#Red like the blood dripping from my sleeve

[tacticaldiary]

Can you do a fic where reader and simon are kidnapped and simon has to watch reader be tortured and creeped on by their kidnapper for information.Happy endibg with them being rescued.Ignore if it makes you uncomfortable :)

Captured In Tandem

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader

Genre: Hurt/Comfort

Content Warning: Torture, Men being creepy, mentions of sexual assault

"I'll give you a choice." He says, cocking the gun. "Shall I put a bullet through you, or her?"

He's been trained to keep his mouth shut, taught himself from enough pain to span a lifetime, but never did he fathom she'd be dragged into it with him. It's unforgivable.

Masterlist, Part 2

A/N: This is literally one of my favourite tropes-

The first thing he registers is the pounding in his head. Squeezing his eyes shut, Ghost claws his way back to consciousness, sluggish mind attempting to click the pieces swimming in his head together into a cohesive narrative.

He was asleep...no, he was unconscious. Why? Ghost doesn't open his eyes for a moment, gathering his bearings. His senses snap to him quickly. The metallic smell of blood, the scent of gunpowder. The hard wood under him...a wooden chair? He exhales sharply, charting the sharp stinging in his side.

Injured.

He can't move his hands, ropes digging into the skin above his gloves. Once he's grasped back his control, steadied his breathing into something calm and acceptable, he takes a second to listen. There's nothing but the steady dripping of what he assumes is water on the floor. A pipe?

He's cold. His hands are freezing and so is his face-

His face?

Ghost's eyes snap open at the realisation.

His mask was gone, ripped off and on the floor by his feet. He's tied to a chair. He doubts he'd have gotten such a warm welcome if he was back at base right now, so where...?

An RPG, he suddenly remembers, a sour taste in the back of his throat. They had been on an OP with Price, the team had been split into two, sent to clear out a building on the outskirts of the city, tasked to meet in the middle.

An unaccounted armed squad had aimed at them with an RPG. Ghost remembers barking out an order to his partner, shoving her roughly out of the way behind a beat up car. The rocket hit the car, igniting the engine causing it to explode, the both of them thrown back against the brick wall behind them and-

Her.

His blood runs cold at the sound of a small groan from in front of him.

Shit.

Slowly, he raises his head and his stomach drops at the sight of her opposite to him in the same state.

Shit. No, this was all wrong. The RPG must have knocked them both out. They'd been captured.

"Fuck, my head." She groans, blinking herself awake. Like him, he can tell she's charting up the extent of her injuries, piecing together the events leading up to their capture.

Price would find them soon. They can't have hauled them too far away under the threat of them waking up mid transportation.

"Sleep well?" He rasps, watching her still, head snapping up to look at him.

"Best I've ever had." She responds dryly, looking him up and down. Her eyes linger on the dried blood staining his shoulder. It's a miracle the both of them ended up as unscathed as they did. Only bruises and scrapes, miraculously. She yanks on her bindings, scowling when they don't budge. Ghost can see the angry red marks around her wrists, the same as his. "We're in for a treat, huh?" She laughs humourlessly, leaning back in her chair. "Don't suppose you keep any knives hidden in your sleeves, L.T?" Half joking. She wouldn't be surprised if he did.

"Can't feel 'em." He grunts. "Must have searched us."

Of course they did.

She shifts in her seat, hating the idea of hands touching and probing at her when she's not awake to bat them away. Ghost would be just as, if not more uncomfortable with the thought, if the angry furrow in his brow is anything to interpret.

Voices. Footsteps. Both of them go rigid in their chairs, eyes snapping to the other. No words are exchanged, but a slight raise of the chin from her. They would not break.

She knows exactly what's to come for them for the next however long it took for their team to retrieve them. She's been through this before, been trained for it, seen it happen, hell she's even participated on being the one not in the chair.

They wouldn't break. The knowledge they have could compromise more than just their current operations. Ghost acknowledges the shaky exhale she lets out, casts her an unreadable look before the door swings open behind him, his eyes turning cold once more.

If she notes the tension in his shoulders, she doesn't mention it.

Three men walk into the room, mumbling under their breath. Russian. A quick glance to confirm the other caught it.

The thing with the both of them is that they worked better together than anybody else in the team. Working in tandem, information exchanged with just a glance, seemingly in tune with every thought and movement of the other. It's why they were almost always paired together.

"Some of the best your the military has to offer, you are.." He smiles, flicking through the file. "It seems I have struck a goldmine." The file snaps shut, is handed off the someone else.

She hopes the motherfucker gets a nasty papercut.

                               · · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

They come twice a day. Once for him, once for her.

Ghost keeps his mouth shut, isn't surprised when she does as well. The both of them have been trained for situations like this, have both gone through a lot of shit that renders them capable of handling it.

It's her that he hasn't been trained to account for.

Ghost had only jeered at the men that interrogated him. Drenched after being waterboarded, bloody from being cut and beat, he had not given them a single thing to work with, taking what they threw at him with a calm, strong, cool exterior.

It was when they turned to her that he felt that crack.

Every knife turned against her, every crack of her bones, each small sound of pain that left her had an anger he'd never felt before bubble up inside him. Glaring death into the people who lay their hands on her as they questioned her, he stayed silent, unmoving as they put her through the same routine as him.

"Not long before they find us now." She'd said hoarsely after the second day. They'd just left them after being unsuccessful in loosening their tongues. Again. He takes in how her arm bends at a strange angle (He'd never forget the scream that teared out of her throat when they snapped it in half), the cuts dripping blood onto the floor and on her tattered clothes (Each one he'd pay back tenfold, he swears), and the exhaustion lining her face the same way he's sure he looks.

Being unmasked...it makes him more on edge than usual.

It's nothing she'd never seen before. She'd touched his bare face countless times, mumbled promises and declarations they had no business making against his lips at night. It had always been in private, shielded from the eyes of others. Now, out in the open, he was more aware of his reactions than ever before, refusing to let out any reaction except for the occasional grunt of pain.

"They're sure taking their damn time." He spits out.

"Gonna give them an earful when I get back." She cough, watery. Ghost's eyes widen when blood splatters to the floor. "Shit." She breathes, inhaling shakily.

Internal bleeding. A telltale sign.

He yanks against his bindings for the hundredth time. Nothing changes aside from more blood trickling down his torn open skin.

"Don't think about it." He orders. "Look here." When she doesn't listen, just blinking at the blood she coughed up as if in a trance, he repeats himself roughly, drawing her attention.

"Right here. Keep your eyes on me." He commands, and it's all she can do to let instinct take over and listen to his low voice. "That's it, love. Good."

She opens her mouth. Shuts it. Swallows dryly and tries again. "If I-"

"Shut up."

"Ghost." She says weakly, "It's a possibility, and if-"

"I told you to shut up." He hisses, fixing her with a glare.

She was in a much worse state than him. Far bloodier. They were rougher with her, thinking she'd be the first one to break, to concede under pain and answer their questions.

Safehouses, plans, locations, inner workings. The intel they stole a month ago. They wanted to know answers that neither of them would ever give them.

The door swings open. The man from the first day walks in, in crisp clothes, wrinkling his nose and the sight of them.

The sight makes Ghost pause. He was in charge here, clearly. This kind of work wasn't normally put on people like that, which meant that things were getting serious. Something had sparked urgency in them if they were seeing this guy. Something had changed.

The 141.

As if on cue, there's the distant sound of gunfire, and the building trembles slightly, dust cracking down from the ceiling. It's ignored by the man completely.

"Admirable, you are." He addresses them. "But I'm afraid there's not time for a soldier's pride during war." They stiffen when he pulls out a revolver from his pocket, clicking open the empty chamber. "I require answers. Call it compensation for what was stolen from me. I don't think you understand that I will get my way in the end. By whatever means necessary."

A single bullet. Loaded into the chamber. Ghost follows the movement with his eyes.

"I'll give you a final chance to be cooperative before I give you a choice." The Russian says evenly, looking at them both in turn.

"Go to hell." Ghost drawls. In his bloodied, beaten state, weak from blood loss and in a disarray from being tortured, he seems to look even more intimidating than usual.

The man sighs deeply. He clicks the chamber shut.

He aims at her and fires.

She barely has the chance to tense before a click fills the room. Nothing. It's when he turns the gun to Ghost that her breath catches in her throat, panic clawing it's way up and through her veins.

Ghost does not flinch. Does not wince or react, merely holds her gaze calmly, in that reassuring steady way he always has.

Click. Nothing.

He continues moving back and forth between them until there's only one chamber left. An undeniable bullet inside. The man turns to Ghost, a smile on his face.

"The choice you have, my friend, is which one of you I put this bullet through."

Ghost visibly stiffens in his chair, fixes him with a scathing stare.

"If you refuse to answer, I have no issue shooting you both." He says evenly, weighing the revolver in his hands. "So who will it be? You, or your lady?" He points the gun back and forth, her heart in her throat.

Me. She thinks. Pick me. The thought of him taking that bullet when there's a choice for her to instead makes her sick.

But it's Ghost. And he's selfless in the most annoying of ways.

"Me." He says tightly, the words forced out and full of venom.

The Russian grins, pleased, raising the gun. She's about to yell at him, tell him to shoot her instead-

She doesn't have to.

The gun turns to her, fires, and pain explodes in her right thigh, wrenching out a scream from between her clenched teeth as she doubles over. Her vision goes black for a second and she can't breathe.

Yelling. There's yelling over the ringing in her ears. Ghost shouts profanities at the man, threats and growls as his chair scrapes against the floor at his attempts to get loose.

He breaks.

The Russian simply laughs, tucking his gun away.

Where the fuck were they? Where were the others? The team? They were close, that much was obvious, so why the fuck weren't they here yet, then?

She gasps when her head is wretched back painfully by her hair, pain thrumming through her like sharp needles as she's forced to straighten up. It hurts, fuck, it hurts worse accompanied with every other goddamn thing wrong with her right now.

"You just couldn't seem to stop looking at her. I thought It'd be more of an incentive to loosen your tongue." He chuckles at Ghost's fury.

"They won't find your body." He hisses, low and threatening, eyes wild. "I'll make sure you're in so many pieces you-"

"I understand why, though." He continues on like Ghost isn't threatening great bodily harm on him. "She's quite the beaty isn't she? Even under all that gore...so easy on the eyes."

She had taken beating after beating. Cracked ribs, cuts and bruises, waterboarding and being prodded with a hot poker, but this? The lecherous way he looks her up and down, yanks he head back farther to expose her neck? It makes her blood run cold, her heart stop.

His breath fans across her face, acrid and disgusting. A choked sob tears out of her lips when his hand trails up her body, grabbing and yanking and pulling in places he has no right to touch. Her head spins from the bullet wound and the pain, and it takes a lot to gather her thoughts.

"Motherfucker-" Ghost snarls.

"I know you're bad at sharing but you wouldn't mind if I had a taste, would you?" He croons at Ghost, who jolts in his chair, pulling at his bleeding broken skin to get loose. "Not that you can do much but watch." He laughs.

This, she would not let happen. She would not let him take something that was hers and hers alone to give to whomever she decided. When he leans down farther, she gathers all her remaining strength and rears her head back, smashing it into his nose.

The satisfying crunch of bone and yell of pain makes it all worth it, draws a smile from her, even if his blood splatters the side of her face.

"Bitch." He spits out. A hand cracks across her face so hard black spots float over her vision. She cries out as it jostles her leg, her broken arm, all her cuts and and he ribs. Before she can gather her bearings, a searing pain pierces through her side, the Russian's knife driving straight into her flesh. She can't help the choked scream that leaves her, hears the way Ghost shouts, his struggling intensifying.

He wretches her out of the chair, shoves her to the floor. Tears track down her bloodied cheeks, not out of fear, but out of pure pain and anger. Disgust, pain and rage is what she feels when the Russian straddles her hips, keeping a hand on her broken arm to keep her down. His other one wraps around her neck, squeezing roughly to cut off her air.

"Answer my questions." He seethes at Ghost. "Your safehouses, the intel you fucking stole from us. Where are they!? Tell me or you'll see this pretty thing die." As if to prove his point, he squeezes harder, making her choke.

Ghost spits out threats that would make any normal man quiver. He would rip this man apart. Rip into him slowly with all his knives, prolong it as much as he could. Days, maybe even weeks. He deserved to die by his hands for what he's done to her, for touching someone so wholly and utterly his. Every single cut he'd return tenfold, twice as deep.

Part of her wants to succumb to the darkness edging her vision, but she's afraid if she does she might never wake up. She couldn't die. Not here, not like this. Ghost...Simon would blame himself, she knows it. He'd replay it over and over again, wonder if he could have done anything to prevent it.

"Get the fuck off of her!" He seethes. Seeing her under him, red in the face and bleeding, dying makes panic tear through him, a horrible desperate feeling he can't help but succumb to. She wasn't going to die, he wouldn't allow it.

Not her. Not her. Anyone but her. Take me instead.

The world was fucking cruel.

The past year had been the best of his life. The lightest, the most at peace he'd ever felt. Loving her came easily, naturally. Something he couldn't help even when he tried to push her away.

Her eyes catch Ghost's. His are desperate and frantic in a way she's never seen before. That...that was panic. But that couldn't be right because Ghost? He didn't panic. He planned and adapted, got angry and was calm. Panicking? She'd never seen it before.

Fuck. She wasn't going to die. She...was, wasn't she? Already, her vision was slipping away, her hearing going muffled. No. No, this isn't it. Not here, not like this.

If she died, Simon might, as well, and she loved him to much to leave him in a situation like this.

Clenching her jaw, she blindly reaches her bound hands to her side. When her fingers brush against the hilt of the dagger inside her flesh, she pauses.

It was the only thing keeping her from bleeding out faster than her bullet wound was already doing...

She yanks it out with all the strength she has left, slams it into the throat of the man above her. He's too busy with Ghost to chart her up as a threat. The way his eyes bug out of his head as he releases her throat in favour of clutching his own has a sob ripping through her mangled throat as she gasps in greedy gulps of air.

She shoves the man off her and in movements wild and jerky, climbs on top of him switching their positions. Ripping the knife out of his throat, she yells a broken shout as she brings it down over his chest. Then his shoulder, his neck. His chest. Over and over again, tears blurring her vision, adrenaline making her shaky, she drives the knife into him again and again thinking about nothing but killing him, taking his life so he couldn't take theirs, so she could feel her skin stop itching from the way she was touched.

"-dead, he's dead!" A voice floats to her, far, far away.

A name...her name. Her movements slow down as she recognises Ghost's voice calling out at her. Confused, disorientated, she glances over her shoulder, pausing, chest heaving.

"You're alright, sweetheart." He says, his eyes a fraction wider than usual. "Here, look at me. Right here, love." He waits till she drags her gaze up. "He's dead. It's enough."

Enough.

The word cracks something in her, the knife clattering onto the stone floor and she looks down at the bloody, unrecognisable mess under her. Scrambling off of him, she leans over and vomits up bile; acrid and burning her throat as it comes out. A strangled sob leaves her as she finishes, realising the sheer amount of blood on her. Her hand shakily goes to her side, comes back bloody in a way that makes her head spin.

"Grab the knife." Ghost urges, looking ready to try to snap the chair under him himself to reach her. "Can you do that for me? Pass me that knife." When she doesn't respond the way he wants, Ghost takes in a shaky breath and repeats himself, voice hard.

"Sergeant. The knife." He commands, low and deep and urgent.

Still a soldier despite her trembling, her body reacts to the order automatically, head clearing. Swallowing, she moves slowly, agonisingly to reach the knife.

"You're doing good." Ghost praises when she drops the knife for the second time from her shaky fingers. "Bring it here."

The moment the knife reaches his fingertips, he cuts through his bonds, kneeling in front of her, cutting hers off too. "I've got you." He murmurs, pulling her close, laying her over his lap as gently as he can as he looks over her. He doesn't really need to, it's more instinct to do so. Ghost was watching her the entire time. He knows the location of every single one of her injuries.

Swearing under his breath, he leans over, roughly rips part of the dead man's shirt off, bunching it up and pressing it against each of her two wounds. She whimpers, a strangled sound that makes him clench his jaw in rage and worry.

"I know it hurts." He consoles her while he secures another part of the shirt around the wounds. "You did well, it's over now." Mindless talk. He just needed to keep her awake.

Her hand closes over his, stilling him as he ties the final knot.

"'m sorry." She breaths, shallow and short. "Can't...Just go." She shoves weakly at his shoulder, and the incredulous, angry look Simon gives her would have been funny if everything wasn't on fire inside her.

"I'm not fucking leaving you, you dolt." He snaps, slowly pulling her up so she's sitting. The way she bites her lip hard to keep in the whine of pain doesn't escape him. "Easy." He says, supporting her despite his own screaming ribs. His left leg was mangled up, ankle dislocated so Ghost doubts he'd be walking with her out of here.

It was too risky. They could run into someone armed, and at such a disadvantage...no, it was better to stay here and wait for the others to show up.

Her eyes flutter, panic slams into him.

"None of that." He demands, prodding her forehead to make her focus. "Keep those pretty eyes on me, love."

A small huff from her that might have been a laugh sends her into a harsh coughing fit. "'m trying Simon." She whispers, words slur.

"Try harder." He squeezes her closer to him, keeping an ear out for footsteps.

"So hard to please." Barely a whisper. "You...you're okay?"

"Christ, woman," he huffs, leaning down to press his lips against her bloody forehead. "I'm better off than you."

A slight smile, her eyes fluttering shut. The loose grip she'd had on Ghost's vest slackens. His bloods turns to ice.

"Hey." He tries, calls out her name. "Hey!" He yells it this time, shakes her gently. Then rougher when she doesn't wake up, breath stuck in his throat. No. No, she was still breathing, he chest rising and falling in shallow breaths.

