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lanasblood · 11 months

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BIG EYES, BIG LIES | neteyam x reader

pairing: neteyam x f!metkayina!reader summary: you've had suffered silently from years of bullying within the metkayina clan, never sharing your pain with anyone, not even your boyfriend neteyam, until one day, there's no other option, resulting in a huge argument between the two of you but also a moment of understanding and healing. word count: 5.8k warnings: angsty beginning, fluffy end, !!!severe mentions of bullying, injuries, violence, blood!!! (read at your own risk), established relationship, protective neteyam, angry neteyam, healer boyfriend neteyam, difficult past, lying, insults, some suggestive comments, let me know if i forgot something. note: all characters are aged up; the following na’vi words were used: tsurak - skimwing, skxawng - idiot, pxasìk - screw that/no way, kurkung - asshole, kalweyaveng - son of a bitch (lit. 'child of a poisonous spider‘), tsantu - good guy

* gif's not mine.

The familiar sound of your name said over and over again lured you into consciousness. You had lost all sense of the space-time continuum, not knowing where up or down was, whether you were alive or dead.

Only the pain was omnipresent, it told you it was real what you felt. It burned and pulsed, throbbed and tingled. You surrendered to this pain for what felt like an eternity, groaning again in agony because every movement, no matter how tiny, hurt.

"You are awake."

A bright voice made you widen your eyes. Everything was dark, shadowy, intangible, strange.

Panic flooded your body and only now did you feel the cold around your legs, your aching body. It was dark, almost black. The kind of perfect darkness you saw in shades of dark grey in front of your eyes as a result of signals from the optic nerves. You were lying on the ground of the empty marui near the seawall terraces.

"No, don't move. Please."

You only heard a single voice, but you felt many more echoing in your pounding head. Hands were on your shoulders, apparently wanting to prevent you from making too hectic movements or even getting up, which increased your panic.

"Right, uh, light, light, light, mhm — Ah, there! Wait here!"

You squinted against the darkness again, hoping to see something, but the only thing you could really see clearly was a beam of soft dancing lights coming through the small crack under the entry into the marui you were in and the faint outline of the person kneeling in front of you.

Before you could reply anything, the light coming from a bioluminescent seashell was held in your face without warning and you squinted your eyes again, trying to protect them from the purple light.

"I'm so sorry, y/n I should've warned you," you heard the person in front of you speak who happens to be none other than Neteyam's brother, Lo'ak. "Damn! You don't look good at all!"

Thank you.

"What happened?"

"I guess, I, um…" Quick, you had to think of a good lie now, "I didn't feel so good after today's training. You know, high intensity under the sun can be exhausting," You looked down at yourself and noticed your bloodstained upper piece. "And it, uh, caused nose-bleeding…" You noticed the many bruises on your legs. "I must've fainted because of it, hurting myself."

"I can see that," Lo'ak looked pitifully at the left side of your face, right under your eye, then shifted his gaze to your bruised upper lip, and back at the place right under your hairline. "Did you fall face-first or something? That looks so baaaad."

Thanks again, appreciated.

"I, uh, yeah, can you help me up?"

A sharp pain shot through your chest as Lo'ak pulled you up by your arm and you had to grab the wall to catch your breath. You coughed uncontrollably as whatever it was that caused that pain left you breathless. Lo'ak patted you gently on the back, carefully, but every touch hurt.

"I didn't know you had to train so hard. I thought you had a fun day as we did, playing with the ilus."

"My teacher's very strict unfortunately."

"Hmm."

"What are you doing here anyway? It's the girls' communal marui."

Lo'ak's eyes widened at your question, "I swear I'm not some kind of creep," he quickly said, "Tsireya said she lost her hair band so I figured I look for it here," he looked at the ground beneath his feet, which was smeared with dirt and blood – your blood, "but maybe it's not here, yeah, anyway, good thing I came here or else you would've died or something."

"I wouldn't have died," you said, amazed at his dramatic exaggeration.

Lo'ak shrugged his shoulders, "Not so sure about that."

You followed his gaze and your reflection in the mirror caught your attention. Your skin was sticky, your clothes were damp with blood and sweat, and you felt gross.

"I, uh," Feeling a sense of embarrassment, Lo'ak gestured with his finger towards the spot behind the marui, "I'll just quickly go… there, uh, for a moment. Will you be okay?" You nodded. "Neteyam is near, by the way, we have a chill round with Tsireya and Ao'nung and the others, how about you come with me?" You stared at him as if frozen, but eventually managed to nod once more. "Perfect. Okay. See you in a minute." With that, he left you alone, and you felt your breath quicken.

On one hand, a sense of relief washed over you at the thought of Neteyam being nearby and able to be there for you when you needed him. On the other hand, you had no idea how you would talk your way out of this situation. He would ask questions, and it would become uncomfortable. Old lies would threaten to resurface. The thought made your stomach churn.

You noticed how your shawl, which you had wrapped around yourself, had absorbed the blood, leaving the fabric irreparably stained. In this condition, going home was out of the question. Not only would your mother be beside herself upon seeing you, but you also had to pass through the communal areas to reach your marui. Once Lo'ak was out of sight, you struggled to slip the fabric off your shoulders, feeling the pain in every single bone. You realized that even your upper piece hadn't been spared as you held the shawl under the water and noticed the stains on your upper body.

Outside the marui, you kneeled down with an effort, and decided to wash your hands and face in one of the pool's water. A drop of pinkish-red-colored sweat dripped from your chin into the water, or maybe it wasn't sweat at all, who knew, it could be tears as well, you shouldn't just limit it to sweat.

"That's what I get for lying," you hissed at yourself, while your hands dunk back into the water, getting everything else around you, including half of your upper body, wet.

You decided to wash the red stains out of your shawl, the water changing its color around your hands to a washed-out reddish blur.

There was a clearing of the throat in the distance, perhaps just a few meters away from you.

"I'm coming back, y/n, okay?"

You cursed under your breath, focussing solely on removing the stains as you washed the shawl in your hands even more aggressively now, the noise of the splashing water being louder than your own thoughts.

"Let's go!" Lo'ak stood behind you.

Before you knew it, you had torn the light blue fabric in your hand. You closed your eyes in defeat and suppressed another curse word. It was a shame actually, because you liked combining the shawl with matching loincloths over various chest pieces you were wearing most of the time. You at least convinced yourself that you wouldn't have gotten the bloodstains out anyway, so the fate of the garment was sealed from the start, even before you had accidentally torn it.

Setting aside the damp piece of torn fabric, you stood up with a sigh and turned to Lo'ak, ready to follow him to wherever he would take you. At least you had washed most of the blood off your body.

"Thank you for not dying on me," Lo'ak joked next to you and all you could manage was a small smile. Your entire body ached, and every step you took felt as if you could collapse at any moment.

In the distance, you could discern a gathering of young Na'vi near the shoreline, forming a circle as they enjoyed each other's company. Some sat or reclined in the sand, while others perched on rocks, and a few stood, perhaps sharing tales. Their laughter resonated through the air, creating a joyful ambiance against the backdrop of the shimmering water and the twinkling stars above.

Just a few meters away, Lo'ak gave you a final thumbs-up, leading the way to the group with you by his side, and the clamor of voices grew increasingly chaotic, enveloping both of you in its midst.

"No, of course not, it should fear us!"

"What are you talking about? Not even my grandma would fear you!"

"Your grandma isn't a fish, is she?"

"Don't say anything against my grandma!"

Your head felt like exploding any second. Not because of the boys, but because you felt the need to lie down. That's what you thought until you suddenly heard Neteyam's calm voice, and instantly, you felt a little bit better.

"If you approach it with the right mindset and undergo the necessary training, I have no doubts you will succeed!"

"No, he definitely has no chance, look at him, like a squid in armor."

Tsireya, who had refrained from the heated discussion, was the only one who looked up. As her eyes met yours, they widened, and she quickly rose from her seat, approaching you. With a gentle and questioning gaze, she placed a hand on your arm, showing her concern.

"Are you okay?" she asked in a soft voice searching your gaze. Appreciating her care, you placed your hand on hers, mustering a small smile.

You heard how Lo'ak cleared his throat, as it seemed that nobody else had noticed you.

"Don't mind them, y/n," Lo'ak turned to you, as your presence remained unnoticed by the boys, "You can take my seat over there next to Tsireya's while I go find you a new shawl."

"No, here, take mine," Tsireya suggested already putting her shawl over your shoulders, the piece hugging your torso.

After that it got quiet very quickly, because when your name was mentioned, Neteyam looked up, and with him the others.

Immediately he got up from the rock he was sitting on and in a few steps he stood right in front of you, hesitating whether he should hug you, and finally decided to do so. When he carefully put his arm around you and pulled you close, you hissed slightly out of pain and suddenly felt even more fragile and broken than in all of the previous weeks.

"I go and bring some new clothing for her," you heard Tsireya's voice, "and maybe some wound dressing from my mother." You saw out of the corner of your eye how Lo'ak nodded gratefully when Tsireya was already hurrying away.

You didn't feel like crying, but you felt so weak and helpless and wanted to just stand there for hours while Neteyam hugged you.

"What happened?" he asked softly, his voice thick with concern.

"Is that blood?" you heard the other boys whisper among themselves.

"Did you see her face, man?"

Rotxo's voice stood out more than the others as he addressed his question directly to you, repeating Neteyam's words, "What happened, y/n?"

You stayed quiet and pressed closer to Neteyam despite the pain, and Lo'ak did the answering for you, "The training today under the sun made her nose bleed out of exhaustion or allergy or something so that she passed out," he explained hastily, heading back to his seat.

You felt Neteyam stiffen in the hug and you squinted to escape reality for a few more seconds.

"First of all, what kind of lie is that even?" Your heart sank when you heard one of the boys – you guessed Ao'nung – talking loudly, questioning the course of action, and before long everyone else was about to join in the conversation, one at a time. And with every sentence you felt the urge to leave the place on the spot.

"Ask y/n, I swear that's what happened! I found her near the marui by the seawall terraces."

"She might have been passed out but pxasìk — I don't buy that!"

"What were you doing there, Lo'ak?" someone else with longer hair asked.

"None of your business, bro."

"And second of all, she rather looks like she was beaten up." At that, Neteyam pushed you slightly away from him to give you a questioning look and inspect you more closely. His eyes alternated between yours and you recognized how the hint of suspicion crept into his eyes.

"She was clearly beaten up!" The girl on the far left, Neteyam's sister, Kiri, unexpectedly supported Ao'nung's statement, which was highly unusual for her. It wasn't her cold demeanor towards you that was atypical, but rather her agreement with Ao'nung that caught you off guard.

"Yeah, right! I mean, look at her." Every head turned to you now, inspecting you from head to toe, as if you were some kind of object.

"That's not true," you argued weakly, supporting yourself on the tree with your left hand, and grabbing Neteyam's hand with your right one because your feet threatened to buckle any second. Noticing that, he lead you to the rock right in front of you and carefully helped you sit down.

"The real question is who did that to poor y/n?"

"Why? You wanna beat up some girls for her?"

"Girls? I thought it'd be some kurkung from the tsurak taming team."

"Hey, don't say that, they're cool."

"Yeah, and don't cuss when Kiri and y/n are here."

"They are no children."

"Tsireya's back!" Lo'ak's voice drowned out the others, not surprising given the fact how loud he announced the return of the soft-spoken girl. Apart from you no one seemed to pay any attention to him, they were far too busy arguing amongst themselves.

"Nah, man, what kinda skxawng beats girls? Not me for sure."

"Let's teach those guys a lesson then."

"So now you wanna beat up guys for her?"

"Why not? She's Neteyam's girl, she's one of us."

"True words." You frowned as you realized how much they had gotten into the discussion when Tsireya handed you a neatly packed bag with fresh clothing inside which you gratefully accepted.

"Why would you all choose violence all of a sudden?" Tsireya looked around with an irritated expression, not sure what she had missed in the last couple of minutes.

"Those kalweyavengs deserve it!"

"You skxawng don't talk like that in front of my sister."

"But, you said—"

"Everybody quiet!" You winced slightly when you heard the anger in his voice vibrate through his body; he who had kept quiet the whole time, just observing, never speaking. Instantly it fell silent at the beach and all eyes were on Neteyam, except for yours.

"It has gotten late," he added, quieter but clearly audible, "We should all go back to the village." You expected a protest to erupt, but you were wrong again. Without a word, the individual heads of that group got up from where they sat on rocks or the sand, and left the beach, heading in the direction of the village, one after the other.

"Thank you, brother," Neteyam spoke as Lo'ak passed by, giving him a grateful pat on the back of his head. You caught Lo'ak nodding at him and giving you a pitiful look, and you managed to mouth a 'thank you' as well before he left.

"Why did you lie to him?" Neteyam nodded his head in the direction of his now-gone brother. "To Lo'ak, I mean."

You stared at your hands on your lap instead of answering him, so he sighed and knelt in front of you, positioning himself between your legs. With a gentle touch, he placed his hands on each of your thighs, right at the hem of your loincloth.

"I'm seriously worried, y/n, and it's almost a miracle I'm staying calm right now. What happened?" He cocked his head and looked up, searching for the gaze you were trying so hard to avoid. "Please talk to me." The gentle touch of his hands on your thighs, which you usually never got enough of, now felt like a burning sensation, causing inner agony within you.

"I didn't want to tell him the truth," you finally said, answering his first question.

"Do you want to tell me?"

"It's nothing, Neteyam, I—"

"Nothing?" He laughed wryly, letting go and walking away from you as he walked around in a circle and turned back with an ironic smile that didn't reach his eyes, his tail whipped aggressively behind him, "That certainly doesn't look like nothing to me." He gestured to you with both hands.

You covered your face with your hair because you could only imagine how terrible you must've looked, how disgusted he must've been with you, that he thought you weren't beautiful.

"You're in pain. You have bruises everywhere. You're covered in blood! And yet you say it's nothing. Do you listen to yourself?"

"I can handle it," you replied, adding more quietly, "It's not that I'm not used to it."

"What do you mean?"

"Nothing," you said quickly, irritated by his questions, "I mean nothing at all. Can… can you help me change into these?" You held up the bag from Tsireya which provided a good change of subject. It would be impossible for you to raise both arms and put the pieces on by yourself. On second thought, Neteyam would see the bruises on your chest that way, and the mere thought made your stomach ache. Therefore, realizing that the shawl provided good cover and not wanting to part with it, you added a quick, "Nevermind, I'll do it myself."

As if he had read your thoughts, he approached you with a determined gaze. Your breath caught as you felt his hand pull the shawl from your shoulders. Quickly, you clung to the fabric, stopping mid-movement, and placed your other hand on his to stop him from exposing your skin.

