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unforth · 29 days

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Danmei and Baihe C Novels and Manhua Officially Licensed in English

Things are getting licensed fast enough that keeping a list like this up-to-date is basically impossible, but I saw someone asking in the tags so I figured I'd try. All titles are danmei unless otherwise noted (very little baihe is licensed so far). I've included Chinese titles and linked novelupdates for each title when I was able to find them, but sometimes publishers change the original titles so much that I can't track them down, apologies.

Basically: this is everything I know of as of April 12, 2024. There might be more. I tried.

For the latest danmei news, Danmeinews.com is a great resources.

Note that some of this information was sourced from this Carrd, last updated in March 2023.

Seven Seas:

The full list of danmei novels licensed by Seven Seas is here. The full list of danmei manhua licensed by Seven Seas is here.

These titles are in various stages of publication, from "entire series released" to "license literally announced less than a week ago." As far as I know, all Seven Seas titles are available world-wide, through major distributors and libraries, and in e-book and print formats.

Mo Xiang Tong Xiu titles:

The Scum Villain's Self-Saving System (Ren Zha Fanpai Zijiu Xitong).

Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation (Mo Dao Zu Shi)

Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation (Mo Dao Zu Shi) manhua

Heaven Official's Blessing (Tian Guan Ci Fu)

Meatbun Doesn't Eat Meat titles:

Case File Compendium (Bing an Ben)

The Husky and His White Cat Shizun (Erha he Ta de Bai Mao Shizun)

Remnants of Filth (Yuwu)

Meng Xi Shi titles:

Thousand Autumns (Qian Qiu)

Peerless (Wushuang)

priest titles:

Guardian (Zhenhun)

Stars of Chaos (Sha Po Lang)

Other titles:

Ballad of Sword and Wine (Qiang Jin Jiu) by Tang Jiuqing

I Ship My Rival x Me (Wo Kele Duijia x Wo de CP) manhua by PEPA

Run Wild (Saye) by Wu Zhe

The Disabled Tyrant's Beloved Pet Fish (Canji Baojun de Zhangxin Yu Chong) by Xue Shan Fei Hu

You've Got Mail: The Perils of Pigeon Post (Fei Ge Jiao You Xu Jin Shen) by Blackegg

Rosmei:

Rosmei licenses are Singapore distribution rights only. There is a list of international partners organizing group orders here. I've personally placed my orders through Yiggybean, as discussed in reply to this ask.

These titles are only being released as print editions.

Eta: titles that weren't originally on JJWXC (of which there are several here) WILL have e-book editions.

Ning Yuan titles:

BAIHE: At the World's Mercy by Ning Yuan

BAIHE (I think???) The Creator's Grace by Ning Yuan

priest titles:

Coins of Destiny (Liu Yao)

The Defectives (Can Ci Pin)

Drowning Sorrows in Raging Fire (Lie Huo Jiao Chou)

Other titles:

Albert from Earth by Jie Mo Jun

The Bat (Bian Fu) by Feng Nong

Breaking Through the Clouds (Po Yun) by Huai Shang

Don't You Like Me (Ni Shi Bushi Xihuan Wo) by Lv Tian Yi

The Earth is Online (Diqiu Shangxian) by Mo Chen Huan

Everyone Loves the Cannon Fodder (Chuan Cheng Wan Ren Mi de Paohui Zhuma) by Qie Zai Shan Yang

Global Examination (Qianqiu Gao Kao) by Mu Su Li

Gold Class Enforcers (Jinpai Dashou) by Pao Pao Xue Er

How to Survive as a Villain (Chuanyue Cheng Fanpai Yao Ruhe Huming) by Yi Yi Yi Yi

Kaleidoscope of Death (Siwang Wanhuatong) by Xi Zi Xu

The Killer of Killers (Sha Qing) by Wu Yi

Nan Chan by Tang Jiuqing

Obsessed (Ki Ma) by Wu Chen Shui

Wine and Gun (Jiu yu Qiang) by Mengye Mengye

Wow, You Guys are Really Good at Gaming (Nimen Nansheng Da Youxi Hao Lihai O~) by Yi Xiu Luo

Peach Flower House:

Peach Flower House titles are primarily for sale through their website and through some distributors, such as Amazon.com. Whether titles are e-book only, print only, or both varies by title.

Da Feng Gua Guo:

The Imperial Uncle (Huang Shu)

Peach Blossom Debt (Taohua Zhai)

Other Titles:

Golden Terrace (Huang Jin Tai) by Cang Wu Bin Bai

In the Dark (Zai Hei An Zhong) by Jin Shisi Chai

Little Mushroom (Xiao Mogu) by Shisi

University of the Underworld by Ziloi

Via Lactea:

The full list of danmei novels licensed by Via Lactea is here.

Via Lactea titles are primarily for sale through their website and through some distributors, such as Amazon.com. All titles are either print-only or e-book + print. Only a handful have actually been released, the rest are licensed and presumably in progress.

Jing Shui Bian titles:

Salad Days (Jing Jiu)

Silent Hearts (Mo Mai)

Other Titles:

Dawning (Liming Zhihou) by ICE

Euthanasia by Feng Su Jun

Falling (Luo Chi) by Yu Cheng

Psycho (Feng Zi) by Xiao Yao Zi

Limerence (Wo Xichen Ni Nan Pengyou Henjiule) by Jiang Zi Bei

Lip and Sword (Chun Qiang) by Jin Shisi Chai

The Missing Piece (Maoheshenli) by Kun Yi Wei Lou

Raising Myself in 2006 by Qing Lv

Rose and Renaissance (Wo Zhi Xihuan Ni de Renshe [Yule Quan]) by Zhi Chu

Killing Show (Sha Lu Xiu) by Fox

Soul Vibration (Linghun Saodong) by Dr.solo

To Rule in a Turbulent World (Luan Shi Wei Wang) by Gu Xuerou

Monogatari Novels:

It is unclear to me if Monogatari Novel titles are available for world-wide distribution, but there are group orders being organized or I think they can be ordered directly from their webpage; they are based in Spain. These titles can also be ordered from at least some major retailers. Note that there has been some controversy about Monogatari Novels.

BAIHE: A Clear and Muddy Loss of Love (Jing Wei Qing Shang) by Please Don't Laugh

BAIHE: Female General and Eldest Princess (NuJiangjun he Zhang Gongzhu) by Please Don't Laugh

How to Survive as a Villain (Chuan Yue Cheng Fanpai Yao Ru He Huo Ming) manhua by Yi Yi Yi Yi

The Legendary Master's Wife (Chuanshuo Zhi Zhu de Furen) by Yin Ya

The Silent Concubine (Ya Nu) by Qiang Tang

BAIHE: Soulmate manhua by Wenzhi Lizi

Aloha Comics:

A tiny, Hawaii-based press focusing on manhua. Titles appear to primarily be available through Diamond Comics. There are also pre-orders on Yiggybean. All of these are pre-orders, though the earliest are coming out by the end of April 2024 (about two weeks after when I'm posting this).

All these titles are manhua!

Day Off by Qing Cai

Here U Are by DJUN

Link Click by Li Haoling and Haoliners (not technically danmei!)

Nirvana in Fire (Lang Ya Bang) by Hai Yan (not technically danmei!)

Chaleuria:

As far as I can tell, Chaleuria has not updated their webpage since April 2023, so the current status of in-progress titles is unknown. All titles are digital and/or e-book, and I'm not sure how to purchase them as I haven't tried.

Complete Guide to the Use and Care of a Personal Assistant (Zhuli Shiyong Zhinan) by Why Radiance

Deep in the Act (Ru Xi) by Tongzi

Fake Slackers (Wei Zhuang Xue Zha) by Mu Gua Huang (no longer available)

From Body to Love (Leng Yan E Nan: Xian Shenhou Ai) by Wan Wan Yi Xia

Interstellar Power Couple (Xingji Qiangli Lianyin) by Kun Cheng Xiongmao (no longer available)

Intoxicated Friends (Zui Qing Zhi Pengyou) by Ye Shu Ying

The Long Chase for the President's Spouse (Zongcai Zhui Fu Lu Manman) by Three Thousand Crow Language

Reborn into a Hamster for 233 Days (Chong Shengcheng Cangshu de 233 Tian) by Yi Shu

Records of the Dragon Follower (Cong Long Ji) by Yueren Ge

Urban Tales of Demons and Spirits (Dushi Yaogui Lu) by Qie Er

World Hopping: Avenge Our Love (Ni Wufa Yuliao de Fenshou, Wo Du Neng Gei Ni Song Shang) by Xiaomao Bu Ai Jiao (no longer available)

Honorable Mentions:

There are a handful of titles I know of that are official translations of C Novels, where the C Novels aren't danmei or baihe but are often treated as adjacent within fandom (as in: I've seen people shipping characters from them, lol). I've included two above under the entry for titles from Aloha Comics (Link Click and Nirvana in Fire) and here are a couple others I currently know of:

The Grave Robbers' Chronicles (Daomu Biji) by Nanpai Sanshu (six volumes are available in English from Things Asian Press

The Legend of the Condor Heroes (She Diao Yingxiong Chuan) by Jin Yong from St. Martin's Press

Romance of the Three Kingdoms (Sanguo Yanyi), attributed to Luo Guanzhong, available in multiple translations

The Seven Heroes and Five Gallants (Zonglie Xiayi Chuan), attributed to Shi Yukun, there are two translations to English listed at the linked Wikipedia page

Note that to the best of my knowledge both of these are considered very substandard translations. I've personally read the official DMBJ translations and... yeah... and I've heard the LOCH translation is also mediocre.

I will add to the "Honorable Mentions" list if I find any other more mainstream titles with official translations.

Please don't come at me for including a couple classics. The characters shippable, what can I do? I've written fic for Romance of the Three Kingdoms...

A handful of other licenses are mentioned on the Carrd I linked at the beginning of this post; I have no idea the status of those titles and wasn't able to find information on them while putting together this post other than what was listed on that Carrd, so I've omitted them.

As a final note, I've personally purchased from every printer on this list EXCEPT Monogatari Novels (I'm holding off because of the controversy and will see how things play out) and Chaleuria (which I vaguely knew existed but nothing beyond that).

Seven Seas translation varies but the editing is general strong and the editions are sturdy and nice. Extras that have come with final volumes are lovely. I am buying literally everything they publish except for You've Got Mail, due to information about the author that was shared with me that the author is a transphobe. Note that Kinnporsche by Daemi is not danmei as it's Thai (and I've heard unsavory things about the author - I don't have a link for that as the information was shared with me on Discord, and I encourage you to do your own research rather than taking my word for it). No judgement if you make a different choice than me, to be clear, I'm just sharing the information I have and why I personally am not buying the books). Note that Seven Seas isn't without controversy, especially for treating their contractors poorly resulting in them unionizing. Some people have also been unhappy with the fidelity of their translations compared to the original Chinese (I've been satisfied personally but ymmv).

Peach Flower House has inconsistent inconsistent editing quality, but the books are very readable, and I'm excited that they're working with translators such as E. Danglars. I haven't bought any of their special editions so can't speak to their extras, but I've bought all their print translations and will continue to do so going forward.

I just got my first title from Via Lactea last week and finished reading it on Sunday, and the translation read very well and there were minimal errors. It also came with a bundle of cute extras, which I wasn't expecting and pleased, and writing this post has caused me to cave and spend $150 to buy the rest of their books. Thank you, tax refund. (Should I spend this money? No. Did I anyway? ...)

No Rosmei titles have actually shipped yet, so I can't speak to their quality, though the previews they've shared on social media (as outlined here, for example) read decently and I'm optimistic. The cover art is also lovely, and they've been communicative and responsive, for example they've already issued a statement related to a recent controversy over perceived poor marketing for At the World's Mercy.

Tl:dr, the above is absolutely everything I personally know about mlm and wlw Chinese novels and manhua that have been licensed for English publication. I hope it helps someone.

Now go forth, and buy some books!

#danmei #baihe #mxtx #priest #priest novels #tang jiuqing #mu su li #meng xi shi #yi yi yi yi #this probably needs a billion other tags but oh well #i've been meaning to write something like this for ages #like there's literally a similar post saved in my drafts #but apparently today is the day i don't have the willpower to not #as also evidenced by my literally buying some of these books while in the middle of putting the post together lmao #i broke a windshield wiper on sunday and SHOULD spend money fixing that instead but here we are #at least it's the passenger side wiper???#anyway as always just tryin to do my part to get people to read more than just mxtx #not that i don't love mxtx #but please guys there's so much amazing stuff out there READ MORE BOOKS

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python333 · 7 months

Note

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:

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mosaickiwi · 8 months

Text

Nails, TV, Moving

Rendacted paints your nails and 'asks' you to move in. 1.3k words, GN reader c:

14 Days With You is an 18+ Yandere Visual Novel. MINORS DNI

"Unfortunately for our contestant—" the host’s words get cut off as you press a button on the remote.

"Booooo," you jeered at the TV from your spot on the floor and changed the channel.

Ren hummed softly at your voice, but didn't look up. Despite the dark bangs that obscure their eyes, you can tell they’re focused. He was happily painting your nails—the same shade of black as his own—at your request. He insisted you sit as close as possible on the blanket he laid down, instead of across the coffee table. He'd only ever painted his own nails after all, so the angle was very important to keep him from messing up. You were certain he just said that because he wanted the closeness.

The screen barely flashes a few frames before you're changing it again. A football game, a cartoon, a drama, and then—you finally stop. There's a couple wandering through a cabin, with a disembodied voice narrating all it had to offer. One of the many house hunting shows that came on every so often.

"Oh, this one's pretty." You put down the remote to watch. The couple head upstairs where the master bedroom is and your excitement quickly dies. "Maybe not. The bathroom is a huge let down."