This wouldn't work. Ghost steels himself and stands up, gritting his teeth at the pain that radiates up his leg into his whole body. Ignoring it, he hauls her up in his arms, stumbles slightly.

Staying here wasn't an option anymore, not when she was unconscious, not when the small puffs of breath against his neck could stop at any moment, not when he could lose her.

Gripping onto the small bloody knife, he limps towards the door, pushes it open without hesitation.

He'd walk for a mile like this if it meant he'd get to hear her laugh again. Fuck his own injures, her wellbeing was more important. Ghost moves the knife between his teeth, bone clacking against metal, metallic blood on his tongue. Hiking her up more securely, he starts down the hall, intending to find his team before they found him.

He'd die before he ever let her bleed out on his watch.

                               · · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·  

Her hearing comes to her first. Muffled, but still present. Under the dark haze of sleep, she hears muffled noises. The steady beeping of a machine, the rustling of bedsheets nearby. A voice talking int he distance, something she's unable to make out.

It takes too much out of her. Her mind is sluggish, thinking is hard, so sinking back into the arms of whatever is pulling her down is easier. Painless.

The second time her sense of touch returns.

Someone's holding her hand. Rough, calloused fingers, running up and down her palm, soothing gestures than accompany the beeping that she realises is a heart monitor. The familiar pressure, the roughness of those hands, the soothing movements...it lulls her back to sleep almost immediately.

The third time is quick.

Her sight returns last, One moment she's seeing darkness, the next she's blinking up at white florescent lights, the clean scent of hospital waking her up. What...?

Pushing herself up, a gasp tears out of her throat when she finds herself unable to move. Blinking and looking down, she swallows as she sees herself.

Covered in bandages, a cast around her arm. Heavy wrapping around her thigh and chest. All of her is stiff and achy. It all comes back to her in a rush.

The chair. The ropes. The bullets and beatings.

The blood.

Her stomach lurches at the memories. Simon? Where was Simon? He made it out, right? What if-

Her mind immediately settles down when she spots him. Ghost lays on the hospital bed next to hers, eyes shut, chest steadily rising up and down. Relief slams into her so hard tears prick her eyes. They made it out. Both of them. For a moment she thought...

The need to be near him, to touch him, to make sure he's real wins over her desire to stay put and ward of any discomfort. Her second attempt at moving is successful, only because of the strong pain meds dulling the edge of pain she's feeling.

Slowly, she pulls herself to the edge of the hospital bed, gingerly lowering herself onto the ground. She gasps when her leg protests, the one she was shot in. Testing her weight, she glances desperately at Simon, still sleeping. She needed him, needed to touch him, to feel him under her hands, solid and real.

She uses the walls to support her, shuffling over until she's in front of his bed. After taking a moment to gather herself and breathe, she reaches out with a shaky hand, places it on his cheek. Her throat closes at the feeling of his warm skin.

Ghost being Ghost wakes up instantly at the touch. Eyes snapping open, instantly alert even when just waking up.

Relief fills his face, something so powerful it makes a small sound push past her lips, a few tears slipping down her cheeks. "You're okay." She whispers, hoarse from not talking.

"You shouldn't be up." He responds, propping himself up with a wince she doesn't miss. He frowns at the way she trembles, looking her up and down slowly.

"I just..." She brings a hand up to wipe off her tears. "Sorry if I woke you." A watery chuckle. "Just needed to make sure, you know?"

"I do." He admits. Ghost's hand slips up her uninjured arm, guiding her onto the bed with him until she's laying down. A long, shaky exhale pushes itself out of her as she lays her head on his chest, hearing his heartbeat, quicker than usual but still steady soothes her instantly. He was familiar, the dips in his body, the hard muscle and those arms. It was so achingly familiar she wanted to cry.

Having her here, having her in her arms and holding her...it was almost too much to bear. Ghost had never felt relief like this.

11 days.

11 days she hadn't woken up, each one made him more irritable, restless, snappy. He was ordered to stay in bed, but he got out of it every night to sit next to her, holding her hand, just silently watching over her. 11 days was plenty of time for him to think, to run through everything he did to figure out a way he could have prevented this.

It was plenty of time to realise that he'd never take her for granted, even if there was a gun to his head.

He'd carried her all the way out of the building until he'd spotted Gaz. The poor bloke had done a double take at them, shouted something frantically in his comms and ran at them.

Ghost had forced himself to stay awake as the others arrived, forced himself to make sure she got the care she needed, sat awake with the the entire time on the heli, until they got to the hospital. Only then had he let himself get checked over and crashed hard, exhausted in a way that ran deep into his bones.

"I'm glad you're okay." He says quietly into her hair, strong arms pulling her close, their bodies intertwined.

"Are you sure this is okay?" She asks, though the way she sinks into him says she wouldn't be leaving anytime soon. "Don't want to accidently hurt you or reopen anything."

"You're worse off than me, I think I should be the one worrying about that." He responds, rubbing small circles on her waist. Soothing. Calming.

"I'll always worry." She mumbles against his chest, already feeling sleep pulling her in.

"Your downfall." He huffs, pressing his lips to her forehead for a long moment. "Thought I lost you." The admission is something vulnerable, real. Painful.

"Rather me than you." She responds, eyes slipping shut.

"Say that again and see where it lands you." He grumbles, arms tightening around her. Being as helpless as he was in that situation wasn't something he'd ever forget. Having to sit there, watch those bastards touch her, hurt her, forcing himself to look impassive and cold. Unreacting.

It had been a worse torture than any of their knives.

The second he was cleared to leave the medbay, he was going on a nice little trip back. He'd retrace his steps, get Price to get him the name of every. Single. Motherfucker that had been in the building that day.

Every single one would meet a fate worse than death itself could present them with.

They'd pray for the reaper before Ghost was done with them. He'd make them beg, draw out every single scrape they left on her until they begged to be spared. Only then would Ghost let them bleed out, nice and slow. Maybe he'd even do it one at a time, make the others watch.

They're dark thoughts, but the fury that had been boiling inside him for the past two weeks needed to an outlet, and what better place than the very bastards that had dared to lay their hands on her? The thought pacifies him for now.

He's assured his revenge, but she's more important than anything like that could ever be to him.

"I'm sorry I scared you. You can't get rid of me that easy, though. Thought you knew that by now." Completely unfazed by his threat.

"I wouldn't want to." He assures her, rolling his eyes. "It'd be a bloody shame to lose someone like you, love."

It makes her smile against him, tucking her head into the crook of his neck. Safe. She was safe here.

It doesn't take long before she's drifted off again, securely in his arms.

Requests Are Open! Reblog, Like and Comment!

Part 2

(09/07/2023)

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[lovebugism]

congrats on one year of your blog!!

for your one year celebration, could you write something with the prompt

“you showed up at my door of all place?”

“trust me it wasn’t my first choice either.”

with steve perhaps? maybe he’s injured (because when isn’t he) and has no one else to turn to but the reader??

tysm lovie! hope you like it :D — steve seeks comfort in you, his rival since high school, a week after fighting vecna (enemies in love, hurt/comfort, post st4, 1.7k)

bug's one year celebration ♡

Steve’s stitches start weeping a week after the brawl with Vecna — the ones you’d sewn along his ribcage when a gang of demobats made a feast of him. 

He’s gotten so numb to the pain (the constant, never-ending, three years of nonstop pain) that he doesn’t realize his wound has torn open again. Not until his shirt starts sticking abnormally wet to his skin. He looks down, notices the dark red patch blooming on the gray fabric, and then feels the distant stinging of the week-old bite.

Most of them have healed or are starting to. They’ve turned pink and marred over, unlikely to fade. But there’s one gash that refuses to mend, and he’s starting to think it might be some kind of bad omen. Like the constantly knicked sutures are some kind of prophetic telling of an undone fight and not just a consequence of his restlessness.

He thinks of you first, anyhow. Before a solution or a way to dull the pain. He thinks of you and your gentle hands and how you were the only person he’d let touch him after coming back from the Upside Down. 

Steve drives to Forest Hills and ascends the rickety porch of your trailer even though he knows it’s 2 a.m. He knocks at the paint-chipped entrance even though he knows Eddie only lives four doors down. Max lives across the way from Eddie, and he knows that, too. He could go just about anywhere, he figures, but he’s here — on the steps of the girl who couldn’t stand him in high school.

You answer the door much quicker than he anticipated. Ten seconds after he knocks, you stand before him with wet hair and no pants. The damp strands drip onto the oversized shirt you wear. The sleeves of the old thing hang low off your arms, the hem of it falling just above your knees.

You don’t look sleepy despite the early hours of the morning. Tired, maybe, but not sleepy. “Steve?” you say, so suddenly alert at the sight of him. Your eyes, lined with a sleep you haven’t gotten in days, go wide with distant horror. “What happened? Are you okay? Did someone die?”

You ask him all this before he’s said a single word. Good questions when you live in a town like this one, when you’ve seen the things you’ve seen.

“Nothing. Everyone’s fine,” Steve answers in a monotone, still gripping his side with his opposite hand. “My stitches just ripped.”

You blink rapidly at him, trying to clear the daze of exhaustion and the subtle shock of seeing him. “Stitches— What?”

He pulls back his hand, the palm of it now blotched pink. There’s one large circle of deep brown blood staining his shirt and two more tiny patches just below it. “I’m bleeding,” he tells you, as if it isn’t obvious now. “My stitches pulled.”

Your gaping gaze flits from his freshly opened wound to the annoyed look on his chiseled face. His pale features glow amber beneath the buzzing porch light. “And you showed up to my door, of all places?”

“Trust me. It wasn’t my first choice either.” He clutches his side again and slides past you in the doorway, walking into your trailer, mostly uninvited. 

He knows your parents aren’t around. It’s the only thing you’ve ever been able to bond over. You grew up mostly alone and learned to raise yourselves accordingly. So it’s not totally surprising to find your trailer dripping with girlhood — tiny trinkets, movie posters, half-alive plants, and vibrant colors. More of a home than his empty mansion ever was.

“Why don’t you just go to the E.R.?” you ask and shut the door behind you. You have to lean your body weight against it and press really hard — or else it won’t close fully, and the wind kicks it open while you’re sleeping, and you wake up to a family of raccoons ravaging the candy bowl on your coffee table.

Steve huffs and sits on your grass-green couch, face scrunching at the distant stinging along his ribcage. “Because I don’t know how to tell people that potentially rabid demobats took a pound of flesh outta me,” he sasses.

You shake your head. “If you get blood on my sofa, Harrington, I swear to god…” you mumble and sit down beside him. 

You lift the hem of his shirt to assess the damage, knuckles skimming warm along his golden side.

Most of the bites scattered along his ribs are healing now. They’re small and shallow and turning slowly pink instead of scarlet red. But there’s one still pulsing crimson, the only one deep enough to need stitches. The only one refusing to heal. 

The sight of the raw, throbbing wound makes your stomach writhe. You remember pulling the stubborn demobat off of him by its tail. You feel the sting of his pain even now, like it’s your own.

Steve watches your face the whole time. He decides to base his pain on how you look at him, whether you shrug it off or grimace in disgust. You do neither. Your eyes dart over his skin, glimmering with concentration, as your fingers brush his aching side with a gentleness he didn’t think was possible.

His brows pinch at your lack of response. He tilts his chin to his chest and ducks his gaze to look at you, honey eyes eyes sparkling with curiosity. “Is it bad?”

“Well… It’s not good,” you conclude after a few moments.

“That’s such a non-answer,” he scoffs, dropping his head to the back of the couch to watch you walk into the kitchen. 

You disappear behind a wall for a few moments. The distant clattering of something, muffled as you dig inside cabinets, fills the empty trailer. 

You’re back in thirty seconds, tops, with the first aid kit you’ve been a stickler about keeping restocked. ‘Cause Steve isn’t your first patient since coming back home. He’s not your second, either. 

It was Eddie first, for his own demobat bites, and then Lucas when the cut along his swollen cheek split open again.

You’re not cut out for any of it. Not professionally, anyway. You only know how to do sutures because of Mr. Mundy’s ninth-grade health class.

You return to Steve’s side and begin to clean up the bite, lest an infection spread and Vecna take him out from beyond the grave. 

The burn of the alcohol makes him wince. “Ow,” Steve whispers under his breath, a subtle pout scrunching his features.

“Don’t be such a baby,” you laugh.

“I’m injured— You’re supposed to be nice to me.”

“You’ve been through three separate concussions and a thousand demobat bites. I think you can handle a little sting, Harrington.”

Steve tilts his cheek to his shoulder, squinting his twinkling eyes and flashing you a lopsided smile. “Has anyone ever told you how amazing your bedside manner is— ow!”

You start stitching him up without warning. You make it look easy despite having no real idea what you’re doing. Steve figures it’s because you’re a natural at taking care of people. Sometimes he thinks that’s the only reason all of you managed to make it out of the Upside Down in the first place.

“All done,” you murmur after you’ve knotted the last stitch.

“Thanks…” He tries to sit up again. The sting hasn’t yet left him. It’s less of a pain now, and more of a  warning — the thin sutures screaming as they threaten to snap.

“If you don’t move around so much, they won’t pull. Again.”

“Is that the rule?” he teases.

“Yeah. That’s the rule— the don’t be stupid rule.”

Steve takes a sharp breath in and rises. He’s prepared for the ache, so it burns less this time. He sees you reach for him in the corner of his eye, hands darting out to help him and then shooting down again when you decide against it. 

He wouldn’t have minded if you had. He would’ve made fun of you for it, obviously, but he wouldn’t have minded.

He’s been missing the warmth of your touch more and more since the Upside Down — back when he laid mostly limp on the arid ground of a desolate land, when you cradled his body to shield him from the bats flying overhead. 

He stopped feeling scared when you held him. He thought it was because he was dying, but now he knows it was because of you. The healing in your touch. It’s like the amber glow of streetlamps in the dead of night, or sunsets that paint the whole world pink. Being touched by you is like dancing in summer rain and running through a field of wildflowers.

“Sorry, for uh— for keeping you up,” Steve apologizes and inches towards the door.

You follow close behind him, with an urgency that borders between letting him out and keeping him in. “It’s— It’s fine,” you stammer, then laugh at yourself. “It’s not like I was sleeping anyway.”

“Really?” Steve asks, an inquisitive swirl to his scruffy features.

He turns around to face you more, his sneakers melting into the plush of your rug. Your hand gets clammy and tightens around the rusted doorknob when he looks down at you — with his eyes made of velvet and his mouth made of flower petals. His face is so hardened, but he looks at you so softly anyway.

“No,” you confess with a soft shrug. “I mean— after everything, I don’t know how anyone is. I was with Eddie earlier, and the fucker was passed out before ten.”

Steve breathes a sharp laugh through his nose. His plush lips curl into a crooked smile. “He deserves the sleep, though.”

“Yeah,” you sigh.

“And so do you.”

“I know,” you grin, equal parts bitter and genuine. “But I’m not getting any.”

“Me neither,” Steve confesses, exhaling so deep it makes his chest deflate.

The two of you linger in place for a long, long time. Both of your mouths curl to say the same things — let’s grieve together, let’s wait for the sun to rise so the nightmares will pass — but neither of you is brave enough to say them out loud.

“I’ll see you around,” Steve nods, finally.

You wrench open the door for him, pulling extra hard when it jams. “The next time you pull your stitches?” you joke, smiling like you’re not grieved to watch him walk into the empty night alone.

Steve grins like he’s not mourning, too. “Probably,” he scoffs.

Maybe before that, he hopes, healed again as he walks to his car. Maybe I’ll be brave enough soon.

#published by bug #steve harrington x reader #stranger things x reader #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x you #steve harrington #stranger things #stranger things imagine #steve harrington imagine #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things fanfic #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington fanfic #st drabbles #stevie drabble #event: bug turns one

[shadesslut]

𝓚𝓲𝓷𝓴𝓽𝓸𝓫𝓮𝓻 DAY 5

Knife/Blood Play

(a/n: Sorry for the late post! I'll try to catch up but I have a lot of schoolwork:/)

MINORS DNI

Pairing: (Gf!Ethan Landry x Fem!Reader)

Content Includes: (Knife play, blood play, handjob, smut)

Main Masterlist

𝓚𝓲𝓷𝓴𝓽𝓸𝓫𝓮𝓻 𝓜𝓪𝓼𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓵𝓲𝓼𝓽

🦇

🦇

🦇

Ethan knew he was weird, he knew that. He knew he liked certain things people would avoid or be afraid of. Ethan knew his hobby wasn’t normal, and that he wasn’t normal. 

It was Halloween night in New York, teens clad in werewolf and vampire masks. Ethan was hiding in plain sight. He wore his Ghostface attire as he rode on the elevator. His hands were bloody, and his mask splashed with red stains. No one batted an eye to him, it was just a costume right?

He knocked loudly with a clenched fist on the door. Y/N had invited him over tonight to have dinner and watch scary movies. 

The door opened, creaking on its hinges as it did so. Y/N had a maroon button-up long sleeve, orange and black plaid shorts, and knee-high knitted socks. 

“Nice costume,” she complimented him as she looked him up and down. He tilted his head down at her. She scoffed before stepping aside to let him in. 

Ethan shut the door behind him, his fingers still twitching from earlier that night. 

“You look good,” Ethan lowly said. She went back into her small kitchen, lifting a pot lid to check on the water. 

“‘Good’?” 

“Pretty.” Ethan corrected. “I’m hungry,” 

She dryly chuckled as she shook her head. “I’m making potato soup.” 

