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rippersz · 1 year ago

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𝘐𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘮𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘠𝘖𝘜.

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(DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT) (TW: Mentions of cannibalism, murder, slight glorification of both; gore, toxic love, smutty/suggestive themes, etc.) (Larissa Weems x Fem!Reader)

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"I’ll be your slaughterhouse, your killing floor, your morgue and final resting," ~ Richard Siken

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It was an accident.

It was all an accident.

Wrong time, wrong place, wrong moment.

Why were you awake?

What were you looking for?

Was it her?

Was it something else?

Were you out of bed because you had a feeling?

Was the bell tolling for you even in your sleep? Could you hear the echo?

Was her silence too loud?

You turned the corner.

Why did you turn the corner?

She was so close to safety.

Too slow, in the end.

Too slow too slow too slow.

And you were too fast too fast too fast. Too inquisitive. Too smart for your own good.

Draped in the darkest grey of a hooded designer coat. Gloved hands holding bags. Red plastic and squishing softness. The handle of a pocketknife tucked between white teeth. No heels, but black boots. Careful not to track mud.

There was no mistaking it.

There was no mistaking her.

Tall, intimidating, curved and sleek. Disappearing into the night without a peep, only to come back past the devil’s hour and get caught.

Years of secrecy.

And to think it was all ruined by you.

You. Her limbo. Her undoing or her reaffirming supporter. Her end or her beginning. The in-between of her life. The connecting thread, so thin, so weak, that ties the two aspects of her existence together. The hungry and the satiated. The mask and the actor. The figure in the dark and the hero in the light. Trusted and feared. Loved and bewared. You, who had captured her eye the very moment she saw you all that time ago. You, who stood in her presence and commanded all of her attention and looked her in the face with no fear at all.

You, who only felt the fear after you turned the corner.

‘No, not you’, was her first thought. ‘No, please, let it be someone else. Let it be someone palatable.’

But no.

No no, little bell.

There you stood, hands limp at your sides, watching Larissa open the door to her quarters with a small golden key. Not trembling from the rush of the kill. Not breathing heavily from the long walk back. Not even bothering to slow her steps as she comes to a stop before her door.

Calm, instead; and swimming in a sea of only thought and anticipation for how the future meal would taste.

One does, after all, burn quite a few calories after chasing a rabbit through the woods.

She was hungry.

And you couldn’t sleep.

And in a fucked turn of events, her desire to romance you into love had melted into a necessary evil. Of course she could just kill you, but what a regret that would be. Not seeing your pretty little face each day… not hearing the sweet tones of your voice… not knowing the way you laugh… oh what a mistake it would be to taste your liver. And she probably wouldn’t enjoy it anyway. She never enjoyed the ones she cared about. Strangers were preferred. Strangers that would never be tied back to her because - my oh my why would anyone like Principal Weems ever kill somebody? How could anyone ever dare think that? When would she even have the time? And no woman could shoulder the emotional weight of murder! And cannibalism?! Oh perish the thought! No, Larissa Weems wouldn’t hurt a fly. She’s an amazing woman; she’s helped my kids so much. Oh, Principal Weems? No, that woman is an angel. She’s really good with the teens, younger and older; gets along with everyone too. And she’s a great colleague! There’s no reason to suspect her. Because she can’t kill anyone. She doesn’t have the heart. Doesn’t have the guts. She’d cry and cry and cry her way home, bending beneath the horror of her actions.

She doesn’t have it in her.

Whatever ‘it’ was.

Whatever ‘it’ is.

No. She didn’t have it in her.

She had something else in her.

A bell. An alarm. An innate sense of disguise, of self, of shadow. A mind 20 steps ahead at all times. A heart that never stopped beating. Breath that never skipped. Hands that never shook.

Unless you were around.

Then the human sank forward and suddenly she found herself falling behind, skipping beats, skipping breaths, and shaking.

And what, above all else, was so special about you?

Hm? What was so special about sweet darling beautiful you? Was it your own intelligence? Was it your own knowledge? Your own creativity? Was it your ability to be effortlessly funny? Was it the way you looked at her, sarcastic and cold and frightened and lustful? Was that it?

Or was it because you knew?

You knew.

You know.

You saw.

She waited for so long- days, weeks- sitting around, walking around, breathing and going about her life, waiting for everything to come crashing down. Waiting for the police to walk up to her door, demanding an inspection. They wouldn’t find anything, no, but that didn’t matter. They’d keep it all on record. So if anything did happen in the future, and she slipped up, her head would be on the chopping block - instead of one of her victims.