Ren casts a glance up at the TV as the camera pans over the room once more. He took in the slanted ceiling, with the tub stationed on the lower end, lit up by an angled skylight. He didn't really see whatever problem you had. "What's wrong with it?" he asked.

"The ceiling is already so low. You'd have to fold yourself in half to get in that tub, tall as you are. And you'd probably hit your head every time you got out. We couldn't live there," you grumbled and rested your chin on your free hand, eyes never straying from the screen. "No way I'd put you through that."

You didn't notice how he perked up when your concerns involved him—you even said ‘we.’ A miniscule drop of polish fell on the paper towel under your hand. He wasn't sure if you were being considerate, or if your perfectly normal relationship was at the point of buying a home together. He hoped it was the latter. Either way, including them already planted ideas in their mind. "So then, what's our—your ideal home have?"

"My ideal home…" You’d only really thought about things you didn’t want, thanks to your current apartment. "I can't say I'm very picky. No holes in the walls, enough room to breathe, no rats," you paused for a bit—now they were in a rather awkwardly shaped second bedroom. "When I was little I wanted to live in a bounce house. Or have a freezer dedicated to ice cream."

Ren smiled while he carefully painted the nail of your pinky. "One of those is doable."

"True, but I'd rather not blow up my house every day," you joked and continued pondering. "The location is probably the most important, right?" He silently nodded in agreement as you went on. "Corland Bay's nice and all—having everything so close together makes things easy. Except sometimes I wanna fall asleep without hearing cars pass by or Violet playing games. It's much quieter here. Plus your bed is comfy."

"You're more than welcome to live here, Angel," he innocently offered. “Although maybe you’d enjoy somewhere more secluded.”

“Like just out of town? Not too far from civilization. I'd still wanna be near the beach." You watched the couple fuss about the kitchen in another house before you really processed what he just said. You turned to look at him for the first time since the show caught your interest. "Are you asking me to move in with you?"

"Oh, is that what it sounded like?" His tone was full of shock, but you could see the way his snake bites pulled up in a faint grin. He examined your nails and lifted your hand once he deemed it finished. "I do have all this space, though. The library’s close by. Beach is a short walk away, too. No neighbors, no noise. I've never had a rat problem. I guess it hits all the marks f’you, doesn’t it, Angel?"

"Ren…" You rolled your eyes at his antics.

"If you really want to move in that badly, I'm not opposed," he said teasingly. "Other hand."

You didn't respond just yet, merely giving them a playful side eye and placing your hand flat on the table. Gently, you blew air on your wet nails while he went to work. The noise of the TV faded into the background as you thought about his offer.

It was a big step to take. You already spent a fair amount of your time at his place. The ever-dwindling amount of laundry you did at home served as proof. Cohabitating with them wouldn't be much different from now. Ren always gave you space when you asked, even with his clingy personality. He was tidy, quiet, and never made a fuss—the perfect roommate on paper. The real issue was money. A place like this would cost way more than a librarian’s salary could pay.

"As much as I want to, I have to consider rent first," you thought aloud, causing him to stop and look up.

"Angel, you don't need to pay anything." His answer was almost immediate and it surprised you how firm he sounded about it.

You shook your head. "I know I probably can't do half, but I’d like to do my fair share. How much is your rent each month?"

"Well, actually," he stalled and idly rolled the nail brush in his fingers before putting it back in the bottle. The rent was one thing he couldn’t be bothered to keep track of. "...I have no idea?"

"How—what?"

"It's an automatic payment so I never think about it," he admitted, explaining further at your incredulous expression. "I mean I definitely saw it when I found the listing—and when I signed the lease. But I can't remember it off the top of my head."

You had a hard time believing what you were hearing. You knew your own rent by heart—it mocked you every time it took a chunk out of your bank account. A question about how he budgeted weighed in your mind, although the rather calm way Ren spoke clearly answered it: he didn't. It seemed obvious now; he'd been a frivolous spender from the beginning.

The blank look on your face made him a little worried. "Honestly, Angel, it’s not an issue. I’ve been paying it on my own just fine," he insisted. "You don’t have t’worry about any cost if you stay here, I promise.” He’d be happy as a clam to pay triple whatever he already was if it meant you'd move in. Hell, he’d even pay for you to live in one of the empty units next door.

"Fine then," you sighed in defeat, glancing towards the TV screen for a moment. The show was already ending. "If I tried to give you money you'd just find a way to give it back anyways.”

Ren let out a faint breath as if he was holding back laughter, but didn’t disagree. "So, how about it? Gonna move in?” he asked with a sincere smile.

You couldn’t help but smile the same in return. “Yeah, why not? I’d be crazy to say no. I can talk to my landlord and be out in a few weeks, probably.”

His excitement only seemed to grow at your words. He was radiating silent joy, fingers tapping rhythmically on the table as he uncapped the bottle of polish once more. You could almost imagine a tail wagging behind him as he tried to make steady brushstrokes over your nail.

“Are you really that happy?” you laughed and he nodded. “Maybe I should just move in tomorrow.” His hand barely slipped, leaving the tiniest streak of polish on the side of your ring finger.

“Oops,” he muttered.

#14 days with you #14dwy #14dwy redacted #14dwy ren #momo writing #he's a lil silly #dude just yoinks more money if his account looks “low”#but low is 6 digits #your school taught financial literacy but he skipped that lesson to spy on you #bad title hehe

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bingwriterxo · 10 months

Text

call your mom

pairing: jenna ortega x reader

summary: in which jenna gets worrying texts

warnings: HEAVY TOPICS -- depression, OD, minors DNI (18+)

word count: 1800+

author's note: based on the song 'call your mom' by noah kahan. if you guys ever need to talk, hit my inbox please.

You (1:53am): i'm sorry.

You (1:53am): i love you.

Jenna grumbled at the sound of her text-tone cutting through the silent night, but she still turned over in her bed to reach for her phone, knowing that only one person was set to interrupt her usual do-not-disturb. She cracked one eye open to read what you had sent her and then shot up, fear surging through her.

"No, no, no," she muttered as her fingers fumbled around the screen, trying to unlock her phone as quickly as possible. She's fine, she thought. She has to be fine. The tears that were already welling in her eyes told her otherwise.

When she finally managed to open her phone, she immediately called you, her breath quickening with each ring that went by in which you didn't answer.

"Come on, come on. Please."

She was already pushing the covers from her body and slipping from her bed, shuffling around the dark room to grab a pair of socks and her keys.

"Y/N, please," she pleaded to the dial tone.

Then, a click.

"Jenna," you whispered, your voice raw and hurt and everything Jenna didn't want to hear.

"Y/N?!" She slipped one sock on, fumbled with the other. "Y/N, what's going on?"

There was a sob on the other end of the line.

Where the fuck are my keys?!

"I can't..." you cried into the phone. "Jenna, I--"

Jenna clenched her jaw as she hurried toward the light switch, turning it on and spotting her keys. She grabbed them, ignoring her body's protests of everything going too fast.

"I'll be there so soon, baby," she said, trying to keep her voice calm even though all she wanted to do was sob and shake. "Just hold on, okay?"

"I can't do it anymore, Jenna." You sniffled, hiccupped, then, "I love you."

Jenna shook her head. "No, baby. Stay on the phone with me, please."

She slipped into the first pair of shoes she could find, rushed out the front door of her apartment, sprinted down the stairs so quickly that she should've fallen, and was in her car in a matter of moments.

The engine rumbled to life, and your voice erupted through the car's speakers. "I can't. I just...it's too much."

"Y/N, stay on the phone." Her foot was heavy on the gas pedal. "You have to stay on the phone."

You let out a shaky breath. "It all hurts." You coughed wetly. "Everything hurts, J."

"I know, baby. I know, but it'll be okay. It won't last forever, okay?" Hold on. Just hold on.

"I'm--I'm getting real tired," you said, voice cracking, breaths shallow.

Fuck.

"Did you take something?" She pressed harder on the gas pedal, slipped beneath a yellow light. You didn't answer, and her speedometer climbed, climbed, climbed. "Y/N, did you take something?!" she gritted out, trying to keep her own sobs at bay.

She could hear you swallow. "Yeah," you breathed out.

Her grip on the wheel tightened. She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth. "Okay, you're gonna be okay. Just stay on the phone with me. Can you do that for me? Please?"

Your sobs were echoing around the car, bouncing from one speaker to the next right into Jenna's ears, and it was painful. She wanted to shut it all out, but she knew she couldn't.

"No, I gotta go," you mumbled.

"Baby, don't hang up. Stay on the pho--"

"I love you."

"Y/N, don't--!"

The beeps that came when you hung up felt like nails being hammered into a coffin, and Jenna finally let herself cry. She was shaking; her palms were pressed so tightly against the wheel that her knuckles were turning white; her speed was far too high for the speed limit.

"Fuck!" she screamed. She was still twenty minutes away.

Call her mom. Call her mom.

"Hey, Siri." Her phone sounded to life. "Call Y/M/N."

The dial tone filled the car. One ring, two rings. Please. I need you.

"Jenna?" Your mom's voice was groggy, like the phone call had woken her from deep sleep. "Is everything okay?"

"I don't know what to do," Jenna sobbed. "Y/N took something." She was hyperventilating, and she couldn't seem to stop. "She took something, and I'm on the way to her right now, but I don't know if I'll be fast enough."

"Oh god." There was rustling on the other end of the phone. Your mom said something to your dad, something Jenna couldn't pick up on. "Okay, Jenna. Y/F/N is sending an ambulance to her apartment, okay? They'll be there in a few minutes."

"God, I don't know when she took them. I don't--I don't if that'll be soon enough." She covered her mouth with one hand, tried to stop crying while talking. "I don't know what to do. What do I do?" Tears were blurring her vision.

"You need to breathe, honey, alright?"

"I'm sorry. I--" She felt pathetic. Your parents could lose a child tonight, yet she was the one sobbing and asking for help. "I can't lose her."

"I know. Jenna, breathe. You won't be any help if you can't make it to her." Your mom was crying now, too. "We need to breathe. She'll be okay. She'll be alright." It sounded more like she was trying to reassure herself. "She's strong." There was more shuffling. "We're going to her apartment now."

"I'm almost there." She pressed harder on the gas. "I'm almost there." Please, Y/N. Hold on. Just a little longer. Just a few more minutes.

"She'll be okay, Jenna." Your mom let out a gasping sob. "She has to be."

You have to be okay. We need you.

Stay with us.

* * *

The lights were blinding; the chairs were uncomfortable; the air was sterile in a way that air shouldn't be; there was beeping echoing from every direction; nurses were walking around, this way and that.

Jenna couldn't think about anything other than the fact that you were laying in a hospital bed, just a few rooms away. A doctor had come in earlier, talked to her and your parents about what had happened, but she had tuned everything out.

Her fingers were fiddling with themselves, hands wringing together. Your mom's hand was resting on her knee, which was bouncing up and down, up and down, up and--

"Y/L/N?"

She shot out of her chair. Your parents did, too. The doctor said something, and she knew she should've been listening, but she was waiting for--

"You can go see her now," he said.

The three of you rushed to the room that you were given, and Jenna had to pause in the doorway, watching as your parents hurried to the farther side of your bed. You looked so...tiny, laying there--fragile in a way that Jenna had never seen.

Tears welled in her eyes again, and she took a step back, gasping for air. Your mom looked up at her--your father down at you--but Jenna just waved her hand. Take care of her, she thought. She needs it.

She stumbled back into the waiting room and fell into a chair, trying to erase the image of you in the bed, of you in the back of the ambulance, of you alone in your apartment, sitting in your bathroom when she had arrived. She wiped at her eyes, rubbed at them, pressed the heel of her palm into them like it would rid her mind of the memories.

Come on, Jenna. Pull yourself together.

She couldn't.

It was too much. It was all too much.

She was crying again, in the empty waiting room. Her sobs filled the air, loud and unrestrained and laced with pain, and her tears slid down her cheeks unabashedly.

Then, a hand on her shoulder. Soft, strong, careful. Jenna looked up. Your mom stood beside her, offering her the smallest of smiles.

"She wants to see you, honey," she said quietly.

Jenna sniffled, wiped at her tears. "Okay." She nodded and stood. Your mom led her back to your room, and she followed like she was on autopilot, her legs moving quicker than her mind wanted.

When she arrived, you were watching her, eyes wide and owl-ish, scared and child-like, sorry. Half of her was tempted to run back into the waiting room and hide there until this was all over, until she woke up from what she was sure was a dream. The other half knew that you needed her, and she listened to that half as she walked inside and kneeled beside your bed.

"We'll give you two some time," your father said, and Jenna didn't even look at him as she heard your parents shuffle from the room. She was staring at you, at your eyes, your lips, the slope of your nose--everything that could've been gone.

You sighed, shrank in on yourself. "I'm sorry," you whispered.

Jenna swallowed. "You're okay." Her bottom lip trembled as she spoke, relieved that she was able to say those words. "You're okay."

"I'm okay."

"I thought--" Her voice cracked, and she choked back a sob. "I thought I was going to lose you." She shook her head and blinked back tears. "I don't know what I'd do without you."

You chewed at your bottom lip and sniffled. "I'm okay."

"Okay." She was crying again, unable to stop herself. She leaned forward and pressed her lips to your forehead, closing her eyes to bask in the feeling of your warmth, of your life. "I love you," she mumbled against you.

"I love you, too."

* * *

Jenna moved into your apartment a week later.

It wasn't an idea forced on you but rather one that you suggested. I don't know if I can trust myself yet, you had told her, and she had adamantly agreed when you asked if she wanted to move in with you.

It was easy--existing with each other. It made it harder for you to slip into episodes in the coming months, and it helped Jenna sleep at night, knowing that she could reach over at any moment and feel your pulse beneath her fingertips.

You were put on medication two weeks later.

Jenna would keep your pills in the drawer of her nightstand and give one to you each night, and then, to be cautious, count them after you had gone to bed, just to make sure. When she always found the number she was supposed to, she would let herself relax and fall into bed with you.

