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the-raven-lady · 1 month

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(Not) The Savior You Long For [Part 1]

[Masterlist] [My Ko-Fi]

Pairing: Night Lord (OC: Elias Rushorik) x serf!Reader [fem]

Song Inspiration: Fear Inoculum - TOOL [YouTube] [Spotify] “Enumerate all that I'm to do / Calculating steps away from you / My own mitosis / Growing through delusion from mania / Exhale, expel / Recast my tale / Weave my allegorical elegy.”

Warnings: Violence, explicit and detailed blood and gore, disgusting and disturbing imagery, terror and dread, fear of death, all of the warnings you should expect hearing the words ‘Night Lord’ bestie this is the “I love murder” legion.

Word Count: 2.8k

Author’s Note: The long awaited Night Lord claiming + womb tattoo series. This part is primarily exposition and setting the scene. Also new dividers? Raven Lady's getting fancy.

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3]

Tag List: @egrets-not-regrets @sleepyfan-blog @kit-williams @bleedingichorhearts @bispecsual

@lemon-russ @moodymisty @dedios-of-the-word @pickpocketing-your-gender

The slosh of brown water on the floor splashes away from your washcloth, and you overextend your shoulder trying to catch it before it runs too far. Hissing at the sudden spasm, you sit back on your heels, rolling it out to soothe the ache. You’ve been on your hands and knees for what feels like far too long now, and your joints are starting to protest. It seems the other serf helping you isn’t faring much better. A glance in her direction reveals her sitting like a child, knees bent and feet flat on the floor, using the full weight of her body to scrub between the seams of the floor panels. You shake your head and return to pushing around the rusty water, struggling to remove the grime from the floor.

The act was pointless. Everyone knew that it wouldn’t be another week before the armory would be so rancid with dried bodily fluids that a cleanup crew would have to scrub it down again, but you knew better than to make a comment on it.

The racket of raucous laughter nearby shoots ice through your veins. You and the other serf instinctually freeze at the sound, and it doesn’t even cross your mind to check on her before abandoning your post, scrambling off of the wet floor in a flash to hide behind a large crate. The cold metal at your back would shield you from view, you know, but the hammering in your chest and shuddering of your breath would be beacons for a bored astartes. Silently, you will yourself to calm down at any cost, holding your breath for so long your lungs begin to burn from the effort.

Their heavy footfalls eventually fade into the distance, off to another area of the ship. Still, you remain in place for another few minutes until you’re as certain as you’ll ever be that they’re gone. You dare not risk yourself getting caught by a group of Night Lords, if experience has taught you anything.

You’ve become jaded to the rags of tanned hide displayed proudly on their armor and the grotesque corpse art that lines the walls of Nightfall. The smell doesn’t even get to you anymore, having been surrounded by abundant death and decay for so long. Everything reeks of it. Even if you did take the time to think on the dreadful feelings that stir when you see them, your body wouldn’t be able to afford losing any more meals with how sparingly you’ve been fed.

What has never left you are the screams. The gush of blood pouring from a weeping laceration. The crack of breaking bones. Desperate cries from the poor targets of the Night Lord’s insatiable appetite for ‘entertainment’, sobs and begs for their lives— No, no, no, please! I’ll do anything, please, just let me go–!— eventually turning into pleas to be put out of their misery, shown mercy, as their captors only laugh and croon. No mercy flowed through them; they were never quick with their kills. It was all a sadistic game to feed off of the tears and terror for as long as they could. The Night Lords wouldn’t stop their fun until their playthings had been bled dry– literally or figuratively.

You peek out from around the crate, surveying the dim armory. Empty.

The serf you had been working with was missing as well, likely sequestered off somewhere for safety. The utter silence of the room causes your gut to tremble with anxiety. It was a dangerous game to be alone: lone serfs were prime prey, and you by no means wanted to make yourself an easy target.

With no small amount of horror, you realize it’s outside of your power to do anything about it. Your lungs deflate, and you give yourself a false reassurance before returning to your station on the floor, taking up the soiled wash rag and wringing it out into the water bucket. Pieces of slimy rehydrated skin pass over your fingers. You return to your efforts with the intent to finish as quickly as possible. The desire to flee to your cot is all-encompassing, driving you to redouble your efforts and get the job done just passably enough that you won’t be killed for it.

A thought stops you, though. Where had your companion gone? It’s not that you particularly cared for her safety (you didn’t know her and caring is a luxury you could not afford), but to be gone without a trace was peculiar. You don’t remember hearing her footsteps, but you had also been preoccupied with yourself at the time.

You look around the empty room for anything out of place. Nothing appears to have moved since you last checked. Her brush and bucket are still on the floor, right where she had left them. You had seen her put them down there, right?

…Hadn’t you?

You dismiss the thought. She was probably still hiding somewhere, and for that, you couldn’t fault her. There was no loyalty amongst serfs of the Eighth, just an understanding that it was safer together than apart. Wanting to determine how much longer you would be here, you observe the areas the other serf had already worked.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

The surfaces of the floors, storage units, and walls were visibly much cleaner than the rest, but she had done a horrible job wiping things down as she went. The steady dripping of a poorly dried surface unpleasantly fills your ears, slowly becoming the only thing you can focus on. You frown. It was amazing how you could begin to miss the ever-present dull thrum of the ship’s electrical systems when it was covered by something even slightly more annoying.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

You shake your head and get back to working around the floor grate at the center of the room. Its placement makes it convenient to push the disgusting wash water into. As expected, the seams around the drain are compacted with hair and dried flesh, and you have to soak the mass to begin to scrape it free. The spongy texture is a nightmare to work with, but it wouldn’t be such a chore if you had some help.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

Annoyed, you decide you’ve had enough of it. Water sloshes in the bucket when you wrench your washcloth to go wipe down whatever it is she had left unfinished, rising up to your feet. With some luck, you’d figure out where she had run off to. It wouldn’t come as a surprise if she had abandoned you altogether, leaving you to finish the task and fend for yourself.

A cursory glance over the bench, lockers, and racks reveals nothing out of the ordinary. They were passably clean and– perplexingly– completely dry. You ran a hand along them to be certain and, surely enough, it came away much the same. Odd. You were certain that you would find something. Continuing your search leaves more questions than answers.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

Checking around a wall of storage cabinets, you carefully inspect each of the gaps for signs of water or some other liquid that could be leaking. You find nothing.

At the end of the lockers, a shadow dances in the dim candlelight. Fear grips you for just a moment as you focus in on it, but it is much too small to be an astartes. At the realization, the chill in your blood is replaced with a simmer of frustration, and you stomp down the hall towards the figure.

Your eyes lock with the other serf’s. “Are you just hiding to–?”

You stop. It appears she had been too preoccupied with hanging from a bracket on the wall to come to your aid. The side of her neck is torn open with loose strips of muscle and connective tissue fanning over her shoulder. A glistening metal finial of Nostraman design pokes ornately through her spine and sternum, partially coagulated blood pooling at the tip.

Drip.

“About time,” a voice spits.

You’re suddenly dragged by the back of your robes, hoisted up into the air by an unseen force. The scream that leaves you tears at your vocal cords, but it’s choked off by the fabric of your neckline biting into your throat. Thrashing your head from side to side, you catch sight of a colorless face cackling, bloodied lips curled into a grin. You desperately kick your legs in an attempt to free yourself.

