#just kicking my feet and drawing some blood

[iammyprincess]

Brother of mine

[maybanksmusings]

Hello! I saw your requests were open so I was wondering if you could write a Spencer Reid x Reader fic based off “prison for life” by Olivia Rodrigo. Spencer has always been in the protector role so i believe it would fit him, please and thank you

PRISON FOR LIFE ; spencer reid

i know i can protect myself, but when you do it for me it’s hot as hell . . .

a/n: your brain is huge this song is so spencer coded

warnings: spencer reid x fem!bau!reader, unsub / case entirely made up to avoid spoilers, protective!spencer, established relationship, secret relationship, mentions of guns, violence, blood, criminal minds in general

a team. the worst kind of conclusion to draw when you’re narrowing in on an unsub, or two in this case. two family annihilators that would stalk and learn the routines of their victims, the kills were usually quick and ruthless, in and out in a matter of minutes.

only this time, your team had gotten there right in time. derek dragged one unsub out the door while the other bolted down the stairs towards the basement. without thinking, you’re sprinting after him, unknowingly running straight into a trap.

you trip the moment you barrel through the door, flying head first down the flight of stairs and landing on the hard concrete with a hard thud.

dizzily, you get to your feet, clumsily reaching for your gun only to realise you dropped it on your way down. it’s dark, you’re disoriented, and most terrifyingly, you’re not alone down here.

a fact you’re abruptly reminded of when a cord is wrapped around your throat, pulling your back flush against the chest of the unsub you were hunting. the initial panic urges you to scramble, but your training kicks in and you manage the lodge your elbow right into his ribs making him drop the cable.

the same elbow connects with his jaw with a satisfying crack but he’s not going easily, using the hair at the back of your head as leverage to bash your head against a dust old desk.

the struggle goes on for what feels like hours, and you’re giving as good as you’re getting. with a successful knee to his groin you send the unsub tumbling to the ground, and right as he’s about to lunge at you a metallic click sounds from behind where you stand.

“one more step and i’ll empty my clip”

spencer reid, your favourite coworker who also happens to be your long time boyfriend, has his gun pointed at the unsub with one hand as the other reaches out to pull you behind him protectively.

in a matter of seconds tara is cuffing the dirtbag before you and hauling him up the stairs with the help of jj, leaving you and spencer in the dusty basement.

“I had it under control.”

“It was no problem, darling, honestly, no need to thank me” spencer teases, holstering his gun and taking your face in his hands to fully examine the extent of your injuries “you really think i was just gonna ignore the fact you ran after a killer and didn’t come back within sixty seconds?”

“i’m not some damsel in distress” you groan, letting him examine your face with no resistance “i can protect myself”

“i know.” spencer nods, using his thumb to swipe the blood away from your bottom lip “it’s not gonna stop me protecting you, though. sorry”

he can see through your faux annoyance. spencer knows just as much as you do that you like having him as your protector, it’s ‘his job’ as he put it.

though, his protectiveness has made hiding your relationship that bit trickier.

everyone on the team would take a bullet for each other, there was no doubt about it, but people hotch were beginning to notice that spencer often went above and beyond when it came to your safety.

like when the bau were being targeted, he never left your side, if you were sent to interview a suspect reid was right there with you. even if a joke was made at your expense, it wouldn’t be entertained by spencer.

sometimes you could pass it off as it being because you were a woman, because even though all the women on the team were more than capable, the men on the team had a fierce protective streak for them whether or not they knew.

“you’re so annoying..” you grumble, fighting a small smile.

“mhm” spencer chuckles, pressing a quick, light kiss to your head “i love you too, darling”

“oh!”

a squeak from tara has both of you whipping your heads in her direction, frozen in the mixture of fear and embarrassment that you’d just been caught out.

“well,” tara clears her throat and makes a poor attempt at concealing a grin “we’re all done here when you two are ready.”

[gothgoblinbabe]

hiyaa <333 just wanted to drop a Logan request here.. (pref from the ver of the x-men, 2000?) because it's always like sunshine reader this and grumpy/mean logan that (i luv them btw) but what about cool!reader. what about the reader that can and will not put the cocky shit he is on his place but keep him there??? what about the reader that tames him down, the reader that casually grabs the back of his shirt to keep him from launching himself at Scott with a deadpan face, the one that lets him bite??? the one that will literally outmatch his agressive and violent energy????? the one that grabs his wrist when his claws go out and quirks an eyebrow at him like 'really?'???? like pls we do seriously need a bit of a level-head/intermediator!reader with Logan (can be smut if u feel like it?) 🙏🙇 fem if possible <33

IM KICKING MY FEET SO HARD RN OMG, I also love grumpy Logan x sunshine reader but being w someone that matches his energy? Oh my god, that’s my shit

NSFW/18+ // This isn’t like a full oneshot ig but if you do want that with plot and stuff lmk!)

- Within the first few months of meeting each other, everyone would definitely tease Logan (and you) about how you’re like the female version of him. You don’t put up with anyone’s shit, including his. He learned that the hard way, nearly being knocked on his ass when you yanked the back of his jacket to prevent him from ripping Scott to shreds because of some stupid comment. That wasn’t a one time occurrence, either. You were the only one bold enough to actually try to put him in his place when the claws came out, going as far as to use both hands to hold his wrist in place while you glared up at him.

“Chill the fuck out, would you?”

And the first time you had the balls to actually do that, everyone else stood back in mild fear, anticipating some kind of fight between the two of you. Instead, he rolled his eyes and retracted his claws. It was an unusual influence you had over him, something about you that made him feel hypnotized.

- He’ll never admit it to another soul, but he definitely likes that you’re dominant over him at times when you have to cool him down. Grabbing his arm, pushing him back - lightly tugging at his hair if you really couldn’t get his attention. He likes when you put him in his place, get a little rough with him or talk in an angry tone.

- And because I’m a sucker for friends to lovers, I think he’d be so head over heels for you because of that. He’d try his best to be stone faced when you were stern with him, but he’d be gnawing on his bottom lip to the point of drawing blood.

- Same thing with training: If you actually manage to wrestle him down to the mat, he knows he can push you off if he really wants to, but he never does - he gets way too engrossed in staring up at you while you straddle his lap and hold his arms down.

- Though Logan wasn’t always levelheaded, he could return the favor of holding you back when you got too aggressive, wrapping his arms around the middle of your waist and pulling you back - sometimes even having to lift you off the ground and sling you over his shoulder. Truthfully, he’d let you tear someone apart if it were up to him - the assholes usually deserve it - but he knew it would be frowned upon to not stop you.

- I think when you somehow do admit your feelings - maybe you get pissed when he puts himself in danger and just tell him you love him or he does the same when he starts to become a little too jealous of anyone else hanging around near you - he’d always have his hands on you in some way. Maybe the small of your back, your hands, your wrist - anything. And the jealousy thing? Oh, forget it, he won’t even let another guy stand too close to you. He’s not toxic (maybe if you wanted him to be🫣) but very protective, he’ll let another guy talk to you if he’s gotta but his hand is in your back pocket the entire time while he stares the dude down.

- Angry sex is a regular occurrence. Are you really mad at each other? Not even close, but it doesn’t take much more than a few choice words exchanged in the hall for Logan to be dragging you into the nearest room with a lock, holding you up against the wall and drilling into you till he has to hold a hand over your mouth to keep you quiet. There were definitely a handful of times you’d almost been caught, trying to babble out an excuse about being busy to whoever was behind the door while your leg was hiked over Logan’s shoulder, messily eating you out with your skirt bunched up at your waist.

- Overall I think you’d make a good pair, keeping each other in balance when one of you gets a little feral (though, let’s be honest, it’s definitely usually you having to hold him back).

Like I said if you want more of that concept or like something w plot pls lmk!! Absolutely love the idea 🫶🏻

[theplumsoldier]

sore loser

summary: the scales of your rivalry with joel miller tips in his favor as he calls out your mistake and you end up a loser. the classic "you hate your partner but fucks him anyway"

pairing: mean!joel miller x afab!reader

warnings: 18+ please and thank you, hate sex, rough vaginal sex, spitting, slapping, choking, fingering, squirting, sloppy/rough blow job, degradation, age-gap, begging, biting, mean!joel, forced orgasm & multiple orgasms, tasting joel's blood?? no aftercare please let me know if i missed anything!! (. ❛ ᴗ ❛.)

You hated everything about him. You hated the way he looked, the way he spoke, and the way he walked. You hated how he was always confident, how he was always right, and the fact that he always knew which buttons to push. You hated how he was a better shooter than you, how he was better at finding supplies than you, and how he was better at tracking than you. You hated his salt-and-pepper beard, the curls in his hair, and his sun-kissed skin. You hated his brown eyes, his deep voice, and his large hands. You hated how he treated you like a child, how he called you "kid", and how he looked after you.

Most of all, right now, you hated that he shot the clicker before you managed to put a knife to its skull, how he made it look like you couldn't save yourself. He took the win and he got the point.

It was a game and you were losing this battle for dominance, and you hated losing to Joel Miller.

You had been biting your tongue so damn hard to keep yourself from stooping down on his level and the taste of blood lingered in your mouth for about 4 minutes before the last straw had been drawn.

Joel just couldn't stop himself from being an ass and work in yet another one of his snarky remarks.

"Get over yourself, Miller. I had it handled," you grumbled.

"Sure looked like it," he retorted sarcastically, making scattering noises as he dug through a crate in the warehouse.

The way he didn't even bother looking at you only made you more furious. "How the fuck do you think I survived this long on my own, huh? I've been—"

"Ask myself that every time I save your ass," he interrupted mockingly.

Your blood was boiling in your veins. He felt so fucking superior and it was driving you insane. You knew your worth, but for some reason, you had this crippling urge to prove yourself.

"Somebody needs to knock you off your fucking horse, Miller."

Joel chuckled grimly. "S'that right, sweetheart? Wanna give it a go?"

His infuriating words made you stand to your feet, and frankly, it excited Joel to see you acting like you might just do something about it.

With a groan he got up himself, easily towering over you. You swallowed harshly, jaw clenched.

Joel's face was set in a firm expression, dark eyes analyzing your face to predict your next move. It was a face-off.

There was a subtle smirk and you wanted to wipe it off so badly. This was entertaining to him—a challenge he joined, a game he played just for the kick of it.

You couldn't win a fight against him, you were smart enough to recognize that fact (at least for now). So you breathed out, your nervousness drawing out a shaky laugh.

"I hate you," you spat and turned around, sure you'd only dig a deeper hole for yourself if you looked at him any longer.

"That what you tell yourself when you dip your little fingers down between your legs?" he wondered aloud, not even testing the waters but diving head first into the lake of all your buttons that he planned to push: "Don't think I don't hear you moaning my name when you get off in the night."

Your eyes went wide and shame colored your cheeks pink. You hoped he wouldn't notice as your eyes shot daggers, completely dumbfounded, hoped your anger had already made your face red. You were at a loss for words, completely and utterly embarrassed.

The mixture of emotions compiled a message to your brain for you, and before you had a chance to regret it, you lashed out. Your hand stopped clenching and raised to deliver a well-deserved proper bitch-slap, but Joel caught your wrist. It all happened quickly, and it felt like you were watching on rather than being forced back against the wall, arms suspended against the cool and rough cement in his grasp.

Joel's head cocked, eyes blazing down at you. "You wanna try that again, sweetheart?"

The sudden close proximity made you involuntarily grind your hips forward.

"So that's what all this s'about, huh? You’ve been givin' me that bratty attitude 'cause ya got your panties in a twist?"

"Fuck you!" you snapped, the words seething through your grit teeth, leaving a bad aftertaste on your tongue.

"But that's what you want, innit sweetheart? Goin' around acting like I'm the devil's spawn, but really you just want a good fucking, yeah?"

You hated how he was always right.

Your arms strained in his grasp, writhing to get loose though the heat pooling between your legs protested. You enjoyed having him this close. You could smell him, see him.

"You're so fucking full of yourself, Miller," you snarled but had stopped trying to fight off his grip.

Joel chuckled down at you, tutting: "F’you wanna be full o' me, too, darlin', all you gotta do is ask nicely."

There was no fucking way he was actually offering to fuck you. It had to be a dream. A nightmare. But it wasn't. And he was offering exactly that, you realized as his head tilted. He was dead serious.

You knew it wasn't out of the good of his heart, so he must be wanting this, too. And if he needed it as much as you did, you were going to make him work for it.

You ground your hips into his again, this time very much on purpose.

"Tell me you don't want to bend me over right now, Miller," you leaned forward and whispered in his ear, letting your lips graze the soft flesh of his neck. His cock was hard against your cunt and he didn't do a thing to push you away. "Tell me you haven't just been dying to try out this tight pussy. An old man like you can't have had a proper fuck in ages."

He laughed. "Swallow your pride, sweetheart. You've never even been with a real man before, have ya? Always waltzin' around in your short skirts at the Byson, whoring yourself out for attention from those boys."

"Knew you'd been checking me out," you smirked, the movements of your hips now a consistent grind against him. "But you're right. And those boys can't help, they dunno how to handle me."

"I don't do charities, darlin'. F’you want me to fuck that shitty attitude out of ya, you're gonna have to prove yourself."

This time around, Joel pushed his clothed cock against your pussy and you knew what he wanted.

You wriggled your hands, inching closer to his face but never letting your skin touch. "Kinda difficult to get on my knees when you’re holding me like this, innit?"

Joel let go only to force you down on the ground, but you didn't protest. You had lost all filters, all of your arrogance as you were faced with his cock prodding at the zipper of his jeans.

Looking up as you eagerly undid his belt, you were pleased to see him inhaling deeply, proudly as he looked down on you. You pulled the zipper down, and your breath hitched as his cock saluted. He wasn't wearing underwear.

His cock was thicker than you had imagined, girthier than what you had felt while fingering yourself that night which he had so mockingly reminded you of. Long with a slight curve and a purple mushroom head unscathed. A drop of pre-cum covered the slit and you imagined it was crying for you.

"You gonna put that bratty little mouth to good use or do I gotta do that for you, too?"

Instinctively you glared up at him, giving him a look but it was washed away a second later as he took charge.

Grabbing a fistful of your hair, Joel forced you onto his cock, not giving you a second to wet your lips or spit on it. Harshly pushing you down on his cock, you found that it wasn't needed, there was plenty of saliva in your mouth to lubricate him. A whimper left you when his head hit the back of your mouth, your throat automatically constricting at the sudden intrusion. You felt your cunt mimic the reaction and clenched around nothing.

Joel was heavy in your mouth, the thickness making you worry the back row of your teeth would scrape him. If they did he didn't care, for when you looked up at him through teary eyes he was unconcerned.

He forcefully prodded against your throat, slipping in just enough to push further and you gagged.

Joel inhaled sharply. "S'a tight little throat you got there. Guess you haven't been whoring around as much as I thought," he chuckled, holding your face pressed firmly against him, your nose nuzzled in the patch of curls.

He held you there for a couple of seconds, allowing your throat to get adjusted despite acting seemingly careless about how you felt. A moment later he pulled you off by your hair, and you gasped hoarsely, blinking up at him through the tears slowly blurring your vision.

Hovering over you, Joel cupped your cheeks and lifted you slightly, bending down as he did. For a second you thought he was going to kiss you, but his fingers dug into your face, forcing your mouth open for him and he spat on your tongue, an obscene look on his face.

"Eyes on the price, sweetheart," he chuckled and landed you back on your knees.

With his hand holding you tightly by a makeshift ponytail, Joel pushed his cock back into your mouth and without warning, set a brutal pace sure to give you a headache. As slick gathered between your legs, a migraine was the least of your worries. You snaked a hand between your legs to relieve the tingling strain.

The breaths you were granted came in between the thrusts and you squeezed your eyes shut, feeling dizzy, prompting him to yank at your hair.

"Look at me," he grunted coarsely, voice going straight to your sex and you ground down hard on your hand, gasping for air. Joel admired your puffy lips, smeared with saliva, strings of drool connecting your mouth to the tip of his cock. "You look like a fuckin' mess, sweetheart. This what you been thinkin' about, hm? Been thinking 'bout acting like a little slut f'me, huh?"

His degrading words fueled your fire, both making you want to bite back at him and make him come down your throat. Opting for the latter, you tried to take him back in your mouth, wanting to put your adjusted throat to good use, but he yanked you back. A whimper left your lips and he slapped your cheek, forcing you to look at him.

"F'you know what's good for you, you'll answer when I ask you a question."

Wet and needy, you didn't hesitate. "Yes! Yes, Joel," you cried, one hand on his hip for purchase, the other hid between your legs, fervently toying with your clit. "Wanted you to treat me like a whore! Wa—wanted you to fuck me stupid!"

That's when he noticed your hand between your legs, eagerly seeking out friction. His brows connected in a crease of anger, and he had you on your wobbly legs one moment and hurled you onto a dirty surface the next.

"The fuck you think you're doin', huh? Touching yourself without permission?" Joel growled and for the first time his disappointment got to you.

He held you by your throat and you could feel the calluses in his palm scrape your skin.

"M'sorry—couldn't help myself," you babbled feverishly as he shoved a hand down your undone pants, feeling just what you had been so disrespectful to touch.

A guttural moan escaped him and you could have died just then, knowing you did that to him.

"Christ, sweetheart. You got this wet from chokin' on my cock, huh?" he mused absent-minded and you couldn't decide which you liked more; Joel calling you "sweetheart" or— "such a fuckin' slut.”

You were startled but thankful when he pulled down your jeans in one swift movement, exposing you to the cold air in the warehouse.

He didn't give you a warning before he plunged two fingers into your cunt, curling them against the velvety roof of your wet cave. Clawing onto his shoulder with a gasp of surprise, you instinctively tried to lift yourself and relieve the overwhelmingly intense feeling.

"Where you goin', sweetheart? This not what you wanted?" You desperately wanted to slap the grin off of his face, but he had you completely wrapped around his finger. Literally and figuratively. "Didn't you wanna be used like a little slut, hm?"

"Please," you begged, drawing the word out with a rugged moan and clutching to his shoulders. "Ff—uck!"

He fingered you at an unforgiving pace, three fingers and his palm slapping against your cunt each time. The squelches from your pussy resonated off the bare walls and if you hadn't been so focused on the pain mixing with pleasure, you would have been ashamed Joel was the one making you this wet.

"Joel!" you cried, tugging at the front of his shirt. "Plea-please! Need your cock!"

He choked you with his unoccupied hand, forcing your face inches from his. "Quit whinin' or I'll leave you 'ere," he threatened.

You looked up at him through hooded eyes, unable to comprehend your increasing lust for him from being this close. Joel's breath was hot on your face, breathing his air, you became dizzy from a mix of him and your impending orgasm.

"That's right, sweetheart, cream all o'er my fingers," he beckoned, feeling your contracting walls squeeze his fingers. Your legs were trembling, wanton moans spilling from your lips as Joel pulled an orgasm from you.

You incoherently begged him to fill you up, wanting nothing more than to milk his thick cock, but when he caught sight of your pleading eyes, he applied pressure to your clit instead. It was sore from the heel of his palm having slapped it repeatedly and it made you unable to come down from your high properly.

Your legs spasmed as his torturous fingers brutally skirted across your bundle of nerves. Before you could process what happened, a gush of pleasure sprayed from you.

Your cheeks flushed pink, realizing Joel had just made you squirt. You had never done that before, and you looked at him with an expression of surprise mixed with confusion. He looked proud.

Joel groaned as he stroked his throbbed cock, smearing the precum over the head while his other hand pushed down hard on your belly, holding you just at the edge of the table.

Stammering his name, your attempt at any sort of coherent sentence was foiled as he slid his girthy cock into your cunt.

Your eyes fluttered shut, walls clenching around him. You had never felt so full. "Joel—" you shuddered, gripping his bicep for purchase.

A string of curses left his lips, a crease knitting his brows together in concentration. "Fuckin' hell, sweetheart, s'a tight lil' hole ya got 'ere."