You started weekly appointments with a therapist.

At first, you were a little nervous, if not a bit uncooperative. Then, you realized it actually did help, and you were making progress, and the world was becoming a little bit lighter.

A month passed. Then, six. Then, a full year.

You were getting better. You weren't there yet, not fully, but Jenna could see that things were brightening for you. She would see your eyes light up again, and your smile wouldn't hesitate as it broke across your face, and you would talk to her--really talk.

And, on nights when it was harder, when things would feel heavier on your shoulders and Jenna couldn't handle them alone, she would do the one thing she knew worked every time.

She'd call your mom.

#jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega #jenna x reader

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onsunnyside · 1 year

Text

💤. 𝐒𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐲 𝐇𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰

𝗣𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴 | Stalker!Ari Levinson x reader (College AU)

𝗪𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 | DARK THEMES AND ELEMENTS, SMUT - minors DNI, NON-CON, DARK!Ari Levinson, stalking, implied drugging. College IT!Ari, camboy!Ari, outcast!Ari, size difference: 6’8!Ari. non-consensual filming & posting, perving, somnophilia, dirty talk, daddy kink, dry humping, size kink, masturbation (f & m), slight cumplay.

𝗦𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆 | Beware the quiet ones.

𝐨𝐧 𝐀𝐎𝟑

𝗪/𝗖 | 1.3K

𝗔/𝗡 | this is my entry for @boxofbonesfic Friday the 13th Challenge, and I picked stalker. Here’s the Pinterest board. this is my first time participating in a challenge, so i'm a little nervous, but here we go !! this is a dark fic, the warnings have been given—if you don’t like it, don’t read. all mistakes are my own. [all asks & drabbles]

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ 𝐅𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰 & 𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧 𝐨𝐧 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐲 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲: @𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐮𝐧𝐧𝐲𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲

˗ˏˋ𝐌𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭ˎˊ˗ ⋰˚ 𝐂.𝐄. & 𝐂𝐨. 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

“I’ll call you when it’s fixed or if anything c-comes up…”

You nod, quickly gathering your things. His throat tightens, fingers itching for yours. “I-I could walk you home, I don’t have any more appointments today.”

“It’s fine. I live on campus.”

“But it’s getting dark—”

“I’m okay.” You repeat firmly, softening the blow with a smile, “but thank you, Ari, I appreciate it.”

You don’t give him another chance to protest and leave. When you step out, the smell of rain engulfs you, cool air washing away any traces of him, but your goosebumps never leave.

Whatever. At least it’s done.

You flip up your hood and start the short trek home, forcing yourself not to glance back—even though you just know he’s watching from the window.

Desperate times called for desperate measures, and since your coursework list was neverending, you had no choice but to book an appointment with the IT department. One click, one stupid click on a link was all it took for your laptop to go haywire and then completely unresponsive.

You couldn’t afford to miss another deadline, even if that meant sitting face-to-face with the campus outcast.

Nothing was wrong with being alone or preferring solitude, but Ari had a strange energy around him. It was suffocating and unsettling, either too quiet, too friendly, or too close.

There weren’t many places for him to hide with his towering height and broad stature, yet he blended in almost too naturally, adapting to the surrounding space as if he belonged there—when that was far from the truth. He didn’t belong anywhere, regardless of how hard he tried to pretend so.

The only tell was the feeling of being watched.

His blue eyes set in steely glare, dissecting you like one of those dead specimens on the aluminum tray.

You had a lab with him one year, and you remember the shivers crawling up your spine when he smiled and made his way over. You thank the universe every day that Natasha slid into the free chair and asked very loudly if you’d be her partner.

“He’s a fucking weirdo.” Natasha grumbled in disgust, glaring at his retreating back, “I don’t have to know him to know he’s into freaky shit.”

Rumours were always just gossip, ill judgment spreading around like wildfire but at this point, you’d believe anything about him, anything to fill that empty void of unease.

Was there any proof that he was into fucked up shit? Or that he was a dark web lurker or a disgusting pervert? No, but your gut told you to flee whenever he was around and that was enough.

Ari was a proud introvert, an odd balance between shy and awkwardly friendly. A small part of you pities him—the different, nerdy reject shrouded in alleged disturbed mystery. You’d never admit it but he was devilishly handsome and in an alternative dimension, he’d be exactly your type.

In any other classes you shared, you purposefully arrived late so he couldn’t sit next to you and so far, it’s kept him at bay. You felt weird around him but so did everyone else.

If there were something truly wrong with him, all of those lingering suspicions would’ve exposed him by now, or at least that’s what you tell yourself.

It was easy to blame everything on stress, the pressure of school and your impending future weighing heavy on your shoulders. Like most lonely nights, you dive into the virtual passions of the Internet.

With earbuds in, you scroll through the profiles, your gaze lingering on the lewd photos and biographies. One catches your attention, a little red ‘Top Hot 20’ pinned by the username and a teasing picture of flexed abs and a dark happy trail. You read over his most recent videos:

Jerking off and cumming in library (almost caught) – public masturbation

Eating sleeping girlfriend’s wet pussy – puffy clit, spitting, pussy slapping

You tap on the last one:

Dry humping girlfriend while she sleeps – dirty talk, cum shot

Clean runners softly pad on the carpet floor, the blanket is pulled back and exposes the girl’s backside. The dim flash barely illuminates her body, just an outline of her figure bathed in the moonlight. His big hand caresses her thighs, wasting no time in rubbing over her core.

Almost in a trance, you replicate his motions, tracing over your clothed slit as a quiet breath flutters from your lips, drowned out by his heavy groan.

“Look at you, all ready for daddy…” He rasps, his words slurred, “You knew what I needed tonight, huh?” He touches her petals, spreading the panty-clad folds, “Such a cute little pussy, Want me to fuck you?”

She sleepily rocks against his hand and he laughs, silencing her murmurs with a hand on her back. He manhandles her as he pleases, tossing pillows and blankets to the floor before straddling the back of her thighs.

You exhale and dip your fingers beneath the band of your underwear, seeking that needy bundle. Tingles fill your tummy while you circle your hole, gathering your juices up to your clit.

His fist squeezes his base and slides up to the angry red tip, smearing the pearly dribbles with his thumb. He’s thick and long, veins protruding from the smooth girth before disappearing under his bushy pubic hair. He grinds against her ass, his pre cum leaking all over her panties.

“You’re so fucking wet, I can smell you.”

With heavy groans, he rocks against her and the camera shakes. Primal thrusts slide his solid cock between her cheeks, staining the poor cotton. His big hand lands a series of harsh spanks, they’re so hard you feel the burning sensation too.

You fuck yourself with your fingers in time with his grinds and whine, imagining his fat length rubbing against you just like that.

“One of these days I’m gonna rub my sack all over your cunt. Get you all messy.” A forceful thrust sends the girl sliding a few inches up the bed. “Awh, you dropped your stuffie, little dummy.” He reaches out of the frame and returns with a stuffed animal.

It takes you less than a second to recognize the black and white spots. To your horror, he places the stuffie on a pillow and pets the head right between the small horns.

“There we go, gotta make sure Milky is watching. You gonna be quiet for me now, baby?” He laughs, “oh, why am I even asking? It’s not like you can wake up anyway.”

Your heart plummets to the ground, shattering every layer of the Earth until falling into the endless oblivion of space.

“Can’t wait to fuck your ass, maybe I’ll do it while you’re sleeping, just like how I ate your cute cunt.” He spits, roughly groping her—your flesh, “bet you woke up all sore. Was wondering why you were so sensitive, like someone tortured your pussy.” He curses lowly and his hips stutter, “sorry for bein’ so mean. You make me into a fucking animal.”

All air is yanked from your body when his cum spurts out, covering your panties and lower back. He groans shamelessly, jerking off with his own seed to expel every last drop before pulling down the back of your stained panties. He rubs it into your skin like a sick claim of ownership.

“I love you so much, baby. You have no fuckin’ clue.”

Despite the lightheadedness, you scroll to the comments. Every blink momentarily focuses your blurry vision on the bright screen:

Cute stuffed animal lol

should’ve taken her panties off. I wanted to see that pretty pussy

damn, she’s knocked out cold. How does she sound when she’s awake?

MrSinister: absolutely divine. She’ll be awake in my next video, I promise.

𝐄𝐧𝐝𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: my oh my 🫡 i feel very dirty, like i need to physically scrub my brain from this whore behaviour. happy Saturday besties.

𝐒𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞! be sure to check out the other fics for bones' challenge !!

As always, I hope you all enjoyed this and I’d love to hear your thoughts/feedback !! <3 — ☼ 𝐃𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐲 𝐊𝐨-𝐟𝐢 ☼

I don’t do taglists anymore. ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ 𝐅𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰 & 𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧 𝐨𝐧 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐲 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲: @𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐮𝐧𝐧𝐲𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲

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starluvsx · 4 months

Text

★𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐁𝐚𝐛𝐲 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐣𝐞𝐜𝐭

𝐒𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐨 𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐬 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 𖦹 𝐏!𝐧𝐢𝐜𝐤

proofread:YUPPP

word count:1.4K

WARNINGS:swearing?thats rlly it

A/N:i wanna do more headannons and stuff like this.this was rlly cute and fun to write.also I look wish the baby project was like a thing at my school but we don't even got working lights in some of the bathrooms soooo.

nick

you guys turned to each other as soon as the teacher said you could choose parameters

y'all were so convinced you would be great at taking care of the kid

you were wrong

You guys didn’t know you were supposed to change the baby until one of your friends told you

the first night nick took the baby too his house and left it on the kitchen table for six hours

he didn't realize he left it there till his mom came home from work and heard crying

you left it in your backpack twice

people said you were starting to look like an actual mom because of how stressed you were over this robot baby

almost set the bay on fire then you guys were trying to make pancakes

"so then I told her I was like why the fuck would you-"you began before you realized neither of you had the baby.you looked around before seeing the babies head dangerously close to the fire coming from under the pan in the stove. "Nick oh my gosh!"you said as you shot up from your seat at the table, grabbing the plastic baby from the counter. “you almost killed her!"you dramatically said as you cradled the baby, touching it's now warm head lightly.you didn't let him touch the baby for the next 2 days.

"y/n I have to hold the baby eventually,I don't wanna fail."He tried to negotiate a few days later.

"only if you promise not to put my baby's head near an open flame again."you asked him to do while rocking the baby.

"bitch im not gonna burn your baby."he joked, making the two of you laugh.you then handed him the baby, still smiling at your best friend's stupid joke. as soon as the baby was in his arms though it began to cry and wail. "Actually you can have your baby back"he said before handing it back to you jokingly.his gesture made the both of you laugh even more.

you guys got a C+, partly because some of the babies' hair was a little burnt.

Matt

treated that baby as if it was real.

literally named it Issac

set timers for every time he had to feed it and change it

The baby had a built-in voice box to make him laugh so he loved to make it laugh and giggle.

wouldn't let the kid go

had to stay on the phone with you on the nights you kept the baby

like the whole night

there was one time where you forgot to feed the baby and he literally freaked out

on the last week of the project he realized he didn't wanna give the baby back

you were already done with it though

everyone at school said you guys were like actual parents by the end of it

you didn't even realize how attached he was to the baby until you walked in on him sleeping cuddled ups that the baby

your phone rang from inside your pocket.the gas station you worked at was empty at the moment so you didn't hesitate to answer it. "Matt" read the caller id, confusing you because he knew you were at work but you still picked it up nonetheless. "Hey baby."he said into the phone.

"hi matt, what’s up,i’m at working right now so I can't talk for long" you explained as you saw a car pull into the parking lot.the headlights standing out in the darkness

"Well i was just wondering if you wanted to come over after your shift, i got some snacks but nobody to share em with." he asked cheekily though the phone.the people from outside stepped into the gas stations mom and her daughter.you laughed at his slyness until faint baby cries in the background.

"Is that isaac?did you forget to feed him?''you asked worriedly through the phone.the mom and her daughter looked at you confused as your young face was talking, presumably, about her baby.

"No I just have to change him" he explained through the phone.shuffling could be heard from the other line before you could say anymore.matt letting out a dad like groan while getting up made you smile to yourself.

"ok yea i'll come over in a little, probably like 9:30, is that okay?"you asked through the

phone.he mumbled a small 'yea thats fine' before we said 'I love you's and 'goodbye's and hung up.the lady and her kid coming up to the register once I put my phone in my pocket.

later

I let myself into the house and was greeted with Mary Lou and Nick watching a movie in the living room. "Hey guys,"I said sweetly, smiling and waving at the pair. They greeted me the same way before I asked "is Matt in his room?"

"Mhm" Mary Lou hummed. I walked down the hall till I made it into his room.i knocked on the door before opening in slowly.i was met with matt sleeping soundly,plastic baby cuddled up to his chest.i giggled a little before taking out my phone to take a picture.

Once I snapped the picture I tapped him on the shoulder lightly to not scare him.he fluttered his eyes open and looked at me tiredly. "oh hey babe" he mumbled out while sitting up and looking around wearily. "Was I cuddling with the baby?" he asked,confused at the doll that was in his now unraveled arm.

"yea you were"I laughed out before moving the 'baby' and climbing into bed with him.

"I was wishing it was you"he said as he pulled closer to him.the little comment making me laugh lightly.

I turned my body to face him before asking "so where are the snacks?" which made him

reach over to his bedside table and grab some chips, candy and 2 sodas.

"right here"he said while smiling and kissing me on the cheek.

you guys got an a+ on the project and your teacher even said you would be “perfect parents one day"

Chris

he actually asked you to be his partner instead of it being the other way around

It was way more stressful than you guys thought it would be

First you guys lost the bottle for a whole day

Literally looked up and down to find it but you just actually could not.

