#also i know that /most likely/ he wears bandages on his legs but

[y-akkun]

My first time drawing Dazai, and it’s for this.....it’s what he deserves

[callofdudes]

So, uh, I was watching Bad Boys 2 with my dad and when the shootout scene happened and Marcus accidentally got shot in the ass I couldn’t help but wonder after I was done LMFAOing; how the COD boys (or the guys from 141 if you have a character limit) would react to and deal with having been shot in the ass? Especially if their S/O or best friend was there?

Ouchie ouchie. Here ya go anon! Sorry it took so long!

Getting shot in the ass.

Fucking humiliated.

First off, it hurt and oh boy he would not talk to anyone. If you're not in the immediate vicinity of medical attention he is going to have to be taken care of by one of you.

He'd probably trust either you or Price. He loves Johnny but not enough to touch his whole ass.

If you're his spouse you will 100% try to make jokes to calm him down, and it doesn't end up making it any better. Simon laying on his stomach writhing in pain while you've got him pantsed.

He's never speaking to any of you again. He'd rather be buried alive than have you bandaging his whole asscheek so he doesn't bleed everywhere.

"Are-fuck! Are you done yet!?" He growled, turning into a whine near the end because he's in pain. Come on man...

"Almost Simon, just hang in with me ok?"

He whines, and you continue to as gently as you can patch the wound. And like a meanie you're trying not to laugh the whole time.

When you're done you'll pat his butt gently and help him up. "Fuck you, and fuck that last 20 minutes of my life." He winces, attempting to stand.

"It's an occupational hazard y'know-"

"In my ass. MY BLOODY ARSE!"

"Well it's not bloody anymore...??"

Yeah he's never speaking to you. Or the others. He'll go back to that coffin where he was safe and his beautiful ass wasn't being threatened 24/7.

When you get back if you tell anyone he's suffocating you in your sleep. Not like the medical team will let him go. Surgery to get the bullet out of his arse and then was hurting for weeks.

Glaring constantly because now he has one of those butt pillows that you'd sit on after a BBL. And the recruits are bugging him because, "Got a lift Lt??" "Thought it was already big enough."

His arse is a point of contention for him and now he's being pointed out for the masses.

"You... You want me to help??"

"Nope." He dragged his leg, limping his way as blood spilled.

"You've uh, got a hole in your-"

"I'm very well aware!" He grimaced, trying to ease down on his side. "Other room." He demands.

"I can help-"

"OTHER ROOM."

"Yes sir."

You step away and let Price undo his belt and survey the damage himself. The last time he was bleeding from his arse his military dad was spanking him upside down and sideways.

By the time he realizes he's going to need a little help he's already regretting his life. He's nearly had his balls shot off before, this shouldn't be news to him, but also, why....

Begrudgingly he calls you back in after messing with it enough it hurts twice as much as before.

So you grab some bandages and get to work.

"Don't-"

"I'm very well aware of where my hands are going captain, you're fine."

"Gross."

"You're bleeding."

"Thank you for stating the obvious." He rubbed his forehead, sighing.

You feel less inclined to snicker at Price because the poor man is just trying to make a living fighting crime. He doesn't deserve this. His beautiful soft ass doesn't deserve this.

When you get back he is just wanting the bullet out by that point so he doesn't fight medical. They get the bullet out and he is taking painkillers like they're going out of style. (No, not in an unhealthy way)

Will probably stay between his room and his office. He wants to do work very badly and hasn't enjoyed sitting around doing nothing for long periods of time.

Can't wear his favorite pants now because they're tighter and the seam cuts right into the stitches. Sweatpants and butt pillow it is until he's out of this hell.

Most recruits know not to poke the bear, unlike you. Or Simon.

"Whew, that was close." You panted and looked at Johnny with relief. "No kidding." But as the adrenaline wore off, Johnny felt lightheaded, and fell to his side.

"Ow-" He winced, his leg feeling numb. You quickly rushed to him and looked him over. He wasn't shot anywhere... Oh. Oh, no never mind, yes he was.

"Johnny..."

"Yeah..?"

"You're shot."

Johnny followed your gaze and saw.

Surprisingly calm. Like, out of everyone he doesn't panic as much. Pulls up his shirt into his mouth and tells you to get it out.

You're hesitant because it's trying to pull a bullet out of someone's ass. And pulling a bullet out is never... Fun. But he trusts you, even if his cheeks are glaringly red from utter embarrassment.

But he doesn't want anyone else to do it for some reason, so you do your best.

Long story short, it did not go well. You ended up messing with the wound that his right ass cheek was so swollen. He looked like an idiot. Laying on his stomach in pain while waiting for Evac.

"I'm sorry..." You rubbed his shoulder.

You'd pulled his pants down further, while still being respectful. But man if he didn't look stupid, and it looked like it hurt. One cheek much bigger than the other, red and swollen.

Johnny promised to never get shot in the ass again. After he was put on bed rest because he had an infection. So uh... That was a fun adventure.

"Why the hell did you try to dig the bullet out of my ass??" He looked over at you when you visited him.

"You told me to do that! I told you it was a bad idea."

"Oh yeah..." He sniffled and crossed his arms, pouting his lip.

"Johnny.. come on, it'll get better."

"Well it can't get worse. Can it?"

"Ow!! Bloody- shit!" He slid down a wall and looked down at his side, expecting the stinging pain he felt to have hit his leg, he was dismayed to find the bullet had got him in the ass.

"Oh fucking of course!" He groaned and tried his best to hold something over the wound while still getting bullets pelted at him.

"How're we looking, sergeant??"

Kyle looked back briefly and then adjusted his gun. "Fine! But I've got a bloody hole in my arse!"

"Say again?"

Kyle groaned. Falling out of helicopters, getting shot in the ass, what was next huh?

"I've. Got. A. Bullet. In my ass!!"

Mortified when the others get to him and see he was not lying. Kyle must have just about the worst luck because what the hell is this?? They got him to medical and they did indeed confirm he had a bullet where the sun don't shine.

His perfect, pretty, unscarred butt was now about to be dug into to get a bullet out. How humiliating. He had bad stuff happen to him, but this he refused to talk about.

"How're... How're you feeling?" You asked after he came out of surgery. Still high on drugs, Kyle glared at you. "Don't even..."

"Don't what?" You snickered slightly.

"Oh fuck off..."

You smiled a little and sat down. "Hey, you'll recover. It sucks, but you've gotten through worse."

"Bullet in the ass."

"Had a bullet in the ass."

"It was still there at one point. That was my reality, y/n!"

You lovingly shushed him with a glass of water.

Kyle did not say a word about it. Even when he needed a pillow to help him sit after the surgery, he never pointed it out. And the others saw the look, if they said anything Kyle would drag them behind a shed and suffocate them with said pillow.

And therefore, for everyone's collective safety, it was never brought up.

[venus616]

Hi!! Requesting a spicy tasm!peter fic where he puts his photography skills to use if ya know what I mean 🔥🫶🏽

his muse; {p.p.}

Pairing: peter parker x f!reader (gif is tasm but you can interpret this as any peter parker)

Summary: peter puts his photography skills to use when you're naked

Warnings: established relationship, smut, vaginal fingering/sex, oral sex (blowjob), praise kink (if you squint), photos during sex, language, unprotected sex, 18+, NSFW

Word Count: 3.8k

A/N: hi. i love this trope So Much… like more than you will ever know, but bc i love it and i’ve seen it done multiple times with peter i was very scared to even do anything with it sjnksks but here is my finished product, i hope you like it~

(Also- it is my gift to anyone who actually likes reading my content bc ive been gone for a While and will be gone for another 2-3 weeks bc finals are not fun! so i hope this is good, enjoy!)

You’re putting away your shared laundry when you hear a loud noise on your window sill. You don’t even flinch this far into your relationship and only shake your head, separating your clothes from his. The window opens letting in a cool breeze and Peter’s book bag hits the ground before he gets inside. 

It's only then you look and give his body, clad in his suit, a scan and smile. “You okay?” You ask. The sun already set and the crisp winter air started to fill the room. 

He scoffs before shutting the window. You turn your body around from the basket in front of you to see Peter shaking his head while taking his camera out of his bag.

The professional camera Peter spent a year saving up for when he was 18 was sat next to your much less efficient Polaroid camera. On it, there was a photo of you two celebrating your anniversary together recently. The flash showing you kissing Peter on the cheek, he’s blushing at the attention and eyes closed from the flash. 

Peter smiled at the memory before he continued speaking. 

“Why do people think it’s okay to commit crime when I’m just getting off my shift?” He sighed before setting down his bag next to your bed.

“They’re so inconsiderate,” You pout playfully while folding his clothes into his reserved drawer at your place.

Peter looks up from unpacking and focuses on your ass poking up from your position. You feel his eyes on you as your t-shirt hangs loosely on your body, and the hair on your legs prick up from the cold in the room.

Peter takes off his mask revealing his disheveled hair and takes in the sight of you like it’s his last.

Your lacy underwear decorating the plump flesh of your butt, reminding Peter of how quickly he had to leave this morning before getting to appreciate for bandaging him up last night.

His eyes continued to scan up, seeing the old t-shirt frame your shape, admiring it as if he had x-ray vision.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer.”

Peter is brought out of his thoughts hearing your soft voice, taunting him for his staring problem.

“Don’t tempt me,” Peter quips back. He shakes his head before tossing his mask in your empty hamper. Sitting on your bed and bending over to remove his boots, his ears don’t miss your footsteps as you saunter to him.

You place your feet in between his while he looks back up to you, removing the rest of his suit. 

“It’s never stopped you before,” You cross your arms while he slips out of his suit, leaving his web shooters on. The suit is strewn across the floor and your eyes focus on Peter’s body. 

No matter how beat up he was, Peter remains to be the most beautiful man you’d ever seen. You ran your hands over his, now, yellow ribs. Compared to the purple constellation he had yesterday, you were grateful for his superhuman healing. 

He had a nasty fall yesterday, left with some scars and bruising, but thankfully this time you didn’t have to stitch him up. 

You even notice the scratch on his arm is almost gone but Peter liked wearing your special bandaids. He likes giving you a reason to buy more cartoon ones for him. 

Peter watches your eyes carefully scan his body for anything else and adores you for it. Still, he hates making you worry.

“You weren’t naked before.”

A smile creeps up on your face, a giggle disguised as a scoff when you answer: “I’m not naked.”

You don’t realize you set yourself up for Peter’s response until he smirks. His hands snake up underneath your shirt to toy with your nipples, already hard because of the cold air lingering in the room. 

A hiss escapes your mouth at feeling his larger, colder hands grip your boobs. Peter slightly grins at his effect on you. He pulls at the bottom of your shirt before raising it up your body. You oblige, pulling it over your head to toss it across your room.

His face lit up at your frontal nudity, hands placed on either side of your hips tugging at your underwear. 

“Let’s change that.” 

You roll your eyes at his response, but not without a smile plastered on your face. You could feel the heat pooling in between your thighs and the excitement in your stomach. 

“What position should I be in?” You shudder under his callus fingers. Peter lightly furrows his eyebrows when you turn, gesturing to your polaroid camera from your bedside table. 

His face relaxes when he registers what you guys are doing, not realizing how serious you were being. 

Your eyes flicker up and down his body when you turn to face him, noticing his erection bulging out of his briefs. Leaning down you use your hand to palm him through the fabric, feeling his cock pulsate in your hand.

“On your knees,” You whip your head up when Peter says that, his hands still roaming around your body. 

You quirk your eyebrow up in response. Pressing your forehead and nose to his, you plant a kiss onto his lips. Your hands are now on either of his thighs, sinking lower onto the ground as the kiss deepens. 

Before you can fully get down, you hear a light thwip and break the kiss. 

You see Peter’s wrist is flicked out with his web shooters activated, latched on to your polaroid camera. There’s a glint of mischief in his eyes before he pulls it into his hands.

Resting on your knees, you’re before him with your fingers tracing the waistband of his boxers. You carefully watch for his reactions, but he’s refamiliarizing himself with your flimsy camera you got in your teenage years as a novelty.

You cross your arms on his legs and look up at him, the camera points at you and all you can focus on is his wide smile behind the camera. “Let’s see if I still know how this works,” Peter jokes.  

You repose with both your hands on your knees, pushing your breasts out in between your arms. You didn’t realize they were hardly the focus of the photo (but still included, Peter was only human after all). 

The photo snaps and you remember you have to get used to the flash again. Blinking a few times to get used to the discomfort, the photo prints out and Peter seems pleased with himself already. 

“It hasn’t even developed yet,” You taunt, you resume palming him as you assume that was the extent of his practice shots. 

Peter shrugs while shaking the photo as gently as possible. “Hey, who’s the photographer here? I know a good subject when I see it,” He nudges you. 

When the photo barely develops, he shows you and you see yourself: half naked on your knees with your face fully in the photo. You were surprised he included that much of your face, and managed to catch you looking as confident as you could. But it was easy when Peter was behind the camera, he never fails to make you feel like his only muse. 

You blush and look away from the photo as you continue to massage him. Peter’s breath hitches at the rate at which you go at, and you smirk to yourself. 

No matter how much control Peter took in bed, he wasn’t afraid to show you how quickly he’d fold for you. It was one of the many things you appreciated about him. Another one was just how vocal he was, his whimpers before you even got to touch him were making your underwear dampen. 

When his dick starts twitching, you pull his boxers down, his cock slaps up to his stomach while he watches your movements. Locking eyes with him, you wrap both your hands around his shaft before slowly jacking him off. 

You’re mesmerized by the way his body is flexed under your touch, you almost don’t hear what he says. 

“Your mouth,” He breathes out. 

You sit up higher on your knees and kiss up his happy trail, lingering when you get closer to his cock. You hear his groan and look up, meeting his eyes.

You raise your eyebrows. “My mouth, what?” 

Your lips quirk up again, teasing him. “Use your words.” 

He rolls his eyes in response but you shake your head.  “I can stop,” You remind him. 

His brown eyes almost bulge out his head when you say that, wrapping his own hand over yours to stop your movements from pausing. He leans over to get closer to your face, the scent of you surrounding him. Peter’s face softens at your smugness. 

“Baby,” He starts. You wait to listen to how he pleads for you to stay while he leads your hands.  

“I need that pretty mouth of yours to suck my cock,” He gasps out and removes his hand when you loosen your wrist in response. Your eyes soften at the praise and Peter mentally celebrates when he leans back to his original position. 

You reposition yourself as well, with your neck getting to work as you lick a stripe underneath the shaft of his cock. Peter sharply inhales at the feeling and brings his head back up. 

You lock eyes with him when you feel the jolt in his body and open your mouth in an ‘O’ shape around the head of his cock. 

Relaxing your throat, you lower your head on his length and feel the tip of his cock hitting your uvula before you begin bobbing your head. 

Caught off guard, you could taste the saltiness of his precum on your tongue now. You gagged a bit and popped off him to lick it off in the most obscene way you could think of. 

Peter mutters, “Just like that.” and you look up. 

Forgetting he had a camera, the shutter went off to capture your tongue on the underside of his wet tip. 

You collect more saliva in your mouth while you run your hand up and down his shaft. Feeling prepared enough, you go back down on him with the drool dripping on his cock on your hands. 

Peter went crazy at the heat of your mouth and the sight of your lips around him. The only thought he had was to get the camera out again to keep this moment forever.

Getting slack jawed at this, he tangles his hands in your hair but doesn’t change your pace. He only starts pushing it out of your face as it gets in the way. 

You look up at him and see Peter pointing the camera at you as you have half his cock in your mouth. The first shot is taken, and he tries to not move too much as the photo prints out immediately.  He releases a few breathy moans at the pace you're going at while he places the new photo on the side. 

Peter silently gestures to you to get him out your mouth so you release him with a pop, flipping your hair to the side as you continue to jack him off.

“That’s good,” He mutters, when he places the camera at his eye before snapping a new photo. 

“I probably look insane,” You grumble, already feeling self conscious at how messy your hair looks, coupled alongside the drool and precum at your mouth. 

Peter shakes his head and pulls you in closer by your waist and you yelp, finding yourself now pinned under him on the bed. 

“Never,” He shakes his head, attaching his mouth to your tit as he pulls your underwear off. You immediately moan at his aggression on your sensitive nipples and he chuckles against your skin when he feels you flinch. 

Peter’s calloused hands find your clit and start massaging it, and you throw your head back in pleasure when he finds his rhythm. 

You feel a twinge of disappointment when he removes his mouth from your tits but you look up to see the camera watching you, and a shutter going off before you are even ready.

“Pete,” You warn. Your sternness doesn’t last when he slips in a finger in your embarrassingly wet cunt. You almost mewl at how full he makes you with just one finger. 

“You looked so pretty moaning like that,” Peter explains while his finger curls into you. He knew what he was doing when he smiled again, leaning down to kiss you on the lips.

Your annoyance was no match for his desperation as you eventually gave in. One of his hands cupped your cheek while his lips were frantic on yours. He’s greedy for you, almost lapping up your tongue with his own before he pulls away. 

“Just let go, forget the camera is even there,” He mumbles in your neck when you gasp at the absence of his lips. 

He slips in another finger and thrusts faster, making you nod mindlessly as you surrender all control.You grip onto his bicep as he pumps in and out of you, begging him for more friction. You can hear how wet you were, and while you were embarrassed, Peter relished in it. 

“Can you take a third for me baby?” He asks in a low voice as he sits up on the bed in between your legs. You nod vigorously but he quickly removes both fingers.

You open your mouth to complain but instead yelp out when Peter pulls both your legs closer to his chest as he kneels on the mattress. He set aside the camera briefly. 

“Yeah?” He searches for an answer.

“Yes,” You grunt out, already desperate for much more than his fingers. 

He massages your heat with his fingers again before he inserts three fingers in, jolting your body to sit up. You let out an obscene moan and couldn’t help but to massage your clit while he fucks you with his fingers. 

One hand being in competition with Peter’s while the other massages your boobs, you’re almost too dazed to notice the shutter then went off while you were closer to an orgasm.

“Fucking incredible,” Peter breathes out before putting the camera with the new photo down, and leans down to kiss you. His pace never falters, making you whimper against his lips. 

“I’m about to cum,” You announce shakily. Peter swallows your pleas with a kiss and just curls his fingers against your g-spot faster. You feel that familiar build up in the pit of your stomach and the pace of your clenching pick up. 

“Cum all over my fingers baby,” He answers, and you immediately let go. You hold Peter closer as you cum, heaving underneath him like you’re in heat. Your body Peter continues to finger you but only because he loves the way you suction around him. 

He still lets you come down from your high, kissing you through it and massaging your breasts with his free hand during. When your breathing slows down, he sits back up and removes his fingers from you. 