Ethan grabbed the bottom of his mask, sliding it off his head. Beads of sweat dripped from his hair to his forehead. He walked up behind her, his head hovering over her shoulder. “Not that kind of hungry,” he whispered, his lips dangerously close to her skin. 

Her breath hitched, but she waved him off. “Not before we eat,” She told him. 

He groaned, stepping backwards to lean on the counter. 

“You wanna help me?” She asked. She ripped open a mesh bag of potatoes and began to wash them. Ethan watched her as her thumbs swiped across the potato skin under the water. 

“What do you need me to do?”  

“Can you start cooking the bacon?” She asked as she brought the clean potatoes to her cutting board. Ethan nodded, and he went for the fridge. The sound of a knife sharpening caused Ethan to jerk his head towards her. She swiped the knife’s blade with her fingers. 

Oh fuck me. Ethan thought. 

She grabbed one of the potatoes with her left hand, and she held the knife above it. She started at the end, piercing in the middle with the knife. She slightly slid the knife forwards, and then she went down the middle, cutting it in half.

Ethan didn’t move, his hand freezing on the fridge handle. His eyes were focused on her hands as she cut. How could someone be so precise with a knife? So delicate with their movements? So careful? Ethan’s eyes watered barely, and his cock twitched in his pants. How would she handle cutting skin? Would she be as gentle as she was now? 

She chopped perpendicularly of her previous cut, chopping the potato into cubes. She did a few more potatoes, and when she finished she slid them off with her knife into the boiling water. 

Ethan tried to hold it back, but he accidentally let out a moan. 

Her hands froze as she looked over to Ethan with wide eyes. His face instantly flushed under her gaze. 

She lightly chucked, breaking the tension in the air. “You, you okay?” She asked, her voice lacing with concern. Ethan nodded. 

“Just been waiting for you all night,” he half-lied. She smiled sweetly. “Can I ask a weird question?” 

“Go ahead,” 

“Promise you won’t judge?”

“I promise.”

Ethan took a breath, and he decided to just go for it. “Can you give me a handjob?” 

She stared at him for a moment, before doubling over in a laughing fit. “Ethan, that's not bad, and yes, yes I can.” She smirked. 

Ethan gulped. 

“Can you also hold the knife up to my throat?” 

Her laughing stopped. She stared at him for a moment, searching for any sign of sarcasm. “What?” She asked once she realized he wasn’t making a joke. 

“I just think it’d be hot? You know, like how you think it’s hot when I choke you?” 

“What if I accidentally cut you?” 

He shrugged his shoulders in response. The water boiling was the only noise filling the room. He couldn’t be serious right? Obviously, he was making some kind of joke with her. 

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have said it-” 

“I’ll do it.” She cut him off. His eyes flicked up to hers as they widened. 

He tried to hold back a smile. “Really?” He asked, hopefully. She slowly nodded, and she walked towards the sink to wash the knife. Ethan swallowed nervously as his hands stimmed in excitement. 

She turned around with the knife in her hand as she tried it with a rag. “Take off your clothes.” She demanded. Ethan’s movements stuttered at first, his hands shaking as he bent down to reach the end of his robe. Swiftly, he raised it over his head along with his shirt. Y/N slowly walked towards him, tossing the rag to the ground. Ethan’s smile widened as he watched her fingertip trace the end of the knife, all the way to the tip. 

“You’re so hot,” Ethan moaned. Y/N smiled. She set the knife down on the counter before unzipping Ethan’s pants. Ethan slid the jeans down, not caring about them as they dropped to his ankles. 

Knife back in her hand, she carefully dragged the tip of the knife near his v-line. She made sure to not press as hard to avoid cutting him. What she didn’t know was that Ethan begged her to cut him in his head. 

She tilted her head up at Ethan and parted her lips. Ethan slightly bent down for her, giving her access to kiss him. Their kiss was slow, but heated. The knife was now pressed flat against Ethan’s stomach, and her other hand reached in his boxers. 

He moaned into the kiss, his cold hand grasping his cock. 

“You’re such a fucking loser,” she whispered, making Ethan’s cock twitch in her hand. “Getting off by me holding a knife to your skin. You’re disgusting.”

Ethan’s eyes shut, a whine coming from his lips. Her hand slowly slid up his cock, her grip tightening as it moved. She dragged the knife up over his belly button, up to his chest. Ethan shivered looking down as he watched the knife get closer to his chin. 

“Mm fuck,” Ethan moaned softly. His chest rose up and down, slighting pressing against the knife. Her hand quickened as she twisted it up and down on his shaft. Precum spilled down her thumb, lubing up the rest of him. She lifted the knife up to his neck, and Ethan’s eyes widened. Never had he ever been this turned on in his nineteen years of living. His hips jerked up, and his hand tightly gripped at her hip. 

“Y/N, please,” 

He snaked his hand around her ass, firmly groping. She flinched at the touch, causing the knife to press against Ethan’s neck. The knife punctured some of his skin, barely, and a few drops of blood dripped down his neck. Ethan felt himself get closer and closer to the edge. 

She finally saw the blood drip down, and she instantly stopped all her movements. “Shit! Are you okay?” She asked with concern, moving to grab a towel. Ethan’s grip tightened on her, pulling her back to him.

“Don’t you dare fucking stop.” He spoke lowly as his eyes darkened. She gulped and nodded in response. He let out a sigh of relief as she started to jerk him off again. Her grip on the knife wasn’t as sturdy as before, but Ethan didn’t care. 

Ethan swiped two fingers shakily across the blood, catching it onto his skin. He smeared it across his lips, and pulled Y/N closer to him. He came in her hand as he smashed his lips onto hers. She dropped the knife, it clattering onto the floor. Her hands came up to grip his face, his cum sticking to his cheek. 

His blood smudged against her face, staining her lips and chin. Harshly, he bit on her bottom lip, causing her to squeal in pain. Blood trickled from her lip, and Ethan sucked it all up. 

She pulled away, applying pressure to her lip with her fingers. 

Ethan panted as he stared hungrily down at her.

“That was,” she trailed off, shame bubbling inside of her.

“Fucking hot.”

#scream #scream 6 #scream vi #ethan landry #ethan landry x reader #jack champion #ghostface x reader #ethan kirsch #kinktober #shadeskinktober #ethan landry smut #smut #knifeplay #bloodplay

[ceruleancattail]

A Red Heart

Mystic Au

Ruggie x reader

Tw: yandere, gore. Lots of gore. Man’s insane but Y’know I love that so-

All you could see was red.

Spread across his lips, splattered out in a shocking mess of crimson and brown, flakes of blood peeling off like a badly-painted wall. Drops of scarlet drip off his chin, almost like a beast’s wild slobber. His shirt was scratched up, one sleeve ripped clean off, stray threads fluttering away with his every breath.

He kneeled in right before the door, fingers curved into crescents. There were claws, at the end of those fingers. Short, yet viciously sharp. You’ve seen him rip apart packets of chips and paper packaging like it was nothing. It somehow never occured to you what those claws could do to skin. They were coated with grime and blood, red and gummy under his nails.

Vaguely, you could see chunks of flesh strewn around on the ground, ripped into indescribable chunks of gore. Thrown around your floor, coated with the crimson of blood. Hesitantly, you nudge one with your finger.

Warm.

It was still fucking warm.

A chill raced down your spine, settling itself deep into its base. Ice ran rampant through your veins, freezing your bones ice cold. Your heart thumped, throwing itself against its cage of bone again and again, in a futile attempt to escape.

Rooted to the spot, you could feel the bile rise up your throat. Lapping at the back of your throat, acidity burning into the flesh of your mouth. Pressing its way into to your tongue, the vile liquid threatening to spill off your lips at any moment.

The man… no, the creature sitting kneeling right before you raised his head slowly, a wide toothy grin spreading across his lips. To your disgust, it was the same smile. The fanged, crooked grin that he smiled, eyes crinkling right alongside with it.

The same smile you’ve always found cute.

The familiar, warm smile of your Familiar.

Forcing the bile back, you manage to stutter:

“What… have you done, Ruggie?”

Ruggie tilts his head to the side, a somewhat endearing little gesture. Furry ears twitching ever so slightly, those bright cerulean eyes of his staring straight into your own.

You used to think they were beautiful. A clear blue, like the boundless vastness of the sky. Yet now, those same eyes unsettled you, with their clearness. With their calmness. No matter how hard you searched, you couldn’t even find a smidge of remorse within those irises.

“Aw, you came home earlier today, huh Master?”

Hands pushing against the ground, Ruggie leaps right back onto his feet, that sickening grin still plastered across his blood soaked lips. He takes a step closer, swaying ever so slightly. Unsteady, shivering from the excitement of a beast who’s just successfully sunk its teeth into its prey. You could just barely make out the gleam in his eyes, and the instability of it all.

“Who did you…”

your voice falters, trailing off into the silence. What word could you have used? What English word could ever describe the savageness of which Ruggie attacked his poor victim, tearing they apart with both claw and fang? How could you ever come up with a word that encompassed this dastardly act of primal rage?

You were answered with a husky laugh, before a hand lands on your shoulder. A reassuring pat from Ruggie, yet you still winced from the sheer force of his palm.

“What does it matter? They’re dead.”

Ruggie shrugs, shoulders moving up and down fluidly.

“Ain’t no point to having a name to haunt your nightmares, yeah? I know humans are screamish about stuff like this.

I tried to be considerate about ya, y’know? I can’t have my master hurling nilly willy all over the floor. But it ain’t my fault you came home early today.”

His lips twitch upwards ever so slightly, a sort of sadistic amusement leaking out of it.

“That’s on ya.”

Ruggie bends down, wiping off his hands the best he can with the cloth of his pants, before he reaches for your hand. Clutching it tightly, damn near squeezing the life out of your palm. With a sharp yank, you stumble forward. Forced to follow Ruggie’s pace, as he leads you further into the gory scene.

You stop in front of a mangled corpse, almost rendered unrecognisable by Ruggie. The fingers were all scorched, and gnawed at, removing every single fingerprint on it. Part of it had been burnt, disfigured into some monstrosity of raw, throbbing red.

Without any hesitation, Ruggie plunges his hand into the corpse’s chest, digging around for something or another. Every move he made was accompanied by a disgusting squelch, blood staining his arm like a glove.

Despite all of that, Ruggie was still smiling. Chattering on cheerfully, as he continued his search.

“I wanted this to be a surprise, but you’re already here, so might as well.”

Finally, he finished out something. Something the size of his palm, throbbing and squirming in his very hands. A heart. A fucking human heart. Ruggie cradled it softly within his bloodstained palms, the organ still trembling within his hands.

“Humans use hearts to express their love, right? Those little valentine cards, all red and lovely… I figured it’ll be much more romantic if i actually got ya’ a real one.

I put in all that extra effort just for ya, master. Aren’t you just so grateful?”

He slides the organ into your hands, gently closing his fingers around yours. Guiding you into cradling the heart tenderly, softly. Like something beautiful, precious. Like something valuable, forged out of life itself.

Forcing you to hold onto the weight of his sin,

making your hands just as stained as his was.

#twisted wonderland #twst #disney twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #ruggie bucchi #Ruggie bucchi x reader #yandere ruggie bucchi #yandere Ruggie #yandere Ruggie x reader #Ruggie x reader #Ruggie #yandere Ruggie bucchi x reader #protection potion ♦️ #mystic au #there’s just something something about mystical creatures not understanding human customs fully but still want to do something special for #something something blood and gore something #RRRRRR #sometimes I’ve gotta remind the world that I am feral and insane #spice things up a bit with some Yan on the blog

[minispidey]

Hey doll, walk with me…you and Oscar (any of his characters really) get into an argument, haven’t spoken for a few weeks (he’s away on business), when he gets home, you start arguing again…next thing you know you’re in bed, begging to cum.

PETTY ARGUMENTS.

Miguel O'Hara x f!reader.

Word count: 750

Warnings: orgasm denial, implied penetration but mostly just him rubbing the hell out of your clit 💅 fluff and aftercare

In a nutshell: You're mad Miguel threw your ugly ass coat, you two didn't even finish the argument when he gets called for work. A week later, he comes back and you rip his coat as revenge 🤌 aanddd yeah

mdni

MIGUEL O'HARA oh lord

"That's fucking bullshit and we both know that! It's just a fucking coat, Miguel." You yelled at him, covering your face with both of your hands in frustration.

"Exactly. It's just a fucking coat! You can buy another one. That one barely suits you!"

"What the fuck did you just say?!" Your blood boiled. It was like you were seeing red. Your hands curled into fists, crescent marks forming on the palms of your hands because of your nails.

"Cariño, I'm sorry. I worded that wrong." Miguel walks closer to you "I'm sorry. I just mean that it's a hideous coat, alright?"

"Fucking— there's a thing called sentimental value, Miguel!"

"I'll buy you a new one, I promise-"

"Fuck you!" You slammed your bedroom door closed. He really fucked up.

Acting like an absolute brat tbh he just wants to fuck the tantrum out of you but uh-oh, work is calling 🤸‍♀️

You spent hours in your bedroom, the comforter wrapped around your body. You waited for him to come apologize but it looks like he wasn't going to any time soon.

It was until you left the room when you realized Miguel left.

You feel your blood boil but you waited for until he came back... which is a week later.

You played a drinking game. A glass of wine for every thought you had of you strangling Miguel. You end up drunk each day.

As the front door opens, Miguel steps in. He takes off his coat, hanging it before walking to the kitchen to you with a glass of wine.

You stared at him, still disappointed in him. You chugged the remaining wine before pouring another. But you stop, looking at coat on the hooks.

You got off the bar stool, sprinting towards his coat and grabbing it. Miguel saw what you were doing and pried the coat away from your grasp "Are you seriously still pissed off about that dumb coat?"

"You fucking left for a week! How do you expect me to react?"

"I gave you space and time to cool off."

"It doesn't change the fact you threw my coat!"

"I'm sorry, okay? Honey, come on-"

"Fuck you!" You pulled on his coat, ripping the sleeve. We both stopped. Miguel looked at his coat and his eyes turned red "Are you happy?"

"Very."

Next thing you know, you're bent over the kitchen island. His bulge pressed against your ass. He leans in close, his voice a seductive whisper against your ear "I'm going to take my time with you, darling," he murmurs, his words dripping with desire "You wanna be a brat? I'll fuck it out of you."

Miguel's touch on your clit maddeningly slow, each caress driving you to the edge and back. He skillfully navigates your body, his fingers and lips expertly exploring every sensitive spot. His voice is a velvety rasp as he murmurs words of praise and encouragement, his breath hot against your skin.

"Miggy!" you moaned out as he continues to push you to the brink, his touch becoming more intense with each passing moment. His voice guides you through the sensations, his words a mix of praise and playful taunting.

As you reach the edge, Miguel's voice fills the room, his words a seductive command "Hold on, Cariño..." he murmurs, his voice filled with authority "No cumming."

He brings you to the precipice time and time again, his touch relentless yet tender. Each denial only intensifies the desire, the need for release becoming a burning ache within you "Miggy.... 'm sorry..." you whimpered "Wanna cum..."

Miguel grinds his hard-on against your ass as he continued his continuous torture on your clit "You're sorry? I doubt it."

"Miggy, please. I'm really sorry, honey... I c-can't take it anymore please let me cum."

"You gonna bitch out over your coat again? Hm?"

"No, Miggy... I won't... please let me cum..."

Eventually yk he fucks the shit out of you with his cock, and at the end of it he grabs something from his bag and hands it to you.

"I washed it myself."

It was your coat.

"Miggy, why didn't you tell me earlier before I ripped your coat? Now I feel bad."

"I deserved it for throwing your coat away. I'm sorry, mi vida. I never wanted to upset you." Miguel kisses your forehead, placing your body in a warm bubble bath "I'm gonna spend the rest of my life making it up to you. I promise you that."

#miguel o'hara #across the spiderverse #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel smut #miguel o'hara smut #Minispidey requests

[beansprean]

I adore Derek’s new gothpunk e-boy aesthetic and am sprinkling my own weeb hc on top!! I love him 😍

(Feel free to use his nakey self if you want to draw other fits on him, just don’t erase the watermark!)

(ID in alt and under cut)

ID: 1. Full body of Derek smiling nervously, left hand at his side and the other held up like ‘nya’. He is wearing a black studded collar, a scoop neck black shirt with crying anime eyes, bleach stained light jeans cuffed over black combat boots, and a puffy camouflage jacket with a hood. He also has fingerless gloves and several chains attached to o rings looped around his belt.

2. Repeat. Derek is wearing a dark blue long sleeves shirt with thumb holes, frayed hems, and elbow patches under a tattered white tee shirt with horizontal rips that says "blood lust rave" in dripping black font. Beneath are black jeans with a studded belt and red suspenders hanging tucked into knee high burgundy leather combat boots. He has on several gold and silver rings, a tattoo choker, a studded collar, a long necklace with a few rings, and a dark red beanie.

3. Repeat. Derek is wearing a black and white striped long sleeve turtleneck under a black Otoboke Beaver tee shirt and loose black jeans tucked into white platform boots. He has several silver rings a silver chain around his neck, and another looped through several o rings around his belt.

4. Repeat. Derek is wearing a loose dark red striped sweater with a rip at the neckline affixed with safety pins, dark wash skinny jeans with multiple rips down the thighs and knees over fishnet tights, and checkered high top sneakers. He has dogtags, a pentagram necklace, and a studded collar around his neck and multiple chains, padlocks, and handcuffs hanging from his belt with o rings.

5. Repeat. Derek is wearing a dark loose sweater with thumb holes, a ripped off collar connected with safety pins, and fishnet material from the waist down. It's tucked into loose black skater pants with dangling hooks and suspenders and an askew studded belt, unzipped at the calf to show red material underneath. Black converse peek out beneath the flared cuffs.