“Feisty little pet, aren’t we?” he asks. The Night Lord turns you around easily as you struggle, splitting red as he talks. “Good. Your friend was far more boring.”

You rake at the fabric around your neck, trying to alleviate the pressure preventing oxygen from getting to your head. The action only makes him laugh harder. “Oh, how precious. Poor little serf can’t breathe?” He tilts his head as he taunts you, and a cruel glint crosses his eye.

“How about I help with that?”

A half turn and your back slams against the wall, knocking the wind out of your lungs. Your gasp of pain ignites a malicious glee within your captor, a row of bloodied yellow teeth peeking from behind his lips. At least like this, pinned to the wall, you have the ability to catch your breath, ragged and shallow. Each rough huff eases the ache in your diaphragm.

A hand roughly snaps your head forward, forcing you to focus on the face at your front. He suffocates you with his presence, leaning in far too close. “You know,” he starts, “I had been just about ready to walk in there and drag you out myself.” Despite the melodic quality of his voice, you only feel discomfort at the astartes’s words as he uningenuously laments. “I could only stare at my masterpiece for so long.”

Briefly, your eyes linger on the silhouetted corpse of the other chapter serf. You hadn’t even heard her scream. Hadn’t heard the attack. Hadn’t heard the bones crack when she was unceremoniously mounted on the wall. You had managed to miss every detail.

…Or your captor had been skilled enough to mask them. You shiver.

He follows your gaze, scoffing when it lands on the body. “Your buddy is as pretty as she is stupid, trying to run all the way back to the hole you serfs call home.” The image of the other serf running down the hallway and getting caught as you did passes through your mind, and you grimace at the thought of whatever game she may have suffered through to end up where she is. The sing-song cadence of his voice draws your attention back to the Night Lord in front of you, “You humans fall so easily to your emotions. Not the brightest of you lot I’ve had, but certainly the best bait.”

Bait. The word is sour in the air.

“So unwilling to have fun–”

She had just been bait.

“–but you’re eager to play, aren’t you?”

You were the game.

Your blood runs cold, eyes widening as you process everything you had missed or ignored up until now. Black blurs the edges of your vision. “Oh, don’t be like that,” the Night Lord shakes his head, but you know better than to believe it. This is exactly what he wanted. “We can be great friends—”

Self-preservation takes a hold of you. Your adrenalized brain screams to overcome, persist. In an act of desperation, your hands shoot out before you, and you manage to jab your fingers into his dark eyes and claw. The astartes snarls, ducking away and dragging you with him off of the wall as he stumbles back. With a shake of his head, he regains his senses. He growls.

“You stupid bitch!”

The Night Lord tosses you like a ragdoll, uncaring of how your head impacts the nearby bench before hitting the floor. The world spins around you. “I’ll gut you like a pig for that, you impudent rat!” he roars, ceramite boots stomping closer. His eyes are wild, red around his enlarged pupils from where you’ve managed to burst blood vessels. Uncoordinated, you scramble backwards on the floor, staring up at the approaching astartes in terror.

This is it. This is where you die: surrounded by filth, hyperventilating on the floor as a pissed off Night Lord tortures you within an inch of your life until you perish from the stress. All for one measly act of courage. Your back hits a wall as he rounds the bench, and you find yourself unable to watch any longer as fate unfolds before you. You curl up in a ball, turning away and protecting your head with your arms, then wait for the inevitable killing strike.

And wait.

…And wait.

But the blow never comes– no white-hot stab of pain, no sting of a kick to the ribs, no blunt ache of broken bones– just a sickeningly sodden crunch of flesh and bone. A wet spray paints your back. Your tattered robes easily soak up the warm liquid, causing you to flinch from the sudden moisture. Even through the rush of confusion and fear, it doesn’t take you long to realize what it is. The scent is unmistakable.

Your heartbeat pounds in your ears as you struggle to catch up with your surroundings. By all means, you should be dead: the newest addition to a Night Lord’s skin cloak, or at the very least in excruciating pain. But you aren’t.

Tentatively, trembling, you withdraw your head from the cage of your arms, turning just enough to peer behind you. You gasp at the grisly sight.

Crimson rivulets of blood drip down over massive navy blue gauntlets. A single enucleated eye dangles from the gore between its digits. The terminator, more mountain than man, holds the unmoving body of your persecutor up by what remains of his cranium and neck. It is little more than ribbons of meat now.

Bile rises in your throat. You struggle to force it back down.

Bolted armor caked in blood– both dried and fresh, sunken deep into the recesses of the ceramite plating– gives off an aura of wrought iron and decay. The metallic tang permeates the air around him, hanging heavy in the poorly ventilated armory. His scarred skin looks sickly pale. Greasy. Dehydrated. Aside from deep black eyes that watch you as a predator observes prey, the most prominent feature on his face is a wicked scar: a tear in his upper lip that exposes maxilla and sharp teeth alike. The shock of black hair on his head still has the impression of his helmet on it.

Without so much as a sound, he had come up from behind and grabbed the smaller Night Lord by the face, yanking them back into the crux of his chestplate and pauldron with enough force to shatter the hardened skull of an astartes.

The massive marine throws the limp corpse of his former brother aside. The impact of metal on metal causes your ears to ring as a thousand pounds of lifeless ceramite strikes the wall, immediately followed by a disgusting wet slop of pulverized brain matter spilling onto the floor. If you had been on the Nightfall for any less time, you would have screamed. The shock almost prevents you from registering that you’re being spoken to.

“Get up.”

The terminator’s voice is that of rolling thunder and coarse gravel, resonating deep within your chest and leaving your heart fluttering with trepidation. His words had been spoken no louder than conversational, and yet they had you shooting up to your feet as if they had been shouted. Your wobbly legs nearly give out beneath you from how quickly you rise from the floor, croaking a shaky, “Yes, my lord.”

He removes his helmet from where it is magnetized to his belt with a click, placing it down on the bench you had been cowering behind. The tusks on it are as long as your forearm and nearly as thick. A faint decal of a skull is painted around the red lenses, chipped and fading but almost cartoonishly cute in contrast to the rags of flesh and weathered bones decorating the rest of his armor.

The new Night Lord doesn’t seem to find it nearly as amusing as you do. He pushes the helmet in your direction, and you clamber to catch it before it hits the ground, not wanting to incur his wrath by dropping it so soon after he had just saved your life. The metal is heavy in your arms, tusks dangerously close to puncturing your throat.

“Clean it,” he barks.

You grab your wash rag from the floor and shake it out. You do not have to be told twice.

[Part 2]

#there will be smut eventually #i did not and will not pull any punches on this one you have been WARNED #using my questionable life experience to make a good dark fic #enjoy you filthy sinners #night lord #night lords #night lord x reader #warhammer fanfic #warhammer 40k #warhammer 40000 #warhammer 30k #horus heresy #warhammer 40k x reader #wh 40k #oc: elias rushorik #raven lady writings

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glossysoap · 1 year

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ready to comply - prologue

warnings: canon typical violence, injuries, weapons, switching povs between your thoughts and the boys’ thoughts. appearance of a major marvel character, you’ll know when you read it.

note: russian will be written in bolded italics. eng translation for russian sentences will be written in non bolded italics directly after said russian sentence. simon/johnny will be used interchangeably with ghost/soap.

inclusivity note: no mention of flushing or hair type. the woman can drag you/lift you because she has super serum, so you can imagine any body type for the reader.

up to date masterlist here!

ex: пример. example.

word count: 3,092

The 141 was on a mission in Moscow, Russia in the dead of winter. The battlefield was covered in a thick blanket of snow as flurries fell from the sky.

