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astroboots · 10 months

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Stitches and Claws

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x female reader

Summary: You find yourself in a compromising position on your knees when you help stitch up Miguel's wounds.

Content: Blowjob, riding cock, overstimulation, fangs and claws. Miguel kind of likes his horniness with a little bit of pain? Just a smidge.

Word Count: 3.3k

Astroboot’s Masterlist | Spiderverse Masterlist

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"Miguel, can you please just relax?"

"I am relaxed," comes the sharp reply, as he glares down at you. Jaw so tense, you're surprised his molar teeth hasn't cracked under the pressure.

Your hand comes to his knee, as you spread them wider, and you can feel the plane of his thighs tense underneath your palm.

Yeah, the man is anything but relaxed.

Miguel is still in his suit. Skin covered in dark blue and red. The only part of him not covered in the fancy spandex (and if he heard you call it that he'd be livid, cause it's Unstable Molecule fabric, not spandex) is that scowling face of his and a small patch on the inside of his left thigh. An area the size of your hand that's bare, revealing his tanned skin underneath and a nasty looking injury.

You poise the needle in your hand against the gaping wound. You don't even get the chance to make skin contact with the tip before he's hissing at you like some damned feral cat.

"I haven't even touched you yet. This is going to hurt a hell of a lot more if you keep fighting me."

You probably sound more than a little bit irritated, because this position isn't exactly comfortable. The hardwood floor is digging into your knees, and with hindsight you should've taken the cushion he'd offered you before.

God, up close, that wound look really bad. Four inches in length, red and angry. You're not a doctor. You don't know why the hell you agreed to do this. For all you know you're going to get the wound infected or worse.

"Miggy, I don't know about this, don't you think it's better go to a hospital. What if it gets infected? You'll end up with gangrene and then we'll have to amputate it and then what?"

"That's not going to happen. It's a tiny cut."

"Fine, but I'm not a medical professional and I'm probably gonna make it scar to shit."

"So it'll scar. It'll be your permanent mark on me."

"I'm worried I'm going to mess this up".

"No", he says, shaking his head. "I trust you."

Your cheeks warm at the words, barely able to look him in the eyes after he's said it.

Fuck, he'd have to go and pull that card didn't he?

With a big sigh and bigger reluctance, you dip your head down as you pierce the needle through the skin, threading it across. There's a muffled pained noise from above. The leather of your armchair squeaks as he grips it tight.

A sympathetic ache tugs in your chest at his pain and your hand still against his thigh. "Do I need to stop?"

"No, keep going," he bites out through gritted teeth.

From the corner of your eyes, you catch a glimpse of the pointed edges of his corner teeth protruding against his bottom lip. It's hard to keep your hands still when your fingertips tingle at the sight of them.

Jesus, you need to get your head out of the gutter. This is hardly the time. You persevere, dipping back down for a better view, so you can sew up the gaping wound as best as you can, ignoring the warmth of his firm thighs that are caging you in at your sides.

You try to pretend you don't hear the strained noises he's making. (Noises that are much too similar to the ones he makes when he's the one between your thighs). Practically bury your head into his thigh so you can no longer see the way his broad chest heaves or how he bites down hard on his lip when you make another stitch.

"Stop, stop!" he demands.

His hand grips down hard on your shoulder, pressing you backwards, but you ignore it, because the needle is already halfway through his skin, and for a man who is constantly battling supervillains on skyscrapers with jetpacks and regularly crashes into skyscrapers, he can be such a baby sometimes.

"Miguel, stop, I need to--"

"Enough!" He growls, his hand pushes more insistently, determined to pry you off him until your ass lands on the hardwood floor behind you.

"Let me do it myself."

Let him? Let him?! As if you had forced him to make you do this? This asshole. Swear to god! He's the one who came home in this state, plonked his dumptruck ass in your chair and asked you to help him. He's the one who sweet-talked you with his: "I trust you," when you had soundly suggested he go to the hospital.

He's always like this. Running hot then cold. Asking you to help, then pushing you away in the next second. It's a miracle you don't have permanent neck injuries with the metaphorical whiplashes he keeps giving you.

You drag your eyes upwards, the way he's hunched on himself in your chair, covering his thigh. His face is turned to the side away from you.

You don't know why he's being so unhelpful about this.

Stitching up your superhero boyfriend with a $10 Amazon sewing kit isn't your idea of a perfect Saturday night. But now that you've started you need to finish up with the stitches, you can't just leave it as it is.

"I'm sorry that I went too rough. If I hurt you, I can go slower, okay?"

He doesn't answer you, just drags one large hand over his face. It's only then that you notice that his ears and bits of his cheeks are flushed a darker shade of red than the tanned tone of his hand.

"That's not the problem I'm having," he mutters.

"Well then, can you tell me what the problem is?"

No answer.

Leaning forward, you place your hand back on his knee. That finally seems to get his attention and he removes his hand.

"You said you trusted me right? So let me know what's wrong so I can take care of you. Please?"

For all his obstinate stubbornness, Miguel is just as susceptible as you are to that card. He groans dramatically, collapsing back into the chair with a defeated expression on his face.

His legs shift in the chair, spreading outwards. The arm draped across his lap falls away, and the tight fit of his supersuit does absolutely nothing to disguise the shape of his cock, hard and heavy under the clinging fabric.

Oh. oh.

Clearly you’re not the only one being affected by the forced proximity of this situation.

"See the problem?" he says.

You look up and his eyes flicker away sheepishly. If you didn't know better, and if it wasn't for the scowl still plastered on his face, you might've mistaken him for being embarrassed. If you didn't know better, you might've made the mistake of calling him cute.

You ache between your thighs at the sight of him. But even though there's nothing more you'd like than leap into his lap and fill that ache with every inch of him, there's other priorities right now.

Crawling forward, you shoulder your way back between his thighs and settle there.

"Let me finish," you insist. "If you let me finish, then I'll help you with your problem."

It's an uneven bargain to say the last. Because the reward you're offering him, is something you want more than your next breath, and you have to bite back the 'ohthankyousweetjesus' on the tip of your tongue, when he gives you a small nod to seal the deal.

Maybe it's your newfound incentive, but this time as you pinch the needle between your fingers to stitch him up, it's a swift and efficient ordeal. You refuse to allow yourself to get distracted, eyes focused on your goal, even as you hear him groan above or shift underneath you. Not until the last stitch is done.

When you finally let yourself tilt your head back up. His eyes are pinned on your face, and you can see now that the familiar brown shade replaced by a red tinge.

Your tongue is heavy in your mouth, and you try to keep your eyes fixed on his, holding the contact as you lean forward. Anticipation rides heavy on your spine, as your mouth inches forward, until your lip press against the thin fabric of his crotch, and you nuzzle against the rigid shape of him.

The leather of your chair creaks, and there's a rip. From this angle your view is a bit obscured, but you catch sight of his hands, the firm unforgiving grip he has on your poor armchair. The extended sharp talons piercing through the soft leather in his excitement.

All you hear from above, is a breathy, "Fuck", then the thin fabric separating him from your mouth disintegrates, the dark blue fabric making way for his tanned skin underneath.

Then he's right there. Bare and naked for you to touch. His cock jutting upright between his thighs. He's ruddy and flushed, the fat tip of him glistening with precome that wells from the slit that you can practically already taste on the tip of your tongue.

Your mouth salivates as you part your lips to take him.

To call Miguel thick is an understatement. It's a struggle to fit him in your mouth, your jaw strain with the effort as you slide him further down. As deep as you can, until the blunt tip nudges against the back of your throat and you have to swallow around him in a panicked fit to suppress the reflexive gag pushing back in you.

It's always the hardest the first time. Your mind and throat instinctively fighting you, as you try to swallow down the intimidating girth of him.

"Take it slow nena," Miguel rasps from somewhere above. His voice is a slow and melted hum that drips sweet and honeyed in your veins, and that helps.

You take a deep inhale from your nose, taking in the familiar musky scent of him, and feel your throat relax around him, accommodating to his thickness.

Your thighs ache with arousal. Panties wet and slick as you clench down around nothing. Everything is tightly wound inside you. Your stomach heavy with the dizzying heat as the weight of him rests so fucking perfectly on your tongue.

It's all you can take. You shove your fumbling fingers between your thighs, tugging at the edge of your panties until the obscene wetness greets you and drag it up against your clit.

Relief and pleasure surges through your head, filling your veins with the sensation and you rock into the palm of your hand seeking for more of your own touch.

"Are you touching yourself?"

Your fingers still at the question. You're not exactly embarrassed, it's not like you're doing anything wrong, but you feel sheepish all the same at being caught.

You pull off his cock, letting it slide between your lips and when you finally look back up, he's staring down at you with a dark hunger in those otherworldly crimson eyes like he wants to eat you whole.

"Fuck, come up here," he directs, but you ignore him. Tongue lapping at the tip, savouring the heady taste of him as you run the flatness of your tongue down the length of him.

"Nena," he bites off impatiently. "Up!"

He doesn't wait for your reply this time. So fucking impatient this man.

He's already lunging forward, arms circling your torso as he pulls you up and into his lap with an impressive ease. His arm comes to your thighs, rearranging you to his liking in his lap, one large hand gripping his cock as he positions you above.

"Sit on my cock, nena. Ride me."

Your eyes flit to the poorly stitched up wound on his thigh that looks flimsy to say the least.

"Won't that hurt you?"

His head tilts, brow arching with that sardonic expression of his as if he doesn't see what the problem is. "And?"

This is such a bad idea. But you'd be lying to yourself if you said you wanted to stop now. Instead you settle on a compromise to ensure that you can at least limit the potential damage on him.

"You have to stay still for me, or you'll tear the stitches," you warn.

He nods perfunctorily in agreement and you don't think he's even listening to you. No surprise there, Miguel has never been the best at listening to yours (or anyone's) instructions. He'll do what he wants as he sees fit.

But you can't find it in you to stop. Not when you wrap your hand around the base of his cock, and the velvety smoothness of it twitch in your grip. Not when you notch the tip of his cock to your slick entrance and can feel yourself dripping down his length.

The only thing you care about is to have him inside you.

You lower yourself onto him, sliding down, inch by maddening inch, as that thickness stretches you to your limits and white hot pleasure invades every one of your cells until you feel drunk on the sensation.

"That's it," he encourages, with a sharp inhale, hand gripping to the sides of your hips. The honed edge of his talons gripping into your flesh, but never breaking the skin.

Your thighs are shaking as you inch down on him until they are pressed flush to his hips, and his cock is kissing that perfect spot deep inside you that has your vision whiten. Thick and sweet.

As promised, he doesn't move. Even though you can tell from the muscle twitching in his jaw, that there's nothing more he wants than to flip you over and thrust into you hard and deep until you're screaming his name with a force that makes your lungs burn out.

You lift your hips, savoring the sweet drag of his cock against your cunt, slow and unhurried until only the blunt tip of him rests inside you and stay there.

"Nena," Miguel says, and the nickname on his tongue sounds like a warning.

He's not a fan of the slow pace you're giving him apparently.

But you've never been one to heed his warnings. Instead you slide down on him, just as slowly, letting his cock fill you at a leisurely pace and it is fucking heaven.

You still as he bottoms up inside you, before you do it all over again. And again. Then again. To each grumpy groan of his that's mixed with pleasure and impatience. Then you do it again.

It's only a matter of time before his short-spanned patience snap. You can practically see it in the furrowed line of his thick brows, as you raise yourself up on his knees. His sharp canines bites down on his bottom lip, breaking the skin and that is all the warning you get before his arms wraps tight around your ribs, knocking the very breath out of your lungs.

Miguel's arms pushes you down flush on his cock, it's strong and demanding. A stubborn grip until he makes sure you've taken all of him to the root. It's blinding you with the force of it, and all you can do as he buries his face, sharp teeth poised at your shoulders, is whine.

Good, it feels so fucking good. The sweet ache of his cock filling every inch of you. You can't think anymore.

You try to raise yourself again on his cock but you wobble, the muscles in your thighs screaming in protest and gives under, unable to lift yourself back up again.

Fuck, you don't know if you can move anymore.

In a split of a second, Miguel straightens up and pulls you into his chest. "So pretty, nena," he groans into your skin, while he ruts up and into you, fucking his cock deeper.

You should probably scold him. Try to stop him somehow, so that he doesn't rip the tenuous stitches on his wound. But you can't bring yourself to open your mouth. Not when it feels this good. Not when aching pleasure is pulling you down under and robbing you of your breath and every word in your vocabulary.

"You feel so fucking good. Stretched so tight around me. Just so fucking pretty when you take my cock."

The sharp edge of his fangs skirts gently across the soft flesh of your throat, and sets every nerve in you alight. Every part of you tingles. From the tip of your fingers to the curl of your toes. That telltale warmth and heat coiling in your stomach and spreads outwards ratcheting up to a fever pitch.

Your orgasm breaks. It rushes over you, hard and punishing. Your body shakes, thighs tensing and your heart is beating hard and fast into a gallop in your chest. You shake and tremble in his lap as it courses through your veins. Lungs squeezed painfully tight as the sweet bliss of it invades your ribs and you struggle to catch your breath.

You still feel it, rushing and pulsing from your stomach down your thighs, it doesn't even have a moment to properly subside.

Miguel doesn't stop. His hands are already on your waist, lifting you up and almost off his still hard cock and you gasp at the shift in pressure inside you. You're clenching down around the fat tip of him reflexively, and there's no time to adjust, no time to think, next thing you know, he lifts his hips while pushing you down on the length of his cock. All in one swift, and harsh, unforgiving motion.

