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seungrem · 4 months

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tomie!sunghoon x (no pronoun) reader

The Curse of Sunghoon

masterlist ~*+ - part 1 of 3?? ~*+

summary: It seemed everyone had become lost in their flawed tendencies since the arrival of the new student. His enigmatic spirit and flawless features made him impossible to miss- enchanting students and teachers alike. Uncanny in many ways, the boy’s name was Sunghoon, and for reader, it seemed his presence was nothing other than ill-fated.

( overview: please see warnings. no pronouns mentioned excluding occasional ‘em’s, mostly an introduction to the plot, no romantic expressions between hoon & reader yet, new student!sunghoon, student!reader, and made up characters: gang leader!hoshino & stalker!rika, fic in general is more artsy than romantic )

( warnings: mentions of blood, weapons, threats, fighting/physical aggression, gangs/mob groups, a very tiny bit of gore- not detailed at all, manipulation, and stalkerish/obsessive behavior )

emoji code:

🌿 ( long story/series - 4.2k words )

🪐 ( junji ito’s Tomie AU )

+🫧 ( maybe a bit angsty )

☁️ ( stands for y/n )

likes, comments, & reblogs r appreciated ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

Down the stone path lined with cherry blossom trees, pink petals fluttered sporadically in the crisp spring breeze. The walk to class was always silent, though ☁️ would catch the new student walking in the distance. It was a peculiar change to the old, tedious morning routine that he was used to- partially due to the mystery that was Sunghoon.

Sunghoon was never one to look disheveled or disoriented. His skin was always glowing- so much that it often reflected light, his lengthy figure was adored by many, and his mannerisms were always gracious. To put it simply, the boy was elegant. ☁️ had heard of the many rumors surrounding his family, appearance, and connections, but never paid them mind.

It’s been a month since ☁️’s final year of school had begun, and it’s been two weeks since ☁️ had noticed Sunghoon’s presence on the cherry blossom path. Though the walks continued to be in silence, peculiarity struck the daily routine once again.

Trudging around puddles and small piles of flowers petals on a cloudy Thursday morning, ☁️’s focus remained on the stone path below. Imagine ☁️’s surprise upon almost bumping into Sunghoon, who raised an eyebrow at the action. ☁️ stumbled back and immediately matched Sunghoon’s gaze, rather embarrassed.

“Ah, I’m sorry.” ☁️ stammered, walking around Sunghoon.

“I was waiting for you.”

Sunghoon placed his hands in his pocket as ☁️ turned around.

“Oh.. why’s that?”

“We walk down this path at the same time everyday. Wouldn’t it be nice to travel together?” Sunghoon questioned monotonously.

Aside from the confusion, there was an underlying anticipation ☁️ felt when speaking to Sunghoon. It was also ☁️’s first time hearing his voice- his tone soft yet assertive.

“Yeah.. I guess it would.”

Sunghoon burst out laughing and shook his head.

“Did you really think that I’d want to walk beside you? And everyday at that?” Sunghoon took his hands out of his pocket and crossed his arms, an amused look across his face. “What humor you have.”

☁️ grimaced at the comment, looking around.

“You said you were waiting for me, though..” ☁️ muttered, anticipation transforming into anger.

“I did.” Sunghoon responded, his gaze not leaving ☁️’s. With furrowed eyebrows and rolling eyes, ☁️ took a step away from the man, about to walk away.

“I don’t want to be late, let’s go.” Sunghoon said, grabbing ☁️’s arm and continuing down the stone path. The two now walking side by side, ☁️ shook Sunghoon’s grip away as the awkward interaction began causing headache.

The rest of the walk was silent, and Sunghoon’s gesture of waiting for ☁️ became a daily occurrence. Upon arriving to the school each day, the two would give the other a look of “goodbye” to then go their separate ways.

“Is this seat taken?”

☁️ looked up to see Sunghoon standing across the cafeteria table, holding a food tray. It had been a week since the two of them began walking together.

“No.”

“Good. I was going to sit here regardless.”

An eyebrow raised, ☁️ watched as Sunghoon sat and began nipping at a salad.

“So I was wondering..” The boy began.

☁️ looked up again.

“How close are you to Hoshino?”

“Nobody’s close to Hoshino.” ☁️ responded, watching as Sunghoon continued between bites.

“What do you mean?”

“Unless you’re in his posse, I’d doubt that you’d ever get the opportunity to be ‘close’ to him. I heard that even his members don’t speak that often to him.”

“Do you think it’s by choice?”

“I don’t know. What’s it to you?” ☁️ tilted his head as Sunghoon pushed his tray aside.

“I don’t like him, he’s the root of this place’s problems.”

“Yeah, well, nobody else likes him- so you’re not alone.”

The two sat in silence as ☁️ looked around the busy cafeteria, catching the glare of Rika, a girl in their grade. Of all the times ☁️ recalled seeing her around, Rika always had two bows on each side of her long black hair, it becoming a staple in her appearance. Though, today, it seemed only one bow hung from the left side of her two pigtails.

“Is Rika staring again?” Sunghoon asked, glancing over to ☁️. “I can feel it.”

“She is.”

“Did you know that she’s quite psychotic? An absolute whacko.”

“What do you mean?”

“She’s horribly obsessive- I catch her stalking me on occasion. I heard that it’s because she likes me, but who doesn’t?” Sunghoon smiled, amused by his own comment. “She’s an odd girl.”

“Yeah.. you should probably tell someone about that..” ☁️ suggested, looking over and catching her gaze once again.

“It’s alright. I usually lose her on the way home.”

Sighing, ☁️ sat with pursed lips in silence. The two were quiet until the end of the lunch period, them later walking side by side through the school hallways.

“Hey, ☁️!”

☁️ turned around to see Hoshino and three other boys approach the two of them. Initially startled, ☁️ maintained composure.

“You didn’t introduce me to your new friend.” Hoshino laughed, him now standing only inches in front of ☁️. He leaned onto a locker with his arms crossed, eyeing up ☁️ and then Sunghoon.

“His name is Sunghoon.”

“Ah, Sunghoon. The pleasure’s all mine.” Hoshino exclaimed sarcastically, holding a hand out to the boy.

“The pleasure would be mine if I didn’t think you were a bastard.” Sunghoon sneered, followed by light laughter. ☁️ stood frozen in fear as Hoshino’s shocked expression turned into one of anger. Pulling a knife from his back pocket, he pushed Sunghoon against the wall, holding it at his throat.

“Hoshino, he’s new to the school. He doesn’t know better.” ☁️ pleaded, taking steps toward the boy. Two of Hoshino’s members grabbed at ☁️’s shoulders, stopping ‘em from moving any closer.

“I don’t give warnings. Consider it your first and last.” Hoshino said, pushing Sunghoon into the wall again and backing away. He then turned to ☁️, who was still held back by the other boys. “Keep your friend in line, or you’re next.” Hoshino whispered, tapping the blade against ☁️’s lips. “K?”

Feeling their grip loosen, ☁️ watched as Hoshino turned and began down the hallway beside his posse. As soon as the group was out of sight, ☁️ turned to Sunghoon.

“I’m gonna kill you.”

“Do you think I’m scared of a little blade?” Sunghoon muttered, wiping blood off of ☁️’s lips with his thumb. He then put his thumb into his mouth, making ☁️ wince. Luckily, there were only a few people lingering in the hallways, none of them seeming to notice. Sunghoon laughed and began walking away. “I’ll see you later!”

☁️ sighed. About to walk to class, another hand gripped ☁️’s shoulder.

“Hey, ☁️.”

☁️ turned to see that strange girl, Rika.

“You’re not dating Sunghoon, right?”

“Uhm.. no, I’m not.” ☁️ responded, raising an eyebrow.

“Okay, I just didn’t want anything bad happening to you. You know.” Rika smiled and patted ☁️’s shoulder, her silver braces shining as she did so.

“I don’t know what you mean, actually.”

“As long as you’re not taking him away, there’s no need for you to worry about it.” Rika whispered, followed by a boisterous laugh. “No need for you to worry. Bye-bye.”

☁️ watched as Rika hurried down the hallway, throwing her pink satchel back over her shoulder.

“How odd this school is.” ☁️ huffed.

“I really don’t think he would do such a thing.”

Another week had passed since ☁️ and Sunghoon had officially become.. acquainted. As of recently, they’d had eaten lunch, walked around, and traveled to and from school together, daily. It had also been a week since their first run-in with Hoshino, whose glares in the hallways meant he didn’t forget, either. ☁️ felt this time drag- almost as if Sunghoon had bestowed a curse upon ‘em the day they first met. The boy simply seemed to attract both unwanted attention and problems.

Just the day prior, Sunghoon supposedly got one of Hoshino’s posse members kicked out of the school, somehow. Despite not being involved in the situation, ☁️ had been on the receiving end of stares and gossip ever since. The story told didn’t make much sense, and ☁️ didn’t want to ask Sunghoon about it just yet.

“Why not? Everyone knows about the rising tensions between him and Hoshino. It would make sense for him to snitch.” One of the girls in ☁️’s class whispered back as they awaited the arrival of their teacher. “I heard he manipulated a few teachers into searching the boy’s belongings. Apparently, they found knives and even gun.”

☁️ looked around the room, and then back at the girl as she continued.

“I don’t know if it’s true, but I heard that Hoshino has been planning on getting him back. I’m sure you could guess what’ll happen.”

The girl leaned back into her seat, raising her eyebrows.

“Is there anything else you can give me?” ☁️ whispered, despite knowing that this information was all that she’d provide for today.

“Even if I wanted to give you more, I can’t. That’s really all I got.”

“How much do I owe you?”

“Just $5. I’ll give you a discount so that I don’t end up on Sunghoon’s naughty list. People are saying that he’ll become the next Hoshino.. I’m not sure why you spend so much time with him in honestly.”

Grabbing a few dollars bills, ☁️ quickly slid the money to the girl from a back-pocket.

“A pleasure doing business with ‘ya.”

—

“It’s unnecessary to worry about what other people say, ☁️.” Sunghoon muttered, rolling his eyes. The two sat across from each other at lunch, as they usually do.

“But accusations can have consequences. Especially since it’s involving Hoshino.”

Sunghoon put his fork down and looked up to ☁️ with a blank expression. The boy then glanced around, quickly.

“Would you like to skip next period with me? I have an errand that I have to run.”

“Not really. I’m assuming, since you asked, that you’ll need help. Right?”

“Perceptive. I’m thoroughly impressed.”

☁️ frowned. “What is it?”

“I just need to pay a teacher a visit. Just keep lookout for me.”

“Tell me what you’ll be doing, Hoonie.”

“I told you that I hate that nickname.”

☁️ shrugged, as if saying “I don’t care.” Sunghoon continued.

“It’s just to talk about Hoshino. It’ll be quick.”

“Hm.. fine. Please be quick, though.”

“Aw, that’s truly so sweet of you. Thanks for always being there for me, ☁️.”

☁️ rolled his eyes, ignoring Sunghoon’s superficial praise. Standing up suddenly, the boy motioned ☁️ to follow him.

“Let’s just leave lunch early.”

—

☁️ stood beside Sunghoon upon arriving to a classroom on the highest floor. After the boy knocked on the door, a younger-looking teacher slid it open slightly, him holding a few textbooks.

“Hey, can I help you two?”

“Yes, we’ve spoken a few days ago. Do you have a moment?”

“I’m sorry, I don’t remember speaking to you, and I’m a bit busy with grading. Could you two come b-“

“No, I’m sorry. You actually do have a moment.” Sunghoon pushed the door open, making the man stumble back and drop his books.

“The hell are you doing?” ☁️ muttered, grabbing Sunghoon’s arm. Sunghoon approached the teacher, shoving ☁️’s hand off of him as he walked towards the man. Picking his books up while squatting on the floor, the teacher looked up to Sunghoon, who towered over him. ☁️ was taken aback as he watched Sunghoon bent down as well. He placed a hand on the man’s shoulder, whispering to him.

“Be the lookout, ☁️.” Sunghoon instructed, not taking his eyes off of the teacher. In disbelief, ☁️ took a step back and walked out of the door, closing it so that it was barely open ajar.

Sunghoon walked back out a few minutes later, a cellphone and tan folder in hand. The boy tossed an object on the floor as ☁️ took a peak behind him, seeing the teacher slouched over a desk. Noticing ☁️’s gaze, Sunghoon closed the door lightly.

“He’s fine, just resting for another minute. We should go before he wakes up.”

“You didn’t hurt him, right?”

“Of course not. I needed his help.”

☁️ looked around, seeing that the hallway was empty as the two begun down it.

“So, why didn’t he remember you?”

“I manipulated him into helping me before. That’s probably why he didn’t recall our previous meetings.”

“What do you mean manipulate?”

“Why’re you grilling me?”

“Because I don’t understand what’s going on. This is too much, Sunghoon.”

“You’ll know when it happens, just like everyone else.”

The two descended down the staircase in silence, ☁️ still not satisfied with the lack of information.

“We’re only a few minutes late to archery class. See? I told you that it wouldn’t be long.”

☁️ nodded.

“Anyway, I suspect Rika to be around here somewhere, don’t say anything else about it.” Sunghoon whispered, leaning into ☁️’s ear.

“Sunghoon!” Rika called out from behind them, as if on que. She hurried over to them from down the hallway, holding a plastic bag in hand. Still missing a bow, Rika looked ☁️ up and down with a dismissive look. “You had something for me?”

Sunghoon took the bag she held and placed the tan file and phone inside of it.

“That’s all. You’ll have it back tomorrow.”

Rika nodded and smiled, continuing down the hallway as if the conversation had never happened.

“What was the point of getting that file if you were just going to give it to her?” ☁️ asked, watching Rika disappear in the distance. The two continued, walking slowly as they conversed.

“I already read it. And I don’t want that teacher suspecting me of taking it.”

“Why wouldn’t he remember you being in there?”

“I manipulated him, remember?”

☁️ face palmed. “You don’t have powers, Hoonie. You’re gonna get us in a lot of trouble.”

“Yes I do. I’m special, remember?”

“I really hope narcissism isn’t clouding your judgment.” ☁️ sighed.

Sunghoon stopped walking, seemingly offended. “Nothing could cloud my judgment.”

“That’s something a narcissist would say.”

—

Sunghoon stepped in front of ☁️, opening the gymnasium doors and gesturing forward.

“Thank you.” ☁️ muttered, catching the teacher’s glare as they stepped inside. The teacher was older- probably in his 50’s. ☁️ watched as the man hurried to the two of them with compound bows under his arms.

“Since you two decided to show up, help me gather the rest of the materials.” The man said, motioning the two to follow him into the equipment room. “You, grab the box of arrows since it’s heavy.” He said, pointing at Sunghoon. He then pointed to ☁️ before gesturing toward additional compound bows. “You can put the last two bows on the rack out there, follow me back please.”

The three walked back to the group of students who waited in the middle of the gymnasium floor.

“Alright everyone! Split into two groups of eight.” The teacher instructed.

“Make sure we aren’t in Hoshino’s group.” Sunghoon muttered, pulling ☁️ away from the crowd of students. After a minute, the class was divided.

“This group has nine, one of you go over there.” The teacher said, looking at ☁️. A student awkwardly shuffled over to the other group. “Okay, good. This side is shooting first, and then that side. Grab a bow and an arrow and line up.”

“We’re shooting first.” ☁️ looked over to Sunghoon, who stared intently at the windows on the other side of the room. Patting Sunghoon’s arm, ☁️ knocked the boy out of his daze. “What’s wrong?”

“I thought I saw something outside.” Sunghoon replied, shaking his head. The two followed the group of students over to the rack of bows, grabbing one alongside an arrow. The teacher called out commands, and the students raised their bows. The target in front of them was tall and wide, with three circles of red white and blue. Sitting on the other side of the room with their backs against the window, the other students watched.

“Shoot!”

☁️ released the arrow, though someone else’s collided coincidently with it, causing ☁️’s to fall to the ground. Laughing it off, ☁️ turned to Sunghoon.

“How did you do?”

“I got a bullseye.”

☁️ looked over to the target, seeing a singular arrow in the blue center.

“That’s impressive.” ☁️ muttered, turning to Sunghoon once again. The boy was looking over his shoulder- his gaze fixated on the group of students against the window. “What do you keep looking at?”

“You didn’t see that guy standing outside?”

☁️ looked over, not seeing anybody over the standing students’ heads. “No.”

Sunghoon ran a hand through his hair as the students placed their bows on the ground and took a step away. Sunghoon and ☁️ followed their movements, awaiting the teacher’s directions.

“Okay, second group, it’s your turn.”

About to walk toward the wall alongside the others, Sunghoon gripped at ☁️’s shoulder.

“I’m not going over there until I see that boy again.”

“What if you’re just seeing things?”

“I’m not, I know I saw him.”

“Even if there was a boy, so what? You’d see him better if we go over there.”

“You don’t understand.”

☁️ shrugged, walking away from the bows so that other students could use them. Sunghoon followed, standing diagonally to the second group. Only a few feet to the right of the target, ☁️ caught Hoshino’s gaze and immediately looked away.

The teacher began shouting commands as Sunghoon’s gaze didn’t come off of the window in the distance. The teacher stood behind the engrossed students as he called out, despite not seeing the actual target.

“There he is.” Sunghoon muttered, jogging a few steps forward and walking towards the window. ☁️ looked over to see a tall boy in a black school suit towering behind the students standing against the wall. His mahogany hair blew in the wind as his steady gaze didn’t leave Sunghoon’s. It was an eerie scene, one that filled ☁️ with fear as the stranger peeked into the room.

“Shoot!”

☁️ flinched as droplets of red sprinkled across the face and neck possessed. Pinned against the target, Sunghoon twitched as red trickled down his body. Perceiving the horror a few feet in the distance, ☁️ cupped a hand over the mouth that gasped. The students holding bows cried out or turned around to avoid the scene. Those sitting against the window all stood up, some covering their eyes and some rushing over to get a better look. The man on the other side of the window was no longer present.

“What the hell..” The teacher choked, stepping through the line of students to see Sunghoon impaled by their arrows. With a throat becoming drier by the second, ☁️ walked over to the line of students. Arrows had gone through Sunghoon’s eye, neck, shoulder, stomach, leg, and both sides of his arms. Someone behind ☁️ threw up.

“What the hell did you do..” The teacher croaked again, looking at the students beside ☁️.

“You said to shoot!” One girl cried out.

“He just ran in front of the board. It wasn’t our fault.” Another boy muttered.

☁️ turned to see Hoshino approach Sunghoon’s body- it no longer twitching.

“We’ll just get rid of the body. Guys, help me get him off of this.”

“The hell are you talking about?” One of his mob members shouted, his voice shaky.

“Unless you all wanna go to jail, I suggest you help get rid of the body.” Hoshino shouted back, him then slowly removing each arrow from Sunghoon’s body. A few boys walked beside him, helping the boy set Sunghoon’s lifeless figure onto the floor.

“Someone get the tarp cover from the equipment room.” Hoshino ordered after turning his head, glaring at the crowd that now stood behind him. A girl beside ☁️ nodded and sprinted over to the room.

“Nobody go anywhere! We are not getting rid of anything!” The teacher roared, pushing a few of the boys surrounding Hoshino away from Sunghoon’s body. Hoshino quickly stood up, pulling a switchblade from his back pocket and holding it at the teacher’s neck.

“Either you help us or you suffer the same fate.” Hoshino looked around. “That goes for everyone!”

The girl ran back with a black tarp, unraveling it so that Hoshino’s members could drag Sunghoon onto it.

“What the fuck is happening.” ☁️ whispered to himself, watching as other students began helping to wrap the body.

“This is so fucked up.” A boy beside ☁️ whispered in response.

“There’s a door leading outside in the equipment room, right?” Hoshino asked the teacher, his switchblade still pointed at him. The teacher simply nodded his head.

“Alright, everyone outside! Now!” Hoshino yelled, jogging over to his members. He whispered to them before turning to the crowd of students. Pointing to the tarp, he called out again. “I need a few people to carry this into the mountain.”

Students stepped up and kneeled beside the tarp cover. Lifting it, they began into the equipment room, guided by two of Hoshino’s members. Hoshino stood behind, watching as everyone filed into the room and out the door. ☁️ was the one of the last students to leave, exhaling upon observing the small puddle of blood that dripped down the target and onto the floor.

“Go.” Hoshino said, waving the switchblade at ☁️ as he and the teacher walked passed. ☁️ followed them into the room and out of the metal door, one of Hoshino’s members then closing the door behind them. ☁️ watched as the group walked into the forested area a few feet in the distance, barely trailing behind. Hoshino noticed, him turning around and walking towards ☁️.

“I guess I need to chaperone you.” Hoshino muttered upon gripping ☁️’s arm, the two of them then rushing up the hill and through the forest. They eventually caught up to the group, a fire having been started. Hoshino let go of ☁️ after he stood beside his members.

“We’re going to give everyone a part to hide. If your part gets found, you’re dead. After you hide it, and hide it well, you can go home. Wash your hands and clothes immediately. The teacher and my group will clean the gymnasium- if you’d like to help you can. Everyone understand?” Hoshino shouted, watching as most of the class nodded their heads. He then began unwrapping the body with the help of a few other students. ☁️ had to turn around upon seeing Hoshino’s men begin digging their knives into the boy’s already decomposing body.

A few minutes had passed since the boys had begun severing, and ☁️ remained opposite to them. People began walking away with small parts of Sunghoon in their hands. One with a few fingers and another with his two ears. It made ☁️ want to gag at the sight, but the shock taking over ☁️’s body prevented anything further from happening.

“Hey, ☁️.”

