and rising sobs.

Before today he’d had no idea you could feel someone touching you inside like that. He’d never had occasion to even need to think about it. But no, no. There were nerve endings even along the deepest curve of his lower intestine, ones that only knew a song of pain and nothing else. He was learning about them today mothers and fuckers and they were singing a backup chorus to his nearly broken screams.

“You see organs… Don’t lie.” Dr. Tillman spoke above him in little more than a hushed whisper, but every word still stabbed into him like a knife. Like a surgeon’s scalpel. Like two fingers, and then five, and a hand curling oh-so-gently and carefully around something deep within him and sending a sensation of awful pressure and hammering pain.

“They may fail, eventually, but it isn’t their fault. They spend their lives as diligent, loyal subjects of the body. So fragile and yet… So strong at the same time.”

Carlos only heard this as a faint buzzing that might have been words. He couldn’t take a full breath, sucking in little gasps of air between hitching sobs as fat tears rolled down the sides of his face. His eyes were saucer wide and shining, he was burning, his whole being was a quivering mass of blood and guts and fire and it would never stop. His brain wouldn’t let him just pass–

___

When he opened his eyes again Tillman was still there. Carlos let out a moan of agony as the pain reintroduced itself (how do you do?) and as the scientist raised one gore covered finger to Carlos’ neck. How long had he even been out? A couple minutes? He swept his gaze down across his bloody chest to his lower body. Things looked basically the same. He still looked like a messy peeled fruit and he cursed his brain and body for only letting him escape this for a few minutes instead of nuking his entire consciousness till he woke up somewhere with less horror. What a bitch.

That finger–that finger that had just been inside him–traced a slow, deliberate line straight across Carlos’ neck as Tillman stared down at his captive. He looked like an abandoned lighthouse. The lamp was shining, sure, but nobody was home. “I could just kill you now. Slit your thhhhhhroat, my d-dear boy.”

“Then do it! F-fu-UCK YOU MOTHERFUCKER DO IT.” No matter how scared he was, no matter how much pain made him stumble through the words, he’d still say them. He was determined to say them till he fucking died.

Tillman leaned in close. One of his hands was still buried in Carlos’ abdominal cavity, and this time it wriggled a gentle path upwards. He felt knuckles brush against his ribs. The tissue that cradled his lungs and heart. He felt the soft wetness of Tillman’s tongue as it licked over the blood line on his neck. “I might as well kill you. You can n-never be fixed. No matter what I…what I do…” His awful minty breath tickled against Carlos’ cheek. Tears cooled against his skin as he shook in his restraints and tried desperately not to feel the scientist counting his ribs from the inside. He wondered how long he could even last, opened up like this, and why he hadn’t already died.

Maybe he was already dead.

Maybe he was in hell.

___

He’d passed out again without realizing it, the only evidence being that one moment Tillman was squeezing his internal organs like they were his personal stress balls, the next he was standing over Carlos with a bloody mass in his hand.

“Is that… Is that my…?” He was so cold. He was shaking all over but still so damned cold.

“Kidney? Why, yes. It’s quite bad. See?” The scientist held Carlos’ own kidney up under his nose for his inspection, but he could see nothing wrong with it. He knew with a kind of sickening certainty that there had been nothing wrong with it.

“I’m afraid that’s all we can do. There’s so much e-else that I could… Fix. In here.” The scientist paused to turn his vacant gaze back down to Carlos’ ruined insides. A long coil of his intestines lay limply against his hip. He could see a shock of white bone somewhere.

“I’m going to have to ask you to please stay silent now while I stitch things back up. You squeal very nicely but I need to concentrate now, dear boy.”

A thick wad of gauze bandages was stuffed deep into Carlos’ mouth, and he made some kind of sound around them. Defiance? Pleading? He wasn’t sure anymore. Tillman reached a hand in again and this time found something hard. Something boney. It was his spi–

___

Moving through the hallway. Ceiling passing by like dull clouds of stucco. The pain had followed him even here. It would never stop stalking behind him. How much blood had he lost? Where was Ben? How much blood can someone even–

___

A kitchen. A warm kitchen and a fleeting feeling of being safe. Ben was there. Ben couldn’t stay. It was better that way though. The pain would eat Ben if he stayed. The world shook and the pain gobbled Carlos whole.

___

“…subject responding well to the replacement?….”

“…at least another week in recov…”

“…can’t be sure the body won’t reject…”

“…of course we included the tracking devi…”

“….the normal payment of course, Dr. Till…”

___

When he looked down again his insides were back on the inside. He touched a couple shaking fingers to the healing X scar that marred his entire torso. Ugly staples made ugly railroads across his body. The pain had stayed, but it was drowned enough to stop screaming. Why bother giving him pain meds now?? Carlos tried to focus on the surroundings of the room. Was this a hospital? Was…was he actually OUT??

Tillman stepped into his field of vision like a satellite passing over the sun and blotting out it’s light. His eyes were back to Detached Doctor mode.

“Good afternoon. And how are we feeling?”

There was a smudge of red at the corner of Tillman’s placid mouth.

Carlos opened his own and screamed.

#not whumptober #challenge accepted #vivisection #gore #blood #intimate whumper #noncon touching #creepy whumper #passing out #torture #stay safe with this one kiddos

45 notes · View notes

anubislover · 4 years

Text

Welcome to the Heart Pirates, Nami-ya Chapter 8: Between a Rock and a Hard Place

Crap crap crap! Nami thought, looking between the two Devil Fruit users. Her night really couldn’t have been going worse. She was disarmed, caught up in the sticky, painful grasp of a perverted old man with way too many arms, one of which was still worming its way inside the deep V of her bodysuit. Then, even if she could somehow escape the tightly wound tentacles, Black Cage Hina herself stood between her and the exit. The woman might not have been a powerhouse, but her abilities were like something out of a Marines’ wet dream, specifically designed to capture wayward pirates like Nami.

Escape couldn’t have looked more unlikely and at this point she was really hoping Law was ok so he could get his ass back inside and rescue her.

“Ah, Hina-chan, perfect timing!” Harpin laughed. Two of his unoccupied arms pointed at Nami, who was trying her best not to show how much the razor-edged suckers digging into her skin had started to hurt. “I caught this pirate lurking around my study. She must be in on the village’s rebellion; I recognize her necklace as one created by my worthless former jeweler. They must have hired her as an assassin. Arrest her at once, my dear!”

The pink-haired Marine jutted out her hip, expression stern and unimpressed. “I’ll gladly put a Straw Hat behind bars, you’ll be going to jail too.”

Black, watery eyes widened. “What?”

Cool as iron in winter, Hina pulled out a cigarette, taking the time to light it before answering, “Didn’t I tell you that my superiors decided my attendance at your party was more important than attending to my duties? That’s because they wanted me to gather evidence that you’ve been selling government secrets and destroy whatever blackmail you have on them; we’re in tumultuous times, and the last thing they need is you churning even more chaos for your own gain.”

“Ah, a honey-trap. Of course,” he chuckled, giving her beautiful, athletic body an open leer. “Not a bad plan, given my fondness for you, but shouldn’t you have been a little nicer to me if you wanted to get your hands on some evidence? Avoiding me all night isn’t a very good seduction technique.”

Hina looked disgusted at the very thought. ��I’d rather cut my own face off than allow you to touch me. No, our plan was far more palatable; Smoker had snuck away earlier to mess with the pipes connected to the spa above the ballroom. We were hoping the water damage to the ceiling would catch your attention for a while so we could investigate.”

“And instead, the village’s rebellion, led by Cat Thief Nami, puts all that careful planning to waste,” he said, giving the captive woman a shake for emphasis. Much as the action hurt, Nami was silently grateful, as it dislodged the tentacle still in her cleavage.

A pink eyebrow raised in disbelief. “You really think the villagers are the ones bombing your mansion? How stupid.”

“Stupid? How dare you! It doesn’t matter whether those peasants were in on it or not; it’s the narrative I’ll spin to the papers when they report on tonight’s events. Once word’s gotten out that they sided with pirates over their beloved master, no one will blame me for finally eliminating those slums. I’ve been wanting that eyesore removed for ages, but they simply refuse to leave.”

The Marine captain scowled at his confession. “Then I suppose when I take you in, I can add ‘slander’ and ‘corruption’ to your list of crimes.”

“How are you planning on arresting me, Hina-chan?” he asked with an incredulous laugh. “By force? My rank was comparable to a Vice-Admiral!”

Grey smoke streamed from her cigarette as she replied, “But your strength wasn’t. Powerful as the Ika Ika no Mi is, you rarely ventured onto the battlefield, instead getting fat and lazy behind a desk. And now that you’re past whatever prime you had, I’d say you’re a little closer to my level.” She smirked, cracking her knuckles. “Hina will enjoy this.”

“You should have stayed downstairs with the guests, Hina-chan,” Harpin sneered. “I’d hate to hurt such a pretty face.”

Glancing at Nami, who’d wisely chosen to remain quiet throughout the conversation, Hina frowned in consideration and—surprisingly—a hint of sympathy. “You’re going to jail, Cat Thief, but if you promise to sit tight, I’ll get you out of your sticky situation first. No woman deserves to be manhandled by a creepy squid.”

All things considered, that was probably be the best deal a pirate could get from her, so Nami nodded enthusiastically.

Running forward, Hina extended her arm, clotheslining the two tentacles encasing her wrists. Nami stared in awe as the Marine’s arm went right through them, leaving behind a black shackle locked around each clammy limb. Spinning on her heel, she next kicked her leg through the two binding the pirate’s thighs. The way the rubbery grey flesh immediately began to pucker and swell indicated that the bands were painfully tight, and Nami soon felt their grasp weaken.

“Fuck!” Harpin yelped, though any further curses were cut off as Hina’s fist slammed into his face. The blow knocked him stumbling back, and after another right hook he had no choice but to release his hold on Nami, the shackles on four of his limbs too constricting and the Marine before him too skilled to engage while restraining a thief.

Falling onto her ass with an “oof!” Nami immediately inspected her thighs and wrists, wincing at the angry marks left behind. Perfectly round, thumbprint-sized red rings littered her skin where the suckers had taken hold, the incisions from the chitin little deeper than a papercut but just as painful. A few had even drawn blood, though to be honest, Beatrix’s nails had sunk deeper.

The suckers are designed to capture and restrain, not rend and tear, Nami concluded. Those tentacles are no joke, though. If he’d been trying, he could have pulled me apart like a paper doll!

With a heavy kick to the chest, Hina sent her former superior crashing into his desk, papers and trinkets flying everywhere. Glancing down at the thief, she raised a challenging eyebrow. “I’m not going to waste my time and energy restraining you, but if you try to run, I won’t hesitate.”

“Fine. Wouldn’t want to miss your beatdown of that pervert, anyway,” she ground out, gingerly prodding at her disfigured legs. If she were lucky, Hina would eventually be too distracted with her fight to notice her sneaking off, but she wouldn’t play her hand until the time was right.

Pleased with the compliance, the Marine darted across the room to continue her cathartic thrashing of the ex-head of Navy intelligence, each punch, kick, and slap making her smile wider as she threw him into suits of armor, furniture, and anything else that was in the way.

Meanwhile, Nami took the opportunity to crawl towards her Clima-Tact, hugging the batons to her chest like an old friend. A glimmer from across the room caught her eye as Harpin was knocked into a lamp, and the embossed titles of the black ledgers winked at her as they lay on the floor. After all this trouble, Law would be pissed if she left without them. Quite frankly, now Nami was feeling pretty determined to get them, too. She wanted to read up some more on Jinbei, and that diagram on the Pacifistas could be useful if they ever ran into Kuma again; maybe it even had some information on how his powers worked, and she could use that to track down the others!

On top of that, Hina was right; the world was already in chaos, and people like Harpin shouldn’t be gaining from it.

While the Navy captain was busy repeatedly grinding the heel of her shoe down onto his crotch, Nami took the opportunity to dash across the room, skidding to a halt by the knight’s armor and gathering up the black leather books.

A crash caught her attention, and Nami’s head whipped to the left to watch Hina dodge a fallen chandelier. Haprin’s floppy lips smirked around his beak, hand pressed against a hidden switch on the wall.

Crap, Nami thought. I forgot there were other traps. She froze as Hina tossed her a glare, the thief’s new position not escaping her notice. Double crap!

The Marine didn’t have any time to do anything about the wayward pirate, though, as Harpin decided to go on the attack, using his multiple arms to fling books, debris, and scattered pieces of armor at the women. Nami awkwardly dodged the projectiles, ducking behind the safe. A thought suddenly hit her, and she peeked out from around the corner of her impromptu shield to observe the Golden Octopus.

Despite the beating Hina had given him, he didn’t look all that much worse for wear. No bruises or welts marred his ashen skin, no bones seemed to be broken, and he even seemed to be walking normally despite the testicular trauma Hina must have inflicted. On top of that, the shackles still locked around his tentacles didn’t seem to be slowing him down, either.

Having had more than enough, Hina shouted “Awase Baori!” as iron bars extended from her arms, spanning across the room. The cage smashed into Harpin’s rubbery body, squishing and distorting it as the bars wrapped around him. Maliciously, she raised the bars and the ensnared man as high into the air as she could before slamming him down onto the floor. As he glared at her, she smirked around her cigarette. “Give up. Everything that passes through my body is locked tight.”

The feeling of victory shattered as his scowl morphed into a smug smile around his beak. “Silly Hina-chan,” he sneered, and as if deflating a balloon, his body became thinner and more flexible, squeezing out from between the bars. Even the shackles Hina’d wrapped around his arms fell away, clattering to the floor. Quickly, eight rubbery limbs lashed out, the two powerful clubs slamming into her stomach like bludgeons. “You can’t cage a squid!”

“Gah!” she coughed, the air pushed from her lungs. Six more arms lashed out, striking her across her face, torso, legs, and ass, jerking her about with each surprisingly powerful blow.

Damn it, didn’t Hina even stun him? Nami thought incredulously, doing her best to stay behind the safe and out of sight.

Inflicting more harsh and humiliating lashes against his former subordinate, he cackled. “I’ll admit, your powers are quite the bane of normal men, but they’re useless against me. A giant squid’s body is malleable enough to withstand deep sea pressure, yet powerful enough to fight a sperm whale! It also makes physical blows practically useless. And while squid might not be quite as notorious escape artists as octopi, this flexible body makes your cage and shackles little more than temporary inconveniences. But escape isn’t my plan.”

Before both women’s eyes, Harpin began to transform again, this time growing larger and larger, his whole body becoming that of an enormous squid that took up nearly a third of the room. Each arm was now at least ten feet long and over a foot thick, with the clubbed feeding tentacles extending to nearly fifteen feet. Black, watery eyes swelled to the size of beach balls, and the disturbing beak grew to the point where it could easily crush a melon in its jaws.

Oh, right, Nami thought, cold terror freezing her lungs. Zoan-type Devil Fruit users can fully transform into their animal.

Quick as a whip, one arm wrapped itself around the dazed Hina, the powerful limb pinning down her arms while sharp suckers latched into the skin. The long silk gown allowed her legs some protection, but only from the chitin; the tentacle itself twined about her entire body until she was completely trapped, squeezing so tightly Nami could hear some of the Marine’s bones pop.