"Please," you looked him in the eyes, your voice barely audible. You didn't know what you begged him for. To stop him from seeing your injuries? To stop touching you? To stop asking questions? To stop digging for the truth? Did you want him to stop in the first place? Or did you want him to find out and free you from your net of lies?

He gently slipped your shawl off your shoulders, and then sucked in a sharp breath and bit the inside of his cheek, apparently trying to keep himself from swearing but the restless movements of his tail gave him away.

You didn't have to look to see that a huge wound must have been looming on your collarbones and on your side right under your breasts. Judging by the pain, you wouldn't be surprised if some ribs were broken.

"Who did this to you." It was no longer a question driven by curiosity, as he had asked earlier. This was serious. He wanted names and locations. He wanted to know who had done such a dreadful thing to his loved one. Who dared to harm you in any way. Judging by the fire in his eyes, he wanted to see that person bleed the way you did.

"Are you going to beat up some girls for me?" You playfully repeated the question you'd heard one of the boys say before. However, the way Neteyam clenched his jaw showed you it wasn't time to crack up some jokes.

"Tell me."

"No."

"Y/n."

"Neteyam."

He studied you intently, examining every facial expression, every subtle gesture, before speaking again, "You never slipped down any cliffs last week, did you?" he asked, a hint of skepticism in his voice. "And what about last month when you said you—"

"I lied, okay?" you shouted at him, unleashing the pent-up frustration, as if he were the cause of your misery. "I made it all up. Every single bit of it. I'm a liar, and I'm a coward. Are you happy now?"

"Happy? It pains me to see you like that," he retorted, his voice rising with frustration, "Why didn't you tell anyone?"

"What was I supposed to say!?" you shouted back, your voice filled with exasperation. "Cry like a baby and point at them for being mean to me?"

"No, but someone could've helped. Everything is better than that!" His tone was raised as well when he pointed at your bruises.

"They won't! I tried!" you hissed, the bitterness evident in your voice, "Once, when I was little and foolishly believed that my parents would trust and listen to me. But what did they do? They forced us to hug and pretend to be friends again, dismissing it all as a mere misunderstanding among children. And you know what happened next? They sought their revenge by cutting my hair," you swallowed hard, the memory of that painful incident resurfacing, "I cried so much that day. That's when I made a promise to myself that I would never tell anyone anything again."

"I am here now, I hear you, I see you," he responded gently, his voice filled with empathy, "Please, let me help." You shook off the hand that he tried to place on your shoulder. He silently acknowledged this, a hurt expression crossing his eyes, which he quickly concealed.

"There's nothing you can do. I've learned from my mistake today: Don't confront them when it's four against one. Simple solution," you stated firmly, emphasizing your resolve.

"I am eager to find out who they are," he expressed with a determined tone.

"It's not important."

"Y/n," Neteyam shook his head, his expression firm, "I won't be at peace unless you tell me their names."

"Don't ask me!" you once again raised your voice against him. "I won't say anything. You make it worse for me."

"I am the one making it worse?" he asked, seeking confirmation.

"Yes," you said firmly, causing him to blink in surprise. "Please, Neteyam, for the love of Eywa, stop asking!"

"Understood," he nodded, his nose flared up and his tail on edge.

"You're pissed, I can understand that… but I don't deserve the way you treat me right now. You're pushing me too much."

"What do you exactly want me to do?!" His voice erupted with anger, his frustration visible, "Yes, I am pissed. But not because of the lies or because of your bruises. I am pissed because of you. Because of the way you're behaving right now. Your eye and the bruises on your face and body were not an accident, that's a fact we both are aware of. Yet, you choose to protect them. But why? It seems you're too proud to admit the truth, to tell me the truth."

"That's not true!" you yelled at him angrily, annoyed by repeating yourself over and over again.

He let out a groan of frustration, seemingly struggling to maintain self-control, "Just tell me who did this to you and I will make sure they regret ever laying a finger on you!"

He waited for your response.

You remained silent, holding your ground against his warning gaze for a long moment.

"Good," he interrupted the eye contact and nodded his head, "Then don't trust me, it's fine."

"Neteyam…"

"This is pointless." Neteyam brushed you off, walking back towards the village, not giving you another look when he passed your shoulder.

"Neteyam, don't walk away from me," you snapped out, feeling anger flare up inside of you. You reached out and grabbed his arm.

He stopped, slowly turning to face you.

"Just… stop for a second, okay?" you said in an irritated tone.

"Why?" He retorted.

He was staring at you, and you were staring back at him, and you were suddenly hyper aware of how close he was standing to you. Both of you breathing heavily, anger and frustration ebbing between the two of you; you were standing close, so close. You were suddenly struck by how attractive he was, his eyes flashing as he stared at you, searching your face for any answers when he took another step closer.

"If only you knew how much it hurts to be pushed away like this."

Before you knew what was happening, he brushed off your arm again, and walked away, leaving you to yourself and your lies. And this time, you didn't stop him; you only focussed on the point where he was standing just seconds ago, thinking of his words that left a deep pain in your chest, making you choke on your own words and tears falling from your eyes.

A little later, as you sat on the sand, lost in your thoughts, you hopefully perked up at the sound of footsteps approaching in the sand. Your heart fluttered with hope, and you hastily wiped away the tears from your face, turning around with anticipation, expecting to see Neteyam, but to your surprise it was just Kiri.

"Where's Neteyam?" she asked you.

"Gone." You put the little shell you were playing with back on the sand and traced the pattern with your finger.

"Well, you're here, so I'm sure he'll come back." You strongly doubted that, considering the way he had last looked at you.

"He was really angry," you mumbled, thinking back to your little argument. You spoke more to yourself than to Kiri. In fact, you didn't even think she heard you or paid any attention to you when you heard her gather and pack up the two pillows and the seaweed blanket that she forgot before. Yet her next question made you look up in surprise.

"But can you blame him?" Kiri narrowed her eyes in annoyance as she looked at you.

"I'm sorry?" you looked at her expectantly.

Kiri puffed bored, "My brother has always been courteous and polite towards you. He was the perfect definition of tsantu. Oh, Great Mother— he stripped his soul for you and gave you everything you wanted. Do you really blame him for getting angry for once?"

You focused your gaze back on the sand in front of you. The little shells looked like they were expecting an answer from you that never came for you didn't know what to reply to that.

"You are a grown girl. You have to be able to take a little criticism," Kiri added as she headed back to the village, "And I'm sure you both will fix it again. Buck up and get well soon." You nodded your thanks as she raised her hand in farewell and left again.

A heavy, uncomfortable silence fell over you, enveloping you like a suffocating blanket. At that moment, you felt utterly alone, isolated from the world around you not even caring of your body's aches anymore. Mirroring the depths of your solitude under the dark skies, the vast expanse of the ocean stretched out before you. Its endless waves, crashing against the shore, seemed to echo the tumultuousness of your thoughts.

You had no idea how long you had been sitting in the sand, lost in contemplation of your life when you heard footsteps behind you once again that night. This time, you didn't bother to look up, for you knew it would be one of the others who had forgotten something (though you were unsure what, as Kiri had taken everything), or perhaps your parents, searching for you.

Without a word, the person sat down across from you on his knees and reached out with his arm to pull you closer to him so that your thighs were between his knee and his between yours.

In an instant, the unmistakably pleasing scent of him infused with a mix of dew-kissed leaves and the earthy allure of sandalwood, clung to you like a whispered secret, caressed your nose and relaxed your muscles.

You endured it silently as he took a cloth out of the bowl of water he brought with him, wrung it out briefly and then carefully dabbed the area under your eye with it. He did this with so much caution and care that you felt bad for emotionally pushing him away from you. You watched his forehead furrow in concentration and he paused and waited every time you flinched at the pain.

"Since when?" you heard him speak, his voice pleasantly calm and understanding.

"Too long," you said, to which he sighed, not annoyed but rather disappointed because you continued to hold onto the emotional wall you had built long ago. "I'm sorry, Neteyam, it's just…" you struggled to find the right words.

"There's no need for apologies if you're content with staying the same."

"I'm not," you clarified honestly. "You have no idea how burdensome these lies are. I want to confide in you — it's just that I was scared of your reaction." As you spoke, you noticed how his tail twitched with interest, and his gaze shifted from the wound on your face to meet your eyes. "I was afraid that you would see me as weak and pity me. I had hoped that the lies would help me preserve this fragile facade. But I now realize I was mistaken, and for that I'm deeply sorry, Neteyam, I've never wanted to hurt your feelings."

"Y/n," Neteyam whispered, his hand tenderly caressing your cheek with a touch filled with love and affection, "my beloved, the one who holds my heart, I am sorry for pushing you before and I will wait until you are ready to talk but, please, tell me how I can help you. Tell me everything."

You shrugged, shaking your hand, looking everywhere but him.

"Neteyam, I know you want to help, but I don't want you to mess with these girls," you then looked him serious in the eyes, "Promise me that first."

A cocky smirk appeared on his lips, "Baby, if you really think I'm scared of some—"

"Neteyam," you interrupted him, your tone serious, "They may be bullies, but they're not completely stupid. They won't direct their actions towards you; they'll most likely take their anger out of your siblings."

His smirk vanished in an instant, "You know, I won't let that happen."

"I know," you affirmed sincerely. "You are their brother, and you will protect them, but you can't be everywhere all at once. You can't keep a constant watch over Tuk while also looking after Lo'ak or Kiri, for instance. Please don't risk it. I can handle it, really. I couldn't forgive myself if something happened to one of them because of me."

"I am yours, and you are mine, remember?" He smiled at you, his eyes shining. "So, you are not alone in this. I will go to any lengths to ensure your safety and well-being. I will protect you, y/n, but you must allow me to be there for you."

As the words hung in the air, a moment of silence passed between you, the weight of the conversation lingering. Then, Neteyam reached out, his hand gently intertwining with yours. The touch sent a comforting warmth through your body, bridging the emotional gap that had momentarily separated you.

With a tender squeeze of your hand, he continued, his voice filled with unwavering determination, "You are my family, too."

Feeling a surge of emotions, you took a deep breath, your heart swelling with love. You looked into Neteyam's eyes, seeing the unwavering commitment reflected back at you. With a soft smile, you nodded, letting your walls come down, and whispered, "I trust you."

The atmosphere between you shifted, charged with a newfound closeness and vulnerability. It was as if an unspoken understanding passed between your souls, fueling the desire for a deeper connection. In that very second, the world around you faded into the background, leaving only the two of you standing there, hearts entwined. With the tension of unspoken words lingering in the air, you couldn't resist the magnetic pull drawing you closer to him.

So leaning in, you pressed your lips onto his soft ones — not too gently and not too forcefully, but just right. You caught sight of his eyes widening in surprise and his body remained still, but you mustered up the last bit of courage to close your eyes and hope for the best. When you felt the feathering of his eyelashes brush against your lids, you knew he, too, had his eyes closed. Then he leaned in ever so slightly, and his hands reached up to cup your uninjured cheek and the other behind your head.

Your heart pounded so loudly and harshly that you didn't think your chest could handle it, your stomach fluttered and churned with a mess of emotions that you didn't know if they'd ever go away, and your mind flooded with thousands of unanswered questions that you thought you might faint again anytime soon. But then you pulled away, your lips and his seemingly too reluctant for the loss of contact as they attempted to remain connected until the very last second, and your eyes fluttered open to the world which had frozen still; it had been a short kiss, that's for sure, but it was one that you'd remember for years to come.

"You do something to me that I can't explain," he whispered against your lips before he retrained.

"You do the same to me," you whispered back, "but I think I can explain."

"What is it?"

"I see you," you breathed, leaning up to kiss him again.

He backed away to put some distance between you and you raised an eye questioningly.

"If I kiss you again – and believe me, every cell in my body wants to," With a nervous laugh, he scratched the back of his neck before his lustful gaze turned back to you and you physically felt the excited shimmyflies in your stomach threatening to break out, "I just know, I won't be able to stop."

"Then don't."

"Oh, sweets, you love to make it hard for me, don't you?"

An inappropriate thought crossed your mind at that but you chose not to say it out loud. You didn't have to, because Neteyam's smirk looked like he knew exactly what was going through your head.

"C'mere, we need to patch you up first, and then—"

"Then we'll go to our place?" you asked excitedly.

"After I inspect you properly and decide that you don't need to see Tsahìk which I'm not so sure of yet – yes, then we could go to our place, and watch the stars or—"

"Why don't you properly inspect me at our place?" you interrupted him with a seemingly innocent look. He licked his lower lip in amusement, shaking his head.

"You're something."

"Your something," you corrected.

He looked at you in awe, as if you are the most precious thing he had ever seen. "My something," he agreed chuckling to himself and pressed a soft kiss on the top of your head. "Now hold still so I can clean your wounds."

thank you all for reading ♥︎ I hope you enjoyed this piece of writing. looking forward to your comments and feedback 💕 (p.s. for anyone wondering about the other boys, i imagined ao'nung's "bully" friends nash'vi, koro, and ongu to sit with them)

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whumpril · 1 year

Photo

Whumpril 2023 approaches!

Rules:

Anyone can participate.

Any media form is allowed (art, fic, gifs, music, whatever).

You can participate however much or as little as you want, no pressure to complete every single day.

You can post your work anywhere on the internet, Tumblr, Ao3, etc.

Tag potential triggers and NSFW accordingly.

If you want to be counted as an official participant and have the chance to be featured on the blog, post your content during the month of April. You can still use the prompt list after April ends.

I can’t guarantee that every single work will be featured but I’ll try to reblog as many as I can.

To increase your chances of being featured here, tag your post with the event name and the prompt of the day that you used (For example: #whumpril2023, #whumprilday1, #red alert)

You can also @ the blog, @whumpril.

Full write-up of the prompts can be found under the cut!

Whumpril 2023 Prompts:

1. Red Alert | Distress Call | Panic Attack

2. Stress | Insomnia | “Get some rest.”

3. Rope Burns | Knife to Throat | “Hold still.”

4. Ache | Massage | Needle

5. Defiance | Dragged | Stifled Scream

6. Salve | Painkillers | Bad Coping Mechanisms

7. Numbness | Unsteady | “You look pale.”

8. Nausea | Comfort Food | Dehydration

9. Pinned Down | Bruises | “Who did this to you?”

10. Shiver | Breathless | “I’m scared.”

11. Nightmares | Bedside Vigil | “I’m right here.”

12. Friendly Fire | Toxic | “Get away from me!”

13. Blurry Vision | Support | “I think I need to sit down.”

14. False Smile | Holding Back Tears | “I said I’m fine.”

15. Isolation | Flinching | “Do you trust me?”

16. Guilt | Shock | “I’m so sorry.”

17. Cry For Help | Self-Treatment | “I can’t do this.”

18. Abandoned | Escape Attempt | “Take me instead!”

19. Choking | Muffled Sobs | “I’m worried about you.”

20. Disoriented | Sensory Deprivation | “Where am I?”

21. Scars | Fracture | “It’s just a scratch.”

22. Sponge Bath | Infection | “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

23. Smoke | Bloodstains | Sharing Clothes

24. Secrets | Under Duress | “What have you done?”

25. Heart Racing | On the Run | “We’re being watched.”

26. Explosion | Short on Time | “I won’t leave you!”

27. Forced To Kneel | Grabbed by Collar | Stepped On

28. Bedridden | Semiconscious | Light Sensitivity

29. Surrender | Punishment | “Final warning.”

30. Holding Hands | Human Shield | “Don’t let go.”

Alternative Prompts:

If there’s a prompt above you don’t feel inspired or comfortable doing, you can switch it out with one of these alternatives!