Joel wanted to take a moment just then, revel in the sweet clench of your pussy, catch his breath but he knew you would notice. As much as he had a hidden desire to ruin every other man for you and have you tail him like a lost puppy, he refused to acknowledge how overdue this was.

He didn't give you another second to adjust before he rocked his hips back and slammed his cock back into you. If you thought his fingers hit a spot, his cock fucking destroyed that.

You couldn't even form moans properly as his hips rutted at a bruising pace, expertly molding your cunt to fit him. His face contorted and he grumbled something under his breath, but you didn't care to ponder what as he filled you up. You were still dazed from the previous orgasms and it was like he wouldn't allow you to come down. Your ragged breaths, his grunts, and the wanton sounds of skin slapping filled your head as you soared around on cloud nine.

A large hand snuck under your shirt, the calluses on his palm rough against your skin but you loved the feeling as he squeezed your breast, thumb and index pinching your nipple.

Your knuckles turned pale from clutching down hard on his shoulders, fingernails clawing indents at the exposed skin on his neck and collar.

You hoped the crescents would outlast this moment, that Joel would curse at the sight the next time he looked in a mirror. You hoped he wouldn't be able to get this moment out of his head then, not ever, thinking back to this moment whenever he would see the scars you left on him.

A hiss escaped you and tore the thought of making your mark out of your mind. His deft fingers were rubbing your sore clit once again.

There was determination on his face and animalistic hunger in his dark eyes—he looked as if there was no getting through to him, like he was stuck in a world of his own.

Whether he insisted on drawing orgasm after orgasm out of you for your pleasure or his ego, you did not know. Joel always had something to prove—to himself or the people around him, it was another thing about him you didn't know. In this moment, as he chased every high for you, you didn't care either.

You hated him for making you feel this good. Hated him for making you moan in pleasure, hated him for making your legs shake uncontrollably. You wanted to taunt him, crack a spiteful comment about his age or something, let him know he wasn't doing as well as he thought—but he was. You could lie, but your body would betray you.

There was no snide comment left in you as Joel's hips pistoned into yours. It felt too good. He felt too good.

"S'too much," you gasped and held onto his shoulder, not pushing him away but not pulling him any closer either. "I can't."

The pressure on your clit was too much. The frantic rubbing, the harsh pads of his fingers, mixing pleasure with pain in the most unforgiving way. It hurt too good to want to stop him, though.

Joel surprised you, pressing his forehead against yours. His eyes were heavy, and his jaw was slack, the blissful expression ruined by a smug chuckle.

"You can. C'mon, sweetheart, I believe in you," he tutted like one would to a child riding a bike for the first time.

It spurred something inside you, the degradation. Your hooded, watery eyes caught sight of his plump lip through the blur and without a second thought, you lunged forward and bit it, your teeth piercing the soft skin.

It was the closest thing you would get to feeling them, you knew it, and you weren't about to beg for a taste.

A slap landed on your cheek, sharp and stinging, but he kept his hand there on the side of your face, cupping it in an almost endearing way.

Joel hissed at the taste of blood—surprised but not disgusted. The hand cupping your face in the sweetest way turned to force your mouth open, and you grinned bitterly when he spat on your tongue, tasting his blood.

His thrusts became more frantic, the pad of his thumb sloppily skipping over your clit as he draws your pleasure out. Forcing you to look into his eyes while you come around his cock, Joel's too far gone watching you to notice the way his balls tightened.

"Fuck—"

Slick with your juices Joel slips out of your clenching pussy, jerking his cock a few pumps as he hisses, strings of milky sperm decorating your abdomen.

Your heavy breaths hang in the room like thick syrup, bodies sticky, tension at a maximum as the lust turns back to hatred.

Joel moves from you with a grunt, a sly smirk on his lip as he moves his gaze from the mess on your stomach to your eyes. He leaves you to clean yourself up and tucks his softening cock into his pants, the zipper resounding comically loud through the silence. It reminds you of a secret between children, zipping your lips close as a solemn pledge.

It was over and it would never be brought up again. As you did your best to clean up, get back into your clothes, and comb your fingers through your hair, your eyes were trained on Joel's back—if eyes could kill and all that.

At once, you were back to hating one another. You hoped your nails had dug deep enough into his shoulder, hard enough to leave scars.

[stardustshuji]

. ★⋆. ࿐࿔ mma fighter! rindou is untouchable.

cw: graphic depictions of violence. blood.

rindou doesn’t believe in luck.

luck is for people who rely on chance; success is for those who work for it. it's a belief that's held up his entire life.

at least, until you came along.

in the two years that you've been together, he's yet to lose a single fight. every opponent, no matter how skilled, has ended up tasting the mat by the end of the match— and it’s all because of you.

your unwavering support gives him a sense of focus, a clarity he didn’t know he was missing. with you, there’s no room for doubt. just raw determination, steady resolve, and a fire that fuels him in the ring, making him even more ruthless than before.

bouncing on the balls of his feet, rindou's gaze is sharp as he sizes up his opponent. the guy has some height on him, an advantage he probably thinks he can use to keep rindou at bay.

but rindou can read him like a book: the stiffness in his stance, the subtle hesitation in his footwork, the way his shoulders bunch just a little too much before each movement. he may think he’s slick, but he's broadcasting his intentions before he even acts.

out of habit, his eyes flicker to you in the crowd. you're sitting in the front row, dressed in a little black number that hugs your figure just right, your eyes locked on him as you chew on your bottom lip.

that brief moment of distraction costs him.

his opponent lunges forward, landing a heavy blow to his jaw that rattles his teeth and sends his mouthguard flying. it snaps his head back, and his vision flashes white as the metallic taste of blood hits his tongue.

spitting it out onto the floor, rindou only grins. “alright,” he mutters, wiping crimson from his lips. “my turn.”

rindou surges forward, closing the distance between them in a heartbeat. with a feint to his left, he draws his opponent in and delivers a brutal right hook to his ribs. the guy stumbles, gasping for air, and rindou follows up with a low kick, knocking his balance clean out from under him. the man manages a desperate swing, but it’s clumsy— futile, really— and rindou ducks, slipping beneath the punch with ease.

there’s a rhythm now, a punishing pace that rindou sets as he doles out a series of precise strikes. he opens with a sharp jab to the jaw, one that rocks his opponent’s head back, causing him to lower his guard. it leaves him wide open, and without hesitation, rindou lands a crushing uppercut to his chin to disorient him even further. the guy staggers back, his eyes unfocused, but rindou doesn’t let up.

he presses forward, driving his knee up into his stomach with enough force that he hears a wheeze before the man doubles over, swaying slightly. somehow, he manages to stay standing, and lavender eyes narrow as rindou calculates the end.

planting his feet on the ground, corded muscles ripple beneath inked skin as he pivots his body, swinging his leg up in a roundhouse kick that connects squarely against his opponent's temple. the impact is immediate, a definitive crack that sends his head whipping sideways before he crumples, unconscious before he even hits the mat.

rindou stands over him for a moment, rolling his shoulders back as he spits out another mouthful of blood. he hears the referee blow a whistle, calling the match, and he turns back to the crowd, his gaze landing back on you as he raises his fist in the air.

a smirk tugs at his lips when he sees you jump out of your seat, clapping and hollering along with everyone else. your smile is radiant, brimming with pride and admiration, and that alone makes everything worth it.

“i’ll need a reward for that one, yeah?” he calls out to you, his voice carrying over the cheers of the crowd. your cheeks tint an endearing shade of pink, and his smirk stretches wider as he strides out of the ring. “i’ll be waiting for it in the locker room.”

no, there’s no such thing as luck— but with you by his side, rindou doesn’t need it.

[wynnyfryd]

Trailer park Steve AU part 40

part 1 | part 39 | ao3

They're lying on their backs, Steve's head on Eddie's shoulder, Eddie running absent-minded fingers through Steve's hair. Led Zeppelin plays on low from the radio beside them, and the conversation ebbs and flows in sleepy bursts of disjointed thought. Talking just to talk. Because they like it; because they can.

"...Did you see Wheeler almost eat shit in the paint aisle this morning?"

"We should paint some stars on my ceiling. Make 'em glow in the dark..."

"God, what I would not give for more pizza."

"Who even eats cold pizza?"

Eddie shifts beneath him after a while, sitting up to bounce his legs and get the blood flowing again. With his weight leaned back on his hands, Steve can't help but notice the long line of his torso. Everything on display through the thin undershirt: the smattering of dark ink, the outline of his ribs, the cut of his slim waist. Steve wants to touch him.

"You know," Eddie says, surveying the empty room, the vinyl glinting in the lamp light, "it's really not half bad for a bunch of kids who thought they were gonna be hanging ornaments all day." He knocks his knee against Steve's leg. "I'd say you're well on your way to making this mobile house a mobile home."

Steve snorts at that, and Eddie pinches playfully at his side until the snort turns into a really undignified laugh and Steve rolls in on himself, curling toward Eddie, begging for mercy.

"You want to tell me what brought all this on?" Eddie asks. His voice is quiet and welcoming, eyes sparkling with some gentle offer of reprieve. The first rest stop sign after a hundred mile stretch of empty road.

Steve's mouth works; opens and closes and opens again, like it'll prompt his voice to sound or his brain to figure out the words. He still doesn't know how to explain — the fear, the paranoia, the way this place was starting to cling to him like black mold. "Just..." he shrugs. "Needed it, I guess."

Eddie gives him a long look. Unwavering and piercing; there's more pus in the wound that he's trying to lance, but he doesn't seem interested in drawing blood tonight.

He releases Steve from his gaze and goes back to his casual stretching — rolling his neck, popping his shoulders, shaking out his legs, his ankles, his feet — and then he gasps "Steve!" in a delighted tone that Steve does not care for at all. Usually means he’s about to get teased within an inch of his life.

"Hmm?" Steve lifts his head to look.

Eddie’s wiggling his right foot, drawing attention to the outer edge of his borrowed sock. "Is that a hole I see?"

Steve follows his line of sight, and sure enough, there's the smallest little tear by Eddie's pinky toe. “Oh, fuck off,” Steve rolls his eyes, “you can barely even see that.”

Eddie spreads his toes out wide, making the hole more obvious. "My, my, my,” he tuts, shaking his head with a big, disappointed sigh.

"You're such an asshole,” Steve mutters. Eddie's beaming; Steve flips him off.

"Well congrats, baby boy,” he drawls like a fucking pest, “now you're officially trailer trash."

"Hey!" Steve’s not sure if he likes that. Makes him blush to his ears; makes something sour roll in his gut.

Unfortunately it also kind of makes his dick twitch.

"Oh?" Eddie leers. His eyes dart to Steve's crotch, and then he shifts so he's hovering over Steve with Steve flat on his back, face on fire, pulse kicking hard. A vein throbs in his inner thigh. "Don't worry, Stevie." Eddie bends to nip at his jaw. "I meant it as a compliment."

"How is that a compliment?" Steve wants to sound annoyed. Is annoyed. But Eddie's skimming a light hand up his side, barest pressure that leaves a trail of tingling warmth in its wake, so the words come out more breathy than he intends.

"Because," Eddie whispers. Steve can feel his smile pressed against his skin. Eddie kisses up his jawline until he reaches his ear; mouths at the lobe and sucks it between his teeth, a sharp bite that makes Steve hiss. "All my favorite things are."

Steve bucks under him. "Trash?" he asks, breath catching.

Eddie's tongue traces his ear. "Mhmm."

His hand wanders to the hem of Steve's shirt, worming his fingers underneath, tickling the trail of hair below Steve’s belly button as he explains that all his favorite things are second-hand. Recycled and discarded items he’s restored with loving care.

Steve’s breath goes harsh and ragged, and he tries not to think about how that might apply to him.

Discarded.

Restored.

Favorite.

Maybe even—

He can’t let himself think the word.

—

part 41!

tag list in separate reblogs under '#trailer park steve au taglist' if you'd like to filter that content. if you want to be added tomorrow please comment and let me know (must be over 21; please either verify in the comment or have your age visible on your blog)

[revasserium]

to the lighthouse - Zoro and what guides him home

10. to the lighthouse

zoro; 2,320 words, opla!zoro, the fluffiest of fluff, straw hat!reader, established relationship

summary: you just wanted to buy some apples; now complete with a prequel right here

a/n: aggressively adorable, truly -- i have no excuse for this okay. i'm just so freakishly whipped for opla!zoro pls dont look at at me

zoro has never been great shakes at directions (navigation has always been more nami’s thing, and he knows his place in the world), but he’s never needed a compass to find his way home. once, he might have. once, he would’ve wandered and wondered forever and ever, believing the great unknowns of the world to be his compass rose, the horizon his true north, but not anymore. because you see, he’s grown since then — he’s gotten bigger, stronger, more ruthless, more deadly. but he’s gotten smarter too… if only just by a little bit.

he’s learned since then that home doesn’t have to be a place, that it can just as easily be a person.

or, in his case, that it could be both.

“warn me, the next time you plan on getting kidnapped for ransom, would’ya?”

there’s blood on his headband and blood on his shoes, but he can’t quite keep his voice as gruff as he’d like, even as he hauls you bodily onto the deck of the going merry, scowling as you kick your feet in a feeble attempt to get him to let you go.

“it’s not like i was trying to get kidnapped! i was getting apples from the market!”

“yeah, in broad daylight, in a giant port town where all our faces are plastered across wanted posters! even i could’ve told you that’s a bad idea.”

you yelp as he dumps you unceremoniously onto the kitchen’s large wooden table, mumbling to himself as he beings to rummage through the drawers for a first aide kit, slamming cupboards as he goes.

you fold your arms, unable to stop the grin from tugging at your lips.

“did you�� just call yourself dumb?”

zoro whirls around, color blotching into his cheeks as he glares, “i — f — you know what i mean!”

he whips back around and slams a drawer so hard the handle breaks; he swears even as you start to laugh, wincing and clutching at your stomach, the skin of your side tender and growing more so by the minute.

“o-ow! don’t make me laugh! it hurts!”

“serves you right… stupid… parading around… not paying attention…”

he slams the first aid kit onto the table next to you, roughly swatting your hand out of the way as he gingerly lifts your shirt to inspect the damage.

“i’m fine —”

“you’re not fine, and quit squirming. i’m not chopper so if i fuck up, it’s your fault.”

you press your lips and hold still, hissing as he carefully dabs at a rather large gash between two of your ribs.

“and i wasn’t parading… i mean, my face isn’t on a wanted poster yet so…”

zoro spares you a single look before going back to his work, “yeah. yet.”

you deflate, inching forward slightly to make his job a bit easier as he continues to clean your wound, his touch now so much gentler than anyone might give him credit for. you watch him with soft eyes, trail the tracks of his fingers as he fumbles with the alcohol soaked cotton pad, daubing at the raw red of your skin. you wondered if anyone who hunted him from his picture on a wanted poster would recognize him now, his cheeks flushed, his brows lightly furrowed, his eyes sharp and steady as tried his best not to hurt you.

“there,” he says, his voice short and rough as he presses his palm over a strip of clean gauze, sealing it in place. he pulls back to admire his handiwork, looking as pleased as he might’ve been if he’d just decapitated an entire infantry’s worth of men without drawing a single sword.

you gingerly tug your shirt back down, your skin feeling much warmer at the places where he’d touched, his palm-print burning like a brand along the expanse of your ribs. you gulp and clear your throat.

“sorry… i — i didn’t mean to.”

“save it,” and then, when you wince at his tone, zoro sighs, scratching at the back of his neck as he leans up against the table next to you, “i know you didn’t. i was just…”

and it’s his turn to pause, to clear his throat and look away.

“sanji… sanji wanted apples for the curry he’s making tonight,” you say, kicking your feet, your eyes trained on the tips of your shoes as they swing up and down in succession — right, left, right, left, right —

“apples in curry? ew.”

“he said they’re the secret ingredient! and — apparently, the better the apples, the better the curry, and it’s — well, it’s fall so they’re in season right now, and nami said this island is known for their apple orchards so i thought — maybe if i went to the market on the first day i’d be able to snag the best ones —”

he cuts you off with a kiss, swallowing passed your surprised squeak before your eyes flutter shut, your lashes tickling his cheeks like moth wings. you can almost taste his satisfied smirk when your fingers curl into the front of his shirt to tug him closer.

“you’re rambling… you only do that when you’re nervous.”

you bite your lip but zoro presses his thumb to your chin, tilting your head up till he meets your eyes.

“why’re you nervous?”

“i — i’m not —”

“hm. you’ve always been a shit liar.”

you try to tug your head away from him but his grip is strong, his other hand casually resting below your waist, his fingers pressing into the soft of your hips, holding you in place.

“it’s… nothing…” but he’s right. you have always been a terrible liar, even worse to the people who know you. and god does zoro know you.

zoro’s grin goes wolfish as he cocks his head, eyeing you as a hunter might his prey, “pretty little liar though… i gotta say,” he drags his thumb along the bottom of your lip, pushing against the plush of your mouth, his eyes going dark as he watches the way your breath hitches.

“but even pretty little liars deserve to be punished, don’t they?” he leans in, breath hot by your ear, his words chasing shivers up and down your spine. you fight back a whimper, knowing that if he were truly to pin you there, there’d be nothing you could do to escape him.

“unless… you wanna tell me the truth?”

you let out a shuddering breath before sighing.

“w-we — we wanted to — to throw you a birthday party.”

zoro pauses, his darkened gaze going wide for a second before he pulls back, visibly confused.

“b…birthday? uh — that’s not till november —”

“i know but… who knows if we’ll be docked by then, and… your favorite season is autumn so…” you shrug, voice small even as you try to duck and hide the blush rushing up into your cheeks.

“so… you went to get apples… for my not-birthday birthday dinner?”

“i mean — your favorite food is rice and… curry goes the best with rice, right?”

zoro lets out a breathy laugh, his hand falling to press against your other hip. but before he can say anything else, sanji’s voice echoes in from just beyond the door before it swings open to reveal sanji, with his arms full of groceries and usopp close behind him, nearly running into sanji’s back as he comes to an abrupt stop at the sight before him.

“darling, did you manage to get those apples? y’know if we’re really gonna make this curry, it’ll have to stew for a good three or so hours — oh — my apologies… was i interrupting something? decide to give the lucky man an amuse bouche before his main course tonight, yeah?”

you groan and try to tug away but zoro merely quirks an eyebrow, seemingly unphased.

“why’re you putting apples into perfectly good curry?”

at this, sanji rolls his eyes and hoists the groceries on to the kitchen table next to you, casting zoro a scathing look.

“look man, i don’t question your sword-swinging and you don’t question my cooking, alright? now, if you’re really thirsting to know — the sweetness in the apples gives texture to the curry as it stews, and that’s what makes it so damn delicious when you pair it with the rice, got it?”

zoro scoffs, his hands still planted firmly on either side of your hips even as sanji starts to pull out all the varied ingredients for the meal. behind him, usopp is juggling an impressive number of liquor bottles as he tries to slot them into the drinks rack.

“yeah. we’ll see,” and with a single arm, zoro hoists you from the table and sets you down on the ground next to him, guiding you from the kitchens even as sanji shoots you a salacious wink.

“you’ll be singin’ to a different tune when you’ve had your first taste, moss-head!”

zoro doesn’t grace that with a response, steering you out of the kitchens before yelling for usopp to toss him a bottle of something good over his shoulder.

later that night, when the party is in full swing, he finds you by the carved white railings at the darkened head of the ship, eyes trained on the far horizon. behind you both, luffy is standing on a barrel, belting some old drinking song while nami laughs and sanji swings chopper in a strange, uncoordinated two-step.

“hey,” he says, bumping your shoulder with his.

“oh! hey…” you cast him a smile as he takes another swig from his nearly empty glass.

“why aren’t you —” he jerks his head back towards the swinging, dancing, laughing crew.

you bite back a smile, shrugging, “i was just… thinking.”