☁️ turned around to see Hoshino standing in the way of what remained of Sunghoon’s body. Avoiding eye contact, ☁️ noticed the organs in the boy’s hands.

“Since you were closest with him, I’m giving you his heart and brain.”

Looking to the right, ☁️ felt Hoshino drop the organs into open hands.

“If it makes you feel better, I was going to do it eventually. Maybe I could make it up to you sometime.” Hoshino sighed, seemingly displeased with the lack of acknowledgment he was receiving. ☁️’s eye twitched in response to his words.

“You could never.”

☁️ turned back around, continuing aimlessly into the forest. Attempting to go back the way the group came to avoid getting lost, ☁️ trudged down the hill they walked up- finding a dirt path. ☁️ walked down it, finding a gorgeous stone bridge. A stream flowed heavily below the structure, though, ☁️ didn’t have the heart to throw the items into it. Instead, ☁️ walked across the bridge and sat in the grass- a foot away from where the water rushed through. It was then that ☁️ noticed the flat surface under the bridge’s abutment, untouched by the roaring water. Walking over to it, the space was only a little shorter than ☁️. With a deep breath, ☁️ kneeled down and climbed onto the stone surface, placing the brain and heart beside each other.

Hoshino’s words replayed in ☁️’s head. Walking back onto the bridge, ☁️ took a few steps forward and rested heavy arms on the cool stone structure. If even Hoshino noticed Sunghoon and ‘em spending a lot of time together, then ☁️ assumed that everyone had noticed, as well. Though, in reality, ☁️ and Sunghoon never really got close. He would only accompany ☁️ at lunch and on the walk home, and even then, their conversations were never in-depth. Still, ☁️ was fearful of what was to come. If someone were to find out, then what would happen? Sunghoon’s family will be looking for him, right? How is Hoshino going to keep everyone quiet? And why would Sunghoon act so carelessly upon seeing that boy? What made him so important?

Lost in the roaring of the waters, ☁️ didn’t notice a boy walk behind ‘em. The boy stopped a few feet away, leaning onto the guardrail and looking out into the distance. Upon glancing over, ☁️ recognized the boy’s mahogany hair. Both shocked and a bit scared, ☁️ took a step back.

“You know,..” The boy began. “..you really shouldn’t worry. He’ll be back.”

The boy turned to ☁️, pushing off of the bridge’s stone guardrail and walking over to ‘em. He held out his lengthy hand, which ☁️ took hesitantly and shook lightly. “My name is Heeseung.”

“☁️…. And what do you mean?”

“Sunghoon. You’ll know when he’s back, and when he is, you better spend that time with him wisely.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You’re not going to. And that’s okay.”

The two sat in silence before Heeseung continued.

“Your school’s going to be a shit show for a while. Try not to die, otherwise there’d be nobody to welcome Sunghoon back.”

“Who are you?” ☁️ growled, taking another step back.

“Who was Sunghoon?” Heeseung replied, his voice just as monotonous as Sunghoon’s was.

☁️ remained silent, unsure of how to respond. Thinking about it.. they were something like friends, and ☁️ considered Sunghoon to be.. many things. ☁️’s crush amongst those many things.

“I’ll be around when you find out. Good luck.”

Heeseung strolled backwards as he and ☁️ kept gazes on each-other, him eventually turning around and continuing across the bridge. ☁️ watched his figure become smaller as he walked up the hill, fading behind the trees.

It seemed that people had become lost in their flawed tendencies since the new student’s arrival; His enigmatic spirit and flawless features made him impossible to miss- enchanting students and teachers alike. Uncanny in many ways, the boy’s name was Sunghoon, and even in his death, his curse remained potent.

a/n: i have a part 2 ready but let’s see how this does ! writing gn is also different and a bit challenging- next time I’ll just write saying ‘you’ bc it’s 100x easier. n e ways i hope u liked it, ik it’s different than what i usually write :,) don’t let this flop pls

likes, comments, & reblogs r appreciated ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

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pixelatedraindrops · 1 year

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Oh no, I just came up with another whumpy head-canon in my head for Yuma... XD

It involves his Forte.

He can only use Coalescence with the same person (or in general) a maximum of three times a day. (meaning holding hands and using the ability, then letting go) After that, his body begins to get tired (like fubuki and desuhiko) and the more times he uses it after, his state gets even worse and even begins falling ill.

He slowly starts developing symptoms (such as dizziness and coughing) as time goes by and the rainy setting of Kanai Ward only makes it worse for him.

Starting at a low fever after time #4 around 37.5c or 99.5f

Then a moderate one after time #7 around 38.7c or 101.6f

Then it becomes high and more severe if it gets past time #10 around 39.2c or 102.5f to 40.0c or 104.0f

After every 3 times (past the original 3 times) his body temperature rises and his health deteriorates.

If he’s not careful, it may even land him in the hospital 🏥

It first happens with Halara since they were so stubborn and iffy about holding hands. (Shinigami didn’t know of this limit either)

He eventually has to ask Halara to keep their hands together the rest of the investigation and explains once his body temperature reaches near a certain level. Halara complies with no choice seeing the state he's in.

Because of all the times he lets go and holds their hand again during the investigation, he’s probably more closer to the higher state. They keep their hands conjoined by the time they investigate the third crime scene. Until Halara lets it go on order for him to investigate the window outside the room.

"...you look like a walking corpse master. I think you should stop using Coalescence now and only use it as a last resort. Looks like Hellara's reluctance to touch you caused you to use it way too much."

Naturally the first time this occurs, it ends pretty badly due to them being in the dark about it. By the time the case is solved, he has a temperature of around 39.c.

Then it also happens with Fubuki because of all the time rewinds. (This time he and Shinigami knew the risk better but not the exact number, but they had no choice given the situation they were in.)

"You don't look so good... Are you okay?"

Kurumi notices the paleness of his state and asks him if he’s okay. Of course to not cause any worry, he says he’s fine.

He only holds hands with Fubuki a total of 6/7 times so the state he's in this time is only moderate. But it's still tiring for him. By the time the case is solved, he is exhausted. His temperature is at around 38.c

But with Desuhiko and Vivia he was okay since he only held their hands once.

It is a pretty powerful forte so…

it probably comes at a price, or a limit.

However: Yuma temporarily fully recovers when in a Mystery Labyrinth since they’re in another world, but after returning to reality, he’s in the same state as when he first entered. (maybe even worse) Causing him to usually collapse after the case is solved and they’re (hopefully) out of danger. But only if he over-uses his forte.

(endgame spoilers)

Makoto explains this in the Final Labyrinth.

Only 3 times a day, Coalescence can be used with no penalty. After that, it slowly takes a toll on both their health. Without that limit, it would be too powerful, and all power comes with a price.

Plus, what better way to slow these two determined hardworking boys down? An injury likely wouldn’t stop them, but how about crippling them with fever? That would slow anyone down.

That also may be another reason why Number One remains in the shadows. Although his mind and ability is powerful, maybe his physical state is rather frail. So he rarely comes out and makes sure to be careful using his forte. To keep himself in adequate health. However, after losing his memory he forgot about the limit it has, and puts himself at risk not once but twice.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

(this would breed for good sickfic fodder :3 Not just the rainy setting of Kanai, but his forte too. (plus games just use high fevers as a side effect for things like this a lot anyway)

god this is just too easy…😂

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pure-garbage · 2 months

Text

Ill-Phrased Proposal! Haunting Memories?

The ship Franky and the Galley-La men built for the straw hats was big compared to the Going Merry. Aboard the newly christened Thousand Sunny, each crew member had their own cabin. The spaces were tiny, with room for little more than a bed and a clothes rack, but it was a lot more than any of them were used to. While the others set to personalizing their new private spaces with unchecked enthusiasm, Lana sat on her bed in silent contemplation. Her eyes were locked to the mysterious devil fruit resting on her nightstand.

'What to do?'

If she sold it, she could fetch a fortune. Of course, that path wasn't without it's share of danger. Potential buyers would be tempted to take it by force. If word got out she had it, like as not, she would be hunted.

'I could... eat it...'

Goosebumps pricked up along her arms. What manner of power lay within the tantalizing fruit? Something wondrous? Horrifying?

'Whatever it is, good or bad, there's no going back once I eat it. Whatever power or curse I unlock will remain with me until the day I die... not to mention the sea will despise me!'

The thought of losing the ability to swim struck Lana through with sadness.

Even so...

Lana tucked the devil fruit into the drawer, hiding temptation away for the time being. She rose and made her way out to the deck.

'I need to talk to Robin. Maybe she can identify the fruit for me, or at least offer me some advice. After all, she's a power-holder herself.'

"Lana!"

Zoro stole her attention, dropping from the crows nest to crouch at her feet.

"This ship the cyborg built us isn't half bad, eh?" he asked with a grin.

"Yeah, credit where it's due," Lana smiled back. "It's a fine vessel. Fit to bear the king of the pirates to his destiny."

"Well said."

They leaned together against the rail of the Sunny, watching the waves roll beneath them.

"So, will you do it?" Zoro asked.

"Huh? What- what do you mean?" Lana gaped. She hadn't told anyone else she had the devil fruit yet. How could he have found out?

"You forgot?" Zoro went on, misinterpreting her bewilderment. "Wow, I guess you really were too drunk to give me an answer. Last night I asked if you would agree to be my wife."

'He... he was serious! Not just plastered!'

"Z-Zoro, I... I don't get it," Lana sputtered, reeling at the forward request. "Why would you want to get married? Neither of us respects the sanction of any state. You don't even believe in god, so don't tell me you feel like we need his blessing or something. Why ask me to marry you?"

"Marriage? Screw that," Zoro scoffed. "I'm not looking for a ceremony or some piece of paper. I just want you to mine forever and I'll be yours."

He clasped her hands in his, smiling down at Lana with a warm hopefulness she'd seen in his eyes before, but rarely.

"So? What do you say? Will you do it?" he pressed excitedly.

'Forever...'

Panic filled Lana, irrational fear she was helpless to.

'Be mine forever and I'll be yours.'

Another man's words rang in her mind like a haunted bell, overlapping with Zoro's. Betrayal shot through Lana, fresh as the day her heart first broke, it's potency undulled by time.

'The same exact words... I feel like I'm stuck in a bad dream!'

"Why- why would... what would make you ask me that?!" Lana demanded, unable to stop herself. She pulled her hands from his abruptly and stumbled back. The horror in her tone perplexed Zoro, but under his confusion, hurt showed through his eyes.

"Lana-"

"I- I can't... I can't breathe! I need space!"

Lana fled, leaving Zoro reeling on the Sunny's deck.

"I don't understand," he growled, fists clenching as she dashed away. "Lana! Wait!"

He took a step to chase her, but a hand on his shoulder stopped him.

"Let her go."

Sanji's voice was an unwelcome intrusion.

"Stay out of this, cook!" Zoro spat. "This doesn't concern you!"

"Look, believe it or not, I'm trying to help you," Sanji sighed. "I heard the whole thing and trust me when I say that going after her now will only make things worse."

"Get your hand off me!"

"Listen! She asked for space! If you don't honor her request- hey!"

Zoro broke free of Sanji's grasp, tearing off in pursuit of Lana.

"Grass-for-brains! You moron!" Sanji seethed. He shoved his hands into his pockets, taking a long drag of his cigarette as he restrained himself. He wouldn't pursue Zoro now.

The swordsman arrived in time to see the lockbreaker's door slam shut with enough force to shake the corridor. Zoro skidded to a halt, leaning against the door on his palms.

"Lana! Open the door! Did I say something wrong? Come out and tell me what's the matter! Lana!"

No response.

"I'm not going anywhere until you come out!" Zoro announced, steadfast in his resolve.

Still nothing.

Zoro knew Lana could be stubborn, but so could he. With a determined huff, he fixed his stance, arms crossed over his chest as he waited at her door.

Hours passed and Zoro didn't budge. Sanji approached, slow footsteps thudding on the floorboards and smoke trailing behind him. He carried two steaming plates with him.

"Go away, curly brows," Zoro growled without sparing him a glance.

"Relax, musclehead, I come bearing gifts," Sanji said, shoving the plate under Zoro's nose. "You might be an idiot, but I still won't sit by and watch you go hungry. Now take it and eat."

Zoro accepted the plate and Sanji knocked on the door with his newly freed hand.

"Lana? Sweetest? I brought food."

I'm not hungry, Sanji, but thank you," came the muffled reply.

'So she'll dignify him with a response, just not me.'

Zoro knew he wasn't being fair. Lana was only being polite. Then again, nothing about the current situation seemed fair to him.

"Fine then. I'll wrap it for later," Sanji sighed in defeat.

Zoro leaned against the opposite wall to dig into his food while Sanji lingered, eying him thoughtfully.

"You're making a huge mistake, you know," he informed the swordsman.

"I didn't ask for your input," Zoro grumbled past a mouthful of food.

"Too bad. You'll get it whether you want it or not."

"Whatever. Spit it out quick and get out of my hair," Zoro ordered.

Sanji leaned against the wall opposite him, holding his cigarette between two fingers while he spoke.

"What you're asking of Lana? It's going to drive her away from you. You'll lose her forever trying to tie her down."

"That makes no sense," Zoro snapped gruffly. "The whole point of asking was to make sure I don't lose her."

"I know your brain is covered in mold, but try to think through all that rot. What does Lana value more than anything else in the world? What's the most important thing in her life?" Sanji pressed.

'I thought it was me,' Zoro pouted sullenly, not that he would ever share the thought with the cook. After all, she'd explicitly told him as much.

"You have no idea, do you?" Sanji went on. "Hopeless. Listen carefully, Zoro."

It was rare for either of them to address the other properly. The fact alone that Sanji had invoked his actual name immediately grabbed Zoro's complete attention.

"It's freedom. More than anything else, Lana treasures her freedom. She would never give it away willingly," Sanji explained.

"Hey, it's not like I'm asking her to be my prisoner!" Zoro protested.

"Maybe not, but you're asking her to give up the freedom to ever choose another lover, should she desire. Don't you get it? You have an exquisite, exotic bird perched willingly in the palm of your hand, and you want to shove it into a cage," Sanji argued.

"That's not what I want!" Zoro fumed.

"Get out of your own thick head!" Sanji snapped back. "Forget what you want and try to see it from Lana's perspective!"

"Like you know a damn thing about Lana's perspective!" Zoro shouted. His plate was empty. He shoved it at Sanji, who took it with narrowed eyes and grit teeth. It was clear to him that talking sense into the pirate hunter was a waste of time.

"Fine then, moss-head, do what you want!" Sanji seethed, storming away muttering to himself.

Zoro crossed his arms tightly over his chest and resumed his staring match with Lana's door, the veins in his forehead twitching in the wake of his disagreement with the cook.

______________________________________________

<== Previous Chapter

Next Chapter ==>

== First Chapter ==

#one piece #fanfic #oc #roronoa zoro #sandbox adventures #pure garbage #sanji #zoro #nico robin

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flos-malum · 1 year

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Weathered

When I was younger I had a mystery illness, tested and poked and prodded and yet no one had a definitive answer- possibilities of maybes that were much too scary to tell a child were thrown around, whispered like simply saying the words could make them true, until there was an answer- only a country, a new healthcare system and an old family doctor away- something not so scary and very treatable.

The way it was explained was this: I was ill, nothing serious, just a bad cold or the flu, but my little body was stubborn and it was dead set on not being ill, so it continued to fight without a sound, not a symptom to be found, no cough, not a sneeze or a sniffle but it was wearing itself thin, slowly using up everything I had until I would have had nothing to give but still, not a raised temperature or headache to call in the reinforcements: only the mystery bumps that had formed on my legs, because no my body didn’t need help, everything was fine, nothing was wrong, ignore those bumps they don’t mean anything.

They did, however, mean something, a glaring red flag raised by something even deeper within me than the parts slowly killing themselves, desperately sounding the alarm, disaster was about to strike- they meant I was breaking the thin ice I had been dancing on and I was about to pull myself under, into that final icy embrace, where there was no air, only water- itching to embrace my lungs. And when we forced my body to rest, let the illness hiding deep in my bones free, it hit me hard and it took me a long time to recover. The gentle rain that had been caressing my subconscious becoming a violent downpour all around me, making itself known, not taking no for an answer.

And now, although I am not often ill, when I am- it hits me in much the same manner. I am always too ill too quickly and I always struggle back onto my feet, what should be days becoming weeks or months and I wonder if maybe I am still just as stubborn, if- unaware to me- my body still fights with that determination that nothing is wrong, I don’t need help, everything is fine until once again, it breaks and too much is wrong and nothing is fine.

But I suppose its rather hypocritical of me to question or accuse my body of doing wrong in that way as I believe that many of those principles translate to my own character, and the way I approach any uphill battle or struggle across a desolate land. And that perhaps my own character, my own thoughts and beliefs and habits, leaked into my body, why should I be mad at it when it was simply poisoned by the consciousness that feeds it, moves it and moulds it.

Every aspect of my life I am the stone in the rain, slowly being worn down, each drop slowly carving it’s way through me- but strong I stand- until, over time, there’s been too much rain, and I haven’t paid any attention to the damage done by the last onslaught, or the one before that or even the one before that, simply standing stoic, ignoring the gaping wounds forming, and all of a sudden, the rain drop that finishes me off lands and split.

Down the middle or into little pieces I have been chipped and worn away, weathered by the storms and drizzles alike, and it takes an awful lot longer to reform those pieces of stone and make me whole, slowly piece by piece – layer by layer, than it could have if I simply stopped before I broke or knew how to ask for help, waiting to open the umbrella or enter that store until it’s been a long time since it would suffice, my clothes already ice cold and soaked, clinging to my skin. So how, do I blame my body when it simply joined my mind in the lake, filling in rivers that try to reach out to the ocean, to help, and how do I turn the island I built into something more reachable, extend that olive branch. So that the next time waves swell and crash up onto the surface and break harshly against me alone, I am not scattered across the shore or spread by the wind. I can remain unweathered.

#writbelr #writblr #writing #creative writing #venting

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if-mirrormine · 2 years

Note

Tag yourself I'm "what is music"

i'm "dialogue". i don't even remember who it's between or what's it's about lmao, it was like all the away at the bottom and dated from 2019.

#and maybe i never will #maybe ill let it remain a mystery for the rest of time #or until i die and my family goes through my stuff #thatll be fun #although someones gonna have to clear my google history #mirror mine #message received☎️#mothsflame

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the-insomniac-emporium · 3 years

Text

Bound Blood (Cassandra Dimitrescu/Reader, Soulmate AU) Pt. 3

Fandom: Resident Evil: Village Rating: T+ for language and violence Warnings: Choking (kinda) Summary: Local feral human makes a friend, tries to sleep next to local mean vampire, then gets a taste of their own medicine Previous Chapters: 1: Sharing Is (Not) Caring; 2: Bloodbath, Baby!

3: Haunt Me Dearly

What a lovely crimson mess I’ve made, you think, watching as the last of the bloody water drained from the bathtub. There were still several splashes of red along the sides, where you had leaned on or otherwise touched. Frowning, you considered whether or not to clean up after yourself. Surely it wouldn’t be one of your captors doing the cleaning? In that case, you think, I don’t want to make any enemies out of the servants. First you had to finish binding your wounds. Wouldn’t want to risk getting them dirty so soon after washing them, after all. Except you weren’t even sure that you could properly wrap them on your own, considering the positioning of your injuries.

“Ah, fucking hell…” You muttered, scowling a little. Then you remembered that Cassandra had sent a maid to wait outside the bathroom for you. Maybe they could help? Nodding to yourself, you threw on your new undergarments and pair of trousers, deciding to save the shoes for later. Once you were ‘decent’, you slowly opened the door, peeking out from behind it. Before long you were making eye contact with an unfamiliar woman, who looked very confused. “Any chance you could help me bandage my shoulder? I can’t do it without help, and something tells me Cassandra’s not going to lend me a hand.” With that said, you gave her a friendly smile, hoping to make up for the awkwardness of the situation.

“Of course! It is my honor to serve a guest of my Lady,” the maid- servant, maybe- said, giving a short curtsy. Admittedly you’re a little confused by her response. Still, you gladly welcome her assistance, moving back into the bathroom to grab the gauze. Although you intend to do as much as you can on your own, the woman is quick to take over completely. “Please, allow me,” she continued, carefully beginning to wrap your wounds.

“Are all the workers here so polite? I can’t imagine anyone actually enjoys working here, all things considered,” you mused, squinting at the middle distance. At that, the servant tenses up, clearly not expecting you to speak ill of her employers. Well, she had called you a guest. “Don’t be surprised, friend. Less than an hour ago I was fit to be consumed by ‘your Lady Cassandra’. Only reason I’m not dead right now is because of a stupid blood bond,” you explained, tone dripping with irritation. This time the servant doesn’t flinch at all, instead nodding slowly, taking a moment to let your words sink in. During this pause, you decide to introduce yourself, just in case the two of you might see each other frequently.

“I… see. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, no matter the circumstances of your presence here. You can call me Daphne, though I must warn you that I am not one for, ahem, gossip about my masters,” she replied, finishing her binding of your shoulder wound. Next she searched through the cabinet by the sink, looking for a medicinal salve of some sort. Once she found it she was right back to work. The substance stung a tad on your skin, but you could hardly complain, seeing as it would help fight off possible infections.

“You sure about no gossip? What if we call it ‘helping me get acclimated to my new situation’? I’m a fish outta water here, Daphne,” you suggested, turning your head to look her in the eyes. At first she ignored you, focusing on rubbing the medicine into your skin. Eventually she meets your gaze, briefly, and releases a quiet sigh.

