#scars and sutures;

[queerslovehorror]

To be transgender is to be both creator and created; to strive for the power to surpass your biologically assigned limitations, to claim that which society deems impossible, while simultaneously being treated like a monstrous patchwork of parts, maligned by an unfounded essentialism and chased out by those who might, under other circumstances, have been your family. That which genders the Creature as visually Other is the scarring across his forehead and ‘prosthetics’ in the form of bolts through his neck; visual suturing. Halberstam’s Skin Shows extensively discusses the concept of suture. In film, suturing is intended to be invisible, the cuts between shots intended to mimic reality. Foregrounding this suturing can act as a visual representation of incompleteness or monstrosity – it attempts to make complete that which is not and in doing so acts as a marker drawing attention to this incompleteness. Suture also marks a space of liminality, of a boundary which has been crossed and thus threatens to cross that boundary again. It is interesting, here, to consider the way in which prosthesis use and visible suturing has, particularly recently, become a signifier of many transgender people’s (primarily but not exclusively transgender men’s) own ‘completeness’; instead of marking something absent or ‘incorrect’, suture and scarring are reclaimed as a mark of pride in the self-construction of a transgender body, and in the embracing of such a liminal position.

Transsexual Transylvania – An Exploration of Male-Bodied Births in Horror ( Aidan James)

[whisperingexecutioner]

Karl Ruprecht Kroenen official fullbody art.

Source

[iliterallydecepticanteven]

I love all the ways people have politely called me pale as fuck. "Very fair skinned" "at low risk for skin cancer" "easy to find veins" "prone to visible scarring" like just say I'm the same shade as printer paper you won't hurt my feelings.

[quietb00m]

Y'know what?

Ive just realized something about Dr. Frankenstein's creation!

Before it woke up... it was thoroughly sutured, as though having gone through a full body surgery (which arguably, he did)

I think his first fee weeks or even months of life probably involved a painful healing process inside and out, and eventually the body parts evening out and looking more balanced due to homogenous blood flow and hormone spreading (there's this article I saw where a girl got a successful arm donation after losing her arm, and the donor arm was a man's hand and didn't match her other arm at all... BUT IT STARTED TO MATCH OVER TIME cause it was receiving her own blood and stuff like holy shit- almost like an hrt but just for an arm??).

So yeah,

Once the freshly made body was turned alive it likely began healing itself which has some interesting implications about his appearance being different compared to the movies and costumes

So yeah, I now have this headcanon that Frankenstein's creation probably actually looked a bit different than what most people think. He definitely had scars ALL over him, mismatching skin colors and body hair, and odd proportions- but he definitely didn't keep looking bloody and freshly made!

And finally, I think the blood curdling fear factor people got from him was more from a horrible sense of uncanny valley and every instinct in their body screaming "this entity is not natural RUN"

[perfektblau]

it's late, can't sleep, playing with threads to sew up fake gaping wounds

[flintandpyrite]

Oh wow my sleep schedule is going to be absolutely fucked this month, huh

[oscarwilderobbieross]

if you’re drawing trans characters and they’re either plus size or they had a bigger cup size pre-op, they’ll probably have a connected top surgery scar rather than the two separate lines peace and love on planet earth

[whisperingexecutioner]

Karl Ruprecht Kroenen official fullbody art II.

Source

[inkdrinkerworld]

One thing i would think would make spencer and sunshine reader fight is if reader puts herself in danger on the field either for him or a team member

cw: canon level violence, mention of readeer getter attacked [slashed by the unsub], mention of being shot, guns, concussion mention, reader gets stitched up

“Spencer, you can’t be this upset.” You mumble as he flares at you the entire time the EMTs check you out. 

His glare only intensifies. You’d been chasing the killer on foot, Spencer behind you as you followed the unsub. “I am this upset. It was silly, you could’ve died. The unsub could’ve had a gun instead of a knife and while you put yours away you could’ve been shot.” 

Sure, in hindsight you probably should’ve waited for more backup, now that you’ve got a slashed shoulder and probably a concussion, but at least the victim and Spencer weren’t hurt. 