“You should have just been a good girl and agreed to be my secretary instead of hiding behind Sengoku,” he said, voice even more distorted now that his mouth was mainly beak. He dragged her close so he could glare at her through one massive, soggy eye. “I would have treated you nicely—given you more than you deserve. All you had to do was look pretty, spread your legs, and know your place!”

Hina bit down on her cries of pain as Harpin gave her another squeeze, laughing at her attempts to remain defiant. “Pity you had to play so hard to get, Hina-chan. At least Smoker won’t have to mourn you long; he’ll join you in Hell once I’ve finished ripping him to pieces!”

“Fuck…you,” she gasped out, glaring down at the hideous creature even as her bones creaked in his powerful grasp.

Looking on, Nami knew Hina was outmatched, and there was little that the Straw Hat navigator could do to help her. It was better to take the chance to run and live, maybe even find Smoker and tell him to help his friend, as unlikely as it would be that he’d get to her in time. Besides, if she didn’t get out now, she’d be next, and if Hina did manage to beat him, all she could count on a one-way trip to Impel Down.

But that pink hair, cigarette, and determination was just far too familiar, and Nami always had a soft spot for female Marines. Plus, she did owe her for the earlier rescue.

“Thunder Ball!” she shouted, launching a barrage of small electric bolts at the giant squid. She knew it wouldn’t do as much damage as a concentrated lightning strike, but it was just enough to distract him, keeping Hina from getting crushed.

Harpin let out what Nami assumed were yelps of pain before he turned his full attention on her. Grey skin sizzled slightly where the shocks had hit—his skin was rubbery, but it wasn’t rubber. Unlike Luffy, Harpin clearly still took damage from electricity. Nami didn’t have time to gloat, though, as one of the clubbed tentacles raised itself high before swinging down, slamming into the floor right in front of the safe, missing the thief as she dodged just in time.

The force of the blow, combined with the time Nami had been standing on the pressure tile, activated the trapped suit of armor, releasing the halberd from the knight’s grasp to fall onto the massive limb. The sharp blade didn’t quite slice all the way through the slimy club, but it did open a deep gash, blue blood gushing out.

“You bitch!” the giant squid cried, pulling the wounded arm back to inspect the cut, shocked that one of his own traps had been used against him.

Cat-like smile stretched across her face, Nami replied, “Oh, that’s nothing. Didn’t I say there would be thunderstorms tonight? Well, it’s not over yet!”

“Are you seriously—” Harpin began, only to be interrupted by a low rumble from above.

As he looked up, a bolt of lightning came down from the forgotten cloud, striking through the center of the arm constricting Hina as it connected to the Clima-Tact. “Thunder Lance Tempo!”

Once more the foul scent of sizzling sea creature filled her nose, and the concentrated electrical blast was just enough to cripple the limb holding Hina, the blackened flesh smoking and oozing blood in places. A horrific scream of agony rang out from the creature, the closest equivalent she could think of being nails on chalkboard. The limb wasn’t severed like Nami’d hoped, but while it still gripped the captive Marine, her face was much more relaxed, the crushing pressure significantly lessened as it flopped on the floor.

However, the Cat Thief now had a new problem; Harpin was hurt, furious, and his enormous, hateful eyes were fixated squarely on her.

Before she could hide herself or cast another lightning strike she was scooped up by a different tentacle, its grip ten times stronger than before, the serrated suckers the size of peach stones and digging deeper into her skin. She didn’t have Hina’s restraint, screaming as he maliciously began crushing her chest, bit by bit squeezing the life out of her.

“You worthless, stupid, wicked twat!” he snarled, bringing her so close Nami could see her pained, terrified reflection in his watery eye. “I’ll make you pay for that! You should have run while you had the chance! Now who’s going to save you, pirate whore?!”

The answer came in the form of Law and Smoker crashing through the windows, the Marine’s thick smoke clouds wrapped around the surgeon’s waist while their weapons locked in a stalemate. Trapped in the smoke were two large barrels of gunpowder. Shattered glass from the windows floated through the air, forcing Smoker to shield his eyes, giving Law an opening to punch him in the jaw, causing him to fling the pirate and the barrels deeper into the room.

Switching his body and the tumbling barrels with debris, Law smirked up at his opponent, patting one of the bombs as it settled next to him. “Gonna have to try harder than that to get these away from me, White Chase-ya.”

“I’m gonna tear your fucking head off, Trafalgar!” Smoker countered still wiping away the glass. His suit was shredded and smoldering faintly in some places while his jitte had a few scorch marks on it. Law must have taken the bombs meant for the third distraction to use against the Marine. Nami had been so caught up dealing with the Baron she hadn’t even noticed they’d never gone off.

Panting lightly, the Heart Captain brandished his cane sword, preparing to strike, only to pause as he took in the state of the room. He’d lost his mask and coat at some point and his lip was bleeding, but at least he was in one piece. More importantly, once he saw what kind of situation Nami had gotten herself into, he used his powers to switch her with one of the barrels.

She barely had time to regain her footing before he ordered, “Nami-ya, a spark to light the fuse, please.”

“Screw the fuse,” she gasped, gulping down air. Her Thunder Lance Tempo crashed through the wooden barrel, quickly setting off the explosive powder, making Harpin bellow as the tentacle was reduced to nothing more than a stump, enormous body flailing backwards to avoid the flames and shrapnel from damaging his face.

At the sound, Law finally gave the creature attached to the tentacle a good look, color draining from his face at the massive sea monster. “Well shit,” he said as he pushed her behind him, ready to fend off further tentacle strikes. “He’s actually a Devil Fruit user.”

“You owe me so much money for this!” Nami practically sobbed in relief, clutching the back of his vest.

“I’ll pay you when we don’t have a fucking squid monster trying to kill us.”

“And who the hell are you?” Harpin snapped, furious that his prey had been snatched from his sticky grasp once again.

“No one,” Law answered coolly, expanding his Room and slashing at the tentacle whipping towards them. It fell to the ground, wiggling and twitching, and Nami sent another blast of lightning at it for good measure.

“The fuck is Trafalgar Law doing with Cat Thief Nami?” Smoker growled to Hina as he slammed his jitte into the tentacle restraining her, the Seastone tip forcing it to go limp as Harpin howled in pain. Once he’d managed to clear the glass from his eyes, he too had decided aiding his companion was a higher priority than taking out his opponent.

“Are you surprised?” she asked dryly as she peeled the suckers from her skin, wincing at the rings left behind. “Perhaps saving Straw Hats is his new hobby.”

“Well, put them in a cage so we can focus on kicking Harpin’s ass!” he snapped as a shadow fell across him.

“Thunder Lance Tempo!” he heard the female pirate cry out, and he whipped around, ready to defend himself, when he was blinded by a lightning bolt flashing right in front of his face.

When the blotchy spots cleared from his vision, Smoker looked down to find a sizzling lump of squid flesh at his feet, the rest of the tentacle gingerly dragging the mangled tip away.

Hina gave Nami a grateful smile, and an unspoken understanding passed between them. “I only have so much energy and would rather let a few pirates gain a one-day head start if it means taking down a man who’s been leaking government secrets.”

Smoker’s eyes widened in comprehension, then narrowed in annoyance. “Are you shittin’ me?!”

Rather than hear out their argument, Nami urgently tugged Law’s vest. “I think the Navy’s got this covered. They don’t need us getting in their way.”

The way the line of his mouth hardened indicated he wasn’t thrilled with the idea, however, when he noticed the three hardcover ledgers she’d scooped off the floor, he nodded in acceptance. Grabbing her free arm, he turned towards the door, but Harpin was already two steps ahead of them, a massive tentacle batting the safe off its pressure-sensitive tile as easily as a cat would tip over a glass of water. Iron grates shot down over the entrance and windows, cutting off their escape routes.

Before Law could use his Room to bypass the gate, another tentacle whipped forward, smashing into his spine and knocking him into a wall, dragging Nami along with him. It was only sheer instinct that allowed him to turn midair and shield the smaller pirate from the hard impact, but as she reoriented herself, she immediately began to panic.

“Law!” Nami shouted, frantically checking to make sure he was breathing. “Oh, God, please tell me you’re alright!”

“Fuck,” he hissed, cracking an eye open as his teeth grit against the pain.

At least he’s alive, she thought, heart thundering in her chest. “Can you move? Is anything broken?”

Despite the obvious distress he was in, he gave a weak smirk. “And here I thought I was the doctor.”

Behind them, Nami could hear Smoker shout “White Blow!” a sickening, squishy sound filling her ears as the blast made impact with Harpin’s rubbery head. Glancing over her shoulder, she found the Marine standing in front of her, thick white smoke billowing from his arms, the dense clouds wrapping around the flailing tentacles like manacles. “Hina, if we live through this, you’re buying me dinner! All you can eat seafood!”

“Fine, but I’ll skip the calamari,” Hina coughed, slamming her Kimono Sleeve into the open wound of the pinned-down club, smirking slightly when the Baron let out a pained scream. The halberd’s gash hadn’t been deep, but even a creature resilient to physical strikes wouldn’t like a metal pole shoved inside a cut.

Unfortunately, their moment of victory didn’t last long, as Harpin had another trick up his sleeve; flexing his stomach, a spray of inky mist filled the room, blinding the quartet of humans, distracting both Smoker and Hina enough that Harpin was able to wiggle his way out of their traps.

“Hahaha! What are you going to do now?” the giant squid gloated, grunts of pain sounding from the pair of Marines. The floor shook as something repeatedly slammed into it, tiles cracking followed by more groans. “You can’t see me, but you’re all easy enough to find; squid are designed to hunt in virtual darkness!”

“Not much of an advantage when you take up half the room, you freaky bastard,” Law wheezed.

Though she couldn’t see her companion, she could feel him gingerly trying pull himself into a sitting position beneath her. Ok, if he’s snarking, he should be ok, she assured herself as she blindly got to her feet. Muscle memory and familiarity allowed her to assemble her batons properly, and following Harpin’s maniacal laughter, Nami tossed her Clima-Tact in what she hoped was the right direction. “Cyclone Tempo!”

His angry shouts told her she’d hit her mark, and with the ink cleared from the air, she was able to blink away the black film that formed over her eyes. Vision cleared, she was startled to find both Smoker and Hina in his grasp, the serrated rings in his suckers puncturing their skin, the muscular tentacles squeezing them like a pair of toothpaste tubes. Smoker looked far worse for wear, and she understood why as the squid bashed him against the floor like a child trying to break a toy soldier during a tantrum.

Seeing the lone thief before him, Harpin laughed again, taking a break from abusing his former subordinate. “Seems it’s my lucky night; all my problems will be solved in one fell swoop! I can frame Trafalgar Law for Smoker and Hina-chan’s murders and for those little information leaks—the World Government will be happy to pin the blame on him over one of their own, especially if it means I won’t release some rather scandalous information to Big News Morgans. Those charges against me will be dropped in no time!” he cried joyously, a third arm plucking Law from the rubble behind Nami, giving all three of his victims a harsh squeeze. “Add in the arrest of all those pathetic fishermen and their families for ‘aiding’ the Heart Pirates, and I’ll finally have my beautiful island all to myself! No more low-class trash or eyesore shanties—just beautiful women and fancy parties!”

His enormous eyes zeroed in on his final opponent. “That just leaves you, Nami-chan. Since I’m in such a good mood, I’ll give you a choice; be handed over to the Navy with your boyfriend or stay as my pretty plaything. After the trouble you’ve caused me, I can’t promise I’ll be gentle, but I can assure you, it’ll be better than what they’ll have in store for you at Impel Down.”

As Law, Smoker, and Hina cried out in pain from the crushing pressure of Harpin’s grip, Nami ran through her options. The choices he’d offered weren’t even worth considering. She couldn’t run; even if she weren’t trapped, she couldn’t just leave Law and the two Marines to their fates, nor risk Harpin framing the innocent villagers for an attack they weren’t involved in. Bargaining was pointless as the Baron held all the cards. Nami considered pleading for mercy, but she was positive that it would do nothing but stoke the squid’s massive ego and possibly sign herself up for an even worse fate—if Harpin was willing to blackmail his own companions, who was to say he wouldn’t force her to commit any number of depraved acts for the sake of her companions’ lives?

Spying the remaining two barrels of gunpowder, she came to a decision. With a shout of “Cyclone Tempo!” she launched them at him, pleased when he instinctively knocked them aside with his last pair of uninjured tentacles. She had no intention of setting them off; there was too much of a chance that the others would get caught in the explosion.

They did, however, distract Harpin enough to let her dash the twenty feet she needed to reach the entrance.

“Did you forget about the gate, stupid girl?” he called mockingly as he realized where she’d run.

Instead of answering verbally, Nami smirked as she stomped her foot down on one of the tiles in the third row, praying that the mechanisms hadn’t been damaged during the battle.

The result was better than she could have hoped; a Seastone net the size of the room itself plummeted from the ceiling, smashing into the huge, hideous creature, narrowly missing Nami as she sprang back and squeezed her small body against the grate, taking advantage of the narrow shelter provided by the threshold. Loud groans from the four Devil Fruit users rang out, all their strengths sapped but the thick tentacles around the three humans loosening, their rubbery bulk also providing ample protection against the force of the heavy net.

“Cat Thief, I’m not sure if I hate you more or less than your captain right now,” Smoker wheezed. His forehead was bleeding, his nose looked broken, and his beefy body would probably be one big bruise in the morning, but he was still alive.

“Be grateful,” Nami panted, walking out into the room to collect the black ledgers. “Luffy would have punched him through the floor; I at least left the room intact.”

Either the Gods of Dramatic Irony decided such a statement couldn’t be left alone or Luffy had died and his ghost was haunting her, but beneath her feet, thin fissures began to form.

“Smoker,” Hina asked softly, “you memorized the blueprints of the mansion. What’s below us?”

Briefly, Law and Smoker shared a guilty glance. “The art gallery. Which Trafalgar and I might have briefly…tussled in.”

“Tussled?”

“I may have bashed his head into a potentially load-bearing pillar or two.”

“And I may have cut a few more,” Law added weakly.

As the cracks grew wider, Hina sighed. “And of course, below that is the spa, which has surely sustained massive water damage by now due to Smoker breaking the pipes.”

There was no way to deny it—from the battles to the bombs to the sabotage, the structural integrity of the room had been compromised. Comical tears streamed down Nami’s face as she collapsed to her knees. “We’re all gonna die.”

Trapped as they all were, there was no choice but to watch the cracks grow larger and larger before the floor finally broke apart like a jigsaw puzzle. Harpin’s much heavier bulk mixed with the force of gravity caused him to smash through the floors of two more ceilings, finally crashing into the first floor. His squishy body did provide ample cushioning for the Cat Thief, though, as she bounced off his elastic head, landing hard but safely on the floor.

When the smoke cleared, Nami realized that they’d landed at the far end of the ballroom. Most of the guests had chosen to use the room as a shelter instead of evacuating and possibly facing what they believed to be an angry mob of villagers, but Reginald had managed to herd them all into the corner closest to the entrance where it was safest, and conveniently away from the spot Harpin’s hulking form had landed.

Luck was once again briefly on the pirates’ side as the fall had also managed to dislodge Law from both the tentacle and the net, freeing him. Tired, dirty, but not as badly injured as assumed, he unsteadily got to his feet, grinning slightly when Nami immediately rushed to his side, juggling the books under her arm, ready to catch him if he fell.