The rest of 141 was raiding a nearby warehouse for supplies and intel while you, their head surgeon, was waiting in the medical tent with a few residents and scrub nurses to assist you in any emergency surgeries that may arise.

Betadine, rubbing alcohol, suture kits, needles, gauze pads, bandages, forceps, ambu-bags, defibrillators. Pulse oximeters, intubation kits, casts, IV bags.

You made a mental tally of all of the supplies you had as you sifted through them. Bins were arranged on a large folding table in the middle of the tent, every bin allocated to each type of item. All suture kits in one bin, all gauze pads in another, and so on. You prided yourself in having an efficient, organized system that made triaging simple and less overwhelming.

You were pulled out of your thoughts when a sharp gust of wind blew into the tent.

Your arms and back prickled with goosebumps as a shiver racked through your body at the sudden temperature change. You thought you had bundled up appropriately for the weather but the task force wasn’t expecting such a harsh blizzard.

You turned to look at who unzipped the tent to see Johnny bustling in, dragging Simon behind him. A grin pulled at your lips at the sight of your two best friends.

Both of them were covered in snow, down to their clothes and tactical gear. Johnny's usually tan cheeks were flushed pink from the biting cold and his mohawk was dusted with snowflakes. You’d bet that if Simon didn’t have his mask on, his face would probably be red too.

“What brings you in, boys?” You ask, eyes surveying both of their forms for injuries. As they bounded to the beds closest to you, you could see crimson staining Johnny's shoulder and Simon's wrist.

“Got some grazes-” “Dinnae fash about it, Doc!” Johnny interrupts Simon with a cheeky smile, sending you a wink with his baby blues.

“English, Mactavish.” Simon grunted, yet not sounding the slightest bit bothered. You and Simon shared a look before rolling your eyes at Johnny's antics.

“Don’t worry about it, Doc.” The corners of your lips quirked up in an amused grin at the Scots’ translation.

“Yeah? I’ll be the judge of that. Sit, you two.” You ordered, nodding to some medical beds.

They chose to sit on the same bed you were standing in front of, one of them sitting on either side of you. Caging you in between their two big, broad forms. Johnny was sitting to your right and Simon to your left, both of them already removing a layer of gear for you to be able to patch them up.

When the two men were so close to you, you were suddenly reminded of their broad shoulders and towering height. They weren’t that much shorter than you even as they sat down on the bed.

You tried to ignore the way Simon's hand brushed your left arm and Soap’s hand grazed your right arm. You also tried to ignore the warmth that bubbled in your stomach and how your heart fluttered at even the smallest amount of contact from them.

Sometimes you found yourself forgetting that Simon and Johnny were already together because of all the attention and affection they give you. Inevitably though, a pit opens back up in the bottom of your stomach when you catch them looking at each other with that look that they reserved for the other man.

As you began treating their injuries, their touching only escalated. When you were treating Simon's injury, he had taken to holding your left forearm and rubbing slow circles into your skin as you patched his injury up with your other hand.

Johnny wasn’t much better, ever the overly affectionate one. You needed to be closer to Johnny due to the location of his injury so you leaned a bit closer to him. You let out a surprised yelp as the Scot pulled you in even closer so you were almost sitting in his lap — and you could’ve sworn that sparing a glance down at his thick thighs for a split second gave you heart palpitations.

If that wasn’t bad enough, his warm hand rested on the small of your back to keep you close and secure in his grip. Like Simon, he was also tracing small circles with his thumb. After testing the waters, Johnny began to slip his hand up the back of your top, resting it on the small of your back again — this time against your bare skin. You knew he ran hot but you never felt it so up close and personal. The almost burning warmth of his palm against your skin was a pleasant contrast from the freezing cold.

Your heartbeat was thrumming in your ears at the feeling of Johnny's rough, callused yet gentle hands. As he put more pressure on the small of your back to pull you closer, a tingle ran down your spine. You gulped.

This entire time that you were stitching up Johnny's grazed shoulder, you could feel his cerulean eyes burning into you. Searching your face for any reaction, committing every detail to memory — down to your long lashes fluttering against your cheek when you blinked and how you took your bottom lip between your teeth when you were concentrating.

You could feel Simon's honeyed brown eyes on you but you couldn’t tear your gaze away from Johnny's wound to see for yourself.

Simon's intense eyes were drinking you in. Every fucking inch he could get his eyes on. Starting at your nimble, working fingers stitching up his lover’s shoulder with such care and attention. Then going to your bare, exposed neck that was on full display given that your hair was put up and out of your face. As he stared at the expanse of your neck and the throbbing pulse point at your jugular, it took all of his strength not to jump up from the bed right then and there and claim you. He could only picture your neck littered with teeth mark indentations, the exact same way Johnny's back is.

Meanwhile, every single lingering touch and burning gaze only made you more conflicted. Every single touch made the pit in the bottom of your stomach worsen. You could only relish in their kindness and casual touches for so long before it chipped away at you. It’s not even that you were jealous of either of them, far from it. They deserved each other. They completed each other. You just wanted to be let out of it, to be spared from all the attention.

Suddenly, two of your residents peeked their heads into the medical tent to yell for you. “Doc, you’re needed out here!” You let out a sigh of relief at the much needed opportunity to get away from the two brute men.

Sparing a brief glance at the men, you handed them off to another doctor that could handle the rest, “He’ll take care of you two from here.”

As you walked to hand the other doctor their medical files, you didn’t see Soap’s longing glance your direction and the way Ghost’s hand was still reaching towards where you were a moment ago. Reaching to keep you there.

You clapped the doctor on the shoulder as you jogged past him and out of the medical tent. Immediately you felt a weight lift off your shoulders as you left the tent, escaping from the empty touches that left your heart aching for more. Aching for what you knew would never happen — could never happen.

“What do we got?” You asked, looking at your residents as you pulled new medical gloves on. When you started preparing for a new patient, you felt any previous thoughts melting away, being replaced by the familiar adrenaline high of surgery.

“Caucasian female, approximately early to mid thirties. Suspected pneumonia. Possible internal bleeding, possible concussion and ruptured right eardrum, along with some gashes on her arms.” One of your residents began listing symptoms while you made your way to the patient.

You grimaced as they spoke, already imagining what the patient must look like in that condition.

You and your residents arrived at the patients gurney where the woman laid, holding her bloody abdomen. She was supervised by two nurses that helped to keep her stable until you got there.

Your eyes scanned her shaking form, looking for any other injuries. Her emerald eyes were wide and glossy with tears, there were tear streaks running down her cheeks as well. Her lips were plump and red, the bottom lip was almost split from her biting it to try and stifle the pain. Her hair was vibrant red, thankfully not from any blood, and it flowed in messy waves down past her shoulders. She writhed and thrashed with every wave of pain that washed over her, her hands clawing into the sheet of the gurney. You could hear her teeth chattering from how cold she was as well.

“She’s been nonverbal so far and we suspect she can’t speak English. If she’s a civilian, she’ll be a native Russian speaker.” A nurse informed you.

You nodded to yourself, a beat passing as you evaluated the situation at hand.