Turns out Chris left it in his locker

He def posts pictures of him and the baby with captions and stuff saying “ me and @youruser babyyyy” and “I think she looks more like me but idk” on instagram and snap

Was actually a very good parent despite thinking he wouldn't be

Dropped the baby like twice though

He also bought like little clothes for the baby so she wasn’t just walking around nakedly

you were so confused when he brought them home

when he would play video games you would tease him and ask him to "not swear in front of the child"

both of you ended up very emotionally attached to the kid

was very committed to being an actual dad after the fact

you guys were tired.watching a movie in chris' bed after a long day at school wasn't the best idea for staying awake.but while you were very tapped into the movie, you could also simultaneously feel his eyes boring into you.you didn't know why but also didn't think much of it.he's always been a bit of a starer.

you decided to continue focusing on the movie until it was abruptly paused. "hey why'd you do that?"you questioned.looking over at the boy who had been looking at you most of the night.

"Wanna have a kid?"he asked.the question leaving you stunned and confused at the sudden idea.kids had always been a possibility in both of your minds but it never something that could manifest into a real physical thing.

"Right now, like at this age?"you asked him to clarify.

"well now, in a years, five years, i don't really care"chris answered

"definitely not now, maybe when we're older with a house, a steady paycheck and you know, a high school diploma."you attempted to explain.

"I can't wait that longggg."he whined

"Well I definitely can,"you sassed. "Now turn the movie back on, I wanna see how this ends."

"probably with them having a baby."he joked under his breath as he reached for the remote to do what you asked

"chris you've seen this movie before you know how it ends"

#sturniolo triplets #influencers #x reader #youtube #celebrity #chris sturniolo #chris sturniolo x reader #fluff #cute #matt sturniolo #nick sturniolo #chris surniolo smut #matt sturniolo x reader #matthew sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #sturniolos

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luzifer-b · 4 months

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˚ʚ♡ɞ˚SUB!YUUTA X READER˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ 18+MDNI

cw: mutual pining, caught masturbating, handjob, teasing, sub!yuuta, everyone is 18+, overstimulation, begging, praise/humiliation kink, yuuta might be a stalker/closet pervert

Crossposted to ao3 ! my first x reader POV as requested by @bai-kage . Thanks again, Bai! Part 1 , Part 2 ------------------------------------------------------------------------------

As you make your way in again, the first thing you do is avoid looking at the bed or The Pillow that laid pathetically back in its place, clearly fluffed and made to look like it wasn’t just at the receiving end of Yuuta’s excitement. You simply sit at his desk, hands neatly resting atop your lap while he plops down on the edge of his bed.

And then, silence.

Yuuta pulls all the stops to avoid eye contact with you. You could cut the tension with a knife the way he braces himself to talk every time, his lips hanging open for a fraction of a second before pursing shut, over and over. His blush is persistent, hands shaking lightly while gripping onto the edges of the mattress for dear life, and your patience runs lower and lower, until you feel the words tumble out of your mouth.

“Well?”

Jumping from his seat, he puts a hand over his chest as if to still his heartbeat. That alone is enough to send him into a frenzy, and he finally begins to speak, rushed and stuttered. “I’m sorry— I’m really sorry, it was already pretty late, you know? I didn’t think you’d come in by now and I was all by myself so I— I— well, you saw— and now that I think of it I should’ve locked the door, but you come visit every now and then and I got used to leaving it unlocked, so I did, and then I forgot… this is is such a mess, I’m sorry, I swear…”

…Cute. You let him drone on, watching the shade of his cheeks turn redder and redder as he musters any he can, nearly a step away from getting on his knees and begging for forgiveness. Little did he know, though, that the more thought you put into it all, the less you felt that he should be trying to justify himself from his actions. You’re suddenly brought back to your semi-nightly meetings and the edge you always found yourself teetering over when you end up wondering what lies past the collar of his shirt, where his collarbone peeks out in the slightest.

“Next time if you want you can text me, or, not—well, I’m not saying I always need a warning, it’s always okay for you to come see me, y-you know that—b-but— I… ahhh… C-can you please say something? I feel like I’m just going on and on now.”

“Ah, yeah, sorry.” You reply, barely out of a daze of your own. As Yuuta sits there, nearly hunched over and wringing the hem of his shirt into a crumpled mess, you take in the sight before you, and you can’t help but think once again: Cute. Cute Cute Cute. Yuuta was undeniably adorable in the way he made himself so small after being humiliated like that. It made something begin to simmer at your core, something dark that wonders just how much further you could push him if you really tried. “You don’t have to apologize” You continue, your hands leaving your lap to make room for crossing your legs. “I saw the picture, though.” “Oh.” Yuuta’s eyes widen as he becomes the very picture of a deer in headlights, the grip on his shirt loosening slightly, before tightening again with a pull as he fidgets with it further, shrugging his shoulders in shame. Nearly about to burst into tears again, he bites his lip to fight the sting in his eyes, gaze glued to the ground while he braces himself for the worst. “Yuuta, look at me.” You beckon, not taking your eyes off him. Your tone is soft, yet confident. A rope of stability for him to grab onto in the midst of panic. “I can’t.” He speaks under shuddered breaths, still fixated on his own feet to avoid your stare. “Look at me.” You instruct again, leaning slightly closer. This time, he listens, his lips nearly quivering in fear of what you might have to finally say to in response to all this. “Do you want to do it?” “Huh?” He asks, barely above a breath. “Do it?” “Don’t play coy-“ You chuckle, leaning just a bit closer. “Do you want to fuck me or not?” The way you say the word with no frills or hesitation stuns him for a moment, and he gulps down the knot in his throat, before croaking another “Oh…that…” “With the way you were getting off on that pillow, I’m guessing you want to pretty bad.” A few seconds pass with Yuuta trying to look at any other spot in the room that isn’t you, before giving in and looking into your eyes once more. He can’t bring himself to say it, not as explicitly as you can so easily do, at least. Instead, he speaks the language you two have been speaking for a while, now and begins by holding his stare for a few beats, before looking down slowly, to your lips, your neck, your chest…until he is so red he looks like he might nearly burst. You’re filled with mirth once again at his adorable attempt at an invite that you just want to prod further, putting a single finger to his thigh. “Does looking at me like turn you on?”

He nods, tensing up under your touch. You use that single finger to try and pry his legs open, and to your surprise he is pliant, spreading them as far as you’ll push them. You stop once you can see the his crotch, delight spread across your features when you can clearly trace the shape of his hardened cock underneath the fabric. “Yuuta, is this your first time touching yourself to me?”

You can feel the restraint in his legs as he fights to keep them open, shaking his head. He mutters a small “No…” within a shuddered breath, letting go of himself to prop his palms by his sides, exposing himself to you to his best extent. “Then,” you purr, drawing a circle around his thigh that makes his breath hitch in surprise. “Can you show me how you do it?” “You already know how! P-probably!” He retorts, scandalized at your request. “You’re treating me like I’m some kind of pervert!” “Aren’t you?” “Huh!? T-that’s…” “That’s…?” The truth, that’s what it was. Yuuta himself knew it was inevitable to hide his true intentions from you at this point, and yet god knows he’d give it one last miserable try, before looking back at you and reaching for the front of his pants, cupping his own hand over them, making you immediately tut. “Come on, be serious.” You groan, using your finger to poke at his thigh. “Pull it out.” With hesitation, he does as he’s told and dips his fingers into the waistband of his pants, taking a grab of his erection and gingerly pulling it out of them, the head of his cock as pink as his cheeks, slick with precum from his previous interruption. “Cute,” You finally say it out loud. As you watch his furiously flushed cheeks and make a line to his wet dick, clear beads dripping past his fingers, you lick your own lips, briefly wondering what he would taste like right now. Not yet, you think, wanting to see how long you could draw this little show out. To your remark, Yuuta whines, his grip tightening while he begins to stroke himself in short, timid movements. Once his fist touches down the full length of his cock, he sighs, eyes fluttering half closed as he eyes you up and down, almost wondering if this is all just a dream. Another fantasy he’ll wake up from in a cold sweat, only to run into you in the morning and have to pretend he hadn’t just dreamt of being coerced into masturbating in front of you. The thought doesn’t seem to stop him, though. On the other hand, he looks up at you through half-lid eyes, giving you a once-over until he stops at eye-level, staring shamelessly towards your breasts as he strokes himself faster, feeling further worked up when he notices your nipples peeking through your shirt. Nothing escapes your perception as you carefully inspect his every movement, and you just feel endeared at how simple he is, getting off whimpers and all just at the sight of your chest. Reaching over to his free hand, you grab it and lift it under your shirt to lead him past the lower curve of your breast, squeezing your fingers over his. You expect him to react in some way given the situation, but he far exceeds your expectation when he follows your lead and squeezes harder, rubbing a thumb at the head of his cock and gasping, hanging his head low while he gives in to the pleasure.

“Soft..” He whispers, twisting his hand gently as he feels the contour of your breasts, pinching and pulling at your nipple before gripping again, moaning once his fingers give into the softness of your skin. “Soft, soft, they’re so soft, Haah, feels so good…” You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding, your chest hollowing out slowly, then filling once more, rising and falling as he fondles you like it’s the last time he’ll ever get to do so. Watching him is fun, sure, but that feeling you can’t quite put your finger on stirs within you again, and you decide that it simply isn’t enough. “Yuuta.” You breath out, and he promptly ignores, far too gone in his sensations to acknowledge your call. “Yuuta.” You try again, but all you receive is his current mantra of “Soft”, and “So good”, over and over, until you decide nothing will get done unless you take it upon yourself to snap him out of it, pushing his hand off your chest. “Yuuta.” “Huh? Wha…I’m sorry, did I do something wrong? Why’d you stop—” “I’m kind of offended…” Dropping his hand to the side, you make a show out of your disappointment, sighing theatrically. “I don’t really think you want this.” “I do!” He wails, letting go of himself to quickly grasp at your arms. “I want it, I want it so bad, I’ve been thinking about it for so long. I want you…” “Do you?” You hold your feigned interest, checking your nails briefly before eyeing between his legs, then back to his face. “I don’t think you want it enough, you’re being so timid.” “It’s how I usually do it…” Guilt washes over his face, loosening his grip on you slightly. “Is it not enough? What do you want me to do for you?” “I have an idea,” Lips curling into a smirk, you reach down and take a hold of Yuta’s dick, slowly wrapping your fingers around them. “How about I show you?” Yuuta immediately goes rigid to your touch, a small “iih!” escaping his lips in surprise. Before he can react any further, though, you begin to stroke him firmly, flicking your wrist ever so slightly while bringing your hand down his length every time. The mere thought of you touching him couldn’t compare to the real thing. He’s immediately intoxicated by you, his mouth hanging open with gasps and strained moans while mumbling a messy, garbled version of your name. “Ah— please, wait! w-wait… that’s too much—I feel it so much— please, slow down, I can’t—” “Nope~” You coo, bringing your hand to the head of his cock and rubbing your closed fist around it, your fingers coated in precum. “You said you wanted me, didn’t you? Come on, I want to see that little perv who was fucking into his pillow thinking of me just earlier. Come on, say you want my cunt.” “Aah! Haa… please… please… please give it to me!” “Give what? Use your words, puppy.” Your hand stops, and you use your thumb to dig into the slit of his thumb, eliciting a cry from him.

“Nngah, please give me your cunt! I want it so bad, I wanna know how it feels inside, I want to cum inside it, I want to make you feel so good—ah— please— pleasepleasepleaseletmefuckyou— “Good boy!” “Ah!!” “Ah.” It happens quicker than you expect, but within two thrusts of Yuuta fucking into your hand he reaches his climax, spilling cum all over your palm with a cry, slowly unraveling into a fit of gasps and sobs and he slowly rides it out on your hold, hips shaking and bucking against your touch. “Haa…hic…God…I’m sorry, I…” “You’re so eager to please, aren’t you? You came so fast…” Leaning in, you find yourself so endeared that you can’t help but lean in and begin to kiss the tears that roll down his cheek. “That’s because you kept teasing me...” “Is that a complaint? ‘Cause you looked like you were having the time of your life there.” “No…” He says defeatedly, rubbing his cheek against yours. “Well,” You nuzzle back, cradling his other cheek with your free hand. “I had fun. Maybe I should try and walk in on you more often. What do you say?” “Ahah… How about you just stay over from time to time instead?” “Fufu, sure. I’d like that.” -----

Thanks for reading!

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redratt · 10 months

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Break sketch of Lindsay, one of the three anarch Barons of Boston. Initially part of a different Barony in New York, Lindsay was exiled for her growing influence and her steadfast stance against the Camarilla.

A counterpart to the other two Anarch Baronies of the Boston area, Lindsay's barony operates like a mercenary group. Their meeting places are secret until you're drawn in, and all anarchs are organized into connection teams.

It seems draconian, but the Barony almost fell 4 years ago in a Sabbat seige. Lindsay took it over after the survivors banded together. The barony borders Sabbat territory, and the fighting has claimed lives on either side.

It isn't quite an active war zone yet, but there are concerns. Lindsay is one of the last Harmonists, courtesy of her partner, who helped her find the path despite her young age.

To outsiders, it looks a bit much. To those inside it, the Barony is almost holy ground. It is their territory, and they know they must hold it or die-- either the Sabbat will kill them or the Camarilla will have them killed in their moment of weakness. They are afloat in a sea churning with sharks, but they float together.

For those with werewolf knowledge: Lindsay is Black Spiral Dancer Kinfolk with Get of Fenris/White Howler ancestry. Shes a Brujah vampire, though.

#c: lindsay #anarch #vampire the masquerade #vtm #vamily #barony #homebrew setting #s: blood in the bay #world of darkness #old world of darkness #red draws

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diedikind · 18 days

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the first chapter of TGCF “spoils” the entire novel

The two stories presented in the first chapter / prologue of tgcf act as miniatures of the larger story/theme.