It's so much, too much. You whimper at the next thrust, the whole of your body wracked in shivers as the sensation overfloods your brain. As good as if it feels, you don't know if you can't take much more.

"Keep going, don't stop. I know it's hard nena. I know you're sensitive." he coos, his hands are gentle on your hips, guiding your movements, but for all his sweet cajoling words, and for all that you're struggling he's not easing up.

"Keep going. Keep squeezing my cock like that and I'll fill you up. I'll fill you up with every drop of me."

He keeps encouraging you, as if you have any other choice but to take his demanding thrusts. As if there is anywhere for you to go with how firmly he's holding you to him.

Fuck you can't, you can't-- oh fuck, you're--

Your arms scramble to grab onto something, anything, fingers digging deep into the firm muscles underneath.

It's chaos.

He thrusts up again. Deep and demanding and your brain shortcircuits.

Sharp electricity surges through your spine and it is blinding. All you can do is hold on to him, to claw on and hold for dear life, or you're pretty sure you're gonna fall off the edge of the earth into oblivion if you lose your grip.

Distantly, you hear him hiss in your ear, feel his hips stutter up against yours, cock pulsing inside of you, but you're too far gone to piece it all together.

All you know is that you're coming again or maybe you never stopped and this is that first orgasm still wreaking havoc on your body. Maybe it'll never stop. The sensation feels like a punch to your gut, consuming and all at once. Your eyes must cross behind your head, because your vision goes dark and blank, wiped clean of thoughts. The room seems to tilt, and crash then disappear. There's no weight to your limbs, and your thighs are so numb, you're not even sure they are there anymore. Your body is not your own.

When you come to, you're still perched on his lap. You feel like wrung out and boneless, body spent and broken. His arms wrapped around your torso the only thing that's keeping you upright.

The arms of your leather chair have been scratched up to hell. Long claw marks brandishing each side.

He looks like an absolute mess. Brown curl a deranged mop on the top of his head, sheen of sweat over his tanned skin. But he looks good, messy. Looks fucking beautiful in a way that has your chest squeeze tight when you gaze at him.

Miraculously, the stitches on his thigh has held up somehow and you feel more than a little ounce of pride of your own sewing skills at the feat.

Your hands slide off of him from where they're still gripping on tight onto him and Miguel's eyes follow the motion to his biceps where your nails have broken through skin. The tiny crescent marks looks red and raw and painful.

"Shit, Miggy I'm sorry."

He blinks up at you, eyes a little bit dazed before he breaks out into a smile. He raises his arm and looks at the mark with a pleased and admiring expression one filled with pride.

"I hope it leaves a scar," he says.

Dedication & Credits:

For @thirstworldproblemss who had to listen to me figure this one out, I'm still trying to find my voice for Miguel so sorry if this is a bit clunky for you.

Also dedicated to @guruan whose artwork literally inspires me to write/think/breathe smut 24-7 like a 7-eleven store. It's always open for slut business here. This artpiece with the spread thighs definitely inspired this oneshot.

I don’t have a tag list but please follow me on astroboots-writes and turn on notifications to be notified when I post something new!

#miguel ohara smut #miguel o'hara smut #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara #oscar isaac #miguel o'hara fanfic #miguel ohara x reader #miguel o'hara fanfiction #miguel o'hara fic #across the spiderverse #spider man 2099 #spiderverse fanfiction #miguel ohara #miguel ohara x you #marvel #spiderverse #spider man: across the spider verse

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the-dumpster-fire-of-life · 10 months

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Spider-verse with a S/O that gets hurt often? Idk it this should be put as clumsy but really up to you. Thanks!

(Hello! Sure I can do here ya go!)

Taglist

Reader Who Gets Hurt a Lot

Miles Morales

Obviously he's worried about you

He's telling you over and over again to be careful

Most likely it is because you're clumsy

So he's watching you out of the corner of his eye almost everyday

See you trip over something?

He may shoot a web at you and pull you back up so you don't fall

But the times he doesn't get you and you do get hurt, he sighs and walks over to help you

He's always glad to help patch you up though

Just don't do anything dramatic like go up a tall building

He may actually have a heart attack

A stressed mother vibes

Earth 42!Miles Morales

He's scolding you more than the others

It's because he loves you and he's worried you may actually get hurt really bad one day

He doesn't want it to get to the point of you needing like, really bad medical attention

You've been to the hospital a few times due to like a broken finger or something similar

He was there those times when they happened and he can feel his heart drop

He may be a little like, annoyed, but more at your clumsiness but he's not blaming you

Sorta like

"Just be more careful, ma. You're gonna get hurt even worse if this keeps happening."

He's just worried and wants to make sure you're alright

Stop scaring him, man!

Gwen Stacy

Gwen may laugh under her breath

It's a reflex and she will help you though

Obviously, she's worried but she's more chill about it

Will help you up and bring you to help clean and bandage up your shit

Unless you are one to harm yourself to the point you need medical

Then she flips out and panics

She's worried, she loves you and wants you in good health

She sometimes can't focus on her health due to being Spider-Woman

So she does her absolute best to make sure you're okay

Will poke fun at you

Tease you and shit but it's from a good place

Will pat your newly acquired injury, kiss your cheek and be on y'all's way

Hobie Brown

He's worried but he hides it

He teases you about your clumsiness, especially if you get hurt because you're tripping and falling down all the time

"Falling for me now, are you?"

Sorta shit like that as he helps clean and bandage your wound

He actually likes helping take care of you

It gives him the feeling of something normal in your guys' lives

Even if it's because you accidentally hurt yourself

He's watching you every few glances and normally saves you from getting hurt

Has either w hand on your waist, holding your hand and it's to keep you up

Will pick you up when you fall

He's more calm, hides his worry and teases you a bit

It's from love though

Pavitr Prabhakar

You're both always getting hurt

You both spend so much time patching each other up

Someone when he tries to help you get up or help you when you get hurt, he gets the same exact injury

You guys match wounds and hospital trips a lot

It's something that now bonds you guys together

So much bandaids, so much disinfectant and so much time spent patching each other up

But he loves those moments oddly also

Especially if he has like scraps on his face and your holding his face and patching him up

He gets to do the same for you and you guys just love it

Obviously he's nervous about you getting seriously injured

But he's usually around to stop it

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moonstruckme · 5 months

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love the doctor!remus content!!!

would love to read about him in a similar setting as the last request u did, where reader doesn’t tell him she‘s had to go to urgent care (maybe she lost her phone) and he‘s in his big scary attending mood but the moment he steps into the room and realizes reader is the patient he goes all concerned and cooing and all the interns are confused as to what happened to calm collected and kinda cool doctor lupin :((((

Thanks love!

cw: hospital, mention of stitches

doctor!Remus x fem!reader ♡ 1k words

You can hear him talking as he moves down the line of small curtained-off rooms, your heart contracting at the sound of your boyfriend’s voice but too shy to interrupt him while he’s working. Remus’ tone is clipped and all business, and you can tell by how quickly his voice draws closer that he’s striding toward you in that brisk way he does when he’s busy.

“This one’s already been treated,” he’s saying to someone, “so we’re just checking in before discharge. Let me ask some of the necessary questions first, and then we’ll ask the patient’s permission for you to ask some as well.”

He looks nearly imposing as he whips open the curtain, clipboard in hand and a gaggle of what you guess must be residents on his heels. That all drains away, along with the blood in his face, when he sees you. “Dove?”

“Dove?” you hear one of the residents echo bemusedly.

“Hi,” you say sheepishly.

Remus steps toward where you sit on the bed, concern etched into the twin lines between his brows. “Honey, what happened? You” —he looks down at his clipboard, flustered— “you got stitches in your hand? What’d you need stitches in your hand for?”

You glance between the many sets of eyes in the room, self-conscious in the face of so much attention. “I cut myself,” you answer quietly.

Remus lowers the clipboard, looking devastated for you. “Why didn’t you call me?” he asks, but the reprimand in his tone is barely detectable behind all the fondness coating it. He holds out a hand. “Let me see.”

You give him your hand obediently, doing your best to follow his example and ignore the murmurings from your small audience. He’s painstakingly careful as he removes the bandages to reveal your cut. It looks far better than it had when it had been bleeding all over your car on the drive over, but Remus still coos like it's the most grievous injury he’s seen in his career.

“Seven stitches?” His lips turn down into a pout. “What’d you do to yourself, dovey?”

You see one resident’s eyebrows fly up at the sappy pet name, exchanging a look with the one next to him.

“I was trying to cut up the squash I bought last week,” you explain, unsure if you’re supposed to be talking to the room but directing your words only to your boyfriend, “and my knife slipped. I was going to call you when it wouldn't stop bleeding, but my phone died. I didn’t have time to charge it before I came.”

Remus makes a gruff, reluctant sound of approval. “Well, I’m glad you came but I’m sorry I couldn’t be with you. Did it hurt very badly?”

“Not really,” you lie quietly, but one of the residents behind you goes, “Doctor Lupin, is that one of the necessary questions we’re meant to be asking?”

You flush, and Remus shifts modes in an instant, his look severe as he turns on the smart aleck. “No,” he says drily. “But this is still the portion where you’re meant to be quiet.”

You sort of feel for the resident as they nod abashedly. Remus countenance warms again as he turns back towards you. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here,” he says, still cradling your injured hand in his.

“It wasn’t too bad.”

“Baby.” Remus’ brows scrunch together, the sympathy in his eyes almost too much for you to bear. “I can tell you’ve been crying, darling.”

“Remus,” you chide embarrassedly, looking again to the residents gathered behind him.

“Ah.” He drops a hand to your knee for an apologetic squeeze, turning to face your observers with more of an authoritative air. “Go find somewhere else to be,” he tells them.

They scatter like mice, and Remus huffs when the last one out doesn’t shut the curtain, stepping away from you to draw it closed himself.

“Sorry, I sort of forget they’re there sometimes,” he explains, but he’s already doubling down on the sweetness now that they’re gone, bringing your injured palm to his lips for a very, very gentle kiss. “Did you cry while they stitched you up, honey?”

You might cry again now if he keeps looking at you like that. “A little,” you admit. “I was being a tad dramatic.”

“I doubt that,” he says, thumb stroking lovingly over the line of stitches before picking up the bandage and beginning to rewrap it. “Hand wounds are no light thing. It probably bled a lot, hm?”

“There may be some cleanup waiting for me in both the kitchen and my car,” you joke. Remus gives you a small smile for your efforts.

“Don’t worry about that, I’ll take care of it when I get home.” He finishes bandaging your hand and leans in to kiss your cheek. When he pulls back, his eyebrows have bunched again. “You’ve got mascara tracks on your cheeks,” he murmurs, cupping your face and brushing his thumb over the plane of your cheekbone. “S’breaking my heart.”

“Sorry,” you say bashfully, and he rolls his eyes at you, pecking you again on the cheek like he can’t help himself.

“What’re you sorry for, hm? Well,” he seems to reconsider, “you ought to be sorry about your knife skills, but that’s an apology you owe yourself, not me. I’ll be stowing all the knives where you can’t reach them from now on, by the way.”

“First you’ll have to deal with all the residents you just disillusioned,” you tease him back. “Seems like they used to think you were cool and blase, but not anymore.”

Remus shrugs. “People are multifaceted. If they didn’t know that already, then I taught them something today after all.” He gives you another soft look, though it’s far less worried than the others had been. “My poor darling,” he laments, setting his hands on either side of you to plant one final kiss on your forehead. “Rest here for a bit, and I’ll come get you in a few minutes, yeah?”

“Okay, thanks,” you agree readily, happy to have a ride home considering the state you left your car in. “Gonna go try to restore your street cred with the residents?”

“Dove, don’t be silly,” he says on his way out. “They worship me.”

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buckyarchives · 1 year

Text

second, first meeting | chishiya shuntarou

spoiler warning for ending of aib season 2

after the meteor, chishiya notices the all too familiar person. their a pull towards you - like maybe you’ve met somewhere? (gn reader)

words - 1.1k

a/n: WOW AIB 2 FINALLY OUT AND THE ENDING WAS REALLY GOOD I THINK. anyways arisu and usagis ending was so cute and i needed literally the “have we met?” scenario with ALL of them. and i’m a weak so i made this, very shoot, not beta’d, just a small and sweet drabble. enjoy reading!!!

—

Chishiya is alive.

He sure as hell didn't feel like it, but he was. The meteorite took a lot out of him, physically and mentally. Waking up in the beeping hospital room with a sudden new look on life, and he was going to do something about it. No more being a messenger for bad news, slowly tearing down people's hope one referral after another.

Dozens of people just experienced the same pain and trauma as he walked around him, some looking better than others. A girl with an amputated leg, a man in a coma as he passed by his room, and a girl and boy walking hand in hand with injuries littered over them. Humanity– always finding love in terrible suitaions.

Chishiya stood in one of the hospital common rooms, people-watching as he always does. God– it feels like a lifetime had passed since the meteorite. Chishiya was familiar with the whirring and beeping sounds of hospitals, people chatting and crying, and the strong smell of disinfectants and bleach. He was a doctor, all these things filled his life to the brim, it was familiar.

Even you.

You, who stood across the room; tucked into a corner (like chishiya), people-watching, snacking on crackers, and keeping yourself comfortably hidden. Yes, you’d caught his eyes. But something felt off deep inside his stomach, something was off about you. Almost like you were too familiar, chishiya could see a lifetime in your eyes and this is the only time he's ever seen you. Maybe, it wasn't?