But the police never showed. And nothing ever changed. And the only shift in her life was you - but even that was slight and even that was small and even that was enough to make her feel reinvigorated. Because you knew… and yet you didn’t tell anyone. Why didn’t you tell anyone? She asks herself that constantly. Why haven’t you said anything? She’s teased you, frightened you, lured you in, put people on your plate, and you have yet to bolt up from the seat in her office and fly out into Jericho, screaming bloody murder. She’s most likely killed a person you saw once in passing; watched the light fade from their eyes, their breath dissipate in one last exhale, their heart slow to a complete stop. She’s ripped out insides, rearranged them, memorized their places, tasted them and enjoyed them. She’s done the most horrific things a human or non-human can do to its own kind, and you know this, and you haven’t called for help.

Perhaps you should just be honest with yourself, lamb.

Perhaps you should just say it. It will make things easier. You can cut through the tension and get over all the bullshit.

You want her.

Don’t you?

You want her just as much as she wants you.

You saw her that night after turning the corner and you knew. You felt it.

Something changed.

You want her protection. You want her passion. You want her love.

One could even say you are hungry for it.

–

By the time Larissa reaches the top of the stone steps, feet cold and heart thumping in anticipation, the minutes she has left have dwindled. It was a long trek through the halls to her quarters and once the secret wall on the other end slides into place behind her, she flicks up a beautiful slim wrist again and nearly chokes on her own breath.

“What on Earth?”

2 minutes?!

She has 2 minutes?!

Not a chance she spent that long cloaked in the dark of the Nevermore passages. There’s no way…

But her eyes don’t deceive her. Even after the few times she blinks, caught by utter surprise.

No. The clock reads 2 minutes. 2 minutes decreasing.

“Right,” she nods and huffs, suddenly and so thoroughly pissed off.

2 minutes. Fine. If she had 2 minutes, she’d do something with it. No predator waits for their lamb. You’re hers anyway.

You’re hers and that’s that. 2 minutes or not. That’s how it is.

And she’s gone too long without seeing your face this evening. Time to find you, her sweet darling. Time to win.

–

Her legs slide into a strut as she makes her way down the hall. Chafing, she finds, is a complete bitch. But she’ll bear it of course. For you.

You, who are so keen on pushing lines and breaking rules. Thinking you’ve outsmarted her. Hiding yourself away somewhere in her quarters.

Or so she hopes.

Really, there’s no way of knowing. You could be anywhere else actually. In a bathroom somewhere maybe - or a closet, shoving yourself into the shadows with a hand clasped tight over your pretty little mouth. Even in the main hall… celebrating your victory as she takes herself to her own bedroom, hoping to the gods that you’re there.

She wishes, of course, that you could walk into her bedroom under better circumstances. Circumstances in which you’re less frightened, and not so full of anxiety. Circumstances in which you’re smiley and giggly and happy to be in her company and not worried about if she’ll eat you or not - which she won’t. Ever. As she’s already told herself.

But you don’t know that. And you’re in her room, maybe, shaking with the fear of when she finds you. Even though, at the heart of things, she’s not sure if she has it in herself to stick to the rules of the game.

Can they be changed?

It’s the one thing she wonders about as she gets closer and closer - speed eventually picking up into a jog as she looks down at her watch and sees that it’s ticked over to 1 minute. 1 minute. 1 minute.

Can the rules be changed?

The outcome maybe?

50 seconds.

Her feet begin to pound against the stone. They’re cold - they nip at her bare heels - but none of it registers.

40 seconds.

She needs to take a left then a right.

A left then a right.

A left…

45 seconds.

Then a right…

30 seconds.

–

BANG.

Silence.

Footsteps.

You barely have time to hold in your gasp- barely have time to breathe through your panic- no time at all to duck into shadow and hide- because she’s already there.

In the doorway. Outlined by a muted light.

Out of breath, but victorious.

“I found you,” Larissa huffs, shoulders falling up and down in the most mesmerizing rhythm.

Up… down… chest moving with the weight of her lungs as she catches her breath.

So she was running.

Since when does the bell run instead of toll?

“I know.”

It’s all you can think to say.

Double checking the time doesn’t even fade across your thoughts. Making an effort to dash past her somehow never even touches the corners of your mind. The bell has run and the game has ended and you have lost - just as you somehow knew you always would. Because what else would the universe have you do? Win? No. No, the lambs never win. That’s just not how it goes. And when a phone begins to beep somewhere- a small silent beep beep beep beep beep in the next few seconds- you know that doubting your loss will lead to nothing. She has won. And you have failed. And now you will have no choice but to consume one of your own. Another lamb that could never beat the wolf. Never smart enough. Never fast enough. Never good enough.

“10 seconds to spare,” comes her dulcet murmur.

You nod, numb to the truth of it all.

10 seconds to spare.

If only the bell walked.

If only you were smarter.

If only you were better.

If only you were good enough.

Silence blankets the two of you. The only thing that speaks are the breaths from each of your throats, pouring into the still perfumed air of Larissa’s closet.