6. Repeat. Derek is wearing a white collared shirt under a black tee shirt that says “vampire weekday” in slashy red font and black jeans with red splatter on the knees tucked into red ankle boots. He has on several rings, a few chains and a padlock around his neck, and a studded belt.

7. Repeat. Derek is wearing a short sleeve dark grey button up with a white scallop pattern and rolled sleeves, unbuttoned past his sternum to show off the gold pendant around his neck. The shirt is tucked into dark wash jeans with a snakeskin belt, cuffs rolled to mid calf, a few inches above shiny burgundy ankle boots.

8. Repeat. Derek is wearing a pale lavender turtleneck with black fishnet sleeves that hook around his fingers like gloves tucked into black skinny jeans with a studded belt. He has a thick black studded collar with an o ring and a matching harness strapped across his chest, the center o ring attached to a leash he holds in his left hand. He has several chains attached to o rings at his belt and his jeans are tucked into huge black gothic platform boots with several straps.

9. Repeat. Derek is wearing an oversized black hoodie over distressed and ripped up jeans and scuffed brown hiking boots with the laces double wrapped around his ankles. His hoodie has some red lacing down the arms and at the cuffs, and at the center is a red square with a crying anime girl rendered in black with white lineart. Red text in Japanese on either side reads "lonely vampire"

10. Repeat. Derek is wearing black briefs. /End ID

#wwdits #derek wwdits #paper doll #goth fashion #punk fashion #eboy fashion #shadowsart #what we do in the shadows #what we do in the shadows fx #my art #fanart #image described

[koiiiiijiii]

Heyyy, What if reader is in the hummingbird crew and is in a secret relationship with joker

Can u make some Sfw and nsfw headcanon

sorry, i decided to do only sfw part because i didn’t really came up with the idea how to add nsfw part here ://

hope you’ll enjoy!!

warnings ; only my not proofed english erorrs.

joker saw you on league of streets before, for sure. he knew that you were from hummingbird crew and the fact that sangho choi had a request to sabbath to deal somehow with your crew.

he never liked that idea tho, in the first place because hummingbird had you and shelly, and joker could never compete with girls, it seemed unfair and unnatural for him.

but when he saw you leaving the changing room right after incident with missing drug from that guy in red glasses, and you clearly heard their conversation, wooin immediately bellowed to catch you and joker grabbed you by wrist and pulled your hand on the level of his eyes. that red glasses pice of shit immediately screamed that it was your team that stole "something" from him. your hart, in turn, has already sunk into your heels, and soul has left your body, a bunch of suspicious-looking guys were ready to tear you apart because of someones lost thing, while you and your team just tried to win cycling competition. joker didn’t immediately realize with what force he was squeezing your wrist, and when he looked from wooin to you, he felt as if his heart was pinched. he, being a huge guy, squeezed your hand so hard that there would definitely be a bruise... "a girl's hand.. so small" - he thought to himself and relaxed his grip on you. joker didn’t like to mess with girls. especially with someone nice like you. he clearly catched himself on the idea that he doesn’t like your scared face turned to him. one your still free hand started to pounding on his elbow and forearm demanding to let you go.

when wooin learned that that guy had no proofs that it was you or your team he was furious, and joker just knew that this guy is no longer safe. he actually didn’t care. the only fact that he cared, when he made sure everyone had left the room and discovered that he was right, there was indeed a bruise on your wrist. he was ashamed, really ashamed, to offend a girl who, in addition, had done nothing wrong.

you were sitting on the floor, leaning on the boxes, when you saw that white haired guy squatted down in front of you and held out his hand. "what does this thug need??" - your thoughts were spinning in your head, and you felt bad that you refused dom’s company to pick up your stuff from changing rooms.

"give me your phone" - you heard his harsh voice. what in the earth he wanted from you?. "hey your friends already learned that i didnt stole anything, now join them and leave." - tears were alredy welling up in your eyes and it was so insulting and unpleasant for you. "im sorry..." he paused and added "i wanted to ask your number. i know one good ointment, it helps with bruises. if you dont mind. just let me know were i could meet you."

on the evening of that day, you met in the park, and he shyly handed you a transparent bag with ointment and bandages.

he muttered an apology under his breath once more and was about to leave when you grabbed the sleeve of his jacket and stopped him.

“give me your phone” - now was your turn to ask.

he freaked out a little but handed you the phone and you typed in your number and made a call, so you had his number too.

you named him as a “nice big guy from snake team”

the next time you receive a call from joker was one week later, and he asked you to help him to patch him up.

you had no idea what happened to him, but you just felt that you need to return a favor and help him.

he said he was waiting for you in the park where you met, sitting on a bench. when you came blood was dripping from his nose, and there were abrasions on his hands and face.

worried, you rushed to the nearest store and bought water to wash the wounds and to apply that ointment that he brought you.

he didn't make a sound when you moistened a piece of screw, washed his wounds and applied ointment, sealed it with plasters, and as soon as you finished, joker thanked you.

you spent about 30 minutes more in each other company and he walked you to your house.

that night you received a “good night” text from him.

after that, your correspondence became more regular, as well as meetings.

and you both agreed not to share that information with your teams. you simply knew that dom will want to fight with joker because of the fact that he hurt you in first place and joker said that it is better not to let wooin know about him hanging out with “rival crew” member.

#[ ~ koi.talks🗣] #windbreaker #windbreaker webtoon #x reader #windbreaker x reader #windbreaker headcanon #headcanon #webtoon #joker windbreaker x reader #joker x reader #joker windbreaker

[lynnielovestlou]

Hey lynnie!! I was wondering if you could maybe right a fic about reader that does sh and relapses and gets comforted by abby??

hi ml!! of course i can, i hope this is okay

cw: self harm , explicit details about cuts , comfort! abby , use of pet names , reader has she/her pronouns

a/n: DO NOT READ IF THIS TRIGGERS YOU. this is an extremely touchy subject, and i sincerely apologize if this is offensive or insensitive. if you need help or someone to talk to, my dms or inbox are always open, and there's a list of helplines tagged below.

it was pure mistake. the urges usually weren't that strong, and you usually knew better than to give in to them. but after a rough morning, you felt helpless.

usually it wasn't that bad. they were always surface scratches, fading away quick enough so that nobody noticed them.

and of course abby knew. she noticed them one day while you were at her apartment, doing the dishes after baking with her. it was over the holidays and it was cold outside, so naturally you were wearing long sleeves. while you were doing the dishes she found it odd that you didn't roll your sleeves up. your clothes were turning dark from the dampness of the sink water, and it bothered abby.

"why don't you roll your sleeves up, baby?" she asks with a small chuckle, dropping a dirty mixing bowl into the sink.

you had laughed nervously, "cause it's cold in here."

"aw." she said as she pressed a kiss to your temple. her hands had been dangerously close to your sleeves, "want me to turn the thermostat up?"

but before you could respond, she was rolling your sleeves up for you. everything stopped when she saw the cuts on your arms. breaths were held. hearts didn't beat. eyes didn't blink.

after that she spent an hour talking to you about it, asking you questions while she tended to your wounds. you had never seen your poor girlfriend so upset and so worried about you.

she made you vow never to do it again. which you thought was going to be easy.

until today.

now your arms were so red there was blood dripping down to your elbows. your body shook and shook and shook. like you did it when you weren't thinking clearly, and now it was suddenly hitting you that you went overboard. so overboard, in fact, that the sight made you sick to your stomach.

your skin was red and swollen, and the tips of your fingers were tingling. the fresh cuts had overlapped the old ones, blood tricking all around your wrists and elbowsz

your first instinct wasn't to wash off the blood or bandage it up, but to call abby.

after three rings she answered, "hey, baby. i'm at work, can i call you back on my break?"

just the sound of her voice put tears in your eyes. you knew she was going to be upset.

"i need you." you manage to choke out, your voice breaking as a hiccup escapes your lips.

"whats wrong, sweetheart?" she asks, and you can hear the faint clicking of a keyboard on the other side of the line. she's working on her computer, typing away as she's blissfully unaware what her girlfriend had done to herself.

"i relapsed."

the words make her breath catch in her throat. all of the noises stop, a sharp inhale being heard. abby herself felt like crying, because it hurt to know her love had cut herself again.

"okay... it's okay. don't panic and don't move, alright? i'll be there as fast as i can." she says in one breath before hanging up.

within ten minutes abby was at your front door, fishing out the key you gave her a few months into dating. she let herself in, seeing you on the couch, completely still. you hadn't moved, just like she asked.

she sinks to her knees in front of you, her gaze never once leaving your eyes. you'd grown to appreciate when she would do that, as if your scars weren't the only thing that she sees. but when her gaze finally did fall to your arms, the mere sight made her heart drop to her stomach.

"oh, honey... oh, baby..." she says quietly. she didn't expect it to be this bad. maybe a few surface scratches at best. not one this significantly deep, "why didn't you call me?"

"i-i did."

"i mean when you got the urge." she says, taking your hands into her own and rubbing your palms, "call me before, not after. okay?"

you nod your head, fighting back tears as she takes out a wipe from her work bag, trying to clean up the cuts the best she can.

abby is the most tender human being youve ever met. she's gentle and knows what to do when things like this happen. often times she has to remind herself not to panic to worsen the situation, but seeing you in such a state like this makes her heart shatter in her chest.

once she's all done she cuddled up real close with you, wrapping your arms in a bandage and peppering kisses all over your face. she'll take the next few days off of work to stay with you, afraid it'll happen again if she were to leave you by yourself. once you're calmed down enough, she'll go around your apartment, confiscating anything she thinks you could hurt yourself with. but you didn't mind. even when the urges were there, so was abby.

.

.

.

SELF HARM HELPLINES:

united states: (800-366-8288)

united kingdom: (0300-123-3393)

south africa: (0800-567-567)

new zealand: (0800-611-116)

ireland: (1-800-247-247)

australia: (1-800-022-222)

canada: (1-800-668-6868)

india: (915-298-7821)

#lynnielovestlou #lesbian #the last of us #queer #fanfiction #abby anderson #fanfic #wlw #wlw post #wlw love #tlou #tlou2 #abby tlou #abby anderson x reader

[gentlyweeps-world]

Hi , I have this request If you comfortable with

The reader was self harming herself before she met the drivers but she stopped do that

And the drivers discover that she was self harming herself but she thinks that they are disgusted by her scars and she try to leave but them block her way out and she breaks out and started sobbing while them say that everything will be okay and after that they got a marker and started to draw stars on her scars

Could you do that with Alex ; max or charles

And if you are uncomfortable with that feel free to ignore this request

Marking Stars

• Thank you for the request! For the future I am okay writing these types of fics, I had gone through something similar, but I have moved on and healed from it! This is a platonic! alex albon x reader, warnings for self harm.

———

It had first happened years ago, the stress and pressure had been too much for you. The only relief? Slitting your wrists.

You had to have only been what, 14? 15? And now you’re 25, cycling back to the same thing.

It was your home race, your team was counting on you, your fans were counting on you. You were counting on yourself.

And of course you had crashed out, of course that happened. Your thoughts consume you, doubts, worries and insecurities.

Post race interviews weren’t any better, the subtle jab of sexism and “do you think you truly belong here?”.

It was frequent, it only grew after your team announced your contract was ending this year, f1 gossip accounts grew with speculations.

The hate had grown, your anxiety worsened. Many of the drivers had picked up on it, it was a sudden change from your usual attitude.

It hurt pushing away those you were close with, Alex, Charles and Max. Those were your guys, the ones you truly cared for.

But it was probably better you pushed them away, you didn’t want to taint their success.

You let out a sob, gliding the blade against your wrist once more, just pressing down enough to break the skin, but not leave a heavy scar.

It was only hours after the race, you were back in the comfort of your hotel room, pressed up against the door to the bathroom as you hurt yourself, seeking relief.

Unknowingly to you, Max, Alex and Charles had talked earlier, agreeing that someone had to talk to you, to see what was truly wrong.

They agreed it had to be Alex, he could calm someone down the best and make them feel comfortable and relaxed. He had the wisdom of Lily behind him too.

You didn’t hear your hotel room door open, you didn’t hear the footsteps or asking of your name. “Y/n? Are you in there?” You could hear Alex ask, knocking on the bathroom door.

You let out a gasp, blade flying from your hand as you scramble to your feet and quickly wipe the tears from your face.

“Yeah- yeah I’m in here..” You weakly reply, outstretching a shaky hand you open the door to the bathroom, revealing you to Alex.

You could see his eyes take in your state, messy hair, red puffy eyes, and blood slowly dripping down your wrist.

It was known you only ever really wore long sleeves if possible, if you couldn’t a jacket or cardigan would be on you.

Now he knew why, from the years of knowing you since karting, he wouldn’t have known you had been suffering so much alone.

“I’m sorry- I’m so sorry Alex, you don’t need to see this- “ You sob out, trying to push past him and get out of the bathroom, which now feels like it’s suffocating you.

He gently wraps his arms around you, keeping you close to him as you sob. “I’m sorry..I’m so sorry, you don’t deserve this..” You say, tears flowing as you try to pull away from him. “My scars are disgusting..I’m sorry Alex..”

Alex doesn’t say anything, he just keeps you wrapped in his arms. “It’s okay Y/n..it’ll be okay” He says softly, gently patting you on your back.

“And your scars- they aren’t ugly or disgusting..” He says, trying his best to calm you.

“Trust me Y/n, everything will be okay..this is just something you have to get over..” He says, moving so you can look up at him, “You have so many people here for you who are willing to listen and help you for what you’re going through, you aren’t alone, you don’t deserve to suffer alone..” He says, hands on your shoulders as he looks at you with a reassuring smile.

You don’t say anything to him, instead you simply nod your head and wipe at the tears flowing down your face. Alex takes one more look at you before he grabs your hand and leads you to the hotel kitchen area.

“What are you..?” You ask softly, watching him move around and try to look for something. You hear a faint “Aha!”, then he walks over with a black sharpie, paper towel and bandaid.

He try’s his best to soak up the blood and wipe it off your hand, then he gently places the bandaid over your scar.

“What are you doing with the marker?” You ask, just watching him move around and do his thing.

He lets out a soft hum, before uncapping the marker and starting to draw small stars around or on your scars.

You stare down at his hands as he does this, warmth filling your body at the thoughtful gesture, but Alex was always like that.

“Just to show you how much of a star you truly are”

#formula one #formula 1 #formula 1 x reader #f1 #williams f1 #formula one x reader #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #alex albon #alex albon x reader #alex albon x y/n #f1 x female reader #f1 x y/n #f1 x you #f1 x female driver #williams formula 1 #williams racing #gently weeps fics

[shoyoist]

ﾟ+* ꔫ — 𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐃 : hanma shuji.

content: f!reader. bad toman!shuji. mentions of murder, blood and violence. use of guns and knives. some sort of mutual pining. work partners to fwbs to lovers kinda thing. you fuck on the hood of his car that's parked in an alley, you suck blood off his fingers, he licks blood off your body (not your own). unprotected sex, fingering, biting, body marking, shuji's a little crazy v_v.

word count: about 4.0k

— . ｡˚ ♡ when kisaki gives hanma a little ‘birthday treat’ by sending him on a hunt for some traitors, he makes you go with him as a leash. and hanma decides he wants to have a little more fun, with you.

an: i'm terribly late but here it is! happy birthday shuji my love.

the night is still — the sky dark, the moon blocked out by the heaviness of the clouds, and the expanse overhead stretches like a void, consuming all that lay underneath.

the sounds of the city fade further away, giving way to the clack of your heels and the thud of hanma's shoes against the asphalt with every step you take away from the main streets — following him as he turns wildly around the final corner into an alley, and you both at last make it to a safe place.

you stop just short of bumping into him, and the scent of sweat and drying blood, mixed with a familiar hint of cigarettes and men's cologne, invades your senses with your next breath.

you taste rust on your tongue, at the back of your throat, and now that you've stopped running, the smell and the taste remind you of how badly you've both just fucked your mission up.

"you know what," hanma laughs, barely out of breath as he lurches to a stop beside his car, parked unceremoniously at the back of the alley, concealed by the shadows of the buildings and midnight gloom. "i take it back. kisaki knew what he was doing when he sent me out to work on my birthday."

he gives his gun a little shake, watching as it spews the last wisp of smoke from its mouth, before putting it back in his pocket and turning to you with a grin. "heh, that was the most fun i've had in a while."

oh, you know he had fun.

you've known hanma quite well for quite a while, even intimately so because you've fucked on occasion, but still — you think you'll never quite get used to seeing him like this.

his suit had been clean when you'd left headquarters earlier that night — it was a grey two piece, form fitting and accentuating his lanky figure, and it was as expensive as it was lovely.

but when you'd watched him in the warehouse, told to stand by on guard in case someone interrupted his little kill job, you'd witnessed how he dirtied it, how he got it covered in blood.

the sleeves were dripping red, his white dress shirt splattered with arterial spray — and you couldn't tell if it was his own blood or not that was trickling down his chin, as he slid his tongue out to lick it up.

"fuckin' shit, you are," he'd cackled, on his haunches over the victim of his hunt, as the man under him screamed for mercy. "think you can fuck my boss over and get away with it? i'll kill you. yeah? say my fuckin' name with your last fuckin' breath."

and when he'd gotten back up, his hair was tousled, black and blonde curls falling over lusty gold eyes as he threw his head back and laughed — tall and broad shouldered, with a long, freshly used blade in his hand and with his pale skin stained red with blood, he'd laughed.

and god, he looked so fucking hot.

but you can't focus on that right now. you're too busy trying to catch your breath, and though you're glad you've escaped safely, though he'd looked so hot playing his game of being a ruthless villain — the task you were assigned with was still ultimately fucked. "shuji, what is wrong with you?"

and instead of feeling remorse or staying quiet, hanma just laughs. again. "babydoll, i think we need to do this more often. you're getting out of shape."