“oh. well, that’s not good.”

you slam your shoulder into his but he barely moves, chuckling.

“today… when you saved me from those kidnappers… how’dyou know where to find me?”

you turn to look at him, and for a second, the question almost catches him off guard. he stares at you, as if unsure himself how to answer before he grins, his eyes slipping from you out towards the darkness beyond as behind you both, sanji starts in on a showtune in a warbled language neither of you can understand.

“actually, ‘m not sure… i just… had a feeling.”

you blink, “you… had a feeling?”

“yeah like… y’know when uh — turtles and stuff always know how to get back to the beach where they were born?”

your eyebrows slowly migrate up your forehead this words as you stare at him, dumbstruck.

“zoro… you’ve gotten lost on a straight road before —”

“shut up! it’s not — it’s different though… i dunno how to explain it, but i just… i just knew. something — something wasn’t right and i knew i had to find you.”

and even in the relative darkness, you can see the color seeping into his cheeks. you let yourself laugh, glancing down at the half-finished drink in your own hands.

“i’ll… i’ll always find you.”

you look up at his words, his voice so much softer than you’re used to, the words so much more tender. you look up to find him watching you, his gaze soft and warm, sweet and molten.

“even if it takes me forever… i’ll… i’ll always find my way to you.”

and you wonder if it’s the alcohol, you wonder if it’s the darkness gifted by the moonless night, the prickling light of a hundred thousand stars winking above in the velvet sky.

you nod, raising your glass in quiet acceptance of his words, of this solemn vow that you know he’d never make without the intention of honoring it until time itself has breathed its last.

you clink your glass against his.

“happy birthday.”

zoro laughs, shaking his head, “can’t believe you’re making me celebrate two months early.”

“we can throw another party when its your actual birthday.”

“yeah — just promise me you won’t get kidnapped again.”

you laugh, shaking your head, “as long as you promise that if i do… you’ll be there to find me.”

zoro raises his glass to his lips, “i’ll drink to that.”

you toss your own drink back, feel the burn of it work it’s way down your throat, the fire settling in the pit of your stomach as zoro tugs you by the hand back to the heart of the party, where nami screams and throws her arms round you, pulling you into a suffocating hug and sanji nearly trips over trying to refill your glass.

zoro grins, laughing as luffy wobbles and nearly smashes into the main mast. he lets sanji refill his drink; he lets luffy pull him into a unwilling sea shanty, everyone swaying left and right with the uneven rhythm of the drowsy sea.

and he realizes, not for the first time, though it still sometimes comes as a surprise — that there’s no place he’d rather be. because you see, for zoro home is both a place and a person — the place is here with his crew around him, the ocean beneath them, the world sprawled out like a map at their feet.

and the person… he looks up across the raucous merry-making to catch your eye, to catch a breath of your bright, bell-like laughter — he’s never been more sure of anything else in his entire life that the person… is you.

opla!zoro requests r open LOL (literally idk if i will write anyone else but him at this point but EY if u got a req....)

[muzanswaifu]

Bittersweet

Demon! Sanemi x Fem! Reader

18+

Request: "I have been waiting to read something like this for so long. Demon Sanemi craving blood because fem!reader is on her period, so yk he eats her out without mercy❤️"

Demon Sanemi is so mean I love hiiiim :3 Need me a man who would eat me out on my period 😒 Jk jk that shit gotta taste nastyyyyyyy

NSFW Warnings: Yandere, Non-con, Smut, Sexism, Kidnapping, Forced Oral Sex, Cunnilingus, Menstruation, Blood Kink, Forced Orgasm, Kinda Gross ngl

-

-

-

The rhythmic pitter-patter of feet echoes through the green, a slow churn of water thrumming with the flow of the current. Even the thick noise of crickets and wind couldn't drown out the hint of life found deep in the brush, the figurative curl of a finger beaconing him to draw closer, to close the union of rarity.

He took a breath. A deep one. Taking in the pungent scent of weak males. And a female.

Shinazugawa could nearly taste the delectable meat already, the flavor settling on his tongue and seducing his taste buds. Drool nearly threatened his mouth, but he withheld himself. He wasn't an animal. Not technically, anyway.

But he might as well be. Only an animal could hunt as he did, track as he did, kill as he did. But a beast was not nearly as precise as he was, not leaving even a scrap of evidence in his wake. Only the crime scene would be found, a gorey scene of bone and torn flesh, remnants of his well-earned meal. But only the males would wither...

As for the female -

Oh gods, did just the thought of it make him salivate, his very bones trembling with need. Her scent alone made him feel weak with hunger, his tongue curling with horrid intent. The fragrance was familiar to him, a vague memory of his past existence of rare blood, the same unique trait only serving as a grand pillar toward his success as a demon. Her blood ran the same, her veins full of the powerful elixir that his kind would quite literally kill each other for. But he had no need for such rivalry.

The path the cattle strode upon was a hidden one, veiled by a plentiful layer of wisteria about fifty feet aways on either side of the trail. The effort wasn’t so useless, he supposed. Perhaps it served useful against weaker demons of no rank, the fiends not yet powerful enough to develop some resistance to it. But his godly build was stronger, the frail flower only giving his skin a lingering sting. His hunger far outweighed it.

He had long stalked his prize. The demon had patience in these rare situations, biding his time for the perfect opportunity to make his efforts all the more worth it. It had been several moons ago that he’d first stumbled upon her delivery across these lands, his keen eye catching the lingering dust kicked up by the horses that pulled her carriage. Even back then, the chance had been perfect. The men were unknowing, all walls of defense down as the car came to a halt, surely one of exhaustion. Shinazugawa drew closer, only a breath away from finally feasting when his vision was obscured by a heavenly vision.

A small thing she was, her skirts nearly catching under her feet as she gracefully stepped down from her traveling abode. The moonlight shimmered brilliantly off her glazed skin as she bent her delicate neck back, stretching out the aching tightness trapped there. Her (h/c) hair was frizzy across the outline, the static from the summer heat pulling at the threads and giving them a coiled curl. His maw fell open with his amazement.

He’d come across several humans of marechi blood in his infinite lifetime, and most, if not all, were nothing much to look at, quite ugly in his opinion. They all bore the same simplicity and naïveté, their only unique trait being their delectable composition that gave them their sole purpose of feasting. But she was so drastically different.

Everything about this female sang rarity, her natural features reminiscent of that of ancient goddesses that mortal men could only wish to touch. But here she was. Within an arm’s reach, he could have her, do with her what he wished. He was nearly disgusted with himself, being far more captivated with his food than he should’ve been. Sparing her of death would’ve been such a waste of opportunity, one that even those lower than him wouldn’t have been so idiotic as to squander. Yet, his own self-doubt swallowed him as he drew back into the dark wood, letting her little toy soldiers bring her back to the safety of the nearing daylight.

He’d gorged himself after that, consuming soul after soul at a nearby village in an attempt to quench his own frustration and need. There weren’t many options to consider. He couldn’t spare the thing entirely, he wasn’t that fucking stupid, but he didn’t very much want her dead either. Turning her definitely wasn’t an option, women just didn’t have as much potential as demons, and he had his own personal beliefs that women shouldn’t dirty their hands. But dear gods, her scent, her smell alone probably called upon hundreds of demons to her location daily, perhaps it would’ve been a mercy to take the female’s life.

Fuck.

He hated himself for how indecisive he was. Not once in his entire demonhood had he been at such a crossroad of hesitance. There had to be another option that held the best of both worlds, yes? Shinazugawa just hadn’t come across it yet.

But fate gave him a hint as he snatched up the severed half of a female he’d killed, her guts spilling into his lap as he gnawed on her fat ankle. His daggered eyes trailed up her cold thigh, lining the dark trail of blood that seeped from under her skirt. A small confusion fell over him as he mulled over the strange placement. His blade’s cut through her navel had been clean, her blood pooling into the muddy grass and not at all staining much of her clothing. Yet the chain of red kept its existence, running into the conjunction of her thighs. Cursing his own curiosity, Sanemi swept the pesky material aside, only to be met with the brilliance of a cruel idea.

It hadn’t been hard at all to follow along the woman’s usual route of travel again, her men taking the same path,  ignorant of its dangerous discovery. Yet the timing was unfortunately off, her smell still sickeningly sweet and clean rather than bitter and dirty. He’d have to wait for next time. And the next. And the next. He’d nearly given up hope entirely until the fated night his lungs were filled with the metallic scent that had his belly tensing with primal famine. Just the mere aroma of ichor had drool gathering in his jowls, his fists clenching with need. It only grew thicker as her quaint carriage drew near, the clicking wheels singing a dreadful tune with each snap against the road. Sanemi could already taste the woman on his tongue, her savory flesh plump and tender between his teeth… god, he was going to lose it.

He nearly did as she stepped from her carriage in the same manner as their first meeting, her hair knit in tight braids across her crown, framing her delicate features. She was dressed more eloquently this time, Her gown long and loose yet hugging her figure with a gentle tightness. He mused to himself that perhaps she was on her way to some formal event to maintain appearances, maybe even earn herself a husband. Yet the notion of such a possibility irked him all the same. He’d never felt a hunger like this before, if one could even call it that. This felt so much more significant, crucial even, as if his very life depended on it. And maybe it did, since he would most definitely not let himself live if he couldn’t get even a single taste of her blood. Her body was his to take.

It took him no time at all to do away with the weaklings, the men’s bodies falling one after the other into the gravel, making a sad splash as their vitals funneled out. The man ogling at her backside was the first to go, his head severed the instant his eyeline met the wide curve of her dress, dropping to the ground with a thud and rolling to a leisure stop to her heel. When the woman finally turned from her distraction of the ominous wood, she was met with pure, bloody isolation.

Her horrified scream echoed loud, her hands clawing at her own face as she looked upon the gory scene of blood and guts that surrounded her. Shinazugawa was almost impressed at her reaction speed as she quickly turned foot and bolted, running through the thick bush despite her frailty. He couldn’t help but snicker, so enamored by her utter foolishness of trying to escape. If the men protecting her couldn’t even survive, what made her think she was the exception?

“God, you’re fucking stupid, ha!” he cackled, leaping about the tree-line, nipping at her backside but giving her just the right amount of space to let her hope she could get away.

She was not at all athletic, her stamina quickly dwindling as her frail figure fought with itself to continue on. Her chest burned, her feet hurt, her will to keep moving dwindling by the second and feeding into the persuasive idea of giving up. Yet the monster snatched her before she could choose, slamming her into the soft, melted ground and caking her elegance in earth. His hand wrapped around her pretty neck firmly, another snaking down her bodice and tearing open the gold buttons of her dress. His tongue swept across his lip as he unwrapped her, taking his sweet time to unveil every inch of her pristine flesh to his ravenous eye, her little fists pounding at his chest as she sobbed and screamed for help.

“Shut it,” Sanemi growled lowly, surprised to see her actually listen, her lip wobbling and eyes flooding as she silenced herself. He could still hear her pathetic whimpers as he stripped her, her small frame shaking as he brushed down her stomach, removing the lacy undergarments that hid her delicate body from his sight. He could see her plush intimacy coming into view from beneath her coverings, her curved hips thickening her figure, her thighs trembling as they tried desperately to hide themselves. But there was nothing that could be done about that now as she lied there, helpless, powerless, weak.

He opened his mouth wide, exposing sharp canines and letting his hot breath wash over her firm abdomen as her tears began anew and wept down her flushed cheeks. The demon was pleased, relishing in her surrender and submission as he gently ran his tongue down her navel, sampling his meal and savoring the girl's pitiful sobs. He loved it when humans cried, when they begged and pleaded for their lives like the weaklings they were, it made things so much more exciting.

His tongue flicked out over her pelvis, gliding over the pudge over her sex as he breathed in the scent of her musk, tainted with ovulation. Sanemi could already feel the saliva gathering in a jowls as he began to peel down her underwear, a cotton cloth clinging to the crotch of it. Her breath stuttered.

"N-no, no, please! Please... please!" she cried out, shaking hard and grasping at her own face, nearly clawing her eyes out with panic. But she knew better than to try to fight him off again, clearly more afraid of what he would do then than what he was currently doing. He couldn't help but grin against her supple flesh, his edged teeth nicking her thigh. She jerked at the sudden pain and the warm sensation of blood trickling down her leg, soaking into the dirt.

"P-Please, p-p-please don't... h-hurt me," her words shook with her exterior, her sniffling likely a strong persuasion to those who had a heart. He obviously didn't but was still bothered by her pestering fear of being eaten. "If I was going to eat you, don't you think I would have done it already?" he groaned sarcastically.. The human slowly removed her fingers to peak down at him, her eyes red and welled with tears, lip trembling. He laughed.

"I mean come on, you think I'd let you bitch and moan this long just to kill you later? If I wanted you dead, you'd be dead. Quit fucking crying," he hissed.

She sniffled again. "B-but -"

"Zip it."

Her mouth snapped shut, quickly obeying before her brain could even comprehend him.

Sanemi growled. "Talk again and you get to join those fuckers back there." He nodded his head back to the direction of her abandoned carriage and dead guards. His claws dug into her thighs, pulling them to spread wider to encompass his presence. "The sooner you let me take what I want, the sooner I let you go. But I don't deal with brats. You either listen or you don't, 's up to you bitch."

He wasn't sure how he expected her to react, but it definitely wasn't for her to spread herself wider, without any instruction. It was almost touching how quickly she gave in, not even needing a moment to think it over before she opened herself up for him to do as he pleased. If he didn't know any better, he'd think she were eager for it.

His head fell down to her core again, his fangs pricking the surface of her skin yet again, drawing forth a shallow line of blood as he slid them down her inner thighs, his eyes locked on her frightened yet curious gaze. She shivered at the sharpness of his touch, her legs trembling as he moved further south, trying to appease his hungered excitement. He resumed pulling down her panties, reveling in the aroma of moon blood that filled his senses as he took away all obstruction. It was beautiful. The smell of blood. The sight of red dripping from her puffy lips. He could only imagine the taste, so eager in his imagination of its excellence. He'd never tasted pure ovulation blood before, never even thought of it actually. It would be stupid to use just his tongue when he could devour with his teeth in an instant and move on to the next meal. But this was a different situation entirely. This woman could satiate him for years, decades even, with marechi blood. It didn't hurt that she was a hot piece of ass either. If he didn't get himself together soon, he might end up fucking his food as well.

The woman's eyes lingered on his leisure movements, the drawl of his dangerous eyes along her sex as he studied the meal. Embarrassment quickly rose in her chest as she realized his intentions, praying that he’d move on with whatever he was trying to do so her dignity could recover. Although, she supposed letting him taste her menstrual blood was better than getting eaten alive... but hardly.

The demon felt her pulse quicken in his grasp, her breathing growing faster and her patience dwindling as she began to quiver again. He didn't blame her though, not in the slightest. But he had every right to  such a rare female, he deserved everything. And if the needs of others were sacrificed, so be it. He knew he wouldn't be able to resist her for too long. He was ravenous.

And he was horny.

He smiled as his head dipped down, his tongue flicking out to smooth against her swollen clitoris, barely brushing the top as he inhaled the fragrance of her blood. Her legs trembled, her muscles tensing as her hips buckled in response, shocked with the sudden feeling of sensitivity. She had to bite her lip to silence her noise of surprise. He chuckled as he teased her, dragging his tongue from one side to the other, teasing her wet folds and leaving behind a thin trail of saliva. He didn't really care for her pleasure at the moment, but he was curious of her response to it. Dinner and a show. That was fine by him.

She bit her lip harder, her thighs flexing to keep from touching him. Sanemi was excited at her reaction, watching her face contort with each and every careless stroke of his tongue, her hips subconsciously rising to feed herself into his awaiting mouth. A few times, she almost grabbed for him, but her arms were still pinned to her side by her own strong will to survive. He liked that, enjoyed her struggle as he continued to lick her up and down, her clit becoming more sensitive with each and every pass. Her blood was intoxicating, his head already growing dizzy as he drank her from the source. He thought it would be difficult to keep himself from biting down but the thought never even grazed his mind as he continued giving sloppy licks and sucks to her weeping heat. She was so tasty, so sweet, so ripe. It seemed like she would never stop bleeding as his tongue was eternally blessed with a fresh coat of red. He wondered for a moment if it was possible to drain her of it all in one night.

He growled, his head lowering down to her opening and his tongue falling out again as she whimpered in anticipation, eyes closed tight. She felt like she was losing her mind with every pass of his ravenous tongue. Her head was so foggy and light, her pussy so warm, she couldn't stop herself from letting out small noises of pleasure as he kept feasting upon her. It took every ounce of her being not to wrap her legs around his head and trap him into her center, forcing him to cease his cruel teasings. What little was left of her fear only heightened the experience, giving her a blissful taste of sin that she'd never indulged before, the sense of danger giving her such a rush.

Her ichor only grew sweeter on his tongue by the second, her slick diluting her blood in heavier batches that gave him more a taste of lust than power. He focused on her hole then, realizing that nipping at her clit certainly wasn't helping the situation. Yet, her pleasure rose none-the-less. His tongue worked hard, dashing inside of her, licking up every drop of liquor, drinking it down as if it were a fine wine. It was nearly too good to be true, this level of strength he felt. He looked down at the girl, his eyes burning into her as he watched her squirm and grip the earth. She was so delicious.

But he needed more.

His tongue pumped into her again and again, dipping as far as it could reach before retreating to her entrance to lick up anything that had escaped him. She shuddered, her hips subtly grinding on his face to chase her nearing end. It continued building in her belly, sending bolts of electricity up her spine and warming her insides. She couldn't even feel the pain of her cramps anymore.

Sanemi sipped at her wetness more vigorously, his tongue lapping at her like a dog, desperate for more of his meal. He slowed only for a moment as the woman gave a small cry, her hips and thighs quaking harshly and tensing in his palms. He wasn't even angry when her juices sprayed him, drenching his lower face and dripping down his lips. If anything he was amused, only a human could come from such little care. Yet, he stopped, her cunt hardly even bleeding anymore being so wet with arousal and relief. What was the point of pleasing her when he gained nothing in return.

He rose from his position on the ground, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as his eyes raked down her sloppy appearance, certainly not that of a noblewoman. Her backside was caked with mud, her hair messy and matted, her face red and mouth leaking with drool. She nearly looked peaceful as she let out gentle pants, still softly shaking from such a strong orgasm. He rolled his eyes.

"Get up," he commanded, uncaring of her condition. "I don't have all fucking night."

The woman only rose when his growls became violent, her movements awkward and her head still in the clouds. She still attempted to cover herself, tucking an arm over her breasts and cupping her sex with another.

"I'm only going to explain this once so I suggest you pay attention-" he began, her eyes quickly lighting up with fright, "You are going to come back to this path every month during your menses. You will come alone. No guards. No friends. No nobody. Understand?"

She squirmed nervously in her footing, her fear beginning to crest again. "B-but I-I won’t be a-allowed to travel for n-no r-r-reason..." she stuttered.

"Not my problem."

"A-and how would I come back without anyone to take-"

"Not. My. Problem." he hissed meanly, making her cower away.

He stepped forward to her, towering over her little form. "I'm not here to negotiate. I'm just telling you what you're going to do. I don't give a fuck how you're gonna do it, but if you know what's good for you, you'll obey. You want anyone else dead because of you?" he sneered.

Her lip quivered and tears glazed in her eyes. "N-no."

Sanemi chuckled, looking down at her and pressing a strong hand over her lower belly and brushing away her small hands, dangerously close to her privates that were still glazed with his saliva.

"This is mine," he stated, passing two fingers between her puffy cunt lips, "Give it to anyone else and I'll kill them and make you watch. I'll make it slow too. You want that?" She violently shook her head, nearly on the cusp of pissing herself from the terror of such a suggestion.

