#Eddie has a fear of the ocean | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sp4ceboo · 8 months ago

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As Selfish as Love: Merman!Bakugou Katsuki x Reader

genre: merfolk au, fantasy au, merman!bakugou x witch!reader, strangers to lovers, bakugou x f!reader, smut and angst and fluff

summary: in a world infested with purgers of magic, neither a clandestine witch nor a lone merman can remain safe for long.

tw: 18+, smut (afab reader, p in v, bkg has a merman cock, marking + biting, oral f receiving, fingering, crying during sex but not like you think, unprotected sex, creampie), violence, blood, death, vivid gore, grief, reader treated as a tool by evil ppl, random worldbuilding, questionable medical knowledge, kinda plot heavy, other stuff i don't remember

wc: 19.8k

For years, all you’ve known is darkness.

Chained by the wrist to a ring in the wall, swaddled and asphyxiating in the blackness of the brig - it is there where your closest companion has become the dark. It is the absence of light: not only because they do not deem you human enough to spare lamp oil on you, but because the kiss of the sun has been reduced to a foreign concept, a distant, syrupy memory.

Every morning when that door opens, letting light leak in and crawl painfully between the cracks of the roughly hewn floorboards like an intruder, you repeat your name back to yourself, remind yourself who you are - a witch, a survivor, a person at the end of their tether but that all the same does what they can to keep the shadows at bay.

For the darkness is not just the absence of light: it is the absence of hope, and if you let it take you, your very substance will dissolve and you will sink beneath obsidian waves and melt away without a sound. They will have won.

This is something you will not allow.

White knuckled, you hold onto memories of the past the way a drowning man clings to driftwood. They swirl in the currents of your mind, fickle things. Sometimes they are so tangible you can feel the grass beneath your feet and the bracing wind of the highlands on your face even in the still, humid air of the brig, sometimes they eddy away before you can catch a glimpse.

You were barely a woman when they caught you, when they tore you out from where you’d been rooted to the earth, ripping through the stitches that held your life together. You were young, and you were naive and ignorant. This would not have happened if I had been as I am now, you think, but as you are now is shackled in the belly of a ship built for the single purpose of hunting merfolk.

They hunt to purge. Their so-called divine has commanded the eradication of magic, and so that is what each and every child is trained for from birth. The land has been rife with their conquest for centuries, making witches such as your kind unheard of, yet the sea for all its worth has lain mostly untouched until recently.

You are jealous of the merfolk. The magic must come easily to them, because they have not had to suppress it out of fear - it seethes in their blood, potent as an ocean storm, imbued within their essences as salt is in seawater. For this, they are feared, and for this, the hunters are more so hellbent on their extermination.

Over your years spent in the hull’s constant night you’ve learnt that your captors are the most celebrated hunters of their time, held above everything but their leader and their divine. They are revered among their people, and that is why they are allowed to chain a witch in their brig and force her to heal wounds sustained from hunting the undeserving - because they are strong enough and honourable enough to not be corrupted by your magic.

There is nothing honourable about the way they treat you.

Though you are human as they are, you are lower than an animal to them. They have no care for your limits - oftentimes, you are pushed to heal and heal and heal until you are exhausted, and yet you refuse to succumb when the darkness calls, because each time you meet their eyes, without fail, you see, buried deep within, is fear.

They fear what is unknown, what is not under their control, and every time you refuse to break when they beat you just for entertainment, every time they push you almost to death yet you survive, you wrest back an inch of control. You are needed, and that is something you will use one day, when the time is right. For now, you collect those sparks of fear in their eyes and let it feed the fire nestled within your soul that fends off the growing dark.

It is a day like any of the other days. Stirring in your fraying blankets, you wake up to the sound of the crew’s strident voices, and as it is sometimes, you almost forget that they are cruel and stained by their own wrong doings because for now, there is no talk of blood shed, just breakfast. You hate that they can seem so normal with so many innocent lives on their hands.

The day very quickly progresses into the type you have come to dread.

They neglect to bring you your daily portion of bread and water, nor the echinacea you had asked for more of, and it can only mean one thing - a hunt is on. Already, you can feel the unruly lurch of the ship as it skims over the waves, picking up speed. The crew’s voices become louder, crowing and eager, and you despise them so deeply your heart twists and becomes an ugly thing in your chest.

Almost imperceptible, you can hear the rattle and hiss of ropes as they ready their harpoons. This part is the worst, where the darkness closes in so near that you can feel its cold touch brush up your arms and its breath ghosting over your face. Sometimes you hear the anguished cries of the merfolk, sometimes the whoops and victory cries of the crew are loud enough to drown it out. You don’t know which is worse.

After will come the wounded, grinning still and soaked in blood of two kinds - theirs and their victims. You are always numb to it by then, turning a blind eye to the crimson dipped trophies they grip in dirty hands: lopped off fins and strips of scales, sometimes small enough to be a child’s.

How they can butcher beings as beautiful as the merfolk and think it the right thing to do, you do not know.

It makes you sick to your stomach, that somehow you have become their accomplice, stitching their wounds with your magic, saving their lives so they can kill again. You vow that one day, you will strike back, but what good can you do now, trapped in the bowels of a boat that was designed as a vessel for murder?

You have to try. You have to survive, if just to try. You are yet to come up with a method for escaping past what you have already attempted, but if you do not, more lives will be lost, more bloodshed that you had inadvertently aided. Right now, on deck, the patterns for it to happen all over again are falling into place.

You’re sure that this time will be no different.

And so you wait for the injured to come, almost defeated if not for the hard, bright little ball of hate settled in your throat. You wait, and you wait, listening to the strange thumping above that you can’t decipher, and still they don’t bring you their wounded. Neither comes their usual sickening shouts of triumph - you wonder if the merfolk managed to escape. You hope desperately that they did.

Listless, you turn your head as footsteps approach. There are more than normal. You can’t count exactly - five, maybe six, and they all walk with a strange irregular gait as they approach the brig.

I hope the merfolk put up a magnificent fight, you think as the key scrapes in the lock. I hope that taught them; you know it never does. The more damage the merfolk do while they fight for the lives of their mates and children, the more they are damned as unnatural and beastly and deserving of the fates that are doled out to them by men.

With a rusty squeal, the door swings wide, and with it comes the same influx of light that always spills greedily through, stinging your eyes and making them ache - the doing of a tiny, wayward star moulded from precious lamp oil. You blink away the tears that well up at your lash line, testament to your accustomation to the dark, and then blink again.

Back when you took the warmth of the sun on your face for granted, you lived too far inland to ever see one in the flesh. You were still a witch under the disguise of a healer, though. You’d heard tales, seen artists’ renderings and gorey body parts wrenched off as sick memorabilia.

None of those could have ever come close to preparing you for the sight before your eyes.

A merman.

Deep in enemy territory - so deep, in fact, that all those surrounding him, bar you, have murdered more than dozens of his kind each. He is on a galleon rammed bow to stern with killers. And yet, despite it, he has not fallen victim to the purge. Yes, there is a splintered harpoon sunken into his side, yes, he is limp and broken, but even so, shallowly, his chest rises and falls.

He breathes. He breathes, and even that is beautiful. The lamp’s light reflects off his scales; he is mainly jet black, but broad swathes of orange run across the length of his powerful tail like they were drawn with the loving stroke of a painter’s brush. In parts, they darken into a ruby red that glitters and winks as the lamp light dances.

Or maybe that’s just blood.

There’s a lot of it. It soaks into the sheet they strain to carry between them, pools in the dip his weight makes, streaks in smears down his chest and face, coats his hands and is embedded under his sharp nails. You hope that all of it is not his, that he made them regret whatever they must have done to get a merman vulnerable enough and far enough from his pod to capture him.

Deep lacerations cut all along his chest and tail, and one of the spines that extend from his sail-like dorsal fin is bent in a way that must mean it is broken. A smattering of scales reach wide across his shoulders and back and down his arms, some of them twisted and bent out of shape. Your eyes fall to the harpoon buried just below his hip, and you feel the bite of your nails digging into your palms.

“Heal it,” commands the man holding the corner of the sheet closest to you. “We’ve been ordered to bring back a merfolk to be studied. It must be in peak condition.”

You frown as they begin to manoeuvre all three metres of merman into the brig. Studied? They must be looking for a weakness to exploit. After all, merfolk succumb less easily to flesh wounds than humans - the magic of the sea resides in their very bones.

A hand fists the front of your shirt and you’re jerked forward. You can feel the hunter’s foul breath on your cheek, feel the violence roiling just below the surface of his skin, and yet you cannot tear your eyes from the merman until you’re struck across the face. Reeling back, you raise your head to look at him, a hand flying up to cradle your jaw where it has begun to swell.

“Are you deaf? What are you waiting for?” he spits.

Your brain is still stuck on the fact that there is a merman before you, alive on a ship full of specialised mermen killers, but your body has gone through these motions many times before and brings you to kneel by your patient so fast your chain jingles crassly in the relative quiet, your hands already working to gather herbs for a poultice that will slow the bleeding.

Glancing over your shoulder, you see your captors filing out of the door, the last of them grumbling and wiping his hands on his trousers as if being near enough to hit you had sullied him. Realisation dawns abruptly on you.

They’re leaving you alone with the merman.

“Wait,” you call.

Disquiet grows in your stomach. As much as you hate the life forced upon you, serving as a tool for men who would not hesitate to kill you if you ran out of worth, you have gotten used to it, and this merman at your feet has disrupted your delicate equilibrium, tripping you as you balance on a knife’s blade.

You have never had problems with thinking fast in a pinch. You are a healer, you are accustomed to endless wells of blood and snapped bones sticking through skin. Conversely, you are not accustomed to the sight of a half conscious merman taking up the majority of your floor space, a single fingernail on his hand no doubt potent with more magic than is contained in your whole body.

Your tongue is slow, your mind slower, but you force the words out, emboldened because whether he likes it or not, this merman is leverage for you. There is no one else on board that could save him.

“I will need a lamp indefinitely, while I’m in the process of healing.”

You realise how important the health of this merman is to their study because the hunter holding the lamp brings it over with no words of criticism, just the curl of his lip when you draw near enough to take it from him.

Its metal is warm in your hands, and you cup it in your palms - a little sun that clears the clinging shadows from the brig like they’re cobwebs. Carefully, you set it on the floor next to you, just outside the border of the canvas the merman lies upon, sitting back on your heels as the door slams shut.

You stare at the merman for a weighty moment. If it did, there’s no telling what organ the harpoon may have punctured - do his intestines extend all the way down his tail? Or are they in the same place as a human’s, and his tail is just muscles, like legs would be?

Never in your life did you think merfolk anatomy would have any significance to you. Even if you’d thought it did, there wouldn’t be any books for you to study on it. A hysterical, jittery laugh builds in your throat, wringing itself from you when you spot the strange slit - for lack of better words - that sits just below where his skin turns to obsidian scales.

The nervous sound breaks the silence, jolting you into action. Never mind his anatomy, he’s still bleeding out. Somehow, you need to get that harpoon out of him: the hunters don’t clean them off once they’ve used them, and if you’re not vigilant, infection will get him before whatever they’ve got in store will.

Determinedly, you scoot closer to his lower half, stretching out a hand to test the area around the wound. In preparation, you will your healing magic to rise to the surface, and it fizzles at the surface of your palms, warming them.

Your fingertips have barely brushed over his scales when pain slashes across your cheek.

The merman jerks away from you so hard that he cries out, and you wince as you see the wound pull wide, blood oozing out from where it gapes. Gingerly, you touch a hand to your cheek - one of his spines had glanced off your face as he’d moved away, its tip sharp enough to shed blood.

Any human patient would have lost consciousness moments after being hit by the harpoon that’s buried in his tail, and if by a miracle they hadn’t yet, the pain caused by what he just did surely would have knocked them out. Inexplicably, he’s still conscious, blood red eyes glaring at you with blatant distrust.

You hadn’t gotten a chance to look closely at his face before - you’d been too busy ogling his tail. Spikey, sandy hair casts a shadow over his eyes. They glow, carmine and half crazed, no doubt with the same agony that pinches at his face and curls his lip, revealing sharp canines that he bares at you, twin ivory warnings.

A rattling, hissing sound emanates from deep in his chest when you attempt to move closer again, his dorsal fin undulating in an obvious threat display. You can tell it hurts him; the spine you’d noticed before is definitely broken, the parts of the fin around it drooping and limp. He growls when he catches you looking.

You really, really don't know what to do.

Your skin prickles, the hairs on the back of your neck rising. He hasn’t taken his eyes off you since you were left alone with him. Aside from the obvious hostility, his face is effectively blank; there’s nothing in his gaze except the primal instinct to survive, and the unspeakable, offensive terror of a wounded animal backed into a corner and trapped there.

There’s no getting through to him with words. You remember the night you were ripped from your cottage by the hunters, the way you clawed and screamed until your voice was gone and your nails were torn and bleeding. You know what it’s like to have the adrenaline coursing through your veins so fast it burns, you know what it’s like to feel the anger and fear blend together in your chest until it strips away your humanity and you’re reduced to nothing more than a feral, wild eyed animal.

Slowly, you get to your feet, your chains rattling. He growls, making that hissing sound again, and despite his size, despite the muscles straining in his chest and the magic you can sense in his form, he looks small. You grit your teeth. The shock is beginning to wear off, burnt to ashes by a roaring fury that licks up your throat and fills your lungs.

You wonder if he had a pod. You wonder if they got massacred before his eyes.

Ignoring the trembling of your hands, you scoop up the piece of dried fish that remains from yesterday’s meal. It’s the only food you have, so you turn and offer it to him - when he doesn’t hiss immediately, you slide it over to him on the dented tin plate it had been on.

Tentatively, the merman picks up the fish, his nose very obviously wrinkling. As he examines your peace offering, you notice his hands are webbed up to the lowest knuckle and are a little larger than a human man’s, the fingers longer and the nails considerably sharper.

Relief fills you as he begins to chew at the fish, and you retreat to your pile of blankets, sitting down and half facing away to give him as much privacy as is possible in as small a space as the brig. You begin to make a poultice for him, crushing the herbs between your fingers because you’re not allowed a mortar and pestle and depositing them on one of the dishes you have lying around.

Once you’re done, you turn back to him. The edge in his eyes has softened a touch, and when you scoot over to settle closer to him, he doesn’t make a sound, instead just leaning away a little, watching you warily. Warningly, he hisses when you lift your hand, his red eyes flashing.

“I’m going to have to touch you to put this poultice on,” you tell him. “It will reduce the bleeding and might alleviate the pain.”

He twitches but remains silent. You wonder briefly if he even understands - people don’t talk to merfolk these days. They either run or they kill. For all you know, he might speak some ancient language of the sea that you have no hope in understanding.

You scoop the poultice up in your fingers and lean forward, aiming to ease him in by angling first for a smaller wound situated just over a hip bone on a human would be (you’re not even sure if his equivalent qualifies as a hip seeing as he lacks legs).

“Don’t,” he snarls, his voice guttural and rasping, like he hasn’t uttered a word in years.

Fumbling, you almost drop the dish. You guess that answers one of your many questions - he can speak your language, although you presume one word doesn’t really express fluency. For a moment, you consider telling him that they’ll no doubt beat you for not healing him, but it seems rather insignificant since it’s nothing they haven’t inflicted on you before.

Sighing, you sit back on your heels and look at him, defeated. He regards you with those same crimson eyes as before, but they’ve cooled considerably and hold traces of scathing criticism you find you aren’t the fondest of.

You begin to realise that he’s not going to give you any explanation as to why he doesn’t want you to treat him. He doesn’t trust you, most likely - you haven’t given him any reason to think otherwise of you, rather, you’d gawped openly at him. You’re not surprised he hasn’t taken a liking to you. You wouldn’t either.

So you retreat back to what has now become your corner of the brig, since the other three are taken up by the length of his tail and the doorway. On a whim, you prepare yourself a turmeric tea; it’s anti-inflammatory and you know you’ll be needing it sooner or later.

It takes a day, but one of the hunters barges in, light sneaking in past the outline of his silhouette. You don’t know any of them by name, nor would you want to, but you do know that this particular one is the first mate.

The merman hasn’t let you near him still, and although at points his eyes are closed, you’re worried that if you try to sneak up on him, he’ll move away again and tear open the parts of the wound around the harpoon that have partially closed up. The perimeter of blood soaked canvas beneath him has slowed its expansion but still grows.

It’s amazing that he’s survived this long while still losing blood. You presume merfolk must be rather resilient, unsurprisingly - the sea is no easy place to live in, nor is it made any easier by its recent infestation of merfolk hunters.

“Did you not hear your orders yesterday, you useless bitch?”

Passively, you look up at him as he looms closer. “I did.”

“So you don’t want to cooperate, then,” he snaps. “Do I have to encourage you?”

You don’t get to answer. A fist full of scarred knuckles collides with your nose, and your head snaps back, white exploding across your vision as the hunter shoves you backwards. Your back hits the ground and before you can even think of scrambling away, you’re kicked hard in the ribs.

You don’t try to resist it. You’ve learnt it’s better to take it than to fight and make him hit harder.

Red hot pain shoots through you when the tip of his boot catches your chin, clacking your teeth together. You cry out as your blood fills your mouth, streams from your nose, stains his knuckle bones. Hands up in a pitiful attempt at protecting your face, you curl up on the floor, as small as you can. Your ribs throb, your chain trapped awkwardly beneath your body.

You’re still balled up with your arms over your head long after he slams the door behind him. You ache all over, and your lower lip is trembling treacherously. Tears press at the backs of your eyes so you squeeze them shut: you’re not going to cry.

You need to get up.

You need to down that damned turmeric tea you made, just to feel the ginger burn as it slips down your throat.

When you open your eyes, the merman is staring. You grimace as you heave yourself to sit upright, the metallic taste of blood still coating your tongue and curdling until it’s sour. His face is unreadable, shuttered and devoid of any emotion. He doesn’t speak, although that isn’t exactly atypical.

“Well, now you’re not the only one bleeding all over the floor,” you mutter, unable to keep the resentment from your tone.

You turn your back to him as you set your nose with a grunt, letting your magic flow through your fingers and knit your flesh back together. Running a hand over your ribs, you check if any are broken, but when none are, you don’t heal them up; you’ll need to save your energy. The hunter didn’t bring food for you, and you doubt he’ll be bringing you any more until you treat the merman. That could take anything from an hour to a week.

Falteringly, you glance over your shoulder. He stares off to a place far away, a place you cannot see. A scowl furrows his brow, and you sigh, wondering if he thinks of the sea and the freedom that was torn away from him the way it was for you.

Curling up on your blankets, you pull one over yourself, rolling to face the wall and shutting your eyes. Loud in the darkness, your stomach growls, and you twitch but ignore the urge to look over your shoulder and stare accusingly at the merman - you too would not trust a human if all their kind had brought him was pain.

Your ribs hurt. It is alright, though. You’ve fallen asleep through worse.

When you wake, the first thing you do is crouch down beside the merman to check his wounds. The rattle of your chains makes him open his eyes, and you see that his face has paled, the alertness in his gaze dimmer now the adrenaline has worn off. As is becoming clear, he’s more resistant to injury than humans are, but there’s a worrying amount of blood saturating the canvas sheet beneath him, and you doubt he’ll make it much longer without help.

If he lets you near, what you’re going to have to do is far from ideal. The hunters’ harpoons are barbed and vicious, but you can’t exactly keep it in, and you can’t exactly cut it out without risking more blood loss. You’re just going to have to yank on it and hope it doesn’t destroy anything too vital on its way out.

“I’m going to have to take the harpoon out,” you tell him measuredly, gauging his facial expression.

He simply stares at you, his face blank but for the slight pinch of his brow. Shadows bathe half of his face; there is barely any lamp oil left to burn. The little flame flickers and sputters, letting darkness dance up the close walls of the brig, and if you do not hurry, you may have to treat him in the dark.

Slowly, you lift your hand, letting it hover over the splintered end of the harpoon. Tension bleeds into his body, the set of his jaw tight and his hands fisting as if he’s bracing himself, but he doesn’t growl or flinch away. Expectancy and resignation lurk in his gaze.

You don’t like that he won’t say anything in response even though he’s proven he can talk. You can feel his eyes boring into the back of your head as you gather your materials: the poultice from yesterday, a roll of bandages, a thick strip of worn leather. The latter you give to him, sighing when he turns it over in his hands, quizzical,

“Bite down on it,” you instruct him as you roll up your sleeves. “Either that or it’ll be your tongue.”

He frowns, but does as you say. You glance up at him to check if he’s ready. The hard lines of his body stand out, taut as a bowstring. He looks brittle, as if he might break and crumble into dust the moment you touch him.

Years ago, when you healed children’s scraped knees and the broken bones of men who had fallen from their ladders while fixing leaks in roofs, you had the words to comfort your patients. These you lost to the eternal darkness of the merfolk hunters’ ship, and these you wish to find again but cannot.

Instead, you murmur a quiet warning as you kneel by his tail, wiping your sweaty palms off on your trousers before getting a strong two handed grip on the end of the harpoon. Under your breath, you count down: three, two, one. Pull.

It makes a squelching, sucking noise as it comes out. You cringe but keep on tugging - if you stop now, it’ll be worse for both of you. He cries out, voice ragged and spilling over with agony, his tail arcing off the floor, and you feel the movement in the way the harpoon jerks in your hands with the bunching of his muscles.

All of a sudden, the resistance disappears. His tail fin slaps against the floor as he goes limp, both his and your heavy panting filling the room. You’re left with the splintered harpoon in your hands, a chunk of flesh and a twisted scale still clinging to one of the bloodied, rusted spokes. He spits the strip of leather out and it lands near your knee.

Carefully, you set down the harpoon and begin applying the poultice straight onto the weeping gash in his side, spreading the rest over the bandages which you bind tightly around his tail. Leaking from your fingertips, your magic suffuses across his skin as you work; you can’t heal him accurately without knowing much about his inner workings, but it should help to stave off any infection.

He shelters his face in the crook of his elbow, and though he tucks his other hand tightly to his chest, you can see the way he trembles.

You give him his space by swiftly moving on, busying yourself with his other injuries. You splint the spine in his dorsal fin, ignoring the way his hands shake and gently placing the arm crossed over his torso by his side so you can use your magic to clean and close up the various cuts and slashes littering his scar flecked body.

His scales seem to be damp, even though it’s almost been a full twenty four hours since he was brought in. It must be seawater somehow, you decide, or a sweat-like substance that keeps his tail wet enough when he hasn’t been in water for a while. He doesn’t look the most comfortable: he’s probably not used to having to support his own weight without the buoyancy of the waves.

There are little scars all over him, his skin a map of cicatrices, but the one that catches your attention is raised and jagged, spanning from the middle of his sternum to his navel. You touch your index finger to the centre of it, and he inhales sharply, flinching away.

“Sorry,” you mutter, pulling back, half expecting him not to hear you.

He’s silent for a while, ignoring your apology, but then comes a begrudging: “Thank you.”

Though he won’t see it - he’s still hiding his face from you - you shrug. “You should never have been hurt in the first place.”

He’s quiet again, lying still enough for you to imagine him dead if not for the rise and fall of his broad chest. You slouch, the energy having leaked from your body in order to mend his. The lamp finally gutters and winks out, leaving in its absence a tiny pinprick of light, a vanishing ember at the wick’s tip, buried in ashes.

When you tear your gaze away from your expired little sun, you’re confronted with a pair of blazing eyes. Pinned on you, they glow in the darkness like two pools of blood, but you find their luminosity strangely comforting, like Arcturus and Betelgeuse to a sailor: stars to lead you on your course.

“You are a witch, are you not?”

You jump at the sound of his voice, rough around the syllables but measured, as if he rolled them around on his tongue before he spoke. The scarlet light from his eyes dims a little as they narrow (you’re not sure if that’s meant to convey amusement or distaste) and you become aware that maybe he can see a lot more in the dark than you can.

“I am,” you confirm, still squinting at him - to no avail.

“Why do you not fight them, then?” He demands, his tone darkening. “Surely you cannot like it here.”

You scoff. “Of course I don’t like it here. You think I like the way they beat me?”

He’s silent, and though you still cannot see his face, you sense his scowl.

Sighing, you reign yourself in. This merman comes the closest to being an ally than all the others that have entered the brig, and you cannot squander this. He may not trust you, and you may be ignorant and ill informed of his kind, but you both have a common enemy, and though he may not like the thought, you are similar enough: the raw energy that flows through him is the same that you harness to perform your magic.

“I could fight, but there is nowhere for me to go if I escape the ship - there is just the sea,” you explain. “In the end, they are scared of all those associated with magic, even the witch they keep chained in the dark. The moment they deem that the risk I pose outweighs the use I have to them, they’ll kill me.”

He’s quiet again while he processes what you’ve said. “And what of me, witch? Why have they not killed me yet?”

“They want to study you,” you reply, wincing at how harsh your voice comes out. “I think we’re quite far from their lands - a few months’ travel, maybe - but it’s hard to tell.”

“What - ”

“Enough questions,” you cut him off. “My turn.”

A plethora of questions crowd your mind, but as you think of the merman in front of you, you find that they can wait, because although he must have stories of the sea that you’d only dreamed of hearing, and although magic you could learn endlessly from is threaded through his being, he is primarily, before anything, a soul. He is a soul: a soul with eyes that make the permanent night you are lost within just a little more manageable.

You will have to find out whether the kraken is real or not later; you will ask him about selkie skins afterwards.

Instead, you ask him his name, and tell him your own.

Bakugou, he grunts in response before turning his head to face the wall, clearly ending the conversation. Frowning, you stare at his back - or where you presume his back is, in the darkness - and mull over the name he provided you with; you are certain he has given you the one he gives to strangers. You suppose that is what you are.

Pulling absently at your chain, you sit with your back to the wall, your knees to your chest, and think about the merman, about Bakugou. For a moment, you are seized by the absurd belief that his most grave injury is a bleeding heart, but that cannot be true, for he has not said anything that indicates it. Questions find their way to your tongue, but you let them stick there, stifling them before they deign to interrupt the silence.

Neither of you move from your positions until the door opens, revealing the first mate. Squinting, you rise to your feet, a muscle feathering in your jaw as he purposefully kicks Bakugou in the shoulder, lifting his lamp high so he can see the bandages you’d applied.

“I’ll need a top up on lamp oil if I’m to continue the healing process,” you announce. “And we’ll need food and water. He’ll have - ”

You hesitate, glancing over at Bakugou, but he just lifts a shoulder and makes a face of disgust that you know isn’t conscious. Deliberating for a moment, you wrack your brain for any clues about merfolk diets.

“Fresh fish,” you decide. “And crabs. The bigger the better. Also, he’ll need a tub big enough for him, filled with seawater.”

“Watch the way you address me,” the first mate snaps, taking a step forward.

You shrug. “You wanted him healed, didn’t you?”

Your first two requests come within the next few hours, appeasing the increasing hollowness that had resided in your stomach and sending the shadows inhabiting the brig retreating up the walls and into the corners of the room, but the tub doesn’t come until two days after. It is barely watertight, plugged with tar and made from rough sawn wood.

You haven’t exchanged words with Bakugou since you asked his name and he gave you one, though you find yourself on the receiving end of his red eyes more often than not. He’s silent as the hunters bring the tub in, as they fill it with pails of seawater, as they leave and slam the brig’s door behind them. He’s silent, even as he slips into the tub and into a thin slice of his home.

And then, after a moment, he turns to you, and there’s something painful and cutting and cynical in his eyes.

“You know, the water doesn’t speed up the healing.”

You nod. “I know it doesn’t. You were uncomfortable.”

His eyes blaze. “What do you want?”

You regard him, regard the intensity of the fire in his gaze and the way his chest heaves. His tail fin hangs out of the tub, but even so, water swills over the side and splashes onto the floor like it can sense his agitation. Loudly, the links of your chain clank against each other as you cross your arms.

“I do not want anything, Bakugou.”

He narrows his eyes. “All humans I have known but one are cruel, witch. You wish for me to owe you something.”

“I don’t,” you reply, noticing the strange look that creeps onto his face. “Who is this human you hold in such high esteem?”

A distant look erases the furrow in his brow, and you get the sense he is no longer talking to you when he speaks again: he is lost in some place far away, a place coated in the golden sheen that tints all good memories. His voice turns soft as he brushes his fingers over the scar on his chest.

“His name was Izuku,” he murmurs. “But I called him Deku.”

“Deku?” You echo, your voice crudely loud all of a sudden.

A flash of grief slashes across his features like lightning on the high seas, there and gone so fast you almost don’t catch it. It’s like a switch flips, and suddenly shutters slam down behind his eyes and his expression melts away until his face is blank and cold. Regret sinks heavy in your stomach.

You wince. “I’m sorr - ”

“He’s dead,” Bakugou growls.

He doesn’t speak to you for three days. There is a certain rawness in his blood red eyes that makes you gentler as you change his dressings and reapply your poultices. He looks at you as if he hates that you are healing him instead of leaving him to die, so you avoid his gaze, staring instead at the scars that cover him like warpaint.

You get the sense that he is mourning this human he told you of all over again, and you cannot help but see the weight of it in the tension of his body and wonder if you could alleviate the pain.

On the fourth day, he shuts the vulnerability away somewhere deep inside of him, buried far enough beneath other things that he can pretend it never even existed. Yet you remember it, still vivid and fresh in your mind as you lie curled up on your side, watching the lamp’s flame until your eyes burn. He breaks the silence by clearing his throat, his gaze fixed on you.

“Witch,” Bakugou says softly. “How did they catch you?”

You glance over at him. “I was young and foolish and alone. It’s easy to snatch a girl from her home under those circumstances.”

“You have been here for years, then.”

“I have,” you sigh. “I tried to escape once. That’s why I’m chained down.”

“A weaker soul would not have survived this darkness,” he remarks solemnly. “You are strong, witch.”

You look down at your hands, watching your fingers fidget to and fro in your lap. Your tongue is frozen in your mouth - you had not spoken properly to someone in years before he was captured, and his behaviour confuses you. No words come to mind that express how grateful you are for his acknowledgement.

“Thank you,” you settle with in the end.

He hums but other than that remains silent.

Later you discuss with him the possible logistics of an escape. He explains to you that he cannot channel the magic the way you can, but that he is soaked in the magic of the sea; he is unable to use it for spells because it is innately part of him, enhancing him beyond human capabilities. Together, you come to the conclusion that you must get off the ship before you arrive at the hunters’ lands, or your chances of freedom will have narrowed to almost nothing.

An actual method of subduing or injuring the hunters enough to allow an exit route evades you, though. After all, you are chained to the wall, and there’s no easy way of moving Bakugou - he is, evidently, far too heavy for you to drag around all by yourself.

Uneasy silence falls over the brig. You stare at the lamp again: with it, your ability to see has been restored, along with a piece of your humanity, but now its light seems to illuminate how small a space you are contained in, how strong the chain binding you to the wall is.

As you drift off to sleep that night, you find yourself gripped by the fear that Bakugou will never return to the sea, and instead, they will inflict unspeakable torments upon him.

You will be the one who kept him alive for them. You will be the one who he grows to hate, because you had the chance to let future pain pass him by, but you saved him, and by doing so, you failed to spare him from their torture. And while they cut him open and study his insides, you will be somewhere far away, still risking yourself to heal their most elite, almost as if they are beloved to you.

The thought gnaws at you as the weeks pass. Blood no longer soaks the bandages wrapped around his tail; his dorsal fin is almost healed. He is gaining strength, more rapidly through your magic, and it is clear he has shaken off death many times before if his scars are testament to anything. In particular, the one on his chest draws you: though it is long healed, you can tell it was deep.

He almost died back then, too - the scar tissue around its edges is strange, lumpy and malformed as if he was kneaded back together by a child who saw his flesh as nothing more than clay harvested gleefully from a river bank. Even so, the shape of it is familiar. You know you shouldn’t pry. You remember the way he flinched away when you first touched it, but you ask, anyway.

“Bakugou,” you ask him once you’ve finished changing his bandages. “What did you do to get a merfolk’s blade stuck in your chest?”

He snarls. “All you do is fucking dig, you shitty witch.”

“I - ”

Hissing, he swipes at you half heartedly, and you stumble backwards, dodging his fist and almost tripping on your chain, caught off guard by the agitation in his eyes. Stunned, you gape at him. The fury is vehement on his face, evident in the grit of his teeth and the tremor in his hands as he grips the side of the tub; you can tell he despises how he is trapped in here with you, fending you off with the sting of his words.

You open your mouth. You’re not certain what you’re supposed to say, other than an apology that he will shake off easily, but you hope that words will form on your tongue. He levels his gaze on you, and this time, within it dwells an overwhelming sorrow that stops you short.

“Don’t try,” he whispers. “You cannot change the past.”