Spencer doesn’t see it that way. All he saw and still sees in his mind’s eye is you putting your gun back in your holster while he was too far to get a clear shot and the unsub slashing at you as you got the woman from his grip. 

“It’s just four inches deep, it’s going to leave a tiny scar after everything is all healed.” 

You nibble on your lip when he doesn’t say anything for a little bit. Then ire flares in your chest, “I’m not going to apologise for doing my job. Yes it could’ve gone better, but it’s over and everyone is relatively unscathed.”

Spencer sighs, long and hard. You flinch as the EMT pushes the needle through the torn skin of your shoulder. 

“I’m not worried about the scar it’s going to leave. What you did was stupid and reckless, he could’ve easily slashed your throat.” He still sounds annoyed, but he’s not looking at you with rage in his eyes. Though, you’re certain the rage was directed more at your wound than anything else. You know Spencer is just worried, maybe even a little terrified still from the adrenaline of having to shoot the unsub while watching you clutch your shoulder and trying to help the girl from being crushed under the falling body. 

“But he didn’t. Instead I’m a little concussed and banged up but my boyfriend wants to fight with me too.” He sighs harshly again, pressing the heel of his palms into his eyes. 

Spencer’s heart had threatened to pop out his chest the moment he saw the knife. He hadn’t shot off his gun fast enough. He can’t stop seeing the unsub’s hand arching down and cutting you and he can’t stop seeing you flinching and falling to your knees. 

“I don’t want to fight. You can’t do that again.” He says quietly, reaching for your hand to trace over all the lines in your palm. “I don’t think you understand what it’s like seeing you get cut like that, seeing you here being stitched up.” 

You sigh too, “I really am sorry we couldn’t take him down without someone getting hurt, but this is the job Spence.” You see your roles reversed and Spencer being stitched up instead of you playing in your mind and you throw him a bone. “I’ll try not to do stupid, reckless things again. But this one, I’d do it ten times over to save that little girl.” 

Spencer nods, knowing this is the best that’s going to come of the ‘argument,’ plus he can’t say that he hasn’t put himself in precarious positions on a case- he’ll try to never let the anthrax case come up around you. 

“I know,” he presses his lips to your temple. “No more reckless things tonight though. I don’t think my heart is equipped.” 

You gasp, “And here I thought I’d do somersaults all the way back to the jet. You’re no fun, Dr. Reid.” 

Spencer laughs, the EMT shakes her head finishing the last knot on the suture. “Neither are you, your somersaults would’ve landed us in the hospital instead of on the back of an ambulance.”

[moonstruckme]

hi maeee!! would you ever write reader x doctor! remus where they dated but then had a nasty break up? maybe reader shows up at the hospital and remus has to treat her and is all concerned and shocked? if not it’s okayyy i hope you’re well!! 🫶🫶

Thank you for your request sweetheart, hope you're well too!

cw: stitches, mention of blood

doctor!Remus x fem!reader ♡ 780 words

Remus opens your door with an apology on his lips. 

“Sorry about the wait, I had—” He freezes. 

You grin at him. It’s half grimace. “Hi.” 

“What…” Remus stares at you while his hand finds the wall as if on autopilot, picking up your chart. “You…you…” He skims it, but it feels like only half of his brain is working. “You hit your head?” 

You shrug, sheepish. You look unnervingly casual with dried blood caked on half of your face. “Sort of.” 

“What do you mean, sort of?” His voice pitches before he can stop it, and he pinches the bridge of his nose, trying to master himself. 

“I mean, it wasn’t on purpose,” you hedge. “I fainted first.” 

He pushes out a breath. Walks towards you. “Alright, let’s see.” 

The cut is above your eyebrow, and Remus places his hands carefully on your forehead and your jaw, lifting the gauze up to see it. Gentle, professional touches. 

“Are you experiencing any dizziness?” 

“They’ve already said I have a concussion, if that’s why you’re asking.” 

“Oh.” That was probably on the chart. He picks it up again, reading more thoroughly. “And you’ve already had anesthetic, too?” 

