#Food Storage Calculator

[carnalcrows]

LOST AND FOUND - THE SALESMAN

pairing: the salesman x top male reader

synopsis: A man starts noticing his belongings disappearing after every visit to his best friend’s house—until he stumbles upon the unsettling truth.

content warnings: 18+, bottom salesman, reader is fucking salesman's son, dubcon, blackmail, cheating, fingering, anal sex, implied stalking, dead dove do not eat.

word count: 1.6k

Dinner at your best friend’s house is always an experience.

Not because of the food—his dad’s a damn good cook, actually—but because of the company.

“Hyung, I’m telling you, this lady at work keeps calling me ‘oppa,’ and I don’t know how to tell her I hate it,” Jiho complains, waving his chopsticks for emphasis. “Like, I get it, I’m devastatingly handsome, but can we have boundaries?”

You snort, reaching for more rice. “You could just tell her to stop.”

“I did! And you know what she said? She said I ‘look like the type to enjoy it.’” Jiho groans, collapsing dramatically against the back of his chair. “I feel violated.”

Across the table, Jiho’s father hums, slow and thoughtful. “Perhaps you give off the impression of someone who enjoys attention,” he muses, sipping his soup.

Jiho gapes at him, offended. “You’re supposed to be on my side!”

You chuckle, glancing at Jiho’s father. He hasn’t said much tonight, but that’s not unusual. The man is a quiet observer, the kind of person who listens more than he speaks. You’ve had dinner here plenty of times before, and the pattern is always the same—Jiho chatting away, you chiming in, and his father interjecting with the occasional dry remark.

But tonight… feels different.

Jiho’s father has been watching you. Not obviously—just little glances, the weight of his gaze lingering longer than usual. His face remains unreadable, but there’s something sharp in his eyes, something calculating.

It’s not unfriendly, exactly. Just… unsettling.

“Hyung?” Jiho nudges your arm. “You good?”

You blink, shaking off the feeling. “Yeah. Just thinking about how you probably deserve that treatment.”

Jiho makes a wounded noise. “Et tu, Brute?”

Across the table, his father chuckles. A deep, quiet sound. When you glance at him, he’s already looking away, refilling his tea like he wasn’t just assessing you like a goddamn science project.

Yeah. Something’s up with him tonight.

You just don’t know what.

And that? That should’ve been your first warning.

You should’ve gone home.

Jiho had texted that he’d be late—something about running an errand for work—but you figured it was no big deal. You’d been to his house a thousand times before, and waiting around wasn’t exactly a hardship.

But the house was too quiet without him.

It’s why you found yourself wandering, aimlessly at first, then with purpose when you noticed something odd.

A door. Slightly ajar.

You didn’t remember Jiho ever mentioning this room before. Curiosity got the better of you, and you nudged the door open fully—only to freeze in place.

Inside, the walls were lined with shelves. Not with books or storage boxes, but with you.

Your bracelets. Your books. Your toothbrush.

And—most horrifyingly—your underwear.

Stacks of them, folded neatly. Some draped over surfaces, others tucked away like a grotesque collection. And at the very center, in a glass display case like some kind of prized possession, was a used condom—your used condom.

A sickening chill crawled up your spine.

What the fuck was this?

A shadow moved behind you. Before you could react, a deep voice spoke, low and amused.

“Didn’t anyone ever tell you it’s rude to snoop?”

You turned sharply. Jiho’s father stood in the doorway, watching you with a smirk that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

You opened your mouth—whether to demand an explanation or to throw up, you weren’t sure—but he stepped forward, closing the door behind him with a click.

Trapping you inside.

“You’ve been quite careless,” he murmured, trailing a finger along one of the shelves. “Leaving so many things behind. Did you ever wonder where they went?”

Your pulse thundered in your ears. “What the fuck is this?”

Jiho’s father merely chuckled. “Just a collection. I like to keep things that interest me.”

Your stomach churned. This wasn’t just interest—this was obsession.

You tried to move past him, but he stepped in your way, his smirk widening. “Ah, ah. I wouldn’t be so hasty.”

You clenched your jaw. “Move.”

“And if I don’t?” His voice was light, conversational, but there was a razor-sharp edge beneath it. “You could run to Jiho. Tell him. But then I’d have to tell everyone something too, wouldn’t I?”

Your breath caught.

“I wonder,” he mused, tilting his head. “How would your workplace react? Your friends? Your family?”

Your hands curled into fists. You knew what he was implying. Being outed in this country—where tradition and reputation mattered—was a death sentence for your social life, your career, everything.

He leaned in, his voice dropping to a whisper. “So, what will it be?”

Oh.

Oh hell no.

You let out a short, incredulous laugh, because there is no way this is happening. “Dude,” you blurt. “You do realize your son and I have been—”

“I’m very aware,” he interrupts smoothly, his gaze flickering down your form. “And I must say… I can see why he’s so taken with you.”

You should leave. You should run. But your legs don’t move. Because the way he’s looking at you—intense, predatory, like he’s testing something—sends a very different kind of shiver down your spine.

The air between you shifts.

He’s close now. Too close.

“You’re an interesting one,” he murmurs, reaching out—not grabbing, just hovering, his fingers barely ghosting over your arm. “Most people would be terrified right now.”

“Oh, I am,” you say, flashing a weak grin. “But I also have really bad coping mechanisms.”

His lips quirk up. “Is that so?”

Then, before you can think better of it—before you can stop yourself—you grab him by the tie and pull him in.

His smirk barely has time to widen before your lips crash together.

The kiss is messy. Heated. Too much, too fast, but neither of you seem to care. His hands find your waist, pulling you flush against him, while yours tangle in the expensive fabric of his suit. He tastes like something rich and intoxicating, and damn it, you hate how much you like it.

Your hands move to his waist as his move up to your shoulders, slightly changing the dynamics of the situation. He groans against your mouth at the friction against his crotch, making you hard.

This is wrong, so wrong, but there doesn’t really seem to be another way out.

You tug at his work pants, bringing them down with a firm grasp while pushing him onto the bed in the corner of the room– more like a shrine.

His cock emerges, hard and leaking. Your thumbs trails at the head-- picking up the precum that builds up at the slit. He shudders; he hasn’t touched himself like this in so long.

Wanting to finish what he wants as soon as possible, you shimmy down your own pants, revealing your own erection. You find yourself feeling ashamed at the fact that your grew hard from kissing your fuck buddy best friend’s father.

Searching through his coat pocket, the older man finds a small packet of lube and tosses it at you. You catch it before it flies past you– glaring at him. 

“You're no fun,” he grins, as you rip the packet with your teeth and pour the cool liquid onto your fingers.

You take your lubed digits to his awaiting hole and press them at his entrance, before pushing in. You weren’t going to give this man the mercy of your patience.

His back arched as he let out a loud moan. If your fingers felt this good, how would your cock feel in him?

His thoughts were interrupted by you moving your fingers in and out of him sloppily, not caring if the sudden intrusion hurt (he was a masochist, so you supposed it didn’t matter anyway).

Feeling that he had been prepped enough, you slid your digits out of his hole, and replaced the emptiness with your cock.

The head caught on to the slick of the lube, pushing in slightly– before you slid all the way in. You groaned at how tight he was�� even tighter than Jiho if that were possible. You chided yourself for thinking like that before you pulled out almost all the way before slamming back in.

The man’s eyes rolled to the back of his head– your cock hitting the right spot with every thrust. You felt so, so good inside him, and his hole involuntarily clenched around you at the thought.

You held tightly onto his waist as you practically abused his hole, profanities leaving your mouth every now and then.

“Hah– never thought you would get of to being fucked by your son’s best friend, hm?” He could only mumble incoherently at the jab, his brain just too full with being fucked dumb.

He had been waiting so long for this to finally happen, for you to take him like this. He was aware of the relationship between you and his son, and he chose to exploit it instead of doing what a normal dad should do.

But it wasn’t like he was a normal person anyway.

At that thought, he felt himself clench around you more, fucking psychopath. You groaned, feeling his warmth, thrusting into him even further as though you were an animal in heat.

Soon, you felt yourself close to a climax, so you pressed your cock into him all the way, letting yourself come undone– painting his insides a pearly white, before whispering in his ear.

“You can throw away that condom now– you have the real thing in you anyway”, he came, almost violently, when he heard you say that– his semen staining his pristine suit.

You were going to pull out of him, when a sharp knock suddenly echoed through the house.

“Dad?”

You both freeze.

Oh. Oh, hell.

The door creaks open, and there stands Jiho —his son—staring at the two of you like he’s just walked into the world’s worst nightmare.

Silence.

More silence.

Then—

“What. The. Fuck.”

You sigh, forehead dropping against the older man’s shoulder. “Welp,” you mutter. “Guess I am gonna start screaming now.”

© carnalcrows on tumblr. Please do not steal my works as I spend time, and I take genuine effort to do them.

[genderqueerdykes]

disabled trans person need help paying for food, necessities + shipping supplies for shop after being homeless for 6 months

hello, my name is equinox, i am severely disabled autistic trans person dealing with schizophrenia, PTSD, arthritis, hypermobile ehlers-danlos syndrome, degenerative disc disease and gastroparesis. i am a wheelchair and cane user. i am recovering and stabilizing after being homeless for 6 months; i just spent 2 full months living in a hotel paying $38/night. i have relocated into my apartment that i was waiting 6 months for due to the subsidized housing program taking forever to calculate my earned income

i just paid $307 for my deposit + prorated rent in order to move in, as well as a $20 electric bill and a $35 bill to get internet set up, which is required for my jewelry business. i also had i also currently need a lot of things in order to make my house livable including a bed and food, and being able to get to the pharmacy for my medications. right now i have no food in my home due to having to spend money on uber XLs to and from my motel and storage unit in order to get the few possessions i have like blankets and personal belongings. i lost a lot of my kitchen supplies when transitioning between staying with friends for a while

i have almost no money on me right now. i will be re-stocking my shop with new items later today, but for now I need help being able to afford my living expenses as well as being able to afford to ship my products out to my customers. thank you to everyone who has helped thus far you have kept me safe for 6 months. you can help me here:

cash app: $glitterGraphix pay pal: glittergraphicnightmare@ gmail .com chime: $Equinoxian venmo: $Equinoxian

[jaicourtneyfan]

New Food Storage Calculator

[mydearlybeloathed]

── 𝐁𝐄𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐎𝐀𝐓𝐒𝐖𝐀𝐈𝐍

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: without a major, eye catching skill, you attempt to make up for it by doing everything for everyone all at once--the crew only notices when it all comes crashing down.

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: strawhats x sanjissister!reader, minor zoro x reader

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 4.6k

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭: reader is sanji's sister, reader is bad at emotions (same), first fic of college! woo!, injuries, stitches, blood, angst and comfort, requested

𝐎𝐏 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 | 𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐉𝐈'𝐒 𝐒𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐀𝐆𝐀

Being the Strawhat Boatswain was no easy task, but you held it with determination and pride. Even when your crew made the job more than difficult.

You took in a deep breath and let it out slowly; Someone had messed with your inventory. 

Again.

You stood in the storage room, wondering who had the gall to come and move things around. The cannonballs were no longer in the crate by the window, but behind many other crates of lantern oil. The box once full of toothbrushes and toothpaste was down to its last bottle when it should still be half full. And to top it all off, the medical supplies shelf was out of order. The bandages were at the bottom and the disinfectant was next to the gauze!

It was enough to make your skin crawl.

Taking another deep breath, you shook out your shoulders, went through five stages of grief, and accepted the mess at hand, swiping a roll of bandages from the shelf and leaving the room to deal with some other day. 

Inventory was a job you liked. You took your role seriously, always on top of what was needed or wanted, ensuring it was acquired. Day in and day out you thought of everyone else, desperate to be useful.

You took this responsibility so seriously that your own self-care had gotten lost in the mix of Luffy’s food requests, Nami’s financial ledgers, and the weekly task of inventory. You’d lost sleep and skipped meals in the name of keeping order. 

Because if you didn’t, who would?

It didn’t matter anyway. You loved taking care of everyone. It made you feel useful. And as someone not as skilled with a sword or as knowledgeable with maps, that was worth a million hours of (much needed) sleep.

So you yawned and pushed open the door to your and Nami’s shared room, finding her hunched over her makeshift crate desk, squinting through the lamplight. Her forearm was still bleeding, splotches of red seeping through the first bandage. 

“I’ll handle this,” you startled her. “You fix that.”

Nami hadn’t seemed to notice the condition of her injury, chuckling dismissively as she worked at redressing the wound. “Thanks. My eyes needed a rest.”

Your own eyes longed to rest as she said it, straining under stress and overwork to finish doing the math of how many pounds of sugar, flour, and grain you’d need for the next stretch at sea. You picked up the sheet and made to your own desk, plopping down.

You underlined the last calculation as Nami tied off her bandage. Leaning back in your chair, you threw down your pencil and rested your eyes, knowing there was more work to be done despite the dark hour. As if on cue, the potter pattering of small hooves led up to your door, followed by a soft knocking. A smile spread on your face instantly. “Come in, Doc.”

The reindeer peeked his antlers and eyes in first, stepping inside when all was clear. “Is it a bad time?”

Nami swiveled to straddle the back of her desk chair. “Never. What’s up?”

His eyes blinked up at you first. “It’s time for your physical. Do you want to do it now?”

Immediate sirens went off in your head. “Physical?”

“We’ve all had one,” Nami piped in. “It’s just to make sure we’re all healthy. Your turn.”

“Good one,” you chuckled dryly. “I don’t do check ups, Doc. Sorry.”

Chopper’s little brows met instantly, his hooves falling to his sides. You shifted around to avoid his narrowed gaze. “Y/N, it’s important. I need to know where your health is so I can plan for the future.”

“My health is perfeclty fine and if anything changes,” you laughed, “I’ll let you know, Chop. I’m fine.”

But Nami wasn’t giving you a grin when you turned to her for support, her lips downturned. “I dunno. If Chopper thinks he should check you out then—”

“I said I’m good,” you snapped more sharply, going on in a concerningly peppy tone, “If I need help, I’ll ask for it.”

The way Chopper defleated nearly had you taking it all back, but you stood your ground, trying to make him feel better with a smile. His ears only drooped further until Nami said, “Can you help me, actually? I need to redo this bandage.”

She raised a brow over Chopper’s shoulder, silently asking a question you didn’t catch, so you grinned and shrugged it off. Standing, you caled over your shoulder, “I’m seeing if anyone needs anything.”

Chopper heaved a sigh as the door shut behind you. Nami pat his head gently, lips pursed. “She’ll warm up to it. Give ‘er time.”

“I know,” Chopper sighed. “I’m just… getting worried, I guess.”

“What do you mean?”

Chopper thought back to the past few months he’d been on the crew. Overall, you didn’t exhibit any alarming behavior. You worked hard and cared deeply, that was all. But… Chopper couldn’t place it, but he wanted to make sure everything was really all right. “It’s nothing.”

Hopefully, you warmed up to check ups quickly, at least for his own sake.

જ ⁀ ➴

You'd been careless—that’s what you blamed it on, at least.

The opposing pirate crew hadn't exactly caught the Straw Hats off guard. Nami was on watch that early morning, and she had a great record of raising the alarm. So when the enemy ship sidled up to the going merry and the dozen or so pirates jumped aboard, most of the crew was ready.