You pulled out your tablet and searched for Russian translations, only coming up with the bare minimum phrases for the Russian language. Pursing your lips, you decided that while it wasn’t the best or most detailed, it would have to do.

Turning towards the patient again, you grabbed her hand with both of yours and squeezed it gently.

“Мне нужно осмотреть вас на наличие травм.” I need to examine you for injuries. You told her, trying your best to pronounce everything accurately.

“Все в порядке?” Is that alright? You asked, trying to make her comfortable by asking for her consent before touching her.

She nodded rapidly, eyes squeezed shut.

Immediately you and your team started triaging. One resident began a neurological exam, another administered more IV medications, and you began examining her abdomen, feeling for broken ribs and inflamed tissue. Using your stethoscope, you checked her breath sounds and heart rate. Clear and steady.

After clearing her of any cardiac injuries, you grabbed some warmed blankets and wrapped them around her, taking care as to not press hard on any injuries. She exhaled in relief at the slightest bit of warmth.

You and another resident then worked on patching up the wounds on her arms, starting by cleansing the wounds and dressing them with gauze pads and bandage wrapping.

You moved on to join your neurological resident with their examination. Her pupils were reactive but one was slightly dilated more than the other. Her head was throbbing and she was experiencing tinnitus in one ear, and the other ear had a busted eardrum. Another concerning sign was her feeling of nausea. Due to being out in the field, there was no way to tell if it was due to a brain bleed or if it was from trauma of all of the injuries.

You shared a knowing look with your team; you all knew how fatal a brain bleed could become. You all knew how quickly a patient could deteriorate if a brain bleed isn’t diagnosed quick enough.

She needed to be moved to a warm, well stocked hospital with the means to diagnose and treat her.

You made a judgement call and reached for your radio attached to your scrub top, pressing the audio button to call Captain Price.

“Captain, this is Doc. I need an emergency med-evac, ASAP!” You shouted into your radio, making sure Price could hear you over the howling wind.

“Copy that, Doc. Exfil will be there shortly!”

Your team immediately started heading for the helipad, wheeling her gurney and bringing all of the same medical supplies she needed. You wrapped some more warmed blankets over her as you waited for the med-evac.

As the helicopter approached the helipad, the already blistering wind became even colder. Once the helicopter landed, your team lifted up her gurney and wheeled it into the helicopter.

You gathered your duffel bag of supplies and said goodbye to the rest your team before climbing into the helicopter. As you were clipping your seatbelt on, the pilot leaned his head back to introduce himself.

“You’re the 141’s surgeon, I presume? Nikolai at your service.” His voice was muffled by the whirring of the helicopter blades but you could still make it out.

“Yeah, Captain Price talks about you a lot! It’s nice to have a friend in high places.” You grinned as you reached to close the helicopter doors.

He threw a salute back to you before preparing to lift off the helipad. The helicopter began shaking from the turbulence, making you grip the armrest tighter.

A whimper from the injured woman brought you out of your conversation, making you look down at her. The shaking had jostled her awake and pulled a cry of pain deep from her chest when her body shifted even the slightest bit. The movement made the throbbing in her head worsen too.

You reached down to hold her hand in sympathy, looking down at the redhead with furrowed brows and a sad smile on your lips.

Her eyes opened after a moment, immediately finding yours. Something was different about her gaze but you couldn’t put your finger on it. Something was.. off.

Suddenly she sat up and yanked your arm to pull you closer, making your eyes widen at her newfound strength. Something glinted in your periphery before she whispered in your ear, “Мне жаль. Я бы хотел, чтобы мне не пришлось этого делать.” I am sorry. I wish I didn’t have to do this.

Before you could process what she said, let alone translate it, she twisted your left arm into an impossible angle until you heard a crack. You cried out in pain and shock. Your arm fell limp at your side and pain radiated from your shoulder down to the tips of your fingers.

That pain was nothing compared to having a knife plunged into your chest right between your rib cage and into your sternum.

Pain bloomed in your chest, and you let out a bloodcurdling scream. Your shaky breaths came out in huffs as you looked down to your stomach, seeing a knife sticking out of your abdomen. Blood was seeping through your gear, crimson quickly staining the white fabric.

The woman yanked the knife out with a twist causing you to wail in agony. Once the knife was pulled, there was nothing to stop you from bleeding out in the middle of that helicopter. With a shaky hand, you reached into your duffel bag and retrieve some gauze pads. You carefully stuffed them against the wound before zipping up your tactical jacket to hold the gauze in place.

Every inhale you took felt like you were getting stabbed all over again, and every exhale you took sounded like a labored wheeze.

Nikolai turned to look back at you after you screamed, letting out a string of curses into his comms. He leaned out of his seat to get a closer look at you, giving the woman the perfect shot to throw that same knife and hit him square in the chest.

Your eyes widened in panic as you realized that she had just killed Nikolai, the Captain's close friend and the pilot of the damn helicopter.

She jumped out of the gurney and grabbed a parachute that was laying next to you before putting it on. Once she secured it, she pulled you up from your seat by your arms and used rappelling rope to tie you to her.

Throughout all of this, blood loss was taking a toll on you. Your heartbeat pounded in your ears and your head was spinning from dizziness. Your limbs felt heavy and sluggish, so when you tried to escape her hold, it was useless. Almost laughable.

She then slid open the helicopter door and wrapped her arms around you from behind. Black dots began flooding your vision as you started to feel faint.

Before you could process anything, she jumped out of the falling helicopter with you in her arms. Both of you were rapidly descending to the dark, choppy ocean. She reached around and pulled the pin from the parachute, releasing the canopy. Once the canopy got caught on the billowing wind, your descent to the water below slowed down.

You inhaled a deep breath and held it.

When the two of you hit the freezing water, the currents immediately pulled you under the surface of the waves. Your left arm was definitely dislocated and you wouldn’t be surprised if something was broken as well. You tried using your right arm to push yourself up towards the surface.

Your lungs burned with every second that you fought to hold your breath. Your chest felt crushed and your throat felt like it was wrapped in barbed wire. Your heartbeat pounded in your ears, thump, thump, thump.

You thrashed, trying to find something, anything to find purchase on. Anything that could act as a float while you caught your breath. No luck.

With every passing moment, your willpower dwindled and you soon found yourself giving in to the urge to breathe. Just as you were about to take a breath, you felt yourself get pulled from the water.

The second your head came above the surface, you gasped for air. You took deep, desperate breaths until your lungs weren’t on fire anymore. Until you could feel the barbed wire wrapped around your throat loosen.

You looked up to see who was pulling you out of the water and to the shore, only to see the same red hair from the woman that attacked you in the helicopter. You didn’t have the energy to fight anymore, and you knew that you would probably bleed out soon anyways. You relented, letting your body go limp as she dragged you to land.

Blackness flooded your vision until your heavy eyelids finally dropped, giving into the heavy exhaustion.

The last thing you heard before losing consciousness was the woman speaking in quiet Russian. “цель успешно захвачена. мы прибудем в ближайшее время.” Target captured successfully. We will arrive shortly.

next chapter

©️ glossysoap 2024. please do not steal, copy, plagiarize, translate, or repost any of my works without my permission. do not steal any elements of my theme without permission.

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suspiciouslackofclowns · 1 year

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The porch light has come on, pooling on the cement along with the light shining through the sliding glass door. The chairs have inched closer and closer to the house in the absence of the sun, and the pool has long-since emptied of people.

