#them gently unwrapping the bandages…

[whump-galaxy]

“You look beautiful as ever.”

“You don’t have to lie. I know I probably look like a monster.”

“Not to me. You shine just as brightly as the day I found you. Scars or no scars.”

[triptuckers]

keep the nightmares away - percy jackson

Request: nope Pairing:  Percy Jackson x reader Summary:  oh nooo what if there's only one bed........ (im a sucker for this trope and WILL use it whenever I can) Warnings:  mentions of wounds, swearing, nightmares Word count:  1.5K A/N:  yall know that audio from the rock "it's about drive it's about power we stay hungry we devour" that's me writing more fics in two days than I have in 6 months. I blame it on my percy jackson hyperfixation. enjoy!

you were so exhausted you could barely keep your eyes open. you'd been sent on another quest and had been chased down by monsters for gods know how many times already.

everyone was tired and just wanted to go to bed. but a prophecy had predicted there would be three demigods and a fourth companion on this quest, so it wasn't easy to leave the monsters behind.

'why did we have to be four?' you say softly as you force yourself to keep on walking. 'it would be way more quiet if there were only three of us.'

percy looks over his shoulder in front of you. 'I don't think quests are ever quiet.' he says with a smile.

'you know what I mean.' you say. 'are we there yet?'

'almost.' says annabeth, who is walking with grover in front of percy, holding the map and leading the way. 'it's just over the ridge.'

'thank the gods.' you mutter.

you know annabeth is going to state the facts rather than make something sound good. and sure enough, when you reach the top of the ridge you can see a dimly lit street in the distance.

you can see the motel you're headed for, a diner, and a gas station with a small store.

you're filled with relief of the thought of finally laying down and resting your feet. you could rewrap your wounds and maybe even take a shower if you're lucky and have the energy for it.

'come on, nearly there.' says percy, reaching out and gently tugging you along by your wrist.

if you weren't so tired you'd be reeling over the fact percy is holding your wrist so gently. but all you can think of is how soft the beds would be.

when you get to the motel you're too tired to speak. you let annabeth do all of the talking.

after a few minutes she returns with two keys.

'these are the only ones they had available.' she says, giving percy one.

'come on.' says percy. 'want me to rewrap your arm?'

you nod. a few hours ago, you got your arm sliced open and had to hastily wrap it. you're not very good at it, as the cut is on the back of your upper arm and you can't see it very well.

'grover and I will check the area quickly and then we can all get some rest.' says annabeth. 'regroup in my room at 8 am tomorrow?'

'sure.' says percy while you and grover nod.

you follow percy as he's searching for the room. eventually he stops and you nearly bump into him.

'sorry.' you mutter.

'it's alright.' says percy as he unlocks the door and lets you enter first.

you stop in the door opening, looking at the room.

'what's wrong?' says percy, looking over your shoulder. 'oh.'

yeah. oh. there's only one bed. not even a sofa.

you enter the room and percy shuts the door behind him. of course there's only one bed. and you're so exhausted. you can tell percy is tired as well. he's just better at hiding it.

'come on, let me take care of your arm.' says percy.

you head into the bathroom while percy rummages around his pack for the medical kit.

'sit on the counter.' he says as he enters the bathroom with the medical kit in his hands.

you do as he instructs and rest the back of your head against the mirror. you close your eyes but open them when percy lightly taps your knee.

'need you awake for this. you can sleep after.' he says softly.

you sigh. 'fine.'

'I know you're exhausted. I'll make it quick.'

'thanks, perce.'

percy ignores the way he feels when you call him that. he wonders if you know you're the only one that ever calls him that.

he washes his hands and then gently unwraps the old bandage around your arm. he carefully cleans the cut and starts on rewrapping it, making sure he's not hurting you.

when he's almost done, he feels a weight on his shoulder. he smiles to himself, letting you doze off on his shoulder. he's nearly done, anyway.

he secures the last bit of the bandage and then nudges you awake.

'sorry.' you say, blinking a few times.

'let's get you to the bed.' says percy, offering his hand so you can hop off the counter. 'you can take the first shift.'

you frown. 'first shift?'

'sleeping in the bed.'

'where will you sleep?'

'on the floor. I'll get the pillows off of the chair.'

you shake your head. 'percy, you're tired as well. you've fought just as much as I have. you'll only make it worse by sleeping on the floor. we can share.' you say.

sharing a bed as friends, that's cool right? not a big deal. at least that's what you tell yourself.

percy studies your face. he probably looks as tired as you do.

'it's big enough for the two of us.' you say, reaching down to take off your boots.

'alright.' says percy.

there's a knock on the door and both you and percy freeze. percy reaches inside of his pocket, ready to take out riptide.

'it's me.' says annabeth on the other side. 'all clear. get some rest.'

'thanks, goodnight annabeth.' says percy, visibly relaxing.

you walk over to the bed and lay down on the left side, leaving enough space for percy.

'if I find you on the floor when I wake up I'll make the rest of the quest even more miserable for you.' you mumble as you close your eyes. 'don't be a gentleman.'

'noted.' says percy with a smile, laying down on the other side of the bed, careful to leave more than enough space between the two of you.

it's cool, this is fine. laying next to you in a bed. nothing that could happen, you're just friends. right?

after a while, he can tell you're asleep by the slow breathing coming from your side of the bed.

he's keeping his distance, even if it means he nearly falls off of the bed. he's mind is spinning in circles about the fact you're laying right next to him.

but eventually, he falls asleep. after all, all four of you were utterly exhausted when you reached the motel earlier in the night.

it feels like way too soon when he's woken up again. he frowns, it's still dark outside. he shifts to get comfortable again. but then he feels something hard poke him in his ribs.

'oof.' he grunts softly, then rolls over to see if you're awake. why would you punch him in the middle of the night?

but when he sees you, he noticed your face is scrunched up in agony and you're mumbling something.

he frowns and watches you move around restlessly, nearly hitting him again.

but his frown disappears soon enough. he knows the feeling all too well.

you're having a nightmare.

a bad one, by the looks of it.

gently, he reaches out and pushes a strand of sweaty hair out of your face, then nudges your shoulder.

'hey, wake up.'

in response, you curl up even more so percy shakes you again, a little harder this time.

you wake up and immediately sit up, eyes wide in panic. your hand is scrambling for you belt, where you keep your knives.

'woah, hey, it's alright you're safe, you're with me.' says percy, holding your shoulders and forcing you to look at him.

his sea-green eyes are familiar and calm you down a little. you're breathing heavily and fully aware of percy holding on to your shoulders. you force yourself to push away from him, creating space between the two of you.

'I'm alright.' you say, closing your eyes and shaking your head slightly. you would not cry over something as stupid as a nightmare.

'want to talk about it?' says percy softly.

'no I'm fine.'

'talking mostly helps me.'

you sigh and start to fidget with your fingers. why does it feel so embarrassing? you're sure lots of demigods have nightmares, given what you go through on a daily basis.

'it was the gods.' you start. 'I'd failed some sort of quest and they let loose their powers on me. camp half-blood got destroyed. I couldn't find annabeth and grover. there was fire everywhere and you... fuck.'

'it's okay.' says percy softly, encouraging you to go on.

'I found you in the rubble of your cabin.' you whisper.

'shit, I'm sorry.'

'it's alright, I'm alright. you're here now.'

'you think you can try going back to sleep again?'

'yeah, I can try.'

the two of you lay down again, this time with a little less space between you.

'percy?' you say, slowly reaching out to him.

'yeah?'

'is it okay if I...?'

wordlessly, percy reaches out and pulls you against him, where you curl up against his side.

'thanks.' you say, feeling yourself relax again.

'I'll keep the nightmares away.' mumbles percy.

you smile to yourself, closing your eyes and letting percy's heartbeat lull you to sleep. you're confident nightmares wouldn't find you again. you're safe now.

A/N: If you want to request something, make sure to read my house rulesHere’s the list of characters I write for. Everything that I have written can be found on my masterlist. Please don’t repost my work, as I spend much time and effort on it!! Thank you for reading! Much love, Marit/Max

[dietcokegirly12]

"Beautifully Scarred"

featuring osamu dazai

｡ﾟ┈ ₊˚⊹ ⤜♡ ┈ ｡ﾟ┈ ₊˚⊹ ⤜♡ ┈ ｡ﾟ┈ ₊˚⊹ ⤜♡ ┈ ｡ﾟ┈ ₊

art found on pinterest !! ˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

｡ﾟ┈ ₊˚⊹ ⤜♡ ┈ ｡ﾟ┈ ₊˚⊹ ⤜♡ ┈ ｡ﾟ┈ ₊˚⊹ ⤜♡ ┈ ｡ﾟ┈ ₊

synopsis: soft, intimate sex with dazai, where he unwraps his bandages and shows reader his scars for the first time, unveiling the most vulnerable parts of himself.

a/n: this idea has been in my head for a while now, so i had to write it, especially because this topic is kind of personal to me, and i truly can't imagine anything more romantic than the love that comes from accepting another's body, no matter how broken or scarred.

word count: 1.2k

tags: mentions of sh scars, intimate sex, slight teasing

₊˚⊹ ─ 𓄧 𓊔 𓄧 𓊔 𓄧 ₊˚⊹ ─ 𓄧 𓊔 𓄧 𓊔 𓄧 ₊˚⊹ ─

osamu dazai was always wearing bandages. always.

from the time that he was in the port mafia, to when he was in the detective agency, even around you, his loving girlfriend of a couple years now, he always had white gauze wrapped over his arms, neck, chest, even his legs.

not even when you would become intimate would he take them off, bandaged hands wrapping around your hips while saccharine moans slipped out of him, some of them becoming loose and unravelling around you two in flowy white strips, but never quite revealing the flawed skin that hid underneath.

which is why, one morning when the light of dawn was just barely peeking through the windows, illuminating you two in a warm glow, the sleepiness of morning still upon you, you decided to find out why.

you slung one leg over his slender frame, straddling him before nestling your face in his neck, to breathe in his warm, familiar scent.

when you feel him, hard and pulsing against your stomach, you look down to see his half-lidded gaze, mouth lazily curved up.

"mornin' wood," is all he says before capturing your lips with his, one delicate hand coming to slide up your body, shifting to grind against you in slow strokes.

you giggle softly into his mouth, spreading your legs wider for him, which he eagerly takes as an opportunity to cup your pussy, already wet and seeping, quickly pulling your panties aside to swirl his fingers over you, drawing out a small moan.

you reach for the loose sweats he always sleeps in, pushing them down past his hips and drawing an involuntary shudder, as your hands dip down to stroke him gently.

"f-fuck.." he whines as teasingly, your thumb sweeps across his slit, gathering the precum that had already started to spill out.

your hand pumps up and down lightly, never quite tightening enough to his liking, as he writhes slightly, gasping, with his hips bucking into your hand for more.

"s-stop teasing.." he groans out, and finally you relent, lining yourself up with his length, before finally beginning to sink down on him, your warm heat encasing him almost immediately.

your cunt throbs and flutters around him, as he sinks fully in to the hilt, his length pressing all the way to your cervix.

you groan, never quite getting used to your boyfriend's sheer size as he presses into you, already beginning shallow thrusts in and out with warm palms coming to cup your breasts, massaging and kneading eagerly.

you moan, leaning into him as his shirt slightly lifts up to show his toned, bandaged waist, unfurling slightly.

you quickly take the chance to lightly pull against the bandages lining him.

"why do you keep these on?" you question as his hips immediately slow, ever so slightly, hesitance clear in his eyes.

"hm? oh, I just have... scars." he admits quietly, hands coming to cover yours, where you’re toying with the bandaged strips. "not new." he rushes to add. "just.. there's a lot. i prefer to keep them covered.”

your eyes soften, as you gaze at him. “but why? there’s no reason to be ashamed of them, you know.”

“i know.” he swallows nervously, and you go to mouth kisses along his neck and collarbone.