The first story, “Upon the Grand Avenue of Divine Might, A Fleeting Glimpse of Beauty”:

“At the Heavenly Ceremonial Procession, the God-Pleasing Warrior wore a golden mask. Dressed in glamorous attire and with a sacred sword in hand, he played the role of the subduer of evil, the number one martial god for the past thousand years: the Heavenly Emperor, Jun Wu.”

Here it’s hinted that Jun Wu wears a mask but more importantly Xie Lian was “supposed” to become Jun Wu. In the revised version he has the nickname “Little Jun Wu”. Interpreting the idea of a mask in two ways:

Bai Wuxiang wears a physical mask but

Jun Wu also wears a metaphorical mask insofar as he hides his true identity under three layers: A. His literal identity as evidenced by “After blood-washing the heavens, he returned to the mortal realm, patiently waited for a while, crafted a new name, and fabricated a new identity. As a 'human,' he 'ascended' once again. All the former divine priests of the heavens perished, leaving no one to know who he truly was, nor did anyone know what he was like before. Now, the widely circulated tales of the ‘Heavenly Martial Emperor'—his origins, anecdotes, amusing stories, appearance, temperament... all are false, intricately woven lies by him!" B. His hatred / what he truly thinks or feels about the common people and the world as evidenced by: “Now, he is the number one Martial God of the heavens, radiant and glorious on the surface. Yet within his heart, he harbors boundless darkness. Resentment, pain, anger, hatred... these emotions need to be released. Only by doing so can he maintain his equilibrium, continuing as the leading Martial God overseeing the Three Realms, instead of embarking on a massacre.” This layer of his mask only comes off after the final battle: 【As the number one Martial God of the Three Realms, Jun Wu's appearance and demeanor are always impeccable, pristine. However, now, stripped of all his aura, Xie Lian realizes that even without the three faces, his complexion is too pale. His features are too sharp and cold, with slight darkness under his eyes, casting an indescribably gloomy air, far from the gentle demeanor presented under the halo of light. But now, he seems more alive, albeit in a languid state.】 C. His dream/idealism. This is the most important layer in my opinion because it relates to the theme of the novel. Jun Wu was in effect “forced” to give up on his dream/idealism / the third path after hitting the wall that is reality. I mentioned in another meta that the crown prince of Wuyong’s vassals accused him of changing and forgetting his original intentions, suggesting that in the pursuit of his dreams, he had deviated from his path, gradually breaking his principles and the basic decency of being human, losing his humanity in his quest to become a god. This criticism was what executed (Zhu) his heart (Xin) rather than anything that hurt his body physically, which relates to the meaning of 杀人诛心 (sha ren zhu xin). By abandoning his own values he conformed to the expectations of society, becoming the God-Pleasing Warrior.

Xie Lian is different from Jun Wu in all these ways.

He does not accept Bai Wuxiang’s physical mask and refuses to come to his side

A. After 800s years he still lives as Xie Lian. He tells Yin Yu: "Look at me, I've also managed to live up to now with quite a thick skin." He lives in his own skin and own body and does not hide behind a false identity out of shame. B. He does not construct a grandiose image of holiness. C. He does not give up on his dream/idealism.

Xie Lian is unlike Jun Wu in all the ways that matter, and Chapter 1 / the prologue tells us this.

【People only had time to glimpse a bird-like white shadow soaring against the sky, before the Crown Prince, holding the child, safely landed on the ground. The golden mask fell off, revealing the young and handsome face hidden behind it.】

The mask fell off to reveal his true self. He is not Jun Wu. He will not follow in his footsteps.

Why did the mask fall off? Because he went to save Hua Cheng. In other words, he did not become the second White-Clothed Calamity because:

Intrinsically, he is the type of person who would save the falling child. He is the type of person who would give the common people one last chance by postponing his revenge for three days. He is the type of person who would wait for someone like the bamboo hat guy, the type of person who would search for a flower in a city of ruin, who would hold on to his idealism despite a world that punishes him so.

Extrinsically, people like Hua Cheng and the bamboo hat guy played an important role

The second story, “At Yinian Bridge, Demon and Immortal Meet”:

【Legend has it, to the south of the Yellow River, there exists a bridge named “Yinian Bridge,” haunted for years by a ghost.

This ghost is terrifying: clad in tattered armor, stepping on flames of karma, its body covered in fresh blood and pierced by swords and arrows. With each step, it leaves behind a trail of blood and fire. Every few years, it would suddenly appear at night, wandering at the bridge’s end, blocking passersby to ask three questions:

“What place is this?”

“Who am I?”

“What should be done?”】

The ghost at Yinian bridge is a symbolic representation of the crown prince of Wuyong. The bridge, the armour, the flames, having been pierced by swords — everything lines up perfectly. Xie Lian only had a chance to answer the first question before they start fighting, but I think the other two are also important.

“Who am I?” Again, Jun Wu has lost his sense of self hidden beneath the mask. He does not know what he stands for.

“What should be done?” The dichotomy and cognitive dissonance have driven him crazy. He does not know whether he can still turn back after the choice he’s made.

That said, Xie Lian defeats the ghost at Yinian Bridge. This foreshadows that he will defeat Jun Wu at the end of the novel.

If you read this from a succession lens it also works, the good ol’ conflict about boys either having to kill their fathers or vowing to never become their parents; it’s portrayed over and over again in modern media such as Daenerys Targaryen saying “I am not my father” but going mad in the end of Game of Thrones anyway or Siobhan Roy growing into her mother in Succession. The trope usually ends in tragedy but TGCF is a novel about dreams and idealism and defeating your fate.

Anyhow, this is my two cents — that the first chapter of TGCF sorta-kinda-if-you-squint-hard-enough “spoils” the entire novel.

#tgcf #heaven official's blessing #xie lian #jun wu

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fandomxpreferences · 1 year

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Living In A Moment You Would Die For (Part 2 of Dirty Little Secret)

Masterlist

Pairing:Rafe Cameron x pogue!reader

TW:angst, violence, mild abuse (fuck you, Ward), I think thats all

Summary: Rafe hashes it out with Ward, and luckily you show up to save the day.

Word Count:2.2k

A/N:Dark Rafe AND soft Rafe? we love the duality

"Have you lost your fucking mind? Do you have any idea what this is going to do to our image?"

Rafe is standing stoically, an unmoving force as his father's rage whips around him like a hurricane. You both decided it's best for him to address it alone; who knows what Ward would do if you were there.

On any given day, you could find Rafe cowering before his father; no more than the scared child that has always tried to get out as unscathed as possible.

However, it seems Rafe's protective instincts over you are the only thing stronger than his fear, and for the first time, he's confronting his father as a man.

Rafe shrugs casually, his hands slotted in his front pockets, as his mouth turns downwards to express disinterest.

"I don't care."

Rose places her head in her hands, stress consuming her while Ward looks like he's about to explode.

"What do you mean you don't care? Rafe, you're jeopardizing our position as the most powerful family in Outer Banks. You're threatening our life that I busted my ass to build!"

Ward nearly hits him when he has the gall to smile, Rafe's hand coming up to wipe at the corner of his mouth as he turns away.

"Your life and position. Not mine. She is my life and future, not you."

Ward is shaking with anger, and for once the tables are turned as Rafe holds control over the situation. He's been at his father's mercy his entire life, completely powerless and unable to make his own choices.

Now, it's his father that is left floundering, unable to do anything to change the outcome.

"Rafe, so help me God I will-"

At this Rafe whips around and stalks forward, now mere inches from his father as he glowers down at him.

"You'll what? The next words out of your mouth better not even resemble a threat or you'll see just how much of a monster you created, Ward. Isn't so fun when you're the one helpless, is it?"

The darkness that he tries so hard to keep at bay is starting to consume him, overtaking his senses and muddling his decision-making skills. He's dangerous when he's like this, but this time he doesn't fight it.

He lets it take over, his ocean blue irises just a thin rim around his blown-out pupils as he takes ragged breaths. He silently hopes that his father chooses his next words carefully because he's fairly certain if there's even the slightest threat to your safety he'll strangle him.

He knows for a fact he wouldn't feel the slightest bit of remorse.

"Son-"

Rafe cuts him off, the beast that sleeps inside him wide awake and looking for blood.

"Don't call me that!"

His voice booms, so deep it's barely recognizable, and bounces off the walls. Whatever demons lurk under the surface of Ward's practiced composure were passed onto him, and grew tenfold.

He is his father's son, a new and improved lethal force. He inherited Ward's psychotic tendencies, and the patriarch left one thing unaccounted for.

His son was born with a storm brewing inside of him, yet lacked the love and support to calm it. Years of neglect and mounting pressure amplified the damage, feeding the devil that resides deep in his chest until it ripped its way to freedom.

A lifetime of corruption and inadequacy is enough to drive someone mad, and Ward has been living inside a guarded bubble, blissfully ignorant to what his only son is capable of.

It's all crashing down on him now, no longer allowing him the comfort of turning the other cheek.

"I've begged for help for years. You are not going to take away and ruin the one thing that makes me feel like I'm not a waste of space! I pissed away a year with the love of my life because of you. If it's between you and her, fucking trust me when I say that I will choose her."

His voice is unnervingly quiet now, more akin to a growling animal than a human. Ward swallows, desperately trying to appear unbothered. Deep down he knows the only thing more alarming than a screaming Rafe is a quiet Rafe.

"Try all you want, Rafe. I'm not afraid of you."

Rafe laughs, and Ward would be lying if he said it didn't send a shiver up his spine.

"You should be. You painted me as the villain before I even knew what the word meant. Maybe it's time I fill those shoes."

Ward blinks a few times, taken aback at the sincerity in his son's voice.

"I'm your father, Rafe."

The younger Cameron purses his lips and nods, taking a step back.

"Why do you think you're still alive?"

Ward is struck silent; genuinely at a loss for words as Rafe licks his lips and places a bruising hand on his shoulder.

"Here's what's going to happen. You're going to give us your blessing and stay the fuck out of our relationship. You will be nice to her and welcome her to the family because whether you like it or not, she's going to carry the Cameron name one day."

Against his better judgment, Ward scoffs and shoves his son back.

"Or what?"

Rafe doesn't retaliate, instead crossing his arms over his chest and shrugging.

"Or I'll tell Shoupe that you killed Big John."

Ward blanches at the promise and takes a menacing step forward.

"You wouldn't do that. You're still my child, and you wouldn't dare put me behind bars."

Rafe's gaze is unwavering as he stares directly into his father's eyes, and he nods.

"Is that gamble you're willing to make?"

Ward's eyes are nearly black now, bearing a striking resemblance to the man in front of him. Like father like son.

"He wouldn't believe you. No one would."

Normally the statement would cause Rafe to back down; erase any fight he had left in him. He's too far gone now, images of you flashing through his mind. Before he fell in love with you, his family and the promise of inheriting the business were all he had.

Rafe always thought there was nothing more dangerous than a man with nothing to lose. Now he's intimately aware of the truth; there's nothing more dangerous than a man with something to lose.

A man with someone to live for, and to protect. That someone is you.

A man that doesn't fear death will play fast and loose with his life; he'll lie down and accept defeat when backed into a corner because he has no reason to keep going.

But a man that wants to live? He'll do anything to keep breathing; he'll fight until his knuckles are bloody and bruised, until every fiber of his being begs him to succumb, and then he'll fight some more.

"Then I'll tell John B. How do you think he and his friends will react to finding out Ward Cameron murdered his father in cold blood? Personally, I think they'll want an eye for an eye."

Ward's hand flies up to Rafe's throat, an unrelenting grip restricting his airflow. Glass shatters on the hardwood floor when Rafe shoves him back against the table, his father's neatly pressed cashmere button down crushed between his fingers.

He's a split second away from connecting his fist to his father's jaw when everything stops. Your saccharine voice floats to his ears and all the chaos, all the violence that has been clawing at his throat and making his knuckles tingle with the desire to be let out, dissipates.

In an instant, the storm clears and sunshine beams within his soul. The raging wildfire is snuffed out and in its place something even brighter; A love and airy lightness that sets him ablaze in an entirely different way, and fills his lungs with desperately needed oxygen.

"Baby? What are you doing here?"

Rafe releases his punishing grip and turns to face you, his hands that are capable of such devastating destruction and usually stained crimson now aching to pull you close.

Ward's eyebrows pinch together, a look of sheer bewilderment taking over his features as he observes his son's jarring change in demeanor. Rafe's voice is soft as summer rain, a stark contrast to the venom dripping off his tongue just a few seconds ago.

Your eyes flit between him and his father, taking in the situation as the wheels turn in your head. You figure out what's going on almost immediately; your concerned expression turning to one of understanding.

You take a tentative step forward, locking eyes with your boyfriend. He knows that you know; his gaze has been set on you since the moment he registered your presence.

That's one thing Rafe has never fully understood; the way you capture his attention in such an alluring manner that he couldn't look away even if the world was exploding around him.

"You were supposed to meet me twenty minutes ago and you weren't answering your phone. I was worried so I wanted to check on you."

Your voice is calm as you explain, bringing Rafe a comfort only you can provide that he can't quite wrap his head around.

"I'm sorry, angel. I didn't mean to worry you. We were just wrapping up."

You nod slowly, still inching forward until you're close enough for Rafe to inhale your intoxicating scent. You stop just short of him and stare up into his eyes, the unwavering adoration ever present in your gaze.

One of your hands comes up to lay flat on his chest, the other one finding purchase on his cheek; grounding him like an anchor.

It's such a simple action, and yet it brings his nervous system out of fight or flight and into stability. It never fails to amaze him; the way he never knew what home felt like until he found you.

It's as if your very existence wraps him in a warm blanket, beckoning him to unclench his taut muscles and lay down his sword.

Being with you disarms him and it's like your soul reaches out and whispers ' It's okay now. Kick off your shoes, grab a cup of coffee, and come tell me your burdens. Stay a while."