From an outside perspective, one would think that a chase like that, a game so neck and neck, would end on the most explosive of notes. The biggest catch, so to speak. The climax of it all. One would think that with everything on the line, with a livelihood wagered and morals placed on the table, the finale would be something memorable and great and probably terrifying and macabre.

The be all end all for games of wolves and lambs and bells and prey.

But great climaxes don’t happen in real life. And the feeling of your heart in your throat is uncomfortably genuine. And though you’d like to have the balls to tell Larissa to go fuck herself and shove her cannibalism where the sun don’t shine and flee off down the hall past Nevermore’s doors to the Jericho police station, you just don’t. You don’t have the balls, the courage, the energy.

In the face of Larissa’s success, your body’s given up.

Months of trying to keep in stride with her, but it never works. You never feel like the control you have is actually yours. She is just too good. Too good at making you feel special. Too good at capturing your attention. Too good at being a woman of her word and making you feel comfortable even when you feel uncomfortable - and too good at making you love her.

But.

But really.

How can you love a woman who will feed you the thigh of a man?

How can you love someone like that?

How can you want someone like that?

Truly. Honestly.

What is wrong with you?

Why do you want, even now, to grasp her shoulders and pull her close and kiss her senseless? Why do you want her to lead you to her bed? Why do you want to drown in her passion?

Why do you love her so much?

WHY DO YOU LOVE HER SO MUCH?

WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU?!

A person can’t be heard screaming in space.

All calls for help don’t matter there.

And we ask ourselves: what is the human psyche if not a universe?

What is the mind if not a vast unfathomable thing?

One in which we cannot hear each other’s screams? One in which we do not care enough to hear?

The cries for aid are internal for a reason. They reverberate through time and bones and blood and viscera and space and everything.

So Larissa cannot hear you.

All she can do is watch. And see you unravel. And hear your muted sniffles in the dark as tears well up in the hot of your eyes. Eager to fall. To release. To plead a case to a woman who has been the source of judgment for so long. To beg in the face of danger.

“I don’t want- I-” you choke on your words.

“…I don’t want to eat human.” Your voice is far away. Soft. Defeated.

“Please,” and only now do you return to the moment - blinking at her through the haze of your tears and the midnight of dark, “please don’t make me.”

Your heart, a tad late on the delay, seems to realize now the extent of everything. You have lost. And now you must face the consequences. And give into her wishes. And ruin everything for yourself.

For the rest of your life.

To eat… that… would be to say ‘this has gone too far.’ It would be to say ‘You are making me do this because of a silly stupid game and for that, I can no longer love you.’ Because eating one’s own kind is only seen in some animals - and you are no some animal. You are no hungry beast. You are no curious soul that is unable to admit the truth to themself.

You are just a woman. A woman who does not want to stop loving, even though the love feels more like rot.

Even though the love feels more like pain.

“Please. Please don’t make me.”

And the tears only fall faster, racing down your cheeks in the same rhythm as your heart’s beat. On and on and on and on. Even as Larissa mumbles your name and flicks on the closet light, rushing forward at the smallest sight of your wet face. Flushed from tears, crumpled with sadness and self-loathing and the undeniable feeling of being lost. So lost. So out of place.

And you don’t even question the whole power situation - how Larissa’s room has power while the rest of Nevermore doesn’t. Or seemingly doesn’t. It would be like Larissa Weems to ‘fake’ a power outage for the sake of raising the stakes and winning the game. Just another reason why she’s fucked up and you shouldn’t love her and yet-

“Shhh shhh, you’re okay. You’re okay.” Her soft accented voice in your ear and warm breath against your temple, speaking the sweetest reassurances as you tuck your face into your open palms and weep into the clammy skin of your hands. Her body presses against yours and her arms go winding around your waist as soon as she realizes that your legs are slowly buckling - simply unable to hold up the heavy weight of your heart.

“It’s going to be okay. You’re going to be okay.”

But you don’t know how you can believe her. Even as she sits down next to you, both of you on your knees, pressed to the cream carpet in the middle of the walk-in closet with your head slowly falling to the side. Resting against her chest. Seeking solace in the very thing that frightens you and seduces you and restrains you and frees you and knows you and loves you and needs you and is somehow comforting you while you cry about her cannibalism.

It’s sickening.

But it’s what you need.

And when warm tears fall into your hair and are smushed along your temple, you realize that Larissa needs it too.

Not the comfort or the vulnerability or the release, but the shared feeling of otherness. The realization that neither of you are alone in your secret. A secret you never asked to know and a secret Larissa never wished to tell. And yet here you are. Knowing and telling and sharing and keeping. Keeping it between just the two of you. Like Romeo and Juliet against the world. Twisted souls with a depraved lust and desire for each other- in the heart and in the flesh.

