#the scab to peel back

[lifeinpoetry]

i want all the things i want. i don’t cry anymore. it is what it is.

— Ollie Schminkey, from "the scab to peel back," Dead Dad Jokes

[bloodfestgf]

don’t look at the tags I talk about something icky there

[nebulaafterdark]

A Tale Of Two Dragons

Summary: After suffering a head injury, Princess Y/N forgets the past two years of her life, including her marriage to Aegon. Who will do anything to win her back.

18+ ONLY MDNI Targcest, Smut, Cheesy, Medieval Romcom

Y/N wakes terribly hot, her head throbs and there is something wrapped round her waist. She peels open her eyes…an arm. She flicks it away.

“What is the matter, my dearest love?” A voice grumbles, from behind her. “The maester says you should remain abed for several days.

“Why?” The word is past her lips before she can stop it.

“You hit your head.”

Y/N reaches up toward her throbbing temple, scraping against the forming scab beneath the bandage. Her fingers come away wet.

“You mustn’t touch,” Aegon chides, “let me see.”

Aegon?

Y/N screams at the top of her lungs, rolling onto the floor.

“What is the matter?” Aegon peers over the edge of the mattress. “Does your head hurt?” He springs from the bed, grabbing a cup off the bedside table. “Here, milk of the poppy.” He attempts to bring the chalice to her lips.

Y/N slaps his hand away, the glass shattering over the floor. “Surely poison.”

“What?” Aegon breathes. “Why in the seven hells would it be poison, my heart?”

“Do not call me that.” Y/N snaps, feeling almost sorry for it as his face falls.

“Look at me,” he crouches down to her, cowering in the corner. “What’s happened?”

“I should be asking you! Why are you being kind to me? Why are you sleeping in my bed? Plotting to kill me?”

“I don’t want to kill you.” He huffs a laugh. Back are the sad, crestfallen eyes.

Y/N forces down the urge to punch him. “Why were you in my bed?”

“To be clear,” Aegon says, motioning behind him, “this is my bedchamber.”

Y/N searches the space behind him, he speaks true. This is not her room. “Why would I be in your bedchamber?”

Aegon’s upper lip twitches, “because you are my wife.”

Y/N laughs, “I am your wife.”

Aegon joins in, anxiously.

“You jest.” She wags a finger at him, “that is the Aegon I know. You have outdone yourself this time.”

Aegon’s eyes search hers for a moment more before he hollers, “guards!”

The doors fly open, “your grace?”

“We must have the grand maester.”

Y/N’s eyes track his movements. Pacing and pacing until the maester appears.

“Is your head troubling you, your grace?” He kneels before her. “I left you with milk of the poppy.”

“She needs more.” Aegon insists.

“She can have no more until the morrow.”

“She did not drink it.” Aegon shouts, “she tossed it away because she thought it poisoned.”

“I would never harm you, your grace. Surely you know that.” The maester addresses the princess directly.

“Not you, me.” Aegon throws up a hand. “She does not know who I am.”

“I know who you are and I do not like you.” Y/N argues.

“That is worse.” Aegon laments, “she does not remember our marriage or our-”

“Your grace,” the maester stops him. “Your lady wife has suffered an injury. It is best not to push the recollection of years past.”

“She will heal then?”

“I cannot say, the mind is unpredictable.”

Y/N narrows her eyes at the maester, “am I truly married to Aegon?”

“Yes, princess. For some two years now.”

“Nearly three,” Aegon corrects him, with a hand to his head.

Y/N’s breathing picks up, unable to calm herself.

“Princess, you must breathe slowly now.”

“I want my mother,” Y/N chokes out.

“I will get your mother,” Aegon offers, “just breathe.”

His command is foreign to her. That he would care. The maester fusses about her as they wait. “All is well, your grace, all is well.”

“I may faint.” She warns.

The maester begins fanning her with his hands.

Rhaenyra appears moments later, with Aegon hot on her heels. “What’s happened, my darling?”

“Mother,” Y/N reaches for her, sobbing against her shoulder.

“Hush now.” Rhaenyra cradles the back of her head, smoothing down her hair.

“I do not know how such a thing could h-happen.”

“What?” Rhaenyra begins swaying her like a babe.

“I woke up beside my sworn enemy, claiming to be my husband.” Y/N tells her, “and worst of all, everyone insists that it’s true. Am I truly married?”

“Yes.”

“To Aegon.”

“Yes.”

“And I am happy about it?”

“I’m afraid so,” Rhaenyra smiles. “You are quite taken with him.”

“To what degree is he hung?” Y/N scoffs. He must be-

Rhaenyra throws her head back with laughter, “I would not know, sweet girl.”

Y/N rolls her eyes, “he speaks true then?”

Rhaenyra nods.

“And we are in…” Y/N forces out the word, “love?”

“Very much so.”

Without warning, the princess faints in her mother’s arms.

————————————————————————

“And though all the realm wished for the princess to deliver a son, she blessed the prince with two daughters.”

Y/N comes to, blinking up at the ceiling. Pleased to find that she is in her own bed this time. She nearly finds herself comforted by the voice beside her, before looking over to realize it is Aegon. Seated in the arm chair with a brown leather book in his lap. She sits up, staring him down.

“Don’t,” he slowly closes the book, holding up both hands, “don’t scream.”

“What do you want?” Y/N groans. “I’ve already told you I don’t remember.”

“I’d like to court you.” His lips twitch, nervously.

“Really?” She huffs a laugh. “You, Aegon Targaryen, would rather court me than go find another well suited lady, of high status, to marry you?”

“Yes.”

“You want me?”

“Very much so.”

“More than anyone else?”

Aegon twists his wedding band around his finger. “Yes, more than anyone.”

“Well…what would we do together?” She crosses both arms over her chest, “I can’t imagine we have much in common.”

“Talk, stroll the gardens, fly together on dragon back, whatever you’d like.”

“You told me this morning, I am to remain abed for several days.”

“That’s why I’ve brought this,” he waves the book at her, “thought it might keep you occupied. That or I could dance for you.”

“How well do you dance?”

“Not very,” Aegon admits, “that’s what makes it entertaining.”

Y/N leans up, trying to catch a glimpse of the book’s title. “What book is that?”

“A tale of two dragons.” Aegon pulls it away, “do you want to hear the story or not?”

“I suppose,” Y/N sighs, sinking back into the pillows. “I’ve nothing better to do.”

————————————————————————

For four days he reads to her from that silly book. With each day that passes Y/N finds herself more invested.

“But if a son is expected of the prince, why does he not want for a son?”

Aegon smiles as he closes the book. “That’s all for today, you must rest.”

“I am not tired,” Y/N argues.

“Your eyes tell a different story.”

“Truly, I’m not tired.” She tells him, toying with her marriage ring. “My head hurts is all.”

“Might I try something?”

Y/N scowls, reluctantly closing the distance between them.

His hands cup her face, moving up to her throbbing skull, running his fingertips over her scalp.

It feels nice, though Y/N will never admit it.

“It will help if you stop making such sour faces, Y/N.” Aegon remarks, smoothing his thumb over the furrow between her brows. “My head aches just watching you.”

“You might wear a similar expression after being dealt my hand.” It is odd, her name on his lips. As though he rarely speaks it, save for when he’s angry with her.

“Yes, how devastating it must be; doted on by the man who loves you.” Aegon muses.

“You used to call me a bastard at family gatherings.” Y/N remembers that clearly.

“I used to do a great many things I am not proud of.” Aegon admits. “But the man I am now, the man I am with you…I take great pride in.”

“It will take time, if I’m to trust you again.”

“I have time.” Aegon assures her, “though at present, there is somewhere else I need be.” He presses his lips to her forehead in parting. “Good night.”

Y/N cups his wrist, at the side of her face, for just a moment. “Good night.”

————————————————————————

On the fifth day, the grand maester allows Y/N to leave her apartments, and by the tenth day, she is cleared to fly. Being amongst the clouds always helps clear her mind, mayhaps she will recall something.

“Good morrow, your grace.” Marcello, the dragon keeper greets her.

“Good morrow,” Y/N smiles. “Might you saddle Stormborn for me?”

“At once, Princess. I’m glad you are well.”

Marcello returns a few moments later with the lilac dragon, whining as she nuzzles into Y/N’s hands.

“Issi ao daor biare naejot ūndegon issa, uēpa raqiros?” Are you not happy to see me, old friend? Has something happened between them that she’s forgotten?

Stormborn hums, nudging at Y/N with her head.

“What is the matter with her?” Y/N turns to Marcello.

The dragon keeper lowers his eyes, “she wants for Sunfyre, your grace.”

“She wants-” Y/N breaks off, clunking a fist to her head, “she wants Aegon’s dragon?”

“They are quite close these days.” The man in question says, stalking up behind her. “I heard you were flying out. I thought I might join you.” Aegon explains his presence.

“This is preposterous.” Y/N scoffs, “you mean to tell me we have become so deeply entwined that even our dragons cannot be parted?”

Aegon’s lips turn downward as his brows rise, “yes.”

“What can be done about it?”

“You loved me once, my hope is, you will love me again.” Aegon brushes past her, resting a hand on her dragon’s snout. “There’s naught to be done about it.”

To add further insult, Stormborn leans into his touch, cooing happily.

“I suppose I should pet your dragon.” It’s meant to be a threat, a means to get even.

“Go on,” Aegon encourages, “you’d like that, wouldn’t you, Sunfyre?”

The golden boy begins to serenade her with a low melody. Y/N rests her temple against his head, glaring at Aegon. It is not the dragon’s fault.

“Your dragon understands English?”

“As does yours.” Aegon informs her, “they are highly intelligent creatures.”

“Pōnta issi mēre rūsīr īlva.” They are one with us.

Aegon smiles, “indeed.”

“Do you not speak-”

“Nyke kostagon emagon naejot…vestragon mirrī.” I can have to…say a little.

Y/N bites back a grin, “I could teach you.”

He starts to say something else, but she covers his mouth with her hand.

“Later,” she leans in, pressing a kiss to the back of her own hand. Had it not been there…it would’ve been his lips. Which means nothing, muscle memory, surely. “I’m sorry.”

He catches her wrist, bringing her hand away.“Don’t be.”

————————————————————————-

Y/N enjoys evening strolls with Aegon in the garden, but on occasion she walks alone, outside the walls, wandering near the woods.

“Wait!”

Y/N whips her head around to see Aegon charging at her, knocking her backwards before the steel trap snaps closed near their feet. Two rows of long, jagged teeth, meant to catch animals. She stares at him, in disbelief.

“They doubled the number of traps round the castle in these past years. I did not know if you’d recall.” Aegon explains, still holding her in the safety of his arms.

“You…imbecile!” Y/N returns the awkward embrace.

“Please, call me husband.” Aegon smirks.

“You could’ve been maimed.”

“Better me than you.”

Y/N groans in frustration, “quit doing that.”

“Doing what?”

“Charming me.” She pulls away enough to see him.

No, not the sad eyes.

“I should like to know you better first.” Imbecile, she curses herself.

“What do you say we go back to your rooms and I will read to you?” Aegon suggests, “I’ll even bring cake.”

There it is, that tugging in her chest. “I do love cake.”

“When you were-” Aegon trails off, “there was a time all you would eat was cake.”

Y/N presses a hand to her head, “when I was what?”

“In due time, my dearest love.” Aegon smiles, sadly. “The grand maester says we mustn’t push, you’ve made great progress already.”

————————————————————————

She recalls a great many things over the next weeks. Trying and failing to teach Aegon High Valryian, eating cake with him and laughing until their sides ache. But there are a number of things she cannot recall.

“Where is it you go?” She wonders, “when you are not with me? You said,” Y/N closes her eyes until the words come to her, “you said you want always to be with me.”

Aegon’s eyes widen, “yes, I did say that. You remember?”

“Not nearly enough, just silly things.” Y/N admits, “sometimes…I think I might’ve been with child.”

Oh.

“That’s it, isn’t it? We’ve a child.”

“Two actually, daughters.”

“One after another like clockwork, then?” She arches a brow, resting a hand over her empty womb, “you’re late.”

Aegon grins, “both at once.”

“Efficient.”

“Well, we are nothing if not thorough.”

“With the way you look at me, I’m surprised there are only two children.”

“The birthing bed was not kind to you. I would love any child of ours, but I would not inflict such suffering upon you again.”

Y/N sighs, “you are so in love. I wish desperately to remember.”

“You could love me again.”

“What if it is different than what we shared? What if it does not please you as much?”

Aegon shakes his head, “then it will be different and I will be glad for it all the same.”

“Might I come with you to see them?” Y/N asks, wringing her hands.

“They should like that very much, they’ve been asking for you.”

“What are their names?”

“Dahlia and Visera.” Aegon tells her, “it might be difficult for you to tell them apart at first.”

“Dahlia is a Strong name.” Y/N whispers.

“And Visera was named for Viserys. If we would’ve had a son, we might’ve named him-”

“Laenor.” She breathes, recalling the smile on Aegon’s face as they’d discussed it, over the prominent swell of her belly. Subsequently leading his kisses to trail lower…her cheeks heats up.

“Yes,” Aegon swallows. Mayhaps he is recalling the same conversation.

The twins are playing happily on the floor, with their maids when Y/N enters the room behind Aegon.

“Papa!” They race to him, waiting to be taken into his arms.

“Hello, my darlings.” He holds one in each arm, kissing their little silver heads.

The child on the left sees Y/N first, blinking at her twice, to be sure. “Mama.”

The little girl on the right follows her gaze. “Mama!”

Y/N reaches for them out of instinct, hugging them to her as they are transferred into her arms from Aegon’s. “My girls.”

————————————————————————

Time passes, Aegon and Y/N have long since accepted she will never remember everything. What they share now is different, but wonderful, nonetheless.

Aegon and their children fill Y/N’s days with joy, though she still feels a bit guilty for the life she forgot.

She and her husband sneak out of their daughters’ rooms once they’ve found sleep. Walking back towards Y/N’s apartments with their arms linked.

Aegon bids her good night at the door, with a gentle kiss to her cheek.

“Stay,” Y/N insists, turning her face enough to catch his lips.

“What are you-” Aegon smiles against her mouth.

“It hurts to look at you and not touch you.” Y/N murmurs, reeling him back in and burying her hands in his hair. “If you mean what you say, and you will be happy with me even if I am different, I want to be happy with you.”

“It pleases me to hear you say this, my darling. But are you certain?”

“I want you in my bed, always,” Y/N whispers. “Or to lie with you in yours. To wake with you each morning and spend each night at your side. Though right now there is nothing I want more than your cock in me. Is that certain enough for you?”