“You are free to ask questions-” you start to celebrate, though not for long- “just as I am free to withhold answers. Though I may be more responsive if you can tell me one thing… Why was Lady Cassandra’s dress wet?” Daphne asked, making you freeze in place. Of course she wanted the one answer you didn’t feel confident about giving. She’s quick to notice this, though, and laughs to herself. “Well, I suppose some things must remain a mystery. Now let’s get your face cleaned up…”

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

By the time you make it to Cassandra’s room, the sun is starting to rise, leaking in through the castle windows. Exhaustion weighs you down, making you want to fall immediately into the nearest bed. As it stands, that was none other than your soulmate’s, though it was currently occupied. For a moment you hover in her doorway, contemplating whether or not you should steal her blanket. Floor can’t be too bad, you think, right? Before you can decide you notice Cassandra stirring from her sleep.

“What took you so fucking long?” She asked groggily. Now she’s sitting up, blanket clinging loosely to her body, and you realize that she’s not wearing a shirt. Though a blush rishes up your cheeks, you’re certain it’s too dark for Cassandra to notice. Or at least you hope so. Wanting to think about something other than what she was (or was not) wearing, you focus your energy on responding.

“Isn’t it obvious? I got invited to a sick orgy on the way back, and I wasn’t about to turn that down, so…” You trailed off, gesturing idly with your hands. The movement stretches your shoulder more than you’d like, resulting in an ache that lasts several seconds. It distracts you to the point where you almost can’t catch the object Cassandra promptly throws at you. “What the hell…?” It’s a shoe, as far as you can tell, that definitely would have hurt, had it hit its intended target. “Such a lovely gift, babe. I will treasure it for the rest of my days, forever keeping it as a reminder that you-” your tone shifts from a false joy to deadpan- “are a piece of shit. Now, seriously, where am I supposed to sleep? Is there a walk-in closet I can camp in? Or do I get the bed, while you sleep in a fucking coffin or something?”

Before Cassandra has a chance to respond, you’re walking further into her room, wanting to take a quick look around. There’s a large dresser that you quickly toss her shoe inside, as well as a window sill with a built-in reading nook. Trading your tiredness for sheer dickery, you throw open the curtains, letting the light pour in (and nearly blind you in the process). Half of you expects your soulmate to screech in response. Maybe even turn to ash. Instead, you hear her moving, and you turn to find her laying back down, facing away from you.

“When you’re done fucking around, come over here and sleep. I will knock you out if I have to,” Cassandra muttered, still sounding half asleep. As much as you wanted to know if she’d go through with her threat, you are exhausted. Begrudgingly you approach the bed. It’s certainly large enough for two people, even having enough room for you to be completely separate from each other. When you start to climb in, you find yourself overwhelmed for a moment, surprised at the quality of the sheet fabric. Exactly how rich were these vampiric assholes? This room alone seemed to be worth more than you had ever known.

This was, perhaps, the one bright side to your situation: A comfortable state of existence. Well, as comfortable as one could get in a place like this. So lovely on the outside, a muse worthy of a thousand artists, yet hiding far darker horrors within… much like the woman you now found yourself laying beside. Why me? Why her? What could possibly bring the two of us together, you think, other than a cruel fate? There’s a pain in your chest, dishearteningly similar to heartache. Damning the universe, and your blood bond, and yourself, you think ‘fuck it’ before sliding closer to Cassandra. One arm drapes itself over her waist, while you slowly lean your head against her back.

In an instant she’s tense, not even breathing, waiting for you to reveal whatever trick hid up your sleeve. But no trick comes, just your hand meeting hers, squeezing softly. Suddenly the tension is gone. None remains, not even lingering in the air, and the two of you soon drift off to sleep...

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

Shaking, body made a wreck through tremors, tears staining her cheeks. Breathing comes hard, each shift of her lungs bringing with it a mighty ache. Someone’s holding her, whispering sweet nothings in her ear, fingers tracing circles against her back. But she’s lost in her dream, eyes clenched shut. Visions flash before her gaze like lightning in a storm. There’s no time to process, no opportunity to prepare for the thunder that follows. Every strike is a punch to the gut she can’t ignore. When release finally comes, it is not a gentle kiss to her forehead, or a reassuring hand on her own, but rather an intense surge of pain that jolts her awake.

Cassandra nearly screams as she sits up, hands reflexively going to hold her head. One of them stings, bad, and she notices what look like bite marks on the side. For a moment her confusion acts as a welcome distraction. Then she’s looking next to her, and the puzzle practically puts itself together. There you are, one hand in your mouth, an eyebrow raised as you stare at her. Ignoring the lingering memories of her dream, she turns all of her rage towards you. Quickly she grabs ahold of your arm, forcefully yanking your hand out of your mouth, even though it makes your teeth dig in a little deeper. It takes more willpower than she wants to admit to stop herself from strangling you right then and there.

“I didn’t know monsters could even have nightmares,” you taunted. Before you know what’s happening, Cassandra is lunging towards you, pressing her forearm against your throat. There’s just enough pressure to make talking difficult. Both of her yellow eyes are filled with hatred, aimed right at you, but you can’t help but laugh. “Ya know, I did try to wake you up nicely. I should have known you only respond to violence. Next time, though, I’ll remember to stay a safe distance away.”

“You don’t know anything, dipshit. Anyone else would know better than to spout so much fucking ignorance, but nobody taught you how to behave, huh?” Cassandra growled, applying more pressure with her arm, leaving you unable to reply (for once). “You’re a goddamn mutt, aren’t you? Thrown to the street like the garbage you are, left to live in the gutter, feeding off of trash like a fucking cannibal. You should be honored to be allowed anywhere near me. You should be worshiping me, for fuck’s sake!” Black dots form in your vision, a dark halo edging into the corners of your eyes, as your lungs beg for air. But you’re grinning. You’re showing your teeth, bright and proud, knowing full well that you have won this round. As soon as realization dawns on Cassandra’s face she’s pulling herself off of you.

Still, you are left gasping, clutching at your neck as she hurriedly gets dressed for the day. By the time you can see properly again, she’s left without another word. Even as she stalks down the corridor, eagerly rushing away from you, she hears your laughter howling through the castle. It digs into her brain, taunting her. Soon enough you’ll stop, light headed, but she will still hear it echoing inside her mind. You’ll haunt her just as much as her wicked dreams. Hopefully more.

#cassandra dimitrescu #cassandra dimitrescu x reader #resident evil: village #re8 village #blunt teeth sharp tongue #cassandra gets a turn to be a dick #>=3

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djarinsbeskar · 4 years

Text

gif credit: @di-n for this beauty

EXPLORATION ARC: PART 1 - NEXT TIME

A/N: And so friends, we begin our rapid descent into filth. I have to admit, whenever I write anything remotely sexual, especially in a fic for the first time, I get so flustered worrying that people will think it’s too crude or too much. But then I remembered that this is exactly why y’all are here and I felt much better about throwing away any inhibitions and embracing the filth.

Pairing: Din Djarin/Fem!Reader

Word Count: 10k

Rating: 18+ (NO Minors)

Warnings: Injury detail, injury treatment, language, masturbation (male and female).

Summary: It’s mighty hard to distract yourself from your mysterious and alluring shipmate, so why bother?

AO3 | Stitches Masterlist | Main Masterlist

What do we do now?

Three months later… and you still hadn’t received an answer.

After the mess on Mynock, the devastation at the loss of both Biran and Kuiil and the mystery that still surrounded the child, you had been drained, physically and emotionally.

So, after your question had received nothing but silence in answer and being too tired to demand one, you had holed yourself away in one of the only private areas of the Razor Crest, a storage area adjacent to the cockpit. Half of it was taken up by the slabs of carbonite the Mandalorian kept his quarries in, but there was space enough to sit and try to work through the slew of emotions you had been bombarded with in only twenty-four hours.

You had scoffed, resting your head back against the unforgiving metal of ships interior; twenty-four hours ago, you had been lamenting the loss of adventure, of some sort of elusive fulfilment. Once again, caught up in thinking the grass is greener on the other island… It was a flaw you were beginning to recognize in yourself and you weren’t happy about it.

An incessant longing for an unknown goal.

You wanted to make a difference when you were stuck on Pamarthe, so you joined the Rebellion and it had given you a purpose.

After the Empire fell, and your skills as a combat medic became obsolete, you chased that same desire for purpose back to the Outer Rim in the hopes that altruistic work in a voluntary clinic would somehow satisfy that longing.

Then the New Republic pulled back the curtain and shown that in essence, things had not really changed, that you had somehow wasted years achieving something that suddenly felt hollow. And it was unfair. Unfair because you knew it wasn’t hollow, you knew the galaxy was in a better place than it was before you joined the Rebellion and yet you felt your life was lacking once more.

Biran had soothed the jagged edges of a life that hadn’t been able to fit in any one particular place and – for a time – you had been content with working in his practice. Until the moment you weren’t. When the gaping maw of dissatisfaction crept back into the corner of your eyes, making you agitated and wishing for more once again.

You seemed to have gotten your wish the day the Mandalorian had entered your life and brought with him an unyielding ability to take life by the jaws and roar right back at it. He seemed to create his own purpose, the child a testament to that, and even if you had no way of knowing the innermost workings of his mind, you were fascinated by it, by him.

You spent so long seeking a purpose when you should have been creating one of your own instead.

It was a sobering realization as you sat alone beside the generator room on the cold metal of the Razor Crest’s storage room, nothing to show for that wasted time but a bloody arm and a dead friend.

The tears came then, for Biran, for yourself, for the child, even for Mando. You had buried your face in your arms and allowed yourself to grieve.

You had no idea what to do.

A little less than two days after your hasty escape from Dandoran, you entered the cockpit again sheepishly.

If you hadn’t heard the Mandalorian moving around the ship, climbing the ladder down to the hold or the hiss of the refreshers hydraulic door opening and closing, you would have thought he hadn’t moved an inch since you were last there.

You had had a severe talking to yourself over the last day and had laid to rest a portion of the self-loathing you had been wallowing in, realizing it wouldn’t do you any good to stay fixated on things you could no longer change. It had given you a measure of peace. Self-awareness was not always a flattering reflection, but with it, you were able to see what needed to be worked on.

The slightest incline of his helmet to the right was the only indication he gave you that he was aware of your presence, the child cooing happily from the seat beside him when he saw you.

You had taken the same seat as before, letting the child clamor up onto your lap to make room for you both. Silence still reigned and you were suddenly so aware of how much you relied on external white noise during your last meetings with him; the murmur of a bustling crowd, Biran’s jokes or simply your attention being focused on an injury. Without such distractions, the Mandalorian’s silence was deafening.

You knew he didn’t converse easily, that much was obvious from his abrupt statements and cantankerous nature whenever you saw him. But you had never felt the lack of cues – physical or verbal – until you sat in his ship with him alone. It felt like you were being asked to treat a patient when you could neither see where they were hurt or listen to their reaction; their breathing or any pain they might be in. You were adrift in this ship and for the first time since you saw him braced against that alley wall on Klatooine, you felt a jolt of nervousness race up your spine.

“How’s your arm?”

The question was spoken quietly but still felt too harsh on your ears. Maybe you were just feeling overly sensitive, you couldn’t tell at this point. All you knew was that the sound of his voice was jarring when only moments before you felt as though the silence was drowning you.

“It’s fine.” You muttered after a moment, “It wasn’t deep.”

“You know I would have---” he started before he cut himself off, the frustration evident in the huff he exhaled afterwards. No, Mando was definitely unaccustomed to speaking with you when the bickering and banter that provided you both with a safe wall to hide behind was stripped away.

But you knew what he was trying to say; I would have taken care of it.

Your chest filled with a soft warmth at the thought. But you didn’t mention it. Instinct told you that he would get defensive or spooked, like one of the regal crested stags native to Pamarthe. Massive and intimidating but would bolt at a loud noise or sudden movement. You felt that if you acknowledged the emotion, the tentative willingness he had tried to express to dress a wound for you, he would immediately throw up more walls, more barricades around himself.

You appreciated the sentiment none the less.

He seemed to appreciate the fact that you didn’t bring it up too, because a few silent minutes later, he spoke again.

“I don’t need to tell you that Mynock isn’t safe for you anymore.”

You looked up from where you had started playing with the child on your lap, simply passing his small metal ball to him before he handed it back to you. He seemed to take immense joy out of the game, delighted to show you his toy but equally excited to have it back in his hands in the next moment.

Mando kept his face forward as he spoke, so all you could see of him was the breadth of his shoulders where he had crossed his arms across his chest and the back of his helmet as it leaned back against the headrest of his chair.

“…But I’ll take you to whatever planet you want.”

“Oh.” Was your pitiful excuse for an answer. Pitiful, because you were slightly embarrassed that amidst your self-reflection, you hadn’t once considered your next move. You frowned. You always had a plan, but now? You had no idea where to go.

You mulled over your next words carefully.

“Can I think about it? I have to… figure out where would be best.” You continued when he offered nothing in response. It was true; you had no credits, no clothes, you didn’t even have a toothbrush you realized grimly. You had to be smart about where you went next if you were going to survive.

You ran through the list of friends and contacts you still had from the Rebellion, pilots and other medics who would no doubt help you in a pinch without question. You could go home, the clans on Pamarthe were loyal to a fault but your mind immediately shut that idea down as a wave of nausea washed over you, a combination of homesickness and fear making you feel slightly ill. No, you hadn’t been home since before the Rebellion, and you weren’t about to break that streak now.

You were so absorbed in your own thoughts, that you didn’t notice Mando’s quick glance at you over his shoulder. He had never seen you look less put together. Hair a disaster, clothes bloodstained from your arm and slightly sooty from the fires. Your face was clean, and so were your hands so you had obviously washed up at some point. You were a mess, honestly. But he was relieved to see the same fire that lit your eyes remained if a little subdued, the underlying steel of intelligence that glinted like beskar was still there. He knew you had seen worse than what happened on Mynock, knew you were tougher than to let it break you, but his own guilt over sending the child to you aggravated his worry that you might be… altered, changed, different because of what he did.

Obviously, his worry was misplaced.

He might wear beskar armor, but you were the one who had a spine of it.

“Let me know when you figure it out.”

He spoke slowly, as if perhaps, he shouldn’t say those words. Their ambiguity was dangerous, leaving a back door to interpretation, but your appreciative smile he caught in the reflection of the wraparound transparisteel of the Razor Crests’ observation viewport made him forget momentarily why ambiguity was such a bad thing in the first place.

That was months ago.

Somehow, neither of you mentioned your destination again. You never told him where you wanted to go, and he never asked if you had decided.

The fact was almost dangerously acknowledged when Mando landed the Razor Crest to refuel a week later, when he had made the offhanded remark that you needed clothes and whatever else you might need as you travelled because, as he put it, “a man shouldn’t’ be told he can’t access half of his ship just because you’re waiting for your clothes to dry” and handed you a pouch of credits as he pushed by you gently to get to the entrance of the ship.

He could have asked you then where you planned to go, it was the perfect segue into that conversation, but after a tense moment when he stood at the top of the open ramp on his way to find work to tie them over until he started taking Guild jobs again, he straightened his shoulders and simply nodded to the child,

“Take care of the kid while I’m gone.”

That change in topic seemed to put the idea of you leaving to bed and you never brought it up again.

Not when you returned with several sets of clothes, feminine products, medical supplies, and foodstuffs for the ship on Ryloth.

Not when he brought back a thin sleep mat on Lothal with only a grunt in response to the thanks you had offered him after he had noticed you rubbing out a kink in your shoulder the day before.

Not when ‘I won’t be long’ replaced the stiff order of ‘take care of the kid’ thrown over his shoulder whenever he left you both alone, taking the time now to stroke the child’s long ear as you held him in your arms, feeling his eyes on you as he spoke.

No… the two of you had fallen into a delicate, if slightly hesitant routine; one that didn’t involve you leaving the Mandalorian or his child.

Next time, it appeared, did not end in goodbye.

Adjusting to life on a ship again had been both easy and difficult.

Having spent a portion of your life sleeping in hard, cramped spaces with a number of other rebels, living on the Razor Crest was not as difficult as one might think. It wasn’t idea, Maker no. But there was running water (even if it was constantly recycled), something of a galley (kitchen was too generous a term, but there was a single nanowave ring and small cooling chamber) and somewhere soft to rest your head at night (even if your pillow was just a bunched-up blanket).

The areas you struggled with predominantly, could be summed up in two words: boredom and privacy.

You were used to spending twelve hours or more a day on your feet treating patients. Complacency and downtime were not in your repertoire, and while you can admit that you took advantage of the rest for the first week or two, you soon found yourself getting agitated and itching to do something.

The child proved to be an excellent distraction when he wasn’t holed away in the cockpit with the Mandalorian. While he was a darling little bogwing who fussed extraordinarily little, he needed constant vigilance. You learned very quickly that those doe-eyes hid a proclivity for mischief you had only glimpsed at back in Mynock. If you didn’t keep one eye on him at all times, you would lose sight of him only to find him in the cooling chamber looking for food or Maker forbid, in the weapons chamber.

Apart from keeping up with the child, you had taken to cataloguing the medical knowledge you had swimming in your mind on an empty datapad you had found in the storage area by the galley one day. You lamented the loss of the stacks of datapads you had collected over the years to further your knowledge and keep up to date with the latest medical advances, so you took it upon yourself to organize a one-stop-shop for all the information you had accumulated. It was antiquated given the knowledge was already in your head, but it filled the time, nonetheless.

Regarding privacy however, it wasn’t that you didn’t have any.

You had flatly refused to take Mando’s bunk when he had thrown the offer to you soon after Ryloth, and instead took it upon yourself to reorganize the holds setup. The small alcove by the galley that kept excess inventory of food, ammunition, blankets, and medical supplies was relocated to the storage area outside the generator room on the same level of the cockpit. The generators themselves had been too noisy to sleep beside so, despite being a larger area, you had settled the sleep mat down in the now empty alcove across from where the crates Mando used as a table and chairs was set. You didn’t need a whole lot of space while you slept, so it suited you fine. You had spent years sleeping on ships so a somewhat soft mat – however thin – was all you needed to get a good night sleep.

Rather, it was your feeling of invading the Mandalorian’s privacy that you struggled with. Your unwitting shipmate was a large, somewhat stifling presence in the beginning, and you felt an illogical imposition on his life before growing more accustomed to living with him after several weeks.

It was as you got used to him though, that your troubles began.

After six weeks of travelling on the Razor Crest, you had learned several things about the Mandalorian.

One, that despite the ship being as small as it was with three – read; two plus a pint-sized gremlin – people living in it, Mando could be elusive and you could easily go days without seeing him and even longer without hearing him speak. Whatever progress you had made previously during your encounters in getting him to talk only seemed to apply in small doses. You found yourself growing used to silence and adjusting to speaking softly without realizing it, your normal speaking voice sounding too loud even to your own ears.

Two, for all you did see of him, you had never once seen him without every stitch of armor on him. Beskar wasn’t light and you knew he had to remove it sometimes to shower and sleep and eat, but you never heard even a whisper of metal clattering as he took it off or put it back on. The only thing you ever heard that would suggest he ever took his armor off, was the sound of the water in the refresher as it ran down his body. Mando only showered when he was certain you and the kid were both asleep, a habit you had picked up on only when the sound of the spray pulled you from unconsciousness for the fifth night in a row. The simple sound of the water and the occasional splash as he rinsed his hair – if he had hair – or body clean of soap immediately pushed tiredness and any hope of sleep away, which led you to fact number three.

That your attraction to the Mandalorian was growing, rather than dissipating, the longer you were around him. Whatever attraction you had entertained on Mynock over the years was magnified when you were forced to live in such close proximity to the man each and every day. Perhaps it was because you didn’t have as much to focus your attentions on, but you suddenly felt hyperaware of his every movement whenever he was in your presence and each of those movements seemed more enticing than the last.

There was the time he was cleaning his blasters.

Mando had just entered hyperspace after finishing up a job on Sriluur and after a grumbled, “No, I did not see a Raquor’daan” after your tongue-in-cheek question upon his return, he returned to the hold after putting the ship on autopilot.

Unexpectedly, he pulled one of the durasteel crates out from beside the makeshift table instead of remaining in the cockpit, the sound of the crate dragging across the metal flooring making both you and the child startle while he took a heavy seat down and pulled out the blaster at his hip. Another two followed as he lay them out almost reverently on the table.

Given that his adopted father was staying down in the hold, the child very quickly lost interest in playing with you and his metal ball. He whined at you insistently until you placed him in the crab carapace that sat on the same table in front of the Mandalorian before taking your seat again to focus on the compilation of medication doses per age, race, and pre-existing condition on your datapad to keep yourself occupied.

“No.”

You were amused when Mando’s filtered voice stopped the kid from touching the blaster without the warrior even having to look up from where he was using a small pipe brush to clean out the barrel of the first blaster. The little bogwing only watched him as he slowly tried to take a small, but no doubt important part of the blaster that sat on the table closest to his small frame, waiting to be cleaned.

After a few moments of this back and forth between father and son, you recognized when the Mandalorian was beginning to lose patience. The clipped edge of his voice that usually took a lot longer to show itself whenever he spoke to the child. The deliberate turn of his helmet to look at him as he spoke. All tiny, insignificant things you were becoming aware of despite yourself.

“Okay buddy. Let’s play over here instead.” You reached across the table and picked him up before Mando reached his limit and sat back down with the child on your lap, a safe distance from the blasters and the child’s wandering claws. Mando didn’t say anything, his movements never faltering as he lifted the barrel up to the front of his T-visor, inspecting its interior for a few measured moments before he set it down and picked up the next piece, satisfied.