Chishiya knew better than to laser focus on one person in the room, because your head perked up. Right into his direction, but chishiya’s gaze didn't falter– he couldn't even if he wanted to. The pull towards you was too intense, it made him dizzy. shock, confusion, remembrance? Flashed across your face, similar to him.

A small, sweet smile grew on your face. Fuck, what medication did they put him on? That meteorite really did a deal on him because suddenly he can’t breathe. For a moment he thought maybe his stitched came undone, half expecting to see blood soaking his scrubs when he looked down. But no– it was just you. Chishiya’s has never seen a smile so familiar, yet foreign.

Your eyes narrowed in his direction, like you were trying to read him. Something many people found difficult in the past, Chishiya didn’t put up a fight or a stone-cold face. Chishiya narrowed his eyes back, like a challenge.

So wrapped up in you that he didn't see the teenage boy wheeling a little too close to his toes in a wheelchair. “Ow!” chishiya yelped.

“Ah! I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” the boy began to spew out a plethora of apologies, frantically bowing his head to the elder.

“It's okay!” chishiya reassure, the sting in his toe had already been subdued– an easy injury compared to the bandaged and stitched-up ones he gained a few days ago. “Seriously, it’s okay.”

The boys' apologies slowed and he wheeled off, practically still bowing. Chishiya chuckled under his breath at the gesture. Looking back up to find you again, weird– what's got into him? Your spot ghosted empty and chishiya’s eyes frantically searched for you, only to find your back now turned to him and trudging down the hallways. Right as his eyes landed on you, your neck turned and you glanced back at chishiya.

A challenge indeed.

Chishiya curiously cocked his head, looking something like a cat. And then one foot in front of another, chishiya was following you down the hallway. He wasn't sure why, maybe he didn’t need a reason. I mean, he almost died, chishiya felt like he didn’t need a solid reason to do anything anymore besides what he wanted. And he wanted to follow the beautiful, mysterious, and weirdly familiar person around in a hospital. Like cat and mouse.

And that's how chishiya ended up in a quieter, more intimate area. Middle of a hallway, near a set of tables and a vending machine. Usually, where loved one would sit weary-eyed and waiting for good news. You came to a halt, chishiya stopped. You turned around slowly, that sweet smile that made chishiya’s stomach feel weird (apart from the wounds.)

“You're following me.”

Something that would so usually sound like a question, was a statement. Because it was meant to be, because you knew he was from the beginning. You intended on it. Chishiya already likes you. And hell– your voice almost gave him whiplash, so silk and sweet. Echoing distantly in his head, like he's heard it a million times before.

“And you wanted me too,” chishiya replied coyly. His voice felt so scratching and his throat burned as he spoke, being without water and unconscious for too long. Shoving his hands in his pockets, leaning back slightly. Even half dead he must keep up his cool-guy image.

You didn’t reply, only a wider grin growing on your face. And chishiya found it hard to bite back one of his own. How so uncharacteristic of him – he felt so warm.

“Maybe.” you finally said.

Chishiya hummed, beginning to close the distance – one foot in front of another – between the two of you.

You watched him intently, chishiya knew it. Normally he’d perceive this as someone sizing him up, but your eyes told a different story as they trailed up his body. Something that'd make his ears hot and red.

“Meteor?” you asked, gesturing to his wounds. Chishiya nodded. “Me too.”

It was awkward for a moment, but not uncomfortable. The silence was deafening as if it wasn't meant for the two of you. Like there were so many words only on the tip of his tongue, words unsaid, words he didn’t even know – but they were begging to be spoken.

You were the first to break the silence, stepping closer. Now only 2 or 3 feet in front of him. “Have I, sorry, this is weird– but, have we met before? Like even passed each other on the streets.”

“Not to my knowledge.”

You hummed, looking around to avoid the intense eye contact that tugged you closer, and closer and–

“Would you like to know me?” chishiya said, his eyes not leaving yours. A weird sense of home lay in your eyes, chishiya was ready to jump fully in.

You tried to cover the eagerness in you, waiting a moment. Dramatically tapping a finger to your chin as you thought. “I think that’d be nice.”

Chishiyas lip quirked up, following yours.

He may not know you the way he feels, but he will.

#alice in borderland #chishiya shuntaro #chishiya alice in borderland #chishiya imagine #i want to smother chishiya #chishiya x male reader #chishiya x reader #aib chishiya #chishiya headcanons #aib #alice in boderland x reader

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barcaatthemoon · 26 days

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a bad feeling || arsenal x teen!reader ||

your bad feeling before a game ends up turning into your worst nightmare, but your teammates don't let you mope for too long.

"now that is a starter if i've ever seen one," katie said as she put her arm around your shoulders. you had been nervous all morning, nearly throwing up your breakfast before any of you had gotten on the bus. you were playing against manchester united, which meant going against tooney, but more importantly, mary. you had been with arsenal for a little while now, but you hadn't gotten to really play in any of the games against united yet.

"oh yeah, that backline won't know what hit 'em," alessia joined in. she wasn't sure what you needed at the moment, but katie's jokes had been making you smile so far. they wanted you to be relaxed and comfortable. there was a lot riding on this game, but the last thing any of them wanted was to put too much pressure on your shoulders. alessia wouldn't be able to forgive herself if she had done something to cause you to crumble. "you okay?"

"yeah, i'll be fine," you reassured her. a part of you felt like you'd be anything but fine. you weren't sure why, but you felt like something bad was going to happen. there had been something off all day, but you couldn't figure out what it was, so you tried your hardest to ignore it.

on the pitch, things were working fine until they weren't. manchester's girls were being a bit rough with you, which alessia and katie definitely noticed. at the half, katie had absolutely gone off ranting about them, but alessia had distracted you during katie's rant. you were a bit more winded than you normally would have been, but you didn't let the other team's aggression deter you.

"you go out there and score some goals," katie said as she pulled you in for a hug. you nodded against her before she kissed the top of your head and let you go. alessia pulled you into a similar embrace, something that she had noticed leah do during every game that you got to play in. leah's injury was hard on you, but everybody had picked up the slack to make sure that you were taken care of.

you started the second half in good spirits. you managed to get an easy break early on, slipping past their defense with ease. you kept your head forward like you'd always been taught to. the defense wasn't nearly as far behind as you had expected, and when you went to take your shot, one of them came in for a tackle. it wasn't clean, but she hadn't expected to connect as well as she had. your movement mixed with hers had you crumpling to the ground clutching your knee.

"(y/n)?" mary was the first person at your side. she pulled your head into her lap as she rubbed your back. ella was quick to join alessia and katie, as well as a few of your other arsenal teammates.

"i want leah," you whimpered. alessia frowned as she held onto your hand. they all crowded around you until the medics came with a stretcher to take you away. a few quick scans had confirmed your worst nightmare, an acl tear. it was worse than that, but all you had heard was that part. everything else out of the trainer's mouth had been garbled like your head was stuck in a fish bowl.

the rest of the day felt like a blur. you were whisked away to a hospital, several people from both teams and your national team came to visit you. it wasn't until you were back in london at your parents' place that you finally saw the one person you had been begging and pleading for all weekend, leah. she hadn't come alone, having heard how you had been moping since you left the trainer's room in manchester.

"hey," leah greeted you. she was speaking softly, just like everybody had since you got hurt. you were laying up in your bed, confined to your room to rest for a few days. technically, you could move around your house, but you didn't see the point in getting out of bed until you could play again.

"is it okay if i come in?" viv asked from your doorway. you perked up a little, not having seen her for what felt like forever. beth was with her, the two of them rarely separated off of the field. you nodded and scooted over so that there was more room for all of your teammates to come in.

"what are you guys doing here?" you asked. leah took the spot right next to you, the two of you having developed a special bond from the start. you had flocked to leah immediately, but back then, you had just been in pure awe of her. now, she was like your absolute best friend on the team and had stopped treating you like a baby all the time. that wasn't to say she wasn't fiercely overprotective of you like you were her sister.

"we wanted to check on you. i heard you've been having a hard time since the game," beth answered. you shrugged it off, despite knowing that she was telling the truth. you had been having an incredibly hard time dealing with your injury and the reality of what it meant. you were so young, and this was the kind of thing that ruined careers.

"more importantly, we wanted to remind you that this setback is temporary. you'll rest and rehab it, and take care of yourself so that it doesn't happen again, not for a long time at least. you'll bounce back from this because you're young and smart enough to take good care of yourself. i believe in you, we all do," leah said. "isn't that right?"

"yeah, i'll get better," you mumbled. leah nudged you, trying to get you to say it again louder. "i'll get better, and i'll stay better."

"that's right," leah said triumphantly.

"how long are you guys staying?" you asked. you were a bit distracted from your injury, and hopeful that your friends would stay for a bit. since joining arsenal, you hadn't really had much time for friends your own age. they didn't understand the strictness of your schedule and training regiment. it was just easier to hang out with your teammates, even if the age gap meant that you had a lot of differences in interests.

"well, i happen to have a clear night. in fact, i believe that mary and tooney are coming down for a little get-together. if you've got all your school work done, i am sure that your mum wouldn't mind if you stayed over," leah suggested.

"viv and i might even stop by for a bit before her bedtime," beth said. you had finished nearly your entire week's worth of work with an open schedule, which meant you were free to go to leah's for the night. that was something that your mother definitely knew, and had most likely even arranged to get you to come out of your room.

"do you mean it?" you asked leah. she nodded and helped you pack a bag to spend the night. it had been a long time since you'd gotten to attend a team sleepover, and even though you couldn't play and train with everybody else, you were glad that they still thought to include you. you hadn't admitted it to anybody else, but your big fear was that the team would shut you out because you were injured.

#arsenal x reader #teen reader #woso x reader #woso imagine #woso fanfics #arsenal imagine

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blue-mood-blue · 4 months

Text

I’ve grown to appreciate the aus where Shen Yuan enters the story as “Shen Yuan” - same name, probably similar face, generally able to interact with PIDW as himself and change the story through his added presence. I like the sense of “if only you’d been here, things might have been better the first time around” of it all.

And I was thinking, it’s a funny coincidence in that scenario that someone named Shen Yuan gets put into… another Shen Yuan. What are the chances? What a weird twist of fate that Airplane would pick out the name that his most dedicated critic could slip into seamlessly.

What about a version where it’s not coincidence at all?

Airplane goes to school with a kid named Shen Yuan. He’s prickly and hard to approach and a little intense, but Airplane is persistent. In fairness, Airplane is relentless - and maybe it’s a good thing that they end up being friends, because they’re a little too much for anyone else to handle. They balance each other out. They’re the “weird kids” in class and they’re okay with that, because even when they don’t have any words for it, they know they’re not like their classmates, not really. That’s okay; they don’t want to be.

Recesses and breaks are consumed with the elaborate stories that Airplane wants to tell, and all the holes Shen Yuan pokes into them. It’s not mean-spirited, though, even though Shen Yuan isn’t the kind to temper his words. It’s passionate. He cares about those stories the way Airplane cares about them, and it can’t be mistaken for anything else when they lean together conspiratorially across the lunchroom table. They’ve both got notebooks filled with details and characters and monsters. Shen Yuan’s practically got a whole bestiary sketched out in wobbly childhood attempts at art, entries fervently scrawled beside them. Airplane prattles out plots nonstop, always with the promise of shining eyes and being asked “what happens next?”

They come up with a whole world together. Airplane’s going to write about it someday. Shen Yuan is going to read every word.

Shen Yuan misses school. Shen Yuan starts missing school a lot.

Airplane goes to the hospital room instead. He doesn’t think to worry, because Shen Yuan is okay - that’s what he says. He looks okay, and he’s a kid, and it doesn’t feel real that anything bad should happen to a kid. He doesn’t think to worry. He doesn’t think to say goodbye.

It’s one of the older Shen brothers who catches him on the way up to the room one day, in the hallway just outside - snaps at him to go the fuck home, and when Airplane hesitates, pushes him into the elevator and tells him not to come back. “Tells” is a generous way to describe the way the words come out - a growl, a hiss, the sound an animal would make when a hand got too close to a wound.

(It’s not fair to name a villain after him, even if the name never really comes up in the story. He wasn’t trying to be mean. He’d lost a brother minutes before, and he was getting his brother’s friend out of the way so he didn’t have to… see. It isn’t fair, but then, none of it is fair.)

Death feels very real after that.

The notebooks get shoved into a closet, and it’s not until Airplane’s moving out and one falls on him from a high shelf that he thinks about it again. He’s written things, lots of things, but nothing as ambitious as this - nothing as important. It could be good, he considers. He’d promised. Shen Yuan wanted to read it.

The problem was that no one else does, not for a long time, not until Airplane has whittled himself and his art into a corner and into such an unfamiliar shape that he has to wonder how it’s still his own face he sees in the mirror. He has to eat. He has to pay rent. Shen Yuan would yell at him, but Shen Yuan isn��t there to yell at him, and who cares. Who cares if it could have been better? The people who actually are here love it, and it’s paying his bills, and sometimes stories don’t go the way they’re supposed to and the world is fucking unfair. It doesn’t matter.

(It does. But he shoves that thought away along with styrofoam cups and soda bottles to the bottom of a garbage bag.)

Authors are not gods and their power is limited, but Airplane exercises just a sliver of what he’s been granted and gifts an inconsequential sort of immortality. He thinks about making him a rogue cultivator, maybe the kind that goes around documenting beasts and compiling his findings. He thinks about making him someone too powerful for death to touch, or too important to threaten, but when Airplane looks at the world he crafted and everything that’s become of it, it feels like the kindest thing he can do for Shen Yuan is a childhood where he’s loved, and a death that’s peaceful. What does it say about that world, that he’d kill off his best friend too early again instead of making him live there?