“Need you inside of me,” You remind him as you reach over to palm his already hard cock against his stomach.

“Gonna let me cum inside of you?” He asks, holding his cock in his hand already glistening with your wetness. He readjusts to line himself up to your pussy awaiting your answer.

You cock your head with your arms supporting your body from the bed. “I’ll let you cum wherever you want,” You say. 

Peter grunts at your answer before inserting himself into your entrance, and immediately throws his head back at the feeling, your warmth and wetness engulfing him. 

“So fucking tight,” He comments, and you silently agree as you feel yourself stretching out on him. Your eyes fluttered shut as you clenched around him. 

“Fuck,” you moan out as he finds a comfortable pace for the both of you. 

Or that’s what you thought. 

You hear a shutter from your camera and realize he took a picture (or two) of you in this position beneath him, moaning out for him flat on the bed with his cock inside of you. 

You didn’t have time to care as when he got his shots he immediately started to rock into you, and you felt the strength of him against your thighs before he picked up the pace. 

You watch him thrust into you and slowly lose himself above you.

“I love the way you feel around me,” He pants out, closing in on your body with his forearms framing your face. You nod as the bed squeaks and your hands roam his body, stopping at his shoulders and the nape of his neck. 

Peter obliges to your physical demands and dips down to suck on your neck, causing you to whimper as your body continues to jolt from his thrusts. His soft brown hair tickles your skin as his teeth chew at the sensitive skin in your neck. You don’t know whether to giggle or moan, but you’re vocal regardless. 

“Go faster,” You whine, becoming impatient with him. 

“I’m not gonna last if I go faster,” He growls against your skin, sending vibrations down your spine. He thrusted slower, bringing his hand down to the back of your knee to bend it closer to your body. You felt him hitting your g-spot repeatedly that you knew you weren’t going to last any longer like that. 

“I don’t care,” You cry out. Peter scoffs in your neck as if to say a begrudging ‘Fine.’ and kisses you on the cheek before kneeling back up. He’s already twitching inside you before he begins thrusting again. You almost forget what you got yourself into until you feel his balls slap against your cunt repeatedly. 

A string of curses escape both your mouths, yours because he’s just so big and you can feel the tension build up in your stomach again. Peter’s cusses are because you just won’t stop clenching around him in response, he feels like he might burst the next time you tighten around him. 

“Fuck, fuck fuck,” He mutters before spilling into you. 

You go slack jawed at the feeling of him cumming inside of you. It feels hot between your thighs, in between the burning feeling of his hard thighs slapping against your softer ones, and feeling him twitch and coat your insides and the outside of your cunt with his load. 

You cry out as he almost slips out of you, but realize he’s gonna take another picture. You’re not sure what to do, or what exactly he’s capturing but you decide to listen to his earlier advice and let it happen. Peter places the camera on his eye while his cock almost goes soft half away inside of you, and you can feel him rubbing his cum around your thighs and up your hips. 

He mutters another curse, before snapping the picture. You close your eyes and your legs when you decide that that was the last photo and miss how Peter compiles all of them on your bedside table. 

Eventually, you look up and see him pulling back up his underwear and beckoning you to see the photos. When you get up and see 6 photos lined up from tonight. 

One of you on your knees, your breasts protruding and almost being the main focus of the photo if it wasn't for your face. You want to laugh at how excited your eyes looked but you know it was only because of who was behind the camera. 

Two more during and after the blowjob, one of you in the middle taking Peter in your mouth and giving the camera (but really, Peter) siren eyes. The other was you slightly disheveled, but Peter swore you were the prettiest girl in the world with drool around your mouth.

A third of you being fingered, your head is thrown back in unfiltered pleasure from his fingers, your breasts sitting high on your chest as you’re on your back and your nipples were glistening in the photo due to the suckling that happened off camera. While scanning this photo, you realize that being caught in the moment wasn’t such a bad thing and Peter is silently celebrating he caught your O face in action. 

The fourth was similar but you had more control over your pleasure as you’re on camera massaging your breasts and hand on your pussy. You feel like a vixen with the way you’re fondling yourself, Peter silently agrees as he knows you look like one. 

Fifth and sixth photo show the before and after of Peter fucking you senseless. Fifth with your body being still underneath his, and the photo displaying that exhilarating feeling you both get when your bodies meet in the first thrust. And the sixth photo when you’re both comfortable enough to come down from your high together. The sticky, white cum is slayed over your sopping, wet pussy and Peter’s fingers and cock in the frame to remind you who fucks you like this. 

“Do you like these? I can burn them away if you don’t,” Peter runs his hands through his hair nervously, not trying to make you uncomfortable if the bit had gone too far. 

You only shake your head with a laugh bubbling in your throat at his consideration and hug his much taller frame from behind. It felt good to rest your head on his back, while his arms engulf yours from the front. 

“I love them, I love you,” You speak low but loudly enough so he can hear, and feel, your words. 

“Which ones do you want to keep?” He asks. 

You know it’s out of courtesy, just one of those things you two got used to asking each other after taking pictures on this camera. You kept the silly anniversary photo while he kept the very nice one he took of you. 

“It’s all for you,” You answer. Peter sputters quickly, turning back around to see your face when you say it, you only nod in full seriousness. 

He leans down to kiss your cheek as a thank you and you only smile back. 

“I think you’d get more use out of it than me,” You add with a tinge of humor. Peter only plays it off with another suggestion while hugging you from the front. His arms wrap around your shoulders while you rest your head in the crook of his neck. 

“You know what though?” He asks, trailing his hands down to your naked hips, stopping to cup the round of your ass. 

“What?” You mutter in his hold, already feeling your body heat up at the thought of round 2. 

Peter smirks before snaking one of his hands to your pussy. Knowing that you’re about to start throbbing, at the thought of him. You gasp before he speaks and he chuckles while he proposes his new idea. 

“I think it’s only fair if we make a movie now.”

[pholla-jm]

Klutz

IMAGINE: KLUTZ ~ LAW X READER GENRE: FLUFF cw: established relationship. mention of blood. mention of broken bone ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A loud crash echoes through the submarine which causes Law’s head to snap up. Normally, one would think that something happened to the ship. But he already knows what happened. 

With a heavy sigh, he gets up from his chair and walks towards the source of the noise. He wasn’t surprised to see you frantically moving around. You were putting things away. Law could only best deduce that you had accidentally knocked into something and caused it to crash. And now you were putting everything away before someone noticed. 

“(y/n)-ya.” He calls out, causing you to jump and knock your arm into a shelf. You let out a small yelp before turning to your Captain with a nervous smile. “Captain, what brings you here?” “Thought I heard something.” 

You purse your lips and shake your head, “nope. I didn’t hear anything. Have you gotten enough sleep?” “Are you saying that I’m hearing things, (y/n)-ya?” The tone in his voice suggested that you shouldn’t be playing around with him. But you didn’t care. 

Your hands go up in mock surrender. “Hey, you’re the one that said it. Not me.” 

Law pinches the bridge of his nose, “don’t you have things to do?” “Yup! So I’ll be on my way now.” You happily say before skipping past him. 

However, you trip over the bottom part of the hatch door causing you to face plant against the floor. You heard a soft crunch as soon as you hit the floor, causing you to let out a whine of pain. Law’s eyes widened when he saw you fall onto the floor. 

He doesn’t waste a second to pull you up from the floor. A free hand goes up to cover your nose, trying to relieve the pain that shot through your face. You immediately felt warm liquid cover your hand, signifying that your nose was bleeding. 

“How could you trip over that?” He was exasperated from how clumsy you are. If he was being honest, it was a bit tiring from how clumsy you are. He was also always worried about how you were going to hurt yourself next. 

You only shrug your shoulders at his question, “I don’t know. I guess I just didn’t see it.” “Let’s just get your nose fixed.” “Huh? What are you talking about? It’s fine.” You try to convince him, but you already knew that there was no way Law was going to believe you. 

“There is blood dripping down your face.” 

You let out a disappointed sigh. Not disappointed in him, but in yourself. “Okay.” 

It didn't take long for the both of you to be back in his office. He had you sitting in a chair, with a towel to help clean up any blood. 

“Okay, (y/n)-ya. This is going to hurt a bit.” He mutters right before he sets your nose back into place. 

“Ow!” You yelp as you flinch away from Law’s hands. 

Law is quick to clean up any mess and bandage up your nose. “Take these,” he says handing you pain medication. “Thanks.” You whisper before taking them from him. 

Law crosses his arms before looking at you up and down. His gaze made you nervous, and you had no idea what he was about to do next. 

He notices that you were wearing a long sleeved shirt and pants. Despite how hot it was in the submarine right now, you were wearing clothes that would make you hotter. 

“Let me see your arms and your legs.” He commands. “Huh, why?” 

Law shoots you a look which causes you to pout. “Fine.” 

You pull up your pant legs and your sleeves. Law can’t say that he is surprised to see you littered with bruises. Most likely from your clumsy accidents. 

He shakes his head and goes to grab some ointment for your bruises. 

“You really need to be more careful (y/n)-ya.” He starts to apply the cool ointment to the bruises, holding back any winces that resulted from his touch. 

“I know. I’m trying, I really am.” 

Law hears the desperation in your voice and he starts to feel a little bad. But not too much. “Does it hurt anywhere?” “Mm, you know. This one on my arm really hurts. Maybe a kiss will make it feel better?” 

Law looks down at you with a look that shows that he isn’t amused. “That’s not how it works.” “I mean, you won’t know until you try.” “There is scientific evidence-” “But have you tried it?” 

It was quiet for a bit and you could tell the gears were turning in his head. “Fine.” He grumbles and leans down to place his lips on the bruised skin. You could see that his cheeks had a pink tint, but you enjoyed the sight and feeling in front of you. 

He pulls back, trying to hide the fact that he was flustered. “See, it doesn’t work.” “It totally does! It’s already starting to feel better. I think that you have to kiss the rest of them.” You cheerfully say while holding out both of your arms. 

His face goes entirely red this time. “Nice try. But we’re going back to the ointment.” 

“Awe,” you faux pout at his words. However, he ignores your pout and continues to treat you. 

“There, I think it’s best if you stay here.” 

You didn’t have to be told twice. “Okay!” You say while making yourself comfortable. 

Law is relieved that you didn’t argue with him. 

The truth is, is that Law slightly enjoyed that you were clumsy. It gives him an excuse to keep him at your side. For him to keep an eye on you. It also brought him a sense of comfortability from how clumsy you were. 

He wondered why. But then he realized Corazon was also a klutz. Seeing you be a klutz as well reminded him of Corazon. It made his heart warm up from the familiarity. And he swore that he was going to protect you from every threat. No matter how small or large.

[urrockstar-xe]

starstruck - p.parker x fem!reader

posted nov 7th, 2023 10:15 pm

my silly little imagine i wrote today just for you silly little guys

summary: after a nasty run in with the Rhino, Spidey goes to his favorite civilian, who happens to be good with bandages, but not great with science.

reader is implied to be bad at science and thinks Midtown High is a nerd school, reader is also implied to know spidey fairly well atp

part two :)

masterlist

wordcount: 1.2k

the sound of "thwips" and wind coming from outside your window mixed with the usual city noise that served as your own personal lo-fi as you studied.

A sudden knock on your window caught your attention, grabbing you away from the task at hand. a bird, you assumed, turning back to your laptop and trying to find the point you left on, right, essay, you begin typing again,

in the early- thump thump Thump

three more rapid knocks on your window. Okay, not a bird.

but a spider.

you groaned, moving your laptop to your nightstand and standing from your warm bed, hissing at the cold hitting your bare legs, and cursing yourself for not doing laundry when the sun was out.

You walked towards the window, opening your curtain to reveal the familiar mask of New York's very own superhero. 

“spidey, we talked about this” you spoke in a sing-song voice as you pulled your window open, another hit of the cold wind hitting you as Spiderman stumbled into your dark bedroom. Laughing quietly and breathlessly as he did so. “Need your assistance,” he groaned once more, sitting on your floor and watching you through his mask as you closed the window. 

“You're hurt?” you moved to turn on the lights, cringing at the sudden brightness and then wincing at the sight of Spiderman’s side, “what the hell did you do?” 

“I fought a giant rhino” his response was too quick to be one of his usual snappy jokes, causing you to give him a confused and mortified look in response as you hurriedly dragged the first aid kit out from under your bed, 

“Don't worry about it- hey, wasn't that in your bathroom before?” he asked, before taking another deep breath and turning his gaze to your ceiling. “yeah, moved in here after you fought that lizard guy” you mumbled back, focused on getting out the proper supplies

or at least what you thought was the proper supplies

“hey aren't you cold? why aren't you wearing pants or like a onesie or-“ 

“Oh, you mean like yours?”

“Alright, touche”

You can’t help but laugh at the stupid word exchange the two of you had as you watched Spiderman peel off the top half of his suit, careful to leave his mask untouched and you respected this as he was vulnerably showing you a different side to the hero already, allowing you to see what most couldn't which was most definitely the rocky side of being New York’s Spiderman and definitely not his abbs (though you appreciated those too)

“By the way, not that I took what you said seriously or anything or that it hurt my feelings but, this is a suit, not a onesie,” Spidey said through small gasps of pain, leaning his head back into the edge of your bed as you cleaned the gaping stab wound in his side. 

“I’m sorry” You're not sure if you meant the onesie or the pain he was in but either way worked at this moment as just his shaky breaths alone made you feel guilty

Spidey stayed unusually quiet as you cleaned him up, so far having avoided stitches pretty well as you topped it off with as much bandaging supplies as you had. 

He groaned once more, before picking his head back up and looking back at you as you stood up and made your way to your desk, carefully picking up the roll of paper towels that you were previously upset at yourself for leaving in your room after cleaning this morning, although now that feeling was replaced with gratitude as you used a few sheets as a barrier to not get blood on your doorknob-

“Hey, where you goin'?” you turned your attention back to the masked vigilante who was just bleeding out on your bedroom floor. “Just to the bathroom, to clean my hands, why? Is there more?” You asked, panicked you’d have to go rummage through every cabinet in your house for more bandages. 

“Just be fast okay? Don’ wanna be alone' ' His voice sounded weak and barely audible which honestly made you panic more as you nodded in response, leaving your room to not only wash your hands but also grab a water bottle and the package of bread from your counter.

Quickly you examined the bread, searching for any sign of mold as you walked back into your room and sat across from Spiderman, setting your new items down and opening the water bottle.

“Let’s make a deal, Spidey, you drink this and you eat some of this bread at least one piece and I’ll turn around so I won’t even see a little of your face” You began negotiating, Spidey responded by lifting the bottom half of his mask to just barely above his nose, taking the water bottle with shaky hands. 

You stilled, watching him take a drink and then quickly looking down and fumbling with the packaging of the bread when you realized you were just staring at Spiderman’s lips.

Thankfully though, he ignored it, instead deciding he had the energy to tease you about something else, “bread? Just plain bread?” 

You scoffed, taking out a slice and handing it to him, watching him to a bite.

“you get what you get and you don’t throw fits” you scolded the way you did the little boy you babysit occasionally, earning a choke in response before another quiet chuckle,

okay so he’s not all lost, good. 

You sighed, putting your hand on your cheek for a second and realizing just how warm you had gotten, “listen, you wanted me back fast and this was the only thing I really had in my kitchen right now so-” He cut you off before you could finish your explanation, “thank you, I don’t know what I’d do without you”

I don’t know what I’d do without you, These words that Spiderman just said to you rang in your ears for a few seconds until you sighed once more, nodding. “Although some pizza-” You groaned as he began talking, earning another more lively chuckle in return, a lingering smile on his face, this time you allowed yourself to stare, having never seen even the smallest bit of his face let alone his smile. It's nice.

“What is?” he frowned in confusion, you felt your face heat up once more. “Your smile it’s nice,” you explained, earning a nod of thanks in response as he bit into the slice of bread. He hummed as if it was the best thing he had ever tasted before once more leaning his head back into your bed.

You tried to ignore the way he looked like this, he’s injured, take a cold shower.  “So, what now huh?” you asked quietly, suddenly anxiously aware that other people lived in your apartment.

“Oh, my bad, I’m so inconsiderate- I-I’ll get out of your hair, your family is asleep and it’s school night I- my bad, I’m sorry” You watched as he stood up incredibly unstable as he did so, “hey, you don’t have-” “thank you, for you know, lettin me stain your nice carpet” he joked meekly, letting out a weak laugh as he gasped once more, struggling to put on the remains of his mangled suit, 

“Okay, Jesus, c’mon Spidey, let me help you with that” You mumbled, standing up and doing your best to help him into the top half of his suit and then watching him shove on his left glove while the other hung in his mouth.

He tried to talk, words muffled by his glove but quickly released as you took it from his teeth, causing his attention to fall completely back on you as he stopped his actions. “See you around?” He said, in an attempt to sound normal and not in immense pain. “Be safe, Spidey, don't really know what I’d do without you” You threw his words back into his face in a soft tone, gently pulling his mask down over his nose and mouth. 

“Of course,” he responded in a similar tone, almost starstruck as he put on his right glove, thanking you quietly once more before limping back out onto the fire escape outside your window, not sparing a second look as he swung into the noisy city and out of your quiet and now rather lonely room.

After cleaning up the mess you had made, you quit studying for the night, no longer able to focus with the image of Spiderman’s smile stuck in your head, you settled for bed.

But you didn’t get to sleep for another few hours.

After spending a few unfortunate hours in school the next day you had finally been free to go home and take a nap but of course, not before meeting the tutor your counselor had found for you, a student from the fancy school not too far from yours, Midtown High but of course you and your friends just considered it the school of nerds-

“Hey, You Y/n Y/l/n?” The voice that You had thought sounded awfully familiar took you away from your thoughts as you turned around to see who you assumed was Peter Parker, your tutor. “Peter?” You ask with a friendly smile, holding onto the straps on your backpack.

He looked almost starstruck before he shook his head and gave you a similar polite smile, “Nice to meet you”

[spider999sposts]

DIRTY ABC'S FOR: MIGUEL O'HARA

from a to z, everything that has to do with miguel and what he does in bed!

🕸fem!coded reader × Miguel O'Hara

🕸genre: smut

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Miguel is queit the rough man, and he knows that queit well, so when it's time for aftercare, he makes sure you're okay. He'd massage your legs and thighs to make sure they'd be less sore by the morning. If he bit you and it drew blood or if he left puncture wounds, he'd make sure they're disinfected and bandage them (although, he likes the look of the marks on you, but he does what makes you comfortable.)

He'd whisper sweet nothings into your ear, and if it was too intense, he'd hold you close to his chest so you'd calm down faster. If it was a less intense session and you were somehow awake after he was done with you, he'd run the bath or the shower for the both of you. He'd help you get in and assist you if you needed it (which you did most often than not.)