1. Ice Pack

2. Ransom

3. Gaslighting

4. On the Edge

4. Waiting Room

5. Un/Forgiveness

6. Food Poisoning

7. Heat Exhaustion

8. Forced To Crawl

9. Mandatory Leave

10. Search and Rescue

11. “Don’t push me away.”

12. Words That Can’t Be Taken Back

13. “Let me know if you need anything.”

#whumpril #whumpril2023 #whump #whump event #whump community #rules #writing prompts

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froggibus · 8 months

Text

Redtribution - Jason Todd

Pairing: Jason Todd x gn! reader

Genre: angst -> fluff, hurt/comfort

Word Count: 2.3k

Summary: Jason seeks justice for you after you get assaulted

CW: assault, semi-implied SA, murder, trauma, recovery, jason murders your abuser, angst, panic attack(s), hurt/comfort, soft! jason, everyone lowkey justifying murder, mentions of Under The Red Hood, lmk if i missed anything!!)

this is so fucking self indulgent but i do not even care rn. probably not officially back to writing yet but ill ease back into it in the next month or so. i spent an hour looking up the meaning of flowers before I posted this. anyways enjoy lol

————

It’s nearly five in the morning when Jason is stumbling through the doors of Wayne manor, trying to wipe the blood drops off of his jacket. He kicks off his boots and starts to head upstairs, hoping no one will see him before he gets the chance to shower and change. He’d usually go to his apartment on nights like these but he just got new flooring and bloodstains don’t go with his decor.

He’s careful walking up the stairs, staying on the balls of his feet to not make any noise. The manor is dark and oddly empty, everyone else asleep or about to return from their nighttime activities. He enjoys the silence, though. It makes it easier for him to blend in and sneak around.

He makes it upstairs without being seen and says a silent prayer as he walks down the hallway. The floorboards upstairs have a bad habit of creaking and he lives in a house with the most vigilant people in Gotham. A sound to his right has him stopping dead in his tracks.

He slows his breathing, keeping his focus entirely on the sounds around him. The usual spinning fans and light snoring, but something else on top of that. Crying? It’s hard to tell, so Jason shuffles closer to the door he thinks it’s coming from.

Hard, breathless sobbing meets his ears. It’s somewhat muffled through the door and he can’t quite make out who it is. His first thought is Damian, but given the hour and the fact it’s a school night, he’s sure the brat wouldn’t dare make this much noise even if he was awake. Plus, he’s not even sure if the bastard can cry.

Jason squints. So who’s crying in there? He counts the doors in the hallway in his head, trying to remember who usually slept where. It wouldn’t be Dick or Tim, or even Steph or Cass. So that leaves…y/n?

His stomach drops. What are you doing up at this hour? What are you even doing in the manor? You usually stayed in your own place, trying to pursue a normal life.

He knocks gently at the door, but you say nothing on the other side. He sighs and gently pushes it open. You’re curled up in a ball in your bed, head almost pressed into your knees, shaking violently. The sight of you makes his heart ache.

“Y/n,” he tries to keep his voice gentle to be less imposing, which he supposes is a stupid idea given he’s covered in blood.

You don’t say anything, you don’t even look up at him. He walks towards you, letting the floorboards creak under his feet to alert you to his presence. He makes it to your side, kneeling at the side of the bed. He doesn’t dare touch you right now.

“Y/n, it’s Jason…is everything okay?”

You look up for just a second, letting him see your red rimmed eyes and tear stained cheeks. You relax at the sight of him despite the tears in your eyes before going back to sobbing again.

He can’t remember a single time in all the time that he’s known you that he’s seen you like this. You’ve always had a softer heart than the rest of them, you’ve always been the best of them. You don’t deserve this.

He tries to think back to anything recently that you mentioned, anything that could’ve made you feel this way, but he draws blanks. Were you dating someone? Did something happen at school? His blood runs cold—did someone hurt you?

“Did something happen?”

He hears a slight knock at the door and his head snaps up, his gaze meeting Dick’s. Dick gestures for him to leave the room, Jason giving a slight nod to you in response. Dick raises his eyebrows and gestures once again.

“Hang in there,” he says quietly before slipping out of your room to see what he wants.

He closes the door behind him with a click, following Dick down to the Batcave. Neither of them dare speak until they’re beneath the mansion and far enough away that you couldn’t possibly hear them.

“What’s going on?”

Dick sighs, “there was an…incident tonight.”

“What? What kind of incident? Did someone hurt y/n?” Rage grows in the pit of Jason’s stomach, threatening to boil over.

“Yes,” Bruce’s gruff voice cuts in.

Jason doesn’t even care that he’s still wearing his bloodstained clothes. He doesn’t care about anything other than you right now.

“What happened?”

“We don’t know details, all we know is what we were told and what we caught on security cameras.” Dick looks angry, a jarring sight for him. “Y/n was assaulted last night.”

Just like that, the rage bubbles over and Jason sees red. “Did we find the person who did it? Are they fucking dead yet or do I have to do it myself?”

He’s not even aware that he’s yelling, barely conscious of the words he’s saying. Not you, anyone but you. You did nothing to deserve this.

Bruce interrupts his spiralling. “We’re not killing anyone, Jason.”

“They can’t just get away with this!”

“They won’t,” Dick says in that stupid mediator voice that Jason has always hated. “They’ll go to prison and face the justice system.”

But Jason can tell from his eyes that Dick doesn’t believe that either.

“And what about y/n? They’re just supposed to live with the fact that this—this fucking abomination lives in the same city as us? What happens when they get released? What do we do then?”

Bruce pinches the bridge of his nose. “We’ll get y/n into therapy, okay? We will figure this out. But no one is killing anyone.”

Jason shares a split second look with Dick before barreling his way through them and heading back upstairs. “This is bullshit.”

He hears Bruce sigh behind him but he doesn’t care.

—

It’s three days later when Jason returns to the manor. He’s clean this time, dressed in fresh street clothes that aren’t bloodstained. He has a tote draped over one arm and a bouquet wrapped in brown paper in the other. He’s relieved when only Alfred seems to be in the mansion, sitting at the dining room table drinking tea.

“Good afternoon, Jason.” He glances at the flowers, “would you like me to prepare a vase?”

He nods. “That would be great.”

He stands by for a minute, watching the butler drink his tea. Alfred raises an eyebrow, not even glancing at the boy. “Y/n is in their room.”

“Thanks.”

Jason is nervous going up the stairs. He hasn’t seen you since that night when you were crying so hard you couldn’t breathe. He wanted to come back immediately, but he thought some breathing room would do you good. Plus, he had some business to take care of.

He stands outside your door for a minute before knocking gently. He waits patiently, hearing you shuffle softly to the door. When it swings open, that dull pain in his heart returns.

You’re dressed in a pair of pyjama pants and a Gotham PD shirt that most definitely belonged to Dick at some point. Your eyes are puffy but you don’t seem to be crying. Well, that’s a good sign.

“Jason,” you say softly, “you’re back.”

He gives you a half smile. He wasn’t sure if you would remember that he was even here, but you seemed almost pleased at his presence.

“Can we talk for a bit?” He asks.

“Oh, yeah.”

You let him into the room, going to sit in the corner of your bed. You tuck your chin in between your knees and Jason can’t help but notice how vulnerable you look.

“Door open or closed?”

It’s a simple question, but your shoulders come down from your ears and your jaw unclenches. “Open, please.”

He nods and swings the door fully open, going to sit on your desk chair. He sets his tote bag on your desk.

“These are for you,” he holds the bouquet of flowers out.

Your eyes light up at the black eyed susans and babies breath. You grab the bouquet from his hands and bring it up to your nose to smell them. The sweet aroma calms you.

“Thank you.”

He nods, leaning back in the chair. “How’ve you been?”

“Do you want the real answer?”

When Jason nods, you hesitate. You know out of everyone in the manor, he would be the most understanding of your feelings. He’s never been one to judge. But telling him everything you’ve been feeling is almost too much.

“I’m really angry.” You admit.

He stares at you, pretty blue eyes filled with nothing but understanding.

“Angry at everything, too. But I’m also scared and—and really paranoid. And I just wish—” you take a deep breath, “I don’t know.”

“There is nothing wrong with what you’re feeling right now,” he looks at you seriously. “And I mean nothing. Don’t be ashamed of any of the thoughts you’re having.”

“I want him dead,” you say suddenly.

You can’t bring yourself to look at him as soon as the words leave your mouth. All you’ve heard lately is how he’ll face the justice system and live a shitty life because of what he did. But that doesn’t feel like justice to you.

“He doesn’t deserve to live.”

Your head snaps up, eyes meeting his. His words shouldn’t stun you, but they do. He’s the only one who seems to understand what you’re feeling, what you need.

“Bruce keeps saying he’ll go to prison and to trust the system but I don’t think I’ll ever feel safe knowing he’s living in Gotham. And what am I supposed to do then? Move? It’s not fair to me, Jason. It’s not fucking fair.”

He sighs, “you know how Bruce is. He doesn’t understand that there’s more than one way to achieve justice and peace. He’s scared of the darker stuff.”

You nod, tilting your head back to try and blink away your tears before they fall. You’ve known Bruce since you were barely a teenager, and you know far too well that the allure of darkness is too great for him to ever dabble in it.

“Believe me,” he says quietly. “When I heard about what happened, I wanted to kill that piece of shit. Hell, even Dick wanted to kill him.”

“But you don’t anymore?”

He hesitates before he says “no.”

“Oh,” you say, the tears finally falling down your cheeks.

You thought if anyone could understand, if anyone would agree with you, it would be Jason. You thought you were on the same side, but clearly you’re wrong.

“Hey, hey, hey,” he says softly, sitting on the edge of the bed. “It’s okay.”

“I-I thought you understood,” you sob out. “I don’t think I’ll ever feel okay again, not if he’s still alive.”

Jason’s own voice echoes in his head. But why? Why on God’s earth is he still alive? He sees so much of himself in you. So much anger and bitterness and resentment. And he knew what he needed when he was in that spot.

He reaches into his bag to pull out his phone. “I’m going to show you something, okay?”

“O-okay.”

Jason shuffles back until he’s sitting right next to you, giving you time to move away if you need to. He holds up his phone, the screen displaying a news article from early this morning.

‘Local Man Found Dead From Multiple Gunshot Wounds. Possible Gang Violence?’

Jason takes the phone away before you can see any pictures, shoving it in the back pocket of his jeans. He looks at you carefully, thoughts racing. He’s not sure how you’ll react.

The shock hits you first, and then the relief. “Is that—is that really…?”

You can’t bring yourself to say it. Instead, you look up at Jason with those vulnerable, tear filled eyes. The joy he feels at that spark of hope in your eyes could last him a lifetime.

“Yeah,” he swallows hard. “Yeah, it is.”

You practically pounce on him, wrapping your arms around his broad shoulders. You can’t remember the last time you hugged him but you realize now that it’s been way too long. Jason squeezes you against him, the familiar scent of your hair calming every nerve in his body.

“Thank you,” you sob. “Oh my god, thank you.”

Jason gently rubs your back, nodding into your shoulder. He can’t help but tear up too.

You pull away, a shocked expression on your face. “I—I thought I would feel all better if he died but….”

“I know. But it’s going to take some time and that is okay. And now he’s fucking dead and he’ll never hurt you again. Okay?”

You burst into tears again and collapse into his arms. Jason holds you tightly to his chest, mumbling reassurance into your ear. You don’t feel completely better, but you feel safe, and for now, that’s more than enough.

—

It’s later that night when Jason sees Bruce again.

He doesn’t feel the nerves he usually does. He knows he’s seen the news by now and figured out it’s him, but he could care less what the man thinks. He tries to mind his business and avoid the wrath he’s so used to.

Everyone told him the same thing. That he did the right thing, that he did what no one else could. Even Dick had given him a giant hug, much to Jason’s annoyance.

“Jason.”

He freezes at the familiar raspy voice, spinning on his heel to face his adoptive father.

Bruce nods and places a hand on his shoulder. “You did the right thing.”

#jason todd x reader #jason todd #jason todd x you #jason todd angst #jason todd hurt/comfort #red hood angst #red hood x reader #red hood x you #red hood #hurt/comfort #angst #batfam #batfam x reader

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im-a-writer-sometimes · 10 months

Text

Thank You, Doctor (Miguel O’Hara - Part 1/4)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Epilogue

Pairing: Miguel O’Hara x fem!reader

Word Count: 3k

Description: After being snagged from your own universe and put to work in the med bay in the midst of spider society, you catch the notice of one Miguel O’Hara.

Warnings: blood, probably language, ignoring the ATSV worldbuilding for the sake of my silly little plot

A/N: Are there plot holes? Yes. Do I care? Yes, so please don’t bring them up, I might cry. There’s an occasional Spanish interjection from Miguel, but I am not at all a fluent Spanish speaker, so feel free to correct me on anything if so inclined! Translations are at the end. Also, it includes a roundabout ode to my dearest love, Oscar Isaac. If you know, you know.

🕷

Not every anomaly was kept in a cage. Some, like yourself, had made use of your idle hands, hands that for one reason or another, could never again touch your own universe. It had taken some convincing, but after Lyla had heard enough of your requests from the neon red confines of your prison and carried them to whatever faceless spider person led this operation, you’d been let out. Your cage hadn’t disappeared per se, but it had widened a little. If your return to your own reality would cause its inevitable collapse—as you had repeatedly assured it would—then this was more than you could ask.

You made use of your figuratively-shackled hands in the med bay. You’d been a medical student when you’d been stolen from your universe, and you knew enough to patch up the wounds that came through your work station with ease most of the time—sometimes, after skimming a medical textbook and winging it. So far, no one had died on your watch, and you called that a success.

But your confidence, it seemed, may have been overinflated.

When a group of spiders rushed into the med bay with a large, tattered body strung between them, you felt profoundly out of your depth for the first time. But they couldn’t know that, lest you ended up caged once again.

