#cw sutures | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

willsdreamgirl · 8 months

Text

“morning mr. shelby.” — tommy shelby x reader ⋆｡˚

tommy shelby x fem!reader

you meet tommy as a nurse during the war, but happens when he realizes that he’s known you all along? (loosely based around some s1 plot points, but all set before the war)

18+ minors dni please! angst, fluff and smut

cw: mentions of war, shooting, stabbing, suturing, ptsd, friends to lovers, eventual smut, p in v sex, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it!!), slight breeding kink

word count: 5.4k+ (sorry lmao)

a/n: ahh first fic alert!! i’m so excited for you guys to read this! don’t be a ghost reader and lmk if you want to be added to my tag list for future tommy/cillian stuff!! 💌

you met tommy shelby during the war. he was a soldier, you were a wartime nurse. before the war, you had obviously heard of him. tommy shelby, leader of the fucking peaky blinders. arrogant bastards.

you lived in small heath, and everyday you’d pass him on the street. and everyday, you’d smile and say, “morning, mr. shelby.” and everyday, he would barely look up at you. you were sure he wasn’t even aware of your existence. prick.

your parents had always told you to stay away from the shelby boys. your dad would say that “they’re dangerous and make whores out of innocent girls” and your mum would make some comment about “the shelby men and their stupid cocks and their stupid judgements”.

they were the most intimidating people in all of small heath, possibly in all of birmingham. truth be told, there was a certain charm to them that you couldn’t shake off. well, to one of them. tommy shelby. you couldn’t tell if it was because he was your age, or because he was powerful and strong, or simply because he was strictly off limits. or because of his piercing blue eyes.

everyone in small heath knew tommy. but you knew tommy. he didn’t know you, though. you could tell if was him by the way he exhaled or by the sound of his footsteps or by the way he held a cigarette in his hand, the peaked cap on his head, a hand in his coat pocket. you despised tommy shelby, but god, was he fucking irresistible.

when men were drafted for the war in france, it was common sense that they’d need someone to tend to their cuts and bruises. you’d decided to volunteer, and after a couple weeks of training, you were right there, in the field. practicing on dolls and bags of rice and flour was nothing compared to what you saw. what you heard.

your first day in france was… eventful, to say the least. some commander had led you to the medical tent, and you were welcomed by the screams of hurt soldiers, blood and panic. you were immediately assigned to a patient, who’d been shot in the chest. you tried your best, did everything you could have, but ultimately, he had just lost too much blood. you didn’t sleep that night, haunted by the bloodshed, by the pleas of the soldier to keep him alive, by the feeling of someone else’s blood on your hands. over time, however, you grew accustomed to having your pristine white uniform soiled with blood and mud.

a month or so after you’d started, you heard shouts outside the tent. “help! someone HELP, for FUCK’s SAKE!” this was a regular occurrence, but the voice the shouts came from didn’t sound wounded. you felt an instinctual need to go see what it was.

what you saw, though, was something you never expected to see. tommy shelby, with a comrade’s head in his lap, putting pressure on a wound in his shoulder. without hesitating, you helped tommy drag the soldier to a vacant bed in the tent. “what happened?” you asked, hurriedly. tommy was visibly panicked. “i- he- um, he got st-stabbed by… one of the germans… his name’s danny- daniel.” you looked in tommy’s eyes, trying to give him some semblance of comfort. “he’ll be okay.” you applied pressure on the wound, and luckily, the blood stopped flowing soon. you cleaned the wound up and looked to tommy. “i’m gonna have to disinfect the wound with alcohol, you might want to hold daniel down for this.” daniel was still delirious from the blood loss, but the pain would be excruciating. tommy braced himself. his hands firmly holding down daniel’s. you nodded before tipping the bottle over on the wound. danny thrashed around on the bed, screaming and cursing, struggling against tommy’s hold. you heard his voice over danny’s. “you’re alright, lad! y’er gonna be fine!”

tommy sat by his friend’s bedside as he came to. you tended to other patients in the meantime but eventually went over to talk to him. “i want to keep him here for the night, mr. shelby. make sure there’s no infection.” he looked at you, surprised you knew him. “you know who i am?” “of course i do, all of small heath knows you. what i didn’t expect was to have a run-in with you, here in france.” he scoffed at his own misery and spoke. “you don’t belong here. you should be home.” you rolled your eyes, even in his state, he managed to be cocky. “if i wasn’t here today, mr. shelby, who would save danny?” that seemed to shut him up. he was about to speak, before you heard your name from the other side of the tent. “y/n, we need you!” after having helped a soldier who looked like he had been mauled, you looked out to see it was nightfall, and tommy had left.

a couple days later, at about noon, john shelby, the youngest of the shelby brothers walked in, clutching his arm tightly. “do you need help, mr. shelby?” you called out. “yes, i-i’ve been shot.” he all but whispered. you rushed over with a tray of distilled alcohol, forceps and bandages. after an afternoon of agony and pain, you had finally managed to pull out the bullet form his arm, john’s face a clear representation of his relief. “oh my god love, if we were home, i’d marry you right now.” you laughed at the proposition. “mr. shelby, i think you’re still a bit delirious from the anaesthesia. besides, i’m your brother’s age.” he looked shocked. “what, you’re arthur’s age? really?? you look nothing like that old prick.” you couldn’t help but laugh yet again. “i’m not that old, jesus. i’m tommy’s age.” he sighed. “marry him then. lord knows he needs a girl.” you giggled as you gathered your things and walked away. “you amuse me far too much, mr. shelby.”

it felt like ages had passed before you saw tommy again. your back was towards the tent entrance but you knew who had walked in. his breath trembled and his footsteps felt a bit unsteady, but it was undoubtedly him. you waited to turn until he called out your name. “y/n, is it?” you turned around, to find his face and shirt covered in blood. “mr. shelby! what happened?” you rushed over to him, taking his hand and sitting his down on a bed. “i- i… killed a man today, y/n.” he looked down, he couldn’t bring himself to look at you. you didn’t respond, simply got up and grabbed a stitching kit and a bowl of warm water. “is all this blood yours?” was your first question. “no. most of it is his.” you sighed and searched his face to find a cut on his cheekbone, the source of his own bleeding. “i’m wiping away the blood now, okay?” tommy gulped and nodded, his eyes still trained on the ground. “mr. shelby, i want you to look at me.” it was as if he didn’t hear you. you spoke again, softer yet more authoritative this time. “tommy. look at me.” he finally brought himself to look into your eyes. in his eyes, you saw guilt, regret and fear. in yours, he saw compassion, love and a warmth that could engulf all his pain. “good.” you whispered. you wrung out a washcloth and began wiping the blood away from his face, using your other hand to hold his chin in place. his arms found themselves wrapped around your waist, in an attempt to ground himself. you didn’t say anything, but your eyes told him that you didn’t mind. in that moment, you saw a different version of tommy shelby. you didn’t see ‘tommy, the criminal’, ‘tommy, the gangster’ or ‘tommy, the womanizer’. you saw tommy, a good man, an honest man. you felt his arms tighten around your waist as you pulled your hands away from his face, as if he was afraid you would dissipate into thin air. “tommy.” you whispered. “i’m gonna have to stich that wound up. it might hurt.” but he didn’t mind pain, not if you were the one inflicting it. “okay.” he spoke, his voice deep. he rubbed circles into your skin with his thumbs, the pain making him hum. “sorry, almost done.” you finished the last stitch. “there. you’re all fixed.” tommy held you like that, his hands around your waist, icy blue eyes staring into yours. your arms rested on his shoulders and you leaned down to whisper to him. “tommy. people are staring.” “so? let them.” eventually, he reluctantly pulled away from you. “it’s time for dinner, and then lights out.” he smiled as he spoke, and slowly exited the tent, catching a glimpse of you as he left.

needless to say, you only grew closer over the next few weeks. you were inseparable. whenever tommy had free time, he’d make his way to the familiar tent, and talk to you. it was wartime. you were left hurt and traumatized and so was he, but you both found solace in each other’s company. you told him how you knew him, and how you’d wish him good morning every day, only to receive complete silence from him each time. he chuckled and apologized. he told you about the peaky blinders, what they did, how they ran their business. you bonded over your shared hunger for knowledge and stories. you told him everything you knew about art, history and literature; and he told you stories of fighting gangs in the streets and stealing contraband. his stories were always more thrilling than yours. you’d try to set each other up with people for fun. you’d introduce him to every nurse, telling them how he was fighting for his country, and of course, they fell prey to his charming eyes and dashing smile. they’d ask what he did back home, and as soon as you said the words ‘gangster’, they’d run in the opposite direction. he’d done the same for you. introduced you to other soldiers, and when you spoke to them, about art and literature, they’d call you ‘unladylike’ or ‘too ambitious for a man’. you both secretly liked it this way, it was like you were his and he was yours.

when he became sergeant major, you both celebrated together. he’d brought you a bottle of whiskey, and you spent the night, talking and giggling drunkenly. but soon, he was assigned to be a sapper and dig tunnels. you both knew that the germans were going to dig their own tunnels, and at some unfortunate point, the tunnels would converge. both of you realized the danger it held, but he had to do it. you tried to talk him out of it, though. “tommy, please!” “y/n, calm down.” “goddamn it tommy, think! you’re gonna get yourself killed! what the fuck are you doing?” “i’ll be alright.” “no, you won’t! what if you get hurt? what if they shoot at you, huh? i won’t be there underground to make sure you’re okay!” “y/n, i have to serve my country. i have to do this.” “tommy. i’m begging you, don’t do this.” he simply sighed and kissed your forehead and held your face in his hands. you held tightly onto his wrists as tears threatened to spill from your eyes. “shhh, i’ll be alright. in fact, i’ll write you.” you seemed to calm down at the idea of him writing you. at least you’d be updated on his condition.

the morning he went down to the tunnels, he came to see you. you were sorting gauze and bandages when you felt his presence near you. you turned around and ran to hug him. he buried his face in your neck and breathed you in. you could feel tears brimming your eyes. neither of you knew why you felt like this. you were just friends, right? “tommy michael shelby, i swear to god if you die, i’ll kill you myself.” you heard him chuckle. he took a step back and caressed your cheek. “you take care, darling.” you wished he wouldn’t leave, but in your heart, you knew he had to. a few hours after, you found a letter tucked under a book on your desk. you curiously pulled it out and opened it.

dearest y/n,

i know how much you hate that i’m going to be a sapper now. i want you to know, no matter what happens down there, i care for you, and i love you, unconditionally. i’ve loved you since the day i first met you. i can’t believe i was looking for love in whores and prostitutes when the love of my fucking life was saying the sweetest good morning to me every morning. i’ll protect myself, and i want you to protect yourself too since i can’t do that for the time being. if we survive this wretched war, i want to take you home, ask your father for your hand and marry you, sweetheart. you take care of yourself, alright?

all my love,

tommy shelby.

you couldn’t help but gasp at what you read. he loved you. tommy shelby loved you. the same tommy shelby that was too arrogant to say a word to you, the same tommy shelby that your parents told you to stay away from, the same tommy shelby was head over heels for you. you immediately looked for a piece of paper, a pen and some ink. you wrote a letter back and sent it with one of the workers heading down to the tunnels. you didn’t know what it was like down there, but you hoped your letters would keep him sane. meanwhile, tommy received your letter and opened it with the same enthusiasm you showed his letter. however, he was also filled with nervous energy. he had confessed his love for you, which was so incredibly out of character for him, but with shaky hands, he proceeded to open the letter.

dearest tommy,

to say that your letter was shocking would be an understatement. i never knew you felt this way for me. like i’ve told you on several occasions, my parents always told me to stay away from ‘your kind’ and as a good catholic girl, i obeyed them. but tommy, in these few months, i’ve seen a side of you i can’t ever forget. i love you too tommy, the real you. the honest, raw, genuine tommy that i get to see on late nights and in random moments on busy days. i’d love to marry you, just make it out alive of that damn tunnel, you prick.

only yours,

y/n.

tommy felt his eyes welling up as he read the words you had penned on the paper. it had been so long since he’d seen you, or heard your voice. he wanted you. he needed you. to keep him stable and sane. as the days passed, your and tommy’s letter exchange became more and more frequent, and you felt like even if you were in this goddamned lawless land of blood and chaos, you had tommy. and he was all you needed.

that was, until the letters slowed down. you kept writing him, but to no avail. he hadn’t sent you a letter in days, or weeks, you weren’t sure anymore. you’d almost lost hope, and spent entire nights grieving him. trying to remember the sound of his voice, the feeling of his hands on your waist, the smell of his cologne. you hadn’t heard his breath or felt his footsteps in a long time. the pain was almost unbearable, and some days felt like decades. but the only thought that kept you going was that you saw tommy in all the wounded soldiers you treated. they were someone’s tommy. and they needed to get home alive.

4 months. 4 whole months since you heard from tommy. you were convinced he was dead now. you spent your days bandaging and stitching wounds, yet you could never fix the wound tommy left in your heart. it was one of the hottest afternoons, the french sun blazing unmercifully. you were insanely busy with patients today, the war was almost ending, and the soldiers needed to be fixed up before they could go home. yet, no sign of tommy. you sighed, cursing yourself for holding out hope now for someone who would not return.