But Romeo and Juliet is romantic.

And you two are just sad.

And damned.

And leaning on each other still, silently weeping while mindless words spill out of Larissa’s lips.

“I won’t,” she rasps, “I won’t make you. You don’t have to. I promise. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I didn’t- this wasn’t- I’m sorry. Please. Believe me. You have to believe me. I’m so sorry.”

But she’s not sorry about eating people.

She’s just sorry you found out.

She’s just sorry you saw who she really was. Is.

She’s just sorry you love a version of herself that isn’t the woman she wants to be.

Still Larissa Weems, but someone different.

Still Larissa Weems, but a murderer.

Blood on her hands. As red as her lipstick.

“I’m sorry. You don’t have to. I’d never make you. I swear it.”

And she cries as she speaks, the length of her throat clogged with guilt and tears and sorrow. A million apologies for a million offenses. One right after the other that somehow fills the void in your heart and stitches up the horrendous wounds in your mind. Keeping you bloated on apologies.

The only difference being that she means them.

You can tell.

And when she says she’d never make you, pushing it out of her lungs in the way she does, sobbing it into the softness of your neck, you believe her. She wouldn’t let a single piece of long pork touch your tongue and she wouldn’t serve you something you don’t want to eat. No woman in love would do such a thing. And so she clutches you closer and whispers it over and over again.

“I won’t I won’t I won’t I won’t you don’t have to I’m so sorry I’m so sorry-”

Until you’re both exhausted and you find enough breath needed to take your hands away from your eyes and wipe your snot and tears on the skin of your forearm.

“I know,” you finally speak, crackly and pathetic. “I know.”

Larissa sniffles and nods but doesn’t stop her weeping - and her hands only bring you closer. As close as you can get. Molded to her body, tangled up with her on the floor, finding your arms returning the desperate hug and sliding around her midsection to hold her close too. Like a lifeline.

Like a lifeline.

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Smiles nervously. - Rip x

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Tags (Plz keep in mind Tumblr doesn't let me tag some accounts): @kaymariesworld @bloommushroom @readingtheentrails @thegoddamnfeels @theonefairygodmother @theflashesoflove @sweetderacine @gwensfreak @shyladyfan @sunnyanon @emilynissangtr @sugipla @deongocrazy @nocteangelus15 @azu-zu @hopelessly-sapphic @enchantressb @syrenacrainn @im-a-carnivorous-plant @willowshadenox @aemilia19 @scarlettssub @ladysdraga @willisnotmental @gela123 @zillahofviolets-bayolet @the-bearr @amateurwritescm @alex-nyx @h-doodles @weemssapphic

#rippersz #fanfictionwriter #fanfic #fanfiction #larissa weems #larissa weems x reader #wlw fanfic #dark fic #cannibal larissa weems #dead dove #dead dove: do not eat #dddne #cannibalism #principal larissa weems #wednesday larissa weems

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a-killer-obsession · 6 months ago

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Wavelengths [Killer x Reader, Heat x Reader]

🔞 Minors DNI 🔞

A search for a rumored Vegapunk weapon leads the Kid Pirates to an unexpected new crewmate, with a bloodlust that rivals their own and an incredible power.

CW: Please check AO3 for all current warnings, but general warning for smut, slow burn, serious gore, and really dark themes. AFAB reader, she/her pronouns.

Masterlist || AO3 || Chapter 1

Chapter 20 - See Me

Just straight angst tbh

WC: ~4k

Taglist: @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @tremendoushorsepatrolgoth @iggy5055

For five grueling days the commanders of the Victoria Punk had taken turns watching over you. It had taken a significant amount of persuasion to get Killer to return to his own room to get some sleep, after almost two straight days sitting at your side, leaving only to use the attached bathroom. With all of the crew, other than the commanders, strictly prohibited from the infirmary during your long sleep, his mask had remained off. It made it easy for the others to see the dark bags under his eyes, the whites of them bloodshot and irritated from crying and forcing himself to stay awake. He had fallen asleep a few times, but never for more than half an hour, until Kid had physically removed him from the room and barricaded his cabin door shut with him inside, forcing him to rest. All of the commanders were on a rotation keeping watch over your condition, even Double who you barely ever spoke to on a normal day had willingly taken up a guard post.

The ship had returned to the island it had come from before rescuing you, Kid didn't have the energy to give commands right now and Killer was in no state to back him up if something happened out at sea, so until you were awake they had made the decision to stay docked. It meant as well that Mohawk had unlimited access to any medical supplies he may need, though once your fever had broken on day two there hadn't been as much need. Your wounds were closing well, no longer plagued by infection, and your bruises were slowly fading. He'd had to install a catheter, which felt like an unbelievable invasion of your privacy, but it was medically necessary if he wanted to keep you hydrated intravenously without risking damage to your bladder.