“Put him on the bed,” you instructed. “Stomach down.” They heaved the body onto the bed, and you could make out the navy and red lines of a shredded suit, as well as a mess of brown hair, matted with blood you were hoping wasn’t his own. “Do you know exactly where he’s wounded?” you asked, running hands over the expanses of skin you could see, trying to make out where the various bloodstains were coming from.

“He was sliced along the back,” answered a breathless spider. “Stabbed twice in the abdomen as well.”

“Help me turn him on his side,” you said, to no one in particular, but there were suddenly several sets of hands helping you turn the man over. “You,” you continued, nodding to the spider standing across from you. “Grab a towel and keep pressure on the wounds on his abdomen.”

You conducted as thorough an examination as you could with your heart fluttering like a hummingbird in your throat, so many eyes trained on your shaking hands. The man had a few other shallow cuts and bruises, but as the spider had said—the biggest concerns were the slice along his back and the two stab wounds in his stomach.

Several of the spiders lingered as you worked, offering tools and towels and anything you needed to speed up the process. And then, in a half hour that felt like a handful of seconds, your work was done. If you had been asked to recount your actions movement for movement, you’d only be able to offer up a breathless blur of adrenaline and then the sudden empty stillness in the room after you'd managed to stabilize him.

He was laid face up on a bed, covered by a blanket since you’d had to cut portions of his suit off of him. He couldn’t quite put a pin on his age, but he was handsome. You’d done your best to wash the blood out of his hair, and it fell in half-dry curls over his forehead. The angles of his face were severe, but they were soft, even kind somehow. At least in his sleep.

And then, to your great misfortune, he woke up.

At first it was a fluttering of eyelids, and you stood sharply from your chair, trying to look busy, as if you hadn’t just been sitting there staring at him. And then it was a few quiet groans as he tried to readjust himself.

“Don’t sit up,” you said at the sight of him trying to push himself into a seated position. “You’ll rip out your stitches.”

He just blinked at you. “Who are you?”

“The person who saved your life,” you said, bristled by the gruff, mumbled annoyance in his tone.

He shook his head. “I have enhanced healing, I don’t need anyone to—” He was cut off by his own sharp gasp as he tried to haul himself off the bed. He went still and then avoided your eyes as he slowly lowered himself back down onto the mattress.

“You were saying?” you said, a smile curling your lips. You turned to the counter behind you, pulling a roll of gauze and medical tape from one of the cabinets. “You had a severe laceration on your back. You’re lucky it missed your spinal cord.” You turned towards him, gauze in hand, as you sat and scooted your stool towards the edge of your bed. “And that’s not even mentioning the two stab wounds.”

“What are you doing?” he asked, scooting away at your sudden closeness.

“Your stab wounds were still bleeding when I finished, so the gauze likely needs changed,” you said. He lifted the blanket from his torso, peeling aside what was left of his suit to find two bandaged wounds, with—as you’d predicted—red-drenched gauze. He didn’t say anything else, but he didn’t protest as you reached out and began to peel back the tape. After a minute or so of quietly working, he finally spoke again.

“You’re human,” he said.

You smiled down at his abdomen, not pausing your work. “Are enhanced deduction skills part of the wide cache of spider abilities? Because you are remarkably observant.”

You could feel his eyes on your profile, but you didn’t turn to face him, not even when he quietly finished his thought. “You’re the anomaly.”

“I was under the impression there were more than one,” you said, pressing down the last stretch of tape and pulling the blankets back over him.

“You’re the anomaly I let out,” he clarified.

“Ah,” you said, standing and walking to the sink to wash your hands. “So you must be the big man in charge. The one who ordered me to be stolen from my bed.”

“There is much more—”

“I know,” you said, turning back towards him, hands braced behind you on the counter. “It has been explained to me plenty. My father was from another dimension and never should have jumped into mine and knocked up my mom, and I never should have been born.” He watched you as you spoke, scanning your face for any sort of malice, but you merely shrugged. “Wish I could have told my mom that’s why he flaked.”

“You’re not upset?” he asked.

“And who would I be upset at besides him? You?”

The man simply blinked at you, hand mindlessly reaching to brush his abdomen, the expanse of skin you’d just bandaged. The carefully stitched wounds answered the question of any lingering resentment towards your captors.

“It would be natural to hate—your circumstances,” he said eventually.

You turned back towards the counter, quietly putting away your supplies. “You should rest until the end of the week.”

“That’s not—”

“In bed for the next two days, and no missions until the stitches come out.”

“But I have en—”

“Enhanced healing. Believe me, I’ve heard it a thousand times,” you said, finally tuning to face him. “But like it or not, you’re still just as human as I am.”

“I’m only half as human as you are,” he said, and it was the clearest he’d spoken since he’d woken up. At the slight flash of fangs with the lift of his lips, you understood why.

🕷

The next morning, you found him fast asleep where you’d left him. It was more instinct than choice, your gut churning with curiosity, that led you to slowly reach out your hand and pull up the right side of his lip, confirming you hadn’t in fact been hallucinating. He had fangs. Before you could pull away, his hand shot up and caged your wrist before his face as his eyes waned open.

“I have to ask,” you started.

“No, I’m not a vampire,” he said, keeping your wrist in his grip, his voice deadpan, as if he’d answered this question a million times before.

“What are you then?” you asked, pulling your hand from his.

“Half spider.”

You lifted your eyebrows. “A spider bite made you half spider?” you asked, but he simply stared. You could tell by the low drop of his brow that he’d already told you more than he would have liked, so you simply turned away, prepping your space for whatever spiders might come through your station that day.

It turned out to be a slow day. Only two spiders came through, both needing minimal attention, and you sent them on their way about as quickly as they’d turned up. And the whole time, you felt a set of red, half-lidded eyes watching you. You would occasionally slip over to his bed to redress his wounds, answering negative to his questions of leaving. “Bed rest until the end of the day,” you said after the second spider had left. “And then I’ll fit you with some crutches and help you to your room.”

“I don’t need crutches.”

“What you don’t need is that attitude,” you said, lifting your eyes to his. “Or else I’ll send you home without a sucker.”

He tilted his head, entertaining your humor but never cracking a smile. “What’s your name?”

“Y/n. Y/l/n.”

He blinked at you as if he was familiar with the name, but all he said was, “Not Doctor Y/n Y/l/n?”

You clicked your tongue. “I was two years from being Dr. Y/l/n.”

He nodded down at his bandaged abdomen. “You seem like a doctor to me.”

“And you don’t seem half spider,” you said. “Appearances can be deceiving, Mister…”

“O’Hara. Miguel O’Hara.”

You nodded and turned back towards your station, beginning to slowly clean up for the day.

“I’m sorry,” he said, making you go still. “That you can’t be in your own universe.”

You turned back to look at him, offering a wry tilt of your lips. Not quite a smile. “That’s alright. I imagine you're similarly displaced for the sake of your noble mission. You just had the luxury of choice.”

“Would you have chosen to stay?” he asked, a sudden sharpness in his voice that made his fangs flash from behind his lips. “Knowing your universe was collapsing?”

“I didn’t say that,” you said, eyes narrowing at the sudden malice. You turned back towards your station, tucking supplies back into cabinets. “I guess I should thank you for letting me work in the med bay. I was losing my mind in that cell.”

“Don’t thank me for that,” he said. “Just makes me feel worse.”

You turned back towards him with a smile and a sucker held between your fingers. “Well, we wouldn’t want that.”

🕷

An hour or so later, when a spider with basic first aid training—a.k.a. the only kind of medic they’d had before you—came to relieve your shift, you helped Miguel out of bed and onto a set of crutches, carrying an armful of medical supplies behind him as he trudged to his room. If people stared at the sight of him limping, sucker in his mouth, they received a look from the man. You couldn’t see said look from behind him, but you could see the way it had people turning—occasionally running—away.

Once you got to his room, he seemed annoyed at the way you slipped in behind him, but he said nothing as you laid out medical supplies on his nightstand.

“You’ll want one of these in the morning and one with dinner for the pain,” you said, jingling the orange bottle you set down.

“Don’t need it,” he gruffed out.

“Alright, well then I imagine you don’t need help getting into bed,” you said, crossing your arms over your chest.

He leaned the crutches against the wall. “Now you’re catching on.”

You gestured to the bed beside you, stepping away so he had enough room to climb up onto it. It was slow, sliced up by the occasional grunt or half-swallowed gasp of pain, but he got up there, tugging the covers over himself.

“Bet you’re regretting that decision,” you said, and he only huffed. You took that moment of silence to look around the room. It was all black and gray angles, not a touch of personality anywhere. Not a picture frame or flower vase, no posters or art.

“You know, having some kind of general joy or cheer in your room might speed up your recovery,” you said, walking over to the window to peer out at the street below.

“Now you’re giving interior design advice?” he said, face half buried in the pillow. He was likely still groggy from the pain medicine you’d given him before.

“I’m just saying, maybe try getting a hobby or two,” you said, pulling the curtains on his window closed.

“My hobby is saving the multiverse,” he huffed out. You turned slowly from the window, eyebrows raised as you met his eyes.

“Was that—a joke?”

He huffed, turning over onto his side. “Good night.”

You started towards the door. “Oh, of course, you’re welcome, Mr. O’Hara. I was so happy to patch up your bloody wounds and gently tug you from the precipice of death. Saving such grateful spider people like yourself is truly my calling in life.”

You stopped before the door, hand lingering on the knob as you glanced back at his figure, curled away from you on the bed. He gruffed out something inaudible and you stepped closer.

“What was that?”

“Mujer implacable,¹” he cursed, before turning over just enough to meet your eyes. “Thank you, Doctor. Now get out of my room.”

You smiled and reached for the door. “Good night to you too, Miguel.”

🕷

It was midnight when Miguel woke up again. The dull buzz of the pain meds had worn off, and the sharp ache of his limbs pulled him sharply from sleep. And then, shortly after, the rumbling of his stomach had his feet hitting the floor.

He told himself he’d simply go to the cafeteria and grab something to eat, but it proved to be easier said than done. With a few curses muttered in Spanish, he sunk against the set of crutches you’d provided, letting out a breath at the sudden lack of pressure on his wounds.

When he made it to the cafeteria, he found it not empty, as he had been hoping. A singular figure was sitting in the corner of the room, the tray before her stacked neatly with various food. Of course. Of all the people to witness his shameful hobble into the cafeteria, it had to be you.

You glanced up as he entered, eyes going wide for a moment.

“You look like someone who didn’t take their pain meds,” you said, lips curling into a smile at the grunt he offered in response. You watched him fumbling with a vending machine around the awkward angle of his crutches and stood, crossing the room to come up beside him.

You didn’t wait for him to ask for help, you simply gestured before you, silently asking what he was trying to reach. He stared at you for a moment before nodding towards a pack of flamin’ hot cheetos. You fetched it for him with ease, before carrying it away from him.

“What are you doing?” he asked, watching as you sat back down at your seat and set his cheetos at the spot across from you. You didn’t respond, you simply watched him with raised brows, waiting. Eventually, he grunted out something in Spanish and joined you, grabbing a bottle of water on the way.

“What does mujer implacable mean?” you asked.

“What?”

“That’s what you called me.”

He ripped open his cheetos and sat back in his chair, watching you as he took the first bite. “Relentless woman.”

“Hm,” you said, smiling. He watched as you stood up and grabbed a pair of chopsticks from the counter, eyes narrowing as you sat back down and offered them to him.

“What are those for?”

“They keep you from getting cheeto dust on your fingers,” you said, smile growing as his eyes widened.

“Mujer brillante,²” he breathed, taking the chopsticks and ripping them open. Something adjacent to a pleased smile overtook his features as he sat back, chopsticks in hand. And then he seemed to remember who was talking to, and his smile flattened out.

“Why are you awake?” he asked.

“Oh, I was just crushed by the weight of endless, multiversal knowledge trying to fit within a mind only equipped to handle the existence of one, pondering the meaning of my birth without a clear place in a singular universe and a purpose only carved out by my own inability to accept my multiversal irrelevance.”

He blinked.

“Also, I’m an insomniac,” you said, and he shoveled another cheeto into his mouth.

“I don’t think anomaly equals irrelevance,” he said, and he wasn’t quite sure if he believed it. You didn’t seem irrelevant though, and he was going off of that.

“Then what does it mean?” you asked, and there was no humor in your voice. No malice either. Just a sharp curiosity.

“It means that the universe is delicately balanced, and you, mujer implacable, are a wrecking ball.”

“So I’m relevant, just not in any of the good ways.”

He shook his head. “In your old life, maybe. But you can be whatever you like here. Relevant. Irrelevant. Whatever suits you.”

“I think I’d like a healthy middle,” you said.

“Midrelevant,” he said, almost smiling.

“Exactly.”

The conversation was sparse as you both ate, but something soft opened up before you within Miguel. You’d already seen him at his weakest, so he had no reason to hide from you. And as you helped him back to his room, he couldn’t decide if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

🕷

Part 2

(1) “Relentless woman”

(2) “Brilliant woman”

#miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara fanfiction #miguel o'hara fanfic #miguel o'hara imagine #miguel o'hara fic #spiderman 2099 #across the spiderverse #across the spider-verse #across the spiderverse fanfiction

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promptsforyourwhumpfic · 5 months

Text

The Grand A-Z List of Whump 1/3

This list contains ~290 items listed A to H

As always, I heavily encourage people to research topics thoroughly when writing. Whump is generally a 'dead dove' sort of topic, however it is important to avoid stereotypes/misinformation. This lists intention is to not glorify/romanticise sensitive topics in any way.

This part one-of-three comprehensive lists of injuries, Illnesses and tropes - including those from the Whumptober 2023 trope vote!

All submissions are listed in italics, and those who wanted to be tagged will be included at the end. If you have any more submissions: please send them via DM/my ask box.

[I-Q] [R-Z] [NSFW List]

List below the cut:

"I don't need your help."

"I'm doing this to make you better"

"I'm fine, take care of them!"

“I’m Fine”

"Kill me instead"

"Let me in."

"Look at me."

"Should I know you?"

"Take me instead."

(No) Anaesthetic

A Good Ol' Sickfic

Abandoned

Abdominal Pain

Aching Wounds

Acne

Adrenaline Crash

Adrift (in space/at sea)

Agoraphobia

Airsickness

Alien abduction

Allergies

Alopecia

Ambulance Ride

Ambush

Amnesia/memory loss

Amputations

Anaemia

Anesthesia

Angina (Heart condition that causes pain)

Animal Attack/Bite

Ankle Sprain

Anthrax

Anxiety/Anxiety attack(s)

Aphasia

Appendicitis

Arrested

Arthritis

Asking for help

Asphyxiation

Assumed Dead

Asthma/Asthma Attack

Auctions

Autoimmune disease

Avalanches

Backache

Bad Caretakers

Bandaged Head

Banished

Barbed Wire

Bear trap

Beaten up by ex-friends

Beaten with blunt object (i.e, bat or pipe)

Beatings

Bedrest

Bedside Vigil/Hospital Vigil

Begging

Betrayed by close friend/team/family

Bites (Animal, Bug, Human….)