“That’s what they tell me.” 

Remus doesn’t mistake your buoyant tone for nonchalance. You’ve always shrouded your anxiety in smiles and good humor. To someone who knows you, it only gives you away. 

“Alright,” he says, making a conscious effort to banish his own worry from his voice. He pulls up a stool beside your bed and starts gathering his tools. “I’m just going to get set up, and then we can start. You shouldn’t feel anything at all.” He glances at you, seeing you bring your bottom lip between your teeth. “Do you know why you fainted?” 

You sigh, and it comes loose. “Yeah. Dehydration.” 

Remus looks at you sideways. “How did that happen?”

“Okay, you can put away your judgy tone,” you say, lips quirking up slightly. “I was helping a friend move into her new apartment. It’s hot out. It’s hard to tell dehydration from exhaustion when you’re carrying that much heavy stuff, you know?” 

He makes a noncommittal humming sound, but you roll your eyes like you can hear his critical thoughts anyway. “Why didn’t you take a break?” he asks. 

“I didn’t want to complain.” 

Remus huffs out a breath, amused despite himself. “You always were terrible at that.” 

“Hey.” You sound on the brink of laughter. “Terrible at what?” 

“At asking for the things you need. You’re always so worried about inconveniencing anyone you forget about yourself.” 

He lifts the gauze from your wound, wiping the area clean before readying the suture needle. You tilt your head up at his touch, a cautious, sweet sort of smile playing on your lips. When your gaze finds his, it’s like the world softens. 

“Close your eyes, sweetheart,” he tells you. The endearment aches in his throat, tender and familiar and far too intimate for whatever you are now, but if you notice you don’t show it. You close your eyes obediently. 

Remus likes to think he gives his best effort to all his patients, but he knows as he works slowly on your stitches that he’s being extra careful with you. His eyes stay on his work with laser focus, one hand splayed across your hairline to steady him. 

“Alright?” he asks you softly. 

You loose a breath, somewhat shaky. “Yeah,” you say. “You’re right, I can’t really feel anything. It’s weird.” 

“It might leave a bit of a scar,” he apologizes. “I’m trying to be as neat as I can, though.” 

Your eyes open, seeking his, but you close them again when he tsks at you. 

“That’s fine,” you say in a quiet voice. “I don’t mind if it does.” 

Remus’ breath sticks in his lungs a bit, an old memory suddenly coming to him crystal clear. You in bed, lit by moonlight coming in through the open window, tracing his scars with your fingers and your mouth. Exceedingly gentle, not because you thought you’d break him but because you wanted to be, whispering sweet words that etched themselves into his heart and never left. 

“It wouldn’t look bad on you,” he agrees. 

“Right by my eyebrow, yeah?” Even with your eyes closed, your face is still expressive, your other eyebrow lifting with the corners of your mouth. “I think it’d look pretty badass.” 

Remus has the terrible, fervent urge to kiss the skin beside that forming scar. He doesn’t know what he’s allowed, but he might just be desperate enough not to care. Maybe he’ll indulge after the stitches are done. 

“Yeah,” he says, lovelorn. “It probably would.”

[seth-whumps]

i like my whumpees STRONG. some notable ones as follows:

leader whumpees. constantly thinking, constantly moving. they've a team to organize. they're relied on constantly, and with a head and shoulders strong enough to handle the pressure. but the shame when they're hurt. the agony knowing their image as undaunted is tarnished. and love returned tenfold as their team holds them up as long as they need to--"You're not alone, Boss. we got you. let us help."

protector whumpees. reckless thoughts to throw themselves in front of danger because they can take the hit, but no one else can. scars and muscles and training and taking it upon themselves to wear each broken piece with pride because it's another person they saved. until one day, they nearly do die. and it takes the whole team to remember they're not a meatshield. they're a person.

medic whumpees. they know how to hold a suture needle better than anyone; they know the dose of morphine to take after a bone is set; they know what angle to press a hand in while checking for broken ribs. no one else does, though. so when they're finally beat into submission, it doesn't matter how much pain they're in, because they have to stay awake, stay calm, and keep their inexperienced caretaker steady, while they talk through each movement done on their own body.