“Are you ok?”

“Better than I was under the Seastone net,” he assured. “That was quick thinking back there. I’m just sorry you had to face him alone.”

“Is the crew ok?”

“Shachi’s team has some pretty bad injuries, but Penguin’s was able to evacuate them while I took on White Chase.”

She let out a sigh of relief. Of course he hadn’t abandoned her; the others had just been in more immediate danger. He wouldn’t have even left her in the first place if he hadn’t known they needed his help. And once he saw she was in trouble, he’d immediately saved her and was even apologizing for the fact that he hadn’t been there sooner.

He wasn’t Luffy, but she was grateful her temporary captain had her back.

Grey eyes shifted towards the small red circles that littered Nami’s skin, and she could see him taking stock of her various minor injuries. His glare intensified as it landed on the smaller rings wrapped around her upper thighs, his highly intelligent brain easily deducing what she’d gone through while he’d been off fighting Smoker. “Since we’re back in the ballroom, I guess I get to play the part of ‘jealous boyfriend’ again,” he said lowly, dark tone sending a shiver down her spine.

“What?”

Pulling out of her grasp, he nodded to the books under her arm. “Hold onto those while I thank the Baron for his hospitality; I’ve got just enough strength for two more big techniques.”

Bad as their own states were, their host was far worse off, the Seastone net still twisted around his bulbous head, pinning him to the floor as Hina and Smoker lay barely conscious in his limp tentacles. His beachball-sized eyes glared at the two pirates that had ruined his plans before bulging further as his guests began screaming in horror.

“Dear god, what is that thing?!” a woman cried, pointing at their host.

“What kind of monster has Harpin been keeping?”

“Gerald, must you show that form in public?” Beatrix shouted, appalled.

“Miss Bellemere, is that you?” Reginald called out. He must have recognized her mask, or at least Law standing next to her. His eyes widened as he took in her infamous tattoo and mikan hair. “Gracious, you’re a pirate?”

Somehow, despite the giant squid that had crashed through the ceiling, it was the word “pirate” that sent the crowd into a frenzy.

“Pirates are leading the villagers’ rebellion!”

“No, they must have murdered the townspeople and are now here for us!”

“Where are those Marines?”

“They’re trapped under the net with that monster!”

“Don’t worry; I’ll take care of this!” Kujakumaru shouted, grabbing Law’s fallen cane sword and lunging at Nami.

Exhausted though she was, she still had the strength to sidestep the untrained fop, tripping him before smacking him over the head with her Clima-Tact.

“Nice one,” Law chuckled as he staggered over to Harpin’s pinned form, a sadistic grin on his face as he stared down at the trapped former Intelligence Officer. “Weaklings like him are lucky to be left alive.”

“Law?” Nami murmured in concern, hovering slightly.

Glancing over his shoulder at her, Law’s eyes were filled with wicked excitement and pride. “I said I had the energy for two more techniques, didn’t I? Well, I’ve been looking for a decent subject to test this first one on. So good of Harpin to donate his body to science.”

Before Nami could reason with him to use his powers to get them out of there, a small blade of green, crackling energy formed in his hand. Without even a moment of hesitation, he stabbed it into Harpin’s big, watery eye.

“Gamma Knife!”

A violent tremor rocked the giant squid’s rubbery body as Harpin let out a truly inhuman shriek of agony, blue blood exploding from his beak before going completely still, the spark of life visibly fading in his eyes.

When Law started to sway, Nami grabbed him around the waist, looping his arm over her shoulder and letting him lean on her for support. “What was that?” she asked, voice somewhere between horror and awe.

Panting, he replied, “An attack I’ve been working on. Completely destroys the body from the inside. Figured it was the best way to finish that creep, since external damage wasn’t doing the job.”

Inside, she was torn. Harpin had been a monster, a lecherous creep, an asshole, and a very real danger to the world, Navy and Pirates alike, with the information he had. Even with Smoker and Hina’s testimonies and the ledgers as proof, his extensive connections with the World Government and Underworld meant there was no guarantee that, if left alive, he’d really pay for his crimes.

But in her entire time sailing with Luffy, she’d never seen her captain kill anyone. Not Arlong, Enel, or Crocodile. He left them a broken, bloody mess, dreams destroyed and helpless as the Navy sent them off to prison, but alive. The Straw Hat captain was a reckless fool and a pirate, but he wasn’t a murderer.

Law had just killed a man like it was nothing.

A little part of her wondered if he’d always been planning on taking Baron Harpin Gerald’s life, or if seeing the painful and suggestive marks on her skin had sealed his fate.

Conflicted as her feelings were, Nami didn’t allow her hold to loosen as Law slumped a little harder against her. She could feel his body tremble, his breath coming out in short, staggering pants, his heart pounding beneath her hand.

It seemed her unflinching support was appreciated, as Law gave a tired wink as he activated his Room, spreading it so widely she had to look out the window to see the faint blue edge at the far side of the island.

“What’s he doing?”

“Oh my God, he’s the Surgeon of Death!”

“We’re all going to die!”

Taking a deep breath, Law ignored the crowd’s panicked cries, softly murmuring, “Scan. Shambles.”

In a blink, the duo was whisked from the ballroom to the other side of the island, the Polar Tang waiting in the cove, the rest of the Heart Pirates immediately rushing forward to check on their captain. Law waved off their concerned questions, but Nami shrieked as she was dragged down to the sandy ground as he collapsed to his knees in exhaustion. Now she understood why he’d been against using his powers until necessary; doing all that on such a large scale, plus his fights with Smoker and Harpin, was draining.

Her concern only distracted her for so long, though. As she looked around, she realized they were surrounded by solid gold statues, jewelry, the buffet, the ledgers, and blessedly, her dress, leather wallets spilling out of the hidden pockets. Gleeful that not only were they alive but that he’d kept his promise, her grip around him shifted into a grateful hug, her lips unconsciously brushing against his cheek in thanks.

Law opened one exhausted eye. “Everyone start loading up the loot.” The last syllable barely left his lips before his eyes rolled back and he completely passed out in Nami’s arms, head lolling until it was squished against the Cat Thief’s chest.

“Captain!” the crew cried out.

Terrified that she might be holding a corpse, Nami pressed her fingers to his neck, heaving a massive sigh of relief when she felt a steady pulse. “He’s alive,” she assured the hovering pirates, attempting to shift the dead weight of their captain so he didn’t smother himself in her cleavage.

“Holy crap, Nami, you both look like shit!” Ikkaku said as she kneeled down to help, too concerned to even tease her about the fact that she hadn’t even hit Law for using her breasts as a pillow.

“It’s been a long night,” she sighed as they finally managed to maneuver him so he was lying flat on the ground. As if annoyed at the loss of his comfortable headrest, his brow furrowed briefly, but after a moment smoothed out as he fully succumbed to his exhaustion.

There was still work to be done, though, and Nami accepted her roommate’s proffered hand, letting her pull her to her feet. With a quick glance around, she raised an eyebrow. “Hey, there’s no way we can eat everything from the buffet before it goes bad. Load up what you can, but before we go, do you think you can help me get some of these leftovers to the town?”

“The Marines will be swarming the place within an hour.”

“Harpin’s call for backup was already denied and Smoker and Hina were barely conscious when we left. Even if they did wake up, they’re going to have their hands full up at the mansion. I don’t think we have to worry for a while yet.” Despite her stinging cuts, sore muscles, and flagging energy, Nami gave a cat-like grin. “In the meantime, the food’ll make an excellent bribe to convince the townsfolk not to tell them about these caves.”

Shaking her head in amusement, Ikkaku simply replied, “Whatever you say, Nami.”

XXX

Several hours later Nami staggered into her quarters, only pausing to check that all three black-bound ledgers were still on her desk before letting out a sigh of relief and collapsing into the vanity’s plush chair. The work had been non-stop; they’d been short-staffed in terms of loading up the treasure into the cargo hold. Even Nami had been roped into partaking in physical labor, barely even given enough time to drop off her dress and the ledgers and change into more sensible footwear before she’d been put to work.

It couldn’t be helped. The majority of Shachi’s group was recovering in the infirmary, the second mate’s wounds the worst with a broken arm and three cracked ribs. Bepo had seen him try to take on Smoker by himself to protect the others, and according to the bear, he’d be far worse off if Law hadn’t arrived in time to save him.

Speaking of, while Law could have moved all the food and treasure in an instant, it was universally agreed that they weren’t going to wait around for him to regain consciousness just so he could overuse his powers again. Penguin had even insisted on carrying him to his quarters before heading to infirmary to act as interim doctor, the First Mate piggybacking the taller man awkwardly, but refusing any help. It had been kind of sweet, watching him take such a big-brother role, and it confirmed in her mind that the crew cared for each other just as much as the Straw Hats did.

At least her own injuries hadn’t been too debilitating, and once they’d gotten everything they could into the ship Ikkaku had roped Bepo, Jean-Bart, and Clione into helping transport the remaining food into the town. Late as the evening was, the villagers had been absolutely in shock as they stumbled out of their shacks, staring at the massive feast that had been laid out before them. Several had even rubbed their eyes in disbelief, clearly thinking it was some kind of dream. Once they realized what was actually happening, though, the whole town had let out a cheer, and Nami had been blessed with a hug from the little girl from earlier, the child recognizing the thief’s jewelry and mischievous smile.

Nami was a bit sad to have to leave, as the townsfolk had asked the pirates to stay and celebrate the Baron’s downfall, but the navigator wasn’t going to squander that one-day head-start Hina had promised and had immediately ordered Jean-Bart to get them out into the open sea. Once Tokken Island was nothing more than a speck in the distance, she’d handed the reigns over to Bepo; he’d shyly informed her that Law had discussed an escape route and destination before the mission had even started.

Now she was back in her room, finally able to take a moment to herself. Ikkaku would be gone at least a few more hours; she’d insisted on monitoring the engine, making sure the additional weight of the treasure wouldn’t put too much strain on the ship. She’d given the hickey on Nami’s neck a meaningful look, though, and the navigator hadn’t even bothered trying to play it off as one of Harpin’s suction marks. Looking at it in the mirror, she knew that was the right call; only an idiot would assume the plum-colored blemish was in any way related to the bright red rings.

“Pervy jerk,” she grumbled, tearing her eyes from the hickey to focus on wiping off her makeup. “Maybe Ikkaku has a cute scarf I could borrow.”

A brief knock interrupted her musings, so she called out “Come in!” assuming it was Bepo asking for her input on their heading. To her surprise, it was Law who sidled through the door. He was once more in his normal hoodie and spotted jeans, colored contacts gone, dark circles proudly visible under his eyes. The black hair dye was still in, but it would likely be fully washed out and back to its original midnight blue in no more than a week.

“Here for your hat?” Nami asked, indicating the black-spotted accessory on the bed. She’d noticed it when she’d dropped off her things and had planned on returning it in the morning. Even she wasn’t mean enough to disturb an exhausted swordsman just to get his hat out of her room.

Plopping the fuzzy accessory onto his head, Law stood behind the back of her chair, pulling something from his jeans pocket. “Among other things.”

The cool touch of gold made goosebumps rise across her collarbone, and she gasped as she recognized Beatrix’s extravagant, heart-shaped diamond necklace as it settled against her throat.

“Is this—?”

“Let it never be said Dr. Goodheart doesn’t spoil his woman,” he chuckled in her ear as he secured the delicate clasp behind her neck. “Consider it my payment for being my date tonight. I estimate that yellow diamond alone is worth at least ten times the forty-five million belli I accrued for three hours of your company. You can count the other thirty diamonds as reparations for dealing with such a shit host.”

Unbidden, a tiny smile came to her lips. She was good at reading between the lines, and this was definitely Law’s way of begging forgiveness for the absolute shitshow she’d endured because he’d left. To be honest, it wasn’t necessary. After hearing about the state Shachi was in, she couldn’t bring herself to blame him—if that had been Usopp or Sanji or Robin, she’d have done the same.

Not that she was going to let him know that. He might take the necklace back.

“Hmmm, I guess it’s acceptable,” she replied coyly, admiring herself in the mirror. The diamonds sparkled elegantly in the light, the pale yellow heart resting precisely in the divot of her collarbone. “Though with all the chaos, I’m impressed even thought to grab it when we left.”

Behind her, Law’s wide grin was devious and self-satisfied. “Oh, no, I grabbed it when I set the curtain on fire. Even if I came away with nothing else, I was making damn sure I got this after that crazy bitch had the gall to insult you.”

Oddly flattered that he’d put in the effort to get her such a luxurious gift and revenge on the woman who’d dared to call her “cheap,” Nami gave him a soft, genuine smile. She wouldn’t even sell it, since he was being so sweet. “Thank you. It’s gorgeous.”

“You carry it better than she does, anyway,” he replied, thumb idly rubbing little circles on her shoulders. “I think you should wear it to the next party.”

Without the gloves, his hands were deliciously warm against her skin and it was oddly nice to see the tattoos on his fingers again. Like the bags under his eyes, they were such a familiar part of him that she’d unconsciously begun to miss. “Hard pass. Tonight was a clusterfuck, and I think I’ll stick to hitting bars. At least there I can beat the crap out of the horny assholes dumb enough to grope me.”

“Fair.” Carefully turning her chair around, he pulled a small first-aid kit out of his hoodie pocket. From the little white box he removed some gauze, antiseptic, and medical tape. Pouring a bit of the clear alcohol onto a small square of white cotton, he gently dabbed at the scabbed-over cuts on her clavicle. “I promised I’d clean these up when we got back to the ship, and I wanted to get a better look at those suction marks. Did you even bother getting these checked over earlier?” he scolded.

Red crept across her face as she realized she’d completely forgotten about her own injuries. “Shachi’s team needed the medical attention way more than me; I figured I could wait until they were out of the woods.” She winced as the sting of alcohol irritated Beatrix’s claw marks but knew better than to complain.

“Of course. It had nothing to do with you being distracted by piles of treasure.” After carefully taping a wide gauze bandage over the cuts, he turned his attention to the sucker marks. His frown darkened as he got a better look at the rings across her thighs. “In the interest of doing my job as your doctor, I have to ask; were all the injuries you received from Harpin external, or should I scan you for internal trauma?”

Her eyes widened and the blood drained from her cheeks as she registered what he was suggesting. “No I…I’m fine. He didn’t…I mean, he groped me and I’m sure if Hina hadn’t arrived—”

Law held up his hand, halting her uncomfortable stammering. “Again, I’m truly sorry you had to deal with him on your own. I knew he was a creep and a pervert, but I swear I thought he was a normal human—someone you could hold off on your own if necessary.”

“It’s ok,” she assured, anxiously rubbing her arms. She really didn’t want to dwell on what Harpin could have done to her if Hina hadn’t shown up. Given the Marine’s willingness to release her from his lecherous grasp, Nami wondered if she’d been in that position herself, or at least seen comrades treated similarly. After all, he had at least a hundred reported accusations of sexual harassment against him. The Navy really needed to stop giving such monsters seats of power. “I guess I should be flattered that you had faith in me to take out a former Marine officer.”