Brow furrowed, you stare at him. You take in the pain carved all over him, and this, you realise, not his scars, is his warpaint - he holds it close to him, like a cloak of inwardly turned, savage blades, reminding him to keep his distance. It is present in the bow of his head, the slump of his shoulders, a weight so heavy it threatens to rend his flesh from his bones.

You get to your feet, and in the lamp light, the single tear that rolls down his face is turned to solid gold.

Balefully, he looks at you, yet he holds still as you reach out and smooth it away with your thumb. A rawness resides in his eyes that you wish you could soothe as you catch the next tear that spills over, gently as if he is made of porcelain.

“You need not bear the weight of your world on your shoulders, Bakugou.”

Your words wrench a sob from him. His fingers curl tight around your wrist, tearing your hand away from his face, silently weeping as he grips you so hard you begin to lose feeling in your palm. You watch as the anguish in his eyes evolves into anger, harsh and brittle and bleak.

“Get away from me,” he spits, voice strangled, and yet he does not release you, so you perch on the side of the tub and make a show of not looking at him so he is not alone in his privacy.

It’s then that you realise that whether or not he likes it, you have gotten through to him. In the month that goes by, sometimes he is cold and aloof, keeping to himself, and sometimes he allows you close enough that you can feel his warmth. You find you savour his company when it’s there.

His wound is fully healed, a pink scar bordered by healing scales, and his dorsal fin spine is back in working order. You check up on him still, every other day or so, careful to monitor them in case you have somehow healed him wrong, careful to keep your regular intersections with him, because although you would never admit it to him, he is amusing, and he keeps the darkness at bay.

You are unsure what he thinks of you. Sometimes, he smacks you upside the head with no real force, and you dare to label it as affectionate. He gives you the name which he gives to those that mean more to him than strangers, too - well, you wring it out of him.

(“Bakugou, what’s your name?”

A scoff. “Witch, have you hit your head?”

“We both know you’re not obliged to answer, so if you’re not going to tell me, spare me the insults.”

Pause. “Katsuki. It’s Katsuki.”)

There are times when he has nightmares, too. You surmise that most of them are about Deku, and that the scar branding his chest, the one made by a merfolk forged weapon, is linked somehow to this dead human. Incomprehensibly, he mutters in his sleep, snarling about krakens and storms and sometimes even witches, but it always leads back to Deku.

Sometimes he protests against him, speaking a language you do not fully understand, cursing and thrashing so hard you fear the tub will splinter, while sometimes he proclaims his love, his voice slurred as he slumbers, but each time, without fail, he begs: forgive me, Izuku, forgive me, Deku, I’m sorry.

Katsuki is unaware of what he gives away in his sleep. Often, he settles down quickly after raising his voice, but sometimes you look over to see him stiff and terrified and shake him awake; he then jolts upright, the water sloshing out of the tub as he reaches for you, his stricken eyes searching yours for something you do not know the identity of, but he always finds.

He does not let you go, not ever. At these times, you lean or sit by the tub and let him crush your fingers in his grip.

He never speaks of it in the morning.

You would not hide from him what you have learnt, nor the feelings that grow treacherously in your heart, but you are too cowardly to tell him of either. It is certain that he loved Deku, and that maybe Deku loved him too. What was it like, you often wonder, to have loved Katsuki?

When he holds onto you, still half lost in the dark lands of his nightmares, you think about it. He would have been less guarded, a young merman not yet covered in scars; he would have given Deku his name immediately, for he would not have learnt that he needed to be wary of humans. Still, he would have fought for him until the end with the same ferocity he would fight for his own heart - because Deku was his own heart.

And Deku, you imagine Deku saw people as they really were. You imagine Deku with bright eyes and a brighter smile, with a face that all his emotions could be read off as easily as a book. He must have been good, persistent, if Katsuki had fallen for him. Soft, even, but tough when he needed to be.

They fit each other, no doubt.

You feel guilty, as if your speculations are invasive, rummaging around within Bakugou’s heart where he has not let you set foot. Mercifully, he can pin his red eyes on you as much as he likes, which he often does, but he will not hear your mind.

Now that he is healed, that is how you pass your days, exchanging words with him when either of you wish to, while you wrestle with the unspoken in your head and while god knows what happens behind his eyes. It is normal for silence to fall after a conversation - it is not awkward, but not comfortable either. It is pensive, it is familiar.

And today, it is shattered by screams up on deck.

Katsuki perks up, his keen ears picking up things your dull ones cannot, and he tilts his head, listening intently. You do not have to hear what he does to know what is happening: there is the sound of clashing steel above you, the all too familiar war cries of the hunters. It is not often that the merfolk are prepared for the hunters as they pass by, but neither is it impossible.

The ship lurches, harshly enough that some of the water in Katsuki’s tub overflows. You wager it must be a whole pod, then, maybe two, and you glance over at him, wondering if he knows who they are, wondering if -

“Are they yours?” You blurt.

“Huh?”

“Your pod,” you clarify.

Bitterly, he scoffs. “If the merfolk wanted to rescue me, they wouldn’t have waited months.”

You freeze. The detachment in his voice does nothing to hide the betrayal beneath, and ice begins to crawl up your spine, for he addresses them as the merfolk, not as his kind, his people. Harshly, you swallow as you start to understand that the hunters would never have been able to capture a merman if he wasn’t alone.

“You don’t have a…” You trail off, feeling far too inadequate and stupid to continue.

“My pod renounced me the moment they learnt about Deku and I.”

A picture forms in your mind, of a Katsuki who lost his family because he gave away his heart to a human - of a Katsuki to which the sea was no longer home, but a huge expanse of alone. Horror closes over your head like cold water as your eyes slide down to the scar on his chest.

His pod didn’t stop at just renouncing him.

You had always hoped that beings whose very essence was rooted in magic would be fair and just as the tales said. Your hope had always been that the merfolk would see that humanity was not united in the purging of them, that they would spare you if your path ever crossed theirs. Never did you think they would be so blind as to turn on one of their own for something as reliant on fate as love. You are a fool.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, and it comes out almost like a sob.

“We are no better than you are,” he replies.

His voice is so devoid of hope that it cuts you to the quick. You open your mouth so say more, to try and fill that emptiness inside him if you can, but your words are stuck in your throat and before you can force them out the door flies open, banging loudly against the wall and almost extinguishing the lamp’s flame.

Three gravely wounded are deposited in front of you and then the door slams. Silently, you get to work, sealing the deep slashes to their flesh more carelessly than you should be - but with Katsuki watching, you feel sullied, a betrayer who works for the purgers of magic. Their blood coats your tingling palms, and yet not in the way you wish it could be.

You have just finished the last when four more are dragged in, and you’re hit hard across the face and ordered to work faster, which signifies only one thing: more are coming. As blood wells up in your mouth, you hope that the merfolk are victorious, even if it means sinking the ship and letting you drown within.

Hate rises within you again, searing and acrid like smoke clogging your lungs, but this time it is different. You hate them for what they have made you; a tool, a means to an end. The determination you nurse in your heart is unimportant as long as you do what they say, and yet you cannot defy them, and this is what you hate yourself for.

Prickling sensations begin to claw up your arms as you heal. You are lost in it, the blood and the battle and the patients, and you swear you see the same faces twice: hunters who you healed once coming back more injured than last time. Your energy dwindles like a dying flame and you dip into your reserves when you recognise the violent light in the hunters’ eyes.

You cannot ask for a break. They already bay for blood and death; what more is yours but just another magic using bitch’s?

You are being bled dry. You are no longer aware of your surroundings, just the halting of the flow of blood beneath your hands and the wheezing gasp of your breath and the rattle of the chain locked around your wrist.

They have not been attacked like this in a long time. You almost forgot how fast the darkness closes in when you send out your energy through your palms to knit flesh and skin back together again. Spots cloud your vision, and futilely, you swat them away. Muffled, Katsuki’s voice hums in your right ear, but you do not understand the words he utters.

Your hands tremble. You pitch forward, slumping over your newest patient.

A hand fists in your hair. Knuckles press into your jaw, far harder than a lover’s touch and yet it feels like it in the way your head lolls slowly to the side. It takes time, but pain radiates through your skull, vibrating your teeth and sharpening your focus, and then you can hear yelling, yelling for you to wake up, yelling for you to carry on or they’ll kill you -

There are so many of them. So many hunters with frenzied eyes and blades that shine where they are not coated in innocent blood, and they are hurt and they want to return back to the battle and you must abide by their demands. The air is too thin as it whistles in and out of your lungs. You cannot think.

You press your palms to the blood slick abdomen of the next man placed down before you and do as they say. Your mouth is dry, your head pounds, your eyes won’t focus, and yet, you do as they say, you always do what they say.

What a fucking coward you are.

Letting them push you farther than you ever would let yourself go. You’re right on the edge, right over the edge, clinging onto the side of the perilously vertical cliff face even as the mossy stone crumbles beneath your fingers and threatens to make you fall down down down. But still, you heal. Your body performs numbly what your mind cannot take any more.

All of a sudden, there is not an open wound for you to heal or guts to force back inside a torso, there are just crimson soaked planks and a raised voice. Loud. An incensed, raised voice, cursing and roaring. Can’t you see she’s almost gone? They shout, earsplitting enough to make your head pound. She can’t heal you fucking bastards if she’s dead!

Bakugou. No, not that name. It’s… Katsuki. Katsuki making all that racket. You don’t know when it happened, but now your cheek is pressed to the rough planks that make up the floor. There’s blood everywhere. Some more splatters to the ground and you notice that the din isn’t being made by Katsuki any more. Your eyes are hazy as you lift them upwards and see a hunter raise his fist again.

“Kats,” you slur. “Watch… watch out…”

The lamp goes out, which is strange, since the oil got topped up this morning. You pay it no mind, though.

You’re too tired.

You wake surrounded by water. For a moment, you wonder if the merfolk won, and if somehow you managed to get tossed off the boat and into the sea, but then you move your leg and it hits something hard and vertical which must be wood. Peeling your eyes open, you find you’re in… the tub? Katsuki’s tub?

Lifting your head, you’re met with a pair of concerned red eyes. One is almost swollen shut, and blood has crusted down the side of his face from a wound in his temple, yet he smooths his hand soothingly over your upper back, watching attentively as you come to.

“You’ve been out for just under two days,” Katsuki says. “You need to eat, get your strength back up.”

Your memory begins to trickle back, and with it floods a torrent of shame: you always told yourself that you survived out of spite, out of the belief and conviction that one day you would hurt them enough to negate all the healing they made you to do, but it was all a pretence. You were scared and so you took the easier road of complacency, and it has caused the deaths of hundreds of merfolk.

It is without a doubt that if you had healed even just a papercut more, that if Katsuki had not stopped them, the life force within you would have winked out, and you would have died. Death had loomed right over you, brushing boney fingers over your face, and even now, it lingers.

You are burnt out, exhaustion weighing on you as if a whole mountain rests on your back. Worse is the fear, revealed in the blinding light, shackling you, for you are its slave, and you cannot shake its hold off you.

Your face crumples. “I am spineless, for letting them use me so. I am a coward, a - ”

“They give you no choice, witch,” Katsuki remarks. “Do not put it on yourself.”

You shake your head. “You cannot ask that of me. How many lives have been lost because I obeyed when the hunters told me to save them?”

Bowing your head, you sob. Fatigue envelops you, the chain around your wrist unspeakably heavy, and you lean heavily against Katsuki; he holds you like you are precious, handling you with care so that the pieces you have shattered into do not fall apart and scatter onto the floor. He tips up your chin, forcing you to look him in those eyes of his as he wipes away your tears.

“What was that you told me, as I wept like you do now?” He asks. “You need not bear the weight of your world on your shoulders. That was what you said to me.”

Nodding, you feel more tears leak out when you squeeze your eyes closed. He strokes your hair, and you hide your face in his chest and wish you could do forever, for he is warm and he is far gentler than you ever imagined he could be. You are tempted, but he nudges you and chides you, reminding you that you will feel much better once you have eaten.

Wobbly as a newborn fawn, you climb out of the tub, Katsuki steadying you with a hand on your arm. Wrapping one of your blankets around you like a shawl, you retrieve a hunk of bread to gnaw on before planting yourself on the tub’s rim, loath to be any farther away from him than you have to be.

Though hunger worries insistently at your insides, sending tremors through your hands and weakness in your legs, you force yourself to eat slowly; you cannot risk wasting any of the food by throwing up. Katsuki rests his forearms on the sides of the tub, watching you with a keen gaze that you cannot read. You become more aware of the purpling bruising across his face and reach out without thinking.

He catches your hand before you can tap into the slowly replenishing well of magic inside of you, his fingers circling your wrist before he lets them slip down and lace with yours. Something ignites behind his eyes, and you find you are mesmerised - you lean closer to see how the spark dances.

“Katsuki,” you breathe, and then your lips are on his.

He tips his chin up to lean into you, his fingers threading into your hair as he pulls you closer to him, so tender that it makes your chest ache. You could stay like this for eternity, simply doing nothing but tasting the salt of him on your tongue and savouring the sweet, sweet scrape of his canines over your lower lip; he is all that matters, all that is.

Slowly, his hands come round to cup your shoulders, pressing you closer to him, and so you feel the moment his grip falters and he stiffens, feel the way he recoils from you as if you have burnt him, and you can do nothing to prevent it. You’re propelled backwards with the force he jolts away. Though it is only a few steps, you feel the gap between you yawn wide, stretching into an uncrossable chasm.

“No,” he chokes out, shaking his head. “No, not - not like - ”

Abruptly, he falls terribly, terribly silent. Stunned, you touch a hand to your mouth; your legs buckle, and you throw out a hand to steady yourself against the wall before sinking to the floor. It feels as if you are drowning.

Katsuki does not love you - how can he, when he fits with Deku like they were made for each other? You were wrong to hope for anything else, wrong to give in to what you wanted, because you have torn open old wounds that never properly healed. It is no longer significant that he does not love you, for you should have seen that already; what matters is that in your blindness, you have ripped him open.

You’re beginning to realise that it was not the lamp that kept the shadows back, but him. It is only natural that you are drawn to him like a moth to a flame, only natural that you were too weak to resist flying straight into the fire. This time, it is not only the moth who gets hurt.

You are left alone with your thoughts. Time passes, as it always does, but you pay it no mind. However hard you try, you cannot bring yourself to meet his eyes. You are numb, numb to the slow rock of the ship as it cuts through the waves, numb to the sounds of the crew at their battle stations again, numb to it all now that it is undeniable: you love him.

He cannot love you.

Wearily, warily, you raise your head when the door opens, revealing the first mate, soaked in blood. Crossing the room in a few strides, he stands before you, chest heaving, a frantic sort of desperation contorting his face as he tightens his hand around the hilt of his sword and glares at you.

“The captain is near death. We drop anchor home in a fortnight. I will be put in command if he does not survive, and if this happens, I will make certain that you come upon a death slower and far more painful than his.”

You do not answer, nor do you pay any mind to his threats. You can sense Katsuki staring in your direction, the feeling of his red eyes on your skin unmistakable: no doubt, he has heard what you have. We drop anchor home in a fortnight - a fortnight until Katsuki is delivered into hands who seek to study him, to slit him open while he still lives and examine his insides and the way his heart beats, ensnared in the cage of his ribs.

Just like that, you know what to do.

You wait silently until they bring the captain to you. The first mate did not lie when he said the captain is near death. Sweat creates a sheen on his brow, and though his eyes are open, he is barely conscious, for he has been sliced open from gullet to navel by a merfolk blade. Briefly, you touch a fingertip to the lip of the gash, ignoring the pained moan it causes and the disquieted mutters of the other hunters.

If you were superstitious, you would deem the wound too similar to Katsuki’s to be anything but fate, but you do not believe in such things. Instead, you put your trust in the strength of good steel and the sharpness of a tongue. Yes, you know what to do, and you will do it.

The chain fixed around your wrist is not broken, but it does not have to be. You are free to do what you wish, because before you is the captain, and he is leverage. There is no fear left in you, no shame to hold you back as you look up at the first mate; he opens his mouth, about to ask why you do not jump to heal his captain, but he pauses when he takes in your cold smile.

“Free the merman, and then I will heal him.”

A silence falls. They are left with no other choice but to do as you say, and they know it. The first mate’s hands ball into fists, a reminder to you of what will come once Katsuki is let go and you heal their captain, but it does not concern you any more. None of it is of concern to you, only his freedom.

“What the fuck did you just say, witch?” Katsuki spits.

His voice jolts the first mate into action. He heaves you to your feet by the front of your shirt, seething, and punches you squarely in the nose. Something cracks. Your head snaps back, the air knocked from your lungs when he drives his knee into your stomach and lets you crumple to the floor by his feet. Gritting your teeth, you glower up at him.

“Come at me all you like,” you hiss as blood pours down your face. “It will not save your captain.”

He crouches down before you. You do not listen as he shouts at you, because you see it in his eyes. He knows you have them all backed into a corner, he knows you’re aware he will not risk the captain’s life. Over his shoulder, Katsuki urgently mouths something to you: do you know what they will do to you because of this? They will do worse than just kill you!

“Let them,” you reply, and as you gaze at him, you smile again. To the first mate, you say: “Bring me up on deck. I want to see.”

The first mate hurls you away from him, barking orders at the other hunters, but all you hear is the crash of the waves outside and all you taste is the nectar of victory on your tongue. You watch, still smiling, as they grab Katsuki and drag him from the tub. He fights, of course he does, screaming your name and slashing at the hunters, but there is but one of him, and he is unarmed.

Cursing, the first mate unfastens your chain from the ring in the wall, wrapping the length of it around his hand and jerking you forward with it, pulling you to follow him through the ship. There is murder written on his face and in the curl of his lip, and you let it slide it off you like water from a sea bird's feathers.

He throws open the hatch, and for the first time in years, you see the sun. Slowly, you step into the light, and the salty breeze tugs playfully at your clothes and hair, fresh and briney and strong, pulling tears from your eyes. All around you is empty space, just blue sea and blue sky and the wind that dances gloriously between them as far as you can see.

The air is invigorating and crisp in your lungs. Hesitantly, you take a step forward, then another and another, seeing the way the sun plays on the water’s surface, scintillating as it warms your cold skin. It is as resplendent as you remember it.

“Witch!” Katsuki cries, shaking the hunters’ hands off him. “Why? Why would you do this to yourself?”

There are countless ways you could answer him. Instead, you take him in one last time, his spiky ash blonde hair and his crimson eyes and the way his scales glitter under the sunlight. You do this for love: if you can’t give him your heart, you will give him his freedom.

“Go,” is all you say, and though tears stream down your face, you smile.

“I will not forget you, witch,” he replies, voice thick. “I swear it.”

Running to the side of the ship, you cling to the taffrail and lean forwards to watch as he dives overboard. He slices through the water, the amber of his tail bright as he goes, further from you with each passing second, and your breath catches in your throat - he is more beautiful than you imagined he would be in the light.

As he crests a wave, he looks back at you, and you see the shimmer of his scales and the graceful arc of his dorsal fin one last time before he twirls in the surf and dives. With that, he is gone, and you are alone again, yet you do not fear what is to come.

A hand grips your shoulder, nails digging sharply into your skin. “Enjoy your peace, you thankless bitch, because once you heal the captain, all you’re going to know is pain.”

You turn to the first mate and laugh in his face.

He loves you.

Bakugou Katsuki fucking loves you.

He loves your deft hands, careful despite their calluses and nimble despite the chain around your wrist. He loves the smell of you, herby and laced with petrichor. He loves the brightness dancing in your eyes when you laugh. Most of all, he loves your sweet soul: the fierceness woven into it like second nature, the blaze of your heart when you stand up for what you believe in.

He was stupid for pulling away from that kiss. You had fit your lips to his, and suddenly panic rose in his chest, and he jerked backwards as if ignoring his heart would silence it; he was scared to love another human, scared because last time it led to pain. His fear had hurt you, and this is his regret - that he was the one to cause the slow dimming of the light in your eyes.

There are countless other things he regrets. He should have trusted more easily, he should have fought harder as they yanked him out of that silly tub and away from you, and he should never have left you by yourself on that ship with those despicable hunters.

He didn’t tell you he loved you, and now he is scared he will never get the chance.

He has left you in a den of beasts. Deku would never have let this happen if it was Katsuki in danger. Deku would have found a way to get him out. In fact, Deku did, he saved him instead of himself, and now Deku is gone, and he fears his heart is not strong enough to lose another. He does not want to lose another.

That serene little smile on your face as you watched him go - it haunts him, fucking burns itself into his retinas, because you knew. You knew precisely what you were doing, when you bargained with that hunter’s life, and you knew exactly what they were going to do to you for making them let him go.

You must be hurting right now. You must have been beaten within an inch of your life. You, who broke down the walls he rebuilt, brick by brick, after Deku was gone - the same walls that Deku himself tore down too. Katsuki is beginning to think that their foundation has always been flawed, or maybe they crumbled like Jericho simply because you shine brighter than the sun on the waves, and he could not look away if he wanted to.

He has been tailing the ship for little over a day. Keeping out of sight and in the shadows is easy; he has felt the sting of their harpoons enough and he will not risk an injury when getting you away from them is the priority, yet he can’t help but resent the way he must hide. There is no other way, though. Currently, he has no plan, and he must bide his time.

Katsuki was never the most patient, but he has no choice but to be patient since he has no sword and no allies. It is plausible that he could scuttle the ship by himself, but he can’t risk it with you chained inside and possibly unconscious.

But then he sees it - a shape in the distance.

It is an isle, small enough that it could sustain maybe one hamlet of people, and rather plain, with rocks that make up a small cliff on one side and a sandy beach dotted with rock pools on the other, a thicket of trees spanning the distance between. One could call it nondescript, but there is nothing nondescript about it to Katsuki.

He has bled out on that golden beach. He has fought to protect his own life and the life of another in the waters near that isle, and he has failed. He has wept on that shore, wept enough to cleanse the blood soaked sand beneath his newly fixed body that held his newly broken heart.

That isle is where Deku washed up, half dead, a decade ago. It is where he watched from afar as this green eyed, freckled human nursed himself back to health, and where he watched from a little closer as he learnt that humans were more than what they are portrayed as in the tales of his pod.

He understood many things on that isle: what love was - the touch of his lips to a man with unruly green curls and an infectious smile, and what betrayal was - when his pod found out and the waters were tinted red because of it.

Just like that, he knows what to do.

Hidden in the underwater caves below the isle is a monster that slumbers until a soul dares to wake it. The humans call it a kraken, but the merfolk leave it unnamed, for it is too great to be reduced to a simple moniker. He has seen it once before, through the haze that descends over one close to death, and felt as its power stymied the lifeblood that poured hot from a wound spanning from the middle of his sternum to his navel.

Both he and Deku had lain on the beach after his pod ambushed, both bleeding from fatal wounds. He had been too fucking weak to get to the kraken first, and so Deku had been the one to sacrifice himself and give himself to the monster so Katsuki could live, when it should have been the other way round.

This time, though, he is strong enough.

He remembers slipping back into the ocean with his freshly healed wound so the saltwater of his tears mixed with the sea, unable to understand why Deku would leave him. Now, he understands all too well, and he will not fail to protect the one he loves again.

Summoning the kraken means no going back. After waking it, the summoner is transported into the kraken’s form, and they have a limited time within it before the kraken reaps its payment - the summoner’s soul. It will shatter their spirit and ensure they cannot return to their body.

Katsuki dives down deep, breaking away from the ship and swimming ahead of it to find the gaping mouth of the cave that the kraken slumbers within. He is far down enough that the water is murky, frigid as it weighs heavily on him, the sun a weak pinprick of light suspended somewhere above him that does nothing to pierce the gloom.

The entrance is curtained with seaweed, the cold fronds caressing his skin as he slips past them. Nestled in the darkness, it lies there, slumbering: a behemoth shadow, looming as high as the cavern’s ceiling and filling its width like the berth of a warship docked in a seaside hamlet’s harbour.

As he swims towards it, he realises he has already had his last glimpse of you through his own eyes. The last time he will see you, he will be fighting to keep hold of himself before he loses his soul to the kraken, and then it will just be bottomless darkness until it is summoned again. You might not even know it is him inside the monster.

It doesn’t matter - a lot has ceased to matter to Katsuki. He can no longer deny that he loves you, and with that epiphany comes another: you knew what the hunters would do to you when you bargained for his freedom, and yet you did it anyway, with no fear of the consequences. Now, it is his turn to put his life on the line for you, and though he may lose it, you will be free.

He will never feel the sweet touch of lips again, but that’s alright. He hopes that you will find another to make you happy, another who will make your heart soar and help you forget him. They will be to you what you were to him: a light to scare away the shadows, a star in the night sky to guide you, even if at times, just like him, you believe you do not wish to be guided.

Katsuki pictures your face as he draws near to the kraken.

Its flesh is odd beneath his palm - slippery and uncomfortably cold. Pressing his palm to its skin, he wills it awake, and it obeys him alarmingly fast, an eye as big as his head snapping open and rolling around until it fixates on him. An abyss of a pupil sucks him in, beckoning him forward to a place that will be the last he ever visits.

Though he knows his body remains still, he feels himself fall forward, sucked towards the magnetic emptiness within the kraken as if it aches to be occupied. For a moment, he resists, pure instincts making him struggle against it, but he forces himself to let go. Sensation briefly forsakes him.

When his vision is restored, he finds that he is looking at his body, limp and vacant. Already he can feel a difference in the water, the sharp tang of fear drifting toward him on currents that hadn’t been there before as creatures begin to flee, aware that something ancient has been roused from its sleep.

A tempest is brewing.

Katsuki - or a version of him that no longer is really Katsuki, but instead a wrathful monster caller - cannot see the dark clouds amassing above, but he knows they are scudding across the blue skies to taint the high midday sun, and it is his doing. Cruel winds accumulate in the shadows cast by his thunderhead, and he can hear the sharp snap of canvas and the raised voices of a crew readying their ship for a storm.

Unfurling a tentacle, he curls it around his old body, careful not to crush it, and reaches up high enough to deposit it on the beach. He begins to move the kraken out of the cave, dislodging pebbles that would have been boulders as the bulk of its body manoeuvres through the exit.

In a way, he is disconnected from the body that is his now; there is empty space that he is not large enough to occupy, like he has donned a garment made for a merman the size of a mountain. It is strangely silent inside this huge vessel, although he is not alone. Shadow wreathed souls lurk in the corners of his mind, and he knows they are disgusted by him.

He is not surprised. Historically, the kraken have been summoned only in the utmost peril. To the merfolk, the kraken are as sacred and as old as the sea, called upon in the wars of old, when the magic beings of the sky were eradicated. Despite being only scattered shards of themselves, the past summoners look down on him, because he does not summon to seek the solution to mighty matters.

For the second time in a lifetime, the kraken is being summoned for a cause as selfish as love.

There’s an awful symmetry to it, really. He imagines the way they must have abhorred Deku, a dying human who did not use the kraken’s power to destroy, but to knit together the wound of a simple, unnoteworthy merman.

Faces contorted beyond recognition flash before his eyes and hands claw at his sides with nails as vicious as knives. They want blood, they want a whole fleet to rip through and ruin. He tells them that they will have to settle with one ship, and they cry their discontent in his ears, their voices rough and rasping, like rusting metal on stone.

He has not broken the surface of the water yet. His body prowls many leagues down, but still, he spots the shadow cast by the ship, and the moment he does, his vision narrows, blurs, and he sees winking lights on board: the lives of the crew, twinkling and tantalising and begging to be snuffed out.

The kraken jets upwards and breaches, spraying up a wall of water, and though he does not command it, he bellows a war cry, the sound so bloodthirsty and wild it almost sweeps him up and incapacitates him. The shadow souls close in, fragments of vengeful souls garbed in shadow, greedy and eager to see him torn apart, and he shakes them off, wrenching himself from their grasp with all his strength.

A twinge pinches at his side, and he glances down to see a volley of harpoons glance off his hide, leaving shallow gashes in their wake. The crew swarm on the deck, their terror sour as he breathes it in and savours it. They are but ants, small and irritating with their measly weapons and made to be crushed and devoured -

He seizes the mast and uses it to rock the ship from side to side, fighting to keep the visions of blood staining the water red away from him. Too fast, his control is slipping, and he feels the souls swarm around him, filling his field of view with darkness until all he can see is those tiny flames that he must put out. There is something he wanted to do, something he needs to do -

Selfish, the souls hiss in his ears, trying to sink their hateful claws into him again, and he agrees with them.

He loves, and therefore he is selfish.

It is no bad thing.

The storm clouds gather over the ship, roiling and rumbling with thunder. Lightning strikes, a bolt of white fury that splinters the deck and extinguishes one of the little lives on board, producing a delighted cackle from the souls at his back, but he ignores them. He knows what he must do.

“Bring me the witch,” he roars.

His voice comes out warped and foreign, the words of men coming out strange and misshapen on his tongue, but the crew understand enough, scuttling to obey, desperate to believe he may spare them if they give you to him. The grip of the souls tightens, squeezing at his throat - he has spent too long in their presence already, and they nip at the edges of his mind, stealing away parts of him when he isn’t looking.

He realises with a jolt that he does not remember his name any more.

It is fine, though. He will join the souls in their namelessness soon. They are a cacophony in his head, and he can no longer hear anything but them, the burn of their claws threatening to tear him apart and shred him the way they are already torn apart, but he barely cares.

The little gnats bring another up and present it to him. This one shines brighter, suffused with a magic the souls cannot wait to devour, and they encourage him forward - surely he too will enjoy the honeyed taste of this offering? Plucking it off the ship’s deck, he brings it to his eye level, and his shadow companions clamour for him to crush it, but he hesitates.

It looks at him like it knows him. In its weak, tiny voice, it yells something that gets lost in the howl of the winds, but even so, it makes the souls shrink back, receding enough for him to remember that this little thing he holds is important. Important for what, he can’t recall, but it is important all the same.

Kicking its legs, the small being beats its fist on his tentacle, still shouting. He leans closer, wincing as the shadows scratch and tear at his back, trying to draw him away again.

“Katsuki!” You scream.

He jolts. It is you, his little, beloved witch - you are why he is being so selfish, summoning the kraken just to save one life. Peering closer, he notices that you are bruised all over, and suddenly the storm worsens overhead, crackling as bolts of lightning stab down like vindictive knives and the wind tears at the ship full of aghast hunters, tossing it violently among the waves.

Carefully, he places you on the beach, next to a body that used to be his. You scramble towards it, limping, and he turns away, looking back towards the ship and the lights it is infested with that still need to be destroyed. Anger comes easily to him, because these are the ones that have marred you with bruises.

The shadows close in again.

Roaring, he tears at the ship, rending it in two and crushing those that leap overboard, yet the souls are never appeased, never satiated. It feels as if power leaks out the seams of his spirit and if he does not let it go it will destroy him from the inside, but he knows he cannot let go. He needs to hold on, to hold himself together, for something that drifts further and further out of reach -

It is as if he has been tied to the bottom of a sea trench for so long, drowning in darkness, that the surface is just a fanciful thought. He does not remember the sun’s sweet face, nor the sound of your voice as you called out the name he has lost again. They sink their teeth into him, ready to tear him apart.

He struggles. He will not go without a fucking fight, he will not let them have him before he has tried valiantly to swim upwards to the sun, where the shadows will not survive.

But the light is so far from him. It floats away every time he strives to be closer, or maybe there are hands holding him back, ripping him open and tethering him to the blackness. They cling to him, shrieking in his ears, sinking curved claws into him and refusing to let go, ready to reap the kraken’s payment.

He is losing himself.

And then - a hand, gentle, touching his face. Emerald eyes fill his vision, wide and lovely, and suddenly he is able to ignore the souls and their blaring dissonance, the pain in his side fading away into nothing. There is a soul that still remains named here, mixed in with those who have been rent apart by hate.

“Kacchan,” the soul says earnestly. “You must fight it, Kacchan.”

“Deku,” he sobs, leaning into the soul’s warm palms as he wipes his tears away. “I’m sorry.”

Deku smiles, and Katsuki weeps, because he looks so proud of him, as if he is worth an eternity spent trapped within a kraken alongside shattered souls that only wish for chaos and destruction. He weeps, because here are Deku and Kacchan, back together again, but they cannot stay this way forever.

“I understand,” Deku whispers, and his touch heals Kacchan once more. “I understand you love her. You need to fight, you need to return to her and love her like you want to. I died so you could live, Kacchan. Let go.”

He looks down and sees the way he clutches onto Deku so hard he is white knuckled, while Deku cradles his hands in his scarred ones, softly as if Kacchan is fragile. Trembling, he loosens his grip, and he feels the light draw closer, the sun’s rays warming his face. Something tightens in his chest when he finally allows himself to release Deku, but it hurts in the manner of stitches pulling taut inside him and binding him together again.