But you hadn't been at your best for days, maybe even weeks if you really admitted it. Sleep was so far away and your hunger was on this odd anxiety–induced strike. You barely felt real anymore, simply wandering through the ship doing various tasks that presented themselves, but never really taking time to breathe. 

You weren't entirely surprised when a pirate caught you off guard, coming at you from behind and getting a nick at your side—not a nick, actually. His sword had marked a pretty deep gash at your waist, and even when you thought the flow of bleeding was done, you somehow had more to give.

In the aftermath of the fight, as much as you attempted to brush off the concerns of the others, your heaving breath and greenish complexion were giving away everything. Besides, Sanji had known something was up since the first time you'd told him you "weren't hungry enough for dinner."

So as the sun rose above the horizon and the cleaning of the Merry's deck was completed, there was no escaping your fate. The haze of night no longer concealed your wounds.

Usopp was the first to notice. His gaze caught your stuttering breaths and the very obvious grimace you gave when trying to haul a dead pirate over the railing. He took the weight of the body in seconds, tossing it over.

"You don't look too hot," he observed, to which you scoffed and flicked your hands in nonchalance.

"It's nothing I can't fix." But you hadn't realized just how much blood was soaking in the fabric of your shirt, and one turn of your body displayed the vast crimson to him. Usopp's sharp inhale caught your attention, and with a grunted snarl you griped, "What?"

By now, nami had walked past, her own eyes catching your shirt. You glanced down and cursed at the sight. "I'm fine, okay? It's not that bad—"

But Nami already called out, "Sanji!" 

You rolled your eyes, gut bubbling anxiously. "Relax, would you? It's just a scratch. Honestly, we should use supplies for worse wounds—"

The breathy gasp behind you was unmistakably your brother's, and you swiveled to find him staring at your abdomen. "Pip…”

"What?" you snapped, self-conscious as your crossed your arms.

Luffy and Zoro had joined the show as well, causing anxiety to burn a hole in your good sense.

Sanji couldn't move, couldn't say a word. As you fumed up at him, all he saw was his baby sister, her face growing paler by the second, the flutter of your eyes weak, the red staining your clothes growing larger—

And then it hit him: The battle had occurred several hours ago. His eyes snapped to meet yours. "How long have you been bleeding out?"

"Sanji—"

"Stop," he said, and you did, your jaw snapping back up. His eyes skimmed you over with a hundred different thoughts, before he broke the contact and gently approached you. “Let's get this cleaned up, yeah?"

He sounded so soft, so much like how he used to when you were just young enough to still get by not knowing how shit the world was. It made you flinch away from him, not at all fond of the warm feeling of vulnerability welling up inside. "Shove off, Sanji. You're shit at dressing wounds."

"I'll do it then," said Chopper, stepping forward. In the little reindeer’s eyes was far too much concern. It left your skin crawling.

"No." You backed away from them till your back hit the ship's side and tried to ignore how featherlight your head felt. "Don't waste good supplies on me. It's not worth it."

Sanji gaped. "... What?"

You sighed, frustrated, and made to storm back to your cabin to sulk away the pain seeping through your limbs, raising your head to snap at them again.

Immediately, you found Luffy's eyes locked on you, all your words falling flat. He had never been scary—he was Luffy—but right then, well, you were frightened by the look in his eyes; it was something like confusion mulled with frustration.

"Not worth it?" He echoed.

Glancing around for help and finding none, you shrugged.

Luffy blinked, and you felt like apologizing, but he spoke before you could. "It's not waste if it's used on you, Y/N."

"I..."

Sanji sighed like he was suddenly out of breath, catching your eye again. His eyes were shining, and not in the charming way. It was a heartbroken kind of look, and it ate away at your insides. "You didn't tell anyone... because you thought it wasn't worth it?"

"Well," you stammered. "I mean—it's not as bad as it looks."

You felt their stares—how each of them was looking at you with such pity it made you sick—and you cracked, sputtering. "Just back off! It's a little blood and I'll heal. Zoro did!"

The swordsman in question stiffened as you thrust a hand at him, his ever-deathly gaze boring into you. “Yeah, ‘cause I wasn't being a stubborn bitch about it."

You were in the middle of an eye roll when the headache started. Honestly, why did they care? It was you keeping up with their asses half the time. You didn't need the same treatment. You had your own shit handled.

You tried walking away, and you thought you'd had it handled, but then the world started spinning, and your side really did ache, and suddenly you were in sanji's arms as he gritted out your name.

You were tired, very tired, so you blinked up at him, and fell asleep.

As one can assume, the entire crew lost their shit.

જ ⁀ ➴

In the eight hours you were unconscious, nobody sat still. Someone was always pacing, arguing, tapping something—agitation just sat over the whole ship. 

Sanji would say those eight hours were the longest hours of his life. He would say it rivaled the eighty-five days on that damn rock. It rivaled everything, because it was you. His sister. 

He couldn’t bring himself to debrief all that you’d said and what it meant… but him mind brought him there anyway. Sanji beat himself up over and over. If only he’d noticed something was wrong—he should have noticed… which made him realize he hadn’t a clue what was wrong.

He was in the middle of cooking your favorite meal for when you woke up when the image of you fainting in a graceful arc crossed his mind, and how he’d lunged to catch you. Maybe it was just being in the kitchen, but it somewhat reminded him of when you were kids.

You, so much younger and frailer, were prancing atop the counteertops of the Baratie, playing the part of Red Leg Zeff with your boots covered in marinara. The real Zeff, not so Red Legged, battled you with a wooden spoon as he simultaneously fought of his growing fondness. You tripped over your own slimy boot laces and, ever the dramatic, used the opportunity to swan dive to the floor.

Yet you hadn’t made it to the floor, not even close. Sanji had you safe in his arms the second your foot slipped off the counter. When he scolded you for being reckless, you grinned and chirped, “I knew you’d catch me!”

Sanji had caught you again, but not fast enough this time. Lately, he was never fast enough to keep up with your ever-growing mind. Each day you got quicker on your feet, jumping to accomplish task after task after task—Sanji paused as he prepared the food. When was the last time he saw you take a break?

When you woke up, your head was anywhere but in your body, the sensations of the room around you slowly drifting back to you.

Groggy, you shuffled in the sheets, skin sticky with sweat. Your eyes adjusted to the brightness, fluttering open. You sat up groaning, blinking fully awake, only to pause. Sat on the stool across from your bed was Zoro, solemn as ever. He looked half asleep, but the sound of your rustling startled him awake, eyes lazily widening to take you in. 

He made to ask something, but you beat him to it, woozily wondering about the odd tick in his brow. "What's up with your face?"

His brows screwed together, but that look never left his eyes; you couldn't place what it was. "What d’you mean?"

"You look..." Your eyes flickered all over him, and you thought maybe, he looked relieved. "Nothing. Sorry. I feel weird."

“I’ll bet.” He leaned forward to glance you over, and you settled on yes, Zoro was definitely concerned. He'd never looked that way before, and the oddity had you leaning closer subconsciously. Zoro jerked back instantly, blinking quickly. "You feel better, though, right?”

You did a quick check of your body, sensing your limbs and tapping at the bandage covering your abdomen. “I think so.” 

Zoro nodded stiffly, eyes flickering all over the floor. “Want me to get Twirly? I mean—Sanji?"

Typically, you weren’t the transparent type, but your head wasn't where it should be, so all your thoughts suddenly came out as words. "Is he mad? He usually gets mad when I get hurt."

Zoro moved to kneel at your bedside when you started to prop yourself up, eyes glued to your lap. He watched you carefully. "I don't think he's mad at you."

"But I got hurt," you exasperated. "I wasn't watching my back and got—got skewered! He hates it when I get... skewered." You rubbed at your temples and let out a weak laugh, brain fog fading. "Am I making sense?"

You raised your gaze to find a hint of amusement on Zoro’s face, his lips tipped upward. "Barely, but I follow."

You felt at your side, wincing at the pricking pain of the wound and the bruise forming around it. Chopper had done a good job with the bandage, though it was about time to change it.

"Hey," he said, dragging your wandering attention back to him.

"Yeah?"

Zoro's face grew cold. "Don't ever pull that shit again. You get hurt, you tell someone. Even if you think it's a waste."

You averted your eyes. "Yeah. Cross my heart and shit."

He wasn't satisfied, but he leaned back and raked a hand through his hair, leaving it alone for now. That was when the door opened, and you felt his presence before you ever turned your face.

"Oh, God," Sanji gasped. He rushed to your side, falling to his knees and setting a hand on your shoulder, just staring at you like you weren't even real. He passed a hand over your hair and sighed like he had the weight of Atlas on him.

"You're okay," he said, not so much a question, more of a reassurance. Neither of you noticed when Zoro slipped out of the room, nor when he knocked into the doorframe as he went.

"I'm okay," you said.

Sanji's hugs had always been lethal, always too tight for comfort but too sweet to turn away—and this was no different. His arms were careful to avoid your side as he pulled you to him, your head finding a nook against his chest as his chin rested on your head, and he squeezed you tightly.

Silently, you let him hold you, remaining still against him. You felt his tears, but never heard them. You felt his grip on you like a brand, that same old discomfort crawling through your gut the longer the intimacy went on. But you withstood it, an odd kind of burn creeping up your throat.

You choked on a cough—no, you weren't coughing. You couldn't fool yourself into believing such a lie, not when your eyes slammed shut and forced streams of tears down your cheeks. Your hands clawed at his sleeves as a warbled cry claws its way from your lips. 

"You're worth everything," he whispered into your hair. "Oh, God. I really thought..."

"But I didn't." you calmed your ragged breaths. "I'm fine."

He nearly laughed. "Fine? Pipsqueak, you were out half the day!"

You pulled back with a grin. "Eh. Just a scratch."

Sanji shook his head, smiling, before it fell instantaneously. He held you by your shoulders, shaking you slightly. "Why would you... was it something I did? I would never—"

"No! No, it was nothing you did."

"Then why in hell would you try to walk off a wound that needed sixteen stitches!"

"I don't know!" you looked away. "I just... there was too much to do. Everyone would need things done after a battle like that. I wanted to be, I dunno, ready and able."

Sanji still didn't understand. "What things?"

"You know," you started. "Things." He gave you a look. You sighed. "Like... sometimes Zoro lets me polish his swords, and in exchange he'll clean the little nicks he claims won't give him infections. And I think Luffy's hat needed fixing. Usopp never organizes the canon balls right and it makes me nervous, so I always go back and redo it… And on top of all that someone went through my inventory."

He took you in for a moment, and you felt very, very transparent all of a sudden. "None of that is your responsibility alone."

"Yeah, but, who else is gonna do them? Everyone’s so busy doing their things. I don't have a thing, so I do everything, I guess."

Sanji tilted his head, brows knit. "You do too have a thing."

"I really don't, Sanji. I don't cook or kick people like you. I'm not amazing with swords or a slingshot. I can't navigate for shit or heal wounds... so I help. If I don't, I'm pretty much deadweight." In the following silence, you mumbled something you never thought you’d have the courage to say. “Face it. Luffy only invited me because I’m your sister.”

Perhaps you should go back to the Baratie, as much as the thought sickened you. Zeff would never turn you away, and he’d even be happy to have you back. 

“Not true.” You looked up, heart dropping at the sight of luffy in the doorway, the rest of the crew behind him. You shot Zoro an accusatory glare, wiping furiously at your face. Perfect. A waiting audience.

You rasped, “What?”

Luffy moved into the room, face sullen, his hat and curls shadowing his face. “I didn’t invite you because of Sanji.” Luffy ducked down to be eye level with you on the bed. “Honestly, I didn’t know you were related till a few days after you joined.”

“Oh.” Sniffling, you ducked your eyes. “Then why? I… I don’t contribute much of anything, and when I try I wind up passed out for half a day.”

Nami scoffed, “That wasn’t your fault.”

You scoffed right back. “I shouldn’t have left my back unguarded.”

“You shouldn’t have been skipping sleep,” Zoro rebuttled, eyes steely. “And meals.”

Swiping at your cheek again, “Screw you.” You picked at your nails and refused to look up at all costs. It was difficult with Luffy right in your face.

The captain had his brows screwed together. His eyes bore into you till he grew tired of your avoidance and lightly pushed at your shoulder. Your gaze flicked up to meet his, quick to glance at the wall over his shoulder. 

“Y/N,” he muttered, “We care about you. And you worried us.”

And just like that, all your work to keep the tears in crumbled; one rebellious tear escaped, leading a dangerous path down to your chin. “Yeah. I know.”

That got a whisper of a smile back on Luffy’s face, and his hand came to plop down on you shoulder. “You’re part of this crew because we need you.”

“For what?” you dared to scoff. Instantly, Luffy’s eyes narrowed further than you thought possible. 

He echoed your words back to you like they felt weird on his tongue, and gave no further reply, simply staring right through you. You had already shirvled into yourself by the time Sanji stepped in.

“I can never keep track of how much food we go through,” he said, nudging your shoulder, “but somehow you always know exactly what we need and how much. As a chef, you inventory is vital to me.”

“I’m convinced you’re a mind reader,” Usopp added on. “Still no clue how you knew I wanted marshmallows last week.”

You chuckled dryly, gaze still heavy, obviously hesitant to take them serious. Nami sighed deeply.

“Listen,” she started, moving to kneel in front of you. It was times like this Nami felt much older, when her eyes peered into yours and it felt like home (a home so distant you ached to remember it). “It doesn’t matter what you believe. You contribute so much to this crew, more than you need to most days.”

Chopper bobbed up beside her. “Yeah! You do everything and then you never let me look after you!” It was hard to focus on what he said when he was so cute, but somehow when he narrowed his eyes all angry like, he held your rapt attention. “Let me do my job, so you’re able to do yours!”

“On the topic,” Zoro grunted, “quit overworking yourself. When Usopp fucks up the canonballs let him fix it himself.”

“Hey!”

You barely withheld a smile. “But… there’s still so much I can’t do—”

Zoro rolled his eyes. “You wanna learn how to fight? I’ll teach you. Just—quit being stupid and sleep, dammit.” His cheeks dusted pink and his eyes darted to the wall, unable to catch your tentative expression.

Luffy squeezed your shoulder. “You’re our boatswain. Just like Nami is our navigator and Sanji is our cook. The only one questioning your position is you.”

You sniffled, looking right in his eyes, and something in what he said finally broke through. You couldn’t cook or fight or navigate—but you had a damn good memory, you kept the ship organized, you made sure no one ever wanted for anything. You were the Strawhat Boatswain. Surely that held some weight.

“Okay, yeah, I get it,” you muttered, palms pressing against your cheeks as you cleared your throat. Glancing around at them all, you shoved down the creeping feeling in your chest and grinned cheekily. “But whoever’s been screwing with the storage room better knock it off, or I’ll be up all night fixing their mess.”

Silence enveloped you as everyone glanced around for suspicion, when Chopper burst forth with watery eyes. “I’m sorry! Really sorry! I didn’t realize I messed it up, I—I—”

“Slow down,” you smiled. You caught Chopper’s hooves in your hands and squeezed them tight. “It’s okay. I’m not really upset.”

If it was anyone else, maybe the story would be different, but all you felt was warm affection staring down at Chopper. He nodded swiftly. “I’ll help you fix it! Don’t worry.”