Aegon chuckles into her mouth, “that’ll do it.” He pushes open the door, leading her deep into her rooms, until they reach her bed chamber. He unlaces her gown with practiced hands. “Gevie.”Beautiful.

She works him out of his robes, kissing the underside of his jaw. “Gevie.”

He smirks, moving her to the bed. Positioning her sweet head against the pillows, stroking wayward hair from her face. Taking a long moment to look upon her, their gazes locked. Aegon kisses the tip of her nose. “Let us see if you remember this, shall we?”

His lips trail down her neck, across her collarbones to her breasts. Licking and suckling at the entirety of them before bringing a sensitive peak into his mouth.

“Fuck,” Y/N holds him to her.

“Mmm,” he hums, in approval as her hips buck up against his. “Anything coming to mind?”

“I’m afraid not, husband.” Y/N whines as he pulls away, “you’ll need to keep going.”

“Of course,” Aegon latches happily to the opposite nipple, flicking the first between his fingers. Lower and lower his mouth goes, swirling her navel, skating over the skin of her sex.

Y/N nearly faints as he parts her with his thumbs, exposing her pearl to his starved tongue. “Oh!” Her memory of this particular act, does it no justice.

He sighs against her, as though he’s waited the whole of his life to be in this moment with her.

She does not know how to be loved that way, or to give such love in return. But she wants to learn.

Aegon coaxes her through one peak to the next, relishing her breathless giggles as she shoves at his head.

“Enough,” she covers her face with both hands, “enough.”

Aegon chuckles, pressing a feather light kiss to her cunt before retreating, back up to her face. Caging her head between his elbows, hovering over her. “Still nothing?”

“Not a thing, perhaps if you continue.” Y/N reaches between them, taking his cock in hand and stroking, lightly.

Aegon shakes his head, “of course.”

She positions him at her entrance, feeling him slide into her with ease. As though he belongs there. Her hands find his face, stroking his cheeks, reeling him in for sweet kisses or to pant against his mouth. Committing him to memory.

“I love you,” he says, pressing kisses to her fingers, “we’re going to make new memories together, you and I.”

“I love you.” The words fall from her lips, without hesitation. “I love you.”

“I have gone too long without your touch, I will not last.” He warns.

“That’s alright.” Y/N assures him, “I’m nearly there.” Still sensitive from his tongue.

It’s all he can do to hold off until he feels her walls pulse around him, “good girl.” He groans, emptying his spend.

Y/N nuzzles her nose against his. “Aegon?”

“Hmm?”

“Happy anniversary, my love.”

His eyes open wide, meeting her gaze. “You remember?

Y/N nods, feeling tears prickle at the back of her eyes. “I am so sorry, I’ve no idea how I could forget you…us, our daughters, this life together is the world to me.”

“It was not by choice.” He rests his forehead against hers. “If I ever sustain a head injury, I’ll expect you to court me in return.”

“Mayhaps I will court you now, just because.” Y/N wants nothing more than to shower him with affection. “That story you read to me was ours, how did you get it?”

“I wrote it.” Aegon tells her, “to share one day with our children and their children’s children, their children’s children after that.”

Taglist: @21-princess @ladyriverasafepace @oh-you-mean-me @niyahnotnia @narwhal-swimmingintheocean @donalesaa @cookiesnfeesh @barnes70stark

[4vienne]

getting back into bnha is like simultaneously bad and good for my mental health...i think?

[hotluncheddie]

Safe With You.

Ao3 | wc: 4.8k | Rated: E | tags: Daddy kink, under-negotiated kink, hurt/comfort, crying, sub Steve Harrington, Eddie Munson is a sweetheart, masturbation

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊

The credits are rolling, names passing on the screen of Eddie’s little tv, movie over. 

Steve squeezes Eddie’s fingers where they’re tangled with both of his own. His head had migrated to Eddie’s shoulder around 20 minutes in, all tension seeping from him with one of Eddie’s thighs slung over his own and Eddie’s arm around his waist.

He’d missed nights like this, with someone, in easy closeness, being someone’s boyfriend. Something inside Steve always yearned for it, to be allowed this, something like it. Soft and domestic. 

(He’s been blessed with his platonic closeness with Robin. But she’s less tactile than Eddie, they hold hands and hug but the full body blanket of contact isn’t something she can stomach for long.)

It feels extra special tonight, somehow, after the day they’d had, because the Corroded Coffin boys were over to hang out and talk shop for their characters. Steve had come over around three, after his shift and part way through a heated discussion about trolls. He busied himself with decompressing, puttering around and reading Eddie’s comics on the sofa - leaving them to it. But every once in a while Eddie would call out for him to pick a number between one and ten. Or would scamper over with a box that had a dice in it, asking Steve to roll, kissing him on the head once he had. Steve felt so special; to be allowed to exist in that space, have Eddie want him there, including him as much as Steve was comfortable. It was so nice. 

And then Steve was allowed to stay, the other boys leaving with waves and see you soon’s and it wasn’t even mentioned that Steve would go too. Instead Eddie came and draped himself over him, snuggling into his neck and talking about what they should make for dinner. Those moments seemed to cause another piece of Steve’s burned red insides to scab, peel, and revel itself fresh pink  - on its way to healed. 

After Nancy something had curdled within him. Followed by the long hot summer where the main sense memory he retained on his skin was that of hard knuckles and big stinging palms. Then followed were those long months full of girls, here and there, who would touch his hand or his dick; and it was nice, until the post orgasm haze melted and it was time for one of them to leave. Steve left alone again. His body aching for something else. Something different. 

Now Steve feels syrupy and loose, fuzzy around the edges: a Polaroid that got wet with the lake water it captured. He fiddles with the rings on Eddie’s fingers. Eddie’s other hand having migrated up to his hair, scratching lightly behind his ear. 

‘Want to stay over?’ Eddie asks quietly. 

Steve did. He really really did. 

‘If that’s okay?’ 

‘C’mon.’ Eddie stands, motions for Steve to follow along, grabbing his hand again and holding it behind him as he leads them down the little hall to his room. 

Eddie puts on a record and some old smoky blues song filters through the room. He makes his way back over, swaying his hips, humming softly, taking Steve by the waist and turning them in a slow sort of waltz. 

Steve thinks, for not the first time and definitely not the last, that Eddie, his boyfriend, is so so beautiful. Free and handsome and earth-shatteringly charming. 

Eddie’s hands slip up Steve’s sides, finger trailing over his scarred waist, taking Steve’s T-shirt with them, pulling it up and off over his head, dropping it to the floor at their bare feet. 

‘What’s this?’ Steve asks, smiling, eyes half lidded. Eddie’s lips work their way soft and slow down the muscle of his neck, still humming softly along with the song. Steve’s own hands flutter from Eddie’s shoulders to draping around his neck. 

‘Nothin, s’late, we should get some sleep.’ Eddie says low and lazy. His soft lips make their way back up to Steve’s cheek. All the times in the world they seemed to say. 

Eddie, to Steve, had taken to being someone’s boyfriend even more than he ever would’ve expected. Hopelessly romantic and achingly attentive; it regularly fills Steve’s chest close to bursting. These few months of being with Eddie have been so fun and Steve laughs more than he can remember. It all just feels different with Eddie, he feels different. That things aren’t quite so hard, that it doesn’t all have to be so scary.

‘Sleep huh?’ Steve asks, lips on Eddie’s skin, on his salty temple. His own fingertips grazing shoulder blaze, grazing scar, grazing bone and skin. 

Eddie’s eyes are dark chocolate, his mouth set in a half grin that never seems to leave. Never seems to leave when he’s looking at Steve. ‘Yup, just helpin’ you get ready.’ Eddie says, pinky finger ghosting along the waistband of Steve’s jeans. 

Steve dips his chin forward, attaching his mouth to Eddie’s, lips already parted and tongue already searching. Eddie’s hand comes up into his hair, the other slipping into the back pocket of his jeans, squeezing, gripping. 

They kiss and they kiss and the blues plays on, the air-con rattling and a stray cat meows in the distance. 

‘Tell me something.’ Eddie says between kisses, quiet and deep and Steve feels like there’s whisky in his belly, thrumming through his veins. Drunk on Eddie Munson. ‘Tell me what you like, show me. Let me help baby.’ His hooded eyes pull Steve in, fingers stroking hairs away from his forehead and lips pressing kisses to his cheekbones. 

Steve doesn’t know how to answer, how to ask for something he wants. ‘No, I. Te-tell me what you like.’ He says, pulling Eddie’s shirt up and off, giving himself a moment away from eye contact, away from the vulnerability Eddie draws out of him. 

Eddie lets his T-shirt be tossed away, pulling Steve close and swaying them again gently. Slowing the moment once more. ‘Mmm, I like lots of things. Like making pretty boys feel good, for one.’ He ponders, hand soothing up and down Steve’s back. ‘And you, honey, are the prettiest guy I’ve ever seen.’ He smiles, teeth glinting in the soft lamplight. 

Steve ducks his head as his cheeks flush, smiling, hiding in Eddie’s shoulder. 

‘Let me make you feel good, hm? Tell me something you like, something you enjoy, or always wanted to try.’ Eddie asks quiet and slow into Steves hair, hugging their bodies close. 

The first thought to Steve’s head makes him swallow. The first thought to Steve’s head makes him burn. 

‘It’s embarrassing.’ He whispers, face hot and he has the sudden urge to cry. To kick and scream and stomp his foot. To curl up in a ball and not say anything more. 

It’s a word he’s thought about, for a while, secretly. He would think about it with girls - the few who took a little more charge, who threaded their hands in his hair and pulled. Thought about it after he realised boys could be his, could be something he finally let himself feel. Thought about it alone in the shower, moaning quietly, fingers in his mouth, water trailing across his skin. Thought about it and flushed, belly churning, aching. He thought about it once, came, cried, weeped into his pillow for everything it could mean. Everything he wanted along with the word, tantalising and terrifying and wrapped up in ugly puss-filled parts of his past. Who he is, how he grew up. A tangled mess that’s he’s too scared to try and tease apart. 

Eddie guides his face back out, cradling Steve’s cheeks in his palms. ‘Want to look after you, that’s all I’ve ever wanted Stevie. Baby, it’s all I want to do.’ He says, earnest, kissing Steve softly on the mouth.  

‘You, I don’t. Ho-how can you be so?’ He mumbles wetly, losing it, floating away under Eddie’s lips. 

‘Like you so much Stevie, Sweetheart. Always mean it. Tell me what you want baby. What do you need?’ 

Steve bites his lip, feels emotions choking in the back of his throat, solidifying into something that’s maybe not so bitter, maybe not so bad. If the trust unfurling in his heart at the soft press of Eddie’s fingertips could tell him anything, it’s that maybe Eddie can handle it - him - the mix of things that are begging to spill. The word, that means so much somehow. 

‘Eddie.’ Steve whispers, as lips return to his neck. Ringed fingers undo his jeans and they slip down his hips to pool at his feet. ‘Eddie.’ He whimpers, shivering, as Eddie reaches the juncture of his neck and shoulder, biting and sucking and leaving a sweet bruise of promise marked onto Steve’s skin. 

‘Tell me baby.’ Eddie’s thumb presses into Steve’s hipbone, the other hand held firm to the back of his neck, keeping them close. 

‘Eddie, Eddie.’ Another bite, their bodies sharing heat and tears sting the corners of Steve’s eyes. His blood feels molten, he feels sticky and heavy and flush. Eddie’s hands on his neck and shoulders and waist, their legs tangling, toes brushing toes, Eddie’s belt buckle pressing and catching in Steve’s happy trail. Another bite, another caress, his Eddie all over him, holding him, loving him. 

‘Daddy.’ Steve sobs, whines, the damn breaking. All his fears spilling out, fizzing bubbles in the air. 

‘Oh.’ Eddie groans, growls, squeezing Steve in his arms. ‘Oh you don’t even know do you? How precious you are for me.’ And he’s kissing Steve again, savouring and devout. Moaning into Steve’s lips, drinking the word, eating the confession. Taking and swallowing that little part of Steve’s own soul. 

Eddie holds his hips, grinding, seeking Steve out in his boxers, denim rough and Eddie’s length is so hard against his own. ‘Please.’ Steve moans. 

Eddie releases his lips, bringing Steve’s hands up to kiss his palms, nipping his fingertips. His hands wrap around Steve’s wrists forming a solid circle, dwarfing them in his palms, thumb smoothing over pulse point. Something about it makes Steve feel claimed and sticky. Eddie’s hands big enough to trap him like that, hold him. Something in Steve never wants him to let go. 

Eddie steps them backwards until knees hit the bed, pulling at Steve’s wrists so he gets the hint and lays down. Eddie falling with him, crowning him against the mattress, wrists pinned either side of his head. Kissing Steve again and again, licking onto his mouth.

Steve arches into the touch, hungry and seeking friction on his aching cock. But Eddie’s thigh between his leg stays maddeningly out of reach. Steve’s groans turn into whimpers as Eddie bites his lower lip and pulls. 

He’s panting by the time Eddie starts kissing over his cheek and down his neck, hands releasing to instead grope at his hairy pecs and Eddie keeps kissing until he can suck a nipple into his mouth. Steve arching again, whining weakly as he buries his hands in Eddie’s curls. 

Eddie’s fingers follow the curve of his waist down to the waistband of his boxers. Pulling his mouth away from the now red, sensitive bud. His eyes bright and sparkling as he looks up and Eddie presses a kiss to Steve’s belly button before sitting up onto his knees. pulling at Steve’s boxers and lifting his legs up along with them. The boxers thrown onto the floor with their shirts, and Steve’s ankles stay resting on Eddie’s shoulders. 

‘Feel good baby?’ Eddie asks, kissing the soft skin of the ankle bone by his face. Steve nods, he feels blotchy and flushed but so so happy. Can’t help smiling up at Eddie. ‘Gonna be good for me?’ 

Steve reaches out for him, Eddie tangling their fingers and squeezing. ‘Who you gonna be good for?’ He asks, cheeky and lovely and light. 

‘You.’ Steve manages, wriggling a little, bringing his free hand up to his mouth. 

‘Who am I?’ Eddie grips the meat of Steve’s thigh, shuffling closer, bending Steve in half. 

Steve looks up at him, Eddie’s face looming over his own, his sweet lovely Eddie. ‘Daddy.’ He whispers, own fingertips tracing his lips, ears hot and cock so hard it’s leaking onto his belly. 

‘Good boy.’ Eddie praises, kissing Steve’s legs that are still around his face. Working his way upward until he can lay them gently back down on the bed. ‘Want you to teach me baby, show me how you feel good.’ Eddie says sweetly, laying down next to him. Crowding in close and kissing Steve’s shoulder. 