(The best writing he ever does is the only, shining moment of humanity that his scum villain ever displays: a lament about death that comes too early, about a brother gone too soon. The commenters praise him. The commenters flatter over how real the emotions feel. The commenters don’t get any response from Airplane on that chapter.)

Death is incredibly real when it comes for him too early, too, still hovering over his keyboard with the story technically finished and incredibly incomplete. Airplane could tell himself that’s because the written version can never be the version in the writer’s head, always shifting and with every possibility still on the table, but he knows better than that. The System knows better than that, with its condescending message about “improving” his writing and “closing plot holes” and “achieving his original vision”...

…and he’s a child again. He’s a child in his own story, he’s Shang Qinghua now without the benefit yet of a peak or cultivation or anything, and maybe he’s a little bitter, and a little scared, and…

And Shen Yuan - with longer hair, with robes, with a couple of older kids watching him from across the street, but undeniably the prickly little boy who used to sit down imperiously across from him and tell him everything that was wrong with the chuck of writing that had been handed to him last period, but with that smile that said he was only invested because he knew it could be better and they were going to make it better - marches up to him with a fire in his eyes and a frown that warns of a coming tirade.

“You told it wrong,” is the first thing he says.

Shang Qinghua wants to ask how him how he’s here, how this is possible, or maybe laugh because, yeah - yeah, Shen Yuan has no goddamn idea how wrong he got absolutely everything.

(Shang Qinghua wants to say “I missed you” and “why did you leave so soon” but he’s here now. He’s right here.)

“I know,” he says instead. “I’m sorry. It all kind of… spiraled out of control.”

Shen Yuan frowns, but then it dissipates the way it always does, and his eyes shine with ideas the way they always used to. “That’s okay,” he relents, grabbing for his hand. “We’ll fix it. We’ll make it what it was supposed to be.”

#scum villain self saving system #svsss #shang qinghua #shen yuan #airplane shooting towards the sky #this got more into the feelings than i thought it would #surprising no one #anyway just! childhood friends au! as a reason for a shen yuan insert!#obviously he is not going to die as a child in this version #shang qinghua would not have that nope not again #also pls consider poor shen jiu who looks at this child that shen yuan has picked out for a best friend like '...really? that one??'#(it's up to you if he's shen yuan's actual brother from his first life)#(put there's a part of me that likes the idea that shen jiu also gets a second chance to spend more time with his brother)#a second chance for them to grow up together!#THAT SAID #RIP TO SHANG QINGHUA #WHEN SHEN YUAN IS OLD ENOUGH TO LEARN ABOUT ALL THE PAPAPA #the LOOKS shang qinghua is going to get #anyway here have a thing because I CANNOT add another au to my drafts thank you and goodbyyyyye

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kisakis-boyfriend · 3 months

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In the animal kingdom, typically the male birds are the ones who are super colorful and do complicated mating rituals such as singing, dance, or gift giving to attract a mate. Since Xiao is a bird type illuminated beast, could you do hcs about what kind of dramatic things he would do to seduce the reader? I wanna see his serious self wearing the gaudiest outfit ever while break dancing lmao

Pairings: Xiao x reader

Warnings: GN!reader, courting rituals, tiny bit of angst

Genre/Format: Fluff; Headcannons

Author's Note: I was today years old when I found out that Xiao is a sort of bird-like creature 😶 Anyways yeah! Hope these are to your liking~

Please check my blog title to verify whether requests are closed or not! Thank you!

I cannot picture Xiao ever breakdancing lol. But! I think he would perform some sort of traditional dance to impress a potential partner.

If you recall the end of Ayaka's story quest (I think?) I'm picturing something very similar; albeit a traditional Chinese dance. Something truly breathtaking and emotional.

Xiao has trouble expressing his feelings and emotions, as well as even understanding human emotions in the first place...but he would still try to convey how he feels about you through song and dance.

Reluctantly, the adeptus may even ask his good pal Venti for a bit of help. Maybe the anemo archon would be generous enough to play the flute or lyre while Xiao courts you?

I also think Xiao is the type to want every detail to be perfect. Elaborate, but not entirely over the top.

A specific location where the scenery is gorgeous; the breeze passes through, the moon shines down on his graceful body as it moves and flows to the music, maybe some leaves fall around him? Or perhaps some aromatic petals?

Of course he's going to wear the most beautiful ensemble during his performance as well. Some sort of hanfu, or hanfu-inspired clothing that flows like the wind.

Xiao is also the type to bring you little gifts in an attempt to court you. He is quite perceptive and can pick up on the things that interest you easily.

A bracelet crafted from crystalfly cores and noctilucous jade. A bookmark made of pressed qingxin flowers. A wonderful blend of tea that Xiao created himself (with a bit of help from Zhongli, of course)

I can definitely picture the adeptus flaunting his strength oh so casually in front of/around you.

He's not the type of guy to flex his biceps for you to squeeze (unless you really want to? Then maaaybe he can make an exception...just this once...just for you)

Though he will jump in to 'rescue' you. By this I mean that he will rescue you from a tiny cut while you're cooking. Not even bad enough to need a bandage, just a small knick.

Xiao will appear next to you ready to whisk you off to the hospital or something...you have to firmly decline and remind him that you're not made of glass. 😐

The sweetie means well, he's just overly protective of the person that he desires spending the rest of his life with 💕

#my writing #genshin impact fluff #genshin fluff #genshin x reader #genshin impact #xiao #xiao fluff #xiao x reader #gn reader #gender neutral reader #fluffy #fluff headcanons #headcannons #requested #xiao x you #genshin x you

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adventuringblind · 5 months

Text

Breaking Point

LandOscar x Reader

Genre: angst

Summary: the tragedy and revival of Lando Norris and Max's sister as told by mostly Lestappen

Warning: sexual and physical abuse. Panic attacks, hospitals, injury descriptions

Notes: I'm sorry to the Carlos girlies for my crimes. T_T he was just a good villain for this story, and I feel so bad about it because he's wickedly out of character.

Masterlist

When Max thought about his sister dating a driver, he thought that meant one. No, instead she's dragging Max to talk to her partners. Plural. Meaning: more then one.

It's not that he doesn't like it. It's just a little shocking, is all. He figured her and Lando would get together eventually since they were similar in age. He didn't know that Carlos was also in the picture.

But Carlos is good guy, loyal, a provider like Max himself.

Plus Carlos is Charles' teammate and they get long. Charles tells him all the time that they have a fun working relationship. The same Charles who is ready to murder Jos.

The Monegasque and him had gotten together in 2020 right after they came back from lockdown. They moat certainly did not follow protocols.

Charles has just dragged Max and his sister into the Leclerc family. A place that they feel welcomed and safe.

Needless to say that Charles adopted the protective older brother role over Max's sister. So when he starts noticing things happening around the garage with Carlos, he's immediately on the hunt for what's happening.

The first sign something has gone wrong is halfway through 2021, about six months into the relationship between Max's sister and her two partners. Living in an abusive household has give all the Verstappen children a unique was of sensing when somethings not right. And right now, it's written all over his sisters face as her and Lando are sitting in Max's driver room.

"How come you're here and not with Carlos?" He asked. They shared a wary glance and shrugged.

"Wanted to see you for a while." Was the excuse.

Charles is the next to notice something. A month after the first incident, he runs into the trio arguing around the side of the Ferrari garage. He listens for a while despite him knowing it's wrong, but he can't help it.

"Both of you are idiots! Am I the only one who cares about us?"

"No! It's just-"

"Shut up and leave me. I'll see you both tonight. Be ready for me."

Charles only peaks out from his hiding space after Carlos leaves. He can see the two shaking and reassuring each other.

But arguments happen all the time, right?

Charles and Max keep a closer eye on them after that. Both the younger seem to be isolating themselves and neither if the older is happy with that.

The next incident is one the should've never happened. Max regrets not seeing it sooner. Charles blames himself for nit seeing the signs.

Their off week in Monaco is an enjoyable one. Charles and Max had gone out to a club with his sister and her partners. They were to wrapped up in each other to really pay attention to what else was happening.

Max's phone rings at an ungodly hour. He looks at the caller ID and something twists inside of him.

"Lando? Everythi-"

"Apartment. Need you please."

Lando sounds winded on the other line and panicked. Then the call ends and Max is left in silence.

He thanks the adrenaline for being able to get Charles awake and into the car. It's a painfully slow drive.

The pair gets through the front desk easily and take the stairs two at a time. They stop at the door and Max tries to listen for anything.

Nothing. Silence. An eery quite that is unatraul for the trio.

Max bangs his fist on the door. There is movment from the otherside as a latch is undone.

Carlos stands blocking the door. "Max?"

"Hey, Lando called and said-"

"Lando called?"

Charles and Max share a look. The spainard doesn't seem right. He's out of breath, his clothes are messed up, and his eyes are rapidly scanning around the area behind them.

"Can we come in? Is he okay?" Charles asks, but receives no response. Max takes matters into his own hands. The little patience he has finally vanishing as he pushes past Carlos.

Max starts searching for his sister and the Brit while Charles confines a frantic Carlos to the kitchen. The apartment is wrecked. There is broken class on the floor of the bathroom.

He stops when he gets to the bedroom. The scene before him sends his stomach up his throat. Lando is frantically trying get his sister into clothes. She's unconscious and Lando is wrecked.

"Max!"

The Dutch jumps into action and attempts to asses the situation. It looks like they were probably having sex (as much as he hates to think about it). How had it gone so wrong?

"What do you need?" He'll ask what happened after they get situated.

"She's unconscious and hasn't woken up yet and I don't know what to do." He says it in one breath. Max registers how small he sounds and the tears on the Brits cheeks.

"How did it happen?"

Max tries to remain calm, but it's getting increasingly difficult to do so as Lando is shaking his head no and continues trying to hoist the girl into his arms, but his body isn't cooperating.

Max does it for him and bundles his sister into his arms. Lando nearly falls over just walking and Max has to call Charles for help.

"Lando- I didn't mean to-"

"Stay away, Carlos. You say that everytime but you never mean it."

A pang of guilty realization hits Max. Carlos had done this? But why? What was he trying to acheive?

The Spainard doesn't follow as they leave the building. He doesn't even try to stop them.

They end up in the emergency room. Lando had failed to mention he is also hurt and now is getting stitches down his back and a brace for his knee. Charles stays with Lando while Max sits with his sister. She's awake but unable to use her vocal chords for the next month at least.

Max is taken off guard when she starts frantically crying for Lando. He does his best at soothing her like his mom and Victoria used to do.

It's hours later when they finally get to leave. Charles sets them up in the guest room of the flat then comes and joins Max on the couch in the living area.

"I don't understand what happened in the slightest." Charles tosses his legs over Max's lap.

"I do. I saw what the room looked like. My sister was unconscious and tied to the headboard." Max chokes on the last part. As if growing up with Jos wasn't painful enough. He'd take her with him even before she was an adult. They worked so hard to heal from the horrors of that house.

"Sexual and physical then? Do you think they will tell the FIA? It could get Carlos dismissed from the sport."

Max shakes his head. There are so few people who even know about their upbringing still. Sure, most have an idea, but that doesn't give any details to how bad it had been.

"One day at a time."

~~~~~

Lando is very keen on not letting her get out of bed the next day despite her best efforts. She takes to yelling at him through text to speech to at least sit up so they can process the events.

They don't get that luxury as Max and Charles are dragging them out of bed for breakfast. It looks worse then it really is, in her head. She's dealt with worse. She could handle Carlos and his anger. One which technically hadn't been her fault but she'd rather it be her then Lando who had originally taken the brunt.

They finish eating in silence. She knows Max is going to get his answer eventually, so she nods at Lando to get him to explain. No point in drawing it out.

"Thank you for coming to get us last night." The Brit starts. His hands now becoming the most intresting thing.

"Are you going to tell us what happened?"

"Things were going well for a while. It was nice and we were all happy and in love and Carlos was sweet and caring."

"But?"

"But I'm not the most well behaved person..." There is a red tint on Lando's cheeks. "Carlos had been struggling with Ferrari and needed a reprieve, and we became that for him. It was consensual and stuff, but then it felt distant. He was doing things we hadn't agreed upon and getting progressively angrier. It became something neither of us looked forward to anymore."

She catches the two older boys' looks. Max is furious and Charles looks betrayed, in a way.

"He um-" Lando breaks. His breathing is more labored then before. The female takes his hand in her own and runs her free one down his spine. "-It escalated when he finally lost patience with me. It was really bad. I've never been so scared in my life. I safeworded out but he didn't listen. Then it kept happening. Max- your sister became your stand in."

Well she was hoping he wouldn't tell Max that part. He didn't need to know the details of what Carlos did.

"We tried to ask for help a few times. Jon walked into my room amd saw us frantically covering bruises. Then Carlos got more mad and more possessive."

"The argument outside of Ferrari. Carlos said he didn't want you guys to be exposed. I thought he meant the relationship." Charles' eyes cloud with guilt. The realization hits him harder then he'd like.

"Yesterday when we went out, I knew it was going to be hard. Carlos had been frustrated more often with Max and his own team so she'd gotten the brunt of the hits for the last month. Then this guy tried a move and it was a downward spiral from there." Lando trails off the story with a shrug and reassuring squeeze to her hand.

"What made you call?" Max is very clearly trying to restrain himself.

"He had a look to him like he wasn't even present. I went to get something for him and then called you. She was already unconscious at that point and Carlos was freaking out so he stared throwing things which is how I got the cut on my back."

Max determines that they will be staying with him until further notice. He tells the staff at the front desk to not let Carlos up. They also end up having to block his number due to the sheer number of texts and missed calls.

Daniel ends up finding out because Carlos won't leave the McLaren space alone. The Austrailian becomes more like a guard dog armed with a friendly smile.

Her and Lando already had a strong bond, but sharing such an experience certainly pulls them closer together.

Things get better one pain stakingly day at a time. Aside from their polar opposite responses. Max says he's getting whiplash from it and Daniel says a few times Zak might have a stroke if Lando keeps up like he is.

Lando had become oddly defiant. He already was in certain ways, but now it's just leaking over into his everyday life. Like setting a oundary wasn't enough, being a brat in the bedroom isn't enough, simply saying no isn't an option. Lando is blatantly defiant and struggles to take any kind d of direction.

Versus his female counterpart who is much quieter. She does anything that anybody asks her to do. She rolls over for them. Because it's better to do that then make it worse for herself. A thing she learned from living with Jos.

Where Lando goes looking for attention, she is avoiding it at all costs. Nobody is sure anymore of how to help them and therapy is a slow process.

Charles reminds Max daily. "One step at a time."