While the little bogwing was most certainly not impressed to have been removed from Mando’s side, you had discovered a secret weapon early on that you could pull out whenever the child became fussy. It was truly a lifesaver of a thing; one you thanked the Maker for every time it stopped a tantrum or soothed away a fear.

You simply pulled your hair over your shoulder and waited for the tell-tale widening of the child’s eyes before his clawed hand wrapped around a bunch of the strands. He was content to hold it, pull it occasionally and enjoy its’ texture and color. You flattered yourself that it was comforting to the child, but you knew nothing comforted him more than the cool steel of beskar under his cheek whenever Mando held him.

At the thought, your eyes shifted to the man in question, oil rag in hand as he gently ran it over each part of the disassembled blaster, slow in the drag down the exterior of the barrel and examining it regularly before continuing.

It was the first time your breath had caught looking at him.

The way he completed each task so meticulously made you feel like you were witnessing a ritual; there was something innately private and intimate about how the warrior took care of his weapons. Should you look away? Perhaps… but after a few monotonous weeks, your eyes drank in the sight, taking in far more than you would usually be aware of in such a mundane act. The dexterity of his gloved fingers as they ran over each part of the weapon, they way they expertly shifted to disassemble the other two blasters laid out on the table, as if with a simple touch, the steel fell apart to obey his wishes.

It was the first time you felt an image of him, a fantasy, brush against your mind.

A fleeting image of those same fingers running down your spine slowly, deliberate, and certain in their path. As experienced with handling a woman as he was when he handled a weapon. The brush of his knuckles down your sternum, along your cheek. The strength of his grip behind your neck or holding your hips down.

You startled, yelping as the child giggled when he yanked your hair after your momentary lapse in concentration.

The visor shifted slightly to look at you and you hoped the guilty look on your face didn’t tell him everything you had just imagined before he pointed at the child,

“Mind your manners, kid.” He rasped before turning back to his work.

The child cooed in delight, thinking all of this was a truly wonderful sport and pulled your hair again. You laughed at his antics, slightly embarrassed as your yelp had been drawn out in surprise as opposed to pain. You didn’t think the child was even capable of inflicting pain; even at his most excited, he never pulled your hair hard and it softened your heart to him further.

The Mandalorian only sighed in your peripheral, pushing himself to his feet and making his way around the table. Those fingers you had been thinking about not two minutes earlier gently untangled the child’s claws from your hair and picked him up into his arms to settle him down.

“You’re too young to be pulling girls hair yet, ad’ika.” You heard him chide in that low baritone as he moved further into the hold towards the child’s hover-pram. It took every ounce of self-control not to let your jaw hit the ground. You barely succeeded.

Unfortunately, you didn’t succeed in stopping your thighs from shifting, subconsciously rubbing them together to relieve the uncomfortably need that settled there, quickly escaping to your mat under the pretense of needing to untangle your hair from the child’s ministrations.

Then there were the numerous times you had to get by each other, to get down the ladder to the hold, or to leave the ship, or even just to get into the cockpit. Anywhere that involved you both being in the same space at the same time resulted in the Mandalorian brushing against you accidentally as you crossed paths. Like you said before, Mando was large, and the Razor Crest was not.

One fateful encounter had yet to leave your mind.

You had been frantically looking for the child for nearly half an hour after breaking your second cardinal rule:

Do not take your eyes off the child.

Well, you did. And you were – once again – contemplating the pros and cons of throwing yourself into a sarlacc pit over facing the wrath of the Mandalorian if you didn’t find the sneaky little bogwing he called a son.

You linked your hands behind your neck as you released a long breath to try and calm your rapidly increasing panic. He wasn’t in his hover-pram (though his metal ball was there so surely, he couldn’t have gone far?), he wasn’t in the crab carapace (it sat cold and empty apart from the few errant credits Mando had tossed into it the day before). He wasn’t in the refresher and he wasn’t in the cooling chamber. He wasn’t hiding under the blanket you used for a pillow and he wasn’t playing in the carbonite chamber. You had even taken a panel or two from the side of the ship to see if he had gotten into the electricals, but they too were missing a little green terror.

“He can’t have gone far…” you whispered to yourself, your eyes scanning every single area of the hold carefully, looking for any movement or flash of green that might tell you where your charge had escaped to.

Your eyes landed on the rarely open hydraulic pocket door beside the refresher at the front of the ship, to the bunk where you knew the Mandalorian slept whenever he got the chance to.

What were the odds that things would work out in your favor, that the child wouldn’t be in Mando’s private quarters? That you could quietly continue your search elsewhere on the ship because underneath it all, the child knew there was nothing interesting in there?

The odds? Fucking zero.

Closing your eyes as you dropped your head back on your shoulders, you dragged your hands over your face,

“Why me?” you groaned into your hands, feeling infinitely sorry for yourself before you dropped your hands and stared at the open hydraulic durasteel door in distrust, as if it were going to alert Mando of your trespassing for even pondering the idea.

It’s just a room. The lovely, logical part of your brain said, soothing your nerves before the treacherous, licentious part finished the sentence:

It’s just a room where the Mandalorian sleeps…

It’s just a room where the Mandalorian removes his armor…

It’s just a room where the Mandalorian---

You curtailed the rapid descent your thoughts were plummeting towards and took three confident steps towards the room to prove to yourself that you were unfazed. You faltered on step four, but as your foot landed on the metal flooring, you were practically in front of the room already. So, you glanced in with a slight arch of your neck, leaning to the right.

This was the only place on the Razor Crest you hadn’t seen fully. Mando never locked it, but you tried to respect what privacy he did have by avoiding it. You understood that everyone had their space; a single area that was theirs to completely unwind in, even momentarily. You understood the significance of a place like that and invading Mando’s made you feel guilty.

The room itself was clinical in its simplicity. Your eyes roved over the bunk to see if the child was there. You took another step in so you could lean down to see if he was down the side of the bunk, where several metal shelves sat empty apart from a single blaster and a piece of durasteel armor that looked suspiciously like Mando’s old vambrace. He must put his armor there whenever he takes it off. You couldn’t think of another reason for there to be so much wasted space in the room otherwise.

“Psst, kid. Are you in here?” You hissed, not wanting to tempt fate and draw the Mandalorian’s attention if he heard you.

As it happened, the odds that you had put at zero for yourself might as well have been negative infinity, because the response you received was a filtered throat being cleared that had you spinning in place to see Mando watching you with his head tilted and a thumb hoked in his utility belt as he leaned against the wall casually.

And there was the child – proud as the tooka who caught the titterling – sitting in one strong arm, watching you with curious eyes as you stood back up, heat rising to your face as you floundered.

“I---”

“Found him.”

Mando saved you from what was no doubt going to be a terribly awkward attempt at an explanation as to why you were snooping in his bunk, so you merely offered him a sheepish smile when he didn’t question you. You held out your hands when the green monster stretched his own short arms out to you.

Mando pushed himself off the wall and took a step closer to hand the child over and his body ate up the space around you.

It was surreal and slightly unnerving, the way his body seemed to dwarf any space he walked into, particularly this small area in front of his bunk. The breadth of his shoulders blocked the light behind him, and you were ensnared by the faint memory of their strength from realigning his arm after the Houk Incident. You mind was suddenly barraged with sinful images of anchoring your nails into those shoulders, or the sight of your thighs thrown over them as he---

“Can’t take your eyes off him for even a minute.” You laughed to cover your runaway thoughts, honestly you needed to get laid the next planet you landed on, fingers stroking absentmindedly over a large ear while the unpainted helmet stayed trained on you before nodding slowly.

“He gets into more trouble than you do.” He rumbled, the faint lilt of a tease making you instantly narrow your eyes, secretly thankful for the more familiar territory.

“That’s rich, coming from the guy who ended up wanted by not only the New Republic, but the Empire and Bounty Hunters Guild as well.”

He scoffed as he rolled his shoulders back and crossed his arms, a clear rebuttal he decided didn’t warrant a verbal response, but it made you smile slyly in response, eager to keep the upper hand as you moved to get by him.

“You’re quite impressive, you know?” You purred as you passed him, the warrior not conceding an inch of space to let you get by him more easily, his body remaining an impassive mountain in front of you.

“Yeah?” His voice – husky even when filtered – dripped with a curiosity he tried to mask with arrogance as he tipped his head back to look down at you from his greater height while your front brushed against his lightly. You could practically hear the smirk behind his helmet in that one word.

You smiled sweetly at him and – for the first time – touched him for reasons other than medical as your patted the beskar on his chest twice,

“Mhm…” you hummed slowly, squeezing past him finally even as he turned slightly to keep his eyes on you, eyes that were scorching your body despite your inability to see them,

“You single-handedly united the galaxy in getting all three of them to agree that you’re a menace.”

Your saccharine smile grew at the indignant noise that left the warrior in response, the sound so boorish and organic coming from a man who could at times seem as emotionless as the droids he despised. It was a human sound, and your heart thrilled at it, the sensation settling between your legs as you wondered what other human sounds the Mandalorian could produce as you escaped back up the ladder to the cockpit before he could respond. It stroked a primal part of your ego to have been the one to draw out a sound, even one of derision, from him.

You thought about that sound for longer than you cared to admit, one of the few others you had added to the growing catalogue of memories you had accumulated over your short time on the Razor Crest. Each memory was capable of tormenting you to the point of arousal while you stubbornly refused to give in to your body’s need for release over thoughts of him.

You might have broken your second cardinal rule of ‘do not take your eyes off the child’ but you were steadfast in sticking to your first cardinal rule:

Do not cross that line with the Mandalorian.

You might have been able to abide by that rule if all you had to worry about was the limited content you had to fantasize about. The way he moved, his voice, those glimpses of the human underneath the metal when he spoke in that growling language whenever he was frustrated, or the occasional groan from a stiff neck after too long in the pilot’s chair. The faint memory of the tanned skin you had seen when treating that poisoned stab wound over three years ago. You could deal with all of those. They were ambiguous and vague.

Vague enough that when you did succumb to your own please and give yourself the release you craved night after night while biting your lip to contain even the smallest sounds escaping, you could fool yourself into thinking that it was any nameless, faceless man and not the Mandalorian you travelled with.

That changed the day you were exposed to the sheer strength and power of the Mandalorian first-hand as he wrestled a quarry into the ship after a hunt. The base, primordial desire for physical strength used for the purpose of provision and protection was stoked inside of you.

Mando had shown up with a live quarry, a Trandoshan who – once on the ship – had made one last desperate effort to escape, using the Mandalorian’s distraction as you came out of the refresher to break the binders with the brutal strength Trandoshan’s were known for and lunge right at you. Whether it was to kill you or to use you as leverage for Mando to release him, you never found out.

You had managed one startled step back before the Trandoshan was tackled to the ground in front of you. Mando’s size belied his speed and he quickly had a knee pressed into the quarry’s back, a hand pressing down on the Trandoshan’s neck to keep him in place while he used his free hand to try and restrain him once again.

The image of Mando’s body, humming from the thrill of a fight and the testosterone that rolled off of him because of it, seared itself into your mind. How the quarry could hardly move under the strength of his knee pressed down on his back. How – even under all that armor – you could practically see his muscles ripple and strain taut as he kept the quarry subdued enough to attach a new set of binders.

It was primal.

And it was your undoing.

As you let your fingers roam down beneath your sleep shorts that night to find yourself already soaked, you didn’t even try to stop the memory of Mando man-handling the quarry from filling your thoughts. You didn’t stop the memory from morphing into something else as you imagined yourself underneath him instead. Imagined the Mandalorian using that strength on you for an entirely different reason as you easily sunk two fingers inside your twitching cunt, desperate to be filled by something more than what you could give yourself.

You imagined his hand pressing between your shoulder blades to keep you down, to keep you submissive and could almost hear his voice growling in your ear while you desperately tried to replace the sensation of your own fingers inside you with his. Your other hand traced down your overheated body to circle your clit lightly. Your hips bucked, your body already strung too tight as a whimper slipped past your lips as you imagined he would no doubt leave you wanting more, removing his fingers to replace them with the blunt head of his cock. Just the thought of him pushing into you was enough to send you over the edge, biting down on your lip hard enough that you tasted a tang of copper from where your teeth broke the skin while your orgasm washed over you. You were left panting in the pitch-black hold of the Razor Crest wondering how long you could handle your attraction to the Mandalorian before it drove you crazy.

But it wasn’t until a month later, three months since Mynock, when Mando’s penchant for colorful injuries proved to be the straw that broke the bantha’s back.

You had landed on Scipio a week ago.

The frigid atmosphere of the planet was only made worse by the fact that the majority of structures in its capital city sat at a high altitude to escape the snowstorms that could leave entire ships buried in a matter of hours.

It was the first Guild job the Mandalorian had taken in a long time, but it offered a good bounty. From the short answers you had managed to pry from the stoic warrior as you entered Scipio’s atmosphere, he was a money launderer. A disgraced member of the Banking Clan back in the day before he found spice and flesh trafficking to be a more lucrative venture.

The guy was a genius when it came to cleaning dirty credits, funneling them into dummy accounts and businesses, directly influencing the rise in power of several top tier warlords of the fallen Empire. You had thought to question why it was so easy for former Imperials and their supporters to gain power but then you answered your own question. Credits. Credits could buy you anything; buy your survival, buy loyalty, and even buy freedom.

The Mandalorian didn’t seem too concerned about the quarry himself, rather the security detail he might have around him. This type of guy would rather pay someone to die for them instead of picking up a blaster themselves.

The spaceport where you landed doubled as a motel, equipped to stand the sub-zero temperatures and for people like yourself and the child, who would usually remain on the ship, provided somewhere safe to sleep for the duration of your stay. Mando had been frustrating as he explained again about keeping an eye open while in the motel, to double check the locks and not to let the child out of your sight.

It had ended with you snapping at him that you weren’t stupid, weeks of frustration catching up on you.

You had effectively shut him up though, and after a few tense moments he reached out to stroke the tip of the child’s ear gently,

“I won’t be long.” His voice was measured in its control to bite his tongue on a sharp retort, so you only nodded once in confirmation.

You regretted your short temper the moment you had snapped at him. You knew he kept his worry over the child to himself but sometimes he tended to hover, particularly when you weren’t on the Razor Crest. But having once again woken that morning to slippery thighs and the lingering image of a blurred silhouette scraping his teeth down your neck, you were feeling a bit high-strung.

So you had lashed out in your irritation, and a week after he left, you still felt bad about it.

The motel itself surrounded the spaceport. For the first day you had distracted the child and yourself by sitting at the window and pointing out the different ships that landed and took off, the high vantage point of the rooms allowing you to see a good portion of the entire port.

You told the child what each ship was (those that you knew, anyway) and told him which was fastest and what each one was used for and even the ones you knew how to fly (even if that list was miserably short for someone from Pamarthe). You still had your suspicions that the child could understand everything you said to him and so spoke to him as if he did. It did no harm and he seemed to enjoy the attention, babbling on your lap, and pressing his forehead to the window.

The ships had been a distraction for all of a day. Neither of you had warm enough clothing to tackle exploring the outdoors so your exploration was limited to the corridors of the motel and the extended sheltered area of the spaceport. The freezing chill still managed to permeate the vast port and you soon found yourselves back in the room for the next few days.

When the commlink Mando had given you crackled on your wrist, you nearly wept with happiness that you might soon be getting off this planet. You would take a week in hyperspace over the prison you felt you had been in within the four walls of the motel room. There were only so many conditions, symptoms, and treatments you could document on your datapad before you started losing the will to live.

“We take off in twenty.”

The commlink warped the unmistakable voice of the Mandalorian, probably due to the raging storm outside affecting the connection but you didn’t care. You guys were leaving, and you wouldn’t be sorry to see the back of Scipio.

Packing up the few items you had brought with you for the child, you placed him back in his hover-pram and closed it around him to protect him from the cold. Pressing another button on the commlink, it began following you as you started making your way down to where the Razor Crest was docked. The few moments you had to spend in the freezing blizzard to get onto the ship felt like a life age, the snow and wind biting into your skin beneath your clothing and almost burning with how cold it felt.

You turned towards the open ramp of the Razor Crest, desperately wanting to close it but you knew the Mandalorian had been out in that weather far longer than you had, and the quicker he got in, the better.

Luckily, you didn’t have to wait long as a few minutes later, the hazy blur in the blizzard sharpened to reveal the beskar clad warrior with a limp figure over his shoulder. Your eyes raked over him, narrowing at the slightly tremble in his left leg as he threw down the prone body none too gently on the floor of the hold. He reached to his right to press one of the manual controls to lift the ramp and finally shield you all from the snow before he reached down to grab the human man by the collar of his shirt and dragged him into the carbonite chamber.

He hadn’t said a word to you but then again, that wasn’t out of the ordinary. He preferred silence and you were used to it.

Instead, you took a few liberties and climbed up to the cockpit to initiate take off procedures. The Crest was old, bless her, but after a moment or two you managed to get her up in the air and out of atmosphere. Once you were able, you activated the autopilot. You were still at cruising altitude and would only be able to enter hyperspace once you were a suitable distance away from the planet.

Mando hadn’t come up when you had taken off and you noticed his absence. It wasn’t like him to remain down below so, with a moment’s hesitation, you returned back down the ladder to find him sitting on one of the large crates with his head back against the wall.

Your eyes immediately focused, mind sharpening as you assessed him from a few feet away. Breathing was normal if a bit heavy, nothing bent at a wrong angle or limbs missing.

You let your eyes drop to the leg you saw tremble slightly. The flight suit Mando wore under his armor, especially the bottoms, were soaked through so you couldn’t tell if the darkened stains on his thigh were melted snow or blood.

“No.”

Your eyes snapped up to his helmet which had turned slightly once you caught his attention.

“No?” You questioned, a frown settling over your eyes as he sat up with a grunt.

“I don’t need you patching up ever scratch and bruise.” He snapped.

Oh, he was cranky. That meant he was in pain.

It was true that Mando had flatly refused any help if he ever came back bruised and sore and for the most part, he probably didn’t need any medical attention. Half the time you didn’t even know because he simply dealt with it himself wordlessly. He had lived this life long enough without you, he knew how to handle himself. Most of the time. Your trained eyes were able to spot a mile away what he could deal with himself and what needed more practiced hands. If he was acting like a cantankerous reek again, then you knew it was time to step in.

You scoffed and took the few steps towards him, completely professional as you dropped to your knees in front of him. You didn’t miss the strangled noise the modulator picked up from behind the helmet, but you didn’t have time to worry about how you might look kneeling in front of his open legs.

All you were focused on, was the shredded duraweave near his knee, dried blood crusting along the flesh of his inner thigh just shy of the beskar plate sitting over his left thigh. You clicked your tongue and sent him a withering look,

“Seriously?”

A growl reverberated from his chest, a string of that foreign language leaving him before he looked away. He looked petulant.

“In Basic if you don’t mind.” You asked sarcastically, eyes already back on the wound underneath the torn duraweave. Your fingers picked a shredded edge of the duraweave to get a better look. You were reminded instantly of the wound he received from the poison laced dagger with you first met him, but you were relieved to note that this wound seemed clean of venom.

That was about all that was clean about it though, because unlike the single laceration of the dagger wound, his thigh had a semi-circle of shredded puncture wounds where something had obviously sunk into his flesh and shook its head.

“Fucking nerfherders, what bit you?” You turned your eyes back up to him, startled by the size given that the single row indicated only one side of the jaw met his flesh. You worried momentarily if the back of his thigh carried similar wounds where whatever it was bit down but you would deal with this first.

“Whitefang.” He bit out, the frustration in his tone evident but you had grown accustomed to him acting like this whenever he was hurt.

You had gotten to your feet again, turning away to your small area where you could rifle through the medipack you had built for such occasions. You almost dropped the bacta and saline when you turned back to him.

“A whitefang? How in Malachor did you---”

“He didn’t only have mercenaries guarding him.” Mando spat, groaning when the anger in his voice caused his muscles to tense and the obvious pain that followed. You shook your head and knelt back down, sitting on your heels as you peeled back the shredded edges of the duraweave, stopping only when a gloved hand wrapped around your wrist in warning. Your eyes flickered up to the expressionless T-visor, a sigh leaving you as you looked back down.

“I’m only pushing it back as far as the wound goes. I won’t see any more of you than it takes to treat your bite.”

You tried a different approach to your usual Mando Method. Negotiation as opposed to strong-arming him. You didn’t try to remove your wrist from his grip, despite how tight it was but your patience seemed to work because with a steady exhale, his grip loosened and released you. You nodded once,

“There, that wasn’t so hard?”

Mando simply leaned his head back heavily and looked up towards the ceiling, his hands resting back on the crate behind him and leaving you to your work.

You turned back to his thigh now that the hard part was over, truly he was a menace when it came to looking after himself. You tutted to yourself while you cleaned the caked, dried blood from around the puncture wounds with clean gauze soaked in an antiseptic solution and assessed their depth as you did so. There were seven punctures in all, the two canine fangs being the largest and deepest, so you focused your attention on them first.

While the Mandalorian hadn’t said a word despite the sting the antiseptic no doubt caused, he let out a soft exhale when you cleaned them out with saline water to flush out any dirt that might have entered the open wounds. You bit down on your lip to hide the slight smile, he seemed to enjoy that part last time too. Now that you were sure he wasn’t in any immediate danger; you allowed your eyes to travel down the length of his body on their way back to his thigh.

You covered the hitch in your breath with a small cough when your eyes passed over the prominent bulge that was nearly at eye level; he was hard. Your mouth instantly went dry as you turned back to his thigh with a bit too much force, a heavy tension settling in the air that was making it hard to focus.

So, you tried to lighten the mood when he sighed again softly at the cool liquid on his heated skin.

“Careful Mando, or else I’ll start to think you enjoy getting injured.”