“I promise to never make that mistake again. Once things have settled down, we’re beginning combat training. Your weather attacks are impressive, but they won’t work in every situation,” he said seriously as he turned his focus to her wrists. Taking a silver tube out of his hoodie’s pocket, he squirted a small amount of thick, grey cream into his palm before massaging it into the thumbprint-sized rings. Cool and slightly minty, Nami could immediately feel it begin to soothe her sore muscles and stinging marks.

“I’m pretty sure the odds are good that we’ll never run into another squid-guy,” she joked weakly.

“True, and I suppose he could have been so much worse.”

“How?”

“Did you know several species of squid are cannibals?”

Stomach churning in disgust, her mind frantically fought against the images that tried to wrestle their way into the forefront of her mind. “Ew ew ew! Oh god, how do you even know that?”

The corner of his mouth quirked upwards in amusement as he worked the cream into the larger circles on her upper arms. “When you spend a lot of time in a submarine, one of the main ways to pass the time is studying the habits of underwater creatures. Clione’s even started writing a book about some of the things we’ve seen.”

“Ugh! Remind me to never read it!”

Squeezing another dollop of cream into his palm, he chuckled. “I make no such promise as his research has been extremely beneficial. Right now, he’s studying a skin and blood sample from one of my own sucker marks to be safe, but he assures me that giant squid aren’t venomous. I am ordering you to report any dizziness, shortness of breath, swelling, or other unusual symptoms, though.”

“Fine,” she sighed as he let go of her arms to crouch between her legs. She jerked violently as his long fingers wrapped around her calf, leg kicking out while her heart hammered against her chest with instinctual panic. With the cream coating his skin, the sensation was far too similar to the texture of Harpin’s tentacles slithering across her flesh. Law must have drawn a similar conclusion, as he mumbled an apology, holding his hands up to show he meant no harm.

Nami immediately felt guilty and mentally berated herself. Sure, Law could be forward, but she knew he was no threat compared to Harpin. Yes, he flirted and stared, but if the disgust he showed towards the mere possibility that she’d been sexually assaulted was anything to go by, he wasn’t that kind of threat. She had no reason to be afraid of him.

Taking a few calming breaths, she met his eyes, nodding down at her leg. “It’s fine. Go ahead, doctor.”

As if she were a skittish doe, he slowly and cautiously placed his hand on her shin, pleased when she remained completely still, even though he could still feel the tension in her muscles. Slow and gentle, he focused on massaging it into her left calf with both hands, keeping his hands where she could see them.

“So,” he began, glancing up at her from his place on the floor, “where are you taking me for dinner?”

“What are you talking about?” she asked, eyes locked on the way his fingers splayed out and he rubbed careful, broad circles over each contusion. It seemed he was doing everything he could to make his hands feel as different from the invasive tentacles as possible.

“The dinner you owe me for losing the bet.”

“Fucking excuse you?” she snapped, sitting up straight in her chair so she could properly glare down at him.

A dark eyebrow raised in challenge, though only amusement danced in his amber eyes. “You only got seven wallets before escaping the ballroom. That means you’re paying for our victory dinner.”

“Um, no, I grabbed six more as I ran out,” she huffed, crossing her arms.

“Did you really?”

“Yes!”

“Too bad you can’t prove it.”

“My word’s enough!”

“It’s absolutely adorable that you think I’d trust your word when money’s on the line.”

Furious though she was, she knew he had a point and she really couldn’t prove that she which wallets were stolen when, so she switched tactics. “That reminds me; you owe me an extra fifty million belli for your shitty intel, and no, the necklace doesn’t count towards that.”

“Do you accept gold bars?”

She blinked, surprised. “Um, sure.”

A narrow shoulder lifted in a relaxed shrug “Then you’ll get your payment after I get that ugly-ass squid statue melted down on Knox Island.”

“You grabbed that?” She’d noticed a few gold statues being loaded up, but in the excitement of all that treasure, she hadn’t really registered that it was the one from Harpin’s office.

“I decided I deserved a bonus for everything I’ve put up with tonight, though I grabbed just about everything of value I could. Even if we couldn’t fit it all in the cargo hold, stealing and scattering Harpin’s possessions throughout the island will make it harder for the authorities to figure out what we actually took until after we’ve sold it.”

“Good thinking.”

His smug grin made it clear he knew exactly how clever he was. A more liberal dollop of cream filled his palm, and without even asking he began massaging it into her right thigh. It only then registered that throughout their argument, he’d finished treating both her calves without her even noticing, if the cool tingle dancing across her skin was anything to go by. He’d easily managed to distract her from his actions, and she must have unconsciously gotten used to the feeling of his hands on her legs, as she barely twitched when his calloused palms touched her.

Unfortunately, she now had a different problem—he was intimately close, hands thoroughly rubbing the cream into the sensitive flesh of her thighs, and hot blood immediately rushed to her cheeks as she took in the picture the handsome captain made kneeling between her spread legs.

“What is that stuff, anyway?” she asked, trying to keep herself distracted, though this time for very different reasons.

“It’s a special salve I developed. It soothes the pain, plus speeds up the healing process. I’ve found it’s damn good on welts, bruises, contusions, and other unseemly blemishes.”

“How do you make it?”

“It’s plant-based, actually. I found a unique type of aloe on a jungle island, among several other interesting medicinal plants. That’s actually why I’m so invested in your greenhouse idea; I’d like to plant some of the seeds so I can replenish my stores once they run low.”

He may be a pirate, but he definitely takes his medical duties seriously, she thought with a hint of fondness.

Nami noticed then that, despite how suggestive his position was and how risqué the area he was massaging the thick cream into might have been, his actions were cold and clinical. He was in full-on doctor mode, all his focus on treating a patient.

It also didn’t escape her attention that, once more, he didn’t seem to be moved by the amount of skin on display. She was still in her skimpy bodysuit, and considering how many times she’d caught Uni, Clione, and others staring at her and sporting nosebleeds, she knew she looked sexy as hell, even with the sucker marks. She knew he wasn’t as easily impressed by women as the others, but did he find the marks that repulsive? Maybe the others just hadn’t been able to properly see them in the moonlight, or they’d been too fixated on her chest to notice.

Except Law also didn’t seem to be flirting with her as much as she’d expected. Hadn’t even teased her about the kiss, or even seemed aware that he’d passed out on her boobs earlier. Was he too focused to bother? Too tired? Or was he just not interested now that she was practically naked?

Deciding to test the waters as he switched to her other thigh, she quipped, “I don’t suppose that stuff works on hickeys, does it?”

“Oh, there’s not a chance in Hell this stuff’s going anywhere near your neck,” he said, glancing up at her with a tired but devilish smile. “I worked hard on that mark, and you’re going to wear it with pride.”

Ok, that was more like the Law she’d gotten used to, annoying as he was. “No, I’m going to slather it with concealer until it goes away on its own.”

His hands stilled their motions as his voice dropped an octave. “If I think you’ve put even a speck of makeup on that hickey, Nami-ya, I may have to leave something a little more…obvious.”

She swallowed hard, red tinging her cheeks. She wasn’t quite she what he had in mind, but she knew better than to ask when he started to get that hungry glint in his eyes. After all, if the hickey was payback for her sunburn prank, his punishment for covering it up was probably the kind of kinky shit Robin had told her about after a few too many glasses of wine on girls’ night.

Forcing away those kinds of thoughts, she huffed, “Fine, I’ll leave it alone. You’re just lucky I’m in a good mood from all the treasure we got.”

Salve thoroughly worked into her skin, Law finally stood. “Things might not have gone exactly as I planned, but in the end, I’d call tonight a success.” He strolled over to her desk, picking up the black ledger marked “Intel,” casually thumbing through it with a pleased grin. “Especially since we got what we came for. More, even.” He tsked sarcastically, grin stretching wider as he took in the various reports and formulas. “Look at all this classified information. The Navy should really send us a thank-you card for taking this away from an unscrupulous bastard like Harpin. I mean, who knows what kind of chaos could be stirred up if it got leaked to the Underworld?”

The sharp, maniacal gleam in his eyes sent tremors down Nami’s spine. “It…definitely could cause problems.”

“Absolutely. Imagine how people would react if they saw what Vegapunk and his subordinates got up to? Why, there’s a whole chapter here on the experiments performed on Punk Hazard—looks like a scientist named Caesar created a chemical weapon that nearly destroyed the whole island. And look,” he chuckled, turning the book to show Nami a complicated chemical formula, “there’s even a recipe.”

It suddenly dawned on Nami that as dangerous as such intel was with Harpin, Law might not be much better. He wasn’t like Luffy, who was too good-natured and direct to even consider using such backhanded means against the Navy. Nor was he like Arlong, who would have been too stupid to understand the scientific intel and instead focused on selling the blackmail. Robin and Franky were smart enough to understand and potentially use it, but they had the morals not to, especially if their captain was against it.

Law was intelligent, ambitious, connected, and unscrupulous. It was clear he had some sort of plan for what was in those books, and Nami wasn’t sure she liked it. These weren’t just military codes or dossiers on shichibukai.

This was the kind of stuff that could start an arms race.

White teeth sank into her lower lip. “Considering how dangerous that information is, then, I think we should get rid of those ledgers.”

“Excuse me?”

“Look, Hina may have only been specifically ordered to retrieve his blackmail materials, but Harpin was already being investigated for leaking classified intel to the Underworld—if the Navy thinks we took more than just gold, they’ll send every Fleet Admiral after us with extreme prejudice. We’re better off dumping them at a Marine base so they won’t consider us a threat.”

“Are you seriously saying you want me to give them back?” Gold eyes flashed with anger, and after hours of staring at the more muted grey, Nami found them all the more intense. She jumped when he slammed the book down onto the desk. “I did not fight a giant squid and nearly get my crew killed for nothing!”

“Wha—it wasn’t nothing! We got all that treasure—”

So quick she could have sworn he used his powers, Law was back in front of her. Long, tattooed fingers harshly grasped the back of the chair, trapping her in her seat. “I’ve told you before; I don’t give a shit about money. The information in those books is more valuable to me than everything in that mansion combined,” he sneered.

Brown eyes widened at his change of tone as she shrank back, immediately on-guard as his threatening aura surrounded her. ��Look, Law, I know it’s been a rough night, but you have to listen to me; we can’t let that intel out into the world. I hate the World Government just like any other pirate, but if the Underworld gets hold of those blueprints and formulas, they’re not going to just be used on Marines—innocent civilians will be caught in the crossfire. There will be massacres across the Grand Line, wars could start—”

Leaning in so close their noses nearly touched, his glaring irises filled her vision. “Innocent civilians also get slaughtered to cover up the World Government’s crimes. I’ve seen genocide carried out because of greedy bastards who would rather kill thousands than admit they’d poisoned an entire city. That’s just the way it is, Nami-ya; the weak don’t get to decide how they die.”

Manicured nails dug into the armrests. For a moment she considered backing down, but all she could imagine was all the inevitable death that would come if she allowed that intel to find its way into the wrong hands. Swallowing hard, she replied, “You…sound like you speak from experience. Are you saying that if someone could have stopped that massacre, you would have told them not to?”

“It might never have happened in the first place if the truth that Amber Lead wasn’t contagious hadn’t been covered up!”

She gasped. She’d heard about Amber Lead and the tragedy of Flevance, but was he saying there was more to it than the world had been told? It wouldn’t surprise her, but…

Wait, he’d said he’d published papers on the effects of lead poisoning in children, she thought with dawning understanding. Had he discovered some government conspiracy, some sanctioned cover-up that had led to the genocide of the White City during his research? Was that why he wanted to out their secrets? Why he became a pirate instead of a doctor?

“There’s a difference between releasing information about a disease and selling weapons, though,” she said quietly, desperately hoping her uncombative tone would calm him down. “If those ledgers have methods for curing a disease, by all means, spread the word, but you know as well as I do that the formula to a weaponized gas in the wrong hands will bring nothing but disaster. And if innocent lives aren’t enough to convince you, think of your crew; aside from the Navy coming after you, how do you know whoever you sell that formula to wouldn’t immediately use it to take you out? After all, you could easily play both sides and sell them out for double the profit. A smart man would see Trafalgar Law and the Heart Pirates as their biggest threat and act accordingly.”

The grip on the chair behind her audibly tightened, and Nami was reminded that this wasn’t Luffy, or Usopp, or even Zoro she was dealing with; Law was a pirate known for his sadism and didn’t have her nakama’s qualms against killing. For a brief, terrifying moment, she feared he might shift his hands to crush her throat, but after a few slow, calming breaths, he dropped his arms and backed away.

His tone was significantly lighter as he stated, “I think there’s been a misunderstanding—I’m not looking to sell any of the intel in those books. Especially not the weapons research. It’s fascinating and will make for great bedtime reading, but at most it’s a passing curiosity. Something to entertain me on sleepless nights.”

“Then why go through all the trouble to get those ledgers?” she asked nervously.

“Because they have information I need to achieve my dream.”

“Information that’s worth the Navy and Underworld coming after you?”

The trademark smug smirk returned to his lips. “Concerned for my safety? I really must be growing on you.”

Pale hands fisted on her knees as she glared up at him. “After tonight, people are going to realize I’m sailing with the Heart Pirates; that means for the next year, your enemies are my enemies.”

“True, and we’re both smart enough to know that it’s better to avoid trouble.” As if sensing her need for more space, he backed up until he was leaning against her desk. “If you’re worried about Black Cage, I’m happy to compromise—we’ll take a photo of you burning the Personal ledger and send it to the nearest Navy base. That’s the one I’m the least interested in, and it should lower our threat level in their eyes.”

It wasn’t a bad plan. Blackmail and personal information on the Admirals was generally easier to sell and distribute than scientific research, as even a dummy could recognize their value. If the Marines saw they’d destroyed that, they’d likely assume they’d done the same with the rest so long as the secrets never got out. “What about the rest of it?”

“Like I said, I’m not looking to release anything dangerous, but I see no reason not to study it myself in case we ever encounter those weapons. If I can understand how a poisonous gas works, it’s easier to develop a cure, and that’s something I could certainly bid off to interested parties in the Underworld, or maybe the Revolutionaries would be willing to make me an offer.”

After the way he’d been acting, he was sounding a little too reasonable, instantly raising alarms in her mind. “How do I know I can trust you?”

“After everything we’ve been through tonight, you still doubt me?”

“Yes.”

He frowned briefly but didn’t seem surprised. Then again, he’d just lashed out at her over a misunderstanding—he’d be an idiot to assume she’d blindly trust his word. “I appreciate your honesty, at least. I suppose I’ll just have to find a way to prove myself.” Picking up the ledgers, he playfully tipped his hat. “Of course, I’m sure you’ll understand if I don’t trust leaving these with you. You might do something stupidly noble like destroy them before I can get what I need.”

“And what exactly is it you need?” she pressed.

As he opened the door, he grinned over his shoulder. “Now I’m not sure you’ve earned that information, Nami-ya, but you have time to change my mind. If you manage to show me I can trust you by the time we reach the Isles of Grimm, I’d be happy to discuss it over dinner. I’ll even concede the bet as a show of good faith.”

Much as she wanted to argue, the navigator knew better than to risk sailing back into a storm. Law had proven that night that he was loyal to those he worked with and wasn’t completely without honor. On the other hand, he was still willing to do whatever it took to get what he wanted, and anyone who got in his way would suffer his wrath. He had his own morals and plans—ones that might not coincide with hers.