“I’ll help too,” offered Nami, none too subtle as she jabbed her elbow in the crook of Luffy’s side. 

“Ow! What—Quit that!” Luffy nursed the sting in his side, brows screwed together. “Me too, I guess…”

“We all will,” Nami declared, eyes scanning the room in search of an objection. She found none, a pleased smile gracing her lips. “See? You don’t even need to ask. We want to help you. Remember that next time you feel like everything is on you.”

“All right,” you conceded warmly. That familiar affection tugged on your heartstrings. You slid your legs off the bed and made to stand when a hand clamped down on your shoulder and nearly knocked you down. “Sanji, let go.”

Your brother’s jaw was set and gaze resolved, scaring the stubbornness right out of you. “You need rest. We can fix the storage room tomorrow, Pipsqueak.”

“But—”

“You’re actively bleeding through your stitches,” he cut you off, grinning when you pouted. “Tomorrow. Your inventory isn’t going anywhere.”

You were left gaping at him, eyes scanning for someone on your side. Nami raised a brow. Zoro’s expression was blank. Usopp avoided your eye. Chopper looked so sure of himself that you didn’t even try. So instead, you puffed out a breath and readjusted yourself on the bed. 

“I expect everyone’s attendance tomorrow morning,” you grumbled.

Usopp gawked at you. “Morning?”

One glare was all it took and his jaw snapped back up. Your temples began to throb fiercely, the gradual increase in pressure suddenly erupting into a full ache. The base of your neck was sore too and your lash line weighed down in gentle flutters. Sanji’s hand on your shoulder kept you from floating away into the delirium, your gaze searching as it swept over all your friends.

That tight tendril of awkward affection curled around your heart, as it often did, and it felt as undesirable as always. But no one pressed for any outward expression of it; your friends simply stood in your midst, wearing there hearts on sleeves of various vulnerability, not a hint of expectation anywhere on their faces. 

Times like this, you thought maybe you could bare to ditch your fears. Then again, maybe not, but you dismissed the hope fondly. 

“All right,” Chopper grunted, cheeks puffed. “Everyone out. She needs lots of rest—starting now!”

You chuckled dryly as the little doctor shooed everyone away. Nami shot you a quick little wave and disapeared into the hall, Sanji squeezed your hand, and Usopp gave a brief thumbs up. Zoro was left holding the door, solemn as ever, and paused int he act of closing the door. He appeared between the door and the frame, not quite in yet not quite out either.

“I was serious,” he said lowly.

You tilted your head. “About overowkring myself?”

“Well, yeah, that,” he stammered. “I mean about learning to fight. I’ll teach you.”

You’re sure your eyes glimmered, heart thrumming unexpectedly. “Really?” He nodded, crossing his arms. “Sanji won’t like it.”

“He doesn’t like a lot of things.”

“Primarily you.”

A scant smirk, one born of mischief and misdeed, crept up his face. “Primarily me, yeah.”

You shook your head and fought back a smile. “I don’t have a sword.”

He paused long enough for you to notice. “I’ve got three.”

“I couldn’t,” you said instantly, jaw falling open. “Those’re important.”

Zoro rolled a shoulder and combed at his hair. “I trust you.”

He was gone before you’d finished gasping, eyes wide as the door swung shut in his wake, and unsure when a sudden heatwave had flooded the room.

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭: @100520s @murnsondock @kryscent

[johannestevans]

Autism shopping trip bc i Finally got paid and have been operating on Very Little food in the house.

Me: little bespectacled white man, gibbon-like, balding

Equipment:

- noise cancelling headphones

- ridiculously large phone that barely fits in pocket

- massive blue camping trolley cart

I am wearing white converse (double-laced), red socks pulled up to the calf, red and green shorts, a white t-shirt with a rainbow Black power fist and the slogan LGBTQ+ rights

I exit my apartment building. I feel immediate regret. It's 28 'C, humid, and it's 3:30pm. There are families everywhere

I begin to slowly navigate the large crowds of stupid families and their slightly more cautious children. Many parents are parked like absolute bellends but are visibly anxious at how close my massive cart has to come to their fancy 4×4s in order to keep on the pavement. Get fucked, range rover cunt

Many children peer with eagerness and fascination into my cart, and are presumably disappointed that it contains only shopping bags. Many families loiter whilst walking 6 abreast, meaning i must weave between them to keep my natural pace (loping; gay)

I arrive at morrisons

The Security guard at morrisons does not look in my trolley to verify it's not somehow tricked out with thievery devices because

a) he does not give a single fuck

b) the only person in bradford who would even think to do that is that officious white lady who works at aldi. Whom i dislike

I walk aisle by aisle with my cart. I have my phone open with my calculator app open and keep track of what I'm putting in the cart. I purchase a too good to go bag (£3.09) but i will not collect it until i have completed my shopping, because it is invariably full of bread and fruit

I am ensorcelled by a 17-piece collection of food storage boxes. The price is not in sight, and also i have so much tupperware at home. I am quietly bewitched nonetheless, but resist the draw

Many people stare at me. Some are other shoppers. Every aisle or so an employee stands near to my cart

And watches me

They keep peering into my cart to make sure that... that's where I'm putting things? Perhaps just because they don't know anyone diagnosed with autism in real life and we're never behind glass at the zoo

I go to the self trolley checkout. I scan my morrisons card. I turn the volume of the checkout down to almost 0. I scan my groceries and arrange them on the weight pad in rough category order.

Firstly, fridge items - meat, hams, cheeses, a strawberry mogu mogu i will slurp down outside

Then, light cupboard and snack items: pastas, crisps, biscuits, candy bars

Then, bottles and cans: pepsi max, shampoo and conditioner, a jar of pickled cabbage, honey, squash

Finally, cat food and a 10kg bag of cat litter

I pay. I slowly and efficiently pack my trolley. I cannot hear the machine screaming at me to leave faster because i have lowered its volume and i am listening to a klezmer album on loop. I place the heaviest items nearest the handle of my cart because front heavy distribution makes curbs easier

I put all the cold items in one bag together, then place the pasta and crisps on top so that the airy bags will provide additional insulation. Kitchen jars and snacks go in separate bags to bathroom items. The strawberry mogu mogu goes in the trolley's drinks holder (yeah babey) for easy slurping

Two different families observe me. A child has been mystified at my insectile back-and-forth motions as i pack my cart in anal retentive fashion. The parents seem torn between disgust (autistic homosexual on the loose, not even during autism hours) and intense jealousy (big fucking cart)

I get my too good to go bag. It contains broccoli and pears and blueberries, naan bread, croissants, 2 different packs of "hot chilli brioche burger buns" (insane) and 23 crumpets of assorted branding and sizing. This is so many crumpets. I am beleaguered by crumpets

I go outside. I dutifully slurp 50% of my strawberry mogu mogu. A man with a handlebar moustache and unsettlingly blue eyes in a high vis jacket stares at me as he goes into the morrisons, either because i am gay, or he is gay, or both.

A man tries to speed up when he sees me crossing the road

(All road encounters in the city of bradford are player vs player. The motorist does not distinguish between other motorists, cyclists, or pedestrians: he sees only the enemy)

He abruptly brakes and looks panicked when he sees my big fucking trolley, which would hurt his sweet ride

I walk very slowly and make direct eye contact with him as i cross the road. I walk home because roadworks have closed the easiest bus stop. I cram most of these bread products into my freezer. The cat complains that i have unpacked a trolley of items and given him nothing. My journey is over

[mishkiq]

you wanted it to be me. (b.blake x reader)

☾✩˚₊‧ Summary: "Bellamy said what during sex??" —You, moments before pinning him down in your tent and proving exactly why your name's on his lips.

☾✩˚₊‧ Tags: smut, gender-neutral, 2nd person pov, tongue kissing, spit, mostly a lot of teasing, and you manhandle bellamy a little ;3

☾✩˚₊‧ WC: 4.4k

Listen. You tried not to associate with people who dragged drama behind them like a ball and chain. On the Ark, survival was more technical—physical, even. Numbers, calculations, food and oxygen rations. Keep your head down, and you wouldn't deal with bullshit. Simple. Down here on Earth?

A soap opera with grime under its nails.

You got along fine with Miller and Monty, funny in their own dry way; better with Harper and Monroe. As for Octavia... Oh, you two got along like kindling and fire. Volatile, intense, rebellious in an exhilarating way. She was a wild card you genuinely liked. You didn't have to pretend, didn't have to mask your distaste for others around her. No expectations except for a good time and backup when things got rough.

It was her brother that was the problem.

Bellamy Blake.

Irritating. Constantly shouting at someone about chaos and the 'new life on the ground' or whatever excuse he came up with. Always in charge. Always acting like the entire camp would collapse if he didn't micromanage every goddamn thing from food storage to people’s bowel movements. And sure, fine—you had functioning eyes, you knew he was hot. The dark, curly hair and even darker eyes, the broad shoulders that carried the responsibility of every delinquent's actions, the way he stalked around camp like a wet dream come to life.

But anything even remotely attractive about him got obliterated the second he opened his mouth.

God forbid something happened to Octavia, with the way he hovered over her like she would break if someone breathed wrong in her direction. You had no patience for that kind of overprotective bullshit. And if you were being honest, you and Bellamy clashed somewhat frequently—not just because you encouraged her to advocate for herself, but because whenever his 'no rules' rule blew up in someone's face, you were usually the one cleaning the mess if Clarke and the others weren't around. The one patching up wounds, calming down panicked delinquents, reassuring the young ones, making sure nobody died.

So, yeah. He had a tendency of pissing you off every other day.

In that same breath—even if Bellamy would never admit it himself—he was constantly around the other drama-attracted ones. Clarke and Wells were your least favorite offenders, of course. Self-righteous, kids of the privileged, blah blah. You get the gist. But the rest of the delinquents were fine. Tolerable, even.

Which was why you had no idea why the hell Roma and Bree suddenly iced you out.

You weren't exactly close with the two, but you got along well enough. One night chilling around the fire, trading jokes and half-burnt meat. The next? Roma wouldn't look at you without a sneer wrinkling her face. Bree stopped showing up to hangouts if she even thought you might be there.

Again, you weren't friends exactly. But you never had beef either. Not until suddenly, apparently, you did.

You had let it go for a while. Bigger problems to handle, like not getting killed by a Grounder, or starving to death, or some fucked-up mutated animal mauling you. But then the two moved out of Bellamy's tent and into their own, and the weird vibes had turned sour. Suspicious, even. You were never one to believe in superstition, but your left ear had been itching at you like a mosquito made a home there. Didn't take much to figure out who was talking shit about you.

…but what the hell happened?

You wouldn't get an official answer until wall duty one night—Harper on your left, Monroe on your right, all three squinting into the dark as the crickets chirped loudly in the background.

(You also had never imagined how loud Earth would be. But it just replaced the constant mechanical whirring of the Ark.)

"Alright y'all," you began, gaze flicking between the two women. "I gotta ask. Please tell me you've noticed Roma and Bree acting weird lately."

A snort left Harper. "You mean how they act like you just took a shit in their bed?"

Comforted by the fact she had noticed too, you lightly smacked her arm with the back of your hand. "Okay, good! I'm glad it's not just me. I haven't even spoken to them in a while—we were fine one night, then they starting ignoring me completely. What gives?"

Suspiciously quiet, Monroe's eyes fixated on the treeline. But you saw the shift. The way her back straightened, the way her lips pressed into a thin line.

Also noticing, Harper raised an eyebrow at her. "You know anything?"

No answer but a thick swallow.

"C'mon, Zoe. Spill." You nudged her with your boot. "I'm in the dark here, man."

Even Harper leaned in, eyes glinting with interest.

A sigh, but Monroe admitted, "I might've overheard them talking…with a few of the other girls."

Oh god. What did that mean? Your stomach dropped. "About what?"

Harper already looked wary. "Zoe, if it's—"

"Bellamy said your name during a threesome."

Silence.

Not even the crickets could save that one.

You blinked. Once, twice. Laughter erupted out of you, quickly cut off by you smacking a hand over your own mouth. You glanced around like your giggling might attract Grounders. Harper let out a disbelieving laugh, too. Though, more uncertain than amused.

Then the two of you saw Monroe's expression. How her blink lengthened as she turned away.

Oh.

Oh.

Amusement died in your chest.

"Huh?!"

Later that night, when your shift ended and Miller took over, you thought about going back to the bonfire for a last snack before heading to bed. No, you weren't stewing in the knowledge that Bellamy fucking Blake had apparently moaned your name while having a threesome with Roma and Bree.

Of course not.

(…what the fuck.)

You had barely stepped past the tents when you spotted the two women by the first, laughing at something another delinquent with them had said, their body language light and free in a way that made your skin crawl. Still somewhat hidden behind a group of makeshift homes, you froze.

...Listen. You weren't a coward. Promise. But drama was only fun when it wasn't yours. You liked to spectate, to listen in—not be part of it. So you turned around—

—and smacked straight into a wall of warmth and woodsmoke.

Hand midair, Bellamy stood, as though he was just about to tap your shoulder. Now, it just hovered awkwardly between you two until he dropped it back to his side. "My bad." He cleared his throat. "I was looking for you earlier."

Spine stiffening, you stepped back slightly. "…why?"

"I—"

Oh, hesitation from him was not a good sign.

"—Can we talk?”

You swallowed thickly. "I'm busy."

"Doing what?"

"Watch duty tonight."

He raised an eyebrow.

Fuck. You dumbass. Yeah, of course he knew you were lying—he made the goddamn schedule.

Before he could call you out on it, you marched past him, but of course—of course—he followed you past the tents, further spread apart the farther you two moved from the center of the camp, and into the quieter section by the outskirts where you had set up your new home.

"I just want to talk," he said once the sounds of laughter were a dull hum behind you.

"You? Talk, and not yell at someone?" You didn't look at him. A low blow, you knew.

"Yeah, well. Maybe we should."

You rolled your eyes and kept it pushing. "Look, if this is about the wall or someone messing with your food system again—"

"It’s not, and you know it."

The two of you paused as you reached your tent, the plastic flap rippled slightly in the breeze. You reached for the tie of the entrance—

A hand closed gently around your wrist. Not a hard grip, but firm enough to make you freeze in place.

Ooh, you wanted to yank yourself free so bad. So bad. But instead, patiently, you exhaled slow through your nose and said flatly, "Let go."

"I will. Just listen for a second."

The silence stretched. Finally, you met his eyes.

"I… I'm guessing you heard," he said quietly.

You scoffed. "Me, and half the camp, apparently."

Grip loosening ever so slightly, he winced. "I didn't mean for it to come out like that."

"Bullshit." You yanked your wrist back. "Whatever you did, it was bad enough that Roma and Bree won't even talk to me. I had to find out from Monroe!"

"I know. I know it was shitty." He sounded frustrated now—with himself, not you. "It wasn't about them."

"No shit."

He ran a hand through his hair. "I didn't want to do this like...this."

…oh.

Strangely, that sparked something in your chest.

"Do what, Bellamy?" You crossed your arms. "Make things even weirder between us?"

He stepped closer. You did not move. Refused to. Not even as tension spiked between you two, sparks flaring.

"Listen, I'm not…" A sharp exhale left him. "I'm not good at this, alright? Talking. Feelings. Whatever."

"Apparently not good at fucking without pissing people off, either."