One last time, he looks over his shoulder, to where Deku watches as he goes, smiling brightly, shining like he is a star plucked from the night sky. His brilliance holds the shadows back, rendering them powerless. He pays them no mind, though - his viridescent eyes are lit up and fixed only on his Kacchan.

Deku says something, but the sound of his voice is drowned out by the crashing of the waves and the winds of a dying down of a storm. Still, Katsuki knows what he said by the shape of his lips: I love you. Smiling, he takes a final look at him, at those unruly green curls and those sweet eyes and bright smile, and then he turns and is bathed in light.

The kraken sinks again beneath the waves, but Katsuki does not sink with it.

You know it’s impossible, but you sense the moment Katsuki is back in his body. You’ve heard the tales of the kraken, and you know he should have been taken from you, but there he is, present in the weak pulse of his heart beneath your palm and the steady rise and fall of his chest. Shallow cuts have appeared all over his body, remnants of the damage of the hunter’s harpoons.

His eyes are open, but barely, and he blinks slowly, fighting to keep them fixed on you, giving you only glimpses of familiar crimson. There is a strange looseness to his awareness that must come with the recency of doing the impossible, but still he grips your hand desperately, struggling to stay awake long enough to force words out.

“I - I lo - ”

Before he can finish, his voice cracks and he coughs. His eyes widen, and he opens his mouth to start again, but you smile, tears blurring your vision as you press a finger to his lips and hush him, and thankfully he relaxes under your touch, curling closer to you and seeking shelter in your embrace. Once he is rested, he will have all the time in the world to tell you whatever he likes.

What matters is that he is here. That in itself is beyond even a miracle.

Almost disbelieving, you cradle him to you, pressing your forehead to his as tears you cannot stop spill down your face and mingle with his blood. You are bone tired after repeatedly healing your own cracked ribs and fractured wrists, but you are whole enough for now - you won’t waste your energy on your own bruises while he still hurts.

So you hold him against your chest, sweeping your fingers delicately over the deeper of his cuts to seal them. The sky has cleared, the storm clouds departing as fast as they arrived, and the sea is dipped in ruby by the bleeding sunset. It lacquers the wet sand with the glow of dying embers as the incoming tide smooths over where the storm had churned it up, erasing the mark left on the island as if this afternoon had never happened.

If it were not for Katsuki in your arms, it would be like the kraken never came.

You glance down at him. He seems at peace, though worn and battered, as if he has reconciled something deep within his heart; he has closed his eyes, simply leaning against you with his face pressed into your side, his warm hands tucked just beneath the hem of your shirt.

You cannot help but smile. Because of him, you are free. No chains bind your wrists, no threats limit you in what you decide to do next. You are not sure where you will end up later, but for now you intend to fall asleep beneath the open sky, beside the one you love infinitely more than any life you might have had and even this new life he has fought and bled to give you.

When you drift out of your dreams - just simple, golden things full of a contentment that lingers past waking - the tide is high, the ocean lapping at the sand at your feet. The moon is almost at its highest point in the sky, depositing a residue of silver on everything around you.

Katsuki stirs in your arms, and when you glance down, you are met with the twin beacons of his eyes, luminous in the dark and full, brimming and spilling over with unspoken things that leave a deep ache in your heart. Trembling, he grips your hands, and you lace your fingers with his, brushing your lips over his knuckles and stroking his face as the tears begin to flow.

He cries like he is mourning. You wonder what he saw while his soul donned the kraken’s skin, how poignant it must have been to wrench these fitful sobs from him. Cupping his face in your palms, you wipe his tears away, and he clings to you to keep you close while he bares his newly healing heart to you; it is wrapped in the past’s scars. He shows you the rawest parts of him, and you soothe them as best you can with your healing hands.

There is no magic to this cure, though. It is just the love that burns within you, consuming you so entirely it makes you shake. You did not know it was possible to love like this, but the proof weeps in your arms, a merman who summoned the kraken and somehow conquered it so he could make it back to you.

“Tell me,” you whisper, tracing the strong lines of his face with your fingertips.

Curling his arms around you, he hides his face in your neck. “Deku stood with me against the dark inside the kraken,” he replies softly. “He held them back so I could come back to you. I - I thought I had lost him forever, when he summoned the kraken to save me.”

Carefully, he brings your hand to touch the scar stretching down his chest, and you outline its edges, comforted by the warmth of his body and the steadiness of his breathing beneath your fingers. You would be happy to stay like that forever, linked to him by your skin on his and the synchronised beat of your hearts.

“He told me to fight so I could return to you,” Katsuki murmurs. “So I could love you.”

Your breath catches, your voice sticking before any words come out. He is blunt and honest as always, but this time, he is without his walls, without his guard up, open and vulnerable for you to lash out at him if you wished to, but he trusts you will not. Still, you hesitate, your throat constricting.

“I… I didn’t know him, or what he was like, but I know I can’t be him to you,” you falter. “I cannot be Deku, Katsuki.”

You do not expect your voice to come out so small, so timid. Neither do you expect the overwhelming tenderness that fills his eyes - no one has ever looked at you like that, as if they really see the whole of you, the blemishes and shadows on your soul and they love those too.

“I don’t ask you to be like him,” he replies. “No one will ever be like him. No one will ever be like you, either. I love you because you are you, not because you are him.”

“Katsuki,” you breathe, unable to swallow down the tears welling in your eyes.

“You know I can’t give you the life you deserve, either,” he continues, voice thick. “If you tie yourself to me, you tie yourself to the sea too, regardless of if you like it or not.”

Searchingly, you look at him, and it feels for a second that as you meet his eyes, you know the whole ocean, down to its unexplorable depths, down to every grain of sand and every critter it shelters and sustains. In that moment, there is a total, utter understanding within you - you would love him whatever the condition.

“I would tie myself to the most pitiful of the things on this earth if it meant I could love you, Katsuki.”

“I too, witch,” he replies, and a fond little smile pulls at his lips. “I would summon that kraken a thousand times if it meant I could win your heart.”

You laugh, out of pure joy more than anything else, and he laughs too, rolling in the sand so he can prop himself up on his elbows. Flopping over, you adjust yourself so you can rest your head against his stomach, lifting your eyes to watch as he tips his face up to the sky, letting the stars reflect in his gaze, as if he holds the galaxies of the universe in each pupil.

Your fingers find his as you stare up at the moon where it hangs highest in the sky now, full and silver as the stars. A new moon: symbolising fresh starts and new beginnings, or maybe even the waxing of a love that was planted in the darkness of the brig of a ship soaked in blood, nourished by nothing but the weak flame of a lamp and swift hands knitting flesh back together.

A familiar prickle trails coyly down the side of your neck, and the sound of sand whispering against itself reaches your ears as Katsuki shifts beneath you, lightly skimming the high tide’s surf with his tail. You are not ready to leave the easy silence you’ve made yet, so you bask in his presence and his warmth a little longer.

The moon has just begun its descent when you turn to face him. He’s just looking at you, looking and looking and looking as if he can’t get enough. You smile, aware of the fresh edge in his gaze that was not there before, the string binding your soul to his pulling delightfully taut.

“You’re as beautiful as the ocean,” he mumbles, fiddling with a lock of your hair. “More beautiful than the ocean. But in a different way, you’re…”

You grin. “Worse?”

“Worse,” he agrees, smirking, but he looks at you as if you breathed life into his seas. “Much worse.”

Time stops for a moment, and you sit up, bringing your face close to his until your breaths mingle - you cannot help but let his crimson eyes consume you, heart and soul. You linger there for a moment, the air crackling between you, both of you waiting as if to see who will give in and pounce first.

Bringing his hand up, Katsuki lets his fingers slide under your jaw, lifting your chin so you are merely a hair’s breadth away. He fills your senses; you can feel the warmth of his body, the roughness of the calluses on his fingers, the feather-like brush of his breath against your cheek, smell his briney sea scent, hear the swish of sand as he shifts infinitesimally closer. A lethal spark gleams in his eyes, tying you in helpless knots.

You lean forward and claim his lips.

It draws a quiet groan from him, and suddenly you are beneath him in the sand and his hands are all over you, grabbing handfuls of you and shucking the damp material of your shirt up and over your head so he can touch your skin. The way he looks at you, with those stirring embers that tug at something low in your stomach, reduces you to a sailor under the influence of a siren’s song - he is irresistible, he is magnificent.

Tangling your fingers in his hair, you pull him ever closer, licking into his mouth as if you might find the god’s nectar hiding beneath his tongue. He nips at your lower lip with those keen canines of his, and you cannot help but buck your hips as the tide swirls around the both of you.

Chuckling, he skims a palm over your thigh, pulling your leg up to hook over his hip. It brings your clothed core right against the length of his hardening cock that has emerged from the slit in his tail; you stifle a moan at the feel of him, grinding agonisingly slowly down on him and sighing as he trails wet kisses and purpling bites down your throat.

Katsuki licks at the spot under your jaw, and this time, at the second graze of his teeth against your skin, your fingers tighten in his hair, pulling at it and squeezing another sweet noise from him. You keep your hands threaded through his ash blonde locks as he licks at the valley between your breasts. Meticulously, he marks your plush flesh with the imprints of his teeth, laying his claim on you.

When he reaches your stomach, he mouths at your skin, nipping playfully just over your hip bone before he raises his eyes to meet yours. They are heavy lidded and sultry, and they stir the fire building in your core as he toys lazily with the waistband of your trousers. His fingers are casual as they curl beneath the fabric.

“Let me taste you, witch,” he implores.

“I cannot argue when you look at me like that,” you reply, breathless. “Nor would I, anyways.”

That is all the consent he needs before he is helping you out of your remaining clothes, almost ripping them in his hurry to have you on his tongue. His hands slip beneath you, gripping your ass and guiding your legs over his shoulders, and there he pauses. Yearning blazes in his crimson eyes, and then he dips his head and puts his mouth on you.

You gasp his name. Your hands scramble for purchase before you bury them in his hair again, yanking to encourage him further, and he responds by sucking harshly on your clit, making your hips jump and buck into his face. He groans into your heat, and the vibrations of it make you see stars.

Slowly, he pulls back, glancing up at you, and the sight of him is enough to make you moan: his eyes are glazed, fervent, worshipful, and your slick drips down his chin, the moonlight making it seem like liquid diamond. Bewitched by him, you choke out his name, and he smirks and slips two fingers inside you. Your legs begin to shake when he pumps them slowly in and out of you, bending them at the knuckle so he can hit that spot inside you.

The friction enraptures you, mounting in the pit of your stomach and winding up tight, and your thighs close around his head, clenching as Katsuki pushes you closer and closer to the edge. Turning his head, he sucks at your skin, marking you there, too.

You balance on a knife blade’s edge.

Abruptly, he slides his fingers out and your pussy clamps down a second too late; already, you open your mouth to lament it when he bends his head and replaces them with his tongue. Your words dissolve into wretched moans; you grind your hips against his face and lightning spears through you when his nose nudges at your clit.

Pleasure rises within you, a gradual, swelling thing that sneaks up on you in the unhurried nature of his movements. You can feel his smile against your cunt. You can feel the light burn as he grips your flesh, anchoring you to him so you could not pull away and part him from the taste of you even if you wished to.

You cry out his name as you come.

Katsuki nestles you close to his chest as you come down from your high, kissing your face as the aftershocks send shivers down your spine. Tenderness resides in his eyes, right beside a longing that makes you melt into him, weak with ardour as you slip your hand between your sea damp bodies to curl your fingers slyly around his cock.

His lips part as you jerk him, and you cross the small distance between you to bite at his lower lip, sucking it into your mouth and swiping your tongue over it as you feel him grow impossibly harder in your palm. Ridges swell down his length, flushed a coruscant orange that blurs down into obsidian at his base.

Tipping your head back, you look him in the eye. “I - I need you inside me, Katsuki.”

The words are clumsy on your tongue. You do not know how to articulate the pressing need to feel him, to not know where you end and he begins, to collide with him right there on the beach of this island that houses a kraken, to get lost in the salt on his skin and the eddy of the sea at your joined hips.

Lowly, he curses, treating you as if you are holy as he spreads your legs and settles between them, gripping the curve of your hip with one hand as he lines himself up. You press your lips against the warm bronze skin of his shoulder, sighing against him, urging him forward, urging him closer, a blissed out sound slipping from you as the ridges of his cock push past your entrance, the stretch nothing short of divine.

At last, he is sheathed fully within you. His hips kiss yours, and he remains there, pulsing hotly within you, the pleasure on his face bordering on pain as your cunt bears down on him, yet still, he will not move. Jaw clenching, he squeezes his eyes shut, and a hoarse groan tears itself from deep in his chest.

Panting, he bows his head, and when he looks up, tears rim his lash line, glittering like individual crystals dipped in the light of the stars. One rolls down his cheek and plops down onto yours, and you raise a hand to caress his face, raking your fingers through his hair to push it back from his forehead; he leans into your touch, turning his head to kiss your palm.

Slipping your hand round to cup the nape of his neck, you bring your mouth to his. Delicately, Katsuki kisses you before pulling back to press his lips feather-light to your eyelids - he lingers there, his breath fluttering warmly against your skin, his thumb drawing circles on your cheekbone.

Again, he kisses you, and it is only then that you taste the salt of your own tears on his tongue.

Your soft, raw sob echoes across the beach, and you dig your nails into his wide shoulders, urging him to move. With a gasp, he begins to rock his hips into you, and it breaks you apart. You keen, pushing back into his fluid, achingly unhurried strokes, scrabbling at his back in an attempt to bring him closer, to let him consume your very being.

Right there on the sand, under the moonlight with the seafoam lapping at your sides, he fucks into you, slow and deep, trembling and crying above you, and tenderly, you kiss him again. The roll of his thumb over your clit sends thrills chasing down your spine. He dips his head, burying his face in your neck, and fiercely, you hold him to you.

“Mine,” Katsuki whispers, and his teeth sink into your skin.

Something snaps inside you, and the fire in your gut blazes. Your cunt clenches hard around him, vice like around his cock, and you feel him twitch when your velvety walls clamp down on him, feel his soft exhale and know that he too knows the burn of the inferno in your core.

“Please, Katsuki,” you whine. “Harder.”

“Fuck,” he growls, his voice rasping in your ear, and suddenly you are empty.

Before you can protest, he flips you over, pressing your back into his chest and you reel, momentarily blinded by the night sky stretching high and wide above you. He is solid beneath you, and he knocks the breath from your lungs when he surges up into you.

You can feel all of him. Ruthlessly, Katsuki pounds up into you, as if he is desperate to taste the sea salt on your skin and inhale your scent and never let you go. Your body jerks with each thrust, your voice cracking as you cry out his name, the new heady angle of his cock inside you leaving you writhing, lost in the bliss he wrings from you.

His tail thrashes in the surf as he fucks up into you. You are limp in his arms, trembling all over as your back arches - he squeezes your breasts in one hand while the other settles between your legs, his skilled fingers working over your clit to kindle a mind shattering type of euphoria within you that renders you boneless and speechless, your jaw slack.

Your head falls back on his shoulder, your eyes falling shut as you moan, your pussy constricting tight around him. A hand circles your throat, squeezing lightly, and you mewl, your cunt unashamedly spasming at the feel of his calloused fingers about your neck.

“Let the moon and stars witness how I pleasure you, my love,” he snarls.

Your eyes roll, your toes curl. Somehow, he fucks up into you faster, harder, and his cock hits places that cause your vision to white out, the relentless friction of his ridges on your walls enough to make you sob and claw at the arm he uses to keep you in place. Distantly, you can hear yourself begging him, pleading for him to go harder, deeper, to not stop, to ruin you.

You scream Katsuki’s name as you come for the second time tonight. Uncontrollably, your thighs shake, and your cunt convulses around his cock; you can feel him slowing his thrusts, letting you ride out your high, but despite the overstimulation building in the tautness inside your stomach, you grind against him.

“Don’t stop,” you gasp. “Want - want you to come inside me.”

Your words elicit a groan from him. “Fucking filthy, aren’t you?”

Helplessly, you whimper in response, your pussy fluttering as he hammers up into you. He swears as he comes, spilling hot inside you, the sweet sound he makes muffled when he bites down on your shoulder. Both of you lie there for a moment, catching your breath, before gently, he manoeuvres the two of you so you lie on your sides, careful to keep himself deep in your heat; he is warm against your back.

Katsuki splays a palm over your stomach, holding you close, and you lace your fingers with his, sighing happily as he begins to pepper kisses over your back. You can feel the upwards curve of his lips as he smiles against your skin.

“Are you alright?” He asks, nuzzling the nape of your neck.

“Better than alright,” you confirm.

You remain silent for a while longer, happy just to lie there cocooned in his arms and the quiet wash of the ocean; you can feel the pulse of his heart against your back, steady and comforting. A hushed, steady noise comes from him, a satisfied noise, almost a purr. His cock is beginning to soften inside you, its ridges coming down - you both groan as he slips out, moving so his length is tucked against the curve of your ass.

“How did you know it was me?” He asks suddenly. “When I summoned the kraken.”

You squeeze his hand. “I saw you in its eyes. You know, I couldn’t have missed it if I tried, especially not when you yelled for the hunters to bring me to you. I heard it all the way from below deck.”

He laughs, and you shuffle closer to him, feeling his arms tighten around you.

“I didn’t even know the kraken was a real thing,” you tell him. “I wasn’t scared, though. I knew I’d be safe when I saw it was you.”

Katsuki scoffs. “You’re horrendously sappy, witch.”

You laugh, pushing your ass back against him. “I think you like it, merman.”

Laughing, you roll to and fro in the sand, with you grinding on him as he grips your hips and tries to wrestle you into submission. Eventually, he manages to incapacitate you by holding you tightly against his chest, dipping his head so he can whisper hotly in your ear.

“Keep that up and I’ll have to fuck you again,” he grits out.

“You’ll have to catch me first,” you challenge.

Giggling, you wriggle out of his grip and plunge further into the shallows, just catching him muttering something about insatiable and damn witch before he dives in and streaks after you, his dorsal fin cutting through the water. A hand closes around your ankle, and you squeal, flailing as you shake him off.

Clumsily, you take off towards the rock pools, wading through the sea water as fast as you can. You know Katsuki will catch you (you’re not exactly opposed to it - you’re running into the sea rather than out of it, after all). Again, he makes another grab at you, and you romp with him in the waves, grinning as you fend him off by splashing water at him, squirming out of his arms again.

In the end, he grabs you around the waist and traps you against one of the tide pools, the rock rough against your back as he smirks down at you. The sight of him above you is enthralling: droplets run down his chest in rivulets, rolling down the grooves his muscles make, and the moon hangs the sky behind him, crowning him with a halo made of silver. Your mouth waters.

Taking your chin in between his thumb and forefinger, he brings his face close to yours. A shiver runs down your spine. His red eyes fill your vision, glowing in the night, hypnotic and burning with craving so devout it borders on veneration.

He smiles. “Caught you.”

Katsuki takes you again, against the rock at your back. Afterwards, you lie there, spent and tangled together in the waning moonlight until you grow hungry again and you straddle him, mesmerised by the sight of him staring up at you, pleasure twisting his features as you ride him. You fuck and make love until the sun begins to rise, and it is only then that the two of you are finally sated.

So there you lie, held in his arms and the sea’s embrace - and inexplicably, you find that you do not regret all the pain you suffered at the hands of the hunters, because if it was not for them, you would never have been in that brig to heal him. Inside you, something blossoms within your soul, young and fresh and beautiful as the new moon, and it spills forth from your lips, a whispered confession pressed to his skin like a kiss.

“I love you, Bakugou Katsuki.”

Cupping your jaw, he brings his forehead to yours and murmurs your name. “I love you too.”

Katsuki glances down at you, where you are curled into the curve of his side like you were made to fit him, and he feels his failing, tired heart bloom once again. You have healed him in ways that run deeper than just his flesh.

He looks in your eyes, and when he does, the sea looks back.

You are his home.

A/N: by the way guys, afterwards they travel somewhere cool and the reader sets up a lil witchy abode by the sea and the villagers come to her for cures and half of them are lowkey a bit terrified of her mermaid husband but it doesn’t matter because she still gives really good remedies and he hasn’t eaten anyone yet and sometimes she and bakugou go out in their boat and attack hunter ships for funsies

also here's a picture i found off pinterest which i kind of imagine his tail being like except it's a bit more rigid and the dorsal fins are more spiney and longer, also there's more black and less red

taglist: @freakingsparkydreamer @d1orhaz3 @msjaeger @mellasimp14 @eyesforbkg @cottagedumpling @silkdolli @teeesthings @raksstuff

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anorlondo00 · 8 months ago

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⛅ White Beard Pirates : Morning Routine Head Canons ⛅

Newgate’s Commanders are typically forced to wake up early. Here are my thoughts for how that usually goes.

Eddie Nuggs

7am.

In his youth, he was a chronic over sleeper. Through his years of being captain, he’s realized how much he can get done while the kids are still asleep.

He eats breakfast in his office with the windows wide open so he can feel the ocean breeze while he works.

It’s an unspoken rule not to bother Pops until after he’s eaten. It’s just seen as a bit disrespectful by the crew to do otherwise.

His morning routine almost always includes a fifteen minute chat with Marco while he takes his meds. Newgate refuses to discuss business during this time.

“Relax and share a damn cup of coffee with me. I’m still waking up.”

Thatch

6am.

This is solely because he needs to start working on breakfast.

Easily the most chipper. If you need someone to talk to, anyone is welcome to sit at the kitchen bar top and keep him company while he cooks. (You’ll certainly get first dibs on the food if you do.)

He often sends crew members on missions to deliver food to the chronic meal-skippers.

He’s only over slept once and after half the crew nearly formed a mutiny over the lack of breakfast and coffee— he swore to Pops it would never happen again.

Marco

4-5 am.

Regardless of what he has scheduled in the morning, he’s almost always the first awake. You can find him drinking coffee or tea on the upper most deck.

Before the sun has risen, Pops has been given his meds, the morning shift has been checked on, and their route for the day has been finalized.

Marco works like a god damn machine and nothing pisses him off like nonsense throwing off his precious schedule.

New crew members fear him the most in the morning. His focused face makes him look scary.

Forgets to eat breakfast 89.999% of the time.

Marco isn’t immune to a nasty hang over. The morning after a party will guarantee the First Commander sleeps through his alarm at least once.

Ace

Ace would call his wake-up schedule “vibe dependent.”

If he’s needed? Yes, he’ll be up at any time, day or night.

It isn’t a rare occurrence for members of the Second Division to wake him up because the currents very suddenly changed at 3am.

If he’s scheduled first thing in the morning, he’s gotta fight tooth and nail through his narcolepsy to wake up on time.

Sometimes he overcompensates so much, he’s up a full two hours early, drinking coffee, half conscious with Marco on deck.

If neither Pops nor the navigation team need him, Ace will happily sleep until noon.

Ace is the only crew member who can get away with falling asleep in the middle of the day. The newbies that don’t know about his narcolepsy just assume Marco plays favorites.

#one piece #marco the phoenix #portgas d ace #whitebeard pirates #whitebeard one piece #edward newgate #Thatch #one piece headcanons #headcanon

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nemesyaaa · 9 months ago

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from the sea // pirate!rafe cameron x mermaid!reader

summary ; he was the too scary captain of the ship, and you were the too gorgeous mermaid of the sea. you were on his way, he was on your territory.

but mostly, you were not allowed to go on the surface alone since your mother's death because of dangerous and killer men like him. so when you unfollowed the rules of your father, you faced the consequences.

genre ; fantasy blurb. siren x captain dynamic.

warnings ; fantasy story ? possession. rafe has whip scars/and one eye. fear enthousiast. slight of violence. reader is a mermaid with tail. light gun play mentions and using. smut. gaslighting. dubcon. no shells on breasts reader. webbed fingers. lust as a sin.

author's note ; it's a 3k words. no songs inspiration for this one. i just wanted to make a fantasy au.

you were that kind of beauty that aspired to make all men go crazy over you, and it was for this reason that you had taken so many pirates adrift, to their bodies to their ships. you were beautiful and indeed the bewitching and seductive creature that legends and tales spoke of, but you were also the dangerous monster that the captains with monstrous scars on their faces and marks on skin who had survived your man-eating canines were whispering about in the back of a tavern to overly curious and drunk sailors.

you were the wife of all the gods but above all, those who defended their oceans. but only since your mother's death, your father firmly forbade you from going to the surface, either alone or accompanied. you were forbidden by the all-powerful sovereign of the seas. and his law was indisputable because he was the king and the monarchy. one day as his daughter, you will also be the head of the kingdom, and hold the power as him, even if you're not interested in it.

but like all girls your age, you had trouble listening to your father. no, you had this innocent and blind thirst to chase men. and, you had never had an incident before, so what could stop you ? you only had to slip into the clear waves, and let your magical and fairy body disappear through the eddies of the water which made your flowing silhouette as fast and shiny as a shooting star. the feeling of diving into the soft waves that play hide and seek with your sparkling and enchanted tail while the water gently embraced your mermaid skin was always the best.

you were the only dazzling thing of the perfect blue. the sweet and salty waves kissing your nakedness and long mermaid tail illuminated with colorful reflections ran alongside the rest of your bared chest in the flapping of a fin. you looked nothing like a fish that fishermen wanted to eat, but you looked like an underwater creature that captains wanted to capture.

one stormy evening, you decided it was time to go to the surface. you needed to break the rules to survive. with all the youth and rebellion of your free will, you had left the abyssal depths to face the dangerous world.

the sea was raging, and the waves were decidedly uncontrollable and violent. the shadow of a boat disturbed by the marshy assault of the storm on the waves wavered from one end to the other. that meant you were going to be able to have fun. you could also hear from here the agitation of the crew, the fear and the tension building. you easily spotted the captain because he was much taller and broader, the one who didn't frown a single eyebrow, and who remained calm as if it was the storm that should be feared. his voice shouted orders that you couldn't hear because of the raging sounds of the hard weather. he had a parrot on his right shoulder, and bangs stuck to the sweat of his forehead lightly sweeping his face. he looked delicious, you licked your bottom lip, flicking your mermaid tail to move.

you barely lifted your head out of the water in a crashing entry, emerging from the water by sending your hair flying back, a splash of water falling noisily into the waves and attracting the attention of the sailors above of the boat.

“ captain, captain, look !! there’s a siren ! ” said a sailor who pointed a finger toward you.

“ she's gorgeous ! ” replied another.

“ those tits…”

“ stop being horny, that creature can kill you. i don't pay all of you to do all the work so everybody on the ship move his fucking ass before i throw you all on that storm. am i clear ? and if i don't hear a yes right now, i will let that siren eat every single piece of yours. . ” warned the captain with a deep and somber tone.

“ captain yes, yes captain. ” echoed all the sailor voices.

“ man, you can't say that when you have a fucking boner while looking at her. ” commented a sailor.

“ shut your mouth, barry. it's not her at all. ”

“ do you think i'm dumb to think it's one of the men on the ship ? come on, you can lie with that mouth but that hard dick in your pants betrays you. don’t worry, nobody is immune to tits, especially when they're wet as a fucking pussy.”

“ mind your business. ”

“ as you want, captain. ”

a smile appeared on your soppy lips, as you disappeared again into the tormented waves. you had surrounded the ship, swimming only around the boat. you loved it when everyone was fascinated by you, catching with their eyes all your flawless moves as a show.

water being your domain and your home, you took the initiative to do some twirls by immersing your entire body in the water to bring out only your tail as you leaped to the surface with some back flips and observing your audience. you stood on an icy rock, resting your webbed and manicured fingers against the stone.

“ someone is gonna fucking do his work here ? ” shouted the captain. he was actually running out of patience because of his crew being so attracted by the siren. “are you all dumb on purpose ? this is exactly what she wants, to get all of your attention, and kill you. ”

“ captain accept there is nothing you can do. that woman is too stunning. ” cutted one man, literally drooling over his huge beard, giving up his activity for you.

“ do you think she cares about you ? you're just a prey for her. but right, this is not my problem. you can leave my ship and die. ”

once comfortable on the rock, , you begin to open your mouth to sing a sweet song that would bring them as well as this storm to their doom. your voice was just a trap to lure men.

you had no shells on your breasts as the tales loved to tell. actually, you were completely naked from the top, water running down your chest to your mermaid glowing tail. your skin was still cold and damp, like your eyes. but it shone through the moon, and the white pearls on your body lit up every inch of your flesh like stars. you were of a beauty that had thrown more than one sailor into the water. you were in the image of no god, no man, no woman, you were the angel of the sea. you had a throne in every wave, a kingdom wherever you swam.

your hair fell deliberately on your shoulders, and your angelic voice currently pierced all the foam. the storm was raging, and you appeared as their savior, a halo of light projecting above you to cover your superb figure. you were beautiful and unrealistic like a work of art.

when you weren't expecting it, one of the men you had guessed to be the captain had lowered a boat. he was certainly tall and imposing, a long coat covering his entire frame, and immense leather boots with roughly tied laces on his feets as he approached you. he had a pistol stuck in his glistening and leathery belt, and above all an eye patch over his face. you took a look at the cross scar hidden in his shirt of which you only saw the scary top of the burned mark of the probably iron.

he rowed up to you, until you felt his scent replacing the salty smell of the sea. you quickly understood that there was nothing like the other men you had managed to charm. not unlike the others, this man seemed to be able to corrupt anyone, men and women, humans and mermaids alike.

he placed his boat near the rock to look at you more closely.

“didn’t your father warn you not to come near men like me? i’m sure he did gorgeous, i bet you’re just not smart enough to listen to him. ”

you backed away but he put his gun on the tip of your tail to stand you still, making you shake. “y’know what that means? I’m in charge here. ”

“let me go!” you responded, waving your tail limply, but he pushed his finger against the trigger of his gun to scare you.

"you'll leave when i decide. so stand still because from now, all your rules are made by me. ”

“you should fear my father, he will kill you.” you replied.

he laughed in a mocking tone, and moved closer to you with a smirk. “you could kill me too though, couldn’t you mermaid ? but look at you, shaking like prey ready to die by my hand.”

“are you going to kill me?”

“ is this a question or a wish ? or maybe a dirty mermaid fantasy ? ”

“i don’t want to die.”

“If that pretty mouth can sing like it does then it can beg too, don’t you think? If you want me to spare you, you’re gonna have to be a bit more convincing.”

he lowered his gaze towards your glossy and watery body, his weapon buried in the flesh of your stomach, before slightly moving up to your breasts, your nipples arching against the gun. you shivered at the contact of the metal against your skin.

he slid the gun up to your throat, pushing the barrel against your vocal cords. you coughed, and placed a hand around his.

he had sworn "oh fuck...legends don't tell all the things siren can do to a man…"

your webbed fingers, surrounded by tiny fins, had found their effect on him. you looked so sweet and innocent, but you were a creature who knew how to be machiavellian so he had to keep an eye on you.

“you don’t want to die?” he asked, repeating your words.

rafe was not a man of morals, he made fun of laws and conventions. and above all, why would he deprive himself when a beautiful mermaid was willing to do whatever he wanted just to be spared.

you were desperate, and frighteningly attractive. rafe would be lying if he said it didn't stimulate him. his cock was clearly hard and painfully stretched against the leather of his pants, forming a bulge just below his belt. and it was starting to be so uncomfortable. he only wanted one thing, it was to fill your soppy mouth surrounded by divine dripping lips until he felt your throat tighten around his dick, because his girth prevented the air from passing into your cavity.

oh yes rafe cameron was cruel. he wanted you to die, but in a completely different way.

and what he wanted, he got. he was a captain admired and respected by all and who had a high reputation both on the seas and on land. he was rich and miserly. he had as much money as he had girls.

he pulled down his pants, freeing his thick length to reveal it before your eyes. you'd be lying if you said you'd seen one before. It was the first time you saw something that big, it was terrifying. you didn't even know what this sailor wanted you to do with it so you looked at him with curious and desperate eyes.

oh that innocence burning in your gaze had shot a charge through rafe's body and his cock had twitched, letting precum drop on your face and the blood inside him completely heated.