Most importantly, he had the book on the shichibukai. It was clear he wouldn’t let her near the ledgers if he thought she might use the opportunity to double-cross him. If she had any hope of getting the information she sought on Jinbei and Kuma, she’d have to play nice and not rock the boat until she had her opening.

“Fine. But you’re going to have to work a little harder at earning my trust too, Trafalgar. I mean it when I say I don’t want any of those weapons specs finding their way to the Black Market.”

“A reasonable enough request. Now get some sleep, Nami-ya. If those marks haven’t faded in the next twenty-four hours, come to the infirmary for more salve.”

On that doctorly order he closed the door, leaving a concerned and confused navigator to stew over the night’s events.

19 notes · View notes

scribeofmorpheus · 5 years

Text

Himmeløyne [5/?]

Pairing: Loki Odinson x Reader

Words: 5k | Catch Up Here | Masterlist

Warnings: Mild violence, bone snapping, Ummm... politics?

A/N: All about restitution. Despite my best efforts, this may turn into a slow burn... Things settle down in the next chapter, or amp up, depending on your viewpoint.

Taglist is open! Reblog, comment or leave a like please ☺

SOMEWHERE ON NIFLHEIM

~THOR

Thor had taken up position behind the cover of an alcove carved into a mountainside. He and the Warriors Three had been tracking a small group of Jotun spies. Odin led his own group of men to the south, in the hopes they would find more tracks, more spies.

Thor's cape rustled about from the strong winds, his arms gripping his biceps to stop them from shivering. Hogun had started a fire while Fandral drummed his fingers dolefully against his chest, a complaint escaping his mouth every few minutes. Volstagg, who was sat upright, let out rumbling snores that echoed against the close cave walls.

"We're wasting time out here," Thor grumbled.

Hogun sighed, tired of hearing the same thing over the last few days.

"Agreed," Fandral said monotonously. "That doesn't change our orders though."

"We do as Odin commands," Hogan probed the fire with a stick, his tone detached.

Thor looked out, scanning the white landscape, "And how does tracking spies help us? We've been freezing our asses off for weeks while my father refuses to take action. This is a fool’s errand. Our concern should be avenging those Midgardians, not following mindless giants to a frozen, arid, barren land."

The two men collectively exhaled, Hogun shaking his head at his friend.

Thor turned around, his rant far from over, "I know you all have your doubts about our orders too. And I know you all want to make sure what happened in Trønsberg never happens again."

Frandal sat up to look at Thor, "Yes, we all want to keep the mortals safe and all, but our king told us to survey the spies and that is what we're doing."

"Why do all this sneaking and surveying when fighting is more efficient?" Thor’s voice rang through the cramped space. His forehead marked by lines of irritation.

"Maybe Odin knows something we don't. Maybe that's why he doesn't want us attacking first. You can't ask a corpse questions you know," Fandral remarked sarcastically.

A deep rumbling, booming and seismic, almost like thunder slapped across the wailing winds.

"Again with the thunder," Fandral ran his hands over his face in frustration, twiddling his moustache to hide his irked state. "We get it, you aren't happy with the mission."

Thor's eyebrows shot up, "That wasn't me! And that still doesn't m--"

A line of blue light flashed into the cave.

"Shut up," Hogun stood from the fire, a gust of wind sweeping into the alcove and showering the fire with specks of snow, putting it out.

Thor narrowed his eyes and let out a huff of air, "If you didn't want to hear what I had to say--"

This time Fandral stood too, his eyes widening as he moved closer to the entrance of the cave, kicking Volstagg's leg along the way. He grumbled awake.

"I think Hogun was referring to that," Fandral pointed towards the skyline and Thor turned.

A beam of blue light shot up into the sky, breaking through a ceiling of grey clouds. Rested snow now cascading down the side of the mountains cliff-face like an avalanche while snow-flakes spiralled around the light like moths to a flame.

Hogun stepped out, the blue light shining onto his black hair, skin bathed in its hue. Volstagg muttered curses under his breath as he got off the floor with the help of his axe, face mesmerised by the beam.

"A beacon?" Fandral asked.

"Perhaps," Hogun replied, face blank in thought. "Or a signal."

Thor's face lit up, a childish grin taking over as he began to anticipate for a fight, hand outstretched waiting for Mjolnir, "You know what this means?"

The rumbling stopped and the light cut out.

"What what means?" Volstagg leaned against the cave wall.

Fandral hummed lowly, his hands falling on his hips, "It means we have to check out whatever that big blue light was."

Mjolnir in hand, Thor swung his hammer is circular turns, the choppy sound reverberating like a frantic heartbeat

~LOKI

Sif's sword sliced through the air leaving behind a metallic whistling noise, her jaw clenching as her eyes were set on her foe. A few feet away, another frost giant was thrown high up into the air, a face of fear when he was brought hurtling into the ground with bone-crunching intensity. The blue wisps of magic leaving his body and racing to form a magical barrier against several spears that were thrown their way.

Loki smirked as he used his own magic to ricochet the spears suspended in the air back at their owners, frosted tips embedding themselves into blue skin. One spear got through, and even though Sif deflected it, her balance was knocked off and she slid down from her position, tumbling close to the edge. Loki manifested a wall of snow and Sif's momentum was deferred. A grunt left her lips as she picked herself back up, nodding a thank you before she charged at the spearmen.

Loki lodged a dagger into one of the giant's neck just as he threw his sword. The sword flew towards Y/N right when a giant jumped from higher up, trying to get Sif from the top. Loki pushed the airborne giant into a jagged rock and dove after Y/N, the sword missing her by a hairsbreadth.

They tumbled through the snow before stopping a few feet away from a ledge. Y/N let out a sigh in relief, her breath blowing her hair from her eyelash. Loki used his hand to tuck the rest of it behind her ear.

If we weren't in the middle of a battle, he thought.

Loki helped Y/N stand before continuing their advancements.

He shimmered from his position behind a Jotun that was about to attack from behind some rocks, his dagger slipping between breast bones straight to the heart. The giant very nearly got a hold of Loki’s exposed wrist, but he managed to spin away in time.

A breathy grunt slipped out into the cold air.

Loki looked to Y/N, even though the anger was still very much present in her glowing eyes, her stance was faltering, foot slipping against the icy floor. The rage and inner-turmoil were causing her to burn out faster than usual. Suddenly, her face hardened as her eyes focused in on something. Despite the beads of sweat trailing down her face and her shallow rapid breathing, she gritted her teeth and with a wave of her hand a small section of the mountain broke off, a frost giant still standing on it.

Loki had never seen such raw power before. As he and Sif stared up at the flat piece of broken off mountain hovering above-head, dumbfounded expressions on their faces, Y/N's feet began to pick up off the floor, her body no longer tethered to the ground. She was flying.

A sharp ice implement shot through Sif's arm and with a painful howl Loki was shaken back to the fight that was still at hand.

~Y/N

You had been fighting for so long that your vision started to blur. Air too thick at your current altitude to feed your hungry lungs. Your stance was slipping, feet inching further away as you used your abilities to fling back, block off and raise up several enemy advancements. Just when you thought you'd used the last remnants of your energy, you saw him.

The same cold and detached red eyes that haunted your dreams. The same sneer that he wore when he plunged an icy sword into your chest. He saw you staring at him, a shift in his features telling you he remembered you- even though he couldn’t believe it.

Your body burned just as hot as the flames that once devoured your home and a new wave of power burst through you; potent, intoxicating and out for blood.

Simply by willing it, you broke off a piece of mountain rock that the giant stood on and rose him above the others, your body lifting to join him on your own private battlefield. The skies started shifting, swirling around you like a rotating curtain that separated you and the giant from everyone below. A whirlwind coming to fruition, with the two of you at the apex.

The giant cocked his head to the side, his sharp teeth sending chills down your back.

"You," he whispered.

"Me," you acknowledged as you used your magic to bring him to his knees.

He grunted in pain as your blue magical tethers wrapped around him and forced him still, "Impossible! No mortal can withstand a Jotun blade!"

"You destroyed my village," you rose a finger and broke several of his bones. He cried out again. "You burnt down my home," you rose your other hand, head shaking. The giant howled in pain again as he spat out blood from a new internal wound. "And you killed my mother!"

Your arms flung apart, separating the magical bonds that kept him bound, breaking his arm in the process. Bone sticking out of flesh at an unnatural angle. You hovered closer, placing your hand on his exposed chest, "But you failed to kill me..."

A glimmer of light escaped between the cracks of your fingers, magic tearing through his body like a hot knife through butter, leaving a palm-sized incision running through his body. You suppressed the reflex to gag, biting down to steel your conviction, to commit. But how he reacted after surprised you.

"We're always the enemy in your stories..." The giant looked up at you, a sickening grin plastered on his face, red eyes boring holes in you. With a shaky voice, he said, "Did you ever ask yourself, why?"

"Why what?" You said through gritted teeth.

He laughed, a strange sensation growing in your side, "Why… your… village...?"

"What do you mean!" You inched closer and a deep stinging burnt at your side. You gripped it and felt the slick wetness of blood. Blood smeared on your fingertips and the edge of a small dagger held in the giant's hand. A gasp leaving your body as you and the giant tumbled towards the ground, your magic dying out.

The last thing you heard before you blacked out was the sound of Loki shouting your name fighting through the sound of howling winds.

~LOKI

The first thing he noticed was a drop of blood crystalising as it fell through the cold air, then the grey clouds that swam whirled in the sky trickled off, clearing the sky and then finally, the sight of Y/N's body falling.

"Y/N!" He shouted. Panic and fear moving like venom through his adrenaline-soaked tissue. He felt shaky, it wasn't an emotion he was comfortable with.

Loki shimmered to a ledge higher up the mountain, he waited to see Y/N's body so he could dive after her and break her fall, but instead, it was the frost giants body, and only the frost giants body, that crashed onto the cliff's edge- dead. A blur of red flew past, the familiar choppy sound of Mjolnir being propelled through the air following after it.

Below, Hogun, Fandral and Volstagg shouted battle cries as their blades, maces and axes met the icy weapons of the giants. Feeling outnumbered and at a rope's end, the remaining stragglers made a break for it, jumping off the sides.

Loki let out a huff in relief, shimmering down to where the group of Asgardians had collected.

"Brother?" Thor’s voice called out as he landed. "Brother!" He said again with more certainty and a jolly tone. Y/N unconscious in one of his arms.

"Thor," Loki greeted back with a bit of bite.

Fandral drew a golden sword from a dead giant, "This is the most beautiful sword I've ever seen. Can I keep it?"

"Sure, if you're willing to pay Brokkr's prices," Sif replied, keeping pressure on her arm.

Fandral winced handing the sword back to Sif, "No one can afford that dwarfs prices."

"What are you doing here?" Hogun asked as he wiped the blood from his mace.

"Ask her," Sif nudged her head in Y/N's direction, her hand bracing against the cut.

"Something tells me she's not in a very chatty mood," Fandral deadpanned.

"Isn't that the mortal woman?" Volstagg squinted his eyes at her.

“I believe you’re right,” Thor looked down at the woman’s body held against in his large frame, she almost looked peaceful, at sleep. Her eyes didn’t skitter under her lids as one would in a deep sleep, they rested still, like the dead. “This is definitely the mortal girl.”

Hogun turned to the group, "The weather is treacherous up here. Perhaps we ought to go back to camp seeing as how we killed the giants we were supposed to be tailing."

Everyone nodded in agreement.

Thor dropped Mjolnir and strode towards Loki, a happy smile on his face, "I cannot tell you how happy I am to see you, brother."

Loki smiled with pressed lips just as Thor's hand passed right through him. The mirage deteriorated into a green shimmer. Thor's smile disappeared and was replaced by a look of perplexity. Sif, Hogun and Fandral rolled their eyes at the parlour trick. Volstagg helped Sif stand steady, his face was equally unimpressed.

"We should head down from here, this path seems the clearest," the real Loki waved them down from across the cliff.

~Y/N

For the first time in a long time, you slept without dreaming. But even though you had finally been allowed your pound of flesh, a hollow feeling now replaced the spot where rage once made its home. In the absence of nightmares, you were left with a void and it felt more alone than ever. It was as though your anger had been the one thing that linked you to your life from before. Now that you had burned it out and enacted vengeance against the frost giant who darkened your memories, you felt like a husk of your former self.

When your eyes fluttered open, you were almost disappointed.

Almost.

"Ahhh," you croaked out as you held your head, the room swaying as you stood up.

Loki, who had been half asleep on a chair nearby, shot up, a book falling from his lap. A drawing of your brand etched onto a page. He rushed to your side, expression softening.

"Where…?" You had a hard time talking. Loki's hands steadied you upwards.

He smiled, "We're back in Asgard."

Your eyes refused to adjust themselves, "H- how?"

"Not without difficulty. My mother managed to contact me when we were down on Niflheim. Heimdall eventually managed to open a portal after some gruelling co-ordinating. You've been asleep for nearly two days. Your wound has healed but you'll still feel sore for a while."

Your hand instinctively fell to your side, eyes growing wider.

"The frost giant!"

Loki placed a reassuring hand above yours, "He's dead."

Somehow those words didn't comfort you as much as you'd imagined they would, eyelids growing heavy.

"Oh..."

Loki sat on the edge of the bed, his face unreadable, "I hate to admit it, but… you scared me for a moment."

You looked up at Loki's face, "I scared you?"

Noticing your despondent tone, Loki rushed to explain, "No, not in that way. While your potential for magic is frightening, that isn't what scared me. Well, perhaps it did a little..." Loki's eyes trailed off, looking everywhere but yours. "Ugh, I usually don't struggle with words as much."

This was a rare sight to behold.

You chuckled, finding his dilemma amusing.

"Oh, you find this amusing do you?" He cocked his head to the side, nose scrunching up disapprovingly.

"A little," you smiled.

Loki guffawed, "What I meant is that you're good company… And before you came along, things were pretty boring. I'd hate for things to go back to the way they were."

Loki's eyes stared into yours for a long pause, your heart beginning to hammer against your ribs. No one had ever looked at you like that before. An odd warmth spread from your lower spine to your stomach.

When he noticed he'd been quiet for too long, Loki removed his hand from yours and sat up from the bed, a pleasant look on his face- if not a bit detached. He bent down to pick up the book and bowed lazily, "I'm glad you're well. It'd be a shame if those eyes of yours closed for too long. They're too mesmerising to stay hidden beneath closed eyelids."

You blushed at his silver-tongued words and he noticed. He was more than pleased about that.

"If it's any consolation, I'm glad you were the first face I saw when I woke up. You've made being away from home a little bit easier to bear. Thank you for that."

Loki's smirk faded before he laughed to himself, prompting you to raise a brow.

"Oh, you find this amusing do you?" You reiterated back at him with a hint of sarcasm.

"Not in the slightest," he reassured you before he turned to leave.

"Where are you going?"

"To speak with my father," Loki revealed. "It seems my mother was right about something."

When your eyes had finally course-corrected and your body no longer felt worn out from long hours of sleep, you hopped out of bed and changed into the gown and shoes that were left on a stand.

~HEIMDALL

Heimall' eyes were closed shut, even though he stood upright guarding the bi-frost, he needed a rest from the endless watching. He couldn't always be the watchful sentinel. He was looking forward to the day ending so he could finally rest- and perhaps he would go check on his daughter.

