#graphic wound description
Note
Can I get a uhhh… Defiant Whumpee with high-pain tolerance and a Caretaker who worries sick about them while Whumpee laughs at their own injuries??? Thank you!
Heyyy! Thank you for choosing the whump drive-thru! Enjoyyyyyyy < 3
Where Even Diamonds Shatter
TW: Blood, slightly graphic description of injuries, implied past captivity, implied past torture, bruises, angsty
It wasn't the rumbling thunder or the honking of cars speeding down the highway that roused Caretaker from their already fitful sleep. It was the frantic rapping at the door, that awfully distinct knock that tore them away from their sheets and cracked their eyes wide open.
"Ah, took you long enough," Whumpee quipped, smiling brightly at Caretaker, but there was nothing behind the eyes. Their whole body trembled, soaked to the bone in rainwater.
"Y-you look like hell," Caretaker rasped out, the concern still clear in their tone, even through their sleep-hoarse voice.
"I didn't imagine hell to be so wet." Whumpee let their lip curl upwards into a lopsided smirk as Caretaker frantically pulled them inside, unable to find Whumpee's jokes amusing the way they usually did.
Out of a force of habit more than anything else, Whumpee threw themselves on the couch, shrugging their boots off and tossing one leg over the other, the almost sarcastic groan too stoic of a reaction for the horrible state they were in right now. Their cheeks were hollow, and the bags under their eyes were dark and heavy, and they looked significantly older, even though Whumpee was barely an adult, much like Caretaker was. A patchwork of bruises in sickly shades of purple and brown marred their face, and scratches of various sizes littered their visage.
All of it made Caretaker terrified of what was concealed underneath the flimsy fabric of Whumpee's shirt as they mentally steeled themselves for the result.
"Spoiler alert, it isn't pretty," Whumpee quipped, their eyes full of mirth and amusement, and yet so unbearably empty as Caretaker lifted it up.
Ghastly. Horrifying. Gruesome. It didn't matter how many terrible words Caretaker used to describe the state Whumpee's abdomen was in, it would still be a sight burned into their eyes, engraved into their memory. Lacerations snaked across their body in various degrees of healing, the blood still fresh on some of them. The wounds were dull and ugly, clearly produced by a blunt tool, definitely not deadly, but fashioned to produce as much pain as possible. They looked more like the result of a vicious beast dragging its fangs through Whumpee's vulnerable flesh, slow and tormenting.
It wasn't that the wounds were simply unsightly; they were a reminder of all the torture Whumpee had been subjected to, of the extent of its brutality, and yet here they were, scoffing and laughing and making a show of rolling their eyes at every grimace and soft gasp that Caretaker gave. It amazed them, how they still managed to remain composed with injuries as deep as these.
"W-what did they do to you?" Caretaker breathed out softly, worrying their bottom lip in between their teeth, still unable to register what they were looking at, their eyes unfocused and glazed over.
"Ah this? Just a minor disagreement between civilised people, ya know. They say they want me to beg, and I say screw you. I'm not sure, but I don't really think they liked that," Whumpee replied offhandedly, laughing softly.
If it was anyone but Caretaker, they would've believed that laughter was genuine. They could see the hollow, lifeless look in their eyes, the way their muscles tensed, the subtle manner in which they clenched their jaw, all indicators of the severe pain they were in. They wished more than anything to scream at them to stop making a mockery of their injuries.
Instead, they went over to the bathroom, gathering medical supplies into their arms, only for Whumpee to raise an eyebrow at them sceptically. And just before they could let another snarky, ill-fitting joke fall from their lips, Caretaker tossed the supplies onto the coffee table, and their gaze turned steely.
"For the love of God, stop it! None of this crap is funny!" Caretaker thundered, their nostrils flaring as they picked up a few alcohol wipes and pressed them to Whumpee's many wounds.
"Oh come on, Caretaker," Whumpee drawled between hisses of pain as the antiseptic burned across their skin, the alcohol wipes turning crimson ridiculously fast, "would you rather I cry?"
"No," Caretaker bit out tersely, "but you shouldn't be making fun of it either."
"I shouldn't?" Whumpee hissed, voice dropping dangerously low, "Do you know how hard I bit down on my lips to stop myself from screaming, but I still did anyway? Do you know what it was like living a life where every goddamn moment is agony?!"
All their composure had disappeared into nothing, their walls broken down, the cold indifference replaced by a quivering lip and furious, shameful tears streaming down their face. Whumpee hurriedly wiped at them, as though acid was flowing down their face.
Caretaker's gaze softened as they crouched down a little lower, using the alcohol wipe in their hand to wipe the blood off their hands. They wiped the new tears off Whumpee's face with their fingers, blissfully cool against their burning skin. "I'm sorry, love," they whispered, carding their fingers through Whumpee's hair.
"You've been through a lot, I know. But it's okay to be vulnerable. It's okay, I swear. It doesn't make you weak or whatever crap they told you. You don't have to laugh when you don't really want to," they continued with the same gentle tone, cupping their jaw and giving them a fond smile that still carried a forlorn air to it.
"I just don't want any pity," Whumpee attested, gaze downcast and full of uncertainty.
"And I understand that. You are strong for managing to make it through all this. I want to offer you care and not pity, love," they added, ruffling their hair affectionately.
Whumpee tried for a few false starts, but they ultimately decided on a nod and sucking in a shaky breath.
Their breathing began to slow a little as Caretaker resumed patching up their wounds, and while they still tried to keep their pain well-concealed beneath a clenched jaw as a force of habit, something a bit of time could heal, they weren't completely averse to displaying vulnerability, feeling a lot safer than they ever had in their life under Caretaker's gentle vigilance.
Vulnerability is not an indication of a lack of courage. And, while it may be difficult to process, all one needs is a steadfast companion; someone to lean on when they have been holding their own weight up for so long the way a mountain does. People are not broken objects in need of rigid fixing to return to what they once were, rather, the steps they take to heal, no matter how undesirable, are all that they need, vital to even the most resilient of minds.
Today's server is Natalia! If you enjoyed this meal, we'd all be honoured if you come again <3 <3 <3
#Natalia#whumpdrivehtru#answered asks#whumpblr#whump community#whump writing#tw blood#tw implied past torture#tw implied past captivity#tw bruises#tw somewhat graphic wound description#angst#whump#whump blog
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Warnings: Bombs, death, blood, gore, suffering, idk a shit ton of organ failure?, emotional distress, destruction, ahem "toasted alive", graphic descriptions of wounds (Definetly missed some shit.)
Just stay safe guys, this is a story of self love :)
Prescript: this is the reincarnation au of the immortality au, but slightly tweaked.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
They barely hear the sirens blaring, before screeches and cries fill the air. They don't see it coming through the fluffy bangs they brushed this morning. They feel the impact for a split second before searing pain envelopes them. It burns their flesh entirely in a brilliant flash. Bones melting mere milliseconds after the flesh is incinerated. There is no time to react.
Heh this is new, who would have thought an immortal could run out of time?
how ironic.
they were infact a long distance from where the atomic bomb hit. The nuclear explosion carried quickly across the land. The few seconds Perkeo had were a millennium to the poor souls trapped beneath the blast. They managed to atleast heard the blare of the warning sirens first, no matter how fleeting that moment was. Their entire being had shut down, but death was nothing new to them. Though they had never been this destroyed.
they physically couldn't feel the way their remaining ashes, but their soul was ablaze. Just as their physical for was. The soul was desperate for a body to host, to rebuild itself. The immortal spirit never abiding by Perkeos wishes. The soul needed to be physical. It could never let go of the firm grasp it has on reality. Determined to live it wrenches its form back together. Ashes pulling together, just like that of a star.
Oh how fitting.
the strain put on the life form didn't deter it. As it painstakingly compressed itself back into a charred pile of dust. The dead cells begin to regenerate through unfounded energy. The spirit pouring all of the power in its inate being into producing some for of life. And piece by piece Perkeo was put back together. Wretchedly slow and gruesome, as it grows for a second time. This rebirth was different, it took more than life from Perkeo. The repair ripped their soul apart.
A rip in their eternal being.
it cut further than any knife, deeper than any sword. This was them. the true them. Not the body they were bound to. Their spirit within.
Perkeo awoke. In a desolate area. Repeatedly dying from organ failure, and misplaced insides. The fix was so desperate, it wasn't even sustainable. Once it rebuilt itself further, Perkeo would wake. Dying to the toxicity and lack of oxygen. No one came to the waste land in hope of survivors. They couldn't without becoming a casualty themselves. So Perkeo waited. And waited. And waited. Days turned to weeks, to months, to years, to decades, to centuries. Before the nuclear waste had eroded into something more livable. Perkeo awoke, unsure of this being real.
This was a first. They always knew they were real, usually they are the only static thing in the universe.
Perkeo barely opens their eyes to see the wreckage. Though it was more "liveable", that doesn't mean it was pretty. Gritty sand surrounding them. It took them too long to get their bearings. Dying from the shock a multitude of times after it set in. Once they knew what had happened.
they couldn't cry, they couldn't think, they just waited for death to take them. Only for it to return them with shaky palms. Unable to claim this defiant soul.
(So this is meant to end with Perkeo missing some of their ashes and gaining the ashes of many other bodies in their reincarnation. Something which hasn't occurred before, and it leads to this emptiness in them. They aren't whole. And they never can be again. something is innately wrong with this vessel now. Something not even fate nor immortality can fix.)
(The whole "tearing of their soul" was meant to become the sun and moon. In a twist of fate, even though their body can't be whole. The pieces of their soul come together over many lives. Always reconnecting on some level. Even I'd it can't be pieced back together, it can be content with their newfound proximity. They can always find eachother, even without searching, without knowing. Because they are all one. This is why they are perfect for eachother. Pieces of a puzzle torn into a shape where they can't mesh together, but still one image. Always belonging to one another. They weren't built for eachother with strings of fate bringing them together, they are eachother. They depend on eachother to function. Like a body with different systems. Like a brain with different sections. They must come together to fix eachothers needs of longing. Sure they are all technically one, but now that they are split they can take care of eachother. They don't have to rely on themselves, Perkeos existence and health became meaningless due to its endlessness. But now they aren't lonely, they have two other immortals. Parts of their soul able to help them, to stay by their side, to never leave, to never die. They love them with all of their being, even if it's just the things of their past self. Huh maybe that's why perkeo likes them so much. It's what they are now missing.)
Strangely the explosion may be the best thing that has ever happened to our dear perky,
After all,
They won't ever face anything alone again.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Told ya it was about self love ;)
This is all noncannon, just me going insane.
If your seeing this it is a reminder to take a break. Eat. Sleep. Drink. Get up and move. Have a great day <3
I'm sorry but im just losing my crap laughing over the faz-ton of warnings and then " this is a story of self love tho 🫶 "
I read this a million times before and I have fun rereading it a million more
I have the softest of the spots for self love and how it projects on the way you love the world and the people around you
Everyone a round of applause to Suki who yet again graces us with chaos pain and suffering but this time with a twist of sugar sprinkled on top
And you heard her, break time!
#i love you#i love you i love you i love you#immortal au#immortal au writing#reincarnation au?#✨️: suki writing#cw gore#cw bombs#cw organs#cw death#graphic descriptions of wounds#cw blood#angst
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@faeriekit I would have sent this as an ask, but then it got Long, so... TW for graphic descriptions of a flesh wound.
I have many fun medical stories from either myself or my family that I could tell, but the one that I enjoy telling most is from when I was 10 and the relevant brother in this story was seven.
So, it's a saturday morning, my siblings and I are all supposed to be cleaning our rooms. Brother Dearest, however, is not cleaning his room; he is messing around, jumping on and off the bed, and also, most importantly, he is playing with the mini-blinds cord. Specifically, he is wrapping the cord around his finger and then pulling his finger out of the coil, wrapping then pulling, wrapping then pulling. In a fit of genius, he decides to combine the jumping-off-the-bed with pulling-his-finger-out-of-the-coil, except this time, instead of the coil loosening and his finger smoothly sliding out, it cinches.
Tight.
------
A brief aside, there's this really delightful medical term that is just wonderfully evocative of exactly what it looks like when flesh is stripped from bone; it's called degloving.
------
Later, my brother claims that he didn't really feel anything at the time, and I suppose that makes sense as he didn't damage the nerves so much as remove them.
Because of this, he doesn't really begin to panic until he starts to bleed, and he bleeds a lot. His bedroom is in the basement, so in order to reach my mother upstairs, he has to climb a flight of stairs, round the kitchen, climb another flight of stairs and then round the landing, during which my mother is being treated to the rapidly rising sound of my brother crying out, "mom, mom, MOM! There's so much blood! MOM!!!"
My Mother is exactly the kind of person you want next to you in a crisis or emergency situation, and I like to think that I inherited this from her. In any case, my mom, who has four accident prone children with varying degrees of severe asthma, is a pro at emergency room visits. In this moment, she doesn't hesitate or freeze, just grabs a clean rag, wraps it around my brother's hand and herds him out the door and into the car and off they go. She doesn't stop to think or panic, just moves.
This will be important later.
------
Before she leaves, my mother calls me up from the basement and tells me that she's taking my brother to the ER, and that in the meantime, I, as the oldest child, need to watch my other two siblings. She's not gone long before I get curious as to what all the fuss is about and start nosing about. Because he didn't panic until he saw blood, my brother left a rather convenient trail of blood down the stairs, across the basement, and to my brother's room. There, I notice a round looking rubbery object on the window sill.
I think it's a bouncy ball.
Then I see the nail.
------
Meanwhile, at the ER, a nurse is unwrapping my brother's hand to get a look at his finger. Very calmly, she looks my mother in the eye and asks, "do you have the rest of his finger?"
Just as calmly, my mother replies, "I'm going to have to call my husband."
------
Realization of what exactly it is I'm looking at washes over me, and I spin to see my youngest two siblings indulging their curiosity just as I did in following the blood splatter down the stairs. They haven't come into the room yet, so they don't know what's happened. There's still time.
I push them both all the way up the basement stairs, shut the door at the top behind me, and declare with as much authority as I can that, "No one is going downstairs."
Soon, my dad will get home early from work. He has received a call from my mother with instructions to collect my brother's finger, put it on ice, and meet my mother at the ER to drop it off. I know exactly why he's there. I tell him my brother's finger is on the windowsill in his room downstairs. He leaves just as quickly as he arrives, and once again I'm left by myself and in charge of my siblings.
I will remain so for the rest of the day.
------
Back at the ER, my mother has now passed control of the situation to the nurses and has gained enough emotional distance to come out of crisis mode.
She's feeling a bit nauseous.
The nurse currently looking after my brother is certainly not helping; she's looking at the damage to my brother's finger again, and because it's uncovered, every time his heart pumps, blood spurts out and hits the nurse in the face. She doesn't re-cover his hand. It spurts again.
The nausea gets worse.
Finally, the doctor arrives to assess the situation and give my mother the options on the table, and my mother can refocus. The facts of the matter are that, because all the flesh was stripped from the bone, his finger is going to need some help getting blood and oxygen to the area to keep any reattached flesh from dying while the necessary blood vessels regrow.
The first option is to stitch the injured index finger to his middle finger, except that the top third of his finger would need to line up with the middle portion of the middle finger, meaning his finger would need to stay perpetually bent. If at any point he straightens out his index finger, it would tear out all the regrowing blood vessels and they would need to start again.
My mother is a little leery of this option, but thinks it might be doable. "How long would it need to stay bent without moving for?" she asks.
"6 weeks."
"There's no way! I don't know an adult that could do that, much less a seven year old! What are the other options?"
Option two is to make an incision in my brother's side and stitch his finger into his side. Again, if it is pulled out, they have to start over.
"For how long?"
"Six weeks."
"Can you not see how that's worse?"
Option three is to minimize how much reattached flesh needs to be oxygenated by filing down the bone in his finger and mostly just reattaching the nail bed. Recovery is once again 6 weeks, but this is the only option that feels doable. My mother picks this one.
------
My brother gets half a dozen numbing shots in his hand, but they don't knock him out or ask my mother to leave the room. My mother is still in the room when the hand surgeon pulls out an instrument that can only be described as looking remarkably akin to hedge clippers.