Yesterday, confident in your level of recovery, he had lowered the dose of your pain medication, so everyone was in high hopes that you would wake up soon. As such, the watch rotation had been limited to those who most insisted on being at your side when you woke: Killer, Heat, and Kid. Mohawk was also nearby whenever he wasn't resting or eating, on standby in case you woke up and found the pain management to not be enough. The last thing anyone wanted was for you to be in any more pain.

For the first three days since being retrieved you had been in a deep, dark void of sleep. No dreams, but it also meant no nightmares. As the fatigue of the infection faded, the dreams returned. Mostly you dreamed of the island, but it was an idyllic haze. Moss covered stones and ivy covered trees and the most sapphire blue water you had ever seen flowing through a perfect stream. Brightly coloured koi swimming in the bright rays of sun that bounced and sparkled on the surface of the water, making small, delicate rainbows. Vibrant, exotic butterflies fluttering through a clearing of wildflowers, where Killer held your hand and whispered sweet nothings as he made love to you in the soft fragrant grass.

Killer's face melting, dripping onto you in thick viscous clumps, boiling your skin wherever they made contact. Blades of grass turning crimson with fresh blood, whipping at your flesh like they were alive and had a mind of their own. Trees stripped bare by harsh winds that chilled you to your bones, and the smell of rotting animal carcasses near a dried up stream, scattered with the bones of dead fish. Hail that turned to sharp stones, stripping your skin bare as you ran through mud, sinking lower and lower as your limbs grow heavy from fighting it. It flows into your mouth, silencing your screams, filling your lungs and suffocating you while dark looming forms crowd over you and laugh. “Little mouse,” they mock, the forms wavering like clouds of black smoke with red, glowing eyes that pierce right through you, “squeak for us little mouse.”

You jolt awake, a scream tearing from your throat, blood curdling and shrill, your eyes wide in fear as you fail to recognise your surroundings. A single strong arm wraps around you and with haki covered fingers you claw at it, shredding at the skin there as your scream turns to harsh growls and you fight against the restraint.

“YIN, IT'S ME,” Kid yells from beside you, struggling to keep you from falling off the cot. Just his fucking luck that you chose his shift to wake up, as if he hadn't pissed Killer off enough as it was. “BREATHE, GIRL, FUCKING BREATHE”

Mohawk is quick to come to your side, injecting you with a light sedative, not enough to knock you out, just enough to calm you. Kid's arm pours blood from fresh wounds as he holds you firmly, but you stop fighting him, hyperventilating as you come back to reality and accept that you're awake. He lets his grasp on you soften, holding you against his chest as he does for Killer, supporting your torso with his metal arm so he can use his flesh one to rub your arm soothingly till your breathing finally begins to even out.

“There you go girlie, there you go,” he coos quietly as you finally calm, eyes pricking with tears, one hand balling the fabric of his vest as you hold it tight for support. “You're home, you're safe, everything is going to be okay now”

“Kil- Kil-,” your stutter with a raspy voice. It sounds so unfamiliar that you're not sure it even came from you. Kid gives Mohawk a nod and he quickly exits.

“Doc is gonna get him, okay?” Kid soothed, “He's okay, he made it home safe because of your sacrifice, he's just sleeping right now but Mohawk will get him”

You whimper and nod in agreement, resting your head against Kid's wide chest as he wraps his flesh arm around you. You never thought Kid could ever be capable of such gentle, tender care, it was so unlike him. The two of you had such a turbulent relationship, but right now you felt safe as he held you, in the knowledge that you were loved, and your captain had not abandoned you after all. You couldn't remember it happening, but they had come for you, and you were home.

“You really scared us Yin,” Kid said far too softly to be in character for him, “I'm so sorry, this was all my doing, I was just trying to force you and Kil together so you could stop fucking each other over”

“Kid, what are you talking about?” You had to whisper, your throat sore and torn from screaming and not having physically drunk anything in days.

“I couldn't watch him hurt like that anymore,” he admitted, “he loves you, he's just so fucking stubborn, you both are. I know you and I haven't had the best relationship but I didn't want to watch you hurting either”

“He loves me?” You rasped.

“Of course he fucking loves you,” Kid half laughed, “he's been crazy about you since you came on board. I know you don't see the change, but he's different around you - he's happier, more comfortable in his own skin. He hasn't been the same since you got back from the island, and then there's the episodes-”

“What episodes?” You asked.