His hand comes up to his face to cover yours and the demon on his shoulder breathes a sigh of relief, exhaling slowly and muttering 'Ah yes, there she is. Our north star on a pitch black night'.

"It's alright, my love."

Your voice is tender, an underlying question lingering that you don't verbalize but rather ask with your eyes.

Are you okay?

Rafe peers down at you, and you find your answer in the way his cerulean irises twinkle.

I am now.

You give him a reassuring smile, and he resists the urge to kiss the sides of your mouth where the skin wrinkles so adorably or the corners of your eyes where the muscles crinkle endearingly.

He's almost certain that you shine so bright it casts a glow on him, the warmth and beauty enough to make him fall to his knees and weep.

He resigned himself to his fate a long time ago; made peace with the fact he's probably going to hell. He figures that's okay because he's never been more sure that he's already experienced heaven here on Earth with you.

He had told you as such one night, wrapped in your embrace under the twilight.

"I think it's just my fate to be evil."

The statement had ripped through you like a shockwave, and you sat up to look at him with such intensity he felt like he had done something wrong.

"It's not your fate, Rafe. It was circumstance. You're not evil, you're hurt and scared. You don't want to be that way, and that's how I know that deep down you're good. Bad people don't care that they're bad."

That was the night he knew he loved you, and the words have echoed in the back of his mind ever since. They come rushing to the forefront at this exact moment, flashing like a neon sign.

"Since you're done, why don't we go get ice cream?"

He nods eagerly, not paying his father or Rose any mind as he takes your hand and leads you out of the house. You don't press for details; the fine print doesn't really matter anyway. You're here now, the last year of sneaking around and heartache long forgotten.

Rafe watches out of the corner of his eye as your hair whips around your face and you perform a mini concert in his passenger seat, lost in your own little world. His hand squeezes your thigh periodically, a reminder to himself that you're real and you're his.

He lets himself exist in the moment, committing the smell of salty sea air and the sound of your singing to memory.

He feels electrified, acutely aware of the air conditioning blowing on his face and the leather steering wheel gripped in his hand. Being with you makes him feel alive, and he silently wonders what the hell he thought living was before.

And as he watches you eat your ice cream cone with the cold treat dripping down your chin, he smiles so big that his cheeks ache. Yes, this is what it feels like to live and not just survive.

#rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron fic #rafe cameron angst #rafe cameron #rafe imagine #outer banks #outer banks fic #outer banks imagine #outer banks angst

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minihotdog · 6 months

Text

Stay a Wee Longer

Pairing: Soap x Medic!OC (Sergeant Lynn)

Summary: Soap ends up needing to be stitched up and is happy that the person doing it is so purdy

a/n: I actually like this fic ngl

c/w: poor understanding of medicine and the medical field, blood, wounds, mentions of dropping babies, saying too damn much while high off pain meds, a cutie patootie so cute it makes me wanna explode, too much smiling.

Word Count: 10k

***

You raced down the hallways of the small med bay alongside the medic you were turning over as he filled you in on the current influx of patients.

“We just got a wave of task force in the bay. You know what that means.” Reed sings at the end of his statement.

“Trouble.” Your words are dry, already exhausted from imagining the day ahead. “Yes, ma’am!” He exclaims in agreement.

When the task force was back in town it meant everyone had their work cut out for them. All sorts of injuries would come through, many needing immediate care.

“Your first patient is Sergeant Mactavish. Ooooh, he’s cute.” Reed gasps, peaking at the patient chart before handing the clipboard to you. “You should really make a move.”

“What’s wrong with him?” You ignore his remark.

Reed rolls his eyes at your attempt to deflect.

“Laceration, Left pectoral muscle. Bleeding is minimal, large improvement from earlier.”

“Yeah, rog.”

“If you don’t make a move on him then I will. Give me his file back.” He says while faking taking the clipboard from you desperately.

“Reed! I swear!” You finally break, smirking at your friend. He laughs before you both head in opposite directions.

You reach an unmarked door, a room reserved for more secretive guests. You knock before entering and greet an apprentice cleaning up a mess of bloody gauze.

“Thank you, I’ll take it from here.”

The apprentice nods and leaves. You feel a pair of eyes on you while taking another peek at the patient’s chart before speaking.

“Hello, Sergeant Mactavish, how are you this morning?” You brace for a sarcastic or angry response only to be met with a genuine “Oh, I'm quite lovely.”

Your eyes dart from the chart to him in surprise. His baby blues staring back at you. You’d ask patients how they were, even when they were obviously in pain, it allowed you to gauge how well they may cooperate during the treatment. Usually, the response would be along the lines of “fuck off” or “what do you think?” Yet here he sat with a slight smile tugging at one side of his lips and a dazed look.

“What’s yer name, bonnie?” His eyes were tired, dark circles clung to them as if he hadn’t slept in weeks.

“I’m Sergeant Lynn. I’ll be tending to you today.”

He gives you a proper smile, his eyes nearly closing in the process,

“Good tae meet ye, Sergeant Lynn.”

You notice the scar on his chin and recall his lengthy medical history in the chart,

“You sure do get hurt a lot, don’t you?”

He continues grinning, “Aye, I’m awfully good at that.”

You take a seat on the rolling chair next to the hospital bed where he lies. Your eyes give him a once over looking for any other obvious injuries. He’s lying shirtless, his camo pants splotched with blood here and there. He has a small patch of chest hair and a Scottish flag tattooed over his heart, and old scars litter his torso and arms. Your cheeks felt warm at the sight of his physique, it was obvious that this man loved the gym as much as life itself.

You mentally tell yourself to keep it together as you put your gloves on and begin removing the bloody bandage placed on his chest to help stop any bleeding he still had. His wound still oozes out a slow stream of blood traveling down his chest and slowing at his abdomen. You wipe up the blood with gauze, feeling his muscles contract under your touch. He doesn’t seem to care that he’s bleeding, his gaze fixated on you.

“I’m happy yer the one lookin’ after me today.”

“Oh yeah, why’s that?” You glance up at him quickly before continuing to examine the wound and its depth.

“Yer the most beautiful woman I’ve set eyes on in a long time. And I’m no sayin’ that ‘cause I’ve been starin’ at ma teammate’s ugly mug fir months.” His words occasionally blend together in a messy slur.

You felt a little embarrassed by his compliment. It wasn’t the most appropriate time for you to be receiving one. He was bleeding, wounded, and your eyes trying so desperately to not gawk at his bare chest or stare back into his captivating eyes.

“Thank you, sergeant. I assume the pain medication you’ve been given is working well.”

“Ye assumed correctly, but I still hae some discomfort.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, I’ll up the dose for you.” You quickly reach over him turning a dial on his dropper, the liquid beginning to drop more frequently. Soap notices your sweet-smelling perfume at the brief proximity and he lets his head drop back on the bed, eyes shut trying to savor it. The cool liquid entering his arm through an IV causes him to sigh and you assume he’s feeling the effects of the medication a little more, relaxing even further into the bed but once again he looks at you, this time with the softest eyes making your heart jump at the sight.

“Could you state your name and date of birth for me? Gotta ask before I do anything.”

“As ye wish. John Mactavish, January 12, 1996.”

You thank him quietly and continue trying to clean his wound and stop the little bleeding that is still present.

“A winter baby, huh? I heard they’re the happiest little things.”

“Aye? Where did ye hear that?”

You toss the used gauze into a small bin on your work table. “It’s an old wives tale.” Your lips form a downturned smile. “I used to deliver babies. The old midwives always had the darndest things to say.”

He chuckles sweetly, “Ah wonder if it’s true.”

“Me too. Unfortunately. I only saw the babies when they were born. Never got the chance to catch up.” You find yourself chuckling alongside him. You were certain a tint of pink had found its place on your cheeks.

“It must be a wonderful experience tae see the birth o’ a wean.”

You pause looking up at him with your eyebrows raised. He recognizes the look he gets almost daily from his teammates and translates, “A baby.”

You grab your suture and begin stitching the wound shut.

“It is. Sometimes it feels like a game of Russian Roulette, sometimes you get an easy delivery.” Your lip twitches downward, “Other times it all goes to shit. You don’t know what to expect, but with time it becomes a sixth sense.” You dab his wound with some gauze before continuing. “Most people don’t realize how hard birth actually is, or the risks. People think it’s easy because you might have the organs for it, but it often doesn’t go as planned.”

He listens to you attentively, his eyes go from the ceiling to you and back to the ceiling.

“Why did ye leave that work? Ye sound passionate.”

“Well, you can only drop so many babies before they send you running for the hills.” You joke, hoping he picks up on it instead of believing you were some serial baby dropper. His laughter fills the small room, the sound almost boyish but laced with the deep bass of his voice. You can tell he probably needed a laugh after the pain he’d endured.

“Ye hae a great sense o’ humour, sergeant.” His laughter dies down and he looks at you for the thousandth time. “Seriously, why did ye stop?”

You sigh, “I wanted a little more… Pizzazz?” The word sounded more like a question, you weren’t sure if it truly explained how you felt.

“…Pizzazz?” He repeats with a snicker falling from his lips. He tilts his head at you, his eyebrows raised in amusement. You look up at him with a spark in your eye that he can’t explain. “I wanted more chaos, more variety, heart-pounding work.”

“Hmm.” In a way he understood.

“When I woke up this morning, I had no idea what I’d be doing. Here I am stitching up a handsome Scotsman and tomorrow…” You shrug, “Maybe a rookie will come in with their fingers in an ice chest after a Roman candle fight. Who knows?”

He chortles, partially from you calling him handsome and from remembering his days of being a mentor to the rookies of his old unit before the SAS and Task Force. He’d received countless phone calls in the dead of night being informed that his troops were out raising hell. A rookie’s life was hell, but without responsibility, the blame would fall on whatever poor soul was listed as their supervisor.

“That mean ye work well under stress?”

“Something like that.” Your words trail off focusing a little harder on the intricate parts of the stitch. “What made you want your crazy-ass job?”

“The adrenaline is mental, but I get tae do something rewardin’. I’m proud tae protect folk, even frae dangers they dinnae know exist.” He hisses slightly at the end of his sentence. You stop, waiting for him to recuperate. He gives you a reassuring look before you continue. “What made ye wan’ tae be a medic?”

“I like helping people, even if they fight back half the time.” You go quiet for a few seconds. “Also, some rotten girl I went to school with said she wanted to be one as well and I said I could do it better.”

“Haha, ye seem like the competitive type.” His tongue darts out to wet his chapped lips. Your eyes retreat back to his chest, and you chew on your lip trying to calm yourself.

“I’m sure ye’d kick her arse at this a thoosand times o’er. I can see ye pit a lot o’ love intae yer work.”

“I do what I can.” You wink at him playfully. It was now his turn to blush, he was thankful that the scruff he’d grown the last two days was there to camouflage it. Cannae let a bonnie lassie see ye like this, John

“Alright, Sergeant Mactavish. You’re all stitched up and ready to go. Please take it easy until it heals. And please no Roman candle fights.” You warn while placing your tools on the small table to your side.

He laughs heartily, “Thae days are long behind me.”

“I’ll have an apprentice come to take out your IV and if you have an escort you can leave immediately.”

“Thank ye. I suppose it’s better tae be safe than sorry. Even though I reckon I could handle it.” His large hand comes up to scratch his scruff. His bicep contracts in what he thinks is a natural movement. You mentally roll your eyes at his innocent peacocking. If he hadn’t been so delightful, you’d have written him off as another sweet-talking womanizer you’d encountered from the special forces.

“Maybe you would manage just fine but every precaution comes about because the unthinkable has happened.” You clean up your station, disposing of your gloves.

“Do you need anything before I leave?”

“Tae be honest, I’d like if ye stayed a wee bit longer and humored a poor injured man.”

You shake your head at him with a smirk. Your pager cuts you off before you have a chance to respond. “I’d love to stay but I have to run.” You take out a notepad, scribble on it and hand it to him. Your soft hands graze his calloused ones. “Here you go, darlin’.” You shoot him a smile and he gladly returns one before you scurry off leaving him alone in the room. He looks at the piece of paper realizing you’d given him your phone number. A big smile spreads on his face, red finally peeking out from behind his facial hair. Oh, Johnny lad ye hae ootwitted yersel!

#soap x reader #john soap mactavish #soap cod #soap mw2 #john mactavish #soap mactavish #soap imagine #call of duty fanfic #john mactavish imagine #john mactavish fic #myfic

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deancaspinefest · 2 months

Text

Broken (The Worst Is Over Now)

Author: Trenchcoat_Paradigm | Artist: P3ngu

Posting on Friday March 29

Dean almost couldn’t believe it when he saw that huddled body swaddled in a tanned trench coat sitting in the middle of the dungeon floor. Cas was back. After months of searching, digging through the archives to find a way to drag his ass out of the Empty, they had finally done it. But something was wrong. This wasn’t the Castiel that smiled up at him with a tearful goodbye after reliving his true happiest moment. This was a wild snarling beast of a man, warped and twisted feral thanks to the damage of the Empty. A man who would probably rip out Dean’s throat rather than confess his love. Even when Dean breaks through that wild exterior, he discovers that Castiel still thinks he’s trapped in the hell that is the Empty. That nothing around him is real. Dean just has to break through to him.

Keep reading for a sneak preview!

It was no longer bubbling as the mass took a more solid form, going from a puddle on the ground and growing into an arching peak. Shoulders, something in the back of Dean’s mind told him. It looks like shoulders, and a head.

The breath was stolen straight from his lungs as he realised that his theory had been right on the money. The form continued to shift into something that looked almost human. The black ooze melted away, almost like it had been absorbed by the thing it had produced. “Not a thing! A person hunched over, crouching.” His shoulders curled in on himself as he sat crouched to the floor, his back facing them. An oddly reminiscent pose that Dean had seen only once before, sat at the river side in the greying afterlife of Purgatory. The tails of tan trench coat pooled around him dusting the floor, the muss of dark hair just visible from where his head bowed, disappearing behind the huddle of shoulders.