My mother's heart rate jumps a bit.
"That is not a file."
Neither the doctors nor the nurses hear her, the nurses are asking question after question to the doctor. They've never seen anything like this before. My brother is still not being knocked out and my mother is still not being asked to leave. They're going to do this right in front of them.
My mother's nausea returns.
My mother ends up asking a nurse for a sheet to hold up between herself and my brother and the nurses and doctor so they at least don't have to watch. They can still hear everything.
------
Finally, they put my brother's arm in a cast to keep the tendons in his hands from pulling on the healing area, instruct my brother to keep his arm above his heart as much as possible to keep blood from pooling, and to come back in six weeks to get the stitches removed.
And that's the story of how I found my brother's finger on the window sill. :)
#graphic injury#flesh wound#graphic descriptions of a flesh wound#seriously I tell this story as dramatically and graphically as I can for Entertainment Reasons#nothing pleases me more than to watch people's faces twist in horror and disgust as they realize what's going on#if you have a queasy stomach or are currently eating#consider scrolling past
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June of Doom Day 3
3. “I can handle it.”
| Kidnapping | Fracture | Struggle |
TW: crash, open wound, blood and injury, graphic description of violence and death, major character death, animal attack
~
"Please, I just want to know if someone made it out alive."
Khan didn't respond to Scott's pleads. Instead, he focused on the shuttle's controls.
"They-" the Scotsman tried to talk once again, but the augment harshly cut him off.
"They killed my family!
Scotty's eyes widened and he winced. No... that was impossible! He knew his crew. They'd never...
"Nae..."
"My crew was hidden in the torpedoes. Spock and the rest of your oh-so-precious crew detonated them."
Scotty still couldn't believe it. Tears streamed down his face as he tried to find some words.
"An eye for an eye, Mr. Scott. They killed my crew... so I killed them."
The engineer's face went pale and he ran a hand through his hair. Was it really true? Had they actually killed Khan's crew?
Quiet sobs escaped his mouth, despite him trying to hide it.
He couldn't do this. He couldn't take the pain.
An image of Keenser appeared in front of his closed eyes.
No...
'I can handle it,' a soft voice in his mind reminded him. He'd had to get through this kidnapping. For his friend.
++++++++
"Where are we going?"
The engineer looked at Khan, wiping away last tears. He didn't have time to mourn just yet. He had to find a way to break free.
"Somewhere I can think. Somewhere I can plan just what I do to your Starfleet."
Khan wanted revenge. That was quite obvious. And Scotty didn't like the look in the augment's eyes. Whatever part did the Scotsman play in that plan?
"And ye expect me to help ye?"
Khan glanced at his hostage, a dangerous twinkle in his eyes.
"If you want to stay alive."
Scotty swallowed. He didn't want to die. Despite everything he'd lost, there was still a reason to fight.
"What-"
Khan didn't get to finish his question for suddenly, a red alert started to ring.
Scotty jumped up from where he was sitting and looked at the control panels. His eyes widened in horror.
"We are being pulled into that planet's orbit. It's too strong for this wee shuttle!"
Panic rose inside of Scott's chest. He had survived and now he'd die in a crash?
"We have to get out of here."
Khan stayed as cool as ever. He got up and walked over to where he expected the rescue pods, however, there were none.
"We're going to die," Scotty breathed fearfully.
"No, we're not. I'm going to land this shuttle."
Khan walked back to the controls and Scotty just stared at him in disbelief.
"Ye cannae land it! The systems are failing!"
They had entered the planet's atmosphere and were now crashing towards the ground.
"I will land it," Khan repeated his words and he actually stayed true to them.
When the shuttle hit the ground, Scotty was hit by some debris that fell from the ceiling. Luckily, he had sat back down in his seat again, so he wasn't thrown around like a rag doll.
Yet still, pain shot through his body at the impact. He managed to undo his seat belt and looked around. Smoke made it hard to see, but he made out the figure of Khan.
He wasn't moving.
Scotty got up from where he was sitting, but as soon as he tried to take a step, a sharp pain shot through his leg. He looked down and almost instantly his stomach turned around.
A sharp piece of metal was pierced through his thigh. How had he not noticed it right away? Blood was streaming out of the wound and Scotty knew that he needed medical help as soon as possible.
Groaning in pain, he made his way over to Khan. There was a cut on the augment's forehead. Apparently he had hit it.
Scotty stared at the man's chest for a moment and when he saw it moving up and down, he knew he didn't have much time.
He had to escape! Now!
As fast as he could, the engineer opened the shuttle's door and got out of it.
However, his hope for help, was quickly destroyed when he looked at his surroundings.
A desert!
Green sand and a reddish sky with a hot burning sun. No people or buildings.
The Scotsman swore loudly in Gaelic. This wasn't fair! His only spark of hope was stumped out in merely a few seconds.
He glanced over his shoulder. Khan was still not moving.
Scotty knew that it was his only chance. So he started to run. Well... it was more of a quick limp.
The pain in his leg got worse with every step he took, but Scott tried his best to remind himself of his mantra.
"I can handle it. I can handle it. I can handle it."
He repeated the words over and over again. He just had to believe in them. Then everything would be fine.
But the sun was burning and he was getting weaker and weaker. He felt the sweat run down his face like water. He felt his throat drying up.
And eventually his body couldn't take it anymore.
Scotty collapsed and the world around him started to spin. He was feeling dizzy, about to throw up.
The last thing he saw were feet and a person kneeling down to him. A deep voice filled his ears.
"You shouldn't have tried to run, Mr. Scott. Now you'll pay the price."
Khan.
He had followed him. He had found him. But he wouldn't help him.
Scotty heard strange noises coming closer. It sounded like snarling. But his eyelids were too heavy to take a look at whatever was there.
"As the saying goes, the devil takes the hindmost."
He heard Khan's footsteps disappear into the distance.
And suddenly all hell broke loose. Something attacked Scotty. Teeth and claws buried themselves inside his flesh and the Scotsman couldn't help but scream.
'I'm sorry, Keenser.'
He should have known that the planet wasn't uninhabited. He should have known that something was waiting out in the desert.
His screams for help were drowned out by the noises of the creatures feasting on him.
Scotty's last thoughts were with his friend, who he had left behind.
He hadn't been able to handle it.
#juneofdoom#june of doom#day 03#whump#whump challenge#i can handle it#kidnapping#star trek#fanfiction#montgomery scott#khan noonien singh#shuttle crash#blood and injury#open wounds#animal attack#graphic descriptions of violence#major character death
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Before Moon 0 (7/8)
This was far from how Grousestar expected this night to go. And it was seriously messing with her mind.
Though a little anxious at first, at the prospect that nobody would be joining her and Tempesthaze, to which Tempesthaze kindly reassured her that she would remain by her side nonetheless, her fears were soon disproven. Sunnyfeather had decided to take Aphidkit along with her to the journey. "You found him after all, it's really only fair. And this way, you won't have to worry much about how he'll survive back in the clan." she had said. A little while later, two feisty apprentices showed up, Cranepaw and Tempestpaw respectively, begging to join the new clan. Grousestar hesitated, but felt herself obliging, since she felt she wasn't really in any position to turn any cat down, a fact that would prove itself later again, when the two warriors who arrived later, introducing themselves as Bouncerise and Oriolespeckle, seemed pretty displeased with the last cat to join thus far, a she-cat named Shortgrass.
But despite this, things went well. Grousestar caught the first piece of fresh kill in moons that had more than skin on it's ribs. Eating it felt like eating a piece of prey from StarClan. She saw the sun shine at sundown in a way that she hadn't seen in a long, long time. Truly, she felt like this was right.
Later in the night, the cats were arguing about rest. Tempestpaw wanted to continue, but Tempesthaze reminded her to mind the other members of the group, Sunnyfeather and the kit in particular. Just as Grousestar decided to call it a night and make a shelter, a faint bloody scent reached her nose, far too intense to be anything old. The others seemed to have caught it too, as Tempesthaze pretty instinctively ran towards it to investigate. Grousestar's stomach turned at the sight of another cat's leg, injured and ridden with an infection, but Tempesthaze did not hesitate for a moment, immediately crawling underneath the bush that that cat had seemingly made it's nest. Grousestar followed.
The cat's chest moved, but she was breathing shallowly. Painstakingly lifting her head at the new arrivals, she used her frail voice to plead.
"Please... save her..." Grousestar tilted her head, a little confused, before the she-cat moved her tail to reveal a tiny kitten, barely a moon old, clinging to her mother's belly. Meanwhile, Tempesthaze had already made a move to order the rest of the group. "You two, go get cobwebs! And marigold, if you know what it looks like!" She commanded Bouncerise and Oriolespeckle, who immediately got going. To the apprentices, she said "Go fetch moss and get it wet, so she has something to drink!" and lastly, once the apprentices were on their way too, she turned to Shortgrass. "I'll go look for marigold and nettles, you come with me if you know what they look like. If you don't, help guard the cat and Sunnyfeather with Grousestar." Not awaiting a response from Shortgrass, she immediately went on her way. The aching queen uttered inaudible words, not long before she would sigh, in pain but too exhausted to scream. It wouldn't be too long before everyone returned, the apprentices first who were quickly ushered under the bush by Grousestar, who was speaking reassuring words to the wimpering cat.
"Don't worry, we'll help you! Have this..." She used the wet moss to drip water into the dry mouth of the cat. She heard a very faint "Thank you" from here, before she began crying out in pain again. Tempesthaze, Bouncerise and Oriolespeckle returned aswell, and Tempesthaze began her treatment, desparately working against what she knew were impossible odds. How long had she been living like this, the medicine cat wondered, taking note of how far the infection had spread. Did she have enough time to save her? "Keep her awake! She can't fall asleep! You two, bring the kitten to Sunnyfeather!" The queen let out a heartbreaking noise as her kitten has gently taken away from her flank, but Grousestar rested her nose upon her head. "Don't worry. We will save her, like you said." It seemed to have worked, but now the queen was getting quieter again.
"What's you name?" Grousestar asked, in a bid to keep her awake. "Muddy..." the she-cat whispered, and Cranepaw parroted the bizarre name back to her. "I was a kittypet..." Her heavy gaze fixated on something hidden between the bushes' leaves: a thick, red vine, the kind that kittypets wore around ther neck. "My twolegs had a dog... usually he was harmless but then he..." She began weeping, as she assumably recalled the events of her injury. Grousestar buried her nose deeper into her fur. A clan cat like her was already well aware of the kind of things dogs were capable of. She could only imagine how a kittypet, with no fighting experience, fared in that situation. "I didn't think about it... I just... ran."
Muddy's breathing slowed down, her eyes got even wetter than before. "... I just wanted to be happy... and have my kits..." she cried, her voice getting quieter and quieter. At last, she gazed up into Grousestar's eyes, who felt extremely haunted by the gaze she met. The queen was about to die, and they were all helpless to watch.
"... Will you protect her?"
"Yes! I promise we will. She will be safe with us."
A final breath. A hint of relief and happines, before her eyes went completely blank. Empty.
Tempesthaze growled out in sadness, and frustration a moment later. She looked at the dead cat, the cast of herbs she had applied hoping it would help as a last ditch effort. He brought her nose down to her pelt for a moment, before leaving the bush to check up on Sunnyfeather. Grousestar remained for a little longer, looking at the queen, as well as the two apprentices who were still holding onto the wet moss, horrified at what they had just seen. Then she left too.
Sunnyfeather had accustomed the kitten to her in the meantime. Oriolespeckle had fetched some more moss to temporarily nest in, and for the kitten to stay warm. She was feeding well, seemingly without issue. Having left the bush a few leaps behind them, the group gathered around Sunnyfeather, looking down at this tiny being.
They were all silent, some looking away, some at each other, sadness in their eyes, uncertainty, but also hope. Some only having eyes for the kitten, who looked exactly like her now deceased mother. Mobody dared saying a thing, not about what had just happened, or this kitten. That was, until one of the apprentices leaned in closer. Cranepaw, too, seemed to have noticed the resemblance, as she carefully brought her nose closer to the kitten and cautiously spoke her mind. "Mudkit..." she whispered, before looking up at Sunnyfeather with big eyes. She closed hers, as she replied. "Yes, that sounds lovely..."
#destinyclan#clangen#before moon 0#prologue#bm0 part 7#infection#blood#injury#wounds#<- graphic#animal death#<- descriptive
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Taking on the Universe: Chapter Eight
Chapter Eight: The Rogue Spectre
Summary: The Squad finally reaches the Prothean Beacon, and uncovers a betrayal none of them could have anticipated.
CW/TW: Mention of blood and fatal head wound.
Preview of chapter below the cut. AO3 link: here.
The monstrous ship that had loomed over the squad as they’d approached the spaceport now towered over them as they reached the dock. It opened up before them as they slowly trudged down the ramp that led to the wide platform. The area was mostly clear, though a few crates still remained scattered haphazardly across the space. Natasha’s eyes were drawn toward the object resting near the edge of the platform, which could only be one thing; the Prothean beacon.
It was taller than she’d imagined it to be, and a low, gentle hum could be heard emanating from it as it glowed brightly. Stranger than that, suspended in the air in front of it was the other Turian they’d heard so much about.
Natasha glanced up at Nihlus as he stood beside her, and it was plain by the expression on his face that he recognized who this was.
As the squad approached, slowly and uncertainly, the beacon seemed to release the Turian. He landed gently on the ground in front of it, his eyes glowing with the same green light that still pulsed around the beacon. He turned on his heel, facing them as they approached.
“Saren?” Nihlus asked in a bewildered tone as he lowered his gun. Natasha knew then that she had been right; he not only recognized him, but also seemed to trust him. “What are you doing here?”
Saren seemed distant at first, but his eyes soon gained focus as the light began to fade from them. He turned his attention to Nihlus, and after a few moments he seemed to register who stood in front of him. Natasha took this opportunity to silently signal to her squad to spread out and find cover.
“The Council sent me, old friend. They knew things would go wrong. You know how it is with the Alliance.”
#surprise here's a random chapter#sorry this took so long 😅#commander shepard#commander natasha shepard#ashley williams#kaidan alenko#richard jenkins#nihlus kryik#saren arterius#tw graphic description#tw blood#tw head wound#mass effect#war hero shepard#me1#taking on the universe#totu v2.0#shenko#f!shenko#shenko fanfic#britt writes#mass effect fanfic
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🩹 -reveromantique
@reveromantique | 🩹 Your muse takes care of my muse after a bad injury | Bring me Gumgum |
/You dumbdumb./ Quistis thought to herself as she entered her apartment in Winhill after finally being given some leave from SeeD duties and finding Seifer unconscious on her kitchen floor.
The medkit from under the sink was next to him, still unopened. With a sigh more to keep the freak-out she could feel building at bay, she moved over and checked his pulse. A sigh of relief escaped when it was steady and strong. It was concerning that his breathing was so shallow however. She took a moment to look him over, not finding what the issue was until she could roll him over.
"For fuck's sake Almasy." Three bullet wounds in his ribs, she was assuming at least one had punctured his lung. She reached over and opened the medkit, quickly grabbing out everything she would need and pulling up an old video of one of Dr. K's classes she'd taken in case she couldn't figure this out. Lungs were tricky after all. Had to make sure no liquids got in while trying to close a hole in a very bloody mess. Not to mention having to fish out the bullets.
She took a calming breath and then set to work, tearing his blood soaked and bullet ridden shirt away from the area as carefully as she could since it seemed to be stuck in places. She was assuming he hadn't been here that long as he wasn't lying in a giant puddle of blood, and it was still bleeding even though some of it was congealed already.
"Shit." She closed her eyes for a moment then stood up and headed for the bathroom, grabbing several towels and then rushing back. She took her boots off and tossed them aside, not wanting to get the leather soaked in blood if she could help it. Then she pulled out the numbing agent and gave Seifer several shots in various places around the wounded area so that her pulling out bullets hopefully wouldn't hurt so much. Honestly, she kept expecting him to wake up and cuss her out, but he'd barely moaned when she rolled him over. After waiting a bit for the agent to work she put on gloves, grabbed the forceps and set to work picking out bullet pieces. Thankfully it seemed they hadn't fractured much, and while one fell in half upon setting it on the floor, it came out as a whole.