~~~~~

Oscar wasn't sure about his rookie season. His entrance into the sport was not the best and he's received so much backlash that he's prepared for copious amounts if hate.

Lando is friendly with him. Certainly doesn't let himself get close, but he's there for emotional support and advice.

They warm up to eachother eventually. Lando even introduces his girlfriend to him and it feels like he's been succesful in creating some kind of trust between them. Not in a 'your my favorite person' kind of way, but a budding friendship at least.

Oscar, who is just trying to get through his rookie season, manages to screw it all up. How, You may ask, did he do this? Simple, he broke the number one rule of falling for his teammate and his girlfriend. They were not supposed to do this to him! How is he supposed to move forward normally when all he wants to do is join their cuddling session in Lando's room?! All they do is comment him and cheer him up and it does something to his brain that he doesn't like.

Well - he does like it and to much at that.

He'd been in enough relashonships over his life to pick out certain things. Namely, who is typically the more do.inate one. Whether that be life decisions or in the bedroom, it really doesn't matter, but Oscar can clearly see neither of them are.

This leaves Oscar with two options. He can leave them alone and pune in silence, or he can ask Max his opinion because the Dutch driver is honest. He chooses the Latter.

Oscar knocks on the door of the room and hears some shuffling. It swings open and it's obvious Max wasn't expecting him. Chest exposed for anyone walking by to see.

"Oscar? If this is about Lando and my sister then you can come in. Otherwise, leave me alone."

"The first one."

Max steps aside and let's Oscar in. He's met with a sprawled out Charles on the bed who is also only in sweats.

"Oscar?"

"Charles?"

"He's here about the children."

"Oh good! Please end my suffering."

Oscar drags out a chair and sits down. His mind is running every possibility of what this means. "How do I end your suffering?"

Max looks him dead in the eye. "They won't shut up about you and I'm tired of them waking me up everytime there is a decision to be made. They need reassuring for everything even if they agree. And I love my sister, but I also love to sleep."

"They talk about me?"

Charles groans in annoyance. "Non stop, mate. It never ends. Oscar this and Oscar that." He mocks.

"But before you do anything you should know that they've been through some shit together. If you hurt them after they've done so much to heal, I will not hesitate to send you into the barrier."

He thanks Max for the... encouragement? Threat? Both? And then leaves. He goes straight for Lando's room at the Hilton next.

He knocks and again gets met with a sleepy Lando. Cmust be something about tonight specifically because Lando only sleep at inconvenient times.

"Oscar! Everything alright? You look like you've run a mile or somwthing."

Oscar fumbles. He forgot how hard feeling can be. Lando let's him in and he almost just breaks. Both of them were probably all comfortable in bed before he ruined it.

"Osc? Seriously mate? If something is wrong you can tell us."

Fuck it, he's already come this far. Might as well throw all caution to the wind.

He smashes his lips down onto Lando's and pulls off. He's going to get addicted if he doesn't pull back now.

There is no response. A shared look between the two and then a smirk from the Brit which throws Oscar off entirely.

"So you think you can handle me then?"

~~~~~

Lando is very please with the way things have turned out. The duo is back to a trio with Oscar now involved.

It's a different dynamic then it was with Carlos. The Austrailian is more gentle then the Spainard ever was.

They haven't told Oscar all of the details yet. Just that he should be wary of Carlos because he can go overboard and get possessive despite them not dating anymore. Lando won't admit it to himself that sometimes he worries Carlos will actually try something that will have long term consequences.

Oscar, for what it's worth, has fended off Carlos on and off track. He's also more perceptive then Lando had initially though. Or he's just really bad at hiding his emotions. He picks up and where not to touch, things that trigger the two, their reactions to certain events. Oscar doesn't pry, but Lando knows he's catching on.

The hardest part to work through had been the sexual aspect. Talking about it only does so much after a certain point. Prior to Oscar, they'd slowly started to do things. They'd done a few joint counseling sessions that helped them talk through a plan and set some boundaries.

The Australian doesn't push to do anything. But finally, they get to a point where they can talk about it with him. The pair is certainly nervous, but he respects them, asks questions, and clarifies his own boundaries. It's such a drastic turn around from what they had before.

Oscar's patience doesn't waiver, and as they build up confidence, he also gets a but more bold. It just - it works. Lando isn't sure exactly to describe it other then he feels safe, loved, and wanted at all times of the day and it's not just from one half of his partners.

Eventually Lando is able to slip back into the, much more defiant, version of himself. It's fun seeing just how long it takes Oscar to break.

The answer: he doesn't.

That much is made apparent when the trio, Max, and Charles go out for dinner and Lando decideds to test the limits.

Admittedly, he probably went to far. But in his defense Oscar was obviously not giving him any attention. He wasn't meaning to do what he did, it was an accident, and he apologized immediately, but Oscar never wavered. Barely batted an eye at him.

He left Lando with a smirk and a 'We'll sort this later.' They did and Lando was sore the next morning.

They fall into a rhythm. Pre-race kisses and post race cuddles.

Then Carlos shows up again.

~~~~~

She could tell by the radio that Oscar was disappointed with his race. His car had taken damage from Carlos and he'd lost position because of it.

He'd been keeping it off track until recently. Now he's getting more aggressive and frankly, it scares her.

Her and Lando are wary as they walk into his room in the McLaren hospitality. They enter without knocking but Oscar is laying on the ground with his arms open.

"I need a hug."

They oblige and fall onto the floor with him.

"Is it bad that I-"

"If you really need it then we can." She giggles, stopping him before he can get in his head to much.

"How'd you know?!"

"Mate, you're laying on the floor and these suits don't hide everything."

It's so different compared to Carlos. Oscar checks in every few minutes. Reminds them they can say no at any point. It's almost therapeutic, in a way.

They are all very naked and vulnerable at the moment. Which is horrible considering the door isn't locked. Which would normally be fine since it's a rule to knock before entering. In this case, however. It's awful because Carlos has just opened the door wide open.

She freezes; suddenly aware of every sound and feeling around her. Lando manhandles her body behind him and pulls something, a small throw blanket, to cover them. She feels guilty for not giving it to Oscar and leaving him to fend for himself.

Lando's breathing is labored. Her throat hurts from the last encounter they had. The memory burned into her. Her voice strains thinking about it as tears well in her eyes.

"You really couldn't knock? You just had towalk in on us to, as if you hadn't done enough already?"

"Glad to see nothings changed. They're still whores and eventually going to play you."

"Haven't done it yet mate. Personally, I think they are very loyal."

Oscar stand and puts his clothes back on. Almost like Carlos isn't even there.

"Also, for the record, if somebody looks at you with the fear they are, you've fucked up badly. Now if you'll excuse me I have two lovers I need to comfort."

Oscar slams the door on Carlos. Then he pulls clothes back onto both of them. More specifically, his clothes.

"Alright, I didn't want to ask before and figured you'd tell me what Carlos did on your own time. We are officially out of time. I promise to sit here and listen and you can take as much time as you need."

And they broke. Huddled all together and spilling every detail of what drove them this far. Oscar listened intently, validated feelings, and didn't judge. He tensed every occasionally at hearing what Carlos did, but aside from that, he tries not to show his anger.