"open your mouth...yes, like that. show me your tongue, i'll help you, gonna tell you how to do it.”

he had thrust himself into your mouth before giving you instructions, telling you how to make him feel good, while his dick found a way to your throat. you were even wetter inside than a real woman and it felt perfect and insane. you started to suck him, your lips vibrating around his throbbing girth that stuffed you real quick.his tip was slightly salty from the precum dripping from it that you had swallowed, making the ship captain above you groan.

pushed by his grunts and his tight grip through your hair, you pumped him faster because you were starting to understand how it worked. he never tired of your lips that foamed, and fully encircling his cock which as you licked got bigger and bigger, your naked tummy spiraling as the growing feeling.

with one hand, he had plunged himself completely into you, your head completely trapped between his firm fingers, and your nose buried in his pelvis. you gagged on him, a spurt of drool coming out of your mouth when he pulled out, as you gurgled strongly . your saliva hung from his glistening tip down the length of his hardened dick, all the way to his heavy balls.

he re-positioned himself inside you, his massive dick now dripping inside your soaked mouth as you continued to suck and lick with the fear knotting in your stomach of being killed. but you could feel that his body was relaxed, his muscles were loose, and you could hear every deep sound of pleasure coming from his lips.

he was both fascinated and over the moon, because your wetted tongue twirling around his hot cock was perfect. oh if he could have fucked you, he would have. he couldn't help but fantasize about how he would have fucked you on this rock, his large hands on your tits caged them like bra and pressing them against his thick fingers that would easily crushed them.

he also loved how your throat was so capricious, clenching around him while your tongue hungrily brushed his entire growing bulge. the feeling was intense, and you could hear his breaths become harsh.

that's what he liked about corruption, you were too good for him, a creature blessed by all the gods who had nothing to do with a mortal as rich as him, because you were too divine , too wonderful but at that moment, you were in the same rank. you were at his mercy.

you placed your wet hands on his hips, leaving trails of water on his body and impressive marks of whip that left scars on his skin. rafe could have sworn it was the gentlest touch in the world. the tiny fins around your fingers, tracing the straight line of his waist, down to his firm ass as you sucked him to death, drove him so crazy with your long soaked tongue that made him gasp.

and even if he was not a believer, he was convinced that heaven could not be so wonderful.

a few minutes later, his dick had convulsed around your mouth, and you felt large hot streams filling your throat down to your tummy. you swallowed, and he smiled before stroking your hair gently.

“ good job, little mermaid. don’t you deserve a reward for that ?”

you didn’t really know what that meant but you nodded.

he had taken a long pearl necklace from his pocket. “turn around. let me help you. ”

and you complied. he had hung the expensive and luxurious jewel around your neck, the length of which was so long that he had to make several turns until a hundred white pearls covered the entirety of your bust, dangling around your handsome tits.

“do you know what that means?”

you moved your head to say no, and he responded. “that now you belong to me. you’re my prized possession. you need to understand that now you can't leave. without me. ”

he had found a treasure and he was going to keep it. after all, he was a pirate, he stole everything the ocean had. and sirens were not an exception to the rules.

“i want to see my father.”

“mermaid, you are mine, and mine only.” he responded while caressing your soppy cheek. “ you don't need your dad anymore, just me. ”

you lifted your gaze to meet the most beautiful blue eyes you ever met. he was handsome as the devil, and you couldn’t deny it. but you were a mermaid, you belonged to the ocean, not to a man.

you tried to run away but he stopped you by placing his leather boot on your mermaid tail with a smirk, before leaning forward to grab you by the throat, your upper body was arched, his biceps caged your vocal cords tightly, his thick fingers pushed further in your mouth to forced you to behave, your drool dripping over your hanged jaw.

“what did I tell you about making silly moves, huh? behave, unless you want to die. you know what’ll happen if you act up? what you did earlier, with that pretty mouth, we’re gonna do it again. except this time instead of my cock, it’ll be my gun and if you stop, I shoot. And I know you don’t want that, right?”

" no…”

“ yea ? better to be alive. ”

you nodded. because it was true.

"now i have my men waiting for me. but don't worry, you're coming with me.”

“ that's a kidnapping — ”

“ do you think i care ? because listen to me, i don't fucking care. do you know what it means ? that you can pout, cry, scream, whatever tantrum you want to shout, it will not change anything. ”

you shivered when his hands stroked your shoulders, the icy metal of his silver rings brushing your skin. “ don't you want to be cherished ? see that world ? look up, because it can be yours. ”

“ you're not afraid that i can eat you ? ”

“ didn't you see my scars ? i fear nothing, even if you dig those canines in my skin, you will be the only one to be scared of what i can do to you. because babe, be mean to me, i dare you to, and i will be meaner. ”

“ where are your scars coming from, they're huge. and it's not sirens. ”

“oh, it’s a horrible story for a little mermaid like you. stick to your fairytales. so are you gonna come with me willingly or do we have to do things the hard way?”

“ sound like a trap. ”

“ sound like you're smart. ” he mocked.

“ i'm gonna follow you. but don't be too happy, my dad will find you before sunrise. so you're soon a dead man. ”

“ such a mean baby, already wishing that i'm dead. but careful, don't make me correct that mouth myself. it's not the kind of thing you will like. ”

“ because there is a good thing you can do with my mouth ? ” you were curious.

you turned your gaze toward him, and he lifted a brow, not believing your words. “ mermaid, you never kissed a man ? ”

“ show me what kissing is. ”

“ Why would I kiss the mouth that curses me ? ”

“ Should i ask those men on the ship? ”

because of his possessive side, categorically refusing to share you with his crew full of grotesque men, he had leaned down to grab your jaw and press his lips against yours.the feeling was so strange, but your mermaid tail was waving on the cold stone. “seems like you enjoy being kissed. ” he said, as his tongue swirled with yours. “ want to be kissed endlessly ? yea ? then don't make me repeat myself and move that fucking tail to the ship. ”

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hellmunsonfire · 7 days ago

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Blue Terror (Pirate Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader)

⚠️ Warnings: This fic contains themes that may be disturbing or triggering to some readers, including: violence, slavery, captivity, physical abuse, death mentions, degradation, non-consensual power dynamics, psychological manipulation, blood and barbaric acts, themes of war and trauma, and morally ambiguous characters. SMUT +18. ROUGH SMUT. Reader discretion is strongly advised.

I would like to remind you that English is not my first language, and part 2 will be written on request.

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Year 1672.

They say the sea holds more secrets than the sky ever will. Whispers of vanishing ships, blood-soaked decks, and names cursed by both wind and wave. And yet, nothing ever touches your quiet shore. Not until it does.

You grow up in a village so small, it doesn't even appear on most maps. Hidden among the cliffs and tangled trees of the northern coast, it smells of brine and fresh earth, of woodsmoke and rosemary. Your cottage is crooked but warm, tucked between hills that cradle your world like an old lullaby. You and your father—he with calloused hands and a voice like gravel soaked in honey—grow vegetables in the hard, stubborn soil. You sell them at market twice a week, your cart creaking along the muddy path, wheels humming a song of routine and survival. Life is simple.

You’ve heard stories, of course. Everyone has. Blue Terror, they call him—the captain who carves his name into the ocean with a blade of smoke and thunder. A man who sails with ghosts and answers to none. You don’t believe it. Or maybe, you simply choose not to.

Because believing means fearing, and fearing means acknowledging that peace is always borrowed, never owned.

Your nights are quiet. You fall asleep to the crackle of firewood, your father’s snores in the other room, the soft chirr of insects serenading the dark. And you wake each morning with sun on your skin, dew on the window glass, and dirt already under your nails. There’s a rhythm to everything. A comfort in knowing where each step will land before it touches earth.

But comfort is a fragile thing.

You remember that morning well—the one that unravels your world like thread from a torn hem. The wind shifts. The birds fall silent. The air smells wrong, like metal and fire and the breath of something ancient rising from the deep.

You’re just returning from the market, your basket still heavy with coin and leftover herbs. The path curves toward your home, and for a moment everything feels normal—until it doesn’t. Smoke curls above the treetops. The sound of shouts—low, guttural, foreign—rip through the quiet.

You run.

You run until your lungs burn and your feet slip on the gravel. But it’s too late.

The garden is trampled. Your home—splintered wood and ash. And your father…

You don’t let your mind go there. You can’t.

Rough hands find you before you even make it to the threshold. You're dragged backwards, your screams swallowed by the chaos. Faces you don’t recognize, speaking a language you don’t understand. Symbols you’ve only seen drawn in red ink on old sailors' maps. The mark of the Blue Terror.

They tie your wrists with thick rope. Your feet stumble against stone and splintered roots. And all you can think, all that echoes in the hollow behind your ribs, is this:

You’ve heard the stories. But you never thought you’d become one.

They drag you through the ruins of what once was your home. Smoke coils around broken rooftops like fingers refusing to let go. Flames dance in doorways, licking old wooden beams until they collapse into embers. The screams of your neighbors echo through the air—raw, panicked, animal. Mothers clutching their children. Men trying to fight with farming tools, only to be cut down or slammed into the mud. The stench of burning hay, of sweat and iron and salt, clings to your skin.

You stumble past the market stall where you and your father once sold rosemary and turnips. It’s overturned now, crushed beneath the boot of a man shouting in a tongue you don’t know.

Others are tied up like you, their hands bound in rough rope that digs into skin, already turning raw. Some are younger than you. Some older. All with the same wide, unblinking eyes, all walking toward the same unknown horror. A girl near you sobs so hard she can barely breathe. A man falls to his knees and is kicked until he gets up again. One pirate laughs, sharp and cold like broken glass, as he yanks on someone’s rope to make them move faster.

“Move,” another snarls behind you, the command punctuated by a shove between your shoulders. You nearly fall, your knees buckling, but you manage to keep walking. If you fall, you might not get up.

The docks are chaos. Fires reflect on the dark water, turning the sea to molten gold and shadow. And rising from it, like something pulled from a fever dream, is the ship.

It is monstrous.

The hull is made of dark, weather-worn wood, reinforced with iron plates that gleam dully in the firelight. Thick ropes and heavy nets hang from its masts like webs spun by a god. Its sails are down, but you can see the edges—blackened and patched with leather, worn by wind and war. Lanterns hang from the sides, their light swaying gently with the tide, casting ghostly glows on the faces of the men waiting to load spoils. And there—high above, fluttering in the hot breeze—is the flag.

A skull wreathed in red fire. Teeth bared. Empty eyes staring straight into your soul.

The mark of the Blue Terror.

Your breath catches. For the first time, you stop walking. But only for a moment—another shove sends you stumbling forward, onto the gangplank that groans under the weight of so many stolen lives.

Once your boots touch the deck, someone grabs your arm and hurls you forward.

You hit the wooden floor hard, your knees screaming in pain. Splinters bite into your skin. You don’t dare cry out. You barely even breathe.

Above you, the sky spins, grey smoke curling toward stars you can’t see. The world rocks beneath you, and you realize—it’s not the world. It’s the ship. Already shifting with the tide. Already carrying you away.

Around you, pirates bark orders and haul crates onto the deck—crates stolen from your neighbors, filled with food, tools, jewelry, even children’s toys. One man laughs as he holds up a silver mirror, admiring his reflection before tossing it into a barrel.

You're pulled up again, this time into a crooked line of prisoners along the center of the deck. There’s no speaking, only the sound of footsteps, chains, the creak of wood, and the occasional whimper.

They begin to inspect you.

One man lifts your chin with the tip of a dagger, muttering something under his breath. Another tugs at someone’s hair, checking the roots. Teeth are examined. Wrists. Eyes. Bodies.

They sort through you like fruit at a market—testing, prodding, calculating. You can feel it. They’re not just looking for strength or beauty. They’re searching for something else. Value. Use.

You stand still. Your heart pounds so hard it threatens to break your ribs. You want to disappear, to wake up, to run—but the sea waits, endless and black, and the ship holds you like a mouth that has already begun to chew.

You close your eyes. Not because you want to shut out the chaos—though God knows, you do—but because your mind is screaming for stillness. Just for a breath. Just for a heartbeat.

You whisper a prayer, though you’re not sure to whom. Maybe to the sea. Maybe to whatever god is cruel enough to let this happen but kind enough to let you survive it. Your fingers tremble against the rope binding your wrists. Your knees ache from where you fell. And yet, somehow, your thoughts race louder than the screams around you. If I run now, they’ll cut me down. If I jump…

Your eyes flick toward the edge of the ship. The water churns below—black and vast, stretching to the ends of the world. Could you make it? With your hands bound, your legs weak, your lungs tight with fear… could you hold your breath long enough to disappear? To sink before they find you?

But the thought dies as a sharp splash cuts through the night air. Then another. And another. You turn—just in time to see one of the prisoners, a man, hurled over the side of the ship. His scream is strangled mid-air, swallowed by the sea before it can even echo. A woman follows next, her arms tight at her sides, hands tied. She doesn’t scream. She just closes her eyes before the dark water claims her. One after the other, they are tossed like useless cargo, vanishing into the depths without so much as a second glance from their captors.

You feel bile rise in your throat as the brutal reality settles in. It’s barbaric. Inhuman. The kind of cruelty you thought only existed in stories meant to frighten children by firelight. And yet here it is—blood-warm and breathing all around you. But more terrifying than the ones discarded… are the ones they decide to keep.

When it’s over, there are only six of you left.

A pirate walks by, dragging a thick chain that clinks with every step, the sound sharp and final. His face is half-covered in tattoos, his beard tied with clacking beads. He grunts something to another, jerking his head toward your group. You can’t understand the language, but you understand the tone. A moment later, another voice—rough and accented, but in your own tongue—confirms what you already fear. “They’ll go below. Chain them up. We’ll clean them for market when the time comes.”

Market.

The word alone is enough to hollow you out. Your stomach turns to ice. Around you, the others begin to break. One girl collapses in on herself, sobbing. A boy pleads through tears, offering to work, to fight, to do anything if they just let him go. No one listens. No one even looks at him.

You’re pushed forward, toward the ship’s lower deck. The steps are narrow and slick, and the deeper you go, the heavier the air becomes. It smells of rust, damp wood, and despair. And then you see them—cages. Real ones. Iron bars, bolted to the ship’s floor, some already occupied, most waiting.

One by one, you’re shoved inside.

Your cage is barely large enough to sit, let alone stand. Your wrists are still bound, your breathing shallow. The door slams shut behind you with a metallic finality that leaves you hollow.

Above, the ship groans as it begins to move, drifting from the dock, slipping into the sea’s current. Through a gap in the wooden planks, you press your face to the hull, heart pounding. In the distance, you can still see it—your home. Smoke billows into the sky like a mourning shroud. The crooked roof of your cottage. The outline of the garden. The soft hills that once cradled your world.

And then, slowly, it all begins to disappear.

The village gets smaller and smaller, until it is just a smudge of memory swallowed by the dark horizon. You watch it vanish, ash on the wind.

Days blur into one another down there, in the bowels of the ship. You lose count after the third. Time has no meaning beneath the waves. There's only the creaking of the wood, the groans of metal against the tide, the faraway thunder of footsteps above, and the occasional screech of gulls reminding you that the world still exists outside these walls.

You’re fed once, maybe twice a day—stale, sour bread so hard you have to soak it in your own spit just to chew. Sometimes a sliver of dried meat. Often, nothing at all. You’re thirsty more than you’re hungry. Your throat stays dry, your lips cracked. No sunlight touches your skin. The air smells like wet rot and rusting chains. Your hands have started to blister from the ropes that remain around your wrists, and your ankles ache from crouching in the cage that never lets you stand fully upright.

You dream of warmth. Of your father’s voice. Of earth under your fingernails. But even dreams begin to fade when hope starts to die.

Then one morning—if it even is morning—two pirates descend into the dark.

They don’t speak. Just unlock your cage with a screech of iron and grab you by the arms. You barely resist. There’s no point. You’re too weak, too cold, too tired. You’re dragged up the stairs, feet slipping, knees scraping along the worn wood. The sudden brightness stabs into your eyes like daggers. You squint, hiss, nearly cry out as the sunlight pours down on you, unfiltered and blinding.

It takes a long time to adjust.

You feel like a creature pulled from the underworld. Everything is too loud. Too bright. The sea, impossibly vast and blue, stretches in every direction. The sun blazes overhead, gold and cruel. The ship rocks gently beneath you, no land in sight. Just waves. Endless, glimmering waves.

Then something heavy lands at your feet. A bucket. A dirty rag.

One of the pirates kicks the bucket toward you and snarls, “Clean.”

You don’t argue. You don’t even speak. You drop to your knees and dip the cloth into the bucket. The water is lukewarm, tinged with blood and salt. You press it to the deck and begin to scrub.

The rope on your wrists remains tight. Every motion burns. But you keep cleaning.

Around you, the pirates pay you little attention. They drink from metal flasks, loud and rowdy, their laughter sharp and ugly. Some sharpen their blades, dragging whetstones along the curved steel with a sound that turns your stomach. Others throw bones or coins, their games loud, aggressive. The air reeks of sweat, gunpowder, and rum.

You keep your head down. You don’t want to be noticed.

But then—something shifts. The air itself seems to pause. Laughter dims. A hush ripples across the deck like the first breath before a storm.

You feel it before you see him. Boots—black, worn, marked with symbols you don’t understand—step into view. Slow, steady, deliberate. You look up.

And there he is.

Eddie Munson. The Blue Terror. The Ghost of the Tides. Devil of the Azure Wake.

His reputation came long before his face. You’d heard whispers in the market, drunken warnings from sailors leaning too far over barrels of ale. They said his ship hunted without mercy. That he painted his sails with the blood of those who defied him. That his smile came only after screams. And when the wind carried his name, it did so in fear.

But no one ever said he looked like this.

Sunlight catches in the wild halo of his dark curls, tied back loosely with a blood-red bandana. Silver rings gleam on his fingers, worn over calloused hands that rest casually on the hilt of a curved cutlass. Beads and bone trinkets hang from his ear, some braided into his hair. His coat is deep navy, nearly black, lined with faded embroidery and burn marks. It flares behind him like wings, swaying with each step. Around his neck, a chain clinks gently, fastened to a stone medallion the color of a storm cloud.

And his eyes.

Dark, endless, unreadable. They scan the deck like a predator. Slow. Unhurried. Unbothered. When they land on you, your breath catches in your throat. He doesn’t say anything at first. Just looks.

But you feel it in your spine—the sense of being seen, not just as a prisoner, not just as another unfortunate soul caught in a net… but as something else. Something worth pausing for.

Your hands tremble. You don’t know if you should bow your head or meet his gaze. You don’t know if this is salvation or the edge of the blade.

By the time the sun begins its slow descent into the sea, your body is beyond exhausted. Every muscle aches, your skin burns where the chains have rubbed raw, and your knees are numb from hours spent crawling, scrubbing, lifting. They bark orders, and you obey. Not because you’re obedient—but because you’re desperate. You’ll clean bloodstains off the planks, haul damp crates from one end of the deck to the other, carry firewood under your arms until splinters bloom across your palms—anything, anything, to avoid being dragged back into that cage again.

You're too afraid to hope. But still, somewhere deep in your chest, buried beneath the filth and fatigue, a tiny ember flickers.

Just before twilight, you’re led below deck—past the cannons, through the narrow corridors that creak and groan with every shift of the ship—and finally brought into a room that smells of onions, smoke, and old salt. The kitchen, you assume. Or what passes for one on this floating prison.

A woman stands at the far end, hunched over a wooden table where she’s chopping vegetables with a dull iron blade. Her sleeves are rolled up, her greying hair tied back with a piece of old cloth, and her face is lined with years of sun, salt, and sorrow. She doesn’t look up at first. Just gestures vaguely with her knife. “Water’s in the bucket. Start with those,” she says, nodding toward a crate of limp carrots and root vegetables.

You approach slowly, uncertain, and kneel beside the crate. The water in the bucket is cloudy but cool. You begin scrubbing the dirt off the carrots, your fingers working automatically even as your mind races. The woman says nothing for a long while, the only sounds in the room the rhythmic thud of her knife and the distant cries of gulls outside the porthole.

After a while, her voice cuts through the quiet, soft but pointed. “You lasted longer than most. Most break by midday.”

You glance up, unsure if she’s mocking you, but her eyes remain fixed on her task. You swallow, your voice rasped and dry. “Where are we going?” The question comes out barely above a whisper.

She hesitates. Just a beat. Then resumes chopping. “Nowhere you’d want to be.”

A pause. You wash another carrot, your hands moving slower now. “What will they do with us?”

The woman’s blade stills.

She leans slightly closer, her voice dropping into a whisper so low you can barely hear it over the creak of the ship. “Depends. If you’re lucky, you stay here. Work in the kitchens, clean the captain’s boots, empty the piss pots. The ones who survive and keep their heads down—sometimes they get to stay.”

“And if you’re not lucky?”

Her eyes flick toward you then—quick and sharp, like a knife slipping between ribs. “Then you’re sold. Shipped off at the next black market. Or worse.” Her voice softens again, but this time it’s not pity you hear. It’s memory. “I came aboard this ship seventeen years ago. My husband and two sons were killed when we were taken. I was given to the crew as entertainment.” Her hands keep moving, but her gaze is somewhere far away. “I survived by becoming useful. Quiet. Invisible.”

You don’t speak. There’s a sour taste in your mouth that has nothing to do with hunger.

She sets the knife down and moves toward a shelf, gathering ingredients into a wooden tray—bread, a wedge of cheese, a small roasted bird, and something that smells like honey and spice. It’s more food than you’ve seen in days. Her movements are methodical, practiced. She balances the tray carefully, then turns and looks directly at you.

“You’re taking this to the captain’s quarters.”

You blink. “Me?”

The tray is heavy in her hands. She thrusts it toward you. “Yes. You. Don’t drop anything. Don’t speak unless spoken to. Don’t look where you shouldn’t.”

Your heartbeat thunders. “Why me?”

She tilts her head. “Because you’re not broken yet. And because someone noticed.”

That sends a jolt through your chest—but before you can ask what she means, she’s already turning away. “Clean yourself first,” she adds over her shoulder, pointing toward a wooden basin and a frayed sponge on the shelf. “Captain doesn’t want to smell the lower decks.”

You step toward the basin slowly. The water is cold, sharp against your skin, but you wash anyway. Your hands, your face, the dirt smudged along your neck and collarbone. You scrub until your skin is pink, until the salt and filth are peeled away and you almost feel human again.

Almost.

You return to the tray, fingers trembling as you slide your hands beneath it and lift. It’s heavier than it looks. The scent of warm bread and meat rises around you like a cruel joke.

The woman opens the door and nods toward the hallway. “Straight ahead. Last door on the left.”

You stand in front of the heavy wooden door, the tray trembling slightly in your hands. The hallway behind you is quiet, the air thick with heat and salt and the weight of what you’re about to do. You hesitate for a breath, then lift one hand and knock—twice, firm and deliberate.

A muffled voice answers from within. “Come in.”

You push the door open with your shoulder and step inside, the scent of cedar, rum, and old smoke washing over you instantly. The room is dimly lit by a series of lanterns swinging gently from the ceiling beams. The wooden floor is smooth but scuffed from years of boots and battle. The walls are lined with iron hooks, some bearing weapons—curved cutlasses, rusted pistols, a strange-looking crossbow. A dark blue coat with gold buttons hangs from the back of a high-backed leather chair.

And at the center of it all is a massive desk, carved from black oak and scarred by time and flame. Papers and maps are spread across it like a fan of secrets. And there he is.

Captain Eddie Munson.

He stands over the desk with one hand braced against the map and the other toying with a small, wickedly curved dagger. His curls are loose now, framing his face in wild shadows, and a single silver ring glints as it catches the lantern light. His brow is furrowed, his focus unshakable, the tension in his jaw sharp as steel. He doesn’t look up when you enter.

You move silently, every footstep calculated, your breath caught somewhere between your ribs. You place the tray on a smaller side table beside the desk without a sound. Your eyes never leave the floor. You can feel your own heartbeat—loud, shaky, insistent. And your stomach lets out a low, humiliating growl.

You flinch. He doesn’t seem to notice.

You take a step back, ready to turn and leave as quietly as you came, when his voice slices through the stillness.

“Hey. You.”

You freeze.

“Come here.”

You hesitate, every warning from the kitchen woman screaming in your ears. Keep your head down. Don’t speak. Don’t get involved. But your body obeys before your brain does. You step closer, slowly, until you're standing at the edge of the desk.

He finally looks up.

His eyes are darker than the ocean outside. Piercing. Curious. Calculating. But not cruel.

He taps the edge of the map. “What do you think?” he asks, his voice low and rough like gravel soaked in wine. “If we cut across this current, we save two days. But the waters are... tricky.”

You blink, unsure if you’ve heard him right. Is he asking you?

You open your mouth, then close it. You glance at the map, then at him. “I... I’m not sure I should say.”

One dark brow lifts slightly. “And yet, here you are. Looking.”

You swallow. Your heart is galloping. “If you go that way,” you say quietly, carefully, “you might save time, but the wind shifts in that region often. You could be stranded. Or worse. I think you should stay along the outer path. It’ll take longer... but you’ll arrive intact.”

Silence falls between you. You curse yourself internally. You were supposed to be invisible. Quiet. And instead, here you are, giving tactical advice to the most feared pirate on the sea.

But then—he smiles.

Just a flicker. Barely there. But it softens his face in a way that’s almost disarming.

“Interesting,” he murmurs. “Most of my crew can’t even read a map.”

You drop your gaze again, your stomach churning with dread and something else—something warmer, sharper, dangerously close to intrigue.

“Are you hungry?” he asks suddenly.

You shake your head. “No, Captain.”

He leans back in his chair, grabs a goblet of deep red wine, and gestures to the tray. “Sit. Eat.”

Your eyes widen slightly. “Captain, I—”

“That’s an order.”

There’s no bite to his tone. No cruelty. But it’s firm.

You nod, slowly lowering yourself into the smaller chair across from him. Your fingers tremble as you tear a piece of bread and bring it to your lips. The warmth of it feels unreal. After days of stale crumbs, it tastes like salvation.

Eddie watches you. Not like a hunter. More like a scholar. He takes a sip from his cup, letting the silence stretch just long enough to make your skin prickle.

“What’s your name?”

You hesitate, then offer it—softly, like a secret you’re afraid to let go of.

He nods. Repeats it once, like tasting the sound of it. “And when did you come aboard my ship?”

You glance down. “A few days ago. From the last village.”

“Ah.” His fingers trace the stem of his goblet. “That was a good haul. Shame about the fire.”

You say nothing. You’re not sure you can speak.

He gestures toward the map again. “Ever sailed before?”

You shake your head. “No, Captain.”

“But you read the stars? The wind?”

You look at him, cautious. “I read books. My father taught me. I listened. I remembered things.”

Eddie hums, thoughtful, as he leans forward, resting his forearms on the desk. “You might be useful,” he says softly, but not to himself.

To you.

And you don’t know if that’s a promise, or a threat.

It’s been two weeks since your cage opened and the sea became your ceiling.

Two weeks since the floor stopped rocking under your knees and started rocking under your feet instead. Two weeks since Captain Eddie Munson—Blue Terror, Ghost of the Tides, the name whispered like a curse along every broken shoreline—called you into his chambers and didn’t send you back.

Since then, you’ve spent most of your days—and too many of your nights—within those walls. Studying maps. Reading stars. Learning currents, wind patterns, routes carved by blood and time. You trace inked lines with trembling fingers while he leans over your shoulder, smelling of salt and steel and something darker you can’t name.

He gives you space, but not distance. Kindness, but not trust.

Still, you’ve earned something.

A room of your own.

Small, windowless, tucked deep beneath the captain’s quarters, but it’s clean. The straw-stuffed mattress doesn’t smell like mold. The bucket isn’t shared. And the door doesn’t lock from the outside. It’s not freedom. But it’s a kind of illusion—and for now, that’s enough.

You’re not a prisoner. Not exactly. But you’re not one of them either.

And they know it.

The crew watches you like a splinter under their skin—always there, always itching. You catch it in their eyes when you pass. In the way conversations stop when you walk by. The way they mutter under their breath, clench their knives tighter, throw buckets harder than necessary when they hand them to you. You're protected. Untouchable, even. But you're not welcome.

To them, you’re the captain’s pet. A soft thing with soft hands, whispering advice over maps while they bleed and sweat for the same man.

You don’t defend yourself. Let them think you’ve surrendered. Let them believe you’re playing house in the captain’s quarters like some tamed animal. Let them underestimate you. It’s easier that way.

Because you’re not here to belong.

You’re here to remember.

You think about your village often. At night, especially—when the lanterns go out and the ship groans with sleep. Nightmares. You see the smoke curling above the rooftops. The gardens trampled. The old man who taught you to read the stars crushed under rubble. You see your father’s hands, calloused and trembling as he tried to fight for you. And you feel it all again, fresh and raw.

Eddie Munson sends you clothes now. Silks, leathers, sometimes stained in places he pretends not to notice. He leaves them folded at your door with a strange sort of reverence. Necklaces too—pearls, rubies, emeralds—and you wonder whose throats they were ripped from. You wear them when you must. Smile when he studies you with those unreadable eyes. Say thank you.

But you don’t forget.

You never forget.

Because these aren’t gifts. They’re evidence. Spoils. Everything around you was stolen—from someone, somewhere. Every ring on your fingers, every thread on your back, bought with someone else’s blood.

Still, you play the part. You study the man behind the mask. You watch the way he speaks to his crew—half warning, half performance. You count the number of times he lets his mask slip around you. The way he softens when he laughs. The way he says your name like it belongs in his mouth. The way he listens when you speak, really listens. As if you have something to say that matters.

You wonder if it’s an act.

You wonder if his kindness is a kind of rope, braided with patience and silk, just waiting to tighten.

But part of you wants to believe—no, needs to believe—that there’s more to him than the stories. Because how can a man so feared, so monstrous, look at you like he’s trying to understand you? Like he’s waiting for you to tell him who you really are?

The ship moans softly as it nears the dock, its massive hull slicing through the morning mist like a blade. You’ve grown so used to the rocking of the waves beneath your feet that when the motion begins to settle, your balance stutters—almost as if the world itself has stilled in anticipation.

After dressing, you eat your breakfast in silence, heart pacing with the odd rhythm of something changing. Something ending, or perhaps beginning. The soft roll of bread feels strange in your mouth, the tea too warm for your suddenly dry throat.

You make your way to Eddie’s quarters, feet light against the floorboards. You don’t bother knocking anymore. You just open the door.

He’s already there—standing by the window, hands clasped behind his back, shoulders relaxed but alert, as though every bone in his body is coiled with knowing. His silhouette is haloed by the thin streaks of morning sun filtering through the dusty glass. He turns his head slightly when you enter, the ghost of a grin curving across his lips.

“Today’s the day,” he says simply.

You blink. “What day?”

Eddie’s smile spreads, slow and knowing. “The day you touch land again. I figured your feet might’ve forgotten what solid ground feels like.”

Your stomach flips. “You’re letting me off the ship?”

He raises an eyebrow. “We all are. There's business to tend to. You didn’t think I’d keep you in this floating coffin forever, did you?”

His tone is casual, teasing—but you’ve learned not to mistake ease for safety when it comes to him.

“Where are we?” you ask, trying to sound curious instead of desperate.

He moves away from the window, stepping over maps and scrolls strewn across the desk. “A small coastal town in Northern England,” he says, casually tossing a leather pouch onto the table with a clink.

You freeze for a moment. So that was it—collections, threats, blood. “Business.”

Eddie notices the shift in your breath, the stiffness in your jaw. And just when you think he’s about to turn away, he lifts something from the chest beside his desk and steps toward you.

You see it glint before it’s fully revealed: a necklace—no, a masterpiece. A heavy silver chain strung with deep green emeralds, blood-red rubies, sapphires dark as the ocean at midnight. Stones cut to catch every flicker of light, glowing with a stolen kind of royalty. It looks like something a queen would die wearing.

Your lips part slightly. “What is that?”

He doesn't answer.

Instead, he moves behind you.

You feel the heat of him first. His body so close, not quite touching—but there, surrounding you. The scent of salt, leather, and something unnameable fills your lungs.

Then his hand brushes your hair aside, slow and deliberate. His fingers graze the back of your neck, calloused and rough, sending a jolt down your spine. He gathers your hair over one shoulder, and you swear his breath ghosts against your skin as he leans in.

Goosebumps rise along your collarbone.

Your heart hammers.

The chain slides against your throat like a cold whisper. His fingers clasp it behind your neck with quiet precision, but they linger—just a second too long. His thumb brushes the hollow where your shoulder meets your neck, a touch light as air, but devastating. And he stays there. Close. His presence heavy against your back, lips nearly grazing the curve of your ear.

“This suits you,” he murmurs, voice low, velvet-wrapped and laced with danger. “Makes you look like you belong to the sea.”

Or to him.

You can’t speak. You’re not sure you’d know how. You feel like your body is betraying you—skin too hot, breath too shallow, heart pounding a rhythm between fear and something darker.

He doesn’t ask for thanks. He just steps away, letting the silence hum between you like a wire pulled tight.

“I sent a new dress to your room,” he adds casually, already turning back toward his desk. “Put it on. We make landfall within the hour.”

You nod, silent, and slip out of the room with the weight of the necklace pressing against your throat like a promise you didn’t agree to.

You return to your quarters with your heart caught in your throat, the weight of that jeweled necklace pressing against your collarbone like a silent anchor. As you open the creaking door, the scent of citrus and smoke still lingers faintly—someone has been here recently.