Bullets removed she grabbed up a gaze pad and pressed it into the wounds, holding it there not only to soak up the blood, but to hopefully stop the bleeding. She would need to stitch him up too, she wasn't looking forward to it. What she really needed now was for him to wake up so she could get a potion in him.
#(graphic descriptions of wounds)#reveromantique#Give me Gumgum#FF8#RP#Life Goes On#Flowering SeeD#Quistis Trepe#Seifer Almasy
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Sicktember 2023 - Day 5: Preventative measures (not taken)
Summary: Malcolm’s attempt to ignore his way through an injury backfires as spectacular as it was always going to.
#my fic#prodigal son#malcolm bright#gil arroyo#sicktember 2023#Prompt: preventative measure (not taken)#fever#swearing tw#infected wound tw#graphic description of infected wound tw#hurt comfort
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Fun fact about us! We have precisely No filter for "how much gore is too much gore", because we just... don't get squeamish about it almost at all.
Part of this effect is that we spend ages waffling over how to tag things because we just... don't have a point of comparison for things, and trying to find them results in us running into a lot of stuff we wouldn't consider gory at all being tagged as gore. We'll sit there like "this is a skeleton! this is bones!" and we'll feel like it must be, like, overtagged "just to be safe" type stuff, because, well, it's not gore, it's just a skeleton arm! Maybe a cartoony cross-section! It doesn't read as gore, it just reads as, like, cool character design to cartoon violence.
Part of this is that we'll click on things with "MAJOR GORE SUPER UNSETTLING CLICK AT YOUR OWN RISK" and end up just... underwhelmed. Like, we know in theory that we have a much better gore tolerance than most people, but in practice, like. It's utterly baffling to us that people will be that sensitive over blood. It's just, like... you're calling this "major gore"? It's one arm with a slightly messy disconnect! Like, sure, put a gore warning on it, but we expected more than just one slightly messy arm! They barely even look anything more than surprised about it!
#the lines get even blurrier with writing like. what on earth counts as major gore??? how hard does an author have to go to get into there??#does blood count? how many physical descriptions make it count while we're describing an injury? we're trying to sell the wound here#and we have no damned clue what the hell and fuck people call “gore” out here#the perception of gore that goes into tagging it is beyond any comprehension we've got we're afraid#necessary note for this: we have prior experience working at a veterinary clinic and have had perhaps a few too many hospital visits#and we are of the flavor of person that is also completely blindsided on a regular basis by what people consider inappropriate#every day we discover a new think of the children argument and every day we have literally no idea what they're talking about#for it to be considered major gore for us it has to have at least a bit of gristle to it and its gotta at least TRY to sell the impact#like. its not major if its just a clean circle with a bone in the middle and some blood slapped on top#its not major if the wound just cleanly removes a slice with no meaty bits or bloody bits#flesh is messy! if youre going for gory stuff then you have to pay at least a bit of mind to the little gristly bits!#we're sorry but the impossibly clean anime cut that people use for like. gashes and scars and whatever just... isnt that graphic#we are certain that this is a complaint that maybe like three people have had but if ur working with mammals n such like#it honestly just feels cartoony to have a gut spill going on. YKINMKATOK we just dont understand how its treated#theres membranes! theres connections! your guts arent gonna just spill out loosey-goosey the second u get an abdominal wound!#we all love a good like. “hobbling around trying to keep your insides in” scene ofc#but its very clear that some of you people dont even know how butchering a pig works#my posts
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𝐊𝐈𝐒𝐒 𝐈𝐓 𝐁𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑
➸ PAIRING: Lieutenant Simon 'Ghost' Riley x gn medic!Reader (same reader from here, but this is a stand-alone)
➸ SUMMARY: You kiss Simon's very minor injuries. And then some. (Or, alternatively: He's not actually wounded. He just wants to see you.)
➸ WARNING(S): some graphic descriptions of old injuries
➸ A/N: Need to preface that this isn't smut despite how the title and summary sound. Anyways, Jo knows I listened to Hozier's Other Voices 2020 version of "Work Song" for a week straight while writing this.
➸ WC: 2k
❝ 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐈𝐍' 𝐎𝐅 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐈𝐄𝐋𝐃, ❞ he admits, low-timbered. It feels intimate, especially coming from him. Simon's sitting on the cot; it sags under his weight. He curls his hands over the edge of it as he leans forward. No casualties post-mission means he's got free rein to pick wherever he wants in the medical tent.
"Oh, yeah? What about?"
"That I should probably do my best to avoid injuries so I don’t keep pestering you. Can always just tell me to fuck off, y’know.”
“You’re gonna break my heart if you stop coming around.
“Mm,” he says in agreement. “Can’t have that can we?”
You nod your head earnestly. “I like your company.”
“Tryin’ to say that you’ll miss me?”
“I would.” More than he knows.
It’s routine now. He gives you just enough room, adjusting his position. You step into the space made between Simon’s splayed knees, his massive legs nearly bracketing yours with how close they are. He’s bigger than you. Well, considerably more mammoth-like in his proportions compared to an overwhelming majority of the soldiers that you’ve encountered, to be quite honest.
Simon acts as though he’s acutely aware of his size. You suspect that he purposefully makes himself smaller in your presence. Like now, how his shoulders are rounded forward, the column of his spine not as straight-arrow in that standard, militaristic posture most servicemen have adopted. As if he doesn’t want to appear too intimidating. Not that Simon could, to you. Hours doing his stitches and idle chitchat on your part have taught you that he’s much less ruthless than people seem to paint him as. But you appreciate the thought anyway.
You conduct the assessment – a typical evaluation normal for combat casualty care, more in-depth than the one you’d done when he initially stopped by and you did a quick once-over for any obvious injuries. Though given the complete vacancy in the medical tent, you find it hard to believe that you’ll come across anything on him since the mission went that smoothly.
The first thing you notice this time: he doesn't smell like spilled blood. It's different. Not that sweet, rusted iron of wet tackiness – the one that reminds you of a generous stack of two pence coins held between a pair of hands cupped together. He comes in that way a lot. Reeks, because war means that he's no stranger to charging through a shower of copper and lead-forged bullets out on the field. Everything else is still there, though. Maybe a dying campfire – crackling logs and blackened earth. Soft dirt excavated from a foxhole for cover while under enemy fire. All gunpowder and Marlboro Lights and diesel-fuel smoke. Fresh rain and a blue-violet sky after a storm. Victory without consequence.
You'd breathe it in if you could, pull the collar of his jacket up to your face. At this proximity, it’d be easy.
He drops the act when he’s in front of you. Lieutenant. Ghost. Battle-hardened, gruff. A natural-born leader. The kind of person to rip this world apart brick by brick – scraped up palms clutching onto broken pieces – to make sure that the plan is executed accordingly, no matter the cost. It’s hard for him to shed that layer. A drop in the bucket of information that you’ve gathered about this man.
You’ve seen him at his best. But you know him at his worst.
The laundry list of injuries over the years: blows to his torso and his back and his limbs that were brighter than technicolor – purples and reds and sickly yellow-green shades – deep, blotchy medals of violence decorating his skin like some kind of fucked-up kaleidoscope that was nothing to be proud of; when some bastard drove a knife right into his upper thigh, that dirty blade wedged through tissue and muscle which was sure as hell going to induce the nastiest infection without serious TLC and a tetanus shot; rib fractures 7-9 because he aborted an exploding heli, seconds to spare before landing on his side wrong from a height that was equivalent to three stories tall; old GSWs dotting his body the same way you’d shove push pins into a paper-flimsy map to mark the places you’ve been to.
And then there’s no contest for the top contender. 𝐆𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭'𝐬 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐈𝐧𝐣𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐭 #𝟏: when he was rushed in on a stretcher, barely clinging to life. Lower abdomen shredded by exploding shrapnel. He was outside of the window of opportunity. Too far beyond that golden hour, so his chances of surviving plummeted to a single-digit percent.
He’s more than just a patchwork of scars. There’s a complex person underneath the surface. A miracle in the flesh to have toughed it out through all of that. Resilient. Perpetual. His callsign makes sense. Ghosts really do live forever.
Several seconds pass before you speak again. It’s a silly comment, teasing – poking fun at him. You don’t have any reservations when it comes to picking on Simon; he’s good about taking these things in stride. Funny, actually. He’s got a dry sense of humor. “I think… you like the idea of someone taking care of you.”
His response isn’t immediate. It’s delayed, said with intention. He doesn’t ever waste words. “Not just anybody.”
You nearly reel back at that. Warmth floods your face. You aren’t quite sure what to say, didn’t expect it. So you let the comment hang in the air between the two of you, busying your hands with slipping off his tac vest, triple-checking for hidden wounds, doing anything to keep yourself occupied while you stand this close to him in the wake of that remark. You’re engrossed in your work, in search of a distraction.
(He’s a distraction, isn’t he?)
And then your eyes stop in their scan. Right there: a small nick on the exposed sliver of skin between his glove and sleeve – open to the direct path of some wayward debris that happened to graze him. So tiny. You’ve seen paper cuts more harrowing than this – wouldn’t have even registered on your radar, especially if it’s being dwarfed by other critical wounds that hold decisive sway over somebody’s fate when it comes to your average life-or-death scenario.
Of course, you take your job very seriously.
You feign a sharp inhale. “Ah,” you say solemnly, guiding his arm up to your face for a closer look. “Found your problem.”
“I’ve got a problem,” he echoes, voice laced with amusement.
“See, you came to the right place. Anybody else would’ve missed it.”
“The verdict, then?”
“So terrible. Earth-shattering, in fact—”
Simon starts pulling away. “Alright, that’s enough of you takin’ the piss outta me,” he gripes.
You chase his arm to recapture it into your grasp. “Wait!” you say, huffing out a laugh. Your mouth sprouts into a wide grin that makes him roll his eyes.
“You gonna treat me or what?”
Your humor bubbles away as you come back to your senses. Those once-loud peals of laughter start to die down when you take his question into consideration. Because there’s really nothing for you to do; he doesn’t need you.
The realization is slow-moving. It washes over you, rolls like waves as you finally begin to sober up.
Simon wants to be here, and he’s looking for any excuse to stay. He just can’t find the courage to own up to it.
“I dunno. Might be unconventional,” you throw out casually, playing along. “Risky, maybe – never been done before.”
But he’s undeterred. “Sure. Whatever you gotta do.”
You pause for a beat, fingers still wrapped around his forearm because you haven’t managed to let go yet. His skin is warm under your palm. You’re not sure what exactly possesses you to do it – emboldened by his encouragement, given complete carte blanche; he’s leaving this to your discretion. So you press your lips to that area where the cut is, right over his pulse point. If you had lingered for longer, you probably would’ve been able to feel it thudding, that solid rhythm and easy strength reminding you he’s alive.
You expected him to withdraw his arm in bewilderment. He should’ve kicked up a fuss about you violating his boundaries, should’ve told you that you overstepped. Something, right?
But he doesn’t do any of that. Simon’s studying you. Dark pupils. So chasm-deep that the ground beneath your feet might slip away. Ocean trenches, midnight-black like the charcoal smudged around his eyes. When they land on you, his gaze goes molasses-soft. He’s fond; there’s little room for doubt. The way he looks at you says everything. None of that usual coldness he harbors during an op. Instead, relaxed and more human than you’re used to seeing – all of his attention focused solely on you.
“Where else, Simon?” you whisper.
He’s thinking – carefully weighing his options – the same expression that he gets when a crossroads lies ahead of him and he knows his make-it-or-break-it decision will invariably affect the outcome of a mission.
After several moments, his hand comes up. Simon’s fingers curl underneath the hem of his mask; he’s been wearing the fabric balaclava more often since you’ve fixed the stitching on it. Then he lifts – not the entire way. Just to reveal the bottom half of his face. There he is. Sandpaper-rough stubble. The sharp cut of his jaw. A mouth that you’re convinced wears a scowl 24/7 behind his mask but is now slightly twitched up.
Even though you’ve seen it before, the sight of him never fails to steal your breath away. Feels like meeting him for the first time again. With how rarely he does this, it might as well be – that slow, heart-melting sensation is steadily filling the cavern of your chest.
And you lean in. Your lips brush against his; it’s a chaste thing – the kiss – if it can be called that. Gentle. Like how you’d stitch up his wounds with a light touch and kind intent. He’s built of sterner stuff, but if there’s anything you’ve learned about him, it’s that he’s capable of breaking just as easily as everyone else. You always handle Simon with care: unequivocal compassion and empathy when there’s so little of those left on this side of war – privileges that he’s never taken for granted.
“Better?” you ask quietly, tipping your head in question.
Simon hums his approval – this pleased, low sound in his throat. His hand slides across your lower back. He tugs you towards him. “Wouldn’t mind some more attention,” he murmurs, before slotting his mouth over yours. And then he kisses you like it might heal him from the outside in.
#simon riley x reader#simon ghost riley x reader#ghost x reader#simon riley#simon ghost riley#simon riley x you#simon ghost riley x you#ghost x you#simon riley fluff#simon riley fic#cod x reader#cod fic#call of duty fic#call of duty modern warfare 2#call of duty modern warfare#cod mw x reader#cod mw fanfiction#cod mw 2
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Compass
Summary: I’ve got something to confess, I keep you in my pocket to use. You’re my only compass, I might get lost with you.
an: let’s ignore the fact that I’ve been gone for a long time, yeah? Hehe. this most definitely is not the fic that I’ve been working on literally the entire time I’ve been gone (that’s coming don’t worry), but I got this idea at 2 in the morning and I had to jump on it IMMEDIATELY. Hope you all like it mwah mwah love you.
Warnings: SMUT!! Minors please for the love of everything that is good, do not interact, modern day vampire!Ellie, semi graphic descriptions of blood and wounds, shy!reader, Ellie bites you a lot, Ellie feeds on you and honestly it’s borderline soft core porn, fingering Ellie!receiving, grinding, mentions of bruises, Ellie is extremely fucking strong, Ellie watches you in your sleep/can get into your apartment without a key, let me know if I’ve missed anything!!
You aren’t really sure how you and Ellie became friends.
Well, you are, maybe a better question would be why you two became friends. You were both so different, you were convinced the first time you met that she hated you. The night filled with quick glances as she damn near avoided speaking to you like you were the fucking plague. It took you a bit to not take it too personally, reminding yourself that you weren’t for everyone, and that was okay! So what if the mutual friend didn’t like you…it wasn’t the end of the world.
So, it came to a surprise to you when a few nights after meeting Ellie passed, you had not one, not two, but three of your friends texting you and asking you if it was okay if they gave her your number…
Because she’d asked for it.
And suddenly you’re texting each other every day, and well into the wee hours of the night. You know, like one of those friendships. The ones that makes you smile every time you see their name pop up on your phone, or the ones where you send each other stupid videos on TikTok all day just to talk about them on a different messaging platform, because of course you’re interacting with each other every where that you have a presence.
Ellie becomes your best friend before you even realize it, and it makes you realize that maybe she didn’t dislike you as much as you thought before.
It always did confuse you a bit in the beginning how you two got along so well. You were both so different from one another. Ellie was a party animal, you were a home body. Ellie was up late at night, you were up early in the morning. If Ellie was the moon, then you were the sun. Polar opposites coming together to find a home in one another, the most unusual pairing stuck by the hip from that point on.
You of course, kept all each other’s secrets. You’d learned very early on that no one really knew much about Ellie, which you simply chalked up to her being a private person. However, she seemed eager to tell you any and everything about her. Like her dad, she’d talk about him all the time, you figured on early on that she really loved him. Or whenever she had a a new fling going, you’d be the first to know of course. She’d even told you about the time she threw away her dad’s playboy magazine after stealing it from him, which she swore she’d never told a soul.
She wanted to know all about you too! Your favorite color, favorite animal, childhood crush, family relationships. Truthfully? If you weren’t so oblivious, you would’ve seen a long time ago that Ellie was the slightest bit obsessed with you.
But you loved her, and you trusted her with your life, so you told her everything! Because you didn’t keep things from each other.
So, on a night out with everyone else, Ellie disappears, and of course you try to look for her, asking around only to be told that everyone saw her leave. Going outside to make sure she’s okay is the only logical thing to do, right? You have to make sure she’s okay.