“can i have a nurse here?” you could recognize that damn voice anywhere. the deep voice that filled your ears, smooth like honey, you’d recognize that voice at the end of the world. you turned around. tommy. “hi, love.” he smiled. but his smile quickly changed into a frown when he saw your sobs. you took him to a quieter corner of the tent. you stepped closer to him. he went to put his arms around you. you slapped him across the face. “where. the FUCK were you, thomas michael shelby?!” he was incredibly confused. “l- love, what?” “i thought YOU DIED, YOU BASTARD. where were you?” the time you spent apart had changed you, and from his response, you could tell it clearly changed him. “i was TRYING to fucking STAY ALIVE for YOU.” he raised his voice at you. he never raised his voice. neither of you spoke for a while and tension filled the air between the two of you. “i should leave.” he spoke, his voice barely above a whisper. he left, and you let him.

after a few weeks, news broke that britain had won the war, and everyone went home. five years had passed since you last saw the familiar streets of small heath, and you were no longer a girl, but a woman. a woman who needed to get a job to survive in this city. you walked around and saw a flyer on the doors of the garrison. ‘BARMAID NEEDED.’ you walked in to find harry. he looked up pleasantly surprised. “y/n! haven’t seen you in a while, eh? what can i do you for?” “i’m here to get the barmaid job, harry.” he sighed.” y/n, this job isn’t suitable for a girl like you. these men, they’ve just come back from war, they haven’t seen a girl, let alone a pretty one like yourself, in ages. they’ll have you up against a wall within the first hour of your shift.” you looked at him desperately. “harry, please. i need this job, otherwise i’ll be out on the streets, which are surely worse than this pub. i was a nurse in france, i’ve dealt with these men. please?” he sighed again before nodding. “alright then, you start tomorrow.”

your first shift consisted of the usual alcoholics, men with ptsd, everything that was to be expected after a war. you hear the bells at the door ring as the familiar footsteps walk closer to the bar. without turning around, you ask, “what do you want?” he replies, “whiskey, scotc- y/n?” you finally turn around at the sound of your name falling from his lips. “yes, mr. shelby. so, scotch? on the house right?” he leans over so that just the two of you can hear. “don’t mr. shelby me. come on, love, talk to me.” “i have nothing to talk to you about.” as you poured him a glass of whiskey, he held your wrist assertively. “y/n. come.” you rolled your eyes and went to the shelby’s private booth. “what is it that you want, tommy?” “what the fuck do you mean ‘what do i want’? you, i want YOU. i need you. did ya lose your fucking mind in france like danny whiz-bang?” you felt your bottom lip trembling and your throat choking up. “i… i thought y- you were fucking dead. i mourned you. for MONTHS. i grieved over the death of the love of my life. of my future husband. of my future children that i’d have with him. and then, just as i’m making my peace with it, YOU have the fucking audacity to show up? you have some bloody nerve, tommy shelby.” the look in his eyes softened as he took a step closer to you. “no. don’t you dare come any closer to me, tommy, i’ll kill you.” you said, holding up the bottle of whiskey as a weapon. he embraced you, holding you tightly, his fingers stroking your hair. you resisted the hug and tried to push him away, only to find his grip on you getting tighter. “g- get away… from me, p- please… i- just” your voice came out muffled between sobs. tommy felt hot tears rolling down his own cheeks. “shhh, sweetheart. i’m okay, eh? i’m fine. i’m here, with you.” you dropped the bottle you were holding and it shattered into a million pieces on the ground. you stood there in his arms, crying for what felt like an eternity. you finally pulled away from him, and he wiped your tears with his thumbs. you laughed, but then lightly slapped his arm. “you scare me like that again, tommy, i swear i’ll kill ya.” “i’ll hold you to it, sweetheart.” he kissed your forehead, and you rested your forehead against his. he tentatively closed the gap between your lips and his, and you pulled him by the collar and kissed him with enough force to make him trip and fall. he managed to stay steady and kissed you back with equal fervour. he spoke between kisses. “i *kiss* spent *kiss* every *kiss* second *kiss* thinking *kiss* of you.” you giggled. “i missed you too, tommy.”

he told harry that you’d be leaving the bar early that day, and dragged you out the bar while holding your hand, a smile on his face for the first time in a long time. “the great thomas shelby isn’t embarrassed to have a barmaid as his girlfriend?” you giggled. “never. and those who think i should be embarrassed can suck me cock.” he spoke proudly. he opened the car door for you, and you sat inside and waited for him to turn the ignition on. “where are we going, tommy?” “i want you to meet my family, love.” during the countless hours you spent together chatting, he told you about his family’s idiosyncrasies and stories about them. how arthur needed to be protected the most during fights because he was just as likely to hurt himself as he was to hurt someone else, how aunty pol’s instincts about love were never wrong, how john once fell in love with a prostitute and everyone laughed at him, how ada was the most rebellious and married a communist (who happened to be in of his best mates), and how finn always pretended to act like tommy, doing whatever his big brother did. you were excited to meet them of course, but anxious. they would be your family one day too.

he held your hand as he brought you in, everyone sitting around a table waiting for him. “does everyone just sit together like this?” you asked. “uh, no i called a family meeting for 3 pm.” tommy replied simply. “how did you know you’d be able to have me here by 3?” he winked at you. “i have my ways. and i know how much you love me.” he spoke in a singsong voice. you rolled your eyes at his schoolboy behaviour and waited for him to speak. “shelby’s, this is my girlfriend and soon to be fiancé, y/n.” he held his arm around your waist proudly, and you leaned up to kiss his cheek. you recognized arthur and john immediately from your time in the war. you assumed that the older woman was aunt polly, and the younger with the baby in her arms would be ada, leaving the youngest member of the family, finn. john came up to talk to you first, while tommy spoke with polly. “you know i didn’t really mean the ‘marry tommy’ thing?” you laughed as you replied, “i didn’t either, but fate works in weird ways, eh?” he agreed with you before talking to tommy. arthur was the next one to see you. “you and tommy, eh? if it wasn’t for the war, you two would probably never have met. i s’pose war isn’t all bad then.” “perhaps you’re right. i did find your brother to be arrogant before the war.” “that he is, y/n. that he is.” both of you looked over at him, engaged in conversation with everyone else. you fussed over the baby in ada’s arms. “awww, he’s precious! what’s his name?” “karl, after karl marx.” you shot her a look. “it’s unconventional, i know. but freddie really wanted it.” “it’s lovely.” finn rushed over to you and kissed your hand. you gushed exaggeratedly. “what a gentleman you are, finn!” “if tommy wasn’t here, you’d be my girlfriend, miss y/n.” you laughed at his childishness and ruffled his hair. “sure i would, finn.” the only person you hadn’t spoken to yet was aunt polly, arguably the most intimidating person of the family. “i have one question for you, y/n. how you answer it will determine if you’re fit for being a shelby. how do you think i kept this business up and running during the war?” you felt put on the spot but tried your best to answer. “um, well, to be quite frank, i’ve believed that women are better at business anyway. we know how to settle deals with whiskey and not fists or guns. and you seem like twice the man than most men i know anyway.” her lips twitched up into a smile as she looked to tommy. “oh, i like her already.” he held your hand in hers, and addressed tommy. “she seems like a lovely girl, do not fuck this up tommy.” tommy shook his head and laughed. “i’ll try, pol. i’ll try.”

you ate dinner with the shelby’s before you headed up to his house. “you sure you don’t want me to walk you home?” he asked for the hundredth time that night. “no tommy, i’m perfectly content spending the night with you. unless you’d like me to leave?” you questioned. “no no, stay, please!” he said, almost pleadingly. you looked around his bedroom when you reached his home. it was obviously a house, but it didn’t feel like a home. you frowned at your observation. “what’s wrong, y/n?” “this house isn’t a home yet, tommy.” “that’s because i want my first home to be with you. with our children. and as far as i’m concerned, you are my home.”

“care to dance?” he asked, holding out his hand. you looked at the gramophone in the corner. “that doesn’t look like it works, love.” you placed your hand in his. “so what? we can dance without music.” he said, holding your waist close to him, your hand on his shoulder. you leaned your head on his shoulder, both of you dancing in the silence, listening to the sound of each other’s breathing. “kiss me, tommy.” you whispered. he obeyed probably for the first time in his life and kissed your soft lips.

things escalated and you were now on tommy’s bed, tracing the sun tattoo on his chest, with him on top of you. “fuck me, tommy, please.” “your cunt wants this cock?” he growled. you moaned in his ear. “fuck, yes tommy, make me yours.” he stretched you out in the most blissful way. of course, you had used your fingers before, but nothing could replace the feeling of his cock. “god, please!” you moaned out, words slowly turning into incoherent sounds. tommy chuckled. “god can’t hear you now, sweetheart. not here.” he pistoned his hips into you just right and it wasn’t long before he found the spot inside you that made you scream. “t- tommy fuck! right there, please don’t stop!” “i wouldn’t dream of stopping, darling. my girl, so pretty all spread out for me. take it, love. take that cock.” the feeling of your impending orgasm coursed through your entire body, making you writhe in pleasure. “god, i’m so close tommy!” “good fucking girl.” his hand reached down to rub circles on your clit while he fucked you so good. “oh god, tommy, i’m not gonna be able to walk tomorrow…” “that’s the plan, sweetheart.” he spoke as he kissed hickeys on your neck, matching the ones you’d given him earlier. “come on love, make a mess on my cock.” as soon as he said that, you felt yourself falling apart, the tight band in your stomach snapping, uncontrollable moans of his name falling from your lips. “thank you tommy, thank you so much.” you moaned, drunk on the feeling of his cock inside you. “such an angel. who do you belong to, sweets?” he said, still pounding your cunt. “y- you, tommy. i belong to you!” “that’s right, sweetheart.” he whispered in your ear, “i love you, darling.” you moaned as you felt your second orgasm approaching. “tommy, fuck! i- i love you too!” “god i’m gonna cum inside you! you’d like that, eh? me getting you pregnant, all nice and round with my baby?” you felt your orgasm pulsing through you at his words. “yes, tommy! fill my womb up, please! i need it!” you heard tommy’s loud moans as he came inside you. “oh, such a good girl. took my cock so well, love.” tommy stayed on top of you for a while, his cock still inside you. “i��ve wanted to do that for five fucking years.” he spoke, voice muffled since his head was buried between your tits. you laughed, but the laughs quickly turned to moans as your sensitive cunt felt friction from tommy’s cock rubbing up against its walls. he pulled out of you slowly, watching his seed spill out of you. he eventually got up to get a warm washcloth and a glass of water for you. you drank the water as he cleaned you and himself up and pulled you into his chest. you pulled the covers over both of you, feeling your body flush against his. “that was amazing tommy, thank you.” “the pleasure is all mine, sweetheart.” he kissed your forehead.

ever since tommy came back from france, he had these recurring nightmares every night. of his time in the tunnels. the germans. his comrades. how he had to kill people with his bare hands. he could still hear the shovels digging the tunnels when he closed his eyes. when he was with you though, he could finally fall asleep. or so he thought.

you were awoken in the middle of the night by the sounds of a gasping tommy, suddenly sitting up. you felt groggy for a moment, having just woken up, but quickly sprung into action. you sat next to him, rubbing his back. “tommy, what’s wrong?” he didn’t speak. but he didn’t need to. you’d seen enough cases of ptsd from your time in the war to know what was happening to him. “you still see it, eh?” he only nodded. you laid back down and pulled him into your chest. he protested. “what are y-” “shut up.” you could tell, he was still a bit frantic, his breath still heavy. you spoke to him in a soft tone and you played with his fingers, his head on your chest. “listen to me. listen to the sound of my voice. feel my body against yours. you are home. you are safe. the war is over. the nightmares are just parts of your mind trying to scare you. but you’re stronger than that, eh? i’m here with you, and you don’t need to be scared. alright? i’m here with you, always.” he hummed, heavy eyelids slowly closing shut. being able to smell the scent of your perfume helped ground him. “good job, tommy. now sleep. i’ll be here with you when you wake up.” you managed to get him to go to sleep, but somehow convinced your mind to let you sleep light enough that if tommy were to have another nightmare, you’d be up immediately. fortunately, he didn’t wake up during the night.

he woke up to the sight of a sleeping you, the sun rays hitting you just right. he swore he could look at you forever. you felt his gaze on you and slowly opened your eyes. “how’d you sleep?” you asked. “like i hadn’t slept in years.” he replied.

“morning, mr. shelby.” you wished him, as you did, every day before the war. except this time, you were in his arms, in his bed. you kissed his lips softly. except this time, he finally wished you back.

“mornin’, sweetheart.”

3K notes · View notes

hatchetno1 · 3 months

Text

frustration and anger.

creepypasta/mh x reader in which they get frustrated or angry, or, in BEN's case, are frustrating themselves. word count: 2.1k cw: abuse, descriptions of anger, arguments/quarrelling.

EJ doesn’t often get angry.

in fact, it’s hard to even frustrate him. Even when faced with particularly difficult patients to suture up—ahem, Jeff— he shows no sign of being fazed.

well, perhaps that’s because he’s used to living with Jeff and his reckless, barbaric antics.

but when he does get frustrated, it’s like a gradual intensification.

you like to split his frustration into three phases.

phase 1: EJ starts to seem a little off. Quieter than usual, less responsive, and more distant. Almost as if he’s in his own world, deceptively peaceful.

phase 2: EJ starts to show actual signs of being frustrated. You notice that it is at this point he may start to snap lightly at others, but with you, he tries his best to keep it to a minimum.

phase 3 is the climax before the drop. On occasion, he may raise his voice slightly and openly express irritation. But he always drops, hard and fast.

“I am so sorry, Y/N, I am so sorry,” he whispers, rubbing circles gently on your back. Though he has to bend over quite a bit (he’s a gentle giant at a height of 6’6 or about 2 meters), you find it to be very soothing that his frame envelops the entirety of yours.

oh, but that doesn’t mean he’s incapable of getting angry.

no, the anger you heard in his voice was undeniable as he roared at another member of the household to stay the fuck away from you.

you’d startled at the sheer sound of it, and quickly those trembles descended into violent shaking as you cried—his roar was simply not…human.

you flinched as he picked you up, just as gently as was the anger intense in that dreaded noise he made, a stark contrast in behavior, a jarring change in your body, mind and soul.

but other than that, you knew your darling EJ was back.

he plopped you onto his bed, surrounded by his sweet yet musky scent, nuzzling your neck and your face.