The words slipped out of you.

That earned a faint smirk, like he couldn't help it. You hated how much you wanted to kiss it off his dumb, pretty face.

"That's exactly why I keep thinking about you." He murmured.

Your eyes narrowed.

"Not just… like that," he added quickly. "I mean, yeah. Obviously that too. But you're the only one who ever calls me out on my shit."

…and for once, he left you speechless.

"I said your name because I wanted it to be you," he admitted, and this time, he met your eyes. "That's the truth. I wanted it to be you."

Your throat bobbed with a thick swallow, brain stalling. No sarcastic comeback, no quip or barb or a laugh to deflect the suddenly honest confession from him. You just stood there, wide-eyed.

Shit. You didn't know what his game was. Didn't know if there even was a game or if this was just another fucked-up Bellamy Blake moment—half-formed, emotionally-charged, and dropped at your feet like a live grenade.

…but honestly?

Yeah, no. You weren't going to pass this up.

Because something in the way he said it—"I wanted it to be you"—lodged itself under your flushed skin. A splinter you couldn't ignore.

Dammit.

Slowly, you pulled back the flap of your tent and jutted your head toward the entrance.

A blink in response. Surprise. Bell's mouth parted slightly, then closed like he thought better than to speak. Glancing behind him, he checked around, then ducked his head and slipped inside.

And as he passed?

You smacked his ass.

Hard.

He jolted. Practically jumped out of his boots.

You snickered and followed him in, not even pretending to be subtle about the way you pulled the flap down and tied it shut.

Bellamy turned toward you slowly, brow furrowed, lips twitching like he didn't know whether to be annoyed or intrigued.

Good.

You liked keeping him on his toes.

"Seriously?" he asked, but his voice was already looser, warmer.

"You're the one who said you wanted it to be me," you shrugged, taking a slow step forward. "Don't act surprised now."

His jaw tightened, a scoff turning his lips into an incredulous smile, as if he thought you would just tease him just to mess with him.

An irritating expression.

Your fingers twitched.

Oh, he had no idea what he was getting himself into.

Hooking your thumbs into the collar of his jacket, you shoved it down his arms without ceremony.

No protest. He barely blinked.

The jacket barely had a chance to touch the ground before your hand gripped the collar of his shirt.

Before you kissed him.

Mouth open, teeth catching on his lower lip before you sucked it between yours and bit—just enough to make him grunt and clutch at your hips like he was trying to steady both of you.

Big, calloused hands.

Restless.

Sliding from your waist to your jaw, back down to your sides like he couldn't decide where he wanted you most.

You didn't give him time to choose.

Grabbing the belt loops of his pants, you yanked him forward until you were chest-to-chest, swallowing the curse he let slip into your mouth.

Not even a little bit of resistance.

His mouth moved against yours like he had spent nights thinking about it. Matched your pace. Matched the desperation behind each slid of your lips.

Sure, he had height on you. And you could feel how he tried to trip you into falling on your cot.

Amateur move.

You saw it coming the second his stance shifted, the subtle step of his boots like he thought he was still in charge. Like you would just let him manhandle you into the bed like every other person he had ever hooked up with.

Hah.

Instead, you hooked your leg behind his, twisted your weight, and slammed him onto your sleeping bag in a controlled fall.

A startled grunt left him as he hit the cot.

Before he could think twice, think of retaliating, you straddled him—thighs on either side of his hips, hands braced on his chest.

Wide eyes met yours. Breathless.

"You—" he started, but you shut him up with another kiss, slower this time.

…maybe a tad bit meaner. A nip here and there.

When you pulled back, you smirked down at him. "You're sexier when you shut the fuck up."

Anything he had planned to say died in his throat, but my words seemed to flick a switch in him.

Because of course Bellamy wasn't the kind of guy who just gave up control. Even lying on his back, even with your hips rolling forward to make him groan, you could feel him trying to keep some illusion of power: His fingers digging into your sides, guiding your rhythm; mouth chasing yours as if he were the one the one setting the pace.

Cute.

You let him pretend. Just for a minute.

Then you leaned down, grabbed both of his wrists, and pinned them above his head.

The little sound he made?

Downright devastating.

His chest rose and fell under you, and for once, Bell didn't argue.

Moving back, your hands skirted down his arms, over his chest, unbuttoning his shirt one snap at a time.

His eyes never left yours.

"You do this often?" he asked, his voice rough around the edges.

"What, dominate emotionally constipated revolutionaries in tents?" you deadpanned, tugging his shirt open. "Only the hot ones."

A huff of a laugh left him, but it died quick when you leaned down and licked a slow stripe from his collarbone, up his neck, stopping just below his earlobe. His hands twitched like he wanted to grab you again. He didn't.

Good boy.

You rewarded his obedience by rocking your hips forward, slow, sending sparks up through your lower abdomen. He cursed and bucked up instinctively, but you ground him back down with a firm roll of your own body.

God, you liked him like this. Breathless, quiet.

Almost new, not seeing him bark orders or argue about ration counts or overreact over his sister.

Just you, him, and heat pooling where you two were connected.

And this time, when he couldn't resist touching you again? You couldn't bring yourself to punish him.

Starving, desperate, his hands slid under your shirt, over the bare skin of your back, up your spine like he wanted to memorize every inch. A sigh left you as you leaned forward, pressing your chest against his.

"Didn't expect this," he muttered against your throat.

"Which part?" you breathed, goosebumps running up your spine. "The part where you said my name during sex with two other girls, or the part where I'm grinding you into my cot?"

His groan rumble through his chest, through yours. "Both."

Fuck.

Your lips found his again, his fingers tangling in your hands as you shifted, bodies sliding together. He tasted like some sort of meaty food and the ache of something long-denied.

"You're gonna ruin me," he whispered when you two parted.

Mmn. He was right about that.

You hummed your agreement.

Hands tight around your waist, his fingers dug in as if he thought he could control the pace from down there—like he could pull you down and make you move the way he wanted.

Cute.

You smiled sweetly at him, and his eyes widened as he noticed a glint in your eyes.

He tried grinding up against the slick heat between your thighs, but your thighs were stronger. You held steady. Just enough resistance to make him groan, to make his eyes flutter half-shut like he was losing his damn mind under you.

You would not be his peace.

Not yet.

One hand slid up his chest, over the rough stubble of his jaw, cupping his face. Not sweetly, but to keep him still. To control where he looked.

To keep his eyes only on you.

And then you licked him.

One long, unbroken stripe from his collarbone to the shell of his ear.

You felt the tremble in his chest, in his thighs, in the twitch of his cock still trapped in his pants. A violent shudder. He tried to keep still, tried not to buck again, but he failed. His hips jerked up into yours, seeking friction like a starved man.

You smiled against his jaw, smug and sharp.

"Easy," you murmured. "You'll get what you want. Just not yet."

Your hands went to your belt, unbuckling with a slow flourish.

Bellamy's breath caught.

You let him undo the buttons of your pants. Let him slide his hands under the waistband like he was going to peel them open—

Until you grabbed both wrists and slammed them back down against the bedroll.

Swallowing thickly, his eyes widened.

You grinned. "You didn't think I'd let you off that easy, right?"

Before he could protest, you wrapped your belt around them. Tight, but not painful. Snug enough that he wasn’t going anywhere.

You vaguely heard him breathe out a curse, but you were too busy adjusting, sitting back on his thighs, shifting deliberately over the bulge straining in his cargo pants. Another mutter left him, eyes squeezed shut, jaw clenched like he was doing math in his head just to stay calm.

You stood.

His brows drew together. "Wait—"

Then your pants were at your knees.

And your underwear?

You peeled them off, nice and slow. Made a show of it. Then dropped the whole bundle right on his face.

Bellamy sputtered.

You laughed.

He turned his head, sputtering out fabric like he couldn't decide if he was humiliated or into it.

(He was into it. Very, very into it.)

By the time your garments slipped off his face, you were already crouched between his legs, unbuttoning his cargo pants. Your fingers dragged the zipper down, slow, deliberate. You didn't bother pulling them off completely. Just down enough to get access.

To see.

To feel.

Because the tent in his briefs was obscene. Thick. Desperate. Pulsing. A wet blemish at the very tip.

You slid forward and ground down against him again, your bare heat pressed around him through thin fabric.

His hips bucked, involuntary.

A pleased sigh left you, audible enough to watch his reaction.

His head fell back, chest arching.

Cupping his face again, you loomed over him, lips brushing against his, chaste.

Not for long.

You swiped your tongue against his bottom lip, coaxing—no, commanding—his mouth open. When he did, you took full advantage.

Shameless, you slid your tongue into his mouth, half-lidded eyes watching his reaction as you gathered his tongue in your mouth, wrapping your lips around it before sucking hard.

Completely wrecked.

You could tell by the way his hands strained against the belt, trying to grab you. The way his hips kept pushing up, chasing friction, craving your weight like a drug.

And when you pulled back?

A dazed look met yours.

You weren't done. Not even close.

"Did you think about all this?" You couldn't help but ask as you grabbed his jaw again, tipping his head back.

He didn't have a chance to answer.

Not when you let a string of spit slip from your mouth into his.

You watched it land.

Watched his throat bob as he swallowed it down without thinking.

And you felt it—how he hardened even more underneath you, cock straining against the fabric, painful to remain untouched.

"God," he groaned. "Please—"

You didn't let him finish.

You kissed him again, tongue filthy, claiming his mouth like you owned it. Like you owned him. Your nails scraped down his sides, fingers sliding beneath the waistband of his briefs.

No more games.

You dragged his briefs down, slow enough to savor the sight of his cock springing free—hard, flushed, already leaking at the tip. The head tapped against your dripping heat as you moved to straddle him again.

No hesitation.

Didn't need to. Already wet, aching.

You sank down onto him in one smooth motion, tight heat stretching around him, swallowing him whole.

Eyes rolling back, he let out a ragged, shaky moan.

You paused with him fully inside you, walls fluttering around his length, clenching without mercy.

Sweat plastering his curls to his forehead, a flush rising in his cheeks, he was completely wrecked.

And you?

You looked down at him like a feast. Chest heaving. Smirk curling your lips. Fingers splayed across his pecs, groping, grinding down slow.

"You wanted this," you whispered, rolling your hips just enough to make him groan. "Could've had anyone, but you said my name, right?"

He nodded desperately, the belt around his wrists creaking.

"Good," you murmured. "Then you better take what I give you."

You leaned in and dragged your tongue across his jaw again, whispering filth into his skin as you rode him—slow at first, then faster. Deeper. Making sure every thrust, every squeeze knocked a sound out of him.

He had no control now.

Not with his hands tied, not with your pace, not with your mouth licking and biting at every inch of skin you could reach. Not when you kissed him like you wanted his tongue down your throat.

Bellamy Blake had no idea what he was in for.

But he would learn tonight.

Thighs trembling, you pushed past the ache and slammed your hips down over and over again, the sound of wet skin on skin making you flush.

Or maybe it was the way his cock buried inside you, thick, pulsing, stretching you full until your head spun.

Ugh. Of course he'd have a nice dick.

It drove you crazy, the way the fat head of his cock teased against that sweet, devastating spot deep inside. Your hole instinctively clenched around him, greedy and slick and wanting more. And from the way Bellamy groaned beneath you—shameless, teeth gritted, brow furrowed as he concentrated on not finishing early though his eyes never left the place where your bodies met—you knew it was driving him feral too.

"Holy shit," he hissed out a whisper.

You leaned forward, angling your hips, chasing that perfect spot. The insides of your thighs strained, a delicious burn. Your forehead brushed his—

A shift.

Body pitching forward, you blinked in surprise as a pressure at your back pressed your chest against his, arms trapped between the two of you.

A pressure at your back.

Still bound at the wrist with your belt, Bellamy had moved his arms down and around you. Tight. Using the strength of his forearms, the position, to trap you.

Exactly where he wanted you.

"Bell," you breathed shakily, half warning, half want.

He just turned his head until his lips brushed your ear, voice dropping like gravel as he said,

"Got you now."

Oh, fuck.

Before you could even try to regain your footing—

Your body bounced with his thrust. Not fast. Not jack-rabbit wild.

Deep.

He rocked up into you with precision, each thrust pushing every inch of his cock inside. The belt strained at your back, his forearms wrapped tight around your waist as leverage.

And when he shifted his hips just slightly, hitting that spot head-on?

"Fuuuck," tore from your throat, raw, raspy as you clung to him, breath coming in stutters with every roll of his hips, nails digging into the muscle of his pecs. Almost instinctively, your body rocked with his, matching his mind-numbing rhythm.

Truthfully?

You didn't mind.

Your thighs had begun to burn, your knees aching, your stamina shot from the earlier pace. This? This was good. This let you feel everything. Every inch. Every drag. Every pulse of heat and stretch and need.

Bellamy moaned under his breath, words slurred with lust. "God, your so fucking tight."

You clenched around him just to hear the broken sound he made.

Slow and deep and punishing, his cock mercilessly hit that devastating angle, your bodies locked together so close there wasn’t even space for air—skin sliding and suctioning with a noise that would've made you cringe if you weren't focused on that low, growing pressure deep in your belly.

His thrusts stuttered, and you could tell he was getting close.

Moving your hand out between your bodies, you found his cheek. Cupped it.

His eyes snapped to yours instantly, wide and dark, pupils blown.

You dragged his face to yours, kissed him deep, greedy, sucking on his tongue like you had earlier.

Kissed him like he was the last good thing left on Earth.

Unconsciously, your hole squeezed with pleasure, and he groaned into your mouth, loud, desperate.

Full-body tremble.

His warmth spilled into you as he came, your own orgasm slicking him up further as the two of you shuddered. You swallowed his sounds down your throat like it was yours to keep, and he kissed you back, wild and messy like he wasn't ready to let go of the high just yet.

You were drunk on it. On him.

His arms stayed wrapped around you, belt still tight, bodies still tangled. And for the first time since hitting the ground, you didn't push him away.

Not when he panted beneath you like that, hearts pounding in sync.

Not when you felt full in every sense of the word.

You stayed there, pressed to his chest, still joined.

And Bellamy—silent, for once—just held you.

You had no idea what camp would see that next morning, but you got the full play-by-play from your friends at breakfast.

Bellamy, shirt inside-out, belt coiled in one hand, and most notably: walking just a little funny, rubbing at his lower back with a pleased smirk.

[velvetvisionsaurora]

Pairing: Hongjoong x reader, Seonghwa x reader, Yunho x reader, Mingi x reader, Wooyoung x reader.

Summary: Five eight-year-old boys aboard the slave ship Crimson Serpent form an unbreakable bond with five-year-old y/n. before she's sold at auction. Despite their failed rescue attempt, they swear a blood oath on her teddy bear to find her. Fifteen years later, now feared pirates leading the ATEEZ

Warnings: Slavery/Human Trafficking, Separation/Loss, Violence, Eventual Smut. SA(not by any main characters) y/n gets switched to a real name but it has a purpose. More warnings to be updated.

Want to be notified when a chapter is updated? Join the Taglist!

Authors note: Thank you everyone for all the love on this fic! I appreciate it so much! I’ll be taking a break from posting for the weekend to give myself a break and work a little on my next fic! Love you all 💜

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Masterlist

Chapter 10

Reconnections

Night had fallen by the time Mingi's condition stabilized. Yeosang had worked for hours, his movements precise and efficient despite the emotional weight of the situation. Though he'd said little beyond necessary instructions, his careful attention to Mingi revealed a deeper connection than mere professional duty.

