Tokyo Ghoul Stitches Novels & Stories

“Now we stitch it.” My eyes widened. “We?” “You’re doing the stitching.” “Nope.” “Aurora.” “I changed my mind. You are dying.” Another weak laugh escaped him before he winced in pain. “Open the suture packet.” I obeyed reluctantly. “The needle is curved,” he explained. “You push through one side of the skin, then the other.” “I know how stitches work in theory.” “In theory?” “Yes, because unlike you, I don’t apparently live in a mafia torture dungeon.”

Her face was drenched in tears; her continuous cry of pleas was echoing in the room with every attempt to push himself in, but they only acted as fuel for him as he mercilessly thrust into her. After moments of pain and shame, Adam finished his business and rolled to the side. He took a minute to inspect the lady, from the face to the curled toes. There was nothing on her pussycat but his clear cum. “You were not even a virgin, and yet you played so hard. Well, you have lived the experience with Adam Stone De’Leon; do you think you can still resist me?”

*SPLASH* A splash of water slammed into my face like a punch. Ice-cold, deliberate, merciless. I gasped—lungs snapping awake—body jerking back to life. My head throbbed, my arms screamed from how long they’d been bound, and my vision blurred before slowly adjusting to the dimly lit room. Chains. Around my wrists. Ankles. Neck. The taste of blood sat on my tongue like a warning, metallic and warm. I looked down at the blood-soaked bandage around my arm. Someone patched me up. Ładny

It burned like fire. She screamed, her body jerking. The thread pulled tight, each stitch a fresh stab. Tears streamed down her face, mixing with blood and water. Her head pounded, waves of hurt crashing over her. She bit her lip to stop the cries, but sobs escaped anyway. The doctor worked fast, no words of comfort. Ten stitches, maybe more. Each one felt like it tore her apart inside.

Lola, Grim, and Mac were amongst the dead that I did know. It didn't take long for the rest of the town to come to see the destruction. Some of those who died had mates who'd felt the bond break immediately. Howlers and Blood Dogs worked together to move the bodies. Dax wouldn't let anyone touch Lola, though. He held onto her tight in the garage parking lot. No one bothered him. I sat with Brat in the bar. She'd regained consciousness from the gas she'd inhaled and appeared to be doing ok. Stella walked over to me. Stitch had managed to get the silver bullet out of her leg, and he was currently working on others in the bar while wearing leather gloves so the silver wouldn't burn his skin.

"Hold still, little bird." The metal shears are cold against my skin. I press my back into the corner, the concrete biting into my spine. I can't breathe. I can't blink. I can only stare at the rusted blades hovering inches from my chest. The man—Stitch—smiles beneath his leather mask. His eyes are dead things, devoid of light. He closes the blades. SNIP. The fabric of my shirt tears. A long, vertical slit right down the center.

Grey. I sat on the edge of the bed, my hands shaking as I reached for the side of Stiles’s neck. There was a needle on his neck. I touched it. And he winced. “Ouch! What’s that?” he asked. “There’s… there’s something on your neck. I… it’s a needle,” I whispered. “Fuck! Can you take it out?” he asked. I nodded, my eyes still on the small silver thing that was stuck in his flesh.

All this time, my eyes laid on the gun in his hand. The sound of my dress tearing apart snapped me out of my thoughts. My head hung low, spotting the front portion completely teared apart, my stomach was facing the cold air of this room. Tears pricked from the corner of my eyes, not in pain but in fear of watching my threat, becoming true. Azrael smirked, watching the fear growing my eyes. My breathing staggered when his fingers caressed over my stomach, whispering something dramatically, " 3 stitches from C-section. I think, this evidence can never vanish."

was still echoing in my goddamn chest, soft and thunderous all at once. And then this. Gio wanted to unravel her. Piece by piece. He wasn’t coming with armies, he was coming with ghosts. With messages carved into flesh. He was reminding us that monsters don’t always knock. They just let themselves in. My phone buzzed. Another message. Another body. This one was worse.