“I’m sorry”s were whispered countless times in your ear that night as you dozed off in the safety of his arms.

jeff

gotta put a trigger warning on this one. you know what to expect, but just in case you don’t, TW: Jeff is literally a murderer with abusive tendencies and anger issues.

at the start of your relationship, Jeff had been…well, to say the least, not the best partner.

he often got mad at you, whether it be keeping him waiting or spilling a cup of water.

yeah. spilling a cup of water.

but you understood why he was the way he was. he just couldn’t help it. but that didn’t mean you were going to stick around for it, no matter how much you loved him.

one day after a particularly huge argument, you found him crying in his room. his sniffles were unmistakable, but you knew you’d have to pretend you hadn’t heard from ten feet away.

turns out, angsty little Jeff here wasn’t completely unaware of himself.

“I’m sorry, Y/N, I’m so sorry,” he had sobbed as quietly as he could. “I know I’m a bad boyfriend, I know, I keep lashing out at you and I’m so sorry.”

your relationship could have very well ended that day if you hadn’t found Jeff crying on the floor.

but even though he’d hurt you so many times, you took him back into your arms.

and so you taught him to manage his anger, though it took you immense effort, energy and bravery.

he’d always help, though, by reminding you it was okay to yell back at him. you chided him lightly for it, saying that it’d just cause a back and forth.

“oh, right. my bad. sorry, doll,” he had said with a sheepish grin.

today, you are proud to boast that you trained your bloodhound boyfriend to be a tame dog. hell, he even does whatever you tell him to now, albeit sometimes reluctantly.

but he understands that if he loves you, he must make sacrifices upon sacrifices. you did that for him.

now it is his turn to sacrifice himself for you.

masky - tim

it’s not really uncommon that Tim gets angry.

but his anger is almost always the quiet kind.

he will “hmph” and huff lightly, a mild kind of anger you both can still joke about, though his face will redden at it.

you can’t help it though, the sass he gives you when he’s lightly frustrated is too good to let slip past.

oh, but when his anger gets loud—

it’s no longer a harmless little nip.

it’s been directed everywhere. everywhere, his teammates, the table, the card game he’s losing a bit too embarrassingly to Toby who’s being an unbearable little ass about it.

but never you.

okay, it was one time.

but Tim decided it was one time too many. (as he should)

he’d raised his voice at you, more so out of frustration rather than anger.

and you flinched.

and oh, how that little flinch broke his heart.

he shut up immediately, gathering you into his arms, whispering “oh, I’m so sorry, darling”, and “you’re okay, you’re okay”.

he never did it again. ever.

now, when you both get angry at each other, it always devolves into stupid little giggles and kicking.

hoodie - brian

Brian doesn’t really get angry, nor does he get frustrated.

normally, at least.

something shines in his eyes when he is defied, a shadow of a grin, a curl of the lip—

you spend a couple days investigating this, defying him little by little.

“Y/N, could you pass me the water?” “No.” and you’d say it with a cheeky smile on your face to match this strange expression on his.

it evolved into much greater things, “Y/N, come over here for a bit.” “Nope!”

“Y/N, help me up.” “Nope!”

your gleeful defiance doesn’t have a complete zero effect, either. with each silly little “nope”, the glint in his eyes grows brighter. and you know that the cup you’ve slowly been filling the past few days is about to overflow.

it’s one fateful day that you happily defy him once again, and—

oh. something’s grabbing at your jaw, and your lover’s face is so close to yours.

he smiles so gently at you, so purely. but his grip on your jaw says otherwise.

firm like iron, reprimanding, but not harmful or venomous. you know he isn’t going to hurt you, but oh, he isn’t letting you go either.

“Y/N,” he says calmly. “You’ve been a little more uncooperative than usual.”

the shiver it sends down your spine isn’t one of fear. excitement, rather.

he lets you go, but guides you to the bed. “Sit,” he commands.

so you do. what else are you to do when your lover commands you so well?

“Good girl.”

so you never say no to him again, not when it comes to harmless favors.

Brian does not get angry or frustrated…at least, not like the normal person does.

toby

Toby becomes a very bitter cynic when upset, spitting sarcasm wherever he goes.

his BPD only makes it worse. his relationship with Tim is already strained as it is, with the latter trying his best (as much as a man with anger issues can), and his relationship with Brian being almost entirely carried by the older man.

and his relationship with you, oh his sweet vogel, his darling dove— he doesn’t know what to think of it. some days he lets loose around you, tickling you and blowing raspberries against your cheeks, and others he’s withdrawn, curled up into a ball in his bed, and so you dive in with him, nuzzling him against his sheets long overdue for a change.

but if it’s neither of those, he’s lashing out. sometimes you can’t even look at him when he walks into the room bringing dark clouds over the atmosphere. that’s when you know you can’t look up at him.

and when you make the mistake of looking up, your smile meets a scowl.

“what are you looking at.” he’ll spit, and then storm off, as if he can’t stand your eyes on him.

and it’s true, your eyes gaze at him with such gentleness, he can’t bring himself to stare back sometimes. especially when he’s in a bad mood, because he breaks inside as he sees his own eyes burn the love in your eyes, reducing them to ashes of fear.

“vogel,” he’d whisper at night, lying next to you in your bed. “i’m sorry.”

he apologizes so much and so often you no longer make a big deal out of it, but this time, his soft whisper is laced with such heavy guilt, your arms move before your mind thinks, pulling him into a soft embrace.

oh, but this bad mood is nothing compared to his jealousy.

Jeff gets close to you? Jeff is suddenly on the ground, blood leaking from his head and EJ hurriedly dragging the former away, admonishing him about not messing with Toby’s precious human.

Tim comforts you about Toby’s outbursts? suddenly he’s against the wall, Toby growling and spitting in his face. if he can’t be there for you, then no one else gets to be there for you either. though, he knows this is selfish.

if he could help it, he’d let you go to whomever you wanted for comfort. but oh, his heart aches so.

and his jealousy is nothing compared to how angry he gets at himself, bashing the walls of the manor, crying out at night, because he can’t be there for you like a normal boyfriend.

he doesn’t know this, but you’re in a corner too, muffled sobs, tears, nose dripping and all.

so at night, you crawl back into bed before he notices you, and lie awake till he comes back.

as his breathing settles and his snoring begins, you hug him just a little bit tighter, your sweet vogel with broken wings.

ben

you have to admit, BEN is really, really freaky.

in the way he plays his games, the way he treats his archnemesis Jeff, in bed—oops.

but particularly, in the way he seems to have an endless tolerance for things that would usually upset someone.

he just. fucking giggles.

“aww, my sweet Y/N is so cute when she’s mad~”

context: he pissed you off and you’re currently in the middle of admonishing him with your whole heart and soul.

conversely, you’re the one who gets mad right back at him.

within the hour, he presents you with a tiktok with two cats that says: me when i’m venting and all my bf does is make jokes

he cackles to the ends of the earth and proceeds to make even more jokes

frankly, when the topic of frustration comes up with BEN’s name in the same sentence, you pretty much just think of him being the frustrating asshole in the relationship.

“BEN, give me my fucking phone back.”

he’s dangling it over your head, using the fact that he’s a floating apparition that can somehow interact with physical objects to his advantage.

once, you got so frustrated at him that you cried.

thankfully, he had the decency to pause, panic, and reflect on his actions.

“oh.” five seconds passed and your crying didn’t get better (what did he expect?). he repeated himself. “oh.”

“actually say something, you idiot!” you sobbed. and this is what snapped BEN into action. (you can’t believe you actually had to tell him to comfort you.)

“oh.” then he realized he’d just been saying “oh” like a broken record. “um.”

so he wraps you up in a blanket like a burrito, and holds you close to his chest.

“i’m sorry.”

“promise not to do it again?” you look up at him with your best puppy eyes.

“…i can’t promise.” you can tell he’s holding back a cheeky grin.

you whine and hit him lightly.

but you know very well that he loves you; this frustration merely comes with him as a package.

1K notes · View notes

poeticallyspiteful · 9 months

Note

Hi there.

Maybe a newt x f reader where reader its a healer ( doctor) . reader was a friend of theseus and they were working on a case from the Ministry of magic. Thank you so much ❤️

kiss it better

newt scamander x reader

fluff (making out)

cw: unedited, blood, a lil bit of ~suggestiveness~/(okay a lot a bit of suggestiveness i write like a romance novelist sometimes lol sorry not sorry), making out, newt is ripped and hot as hell

summary: newt gets injured and theseus knows the perfect person to kiss it better.

notes: thank you so much for the request love!!! i wasn’t sure exactly what you were looking for with this one so i just used my imagination so i do hope you like it. feel free to request something more if you don’t though :))

16+ please!!

“theseus, this is ridiculous, let go of me.”

it was a small cut, just a little one. a small mishap with alone of his creatures, that was all. such a tiny little ailment.

“it is bleeding profusely and goes all the way across your stomach, newt!” theseus exclaimed, pulling his brothers coat sleeve like a child dragging their parents through a candy store. “she’s very nice, you know that.”

oh, newt knew you were nice— that was the problem. you were so nice, so pretty, so incredibly everything that newt could hardly bare it. years and years of friendship with you and he could hardly even contain his joy at the sound of your laugh, at the mere sight of you. it made it hard to breathe, hard to think, hard to exist when all he could focus on was you.

“you’re working a case, theseus,” newt sighed, allowing his brother to pull him up the stairs to your apartment. “she’s probably reviewing files or something, it would be rude to interrupt her work.”

but the scamander brothers were already outside your door, and theseus was already knocking. before newt could brace himself for the wave of love sickness that would inevitably hit him the second he saw you, the door swung open and there you were; nice, pretty, perfect.

“hi newt, theseus,” you greeted, chest heaving (you may have ran across the apartment the second you’d heard their voices coming down the hall) “what can i— oh merlin’s beard.”

newt looked down, unsurprised to see the blood had seeped through his white shirt. he gave you a lopsided smile and you rolled your eyes, a pitiful attempt to avoid eye contact with the boyish man before you.

“come inside.”

theseus all but shoved newt inside, already straightening out his suit and brushing the left over floo powder off of his shirt. he looked up to you and his brother, unphased by the confused look on your faces.

“well, i best be off.”

you gawked at him. “your— your not going to stay?” you asked. he shook his head. “theseus! your brother is injured and you’re leaving?”

“we have a case!”

“it’s really okay,” newt said, bashfully, suddenly reminding you of the reason they were there.

scoffing, you turned back to newt, waving your friend off. “workaholic,” you murdered as you began searching for your emergency bandage kit.

and with that, theseus shut the door— but not before sending his brother a mischievous wink. newt felt a shiver down his spine.

sneaky bastard.

you finally found the small red box, pulling it open and rifling through it for a disinfectant and some gaws, as well as a mini suture kit.

glancing up at newt through your eyelashes, you hummed expectantly. “shirt off,” you ordered, some foreign sort of confidence surging through you.

newt swore all the brain cells left his mind. “pardon?” he chocked, suddenly not too concerned with his injuries.

“i can’t exactly fix you through the shirt. now c’mon, we don’t have all day,” you explained.

quickly, newt obeyed, shedding his baggy coat and undoing the bloodied buttons. very quickly, he felt exposed, but the bashful look on your face made him feel more smug than anything.

you had never seen newt shirtless before now, but my lord, did you wish the sight to be engraved in your mind till the day you died. you could see the viens that traveled up his tanned arms, and as shocked to see his biceps had been rather toned under that jacket all this time. his freckles spanned all down his chest and arms as well, dancing around the thin scars across him.

for a man so cute and clever, he was sure an enthralling sight to see.

clearing your throat, you finally looked down at the wound intently, relieved to see it didn’t look like too hard of a fix. with some shallow sutures and cleaning, he’d be better in no time.

“not too bad,” you murmured without thinking, entire body going cold at the implication. shit. the clever smile on newts face grew. “i— i meant the cut isn’t too bad, doesn’t look, y’know, infected.”

“good,” newt agreed, leaning back on his arms. his abdomen tensed at the movement and he hissed at the pain. “ouch.”

before you could look at him too closely, or think too much apparently, you knealt down infront of him. however, as he opened his legs to allow you space between them, you realized the predicament you’d put yourself in.

holy fucking shit.

you looked up hesitantly, feeling your heart race at the way newt looked down at you; nervous and kind, like he was just as surprised by your position as you were.

“this might sting a little,” you announced, trying to redirect his (and yours) attention back to the real reason you were on your knees.

carefully, you wiped the cotton pad across the cut, cleaning up the blood around the wound. newt hissed again, hands gripping the blanket laid across your couch. you had to will yourself to keep your eyes on the wound.

“almost done,” you reassured, finally looking up to see newts eyes screwed shut in pain. quickly, you dabbed at the far end of the wound, bringing your hands down quickly. “all done.”

newt sighed in relief, swallowing roughly. he glanced down to his stomach, feeling his head buzz as you looked back up at him. “whatcha thinking, doc?” he teased.

you could’ve died at the irony. you could not tell him what you were thinking right now.

“well, it’ll only need a few stitches at the edges there on the left, but it should be fine otherwise. just some bandages and you’ll be good,” you answered.

“no magic?” he asked.