You had quickly moved on to threading the dissolvable medical thread through a wicked sharp curved needle and began to layer tight, neat stitches inside the two deepest wounds, anything to distract your hands and eyes from straying somewhere they were wholly unwelcome.

The needle moved easily through his flesh, the thread laced with bacta, one of the greatest creations to come from the last five years of medical research which allowed the healing qualities in bacta to penetrate the body better, using the physical thread to hold the flesh together while it knitted everything back together quicker than the body would be able to by itself.

The Mandalorian hadn’t moved since you began, but you felt the telling warmth on the top of your head where his eyes had settled, watching you sit between his legs and once again, soothing his pain. You hadn’t expected an answer given his mood, so when he did reply, you nearly dropped the needle you were carefully putting away for cleaning later.

“In my line of work, you learn to like a little pain.” His voice sounded thicker, a dark undercurrent to the usual rasp and it made your cunt clench at the veiled insinuation. He must have known you could see, right? He hadn’t made any move to hide his obvious arousal, but then maybe he felt that to draw attention to it would be to acknowledge it.

You smoothed a large bactapad over the wounds, the smaller punctures not deep enough to warrant stiches and satisfied there were no other wounds on his thigh. You used the action to buy yourself some time as you ran your tongue over your bottom lip, desperately trying to get some moisture back as your mind ran wild with the possibilities that single sentence meant about the Mandalorian.

When you had done all you could do, you bit the bullet and looked up at him again. His head was tilted down, not hiding the fact that he was watching you as you worked, and you just knew your underwear was ruined from the image that lay before you. The Mandalorian leaning back with his legs spread and watching you like the hunter he was.

“I’m sure there are other ways you can enjoy that without getting you leg bitten off.” The words that left your mouth were smoother and said with a confidence that made you want to pat yourself on the back. You packed up the medipack and stood up, keeping your eyes on his visor so they wouldn’t be tempted to stray down to the bulge that had yet to disappear.

“No strenuous exercise until they’re healed.” You ordered, your tone allowing for no argument as you turned to put the medipack away, thankful that he couldn’t see the flush on your cheeks when you started moving towards the galley to prepare something to eat for the child and be away from this suddenly stifling situation.

Mando seemed content to remain where he was for a few moments longer before he stood to test his leg on his full weight. You staunchly kept your back to him under the guise of heating a ration pack on the nanowave stove, but you could feel him brush past you on his way to the cockpit.

“Pity.” He dropped the word on your lap without stalling his movements as he passed you, his voice still thick and laced with a sinful darkness before his presence vanished entirely up the ladder, albeit a bit slower and into the cockpit so he could get you all into hyperspace.

When you heard the tell-tale hiss of the cockpit door closing, you braced your hands on the edge of the galley counter, a shaky breath leaving you.

What the ever-loving fuck what that?

A few hours later, and you were in the refresher, the hiss of the shower the only security that your moans were smothered as your fingers played with your clit, expertly circling it before swiping over the sensitive bundles lightly. Your head fell back, the water soaking your heated skin and running down your body the same way you imagined his hands might, how his tongue might follow that same path.

Your eyes closed on a whimper as you slid a finger insider of yourself, you couldn’t find it in yourself to be embarrassed at how easily it slid in, your arousal providing the perfect lubrication.

You still hadn’t been able to unwind from the tightly strung ball of tension the Mandalorian had left you in hours before and despite your better judgement, had locked yourself in the refresher seeking even an ounce of relief. You should have been ashamed, getting off to the memory of a man who – while being someone you already accepted your attraction to – was a patient in that moment.

It didn’t matter that he seemed just as aroused, that he stoked a desire deep inside you with his words. You didn’t even know his name and yet, the physical attraction you felt for a man whose body you had seen only slivers of, was unlike anything you’d felt for anyone you had been with before. He had you soaked with a few choice words, a tilt of his helmet and his legs spread arrogantly as if he hadn’t just been bitten by a whitefang.

You moaned quietly as you imagined yourself kneeling between those thighs again, but this time not to treat an injury but to satisfy a different sort of ache. You thought about the noises he might make if you took his cock into your mouth; if he would try to control your pace and how much of him you took. You added another finger as you wondered if he would finish in your mouth, or if he was someone who wanted to finish deep inside your cunt instead. If he would pull you up from your position between his legs so he could sink into you and fuck you until he finished.

You could feel your orgasm cresting, your fingers drenched with your arousal and a final forbidden fantasy of what he must look like when he came – what expression would paint the face you would never know as he spilled inside you – was what had your orgasm crashing over you like a tidal wave.

You couldn’t muffle your cry at its intensity, nor could you control the moan spilling from your lips despite swearing you would never say it, never acknowledge outside your own mind that you wanted him.

But you couldn’t help yourself, and it changed everything.

“Mando…”

He was right the first time.

He should have fucking listened to his instincts when they told him you were dangerous on Klatooine.

He should have known when that lick of desire danced across his body the night he first met you.

He should have known when the blush he caused to rise on your cheeks made his chest swell with masculine pride.

He should have known when he hesitated every time he went to ask you what planet you wanted him to bring you to.

And he should have damn well known when he had to stop himself from fucking you the moment you knelt between his legs to treat his bite.

But he hadn’t listened and now he was stood frozen on his way to his bunk, the sound of his name laced with desire as it rolled off your tongue on the other side of the refresher’s door rooting him to the spot.

He felt himself get painfully hard under his armour again.

He had felt edged all day after trying – and failing – to calm himself down in the cockpit after you had finished with him. He recited his Creed in his head over and over until the memory of you looking up at him with those expressive, intelligent eyes had him hard again almost instantly.

Din felt his lips curl into a snarl at the sound of you moaning his name, at the torture you had unwittingly inflicted on him now that he knew what you sounded like in the throes of pleasure. It would be so easy, so easy to just pull the door open and give you a real reason to moan his name.

He clenched his hand to his side where it itched to open the door, it would be so easy…

He shook his head, trying to shake the insidious thoughts of giving in to the attraction that had skyrocketed since you began travelling with him.

A shift of his weight sent a twinge of pain through his thigh and that grounded him.

No, not tonight.

He continued on his path to his bunk before he had been interrupted, locking the hydraulic door behind him before he removed his helmet and ran a hand down his face.

Not tonight.

He removed each part of his armor, setting it down on the shelves beside the bunk, fingers ghosting over the bactapad that still clung to his thigh, the whispered memory of feeling your fingers on his bare skin again causing his cock to twitch beneath his flight suit before he removed that as well.

Not tonight.

He lay back heavily on his bunk, muscles and joints exhausted from the arduous week on an ice planet. He let his eyes roll closed when his hand wrapped around the hard shaft of his cock where it lay heavy against his stomach, lips parting on an exhale. The memory of his name on your lips filled his head as he swiped his thumb across the head of his cock to spread the pre-cum already leaking from the tip and hissed at the sensitivity.

Not tonight, he thought as his grip tightened as he stroked himself towards a quick release, but one day soon he would make you pay for the torment you inflicted on him today.

He came with a low groan, your voice in his head chiding him once more about no strenuous exercise and he smirked in the darkness at the memory, fatigue making his eyelids heavy.

Soon.

Some liberties I have taken with Star Wars Canon:

- Pantran whitefangs (a species of big cat) are native only to Hoth, and are notorious for being impossible to domesticate and are constantly hunting. Anyone who tries, usually ends up dead. For the purposes of Stitches, it didn't seem likely that a money launderer would hide on Hoth. It's a desolate planet with a population that "would just about fill a cruiser". Scipio was at one point, the centre of the Banking Clan during the Galactic Republic and was such an important location that both the Republic and Separatists each sent ambassadors to ensure there was no corruption there. It has a larger population and more cities, somewhere I can justify a money lauderer hiding out in. This is why I transplanted Whitefangs to a different planet though I have made sure that it was an equally frozen one!

- Bacta usually removes the need for literal stitches as we know in real life, but I theorized that, while bacta is a perfect healer given time; in triage and emergency care, going back to basics sometimes helps. That's why I tried to combine the idea of bacta thread, something that would physically hold a wound together and prevent blood loss while the bacta worked in the interim.

- The generic "bending the Creed but not breaking it" spiel about reader seeing Din's body so long as it's not his face.

Stitches Taglist:

@geannad @ayamenimthiriel @sarahjkl82-blog @gracie7209 @pychedelic-star @nova646 @theflightytemptressadventure @wantingtobekorra @computeringturtle @slayerette26 @kesskirata @greatcircle79

Hopefully I haven’t forgotten anyone! But drop me a message if I did!

#din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #the mandalorian fanfic #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #mandalorian fanfic #din djarin smut #the mandalorian smut #mando x reader #mando x you #din djarin fic #din djarin #mando #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x you

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showrunnerihardlyknowher · 3 years

Text

Humans? Up MY Beanstalk? It's More Likely Than You Think!

AO3 Link

Danny's back on her bullshit and here to make everyone suffer with another WIP that's part of a fic trade with my beloved @hiddendreamer67 <3

Summary: I mean, Jack made it all sound so easy! Climb up the beanstalk a few times, steal enough riches to last himself ten life times, and live happily ever after as a heroic giant slayer with absolutely no repercussions.

Seriously, how hard can it be?

Aiden was no stranger to life events going from bad to worse at the drop of a hat, but more often than not he was able to go with the turbulent flow just enough to keep his head above water and out of any serious trouble. Such a feat was most evident in his adaptation to living within the labyrinth-like walls of the oversized castle he had foolishly sought refuge in weeks prior. Had it been weeks? Months, perhaps, or maybe only a handful of days. The passage of time was just as foreign to him as these massive surroundings, these massive people , and he didn’t have the gall to weasel his way towards an opening near the outside to gauge how high or low the sun was sitting in the strangely pink sky.

The irony was almost funny; where was that fool hearted bravery he had been swimming in when he first started his ascension up the winding stalk that sprouted who knows how many decades ago to reach its impressive height? He knew the stories of young boys trading cows for beans and getting far more than they bargained for. He knew it was down right suicidal to scale the plant in general given he hadn’t a lick of training when it came to climbing anything other than a ladder. The opportunity to live within a legend was too good to pass up, unfortunately. The flimsy promise of riches and adventure beyond his wildest dream outweighed the need to even consider how he was going to get back down from the towering growth when he was inevitably disappointed by the lack of golden eggs.

But he didn’t succumb to the thin air or fall to his death, and he wasn’t disappointed. If anything, he was given everything he envisioned. Almost everything. When he broke through the cloud line, he discovered the vine had tapered off in favor of clinging to a cliff side he was unaware even existed from below. Green tendrils served as almost a ladder to aid his climb up the mysterious rock formation until he was able to pull himself, huffing and panting and muscles tingling from overuse, over the edge to collapse on horizontal land. So the fabled kingdom of riches didn’t actually rest on the clouds, it seemed. A small let down, but hardly anything worth dampening the mood as Aiden took in his new world view.

He felt as if he had switched places with a weevil seeing how the small patch of grass he was in came up to his chest rather than swishing against his ankles. The euphoria of this great new discovery once again drowned out the more rational side of him, favoring exploration over potential survival. The logistics of returning home could be dealt with later, after he had slayed a giant and stolen only a penny of its wealth that would no doubt provide for him for the rest of his life. Naive. Gullible. Fool hearted.

Aiden had only trekked for a few hours before nearly getting swallowed up by a winged beast he likened to a bat, washing away over the edge of the cliff in a stream, and getting trampled by hulking soldiers doing their rounds. Each close call he survived by the skin of his teeth, luck and adrenaline driving him blindly to find a moment of safety. However, with each incident his bravery withered away into trepidation, especially the closer he came to the giants that roamed the lands. None of them had noticed him yet and part of him wondered if they would ever notice something as miniature as him scurrying around, but he wasn’t feeling bold enough to stay out in the open just for their reaction. No, once he had slipped into the fortress of metal and stone, out of sight from any predator's eyes, the will to venture back out had faded into near nothingness.

If he had it his way, he doubted he would ever again have the gung ho to leave the confines of his newfound sanctuary, not even for the bittersweet desire of returning home. He had made his bed in his haste to seek glory out of tall tales and now he must lie in it. Though his heart ached with anxiety and his hands ceased to tremble, his traitorous stomach refused to let him continue a life of solitude amongst the dusty beams. A weaker part of him couldn’t help but wonder if it would be worth it to live with the gnawing pain until it eventually overtook him. A fitting end, would it not, to starve to death like a rat in the walls? Alas, he was weak, but not weak enough to endure such aggressive cramping by the end of the second day, and so he mustered all the strength and courage he could just to snatch a few stale breadcrumbs long forgotten behind what he assumed was a cast iron stove.

Aiden truly was living up to his new rodent lifestyle, wasn’t he.

It was disgusting, but it was food, and though it made him ill the remainder of the night it had at least provided him with enough energy to go back out the next night in an effort to find something an inch more sustainable. By the end of the week, his newly discovered drive to live had him exploring every corner of the expansive kitchen during the wee hours of the night, when no giants hurried back and forth between the counters and the galley to serve platters of meals that could have fed his own village for months at a time. The rich smell of hot breads and meats made him dizzy, even more so now that he was getting accustomed to surviving off of dusty scraps he found on the floor. He needed to play it safe, he reminded himself as he watched one of the chef’s throw out an entire pan of fresh loaves because there’s too many chives in this! It’s too bitter for his tastes! , hardly resisting the urge to dive into the bins after the wasted food.

But...if they were so keen as to throw away an entire batch of fully prepared food over the fact that it was unsuitable for one person’s palette...surely there was no harm in taking what would be considered a nibble. Not when it was unwanted.

There it was again, that fool hearted bravery. If only Aiden had used it to find a way out of this unofficial prisoner rather than fuel his greed. He couldn’t be happy with the bare minimum he was given, could he? Always had to push the boundaries when he knew exactly where they lied, always run headfirst towards danger and then act surprised when it would bite him in the ass moments later. At least this time around he had the forethought to formulate some type of a plan, as flimsy as it was. Having become quite familiar with the inner structures of the fortress, he was able to determine the abode he was in was something along the lines of a castle. It was certainly sprawling enough, decorated with dark colors and glittering riches and constantly bustling with workers ranging from lowly servants to chittering socialites. Whether or not this was indeed a house for royalty he was unsure, having never been able to pinpoint which of the ambling lords or ladies might be the esteemed ruler of the lands. Assuming monarchies even existed this high, that is. Perhaps this was merely the norm of their society’s standards. It was unlikely, but it wasn’t as if he had many outside resources to compare this way of life to, not even in the way of his own village.

In theory, the heist should have been easy. In theory . All he had to do was wait until the dead of night for the bustling kitchen to fall silent as it normally did and he could slip out from the crevice closest to the scraps bin. Scaling in and out of the bin might prove trickier than he anticipated, but that remained a problem for future Aiden. The most important part of his newfound mission was being able to fill his stomach up with day-old bread and cold meats before they were discarded for good. If all went well, this could easily become a nightly routine of his, a way to feast like a king whilst living like a rat within the true royalty’s walls. He knew he was getting ahead of himself with that kind of fantasizing, perhaps that was even the beginning of his downfall, but he had so little to look forward to these days that he dared to get his hopes up for a semi-decent meal.

He hadn’t even made it halfway across the counter before he was spotted and subsequently captured.

But he had been so careful , he lamented to himself when the air was roughly knocked from his lungs after a massive hand slammed on top of him, pinning any squirms. True, he reflected as the stars cleared his vision, he never actually bothered to see if the kitchen remained vacant all night given that he was asleep...but he just assumed! Who in the world would be up during this hour!? Someone else sneaking a snack, maybe, just as he was. He could use that to his advantage, try and gain a few sympathy points by connecting with the giant on that level, convince them that all he needed was just a fraction of whatever they were probably getting for themselves and he would be on his way for good. A lie, of course, but the giant didn’t need to know that.

Once more, that short lived plan would never be put to use when Aiden felt himself being lifted in the air within a bone crushing grip, metal and leather digging into him in various places from the glove the giant wore. His eyes barely adjusted from the dizzying movements and dim kitchen before they were blown open at the sight, constricted breathing still entirely for a heartbeat. This was no ordinary giant, not like the ones he had grown accustomed to glancing at from the nooks and crannies. At first glance, however, it did fit the bill for the most part -- biped, guard’s armor, a human face -- but...did these giants typically have glowing purple eyes? He couldn’t recall for certain, yet the more he looked the more he found that appeared off. The outline of the guard’s figure seemed...fuzzy, like they were blurred rather than a solid defining line. His face, harsh and scrutinizing, was greyer than a corpse. He was otherworldly, and it was at that moment Aiden was painfully reminded he was in another world, one he didn’t belong in. One he knew he would be leaving quickly.

“You shouldn’t be here,” the guard rumbled, his voice grating more like static than a growl.

“N-no…” Aiden agreed. Anything to get on his good side. “I’ll go, I’ll l-leave!”

Though he had found his voice, he had yet to find the strength to attempt any kind of struggle, not that he thought he’d be able to budge the massive fingers in the slightest. However, if he showed just how eager he was to depart from this situation, maybe the giant would believe him and grant him that small mercy. Instead, he was given another rough squeeze that made his spine pop, the fist clenching him raising higher so that he was more at eye level with his captor.

“How did you get in here, human? ” The guard spat. Good news was that humans were a known creature, at least. Bad news was that humans, apparently, were not known for any pleasant reason.

Aiden panted, trying to suck in a much needed breath after all of his were forced out. “I-I don’t know…” He squealed in discomfort when the fingers tightened again, refusing to let up until he gave a more satisfactory answer. “Th-the walls! I came through the walls! ”

The guard snorted and slackened his grip to allow an inch of breathing room, “Of course you did. Little pest that you and your kind are.”

“Wh...what are you…?” A bold question, but since he was sure it was to be one of his last, Aiden saw no reason not to ask.

He wasn’t given an answer, the giant instead lowering him slightly to exit the kitchen and pace down the halls. The scenery whizzed by so fast that it made his head spin, catching a few looks at other giants that were loitering about. Just like the guard, they were similar to the ones he would see in the daytime but...different. The two guards they passed looked to be of the same race of whatever the one holding him was, a noblewoman in a shimmering capelet eyed him suspiciously and he could have sworn her ‘capelet’ flittered before settling back down her shoulders. How had he never seen any of these attributes in the day? Then again, he often viewed the giants in the fortress at a distance and never for very long, they could have all been magically endowed for all he knew. Or, another theory, the ones he was coming across now were merely nocturnal and their more...normal housemates were sound asleep as he typically was while these creatures did their rounds and had their fun.

The wonderment was short lived when the giant shoved his way through a heavy wooden door at the very end of a lesser used corridor. With each step down the spiraling stone staircase, Aiden felt his heart sink just a little lower. The long shadows casting against the walls from the torches mounted to them gave the dank atmosphere an even more sinister vibe, leaving too many unknown things able to hide in the darkness. Even the guard, who did not appear to be an overly friendly fellow to begin with, looked twice as menacing with how the shadows concealed the few human features he did have. Aiden swallowed thickly, unsure of where they were heading but already knowing it wasn’t good.

His hunch was confirmed when the guard entered another hall, one lined with cramped cells that were partially occupied. He tried not to look at them and their fates, not wanting to see what might be awaiting him as well. Likely not, though. He was far too small to shackle and imprison. A different punishment would have to be in store for him. Further down the hall, the dungeon changed its holding cells from ones with iron bars to ones with solid steel doors instead, obscuring whatever poor bastard was locked within. Was that considered a crueler punishment? Perhaps that was where the torturing took place, if such types of creatures indulged in those acts. He saw no reason why they wouldn’t and as a result could very easily imagine himself being thrown in there next.

Fortunately, or not, the guard instead opened another wooden door that was adjacent to several of the isolated cells, coming to stand before another giant sitting at a table. Aiden couldn’t tell what was on the desk or what this new giant was using these unknown things for, but from the jist of it he must have been busy.

“Sir,” the guard holding him said while raising him higher for the presumably important one to see better. “A human has been found within the perimeter.”

The guard, a captain if Aiden were to guess, frowned. “Any others?”

“None that I could sense in the immediate area.”

He sighed and waved his hand. “We’ll do a sweep before daybreak. Who knows the amount of damage it’s done...what it’s taken, what it’s told.” He fixed Aiden with an icy glare that made the poor human try to shrink in on himself.

He wished he could have found a way to defend himself, plead his case, but his voice was nowhere to be found now. All cowardliness and no self preservation.

“And how shall I dispose of this one, sir?” The guard asked and Aiden paled. Dispose!?

The one in charge shrugged a shoulder and resumed what he was doing previously, fiddling with tools and books and papers for one reason or another. “Put it on lunch duty. Give the lizard another rat to keep him busy.”

Aiden didn’t quite follow the logic of the order. Lunch duty didn’t sound half as bad as being disposed of. The ‘lizard’ was news to him, but regardless the guard nodded at his order and left the office back down the corridor of steel doors. He wasn’t sure if he should speak up and ask for clarification while he mulled over his rather lenient sentencing, doubtful the giant would even regard him. From the looks of disgust and distrust he had been given numerous times in the short span of time he had been discovered, he could gather that his presence was an unwelcome one, though why he was still unsure. Evidently, he was going to be put to work and he could most certainly live with that. Earn his keep, he reasoned. Give rats to lizards or something. Would these rats and lizards be the same kind as the ones back on his homeworld down below or would they be to scale with the giants? Another question he should probably speak aloud before he got in over his head.