“i’d never judge.” you murmur out. “but i understand if you’re not comfortable or you don’t trust..”

but before you can finish, dazai's nimble fingers are reaching around you and bandages are unwinding.

"i trust you."

long strips of gauze flutter around you two before settling, and then all you can see is dazai.

an expanse of pale white skin you've never laid eyes on before, marred with criss-crosses of all kind, scars, which to you, could not be more beautiful.

some pink, some white, all faded. there's so many, and almost unconsciously, your hand reaches for him, to run your hand lightly down along them, following the curve of every line.

he flinches, and you look to him, where he's averting his gaze, a blush covering his cheeks.

"oh dazai.." you breathe, beginning to kiss down along his scars. "i think you're beautiful."

he turns to you, lashes fluttering, lip pulled in between his teeth.

"so, so, so beautiful." you bury your face into his chest, nuzzling into him as your hands wander to everywhere you can reach, smoothing over the newly revealed skin that you're too eager to explore, unable to get enough.

he makes a strange sound under you, somewhere caught between a gasp and a moan. he pulls you closer, and you feel his cock twitching inside you faintly.

you smile into him, before beginning to move up and down atop him again, the sound of skin against skin quickly filling the room.

he groans, throwing his head back under you, his breathing growing heavier as his hips begin to thrust up into you, hands quickly coming to squeeze your plush thighs to lift you up and down.

you continue to trace over his scars lightly, as if you were committing them all to memory, and he arches under you, his cock hitting even deeper into your sweet spot relentlessly.

your hands come down to his sensitive nipples, rubbing and tweaking them slightly, knowing how whiney he gets when you do that.

"mmph.. m'gonna cum soon if you keep doing that, sweetheart."

you laugh, quickly breaking into a moan as his slender hips piston relentlessly into your drooling cunt, arousal dripping out of you.

you lean closer, your perky tits pressing against his bare skin for the first time, without scratchy bandages in the way, able to feel and see all of him, no matter how exposed.

you notice dazai trying to cover himself, shifting further into the blanket and lifting it over himself, but quickly you spread your hands across him, blocking it, as you ride him even faster.

"i mean it, dazai. i want to see all of you, no matter how broken. you're perfect. so, so perfect."

he stares at you, breaths heaving. "you don't think i'm repulsive?"

"how could I?" you shake your head dismissively, like the thought had never even occurred to you. "i love you."

the second the words leave your mouth, it has him gasping, eyes searching yours frantically, as he bounces you on him, almost feral with desperation. "say it again." his voice is hoarse, almost strange coming from him.

you lean closer, hips rutting almost animalistically, as your lips ghost over his. "i love you. i love you. i love you."

and then with a shudder, he's cumming, pumping you full of ribbon after ribbon of his milky white load, so much of it that it forms a creamy ring around his base.

you're not far behind, letting go with a loud moan, as your cunt twitches around him, sucking him deeper before absolutely soaking him in the wet, warmth of your release.

he's still pulsing inside you as you come back down, both of you panting with exertion, as you lay on his chest, content weighing down your limbs.

absently, you trace over his pretty scars gently, and he lets out a final moan before settling.

he glances over at you, tired eyes gazing at you with drowsy affection. "can't believe you, of all people, could love this body of mine."

you smile, moving downward to press your mouth over his warm skin. "and m'gonna kiss every scar until you do."

[in-death-sacrifice]

Healing Word

Lucanis Dellamorte x GN!Rook (Mage)

Warnings: Injuries, Mentions of blood, NO Spoilers :) Summary: Lucanis gets injured as is too stubborn to ask for help with it. Hope you enjoy! Requests for Dragon Age are open

You spotted his limp almost immediately after the battle. The fight was a tough one, adding a few more scars to your already growing collection, no thanks to the Venitori. You watched as he limped through the Eluvian, whispering curses under his breath when his daggers would accidentally hit it. The group filtered out towards their rooms, getting ready to shed the armour that began to pinch at their skin after a long day. Magic hummed around them as they were greeted home.

The meditation chamber hummed in greeting when you walked through the doors. The sound of armour clattering on the ground as you peeled yourself away from it. You stood at the mirror examining the new collection of bruises and small scraps you had gained today. Your magic soothing the aches and pains away as the minor ones began to fade. Part of you wanted to join the others for whatever was for tea, the lingering exhaustion had finally caught up. You sighed as your body hit the chair in the center of the room, the cushions moulding around your body perfectly as you fell into a nap -praying that Solas would interrupt this one this time.

The sound of the door opening made you shoot up, your hair messy and sticking up all over the place. You rubbed the back of your hand over your eyes as you turned to face the intruder only to find Lucanis standing at the entrance. "Is everything alright?" You grumbled out. His posture was stiff even though he was hunched over, and a purple glow surrounded him to let you know that it wasn't him. "Spite?" You questioned again, sitting further up as you watched him walk around the chair in front of you. "The fool is injured and bleeding everywhere...help him" Spite gritted out before releasing his hold on Lucanis. You barely had time to catch him as the man fell forward collapsing half on you and the sofa. Then you could see the large patch of blood on the side of his leg. The blood had seeped through enough it lingered on your fingertips when you gently pressed it trying to find the wound.

"Maker Lucanis" you muttered as you manoeuvred him to lay on the chair. You knelt on the floor next to him, sending your healing magic to gently probe the area only to find that he had half wrapped it in a thick padding of bandages. You paused before, groaning loudly as your fingers began to undo the ribbons of fabric that held his trousers up before shimming them down to his knees. Your cheeks flushed at the intimacy of the situation; it had only been a few months and your constant flirting hadn't really got you anywhere besides lingering gazes and unspoken emotions behind his eyes. You cursed your fingers being so cold as you began to slowly unwrap the bandages on his legs, his body flinching as you accidentally made contact with his skin. The air between you both began to glow a light green as your magic had finally found its target, you watched carefully as the skin started to fuse together, the blood stopping its flow down his leg.

You moved from his side to grab a couple of washcloths and water before you began to gently clean the area. When you gazed back up at him, you were met with his eyes open watching you. The two of paused as you waited for him to speak first, you watched as his eyes flickered towards the light scar that lingered on his leg and then back to you. "Spite bought you here...He asked me to help" You spoke, your voice barely above a whisper as you waited for his reaction. "Of course, he did" Lucanis grumbled. You removed your hand from his leg, backing up away from the chair to give him room to move about. You eyed up the small whisps of hair that led to his underwear as he stood to dress himself. "I'm sorry for stepping in the wound was still bleeding and he asked me-"

"It's fine, Thank you"

You nodded as he stood up to leave. Your eyes lingered on his retreating form. Lucanis turned again, his fingers barely touching the door handle. "Hopefully next time I'm like that it won't be because of a injury"

He left you standing in the middle of the room like a blushing idiot, a grin on his face as he made his way back towards the pantry of the lighthouse, no limp in sight anymore.

[maxineryx]

Seeing Dazai without bandages is like winning the lottery, getting struck by lightning, seeing a blue moon, or managing to buy the first three volumes of your favourite manga from the bookstore.

It's a chance close to zero.

Well, none of those things have happened to you yet, including seeing Dazai without bandages. Though, you believe this was even rarer than all those other things listed above because every time you spotted him unwrapping them in the bathroom, he softly shooed you out, or closed the door. You never got an explanation for why, but you had a solid idea of what it might have been.

You weren’t a stranger to Osamu’s past. You knew of all the things he did and who he was, but he was given a second chance, so naturally you put that all behind you and never asked any questions. And of course, most of the things you’ve heard weren’t actually from him. He’s never gone into depth about what used to happen in the Port Mafia. Nor has he ever mentioned any battles, or any struggles he might have faced. However, you were sure that there were some stories to tell under those bandages.

You were also sure that those ‘stories’ might not be as pleasing to hear or to tell, so you never pressured him to talk.

Although, sometimes you just wished he confided in you, because you were together, after all. He knew many secrets of yours, pleasant and unpleasant, and you knew that none of those secrets were even comparable to what he must have gone through.

You just wanted him to tell you, to show you, even if it was a little so that you could lift that guilt off his caring heart to make him feel better.

You and Osamu came home from work a couple of hours ago, when the sun was already set, stars twinkling above. It was dark inside your shared home, the only light source being the bright, white lights around the rectangular-shaped mirror, as you sat on the counter, already showered and face taken care of.

You were watching Dazai apply some moisturizer to his face. His long coat was gone, along with all his other clothes that hid his top half. The only thing stopping you from seeing his skin were the bandages.

“You like to stare, don’t you?” He asked in his usual, playful tone, pausing to take a glance at you before resuming his skincare. “I mean, I don’t blame you. I’m breathtaking.”

Rolling your eyes, you mumbled a ‘yeah, yeah, whatever’, to which he started tickling you, your laughter echoing throughout the house.

“It’s getting late. You should go to bed, I’ll join you in a few minutes.” Osamu said, kissing the tip of your nose.

You frowned. “I don’t feel tired at all,” you started, smiling, hoping he’d agree for the first time, “I’ll wait for you, I mean, how long can it take?”

He sighed, though it wasn’t an annoyed sigh. He helped you get off the counter, gently grabbing your arms, before walking you out. You stopped in your tracks, earning a confused expression from him.

“Osamu… why do you never let me stay? Every night, you push me out without giving me an explanation.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” He put a hand softly atop your head. “You know I don’t want you to see what’s under these bandages…I don’t want to scare you.”

“You’ll never scare me, no matter what I’ll see. I thought you knew that.” You replied, not breaking eye contact. You could start seeing the unease in his eyes as he averted his gaze.

“It’s not that.” He whispered, “You haven’t seen me in the Port Mafia. You didn’t know the Port Mafia executive, Dazai Osamu, because you only know the new Dazai Osamu. And even though I am him, my body still represents the Port Mafia executive, and it always will. I want you to know what I am now, not what I was back then.”

There was a lengthy silence as he removed his hand from your head.

“‘samu,” Instantly, you cup his cheeks, bringing his head down a little so that you could stare into his eyes intensely. Dazai’s eyes flashed with uncertainty and slight shame, something you’d never seen him feel before.

“You’re right. I didn’t know Dazai Osamu from the Port Mafia, but I’ve heard of him. You’re the man I love, ‘samu, nothing could make me fear you, or walk away from you. You were given a second chance and second chances aren’t common in life. Even if your body carries horrible memories, it doesn’t mean that that’s the person you are. The man I love is caring, loving, protective, charming, amazing… and all the other positive words I could use forever.

So please, let me care for you.”

His hands were holding your wrists as you never let go of his face. Tears were bubbling up in your eyes, heart racing from all the emotions. His bottom lip was slightly trembling as he looked at the floor, before letting go of your wrists and turning around, walking back into the bathroom. He didn’t ask you to leave.

And this time, it was you who was unbandaging him as he sat patiently, though averting his gaze for most of the time. It would take time to get him to be comfortable, but you were more than happy to go slow if it meant that he wouldn’t feel as much guilt as before.

So no, you didn’t win the lottery, get struck by lightning, see a blue moon, or manage to buy the first three volumes of your favourite manga at the bookstore, but you did get to see Dazai without bandages. All those things couldn’t even compare to that.

————————

A:N - I’m back after a looooong writing break… just a lil thingy to warm myself up before writing anything longer

[sp0o0kylights]

Part One / Part Two / Part Three (you're here)/ Part Four

A03

It ain’t much.” Wayne started, half-curious if the sight of his trailer would be the thing to offend Steve’s (so far lacking) born-rich sensibilities. 

Of course turning to look at the kid proved he was in his own head about this more than Steve was, because Steve had his eyes closed and looked two seconds away from puking. 

Right. 

Pain management. 

“I’ll get your stuff.” Wayne said as he guided the truck to its usual parking spot. 

Steve’s quiet ‘okay’ had him hustling a little bit, and the fact he had to gently guide the kid’s hand off his bag handle told him it was the right choice. 

The nailbat could wait in the car for the moment he figured, as he led Harrington in. He’d get it sorted once he’d fished out the pain pills and gotten Steve settled a bit. 