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Miguel is an ass, thighs, and legs guy. He loves burying his face into your thighs, loves using your ass as a pillow. It turns him on whenever you wear something that highlights your legs, especially tight short shorts.

For him, he adores his back and his arms. Mostly because of what you do. It amuses him whenever he sees little marks and scratchs on his back from you clawing at his back. He also loves how you hold onto his arms and shoulders whenever you need support or when you need to hold onto something. It makes him feel powerful, in some way (as if he needed the ego boost.)

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Miguel's load is alot, and heavy. Whenever he cums inside, you are left filled up and not being able to take it more than two times. That's when he asks if he can do it somwhere else.

His favourite place aside from inside you, is on your chest. He loves how ruined and messy you look when he does it. He loves lapping at your nipples with his mouth and tasting himself on you.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Miguel loves having pictures of you on his phone. He had pictures of you in lingerie and underwear and naked all inside a locked folder. He also had some where you were wearing some tight shirts and shorts. Some pictures were of what a person would see if they looked up your skirt.

He keeps this folder separated and locked away. Only opening it whenever he can't see you or when his spiderman related work is keeping him away from you.

He just makes sure LYLA is disabled when he opens that folder.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Miguel is very experienced, and it didn't queit surprise you. You expected him to be.

He always, always knew when to exactly touch you, and where. He knew how to drive you mad by switching from touching your breasts to your clit, he knew exactly when to add another finger, he knew when to pull out his digits and put himself in you, he knew where exactly to tease you so you could reach your high.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Miguel loves feeling in control. He loves having you underneath him most of the time, with your hands held back by his as he slams into you. When he feels a little lazy, he lets you get on top and ride him, but only on his terms. He'd hold your hands beside you and thrust up whenever he felt you trying to gain control for even one second.

He also mostly likes any position that lets him see your face. And how ruined and desperate you look, just for him.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

He's quiet serious, as he always is, but he gets extremly playful sometimes. Aside from the usual 'meirda's and 'fuck's, he'd sometimes take one look at you and a deep chuckle would erupt from him. He'd tease you, saying something along the lines of "What? Too much for you, querida? Should I slow down?", but other than that, he does not joke around.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

He's hairy, and it's dark, just like his hai. And it was queit bothersome underneath his old suit. There was a phase where his chest hair and pubes were always trimmed and short to avoid him getting all sweaty and uncomfortable.

When he switched to his new molecular fabric suit, he became a bit lazy with taming that mess. He would make sure to trim his pubes and keep himself tidy down there, but he'd sometimes completely neglect his chest hair. Only because he is queit the busy man. If you complain about it though, he'd happily shave.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Usually with Miguel, most often than not, he's stressed and frustrated and it results in the most hot, angry sex you've ever had.

But in the rare occasion, when he takes a vacation, he worships you.

He makes love to you, appreciates every crevice and curve of your body. Makes sure to take you all in. Telling you you're the most beautiful thing he's ever seen, and how you take him so well. His fingers traces your body and he touches you gently, like you're glass. His kisses get lighter. Miguel wasn't a man of much words, but his actions spoke queit louder than his words ever would.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Since he's away most of the time, he jacks off. Alot.

He tries to keep himself contained. He'd go on days, months, but sometimes he would miss you so much that you're all he could think about. His mind gets plauged by the thought of you and how he'd rather be fucking you stupid instead of having this meeting with Peter B, Jessica, and the rest.

And when everyone goes back to their universes, and when he makes sure that no one will disrupt him, then and only then, will he let himself be consumed by the thought of you and touch himself.

He'd imagine your hand being the one pumping him, looking up at him with those eyes. He'd imagine your mouth around him, how you're never able to take all of him in your mouth and how your nails dig onto his thigh whenever you felt like he was too much for your poor throat and mouth. What really gets him though, is imagining how you'd clench around him, and that's usually what gets him to reach his release.

He'd curse, alot, and he'd call your name out like a mantra, his free hand on the bridge of his nose and rubbing his eyes, as he closed them to imagine you.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Miguel has a size kink. He loves how big he is. And he loves how small you are compared to him. It sends him over the edge whenever you look up at him, or whenever you wrap your legs around his waist. He loves how easily he could carry you and how to him, you looked queit vulnerable whenever he was on top.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

At this point in his life, he would do it anywhere. He doesn't get to see you as much as he'd like, so when the opportunity is there, he'd do it anywhere.

He ultimately prefers your shared bed. It's much more comfortable there, but he also loves doing it on his desk whenever you visit him in the office.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Miguel is no teenager. He can control himself pretty well, but he just can't help it whenever you wear revealing clothes. He feels the buldge in his pants growing whenever you wear something short then bend over to grab something. He also gets queit turned on by lingerie. He loves the dainty designs and how fragile they look, he enjoys the sight of you in them, just minutes before he rips it all off you.

He also likes hearing praises alot. He loves when you tell him stuff like: "Nnh—Mig, you're too big–M'm—Feels so good." He just all around feels quiet motivated whenever you affirm to him that he's doing is making you feel good.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

He wouldn't degrade you. It doesn't feel right. You're not a lesser, he does not see you as one. He has so much messed up with him, and he is lucky to have you, he wants you to feel your worth. Even if he leaves you a crying, begging, moaning mess, he would never actually say anything that would hurt your feelings.

He also would not bite you or dig his claws into you without permission. He knows you like it, but he knows he can't control himself once he does it. So everytime, he asks for permission, just to make sure you're still on board.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Miguel LOVES cunnilingus. He loves lapping at your folds, he loves how you taste. He loves burying himself so deep that his nose bumps against your clit. He loves how your hands always find his hair and tug on it a little. He loves how by just his tounge he could make you cum, multiple of times.

He also loves receiving oral. He's more of a handjob guy, but he couldn't deny the feeling he got whenever he saw how you couldn't take his cock and had to wrap your hand around the rest of him. He loves how warm your mouth feels around him. He'd be into it so much that he'd occasionally thrust into your mouth till you were tapping his thigh, signaling that you couldn't take it. To which he would just smirk and say:

"You can and you will, amor."

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Depends on the situation, time, and place really.

He's rough and fast almost always. He's inhumanly fast, both with his cock and his fingers. The speed of which he pumps his fingers should be studied, because he, on multiple occasions, made you cum under 2 minutes.

But sometimes, if he's in a different mood, maybe if you were doing it early in the morning, he'd be slow. Taking his sweet time dragging those moans and groans out of you.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

He did not like quickies, right until you started visiting him at the HQ of Spider-Society. You'd be keeping him company in his office in one minute, the other minute he'd have you trapped against his desk, thrusting into you and biting and nipping into your neck.

You almost got caught one too many times, but you owed it all to LYLA, who always pretended that the door was malfunctioning.

In return, Miguel coded a few new outfits for her.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

He's an old fashioned guy, but if you have anything in mind, he'd happily go with it. You once suggested you try to tie each other up. He frankly enjoyed how you squirmed and moved when you weren't able to touch him, but when it was his turn, he got queit irritated. You had been teasing him for what seemed like hours, unaware that he was using one of his talons to cut through the lace fabric you used to tie him to the bed post.

Ever since then, you've used handcuffs (though to no avail, Miguel was extremly strong, that lousy metal was nothing to him.)

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

He can last for hours on end. His superpowers give him an incredible stamina. Usually he'd be done after two rounds, but if he was left feeling unsatisfied, he'd add two or three more rounds. Usually though, that leaves your head spinning and your legs trembling.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

He doesn't like toys, he doesn't like the idea of something other than him making you feel pleasure. Though, when he found out you had bought a vibrator to keep yourself sane while he's away, he had the time of his life using it on you.

He'd run it across your chest at first, before leaving it on your clit while he thrusted into you. He still remembers how that left you shaking for almost half an hour.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Miguel is the MULTIVERSE'S biggest tease. He loves to tease you verbally, to tell you to be patient when he's obviously doing everything to make you lose your mind. He would nibble on your neck and knead your breasts in his big palms for hours before even coming near your heat. And whenever you almost reach your climax, he never lets you release, always saying "Not until I say you can, queirda."

He loves teasing you, loves how pouty you got, loves how only by lightly touching you, he had this effect on you.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

He's a grunter. He grunts and groans queitly, mostly just for your ears to hear. He also hums and purrs involuntarily, especially right after he releases.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Miguel likes to admire you when you sleep. He likes to see your fucked-out face finally resting and snuggling peacefully against his body. Everytime, he wishes he didn't have to get up, just so he could watch you softly murmur and cuddle up closer to him.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Miguel is queit fit. Small waist, broad shoulders and massive back. His arms were queit muscular as well and he had an ass shape that most would kill for. He had a hard chest and an even harder stomach. His body was all the same colour, his face was not more tanned or darker than the rest of him, thanks to that suit of his.

He also had alot of scars, most of them on his back or on his sides.

He loved it when you traced them, it made him feel something he never feels nowadays.

It makes him feel human.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Queit high. He just knows how to hide it, until you are alone, naked and tangeled in his sheets.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

He falls asleep right after making sure you are okay. He's usually so exhausted after it that you would quickly assure him you were fine, just so he could get a quick eye shut.

Miguel struggled with not being able to sleep easily, but when you came along, that changed completely.

[bellewintersroe]

Another idea I would love to see you write (and it doesn't have to be NSFW if it makes you uncomfortable) is Malarkey, Babe, Chuck, Shifty, Winters (and anyone else you want to write) reactions to seeing all the various scars you received during the war for the first time. The scars can be wherever on the body you want to put them and the injuries that caused them can be different for each guy if you want; I will leave that to your creativity and discretion. I would just find it interesting to see how you think they'd react bc, while injuries during the war became probably a daily occurrence for the men that they've grown accustomed to, you're technically not a man and how could you have gotten hurt?

ugh I absolutely love this request it’s so creative, thank you sm!! I hope it’s what you were picturing, if not feel free to request another :) i’m comfortable writing NSFW but for this request I haven’t gone too crazy, but there is some mentions of potential smut? I can also understand how the topic of scars should be a TW- but no mentions of any self inflicted scars. Easy Boys reaction to seeing your scars:

Dick Winters:

I think he’d probably notice the small, circular scar on the back of your lower hip during seggsy time.

he wouldn’t point it out, seeing as that seemed rude and a bit off putting mid activity- especially seeing as it was one of the first times the two of you sleep together.

it’s afterwards that you’re cuddling when his hand travels down, “how did you get this?”

“oh, that scar?” You’d begin to laugh, leaving him a little confused. “Accidental cigarette burn from a guy I was treating in Normandy.”

Dick is a little confused, you seem so amused so he’s following along with a smile but it’s the most confusing thing ever.

what actually happened is pretty lighthearted, you were treating a wounded guy in the infirmary in Normandy, and well, his eyes were bandaged up and accidentally mistook you for the ash tray?

a pretty funny story, it burnt at the time, but you don’t mind the small scar, in fact it’s even amusing to you. Dick doesn’t notice it often, but when he remembers the story you told him he’d smile every single time he’d see it again.

Babe Heffron:

In Austria you’re wearing your summer uniform/ clothes, things are more relaxed, and so when your top falls down your collarbone the slightest bit, you don’t think anything of it.

“Wha- hey! How’d you get that?!” That was until a certain Babe Heffron chimed up, sounding overwhelmingly concerned, eyes focused on your upper chest.

“What?” At first you’d cover it up, unconsciously before even realising what he’d seen.

he’d hurry over, taking a peak to sigh with relief when he realised it was an older scar.

“Babe.” You’d grumble, pulling your top further up out of embarrassment.

“Oh, hey- no, don’t be upset, I was just worried thas all. It’s not everyday I see a lady with a scar, y’know.” His hand would smooth down your arm, worried he’d offended you, but he’s so sweet, how could you ever be upset at Babe?

“It’s from Bastogne, right?” Unlike the other men (apart from Gene) Babe would probably recognise where it was from.

“The bombing at the church, yeah.”

“I like it, looks cool.” He’d be so honest and genuine, at first I think you’d be a little shy, but Babe finds it so unique, and well- it makes you you.

the major downfall however is that you obviously got hurt, resulting in this scar. He can’t bare the idea of you hurt, it sends a chill through to his bone.

Chuck Grant:

Chuck is no stranger to scars especially after the war, so when he notices you’ve got a couple littered around your leg he doesn’t point them out due to knowing how sensitive that topic can be.

theyre white and faded now, only small, but I feel like Chuck would probably recognise they’re from Bastogne- like he’s seen the wounds the splintered trees cause, he figured it would be something like that.

in reality they were a present from Haguenau. An exploded building left your leg semi trapped, luckily not broke, but it hurt like a bitch and left you with the constant reminder of the pain.

You’d tell him one day after a shower, when you caught him looking at them. “I know they’re ugly.” You’d wince, conscious.

“Ugly? No, c’mere, babe.” He’d pull you into his lap, hand on your thigh as he kisses you so tenderly.

“Nothin’ about you could ever be ugly, doll.” Ugh he’d be sooo sweet and kind, reassuring you in the best way possible whilst accidentally seducing you.

Shifty Powers:

Too cute omg, he wouldn’t even really notice too much, I mean everybody has scars. You’d lay and night and he’d caress your skin, not caring if there was a scar or two littered around your shoulder.

“How’d ya’ get this?” He’d ask softly when the two of you were both falling asleep.

“Nothin’ exciting, I was playing around in the water when we were in Austria and caught my shoulder on the pier gettin’ out the water. I wish it was a better story.”

Shifty would find it so amusing because only you would wish you had a better story to tell about a scar. The rest on your body are from your childhood, Shifty would love hearing the stories that come along with each scar.

Eugene Roe:

Unlike some of the men I think Gene would’ve actually been there when you got injured.

you’re a woman, part of the medic team, a field nurse really which is attached to easy company, so you’re close to the men, especially Gene, throughout the war.

Gene would still remember vividly the day you got hit, how he failed to protect you, cover you. A sniper came out of nowhere, catching you in the shoulder. Gene can only imagine the bullet was meant for him and not you.

He’s the one that patched you up to the best of his abilities, it’s one thing treating a man, but to be treating a girl? Especially one he liked- well his hands were shaking and he was reassuring you non stop.

the scar left was only small, luckily there was no complications and you got lucky and could get back to work real quick.

Every time Eugene notices the scar it reminds him of what happened to you. At first he wouldn’t talk about it. Then, slowly you get it out of him and he’s so soft with you.

“I just don’t know what I woulda’ done.” He’d sigh, burrowing his face in your neck/ chest pressing kisses to your skin.

“Well you don’t have to think that, cos I’m still here with you now, Gene.”

Don Malarkey:

Don would actually notice the fresh scar on leg during Haguenau when you were rolling your socks up, he gets a peak at the flesh on your calf.

“Woah, that looks nasty, how’d you get that?” He comes and sits behind you, waiting for you to turn around.

“Fuckin’ tripped and fell, Malark. Out of everything that coulda happened to me I got this from falling over.”

Malark is more concerned about your wellbeing but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t break a smile.

“That’s just your luck.” He’d smile, rubbing your leg gently to check if it hurt. “You’re ok now though? So you don’t need carrying around everywhere?”

“I wouldn’t object to that…”

No but seriously, Don is a massive sweetheart, he probably would carry you around Austria just for the fun of it, he still blames it on your ‘cut leg’ that he needs to do that.

in reality he’s just flirting with you and knows it’s super easy for you to kiss him whilst he’s holding you like that.

Lewis Nixon:

“What’d you do?” He’d ask as soon as he saw it, running his hand back against your hair, revealing a kinda small scar placed near your hairline.

it’s early in the morning, the two of you are lounging in bed with a cup of tea or coffee, preparing to have a lazy day.

“Oh, it’s from running Currahee, I face-palmed the floor.”

“Ouch, what did Sobel say?”

“thank god he wasn’t there to see it. I got a matching one on my knee too, from the same fall.” You’d pull out your bare leg from the covers and he’d purposefully slide his hand up your thigh, then over the scar on your knee.

“Nice. Battle scars.” He smirked, teasing and pulling your leg over his to give him a cuddle.

[midnightsxblue]

PURE PERFECTION

carl grimes x reader

(carl asks for help with his bandage.)

tags: teeny bits of angst but mostly fluff!

masterlist here!

this one was requested, thank u anon bc this is so cutsie pootsie

The night Carl got shot was most definitely the hardest night of your life. The run to the infirmary afterwards seemed like it would never end. You stayed with him till the morning, until he had fully woken up.

Witnessing the panic he went through after waking up, realizing he’d lost his eye, was harder than watching him actually lose it. Seeing him cry as much as he did made you want to love him as hard as you possibly could, but you knew he’d need a while.

And he did. He needed a long time to feel okay about it. He was insecure for a while, and you knew he always would be. You did your best to ensure he felt okay about the scar, especially with you. One instance in particular stood out to him. One instance he’d remember forever.

You’re in your room, digging through your closet for something to wear.

“Hey.” You hear a knock and turn around, looking to the doorway of your room. It was Carl. His hair was a tad damp and his bangs covering his scar completely. You smile at him. “Hey. Did you shower?” You ask, turning back to your closet, rummaging through it. “Uh yeah like an hour ago.”

You turn around after finding your shirt to see him holding his bandage in his hands. “D-do you think you could help me?” His tone is almost sweet, but it was shy enough to tell you that he was worried. He hadn’t asked for you to help him before. You’d seen the scar of course, just while Denise changed his bandage at the beginning, but it was quick enough so that it wasn’t fully exposed to you. You also sometimes looked away out of respect for him.

You give him a small nod. “Yeah of course.” You toss your now very unimportant shirt on your bed as you lead him over to the bathroom. You have him sit on the edge of the bath tub as you prepare to put his bandage on for him.

“I hope I do this right.” You laugh. You tried your best to make him feel comfortable. You could tell how nervous he was. He watches as you lay the bandage across the sink. “I’m sure you will.” He smiles in the cute way he does, masking his nerves (you know that one cutsie smile? that). When you approach him, he tenses up a little, correcting his posture.

You stand in front of him, in between his legs and look down at him as he looks up at you. His bangs fall back from his face a little and parts of his scar is exposed. You smile at him, kissing his forehead before pushing his bangs back fully. He still looks at you nervously.

“I…” You don’t let him finish his sentence before leaning down to kiss him. You can feel him smile into the kiss before pulling away. His smile is ten times bigger than before. “I think youuu…are pure perfection.” You say, taking his chin in your hand as he smiles up at you.

“I love you.” He looks at you, absolutely infatuated.

“I love you too, Carl.”