[m-musings]

Crawl Out Through the Fallout with Me: Cooper "The Ghoul" Howard X Fem! Reader

A/N: never played an official fallout game in my life but i still love this man so it's time to bullshit some stuff, let's gooooooo

Word Count: 1.1k

Summary: After a fight with raiders, a argument between lovers ensues when one of them gets hurt.

Warnings: typical fallout vibes, mentions of fighting, blood and wounds, pre-established relationship, Cooper being Cooper but also being a bit ooc, this is cheesy as hell and def not canon compliant lmao

"Damnit, (Y/n), just what the hell were you thinkin'?!"

An upset voice rang out into the evening air of the Wasteland as a pair of figures rested up inside the crumbling walls of an abandoned building.

Lit by the fading light of the sun, (Y/n) hissed in pain as her irradiated companion tried to sew a sizable gunshot wound on her arm shut.

As he passed the needle back and forth through the gash, the girl rolled her eyes with an exasperated groan as a few rivulets of blood rolled down her arm.

"Gimme a break, Coop! Did you wanna be the one to be shot?! I don't- ow!- think so!"

During a journey to find their next cash-out, the partners were ambushed by a large group of raiders & fiends. After managing to get rid of most of them, one had managed to sneak up and send a bullet flying straight for Cooper.

Noticing the weapon before Cooper could even turn to see the shooter, (Y/n) dashed over and shoved the ghoul out of the path of the shot, causing her arm to be hit instead.

Now- a few hours after killing the remaining enemies- they took shelter in a decrepit shack in order to patch themselves up in peace and rest for the night.

"I'd still be better off than you are right now. I mean, for fucks sake, darlin', I'm a ghoul. I've been through worse than just being shot at."

"Well then, that's the last time I try to be helpful. Next time, I'll sit back and relax while you get absolutely slaughtered by raiders, how about that?!"

"Go right on ahead, see if I care! Now, hold still. Can't close this cut if you keep on squirmin' around." Cooper huffed as he gave the suture one final tug before snipping the end off with a pocket knife and tying it into a knot.

After he was finished, (Y/n) rolled the pain out of her bicep before reaching into her bag to grab a somewhat clean cloth to wipe up any remaining blood.

With a sputter of her lips, she got up from her spot next to Cooper to sit upon the old mattress in the other corner of the room in order to apply a stimpak to herself. It wouldn't be enough to heal the wound completely but it would be enough for her to be able to use her arm properly.

Satisfied with the sight of her flesh knitting back together, Cooper finally relaxed in his chair as he crossed one leg over the other.

"Now don't go doin' anything that stupid again, y' hear me? Don't wanna have to use any more stims than we have to."

"I just... don't understand why you're so worked up about this. Something like this was bound to happen eventually, it's literally a warzone out here. A scar or two isn't unusual." (Y/n) griped as she fell back onto the bed while crossing her arms.

"Yeah, for someone like me it isn't. But it shouldn't ever happen someone like you. You shouldn't have to get hurt like that..." Grumbled Cooper as he leaned back against the wall.

"I'm not made of glass, Coop, I can handle a few hits."

"Don't care. You're way too valuable for me to lose."

(Y/n)'s glare softened at that, realizing the true intention behind the cowboy's scolding was worry. As Cooper sets up a small lantern on the floor to combat the growing darkness, (Y/n) watches the man with a fondness gleaming in her eyes.

"Is that what this is all about? You didn't wanna see me get hurt?" Whispers the girl as she turns onto her side.

Although the action is rather subtle, the ghoul's body visibly tenses up as he fixes his gaze away from the woman across from him.

"I never said that."

"It's clear that you thought it, though." (Y/n) chuckled as she softly grinned at the cowboy.

Heaving out an irritated sigh, Cooper hunches over to look at her as he readjusts his hat.

"What do ya wanna hear from me, sweetheart? That I care about you? That I love ya? Well, if you don't know that by now, then you might be much dumber than I thought you were."