“sadly, my regulations to do these sorts of healing charms only spans as far as britain,” you replied. “i’m working on getting the papers here in the states, but for now, just my handy work.”

newt smiled, another grin which made you weak in the knees. “your handy work is quite good.”

you ignored the heat in your face from the praise as you began you sutures. you felt newt shiver under your hands as they fluttered across his stomach, tracing the stitches and looking for any imperfections. finally satisfied with the stitching, you taped some bandages across them, and stood up once you were done. three easy steps, and nothing went wrong—

as you took a step back, you stumbled over the edge of your rug, fumbling backwards as you tried to regain your balance. before you realized what had happened, you felt newts hands on the back of your thighs, pulling you forward.

and forward was onto his lap.

you had spoken too soon.

you caught yourself with a tight grip on his bare shoulders, the skin soft and hot under your hands. your face was barely an inch from his, and your eyes met his in a brief moment of panic.

“s-sorry, i just didn’t want you to hit your head on the coffee table,” newt whispered, eyes darting form your eyes to your lips and back again nervously. he seemed very regretful of his action at first, but he didn’t budge to move you off of him, hands gripping the flesh around your hips.

“t-thank you,” you stammered, gathering all your strength not to squirm in his arms, your heart beating faster than your blood could pump.

newts eyes found yours again, thumbs making small circles in your hip bone. “have i ever told you that you’re very pretty?” the low rasp of his voice could’ve made you faint on any ordinary day, but given that you were practically straddling him, nothing could’ve made you more lightheaded. “especially up so close.”

“newt,” you whispered.

“what, love?”

“please kiss me.”

newt closed the gap without a second thought, kissing you gently. his lips were soft, but needy, pulling away and coming back for more over and over and over again. his hands traveled from your hips all the way up to your head, resting on your jaw. you moved your hands up his neck, playing with the curls on the nape.

you whined as he pulled away entirely, pulling him impossibly closer to yourself. “why’d you stop?”

“isn’t there a rule about strenuous activities post surgery?” he teased, laughing as he pressed another kiss to your lips briefly; he had waited too long to do this and he didn’t wanna stop now. “making out seems pretty strenuous to me.”

“i’ll kiss it better.”

#newt scamander x reader #newt scamander #fanfic #fantastic beasts #fantastic beasts and where to find them #fbawtft #newt scamander x y/n #newt scamander x you #newt scamander fluff #fluff #newt scamander imagine

1K notes · View notes

nina-ya · 6 months

Text

Patching up Laws Wounds

Zoro Law Sanji Shanks Ace Luffy Sabo Doflamingo

Pairing: Law x GN!Reader CW: Needles, suturing, mentions of cuts, poor medical knowledge on readers part. WC: 973

A fierce battle has left everyone in the current state they’re in: battered, cut and bruised. Your Captain, Law, has taken the time to help patch up the rest of the crew, but has refused to look at his own injuries deeper than just wrapping them up. Every attempt to aid him was met with stern orders to leave him alone, choosing to deal with his injuries on his own despite his state of exhaustion from the battle and overuse of his devil fruit. However, you are not one to back down. When Law had told you to shoo, you planted your feet firmly and simply said, “No.”

He raised an eyebrow at you, clearly taken aback. “No? Did you really just say no?”

You nod at him. “Yep. I will not just leave you like this, Captain. You’re far too exhausted to treat yourself so no, I will not leave you. Let me help.”

His expression is a mix of disbelief and amusement. “You know this is insubordination, right? Refusing to obey my orders?”

You reply without hesitation, “Throw me in the brig, make me scrub the ship top to bottom, punish me for insubordination however you please, but let me help you.”

He stares at you, face almost blank, before deeply sighing and agreeing. “Fine whatever. I guess you’re the person I would rather trust with this.”

With a nod, he leads you to the med bay of the ship and takes a seat on one of the patient beds. He unwraps the bandages on his body to reveal that it’s littered with cuts and bruises, leaving you gasping in surprise. “What? You wanted to help,” he remarks with a hint of sarcasm.

You couldn’t hide your astonishment “I didn’t expect you to have so many wounds on you!”

He rolls his eyes at your reaction. “I did do the majority of the work; it should be expected.”

“Shut up…” you grumble as you inspect his injuries. You examine the wounds for a moment before muttering “hmm… it looks bad… you might have sepsis, yeah the wounds look like they’re herniating and you might also have some melanoma.”

He looks at you utterly bewildered at the sentence you just uttered. “Huh? Do you even know what you just said?”

“I’ve been nose-deep inside your medical books, picking up a thing or two,” You reply with confidence.

“But sepsis? Herniating? Melanoma? Those are all serious conditions. Do you even know what those words mean?”

You shook your head “Nope, but since I’m now your temporary doctor you’ll have to settle with my medical knowledge for now.”

He lets out a groan. “Well, let me help you out, temporary doctor I do not have sepsis, nothing on my body is herniating and I sure as hell don’t have melanoma. I have internal bleeding and a bunch of lacerations on my body that need to be stitched up.”

“Oh…”

“Yeah oh, now go get the suture kits, you know where they are right?” He asks.

You nod and grab a few suture kits. You lay them on the table next to you and open one up.

“The one on my abdomen is the deepest, so stitch that one up first.” Law instructs.

You pull out the needle and suture and grab some forceps. You take a look at the wound and start suturing. Your first few passes of the needle are rushed and unsteady. You hear law wincing above you when he finally snaps. “I asked you to sew me up, not maim me!” He sees your reaction and takes a few deep breaths calming down. “Sorry… Here, let me show you. He takes the needle and forceps out of your hand and starts suturing up his own cut with precision and accuracy. He hands them back to you. “See? Like that. Try again.”

You go to start suturing again, but your hands are a bit shaky from the nerves. He notices this and sighs. He places one hand over your own to stop you and uses the other to grab your chin and tilt it up to meet his gaze. “Calm down. It’s only a suture,” he reassures you, his voice surprisingly gentle. “Just take a deep breath and try again slowly and calmly.”

The action of him grabbing your chin like that surprises you, but his words and the comforting gaze in his eyes is enough to calm you down. You nod at him and take a deep breath before starting your sutures again. You are slow and meticulous, hoping to not hurt the Surgeon of Death that is sitting right in front of you. You focus intensely, your eyebrows furrowing and your tongue slightly poking out of your mouth as you do so.

Adorable… Law thinks to himself. His gaze grows soft as he continues to watch your handiwork. He encourages you along the way, muttering small praises.

Once you’re done you look at him with anticipation. “Done, is it okay?’

He runs his finger over the stitches and a smirk forms on his face. “Not bad… though you can do better.”

You frown slightly at his critique

“Luckily for you though,” Law continues, “I have plenty more wounds that need stitching. So come on, get stitching.”

You begin stitching up his other cuts as well. The moment is intimate in a way. You two fall into a comfortable silence and he just watches you with utter affection as you mend him. By this point he is very much able to patch up his own wounds, but he needs an excuse to get close to you, to feel your touch. The Captain may not admit it out loud, but he has fallen for you and cherishes every moment he has with you, even if a little pain has to come with it.

#trafalgar law #one piece #trafalgar law x reader #law x reader #one piece fluff #one piece x reader

469 notes · View notes

astralnymphh · 7 months

Text

⁶⁶⁶♡ perverted ♡⁶⁶⁶

𖤐 ellie needs a little extra care.. 🦢

⤹𓍢ִ໋listening to; elita harkov- perverted

cw/tags; nsfw, perverted!ellie, subtop!ellie, nipple play, grinding, vibrator(giving), overstimulation(giving), fingering (receiving), squirting, 'mama' petname

an; wanted ellie to call me mama ina dom way but also wanted to make her squirt, so, tada!!! way simpler writing this is just a drabble ellie's masterlist

♡

it was ritualistic. the way her hands feel voidly empty when she's not cupping your hips or molding to the convex of your waist constantly. it was sick. lacking the aftertaste of your juices, dying breathless to lap your folds again. it was twisted. visions of you naked, moaning, on the edge, plaguing her mind.

so when her eyes settled on your silhouette, attired in nothing but a shapeless tee, underwear, and socks, plunging your hands in the sinks foamy water, she can graphically visualize those exact pieces of clothing on the floor.

ellie's body behind you, pushing your otherwise stagnant rump into her needy groin, grunting 'fucks' and 'shits' in the raised skin on your neck. her flys' already unbuttoned and poking the cloaked valley of your cheeks repititively. the drenched sensation of her slit is titillating enough, smudging her panties with each chafe that only suffices minimal friction. her poor clits' not getting enough. bending her knees purely to rut her throbbing crotch into your ass.

''need' mama in bed..'' she purrs, indulging a latch to your neck, pink tongue suckling a bruise.

you play her game, but with little reaction. sutured lips and no words in reply to her plea, hands remnant on the dirty dishes.

her voice grunts again, ''m' so fuckin' horny.." as her fingers trail from your hips and grasp your loose tits above the fabric, gently squeezing.

"hmm, baby?"

''i need you...'' she whines further and deviates from your neck, looming over to get a glimpse of your face, "been thinkin' bout you all day." you feel her hand slither down between your bodies, biting her lips and putting pressure on her angry pulsing clit.

you had an entirely different vision in your mind.

this lead you to where you lie now, nude beside her, prying her leg open, the kickback of a vibrator rattling your knuckles and rolling the tip around her sensitive little red bud as she twitches and writhes in pleasure.

her own toughened hands flick her hard nipples, eyes engaging to the back of her head as she revels in the stimulation that's just too fucking good. her puffy eyes fall to ogle your tits, mesmerized in a trance. creamy nectar streamlining into a puddle beneath her. she's your needy little mess.

''c'mon mama~ go faster, nghhhhh.. fuck..'' ellie bellows out, drooling from her agape lips.

you up the speed on the toy, rubbing slow linear motions over and under the hood of her clit, all the right spots that have her nearly squirting all over your hand. pearly white serum gathers at the base of the toy, dripping off the edge.

"ooohhhf.. ffuck, oh god-" a groan hitches in her larynx, casting those dozy eyes over to watch the toys bulbous end coated in sticky slick part her folds and judder the skin. specks of her juices splatter the inside of her thighs, beautifully casting a wet halo around her swollen cunt.

"feel good els?"

"yeah, u're so fuckin' good- mama makes me feel s'good.."

after slapping and digging the vibrator into her clit a bit more, she's clenching her muscles up and splashing squirt everywhere. she's got her lips hung open, curling her head back til' the pillow hits her nose, whole body trembling. yet, she doesn't want you to stop. striving for another orgasm.

''keep tha- shhhshh-shit on, don't fuckin' stop..'' her stern voice mixes with quaking chords, choked up in the joy ride.

you don't. you listen. those husky groans of desperation boil over you. she's always so forward even in this position. you fucking love it. it only catches you by surprise when her calloused fingers drift over your belly and dive into your pussy, taking no time to prod your g spot with such fluidity.

"what'cha doin'- mmh- there, ellie?" you coo between throaty whimpers, lighting brushing her chin with your vacant digits.

"don't wanna leave ya- gh! ..neglected." bobbing hiccups jolt her body slightly, loving the way your pussy swallows her in like it knows her.

it's scary how she even barely handles the overstimulation, purely just turned on by the fact you're both fucking eachother, so.. so well.

and it satisfies her, so.. so much, beady green eyes watching you closely, rasping, ''mhm.. that's more like it."

her perverted little mind always wins.

♡

#ellie williams x reader #ellie williams smut #ellie williams drabble #ellie williams concept #ellie williams x fem!reader #ellie williams #ellie tlou #ellie x reader #ellie williams fic #lesbian #sapphic #ellie williams x y/n #subtop!ellie #ellie williams x female reader #ellie williams x you

974 notes · View notes

bby-deerling · 3 months

Text

law + commitment issues

cw: suggestive themes

masterlist

you and law were both fundamentally broken. loss, distrust, and skepticism overwhelmed each spark that flew through your nerves, making it hard to do much of anything besides tiptoe around each other. and yet, neither of you could keep distance, pulling apart then clashing back together like the cold metal balls of a newton's cradle. the crash points were short, passionate, but too much for either of you to handle for very long.

it's unhealthy to go on like this, ikkaku says, rubbing your back after you once again come back to your room in the early morning hours, emotionally raw and brimming with frustration. you care about law, but both of you are so guarded with your emotions that neither can tell what the other truly feels or wants. paradoxically, you simultaneously want to shred his layers of protection while hanging onto yours, afraid of getting too close, of enmeshing yourself with him and getting tangled around his tan, inked fingers.

maybe the mess is part of the appeal—you want to fix his damaged soul, and he wants to suture your wounds back together, perhaps a little sloppily to make sure he leaves his mark on you with a visible scar. law tries his best to peel away at your layers without making you recoil, but the skin underneath is red and sensitive, leaving him no choice but to drown out the pain with the warmth of his body.

law cares about you—his fixation on you nears the point of obsession at times, sending him spiraling into a pit he's unable to climb out of; but you're both so shattered that the conversation of being something more than a comfort during moments of weakness is impossible to have.

you give in to the swells of your heart and broach the subject first, voice trembling as you ask him if there's a more permanent place in his heart reserved for you. law hesitates, fingers halting their gentle scratches into your scalp; he wants you, he needs you, but being open about it and sharing that with the rest of the world is nothing short of terrifying. but then he looks at you—really looks at you—as you gaze up at him. fear brims in your eyes—both fear of rejection and of diving into the unknown; seeing you just as vulnerable as him in this moment seals his fate.

"'course there is, we're together." law says nonchalantly, as if you were already long since tethered together before he spoke it into existence.

maybe we were, and have been for a while. he thinks as your lips meet law's with cautious optimism that quickly melts into relief.

#one piece x reader #law x reader #trafalgar law x reader #law x you #law x y/n #trafalgar law x you #trafalgar law x y/n #one piece fanfiction #one piece scenario #one piece headcanons #one piece drabble #warm up for me to get into the law writing zone :)

303 notes · View notes

clockwayswrites · 11 months

Text

Like Betta Fish Do Part 20

Chapter 15 when on Ao3, Masterpost WC: 3354 CW: Canon Typical Violence, Blood, Injury, arguing

There was so much blood already. Danny peeled off Jason’s— Red Hood’s— jacket looking for the wound.