He hummed with his approval of her response, giving her another once over with his eyes and a quick squeeze of her breast before backing away into the night, undisturbed with how on earth she was going to get back home. It would've been any second that he could lose control of himself and pounce, a desperate need growing in pants to satiate himself. He'd have to establish that as another rule - no fucking when she was edible. Maybe he'd pay her another visit later when her period was over, at her estate perhaps, just to take away her innocence and test out how useful she was to him. He could only imagine how pathetic she would look speared on his cock with nowhere else to go, but that would be for another night, he couldn't forget her main purpose.

And he couldn't wait to get a taste of that again.

-

@acehyacinth

@chaik1

@tomiokas-lunchbox

@walkingtravesty97

@keimuras

@akazaapologist

@prostheticmind

@doumakiss

@uchihabucketlist

@tired-writer04

@magoliaomega

@bishishbored

@animeblog123

@sparklyphantom

@vividelreyy

@ledafox

@that-bih

-

-

[gomzdrawfr]

Bear with me here I am going to word vomit of an AU I thought of (and I literally just woke up) Idk if I have the time to write, draw or even animate this bUT

A ghostprice au where Price goes blind

Here’s a scene I had in my head, imagine a blackout panel, with a typewriting sound effect in the back that reads:

Patient Information: Johnathan Price, birth date, weight, height, number, address (something along those lines which are meant to hint this is a beginning of a medical record)

and then white blurry speech bubbles appearing from left and right

“What?”

You voiced out, or rather, Price voiced out (you are in Price’s POV)

All the speech bubbles seized, and for a moment it’s just darkness and much quieter whispers

“…Laswell?”

“John, you’re up, easy now”

He hears her from his left, but still there’s total darkness, and he furrows his brows, hands slowly reaching up to pat his face, or scratch it— there’s nothing on his skin, so he’s not being blindfolded, and there’s no sac or bag covering his head— but there is layers of something covering his eyes that he tries to pull off, managing to peek through a bit, he thinks he’s opening his eyes but—

Still black

“…?”

And then we cut to a shot of Ghost’s face, eyes wide with realization that Price can’t see anymore.

The last panel reads:

“Diagnosis: Traumatic Optic Neuropathy” (aka vision loss”

- end of scene

More rambles:

Thinking about maybe from a mission an IED went off before anyone could react— well technically Price reacted first by pulling Ghost away, which resulted in direct exposure to the blast, followed by a concussion

Ghost immediately got on his feet and dragged Price away while also making sure all units were still available, he looks down and he sees laceration and red

Well okay I haven’t figure out the clinical part but Im thinking maybe some blood pools around the corner of Price’s eyes (if, say, the laceration cut across his eyelids), it wouldn’t be as dramatic to the point where there’s blood trickling down his eyes per see cuz Idk if I plan to make the shrapnel penetrate into the cornea (in this case it would be extremely severe cause of trauma, I shall have some mercy on him)

Maybe amongst the panic he saw how Price’s left eye slowly turned red (internal bleeding) and all his alarms went off and quickly get medical on it

Of course he was praying that it wasn’t as serious, maybe it was superficial and maybe his eyes were playing tricks on him cuz it was dark and the hallway had red lamp all over

Also i just realized this is prob quite inaccurately portrayed bcuz the bandages that covers the eyes are usually tightly sealed, and that his action of ripping them off is prrrobbaaably not good since infections and increasing the pressure around his eyes are just going to make this worse (like reopening sutures or whatnot) but i think it could work (shhh ✨fiction science✨)

But nope, Price is blind, and that automatically puts him unfit for service and Ghost knows that this isn’t going to go well for the man

We always joked around saying Price is old but imagine if he’s mid 30s, prime in his years and definitely still had a lot of kick in him— only to be forcefully ripped away from it

The devastation, the angst, the anger, the unfairness of it all, the never ending cycle of guilt from both Ghost and Price

DO U FEEL IT?!

Anyways *ah hem* if you’ve read this far and would be interested to develop this yourself whether with fic or art go ahead! I sure as hell won’t be able to bring out the sheer desperation and agony from this sort of au or story so yeah XD

[officialdaydreamer00]

[BUSTS DOWN THE DOOR]

SUP BESTIE IM HERE TO CONTRIBUTE SOME PSYCHOLOGICAL WAREFARE-

You. know em! You love em! Itssssss---- it's idia I'm requesting idia. I would like an x "biter". We all know bro can't handle kisses in public so what if we straight up just fucking bite his arm instead?

Also part 3 of the thing you know what i mean

i am crying and kicking my feet at the same time this is ur fault

reader is not yuu, reader is gender neutral, mentions of blood

man will fucking screech at you the first time you bite him

why did you bite him????? what'd you do that for????

will flinch every time your teeth meet his skin. you don't even need to bite for him to jolt. dramatic ass.

eventually, he gets used to it. still flinches a bit when you bite him.

biting him in public? oh that's a different story.

his systems will malfunction and his soul will evaporate instantly.

and now you have a colossal sized body to drag back to ignihyde.

in the confines of his room however, he's gonna be plotting his revenge on you.

those shark teeth aren't just for show, bestie. his bites will indent your skin, some are hard enough to draw blood (those are usually accidents)

likes gnawing on your shoulders to focus on his gaming. this sometimes leads to him biting too hard, as mentioned above.

in conclusion: you bite him in public, he bites you in private.

taglist🏷️ @azulashengrottospiano @aqua-beam @dove-da-birb @siren-serenity @twistwonderlanddevotee @cookiesandbiscuits @cave-of-jade @miniminnieum @xen-blank @cheezy-moon @axvwriter @mermaidfanficlibrary

reblogs are very appreciated!!

[cozage]

Hi it's me again 👀 I absolutely love your writing of my request last time ❤❤❤❤❤ I'd like to send another request to you !!! You can continue writing my last request with other OP characters that you like or you can take this angst request: OP characters react to being forgotten (permanently or not) by their s/o after a brutal battle with the enemies?

A/N: You have once again cursed my ability to sleep. Oh, the ANGST!!! I LIVEEEEEE for it. I only did three characters,but I will DEFINITELY do this again with other characters, so if there was someone in particular you want to see, let me know friend (or anyone else!) :) 

Characters: GN! reader x Zoro, Luffy, Law

Cw: angst, blood, fighting, memory loss

Total word count: 2.5k

Forgotten

Zoro

You grip your weapon as he approaches, cautious of the stranger approaching you. You’re in a vulnerable position, sitting back against the rocks you just crashed into, and your ears are ringing.

“You okay?” he calls out, looking at you in a concerned manner. You pull your weapon out and take as much of a defensive stance as you can. 

“Stay back!” You scream at him. He looks strong, but with some luck you’ll be able to overpower him. 

Zoro pauses for a moment, full of confusion at your sudden hostility. At first he thinks you see something he’s missing, and he scans the vicinity for any kind of trap. He draws his weapon as he approaches you, and you stand to your feet to try and get a better attack point. 

“Hey, what are you-Sit down woman!” The moss-haired man screams at you, voice full of irritation.

You stand, leaning against the rocks for support. “What? So it’s easier for you to kill me? Like hell!”

“Why the hell would I kill you?!? Sit DOWN!” He’s closed the distance between you two, and you stab at him. You almost catch him off guard, but he dodges and easily disarms you. “Would you cut it out?! I know you don’t like help, but you need it right now!”

“Get off of me, you brute!” You’re kicking and punching him, but he just throws you over his shoulder and starts carrying you away, ignoring your punches, desperate to find Chopper. 

--

Chopper delivers the news. Memory loss. It’s not complete, you remember the Strawhats, the Sunny, a few crew members. But you’ve forgotten Zoro. Not just the two of you being together, but you’ve forgotten him completely. 

Zoro handles suffering silently. He locks himself in the crows nest, training all day. If he had been stronger, faster, this wouldn’t have happened. He blames himself a lot.

He tells everyone not to mention your all's history to you. He doesn’t want to make you uncomfortable, and he doesn’t expect you to feel that way about him again. He knew it was a miracle for you to fall in love with him once, he knows he won’t be so lucky a second time. 

It's painful for him to even look at you. Everyone has explained to you that he’s a member of the Sunny, so you trust him now. But everytime he sees you, all he can see is the hatred in your eyes on that day in the battlefield. Even when he gets past that, your eyes look at him with no emotion, vacant where they used to be full of love. 

You thought he hated you based on his behavior. When you asked Nami about it, she finally caved and told you about your past with Zoro. Everyone hates to see the two of you so distant, and Nami knows he won’t ever make the first move. 

You take him up some tangerine water one day while he's working out. You’re not sure why, but you do. 

His mouth drops open when he sees your delivery, and he runs to you and grabs you without thinking. “You remember?”

You don’t, and your face tells him. He lets go of you immediately, and his cheeks turn pink. He mutters an apology, turning away from you quickly. 

“I’ll remember one day,” you tell him quietly as you exit. “Or we’ll just have to make new memories.”

Luffy

The rescue mission to retrieve you had been a little too easy. Everyone was skeptical, but Luffy was over the moon with joy. The universe just wanted the two of you together. That's why you were here now, back with your family. You were unconscious, but Chopper reported that you should wake up soon.

Nami, Ussop, and Franky had wanted to strap you down as you woke up, just to make sure everyone remained safe, but Luffy refused. 

Your eyes fluttered open, and the first thing you saw was Monkey D. Luffy’s stupid grin. Your arm pulled back and sprang forward to punch him, but steel swords blocked your path before you could connect with the pirate’s face. 

Luffy pushed Zoro out of the way, not realizing what you had attempted to do. “Hey, Zoro! Don’t hurt her!” You took the opportunity to swing again, this time making contact with the captain’s face. 

Ussop and Franky were on you in an instant, vines and cords wrapping around your body to restrain you. “You scum pirate!” You shrieked, eyes wide with rage. “Let me go!”

Chopper sedated you, and ran tests to see what was happening. You were perfectly healthy, besides obvious memory loss/alteration. The crew was happy you were physically okay, at least.

Luffy sat by your side while you slept, combing your hair with his fingers. He whispered all the adventures you went on, hoping they would jog your memory unconsciously. But when you woke up, you tried to attack him again, and this time the crew had to put restraints on you to keep you tied to the bed. Luffy just stood back in horror, watching everyone else take action. He was frozen in disbelief, and he wanted to desperately wake up from this nightmare scenario. 

You had to be heavily sedated for several days before you finally stayed calm enough for a conversation. You would talk to anyone but Luffy, who stood in the corner of the room, just staring at the ground. He couldn’t bring himself to leave, but it hurt his heart so much to stay. It was one of the longest times the crew went without seeing him smile. 

The Strawhat crew deduced that the Marines had used some kind of devil fruit power to alter your memory. It seemed love was replaced with hate; the more you loved a person, the more you hated them now. All of your adventures were replaced with Marine ideology. You didn’t want to believe them, but there was a small portion of your mind that could see they were telling the truth. 

--

Luffy is a man of action, and he immediately wants to solve this problem. He’s already trying to get Nami to reroute to the Navy headquarters, ready to smash any person who gets in the way. 

The crew talks some sense into him, at least a little bit. They don’t know who did this to you or where that person is now. Time for smashing can come later, but they need information before they go on a blind rampage and someone else ends up getting hurt. 

After everyone leaves the room, he’s the only one that remains in the room. His face is darkened, full of pain. 

“You really don’t remember us?” He refuses to look at you while he asks the question. His hands are balled into fists, and his body is rigid and tight. “You don’t remember me?”

Oh I know you. I despise you. But you can't bring yourself to tell him what you’re thinking. He looks so broken over your reactions to him, and you know in your gut that he’s important to you. “Tell me the stories.”

And he does. He sits by your bedside and he tells you every story he can think of. He starts with the first time you two met, and he talks for hours. You’re not entirely sure you believe all his stories, but he doesn’t seem like the kind of man who would lie for no reason. 

He tells you stories of the Sunny, and the stories of your alls relationship. He talks about the first time he held your hand, when he kissed you, when he realized he loved you. Your cheeks burned whenever those stories came up, refusing to believe you could love a pirate like him. But he talked about it all without shame, he either didn’t notice your embarrassment or didn’t care.

Halfway through his stories, he realized you’re still restrained. He bends over to take them off, continuing his stories as he works. You’re baffled by this decision, especially since he’s in here alone with you, but you hold back your urge to attack him for now.

When he’s done, you rub your wrists and flex them. They’re sore from being strapped down so long. He sees you doing that and takes one of your wrists in his hands to massage it as if it’s second nature. 

You pull away from him, and you can see the hurt in his eyes as he mutters an apology and continues his story of your alls adventures. There’s significantly less pep in his voice after you reject him, but he still keeps the story going.

Dinner is called during his story, so he pauses and he invites you to come with him. His stomach growls as you all walk to dinner, and he realizes this has probably been the longest time he’s gone between meals. He was so caught up in talking to you, he forgot to eat. 

You go with him to dinner, and the strawhats all eye you, but nobody says anything. They talk over plans and ideas on how to get your memory back. You say nothing, you just listen to them try to plan something. 

After dinner he continues telling you their story, finishing at the point where they lost you to the navy. 

He keeps finding things to talk about though, his nervous energy spilling out into the room. He doesn’t want you to kick him out, and he doesn’t want to leave you to another Strawhat to watch over. He knows they’ll restrain you, and that’s the last thing he wants for you to go through.

He finally falls asleep in the chair, his head resting on your bed beside you. You know your orders are to execute the Strawhats, and this is the best moment you’ll ever get to take out the captain. But you can’t bring yourself to harm him, and you know deep down, there’s at least some truth in the stories he told you. 

Law

Law hated these moments. These moments when he was reminded just how fragile a human body was. How fragile you were. 

An explosion had caught you off guard and sent you flying, and you were just outside of his Room perimeter. He had tried to expand it to catch you, but he hadn’t made it in time. And now you were paying for it. He had rushed you back to the ship, and performed a full scan to find a major head injury and internal trauma. The internal trauma was easy enough to fix, but brains were such fickle things. 

He hoped -prayed even- that you would wake up. After three days, he sat by your side, waiting for your eyes to open. He longed for that sweet smile to grace your lips again, to see that look in your eyes that always made his stomach knot into a ball of butterflies. 

On the fourth day, your eyes flicked open, and he rushed over to meet you. He wanted to be the first thing you saw. 

Fear. That's what he saw in your eyes. “Y/N-ya,” he whispered, moving towards you. “You’re safe.”

You scrambled away from him, almost falling off the bed in the process. “Who are you? Where am I?”

“It’s okay.” Law’s voice was steady, but he stopped moving towards you. Amnesia was common amongst patients when they came out of a coma. He had prepared for this possibility, and he knew it was better to stick to the basic facts. “You’re on a ship, you’ve been traveling with us for a while. I’m Trafalgar Law, the ship’s doctor. You had an accident, but you’re safe now.”

“No, no.” You shake your head, confused. “I was just at home, in the North Blue. I don’t know you. I don’t know where I am.”

His heart constricts, and he tries not to let his disappointment and fear show. Over two years of your memory was just…gone? Slight amnesia before an accident was common, but long term like this was not a good sign.

--

First he asks you to recall what you remember. He lets you ask questions, and he fills you in on how you got to join the Heart Pirates. 

You were super opposed to pirates when you first met Law, and that personality has returned. He tries not to be too upset over it, but it feels like his heart is being ripped out of his chest. 

He doesn’t tell you about your relationship, and he forbids his crew to tell you about it as well. He knows how confusing everything is for you right now, and he knows it would be selfish to add a relationship to the mix. 

You request to depart the crew at the next island. You don’t want to be a pirate, and honestly you’re not even sure how you became one in the first place. You can see the pain on his face, and he starts to argue with you, but he stops himself. “Leave if you want to. I’m not going to hold you against your will.” He can’t look you in the eye after that, though.

He still brings you your favorite food, gives you your favorite books to reread while you’re sailing. He doesn’t speak to you much, or even stick around in your space for long, but he brings you something at least once a day. You can't help but note how well the captain knows you. 

You mention this to a few crewmates, and note how nice it must be to have a captain who’s so attentive to everyone’s likes and dislikes. They all exchange glances, trying to weigh if they should say something or not. 

Finally Penguin speaks up. “Well, he’s not quite as attentive to us as he is to you.” You give him a nervous laugh and ask him to explain. Nobody really speaks up, and you get irritated with all the secrecy.

You storm into Law’s office. “Why do you know so much about me?” Your question takes him by surprise, and you can see he's taken aback by your question.

“I’m a good captain,” he finally stutters out. “Bullshit,” you shoot back. But he insists that's all there is to it, and you know the conversation is over. 

You seek out Penguin again, and corner him into telling you what everyone else already knows. You and the captain have a history. And a long, complicated one at that. 

You return to your captain’s office, but stop yourself before you barge in. You stand outside his door for a long time, debating on what to do with this new information from Penguin. 

You’re about to leave when the door opens, and you find yourself face to face with the man that you apparently love. Both of you stare at each other for a few seconds, saying nothing. You realize it’s the first time you’ve looked him in his eyes since that first day you woke up on the ship. His eyes are a soft amber color, and the light dances across them, making his pupils seem alive, flowing with movement. 

Law finally breaks the silence. “Is there something you need?” He hasn’t said your name since that first day, and you miss hearing it for some reason. 

“I’d like to stay, if that’s okay. On the crew, I mean.” You didn’t know those words were going to come out of your mouth, but you’re happy they do. Though he tries to hide it, Law’s eyes light up, and you catch a brief smile on his lips. 

Internally, Law’s heart soars. He spent so many days sick with worry thinking he was going to lose you, but you’re still the same person you were deep down. He’s holding back tears of relief knowing you aren’t going to leave him. “Of course, Y/N-ya. You are always welcome here.”

You don’t know if your memory will ever come back, but you find yourself hoping it does.

[brattyfics]

Swampbound I

Adla had lived in Florida her whole life, yet the strange debris that washed ashore after storms still startled her. Broken tree limbs and splintered pieces of homes were expected, but today was different.

Tangled in seaweed, she spotted frantic turtle hatchlings, frogs, and crabs struggling to reclaim their place in the chaos. But nothing compared to the sight before her: a bloody, mangled deer carcass lying in the tall grass, torn flesh and fur clinging to shredded cloth.

Her instincts screamed at her to turn back, but curiosity pulled her closer. Kneeling down, she caught the metallic scent of blood, and a chill gripped her. Something violent had occurred.

A gator? No, they dragged their prey into the water. Maybe a hawk? But even a bird of prey wouldn’t leave this kind of mess. Could it be a bobcat? They prowled these swamps, opportunistic in their hunting. But as she examined the prints—large, wolf-like, and deeper than any she’d seen—her heart raced. Four parallel prints faded into something far stranger: two flatter, elongated impressions.

Like feet.

Human feet.

The footprints were far too big to be hers, and she knew she was alone out there. The air felt thick, the swamp unnaturally quiet, as if the world was holding its breath. Her father’s voice echoed in her mind: “Never run from a person or an animal. Running makes you prey.”

She gripped her hunting knife, steadying her wrist, eyes scanning the brush for hidden dangers but there was nothing– no one hiding in the bushes, no animal stalking her. Just thick humidity, carrying the earthy scent of wet soil and decaying leaves. 

Time to head back.

As she treaded carefully over the spongy ground, the low rumble of an engine caught her attention. She hadn’t expected company—she rarely did. As a child, she’d hated the isolation of this place, but now it felt like a shield.

Rushing up the muddy incline, her boots kicked loose clumps of earth. At the porch of her old Cracker house, she leaned against the weathered wood, squinting down the overgrown path. A boxy, faded green Jeep Cherokee bounced along the uneven track.

Jesse Hampton. Of course.

He stepped out, scanning the trees before his gaze settled on her. His mahogany skin glistened under the humid sun, damp shirt clinging to his chest, hair wild from the moisture. Stubble covered his jaw—unusual for him but understandable after the chaos of the storm. Even so, he was as handsome as ever.

“Addy,” he called, voice steady but laced with urgency. “You shouldn’t be out here alone.” His gaze darted behind her, searching the shadows. “I know it seems all quiet and nice, but it ain’t safe.”