Daughter, he repeated in his mind. Such a strange word.

The sound of light footsteps alerted him to another presence. Without moving or opening his eyes, he spoke welcomingly, "Not many can sneak up on me."

The footsteps faltered before continuing towards him, "I didn't know I had."

Heimdall recognised her voice instantly. It was his daughter. Suddenly his armour felt heavier and his mind begun to tunnel into a spiral. He held onto the hilt of his sword in an effort to stay present and fight the thrumming of shame in his chest. He had barely known her for long and somehow he managed to fail her twice.

"Shouldn't you be resting?" his voice was strangled from the inside by hidden grief and worry, making his words to sound harsh. "From what I heard, you had quite the scare."

She gulped, hand bracing against her side. Heimdall regretted his tone.

"Curious mind, I suppose."

Heimdall opened his eyes, his brow's refusing to loosen from their knot.

"Curiosity, eh?" He cleared his throat so he wouldn't sound as forceful as before, "That sounds like the influence of a certain god of mischief I know."

She hummed in amusement, a slight blush dusting her cheeks. The thought of someone as conniving as Loki getting close enough to his daughter to elicit such a reaction from her just by mentioning him made Heimdall's blood boil.

There you go again with the daughter business, his mind chastised. Old fool, he reprimanded himself. You can't be the overprotective father if you were never her father in the first place.

"Is something the matter?" her sweet voice resembled Sigrid's at this pitch.

He could almost picture Sigrid in his mind. She had been young then, but he tried to add years to her mortal face. A few wrinkles, lines around her wisened eyes and stretch marks around her belly and mid-section from the pregnancy. Greying hairs impeding upon lively streaks of silken hair.

No matter how hard he tried, her aged face would always become unfamiliar to him, reverting back to the last memory he had of her. A memory of Sigrid being young and beautiful and defiant.

"Yes," Heimdall replied earnestly. "It's about you."

Heimdall turned to look his daughter in the eye, she looked back at him with the openness of a stranger. It pained his heart to know she was physically so close and yet...

"Me?" She asked.

"I-" Heimdall tried to call forth any reserves of strength he had left. "I wanted to tell you…"

His head slowly craned to glance at his hands straining against the hilt of his sword like his life depended on it.

Heimdall gave in, sighing deeply, the sting of cowardice pushing against his stomach, "I wanted to tell you how sorry I am. I wanted to apologize for… for not being able to stop them."

She looked at him oddly, at that angle he could see the gold of his own eyes form a ring around her irises. Apart from that ring, her eyes were just like her mother's.

He ground his teeth as he blinked hard and slow, "It is my duty to watch over Midgard, to protect its people and see the danger before it--"

Heimdall trailed off when he felt his daughter's hand on his shoulder. It wasn't as heavy as Odin's sympathetic touch. It felt almost uplifting. He could feel a fraction of the weight lift from his body. The muscles in his face relaxed as he looked at her with gratitude. He felt his mouth go dry as his tear ducts began to accumulate water.

"I don't blame you," she said with a weak smile.

"You should."

She looked at him with misguide sympathy, "You shouldn't blame yourself."

"I… Thank you."

Her hand dropped away and the weight returned, drying out the tears that would have been. Heimdall inhaled deeply but noticed his grip on his sword wasn't as strong as before.

"Sif told me you fought bravely. She said you killed the frost giant that..." He couldn't bear to say the next words.

"It's strange," she began. "I have wanted nothing more than to return to a time when my life wasn't nothing more than bursts of anger and loss and pain- to a time when my life was simpler. And today, when I woke up, I realised I no longer felt angry… I thought getting vengeance would make the world make sense again, but..."

"Instead it left you feeling worse than you were?"

"Yes. It was like this great big absence of feeling. You speak as though you know of what I mean. Have you lost people too?"

Heimdall let go of his sword, one hand secretly holding onto the lock of hair in his pocket, "We all lose people… with time."

"I suppose… but time isn't what destroyed my village."

Heimdall shut his eyes through another deep breath.

She looked out to the stars, "You know, from this spot, the universe seems a little bit less darker."

Heimdall memorised the curve of Y/N's nose and each freckle and spot, "One could almost say it's beautiful."

"My mother loved the stars. They brought her comfort during trying times." She chuckled before turning to face him completely, "It's only occurred to me that we haven't been properly introduced. My name is Y/N by the way."

Sigrid named her well, he thought approvingly.

A smile crept over his face, "A pleasure, Y/N."

Y/N headed out after a low curtsey.

Heimdall called out, "Y/N."

She turned slowly, "Yes?"

Heimdall noticed how surreal it felt to say her name.

"For whatever weight this holds, I'm glad you survived. I'm glad you're here."

She smiled and Heimdall pictured Sigrid smiling beside her too.

~ODIN

Odin had convened a council in his war room to strategize. Hours had passed and nothing close to a verdict of agreed-upon action had been reached.

"If what we saw on Niflheim is any indication of the limitations of this mortal’s ability, we should all be a little more cautious around her," Fandral pitched.

"She isn't as dangerous as you all believe," Sif chimed in. "After everything she's been through, it's impressive she hasn't lost control before."

"I don't know about you, but I've never encountered a witch with such unparalleled abilities before," Hogun said, his chin resting on his fist held up from the elbow.

"She needs guidance," Frigga was next to speak. "Control isn't an easy thing to master."

"Can someone that powerful be controlled?" Volstagg posited.

Frigga exchanged a look of secrecy with Odin before saying, "It isn't unheard of."

"Forget the witch," Thor burst out. "We need to focus our efforts on the frost giants."

Sif and the Warrior's Three collectively heaved sighs.

"This again," Fandral shook his head. "What happened on Midgard was a tragedy, but sometimes there are no logical explanations. Don't use this as an excuse to feed your lust for battle."

"They were the ones who drew first blood! I don't understand why we don't just go to Jotenheim and quash this rebellion before it grows!" Thor's fist pounded on the round table.

"Rebellion? The frost giants are rebelling?" Volstagg kicked his chair from under him when he stood abruptly. "If what Thor says is true, we can't risk waiting until this escalates in a war!"

"The only ones speaking of war here are the two of you!" Sif's tone was serious.

Odin banged his stave, demanding silence.

"Do you want to know why I ordered you to tail those spies?" Odin eyed Thor. "It was because I needed to know who sent them. The group that attacked the village in Trønsberg was small, elite and savage. Why? If this was an act of aggression or a proclamation of war, why send such a small party? Why not an army? Why go after an entire people when it could simply be the actions of a renegade few?"

The room grew quiet, troubled glances shared from one person to the next.

"For once," Loki's voice emanated from a hidden corner, his body teleporting close to the table. "I agree with Thor."

"What?" Sif and Frigga said in surprise.

Loki smirked, "I believe we should put more efforts into understanding why the Jotuns attacked Y/N's village, not just tracking the whereabouts of the giants who were responsible for the carnage." Thor's chest puffed up when he heard Loki's declaration, rarely did the two brothers see eye to eye. Loki, noticing Thor's shift in stance, held up a finger. "But I don't think we'll get the answers by attacking them. I believe the reason is linked to Y/N's power and why Heimdall is blinded to her presence."

Thor's stance returned to its intimidating default.

"Have you figured out why that is?" Hogun asked.

Loki materialised an old, yellow paged book into his hands. "I may have an inkling..." he looked up at Odin's eye in pride.

Odin banged his stave twice, "Leave us."

The room grew tense before people filed out begrudgingly one after the other.

Once alone, Loki used his magic to flip the pages to a drawing of the Ægishjalmar.

"The Helm of Awe," Loki pointed. "You gifted this symbol to humans as a form of protection, but it's more than that isn't it?"

Odin stared wordlessly as he watched his son gleefully prance about.

"It's a spell of concealment. It protects everything and anything from the prying eyes of a certain watchful someone. And if I'm not mistaken, it probably conceals the presence of magic from those skilled in rooting out sources of power, like sages and seers and… gods."

Loki pulled up a chair and sat with crossed legs, his presentation of knowledge far from over.

"So then I thought to myself, why would a simple earth witch and her daughter be the only ones to bear the symbol and not the entire village?"

The book thumped onto the tale as the pages skittered to a new page, this time it had a portrait of several women, crushed blue chalk colouring in their eyes. Two words signed at the bottom: Himmel Kvinner.

Loki continued, "Because they aren't witches at all. They're guardians, humans with a sacred duty given unto them by you. A duty that began as a mistake because their power isn't natural at all." Loki was savouring each moment of being the man with all the powerhouse cards in the deck. The pages flipped yet again to a sketch of a box with the same eight pronged symbol carved into it.

"Their powers are garnered from the residual effect of living close to this-" his finger fell onto the drawing. "An ancient power source that went missing after the war with the Jotun's over two hundred years ago. That's why the giants attacked, isn't it? They were looking for whatever is in this box."

Odin set his stave aside, arms folding behind his straightened spine, "And I suppose you're going to tell me how a Jotun sage detected this magical power source while the mark was still active?"

Loki held up a finger about to explain when Odin's words sunk in and he realised he hadn't accounted for that particular loophole, "I- I haven't figured that out yet."

"You should leave this be, son." Odin turned to look at Loki, a sincere look that was almost mournful took over his weary face. "Knowledge, for all its promise, is only a noble pursuit when it doesn't affect the one seeking it out. If you continue down this path, all you will find is dissonance."

Inching further in his seat, Loki stared at his father in defiance, "What are you so afraid of, Father? Why won’t you just tell us all why the giants massacred that village? Why Y/N survived a frost blade? Why Heimdall's brooding disposition has only worsened since?"

"Sins of the father," Odin replied.

Raising his nose in the air, Loki asked the right question, "Whose father?"

Odin smiled thinly before changing the subject, "From what disturbing news Thor told me of this human's powers, I am inclined to believe your training has done nothing to tame her spirit. She's dangerous. And yet, despite my efforts, your mother has talked me into letting you continue her training. As long as she stays under my roof, you may continue with her training."

The dark prince's scowl dropped, a tweak working against his cheek muscles. Loki was pleased by this.

"I assume you have better things to do than sit and gloat in front of your father?"

Loki shook his expression away, standing from his chair, "I'm sure I can find something to bide my time." He picked up the book.

"Loki… I know you have a knack for going against what I tell you, but please son, for your sake, let this be. You'll be happier for it in the long run, I'll handle the girl and the frost giants."

Without saying a word, Odin felt Loki's presence leave him as a green shimmer glowed atop the white pillars in his peripheral.

~A Few Days Later

You dodged several of Loki's attacks, using your magic defensively rather than offensively.

You were still weakened from you battle on Niflheim, your power nowhere near where it used to be.

When Loki charged at you and you held your hand out to push him away telekinetically, the body rippled away into a thousand pieces of glowing green flakes.

"You and your tricks."

Suddenly a leg swept under you, sending your body falling backwards. You motioned to counter-attack and sweep Loki's legs too, but he simply gripped onto your locked legs and heaved. Soon the two of you rolled through the grass, Loki's lips curling upwards when he had you pinned to the ground. Arms held down by his, magic twining and tingling around your wrists.

He leaned close, his breath so close. Your heart did that thing again and you found it increasingly hard to swallow or move.

"I told you your victory wouldn't last..." his voice was seductively ominous.

The flush returned to your cheeks as you became aware of how dry your lips felt. You licked them slowly and his pupils dilated at the simple gesture. Hunger present in his face, his grip tightening on your wrists as he leaned further in, his scent intoxicating.

Heat flooded your system and you were a finding it hard to concentrate on anything but the distance between his lips and yours.

You could feel the muscles in his thighs contracting around your hips and then...

"Brother, there you are!" Thor bellowed out as he stalked over.

Loki rolled his eyes, as was the usual response he gave to Thor's presence, his head falling away from your face. Somehow, you felt deprived.

You let out a shaky breath when Loki released his grip from you, mumbling an annoyed, "Why?" to himself.

Loki helped you off the ground and looked up at his tall brother with a hooked brow.

"Thor," he greeted coldly. "What can I do for you?"

"I was looking for Y/N."

"You were?" You sounded baffled.

Loki's jaw set and his eyes narrowed, "Why?"

"Sif has a surprise for you," Thor smiled at you charmingly.

"Oh?" You emoted with surprise.

Chapter Six

Tags: @mejohanssonwrites @tarynkauai @wanderlust-travler @ladybugsfanfics @electroma89 @texmexdarling @fire-in-her-veinz @whosaidididthat

Permatags: @gruffle1 @thechickvic @notawarriorjustyet @savethehoneeybees

#loki #loki laufeyson imagine #loki odinson imagine #loki x reader #loki imagine #Himmeløyne fic #magic mcu #thor #odin #sif #heimdall #warriors three #marvel imagine #loki x you

67 notes · View notes

spencerxreiders · 6 years

Text

I Would Miss You Too Much (Bughead]

Betty Cooper is done being a pawn. So, she makes the final play.

Warning: suicide attempt

Please leave feedback if you enjoy :)

Betty’s nude pink finger nails shone in the light streaming past her curtains. The street lamps had an orange glow to them,but the tears in her eyes blurred the spots of light together.

Betty cooper hated to admit it, but her life had gone to absolute dogshit.

Her sister, her parents, her best friend, and now, her boyfriend. How many things would she have to lose before this nightmare game would end?

The party she had left hours ago still felt fresh in her mind. The hoard of teens filled with sweet reckless abandon, coerced into taking that drug, had looked so free. Betty had been so jealous of their excitement, she almost truly felt angry at Veronica’s luck.

But as soon as she had to confront her best friend, to the black hood’s psychotic command, there was only sadness. No jealousy, no rage, not even fear. Just a cold, consuming sadness.

She felt cruel, and the sight of herself was enough to cause bile to raise in the back of her throat. That guilt was choking her, like a rope being pulled around her neck. She felt like the biggest sinner of them all.

If letting Veronica go hurt this badly, she could only imagine what it would feel like to push jughead away. Jughead, the person she loved most. Even if there had been a few riffs recently, she still remained head over heels for him, and she knew she always would.

That’s why she decided to stop before it was too late. Maybe it was selfish, but Betty Cooper was done coming second in her own life. She wanted this, so she would take it.

It was two in the morning when she began, starting by locking her bedroom door. She dug through her drawer until she found one of her razors.

She began to dismantle the flimsy green plastic until the silver blade landed in her palm. The rectangular piece of metal looked right laying there, surrounded by the multitude of crescent shaped nail marks she dug into herself constantly.

Her friends had tried to get her to stop, but they understood the fact that it was her coping mechanism. Eventually, they let up, except for Jughead who would take her hand in his whenever he caught her doing it. Her breath hitched at the thought of Jughead, the beanie wearing boy she had grown to love so much.

She didn’t want to die and leave him alone, but she couldn’t do what the black hood was asking of her. That was where she drew the line.

She cared far too much for him to watch his face crumble, to walk away. So, she made her way to the bathroom. She closed the door with slightly chipped wood, feeling the white grain beneath her fingertips one last time.

She slowly slipped her pink pullover sweater off of her body, revealing her equally as pastel yellow tank top. She neatly folded the knitted fabric and set it on the counter. Her reflection stared back at her, face pale and tear covered. She ran a shaky hand through her blonde hair, her eyes falling back to the porcelain countertop.