If he had been quicker—

No, he couldn’t think that way.

He found the stab wound under Jason’s left arm, shoved right in a point where the armor was less reinforced. Danny pressed the palm of his hand tight to it and took a shuddering breath.

The pull had been so quiet. It had taken a moment to notice what had woken him from sleep and then another to realize what it was— that it was Jason’s core flickering to life and calling out. Not calling out, screaming.

Danny had transformed as he lept out of bed. Before he flew off, the case of ectoshot was hastily grabbed from the back corner of his closet. But Jason hadn’t been at his place. Danny had been forced to fly through the streets and alleyways to find him.

He hadn’t know what to expect as he stepped through the wall of the apartment.

His boyfriend bleeding out on the floor, dressed as Red Hood, wasn’t it.

Danny curled forward, resting his forehead against Jason’s. He was just so glad he got the ectoshot in him— that Nightwing, that Dick who was Nightwing, wasn’t able to stop him.

Even if Dick hated him now.

His fingers still twitched with the feeling of electricity running through him from the blow.

“Do you know how to do stitches?” Dick snapped as he came back with an armful of supplies.

“Yes.” On himself. He didn’t think Dick would want to hear that though (or anything Danny had to say).

Dick tossed the suture kit at Danny and got to work setting up an IV in Jason’s other arm. Silently, Danny cut away enough of Jason’s shirt to start cleaning the wound, keeping pressure on the spot itself as he first cleaned the area around.

“…how bad?” Dick asked, glancing over once he got something hooked up to the IV. Danny thought it might be saline, but he wasn’t sure. They never had that sort of stuff for him.

“It’s… deep, but the bleeding slowed with the pressure,” Danny said, mostly keeping his head down. It was different stitching someone else up. (How did Jazz do this? He owed her such a gift basket.)

Dick nodded and hooked Jason up to some sort of machine.

Danny focused on making all of his stitches neat. He didn’t want Jason to scar too badly. Fuck, he was stitching up his boyfriend. He hoped that Dick would let him stay until Jason woke up at least.

His hand shook. He had to take a moment to breathe to get them steady again.

He had almost lost Jason. Would he have even known? What cover story would Dick had given him, if he even thought to reach out? His boyfriend had been out there, fighting crime, with a developing core and had almost died for it. And this time there would have been no Clockwork to turn back time and let Danny save them. Not unless losing Jason was enough to—

No, nope, not thinking about Dan.

Danny was going to keep that dark spot inside him locked tight away.

It was all fine. Jason was alive. His fledgling core buzzed just on the edges of Danny’s senses. It hadn’t been snuffed out.

Danny tied off the stitches neatly and cut the thread.

Dick tucked Jason’s arm onto the couch as he settled him, careful not to jar the IV or the blood pressure monitor. Jason’s numbers were good. Jason’s numbers were better than they should be. That was… Dick was going to be grateful about that.

“Danny,” the other said suddenly.

“What? No, it’s—”

“No, my name, it’s Danny,” the Guy— Fish— Danny rasped from where he was slumped back against the wall. The guy, Danny, looked wrecked. There was a fevered panic to his eyes that Dick was sure he matched. A smear of blood was bright on his tanned cheek and his clothing (were those… pajamas?) were stained with it. “I figure… I figure you should get to know that, considering…”

“I guess… good to officially meet you or something. I’d shake your hand, but,” Dick looked down at his hands covered in his brother’s blood— just like Danny’s were.

“He’ll be alright.”

“You can’t know that,” Dick snapped. Things could always take a turn.

“I can. It’s why I needed to get him to drink that stuff.”

Anger flared in Dick’s gut at the reminder of Danny forcing Lazarus water down Jason’s throat. “Right. About that—”

“You can still punch me if you want to, I said you could,” Danny interrupted. “Just… not with the sticks again, please? I’ve— me and electricity have a bad history.”

He died.

Electrocution.

His heart stopped.

Dick felt sick. If— if Danny wasn’t a LOA plant, if he had told Jason the truth about his past, then Danny had been killed by electricity as a teen.

And Dick had hit him with his escrima while it was electrified.

Dick watched Danny’s fingers on his left arm twitch.

Forget him punching Danny, Jason was going to punch him.

“…go clean up first. You’re staying here? I mean, so you have extra clothing?” he asked, looking at the apparent pajamas (boxers and an old t-shirt) again.

“What?” Danny’s brows furrowed. “No?”

Okay then, another point to blind panic. “You… ran here in your boxers?”

“I, no? It’s… kinda? I didn’t run, but…” Danny trailed off.

Nothing was making sense.

One thing at a time.

“Go shower. There’s a draw labeled RR, the clothes in there should fit.”

With the wobble Danny gave as he stood, Dick was a little worried about him staying on his feet. Shock might be an issue. Dick should think about making tea.

Danny was watching him warily. “You’ll… you’ll let me stay then? At least until he wakes up?”

Dick got that sick feeling again.

“Yep. But go clean.”

Dick could take care of some of the blood on the floor while Danny did that. At least get it where they wouldn’t slip in it. He kept an ear on the sounds of the shower. It was seeming like Danny really cared about Jason, that the adoration he had seen in Danny’s eyes the other day wasn’t a lie, but the guy still had Lazarus water.

He couldn’t trust him completely.

The floors were clean enough by the time that Danny padded out of the bedroom in Tim’s sweats and a hoodie that that could only be Jason’s. He was completely drowning in it. Danny noticed Dick staring and picked nervously at the oversized piece.

“I just…”

“No. I get it. I’ll prob do the same,” Dick admitted, softly. “Can you put water on for tea?”

Danny nodded and padded around him with a wide berth. Dick’s stomach roiled again as he moved to the bedroom. Almost all the blood came off with his uniform, so he just quickly changed, washed his face (no point in the domino at this point) and hurried back out.

Danny was still in the tiny kitchen.

Dick took the time to strip Jason of the rest of his clothing but boxers. He had just covered him with a blanket when the kettle whistled. It must have startled Danny because there was a banging and then cursing.

The cursing had kept up as quite muttering that trailed off into a loud sigh just before Danny came out with two mugs of tea.

Dick took his gratefully and tucked himself onto the edge of the couch by Jason’s propped up feet. Danny settled for the armchair. Dick pushed his teabag around with the spoon, grounding himself in the warm metal handle. He wouldn’t drink it— it could be poisoned— but the warmth helped.

“I want answers.”

“I figured.” Danny was cradling his own mug, face twisted in a little frown. “There’s a lot I won’t give you until Jason is awake to agree. They’re his secrets too.”

“If he agrees?”

Danny rubbed at the back of his neck. “Then I’ll tell. I mean, you’re Nightwing and apparently I’m dating Red Hood. I figure you can keep secrets if you need to.”

Oh. “You didn’t know before tonight.”

“Nope. And what a way to find out,” Danny said with a hysterical sounding laugh that he clamped down fast with a hand over his mouth. Dick could see him take a few purposeful breaths through his nose. “Sorry.”

Dick gave a helpless little shrug. What did someone say to any of this? “It’s a lot. I get it.”

“Not really.” Danny gave him a mirthless smile back when Dick shot him an incredulous look. “I thought I would be done with the whole hero bullshit when I moved to Gotham.”

Oh.

“Retired small town hero at your service. I guess hero was dubious title depending on who you asked. Even in the end some of them preferred menace. I wasn’t… expecting to get caught back up in any of it. That wasn’t the plan.”

Dick glanced from Danny, who was practically hunched around himself now (and looking so tiny in Jason’s hoodie), and over to Jason.

“He knows,” Danny confirmed. “Not any details, just the basics, but he knows. And I… I didn’t know. Not about any of this.”

Fucking hell Jason… “He wouldn’t have told you because of us. Learn about one of us…”

“…and it gets to be pretty clear who everyone is?” Danny said with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Who would have thought, Bruce Wayne is Batman, not his sugar daddy.”

Despite the tense air, Dick couldn’t help the snort of laughter. “That’s always one of our favorite ones. I guess this is you saying you’re not with the League of Assassins then?”

“The who?”

“The ones who have the Lazarus water.”

“Fuck no, can you imagine me as an assassin? Like, ignoring the whole killing part, I am… not subtle enough.” Danny finally took a drink of his tea. “And it’s not Lazarus water. They’re connected maybe, I think, but not the same thing at all. The Lazarus water is why my stuff can help Jason though. Which that is some of what I’m only explaining once Jason is awake.”

“Why do you have it?”

Danny shrugged, the movement too stiff to be carefree as Danny might be hoping. The question clearly bothered him. “Because it helps me too. Because I died too. Because I was revived too. Mine just happened pretty instantaneously. I haven’t… pried into the details, but I get the feeling Jason’s wasn’t.”

A shuddering breath ran through Dick and he tamped it down quickly, clearing his throat. “No. No it wasn’t. But same goes for me here, that’s not my story to tell for Jason.”

Danny gave an understanding little nod.

Jason’s everything hurt. Fuck why did his everything hurt?

“Hey, don’t try to move.”

“Dickie?” Jason rasped.

Right. Burning sensation, stabbed, called Dick.

“Yep, I’m here Jaybird. I got here in time. And… and so did Danny.”

“What?” Jason jolted up and then immediately regretted it as pain flared through his side.

Danny really was there, sitting in the ratty armchair, legs pulled up this chest, arms wrapped around them, and mug in hand. He looked so small— small and miserable.

“He was here to pour Lazarus water down your throat.”

Jason groaned and let his head fall back against the couch. “It’s not Lazarus water.”

“How do you know that?” Dick snapped.

Damn, Dick was upset. He was hard to deal with when he was upset. Dick was a real act first, smile after sorta guy.

“Because I’ve drank it before and it doesn’t rile up the Pits, Dickie. Does the opposite.”

“…what do you mean?”

“Means it calls them down. Not… it’s not a cure or anything, we don’t know if they’ll go away completely, but they’re less with the ectoshots.”

“And you know that for sure? You’ve done tests? Rounded up a bunch of Pit mad mice and ran tests?”

Jason only didn’t roll his eyes because of how badly his head hurt. “Yeah, sure, that’s exact what I did. What the fuck Dickie, no, I didn’t—”

“So you just took this shit on his,” Dick spit the work venomously, gesturing at Danny; Danny who flinched back, “word on this?”

“Back off, Dick, you don’t get it!”

“No, you don’t get it! You took this ectoshot without running any tests! Jason—”

“Yes, I did!” Jason shouted over Dick’s lecture. “I was tired, Dick. I was tired of being angry. I was tired of being scared of being angry— of what I would do! I was tired of hurting the people I love! I was tired… I was tired of you all flinching away from me when I spoke too loud or moved too quick.”

Jason slumped back down onto the couch, rubbing wearily at his face with his good arm. “I was tired. And you know if I had taken it to Bruce he would’ve wanted to run tests and trials and I wouldn’t have gotten to use it for months or even years and I didn’t— I don’t know if I had years, Dick, not with what’s left of my sanity intact. Not with… not with my family intact.”

“Jay—”

“And it would have made Danny have to expose himself to the Bats. That wasn’t fair, Dick. I couldn’t—”

Dick just sunk down next to the couch and wrapped his brother up in a hug. “I’m sorry. That wasn’t fair of me. I was just scared too. I can’t lose you again. And never, never did I not touch you because I was afraid. I held back because I didn’t know if the touch was welcome. I didn’t want to hurt you and… and in doing that I hurt you.”

Jason dug his fingers into the hoodie Dick was wearing. His hoodie. “You’re a fucking clothing thief.”

“Danny started it,” Dick mumbled into Jason’s shoulder.

“Yeah, well, I think I deserve some comfort. I barged into my boyfriend bleeding out on the floor because, oh, he’s Red Hood,” Danny drawled. “And yeah, we’re talking about that later and how stupid of you it was to go out and fight crime while taking the shots!”

Jason winced. “I’m s—”

“No,” Danny said, cutting him off. “Not now. We are talking about it later. Right now I am pissed off and I hurt—”

“What? Why are you hurt?”

“That’s…” Danny started before he cut himself off with a frown and looked away.

Dick stiffened in Jason’s arms.

That wasn’t a good sign. “Dick… what did you do?”

“I came in and he was trying to poor Lazarus water down your throat!”

“It’s not Lazarus water.” Jason and Danny coursed at the same time.

“But I thought it was! And that he was trying to hurt you!”

“What did you do?” Jason growled, pushing Dick back enough to see his brother’s face.

Dick wouldn’t meet his eyes. “…I hit him with my escrima.”

“Your— were they electrified?”

“Yes.”

“You— And— After I told you that Danny had died from being electrocuted to death?!”

“Wait—” Danny cut in. Why did Danny sound upset— why had he gone ashen? “You told him I died— how I died?”

“I— yes?” Jason wanted to defend himself and he didn’t even know why. “That you were electrocuted in a lab accident and your heart stopped for a bit.”

Danny buried his face in his knees.

“Danny— I…” Jason was missing something. Something like… “Cultural differences?”

“Yeah.” Danny sounded slightly strangled. “Let’s go with that.”

“I thought he was trying to hurt you! I’m sorry!”

“He was just trying to protect his brother, Jason, I get that,” Danny said. He tilted his head up to rest it on his cheek on his knees. “I would kill for my sisters.”

Jason huffed, “I’m still—”

“You’re allowed to be,” Danny said.

“You can hit me if you want,” Dick offered.

“How about…,” Jason trailed off, utterly exhausted again. “How about you just get me some tea?”

“Herbal,” Dick said, standing, “Your blood vessels have been through enough without caffeine.”