You then help him with his bandage, making sure it’s how he wanted it. You check to see if it’s secure in the back of his hair and once you’re done you pull him up to stand and look in the mirror.

“All good?” You ask with a smile. “Yeah…yeah it’s good.”

a/n: this was so fun but idk if it’s what anon wanted!!! MUEHEHEH also the smile im describing is like the smile he gives rick after rick explains everything with michonne in season 6 ep 11 T-T when he’s all like “it’s cool” YOU KNOW?

[m00nsbaby]

Heartbreak feels so good.

Jake Lockley + Khonshu x F! Reader.

Tags & warnings. Mentions of violence and being hurt, angst, mentions of kidnapping, cursing.

Word count. 4.7

Summary. He left as quickly as he appeared in your life.

No, in fact, you took it upon yourself to remove him from it, piece by piece, until there was nothing left of him.

You never regretted it; your love was never above your morals, and you could live with that even on days when it felt like your heart had been ripped out of your chest. But there was something about the nights that made you miss him more.

The way the moonlight bathed you through the window was a constant reminder that it wasn't just your imagination trying to save you from your impending loneliness. He had cradled you in his arms, or perhaps, you had cradled him in yours, who knows.

Now, you were left with a life without them.

Without him.

Not waking up to the sound of your alarm was a strange way to start the day, not as strange as the rest was going to be, but it was quite fitting for the situation.

The headache came in stabbing waves, and opening your eyes was the icing on the cake, although fortunately, everything was dark. Had your nap gotten out of hand? It wouldn't be the first time you slept for 24 hours straight.

Everything was relatively calm, with one tiny detail you noticed after a few seconds. You weren't in your room.

In fact, you had no idea where you were.

"Shit, shit, shit, shit." you whispered as you pushed the sheets over your body. A sharp pain ran through your entire leg, combined with one on the opposite side, at the level of your ribs. "Shit!" you said again, this time with a slightly louder tone.

This should be the part where you cried; your mind immediately went to the most logical conclusion at the moment: years of walking around the city at night with your headphones on had led to this, a kidnapping.

A pretty stupid kidnapping if you thought about it because many of your things were still in your pocket – your phone, headphones, some crumpled dollars. On the bureau across the room, some of your belongings were resting too; you recognized your purple folder decorated with stickers, but it seemed to have barely survived as it looked more damaged than usual.

You also took a moment to look at yourself. You were wearing only a long T-shirt that wasn't yours, way too big for your body, but it gave you the freedom to notice that your ankle and leg were bandaged, and you could also feel the slight pressure of the fabric around your ribs.

"You woke up." You almost screamed in fear when a figure that you could barely distinguish appeared at the door, speaking with a curious accent.

Of course, your first reaction was to grab the first thing you could find and throw it with all the force you could muster, considering your broken leg and ribs. He barely managed to raise his hands to shield himself from the glass of water that shattered into a thousand pieces on the floor.

Jake had forgotten how much things hurt when he wasn't wearing the suit.

"Ouch! Okay, okay, okay, I understand!" He raised both hands in a gesture of innocence, taking a step back but staying close to the door frame. "I get it, really! You're scared, it's weird, I know, I know, just let me… No!"

There went his favorite lamp. And worse, it didn't even serve as defense because you ended up groaning in pain, clutching your ribs.

"Please, stop throwing things!" Jake looked sadly at the broken lamp for a few seconds before looking at the empty space in the room. He stayed silent for a few seconds, as if he were listening to someone.

He nodded silently to nothing and then sighed.

Great, you got kidnapped by a crazy person.

"Just let me explain, okay?" He didn't want to intimidate you further, although he doubted it was even possible. He crouched down to pick up the three pieces into which the object had shattered; the last thing he needed now in his apartment was this mess. "Please."

You had seen enough movies to know that sometimes the best option for survival was to be kind.

"Okay." It was the only thing you said as you tried your best to sit on the bed in a more comfortable position.

"Have you heard of that strange vigilante with the white suit and ridiculous cape…"

If only you had heard Khonshu's reaction as he cursed Jake from the corner of the room.

"Well, not so ridiculous cape, who's been on the streets for a few months?"

You pursed your lips and had to force yourself to continue the conversation. Of course, you knew him; you sometimes shared photos of him on the internet, the few that were available and of poor quality. You even remembered commenting "He's so fucking cool!!!" on some fan page.

Those with at least 15 followers.

"Yeah, the one who looks like a mummy on steroids."

"Wow, that's new."

"What does he have to do with you kidnapping me?"

"You're not kidnapped."

"I can't leave."

"Technically, no."

"Then I am kidnapped."

Jake sighed, giving up.

"It was an accident; you ended up in the middle of one of his missions by mistake. You got injured, although you probably already felt that."

"And that's why you kidnapped me?"

"Ay por dios." He pinched the bridge of his nose, taking a deep breath. "You have a broken leg, you twisted your ankle, and you have some broken ribs. I couldn't leave you like that; you lost consciousness quickly."

You nodded slowly; it was clear you weren't convinced yet.

"So you just decided to be a good Samaritan? You could have taken me to the hospital, you know, instead of kidnapping me."

"They'll ask questions at the hospital, and that will lead to the police. I couldn't take you there."

"Plus, I don't have medical insurance."

"Well, I didn't know that, but it's one more point in my favor."

"It's still not a good enough excuse to…"

"You're not kidnapped!" His accent became more noticeable as he lost his patience; that was interesting.

"So, the masked guy is an idiot who leaves the injured because of him to their fate."

You didn't have the strength or energy to argue anymore; this whole situation was a joke without humor, although it didn't sound so impossible.

You once read about someone who wanted to sue Spider-Man for the same thing. Or had it been Daredevil? Too much pain in your body and too many superheroes with red suits.

"Technically, no."

"Technically, yes."

"He's taking responsibility for what he did."

Your eyes met his, and he cleared his throat.

"You're lying; you just don't want me to scream or call the police."

"I'm not lying to you."

"Prove it."

The last thing you saw before losing consciousness for the second time in 24 hours was the shining white ceremonial suit in the darkness, with a faint glow that seemed to emanate from it.

The good side was that technically, you weren't kidnapped.

The second time you woke up wasn't as difficult as the first. The headache had almost completely faded, and at least now you had a clearer context of where you were, partially, but less lost than before.

"Hello again." Jake looked at you from a chair next to the bed, holding a book that he was frowning at. He looked like a child who had discovered that not all books have pictures.

"I feel like I've been run over by a steamroller," you whispered without moving from your spot.

Jake thought about how lucky you were not to see Khonshu; otherwise, you would have woken up with a giant beak in front of your face and two empty eye sockets examining you.

"You'll feel better someday," he joked, flipping a page.

"So, this is your fault?"

"Technically," that damn word again, "it's your fault for not watching where you walk."

"You're an idiot," you said, eyes closed, not raising your voice.

"I'm sorry."

"It's fine." It wasn't fine; you were in the most bizarre situation you had ever experienced. "At least did you stop the bad guy?"

"I killed him, actually."

You opened one eye and looked at him. He looked back at you.

"I was kidding."

"To joke, you have to be funny."

Khonshu laughed, and Jake wished he could rip his own ears off; it was a sound he hadn't liked for some time now.

"I'm Jake Lockley." The boy leaned slightly to offer his hand in greeting. "You don't have to tell me your name; I read all your papers. The ones that survived."

"My backpack?"

"Didn't make it."

"That hurts more than my leg." You confessed, bringing both hands to your face. "Or my ribs."

"I'll get you another one."

"I don't want another, Jake Lockley." You still had your face covered with your hands. "I want to cry."

"You can do it, I won't judge you."

"It's me who's judging you." Your voice broke within seconds; the fatigue was finally starting to hit. "Why couldn't Spider-Man rescue me?" The sob you let out was ridiculous to Jake, who had to contain himself from laughing.

"I'll get you an aspirin." He placed the book on the bed, getting up from his chair. "Do you like juice?"

"Pineapple," you replied between sobs.

Jake left the room with a smile on his face, while Khonshu, in complete silence, continued to watch you.

By the third day, you had already assimilated many things. The main one was that, according to the internet, broken ribs take approximately 6 weeks to heal, a sprained ankle takes 12 weeks, and the legs, if lucky, take less than 8 weeks. So, you were looking at a minimum of 6 weeks there before Jake would agree to let you go.

The logical part of you eventually accepted the deal; you knew you didn't have family or close friends who could take care of you now that you could barely move.

"Are you comfortable?" He placed you on the individual sofa in his small living room and arranged the cushions around you to avoid any discomfort.

That was something you had gotten used to, being carried by him, having his hand around your waist while he helped you walk to the bathroom, and his scolding in Spanish when you tried to move on your own.

"Maybe if you had done it shirtless, it would have been more fun."

"Que graciosa." He rolled his eyes as he handed you the TV remote. It was rare for him to be home at this hour, but you didn't mind the company.

He sat on the larger sofa, ready to watch whatever you chose. Of course, you didn't stay quiet for long.

"How does your suit work?"

"Nanotech."

"Bullshit. Why would you have a nanotechnology cape?"

"It's a complicated explanation."

"I have time. About 1,008 hours."

"Are you always this annoying?"

"Sometimes more."

"There's a God involved. Khonshu, the Egyptian god of the moon."

You nodded in silence, watching him attentively. At this point, it was probably impossible for any regular citizen dealing with superhero stuff all week to be surprised by any kind of story.

"He saved me." Thankfully, Marc couldn't hear this, or he would beat up his own body to hear such nonsense. "I work for him, he granted me the healing suit and all that." He shrugged as if it was no big deal.

"So, you can see him?"

"More than I'd like, yes." He didn't let you ask more; he spoke quickly when he noticed your intentions to dig further into the story. "Do you like instant noodles?"

"I love them." You watched him closely as he stood up from the sofa.

As he passed by you on his way to the kitchen, you stretched a bit to take Jake's hand and stop him.

Your request for a glass of pineapple juice was completely silenced by Khonshu's voice.

Hathor. It resonated in his ears.

It lasted a few seconds, but Jake felt suffocated. At least 3 different images, and in all of them, you were there. Or so it seemed; your clothes didn't match anything he had seen before, and the only clue he got about what was happening were the angles from which he saw you.

In the last one, you were underneath him, or so it seemed.

Then, an overwhelming feeling of sadness flooded his chest.

"Jake?"

"Huh?"

"What's wrong?"

"Deja vu," he said, blinking a couple of times. He let go of your hand and hurried to the kitchen, trying to distance himself from you as much as his small apartment allowed him.

You were sitting on the neatly made bed, wearing a dress you didn't love, especially when it revealed the bandages decorating your leg. But it had been Jake's choice, who decided after a week that maybe you couldn't live solely in his shirts.

However much he liked how petite it made you look.

He seemed so excited about the idea of getting clothes for you that you couldn't bring yourself to say no.

You hummed softly as you browsed through your music library when the bedroom door opened. You didn't expect Jake back so early.

"You came back quickly. What were you—" When you looked up, you fell completely silent.

That was Jake, but he wasn't?

His expression was tenser, so was his posture, but more importantly, his iris had a bright white color, except for the outer circle.

Something in your mind clicked immediately. Was this what he meant when he told you that Khonshu wanted to meet you? If it wasn't for the obvious, you'd think this was some kind of prank. You were never a person sensitive to the supernatural, but you could swear that the entire energy of the place changed as soon as he appeared.

"Is that you?" You whispered as he took steps closer to the bed. He was examining you, just as he had been doing since you arrived, but this was the first time you could feel it.

He nodded silently.

"Thank you for saving me." You smiled, which sent a shiver down the god's spine. "Jake told me it was you who asked him to do it, so thank you."

He sat on the bed, right by your side, and you moved your phone aside to show that he had your full attention.

"What were you doing?" Just when you thought Jake's voice couldn't get any deeper, Khonshu managed to surprise you. His voice sounded like it had an extra layer of depth.

"Listening to music, waiting for Jake to come." Your eyes were focused on his, and no matter how much you wanted to look away, it was physically impossible, as if they had a magnet that instantly drew you back to them.

"There?" He was aware of the technological advancements of humans, but both Steven and Marc had the most basic phones one could find nowadays.

You nodded, chuckling softly as you took your earphones to carefully put one in his ear and the other in yours.

"Wanna try?"

He nodded, silently.

"I'm going to press play, okay? So you won't be caught off guard." For a moment, he felt stupid because someone… No, not someone, a human was treating him like he was made of glass.

He didn't complain, especially when the music began to play.

The cable of the earphones kept you close, and you stared as he closed his eyes. His brow furrowed unconsciously; there was something new and intense about listening to music that way.

It felt so intimate and sounded so clear that Khonshu was reminded of the wonders humans were capable of.

Flashbacks, just like the ones Jake had experienced a few days earlier, flooded him. In these flashbacks, a beautiful young woman spun around him, dancing with complete joy, making him laugh and follow her clumsily.

"Hathor, that's enough." He didn't recognize his own voice inside his head. The girl took his hand, and he held it steady so she could twirl around on her own axis, her hair going everywhere as the music filled both of their ears. "Isn't it wonderful, Khonshu?" It was like listening to you. "The music?" "You are wonderful, my dear." His human body responded in amusing ways to the girl, blushing his cheeks and feeling what some called butterflies in his stomach.

The memory disappeared before he could receive a kiss from his beloved.

He blinked rapidly when he opened his eyes, trying to bring himself back to the reality where you were looking at him, with a million questions in your head.

"Dear?" He murmured one last time before his daydream vanished. In a matter of seconds, he stood up, causing you to startle in surprise.

"Khonshu?" Your voice mixed with hers in his mind, sounding almost identical. The corporeal being increased the intensity of everything by 200%, and it almost made the human body he had borrowed faint.

He fled from you, fled from the house.

And Jake never told you that accepting Khonshu into his body to let him get close to you felt like having his bones broken one by one, making him feel claustrophobic and disgusted.

In the second week, there was a moment when you momentarily thought you were in the presence of Khonshu because of the expression on Jake's face.

He looked upset, scared, and anxious, all bundled up together. It was 3 in the morning, and you were on your second glass of water while leaning against the kitchen counter, still sore but becoming easier to bear.

"I thought you wouldn't come today," you whispered with a faint smile as he got rid of his cap, letting it fall anywhere in the living room. He didn't respond, following you into the kitchen and looking at you intently for a few seconds.

Up close, you could see that his eyes were red and irritated.

You didn't say anything when he hugged you. Not even when he squeezed you in his arms, causing your ribs to ache. You just raised a hand and gently ran your fingers through his curls, trying to offer some comfort.

It was only then that you noticed Jake was trembling.

"And is your job to be a vigilante?"

"My job is to obey Khonshu." He rolled his eyes, certain that you had had this conversation on previous occasions. He could hear the cereal crunching in your mouth as he waited for his to soften with the milk.

Steven deprived him of the few pleasures in life he could have, without even knowing it. Unfortunately, real milk was one of them.

"And what do you do for him?"

"Things."

"What kind of things?"

"How can you eat the cereal like that? Doesn't it feel like it's scraping your palate?"

"How can you eat it when it turns into a thick, disgusting soup?"

"Good point." He took a spoonful of his cereal. It was just right.

"In the daylight, you look completely different."

"How so?"

"I don't know, you just do."

Jake didn't say it out loud, but it was quite funny considering that he was, in fact, someone quite different, or something quite similar.

"How's your leg doing? Do you think it's getting better?" An expert at changing the subject.

"I think so. Some days it hurts a lot, but it's only been two weeks and a few days."

"Are you counting the days to leave?"

"Yes." You pursed your lips, and Jake looked away before you could correct yourself. "Because I don't want to leave."

Since you arrived, you took over Jake's bed against your will. He insisted on sleeping on a sad inflatable mattress that squeaked every time he moved.

One early morning, you felt the mattress sink beside you, and you didn't even have time to be startled because the scent of your temporary roommate's cologne filled your lungs in a matter of seconds.

"Are you okay?" You whispered without turning to look at him, keeping your eyes closed even when you felt him wrap an arm around your waist. "Okay, you can sleep here then," you continued when you received no response to your first question.

He pulled you closer to his body, and you didn't protest; instead, you turned to bury yourself in his chest, seeking more of his warmth. It seemed the pain was more bearable when your muscles warmed up.

Jake moved away from you, just enough to see your face.

You opened your eyes as he held your chin and gently pulled it to bring you closer to him. The last thing you saw before closing your eyes again were those enormous white irises fixed on you.

He kissed you. He kissed you until your lips hurt, and your chin from the firmness of his grip. But you didn't want to pull away; there was something so familiar about his lips that you wondered if it was because they were actually Jake's lips or if there was something more that you weren't understanding.

You could swear he caressed and kissed you for hours, although the next day you had no evidence to confirm whether it was a memory or a strange dream.

"Have you ever considered quitting?" You stirred your cereal in your plate, refusing to look up at him.

By week number 4, your encounters with Jake had become increasingly rare. He was quiet, distant, never with you, but more aggressive than usual, and his shirts filled the washing machine with blood, making you feel nauseous from time to time.

Wasn't the suit supposed to be worn during his missions? What kind of missions was he taking?

"Quit?" he echoed.

"To stop working for him." You felt uncomfortable mentioning his name after countless nights spent kissing, of which you weren't even sure if Jake was aware because he never brought it up.

He was aware. How could he not be when every night he felt physically and emotionally crushed?

"I can't do that." And he was right. If it were up to him, he would flee without caring about the consequences, but Jake was there for the sake of Marc and Steven. He had no problem with his efforts going unrecognized by them; he knew they were better off not knowing he existed.

"Why?" You gently lifted his chin with your fingers, making him look at you. It was a way to remind him that he wasn't alone, that you were there.

"I can't," he repeated softly. He closed his eyes, resting his chin against your hand as a puppy would.

You leaned in and, this time, when the edge of the table pressed against your ribs, it didn't hurt as much. You kissed the boy's lips.

"It's killing you." It was the last thing you said before getting up to collect the almost full plates from the table.

Jake had a kind of day off as your stay was coming to an end. Your body was hardly hurting anymore, and for several days, you could walk on your own. Now, all that was left was to enjoy your last time there, and you were doing just that.

Your legs were resting on top of Jake's while you both watched a silly program about people addicted to eating strange things.

"You should be on there for eating softened cereal," you said, trying not to laugh as your cheek was pressed against his chest, his arm around your shoulders.

"And you should be there for drinking pineapple juice like it's water; that stuff is going to kill you," he retorted, rolling his eyes but laughing.

"I'll die happy," you clarified, clearing your throat after a moment of silence to get his attention. "Jake?"

"Yes?"

"I don't want to go."

"Then don't go."