"I'm going to make a call, alright?"

~~~~~

Max is angry. He's seeing Red and it's not just because Charles is two steps in front of him In a Ferrari shirt.

No, he's upset because Oscar called him and said his sister is crying. The Austrailian is going to have a fist to the face when he sees him. Which isn't long because they are outside of the hospitality building.

Max gets a grip of Oscar's shoulders and starts ranting. He's not even aware of half the stuff he's saying. He doesn't snap out of it until he feels Charles tap his shoulder and tell him his sister has been talking to him for the last few minutes.

Max is about to apoligize for misreading the situation. Then Carlos comes into Oscar's line of sight and the Dutch realizes that even he has a breaking point. A snapping point, more like.

Max is instantly grateful he's gripping Oscar's because the Australian is fighting to get a hold of Carlos. The Spainard is spewing vile thing directed at his sister and Lando.

It becomes a fight between Oscar trying to escape while Max and Charles keep him from doing something he can't take back.

"Oscar!" The pair comes to eye level with him. "He's not worth risking your career." He seems to come to his senses and relaxs. Max and Charles both ease away tentatively.

And Max regrets it instantly as Oscar walks right up to him, but lays not a finger on Carlos.

"Honestly Carlos, was it not enough to break them sexually? Physically? You also feel the need to humiliate them? How would the paddock feel if they knew what you truly are?" It's said just loud enough to elicit a few whispers.

Max and his Monegasque partner (who is also mad at Carlos still) bring the trio to their room and make sure they are okay. He hates leaving his sister like this, but he can rest easy knowing she's in good hands.

"Hey Max?"

"Yeah Charlie?"

"I guess it's the people who are the most patient who snap the hardest, huh?"

And Max couldn't have said it better himself. Maybe it's a good thing he's not patient...

524 notes · View notes

talesofesther · 1 year

Text

I guess that's love

Wednesday Addams x Reader

Summary: Wednesday sees herself stuck in the memory of one night; the night you almost died. She feels it's her fault, your blood on her hands says as much.

A/N: This is loosely based on Can't Pretend by Tom Odell and After Hours by The Weeknd which was suggested by the lovely @abelvrla. Also, I think it's valid to say that this story is mostly me having fun with some of my favorite tropes, so idk if this turned out kinda bad or similar to any of my other works; but I do hope you can enjoy it anyway. <3

Word count: 4,5k of feelings.

Masterlist

It's red. All she sees is red.

It stains the white porcelain of the sink before going down the drain.

Blood never bothered Wednesday, one could say she enjoyed the sight of it.

Now, she's almost rubbing her hands raw. It's a hurried motion, she brushes the soap over her palm with urgency, clawing at her own skin under the running water; yet it's still there.

She feels a little nauseated. Maybe it's because her breathing is all over the place. Sometimes too fast; sometimes not fast enough, clogged up in her throat.

She washes. And washes. And… keeps washing. The skin of her hands becomes reddish. The blood — your blood — eventually, finally fades.

But does it really? Wednesday feels the stain to be permanent.

Looking down at her hands — her vision a little blurry but she doesn't think about that — she catches herself shaking. Her chest is impossibly tight, it hurts to feel the beating of her own heart.

How'd you do it? How'd you get her to dread your death?

She's disoriented when she exits the bathroom, not registering immediately where she is. The white walls of the hospital hurt her eyes.

It's been such a long night.

Is it still night?

The tie around Wednesday's neck seems to be choking her. She reaches her hands up to loosen it, but the feeling doesn't go away. She discards the garment altogether.

That's when she notices the blood stains on the cuffs of her white shirt. She curses under her breath. She wants to throw up. Or change out of these ruined clothes, but it feels like a waste of time.

"…nesday? Wednesday!"

She looks up upon hearing the calls of her name, only to see Principal Weems regarding her with evident worry. She's a little paler than usual, the night definitely hasn't been kind to her either.

There are only a few doctors walking around, some of them give Wednesday a strange look as they pass her by. A pungent smell of disinfectant hangs in the air. The sky outside the window bleeds in soft shades of dark purple and orange — the sun is already rising to a new day.

"You need to get checked out too, follow me." Weems reaches out to Wednesday's shoulder, trying to guide her to an empty room.

Wednesday ignores it, shrugging off the hand on her shoulder. "Where is she?"

Weems avoids her eyes then, sighing exasperatedly because she knows arguing will lead her nowhere; "she's being treated, we'll be able to see her soon."

"I want to see her now," Wednesday states, before walking past Larissa without even knowing which door she should go to.

"She's in surgery, miss Addams," Weems insists, finality in her tone. "We'll only make things worse going there now."

It's funny, how you've always told Wednesday she should put herself out there more, not be afraid to feel or let people close. Yet now you only prove her right in her reasoning that emotions only exist to torture people. Not in a good way.

But she did it anyway, didn't she?

She allowed herself to feel things.

Wednesday is frozen to the pristine tiles, her nails almost piercing her skin as she clenches her fists.

"I'm worried too, but all we can do now is wait," Weems softens once she notices the shaking of Wednesday's body. She takes a careful step closer to the girl, "if you don't want to see a doctor come back to the school with me, take a shower, put some clean clothes on. I'll drive you back when we're allowed to see her."

—

The warm water soothed Wednesday's muscles, it washed away the dried blood from her hair and the dirt clinging to her skin. It was relieving.

She's now standing in front of the bathroom mirror and the reflection staring back at her is not one she easily recognizes. Her skin looks paler than usual — if that's even possible — there are dark circles around her eyes and even she has to admit she looks exhausted.

Wednesday reaches a hand to touch her abdomen, nimble fingers tracing the spot that should be ripped open but isn't. Not even a scar remains; no telltales that she had been stabbed just a few hours ago.

She shivers at the thought. Death's cold embrace is a little more taunting when seen up close.

For a fleeting second, Wednesday catches herself planning to go to your room — as she usually did most nights before she pushed you away. She would sit beside you on your bed, her shoulder would brush yours and she'd comment about how you could even sleep in a bed this small, yet she wouldn't pull away. She'd talk with you about how good it felt to drive a knife into the old pilgrim's heart. Maybe she'd even tell you she had been scared. Maybe you'd try to hold her hand and she'd let you, gripping you tighter than she should.

Your comfort was Wednesday's most prized secret. You were her favorite broken rule.

The salty taste of a tear on her lips brings Wednesday back to reality. The reality where she doesn't have a single scar on her body and you're in a hospital bed fighting to stay alive.

She dries her cheeks harshly, turning around to put on her sweater and dark pants.

—

It's 6 PM when Principal Weems brings her back to the hospital and Wednesday is finally allowed into your room.

There's a stillness to it that she hates. You are too still. Several tubes are attached to your body as you lay on the hospital bed, there are bandages around your torso, some of them faintly tainted red. The machine that tracks your heartbeat is beeping in a lazy rhythm.

Wednesday doesn't dare breathe as she walks closer, stopping right beside you so she can cast over each scrape on your skin.

There was too much blood loss, Weems had told her moments ago. Wednesday knew that, she was the one who kept what was left of your blood inside your body until the ridiculously slow help finally arrived.

Weems also told her the bullet was short of doing major damage, and that despite now being weak, you were lucky and should wake up within a few days.

It does absolutely nothing to set Wednesday's heart at ease.

You're too still.

She can barely see your chest moving with the soft breathing. Your features are so serene, so emotionless. She could say you're dead if she didn't know any better.

Wednesday doesn't move for several moments, it's almost as if she's afraid to. She holds herself stiff at your side, glaring at you as if you'd wake up only to hear her scolding.

She hates that this is the first time she's been this close to you, in what? Two or three weeks?

It feels unfair, unfitting. Like it's all wrong.

But she can't complain. It's her fault.

A vain attempt at keeping you safe. Maybe it only made things worse;

—

"You know, as far as dates go, this is pretty creative," you told her, dodging fallen logs and rocks as you walked amongst the woods.

Wednesday turned back to look at you with an unreadable expression, "no one said this was a date."

"What would you call it then?"

"Investigating."

You groaned, falling into step beside Wednesday. Just so you could see the heavenly way the moonlight shaped her features. There was fog in the cold air, trees nothing but dark silhouettes around you; it suited her. "You're no fun."

"Flattery will get you nowhere," Wednesday felt your hand brushing hers. She hated how it made her focus waver. "Besides, you're the one who agreed to accompany me."

"Of course I did," you explained easily, "you asked me to."

Wednesday gulped, things felt more intimate than they should when the only witnesses around you are trees.

"Why was that?" You dared take hold of her hand then, your cold fingertips closing around her own. She stopped abruptly, and you observed the way her shoulders tensed. "You say you don't need anyone, yet here I am."

Wednesday's breath turned shallow, she didn't feel like looking at you. Because you were right, it was a break in her pattern; her rules.

How'd you do it? How'd you get her to break her rules?

You came to stand before her, your other hand taking hold of her free one so you could pull her closer. And she let you. Another step and any left space between you will vanish.

"Why won't you tell me?" You asked for what felt like the millionth time, but you didn't really hope for an answer.

You're familiar with her. She allows you close; you hold her hand, you touch her cheek, you braid her hair. Yet she never tells you why she allows you to do it.

Wednesday kept her eyes focused somewhere on your lips, counting the specks of color there, still as a corpse.

She saw the ghost of a smile that came to your lips before you leaned closer. And alarms were blaring inside her head, her lungs aching because of how she refused to breathe; yet she didn't move away.

You kissed her softly, gently. Your lips mapped hers in a way that felt like it always should've been.

And she melted against you, her hands clutching yous.

But as all things do, as Goody warned her time and time again; it didn't last. Shockwaves cursed through Wednesday's body and she was taken to another reality.

A reality where you were screaming her name in one second, and the next you were laying on the dirty ground, a pool of blood forming under you.

Wednesday jumped away from you the second she came back to herself, her eyes wide and breathing frantically as she strived to not pass out from what she'd just witnessed in her mind.

You were speaking, trying to reach out for her again as you asked what was wrong.

Wednesday felt her eyes sting, all she could see was your blood on her hands.

—

Her vision from that night came back in the form of nightmares for many nights after. Getting Wednesday to start dreading sleep.

She remembers warning you to never come near her again just before she sprinted away, leaving you alone in the woods with no further explanation. She avoided you, accepting the fact you might hate her, but it was okay because you'd be doing it alive.

All in vain, because her vision became a reality anyway.

"How could you be so stupid?" Wednesday tells you, but only the hospital walls hear it. "Jumping in front of me like that, it was ridiculous. Don't you see it? That's why you should've stayed away."

It's useless, you won't wake up to hear her complaints.

Wednesday exhales sharply and turns away from you, "it shouldn't have happened, I tried to-" There's a lump in her throat, it tangles her words, "but you're so stubborn… If you die before me, I'll kill you, I will-"

I don't know what I'll do. Wednesday thinks to herself. She sits on the chair that's beside your bed, watching through the window as the sun hides behind Jericho's mountains.

"You're missing your stupid sunset," Wednesday finds herself whispering. A last attempt at getting you to open your eyes, because for some reason, you liked to see the ending of sunny days.

Nothing happens. You remain still. The beeping tracking your heart rate is still slow. The room remains too quiet.

Wednesday leans back on her chair, she stays motionless for several minutes; until her hand eventually finds you.

Wednesday wraps her fingers around the pulse point on your wrist, not trusting the machine to tell her you're not dead yet.

She holds tightly onto you. There's no one around to witness it.

—

You didn't wake up for four days. And every day, without failure, Wednesday came to see you. She'd sit beside your bed and wait, sometimes silent, sometimes speaking as if you'd talk back to her.

It was her own way of keeping herself calm, busy.

Though the sleepless nights were starting to take a toll on her; sour mood and thinner patience being her new normal, along with the dark circles around her eyes.

Every time she closes her eyes, she's back there — warm blood on her hands and your life slipping from her grasp — so she refuses to do it.

Enid has seen her roommate nap hunched over her desk too many times to not get worried, but with being shut out every time she asked what she could do to help, she eventually stopped.

Wednesday could hate you for messing up her life.

She doesn't.

—

The day you woke up, Wednesday was nowhere to be seen.

All of your friends came to see you, overwhelming you with love and tales about how each of them missed a part of you in their lives.

You felt sore all over, as if you'd been hit by a truck — getting shot then staying unconscious in bed for days will do that to someone, you figured.

Enid was the one who stayed to accompany you back to school when you were discharged from the hospital, along with Principal Weems, of course.

"It feels like I'm learning to walk all over again," you groaned, one hand coming up to clutch at your abdomen as you got to your feet.

"Take it slow, we've got time," Enid kindly held a hand out for you, which you promptly took.

There are a million questions swimming in your mind, losing these many days from your life feels strange. You halted but the world didn't.

You asked the one that you first thought of when you woke up; "Enid," you stop walking so you can look into her eyes, "how is Wednesday? Did she got hurt?"

A complicated array of emotions pass through Enid's features, too fast for you to put your finger on any of them. She looks at you with something akin to sympathy; "she's… fine." Enid chews on her bottom lip, pondering whether she should tell you or not. Naturally, she can't hold back, "she hasn't left your bedside once."

You must have looked rather surprised, because Enid keeps going; "it's true, there wasn't a day that she didn't come to see you."

You don't know how you should feel. You think it's unhealthy for your heart to be beating as fast as it is right now after what you've just been through, but you can't get it to slow down, not when such a bomb is dropped on you.

Almost a month ago, Wednesday told you to never come near her again. Today, Enid tells you she's been by your side this whole time.

"Why?" You ask.

Enid doesn't know the answer.

—

It feels like a fever dream. Your bullet wound, the hospital visits, the remains of the fight. Everything. It feels like it didn't happen.

Because when you got back to Nevermore, everything was back to how it was. The damage to the school was repaired, classes were steadily going back to being routine, and Wednesday hasn't looked in your mere direction once — she, being the epitome of healthy coping mechanisms and dealing with feelings, avoids you like the plague.

You asked Enid to tell Wednesday that your door was open if she ever wished to talk.

Several days have gone by already and she hasn't taken you up on your offer.

You walk out of the cafeteria with a heavy heart and twirling an apple in your hand. You miss her. You hate how your days still feel hollow without Wednesday's presence on them, it's weird because she's not the type of person who usually makes her presence known; but you miss the weight of her shoulder resting against yours, the familiar comfortable silence you'd share when only enjoying each other's existence while reading.

It's a grey day outside. You see her before you see anything else when you walk into the quad. She has her back to you, black braids haphazardly done falling over her shoulders as she sits with Enid on one of the tables.

The werewolf notices you and waves you over, an encouraging smile on her lips. You give her a look that shows your uncertainty, but she insists.

You take a deep breath and follow the stone path that leads to her table. There's a limp on your steps still, telltales of the fight; sometimes you feel the eyes of your peers lingering on you. You wonder what they're thinking about, what they see when they look at you. A brave hero or a stupid kid?