“Ah, I've said too much,” Kid scratched the back of his neck as he loosened his hold on you, “it's not for me to say. All I can say is he hasn't been this fucked up since Vic died. Whatever he said to you on the island, he doesn't mean it, he just can't admit that anyone could ever love the real him. He's hated himself for a long time, but it seems like he hates himself less when you're around”

“I-”

“YIN!” Killer near cried as he ran in, the infirmary door swinging on its hinges as he rushed to your side, holding your face so carefully between his large hands. Kid let you go and you quickly melted into Killer, his arms wrapping around you as the tears you'd been trying so hard to hold back finally spilled out and soaked his t-shirt.

“I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry,” he cried, his tears dripping in to your hair from where his chin rested against the top of your head, “I shouldn't have left you there, I should have fought harder”

“Kil,” you rasped, “you had to go, or you'd be dead. It's okay now, you came for me”

“We took so long though,” he sobbed, “I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry. They hurt you so bad, we should have been there earlier”

“Kil-” you wheezed. He was squeezing you so tight you could barely breathe.

“I'm so fucking sorry Yin,” he cried.

“KIL,” Kid growled, “you're gonna fucking kill her yourself”

Killer finally realised how tight he was holding you and let go, your breaths coming in ragged and painful. Your hand shot to your chest, a sharp ache making it hard to breathe. You started to hyperventilate as you struggled to catch a breath, panicking as it started to feel like you were suffocating. Mohawk gently pushed Killer aside and injected something into your IV that you hadn't even noticed was connected to your arm until now, before putting an oxygen mask over your face to help you. Killer slowly backed away, eyes wide in fear, till his back hit the wall near the door.

“Kil, don't-” Kid could barely get out the warning before Killer fled, the door swinging again from the force he had slammed through it with. Tears rolled down your cheeks as you looked to Kid for support.

“He'll come back, Yin,” Kid sighed, “he's just scared of hurting you”

“This wasn't his fault,” Mohawk said, gathering up the things he needed to tend to Kid's arm, “you've got a broken rib, it'll be hard to breath for a little while”

“Try explaining that to him,” Kid groaned as the doctor attended to his arm. He already knew he was going to have to replace more furniture. Killer had in general been extremely skittish since you'd returned, his guilt was eating him alive. He felt that if he'd just never given in to his own selfishness on the island, none of this would have happened. The fact you'd been raped had him gagging whenever it flashed across his mind, he'd had trouble keeping food down in general since hearing about your condition.

Before you had the chance to really break down about Killer running from you again, Heat appeared in the door, like the visage of an angel. Always there when you needed him, it made you curse yourself that you'd fallen for Killer and not Heat. Things would be so much fucking easier if it was Heat. Regardless, you still loved him in a different way as your closest friend, and eagerly held out your arms for him as he entered. He replied by tilting you up on the bed and shuffling in behind you, letting you lean back against his warm chest. It felt nice against the body wide aching that you felt, a Heat sized hot water bottle, though the pain was slowly lessening no doubt as a result of whatever Mohawk had injected you with.

As soon as you were comfortable Heat directed his eyes to meet Kid's. “It's happening again,” he said quietly.

“I'm on it,” Kid sighed, giving you a curt nod and rushing out the door to find his best friend before any irreversible damage could be done to the ship or to him.

“What's happening again?” you wheezed.

“Killer isn't well,” Heat sighed, giving Mohawk a forlorn look. Mohawk returned his frown before letting out a deep breath and excusing himself, taking with him a small first aid kit. Most of the crew now knew about Killer's mania, it had gotten hard to hide given the frequency over the last few weeks, so he prepared himself to stitch more wounds.

“Did he get hurt?” You asked. Heat didn't like the way your voice sounded so strained and held the oxygen mask to your face so you'd stop removing it to speak.

“Stop talking baby, rest your throat,” you gave him an annoyed huff which made the corner of his mouth raise, ever the defiant even now. “He hasn't been well for a very long time,” Heat continued, “I'm sure you're aware by now that he has some self-esteem issues, and it's why he wears the mask, but it goes much deeper. He has-”

“Episodes,” you finished for him, “Kid told me that much, but I don't understand what he meant”

Heat tutted at you for removing the mask again before continuing. “He has… I guess you would call it manic episodes. It happened a lot after Victoria died, back before we'd even left our home island, but it hadn't happened much since he got the mask, until you got back from the island and they started happening again. It's been really bad week for him, and he keeps refusing medication”

“Oh,” you whispered sadly, “I did this”

“You didn't, babydoll,” Heat assured you, “he's just got a lot of mixed up feelings right now that boiled over when we lost you. He'll come right eventually, he always does”

“Is that why he doesn't want me?” You said, almost too quietly for him to hear.

“You know that's not true,” Heat sighed, “but I think it's maybe why he's keeping his distance. There's really nobody to blame here but he puts it all on himself anyway. Is it the fault of the storm for sending you to that island? Puberty fucking with his self esteem when we were kids? Our stupid plan to get the two of you together? The marines? Nobody is to blame here but that doesn't stop him from blaming himself, and it's only putting stress on his condition”

“Kid mentioned something about forcing us together, what did he mean by that?” You frowned.