What you don’t expect though, is when you look down a dark alleyway a few buildings down from the club you’re at, and spot the tall figure of your friend tucked into the brick wall of the dark corner, shielding way whatever it is that’s behind her. You call out for her, and when she turns around you gasp.
Because her eyes were red, and not red like you haven’t gotten any sleep, or you’ve been crying, the green of her eyes are now red, bloodshot red, and she’s holding a lifeless body in her tattooed arms…and there’s blood covering her pink lips, dripping down her chin.
Yeah, Ellie was a vampire.
You let out a gentle yawn as your hand went down to grab the remote control to your tv, your other hand coming up to rub your eyes a bit, a sorry attempt at trying to wake yourself up enough to get from the couch to go to your bed.
You pouted softly, lazily bringing your phone up to check the time before you sighed, finally finding the strength in you to push yourself up off the couch to leave your living room.
Work had been absolutely plowing you into the ground, your publicist constantly hounding you to keep working on the most recent installment of your book series. It was just so fucking hard, everytime you sat down in front of your computer, it was like writing your own book was the last thing you wanted to do.
It was draining you, and it felt like every time you finished a set of chapters, your brain was complete mush.
The upside though, was that it tired you out enough to completely knock out once you were in bed.
A gentle sigh left your lips once your head hit your soft pillow, plush blankets wrapping around your body, sliding down your bare legs and making you feel absolutely blissful. You couldn’t even stop yourself from the soft smile on your lips as your eyes grey heavy, the low lighting in your room making you feel all the more cozy, all the more warm.
You were out in seconds, soft snores leaving your sleeping body as you entered a world of dreams, escaping reality for a few measly hours before you were bombarded with the real world around you in the morning.
Ellie was on the other side of town, or at least, leaving the other side of town. It was late, and while she did love to be a creature of the night, there was something that sounded much more inviting than a glass of whiskey and a cigarette.
You, of course.
You were Ellie’s kryptonite, the single thing in this entire fucked up world that convinced her there was something worth living for, in her case, existing for. You were so fucking good, so sweet, so forgiving of literally everything. There were too many times that Ellie recalled where she wasn’t even sure you were real, perhaps another mythical creature much like herself, sent to this world to lure others into a trap that was just as filthy and terrible as the rest of the world.
But you weren’t…there were never any cons or secrets that you held, and if you did hold any secrets, you were more than willing to let Ellie in on them. No…no you were different.
God were you different.
Ellie recalls the night she first laid eyes on you like it was yesterday, her cold, dead heart jolting back to life for only a second when she saw you, at least that’s what it felt like. Your smile radiant in the dim, multicolored lights of the club, cheeks shining, eyes twinkling, like an angel sent from above. Ellie almost felt like a being as evil, and sour as she wasn’t worthy of being in the same room as you.
And god…your fucking smell.
Ellie could go on about it for hours. Sure, you were remarkable without it, but it was just the icing on the cake, the twisting of the knife in her chest.
She has mastered the art of walking into a room filled with warm bodies pumped full of blood and while ago, her throat burning with the urge to sink her teeth into her next poor victim. It was easy, annoying, but easy, and she couldn’t really remember the last time she struggled being around anyone, especially friends, or even friends of a friend.
But the second she saw you, your sweet, dulcet smell wafting against her nose, she was transported back in time. Back to a time where she was but a young vampire, clueless of the world around her, of her new life, adapting to something she didn’t even know existed before all of this, without a single guide or a fucking pamphlet for gods sakes.
It made her eyes widen, and she stopped breathing instantly to try and dull the scent of you sneaking into her nostrils and down into her eager throat. She noticed the way you pouted and sighed whenever she’d ignore you, or give her nothing but a brief response whenever you tried to get to know her. She could tell this wasn’t your thing, the night life, partying, you were here because someone asked it of you, and you being the good friend you are would never let anyone you cared about down.
Despite Ellie being a total dick to you because she simply couldn’t control herself around you, you sucked it up, carried on and stayed until everyone else decided to leave.
Watching you leave that night, made Ellie realize you weren’t something she could pass up.
Asking for your number was probably the best thing Ellie had ever done in her immortal life. Speaking to you was far better than thinking about you constantly, and after she’d convinced herself she wouldn’t do anything stupid with you, she was finally ready to introduce herself to you, the right way.
It’s how she constantly found herself like this, searching for your warm embrace around her cold, dead body every time she found the opportunity. She’d come to you when she was done working, she’d come to you when the girls at the bar were boring her, she’d even come to you when she simply knew you were home and she had nothing to do.
Ellie hummed softly as she looked up at your apartment building, the warm summer breeze wafting against her skin as she stared up at your window, the white curtains blowing out with the wind. She sighs to herself.
“Told you to stop leaving your window open…” she mumbles softly to herself.
The human eye wouldn’t ever be able to catch the way Ellie climbs up the side of your building, her arms and legs scaling it like a pro, making it look as simple as walking, or even breathing. It’s too fast, and in the blink of an eye, she’s at your balcony, long fingers pulling back your curtains to get a look at your sleeping figure.
She watches as your chest rises and falls, your blanket covering your sleeping frame, bare legs kicked out from under them, shining under the moonlight. She isn’t sure how long she stays there at your window staring at you, watching in awe as you do something as simple as sleep.
It isn’t until you shift slightly in your sleep, a dreamy sigh leaving your lips, that Ellie finally pushes her long legs over your window to step into your room, sneaker clad feet pressing onto the wooden floor of your bedroom.
She looks around for a moment, taking a deep inhale as she lets your scent wash over her for a moment, eyes fluttering shut as she simply lets you consume her, fill her up and make her feel whole again.
Make her feel alive again.
You never really understood it, why Ellie lingered when she hugged you, face pressed at the nape of your neck, swaying you slowly as she clung to you longer than normal. Well…you did know, at least you’d find out later on when Ellie finally explained everything to you…what she was, how it happened.
Although, it was only half what you thought. Sure, the smell of your blood made Ellie’s mouth water, her nostrils flare and her throat burn, but it was so much more than that. You made her feel whole, and even if it were a few seconds, she was going to make the most of it every time she got the chance.
And that’s what she felt when she was in your little room. The cool breeze filling up the space, the dim lights casting a warm glow over you because you couldn’t sleep in the dark. You used the excuse of creating an ambiance for yourself when you slept, but Ellie knew you far better than that. It was like you’d perfected the feeling of comfort, bottled it up and sprayed it around your room every other day.
The wind blowing your curtains a bit harder caught Ellie’s attention, and she sighed softly as she walked over to it and shut it. She had told you time and time again to quit it, warning you about the weirdos that would love to take advantage of a pretty girl with her window open while in the most vulnerable state.
Even though the only weirdo that ever snuck into your room through said window, was Ellie. If anything, your little habit only fueled Ellie’s addiction for you further.
The sound of your window closing makes you groan softly in your sleep, and at that sound, Ellie knows she’s done it.
While she wanted nothing more than for you to be awake when she came over, she hated waking you. You looked so fucking serene when you slept, and Ellie felt like the devil himself whenever she accidentally ripped you away from that, even if the only thing she wanted was for you to be awake and talking to her.
Your body twists and turns a bit, slowly finding its way out of the drowsy state of sleep you were in. You let out a gentle yawn before one of your hands come up to rub your eyes, moments before you turn to your side to face her, hand resting between your cheek and your pillow as your eyes open and focus on the tall frame standing in front of your bed.
Ellie is convinced nothing scares you, because for as long as she’d been doing this, sneaking into your bedroom and watching you sleep, on the rare occasion that you wake up and catch her, you never seem scared. You don’t gasp or scream, you don’t even flinch when you see the dark, looming presence stood there in front of you. Ellie was sure the first time you caught her there, that you’d scream in horror before calling the police on her.
But you never did. You always stared at her with a sleepy smile, eyes puffy with sleep, lips a bit swollen, looking at her as if she were your favorite person in the entire world.
And like all those nights before, you do the same. A gentle yawn falls from your lips as you rub your eyes once more before tugging your blanket further up your shoulder.
“Ellie…” you sigh out softly, and you sound so fucking dreamy, so beautiful does her name sound falling from her lips. It makes Ellie weak in the knees.
She walks over to you slowly, smiling softly down at you as she grows closer and closer to your bed until she’s standing over you, one of her hands coming down and running around your blanket clad shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze.
“Wanted to come visit…sorry I woke you” she hums soft, her hand traveling up until it reaches your face, one of her fingers caressing your cheek ever so slightly. Your eyes flutter shut at this, and she can see that the gesture alone is nearly enough to lull you back to sleep.
“S’okay…I wake up in the middle of the night all the time…you know that” you assure her, words falling with yet another yawn before you open your sleepy eyes up again to stare up at her.
Before she can even speak though, your content expression is replaced with one of worry as you finally get the chance to focus on her face, your eyebrows furrowing as you prop yourself up on your elbow, your other hand reaching up to touch her cheek as you become more and more alert with each passing moment.
“Are you okay Ellie? You look…why are your eyes so…” you mumble, now on your knees to reach her better, your face in front of hers as your eyes search hers.
She looked pale, paler than usual. Her lips were chapped, eyes dull and sunken in, she looked like she hadn’t slept in centuries, like all the life had been sucked out of her. And while that technically was the case, Ellie often looked vibrant for her dead state, eyes sharp and alert, green eyes almost fluorescent with color when you looked into them.
Immediately, you know what was wrong.
“When’s the last time you…had something to eat?” You ask sternly, eyebrows furrowed and a firm frown on your pouty lips.
That was another thing…Ellie hadn’t properly fed in about two weeks, going on three now.
She let out a gentle sigh, her hands resting on your hips as your own rested on her cheeks, cupping her face and forcing her to look into your eyes even though she avoided eye contact.
She hated when you saw her this way, so weak, so small. She liked it when she was the best version of herself, the version that was well fed, agile and strong. Not like this, not like when she was turning into a shell of the woman she once was.
“I…it’s just been a few nights, angel…it’s no big deal” she tries, giving your hips a firm squeeze as she attempts to convince you that she was fine. However her appearance and her voice is a dead giveaway that she’s lying, the sound hoarse and scratchy, sounding as if she’d been clawing at her throat for days to ease the pain she felt.
“You can’t lie to me, Ellie. You look horrible” you scold the girl.
She lets out a sigh, and she almost feels ashamed of herself. Sure, there were times where a meal was a bit harder to come by, people becoming a bit more aware of the danger that lingered when she was near, but god, Ellie couldn’t remember a time where it was this bad. It was like every single time she got someone in her arms, trapped in her little scheme, something cock blocked her entirely from finishing the deed.
And the more times that happened, the weaker she got.
“I’ve just been really unlucky…okay? Most of us do this in packs or with a fucking partner at least…it gets tricky when you’re on your own” she finally admitted, a gentle sigh falling from her lips as she leaned down to rest her head against your shoulder, pressing her weight against you in the process, as it was slowly becoming unbearable to hold it up herself at this point.
“M’just going through a thing right now, baby…don’t worry about it” she mumbled against you, lips ghosting over your soft skin as she again tried to assure you she’d been fine.
Ellie had always made it a point to never get as low as this, and if she did, she made it a point to never let you see her. What would her sweet best friend think of her if the monster she truly was had the chance to shine through? How would you ever allow her in your presence again once you finally realized how disgusting she truly was?
What Ellie didn’t know, is that you didn’t think any of those things. You could never find her to be a monster or disgusting, you adored her far too much to ever see her that way. No, what you did think when you saw her that way, were any of the things you could do to help her. That was the only thing you wanted, to help her.
You don’t even think twice before you say it, giving yourself a moment to mull over the idea and weigh out the pros and cons before it’s escaping the confides of your mind and making its debut out into your bedroom.
“Feed on me” you blurt out, so quickly you aren’t even sure Ellie fully catches it properly.
But she does, Ellie hears every word, every syllable, she can even hear the way your heart beat quickens after you’ve said it.
She’s slowly lifting her head from your shoulder, eyebrows furrowed and lips frowning as she stares down at you, your eyes wide and hopeful, hopeful that she’ll take the offer, that she’ll allow you to give yourself to her for the sake of her wellbeing.
“No.” She deadpans without a second thought. She doesn’t even give herself a second to indulge in the idea of it, knowing how badly it could end, how terrible it could be with one wrong move, or one gulp too much. Ellie knows that this is nothing to toy with, especially with you.
You’re quickly shaking your head once she rejects your offer, your hands falling from her face to rest down on her shoulders, leaning in a bit to press your body closer to hers.
“Ellie…look at yourself. How were you even able to climb up here?” You plead with the girl, giving her shoulders a gentle squeeze before you inhale deeply.
“I’m giving you permission…I want you to do this” your words almost come out like a beg, wanting nothing more than to simply help the girl, to help a friend in need that clearly needed it.
And you knew deep down, that no matter what, Ellie would never hurt you.
Ellie knew it too. She knew that she wouldn’t go too far to take your life away from you. She had been around long enough to have the self control to stop whenever she knew you’d had too much.
However, that didn’t mean it wouldn’t be hard.
She inhaled deeply, giving your hips a gentle squeeze before she finally brought her own eyes up to look into yours. Her pink tongue darted out to run along her lips, wetting the chapped skin before she let out a gentle sigh.
“You’ll tell me when it becomes too much…right?” She asks, desperate for confirmation from you that you won’t let her go too far, even if she wanted to.
You give her a bright smile, a gentle giggle leaving your lips as you nod. “I will…now go on…sooner you do this, the sooner I can sleep” you tease her playfully, which makes her groan softly with a pout.
She sighed softly, reaching forward and pushing your hair to the side to expose the soft, supple skin of your neck. Her eyes zeroed in on it, and she could practically see your pulse from beneath your skin, making her shudder at the thought of it. She leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to your throat, which earns a gentle sigh from you.
“This’ll hurt…” she mumbles against you, peppering your skin with gentle kisses. You simply tilt your head further to the side, resting your temple against her shoulder as your arms hang loosely around her neck, your body pressed against hers.
“Mm…I’ll be okay” you mumble out sleepily, your fingers coming up to toy with the hair at the nape of her neck.
Ellie can feel the way your pulse slows under her lips, and she has to stop herself from groaning due to how fucking strong your smell was right now with your body pressed against hers. She knew that the longer the stood her, mouthing away at your neck instead of actually feeding, she’d just keep you from getting back to the rest that she had interrupted in the first place.
It was now or never.
She sighed softly, swallowing thickly before she opened her mouth a bit wider, fangs protruding out from her gums and taking their rightful place. She let them graze your skin, the sharp teeth sure to leave scratches from something as small as a graze, before she finally latched her lips to your throat, and sunk her teeth into your flesh.
Now…Ellie had her fair share of tasty meals within her immortal life time. There were maybe a handful of people that left a faint memory in her head, better than most of the others she’d fed on in her past, so she was no stranger to a warm body with a nice taste.
But you? God….there was nothing in this world that could’ve prepared Ellie for how fucking…divine you taste. It was like liquid gold on her tongue, the smell that had plagued her mind from the moment she met you a mere tease to the real deal. It made Ellie moan against you, her eyes fluttering shut as her tattooed hands clawed at your waist, gripping the skin so tightly she was sure to leave bruises, pressing you flush against her body.
She could practically feel the essence of your life filling her up and bringing all of her strength back, replacing the once empty, dull feeling in her body with one that could only be described as rejuvenation. The taste you gave her flowing into her mouth and making her feel like she’d died and gone to heaven.
The noises you made only aided Ellie in her blissful state, tiny moans and huffs leaving your lips as you continued massaging her scalp with gentle fingers, allowing her to take whatever she needed from you.
Ellie knew she could’ve drained you, taken every last drop of your life and left you dry. She could do it ten times over if it were an option, however it wasn’t, and she knew at the back of her head she could only take what she needed, and nothing more. So she knew once your grip around her neck loosened a bit, that she needed to stop.
She unlatched from your neck breathlessly, your crimson blood painting her plush lips, red eyes blown out wide as she eyed the damage she’d done to your poor neck, the punctures filling Ellie’s chest with a sense of pride as some of your blood and her saliva dripped down the base of your throat. She leaned in, licking you clean before pressing a gentle kiss to the wound, groaning softly as when she heard you hum softly.