Steve lets his knees fall apart. ‘You’re gonna watch?’ He asks softly, waiting for Eddie’s nod before he grips himself. Stroking long and slow across his length, biting his lips. Finally able to touch, his fingers twist and tweak the head, pressing where shaft meets tip. Just the way he likes it. Steve groans. 

‘That’s it baby, don’t think, just do what feels good.’ 

And Steve looks at Eddie, leaning up on his elbow, head on his palm. Dark brown eyes eating Steve whole. 

He sinks. Some part of his brain slipping away into darkness. Everything a black pool of sensation and need. Soft and warm and floating. ‘Daddy.’ He says softly, slurring and keening and weak. He feels so needy, so good and free and down. 

‘Yeah baby, Daddy’s watching.’ And Steve moans, eyes closing again, fingers tightening, squeezing and teasing and he brings his hand up, sticks his finger in his mouth, tasting the salty slick and letting spit coat his digits, laving at his own palm. 

Gripping himself again he arches at the new glide, hips rolling as a deep moan vibrates from the base of his chest. 

‘Do you ever touch here? That feel good?’ And Eddie’s fingers slip over and past Steve’s balls, dipping into the skin of his taint, pressing and seeking and sharp pleasure spikes up Steve’s spine. Has him writhing on the bed. 

‘Oh you do.’ And Eddie’s smiling, almost awed. ‘Baby likes that. Have you fingered yourself to Stevie?’ He asks. 

The words get stuck, sticking like peanut butter on Steve’s tongue. ‘Yeh.’ He manages, huffy and weak. ‘Sometimes, but, s’hard, to, ah ah, get the angle right.’ And he reaches down, as if to show Eddie, as if to do more, be good, be better. 

But Eddie smacks his hand away lightly. ‘I’ll find you the best angle another night baby, you just focus on showing me how to use that pretty cock of yours yeah?’ And Steve moans, feeling wet and dripping and silken. Eddie’s fingers pressing and searching, a dry pressure on his hole, stroking the course hairs and thumbing that part again. ‘Let Daddy do the thinking, you just be pretty for me. You have such nice hands baby. Do you like it, like playing with the tip most?’ He murmurs in Steve’s ear. He can feel Eddie’s own hard on pressing into his hip. Feels where he’s leaking over his own fingers. 

Eddie’s watching him, rapt, as Steve switches hands and brings his dripping fingers up to his own mouth to suck clean. His eyes feel heavy, his thoughts gooey and slow but he hears Eddie’s sharp inhale of breath, feels saliva pool on his tongue and soak his fingers further. The presence of something in his mouth makes his hips roll and he fucks up into his own fist. 

‘You’re so fucking hot. Baby, oh my god, looks so good when you let go like this.’ Eddie babbles, almost talking more to himself than directly to Steve, his denim clad cock grinding ever so slightly again. 

The compliments sit heavy and squirming in Steve’s gut, make him moan loudly around his fingers, eyelashes fluttering as he tries to keep his gaze on Eddie. Hand speeding up, squeezing his shaft and twisting the head and he feels a fire building inside him. 

‘That’s it baby, let me hear you, s’okay, s’okay to let go.’ Eddie whispers, lips on Steve’s cheeks, kissing up into his hair and Steve needs to feel him, needs to be close, closer, he’s right on the edge. 

He takes his spit soaked fingers out of his mouth, reaching for Eddie’s jaw, feeling the roughness of new stubble against his palm. ‘Can I? Daddy can I?’ He begs, desperate. Turning his head so their eyes lock together. 

‘Let go baby boy, come for Daddy.’ Eddie says nuzzling into Steve’s hand, taking the tips of a finger into his mouth and biting. 

Steve does. He arches, muscles tensing, orgasming long and deep and groaning. He squeezes his eyes shut as he milks himself, shifting until it hurts. Eddie’s fingers ghost back up and over his balls, massaging the goop into his pubes, stroking the hair by his hip. ‘My good boy, so good for me baby.’ Eddie coos, kissing Steve’s crown and his hips are still grinding, slow and sultry and aching. 

Steve’s panting, floating and filthy and he needs Eddie to come too, needs him to finish, needs his show to have been useful. ‘Want. Want Daddy’s come.’ He breaths, whining, panting, feels like he could cry. 

‘Nah, sweet Prince, want you to feel good. Did it feel good?’ Eddie dismisses, circling a nipple with his fingertips. 

And Steve actually might be crying now, he thinks, sniffing. ‘Yeah but, but you need to feel good too.’ He whines. 

‘I did baby I did. Want tonight to just be for you, and you did so well, such a good boy for me.’ Eddie placates, kissing Steve’s cheek. 

Steve sniffles, whines, reaching for the fly of Eddie’s jeans, he can still feel Eddie’s half hard cock pressed up against him. ‘But, but Daddy. You have to as well, make you finish, be good, feel good too.’ He reasons, babbling desperately, slurring and pleading now with Eddie. 

Eddie grips Steve’s wrists, gentle, but firm, making his freeze. ‘Steve, no. I don’t want to, not right now. I just want to take care of you.’ And Eddie’s voice has a hardness to it that Steve knows is final. 

He crumples, the fight leaving him as he curls up into Eddie’s chest. He just, he’s supposed to help, it’s not supposed to all be about him. Before he knows it a sob chokes out from behind his teeth, forcing its way out between his heavy tongue and lips. 

Eddie’s arms wrap around him instantly, folding Steve into his chest. ‘S’okay baby, let it out. My good boy, Daddy’s good boy.’ Eddie breaths, rocking them slightly. And that just makes Steve cry harder. His foggy thoughts tangling together, muddy and thick and why does it hurt when Eddie’s so sweet like this, why does it ache to be held so gently and why does Steve feel like his tantrum is finally being heard. He’s finally being seen and coddled and tended to with kid gloves. Eddie’s here, his Daddy’s here. 

‘It’s okay, it’s gonna be okay.’ Eddie whispers, squeezing Steve in his arms. ‘I’ve got you.’ 

Steve bawls. 

-

When Steve wakes the room is dark. He rolls over, releasing the pillow that was clutched to his chest. The only source of light comes from the ancient yellow streetlight out front; peaking through the old blinds and leaving patches of orange across the carpet. 

The bed is empty, but warm and Steve realises he’s clean, with a fresh pair of Eddie’s boxers pulled on. 

He groans, pushing his face into the pillow. Cheeks no longer tacky with tears but his throat is dry from them. He’s tired, and embarrassed. But, while his chest aches, it’s got that familiar lightness that can come from a cry like the one he had. 

He hears the faucet pipes rattle in the kitchen, hears a mug being set on the counter. Steve bites his lip, gets up and pulls on one of Eddie’s old sweatshirts from a pile of clothes strewn across the desk. He takes a deep breath and walks through to the kitchen. 

Eddie is leaning against the counter, curled in on himself and biting at his thumbnail. Staring through the pot of water on the stove. 

Steve steps closer, fingers pulling at a hole in the sweatshirts ribbing, Eddie jumps slightly as he notices him. 

‘Hey.’ Eddie says, in soft surprise. Stepping up close and tucking a lock of hair behind Steve’s ear. ‘Did I wake you? M’sorry, how are you feeling? Oh, do you want tea? I’ll make you tea.’ And he’s stepping away again, flitting around the cabinets and muttering to himself. He gets another mug out and laughs humourlessly. ‘Was already making tea, stupid.’ 

Steve takes the mug gripped too tightly in Eddie’s fingers. ‘You okay?’ he asks, filling it up at the tap and chugging. 

‘Yeah, ‘cause. Are you okay?’ Eddie says quickly. 

Steve turns back, leaning on the counter himself, can’t really look Eddie in the eyes. ‘I’m, yeah. Just.’ He groans, pulling his hand down his face. ‘I can’t believe, I acted like.’ He huffs. ‘I’m, yeah. Sorry.’ He sets the mug down next to him, shifting up to sit on the counter, more of an excuse to still not look Eddie in the eye. 

‘Stevie, I-‘ Eddie starts, but the water is boiling, pulling his attention. He curses gently as he turns the stove off and fills their mugs. He’s made the same tea he’d made that one time Steve came over with a headache and Eddie took the roll of nursing him back to health super seriously. 

It makes Steve smile down at his lap at the memory. But it shifts and he frowns, he acted, he’s so embarrassed. 

‘I, Eddie.’ He starts. ‘I’m sorry for, freaking out. I shouldn’t have reacted like that.’ Steve grips the mug, heat stinging his fingers. ‘I honestly don’t even know what happened, one minute it was like, amazing. Seriously. And the next I got it in my head that it would be like, a huge moral failing, and a, a betrayal or something, if I didn’t make you finish right then and there. It, yeah, I don’t even know.’ Steve finishes lamely, voice wavering. 

‘Steve.’ Eddie says gently, almost sad. His hand hovers over Steve’s thigh, before drawing back and curling it up against his chest. 

Steve can’t hear it yet, can’t stop. ‘You, you were saying no and I, I didn’t listen. I’m so sorry.’ He feels his throat close and his eyes sting. Swallowing it down and scrubbing roughly at his cheeks. ‘I don’t, I never want to make you feel like that, like I’d do something like that.’ he mumbles, sniffing. 

Eddie scoffs, pushing away from the counter and pacing a tiny circle in the tiny trailer kitchen. 

Steve flinches at the noise, upset and, he gets it. ‘I, look, I can go.’ He scoots forward so his feet hit the ground again, resigning himself to a cold drive home and even colder nights sleep. 

But Eddie just groans, burying his hands in his hair and pulling, shaking his head. 

‘Eddie?’ Steve starts, worried. He knows he messed up but, well. 

‘You, you’re just, saying all that like it was your fault. Like you did anything.’ Eddie bursts, voice wet and desperate and Steve’s mouth closes with a soft click. 

He’s stopped pacing, palms stretched out and upwards like Eddie’s begging Steve for answers, like Steve’s knows what’s going on. Eddie must see some of the confusion, the little bit of fear, in Steve’s expression because he draws back in on himself, hands clasping at the back of his neck and elbows pulled in close. 

He looks down at his feet, mumbling sadly. ‘I just, I can’t believe you trusted me with something like that and first thing I go and do is make you cry.’ And his voice sounds wet, and pained and Steve doesn’t even think as he steps forward and pulls Eddie into his arms. Shoulder of the sweatshirt dampening as Eddie clings to him. 

-

Steve leads them back to the bedroom with gentle fingers around Eddie’s wrist. Putting the record they were listening to earlier back on and stepping in close again. 

He drapes his arms around Eddie’s shoulders and his big brown Bambi eyes look so damn nervous it nearly breaks Steve’s heart. 

‘I’ve never done that with anyone before, never said that word.’ Steve starts, brushing some hair away from Eddie’s cheek. ‘But I did today, you wanna know why?’ He asks, trying to keep his voice level, trying to soothe both their nerves. 

Eddie shakes his head, hands migrating to Steve’s hips like a reflex he’s not aware of. Steve takes a deep breath, resting his forehead against Eddie’s for a beat. 

‘Because I felt safe.’ Steve says, eyes wetting again despite himself. He decides to smile through it, pulling back to take all of Eddie in. ‘I had the best day with you Ed’s, how you included me with your friends, and held me while we watched that movie. Cooking dinner together and you kept kissing me on the forehead.’ He brings a hand up, combing his fingers through Eddie’s curls, pushing them over his shoulder. Eyes trailing over Eddie’s red cheekbones and scarred earlobe as the vulnerability of eye contact becomes too much. 

‘And, and then in here you were so sweet, so sweet like you always are, attentive and kind and sexy and, I. I feel safe with you Eddie. You asked and I told you and, like.’ Steve swallows. ‘That word is, it’s really vulnerable for me, I guess. I don’t know why it turns me on so much or why I reacted the way I did but I just think I knew that you’d look after me and you did. You did and it was wonderful, until it maybe wasn’t but that had nothing to do with you, just, something to try. Or like, do different next time, yeah? If, I mean, if you’re okay with there being a next time. Obviously, you might. Sorry.’ Steve looses steam and looks down, focuses on where Eddie’s collarbone peaks out of his old sleep shirt, instead of what might be happening on his face. 

‘Stevie.’ Eddie says softly, bringing his fingers up to Steve’s chin, tilting his face back upwards. 

Eddie’s cheeks are flush, his eyes tacky with the remnants of tears. But they also sparkle with something else. Something joyous and lovely and Steve thinks a whole world of stars might exist within Eddie Munson’s eyes, a whole galaxy of possibilities. 

Steve feels love bloom inside him, swelling his rib cage and filling his veins. He moves in just as Eddie does; their lips reconnecting, feeling and seeking. Bliss-filed. And when they pull apart, sharing breath as their noses brush together Steve can’t help but smile. Smile so big his cheeks hurt. He smiles and leans forward and kisses Eddie with more teeth than lips, kisses and kisses and kisses. 

Until Eddie threads his fingers through the hair at the base of Steve’s skull, slowing them, pulling them apart gently. ‘Come on.’ He says, leading Steve back to bed. 

And Eddie pulls them down, manoeuvring until they’re forehead to forehead and knee to knee. Bracketing each other, sharing air and space and skin. 

‘I’m sorry for crying.’ Steve whispers eventually, into their warm silence. 

‘I’m sorry for making you cry.’ Eddie whispers back. 

‘You really didn’t. I liked it, all of it, that word just makes me feel crazy.’ Steve reiterates, threading his calf between Eddie’s. 

‘You liked crying?’ Eddie teases, no longer tense, no longer sad. And Steve smacks him lightly, fighting his grin. 

And their comfortable silence stretches again, until Steve sighs. ‘The crying, it, really wasn’t you. I just like, wasn’t listening and didn’t really get that you could just, uh. Could just want to focus on me.’ He says, fiddling with the neckline of Eddie’s T-shirt. 

Eddie grabs his fingers, kissing them and moves closer, so Steve’s thigh slots between Eddie’s bony knees, their ankles tangling. ‘What about before, the rest of it, did you like that?’ 

Steve rolls his eyes, squirming, pulling Eddie in by the waist. ‘Yeah. Liked it a lot.’ His cheeks feel warm. ‘Did uh, did you?’

‘Sure did sugar.’ Eddie purrs and Steve squirms again. ‘Got so damn sweet for me, letting me take care of you.’ He murmurs into Steve’s cheek, kissing it. 

‘God, you’re gonna give me a complex if you keep saying shit like that.’ Steve groans, covering his hot face with his hands. 

But Eddie pulls them away, hands wrapped around Steve’s wrists again, gripping them, kissing him quick and soft. Steve’s eyelashes flutter, sinking once more into the blanket of loveliness that is being here. Being held by Eddie Munson. 