Or, at least, he would have asked, had a wad of cloth not been jammed into mouth hard enough to make his jaw click uncomfortably. He gagged, trying to shove the offending material out with his tongue, but it was packed into his cheeks too tightly to budge. A different material, a thin rope, was quickly wound around his chest to pin his arms to his sides before wrapping further down to bind his ankles. It had happened in the flash, the guard giving him no warning or reasoning for the sudden confinement, but it wasn’t as if Aiden could offer up much protest now that it was all said and done. He was completely immobile, spun up like a fly in a spider’s web. The guard had done it with such efficiency that it must be something similar to a routine for him by now which did not bode well. In a last ditch effort to save his hide from whatever...this was, he looked up at his captor with wide, pleading eyes, begging for just a shred of sympathy or at the very least an explanation of what was about to happen.

All he was met with was the same cold, violet eyes as all the other giants he had come to pass. Equally cruel and indifferent. And it was then he understood, as he was being roughly shoved through a hand slot at the base of one of the sturdy metal cell doors, that he was not the one who was meant to be delivering the meals during “lunch duty”. He was the meal. He was the rat, which meant the lizard was…

Aiden wriggled as best he could manage in his position until he was able to roll onto his back and get a good look around the cell. It was massive to him, but compared to the size of the giants he could tell it was rather cramped. Dark and depressing, much like one would expect a lonely prison cell to be, with the scattering of tiny bones and grime along the stone walls. His breathing quickened as he tried to tell just what type of origin the gnawed remains had been, however it was too difficult to tell at this distance in such gloom lighting. Perhaps that was for the best, giving his brain a little boost of reassurance that maybe they weren’t all human bones, that this wasn’t a common fate most of his kind befell when they made the same foolish mistake of invading where they clearly did not belong.

Trying to avoid the glare of bones only worsened his situation tenfold when he turned his head and was met with what was, obviously, the lizard as previously mentioned. Well, partially a lizard? More human-looking than lizard just going off a quick glance which led Aiden to believe the nickname was meant to be a derogatory term for whatever species it was. It...he? Yeah, he was kneeling on the floor, not by choice, but rather due to the shackles that bound him at the wrist and was tethered to the floor with a pitifully short chain. The clothes he wore reminded him of something he might have caught a few nobles wear given the level of craftsmanship and hand woven designs. It was a shame they were soiled now in what he could only assume was sweat and dirt, how he hoped that was dirt. The prisoner picked his head up when he heard the food slot screech open and shut, waiting for any other sound before sighing at the responding silence.

The chain jingled as he shifted to reposition himself into something a little more comfortable, Aiden now catching sight of the black nails that blended into scales littering the back of his hand when he flexed his fingers. A tail briefly flicked into view before concealing itself behind him once again. As the human let his gaze trail further up his face, fully prepared to see another hateful glare burning a hole through his weak soul, he couldn’t help but notice another spattering of black scales along his cheekbones and down his neck, presumably up to his eyes as well, but...well, he couldn’t tell. Not when there was a tattered, red cloth tied around his head, effectively blinding the sense. He wondered if this was an ailment the giant already had or if this was another part of his punishment, curious if he even had any eyes still in their sockets beneath the shoddy wrappings. Whatever the case was, the “lizard” obviously couldn’t see him and Aiden was unable to alert him to his presence with the gag shoved down his throat, leaving them at an awkward stalemate.

A stalemate that lasted all of two seconds before the giant wrinkled his nose and frowned. “The hell kind of rodent is this…? ” he muttered to himself.

So much for not knowing he was there. With great effort, Aiden twisted his body until he was able to turn on his side, trying to push himself up into a sitting position. He froze when the giant started to move as well, pointed ears twitching in response to the light scuffling he was making against the floor to pinpoint his location. Despite one of his senses being dulled, it was evident his remaining ones were still working in perfect order, maybe even heightened to compensate for the lack of vision.

“Another live one,” he sighed, fingers flexing again, “Sorry about this little buddy. I don’t like live prey any more than you like being it, I’m sure, but, well…”

That was the only warning Aiden had before the giant lunged, teeth snapping an inch in front of his frozen body. From this close, he could see the needle-thin fangs previously hidden behind a grimace and instantly wanted to be far, far away from them. His only saving grace was the short lead the other had on his cuffs, preventing him from pushing off any closer and cutting him off just shy of his prize for the time being. He growled in annoyance at having missed the offered prey, pulling back to realign himself for a better pounce.

“Come on, just make this easy for the both of us,” the giant huffed.

Oh, absolutely not. No, no, no. No, this was not how Aiden wanted his adventure in the skies to end. Fuck the adventure, he wanted to go home and he wanted to do so alive and in one piece. Being ripped to shreds was not a fate he ever envisioned for himself. He wasn’t going to die like some...some rat!

The giant was inching closer, moving along the side as much as the chain would allow to get a better angle. It didn’t matter whether he ensnared the tiny between his claws or teeth or even batted its little corpse within reaching distance with his tail, so long as he was able to get a hold on its fresh flesh one way or another. Desperately, Aiden began to rock back and forth to shimmy his body across the floor, painstakingly putting centimeters of distance between them that the giant was able to make up in a single shuffle. When the chain pulled taunt again, the human rolled to the side and narrowly missed the clamp of teeth once more, hot breath blowing against his back and covering his body in goosebumps. Undeterred, however, the giant followed his scent that was so tantalizingly close and moved his body in unison with Aiden’s. With another bite, he was able to find purchase on the ropes that burned against his arms and sunk his fangs in what he supposed was meant to be an animal's tender flesh.

Aiden had tried to avoid the attack but simply could not scramble away quick enough, his only luck being that he was just far enough that the gnashing teeth only managed to puncture through the fibers of rope rather than his actual skin. He was lifted into the air when the giant pulled back, kicking and thrashing to the best of his ability against the hold. The humid air blowing on the back of his head made him nauseous now, only able to envision how the feeling would quickly be enveloping him entirely when he was thrown back and swallowed down the creature’s gullet. With one, final twist, Aiden prayed his limited strength would be enough to somehow dislodge himself from the giant’s maw and give him another chance at playing this unbalanced game of chase.

And then the rope snapped.

Having already been sawed and frayed in several places from the giant’s fangs, Aiden’s pull was all it needed to rip apart entirely, sending the human sprawling onto the cold ground. His vision clouded when his head smacked against the stone, ironically thankful for the wad of cloth in his mouth or he most certainly would have lost a few teeth. Without a doubt, he was going to have a nasty bruise coloring the majority of his right side in the near future, the ache still pulsing with every wheezing breath he tried to gain back. While the stars faded from his eyes, he watched distantly as the giant curiously grinded the material in his mouth before dropping it. He pursed his lips in confusion, expecting raw meat and the rush of blood rather than some scratchy coils of what almost tasted like hide.

“Gods, what even is this,” he cringed.

Me , Aiden wanted to cry out, it’s me, it’s a human!

The giant’s hang up with his unusual meal faded into resignation much sooner than Aiden would have liked. He was hardly to blame, though, if he had been given nothing but live pests to blindly hunt down without the use of his full mobility for an undetermined amount of time. They were in a similar boat, really. Creatures trapped in a home they had no business being in, trying to survive on what little scraps were thrown their way. The human sorely wished he hadn’t been relegated into the scraps category, but there was little he could do about that now. Knowing his prey had a pretty straight forward drop, he moved again with an open mouth to seal the foreign creature’s fate.

The sight of teeth rushing to greet him was exactly the adrenaline rush Aiden’s body needed to get moving again, much more successfully this time now that he had arms to push up with and legs to carry him a greater distance. As much as he would have loved to have sprinted to the other side of the cell, even find another crack to slip through if fate would feel the desire to be so kind to him today, he only managed to stumble a few feet out of the immediate danger zone before tripping over himself. His right leg screamed in agony from the second fall, a sign of something being sprained somewhere he was sure. He wanted to scream out loud as well had it not been for the gag. The gag he realized he could take out now. Unsure of how useful his last words would even be, the human ripped the wad of cloth out of his mouth in a frenzy while the giant prepped himself for another attack. If anything, at least Aiden could find catharsis in leaving some sort of statement about himself behind for someone to hear, even if it was just confirmation of his fool heartedness.

“Stop!” Aiden yelled, voice raw and itching his throat like it hadn’t been used in ages rather than half an hour. “Please, stop! G-get away! ”

He wasn’t sure what he was expecting the giant to do as a result, but one thing was clear and it was that he most certainly wasn’t expecting his meal to say anything. He reeled back like he had been physically struck by those words, if his eyes were visible he was sure they would be as wide as serving platters. It was almost comical how he stumbled back, the menacing creature suddenly so fearful of a tiny vermin it was trying to consume moments prior, mouth agape as he tried to process what was going on without being able to actually see it.

“You...did you just, oh my gods,” he gasped. While he was glad he was being spared for the time being, the giant’s nervousness did little to quell the anxiety that had been brewing in Aiden’s heart since the moment he came upon this accursed land.

“Ple-please…” Aiden whimpered, suddenly drained physically and emotionally from the whole ordeal and settling to just drag himself any extra distance he could away from his unofficial death penalty. It was a pathetic display, but on the bright side, one he wouldn’t be mocked for. “Don’t h-hurt me…”

The giant shifted again, hesitant, closer , and Aiden braced himself for the final bite to end it all.

“You can talk!? ”

#g/t #fearplay #g/t writing #giant/tiny #macro/micro #gianttiny #my writing #hiddendreamer67 #MANDY MY BELOVED #also these are officially her OCs so don't ask me for ANYTHING about them #these are HER KIDS NOW i sign over my parental rights #well #i guess they're mine until I get chapter two out

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lyquynhnhu · 2 years

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Chapter 268 comment (part 1)

Finally, we know the identity of the second (technically first) time-leaper. I’ve always thought that Hanma wasn’t the one and I had guessed about Shinichiro and it turned out I was right! (So satisfying)

It was logic. Shinichiro is such a mysterious character. He is death, but he is “present” in almost every arc. Yet, we know VERY little about him.

Mikey says that Takemichi remind him of his brother (later other characters say the same)

in Valhalla arc, it was revealed the cause of his death and it was quite shocking because at the time I thought that Shinichiro died because 1) Illness or 2) Car accident or similar

Black Dragon arc introduced the gang founded by Shinichiro and Inupi, who idolise Shinichiro for whatever reason

Tenjiku arc introduced Izana, who knew Shinichiro for a long time and was attached to him

And 3 Deities Arc introduce Brahman, gang founded by the original Black Dragons and friends of Shinichiro

This was a big revelation, but I have even more questions now!

Let's procede in order:

There was an “original timeline”, where something happened to Mikey leading Shinichiro to become a time-leaper. Apparently, Waka knew about it.

What happen to Mikey? Why he needed to be saved?

Option A: Mikey died. Not necessarily when he was a kid. In every timeline, Mikey tried to kill himself. Maybe this was a timeline where Shinichiro didn’t die, but Mikey commit suicide anyway or died in a way or another.

Option B: Mikey became evil. We don’t know yet what happen during the plane incident and why Mikey gave Sanzu the scars. But we know that Mikey hated weak people and he liked people like Kisaki. My guess is that Mikey can easily become evil. He said to Takemichi that Shinichiro, Emma and Baji were the ones that could block his dark impulses. Maybe Shinichiro wanted to change the past to “exorcise” Mikey dark impulses, but failed and as a result the dark impulses only got stronger.

2. Why Waka know? Is he the only one to know Shinichiro’s secret? It’s strage, because Shinichiro childhood friend and closest friend is supposed to be Takeomi. By the way, will Takeomi remain absent for the rest of the manga?

(Regarding Takeomi, he could easily be a villain in the current arc. If he knew about time-leaping, maybe he wants to bring back Shinichiro and get rid of Mikey)

Sanzu and Kisaki know about time leaping. While Sanzu has met Shinichiro because he is Mikey’s childhood friend, how did Kisaki discovered about time-leaping? And how Shinichiro being a time-leaper is connected to all of Kisaki doing?

In this chapter, Mikey said that if they were in the first timeline, Takemichi wouldn’t have to go through all this. Does this mean that Takemichi was happy in the original timeline?

The current Takemichi comes from the timeline where Draken died and Kisaki was number 2 in Toman. Takemichi has experience various timeline, but his conscience comes from that timeline. He is not Takemichi of the original timeline (aka the timeline Shinichiro changed by time-leaping).

Many speculate that Shinichiro was the one to push Takemichi. If this was true, why Takemichi? Takemichi and Mikey were strangers, after all. From Takemichi point of view, he never met Mikey.

It’s more conceivable that Kisaki himself or one of his underlings pushed Takemichi, because Kisaki was angry after being rejected by Hina.

Option 1: Takemichi and Shinichiro being both time-leaper is just a coincidence. Takemichi original mission was to save Hina, not Mikey. If Takemichi chose a different approach to save Hina (for example explaining to her her future and being always with her to protect her) instead of involving himself with Toman, he would have never met Mikey.

Option 2: Takemichi was chosen to be a time-leaper with the purpose of saving Mikey. Well, this depends on Takemichi’s will. I mean, Takemichi doesn’t know about this mission.

If we believe the version “Shinichiro pushed Takemichi”, here my reconstruction:

Mikey died/Mikey becomes evil

Shinichiro time-leaped, but wasn’t able to save Mikey

In one of the timelines, Shinichiro or Mikey met Takemichi and create a connection (Takemichi hero)

Shinichiro time-leap again and erase the timeline where he or Mikey met Takemichi

Shinichiro changing the past influenced Takemichi’s life, Takemichi wasn’t supposed to become a loser, this was a result of past changing

In the past, Shinichiro got killed by Kazutora **

In the future, Shinichiro knew he was going to disappear/the timeline was changing (we don’t know what happen if the time-leaper past self die) ***

Shinichiro was disappearing, but he saw Takemichi and remember their meeting in another timeline, so he pushed him to transfer his power to him

Shinichiro didn’t expect Takemichi to save Mikey (the two never met in that timeline/Takemichi’s original timeline), but he had no other option

When the power transfer to Takemichi, he suddenly remember Hina and the journey starts

I think that Shinichiro power was stronger that the one Takemichi have. Maybe he doesn’t need a trigger (maybe his power is similar to Subaru’s of Re Zero). Naoto became Takemichi trigger only because Takemichi was not determined enough to change the past.

** Regarding “Shinichiro’s murder”, some people speculate that Sanzu or Kisaki were behind it.

We know Sanzu is for whatever reason obsess with Mikey’s dark impulses. It seems that Mikey can live only if he becomes evil, otherwise he die. So Sanzu decide to get rid of Shinichiro, who has failed multiple times to save Mikey. Still don’t know how Sanzu kid aware of time-leaping.

As for Kisaki, he somehow came to know about time-leaping and Shinichiro being a time-leaper. He decide to get rid of him because otherwise he could ruin his plan.

In both case, or Sanzu or Kisaki manipulate Kazutora. We know Kazutora wanted to be accepted and was unstable. They leak him about the bike in Shinichiro shop. They knew Shinichiro was in the shop and that he had called Mikey to come. If Kazutora failed to kill Shinichiro, they had spare plans.

*** I get this idea from “Strawberry fields one again” and “Henyoku no Labyrinth.

#tokyo revengers #tokyo revengers spoilers #tokyo revengers theory #i have too much to say but very little time

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iamthenightcolormeblack · 3 years

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Thornfield Hall in Jane Eyre (hyper-simplified)

Random thoughts here on this symbol (also could serve as essay help). Feel free to correct me if anything's wrong, maybe add on stuff in fancier language because I'm too tired to do a detailed literary analysis here.

1. Thornfield as a Gothic literary element:

It's a spooky house that looks medieval and is mysterious! Therefore it's definitely gothic!

The significance of houses in Gothic literature: "the past never really goes away;" after all the history of the houses (hundreds of years old) makes them links to the past. The persistence of the houses over many generations is a reminder of the insignificance of human endeavors in the face of time/nature/the universe.

When the houses fall apart & deteriorate it's a representation of the consequences of sin (moral decay). Thornfield getting burned can be seen as punishment for Rochester's sin of locking up his wife and also for his everyday action of lying and deceiving people so he can run away from his dirty secrets.

Houses are representations of the soul; the outside is like the facade one puts on in polite society, while the inside contains the true person (the secrets!) that is hidden from society.

2. Thornfield as a representation of Rochester's character:

The source of Rochester's power and wealth (Rochester owns the house and all the money earned from the estate comes to him and he's an eligible bachelor because he's rich).

Forbidding on the outside but pretty cozy inside (unless you are the madwoman imprisoned in the attic). Mirrors how Rochester is mean but has a heart.

"'I like Thornfield, its antiquity, its retirement, its old crow-trees and thorn-trees, its grey facade, and lines of dark windows...how long have I abhorred the very thought of it, shunned it like a great plague-house?'"

Rochester has a love-hate relationship with the house: he gains comfort from its long history (which is a source of pride as it ensures his position as a gentleman with a treasured family home to maintain) but also hates it because it keeps all his secrets (the madwoman in the attic who "haunts" the house; her escapes and "hauntings" challenge his power over his surroundings).

3. Thornfield as a representation of British society:

Again, the house is the source of Rochester's power and wealth. Thus there's a hierarchy in the house to preserve his power:

The hierarchy (from top to bottom): Rochester, the housekeeper, the servants, and Jane, who exists in between the hierarchy (doesn't have a definite "place" because she's got the education of an aristocrat but is pretty much an employee who depends on Rochester paying her and of course Rochester can fire her easily).

Mrs. Fairfax the housekeeper enforces the social hierarchy when showing concern/disapproving of Rochester flirting with Jane (because masters usually use the governesses for sexual gratification; they don't defy social norms by marrying the governess). But of course we love that she shows some genuine concern for Jane when telling her to be careful because men can be abusive (unfortunately so true).

Every day she resides in the house Jane is reminded of her low social position as a servant to a master. After all, the room and board could be taken away from her at any time.

Bertha's imprisonment in the house is like the status of colonies in the British Empire: exploited for raw resources to enrich the mother country and then left to languish in poverty. After all, Rochester married Bertha for her wealth (to preserve Thornfield and keep the money in the family) and when she became insane he locked her up in his home. That's the marriage in highly simplified terms: from Rochester's side, he was deceived into marrying Bertha for her money and because he was sexually infatuated with her good looks he married her without question and regretted it because Bertha immediately cheated on him, emotionally abused everyone, and also had inherited mental illness from her mother. After trying to live with her for 5 years, he locked her in Thornfield because she was violent and would certainly have died in a mental asylum (because the mentally ill were treated very badly back then). One can argue it was necessary to lock Bertha up because she was violent and posed a threat to Rochester's life (and he thought he was nice to her because he didn't let her die even though he could have; how perverted are those morals) but all the same hiding her existence from the world (while having a human being locked up) is highly unethical.

But all the same, social boundaries are defied at Thornfield. Jane gets shocked when Rochester treats her as a friend from the beginning of their relationship by letting her speak to him (after she's been told all her life to remain silent by those in authority). Because this is Rochester's home he can break social norms (flirt with the governess) without facing the consequences.

4. Thornfield as a home:

"Wherever you are is my home--my only home."

Thornfield becomes home for Jane because she finds kindness there. Specifically, she finds a "family" there, since the people she serves under care for her (ex. she gets larger meals than the starvation diet she received at Lowood boarding school, Mrs. Fairfax gives Jane wise advice after Rochester's proposal). From the beginning, Rochester seems to treat Jane as his friend because he comes close to telling her his secrets and lets her talk to him. When she falls in love with Rochester she develops an attachment to Thornfield as part of her attachment to him.

"Heart-weary and soul-withered, you come home after years of voluntary banishment: you make a new acquaintance...you find in this stranger much of the good and bright qualities which you have sought for twenty years, and never before encountered; and they are all fresh, healthy, without soil and without taint. Such society revives, regenerates: you feel better days come back—higher wishes, purer feelings..."

Rochester has to return to Thornfield (home) to rest and recharge from the ravages of his hedonistic lifestyle. And when he discovers his One True Love there he definitely doesn't want to leave....

Home is a starting point for Rochester to redeem his morals. By returning to the place of his birth he wants to start a second life where he can forget about his degraded past and be revived (and saved) through the love of his "angel" Jane (who refuses to play that role). Kinda reminds me of Virginia Woolf's "Angel of the House" -- women as portrayed by men (they are morally pure, take care of the home and are passive beings whose main purpose is to raise good children and redeem the souls of men through their goodness).

5. Thornfield as a prison:

Remember how houses are links to the past? Rochester has to run away from Thornfield often because first he locked up his wife there and it reminds him of his selfish father and brother who deceived him into marrying Bertha! Plus the house is a reminder of his responsibility as a landowner to maintain it and he doesn't like responsibility (as shown by his hedonism).

Jane is trapped there because she can't leave without Rochester's permission (see the money scene where she literally has to ask him to leave to see her dying aunt and he demonstrates his power over her by showing her his cash while she reveals how little money she has). After all, her governess position as another form of servitude.

@appleinducedsleep @thatvermilionflycatcher

#jane eyre #mr rochester #edward x jane #edward rochester

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tiramisiyu · 3 years

Text

【未定事件簿】 Tears of Themis: Main Story 7-35 Translation

Translation Masterlist | Video

Chapter 7 – Rains of Monte Cristo: 7-1 / 7-3 / 7-5 / 7-7 / 7-9 / 7-11 / 7-13 / 7-15 / 7-17 / 7-19 ♦️ ♦️ 7-20 / 7-22 / 7-24 / 7-26 / 7-28 / 7-30 / 7-32 / 7-34 / 7-35

Content Warning: This section contains topics that may be uncomfortable to some readers (mentions of abuse). Please proceed with discretion.

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Court Hallway

After the trial ended, I did not leave immediately. Rather, I waited in the hallway for Hang Jiahe.