Your eyes fall instantly on the bed.

Laid out with reverence atop the rumpled blankets is a dress unlike anything you've ever seen.

It's made of midnight-blue velvet, so deep and dark it shimmers like still water under moonlight. The sleeves are long and slit open at the shoulders, revealing skin in sharp, elegant lines. Silver embroidery dances across the bodice like waves catching starlight, delicate vines swirling toward a corseted waist cinched with fine, silken threads. The skirt flows in layers, pooling like ink around your feet when you lift it. At the hem, tiny sapphire-like beads catch the light—tiny constellations stitched into fabric.

You don’t know how he expects you to wear this and blend in.

But then again, maybe he doesn’t.

As you begin to undress, your thoughts race with one single word, loud and pulsing: Escape.

If the ship is docked… if you're on land… maybe, just maybe, this is your chance.

You run through the options in your head like a frantic calculation. If you step away—just for a moment—could you lose yourself in the crowd? Slip between shadows? How long before they realize you’re missing? Ten minutes? Five?

Could you find a weapon before then? Maybe something small, something forgotten—like a knife left on a kitchen table. You’ve been in the galley enough times. You know where the drawers are. But would they notice? Would he?

And even if you made it away—what then?

You don’t speak the local. You don’t know this country’s laws or its streets. And you have nothing but stolen jewels hanging from your neck. Everyone knows pirate plunder. No merchant in their right mind would buy it. They’d report you. Maybe even collect a bounty.

You swallow thickly, pushing those thoughts down like bile, trying to calm your trembling hands as you pull the dress over your body. The velvet clings in all the wrong ways—too soft, too exposed, too not you. But you lace it tight. Stand tall. If you’re going to run, you need to look like you belong.

There’s a knock at the door. You turn sharply, startled, heart skipping. Then you hear it. His voice.

“Ready?”

You open the door. And there he is.

Captain Eddie Munson—Blue Terror—in full form. But this time, he’s not the shadow leaning over a map. He’s not the voice in the dark, or the hand on your neck. He’s myth, legend, and man all at once.

His dark hair falls in wild waves past his shoulders, some strands intricately braided with thin chains and beads that glint like sea glass. A black bandana is tied tightly across his forehead, and atop it, a weather-worn leather tricorn hat casts a rakish shadow across his features. One eye—the good one—is lined with kohl, intense and unreadable. The other is hidden behind a black eye patch, making him look even more dangerous. More untouchable.

He wears a white silk shirt, so bright it almost glows, the first few buttons undone to reveal a constellation of old scars across his chest—faded and brutal. Around his neck, silver chains and sharp-toothed pendants jingle softly when he moves. His black leather trousers are tight, slung low on his hips, and his boots are worn, but polished. Every step he takes is like thunder wrapped in silk.

And the rings—God, the rings—they flash when his fingers move. One bears a serpent. One, a skull. One, a sapphire as deep as his gaze.

He looks you up and down slowly, appraising, not like a man studying a prisoner… but like a king admiring his most precious weapon.

“You wear it well,” he says, voice dipped in smoke. “Let’s make them stare.”

The dock is alive with noise—ropes tightening, sails flapping, wood creaking, seagulls screaming. The moment your booted foot touches the ground, you feel it—stillness. No more rocking beneath your legs. Just solid, unmoving earth.

You almost stumble from the sudden change.

Eddie chuckles beside you. “Feels strange, doesn’t it?”

You don’t answer.

Your eyes scan the crowd. Merchants. Townsfolk. Sailors. Guards. You catalogue faces. Alleyways. Escape routes. Possibilities. Could you disappear here?

He leads you through streets and shadowed alleys until you reach a weathered inn. Its sign creaks above the doorway, half-hanging by rusted chains. Music filters through the wooden walls—lively, off-key, accompanied by the rhythmic pounding of boots against floorboards and the clink of mugs.

But the moment Eddie opens the door and steps inside with you at his side, everything stops.

The music falters.

Conversations die mid-sentence.

Every head turns toward you.

And then the whispers start.

“Blue Terror…”

“Munson.”

“Gods be good—it’s him.”

Eddie smiles like he owns the silence. Like it bends for him.

And maybe it does.

He places a hand lightly on the small of your back and leans in, voice low against your ear.

“Welcome to Crowhaven.”

As you step further into the inn, the initial hush begins to fade, replaced once again by the warm swell of life. Wooden mugs clink against battered tables, laughter erupts in pockets, and the music—faster now, wilder—spills from the corner where a ragged group of musicians plays a furious tune.

It’s something rooted in old lands and older hearts—fiddles slicing sharp through the smoke-thick air, bodhráns pounding like war drums beneath them, a wooden flute dancing somewhere high above it all. Irish, you think. The rhythm of fire and footfall. Of sea spray and spilled ale.

You feel eyes still trailing after you, some curious, some lecherous, some wary—but you’re not sure if they follow you or the man beside you.

Captain Eddie Munson draws every gaze.

He doesn’t seem to notice. Or maybe he just doesn’t care. He walks like a man who owns the floor, the air, the tension between each heartbeat.

He returns to your side with two mugs, frothy and thick. The scent of licorice and dark herbs rises from the surface—licorice beer. You take it with both hands, unsure whether to sip or throw it back like medicine. Eddie watches you over the rim of his own cup, smiling slightly, as if amused by your hesitation.

“Strong,” he warns.

“Everything with you is,” you mutter under your breath.

He laughs softly. Then, without a word, he reaches out and takes your hand.

You startle.

“What are you—”

He jerks his chin toward the center of the room where the space between tables has become an impromptu dancefloor. “Come on.”

“No—I don’t—I don’t know how to dance.”

“You don’t need to,” he says. “Just listen.”

And then he pulls you in.

You're suddenly among the swirl of bodies, of boots stomping and skirts spinning. The music coils around you, fast and urgent, and for a second, you can’t breathe.

Eddie’s hand slips around your waist, firm and unapologetic. His other hand wraps around your fingers, grounding you.

“Feel the rhythm,” he says, his lips close to your ear. “Let it drown out everything else.”

You want to protest, but your feet are already moving—awkward, hesitant steps that somehow fall into sync with his. He guides you with ease, like he’s done this a thousand times. His fingers press into your waist, not harsh, but commanding, pulling you closer as the music rises.

He spins you.

The room blurs.

You stumble, laugh, catch yourself on his chest—and he catches you like it’s nothing.

“See?” he grins. “Told you.”

You shake your head, breathless. “I still don’t know what I’m doing.”

“You’re dancing,” he says simply. “That’s all that matters.”

Then his arm tightens. You’re lifted—effortlessly, like you weigh nothing. For a moment you’re in the air, skirt billowing, hair loose and flying, your heartbeat louder than the music itself. He lowers you gently, but with a wild grin and a glint in his eye that makes your skin tingle.

He twirls you again, twice this time, until your body forgets to resist. And suddenly you're laughing—actually laughing—not because anything is funny, but because your body is alive. Because for the first time in weeks, you aren’t just surviving.

Eddie watches you with something close to awe. His good eye sharp, burning, like he’s trying to memorize your joy. And when the music slows just slightly, he draws you in—closer than before. You feel his breath against your cheek. You feel every inch of him, the warmth of his chest, the coarse fabric of his shirt, the chain around his neck brushing against your collarbone.

You don’t dare look up.

Because you’re not sure what you’ll do if you see him looking back.

But you feel it—the shift. Something between you flickering in the candlelight. No longer prisoner and captor. No longer pirate and pawn.

Everything else melts away the moment your eyes meet his. The music, the noise, the flickering candlelight, even the trembling of your own body—all of it dissolves, slipping into the background like a dying echo. There’s only him now. The way he looks at you like you’re the only soul in this damned place that still has a heartbeat. His gaze pins you in place, sharp and raw and hungry, like a flame curling around paper, waiting for permission to burn.

Your chest rises in shallow, unsure breaths, your pulse pounding in your ears so loudly you can barely hear yourself think. You’re afraid—and not of him, not really—but of what’s about to happen. Of how badly you want it to.

He leans in slowly, like a wave drawing back before it crashes. His hand slides from your waist to your jaw, rough fingertips ghosting over your skin with a reverence that contradicts the chaos of who he is. His thumb brushes your lower lip, and your breath hitches—then, without a word, his mouth meets yours.

It starts gentle, almost careful, as if he’s afraid you’ll break. But then your lips part—whether from instinct or desperation, you don’t know—and that’s all it takes. His hand grips the back of your neck, pulling you deeper into him, and suddenly the kiss turns molten. Urgent. Starved. His lips move against yours like they’re trying to memorize the shape of your breath, the taste of your name, the sound of your soul cracking open. He kisses you like he’s drowning and you’re the only thing that’s ever felt like air.

Your hands fist in the fabric of his shirt as he presses closer, chest to chest, hip to hip, the warmth of his body searing through the layers between you. His other hand curls around your waist, pulling you flush against him with a growl so low and raw you feel it in your spine. There’s nothing delicate left in it now—only teeth and tongues and the heat of something too big, too wild to control.

He tilts his head and deepens the kiss, biting down gently on your lower lip before soothing it with the slow drag of his mouth. The sensation shoots straight through you, every nerve ending awake and electric. His kisses are not just passionate—they're devastating, filled with something darker, something that feels like possession and longing and fury tangled into one.

And when he pulls back, just for a breath, his forehead rests against yours, and you realize your legs are shaking. His thumb strokes your cheek like he’s trying to anchor you there, keep you from floating away.

“You taste like fire,” he murmurs against your lips, voice hoarse and almost reverent.

And then he kisses you again—harder this time. Hungrier.

Like he doesn’t care who’s watching.

Like he’s waited a lifetime for this.

Like he’ll burn the whole world down if you ever pull away.

He pulls back just long enough to whisper against your lips, “Come with me.”

You stumble into the inn room, your bodies tangled together as they make their way towards the bed. Eddie doesn't bother to stop kissing you even as he strips off his shirt and tosses it aside. His fingers deftly work open your buttons, revealing skin that's already flushed from desire.

As you fall onto the mattress, Eddie rolls you over so he can pin you beneath him. His hips grind against yours in a slow circle, building pressure and tension until you feel like you're going to combust from need.

"You're so beautiful when you're angry," he growls into your ear before nipping at your lobe with his teeth.

Eddie's fingers dig into your skin as he kisses his way down your back, leaving a trail of gentle bites and nips in wake. He starts at the base of your neck, working his way down to the curve of your spine, where he pauses to drop tiny kisses on either side of the vertebrae.

As he reaches the small of your back, his hands slide around to cup your buttocks, squeezing gently before releasing. He gives them a few soft slaps, making you jump with surprise.

He then wraps his arms around you waist and pulls you close, dipping low enough that you feel like you're being pulled over him rather than up against him. As you settle into this position, Eddie drops to one knee behind you and begins to kiss along the crease where thigh meets buttock.

The sensation is almost too much for you can't help but feel overwhelmed by the intensity of Eddie's touch. You're acutely aware of every movement he makes - every brush of lips against skin or stroke of hand through hair - and it leaves you feeling breathless and wanting more.

Eddie continues to kiss and nuzzle his way along your backside, his fingers digging gently into the flesh as he explores every inch of you. You can feel him trembling with desire, his body straining against yours in a way that makes you feel like you're being consumed by him.

As he reaches the base of your spine once more, Eddie pauses for a moment before dipping low enough to claim your ass with his mouth. The sensation is electric - it's like nothing you've ever experienced before - and it leaves you feeling helpless but for one thing: wanting more.

As Eddie's tongue dips into the crease of your buttocks, you can't help but feel a shiver run down your spine. He's teasing you, drawing out the anticipation before finally giving in to his desires. You feel his warm breath on your skin as he pauses for a moment, savoring the sensation of being so close to you.

Then, without warning, he dives in with gusto. His tongue is like a flame that sets fire to every nerve ending it touches. It's slow and deliberate at first, tracing the curves of your ass and then dipping lower to explore the tender flesh between your folds. You can feel him licking up every drop of moisture that gathers there, his tongue darting back and forth with an intensity that leaves you gasping for air.

As he continues to eat at you like a starving man at a feast, you start to bend forward slightly, trying to give him better access. Your body is responding instinctively now - it knows exactly what Eddie wants from it - and before long you're practically folded in half over his head.

Eddie takes full advantage of this new position, his tongue and lips working in tandem to drive you wild. He's eating at you like a man possessed, his movements rough and primal as he tries to consume every last drop of your desire. You can feel him trembling with need, his body straining against yours as he tries to get closer.

As the sensations build inside you, you start to feel like you're going to explode from the sheer intensity of it all. Eddie's mouth is everywhere - on your ass, between your cheeks, even dipping down into the crease where thigh meets buttock, on your pussy, in your pussy - and yet somehow it still feels like there's more than just this one spot that needs attention.

You try to push back against him, trying to give him better access or maybe just trying to slow things down a little bit. But Eddie won't be deterred - he's too far gone now for anything but pure unadulterated pleasure. He keeps licking and sucking at you until finally - oh so sweetly - he gives in and lets out a low groan of satisfaction.

Eddie's hands wrap around your waist, pulling you back onto the bed, rolls you over as he climbs on top of you. He claims your neck with a firm bite, his teeth sinking deep into the tender skin before releasing with a soft pop.

As he lowers himself down, his eyes lock onto yours with an intensity that makes your breath catch in your throat. His fingers brush against the delicate chain around your neck, and for a moment it seems like he's going to rip it off again. But instead, he simply wraps his hand around it once more and gives it a gentle tug before moving lower.

His fingers dance across the fabric of his pants, slowly undoing the belt and revealing inches of thick, veined cock beneath. The sight is almost too much to take in - Eddie's body is honed from years of hard work and dedication to fitness, but there's something primal about this moment that makes you feel like you're staring at something truly wild.

He doesn't bother with finesse or subtlety as he pulls out his cock and holds it up like a trophy. It's long and thick and pulsing with desire, and for a moment you can't help but feel like you're staring at something truly magnificent.

Eddie's eyes never leave yours as he moves back up the bed, his cock bobbing gently in the air. He dips down to claim your breasts, his mouth closing around them with a soft suction that makes you shiver.

He teases out each nipple in turn, rolling them between his fingers before pinching them hard enough to make you gasp. His tongue darts out to lick away any tears or whimpers that might escape your lips, leaving behind a trail of saliva and need.

As he continues to feast on your breasts, Eddie's hands move lower still. He cups your belly button with one hand while using the other to massage your thighs. The sensation is almost too much - it's like being wrapped in a warm blanket on a cold winter night.

He just keeps going down.

Eddie's tongue darts in and out of your pussy like a snake slithering through the grass, leaving a trail of wetness and desire in its wake. He sucks gently at first, his mouth closing around your folds like a warm hug on a cold day. But as he continues to feast on your sweetness, his suction grows stronger, pulling harder and harder until you can feel herself getting closer and closer to the edge.

His fingers join the party soon after, slipping inside you with ease as if they've been there before. They dance against the walls of your channel, rubbing against that sensitive spot deep within that makes your shiver with pleasure. The pressure builds and builds until you're sure you'll burst apart at any moment.

But Eddie isn't done yet. Oh no, he's just getting started. He runs his tongue around your clit in slow circles, each pass sending shockwaves through your body like an electric current coursing through wires. "You taste so good I needed to taste you again" becomes "I'm going to eat your pussy all day long" as he laps at you with reckless abandon.

He's a master of the tongue, using every trick in the book to drive you wild. He flicks it against your G-spot, then darts it back and forth across your clit like a madman. The sounds you make are music to his ears - moans, gasps, and pleas for more all blend together into a symphony of desire.

As he continues to ravage your pussy with his mouth and fingers, Eddie can feel himself getting harder by the second. His cock is throbbing with need now, begging him to take things further. But for now, he's content to just keep eating away at this sweet little treat until you come screaming his name…

Eddie's eyes never leave yours as he positions himself between your legs, his cock throbbing with anticipation. He takes a moment to tease you, rubbing the head of his dick against your pussy lips before finally sinking inside. The sound that escapes yours is music to his ears - a low moan of pleasure and need.

He begins to move slowly at first, each stroke deliberate and calculated to drive you wild. His hips flex and twist as he pounds into you, the friction building until you're gasping for air. Eddie can feel himself getting lost in the sensation, his own pleasure growing with every passing second.

As they settle into a rhythm, Eddie starts to pick up speed. His strokes become harder and faster, sending waves of ecstasy crashing through their bodies like tsunamis on shore. You wrap herself around him like a vice, holding him close as he buries himself deep within you again and again.

The room around them fades away - all that exists is this primal connection between two people consumed by desire. Sweat drips from your faces as you writhe together on the bed, your bodies moving in perfect sync. Eddie can feel himself getting closer and closer to the edge, his orgasm building like a storm on the horizon.

Eddie's powerful strokes drive deeper into you, his cock a piston pumping in and out of your pussy with reckless abandon. Your legs wrap around him like a vice again, holding him close as he buries himself to the hilt within you. The sound of your bodies slapping together is like thunder on a summer day, growing louder and more intense with every passing moment.

Eddie's hips flex and twist, his body undulating like a snake as he pounds into you. His balls slap against your hips with each stroke, the sensation sending shivers down his spine.

And then it hits - a wave of pleasure so intense it threatens to consume him whole. His vision blurs and his senses fade away as he comes hard inside you. The feeling is almost too much to bear - it's like being electrocuted by pure bliss.

He holds still for an instant, savoring the sensation before slowly withdrawing from your warm embrace. As he pulls free from between your legs, a stream of cum erupts from the tip of his cock, shooting high into the air like a fountain. It lands with a soft splat on your belly, leaving behind a trail of creamy white goodness.

Eddie's eyes never leave yours as he gazes down at you, his chest heaving with exertion. He can feel himself getting softer by the second, but his gaze remains locked on yours - it's like they're connected by some unseen force. For an instant, time stands still as they simply look at each other…

It doesn't take long for Eddie to fall asleep, his arms wrapped around your waist, his warm breath on the back of your neck. He's probably at his most vulnerable right now, and so are you. You have one chance to seize this opportunity, maybe you can take the dagger from his pants pocket on the floor and plunge it right through his heart, or you can quietly slip out of this room and disappear as quickly as possible, before he wakes up.

And maybe you'll just stay there, in his arms.

Will you make your own destiny, or will you stay where fate has brought you? dividers: @/thecutestgrotto

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theplaceyoustillrememberdreaming · 1 month ago

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Nicole Reads A Lot of Fanfiction (and she's gonna share it with you): Week 17/18/19

Week [1] [2] [3] [4/5/6] [7] [8] [9] [10/11] [12/13] [14] [15] [16]

I swore I was never going to get 3 weeks behind again and yet..

So apologies to the authors that this rec list looks a little different and does not include the summary of the work. I feared this post would get to the length of Do You Like The Colour of The Sky if I included them all.

Happy Night Before the 9-1-1 Season 8 Finale to those who celebrate and uh.. Tyler Hoechlin was just on Inside of You (Michael Rosenbaum's Podcast) for the Sterek people. He did say he'd come back and do another Teen Wolf Movie [does he remember Derek is dead..] ANYWAY.

Sterek: 9 Buddie: 20

You would kill for this, just a little bit, you would by alice9 (2023•NR•38.8K•Kid Fic)

Operation Girl Scout Cookies by katsu_kiri | @katsu-kiri (2017•E•18.7K•ABO) [Reread!]

Like Clockwork by quackquackcey | @quackquackcey (2023•E•6.1K•ABO)

An Understanding Passed In Silence by cjr | @whowhatwhenwhereandwhynot (2015•GA•4.4K)

So Shed Your Skin and Lets Get Started by halfhardtorock (2014•E•21.8K•Mates & High School) [Reread!]

You Don't See Straight by annber (attolians) (2012•E•174.9K•Non-Con) [Reread!]

Don't Savage The Messenger by exclamation | @adventures-in-a-world-of-fiction (2015•E•172.3K) [Reread!]

Cloaked in Gold by kaistrex (weishen) | @kaistrex (2021•E•57.8K)

the shortest distance between two points (is the line from me to you) by decideophobia | @infernaleikon (2013•E•23.7K)

With your hand to hold by strayskind (2025•GA•12.1K•ABO)

your face has faded but lingers on by Daisies_and_Briars | @cal-daisies-and-briars (2025•M•16.5K)

a spreading heat by Tizniz | @tizniz (2025•M•1.2K•Werewolf!Eddie)

Cool and Chill Things to Say to Your Best Friend Who You’ve Accidentally Been Having Phone Sex With When You Pick Him Up at the Airport by hwaelweg | @the-hwaelweg (2025•M•5.9K)

implosion by Tizniz | @tizniz (2025•GA•1.5K)

I don’t know anything, but I know I miss you by daffodilsonaprettystring | @daffodilsonaprettystring (2025•T•9.6K)

can′t leave me alone by 42hrb | @exhuastedpigeon (2025•E•3.3K)

castle me by meriwethersays | @meriwetherwrites (2025•E•4.1K)

if i could hold you for a minute, darling by ipretendtobesane | @2x01diaz (2025•E•9.0K)

by act of grace by heartbeatdiaz | @lonelychicago (2025•T•3.7K•Fix It Fic)

Where We Belong by carpediaz | @sofa-king-lame (2025•E•34.8K•Hairdresser!Buck)

in golden wednesdays (i see ocean blue eyes) by bibuckdiaz (2025•T•12.5K•Veterinarian!Eddie)

to have and to hold (platonically and heterosexually) by teenytinytomlinson | @littlefreakbuckley (2025•E•21.2K•Marriage of Convenience and Idiots❤️)

lightning has no mercy by Tizniz | @tizniz (2025•GA•2.1K)

hold open the door by jaekyu (2025•E•17.0K•Necromancer!Eddie)

cherry top's by brewrosemilk | @gayhoediaz (2025•E•6.3K•Phone Sex)

this must be the place by becausebuckley | @becausebuckley (2025•T•10.0K)

The History of Cinnamon Sorrow by ElvenSorceress | @elvensorceress (2025•E•127.2K)

my place, my peace by buckleydefender | @buckleyflower (2025•GA•8.3K•TikToker!Buck)

Chartreuse Marriage by rainbowninja167 | @rainbowtitania (2025•GA•2.6K•Marriage of Convenience and Idiots❤️)

#Sterek #Buddie #evan buckey x eddie diaz #derek hale x stiles stilinski #2025 Fic Rec List #Buddie Fic Rec #Sterek Fic Rec

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just-my-latest-hyperfixation · 10 months ago

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Taking me higher

Written for @steddiesmuttyseptember, week 1

Prompts: mile high club & service dom

Rated: E

Words: 1,232

Tags: Dom!Steve; Sub!Eddie; Fear of flying; Airplane sex; Semi-public sex

Before today, if anyone had asked Eddie what hell looked like, the answer would've come easy. Hell was a blood red sky, parched earth covered in vines, and monstrous creatures with flower-shaped maws prowling the decaying landscape. Obvious, right?

Wrong.

Hell is a two-hundred-ton sardine can, shooting through the sky at five-hundred miles an hour, the ocean stretching forty-thousand feet below. No, scratch that, thirty-nine-thousand-nine-hundred-and-ninety-nine feet, because the goddamn thing just hit another air hole.

“Eddie?”

Next to him, Steve stirs. He looks infuriatingly at ease with his sleep mask pushed up into his hair and his neck pillow and the little fleece blanket with the airline’s logo on it. When he takes in the way Eddie’s fingers are white-knuckling their shared armrest, his brow furrows in concern.

“Hey, everything okay?”

“Fine,” Eddie grits out. “Peachy, don't you worry about- shit, what was that?”

“Turbulences,” Steve shrugs. Like it's fine. Like it's not a big deal. Like they aren't locked in a steel and glass deathtrap moving faster and higher than anything has a right to. “It’s okay, they haven't even switched on the seatbelt signs.”

“Okay, great,” Eddie babbles. “Perfect, I just- … shit, I didn't think it'd rattle so fucking much.”

“It gets a bit bumpy sometimes,” Steve's hand finds his, prying Eddie’s fingers from the armrest, ghosting soothing touches over his knuckles. “Just relax. Think of them as potholes.”

“Potholes, right,” Eddie mumbles. “Brilliant comparison, Stevie, so helpful. You know what, if the potholes weren't ten fucking miles deep, that might actually-”

“Baby.”

Eddie barrels to a stop. For a second, he's convinced he must've heard wrong, because why would Steve call him that now? Steve only ever calls him that when they're playing, and there's no way-

“You with me, baby?”

Steve’s voice has dropped to a low rumble, and fuck, all the training they've done must've finally stuck, because the answer is out before he even knows it.

“Yes, sir.”

Steve smiles, slow and pleased. His hand shifts to Eddie’s upper thigh. “There's my good boy.”

And yeah, the training clearly stuck way better than Eddie is comfortable admitting, because the words go straight to his dick. Steve’s hand moves, brushing the shape of him through the fabric of his pants. Eddie gasps and squirms, and that smile goes smug.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Eddie hisses. He cranes his neck, casting frantic glances at the other passengers, but most of them are asleep in their seats. At the far end of the aisle, two stewardesses are talking and giggling at each other in hushed voices.

“Shhhh,” Steve says. He cups Eddie’s cock in his palm, a firm and solid pressure. “They haven't noticed. You don't want that to change, do you?”

“I- … no,” Eddie stammers. Steve’s grip tightens. “I mean … no, sir.”

“That's what I thought,” Steve smiles, giving the bulge in his pants a good-natured pat. Eddie whines and rolls his hips in his seat, greedy for more friction, more pressure. Steve removes his hand.

“Oh, come on,” Eddie groans. The lady in front of him grunts and stirs in her sleep. Eddie bites down on his own tongue.

“Now, here's what we're gonna do,” Steve says, lips tickling the shell of his ear, voice trickling down his spine like honey. “You're gonna go into the bathroom and get yourself ready for me. We'll need to be quick about it, so I'll give you … let's say three minutes before I join you.”

“Wha-” Eddie wheezes. “You wanna-… Is there even room?”

Steve chuckles. “Oh, we'll manage. I’ll just need to fuck you against the wall, nice and tight, huh?”

Eddie gawks at him. Steve raises an eyebrow and checks his watch. “I’d hurry, if I were you. Your three minutes start now.”

The bathroom is ridiculously tiny. For some reason, the movements of the plane are even more noticeable here, but Eddie doesn’t have time to dwell on that. Stumbling in on jelly-like legs, he pats his pockets until he finds what he’s been hoping for - a lonely, small package of lube. Ripping it open with his teeth, he yanks his pants down all the way to his ankles. When a few, awkward twists and turns reveal that this won’t do, he chucks off his right shoe and steps out of the pant leg entirely, propping one sock-clad foot up on the toilet bowl.

He has hardly started preparing himself when the door opens behind him. For a panicked second, he’s afraid it’s a random passenger out for a midnight piss, now faced with the sight of him, two fingers knuckle-deep up his own ass. But it’s Steve.

“Oh baby, look at you,” he whispers. Eddie hears the door lock, and then one large, strong hand caresses his hip. “So desperate for me? Tell me how bad you need it.”

Steve’s hand is casual and possessive as he cups his ass, the touch of a man taking what’s his. It makes Eddie feel owned in the best possible way. A prized possession, looked after and taken care of.

“Need it so bad,” he whines, bucking back into the touch, knowing exactly what it is that Steve wants to hear. “So desperate for your cock sir, please-”

He can’t turn, not crammed together in the tiny space as they are, but he hears how Steve’s belt and zipper come undone. That large, hard cock slaps free, hitting his ass with an obscene sound.

“My poor, greedy boy,” Steve coos. “Asking for it so nicely. Of course you can have my cock, baby.”

And then, without further preamble, he pushes in, all the way to the base. He sets a quick, relentless rhythm, not bothering to ease them into it slowly, and Eddie has to grip the toilet bowl with both hands or topple. It feels like his head being filled with fuzzy cotton. It feels the ground dropping out from under him, leaving him floating on clouds, but this time, it has nothing to do with the stupid plane.

It doesn’t take long. After a few hard thrusts, Steve moans and comes, hands digging into Eddie’s hips hard enough to bruise as he spills deep inside of him. Eddie is only seconds behind him, spilling his own release all over the toilet, and Steve shoves his fingers inside his mouth to muffle his scream.

“You good, baby?”

Eddie blinks back into reality. The ground and the walls are still rattling, but it doesn’t bother him as much, now that all of his bones have been replaced with warm jelly. Steve has pulled him out of his bent-over position and up against his chest, tucked his neck into the crook of his shoulder, and is peppering kisses over the side of his face and into his hairline.

“Perfect,” Eddie slurs. “Thank you, sir. Could stay like this forever.”

Steve laughs softly. “As much as I’d like to, I think we need to get back to our seats.”

“Aw no,” Eddie pouts. “I thought everyone was asleep. Can’t we just-”

“You’re insatiable, huh?” Steve smacks a firm kiss to his cheek as he disentangles their shaky limbs, pressing a stack of paper towels into his hand as he goes. “C’mon now, be a good boy and clean yourself up. If you make it back in three minutes, I’ll consider doing this again. There’s always a return flight, y’know?” ✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️

More smutty September

#steddie #steve x eddie #steve harrington x eddie munson #steddie fanfic #steddie brainrot #fanfiction writer #fanfiction #fanfic #my writing #steddie smutty september #hype's smutty september

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scoops-aboy86 · 26 days ago

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🧜‍♂️ Delayed Inheritance, pt 2

(pt 1; also on ao3)

In which Eddie rescues a new sheepie uhhhhh guppy? 1565 words.

Eddie is not a prince; he’s just Eddie. He barely remembers his mother, wishes he didn’t remember his father, and lives in a cave with his uncle not far from the shore. The local population is a little sparse, but he has a few friends. Sometimes they get up to stupid reckless shit, and sometimes they make music that sounds like a crashing wave colliding with a rock slide. (His uncle doesn’t understand why that’s fun but Eddie thinks it’s powerful and awesome. Like a primal scream.)

But he’s alone today, the day, the most important day in his life. He doesn’t know that’s what it is at first; he’s just floating on his back out on the water, bobbing passively between the ocean swells like the lone driftwood or stray seal he knows he’d be mistaken for by anyone watching. One flick of his long, black-scaled tail and he could be gone beneath the glittering ocean’s surface in an instant.

His ears are still beneath the water, so he hears the call when it comes. The fear-call, a chirruping subvocalization that no mer can fake, that his uncle has ingrained in him to never ignore… simply by answering Eddie’s own call once, when it had mattered the most.

Eddie dips under the water without even thinking, twisting towards the noise and then barreling towards it with a powerful kick, long hair streaming behind him in the water. It’s close to the shore, too close to the shore—dangerous, if there are humans about. And sure enough, as he closes in he can hear high-pitched shrieking. Focuses to put on even more speed so that when he emerges from the shallows to the surf he explodes out of the water, snarling a warning and baring his teeth. He reaches for the other mer, who is tangled up in something—not a traditional net, Eddie notes—and isn’t all that surprised when the mer tries to thrash away. Panic will do that. But Eddie is strong enough to drag him, even with the human fluttering about and still screaming while more approach at a run in the distance, back into water deep enough to cover both their gills and hopefully that will help him calm down.

It does not.

“Let GO,” the other mer bellows in Eddie’s face while still. Fucking. Chirping. “What did you do to me?!”

“Excuse you, I fucking rescued you,” Eddie retorts. He’s starting to realize that the not-traditional-net is a lot like those fitted things that humans wear to make up for their sad lack of fins and scales. The bottom piece of it is shredded and billowing out from the mer’s waist like wide strips of kelp, but the top is wrapped constrictively around his arms and torso, which must be why his breathing is still so ragged—his gills are constricted. So Eddie grabs it and rips.

“My shirt,” the other mer yelps, but the subvocalization stops as soon as he can breathe freely again. The thrashing lessens.

Eddie finally gets a good look at him and almost lets go in shock about how drop-dead gorgeous he is. Not just his face and eyes and shoulders and short hair that looks so silky and soft in the water, swaying around his head in the tidal current, but his scales. Glossy and perfect and a burnished bronze that glows with a deep warmth in the sunny water. There are little spots of them peppered all up his chest and down his arms, even on his neck and face, which is…

Well, Eddie has never seen anything like it before. He’s speechless, mouth falling open like he’s trying to catch krill.

The other mer blinks back at him and stills, and they’re both just staring at each other. Eddie knows how he must look—hair curly and wild from his reckless swimming, eyes wide, flushed from the surprise and exertion of it all—and yet the stranger is looking him up and down, gills barely fluttering as if he’s been struck breathless.

“So merfolk are… You’re real? Not just fairy tales?”

“Uh…” Eddie looks down at his own tail as if that will make the question make more sense. “Yes? No? You do know that you are…?”