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊

Taglist: @scoops-aboy86 @xxfiction-is-my-realityxx @pearynice @whimsicalwadewinstonwilson @marvel-ous-m

@chickensinrainboots @cheesedoctor

[sixosix]

just say it | nagi seishiro

angst to fluff, confessions!!, friends to lovers, time skip, 2k words

you’re not sure, exactly, but seeing nagi seishiro sprawled like a cat on your couch, looking all too much like your home is his, leaves almost a strange feeling in your stomach. it festers, ugly and clinging.

and stupid nagi continues to lay there, oblivious to how your fingers clench to block out the beat of your heart.

“oi,” you throw a towel on his head, grimacing at the sight of sweat clinging to the back of his neck and sticking onto your headrest. “what are you doing in my house?” and did he travel by foot all the way here? under the scorching sun?

nagi cranes his neck, all slow and lazy, eyes wide. “oh,” he says. “you left your notebook,” he points at the table, without looking at it, “on my desk.”

“well, thanks, i guess.” you push his long legs away from the side of the couch and fall back onto it, sighing deeply. “you could’ve just given it to me tomorrow.”

he seems to pause for a second, thumbs hovering awkwardly on his phone screen. when you face him with a questioning look, he returns as if nothing happened. “reo said i could visit you.”

you hate it. you always hate when nagi does this.

when for a split second, he hesitates, shuffles a bit too close, his fingers tremble to reach for you, or his eyes flicker to your lips, but he never does anything about it.

he pulls away at the last second, and time seems to flow back normally in a snap. as if he wasn’t just about to ruin the friendship you’ve been picking scabs on just to get him to peel it off and make a move already.

and knowing nagi, he never does. he never does. (and he never will.)

“reo, huh,” you murmur, giving him a doubtful look. nagi doesn’t react visibly, but you can tell he’s starting to get uncomfortable under your scrutiny, burying his chin into the towel.

when you stretch your legs over his lap, he lets you. he doesn’t question it, doesn’t react, just keeps playing on his phone, and it’s almost infuriating how little you have an effect on him.

and knowing you, you’ll keep letting him drag this out. because underneath that frustration is fear, vulnerable and thin, ready to crumble faster than butterfly wings with the wrong move.

if you confess, and he pulls away, it can still be back to normal. that’s what everyone says, and those people don’t talk to their forgotten ones anymore. they wouldn’t understand.

but it will never be the same with nagi, because you know that you love him and will keep loving him. it will not be okay if he doesn’t feel the same, no matter how hard you try to fool yourself. it will hurt and claw out your heart, chew, and spit it out like it wasn’t someone’s soul.

it will hurt to know that you would peel yourself open and offer your heart to him, and he wouldn’t even accept it because he’ll say he doesn’t love you back. he shouldn’t deserve your dedication. it will hurt even more to know that nagi will bleed out for someone else someday, despite the longing glances and lingering touches he keeps giving your way.

“you know, you should be asking me permission, not literally anyone else who doesn’t live here.”

nagi hums, and the round finishes with a final slash of his weapon. the boss crumbles, and you kind of feel for it. he spares you a glance. “you don’t mind.”

you don’t.

even if you don’t say it out loud, the ghost of a smile on nagi’s lips says he knows.

it should be enough that you could be under the same sky as him. someone like nagi. but you are selfish and obsessed, keening like a tamed lion when his attention is focused your way.

with an almost personal jab on the number button of the vending machine, you watch the juice box tumble out.

you bend down to pluck it out but almost drop it back down again when you feel a warm body press against your back as you stand straight.

with a chin propped up on your shoulder, arms wrapped around your waist, and a phone right in front of you, you nearly choke on your spit realizing who it is.

“fuck’s sake, nagi,” you breathe, pressing a hand on your chest as if that would somehow strangle it to quiet down.

when nagi huffs an amused laugh, your traitorous heart goes wilder.

“let me free so i can also buy you your lemon tea,” you grumble, wriggling in his grasp.

nagi continues fiddling with his phone, skillfully defeating virtual enemies. “no,” he says after a while. “you’re warm.”

“i’ll strangle you.”

nagi hums in acknowledgment.

with a defeated sigh, you press the number of nagi’s favorite drink, packed in a bright yellow box. hoping to piss him off, you abruptly squat down to grab the lemon tea, but nagi follows, unbothered.

he follows after you, and again when you rise back up. and he’s still unbothered.

“you are so annoying,” you grumble, tucking your juice box under your arm to unwrap nagi’s. you poke the straw in, scowling.

you twist in his grasp to face him, holding the straw up to his mouth. “here. you haven’t drunk anything recently.”

but nagi’s face is too surprised, his eyes flicking down to where your hand is on his chest, then to where his arms are still snug around you. if you still had any hope left in you, you’d say there’s a flush in his cheeks.

it makes you realize how this position must look to other people, pressed against each other like this.

“thanks,” nagi murmurs, sipping happily on the straw. the moment shatters once again, and he doesn’t fucking do anything about it. even later and tomorrow, and the day after that, you two won’t talk about it.

from behind you, his character makes a grunt of pain, and you notice nagi isn’t looking at his phone, but somewhere on your face.

down, his phone says.

down, indeed.

when nagi and reo have to leave for this thing called blue lock, you say to yourself that you’re relieved.

you’ll miss reo a lot. he is one of your best friends, and you’re proud to watch him grow and become the person he wants to be. at least he doesn’t drive you fucking crazy.

nagi is an entirely different story.

the goodbye wasn’t anything remotely close to heartfelt. it felt like they weren’t even leaving, just taking a trip to the bathroom, but they had to make everything dramatic for no reason. and you’re fine with that. it will soften the blow.

but stupid nagi doesn’t allow just a gentle wound when he leaves.

[reo 6:43] don’t miss us too much y/n or else i might have to come running out :(

[y/n 6:50] don’t baby me and go play soccer, loser

[y/n 6:50] you better text me as soon as you can and tell me everything

[reo 6:52] i will i will

[reo 6:52] (sends an attachment of him and nagi on bus seats. reo has an arm thrown over nagi’s shoulder with his tongue stuck out, while nagi is frowning at the window.

[y/n 6:53] dumbasses. i love you.

[reo 6:53] we love you too

[nagi 7:35] i miss you.

you bury your phone face-first on your bed, as if that’ll spit out nagi’s message and let you cut it in pieces and throw it out of existence. you hate it. you hate it.

what was it about distance making the heart grow fonder?

fuck.

you bite your pillow and steer your mind clear of anything else.

nagi will probably forget about you after this whole blue lock thing anyway. it’s better to get used to being on your own now.

“a match?”

“yes,” reo’s voice says over the phone. there’s a cheer of teen boys echoing, and reo apologizes, saying he’ll leave the locker room. “you’ve seen the news, right?”

no, you haven’t. “that’s… cool!” you don’t know what the hell he’s talking about. “with who?”

“come watch us play, idiot,” reo chuckles; he knows you’ll say yes sooner or later, and you hate that you know he’s right. “didn’t you miss us?”

it’s only today that you and reo started talking again. he says he’s been busy, and you tell him it’s fine because so were you. but meeting him again tomorrow when it’s been so long since you’ve even spoken? you’re not sure if that’s fine.

“i… don’t know.” you glance at the date displayed on your screen, considering. “tomorrow, was it?”

you really have been busy. you’re not sure if you can take it if the stress of life adds up to the stress upon seeing nagi’s stupidly handsome face.

“yup. you should see nagi, man; he’s been really awesome lately.”

just the mention is enough to seize your heart and sway you. you scowl, and judging by the smile you can hear from reo, he did it on purpose.

“i’ll see if i’m free, i suppose,” you sigh, falling on your mattress to frown at the ceiling. “how have you been, reo?”

when reo launches into a ramble about all the events that went down, you let him. you smile and freely admit that you did miss them more than you can bring yourself to admit. it’s a bandage for a bullet wound.

“fuck.”

you weave through the crowd and halls with as much speed as possible. your ankles ache and protest with each step, but you ignore it. your heart beats and echoes in your ears, berating you for this stupid decision, but you ignore it.

the crowd erupts into deafening cheers, and you wince, scrambling to pick up your pace. the speakers from the corners of the wall announce the winners, and they scream and howl again.

“fuck, fuck.”

you’re late.

the worst part is, you can’t make them treat you to dinner for the stress this is giving you because they’re the ones who won.

when you finally reach the door, there’s already a string of people leaving, talking among themselves animatedly. you hear names, straining your ear when someone mentions reo, nagi, nagi, nagi.

the stadium is slowly filling out, and guilt eats you right up for missing even the winning shot. but you were too busy being indecisive not to be late when ( eventually ) leaving the house.

it’s fine. if nagi won’t care about you, then at least reo is there. he invited you, and you won’t lie that you also came to watch your best friend. ( you ignore the bitterness in your chest. )

“y/n!”

you perk up at the sound of reo’s voice, unable to fight the smile off your face when he comes running straight your way.

“come down here!” he calls out, grinning wide. there’s something different about it, though you’re not sure what it is exactly. was it the confidence he’s exuding? the sureness of himself?

you make your way to where he can reach you and gasp when his sweaty ass comes to hug you.

“gross, gross,” you hiss, trying to slap his arms away. “don’t slobber all over me.”

reo laughs, “you’re also all sweaty. did you just arrive?”

you grimace. “sorry. i was being an idiot overthinking again.” you smile at him, and hope you can convey that you really are happy seeing him again. “congrats on winning, reo. i’m proud.”

he sighs, shaking his head fondly. “well, whatever. at least you still visited. we missed you.”

we, huh? 

reo smirks, noticing immediately when you try to search for a certain white-haired boy discreetly.

panic fills you when reo cups his hands around his mouth. “wait, don’t call him—”

“oi, nagi!” reo turns to his left, and your eyes immediately find a home in nagi’s.

your breath catches in your throat when nagi’s eyes widen ever-so-slightly. strands of hair are sticking out from his head, and his nose is all burnt from the heat. his lips part to speak, but he shakes his head instead.

then, he’s jogging towards you.

nagi seishiro is jogging towards you. christ, that’s kind of terrifying.

“hey.” you hold your hands up protectively over your body. “hey, hey, don’t—”

nagi hugs you, trapping you in his embrace, and the words die on your tongue. you don’t know what’s worse: registering the cackle reo is letting out or the fact that nagi doesn’t actually smell, and you find comfort in his warmth.

“you came,” he breathes.

you blink up at him, wilting under his stare. “well. reo said i could.”

nagi’s brows knit together subtly, and you almost grin in victory. 

“i missed you,” nagi says, squeezing you in his grasp, “a lot.”

you look at him, and realize that it’s not just reo who’s changed. nagi is staring straight at you, in your eyes, and he isn’t wavering or shying away when you stare back. his eyes are alight with conviction.

suddenly, your mouth goes dry. “i—i missed you, too, nagi.”

something in nagi’s eyes shift.

this is what you wanted: for nagi to be forward, to take what he wants, say what is on his mind, but you weren’t expecting it to melt you in a puddle like this.

“hey,” you tug his arm, face in flames, “i think your teammates are calling you—”

“you came for reo,” nagi murmurs, inching closer, “you’ll stay for me.”

and, wow, okay. you need a bit to process that.

before you can respond, though, his lips meet yours and keep you there.

your heart lurches in your throat. for a second, you could only stare wide-eyed, frozen, but upon seeing the flush on nagi’s ears and the hesitant press of his lips; you let yourself melt into him. his arms tighten around you when you sling your arms over his neck.

when you start to feel a little lightheaded, you pull away, and he chases after you, pouting slightly.

“why did—” you heave, catching your breath. “why did you just kiss me like that?”

“you don’t mind,” nagi says, kissing the side of your mouth as if to coax you back into kissing him again.

“i don’t,” you agree. and frown. “why do you think so?”

this kiss will mean nothing until you can hear him say it.

“because you like me,” nagi says; there’s a dangerous glint in his eye.

“you don’t mind?”

“i don’t.” nagi smiles against your mouth. “because i like you, too.”

sorry if this is a mess!!!!!! this was supposed to be like 500 words (and was supposed to end on a bad note) but it kept flowing out of me so i just let it be 😭😭🙏

[phyrestartr]

Their Burning Bodies Keep Us Warm (2/2) | Sukuna x M!Reader

W/C: 3.4k #NSFW, p0rn with plot, top!Sukuna, bottom!Reader, ABO dynamics, cannibalism, mentions of sex trafficking, mentions of cults, questionable relationship, suggested Stockholm syndrome, post-apocalypse, enemies to friends to lovers, angst, drama, gore, typical zombie shite, not rlly edited kekw SORRY tags: @better-imagination-9 @flowersatwork @tr4nniez @kamote-kuneho @prettorett @kindadolly @inflatabledinosaurs19 @memedealer-exe

“How's it look?” Sukuna groaned after you peeled back the bandages and gauze.

You stayed quiet while you thought, but ultimately had to ask, “How's it feel?” 

Sukuna scoffed. “Aches like fuck.”

“You should take Tylenol or something.”

“Hah. Like I'd give up drinking.” 

You sighed and washed his back with the usual tincture of salt and water, earning yourself a sharp, whiny snarl. Carefully, as though to apologize, you dabbed away scabbed blood and whatever else clung to the DIY sutures. 

“Then it'll keep hurting.” The dark, black bruises around the wound promised it. “But…it doesn't look infected.” You pressed against the reddened, irritated skin with a light touch, and breathed a sigh of relief; there didn't seem to be any suspicious discharge or signs of serious infection. Hopefully it'd stay that way. 

“Silver fucking lining, I guess.” The alpha hung his head and let you go about cleaning it thoroughly to prep for re-wrapping it. “You're not too squeamish around this shit, hey?”

“I guess,” you said lamely. You glanced at the back of his head in thought before focusing on your task again. “The whole world is shitty. So. Guess I got used to it.”

“You sure you don't have a history?” He asked, glancing back at you. 

You shrugged. “I was a crook, but I only stole. Never really fought, never murdered either. But I saw shit, sure. Patched some people up before, too. Nothing like this, though.” 

Sukuna nodded and looked ahead again, resting his chin on the back of the chair. “That explains it.”

“Explains what?” You wondered.

"Explains why you're not boring me," he said, nonchalant. 

You paused to cast the back of his head another wary, confused glance. It was a strange comment. You weren't sure what the implications meant for those who came before you.

"What would happen if I bored you?" You asked.

"I'd get rid of you," he answered, too truthful. "Kill you. Eat you. Kick you out. Somethin' like that." 

Sukuna looked at you again, an amused glimmer of insanity igniting in his eyes. You did your best to look away, to not engage with the hellspawn repossessing his near-tolerable person. 