“All…finished?” You mumbled out with a dreamy smile on your lips, eyes half lidded as you stared up at the girl who had just nearly sucked you dry.
Ellie stared down at you with a look of disbelief, the back of her hand coming up and wiping her lips. “You said you’d tell me to stop…” she groaned softly as she gently set you down to lay back on your bed.
You let out a soft yawn, nodding as you tugged your blanket up with a weak hand to drape over your body. “I was…you stopped sooner than anticipated” you giggled out sleepily before you eyed the girl from your bed, already feeling the drowsy affects of sleep taking over.
“You look better already, El…” your compliment made her dead heart swell. She could feel it too, your life coursing through her veins and bringing back all of the good aspects of being immortal, the strength, the radiance, all of it brought back because of you.
She chuckled softly at your words, walking over to your closet and grabbing your first aid kit, fishing a little band aid out before walking back towards you. She sat at the edge of the bed, her pointer and middle finger pushing your jaw up slightly to get a look at the wound she’d given you.
“Here…so you don’t get blood on your pillow” she explains as she pressed the bandaid to your neck. You simply hum in response, and Ellie knows you’re probably already asleep. Between being tired before all of this, and losing blood, she expected for you to be out like a light long before she bid you a goodnight.
She stays a bit longer after you’ve fallen asleep, her long limbs crawling over your body to lay in bed with you, marveling at the way the color returned to your body, the way your chest rose and fell slowly, the way your lips would part with a gentle sigh ever so often. She’d let her hands caress your skin, watching as goosebumps appeared to trail after them. She simply appreciated how human you were, how warm and responsive you were even during sleep.
She leaves once the sun begins to peak above the horizon, knowing you’d want your privacy when you woke up in a few hours. She makes sure to close your window after she’s left too, scaling down the building much quicker than she did when she first arrived.
And while she walks home, the sun slowly casting a warm glow onto the city she lived in, she knew that she’d made a mistake by feeding on you.
Because now? She was completely and utterly ruined for anyone else that she’d feed on after you.
Bloodlust
The word had entirely different meaning for those like Ellie, creatures of the night that fed on the essence of life, the scarlet, metallic liquid that flowed and pumped throughout the bodies of the living.
She had heard of it happening to other vampires, in an instance of finding the human being that acted as a drug to them, making it hard to function without their taste on their tongues. It was an occasion that only ever happened when there was a mutual agreement between a vampire and a human, a hunter/prey proposition that acted in a more…ethical way.
It consumed the one feeding, making it hard to function without the person near, almost creating an inseparable bond between the two, paired with a constant line of food with it as well. It took over nearly everything, mind, body, soul, all of it belonging to the person they fed on, the human often times having more control over the vampire.
Ellie never really believed in it, instead viewing blood as something that was of and in itself, the same all the time. Sure, there were some people that tasted better than others, but blood was blood, no matter who the person was, they were more or less all the same at the end of the day. A meal was a meal, and that was that.
So if that was true, why were you the only thing on Ellie’s mind every waking second after the night she fed on you?
You were always on Ellie’s mind before it all, lingering at the back, making her smile when she thought of something silly you’d said to her earlier in the week, face beaming whenever you’d send a text her way, so it wasn’t out of the ordinary that you were on her mind.
She thought of it constantly, the way you were so…so fucking eager for her, a sense of intimacy lingering in the air of an act so selfless. Your pouty lips parted as you moaned and sighed her name, her lips attached to your neck as you gave her everything. Feeding was always something that felt the slightest bit romantic, the closeness of it all.
But you…doing it with you was different than anything she’d ever experienced.
She knew it meant nothing to you, she knew that it was simply you being a good friend, which meant it was borderline wrong for her to take it any way other than what it was, but she couldn’t help herself. She could still taste you on her tongue when she got home, plopping down into her bed and staring up at the ceiling in her dark room as she felt her core tighten and flutter as she referenced back to the memory.
Ellie couldn’t help herself when she unbuttoned her jeans, slipped her hands down to cup her pussy, and caught her aching clit against her calloused fingers to give it some much needed attention.
And she moaned your name as if it were the only word in her vocabulary, blubbering and crying out for you as she angrily fucked her aching pussy, eyebrows furrowed to the point where she almost looked upset.
“F-fuck….that’s my fucking girl…that’s it…gonna cum all over your pretty fuckin’ face” she groaned out, picturing you settled between her legs, eagerly lapping at her weeping core, grinding down onto your face and giving you everything she had, much like you did when you allowed her to feed on you.
She’d cum with your name falling from her lips, back arching as her hips rolled against her palm, sopping wet cunt painting her slick all over her hand, making it hard to even keep it where she needed it with how wet she was, how fucking riled up you had her.
And she’d do it again, lying in her bed and thinking of the memory over and over again, hanging on to the sound of your voice sighing out her name, moaning for her as she licked her lips, searching for the taste of your blood still soaked on them. All while you were sound asleep in your apartment where she left you.
If Ellie thought she was drawn to you before, she was sorely mistaken. Because now? All she could do was crave you. It interrupted her day to day, made her brain foggy when she wasn’t with you or talking to you.
And soon? It became a habit.
Ellie was at your door every other night, long fingers searching for your hips to pull you closer as she pressed her face into your neck, tongue slipping out of her mouth to run along the now permanent marks on your neck, whispering in your ear about how badly she needed you.
It had become a bit of a routine, Ellie would come over, you’d let her feed on you until she saw fit, she’d go home and fuck herself, and then she would live in her own personal hell for the next few days that she wasn’t able to see you.
It’s how she found herself dragging her body down the hallway to your apartment, a heavy hand coming up to the door and giving it a firm knock.
When you answer, Ellie thinks you look like a dream. Your body is leaned up against the door, head resting against it as you give her a dreamy smile, oversized t-shirt hanging off of one of your shoulders, sleep shorts barely visible beneath the end of the shirt, hugging your ass so perfectly, your white socks bunched up at your ankles.
She has to bite back the moan that threatens to escape when she lays eyes on you.
“Mm…hi Ellie” your voice sounds like the sweetest melody, and she’s smiling sheepishly as she walks towards you, bending her knees a bit as she wraps her arms around your waist, pulling you flush against her tall frame, nearly light you up off the ground completely.
“There she is…” she sighed against you, and it sounds like Ellie can finally breath, like the weight holding her back from breathing in the air she so desperately needed has finally been granted to her, it makes you giggle softly.
You wrap your arms around her neck, humming softly as your fingers come up to tangle in her hair, simultaneously pulling her into your apartment. She kicks the door closed behind her, arms still wrapping you up and keeping you close.
She keeps you close, her head coming up to take a look at the set up you have going in that she’s walked in to. She can tell you’ve been working on your book, your laptop set on your couch paired with your favorite blanket, and a mug set on your coffee table that was still steaming.
“Working on the book?” She asked softly, you nod as you turn around in your arms, and excited smile on your face as you walk over to your spot, clicking the keypad a few times before you shut it.
“Yup. I’m getting pretty far….was wrapping it up right before you came over” you practically beamed.
Ellie always found it so endearing how dedicated you were to your work, and rightfully so, Ellie reminded you time and time again that she’d lived through many eras of famous writers, but you always topped them ten times over and then some. She’d never let you forget the talent you had was rare.
You plopped down on your couch after sliding your laptop into its little compartment under your coffee table, your legs coming up to cross over each other as you pat the spot next to you eagerly, to which she easily obliged of course.
Her old denim jacket rustled a bit as she sat down, resting her back against your couch as she slouched down a bit, legs spread as she stares up at you through the dim, cozy lighting of your living room.
You giggle softly, resting your cheek against your palm as you look down at her. “What are you staring at? You’re looking at me like I’m something to eat…” your words trail off, eyes narrowing at the girl playfully before you sit up, crossing your arms.
“Did you come all the way here to get a free meal out of me, Williams?” Your tone is accusing, but playful, and it makes Ellie chuckle as she bring her tattooed hands up to rub up and down her face before she groans.
“When you say it like that it sounds bad….I see it as seeing my favorite person with something extra added into it…” she defends herself before chuckling, looking back at you as she tugs her bottom lip into her mouth, sucking gently on the plump skin, letting her mind linger to imagine it was your lips she was sucking on instead as her eyes slowly zeroed in on them, similar to if she were under a spell.
“You know you don’t have to if you don’t want to…” she mumbled out softly, voice gentle and truthful.
It was true, Ellie would cut all of this out the second you made even the slightest signal that you were tired of it, or if your body simply couldn’t handle it anymore. She knew that she’d never use you as her personal blood bag. The minute you wanted out, you got it, no questions asked.
You give her a gentle smile though, shaking your head as you shifted your body a bit so that it was now laying down on the end of the couch opposite of Ellie, your head resting against one of the plush pillows you had next to you while you were writing. You spread your legs a bit, making space for Ellie to crawl into before you stretched your arms out for her, a silent call for the girl to come closer.
“I’ll always give it to you, El…you know that. Come…” you call her again with a slight flick of your wrist.
Your words make Ellie’s head swirl, all of it sounding, and feeling, much too similar to something else, something more than just a friend helping another friend out. It sounds like you’re giving something else to her, something she’d dreamt of taking from you from the moment she laid eyes on you.
But she can’t indulge in that, not now, not when you’re being so kind.
She chokes back a groan, the girl slowly crawling over your body, similar to a predator creeping over its prey. Her body consuming yours as she pressed either one of her palms into the plush couch near your head, staring into your eyes as she settled between your warm thighs, the plush skin pressing against a sliver of her hips that was exposed at the top of her jeans. The feeling of her body pressed against your warm cunt, the only thing separating the two of you being the think material of your shorts, drove Ellie to the brink of insanity.
She hummed softly, her eyes trailing down your every feature, taking you in, eating you up for a moment before she grabbed your chin, tilting your head up and away to give her better access to the little area of your throat that had now become hers and only hers.
Soon, she’s leaning down, her body pressed against yours as she peppers kisses along your jaw until she reaches your throat, licking at the two little wounds that were in the shape of her fangs before she sighed against your skin, finally giving in and letting her protruding fangs sink into your skin.
You’d always been comfortable around Ellie, never shying away from her touch whenever she’d grab you whenever you were out together, or letting her easily pull you into her lap whenever you watched movies or played video games together, intimate touches never being out of the ordinary in your relationship.
But now, ever since you and her had started…whatever it was that you’d been doing, you had seemed to cross a boundary that was once put up. What was once little sighs and huffs, turned into full on moans whenever Ellie would press her body against yours and take what she wanted. You’d grip her hair, keeping her close as you moaned and whined out her name, breathless begs for her to keep going.
“Fuck…Ellie…” you moaned out for her, your eyes fluttering shut as your fingers laced into her brown hair, keeping her close as her hands moved from either sides of your head to instead grip your body. Your hips were her favorite, holding onto the plush skin and keeping you close, massaging and kneading you as she pleased, a small piece of her wanting to bruise you up, just so she knew she was able to leave marks on you other than your neck.
It egged her on further, your calls for her making her swipe her tongue over the wound before she continued sucking your sweet essence from your body. Ellie wasn’t sure if you were fond of it at first, but now? With how you reacted? She was sure you enjoyed it, if even a little bit.
She became so drunk off of you, her mind clouded with the intense flavor of your blood, nearly choking on it with how quickly she drank sometimes. One of her hands left your hips, sliding down until she gripped your thigh, pulling it up and closer to wrap around her body, massaging the soft skin as she let one of her legs slip over your other one, so that her thigh was slotted against your cunt, and yours against hers.
Ellie didn’t even realize it at first, but she slowly began to grind into you, letting her thigh rub against your barely clothed pussy as she drank from you, her senses completely overwhelmed with just how fucking good you tasted, how good you felt. She felt her mind and body buzz with electricity when she pressed her chest against yours, and she could feel your nipples hardening through the thin material of your shirt, pressing against her own chest.
“Mm…h-hah…Ellie..I….Ellie please…” you begged, and Ellie was able to hear the way your voice was slowly going, growing more and more hoarse with every moan, every pant.
She was taking too much, and she wasn’t sure if she was begging for you to stop, or to keep going.
Ellie groaned loudly against you, prying her lips away from your dulcet neck, panting loudly as she pulled away further to look down at you, letting herself get a good look at the mess she’d made of you.
Your lips were swollen, eyes growing heavy, skin getting dull. Your hair was messy, and your shirt was pulled down further, revealing more of your shoulder and collar bones, while the bottom was pushed up to show more of your stomach.
It was like a dream and a nightmare all at once.
You blinked a few times as you tried catching your breath, staring up at Ellie as one of your hands came up to cup her cheek gently.
“A-all better?” You stuttered out, giving her that notorious dreamy smile of yours, the one that made Ellie feel like she was the only person in the world that got to see it.
She’s drained you, and yet you were asking if she felt better.
Ellie held back a groan, her large hand wrapping around your wrist before she brought your hand down to press a kiss to your palm, giving you a gentle nod before she inhaled deeply to control the emotions that threatened to escape while she saw you this way.
“Always when I’m with you baby” she chuckled out sadly.
The smile you give Ellie nearly has her in tears, because you look so genuinely happy, so content with the fact that you’ve helped her, that you’ve made Ellie feel better, even if it’s at the expensive of your own comfort.
At the expensive of your own life.
“I’m glad…” you hummed out softly before you yawned, clearly tired out from what Ellie had done to you. It makes Ellie frown, and she’s quickly pushing herself off of you before she scoops you up into her arms to carry you off to your bedroom.
Soon, she has you tucked into bed, your eyes closing almost as soon as your head hits the pillow, and Ellie has your blankets pulled up over your arms. It’s almost mind blowing how quickly you fall asleep, it makes Ellie feel a bit jealous, because she can’t remember a time where she was that comfortable in a bed to fall asleep so fast.
She watches you, of course. Sticking around for a few hours after you’ve slept, keeping an eye on you to make sure your chest continues to rise and fall slowly. She knows it would never go that far, but she always gets nervous after feeding.
Tonight was also different, and it was eating away at her because she knew there wasn’t really a right or wrong way to go about cleaning about it, or comforting you about how wrong this was, and how much Ellie had been draining you. Even the fact that you expected it of her when she came over left a bitter taste in her mouth, one that replaced the sweet one that usually lingered on her tongue after she had a taste of you.
And as she watched you sleep, so peaceful and so serene, Ellie began to think of any way this would blossom into something more. How would this carry on? She would continue sucking from you until you died one day? She’d come to you like a thief in the knight well after you had a family? Children to look after? Your life moving on while she stayed in an immortal purgatory? One where she continued the cycle of coming to you for a quick bite to eat? Paired with a warm body to lay on top of for the time being?
There was no way it could surpass this. You being her friend, helping her in a way not many could. Ellie knew, that deep down, the life she wanted with you was not one that was easy to come by, something that she wouldn’t dare ask of you. From the moment she saw you, she wanted more. Because that’s what she did, she took, and took, and took until there was nothing left to take, and it was slowly happening with you.
But Ellie loved you too fucking much to take until you were nothing but a shriveled up peace of what you used to be.
So, she took one long last look at you and she left your window. Because that night, she promised herself that she was finished. The life she wanted with you unfortunately wasn’t written in the stars for her, and she knew that from the moment she saw you.
Ellie was letting you go, because she knew it she didn’t.
She’d just end up killing you.
#ellie williams#ellie williams smut#ellie williams x y/n#ellie williams x you#ellie tlou#ellie williams x female reader#ellie x y/n#ellie the last of us#ellie x you
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Delirium (Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader)
Summary: Being partnered with Ghost was never easy. However, when you find him bleeding out on the kitchen floor and delirious from blood loss, you make a discovery. The L.T loves to talk.
Requested by Anon:
#57 You're shaking.
A/N: Some Sunshine to feed you while I work on Anything III.
Category: Mutual Pining
Warnings: Description of injury || Graphic language
You weren't a medic by any means.
There was the combat first aid course that you were all forced to do during basic training, but that had been a century ago. You'd handled your own injuries when an enemy sniper would get a lucky shot. Again, there's not much to do there other than put some pressure on it.