"Eds--he's my nephew that I told you about--has the bedroom, so you and I get to share out here." Wayne explained as he loaded Steve up on Tylenol and put a bag of frozen peas in his hand, not bothering to give a tour of the trailer. 

It was pretty damn clear which door led to the bathroom and which didn’t, given Ed’s door was wide open. 

Steve peeked at the absolute chaos strewn about beyond the doorframe but didn’t say nothing of it. 

Didn’t, in fact, even look too long, instead sitting at the table as directed. 

Seemed to sink a little into it, leaning an elbow on the cheap wood to help keep his head up. 

"The couch is a pull out, but I'll warn you the bar across the middle is nasty. I usually sleep on the cot over there," Wayne nodded to where it was rolled neatly against the opposite wall, "but given the state of you, I'll let ya have your pick." 

Steve blinked (or winked, not like Wayne could tell since the peas were pressed against half of his face) finally seeming to perk up a bit. "I can't take your bed." 

"I'm not going to fight you for it, I'm just offering." Wayne responded, now focused on trying to locate the bandages in his ancient medical kit. 

The one on Steve's hand was falling apart, and he didn't like the look of the injury he could see under it. 

Yeah, Wayne was absolutely going to need to make a run to the store. 

“Lemme see.” He asked as he finally got what he wanted. 

It seemed to take Harrington a minute to process what Wayne wanted, but he finally held out his injured hand, watching as Wayne unwrapped the bandages.

"I'll take the couch." Steve said stubbornly, but Wayne was past it, too busy frowning at the kid's hand. 

It took him a moment, once he'd gotten it all off, to properly realize what he was seeing--that the mottled bruising on Steve's wrist was separate from the cut across his palm.

In fact, it looked a hell of a lot like…

Wayne paused, then pretended to fuss with the dirty bandages for a moment while his eyes sought out Steve's other wrist.

Sure enough, matching bruises.

Someone had tied the kid up--and it hadn’t been the feds, because these bruises were partially healed. 

Wayne had initially thought of Steve as having been tortured in the same way roving bands of neighborhood kids tortured their peers. The kind of hurt that came when it was an unfair fight; four on one and wielding knives, so you had to take what you were given and pray you didn't get stabbed. 

He was not thinking actual, honest to God torture. 

Yet here the evidence was, plain as day.

'What the hell went down in that mall.' 

Someone as young as Steve shouldn't have been caught up in it, and it made a deep part of Wayne ache for the poor kid across from him.  

All this shit, and his parents still couldn't be bothered to come home.Just left him on his own, as if it was another Tuesday. 

Did they even know? Wayne wondered as he got to work. Had Steve, or Hopper, or anyone tried to call them about the mallfire? Let them know their son got hurt?

Jim said he hadn’t bothered to reach out regarding the spooks, but that had been a week or so later past the fire. 

Wayne couldn’t even imagine it. 

Getting a call that Eddie been involved in such a thing would have him off the couch in an instant, and the image that played on the news, the ones all the reporters talked over of a gurney being wheeled out of Starcourt’s on fire front doors…

He’d have been a wreck until he had his kid in his sights. 

‘Nothing you can do for that,’ Wayne figured silently, ‘but you can help him now.’

Wayne wasn't exactly an expert when it came to wound care, but like many people who just couldn't afford to go to a doctor he'd gotten by.

Learned a lot of home remedies. Figured out pretty quick when something needed to be seen by an expert and when you could hold off.

Made friends with some of the local nurses on the night shift down at the Red Barn, well enough that a few well baked treats and dishes could sometimes be traded for looking over a potentially broken arm or two. 

It had come in handy plenty, given Ed’s ability to attract trouble, but thankfully he’d never managed to hurt himself like this. 

He’d never even gotten caught in a bad fight. 

A black eye or two sure, but the kid had adapted his “scary” act not too long after Wayne had gotten him, and it seemed to work as intended. It was half the reason Wayne never said anything about it (and hell, even let Eddie take his ancient leather motorcycle jacket.) .

All of that was to say that he could tell Harrington's hand needed cleaning before it could be rebandaged, but didn't appear to need stitches. 

Course pouring alcohol all over an injury like this wasn't exactly going to be fun, and he told Steve as such.

"I know." Steve replied, with a grimace. The kid’s injuries seemed to be getting to him, and Wayne anticipated he was going to drop here the second Wayne was done looking him over. 

He hoped Harrington could get in a few hours--particularly before Eddie came home. 

Wayne gently wiped it clean, noting how well Steve sat given the amount of pain he had to be in.

Tylenol, even given the more than recommended amount he'd given Steve, just wasn't going to cut it. 

Not in general, and definitely not for this. 

What could help was likely something Eds had, which was yet another conversation Wayne wasn't looking forward to having.

Particularly given that Eds had sworn off selling hard drugs after his last encounter with Hopper, and Wayne knew damn well that had only lasted until the damn kid caught sight of an overdue bill. 

Too smart for his own good, Eddie was.

"I can give you something to bite down on, if you like." Wayne said to Steve, getting the alcohol and bandages ready to go. 

He got a tight smile in response. "So long as you don't use a needle, I'm good." 

And Wayne figured it was just teenager talk--a young man who didn't really know how bad this was going to be, and prepared himself to hold Steve's arm down accordingly so they wouldn't have to do it twice.

"Four." Wayne counted down. "Three. Two."

He poured on two.

Better that than Steve clenching up in anticipation.

Steve hissed, arm jerking, but stilled it under his own power as Wayne began dabbing his hand with some of the medkit’s wipes. 

He felt his eyebrow raise as Harrington froze himself in place, breathing in a way that felt practiced. 

This, Wayne decided, was not Steve's first rodeo. 

"Almost done." He promised softly as he finished wrapping the wound back up, this time in the pattern he'd been shown long ago. 

"Thanks." Steve said, blinking rapidly. 

The kid's eyes were wet, but he didn't let a tear fall, and that perked Wayne's attention more than anything. 

Some men felt they weren't allowed to cry--and pushed the same ideals on their sons. 

It wouldn't surprise him any if Richard Harrington was one of them. 

"I know you got hit more than just your hands and face kid." Wayne said, after letting Steve have a moment to recover. "You bleeding under that shirt?"

"Not bleeding." Steve murmured, looking more and more like he was struggling to stay upright now that the worst part was over. "I think my hand got the worst of it."

"Do I want to know what happened there?" Wayne asked, keeping his voice calm and non judgemental. 

Like they were back to talking sports.

"I fell back into a broken window.” Steve responded, and now that Wayne had seen the kid lie, it was easy to see when he was telling the truth. 

"Ouch." Wayne said flatly. Which made that hint of a smile flash across Steve's face. 

"I'll cut you a deal. I taped last weekend's game, but haven't had time to watch it yet. I figure you might not have had a chance neither." He sat back, nailing Harrington with a no-nonsense stare. "You let me take a look at what they did to your chest n' back there, and I'll put it on."

Steve just looked at him a little miserably, a beaten dog still hesitant to wag its tail. "I don't think there's anything you can do for it, it's really mostly bruised. Nothing feels broken though."

"You know what broken ribs feel like?" Wayne questioned partially out of curiosity but mostly to make sure.

Teenage boys loved to think themselves immortal after all.

Or at least his did.

"Cracked, but yeah." Steve admitted. "Couldn't finish out the year on the basketball team because of it."

He said it like it didn't hurt, but Wayne knew better.

Boy like Steve? 

He'd bet big bills something like basketball was all the kid really had, in terms of positive relationships.

(Except apparently, whatever had made Hopper decide to look after him.)

"I mostly just wanna make sure nothing looks like it's broken or bleeding internally son." Wayne said, then tried to cinch it with some good old guilt tripping. "I'd hate to have to tell Hopper that after all he went through to keep you safe, you up and died on my couch." 

"Hey, it might save him some future gray hairs." Steve responded but he looked a little more open to the idea, at least. 

It took a bit more coaxing, but Wayne finally got the kid to take his shirt off. 

The damage had him whistling out of instinct.

A fucking artist had gone to town on his torso, with bruised of all shades parading around to his left side. 

Thankfully most of it didn't hold that deep, dark tone that indicated any kind of bleeding, his back had scratches and road rash, and his shoulder had one long, thin line that looked a hell of a lot like Steve had narrowly avoided getting cut with a knife. 

"You got lucky, kid." Wayne told him.

Steve let out a shaky breath. "I know." 

He hesitated, then opened his mouth, a question clear on his face. 

Which of course, was the exact moment Eddie chose to walk through the door. 

"Hey old man, I--Harrington!?" 

"Munson?" Steve said, looking just as confused. "What are you doing here?"

"I live here?" Eddie had frozen in their little entryway, so close the door nearly whacked him on the ass as it slammed closed. 

Privately, Wayne cursed his nephew's awful timing.

"What are you doing here?" Eddie challenged back, and it was only years of Wayne knowin’ the kid to see he was struggling to decide how he wanted to react. 

“Uh…” Steve said, trailing off and looking pointedly at Wayne. 

Eddie saw this just as he registered all of Steve’s injuries. “Shit Wayne, did you hit him with your car?” 

“Don’t try to be funny, boy.” Wayne warned. There wasn’t much bite there, and Eddie, far too used to him, didn’t take it seriously.

Eddie was glued to the spot, eyes narrowing, “... Did Harrington hit the car with his fuckin’ face? Jesus christ.” 

Wayne could tell he was struggling to pull one of his usual little bits, eyes too wide and voice too high. 

He rubbed his eyes tiredly. “Eddie.”

“We can take him out back and shoot him, put the poor bastard out of his misery.” Eddie continued, like a runaway train. 

All gas, no breaks. 

It was a joke but a poor one, and it made Steve straighten out of his sideways slant. 

‘Dammit.’  Wayne thought with a sigh. 

He needed to stop this now, before the two of them went for each other's throats. 

“Since you already know each other I won’t bother with introductions.” Wayne cut in, before Eddie could blow up like a tea kettle--or cause Harrington to do the same. “Steve’s gonna be staying with us for a while.”

That of course, got the reaction Wayne had been hoping to avoid. 

Eddie stood stunned for a second, mouth gaping like a fish. 

“Why!?” He finally landed on, seeming both at a loss for words, and equally trying not to have a proper meltdown in front of Steve. 

Certainly wasn’t for Wayne’s benefit. 

"I'm…" Steve glanced at Wayne a second time, "...on vacation?"

 It took everything Wayne had in him not to run a hand down his face. 

He was going to give Harrington a pass, on account of the head trauma.

"You’re vacationing here.”Eddie’s tone was flat, but seething, like a lit fuse. “In my living room?” 

“...Yeah?” He finished poorly tone up-ticking at the end like it was a question. “It’s a--college thing. Supposed to help my applications.” 

This time, Wayne did run a hand down his face this time. 

God save him from idiot teenagers. 

Hands clenched tight, Eddie took an aborted glance to the right before shaking his head hard and scoffing. At least it let Wayne know exactly what his kid was thinking. 

To Eddie’s right was the counter where Wayne kept the bills. 

Before he realized just how badly Ed’s daddy had messed him up about such things, Wayne hadn’t bothered to hide the bills that were past due. Turns out the kid noticed such things, and worry over money had been the leading factor in more than one of Eddie’s run-ins with Hop.

Clearly, he thought it was the cause of Wayne entertaining this bullshit. 

Offense was written in every rigid line of his body, and Wayne knew betrayal wasn’t gonna be far behind. 

“What the hell Wayne!” Eddie spat, taking a singular step forward, the accent he tried so hard to hide growing thicker the madder he got. “We’re not a damn experiment--why would you agree to that!?” 

He had seconds to salvage this, before Ed’s ran and did something dumb. 

“‘Steve’s here cause I owe Hopper a favor.” Wayne answered honestly, standing to put himself between the two. “He reminded me of all the times he’s been good to you, and then he called it in. Now,” 

He cut Eddie off before his rant could pick up steam and bowl them all over. “I need you both to listen to me. Steve, I need Eddie to know the basics in order to keep you safe. I’ll only tell him what he needs to hear to understand why that is.” 