"You know I can't do that." And yes, he knew. He knew you couldn't stay in his apartment forever and that even if you continued whatever you had, there was no guarantee you would still be interested in him from a different perspective.

How would you react to knowing about Marc and Steven? Or about the things he did at night when his hands were stained with blood?

"You won't push me away, will you?" Jake had never heard himself so vulnerable, but a few days ago, he had realized that it was worth lowering his guard when it came to you. "I don't want to be alone."

"I won't, Jake." You whispered with a small smile, extending your pinkie finger to him.

He intertwined his pinkie with yours, trying not to laugh.

"Pinkie promise," you said, squeezing his pinkie with yours.

You didn't find out what happened on the show beyond that person who ate dressing with everything. You were too distracted by Jake's lips to pay attention to anything else.

For the fourth mental breakdown of Jake that you had to witness, you were fed up. Not with him, not with the repeated breakdowns, but with knowing that it was Khonshu who was tearing him apart. Sometimes physically, always mentally.

"You have to let him go," you said as soon as you saw him enter through the door, his white irises betraying that you were speaking to whom you wanted to talk.

"I can't," his voice echoed in your head, you were so used to hearing him whisper or not speak at all that it took you by surprise, indeed.

"Set him free, Khonshu." Your tone was threatening. Poor foolish girl, just because the deity never showed you what he was capable of didn't mean you were an exception. His rules were always fulfilled, for better or worse.

To him, your voice also merged with that of his former beloved.

"You're killing him." Your hands pushed him in the chest, you couldn't remember ever feeling so angry before, it burned inside you.

He didn't flinch.

"Dear…"

"I'm not her!" You exploded after a few seconds. "I'm not Hathor!"

"I'm not going to free Jake, we have a deal."

"I don't give a fuck about your stupid deal. He deserves to be free."

"You know nothing about him." His body leaned slightly to look at you, he tapped your nose. It was a condescending gesture, making you feel like a little child. "He's a broken man, my dear," he continued before you could correct him. "Even if I set him free, he would never be happy with that. He is created to protect other lives, not to live his own, do you understand?"

His tone was so calm that it scared you, but you didn't back down.

"And what do you know about being happy, huh?"

Oh, you were going to hit below the belt.

"You lost the one you loved, and you will never get her back." You spat the words without looking away. "No one will ever care about you again."

Lie. Lie. In fact, he had managed to convince you that you could be devoted to him in a short time, but Jake had become your priority even faster.

"You are free to leave." He swallowed hard, but the carefree expression on his face didn't vanish. There was still something more painful about it, as if it were Jake himself telling you this. "You're just a weakness for him, it's better if you go now before it's too late."

The eighth week was spent in your home, your empty and cold apartment that suddenly felt so unfamiliar to you.

Every morning, you would watch your cereal soften with the milk until it became repulsive. Apparently, your appetite had vanished without warning.

You avoided touching your phone because every time it was on, you would find missed messages and calls from Jake. Did you miss him? With every bone in your body, but you couldn't live knowing that Jake was slowly being torn apart, it wouldn't be good for you.

You simply hoped that he had found your note saying goodbye and thanking him, and every night you prayed to the moon that he was okay. That he wasn't hurt, that he would find a way out of where he was.

Perhaps that way, both of you could be happy together.

The truth was that you left him shattered. He questioned himself a million times about what he had done wrong and why you had suddenly fled without letting him know. Every night, his heart ached, and coming back to his apartment was the worst part of the day. He had never noticed how lonely and dark it was until you were gone. Whenever possible, he tried to locate you with his phone, and sometimes he read your old messages where you asked him to bring something special for dinner or simply more of the pineapple juice on different occasions. Although he supposed, based on your words in the letter, that you had left thinking you were doing him a favor, the truth was that he had never felt so lost.

[sinfulwrites]

Could u mabe do a nsfw alphabet for asa bc i love my beautiful bug babygirl🙏🙏🙏🙏 +i love ur writing oml

Hello there anon! Thank you so much!!

While my requests are closed, I simply can't say no to a bug man request. I love and value all my fellow Asa enjoyers.

Here you are! I hope you enjoy it!

Asa Emory NSFW alphabet

 A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

You won’t be wrapped up in his arms after Asa has finished with you, at most he will lay beside you and allow you to nestle into him. That’s the nicest he can be.

After sex, Asa likes to go over all the marks he left on your skin. Any irritation on your ass or thighs from the spankings, the red bumpy skin along your neck and shoulders from his bites, the scratch marks down your back and legs from his nails. He will run his fingers along them and press into any that make you flinch. 

He will not help you bathe, he will instead order you to. Even if your legs haven’t gotten strength back, he will pull you to your feet and make you go into the bathroom and clean up. All while he watches you.

If he has done enough damage to cause bleeding, he will disinfect the area and bandage it after you have cleaned up. He wants you to scar, not run around with infections. 

You will be locked back up in your trunk afterwards. If you were good enough to earn a bed outside of the trunk, you will be chained to one of the bed posts. Good luck earning such a luxury.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

To Asa, the human body has a lot to love. He is a shameless pervert for boobs, but he also is keen on legs. He is a penis enthusiast, and any man with broad shoulders and muscle can get him going. But when it boils down to it, no matter who you are, you have something he likes. Why do you think he chose you?

Now, on himself, Asa has nothing he could say he liked. Sure, he has strong arms and legs, he has a rather nice ass, some have said he has a nice chest. It's nothing he would write home about.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

In the heat of the moment, he will always cum inside.

If he wants to degrade you, he will cum on your face, or on your back. 

If he's feeling especially mean, he will cum in your clothes and make you wear them for the rest of the day. Don't try and change, it'll only make him do it again, and this time with more consequences. 

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

When he was younger, Asa would frequent sex bars. This is where he found his love for BDSM. If anyone were to find this out, they'd quickly be dealt with. Asa doesn't need people spreading the word of how slutty he was in his youth.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

You couldn't find someone more experienced in sex than Asa Emory. 

In terms of BDSM, he was practically a master. He knows how to bend someone to his whim without even trying. He knew how to hurt someone enough to make them beg for more. He knew how to make someone throw away their morals and self respect just so he could step on them even more. 

With a long history of sex partners, it's no surprise he is so experienced. If any of his students or colleagues heard about this, they probably wouldn't believe it. 

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

As a bondage fiend, any position where you’re bound underneath him is his favorite. 

Being hooked up to a sex swing is also a big favorite.

Without any ropes or cuffs, his next go to is doggy style.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Asa is the poster child for the word buzz kill. No laughing or fooling around here.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Asa is rather hairy under all of his clothes. Arm hair, chest hair, a lovely treasure trail, and of course he is hairy in the pubic area. While this is the case, he maintains his hair, often trimming it up before it gets out of hand. Like a trimmed hedge.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

He is not romantic.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Every so often, when the mood strikes him right, Asa will jerk off. Most of the time, though, when he is horny he prefers to indulge with another person. 

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

BDSM, and to the extreme. Gags, ropes, chains, clamps, blindfolds, whips, you name it. He has it.

Dom/Sub dynamics are also high on his list. He, being the dom of course.

While he carries himself as a composed, respectable man, he is a shameless voyeur at heart. He tends to lick his lips as he watches. 

If you’re on your period, expect him to be between your legs for most of its duration. Your blood will be a mock face paint for him. 

Asa has a marking kink, and while you won’t be seen by the general public, he likes to remind you who owns you with a bite on the neck. It will bleed.

Asa has a preference for anal. 

Overstimulation is also a big one. He likes to make you beg for him to stop touching you after you’ve had multiple orgasms in a row. The answer is no.

On the opposite spectrum, he also loves to edge you. Make you beg for release. Whichever mood he’s in that day, it’s still pure sexual torture.

Spanking. The more marks on your ass and thighs, the better.

Choking. His hands always seem to find their way around your neck to give it a squeeze. Most times it threatens to be too tight. 

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Asa prefers to keep his sex contained to his specific space in either his home or his hotel. These spaces are typically decked out to the max with his toys and restraints. He doesn’t like to be far from them.

Every now and then, though, the couch will do. He’s got restraints hidden under it.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

If you are sassing Asa, or simply giving him a hard time, it fuels his motivation to put you in your place.

If you’re on your period, he is like a feral dog chasing a bitch in heat. It’s the most sexually active you’ll ever see him.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Don’t call him master. Call him sir.

His line is at scat. 

He would prefer it if you did not puke on him. If you do though, it’s not the end of the world. But it’s certainly the end of sex.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

With Asa, you’re the one giving. Your place is on your knees between his legs, and he will make sure to remind you if you forget.

When you're giving Asa head, be prepared for him to grab your head and fuck your throat. It's his favorite.

He will eat you out on your period, though. It’s like a reward.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Rough and drawn out. Sex is not a one and done event with Asa, you will be with him for hours at a time without a moment to rest. Only after he is finished will you get the chance to catch your breath. 

By the time you are done, you will be sore and will be covered in bruises. Don’t forget the bite marks.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Quickies with Asa are very rare, if not nonexistent. As stated, he prefers long, drawn out sessions. One orgasm isn’t enough for him. 

If you’re not his captive, and the mood strikes him, he may drag you into a quickie. It may still be an hour long, though. 

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Asa loves to push limits and see how far he can take it with you. 

As long as the risk doesn’t include outing himself to the public, he would be willing to take it. 

With all the toys he has and the filthy thoughts in his head, you will be his sex guinea pig, so to speak.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

His personal record is five orgasms in one day. 

In terms of endurance, Asa has trained himself well not to cum prematurely, he can practically cum on command. Rest assured, you will have cum multiple times before he has once.

Let that be a gauge of how long sex lasts.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Asa practically owns a sex shop with the amount of toys he has.

Dildos, vibrators, anal toys, BDSM gear, even down to things he has made himself, he has it. And he is not afraid to use them. He will use them.

Asa is not shy to use toys on himself, but that is usually when he is on his own. Now and then, he may use a cock ring on himself with you. Just because he enjoys it. 

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

It’s borderline torture with how much teasing he will do to you. You will be sobbing and begging before he finally gives you relief; if you’re lucky.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

He is less of a moaner, and more of a talker. Talking down to you while he fucks you is his go to.

“Look at you taking my cock so easily. Slut.”

“You didn’t even try to stop me. Disgusting.”

While he doesn’t moan, he will growl. Especially when he cums, but also if you do something to disappoint him. If you hear it, you’re in trouble. 

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

This is a man with two jobs; an entomology professor and an exterminator. 

While his extermination job is purely to scope out new victims, it is nonetheless, a job.

While this could lead one to think he is well off, he typically blows all his money on his hoarding- I mean, collecting. 

With his night hobby at the hotel, along with a busy day schedule, he typically forgets to eat and sleep. You’d never know it by looking at him, though. 

Asa hand makes all of his traps, leading one to the conclusion that he is experienced with welding and iron work, along with carpentry and electrical work. He is very handy.

He has a long list of talents one wouldn’t expect. You didn’t think he could knit, could you? Think again. 

This man suffers from several mental illnesses. The trauma of his childhood certainly haunts him and keeps him awake. His horrible insomnia also doesn’t help his mood. 

Thanksgiving is a very bad time for him. You will not be able to find him. Don’t even ask about his plans to celebrate; there are none. 

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Asa is pretty average when it comes to length, coming to 6 inches. Though he is slightly thicker than the average size. Don’t worry though, he knows exactly how to use it.

Asa is also circumcised. 

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

While Asa is a sex fiend, it’s typically only on his own terms. His libido is quite low, meaning you will probably only get it from him now and then. Unless the mood strikes. 

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Asa is never one to fall asleep after sex unless he was truly that tired beforehand. 

You’d never know the answer though, as you’re usually locked back in your trunk after he is done. 

If you’re not a captive, you’re sent on your way once you’re cleaned up. Or he leaves if he is at your place. 

Having two day jobs along with a long night hobby, his sleep schedule is already all over the place as it is. Who knows when he actually fits in time to sleep.

[random-lil-illing]

decided to redesign ink sammy. i love it when people design him as a sheep but in my heart he will always be a sheep-dog

he definitely gave himself top surgery the second he turned to ink... he couldnt wear shirts anymore so he had to improvise (the scar on his stomach is from tearing his uterus/unecessary organs out)

he wears a bendy necklace like christian people wear crosses/jewish people the star of david

TW for disturbing headcanon under the cut (insanity-influenced body modification)

okay so i said i based him off of a DOG, not a sheep - so why does he have hooves like bendy?

okay well basically we know hes insane and a bendy worshipper, and he saw his 'lord' has hooves like a sheep/goat. now, at the time he had dog legs/paws, but he wanted to appreciate/be closer to his lord, so he cut his paws off and shoved wooden planks into the cut-off areas to imitate hooves. obviously they didnt hold very well, so he just wrapped bandages around them. he also trained/changed the general form of his legs by breaking the bones in the and then when he put splints on them, he re-arranged the bones to look a small bit more like ink bendy's legs. as you can imagine the planks dig into exposed flesh/bone so hes in horrible pain whenever he walks. the consequences of being a crazy cartoon cultist

also i dont think i ever explained his face scars?? theyre from ink bendy. most of his scars are (except the top surgery/hysteroctomy scars and the two little scars on his shoulders. those are from himself and tom boris respectively)

[hauntedhokage]

one last time

Nanami Kento/Fem!Reader

summary: you had been true to your word, your next mission had been your last. now he's following your lead.

just not in the way either of you had intended for this plan to come to fruition.

word count: 1.2k

warnings: established relationship, discussion of family planning, this is angst but not really but really, character death :(, season 2/shibuya arc spoilers,

Planning for the future was difficult and rarely done as a jujutsu sorcerer. Mainly because you never knew what challenge the next day would bring, this was why he tried his best to avoid talks of the future. He knew too many people who had planned their future yet didn’t get to see the day it came to fruition, or who had their entire plan derailed by the way their career shifted that the future they once hoped for was so out of reach it wasn’t worth trying for. He didn’t want to be like those people, didn’t want to let the one person he loved most down by not being able to deliver on a plan, so he tried not to look too far ahead. A couple months, a vague retirement goal, nothing too extravagant or detailed. 

But then the plan was made, a plan that would come with specific details and milestones and events to look forward to. A plan that would change his life. A plan that he was immediately dead set on seeing to fruition because you’d asked for it. 

“Kento,” you’d started, waiting until he looked up from your leg that he’s bandaging to your face to continue. You had a request to make, and he was already preparing to run to the store for more bath salts to soothe your likely aching joints.  “I think this next mission will be my last one.”

That wasn’t what he was expecting. Not even close, you loved being a sorcerer, the thought of you wanting to leave doesn’t make sense. So he asks the million dollar question, trying to keep his voice level as he asks,“Why’s that?”

“Because I want it to be.” It sounds so simple, but he knows there’s more that you want to say. “We’ve been married for two years, yeah?”

“On the seventh.”

“On the seventh,” you parrot his response, a smile on your face that he loves seeing. Warm and inviting and everything that he’d fallen in love with. “We’ve been dancing around family planning, and I think I’m ready to take that step but I’ve gotta retire first.”

There they were, the plans for the future he tried not to make. But looking at you, watching as you pulled out one of his hairs that had gotten caught in the diamond ring on your finger, he knew that you’d follow through. He knew that he’d follow through for you, because all he wanted was to see you happy. And he did want it all too; the nice house, beautiful children and perhaps a dog or two to fill it - he wanted all of that with you. He was going to give that to you. 

“This next mission is my last.” You repeat your earlier statement, cupping his cheeks to bring him in for a kiss. “Then I’ll be taking care of you and the house. Get all the practice I can get as a housewife.”

“We’ll need other practice as well. I hear that conception can be quite particular with timing and position.” Then he’s lifting you off the counter, being mindful of the injury to your thigh as he carried you out and to the bedroom to carefully deposit you onto the bed. “Might as well start now, right?”

You had been true to your word, your next mission had been your last. 

He’d taken to tending to your clothes; finding the old picture you’d kept in your pocket a little worse for wear after years of duty providing you comfort in times of uncertainty and leaving the faded, torn, and slightly bloodstained image atop the dresser. Your clothes had also been washed and neatly tucked away into the back of the closet, you wouldn’t be needing them anymore but he couldn’t bring himself to get rid of them either. It wasn’t his decision to make, after all, and he didn’t want to bother you with details so small. Not right now. 

You’d earned your rest, and he felt immense relief now that you’d been removed from the monstrosity that was being a sorcerer. The other emotions were kept at bay as he watched you sleep, gently lifting your hand to pull your engagement ring from your finger and carefully pull away the hairs that had been caught in the stone’s setting. Once again, mostly his hair due to how often you ran your fingers through his hair when you were together. Just like your hair often ended up in the grooves of his watch or stuck to the fabric of his suits - intimacy, proximity, connection. The simple yet massive things that made your marriage as strong as it was. That, and the love you had for one another. 

He knew before the nightmare in Shibuya started that he’d be leaving the jujutsu world. The work wasn’t the same without you by his side and he was tired. The goal was to see Yuuji through to finding the rest of Sukuna’s fingers, and to support the boy while they worked to defuse the time bomb inside him, but he wasn’t going to make it that far. He’d be seeing you again sooner than he thought, only he wouldn’t look as pristine as you did upon your return. 

And when he thinks back on the last time he saw you, how peaceful you looked as you finally got your well deserved rest, he’s happy. What once felt so far away now feels so much closer, you feel so much closer once more. Was this how you felt, when your time approached? Were you so tired yet so determined to keep pushing, desperate to see him again? Were you accepting of your situation, knowing that he’d join you eventually? 

This wasn’t the future you’d tried to plan for, it was exactly the future he’d tried to avoid, but to see you standing ankle deep in the ocean in the white sundress you’d worn when you eloped was unreal. Somewhere in the back of his fading consciousness he knows it’s not, knows you’re not standing on a beach in Malaysia. If it was really you, he’d see the scar that would’ve come to live across your clavicle after your last mission. The last time he saw you was resting peacefully in your casket, and yet he obliges when you wave him over. 

“I’ve been waiting for you, Kento.” He always kept you waiting. Waiting to come back to sorcery, waiting to ask you out to dinner, to be his girlfriend, to marry him. Always waiting, always patient. You should’ve ascended to sainthood instead of burrowing a hole in his heart for how patient you were. 

“I’m sorry, darling. I had work to do.” Always another mission, always another report, another mentee, and other reason why he couldn’t be there. But now there’s no reason, there’s no mission, there’s no hope for his survival. And he knows as you stand in front of him, hand outstretched and seeking his, that you’re here to guide him to that rest. To welcome him back into the arms that he’d missed so dearly, to bring him home. To take your hand would be to accept the end, but could he do it? Yuuji and the others needed him; there were innocent civilians still trapped in Shibuya, there were children fighting battles that they had minimal chance to survive, to accept his end now didn’t completely feel right. 