Otherwise, you were fairly inexperienced when it came to handling injured team members. There were shortfalls to being a sniper, hand-to-hand combat wasn't as relevant and having to provide first aid was rare.
You call them shortfalls because now, in a situation where those skills are required, you're fucking struggling.
You'd opened the door to the safe house with a sigh, frowning when you couldn't see Ghost through the windows. You'd assumed he'd be waiting for you to arrive from your nest but clearly, he didn't give enough of a fuck to wait around.
You could have died en route and he'd be sleeping.
For some reason, the thought hurt.
You could think of a million things that he probably thought more important than you; staring at a wall being high on the list. What you hadn’t expected, was to find him collapsed on the kitchen floor.
“Ghost,” you rasped, choking on his name. His eyes flickered open at the sound of your voice, the relief palpable in his gaze. He groaned and let his head fall back against the wall with a strangled noise. You were frozen. You’d never seen him injured and honestly, you thought that you never would.
You’d even told Soap that Ghost was probably just a bootleg Robo-Cop beneath the mask.
But, the blood soaking through his uniform said otherwise.
“You gonna give me hand or not?” His voice was low and rough. It had no edge, though. There was no bite behind his words like there usually was and it scared you. The man hated your guts and if he was too injured to convey that then he was definitely dying.
“Oh God,” you breathed, leaning your rifle against the wall slowly. Your eyes never left his crumpled form and his eyes never left your face. “Oh God.”
You slid to your knees, rushing to his side with frantic curses. You couldn’t see the extent of the wound from beneath his armour and he clearly didn’t have enough strength to take it off himself.
“Stab wound,” Ghost offered the cause of injury through gritted teeth. “Got me good.”
“This shit needs to come off,” you tugged at his armour, reaching for the quick-release cord. The man groaned but he didn’t object. One hard tug of the plastic ligature had the vest falling apart at every seam, the line now loose in your hand.
“Fuck,” the man gave a startled chuckle, taking a large breath with his chest free from pressure. “Feel better already.”
You didn’t reply, eyes narrowed on the wound beneath his ribs. You pulled up his shirt, tucking it beneath his arms as you scanned over the injury. It was clean cut, a clear entry wound that was steadily leaking a shit tonne of blood.
No sounds of air sucking in through the jagged flesh and you thanked whoever was listening that it wasn’t a punctured lung. You didn’t have any seals on you and you didn’t want to slap him with some duct tape instead. He’d never let you live that down.
“How’s it lookin’, Sunshine?” Ghost asked, breathing heavily.
“Unfortunately,” you began, pressing the cotton padding from your kit against the wound, “if you apply pressure, you’ll live.”
“Unfortunately?” He coughed, the sound strained and you could tell he immediately regretted the movement.
“Very fucking unfortunate,” you confirmed with faux seriousness.
You stuck a gauze pad to the wound once you had finished packing it, reaching into your med pouch for a bandage. You’d wrap it around his midriff to keep pressure on the wound, you decided.
“A ray of Sunshine you are, as per fuckin’ usual.”
You clenched your jaw, reminding yourself that he was injured and that you couldn’t stick a finger knuckle-deep in his wound as retaliation. At the very least, he was back to hating you. Meant he wasn’t dying any time soon.
You frowned at the bandage in your hands, desperately trying to remove the plastic wrapping. You couldn’t think straight and your body felt jittery as the adrenline began to settle. You couldn’t believe how vulnerable he was, unable to gather the strength to take off his own body armour.
You hated it.
Why the fuck couldn’t you open this wrapping?
You pulled harder on the plastic, trying to bring your heart rate down. Why were you breathing so hard?
A gloved hand fell over your own.
Your frantic tugging came to an immediate halt and your eyes snapped up to meet his, startled. Ghost's gaze was half lidded but just as intense as always, grazing over your features. Heat flushed through your body at his drunken stare. You knew it was from the blood loss, you knew he could barely see straight, but that kind of look was reserved for someone he was sharing a bed with and you couldn't function at the sight of it.
For a moment he said nothing, blinking slowly- too slowly- as he took in a breath.
"Relax, kid," he murmured eventually. "I'm okay."
You swallowed hard.
His fingers were soft over your own, too weak to apply pressure but curled over your hand just the same.
"I am relaxed." You bit back at him, returning your gaze to the stupid fucking bandage beneath both of your hands. You didn't want him to see how much this affected you, you didn't want him to think you were a cowardly mess.
There was a soft huff as he patted your hand lightly. "You're shaking, Sunshine."
You sucked in a breath.
Your eyes flickered back to meet his, lips trembling at your exposure. He knew. The gentleness in his gaze was otherworldly, so foreign you wondered if it was even Simon Riley beneath the mask. Blood loss was clearly doing a number on him and he was doing a number on you.
“I’m a sniper, Sir.” You coughed, trying to tear yourself from the sudden intimacy of the situation. “I don’t shake.”
Ghost tutted from beneath his mask.
“Haven’t been with the right bloke, then.”
Your jaw dropped.
Ghost blinked at you as though he couldn’t believe what had come out of his mouth, either. Jesus fucking Christ. You suddenly realised why Soap had made fun of Ghost for never drinking when you’d all be at the pub. You remembered asking the Sarge why the masked enigma would always bail after an hour or two and his response was simple.
“The L.T can’t hold his tongue when he’s on the piss.”
You thought that implied aggression.
Clearly not.
“There is no right bloke,” you rasped, slowly pulling the bandage from beneath his hand. The loss of contact left you feeling empty but suddenly you could breathe a little easier.
Your fingers shook violently as you tried for the plastic wrapper again and your gaze flickered to Ghost’s face, praying he hadn’t noticed. You should have known better.
His eyes were on your trembling digits, a soft exhale making it’s way to your ears.
“Looks like I’ve proved you wrong, Sunshine.”
The words were low but there was no heat behind them. It didn’t feel lustful, they were murmured like an afterthought, his mind elsewhere. You wondered where Simon Riley disappeared to in his head when he looked at you.
“You crack a lot of jokes for someone who’s a literal shish kebab,” you snapped, tearing at the plastic wrapping with your teeth. Finally, the bandage came loose.
“And you talk a lot of shit for someone who cares more than they let on.” The words were fired back, demanding your attention.
You stared at him for a long moment, resisting the urge to squirm beneath his dark gaze. You’d never seen that expression on him before, as though he were daring you to disagree. As if he were waiting for you to say something.
“Can’t care too much in this business, Sir.” You choked on the words, unravelling the bandage.
“I believed that once,” he tilted his head.
“And now?” You prodded, leaning over him to wrap the bandage around his midriff. You tried to ignore how close your face was to his, how your fingers trailed against the skin of his stomach. The Lieutenant shivered beneath your touch and you kept your gaze downcast.
Fingers gripped your chin softly and you gasped as he tilted your face upward.
You were half on top of him, nose to nose and his stuttered exhale brushed against your lips. Simon’s eyes were half lidded and this close you could see the blue of his eyes, a stormy ocean that swallowed you whole. You were caught in it’s rip tide, drowning in the reverence of his stare.
“Now,” he murmured, lazily examining our features. His eyes lingered on your parted lips, his thumb slowly swiping your bottom lip. “Could say I’ve had a change of heart.”
#simon ghost riley#simon riley x reader#simon ghost riley x reader#simon riley#ghost x reader#cod mw2#call of duty#ghost#ghost call of duty#ghost cod#call of duty x reader#call of duty mw2#cod x reader#cod mw2 ghost#cod mw2 x reader
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I Did Something Bad
Clarisse La Rue x Fem!Demigod!Reader
—-
synopsis: you somehow become the target of a deadly vendetta, and it ends in an overnight stay in the infirmary, a lot of blood, and a lot of your scary girlfriend being her scary self.
a/n: save me clarisse “touch her and die” la rue save me save me save me save me save me save me… this is a completely self indulgent fic and no i will not apologize. love y’all!!!!!
inspired by an ask @nvirskies sent me
I Did Something Bad - Taylor Swift
warnings: not proofread, VERY VIOLENT AND GRAPHIC DESCRIPTIONS OF Y/N GETTING INJURED!!!!! BLOOD!!!!! WOUNDS!!!!! YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED, anyways…. DANNNNNYYYYYY MY BABY!!!!! HES BACK!!!!!, ares cabin bonding time <3, FOUND FAMILY, y/n is crazy too, insane power couple who are insane together!!, y’all know what’s going on…… protective clarisse, possessive clarisse, insane clarisse, murderous clarisse, again clarisse gets a bit too into capture the flag, swearing, attempted murder!, LOTS of violence, kissing, clarisse hates talking about her feelings but she will do it for y/n, tell me if i missed anything!!
—-
Clarisse loves capture the flag.
It’s the one place where she really gets to be in her element. That’s where she prefers to be- in the moment, hard and fast, a flurry of swords and adrenaline and the feeling of someone surrendering.
Of course, Clarisse is never the one surrendering. You don’t think you’ve ever seen someone surrender to her.
Clarisse loves capture the flag.
And that love is also shared by her equally violently-minded siblings, which is why you’re sitting on her lap in the middle of the Ares cabin, listening to everyone scream and shout about tactics and plans and things that are just general boring.
Clarisse, of course, listens to everything. Silently humming to herself, drumming her fingers against your stomach, rolling her eyes and scoffing silently at some of her siblings ideas.
They all shout out ideas, but everyone knows that Clarisse has the final say.
You should probably be preparing with your own cabin- but this is just so much fun.
The tension in the room rises significantly after Nelson shuts down another one of Carrie’s ideas. Carrie has a mind made for the strategy of battle, where Nelson is all tough war and pain.
Clarisse likes to brag that she’s the perfect mix of both.
“I’m bored,” you huff, leaning back into your girlfriend. “Can they start punching each other again? Or something entertaining?”
She laughs and wraps her arms around your waist, kissing your shoulder. “You’re so violent,” she mumbles. “I’m supposed to be the violent one.”
“I jus’ think it’s really funny,” you shrug. “Like, can you blame me? It’s objectively funny.”
Danny, your favorite of Clarisse’s siblings, skitters through his older siblings and throws himself onto the couch next to you.
“Did they start fighting yet?” he asks, practically bouncing in his seat.
“No,” you sigh, dramatically.
Clarisse puts her arm around his shoulder, and you know she feels ridiculously proud over the fact that she’s the favorite of the most lovable member of the Ares cabin, and the fact you’re literally draped over her.
Not your fault she’s so comfy.
“Hey, how you feelin’ about tomorrow?” you ask Danny.
His face hardens. “I’m gonna fuck a bitch up.”
“Oh, my Gods,” you mutter, listening to Clarisse chuckle and pat his back.
“Hell yeah,” she smiles.
“Good!” you say after a second, feeling slightly disturbed over the 11 year-old’s colorful language. But, who are you to stop him?
Clarisse sighs after a moment, and you look up to see Carrie and Nelson finally at each other’s throats. Besides for the fact it’s just so funny when the siblings fight, they should get all of the anger out now so they can work as a team tomorrow.
“Well, no, Nelson, we aren’t gonna fucking ‘kill them with kindness,’ because that’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”
“Hey, fuckers,” Clarisse says, but they’re too absorbed in the fight to hear her.
You scramble off of her, climbing over Danny, watching in amazement as he opens the bag of pretzels he did not have in his hand a second ago- stuffing one in his mouth and holding it out to you.
These pretzels might have been buried in between the couch cushions. But they’re sealed, so who cares.
“You know what, fuck you, Carrie!” Nelson shouts, pushing her back.
“Askin’ for it,” she laughs, winding up and punching him straight in the face.
You can’t feel bad for the crunch, because Nelson should have know Carrie was gonna punch him- he could have at least put in an effort to stop her. Instead, he just stood there and took it.
“Oh,” Matty winces, sliding next to you. Why the hell are random things just appearing? Did he come out of the cushions too? Probably, seeing as he’s always falling asleep. “Askin’ for it,” he mumbles, shaking his head.
Nelson recovers from the hit and jabs at Carrie- but she stands there, hand on her hip, completely still.
Clarisse catches his arm.
He’s breathing out heavily, and the room goes pretty much silent- except for you, Danny and Matty chomping on pretzels in the corner of the couch.
“You’re fuckin’ embarrassing, Nelson.”
He pulls himself away from her and huffs, heading to the bathroom to deal with his bright red cheek.
Clarisse sighs heavily.
“Gods, can’t have one night without someone punching someone.”
Carrie looks around the room with a smug smile, scoffing when Clarisse shoulders her as she walks past. She lays down in your waiting arms, kissing your hand as you wrap them around her.
“Gettin’ on my nerves,” she mumbles, closing her eyes and leaning into you.
“I know,” you soothe, turning around and making a silly face to Danny at her dramatics.
—-
Nelson is obviously still angry the next day. His helmet doesn’t cover all of the nasty bruise on his cheek, a sickening purple against his tan skin.
Him and Carrie swap glares across the the throngs of red helmets.
“Okay, Carrie, stop,” you huff. “He might actually kill you. You’re the one who got a punch in- let it go.”
She turns to glare at you, now.
“Tell him to stop staring at me.”
“Well, you can help by looking away first.”
“Fine,” she mumbles, putting her helmet on and tightening her grip on her sword. Chiron made his usual speech around 10 minutes ago, and Clarisse has finally finished updating everyone- more like yelling incoherently at everyone- about their positions.
But you have a similar strategy.
The blue team has the brains of the Athena Cabin, but the red team has all the brute strength.
Clarisse huffs, walking over to you and Carrie.
“Okay, ready?” she asks, reaching over to tighten the straps of your armor- even through they’re perfectly fine- by habit.
Carrie let’s out a deep breath. “Yes. Very ready to fuckin’ pummel those blue shits and pretend they’re Nelson.”
“That’s the spirit!” you smile, slapping her shoulder. She rolls her eyes and steps away from you, smiling slightly.
Danny and Matty walk over, and your little band is complete. You hunt in the woods just south of the flag, deterring a lot of hopefuls. The older campers know to come up with sneakier ways to get by, but Clarisse is otherwise confident in those she placed by the flag to really protect it.
You strike out into an offensive stance, pointing the end of your blade straight at Danny- and he quickly counters with his own impeccable stance.
“Oh, yeah, they don’t stand a chance,” you smile, and he returns it.
—-
You take your normal routes through the woods.
With the added weight of you and Danny, the group is not as stealthy as they could be- but Clarisse is a secret teddy bear who doesn’t like to be away from you for long, and Danny is too young to be set loose, left to watch the big kids work, occasionally jumping in for a few swings.
Leaves crunch under your feet in the otherwise silent forest. You’ve already come across a few stragglers, and before you could even raise your sword the Ares siblings had disarmed them. Your heart squeezed seeing the absolutely heartbroken look on Danny’s face- he was promised that this time he could really fight.
And after you pulled Clarisse off to the side and reminded her of her deal- Danny was leading the group, with you and Clarisse behind him.
He marches tall and proud, sword pointed out, even though Clarisse scolds him and says his arm will get tired- he’s young and doesn’t listen to his half-sibling.
You smile, watching him, admiring how carefree he is. The walk continues mostly in a stealthy silence- Clarisse, Carrie and Matty has mastered the art of walking silently- so your cover is lost by you and Danny.
Of course, whenever you try to convince Clarisse that maybe you should go somewhere else- she looks at you like you’ve suddenly turned into a female Minotaur.
Clarisse, her hand in yours right now, has a hard time understanding the concept that she can’t be with you all the time. That you might get hurt, that she can’t always stop it.
It’s sweet how constantly concerned she is over you, it makes your stomach twist so good.
She squeezes your hand, bringing you out of your reverie. Voices.
“Danny,” you whisper, almost silently, kicking the back of his leg. When he turns around, frown on his face, you point towards the direction of the voices- and now footsteps.
You all stop in your tracks.
Danny practically jumps up in down, you smile wide, and Clarisse signals to Carrie and Matty, urging you and Danny closer to the action.
When they come into the clearing, a few Hermes kids dressed in blue bandanas, swords in their hands. They’re all strong, you’ve seen them around- recognize them vaguely as potentials that lost to Clarisse in ugly sparring matches.