"Hey, I resent that! You'd be lost with me and you know it!"

"Sure I would. Just like how you'd do great out there if you were all alone."

(Y/n) shakes her head with a scoff before she gets up from the mattress to walk over plop herself onto Cooper's lap after he sits back down on the beat-up dinner chair.

As she shuffles into place, Cooper places his hand on the small of her back to ensure she doesn't topple over. He silently glances at her face, analyzing her now troubled expression as she fiddles with the lapel on his duster.

Mouth opening and closing as she tries to find the words to say, she presses her lips together before finally speaking her thoughts.

"Y'know, I worry about you too... I'm always so worried that there's gonna be a day where that one gunner you miss is gonna be the one that gets you." (Y/n) admits sadly as she rests her head on Cooper's shoulder.

Cooper's eyes widen slightly and peer down at her as he begins to rub a hand up and down her arm in an attempt to comfort her.

"Hey now, look at me. That'll never happen. Not on my watch."

"What makes you so sure?"

"I got too much to fight for. I already lost one family to this nonsense and I'll be damned if you get taken away from me too. I'll fight tooth and nail before I let anything touch me or you again, understand?"

"But why? What's so special about me?"

"If I allow you to get hurt anymore, I will never be able to live with myself again. I love you, so...so much, darlin'." Cooper states with a resolute nod.

(Y/n) eyes water and crinkle with a gentle smile before she leans up to place a couple light kisses upon his charred lips, which he returns immediately upon receiving.

"I love you too, Cooper..." Mutters (Y/n) as she closes her arm around his shoulders.

With a laugh rumbling in his chest, Cooper wraps both of his hands around her waist as he holds her as close as he can.

"Your sweetness is what's gonna be the death of me one of these days, doll... Not some dumbass bullet." Cooper jokes quietly, placing a kiss atop her hair & resting his head on hers as he rocks back and forth to lull her to sleep.

Listening to the calming sound of her breathing as she slumbers, Cooper thinks about how lucky a man like him is to have found a love like (Y/n) in such a desolate situation.

[niche-pastiche]

One thing I can never stop thinking about with Jason Todd and his autopsy scars is... what happened to the viscera bag? kay, so for people who are less familiar with the deathcare industry, a viscera bag is kind of exactly what it sounds like. When a person gets autopsied by the coroner or medical examiner, they take all the organs out through the Y incision right? Well, they don't keep the organs. They put them all back in a big red plastic bag and put that bag inside the body and then stitch things up with temporary sutures. Once the body gets to the funeral home, they'll embalm all the organs and the rest of the body, but then the embalmed organs go back in the body cavity and depending on what technique the embalmer likes to use sometimes they also go back inside the viscera bag. (Alternately, they get layered in with a variety of compounds kind of like a weird lasagna. But that's less interesting storywise in this situation and honestly I think the bag method is more common.) Anyway, I can't stop imagining Jason, fresh out of the pit, off to the side hacking and coughing up a bloody red plastic bag.

[frvnkcastles]

Masterlist

Updated on September 3rd, 2024.