She rolled her eyes, not wanting to give him more reason to worry. “You’re soundin’ just like my father.”

Jesse’s expression tightened, something unspoken hanging between them. He stepped closer, lowering his voice. “Promise me you’ll be careful. You got a light in you that draws eyes—sometimes the wrong ones.”

His words hung heavy, and a flicker of fear flashed in her eyes. “You’re fussing over nothing. I’m just fine,” she shot back, but unease gnawed at her. Jesse knew something she didn’t.

“What you doing out here, anyway?” she asked, folding her arms.

“Do I need a reason?” he countered, flashing that charming smile of his.

“You always got a reason when you show up without warning. So, what’s the scoop this time?”

Jesse owned a busy convenience store in town but thrived on side hustles, always finding a way to get by. She admired his resourcefulness, but it was a reminder that he always had some angle he was working.

“Just wanted to check on you, see how you’re faring after the storm. But if I ain’t welcome…” He paused, putting on a mock-serious face. “I can just as easily turn right back around.”

“Yeah, right,” she scoffed, turning away as she ascended the steps. “You say that every time, but you always wind up inside.” She shot him a teasing grin over her shoulder. “You don’t even bother asking to come in anymore.”

“After all the times I’ve been ‘round, why would I ask?” He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, a playful spark in his eye. “Sometimes late at night, if I remember right.”

Adla shook her head, heading toward the kitchen. “That ain’t the same thing, and you know it.”

She opened the fridge and grabbed a pitcher of cold water, pouring a glass and handing it to him. Their fingers brushed, igniting that familiar spark that always hung in the air between them.

“Why you gotta say it like that?” Jesse asked, his brow furrowing as he took a sip from his glass.

“‘Cause you gotta get it, Jesse,” Adla replied, picking her words with care. “I ain’t one for surprises. You should’ve let me know you were coming before just poppin’ up like this.” She forced a sweet smile, hoping to ease the sting. Before anything, he was her closest friend, and the last thing she wanted was to hurt him.

He leaned casually against the counter, a sly grin spreading across his face. Adla considered asking if he’d been snooping around her property—Jesse had a knack for being sneaky—but thought better of it. Questions would only lead to more questions.

“I thought I was special,” he inched closer, a playful glint in his eyes.

“Oh, really? Where’d you get that idea from?” She raised an eyebrow, her lips twitching with amusement.

“Just a hunch,” he said, tugging at a tight curl in her ponytail, the spiral bouncing back like a rubber band. He leaned in to whisper, “I figured if I play my cards right and keep doing that thing you like, I might get a little something in return.”

She fought to hold back a smile. “Like what exactly?”

“Ain’t askin’ for much. Just the freedom to come and go when I feel like it.” Jesse leaned in for a kiss, his lips hovering just shy of hers. Adla pushed against his broad chest, stopping him.

Jesse was fine as hell—fit, sharp, and always finding a way out of trouble. She liked being around him, sure, but no one—not even him—was about to think they had a hold on her. She ran her own life, and settling down wasn’t in the cards, especially when she knew other women were likely getting a taste of that same charm and quick thinking too.

“Nope, not a chance,” she said, playful but firm, shaking her head. “But since you’re already here, I could use your help with something.”

“Oh really?” he replied, his interest piqued. “What you need?”

“Help me set these traps and see what washed up after that storm,” she said, stealing a quick sip from his cup. She wanted to catch some crabs and fish to fill up her freezer, and the thought of going back into the woods alone made her uneasy.

“Aww, man,” he groaned dramatically. “I should’ve known coming over here meant I’d have to work. You’re a real slave driver, you know that?”

They settled into a rhythm, working side by side, their comfortable banter broken by the silence of the storm’s aftermath. They inspected her garden for damage while Jesse filled her in on town gossip—apparently, Mrs. Flowers had been caught in Mr. Jenkins’ house by Mr. Flowers. Uprooted mustard greens littered the ground as Adla pulled them up, but thankfully, the okra and sweet potatoes had weathered the storm. She just hoped the excess moisture wouldn’t lead to rot.

Moving on to the fishing nets and traps, they stumbled upon something concerning.

A mountain of fish heads littered the reeds where she usually set her traps, alongside crab shells stripped of their claws and backs. This wasn’t the typical damage—something worse lurked here, disturbingly messy and uncharacteristic of the area’s usual predators.

“What in the world?” Adla muttered, her heart racing as she scanned the ground for prints. “You think it was a gator?

“A gator wouldn’t leave pieces like this,” Jesse replied, his brow furrowing.

“Something else made this mess,” she finished, feeling her skin prickling as those unsettling feelings from earlier came rushing back. She described the strange prints and the shredded carcass she’d seen to Jesse, who listened closely, rubbing her shoulders to calm her down.

“You shouldn't be out here tonight, Addy. Why don’t you come stay with me?”

Apprehension settled in her gut about what the darkness might bring, but she couldn’t accept his offer. His grandmother’s old house might be just down the road, but it felt wrong to spend the night in another woman’s home—even if she had adored Adla.

Plus, sneaking around with Jesse where anyone could see was out of the question. She refused to give anyone the chance to stir up drama or question her independence. She couldn’t bear the thought of becoming the next Mrs. Flowers, her good name dragged through the mud for all who would listen.

“No one—and nothing—is going to run me out of my house,” she said, half to him, half to herself. This place was her sanctuary, the fruit of her struggles and her ancestors' labor. They had fought hard for this land, and she felt a fierce pride in maintaining it. Out in the wilderness, peace was something earned, not given. She would defend her home if it came to that.

“You don’t know what’s lurking out here, and you think it’s smart to be by yourself? That don’t make no sense, baby doll,” Jesse insisted, his usual persistence edged with urgency.

“Don't call me that. I’m not your ‘baby doll,’” she shot back, irritation flaring. She knew what was good for her better than anyone else ever could. Jesse had been testing her boundaries too much lately.

“I already told you—I’m staying. You should head out on out here before dark.”

“Don’t be like that—” he started, his voice smooth and sweet like molasses. Today, though, she wasn’t falling for it.

“Go on,” she said, stepping in close to block his path. “I’ll finish up and lock everything up tight, but I need you to leave now.”

Jesse met her eyes, noticing the resolve etched into her expression. Adla stood firm, arms crossed, one hip jutting out, her nose wrinkled just so. She had made up her mind, and he knew he’d already pushed her enough for one day.

“Alright, I’m on my way,” he agreed. “But you promise me you ain’t stepping outside tonight. Whatever you do, don’t go crossing that threshold.”

Adla frowned at his strange phrasing. “Why would I be out here? I ain’t foolish enough to roam around at night." His shoulders were knotted with tension. "What’s got you so riled up?”

“Just trust me on this,” he insisted, locking eyes with her, his expression serious. “You’ll be safe, no matter what, if you just stay inside tonight.”

Last she checked, danger didn’t give a damn about doors, windows, or any other barriers. But it was clear he wouldn’t leave until she agreed.

“Alright, fine,” she said, stretching out the words, “I’ll stay in tonight. Not like I was gonna be out and about anyway.”

“Good,” Jesse smiled, wrapping her up in his arms tight. “I’ll call you later, and you better pick up. If you don’t, I’ll be back, whether you want me to or not.” As he turned to leave, Adla couldn’t help but smile after him. Jesse could be a handful, but beneath his cool front, she knew he cared for her just as fiercely as she did for him. In the wild expanse of the Florida swamps, that bond meant everything.

He lingered in the driveway while she hurried to gather crab shells, tossing them into the compost bin—no sense letting them go to waste. He didn’t start his engine until she was safely inside with the door closed, waving goodbye from the street as she watched from the window.

After locking up, she sank into a well-deserved bubble bath, a sweet reward for a hard day’s work. The clawfoot tub, older than her but still in solid shape, had become a cherished fixture in her home. The bathroom, filled with the scent of incense and candles, wrapped around her like a familiar hug. After her father passed, her first goal had been to breathe life back into the old house, make it her own.

Reminders of him were everywhere—the doorframe where he marked her height on the first day of school, the cast-iron pans he used for dinner. But mostly, the house was hers now—weathered, yet undeniably new in its own way.

Her time in the city felt like a world away from the peace she found here. Juggling multiple jobs just to make ends meet, she was always surrounded by nosy neighbors and men who didn’t know how to take no for an answer. But the worst part was the stalker—a shadowy figure who slipped chilling notes under her apartment door. I know who you are. What you can do. It left her confused and drained, but she didn’t tuck tail and run back home until her father passed away.

The guilt of not being there at the end haunted her, so she kept busy. Her part-time job at the new bed-and-breakfast in town helped pay the bills, and on weekends, she sold her art—sculptures made from found objects—at a flea market a couple of towns over. Every spare moment was spent creating with her hands. Her life wasn’t glamorous, but the peace and was worth more than anything else.

“When You’re Young and in Love” by The Marvelettes played softly on the record player, one of her mother’s favorites. She couldn’t quite relate to the notion of being swept off her feet but it sounded good, romantic even. Her daddy had been left in pieces when her mama died, never even thinking about finding another. She yearned for a love that strong, but the idea also chilled her to the bone.

She had only a handful of pictures, but from those, Adla saw the resemblance. She inherited her father’s level-headed temperament, but her rich skin tone, flat nose, and wide, expressive eyes—all of that came from her mother. Those features made her feel close to the woman whose absence she felt deeply.

With a sigh, Adla rose from the cool water, wrapping a towel around her waist. Her earlier worries faded as she slathered on cocoa butter lotion and slipped into a floral-patterned cotton nightgown.

After her nighttime routine of checking the locks and lights, she settled in. The old wooden floors creaked softly underfoot—a comforting sound that added to the home’s charm.

Just as she was about to crawl into bed, faint sounds from outside caught her ear—rhythmic scraping and thumping carried on the wind. Strange noises weren’t rare out in the boonies, but this one sent a shiver down her spine. Something was different. She paused in the hallway, glancing toward the door.

A tug, almost physical, pulled her toward it, despite Jesse’s warnings. It was as if something—someone—was calling her, and the urge was too strong to ignore. 

The door creaked as she pushed it open. Through the screen, she squinted, trying to make sense of the dim shapes outside. A flicker of movement caught her eye, and in the cool moonlight, she saw it—something massive. A shadow loomed over the porch, too large to be any regular animal.

A knot twisted in her gut. It wasn’t a bobcat. This was more like a coyote—if coyotes were massive. No, this creature looked more like a wolf, except wolves didn’t roam Florida’s saltwater jungle.

Its amber eyes glowed like lanterns in the dark, locking onto hers with an intensity that left her feeling ice-cold. Jesse’s warnings echoed in her mind. Was this creature more than it seemed?

I know this fool ain’t lookin’ at me like I’m dinner. Adla squared her shoulders. “You don’t belong here,” she hollered, “Now, git! Get on outta here!”

The wolf growled low and deep, the frightening sound vibrating through the night air. It took a shaky step forward, and she noticed it was limping. A deep, ugly gash ran from its back down to its hind leg, blood darkening the wooden porch.

She didn’t move. Something about the creature—its pain, its presence—held her still. It was more than an injured beast. She couldn’t explain it, but she felt rooted to the spot.

A wave of instinct surged through her, a primal warning that clashed with her fear.

“Don’t you dare come any closer!” she warned, reaching for the shotgun above the door, her gaze locked on the approaching creature. She raised the gun, aiming through the screen, her finger on the trigger.

If it took just one more step forward—

The wolf paused at the door’s edge, held back by something unseen, something stronger than the flimsy screen. Her eyes flicked to the threshold, recalling Jesse’s cryptic words about things not crossing certain lines.

This was it. A choice. But Adla hesitated, her finger hovering over the trigger. She couldn’t pull it.

The wolf whined, collapsing in a heap at her feet, its strength giving out. Its amber eyes, still glowing, held no aggression—only a silent plea. The sight tugged at something deep inside her, stirring memories of her own struggles.

Her father’s words echoed in her mind: “Respect the creatures out here, just like you respect yourself. Life’s tough enough without us makin’ it harder on each other.”

Adla sighed, lowering the shotgun. The wolf’s blood was already drying on the porch. Tomorrow, she’d scrub it clean, but for tonight, she’d let the creature stay. She hoped it would make it through the night.

After triple-checking the locks, she placed the shotgun within arm’s reach and settled into bed, the creaking floorboards beneath her a familiar lullaby. Yet, the strange pull toward the wolf lingered in her mind. Maybe it wasn’t just an animal, but something deeper—a reflection of her own struggles, a sign from her father. Whatever it was, she’d reckon with it tomorrow. For now, she surrendered to sleep, trusting that both she and the wolf would survive the night.

Chapter Two.

@nayaesworld @nahimjustfeelingit-writes @sageispunk @megamindsecretlair @blowmymbackout @kindofaintrovert @avoidthings @zillasvilla @insidefeelingofanadult @theereina @slutsareteacherstoo @babybratzmaraj @senajaiaspeak @princessmakipala @writingsbytee @planetblaque @liquorlaughslove @judymfmoody @playgurlxoxo @theescorpiolovechile @keyaho @gg-trini i @vivaalenaa @li-da-savage @ash-ketchumzzz

[python333]

Hello!! I absolutely adore your 141 platonic fics, I litterlay giggle and kick my feet when you post new storys about it. Especially since they're always gender neutral! Litteraly always check to see if youve posted a new fic, but anways!

I'm a really big sucker for found family mental health fics, especially when I'm experiencing rough times. If your comfortable with it, I was wondering if you could make the 141 catch Reader self harming or maybe just seeing the self harm on their arms accidentally and comforting them. Always love a comforting found family fic on cold nights.

If it's easier, I really love really any of your hurt/comfort type 141 fics with all my soul and eat them up anytime you post them. Especially since there isnt much gn!reader and TF 141 platonic hurt/comfort fics. So if you aren't busy than that's another option I would love to see!!

If your uncomfortable with it then that's fine and you can just ignore this post! Make sure to take care if youself aswell author. You're absolutely amazing! 🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼

self-slaughter — python333

— — — —

synopsis reader is a medic and is caught harming themselves by the 141 in the medbay!

relationships platonic!taskforce 141 & gn!reader

characters cap. price, soap, ghost, gaz.

word count 6.6k

warnings self-harm [specifically using a scalpel], self-harm scars, dark thoughts [nothing too bad, but thoughts of pulling off your skin and harming yourself], painful wound cleaning [with iodopovidone], 2nd person pov [you/yours/yourself], usage of c/n [code name/call sign].

note hello anon!! i too am a big sucker for found family mental health fics, and completely understand this request, and i will happily write it for you!! a lot of this is based on my own experiences with this, so i hope that's okay and that you enjoy the fic!! as well as this request, i'll use this fic as an excuse to write a few prompts on my bad things happen bingo card, which will be displayed at the end of the fic! the prompt used will be: painful wound cleaning! expect wayyyy more angst after this LMAO. also, if this feels like glorification or anything else inappropriate for a fic like this, then please let me know! since it's mainly based on my own experiences, i assume it wouldn't feel *too* much like that, but still!

It gets kind of old after so long of doing it. 

Almost like it’s a chore—as if stealing glances at your medical equipment, tools meant to save the lives of others, and wishing that it were being used to draw blood from your body was just an inconvenience. You complain about it in your head like you used to about school, like it was nothing more than some homework that was due a minute before midnight. 

Right now, you’re alone in the medical bay. It wasn’t often that you were, typically two bumbling idiots would stumble in every few minutes talking about how they got injured while sparring, but for the past thirty minutes it’s been silent. While you appreciated the break from the constant explanations of why the soldiers you were to tend to had gotten injured, with the silence came very unwanted thoughts. 

And with nobody to focus on came your unwilling lingering stare at the sharp scalpel on the small metal equipment cart that was just a few feet away from where you sat. It didn’t help that you felt oddly guilty today, either. 

Well, the guilt wasn’t odd. You knew where it came from. It just felt odd, considering the cause for it happened a week ago. 

The cause had been on a critical mission last week, where you were responsible for carrying medical supplies and ensuring the team’s well-being and general health. The medical equipment wasn’t particularly expensive or hard to get, but it was still incredibly important. 

However, on that same mission, right towards the end of it, you’d been caught in the midst of an intense gunfight. Distracted by the heavy enemy fire, you dropped the small bag you’d been using to carry the medical supplies, and hadn’t noticed you did until it was too late. By the time you and the others were out and heading back to base, you had just realized you left behind the medical equipment. 

All week, your fellow task force members had reassured you that it was okay and that it wasn’t that big of a deal, considering nobody got hurt. Still, even a week later, you’re hung up on it. Had someone gotten injured, what could you have done? You didn’t have any supplies to help them, so what would you have done then? Just the thought of that possibility makes you shudder. 

The scalpel looks so tempting.

It’s not like you hadn’t used it before—you have the scars to prove you had, ranging from small lines that could be mistaken for cat scratches to tiger-stripe length cuts that make your thighs look as though they’d been mauled by a large animal. As elegantly as you describe them in your head, the visuals of them aren’t nearly as pretty. With the help of that scalpel, a few sharp needles, and some medical scissors, you’d successfully made it look as though a bear had tried to attack you and tear your legs off. 

Ironic, isn’t it? A medic harming themselves? 

Your job is to literally save the lives of others, and here you are, staring at the closest thing you have to a knife in the medbay. It’s become as easy as blinking for you—which is scary, honestly, the way you’ve developed a tolerance for cutting yourself and stapling your skin back together if you’ve cut too long or deep. 

It’s no longer enough to just scrape something sharp across your skin and watch blood bubble up from the broken seams of your flesh, no, now you have to cut even deeper to actually feel anything. You have to feel the scalpel being buried to the hilt in your flesh, and you have to see the way blood spurts out of the self-inflicted wound after you pull out the tool. 

You continue to stare at the scalpel, sure that you look like you’re in some sort of trance right now. 

It looks so tempting. You can remember the last time you used it—three days ago, the longest you’d gone without it in a while. Similar to cigarette-addicts, you often tell yourself that you’re able to stop whenever you’d like—that you’re able to quit at any time. It’s a lie, and you know it, but you still like to pretend that it’s true. 

You’re still staring at the scalpel. 

Its sharpened edge reflects the overhead light, creating a bright glow that strains your eyes when you stare at it for too long. The metal of the handle is worn down from use, even though it’d only been in the medbay for maybe a few months—something nobody had questioned yet, thankfully. The clean blade, replaced just yesterday, had no traces of filth or grime on it, making it even more tempting. 

You blink. You hadn’t noticed the burning of your eyes until you forced them away from the small knife. 

You move your gaze to your lap, where you fiddle with your fingers, gently tugging at a hangnail that’s been lingering on your thumb for the past few minutes. As you pull on it, you feel the sting that it brings, though that sting now feels dull compared to the other things you’ve done to yourself. 

It almost feels like a small pinch compared to the ways you’ve mutilated your thighs on certain nights that didn’t allow you the energy to do anything else, or the ways you’ve carved apologies in the forms of lines into your arms to try and gain forgiveness for your thoughts and temptations. 

You pull the hangnail off completely and watch the miniscule droplets of blood bleed through your flesh and meet your skin and nail. Before you only had the energy to do your job and harm yourself, you would’ve hissed at the sting pulling off the small bit of skin caused you and grabbed a bandaid immediately, but now, all you can think about is how it isn’t enough. 

About how much better you’d feel if you pulled all your skin off. If you could feel every inch of your skin stretched to its limits and torn off of your body, because God knows you deserve it. 

The thought makes you wince. That is… disgusting. Why am I thinking about that? You shake your head in hopes that it would shake away the dark thought, but instead the action makes it rattle inside your brain and break off into tiny bits in pieces, small unwanted thoughts of wounding your flesh rolling around your mind. 

Similarly to Sisyphus and his boulder, you try to push those thoughts out of your mind, your hands starting to curl into tight fists, but you just can’t. Every time you push a thought back, it comes rolling back to the forefront of your mind, the momentum it gets from being pushed back so far only to get rocketed forwards making it even more unbearable to think about. 