"You should rest," he told y/n, who had stayed beside Mingi's treatment table the whole time. "Recovery will take days, not hours. Your presence, while appreciated, can't speed up the healing process."

His tone was gentle despite the practical advice. The concern in his eyes contradicted his measured words.

"I'm staying," she replied simply. "At least for a little while longer."

Yeosang nodded once, accepting her decision without argument. Unlike their childhood days when survival required constant negotiation, they could now communicate directly without calculation.

"You should at least eat something," he said, placing a plate of simple food near her. "Hard to keep a proper watch if you're hungry."

A hint of a smile touched his lips—a gentleness reserved only for those he truly trusted.

"Your medical wisdom is noted, Doctor," she responded with matching warmth. "I promise to follow your advice."

A brief softening around his eyes—the closest thing to a smile Yeosang usually showed—crossed his features. Without further comment, he turned to organize his supplies, his efficiency never faltering despite hours of intense work.

The medical bay door opened as Yunho ducked through the entrance. His gentle face showed both concern and tentative hope. He moved with unusual hesitancy, as if uncertain of his welcome despite the emotional confirmation hours earlier.

"Yeosang," he acknowledged first, respecting the doctor's authority. "How is he?"

"Stable," came the reply, notably warmer than Yeosang's typical professional tone. "The bleeding is under control, the wound is clean and dressed. His unconsciousness seems to be his body's way of recovering from the trauma, not something more serious."

Yunho nodded in understanding. "May I stay with him for a while?"

"Of course," Yeosang confirmed, his voice softening. "I need to prepare some additional supplies in the storage area. Call if anything changes."

As the doctor retreated to the adjacent room, Yunho approached cautiously. Though hours had passed since y/n revealed her identity, he was clearly still adjusting to the reality of their reunion.

"I brought this," he said softly, placing a small object on the shelf near Mingi's bed. "It was in his workbench drawer. I thought he might want it nearby when he wakes."

The object was a miniature wooden dolphin with the distinctive compass mark carved into its base—identical to the ones Mingi had asked Yunho to leave for y/n to find.

"He still makes them," she observed quietly, reaching to touch the small figure. "After all these years."

Yunho nodded as he settled into the chair opposite hers, with Mingi's unconscious form between them. "Every port we visit. He leaves them in places children might find them—markets, squares, harbor areas. For fifteen years, without stopping once."

"Like message bottles," Yunho continued, his voice growing softer. "Cast into a human ocean instead of water, hoping somehow one might reach you. That you might recognize his work and remember."

Y/n’s fingers traced the compass mark embedded in the miniature dolphin, identical to the symbol on her wooden sparrow and Yeosang's wolf. "I found one," she said, careful not to reveal too much about Yeosang yet. "In Blackwell's garden after a storm knocked down part of the wall. A friend found one too, it helped us through especially difficult times.”

Something shifted in Yunho's expression—wonder mixed with deep emotion as he realized what this meant. "He succeeded," he whispered in amazement. "His hope wasn't just wishful thinking. One of his messages actually reached you."

"I never knew who made it," she explained, still tracing the compass mark. "Just that it was beautiful, and mine, and worth protecting despite the risk. It became my talisman during the worst moments—proof that beauty could exist even within Blackwell's walls."

She noticed Yeosang freeze in the doorway as he listened to her explanation.

Yunho's eyes filled with tears, though his smile remained steady. "That would mean everything to him," he said softly. "To know he reached you somehow, even without you knowing. That his work gave you comfort when we couldn't."

For several minutes, they sat in comfortable silence, watching Mingi's steady breathing. Though unconscious, his strong presence remained obvious—the quiet strength that had defined him since childhood evident even now.

"Tell me about him," Y/n asked. "About the man he became after the boy I knew."

Yunho considered this thoughtfully. "He speaks more with his hands than his voice," he began. "Creates with precision what words can't express. His silence isn't emptiness but a different language—everything important communicated through what he builds rather than what he says."

The description matched perfectly with y/n’s memories of the quiet boy from The Crimson Serpent—his rare words carrying weight beyond their number, his carved animals expressing more than words ever could.

"He designed most of the ATEEZ's special systems," Yunho continued, obvious pride in his voice. "The hidden gun ports, the modified rigging that gives us better speed, even the speaking tubes that let us communicate throughout the ship. His mind sees connections others miss, possibilities where others see only obstacles."

Y/n nodded. "He always found solutions where none seemed possible," she observed. "Even as a child."

"That hasn't changed," Yunho confirmed. "Though the scale of his work has grown. Half the ports in the world have standing orders for his mechanical designs—mechanisms bought by merchants and naval ships alike despite our reputation."

This surprised her—that the quiet gunner's creations extended beyond the ATEEZ to influence the wider maritime world.

"But he's most himself when carving," Yunho added, his voice softening. "In quiet moments, between battles or storms, when survival demands ease up. That's when the real Mingi emerges—focused on creating beauty that serves no purpose beyond existing."

This aligned perfectly with her childhood memories—the quiet boy who turned scraps of wood into tiny animals during rare peaceful moments aboard The Crimson Serpent.

"And you've been beside him through it all," she noted, recognizing a partnership deeper than friendship. "Since The Crimson Serpent."

Yunho nodded, something vulnerable crossing his face. "We share quarters," he said simply. "Have since we could choose such arrangements. His nightmares ease when I'm nearby, though he'd never admit that out loud."

"He speaks more with me than others," Yunho continued, trust flowing between them despite their years apart. "Not just words but the thoughts behind them. When we're alone, he talks more freely than anyone aboard would believe possible."

"You care for each other," y/n observed. "Beyond friendship or loyalty."

Yunho's eyes widened slightly, showing momentary vulnerability. Then his gentle certainty returned, neither confirming nor denying her observation.

"We've survived much together," he said simply. "Discovered that connection matters more than convention. That real bonds go beyond categories others might try to impose."

Y/n nodded, respecting his careful response. "I'm glad," she said sincerely. "That neither of you had to face fifteen years alone. That you had each other when circumstances demanded impossible strength."

Something in Yunho's expression softened further, gratitude showing beneath his gentle composure.

"We all found ways to survive," he acknowledged, his gaze returning to Mingi. "Though some paths were lonelier than others despite us staying together."

For several comfortable minutes, they kept their shared watch beside Mingi's bed, connection flowing without need for constant talking.

"You should rest," Yunho eventually suggested with genuine concern. "I'll stay with him through the night. Mingi would want your well-being put before his own."

"We'll take turns," she countered, offering compromise instead of rejection. "You need rest as much as I do, especially after the battle and everything that's happened. Yeosang can help us set up a schedule that works for everyone."

Yunho's smile deepened at this suggestion. "Always the practical one," he observed with appreciation rather than criticism. "Finding balance where others might only see opposing needs."

Before she could respond, Mingi's fingers twitched slightly beneath her hand—the first movement since losing consciousness during battle. Both immediately focused on this change, hope rising in their expressions.

"Puppy?" she whispered, the childhood nickname coming naturally.

Though Mingi didn't speak, his fingers definitely curled around hers—weak but deliberate. The simple contact carried meaning beyond its minimal strength.

"He knows you're here," Yunho said softly, wonder in his gentle voice. "Even without waking, he recognizes you."

Yeosang emerged immediately from the supply room, his awareness of medical developments evident despite his apparent focus on other tasks. "That's a good sign," he said, his professional assessment not fully hiding his personal response. "It shows he's responding, even if he's not fully conscious yet."

Despite his cautious words, satisfaction showed in his subtle smile.

"He still needs complete rest," he stated, falling back on medical terminology. "Recovery requires physiological processes that consciousness might disrupt through pain awareness and subsequent stress."

The unnecessary complexity—his deliberate use of medical jargon beyond what was needed—contained subtle humor that only those who knew him well would catch. This was Yeosang's version of emotional expression, using clinical language to create distance while still showing genuine care.

"Translation: let him sleep," y/n interpreted with a gentle tease. "Even if he's starting to respond, his body needs uninterrupted recovery time."

"Exactly," Yeosang agreed with a small smile. "Sometimes I forget not everyone appreciates medical terminology as much as I do."

Yunho chuckled softly, clearly familiar with this dynamic. "We should set up a watch rotation," he suggested, returning to y/n’s earlier proposal. "Making sure someone's always here while still allowing necessary rest."

"That makes sense," Yeosang agreed with a nod. "I can take the middle watch from midnight until dawn. You two should get some proper rest before then. We can figure out tomorrow's schedule based on how he's doing and who's available."

"Sounds reasonable," y/n agreed, smiling at his thoughtful arrangement. "We can adjust as needed, depending on how he responds."

Yeosang nodded, showing a warmth in his eyes that most of the crew rarely saw. With her, he allowed his careful walls to lower slightly, the boy she had known emerging from behind the doctor's composed exterior.

"I'll tell the captain about Mingi's improvement," Yunho said, rising carefully to minimize disruption. "He'll want to know right away despite handling the ship repairs."

As Yunho left, a comfortable silence settled in the medical bay. Their shared watch felt natural despite fifteen years of separation, trust renewed through their common purpose.

Beneath her hand, Mingi's fingers maintained gentle pressure—unconscious confirmation of their connection. Around his wrist, barely visible beneath his bandaged arm, the faint scar of a childhood blood oath remained—physical reminder of a promise kept against impossible odds.

Dawn light filtered through the medical bay's ports when y/n woke from unexpected sleep. Despite her determination to stay alert, exhaustion had claimed her during the quiet hours—emotional and physical strain finally overcoming her usual caution.

"Good morning, little bird."

The cheerful greeting—and childhood nickname—identified the speaker before she fully opened her eyes. Wooyoung sat across from her, Mingi's unconscious form between them, his expressive face showing both excitement and uncertainty despite his typical animation.

"Woo," she acknowledged, the shortened name coming naturally. "How long have you been here?"

"Since second bell of dawn watch," he replied with unusual precision that suggested deliberate restraint. "Yeosang finished his medical checks and said it was fine for me to take over watching our sleeping beauty here."

The casual phrase revealed some of his natural exuberance, though he was clearly moderating his approach out of respect for both the medical environment and the emotional significance of their reunion.

"Any change?" she asked, returning her attention to Mingi.

"Continuing improvement according to our esteemed doctor's extensive and thoroughly boring medical assessment," Wooyoung reported, some of his natural animation returning.

"Though his exact words involved many more syllables and absolutely zero personality, despite my heroic attempts to extract human expression from his clinical vocabulary."

The familiar complaint—good-natured exasperation beneath theatrical delivery—created unexpected warmth in y/n. Unlike calculated performance, Wooyoung's natural enthusiasm remained genuine  

"I speak plainly enough. Misrepresentation of medical communication," came Yeosang's voice from the supply room doorway, a hint of humor warming his measured tone. "Just because you prefer dramatic flourishes doesn't make clear medical assessment unnecessarily complex."

Wooyoung clutched his chest in exaggerated injury, his expressive face arranging itself into practiced suffering. "You wound me, Doctor. After I accurately translated your seventeen-syllable medical pronouncements into actual human language for our recently reunited friend."

"Your translations often take considerable creative liberties," Yeosang countered, entering the main treatment area with his typical quiet efficiency. "Medical accuracy matters, even if you think it lacks theatrical appeal."

"Theatrical appeal?" Wooyoung gasped, his performance growing increasingly elaborate despite obvious self-awareness. "My humor is exceptionally well-regarded throughout maritime waters! Pirates literally pause mid-combat to appreciate my perfectly timed observations!"

"I'm fairly certain that's not why they pause," Yeosang replied with a subtle smile. "The crew mostly tolerates your performances because there's limited entertainment during long voyages."

The exchange—flowing with practiced rhythm suggesting regular occurrence—made y/n laugh, genuine amusement breaking through her remaining emotional guardedness.

"There it is," Wooyoung said softly, his theatrical animation pausing as genuine warmth transformed his expressive features. "I've missed that sound for fifteen years."

"Your laugh," he clarified when her expression showed confusion. "The real one, not the careful version you've occasionally allowed since coming aboard. The one from before—from The Crimson Serpent, when we had nothing but still found reasons for joy."

This observation affected y/n deeply. Unlike simple recognition based on appearance, Wooyoung had recognized something essential about her that fifteen years of captivity had suppressed but not eliminated.

"I taught you how," he continued, memory softening his usually animated features. "How to laugh silently when attention meant danger. How to find humor when everything around us demanded despair."

Y/n nodded, the memory surfacing with unexpected clarity. "You crossed your eyes and puffed your cheeks until I couldn't help responding," she recalled. "Then showed me how to laugh without sound—shoulders shaking, eyes crinkling, mouth open but no noise coming out."

"The sacred art of secret laughter," Wooyoung confirmed with genuine pleasure. "Most important skill for surviving in a hostile environment. More valuable than physical escape or strategic resistance."

This assessment—delivered with unusual seriousness despite his typically playful manner—revealed wisdom beneath Wooyoung's cheerful exterior.

"It helped," she acknowledged simply. "During the worst times, remembering how to find humor kept something essential alive in me. Something Blackwell couldn't touch despite his best efforts."

Yeosang looked up from his inventory task, genuine emotion visible in his usually composed face. "Finding ways to preserve your inner self often matters more than physical resistance," he observed quietly. "Creating a mental sanctuary when you can't escape physically."

"Did you use it too?" Wooyoung asked with unusual perceptiveness as he turned toward Yeosang. "The silent laughter technique?"

The doctor continued his methodical organization without looking up, though something in his posture suggested meaningful hesitation.

"I found my own version," he acknowledged finally, the personal disclosure clearly difficult despite their years of friendship. "Something that worked for my situation and personality. Different approach but same purpose."

Wooyoung studied him for a long moment, unusual thoughtfulness replacing his theatrical presentation. Then a genuine smile transformed his expressive features.

"You found your own way," he translated gently. "Different method but same purpose. Keeping your essential self alive when everything around you demanded its surrender."

Yeosang's shoulders relaxed slightly—a subtle response invisible to anyone who didn't know him well. Though his expression remained mostly composed, this minimal physical adjustment revealed significant emotional impact.

"Something like that," he confirmed quietly. "We all did what we had to survive."

Y/n watched this exchange with growing understanding. Beyond the surface contrast between Wooyoung's theatrical expressiveness and Yeosang's measured reserve, their interaction showed genuine connection disguised by apparent opposition.

"You two have become quite the pair," she observed. "Despite your seemingly opposite ways of communicating."

Wooyoung grinned, his natural animation returning. "Opposites create perfect balance," he declared with characteristic flourish. "His calm precision balances my creative inspiration! My theatrical presentation counteracts his clinical terminology! Together we form the perfect partnership of contradictory harmony!"

"Exaggerated assessment containing potential validity despite questionable delivery methodology, as usual," Yeosang responded, though genuine warmth softened his typically measured tone. "But there's some truth to it. Different approaches sometimes work better together than separately."

"Translation: we balance each other," Wooyoung winked at y/n. "Though he'd rather perform complicated dental surgery on himself than admit such emotional vulnerability in plain language."

"I express myself adequately," Yeosang countered, though a small smile played at the corner of his mouth. "Just because I prefer precision doesn't mean I lack emotional awareness."