"Oi, oi, quit looking so pathetic," he taunted, voice singing with playful sadism. "There's no room for that if you wanna survive out here, brat. Besides, our deal is pretty good, isn't it?" 

You pursed your lips, trying to ignore the fact that he just declared that he'd eat you if he got bored of you. How were you supposed to relax? 

Yet you tried anyway. "Yeah. Right." 

"Don't believe me?" He questioned. 

"I do. Just--you just told me you woulda ate me if I was boring." You tried not to sound too flabbergasted and awestruck, but the warbly disbelief came through anyway. 

And Sukuna laughed. Not in that heinous, chilling way, but low and warm. It almost made you think he could be somewhat fond of you. 

"Well, you're still breathing, aren't ya?" He asked.

You shrugged before starting to re-bandage his back. "Well. Yeah. I guess." 

"You sound anymore fuckin' unsure and I'll take your damn head off, omega." Sukuna sighed, still sounding content. "Dunno what shit you've been through, but you survived it. You're strong. Remember that." 

For the first time in your life, you felt butterflies in your stomach. 

--

You're strong. Remember that. 

Those words festered in your mind, bringing a much-needed sense of calm to your exhausted body and soul. You didn't realize how little you recognized your own strength, your own vicious mettle that kept you going through the haze of pain and discontent embedded in your life. You almost pitied yourself for your weak mind; when had you fallen so low? Why didn't you realize you were trapped in Tartarus? Did the nightmares and bitter flavours numb it all out?

You rubbed your face. "Think about the now," you mumbled as you poked at the fire with an especially long stick you'd taken a liking to. "No point thinking about the past." 

"Better not be mumblin' seance-y, satanic cult shit into the fire," Sukuna called from the kitchen. "I'll be pissed." 

Your face flushed with more than the fire's heat. "No! I'm just--I'm talking to myself." 

"In a creepy way?" 

"No!" 

"Coulda fooled me." 

You turned to the kitchen with a sour look, but quickly averted your gaze again; normally, you'd help him prepare and ration food, but when he took to chopping up chunks of person, you couldn't stomach it. 

Sukuna must've seen you look away, judging by his sudden, cheeky cackling. "What, still squeamish, omega? You don't got a problem when you're eatin' 'em."

You grimaced. "Yeah, I don't like thinking about it. Feels...wrong."

"Pussy."

"Hey."

"It's easy meat," Sukuna continued. "Better than eating grass 'n leaves 'n shit. Besides, makes you tougher."

You huffed. "Tougher. Right." 

Your partner in crime snorted. "You know how vaccines work, omega?" 

"Duh." You stabbed at the fire a few more times, stopping only when Calcifer spit a mouthful of sparks at you. "Introduce a weak strain of a virus into the body so it can make antibodies and fight against it." 

Sukuna hummed in agreement. "So what do you think happens when we eat our doomsday virus, huh?" 

You blinked owlishly at the flames. "Is...that can't be true," you asked, itching at your arm. "No way we’re becoming--"

"Immune." 

Sukuna walked to your side and knelt beside you, showing off the small collection of scarred bitemarks dotting his arm.

Your touch ghosted against the marks in wonder. Maybe he was lying. Maybe these bites came from something else. Something more demented than even the undead. 

"But how could the virus survive? When it's, uh, cooked, I mean," you asked as you held his forearm with both hands and examined further. 

"Guess medium-rare doesn't take care of everything." He shrugged and watched you press against the raised skin incessantly. "But hey, maybe I'm just a freak of nature. Better than normal fucks. Godly."

You looked at him with yet another grimace, and he grinned. 

"You've been eating people for too long," you decided. “It's made you delusional.”

"Probably." He moved to get up when you let go of him, but paused with a second thought.

Sukuna reached for you, brushing some of your hair from your neck. Your heart did more stupid backflips feeling that quiet touch drag along the sloping curve of your neck, down to the source of your alluring redolence. 

His thumb rubbed slow circles against your skin, waking forgotten sparks of bergamot and birch, melding them with his musk of leather and pine. You thought they fit together nicely, in an odd way. Or maybe you were caught up in hopeful delusions his marking always brought you. 

He stood, then, content with his work. "Was in prison when shit hit the fan. Had to get creative." 

You rubbed your neck when he walked away. "I can imagine. Must've gotten pretty overrun." 

"The cells were pretty safe. Most of the prisoners died starving after the outbreak," he said. "Sorry sons of bitches. Couldn't even lob a dead cellmate's head off to save themselves when those idiots turned." 

"That what you did?" You scooted up onto the couch and watched Sukuna putter around the kitchen. You pretended he was cutting up some wild animal instead of human. 

"I killed my cellmate before that," Sukuna said. "Got sent to solitary for it." 

You pursed your lips. "What'd he do?"

“He bored me.”

–

Being in his arms felt safe. You rested easy, no longer fearing his appetite nor his wrath in the brief moments of consciousness before darkness overtook you. He held you before, too, pulled you to his chest to stay warm whenever the night grew too cold and the fire dwindled; now, however,  it was different.

Now, you woke up facing him. You woke with newfound adoration for the gnarled bump fucking up the bridge of his nose (something that told of far too many fights) and you realized you quite liked the sound of his soft, rumbling snores. Even the way his body burned too hot eased your nerves when it once suffocated you with sweltering anguish.

You were careful not to say you felt anything for him, however; he was the beast who'd stolen you away from your short-lived freedom, and kept you here for his own selfish pleasure. A warning danced in the forefront of your mind, shaking its head every time you looked your captor's way. You knew better. You knew better. 

But he wasn't so bad. Though that was what Belle said about her Beast, wasn't it? Before they fell in love. Before their happily ever after.

You shifted just the slightest bit closer to him, letting your nose barely nudge against his before freezing, waiting to see if he'd stir and wake from the mild disturbance. He'd slept through worse, you imagined. Most were light sleepers throughout the apocalypse, but he–

His eyes opened. The pounding of your heart must have been the cause. 

Sukuna didn't have words, and neither did you; being here, being so close to him, face to face and finally taking in what he looked like, about to find out what he tasted like, said everything in a language he understood.

Because he closed the gap first. After a sharp glance down to your lips then back to your eyes, he nudged your nose aside and pressed his lips against yours. And you pushed into him, tugged yourself closer with your hands in his shirt and then in his hair while his own smoothed over your side to grab and grope at your ass and whatever softness from the old world still clung to your figure. 

Your hands pulled at his shirt, and he got the message. He rolled on top of you and sat up on his knees, straddling your waist as he pulled off his shirt to let you see glimmers of scars arching against defined slopes of muscle, disappearing beneath cloth bandages. Your breath hitched; he was gorgeous in ways you couldn't describe. 

He adjusted, settling between your legs before leaning down and kissing you again while those curious hands of yours felt for the secrets etched into his skin like hieroglyphics left only for the blind. Those marks told stories from start to finish. They hinted at his life up until this point. You wondered if any of them reminisced of smiles and laughter. 

Sukuna's hands coasted up your shirt to explore you, too. His thumbs pressed between every rib, followed the arch of the cage protecting your heart, before he pinched and teased at the sensitive buds of your chest. You didn't think you'd like it, but the way he tortured you with talented fingers was too good–good enough to drag out the first of many quiet, breathy sounds from you. 

Sukuna pulled your shirt off and tossed it aside. His broad palms smoothed across your skin before he dipped down, and tasted you, running the flat of his tongue against your neck, then back down to the bullied bundle of nerves he'd worked into a frenzy. He bit and nipped, swirled his tongue around the pert nub, and sucked hard enough to bruise and split your delicate skin.

You bit down on the inside of your cheek, stifling the rattling hum reverberating in your chest; you'd never felt so good before. You'd never had someone focus on you like this before. Maybe it was a selfish thing on the alpha's part, or maybe he wanted you to indulge in primal pleasures, too. That errant hand of his groping at your hardened cock suggested as much. 

Your fingers carded through his hair as he left brutal hickeys on your chest and bit at your nipples like he was threatening to take them clean off (thankfully, he seemed to quite like them and left them intact for future use), and then he traveled south, yanking your shorts off and spreading you wide before him. 

Your heart throbbed in your head. It pounded harder still as he stroked you firmly and fully, squeezing at all the right spots while his other hand felt up the softness of your thighs, the slick pooling between your cheeks, the tightening of your sacks. He was so like a cartographer, trying to chart every inch of your body, trying to remember which spots made you jolt and jump. 

And you couldn't help but squawk as he lifted your hips, hauling your legs over his shoulders with little effort, before spreading you wide and licking against your leaking hole. 

Your hands clutched at the sheets desperately. The pants stuttering out of you upscaled when his tongue, the devilish thing, circled around your tight entrance a handful of times before sinking in with the help of his thumbs pulling you open. 

This time, it was Sukuna who moaned, low and dripping with bliss. You couldn't know how it was for him. You didn't know how tasting your slick, drowning in your bergamont-pine perfume in its purest form drove him mad with hunger and want–with need, maybe. Your scent was divine. Your taste was even better. 

So, he took his time. He indulged in lapping at you, coaxing more and more slick to pool from your insides and drip down his chin in sticky, syrupy dollops while you writhed and bucked against his grasp, seeking more but getting too much. Sukuna almost felt for you. Almost. If you didn't want him to eat you alive, you shouldn't have tasted so sweet. 

Eventually, his cock demanded attention, too, and he finally let your hips down to look over your fucked-out expression and heaving chest. And when you stared back at him, eyes heavy and needy, you caught the alien glow of crimson burning in the swathe of shadows dodging the moonlight. It sent an electric thrill dancing up your spine; the monster you once feared was back, and now bewitched by your body's spell. 

Sukuna's pants came off in a slow rush. He tossed them aside and half-heartedly wiped his mouth before looming over you once again, and catching your lips with his. His tongue pushed into your mouth, ripping the tiniest of ah-s from you, and he forced you to taste what was left of your essence against his tongue. Then, like the kiss was just a mere distraction, his head popped into your empty, lonely body, and stretched you with a singe of pain. 

Your fingers dug into his scalp and his back as he forced himself into you inch by inch, pulling out just to push back inside deeper with the aid of your body's viscous desire to find a euphoria of his design. The hasty beginnings of a knot at his base stretched you wider, filled you fuller as he snapped in once more and bottomed out with a growling moan vibrating against your chest.

And, god, it felt good. You were stuffed beyond your limits, struggling to adapt and welcome him inside despite hugging and squeezing him with praise and devotion. It seemed he'd never bothered jamming his entirety into you. He'd been giving you that one, little mercy your entire tenure. 

But now, you were willing to take it, and he was going to give it to you, like it or not. 

His face buried into your neck when he moved. His hips pulled back just a bit before he sunk back inside of you, like he was trying to see just how far he could reach into your struggling, smaller body–and then, he was done testing your shared limits, and he devoured you. 

You clung to his shoulders, clawed at his back, pulled at his hair while he fucked into you. The bed creaked and dragged against the floor with every near-hostile ram into your heat, but you could hardly hear it over the feral, primal noises slipping through his clenched teeth. Your omega fell mute with pleasure and relief, apparently finding peace at being railed into like you were in heat and your mate was in rut. You weren't. He wasn't. You could only imagine what that would be like. 

Profanities hissed from him, as did demented, mumbled praise that you'd keep close to your heart come morning. His knot inflated bigger and bigger, bullying your ass open wider with each violent slam into your core. Normal alphas wouldn't have forced it into you mid-fuck, but he wasn't normal. He wanted to feel your tightness bite down around that sensitive, swollen plug. He needed to hear your sharp mewls and grunts the pain and pleasure forced out of you with every disgusting, wet pop of his cock ripping out of you. He had to keep pushing his limit, pushing your limit, until you got too fucking tight and too fucking hot that you'd force him to stay put and pump his cum into you by the gallon. 

He had to. 

So, when your breath fanned against his hear, when you whispered the most pathetic, “Cum in me,” he went mad. 

He leaned back and folded you in half, ignoring your uncomfortable grimaces before he held you in that mating press and let loose, eyes screwed shut and brow furrowed in concentration while his fangs dug into his lip as he snarled and grunted. 

Blood rushed to his cock with an electric current, pushing his hips to snap against yours harder and faster as his knot inflated fully and struggled to leave the warmth of your tight, clingy hole. But it wasn't enough, it wasn't enough–

Until he looked down at you, and bore witness to your muscles fluttering, your back arching, your mouth hung open with a soundless cry as you came undone, soaked with sweat and slick. 

Sukuna’s hips jolted and stuttered, and he fought to force that thickness into you for the last time before he spilled inside, adding his own kindling to the fire eating you alive. 

You gasped again, hand fisting tighter around your cock as you worked yourself through the unbearable ecstasy crashing down on you in torrential waves. You were a boat in the middle of an ocean, somehow staying afloat despite being in the middle of a world-ending storm–perhaps by the mercy of a beast lingering in the depths.

The aftershocks took too long to die down; Sukuna's shallow thrusts into you didn't help, nor did your own languid stroking, but you didn't want it to help. You wanted to see how much more cum you could force out of the man every time you clenched around him. You wanted to see how much longer the perverse pleasure would plague you if you tortured him just a little more. By the continuous emptying of the man's balls into your inflating core, you'd say you were doing a pretty good job. 

You silently both doubted that stupid knot of his would go down with how worked up he got–normally, it'd take about 5 minutes, but there'd been data recorded suggesting it could take up to an hour if the alpha was determined to have his omega as his permanently. And judging by your solitary existence by his side, it seemed like the latter was possible. 

So, he took great care in maneuvering you both onto your sides to rest more comfortably while you waited and dozed. The time passed with kisses and touches, and the constant drone of purring filling in the gaps where your bodies failed to touch. 

In that moment and onward, you didn't much care that you were his victim. His butterfly caught in a trap, kept docile by the sweet taste of honey.

��

“Looks like the worst is over,” You mumbled, looking over the to-be scar on his back. “You sure you want me to take out the stitches?” 

Sukuna scoffed and looked over his shoulder. “You want those things to fuse into my fucking skin, omega? Take ‘em out.” 

You furrowed your brows, but complied nonetheless. “Doubt they’d fuse to your skin,” You mumbled. 

Sukuna growled at you, and you grunted back, not impressed, no longer intimidated. Things had changed ever since that night. For the better, somehow. You found yourself less intimidated, less afraid, and he seemed to welcome it with open arms and a wolfish grin. You weren’t entirely sure, but you almost felt like it was the definition of mates. 

A banging from the basement made you jump and huff, earning an amused snicker from your partner. 

“Almost stabbed you with the scissors.”

“Don’t fucking stab me with scissors.”