"kisaki said—" you're cut off by your own coughing, and hanma rests a bloodstained hand on the small of your back as you bend down and brace yourself with your hands against your knees. "kisaki said keep things under cover and deliver the body to the harbor, not make a whole massacre out of one little kill job and then be all fucking careless and almost get shot to death by the other guy hiding under a fucking cardboard box."

"hey," he rubs your back, thumb catching on the red satin of your dress as he presses into it, trying to get a feel of your softness. "i didn't die. you saved me."

"you almost died!" you protest — "you nearly fucking died and you would be bleeding out through a hole in your head right now, had i not been there to shoot down that other man first. who fucking knew he was even there?"

"you did save me." he smiles. "two birds with one stone! now hush. you're being a little too loud."

right.

"and who knows how many other people know what we were doing there tonight." you mutter sourly, thinking of how much trouble you'd all have to go through to cover up all that had happened tonight. if you didn't send people over to clean the bloody mess hanma had left at the warehouse tonight, there would be no escaping things.

you'd lose a lot of cash, at the very least, bribing people to stay blind and mute to the murder. "someone ratted us out. there's more traitors around, shuji. there were more people coming. that's why we had to fucking run for our lives all the way till we got here."

"you're right, babydoll." he says softly, rubbing your back for you as you sigh — and you'd believe he'd finally snapped out of his adrenaline high and sobered up, if he wasn't using that petname on you. "we've got more hunting to do."

you glance up when you catch something glinting between hanma's clothes, and you notice that the knife he had used to slash his victim up was carelessly stabbed into the folds of his own suit—

something he'd recklessly done that you hadn't noticed, as he'd grabbed your arm and run off with you, thanking you in a maniacal fit of giggles for shooting down the guy that would've shot him in the back of the head and killed him, had you been too late.

he's crazy.

"fuck's sake. at least you had your fun." you sigh again, and hanma steps closer to you still, chuckling as he runs his fingertips lightly up your spine. "i did, baby. it's my birthday, remember? i'm supposed to have fun."

you can feel the heat radiating from his body even from here — it chases away the cold, lets you feel some of the fire that's burning in him. "take that stupid knife out of your poor suit."

"you mad the suit's ruined?" hanma pouts, and you roll your eyes at him.

"enough." you mutter, straightening back up and taking another breath.

the polished surface of the car gleams in the light of the street lamp buzzing across the street, as you walk over, squeezing into the narrow space between the alley wall and the car door to open the shotgun. god, he had to park the thing in a place like this, too.

"we need to get home quick. you're all fucking dirty, and you'd be in worse shape if i hadn't been here to haul your ass. kisaki sent me with you so i'd keep you from getting killed or caught red-handed."

"aw, come on baby." hanma coos, shrugging his shoulders as if to claim his innocence, watching while you lean uncomfortably into the car and pull out disinfectant and a clean towel from the bag under the shotgun seat.

he watches as you struggle, twisting your body and cursing under your breath as you work through it. he remembers — how you'd watched him cut that man up, how you'd looked so enamoured by his violence, so afraid yet excited all at once, as you'd listened to him talk and watched him gut the man like a fish.

he remembers how you had run up to him, almost losing your footing in those cute little heels of yours as you pushed him aside and pointed your gun behind him, the weapon already loaded and with the hammer pulled back as you pulled the trigger — and shot another man that had somehow stayed silently hidden behind the boxes at the back the entire time.

"fuck," you'd gasped, and hanma had seen the anger, the fear and the flooding relief in your eyes as the man crumpled to the floor. then, you'd been interrupted yet again by the screeching of motorcycle tyres outside. "we need to get out of here, shuji. now."

and hanma's cold, ruthless heart had fluttered. you cared for him, didn't you? truly.

aw, he had thought. she loves me!

oblivious to his stare, you squeeze back out and set the bottle on the hood of the car, reaching up to place a hand on his shoulder, turning him around and examining his condition.

half of his face is swathed in shadow, and half is bathed in the fluorescent light of the street lamp. you see the smatter of blood on his cheek, the stain of it at his lip and on his chin where he'd licked it away earlier.

there's drying blood all over his clothes, trails of it down his neck and spread over the white of his shirt, from when he drove his knife into the man's chest and it had cut a vessel, spraying blood all over him.

"take the jacket off." you say, and he does so.

the white shirt stretches across his shoulders, the buttons at the top undone to make it easier for him to move in the thing. the hem of it had somehow stayed mostly tucked into his pants the whole time, and the buckle of his belt shines gold as you looked down at it. his pants hug his legs, showing off his thighs and calves as he stands there, smirking down at you like he's reading your thoughts.

shit, he looks so good.

the round lens of his glasses flash as he turns according to your push, the edges flecked with drops of red — and when you reach up and take them off, his eyes glimmer gold, along with the dopey smile he gives you. "babydoll, you're my lil life saver, aren't you?"

his voice lilts with the words, and instantly, you know what he's trying to start. you say nothing, but the meeting of your eyes with his is all he needs to continue.

he towers over you, shadow falling on you and shielding you from the light as he draws closer. the thick scent of cigars, cologne and blood grows stronger, and you breathe it all in — and his smile widens along with the rise of your chest.

"shuji, wait." you try, but your tone is half hearted and you know he catches it. "i need to clean you up first."

"you're all dirty too, you know?" he hums. his right hand comes back up, still sticky and red with blood as he cups your cheek with his palm, lifting your face up towards his. "such a gorgeous fuckin' sight, when you're covered in blood and holdin' a gun."

it's true. right after you'd told hanma that you both needed to get out of there immediately, you'd fallen on your ass into a pool of the first man's flesh and blood. your arms, your dress and your legs were all dirty with it, and now with hanma's touching, your face is dirty, too.

"shuji," you repeat. "not now. we need to get back, report to kisaki, and send people to cover up the messes you made."

"that can wait, can't it?" he presses even closer to you, placing sin flat against your stomach and giving you a light push.

he coaxes you to sit up on the hood of his car, the metal cold and smooth against your bare thighs, exposed by the short length of your pencil skirt — and you almost fall against it as hanma pushes himself between your legs and lowers his face to yours, bending down so he can get a good look at your pretty face. "haven't had a taste of you in a while, doll. don't you miss me?"

his palm slides over from your stomach to your waist, fingers squeezing at your flesh over the fabric as he slides his palm higher up. "it's my birthday. can't turn me down just like that. that's mean."

"sh—shuji," you say, trying your hardest to sound composed but it's so hard when he's so close, so hot, and his voice is so low and delicious in your ear. "not here—"

"can't." he groans almost dramatically, hand making it up to your ribs before he slides his palm to your back, toying with the zipper that's hiding under the slit of satin at the middle of your back. "i can't wait. you don't fuckin' know what you do to me, huh? so fuckin' hot, all dressed up, covered in blood and bossing me around like you're my little wife."

and with a whirr of tiny metal teeth unhooking from eachother, your zipper is undone, and your dress hangs loosely at your chest.

"your hands are bloody, shuji." you protest, but your voice is reduced to little more than a whine — he's so hot it's overpowering. "can't touch me like that."

"suck my fingers clean for me then." he says, and laughs when you scrunch up your nose and scowl. he takes a moment to grab the bottle of disinfectant, pours some into his palm and lathers it over his hands and arms. the bloodstains disappear somewhat, but his fingertips remain red, skin and nails etched with blood.

wiping it off with the towel, he presents his hands to you again. "happy? now, suck them off for me, like you'd do to my dick." he doesn't wait for your answer, pushing his thumb past your lips and into your mouth, and you taste blood and disinfectant on your tongue— "mmph!"

"shhh, it's okay, baby." hanma chuckles, tapping your cheek with his index finger. "go on. i know you missed having daddy's fingers in your mouth."

fuck — hearing him call himself daddy makes you go weak. and he knows, god, he knows — you see it in the way his eyes darken, the way his grin widens as you curl a hand around his wrist and suck on his thumb, leaning into his touch. "that's it, there's daddy's good girl."

the edges of his eyes catch the light from the street lamp, glowing in a halo of gold as he watches you closely, letting out little groans of pleasure as you suck harder and harder.

he gives you another finger, and then another — and his other hand first pulls at his belt, unbuckling it and pulling it off, letting out a sigh as he then brings the hand over to your thigh. this time, it's punishment, and he slides it under your skirt swiftly, fingers tugging at your panties and urging you to lift your ass of the hood a little so he can take them off.

"'s my little doll gonna be quiet for me?" he croons, pulling the lace garment down and yanking it off along with your heels — you feel them slip off, hear the heels clatter onto the ground. "we're outside, aren't we? 'n even if we're alone, you're gonna hafta stay quiet. or do you need me stuffin' these panties in your mouth?"

"n—mm," you shake your head, trying to speak around a mouth full of his fingers, and he laughs, wishing it was his cock making your cheeks bulge like that, but he doesn't have the patience to play right now.

he needs his cock in your cunt.

"good girl," he gives you a smile, showing teeth as he presses into you, giving your pussy a quick swipe with two of his fingers to gather up your leaked slick onto them and pop them in his mouth for a taste. "mm, fuck, baby," he grunts, eyes rolling up as he exhales, hot over your neck. "so good. so wet for me tonight — y'like seeing me kill people, ah?"

"mhm," you moan, not even sure what you're saying anymore, more interested in the way he's pushing your legs further apart, fumbling with the zipper of his pants and pulling his cock out from within, the heady tip red and hungry to be buried in the velvet walls of your cunt.

"a dirty fuckin' slut, aren't ya? heh," he giggles, voice so deep yet playful at the same time as he slips his fingers out of your mouth, his other arm curling around your waist, forearm against your bare back because he's unzipped your dress already, pulling you in as he tries to angle himself right.

"shit, baby," he grunts, wet fingers going under your skirt to touch your pussy — digging through the folds and touching your clit before he's bringing them down to sink into your entrance. "move a little f'me? daddy wants his cock in you, doll. let me fuckin' get in there."

"hah," you gasp at the curl of his fingers in your cunt, warm, wet walls clenching around them and squelching loudly as you lean back onto your elbows on the car's hood, feeling it bend a little under your weight as you spread your legs further and wrap them around hanma's waist, dragging him in. "please, shuji — daddy, need it. hurry up, fuck."

"'m givin' it, doll." he moans, laughing hoarsely when he pushes his fingers in deeper and your pussy squelches again. "fuck, pussy's louder than your mouth tonight, huh? naughty girl."

he slips his fingers back out, lands a sudden slap on your cunt that makes you cry out, and laughs as he grabs his cock and strokes it, still caged into your body by your legs wrapped around his waist.

"daddy," you whine, and he moves in for a kiss, meeting your lips with his mouth open, forcing his tongue in your mouth and tasting the blood — and he chuckles into your mouth, brows screwing together as he tastes the bitter tang of disinfectant that followed.

you're really his little slut, huh? sucking on his fingers even when they tasted like that?

"shhh," he mumbles into the corner of your mouth, giving his cock one last pump before he bumps his head to your pussy, slowly slipping himself in. "i got you, baby."

the stretch is expected — you've had him in you more than a few times, but still, it's still fucking delicious when his cock slides into you.

you feel how your walls hug his length, sucking him in as you lay on your back on the hood of his car, legs spread out and wrapped around his waist as he slowly pushes himself balls deep inside, skin cold but body hot and heart beating so loud inside with him pressed to your body, his smell and his taste cloaking you along with the metallic odour of blood.

god, he's so hot — so, so hot — "let me clean you up a little too, hm?" he hums, voice breathy with pleasure as he kisses your cheek, feeling the smatter of dried blood on your cheek against his lips, and he puts his tongue out and licks at your face, sending shivers crawling up your spine when he moans into your ear.

"heh, so good, babydoll. all of you 's so good," he says, rolling his hips in and slapping them against your ass as he slides fully into you with a heavy chuckle that sounds so good you could cum just listening to it—

and then, he bites.

he grabs your hair, curls his fingers up your nape into your messy locks and pulls your face aside to reveal your neck to him — and he bares his teeth and bites.

"a—ah! shuji!" you cry, and he laughs, digging his teeth in just hard enough for it to hurt, for it to hurt so good, before moving his face back to see how his teeth have marked your neck. "it's halloween season, baby. you'll be getting bitten sooner or later, lookin' this fuckin' fine."

"mmm—more," you moan, pulling another string of pitchy laughter from him, followed by a low growl as he bites again, lower this time but still just as hard. "fuck!".

he starts to move then, knowing he's not going to last long with how you're fluttering around him, sucking him in like you're afraid he's about to get up and leave.

there's blood on your neck too, and down your collarbones, and he licks it all up as he pulls in and out of your cunt, filling the silent alley with muted slap-slap-slap sounds and your moans, your dress falling apart to reveal your tits to him — and as he watches them bounce with each slap of his hips into you, he thinks he might go insane.

your only warning is the sight you see, of his eyes going bright, gold and narrow with want—

and then he's got you shoved onto the hood right on your back, your head against the windshield as he grabs your waist and digs his fingers into the plush skin, leaning onto the car and telling you in a rasp, "fuck, hold on f'me, pretty doll."

then, his body offers the first snap — and his cock hits your cervix so hard, your head is knocked back along with the rest of your body — he has you seeing stars.

the night sky above, that you can barely see between the two buildings on either side of the alley, is pitch black — but hanma puts stars in your eyes with how hard he fucks you.

the hinges of the car's hood whine just a little under your shared weights, but you don't hear it — not over hanma's heavy breathing, his whispered fuckfuckfuckfuck as he gets closer and closer to his high, and your open mouthed gasps for air as each thrust of his big fucking cock in your cunt knocks your breath away.

his pace is so fast, so hard, it's incredible he has so much left in him after all that fighting and all that god damn running—

but he fucks you hard, big hands holding you pinned down as he uses you all up, dress bunching up at your stomach, and your zipper digging into your back as he sends you to heaven and back on top of his car, right in this stupid little alley with a dead man's blood still wet on both your skins and clothes.

"baby," he moans, sweat glistening on his brow, at his temples, as he struggles to look at you through the bliss. "gonna cum, gonna fuckin' cum."

"want it, shuji — fuck, inside, please." you beg, eyes rolled back into your head, back arching up as you try so hard to keep your orgasm away, because you wanna cum with him, not before him.

but it's impossible — each thrust sends a pulse of white hot pleasure into your veins, the head of his cock hitting your sweetest spots so well, digging into them and leaking precum into you as he nearly loses himself and collapses on top of you, blissed out before he even cums.

"inside?" he rasps. "want it inside like you're my girl? like you're my own little thing, my slut, my girlfriend, my wife?"

"i am—" your voice breaks with the next hit of his cock into your cunt, overwhelmed and unable to hold your high back anymore. "i am your girl— mmh, gonna cum shuji, gonna cum!"

"go ahead, cum f'me," he hisses, the words sharp and needy as he bends down to kiss you again. "make me cum too, yeah? cum nice 'n hard for me 'n help me fill you all fuckin' up."

"mmgh," you swallow, as he keeps fucking into you, and you're half afraid that there's someone around to hear you by now as you feel yourself slip, as you feel the first wave of your orgasm crash down on you and your mind goes blank.

your pussy tightens around hanma's cock, so tight and hot and wet, squeezing him in a vice — and when your hands finally come up from where they've been gripping the edges of the hood to try and stay balanced, to cup his face and pull him down for another kiss, before you wrap your arms around him and drag him ontop of you, he feels your body squish under his, and fuck, it pushes him off the edge.

"cumming—" he chokes out, and you feel the thick, hot seed paint your walls white a second after, as shuji tries his best to hold himself up over you, gasping out your name as he cums.

your orgasm milks him through, pussy eating all his cum up, as he falls still with his balls against your ass, dissolving into your frame and your embrace as he breathes, so tired but feeling so fucking good at the same time. "hah—shit, baby. so good. so—so fuckin' good, i love you."

"mmm," you whimper, as he kisses your neck, his hair in your face, his glasses getting smudged on your skin. you feel his cum fill your hole up and drool out, so much cum you can't even hold all of it in. "i love you, too."

the two of you lay there for a few minutes, catching your breath and pulling yourselves together — and then shuji says, "fuck. gotta get home now."

"would've been better if we waited till then." you grumble, feeling sticky and sweaty now that the euphoria is over.

"hah, no," hanma giggles, his cheek pressed to your chest. "much better this way, dollface. don't fuckin' lie."

"hmph," you huff, running a hand through his hair — and you feel how he relaxes into your touch, purring low in his throat as you scrape your nails at the nape of his neck.

"happy birthday, shuji." you sigh, and he chuckles, low and hoarse into your skin.

"thank you, babydoll. give me an 'i love you'?"

"i love you." you hum, tilting your head forward to kiss his hair — and you ignore the way he lifts himself up to stare at you and coo like you hadn't just said it minutes ago. "now come on, let's fucking go home, shuji. i'm tired."

"okay, okay. but — since it's my birthday and since you love me … you drive."

"shuji."

"fuck, fine. you're no fun."

and there's nobody to hear it, but if there were, then they'd hear two killers laughing together, huddled up ontop of a car in an alley in the middle of a late October night, after having freshly added to their body counts just that very same night <3

#₊˚ପ⊹ REKHA™. #₊˚ପ⊹ NYCHTA. #hanma shuji smut #hanma smut #hanma shuji x reader #hanma x reader #tr smut #tokyo revengers smut #tokyo revengers x reader #tr x reader #tr x y/n #hanma x y/n #hanma x you #hanma headcanons #hanma drabbles #tokyo revengers drabbles #tokyo revengers headcanons #hanma angst #hanma fluff

[i984]

Mattress Laid, No Questions Asked

|Pairing|: Wednesday Addams x gender neutral reader

|Warnings|: Ooc! Wednesday Addams, Hurt/Comfort, Wednesday also has shower thoughts, Wednesday panics romantically throughout the fic, two idiots so deeply into each other they just can't tell, there's only one bed trope but not really.

|Summary|: Wednesday needs a little caring after the final battle with Joseph Crackstone.

|A/n|: My hunched back says the 12 hours is not worth the end product.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

"Sit down."