Heat sighed and ran a stressed hand through his blue locks before sliding off the bed to avoid the question for a little longer. He quietly retrieved a glass of water for you before returning back to your side, making the mistake of glancing at you and seeing your disapproving expression at his avoidance.

“Look, we couldn't just keep watching you both hurting each other anymore okay?” He said, exasperated, “I may have mentioned to the others that you said you love him after Kid said Killer had a breakdown about loving you and regretting what happened, so we made up an excuse about needing log poses and needing stealth to get them so the two of you would spend time together”

“It was none of your fucking business,” you spat, fuming at him. “It wasn't your fucking place or anyone's fucking place to push us together like a couple of dolls. We made a deal on that island, but Killer was the one who threw me away. He made it clear that he didn't want me when we got back. It's not my fault that his own decision hurt him, as if it didn't fucking rip me apart”

“I don't get it!” Heat yelled, throwing his hands up in defeat, “you love him, you told me so, and he told Kid he loves you. Why can't you just both get over it and be happy together? I feel like I'm watching two monkeys at a typewriter, I can't just keep waiting for one of you to accidentally write ‘I love you'”

“BECAUSE HE THREW ME AWAY HEAT!” you screamed, “HE THREW ME AWAY! JUST LIKE MY DAD! JUST LIKE THE MARINES! JUST LIKE EVERY RAPIST COMMANDER WHO GREW TIRED OF ME WHEN I DIDN'T SCREAM ENOUGH FOR THEM! JUST LIKE DELILAH! AND JUST LIKE YOU ALL WILL TOO!”

Heat stood staring in shocked silence. Not once had the two of you ever fought, and he had no idea you felt like this. “Yin, please-”

“Leave, Heat,” you turned away from him, fury and pain written all over your face. Tears were starting to roll down your cheeks against your will.

“No,” he started towards you.

You flipped the seastone on your bracelet that someone had put back on you while you were asleep, and looked at him with dead, blank, pink-grey eyes. “Leave, or I'll make you leave,” you growled.

“I'm sorry,” he sighed as he stepped away, having nothing he could do to retort against your threat, “I'm sorry Yin”

And then he was gone, and once again, you were alone.

You didn't speak again for several days, not that your aching throat would allow for it anyway. Killer didn’t visit again, and you weren't surprised. Heat visited often despite you yelling at him, trying his best to make conversation and fill you in on everything you'd missed, but you would just pretend to sleep, or pointedly stare blankly at the door. You didn't want to talk to him, you didn't want to talk to anyone who had anything to do with that stupid plan. You found out that Mohawk and Double hadn't been a part of it, they were just following what sounded like a normal mission commanded by their captain, so when you did begin to speak, it was only to them.

You couldn't help it though when Mohawk discharged you and you found yourself tossing and turning in your own bed. Eventually you cracked, and Heat was more than willing to stay with you to make you feel safe. You couldn't stay mad at him forever, he was your best friend here, you needed him. You did your best to get past what had been a well meaning plan and try to forgive him. Kid too had been forgiven, after days of him leaving little metal animals at your door. It was adorable, really, you couldn't stay mad at that. Wire was harder to forgive, especially after finding out that it was his idea to delay your rescue. You'd nearly torn his throat out on the deck when you found out till he finally snapped and broke down. You didn't even think he was capable of crying, and it may have been emotional manipulation but you couldn't help but forgive him.

Six days after being discharged, now back on the open sea, you had the stark realisation that you hadn't seen Killer at all. You expected to just have to ignore him as you passed like ships in the night, but you hadn't seen him at all. You sat down to lunch and noticed how quiet the other commanders were, defeated expressions on their faces as they all silently picked at their food.

“Where's Killer?” You finally asked, curiosity and concern getting the better of you. You were mad at him, but that didn't mean you'd miraculously stopped loving him.

“His room,” Kid didn't raise his head to answer you, “he hasn't come out since his last… episode”

You sighed and stood, you had to talk to him, this was getting out of control. Your anger was far outweighed right now by your concern for Killer's mental health.

“Where are you going?” His head finally perked up as you started to leave.

“I promised him we'd talk,” you replied flatly.

The others exchanged looks that were somewhere between worry and hope. They'd all taken turns trying to get Killer out of his depression but had all been unsuccessful. Maybe you could be his relief, like Victoria had been all those years ago. You had the same stubborn, aggressive, take-no-shit attitude as she had, but with that same gentle, selfless heart under the exterior that never failed to make people smile. They needed so badly for Killer to smile again.

Mohawk stood and rushed to your side as you walked away, prompting you to stop and look at him. He took your hand gently and placed a small plastic pill container in it, closing your figures around it.