“I suppose you did.” God, how he missed your smile. To have you smiling at him like this once again was the warmth of the sun directed right at his face, it was a blessing. “But now it’s time to rest.”

Your hands were always so soft.  

[meiliarotten]

Team Fortress 2 Kinktober Time Two: Electric Boogaloo

Day 17: Thigh Highs Save Lives (Stockings)

🔞MINORS DNI🔞

Pairings: Medic x Fem!Reader

Summary: Medic finds himself quite enamored with a particular choice of clothing

Tags: Stockings, thigh highs, thigh jobs, oral, Medic is a thigh guy cause I said so

Word Count: 2.8k

The Masterlist

Medic hadn’t taken his eyes off of you from the moment you entered the bar. Everyone was out celebrating a rather large streak of victories. You had arrived a bit later than the rest of the team, as you wanted to change into something a bit nicer than your work uniform. This was one of the fancier bars in town, after all, but that wasn’t saying much. Still, you liked to feel pretty every now and then, even if it was a rather casual outfit. It wasn’t the outfit that caught Medic’s attention, but rather one specific article of clothing you had included.

Stockings. Thigh high socks, to be exact, worn with shorts. It was actually a rather practical way to guard your bare legs from the cold desert night while also not being too hot in the crowded environment of the bar. Well, maybe they kept you from feeling hot, but they were doing Medic no favors. He practically burned with envy whenever you laughed or danced with his drunken coworkers. You were simply having fun, but surely if he could see how beautiful you looked in those godforsaken things, they all could too.

The thought of them and the other patrons laying their lascivious gazes on you had him downing his beer in an attempt to cool his temper. It was uncharacteristic of him to get jealous so easily, but you had awakened something in him, something he wasn’t expecting at all. Medic shook his head, giving himself a quick reality check. His coworkers probably couldn’t care less about what you were wearing, most of them being far too intoxicated to even see you as more than a blurry figure leading them through the steps of some generic dance.

That thought calmed his nerves and he chuckled as he watched you struggle to keep Demoman from toppling over a bar stool. He was even more drunk than normal. It was a good sign in Medic’s opinion. If his coworkers were drunk enough once they returned to the base, he could easily explore his newfound affinity with you without the risk of anyone overhearing, and if they did, then they most likely wouldn’t remember. He couldn’t hold back a grin at the thought, now waiting eagerly for closing time while nursing a fresh beer.

—

By the time you arrived back at the base it was nearing midnight, and it felt like an eternity before Medic could finally return back to his own room. He would have been able to go there immediately if some of his less eloquent colleagues hadn’t decided to cause a massive bar fight within an hour of closing time. He hadn’t even figured out how the fight had started, but it led to his current task of picking beer bottle shards out of Scout’s arm, all to the tune of the Bostonian’s incessant complaining. Once he was certain there was no more glass protruding from Scout’s skin he bandaged the arm a bit more hastily than usual, eager to send his patient on his way and return to his room, and more importantly, to you.

He prayed the flush in his cheeks wasn’t noticeable in the relatively dim light of the infirmary as he ushered Scout away and quickly made a beeline for his private quarters. The click of his boots seemed louder than normal in the thankfully empty halls as he made his way to you, knowing you would be waiting for him. After all, he had asked you to, and you were always so obedient for him.

When he finally reached his room he opened the door to find you sitting at his desk. You were reading one of his books on human anatomy. While the material was a bit beyond you, you were fascinated by the diagrams as well as some of the photographs of real internal organs featured in the book. Medic was oddly disappointed, but he mentally shook himself- had he really expected you to be kneeling in nothing but your stockings, waiting for him? All he had asked of you was to wait in his room, and you had done just that. If he wanted more, he should have been more specific.

You looked up from the book and gave him a wide smile, one which seemed far too innocent. You really had no idea what those garments did to him. Everything from the way they clung to your legs to the way the flesh of your thighs naturally protruded ever so slightly over the hem was a source of erotic allure.

“Finally finished?” you asked, placing the book aside. You stood up, approaching him with that unwavering smile. “I swear, I could hear Scout complaining from here-”

You were cut off with a rough kiss. Medic grasped your upper arms, holding you still as he dominated your lips, stealing the breath from your lungs. You moaned against his mouth, eyes fluttering shut as you surrendered. His hands wandered low on your body, squeezing and caressing until you were quite aware of the subtle heat building between your legs. You clenched your thighs together with a muffled whine.

“I want you in my bed, now,” he growled, breathing hard when the two of you parted. Such a stern order coupled with the suddenness of everything made your head spin. Quickly, you made your way over to the bed with Medic trailing close behind. You sat down on the mattress, reaching down to undress, but your wrist was snatched in a death grip the moment your fingers touched the hem of the stockings. You winced, and Medic immediately released you.

“So sorry, meine liebe,” he said, giving you an apologetic look. “But please, allow me.”

With a nod from you, he proceeded to unbutton your shorts, pulling them down over your legs and removing them, taking care not to accidentally pull the thigh highs down as well. Your underwear followed soon after. You watched him with a confused tilt of your head, trying to figure out what he was doing. It was only when he began to absentmindedly stroke your thighs up and down that a lightbulb finally went off in your head.

“Medic,” you began, grabbing his attention. He glanced up at you, barely pausing as he felt the fabric beneath his fingertips. “Do you like the stockings?”

He paused, before letting out a short laugh. “Is it not obvious, meine liebe?”

His laughter was contagious, and you found yourself chuckling along with him. “It’s just interesting. I would have worn them sooner if I knew they got you this worked up. Maybe I’ll have to buy some more.”

“Gott, ja,” Medic gasped, the very thought of you purchasing more gorgeous, thigh hugging garments just for him making him breathless. “I would like that very much.”

You weren’t used to getting such strong reactions out of Medic, especially so soon. Perhaps that’s why you were so easily convinced by his next request. You could tell he had something on his mind, his brows knitted together and his mouth parting slightly as if he was trying to find the right words. You waited patiently for him to finally compose himself as he stroked your thighs, as if he was soothing himself with the texture of the fabric and the subtle give of your flesh under his grip.

“Liebchen, this may sound odd,” he began, his face going pink. You were suddenly very interested in what he had to say. Not much could make Medic blush. Furthermore, it was very difficult to find something the mad doctor would consider ‘odd.’ You gave a small nod, urging him to go on, which he did with a shaky inhale. “I want to feel your thighs around my cock.”

After a brief moment of confusion, you realized what he meant. Thigh fucking had never been something you would have considered yourself, but you certainly weren’t unwilling to try, especially if it meant getting more reactions out of Medic.

“I think I understand,” you said, sitting up and turning around so your back faced him. Medic began to unfasten his belt, almost frantic in his race to undress. His pace only slowed once his pants were off and he could press himself between your thighs

You heard him gasp and felt the rise of his chest against your back. He went still for a moment, and you felt him twitch between your legs which urged you to clench your thighs tighter. When he began to rock his hips you allowed yourself to lean back against him, letting yourself relax and simply enjoy the ride. You couldn’t help but watch with rapt attention at the way Medic’s cock speared between your thighs, already dripping precum onto the sheets. The only thing that could steal your attention away from that sight were the sounds he was making. With his head nestled against your shoulder, you could easily hear every enraptured noise, even those he tried to muffle with desperate bites to your neck and collar.

Medic fucked between your thighs desperately, his steady rhythm growing rougher and harder. His arms wrapped around you at one point to keep you from falling forward, keeping you pressed flush against his body. He didn’t seem to notice your needy whimpers as he pleasured himself, not until you managed to finally utter a coherent word.

“Medic!” you cried, and for a moment, he seemed to snap out of his pleasure fueled daze. It was then that it finally dawned on him that he had been focusing on his own desire for far too long. While he loathed the idea of withdrawing from the plush comfort of your thighs, Medic knew that better things awaited him. He pulled away with a soft noise, akin to a whine, and you quickly turned back to face him, pulling him into a kiss before he could say a word.

He leaned forward, deepening the kiss and pushing you back onto the bed. You let him push your thighs apart and tried to wrap your legs around his waist only for Medic to stop you, holding your legs still and pulling away from the kiss. You shivered in anticipation as you watched him descend down your body, trailing ghost-like kisses in his wake until he finally reached your cunt. With little warning, Medic delved his tongue into you, making you shout in delight. He held your thighs firmly enough that if the stockings weren’t there you would be able to see bruises blooming beneath his fingers. You rested your legs on his shoulders, sitting up slightly so that you could see him.

Medic’s eyes had drifted shut, brows knitted in concentration as he focused on your pleasure, tasting, teasing, and savoring every bit of you until he had his fill. Then he would begin focusing on your clit, making you squirm and whine, his grip tightening to keep you still. Right when you were at the brink he would stop, moving from your clit to kiss your inner thighs, paying no mind to your frustrated whimpering. He continued this pattern for a while, slowly working you up before denying you the release you craved again and again until you finally lost your patience, reaching down and taking a fistful of his hair.

His eyes snapped open as you pulled him off you. You were going to say something, to tell him to quit teasing you already, but the look in Medic’s gaze, almost animalistic in his expression, made your heart skip a beat and the words caught in your throat. Any complaints you may have had were forgotten as you tasted yourself on his lips and tongue. It was a passionate, desperate dance that only paused when one of you needed to part for air. Even so, you felt him shifting on top of you, fitting himself between your legs as he kissed you.

“Bitte, wrap your legs around me, liebchen,” he whispered between breaths. You did as you were told, pulling him close as he finally entered you. He shuddered, fixing you with a lustful gaze before starting a slow, but steady pace.

With an impatient whine, you used your legs to pull him deeper into you, bucking your hips until Medic finally picked up his pace, allowing you to simply sit back and enjoy the ride. He rutted into you desperately, spurred on by the way you began to moan and writhe beneath him. Even so, his movements were no less calculated than usual. They were quite rough however, and you whimpered when he delivered a particularly hard thrust to your core. He stuttered and slowed, and you felt his hand come up to cup your face. You opened your eyes, not even realizing until now that you had been squeezing them shut, and you were met with his gentle expression. His thumb gently brushed over your cheek and you leaned into his touch, cherishing a brief moment of calm.

“Am I being too rough?” It took you a moment to register what he said, but once you did you quickly shook your head.

“No, I’m alright,” you said. “I was just caught off guard, that’s all.”

Medic nodded and began moving again. This time you could tell he was trying to reign himself in, focusing on your pleasure. Eventually, he did start to increase his speed, but it was a slow buildup, giving your body plenty of time to adjust. All the while he continued to stroke your thighs, practically shivering at the sensation of those garments under his palms and wrapping tight around his waist. You meanwhile were content to lose yourself in bliss, so much so that you barely heard Medic ask you if you were enjoying yourself. You also failed to notice the devilish smirk he gave before slipping a finger beneath the hem of one of your stockings, pulling it, and letting it snap back against your skin. You gasped, the sting bringing you back to reality.

“I asked you a question, meine liebe,” Medic whispered, making it clear that he expected a verbal answer from you.

“Yes! Fuck,” you stammered through your words, desperately trying to string together a coherent sentence as you became aware of the pleasure building between your legs. “I’m so fucking close!”

Medic knew that he was nearing his limit too, no matter how much he didn’t want this to end. You shuddered as his hands trailed up from your thighs until they reached your hips. His fingers dug into your skin as his grip tightened and you gasped when he hoisted you up suddenly, making it far easier for him to hit that sweet, incredibly sensitive area inside you. You couldn’t keep yourself from trembling as he pounded into that spot repeatedly, and you knew you were moaning, even if you were too blissed out to hear yourself think, let alone speak. Whatever sounds you were making, Medic certainly seemed to enjoy them.

“Gott, I love hearing you scream like this, singing so nicely for me. Good girl.” His words came between strangled moans as he tried to stave off his own climax. It was no use, and before long he was coming undone, his movements becoming uneven and frantic.

You weren’t far behind, coming hard with a few more well placed thrusts, back arching and legs tightening around his waist, pulling him close against you as you cried out loud enough to risk being overheard. At the moment, you couldn’t care less who heard you. You were vaguely aware that you were calling for him, a soft mantra of ‘Medic,’ being repeated even as you came down from your high. It was akin to the calls he heard on the battlefield, although with the stark difference that those were usually cries of pain rather than pleasure.

“I’m here, liebchen, I have you.” His voice was as breathless as your own cries. He used the last bit of his strength to withdraw from you, pulling you into his embrace as he rolled to the side. The way your body trembled in his arms almost worried him, until he brushed a hand over your cheek and saw the soft smile that spread across your face. It was obvious that you had very much enjoyed yourself. It was a beautiful sight to see you so satisfied and relaxed.

Medic was quite the sight as well. He looked weary, eyes half lidded and breathing heavily. It was rare that he was equally, if not more exhausted than you were after activities such as this, and you took pride in the fact that you had managed to tire him out as well. You quite liked his contented expression, as well as the adorable struggle he put up against the beckoning of sleep. You loved it almost as much as you loved the ravenous way he had fucked you senseless.

You nestled against his chest, signaling that you were happy to fall asleep like this, limbs entangled with each other atop messy sheets. The stockings you wore were still on, and you probably wouldn’t find an opportunity to remove them until morning. Before finally letting yourself drift off, you made a mental note to wear them more often- and maybe even buy some more for special occasions.

[takeyourcyanide]

Forest

TRIGGER WARNING: Technical Self-Harm

Ao3

Word Count: 3 165

Fandom: Soul Eater

Character(s): Franken Stein, Spirit Albarn (Mentions of Lord Death & Marie Mjolnir)

Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Self-Harm, Canon-Typical Violence, etc.

Summary: Spirit walks in on Stein cutting his arm with his scalpel, shenanigans ensue.

Note(s): I suck at summaries. Also, this is the most hopeful thing you’re ever getting from me. Enjoy it while you can. I also hope this naturally progresses and isn’t sort of random anyway I’m rambling

Stein pressed the shining blade of one of his numerous scalpels into the plushness of his arm, dragging it through his flesh, beads of blood spilling from the wound as he hissed at the sharp, stinging pain.

He placed his bloodied scalpel down onto a steel tray, grabbing one of his many small, glass slides, allowing the crimson liquid to drip down onto its clear frame. He slid the slide over the surface of the wound, collecting all that he could, before placing the slide under his microscope.

A childlike and curious glint appeared in his eyes, a grin tugging at his lips, ultimately replacing his typically flat expression as he zoomed in through the lens onto the blood - an entirely new world appearing before his eyes as he intently observed each cell that made up the ever-flowing liquid on his left arm, as he had forgotten to bandage the injury.

The furious nerves in his arm shot pained shocks throughout the limb, of which he ignored as he giggled elatedly to himself, bouncing his right leg up and down in a repetitive motion.

He, too, paid no mind to the gentle flickering of his desk lamp, nor to the rubbery pitter patter of Spirit’s slick, black dress shoes right outside of his bedroom door.

“Hey, Stein, Marie mentioned some carnival she wanted to go to, if you wanna come with. We’re all gonna go in, like, a couple hours,” Spirit stood in the doorway, eyeing Stein’s hunched over body with suspicion. “What are you doing?”

“Why are you wearing shoes in the house? That’ll track dirt inside,” Stein sounded discernibly distracted, as though he wasn’t truly present in the room with Spirit.

The weapon sighed to himself, sparing quick glances around the dimly lit bedroom, one of which carried a grim air, impatiently tapping his foot as his eyes spotted the red trickling down from the meister’s pale arm.

“What happened?!” He gasped, making quick strides towards Stein, lifting his arm carefully. Stein offered Spirit a half-hearted glare, his arm taut underneath his partner’s ministrations.

“It’s nothing. I just had to cut myself in order to acquire a blood sample,” Stein elucidated in his habitual monotone, his face returning to a blank state, as he pointed in the direction of the slide underneath the microscope. “I wasn’t in the mood for jabbing myself with a needle.”

“So, you decided to slit your arm open..?” Spirit huffed, shrugging his shoulders whilst shaking his head. He reminded Stein of a disappointed and annoyed, or even mildly perturbed parent. “Where do you keep your bandages? I know you have some,”

Stein lifted his finger in the direction of one of his dresser drawers, staring at his weapon-partner with less of a pout, and more an expression of inquisition.

Spirit trudged over with gauze pads,

a roll of fuzzy, cotton bandages, and some tape, placing them onto the wooden desk as he grabbed onto Stein and his chair, pulling him nearer. He took a seat on the very edge of the boy’s bed, and began wrapping the wound in the comfortable coverings.

“I could’ve done that myself, you know,” Stein stated, yet allowed his partner to nurse the gash.

“Well, you weren’t,” he replied, pursing his lips in an almost passive aggressive manner. “I would’ve point ointment on it, but I figured I’d hardly get away with doing this, so you can do that yourself later, how about that?”

Stein nodded his head, quietly watching Spirit as his movements soon came to a predictable halt.

“Thanks,” he mumbled to the redhead.

“Yeah,” the scythe had barely managed to hear him.

“Do you want to see?” Spirit had stood, looking rather unsure of what action he should take next.

“See what?”

“The blood under the microscope.”

Spirit grimaced in slight revulsion, though that did not take away from the pang of curiosity pricking away at his brain as he longingly ogled at the microscope.

“Sure,” he relinquished his pride, raising his arms in the air, his hands falling with a soft slap on his thighs.

Stein, despite his face remaining stagnant, was inwardly smirking victoriously, as he rolled his chair away from the desk, making room for his weapon.

“Okay, fine, it’s cool,” he sulked as he glanced between the lens and the smug male beside him. “But that doesn’t mean I’m going to let you cut into yourself,” Spirit declared awfully sternly as he held his pointer finger in the air, now facing Stein.

“You won’t let me cut into others, so when I inevitably start cutting into myself, that’s also a problem? It’s my body, is it not? Am I not permitted to do as I please with it?” Stein frustratedly began, despite his voice remaining unaffected. You could only see it in his weary, jaded eyes.

A harsh sigh shook Spirit’s frame as he stood with his arms crossed over his chest in an authoritarian manner, peering downwards as he spoke to Stein.

‘And of course he’d look down on me,’ Stein thought to himself. ‘They all believe themselves to be above me in some way, don’t they?’

“Well, yes, Stein, it is your body, but harming yourself isn’t a good idea,” Stein gazed directly into Spirit’s eyes with fervor, causing the hair on the back of the weapon’s neck to rise with caution.