"I don't want to."

You look over her messy braids and the monochrome school uniform, now stained red. Her fingers are slightly jittering, though you're not sure if the Addams girl realizes it. The night has finally taken a toll on her.

"Please?" You give her your best assuring smile, sitting on the stool next to your bed, patting the comfy duvet.

Wednesday clenches her jaw.

She took a step forward.

You nod at her before reaching under your bedside table. It's a good thing Enid urged you to keep a medicine kit in the room. You make a mental note to thank the werewolf next time.

Standing up from your seat, you walk to the dorm's bathroom to get some warm water. "I'll be back in a minute," you half-shouted, hoping the girl hasn't already left your room.

Wednesday is already rigidly seated when you come back. Walking across the room, you carefully put the water-filled bucket beside your stool, clean cloth in your other hand. You inspect her face. It seems that the blood has stopped dripping. The dried-up red would need a little cleaning, though.

"I'm gonna tend the wound on your face first. Is that okay?"

"I can do it myself."

"I know," you swiftly put on your gloves, grabbing a gauze pad and dipping it in saline solution, "but let me do this for you."

"The wound has closed," Wednesday notices the slight raise of your eyebrow. "Don't ask me how."

"Fine. I won't," you put back the gauze pad and the bottle of saline solution on a tray. Grabbing the abandoned cloth, you dip it into the bucket beside you, wringing the excess water. "But at least let me clean it."

Wednesday gives you a dissatisfied look. Her hand reluctantly comes up to lift her bangs off her face. You offer her a small smile as a thank you.

Standing in front of the ravenette, you bend slightly, hands gently dabbing the skin with care. There wasn't a wound, just like what Wednesday said. Only crusts of blood indicate where the injury was previously nestled.

You breathe shallowly, as little as possible. With Wednesday's face so close to yours, her stare that flickers to your lips doesn't go unnoticed. You train your gaze to her cheeks, forehead, and chin, anywhere but her sunken eyes. The dirty spot on her skin has transferred to the almost-dry cloth, and you pull away carefully.

The clean water now has the slightest tinge of crimson as you dip the towel into the bucket once again. Wednesday furrows her brow as you give her a once-over. Suddenly, she becomes hyper-aware of the uniform that sticks obnoxiously to her skin and the tie that chokes her neck snugly.

"I got it," your hands come up to loosen the fabric delicately, pulling the neckwear off the raven. "You should probably change. I'll help you."

Wednesday's face remains stoic, and when you see no sign of opposition, you remove the blazer off her shoulder, pulling the sleeves slowly to avoid injuring her. Inspecting the torn shirt covered in blood, you run your fingers along the fabric, touching the smooth stained skin.

Wednesday gulps in your wake, but when she feels your breath fanning what little bit of flesh she has exposed, her breathing hitched; an almost gasp escapes her lips.

You stop your movement.

"Shit— Did I hurt you?" you scan over Wednesday's face, expecting a wince of some sort. Instead, you found a frown that had deepened, and her eyes focused on the ground. She looks almost embarrassed.

"I'm sorry, I'll grab you some clean clothes," you quickly get your hand off her shoulder and walk to your wardrobe. Wednesday's eyes feel heavy on your back, examining your move. You ignore the pounding on your chest and rummage the space until you find your old black t-shirt and sweatpants.

"Will these do?" You stride over to her, raising the clothes over your body.

"They would have to."

You hand her the garments before lifting the bucket, leading her towards the bathroom. "You can change inside. There are some clean towels if you wanna take a shower. There should still be warm water, so take your time."

Wednesday steps inside the bathroom, and her hand hovers above the doorknob. She's hesitating.

"I'll be here," you assure softly.

There's a slight nod, and the sight of her is soon replaced with the wooden door.

You let out a breath you didn't know you were holding.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Warm water hits her back, and Wednesday feels the tension in her muscle loosen. Scarlet drips to the floor, and the water turns a few shades darker. The sight of blood wasn't unfamiliar, even if it was hers. But tonight, Wednesday scrubbed the dried liquid off her skin hurriedly, touching the spot where her gut had been stabbed, then magically healed. The ravenette lets her mind wanders over the events that have led her to this moment.

Enid had retired to bed before her; loud snores were evidence of her fatigue. Taking on a Hyde with her wolf form, especially when it's only her first time, must've exhausted the blonde.

Wednesday was exhausted herself. But she couldn't fall asleep.

Her bed creaked as she tossed and turned, huffing loudly as the image of Joseph Crackstone flashed through her brain. His wicked voice and disgusting breath, as well as his crooked descendant—the poor excuse of a teacher—boiled Wednesday's blood.

Then there was Tyler. The boy she had trusted and felt enough for. Yet he dared betray her trust, lied to her, turned against her, and attacked her best friend. Wednesday wonders if she can trust anybody close to her anymore.

At least the whole school was saved. And you.

Wednesday runs her fingers through her hair, smoothing the waves her braids had created. The water is colder now, and she lets it wash over her face and freeze her scalp. The sensation calms her, and she lets her hand trail to her shoulder. The wound wasn't there. It seemed that all her injuries from the night had disappeared.

Her hand stays there, eyes closing to remember your touch. Wednesday feels her heart slowly picking up pace, and it dawns on her with a realization. She's alive. You're alive. And she can't deny her heart swells disgustingly with gladness and relief.

Because you're alive, you caught her restless feet wandering through empty corridors. It was an activity the two of you shared. She had found you walking around the school grounds aimlessly on her way to the nightshade library. Wednesday would stalk you every night after that—only to find you repeatedly standing in the middle of the quad—before resuming her investigation.

She never thought you had realized her presence; until tonight.

Wednesday heard you call out her name softly, and she stepped aside from the pillar that hid her figure. Your eyes were tender as you walked over to her with an unreadable look before locking your arms around her and squeezing her body tightly.

Wednesday didn't pull back or bury her head in the crook of your neck. Instead, she stood there, frozen, almost scared of breaking the moment. She thanked the stars that there was nobody around. There was only silence, and it was comforting and engulfing.

When you stepped back and led her to your room, she followed.

Wednesday wonders why it was so easy for her to trust someone, to trust you, especially after such a night.

The answer stares back at her, a distorted image reflected on the clear water flooding your bathroom floor.

Her hand reaches the tap and turns the water off.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

You had settled into your pajama. It's much more comfortable than the uniform, after all. Inspecting the mattress on the floor beside your bed, you hum in satisfaction. That should do for the night.

Sitting down, you stare at your bathroom door. The sound of running water had ceased minutes ago, yet Wednesday hadn't come out yet. She's making you worry, and it takes everything in you not to burst through the door and make sure she's okay.

That's until you hear her call your name.

You rush to the door, stopping in front of it before clearing your throat. "Everything good? Do you need anything?"

Wednesday doesn't answer.

Instead, you hear a thud, as if someone has just dropped their entire weight on the floor. Your hands come to turn and push the doorknob frantically, panic setting in as the wood refuses to move. "Wednesday, what happened—"

"Stop."

You halt your movement.

The ravenette must be sitting against the door. That's why you can't get it opened. You mentally cursed at yourself for not figuring that out sooner. You exhaled in relief before sitting against your side of the door.

"You good there?"

There's silence again, and you willed yourself to calm down. The faint smell of your soap tickles your nose, and you wonder if the scent is not to Wednesday's liking. Maybe that's why she called.

"Sorry for the strawberry soap," you let your head fall back, "Yoko gifted me that for my birthday last year, and I'm only using it now."

"That isn't a problem," Wednesday croaks.

"Then what is?"

Moments of quietness are exchanged. You feel your body tensing with each passing second, your heart hammering mercilessly against your ribs. There's no reason as to why your head seems to cloud at the absence of her words; it almost feels entirely stupid. But you stay silent, patiently waiting for her answer.

"Will you—" Wednesday's voice cracks, words faltering in a way you've never heard her before. "Will you stay for me?"

You can practically picture the impossible sight of her quivering lips and her furrowed brows, a single tear rolling down her cheek. She sounds afraid—as if she fears you telling her no.

"I'll stay with you, Wednesday," you rise to your feet urgently, hands coming to brush the wood. "For you, always."

The girl finally comes into your sight, the door opening fully. Wednesday chews her lower lips, eyes welling with tears. She rips her gaze from yours to the floor, nose sniffling as she chokes the sob threatening to escape her throat.

You pull her into a tight embrace, snaking your hands around her petite body; your breath is taken not from the squeeze but from the realization that Wednesday's arms are finally around yours, holding you so desperately, not giving you a chance to pull away.

You rub circles to her lower back, your other hand stroking her hair softly. You hope your body can take her stress and pain away; to make her feel safe and taken care of. You hope she understands how your throbbing heart is telling her you love her.

Wednesday's presence is all-encompassing, and you let her melt into you for as long as the moment allows it. When her dark brown eyes finally meet yours, there's an unspoken gratitude, a softness to her stare you wish to capture forever.

Her red, puffy eyelids seem to tug at your heartstrings, and you feel like saying something stupid only to clear the heavy air. "What do you think of my pajamas?"

Wednesday momentarily looks at you up and down, a grim look growing on her face.

"It's pink."

"Yes, your favorite color, right?"

"I'd die before letting myself transform into that state of mind."

You snort. "That didn't answer my question, genius."

"It's horrendous," Wednesday crosses her arms.

"You don't look so bad yourself," you grin at the sight of the Addams girl in your clothing before walking towards the mattress, the ravenette following you closely behind. "You can sleep on the bed. I want you to be as comfortable as possible."

Wednesday eyes you closely as you lay down, your hands fumbling with the blanket before settling in your position. She looks over to your bed. It does look comfy, though quite wide; she can't believe it's for one person. Suddenly the white bedding seems quite lonely.

"Do you feel like sleeping at all?"

Wednesday huffs as she grabs a pillow on your bed and steps to the edge of your mattress before carefully laying herself on the empty spot beside you. She can practically feel your teasing grin even with her back turned against you, her mind urging her to get up and walk out of your room to save herself from more embarrassment.

Instead, she feels the fabric of your duvet covering her, and Wednesday stills in place.

"Don't hog the blanket, okay? It'll get colder, and I'd prefer we both make it out tonight without freezing to death."

Wednesday turns to you before grabbing your hand and pulling it with her as she crosses her arm over her body—her signature corpse-like sleeping position.

"Now we both will freeze slower."

"Yeah, but I'm gonna get whiplash before it gets to that."

You turn your body to Wednesday, and you can see her face adopting a tranquil look; eyes closed with her hair splayed across the pillow like an angel. She smells like strawberries, and you can't fight the dopey smile tugging the edge of your lips.

It dawns on you that you had assumed she'd spend the night with you. And fortunately, she is doing just that.

Your heart clenches deliciously.

"Goodnight, Wens," you lace your fingers with hers, eyes closing as sleep overcomes you.

"May you have terrible dreams," Wednesday squeezes your hand, "because you forgot to turn off the lights."

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

A/n2: I love how I can just blame reader for all the plot holes I overlooked. To the anon that requested this weeks ago, I hope you enjoy!

Check pinned post for tag list.

#wednesday addams x reader #wednesday addams x you #wednesday addams imagine #wednesday addams #wednesday x reader #jenna ortega x reader

[sugar-plum-writer]

The Serene Peony Of Winter

Paring: Sukuna!King of Curses x Fem!Geisha Reader

Tags: Slight! mention of violence; Fem!reader; Sukuna!imagines; will be 18+ as more chapters come; slow!burn, [I want to have a good build up!], an ancient Japan romance through time with darling reader~, A chapter by chapter series, It will be a bit long maybe 10 chapters. So~ enjoy~

[If you all like it, please heart and reblog the post! to know you want to read more~ and follow for chapter updates! or leave a comment to tag you when I put out new chapters~ I will do my best to roll out UPDATES ASAP!]

New chapter update! @naoyagasm @janeaugustine @teonawrites @periwinkless-universe

CHAPTER - 2

The array of lamps and candles illuminated the beautiful room, like the night of a banquet, the wooden carvings engraved the room-like the hand bearing a legacy of love. Silk scrolls, delicate picturesque vases sat. As the scent of rosemary lingered, in prayer.

He sat as he gazed at you, looking into your eyes into your soul

Suddenly snapping back to reality― You closed your eyes and bowed your head, looking at him as if you just weren't about to run out screaming

"You, flatter me", a soft smile donned your face as your sleeves rustled― the grinding of tea leaves resounded― a perfect tea ceremony, it had been ingrained into your bones, even in death you could do it flawlessly

"I pray you like the tea I have prepared, especially gotten from the first harvest my Lord", placing the piping hot porcelain cup of tea in front of him as you looked him in the eyes

It is okay, it is fine, I will be fine, deep breathes, Y/n, treat it as any other, oh god why can't my heart calm down- oh how hard you tried to convince yourself

"Flattering?"― he laughed, taking up the cup of tea in his hands- holding it near his face, inhaling the aroma as his lips touched the rim

"You know, for a mere human, you sure look quite calm― by now 1 out of 2 would have fainted" he placed the cup down, and before you knew it―

you felt a great force grabbing your jaw, forcing you to look up, eyes widened in terror as you looked into the blood-red eyes illuminated by evil, fueled by desire, and― living in a world beyond yours

"Look me in the eyes when I speak to you woman, it's your face I want to look at"― devilish grin dripped from his eyes to his lips, forming a smirk on his face, a color― unfamiliar

Pulling you close― his hot breath on yours, Inches away― the poor porcelain tea splattered across the mat, spanning to the silks drenching the precious fabric― leaking to the tatami mat― As a gust of wind made all candles fade out not daring to light up.

Eyes locked into yours― burring holes into your skin, so deep your heartfelt dug out from the depths of your chest―

"I have been very patient", his hands going down from the wisps of your hair to your earnings brushing it― untangling it, as his lips kissed the lock of your hair

"Tell me, what's your price woman?"

"Afterall I didn't expect- to see such a beauty tonight"

Heart pounding― breathing shaking, not an inch of your muscle moved because of the sheer terror you felt, a terror digging― clawing deep into your very bones, you felt you had 1000 swords around, glistening, near your neck, threatening to perforate it mercilessly

"I-"

You dug out from every nook and cranny of your existence― Every ounce of strength you had― and looked him in the eyes

"I, Y/n do not offer such services Ryomen Sukuna-sama, for I am a Geisha"― freeing yourself from his grasp, you lowered your head onto the ground, joining your hands in front― you bowed deep on your knees, head lowered enough to snap your neck

"I have no price- for, the Sakura have not bloomed yet, and my Peony's have not wilted-,

Taking a sharp breath- piercing your lungs, your voice louder

not wilted enough to be thrown away as an arrangement of a Higanbana", with a solemn tone, the last words rolled out your tongue- into an air sharp enough to cut lives, you raised your gaze again looking into his

Silence

Utter suffocating silence

Chuckle― no rather a cackle echoed throughout the room

"Really? How amusing, even after knowing who I am, How I can rip your skin to shreds, dig out your pitiful guts, and throw them to dogs", his sharp nails grazed your cheek, and it stung as crimson blood dripped down your cheek to your chin

A crimson rouge of a unique kind, a rouge he loved to see, a rouge of death- as red as death

"Yet, you said no, not screaming, rather, in a way I Sukuna have never been spoken to, quite a woman you are", resting his chin on his hand, his legs crossed

"Is that mere dignity of yours― worth more than that pathetic life of yours woman? Should I call you a fool or an insane fool", looking down at you condescendingly, how pathetic you are

"For too many―their lives sure are worth it, but to me"

"Is life worth living as a person with no dignity? Even if I die, it is fine, for, I think― I have lived long enough. I don't wish to give away the last part of me that I have left", voice cracking as a stream of sorrow started to roll down your cheeks, only it knowing the pain― the horror you bear

"My face, my voice, have already been tailored, my Lord. Who am I? I do not know, but, until my dying breath I wish to keep this pathetic dignity of mine, I am foolish, maybe the biggest fool in the world"

The sadness in your soul, the tragedy in your heart, that circulated through your veins, all black like ink dripping from your eyelashes down your cheek gently falling down your neck

"Please, if you wish― if it will satisfy you", taking the last hairpin from your hair, raised it holding it between your palms as you lowered your head

"End me"

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Your mind does not remember what happens next, for your emotions were too much all over the place, but what you do remember is― the words that shook you to your core

"Didn't you say- you aren't to be thrown away as a dry arrangement of Higanbana? Raise your head"

Vision hazy, clouded by tears, not even able to make out your own hands, you looked at him

"You won't be, For I Ryomen Sukuna, am interested― what your story is woman, I will make sure―

His devilish eyes glistened as if he found a new toy

"To taste the tragedy in your heart, the piercing pain― Let me eat it, swallow it down my throat into my veins, into my brain forever as I live Y/n, to make it mine"

Footnotes:

>Peony: It means bravery and honor. Today it is used in decorations at weddings to promote good fortune for the bride and groom. It is referred to as "the king of a hundred of flowers"

>Sakura: It represents a time of renewal and optimism, as in Japan during the blossoming of Sakura- it marks the end of winter and beginning of a new start.