Biting

Black Eye

Blackmail

Bleeding Out

Bleeding Through

Bandages

Blindfolded

Blindness (this could be temporary or permanent)

Blisters

Blood Loss

Blood Poisoning

Bloodied Knuckles

Bloodstains/blood trail

Bloody handprints

Bloody nose

Blunt force trauma

Blurred vision

Body modification

Body Sharing

Body Switching

Bounty on their head

Brain Damage

Brainwashing

Breakdowns

Breathless

Bridal Carry

Broken Bones (Ribs, Arm, Leg)

Broken Nose

Broken Promises

Bronchitis

Bruises

Building Collapse

Bullet Removal

Bumpy roads jarring injuries

Buried Alive

Burning Building

Burns/Scalding

Busted kneecap

Cancer

Caning

Capgras syndrome/delusion (belief that someone close to/important to the person has been replaced by an imposter)

Capsulitis

Captivity

Captured

Car chases (and maybe a car crash)

Carbon monoxide poisoning

Cardiac Arrest

Caretaker has to “play nice” with whumper.

Caretaker has to hurt whumpee while undercover.

Caretaker sacrificing something dear to them to get something the whumpee needs.

Caretaker turned Whumpee

Caretaker-whumper who's a parental whumper. But their "love" is not real love. Or even right treatment.

Carsickness

Cataracts

Catatonia

Caught in a fire

Caught in an explosion

Cauterization

Cave In

Cavity

Celebrity whump (exploitation in the music/movie industries…)

Chaffing from ropes/handcuffs/shackles

Chained/Shackled

Checking for injuries

CHF - congestive heart failure

Chicken Pox

Chills

Chloroform

Choking

Chronic pain

Claustrophobia

Cleaning wounds alone

Cold/Flu,

Collapsed Lung

Collapsing (into someone’s arms is usually nice, bonus points for cradling their head as they lower the whumpee to the floor)

Collapsing after they win

Collapsing/Fainting/Passing Out

Collars

Coma

Comfort after a nightmare

Common cold

Completely betrayed by their own team

Complications

Concussion

Confusion

Constipation

Constricted Airways

COPD - Chronic obstructive pulmonary disease makes breathing increasingly more difficult.

Corporal Punishment

Corset too tight and won’t unbutton

Coughing

Coughing Up Blood

CPR

Cramps

Crikes (intubation through neck)

Crush injury

Crying

Cuddle pile

Curses

Cuts/Grazes

Cutting off hair (more of an emotional hurt)

Cyanide poisoning

Damaged Larynx/Vocal Cords

De-aging

Deathbed Confessions (don’t have to actually die and stay dead, just the threat of dying)

Defeat

Defenestration (throwing out a window)

Dehydration

Deja Vu

Delirium (bonus points for this being drug/ fever induced)

Deluded whumper/thinking they’re helping the whumpee

Dengue Fever

Denial

Depression

Dermatitis

Diabetes (type 1 and 2)

Diarrhea

Diseases ('mystery' diseases are the best kind)

Dislocations

Disorientation

Disowned by Family

Displaced hip

Dissociation

Distress call

Dizziness

Dragged Away

Dream sequence

Driving to the hospital with a whumpee slumped barely-conscious in the seat of the car

Drowning

Drunkenness

Ear Infection

Edema (swelling from build up of fluid)

EKG

Electrical Burns

Electrical shock

Electrocution

Emergency field surgery

Emergency Surgery

Emotional angst

Emotional manipulation

Endometriosis

Enemy to Caretaker

Energy Drain

Environmental whump

Execution

Exes reunited with one wanting a relationship and the other just wanting friendship.

Exhaustion

Experimentation

Exposure

Extreme Weather

Eye injury

Facing Phobias

Failed Escape

Failure to thrive

Fainting

Fainting (but also fainting aftermath) / Fainting due to lack of sleep, food, or overworking fainting from exhaustion

Falling

Falling for Caretaker/Whumpee/Whumper

Falling Through Ice

Fatigue/Exhaustion

Fever

Fibromyalgia (Chronic Pain)

Field medicine

Fighting (while injured)

Financial difficulty faced + how whumper might take advantage of that + how caretaker handles everything (well/badly)

Finding your loved one dead without explanation but thinking they’re still alive.

Fireman's carry

Flare ups

Flashbacks

Flinching away

Flu

Food Poisoning

Forced to... (Break out, Choose, Hurt, Kneel, Scream, Watch)

Forehead kisses

Forgotten by team

Foul-tasting medicine

Found family

Found unconscious

Fracture (Arm, Hyoid bone etc)

Freezing / cold whump

Friendly Fire

Frostbite

Gagged/Muzzled

Gangrene infection

Gaslighting

Gas (noxious, poisonous etc)

Gastritis

Glass (shards, debris etc)

Grief

Gunshot Wound

Hair Pulling/Cutting/Matting/Stroking

Hallucinations

Hanahaki

Handcuffs

Handgag

Hard ground

Haunted

Hay Fever

Head injuries/concussion

Head trauma

Headache/Migraine

Heart Palpitations

Heartburn

Heat Exhaustion

Heatstroke

Heavy metal poisoning

Held at gunpoint/knifepoint/weapon point

Hematohidrosis (Sweating blood)

Hemophilia/Hematophilia (Blood unable to clot)

Haemothorax

Hernia

Hidden Illness/Injury/Scar/Medical Issues

Hiding

High Blood Pressure

High Fever (like dangerously high)

High Pain Tolerence

Hit by a car

Home Sickness

Hospital Codes

Hostage Situation

House burnt down

Huddling for Warmth

Human Shield

Human Weapon

Hunger

Hungover

Hunted for Sport

Hurt no comfort

Hyperalgesia,

Hypermobility

Hyperventilating

Hypo/Hyperthermia

Hypo/Hyperthyroidism

Hypoglycemia

Hypotension/ Hypertension

Hypoxia

TAG LIST: Thank you very much to the following people for submitting ideas! (I apologise if some tags did not work, I'm not sure why tumblrs not letting me tag you!)

#whump #a-z trope list #prompts #a to h #long post #extra long post #depression tw #anxiety tw #chronic illness mention #gun tw #angst #hurt #injury #illness #cancer tw #illness tw #alcohol tw #violence tw #medical tw

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indifferent-depravity · 8 months

Note

If requests are open, can you do a Frank Castle x Virgin innocent reader? With Frank having a corruption kink?

CW: dub-con, daddy kink, under-negotiated sex

Minors DNI 18+

A/N: I hope this is what you were wanting!!! and don't forget requests for everything are open so if you'd like to see anything from me feel free to drop it in my ask box :)

buy me a coffee!