The siblings have disappeared into the trees.
So it’s just you, unsuspecting, and Danny.
You can see the triumphant looks on their faces.
Except for one of them.
Nicky, maybe? You don’t care enough about him to know his name. But there’s something more in his eyes that you notice immediately, something similar to the passion Clarisse gets in her eyes at the mention of this game.
Danny jumps forward, sword swinging just the way his blood knows, the way his siblings have taught him meticulously.
They seem momentarily surprised at the force his small body can produce, quickly countering with their own jabs, swords clashing together. The other focuses on you.
You’re not worried, you know the siblings are just letting the two of you have your moments before they really come in and you can sit back and watch Clarisse fight. Muscles rippling, sick smile on her face, spear glowing with electricity.
He comes at you and your swords clash together, the force of it making your teeth ring- Gods, he’s strong. He pulls back and you do the same thing a few more times, neither of you able to get the upper hand- until he finally seems to realize his height advantage.
He swings his sword down on you, pressing down hard- and with gravity on his side you have to put all of your focus into stopping that downward sword.
You don’t see his foot coming out to kick you back.
You only feel it, boot in your chest, wind knocked out of you, groaning as you slam into the ground.
“Fuck,” you breathe, tasting blood in your mouth.
“Y/N!” Danny shouts, and that’s when you see his sword coming down on you again. He does it on purpose, that much is sword, the strategic placing of his sword slicing through the top of your arm.
He doesn’t mean to kill you. He means to hurt you.
His purpose isn’t winning the game, you realize as the blade tears through skin, his purpose is to hurt you. That’s what you saw in his eyes.
Delight that his prey was right in front of him.
The realization washes over you like a wave- but like the real ocean, another one comes- an overwhelming feeling of pain, blooming outward like a flower.
He bites his lip in concentration, standing over you as his blade sinks into the dirt. He smiles wide, hitting his target.
You scream.
It’s a quick stop. The clearing is filled with the sound of your screams, swords stopping in midair- everyone realizing simultaneously that you’re really hurt. That this boy hurt you on purpose.
Something cuts through the air, wind in your ears, swiftly burying itself through Nicky’s armor and into his side.
You’ve realized in the last day that men are stupid. First, it was Nelson not expecting to get punched, and now it was Nicky not prepared for a retaliation after hurting you.
The thick armor slowed down the spear, so it unfortunately stabs his side and falls right out.
He yells in pain, ripping off his armor, revealing a small cut. Nothing compared to yours, but you can faintly recognize the fire in his eyes before Matty is leaning over you and Carrie is wrapping a bandana above the pain in your arm.
You hear the sounds of something happening, someone fighting, skin on skin.
You hear all of this, you see all of it, but all you can feel is the burning, burning cut in your arm. It feels like he cut it off. Your mind is hazy, you know blood is gushing, you never knew something could hurt this bad.
You faintly realize you bit your tongue when you went down. Blood spurts from your mouth when you cough, when you groan in pain, when you say her name like a prayer over and over again.
“Clarisse,” you moan, legs twisting around, trying to get away from the pain that you can’t escape from. “Clarisse, Clarisse, please, Clar…”
Matty pulls your head into his lap.
You can tell it’s bad, you can see the queasy look on his face. You clench your fist- the one you can feel, at least- to keep from screaming, heels digging into the dirt. You’re still trying to get away. But you can’t. You can’t get away from this all consuming pain.
“It’s okay,” Danny whispers, suddenly appearing next to you. He voice shakes, he doesn’t know, he can’t tell you anything reassuring.
“Can you go find someone, Danny? One of the Apollo kids, anyone?”
He ignores Carrie, starring at you for a second longer.
“Y/N,” he mumbles, his voice quiet, finally able to act like the young boy he is.
“You can go,” you breathe, somehow finding the strength to make him believe you’re okay. “Go help me, okay?”
His little footsteps disappear into the woods faster than you’ve ever heard him run, even when they have his favorite brownies for dessert.
You let out a sob.
“D-did he cut it off?” you moan. “It feels like he cut it off, please tell me he didn’t… he didn’t cut my arm off…”
“Oh, fuck, no,” Carrie breathes, pressing down agains the wound to try and stop the blood from gushing out- but it doesn’t really help. It’s just too much. “I mean, it’s deep and it’s nasty, but you’ve still got an arm, don’t worry.”
She laughs, awkwardly, nervously. You can feel even more of your arm drifting away, blood pouring out onto the ground.
“Hey, hey, no,” Matty mutters, lightly hitting your face.
“Wha-”
“Can’t fall asleep, Y/N,” Carrie says, nervously. “Sit up against Matty, come on, huh?” you lean against Matty, head clearing now that there’s fresh air in your system.
Your eyes focus on Clarisse.
Except she’s not anywhere near you, she’s 10 feet away, punching Nicky so hard you’re surprised he’s still standing.
Carrie cringes. “Okay, maybe don’t look at that.”
But you’re sort of entranced by her. She’s not outwardly angry, her face reveals nothing- just a mask of hard, unrelenting focus. It should scare you, how much concentration she puts into her deadly punches, blood flying with each hit she lands. Her knuckles are red, his face is a mess, but it’s exhilarating to know she would do this for you.
A sickening crack rents the air. “My fucking nose, fuck, fuck, screw you, you fucking bitch! Fuck-”
The smallest smile creeps it way onto her face. She wipes her mouth, leaving blood on her lips- but she doesn’t seem to notice.
“I can keep going!” she shouts back, grabbing his shirt. “You wanna do that shit? I’m only getting started. I’m gonna throw you around, then I’m gonna fuckin’ kill you.”
“Wait! Wait, okay, wait, shit,” he breathes, holding his hands up in surrender. Blood pours from his nose, down to her hand bunched in his shirt. He’s taller than her, yet he’s surrendering.
“You’re pathetic,” she hisses, pushing him back. He hits the ground with a groan, trying to grab for a rock, a sword, anything to defend himself against Clarisse and her fury.
Clarisse loves capture the flag.
One of the reasons why she does is because she gets to let out all her anger. She looks at you, but not in your eyes- she looks at the wound on your arm. You can see the red pouring out of the corner of your eye- but you choose to ignore it, instead focusing on the way the fire inside of her gets relit at the sight of your blood. She has plenty reason to be angry now.
She grabs her spear, sauntering over to him, laughing at the way he can’t even try to get up.
“So fuckin’ stupid,” she smiles, tilting her head. Then the tip of her spear is pointing right at his neck, she’s standing over him the way he did to you. “How’s it feel?” she smiles.
He coughs, hissing in pain.
“I’m scared, Clarisse, okay? You got your fucking revenge, but it wasn’t me.”
She laughs, loud and boisterous. “I just saw you cut her, dumbass. I really should kill you, just as a favor to the world.”
“Paid me,” he coughs. “Drachmas, in exchange for hurting your girlfriend-”
She presses the blade against his throat, he yells out.
“Who?”
He stays silent.
“Who?!” she yells, kicking his stomach.
“Nelson!” he screams. “Nelson! Nelson paid me, please, Clarisse-”
She moves the blade away, and he hisses- she probably just barely drew blood.
“I’m not done yet,” she whispers, deadly promise dripping from her words. She turns around, fades out of focus for a second, and then she’s right next to you.
Her hands are cupping your face, she looks sick, seeing you like this up close- but all she does is kiss your forehead. Like you, she doesn’t want to look at your flesh and blood.
“I’m here, I’m here, oh, fuck. Gods, what the fuck,” she mumbles, looking very pointedly away from the wound, finally seeing how bad it is up close.
“Clarisse.”
“I know,” she whispers, smoothing your hair back. “I know, baby, I know, but it’s gonna be okay.”
Danny runs into the clearing, shouting “just over here” while healers follow him, immediately groaning at the smell of blood, the sight of it.
Clarisse switches places with Matty, holding you against her, kissing your head again and again, muttering about how brave you are.
You almost laugh at the odd looks the Apollo kids give her, unused to seeing the big bad Clarisse so soft. But they just don’t know her like you do. She doesn’t love them like she loves you.
One of them starts to clean the blood, and your eyes drift shut as the other starts to mend your skin back together.
—-
You wake up with familiar curly hair in your face.
You spit it out, groaning, mouth feeling fuzzy, everything feelings fuzzy.
“Clarisse?” you mumble, eyes not even open, but you wake up with that hair in your mouth everyday, and you’ve memorized the weight of her arm around your waist.
She sits up immediately, jumping out of bed, standing up and fixing her messy hair like someone’s gonna be there.
“Um, hello? I was speaking, crazy girl.”
“Oh, thank Gods,” she mumbles, blowing hair out of her face and sitting back down. “Thought we got caught.”
You look at her, then your surroundings-
“Oh, holy shit,” she says, staring at you like a deer in headlights. “Wait, you’re awake. You’re awake!”
She throws her arms around you, burying her face into your neck, reverberating with the sound of your laughter.
“You make it sound like I’ve been in a coma for 10 years.” Your heart drops. “Have I… been asleep for a while?”
“Um,” she says, softly, biting her lip as she extricated herself from your neck. “Capture the flag was yesterday, so… no.”
“So you’re just being dramatic?”
“Possibly,” she smiles. “It’s not my fault you’ve taken over my entire brain.” She shows her bruised knuckles, split open, already starting to scab. “I said not to fix ‘em up. They don’t hurt that bad, and they look fucking cool.”
You grab her hands, relieved it’s only been a day, kissing the rough scabs. She blushes, although she tries her best not to, breathing in deeply.
“How are you feeling, baby?”
You look towards your totally healed arm, finally realizing that you know have full control of your hands, unlike yesterday. It’s wrapped in a bandage for precautions, but it feels totally healed.
“All good,” you smile.
“You gotta take it real easy for the next week or so, yeah?” she fusses, brushing hair behind your ear. “So you call me, or one of my siblings, anyone to help you with anything. No lifting heavy stuff, don’t do anything too fast- you might tear the healing.”
“I don’t suppose you’ll carry me around like a princess?” you giggle, laying back, inviting her into your arms. She gets back under the covers, head against your chest so she can hear your heartbeat.
“That’s not a bad idea, actually. Practical. Very safe.”
You hit her shoulder. “I’m joking.”
“Eh, I’ll change your mind.”
You smile, running your hands through her hair, enjoying the early mornings with her warmth against you, soft sunlight peeking through windows.
She sits up after a moment, laying her head back on the pillow, arm back around your waist. She just sits there for a moment, you can feel her admiring you. Clarisse doesn’t look at you. She traces your face with her eyes, imagining it was her hands, her lips, she admires you like she sees a reverence in your eyes that has nothing to do with your godly parent.
“Can you promise me something?” she asks, whispering softly, even though you’re the only two people around.
“What?” you say, staring at the ceiling, feeling like you might fall back asleep.
“Don’t get hurt. Like, ever again, please.”
You smile. “Okay, baby,” you mumble.
“I’m serious,” she smiles, nudging your cheek with her nose. “I… I was really scared. And I don’t like to feel that way, especially when it comes to you. I was angry, too. I was so fuckin’ angry I’m surprised I didn’t kill him. You can’t get hurt like that, not again, you just gotta let me protect you. Or else I might actually kill someone, Y/N.”
“I know,” you mumble. “I watched you.”
“Did I scare you?” she asks, voice soft. There’s no hint of your loving, smiley Clarisse in this bed right now. She’s worried, as if she could ever scare you.
“No,” you say, honestly. “It’s sweet how far you’re willing to go for me.”
“Yeah,” she mumbles. “You better like it. Do you know what I got for that? Eight months no dessert. Five months cleaning the fuckin’ stables.”
You barely hide your laugh. “Oh, my Gods, are you serious?”
“Yes,” she grumbles. “But, I’ve decided it’s fine. You’re my loving girlfriend, right? You can sit there all pretty so I have something to look at when I’m cleaning. And you’ll share your dessert with me, won’t you?”
“Yeah,” you mumble, turning your head. “I will.”
“I really love you. My perfect pretty princess,” she jokes, smiling lopsidedly, and you return it. “You’ll let me protect you, and maybe I can get some decent sleep at night, huh?”
When she presses her hand to your face and her lips to yours, you think nothing could possible ruin this moment. It’s just you and her, and everything that’s beautiful.
“You always protect me, Clar,” you smile.
She smiles, lips grazing yours. This is your Clarisse. The one who smiles just for you, who puts her rough hand softly against your face. This is your Clarisse, the one who would do anything for you, the one who wants to carry you around, the one who wants to protect you and hold you and never let anyone fuck with her baby.
The door slams open, someone is laughing boisterously, another person is groaning in pain, and a familiar voice is shouting your names.
“Clarisse! Y/N! Clarisse, Clarisse! Y/N, Y/N, Y/N!” Danny shouts, dragging out the last syllable of your name. He jumps onto the bed by your feet, even when Clarisse frowns, looking at you like a puppy dog who’s just brought a dead bird to your doorstep.
And as you look at the scene behind you, Nelson being laid on another bed, Carrie being helped into the corner- laughing hysterically, knuckles split open.
Nelson’s face is practically unrecognizable.
You suppose Danny really did bring something unsavory like a dead bird, dropping it right at your feet.
“So, we all woke up right?”
Your eyes whip to Danny, shocked as he know launches into a story about Carrie waking up to Nelson saying he hadn’t been called to the Big House yet, maybe he would get away from it- but swiftly received punishment in the form of Carrie’s fists. With Clarisse in your bed, no one had the guts to stop them, and they fought for what must have been 10 minutes- Nelson very obviously losing.
“And, now we’re here,” Danny sighs, breathing out after his long and embellished rant. “But you’re awake, Y/N!”
He looks at your skeptically- specifically, at your arm.
“Can I hug you?”
“Oh,” you smile, your heart twisting with such a fondness for this wonderful little kid. “Of course you can, Danny,” you smile, opening your arms wide.
“Yes, just be careful,” Clarisse cautions, her arm around your waist. “Watch the arm, huh?”
“He’s just a baby, Clarisse,” you mumble, breath messing his hair.
“He’s 11.”
“Baby,” you reinforce, squeezing him tighter.
“Y/N… you’re crushing me,” he groans.
“Oops,” you say, letting him go. “You’re just too cute,” you coo.
Clarisse scoffs from next to you. You smile, kissing her cheek. “You’re beautiful. Scary, dangerous. Not cute, though.”
She hums. “Yeah, you’re right.”
Carrie walks over, sporting her split knuckles, also opting to let them heal naturally like Clarisse. She shows them off with a wide smile, even as Nelson screams in the background when they reset his nose.
Matty rubs his temples.
You smile, looking around at your very dysfunctional, very awkward, but loving family-adjacent.
“Hey, did we end up winning the game?” you ask.
Clarisse snorts. “Oh, nah. Without us, they were lost. Who cares, though?”
“Yeah, I liked beating Nelson up much more than I would have liked winning,” Carrie smiles.
“Next time,” Danny starts, “Can I lead again?”
Clarisse squints at him. “…Maybe.”
You wink at him, nodding subtly.
“Okay!” he smiles.
Clarisse kisses your forehead.
“I love you, pretty baby,” she mumbles.
You smile. “I love you too, scary baby.”
—-
clarisse when she sees y/n get hurt: oh so the only natural response to to THROW A FUCKING SPEAR AT SOMEONE
appreciation for the fact she threw it from like really far away and just tore through his armor likkkkeeee
nelson and nicky sitting in the infirmary together hugging each other terrified clarisse and carrie are going to come back for more
nicky does not sleep at night anymore SHE SAID SHE WASNT DONE
—-
shout out to my baby danny he carried this fic fr
shoutout to y/n for getting WRECKED so we could have this beautiful moment w clarisse
shoutout to matty for being his beautiful self
shoutout to carrie for being her violent self
and finally shoutout to clarisse for being overprotective and insane
—-
clarisse after she actually convinced y/n to let her carry her around everywhere: 🤗🤗🤗🤗🤗🤗🤗
bitch is so happy…
—-
taglist:
@lvrue @t-wylia @laughingcheese037 @kroumi @urdeadpoet @colezb @rey26 @harmzilla @elliewilliamsbae @amberfreemansburntface @kyuupidwrites @neverwaakeme-up @shark1008 @liballer @heyimadison @nvirskies @pnsteblnme @mar2ss @restellsss @ravisinghs-wife @marsconer @evangelinexo @randomhoex @luvrrish @rebecca37 @saltair-and-palemoonlight @ace-spades-1
#clarisse la rue#clarisse la rue x reader#clarisse la rue x y/n#clarisse la rue x you#pjo tv show#pjo x reader
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Spoilers ahead for the final episode!