>Higanbana (Red-Spider Lily): A flower of death and sadness

Hence-

"I have no price- for, the Sakura have not bloomed yet, and my Peony's have not wilted-

not wilted enough to be thrown away as an arrangement of a Higanbana"

Means:

"I have no price- as, happiness has not bloomed, a new start has not arrived, my dignity and honor have not wilted- not wilted enough to be thrown away as an arrangement of death and sadness."

I hope you like the explanation~ <3 Footnote: Check out masterlist for all chapters!

#jujutsu sukuna #sukuna x reader #sukuna ryomen #ryomen sukuna #sukuna #jjk drabbles #jjk imagines #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen ryomen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen anime #jujustu kaisen #sukuna smut #jjk sukuna #sukuna x you #sukuna x y/n #fanfic #fanfiction

[little-emerald-snake]

Feral / breeding - Garreth Weasley X F!MC

🔥 NSFW 🔞 MDNI

Warnings: semi non human, fur/hair, feral Garreth, light blood mention, breeding, oral f receiving, lots of cum, minor cumflation, talk of mating, unprotected p-in-v (duh), inspired by @written-in-gouda’s version of Werewolf Garreth (please go look at her art, it’s to die for)

1k words

Garreth was an excellent potioneer…most of the time. That’s what was going through her head as he sipped his most recent brew in front of her eyes. But as his form started to change, her belief in his expertise began to dwindle.

The potion was only supposed to give him the ability to smell like a dog. Instead, furry ears sprouted from his copper locks, his face stayed the same but hair grew thicker down his forearms where he’d rolled up the sleeves of his shirt while brewing.

As he turned to face her she realized his green eyes now glowed like something she’d never seen on a human face. Fangs appeared from the corners of his lifted lips.

His eyes were glued to her body, raking over every single inch of her with a predatory look that looked positively feral. “G-Garreth are you…feeling okay?”

Heat flared in his eyes as they lifted to her face. His hand lifted and she took note of the sharp claws that now replaced his nails and she swallowed. He only growled lowly, stepping toward her and taking her head in his hand, sinking those claws into her hair and pulling her close to inhale against her neck.

Garreth practically shivered, she heard his lips part as he inhaled again, dragging his tongue up the column of her neck and groaning. “G-Garreth…what the f-“

Garreth interrupted her, pulling back, eyes meeting hers as his voice turned gravely. “You smell so fucking good right now. I-I need to taste you…”

She whimpered as she felt him lean in and drag his fangs against her neck. His tongue slid against her skin again, causing goosebumps to trail up her spine in response.

His hot breath ghosted across her skin as he heaved. “I-I need more…I-I’m not myself right now…I need you to tell me if I need to stop. Force me if you must…”

She was about to respond when his lips met hers, pulling her for a deep kiss. She moaned, tasting him and running her tongue over his sharp canines. She shivered and he growled, pressing her body closer against his.

He was moving now, shoving her against the potions station he’d been previously seated at and sitting her atop it. His hands hastily rucked her skirt up, trailing his mouth down her neck in the process.

He growled when a small whimper fell from her lips and his sharp fang caught on her neck, drawing a bit of blood which he greedily licked up. “You taste incredible.”

With that he sank to his knees, pulling off his shirt, so harshly she heard buttons hitting the floor, to reveal his chest which had also grown a thick thatch of hair that matched his copper curls. A wave of arousal swam and he growled, reaching under her skirt to shred the band of her panties in order to reveal her sex to him.

He wrapped his arms under the crook of her knees, pulling her legs open before inhaling her pussy and growling. “You smell so good, like it’s time to breed you. I need to breed you…fill you with my cum…”

She was red in the face, incredulous as he dove in, licking and slurping at her pussy like he was made for it. Her fingers went to sink into his hair but instead she felt cautiously at the base of the ear now sprouting up from his scalp, felt how hot it was to the touch and he moaned as her fingers traced it.

He pulled back, chin dripping with her slick before standing up and shoving his pants down. He was so hard and he looked so good, pupils wide as his eyes met hers and his hand stroked over his cock (mindful of the claws). “Can I fuck you you? I-I’ve never needed anything more in my life…need to mate you.”

She was of course on the potion but this feral side of him seemed desperate to take her with the implication that he’d breed her. The thought alone made her thighs quiver and his claws dragged against the outside of her thigh as he waited with bated breath for her answer while still stroking himself.

When she finally nodded he growled in satisfaction, tucking his face into the crook of her neck while he lined his erection up and sank home deep inside of her. A pleasured moan fell past her lips and he growled, pulling back and slamming back in.

His desire skyrocketed as he made it his personal mission to draw every single delicious sound from his mate as possible. She sounded incredible, moaning as he pounded her small body ferociously.

One hand holding her thigh and the other wrapped around her waist while he slammed home, panting and growling against her neck. The beautiful sounds she made had his cock twitching with delight.

Her sounds raising in pitch had him panting raggedly, slamming into her as hard as he could, angling their hips in order to hit the exact spot that had her screaming his name and had her sex clenching around him so tightly it made him dizzy.

When she came, his hips stilled and with a growl so deep it seemed to shake the potion bottles along the walls he came, pumping rope after thick rope deep into her while holding her all the way to his base urgently.

She made a noise of distress as it caused her lower belly to slightly swell with the sheer volume of his release. His eyes sparkled and when he finally stopped twitching inside of her he pulled out allowing all the extra cum that had built up to seep out of her pussy like a thick milky river.

He sighed, satisfied, leaning back and licking softly at her neck to soothe a bite he’d left in the height of orgasm. “My mate. My beautiful, sexy mate. So full of my cum and such a good girl while I filled you.”

#hogwarts legacy #hogwarts legacy smut #hogwarts legacy fanfiction #garreth weasley fanfiction #garreth weasley smut #garreth weasley #little emerald snake

[milf-harrington]

[image description: digital art of steve and eddie from stranger things, set out almost like a movie poster.

in the top left, eddie is shown playing air guitar with his tongue poking out. he's dressed in blue shorts and a black shirt with a short sleeve flannel + denim vest combination thrown over top. he's also wearing black converse. "the music guy" is written next to him in red ink with two arrows pointing towards him. his hair is down.

in the bottom right, steve is standing like he's leaning against a wall, one knee bent with his foot crossed in front of the other. he's dressed in short denim shorts and a green and white baseball shirt with the sleeves cut off. he's got white shoes and blue socks. he's saluting lazily. "the jock" is written next to him in blue ink with two arrows pointing towards him.

in the top right corner "steve + eddie" is written in orange capital letters, surrounded by dots and scribbles of various colours: blue, pink, orange and green. in the middle, placed behind the boys, is a pink rectangle splattered with blood. in the bottom left corner "slasher" is written in large yellow capital letters, with the same word written over it again in smaller red letters, designed to look like they're dripping blood. beneath it 'summer camp au' is written in the same red, this time without the drips. there are blood puddles pooled beneath, though. /end id.]

----

here's a little steddie piece inspired by this tiktok my best friend sent me, they literally said "possibly steddie outfit ideas" which i love bc i don't actually even think they ship steddie i just go on about them that often

#steddie #steddie slasher camp au #steddie fanart #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #stranger things fanart #my art #described #described art #this was very fun to draw

[dilemmaontwolegs]

The Challenge {1/2}

Aemond Targaryen x fem!bladesmith!reader Summary: Prince Aemond commissions your services but it gets off to a rocky start. Warnings: 18+ only, nsfw, sassy attitude, masturbation, unprotected sex WC: 5.6k

HOTD Masterlist || Part One || Part Two

The full force of the heat from the forge blasted your face as you grabbed the length of steel with your tongs. The long sword would be mighty when she was complete but it was a long way off from that. 

Your arms were aching from the hours spent in the workshop but you ignored the weight of them as you lay the steel on the anvil and hefted a hammer off the tool rack. Every hit was aimed with precision as you folded the steel over adding strength and shaping the blade until the glowing metal dimmed as it cooled.

Sweat dripped down your forehead and you swiped it from your eyes with the back of your sleeve before making your way back to the fire pit and starting the process again. It was repetitive work but you were never bored by the process because every blade was unique and made especially for its owner. Swords like yours could not be found anywhere else in the Seven Kingdoms and that was why buyers travelled from far and wide. 

“Boy, where is your master?”

You turned slowly away from the dancing flames that had kept you mesmerised while the blade heated. “Excuse me?” you asked as you tugged at the cloth that was tied across your face to save inhaling smoke all day and protect your hair from being singed. 

“Oh,” the man chuffed as his dark brows shot up his forehead, “you are the bladesmith?”

You looked around the workshop that was void of anyone else before looking back at him. “You are a clever one.”

His lips pursed at the sarcastic remark and he stepped forward, his armour clattering with the movement. It was then you noticed the white cloak that was pinned to his shoulders by a dragon broach. “You are a long way from King’s Landing.”

“I was told there was a master bladesmith in this town but there must be a misunderstanding, though I did not see another workshop around,” he trailed off as he looked at a few of the swords hanging on the walls.

You turned back to the flames and rotated the blade to even out the heat dispersation. “No misunderstanding, there is no other bladesmith here.”

The soldier crossed the small room to get a closer look at the swords and made a small sound of surprise at the details and designs of the hilts. “These are remarkable.” He turned back to you and watched as you tightened the hold on the tongs and removed the blade from the fire to rest it on the anvil. “My prince is in need of a new sword, one that is fitting of his title. You will make it and personally deliver it to King’s Landing to present on his name day.”

You cocked an eyebrow at him as you raised the hammer, one well aimed hit would be enough to knock the entitled tone from his mouth but one word would also do. “No.”

The coins in the purse that sat in his hand jangled as his fist tightened around it and you ignored the flare of anger that tinted his cheeks as you beat the steel into shape while it was hot and malleable. “Your prince demands a great sword.”

You paused to look around the room once more, waving the hammer to the empty doorway as you spoke, “I do not see a prince.”

A growl of frustration gurgled in his throat before he turned on his heel and stormed out of the workshop, slamming the old wooden door closed behind him. 

“Arrogant prick,” you muttered under your breath as you returned to work.

The sun had set hours ago but the workshop was alight with the forge fire as you made the finishing touches on a curved scimitar for a client who had come from Braavos with the design.

The blade gleamed in the firelight as you ran the whetstone down its edge until you were satisfied it could cut through a skull with a single slice. Along with an engraving of the shield of Braavos, the hilt was gilded with gold and had a small blood-red ruby nestled into the top. It really was a magnificent piece, even if you were a little biassed.

Placing the sword into the velvet lined box that had been built by your trusted carpenter, you closed the latch and placed it on a clean benchtop so it would be ready for the gentleman to pick up on the morrow. 

You double checked the windows were locked before stoking the fire one last time to keep it warm overnight and making your way out of the workshop that was littered with projects. Lists of jobs to be done and ore to be bought ran through your head, the endless stream of debt and credit being calculated as you walked. You were so caught up thinking about your business that you missed the body that filled the dark doorway you were stepping out of. 

“What in the Seven Hells do you-” your words died out as you looked up from the leather clad chest you had hit and found a smirk on the lips above. 

It wasn’t the immaculate tunic, silvery hair or violet eye that gave away the man before you, though they all screamed royalty, it was the long-healed scar and eye patch. Prince Aemond, or Aemond One-Eye behind his back, had come to your workshop. 

Beside the prince stood the soldier who had visited only a few days earlier and his attitude did not appear to have lessened in his time away. Recovering from the shock of a prince standing before you, you dipped into a curtsey and stepped back into your workshop.

“Your highness, what brings you here?”

Prince Aemond walked in with a straight spine and puffed chest, taking in the shadows with a keen eye to spy any threat hiding within. He ignored your question and his soldier remained in the doorway, watching his prince see the work of your craft.

“The hour is late and I am tired, why have you come all the way from King’s Landing?”

“My Prince is here for his sword,” the soldier answered.

“I have no sword for the prince.” You placed your hand on the box holding the latest creation as the prince reached for it. “That is not yours.”

Prince Aemond placed his hands behind his back and pursed his lips. “She is rude, isn’t she, Ser Criston, and filthy.”

“I did warn you,” he replied with a chuckle.

“Do not speak of me as if I am not here,” you commented dryly. “Your manners are no better barging in here not once but twice. I suppose you are used to getting your way.”

“I could have your head for disrespecting me,” Prince Aemond warned as his hand came to rest on his hilt.

Your chin lifted higher in defiance as you retorted, “Then you will ensure you never possess a sword of the greatest craftsmanship. That is why you are here, is it not?”

Aemond stepped closer and dipped his head as he towered over you to catch your chin in his hand. “There are plenty of other bladesmiths like you. Ones that do not come with such a mouth.”

Your lips pulled back at the insult and you wretched your head from his tight grip as you snarled, “There is no one like me.”

The smirk playing at his bow shaped lips grew as he dared you, “Prove it.” 

“Fine,” you hissed before smacking his hand away that reached for the scimitar’s box again. “I shall make you a fine sword that will be the envy of all who see it. It will be longer than all others and require two hands just to wield it, a fair compensation for what lords who request such swords are often lacking.”

Ser Criston looked away with a pinched face while Prince Aemond chuckled darkly and pulled the protective cloth from your head. “I cannot speak for these other lords, but I assure you Targaryen men do not lack in length.”

You looked him up and down. “I was not talking about your height.”

His lips twitched in amusement and he tossed your cloth back before turning away. “Neither was I.” 

The prince stopped beside his soldier and whispered something before he clattered his way over and grabbed your arm tightly. “You’re coming with us.”

You struggled against the hold but it was impossible to break as he dragged you out the door and down the street to the only inn the small village had. “You’re a damn brute!” you hissed as you kicked at his shin only to cry out as your toes slammed into the metal armour. 

“Such a temper,” Prince Aemond tutted with a laugh. “Be careful. You’ll hurt yourself and I don’t want any delays in getting my sword.”

Ser Criston pushed you into a booth and stood guard while the prince slipped into the other side, waving a hand towards the waitress who rushed off to the bar. A few heads turned to the prince before blanching and quickly giving their attention back to the stew and ale in front of them. They were afraid.

“How is dragging me here going to help finish your sword any faster?” you asked as a draft of beer was placed in front of you by the waitress. 

The prince delicately sniffed his drink before taking a sip and his nose crinkled slightly at the taste of the penny ale. “You look like you could use a hot meal. You will be of no use to me if you fall sick.”

Your eyebrows pinched together and you looked down at your filthy fingernails, soot covering you from head to toe. You looked like a beggar, possibly even worse, but you were far from it. “My staff keeps me fed far better than anything that can be found in this place, thank you very much. And, I know I don’t look it after spending a long day in the workshop but I am very well off so I do not want to see pity in that eye of yours.”

You enjoyed the surprise that flitted across his face as you pushed the disgusting ale away and rose from the table. “If you wish to eat whatever diseased ridden animal they have found in the alley, feel free to stay and take your chances.”

You pushed past the soldier and he let you, instead turning his attention to the prince still sitting at the table stunned. “My prince, I believe she was inviting you to dinner.”

Aemond frowned at his guard. “Then why would she not just say that?”

You heard the metal armour rattle as Ser Criston shrugged and looked back over your shoulder to catch the prince’s confused stare. “I did, you just do not understand woman-speak unlike your counterpart here. Do you not talk to the ladies in your court?”

“I have better ways to spend my time,” he uttered as he followed you out of the inn. “Fetch the horses, Cole.”

“No need, my home is not far,” you interrupted, continuing on your way and letting them decide whether to follow.

You chose the workshop because it was close to the home you had inherited from your father. He had been a merchant, bringing precious metals from his travels until his heavily laden ship had been caught in a storm and been dragged to the bottom of the Narrow Sea. You could hardly remember losing him as a child but you could remember the pretty metals he had brought home. It was what led you to learning the art of metalwork, eventually finding your niche in high quality swords.

The men walked in silence, though you saw Ser Criston constantly keeping track of the surroundings with his hand on the pommel of his sword. Soon enough the stone walls of your property came into view and you reached the gated archway that was always kept locked since there was no ‘lord of the house’ to protect it.

The property would have been long lost to the taxman if your business were not so successful, the wealthy buyers willing to part with large sums of coin to have a sword made by you. It was satisfying to see the shock and surprise on the prince's face when the trees parted and the large home appeared. 

The ornate front door swung open as you reached the steps and Gerry curtseyed as she saw the company you kept. “Mistress, I was about to come in search of you.”

“You worry too much.” You pulled the heavy fireproof cloak off your shoulders and passed it over to her to hang in the coat closet. “We have company for dinner and will require two more settings.”

“Of course, mistress. Your bath is already drawn upstairs and I will have Kasia lay out more,” her eyes flicked to the prince, “fitting clothes.”

You laughed at the preposterous idea and shook your head. “This is my home and I am not a doll to be dressed up for anyone’s amusement, least of all the prince’s. I will wear my usual.” You dismissed her with a nod of your head and pointed to the adjoining room where most receptions were held. “You two can wait in there.”

“So bossy,” the prince murmured as he turned away to see the paintings that lined the walls.

Ser Criston took more offence and coldly warned, “Remember who it is you are speaking to.” 

“How could I forget,” you teased as you made your way to the stairs and swept into a curtsey to the prince who had followed your movement with his eye. “I am but your obedient servant.”

“You little-”

Aemond caught Ser Criston’s arm as he made to reach for you and shook his head. “Tis a game, Cole, and she is playing you.”

Your bottom lip pouted as he ruined your fun and you realised the prince was smarter than you had given him credit for, assuming he was just another entitled, spoilt lord. Those types of men you could deal with but this one was different and wasn’t afraid to call you out. It was intriguing. 

His eye lingered on your pouting lip and from the dark look you wondered if he enjoyed the attitude you gave him or wanted to spank it from you. After a moment you decided you would be happy with either one. He might have been an entitled asshole, but he was a handsome one and you were not immune to his looks.