Steve stared at him for a moment, catching Wayne’s eye as the elder man positioned himself so he could see both boys at once.

“Okay.” Steve said, dropping the hesitant tone for something serious. 

Eddie said nothing, crossing his arms tightly over his chest and gripping the edges of his jacket hard enough to leave creases. 

Judging that as good enough, Wayne continued. “He’s not here on vacation, Ed’s. Hopper has asked us to house Steve for a bit due to an ongoing situation. It’s a dangerous one, and it’s important you do not tell anyone that Steve is here.”

Eddie’s mouth did the thing it did when he desperately wanted to say something, but Wayne held up a finger in the universal “wait.” position. 

“Let me finish.” He warned, and though he caught a hell of a glare for it, Eddie remained silent. 

“Right now I need you to trust me, son.” He said softly, and prayed that alone was enough for now. “I don’t do things without a good reason behind it. I know you know that. Let me get Steve settled, and I’ll come talk to you.” 

He could go in depth a little more, outside of Harrington’s eyesight. There Eddie would be inclined to drop the parts of his personality he put on blast as a defense mechanism, and ideally, Steve could get the sleep he so desperately needed. 

“It’ll be tight, but we’ll all get through this so long as you two keep your heads. “You both got plenty of problems right now on your own, you don’t need to add to it. You understand?”  

Eddie’s eyes narrowed dramatically as he sucked in a deep breath. 

“Fine.” He snarled, letting air hiss through his clenched teeth. “As long as King Dick here can keep himself out of my shit.”

Steve didn’t rise to the bait--or perhaps, was simply too tired to want to do anything but exit the conversation. 

‘Yes Sir.” He said instead, and Wayne didn’t bother correcting him that time. Simply clocked the title as a nervous tick of Steve’s and let himself feel that brief pang of sorrow that he’d caused the kid to backslide a bit trust wise.

No use for it, though.

Not if he wanted peace in his home. 

“Good.” Wayne said. 

Eddie stormed past, beeling towards his room. 

The door closed with an angry slam, the sound echoing throughout the trailer. 

Steve reacted like a puppet with its strings cut, letting out his own breath and going right back to slumping sideways. 

“Come on kid.” Wayne said quietly. “I think it’s beyond time you got to lay down. Let’s get you a shirt and some blankets.”

Steve didn’t say a word, just managed to get himself up and over to the couch, fumbling for his bag. 

“Oh.” He said after a moment, pulling a green sweater from the duffel and blinking dully at it. “Shit--I mean, shoot.” He shot a guilty look to Wayne, like Eddie hadn’t just sworn up a storm in front of them both. 

“What’s the matter?” Wayne just asked. 

“It’s nothing, I just-- grabbed the wrong bag.” Steve told him earnestly. It was clear the day had taken a hard toll on him, because he was blinking rapidly, fighting away sleep. 

A bad sign, given the energy Eddie had just come in with. 

It should be taking him longer to feel safe to drop off, and that he was doin’ so anyway was a bad testament to the state of him. 

“You need a different one?”

Steve shook his head. “No this is just my grab bag for the Upsi-errrm.” He hummed, before falling silent for a minute. 

Wayne let him fish for words at his leisure. 

“These are just clothes that I couldn’t get stains out of, kept them as backups.” Steve managed, before beginning the long process of pulling a shirt on. 

Wayne almost offered to help, except he knew he’d likely be rejected. It was too soon, the trust between them not there yet. 

He almost let the clothing comment go, figured it as  just one of those things the brain did when it was injured and run down. The sweater Steve was struggling with was expensive and soft, and Wayne didn’t even see a stain until the poor kid finally finished getting it on. 

He nearly froze, for the second time that day, when he did.

On one sleeve, smeared like Steve had wiped his face with it, was a bloodstain. 

This one was old, and clearly attempts had been made to get it out. 

‘Aw kid.’ He thought, staring at Steve as the kid managed to swing himself up on the couch, looking seconds away from dropping off. ‘What the hell has life done to you.’

It didn’t take long before sleep took him, but Wayne watched over him for a bit longer anyway, working up to what the hell he was going to tell his kid. 

Eddie might very well not forgive him for this, but Wayne had a shot now to head things off before they got worse. 

He just had to find the right words. 

[chocsra]

✧ you stir away from dazai's embrace when…

he pulls away softly, exhaling gently as he gazed over your disturbed face and overly relaxed body. burying your face into the junction of his bandaged neck further.

"[y/n].." the brunette feigned a chuckle and stroked your velvety locks to capture your undivided attention, "[y/n]." dazai whispered, the slightest smile appearing on his usually cryptic features. but you further concluded through a hazy gaze, that his smile, usually concealed with a layer of deceit, was ever so genuine. "hmm?" you smiled back, a subdued groan pulling from your chest as you stretch your limbs, arms quickly encircling back to hugging his slim waist. "i wanna show you something.." he murmurs, lips placed on the top of your head with a pout. raising a brow at your boyfriend's proposal, you lift your gaze to his umber eyes.

"my bandages." dazai fiddles with his fingers almost awkwardly, grazing over the rougher texture of the bandages; a rather different approach compared to his skin. "what about them?" you question, reckoning to leave his turbulent concerns and just bury yourself back into his chest. the young detective huffs out a frustrated sigh; almost childishly, annoyed that you were completely fine with his bandaged limbs and didn't get what he wanted.

"off. i think i wanna take them off." —a phenomenon you would've never thought dazai osamu would ever allow to, especially suggest. you slowly nod, your fingers grazing over his knuckles, "you sure?" dazai liked the texture of bandages, it hid his skin, what laid underneath, and the texture was just.. comforting. a proud pleasure of his the detective never tried to hide; the shielding feeling of bandages. the brunette seemed nervous, almost terrified that he was going to let this go right now. dazai figured that if you were going to be with him, you should be with all of him. "mhm, i.. i wanna feel you forreal."

and so, carefully, he unwrapped the bandages off his fingers, then his arms, then his neck. and soon, the brunette sheepishly bared all of him to you—his version of all of him, at least.

dazai.. no, osamu, took this time to run his bare fingers through your silken hair. lips parting ever so softly as a pink blush tinted his cheeks, unfamiliar to this stricken feeling of just you. the detective giggles softly at your lovestruck smile, admiring such a rare and beautiful sight. osamu reached beneath your shirt, hands ghosting over your waist delicately, pulling you in closer for his fingers to stop and caress your lower back. you happily conceal your face into his bare neck again, intaking the soft scent of alcohol and fresh laundry. when your lips are pressed against his neck, dazai stirs and giggles faintly, moving his arms into encircling your shoulders, pulling you close to just card his fingers through your hair. intake your delightful and familiar scent, and giggle at each other's intimate vulnerability.

during a night such as this, being completely vulnerable to each other was rare, but you'd continue to bask in it for many nights, evenings, and days to come.

w/c: 524

✧ chocsra™

[osamucide]

crush

good men die too, so i’d rather be with you

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

wc: 3.5k

cw: gn!afab!reader, bathing/washing, alcohol, mild hurt/comfort, fluff, implied/referenced self harm, implied/referenced substance abuse, post-dark era, intimacy, explicit sexual content, spitting, soft (ooc?) dazai

reid: this has been sitting a bit and i finally got around to fixing it up :,) sorry again for my absence i am unwell but surviving and i hope to keep sharing with you guys what i can. thank you for all your patience

. . .

He’s never admitted how much he delights in crawling back to your apartment after he’s been gone for too long — long enough to make you worry a little. It’s cruel of him, really, to keep you waiting around so much. But you’re going to be here waiting anyway! So, he figures, why not? It’s a few miles off Port Mafia turf, and you always have hot food and plenty of sake. Not to mention that your hands were the first to ever hold him so gently — to hold him like a lover — and that’s plenty to keep him coming, even if he sometimes takes weeks at a time to find his way back.

It’s always worth it to have Osamu half undressed in your bathroom. A decent meal and the humidity fogging up the tile walls usually melts his resolve just enough so you can work his crumpled white tee off without him sending you any sort of eyes; tonight though, the human spirit is unbreakable. You brush the small of his back as you lift his shirt and it has him hitching his hips toward yours.

He’s truly a sight.

His brown mop is greasy. Accumulated sweat is beginning to force the dramatic lengths of bandages to curl away from his skin. He looks little more than empty and tired, but there’s a shadow of contentedness in his sharp features — you’ve just fed him seafood boil and a couple of Tokyo Mules (heavy on the American vodka), after all.

You reach down and dip your fingers in the filling basin; scalding, how he likes it.

“Drawers off, please.” You poke his chest with a damp finger pad and disappear into the hallway in pursuit of linens.

Dazai sits naked (save for bandages) and curled in on himself on the edge of the bathtub when you return. You stack a change of clean clothes on the sink, and his ankles knock together as he waits for your attention to fall back on him. Your towels sling over the door before you turn to him with your hands tucked together. He looks uncharacteristically meek, not unlike a fawn before it first walks -– the way he only ever does before what happens next.

He holds his arms out, wrists up, and smiles like the sunshine.

You smile back uneasily, appearing much less enthused than he; you know that sunshine smile well enough to know it only ever comes out as a shield. You know no matter how many times you unwrap his dressings, he's always going to hate it.

So, you start with the butterfly clip secured at the crook of his elbow, and you talk.

"I have a slice of tiramisu in the fridge for after."

"From that place I like?" His eyes get wide.

"From that place you like," you sigh, grinning.

"You must've had a feeling I was dropping by."

You usually encourage him to reuse the strips of fabric when possible, sometimes going so far as to let him hide from the city while you take them to the laundromat with your own clothes, but these ones are far past help —barely white, significantly bloody in spots and dirtied in others, so you just ball them up and toss them in the trash. You're stocked anyway, and you reassure him of this by retrieving a few fresh rolls from under the sink.

"Maybe I did."

You finish one arm and move to the other. Osamu lets his marred, bare skin dangle in the air. The sunshine is gone. He’s zoned out. You know he’s protecting himself.

You push his hand down to rest in his lap and your mind selfishly drifts to later, where you hope he'll sleep without his bandages, too — he had traipsed into your apartment lined up to his fingers, and all you had wished for was that you could’ve felt his palms, his knuckles, his nails when he hugged you back. You take as much of him in as you can in these kinds of moments; it’s just the kind of person you are. Damaged or not, his skin is your favorite place to be. You’ve told him this, but it seems to come across much clearer when you look into his sad brown eyes like they’re the only ones in the world while your fingers trace the tracks across his thighs like they’re no one’s in particular.

“So pretty,” you mumble.

It’s so well received this time around that Osamu sinks into the water with barely a shred of apprehension. Granted, he’s still a bit glazed over.

He really snaps to once his shoulders are beneath the water and you’re lathering shampoo — the coconutty one — between your hands.

He speaks your name with an earnest that’s almost mocking. “What are you doing?” But he knows what you’re doing, or what you’re not doing, rather, and he’s not going to let you get away with it.

“What?” Your hands are sudsy and he has the audacity to be yanking at your shirt now. You bat him away as well as you can, flinging some bubbles at him in the process. “What?”

His bottom lip pokes out as his wet hands find purchase around your wrists. Dazai has manipulated a lot of people with nothing but the look in his eye, but it’s never this one; this specific look is reserved for you, and he figures it’s hardly manipulation if he knows you’d enjoy it too. “Get in with me,” he whines, drawing out his ‘e.’

You grumble something about your soapy hands, something about not wasting a perfectly fine handful of your good shampoo, but it just allows him to insist even more on helping you out of your clothes. You sigh, but really, it’s these silly idiosyncrasies about him that make you cry when he’s gone. So, you indulge him. You commence an awkward and wiggly dance in which his fingers stretch your sleeves over your hands with care. You kick your pants off and shimmy out of your undergarments, feigning annoyance as you give into his whims so easily.