Frank Castle

Honey, Don't You Leave

Burn a Little Brighter Tonight

The Antidote to Everything

The Way I Held Your Hand

The World of You And I

You're the Only Place That Feels Like Home

You Put My Head In Such a Flurry

The Warmth of Your Arms

The Best Worst Thing

Our Vintage Misery

Your Sweet Haven

Trust I Seek And I Find in You

I Can See a Love Restrained

My Truest Feeling Yet

Burn All the Mercy Out of Me

The Scars From Tomorrow

I'll Keep You Like an Oath

Find My Peace of Mind

Breathe Me Back to Life

I'll Turn My Love Down

Stuck in the Sunshine Riptide

My Old Aches

Empty Your Sadness

Half-Doomed & Semi-Sweet

'Til the Earth Starts to Crumble

Like Heaven Above

A Man With a Black Heart of Gold

Take My Hand, You'll Be Fine

Trade the Pain

A Handshake With Death

Heaven Is Wherever You Are

Follow Me Down

Fill the Void

Feel the Rush

The Beast Inside of Me

Say You'll Stay

I Would Do It Again

Set My World On Fire

Will You Love Me Forever

Want You So Bad

Will You Still Love Who I Am

With My Tunnel Vision

Scar-Crossed Lovers

Only Hope For Me

The Isle of Distant Dreams

Always Be This Way

Enough For Me

Your Head's Only Medicine

Sirens In My Head

Disappearing Years

Take Me With You

You're Good to Me

Poison From the Same Vine

All of Our Sins

Keep Our Love Alive

There's No Remedy

Watch the Days Pass

Never Be Alone Again

One More Taste

Hold Tight For Tomorrow

For the Night

Waiting for the Light

Sick and Tired

In a Lonely Loop

Hard Pill to Swallow

My Mind Rings

Bring Me Home

Tenderest of Care

Melody of Tears

Unimaginable Things

Trapped in Yesterday

Wretched & Joyful

Hold Me Tight

You Can Let it Go

Your Wound But My Sutures

Together As One

I Will Try to Hold You

Something to Dream About

Other Jon Characters

Sam Rossi - Every Night I Burn

[a-b-riddle]

check tags for warnings

In the mood to write angst. Imagine you’re the conscientious observer who accidentally sees how your team talks about you behind your back.

Your morals were… complicated. You didn’t believe in killing anyone. Your faith told you that killing someone is wrong and even if it’s to save your life, handling a gun is something that doesn’t sit well with you. You’ve been to gun ranges. Mandatory for your position in the military that you have basic fire arm knowledge. But having something in your hands that could so easily take a life made you uneasy.

You were pescatarian, but tried to limit meat. Cried anytime you saw chickens in those trucks heading toward their demise. You fed stray cats around your house back home. You tried to be kind and cherished life in all most of its forms. The exception being garlic butter shrimp that was too good to give up and anytime of bug resembling a cock roach. And yes, palmetto bugs were still cock roaches.

And wasps.

Fuck wasps.

At the same time, you were pro-choice. Initially, you were pro-choice for other women, but you didn’t think you would have the strength to get an abortion. It wasn’t until you were holding your friend’s hand as she got her D&C that your views on your own body autonomy changed. It didn’t have to be medical to be necessary.

But you still refused to hold a weapon. Which is why even though you were a very talented medic, you were always judged for not carrying any sort of defense while in the field.

But no one on base would dare say anything to you about it. At least not to your face…

You got stuck instructing a training seminar when your phone continued to buzz in your back pocket. But even with the consistent messages, you didn’t falter by showing the newest members how to give basic first aid until health could arrive.

Nearly two hours later, you finally fish your phone out to see what’s going on.

Dozens of text messages in a group chat between you, Captain Price, Johnny, Kyle and Simon. You had gotten close to them over the last few months. You were halfway through your contract and were already dreading leaving knowing they were staying behind until the job is done.

You open it, your phone taking you to the first unread message.

Cpt.: Hows the arm healing up?

Soap: Fine. Hen did a good job of keeping the sutures nice and even. Should barely scar.

Gaz: Wouldn’t have a scar if she just fucking carried.

Soap: You think she honestly would even know what to do with a gun if you gave her one Garrick 😂

Ghost: Still think she’s a liability. Someone who won’t raise arms against an enemy isn’t meant to be on the team.

Cpt: Already tried. Laswell says we need the numbers. As long as she does her job there’s nothing I can do. We can’t be down a medic and it’s either her or nothing.

You shook as you continued reading the conversation.

Liability. Coward. It went on and on about how weak you were. Why couldn’t you just carry a small pistol instead of expecting everyone else to keep you safe.

It then switched to your personality. No one should be that happy. Annoying. A yapper. Couldn’t get a word in most of the time.

On and on they went until you realized they spoke so freely because they didn’t realize you were in this group chat. What did they say when you weren’t around?

You felt like a fool having extending more than just trying to be a civil coworker, but a friend. Taking on tasks that weren’t your responsibility simply to help them.