You spun away and hastily climbed the stairs when you realised you had been staring at him for too long. 

You could only breathe again once you were safely shut behind your bedroom door and wished you hadn’t seen the look in his eye. The heat of it still remained on your lips and you traced a finger over them before shaking the thought away. 

‘He’s just like every other lord you have worked for,’ you told yourself as you began to strip out of your sooty and sweaty clothes. ‘Actually, he’s worse. He didn’t even have the decency to ask for a sword politely. Coming into my shop and demanding one,’ you scoffed at the conversation in your head, ‘who does he think he is?’

You dropped into the warm water that was nowhere near as hot as you usually had but the late hour had let it cool so you worked quickly to wash your body before it turned tepid. There was a moment when you were towelling yourself dry that you looked at your closest and thought of wearing one of the many dresses your old governess had purchased for you before you came of age, but it soon passed and you grabbed the pair of loose breeches and cotton shirt that was laid out.

The two men were conversing quietly in the reception room after helping themselves to the carafe of wine that was kept there and they both turned as you entered. Ser Criston spluttered on his wine, the red drops splattering down his armour as he coughed and looked away. 

The attire was certainly not what they would have been used to seeing from the ladies in the Red Keep but you would always choose comfort over style and that would not change just because there was a prince in your home. 

“You act as if you have seen something scandalous, Ser Criston,” you said, impelling him to interact while his ears burned red. 

“Those are underclothes,” he said without looking away from the curtains he was transfixed on.

You chuckled and looked at the prince instead. “I would never wear such things in front of his highness. I find them far too cumbersome.”

Ser Criston dropped his goblet entirely and you bit your lip to hide the laughter that was bubbling in your chest as the red wine cascaded across the floor.

“Oh dear, you would think your guard would have a steadier hand.”

Whatever retort was on the prince's lips was forgotten when Gerry entered and announced that dinner was ready. But it wasn’t forgiven as he sent his guard to follow your housemaid and caught your arm in his large hand when you walked by, pressing his body close so he could dip his head to your ear and whisper, “You are playing with fire.”

You tipped your head back to look him in the eye and the movement gave him a clear line of sight down the front of your shirt, proving you were in fact not wearing any underclothes. “I play with fire everyday, my prince, but I have yet to be burned.” You pulled away with a smirk and swore you heard his teeth grind in his clenched jaw. “Dinner will be getting cold.”

“That mouth will be the end of you,” he uttered as he swaggered behind you into the dining room.

The table was laden with all manner of dishes but you could hardly eat as you kept catching Prince Aemond’s eye in the seat opposite. Gerry had likely set the plates that way on purpose, so the prince would be at the head of the table like you.

It was how the table would be formally set if you were to ever take a husband. That was an unlikely event. Despite enjoying the company of men on occasion, you had no interest in sharing your home with one. Men were best set free after you were spent.

The table had just been cleared and a sweet pudding was on its way from the kitchen when rain began to patter softly on the roof. The downpour only grew louder over dessert and you placed your spoons down with a sigh. “Gerry?”

Your housemaid stepped into the room a little too eagerly and sent the prince a small bashful smile and it irked you that his lips curled up slightly in return. “Prepare two rooms. They can hardly walk back in this weather.”

“It’s only a little rain,” the prince said.

“I’ll not have you catch your death on my watch,” you shot back.

He wiped his lips with his napkin to hide the smile growing on his face. “Sounds like you care.”

You scoffed at his arrogance and reassured him, “I care about my money, which I won’t get if you die.”

“My prince,” Ser Criston whispered loudly, “I don’t think this is wise.”

“It appears safer than the inn, and we have determined she would rather me survive our stay - for her money of course.”

You nodded in agreement as you reached the stairs and the soldier barely suppressed the resigned sigh that came from the heavy breath he took. “It’s settled then. I will take your measurements and preferences for the sword on the morrow then you may be on your way back to King’s Landing.”

The bath had been removed, the fire had been stoked and the room was balmy when you bid your guests farewell and stepped inside. The door next to yours closed and you heard the men speaking in the room but couldn’t make out their words before the door opened and closed again and Ser Criston’s armour clattered with him to the room further down the hall. 

Satisfied you wouldn’t be disturbed until morning, you tossed your clothes to the floor and climbed atop the blankets knowing it would be too hot to sleep under them until the fire dwindled. Despite being exhausted your mind refused to quiet and let you rest, instead you were hyper-aware of the male specimen on the bed that shared your wall. 

It had been too long since you last indulged in a man and now it showed.

Your fingers traced the swell of your breasts before dancing their way down your navel to where you needed to be touched most. You jolted as the pad of your middle finger swept over your clit and found you were already sensitive from the verbal sparring of the evening and a soft moan escaped with your exhale. 

Your core ached with the need to be filled and you palmed your breast with one hand, teasing your nipple, as you parted your folds with the other. Fuck, you were wet. The evidence sounded around you as you curled your fingers in search of the delicious spot that would send stars twirling around your vision. 

You were completely absorbed in your own pleasure and could no longer bite your lip to keep quiet as you erupted around your fingers, your walls clenching around them as your palm rubbed your clit and sent aftershocks trembling across your body.

A final deep groan filled the room and it took a moment to realise the sound had not come from you. It was purely masculine. And coming from the other side of the wall.

The satisfaction of your release was lost to a new need and you shifted up the bed, pressing your ear to the wall in the hopes of hearing it once again. Holding your breath, you waited.

“Uh,” the prince grunted and there was a thud beside your head, as if he had callously thrown his own back from where he sat among the pillows. “That filthy mouth. This would shut you up.”

You inhaled sharply and stared at the wall as if you could magically see through it.

Was he thinking about you as he touched himself? Was he stroking his cock and imagining your lips wrapped around it?

You sat back against the wall and let your knees fall apart as you hung on every word that spilled from the prince's lips. Your fingers could not fill you as a cock could and did not reach the depth you were chasing and you gave a strangled cry of frustration before slamming a hand over your mouth. 

The room fell silent, and so did his. 

The air was heavy as you waited to hear any sign he was still there but nothing came and the tightening in your core was lost to time. 

Knock. Knock. 

They were quiet, almost silent knocks, but there was no denying that someone was at your door. 

You tore the blanket from the bed as you rose and wrapped the material around your naked body before opening the door just a crack. Even without candlelight it was impossible to mistake the shadowed man for anyone but the prince with his silvery hair. 

He did not wait for an invitation as he pushed the door wider and closed it behind him, a finger pressed to his lips before pointing to the messy bed and whispering, “Trouble sleeping?”

In the firelight you could see the flush on his cheeks and his tunic buttons were not aligned after hastily dressing himself in the dark. You reached a hand out of the folds of the blanket that swamped you and flicked the clasp he hadn’t done up low on his hips. “Thin walls, your highness.”

“Hmmm,” he hummed and you swore you felt the deep reverberations in your core. “Then you shall have to keep quiet.”

Your heart beat rapidly at the thought and the need between your legs throbbed in time to your pulse but, defiant to the end, you lifted your head and challenged him once more. “Make me.”

The fire reflected in his eye and those bow lips curled up at the dare. He would not back down, not when you were so provocative. 

His hand moved faster than you could follow and in a heartbeat your blanket was torn away to bare your entire self to him. The hunger in his eye exploded and your body heated as he feasted upon every inch, unblinking. He drank in the sight from your peaked nipples, stiff from your touch, down to the glistening evidence of your release at the junction of your thighs. 

His movements flowed like water as he spun you around, one hand splayed across your chest to hold you against him while his other parted your legs. “Don’t act like you don’t want this,” he whispered in your air as he dragged his fingers through your folds, coating them in your slick before gliding over your clit. “I could hear you too.”

Your head fell back onto his shoulder and your hands reached up to tangle in his hair as you rolled your hips. “I don’t want this,” you said with a suppressed moan. “But I need it so just fuck me already.”

“That filthy mouth,” he growled before clamping his hands on your shoulders and shoving you to your knees. The clasps of his tunic were torn open as he circled you and freed his cock, the hard length springing forward. His thumb traced your bottom lip as it parted and your tongue darted across it in anticipation as he said, “Put it to good use.”

You snapped your teeth at him and smirked as he narrowed his eye at you, but he didn’t retreat when you reached for him. His cock was warm and hard in your hand and you stroked the length that he had definitely not exaggerated, teasing him as you swirled your tongue around the swollen tip. 

A throaty moan filled the air and you rolled your eyes up to see his jaw slack with the pleasure you were giving him. 

It was satisfying to see the calm and collected prince come undone. He was so completely vulnerable at your hand, and the thought set your body on fire as you took him deeper in your mouth.

“Seven hells, you are sin.”

Your fingers danced over the silken skin of his balls, gently squeezing and rolling them until they began to tighten and another guttural sound erupted. It was your turn to hum as you pulled back and tasted the bead of precum that escaped the slit before rising to your feet.

“Come.” You took his hand and led him to the bed, pushing him down among the sheets. “It’s my turn.”

He let you get as far as straddling his hips before he twisted and flipped you beneath him, pinning your hands above your head. “You are a very bossy woman.”

“How else am I to get what I want?”

His dark smile grew and you knew you wouldn’t like his answer. “You could always say please.”

You sent him a dangerously sweet smile and blinked innocently at him. “Unless you are going to fuck me, please get out of my room.”

He clamped a hand over your mouth as he lined himself up with your dripping entrance and filled you with a rough thrust that stole the air from your lungs. Your moans were silenced by his hand as he reached the parts of you that your fingers could never truly satisfy and your fingernails found purchase on his tunic as you arched closer to his body. 

“You knew what you were doing at dinner,” he growled in your ear as he pulled your leg higher over his hips. “Do you do this with all of your clients?”

His hand slipped away and you gasped in a deep breath, the ability to focus difficult with the pressure building in your core. “Only the attractive ones.”

You couldn’t tell if the honesty angered him or spurred him but he drove in deeper, pistoning his hips with a relentless pace. 

Your cries would have woken the entire household if he didn’t cover your mouth again but it didn’t stop him from pushing you closer and closer to the edge. The tightening low in your belly reached breaking point and your eyes rolled back as the force of the orgasm ripped through your body from head to toes. 

You were a quivering mess when he pulled out and fisted his cock that glistened with your release, pumping up and down, once, twice, then spilled his seed across your skin. His chest rose and fell quickly and his cock twitched as he drained every last drop with a shaky hand. 

Unable to resist another taste, you dragged a finger through the mess he had painted on your skin and tasted his come. It was just as decadent as indulging in a nip of brandy after a meal. 

“You have no shame,” he chuckled as he tucked his cock back in his trousers and began to clasp his tunic back together. 

“I like what I like, I don’t see the point in pretending otherwise.” You climbed off the bed onto weak legs and grabbed the corner post to stabilise yourself. The look of pure masculine pride filled his face as he saw your stumble and he swiped your blanket from where it had been discarded on the floor. You took it from his hand and noticed the temperature in the room had dropped since the dalliance began, draping it over your shoulders but leaving the middle open so he could enjoy the sight a moment longer. “Goodnight, your highness.”

He opened the door and grinned as he combed his mussed hair back from his face. “Twas.”

The door shut silently and you fell back onto your bed with a satisfied sigh and the smile on your lips remained until long after you fell asleep.

The prince was quite the actor when you met him in the dining room to break your fast. Given the fresh face and lack of reaction to your entrance you almost believed you had conjured last night's events in a dream. 

Almost. 

The ache between your legs could not be imagined, nor could the evidence of your union that you had washed off your skin. 

“Good morning,” you greeted the men as you took your seat and looked over the prince. “I trust you slept well.”

He spared a cube of melon with his fork and inspected the fruit. “The bedding was adequate.”

“Your hospitality is appreciated,” Ser Criston said after giving his prince a questioning look that was ignored. At least he appeared to have woken with better manners. He didn’t even choke or comment on the fact that you wore a silk robe imported from Lys, and nothing else. 

You inclined your head at the compliment before turning your attention back to the prince. “Do you have an inclination to any particular sword type?”

“A long sword, straight blade.” He placed the fruit back on the table without eating it, as if he had lost his appetite. “Light-weight, so it can be wielded with one hand should I need it. And, a dragon’s head carved into the pommel.”

You committed the details to memory, already imagining the finished piece, and rose from the table to get a measuring tape from the table in the study. You gestured for the prince to rise from his seat and dropped to your knees. 

You were acutely aware of last night's memory in the same position and from the deep swallow the prince took you knew he was seeing the same scene too. The tape unravelled from your fingers and you measured the distance from heel to hip to know the maximum length the blade could be. 

“Your sword will be ready to be picked up in three weeks,” you said as you rolled the tape up again. 

“No,” Prince Aemond interrupted, “you will bring it to the Red Keep and present it yourself at the tourney for my name day. What better way to win than with such a fine sword at my hip.”

You quirked an eyebrow at the information. “You, competing in a tourney? That is something I would pay to see.”

“Prince Aemond is one of the greatest fighters in the Seven Kingdoms,” Ser Criston stated boldly as he rose to his feet in anger. “His swordsmanship skills are unrivalled.”

“With what experience - fighting soldiers that are fed by the coin of the king?” you challenged. “Unless he is to enter the tourney anonymously he has already won by default. No one would dare strike the prince for fear of their own death.”

Ser Criston opened his mouth to argue but the prince beat him to it. “You are right. It would not be a fair fight.” Prince Aemond pursed his lips as he paced the dining room. “Cole, I shall enter the tourney under your name. And you,” he faced you with an arrogance only a prince could muster, “will present me with the sword when I win.”

He held his hand out to seal the deal and you paused, your palm almost touching his. “And if you lose?”

His smirk grew as he looked to his guard and laughed, “I never lose.”

Click here for part two.

#aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x y/n #aemond smut #aemond x y/n #aemond x reader #aemond fanfiction #house of the dragon fanfic

[lycheedr3ams]

I would cut my hands off just so you could hold them forever (Taming You Part 2)

Summary: part 2 of my Taming You series (if you don't like this, just scroll past, it's that easy) CW: obsessive!konig x fem!reader, depictions of self-harm, bleeding, konig is kinda crazed and lovesick, mentions of stalking, dark content (konig does NOT cut his hands off don't worry), DDDNE *title from a lyric in my favorite song Night Riders by Ja¥en X District & Sinxi

DO NOT DO THIS IRL EVER. THIS IS ONLY FOR FANTASY!

im really nervous posting this, this is seriously just for fiction. if you don't like it just scroll past. this type of fic is for mature people. also minors fuck off

you had finally had enough of konig's toxicity. you told him plainly: that things were done between you two. he tilted his head in confusion, like a dog that doesn't understand what was said. you never thought konig's confusion could be so unnerving as you felt chills run down your spine.

"nein." he replied.

now it was your turn to tilt your head. "what? what do you mean, no?"

konig's voice became guttural, and his eyes became dark and focused, as he uttered that single word: "nein."

you glanced away for a moment, unsure of how to handle his reaction. you thought he would've screamed at you, or threatened to lock you away somewhere, but he just said "no."

"I can't be with you anymore konig, I'm not happy." you explained to him.

konig's throat rumbled as he processed your words, almost as if he were growling. it wasn't the growl that phased you - that was a normal thing for him - it was instead what he said next.

"I would bleed for you, mädchen. I would do anything for you. I would cut my own hands off so you could always hold them, if you wanted me to."

"don't-" you stammered unsure of what you just heard, "don't cut anyone's hands off, including your own. just give me some space for a while."

"nein."

...

despite konig saying he wouldn't give you space, you saw less and less of him as the days went on. after a week, you thought you had finally gotten rid of him, until someone knocked on your door at near midnight one random weekday.

you peered through the little hole in your door to see konig's hunched form, and you swore you saw something red on his shirt. your eyes widened and you opened the door. "what the hell happened to you?"

konig stared at you with wide eyes, blinking slowly for a moment. he then held out his arms, his long-sleeve shirt rolled up to his elbows. your stomach churned when you saw his arms: cuts lined them, dripping with blood, falling onto the floor outside your door.

"I'm bleeding for you, mädchen. please let me in."

you wanted to slam the door right in his face, but with the amount of blood that was falling onto the floor, you couldn't turn him away. you ran to the bathroom to get an old towel and wrapped them around his arms as you ushered him into your apartment. you sat konig down on your couch, and thought in the back of your mind that he had never been so compliant before.

"what is wrong with you?" you asked as you disinfected his wounds with an alcohol wipe. the pile of bloody wipes was building as you cleaned more wounds than you had originally thought.

"needed to see you. show you how much I love you," he stated plainly, not even caring about his blood loss.

you shook your head as you began to bandage his wounds. konig relished the feeling of your soft fingers on his skin, caring for him as he always wanted. "if you wanted to see me that badly, you should've just called."

"nein," he said. "I wanted you to see that I mean it. I will bleed for you. I need you."

you sighed and cleaned up the bloody wipes and bandage wrappers, throwing them away, hoping to forget this ever happened. you sat down next to konig, and he looked at you with wide, soft eyes, and you nearly lost your breath because he had never looked at you like that. you told yourself that your heart would be stone for him, but his eyes melted your heart. and the worst part was, konig was genuine. this was no master-minded manipulative display of vulnerability to get you back.

you sighed again.

"what is it, Süßes Mädchen?" konig asked softly.

your eyes pleaded with him as he called you that. he knew those two words always made you feel weak. "konig, don't do this to me."

"don't do what to you?" he gently lifted your face with his index finger, his thumb gently pressing against your chin.

"this," you muttered.

konig got closer to you, his warm breath gently fanning over your face. "do you want me to stop?"

now it was your turn.

"no."

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