“Please, if you can, get him to take these,” Mohawk's eyes were sad and pleading, “he needs to take one every day”

You looked at the container in your hand, raising your brows at him. “For his… sickness?” You asked. Mohawk nodded and you responded with a sigh. “Okay, I'll try,” you told him, before taking your leave.

You weren't sure whether or not to even bother knocking as you stood outside his door. You didn't know what you'd say if he let you in either, you knew now that he loved you back, but you still felt hurt and rejected by the way he threw you away after the island, and the fact that he never came to see you again after running from the infirmary. Regardless, you could feel the ache in your heart from knowing that he was hurting so badly that he'd isolated himself. You couldn't just keep standing outside his door though, he had observation haki, he no doubt knew you were already here so the longer you delayed, the more awkward it would be.

With a deep breath you tried to be brave, settling on not bothering to knock, you had a feeling he wouldn't answer anyway. You opened the door slowly, nervously peering around the edge of it, your heart in your throat as it beat much too fast.

Killer's usually pristine room looked like a wild hog had run through it. The dresser was on its side, the contents of the drawers spread out over the floor. The doors of the wardrobe hung from their hinges, cracked and threatening to break off entirely. The side tables were tossed aside, books that had previously been kept in them torn apart and thrown around the room. The hooks on the wall that usually held weapons were empty, and you wondered if Kid had removed them, it spoke of the gravity of the situation. Beyond that you swore that the furniture in here was different, it'd been a long time since you'd been in here during initiation but you could have sworn Killer had a set of ebony wood furniture, not oak.

You spotted his mask in the corner, cracked right down the center, a large hole in the wall above it. You picked it up gingerly, running your hand over the front of it before placing it on the unmade bed.

Killer himself was nowhere to be seen, so you ventured in further, assuming he must be in the bathroom. Glass embedded in the carpet crunched underfoot as you carefully tried to find your footing on the barely visible floor. The bathroom door had a huge hole in it, the wood splintered around it, like someone had punched straight through. There was no longer a medicine cabinet, just an unpainted rectangle on the wall where it used to hang, and you could have sworn the sink looked different. Maybe you were misremembering, you had only been in here once after all.

You found Killer in the otherwise empty bathtub, curled in on himself with his head buried between his knees, his long locks matted and unruly as they hid most of his body. He looked truly dishevelled, and you could see cuts and scrapes and bruises in various stages of healing littering his arms. You found yourself climbing into the tub too before you could think too hard about it, sinking down to sit at the opposite end from him. He didn't give you any movement to acknowledge your presence.

“Kil, you have to take your meds,” you weren't sure what else to say, but the meds at least gave you an excuse as to why you were here. “Everyone is worried about you”

“They shouldn't be,” he mumbled, “I'll only hurt them”

“Kil you are hurting them,” you replied with a sad frown, “they just want you to be okay, it hurts them to see you like this. Take the meds, please”

You held out the pills to him, shaking them a little so he knew you were waiting for him to take them, but he still didn't move. You ran an exhausted hand through your hair and stood up, climbing out of the tub and returning to his room to hunt for a hairbrush. When you found one you returned to the bathroom and sat at his side, taking a thick segment of his hair and carefully working your way through the knots.

“Don't,” he grumbled, shying away from you.

“Quit being a baby, your hair is all fucked up, and since you won't care for it, I will,” you continued brushing. He didn't like it, not because he didn't want you to touch his hair, but because it reminded him of the tender care you afforded him on the island.

“What happened wasn't your fault,” you said as you brushed, “I'm still mad as hell at you for hurting me but what happened at the marine base wasn't your fault”

“It is, I should have protected you, I should have sensed his haki,” he said quietly, still making no effort to move.

“We all make mistakes, doesn't mean it was your fault,” you replied, moving to the next long segment of hair. He sat quietly, having no reply for you.

“Killer,” you said softly, “can you look at me please?”

You wanted so badly for him to just look at you, to just recognise that despite everything, you were there, at his side, trying your best to talk to him despite how much you were hurting, even if he hadn’t been there for you while you were healing. You wanted to pour your heart out and make things right with him but he wouldn't even dignify you with eye contact. When he still didn't move it started to make your heart ache, the strings that held it finally snapping under the tension. You felt ignored and thrown away again, and it made you feel like you were invisible and insignificant. Tears started falling before you had a chance to stop them.

“I'm right here Kil, why can't you see me?” You cried. That finally got him to move, but it was too little too late as his icy blue eyes caught the tail end of you leaving. You threw the container of pills on the bed before slamming his door shut behind you and fleeing back to your own room to sob.

[NEXT CHAPTER]

#one piece fanfiction #one piece smut #killer one piece #killer x reader #massacre soldier killer #heat one piece #heat x reader #kid pirates

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