Soon, she walked over, guarded by two bailiffs.

MC: Miss Hang.

Hang Jiahe: What are you doing here? Are you going to laugh at me?

Hang Jiahe: Are you happy to have beat me?

MC: You’ve misunderstood. I came to tell you something.

Hang Jiahe: What?

MC: Actually… this examination report…

I took out that last examination report again.

MC: Due to time and technical limits, we currently do not have the identification results.

MC: When I showed it in court, I just wanted to add psychological pressure onto you.

Hang Jiahe: …

Hang Jiahe froze for a few seconds, but she then responded quickly.

Hang Jiahe: You tricked me… you tricked me… hahahahahahaha!

She suddenly burst into sharp laughter.

Hang Jiahe: I didn’t lose… I didn’t lose…

Hang Jiahe: I still got my revenge!

MC: …

MC: Miss Hang, can I ask you something?

Hang Jiahe: What do you want to say?

MC: You said in court that Qi Yu tried to hold Hang Fei back “that night”.

MC: But you still murdered her out of hate for her bystander position, correct?

Hang Jiahe: Yes, I hated her for being a coward, hated her for being too scared to resist Hang Fei, hated her for looking on for so many years without lifting a finger!

Hang Jiahe: She knew during those years what Hang Fei was doing to me, so why didn’t she save me?

MC: …

Hang Jiahe: Then… did you know that Hang Fei had also been abusing Qi Yu during those years?

Hang Jiahe: I did. How could she not have been beaten, with how cowardly she was?

MC: Then do you know why she was beaten?

Hang Jiahe: Why?

MC: …

I took out my phone and opened a video featuring Qi Yu’s abuse. That small woman was lying weakly on the floor, passively enduring the man’s punches and kicks. But she kept mumbling something –

“Don’t hurt Jiahe… and those children… stop it…”

Hang Jiahe: What…

MC: Miss Hang, did Qi Yu never do anything during all those times you were abused?

MC: Are you sure that every time, she chose to be a bystander, rather than being forced into her position?

MC: Did you know that Qi Yu said those words in each of the videos she was beaten in?

Hang Jiahe: I…

Hang Jiahe froze for a second, but then she immediately reacted.

Hang Jiahe: So what, then? What do you want to say?

Hang Jiahe: That I misunderstood her? That I shouldn’t have killed her? Then does all the pain I suffered for so many years even matter?

Hang Jiahe: You want me to absolve her? To forgive her?

MC: You’ve misunderstood. That’s not what I mean.

MC: I am not you. I have not endured your suffering, so I cannot request for you to forgive anyone.

MC: I haven’t seen what happened during those years, so I cannot judge whether Qi Yu was actively or passively making her decisions.

MC: And I definitely can’t carelessly determine whether she sinned or not.

I stopped for a moment and looked at Hang Jiahe’s gloves.

In her mind, she probably was the Count of Monte Cristo, Edmond Dantès – someone who had been wronged and could only get revenge for herself. She believed herself as intelligent and as lucky as Edmond, that she would ultimately be the winner. But…

MC: But even Edmond would figure out the situation before his revenge and repay his benefactors.

MC: I’m telling you this, only because I hope you’ll understand what sorts of people you sent away.

MC: I hope you understand that there have been people who intended to treat you kindly.

Hang Jiahe: …

MC: Also, Miss Hang, I can guess why you were not willing to ask for help from the police.

MC: In that sort of situation, you may have thought that you couldn’t rely on the outside world to go against them.

MC: But even so, me, Captain Morgan, and many, many people still have to do something.

I flipped further into the examination report.

MC: Even if Hang Fei is gone, the things he’s done will not disappear with him.

MC: This is the report we’ve created. Captain Morgan’s already sent it to upper management and applied for international cooperation.

MC: Miss Hang, we will bring you the justice you deserve for the pain you’ve experienced.

MC: As for the last few people, I promise that they will receive the punishment they deserve.

MC: So, for the rest of your life, please don’t live in hate.

MC: You’ve already stayed in the darkness for long enough. Please try to take a step forward.

MC: Doesn’t it say that in your beloved “The Count of Monte Cristo”?

MC: “He who has felt the deepest grief is best able to experience supreme happiness.”

MC: Miss Hang, if possible, please try it.

MC: Perhaps the light you’ve always been searching for isn’t too far away.

Hang Jiahe: …

Hang Jiahe: Ha… ha… hahahahaha!

Hang Jiahe broke into sudden, sharp laughter. It sounded like a heartrending sob was woven in it, as it resounded in the empty hallway, melting into the rain.

Amid the grey deluge of rain, specks of light leaked through. Maybe the downpour would finally end this time.

Not long after, Simon’s homicide case opened trial, and Wang Chunchong was deemed the murderer. Xingrui Estates declared that they would be depriving Xu Yin of her position and removing her from the family. Only Tyson received the weakest blow, as the evidence for instigation of murder was insufficient. However, lots of people online were saying that they hoped he would “succumb to the demon of illness as soon as possible”.

Thus, the homicide case of the couple in Yaofu Community came to an end.

✼ ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈ ✼

NXX Base

After the Hang Jiahe case concluded, the NXX investigation team met up at the base again for discussion.

MC: That’s how the Hang Jiahe case went.

Marius: Thanks for your hard work!

Artem: Thanks for your hard work. You did excellently.

Luke and Vyn nodded at me.

MC: Thanks, everyone.

MC: Enough about me – how’s everyone else’s investigation?

Artem: I’ve already updated Tyson’s case file. I haven’t found any new clues for now.

Marius: I followed what Wang Chunchong said and investigated that guy named Xiao Ren, but…

Marius: I haven’t found anything for now.

Luke: You also found out about Xiao Ren?

Marius: Huh?

Vyn: What a coincidence. I, too, found out about him.

MC: !!!

Luke: Marius, what information do you have on Xiao Ren right now?

Marius: Mainly what Wang Chunchong told me before.

Marius sighed.

Marius: According to Wang Chunchong, Xiao Ren is linked to Heirson’s raw materials purchases.

Marius: Tyson held Xiao Ren to very high regard, and keeps his occupational information on severe confidential status.

Marius: All in all, this person seems pretty mysterious.

Marius: What about you, Luke? What did you find?

Luke: The aunties in the group told me that Zhao Fei kept looking for someone called “Xiao Ren”.

Luke: I suspect that Tyson brought up this person in the recording that he sent him.

Marius: That’s possible. Wang Chunchong also heard Tyson bring up Xiao Ren, so there should be some sort of link between them.

Artem: Luke, that’s not all the information that the assistive team provided you, is it?

Luke: Yep, that’s not all.

Luke: First, the workers in Heirson where the abnormalities appeared were mostly on the production front lines, so what they touch the most are the products.

Vyn: They probably mixed in their developed illegal drugs into the products, resulting in infection.

Luke: That’s right.

Luke: Secondly, about Zhao Fei…

Luke ripped out a page from his notebook and placed it on the table.

Artem: These names are…

Luke: When I was questioning these ten people about Zhao Fei, their reactions were a bit abnormal. I suspect that…

Luke: They’re the ones hiding Zhao Fei.

MC: What about you, then, Dr. Richter? You just said that you also found out about Xiao Ren.

Vyn: I spoke with half of the 20 special respondents and noticed that it was the same doctor in charge of their examinations.

Vyn: And that person is named “Xiao Ren”.

Vyn: So I suspect that this person knows many secrets regarding Heirson’s experimental data.

MC: If so, this Xiao Ren person knows about where raw materials come from and can deal with the experimental data…

MC: If we can find him, we might be able to patch up the missing part in our evidence chain against Heirson.

Marius: So this Xiao Ren is going to be our investigative focal point from now on?

Luke: Leave it to me, then. I’m the best when it comes to finding people.

Artem: Then leave Zhao Fei to me. I just happen to have something I want to confirm with him.

Vyn: I have only met with the special patients. I will continue to meet with the remaining bunch.

Vyn: Marius, what are your plans?

Marius: Me? I plan to go see Hang Jiahe.

Marius: She wanted to find reporters in the past to drop major news about Heirson, and she’s now in jail…

Marius: We should find out what this news is.

MC: Oh yeah, I’d forgotten about that!

Marius: So, jiejie, want to come with me to see Hang Jiahe? After all, only the two of us know her the best.

MC: Uh…

I suddenly had a bad feeling.

Luke: Marius, do you really need someone to accompany you just to go see someone?

Marius: I’m not going to see a typical person, am I? I’m going to see someone who might give us an important clue.

Marius: It makes sense to be a little more cautious and bring someone else.

Luke: Then just bring your assistant. If anything else, then bring some recording equipment.

Luke: Convenient, and it can record in real time.

MC: …

Right after, Artem spoke.

Artem: Zhao Fei’s case was ours to begin with, and now that we have clues…

Artem: MC, let’s finish it off, alright?

MC: Lawyer Wing…

Vyn: I may be overstepping, but…

Vyn stepped in just before Artem could speak again.

Vyn: May I trouble you to go with me next?

Vyn: There’s a special patient that I need your assistance with.

Faced with their “eager” eyes, I was very sure that –

The investigation team seriously needs to recruit a new member!

✼ ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈ ✼ CHAPTER 7 END ✼ ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈ ✼

#Tears of Themis #tears of themis translations #tot translations #lu jinghe #zuo ran #xia yan #mo yi #marius von hagen #artem wing #luke pearce #vyn richter #未定事件簿 #feels bad for hjh :'(

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midnightsconspiracy · 3 years

Text

The Missing Piece Pt.3

The Missing Piece Pt.3 - @midnightsconspiracy

Summary: Now that you and Hank are exclusive, its finally time to tell the rest of the team

Warnings: one swear word

Word Count: 1162

Requested: Yes, this is a second part to a request I split up

‘I loooove how you write Hank, it’s so sweet. Could I get a follow-up to The Missing Piece where he and Reader go on a few dates and decide to make it exclusive, and then they tell the rest of the unit? I can totally see this morphing into a whole series where he really does complete her 🥺’

A/N: I actually love this one!!!! I don’t know if ill continue this further, I’m thinking maybe I will but its not my top priority fic at the moment as there are others I want to work on first

Masterlist

Now that you and Hank were official, things had become much easier for the two of you, allowing you both to become more open about multiple subjects regarding your relationship. They mainly consisted of your future together, but the most important one for you now was about telling the rest of the unit. The both of you had put it off for long enough, just wanting to remain in the bliss that was secrecy. But alas, it was time to finally give that up, the facade already crumbling.

It had started with Trudy finding out, somehow managing to catch the two of you sharing a tender moment in his office. It was your fault really, having let your guard down completely. After a case one night you had waited for everyone else to leave, as you usually did, getting up to enter Hank’s office after the last person had gone home. Closing the door behind you, you walked over to him, climbing into his lap as he sat at his desk. Placing his arms around your waist, he pulled you in tight, embracing your tired figure and kissing your forehead. Pulling your arms back, you moved to look at him, smiling, just grateful to be in his presence after a long day of work. As you were conversing about all sorts of things, someone barged into the office, drawing your attention from each other to the intrusion. In your excitement of getting to spend some time with your boyfriend, you realised you had forgotten to lock the door, and the person that had barged in was the office happened to be the ‘charismatic’ desk sergeant. She quickly left the office, dazed and confused by what she had just seen. Not wanting her to spread the news of your relationship, you followed her downstairs wanting to explain yourself and clarify how you wanted to keep this to yourselves. Luckily she had been understanding and accepting of the relationship, telling you that she was waiting for the wedding.

The next person was Jay, he had already been suspicious that you were seeing someone, which you had already confirmed to him but never specified who. Every day, he questioned you, using his detective skills to try his hardest to find out who this mystery man was. However, you let nothing on, keeping the man in the dark at all times. But as each day passed, he became pushier and pushier, trying to ‘borrow’ your phone or turning up at your house at weird times, hoping to get a glance at your boyfriend. Every time he came back unsuccessful, which ultimately led to him giving up and resort to begging instead. And so after a month of begging, you thought maybe you would grant him mercy and tell him along with the rest of the team.

Alvin remained in the background the whole time, laughing at Jay's attempt to figure out who your man was, noting that for a detective he was doing a rather lousy job at it. He would tease Jay about it, informing him that you had told him because you just trusted your partner that much. That had caused your best friend to blow up at you, questioning why you had told Olinsky over him. You had just laughed him off, telling him it was an accident that you hadn’t meant to do, and that it had just slipped out. Little did he know it was a lie, but he had taken your word, not that it made a difference to his whining and guessing. Al and Trudy watched from the sidelines, always commenting on how good you looked together and how you really were a perfect match. Even for someones as miserable as Trudy could be, she had been rather optimistic about your relationship, having known Hank for a long time, seeing the hardships he had been through. It was the same with Alvin, witnessing how devastated his friend was when he had lost both his wife and only child. But this was a new chapter for him and so they were both ecstatic to see their friend happy once again.

One evening, after you had settled down for the night, the topic of telling the team had come up. You both discussed it extensively, both bringing up the pros and cons of what telling the team would involve. It was a scary situation for you both, not knowing how they would react to your unusual relationship, but overall deciding that it was better to tell them now, that leave it too late. Hank had been a lot more hesitant than you, he knew he would get shit for breaking his own rules of no in-house dating, but you had coaxed him into it, explaining that every member of the team respected and loved them and so they would accept this. Deciding that the best way about it was over drinks, you devised a plan to get everyone together in Molly’s to break the news.

Finally, after eight months of seeing the man you loved, the fateful day of telling your best friends and colleagues came around. After a long day of paperwork, the team decided to head to the well-known bar to grab a couple of drinks, in order to relieve the stress. Hank had told you he would meet you later after you had informed the rest of the team, knowing it would lessen the blow if you, the unit’s sweetheart, would tell them instead of his rigid self. Sitting down in the usual booth, you ordered a round for the table, hoping the generosity would work in your favour. Clearing your throat you decided it was now or never,

“So, as you know I’ve been seeing someone…”

“Are you going to finally tell us who he is? You've kept me, your best friend, in the dark for wayyyy too long” he responded overdramatically, giddy you were finally revealing your secret.

“Yeah, well the person is...um well its...” you stuttered, scared of the possible consequences

“Me,” Hank said, appearing out of nowhere, drawing the whole teams attention towards him as he revealed all.

“It's Voight!” Jay exclaimed, so surprised that his boss of all people was who you were seeing. In response, you nodded, too nervous to rely on your voice to speak

“At least they’re not a lawyer” he shrugged off, happy that the person you were dating was decent and was guaranteed to keep you happy and safe. Joining his team in the booth, Hank sat down, swinging his arm around your shoulders, holding you against him. And as the night rolled on and you watched your colleagues and lover converse with huge smiles on their faces, you were content, knowing that your life had changed for the better and that final puzzle piece that had been missing was now firmly sitting back in its original place. For you had finally found your missing piece. Hank Voight

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#chicago pd #chicago pd imagines #chicago pd x reader #one chicago #hank voight x reader #hank voight #hank voight imagines #jay halstead #jay halstead imagine

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samuel-de-champagne-problems · 4 years

Text

Open Me Carefully

summary: spencer reid and reader are best friends, but don’t realize that they both love each other.

author’s note: crappy summary, but this one is loosely based on gold rush

warnings: none

Open Me Carefully

Maybe it’s the fact that I have a propensity to keep rereading historical romances, or maybe it’s the fact that I just listen to “Lover” way too much for a single person. Or maybe, I’m actually in love with him, my best friend and the only person in this world who I think truly knows me.

I mean, how could I not be completely in love with him. Spencer Reid is the closest thing to perfection. He is kind, brilliant, and unbelievably handsome. It almost hurts me how wonderful he is. But daydreaming about Spencer’s hair falling in his eyes, or his hands grazing across the map spread out on the table, or even his wide smile that slips out when he lets his guard down is not productive to solving crimes.

Unsubs, Y/N. Unsubs. Stop thinking about his hands. And start focusing.

“Y/N/L!” Calls Hotch from across the room. He’s assigned me to locate the birth mother of the potential unsub. He was given up for adoption as an infant, but bounced around from foster home to foster home, never finding a home, and now obsessed with finding his roots.

“Yes, sir, here’s the name from Garcia. Susan Lee gave up her baby for adoption in 1981, she was a just 16 years old, so that would make her-”

“44 years old” Spencer injected.

Hotch gave me a short nod of approval and I cocked my head towards Spencer’s direction, who tried to pull off an innocent look.

“It’s math, Y/N. I can’t help myself,” he explains.

“It’s fine, Spence. Math is like your religion,” I tell him, but what I’m really thinking is it’s you, Spence, and you can get away with anything with me.

“Math, in its purest form, is a beauty known nowhere else” he remarks.

“Who’s that Nietzsche?” I ask him as he beams down at me, twirling a blue permanent mark between his very distracting fingers.

“No, Spencer Reid.” he says as he turns back to the map on the table before us.

Just as I give myself the smallest bit of a second to enjoy the playful banter that falls between us, JJ and Emily come walking in, leading a gruff looking detective with them.

“We think we know where Jacob is hiding out,” JJ starts with a grim look on her face. Emily and the detective walk past her to where Hotch and Derek explain the profile to the SWAT team waiting by.

“His old orphanage, right?” Spencer asks looking up from the map.

“Yeah, and we think he’s going to hold some of the other children hostage,” JJ tells us.

“We need to get there, JJ. But isn't it his mother he wants, not the other children. You’d think that with the profile we came up with, it would make more sense for him to want to save the children, not hold them hostage?” I reason.

“You’re right, Y/N,” Spencer says, coming to a dark realization “he thinks that he’s saving them. He’s Angel of Death” he finishes grimly.

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

Sitting quietly in the jet after the chaos of de-escalating a hostage situation is a calm like no other. We all have routines for the ride home. A quiet ritual that we take the time to be thankful that we’re all here, in one piece, having made the world slightly more safe.

JJ, ever diligent, will work on paper with Hotch. Rossi will usually keep Hotch from overworking with a small, light conversation.

Emily spreads out on the couch, and the rest of us pretend to not see JJ glance over at her as she looks at Emily with eyes that crave her attention.

Derek will listen to music and I’ll close my eyes and strain my ears to make out the muffled tunes that escape his ears. I sit across from Derek and will share snacks that we grabbed from a dingy convenience store on the way to the tarmac.

Spencer, who always sits next to me, will usually write his mother a letter. He writes her a letter on every plane ride after a case. I think back to the time that I asked him why he prefers letters to phone calls. He told me that he finds letters a forever way to say ‘I love you’. Taking your love and turning it into pen and paper makes it tangible, is what he told me. Until that day, I never really pegged Spencer to be a poet, but he continues to amaze me everyday.

I think that he can feel me staring at him, because he suddenly stops writing and his eyes look up to meet mine.

“She’s not doing so well, Y/N” Spencer says, his voice but a whisper above the hum of the jet and music spilling from Morgan’s headset.

“Your mom?” I ask, my voice matching his.

Spencer, for perhaps the first time I’ve known him, is quietly defeated.

“All I ever wanted to do was to save her, Y/N. Sometimes I feel like I’m not doing everything I should be. I thought that by the time I was 30 I would have cured schizophrenia. It’s just that sometimes I feel like maybe I settled”

“Well, you know we really don’t hear about child genius when they are adults. And you have the same job and me, and I’m not where near as smart as you. So you feel like you’re letting the world down or even worse— yourself”

“You might not have the IQ points on a piece of paper, but you are nothing short of brilliant” Spencer says looking at me directly in my eyes. I hold his gaze for maybe a second and look down towards my lap in disbelief.

“Spence,” I say. “You have to say that, otherwise I’d stop making you chocolate donuts.”

“I don’t need your donuts to convince me that you are an amazing agent. I mean,” He pauses and holds my stare again.

“You’re so kind it hurts me sometimes. And watching you those kids today, you’d be a great mom, Y/N. You make everyone feel so comfortable just being around you, and I’d give up all the chocolate donuts and IQ points and bottomless coffee if it meant you’d stay in my life,” Spencer says looking at me. I rest my hand over his and we sit there in the silence and comfort of the other.

Spencer Reid is a man of many hats. But I think his way with words just may be my favorite. I don’t dare to respond to him. I don’t trust myself not to kiss his pink lips as he looks at me like he loves me. I don’t trust myself to not tell him all the wonderful and sinful things I think about him. I don’t trust myself to not tell him how I was watching him play with those orphans back at the police station.

“What’s a best friend for, Spence?” I say to him.

“Besides, ’d want nothing more than to be a mom one day,” I tell him. We never really talked about our futures. Maybe it was the nature of our jobs. Having a lethal job means that the future is more of an arbitrary idea than a definite possibility.

“But,” I start. “I'm twenty-seven years old, I've no money and no prospects. I'm already a burden to my parents and I'm frightened” I quote with a smirk on my face that covers my trepidation at talking about love and children and the future with Spencer.

“I’d never think that you’d be one to settle for a Mr. Collins, Y/N” Spencer tells me, a similar look on his face mirrors my own. “If anything, you’re a Lizzie and you deserve a Mr. Darcy”

“You really think that Spence, because I’m not too sure.”

“You never know, Y/N your Mr. Darcy can be anyone. Statistically speaking, you may have already met him or have mutual friends or he may even work in the Bureau.

Sometimes I think that luck and fate are mocking me. Dangling Spencer in front of me; so real yet so far that I’m jumping to remain close to him. Touching his hand to mine feels like I’m teasing myself, just getting a taste of how his warm, strong hands fit into mine is enough to set my heart on fire.

I let go of his hand and my palm is cold and lonely without his touching. My heart cools but there’s a yearning for him that’s so strong it’s like a magnetic field pulling me in.