The bath is still nearly boiling. You make peace with it by hissing hot, hot, hot, hot, hot (he chuckles at you) until either of your knees are nestled underwater on either side of him. You rub your shampoo hands together and — now that Osamu’s gotten his way for one of many times tonight, for the millionth time ever, never for the last time — he graciously lets you wash his hair.

You inhale all the little hums and sighs he gives you. He tastes like every emotion you’ve ever felt. Heaven is a bathtub in a crummy apartment.

“You smell much better. Let’s rinse.” You go to push yourself up after you’re finished with him, but Osamu grips you unceremoniously and by both of your ass cheeks, so you look sternly into his face.

“Wait, wait, wait, just—” he pleads.

You flick water at his eyes. “We’re wading in your filth, thank you. Get up.”

“Just a second, damn it.” He clutches you closer, hands clasped behind your back, and you settle with shattered resistance against his chest. He mumbles something about who you think you are, telling me what to do.

Not that you try all that hard with him anymore; you both know well he’ll get what he wants, and right now he’s intent on holding you in the cooling water, so you loop your arms around his neck, unable to help the kiss you press to the side of his jaw or the stifled roll of your hips against his.

He’s silent for a moment as he traces the expanse of your back. You hope his eyes are closed. You know they’re probably not.

“Thank you.”

It’s something Osamu says quite a bit. He doesn’t get terribly sentimental often, but it’s usually after you’ve rid him of those wrappings that he comes close. Although, he never says exactly what for. For bathing him. For feeding him. For loving him. You understand well enough.

He’s still a little shit. He squeezes your ass and bites the shell of your ear.

“That’s it,” you yelp. “We’re rinsing.”

His laugh is whole as you pull the drain and start the shower, dodging your (mostly) dry hair.

The promise of dessert lets you get him into a pair of shorts at the very least. Once again you return to him — you wait on him like he’s a prince, and he looks like one on your bed with the blankets pooled around him as he towel dries his hair.

It’s so unfair, you think, how angelic he gets to be no matter what he’s doing. It’s something so mundane; his scars are on display, he’s tipsy and damp and has your plush cat-printed blanket acting somewhat like a cape, yet he steals your breath as you enter your bedroom. To top it all off, he pretends not to notice your presence right away.

You fold your legs beneath yourself, unfinished bottle of sake in one hand, delicate plate of tiramisu in the other, and Osamu finally acknowledges you with owlish eyes, raised brows, and a grin that reprograms the pattern of your heartbeat. He tosses the towel aside, eager, and reaches out.

“This—” his mouth is full, “this shit is…God. Heavenly.”

“Share.”

“Should’ve brought two forks.” He makes a show of lifting the plate out of your reach. You grasp at it lazily, uselessly, and he laughs, taunting you. You’re tired so you hoard the sake in response, which he’s fine with only until the tiramisu is gone — you only got two bites in — and he goes for that as well.

“Greedy!” you accuse, but you can’t help your laugh. You’re warm — the few swigs from the bottle are doing their job, and you let Osamu know this by giving in; you steady his head with one hand, and with your other you press the bottle to his lips and tilt it up. He drinks like it’s cider, and comes up for air with a soft curse.

The way he licks it off his lips wants to draw a gasp out of you, but you’re trained like a skilled gunman when he gives you targets like these — you’ve built up trigger discipline, and there are some things, you suppose, that you don’t let him have so easily after all.

Nonetheless, it’s like Osamu reads this mechanism working in your mind and takes it as a challenge. The bottle is transferred from your hands to his somewhere in the searing kiss he gives you; you fully register a hunger buzzing between you both that has nothing to do with tiramisu as you reach out for him, fumble toward him until you’re in his lap — you almost overwhelm his lithe frame with your tenacity, but he catches you, bottle tapping your back as you engulf each other.

Osamu is sneaky, he is; he never executes even the smallest action without meticulous thought. The way you end up under him might’ve been planned out from the bath, or maybe even before he was on your doorstep — either way, you give way to his weight; the bottle’s in one hand, somehow your wrists are in the other, and his waist connects with yours.

If nothing else predicts what you say next, it’s his restless hand clutching your hip, pulling at your shirt, clawing up your side.

“Missed you,” you slip into his mouth. You’ve already said this over dinner, but it’s different, heavier, when you’re breathing him in. Osamu lifts away from you for a kiss from the bottle. In brief control again, you wring your hands.

He’s statuesque above you. You wish you could snapshot the seconds in which he tilts the bottle back, where his drying hair falls in those loose waves around his angled jaw and his eyelids flicker. You reach out to trace him. His severe collarbone to his lean shoulder, down the thin valley between his bicep and tricep. You ghost around the fingers suspended in midair and bridge the gap to end on his pretty waist.

The bottle disappears onto your nightstand. Your eyes are wide as he grips your chin. He holds his breath, plants an elbow by your head, thumbs your bottom lip — all a means to waterfall the sake into your open, waiting mouth.

Liquor drips off him, into you; how are you supposed to keep from the way your legs demand his hips toward yours? The way you grind into him from below? You’re a live wire and he’s fraying the hell out of everywhere you end and begin.

You swallow what he gives you before he pulls back. You’re breathless, and he’s laughing. He’s laughing. This is what he does — he gets you under him and he laughs, so beautifully that you can hardly be mad, and sultrily enough that you flush pink.

“You should see your face!” he exclaims. Osamu is truthfully at his most joyous when he’s catching you off guard. “Little too filthy for ‘ya?”

“Please,” you scoff, willing him toward you again as you recover, more from the sting in the back of your throat than anything, pressing all your love into each of his mangled wrists with your palms and fingers. “As if that’s the filthiest thing we’ve done.”

“Jog my memory,” he suggests as he puts his smile back to yours, and so you work him out of the shorts you just got him in less than ten minutes ago.

As for yourself, well — you’re only naked from the waist down before you’re working your own slick up and down on him, biting your lip with anticipation, all but pulling him into you. You don’t even care if it hurts, and you almost say it, but you don’t — everything you’re doing is saying it for you — you just want him in you right now, right now, and he touches you between the gasps you draw from him; he watches the way he slides into you like you’re meant for him, like he’s meant for you, and you dig your heels into him as you whisper his name.

“Baby,” he whispers back. Those sad brown eyes flicker, shut, open, find you. “Oh.”

He rocks into you softly, such a contrast from the urgency with which he was kissing you mere moments before. Osamu’s a natural at giving you whiplash, sometimes in ways you didn’t know him to be capable of. He’s concentrated; you watch him, the slightest bit confused as his lips purse shut. You want to hear him, he knows, but it’s all welling up within him, he can feel it on his lash line, so he tucks his face into your neck and hopes you won’t say anything. You don’t, not for bit. You just circle your arms around his neck and groan at the way he grips you, feels you all over; you clench around him and pretend you don’t feel the tears beading along your shoulder.

“Too filthy for you?” you finally tease, but gently; you cup his face in your hands, push his hair from his forehead, and kiss the wetness away. He half-laughs, half-sobs. He obviously wasn’t expecting this. “Oh, ‘samu. Honey.”

“Don’t know what the fuck’s going on.” It’s his way of apologizing. He sniffles and follows it with an explanation. “You feel so good.”

You know they’re not tears of pleasure, but you let him write it off as he fucks into you. “You- uhn- you feel so good,” you echo.

It’s not unusual for him to be vocal — he moans, he gasps, he gives you delicious noises to make up for the words he can’t ever find, but tonight is so different; you don’t know what it is, but he talks. He’s talking, and it’s not the lewd musings you expect from Osamu Dazai, much less while he curls his hands into your hair and begins to pound into you. Yes, it’s much different tonight.

“Missed you too,” he finally gives you. “Missed you. So fucking much- fuck- I’m- oh, fuck…”

“Stop leaving,” you say breathlessly. “Stop leaving me. Just move in.”

“Shit, I might.” His hair is your lifeline. You knot your fingers in it like you hope you become part of it. “Might just have to come home to this every day. Y’take such good care of me. Don’t know wh- hah- what I did to deserve this pussy.”

“Please, please, Osamu.” You’re begging for more than one thing. “Fucking stay.”

So he keeps his pace, staying in one way or another — at least he can say he’s done that much. Whether or not you’ll wake up next to him tomorrow morning doesn’t matter right now; right now he’s fucking you, right now he’s yours, right now he’s ripping himself open a little further to let you see his rotten soul and you’re giving him everything he could never ask for, everything he doesn’t think he deserves — it’ll be enough, you’re sure, even though it’ll hurt when he disappears again; at least you’ll know you opened up in return, reflected his rottenness in the way that you know how. You’ve made a place for him in your home. You’ve made a place for him in your heart. He knows you want him to take it. Take it.

“So pretty, my baby, takin’ it so good.” He looks at you with those wet eyes between pressing bruising kisses to your lips, chin, neck. “Y’feel like fucking heaven. God, fuck. Don’t know if I- don’t know if I deserve it. So fucking good. So good. So good.”

“You d- you don’t have to do anything to deserve it- just fucking stay, please,” you plead with him. You’ll plead with him until he understands. “Oh- Osamu- ah!”

Your hands flail for a resting place — his head is restless with his kisses, his calloused hands and ridged arms are moving too fast for you to keep up with, the expanse of his back isn’t nearly close enough amid his wild pace, so you claw into the peaks of his shoulders and give all your sound and breath back to him while he rains praise upon you. He’s almost frantic in his task, like he needs you to know.

“Need you to know how much I love comin’ back here.” Osamu grabs one of your hands and guides you to your clit. “Touch yourself, please- please- want you cummin’ on me, baby, give it to me. Please.”

He pleads with you until you do.

You’re well aware that everything you can give him might not be enough to convince him. Convince him he’s not rotten. Convince him he does deserve it. Convince him he’s worthy of love. You know the best thing you can do for him right now is rub yourself quick and hard in time with his heavy thrusts. You keep giving him what he needs — you give him all your moans, grunts, curses, and he reflects them right back — you match each other, sobbing, twitching, biting, heaving until the wave rolls over you and you’re collecting him, throbbing around him and telling him it’s all for him, he’s so perfect, don’t stop, it feels so good while he spills into you, fills you up in that familiar way you don’t think you want to live without for weeks at a time anymore. Osamu’s tense as he drags both of your climaxes out for as long as he can; you’re crooning out his name and Osamu’s panting out yours and he’s so beautiful as he cums, he’s so beautiful while he cries, he’s so beautiful when he’s raw and selfish and fucked out of his brain, he’s so beautiful, he’s so beautiful, he’s so beautiful.

“So afraid to hurt you, baby,” he mumbles into your cheek minutes later, half-asleep and tipsy and still pulsing inside you. “You don’t deserve my shit. Get caught up in my shit.”

You don’t care about his shit, is what you tell him in return. You want him. You want to show him all the wonderful things he does in fact deserve.

Like the picturesque breakfast you cook him after you do wake up next to him in the morning. Like the tender way you rewrap his dressings as the afternoon sun gleams in white columns through your window. Like the first day he spends completely sober and well-fed in a long time.

“I don’t know if I deserve it.” All this, he means. You, and how wonderful you are. He says it again and again.

“I don’t care if you don’t deserve it.” You secure the butterfly clip in the crook of his elbow and meet his eyes. Far off. Waning sunshine. “Wanna give it to you anyway.”

For a moment the sunshine returns, and for the first time in a long time, if not ever, you see it reach his eyes. They don’t look so sad. Big, brown, maybe hopeful. Maybe sweet with preemptive regret. You hug Osamu in the still air of your apartment.

“Stay,” you whisper.

He hugs you back, limply, like he’s scared to break you. He trembles out, “I will.”

[jasmines-library]

Necrosis

⛤⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽⛧☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⛤

WHUMPTOBER DAY SIXTEEN :Prompt: necrosis/wound cleaning.

Summary: Tim helps you with your wounds.

Warnings: mentions of injury. Necrosis.