It was like he was experiencing some kind of outer body thing, not feeling anything but just left watching. His legs felt heavy, like magnets were keeping him tethered to the ground and it was sheer willpower alone that he didn’t fall to his knees at that moment. Every emotion he had been keeping at bay the past months battled for attention inside his head, but their fighting war was counterintuitive, not being able to focus on a single thing essentially made him numb. He just stared blankly at the unmoving huddled figure in the middle of the dungeon floor.

He didn’t even realise he had moved until he was on top of him. Hand tentatively reaching to lay on his shoulder. A solid warmth beneath his palm and a breathy whisper escaped his lips. “… C… Cas?”

It all happened so fast that Dean didn’t even have time to process it—not until the shackles were around Castiel’s wrists.

That tanned shoulder flinched away like he had been burned, as eyes bluer than the midday sky turned sharply to consider him, but they soon clouded over with a dark storm of fury. His lips pinched into a snarling grimace as he lunged at Dean with a spitting and foaming-at-the-mouth feral roar. A hand locked around his throat as Dean was rushed backwards head colliding with the solid concrete wall and those fingers around his windpipe squeezed tight.

He saw his own panicked look in the dark of his eye as he gasped for air, not clouded over like a demon, they were still blue—beautifully blue—but there was something else to that stare, a haunted fearful look that Dean almost didn’t recognise beyond the fury.

Dean didn’t even fight back.

(continue reading on Ao3 on Friday March 29)

#destiel #deancas #destiel fic #deancas fic #destiel art #deancas art #pinefest 2024 #pinefest previews #2024 Dean/Cas Pinefest #author: Trenchcoat_Paradigm #artist: P3ngu #Feral Castiel #Care Giving #Angst with a Happy Ending

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rookthorne · 10 months

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⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ 𝐒𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐇𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐲, 𝐒𝐨𝐟𝐭 𝐚𝐬 𝐒𝐢𝐧

Bucky’s touch was akin to that of a sniper, methodical, precise, and never missing its target. It left you breathless and sated, with a sweet aftermath lingering in its wake.

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 ✯ Mechanic!Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕 ✯ 2.1k

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 ✯ Fluff ჻჻჻ SMUT: Oral, fingering (F receiving), Dom!Bucky, car sex ჻჻჻ KINKS: Praise, sir

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒂𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆 ✯ No thoughts, head empty. Good luck.

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒎 ✯ Cravin’ by Stileto, Kendayle Paige

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏𝒕 ✯ @buckybarnesevents Hot Bucky Summer ჻჻჻ Week 4 — 'C' Week (Car Sex) — Masterlist

𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐆𝐢𝐫𝐥𝐬 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

It was late again. Another day had flown by – work had been slow, so you had brought your laptop and worked out of Bucky’s office, much to everyone’s elation. It had been a chore to get Bucky out into the garage and actually work, but it was worth it to see his retreating back shown off by another dark, dark red henley, and his ass in those jeans.

Everyone had filtered through the office and said their goodbyes, either a big smile and a wave or a nod and promise to see you another day. Your laptop shut down with a whirr, and you sighed heavily, placing it back in your bag to slump back into your chair. However, the view into the garage caught your attention before you could settle into a post-work slump.

Earlier that day, Bucky had said in passing that he had to do something to his Mustang. And there it was – the shining silver Mustang, sitting in all its glory with the hood propped open, while Bucky was bent over the engine bay. The chassis bounced slightly as Bucky grunted and pulled at something. “Sonofabitch,” he groaned, his frustration evident. You frowned and got to your feet.

As you stepped closer, you saw Bucky’s hair was loose from the usual ponytail he kept it in while he worked. The locks of dark hair flowed with each movement, and each tug and pull caused a grunt of effort to leave his lips.

It was not helpful, in the slightest, to the simmering heat low in your stomach. Sure, watching Bucky work was a sight to behold – but you were alone in the garage. Everyone had gone home. There was no one there to smirk or snark about you staring, nor was there anyone there to stop you from making a move.

Temptation… It was too much to bear.

“We should be able to head off soon, doll,” Bucky called, his voice loud in the garage. You walked further into the garage as Bucky spoke, and stood next to him, peering curiously into the engine bay. “D’you wanna get dinner? We can stop at that- Oh, hey,” he laughed after glancing over, jumping slightly at your sudden proximity.

"Love to," you said, smiling.

Bucky smiled back and got back to work while you watched. Each movement of his hands with such expert precision sparked a fuse you were desperately trying to tamper down.

The urge to touch overtook you, and you gently reached out a hand, resting it on his shoulder. His movement didn’t falter, but his back stiffened and relaxed as you moved your hand down to his lower back – your touch was light, teasing, and you couldn’t help the smirk that pulled at your lips.

“What’re you doin’?” Bucky asked, grabbing a tool from the tray by his head. “You’re up to no good; I can feel it.”

“I am not,” you snorted, still rubbing your hand up and down his back, lightly scratching the fabric with your nails. “I am entirely innocent. How dare you- Ah!”

The garage whirled, and suddenly, you were pinned to the bumper of the Mustang, Bucky’s arms bracketing you and trapping you against the machine, his stare halting every thought of escaping and a shiver to go down your spine. A deadly smirk pulled his full lips up, and you gulped. “What was that, doll?”

“I said I was innocent.”

“That is a load of fuckin’ bullshit, and you know it,” Bucky countered, entering your space and forcing your back to bend slightly. “So, I’ll ask you again–what was that?”

“I-I, um–” You faltered, gaze darting from his smirking lips to his eyes that glinted under the bright lights overhead.

“No, hang on,” Bucky cut in, licking his lips, a movement you couldn’t help but watch. He pulled back from your space, and you breathed a quiet sigh of relief until he pulled you forward to clear the engine bay and slam the hood down. “Here,” he continued, forcing you back against the bumper. “I think that whatever that was, was you wantin’ your sir’s attention, wasn’t it?”

“No,” you squeaked. Your heart was beating in your throat, and your hands began to tremble, the urge to reach out and thread your fingers through Bucky’s loose hair almost taking the last of your resolve.

Bucky just tilted his head, narrowing his eyes.

“It wasn’t,” you tried again, clearing your throat. “You just-”

“You’re such a goddamn liar, sweetheart.”

Oh, fuck, you thought frantically. Before you could open your mouth to speak, your feet left the ground – Bucky’s hands held your hips and lifted you onto the hood of his Mustang, slotting himself between your open thighs. “Bucky!”

“My pretty girl needs to learn that bein’ honest gets her what she wants,” Bucky mused, his tone dangerously low. “And I know exactly how to teach your needy cunt a lesson.”

“Oh my fucking god,” you breathed. Bucky smirked wickedly and worked your leggings and panties down and off your legs – too far gone in shock at his words, you sat helplessly as he threw your clothes to the ground. “You’re not- Not here, oh, fuck.”

“You wanted my attention, doll, and now you have it.” Bucky shrugged. His hands gripped your thighs and scooted you forwards, your skin sliding over the smooth metal with little resistance. “My baby needs polishin’ anyway–you’re just givin’ me an excuse to do it.”

The sight of Bucky falling down to his knees made you whimper, your fingers flexing over the hood to find purchase on something to ground yourself, but there was nothing. “Here,” Bucky purred, his hands grabbing yours and guiding them to his hair. “Pull as much as you want–don’t keep quiet either, doll,” he continued, his hot breath fanning over your bare cunt – that was canted into the air while you lay naked from the waist down on the hood of his Mustang, holy shit, you thought, it’s happening! “Your sir wants to hear how good he makes you feel, yeah?”

“Please,” you begged, fisting his hair, pulling desperately to force him closer, but he kneeled steadfast. “Oh, god, sir–want it so bad-”

“I know,” Bucky cooed, his fingers gently brushing against the hood of your clit. “Look at her; she’s weepin’–jus’ beggin’ to be touched, isn’t she?”

“Yes!” You cried. Bucky clicked his tongue and broadly lapped at your opening, the sudden pressure making you jolt on the hood. “Fuck! Do that again, oh-”

“I will, I will,” Bucky soothed. Your legs suddenly moved, his hands manipulating and placing your knees over his shoulders. “Cross your ankles, baby.” The muscles in his back felt taut under your calves as you did so, and you were rewarded with a kiss to your inner thigh.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” Bucky hummed, his breath now hot against your twitching clit, and you whimpered, biting your lip. The contrast of your burning skin against the cool metal of the hood was just another sensation setting your nerves aflame. “Now, lay there for me, and lemme pay attention to this pretty pussy of yours. Poor thing, she looks desperate.”

The first contact of Bucky’s tongue was soft – a kitten lick against your clit that ricocheted up your back to settle in the tightening coil. Low hums and whispers sent vibrations that forced your hands to pull his hair; the resulting hiss from his lips only made you shudder. It was too much and not enough at once, but then, he latched his lips around your clit, and sucked.

“Ah! Fuck, sir! Oh fuck,” you moaned, your stomach tensing and pulling you up off the hood. The wet sounds of his tongue while he lapped at your slick, made you look at him, only to see he was staring right straight back at you, his eyes darkening with mischief when you felt his lips move back around your clit. Panting, your eyes widened. “No- Sir, shit-”

Bucky just licked your clit once, then sucked at the bundle viciously.

The high keen that left your lips echoed around the deserted garage, and Bucky moaned loudly, his hand pushing against your stomach to force you back onto the hood. “Stay there, sweetheart,” he ordered, his voice sending shivers up your spine. “You’re distractin’ me from my work.”

“Please, please, feels s’good, sir-” You slurred, fighting to stay above the waves his godforsaken tongue kept forcing you under. “Fuck I love your mouth.”

“I know, doll,” Bucky purred, pulling back to shift his body closer. “Now ‘m gonna make you feel really good, sweetheart, and I want you to soak my face–I won’t stop until you’re shakin’ up there. Can’t class it as a job well done if you’re not tremblin’ on the hood of my baby, huh?”

“No,” you whined, fisting his hair again to force him closer. “Please, need it-”

“I know what you need, sweetheart,” Bucky interrupted, his breath hot on your cunt. “But the thing is, I know my girl is greedy–she’s gonna need more than what I plan to give her, here, anyway. So you need to hold tight and take what I give you. Need you to be a good girl for me,” he said, resting his head on your slightly trembling thigh. His fingers traced your opening as he spoke, never leaving you without sensation. “Can you do that for me–for your sir?”

“Mhm,” you groaned, shuffling in place to force his fingers where you needed them most. “I will! I will–just, please.”

“Alright, you remember what I said to you, don’t you?”

You blinked, shivering. Bucky seemed to take your hesitance for an answer. “I told you to soak my face, doll, and you better fuckin’ do as you’re told.”

“Shit!” You screamed to the ceiling. Bucky had attached himself to your weeping entrance and was forcing his tongue as deep as it could go – the tip brushed your walls for a brief moment before he pulled back, only to move up and attack your clit with fast, strong licks. “Fucking hell, you’re gonna make me come!”

Bucky hummed, and the sound rippled up your body. “Don’t stop, please, sir- Don’t stop!”

In lieu of an answer, Bucky pulled your clit into his mouth and sucked vigorously, shaking his head side to side so his tongue would brush against it each pass. Fire engulfed every nerve, and you moaned, pitch high and desperate and echoing off the garage walls with the litany of wet sounds of Bucky’s mouth and his moans.

Bucky pulled you impossibly closer – the wet patch of slick and drool made your ass slide over the hood. His face and mouth became positively buried in your cunt as you squirmed. Lips and tongue followed you – chasing your every move to get away.

“Sir! Sir, gonna come! Fuck,” you gasped, and Bucky only sucked harder. “Ohmygod, yes, yes!”

The pleasure crested with such a pitch you could only hear the blood roar in your ears and the lewd sucking sounds of Bucky’s mouth – each and every nerve singing to the high heavens as your back bowed to the sky and your chest heaved.

A whine left your lips when you felt Bucky’s lips pull away from your clit, but the sudden pressure of his fingers working their way into your cunt and curling against your walls tore a shout from your throat. “I told you to fuckin’ soak my face, sweetheart, and you fuckin’ will. Now, come.”

Bucky’s lips found your clit again and began to suck in earnest, even harder than before – that, combined with the insistent brush of his fingers against that spot, made your vision whiten against the onslaught of your climax. “‘M coming! Sir!”

It hit you like a tsunami, knocking the breath from your lungs in a scream that shuddered and faltered with a moan, but Bucky didn’t stop. His tongue continued to assault your clit, ignorant of the bucking of your hips and the loud whines leaving your lips of overstimulation.

“Bucky, oh fuck,” you whimpered, pushing at his forehead as you heaved for breath. “Please, can’t take anymore.”

Blessedly, and mercifully, Bucky pulled away with a lewd pop and a shit-eating grin. His lips and chin were covered in your slick, and he licked his lips. “Taste so fuckin’ sweet, Honey, huh? It’s a wonder I could stop.”

“Lemme catch my breath,” you laughed, panting through the twitches of aftershocks. “Fuck.”

“No chance, doll,” Bucky chuckled, helping you sit up. “‘M takin’ you home and making good on my word. My girl needs to be fucked and filled yet. Did you forget?”

“You’re impossible,” you muttered, shaking your head.

Bucky just winked, grinning as his hands rubbed up and down your sides. “Nah, doll,” he rumbled. “Jus’ starved.”

⠈⠂⠄ 𝐢𝐧𝐛𝐨𝐱 | 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲 | 𝐚𝐨𝟑 ⠄⠂⠁

⠈⠂⠄𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 ⠄⠂⠁

#bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x f!reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x female reader #bucky x f!reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes oneshot #hotbuckysummer2023 #rookthorne's works #Honey

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monstas1ut · 1 year

Text

Inked Brown Skin

TRAFALGAR LAW × black!reader

Summary

__ 18+ black!reader has a huge ass with Law's Jollyroger inked on one of her ass cheeks, and Law really, really gets off on it. Literally.