The fists your hands have formed become tighter. 

Each thought that gets pushed back only jumps forwards once again, ricocheting around your brain, the effort of trying to ignore them making your ears ring. 

Before you realize it, your gaze snaps back to the scalpel. 

You don’t even notice the blood that begins to spill from your palms from how deeply your nails cut into your skin. 

Every thought tries to be louder than the other, creating an unholy cacophony of sound; a terrifying harmony that only grew louder every second that passed. You stare at the scalpel. It continues to reflect the bright gleam of the overhead light, and it continues to make your eyes strain the more you look at it, but you can’t find it in yourself to be all that bothered about the eyestrain. 

You unclench your fists and stand up, walking the short distance over to the metal medical cart where the scalpel lays, and you grab the handle of it with shaky hands. You look over at the door for a moment, and stay there for another few seconds.

Once you see that nobody’s coming in, you rush yourself to one of the beds, sliding open the curtains in front of it and sliding them back so that they’ll obscure anyone else’s view of you using the scalpel on yourself. 

You sit on the bed and although the scalpel almost slips out of your hand because of the blood from your palms, you manage to keep held in your tight fist, holding it like you would a pencil; tucked under the base of your thumb, and going through the gap between your index and middle finger. 

With your hands still trembling and your breath uneven, as well as a bustling mind that only grew louder as the scalpel in your hand grew closer to the skin of your forearm, you made the first incision. Almost immediately, your mind quieted, and your headache dimmed. 

Quickly becoming addicted to the feeling of a clear head, you lift the scalpel from your skin, not waiting to watch the blood bubble up from your open wound like you usually would, instead opting to make another incision right next to it.

Being a medic, there was nothing you could really do to stop yourself from thinking about how deep each incision was, and how deep you were cutting into your flesh—so while you cut yourself, a train of thought begun. 

Half an inch deep, You push the scalpel deeper, Now a full inch. Should take a month or two to fully heal. Wouldn’t scar. 

The thought of it not scarring should make you happy, or at least, neutral, but instead the thought makes you frown. Some odd hunger that comes from the indefinite pit in your stomach craves evidence for the malice you’ve shown towards your own skin, something that would prove your self-hatred. 

So, you go another half inch deeper. Scarring would be possible, but not as high of a chance as if you went another half inch. With that thought, you go the last half inch. There we go. 

You slide the scalpel blade through your flesh, the blade cutting through it like it would a firm fruit like a pear. It’s easier to cut through skin when the skin is pulled taut, You think, If only I had an extra hand.

You pull out the blade and repeat. You feel less guilty already.

All that worry about fucking up during your last assignment washes away, like the wave of guilt that overcame you earlier receded and pulled back that worry with it, lowering the tide of shame and self-reproach within you. In fact, the tide lowers so much that it almost completely disappears from your mind—like it never existed in the first place.

Reminds me of a tsunami, You repeat your actions with the scalpel, When the tides get low, so low that the ocean floor shows and you could walk where you’d originally have to swim, it’s because a tsunami is building up.

You look down at your work. Your forearm is a bloody mess, crimson red dripping down to your fingers and threatening to drop onto the stark white sheets of the bed you’re sitting on. You sigh tiredly and get up from the bed, putting the end of the scalpel’s handle into your mouth—ignoring the voice in the back of your head that reprimands you for not thinking about bacteria or contamination—and biting down to hold it whilst you slide the curtains in front of the bed to the side, walking out of the small resting area. 

You grab the scalpel and set it onto the metal medical cart by your desk, grabbing the gauze on that same cart, opening the small box it’s kept in with your non-bloody hand. It’s a struggle, but you manage it open, and you shake the roll of gauze out onto the cart. 

In the middle of you attempting to pull the end of the gauze off of the roll so that you could begin to wrap it around the red lines decorating your forearm, you hear loud footsteps walking near the medbay. You freeze in place, the gauze roll in one hand, your eyes burning holes through the door with how intensely you stare at it. 

There’s a knock. Then another. 

The door handle twists. 

You stare at the door, and everything feels like it’s in slow motion for a second. 

The door opens. 

“Hey, dae ye hae any—” Soap walks in, the sergeant taking one look at you before cutting himself off with a confused and immediately worried, “Holy shit, whit happened tae yer arm? Are ye alright?” 

He rushes over to you and takes your bleeding forearm into his hand. You almost immediately rip it away from his grip. 

“Nothing! Everything’s fine! Just an accident,” You lie, holding the blood-covered forearm close to your chest, “I was just about to clean it up.” 

“Dae ye need help wrappin’ it, an cleanin’ it up, or anything?” Soap asks, eyebrows furrowed and his expression beyond worried. 

“Nope,” You insist, “It’s fine. All good here.” 

“... Ye sure?” 

“Uh huh,” You nod your head, “All good. Don’t worry about it.” 

“‘kay then,” Soap tilts his head and crosses his arms, “Whit happened?” 

“Just a little accident with some of the equipment,” You nod down to the bloody scalpel on the medical cart, “That’s all.” 

It must be obvious you’re lying, because Soap sighs and says, “I think we baith ken that that’s a lie.” 

You stay silent for a few moments, before Soap speaks up again, “Ye ken if ye dinnae tell me, I’ll jist jump tae conclusions, richt?”

You take a deep breath before mumbling something under your breath. When Soap’s eyebrows draw together in confusion, you repeat louder, “I used the scalpel. On myself.” 

“Ye whit?” 

“I used the scalpel on myself,” You look away, and rush out, “and I’m really sorry, I just couldn’t help it, it’s not like— like a normal thing or anything, it’s just this once, I swear, and— and—” 

“[c/n], calm down,” Soap quickly uncrosses his arms and sets both hands onto your shoulders, furrowed eyebrows now taking a more concerned shape, “It’s okay.” 

You take a deep breath and look at him, looking at his nose instead of his eyes because you don’t think you could handle eye contact right now, “I’m really sorry.” 

“Why would ye dae that tae yerself?” Soap asks, voice soft and almost pitying, which makes you want to curl up and die. 

You shrug, not wanting to answer verbally. 

“Dae ye— dae the others ken?” Soap questions. 

“No.” 

“I’m—” Soap looks conflicted for a moment, “I hae an assignment… I’ll get Gaz tae help ye, aye? An’ I’ll check in wi’ ye as soon as possible?” 

You hesitate, but end up nodding in agreement, thankful that Soap offered to get Gaz rather than one of the others. The others seemed so oddly scary right now that you don���t even want to think about how they’d react to this whole situation. It’s all gone by so fast—one moment you were sitting on a hospital bed, the next you’re found out by Soap of all people—you’ve barely had time to think about the others. 

“Okay. Okay, okay,” Soap repeats the word under his breath like a mantra, thinking to himself for a second before sighing and looking down at you again, “Jesus, fuck, okay. I’ll go get him, ye stay here, aye?” 

You nod again, this time your vision begins to get more blurred. 

“Ye’re gonnae be okay, okay?” Soap tries to reassure you. You nod once again, sniffling a little bit, making Soap’s gaze soften.

He takes his hands off of your shoulders and gives you one last sad look before turning around and rushing out of the medbay, his thundering footsteps growing quieter as he gets closer to Gaz’s location—most likely his sleeping quarters. 

You wait a moment and when you hear no footsteps, your gaze goes back to the blade. It’s not like it’ll hurt to do a few more. I’ll stop when the others arrive. 

You grab the handle of the blade, and as quickly as you can, akin to an addict scrambling for substance, you slice through the skin of your non-mutilated hand. You make several quick and deep gashes before dropping the scalpel onto the medical cart again, breathing heavy, the cuts this time actually hurting. It felt like fire was running rampant through your nerves, all stemming from the self-induced wounds, and you winced at the new pain. It wasn’t anything you weren’t used to, but still.

When you hear footsteps again, you can tell they aren’t Soap’s. 

The door clicks open and in walks Gaz, already looking very worried—presumably from what Soap told him about your… situation—with another person in tow. Right behind him, Price walks in, expression neutral so far. 

Gaz looks over at you, his eyes widening as he sees the bloody gashes in your forearms. Without a second thought, he rushes over to you, his hand reaching for your forearm. Before you can stop him, he grabs your bloody forearm and pulls it up a bit so that he can look at it closer. You flinch, and Price quickly walks over to you two before Gaz can even utter a single word. 

“Let’s not, okay?” Price’s version of ‘knock it off’, “I’m here, I’ll take care of their… thing. You hand me what I tell you to. Understood?” 

“Yup— Yes, sir. Captain,” Gaz corrects himself quickly, making a slip-up that in any other situation would’ve made you at least chuckle, but all you can do now is stare at the pair as you hold your bloody arms to your chest. 

Price looks back over to you and nods over to one of the many empty curtain-surrounded beds and says, “Go sit over there and wait for a few seconds.” 

You nod, not knowing what else to do or say, and immediately walk over there. It’s the room furthermost to the right, the one that’s also the closest to the door and the one you’d coincidentally gone into to cut yourself. 

You slide the curtains to the side and sit down on the white bed, and just a few seconds later, just as Price said, he walked in as well. He sat next to you, Gaz in tow, the latter carrying a jar of cotton pads and balls as well as a bottle of Betadine.

Betadine—or iodopovidone, whichever name you preferred—was a sort of antiseptic that was generally used for cleaning cuts and wounds. Maybe not ones as deep as yours, but it would still work just as well. 

Despite it not being alcohol-based, or really having any alcohol in it, it still hurts the same as rubbing alcohol would, which you were… definitely not looking forward to.

“Sergeant,” Price takes the jar and bottle of Betadine from Gaz, “Go and grab the skin stapler for me.” 

“Yes, sir,” Gaz nods, walking out of the room once again. Price sets the jar and bottle of Betadine onto the bed beside himself after he leaves.

With you and Price now in the room alone, he turns to you and holds out his hand with his palm faced up for your arm silently. You carefully put your forearm onto his hand, watching as he gently pulls it closer to him, looking a bit closer at it before sighing through his nose and using his free hand to open the jar of cotton pads. 

“How did this happen?” He asks, breaking the silence. 

“Soap didn’t fill you in?”

“No.”

You think about what to tell him for a moment. What’s too straightforward? What’s too vague? How do I not overstep? How do I not sound like I just want attention? 

Eventually, you settle on, “I was— … I saw the uh… scalpel, and I just… decided to use it a little bit. On myself.” Definitely not the best you can do, but what else could you say? ‘Oh, I cut myself with a scalpel because I felt guilty and if I didn’t I probably would’ve had a panic attack or a mental breakdown’?

“…” Price pauses for a moment, eyes twitching for a split second before he continues his movements to grab a cotton pad and questions you, “Why?”

“Why what?”

“You know what I’m asking, [c/n].” 

He’s asking why you did it. There’s not one simple answer you could give him—sure, you could tell him that you felt guilty and it was a bad habit that you’ve told yourself you could stop but never tried to, but that wouldn’t be the whole truth.

You can’t fully express or dictate why you do it, you just do. It’s like when you cut slits into bread before baking it. Without those slits, the bread would crack and split at the seams on its own, but with them, the splitting and expanding of the dough is controlled. 

Except, with you, it’s like you’re cutting yourself before the tension building inside of you makes you burst at the seams. Taking a blade to your skin has given you a sense of control—maybe that’s why it’s so addicting, You think, it’s the only way I’ve been able to control my feelings. 

But you can’t just say all of that. Well, you could, but did you want to? Fuck no. 

Instead, you opt for shrugging, which doesn’t satisfy Price one bit. 

“I could see you thinking about it,” He sighs, “I know you at least have some sort of real answer.” 

Well, fuck. “It’s a long answer.” 

“I never said it couldn’t be.”

He doesn’t move to grab the Betadine at all, instead waiting for you to talk. 

You purse your lips and think for another moment before finally talking again, “I was feeling really guilty and tense, and I guess it just got too much, so I just kind of… had to. Like I felt like I was gonna fuckin’… I dunno, have a nervous breakdown or something. And honestly, it’s a really stupid reason, because the thing that I’m feeling guilty about happened like a week ago, but still—I’ve been feeling really guilty about it. It—It’s not like I can’t stop, if I tried I could, I swe—swear, and I just— it’s been really easy to just— you know? I— honestly, it’s not that big of a deal—” 

“Hey, hey—” Price brings a hand to your shoulder and softens his voice, “It’s okay. I understand.” 

“I ju—st… I’m sorry, I—” 

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Price reassures you, quickly bringing that same hand up to cup your jaw, “You’re okay. You don’t have to say sorry.” 

“But I—” 

“Shh.” You hadn’t even noticed how frantic your breathing had gotten during your small word vomit. And to just make things worse, there’d been tears gathering at your water line, well on their way to spilling over and creating tear tracks down your cheeks. 

You can’t help but let go of all the tension in your shoulders the moment Price starts gently rubbing his thumb back and forth over your cheek. The moment he does that, it’s practically game over for you. 

Those tears spill out from the corners of your eyes and you can already feel your next breath get caught in your throat, leaving you to just let Price gently guide your head to lean forwards against his chest, letting out small hiccups and trying desperately to hold back the sobs you want to let out.

It all happened so fast, you don’t even know how you got here. One moment you were doing a good job of somewhat keeping your guard up, the next your resolve was crumbled completely by the gentle and oddly caring touch of Price’s hand.

Suddenly, there’s a knock at the door, then someone walks in while you’re burying your head further into Price’s chest—Ghost. You can tell it’s him by the way he walks. He has long strides, he never drags his feet, and the moment he slides the curtains to the side to see you, his footsteps stop. They start up again a moment later, and he sits by your side, opposite of where Price is sitting—to your right instead of your left. 

Gaz must’ve let him in while he was looking for the stapler, You think, sniffling against Price’s chest. Normally, you would’ve felt some sort of shame by now, but given the current situation, you didn’t find much room to give a shit. 

You feel Price’s head move up slightly, and judging by the way he occasionally nods and sometimes moves his hands a bit, you can only assume that he’s having some sort of nonverbal conversation with Ghost right now. This conversation goes on for about a few minutes longer before you’ve managed to control your breathing a bit more. 

Price can tell, and he asks just for confirmation, “Is it alright if I clean your cuts now?” 

You nod and sniffle once before taking your head off of Price’s chest, looking down at your lap, simply holding out one of your blood-crusted arms to him. You can see Ghost stiffen up behind you almost immediately at the sight of it. 

Price grabs a cotton pad from the jar he was handed earlier, as well as the bottle of iodopovidone, and soaks the cotton pad with said iodopovidone. Once it’s soaked with the antiseptic solution, he hesitates before pressing it to your bloody arms. 

Almost immediately, you inhale a sharp breath and feel tears stinging your eyes again. 

“It’s okay,” Price tries to calm you down, seeing the tears forming in your eyes again, “You’re okay.” 

You sniffle and shift on the bed, trying to blink away tears that threaten to spill over your water line. Ghost, sitting by your side, puts a gloved hand over your shoulder, his thumb rubbing gentle circles into your shoulder. His eyes twitch as you bite the inside of your cheek to muffle another sob while Price presses another Betadine-infused cotton pad to your self-induced wounds, and although you can barely see him, out of the corner of your eye, you still catch the glint of new tears gathering at the corners of his eyes as he watches you. 

Gaz slips back through the curtains in front of the bed, this time with Soap in tow, and hands a skin stapler to Price. Seeing the skin stapler, something you used fairly often—often enough that the others knew how it worked and how to use it—automatically made your stomach turn.

“Told ye I’d come back for ye,” Soap murmurs, kneeling down to get about eye-level with you. You huff out the smallest laugh at his words and he gives you a small smile that makes you want to go lock yourself in a room with a scalpel and repeat what you’d done earlier all over again, his empathetic expression paining you more than taking a blade to your arm.

As a matter of fact, the expressions that you wish were pity coming from everyone around you hurts more than anything you could’ve ever done to yourself. Their concern was so unexpected—not that you don’t think they care, but you never thought they cared this much. You didn’t think that, if caught in the act, you would receive empathetic looks and solemn smiles, rather thinking that you would receive reprimanding. That you’d be punished for punishing yourself. 

Price thanks Gaz silently with the curt nod of his head before turning back to you with a solemn expression that in all honesty makes you more guilty and disappointed with yourself than before. He holds the skin stapler like he would a hot glue gun, looking down at the open wounds in front of him, and holds your forearm closer to him so he can see the edges of the cuts better. 

"Keep your arm like that," He murmurs, to which you respond with a nod and stiffening your arm so that it stays in the air where Price positioned it. He uses his now free hand to gently pull the edges of the cut you'd made closer together, aligning them the best he can before pressing the metal staple dispenser to the cut and pushing down on the trigger, stapling the two edges together with a click. 

He holds it down for an extra second before releasing and pulling the stapler away from your skin, and although the process only took around three seconds, you'd never get used to the feeling of getting your skin stapled. You make a small, pained noise that has Soap wincing as well--as though he can feel it too--and Price looking more solemn than earlier. 

“Finished with this one,” Price mutters as you swallow down another sob, holding his calloused-but-soft hand out for you to put your other forearm in. You do just that, nearly breaking into a fit of new sobs at the small ‘thank you’ Price utters. 

You watch Price soak another cotton pad with iodopovidone with his free hand and suck in a deep breath as he presses it to your forearm, the originally white cotton pad almost immediately going red. Tears spill over your waterline and roll down your cheeks as he continues to clean and disinfect your wounds, and before you can move your free hand to wipe them away, Ghost does so for you, his rough gloved hand swiping below your eyes quickly. 

You mumble a small 'thank you' that's barely even audible, sniffling as you can’t help but lean forward the tiniest bit into Ghost’s hand as it lingers on your cheek. He pauses, keeping it there for a second, before bringing that same hand up to the crown of your head and pushing gently on it to urge you to lean your head back. You do so, the back of your head quickly making contact with his Adam’s apple and the top of your head becoming tucked underneath his chin. 

His hand goes back down to your shoulder and continues its ministrations of rubbing small circles into said shoulder, bringing you intermittent moments of comfort throughout the painful wound cleaning you had to endure. 

Soap keeps a comforting hand on your knee as he’s kneeled down in front of you, his thumb occasionally copying Ghost’s, but otherwise remaining still on your knee, careful not to force you through too many different sensations at once. 

Gaz watches you from by the curtain, seeming not to do and looking completely lost. He stands there for another moment, watching the others, seeing what they’re doing for a second, before giving Ghost a ‘one moment’ signal by holding up his index finger and stepping out of the curtain-surrounded area.

Right after he does, another painful sting shoots up your nerves from your forearm, and you make the mistake of looking down at it. 

Wounds that only fifteen minutes ago had brought you to a calmer state of mind and were nothing more than incisions made by the scalpel you’d used to cut other people for entirely different reasons now almost hurt to look at. Once you could’ve compared them to marks left by wild animals, and you could’ve described them as though they were trophies, but now, as you stare down at them being cleaned by your own captain, they look nothing like the sort. 

They don’t look like any of the pretty descriptions you’d given them. They don’t look like cat scratches you’d gotten in an accident, or like something you would get out of a fight with a bear—they don’t make you look strong and brave like you thought they did. 

They look like tally marks. Sanguineous, gruesome tally marks, made by you, like you’d been counting down the days—or seconds, minutes, hours—until you’d had enough. Until you’d had enough of just carving your skin with medical equipment, and needed something more. Craved something more. 

Price must notice you staring down at the wounds, because he pauses in his movements to clean them for a moment, the sudden stopping of the stinging sensation the iodopovidone-soaked cotton making you shiver. You look up at him, and see him already looking down at you, concerned. 

“You’re thinking about something,” He points out softly, “Tell me what’s going on in that head of yours.” 

You hesitate and look back down at your arm that Price had stopped cleaning, before mumbling, “Just thinking about how these are gonna scar.” It’s not entirely a lie, but not entirely the truth either. 