“Is curiosity now a vice I must overcome, just like everything else? Just like myself? You know, given the fact that you seem to think everything is a sin,” he bit back at Spirit. “I’m not just some misguided child you need to set straight onto the ‘right path.’ And what gave you or anyone else the right to decide what was considered ‘right’ and ‘wrong,’ anyway?” He rose from his seat, standing in front of Spirit with a simultaneously empty and threatening expression present on his visage. “I will do what I want, and you will not get in my way, Spirit.”

“You can’t just make up your own rules,” Stein’s countenance only intensified as Spirit continued onwards.

“Is that not what Lord Death has done?”

“W-“ he stuttered. “Well, that’s different-“

“Why?” Stein interjected, crossing his own arms.

“What do you mean ‘why’? Isn’t it obvious? It’s Lord death.”

“Whether or not someone is supposedly a god means nothing to me.”

“How could you say that? Don’t tell me you really mean that…”

“Why is it that you mindlessly follow every order he gives you, everything he says without question?” Stein stepped forward, his face only inches apart from Spirit’s shaken one.

“Becau-“

“Do you even know what it is that you’re fighting for? Why it is that you’re fighting for it?” He tilted his head, his tone almost condescending. “Or were you just told that this was what must be fought for? Are you just a dog that follows every command from its master? You simply slaughter any being you are told to without questioning a single thing, only to get mad when I dissect any living organism.”

“But that’s different. The one’s we kill are evil, they can’t be redeemed-“

“How do you know that? How do you know what’s ‘evil’ and what is ‘not’? Why do you not question a thing?”

“Just because you don’t have a sense of morality doesn’t mean we all can’t have one,” Spirit furrowed his brows in aggravation.

“You’re missing my point, Spirit.”

“What point?!”

“I don’t care that you have a moral compass. It’s only natural that hurting your fellow man would make you feel guilty. It’s evolutionarily beneficial to feel as such.”

“Then what’s your point?”

“You don’t question anything. You don’t question why you feel guilty. You don’t question why society deems one thing wrong and the other right. You don’t wonder to yourself why they never respect the nuances - the grey areas present. You don’t question why some people are more repulsed by certain things than others. Morality, at the end of the day, is nothing if not a subjective mess.”

“And that means you can do whatever you want?” Spirit tapped his foot on the ground, leaning as he allowed his weight to fall onto his right side.

“Yes, as a matter of fact, it does. Because in my own subjective perspective, morality does not matter,” Stein’s mouth curled into an eerie grin, his eyes growing in size.

“You have no right to disrespect the right to life of every living creature on Earth for your own benefit,” he frowned angrily.

“Well, you might think it’s different, but are you not doing the same thing, killing anyone on Lord Death’s list?” Stein suggested, moving creepily closer to Spirit. “And I figured it’d be obvious by now, but for some odd reason I can’t find it in my soul to care about the rights of others, though I do agree that you’re technically correct.”

A chill ran up and down Spirit’s spine as he saw his partner in a light he had never seen him in before. He wasn’t just some apathetic and disagreeable kid. He was someone Lord Death would most certainly send his students out to exterminate. Stein’s only saving grace from such a fate was the fact that he had no interest in consuming the souls of others. And the fact that he was the best meister the school had ever seen.

Spirit once again shook his head in mild disbelief, a sort of shock clouding his thought process. He didn’t know what he expected, Stein had always behaved like this, but it felt as though a revelation had fallen upon him, opening his eyes to the truth; there was no saving Stein.

Stein’s expression seemed to soften, even if only a little bit, as he picked apart every minute detail on Spirit’s face, as he dissected his soul.

“You can see it, can’t you?” Stein murmured, sounding oddly disappointed - something Spirit seldom heard from his resilient and detached meister.

“See it?” Spirit repeated confusedly, seeking clarification as he processed his newfound perspective.

“Me,” he started to explain, appearing rather sullen and morose. “A part of me. Oh, well. It was fun while it lasted, wasn’t it? Or maybe it wasn’t for you.”

“Fun while it lasted? What are you talking about?” He squinted his eyes, being thrown for a loop.

“I know you can see it, Spirit. Aren’t you seeing me for what I am in a sense?” Stein’s arms fell to his sides.

“I guess so? But what does that have to do with something being ‘fun while it lasted’?”

“Our partnership. It was entertaining,” he responded as thought it was clear as day what he was talking about.

“I’m not going to end our partnership just ‘cause you’re kind of a jerk, Stein,” he said, finally understanding what Stein had meant.

The scientist looked confused, his eyebrows pinched close together as he searched ceaselessly for answers, something he himself could understand and grapple onto.

“But I don’t respect the rights of others, you said it yourself. You can’t fix me, Spirit, I know you can see that.”

Spirit grabbed ahold of Stein’s smaller shoulders, shaking him a little as he replied.

“I’m not just gonna leave you here because I can’t ‘fix’ you, Stein. I care about you. That’s why I don’t want you cutting yourself up. Do you think I want you bleeding or some shit? Do you think I’m not worried that one day I’ll find you bleeding out ‘cause you cracked up and randomly decided to perform some surgery on yourself?”

“You care about me?”

Stein sounded so taken aback by his former statements that Spirit almost felt a sort of empathy for the guy. Actually, he did empathize him. Even if he was some kind of psychopathic nutcase.

“Duh, you dumbass! Do you think I told you to stop taking scalpels to yourself just to piss you off?!”

“I thought it was because I might be more vulnerable to future attacks from enemies if injured. Or because you told Lord Death at some point about my experimenting and Lord Death told you to tell me to stop.”

“Can you really not fathom that someone might actually care about you?” Spirit sincerely asked, a much more sympathetic and tender look on his face.

“I suppose not. I don’t think anyone’s actually known me before, so I don’t believe it’s possible. And who’s to say you’re not trying to earn my trust and ultimately utilize it to your advantage?”

“Stop being so goddamn paranoid for once in your life! Show me you! I want to see who you really are! I’ll accept all of you, I promise. I’m not trying to double-cross you or anything, I just want to really get to know my partner, I swear.”

“Really?”

“Yes, you idiot!” He yelled passionately in a degrading manner, yet retaining a doting tone.

“I don’t know if I know how,” Stein responded honestly, perceptibly quite apprehensive towards the notion.

“How about you try,” Spirit slid his hands down from his meister’s shoulders to his frigid hands, effectively warming them in his own. “Why don’t we resonate? And don’t give me some fake, curated soul.”

“Okay…”

……

A luminous, blue glow formed around the pair as their souls intertwined, wavelengths moving back and forth and becoming one rhythmically. It was like a tragic song as Spirit ultimately crawled into Stein. It was as though the deepest pit of hell had opened before Spirit’s quivering self, an uneasy and horrified feeling washing over him.

The first thing Spirit could visualize was a foggy, labyrinth of a forest absolutely shrouded in grey. He could make out that a few of the trees had fallen, crumbling down as even the ground beneath him seemed to crack. For the plethora of trees that stood, the branches and leaves had become overgrown, twisting around one another, strangling each other to the point that any possibility of looking up at the sky had long since vanished. Loose screws stuck out of the trees, some slipping out and falling onto the decaying grass.

The forest was silent. Utterly and alarmingly silent. There were no chirping birds or hopping frogs, or really, any sign of life at all besides the apparently struggling trees themselves. The only flowers present were belladonnas.

A sudden and chilling gust of glacial wind blew by, slapping Spirit in his flabbergasted face as he noted to himself just how bitterly cold the forest was. His body trembled as he dragged himself forward, his teeth chattering. He felt unusually scared, nearly appalled.

“Stein?” He called out, only to be met with an ear-piercing and repetitious echo as he registered the sheer scale of the forest he was lost in. “Where are you?!”

It felt as though the weapon had been stripped entirely bare as he aimlessly wandered throughout the depths of his meister’s soul.

And though it felt like hours, finally, a sound besides his own movement could be heard; static.

It was a mantra of sorts - a broken record. It played over and over again.

Where was it coming from?

Spirit took a left turn, dodging a few vines and spiderless webs as he pursued the monotonous noise.

“Stein!” He bolted towards his partner, of whom was lying on the dirt, a vintage radio sat beside him. He looked so worn out.

His eyes peered up into the endless bunch of mossy green, golden, and reddish leaves above him, brown and grey making up his surroundings. He basked in the abyss, his body more unmoving than that of a corpse, which left Spirit dumbfounded. How was he not shivering from the virtually wintry temperature?

He fit in perfectly with the oppressive fog.

“What is all this?” It was a stupid question, but it was simply all that he could muster, all that he could choke out.

Stein did not respond, he did not even peek at the scythe. He maintained the same expression, the same position.

“This is you… Your soul…” Spirit muttered to himself before yelping out, “What the hell,” At the sight of blood pooling from the volume handle of the radio, of which was shaped just like a screw.

It looked like they were loosening, fragile and prepared to plummet at the slightest misstep.

“Can you make it stop,” Stein requested - truly, asked - in possibly the most exhausted and measly voice he had ever heard, as though he had been exasperatedly battling in an endless war against himself that no one else had ever known about. Stein was vulnerable, entirely unfortified for the first time in his life.

Spirit kneeled down next to Stein and the obstreperous radio, his visage sincere and concerned simultaneously, a sort of clarity about him as he delivered himself of his own fright - of his unease regarding his meister’s tumultuous soul.

He had truly never witness a soul quite like Stein’s ever before.

“No,” Stein abruptly shot up, evidently panicked and not breaking eye contact with Albarn. His eyes were practically bulging out of their sockets as they watered. “I don’t think I can.”

He struck Spirit as a helpless child.

“But I can try to quiet it,” he turned the slackened screw, the static slowly dissipating. “Accept it, Stein. Accept yourself. Accept that you can’t run from yourself.”

Spirit reached out, inching closer to Stein as he held him in his arms. He appeared staggered, startled to his core - scared, even, for the first time.

“You know this will be a part of you for the rest of your life. You can’t fight it alone,” he encouragingly purred down into Stein’s silver hair.

Stein curled impossibly further into his partner, surprisingly accepting the affectionate gesture.

Was he allowed to place his trust into Spirit? What would happen if he were to? What would it even look like? Spirit seemed so disgustingly sweet and serious, did he really have a choice in the matter?

“Accept yourself just as I accept you.”

Stein let out the breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding, his knuckles turning white as he grasped with an iron grip onto his partner’s suit jacket.

His formerly tense form seemed to melt into nothingness - a peace he’d never once felt before.

Stein peered above himself, the leaves and the branches had not untangled, the fog had only further dispersed. But those same leaves appeared a little brighter in color than before - the fog seeming a little less dense, as he allowed Spirit to lift the both of them upwards, still holding onto him, as the scythe offered Stein the most authentic, heartfelt smile he could gather..

“You���re the most cocky and sadistic and honestly insane asshole I’ve ever met, but that doesn’t mean I’m gonna go out and find some other dick to partner with,” Spirit chuckled as Stein smirked in reply. “Trust me. And please don’t experiment on yourself.”

“Can’t promise you anything,” Spirit rolled his eyes at the stubbornness of his meister.

“Whatever.”

[xiaq]

Steddie Time Travel Fix-it Pt. 11

Ao3 Pt. 1 Pt. 2 Pt. 3 Pt. 4 Pt. 5 Pt. 6 Pt. 7 Pt. 8 Pt. 9 Pt. 10

Eddie wakes up the following morning to Steve Harrington sitting cross-legged beside him, loading the magazine of a handgun.

“Whu?” Eddie manages.

When they’d all gone to sleep––Eddie checks the clock, five hours ago, why are they even awake?––Robin, Chrissy, and Nancy had taken the guest bed while Steve and Eddie made due with sleeping bags and camping cots on the floor. The kids were split between Dustin’s room and the living room. 

And now, instead of sleeping in like most sane people would do after the apocalypse was avoided, Steve is loading a gun. He’s also still wearing Eddie’s shirt and boxers. While loading a gun. 

Eddie should not have to deal with this so early in the morning.

“Hey,” Steve says.“You can keep sleeping. A couple of us are going to do a quick check at the last open gate. Make sure it still looks like he’s really gone this time.”

The he is weighty.

Eddie shoves himself into a sit, scrubbing at the crust in his eyes.

“Okay. What time are we leaving?”

“We aren’t going anywhere,” Steve murmurs absently, sliding in the now-full magazine, checking the safety is on before standing. “You’re sleeping. I’m going.”

“Okay, but who’s going with you?”

Steve tucks the gun into the duffle bag that Eddie recognizes from the night before, then stoops to pick up the ammo box. His movements are awkward around his still-bandaged hand, around the clear pain from his ribs.

“Hopper, Nance, Jonathan, Robin, El, and I,” he says. “One of the scientists from the lab and two of the suits. Not that they’ve ever been useful. Kids are staying here with Joyce and Murray.”

“You’re injured,” Eddie points out, standing.

“I’m fine.”

“I’m uninjured,” he presses. “And I’m a pretty good shot, thanks to Wayne. Especially if you give me one of those shotguns.”

Steve’s movements become even more jerky as he shoves another box into the bag. “No, Eddie. Just hang out here. We’ll be back soon.”

“Okay, fuck no. You’re not leaving me behind with the literal children again.”

“It’s not a debate,” Steve says, every ounce the infuriating my-word-is-law asshole that stalks the halls of Hawkins high. “You’re not coming, deal with it.”

“I am coming, and you can deal with it. I don’t know why you seem to think I’m useless and I don’t care, but you’ve got plenty of guns to go around and I know how to shoot one. I’m coming.”

Steve stops packing shit into his bag. “No,” he says, low and dangerous. “You’re not.”

Eddie steps into his space, tips his head, and practically snarls into Steve’s mouth: “Oh, Harrington. I am begging you to try and stop me and see what happens.”

“Would you just fucking—no,” Steve shouts, voice breaking. “No, okay? I can’t. I can’t take you down there.”

“Why not?!” Eddie shouts back.

“Because even when we thought it was safe, even when we planned for you not to––we took so many fucking precautions, but it always happened. Every time. And even if it seems okay now, I can’t do that again, especially not when we’ve come so far this time. I can’t even see you down there, okay? I will lose whatever’s left of my goddamn mind. So no. Please, no. Eddie.”

And that. Well. Eddie was not expecting that.

He takes a step back. He considers Steve’s face—the tight, stricken, set of his mouth and the sheen to his eyes. And something occurs to him.

“You said that when you first went back in time it wasn’t enough,” Eddie murmurs. “That you made several attempts but you still lost.”

“Yeah.”

“Was I there? For all of them?”

“Yeah.”

“How many times did you watch me die?” Eddie asks quietly.

“Too many,” Steve says, and his voice cracks between the words. “Please don’t make me do it again.”

The way he says it, the way he looks when he says it, makes Eddie take another step back.

“Okay,” Eddie says. “Okay, I’ll stay here.”

They’re only gone for two hours but Eddie has worked himself up into something of a frenzy by then.

The kids keep trying to talk to him about the Eddie they knew before, about D&D and their former lives and hey if we’re going to be stuck in the past do you think we can skip a few grades? 

Eddie does his best to follow along but he’s caught thinking about the panic in Steve’s eyes, the supplication, when he’d begged Eddie not to come. He can’t stop wondering how many times they went back. How many times they failed. How many times Steve probably blamed himself for the failure.

 Eddie has been––not jealous, exactly, but a little frustrated by the fact that everyone except for him and Chrissy, and Barb before she left, had a strange and slightly overwhelming camaraderie. They had all these experiences in common––they’d shared life-changing moments, and Eddie constantly felt like the odd man out. Like he was trying to play catchup with only the barest of plot outlines. It didn’t seem fair, that he was expected to adapt so quickly to the knowledge that alternate dimensions and time travel and monsters existed while simultaneously trying to fill the shoes of his former––future?––self.

Now, though, he thinks about the shadows that seem to permanently live in Steve’s eyes and he wonders if maybe the opposite is worse. Steve had adapted to the horrors over time. Too much time. Time pressed between layers of time where the only memories created were negative. Were painful.

He thinks he should probably give Steve a hug when he gets back.

Wayne had called when he got off work––the suits had contacted him earlier that morning and put him up in the motel in town. They’ed told him there was seismic activity and the trailer had been damaged and the government would be taking care of a replacement, which Wayne had reported to Eddie with a bemused yet hopeful tone. “Guess I won’t have to save to fix the roof anymore, huh?”

Eddie probably hadn’t shown the proper enthusiasm for the unexpected windfall, because he was too busy twisting the phone cord around his fingers and staring out the kitchen window at the empty cul-de-sac, hoping that maybe, if he stared hard enough, Hopper’s truck might appear.

When it finally does appear, Dustin is trying to cajole him into eating a pancake while Chrissy is asking, for the third time, how, exactly, she died, which the kids are being very shady about––apparently she and Barb and Eddie had all been killed by this Vecna dude. Barb very explicitly did not want to know how she died. Crissy vehemently does. Eddie…isn’t certain. He’s afraid he was a coward, at the end. He doesn’t want that assumption confirmed.

When the truck pulls up in front of the house, the kids pile onto Steve and the others first, with hugs and questions and requests to go with them next time.

 Eddie and Chrissy watch from the doorway.

“So,” Eddie says. “Is this super weird for you too, or––?”

“Yeah,” she says, not sounding very upset about it. “It’s nice, though, at the same time.”

Eddie raises an eyebrow at her. “Finding out the monster from the hell-version of Hawkins killed you in a different reality is ‘nice’?”

She leans into him so she can poke her elbow into his ribs. “Well not that part, obviously. But the part where––I’ve never had close friends before. I’ve had, like, cheerleading friends. Or friends I spend time with because their parents are friends with my parents. But never people of my own. Who like…genuinely care about me.” She nods to the group in the driveway, laughing as Robin pantomimes something. “They all love each other so much. And they thought I was worth saving. That’s pretty cool. To have a group like this care about you.”

Eddie can’t argue with that.

Hopper shepherds everyone back inside and they cheerfully lay into the food that Joyce and Claudia had made in their absence. The kids are talking about the upcoming science fair and maybe they can win it this time with a little extra knowledge on their side. Joyce is wondering if that’s cheating since technically they’re all freshmen in highschool now competing on a seventh-grade level. Dustin says it doesn’t matter because somebody needs to put Justin Malcovich in his place—it’d be an act of public service to knock him off his science fair throne––

Eddie agrees with Chrissy. He does feel honored and flattered and a little uncomfortable, honestly, with the affection the kids and Steve obviously have for him. But he doesn’t understand how he fits here. Or at least how this version of him fits. Maybe he’s not ready to be a part of whatever this is. Maybe there’s a reason they didn’t meet for several years.

“Well that’s not a good expression,” Steve murmurs, coming to stand beside him.

He’s still wearing Eddie’s shirt. And he smells. So fucking good. 

“This is just a lot.” Eddie admits.

“Fair,” Steve agrees. “You want to go sit on the roof?”