Getting a floral arrangement delivered for Johnny’s sister after she had given birth. Talking on the phone to the nursing home where Price’s mother resided trying to sort out her insurance. Taking priority Kyle when he was injured after falling out of a plane (both times) over your other patients. And always having the electric kettled going in the morning so Simon could have his tea without waiting too long.

You were helpful. Just because you had one boundary didn’t mean their words held any merit. But still you couldn’t help the deep feeling of just… betrayal? Rejection? You weren’t sure there was a word fitting enough to sum up how utterly stupid you felt.

Maybe they were right. This wasn’t a civilian setting. This wasn’t just life and death for your patients, but for you. You were out in the field with no form of protection except from others.

You weren’t abandoning your morals. You couldn’t. Not when every fiber of your being told you to remain steadfast. There was only one solution.

You didn’t have much to pack. Uniform was issued to you. Your stethoscope and some other tools came out of your own pocket. Your laptop, phone, charges. You packed all your lounging clothes and miraculously everything fit into a military duffle. Which wasn’t actually anything impressive given how big those things are.

You were confident in your decision even if it made you feel like a failure.

As you stood outside the office door you returned back to the group chat. One by one you proceeded to block all of them. You knew when you left the group they would know that the notification would pop up and they either wouldn’t give a shit that you finally knew what the actually thought of you or they tried messaging you to make amends to cover their asses. You weren’t sure which was worse.

Once you had blocked the last one, you left and knocked on the door that you had been idling in front of. A faint ‘come in’ was granted before you walked through.

“Hey, Kate.” You greeted. “Can we talk?”

[inkykeiji]

⋆₊˚⊹♡ dabi + dermal piercings (& you sucking on them!)

character: todoroki touya | dabi warnings: 18+ minors do not interact, blood + licking up blood, hair pulling, toxic relationship (possessiveness, touya’s a lil mean) words: 1.1k

notes: the biggest thanks to @t-tomuras who birthed the idea of dabi having dermal piercings (outfitted with pretty sapphire studs) with meee ♡

They haven’t healed—not fully, anyway—but that doesn’t really matter. 

He can hardly feel half of them regardless. 

Still, they’re breathtaking. 

Dewdrops of sapphire adorn his torso, glittering in the gauzy moonlight with each of his gentle inhales. Eight in total—four strung across his collarbones in pairs of two, four framed by sharp, jutting hipbones. 

They’re a dainty contrast to the gaudy gold sutured across his flesh, old and worn, stained with ash and fire and blood. They look almost natural in a sense, as if his body had sprouted the jewels itself, grown from his tissues.

“So pretty,” you murmur to yourself, a delicate index finger tracing over the jutting gems embellishing his collarbone—slow, appreciative, gaze shimmering with awe in the dim light. 

Sucking your bottom lip between your teeth, your pupils pulse, gaping and gluttonous, trying to consume the sight—suck him in, swallow him down, stash him away behind bone and blood for safekeeping. 

The dermal piercings are nearly as pretty as he is, sprawled out beneath you, fluffy tufts of ivory messy and splayed on the dark sheets outfitting his mattress. They almost rival his eyes, the blue almost as deep, the glimmer almost as beautiful.

A tongue darts out to lave along his bottom lip, scar tissue licked raw by it’s incessant caress, the point playing with one of the hooked staples at the corner of his mouth. Rough hands flex on your hips, coarse and callused, his glassy gaze framed by heavy lids as he stares up at you, unblinking. 

Your own gaze sweeps between the piercings and his face, unable to focus on one for more than a few seconds at a time, enraptured by the beauty that is Touya, spread out on display below you.

Another gentle skim of your fingertip over the twinkling little bumps, so light it’s hardly a touch at all, a fragile shiver rippling through his flesh. Pressing down, you watch as your nail sinks into puffy velvet skin, still slightly swollen from the needle, a soft hiss of air expelled through gritted teeth—wispy, not sharp, his hips twitching up infinitesimally.

It’s nothing more than a dull pressure, nerves fried to hell, singed and faulty and dead beneath dense scar tissue, but it makes his cock throb anyway, half-hard and filling with life, pelvis rolling up once, grinding into your core.