Jason waited till his brother was in the kitchen to ask, quietly, “Are you really alright? If you’re not comfortable around Dick...”

“No. I mean, yes, I’ll be fine, just a little… twitchy. And no don’t ask Dick to— we’ll be fine. He had a reason. And I… um… he might be afraid of me too. I may have sunk him into the floor for it.”

“I— okay,” Jason said, having to take a moment with that. “Guess we’re explaining that.”

“Your lead.”

“Fish,” Jason almost pleaded. “You can’t want that. Not when I didn’t tell you—”

“I said later.”

Jason just nodded.

“You both can obviously keep secrets. I’ve… given things away, putting him in the floor. I told him I died and came back too- just not… how.”

“I’m sorry about telling him that— I didn’t think about it. It would have just been like saying I knew someone who drowned and had CRP.”

Danny sighed, just looking so tired. “If I asked you to tell me how you died?”

Jason recoiled at the thought.

“Exactly.” Danny’s smile was sad. “It’s okay. Thank you for saying sorry.”

Not knowing what else to do, but knowing what he needed, Jason held out his good arm, careful of the IV line. Danny uncurled, setting his mug aside, and took the offer. Jason felt something in him settle at having Danny tucked against him.

“What does it feel like?” Danny asked softly.

“Hum?”

Gently, Danny pressed his hand to Jason’s chest. “Your core.”

“Is that—? Burning. It feels like burning. I… that’s not right, exactly. It feels like molten heat.”

Danny hummed and learned over to press a kiss to that spot on Jason’s chest before resettling.

Dick— timing as impeccable as always— came out when Danny was breathing easily again. He handed over the tea in a to-go mug so Jason didn’t have to lean up much to sip at it and settled in the vacated armchair.

“So…,” Jason started eventually. He rubbed his hand up and down Danny’s back. “Like I said and maybe shouldn’t have, Danny died, briefly, in his parents lab. Electrocuted by one of their machines. He came back different because of that machine.”

Dick was quiet for a moment before asking, “Meta?”

“Close enough,” Jason said. “A lot of it the ecto— something his parents were studying as… paranormal scientists.”

“…okay.”

Danny laughed (the sound a little hysterical). “Right? Dead juice does a lot for you if you’ve died.”

“And it must have done a lot for me,” Jason said, before they could get much more into Danny’s situation. “Something in that graveyard brought me back before the Al Ghuls. Whatever the Lazarus water is— and it might be some of the same stuff to start— it’s gone wrong. The ecto Danny’s parents, and now Danny, extracts is pure. It’s basically like a transfusion for me.”

“Okay, right, sure, healthy dead juice,” Dick said, running a hand through his hair. “Are you going to… will you get powers too?”

“Maybe,” Jason said, trying to sound casual. “Or maybe I’m too fucked up from the Pits. But it’s helping Dick, it really is.”

“I do have research on this. I didn’t just give Jason something I knew nothing about,” Danny said. “And I drink it myself if I’m hurt or ill.”

“Like when you were a hero?” Dick asked, following it up with a full body sigh as he just sunk into the armchair.

“You told him?” Jason was surprised.

Danny shrugged in Jason’s arms. “It seemed the only way to explain why I reacted the way I did to the thing we’re not talking about yet.”

“Yeah, okay,” Jason said, kissing the top of Danny’s head. He wouldn’t press tonight. He was in no state for it anyways.

He just hoped that conversation would go well.

He just hoped he wouldn’t lose Danny.

-----

AN: So no one is really happy in this part- but at least they're talking? And they'll have to talk more too. There's also a lot of trying (and failing) not to panic by all the boys. But hopefully this settled a lot for you all!

Sorry if there's more mistakes than normal (don't need them pointed out, they'll be caught in the rewrite and beta) but my hands and my brain have both been really rebelling against me. Proverbial fingers crossed for the new meds I started today to do some good!

(It might be a few weeks before the next part, btw, looking at my progress.)

Due to the new post editor and having been shadow banned, I'm no longer tagging people! You can subscribe here to be notified instead like you would with a tag!

#dp x dc #dead on main #like betta fish do

519 notes · View notes

grvyrd-drms · 8 months

Note

ej with a very reckless, danger magnet, problematic, crazy nb reader? romantic hcs? 🥹 pls?🩷

eyeless jack x reckless reader !!!

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

A/N: he's not even real and i can feel his headache from you. also sorry if the grammar isn't good in this one i'm too exhausted to english correctly (it's literally my 1st and only language but leave me alone)

CW: gn!reader, injuries, anxiety, jack being overprotective (in a good way 😋), very very mild NSFW like lowkey not even NSFW

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

-YOU DRIVE HIM FUCKING CRAZY

-sorry.

-jack adores you. he really does. he finally found someone who's willing to push past all of his 'deformities', his trauma, his... picky appetite, all of it. only issue is of course that you are the most unhinged person on the planet.

-thank GOD that he's one of the resident 'doctors' in the manor. although i say that lightly, in all honesty he's so tired of you coming through the doors all bruised up. he misses when toby was his #1 visitor (thats saying so much)

-makes you carry a fully packed first aid kit when you "go on your adventures" as he puts it. tells you to shut the fuck up and just take it when you complain.

-jack takes your health very seriously. if he ever lost the one person he's found so far that actually cares about him he'd go apeshit. so yes. you're getting a weekly checkup and inspection. no you cannot protest. yes he will make up for it by whatever you want. (perverts..... /j)

-keeps special bandaids for u. ones with cool designs on them (they're all spiderman).

-gets SO STRESSED when you come in visible injuries (lots of blood, bruises, etc).

-acts like a mom lowkey. lectures you while he patches you up and then tiredly gives you a lil smooch on the head.

-holds you so so so so close late at night. almost like he's trying to shield your body with his.

-secretly tries to make deals with the others to go get you stuff instead of you going out to buy it yourself, just to try to prevent your ass from going anywhere without help 💀.

-if you break something, require stitches or anything that hurts he talks you through it. like watching him intensely place sutures while talking to you about what he's doing......... hnmhmnhmbbnbgg

-sometimes if he's in a bad place he'll watch you while you sleep. he just needs that reassurance that you're okay, and seeing you all comfy in bed, (not out in the middle of nowhere with zero supplies) makes him feel 100000 times better.

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

i'm sooooo behind on my inbox sorry guys school is kicking my ass lol

#creepypasta #creepypasta fandom #creepypasta headcanon #creepypasta x reader #:3 #eyeless jack #eyeless jack x reader #eyeless jack hc #eyeless jack x y/n #creepypasta fanfic #creepypasta smut #eyeless jack smut #headcanons #ej headcanons #ej hcs crp #crp #creepypasta nsft #eyeless jack nsft

367 notes · View notes

sinsandsweetness · 8 months

Note

congrats on 1k babes!!!

i'm pickin a lil drabble, hyperfem reader and daryl? i just love that lol dynamic they're so opposite 💕

cw- mentions of blood/injury (not towards the reader)

When he walks in the house, he’s hit with the smell of something sweet. Marshmallows and pecans or something or other. The wick of the candle is still glowing when he walks over to the coffee table and puts it out. Very confused that you haven’t answered. He calls out a hello once more.

Still no answer.

He figures you’re just busy. Out with Rosita or maybe at Ricks, looking after Judith. But it was unlike you to leave a candle burning.

He’s only two steps from the bedroom when he hears it. Footsteps.

Lots of them. Shuffling on the shag carpet. He slowly draws his knife and carefully opens the door. Just enough to see inside the bedroom.

It’s only you. His shoulders immediately relax and his arm falls to his side. Retracting the blade back where it belongs.

You have headphones on. Huge ones with a cord attached to an iPod sticking out the back pocket of your denim skirt. You’re dancing. Not just a little head nod. No. You’re fully rocking out. Hips swaying as you jump up and down, humming along to who knows what Rick downloaded onto your iPod. And you still haven’t noticed your audience.

He can’t help but smile. Leaning up against the doorframe. Watching you move. Your hips. Your waist. Your arms going above your head as you spin yourself around.

He looks around the room and finds it a damn mess. Clothes are everywhere. Hangers on the bed. Makeup bag poured out on the dresser. Daryl shakes his head with a huff of amusent. He leaves you alone for two days…

“Oh shit!” You physically jump back when you finally see him. Heart rate skyrocketing before you realize the dark haired man is just your boyfriend. Dressed in full leather. Dirty and bloody with a brand new shiner on his eye and a busted up lip.

“You scared me,” you whine, pulling your headphones down and around your neck. Placing a hand on your heart as you regain your breath. Trying to calm your racing heartbeat down.

He chuckles, licking his bloodied lips and moving to join you. He settles right in front of you as you lean back on the dresser. One hand going to your hip, the other tucking some hair out of your face.

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to.” He gives you a sweet smile as he nudged a denim clad thigh between your legs.

“Dare… your face…”

“Huh? Oh- s’ nothin,”

Your brows pull together in an disapproving scowl.

“Daryl, those stitches were fresh. I did a really good job and you split ‘em already. It hasn’t even been a week.” Your voice is both full of concern and irritation. You’d finally perfected your sutures after hours of practice with Denise. You let the man leave the walls for two days and bam. His handsome face is fucked. Again.

“I know, m’ sorry.”

You pause for a moment. Hands going to fidget with the zipper of his jacket.

“Well?” You ask, irritated.

His own face sets in confusion.

“The other guy…?”

“Oh- uh,” he shakes his head, “you don’t wanna know, baby.”

You gently bring a hand up to his face, the soft pad of your thumb running over his lip. He doesn’t mean to flinch when you brush the part where his skin has split, all red and swollen.

“Tell me,” you whisper, leaning in and pressing a sweet, gentle kiss to his busted lip. Wishing it was that easy, that you could heal him with a simple token of love.

He lets out a deep sigh and closes his eyes. Pressing his forehead against yours, rough hands tightening their hold on your waist.

“It’s over. Doesn’t matter.”

You nod hesitantly. Wrapping your arms around his waist, underneath his jacket. His torso is warm against your touch.

“Are you okay?” Your voice is soft. Genuine.

He moves to kiss the top of your head, and pulls you into his chest. The clean perfume of your shampoo envelops his senses, and he wants nothing more than to breath you in and hold you close for the next 48 hours.

“I am now.”

#he’s a teddy bear sorry #t’s 1k celebration #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon x reader #daryl drabble #daryl dixon x y/n #Daryl Dixon x hyperfeminine reader #daryl dixon x you #Daryl fluff #comfort

204 notes · View notes

lulublack90 · 11 days

Text

Prompt 17 - Hospital AU

@wolfstarmicrofic April 17, word count 995

CW- Cuts, Animal attack, Bite marks

Sirius stretched across the gurney, carefully holding his cup of coffee so he didn’t pour the scalding liquid down himself.

“Hey, James. How long have we been on shift?” He asked his equally prostrate best friend. James groaned as he lifted his arm to check his watch.

“8 hours.” He yawned. They were on the night shift, and the cases were either dull easy to diagnose stuff that could have waited for a GP in the morning or total calamities.

He raised his head to take a sip of his drink when his pager went off.

“Damn it,” He cursed as he dodged the liquid that came flying out of the cup. “That was close. I almost marred my beautiful face.”

“Come on, urgent call to A&E,” James told him, grabbing him and jogging down the hall.

The room was utter Bedlam. People were shouting at each other. A nurse was carrying a handful of bloody cloth to the hazardous waste bin. More nurses were fitting IVs and monitors to the patient lying still in the bed. Nurse Evans moved out of the way, and Sirius got his first glance at what they were working with.

In the bed lay a twenty-something young man. Who could have been quite good-looking but now had long gashes across his face, one of which sliced his face in half from the corner of his eye, across his nose and finishing just above his lip. Sirius sucked in a breath as he took it in.

“That’s not the worst of it.” Nurse Evans warned. Sirius glanced down as his eyes darted across the rest of his body. There were more slashing cuts, and the soft flesh of his waist and abdomen had huge puckered holes dotted about in stretched-out crescent arches.

“Are those bite marks?!” James exclaimed, moving closer to the man. Nurse Evans nodded.

“His back is all cut up, same as his front. Whatever attacked him got him good.” She sighed. “Poor man, he’s going to be in a lot of pain and shock when he wakes up.” She handed over his notes to James and busied herself cleaning the wounds.

Sirius couldn’t take his eyes off the man.

“Do these look like dog bites?” He questioned as his fingers ghosted above the damaged skin.

“They look too big but definitely canine. Wolf, maybe?” James screwed up his face as he tried to figure it out.

“There aren’t any wolves in Britain.” Sirius objected. “Where was he found?”

“Er, notes say in the car park next to the—oh, for crying out loud. Next to the woodland park.” James scanned the text.

“Still no wild wolves in Britain,” Sirius muttered, only half paying attention to James.

He grabbed some of the disinfection materials and helped Nurse Evans clean out the wounds. James began spouting off multiple tests he wanted to carry out and leaned over Sirius. Speaking quietly so only Sirius could hear him, he murmured.

“Be careful, yeah. I’ve seen that look before. Don’t get too invested.” Sirius shook his head.

“I’m a doctor, James, I care. That’s all it is.” He lied.

“Make sure it is,” James replied, knowing full well Sirius wasn’t telling the truth.

Nurse Pettigrew appeared with his camera and began documenting the wounds in case it was a police matter.

“Should I send these to a bite specialist?” He asked Sirius and James. James nodded.

“Yes, that way, we will know what we’re dealing with. Send a couple of the slashes as well. I swear they look like claw marks.” Nurse Pettigrew disappeared as quickly as he’d appeared after taking countless photos and only disturbing the cleaning once to get shots of the man’s back.