Blinking, the other mer looks down at himself. His eyes—kind of sleepy looking, and all colors of the sea and land at once—go very wide and snap back up again. “Oh. I guess this why I was never allowed to down to the beach,” he says weakly, and that jump starts Eddie’s flustered brain back into action.

“Down?” Eddie points back the way they’d just come. “That’s up, dude. Did you hit your head or something?”

In a sudden one eighty, the stranger draws himself up all stiff. “What, did it never occur to you that someone might come from there?” he sneers, and hey. Eddie’s heard that tone from just about every teacher he’s ever had, tadschool through secondary, just because at the start of it all his father had been so busy grifting that his attendance had suffered and he’s felt several knots behind ever since.

Something must show on his face, because the other mer’s expression goes from cold to distressed. Just as suddenly as he went stiff, he shakes his head as if to clear it. “Sorry—Look, no one takes me very seriously at home.”

That strikes a chord; Eddie never quite knows if most mer treat him like silt because of his father or for other, more valid reasons. Like the other day, when some asshole had set their pod of dolphins on him just because he happened to wander by the wrong coral field at the wrong time. Fuckers nearly got him too, he still has a few tears in his fins from that close call.

“I’m from the castle, up on the cliff, you know it?” Now it’s his turn to point, mimicking the way Eddie flailed his own gestures, though he drops his hand almost immediately to rake it through his pretty hair. At that sight, Eddie lets go of the last little bit of indignance that had sparked briefly in his chest. “Er… I don’t know how I got a tail… or the ability to breathe underwater… but I guess if fairy tales are real then magic is real too, so… That explains it, probably.”

And… sure. Magic probably does explain it.

“Don’t worry about it,” Eddie sighs. “I’m widely considered something of an acquired taste, myself.” He offers a flourish of his raggedy tail fins in belated greeting—nothing too formal, he’d just rescued this guy from suffocating and gotten only a bit of bitchiness for his trouble so far. “I’m Eddie.”

The stranger brightens immediately, like he’s relieved, but instead of answering in kind he holds out his hand for some reason. “Prince Stephen William Otis Harrington.”

That’s… a lot of names. Now, Eddie has only a vague awareness of the mer royal family, but he’s positive that there are no princes in it. King Triton’s only heirs are all princesses and mostly older. Meanwhile, he’s also blinking dumbly at the offered hand and trying to make sense of it. There’s something niggling at him, it’s just on the tip of his brain…

Seconds creep by and the strange mer—Stephen, apparently—looks increasingly flustered. He looks down at his own hand, then at his own tail and gives it a wiggle that doesn’t mean shit. It’s like watching a baby trying to swim for the first time, though Eddie feels kind of bad for thinking that after Stephen had apologized for… well, Eddie’s not super clear on what, to be honest, but for what felt like a mean response, anyway.

Whatever, Eddie’s already forgiven him. How could he hold a grudge against the prettiest mer he’s ever seen, the new gold standard for attractive that he’ll measure everyone he encounters for the entire rest of his life?

“… None of my etiquette tutors ever covered this,” Stephen mutters.

“Mine either,” Eddie jokes, reflexively trying to cheer him up when the pained expression looks so out of place on such a face. “Um, can I see something, though? Just real quick.”

Gently, he takes Stephen’s hand and tilts it. The action makes his wrist fully visible and Eddie can’t help but gasp when he gets a proper look at what had pinged ever so slightly in the radar of his peripheral vision.

“Oh, that’s a birthmark,” Stephen explains, like it’s nothing. “Kind of weird, huh? The way it looks like an 8?”

“That,” Eddie says, stomach sinking in dismay because of course he would meet the most gorgeous merman he’s ever seen only to realize just how out of his league Stephen is, “is a sea serpent biting its own tail. It’s on the royal crest because everyone in the family has one.” He slides his loose grip down and taps at the mark with his thumb. “See the indents there? That’s where it’s biting.” And flicks his gaze back up to meet Stephen’s captivating, baffled face. “Whatever is going on, I guess you really are a prince, big boy.”

Out of his league, out of his depth… But Eddie rescued him, so now he feels kind of responsible. They need backup here.

Eddie needs to take him to Uncle Wayne.

(pt 3, pt 4, pt 5, pt 6; also on ao3)

Tag list (ask to be added/removed): @hotluncheddie @sofadofax @sweetiepeabob @wheneverfeasible @yesdangerpls

@hiei-harringtonmunson @oatmilk-vampire @hamiltonswiftie @grtwdsmwhr @theseaofdespair

@ape31 @aceadoxography

#mer eddie munson #mer steve harrington #steddie #scoops words #eddie munson #steve harrington #prince steve harrington #steddie mermay

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mrsjellymunson · 14 days ago

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His Tears Were Aqua Like The Ocean

Written for the @corrodedcoffinfest event Somewhere Over the Rainbow | Prompt: Blue | Song: Aqua by Eurythmics | Word Count: ~1.19k | Rating: M | Characters: Eddie Munson, Steve Harrington | CW: Angst, arguing, hurt, drug use & abuse, addiction, overdose, tentative comfort, hopeful ending | Summary: Eddie & Steve go through another crisis, and Steve’s not sure whether he has it in him to deal with it this time | A/N: This is a tough one and it deals with difficult themes. I will not be offended if anyone wants to skip it. Lines from the song provided the inspiration for Steve’s dialogue.

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“Don't touch me, Eddie.”

“Steve, please...”

There’s a bite to Steve’s voice as he continues,

“Don't talk to me about it.”

Eddie reaches for him across the expanse of their shared kitchen, trying to bridge the gap, grasping for Steve’s crossed and clenched arms. But Steve's faster, and moves away before Eddie can make contact. His voice is sharper, angrier, as he repeats himself,

“I said don’t touch me!”

Eddie jerks back, acid burning his insides. The hospital has released him, but he’s not well, still shaken and bruised from the past few days. And he’s certainly not better. If this week has shown him anything, it’s that he’s far, far from anything resembling better. He feels like total shit, both physically and emotionally. Not just from what he did to himself, but what he’s put Steve through. Again.

“Steve, I—”

“No, Eddie. Don't talk to me ever again.”

Steve strides off, putting their kitchen island between them, hoping a physical barrier between him and the man he thought he loved - does love - will help him do what he needs to do next.

He takes a few long, deep, cleansing and centering breaths, the ones his yoga teacher taught him. Tries to convince himself that he’s on a higher plane, floating above this horrendous experience. He puffs out a long exhale, untangling his arms and curling his hands so his thumbs and middle fingers touch. He visibly relaxes as he hums to himself,

“I don't feel anything. All sensation is closed to me.”

Eddie watches, confused. He tries again to get through.

“Steve, please! Don’t shut me out. Please, I need to explain. Will you let me explain? I didn’t mean to hurt you, I swear. I just— I couldn’t— Please... I— I need you.”

Steve breathes again, his voice softer and more level. Eddie doesn't know whether it stirs reprieve or unease.

“I don’t know if I can, Eddie. It was worse this time. Worse than all the other times when you came home tanked, or you snorted too many lines off of some groupie’s chest. I saw you. I saw you put the needle in. It replays on a loop in my head. I can still see everything!”

He’s shaking again now, zen-like composure lost. Tears cascade freely down his reddened cheeks, and Eddie wants nothing more than to brush them away, and replace the flush with the familiar and comforting apple blossom rosiness of Steve’s happy smile.

He moves before he can stop himself, rounding the island and reaching for Steve again. But Steve pulls back, his hands balled into fists and his arms crossed out of Eddie’s reach, covering his face.

“Don't— don't touch me! Don't talk to me about it. In fact, don't talk to me ever again!”

Eddie chokes on air, recoiling as if Steve's burned him. In a way, he has. Steve blurts,

“I have to leave.”

He pushes off towards the door to get away. From their home, from Eddie, from the pain, from himself? He doesn’t know. All he knows is that the man in front of him, who’s given him more joy and more love and more adoration than anyone else he’s ever known, has also given him the most pain, the most heartache, the most gut-wrenching moments of fear and desperation. And he’s just not sure whether he can take that any more.

Eddie reaches and thrusts a wiry yet deceptively strong arm against the doorframe, stopping Steve in his tracks. He knows he shouldn’t, he wants, he needs, to respect Steve’s wishes, but he can’t help it. He yanks Steve into a vicious embrace, desperately trying to hold onto the man he loves - his stability, his good side, his better half; the one good thing in his life.

He’s expecting resistance, and braces for Steve to push him away, yell, scream, maybe even hit him. But, to his surprise, Steve grasps back. He fists his hands into Eddie’s clothing, blunt nails digging in so hard they scratch through the fabric into Eddie’s skin, his fingers clenching tight and rending the threads. It’s an embrace, but it’s not tender. It’s angry, desperate, almost violent.

He sobs into Eddie’s shirt. It's the same one he was wearing when he stumbled across Eddie slumping against the vanity in their en suite, his kit open on the floor. The same one he was wearing when the paramedics arrived. The same one he put on when he was released from the hospital, because, this time, nobody visited. Not the band, not their friends, nobody. This time, no one came to check on him, or bring him a change of clothes. The realisation of what he must've done to cut everyone this far off slices through Eddie like a glowing sword.

He holds onto Steve until his wracking sobs become quiet sniffles. Steve’s shoulders slump and he releases his grip on Eddie’s shirt, and his arms fall limply to his sides as he drops his head back, his unfocused eyes gazing up towards the ceiling. His face is purple and blotchy, his eyes are rimmed red, and he looks tired, evidence of the past few days he's spent in abject agony. Eddie releases his grip and his palms come to rest gently around his biceps as Steve mumbles, quietly, flatly,

“Just… take me to a quiet place, throw me in the water. Watch the bubbles surface as I'm slowly sinking under. Because that’s what you do to me every time you do this, Eddie. You slowly drown me.”

Eddie flings his arms around Steve again, one broad palm splayed over his back and the other cradling his head, pushing his face into his shoulder. This time it is a loving embrace, it is tender, and Eddie tries to impel all the love he has for Steve through this single gesture. Steve leans against him like a rag doll as Eddie blubbers into his hairline.

“Please don’t say that, Stevie. Please don’t ever say that again. Ever. I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. I’ll get help this time, I swear it. I never want to hurt you again, Steve. Never ever. Please believe me. I love you, Steve, I love you so much, more than anything. I’ll do whatever it takes, I promise.”

Steve's knees buckle and he slides down to the floor, Eddie joining him. They sit there for almost an hour, leaning against the cabinet doors they picked out together, alternating between silence and talking, sitting motionless and stroking, clutching at nothing and holding each other. Eventually, Steve gives Eddie an ultimatum.

“Never do that to me, Eddie, ever again. Never, ever again. The next time you want to do something like that, promise me you’ll do something for me first? Touch me. Talk to me about it. Talk to me about it over and over and over again. Walk with me, talk with me. Just… touch me. Will you do that? Please?”

Eddie blurts through snotty tears, stumbling over his words,

“I’ll do that, my love. I absolutely promise you, Steve, I will...”

💙 Thanks so much for reading! 💙

A/N: I don’t know this song well, so if there are any Eurythmics superfans out there who I’ve somehow mortally offended please don’t hate me forever!

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General taglist (open): @joejoequinnquinn @jamdoughnutmagician @guiltyasquinn @madaboutmunson @airen256 @sunshinepeachx @the-unforgivenn @skrzydlak @comeonatmebruh @jamiecb66 @80s-addict @abellmunsonmovie @definitionwanderlust @sheneedsrocknroll92 @munson-blurbs @wonderlanddreamer @daisy-munson @maedesculpaeusoubi @kurdtbean @mediocredreams @in2tswft @micheledawn1975 @littlebebebunny @12thatsanumber @alastorssimp @the-baby-angel @eddie-is-a-god @wolfqueenxxx @losingmygrasponreality @richter-raccoon @1deverland @evileyeandthecattywhumps @3rd-conchord @bellalillyrose @katethetank @justalotoffanfiction

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tinytalkingtina · 1 month ago

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Songs of the Heart

Rated E | 5.1k words | Ao3 link

Fulfills the "followed", "wounded", "lair", and "whump" Mermay Bingo fills for @stmonstercalendar

Summary:

When Captain Harrington's crew mutinied against him, they took everything and left him to drown in the uncaring ocean. But a curious merman has other plans for the beautiful "star-skinned human" he stumbled across.

Tags: Steddie, Pirate Steve, Pirate Billy, Mermaid Eddie, non-con touching (Steve/Billy), public humiliation/nudity, threats of rape/non-con, blood and violence, whipping, hurt Steve, hurt/comfort, healing, singing, magic, rescue, mildly dubious consent that turns into full consent (Steddie), confident Steve, hand jobs, courting rituals, weird biology, hand jobs, mating rituals, happy ending, alternating POVs

Please mind the tags. The unwanted sexual touching happens at the beginning of the story and could fall under the rape/non-con warning to some degree. If you want to avoid that described in detail skip from "are you happy now?" to "what, you want me to beg for my life?"

Entire story, author's notes, and bingo card are under the cut!

Steve

In the end, Billy didn't even let Steve have his dignity.

It wasn't enough to steal away his crew, his ship, his title as commander of their small fleet. No, Steve’s former second mate turned mutineer made sure he’d be forced to take every possible humiliation during his fall from grace.

Billy grinned as he stroked the cords of the cat, stolen captain’s hat perched high on those golden curls he was so damn proud of.

“You know boys, we really can’t afford to waste a good set of clothes. Take it all. Not like he’ll need it where he’s going.”

Steve got in as many punches and kicks as he could, but he was no match for the entire crew when they ganged up against him.

A dozen groping pairs of hands pulled off everything, even his smalls, leaving him bare and exposed on the deck. Tommy and Jason’s fingers felt like red-hot irons on his arms holding him upright.

“Are you happy now?” he spat out towards Billy.

The new captain gave Steve a once-over, from the top of his hair to the tips of his toes. Despite the warm sun beating down, he had to suppress a shiver.

“Oh, like you cannot possibly imagine, Captain. I used to look up to you, you know? Couldn’t wait to join Harrington’s legendary crew. But this past year’s been nothing but disappointment after disappointment. Who knew, the great King of the Sea turned bitch. Honestly it’s a pity how you managed to bury your head in the sand while I turned your crew against you. Practically rolled belly up and let me take over. But then, you never did learn to plant your feet while fighting, did you.”

Billy used the cat’s handle to lift Steve’s cock, lazily inspecting it for a long minute. It took all of his willpower not to squirm when he slid the handle down further to tap at his balls.

The attention, unwanted as it was, cut through the adrenaline and fear wracking his body. A flush grew hot on his cheeks, one he was helpless to resist. Billy’s grin turned sharp and feral as he watched Steve’s cock thicken.

“Then again, maybe you don’t need to die today. Pretty boy like you, shame to waste such a nice pair of holes.” Tommy sniggered at that, the asshole. “We could see just how loud you can squeal.”

“What, you want me to beg for my life? Fuck you Billy.” Steve spit for real this time. White-hot satisfaction surged in him as his spittle hit the mutineer square in the eye.

The satisfaction didn’t last for long though. Quick as a snake, Billy’s fist grabbed his hair and held him still with a knife at his throat. Steve squeezed his eyes shut and prepared for the end.

“You think you deserve a quick death after that?” Billy’s voice growled in his ear. “We’re not done, not even close. Go on, hump the gunner’s daughter while you take it.” Rough hands shoved him over a cannon. The cat’s tails swished through the air.

And then, Steve knew nothing but pain.

He lost count of how many lashes Billy made him suffer. On his back, his buttocks, his thighs, even the soles of his feet. Steve’s throat had gone raw from screams ripped out of him along with his flesh, robbing him of even his voice in the end. Underneath the cannon, he slipped and scrabbled for purchase on the planks made slick with his own blood.

At long last, the whipping stopped. Over the ringing in his ears, he couldn’t make out whatever final taunt Billy left him with while he tied his hands and legs, before shoving him unceremoniously overboard.

The shock of salt water sending thousands of stabbing needles of pain into his wounds stole what little air Steve had managed to take into his lungs before the plunge.

It was too much.

A warm pair of hands encircled his chest. Delirious, Steve leaned into the embrace, as darkness closed in.

At least his final memory would be of a soft touch.

Eddie

Eddie never meant to stray so far from his pod, from the lagoon and reefs that kept them safe from predators both two legged and finned. But a ship on the horizon meant humans. Humans who could produce more of their wondrous music.

By all accounts, he should have hated the noises that humans made, when it lacked all of the complexity of mersong. They couldn't even make more than one note with their voices at a time, much less infuse it with any magic.

And yet, something about it captivated him. Once, he’d seen a human play a stringed instrument so quickly their fingers blurred, and Eddie had fallen in love, mimicking the melody over and over until he could recreate it and keep it for himself.

So when the largest ship he’d ever seen came into view, its sails billowing in the wind like they were clouds themselves, he knew he had to journey towards it.

Eddie followed from a distance for a while, but heard no music. Swimming closer, he heard shouts and laughter. He let out curiosity-song with a huff, wanting to know what the humans on this large ship could possibly be doing if it wasn’t playing music.

His hatch-father would have told him to leave, not stick his fins in their business. That the open ocean held nothing but trouble, and to stay within the reefs that surrounded the pod’s lagoon. Where it was safe. But Eddie had never been anything but a little reckless, and this time he’d be careful. What happened last time wouldn’t happen again.

Hauling himself out of the water was no easy feat, but he worked out a way to stick his claws into the damp wood to gain enough leverage. Eddie clambered into a swinging smaller ship hanging off the side, grateful for once that his scales were deep-sea dark. Sure, his pod may view them with superstitious concern, but unlike their bright flashy fins, his scales did allow him to hide away unnoticed in the shadows.

Peeking over the edge, he saw humans all gathered together on the other side of the ship.

One human in the center seemed to hold all of the others’ attentions. Even if it was carried by dull human voices, Eddie could still hear the excitement thrumming through the air as the others stepped forward and began to remove its brown and white outer layers.

Aha, so those coverings weren’t a part of human bodies, he’d told Dustin they couldn’t possibly be fins. Eddie hummed of satisfaction. Maybe this would get rid of that know-it all attitude the fry was so fond of adopting lately.

Once the final coverings were gone, Eddie couldn’t help but stare more. This human was a male probably if the claspers jutting out from his body were anything to go by. Eddie frowned at that. Why would humans leave theirs out at all times? That was just asking for something to come up and nibble on vulnerable dangling bits.

Still the weird claspers weren’t what held his fascination.

The skin on one of his podmate’s would speckle if she sunbathed on the rocks for too long, and next to the bare one, he could spy a human with the same type of patterning. But Eddie had never seen anything like those large brown dots that marked this human all over. They were beautiful, each one a different star on his skin. He quietly hummed wonder-song, fins flaring out as he gazed at those constellations.

A human with golden hair and a large crest on top of their head stepped forward. Eddie didn’t like the look on their face: cold and cunning like a predator. Golden Hair even acted like a predator, touching the bare star-skinned human all over without hesitation, even on his claspers.

He watched, humming to fascination as the claspers swelled and grew in size under Golden Hair’s hands. Maybe this was all a human mating ritual.

Star-Skin rejected the mating offer though. With a cry, he squirted water into Golden Hair’s face.

Before Eddie could blink, the star-skinned human was pressed against a metallic object. With a growl, Golden Hair raised something in their hands and brought it down against Star-Skin’s back.

Eddie’s fins flattened in distress from the sounds of pain that followed. Golden Hair was merciless, cutting across those beautiful starmaps and drawing blood over and over again before they were satisfied.

Eventually, the star-skinned human was bound and dumped off the ship, landing in the water with a loud splash.

No one noticed a twin splash from the other side of the ship.

A trail of blood, dark and metallic, was left in his wake as Star-Skin sank. The human was writhing in pain, air bubbles leaking out of his mouth. Eddie hissed of displeasure. How dare Golden Hair leave such a beautiful treasure to die like that!

He darted over, shooing away a couple curious sharks that had already gathered. Seizing the human in his arms, Eddie swam the two of them back to the surface as far away from the ship as he could go. When they breached the surface, he turned to see if Star-Skin was still breathing. Eddie sang relief-song to find him drawing breath, even if his eyes were closed now.

The journey back to his pod and their lagoon took him nearly three times as long as it should have. Unable to swim quickly with such a large deadweight, he went through several configurations before hissing angrily at the ropes around his human’s hands and legs. One swipe of his claws tore through them, letting him settle the two of them into a side hold position above the surface. Occasionally, Eddie stuck his head back down to screech out a warning to any fish aiming for a free meal. He’d worked way too hard for more of Star-Skin’s body to be hurt; this human was his.

At last, the two of them made it to the cave where Eddie often came when he wanted to be alone, the only ocean-side entrance big enough for anything larger than a crab naturally barricaded against nosy podmates by a length of sand bar. In the center was a small tidal pool that shimmered with motes of light peeking through from the ceiling as he heaved his newfound human into it.

Eddie carefully set Star-Skin down so that his face remained above water, then got to work covering those awful wounds with seaweed. All the while, he sang of healing-song, trying to imbue as much protection as he could into his human’s body. There wasn’t much he could do for a scar that circled around Star-Skin’s neck, it was too old. But for those newly gotten, Eddie’s magic would guide his human back towards health.

Throughout it all, Star-Skin remained fast asleep. Eddie’s fins flared with pride to see that his human’s face had calmed, and his awful keening whimpers of pain grew fewer and fewer as time went on.

His human’s wounds tended to, Eddie allowed himself a moment to stare again.

The sun’s late afternoon rays poked in through holes in the cave’s ceiling, lighting Star-Skin’s face up with a warm glow.

Eddie swam as close as possible, practically climbing on top of his human to get a closer look. Star-Skin was so pretty , flushed with red all over. Poking a claw into his pink lips, Eddie was delighted to discover humans had both flat and pointy teeth. He ran his other claw through the human’s hair. Out of the water, it flopped over his eyes instead of floating around like a cloud, but it was soft and fine under his fingertips. And he had that fine hair everywhere, even on his chest and belly. Eddie hummed fascination. Giving it a tug, he also poked at the two pink nipples sitting in the middle of it all. Much like his clasper had, Star-Skin’s nubs grew harder the longer Eddie prodded.

A twitch against his tail brought his attention further down.

This close, Eddie could now see the human had only one clasper sitting on top of two round squishy sacs. On their journey back to the lagoon, the swelling had gone down to leave it small and shriveled in the water.

But now, he watched as it slowly began to fill out again.

His fins flattened against his body as Eddie hesitated. Would Star-Skin accept a mating offer so soon? But, then, Golden Hair had immediately brought out his claws when rejected. He wouldn’t do that to his human. He’d make him feel good. Eddie would prove what a proper mate should do for someone so special.

His mind made up, Eddie gave into curiosity and gave a small tug on the sacs underneath. His human squirmed slightly underneath him and his clasper gave another twitch. Emboldened, Eddie tugged a little harder. With his other hand, he ran the back of his claws up and down the shaft. Before his eyes, he watched as Star-Skin’s clasper grew larger and larger, until it pointed straight out. A shiny red tip emerged from a flap of skin, dripping small amounts of something slippery over Eddie’s hand.

Humming of curiosity-song even louder, Eddie licked at the substance. Bitter salt flooded his mouth. The taste was...odd. He went back and forth on whether he liked it or not as he continued to play with Star-Skin’s clasper.

A moan left his human’s lips. Oh, what a lovely sound! Eddie hummed back in harmony and kept up his movements, right up until Star-Skin gave a large shudder and opened his eyes.

Eddie shifted to pleasure-song. Even his human’s eyes were pretty. He could see flecks of gold and green in among the brown.

For a moment all was well. Star-Skin made no move to squirt water at him. But then:

“Wh-what are you doing?”

Steve

In the darkness, Steve floated. Bobbing up and down with the current of the water, he didn’t need to swim; something solid and cool held him aloft. Time passed, lost to the haze of discomfort. Better to sink into this in between space than face that for now.

In the void, music reached his ears: someone was singing to him, sweet and low. Each note gently burst against his consciousness, sending relaxation down his spine and banishing his pain.

Eventually, he became aware of the touch of another. Steve couldn’t help leaning into the caresses. It had been so long since anyone had treated him gently. He hadn’t let anyone in since Nancy. And after leaving everything behind for the sea, he couldn’t afford to seem weak in front of his crew.

His crew…

Steve’s mind skittered away from his last moments on his ship. The here and now by comparison was leagues ahead of anything Billy had inflicted upon him. No, better to focus on following this swell to its peak, to—

He opened his eyes to find a monster smiling down upon him.

Steve froze.

The thing might have passed for human at first glance. With wide dark brown eyes, dimpled cheeks, and soft plump lips, it bore the face of an attractive young man. Its hair was worn loose, with many colorful trinkets braided in that tinkled against each other gently when it moved. The only hint of otherworldliness there was a subtle sprinkling of scales near its hairline.

Its chest and arms similarly evoked the look of humanity. Unlike its hair, these were bare of any ornamentation. A row of jagged scars lined one side, from the side of his neck all the way down to where human skin melded into a tail with scales the color of the nighttime sea. As the mercreature flexed its muscles, it caught the light and sparkled with iridescence.

Catching his eye, the mercreature’s mouth stretched wider, revealing- sweet Jesus -rows and rows of sharp teeth, and it let out a series of chirps and trills. The sounds pushed their way into Steve’s mind, echoing sweetly. Unbidden, his head conjured up sense-memories of dozens of small pleasures: the smell of dirt newly alive on a warm spring’s day, the tart taste of strawberries bursting across his tongue. A past lover’s lips upon his skin. This creature must have been the one singing to him before.

It still held a firm grip on his cock with a claw-tipped hand adorned with tarnished metal rings. Had been touching him intently for some time, judging by the ache in his balls.

“Wh-what are you doing?” he asked, trying to push back against the siren’s call in that enchanting music. Steve was surprised to find his voice returned to him, his throat no longer full of knives every time he swallowed.

“Mate, yes?” Sweet Jesus, it, he, could speak too. Like the notes before them, the words coming out of its mouth were a small symphony all their own.

When Steve didn’t reply in confusion, the merman let go.

“No?”

“You’re not going to eat my cock or something, are you?” The merman tilted his head. Some of the words must have eventually registered because his nose wrinkled as he let out a series of clicks and low notes. He pointed a claw at Steve’s chest.

“Mine. No-” The merman made a gnashing movement with his mouth. Trying with all his might not to flinch at seeing all of those teeth on display so close to his privates, Steve failed miserably.

At that the merman frowned. He let out a few sharp barks whose reverberations made Steve’s head ring. He winced and covered his ears against the noise, only for a pair of hands to slowly pry them away.

“I’m sorry, the song is loud. I won’t sing it again. Mates shouldn’t hurt each other, Only want to make you feel good after this.” The merman stared at him. Did he expect an answer?

“You can speak English now.” Steve said flatly. His supposed captor shrugged.

“I opened my ears to listen to your words, and set a spell-song to my throat, so my words can reach past what your human ears can hear.” Steve blinked.

“Um, okay.” Those beautiful dark eyes continued to stare, but the fins across his back and tail fell flat.

“Are your wounds still painful?”

It was at that moment that Steve became aware his back did not scream out in agony, and that his wrists and feet had been freed from the ropes Billy bound them in. Twisting, he could make out what looked like seaweed, covering him from his shoulders all the way to his feet.

“You did this for me?” The merman chirped once and nodded.

“Healing-song made them close faster.” Steve swallowed. He’d heard tales of sirens luring men to jump off their ships into a watery grave. But he’d been half-dead already when he hit the water, an easy meal for anything that swam. This creature had done just the opposite, had helped him.

“Thank you. Not that I’m ungrateful, but, why?”

The merman gave a low pitched hiss, fins fanning out once again.

“The other humans were hurting you. Ruined your constellations. Because you didn’t want to mate with the golden hair human. So I took you. Healed you as much as I could.”

“I. Mate?” Steve sputtered.

“Yes. I saw Golden Hair’s offer. Do humans always do it in front of others?”

“That wasn’t—no, we do any mating in private. Billy just wanted to humiliate me.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Maybe he did want me to become his whore, I don’t know.”

The merman’s brow furrowed.

“In private…” Suddenly, he chirped again, his eyes lighting up. “You mean alone! We are alone, no pod-mates will bother us here. No one else has seen your clasper expand, I promise.”

The merman pointed towards Steve’s cock, still somehow semi-erect and sticking out of the water, the traitor. Steve slapped his hands over it, only just now realizing how much of a show he’d been treating the creature to, allowing him to poke and prod all over like he was some sort of stallion out for studding.

“Look, mercreature—” The merman gave a harsh quick bark and shook his head.

“That is not my name, do not call me that. It is EdΞΞΞΞΞΞΞ.”

Steve felt the beginning of a headache form in his temples.

“I’m not sure I can pronounce that. Was there an ‘Ed’ somewhere in there?”

The merman growled, what Steve chose to read as frustration coming off him in waves. He made a slow lap around the pool, emitting a series of short trills and clicks as he fiddled with the trinkets in his hair. Finally, he returned to Steve’s rock.

“Not Ed. Eddie ,” he said with serious eyes and a firm voice. “Eddie would be okay for you to use as mate-name. But only you.”

Oh. Mate-name.

Oh.

The mercreature, this Eddie, he wanted to—

“Um, not that I am flattered,” Steve sputtered. “But did you not notice I have legs?”

Eddie smiled once more, the dimples back on display. He really was pretty, Steve admitted in the privacy of his own mind.

“Yes! You have legs and I do not understand how human claspers work but I want to learn. You...make pretty noises when you’re happy. And turn the colors of a sunset. Makes your skin stars stand out more. Want to make you happy. Will be a good mate if you want me.” He flushed green at the last sentence and ducked below the water so that only his eyes peeked out.

One of Steve’s hands strayed to the scar around his neck, a phantom rope choking him. “I haven’t tried to court anyone in a long time. It did not end that well when I did.”

A short dark claw touched him there, with more gentleness than Steve expected.

“Did Golden Hair give you this too?”

Steve shook his head and laughed without humor.

“No, no this wasn’t anyone on my crew. Just my own foolish decisions to blame for that one. She didn’t want me, in the end.”

He should have known that leaving Nancy behind to make a name for himself on the high seas wasn’t what she wanted. That she wouldn’t wait for him forever. That charm could make a privateer quite a lot of money and notoriety, unless he was captured by the wrong country’s navy. That his father’s patience and influence would only extend so far after saving him from the noose at the last possible minute. That Billy’s grumblings would turn dangerous, that Tommy’s loyalties could shift so easily. Eddie’s soft voice broke him out of his past bad choices.

“You can reject my offer.” He gestured to his scales. “My tail has no colors, bad luck. My pod says I was cursed at hatching. Now they don’t want me to be around any young ones after ChrΞΞΞΞ...she is gone now. Pod of the killer black-white whales hunted us down. Was an accident, but my fault. Understand if you do not want me, won’t hurt you like humans do when you reject them. Will bring you to other humans.” Crooning a soft mournful sound, Eddie jettisoned himself to the center of the small pool with a flick of his tail.

Steve hesitated to follow. There was nothing left for him back home. His own parents had made it clear they no longer saw him as their heir much less their son years ago, and Billy had stolen everything else.

And here Eddie was, right in front of him. He could have killed him while he was bound and helpless, and yet...he didn’t. The opposite in fact, the seaweed sticking to his back proof of that. When was the last time someone had cared about his well-being with no alternate motive, or wanted to make him feel good?

And well, he was already naked.

Shrugging to himself, Steve pushed off against the rock he’d been resting against and waded out to where Eddie floated.

“I don’t have a special name to give you,” Steve said. “But you can call me Stephen, if you want to use it.”

Eddie repeated it back to himself, the sound sending another pulse of happy sense-memories through Steve’s body. Slowly to not spook the merman, he reached a hand out to touch Eddie’s face, and slid his other hand into his hair.

Merfolk were warm, Steve was surprised to discover, and their skin soft. By contrast, Eddie’s hair, despite its uncanny appearance, was almost slippery. More like the seaweed currently plastered to his body than anything human.

Even while melting into his hands, Eddie’s big doe eyes went even wider. The merman let out a short squeak that sounded almost like a question.

“What you saw on my ship, what Billy did to me,” he murmured back. “That wasn’t how humans court each other. But this?” Steve pressed a kiss to Eddie’s pillowy lips, drawing back only just enough to whisper: “This is what humans do when they want to get to know someone better.”

Eddie gave a quiet pleased trill, before kissing Steve back. Well, tried to. It became rather apparent that merfolk did not normally do this, or maybe his merman in particular did not have any experience. Regardless, he more than made up for it with enthusiasm.