A syrupy little giggle drips from your lips, head ducking down to plant chaste kisses to the four gems lining his protruding collarbones before your tongue unfurls to smooth over them in one slow, continuous drag, flat and broad, sealing the dermal piercings with a thick coat of spit. 

His chest stutters, intake of breath tangling on the whine that splinters in his throat, spine arching off the mattress to urge the piercings further into the heat of your mouth. 

Your lips curl into a smirk against his skin, cheeks hollowing as you suck on the metal, hot and soaked under your mouth, the point circling them; first lazily, then with more force. 

“Fuck,” he breathes out, curse tapering into a whimper. “The other ones, now.” 

Sliding down his legs, your body settles between his thighs, his knees spreading wider to accommodate you, ankles hooking at the small of your back and locking you in place, heels weighing down on the base of your spine. 

Damp breath wafts over his hip piercings in a gentle caress, chased by the tip of your tongue, tracing the edges of each jewel, refusing to lick over them. 

A growl rumbles in his chest—dark, decadent—and slim fingers knot in the hair at the back of your head, knuckles curling tightly and yanking, sharp bones pressed flush to your scalp.

“Don’t tease.” 

Another giggle escapes your lips, airy against his slick skin, but your tongue obeys instantly, gliding over the jewels in slow, heavy laps, smothering them in saliva. A sharp gasp catches in his throat, fading into a stringy moan when your tongue tenses into something hard, brushing across the studs in firm, rhythmic motions—back and forth, back and forth. 

The piercings on his hips are considerably more sensitive than the ones threaded along his collarbone, the skin healthy and alive and so, so responsive, your humid breath adoring his stomach with dewdrops of condensation.

His grip on your strands has loosened, breathy pleasure melting on his tongue, hips shifting under you, hard cock prodding your ribs. 

The salt of his sweat stings your tastebuds, strong and pungent, but you don’t stop licking until every last ounce of it has been washed away, cleansed by your spit and soaked up by your tongue.

But even after that, you’re still ravenous.

Your lips encase the tiny studs in a pucker and suck greedily, the capillaries tangled beneath his skin snapping under the force. Blood floods the surrounding tissues, seeping through the small pinpricks, jewels swimming in sticky crimson.

You sop that up, too, copious amounts of drool mixing with scarlet and turning the viscous substance a watery pink, painted in wide, messy strokes across his gut. Tart copper saturates your mouth, eager tongue weighing down on the weeping punctures, desperate for more. 

Blotchy violet blooms below your mouth, so dark they rival his scars, your name etched into his flesh using his own ichor as ink. The vigour of your suction increases, siphoning another torrent of warm metal to ooze from the wounds, a needy moan vibrating against his skin. 

It’s so good, his hips rutting into your ribs in pitiful, uneven little motions, but he’s starting to chafe beneath your blotting tongue, little fissures splitting smooth flesh thanks to your ceaseless lapping. Reluctantly, you pull away, laboured breath drifting across the piercings, still trickling lines of carmine. 

A masterpiece. Yours. 

“Goddamn,” Touya’s panting, a slight flush to his cheeks, clumps of hair clinging to his temples. “I should get these piercings across my entire body if it means you’re gonna slobber all over ‘em like this.”

He doesn’t need to—he knows he doesn’t need to, knows you’ll worship his body without the pretty little gems budding from the surface of his skin—but you giggle anyway, pressing a kiss to his left hip, blood staining petaled lips. 

“I dunno,” you hum in mock thought, a delicate finger tracing along the staples curving over his belly button, tiptoeing across gold. “Don’t you think you have enough?” 

His head lifts from the pillow slightly, staring down at his own torso, sapphire scanning across the gold sutured into his flesh, stitching healthy skin to something dead and warped. 

“I suppose,” he sighs out with a practiced indifference, head flopping back down, a languid smile crawling onto his face. 

His eyes dart down again, heady and shaded by thick fanned lashes, flares of mischief catching in the rising moon. 

“You’d better get to work, then.” 

Starting with the metal barbells climbing the underside of his cock.