What do they see when they look at her? A lonely, unfortunate soul or the savior of the school?

You sit down beside Enid, consequently in front of Wednesday, your hands resting in your lap as your knee goes up and down anxiously.

"Hey, how are you feeling?" Enid greets you happily, as if there isn't a tension thick enough to cut through in the air.

The question almost goes over your head. You're focusing on the Addams girl in front of you, on the way her knuckles suddenly go white as she grips the lunch tray like her life depends on it.

"I'm alright," you answer, eyes fixed on Wednesday — she holds you in a trance.

"I've been meaning to ask if you have the notes from our last class?" Enid continues, in a kind effort to make things less complicated.

"I uh-" you start, but cut yourself off when Wednesday hastily gets up from her seat, not sparing you a glance as she turns around and walks away.

You watch her retreating figure, the ends of her skirt bouncing with her steps. With a groan, you begrudgingly take a bite from your apple, "there's no figuring her out, I'm done," you mumble over your mouthful.

Though you're not sure if you truly mean it.

"Don't say that," Enid pouts, keeping her eyes on Wednesday until she disappears through the doors that lead inside the school.

"She made it explicitly clear she wants nothing to do with me, Enid," you shrug, a bittersweet smile tugging at your lips, "I think it's my fault anyway, so… I won't bother her anymore."

Enid turns, straddling the bench she's sitting on so she can fully face you; "what do you mean?"

You breathe in deeply, feeling the familiar flutter in your stomach just thinking about it. "A few weeks before all that shit happened, we shared a- a moment."

Enid instantly smiles, her eyes twinkling with excitement, "you kissed?"

You chuckle timidly, smiling along with the memory, "yeah," but your gaze dropped to your hands right after. "I think it was a mistake."

"I doubt it," Enid tells you confidently then, as if she's in on a secret you're not.

You raise an eyebrow at her.

Enid glances between you and the door that Wednesday had disappeared into, tasting the words on her tongue before she spills them over for you. She breathes in, and relents; "after you passed out…" she gulps, dreadful memory still fresh, "right after you got shot, from the blood loss. Wednesday, she- I never saw her so desperate."

Only from the emotions swimming in Enid's eyes, you could tell she was being honest. You couldn't help the tightness in your chest upon imagining Wednesday going through that.

"It was almost as if she knew you wouldn't make it, that you wouldn't survive," Enid keeps going, "or at least that's what she believed in."

Clarity shoots through you like a bullet as your eyes widened with the words. Ironic much, but that was the feeling.

Because there was a possibility, that Wednesday saw your misfortune before it even happened. Right when you kissed her, no less.

And if that was the case, you couldn't imagine the torment she's been under ever since.

—

The night is calm, you can see clouds shaping the moon as you walk the path outside that leads to Ophelia Hall. It's a little late, just past curfew but you prefer it that way — fewer people around, the hallways will be empty.

It's a struggle for you to walk up the stairs, you have to stop once to catch your breath and allow the nagging pain that shoots up your leg to subside. Details. Tonight feels important, because you're going to see her; you'll make sure of it, even if she insists otherwise.

You stop in front of the dark wooden door. If you strain your ears, you can hear the faint noise of her typewriter. Enid isn't there, you know she's at Yoko's room tonight — her idea, not yours. Privacy is important, she told you, right after all but commanding you to do what you're doing.

With a deep breath in and feeling more nervous than you thought you would, you raise your fist, and knock.

The typing noise stops, you hear her chair scratching the floor. You couldn't breathe even if you tried.

The door pulls open and your heart melts a little at the sight; Wednesday stands in front of you with a hoodie and sweatpants on, and her hair free of braids, clearly not expecting anyone to show up at this hour.

You're snapped out of your trance when you register the door closing again. You quickly hold it open with your hand; "hear me out, please."

"No," Wednesday huffs, "I told you to stay away."

"Yeah, and not much else," you push through, squeezing your way inside her room and closing the door behind you. Wednesday takes a big step back as if you'd burn her. It hurts. "Could've given me a reason."

With a deep breath in, Wednesday sets her jaw tight, "I don't owe you anything."

You avoid her eyes then, "maybe not, but I thought we had-"

"We didn't," Wednesday tells you, the shake of her voice makes you look up, and you think you see her eyes glistening, "we don't."

You nod slowly, and despite the bleeding of your heart, you speak softly; "did you see it?" You chew on the inside of your cheek, fumbling with your hands so they don't tremble, "that night, you had a vision didn't you? About what happened to me?"

There's a sudden stillness to the room that feels awfully familiar to Wednesday. She hates the way she can't seem to control her breathing pattern, she hates that the image of you in front of her is becoming blurry.

"Is that why you've been avoiding me? Because I got hurt?"

Your words urge Wednesday's mind to travel back to that night. She closes her eyes tightly, causing a tear to roll down her cheek and part of her wants to kick you out of the room for making that happen.

"You're a liability," she tells you the first thing her mind conjures up.

You chuckle humourlessly, "ouch, considering I saved your life that's-"

"Exactly the problem." Wednesday interrupts urgently, "are you stupid? If you insist on staying close to me you'll only hurt yourself." Her voice breaks at the end of the sentence, as if it caused her physical pain to speak.

You've never heard her this vulnerable, this scared. Your heart bleeds but for a different reason; for the affection you hold for her, for not being able to protect her from what happened. You take a step further towards her and breathe a sigh of relief when she doesn't take one away from you. "And what if staying away hurts me just as much? What then?"

It's quiet. Wednesday doesn't make a single sound. All you see are her cheeks slowly being stained with tear tracks as they roll all the way down to her chin and drip to the floor, her eyebrows scrunching in hurt. But she's so quiet.

You take one more step. "Tell me why."

A beat of silence, and then; "you made me… care about you and then you go and almost die." Wednesday chokes out angrily.

You smile sadly, finally hearing the words you've been chasing; though you'd prefer them in better circumstances, "caring about people can be… scary."

You don't think she registered that you were so close. Wednesday flinches when your hand touches hers, it's a ghost of a touch, barely there, yet it feels almost like an embrace.

"But I promise you, I'm not going anywhere," you say quietly, tears pooling at the bottom lid of your eyes as you carefully hold her hand properly.

Wednesday is frozen in place, it feels like someone reached past her ribs and is squeezing the organ that pumps her blood. She hates that she must look like a mess, yet this is the first time in weeks that she feels she can actually breathe. Part of her has been stuck on that night — hands stained with your blood as the paramedics take you away from her — until now.

Her fingers tentatively close around yours, her lips part and she struggles a little to get the words out, "it's not a promise you can keep."

"I can try," you whisper. You see it clearly in her eyes; the guilt she's been carrying. "What happened that night, it wasn't your fault, you have to know that, Wednesday."

"It was because of me," she reasons just as quietly, "and almost took you from me."

Goosebumps raise on your skin at her words. Your thumb gently traces her hand. It's private, it's delicate, it's a moment that belongs to you two only. "It'll take more than a bullet for you to get rid of me," you tease with a tearful grin.

Slowly, you bring her hand up so it rests over your chest; her palm flush with your skin as your heart beats rhythmically right underneath it. "I'm right here," you breathe.

It's all it takes for her to, finally, surrender. Wednesday stumbles forward, and you're there to catch her. Her head rests on your shoulder and her hands clutch at the fabric of your shirt to the point of ripping. You encircle your own arms around her waist, pressing her tightly to you.

Wednesday is still mostly quiet, the only thing you can hear if you focus hard enough is the occasional hitch of her breath. But you feel the way her tears soak your shirt, the way her body trembles as she gives her all to contain her sobs.

"There was… so much blood," is all she tells you, words muffled against your skin.

"I know," you slide one of your hands up to her head, entangling your fingers through her hair, "I'm so sorry it had to be you." You plant several kisses on her temple and on her hair, each one is a different promise.

I'm here.

I won't leave.

My blood will never be in your hands again.

You think she understands, because you feel her own lips brushing the skin of your shoulder; cold, damp with tears. Tender.

I love you.

⋆* ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Thank you for reading this little story. Feedback and reblogs are literally what keep me motivated to continue posting here, so I'd appreciate it if you could take some time to reblog and comment if you want. <3

Wednesday’s taglist: @milkiane @bookfrog242 @heelaechan @imagine-reblog @sakurarukas @bluetreecloud20 @the-night-owl-blr @imlike-so-gaydude @user284747 @dreifhraniquo29 @emeraldevan @simp4nat @boobabietch @impossibleliv1031 @deadpool-in-a-snood @rainbow-love4ever @maria-403 @pompompuri @halleest @wandaromanova @marveloussimp @rainbow-hedgehog @left-and-right-up-and-down @get-the-fuck-outta-here @awolfcsworld @elduster @alexkolax @georgi-salva @imdumbhi @youralphawolf72 @reginassweetheart @justyourwritter69 @yangsroboarmm @8e-h-e8 @irish-piece-of-trash @femalehomosexual666 @wol-fica @wednesdays-woes @vorsdany

#wednesday addams x reader #wednesday addams imagine #wednesday addams x fem!reader #wednesday addams #wednesday #wednesday addams x you #wednesdayedit #imagine #fanfic #fluff #angst #wednesday addams fanfic #jenna ortega #wednesday x reader #my story

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thedarlingdearestdead · 7 months

Text

Bedrest:

Summary: Anakin has been running himself ragged over the months of the war, but he persists, because he is a Jedi. However, when you try to join him on the front lines he gets angry, the two of you need to work out your overworking issues...

Warnings: Violence, angst, fluff.

Word count: 1,880

“What are you doing here!” Anakin yelled over the din of battle. He was sheltered behind an outcrop of rock, had paused to catch his breath, lightsaber still turned on and poised for attack when he saw you. A few metres behind him, talking hurriedly to one of the clones behind a similar structure.

You looked up shocked. “Anakin?” He should not be here. You were about to give him a right telling off when an explosion hit one of the space crafts to your left. You duck for cover and hear him yell over at you. Running in his direction, you use his angry voice as a guide through the smoke and sand.

“Over here! Force, get down!” He pulls you by the sleeve, just in time for a blaster projectile flung through the air at the space where you had been moment ago. You coughed for a moment and he surveyed you for any serious injuries before jamming his elbow into your ribs. “I thought you were doing a diplomatic mission on Naboo? What do you think you’re doing here!?”

How dare he. “Me? I got a message not two days ago that you were disposed to the hospital wing because of a serious head injury! I was sent in as a reinforcement. What could you possibly be thinking coming out here!”

It was true that Anakin had been badly hurt and was currently running on adrenaline, two hours of sleep, and a copious, possibly dangerous, amount of pain medication. But he was a General, he needed to be here. And his Padawan was out there too. He looked down at you, the anger and stress he was feeling radiating off him in waves.Rather than scare or intimidate you however, you only felt yourself get more frustrated at him. For years you had known eachother, grown up together, fought together. And all that time he had pulled stunts just like this one. And he would get away with it. He always got away with it. But at what cost?

"Who went and told you that I was with the healers?" He asked grumpily, sending a quick look over your shelter at the battle ahead of you both.

"Who do you think?!"

He groaned ducking back down, "Damn it Snips..." He thought for a moment. "Look it doesn't matter now, we'll talk about it later-"

You started to protest but he cut you off, "What we need to focus on is getting to the control tower. So you wait here and I'll go-"

"Shut up Anakin." You rolled your eyes, endlessly annoyed with his selfish, protective, recklessness.

"What?"

"If you really think that I'm going to let you go out there by yourself then you're more hurt than the medics said. Come on, let's go."

"But-"

"No."

He glared at you for a second but you held his gaze. Finally he relented, sighing and looking up to the sky - or what you could see of the sky through the chaos and fumes.

"Alright, fine." He conceded and you smirked a little, standing up and moving to the next safe place to shelter behind, before he could change his mind. You heard him stand and follow you...and then stop.

"Oh great." You turned around and saw him bent over, trying to catch his breath. Hand clutching at his head for a moment, before falling back down. He shut his eyes for a moment, clearly gathering his strength, separating his mind and body so that he could continue. "Don't say a word." He said dangerously coming back to the battle, his stance fixing itself immediately upon opening his eyes again.

The conflict was long and hard but the two of you infiltrated the line and made your way to the control centre and cut off the power grid, there was a communications black out for the enemy and in the confusion your forces had taken the base. Anakin hadn't stopped moving the entire time and had been limping for about an hour now on and off. He had been walking on his bad leg for a while now though because of his various meeting with the other generals and the Jedi council, not letting them see his weakness, or see to his injuries. The idiot.

"Anakin." You caught up to him, grabbing his arm as he finished the evacuation discussions with Commander Rex. You pulled him away into a quiet hallway.

"What?" He hissed down at you, moving from diplomatic to surly in seconds, he was in pain. His whole body was stiff and you knew from experience that he was barely keeping it together.

"I need you to stop. Just for a minute. Master Che is free, we should go see her!" You pleaded with him, your own body was exhausted from the fighting, you hadn't slept in nearly two days. But you were nowhere near his condition.

"I'm fine." His voice was cold and stubborn and you knew what you had to do to get him seen to.

"Ok well I need to go to her, please come with me." You talked through gritted teeth, hoping that he'd interpret it as pain rather than frustration. He paused for a second, watching you, and you could almost feel his mind whirring as he debated whether or not to follow you. He finally relented.

"Fine, but if I'm called I can't promise to stay long."

"Of course Ani, let's go."

"You what? You can't call me that."

"Yes I can."

"No you can't, not in public at least."

"We're not in public we are alone in a hallway"

He stopped and looked down at you. A cheeky grin playing on his lips now. "We are, aren't we?"

"Don't even try that with me right now." You say, and you march in front of him, ignoring his childish huff.

As you make your way to Master Che's room, you can't help but feel a sense of unease. The war was taking a toll on everyone, and Anakin's behaviour worried you. You had always known him to be reckless, but now it seemed like he was actively seeking out danger. You had to do something, but you didn't know what. The battle was over, and you had both made it out alive. But luck always runs out.

You pushed the thought out of your mind as you arrived at the temporary medical room. It was not the most crowded one you had seen, a smaller number of casualties had been listed on this occasion than many of the other battles you had served in lately. Master Che was just standing up from the side of a cot in the corner when she looked and and saw the two of you enter. Her look was nothing short of livid, full of disapproval and anger. But she swallowed it, walking over slowly to where Anakin had already planted himself on a bench - not a bed, he would not be staying long.

“General Skywalker. I believe my instructions was rest?”

She picked up a scanner unit and started to examine the wound on his leg. Tutting under her breathe all the while. It was a pretty nasty blaster burn by your reading of the scans, one which would require weeks of healing and care. But Anakin was already leaning forward to on of the medical trays, grabbing a handful of pills and shimmying off the remains of his trouser leg, leaving his leg bare from the knee down. “Bandage me up and I’ll be on my way. I have things to attend to, and you have more injured men than me.”