Billy leans back on one of his hands, sitting sideways in a lounge chair with his legs spread out, the warm bottom of a bottle of beer resting against his bare thigh.

There’s still heat in his skin from earlier that afternoon. Sweat-slick and sticky from sunscreen that will take two shower’s-worth of scrubbing to fully remove. No tan lines whatsoever. Gentle bite marks and bruises left in tender areas that will surely ache to touch tomorrow.

For now, he’s looking forward to stepping under a stream of water in the master bathroom upstairs.

The water always stays hot longer at the Harrington castle.

He decided a few hours ago that once he’s finished his last beer, he’ll leave.

He’ll leave and he won’t come back.

Naturally, he’s been sipping at it for what feels like hours now. Swirling the bottle to check how much time he has left, letting dread pool hot and heavy in the pit of his belly at the thought of putting the neck to his lips for the last time.

The conversation goes on around him as usual.

Eddie talks about his latest gig. Jonathan and Tommy both bring up their girlfriends respectively. Jason laments about classes, Argyle suggests that he take a semester or two off, and Steve offers to get another round of drinks.

He pats a hand against Billy’s knee when he doesn’t respond, and the blond takes a moment to actually look up at where he stands over the lounger.

Everyone is looking at him. Which means that Steve must have tried a few times to get his attention.

Eddie lolls his head against Billy’s naked thigh from where he’s sat on the floor, fixing him with big, brown, bloodshot eyes.

“Y’okay, big red?” he hums. His hair is cold and damp where it splays over Billy’s steaming skin. He eyes a mark left near Billy’s hip, red and deeply indented by a set of teeth, and smiles. “Lost your buzz?”

Billy shakes his head. Swirls the bottle in his hand and chews his lip.

He’s getting choked up. He can feel the lump building in his throat, matching the subtle sting in his eyes and the thrumming in his head.

This is exactly why he needs to leave.

“I don’t—“ he says, and his voice comes out with a shake. It has any remaining smiles vanishing from the sea of people around him. He clears his throat before he speaks again. “I don’t think I can do this anymore.”

For a while now, these little hangouts were just what he needed. To come and be held by doting hands, kissed by loving mouths, and cherished like he’s something special. Brought up to the edge over and over until his eyes run out of tears, and afterwards feel the warm press of other aching bodies against his own to help ground him. Bring him back.

He must not be alone in feeling this way, because when he lifts his gaze from the wet floor, he’s met with various looks of confusion and sadness.

More sadness than he was expecting.

Steve crouches beside the lounger and sets a careful hand on his bicep, thumb smoothing comfortingly back and forth.

“Hey, what’s the matter?” he coos. “Did something happen? Are you alright?”

A shaky breath escapes Billy, and suddenly all of the guys go rigid. Eddie shoots upright, sitting straight and looking up with his brows furrowed, and splays a hand over Billy’s inner thigh just above his knee.

“Don’t cry, sweetness, just breathe.”

Billy looks away and closes his eyes when the tears finally spill over.

“Was I too rough?” Jason asks.

“Did something make you uncomfortable?” Tommy adds.

Quickly, they’re speaking over each other, not one question intelligible from the next, and Steve shushes them sternly.

When he turns his attention back to Billy, his expression is soft and understanding.

“Talk to us, baby,” he pleads. “Take a second to breathe, alright? There’s no rush.”

The palms resting against his skin are comforting. He breathes softly, shakily, and sheds a few more tears before he relaxes enough to exhale a tension-filled sigh.

If his skin was hot before, it’s blistering now. He wipes his eyes with the heel of his palm and sniffles.

“I’m okay,” he says, and there’s a slight air of relief around him afterward. “I just… I can’t keep doing this, y’know? I keep saying it’ll be the last time, and then I keep fucking coming back.”

Billy stares down at the last sip of his beer. Thinks about slender hands combing over his torso, grabbing his hips. Tangling in his hair and pulling.

He thinks of kisses pressed to his neck and fingers tucking under the band of his swim shorts, slipping them off to be lost near the tree line. He thinks of the heated pool water and how cool it felt against his skin. How cool it felt in contrast to the hot mouths finding purchase anywhere they could.

“How come?” Eddie asks.

He looks almost hurt, and when Billy glances around, he has to look away again because the expression is on every damn face he sees.

So, he takes a deep breath, and tightens his fist around the neck of the bottle.

“It’s nothing anyone’s done,” he prefaces. “I’m just starting to want… more? Getting passed around like a bong at a smoke sesh used to do it for me, but it’s not anymore, and it’s stupid.”

“It’s not stupid—“

“I don’t feel like this,” Billy rasps. He swallows thickly as his eyes well up again. “I don’t like feeling like this. Needy and pathetic and like I can’t just have sex.”

He’s not looking, but he can feel the boys move closer. He can hear the movement, just barely audible over the pounding in his ears.

“You aren’t pathetic, Bill,” Steve reassures.

“It’s perfectly normal to want more than just sex,” Jonathan adds, much, much closer now. “You’re normal for wanting that.”

Billy shakes his head and exhales a shaky breath. Another hand smooths over his forearm, squeezing reassuringly. It helps even out his breath again.

“I’m not normal for wanting what I want.”

“What do you want, sweetheart?” Steve asks.

After a beat, Billy cracks his eyes open. Huffs a laugh to himself at how crowded the space beside the lounger has become, and fixes the brunet with a look.

Steve, sharp as he is, immediately raises his brows in understanding.

“Oh, Billy,” he croons. “I’m sure we could—“

“Sure we could what? Half of you fucks have girlfriends, and it would never work out anyway. Seven is a crowd.” The realization seeps through each thick skull in a matter of seconds, it seems. Billy fights the urge to scoff. “See? It’s stupid.”

Out of all of them, Tommy is the only one to laugh. He snickers and leans his elbow onto Jason’s shoulder, which earns a confused and hurt look from Billy.

“Of course you’d want more boyfriends than you can count on one hand,” he sighs fondly. “Mister blue-eyed princess needs extra love and attention? Who could’ve guessed?”

What he says earns a few chuckles. Even Steve spreads a smile and squeezes Billy’s arm where his hand still rests.

“You do need a lot of constant spoiling,” Steve adds amusedly.

“So high maintenance that you’re crying and freaking us all out ‘cause you like us,” Jason chuckles.

The laughter proceeds and Billy pouts. Eddie picks himself up and sits beside him on the lounger, tucking a curl behind his ear and pressing a kiss to his cheek.

“I think it’s safe to say you have these boys wrapped around your little finger,” he hums. “I mean, I’m pretty sure I heard Hagan alone drop about a hundred L-words today. He doesn’t even say that shit to Carol.”

“I do too,” Tommy huffs.

“Yeah? When?”

“On… Valentine’s Day? Y’know, special occasions.”

He flushes red and looks away when Billy smiles at him, crossing his arms. Jason pats a hand on his back.

“Well, now I actually feel kinda stupid,” Billy huffs.

“So you’re a little blond and a little boy-crazy? We already knew that,” Argyle says.

There’s another wave of chuckles, and now Billy’s really smiling.

When he looks around, he doesn’t feel like everything is so out of reach anymore. Literally.

He exhales a relieved sigh, shifting in his seat and grimacing at the grimy feeling of his skin now that he’s had more time to dry off.