Price tilts his head to the side a bit, questioningly, “Do you know how they’re gonna scar?” 

“Well, when you work in the medical field for a bit, it gets easier to tell.”

You can tell he wants to ask how they’re gonna scar, so you decide to just say, “They’re all about one-and-a-half to two inches deep, so they’ll heal fully and then scar in a few months. Once they do, they’ll be visible, but not too prominent. The scarring tissue will stick above the skin a little bit, and it’ll make it look a little bit puffy.” 

“Alright,” Price hums, tone neutral, “So they’ll be… visible.” 

He sounds disgusted, A voice in the forefront of your mind insists, while one from the back of your mind tries to tell you, You have no way of knowing that, just see where the conversation goes. He has no reason to be disgusted with you.

“Yeah.” 

“Okay then,” Price sets the cotton pad down and grabs the skin stapler he’d been using earlier, “And it’ll take a few months to heal, you said?” 

“Several months, yeah.” Price considers this for a moment, pausing in his movements to hold the stapler to your skin. 

“Do you think you’ll need any help re-wrapping the bandages while they heal?” He inquires, resuming his movements after asking the question. 

“…” You think for a moment, Will you?, and after a few seconds, hesitantly, you reply, “… Yeah.” 

“M’kay,” Price hums softly, neutrally. “And would you want me to be the one who does it?” 

You think for another few minutes. Preferably, you’d be doing them yourself, but you didn’t trust yourself enough for that—so getting one of them to do it for you is your next best option. You wouldn’t mind if it was Price doing it, but at the same time, you wouldn’t mind if Ghost, Gaz, or Soap did it either. 

“It doesn’t matter,” You settle on, before tacking on, “As long as it’s one of you four.” 

“Us ‘four’ being… ?” 

“You, Soap, Ghost, and Gaz.” 

“Got it,” Price nods. You see Soap smile softly out of the corner of your eye before he quickly stops, trying to purse his lips into a line. He’s probably thinking that he shouldn’t be happy about that, You think, almost amused. You feel Ghost’s thumb stutter on your shoulder as well, before it starts back up normally. 

Your words affect them more than you thought they would. 

Breaking your train of thought, Price staples your skin with a muted click, making you wince. 

It’s silent for a few more moments before Gaz finally comes back, now out of breath and carrying a bar of chocolate. He hands you the chocolate bar and says, panting, “I almost had to spar someone for that. Why do you have to like the chocolate one of the other fuckin’ Lieutenants do?” 

You take the chocolate bar with your free hand gingerly and blink at it for a few moments before setting it down next to you. 

“Nobody told you to get it,” You shrug, before tacking on, “Thank you, though.” 

“Uh-huh, yeah, totally, hey so uh—” He looks at Soap and jabs his thumb towards where the door would be behind the curtains, “We’re both needed somewhere else. Again. They said they forgot something… again.” 

“Worst fucking timing ever,” Soap grumbles, before clearing his throat and standing up, looking down at you, “Right, I’ll check in on ye later, and help ye wi’ anything ye need me tae, aye? I’ll come wi’ mair chocolate than Gaz did, ‘cause I’m better than him.” 

“Got it,” You smile up at him, making him grin back and pat you on the shoulder Ghost’s hand isn’t occupying, before heading out with Gaz. 

Then, you’re left with Ghost and Price. 

“I should get going too,” Ghost mutters, slowly taking his hand off of your shoulder and gently pushing your head back off of his chest, almost regrettably. 

“M’kay,” You watch as he gets up and hesitates, looking like he’s about to give you a hug, before he decides to instead give you a simple head nod and head out the same way the two other operators did. 

And then, it was just you and Price.

It’s silent for a bit, until Price speaks up.

“You think a lot,” Price comments, finishing up the last staple. 

“Does that surprise you?” 

“A little bit, yeah.” 

You pause for a moment before sighing through your nose, “It’s nothing. Just the same stuff I was thinking about before.” 

“Wanna give me some more detail than that?” 

“Not really, no,” You admit, letting your hand fall into your lap as Price lets go of it, “But I have a feeling you’re gonna want me to tell you.” 

“I do.” 

“It’s just something stupid, like earlier—” 

“That wasn’t stupid, [c/n], that was you hurting.” 

“I— I know. It’s just that this is actually stupid.” 

“Well, tell me what it is, and I’ll be the judge of that.” 

You think about how to phrase it in simple terms for a moment, before finally speaking, “I used to think that the scars sort of… symbolized how I was able to control myself and my emotions, and that made me feel…” You can’t think of any synonyms to make the simple words you want to say sound less childish, so you’re forced to say, “… brave. And strong. I just— I thought it showed that I was good at controlling my emotions and stuff, for some reason. But now I’m questioning all of that.” 

“You’re very brave,” Price reassures you, and God, it sounds like he’s reassuring a child, “And you’re so strong. But this… this isn’t how you show that. This—cutting yourself—doesn’t make you either of those things. It doesn’t show that you’re either of those things. It shows that you need help.” 

“But you just said that I was strong.” 

“I did.” 

“… Aren’t you contradicting yourself?”

“How would I be contradicting myself?” Price asks. 

“You said that me— me… harming myself shows that I need help.” 

“It does,” Price hums, and at your confused expression, he continues, “You needing help doesn’t mean you aren’t strong. Needing help and being strong aren’t connected like that.” 

You open your mouth to argue but you close it, not knowing what to say. Price sees this and smiles knowingly, simply grabbing your hand to squeeze it once before getting up. 

“I’ll check in on you later, okay? I need to get some stuff done, but as soon as I can, I’ll be back to keep you company. Or I’ll send someone else over—whichever you prefer.” 

“M’kay,” You mumble, squeezing Price’s hand back before letting go. “You can do whatever. I don’t mind either one.” 

“Sounds good.” Price pauses for a moment before leaning down and giving you a quick hug, and then beginning to slip past the curtains blocking any outsider's view of the bed you were sat on.

Before he can leave, you quickly say, "Thank you. For the wound-cleaning-thing."

He pauses at the curtain for a second, before smiling and replying, "You're welcome."

for those curious, the bthb card so far:

[nodirectionhome-ao3]

Blood Traitor

Written for Jilytober 31 Prompts, Day 16: “My words are my faith, to hell with our good name.” 1,174 words.

———

James wakes to the sight of a red halo, hovering over him. 

At least he thinks that’s what it is. It’s tricky to tell, without his glasses. It could just as easily be something dreadfully unpleasant up there. A fire charm, perhaps. Or some sort of embarrassing Transfiguration spell conjured by the lads to torment him a bit. But as his eyes adjust to the light and he squints them just so, the specific shade of red becomes undeniably familiar, and he feels his lips stretch into a smile. 

“Alright, Evans?”

No answer. Blast. Is he hallucinating? That thought draws a discontented groan from him. Leave it to Avery to find a curse that makes me bloody hallucinate.

He groans again when he sits up, biting his tongue against the flash of pain that surges through his body at the movement. It’s everywhere—his muscles, his joints. Even in his damn ears, somehow. 

He reaches out blindly with his hands, patting at the nightstand and huffing a bit when he doesn’t find what he’s looking for.

“Here, mate,” a new voice says. Sirius. A cold hand finds his, and he feels his glasses pressed into his palm. 

“Ah, thanks Padfoot.” 

James blinks as his vision slips into focus. The scene that awaits him is decidedly not cheerful. He’s in the hospital wing, his bed surrounded by people—Sirius and Remus standing to his left, Pete at his feet, and on his right…

Lily sits perched on the edge of the bed beside him, her hands fidgeting in her lap. Her hair is pulled back away from her face, and her eyes are rimmed with red and somewhat dulled with the tell-tale signs of a long afternoon spent crying. 

A different kind of pain jolts through James at the sight—far worse than anything physical. He racks his brain immediately for the best way to comfort her, to soothe her, to show her that this is nothing—nothing.

“You gave us a right scare there, Prongs,” Sirius speaks up after a moment. His expression is grim—too grim—like he’s staring down at a ghost. It unsettles James, distinctly. “How’re you feeling?”

“Bah.” James waves a dismissive hand, biting back a wince at the pain that runs through him. “I’ve felt worse.” A lie and they all know it. “Those Slytherins should really reconsider their methods here. All they’ve really done is give me a brilliant excuse to miss class for a week or two. Or d’you think I could stretch it for longer? They can handle the Tentaculas in Herbology while I’m kicking back in bed—eating the finest foods the kitchen has to offer and watching my dear friends do all my homework for me. The high life, truly.”��

Sirius’s mouth twitches, almost into a smile. “First of all, you prat—you’ll be eating nothing but broth for a while, with all the potions Pomfrey has you on.”

“Delicious,” James says. 

“And second of all—” Sirius really does smile this time. “—if you think any of us are going to do your homework for you, you’re as dimwitted as the dungeon snakes.”

James grins. “My, my, Padfoot. Don’t you see how grievously injured I am?”

Sirius opens his mouth to retort—no doubt with a blistering quip on the tip of his tongue—but before he can, a horrible noise bursts from James's right as Lily bursts into tears.

James stills, his heart stuttering to a stop. He can count on one hand the number of times he’s seen Lily Evans cry, and he’s never—never seen her cry like this. She’s sobbing in a matter of seconds, the back of her hand pressed against her nose while she shakes and shudders.

“Lily,” James says, not bothering to cover his wince this time as he pushes against the mattress beneath him, dragging himself closer to her. “Oh Merlin, Lily, no, don’t—”

“I’m sorry,” she gasps. “I’m so sorry. I’m so—”

“Hey, no, it’s alright—”

“No, it’s not. It’s not alright, James. You—” She hiccups. “You could’ve died, and it’s—it’s—it’s all my fault.”

James feels his heart plummet. “Whoa, hey—enough of that, now—here, shhh—c’mere—”

She doesn’t protest when he pulls her closer, collapsing against his chest in a flurry of sobs. He kisses the top of her head—once, twice, three times. He smooths her hair. He kisses her head a fourth time. “It’s not your fault, love,” he soothes. “This had nothing to do with you.”

It’s not entirely the truth, and he suspects they both know it. After all, they’d only been public about their relationship for a day before the Slytherins cornered him in that dark corridor. And Avery had certainly made his motivations crystal clear while he and his goons surrounded James, aiming curse after curse at his aching body.

‘Blood traitor,’ he’d snarled, over and over again with each successive curse. ‘Blood traitor,’ spat through flashes of green. ‘Blood traitor,’ hissed with each kick to James’s ribs. ‘Blood traitor, blood traitor, blood traitor,’ until it was all James could hear. Until he couldn’t think, breathe, feel—

“It’s not your fault,” James says, more firmly this time. He can’t bear to let her think that. “Their hatred is not your fault.”

“James—”

“Lily.”

He pulls back as delicately as he can, gently guiding her face away from his chest until she’s looking up at him and he’s smoothing those fly-away hairs of hers behind her ears, pressing his forehead down to hers. He can smell the faint aroma of her shampoo. Citrusy. Soft. Intoxicating. Lily.

“To hell with them,” he says. “To hell with all of them. I don’t care about blood or surnames, Lily. You know that.”

She inhales shakily, shivering a little while his thumbs brush those blasted tears from her face. “I—I know. But—”

“No buts,” James whispers. “They can do whatever they want to me, but they’ll never make me love you any less.”

She lets out a shuddering breath, a strangled sob, and then she’s sinking against him again—burying her face into the soft flannel of his hospital pajamas. 

He smoothes her hair again. He kisses her temples. It takes some time, but eventually he feels her begin to ease. Her sobs peter out, her body stills, until she’s no longer shaking against him but is just leaning there. And he’s just holding her. And all is right, really, when they’re sitting here like this.

“But,” he says at last, taking back up his earlier teasing cheerfulness. “If you really want to thank me for being a perfectly gallant, brave, self-sacrificing sort of boyfriend—”

Sirius and Pete both snicker. Remus groans. 

“—then I wouldn’t say no to you doing my Potions essay for me.”

Lily chuckles against him, and the tension James has been holding in his chest breaks at last. She lifts her head again to look at him, and he’s relieved to see that usual sparkle lighting back up in her eyes. “In your dreams, Potter.”

[typicalopposite]

🫶 making myself write monday 🫶

another day another scheduled post! :) so technically this was a making myself write sunday... but whatever! shout out to @bidisasterevankinard -- consider this your tag! -- for the prompt! (and so you know who to blame for what I'm about to do!!!

(TW: mpreg cause we live here now)

See you around, Buck.

He has replayed those words over and over and over and over in his head ever since Tommy pulled the door closed behind him. 

Now, there’s loud knocking on the same door, but he’s unable to call out that it’s open. Thankfully, Maddie tries the knob and pushes the door in, hurrying into the loft and over to Buck. “Hey,” she says softly, prying his phone out of the death grip he has on it. She ends the call that is still connected to her phone— where he tearfully had told her what happened before going silent… before going numb— and sits the phone on the table. “Buck…” Maddie tries again, after getting no response the first time. “Can you look at me?” 

He barely can even hear her; her voice is faint thanks to the rushing of blood in his ears and the pounding of his heart. He blinks, and finally the pools of tears release, pouring down his face. “He— he— he…”

“Shhh…” Maddie shushes him, drawing him into her arms. 

“He left.”

“I know.”

“He left Maddie!”

“I know, Buck. I’m so sorry.”

His breaths come in short gasping spurts and Maddie continues to plead with him to calm down before he passes out. 