Word count: 666

MASTERLIST ⛤ WHUMPTOBER 2024

⛤⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽⛧☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⛤

Tim frowned as he watched you hobble across the room with a noticeable limp. You had been injured a few weeks ago; a nasty hit to the thigh with a knife. The would had been deep and painful and would more than likely leave a scar. You were supposed to be on crutches, but you had abandoned those after the first week and a half and were now resorting to limping through the manor now you weren’t on bed rest. 

“You shouldn’t be walking on that.” Tim chided as he glanced up at you from his computer screen. He had been staring at it for the last three hours, only leaving to go to the bathroom or to refill his coffee. 

“Yeah but I’m sick of staying in bed.” You said, continuing to limp towards the kitchen.  It was strange. After two or so weeks the wound should have healed up somewhat, but it seemed you were still struggling with it. And normally it wouldn’t have been a problem, but Tim often overthought and wanted to be safer than sorry. With a huff, Tim stood, walking over to you. He placed a gentle hand on your back and guided you to sit down. 

“Sit.” He said. It was practically an order as he gave you no choice but to. 

You let out a hiss as you sat, the pain in your leg twinging. Tim gave you a look. 

“How many times have you been told to stay off this leg.” He tutted. “If you want to get better you need to rest.” 

“I was just going to the kitchen.” You argued back. 

“You could have asked one of us” 

“There’s no point in asking one of you when it’s just easier to get there myself.” 

“Clearly you can’t. You’re still limping…..is it still bothering you that much?” 

“A little…” 

“That means yes then.” Tim rephrased. He knew you had a habit of downplaying your pain. He helps you straighten out your leg gently, taking a look at the bandages. “How long ago did you change these?” 

“Uh….two I think. Alfred did them for me.” He had been doing a good job of making sure your wound was clean and free from infection. 

Tim pursed his lips. “You mind if I take a look? They probably need changing anyway” 

“Go ahead.” 

“Alright.” Tim stood before going to get the medical kit. “Don’t move.” He pointed at you. “I mean it.” 

“Yes, Sir.” You mock saluted. 

Tim returned a minute later, and as much as you would have liked to have left you did stay in your place for him. Gingerly he took your leg between his hands and began to unwrap the bandages. There was no sign of blood, which was a good sign. However when he revealed the wound, he let out a hiss though his teeth.

Some of the skin around the wound had began to turn a nasty grey-ish colour. Necrosis. Likely a sign of infection or lack of blood to the cells which has caused them to die. 

“Well shit….. no wonder it’s been bothering you so much, sweetheart.”

“Necrosis?” You swallowed thickly. 

“Looks like it. It’s infected, kid.” 

“Shit.” 

“Hey. Don’t think like that. We’ll get you on some antibiotics and see how that helps and go from there, yeah? I’ll let B know. You’ll be fine, we’ll sort it, kid.” 

“Thank you.” 

“Now let’s get this bandaged for you, hm?” He said, reaching into the medical kit and pulling out a fresh bandage and some sterile wipes. Gently he cleaned the area, his touch gentle so as to not cause you any more harm, before he tossed the wipe away and began to re-wrap the wound. The bandage sat snug but not suffocating around your thigh. “There you go kid. 

 “Thank you.”

“Now get some rest while I go and talk to B.”

“Alright.”

“No walking on that leg.” Tim warned. “I mean it. No wandering off.”

“No promises.”

⛤⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽⛧☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⛤

<- DAY FIFTEEN ⛧ DAY SEVENTEEN->

⛤⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽⛧☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⛤

TAGS:

@hearts4robs @kingshitonly @alicedawitchbish @hell-o-kittys @azure-drag0ness @harleycao @thewhispersofthewaves @batfamsstuff @xxrougefangxx @rosecentury @noisymutantherelol @killxz @rhiodes @inlovewhithafairytale @that-wannabe-vangoghgurl @canthavetoomuchchaos

⛤⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽⛧☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⛤

[rubyin-wonderland]

Good Morning

opla!Zoro x gn!reader

WC: 1.1k

Warnings/tags: healing injuries, fluffy morning stuff because I love (the idea of) waking up in the arms of a lover

The morning light shone through the windows, bright yellow beams telling you to wake up. You were barely awake, eyes only a sliver opened. You aimed to open them and let yourself wake up, but every attempt left your eyes drifting shut again, until you finally gave up and closed them. The morning could wait.

There was a weight on your body. It lay across you, from your chest to about halfway down your legs, before your legs twined themselves with something else, crossed over and under like the very awkward beginnings of a basket being woven, odd angles and ends sticking out in all directions. It was safe to assume you were all tangled up with a person.

The weight kept you warm. Something was wrapped around your waist. Arms probably. You reached out with one lethargic hand and felt around for this strange weight. You reached your waist and touched whatever was wrapped around you. It was, in fact, an arm.

Your hand slipped up the arm to the shoulder, gently, so as not to wake whoever it was. Thick, muscular biceps led up to strong shoulders. You then moved along to the spine, before drawing upwards, which caused an involuntary shiver of the body laying across you, hand moving around at the base of the neck until your fingers traced across a jaw. You then moved to the back of the head, until you could feel the hair. Short and green and beautiful. There was only one possible person you could possibly be lying with, and as you ran your fingers over his head, you confirmed it.

He gave a tired groan, arms tightening around your waist, head shifting a bit to the side.

"Morning, Zoro." You said quietly, eyes not even opening to look at him. He grunted in return, not moving, just the small exhale and the slight warm breeze of his breath on your skin.

"Does anything hurt?" You asked, arm resting lightly on the back of his neck, fingers grazing his shoulder. The fight from the day before had been no easy task. You were shouldering a fair amount of bruises and cuts. There was a pad of cotton taped to your shoulder, where a particularly nasty shot had been taken. You had been told not to move that arm and you were following instructions. The uninjured arm resting on his neck began lightly tracing soft designs on the back of his shoulder.

"I'm fine." He said quietly. "You?"

"Shoulder hurts." The both of you were on the brink of falling asleep again. You felt him shift. "Am I..." "You're good. The arm is fine." He relaxed again. "Good."

"It's probably breakfast time." You mused, cracking open a curious eye, only to shut it at the brightness outside.

"Probably." Zoro whispered, making no move to leave this comfortable position. Neither did you.

For a few minutes, or maybe an eternity, you lay like this, a cluster of bruised limbs tangled together in a bed, the world beneath you rocking in time with the waves. It was possible you had actually drifted off once or twice, as the ocean lulled you back to your slumber.

You finally managed to open your eyes, looking down at the head of green hair resting on your chest. You moved your arm up to comb through the short sprouts. He hummed as you did so, and you felt his face moving into a smile. "You like that?" You asked.

He tightened his grip on your waist again. "Yes." You smiled back. The pain in your shoulder was growing, but you didn't want to ruin this moment.

After several minutes, your shoulder finally cried out for attention. You tensed and the peace was over. "You okay?" He asked.

You held back a groan. "Shoulder." You didn't look at it, but you could tell that you had definitely bled through the bandage.

That spurred him into action. He drowsily unwrapped himself from you, leaving your body cold. He got out of the bed, careful not to disturb your shoulder or the arm attached to it. He stood up and stretched, where you got to see the handful of bruises scattered across his skin. You tried to ignore the sudden thrust of nerves you got upon seeing them.

You got out of bed, trying to keep your arm comfortable, but ultimately failing. You hissed at the flash of pain, and Zoro looked over cautiously. "Are you-" "Fine. Though I wouldn't be opposed to getting an actual doctor on board at some point." Zoro walked over to you. "Do you need help getting dressed?"

You hadn't thought about that. Your shirt had been cut off around the wound. Taken off by slipping off your remaining sleeve. You rifled through your clothes and found a simple wrap shirt you could put on without disturbing your wound too much. You let Zoro slide the shirt up your arms and help you fasten it to prevent any indecency. One hand yours, the other his, working in sync.

Finally, you were done getting ready, one arm hanging limply at your side, the other holding Zoro's belt, katanas hanging in their scabbards, handing it to him. He gratefully put the belt on, looking you up and down. As if you were a fragile glass statue, and your shoulder was the shatter point.

"I'm fine." You assured him, gently holding his face. He leaned into your touch. Despite his best efforts, his eyes strayed to your shoulder. "Hey. You survived this," you gestured at the scar running along his chest. "I can handle a little shoulder cut."

He took your free hand. He was uncomfortable with the action. He wasn't natural when it came to hand holding. He liked cuddling more, or just being close enough to touch. His one hand remained on the hilt of his blade, the other usually tucked in a pocket, kept out of the way. Holding hands was just odd to him. But you liked it, so he made the sacrifice from time to time. Even in public, just to see your smile when you laced your fingers through his.

Holding your hand, he gently ran his thumb over your slightly red knuckles, still flushed from the punches you had thrown the day before. He leaned down and kissed them gently. "You're alive." He said, although you could tell he was still thinking about you lying on the ground.

"As are you." You smiled, moving the hand back up to cup his cheek. He leaned into it as you brushed his cheek with the backs of your knuckles. You guided his face to yours, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips. "It's okay, Zoro. We're gonna be alright."

[4ttack-ur-heart]

Reassuring Kisses

Pairing: Levi x reader

Warnings: mentions of blood, insecurities, sad levi :( fluff at the end tho. Slight spoilers for s4.

Bro he looks so sad

“Where’s Levi?” You asked Hange with a shake in your voice.

You and the others finally met up with Levi and Hange in the forest after escaping the Jeagerists. You haven’t seen Levi since Zeke was captured and heard rumors of an explosion near their camp.

The crunch of leaves and twigs under your boots caught his attention.

Levi grunted when he leaned up in the cart he was sitting in. He was sheltered away from the others as Hange thought he would rest better with a moment of privacy.

Your breath shuddered when he held up his hand to wave at you, both his pointer and middle finger just mere stubs. “Oh, Levi.”

Your arms wrapped around his neck and you pulled him in a loose hug, being mindful of his injuries. “I’m so glad you’re okay.”

“It’s fine, (y/n).” He said, voice holding no emotion. “It is a setback I’ll be honest, but it doesn’t mean I still can’t kill Zeke when we find him.”

A small shake of your head answered his comment. You gently grabbed his injured hand and studied the bandages. They were tight enough to stop the bleeding, just two small patches of blood on the outside but nothing drastic.

Turning his hand over, you kissed the back of his hand. “Yeah, well… I might beat you to it.” A dry chuckle escaped your lips.

You held up a fresh roll of bandages in your hand. “Hange wanted me to change them for you.”

A sigh left him and he avoided his gaze from your eyes. He didn’t want you to see his wounds. Not yet at least. Almost as if he was ashamed.

Your finger gently ran under his chin, lifting his head up.

“Hey, you’ve been taking care of me for years.” A light kiss was placed on his forehead. “Now it’s my turn to take care of you.”

Your words reassured Levi as he nodded slightly and used his good hand to start unwrapping the bandages. His eyes were locked onto your shirt as you took over, refusing once again to meet your eyes as you finished unwrapping his face. The wounds and cuts on display.

A wave of silence washed over you both as you studied his face.

Levi took your silence as a bad response and sighed. “It’s bad, isn’t it?”

“I mean… for almost getting your face blown off, I think you still look pretty good.” You gave him a small smile and stood in front of him.

Levi still wouldn’t look at you.

Alright, no time for jokes then.

Discarding the soiled bandages, you took his face in your hands very carefully. “You’re still my strong soldier.”

Your eyes ran over the large gashes that ran down his eye, cheek and part of his lips, hastily stitched up by Hange. Poor thing.

Levi seemed to lighten up at your touch, his eyes closing and he leaned into your hand. Your thumb brushed over the edge of his lips, before swiping over his other cheek. “I love you, nothing will ever change that.”

Levi’s hand went up to the back of your head and slightly dug into your roots before pulling you down to him. Lips met gently and the passionate moment of intimacy was what you both needed after an eventful couple days.