It took hours to get the man’s wounds cleaned and sutured. He’d had multiple scans, including a brain scan. To make sure he didn’t have a brain bleed. But he didn’t wake up. They weren’t worried yet. His body had sustained a lot of damage, and nothing in his scans showed any reason for him not to be conscious.

Sirius’s shift had ended hours ago, but he stayed sitting at the man’s side. James had tried to convince him to leave.

“Sirius, he’s a patient. You need to leave. Please don’t get overly attached to him. You don’t even know anything about him.”

“He’s all alone, James,” Sirius sighed. He already knew he was treading the line between a caring practitioner and becoming too personal with a patient. “No one has called looking for him. The police say no one matching his description has been reported missing. It’s been hours. How can no one be missing him?” James sighed at Sirius as he roughly ran his hand through his hair.

“I know, I know. Just be careful, Sirius.” He clapped his friend on the back and left him to it.

Sirius slept in the uncomfortable visitor’s chair. He kept waking up to check on his patient, but he was always asleep. Morning came, and one of the Nurses brought him breakfast and took the patient’s vitals. It wasn’t until the afternoon, a full 24 hours after he’d been brought in. The man’s eyelids fluttered. Sirius watched with bated breath as slowly, slowly, the man regained consciousness.

“It’s okay,” Sirius said in his most calming voice. “We think you’ve been attacked. You’ve got a lot of cuts, so I need you to keep still so you don’t rip any stitches. But you’re safe, and so far, no complications.” He realised he’d taken the man’s hand and promptly dropped it. “Sorry,” He mumbled under his breath. He watched the man wiggle his now free fingers. Sirius’s training finally kicked in.

“I’m Doctor Black, Sirius. Do you know what your name is?” He asked as he pressed the call button. The man thought for a second.

“Remus Lupin.” He said faintly.

“Well, it’s lovely to meet you, Remus Lupin.” Sirius smiled at him as Nurse Evans wandered in.

64 notes · View notes

namazunomegami · 1 month

Text

Atonement

Pairing: Geto Suguru x gn!reader

Synopsis: How can you cleanse yourself from the sin that has been tainting you since your attempt to escape? The answer is easy: walk on barefoot for him, suffer some misery, risk your health for him, open yourself up for him and you can earn his forgiveness.

CW: canon compliant, established relationship, toxic and complicated dynamics, religious symbolism, porn with feelings, Geto is a manipulative ass how surprising, gaslighting, m!receiving oral, fingering, non-consensual edging, good old unprotected sex + creampie

WC: 5.3k

Credits: my lovely @notveryrussian who worked so hard to get this fic proofreaded. Ngl they deserve all the praise and respect because we lost literal pages from the already edited draft because windows is crap and they had to start over again. Take one big break darl, you deserve it 💕

Song rec: mythical creature by pregnant whale pain was my main inspiration during writing but i think tumblr dot com is not ready yet to listen to an unknown hungarian avantgarde metal band while reading porn lmao. Maybe i'll drop the acoustic version later.

A/N: Here is part 1 in case if you missed it. I think you need to know what happened to completely understand the buildup and have a general idea about their relationship. This fic is probably my fave I’ve written so far, a special lil brainchild of mine. These two are living in my mind rent free with all their lore and they'll never let me go.

Reblogs are greatly appreciated 💕

Minors don't interact unless you want me to stand outside your house at 3 am with a pitchfork

It was very hard to explain to your family what happened to you. The worry which they approached you with, especially Mimiko and Nanako just stirred a weird sense of guilt in your chest. The twins even offered to help you out with chores, eagerly telling you to rest, let your body heal. Your heart shattered to pieces in that moment, weeping endlessly with fat, salty tears. Your precious darling girls, so considerate of you, so caring, their hearts filled with everlasting gratitude. And you wanted to leave them. You felt like a piece of shit of a parental figure, obviously.

Days passed as if nothing had ever happened. Even in your private moments with Geto, the issue was never brought up. He took care of your wounds, of course, but your escape attempt wasn’t a topic of conversation at all. You swept it under the rug.

Which means it was only a question of time until he was going to wield it against you.

“Leave the scabs alone.” he reprimands you softly, dragging your wrist away from them. The hot water softened your scars, making them itchy, easy to pick away at them. But Geto is so thoughtful for looking after you like some kind of crazy mother hen, right? Even sitting in the tub behind you.

He takes hold of the edge, stepping out of the tub swiftly. The water suddenly drops around you, goosebumps dot your skin from the sudden touch of the moistened air as he hides that broad, sun-kissed form of his beneath a bathrobe. You ache for a bit of peace, a bit of me-time, but since the so-called “accident”, he just couldn’t stop himself from keeping an eye on you constantly.

Your hand dances along the surface of the water, bunching the bubbles together into various shapes, like they’re islands. Like you’re a young god, decorating the plane you’ve created. But his outstretched palm appearing in your vision disturbs your creative process.

“Come, I’ll take the stitches out.”

Compared to when your wound was sutured, cutting out the thread is a relatively quick process. Especially with his competency. The tweezer lifts and holds the knot, as he severs the thread with a pair of scissors and pulls it from your flesh before he moving on to the next. It’s uncomfortable, not in a way that it hurts, but it makes your skin crawl and your bones bend. An overall disgusting feeling. But when it’s over, it does feel better. And knowing him, you wonder if it’s purposeful or not.

“Must you make it painful?” you complain, thumb pressing down on the closed, marred skin. For the wrong reasons though, but you can freely complain.

“I didn’t intend to hurt you.” his voice is soft like silk, but not without a sharp edge in it, slowly unfurling, like the jaws of a venus flytrap. “I just wanted to teach you a lesson.”

You glare at him, your eyes piercing him like a dagger.

“Me? I wanted to teach you a lesson.”

This… was a bit too far, you must admit.

You storm out of the bathroom, like you could get away from the conversation.

“Go on, speak.” his words echo through the walls of the bedroom, making your movements halt immediately. You glance up at the window, faced with his reflection as he leans against the doorframe. “What should I learn from you? That you’re not afraid to run? To put your life in unnecessary danger?”

A long sigh leaves through your nostrils.

“If it comforts you, then yes, I realized that I had made a dumb decision.”

You don’t have to turn around to know he’s standing right behind you. Looming over you, shrouding you like an evil trickster spirit.

“I must admit I enjoyed your little attempt…” his palms are heavy on your shoulders, just like his words echoing close to shell of your ear. “Catching you, watching your resolves crumble, the raw terror plastered on your face…” the way his voice caresses you is just like the way he would hold a blade right against your throat, pressing down on the pulsing veins that could be cut open so easily. Like needles slowly being inserted into your ear canals. Eventually it softens, getting more serious and chiding. “But you did scare me. Have you ever thought about what would’ve happened if I didn’t go after you?”

You’d die, you would definitely die. Bleeding out amidst the leaves and grass, letting the frosty night bite you tense and weak. All alone in the dark.

Hold on…

You wouldn’t be injured if he hadn’t frightened you in the first place.

Did he just… no, it can’t be.

He slowly walks away from you, and you hear the bed creak under his weight. The choking feeling finally lifts from your throat. You turn towards one of the incense burners, already filled, it merely needs to be lit. But you do it slowly, just for the sake of appearing busy, to not feel obligated to carry on with the conversation.

But you should make peace with him before he does. He’ll make you face all of your mistakes and their consequences, if not outright making you suffer because of them. Rub all of them into your face until you have no choice but to plead for forgiveness.

It’s not easy, but you open your mouth. The scent of sandalwood lowers your guards, helping you be honest and brings forth the thoughts you’ve been trying to hide for a long time.

“Sometimes I wonder if we’re doing the right thing. And I wonder even more about that if we’ll fail before reaching our goal. Fail spectacularly. Because we want to do the impossible.”

“What is exactly the right thing? Being selfless? Forgetting all about our grudges and letting the world trample all over us? Or being selfish and crushing anyone under our feet to keep each other safe?”

Like an elastic band being strained for far too long, you snap. Luckily, the bronze lid of the incense burner holds out under your grasp.

“It’s too fucking late for moral arguments! Can’t you speak to me more directly for once? Instead of hiding behind your… carefully crafted scenarios that only prove your point.”

You should have avoided looking at him. At your serpent, who made you sin, who was cursed alongside you, your serpent who devoured your beloved Adam. You yearned for the remains, sitting in the bottomless pit of his stomach.

But you swore those remains spoke to you, through layers of flesh, scales, and deception. Soft and calm like a light summer breeze.

“Do you have doubts about me, darling? Are you giving up on me?”

The question breaks you, evaporating all of your anger and resentment in a flash. Devoid of any playful tone or hidden meanings, so raw that it takes hold of your heart and squeezes it so tight that it couldn’t possibly beat anymore.

You know how he twists the truth, striking right into the softest parts of you. He feeds you poison – yet you swallow it right down every single time.

“Faith has no zenith, my dear.” you answer, low and sweet, like you wanted to comfort him. The lid on the incense burner closes, giving you enough time to build up the courage to approach him. You weave your words carefully, in such fashion that it can be interpreted in multiple ways. If he switched just one little word, he’d immediately gain more insight into what’s really been weighing on your heart. “There’s no such peak we can reach on which we can stagnate forever. Faith sometimes wavers, sometimes we question our beliefs. Sometimes we’re unsure if our prayers are heard.” you get down on your knees before him, taking his hand into yours, giving him a gentle, reassuring squeeze. “But I do want to have faith in you.”

His features visibly soften. Heavy lids close in relief, and you feel his thumb brushing along your knuckles.

This is your chance! Go on, there’s no time more perfect than this to try to convince him.

“We should really get away from the temple.” you start with an almost resigned sigh, but your excitement soon starts to show. “Just for a few days. Manami will handle the followers while we leave for the countryside, or an island. We can bring the girls even.”

A faint glimmer in his eyes tells you his answer is going to disappoint you.

“They don’t know about the girls, but they certainly know about you.” he reminds you sternly. “The higher ups want us dead and the last time I offered to protect someone, they ended up getting killed.”

His voice is faint, almost shaky. He rarely talks about the death of Riko. And if he ever brings her up in a conversation, you know he means it.

The heavy lid above his eyes drops, violet irises hiding behind his lashes, averted from you. The words coming out of him are barely above a whisper, like his lips are made from lead, like forming the words is a tiring task because they’re so heavy, and filled with something violently torturing him.

“This is a risk I’m not willing to take again. Not even for you. Especially for you.”

You feel something pooling on your waterline. Translucent pearls of tears appear so involuntarily when you see him like this. Sometimes you do want to hurt him, but when you see him in pain, it torments you even worse.

“I’m not asking you to take risks for me. I never did. But you should take some for you. You could use some respite.” you lace your fingers with his. It brings you a strange kind of comfort how your hand just loses itself in his, but it’s yours that looks more lively and powerful. Like it’s you what keeps him together. As if without you he would shatter into pieces. “You take on an awful lot of responsibilities, I think sometimes more than you’re capable of handling.”

Affection sweeps through his features as he caresses your head, from the roots of your strands to the thick bone of your jaw. A lonely thumb brushing along from your cheekbone to the lobe of your ear. And there’s nothing you can do, only stare at him, wide-eyed with reverence, like he’s an ethereal being.

“This is not your cross to bear.”

He wanted to ease your concerns, but you’re much more stubborn than that. You won’t stand there, at a safe distance, watching him drag himself to his Calvary, whipped and crowned with thorns. You’ll push through the crowd, smash them to bits just to reach him and offer your veil to wipe his face. A thousand times, as many times as he needs.

“Of course it is, what do you expect from me? Unlike…” No, don’t say names, do not compare yourself to certain figures in your past and the way they treated him. “I’m worried about you, for no other reason than I genuinely care about you. That’s why I want you to put our plans to aside - let’s unwind a little, recharge. Before all of this drives us insane.”

He deliberately avoids answering, your concern grows and grows like vicious vine. Is this too much to ask for? A small moment of normalcy can’t be granted to you? What are the two of you really? Idols of worship, if not gods at this point because your sheep do regard you as such. But can’t gods long for a visit amongst mortals? Can’t they shed their divine status? You could, but maybe, before he’d let you leave, he’ll feed you pomegranate seeds.

Would you eat them again? Of course you would. Even if you fight and snarl a little beforehand. Because love is the death of duty, and of a peaceful mind, of comprehensive decisions. Love is so mystified, shrouded in the illusion of an immortalized existence, just like death. Love is, indeed, death.

Your palms cup his face, his skin radiates warmth through you. The warmth of the evening sun that makes the sky bleed with the prettiest colors you can imagine. Your touch slowly encourages him to look into your eyes, finding a strange kind of determination and care mixed with your obvious worry. A Magdalene dwells within your gaze, who already washed her prophet’s feet with tears and dried them with her hair before he starts his last journey to Golgotha.

“I told you a million times, if you fall too deep into your misery, when you feel like you can’t come back to the surface on your own, let me know, so I can pull you out. Or let me know so I can go after you. And we’ll drown together.”

All those little pacts and vows you made during the years echo through you. Even the first one, the most ancient of them all, when it was still easy to hide your concerns behind your techniques.

I’ll keep an eye on you.

It’ll keep an eye on you.

You lean closer, foreheads and the tips of your noses touching. Eyes closing in almost perfect synchronicity.

“Promise me, Suguru. Promise me again.”

You wait and wait, until his warm breath brushes your skin like fine silk, like a feather.

“I promise.”

You sigh in relief. It hurts, it hurts so much. There’s so much place in your heart for him to dwell in. He owns it and he won’t give it back. Ever.

You only wanted a chaste kiss, but a special type of hunger wakes deep below your navel. You taste his words, you swallow them down, nipping them from his lips. You look for the rest of them, his thoughts that hadn’t been formed into words yet, the rest of the sentence, you search for it with your tongue inside his mouth.