“He— He— He left… us!” 

~~~

(An hour earlier)

Buck bounces on the balls of his feet nervously as he waits for Tommy to reach his apartment. 

He has spent the entirety of the day stressing over this moment. Running through exactly what he is going to say over and over and over and over. Reciting the life changing speech to himself in the mirror, to himself in the Jeep, then once to Maddie at dispatch so he could get some much desired feedback. “Buck… calm down. This is— it’s a lot, I know.” She reached up and cupped his cheek, smiling at him in that more-motherly-than-sisterly way she does to make him feel better. “But it’s going to be fine, you can do this.” 

This…  The ‘this’ in question is huge— or it’s going to be, anyway. Maybe the biggest thing to ever happen to him in his entire life… and scary, too. Terrifying even. But it won’t only affect him, so now— before they can move forward to this new journey— he has to tell Tommy. 

A quick knock at the door has Buck nearly vibrating out of his body. He walks over and opens the door, instantly met with Tommy’s gorgeous face and his to-die-for smile. “Hey!” he says, stepping forward and catching Buck by the hips to pull him in for a kiss. 

Buck feels the butterflies flutter to life in his stomach; they are never able to settle for long, not with Tommy. He is always saying something to rile them up, or doing something— or texting or calling or just existing in Buck’s memory and keeping them active. Buck is so in love with this man it kind of overwhelms him… and he hasn’t even had the chance to actually tell him that yet! Now there is this— this huge, scary announcement— throwing a hurdle right in the pathway to those three little words. By hurdle, of course, he means a power boost, like in those little racing games he gets his ass kicked by Chris in… Tommy always says they are going at his speed; that speed is about to increase tremendously. 

But it’s okay. 

Tommy is amazing. And kind. And caring and understanding and— well right now he is just rambling about parking spots and their movie date. Buck finally finds his voice and interjects to ask if they can talk. Tommy bounces off his jittering nerves with light humor, dismantling the tension with a playful uh oh as he sits down. “So I have been thinking about what you shared with me the other night…” Buck says.

“My spumoni?” Tommy says back, hands clasped together. 

“No… not your spumoni,” Buck laughs— spumoni actually sounds pretty appetizing, come to think of it… maybe they can get some to celebrate! “Uh… I- I was thinking a- about what you said regarding kids.” Tommy’s brows furrow, so Buck continues. “About how you’ve never really given much thought to the idea, b- but you’re not necessarily opposed to it either.” 

“Yeah, I did say that.” Now Tommy looks worried and that is causing Buck to lose the very minimal grasp on his own bravery. “I do love kids, it’s just— our line of work is a little—”

“Intense?” Buck concludes; Tommy nods. “A- And you're right… but— but see most people in our line of work… they don’t have the amazing support system that we have!” 

“Uh, that… is true,” Tommy says, face very unreadable. 

“So really… the idea of a kid loses some of its intensity thanks to that, right?” 

“Evan… what exactly are you—”

“I’m pregnant…”

He blurts it out, just like that. Now it’s out there and he can’t take it back and his heart feels like it’s being twisted; blood and oxygen are being cut off… He tries to judge Tommy’s reaction by the stark lack of reaction plastered across his face. He blinks, and takes in a deep breath. “W- Wow,” he manages. 

“Yeah… it’s, uh, crazy right?” 

“Mhmm…” 

“B- But we will be fine, you know. Because we have that amazing support system, and we have each other! We— We’re gonna be a family.” Tommy smiles at him— smile is too strong of a word— Tommy honestly looks constipated to him. “Hey…” he says, taking Tommy’s hand. “We— We are going to be fine. I’ll have to go on light duty but—” he gives a soft laugh. “—you know me. There’s no way they’re getting rid of me until I absolutely have to leave. So— so income won’t be a problem.” Tommy still looks pale and like he might pass out, so Buck squeezes his hand. “W- We can… move in together to— to your house… since you have extra rooms.”

“Evan…”

“Maddie is the only one who knows, I just needed someone to calm me down about telling you!”

“Evan…”

“But I’m going in the morning to tell Bobby… I want to be so careful because this—” He can’t help himself; he lets a hand slide across his flat belly. “This is something I have always wanted, and I think we’re gonna be amazing dads.” 

“Evan!” Buck startles at the incline in Tommy’s voice, he hardly ever raises his voice… much less to him. Tommy sighs. “We can’t move in together…” 

“What, wh- why not.” 

“Because, this… it’s not going to work.” Buck feels like his face is on fire; it’s hot and tingling and he can already feel the first drop of a tear to his cheek. “Please don’t— don’t cry.” Tommy looks so remorseful— that doesn’t go with his actions, though. “Look Evan, I think you’re going to be a great dad, but no matter how bad I want to be… I won’t.” 

“Y- You don’t know that.” 

“No, I— I do actually…” he says. “I’d be terrible… and I wouldn’t plan on it, and I wouldn’t mean to… but I’d only make everything worse for them and for you. I just— I should go.” He stands up, letting his hand slip free of Buck’s.

“W- Wait, hold on… wait a minute. Did you just… break up with me?” 

Tommy stops almost at the door and sighs, rubbing a hand over his face and holding it against his neck. “Yeah… I guess I did,” he says with a weak laugh. “Believe me I didn’t see it coming. I guess… I should have known that parking spot was too good to be true…” He stares back at Buck with the most heartbroken expression and Buck wonders who’s heart is breaking more right now; mostly he wonders why Tommy is doing this, and if he really believes the things he said. “I’ll see you around Buck.” Then he’s gone; and the loss of his name is almost as hard as the loss of Tommy. 

He stares at the door in shock until his phone rings. It’s Maddie, calling to see how things went.

and lastly but not leastly because this is my favorite part! Throwing out some tags so I can see what yall are working on!

@30somethingautisticteacher @nine-one-wanton @judymarch15 @sunnywithachanceofbi @herrmannhalsteadproduction

@onthewaytosomewhere @lavenderleahy @unhingedangstaddict @somethingaboutfirefly @silversky9

@piratefalls @exhaustedpirate @hyperfocusthusly @quintessenceofdust88 and anyone else who wants to join in!

[xobrattymoonxo]

Kenma, Akaashi, Kuroo and Bokuto x Reader

TW: Non con, fisting, anal, double penetration (Front and back), knife play, blood, carving into skin, If i missed anything please let me know!

AN: Unedited for the most part. Sorry It's been a while guys! I was writing a jjk fic but then I just thought of this and wanted to write it dhbvshdv

Word count: 3.8K

Y/n ran through the house slipping on the rug. She tripped a little but was able to gain her footing again as she ran once more. She saw the door in her vision as she picked up her pace. As she was unlocking all the locks, she was pulled back by her left shoulder. She was slammed into the ground as the man laughed. 

“You can’t outrun me.” He said with a devious smirk. 

Y/n’s first reaction was to start screaming. The man with black and blonde hair covered her mouth. Y/n instantly bit down hard on his hand drawing blood. 

“Ow you bitch!” He yelled.  

“Kenma, are you okay?

“No, that stupid bitch bit me!” He yelled at the black haired man. 

“Fuck.” The black haired man sees Y/n getting up and rushing for the front door. “Y/n, if you know what’s good for you you will stop right now.” He said in a stern voice.  

“It’s too late to give up now, Akaashi!” She yelled as she began to unlock the seven locks on the door. Akaashi rushed to her side as she turned with all her force and punched him in the nose. He fell backwards with a bloody nose/. Kenma rushed up to her other side as she used a swift kick to hit him in the balls.

“Fuck!” He yelled as he fell down holding his crotch. 

Y/n unlocked the last lock as she ripped the door open. She began to run down the long driveway of the private house on the outskirts of Tokyo. Around the house was nothing but trees, but she figured if she ran through the forest she would be safe from Kuroo and Bokuto, who were probably on their way home. 

Y/n started to run through the forest as she heard a car pull in the driveway. She turned back to see Bokuto rush to the front door. Akaashi was standing on the porch holding his nose as he pointed to the forest where Y/n was. 

She turned as fast as she could on her feet and ran for her life. She knew if she went back to the house, she’d be screwed, maybe even dead. 

It wasn’t long after Bokuto had begun his hunt, like she was a deer and he was the hungry mountain lion. He ran at full speed as she kept running. 

It wasn’t always like this, Y/n actually used to work at the 24 hour convenience store. Kenma had come into her store many times to buy energy drinks around 2 or 3 am. It was just Kenma at first, harmless soft Kenma. Until he started to bring in his friend, Kuroo. Kuroo started to stalk Y/n, figuring out she was a university student at Tokyo U. Their friend Akaashi happened to go there as well. He started off casually following her around for Kenma… and then for Kuroo. He then began to take photos, stalking her more intensely. He learned her schedule, he learned everything about her and he claimed it was all for them.

One Friday night, Kenma went into the convenience store with Kuroo. 

“Hey Y/n.” He said monotone as usual. “I am having a party this weekend at my place. Figured I’d invite you since I always see you around.” 

“When is it? I most likely will be working so I probably won’t be abe to make it.” She said upset. 

“Monday.”

“Oh, I have classes on Tuesdays, I shouldn’t.” 

“C’mon Y/n!” Kuroo said, “Have some fun! We always see you here. You must not even sleep at this point.” 

“I sleep a couple hours after I get off at 6.” She laughed. “But maybe.” 

“Say you’ll come, please?” Kenma asked. 

She couldn’t resist Kenma. 

“Okay… What time should I get there?” 

“8pm, Oak Tree Rd, 175. See you next week, beautiful.” Kuroo smiled at her.  

She smiled as the two walked out the front door. 

Timeskip to Monday…. 

Y/n grabbed her bag and checked herself in the mirror again. She smiled as she looked at her black clubbing dress. She never had a chance to wear it as she always worked.  

Y/n began to walk outside to her apartment lobby. She looked at the time and saw it was 7:24pm. She began to walk. The party was only 34 minutes away, ust on the other side of her work. 

Y/n arrived at a house, there was no noise coming from the house. She walked up to the door really slowly. She knocked on the front door.  

“Hey Beautiful! You made it!” Kuroo said as he opened the door.  

“Um… I thought it was a party.” She tried covering up her chest a bit. 

“It actually starts at 9:30pm. We just wanted you to meet our close friends first.” Kuroo said. 

“Oh makes sense I guess.” She murmured.  

“Come in.” Kuroo stepped aside for Y/n to walk inside. She looked around the mansion astonished. “Nice, huh?”

“Hey Y/n.” Kenma said. “Glad you could make it.” 

“Hi Kenma.” She looked around the large room with 3 couches in it. There was a large projector style tv on the wall. 

“Hi I am Bokuto!” A man with silver and black roots said. 

“Hey, I am Akaashi.” The black haired man said from behind Bokuto. 

“These are our best friends.” Kuroo said. 

“It’s nice to meet you guys. I’m Y/n.” She said. 

“Come have a seat.” Bokuto motions her in between him and Akaashi.  

“So tell us about yourself, Y/n.”Akaashi smiled. 

“I go to Tokyo U. I work at a convenience store. I met Kenma and Kuroo from said convenience store. That’s about it.” She said with a nervous laugh. 

“You go to Tokyo U? I do as well.” Akaashi pretended not to know. 

“Oh what do you study?” Y/n asked.

“Editing and creative writing.” Akaashi said. “And you?” 

“I’m in med school. Hoping to be a Neurologist one day.” 

“Wow you must really never sleep then.” Kuroo said. 

“I study and do homework at work.” She laughed.

“Impressive.” Kenma said. 

“How about you three?” Y/n asked the rest of the guys in the room. 

“I’m a professional Volleyball player for MSBY.” Bokuto spoke up. 

“I work for the Japan Volleyball Association in the sports promotion division.” Kuroo added.  

“I’m the CEO of my own company and a streamer.” Kenma said.

 “Oh wow.” Y/n said. 

Just then the doorbell rang.  

“Looks like the party arrived early.” Kuroo said as he walked out of the room. 

Y/n stood up and walked to the kitchen to get a drink.

“Hey sexy, did it hurt?” A man said from behind Y/n. 

“If you ask if it hurt when I fell from Heaven, I’ll scream right now.” She said,  The guy laughed. 

“I’m Atsumu. What’s yer name, Angel?” 

“Please leave our guest alone, Atsumu. She’s not looking for you to dick her down, I promise.” Kuroo said from behind Y/n. 

Y/n sighed in relief as she turned around. Kuroo passed her a red solo cup full of Vodka. She took one sip and made a face at him.  

“What is this? It’s disgusting.” She said as Kuroo laughed as he took it back and chugged down the cup's contents. 

“Let’s make you something mixed then.” Atsumu rolled his eyes as he walked away from the two. Bokuto came into the kitchen and bumped into Y/n making her turn as Kuroo slipped something into her drink. He dumped coke on top of the rum in her cup and passed it back to her. The pill vanished into nothing as she took her first sip. Kuroo looked at Bokuto with a wink as he walked away. In 15 to 20 minutes their plan would take course. 

The two talked as Akaashi came up to them. Some time passed as Kuroo checked his watch. 

“Hey guys, I am not feeling too hot. Do you know what time it is?” Y/n asked, feeling herself fade out of consciousness. 

“It’s 10:30 pm, Y/n.” 

Y/n blinked and suddenly she was on the balcony with Bokuto’s hands on her waist. 

“Wha-what time is it?” She slurred, reaching up to grab her head in hopes to calm her throbbing headache.

“1:45am baby, why?”

“What?” She felt herself grow dizzy as she fell into Bokuto’s chest. 

“Are you okay? I should take you home. Sit for a second let me get some water.” He placed her down on a chair as he walked back into the room. He texted the others “Code red.” 

He slipped two roofies from his pocket and into the bottle of water. He took one sip before doing so so it wouldn’t be suspicious. 

“Here Y/n.” He passed her the water bottle as she began to chug it back. “Let’s just wait here a few minutes so the world stops spinning for you.”

She gave him a thumbs up as she continued to drink. The more she drank the dizzier she felt.  

“Bo….I don’t- I don’t feel good at all.” She tried to stand up as she fell into his chest once again. “Help me.” She whispered as she felt her eyes grow heavy and her body go limp. 

Bokuto smiled at the limp drugged up body in his arms as he picked her up and carried her into the bedroom. He placed her on the bed carefully. Kuroo busted open the door and looked at the scene before him. 

“Thank god, What was code red about?” He asked Bokuto. 

“She became conscious again. I gave her a couple more roofies and knocked her out.” 

“Well she’s going to feel like shit when she wakes up.” Akkashi said from behind Kuroo. “Kenma is clearing out the party now.” “Good, that means it will be easier for us to get her out.” 

“How are we doing that again?” Bokuto asked. 

“Kenma got me to park in the garage so we could throw her in the trunk.” Kuroo said. 

“Okay. Let me go be our eyes and ears downstairs.” Akaashi said as he left. 

Bokuto looked at the unconscious Y/n on the bed and smiled. 

“She’s almost ours, Kuroo.” Bokuto said with a smile. 

“She is, Bo.” 

A few minutes later Akaashi walked back into the room. 

“All clear.” Akaashi said to the guys. Bokuto lifted her unconscious body off the bed. He began to carry her bridal style down the stairs.  

Bokuto walked into the garage as Kuroo popped open the trunk. He lightly places Y/n’s unconscious body in the trunk. 

“Let’s head out. It’s a long drive to the cabin.” Kenma said from the door behind them.  

Bokuto and Akaashi got into the back seat. The four headed out. 

It wasn’t too long before Bokuto began to get antsy. 

“Are we almost there? I want to be there! How much longer?” Bokuto’s legs started to shake.

“Bokuto-san, we will get there soon, don’t worry.” Akaashi said as he put a hand on his knee.

“I want to hold her though.” Bokuto huffed.  

“How much longer, Kenma?” Akaashi asked.  

“About 20 minutes.” Kenma said. 

“Awww but I want to be there now!” Bokuto whined again. 

"Bo, how are you this excited for someone you haven’t met before tonight?” Kuroo asked with a laugh. 

“Kaashi has told me all about her, he shows me her pictures too. Sometimes he shows me the videos he takes for you guys. She is so pretty and beautiful and she's just so perfect for us!” 

“Seems like someones in love.” Kuroo laughed again. 

The car was full of Bokuto and Kuroo talking about their favorite things about Y/n. 

Kuroo pulled up into the parking lot of a two story house surrounded by trees. Bokuto practically jumped out of the car. He ripped open the trunk to see a still passed out Y/n laying there surrounded by pillows.  

Bokuto lifted up her unconscious body and carried her to the door where Kenma was unlocking it. 

“There's a door to the basement in the pantry.” Kenma said as he motioned for them to go inside…. 

Y/n woke up with a splitting headache. She couldn’t remember much from the party, or how she even got home. She went to move her hands to rub her eyes, but something was restricting her hands. She looked up and saw her hands tied to the above bed post. She began to feel her heart beat increase, she pulled down on her arms and began to panic. 

“She's awake!” A voice yelled from across the room. 

“Perfect.” 

“What’s going on?” Y/n asked, confused. “Where am I? Who are you?” Her voice began to shake. 

“Y/n! It’s just us!” Bokuto exclaimed. “You’re safe here, okay?” Bokuto sat on the side of the bed. He placed his hands on her bare stomach. 

“Where are my clothes?!?” Y/n was freaking out as she noticed she was only in her lingerie. 

“Your dress was so tight, we thought we’d let your body breathe baby.” Kuroo said from behind Bokuto. 

Kenma walked in the room with Akaashi as Y/n tried to pull away from Bokuto’s hands. 

Bokuto’s hands trailed up Y/n’s side. 

“Baby, don’t pull away.” Bokuto said. 

Kuroo reached around Bokuto and started to untie Y/n’s hands. 

Y/n was quick to pull away from Bokuto and pulled her knees into her as she braced herself into the Headboard against the wall. 

“Baby, don’t back away.” Bokuto sighed as his hair deflated. He reached his hand out to touch her again. 

“Don’t touch me!” She screamed. 

Bokuto was taken aback by her shouting. He looked at Akaashi. 

    “Y/n, I know you’re scared, but there's no need to shout at us.” Akaashi said calmly. He moved over to the edge of the bed and reached for her. 

Y/n slapped Akaashi’s hand away. 

“I said don’t touch me!” She screamed again. 

Akaashi looked back at Kuroo and Kenma. Kuroo pushed past the two of them and grabbed Y/n by the ankles. He pulled her down the bed. She began kicking and screaming as Kuroo raised his hand to slap her across the face. She reached up and grabbed her cheek as she cried. 

“You are going to act like a brat, I’ll treat you like one.” Kuroo said. 

He was quick to place his hand on her throat as he began to apply pressure. She reached up and tried to pry Kuroo’s big hands off her throat. 

“Kuroo, careful.” Kenma warned. 

“She’s being an ungrateful bitch.” He spat back. He ripped down her underwear as he shoved two fingers inside of her pussy. 

“Kuroo! I wanted to be the first one to fuck her.” Bokuto whined. 

“Then get over here before I change my mind.” Kuroo said. 

4 ½ months later… 

That's how they got into their current situation, y/n running for her life through the woods in nothing but Bokuto’s shirt and underwear.  

Y/n was giving everything she had into running away. She heard footsteps catching up to her. She tried her best to speed up as she felt a hand on her shoulder. She was pulled back and thrown to the ground. 

“Fuck! Let me go!” She screamed.  

“Baby, calm down! You’re just confused.” Bokuto’s voice cooed at her. He picked her up as Kuroo arrived at the scene. 

“Stupid bitch thought she could escape.” Kuroo laughed. “Here.” He passed Bokuto a pair of Handcuffs. 

“No please! No! I just want to go home!” Y/n cried. 

“You were home.” Kuroo snapped. 

Bokuto and Kuroo fought and put the handcuffs on Y/n’s wrists. She was crying and thrashing her wrists as Bokuto carried her back bridal style.  

“Bring her back down stairs. I have a surprise for her.” Kenma said manically. 

“On it.” Kuroo said as he led Bokuto through the house.  

Akaashi went behind them and began to lock up the front door again. Kenma walked past him and into the kitchen and grabbed a large knife. 

“Woah what’s that for Kenma?” Akaashi asked.  

“You’ll see.” He smiled a devilish smile.

The two walked down the stairs where Bokuto and Kuroo had tied Y/n down to the bed.  

“Kuroo.” Kenma spoke. “Do you want to go first?” He asked, holding out the knife. 

“You deserve it. She did bite you after all.” Kuroo said. Bokuto just finished tying a rag in her mouth. 

Kenma grabbed the shirt on her as he sliced it off in one quick motion. He was quick to repeat the process to her underwear too. 

“Woah Kenma, careful you don’t cut her.” Bokuto said. 

“Where’s the fun in that?” Kenma smirked once again. 

Kenma pressed the tip of the knife into her soft thigh. He began to apply pressure as Y/n began to cry harder. Kuroo grabbed hold of her ankles as she tried to kick him off. 

Kenma pressed hard into her skin as he carved two letter K’s into her left thigh. He passed the knife over to Akaashi. Akaashi smiled as he pressed the knife down into her right thigh. He carved out AK before passing it to Kuroo. Akaashi and Kenma held down one leg each. Kuroo took his own sweet time to carve on the left side KT. He passed over the knife to Bokuto who looked a little uneasy. 

“Cmon Bo, you can do it.” Kuroo encouraged him. 

“It’s hurting her though.” Bokuto said all sad. 

“She hurt us Bo, she tried to leave us. We gave her everything and she repays us by leaving? This is just a reminder to her she's ours.” Kuroo said. 

Bokuto smiled as he looked down at her right thigh. He carved out a BK as he smiled. The blood was running down her leg.  Bokuto tossed the knife aside as he pulled his shirt off. 

“Seeing her like this…. Is making me feel some way…” He said with a devious smirk.  

Bokuto began to get naked in front of the other guys as Kuroo laughed. 

“Looks like Bo got turned on after all.” Kuroo said. 

Kuroo took his shirt off as Akaashi placed his hand on Kuroo’s shoulder.  

“What are you doing?” He asked him. 

“There’s enough room for all of us after all, remember?” 

Kenma smiled as he began to strip down too. Akaashi didn’t take long to follow through. 

The guys all turned to face Bokuto as they heard a loud muffled groan leave Y/n’s mouth.  Bokuto had shoved himself inside Y/n’s pussy dry. He began to frantically pump inside her. 

“Woah Bokuto, wait for us will you?” Akaashi said with a laugh. “Who’s taking what?” 

“I call dibs on her mouth.” Kenma said as he climbed onto the bed.  

“I’ll take her ass if you are okay to share with Bokuto this time Kasshi?” Kuroo asked. 

Akaashi nodded as he Approached the bed. 

“Bo, can you turn her on her side. I want to make space in her tight little asshole for me.” Kuroo smiled. 

Bokuto smiled back as he moved her on her side. Kuroo grabbed the lube from the bedside table. He opened it up and dropped a few drops on Y/n’s tiny butthole. He began to rub it in slowly as she begged for them to stop. 

“Kenma, shut her up before I do.” Akaashi said. 

Kenma laughed as he climbed to the top of the bed. Bokuto pulled her down a bit as Kenma got above her. 

“You bite me now, I’ll slice you up. Got it?” She shook her head in agreement. Kenma quickly shoved his member down her throat. He grabbed the back of her head and forced her to take all of him. It was Akaashi’s turn to join the fun. He put lube on his member as he lined it up next to Bokuto’s. Y/n was unable to do anything as her hands were still tied up. Kuroo now had 3 fingers shoved up Y/n’s asshole. 

“Bokuto, can you shift a little. I want to join you inside so we can all cum together.” Akaashi said. 

As Akaashi was forcing himself inside as Kuroo pulled his fingers out. Kuroo opened up the bottle of lube again and dumped it all over his hand. Kuroo smiled to himself as he slowly started to work his large fist into Y/n.  She cried out as Kuroo and Akaashi fully pushed in at the same time.  

“Fuck! Do that again.” Kenma moaned as she gasped and moaned out around his cock.  

Kuroo laughed as he pulled his hand almost all the way out, then quickly slammed it in at full speed once again. 

“Yeah fuck just like that.” Kenma moaned. 

“Fuck!” Bokuto and Akaashi yelled in sync. 

“Feels good huh?” He smirked. 

“Keep going,”Bokuto said. “She’s getting tighter with every thrust.”

The two in her pussy picked up the pace as Kuroo remained fisting her ass.  

“I’m close.” Akaashi moaned. 

“Fuck me too.” Kenma said. 

“Just cum inside her. I’ll buy some plan B tomorrow.” Kuroo said. 

Just like that, Akaashi and Bokuto shot hot ropes of cum inside Y/n. Kenma wasn’t too far behind as lets his hot load out down her throat. 

Kuroo pulled his fist out as he replaced it with his cock. 

“Fuck, she’s so stretched out.” He said.  

“I want to try fisting her too!” Bokuto whined. 

“Take her pussy. Her ass is mine.” Kuroo said. 

Bokuto looked down at her cum dripping pussy. He shrugged his shoulders as he began to force his massive fist inside her.  

“Stop! Please! It hurts!” She cried out.  

“You deserve this. This isn’t for your pleasure, it’s for ours.” He said as his fist slowly slipped all the way inside. 

Kuroo groaned out as he felt Bokuto’s fist through the thin wall. 

“Fuck Bo, I can feel you on the otherside.” Kuroo moaned. 

“I can see my fist in her stomach!” Bokuto exclaimed excitedly.  

Kuroo was quick to release hot strings of cum inside her ass.

“Fuck that was to good.” Kuroo breathed out.

Y/n laid there crying silently as she begged for it to be over. 

“Well that’s not fair to Kenma or Akaashi, now is it?” Kuroo smirked.  

“Please- please no.” 

“Cmon, let’s not play favorites, okay?” Bokuto said. 

Akaashi grabbed the lube as he lined up to her front entrance and Kenma at the back entrance. 

Y/n was screaming in pain as the two who had finished sat back and watched. 

It wasn’t until hours later they all stopped. Constantly fucking her between their fists and their cocks. She was laying there, completely fucked out when they finally stopped. She was covered in cum and it was dripping from all three of her holes. There was even some blood in other places then her thighs.  

“Let’s get washed up. Let her rest for a little bit.” Akaashi said. 

“We shouldn’t leave her out. I don’t trust her on her own anymore.” Kenma added. 

“Bring the dog carrier.” Kuroo said.