“Mm, Levi.” You muttered into his mouth. “I don’t want you to hurt yourself.”

His tongue ran over your bottom lip before his lips suctioned onto yours once more.

“Don’t worry about it.” He grumbled and his hand tightened on your hair, his other arm wrapping around your waist and tugging you closer to him, careful to not put pressure on his injured hand.

Levi shuffled under the blanket before pulling you onto the cart with him, you being positioned between his legs.

After timeless moments of you both being lip-locked, you pulled away. Levi’s grip loosened on your hair, the pads of his fingers smoothening down the tussled tresses.

Levi finally fastened his eyes to yours. A glossy wall in front of his blue irises. He clasped your hand in his and ran his thumb over your knuckles. “I love you.”

Your thumb swiped a fallen tear that trailed below his eye.

“I love you more, Captain.” You smiled before unwrapping the fresh roll of gauze. “Now, let me take care of you.”

————————————

I like this one :)

[gtgbabie0]

-Liu Kang x Reader

{A soft moment between you and Liu Kang}

Super fluffy and very domestic!! Hope you enjoy my lovelies!

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆

Evenings in the Shaolin monastery never fail to take your breath away, how the pink and orange hues from the setting sun seem to bleed together, casting its warm light across the horizon. You admire the beauty of the scenery from the quaint little space you found. Hidden away from the other monks, a small open room lit by candles, where you could enjoy some tea in peace.

You allow your mind to drift as you take a deep breath, taking in the sounds of nature and distant water, only to be pleasantly interrupted by Liu Kang as he enters your quaint space with consideration, careful, so as to not rip you away from your meditative state.

“Nice of you to join me” you smile, shuffling to make space on the wooden floor for him to sit beside you, and he does so without hesitation, sitting on the blanket you laid upon the floor, “How did you find me?” You wonder as he looks at you with soft eyes.

“I couldn’t find you anywhere, I figured you’d be here” he explains, his hands finding yours, stopping you from pouring him some tea. “How is your head?” He tilts his chin slightly as he caresses your cheek, thumb soothing the space under your eye.

You had told him you weren’t feeling all too well this morning, way before he left to help Raiden and Kung Lao with whatever needed their attention around the Shaolin Temple. He had offered to look after you, the ever-caring man that he was, but yet his duties called him and he was whisked away from you.

Liu Kang can’t help but smile as you lean into his warm hand, the fabric of his bandages are rough against your skin but that doesn’t stop you. “A lot better than this morning” you hum, fingers wrapping around his wrist, gently bringing his hands down to your lap.

“Nothing some ginger tea couldn’t help” You begin unwrapping the bandages from his hands ever so carefully. He relishes in the way it feels, almost as if the tension from him unravels along with the tough cloth. You take a moment to run your fingertips across his slightly calloused palms, making a mental note to buy more hand cream.

The absence of the sun brings a cold chill, one that causes a shiver to run down your spine. Liu Kang notices, and with a soft frown, he reaches from behind you, picking up the knitted shawl and draping it over your shoulders before pressing a kiss to your cheek.

“Mhm, I am glad to hear” he whispers, shuffling to sit behind you. He wraps his arms around your waist, resting his chin on your shoulder as you continue to drink the warm liquid. “Tomorrow I am all yours my heart, the two of us can do whatever you please,” he says and you don't have to look at him to know there's a smirk on his lips.

His chest blooms with warmth at the way you giggle, a sound Liu Kang couldn’t possibly ever get bored of, “Whatever I please? Hmm, you might come to regret saying that” There’s a certain playfulness in your words that only drives Liu Kang to hold you tighter, peppering your shoulder with soft kisses.

“Learn from it… perhaps, but regret I could never, every moment with you is deeply cherished” his words carry a certain weight to them, something that doesn’t go amiss as his lips continue to playfully trail up towards your jaw.

“Like you learned from the baking incident?” you remind him of the series of unfortunate events all over again. How the sweet treat ended up being terribly charred and completely inedible. You can feel Liu Kang's chest rise and fall from behind you as he laughs, calloused hands slipping into your own.

“Yes, I learned not to let you distract me” he teases, thumb soothing along your knuckles. Another gust of wind pushes through the trees, and you’re thankful that the god of fire is sitting behind you, holding you close to him. But despite his warm presence, he still notices the goosebumps that invade your body and the slight shiver that crawls through your spine.

“Let’s go home before you catch a cold” he whispers, lips grazing against your ear before standing up. The loss of his warmth hits you suddenly, and you are made very aware of the autumn winds. Liu Kang helps you to your feet, and with linked arms, the pair of you make your way home.

The rest of the night he spends practically glued to your hip, touching you in any way he possibly can and true to his words, the next day is spent doing whatever you please.

[vxperorchist]

Hello! I'm a little nervous to request, haha, but I wanted to request Tighnari, Cyno, and Albedo (idk if you have a character limit) with reader taking care of them when they're sick or injured. I'm a sucker for sickfics/comfort fics, lol. I know there's a lot of Tighnari taking care of reader fics, but I'd love to see the other way around.

Looking after them! (Tighnari, Cyno, and Albedo X Gn! Reader)

Genre: Fluff, comfort.

Hiiii!!! I'm so happy you requested!! I love interacting with you all, and your minds come up with the best ideas. I love this idea sm, and I saw the request and was so excited to write it with some of my favorite characters??? You know me too well 😉

Tighnari

Tighnari is super careful when it comes to avoiding injuries. He's super used to taking care of others injuries, and rarely gets injured himself. It's rare, but not impossible.

He came back home to you with his dominant arm in a sling. You smiled lightly, happy to see him. You knew he wasn't severely injured, and it brought you some relief knowing he'd only be down for a little bit.

In the meantime, he needed your assistance with various tasks. He couldn't use his bow, and he was stuck being a stationary ranger rather than what he typically did.

He was bummed, but you knew he'd recover quickly.

"Love, can you help me with this?" He'd ask frequently, whether is be grabbing his clothes or his bow that he couldn't even use.

You'd help him position and reposition his sling, being ever so gentle with his injured arm. "Thank you, I'm sorry for being so dependent on you as of recently. The medic said I'd be out for a few weeks, but I'm hoping it heals a lot quicker than that." He stared down at the arm you were carefully caressing and adjusting a sling on.

That was your Tighnari, so eager to get back to work. He appreciated your help a lot, and he doesn't know what he'd do without it.

He also felt bad with the lack of affection he could give you with his dominant arm down, he'd have to use his non dominant arm to hold your hand, or rub your arm gently when he was around you. He was gentle with his physical affection naturally, and he was even gentler with his injury as he was weak.

Like he said, he recovered quickly as he knows how to take care of himself. His blood is healthy, and his skin is tough due to his nature of being active and dealing with small injuries constantly.

He flexed his arm as you unwrapped it from the bandage for the last time, instead of a thick wrapping around his arm, he opted for a thinner support material traveling up his arm as he fully recovered.

The first thing his healed arm reached for was the face of you who had helped him throughout his injured weeks. He held your face as you leaned into his touch, placing a gentle kiss on your forehead.

Cyno

Cyno was less careful when it came to preventing injuries. He'd often come home to you with small cuts or bruises lining his arms. It's not because he was weak, he was just simply more reckless when it came to harnessing that strength.

His strength had consequences, and with his raw power came his ability to find himself injured easily.

Cyno had been out on a lengthy task, it had taken him a week or two to complete it, which meant he would come back with new injuries. You expected a cut or two to help him clean and heal, but what was new to you was an actual broken bone, that being Cynos injured wrist.

The first thing he tried to do was make a joke about it, which flew right over your head as you gently held his hand, staring down at it, upset he would let it happen. You knew he could have prevented it, but he didn't, and that's what upsetted you.

Cyno admitted to how it happened, as he got his polearm stuck in an awkward position, causing his wrist to bend in an abnormal position, resulting in his break. He had a high pain tolerance, and failed to realize anything was actually wrong with his wrist.

You had to explain to him that he had to take it easy or else it would result in permanent or further damage. You were no doctor, but you were educated enough to know how to take care of your reckless boyfriend.

Cyno wanted a wrist brace at most so he could get back to work. A break was nice every now and then, but he had duties he had to fulfill, and he couldn't postpone those responsibilities over a small injury.

However, being his lover and someone who cared for him, allowed you to lecture him on being safe and taking things easy on himself. You'd hope he would learn a lesson, and realize just how irritating injuries could be, therefore making him more careful, but that was wishful thinking.

He was very independent, and worked solo for most of his life, so he didn't like depending on you for assistance when he was injured, even though you had offered your help countless times. It was hard to get through his thick skull, but he was appreciative of your thoughtfulness regardless.

Albedo

Unlike Tighnari and Cyno, Albedo suffered from illness more than he did injury. Albedo had experience with injuries, but he was also very knowledgeable on how to take care of himself.

One thing he couldn't prevent was his line of work, and how all the information had a way of overloading his brain. He was intelligent, nobody could deny that. He also had a way of handling information and data unlike anybody else.

Furthermore, this positive attribute had a negative effect, as he would suffer from headaches frequently.

You knew of his intense migraines and headaches he would get. He would typically try to ignore it until it got unbearable, which hurt you to see.

He would have resources in his office nearby to put off the pain, but it wouldn't help him completely. It was easy to tell when he was having one of his severe headaches, his hand would fall into his hair, putting pressure on his head. His eyes would squint shut in pain for a brief moment, until he was able to attempt to put it off.

When you were with him, you'd always offer him some water, or suggest a break for a few. He'd typically decline a break, but that was expected.

If his headache got to him too badly, he'd step away from his desk or workstation, and come sit down near you for a while. His hand would softly brush up against yours for comfort, and he would sit there until the pain had passed.

You'd rub your nails over his back as he was experiencing this pain, sending shivers up his spine at the goose bump inducing feeling. He'd thank you for your help and squeeze your hand before he got back to work.

In your own time, you'd try to find a way to help him. Whether it was asking about medicines or tips, you'd try a lot to do anything to help him, as you were one of very few people who knew how much pain he endured due to the information he was intaking on the daily.

[universesweetheart]

My Mess (Dazai x Reader)

In which we clean blood off him after a mission

Read my other dazai oneshots: here, here, here :] (peep the turtle smile)

Birthday Gift Series: Part I & Part 2

Impulsively wrote this today after a crying session

Bye now - Mars ♡

Dazai came home bloodied and bruised. He stumbled into your apartment, seeking you out from where you were on the couch engrossed in your book. Not caring that he was messing up your couch or clothes, he flopped down onto the couch, burying his face into your stomach with mumbles of words you have a hard time figuring out.

“Osamu, what happened?” there’s an urgency in your voice as you assess your boyfriend’s state, propping him to sit up, but he’s stubborn and bury his face into your chest. “Sit up, please, for me?”, you’ve found over the years of dating Dazai that he doesn’t allow himself the freedom of emotions. He doesn’t love often, but when he loves, he loves.

Reluctantly he sat up, looking at you with a smile, a fake one. The one he gives everyone when he so effortlessly slips into his overdramatic happy persona. But you know better. Of course, you know better when your soul is a hopeless mess without his and vice versa. It’s what happens when you spend so much time with someone, when your days and laughter blend into theirs and your body trusts them so much that sleep comes naturally, even for the sleepless like him.

“What happened, ‘Samu?” you ask again, voice so gently it takes the form of a whisper, brows frowning softly as your eyes search his for an answer, or explanation, or something. Anything he’s willing to give you. Anything of truth. No pretenses.

“Had a mission today”

That you knew. He’d told you before he left for work, thinking you were willed away with slumber, but you heard the sweet melody of his voice through your dreamland. A sickeningly sweet tune luring your soul back to its body, to him. To him.

His face was exhausted, eyes darker than usual. His hair matted with dried blood and his bandages stained red from the thick crimson. Whether his or someone else, you were unsure of.

“Wanna tell me about it?”