“Not on purpose,” You sighed. “Should we knock them out again?” You wondered as you carefully cut every stitch and gently pulled them free. 

A deathly rasp had you both snapping to attention. A handful of figures lumbered outside the house, shambling and bumping into this and that as they searched for whatever stimulus had caught their attention. You found yourself annoyed, knowing the cattle locked up down below were probably the lure. 

“Well, if they’re gonna be attracting the fucking zombies like that, yeah.” Sukuna yawned and rolled his shoulders once you finished up with a reassuring pat to his back. “Might as well make ‘em fun-sized ‘n store ‘em in the freezer right away while we’re at it. They’ll get too scrawny otherwise.” 

You hummed as you cleaned up. “Isn’t leaner meat better?” 

“Yeah, but the fat’s useful,” Sukuna said with a smirk. He tugged his shirt on and stood, looping his strong arms around your middle while you puttered about and ensured the medical tools and counter stayed clean. “Use it for fires. Keep us warm ‘n shit. ‘Sides, might get shittier meat, but more of it.” 

You smiled a little (not at the idea of using human fat as an incendiary component, but at the little, domestic touch, of course), and nodded to yourself. “Well, I’m not gonna argue. You’ve done this longer than me. It’s not like we can go scavenging with the streets like this either.” 

Another handful of ghouls stumbled by the back door. Everything was barricaded, every window was blacked out, every possible way of entry was evaluated and reinforced, but the presence and proximity of the new rush of undead still unnerved you; you recognized most of them, too, which was an unwelcome touch. Something had gone awry at the mill, the two of you reasoned. Somehow, someone got bit, and the infection spread to the rest of the compound–the rest of the soldiers, at least. 

Most of the undeads wandering about once held positions of power. They once boasted before the cells of omegas, brandishing their medals and ribbons and everything else in a pathetic attempt to earn favour and initiate courtship. Now, it seemed those outside of the cages had seen the cruel, flesh-eating face of karma. You could only hope the lack of familiar, friendly faces meant your kind stayed locked away and safe while the compound exploded. They were strong; they'd make it.

Of course, there were whimpering survivors from your terrorizers’ side, namely the two men downstairs that Sukuna welcomed in with promises of safety and kinship ringing sweet on his tongue. It must've tasted quite bitter when they realized the trap was sprung with no honey to be found. 

Sukuna yawned and let go of you to tug his shirt back on. “Streets'll clear. Just a matter of waiting. Taking care of those two pigs downstairs'll keep shit quiet.” He picked up a hatchet and you shuddered. “We’ll take it from there.” 

You watched him wander to the door leading down to the basement–and then a thought got caught in your mind and sunk its teeth in with desperate need. 

“We should check the compound,” you said. Sukuna paused, and you swallowed down your brimming insecurity. “They have–I know they had medical supplies. And food. We should see what’s left.” 

Sukuna’s shoulders relaxed the slightest bit before he laughed. “‘N here I thought you were gonna beg for me to search for survivors.” 

“What? No, are you kidding me? I just want more medical stuff in case you get yourself hurt again,” you huffed, crossing your arms. 

Your partner threw a doting gaze over his shoulder at you before smirking. “Sounds like a plan.”

[https-kreideprinz]

#22. - Bandages ! -> Katsuki Bakugo

Katsuki Bakugou x GN! Reader

A/N: Helping your boyfriend patch up after training!

Notes: Day twenty two of Flufftober!!

ׂׂૢ Katsuki Bakugo

Katsuki made an annoyed huffing noise, and he winced slightly as you tightened the bandages on his arms. “Fucking- watch it bitch-” he grumbled. “I have a feeling you’re causing more damage to my body instead of helping me patch those wounds up.”

You rolled your eyes and pulled your hands away, whacking him softly on the head. “It’s not my fault you got hurt during your training.” You scoffed.

Reaching over you grabbed a bandaid, peeling the plastic away you pressed the dressing to his cheek, staying extra cautious to make sure your fingers didn’t drag across the open wound and cause unnecessary infection.

He rolled his eyes and reached over to pick at a scab on his arm. Katsuki shot you a glare  when you smacked his hand away.

"Bitch." 

He hissed.

"Don't pick at it idiot."

You shot right back, and he huffed, leaning back, rubbing his forehead.

"Well now what.” he groaned. His attitude reminded you of a toddler who was about to throw a temper tantrum, “I can't do shit while I’m stuck in bed with these stupid fuckin’ injuries." He grumbled, crossing his arms and glaring at you.

"You're such a big baby." You grumbled, pulling away from him. “Regardless…” You walked over to the kitchen, pulling a knife out from the drawer. “Do you want me to cut you some fruit or something? Will that make you feel a bit better?”

Katsuki scoffed, a soft smile gracing his lips. “Stupid…” His voice came out in a whisper. "Yea alright." He leaned back and stretched. "Do what you want."

You rolled your eyes, pulling a knife out from the kitchen drawer. Humming, you reached over and grabbed some fruit from a bowl beside you.

Katsuki coughed and you looked up, meeting his gaze as you tilted your head to the side, raising an eyebrow. A soft pink dusted his cheeks and he grumbled.

"Thanks for that by the way."

Your lips quirked up in a small smile. "Don't mention it. As your partner it's my job to keep you safe."

Taglist: @moonlit-koraline @camvrin @whitneys-favorite-slut @izuruswhore @das-jaim3

@kozuwhore @https-milo @dokidokidraft

[lifeinpoetry]

there is no one to remind to you to winterize your car. it is over. you are not fun at parties. you think too much about sex for this to still be grief. you’re fine. grieving people don’t think about fucking. grieving people think about their dead. your dead. my dead. i want to pour ashes into my mouth when i am alone. i have never loved my friends more.

— Ollie Schminkey, from "the scab to peel back," Dead Dad Jokes

[uluvjay]

Short Temper-K. Dach

Kirby Dach x fem! Reader

In which you and kirby both have a thing for choking!!

Warnings?; Unprotected sex(a big no no!!), choking(obvi), cursing, kinda mean kirby, mentions of a hockey fight, small bar scene, rough sex, porn with a plot tbh, sorry for any errors!

Day three of my kinktober special!

Kirby was mad, fuming even.

The game was horrible, his goal and assist meaning nothing to him when they still ended up losing 2-6. To make things worse he’d gotten into a fight early in the third, busting the scabs he already had on his knuckles from a previous fight, the cut on his cheek looking just as fresh.

And for some reason he accepted Arbers invitation to get a few drinks after the game however he only ended up more pissed off as the bar tender persistently flirted with you again and again despite your locked hands and Kirby’s last name that was painted on your Jean jacket.

The red crystals that you had added to the letters sparkled under the bars shitty lighting catching the eyes of many customers yet he still found the guys eyes glued to your ass in your tight jeans.

He called it an early night, bidding his few teammates that joined a goodbye after not even have three sips of his beer.

He dragged you to his expensive g-wagon, still opening your door like he always did but he wasn’t very nice to the car as he slammed the door with much more might then needed.

He didn’t speak a word as he got in on his side, resting a still slightly bloody hand on your thigh as he peeled down the busy streets of Montreal.

The ride was silent, the only sound filling the car was the sound of your mixed breathing. Finally pulling into his parking spot in the parking garage he moved to open his door when your hand moving towards your own handle caught his eye.

“Don’t” he snapped and you quickly obeyed by retracting your hand.

You waited for him to round the car, opening your door for you he gave you his hand as you exited the large car.

“You know I’ll always get the door for you, so don’t try it again.” He spoke with a sharp look towards you as you two made it into the parking garage’s elevator.

“Yes sir” you replied, a small smirk tugging on your lips as you playfully saluted him.

His hand that had been lingering behind you on the bar was quick to swat your ass, a yelp breaking from you at the contact.

“Kirby!” You scolded the brunette.

He did his best to hide it but you saw his lips twitch, no doubt trying to hold back a smirk at your reaction.

“Watch your mouth then.” He shrugged, stepping out of the metal box as it reached your floor and taking off down the hallway.

You were quick to follow behind, doing your best to keep up with his long strides you made it to his side just as he got the door unlocked.

Once the two of you got inside he went straight for your bedroom while you took your time taking your shoes and jacket off before following after him.

You found him stripping down by his hamper, admiring his toned body as he pulled the white button down off. His dress pants quickly followed, his thick thighs on display while his tight boxers did nothing to hide his very obvious boner.

“You like watching me get naked?” He piped up.

“Mhm, one of my favorite hobbies actually.” You teased as you moved past him into the closet to hang your jacket.

Coming back into the room you were stopped in your way by two large hands grabbing your hips, he didn’t speak as turned your body to face his and lifted your arms as he pulled your shirt off.

You felt your heart speed up as his eyes locked with yours, you didn’t dare to break his stare as his cold hands moved down your body to unbutton your jeans next.

You choked on a gasp as he dropped to his knees tugging the denim down with him, next to go was your panties. His thick fingers hooking around the thin lace as he pulled them down, smirking at the small damp spot that was present.

He stood back to his feet, fingers reaching around you to unhook your bra watching contently as it slid down your arms and onto the floor.

Dipping his head down his soft lips tickled your skin as he kissed along the side of your throat, stopping just below your ear.

“Well getting you naked is one of mine.”

You swear you felt your knees buckle slightly as he whispered against your skin, very thankful for his large hands that were resting on your waist.

Picking you up he carried you towards your bathroom, sitting your feet on the floor he moved to the shower turning on the water before opening the door.

“Coming?” He asked over his shoulder.

You’d never moved so fast in your life. Stepping in behind him you watched as he dipped his head back, letting the hot water soak his head.

You could see the tension slightly leave his body as the water relaxed his muscles. You were so caught in your head that you didn’t notice his hands moving towards you until your body was the one under the water.

His body was pressed against yours, arms wrapping around your front as his large hands moved up and down your stomach softly.

Your eyes caught his scabbed knuckles as flashbacks from earlier tonight filled your mind, the way he gripped the other player up by his jersey before laying a punch to the man’s face.

You hated that seeing him be so violent turned you on but there was no denying the throb that always formed between your thighs at the sight of him beating someone’s ass.

Especially after the way things ended up for you two after the last fight, how he wrapped his bloody hand around your throat and pinned you to the mattress.

It was the first time he’d ever choked you during sex but you knew it wouldn’t be the last, you got a taste of it and you were addicted.

“What’re you thinking about baby, I can feel how heavy you’re breathing.” He asked behind you.

“N-nothing.” You stuttered.

“Hmm, then why are your thighs rubbing together?” You could hear the smirk in his voice.

Fucking caught.

Turning your body in his arms you threw yours around his neck before pulling his lips down to meet yours.

He didn’t hesitate to kiss back, pushing your body against the marble wall of your shower he didn’t hesitate to push a thigh between yours.

You moaned at the feeling of his thick thigh against your clit, body shuddering at the feeling of him pressed against you.

His tongue fought against yours but you didn’t give up, nipping at his bottom lip you basked in his soft growl. You were giving his energy right back until you felt his strong grip at the base of your throat.

You pulled your lips from his sucking in a sharp breath as your eyes locked, a look of understanding between the two of you.

Within seconds you were back in his arms with your body pinned against the wall, legs wrapped around his waist, his body pressing into yours.

You wanted him, you really did-but not here.

“Bed Kirby.” You moaned as his lips sucked against your sweet spot.

He didn’t need to be told twice, switching the water off he had you two out of the shower and onto the bed without wasting a second.

He didn’t give a fuck that you two were soaked, he only cared about fucking you until the both of you passed out.

He laid you down on the pillows before crawling over your body, positioning himself between your thighs he hooked yours over his.

Running his cock through your soaked folds he watched as you flinched slightly from the sudden pleasure.

There wasn’t anything more in this world that he liked more than seeing how responsive your body was to him, the little ways you’d move or respond to his movements.

He pushed his cock into you slowly allowing you to get adjusted to his size before he began to fuck you.

His lips worked on your chest, lips switching from Brest to Brest as he sucked and nipped at them earning sweet moans from you.

Feeling you buck against him he knew you were ready, adjusting your thighs to be wrapped around his waist he pulled out of your tight cunt before pushing back with much more force than the first time.

You cried out at his sharp thrust, heading dropping back into the pillows as the hot pleasure consumed your body. It felt like you were on fire, every touch and caress from Kirby pushing you closer and closer to a blazing edge.

You watched the man above you as his own head was tipped back in pure bliss, taking his frustration of the evening out on your body just as you’d hoped he would.

“Fuck” he grunted, the feeling of you purposely clenching around his cock pulling him closer and closer to his climax.

His eyes snapped open as he heard a giggle from you scoffing in response his large hand wrapped around your throat as he pushed two of his fingers into your mouth.

He shook his head when you moaned around them, tongue moving around the digits as if they were his cock. He could feel you moaning around his fingers are he switched his pace, pressing his hips into you he fucked you so slow and deep.

You could feel every vein and ridge of his cock, your desperate cry’s for more drowned by his thick fingers he smirked as you did your best to move against him.

His spare hand pressed your hips into the mattress stilling your movements slightly as you weren’t strong enough to fight against him.

He didn’t give in, continuing to fuck you slow and steady he grunted when you clenched him tightly, your warm walls hugging him so tight.

It was only when he felt your teeth sink into his fingers did he knock it off, pulling his fingers from your mouth you drew in a sharp breath before speaking.

“Fuck me-please Kirby.” You begged, chin glistening with spit that his fingers were also coated in.

The sight of your messy appearance had Kirby ready to come then, the way your mascara was still running, your flushed and hot cheeks, messy hair and swollen lips.

He adjusted your position, hooking your ankles together around his back he wrapped a hand around your throat.

You weren’t sure what he was doing until soon your felt his hips start at an ungodly pace, words colliding in your throat as broken moans as hot pleasure consumed you once again.

“Shit! So good, so fucking good.” You cried into the air, nails dragging down his back causing him to hiss at the burn.

He sat up to pull you into a messy kiss, teeth colliding in a fight for dominance however what you weren’t expecting was the tightening of his hand on your throat when your teeth nipped his lip a little to hard.

Squeezing just enough to cause you to gasp before returning to his normal hold, the action causing a whole new wave of arousal to rush through your body.

He knew you were getting close when your thighs started to shake, your body arching into his as your moans got more incoherent by the second.

“F-ahh, Kirby!” You babbled but he didn’t need you to tell him, he knew you were coming and he was ready, right on the edge of his own climax.

“Go ahead baby, come for me like the good slut you are.” He cooed in your ear.

His free hand moved to your clit as his thumb circled around the sensitive bud, watched in admiration as your body shook below his.

Your mount dropped open in a loud moan as you arched off of the bed, your orgasm breaking through your body.