Before Wooyoung could continue their cheerful bickering, the medical bay door opened to admit Seonghwa. Unlike his usual meticulous appearance, signs of extended work were visible—his uniform slightly creased, hair not perfectly arranged, shadows beneath his watchful eyes.

"Quartermaster," Yeosang acknowledged immediately with professional respect. "I was just about to send my latest report."

"Proceed," Seonghwa replied, his precise tone matching the doctor's formal delivery despite evident fatigue. His gaze swept the room with typical efficiency before settling briefly on y/n with an unreadable expression.

As Yeosang delivered his medical update, y/n noticed an unexpected distance in Seonghwa's manner—professional courtesy maintained despite obvious emotional withdrawal. Unlike Wooyoung's immediate warmth or Yunho's gentle acknowledgment, the quartermaster's response to her confirmed identity seemed deliberately restrained. The coldness in his eyes when he looked at her stung more than she wanted to admit.

The contrast was particularly striking given his previous thoughtfulness during her initial days aboard the ATEEZ. Before knowing who she was, Seonghwa had shown consistent consideration despite his professional reserve—arranging comfortable accommodations, ensuring appropriate clothing, facilitating her integration into ship operations. Now, with her identity confirmed, his manner appeared more distant rather than closer—controlled politeness replacing tentative connection. Each word he spoke felt like he was building a wall between them, and despite her years of learning to hide her emotions, she couldn't help feeling a sharp pang of rejection.

"Thank you, Doctor," he said when Yeosang finished his report. "Continue current treatment protocol with standard documentation procedures. Captain Hongjoong requests hourly updates through established communication channels."

This formal directive created momentary awkwardness in the medical bay's atmosphere. Rather than naturally progressing from professional assessment to personal acknowledgment, Seonghwa maintained rigid separation between operational necessity and emotional context.

"Seonghwa," Wooyoung began, concern evident beneath his characteristic animation, "aren't you going to—"

"Damage control operations continue throughout primary structural systems," the quartermaster interrupted, cutting off the personal inquiry. "Your assistance is required in supply management and crew rotation scheduling given extended recovery timeline projections."

This deliberate refocus created visible confusion on Wooyoung's expressive face. Instead of his typical theatrical complaint, genuine concern showed through his usually confident manner.

"But we've found her," he said softly. "After all this time, all our searching. Don't you want to—"

"Ship operations take priority during recovery phase," Seonghwa stated, his precise tone allowing no space for emotional response. "Vessel functionality and crew welfare require immediate attention regardless of other developments."

The term "other developments"—applied to y/n’s confirmed identity—created palpable tension in the medical bay. Seonghwa established a rigid separation between operational necessity and emotional context—as if fifteen years of searching carried no more importance than routine ship maintenance.

Yeosang's gaze moved between them with unusual attentiveness, his typical composure temporarily replaced by acute awareness of the interpersonal dynamics at play.

"I'll be in the galley shortly," Wooyoung replied finally, evident confusion giving way to cautious acceptance. "Just need to finish up here with Yeosang."

Seonghwa nodded acknowledgment, then turned to include y/n with careful neutrality. "The captain requests your presence in his quarters when convenient," he stated formally, his delivery containing neither warmth nor hostility. "Security escort will be provided given ongoing ship management concerns and potential complications."

"Thank you, Quartermaster," y/n replied, matching his formal tone despite the hurt that tightened her chest. Fifteen years navigating dangerous social situations had developed her sensitivity to emotional subtext—recognizing withdrawal that required careful response rather than direct confrontation. Still, after years of imagining reunion with her childhood protectors, his coldness felt like a physical blow. "Please inform the captain I'll attend him once Mingi's condition allows."

Seonghwa nodded once—a sharp, precise movement showing neither approval nor objection. "I'll convey your message," he confirmed, immediately turning toward the exit without further interaction.

As the door closed behind him, momentary silence settled over the medical bay—confusion flowing beneath surface composure as they processed the unexpected interaction.

"Well," Wooyoung said finally, his characteristic animation subdued beneath genuine bewilderment, "that was..."

"Unexpected," Yeosang supplied thoughtfully. "Not what anyone would predict, especially considering how long he’s been searching for you."

"Exactly!" Wooyoung agreed, grateful for the accurate assessment. "Not at all what anyone expected from Mr. Precise-and-Proper given recent developments and fifteen years of obsessive searching."

Y/n remained silent, processing the implications carefully as she tried to ignore the dull ache in her heart. Unlike Wooyoung's open confusion or Yeosang's measured assessment, her response incorporated analysis developed through years navigating complex power dynamics during captivity.

"He's protecting himself," she said finally, understanding crystallizing from observed evidence, though it didn't make his rejection hurt any less. "Creating distance because connection represents vulnerability he's not prepared to handle right now."

Wooyoung's brow furrowed with genuine puzzlement. "But why now? After fifteen years searching for you, countless false leads and disappointments, finally confirming your identity—why pull back when connection becomes possible rather than just theoretical?"

"Because theory is safer than reality," Yeosang observed quietly, his insight clearly drawn from personal experience. "An idea can't disappoint you or hurt you. But a real person, a real relationship—that involves risk that can't be controlled."

"He's spent fifteen years imagining who I might be," y/n elaborated. "Creating a picture of me in his mind, what our reunion might be like. Now that I'm actually here, reality is colliding with that image. The real me might not match what he's built up in his mind all these years."

Wooyoung considered this explanation with unusual thoughtfulness. "So finding you actually scares him more than losing you," he concluded with surprising insight. "Because your real presence requires him to adjust to someone who might not be who he imagined."

"Possible," Yeosang confirmed appreciatively. "The reality of reconnection is more complex than the idea of it. It requires adjusting expectations built over fifteen years of separation."

"He needs time," Y/n acknowledged, forcing herself to be rational even as her eyes stung with unexpected tears. She blinked them back quickly, unwilling to let the others see how much his rejection had wounded her. "Time to adjust."

"It might take him a while," Yeosang agreed gently. "Seonghwa processes things internally, and he's been emotionally invested in finding you longer than almost anyone."

"Which means," Wooyoung translated, his characteristic animation returning, "our perfectly ordered quartermaster currently resembles his personal nightmare—someone whose meticulously arranged reality has been completely disrupted despite getting exactly what he's been seeking for fifteen years."

This observation made y/n laugh, genuine amusement flowing beyond calculated response.

"There's a certain irony to it," Yeosang acknowledged with a small smile. "Achieving exactly what you've wanted most, only to find yourself unprepared for the reality of it."

Before they could continue, Mingi's fingers twitched more deliberately beneath y/n’s hand—stronger movement than before, suggesting increased awareness despite continued unconsciousness. All three immediately focused on this development.

"That's much stronger than before," Yeosang observed, moving immediately to check vital signs with practiced efficiency. "His body's responding more actively, which is an excellent sign. He might be closer to waking than I initially thought."

"He knows we're here," Wooyoung said with unusual softness. "He can feel us even before consciousness fully returns."

Y/n squeezed Mingi's hand gently. "Keep fighting, Puppy," she whispered. "We're all waiting for you."

As morning light strengthened through the medical bay's ports, casting gentle illumination across the room's occupants, their connection deepened despite fifteen years of separation.

As Yeosang continued examining Mingi, a gentle knock at the door announced another visitor. The door opened to reveal a young crew member—one of Hongjoong's personal messengers.

"The captain requests your presence when convenient," he said to y/n respectfully. "He's in his quarters."

The simple message, delivered without formal escort or rigid timeline, showed consideration beyond mere authority.

"I can stay with our patient," Wooyoung offered immediately. "Yeosang's expertise and my unparalleled entertainment value will ensure his continued improvement even in your temporary absence."

"Mingi's condition is stable," Yeosang confirmed, mercifully ignoring Wooyoung's self-proclaimed entertainment value. "Your brief absence won't impact his recovery. I'll send word immediately if anything changes."

"Thank you," she said, giving Mingi's hand a final gentle squeeze before rising. "I won't be gone long."

As she moved toward the door, Wooyoung called after her with uncharacteristic restraint: "He's been waiting fifteen years for this conversation. We all have, but him most of all."

Y/n paused at the doorway, turning back to face Wooyoung. The theatrical cook's rare moment of seriousness touched something deep within her.

"I've been waiting too," she said softly, her voice steady despite the emotion building in her throat. "All those nights whispering your names in the dark, wondering if I'd ever hear someone call me by my real name again."

She took a deep breath, her eyes meeting Wooyoung's with unexpected openness. "When you first brought me those honey cakes, I nearly broke right then. It took everything I had not to throw my arms around you and tell you who I was. But I had to be sure. Fifteen years teaches you that hope is the most dangerous thing you can carry." A small, bittersweet smile touched her lips. "And yet I kept carrying it anyway, even when it felt like it would break me."

She glanced at Mingi's still form, then back to Wooyoung, her eyes shining with unshed tears. "Tell him I'll be back soon. Tell him..." her voice wavered for just a moment, "...tell him his little shadow still remembers how to find her way home, even after all these years in the dark."

Without waiting for a response, she slipped through the doorway, the vulnerability of the moment too raw to bear any longer. But as she walked the corridor toward Hongjoong's quarters, her steps carried a lightness they hadn't known in fifteen years.

Taglist: @hopeless-lovex0 @frankielou02 @jilxxasu @kur0kki @lezleeferguson-120 @uniquecloudbread @miniverse-zen @symmieangela @monstacheol @ateezswonderland @comicnerd557 @pixie0627 @fumaluvr @princesscallie @green-moon @starryjoong-jeongcheollie @wiccanmetallicrose @atinyapple1117 @sassy-snassy

[shiani25]

Prompt : There is a little girl in the Decepticon's base. No one knows what to do.

"Decepticon's new pet"

The rain poured in thick sheets, drumming against the rocky cliffs and metal plating of the Decepticon warship, Nemesis. Thunder rolled across the sky, deep and growling like some ancient beast, while the occasional crack of lightning illuminated the barren landscape below. It was a night that kept most creatures huddled away in their burrows, seeking warmth and safety.

But she had nowhere to go.

The girl was soaked to the bone, her thin clothes clinging to her trembling frame. She had run for so long, her legs burning, her lungs aching, but she hadn’t stopped. Not until she found herself at the gates of what looked like a military base, a dark and imposing structure that loomed over the landscape like a sleeping giant. She knew she shouldn’t be here, but she was too tired to care. If someone caught her and threw her out—or worse—then so be it. At least she wouldn’t have to run anymore.

Pushing past the pain in her limbs, she staggered forward and slipped inside through an open hatch, seeking nothing more than shelter from the storm. The air inside was cold and metallic, smelling of oil and something foreign, something she couldn’t quite place. Her bare feet barely made a sound against the smooth floor as she wandered deeper into the dimly lit corridors. She expected alarms, shouting, someone to drag her out by the collar—

Instead, there was silence.

Then came the sound of metal shifting.

She turned a corner and nearly walked straight into something massive.

Towering over her, gleaming silver and crimson, was a being that should not exist. The air around him was thick with static, as if his very presence disrupted reality itself. He was all sharp angles and talon-like fingers, his wings slightly flared in what she could only assume was surprise. His piercing red optics locked onto her, analyzing, calculating, disbelieving.

Starscream, Air Commander of the Decepticon army, was at a complete loss for words.

A human.

A tiny, insignificant fleshling had somehow wandered into their base—completely undetected. It was absurd. Impossible. This was a highly secured warship, not some rundown Earth bunker where any organic could just waltz in like they owned the place. Yet here she was, standing before him, soaked and shivering, but oddly… unafraid.

Most humans would be screaming by now, running in terror, begging for their pathetic lives. But this one? She just stared up at him with dull, exhausted eyes, the kind that had seen too much, endured too much, and had simply stopped caring.

He knew that look.

He had worn it himself, more times than he cared to admit.

For a fleeting moment, something unspoken passed between them—an understanding neither of them expected to find in the other. Then, just as quickly, Starscream scoffed, turned on his heel, and walked away.

Days passed. Then a week.

No one threw her out. No one cared. No other humans tried to search for her.

At first, the Vehicons hesitated, unsure of what to do. But when their superior officer had walked away without a word, they took it as permission to do the same. If Starscream didn’t acknowledge the problem, then it wasn’t a problem.

And so, the girl remained, slipping through the corridors like a ghost.

Breakdown was the first to take notice of her, really notice her. He found her curled up in a storage room one evening, trying to sleep on the cold metal floor. With a deep sigh, he disappeared for a moment and returned with a blanket—one far too large for her. He tossed it over her without a word.

The next day, he brought her food.

“Like feeding a stray cat,” Knockout muttered in disgust when he caught his partner leaving out a plate of human food in a secluded corner.

“Eh, what’s the harm?” Breakdown shrugged. “She’s not causing trouble.”

“She’ll get attached.”

“She barely even talks.”

Knockout rolled his optics but didn’t push the issue further. If she didn’t interfere with his work, he supposed he could tolerate her presence.

And so, the Decepticons adapted.

They didn’t talk to her much, but some of them—usually the Vehicons—would wordlessly leave food where she could find it. Someone, probably Breakdown, found an old storage crate and placed cushions inside, turning it into something resembling a bed. When she sat in the hangar watching them train, no one shooed her away. Some of them, like Knockout, still found it bizarre, but others seemed to treat her like an odd little pet, something harmless and quiet that had simply become part of the ship.

Even Soundwave, who saw everything, said nothing. The girl was small, weak and posed no threat to the Decepticon's cause.

A month later, Megatron finally noticed.

The warlord stood in the command center, optics narrowing as he observed the tiny creature sitting on a crate in the corner, idly kicking her feet.

For a long moment, no one dared to speak.

Then his deep, growling voice shattered the silence.

“Why,” Megatron demanded, “is there a fleshling in my base?”

Knockout, of all mechs, was the first to answer, arms crossed in amusement.

“She showed up one day. No one threw her out. And, well… the crew got attached.”

Silence.

Megatron’s expression remained unreadable as he slowly turned his gaze back to the girl. She met his stare without flinching. There was no fear in her, no trembling, no pathetic pleas for mercy. Just the same exhausted acceptance, the same quiet endurance that had settled into her like a permanent weight.

Interesting.

Starscream held his breath, fully expecting Megatron to crush the girl on the spot, to call her a nuisance, a security risk, to demand her immediate removal—

Instead, the warlord exhaled slowly and rumbled, “Trying to remove her now would be more trouble than it’s worth.”

And that was that.

The girl remained.

Megatron never acknowledged her again, but neither did he demand her departure. She was quiet, unobtrusive, and most importantly, she was not Starscream, which meant he tolerated her existence far more than he tolerated his own second-in-command.

Starscream couldn’t decide if he was annoyed or impressed.

Either way, it seemed that the Decepticons had officially adopted a pet.

[lazyneonrabbitt]

The fun has just begun

Daryl Dixon x reader

Two men snatch you away for some fun. Before they even get anywhere you and Daryl have turned the tables and have some fun of your own.

Warning: Turture. Mentions of sexual assault.

Daryl watched you from the path to where you sat crouched surrounded by high greenery.

When nature calls, you gotta answer and Daryl, being the gentleman he is would always have your six.

Just as your pants were back up again, though, you got jumped.