Master Che sighed heavily, but you could see the resignation in her eyes. She knew there was no point in arguing with Anakin when he got like this. "Fine, but those pills will only get you so far. When you arrive back at the temple you must rest, one week will stop you from harming yourself permanently but I would recommend at least a fortnight. And I mean it, Skywalker, or else I'll have you confined to the medical bay for the remainder of the war.”

Anakin nodded curtly, and Master Che began to tend to his injury, muttering to herself about Jedi who never listen to instructions. You stood awkwardly by the side, unsure of what to do. Anakin's demeanour had changed completely now that he was getting medical attention - he seemed almost relieved to have the chance to sit down and take a break. You wondered if he had been pushing himself too hard, too often.

As Master Che finished her work, she turned to you. "And you, young one?” Her eyes scanned up and down your body but you hadn’t been so unfortunate as your companion. “Let me stitch that up.” She gestured to your head and you hand instinctively reach up to the space above your eyebrow, it came back bloodied.

“I hadn’t noticed. Yes, please.” You sat down, ignoring a look from Anakin. He was brooding now. You hadn’t noticed. Blood was pouring over your forehead and all you could do was nag him about a burn?

When she finally finished you both got up quickly, relieved. Master Che surveyed you both. “I don't want to see either of you back here anytime soon.”

You nodded, and helped Anakin to his feet. He was still limping, but he seemed to be moving a little better now. As you walked back to your quarters, you couldn't shake the feeling of unease. You knew the war wasn't over yet, and you had a sinking feeling that things were only going to get worse.

Anakin seemed lost in thought, his brow furrowed at you. He didn’t acknowledge you hands on his arm, steadying his walk. You were certain he would reject it if he did.

“It scares me when I think of you in battle. It’s hard for me to watch.” He said quietly, lowly.

“It’s my job Anakin.” This was a well worn argument between you two.

"I know that, but it doesn't make it any easier. I worry about you." Anakin's voice was soft now, almost vulnerable. It was a side of him that you didn't see often, and it made your heart ache.

"I know you do, Ani. But you know I can take care of myself." You squeezed his arm gently, trying to reassure him. He looked down at you, his eyes filled with a mix of emotions that you couldn't quite place.

"I know… I know I just can’t help it… I don’t know what I’d do without you.” He leaned down, his lips brushing against your forehead. It was a gentle gesture, but it sent shivers down your spine. It was far too intimidate and action and so close to the other soldiers but you allowed it. Basking in his warmth, his smell. It was smoky, and sweaty, and a little bit bloody. But when wasn’t he these days?

You take a quick glance either side of the corridor and give him the quickest of kisses on the lips, he leans forwards into it preventing you from getting away. You grin into him but do pull back, “Come on General, bedrest has been ordered.”

#star wars #anakin skywalker x reader #anakin skywalker #star wars fanfiction #star wars anakin #clone wars #anakin x reader #star wars prequels

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florence-nomachine · 4 months

Note

Hi, if you're fine with it could you write doctor!William and patient!fem!reader and William fucks the reader in her hospital bed after lying to her about something. What it is, up to you. Happy holidays!

A/N: Thanks for the respectful ask Anon! Happy new year!!🎉 The irony of this was that the day before I got this req I’d literally read a fic for another fandom that was similar to the concept lmao. I’m sorry it’s taken a while, thanks for being patient! :)

WARNING: Reader is a little naive, or has amnesia (You chose). Below the cut will contain dub-con, manipulation and abuse of power. Minors DNI, and read at your own discretion.

“Dr Afton…Am I going to be okay?”

“Of course, sweetheart. You’re under my care after all…”

You’d come to Dr Afton a few weeks ago, concerned with the fact that you couldn’t seem to fall asleep. You’d tried essential oils, music, even pills - all to no avail. Now, not only could you not sleep, but you were even more tired than before, becoming no stranger to headaches and irritability.

William had almost cum in his pants when you’d come back to him, eyes heavy and on the brink of tears; desperate and pleading for him to ‘fix’ you. In that moment, he almost felt bad that he’d given you stimulants, the same given to people who suffered from narcolepsy.

Today you were lying flat on the sterile medical beds, face up as your legs were spread in stirrups. Dr Afton had requested you to take off your underwear, and your pussy was exposed to the cool of the room. You were a little embarrassed, but luckily a sheet was draped over the bottom half, so you couldn’t see the man’s face.

“What is it?” you asked slowly, hearing as the man clicked his flashlight off. He sighed and hummed, and you’d come to know that it wasn’t one of promise.

“Forgive me for asking, sweetheart, but…How many sexual partners have you had?” he said, clearing his throat.

You swallowed.

“Um…One?” you said unsurely, biting your lip. “It was a while ago…On prom night,”

“Hm,” William said, and the corners of his lips twitched into a smirk. He didn’t know how you’d made it through three years of college without sex, but he was certainly glad. “I think I’ve found the source of your problem…”

“Really?” you squealed, and William adjusted his glasses in anticipation. Even though he’d locked the door, there was still a risk. If a nurse was to try and wander in, it would certainly ring alarm bells. He’d have to make this quick.

“Uh-huh,” he sang, and you were pleased to hear the glee in his voice. Dr Afton took his job so seriously! “Sweetheart, the source of your insomnia isn’t from the head - well, not directly - but your hormones. Most specifically, your endocrine system,”

“Oh,” you said. You remembered that stuff from high school. But how did that have anything to do with sleeping?

William sighed.

“The secret to a good night's rest is simply through achieving orgasm. You haven’t had sex in four years - and I assume you don’t masturbate - and your hormones are all messed up because of it. Upon reaching orgasm, we release oxytocin - the happy hormone - which in turn makes us relaxed, and then sleepy. Not to mention the physical movement that comes with sex,”

You were in shock. How could it have been so simple? How were you going to start having these, let alone every night so that you could sleep?

“Dr Afton, I –”

“No worrying about it, darling,” he hummed, beginning to shush you. “I’ve got just the thing…”

He was oh-so quiet as he zipped down his pants, his already hard cock jutting out of the hole. Taking off his gloves, he gave himself a few languid strokes before placing a hand on your knee, peeking over the cloth to get a glimpse at you. You were staring up at him with curious eyes, squirming slightly under his cold hands. It was different without his gloves.

“I’m just going to run a few tests, okay?” he smiled, blue eyes wide and sparkling. “It may hurt, and it might feel a little uncomfortable, but it’s going to help, okay? Call my name if you want something, alright?”

You nodded.

“W-What is your name?” you said, suddenly shy. Calling a doctor by their first name felt strangely intimate.

“William,” he said, nodding at you before he disappeared back under the sheet, placing his hands on your thighs to signal for you to spread them apart. As you did, he lined his cock up with your entrance, taking a moment to rub his nub; pink and leaking with precum, along your folds. He let out a low groan as he felt you tremble.

“Just one of my tools, baby,” he assured you. “Don’t worry, it’s sterile, of course,”

You shut your eyes and scrunched your nose at the feeling. Whatever William was using was warm, slightly sticky and thick, yet it was making you feel good. You felt your thighs begin to quiver in anticipation, a hot, pulsing sensation rushing to your privates, in turn making it easier for William’s tool to glide across your pussy.

He hummed at the feeling of you growing wetter. Slyly, he placed his thumb onto your clit, beginning to rub it in circles as he pushed his head into you without warning, making you gasp. He hissed as he sank deeper into you, hands gripping the styrofoam of the chair, his body looming over you slightly. He could see the top of your face, eyebrows furrowed to the ceiling at the strange sensation, your lips slightly parted and wet. He longed to be able to kiss them; to hold you a little closer as he took all of you, but time was of the essence.

“You’re doing so well, sweetheart,” he smiled. “Almost there…”

He grumbled, choking back a moan as he bottomed into you, glancing down to admire your skin-on-skin contact. You were so fucking tight, and wet, that he was surprised he hadn’t broken you - much more he cum right on the stop.

“W-William…” you moaned, covering your mouth at the whorish sound. “It’s — The tool…It’s big…”

“Does it feel good?” was all he said, and he smirked as you nodded, a small whine escaping your mouth as you did. The man chuckled and adjusted his glasses. “This is gonna put you to sleep baby, I promise,”

He withdrew his hips before slamming them back into you, your head lolling against the rest. The sudden pressure was alarming, but it felt amazing, and as if a miracle had taken place you could feel your body relaxing already. Your breasts moved with the contact under the plastic garment, and you reached up to cup them, in turn making you feel even better. William grinned, watching in awe as your pussy took him completely, keeping up with the frantic movements from his greedy thrusts. He wished you were a virgin, that he could’ve popped your cherry right there and then, hugging and comforting you at the fact that you’d bled. Still, you only having one man (boy was the far more accurate term) was far better than two, and he could tell that you moaned and gripped him that this was what you were missing in your life. Desperate to bring you to your peak, he rubbed your clit eagerly, the feeling of his throbbing cock sliding in and out of you effortlessly bringing you to a point of overstimulation. Your raw nipples rubbed against the material of your gown, creating a friction that both pleasured you and made the nubs harden further, practically displaying themselves for William. A thumb on your clit turned into an index finger in your pussy, gently moving against the man’s own base. William’s grunts, the filling, yet rhythmic sensation and the build up of tears in your eyes at your sheer emotion was building up to too much.

It was bittersweet agony when you came. You didn’t know for how long, but you knew you blacked out, eyes rolling to the back of your skull as your chest heaved and legs quivered. For a moment, William was nothing, just a figment of your imagination, but a wet, sticky sensation filling your cunt and dripping down your thighs brought you back to life.

Your limbs felt lifeless, eyes heavy, and a warm feeling spread across your body. Dr Afton had been right all along.

“I hope you feel better, sweetheart,” he said, words nothing but a jumble in your brain as you came down from your high. “Do note that this is only a temporary fix – I’ll need to see you in three days for an immediate checkup. From there, we’ll need to work out a year-long schedule. It’s imperative I monitor your progress.”

#sorry for any mistakes lmao #florence writes!!#cw: dubcon #william afton x reader #william afton smut #perv! steve raglan #perv! william afton #steve raglan smut #steve raglan x reader #fnaf smut #request fill

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pasta-in-the-pudding · 2 months

Note

Can you do Jeff, Ben, Liu, Masky, EJ, and Toby with a child experimented reader? Like they have scars and there wrists are swollen from being restrained, and everything?

𝕀'𝕞 𝕤𝕥𝕒𝕣𝕥𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕥𝕠 𝕘𝕖𝕥 𝕜𝕚𝕟𝕕 𝕠𝕗 𝕨𝕠𝕣𝕣𝕚𝕖𝕕 𝕗𝕠𝕣 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕘𝕦𝕪𝕤 𝕙𝕠𝕨 𝕕𝕠 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕔𝕠𝕞𝕖 𝕦𝕡 𝕨𝕚𝕥𝕙 𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕤𝕥𝕦𝕗𝕗/𝕝𝕙

ℂ𝕣𝕖𝕕𝕚𝕥𝕤 𝕥𝕠 𝕕𝕚𝕧𝕚𝕕𝕖𝕣 𝕘𝕠 𝕥𝕠 @𝕒𝕟𝕚𝕞𝕒𝕥𝕖𝕕𝕘𝕝𝕚𝕥𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕘𝕣𝕒𝕡𝕙𝕚𝕔𝕤-𝕟-𝕞𝕠𝕣𝕖!! 𝔾𝕠 𝕗𝕠𝕝𝕝𝕠𝕨 𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕞 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕤𝕦𝕡𝕡𝕠𝕣𝕥 𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕚𝕣 𝕨𝕠𝕣𝕜!

𝕋𝕙𝕒𝕟𝕜 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕤𝕠 𝕞𝕦𝕔𝕙 𝕗𝕠𝕣 𝕣𝕖𝕢𝕦𝕖𝕤𝕥𝕚𝕟𝕘!!

Jeff the Killer

He's a total insensitive asshole at first

"God damn kid, the fuck happened to your wrists? You cut yourself or somethin'?"

When you start sniffling and crying he knows he's fucked up

"Oh shit, wait hey I-I didn't mean it!"

One 3 hour long lecture from Slender and EJ later about how you do not in fact, cut yourself, you were held as an experiment for your entire life, he feels like he's come out a changed man

He is too much of an asshole to apologize, but he will try to make it better by initiating small talk

"You know, I was kind of an experiment too in a way"

"Really?"

"Yeah, I mean you know, I definetly didn't have it as bad as you but when I was growing up, my parents would force me to do things just to see how i'd react. And you know, how I look now is kind of a result of that"

You definetly don't like him after that, but you feel a little better

Jeff is an acquired taste for most people

No one just likes Jeff when they meet him LMAO

But as he continues to try and relate to you, you can commend him for trying

You still don't like him that much, but he's alright

Ben Drowned

He doesn't even mention it

He notices your scars and stuff, yeah, but he doesn't bring it up

1, he doesn't care enough to ask

2, he doesn't wanna make you upset

But sometimes, it's the guy that's too busy playing video games to actually listen to what you're saying that people trauma dump on

Which he doesn't mind

He's not a gossiper, and he forgets everything so chances are, if you tell Ben something, he's taking it to the grave

Er...second grave???

So as you sit there, telling him all you endured, he just sits there quietly

Maybe occasionally popping in with a "Damn that's crazy"

He probably isn't listening im sorry

Or maybe he is idk

The only way to really tell if he was is if months later, you mention something offhand and he's like

"Oh yeah I remember that. That's when a little bit of your skull was removed, right?"

And you'll just look at him like 'you were actually listening????'

Homicidal Liu

Liu, like Ben, notices but doesn't say anything

He and Jeff had a similar childhood, but even if he didn't, he still wouldn't risk bringing up trauma

But sometimes he gets a little concerned

Like if your wrists look a little more swollen than usual, then he will ask if he can see them

And he'll carefully look them over before getting an ointment that's supposed to help with swelling and rubbing it on them

He also has a lot of scars, so he gets the insecurity that comes with them

If he notices you covering up your arms or neck or wherever, he will offer one of his cardigans or scarves

And he will help adjust it so that it fits on you just right

Once it's on he will tell you how amazing you look

And if you really wanted, he'd let you keep the stuff he gives you

Or he'd go out shopping with you for something that better suits your style

Whichever you want, really

Eyeless Jack

He's probably one of the first people you meet when you get to the manor

And probably the one you see the most often

He is tasked with giving you your daily medicines, checkups, etc

He understands that a hospital room probably will bring up some trauma for you, so if you want to do your checkups in your room or somewhere else in the manor, he'd allow it

Really all he does is put lotion on your bruises, anti-itching ointment on where you were bound, cleaning and bandaging wounds, cleaning your scars, and giving you any medicine you might need

After that, he reminds you to be careful around your bandaged areas, and to try not to itch where he put the ointment, and then you're good to go

If you want, he'll give you a candy of your choice and a sticker

You do have a designated therapist, like all other members of the manor, but if you wanted to open up to him too he'd be ok with that

You opening up about your experiences also helps him give you the right medical treatment

And he assures you, that he and every other medical professional in the manor will never treat you how you were treated then

Of course, he understands that overcoming trauma is a process, and especially with medical professionals in your situation

But he will continue to accommodate whatever you need in the meantime to make you feel more comfortable

Toby

Toby from the beginning makes it clear that you can talk to him anytime you need

He loves helping people feel better, and would love to help you feel better

So if you do decide to open up to him, he will show you his own wounds and scars to make you feel better about them

He also helps you see that taking your medicine is cool and radical

(Take your meds kids, they're there to help you)

He will accompany you to the medical wing when you are finally able to go into hospital rooms

He wants you to feel safe, and if you need a break, he will be there to comfort you

He will also let you come with him when he needs to go to the medical wing, just to show you that everyone needs medical help sometimes, and that it's not scary here

He will let you touch his bandages so that you can see it's completly normal and helps your body get better

He's definetly the best to have around for medical reasons

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