“I’m going to get a cup of coffee, would you like some?” He asks me as he scoots out of the seat.

“I’ll take a green tea, coffee this late makes me anxious” And sitting here holding your hand talking about children and my Mr Darcy makes me even more anxious.

“Coming right up,” he says with a sad smile on his face that I try to convince myself is because of his mother’s illness and not because I dropped his hand.

Spencer returns to his spot beside me, sipping his coffee and making small notes in his letter. There’s a chill between us that can’t be quelled by even the hottest cup of tea. Spencer doesn’t talk to me again and even though it’s just a couple more hours, I miss his voice.

I have a routine for when I come home after cases, but that routine has been thrown out the window when I watched Spencer walk out of the bullpen without as much as a wave goodbye. We usually go to my apartment and make dinner together. My trip home is a lot more lonely without Spencer by my side. I try to stop my thoughts from going to him, but it’s impossible when he’s all I can think about.

My apartment is dark and quiet when I walk in. It was left in shambles, with clothes and books strewn all over the couch, desk and floor. I can’t even bother myself to care about the dirty dishes stacked in the sink. I convince myself that those dishes are a tomorrow problem.

I take out a small container of leftover fried rice and vegetables and pop into the microwave. Making my way into my bedroom I change out of my work clothes, that I’ve been in for nearly 30 hours. I don’t really think about what I’m putting on, as long as it does not smell it works with me at this point.

My microwave dings, altering me that my mediocre meal is finished. But, before I can even reach the kitchen a small envelope slips through my door and falls on the floor. A sudden rush of fear courses through me. I flit my eyes to the corner safe where my gun rests. In my mind, I try to calculate the risk of punching the code or if I should just find out who is behind my door. I guess curiosity wins out, because I’m walking towards the door where the mysterious envelope sits.

I reach down and instantly recognize the handwriting as Spencer’s. I can feel my heart pumping blood through my bodying as I think that some sadistic unsub is trying to toy with me by hurting Spencer.

I was not prepared for what I read. My fingers grazed over the messy penmanship. I don’t even let my mind wander as I pour over the words on the page, still fearing for the worse

Dear Y/N,

Part of me can’t believe that I’m actually doing this. But something that you mentioned on the plane sparked something in me. You’re not a Charlotte, or a Lizzie or even a Jane, even though you are the kindest and most beautiful person I know.

You are a Y/N. And I am wishing for anything to be your Mr. Darcy. Thinking about you, Y/N gets me thinking about love. How much I love when you look at me across from the table, or how your soft hands will brush against mine. It reminds me that I’m alive. Your gaze makes me blush and those small brushes make me forget to breathe. In your eyes I can see my future— our future. In your smile I can taste happiness. When I am with you the world moves in slow motion and time seems to move too fast.

I hope that this does not ruin things, Y/N. I could not bear to lose you. I hope that you won’t hate me but even if you do, I’d rather you hate me and be in your life than not be in your life.

I think of love, and you, and my heart grows full and warm, and my breath stands still

Forever yours,

Spencer

I read the letter silently. Not sure if I can believe it, but I so desperately want to. I throw all sense to the wind when I fling the door open, my eyes hunting for Spencer. He sits on the steps leading up to the next level, fiddling with his shoe laces. I run over to where he sits, not caring that my neighbors might be looking or caring that I look like I’m about to mug him.

He makes me, cautious girl, a rebel.

“Hey, you,” I say approaching him. Spencer moves to stand up and I reach out to hold his hands in mine. Like a puzzle piece they hit perfectly. His hands are not too warm or clammy or too cold and boney. They’re perfect. He hesitates and rubs his thumb against the back of my palm, like he does on the plane.

“Hi, Y/N.” He starts nervously. “I guess you got the letter, and I just want to tell you-”

“What letter, Spence?” I say. I can’t help but to tease him. His face turns pale and green in the same breath.

“Uh-um, you didn’t just get something in your mail a couple minutes ago?” He asks me so nervously that I almost feel bad at teasing him. Almost, he’s kind of cute when he’s stumbling over his words and I like to be one that makes him this fluttery.

“I got your letter, Spencer,” I tell him. I think he half expects me to drop his hand and shatter his heart then and there. Maybe he came here and prepared himself for the worse. I think he’s done that his whole life, believing that he doesn’t deserve a chance at happiness. I’m kind of inclined to give him that happiness when it’s so intricately tied to mine.

“You did?”

“Yeah, who knew that you were quite the poet, Spencer.” I tell him as I brush his hair from his eyes. It’s gotten so long, but I like it. I’ve dreamt about threading my fingers threw it many times. It’s so soft and brown and frames his face.

“You deserve a poet, Y/N. And I could only dream of being that person for you.” He says. Against even his own wishes he leans in closer to my touch. His cheek is warm in my palm and I feel his long eyelashes flutter against the ball of my thumb.

“Luckily for you, Spence, I like scientists.” I say to him.

“You--”

“I love you back, Spencer.” I move to wipe the tears that flood down the bridge of his nose.

“It was a really beautiful letter that you wrote, Spencer. All the right things in there, Emily Dickinson and Mr. Darcy,” I tell him pressing my cheek into his chest.

“Well, I had to win you over, Y/N”

“Ha!, Spencer you’ve had me since I’ve met you”

He looks at me with a veil of disbelief.

“Spencer Reid, in his purest form, is a beauty known nowhere else”

“Is that what you think of me?” He asks me.

“Why don’t you come inside and let me show you what I think of you Spencer?” I say leading him inside to my apartment, that was no longer so dark and lonely.

#spencer reid x reader fluff #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid #dr spencer reid #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x female reader #spencer reid deserved a happy ending #criminal minds fics #criminal minds fanfic

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delimeful · 4 years

Text

or set your teeth against my throat (2)

warnings: illness, mild emeto, bad decisions, miscommunication, short panic attack/flashback

---

As the night turned to dawn and then day, Roman didn’t stop running.

He couldn’t stop, even as his pace grew more and more sluggish, his path erratic. Every time he thought about pausing, finding a good campsite and finally letting himself take a breath, it was as though phantom sensations grasped at his skin or tore at his throat.

He kept moving.

It was stupid, probably, being driven forward by fear like a mindless animal. … It was definitely stupid. Still, after ages spent trapped in one form, the full moon’s pull on the wolf in him was irresistible.

For the first time in ages, he worried about the possibility of coming astray of a human settlement once the moon was overhead. Normally, Virgil was the one who dedicated himself to making sure their pack’s turning ground was far from any stab-happy humans, always double and even triple-checking.

In his current state, Roman could barely discern a single natural scent around him, let alone any human scents he should avoid. He kept feeling eyes on him, silent watchers, but the distinction between reality and his own terrified delusions was growing thinner.

When the sun finally sank below the horizon, Roman allowed himself to collapse on a soft patch of earth under a shielding copse of saplings. He had some hope, however shallow, that by wearing himself out, his wolf would spend the night curled up somewhere, settled into a sleep heavy enough to erase the pounding headache settled deep in his skull.

He’d been a fool to let himself hope.

His memories while fully-turned were foggy as usual, but the emotions were clear: he’d spent his entire night on the move. His wolf had been howling long, agonized calls into the dark around him, desperately searching for the other members of his small pack. Desperately waiting for a response that would never come.

To top it all off, when he woke up human-shaped in the early hours of dawn, his headache had only grown worse.

His only turn of fortune was that his wolf hadn’t traveled back the way he’d come, driven away by some immutable sense of danger. He could at least be grateful he wouldn’t have to make up for any lost progress, even if his body was weak and trembling from being pushed past the brink of exhaustion.

The further he got from those bloodsuckers, the better.

His vision blurred slightly with each step. It was seeming more and more likely that he was growing feverish, though it was hard to tell with nobody else around to ask. He kept pressing a hand to his forehead and neck, trying to gauge his temperature, but his hands were warm, too.

He’d complained about his packmates’ terrible circulation and icy fingers before, but there was very little he wouldn’t do for them now… Just the phantom memory of Virgil’s cool hand on his head, voice sharp but touch unbearably gentle, was enough to make tears prick his eyes.

He took a deep breath, forcing himself up on shaky legs. There was no way he could give up now, feverish or not. What would his packmates advise?

“For survival, shelter and water are most important,” he mumbled to himself, wincing at the poor imitation. He cleared some of the raspiness from his throat, imagining Logan’s face when he really got into sharing his newest bit of knowledge. “Running water is preferable to still water, which can carry illnesses, and for larger rivers there is also the potential to find freshwater food sources, like salmon, catfish, bass, um… pike, trout… cod?” He frowned, losing the careful enunciation. “Wait, is salmon freshwater?”

Logan could have listed more off, Roman was sure, but the effort helped cheer him nonetheless. He spent the next few hours winding his way through the forest, attempting every so often to sniff the air for damp soil with little success.

His ears still worked fine, however, and so when he caught the first distant trickle of rushing water, he wasted no time in following the sound. It was no river, but the stream was plenty to help quench the dryness in the back of his throat.

“Go upstream,” he could imagine Virgil demanding, “make yourself harder to track. Wolves aren’t the only ones out there with good noses.”

“The water is so cold, though,” he complained to himself even as he began sloshing through it. “I have squishy human flesh, I’m going to freeze to death.”

Here was where Logan would point out his exaggeration, and Virgil would snap something snarky to distract him from the chill.

The burbling of the water was a poor substitute.

Once his feet grew truly chilled, he waded back out, mimicking Virgil’s voice to caution himself against the more slippery-looking rocks. He probably looked a little silly, holding both parts of a conversation, but it wasn’t as though anyone was around to see.

“Cut me some slack,” he muttered to nobody, allowing the comfort of his wolf form to slide back into place as the day turned to a chilly evening and he lay to rest. “I’m maybe-possibly-feverish, I deserve good things.”

He slept fitfully, and when he woke, there was a gray coat draped over him, and a small pile of walnuts and blackberries sat at his side, the nuts already shelled and the berries freshly washed.

The incredibly suspicious nature of their appearance only stopped Roman from eating them for about five minutes, and four of those five minutes were dedicated to imagining all the reasons Virgil would list to not eat them.

“Sorry, Virge,” he said through a mouthful of fruity deliciousness.

There didn’t seem to be anyone around, and no matter how he buried his face in the coat lining, his nose was too stuffed to pick up anything. It was an extraordinarily soft coat, though, and he felt awfully cold. It was hard for even him to imagine what harm could be done with a coat.

“I’m accepting this Possibly Evil Coat, but only for a little while, so don’t get any ideas!”

The woods were quiet in response to his declaration, and he sniffed daintily before climbing to his feet, internally bemoaning the way the world swayed slightly as he moved.

Couldn’t he just sleep here a bit longer…?

He imagined the unimpressed looks his packmates would give him. Imaginary Virgil in particular wouldn’t stand for sitting around when there was every possibility he was still being hunted.

“For all you know, that vamp was just a sick mind trick, and they’ve been toying with you this whole time!” Virgil would say, jumping to the worst-possible scenario that Roman always stalwartly tried to ignore. He shuddered, glancing around himself.

“You are not helping my mood, mister,” he muttered to Imaginary Virgil as he tromped through the underbrush with much less elegant grace than usual.

The little mystery offerings from the morning had helped stave off his plummeting energy levels, but they weren’t enough. It was only midday when the lightheadedness and the chills shuddering through him became too much, and he found himself collapsed on the ground between one blink and the next.

He was contemplating the benefits of simply remaining facedown on the dirt for a while when a cool hand wrapped around his wrist, carefully tugging him onto his back.

Roman blinked at the face above him, the blurry features slowly resolving themselves into the shape of the vampire who had freed him only nights before. The fear that shot through him didn’t make him any more lucid, and Roman bared his teeth in a snarl that was probably much less fearsome on a human face.

“Told you so,” Imaginary Virgil said, instead of doing anything helpful like tearing a vampire’s throat out. Roman missed Real Virgil.

The vampire was talking, a low, constant noise meant to soothe as he shifted an arm around Roman’s shoulders, lifting him to his feet. The blood rushed to his head, vision going black-- the next thing he knew, he was inside a small cabin, swaddled in blankets, the hearth crackling merrily feet away.

… What had he been worrying about? He couldn’t remember.

A chill shuddered through him. He was still so cold, even as sweat drenched the cloth around him, and he complained relentlessly.

His packmates tolerated his sickbed whining as graciously they always did, though for some reason they were more hesitant than normal to hold him close when he called for them. They seemed to be taking his care in shifts, as there was only ever one person in view, and sometimes he woke up completely alone.

(Strange, since they normally all piled up together when one of them got sick. They probably just needed to prioritize hunting or checking their territory boundaries or something. Roman wasn’t that sick.)

When they were there, Roman rambled and bickered with them nonstop, through shudders and chattering teeth, telling old stories and adding new twists to distract from the sickness ravaging him, only pausing when they pressed coriander seeds or wormwood to his lips.

(That was a little strange. Logan knew mint worked better for Roman’s nausea. Maybe they were out?)

Time passed in a haze, marked only by the frequent offers of fresh water and stale rations. Eventually, he was able to even measure out his healing progress by how often he could keep the aforementioned nutrients down.

(One of them was busy hunting, but somehow there was never any fresh kill.)

He knew his fever had finally, properly broken when he reached out for the one who had been taking care of him all this time, and registered that their skin was icy-cold.

Roman jerked back and then instantly regretted it as every nerve in his body protested severely.

“Ah, careful!” warned the vampire, who was at least smart enough to stay out of immediate biting range. His hands fluttered around as though he was attempting to bat away the dark spots that were currently dotting Roman’s vision.

Unbidden, a rough growl tore from him. He had a heartbeat to feel vindicated at the vamp’s flinch before his breath caught in his throat, kicking off an uncontrollable coughing fit.

Each wheeze brought less and less air, and when he caught the vampire shuffling closer, it suddenly felt like he had no air at all. He hunched over his knees, shifting his hands to cover his neck pathetically, as though the motion could protect him.

“Back off,” he snapped, cursing himself when the words came out as barely more than a choked whisper. How many times had he said some variation on the phrase in the past few weeks? He should have learned by now that it never worked.

When he glanced up, though, he found the vampire had practically teleported all the way across the room. The sight of the vamp peering at Roman worriedly from the furthest corner was odd enough to yank his mind out of the half-formed flashback.

He took a deep breath, trying to remember the grounding exercises Virgil always ran through. His wrists were light, his knees didn’t ache; he wasn’t chained down. There was soft fabric around him, and warmth in the air; it was a far cry from cold cement platforms in lifeless forts.

There was a vampire here, but his eyes weren’t red, and he didn’t wear a cruel smile like a second skin. Roman might still be a prisoner, but he wasn’t there anymore.

Instead, his current location was… a curiously cozy cabin?

Roman blinked. It was a single room, a bit sparse in decor but containing a small coal stove, stocked pantry, and a cheerily roaring fireplace. He was sitting on the solitary bed, a nest of blankets creased around him.

He turned his blank gaze back to the vampire. For a moment, the only noise in the room was the low crackle-pop of burning wood.

“Are you okay?” the vampire finally asked, brow creased with what looked like genuine concern. “You’ve been really burning up, and fevers like that can take a lot out of you. At least,” a pause, “as fire as I know.”

Any and all snappy responses (both literal and metaphorical) flew instantly from Roman’s mind. He groaned and slumped over dramatically, ignoring the way his vision swam slightly at the movement. “Augh, that was terrible!”

The vampire grinned, his smile somehow dorky even with the visible fangs. “You don’t have to tell me twice: I’m a fast burner!”

“Are you sure?” Roman asked. “Because this is the worst thing you’ve done to me yet, and I’m including the mind games, apparent abduction, and imprisonment.”

“Flameous last words,” the vamp said, and then the rest of Roman’s statement seemed to catch up with him. He drooped like a wilting flower. “You’re not imprisoned here! And I’m not trying to... mess with you, or anything.”

Roman gave him an unimpressed look. “Just so we’re on the same page, that’s a yes on you abducting me, correct?”

“I mean, yeah, just a little bit,” the vampire admitted, “but I meant it in a helpful way! I wasn’t going to bother you at first, I promise, but then you got sick, and I could tell how feverish you were just looking at you, and--,”

“Wait,” said Roman, his brain slowly churning through the implications of that sentence, “you were just going to follow me without me knowing, the entire way--,” home, he didn’t say, because the mere thought of accidentally leading a coven of vicious vampires to his vulnerable packmates made his stomach turn, and then he was leaning over and being violently ill in the bucket beside his bed.

A cold weight settled against the back of his neck, soothing against his overheated skin for the few seconds it took him to realize what-- or rather, who it was. He jerked away with a halfhearted snarl, probably looking rightly pathetic.

“I’m sorry,” the vampire said mournfully, stopping him short. “I wasn’t trying to upset you, I just-- I knew it was my fault. If I’d gotten the key sooner, or been braver, you wouldn’t have been out in the cold for so long, you might not have caught sick at all. It wouldn’t be right for me to abandon you.”

“Abandon me?” Roman spluttered. What did this guy think he was, some lost pup? “I can take care of myself just fine alone, thank you very much! I have absolutely no need for suspicious sanguinous stalkers on my tail.”

For emphasis, he shoved the blankets off of himself, swung his legs over the edge of the bed, and stood up in preparation to leave.

One blink later, he was facedown on the floor, his body numb yet his nose stinging from the impact. “Ow.”

The vampire offered him a hand up. “Autumn is my favorite season, but that certainly didn’t seem like a very nice fall.”

“Must you kick a man while he’s down?” Roman bemoaned, ignoring the proffered hand in favor of pushing himself up.

His traitorous legs wobbled under him, and he ended up collapsing back into a seated position on the bed, right where he’d started. He felt a wave of familiar despair wash over him. The sickness had sapped every ounce of strength from him; whatever villainous plans lay ahead, he had no chance of foiling them.

… Maybe he could still foil some of them.

Roman met the vampire’s gaze as solidly as he could. “No matter how adeptly you try to play the kindly stranger role, I’m not going to fall for it.” I’m not going to lead you to my family. “You may as well cut your losses and do whatever it is you’re planning to do to me.”

He waved a dismissive hand for emphasis, as if it didn’t matter to him. As if the mere idea of getting so close to freedom and then dying (alone, far from his pack, without them ever even knowing what happened to him) wasn’t enough to make him feel like there were roots tangling in his lungs and weeds clogging his throat.

The vampire nodded slowly, a troubled look on his face. “In that case…”

He moved closer, and Roman focused very intently on not flinching, no matter how badly he wanted to, or how hard his body was already shaking. The vampire reached out--

“My name is Patton,” he said, very carefully offering his hand at the midpoint between them, “and what I want is for you to stay right here in this house until you’re healed, and then you can go wherever you want to go, and I’ll make an oath not to follow.”

“What?” Roman blurted, staring at Patton’s hand with blatant confusion. “You-- I-- What?”

“I really don’t want to hurt you, kiddo.” Roman stiffened, because that was a classic villain line setup if he’d ever heard one, but-- “So, once you’re healed, whatever you need me to do to prove it, I’ll do it.”

Roman’s increasing headache had nothing to do with his fever and everything to do with the oxymoron that was a philanthropist bloodsucker.

What was the right option? He couldn’t get away, but he couldn’t trust that this bizarre hospitality would last, either. Perhaps the best course of action here was inaction-- lulling the vampire into a false sense of security by pretending to be sick even as he grew healthy enough to escape?

Roman could act. He was good at it, and the bar for his illness had been set quite convincingly with his earlier faceplant. He let his muscles go lax, slumping over slightly to give off the impression of conceding without actually ever agreeing to Patton’s proposed plan.

“If you’re so intent on me trusting you, you can start by telling me where I am,” he sniffed, graciously not mentioning the abduction thing again.

Patton brightened, letting his offered hand drop without comment. “This is an aidhouse! It’s part of a system recently set up in this division of the kingdom for common good and to prevent spread of disease.”

That explained the insulated, if somewhat bare, interior. Roman raised a curious eyebrow. “And they’ll let just anyone use it?”

“That’s the principle behind it, yep! Normally, with non-plague cases, an apothecary apprentice would stop by to check in and offer guidance, but I told them I had it apothecovered!”

The puns were apparently a permanent fixture in the guy’s repertoire. Logan would be in agony. Roman ignored the pang in his chest at the thought, leaning further back against the pillow mound. “Yes, you wouldn’t want some poor apprentice to stick around long enough to find out there’s a lone vampire in their midst, would you?”

Dial it back, he could imagine Virgil hissing, as though the emo had any room to talk about unnecessary vitriol.

“Well, no,” Patton admitted, his smile turning a little strained. “But I turned them away because I already have all the experience I need! I worked as a full-time doctor before-- um, before...”

The smile turned full-on tremulous, and Roman was seized by a strange panic at the sight of it. He sprawled over the bed haughtily, the way he always did when demanding attention from his workaholic packmates.

“If you’re such a skilled doctor, then I’m sure you won’t have any problems running me through your treatments so far?” Roman challenged, inspecting his nails. It wasn’t a pointless query, either; some common human treatments were toxic to werewolves.

“Oh!” Patton said, voice still a little choked up. “Of course, let me see…”

The brink-of-tears quality to his words faded as he began to recount everything Roman had missed in his feverish haze. Patton’s exposition was nothing like Logan’s, cheerful rambling and jokes thrown in where Logan preferred efficient lists and muttered tangents.

Roman found himself drifting off to the sound regardless.

It seemed that pretending to trust Patton wouldn’t be as hard as he’d thought.

#sanders sides #ts roman #ts patton #werewolf au #vampire au #my writing #osytamt #or set your teeth against my throat #writing #fantasy au #hurt/comfort #bthb

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