help me escape abuse

my Etsy shop

~~~

Sometimes Frank can’t believe you’re with him. He’s sure others can’t either when they see you next to him, all sunshine and pretty little sundresses smiling at him like he hung the moon. It’s no surprise to him when you tell him you’re a virgin after a month of seeing him. And it makes something ache inside him to taint your innocence, to run his bloodstained hands over your untouched skin and pull you right into the gutter with him.

He watches you pad around the kitchen, the way your short skirt swishes around your thighs making his cock twitch with interest. You turn to give him a wide grin, utterly unaware of his filthy thoughts as you tease, “You’re staring, Frankie.” He snorts, even your nickname for him is innocent. Frank crosses the kitchen and leans down to kiss you, hands sliding around your waist to tug you closer. A slight whine slips from the back of your throat and you stretch on your toes to wrap your arms around his neck, kissing him back eagerly.

You’re breathless when he pulls away, a faint blush rising high on your cheeks that makes his cock throb. “What was that for?” Your voice is shy and he smiles at you, bringing his hand up to cup your cheek.

“Do I need a reason to kiss my girl?” Frank asks lightheartedly and your blush deepens, cheek burning under his palm as you nuzzle into his hand. He leans down to kiss you again and runs his tongue along the seam of your lips, humming as they part to allow his tongue to push inside. You moan pathetically against his lips as his tongue delves into your mouth and he makes a quiet noise in response, gripping your waist as he backs you against the counter.

You break the kiss with a gasp and hide your face against his chest, “F-Frankie if you keep kissing me like that…” you trail off into a whine, pressing your face harder against him.

He chuckles and runs his hand down your back, stopping just before he reaches your ass, “What, baby? Am I making you horny?” You squeak in response and he laughs, pressing a kiss to your cheek, “is your little pussy getting wet from my kisses, hm?” You squeeze your eyes shut tightly and nod against his chest, face burning with embarrassment.

“How ‘bout you lemme kiss it and make it better, baby?” Frank trails kisses down your neck and you tip your head back with a sigh, pressing your thighs together as your cunt clenches around nothing. He sneaks a hand under your dress, squeezing a handful of your ass as he rocks his hardening bulge against your hip.

“I don’t know if I’m ready…” your breath hitches as his fingers dip between your thighs, pressing teasingly against your clothed core.

He hooks his middle finger in your panties, humming as your wetness immediately soaks his digit, “C’mon baby, I can feel how much you want it. Lemme show you how good it can feel.” Your cheeks burn at his teasing tone but you nod tentatively, muffling a moan against Frank’s chest as the tip of his finger sinks into your cunt.

You feel his chest vibrate with a laugh and you pull your face from his chest to pout at him, mouth falling open with a pathetic whimper as his finger sinks deeper into you. Frank gently nips your bottom lip, brushing his lips against the corner of your mouth, “What do you say? Gonna let me make my girl feel good?” His finger slips out of you and you whine at the loss, nodding your head tentatively.

“O-Okay. I trust you, Frankie.”

He hums in approval and slips his hands down to the backs of your thighs, urging you to wrap your legs around his waist as he quickly lifts you into the air. You squeak in alarm, quickly wrapping your arms around his neck for support as he crosses the kitchen toward your bedroom. Heat pools in your stomach as his hard-on presses against your core, the size of his cock making your heart race.

Frank lays you gently on the bed and covers you with his body, connecting your lips in a slow kiss as his hands explore your body. You squeeze your legs around him as he trails kisses down your neck, head tipping back with a soft sigh as he works the skin over your pulse with his teeth. Your dress bunches around his forearms as he delves underneath it to curl his fingers into the waistband of your panties.

“I’m gonna take these off, okay?” You hum nervously but lift your hips off the bed to help him, fingers twisting in the blankets. He eases the material down your thighs, kneeling between your splayed legs as he lets your panties drop to the floor.

Frank kisses up your thigh, sinking his teeth into the soft flesh when your legs start to close. “Don’t close your legs, little girl, lemme see that pretty pussy.” He dips his thumb into your folds, causing shocks of pleasure to run down your spine as he brushes over your clit. Your hips buck into his touch of their own accord, a whimper falling from your lips as his mouth trails closer to your throbbing core.

The first drag of his tongue over your folds punches the air out of your chest, hands falling to grab his hair as you grind up into his mouth. He moans and spreads your folds with his thumb and forefinger, sucking your clit into his mouth. He swirls his tongue around the sensitive bud and you arch off the bed, molten pleasure pooling in your stomach.

Frank groans against you as your wetness coats his tongue, “fuck, you taste so good baby.” He traces the tip of his tongue through your folds to prod against your entrance. You shudder as his tongue sinks into your cunt, fingers tugging at the hair tangled around them.

His thumb presses against your clit as he thrusts his tongue into you and you cry out, thighs clenching around his head. “Frankie! Fuck, think ‘m gonna-” Your words slur as he wraps his lips around your clit, body seizing painfully as he forces you over the edge.

Frank replaces his mouth with his fingers, pressing his cheek against your thigh as he gently helps you through your orgasm, only stopping once you’re limp against the bed. “How was that, baby? Good?” He hums, running his fingers through your folds. Your eyes slide shut and you nod with a drunken smile, at a loss for words as you try to catch your breath.

He palms his cock through his jeans and presses a kiss against the soft skin of your inner thigh before pushing against your hip to turn you on your stomach. You shift onto your stomach without protest, sighing as Frank runs a gentle hand over your ass. His hand leaves your ass only to deliver a harsh smack and you yelp, twisting back to look at him incredulously. You pout at him with a whine, “Frankie, that hurt!” He smiles and drops a kiss over the reddening mark as he rises to his feet.

Frank presses your shoulders back against the bed with a gentle kiss to your lips as his hand slips between your thighs, “It was meant to, baby. Can’t have such a cute little ass like that and not expect me to give it some love.”

You whimper as he pushes two fingers into you, a tinge of pain bleeding into the pleasure as he starts thrusting his fingers into you before you have time to adjust. You reach back to grab his wrist with a whine, shuddering as he continues his punishing rhythm, “s-slow down!”

He hums and delivers another blow to your ass, growling as your cunt clenches around his fingers. “Don’t worry baby, I’m gonna make you feel so good.” Frank squeezes your ass, spreading you open to watch his fingers disappear inside you with a groan. A quiet moan escapes your lips as he curls his fingers, a tremor running through you as he urges you toward your second orgasm of the night.

He twists his fingers in your hair to force your head back, pushing his tongue into your mouth roughly. You whine into the kiss and struggle to rise up on your elbows as his grip on your hair makes your back arch painfully. “Frank, I-I don’t-“ your words break with a gasp as he forces you over the edge once more, arms struggling to keep you upright as the waves of pleasure sap the strength from your limbs.

Frank hums approvingly as he fingers you through your orgasm, “Tha’s it, cum for me like a good little slut.” Tears burn your eyes as he finally lets go of your hair and you slump back down on the bed, body limp as the aftershocks thrum through you. You feel the bed dip behind you as Frank climbs on the bed behind you.

He grabs your hips roughly, pulling you up onto your knees as he settles between your legs. You whine at the rough treatment, weakly reaching back to catch Frank’s wrist as he grinds against your cunt. “W-wait a sec! I need- I need…” you trail into a moan as the tip of his cock catches your oversensitized clit, jerking away from the feeling. Frank makes a disapproving noise, gripping your hips tighter as he pulls you back against him.

“No runnin’ away, baby, lemme give you what you need.” He soothes and grabs the base of his cock, pressing the tip against your entrance teasingly, “This is what you need,” He grits his teeth as his cock slowly sinks into you, “A nice hard fucking.” To his credit he stills once he bottoms out inside you, smoothing his hands over your sides as he lets you adjust to his size. You take a shaky breath, air catching in your throat at the overwhelming fullness inside you.

The drag of his cock inside you burns with overstimulation as he slowly rocks into you. His hands catch your hips in a bruising hold as he snaps his hips forward, burying his length inside you in one rough thrust. A shriek rips from your throat as the tip hits your cervix, a painful spark lighting in your stomach. “C-careful! Y-you need to slow down!”

“It’s okay, baby, this is how it’s supposed to be,” Frank shushes you, pulling your hips back into his thrusts with a quiet grunt. “Pussy just sucking me right in, huh? Takin’ my cock so well, baby, perfect little slut f’me.” You whine at his words, pressing your face into the blankets as your cheeks burn with embarrassment. He chuckles and leans over your body to brush his lips over your heated cheek, growling lowly as the change in position lets his cock slide in deeper.

Frank braces his forearm against the bed, freeing a hand to run over your side, groaning as he squeezes a handful of your ass. “Don’t like being called dirty names, huh, baby? You just wanna be daddy’s good girl.” He says teasingly and you whimper, a shudder running through you at his words. “Aw, you like that? Being my good little girl and letting me fuck you how I want?” He grins, dropping a kiss against your shoulder as you clench around him, nodding with a sob. The pain from his rough thrusts finally gives way to pleasure and you moan loudly as you teeter dangerously on the edge of another orgasm.

He hums, rubbing his thumb over the swell of your ass, each swipe inching closer to your asshole. “Even if I wanted to sink my cock in here, hm?” He asks and presses the tip of his thumb against the puckered hole, “Would my good little girl let Daddy fuck her ass?” Frank rolls his hips against yours and you shake underneath him, barely hearing him as your third orgasm of the night rushes through you after a well-aimed thrust brushes against your g-spot.

You can faintly hear his pleasure-laced chuckle as he slips out of you, his hands tugging at you to turn you on your back. You look up at him, blearily watching as he straddles your waist, hand moving quickly over his length. Frank cums with a broken groan, hunching over you as he paints you with his seed.

He leans down to kiss you gently, using his tongue to push his cum into your mouth. You whine into the kiss as the taste of him invades your mouth, sleep-heavy arms coming up to wrap around his neck. Frank pulls away and cups your cheek, gently stroking the soft skin with his thumb, “Such a good girl for Daddy, hm?” You nod, cheek burning beneath his hand as you nuzzle into his touch.

#frank castle x reader #frank castle #the punisher #frank castle punisher #frank castle smut s #mut #writing #frank punisher #reader insert #reader insert smut #jon bernthal #jon bernthal smut

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hxney-lemcn · 7 months

Text

Under the Moonlight — Finn Mertens x gn! reader

summary: Finn and reader finally cross into a romantic relationship during a camping adventure.

tw: bathing together (no sexual components)

a/n: I love Finn sm omggggggg. This can be read alone, but for people who want a more romantic conclusion, here you go ;)

wc: 0.4k

Epilogue [Ending B]

Master List | Chapter One

“That’s like…the sixth time you complimented me,” I grumbled, ears feeling unbearably hot.

Finn chuckled awkwardly, “I can’t help it, you’re just so cool.”

I looked down, feeling flustered, “I’m literally covered in grime and blood.”

“And you look totally badass!” Finn cheered.

I chuckled, rubbing my shoulder to release some tension, “I think I’d feel a lot better with a good shower.”

“We can set up our camp near the pond,” Finn offered. “We can start cooking up that beast we killed and take a dip in the pond.”

I agreed, and we did exactly that. I let Finn handle the food, and made my way to the pond. I striped my dirty clothes off, already feeling cleaner without my bloodstained clothes. Dipping my toes into the water, I hesitated as the water was a bit cool. The need to become clean overpowered anything else and I dunked myself fully in the water. When my head popped back over the water, I was met face to face with a grinning Finn.

“Hey,” I grinned back.

“Hey,” He replied softly. Lifting a hand up, Finn scrubbed some dirt from my cheek. I warmed from under his touch, even the chilly water couldn’t put out this heat. I nuzzled into his hand, closing my eyes to enjoy his touch further. His thumb softly rubbed the flesh of my cheek. Opening my eyes, I was met with his tender gaze.

“How mad would you be if I kissed you?” Finn whispered over the gentle laps of water.

I sheepishly looked towards the water and shrugged, “I don’t think I’d be too mad…”

With my confirmation, Finn pulled my face closer to his. He hesitated for a second, giving me a chance to pull away, but instead, I pushed forward. Our lips met in a gentle kiss, Finn moving his hand down to settle on my waist. I pulled away first, feeling breathless from the short kiss. Only for Finn to follow my lips and kiss me more passionately. I wrapped my arms around his neck, our bodies pulling closer. With the moon shining down on us, the moment felt magical. This time, we both pulled away, panting slightly.

“Glob, I’m so in love with you,” Finn confessed breathlessly.

My heart was beating erratically, my mind felt like it was melting with love and affection for the man who I held on to. I stared at him with as much love and affection I could muster. One of my hands moved to the back of his head, scratching his scalp gently before pulling him down into another kiss.

I let out a content sigh, “I love you more than you could ever imagine.”

#adventure time #fionna and cake #finn mertens #x reader #finn mertens x reader #fionna and cake x reader #adventure time x reader #fionna and cake imagines #adventure time imagines

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muzansfangs · 10 days

Text

Trailer for Bloodstain, chapter two.

WARNINGS: language, smut.

Perdition.

“What’s wrong? Am I—“ you inquired, breathless, chest raising and falling erratically while the palm of his hand was splayed over your midriff to keep you in place. His touch almost made your skin sizzle, boiling lava over the tender flesh.

“Shut up. — he rasped out, silencing you effortlessly, jaw clenching at the feeling of your skin underneath his fingers — I feel like I could rip you to shreds, if I let myself go”.

“Sosuke, I’m fine. I’m not scared” you tried to reassure him, reaching your hand up to graze his cheekbone with your fingertips. But his free hand stopped you, clasping around your wrist tightly as he pinned you down with a glacial glare.

He was on the verge of losing himself. You had never seen him like that, so humanly fragile.

“You don’t seem to understand that if I fucked you the way I want to do it now, I would tear you apart” he hissed, a knot forming between his eyebrows as the iron grip on your wrist intensified, making you wince softly.

And God, you found yourself wishing he was going to keep his promise in that very moment. His eye glinted in raw desire, your thighs spread apart in front of him showing your glistening intimacy. His cock twitched at the sight. The need to be inside of you was tearing him apart, to the point he made up his mind quickly.

“Ride me. Ride me now” he commanded through gritted teeth.

To @pseudowho

CHAPTER ONE HAS BEEN PUBLISHED.

#author rambles #aizen sosuke smut #sosuke aizen x reader #aizen smut #aizen x reader #bleach smut #bleach x reader

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comfort-questing · 9 months

Text

woe... whump aesthetics be upon ye

smoke on the breeze, bitter on the tongue on each inhale; sun burning thinly through a haze of gray; bloodshot eyes and sooty skin masking a heat-flushed face, a half-empty canteen held to their lips by a friend

breath steaming in the cold, sharply visible in the lanternlight against the snowy woods around; someone's glove held between the teeth as the back of a hand rests against their forehead, eyelids heavy over fever-bright eyes, their mouth twisting as they flinch away from the unexpected and unfamiliar concern

arms grasping just under their shoulders, their hands trailing limply on either side of their half-conscious body; blood smears the dirt beneath them and their head lolls sideways, hair shielding their face, while above them a breathless voice begs them roughly to open their eyes

they've wrapped themselves with every blanket in the house and still the chill is gnawing at their bones, the ache of fever bending their joints apart. whether the shadows are moving or it's just their delirious imagination, they've given up guessing. the only real thing is the sound of their caretaker just beyond the wall, humming softly as they bring another pot of tea to boiling on the stove

suture needles and discarded bits of thread on a metal tray, bloodstained gauze littered in the folds of the threadbare sheets, two anxious voices exchanging whispers over the ragged motionless shape of their friend who's now mercifully asleep for the moment

small birds chirping as they hop across the gravel of the walkway, spring flowers brightening on the unkempt bushes spilling over on either side, the slow sounds of crutches and two feet making their way down the wooden steps, and an upturned face into the sunlight

#whump #hurt comfort #whump scenario #whump drabbles

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theyoungoneed · 11 months

Text

Title: Bloody Kiss

Summary: reader is searching for Klaus in the woods of the bayou and ends up finding him not in a way they expected. Klaus begs reader to leave but reader refuses resulting in a shocking ending.

Word Count: 670

Warnings: blood, dead bodies

A/N: not edited

“Klaus!” I yell, running through the backwoods of the bayou. The night fog thickens around me as I struggle to keep my balance without tripping. Tangled branches keep grabbing at my legs like coily fingers pulling me under, cutting through my skin.

“Klaus! Klaus!” No response. All I can see in front of me is the staggering mist coming from my warm breath. The moon was full. The woods were quiet.

“Klaus!” I yell sprinting faster. Suddenly my foot catches onto something heavy, and I trip forward, falling onto my knees. I looked back to see what it was, and to my dismay it was a dead body. I quickly got up and started to run again, although this time I had nowhere to run, since a tall figure was standing right there in front of me. It was Klaus. He slowly turns to face me. Covered in blood with a heart in his hand made a quick gasp escape my throat. He drops the heart onto the ground revealing a horrific scattered display of massacred bodies.

My shaking hands covered my mouth. I wanted to scream and run. Tears developed in my eyes. I slowly look up at him.

“What did you do? Who are all these people?”

“You shouldn’t be here,” he says dodging my question. “Go away.”

“No, answer my question Klaus. Who are they? Why did you do it?”

“Please, go away,” he begs. “You shouldn’t see me like this.” He turns his back to me.

“See you like what? Like this? I am not leaving until you explain to me who and why you-

“Because this is who I am!” he snapped. “This is what I do!” His bloody mouth spit out blood through his teeth as he yelled. My lips quivered as I watched him pace around in a circle running his hands through his hair, clearly distraught to see him in such a state. He clenches and unclenches his bloodstained knuckles. His glaring eyes meet mine.