Imagine reader being a healer for others but is cursed to not being able to heal themselves.
Like during the final battle, their skills are heavily relied on while they also fight along side them. Afterwards they rush to find their lover Alastor to heal the wound on his abdomen. Poor thing was so worried about healing him that they forgot about patching up themselves.
hello everybody im alive........... hello hold your applause /j
i got two very similar requests so i combined them into one! hope thats alright with the two anons! hugs and kisses
Stitches
alastor x reader (fluff)
TW: nothing serious, just some briefly graphic(ish) descriptions of violence/gore, reader referred to as female but doesnt influence plot
join my discord!
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It was supposed to be “no big deal” for him; that’s what he had promised you. You worried, of course, but knew better than to pester and beg for him to change his mind. Plus… of all demons to hold back Adam, Alastor seemed like the most capable. You had to trust him. He promised.
You were in the midst of slaying an Exterminator of your own, cutting it down with a sword lined in angelic steel, but you couldn’t help that your train of thought kept returning to the Radio Demon, who was currently on the roof of the Hotel maintaining a forcefield that prevented more angels from joining the battle.
You allowed your eyes to glimpse up towards said roof even though you knew it’d be impossible to see him from your position on the ground. You had looked just in time, however, to see the shield that surrounded the battleground begin to dissolve, an opening blooming around the figure of Adam.
A sickly cold feeling of dread churned down your spine and into your stomach, but you forced yourself to stay focused. Alastor would be fine, surely. It’s not like he said it was an invincible shield. You had other things to worry about, anyway, when you realized a wasp-like swarm of Exterminators had made their way in from the dissolving forcefield, their glittering white wings and shining angelic weapons molding together in a blur.
You fought along a small group of demons from Cannibal Town, providing aid and healing when possible. It seemed to go on for hours; stab an angel, tear one away from a companion, heal, stab, save, heal… it somehow began to feel monotonous and repetitive. Your whole body stung, littered with wounds ranging in extremity, but you couldn’t stop. Not if you were going to win this thing.
That monotony was broken when the chaos halted for a brief moment—not even a second. You had seen Charlie looking up in… fear? Shock? So, you looked, and your breath hitched. It took you a moment to process.
Why was Adam flying above, looming, grinning, analyzing… Why, when Alastor was supposed to be keeping him occupied? The immediate answer that came to mind brought back that sickening feeling from earlier, but increased a hundredfold. It seemed that Charlie also had a similar idea.
You couldn’t ignore the feeling this time and, against your better judgment, took off towards the crumbling Hotel, abandoning your position as healer. They could wait, honestly. The pounding in your ears and anxiety in your body clouded the sensation of angelic spears grazing past you, filling your already burdened body with more gashes.
You were halted by a powerful beat of wings, wind pushing you backwards onto your back. You scrambled into a sitting position, leaning on your arms. All of the aching, stinging pain from the night seemed to rush in all at once because of the interruption, and you could barely keep your eyes steady on the man in front of you.
The first man, at that—standing all too high-and-mighty above you, a twisted grin curling up his mask.
“Hey, bitch,” He said almost casually, grabbing you by the hair and lifting you up to be eye level with him. You stifled a pained cry at the sensation, though your eyes filled with tears, betraying both your fear and pain. You hated yourself for looking so weak in front of Adam, but you were almost too exhausted to mask it.
“The fuck did you do to Alastor?” You talked through a mouthful of blood. You spat some out in his face, to which the grip on your head tightened but he seemed otherwise unbothered. You did see a glint of madness in his eyes, though.
“So you’re that fine babe of his?” Adam mocked, looking up and down tastelessly. You didn’t expect much more from the ‘dickmaster’ but you couldn’t help but feel disgusted. “Satan’s daughter told me all about you when she was trying to tell me you gross fucks could be redeemed.”
He started rambling out a multitude of insults and curses. It seemed fitting, you thought, that the stuck-up first man would be too full of himself to keep his guard up and just start going off on a tangent about how cool and awesome he is versus how gross and weak your kind is.
“I mean, the fuck? You all sucked ass at being alive, so why the shit would we let you up into heaven? And, quite frankly, too fucking ugly to live up th—” He choked on the last few words he had, his eyes widening in shock and pain. He dropped you to the ground.
During his rant you had managed to use your heel to kick up a stray spear from beneath you. His tirade had given you enough time to balance the weapon between your feet, aim, and jam it forward into his stomach. The robe he wore darkened, glistening gold seeping into the fabric and from the hole you punctured into him.
“You–” He spat, hovering his shaking hands around the impaled spear. He gingerly pressed a hand against the wound, lifting his bloody palm to his face to look at the mess. He looked up, down, up again, and took a quivering step towards you. There were a million expressions in his eyes all at once; rage, fear, pain, disgust…
“You fucking bitch,” He took another step, reached a hand out towards you. “You can’t kill me! Nobody can kill Adam! You’re just a worthless, sick, good-for-nothing sinner that couldn’t—fuck!” He stumbled and fell forward, and you jerked away as his fist nearly closed around the hem of your shirt. As much as you hated the guy and wanted him dead, you still cringed at the sight of him falling onto the spear and impaling it completely through his body.
You heard a distant cry of his name, but you didn’t hesitate to see who it was. You took off into the hotel, albeit slowed by a painful limp, and made your way up the stairs towards the radio tower.
There was an ominous feeling in the air as you ascended the ladder into the nearly demolished tower, slowly opening the hatch into the room. An intense, static-y feeling smothered your senses, hair raising and skin prickling at the sensation. You ignored the uncomfortable feeling and peered around the dark room.
Claw marks and a trail of blood caught your attention, leading your eyes towards a corner where the demon you wanted to see most sat against. He had been wordlessly watching you with glowing red eyes since you entered.
“Al,” You said almost breathlessly as you rushed forward, ignoring the way your leg shot pain throughout your body in protest. You fell gracelessly to your knees in front of him.
“I don’t want you here,” He said rather plainly, a hiss in his voice as he spoke through his teeth and a grimace of a smile. You ignored the comment, eyes traveling over his body before settling on his palm, which was pressed against his abdomen. There was a still-growing patch of dark blood seeping through his shirt and between his fingers.
You reached your hand out towards him, flinched to a halt for a moment when his claws tightened around the fabric of his shirt, but continued. He made no move otherwise to stop you, but you could feel the tension in the air growing as the static ambience got louder.
“I can take care of myself,” He said, his other hand suddenly snatching your wrist. His grin widened, but his eyes narrowed. You frowned at him.
“Yeah, but it’d be a lot easier for me to just fix you now,” You retorted, trying to jerk your hand away from his grip. He didn’t yield. “If you stop being so damn stubborn.”
“I’ve dealt with much worse, my dear,” He continued to convince you to leave him alone, his voice smooth with that manipulatively suave voice he put on sometimes. Unluckily for him, though, you were just as stubborn as him.
“But I’m here this time to help you,” You finally managed to free your wrist from him, your sharp expression unwavering from his own, which seemed equally aggravated. Maybe he was too weak to actually stop you, or maybe he actually did want your help and just wouldn’t admit it, but he didn’t stop you from lifting his bloodied hand from his wound.
You pursed your lips at the grizzly sight, but said nothing. You ignored the stinging smell of blood that flooded your nose. You hovered your hands over the wound, channeling the energy in your body that granted you the ability to rapidly heal others. A faint light flowed from your palm and into the gash across Alastor’s torso, forming glowing stitches that weaved throughout the damaged skin.
Periodically glancing up at his face as you worked, you watched for any sign that told you to stop, but it never came. He stayed silent the whole time, which was… rare, from him. You would never admit this out loud, but Alastor seemed almost… pitiful, in this silent, weakened state. The Radio Demon himself, reduced to a bloodied, passive husk of himself.
After healing so many demons during the battle outside, you had spent so much energy. You were already so weak and exhausted, but you pushed yourself to force just a bit more—
“There,” With a weak sigh, you sat back, admiring your own handiwork. Even though it was magic, it did take some mental ability to know how to use your power. “Was that so hard?” You chided him jokingly.
He gingerly drug a clawed finger down the stitches, analyzing it for himself.
“I have to admit,” He began, looking up at you. “It would have been nice to have you in my early years as— dear?”
You barely heard what he was saying as all of your senses seemed to get foggy all at once. Your vision blurred and speckled, you ears felt muffled, and you swayed with lightheadedness. You pressed a hand to your face, trying to steady your breath.
“I’m good,” Your voice came out in a quiver. “I think I just—”
You don’t necessarily even remember fainting, but reason that you must have as you stared at the ceiling above you. You woke up ten minutes ago, and spent the time piecing together everything that happened. How much time has passed since then? A couple hours? Days? It was hard to say. Though, you thought as you looked around. The hotel looks… damn good all things considered.
The door creaked open and your ears perked at the sound of a familiar voice humming some tune that you couldn’t recognize. Considering the atmosphere wasn’t tense, you actually welcomed the prickling, static-like sensation that Alastor’s presence brought.
“Ah, the sleeping beauty awakes!” He announced pleasantly, setting a plate rattling with two neat little glasses of warm liquid on the bedside table. You eyed them and quirked your eyebrow.
“Seems you were ready for it,” You said, commenting on the fact that he brought two cups.
“Well, what kind of man would I be if I wasn’t au fait to my darling’s status?” He explained, clasping his hands behind his back and leaning over you. He would never admit that he brought up two cups every time he checked on you just in case.
His overall demeanor seemed appropriately confident and indifferent, but his eyes held an uncharacteristic look of tenderness and worry as he looked over you, analyzing your condition. He sat at the edge of the bed, picking that plate up again and offering you a cup.
You sat up against the headboard and took it with a light smile, warming your hands on the smooth surface. You enjoyed the aroma of the tea, and you realized it was your favorite. How sweet.
The room was silent, save for the quiet sound of a radio that seemed to just… radiate from him… but it wasn’t uncomfortable. Now that you were sitting up, you took the chance to look down and over yourself. Bandages were wrapped tightly over your arms, chest, stomach, legs… basically everywhere. You were suddenly all too aware of the dull ache that afflicted your entire body.
When you looked up, you noticed Alastor had been looking at you rather intensely. His expression was weird and unreadable. You tightened your lips awkwardly at the strangely passionate look in his eyes, looking into random directions to try to ignore it. You tried to concentrate on taking another sip from the cup in your hand, bu, to your dismay, it was already empty. You sat it down on the plate.
“How’s my stitchwork holding up?” In an attempt to dissipate your own awkwardness, you reached towards his abdomen. He caught your hand gently, directing it away from himself. But he didn’t let go.
“No doctor in all of Hell could have done better,” He complimented. He still had a hint of that weird expression. “If only you could fix yourself up the same. Fortunately I have some experience from my time alive…” He trailed off.
You couldn’t contain yourself anymore, jumping forward and tightening your arms around his neck. The static in the air sharpened for a brief second, matching the tenseness in his body, but slowly returned to a normal frequency. After a few more seconds, you felt him slide his own arms around your waist, pressing you against himself.
“You scared the fuckin’ shit out of me,” You said, voice muffled by his coat. “I thought Adam killed you. I thought I was going to find your body buried under the rubble.”
“So you avenged me by killing Adam yourself? I appreciate it,” He remarked lightly, a slight chuckle rumbling from his chest. His voice was low, breath tickling your ear as he held you with a feather-light but somehow still firm grip.
Alastor was quiet for another moment, and you realized the static in the air had completely dissipated. You also realized the pressure of his arms wrapped around you was getting increasingly tighter.
“You worried me as well,” He said finally. “You were out like a hibernating bear for days. You worried everyone.” You pulled your head out from the crook of his neck and met his gaze.
“Can’t a gal get her beauty rest?” You joked softly, bumping your shoulder against him playfully. He swayed for a moment at the contact, but the eye contact never broke. Wait, was he getting closer?
Instinctually your eyes closed, and the briefest kiss was placed on your lips, then your nose, then your forehead. Before you could open your eyes, Alastor placed his hand on your head and pressed you back against his chest. He then began rubbing his hand gently on your back in a soothing motion.
Despite being in bed for apparently days, you still felt tired. You sank into him as his claws drug gentle shapes against your skin, careful to avoid bandaged spots. He hummed a quiet tune, and you noticed his microphone of a cane, which was laying against the bedside table, emitted an accompanying song.
“Maybe redemption isn’t all that,” You commented with a sigh, lazily picking at the hem of Alastor’s collar.
“Hmm?” He prompted you to continue.
“Is Hell really so bad if you’re with your favorite soul?” It felt corny to say, but you couldn't really find a better way to phrase it. Plus, you couldn't take this rare moment of tenderness for granted.
His hand paused for a moment, and he gently squeezed your arm in response. You felt him press another light kiss to the top of your head.
“I know, now,” He finally replied. “Just the feeling.”
#ohdeerfully#hazbin hotel#alastor x reader#hazbin hotel x reader#alastor#alastor hazbin hotel#fluff#alastor x you#oh my god yall#writers block... my number 1 enemy of all time#hazbin hotel spoilers#sort of
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Chapter 5 of Intervention is now up! and this time it has ART. @skeltrr provided the perfect lines for me to slather my colors onto ❤️
read it here!
content warnings for: emetophobia (vomiting) and graphic descriptions of drug use, bullet removal and wound care
malls get crazy around the holidays, huh?
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Mafia!Simon x Bartender!Reader
mention of torture and rape, implied rape, trauma, ptsd, no graphic description
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5
The boys find you in a secluded building where your captors kept you for months, blood, sweat and tears dried off on your wounded skin.
You’re conscious but you can barely utter a word, only groaning and wincing quietly.
Simon gets closer to you and crouches down beside you only to witness you flinch and try to crawl away from him, dragging your broken and bruised body on the rusty floor.
“Hey! Hey! It's me. You're safe now. We're here.” he says and holds a hand for you to take.
“Simon?” you breathe out shakily, hurting your hoarse throat and making yourself cough in the process.
Your mind starts to register his image and that he’s really here... to save you... you’re finally saved.
In no time, uncontrollable sobs escape your aching body, “Simon! They... they...”, “Shh, love. You don’t have to talk. Just let me pick you up and we’ll get you out of here, yeah?” he says softly in order not to scare you away and gets closer again.
You slightly flinch at his touch, but you know deep down that he’s really your Simon and he would never hurt you.
But it’s hard to believe that you’re safe now after a long time of agonizing torture and those monsters violating your body.
He takes you to stay at his place to keep an eye on you until you fully heal.
And he knows there’s something more beneath the surface of what he found out about what happened to you.
Something you’re not telling him, or rather you can’t. At least not yet.
But he’s not one to pry when he sees your discomfort or when you avoid the topic altogether.
Although, he can’t help his heart being ripped to shreds as he witnesses you gradually falling apart, falling away from him.
But after some time passes, he starts to get some idea as to what actually happened.
He's observant.
He notices the slight flinches when he stretches his hand to touch you and quickly pulls his hand away from you.
He notices your triggers and as much as it makes him utterly sick in his stomach, he finds some similarities between his own triggers and yours.
And right then and there, it all comes crashing down on him, the horrifying truth of what happened to you.
And it fills him with pure rage and fury. He would drag their bodies out of their graves and rip them apart again and again if he could.
But he knows what he can do now is to be there for you and that he must assure you that you are safe and nothing like this would happen ever again.
#simon riley#simon ghost riley#simon riley x reader#simon ghost riley x reader#simon riley x you#simon ghost riley x you#cod x reader#ghost x reader#simon ghost x reader#cod fanfic#ghost cod#cod ghost#ghost call of duty#call of duty#cod mw2#cod#mw2#cod modern warfare#call of duty modern warfare#call of duty x reader#tw r4p3#tw torture#tw trauma#cw torture#cw trauma
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