Content

___ !!! black coded reader, thick coded reader, reader has a huge ass, tattoos, doggystyle, size difference, squirting, oral(you receive), silent ass worship, meat to meat(no condom), Bepo calls your bonnet a 'mushroom hat, hair pulling, clothed sex, ass slapping, Law calls Reader a slut one or two times, slight dumbification, ejaculation on your ass

___ brown skin can be dark, light, medium color.. whatever. brown is brown.. and it’s gorgeous.

Law’s patience was running thin, and his cock was growing from his inevitable erection. The Captain of the Heart Pirates never felt so threatened by mere sexual attraction. It came to a point where his sex was practically tamed with hot water from showering. He’d either go that route, or force himself to get over the self embarrassment of wrapping his tattooed hand around himself. Either way, Law would feel alright for a while until he spots you again.

Today seemed to be the worst of the worst. The shower kept Law at bay for at least two hours. The morning arose from the horizon , and it shined through the circled window. Those sun rays were dancing on your pretty waist before it edged down to your thick wagon. It would jiggle each time you moved, and Law could not take his eyes from it. Whatever work he had planned would have to wait, because he waited long enough.

New inked skin has to heal, that’s known, but he’s been watching it heal for weeks now. Law even marked the date of when you acquired that precious mark. He has watched that calendar more times than he could count, and he felt pitiful for doing it. But even though he felt pitiful, he wasn’t going to feel embarrassed. No, not this time. The surgeon lifted that feeling awhile ago and admitted his constant want for you. He admitted to himself that he wanted to hold your waist. He admitted that he wanted to watch your inked, brown ass jiggle below him. He admitted that he wanted to hear you sing out from pleasure, and he admitted he wanted to rut into you.

You deserved it. You deserved everything that was coming to you because of how much of a tease you were to Law. You’ve done nothing on purpose, and Law could see that, but you were unconsciously trying to cause him to cum in his jeans. All he saw when he woke up was his old, yellow and black jacket, lacy black panties, and what Bepo would call it, the ‘mushroom hat’ that protected your lengthy braids. But to be fair, Law wanted each of your perfect braids to be sprawled on his bed. He wanted to watch the braids fall over your face as he fucked you. He wanted to grip them. He wanted to control you with just a grip on your hair.

Law wanted to watch just how pretty your ass would jiggle with his Jollyroger inked into your brown skin. He wanted to feel it, grab it, and watch his cock pound you into the velvety sheets. He wanted it so bad, and he was tired of waiting for it to come true.

Law was but a man. He may seem as if sex doesn’t come to mind, but it does. And as you laid there on your side reading a much interesting book, mind clouded with imagination, you felt the bed dent in. It wasn’t until your e/c eyes reached contact with Law’s. Though, there was a difference about him, one you haven’t seen in quite some time.

Your dearest lover was a man that spoke little to no words when it came to love. He was still getting used to this evident fact that you were in love with him. He liked keeping a mundane existence, but when you came into his life, he sparked new things inside of himself. And seeing him look at you like this, it made your panties wet.

Trafalgar Law’s dark, raven eyes were dimmed, lustful, and wanting.

That was the last thing you noticed before you felt slightly calloused fingers gripping underneath your thick thighs. There was almost a black out between the time you were reading and now. All you could feel was air wafting between your legs, your eyes averting from Law’s focused face to your panties that were pulled to the side. Your pretty, painted toes were weakly in the air, and the book was loosely in your grip, dangling off the side of the bed.

Your precious e/c eyes rolled to the back into your head the second you felt Law’s lips caress your clit.

Law, being a surgeon and a doctor, he loved to be clean and sterile. He wasn’t implying that you were gross, however he just wasn’t one to ‘eat pussy’. So considering he was horny enough to suck and kiss on your pretty clit, it made you relish in the moment.

“Oh-… oh fuck. Law-…” Mixed with tiny little whimpers, your words were jumbled as you spoke. Your legs could only stay open but so long. It became hard to keep them open when you were being devoured by your Captain. His deep, black eyes stared at you from between your legs. His chin was drenched in your juices. Your body reacted fast from him turning you on, so you were now a small waterfall. Shivering from the pleasure, your nipples were hardened and poking from the inside of Law’s old jacket.

The simple fact that you were even bare underneath was more than enough to cause the doctor to harden up even more. And that gave him a motive to keep going. Those soft, wet lips tasted sweet. Your nectar rolled down to the bed sheets below, and Law watched how your face displayed submissive reactions. He almost feels naive for not orally pleasuring you for these years because of how much of a submissive you looked. His bratty lover, you, had much determination and pride. So, seeing you in such a state, Law believed this to be the most beautiful thing.

And he knew what could get you off even more.

“Keep them open, unless you want to be treated unfairly..” Law commanded, and yet, with his lower face drenched, he still managed to make you whimper. Your thighs stayed part, the feeling of his firm hold left you, and you felt his tattooed fingers start to massage your clit. The feeling sent you through the roof, your legs daring to close, but Law’s words repeated in your head. Your puffy pussy throbbed, unable to relax as you felt those fingers slip inside of you with a squelch. Those lips of his once again managed to suck and gently pull at your pearl, the sensation causing you to fall in a pit of your own sounds.

Being a doctor wasn’t the only thing Law knew how to do. Being a doctor meant knowing every part of a woman’s body, and Law knew every part of yours by heart. He was undoubtedly familiar with what made you jerk, what made you squeal, and what made you squirt.

“I-… Oh fuck I-.. fuckin’ love that..” you sharply whispered. Your large and plump bottom lip was now between your teeth as your hands wrapped slightly around your knees. The view was more than pleasant, Law would kill to see you here like this again. Long, pretty eyelashes fluttering, in his jacket, panties to the side, and your legs flexed back as you held them tight.

“Lawwww~… S-Stop doin’ it like that.. y’gonna make me cum fast…” Law could barely function when you moaned and tried to speak. You sounded so dumb. Dumb and pretty. Not that he would call you that out loud, but right now? He could mistake you for a pretty, dumb, bimbo. But Law loved when you’d try to speak.. especially when you were on the brink of cumming.

Those slender fingers gave you a shock when they curled, a loud moan leaving your throat. It slid out just as nice and pretty, taking Law by some surprise as you poured out your melody from your throat. “M’gonna cum-..” those words were music to the male’s ears. His fingers penetrating you ever so quickly, the sound of your pussy equivalent to the sound of water sloshing around… and Law’s cock twitched inside of his jeans from the sound of it.

His fingers were squeezed by your pink insides, a gorgeous sight to see. Law could barely focus on watching your pussy wink at him because his lips were still tending to your wet, swollen clit. He almost stayed there, however as good as you tasted, he didn’t want you drenching his face just yet..

“Fuck… Pretty thing.” He whispered after he stopped using his lips on your sex. His voice was deep, dark, and dominant. It made your orgasm speed up twice as much. A light twitch of your leg occurred before your pussy gently gushed the clear liquid onto his fingers. That’s what he wanted.. that’s what he dreamt of these past weeks. You squirted prettily on his fingers, and Law felt weak. He couldn’t contain the lust that was overthrowing him.

“So messy… I hope for your sake that there’s more in you, (y/n)-ya…” The surgeon said, his eyes taunting you in a way that was a bit too sexy for you to handle. It was so smug, and he was such a tease. His eyes trailed from the slight circle of wetness on the sheets before looking at you. You let go of your legs, closing them so you could have a bit of a break, but that didn’t last but a second.

After Law had a taste of you, he felt like he could now use you. And you may be his lover, but with the tension he had to endure, he was going to use you like a little doll. Which, he practically owned you now… you are stuck with his mark forever and he wasn’t going to let that up.

“Turn over.” The demand made you shiver, the thoughts in your mind finally trying hard to come true. You always believed that Law loved the new addition to your body, however, you didn’t know he was going to act like this. You could feel his eyes peering hard into you as you moved to turn over on your knees.. your ass was like water. It didn’t stop moving even when you tried to stay still. But Law liked it that way. He liked everything he saw.

At this point, everyone knew that Law wanted to marry you. He wanted nothing more than to keep you at his side. It’s so hard for a man like him to express anything, so nobody would expect much.. but with the way he acts around you, he can barely control himself. Let it be that he’s a pervert, he’s only a pervert for you and this phat ass he now claims.

Such a large hand he has, and he slapped your ass so hard that it echoed against the walls. He watched it jiggle for minutes on minutes. It made your pussy juices drip down your inner thighs each time his hand would come in contact with one of your cheeks. Your throat caught with moans and light waves of yelps. “B-Baby-… O-Oh Captain..” you whimpered loudly, feeling the tingling sensations of the aftermath. You just knew for sure that your ass had dark handprints, and your pretty brown skin couldn’t even handle it… that’s how much Law did it.

“don’t call for me (y/n)-ya… you’ve constantly been seducing me with this, knowing it’s taken a toll on me..” Law grumbled this in an annoyed state, but his thumb couldn’t help but run over the black ink. His lips almost dry from staring at it too long. He didn’t have to pretend anymore though, not when it was right here.. his cock was pressed against his leg, thick and heavy from being so aroused.

The zipper on his pants went down, his jacket went flying, his hat went elsewhere… and his cock made its entrance. And the second you felt his cock fall onto your ass, you arched your back on instincts causing Law’s breath to shake. He bit his bottom lip before his hands touched your wide hips. His thumb still able to touch some of the tattoo. Law’s hands were huge, as well as his body.. his height was overlapping yours easily.. the size difference was concerning even, but he knew you could handle him better than anyone else can..

“Every punishment I can think of will be given to you if you whine, because acting like a little slut now isn’t going to phase me when I know you’re a runner, (y/n)-ya....” He teased, but even though it made you embarrassed, you interjected back. “But that's because you can’t get enough and you lose control… right, Captain?…” you purred, softly moving your head up to look at his daring face. He was so tall that you could see him hovering over you from behind by just looking up.

You’d rather look at his face than his cock because that monster was practically eating your insides. You only teased him with that one sentence, yet he plunged his tip inside of you with a simple gesture. His tattooed hands sliding softly to your waist before gripping it tight and pressing it down to the bed. You felt your spine bending farther in a way that you didn’t even know it could. “I-.. Captain- oh… Captain!” Your whines equaled to a cat in heat. Your hands gripping the soft, plush pillow as Law watched your plush ass bounce against his pelvis.

That cock of his was so thick and long, it was fairly straight, and the veins were very prominent. The tip was so pink, and it was hitting your insides with a vengeance. But the only thing law could think about was how big your ass was, and how sexy his Jolly Roger looked on your jello ass. It made his breath hitch watching your ass bounce. Your waist was just right for this position, and your pussy caressed him so well.

This has to be the first time in a while that Law believed there was a heaven. The last thing he preferred was your hair in his grip, and that’s what he did. You whined about him gripping at your silky bonnet, but when his hand gripped around your braids in one swoop, your pussy became even wetter.

“Such a little slut…owning a pretty thing like you makes things much easier.. doesn’t it, (y/n)-ya?” Law grumbled, practically forcing his sounds to stay put. He wasn’t one to moan out in pleasure or even crack a sound, he would try his hardest to stay quiet. Especially since these walls were thin.. and he only knew that because nobody wanted to look at you two after the last time you two had sex… But, Law could barely keep his breaths at a reasonable rate. They were shaky, uneven and low. You could hear them, he couldn’t hide.

“M-Mhm..” You agreed with a weak hum, your eyes rolling back as Law pulled at your hair. The poor polar tang could be rocking a bit more than usual… Law will definitely blame it on your ass rather than his hips snapping against yours. But it was quite obvious with the ‘plap, plap’ sounds that repeated against the walls. It made your toes curl, and it made you purr like an animal. All because you knew Law was pounding into your insides, which were so smooth and squishy, tight and gushy.

It was just too good for Law not to take advantage of.

The constant thrusts were making you fall forward. “S-shit-… Law-.. Law st-..”a piercing squeal came from your throat, your knee moving up as you were trying to crawl away, just like he said, but alas, Law didn’t care. He moved his hand back, gaining some air before slapping your pretty brown ass again. His other hands pulling more at your braids, which strained your neck. But you couldn’t say anything…

“ I assumed you knew how to take it now. But you’re still a runner (y/n)-ya…” Law huskily whispered before his eyes trailed from your hair, back to your ass. He just couldn’t stop looking at it. His urge to marry you right now while fucking your pussy was too high. However , if he was going to do that, it needs to be professional.

Note, He’ll do it next week.

With an ass like this with his Jolly Roger on it, he’d love to marry you tomorrow. But, it wouldn’t be perfectly planned.. just like how he plans to cum on this pretty tattoo in a few minutes. That’s because there was no shame right now. Law knew he was on the brink of cumming, and he knew you were at your peak. With the way you were whining, the loud music of your wet lips, and the way you were squeezing around him… Law knew that you couldn’t handle much more for right now.

“M-… Captain-… Law-…fuck- s’good dick-..” your words were incoherent moans. You sounded so cute and dumb to Law, and that’s what made his cock twitch.. his insides felt like they were going against him. His throat let out a shaky groan from trying so hard to keep it inside.

The pirate was just too pussy drunk to not moan out and cum. His cock twitched again before his hips snapped forward once more, which made you fall forward somewhat on your side. Your pretty ass jiggled from impact, and Law’s thick, healthy cum spilt all over your tattoo. He can admit, not only did he like it on the tattoo, but he liked his cum on your skin as well..

His large hand kept a hold of his cock, letting go of it when he stopped cumming. Law was still fairly hard though, and it could be from the lack of sex, or it could be from being so turned on… Either way, your pretty pussy is going to get used a few more times before you leave the bed today.

“Five minutes to rest… no running next time, right (y/n)-ya..?”

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