“What if I hurt you?”

“You won’t. I know you won’t hurt me,” I tell him, shaking my head.

“But what if I do,” he says walking towards me. My heart skips a beat as he gets closer. “I’m a vampire and I feed when I’m hungry until there’s nothing left to feed on, and when I’m angry I’m a werewolf, and tear whatever stands in my way limb to limb, and I can’t bear the chance of doing either to you, so go,” he demands.

“I’m not afraid of you.”

“It would be better if you were, love. We can’t be friends and from here on out we can’t know each other. I regret dragging you into all this.”

“Fine, “ I tell him. “If you think it’s best to go our separate ways, fine, but do you know what I don’t regret Klaus? Meeting you. I don’t regret meeting you because even with all the vicious and cruel things you do, deep down under all that darkness is light. Light and kindness of which I have never seen.” I try to compose my shaky breath and watery eyes from falling down my cheeks. “Meeting you opened a whole new world for me that I never knew even existed.” I take a deep breath. “So, if you think this is for the best then so be it. Just know it was great to have a friend like you to lean on.”

We held each other's eyes knowing it would be the last. A small tear ran down my cheek as I slowly began to turn away when all of a sudden in a quick moment, soft lips touched my own while warm sticky hands cupped my cheeks. All at once my brain reacted to fight or flight mode. I broke away from his kiss and slapped him. Breathless, I touched my finger to my lips. The strange metallic taste mixed with something else lingered in my mouth. That was the first time I had tasted human blood.

#the originals #the originals fanfiction #the originals imagine #the originals x reader #klaus mikaelson #klaus mikealson fanfiction #oneshot #klaus mikealson x reader #klaus oneshot #klaus mikaleson imagine #tvd universe #new orleans #the originals fic #TVD

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hrefna-the-raven · 9 months

Text

A forbidden kiss - Part 2

Bela Lugosi!Dracula x female reader

Part 1

@groovyqueer here is the smutty part, I hope you enjoy it :)

Words: 1005

Warnings: (18+), technically couch sex^^

Credit for the sexy topless picture goes to @belalugosi1882

The last kiss shared between you and the Count had ignited an insatiable hunger within you, especially after realising that he seemed to feel the same. A hunger that could only be appeased by another touch, another taste of each other's forbidden lips. And so, without hesitation, you both leaned in once more, simultaneously this time, your heart pounding against your chest. As your lips met, a surge of exhilaration coursed through your veins. The Count's mouth, cold as ice, still sparked a fire within you. The intensity of the kiss was both intoxicating and thrilling, a potent blend of pent up lust and sweet danger. It was as if darkness and light collided in a moment of pure passion. Time stood still as you lost yourself in the unyielding embrace and the sensation of his teeth grazing against your lower lip sent shivers down your spine. With each passing second, the line between pleasure and pain blurred, leaving you yearning for more until you decided to run your tongue along his sharp fangs, piercing it slightly. The iron taste of your blood danced around your tongues, a hissed growl rumbling in the Count's chest as he suddenly pulled you on his lap, his fingers found their way under your nightgown, digging deep into the side of your thighs. While you straddled him, still engulfed in the pleasure of the bloodstained kiss, you ground your hips against him, whimpering at the feeling of his growing bulge pressing on your cunt.

But just before the passion reached a dangerous point of no return, Count Dracula abruptly pulled away, leaving you breathless and wanting. His head fell back, closing his eyes while his mouth hung open, a trail your blood slowly running down his chin, threatening to drip down on his white shirt. You kept rutting against him, eliciting dark groans from him as he could feel your wetness through the fabric of his pants. You ran the tip of your tongue teasingly from his chin up to his lip, licking up the blood, sending shivers running down his body. His hands grabbed your shoulders and he pushed you back, lifting his head and his icy blue eyes stared deeply into yours.

"Draga mea", he breathed, "are you sure about this?"

You nodded eagerly, the hunger within you still burning, unsatisfied and restless. Your hands found their way to his pants, undoing the buttons, lifting your hips slightly as you freed his now fully hard member from the confining fabric. Your delicate fingers wrapped around his cock, stroking it achingly slow a few times before moving it to your entrance and letting your body sink down on it. You both moaned at the sensation, feeling his dick twitch inside of you. He wanted you to move, finally give in to the pleasure he craved so much but you froze, your fingers desperately fumbling at the buttons of his shirt. The desire to have all of him threatened to burn you from the inside and you craved to touch all of him. Dracula's eyes wandered down, seeing your troubles opening his shirt and he suddenly tore it open in a swift movement, causing you to gasp in surprise, eyes glued to his naked pale chest.

Your gaze wandered over his chest, halting at a long scar that ran downwards over his perfectly pale skin. You curiously traced your fingertips along it.

"Battle wound", he spoke softly as if he knew the silent question that was forming in your mind, "from when I was still human."

Your hand moved up, cradling his neck gently while your lips captured his in another heated kiss. The Count was moving his hips along, thrusting deeper inside you, trying to urge you to pick up the pace. He was no patient man, not even during his living days, even less so now and his urge to finally feel you, to have you like this, pushing your over the edge of pleasure, almost felt unbearable to him. A feral roar simmered in his chest as his fingers dug into the soft skin of your hips, pushing you further down and forcefully grinding you on him. You moaned sinfully loud as he was now deep enough inside you to press against the sweet spot. You felt the pleasure rising within your core while moans of his name spilt past your lips like a primitive prayer as he made you ride him, rendering you even more vulnerable to that carnal desire that burned through the veins of both of you like a wildfire. The sound of your wetness against his skin filled the room and your walls were squeezing his cock, fueling the raw pleasure that was bound to explode soon.

"Draga", he grunted, "mea, I-", he groaned.

Your pants grew heavy as you both came undone at the same time and you screamed his name as you felt his seed spilling inside you. He grunted, bucking up his hips one last time before his head fell back and a satisfied smile ghosted over his lips. Breathing heavily, you collapsed on his chest, planting a trail of tender kisses on his cold, pale skin. In that moment, the world around you seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of you.

"What happens now?" you asked hesitantly, breaking the silence that hung in the air like a thick fog.

Your voice trembled, unsure of what lay ahead. The Count, ever the seductive creature of the night, let out a hearty chuckle. His eyes glinted with a mixture of sincerity and love.

"Whatever you wish, my dove," he replied, his voice dripping with his usual timeless charm, "I'd ask to court you, but we're past such formalities. Our connection seems beyond the constraints of time and societal norms", he added, a glimmer of mischief in his eyes.

A giggle escaped your lips, the sound echoing through the room.

"Indeed, Count," you responded, your voice filled with excitement, "and I dare say that I like this very much."

#dracula 1931 #bela lugosi #dracula #dracula x reader #dracula x female reader #1931 dracula x reader #lugosi dracula x reader #lugosi!dracula x reader #bela lugosi x reader #count dracula #blooming love #kissing #smut #dracula smut #couch sex

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collectorofsoulss · 4 months

Text

Exile! Mammon xF!Reader Pt 4

Rain. Blood collected with the rainwater, mixing as it trailed into the sewer. MJ’s eyes casually followed it until they landed on your staggered form against the wall for support while Papa held your sides as you retched. It was not too long ago he arrived; him being the demon he was, it easy to trace your scent. Mammon sought after you in an attempt to win you back. He was not one to wait or let things ‘cool off’ he could not bear the fact you were upset with him.

Mammon had instructed MJ and Maximus to go inside the car and wait. Head laid against the window, MJ exhaled, his breath fogging the window before clearing, there he noticed his reflection, studying the reality of his image until he spotted Maximus staring with curiosity.

“Am I going to get horns too?” he touched the top of his hair, feeling for signs.

MJ said nothing, ignoring him he stared at his bloodstained hands. The image of your expression flickered in his mind, he felt…ashamed although you said nothing. The ambiguity of your face made him scared. Did you not love him anymore? He soon felt a tug on his wing, Maximus pulling at the appendage.

"Can you fly?"

“Stop it,” he mumbled, casually nudging him with it. “Leave me alone.”

“Why you get to have them and I don’t?” Maxi whined.

“Mama said it’s a curse, I’m not supposed to have these,” he whispered.

The sudden loudness of your voice drew their attention away from each other and to their parents. Climbing into the passenger seat, Maximus gazed out the window for a better view. It was a slight distance, and the rainfall muffled your voice, however, MJ's ears were sharp. He heard everything.

The clothes were glued to your skin, teeth chattering from the coldness of the rain. The breath your body chased was never caught, between the puking and the adrenaline, it left you breathless. Heavily your chest rose and fell in attempts to grasp reality.

“Babe,” Mammon reasoned. “It’s rainin’ let get outta ‘ere and talk at home.”

“No,” you kept your distance, “You didn’t see what I saw! I need you to reverse it right now, whoever the hell you pissed off caused our son to do that!” you pointed to the dismembered bodies sprawled across the alleyway.

Mammon set a hand on the nape of his neck as he faced away from your intense gaze, he began to pace. He shifted his weight, one foot to the other as he built up the courage.

“I’ll…I’ll explain everythin’ to ya,” he breathed. “Just not here.”

The rain coated your face, dripping from your brows and quivering lips. At this point you could hardly feel your toes, regardless you remained unmoving.

“It’s hurting my baby,” you gritted. “I don’t want it to get worse.”

“No one ain’t do nothin’ to ‘em,” he confessed. “It ain’t a curse.”

Mammon slowly found the courage to face you. In the depths of your eyes twirled with disbelief, confusion and the searing pain of betrayal. Unconsciously, your body curled inward. The words tripped on your tongue, barely escaping as a whisper, “T-then what?”

Mammon’s heart clenched at your vulnerability, he never intended to keep this secret for so long. He was going to tell you! Not on the first date – or third! Not on the day he proposed or the night of his wedding! Everything was going well, telling you would have ruined everything he’s worked hard for.

He was truly afraid. Afraid you’d see him just like his brothers, that you too will gaze at him with eyes of disappointment and scorn. Mammon desperately ran from his greed, the past and who he was destined to be. He thought it eventually would fade with time. The single thought of you hating him, distrusting him – he simply couldn’t handle it. It’ll break him, like how your look alone is breaking him right now.

“I’m a…” he struggled to get it passed his throat, “…a –”

The woman’s words decided to echo in your mind. “…a demon,” you finished for him.

He looked into your tear-filled eyes. “All these years…” you murmured, “a-all these years,” you repeated. The outside closed in around you, the space was suffocating from the weight of his confession. Every piece of furniture, the photos, they all mocked you for the life you had built with this man, this demon. Everything you’ve once known about him was lies!

“Were you even an orphan?”

“…no.”

Spinning around, you could not bear to look at his face! “You knew…all this time?”

He did not have to speak for you to know his answer. Immediately you began to walk towards your car where your children were waiting.

“Baby please!” he clutched your arm, delaying your departure. “I was just scared,” he stammered, his eyes plea for understanding. He hoped you’d be able to see beyond the label and had grown to love the layers of his character. “Afraid if you knew, you’d see me as a –”

“What! A monster?” you interrupted, finishing with bitterness. Wrenching your arm from his touch, “Are you!”

The tears eventually cascaded down your cheeks. The weight of your accusation filled him with disgust. Mammon knew his previous actions could mark him as that but every day he found against his instincts, suppressing the desire. Temptation was everywhere, wealth, power and the humans displayed it well; it was partially oozing from their pores. There were moments of weakness but each time he chose you and his children over his selfishness. Mammon was fighting his demons but he couldn’t fight them if the demon was him.

Mammon tried to touch you again, “Babe, c’mon you’d know I’d never –” you raised your hands in defense, flinching. Not once you look at him like that before – ever. It scared him. Mammon stared at his palms, eyes shaking with terror. “I’d never h-hurt you,” his voice was a whisper, however, his words were swallowed by an abyss of mistrust. The way you stood there, staring with foreign eyes. Internally Mammon crumbled to pieces.

“No,” you breathed, “I don’t know. Do you expect me to believe anything from you?” Little by little you stepped backward, “I never asked for any of this! You never gave me a choice!” you shouted. “And that’s the most selfish thing a demon could ever do!” Mammon was speechless; he watched you slip from his grasp and out of his life.

Maximus saw your figure appearing closer, and quickly he went into the back, throwing himself in his car seat. The second the door opened, you made sure he was fastened. He saw how your hands trembled, you barely buckled him on the first try. Soon after, MJ saw you were going to do the same for him but noticed your hesitation once you saw the blood coating his figure. Regardless, you fastened him anyway. MJ saw Papa was still outside, standing in the same spot you left him in once you got into the car. He said nothing. Maximus strained his head to see where Papa was, eventually speaking,

“Is Papa com –”

Adjusting your rearview mirror, you interrupted. “Not now, mama needs quiet time.”

Mammon's spirit sank into the lowest pits of hell, returning to where he rightfully belonged. There he was in the dimly lit confines of his bedroom. Across his couch, he laid, pillow hugged against his chest, gazed fixed at the picture of his family within his worn wallet. The weight of your absence - was this what it meant to feel soulless? Desperately he desired to see you, to hold you once again, to kiss his children but he could not bring himself to face another rejection. Did he deserve you? Did he deserve them? He closed his eyes, a single tear escaping. His brothers were right. He was scum.

#obey me #obey me!#swd obey me #obey me shall we date #shall we date mc #mammon angst #obey me mammon #om! mammon #family drama #obey me female mc #obey me mc #obey me next gen #obey me fanfiction #female reader #papa mammon #parent mammon #hurt/comfort

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vonev · 7 months

Text

Thinking about it,

Ghost would totally be the best Ghostface there ever is out there. Just think about it: he'd be infatuated with you and your little habits that he constantly obsesses over them, he won't kill nor harm you (not in a way he usually does to others) but he'd spend hours and hours crafting a plan so intricate, and all of that work only to crack you down mentally from inside out.

It'll start out simple, a personal letter here and there, sometime with a little bloodstain at the edge of the papers as you shakily trace your eyes over the handwritten letters--your heart drums against your ribs so hard it hurts to even breathe, because the exact things on the letters dictates every single waking moment of your life; it's fucking creepy, and you think you know who it is, but you can't pinpoint your intuition on it.

The guy on the mails named himself Ghostface; you almost wanted to laugh in cruel irony because it's the same name plastered on hundreds upon hundreds of online articles and newspapers regarding his ruthless killings: unfortunately for you, you're his target next.

The letters make you restless; nights spent under your bedsheets staring out through your tightly shut windows, eyes widened in horror wondering if today is the day the stalker will pop up and end you for good. It never comes; because Ghost just isn't that type of person.

That's what he wants you to think, though, to live in such constant fear of Ghostface that you'd succumb into his hold, Simon's. You'd knock on his door with face full of tears because anyone else you turned to simply abandoned you during your worst times, strangely.

He'd hold you, tell you "It's okay." he'd say, "I'll make sure nothing ever happens to you." Word-for-word, he held the promises to his heart.

But he's only a man, after all. Seeing your face so flushed with tears and those reddened eyes does something to him--so much so he went out of his way to fuck with you more than he already does. Oh you think the letters were bad? Try opening your door to a box of what looks like a present on your birthday, only to see the gore-y remains of your ex in the tiny box. You wanna know what the notecard says? "To my love, my gift to you, he won't ever bother you again."

With what looked to be a cute little heart stamped with blood; your ex's blood.

All because you had complained to him one random Thursday afternoon that your ex had started bothering you again with rapid texts and phone calls.

You cried to him that night, to Simon. Because you were too distraught to realize you recognized the handwriting from Simon's notebooks you'd see on his desk, too terrified to see that the way he held onto you was tad bit inappropriate: a hand on the back of your hip, and another snaked around your neck with a gentle grip as he rubbed soft circles into the back of your neck.

There were the little things, too, the games he always loved to play: late night phone calls from an unknown number that never spoke to you--the only thing you'd ever hear is the heavy, staggered breathing on the other end of the line while you questioned the caller's identity with an equally shaky voice.

The tactics came and went, some weeks you'd be bombarded with horrifying bullshit like one of the letters handed to you by someone else in class, frequent violent robberies happening at your workplace--two of your workplaces.

Eventually, you quit, you gave up. It was all too much for someone like you to handle: you were only as strong as you believed to be, your facade wasn't very convincing, anyway.

Simon is perplexed by how easily you fell into his traps; it's like he didn't even have to try to get you twirling under his fingers. He doesn't mind it, not when you looked to breathless under him, your hands balled up into fists as you gripped his bed sheets so tightly, him pounding into you with relentless paces because Oh my fucking God, he finally had you all for himself. What more could he ask for? When you look like an angel, with your nose scrunched and eyes squeezed tight, breathy and desperate moans as he gives you the best orgasm you ever had--it brought peace within his sick, twisted heart.

All his troubles finally paid off. With you cuddling up against him in his bed, softly snoring away, him staring into the eerily blank spaces on his white walls.

He wouldn't need to be Ghost or Ghostface when he's with you.

And at the end, you'll realize all you have is him; it's a win-win for him, he gets you all alone for himself and you'd think you're in the safest place on earth.