Daryl stalked the men who had you by the arms and legs, not engaging in case there were more and he'd be outnumbered. Getting you hurt worse just because he got cocky was not the way to go today.

You were dragged inside a storage building not far off, having caught glimpses of Daryl on your way and knowing you would be okay, saving your strength instead of struggling too much. Pretending to be a poor little girl would definitely help you in the long run, but taking them both on wouldn't end up well for you now.

Once inside you realised it was in fact just these two men. They had supplies and small bits of food laying around in the othwrwise empty place. One of them went off, mumbling about grabbing something from god knows where while the other one held you restrained.

You let out a sigh that had thr man laughing. "Oh don't worry, pretty lady. We'll be friends soon enough."

He didn't realize the sigh wasn't one of defeat. It was disappointment.

Daryl had taught you how to get out of this type of grip right when he started training you, he needed to know you could break free and run if he didn't get to you in time and by now you were a pro in it, being able to even get out of Abraham's grasp. With or without a little cheating that you profusely apologized for with a scavenged pack of cigars.

The unmistakable thud of a body hitting the ground made it to your ears and used the moment to get out of the man's grasp and knpck him out with a calculated strike. On success you couldn't help but bounce with a little cheer as Daryl came into view with the other man being pulled along.

"Wanna feed 'em to the walkers?" It was always an easy cleanup option for Daryl. Break a leg and toss them in a highly populated part of the woods only to go back and clear out the area later with a group.

But you had other plans.

"Well, since he's all tied up already you can set him up against the crate, I'll find this one a chair." Daryl's brows furrowed in confusion but went along with whatever you told him. He liked your wacky plans and they always had a positive outcome.

So the tied up and now gagged man was sat up against the crates, facing his friend who was waking up tied to a chair. Daryl took the groggy noise as his que to wake up the man by slapping his cheek.

"Yo, wakey wakey. Girl's got somethin' ta show ya." The man shook and struggled against his restraints with no luck and looked around in a panicked state.

"Ah, fun! Let's get going then, huh, Dee?" You were all smiles and cheer with the rusted kitchenknife in your hand, and all Daryl did was grunt and gesture for you to go ahead.

With a quick twirl of your fingers the knife spun in your hand before sinking it down into the man's hand and inspected it coming out underneath just beside the metal of the chair. "That's for thinking it was smart to grab someone when they're peeing." You yanked the knife back out and used all your weight to stomp your lifted foot down between his legs. "And that too." The man's screams were sure to draw the dead, but with all exits checked you knew you were fine.

All Daryl did was stare as you hurt the man, one one hand afraid of this side of you, but on the other hand feeling the undeniable effect you were having on him straining against his pants.

Daryl watched as you stepped off and went to grab something from your bag. He followed your every move until the man decided to call after you.

"You bitch!" Daryl's attention was back on the man, amused with the attempt to curse at you. "I'll cut your limbs off and use you as my fucking cum dumpster!"

Behind you the screaming only made you laugh, and the loud crack, scrape of metal amd thud only made you laugh.

"Oh? Joining in after all, baby?" You came back with your backpack and dug around while asking Daryl to please put the idiot upright again, which he did by grabbing him by the hair and pulling him back up. "Hmhm. No one threatens ta hurt mah girl 'n get away with it." Daryl made sure to give the other one who sat back a warning glare before stepping aside to let you do your thing.

You watched the blood run from his split lip and hummed in thought before perking up and grabbing an old scalpel.

"Now sit still or I'll poke out your eye. Okay?" You punctuated the sentence with a sweet smile as you squeezed your hand atound his jaw, digging your fingers into the spot where Daryl had punched him.

Keeping up the squeeze, you moved your other hand that held a box cutter to his forehead, pretending to measure and making a "hmmm" sound before taking the cutter to his skin, carving away while holding his head as steady as possible. It was harder than you expected so your finished work was really wonky, but it got the message across.

"Idiot?" Daryl chucked from behind you, moving closer to admire your work. "Yeah, I wanted to write dumbass, but that's got too many letters.

The man before you was shaking and whimpering in pain, blood running down his face, smeared across his chest and dripping from the hole in his hand.

"So, now what? You wanna do something?" You took a step back to be next to Daryl, who nodded with a soft "yeah" and went to grab a pair or pliers.

"Ooh, i like those! What are you thinking?" You watched as Daryl reached for the man's chin and pulled it down. "Thinkin' 'bout takin' sum teeth." The man before you squirmed and tried to shake his head out of Daryl's grasp but failed miserably, only causing himself more pain as Daryl punched him again. "There, loosened 'em up for ya."

Behind gou the other bound man struggled against his binds and fell to the floor with a thud, making you laugh. "Alright, you do pull some teeth, I'll go deal with the other idiot." You turned around with a huff and picked up the crowbar he carried before, giving him a quick, clearly unnecessary "this will hurt." before raising it above your head and bringing it down hard on his lower leg.

Daryl let out a frustrated grunt at the swuirming man in front of him, cracking the pliers against his temple to keep him from thrashing around so much. Where even did he get the energy? With a swift movement Daryl pulled down the man's jaw again and stuck the pliers in his mouth, clamping them on a tooth.

Just as he had it positioned right Daryl was startled by a loud crack and a muffled scream, making him pull back and yank out the tooth earning another loud pained scream. "Jesus, woman. Warn me next time will ya?"

You laughed and apologised, coming up behind him to kiss his cheek and go back to your own victim again. "Strike!!" You yelled before again bringing the crowbar down, on his other leg this time. The pained screams echoed through the hall before it went silent again as your floored guy passed out.

"Ah come on! Unfair.."

Daryl could only smile at his girl as he took some more of the man's teeth and tossed them at his friend at your feet. "C'mere, this one's still awake." He waved the bloody pliers at you and you accepted them with a huff and a pout. "Guess we gotta share you now, then."

You looked him over, pliers tapping at your jaw leaving a bloody stain on your skin. Your eyes stopped at his still uninjured hand and set the pliers on one of his nails, squeezing hard and pulling back in a quick motion earning you a scream of pain and the harsh clawing of walkers at the large hall doors.

"Tha's our sign ta leave. Tha' door ain't holdin'much longer." Daryl's hand rested on your shoulder to get your attention away from your victim, making you drop the pliers and turn to grab your stuff.

"Toss him at his friend and make some noise, please?" Daryl did as instructed and threw the man, chair included onto hos unconsious friend and went to clank some metal bits together to get the walkers outide even more agitated.

As soon as the door gave you climbed onto the large crates stacked high up to the windows.

"An' now we're stuck." Daryl watched you with his arms crossed, wondering how you were going to get out of this place now there were walkers swarming the floor but you were too busy watching your two new buddies get torn apart.

When you weren't able to see them anymore you turned to the windows, prying them open. "Fuck, help me break these.." You were struggling to break the hinges, together tearing them off and letting the window fall open entirely.

"Come on, we can get onto the roof from here." Daryl only grunted as he watched you climb through the open window and following you as you hoisted yourself up onto the roof of the building.

"Yer fuckin' crazy, woman.." His words came out in huffs, breathing heavy as he laid on his back but you couldn't deny seeing the glint of a smile on his face. You smiled back at him ans went to sit down, right on top of his hips. "Oh now don't go saying you didn't have fun down there." You stuck out your tongue with a wide grin on your face, letting out a yelp as Daryl pulled you down for a hug and peppering kisses all over your face and laughing.

"I love ya, my lil' psycho."

[hyolks]

(TW: BODY/ORGANS/NEEDLES!!)

Yo! So I was scrolling down your posts and found the one about Al’s ever-increasing automail body and how you are unsure how many of his organs could be replaced and… I have personal experience with that! What a lovely thing, to go through organ failure and have it be worth it if I can pass on that experience for the sake of ✨semi-realism-maybe-if-you-squint✨

My pancreas failed. Entirely. I have to manually give myself insulin every time I eat, and do calculations for it all; I can eat pretty much anything, but it comes at a price. Something something “equivalent exchange” one might even say.

But anyway, I basically have a mechanical pancreas with a remote control! I inject a 7 day supply of insulin into it with a syringe, and I tell it how much and how frequently to inject manually. It can inject into any spot on the body with a thick enough fat layer, usually stomach, thighs, the flabby parts of your upper arm, etc… note: I was 90lbs when I first went into organ failure, you do not have to be any particular body type/size for this to work.

It’s a very simple concept for the machine, and very simple/limited commands. You could even combine the controller with it and make it so there’s a switch/buttons directly on the injection site that have pre-determined doses.

Insulin has to be kept temperature controlled when in storage too, so that’s a cool thing you could mess around with if he has to keep more than a week supply on him. (This can honestly also just be ignored if it’s too complicated ‘^-^)

Insulin is a hormone, basically a command to tell your body to do something. So this can be applied to certain parts of the brain as well!

I don’t know if this’ll help, or if you’ve already found other inspirations that conflict with it, I just thought “hey, this Al makes me feel a little less alone in the world, if I can project a piece of me onto him I’d be really happy”.

Sorry if that’s presumptuous or weird of me to do >~<

OH MY GOSH DW DW THANK YOU SO MUH FOR SENDING THIS!!!! I SINCERELY APPRECIATE IT !!! i know its very strange to say but i love reading stuff like this and this was truly incredible to receive :")

medication/suppliments 1000% slipped my mind like i cant even BELIEVE it how much i forgot to consider it. i knew that going through an organ transplant also entailed needing to take medication to keep your body from rejecting it, but thats about where i stop with knowledge about regarding organ replacements,, but that is so interesting in your case with how much control and calculation is needed?? I also never thought about how truly indepth/technical mechanical organs would need to be!! especially since our organs just casually do the things they do and having a machine mimic it is more than just hitting "go" ...!! if you dont mind me asking how does it like stay powered, i guess ? :O

THE PRESSURE THAT WOULD BE ADDED IF THEY HAD TIME CONSTRAINTS BC OF MEDICATION..... OOOOOO.... especially with the temperature control.... them traveling through the desert would be so much more perilous !! I really will haveta figure out what he would be taking, if it were insulin or some almagomation (that included insulin of course) that could provide him the nutrients he would be missing out on because his lack of ability to eat/digest food...?

the handwavy science of canon that allows automail to work via nerve connections for motor control definitely like. eases the load a bit? although most of these organs require more function than just motor control... hmmm... REGARDLESS, thank u so mcuh for bringing up manually providing the body with hormones (and additionally nutrients), because no matter how quote unquote advanced the automail is, it wouldnt be able to actually produce the things he needs... process it, maybe? sure? but cannot produce it...!!

you're genuinely so sweet!!! thank you SO SO SO much for sending this in !! it really means so much to me that you can relate to this Al :")!! even though im probably trying to get tooo realistic with this portrayal (given the fact that al is mostly metal OTL) i dont want to like... not consider the things he would have to go through ? i guess? i cant quite figure out the words for what i want to say, but nonetheless!! <33333 thank you!!!!!

[rune-rambles-art]

Koleda (and other Belobog Heavy Industries) headcanons bc I am so very normal™️ about her

Her favorite food is cake (pretty obvious) with her favorite flavor being chocolate. She also really likes brown sugar flavored teamilks, and Ben will bring one back for her without fail every time he goes to pick some up for the higher ups.

She likes to be on schedule. If something in her usual routine changes, her fuse is a lot shorter when dealing with trivial tasks

Koleda has a teddy bear that she loves very dearly and sleeps with every night. It was a gift from Grace after her dad disappeared

Grace does Koleda’s hair every morning. If she needs a touch up during the day, she usually asks Grace for help. In the case that she can’t find Grace, Ben and Anton are capable of fixing it up instead (Grace taught them how)

She does wear her eyepatch for a reason. When she was young, she wandered into a hollow and was injured by an ethereal. It became permanently corrupted and as a result, she has severe light sensitivity in that eye. It does look pretty cool though.

She and Anton create training regimens together pretty regularly. The 100 Bangoo single-handed pushup idea came from an off-handed joke Koleda made, but Anton took it literally.

When out at cafes together, Grace and Koleda usually order for each other. Koleda started it as an opportunity to order more ��sophisticated” sweets and coffees, but it eventually developed into a game of seeing if they could pick out and surprise each other with dishes the other would enjoy.

Ben attempts to tutor Koleda with math by letting her calculate the totals in his finance reports. He calls her over with the excuse of “double checking his work”, letting her try to work it out, and then showing her how he got his total on a separate sheet of paper. She has not been correct a single time, but she appreciates his consideration.

Grace won’t let Koleda have a cat at home, but in exchange she allows Koleda to name every single one of her machines (keeping up the tradition Khors started).

If both are working on site that day, Anton and Koleda start the morning off with a footrace between the two of them (and most of the company spectate it). The tradition began after Anton asserted he was the fastest runner in all of Belobog to a group of his subordinates, which earned a scoff from the president who just happened to be passing by. After a short back and forth, the duo decide to settle it with a race the next morning. Word spread through the company fast, and there was a sizable crowd waiting for them near the storage area the following morning. Bets were placed (the pool was pretty even, but skewed in the president’s favor just slightly), and the two took the starting line. After a shot from Grace’s nailgun, they began their three laps around the work area. Koleda pulls ahead at a frightening speed, and finishes a full fifteen seconds before Anton. He demands a rematch every day, and the board they used for the firing (nail) gun keeps score of how many times they’ve raced to this day. They’re up to the 4th board full of nails now, and only new hires bet against Koleda. None of the employees considers a work day truly “beginning” until their race finishes.

[pinkmochi56]

TLDR: Not explicitly stated as canon, but a scientific hypothesis given several hours of thought. Despite being of antimatter, which explodes immediately upon contact with matter (anything that takes space and can be measured, like air, skin, fabric, food, water. Basically all organism essentials), Koro-sensei doesn't immediately explode upon air exposure, changing clothes, poking students with tentacles, etc. because the outer layers of his internal and external organs have an electromagnetic barrier that protects the antimatter from exposure to matter. The barrier is ironically powered by none other than the antimatter.

DISCLAIMER: I'm not an expert. Please correct me if I'm wrong: I literally just skimmed through my sister's physics study guide as soon as I saw the words "antimatter" and "explode" and then I jumped down the physics rabbit hole for a few hours to justify and explain the connection to Koro-sensei. So I'm definitely not an authority figure or anything.

Here's a teeny ramble about antimatter and Koro-sensei! I found out antimatter explodes when it comes into contact with matter. Specifically, I encountered a physics problem, and the answer showed that if an astronaut landed and touched an antimatter planet, both the astronaut and an EQUAL amount of antimatter would be annihilated (although the surrounding antimatter area of the planet would be heavily damaged from the explosion).

But the point is this: 30.6kg of human matter comes into contact with 5.9722x10^24 kg (that's earth's mass) of antimatter planet. 30.6kg of human matter + 30.6kg of antimatter planet is annihilated, leaving ZERO TRACE. They cancel each other out. The remains might be uninhabitable and invisible to the human eye, but it's still there.

What if it was reversed? 30.6kg of antimatter human (I calculated it, it's not a guess) comes into contact with the planet earth. 30.6kg of Earth will be annihilated, leaving no trace. There will still be at least SOME trace of the area outside of the radius, although it will most likely be uninhabitable and likely too tiny to be visible.