“...is that an option?”

Steve snags two pancakes from the table, grabs Eddie’s hand—his hand, not his wrist. His hand. And pulls him up the stairs.

They sit on the roof.

It’s not terribly steep, but it’s steep enough that they crab-walk past the window so they can put their backs against the sun-warmed siding for a little extra confidence.

“You mind?” Eddie asks, pulling a joint from his pocket.

“Only if you’re not planning to share.”

Eddie is planning to share.

They sit in companionable silence for several minutes, fingertips brushing, probably more fraught than it needs to be, as they pass the joint back and forth. 

“So,” he says, shoving hair out of his face as the wind tries to push it directly into his mouth. “I’m assuming everything looked ok?”

“Yeah,” Steve agrees, “totally fine. Hopper said the kids can come next time, so that should tell you how safe he thinks it is.”

“But still not me?” Eddie asks.

Maybe he shouldn’t. But he feels like their conversation from that morning didn’t ever get to the point he wanted it to.

“Still not you,” Steve agrees, abruptly somber. “Never you.”

Eddie waits for Steve to continue, to explain, but he doesn’t. And Eddie isn’t feeling so cruel to push. Instead, he tries to french braid his hair back out of his face and is only partially successful. If he and the wind are keeping score, the wind is definitely winning.

“Oh, here,” Steve rocks to one side so he can pull something out of his back pocket. It’s Eddie’s bandana. “This was in with my laundry from last night,” Steve explains. “Come here, I’ll tie your hair back for you.”

Eddie doesn’t move for several seconds because the words don’t really make sense. He’s perfectly capable of tying back his own hair, he certainly doesn’t need Steve's help. He’s also not going to turn it down, though.

He moves closer. He shifts so his back is partially to Steve.

Steve’s fingers sink into his hair with a degree of familiarity that is a little winding. He combs it back as best as he’s able and then uses the bandana to gather it at the nape of his neck.

“There,” he says, using one hand on Eddie’s shoulder to turn him back around “better?”

It is better.

“Yeah,” Steve agrees, despite the fact that Eddie hasn’t said anything. He tucks a few flyaway strands behind Eddie’s ear. “Looks good.”

Eddie exhales the smoke he’s been holding in his chest: long and slow and contemplative.

He passes the joint. He decides to be brave.

“Can I ask you something? And if you’re pissed after, can you just…let me leave. And not punch me in the face. Please.”

“Punch you—Eddie, what?”

“Are you flirting with me? Because it feels like you’ve been flirting with me. Pretty blatantly, man. And it’s seriously doing my head in because there’s no way, except––I just need to know. If you are.”

“Fuck,” Steve says. “I’m not trying to. I mean, I guess I am, sometimes, but it’s not––”

“Cool. Cool ok so, we’ll just forget I said anything and––” he pushes himself up, careful to keep his sneakers parallel to the roofline so he doesn’t fall to his death. Though, maybe that wouldn’t be so bad at this juncture.

“No. Shit, I knew I’d fuck this up. Eddie, please.”

Steve pulls him back down. Eddie lets him.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know how to act around you because I know you aren’t the Eddie I knew, but you’re so similar and I’m selfish and I just…

“What?”

“Typically I only had you for a few days. The same few days. Over and over. Danger and blood and death, so this is nice.”

“What, getting to leave the hellscape timeline? Getting to eat pancakes  and smoke and not worry about the end of the world?”

“Getting to keep you.” Steve whispers.

He closes his eyes after he says it, too slow to be a blink. Eddie thinks he probably didn’t mean to say it, judging by the grimace on his face. “Before it was just the same thing. A week of terror. Over and over again. And I only got stolen moments with you in between all of it. So this, and the last couple weeks, it’s just nice. That's all.”

“Oh,” Eddie says.

The silence between them is heavy.

“Were we…” Eddie isn’t sure how to ask.

“No,” Steve says, meeting his careful gaze. “Not really. But there was something. Or I think there could have been something, but it was mostly just looks and touches and I probably misinterpreted them anyway.”

Eddie breathes. “You probably didn’t.”

“What?”

“Steve,” he says. “Come on.”

“Yeah?” Steve asks. 

“Yeah.” 

“Can I kiss you?”

You can do anything you want to me, Eddie thinks. Instead, he says, “Yes. Please.”

***

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[gaoau]

regret being born and lose

theory of the two demons warnings — none word count — 3.0k

prev. — next.

"i see you didn't take my advice," is the first thing Dazai says when [Name] limps into the training room. again, he's leaning against the wall. his voice, weightless and airy, resonates in their ears.

[Name] keeps themself from flinching—there's nothing to flinch about, they think, but their instinct argues otherwise. their fingers twitch, tempted to have a go at him. they notice the blood has been cleaned up, as have the few pieces of debris, and their forgotten blazer is nowhere to be seen.

this is their second day of training to be another pawn in the Port Mafia's chessboard. they did find there's an infirmary—Doc helped out the new recruit without questions, battered and bruised as they came to knock on the door late into the night. wrapped up in clean bandages and doped up with potent painkillers, [Name] rested as much as possible before some henchman had to fetch them. ("Dazai-san is calling for you downstairs. he said to be quick.") they wonder how he figured out they didn't go home yesterday.

they think their left leg is fractured. they know they should have eaten something earlier. when they take a look into their mentor's eye, they realize he's already replaced the bandages he oh-so-charitably lent them. they think they should just die. they know it's not the time. they think Dazai's smile is too empty.

"i'll leave the bandages to you, Dazai-san."

they also know they don't want to look like him at all.

Dazai laughs at that. it sounds jovial, light, like a regular boy giggling at a joke his friend made. there's nothing regular about Dazai. he pushes himself off the wall to properly face [Name]. "do you dislike me already?" he lets a short pause sit. [Name] stares, silent. "just 'cause i beat you up a little?" a chuckle makes his sentence shake. he seems to know a lot; he seems to have a lot of enemies.

[Name] doesn't dislike or even hate Dazai—they don't have any reasons to as of yet. there are worse people than him out there; [Name] knows this first-hand. needles and straps and murder, all in the name of science. Dazai's spartan training doesn't come close, as similar as it might feel in the depths of their blurry consciousness. the bandages, the blood, the empty look in his eye, the smiles that fluctuate—it's all unnerving and [Name] wants to hate it. maybe it's not that there are worse people than Dazai out there, but that Dazai Osamu is a monster of his own kind. alone and alienated, blending naturally with shadows of unimaginable darkness.

no, they don't dislike him, but they can't like him either. there's an innocent boy crouching in front of them. he's small and he's lonely and he might even be terrified. [Name] feels pity bubbling in their stomach. he's hugging himself and blocking all noise from his ears. he's barely visible. it's unnerving how much [Name] wants to sit beside him until he's okay. but this boy is Dazai, and he's looking at them, waiting for an answer with a taunting gaze.

it's that empty look in his eye right now that [Name] doesn't like. it's that curling smile he wears to pretend he doesn't want to bawl like a child. [Name] lets the pain simmer; [Name] wants to bawl like a child.

at the prolonged lack of response from his mentee, Dazai sighs. the words swim in his head before he settles for, "you also want to die, don't you?" he takes his place back on the wall, leaning against it and side-eyeing [Name].

their reaction is small but very noticeable. although their expression doesn't change, he recognizes something in their eyes when they blink. if he were anyone else, he'd think the eye contact they're forcing on him is unbearable. "how can you tell?"

"isn't it obvious?" he starts, and [Name] considers he can see the obvious in everything. no one has ever claimed their suicidal desires to be obvious. "most of your scars are clearly self-inflicted." his eye scans over the unfading scars littering their skin; small and big, deep and shallow, up and down, from their wrists to their shoulders. then he zeroes in on their neck, tapping his own for emphasis. "not to mention that burn scar over there. a rope…? no, i doubt you had access to ropes."

"leather. from the straps on those medical beds." straps they'll never forget. or not. it doesn't make them any stronger or give them any more courage. it makes them want to die more.

Dazai laughs at the confession. he strokes his chin as if he were contemplating an interesting idea. "sounds like something i'd try. maybe i'll give it a shot sometime."

it's unnerving, unusual, unexpected. [Name] has heard so many counterarguments to their will to die before. adults, children, teachers, parents, criminals. people that have tried to stop them with actions and with words alike; some for their own gain, some with tears in their eyes. their life is small; a fleeting moment of consciousness in something larger than them. they don't know what to say. they don't know what game Dazai is playing.

there's a person—there's a small boy—right in front of them who isn't trying to talk them out of suicide, even when knowing the lengths Mori went to just to get his hands on them. there's a person right in front of them—crouching so far away—who wants to die just like them. but Dazai isn't just like them; he can't be just like them.

while he's still pondering whether he can ask Mori for a strap from a medical bed or not, [Name] chooses to speak up. "can i ask you why you want to die?" and they can't be just like Dazai.

it's a question Dazai has been asked too many times. he turned it around for Mori, he used it to make fun of Chuuya, he's come up with a different yet similar answer every time. he's getting bored of this question. now he takes his turn to be quiet. he stares at [Name], face passive and lips flat. it seems he only cares when he sees a face that doesn't fit either. he doesn't think about his life—he thinks he shouldn't have been born at all.

at his silence, they expand their curiosity, "are you stupid?" Dazai's brows shoot up into his forehead. he almost laughs out loud, but contains it as they continue, "tired? bothered? bored, even."

"what if i say all of the above?"

"bored and bothered? that's…" they strain to find the proper words for what they're thinking. it's not a real answer, they can tell, because Dazai is neither bothered nor stupid. they click their tongue in something akin to sympathy. "that must suck. i'd want to kill myself, too."

this time, Dazai lets his cackles spill freely. airy and youthful, they bounce off the walls and back at the two of them. underneath the smooth, soothing nature of his voice, a wail reverberates. "there's really no point in the act of living, you know? dying is a part of it, no one has ever survived it." his gaze is cold and hollow when he locks eyes with his mentee. all signs of joy vanish from his voice instantly. "why wouldn't i want to die if it's already something i'll have to do anyway?"

there's some truth to his words, even if it's not a completely honest answer to [Name]'s prying. they can agree—rather, they can't disagree with someone speaking so cynically. it makes sense. once he's dead, none of what he has made will carry onto the other side. it also sounds practiced, like he's recited it in front of a mirror before, like he's trying to justify a lie because his chest is just that fragile.

"in the end," Dazai speaks up again. [Name] startles only slightly at the sound, not flinching but stiffening. "do i really need a reason?" he offers them a smile. it's the smile of a child, innocent and ignorant. it's a young boy who got praised for answering right in class. it's heavy.

"no, i guess not." [Name] lets their shoulders relax, shrugging as if they were discussing what to have for dinner. they're fine with anything, be it weakness in the face of belief or soba noodles. "but i'd use something more convincing. that sounded like an argument you had to script for homework."

"you're not the first to ask. it becomes rehearsed at some point." [Name] wonders if they'll manage to reach that point in their own life.

"so are you bored or bothered?"

"neither."

there's a boy standing right in front of them, just a little bit older than them. there's a small kid hiding so far away from them, too young to have his hands shaking so fervently.

"scared, then."

Dazai blinks in surprise. he forgets [Name] has no reasons to respect him on their second day on the job. "i've been called a fool, but never a coward." it's an interesting perspective he hasn't been offered. Chuuya calls him a moron(ic bastard), Mori calls him a mirror, Kouyou calls him childish, and the list is endless. this is a first at the bottom of it all.

"are you scared?"

"what is there to be scared of enough to want to die?"

he sees how [Name] stops to give it some thought. their eyes flicker down and to the side briefly, then return to him, blank. "everything, i guess. people, time, space."

"no, i'm not scared. when people die, they call it going to a better place. i'm sure it feels good."

indulgence.

"i just crave death the same way a child craves candy."

"that's a better argument. i can agree with that."

"oh, that's new." the lilt of excitement in his voice is involuntary. he allows himself to perk up on basic human desire. "people don't usually agree with me." there's a manufactured sparkle glimmering in his eye that makes [Name] look down at their hands. not everyone shares the same normal, average thoughts that Dazai has. it's not like [Name] will ever understand him.

and it's not like Dazai will ever understand them. "takes one to know one," [Name] mumbles. bitterness settles on their tongue. the sinking feeling in their stomach tells them they shouldn't have said that. when they turn their attention up again, they're frightened to find such a heavy smile pretending to be weightless.

"why do you want to die, then?"

"…i'm tired." they let him interpret their answer however he sees fit. anyone who's read their files will know there are plenty of things to be tired of, despite none of them being any reason to kill themself. they lie. they're afraid of what Dazai can do with their honesty if they were to present it to him so foolishly.

there's a small kid, chained up and blinded by cynicism, far too out of sight for [Name] to see them. a lonely child, alienated, greeting darkness with a warm embrace. could these two kids ever be friends? the child that is smiling and the boy that is bawling. could these two kids ever pray for their lives again?

Dazai hums, uninterested in [Name]'s answer. he lets silence flood into the training room for a few more seconds. then he pulls out his gun from underneath his coat. [Name] barely has any time to process the barrel pointed at them when Dazai shoots. the bullet pierces straight through their shoulder and they fall to their knees on instinct, clutching the wound and gritting their teeth. they're not allowed to scream as much as they want. they glower at their mentor with a seething glare.

maybe in some other story.

"get up. we have work to do."

Dazai Osamu is not a good mentor—or at least that's what [Name] wants to believe. it's been a bit over a week since they started their gruesome training and Dazai is dragging them to the top floor for a change. he was clutching their wrist unnecessarily tight during the whole trek upstairs, but now that they're both standing in the elevator, he's chosen to let go. his bandages are rougher than they look. he seems to carelessly cut them off his fingers with scissors. the loose strings fit his character an abnormal amount.

when the elevator doors open, Dazai glances at [Name] on one of the mirror walls. he raises a brow at them. "so?" they stare back at him with a confused frown. he hasn't spoken a word all morning. "go on, Mori-san's waiting for you."

"Mo—"

"you should listen to your mentor when he talks," he sighs, exaggerating the exasperation in his tone.

"you didn't say anything."

"i didn't?" in mock surprise, he covers his mouth with his hand. his eye is wide and innocent as he turns to face [Name] properly. "must have slipped my mind." there's a smile behind his hand warning [Name] to never speak up again. it reflects and multiplies on the mirrors surrounding them. it's caging them in, threatening to rip them apart next time.

[Name] hurries to step around Dazai and out of the elevator. shoulders stiff, they keep their alert attention on him. the hollow grin on his lips is more hostile than usual.

"come on. you shouldn't keep the boss waiting."

his voice, as always, rings smooth and soft, playful even. it sounds like venom sizzling on [Name]'s skin. a shiver courses through their body. they watch as the elevator doors close, staring right into Dazai's uncovered eye and past that lonely darkness wrapping around his every breath. it's horrifying.

with ice in their veins, [Name] knocks on Mori's door. he looks up from the papers on his desk, calling out to let them into the office. he's amused to see the disturbed look in their eyes. it's a wild contrast to the seething anger from a week ago. this scheme of his seems to be working out for them.

Dazai Osamu is a good mentor and Mori knows that. he's extremely capable, making use of that impressive malicious intelligence he was blessed with. he wonders if blessed is a word that can be used to describe someone like Dazai (he wonders what Dazai would have to say about such an adjective). the apprehension in [Name]'s gaze argues that cursed is a better fit for a monster like him. it's hilarious to know he's willingly vouching for this terrified kid behind their back.

Mori folds his hands on the files he's reading, smiling at [Name] to help them stop glancing over their shoulder in paranoia. "how is your training coming along, [Name]-kun?" he speaks up with a paternal lilt, as if he were asking about the math test from last thursday. he knows exactly how their training has been coming along thanks to Dazai and his thorough reports after each session. he also knows the blood on Dazai's bandages is never his.

the anxiety in [Name]'s eyes crumbles into a miffed anger. they can still feel their shoulder throbbing from the one bullet Dazai managed to sink into them from a few days ago. "it's awful."

"is it, now?" Mori chuckles. "i know Dazai-kun is difficult to work with, but you've been making progress with him, haven't you?"

their glare narrows. "…i guess." it burns on their tongue. Dazai Osamu is not a good mentor, but he's the best one anyone could ask for.

"no pain, no gain, [Name]-kun." he notices the disgruntled scowl pulling their brows down, but decides not to torment them any longer. leaving pleasantries aside, he lets his lighthearted smirk dissolve into a serious, more appropriate expression. "i promised you resources if you joined the mafia, remember?" there's a flash of something alive in their eyes for a brief moment. Mori waits.

"you promised me time."

he gathers the papers on his desk; seven different files, proof of [Name]'s capabilities. although they're hesitant in their steps, Mori encourages them to take the documents. "you have all the time in the world, [Name]-kun, but i'm sure you don't want to waste it."

"these are…" [Name] flips through words and pictures. they're all people they don't recognize.

"it's a small unit i put together for you. they're under your command for whatever you might need them." Mori relishes in the astonished look stretching their features almost comically. "be it your search or any work here, you can use them however you see fit."

a skeptical frown replaces their momentary shock. "work?"

"there's some people that haven't been paying their debts and Mirror Mirage is perfect for it, according to Dazai-kun."

their heart drops to their feet instantly. they realize they can't read Dazai at all.

"you understand your ability is the price you pay for time, right?"

that's not it. that's not what is making their hands tremble with unknown emotions right now. they realize they're up against something much bigger than themself.

before their knees buckle and give out in front of the Port Mafia's head, [Name] bows with as much respect as they can muster. "of course, boss." when they straighten back up, Mori doesn't hide the sick grin curling his lips. he wants to see this scheme of his work out for Dazai, too.

"welcome to the Port Mafia, [Name]-kun."

note — i have honestly so many thoughts i dont know where to start. something the anime failed to do properly was odasakus pov during the dark era arc. i first watched that and then i read the light novel and it destroyed me. the way odasaku sees dazai like a lonely kid thats been horribly hurt and wants to cry but doesnt brother i am devastated. then i read the day i picked up dazai, where it becomes even more evident just how deeply disturbed dazai is by matters unknown and out of his hands. hes just a kid that wants to let it all out bro hes just a lil buddy. its a fantastic interpretation of dazai tbh and i love everything about it. the way im going about it tho is very clearly different cause of the mc that i made to go up against him. ill really be switching back and forth between gently holding him and curbstomping him the whole fic (well get into the curbstomping when i start making him even more abusive, not because i hate him but because its a part of his character, particularly before odasaku/odasakus death. like cmom akutagawa is right there) theres a lot more to unpack that i couldnt possiby express correctly without a plan. dazai is just so volatile but also so stunted and im doing my best here yo bye drink water mwah good night bby