While they kissed some more, Steve trailed further down and laid a hand against Eddie’s back, just brushing the tips of his fingers against the edge of his fine silk-smooth fins. Underneath his lips, a shiver passed through Eddie’s body. His merman let out a little noise that went straight to Steve’s cock. He stroked against Eddie’s fins again more firmly this time, and rubbed his other hand on his merman’s hip, right where the skin melded into scales.

In his arms Eddie wriggled even more as he sang a fragment of another melody, whose deep notes fanned the fire coursing through Steve’s blood into an inferno.

“Backwards, move, please, Stephen,” Eddie gasped. “Want to—”

Steve looked down. Out of a slit in Eddie’s tail hadn’t even realized was there, he watched as twinned pale cock-like protrusions poked their way into the water.

“My claspers,” Eddie explained, his eyes glassy and even larger than before.

“Oh.” He could work his way around this. Steve experimentally dragged his fingers against them, causing his merman to moan and rut into his hand. He wanted nothing more than to rut back, but they needed better leverage.

Steve maneuvered (or well, closer to dragged) the two of them back towards the rocks lining the edge of the pool. Once his back was to them, he braced his newly healed feet against the floor and took both their arousals in hand. His cock fit snugly into the space between Eddie’s claspers, squeezing him in warmth with every stroke. The water, though it washed away any of his own, seemed to not be a problem for his merman’s excretions. It proved to be much more jelly-like, smoothing the journey of his hand.

Eddie squealed and shivered some more. his fins rustling rhythmically. All the while, he murmured a never-ending stream of “mate”, “mine”, and “treasure.”

It took very little time for his merman to reach his peak. His merman’s melodic whines and groans ripped Steve’s orgasm out of him, pushing him over the edge without warning.

As soon as they both caught their breaths, Eddie climbed into his lap, trills chirps and clear high notes bubbling out of his throat. The sound swept him away on a tide of joy, and all Steve could do was laugh.

His merman beamed back at him.

“My beautiful wonderful mate, such clever hands. I promise, I will learn. Will make you feel good, too.”

Eddie swam a lap around the pool before pausing.

“Oh! Forgot important part.” He sped back over to Steve and fiddled with one of the things in his hair, before presenting it proudly. “For you. So the pod knows you are mine.”

Steve took the offered trinket, a red triangular stone with a hole bore through the middle. Eddie had strung it onto a length of cord.

“Thank you.” He tied it loosely around his neck. “I’m sorry I don’t have anything to give you in return. Or anything else.” Now that the haze of want had faded, he wished desperately for a pair of trousers or a shirt. Eddie hummed thoughtfully.

“Yes, the other humans stole your coverings. Can find others for you but now—”

His merman dove under the water, resurfacing with an armful of the seaweed he’d covered his back in. He proceeded to wound it around Steve, until a barely passable loincloth was formed.

Eddie tilted his head considering, then ducked low into the water. He stared up at Steve’s privates and hummed, this time bringing a twinge of irritation into the air.

“Will add more. Your clasper is too exposed. Fish will bite.”

“What?” Steve protested. “I’ve never had that happen if I went for a swim, what kind of fish are you talk—”

“Pod shouldn’t see either.” Eddie flushed green again. “Not theirs to look at. You are not their mate.”

The possessive look on his merman’s face was well. Endearing . Steve didn’t object again, not even as Eddie wrapped seaweed over and over until the makeshift clothing came down practically to his knees.

“Good.” A wave of satisfaction rolled off him from a single chirp. “Now no one will know a human clasper looks like squirming worm-food.”

“I beg your pardon?”

Eddie pointed to a sea cucumber wiggling across the bottom of the pool. Much to Steve’s dismay, the thing was unfortunately somewhat fleshy looking. Rather than give his merman the satisfaction, he just crossed his arms and huffed.

Eddie giggled, causing more happiness to wash over Steve.

“Now can have you meet my hatch-father without pod-mates singing rudeness. He will like you. My pretty mate. Then we will find other humans and get coverings for you. Maybe steal Golden Hair’s crest off his head. Hatch-father is good at spell-songs, will know what to do.”

Steve found himself nodding. This was not the future he’d been imagining for himself last night, but he could easily see how much better the rewritten one could be. Taking Eddie's hand, he let himself be led out of the cave and into the sun.

Thank you to saradika-graphics for the divider!

Author's Notes:

-"kissing the gunner's daughter" was a real phrase used to describe how boys in the navy would take their punishments bent over a gun barrel, that we've had Billy adapt here

-Drew inspiration for this singing-based merfolk method of communication from Brandon Sanderson's Stormlight Archives, in which the Parshendi people attune to different rhythms that they can naturally hear to express their feelings to each other. Here I adapted this to have some magic infused into the words that may influence the listener's mood. This influence can be stronger on humans, which has contributed to the myths of sirens luring men to their doom

-In my head, Wayne is considered Eddie's "hatch-father" as opposed to his biological father. Mermaid eggs for this species are fertilized externally, so clutches aren't necessarily raised by their biological parents

-Eddie's genitals are a mix of shark and crocodile traits: male sharks have paired claspers to deliver sperm that look like modified fins on the underside of their bodies, and crocodiles are able to invert their penises from/retract them back into a pouch

That's a wrap on Mermay for me, had a lot of fun working on these <3

#steddie #steve x eddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stmermay2025 #stmermaybingo #mermay #tinawrites

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yhwh-jas · 1 year ago

Text

Important Message From Spirit🦋

The Piles:

Book A Personal Reading Here

The collective is in this very emotional energy. It’s like feeling so imaginative, passionate, in love (even if you don’t have a lover), & so sad and lonely at the same time. We’ve been feeling everything so deeply and our intuition is extremely heightened during this time. We’re very sensitive to energies and other peoples feelings, even our own feelings. This reading is timeless so whenever you come across this, it’ll be meant for you.

♡Pile One♡:

Based off the picture you chose I feel like you might’ve found love in the city, out of town (or they were out of town), you could be from a city or the other way around, but overall there’s this energy of looking for spiritual love. You want a deep connection that connects you to deeper parts of yourself. For some of you it could be that maybe you are finding love within yourself and learning to live in your truth. I see you expressing yourself authentically and being open and honest about how you feel and what you’re thinking. I also see some of you having a conversation with someone who will be expressing how they truly feel for you.

Channeled Song: We Found Love -Rihanna ft. Calvin Harris ( when she says “we found love in a hopeless place”) Hey There Lonely Girl -Eddie Holman (when he says “hey there lonely girl, lonely girl, don’t you know this lonely boy loves you”.) , Confidence -Ocean Alley (when he says “It’s all about confidence, babyyy”.)

I’m seeing you in this soft, nurturing energy. You’re loving yourself more, taking care of those around you, for some of you taking care of your kid(s), family, & the things you cherish most. You’re feeling really appreciative or you will be. I also see that someone has really nice eyes. Could be blue, light brown, or greenish hazel. Spirit is saying that you’ve been really patient, dedicated, & efficient. You’re putting in efficient effort into your priorities, goals, & connections. For some of you I’m hearing you’re focusing on nature or connecting with animals, taking care of animals/pets. Take that how it resonates. You’re reaping some type of reward for your hard work and discipline and it’s related to a relationship or important connection in your life. I’m hearing you’ve healed something that was hurting you and you’ve learned to love yourself and the things around you more deeply. You’ve connected to your roots and strengthened your faith and in doing this, you’ve removed illusions and feelings of confusion because you’re more grounded within your energy. You were feeling stuck in a temporary situation and it could’ve been in a connection for some of you. It was causing anxiety, stress, fear, & imbalance in your life. It definitely took up a lot of your thoughts and I’m seeing a change happening where you’re taking back your power and gaining control over your mind. Now isn’t the time for you to do anything impulsive or risky. Like diving into some kind of situation that you know isn’t good for you, that will resonate for some of you. It’s like someone left you out in the cold, kicked you while you were down, wasn’t there for you when you needed them most and everytime you’re thriving, looking good, healthy etc. they want to come back in and try to trick you into focusing on them or what you could’ve had with them. Don’t let this person in your energy for those that resonate with this. For my feminines I feel like you’re finally tapping back into your loving, compassionate, and nurturing energy. You’ve manifested communication with someone that you share a deep connection with and I’m sensing you really trust this person or you will. It can be a friend, lover, family, whatever. There’s distance between you and I feel like you’ve both been alone for some time. You’ve spent time in solitude, self reflecting, and so has this person. Trust your intuition and how you feel. I feel like this is a connection that is meant to heal you and it will bring you so much joy and happiness. it is the type of connection that will heal your inner child and bring back out your creativity. I feel like whenever you met or got closer to each other you both were in a period of your life where there was a lack of faith and hope. It’s like where hard times meet and end for the both of you. Not necessarily end, but they get so much easier to deal with when you’re with this person or have each other in your lives. Both of you could’ve grew up in families, or in an urban city/ place that was of low income. This connection is divinely guided. For those of you where this is a romantic situation, I see them hiding how they truly feel about you behind this cold demeanor because they’re still learning how they feel so they can better understand it. However, they are very honest and blunt with you. I feel like they could be a little distant at times or when you communicate with them it’s very quick and doesn’t necessarily last for that long. The conversations are short between you. They’re very patient and kind towards you. I feel like they really value this connection with you. Romantically speaking, they want to take their time with you and I see them wanting a very long-term commitment with you. For others there is some type of investment that you and this person are working towards together and it will be successful spirit is saying. Things might feel stagnant like they are moving slow or not exactly going at the pace that you want but I feel like this is the pace that you need.

This person feels a little bit stuck right now because they are gaining clarity about how they feel and trying to figure out a way to offer you something. it’s like they’re trying to figure out a way to communicate with you that they want a relationship with you, and they want to be able to invest in a future with you but they need a little bit of time to come forward, but they will. For others I feel like there are some type of ideas or plans that are being made and this person involved needs time to be able to think about what they wanna do and how they wanna go about these plans. Romantically they don’t wanna lose you. They are already sad as it is because I feel like they know that you’re holding back a deeper part of yourself, and they want to see and experience that deeper part of you. They want you to express your love for them and they want you to be nurturing and I’m seeing that they think that you are their person and they are hiding how they feel because of fear. They’re also letting go of bad habits and their pride. What’s next for you guys in romantic situations, I see this person coming in fast and they’re ready to tell you how they feel because I feel like they can’t see life without you in it you make them so happy and having you in their life feels like a blessing. It might not be today. It might not be tomorrow but it’s coming really really soon. For those of you in other situations that aren’t romantic I see this person getting really inspired by something and that specific idea or feeling that they have, they’re going to tell you about it and it’s going to be something that is really smart and it will make the both of you very happy. For those of you who have kids and it’s not with this person, I see you getting in a relationship with them and they’re being very loving and supportive with you and your child or children. They want to take care of you.

♡━━━♡━━━♡

♡Pile Two♡:

Based off the picture you chose I feel like you’ve been very emotional and tapping into a deep part of yourself. You could be spending time alone, meditating, & learning more about who you are and what you believe in. Spirit is helping you learn to be more honest with yourself and others about how you feel and developing healthy ways of expressing it. Life could be flowing easily and I’m getting this energy of peace and serenity.

Channeled Song: No Air - Jordin Sparks ft. Chris Brown (the part where she says “if I should die before I wake, it’s cause you took my breath away. Losing you is like living in a world with no air.”)

There’s a connection in your life that you’ve been really patient about and I feel like things haven’t progressed the way you wanted. I’m hearing you put so much energy into it, but this person involved hasn’t shown up and offered you anything. You’ve put your focus and intention on loving yourself and those you cherish. You’re also focused on your responsibilities. 1111 can be significant. Communication, understanding, and honesty has been so hard with this person because when you try to talk to them it’s like they come off so cold and turn everything into a disagreement. They give you the cold shoulder and try to undermine you. I’m seeing that they always make it seem like things are harder for them and don’t consider your feelings, what you’re thinking, or even what you’re saying. It’s like talking to them is a losing game. However you’ve been independent, determined, confident, loving, & nurturing. You haven’t let this situation affect you. Or at least you aren’t anymore. You’re standing your ground. I’m seeing you manifesting clarity & you’re learning a very important lesson here. This person hurt you and has no intention of showing up the way you need them to. This could be a past person for a lot of you. They were blocking your blessings because you’ve held on and waited for them meanwhile they didn’t acknowledge it. You felt stuck and didn’t want to free yourself because you loved them. However it caused a lot of anxiety, confusion, indecision, & fear for you. It imbalanced your spiritual and emotional side. For a lot of you it’s that there’s a past person you’re holding onto that must be let go of in order for your blessing to be revealed. There are illusions and deceit in your life. Maybe it’s you just deceiving yourself because you know this person isn’t good for you. You’re self sabotaging yourself by allowing someone who’s only holding you back stick around. You don’t need this person, you want them. They don’t benefit you. You were drowning in emotion trying to save this person and just simply love them, but I’m hearing it’s time to let go. If you love something let it go, if it comes back to you then it’s for you, but if it doesn’t then you’ll know. Sometimes people will come back just for unhealthy reasons tho but when I say come back I mean come back and show up. Im hearing you take no chances of missing out. You’ll love someone for as long as you possibly can. You’ve been tossed to the side, left behind, lied to, and pushed away, but you still love endlessly. It’s time for that chapter of your life to end. You’re stepping into a new phase of your life and all that being breadcrumbed, confused, misled, lied to, and manipulated is in the past. You’re setting boundaries and you no longer tolerate it. I’m seeing you have the upper hand in a situation and you’re abundant. With energy, resources, whatever it is you may be abundant in you are able to share this with people who need it. I’m hearing you’re generous with your time and energy and you don’t mind spending quality time with those who need a light in their life. There is multiple energies around you. Multiple people who want your attention. I’m seeing you have your eyes set on what you want and you know exactly what that is. You want a deep connection with someone you can trust and commit to. I’m hearing you’ve checked out. You’ve put your emotions aside and now you’re giving off more of this intellectual energy. More aware, understanding, honest, smart, strategic, & blunt. You have very good discernment. Especially when it comes to other people’s energies and what is good for you and what isn’t. Trust what you know. Right now I’m having a hard time getting your messages out and I feel like spirit is saying the focus is you. You are the main highlight right now and you’re stepping into this divine feminine energy. If you don’t have feminine energy you’re stepping into a more intuitive, empathetic, nurturing energy. You are a healer whether you know it or not but you attract people who need you and your energy.

Just be careful not to let others drain you. Whatever blessings are coming for you spirit isn’t revealing too much. You’re diving deep into self reflection and spiritual awareness and I’m seeing you aren’t focused on love or relationships. Those come when you aren’t expecting it. Right now spirit is teaching you important lessons.

♡━━━♡━━━♡

♡Pile Three♡:

Based off the picture you chose I’m getting this energy of you feeling a bit melancholic and nostalgic in a bittersweet way. You’re spending time alone and focusing on tapping in with yourself because you’ve been feeling detached and disconnected from your feelings, maybe even your surroundings.

Channeled Song: Lose Control -Teddy Swims (specifically heard the part when he says “problematic, problem is I want your body like a fiend, like a bad habit. Bad habits hard to break when I’m with you. Yeah I know I can do it on my own, but I want that real full moon black magic, and it takes two.”)

I’m seeing that there are outside factors disrupting your life. It’s like situations that happen may feel like nothing ever goes your way. You’re holding back so much love and emotion and in this energy of hiding your love, hiding how you feel, being closed off emotionally, & feeling like you’re having a hard time letting go of emotions from your past. Maybe you’re having a hard time letting go of the way someone has made you feel. It’s like the feeling of rejection is weighing on you and maybe because of that hurt you’re isolating yourself and feeling lonely. You’re keeping yourself from being able to open up emotionally in connections. You know how you feel and why it is you feel the way you do but you’re still holding onto that hurt due to fear and anxiety. There is someone that God has for you and I’m seeing they will help you see through the illusions of your own emotions. Maybe even your pride is in the way. However this person is very emotionally intelligent and understanding they can just come off as very private at times. They know when to speak and they’re both logical and Intuitive when it comes to expressing themselves. They can be very passionate and flirty at times and sometimes be very rash about what they say or do. There’s a feeling either you’re feeling like you aren’t being appreciated enough or they are but I feel like spirit is telling you to step it up. Don’t hold back. Be open and free spirited. Allow yourself to feel and enjoy the feeling of love. Maybe you overthink too much at times and don’t allow yourself to feel. Some of you take your person for granted by not being emotionally there and making sure their needs are being met too. You’re very guarded about letting them in because of your boundaries. Spirit wants you to do what brings you joy. Don’t keep the sun out of your life because you’ve been hurt. I’m also hearing that no matter how other people act or what they say, never stop being you. You can come off with this very rigid and vain energy at times and I’m hearing it’s your ego. Listen to your intuitive side and give the love you want to give. Don’t listen to your fear. You are holding yourself back from receiving the love spirit wants you to receive. You’re hurting yourself because you won’t open up about how you feel to someone. I feel like you avoid conflicts and have a fear that you opening up about how you feel will start an argument. Know that hiding how you feel and refusing to communicate will only make things worse for you. It’s okay to feel passionate and excited. It’s okay to want someone and it’s okay to express how you feel to that person. I also feel like you don’t open up when you’re sad and you try to hide everything. Not everyone can read your mind. If you feel really overwhelmed take some time for yourself and then open up when you feel ready. Try to balance yourself out so your love life can be balanced as well. The more you’re in harmony with yourself and in tune with your emotions the more your love life improves. You miss opportunities when you refuse to make a choice and stay in a period of inaction. If you know what you want then act on it instead of letting the world make decisions for you. You will feel so much better when you allow yourself to do what you feel guided to do. Treat your partner with lovingly and morally. I feel like you want marriage and there is someone you deeply love in your life. This connection has the potential to lead to marriage. All you have to do is be honest. Even if this relationship doesn’t work out with the person you have in your life right now, you being honest and open will help you evolve and learn new lessons you need in order to move forward. I am seeing a positive result coming from your honesty though. Be sure that you know what you want before you act on it and plan your approach before taking action. All you need is confidence, courage, and drive. I feel like you’re picky about your lovers and so is this person. You both need independence and your own alone time.

Spirit is saying to be patient when it comes to this person. You both feel the same about each other honestly. I feel like if you say I love you to each other it’s genuine. If you haven’t said it yet you both love each other unconditionally. You’re ready to move forward and come towards your person. You might be scared because financially maybe you don’t feel stable and that creates insecurity within you but know that it’s okay. You don’t have to feel insecure about it with this person. Or with anyone for that matter. You may not be where you want to be financially but you don’t have to let that stop you. They think you are very intelligent and it’s a turn on for them. They are so attracted to the way you think and I feel like they admire the way you see life. They feel like you are their person and the relationship with you is very strong. It’s best to treat each other with gentleness and empathy because this relationship is very passionate so sometimes if not treated the right way anger or frustration can be an issue. You both want the traditional structured relationship and I’m seeing very high potential for this to happen. Be positive and do what you feel guided to do!! Pile one might resonate with some of you.

♡━━━♡━━━♡

♡Pile Four♡:

Based off the picture you chose I feel like you’re gaining clarity on a situation you didn’t see clearly before. Spirit is showing you the truth about something you’ve been feeling and it might be a truth that hurts, but it also lifts a weight that was holding you back or stagnant. It doesn’t have to be a truth that hurts though, that’s only for some!

Channeled Song: Counting Stars -OneRepublic (it’s crazy to me because in this song he says “in my face is flashing signs, seek it out and ye shall find.” And obviously lightning flashes)

You’re feeling a bit sad and disappointed because of a situation that happened in the recent past. I feel like you’re focused on the hurt rather than the positive side of things. Spirit is saying there are opportunities that are for you right now but you aren’t seeing them because you’re focused on negative feelings. However there is a wish fulfillment or something happening for you that will inspire you and give you hope. It’s like a divine revelation. You must get out of your own way. There are negative thoughts and fears circling your mind and this leads to self sabotage and constant hopelessness. There is abundance, love, happiness, and so much more waiting for you but you must let go of your worries. It’s easier said than done but when you tell yourself there is better you will eventually start to believe it. I see a romantic connection in store for a lot of you. For others I feel like a truth about a connection in your life has been revealed and it’s made you sad but it was for your own good. Things haven’t progressed the way you want them to but it’s because you aren’t focused on watering whatever it is you want to grow. I feel like some of you got clarity about how you feel towards someone and because you’re focused on how disappointed you are from other situations you’re not focused on this person. However they are abundant, nurturing, empathetic, intuitive, supportive, and understanding. They have love for you and I feel like they will understand how you feel if you open up to them. For others you’re not watering yourself enough. You aren’t loving yourself or realizing how much of an inspiring, kind, intelligent, divine being you are. Spirit wants you to devote more time and energy to yourself. I feel like communication with someone is happening very soon and there will be clarity and understanding in this conversation. Things will be balancing themselves out pretty quickly but there is a need for honesty. Take that however it resonates. I feel like some of you feel pessimistic about love and moving forward in life but spirit wants you to open up and enjoy the beauty of it. There are better times ahead and I feel like you are going to be receiving some type of good karma for all the hard work you’ve done in the past. You’ve been through so much and God is blessing you with something that will bring you so much peace. Just try to open yourself up to it and let go of the unnecessary burdens you’ve been carrying. Whatever hardships you’ve been facing I see you overcoming them and coming out stronger, more confident, & resilient. I also see you letting go of bad habits and making commitments to a very important job, person, or investment in your life. There will be plenty of opportunities coming your way.

♡━━━♡━━━♡

#spirituality #healing #spiritualjourney #positive vibes #tarot #love #pick a card #pac #astrology #spiritual community

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try-set-me-on-fire · 2 years ago

Note

How about odd socks for the soft prompts?

Eddie tries to write his vows. Poem excerpts from E.E. Cummings’ [i carry your heart with me(i carry it in], Mary Oliver’s The Mango, and Pablo Neruda’s Finale. Plain text version on AO3 here and under the read more!

Dear Buck oh its not a letter

Buck

Evan Buckley (?)

From the day we met, I

I take thee to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death do us part except I don’t want to stop loving you when either of us die. I don’t want to part. Till the glaciers have melted and the oceans have dried up, till Mount Whitney (the tallest mountain in California, I looked it up) is eroded to a molehill, till the heat death of the universe do us part. Maybe that will be enough time

I keep thinking about that time you wore those fucking socks to work and Bobby and everyone were trying to really gently asses if you were having a breakdown because we just see AND YOU’RE GOING TO DIE on your ankle and then you laughed and pulled up your pants and it said “GET LOST IN NATURE AND YOU’RE GOING TO DIE” which like I still think is kind of a fucked up thing to put on a sock but you just did one of your beautiful sunshine grins (we weren’t even together but god I still got light headed looking at you) and were like “I thought it would be neat to remind people the importance of safety in nature” and I was kind of teasing and annoyed and laughed about it and that was like three years ago Buck and I still feel guilty about it because if you were going through some kind of crisis I don’t ever want to be annoyed and laugh about it, I want to be there for you no matter what and I hope I’ve proven that to you over the years, that I don’t just love you on easy days, I love you every single day all the time even when everything’s fucked even if I can’t write wedding vows to save my life christ this is terrible

I love your nose and your birthmark and your eyebrows and your hair and your shoulders and the bends of your elbows, and your wrists and hands, and I love your nipples and hip bones and cock and ass and knees and your shin, I love the scars on your shin, I love every scar you have because none of them killed you

How about

i fear

no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want

no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)

and it’s you are whatever a moon has always meant

and whatever a sun will always sing is you

But this was a rich house, and clever too.

After salmon and salads,

mangoes for everyone appeared on blue plates,

each one cut in half and scored

and shoved forward from its rind, like an orange flower,

cubist and juicy.

When I began to eat

things happened.

your head on the pillow,

your hands floating

in the light, in my light,

over my earth.

It was beautiful to live

when you lived

The world is bluer and of the earth

at night, when I sleep

enormous, within your small hands.

Before the ceremony I told Shannon “It’s going to be okay” and in the moment I believed it because I had her and I was scared but she was my best friend and up there in front of her parents and mine I said the regular vows but I think that first one was what counted even if it didn’t end up being true. Maybe I’ve been telling you my vows for years. You can have my back any day. There’s no one on earth I trust with my son - with our son - more than you. Every time I tell you I love you, isn’t that a promise?

I’ve been happy before in my life, despite everything I don’t think I was an unhappy man, not always, only sometimes, but you make me happier than I thought was possible. That kind of feeling when you laugh too hard and you’re not getting enough oxygen to your brain. Isn’t that romantic, you give me hypoxia

Here’s the thing you know I’m going to get up there and just start crying immediately so I don’t know why I’m trying so hard to find words I won’t even be able to get out

No hi this is me two hours later of course this is important you’re important you knowing how much I love you is so important to me and I will stand up there blubbering at you for hours if that’s what it takes

I trust you. I love you. I am happy with you. I want to wake up beside you always, Buck I’ve never seen anything more beautiful than you next to me first thing in the morning (or night or afternoon or whenever we’ve finished sleeping), touching your warm body with your lungs breathing and your heart beating and the solidity of you feels like a miracle

I’ll buy you socks so your feet don’t get cold and I’ll bring you fruit because you like to eat sweet things and wherever I live will be your home and I’ll be by your side as long as you do me the honor of wanting me there and everything I have and am is yours and I

#buddie #eddie diaz #evan buckley #911 abc #asked and answered

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mugloversonly · 7 months ago

Text

All I Ask of You

Nov prompt: All I ask of you(Phantom of the Opera) wc: 736 | Rating: G | tags: Eddie is a vampire @steddiesongfics

Summary: Vamp Eddie is hiding in Steve’s basement being hunted by a vampire hunter. Steve is protecting him while trying to find a cure

Steve pulled into the driveway and nearly has a heart attack as Eddie Munson was standing in his doorway. Eddie being in his house isn’t that startling considering he’s been living in his basement for a few months, and they’ve been dating for nearly that long. No, it’s the sunlight laced across the porch, so near to Eddie’s toes they were almost bathed in it.

Steve ran to the door, ushered Eddie back in, much to the latter’s annoyance, and slammed the door. “Eddie! What the hell are you doing?” Steve huffed. Eddie ignored him.

“What did Owens say?” He asked bouncing on the balls of his feet. Steve sighed and glanced away.

“They haven’t made any progress” he admitted quietly. He hated this part; when Eddie’s shoulders slumped, when he held back the tears, when he pretended like everything was fine. Like he hasn’t been stuck in Steve’s basement for nearly three months.

But today was different. Today, Eddie looked at him, rolled his eyes, and moved to the back door. “Eddie what are you doing?” Steve asked again but the other man didn’t hear him. He opened the back door and stepped into the sun room. Steve sprinted to the front door for an umbrella then ran toward Eddie. He barely stopped in time as he realized Eddie was standing in the shaded part, still.

His arms were wrapped around himself tightly, all his muscles were locked, as if he was holding himself in place.

“I wanna be free again, Stevie. I wanna feel the sunlight on my skin.” He sighed, longing filled his eyes as he stared at the patch of light along the lounge chair. Steve couldn’t stand this. He didn’t know much about Eddie before all this, but now? He’d do anything to make him happy. “Now, not only can I not go outside during the day, I can’t go out at night either with this dude after me!” He turned and screamed at Steve. “It wasn’t bad enough that I died? That I came back a monster? That I can’t lay in the sun with my boyfriend?” Ranted as he paced. “I can’t even get a midnight snack because some crazy dude decided my life was forfeit!” He sighed as he dropped to the ground. “All I want is freedom, Stevie.” His eyes filled with tears as he glanced up at him.

Steve stared at the man he loved for a moment before he sat next to him on the floor. “You’re not a monster.” He told him as he grabbed his hand. “I know I can’t fix it, but I’m here. I’ll always stay with you, beside you. I promise.” Steve whispered as he moved closer. “I know you hate the dark, but I’ll hold you and guide you through it, until we can get you to the light again.” He swore as if committing an oath.

“And after?” Eddie whispered. At Steve’s questioning sound he sighed. “After I’m back to normal,” Steve appreciated that he didn’t say if, “Will you still want me here?”

Steve chuckled, at first thinking it was a joke, but the look of fear and sadness on Eddies face stopped him. He shifted to this knees end pulled Eddie in close.

“I want you by my side always.” Steve said as he held the other man.

“Will you say it?” Eddie whispered. Steve smiled softly. It was a bit of a daily ritual at this point. He’d had a hard time in the beginning but now?

“I love you, Eddie. Now and forever.” Steve vowed.

“And?” Eddie asked as he pulled back to see him.

“As soon as this is over, I’ll take you to see the ocean.” Steve kissed his hair. “We’ll watch the sunrise over the horizon and watch it light up the water. We’ll learn how to surf together.”

“When I’m cured, and I move out of Hawkins, you’ll come with me?” Eddie asked. Eddie needed to leave, but he couldn’t leave without Steve.

“Anywhere,” Steve dropped to his knees and held Eddie’s hands. “Anywhere you go, I’ll go too.” Steve begged.

“I love you, too.” Eddie replied as he pulled Steve up from the ground. “I’d go anywhere with you.” He pressed his lips softly to Steve’s.

AO3

buy me a coffee

#stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddiesongfics #Phantom of the Opera #established relationship #vampire eddie munson

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wildlife4life · 1 year ago

Text

Fuck-It Friday Coda

Tagged by @try-set-me-on-fire @devirnis @buddierights @wikiangela @tizniz @exhuastedpigeon @hippolotamus @cal-daisies-and-briars @disasterbuckdiaz @rainbow-nerdss @daffi-990 @dangerpronebuddie @theotherbuckley and @watchyourbuck (because she just dropped a whole ass spec fic that is amazing!) Still barely Friday here, so I am not late to Fuck-it Friday and staying on my coda drop schedule. Here is my 7x03 coda! Enjoy here and on ao3! If you want to know when these codas drop, interact with this post!

They each give Bobby and Athena one last tight hug on the boat before stepping onto dry land and make their way towards the LAFD suv parked close by. Hen walked beside them for a short while, exchanging another round of thanks, praises, and reminders of being there for each other. When she spots Karen breaking away from crowd of concerned loved ones and onlookers, Hen waves them forward and goes to greet her wife.

Its almost lunch time by the time Buck, Eddie, and Chimney make it back to station, and they are all dead beat tired and starving. Chimney tries to invite them for a celebratory lunch but its cut off by jaw cracking yawn that has Eddie and Buck wincing, then echoed by their own. The paramedic chuckles and the just as slap tired firemen join in. “Breakfast at the usual place tomorrow?”

Eddie just hums in agreement, while Buck smiles and answers, “Definitely. Let Hen know?”

“Can’t celebrate without the woman of the hour. Hopefully now she’ll pick up the phone.” Soft laughter follows, “Alright boys, I’m off to put my blackout curtains to the test. I suggest you do the same.” Chim mock solutes them both and strides out of the locker room.

Buck stuffs the sea drenched uniform into his duffle and pulls on a too cool, green hoodie. The lack of warmth from the material on his still damp skin and adrenalin come down has him shivering.

He already knows what dreams await him when (if) he closes his eyes to sleep. A mix of Bobby and Christopher drowning in the harsh waves of the ocean, screaming for Buck to save them and him failing to do so before being pulled under himself.

A chill shoot’s up his spine so piercing, it has Buck inhaling sharply and flinching forward with both hands, slamming his locker close. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Eddie whip around and drop his own duffle as he scurries over to Buck’s side.

Warmth finally seeps into Buck with the press of Eddie’s hand to his shoulder and the shivers lessen. “Hey, hey it’s okay. Everyone is okay.” Eddie soothes, his breath ghosting the back of Buck’s neck, warming him further.

Buck takes a deep breath, “I know that, Eddie. Just…” He closes his eyes and shakes his head, trying to get rid of Bobby and Christopher’s waterlogged features.

Eddie’s grip tightens but doesn’t let the silence of Buck’s loss of words linger for long. “Bobby’s place is on the way to the diner, so we can stop by in the morning.”

Buck cocks his head in confusion, “Um, I know your tired and all Eds, but Bobby’s place is definitely a detour to the diner from my place.”

“Good thing you’re coming back to mine then.” Eddie states with no room argument and a little bit of the tight fear in Buck’s body seeps out. Eddie’s house means he can physically see Christopher is safe and nowhere near the turbulent waves they pulled themselves out of just a few hours ago.

“Okay.” He agrees, then softly adds on, “Thank you.”

Eddie pats his shoulder, “Don’t thank me for having your back.”

🛳️🛳️🛳️🛳️🛳️🛳️🛳️🛳️

Christopher is well into school by the time Eddie and Buck make it back to the Diaz household. Buck has to take a few deep breaths outside the kid’s empty room, reminding himself that he’ll see him in less than four hours. Eddie gives him a sympathetic and understanding grimace before shoving him towards the bathroom.