You grab onto the sheets, trying to push yourself up. Like you could overpower him, like you could battle against him. To have him laid out on the mattress, defeated. But he stops your advances with a palm resting on your shoulder, gently pushing you away.

“You’re not healed yet.” he whispers, truly concerned.

“Then I’ll be on top, I don’t care.” you oppose breathily, your fingers trying to pry his robe open.

“The cut on your hand could re-open if we’re not careful.”

Oh, how you adore him when he’s so tender with you, but now, this is the last thing you want. You want to bare your teeth and go right for the throat.

“Then you’ll stitch me up again.” There’s a playful edge in your voice, and you kiss him again with the same curve of a smile while he lets you crawl on top of him.

And he smiles against you too, delighted by your eagerness. You, trying to eat him up, digest him - he’s just enjoying you and the feast you’re having. Taking everything from you. He only wants to capture you, to cage you in his hold. He’s kneading your flesh leisurely and humming into your mouth contently, almost lazily.

In the crooks of his body, you find your religion.

The sharp line of his jaw, the tendons of his neck, the hollow caverns around his collarbone. But your mouth carefully avoids the scars slashing through his chest, after all those years, it still pains him when the lightly coloured, textured skin gets touched. As if these lips of yours and your aimlessly trailing fingers were the same blades, penetrating the flesh again and again.

There’s not a morsel of him that you weren’t intimately familiar with. In a way that rivals how much you know about yourself. And what you know even better is that how can you venerate them, dote on them, adore, and idolize with such devotion you could anger all deities created by man and make them scream blasphemy on you.

You take his cock in your hand, teasingly working your palms around him. Pumping it, stroking your thumb along the underside to make his breath hitch. His dick grows beneath your hands, getting harder and heavier. The first beads of precum get smeared along the length by your skillful fingers.

“You know you don’t have to- “but you cut him off while settling between his legs.

“Just relax and let me do all the work.” your response comes out a bit more deadpan than planned. “You deserve it once in a while.”

And with that, you wrap your lips around him, enveloping him in warmth and wetness, your tongue slowly swirling around the head. His thighs twitch, more precum oozes into your waiting mouth as the muscle between your teeth works eagerly. You give him a few, gentle sucks, slurping up the mixture of your own saliva and his arousal. Between ragged breaths, he reminds you to breathe through your nose as you take more and more of his length. You relax your jaw, your fingers tense around the base of his cock and you’re trying as hard as you can to defeat the urge to gag. When you fit all of him inside your mouth, you empty your lungs and give him a harder suck, hard enough to make you cheeks hollow and his chest heave. As your free hand is occupied with kneading his balls between your fingers and knuckles, a moan bursts out of him.

The sound boosts your confidence, filling you with a wicked kind of playfulness. The kind of wicked that makes you pull back your tongue a little, as to not keep your teeth hidden. You drag them along his sensitive, pulsing underside, balancing the pressure between pleasure and pain. Like you could prove to him that you’re ready to bite back, that this is the only moment when he can’t control you, that he shouldn’t underestimate you.

And just as if he could read your thoughts, his hand goes for your head, fingers getting lost between your strands. But he’s not as cruel as to push you down on him, instead he guides you, increases the rhythm that you’re working with. Steady and firm, but not too fast. You earn yourself his praises, soft curses pitched higher than his normal voice.

This is what real worship looks like.

When you feel the muscles in his thighs and stomach tensing up, you stop. You emerge from the space between his legs, wiping your lips clean and admiring your work. All that flushed skin blooming in pink on his chest and face. You move, trying to get into a new position, settling your calves right next to hips. You start aligning yourself with his cock to finally start grinding on him.

He sits up and traps you with an arm coiling around your waist.

“Since when were you so reckless?”

His hand creeps around the apex of your thighs. A finger barely brushes along your slit. By adding another digit, he spreads your folds, finding hot, smooth, slippery flesh.

“I would’ve prepped myself.” that’s all you can say in your defense.

Fingertips circle your hole, applying a bit of pressure, checking how much you’ve loosened up. He invades you slowly as your lungs empty, the hardened skin on his fingers stroking and massaging your sweet spots before he starts working you open.

You wrap your arms around him, slowly undoing his bun to have something to grab onto as you jolt, as your bones melt, as your brows furrow in bliss. The moans coming from you are breathy and tender, and you hide them in his strands. He twists his fingers inside you, stretching your warm muscles further, making your back arch and you press your hardened nipples to his chest. Your essence engulfs his knuckles, clear and sticky like honey.

The heel of his palm settles right against your clit and you shamelessly grind on it. Your mewls pass over his ears as he’s nuzzling into the crook of your neck, nipping at the skin of a faint scar. But you resist giving in, you stop him, telling him that’s enough, but in reality you just want your control back. Take back the lead and revel in it.

And somehow he obeys, laying back into the sheets.

You slip out of your robe, showing yourself fully. The bruises on your skin can finally bathe in the dim lamplight, painting the complexion of your sides, shoulders, and upper arm in different shades of blue and purple, like paint on bare canvas. Like the night sky carrying storm clouds, like you’re rotting, decomposing. You find a twisted, perverted joy in the fact that he must be seeing them for the whole time.

“Slowly, slowly.” he murmurs softly as you’re pushing the head of his cock inside you. “There’s no need to rush.” Trimmed nails trail up and down from the flesh of your thighs to your bruised sides. Tender and slow like a ghost, goosebumps pepper your skin from the tickling feeling. “I’m already yours.” He purrs and your heart flutters.

And there’s so, so much pride in you that only you can render him to this state. Too powerful for the world to bear him, capable to burn this plane to ruins, defying the barriers between a mortal and a god - or something way worse than that. Maybe you should receive twice the respect from your herd, for being the only person who can enslave him in this way, that only you can have this sort of power over him. Only you can overthrow him. Because you’re just too dear to him, too close to his burning heart.

Maybe it’s your time to warn him. Tame him like the monster he is.

You move with your own rhythm. His hand caged between your fingers and pressed down against the sheets. You give him no other choice but to venerate you back and he does, with pleased, low rumbles coming from his throat. Only a singular hand is allowed to roam your form freely. On your back tracing the shallow line where your spine lies beneath skin and flesh, wandering towards the inner part of your thighs, then to your stomach and chest. And you reward him with a prayer of your own, encapsulated in deep, long sighs.

But you’re too trusting of him. You let your guard down too easily.

You’re holding onto his kneecaps, leaning towards them a little, allowing every inch of you to be seen. You want to give him a show, but your knees are too worn and tired.

He takes hold of your hips, helping you guide yourself along his length. His pelvis moves along with you in synced rhythm. Your teeth are pressing down on the soft skin of your lips, but you can’t keep your whimpers in. You’re getting close, your muscles and nerves are st tight and pulsing, your walls are pressing down on his length. His name mindlessly slips out of your mouth.

Maybe you can say you love him before you shatter.

But his fingers clench around you, strong and firm, stopping your movements. Lifting your hips up so high that his cock is barely inside, robbing you from your incoming orgasm.

You’re shocked, eyes staring into the nothingness, open wide. Your stomach drops, stirring up all kinds of feelings dwelling in you. A chill races down your vertebrae as you glance down at him.

“Suguru..?” Your voice is weak, shaky.

Fear courses through your being, primordial and all-consuming.

And when he speaks to you it’s all dark, shrouded in malevolence.

“You forgot one thing, darling. After I brought you back from the forest.”

No, no, no, he can’t do this to you! He can’t hold your orgasm hostage for the sake of toying with you! You should puncture his flesh your nails, scratch him, tear him up, but you can only grit your teeth. Your features twist from bliss to rage.

“You…” boiling anger swims through your voice. It’s like it’s not even your voice - more like a hiss, a growl.

There’s an undecipherable mixture of pity and amusement in his eyes. He twitches inside you but you’re too upset to notice.

“Apologize.” he sneers - almost commands.

His words cause anger to bubble up in you.

“Oh, you piece of shit…!” you seethe, but sob and moan when he slams you back on his cock, stretching you around his length again. Wanting to quench your rage with the sensation you crave the most right now.

“I hope, for your sake, I don’t have to repeat myself.”

It doesn’t matter how much you try to squirm, fuss and wriggle, he forces you still. His behaviour frustrates you to no end when you’re so desperate for a bit of friction, the horribly hollow and burning feeling of your lost peak torturing you seemingly endlessly. To the point where you’re too tired to put up a fight, when you’re teetering on the edge of breaking. You know you must swallow your pride, you have let him have it his way.

“I… I’m sorry.” you apologize meekly, teary-eyed, your voice a pathetic mewl. He finally starts lifting you up and easing you down, building you up slowly. But it’s not enough. You need more but he won’t give it to you just yet.

“You do?” he asks you in a way that it cuts deep into your marrow. It’s not even close to a loving tease – no, he’s outright mocking you.

Vicious bastard. You should grab his throat and squeeze the air out of him.

“Yes, I do!” you cry out without thinking. “I’m sorry for running away from you.” you push the words out through your whimpers. He increases the pace, making you yelp and shake, you end up closing your eyes reflexively. He robbed you from the sensation for so long that you became sensitive, it’s easier to make a mess out of you. Your face is red with shame, so much so you can’t look him in the eyes. The humiliation is like an invisible rope tightening around your neck.

“Promise you’ll never do that to me again.”

He pushes your hips further along his length this time, shifting you a bit towards his thighs. Creating a perfect angle, he uncovers a sweet spot inside you that makes you almost incapable of forming coherent words. And he eats the sight right up.

“…I promise… I promise...” you manage to get your answer out in the form of a choked hiccup. Your vision blurs. Everything is too intense for you to handle. You swear that the very shape of you could dissolve at any given moment.

Faith is desperate. Gods are hungry for despair. So they deliberately make you suffer and only then reveal themselves to you.

His fingers dig into your waist so hard it burns. You feel the world shift with you and then you collide with the sheets. Your bruised back ripples with pain. You’re unsure if he did it out of spite or not. You don’t know if he’ll completely shatter your dignity, or if he’s fine with just enforcing the feeling that you can never be above him, that you can never defeat him.

His weight on top of you is overwhelming. The midnight dark locks of his hair spread around you like spilled ink. And through the thick fog of your mind, too far gone in twisted, masochistic pleasure, you lock your legs around his waist. You don’t want him to go away. You might as well cease to exist if he does.

“And what do we say when we apologize?”

The soft plea coming from you is more instinctual rather than deliberate.

“Forgive me.”

You ache for him to move, you’re starved for the incoming high. Like a ravenous beast, all devouring. When he finally gives it to you, his thrusts make you feel possessed, make your back arch, your head falls back into the pillow as if you were offering your neck to him (maybe one day he won’t be able to resist the urge and will bite down on the jugular, through your trachea, putting you out of your misery) - you don’t dare to beg for anything else.

Maybe just for a little blood. A mark he can wear, just like you wear your bruises. Your nails somehow acquire a will of their own, your scratches have him excited and pleased.

His fingers meander around your jaw, gently coaxing you into letting him guide your gazes to meet again.

He’s imitating you, admiring his work like you did with him. And what he sees is a being stripped from any likeness of a dignified human being. With eyes so blown he can see the bottommost pits of Hell in them.

And he’s satisfied, rewarding you with a soft kiss on your temple.

“I forgive you.”

Your release crashes over you like a tide, submerging you, burning you to cinders on the inside. Tearing you apart. And when he collapses on top you after filling you to the brim, you feel like a festering wound.

He’s a disease, miasma, a flesh-eating parasite crawling inside you.

“You’re…” you huff. “You’re awful.”

“I know. But you love me all the same.”

You wonder what you should have done to earn a different outcome, but you give up soon. Looks like he already had plans for your atonement in mind. After all, gods are impatient creatures. They’re dependent on your reverence and servitude. And you’ve waited for too long to make things right.

Why, why, why - it echoes inside your head.

But if you think about it… he’s your serpent. The vilest, most horrendous creature created by God. The one who charmed you, tempted you with sin and has now sunken his fangs into you. Of course he did, and instead of trying to heal from his venomous bite, you want to catch him - to find out his reasons, to prove to him that you didn’t deserve that.

And yet you could never, ever prove him wrong. Your serpent will always think it was right to bite. It’s in his nature afterall.

“Is your hand alright?”

He makes it up to you with spoiling you again. He cleans your wounds so sweetly, so thoughtfully, looks after you in a way that nobody could, which confuses you even further.

He cherishes you, destroys himself for the sake of keeping you safe - not like it’s a choice, but a must - just like a mother would. He scolds you, reminds you not to make the same mistake again, collars you, keeps you on a tight leash, only loosening it (just a little) when he succeeded at making you play by his rules, just like a father would.

And somehow, he excels at both. Way better than those two ever did when it came to you.

You wish your glare could pierce right through his skull when you hand the empty glass back to him. You don’t have it in you to play nice. You don’t even attempt hide that you’re sulking, he probably finds it funny - adorable even.

“Go to hell.” you spit and lay back into the sheets, your bruised back facing him.

“Oh, darling…” he coos, but the surface level sweetness of his tone hides a sharp edge of condescendence. He crawls into bed, right behind you, caging you in his embrace, forcing you to feel the warmth of his body. The warmth that you’re so used to, the one you can’t sleep without it. Nobody has ever made you feel this safe, and the fact makes your heart ache and your stomach twist.

“If there’s a Hell, I’ll see you there.”

#jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk smut #getou suguru x reader #getou suguru x y/n #getou suguru x you #jjk x reader #suguru geto x reader #meesa writes #DAAARLING GUESS WHOS COME BACK FROM JAIIIIL #Idk what kind of deep psychological issue of mine is in that fic but now its your job to decipher #just please dont bring Freud into the picture I hate that man

65 notes · View notes