“Gonna run me a shower, Harrington?” he lilts.

Steve chuckles and stands up, holding his hand out.

“Promise there won’t be any more crying?”

The blond takes his hand and stands up as well, snorting when Steve sets his free hand on his waist and pulls them hip-to-hip.

“I promise.”

“Good.”

They share a kiss, parting not a moment later when Eddie pushes himself up and runs to the back door.

“I call first round of shower sex!” he yells.

Billy simply quirks an eyebrow, then tilts his head to the side in consideration. The other guys are all quickly scrambling inside. Jason’s hands fit around Eddie’s waist when they’re about halfway through the living room, and the brunet struggles momentarily until his back is pulled flush with Jason’s chest.

“We all know you don’t shower otherwise, Munson,” Jason teases.

He licks a stripe up the curve of Eddie’s neck, and it takes less than a second for them to topple over onto the couch, hands roaming all over each other as Eddie fails to sass back.

Argyle and Jonathan make off towards the guest bathroom, stripping down in the hall along their way, and Tommy is left standing in the doorway, leaning his arm against the frame.

“I’ll go get it warmed up,” he says with a wink.

Then it’s just Billy and Steve outside.

It’s quiet now, save for the chirping of crickets. They’re still pressed together. Steve rubs his thumbs against Billy’s hips mindlessly. Leans forward and just barely brushes his lips against his ear.

“We’ll figure it out,” he coos. “But for now, let’s go get clean, yeah?”

Billy glances down at his free hand briefly. Swirls the contents of the bottle before setting it on the side table beside him and breathing in deep. Like the oppressive weight is gone from his body.

He feels like he’s damn near floating when he meets Steve’s gaze again. They both spread goofy grins not a moment later.

“Yeah, Stevie. Let’s go.”

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justhumanin · 9 months

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#tan removal body scrub #Coffee Caramel Body Scrub #Justhuman

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dragyouthroughthewhump · 2 months

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Augusnippets Day 2 : Platonic bathing

CW : platonic undressing, platonic nudity(nothing graphic), ummm recovering whumpee. Hmmm, I couldn't think of anything else lol

Caretaker was out of options. Promising Whumpee their favorite food, a trip to the park, they even suggested rescuing a puppy or kitten to keep whumpee company. All denied.

Caretaker sighed softly and hung their head. "Whumpee...you need a bath. I know the water is scary, but I'm right here. It won't hurt you while I'm here."

Whumpee eyed the tub, squeezing the plush pillow closer to their chest. Their voice faint and rough, "c-c-can-nt...m-m-mo-ove..."

Caretaker padded over, socks muffling any loud steps that might send Whumpee running to hide again. "How about we do this together, hm? I'll be right next to you."

Whumpee looked at Caretaker, eyes searching their face for intention. After a few moments they nodded, fingers tightening on the plush. "O-okay....c-c-can try....tog-gether..."

Caretaker smiled and gently guided Whumpee further into the room. As Caretaker pulled off their own shirt Whumpee set the plush carefully near the tub, within easy grasping distance. Whumpee hesitated, just watching as Caretaker undressed. Caretaker knew they must be waiting for this to turn wrong. They looked over at Whumpee, "Would you like some help? The washing machine will take care of your clothes, they'll weigh you down in the tub."

Whumpee lowered their head and nodded; hands trembling as they gripped the hem of the shirt. With Caretaker's help, they got undressed, tossing aside the garments in a heap.

Whumpee was trembling all over. Caretaker took one of their hands and placed their free hand on Whumpee's back, taking each step in tandem closer to the tub. Caretaker put one foot in and waited for Whumpee to do the same. "I'm right here...we'll do this together."

After a few shakey deep breaths Whumpee lifted and hesitantly put one foot in. Their trembling turned to shaking, but Caretaker kept their hands soft, not pushing or pulling, waiting for Whumpee to make the next move. Soon they each hand both feet in the warm water and side-by-side crouched and sat down.

Caretaker smiled and gently squeezed Whumpees hand. "You're doing amazing. Remember, I'm right here. You can tell me to stop at any time." Onehanded, Caretaker got a small cup and gently poured water down Whumpees arms and back.

As they lifted the cup towards Whumpee's head a frightened, "Sto-o-op..!" Came out of Whumpee. Caretaker froze and lowered the cup, fingers rubbing the back of Whumpees hand. "Alright...we can soap up other areas first...but we will have to at least rinse your hair before we finish. Okay?"

Whumpee nodded, a small whimper leaving their lips. Caretaker waited patiently for them to calm before taking the soapy sponge and washing their body. The water around them swirled and slowly changed from clear to tan to almost a brown by the time Caretaker finished.

Caretaker drained and refilled the water, giving Whumpee more time to prepare for their hair. They even wet a soft cloth and wiped their face. "Ready for your hair? It'll be just the same, water, soap, water again..."

Whumpee shivered and their hand grasped the plush they had left near the tub. They took several deep breaths then nodded, "r-r-ready..." Caretaker smiled and tilted Whumpee's head back, carefully rinsing the tangled strands and ensuring no water fell down their face.

They kept an eye on Whumpee's expression as they worked. Hands gently massaging their scalp and loosening the debris as they worked. Caretaker dripped shampoo onto their head, "Nearly there...still okay? Still with me?" Whumpee's eyes rolled upwards to see Caretaker and gave a stiff nod, "St-til...h-h-here..."

Caretaker smiled and went back to rubbing Whumpee's scalp and scrubbing their hair. Quickly, Whumpee's natural color overtook the dingy grey that had infiltrated. With a few rinses, nearly all the dirt had been removed and Caretaker helped Whumpee sit up.

Just as they had in the beginning, Caretaker moved alongside Whumpee as they got up and out of the tub. Caretaker grabbed a towel and placed it around Whumpees shoulders. "You did wonderfully. I am very proud of you."

Whumpee pulled the plush to their chest and wrapped themselves in the towel. Caretaker mentally took note the pillow would need a washing soon also.

"Do-oes....this mea-an....we c-c-can g-g-get...a pu-uppy...?"

#augusnippets #augusnippets day 2 #platonic bathing #recovering whumpee #I'm surprised its so long tbh #but it just kept going and it would have been longer if I didnt have to get to work lol

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samishaorganicproducts · 2 years

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#best scrub for skin brightening #body scrub for skin brightening #skin dirt removal cream #body face scrub #organic body face scrub #body dirt removal cream #de tan body scrub #de tan scrub for body #how to remove dirt from body #remove dirt from body #how to remove dirt from skin #remove dirt from skin #remove skin dirt #vitamin c face scrub #d tan body scrub #exfoliating face and body scrub

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frozenpeazz · 2 years

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Oh Daniel..

Pairing- Daniel Larusso x f! reader

Warning ⚠️- angst?, Fluff, blood, injury, swearing, Daniel Larusso and his dashing looks 😩😩

Daniel gets beat up by Johnny (again), and you patch him up <3

Y/n/n - Your nick-name

Its was around 8pm, you were sat on your bed reading a book when you heard a knock on your window. You panicked as you whipped your head round to stare at the glass, only to make out the shadow of your boyfriend. Daniel Larusso. Your sweet boy who you loved with your whole heart. You still felt the adrenaline from the scare he gave you as you got up and made your way to the window, sliding it open.