The glinting blade stared back at her, taunting. Having never self harmed before, Betty wondered what it felt like, if it offered as much release as frequent cutters preached. She wondered if she should test it out before going all the way.

She picked it up, instinctually trying her hardest to avoid nicking her fingers. She almost laughed at her own nativity.

Her hand hovered above her other wrist, ready to make a slice. She realized, however, that if she wasted time she would chicken out. Her determination was strong, but Betty Cooper was soft. She wasn’t ready to give in.

So, she pressed a kiss to two of her fingers, which she pressed against the screen of her phone, displaying her favorite picture of Archie, V, B, and Juggie. The core four, soon to be the core three. She laughed humorlessly, feeling droplets inside her waterline. She wiped them away and plopped herself down on the tile flooring.

On one side of her sat her phone, on the other her blade. ‘I’m done stalling,’ she told herself before grabbing the metal and make a deep incision across her vein. She gasped in shock as the stinging sensation spread. Her gaze hardened as she did it again, and again, and again still until not an inch of her left forearm wasn’t smeared in crimson liquid.

She felt numb, didn’t feel a single cut, until she took a minute to breathe. Then she moaned out in agony as it seared. Choked sobs squeezed out of her throat and she looked at the area surrounding her. Blood everywhere, a mess her mother would have to clean.

Guilt flooded her chest in an instant, and though it didn’t quite register, so did regret. She quickly stood up to try and bandage herself, but fell straight back down. The force of her back hitting the linoleum knocked the breath out of her lungs, and for a few brief moments, Betty felt death.

She couldn’t stop herself from picking up her cell and dialing the oh so familiar number, the only person she wanted to see, the last voice she wanted to hear.

“Hey, Betty? It’s 3.. what’s up?”

“Juggie?” she choked out.

“Betts, what’s wrong?” Jughead asked worriedly, suddenly alert.

“Can you come over? Through my window. My parents can’t know.”

“Yeah, yeah of course.”

Betty could hear him throwing on clothes and getting his keys. “It’s bad, Juggie, just want to warn you.”

“Hold on for me, love, hold on.”

“I will,” Betty said before hanging up, hoping to keep her word.

The next few minutes went by in a blur. She felt too dizzy to do anything but stare at the ceiling, hoping Jughead would arrive soon.

As if on cue, he swiftly entered the room. His expression morphed from concern to complete and utter terror. He dropped to his knees and pulled his girlfriend into his arms, shaking just as badly as she was.

He immediately brought her wrist to his face to inspect, feeling tears slip down his face.

He felt sick as he looked at the deep open wounds in her once flawless skin. He would ask her questions later, he decided. For now he would do his best to fix her up.

His heart was positively shattered as he hustled about the bathroom, trying to get everything he needed. He gently picked Betty up off the floor and set her on top of the toilet lid before finding hydrogen peroxide and bandages.

He took a wet rag and, while still crying his eyes out, cleaned the dried blood from her forearm. He then took a cotton ball and cleaned her cuts with the peroxide, trying to ignore the sharp intakes of breath as she felt the stinging sensation.

Finally, he wrapped a bandage tightly around her arm, until the spool ran out. Both teens sighed in unison.

“Juggie, I’m sorry,” she sobbed. “I couldn’t do it, I couldn’t.”

Confusion clouded Jughead’s features. “Couldn’t do what?

Shakily, she stood up, holding on to his forearms for support. Standing on her tip toes, she whispered into his ear the instructions the dreaded Black Hood had given her.

Jughead immediately pulled her into a soft hug, allowing her to cry into his neck. "Im so sorry, Betty, I’m so sorry,” he repeated like a mantra. “I love you, Jughead, I can’t live in a world where we can’t be together,” she continued with her broken voice. She lost her balance once again, and jughead was quick to pull her to his chest, looping his arms under hers.

“You don’t have to worry, Betts. Just please, don’t ever, ever, do something like this again,” he pleaded, eyes glassy and filled with tears. He felt her nod against him. “I promise, Juggie.”

He sighed before planting his lips to her forehead. “I love you,” he said softly, brushing her tears away with the gentle pad of his thumb. “I love you too,” she said, her lips pulling up into a smile.

He bent over to hook his arm underneath her knees before standing up, cradling the fragile girl in his arms. He carefully carried her into her room before tucking her into bed. “Let me clean up in the bathroom,” he said before kissing her lips so lightly she almost didn’t feel it.

He went to work, ridding the room of all evidence. The small room smelled strongly of cleaning products, but Betty was known as a stress cleaner, so no one would find it too unusual.

He took the blade and flushed it down the toilet, as assurance for himself. The thought of her trying again caused his stomach to drop.

When he came back into her bedroom, she was laying awake on her bed, staring up at her ceiling which was littered with glow in the dark star cut outs. Her eyes flickered to him, before looking back up in shame. Jughead recognized that, and immediately sat on the side of her bed.

He looked at her bare arm, leading up to a thick bandage wrap at her wrist. He leaned down to kiss the gauze, smiling as a blush rose to her cheeks. “You’re so beautiful, Betty,” he murmured as he kissed his way up her arm, to her collar, to her neck, and landing securely on her lips.

She kissed him back, trying to push gratitude from her lips. She owed him her life, literally. Anything he asked of her, she would deliver, even the promise she made in the bathroom.

He got up to leave the room out the window, turning around only as her shaky hand gripped his weakly. “I don’t want to be alone tonight,” she whimpered.

An understanding smile crossed his face as he returned to the bed. His jacket landed on the floor beside his boots, and his hat lay on her desk.

He decided to lay atop her comforter, wanting her to feel as safe as possible. His arm lay across her stomach as her back, separated by a few layers of fabric, presses against his chest. “Get some rest, Miss Cooper. You need it,” he said, stretching himself out before relaxing once more.

Betty smiled. “Thank you for tonight.” His thumb gently ran across her faint freckles. "Get some rest, love.“

Tomorrow he would talk to her, figure out their solutions. But tonight he would let his hands run through that blonde ponytail, rest his hand over her heart, beating against his palm.

He winced at the thought that he may have never felt it again. But he did, he reminds himself, and that’s what’s important. That, and Betty Cooper.

#bughead #riverdale #betty x jughead #betty cooper #jughead jones #riverdale suicide #riverdale angst #bughead comfort

11 notes · View notes

voicebass64-blog · 3 years

Text

state So lengthy Cellulite In simply 8 Weeks! beauty expert Kate Shapland Shares Revolutionary recommendations.

medical Cryo iq Derm liquid Freeze therapy.

Content

Viral Verrucae (excrescences).

Mothercare.

facelift At woodland medical Facility.

Face & Neck Lift.

thousands Of females Are opposing Poland Banning mostly All Abortions.

The science Behind Cellulite.

Plastic surgery is typically only available on the NHS if the problem is affecting your physical or mental wellness. Some skin tags might fall off naturally yet if you desire your skin tags removed we will attempt and also assist you. At our IPSA Medical facility, our medical professionals will analyze your skin tags. During the consultation, you will be recommended on the very best course of action to take. If the skin tag is creating troubles, after that we may suggest removing it. Many clients go with skin tag upkeep treatments every couple of years.

For additional information regarding skin tag removal or to arrange a consultation, please call us or use book your examination online. For all therapies such as mole removal, wart removal, skin tag removal and cyst elimination please permit one to one-and-half hrs for the consultation. Moles, skin tags as well as moles may likewise be removed for aesthetic factors if they remain in a prominent place such as the face or nose, or if they are in a placement where they are prone to hemorrhaging or capturing on apparel. Provide on your own satisfaction by knowing that you're under the care of a clinical professional. This image shows the appearance of the skin before and instantly after an electrocautery skin tag removal therapy near the eye area. Two skin tags have been gotten rid of in the centre of these photos a bigger skin tag and a smaller sized one. It's easy to schedule your skin tag removal with our General Practitioner, select to fill in the contact kind, email your enquiry or call our reception team on.

youtube

Viral Verrucae (moles).

Little pockets of skin which may seem irrelevant can trigger discomfort, shame and self-consciousness. Our Skin Specialist Medical professional will examine your skin tag or lesion to guarantee it can be securely gotten rid of. Removal of skin tags and sores start from ₤ 245 after a throughout check and assessment prior to elimination. The majority of skin tags have actually existed for a long period of time and also are totally benign. As they are taken into consideration a cosmetic imperfection just, GPs are no more able to offer their removal on the NHS. At LINIA Skin Facility we provide a large range of therapies for skin tag removal. A removal of skin tags most of the times is viewed as a cosmetic treatment and also you maybe called for to remove this at an exclusive technique.

Does a facelift make you look younger?

- Patients who have undergone a facelift rate themselves as looking an average of 12 years younger after surgery, according to a study in the February issue of Plastic and Reconstructive Surgery®, the official medical journal of the American Society of Plastic Surgeons (ASPS).

It is extremely advisable that you do not attempt to eliminate them yourself as unchecked and also extreme bleeding can take place. Some procedures require a preliminary visit with your Doctor prior to treatment. You can still use this kind and we will call you back to talk about next actions, however prior to proceeding to therapy you will certainly require to book an in-clinic consultation with one of our Surgeons.

Please contact us to discover even more regarding our skin tag removal service in Plymouth, Devon. This procedure may cause short-lived skin discolouration as well as irritation and also the skin tag might not be gotten rid of which might lead to more treatment. The exact reason for skin tags isn't clear but they are typically found in people with diabetic issues or people who are obese. Using limited clothes as well as repetitive rubbing can likewise create skin tag in people that are obese. They can occur in anyone however they have a tendency to be discovered much more in individuals that are middle-aged.

This is due to the fact that the elimination of skin tags is regarded as plastic surgery, which is seldom available via the NHS. Usually, the NHS will just accomplish plastic surgery treatments if the trouble is impacting your physical or mental wellness.

Mothercare.

HIFU facelift therapy is an ingenious, painless and non-invasive method to reduce wrinkles that lasts approximately 2 years and also is skin-friendly, safe and also efficient.

Join us on social media sites for the latest skin related information and also treatment deals.

We follow rigorous moral as well as medical concepts guaranteeing all the procedures we provide are secure as well as efficient.

Therefore I was happy when Italian facial filler maker, IBSA, welcomed me to Milan for a Masterclass in the most recent improvements in hyaluronic acid facial fillers and the strategies created to guarantee a great outcome.

Certainly it was also a wonderful opportunity to meet with other medical professional specialists from around the globe.

As an NMC Nurse Practitioner I am duty bound to proceed my education to guarantee the efficiency and also security of the therapies I offer.

Our practice is led by our founder, Dr. Shirin Lakhani, that is a supporter for greater guideline in the appearance industry.

Dr. Shirin is additionally fully registered with the GMC, and Elite Visual Appeals is Preserve one's honor certified, an endorsement recognised by the UK Federal Government, The Department of Health, NHS England as well as the CQC.

This will be examined throughout your appointment to ensure your viability for therapy. https://la-lipo.uk/warwick/ will certainly additionally go through a full assessment to ensure that it is secure to execute your therapy. Ministry of Waxing Covent Garden is a waxing and laser hair removal specialist beauty parlor situated on Neal Street, just off Shaftesbury Method in Covent Garden, Central London. They offer an amazing variety of superior hair removal services to the people of London, catering for both women as well as gents. The deluxe insides of this brilliant as well as airy therapy space create an inviting space for you to enjoy a spot of pampering. Permitting a convenient trip there is totally free 30-minute car parking outside the properties as well as within a 4-minute stroll, you'll discover on your own at Checking out West train station.

What age should you get a facelift?

Although people in their mid 40s often see the best results, the optimal age to get a facelift depends on each person's individual circumstances, which are unique to their face. In most instances, individuals in their 40s, 50s, and 60s are the best candidates for facelift surgery.

As with the Hyfrecator, there is only a minimal chance of scarring when the aftercare recommendations is followed. The expense of the elimination of one skin tag by laser is ₤ 275, the cost for the elimination of extra skin tags on the same day is ₤ 75. Skin tag removal through Hyfrecator is taken into consideration the recommended method of elimination. The treatment is reasonably discomfort totally free, fast as well as straightforward and since the Hyfrecator cauterises the skin tag there is likewise no bleeding. The therapy itself will last about 15 mins, however maybe much longer depending upon the number of skin tags to be removed. The expense of the removal of one skin tag by the Hyfrecator is ₤ 195, the cost for the removal of additional skin tags on the very same day is ₤ 25. This is because skin tag removal is considered cosmetic surgery, which is seldom readily available through the NHS.

youtube

When it comes to moles, the removal of a benign lesion is commonly suggested as a preventive procedure to avoid the threat of the mole turning cancerous in the future and also therefore is typically covered by medical insurance. We advise that you talk to, and obtain created authorisation from, your insurance coverage company that they cover your certain therapy for benign skin lesion elimination under local anaesthetic before starting treatment. We have a variety of money choices readily available for self-pay people having their lesion eliminated for aesthetic reasons.

face Lift At timberland medical Facility.

Face & Neck Lift.

Intrigued in learning more concerning dealing with skin tags at Mallucci London? Arrange an examination by calling us at or by click on this link to fill out our on the internet demand kind. At Perfect Picture Professional, we utilize our laser to get rid of moles, excrescences and skin tags. Bodybuilding for Weight Loss is a pain-free treatment, gives a perfect result and also is an alternate, more reliable therapy than surgical elimination, cryotherapy, radiofrequency or chemical methods. Benign skin sore removal under local anaesthetic expenses might be covered by your clinical insurance coverage.

Toddlers and also youngsters may also form skin tags, usually in the neck and also underarm areas. Expecting women may create skin tags because of hormone elevations.

How long wear chin strap after facelift?

You must wear the chin strap continuously for the first two weeks after surgery except while eating and showering/cleaning incisions. The strap helps fight the forces of gravity immediately after surgery and helps improve any swelling.

This is due to the fact that skin tag removal is considered cosmetic surgery, which is seldom readily available with the health solution. Laser skin tag removal is used when the skin tag does not have a visible stalk. It is still a relatively pain free therapy, however the recuperation time message therapy is a little longer than if the Hyfrecator is made use of.

countless ladies Are objecting Poland Banning almost All Abortions.

Visual appeal House Limited offers a totally free welcome beverage and also customised appointment with every therapy, guaranteeing you locate the best option. Located along several main bus courses, there's also on-street car park outside if you are stopping by automobile. Although unusual, there is a potential danger from the use of fractional carbon dioxide lasers of burns or death if an area mores than treated with the power accidentally. The tool has a history in gynaecological applications where CO2 lasers have actually been utilized by medical practitioners for several years to get rid of genital warts as well as some cancers. Your expert is most likely to advise regular kegel workouts to help prolong the effects of having a course of Femilift. Much of our own individuals have experienced life altering results as an outcome of Femilift therapy for urinary incontinence particularly. You canread the reviews at the end of the Femilift page, or watch a video testimonial below.

The scientific Research Behind Cellulite.

Both flash cold and surgical treatments are unbelievably fast. Your therapy time might be less than thirty minutes yet this also depends on the variety of skin tags to be dealt with and also their size. Cryotherapy is a pain-free removal approach that carefully freezes and also ruins the underlying afferent neuron enabling it to normally fall from the body with time. Skin tag removal is a basic treatment executed by a highly educated aesthetic professional. Treatment techniques vary from cryotherapy to surgical strategies. Both approaches have their benefits and are secure as well as effective for skin tag removal.