“No”

‘Okay”

You hummed, standing up and urging him to stand too. “Let’s get you cleaned up”

You made your way to the bathroom, Osamu practically slumped over you. You guide him to sit on the stool you kept in your bathroom for shaving.

“May I?” you asked softly, your voice honeyed to not startle him. You’d seen Osamu without his bandages before though it wasn’t plenty of times. You didn’t want to rush things with him, founding yourself liking what you had with this man.

He also liked, and appreciated, your understanding nature. He loved how gentle you were with him and most of all he liked how you let him figure his shit out. Never wanting to save him, just be there for him whilst he saved himself.

He nodded, closing his eyes, and resting his head on your shoulder. His hands found themselves around your waist, if only loosely.

You gently unwrap his bandages, taking a washcloth and wetting it with some warm water, pressing it against his skin. The warmness of the water softens the stubborn dried blood. The silence overtakes you both, it’s comfortable. No need to fill the space.

You continue to wipe him down, only slipping away to run the bath for him. Filling the tub with warm water and dropping a bath bomb to dissolve in it. Stepping back over to him, ridding him of the rest of his clothes as you help him into the tub.

Osamu rested his head over the edge, whilst you wetted it, adding the shampoo and conditioner to soften the matted mess of a bird’s nest that has become his usually silky hair. You noticed he closed his eyes, leaning down to press a soft kiss to his forehead, along with words of affection.

Dazai opened his eyes and looked up at you, a soft smile graced his lips. “Bella…” He spoke, “Join me”

You smiled, ridding yourself of your clothes and slipping into the waters with him. Body straddling his as you brought your hands to cup his cheeks. “Worries me when you come home like this” you confess, words shaky as you bit your lower lip to hold back the emotions threatening to spill over.

“M’okay, Bella” Osamu soothes, “See, right here, safe and sound” he whispers, drawing you closer for a kiss. A simple soft kiss, you feel him. Tongue slipping into your mouth, hands wandering down to your waist, one slipping lower to squeeze the fat of your ass.

You gasp softly against his lips, Dazai’s mouth swallowing all your sounds. “Always come back to you, baby, don’t worry that pretty little head” he rasps against your lips, swollen lips.

Dazai’s mood stabilized as his darling tended to him. The soft touches of your fingers and words caressed his soul and hardened his cock. The rawness of your worry is something he loves. Because it shows you care, genuinely. It silences his mind that tries to tell him that you don’t, that all of this isn’t real and that any day you’d up and leave him.

So when you stay and tend to him as he comes bloodied and hurt instead of running away scared and frightened and disgusted, as he expected you to be, it relieved him greatly. It affirms the unspoken truthness of your relationship. You love him. You love him. Maybe just as much he loves you, he hopes.

[luminousbeings-crudematter]

Entanglement (1/2)

PAIRING: Johnny "Soap" MacTavish x Medic F!Reader 

A/N: my little contribution to the 141 challenge by the amazing @glitterypirateduck || but I was very tipsy when I wrote this and am very tipsy as I post it sO IT DOESNT COUNT DO NOT PERCEIVE ME || I WILL SOBER WRITE A PART 2 PROMISE

Prompts used: Military Base, Dude in Distress, Take care of each other (helping w/bath, stitches, haircut, sickness, etc.),  “Who did this to you?”

Part 1 || Part 2 || 

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The base is quiet this time of year—it’s nice.  The quiet is obviously preferable to the chaos, and sometimes you like just sitting with your thoughts in your cozy little nook on base.   There are a handful of people around, all of whom you liked, one of whom you really liked, but you’d bite your tongue off before you ever said that out loud.  Especially to him.  

And it’s like you’ve summoned him by just the power of your thoughts, because he walks into your little office with his hand clenched tight over his bleeding arm (that you had just sutured) and a large smile on his face.  His eyes dart around quickly and then come back to yours happily, grin widening from noting that you were the only one in the infirmary at that moment.  

“You’re a fucking idiot.”  You use your chin to point  at the leaking bandage over his arm, and start to gather your supplies.   

But Soap’s never been one to dwell. “Yeah,” he agrees, easily. “Go’ me here though, didn’ it, bonnie?”

“What happened?  Who did this to you?” 

He leans closer and whispers, conspiratorially.  “Very bad men, bonnie. But ah’ll keep them away from you, promise.”

You shake your head and turn away, having to pretend to grab something from behind you so that your charming, gorgeous hunk of a patient doesn’t see your shy smile.  “You’re bleeding out again, MacTavish.  I need to fix this.  Again.”

“Oh, bonnie, y’er the only who can,” he sighs, dramatically, and.  It’s stupid.  It’s such a stupid fucking line but  you still want to find somewhere to hide, your smile finally spilling out into your cheeks.

MacTavish is a shameless flirt.  Everyone knows this, it’s a very ill-kept secret, not that Johnny would want it to be a secret at all.  It comes naturally to him—stupid words spew out of him and suddenly, you want to cover your heated cheeks with your palms and look anywhere but into his bright blue eyes.    

He waits for you to look back at him, and you have to roll your eyes at the giddy grin he wears on his face.  

“Alright then, sergeant, let’s see the damage, shall we?”

“Oh the damage is far too deep t’fix, luv,” he says, but grins and extends his arm for you to look at anyway.

The sight of his blood-covered arm makes you wince in sympathy, and you start to slowly unwrap the gauze and tape around his arm before you clean his wound.   The wound on his arm looks angry and almost pulses in front of your eyes, and he winces and groans as you begin to suture.   You shush him quietly everytime, and try to concentrate—really, you do—but you can feel his eyes on your face.

When you look back up at him, he doesn’t even do you the courtesy of looking away.  No, the man makes eye contact with you, eyes shining.  

It takes you some effort to rearrange your features into the look of mild tiredness that you wear around him often. “Can I help you, MacTavish?”

“‘Fraid I’m beyond y’help, bonnie,” he grins, cocky and sure, and so fucking handsome.  “Though…y’could go out wi’me.  Might make me hurt less.”

“God,” you say, rolling your eyes.  “You know that I can’t.”  His pout makes you laugh, and you stand up to go wash your hands.  Before you get too far away from him, though, you feel warm fingers wrap around your wrist and squeeze gently. 

“MacTavish,” you whisper.  “We can’t.”  The words are insistent, and you put what feels like considerable effort into sounding like you mean them, but your attention is caught by the slow, almost hypnotic motion of his ridiculously pink tongue wetting his lips.  When your eyes finally meet his, you already know what he’s going to say.        

“You could, though, bonnie.  Y’could go out wi’me.”

“Johnny…”  

“Could make it worth y’while,” he whispers, suggestively, and this time it’s his eyes that linger on your lips before they come back up to meet yours.  “Keep the bad men away from ya, if you'd like”  His words are flirty and unserious, as usual, but God, does he manage to look earnest as he says them. 

"All of them?" you wonder out loud.

His eyes shine as you play along. He considers your words for a moment. "No. Not all of 'em."

“We could be caught,” you counter.  “Won’t your Captain have your head for it?”

“‘N I'd happily go out for you, sweet girl.” 

You shake your head as you write him a prescription for the pain.  “You’re incorrigible. I’m not going to be reassigned because you’re horny, Sgt. MacTavish.”

“Horny,” he gasps in mock-horror. “Horny?  Ahm’ here out of m’mind in love, hen!  Horny, she says!”  He shakes his head and his smile dims a little, but only for a second, before his eyes light up, wickedly. “Consider it.  We’d make bonnie children, aye?”

You freeze because…what is there to even say to that. 

When he kisses your cheek and whistles cheerily on his way out, you do find yourself considering it.

[amica-aenigmata-naboo]

Harmony

Mizu x Y/N - drabble - 886 WC

Masterlist

Warnings: blood, injury, mention of breasts but not in a sexual sense, healer reader, kissing, he and she used for Mizu, pretty fluffy tbh

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“Lovely aren’t they?” you said to the mysterious man next to you in the secluded forest by your cottage. He nodded slightly, not responding verbally. You picked a smaller branch off the tree, a few soft pink cherry blossoms were scattered on it. You lifted the branch to your nose, breathing in the sweet smell of the flowers. You walked over to the man, placing the branch between the fold of his haori. You heard him suck in a sharp breath. You finally saw his face as he looked up to meet your gaze. He was strikingly beautiful. Sharp cheekbones, full lips, a button nose pink from the snow chill. But above all, his eyes. Your eyes widened slightly, never having seen such a shade in person. “Like the sea after a storm.” you whispered, not even realizing your hand had gone to gently hold his cheek. You felt him lean into your touch, sighing with content. He hadn’t been held in a while. The man started to slump against you, you heard him groan, his hand going to hold his side. You saw blood seeping through the blue cloth. You gasped, putting his arm around your shoulder and pulling him towards your house. Just as you crossed the threshold, he fell to his knees before falling unconscious. You pulled him towards the warm fire pit before pulling his glasses off and his haori open. You saw bandages wrapped around his chest, the gash led under the bandages so you quickly unwrapped them. Your eyes widened as you saw the samurai with two breasts. You shook your head, grabbing your stitching kit from your healers cabinet. You stitched her but didn’t rewrap her before pulling a blanket over her. You pulled her katana and glasses off so she could rest comfortably, setting it next to her so she wouldn’t panic when she woke. 

You sat nearby, making tea and soba before stitching her haori up where something had slashed through it. You looked over to the samurai every once and a while, admiring them while also checking to see if they were comfortable. You sat and drank tea next to them when the stitching was done. A small huff left the samurai, causing you to look at them. Their face shifted slightly, a look of pain or fear scrunching their brows. Their body twitched randomly. She was running or fighting something in her dream. You put your tea down moving to sit next to her face; you smoothed your thumb over her cheekbones, hoping to calm her. You hummed a calming tune as your repeated this over and over. Her hand moved up to hold yours against her cheek yet she remained asleep. 

“The most beautiful samurai…” you whispered. You stayed with her, holding her hand.

When the samurai woke, it was the dead of night. She shot up but instantly laid back down as the gash across her chest screamed at her for the sudden movement. You quickly made your way to her side. She instinctively scooted away from you. You held your hands up, showing you meant no harm. You passed her a loose shall to cover up with and not disturb her stitches. She pulled it on quickly. 

“You can tell no one you have seen me. Is that understood?” she said in a gruff voice. 

“Of course.” you said bowing your head, “Eat, drink, sleep. Regain some strength before you leave.” You got up and set down the tea and soba next to her before getting your own and eating across from her. “Eat. It’ll help you heal and keep the chill at bay.” 

Mizu ate quickly, observing you the whole time. The faintest tattoo on your wrist caught her eye. It looked like a mirror.

“An old legend. Your face is that of the one you loved most in your past life.” you said, “The mirror reminds me to love myself, for I loved this face once… more than anything.”  you said with a soft smile.

Mizu looked down, who could have possibly loved her face? Nobody. Perhaps she was a mere demon. She felt a gentle hand caress her cheek, tilting her chin up.

“I can see why one would love your face so much. Fire and water live within you. Such harmony is rare.” you smiled. 

Mizu didn’t know why but she kissed the back of your hand. You had been nothing but kind, she didn’t know how to return it but this felt right. You blushed deeply, lifting her hand closer to your face and kissing the inside of her palm.

“It doesn’t bother you?” she asked softly.

“What?” you asked, rubbing your thumb over the inside of her hand in soothing patterns. “That you’re a woman? The heart cares not for such fickle things, only that it is loved.” you replied, smiling in a way that brought a warmth to Mizu that she hadn’t felt in years. 

She sat up as best she could, pulling you to her so she could kiss you gingerly. Almost questioning her own actions. You kissed her back gently, soothing a thumb over her cheek bone to reassure her. She grew more confident, kissing you over and over again, chasing the warmth she felt when with you despite you being a stranger.

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Naboo's Note:

Hello! Three fics in one day?! Who is this Naboo? Lol had this one sitting for a while and decided why not finish it. I hope ya'll enjoy and would love some recs for her character. Thank you, talk soon! XOXOXOXOXOXO