"Jeez Danny, you nearly gave me a heart attack!" You say helping him inside but the slight annoyance at his sudden arrival quickly wore off after seeing his crumpled frame and his body covered in dirt and blood. "Daniel! Oh my god what happened?!" You exclaimed as you draped his arm around your shoulder and wrapped your arm around his waist for support.

"Just Johnny kickin' my ass again. The usual." He chuckled slightly then wincing from the pain in his ribcage.

"Oh danny.. If those stupid boys dont leave it I'll beat the shit outa' them myself! And i mean it!" You say in anger as you gently sit him on your bed.

"Now wait here. I'll be back in a second okay?" You kissed his head lightly as he nods.

You return after a couple minutes with a first aid kit and a wet cloth. You stand in-between Daniels legs as you tilt his chin up to look at you.

"My lord, what did they do to you?!" You say as you gently scrub at the dirt on his cheeks causing him to smile, that same smile that made you fall in love with him.

"I was ridin' home on my bike and well, lets say they pushed me off..down the hill." he cringes to himself as the memory of the event that happened just 20 minutes prior flood back into his mind. You tense slightly.

"Aw my poor baby boy.. just wait until i get my hands on those pricks and i promise you they wont pester you again!" You say as you fix his chocolate brown hair. Daniel smiles to himself at the thought of you attempting to beat up Johnny Lawrence, the toughest guy at school.

After getting all the dirt off you begin to open the first aid kit gett out some medical ointment.

"Danny?"

"Mm?"

"Your going to need to take your top off so i can treat your wounds." You turn to look at the boy and you notice a thin blush painted his cheeks.

"Uh- o-only if your comfortable with it!" The brunette boy chuckles slightly as he slowly removes the shirt he's wearing to reveal his bare tanned chest. You cant help but stare, at least for a second. You feel your cheeks heat up as you begin to wet a new cloth with the medical ointment.

"This is going to sting Danny." You warn as you begin rubbing the cloth over the wounds covering his body. He hisses in pain as he grabs onto your free hand and begins to squeeze it.

"I know Danny, im sorry."

"D-dont be sorry. 'm fine Y/n/n." He assures you as you continue treating his cuts. After cleaning and applying bandages to Daniels body you finally put away the first aid kit.

"Honestly. Those jerks just dont know when to stop do they." You say with anger laced into your voice. Daniel laughs.

"Yeah well, 'least i got my own personal doctor to heal me afterwards. Thank you by the way, for helping me." After putting away the kit you make your way over to your boyfriend laying on the bed next to him beckoning him to lay in your lap.

"Anything for my pretty boy." You say causing Daniel to smile as he blushes slightly laying his head on your chest on top of you.

"Those jerks better be ready to hear from me." You whisper, playing with Daniels hair.

"They wont be expecting it thats for sure." Daniel jokes as he relaxes into your touch.

"I love you Y/n/n."

"I love you to Danny. Even when your all beat up."

#daniel larusso #daniel larusso x reader #DanielLarussoxreader #DanielLarusso #karatekid1984

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russetruse · 6 months

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I know I don’t post writings here often, but I wanted to write something for @lizadale’s Dimigi!au. I don’t know Libby if you dream about the Dimigi!au but sometimes I do. I blame you sis. But also I added a lot more since you read the smaller version, enjoy almost 3k words on only part one of many.

Sorry it is written in 2nd person, but I blame Libby for getting me to only function in this style of writing but I can’t seem to write in any other prospective anymore lol.

I color coded characters, but what sucks is that this one doesn’t have black so I can’t use one of my original colors for characters speak. So the color I planned for one character had to move to the heart and the hearts color was originally black >:[ But I hope you enjoy.

Calamitous Revelry

Part I

Luigi Prov

CW/TW: Trauma, abuse, triggers on abuse, mentions on drowning/strangulation

You run your fingers through his greasy, tangled hair. Every time he goes on a mission, it seems he neglects basic bodily functions. The longer he’s off on one of his Merloo missions, the more worried you become. It brings you back to the days of the Castle, how he only seemed to eat when the other members were shoving food in his face at the required meetings. Even back then, his mask didn’t hide much from you. He had long given up before joining that group. It just frustrated you so much, he puts his own well being always being last on his list.

”Can you be more gentle?” He spoke very softly, but the voice cuts through the silence. His fragile, small body, leaning against the frame of the claw foot bathtub. It knots your stomach seeing him like this. Why did he always do this? Why was being away from you for any extended amount of time so collapsing to his mental state? Were you the only thing keeping him from self-destructing?

”Sorry. You really knotted your hair this time. I am trying my best to be gentle.” You reply softly, not wanting to cause him to jump and flee. This was close to being just as bad as when you found him almost dead in the deteriorating remains of Castle Bleck. Dimentio being caked in blood and dirt. You were hardly able to handle how much came off of him then, but even this was trying to match up to that day. Right now, the bath water was darker than your tan skin. You click your tongue, a Dio habit that you had seemed to pick up sometime throughout the course of living with him. Very glad that you had rolled up your sleeves above your elbows before even starting to wash him. And the water being this dirty before you even started to actually scrub his body! You click your tongue again in annoyance and frustration.

You knew Dimentio wanted to teleport away. Especially after he walked into the house. Well walked was even an understatement. He half floated, half dragged his feet across the threshold when he opened the door to your entrance. You swore he was going to collapse there in the entrance if you hadn’t been there to grab him and hold him with your own weight.

What shocked you more was the jester actually complained as you fondled him in worry, going down your own checklist in your head as you did so. First, checking him for injuries since he did have some blood caked on his clothes, and you weren’t sure if that blood was his or another’s. Which raised even more questions that you knew he wouldn’t divulge answers to you. So giving up on even prying into the matter, you scoop him up bridal style, and rush him up the stairs. Your lips placing kisses on his scars around his left eye, making sure to not miss a spot and to distract him from what you had planned ahead.

He started struggling in your grasp as you started running warm water in the tub of the finished guest room and declothed him. The caked on clothes were a pain to get off of his dirtied skin. Through the frustration of removing the clothes piece by piece, you confirmed at least most of the blood on his clothes were not his. Which did not lighten the feeling of comfort you wanted from his return, it concerned you more. Whose blood was this and did they deserve such injuries from him? But you shake your head, another series of questions you would not get answers to. You needed to get him clean before you would even get any chance to put food in his system. Let alone would your mind allow you to put him on the back burner and cook food when you knew he needed to be cleaned up right away.

The jester complained as you worked on completely bringing him down to his birthday suit, still double checking for any injuries that may need stitches or extra care. He complained to you until you submerged him into the warm bath water, that’s when his demeanor changed. He then held onto you as if his life depended on it. As if the water in the tub would drag him below the water's surface and take his last breath. You also knew if you looked away, he would quickly teleport away. And your goal to get him cleaned up would long be abandoned.

It takes you way too long to comb out the knots and grime out of his hair, but this makes you feel a bit better. Well, until you wrap your arm around him; your forearm resting across his chest and placing your hand under his armpit. It always takes you by surprise at how tiny he is, not just in height, but in size. Your body is giant compared to him. And you were use to being called “too skinny”, but even you didn’t complain to the man you held in your arms.