A follow-up visit and also a date for the elimination of any kind of stitches may be arranged for you. If your skin lesion has been sent for evaluation you will certainly get the arise from your medical professional. Partial removal-- a sore that sticks out from your skin is 'cut' off so it coincides degree of the bordering skin. This is typically combined with cautery which makes use of warmth to secure the skin and also quit bleeding. Pall Shopping mall Clinical offers premium personal health care solutions to self-paying as well as personal medical insured individuals without any waiting lists for any visits, scans or surgical procedure. Our CQC-certified clinics are conveniently situated in Liverpool, Manchester & Newton-Le-Willows. We comprehend that moles, blemishes & skin tags can be unpleasant and trigger lasting issues in addition to personal concerns.

How much does it cost to do a facelift?

Types of Facelift SurgeryUSAIndiaFull Facelift Surgery$15,000$3,200Upper Facelift Surgery$12,000$2,700Lower Face & Neck Surgery$20,000$3,900Suture Necklift Surgery$10,000$2,2001 more row

appointment.

Whatever therapy you're seeking CoLaz Advanced Appeal Specialist make sure to supply the most effective solution for you. The very trained team of physicians and also professionals are professionals in determining the most effective strategy for every single customer, depending on their skin needs as well as utilize state-of-the-art technology and also items to obtain the most effective results.

How Safe Is facelift surgery?

Complications of facelift surgery are infrequent, and cosmetic procedures are generally safe, as long as they are carried out by a qualified and experienced professional.

These consist of Complete Total Amount Treatment where a solitary one-off payment at a pre-agreed price delivers direct access to all the therapy they require for total confidence, pay as you go as well as, interest-free medical money fundings. Your care group will give you advice about your healing procedure and also just how to look after your injury.

How long after a facelift can I sleep on my side?

Immediately Following Surgery: You should rest with your head elevated in a recliner or with at least 2 pillows for at least the first week after surgery. Try not to sleep on the side of your face but rather sleep with the back of your head on the pillow for about two weeks.

The results from a Femilift treatment differ from patient to patient, and also will depend upon why you're having actually the procedure done. Our appointments are extensive as well as tailored to you, developing a bespoke therapy plan dealing with your issues. Meanwhile doctors have issued an advising about the dangers of "genital scraping" as ladies try to eliminate all traces of their ex lover. Pelvic floor repair work is offered for women for whom the tissues have become overstretched - referred to as a prolapse. However, this is an uneasy medical concern and should be dealt with by a physician. We provide an option of three reliable therapies for getting rid of skin tags. Why not publication an examination with among our skin treatment specialists; they will certainly analyze your skin tag, answer your concerns as well as advise the very best treatments for you.

0 notes

imagineclaireandjamie · 7 years

Note

will there be more of the external forces au?

Mod Note: Hi @internallydeceased I honestly don’t know if there is. I feel like that one sort of reached a natural end. I will certainly keep an open mind though, as the whether I extend it - although I do have a lot of other open ones to contend with too - but here, have another Chain of Command chapter and I hope that this helps a little: much love, Mod MBD.

Chain of Command: Part Three:

With her escape attempt foiled, Claire’s mind had turned to more desperate measures. Once the Fraser’s knew about the baby she’d either be forced to give it up - or be sent away completely. She’d heard of it before and even though Ellen and Brian were kind, generous people, Claire didn’t think they’d be all too pleased at her’s and Jamie’s trysts.

Scrubbing at the dishware extra hard, she scoured the dirt from the large breakfast from the plates as she contemplated her options.

Being good at healing she had some less than reputable sources and though she’d never been embroiled in any of their less than legal activities, a horrid thought sprung to mind as she debated how much easier it would be was she not pregnant.

Mama Crook had scheduled a trip into Inverness within the week, this gave Claire ample time to get together some sort of plan.

As the pair, adoptive mother and daughter, rode in companionable silence, Claire’s mind warred with her heart.

Jamie had found her only moments before they were due to leave. Trapping her in a solitary corner, he had kissed her into oblivion, causing all thoughts to fall from her head as his hands circled her waist.

*She should have told him* she argued with herself, he *should* know. But in the end she hadn’t. He’d made her promise that she’d keep herself safe on the long journey south, and she’d nodded silently - unable to fully commit to the promise.

Her hands were shaking on the reins as the scenery of the highlands passed them by. Soon the hum of the city began to drift through the hills as the land flattened a little.

Nearly there…

She whispered to herself as riders on the road became more prevalent. The sounds of their muffled conversations soothed her a little and she started to pay more attention to Mama Crooks’ instructions.

They would first get settled at the inn, then they would separate and each go off in search of their own respective items. Claire had spoken of seeking out some new herbs. She’d run out of valerian root and she knew how popular that could be with some of the inhabitants of Broch Tuarach. Then, if she were caught in the company of her less reputable friends, Mrs Crook wouldn’t question why.

Claire had always been a good girl, she’d obeyed instructions, learned well and been adept at following the rules as requested. This was the first time that she’d been actively duplicitous.

As if to remind her of her awful decision, the tiniest flutter of butterflies tingled in her stomach. Her little visitor was making herself known more frequently these days and Claire couldn't deny the bond that had built between her and the bairn.

Shaking her head, she dismounted the pony and handed her over to the stable hand The more she thought about the baby, the more the idea of ridding herself of the burden of her (or him) became impossible to go through with.

‘Did ye hear me, Claire?” Mama Crook chirped, seeing that Claire was in fact away with the fairies.

“No, sorry mama, what was that?”

“Ye need to be back here for supper, aye? I dinna want you wandering these streets on yer own once the sun has set. Do ye understand?”

Claire nodded. Mama Crook worried for her, and the older she got - the more she worried, it seemed. Claire had wrongly assumed it would go the other way. But with Claire still seemingly alone with no marital prospects, Mrs Crook had quietly become concerned. Not many men would pass up the opportunity to wed Claire, she was a fine young woman with a bright future. Claire, however seemed to pay little attention to the opposite sex which in itself was concerning. She also didn’t see the danger in spurning their advances.

“I promise, mama,” she whispered, kissing Mrs Crook’s cheek in familial affection as she turned and disappeared off into the bustling crowds of Inverness.

It only took Claire a few moments to track Geillis Duncan down. Gellie was the subject of many a rumour, but her marriage to a high-borne litigator made her untouchable. She was a suspected witch and known abortionist.

Claire’s heart was pounding as she followed her friend through the large lounge area of her home and up into her private suites.

“And what news do ye have, Claire?” Gellie crooned, her eyes surveying Claire as if she were prey. Geillis knew. Claire could tell by the glint in her eye.

Claire swallowed. She shouldn’t have to say the words, but she knew Geillis well enough that the woman wasn’t going to let her off easily.

“I need your help, Gellie, on a *private* matter…” Claire returned, her voice cracking slightly as she spoke.

Tipping her head to the side, Geillis squinted, a wry smile appearing on her face. “Aye, go on then. Dinna make me wait to hear it.”

“I made a mistake, a rather large one,” Claire began, sweat gathering on her palms as she shifted her feet against the crude wooden floorboards. “If I don’t...if I can’t see it finished, I’ll lose everything.”

‘Are ye sure?” Geillis replied, a slight hint of worry in her tone. “There are no other options other than this?”

“N-no..at least I don't think so.” The slight indecision showed in her response and Geillis took the chance to verbally warn Claire of the dangers.

“I have a lassie to see me in a moment, maybe you should attend - help me a wee bit - and then ye can see for yerself the dangers of it.” Reaching out, Gellie took hold of Claire’s tepid hand and rubbed the back of it slowly in solid camaraderie. “You’re my only friend, Claire. I want to see ye safe, aye?”

Nodding, Claire slumped into the high backed chair by the fire, something akin to relief flooding her bones as she silently agreed to Geillis’s proposal. “Alright, what do I need to do?”

“No’ much. Just pass me the tools as I ask for them and dinna make a sound.”

Somber silence filled the room as only the sound of the ticking clock echoed around them. Claire did as she was bid, watching as the sun began to set behind her. She was going to be so late, meaning Mama Crook would be angry at her. But she couldn’t walk away now - she was in too deep.

The poor young lass who’d come seeking Geillis’s services was shivering, flat on her back with her legs parted, she’d told Claire and Gellie the sad tale of the rich captains who’d ridden inland from port on a small detour. One in particular had wooed her with false promises, taking her to bed and then fleeing for the hills once he’d realised his error. Left alone with the prospect of raising an illegitimate child, the woman had sought instead to rid herself of the baby. As much to protect it from a life of poverty and servitude as to protect her own shaky reputation.

It was just as Geillis was about to make the first incision that a large banging rattled the door. Pounding, the guards broke the lock and plowed their way in - not waiting for an invitation.

Claire gapped at the men, dressed head to toe in the very recognisable British army uniform. Dropping the knife she held in one hand, she took one measured step backwards, raising her hands in submission as the leader of the group marched forwards.

“Halt! I am under orders,” he barked, his eyes cold and hard as they focused on Claire. He grabbed at her arms, tugged her towards him without stopping to ask the meaning of their gathering. “I am here to stop these unlawful activities. Geillis Duncan, you are hereby charged…”

“She,” Geillis piped up, her tone harsh and unyielding, “is no’ Geillis Duncan, you wee fool! I am!”

The officer kept hold of Claire, dragging her across the floor until he reached Geillis.

One nod and his men had her arms pulled tightly behind her back. Claire cried out, pain ripping through her left arm as the unnamed Englishman thrust her forwards. “Well,” he sneered, his fingers tightening on Claire’s wrist as he brought her almost nose to nose with him. Claire balked. “It is of no matter, you are in the presence of this foul deed, and so you will be coming with us also.”

Losing the will to fight it, Claire stumbled forwards as the officer dragged her through the lounge and out into the dull Inverness street. Tying her hands in front of her, he made a solid knot between her wrists, ensuring that the rough rope rubbed against her fragile skin.

“I n-need to tell mama, she’ll be cross,” Claire managed to cry out as she was unceremoniously dumped into the back of a heavily guarded prison wagon, “please, have mercy!”

“Ha!” A taller gentleman of larger build stepped forwards as the door slammed shut in her face, “mercy? Like you would have had on that poor child! No, mistress. Take them away!”

Sliding her arms around her knees, Claire sat on the small prison cot and wept. Surely Mama Crook would have discovered her fate by now. And if she had, Claire knew she was in big bother. She shouldn’t have accepted Geillis’s invitation in the first place. She knew her friend had enough of a sway with the courts that she’d probably get her convictions dismissed as soon as they were levelled at her. Claire, however, had no such pull.

As the night drew on, the babe seemed to nudge at her insides, a constant reminder of Jamie.

Christ, Jamie. What would he do once he got wind of this?

She had, of course, protested her innocence. Claire had claimed Gellie simply provided her with medicinal herbs and she had simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time. It had all been pointless, though. Her protests had gone unheeded and she’d been left in this cold, dank, cell to await her fate.

Claire was certain that she could hear the telltale creak of the noose as she rocked back and forwards, the cold seeping slowing through her clothes as dawn began to break outside.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have even gone there…” she murmured, her words becoming fainter and fainter as night paved way for day and the sun peaked high in the sky. “I’m so sorry.”

It was the rattle of the door that brought her out of her self-loathing.

“Alright, lass,” the Scots guard called, his voice a friendly break in the quiet monotony, “your master has spoken for ye. It seems yer right, and you are free to go...this time.” His voice broke on the last word, his meaning altogether too clear. Be caught in the wrong place again and her freedom wouldn’t be so easy to obtain.

“Thank you,” Claire stuttered as she crawled to stand, her joints aching from sitting still for so long. Her stomach growled as she slunk towards the exit, worried about what she was about to face but hungry nevertheless. It had been hours since she’d last eaten and the bairn didn’t much appreciate being starved, no matter how small she was.

Outside, Brian Fraser waited with Mama Crook by his side, a disappointed look covering his weatherbeaten face.

Claire’s head dipped as she saw them waiting for her, an embarrassed blush covering her face as she rubbed her sore wrists.

“Come, Claire,” Brian ordered, leaving no room for discussion or argument as he wrapped his arm around Claire’s shoulders and led her from the dingy jail.

The ride home was wet and miserable. Neither Brian or Mama Crook spoke to Claire, not to voice their displeasure at finding her locked away by the redcoats or to ask if she was recovering well from her ordeal. Feeling the tension, she kept her thoughts to herself, leaving the matter of her incarceration to fester as they finally broke through the Fraser borders.

Just before reaching the rise that would bring them down upon Lallybroch, though, Brian stopped the party. With one hand raised, Claire pulled her horse to halt and waited with baited breath.

“Nobody down there knows what I’ve just been privy too, Claire,” he spoke, his voice low and serious. “Mrs Crook and I shall keep it that way. But I don’t *ever* want to hear of ye in the presence of that woman ever again. Do you hear me?”

Claire’s stomach dropped, bile rising up the back of her throat as she bit back the urge to vomit rather than respond to Brian’s kind gesture.

Instead she nodded - avoiding losing the small breadcrumbs Mama Crook had fed to her on the road.

“I ken ye mean well, lass. She gave ye good advice and until now, she has been a good teacher for you. Your healing is incredible and she’s certainly helped ye a lot wi’ that. But to be caught witnessing an *abortion*, Claire,”

Claire’s eyes filled with tears, the moisture spilling over and down her cheeks as her chin wobbled. She wanted to sob, but held herself back. Brian truly had believed her. He hadn’t thought she had gone for any reason other than to gather more herbs and the realisation of that sunk straight to the marrow of her.

“That’s a sin. A mortal one. And Geillis Duncan shouldna be partaking in such an act.”

“I didn't know, I promise,” Claire lied, her need to protect the relationship built between her and Brian overruling her need to be honest in that moment.

“I ken, Claire,” he sighed, his eyes not wavering from hers as he gazed sadly at her. “But she canna be yer friend any longer. Am I clear?”

“Yes,” Claire whispered, licking her dry lips as she dipped her chin and dragged in a large breath.

Grunting, Brian nodded and turned, ushering his horse onwards and Claire followed studiously behind.

Locking herself in her room, Claire flopped onto her small bed, fear sweeping through her now as the reality of her evening hit home hard. Brian was true to his word. He hadn’t told Ellen, Jamie or Jenny the reason for his hasty departure to Inverness, only that Mrs Crook and Claire had needed him to settle business on an urgent matter.

Cradling her belly, Claire shushed the rumbling, her heart lightening at the prospect of her inability to complete on her original mission. Whatever was to come, this child was apart of it and Claire now had to accept that inevitable truth.

Staring at the shelves full of books, Claire pulled the thin sheet over her, not bothering to remove her skirts as a sickening shudder rolled through her.

She had come *so close* to doing something horrific and the sudden shock of that irrational decision chiseled at her soul.

Close, but she’d been stopped. Closing her eyes, Claire rubbed her abdomen lovingly. “You’re mine now,” she sighed, the slow thud of her heart lulling her to sleep, “mine and I won’t let you go.”

#ask #;Mod MBD #internallydeceased #chain of command #jamie x claire

199 notes · View notes