#guysssssss

DIRECTOR GERARD! BALLERINA reader!

dddne. hurt/comfort,,,,, oughhhhh

you've been in bed the whole day. rolling around and over in the sweat matted sheets in gerard's bed.

he went hard last night. really hard. he had suggested blood letting to pale out the colour of your skin. he spent the previous evening digging a scalpel into the Achilles of your ankle, then holding your leg over the basin of the sink as he squeezed down on your lower calf and watched on as your head swam. blood drooled out of your leg like turning on a tap. it felt worse than any drug he's forced into you. and now you feel weak and lost as you hunt down a glass of water on his cigarette covered bed-side table.

he fucked you over the sink last night-forced your face into the mirror and held out eye contact with you as he streaked blood down your waist and thighs. now you sit up in bed- the brown-ish stains of dried blood freckle your skin like paint splatter. you hear rustling in the kitchen and have the urge to hide under the covers, force yourself away from him- but the door kicks open and curiosity gets the better of you- and there gerard stands. holding out a silver tray, on which is a mug of coffee, a glass of what you would assume is tomato juice and two low dosage pain killers.

"it's-it's good for dizziness, the-the juice-"

and you nod. shocked. he looks worried. probably slightly freaked out by the fact you fainted last night- hitting your head on the cold tile of his bathroom floor. he walks over, placing the tray next to you, and moves out of the room again. you take the coffee in hand, sipping it slowly and listening curiously. he comes back again. this time with a enamel bowl filled with warm water and a sponge. "you-you don't have to let-let me-"

do-do it.

he walks over quickly, nodding for your to lift your legs into his lap. his touch is so soft it feels like a feather gracing over your skin. and he was right, in the cool morning light- your legs look so pale its almost like you're made of cream felt. the fuzz of lanugo making you appear like you're covered in velvet. he strokes a hand over your calf. an apology. then he drapes the warm water over you, warming your skin from the outside in.

and you forget, sometimes- that he wants to take care of you. you were a fighting bird- you bit back the first few months. avoiding him in practice and kicking back when he made advances. he's had to beat you into the submissive state you live in now. Forced you to be weak- be dependant on him. and you do feel like that now, as the he is the one who bled you last night- fucked your lifeless body on the bathroom floor and carried you to bed. he is the one now who cares for you, cleans the mess he made, he is considerate in that awful way.

you feel too grateful for words- feel too weak to argue with the kindness you are being offered. you spread your legs so he can clean you better- but what you're really showing him is the product of his actions between your legs. your cunt puffy and bruised as he hums a soft "-so fucking sorry-" and wipes the warm sponge over the abused area.

you don't get why it feels so good, to be broken and put back together- but when he kisses your pussy, mouth drooling and eyes wet and wanting- you nod like a princess would to a squire and sigh into the relief of his mouth.

that night, you guys get silly-drunk with amaretto and watch vintage movies. smoke so many cigarettes your voices get hoarse, then he changes your bandages on your ankles before you both slept, tangled together in the bed.