You lean forward, and with your free hand, you begin to drain the dirty water in the tub. You really needed to replace it with fresh, warm water. His body tenses at the water starting to run again to refill the tub. The jesters heart was beginning to race in a panic from this. You press him tighter to you, slowly soaking your own shirt. What good did you get from rolling up your sleeves to only press a wet twink to your chest. But still, you do not let him pull away, hoping that he can feel your heartbeat through the wool top. Yet you also hope that he doesn’t feel the Chaos Heart beating as well in your chest.

”I am NOT letting you go.” You whisper softly into his right ear, your mustache tickling it. Dimentio squirms in your grasp, fighting his own instincts to flee. Every nerve he had, you knew told him to get away quickly. You bring your lips to his ear, pecking it with a soft kiss. His body squirms more at his own signals being challenged. A challenge to fight staying and be adored by you or flee due to the rising water in this situation.

”I won’t let you drown.” You speak sternly to him, not sure if it was in assurance for you or him. You start to nibble on his ear, your free hand grabbing the washcloth and rinsing it under the spout.

You can feel his fingernails dig into your arm as the water rises above his hips. You wince at this, but start to scrub the dirt and grime off of his legs and feet. You take extra time on his swollen ankles in another attempt to calm him. Letting your hand through the wash cloth slowly message his swollen ankles to make sure he didn’t do more damage to them then what appeared on the surface. You find yourself at a loss when you run the washcloth over his ribs. Your stomach turns seeing the jester's ribs through his skin so easily that you could count every one of them. It upsets you so much that he is neglecting himself when he is away from you.

”Luigi.”

You grumble, tightening your grip, mumbling under your own breath. Why was he like this? Why was he so willing to throw his life away? So many cared for him. He had more worth than he thought or believe he had.

”Luigi!”

You can feel your own anger bubbling and building in your body.

No one.

Not even yourself. Not even in the dreamscape. Not even against the chaos heart, or even in your own dreams, were you willing to throw your life away so easily. A growl builds in your throat and comes out through your own words. “Why are you like this?”

“Lui!”

Thu-Thump…

You freeze up, your body stiffens at your own thoughts. Only Dimentio was ever able to rile up so much negative emotions in you. King boo wasn’t even able to do this to you.

“Lui-“

Thu-Thump.

You feel his fingernails claw at both of your arms now. Digging deep enough to draw blood.

Thu-THUMP.

The nails dig deeper and deeper into your arms, clawing down from your elbows to your hands. With what little nails the jester had left, were tearing at your arms. You knew he feared water, but this was ridiculous at how much he was trying to get out of being cleaned by you. You tighten your grip to this, growling loudly in frustration and anger at Dimentio.

THU-THUMP!

Water splashes onto your pants, snapping you out of your own thoughts. The buzzing sound in your ears is replaced with the sound of splashing. Your eyes widen in shock as you quickly pull your hands away from his neck. Your arms and hands dripping from blood from the number he did on you.

You watch him in worry and shock as the ancient quickly yanks himself from under the water's surface. Dimentio’s body was shaking uncontrollably from fear, coughing and gasping from the need of oxygen that deprived him. You were unsure of how long you had held him under, but the water he was coughing up said enough. His lungs were trying their hardest to clear the water that you had forced into them. The ancients eyes never leave your bloody, shaking hands.

No…

No.

No! You would never do that to him.

Never!

THU-THUMP!

You can hear the heart beating loudly in your ears and chest.

”I’m sorry Dio. I-It wasn’t me,” you stutter though a shaky voice, “I promise. It was th-“

You reach your shaking hands towards him in assurance. But the second you do, the familiar sounds of the jester teleporting away before you can even finish your explanation. Your eyes now staring at a bodiless bathtub full of fresh water, with swirls of red in it.

”C-Chaos H-Heart….” You finish, your voice trailing off to a soft whisper.

THU-Thump…

You let your arms drop to your sides in disbelief. The heart had found another opening, this time by your emotions. It had taken advantage of your emotional loophole, and went after what was the biggest threat to it. The one you loved…

It wasn’t you. You would never do that to him.

Never…

Never!

The image of Dio’s scared. No, scared was an understatement. He was terrified. And when you closed your eyes, that expression from Dimentio showed on the back of your eyelids. The bathtub overflowing, starting to soak your jeans and socks.

You needed to fix this. But could you even fix it? You stand, ignoring the tub overflowing and slowly flooding the bathroom. Your soaked socks splash in the water as you walk over to the sink, ignoring your own discomfort. You pick up the phone with shaky hands. You were having such trouble dialing the number correctly on the keypad, that you changed to your call list and clicked the forth or fifth recent call down.

You lift the cell to your ear and after a few rings you hear an ecstatic voice that didn’t match the feelings you were having right now.

”Gigi! It’s been a while. What-“

”Mimi. I fucked up badly. I need Nassy’s help, now. It’s too much to explain. Please…Please tell her it’s urgent.”

”That bad? I’ll get a hold of her ASAP. Keep your door unlocked Gigi. You better be ready to explain then.” You hear the phone click to Mimi hanging up and you drag yourself out of the bathroom. Your wet socks slush against the carpet of your guest room, and you force yourself down the steps. The house sounds oddly silent, except for the sound of what you believe is still the bathtub running. You must have forgotten to turn off the water, but you don’t seem to have the energy to bring yourself back up the stairs.

You bring yourself to the couch and work on removing your drenched socks. Your hands are shaking so badly that the simple task is more of a challenge than it should be. You discard your socks on the floor near you and you pull your legs up to you on the couch, making yourself as small as your body would allow you to.

You bring your eyes to your hands. Your hands rough with calusis from all the tinkering and hard work you did, middle class work. Though it had been a while since you had seen blood oozing from them. You shake your head.

His body was so small, so fragile. He was so easy to force under the water with your hands. It was even easier to wrap your fingers around his thin throat and start squeezing. He would have been easy to break, easy to finish off. You could snap him like the twig he was. Would anyone really miss him? Didn’t he deserve to be dead? He still attempted to go after IT. He still wanted to go after his original goal with the heart. He wasn’t a fighter, he was weak in that aspect. You could so easily break him, all you would have to do is grab his neck and snap it. He deserved that.

“Enough!” You yell to no one in particular, grabbing at your own greasy hair. Heck there were times you would have never fought those thoughts after everything he had put you through, but these thoughts weren’t your own. You growl at yourself for letting the heart dig into your thoughts and emotions over Dimentio. He confused you so much and had your emotions everywhere. You had anger towards him, frustration, confusion, annoyance, but most of all…you loved him.

Thu-Thump.

You grasp your shirt above your own heart. You couldn’t imagine a day without him anymore. You wanted to spoil him with affection that he was long deprived of. You wanted to show him what the world should have long given him. You so badly wanted to let him figure out what the true meaning of his emotions towards you were. Why did this relic have to be such a problem, and everyday you were losing more and more to it. You bite your bottom lip. You couldn’t lose to it, so many would fall if you lost. It would return to where it was taken from. It would reopen the void that you had worked so hard with your friends to close. If you could rip it out yourself and stop it from what it was made to do you would, but you were already told what that outcome would be.

A loud bang on the door causes you to jump from the couch, almost hitting your head on the ceiling from surprise. Only for the silence to be followed by the door slamming open before you can even take a step towards the entrance. The voice booming louder than the door hitting the wall or knocking combined.

“Ye here lad? We rush’t here as fas’ as we coud. Dimensoon stil’ a’ problem withoot tae wee yin crossin’ tae gap fir us.”

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