Oh how clueless you are.

#simon ghost riley #simon riley #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost x you #simon riley x you #cod mwii #another one of my brainrot :p #definitely not writing this because i have another full-fledged WIP about this concept #totally not nuh uh #a little OOC of Ghostface but then again it's simon riley we're talking about here

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flowercrowngods · 1 year

Text

Steve carries Eddie’s body through the gate, blood soaking his clothes where silent tears fail to wash it away. It feels like Eddie’s blood is going to seep into is body and stay there under his skin like a tattoo. A reminder for all eternity that happy endings were only ever an invention by people who didn’t know anything about life.

“He’s losing so much blood,” Robin keeps wheezing behind him, breathless with the weight of it all, and Steve wants to say something, wants to comfort her that it doesn’t matter, it doesn’t hurt him, he won’t need the blood anymore. But the words get stuck in his throat as more tears fall.

Eddie’s hand is cold in his, and it will forever haunt him. Still, he’s not ready to let go when they reach the remnants of the trailer, when his knees give out and he collapses onto the soiled mattress. But whatever stains they were, they’re history now underneath all that blood.

History is the thing with the bloodstained beds and lost, abandoned homes, is it not? History is the part where everything gets ripped from you and you’re meant to keep standing. Keep fighting.

History, right now, looks a lot like a future unwritten, with Eddie’s hand in his, cold and unfeeling.

Steve still doesn’t say a word.

The world has larger problems than his failed attempts at grief. Ripped apart at its seams, wilting and rotting and overcome with death and decay, Hawkins needs Steve Harrington to once again show a strength he shouldn’t have to possess.

He helps. Donates clothes, offers his home, his kitchen, his bedrooms to everyone in need. Donates his time, his smile, his thoughts to the people who have the fortune and the privilege to think nothing of him.

Funerals are a daily occasion — with or without the bodies — and so Steve doesn’t even think about it when Dustin approaches him about Eddie.

“He shouldn’t be put on public display like that,” Dustin says and Steve marvels, for a second, that he still has his voice. “He deserves more than a freakshow, and they’re so busy, but they said they could… They could come and—and prepare him. The body. Bring him over. Have a proper service for him, those who knew, those who cared about. Could we do it at your place? Please?”

His eyes sting as he nods and pulls Dustin into a hug that leaves his shirt wet. It’s fine. All his clothes have the memory of tear stains on them, and tear stains are better than blood; a kinder version of history.

It’s a week after… a week since… It’s been a week, when they finally have the funeral for Eddie. Steve doesn’t mean to be there, he shouldn’t be, he can’t be, not when he still scrubs at his skin where Eddie’s blood used to be and he wants to get it out of there because he knows it’s inside him, he knows it’s in there; he knows because he’s hurting all over. Everything, everything hurts. And he can’t wash it away, the memory, the stains, the part where past and future became history and present became nothing but pain. He can’t—

He can’t.

Eddie refused to run and it’s all Steve wants to do anymore. It’s not fair. It’s not.

He shuts himself away from the world in his room and tries to scratch it away, the memory of the blood. He wants to scream and to shout and to talk and to apologise, but he can’t, because there are no words.

And then Dustin is talking, and Steve stops tearing at his skin to listen. He can’t hear the words but he can hear the pain, he can hear the way Dustin is stronger than him, always has been, and he opens the door. Slips down the stairs slowly until he sees it. The open coffin with Eddie’s body, his hair glowing in the light of the afternoon sun.

“He was the coolest, kindest, bravest guy I know,” Dustin says, but Steve doesn’t want to hear it, so he stops listening as he reaches the foot of the stairs and keeps walking, closer to Eddie, always closer, always so, so close.

And he misses the touch, misses those dark brown eyes that were so kind, and he wants to see them again. They’re closed. They shouldn’t be closed; the world has to see. Has to see the kindness in those eyes, the beauty, the wonderful things they’d think of.

Silence falls around him but Steve doesn’t care, doesn’t really notice; not when those eyes are closed, not when he reaches out to open them as a way to right all the wrongs in the world now.

But then his eyes fall to Eddie’s bare throat, and everything is wrong once more, no chance to right it, because—

“Where’s his pick? He needs-Eddie needs his plectrum to play. He can’t play without his pick, he can’t— The bats will get him, please, you have to… He needs his pick.”

And Steve falls apart as he finds his words again, words that rip into his very soul, tearing at the fabric of the world itself and turning it upside down. There are hands on his shoulders, trying to pull him away from the coffin, but he clings to it even as his knees start to give out while sobs wreck through his body.

“It’s okay, boy,” someone tells him, and Steve falls back into Hoppers chest, strong arms holding him up instead of pulling him away from Eddie. “It’s okay.”

He’s shaking his head, vision blurry now, and maybe there’s a bit of irony in the way that Steve and Eddie will both have had their last visions of each other be blurred with tears.

“It’s not, it’s not okay,” he insists, trying to shake off the hands holding him up. He wants to fall apart; wants to break; wants to be gone. Don’t hold me together, let me shatter. “You— You all wanted me to talk. You wanted me to!”

He’s gasping for breath again, hiccuping through the tears and the words and the weakness.

“I’m talking. Eddie, I love you. I wanna love you, and now I’m gonna, forever, but I don’t want the sad kind of forever. I want… Please, please he needs his pick, he can’t play without it.”

And then he’s on the floor, sobbing, and the words are gone again. Robin, Dustin and Hopper go down with him, but even they can’t put him together now.

“Steve,” Dustin says, voice hoarse with the weight of his own tears. “It’s here, see? I’ve got his pick, it’s safe. Do you wanna give it to him? Make sure he has it forever?”

He does. But he can’t bring himself to let go. Wayne comes up and places a scratched up piece of plastic on Eddie’s chest.

“He used to leave ‘em all ‘round the trailer. I always keep ‘em with me the days. Found this one under the couch before we… He’ll have it now, see? He can play again, our boy can play again.”

Steve falls apart until he doesn’t remember what piece of himself goes where. But it’s fine. Eddie will play again.

@thefreakandthehair technically you didn’t do this, but you sure didn’t discourage me from writing this (inspired by the My Girl funeral scene)

#steddie #steddie fic #stranger things #major character death #mcd #do you know the funeral scene in My Girl? yeah. also i watched bridge to terabithia so all around emotional damage here #actually sobbing i am SO SORRY i haven’t cried like this while writing something in… ever probably #dio words

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hitlikehammers · 20 days

Text

After The Storm (Steddie Pirate AU)

(you guys totally made it through the storm fine, right? no issues, all good?)

🌊Under the Water (Our Hearts Will Dream Again)🌊

Chapter Seven: As Offering or Mercy

ONE // TWO // THREE // FOUR // FIVE // SIX // FINAL CHAPTER on 7 April 🌊

also on ao3

In the days that follow, only two things remain constant.

The first is perhaps most obvious, most inescapable: Eddie Munson is, in the aftermath, no more than the shell of a man, hollow and barren, though the prices of him meant to be hollow, to fill with air and blood and bring life to the whole of him—those hollow parts are leaden, now. The chambers of his heart struggle endless, the expanse of his lungs shriveled; calcified.

He wishes both would just…give up the ghost already. The rest of him’s managed it well enough.

The crew somehow pried him from Steve’s body the night of the attack; Eddie doesn’t remember. The next thing he does recall is stumbling onto the deck again to see the last of the bloodstains being scrubbed away, no bodies in sight and panicking, where was Steve, where had he gone—

A burial at sea, of course. But Eddie…Eddie had come undone.

He’d screamed and lashed and…and he doesn’t recall what all he’d said or done but he knows they don’t bother thinking, his crewmates. They leave him to his hollowness within the quarters that were Steve’s. That were theirs, together. They either respect his space, or expect him to rot.

Either is…sufficient.

The second constant, though, are the questions. Because he is silent, winnowed to only bones he can’t comprehend as still possessing the capacity to stand, to hold weight and move, until he does both and leans dependent at the edge of the shop in the dark and asks whatever listens, in the water or beyond:

“Was I,” he croaks; the first time in particular; they’re the first words he didn’t speak over Steve’s body, and then scream for the faceless loss of even that; “did I disrespect you?”

He addresses the Sea; thinks he’s doing the closest thing to offering prayer, or maybe the opposite of prayer—more that he thinks he’s speaking to the closest thing he’s ever felt to a deity; divinity as understood in Eddie’s frame of comprehension.

At least: how he understood it, before he knew Steve’s touch.

There is no reply.

“Was I,” he clears his throat the next time; it grates like glass, to no avail; “was I selfish?” And he shakes his head and feels faint for it, for so much more than it too—feels like he may fall, his body finally processing the message that he is finished, and he may simply tumble into the Waves: where he gave his heart first.

Where they threw his heart last.

“What did I do,” he asks but in truth he begs, and the barest spark in him left sees fit to flare, and almost try to demand; “was wanting him like,” he licks his lips, cracked and bloody, iron against the salt on the breeze that’s not comfort here, now, where always it was: it mocks him.

It tastes like Steve.

“Was wanting him an offense to the universe, to the gods themselves, if there are any?” He barely huffs the question, cannot laugh, no capacity for it left in him; “or whatever’s out there instead of them, if they’re a lie?”

He suspects they’re a lie. He hopes they are. He doesn’t want to believe in a cosmos as callous as this by design. With intent.

And of course there are no answers. It makes him fear a little, for the inherent heartlessness of the universe.

“Was loving him a sin, like,” he gasps the next time, In the very depths of the night; “can I sin if I don’t believe in what I’m sinning against but if I can and if I did,” he babbles, rough and breathless, manic as he pants;

“Was being with him, someone like me just, presuming I could,” he shakes his head, and then can’t seem to stop as he rails hoarse and shaky against the ship’s wake;

“Was simply holding him a desecration, did I defile him by default?” Eddie feels sick for the thought, for the seed of the idea planted in his head. “Was it an insult on, on some level deeper than,” and he looks out into the endless shift of waves and asks it, this thing that was once unthinkable:

“Deeper maybe even than You,” he addresses the Ocean, this thing that he’s loved, he asks one love to explain the loss of another:

“Was it a violation, somehow of something I couldn’t know, merely to think that I deserved to love him?”

He doesn’t wait for any answer before he tries to defend himself because:

“Not even to be returned, not,” Eddie’s voice catches, and his tears sting on the wind; “I never expected it back, not from someone,” he shakes his head, and almost doesn’t mind the way the words choke; he wouldn’t mind these being the last truths he speaks; “he was beautiful but not just his face, his,” and he shakes his head; swallows; swallows—his pulse is mallet in his throat and by every hid and devil he wishes it would burst forth and finally drain him dry—there is not pain in it that could outstrip what consumes him as a rule.

“I’d never seen the shade of his eyes. I’ve never felt magic like it could be real, until he looked at me and then,” Eddie’s chest flutters, a vivacious reminder of what he had and lost and then clenches, back to the present truth:

“Then he touched me, just the once, just the first time and—”

Eddie falls, that night, to his knees. It’s been weeks, by now. He doesn’t know how long he sobs.

He doesn’t know how he gets back to the bed that was theirs, where he wakes only to sob harder.

It takes him more days than it should to return to the edge of the ship, but then; he’s mostly lost track of time. It has no real meaning.

“Was it a test?” he whispers, tone flat and eyes dim, any color in the stars washed out entire; “If so it was foolish, and not on my part,” he accuses, maybe for the first time, the whole of the Sea he trusted for so long, with so much, because—

“I was never strong enough not to fall for that,” he doesn’t even argue, just states the fact for what it is: unquestionable. “No one could be, but,” and Eddie’s throat closes, his pulse feels faint and he wonders if he’s staring it down, finally, finally: an end. A release from this kind of hurting.

But no. Not yet.

“His heart was,” Eddie’s words find him without thinking; his blood trips and he lifts a hand to rub his chest, the stutter like a reminder alongside the roil in his stomach as he amends: “is,” because that was the last he had of Steve. To be given his heart.

And Eddie, for punishment or restitution or something else entire: Eddie gave his heart to Steve, but possesses a beat in his breast here, still.

So Steve’s heart is, not was.

“It is goodness,” Eddie declares to the night sky, to the Sea almost in defiance; “it is all-consuming, it is the thing people treat like revelation, that once you know it you can’t breathe the same again,” and even in his devastation, Eddie cannot help but marvel because—

“It moves mountains and, and,” he shakes his head, seeks the right words; “it’s power, isn’t it, it’s the like life itself, but wielded to, to,” and Eddie’s breath escapes him, and he brings his other hand to his chest, too, presses there and the beat should be heavy and frantic and flooded with all of Eddie’s heartbreak but maybe the broken part of the concept itself is what wins out: it’s unsteady, but it’s constant. It’s wispy, somehow; like the slow push of low tide.

“It’s almost cruel that even like this,” Eddie cups the beats between his hands against his chest; “even when it isn’t mighty enough, powerful enough to, to,” even when it’s a fledgling thing, like a baby bird, it is strong enough Eddie wants to praise the impossible, inexplicable strength of this heart, of all that Steve still is, that he left behind in Eddie, deserving or otherwise—but there’s so much of him that wants to break more for it, because why must it be enough to keep him in his world, when, when—

“Was I not allowed to love him?” Eddie murmurs, tears streaming without relent; “Was I not allowed to love him alongside you?” he demands of the Sea, almost hysterical before he dares speak it, dares mouth it to the breeze:

“Above you?”

He clutches to the wood of the gunwale until it splinters his skin, lets the weak push of his own blood pool against his flesh.

“I would give everything to have him back,” he barely breathes, watches the blood on his pale palms as they tremble; he is weak, he knows this. He barely eats. He does not brave the day.

“But if even you can’t give me that,” he doesn’t know what prompts him this night, after so many nights, too many nights without: he doesn’t know but he presses the blood-stained hand to his heart, Steve’s heart, the fluttering bird in his chest and heaves a sob as he begs, bargains:

“Take it from me as an offering,” he speaks it clearer, plainer, truer than his voice has managed in ages; “either as an exchange for him, or a,” his voice cracks but he clenches his teeth, his jaw;

“Or else as a mercy,” Eddie whispers, but it’s fierce; “take it from me so it can no longer torment me, and let me lie with him in the depths.”

He’s clutching his chest, he cannot look down to his bloodstained shirt because he knows he will only see Steve, see him at the end and he can’t, he simply can’t—

A pressure curls around his hand, upon his chest—if a hand were cool and wet as a rule, before being solid underneath, it would be a hand, too. Maybe it is.

He looks down, braves the memory: it’s a hand. It’s not flesh colored, or else not entirely, like it’s only shaded in three-fourths the way it’s meant to be.

It is stronger, though, than any three-fourths grip has the right to be.

“Please stop trying to give me your heart,” a voice murmurs, close to his ear and Eddie’s hollowness is taking hold, it seems, emptying his mind of reason because: that voice.

That voice—

“You mortals rather need those,” the hand presses harder than a whole hand should be capable, at least that Eddie’s ever known, but it feels as if the beat below rises to the pressure somehow, some way; “and I happen to be singularly fond of you, so,” the hand taps his chest, something almost playful but far more instructive, chiding even:

“Keep that in here, please.”

And Eddie’s pulse should be a torrent, now, or else a scared bird’s wings fluttering, terrified to fall but: no.

No; everything in Eddie’s body is running circles, frantic and confused, heartsick and panicked and beyond reason: but his heartbeat when he listens, for the first time since his heart was lost—

When he listens, his heart is a mirror of the waves: the same tempo.

The same quiet might.

He slips one hand away from his chest and dares to cover the watery touch, test its solidity: it holds. Eddie gasps.

It turns; laces their fingers: Eddie knows the fit of that hand.

Eddie knows that touch.

He turns, and braves to be undone by the final fracturing of his sanity for wanting too hard.

But there stands…something not quite human. Eddie heard the words in the voice he loves just moments before—you mortals—and if the hair is part kelp and coral, the shape and sweep is the same. If the eyes are nearly translucent, they are no less drawn from the wellsprings of the flame where sunset meets the surf. If the frame of him seems malleable, it is not lesser for the give and flow: it is greater.

Eddie gapes, marvels: it cannot be.

But this, this: this otherworldly being, wreathed in power and beauty and wonder and a tangible regality, a palpable sense of a thing that exceeds Eddie’s comprehension, save to feel reverent, worshipful, grateful beyond expression in its presence—

This being inspires those feelings for something like divinity among legends, but at the same time, the same feelings for a desperate love in a heart Eddie’s starting to feel the beat of in his chest as something other than an albatross, or a noose.

More like a miracle.

“Keep this safe here, please,” Steve—because no matter the changes Eddie knows beyond doubt or question this is his Steve—Steve’s hand flattens full against Eddie’s chest and holds there like he needs to impress his desire as more accurately a need, then he glances up through lashes just as long and languid but more intangible, like a sunburst caught on the water.

Eddie swallows, not daring to blink, and Steve’s growing more flesh colored, more solid with every breath Eddie gasps in awe before he cups Eddie’s cheek and Eddie nearly comes undone; he’d lost that, he’d believed with the whole of him that he’d lost this forever and how, then, how is it here now—

He nearly comes undone for it; only nearly though.

Because the words Steve speaks to him next do the job entire.

“Keep this here,” Steve says once more with his hand to Eddie’s heart but…if a voice can hold the tides then his does, bears their strength and endlessness, before they disperse and it’s just the gentle hum of Steve when he adds, somehow stronger, somehow more:

“Unless, of course, you truly mean to give it.”

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🌊ao3 link here

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