The way your walls hugged him brought him to his own climax, his thrusts slowing as his hips began to stutter and soon he was pressed against you as he came.

You moaned at the feeling of his warm cum filling you up, the sensation dirty but so so good.

His hand that was around your throat loosened as he collapsed on top of you, the exhaustion of the game and sex finally getting to him.

Neither of you cared as you both fell asleep right there, his cock still deep inside you as he cuddled close into your side.

-

You were the first to wake up, the bright sun filling your room causing a small groan to rise from your throat.

You moved to stretch but the weight over your body and the ache between your thighs had you stilling.

Looking down you found Kirby’s large body still pressed against yours, his head resting right below your boobs while he held you close.

Images from last night flooded your mind and you feel your cheeks heat up at the thought of what you two did.

You realized his cock was no longer inside of you and he was dressed in a pair of boxers while you were swallowed by one of his shirts.

Shaking him awake lightly he tried hiding his face in the pillows but you weren’t letting that happen.

“Kirby baby get up, we have to shower.” You cooed as you ran a hand through his hair.

“Why.” He groaned.

“We went to sleep right after having sex bubba, gotta get cleaned up.”

“Cleaned us up and got you dressed.” He mumbled again.

“I see that but we need a proper shower.” You laughed.

“Can we get a bath?” He asked as he finally picked his head up, eyebrow raised as he looked at you questioningly.

Realizing his body was probably sore you nodded and moved to get a bath started, pouring in some epsom salt that he used you let it fill up while you went to get him.

He fought slightly but finally complied and followed you into the bathroom, stripping off his boxers he got in first allowing you to lay against his chest.

You thought he was sleeping until he spoke up, “Sorry if I was a little to rough or mean last night. I was pissed about the game and I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.”

You smiled at his words, dropping your head back you looked up at him sweetly.

“Trust me, I didn’t mind it. Not one bit.”

“I’m sure you didn’t.” He laughed slapping your thigh slightly as you both broke into giggles before relaxing in the bath until the water was cold.

-

[tethered-heartstrings]

Will and Hannibal are both so lonely, but I don’t think Hannibal realized how lonely he was until after he met Will. Hannibal knew he was alone, but never felt lonely. Meeting Will exposed all the cracks and gaps and empty spaces within him, all the places yearning for someone to understand him, see him, love him. Someone to really get inside, past all the layers, and accept him. Will filled in all those hollow spaces Hannibal didn’t even know he had. Will made him feel complete, nourished, whole. Will’s absence exposed the little wound inside Hannibal, forcing him to feel it all, feel lonely. What he thought was a scar was a mere scab holding all that hurt back like a weak dam, and Will peeled it away. and without Will, Hannibal was bleeding, weeping, and lonely. They are blurred, fluid and filling in and cradling all the pieces of the other they were afraid to share with anyone else. There is no surviving without the other, for they could never be truly complete again.

[iliketangerines]

PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE MORE EARTHREALM BOYS X READER!! maybe a touch of Syzoth in there? Let’s say this time maybe Johnny is throwing a party and reader shows up in a skin tight dress that’s a little too short and due to her thick thighs it’s hard for the dress to stay down.

that dress on you

a/n: ashrah does not get enough love

pairing: johnny cage, ashrah, syzoth, kenshi takahashi, kung lao, raiden, x gn!reader

warnings: suggestive at end :)

you make your way through the crowd, looking for the bar, hands tugging down on the hem of the dress as you walk

perhaps you should’ve have picked such a short dress, especially with the way it keeps riding up your thighs and shows off your slightly chubby stomach compared to all the other much thinner people around, but it was the only dress you had

it seems like luck is on your side though, as the second you arrive at the bar, someone leaves, letting you snag a barstool and rest your tired feet

you sigh in relief as your heeled feet come off the ground, and you wait for the bartender to come around to give your order

you pull your phone out of your clutch, texting the others to see where they were at Johnny’s party, and tap your fingers against your thigh hurriedly as your eyes scan over the bar to try and spot a familiar face

unfortunately, you don’t recognize anyone, and so you try to distract yourself, listening to the music pounding all around you and the beat of the music rattle your bones

the bartender passes you your drink, and you sip on the alcohol, trying not to let your nerves get to you and make you leave the party early

Johnny had invited you, told you to come and at least say hi to him before you left, and well, you did want to at least try and have some fun, you just needed to find your friends first

you can feel something buzzing in your head, telling you something dangerous is near, and you look to your right and find someone staring at you up and down

their drink spills on themselves as they raise their beer up to their lips, and you can feel an uncomfortable buzz in the back of your head telling you get away

you look for the bartender to close out your tab, the need to escape overwhelming you as the person comes in close, fanning their breath over your face

they ask you for your name through slurred words, hands grabbing onto your bare shoulder, and you laugh, glancing around to find anyone familiar

you say your name quietly, trying to ease the situation, unable to just punch the shit out of this person, and they croon out your name, sickly and like a rotting scab

sliding off your barstool, you figure you’ll just come and grab your card later to close out your tab, but the person follows, grabbing onto your waist and squeezing at the soft flesh

your fingers twitch, eager to flip them over your back and onto the ground, but you resist the urge and gently try to push them off of you

their grip tightens on you, and you wonder if causing a scene at the party would draw some bad press for Johnny before a large hand grips onto the person’s shoulders and peels them off of you

it’s Johnny, eyebrows furrowed although his lips still hold a small smile as he tells the person to back off

the person sputters, clearly not expecting the bigshot to show up out of the blue and defend you, but they double down just saying they were doing you a favor, liking someone so ugly and fat

Johnny’s smile drops immediately, and his fist draws back so quick that you barely catch the movement

the person falls to the ground, blood spurting from his nose, and Johnny saunters over to them, picking them up by the scruff of their neck and telling them to get the hell out before he calls security

they scramble, holding onto their nose as they spew out curses and threats, but Johnny ignores them telling the crowd that had gathered to get back to partying and that the next round of drinks is on him

immediately, the crowd buzzes with excitement and rushes to the bar, but Johnny holds onto your hand and draws you out of the rush

his large hand gently presses into the small of your back, gently guiding you to where you can see the rest of your friends, and he asks if you’re okay

you wave off his concern, but you tug down the hem of your dress again and try to suck in your stomach, feeling a little more self-conscious now

Johnny gives you one last look but trusts you to keep your word, and the both of you arrive at a small booth reserved for him and his friends

Kung Lao excitedly waves at you, eyes bright as he raises a shot glass to you, while Raiden just gives you a calm smile and nod of the head

Kenshi sits off to the side, earplugs in his ear to avoid overstimulation of the noise, but you can see Sento by his side, disguised as a decorated white cane

the swordsman gives you a soft smile and the slight tilt of his head as Johnny urges you to sit down on the soft leather chairs

he seats you between Syzoth and Ashrah, and you give them the slight nod of your head before turning your attention to whatever cards game they were playing earlier

you can’t say you knew Syzoth and Ashrah all that well: Syzoth did come and visit the temple every so often to see Ashrah and you did see the former demon around the training fields

but the two of you were on different tracks and had different teachers, your paths rarely crossed, but still, she was a familiar face and you leaned into her warmth

she greets you with a smile, eyes wide as she tells you that you look beautiful, and you blush, hoping it’s hidden by the flashing lights of the party, and return her compliment

Syzoth next to you shifts in his seat, leg pressing into yours, and you see him in the corner of your eye turn his head away as a faint green settles over his face

one of his hands comes up to cover the bottom half of his face, and you can his glances on you, on your thighs, on your stomach

you grow uncomfortable, unsure if he’s judging you, disgusted by you, the comments of the person from earlier poisoning your thoughts

Ashrah seems to sense your discomfort, and she settles a hand on your thigh, asking you if everything was okay

you clear your throat and lean away from Syzoth, saying you’re fine, but Ashrah glances between you and the Zaterran before laughing and telling Syzoth to stop being so shy

the Zaterran lets out a surprised sound before turning his gaze to you, his gaze flitting between your eyes and the way the dress accentuates your curves

he apologizes to you, saying it’s just that you look so soft, so much more plush and different from the Zaterran women back at home

Syzoth tells you that you just look so…delicious right now, and your face heats up as you stutter out a thanks for his strange compliment

he turns away, eyes focusing back on the cards game in front of him, and Johnny next to him winks at you and agrees with Syzoth, telling him that you look quite good right now, good enough to eat

you laugh nervously, and Ashrah wraps her muscled arm around your waist and draws you in close, hands gently holding onto the soft plush of your stomach while her other squeezes at your plush thighs

she murmurs at you to take the compliment, that you certainly deserve them, and your hands pick at the edge of your dress nervously, humming nervously as your eyes flit around the table

none of the others attention is on the cards game, their gaze focuses on you, even Kenshi who seems to look right into you and picks apart your soul with just his attention

Kung Lao looks at you hungrily, his lips darting out to wet his lips as his gaze focuses on the softness of your stomach, and he purrs out a compliment that you certainly were better than any of them here

Raiden keeps his soft gaze fixated on your lips, and you shift yourself in Ashrah’s grasp, his eyes glancing down at your chest before he looks back up into your eyes

on his side, you can’t tell where Kenshi’s gaze focuses on you, but a shiver crawls up your spine as if something ghostly had traced the curve of your back

he grumbles and shifts his legs open just a little bit wider, and you tear your eyes away from the sight to look down at your lap, seeing how your dress completely reveals your thick thighs

you want to tug it down, to hide yourself, but Ashrah’s warm hand keeps a gentle hold of your legs to keep your skin exposed to the air

she helps you stand up on wobbly legs, and Syzoth is quick to follow, eyes wide as Ashrah keeps a firm grip on your waist and grabs onto his hand

Ashrah tell the others to continue their fun, but she’s taking you back home with Syzoth and that you’ll have your own fun

your mind is nothing more but a mush as you follow her lead, but you catch the others saying that that’s not fair, that they wanted to woo you as well

you forget that quickly when she presses you to the bed with Syzoth underneath you

[lumpsbumpsandwhumps]

unpopular opinion but whump should and deserves to be messy

"Yeah duh there's plenty of scenarios with blood and tears--" no. I want more.

I want pink tinted spit dribbling out of Whumpee's mouth. I want strings of saliva connecting between their busted lip to Whumper's tongue. I want drool running down the corners of their mouths because of a gag that makes it difficult to swallow.

I want sweat making Whumpee feel sticky and clammy to the touch. I want their skin to be slick and soaking into their soiled clothes. I want them to squirm in discomfort of a dirty shirt clinging to their back from precious fluids that are going to risk further dehydration. I want their hair to be continuously damp and hanging in thick strands in their face.

I want the scabs to turn white with pus and black with infection. I want old wounds to tear open and bleed a thick red. I want the pink flesh underneath to pulse and quiver, the sight of yellow fat and cartilage. I want blood vessels and capillaries to burst and spread over an area, I want burns to start brown and peel away to a tender pink.

I want Whumpee to vomit out of their nose because their mouth is gagged. I want bile to reek on their clothing and on their tongue. I want them to grow use to the taste of bitter blood and burning chyme forever in the back of their throat. I want them to have to snort and hack to be able to spit out whatever was still caught on their tongue or risk swallowing it down.

I want their tears to remain unwiped and crusting over their eyes. I want snot to smear over their cheeks and leave their lips uncomfortably tacky. I want their face to remain blotchy and red because they just can't get it clean. I want dirt and blood and skin to build up under their fingernails to the point they risk infecting their own wounds if they try and mess with it. I want Whumpee to only be sprayed down with cold water and an old towel, never any soap and never in all the creases of their body.

I want their bodies caked in grime and viscera and bodily fluids. I want Whumper to never give them the luxury of feeling clean and in fact actively making them more filthy each time. I want Whumpee's clothes yellowed and their hair matted and their skin sickly. I want injuries to never properly heal so that the only option is to amputate the necrosis. I want Whumper to force Whumpee to clean up whatever kind of mess they made by licking it off the floor.

I want arteries to spew like a garden sprinkler. I want the exposed roots of pulled teeth to dangle freely in their mouth. I want Whumpee's hair, including all of their body hair, to grow to unruly lengths that are constantly tangled and ingrown. I want them to find comfort in starving because it means there's nothing to risk throwing up. I want them to scrub their skin raw and bleeding, uncaring how much it aggravates their injuries or how the soap stings, the first chance they're given for a real bath.

I want it to be nasty!!!!!!

[luveline]

I know stripper!reader has this thing going on with Spencer but I keep thinking about something with her and Aaron maybe perhaps please 👀

thank you for requesting! fem

"Hi, Agent Hotchner." 

Aaron wondered if you were going to talk to him. "Miss L/N." He looks you over casually, taking in the scabbed state of your knees and your immaculate make up. "What are you doing here?" 

"Waiting for Spencer. I was in the neighbourhood." 

People aren't often in Quantico on pleasure trips. It doesn't take much for Aaron to peel back your mask. It's a good mask, but he's good at his work. Your strip lashes are lifting in the corners, the adhesive weak with wetness, and though you've taken care to reapply, there's a clear difference between the concealer on your cheeks where tears would've fallen. You keep touching your stomach, like you've a bruise that's bothering you under your clothes, or perhaps as a reassuring stim. 

"Are you okay?" he asks gently. 

"Would you ask me that if I were one of Spencer's other friends?" 

"No." There's no point skirting around it. You're a stripper, a job notorious for hurting the wellbeing of the people who undertake it. "But I'm asking because you've been crying." 

You turn your face down and sniff with a smile. "I almost forgot about you, you're the aloof one… Spencer pretends he doesn't notice when I want him to." 

"I'm not a good pretender. Sorry." 

"That's okay, handsome." You speak softly, but it isn't shyness, only a sweet disposition.

Aaron isn't sure what to do, and so, in want of no better path, he treats you as a friend. You're a friend of Spencer's and Spencer is practically family to Aaron, and so your wellbeing is important for that alone.

Aaron would comfort you even if you weren't. 

"What happened to your knees?" 

You cross your feet at the ankles. "I slipped on ice outside my apartment. Few days ago. What happened to your eye?" 

He has a small cut from a kerfuffle under his eye, so small he forgot it was there. "Work." 

"It looks sore. Like it's being tugged on." You turn to your handbag and shuffle through the contents before pulling out a small red and white pot. "Here, it's scar balm." 

"Oh, I wouldn't–" 

"You can keep it. I have three." 

He imagines your need for something like that is similar to his own line of work. He takes it, not because it feels right to take things from you, but because he knows the worth of letting someone help you. 

He doesn't put it on, though, just holds it in his palm. 

"How'd it happen?" you ask. 

"I wasn't paying attention. It was unlike me." 