Now think: Koro-sensei, an antimatter being, constantly comes into contact with matter. AIR is matter (yes, I checked)! So one breath, and he should've exploded before episode 1. How has he not exploded? There must be an invisible barrier separating the matter from antimatter. I did brief research on antimatter storage and couldn't grasp most of it, but what I did somewhat grasp is this quote from Ruichen Zhang: "Antimatter shouldn't contact any matter while it is stored. This would be done by using the property of spin magnetic moment, which antimatter has. Using magnetic and electric fields, a force is applied to the antimatter, which directs it away from any matter" (Zhang).

So boom. Basically, an electromagnetic field serves as a barrier between matter and antimatter, and the latter is what fuels it. I researched the epidermis of octopi, which is the most sensical place for the barrier to be if it exists, considering Koro-sensei can interact safely with matter objects with his tentacles, especially the matter present in his clothes that come into direct bodily contact with him.

So I labelled a diagram of an octopus' skin layers to explain it. But it's not just his skin: his tongue is immune to anti-sensei material, which is made to destroy antimatter only, and he breathes without blowing up the earth via contact between his lungs and oxygen (oxygen is matter), so at the very least, the outer layers of all of his internal organs can't be made of antimatter.

References

Zhang, Ruichen. “Antimatter and Its Application-Collecting Antimatter and Storage It as Energy Source.” Journal of Physics: Conference Series, vol. 2386, no. 1, Dec. 2022, p. 012074, https://doi.org/10.1088/1742-6596/2386/1/012074.Accessed 4 Feb. 2023.

[swifty-fox]

Sci-Fi Horror AU

idk kinda word vomited this tonight after trying a new strain. I will be continuing it into a full story but not sure when

Entry Log 2043

-DateStamp: 14th July 5399

-Location: DeepSpace Sector G8677-65HG-76789_I

-Personnel File: Maj. J.C. Egan (Zoot Suit) 

Recording_

“This is Major John Egan, callsign ZootSuit, aboard the vessel M’lle ZigZag. Today is the dawn of my final day of exploration, putting an end to a sixteen-month foray into DeepSpace. Initial findings reveal little of note. A few developing stars and planets; an asteroid belt; and a total of six planets, two of which I will be recommending for a second more thorough exploration of due to planets possibly location being within the ‘Goldilocks Zone.’ I look forward to whiskey, solid food and to breathe air that isn’t recycled from a fucking can. I can’t wait to fuck my husband-”

John pauses.

“Ah, computer erase the last seven words. Reasoning: Irrelevant to mission. I will be entering Hyperspace within the hour, once I hit proper trajectory to slingshot around the primary sun.”

He taps the record button to end the log, carefully labeling the file and placing it in a folder with the few thousand other logs he’d recorded over the last year and a half. A verified library of data, observations and the occasional love-letter. A year and a half of research; one of the longest expeditions ever undertaken by any pilot. Considered bold by some and risky by far more. Deep space played with people's minds, the long stretches of isolation broken up only by Hypersleep creating the perfect recipe for a light case of mental instability.John had trained for this, ran through thousands of psychological tests and millions of scenarios. There was not a person in the universe more capable of this task. 

John rubs his jaw, feeling the scratchy beard and spins out of his pilot's chair, leaving the computer to guide the craft. 

Moving about the cramped space of the craft, built to maximize storage space; and to minimize comfort in his opinion, he begins securing anything not already safely battened down. He shaves in the cubicle sized bathroom, splashes water across his face and ignores the swirling flickers of color and light around the edges of his sight. Jaw smooth save for the now carefully trimmed mustache - just how Gale liked- he makes his way to the tail of the spacecraft to run an inventory check on his samples. Moon rocks and space dust and asteroid dirt. Anything the computer pinged or John spotted in his long hours gazing out into the empty void of space. 

He checks a few straps, making sure they’re tension tight before hitting the override on the artificial gravity. He holds the intentionally placed handle as he slowly lifts from the metal walkway. Giving himself several seconds to adjust he uses the similarly placed handles along the wall to pull himself back over to the pilot's chair. A second check on the navigation systems; the mathematical calculations for his trip around the sun and through hyperspace. Much of the process was left up to the computer these days, but John hadn’t survived twenty one missions - one of the highest in the force save for a handful - by not being thorough. 

Finding nothing out of the ordinary he switches all the lights off until his world is lit only by the approaching Red Giant, bathing everything a warm red. System lights blink soothingly as he takes a moment to take in the vast wonder in front of him. Years now it had been, and it still never failed to leave him breathless.

“Computer, begin countdown to Hyperspace entry, one minute. Beginning LCHS procedure, eta one minute.”

John pulls himself to the economically sized bunk, slotting into the space that barely left room for him to stretch and roll over, strapping himself down. 

“32…31…Thirty Second To HyperJump’’  the computer announces.

Bucky presses two fingers to his lips and then to the photograph taped above his bed. Folded so many times the crease lines were white and soft to the touch, Gale’s face gazed back at him. Caught unawares he was smiling soft and curving, glancing somewhere behind the camera. Laughing at something John had said, trying to pretend that he wasn’t. His cheek was rested in one elegant hand, gold ring glinting in the sunlight; a carbon match to the one on John’s own finger. 

“Be seeing you soon Buck.” John adjusts himself against the organic synthetic fibers of the mattress below him.

Fifteen seconds the computer chirps warningly. John always thought she got a little testy in those last few moments, as if scolding an unruly child. 

John reaches for the pouch beside his temple, withdrawing the last pill from the sheathe. Soft baby blue and the size of a quarter, he’d been issued exactly sixty-five of them upon the start of his expedition. Enough to get him all the way to the furthest reaches of the known galaxy in the shortest amount of time. Seven more consecutive jumps than had been previously attempted. Anything more than thirty and Federal Law was a minimum six months rest and recuperation before attempting further jumps. Risks for brain bleeds, heart attacks and Z-Sum sleep went up with every extra jump. John had stopped only once, stretching to forty five jumps before stopping at the nearest C-Class Planet Simulator outpost to rest. It had been his last chance to speak to Gale before he exited the reach of all communications. Eight months since he had seen that smile in any medium other than this photo. 

A quiet, tense conversation. Buck hadn’t wanted him to go; knew better than to stop him. 

“You’ll be careful out there John?” Buck was the only one to never call him Bucky. To the public he was Egan, Major if they were being formal. In private it was John, always John. His husband was strange like that. 

“More careful than a cat in a rainstorm.” 

Buck hums and squints his eyes at him. Stress sat in heavy lines at the corners of his lips, between his brows and around his temples. It had been eight months since John had kissed that mouth, tasted Gale’s sweet noises on his tongue. 

“You have enough LCHS’s to get through? None of them are compromised?” 

“Buck.” John sighs, “Come on.” 

Gale runs a hand through his hair, sucks his bottom lip between his teeth “I know you know what you’re doing...” His deep voice rumbled through the comms, staticky and pale in comparison to the in person thing.

“It’s just your job.” John finishes, grinning at Bucks self-amused shrug. “I checked them all twice. No leakage, no discoloration.” 

“I love you.” 

It never failed to make John’s spine tingle, hearing those words spoken so easily and effortlessly. The Gale he had gone to flight school with was a reserved quiet thing; John was better off trying to space-walk without a suit than pull an ounce of vulnerability from the other man. The years had softened him - John had softened him. 

“I love you too sweetheart. I’ll see you in eight months.”

Ten seconds. 

John startles, the pill slipping from his fingers and drifting in the gloom. He curses and reaches for it, straining against the straps holding him down. His steady beating heart kicks into panic mode. 

For centuries mankind had struggled to break out of the tiny confines of their miniscule corner of the universe. Confined by things like time-space and the limits of the human life span versus the distance needed to travel to discover anything new. They’d languished away certain of it was their destiny to never walk amongst the stars. Until HyperSpace had been discovered. The miniscule pocket between the folded pages of space-time. A way to jump through matter from one corner of the galaxy to another - and further. It blew the doors wide open on space exploration. They could go anywhere, journey past the point of creation they could find it. 

The only thing holding them back was the side effects of HyperSpace. It didn’t seem to pair so well with the cranial contents of human beings. The tendency to turn ones brain to pure soup was a drawback that left researchers, scientists and theorists all stumped. SMall jumps were manageable, with migraines and dizziness a much more risk-acceptable outcome. But in order for them to make any real progress they would need to find a solution,

LCHS. Lysergic Cerebral Hibernation Synthesizer.

The miracle drug and the solution to their dilemma. Developed initially from LSD the drug soothed the more vulnerable edges of one's brain and put the subject in such a deep sleep it took a reversal injection to bring one back to the waking world. It was used recreationally now as well; a way of opening one's mind to the world beyond the physical dimensions. Where light and color and feeling weren��t senses but physical states of being. It kept their pilots down for the jump; kept them asleep to the journey home. 

Without it. Well. Nobody had made a waking Hyperjump in as long as John could remember, at least had done it and lived. 

Five seconds.

John hisses through clenched teeth, straining for that little blue pill, technology his husband had dedicated his life to. Logically they both knew it was unlikely Gale had made the exact LCHS’s that sustained John, but he knew the other man pretended he did either way. The level of care put into each new batch as if it was made for his beloved specially. 

Three seconds.

John risks freeing one of his shoulders from the straps so he can get better reach. “Come on” he hisses. Closes his fingers around the dosage.

Two seconds.

John lays back, shoves his shoulder back into the strap so quickly the velcro scrapes his skin raw. He lifts the pill to his mouth, pressing past his lips.

One second.

_

_

_

Entering Hyperspace. 

Gale. John thinks.

His brain turns to mush.

[moriartyluver]

can we have some mtp boys (separate) on how they’d treat a fem! Reader who is on her period. You don’t need to make it historically accurate & if you’d prefer, you can make it modern au. Thank you!!!

A/N: I did this in a modern AU as suggested because I have no idea how people would have dealt with periods in the 19th century

Characters: William James Moriarty x fem! Reader , Albert James Moriarty x fem! Reader ,Louis James Moriarty x fem! Reader (separate)

Format: headcannons

Genre: hurt/ comfort, fluff

Prompt: the Moriarty brothers with a reader who is on their period.

Warnings: reader is afab, reader is female, established relationships, periods/menstruation etc.

LOUIS would be such a good partner in general so when you’re on your period? He is doing everything!

He’s already very much a househusband male wife kind of guy but it just gets so much more malewifey when you’re on your period

Oh you’re hot water bottle got slightly less warm? Louis is filling it up for your instantly

He will literally shower you in heating pads

I don’t think he’d be very physically affectionate in general, his love language is definitely acts of service and it’s very evident all the time, but if you ask to be held, hold you he will.

He’ll make you anything you want to eat no matter how strange (I always get really weird cravings on my period so if you do aswell, be prepared because Louis will stop at nothing to make you happy)

He has a whole storage cupboard packed with pads and tampons and whatever else you may use, all with your preferred sizes and brands because he’s just that caring. You never run out of pads or tampons with him around.

If any ones annoying you, he’ll be super pissed off and will actually get into a fight for your sake.

If you’re feeling emotional, he’ll be by your side reassuring you that everything’s okay. He’s a bit emotionally constipated but he tries his best for you.

If you ever need sheets to be washed or clothes to be cleaned, he won’t mind at all and he will definitely not get upset.

He himself doesn’t go out unless necessary so he’ll try stay at home with you all the time, just in case you need something (even if you insist that you’re fine)

Overall rating? 10/10 wifey material

WILLIAM probably knows more about your period than you do. Not in a gross mansplaining way but in a well educated husband kind of way

Like he definitely knows when you’re going to start you’re period based on symptoms and stuff before you get that little red surprise in your underwear. Worst feeling tbh.

He helps you learn how to track your cycle and if you’re an inconsistent period girlie like myself, he’s a great help. Imagine just getting ready to go out and then William tells you to make sure to take a pad/tampon/cup with you before you leave 💀

He pampers you too, especially if you live together, but not in the same way louis does.

He’s a bit more strict when it comes to what you should and shouldn’t eat (it’s the protective teacher in him). Liam makes you take magnesium supplements and makes sure you eat healthy even if you’re craving junk food so your cramps don’t get worse.

He’s probably calculated the perfect temperature for your heat pad/hot water bottle 😭

Probably a little more affectionate than his younger brother would be. If you’re complaining about being cold or uncomfortable, he’d put whatever book he’s reading down and hold his arms wide open for you. William absentmindedly rubs your back while listening to you complain about having a uterus

Definitely pressed kisses to your forehead while you ramble like the old fashioned lover he is 🤭

He makes sure to buy you really good quality pads/tampons and is sure to memorise which brands or types you prefer. Might slip a chocolate bar in there too. He also buys you painkillers and gives you the correct doses and everything at the right times

If you don’t feel like speaking much (he loves talking to you for some reason. its adorable) he gets a little upset but he’s a surprisingly good communicator. He doesn’t want to make you feel uneasy and bless his heart, he does all the chores and everything so you don’t have to suffer further while your uterus tries to fucking kill you

Overall rating? ∞/10 (I am totally not biased) I want to marry him idc if he’s a drawing

ALBERT is stupid. I’m sorry that’s a mean way to start off

I think we can all agree he has OCD or OCPD but he’s so sweet to you despite some seeing periods as a ‘Filthy’ thing.

You bled through the sheets? He’ll calmly help you fix that dw sweetie. If you bleed through your pants in public and anyone gives you any dirty looks or some weird shit because people hate uterus havers, he’s not called one of the most unhinged mtp characters for nothing 😊

Ok but this man knows nothing about periods though. I’m so sorry. Like you had to explain to him that no you can’t hold in the blood nor do you use your pad as a bandaid of some sort

Would probably send you one of these :(yes I made that)

He needs Louis to go shopping with him to help get you stuff because this man is smart enough for eton but not enough to know that different colours on pad packages are not flavours 🙄

Also he’s a shit cook so you still have to do that if u don’t wanna starve

Probably the most affectionate out of the brothers. He’s very cuddly with you when you need him to be (mainly because he feels bad for being so damn useless)

Overall rating? 2/10 💀

[eat-less-move-more]

A calorie is a unit of energy, like a joule. It's a unit of energy equivalent to the heat energy needed to raise the temperature of 1 gram of water by 1 °c.

We use calories to measure the amount of energy in our food. In the body, calories not used are stored as adipose tissue (fat.) In addition to energy storage, fat also protects our organs.

We can get a rough approximation of how many calories a body needs using a TDEE or BMR calculator. (TDEE is your BMR + Intentional Movement, BMR is the calories you need at rest unmoving.) There are *more* accurate ways to measure this but it requires equipment.

Energy above the amount required for movement and function is stored as fat. If you need to gain weight, take in more energy (food) and don't use it. Eat more, move less.

This is why sufferers of severe Anorexia are put on bed rest, even walking takes too much energy because they just don't have enough stored as fat or being consumed in the form of food. All their calories need to be put to the task of recovering from organ damage, healing wounds, and gaining a healthy store of fat.

The opposite is also true. If one want to lose fat, they must burn the fat for fuel (this is it's intended purpose, it is fuel.) Consuming more energy than needed for movement and function will result in the extra energy being stored as fat. This is how weight gain functions.

"Counting Calories" is simply a way of ensuring you get the appropriate amount of energy for your body. Those intending to gain weight often count calories as well.

TLDR: want to lose weight? Eat Less, Move More. Want to gain weight? Eat More, Move Less.