"I can see that," you say, offering him a timid smile. 

Aaron frowns. "I think Spencer's playing chess against himself again, he could be a while. Do you want me to go get him?" 

"Oh, no," you say, getting to your feet. "I'm already an imposition for him as it is, I just wanted to walk to the subway with him." 

His lips part before he speaks, unsure of how to ask, "You're not–" 

You stop him before he can ask. "Spencer is the nicest, kindest man I know, and we're friends. But no, we're not." 

"It's getting dark. I'll drive you home." He gauges the hesitance on your face. "Just to drive you home, honey. I promise." 

It kind of breaks his heart that he has to clarify that to you. He wonders how often people have framed taking from you as helping. The 'honey' practically adds itself, as though his lips have a mind of their own, eager to put you at ease. 

"Would that be okay?" you ask.  

"Of course. Do you have your phone? You can tell Spencer I'm taking you home." When you hesitate again, he takes his phone from his pocket and offers it to you, Spencer's contact fourth on Aaron's speed dial. 

The smile you give him then, like you're sure he's a good guy, steals his breath away. 

"Hi, Spencer, it's me. Yeah, I'm okay. I bumped into Agent Hotchner outside and he's going to give me a ride, okay?" You peek at Aaron from the corner of your eye. He pretends not to notice. "Stop trying to embarrass me. Yeah, I know I said that. He is," —your voice drops to a murmur, a whisper, almost inaudible— "you wouldn't get it, he's like your brother."

Aaron can guess what it is Spencer doesn't get, and he, in his many years, has to concentrate hard on not flustering. 

[mashiraostail]

Plleeassee 'you can sit on my lap' with Halsin PLEASEEE

ur wish is my command I did SFW bc it felt right but lemme no if u want different :3

It was always the same, which was sort of what annoyed you. It's not that your day to day fights had been particularly hard it was just the constant bumps and scrapes and bruises that weighed you down. Never enough damage to justify wasting healing magic, but just enough that you were uncomfortable in your day to day. You left some wounds to heal even once you're back at camp, preferring to let the others get fixed up before you. Today you could feel the itchy irritation of a cut healing over, right across the bridge of your nose. It was a constant bother, like a bug flying around your face, a tickle that would not subside no matter which way you scrunched your nose up.

"This city air isn't doing anything for me either." You feel Halsin's hand come down on your shoulder, heavy and warm. For a moment you were confused, you'd not complained at all since setting off for the day, then you realized your discomfort may be less subtle than you thought.

"Oh..." You wave, "who am I to complain?" You did enjoy Halsin, well perhaps more than enjoy.... given your late night trysts. Though he was still unfamiliar to you in some ways, and lacking a formal name for what the two of you shared often left you uncertain in your day to day with him.

"Please, I think this city would benefit from some complaining." He looks down at you, "I thought I was the only one."

"No..no.." You resist the urge to peel the scab over the bridge of your nose away, you were certain you'd start gushing blood all over, which given your current location made no sense at all. It had actually been a rather tame day so far, and it was already almost over.

"I think even the most dedicated Baldurians have it in them to complain about the smell from time to time." You give in, and start to chip away at the corner of the scab closest to your tear duct.

Halsin just laughs, "I see, well I suppose it's good to know I'm not alone..." He removes his hand from your shoulder and looks around a bit as you walk, though he stays close to you.

You can't help but hiss at the feeling of your skin peeling back, beyond the first wound, you supposed that was karma for picking it.

"Are you alright?" Halsin turns over his shoulder at you, "I heard you-" He looks down at your hand by your nose, "leave that alone." He bats your hand away, "you should have let me clean it up days ago, see now? You've made it worse."

"It's itchy." You rub the bridge of your nose for emphasis, "and I can't help it. I've always picked at my scabs, where do you think all these cool scars came from?"

"I can't say I doubt that. But still, this city is dirty, it's best to not bare an open wound to this kind of air." He procures a small cloth and dabs at the blood as it appears, "it's good you didn't peel open this whole thing, and it's a wonder you've not complained till now."

You can't help but flush at the attention, if anyone with you notices they spare you, "I'm alright, I've dealt with much worse."

"I'm sure you have, but there's no need with me around.... To tell you the truth," He dabs the small cloth with his tongue and wipes the dirt and grime away from the edges of the newly opened flesh, "I enjoy doting on you."

You look down at your boots to avoid looking at him, you can feel your ears burning.

"It's hard to see the damage out here, do you think you can hold out till we set up camp for the day?"

"Of course-" You swallow your embarrassment, "I'm okay like this, I'll live."

"Oh I hope so." Halsin is smiling at you, "who knows what I would do otherwise." He hands you the cloth, "keep this, incase it bleeds anymore."

"Thank you." You look up at him, "you've been a big help."

"Don't thank me, just.." He guides your hand holding the cloth up to your nose, and uses it to cover the wound, "keep it clean until we settle in for the night." You can only nod up at him.

True to your word you do keep your wound covered in the cloth for the rest of your journey that day. It was a long one, boring too. As much as the little battles left you irate, a boring day of gathering information and talking to every no name on the street was equally irksome.

When you get back to camp Halsin seems busy with Gale, who despite his best efforts is always the most banged up by the end of the day. You almost feel bad for him, until you see him bright and pristine every morning. So you sit by the fire, content on sharpening a stick into some sort of miniature spear, humming to yourself.

When Halsin finds you all of the dark bark has been scraped off the stick leaving it white and brittle looking.

"You hide in plain sight you know?" He offers you a hand and you take it, allowing him to hoist you up to your feet.

"It's one of my many talents." You toss the sharpened stick down, "how's Gale?"

"He's fine, I apologize, I should have come to you first."

"No," You laugh, "I'm sure he needed it more than me. You're here now."

"I am." He smiles at that, wider than you'd ever previously given yourself credit for, "come, let me see." He waves you closer and leans down toward you.

Once you've closed most of the gap you feel his eyes wander beyond the gash over your nose, down to your neck and collarbones, all to way to your wrists.

"Now that we're close like this...when was the last time you've been healed? Has Jaheria been taking up the job in my stead?" He seems almost offended at the thought.

"No-" You shake your head, "No, I've been mostly alright."

"Alright? You're practically covered in cuts and bruises- let's go someplace more private, you should have a once over." He guides you with a hand sprawled out between your shoulder blades, not leaving room for protest.

"You should have come to me sooner." He breaks the silence once you're away from camp, surrounded by trees and brush.

"You're always helping the others, I'm used to this, I'd rather they get what they need." You insist, gesturing vaguely to yourself.

"You can all have what you need." Halsin seems perplexed, "there's more than enough healing magic to go around, you don't have to worry about that."

"well it must be exhausting, constantly casting spells, you're always taking care of the others, what about you?"

"What about me?" Halsin tilts his head at you quizzically, "I'm alright too."

"Well who takes care of you?"

"When you live as long as I have," He starts tending to some of the smaller cuts on your arms, "you learn to take care of yourself. It comes with time."

"That's not fair." You frown, "everyone relies on you. It must be a heavy weight, especially with no one to lean on, or to rely on to care for you."

"You." Halsin sits on an old stump, "I have you. We care for each other....unless I'm mistaken."

"You're not." You allow him to turn you around, inspect you every which way for any major damage left untended.

"Good. Come here." He waves you into him but you stand, flushed and confused before him.

"Here." He gestures again, "you can sit in my lap."

Nervously you do, slotting yourself against him. It hadn't been many times but you'd sought his company before, and the feeling of his large hand cupped around you thigh was welcome, almost calming. It doesn't take very much magic at all to get you right again, and you're glad to accept it, at this point the constant discomfort was bordering on pain.

"You must be exhausted, they were small injuries but they were plenty, it must have worn on you." His hand spreads over the small of your back, "I meant what I said before." On his lap it's much easier for him to rest his head against your chest, you feel his hair tickling the side of your neck as he does.

"I enjoy caring for you, perhaps it's self serving, but please allow me the pleasure of it more often."

"I wasn't sure-" You flush at the sudden tenderness, it wasn't brand new, nor was it unwelcome, but it was still fresh, still took getting used to. "I didn't want to burden you."

"Be sure now." He picks his head up, "you're more than asset to hinder or help me me.... and certainly more than a friend." He spares a glance down to your hand, where it has wrapped around his bicep. "Don't be modest, when you ask for me, I'm happy to go to you. If I can bring you any comfort on the road ahead, then I'd be honored to."

"Thank you, Halsin." You rest your hand on the side of his neck and he hums at the feeling, glancing between your bodies then back to your face.

"You don't need to thank me," His hand slides along the divot of your spine, a soft touch made firm by the rough skin of his palms, "just come to me, whenever you need, even when you don't need to, but only want to. I do miss you after our nights together. I'd take comfort in knowing you feel the same."

"I do.." You nod, "I just hate to steal you away when the others-"

"Steal me away all you like," He laughs, "Gods, that sounds heavenly. I'm sure the others can manage a few hours." He kisses you for the first time that day. Which wasn't unusual, often he waited for more private moments to voice and show his affections, it was welcome and warm and you were glad to be on the receiving end of his affections.

"And knowing you feel the same is all the better." He wraps his arms around you in a bear hug perfectly fitting of the man giving it.

"I'm grateful to have spent this time enjoying you." He takes a deep breath, like he's trying to get as much of your scent as possible.

"Can we stay for a bit? Like this?" You pull back and pin away a stray strand of his hair, his chest huffs with a light airy chuckle as he nods.

"Of course, but you'll have to tear me away when you're done. I fear I won't want to go anywhere once I've settled down with you on me like this."

He resumes his bear hugging and despite the tightness of the hug, and the closeness of your bodies you don't feel cramped at all.

[charliedawn]

Can the slashers meet Eddie Gluskin? I am just curious you don’t have to if you do not want to. And have a good day or night😊

Warning: MY KNOWLEDGE OF EDDIE GLUSKIN IS ALMOST NONE EXISTENT AND THIS IS AN INTERPRETATION OF WHO I THINK HE IS. PLEASE. DON’T COME AT ME.

Eddie Gluskin AKA "The Groom"

- 46 years old

- Patient with OCD and post-traumatic disorder. Obsessed with finding himself a wife. Abused physically and mentally as a child.

- Very tall and muscular man, middle-aged, with a black slicked back disconnected undercut hairstyle which is neatly combed down and light blue eyes.

- Eddie's face is covered with red scabs, skin peelings and he has a severe case of subconjunctival hemorrhage in both eyes, the right more so than left.

Face claim for him: Cillian Murphy.

VERY DANGEROUS. APPROACH WITH CARE.

Once you read his file, you frowned as you learned that Eddie Gluskin had been abused at a young age. You already felt bad for him. You knew that the first thing that man would need once entering St Louis was to have his personal space as patients with post-traumatic disorder needed to be handled with care—especially the first few days. Hence, you decided to keep his arrival a secret from the slashers at first, as to not frighten him. You were walking towards the entrance with General McCain and a couple of his men when you were made aware he had arrived.

"Be careful. He has already killed two guards in Mount Massive Asylum not a week ago. He is a tough guy."

You chuckled and shook your head.

"Don’t worry, James. I know how to handle tough guys…"

James nodded with a small smile on his face before he opened the door for you and you entered the room where a handful of policemen were waiting. They were surrounding a man who was chained down to the bench he was sitting on. The man was quiet and his eyes were facing down to the ground. You took a few steps forward before making your way through the policemen to reach the patient.

You stood before him.

"…Eddie Gluskin I presume ?"

The man remained silent for a while before he slowly raised his eyes to look at you.

"…"

He didn’t speak a word. He just started staring at you before you smiled and decided to introduce yourself.

"Y/N L/N. But, you can call me Nurse Y/N. Pleasure to meet you." You extended your hand forward and Eddie Gluskin stared at it for a moment. You chuckled awkwardly as you realised he couldn’t really shake it as he was chained up.

"Oh. Right. Sorry about that. I—" You were cut short when you felt a pressure on your knuckles and your eyes widened as you realised that Eddie Gluskin had just kissed your hand.

…

He then looked up at you with a smile and finally replied.

"Pleasure shared…"

You blinked twice in astonishment before you quickly retreated your hand and Eddie simply smiled at you. Little did you know…You had just unintentionally became Eddie Gluskin’s next 'wife'.

———————————————————————

First time meeting the slashers:

Freddy *appears wearing a wedding dress* : "Heard you were looking for a wife ?"

…What did you expect from the simp master himself ? Of course he would shoot his shot. Eddie is hot. In the way that he is tall, muscular and could rip Freddy to shreds…Of course Freddy would simp for him.

Eddie likes him, but only because he finds him amusing. Eddie chooses his wives upon various very strict criteria. Unfortunately, Freddy wouldn’t make the cut.

Freddy *looking at Author* : "Hey ! What’s that supposed to mean ?!"

When Brahms met Eddie, they both did not really talk much. However, after Eddie spent a little more time around Brahms, he started finding his company enjoyable…

Let’s be honest here.

Brahms would be the perfect bride for Eddie. Brahms is sweet, attentive and touch-starved. So, Eddie would surely like him.

But, I think Eddie would also see him as a child so maybe he wouldn’t try anything, but they would hit it off pretty quickly as two very distinguished gentlemen.

Alpha male standoff.

Eddie Gluskin is the same height and bulk as Michael, which means in Michael language: danger. Michael is like the daddy of the slashers. He protects them. So the first thing that would go through his head would be:

Should I be worried about that guy ?

And the answer is yes.

Eddie Gluskin also noticed the chain of power around St Louis and immediately noticed that all the slashers respected or didn’t mess with Michael. And you—his precious future wife—dared to spend a lot of time around Michael.

So, they wouldn’t really like each other.

Pennywise once pranked him by pretending to be you and Eddie kissed him. Eddie genuinely thought it was you and was so happy…until he opened his eyes and saw it was Pennywise.

…

He punched Pennywise in the face so many times that it took 6 nurses to get him off Pennywise.

Penny bit Eddie Gluskin’s arm because of what he did to his brother.

…

He liked the taste.

Jason met Eddie Gluskin when he was tending to his frogs. He was in the garden near the pond when Eddie came and sat down next to him. They started spending time together and Eddie even started helping him with his frogs.

They became friends—which is quite a feat considering Jason’s trust issues.

…Father Paul’s face after Eddie Gluskin came to him for the 11th time to ask him to officialise his marriage to you. (Give the poor man a break. 🤣)

Even though, A: You’re not aware of it.

B: Eddie Gluskin is mad.

And C: Father Paul is obviously no longer a priest.

But he still does it every time because A: He is bored, and B: Eddie doesn’t leave him alone unless he somehow convinces him that he would so…