The heat of the shower washes away the remaining chill and ocean salt clinging to his skin, replaced with the comforting scent of Eddie’s products, a mix of citruses and cedar. A pair of gray athletic shorts, fuzzy blue socks, and his blue sweatshirt that has been missing since before Buck’s lightening coma, are waiting for him on the bathroom counter when he open’s the curtain.

Buck pulls on the items of clothing and is taken by surprised by their enveloping warmth. His heart squeezes in his chest, knowing Eddie must have tumbled the clothes in the dryer while he showered.

Making his way back to the living room, Buck finds the older man lounging on the couch in a pair of cut off sweats and another one of Buck’s missing sweatshirts, this one dark green. “Are you the sweatshirt thief?” Buck accuses light heartedly, flopping down next to said thief and pressing into his side, shoulder to thigh.

Eddie shrugs, unbothered and unapologetic, “Cheaper than buying my own.”

Buck gaffs in mock offense but doesn’t even argue or hide how much he likes seeing Eddie in his clothes. Just another thing the man does that soothes Buck’s shaken nerves.

Pulling his knees up to his chest, Buck wraps his arms around them then drops his head onto Eddie’s shoulder. Without hesitation, Eddie’s head falls to rest on his still damp hair. “Thank you for the clothes and bringing me here… for having my back.” Buck whispers.

He feels Eddie’s head turn slightly to nuzzle his nose into Buck’s curls. His partner’s lips brush against Buck’s scalp as he speaks, “Last time I’m saying this, you don’t need to thank me for any of it. That’s not how it works for us.”

Buck lets out a slow breath, “Yea…. I know, but that will never stop me from appreciating you and everything you do. I will never not be grateful that you have my back.”

“Well,” Those lips drift downwards to Buck’s temple, Eddie’s voice sending delicate vibrations across the skin and muscle and casting a whole different kind of shiver through Buck’s body, “I’m just as appreciative and grateful for you too.”

Buck doesn’t quite know if he imagines it, with how he has been drifting to sleep since falling to the couch, but he hopefully believes he felt the firm press of Eddie’s lips to his temple that lingered past platonic.

And when he feels Eddie’s breaths even out across the top of his head, Buck can hear the echo of their gratitude and appreciation fade into discreet exchanges of I love you’s. Those echoes with Eddie’s warmth, keep the nightmarish tides away, allowing Buck to truly rest.

Very belated tagging: @theotherbuckley @perfectlysunny02 @aroeddiediaz @loserdiaz @diazsdimples @jesuisici33 @fortheloveofbuddie @rogerzsteven @lemonzestywrites @evanbegins @buck-coded @glorious-spoon @thekristen999 @spotsandsocks @sunshinediaz @lover-of-mine @hoodie-buck @elvensorceress @gayedmundodiaz @giddyupbuck @jeeyuns @bekkachaos @thewolvesof1998 @eddiebabygirldiaz @spaceprincessem @eddiiediaz @honestlydarkprincess @doublecheekeddiaz @prosperdemeter2 @transboybuckley @nmcggg @monsterrae1 @missmagooglie @thebloomingheather

#fuck it friday #late fuck it friday #tag game #coda fic #7x03 #my fic #911 abc #911 spoilers #911 fic #buddie #buddie fic #evan buck buckely #eddie diaz #silent i love yous #soft boys #eddie takes care of buck

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cal-daisies-and-briars · 7 months ago

Note

hiii

🧜‍♂️🧜‍♂️🧜‍♂️🧜‍♂️🧜‍♂️🧜‍♂️🧜‍♂️🧜‍♂️🧜‍♂️🧜‍♂️🧜‍♂️🧜‍♂️🧜‍♂️🧜‍♂️🧜‍♂️🧜‍♂️🧜‍♂️🧜‍♂️

⛅️⛅️⛅️⛅️⛅️⛅️⛅️⛅️⛅️⛅️⛅️⛅️⛅️⛅️⛅️⛅️⛅️⛅️

⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️

🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲

54 for 🧜‍♂️

---

Watching Buck pinned under a fire engine, and not being to help him, or risk getting them both blown up, is torture. Eddie feels like his skin is on fire. His jaw is clenched so tightly it throbs. He can’t lose Buck. He just can’t.

Buck looks horrible. Bloody and in pain. The way his leg is pinned scares Eddie. But more than that, Eddie thinks something about the expression in his eyes is also concerning. Maybe it’s agony or fear or just shock, but Buck looks sort of absent. Like human sense has left him, replaced by a primal sort of panic. Eddie wants to comfort him. He wants to hold him and promise him everything will be okay. He wants to shout out for him and tell him they will save him. He just can’t; he’s not able to.

When they finally do get to him, after Chimney and Bobby both risk their lives, Eddie is a wreck. His hands are shaking. The only thing keeping him upright is the fact that he deals with emergencies every single day. He can turn on a level of stoicism. Even if he’s shattering inside.

Eddie crouches in front of Buck, squeezing his hand and helping Hen check his vitals and get him in a C-collar.

“You’re okay,” Eddie promises. “It’s okay. We’ve got you, alright?”

“Water,” Buck chokes out, squeezing Eddie’s hand back. “I need… Water.”

“Water,” Eddie echoes. He realizes what Buck is trying to tell him. The ocean. He needs the ocean. “Um…”

“We’ll get you everything you need at the hospital, Buckaroo,” Hen says gently. “We need to focus on getting you out of here. Plus, I don’t want to put anything in your stomach - you probably need emergency surgery.”

There’s no probably about it. Buck needs emergency surgery. But that’s not the type of water he’s talking about. And actually, that kind of water might prevent said surgery. But that isn’t a guarantee. Buck said he’d never tested it on a big injury. And it’s not foolproof, right? It didn’t fix a hangover. What if Eddie demands they take him to the ocean, for some absurd reason they listen to him, Buck not only gets outed, but also gets hurt worse in the process?

“Water,” Buck begs, looking at Eddie. “Eddie.”

“I can’t,” Eddie exhales. “It’s not safe.”

The looks that spreads across Buck’s face after that? Eddie will remember it forever.

🌻

It’s the middle of the night and Buck is in surgery. Eddie finds himself standing at Venice Beach, the closest to the hospital. He has a big jar in his hand. He’d emptied all the pickles in his fridge into a container, rinsed it, and brought it here.

---

54 for⛅️

---

Like, okay? If he’s really gay, shouldn’t he be reacting somehow to the sight of Buck’s very hard dick? Well, he keeps looking at it… Can’t seem to stop looking at it. But he’s not frothing at the mouth or something! Although, he’s never done that for a vagina either. Or even a nice pair of breasts, really. That’s just not him. So…

Eddie scrolls through all the photos. They’re only photos. Not bad photos. Very interesting photos. Photos that Eddie isn’t… Disliking. But really, if they’re going to have all this on his phone, why not have a video or two? Just something for Eddie to see what he’s, uh, like… During the act. You know, how good is it for him? From his face in some of these photos, it looks like he’s probably having a good time.

“What are you looking at?”

Eddie drops the phone onto the bed beside him, startled. He didn’t hear Buck come back into the room. Why didn’t he hear Buck come back into the room? Why can he hear his heart pounding instead?

And there’s Buck, standing there in only a towel, chest still a little wet, looking at Eddie, amused.

“Nothing,” Eddie sputters. “Nothing at all.”

Buck snorts and walks towards his side of the bed to grab his pajamas. He turns around to change, but god Eddie is feeling flustered anyway. He knows what everything looks like now. In many positions.

“Okay,” Buck says as he wriggles into his pants. “But sort of rude to be so openly looking at porn in our marital bed.”

Eddie coughs.

Buck, stills shirtless, spins around to look at him.

“Eddie, are you looking at porn?” He asks. “I was just kidding!”

“I’m looking at our nudes,” Eddie blurts.

Buck’s eyes bug. His jaw drops.

Shit. Why did Eddie say anything?

“Our nudes?” Buck asks.

“We have some nudes,” Eddie says. “On this phone.”

“C-can I see?” Buck asks.

“No!” Eddie squawks, grabbing his phone again.

“How is that fair?” Buck asks. “You saw them!”

---

54 for ⚡️

---

He’s got shampoo foaming in his hair, and he’s humming along to a song playing from a shower speaker, when…

“BUCK!” He hears Eddie call from the bedroom.

“YEAH?” Buck calls back, rinsing his hair.

“IT’S HAPPENING!”

It’s happening? What’s… Oh!

“THE BABY?” He shouts back.

“YES, THE BABY! GET OUT OF THE SHOWER!”

Buck doesn’t even finish with the shampoo. He hops out, nearly slips, towel dries his hair and body, throws the clothes he’d been wearing all day back on, and practically stumbles out of the bathroom and into the master.

“Okay, let’s go!” He pants. “I’m ready!”

“There’s soap in your ear,” Eddie observes.

“Who cares?” Buck asks. “Let’s go meet our girl!”

Eddie smiles. He walks up to Buck, wipes the shampoo from the helix of Buck’s left ear, and then wipes his hand on Buck’s shirt.

“Pepa’s on her way to stay with Chris,” Eddie says. “Then we can go.”

“I hope she’s speeding,” Buck says.

“Let’s not hope that. She pays more attention to her audiobooks than the road.”

☆☆☆

Their daughter is born at 2:31 in the morning on October 22nd.

It’s a long wait. And it’s late at night. And Eddie isn’t really sure of his place in this position. It’s not really the same as with Chris. The only similar thing is the anticipation and the hope and the love he already feels. They’re not in the room. Neither of them cuts the cord. They wait until Lourdes has had the time she needs with the baby until they meet her.

And still, the minute he gets to hold her, it’s all the same. Biology doesn’t matter at all. He loves her so much.

Buck is crying. Eddie is crying too. He hadn’t really realized it. Not until he passes her to Buck and has a moment to touch his own face. Pretty wet, actually. Well, of course it is. He’s just met someone he’s going to love more than anyone but Chris for the rest of his life.

She’s beautiful. Right off the bat she’s so beautiful. Usually he doesn’t think newborn babies are that cute. They’re kind of inhuman looking most of the time. Not her. And not Chris, actually, remembering it. Okay, maybe he’s just biased.

---

54 for 🌲

---

He still doesn’t know how to feel about this. What it means about him. Where did this come from, or has he always felt it? And just buried it deep down? He has no idea. All he knows is that he feels a deep, consuming need to be as close to Buck as possible. As much he can be. And that being touched by him last night, touching him? Was the best Eddie has felt in a long time. Maybe ever.

“This, uh, this doesn’t put you off?” Eddie asks, motioning to his face and tail.

“Not remotely,” Buck answers. And Eddie can tell it’s not just a platitude. He’s being honest.

“That probably says something about you,” Eddie says. “Might wanna check on that.”

Buck rolls his eyes. “You gonna keep delaying or give me an answer?”

Yeah, okay. He’s scared. Terrified. He doesn’t know what he’s doing. He doesn’t know what he is, beyond some sort of monster. He doesn’t want to take advantage of Buck in any way.

“You’re thinking too hard,” Buck says. “Yes or no. It’s okay either way.”

“Yes,” Eddie blurts. “Yes.”

Buck grins a little mischievously. Eddie sort of turns to goo. He finds he cannot regret his decision at all.

🍂

When Eddie decides to turn off his brain, the switch is flipped. It’s like he surrenders to Buck entirely, the way Buck had to him last night. And there’s no magic influencing any of it. At least that Buck can feel. It’s just them. Him and Eddie.

It’s sort of like a dream.

Buck really just hopes it’s real. He doesn’t ask though. He’s not going to pause and say, hey, Eddie, this mean you’re queer? No way! First of all, he doesn’t want to hear no, I’m just currently out of other options. Not that he thinks that’s Eddie’s motivation, but he’s read all these stories of Huldra. He knows there’s a base instinct there to have people. He doesn’t want to know if that’s all this is. Not yet. Second, if this is just a genuine sexual awakening for Eddie, he doesn’t have to have it figured out yet. Buck didn’t, that quickly. Doesn’t fully, even now. Eddie deserves to have time to process that.

So Buck doesn’t ask any questions. He just lets everything unfold, and he quietly hopes it’s real.

#daisies and briars writes #things we're all too young to know fic #take what the water gave me fic #promising light fic #firelight fic

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sweetblinginrose · 1 year ago

Text

𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖘𝖎𝖙𝖍 𝖔𝖗𝖉𝖊𝖗 | 𝖕𝖆𝖗𝖙 𝖙𝖜𝖔,

(OS Eddie Munson x fem!reader geek)

summary: The girl goes in search of answers and ends up with the metalhead's cock in her throat... who would have thought…

word count: 8,3k +

warnings: obv +18, rivalry, ingestion of alcohol and joints, almost gave Sinclair a withey, spanking, blowjob in public.

a/n: hey guuurls, i wrote a second part since @alastorssimp asked for it and i reconsidered it. not sure if it’ll be as good as you said the first part was, but i think it’s alright, ig. the problem is the translation. if there’s anything you don’t get, let me know.

oh, and sorry for taking so long, i’m busy with my exams hehe.

kisses!!

oh and don't copy my idea, it's my own huh 🦄

masterlist

before reading this part, you have to read this one!

━━ ✧♡✧ ━━ ✧♡✧ ━━ ✧♡✧ ━━

In the darkness of the room, you and the long-haired boy lay in an oasis of intimacy, surrounded by an ocean of sheets that kept the secrets of your most vulnerable moments. The sheets, wrinkled and disordered, were a canvas of memories, impregnated with the aroma of tobacco that mixed with the freshness of the night and the sweet vestige of recently consummated sex.

His room, a sanctuary of orderly chaos, exuded warmth despite its disarray. Magazines with their folded pages and worn edges lay scattered on the floor, testimony to many nights of reading and lively discussions. The posters, hung with a nonchalance that bordered on art, danced on the hard plastic walls of the trailer, each telling a story, each a window to a different world.

The laughter you shared, free and genuine, rose and filled every corner, weaving a melody exclusive to your duo. The night breeze, complicit in your union, slid through the half-open window, shaking the faded and torn curtains that hung like banners of a forgotten kingdom. The air carried with it the characteristic aroma of the Forest Hills Trailer Park, a mix of freshness and adventure, which caressed your bare skin, causing a shiver that was both anticipation and delight.

But then, reality knocked on the door in the form of insistent knocks. It was Tom, his voice filtering through the plastic like a discordant melody, his tone a mix of confusion and amusement. His question, thrown into the wind with the nonchalance of someone who has enjoyed the most earthly pleasures, broke the spell of the moment. "Hey, lovebirds! What are you doing in there that your hair can't be seen?" He exclaimed, his laugh a laugh that mixed with the smoke and foam of the shared beers. It was a reminder that, although the outside world continued to spin, in that room, in that moment, only the two of you existed.

You stood up suddenly, as if propelled by an invisible spring, in the middle of the darkness that hung over the room like a thick blanket. Your heart pounded in your chest with the force of a war drum, each beat an echo in the vast cavern of your anxiety. The room, previously a sanctuary of laughter and whispers, now seemed like a mausoleum of silence and shadows, only interrupted by the gasping of two souls that had danced on the edge of the abyss.

Your eyes, two desperate beacons in the night, opened wide, capturing the pale moonlight filtering through the window. The reality of your nakedness, and that of Eddie at your side, hit you with the rawness of an inescapable truth. You remembered, with a clarity that hurt, each step that had led you to intertwine your destinies in the most intimate way. Fear, that old acquaintance, slithered across your skin, a cold snake that threatened to strangle your thoughts. The senses, now sharp as knives, tensed as they captured every whisper, every creak that the old house decided to give away. Fear had transformed into panic, a savage beast that threatened to devour what little composure you had left. You could feel, almost see, your friends' questioning gaze through the closed door, their imaginary eyes piercing the plastic like x-rays.

In an act of desperation, your eyes searched frantically for something to cover your nakedness, but the room offered only the promise of deeper exposure. The feeling of vulnerability was overwhelming, a giant crushing you to the ground with its mountain-like weight. The certainty that something shameful was about to happen paralyzed you, a pillar of salt condemned to look back.

You and Eddie looked at each other, and in his eyes you found the reflection of your own fear, a mirror where anxiety danced with shame. The footsteps outside the room echoed with the certainty of an approaching doom, and in that moment, you understood what it meant to be truly trapped, like on Elm Street, in a true nightmare.

Adrenaline coursed through your veins as you propelled yourself upwards, attempting to defy gravity and the circumstances that had brought you to that unforgiving ground. But your legs, betrayed by exhaustion and accumulated tension, did not respond as you expected. Instead of standing tall in triumph, you collapsed, your knees hitting the worn and stained carpet that told stories of countless encounters and disagreements. The sharp pain that shot through your knees was a cruel reminder of your humanity, an echo of the vulnerability you had tried to ignore. Your legs trembled, shaken by spasms that robbed you of any illusion of control. Still, in an act of desperation, you extended your arm, looking for the garment that would restore a minimum of decorum, but you only found emptiness. You couldn't find your favorite panties...

With your heart pounding in your chest, you resigned yourself to the urgency of the moment and focused on putting on your bra, feeling the cold sensation of the bonding metal against your bare back. Every click of the closure reminded you of the stark reality of the situation you found yourself in.

Embarrassment mixed with urgency as you wrapped yourself in the bra, feeling the stretchy fabric hug your torso tightly, offering you a modicum of protection amidst the chaos around you. The absence of undergarments increased your vulnerability, but you had no time to hesitate.

In the midst of the mess, your gaze drifted to Eddie, who was awkwardly struggling to put on his pants. His movements were clumsy and uncoordinated, an expression of determination etched on his face despite the hair tie he held between his lips. With each tug of fabric, his face reflected a mix of urgency and desperation, as he struggled to regain a bit of dignity in the chaos of the situation. The mess you were in was palpable, but you were both determined to deal with it in the best way possible.

Tom's thuds and drunken screams intensified, reverberating against the bare walls of the room, each impact an echo of the tension building in the fog-thick air. The atmosphere was saturated with chaos, each discordant sound a note in the symphony of nocturnal anarchy. In the eye of this sonic storm, the voice of one of your friends emerged, a thread of sanity in Tom's madness. His tone was a mix of concern and drunken sarcasm, imploring him to moderate the force of his against the door, that the noise might wake the neighbors and bring consequences unwanted. His words, although tinged with alcohol, managed to cut through the chaos, granting a brief respite, a moment of calm before the storm continued. Tom, distracted by the presence of your friends, walked away from the door, his unsteady footsteps guiding him back to the dining room. There, his voice rose again, a drunken shout trying to be charming, seeking the attention of anyone willing to listen.

Meanwhile, in the stillness of the room, you stood up from the cold, hard floor. Your knees, marked by the pressure of your fall, showed a redness that spoke of the subtle but persistent pain. With movements that belied your newfound vulnerability, you grabbed your skirt and t- shirt, dressing with a haste born of necessity. Eddie, next to you, imitated your movements. He gave a dry clearing of his throat, an attempt to impose some order on the chaotic scene. Unlike you, he avoided your gaze, his attention focused on piecing together his appearance, making sure every detail was in its place. Without looking at you, his voice cut through the silence, "Everything's cool, right? Can we go out now?" You nodded, although you knew he wasn't expecting your approval. With a discreet gesture, he opened the door just enough to enter. His exit was marked by a forced smile, a façade of normality that sought to erase any hint of what had happened.

When you returned to the living room, not so welcoming, everyone's eyes focused on you. Luckily, the known animosity between the two served as a distraction from any suspicion. Tom, impatient, asked in a voice clouded by smoke and alcohol, "What took you so long?" Next to him, one of your friends was trapped in a casual hug, the smell of marijuana and alcohol permeating the air. Eddie, with the skill of a veteran in these affairs, made up an excuse on the fly, something about an item lost in a bet. The explanation, although weak, was accepted without further ado. The others, absorbed in their world of laughter and drinking, dismissed the importance of the matter and plunged back into their feast of joy and excess.

The night unfolded like a dark blanket, dotted with stars that blinked indifferently at the tension that was brewing between you and Eddie. The gazes that had previously danced together in perfect harmony were now diverted, colliding with familiar faces in the crowd. Discomfort clung to you, a second skin made of silences and unspoken words, a transparent shield that isolated you from the human warmth that surrounded you. The bustle of the small gathering became a distant hum, as each one was immersed in a sea of silent reflections and imprisoned feelings. The tension that had floated between you, a dance of veiled contempt and hidden desire, had brewed over the years, growing silently until it became an invisible giant that now separated you.

There you were, at the epicenter of an oppressive silence, as Eddie's laughter and exclamations filled the space, a sharp contrast to your internal stillness. His happiness, so pure and overflowing, was a rare sight, a light you hadn't witnessed in a long time, and the brilliance of it left you with an empty feeling, as if a part of you had faded into the darkness. "I have to go now, guys. I had a great time today, see you on Monday..." you announced, with a voice that seemed to come from afar, from someone that wasn't you. You didn't dare to look back, to face the surprise or the perplexity that could appear on their faces. You felt the weight of her gaze fixed on your back, trying to pierce the armor of your most secret thoughts.

As you left the trailer, the cool night air hit your face, a cold blow that sought to shake you out of the emotional lethargy in which you had immersed yourself. Your steps began to lead you away, each one resounding like an echo in the solitude of the night, marking the rhythm of your retreat from a world of silent confessions and secrets that would never see the light.

It was then that Lucas appeared, his presence so sudden that he almost seemed like a ghost emerging from the shadows. "I'll accompany you," he said in a voice that brooked no reply. His company was unexpected, almost uncomfortable, but there was something comforting about his presence. He was nothing more than an acquaintance, a friend of your sister, a member of the Order of the Sith, but at that moment, his presence was all you needed.

The night had become a blanket of uncertainty and unanswered questions. Lucas, with his unbalanced gait, seemed the only constant in a world that was reeling. You didn't understand why he had decided to accompany you and not Mike, who also shared the proximity of his steps to his house. The age difference between you and Lucas was an abyss of experiences and experiences, three years that at that moment seemed like an eternity.

The silence stretched between you like a suspension bridge, fragile and tense, until Lucas broke it with a simple, "Hey...". His voice was a whisper in the night, but enough to capture your full attention. Looking at him, worry washed over you; his dark skin glistened with night sweat, and his normally lively and alert eyes were half-lidded and tinted a deep red.

"Yes? Are you okay, Sinclair?" you asked, stopping in your tracks. The possibility that he had smoked marijuana assaulted you, and with it, a protective instinct you didn't know you had. Lucas looked at you, and in that moment, the vulnerability he showed was palpable.

"No, it's just... I think you're very pretty..." Sinclair's confession came with shaky honesty, his voice a fragile thread on the night breeze. He was visibly affected, dizziness painted his world with tones of uncertainty, and his body trembled slightly, although adorned with a naive smile that failed to hide his state. You ignored his words, it was not the time for flattery or the vulnerability they exuded. You approached him, noticing how he towered over you in height, a difference that now seemed trivial. “Have you smoked anything, Lucas,” you asked, worry coloring every syllable of your question.

Lucas tried to respond, but his rapid blinks and difficulty swallowing revealed more than his words. He looked around, perhaps looking for a way out of his confusion, when he suddenly lost his balance and fell to the ground. "Shit!" You exclaimed, as you crouched down next to him. You lifted him enough for him to sit, holding him steady. His eyes closed, surrendering to the sleep that called him, a dangerous mixture of alcohol and drugs had brought him to that sorry state. You looked around, searching for a solution, a refuge in the night for Sinclair. That's when you saw the 24-hour restaurant, an oasis of light and calm in the darkness. It was completely empty, as if it was waiting for you. Without hesitation, you decided it was the safe place to take Sinclair and help him recover. Carefully, you guided him towards the establishment, each step a silent promise that you wouldn't leave him alone in his time of need.

With every ounce of strength you had left, you crouched down and wrapped your arms under Sinclair's shoulders, feeling the dead weight of his body. "Come on, Sinclair, don't do this to me," you mumbled, your breathing labored by the effort. The dirt clung to your hands, and you could feel the wetness of the grass through your bare legs. "Sinclair, for the love of God, move something!" you exclaimed, as a vein on your forehead threatened to burst. Finally, with a groan that sounded more like a growl, Sinclair gained some consciousness, his eyes slowly blinking back to reality. With a superhuman effort, he managed to stand up, leaning heavily on you. They began to walk, each step a battle against gravity. “You weigh more than my sins,” you joked, trying to lighten the mood as his body tilted dangerously to one side, forcing you to compensate for the weight.

The cafeteria is filled with the hum of an old refrigerator as the only soundtrack of the night. The flickering lights from the neon sign outside filter through the blinds, casting dancing shadows over Lucas's exhausted form. His head, heavy as lead, oscillates on the edge of the abyss of sleep, leaning more and more towards the table that supports his weight.

The clock strikes 3 am, and time seems to have stopped in this forgotten corner of town. You, with a gesture of concern that you cannot hide, decide to intervene. The waitress, a middle-aged woman with eyes that have seen too many early mornings, walks silently over and places a steaming plate in front of Sinclair. It's an onion soup, with its comforting aroma and melted cheese that stretches with every spoonful, promising warmth and sustenance. Next to him, a large, cold glass water bottle lands with a thud on the table.

Lucas, shaken by the sound, raises his head with a start, his eyes blinking, trying to focus on the reality around him. "You have to eat and drink the whole bottle," he insists, with his arms crossed and a firmness in his voice that brooks no reply. It is not your responsibility to take care of him, but your conscience does not allow you to leave him to his fate.

As Sinclair obeys, he begins to regain the color in his cheeks and the lucidity in his eyes. The soup works its magic on him, and little by little, life returns to his eyes. Outside, the town is still asleep, oblivious to the small miracle that occurs inside. And you, despite your initial revulsion, can't help but feel a pang of satisfaction at seeing that, at least for tonight, you've made a difference in someone's life.

Lucas, with his mind still cloudy, clung to the fork as if it were an anchor in the middle of the storm. His eyes, glassy and distant, were lost in the abyss of the half-empty plate, where there had previously been a pile of comfort food. The cafeteria, plunged into a dead silence, seemed to hold its breath, waiting for his next move. Was Sinclair who broke the spell, his voice tearing through the silence like paper thin. "Why did you leave there? It's because you don't like Eddie, right?" he asked, as the water swirled in his glass, reflecting his still trembling hands. Your face, a canvas of contradictory emotions, was contorted into a grimace of discomfort. Memories of what had happened just an hour or two ago assaulted you, forcing your lips into a tight smile, a clear indication of your discomfort. You were convinced that you had made a mistake, that something in your behavior had caused Eddie's averted gaze and silence. "I say this because... he doesn't dislike you, quite the contrary..." Lucas continued, dragging his words with the same slowness with which he cleaned his plate with a piece of bread. The bread, now soaked in the last vestiges of soup, disappeared in his mouth, as if with each bite it could erase the tension in the air.

Surprise appeared on your face when you heard Lucas' words. "What do you say? But Eddie hates me, or at least he did," you exclaimed with an incredulous laugh, as if the idea was so absurd that it could only be cause for a joke. Your eyes drifted for a moment to the waitress, whose curious gaze rested on the both of you. With her arms crossed and one eyebrow raised, she looked like a statue, a silent observer of the strange dance of your conversation. Sinclair shook his head, her gesture was firm, denying your words with a seriousness that contrasted with your joking tone. He leaned forward, closing the distance between you, as if every word she was about to say needed the confidentiality of a whisper. "Look, I'm going to tell you, but if you tell Eddie, I'll kill you before he kills me..." His voice was a thread of tension, his eyes sleepy, as if the weight of what he was Sharing would burden him deeply.

Your confusion was palpable, but you nodded, giving Lucas the signal that he had your attention. He cleared his throat, clear preparation for what was to come, and leaned even closer, as if he feared even the walls could hear. "Long before us and your sister got to high school, Eddie was already crazy about you, so it's nothing new," Sinclair whispered, with a seriousness that made you question if it was really a joke. Despite your doubts, you decided to give him your full attention. It was a hard statement to believe; your interactions had always been marked by fights and teasing, a constant push and pull that left no room for deeper feelings. But after the recent sex, you found yourself reconsidering every look and word exchanged with Eddie. What if he was trying to flirt instead of bother you? Sinclair spoke with a rapidity that reflected the urgency and nervousness of sharing secrets that should not be revealed. "Ever since we started sitting with their group at lunch, they made jokes about you, I mean, about how hot you are and all that," his words flowed like an overflowing river, full of confidences and murmurs that had been kept with him. suspicion. "Although without knowing that your sister was your sister," he continued, a wry smile playing on his lips as he remembered the collective surprise, "so, when we were offered to join The Hellfire Club and she said she belonged to The Sith Order, Eddie was perplexed." He readjusted himself on the couch, which seemed to hug him with the comfort of it, and looked you directly in the eyes. It was evident that every word he said was another piece of the puzzle he was trying to put together in front of you, a puzzle that, once completed, would change the way you viewed Eddie and possibly the entire dynamic of your social circle. Lucas looked at you with a knowing smile, his eyes. They shone with a gleam of amusement as you imagined your sister. "And since then your sister no longer sits with us, since Eddie considers her a rival of his," he said, his voice tinged with his humor. It was known that Sinclair had always been in love with her, and his tone suggested that he still harbored romantic hopes. "What I'm getting at," Lucas continued, pausing to take a long sip of water. "It's just that when Eddie wanted to see you, since, just as he said, you graduated before him because of his bad grades, he was talking to your sister so that the battles between the groups would start." His words flowed with the ease of someone sharing a long-kept secret, and you realized that your sister's constant bets were more than just games. "That's why your sister proposed so many bets," he added, with a gesture of understanding. Lucas lowered his voice to a confidential whisper, "And always, after we left the games, he would stare at you as he went, commenting on how beautiful you were, what good taste you had, and how intelligent you were." He paused dramatically, making sure you caught the importance of his next words. "Eddie is totally into you."

The revelation had left you speechless, a whirlwind of emotions washing over you as you tried to process what you had just heard. Eddie, the same Eddie that seemed like a constant in your daily life, was now intertwined with your feelings in a way you hadn't expected. A few years ago, every time you crossed the school cafeteria, your gaze unconsciously searched for his figure. Eddie, always alert, stood up as if he were waiting for you to pass, leaving a clear space for you to pass. You wondered if it was a coincidence or if, in some way, he also felt that invisible connection that united you. You remembered that time he called you a witch with a voice that was intended to be harsh, but his eyes betrayed the truth. It wasn't hate you saw in them, but a spark of fun, a lopsided smile that bordered on flirtatious. It was a game of looks and unspoken words that only the two of you seemed to understand, even though apparently, you didn't.

In the role-playing games you shared, Eddie transformed. He became the supreme narrator, his voice filling the room, creating worlds and adventures with astonishing ease. But when it was your turn, everything changed. His tone softened, his gaze fixed on you with an intensity that seemed to want to decipher each of your thoughts. It was as if, in those moments, there was no one else in the room, just you and him.

Now, as you remembered those moments, you felt a shiver run down your spine, causing an involuntary blush to stain your cheeks. Sinclair's words echoed in your mind, giving you the courage to believe that, perhaps, what you felt for Eddie was reciprocated. It was a terrifying and exciting thought at the same time, a possibility that opened a new chapter in the story of your life.

Sunday slipped through scattered thoughts, like leaves blown by the autumn wind. The week became a countdown, each day marking one step closer to Friday, that day that promised practice with your group and, more importantly, Saturday, when you would have the chance to face Eddie once again.

The cabin, with its walls that whispered stories of ancient victories and defeats, welcomed you on Friday. The practice went without a hitch, each member of the group immersed in their role, building a parallel reality where anything was possible. But Saturday came with a bittersweet taste. The Hellfire Club was full, everyone except Eddie. His absence was like a vacuum that sucked the energy out of the room. You had taken care of your appearance, hoping to capture the magic of that previous night, but instead, you were met with words that fell like cold drops on your spirit. "Eddie said he didn't want to see you today," Dustin announced with a nonchalance that hurt you more than you expected. The screams of his friends echoed, a cacophony of reproaches rising like a storm. "What?" The surprise left you speechless for a moment, a pause that felt eternal. "What?! No! It's not what you think!" The boy you had helped was trying to repair the damage with hasty words. "Yes! Eddie literally said that!" Dustin insisted, causing gestures of frustration in the others, hands on their foreheads, mouths covered in an attempt to silence the truth. You didn't want to admit it, but the words affected you, a lot. After Sinclair's confession, you expected something more, something different. You then decided to put on the mask of indifference, pretending that Eddie's absence didn't matter to you, that his presence or lack of it were equally insignificant. You focused on the game, on the chips and dice, but your mind was elsewhere, lost in a maze of 'what ifs'. The game continued, but your heart was playing its own game, one where the rules were unclear and the only opponent was yourself.

Sunday dawned with a gray sky that seemed to reflect your mood. You got out of bed with the heaviness of someone carrying more than the weight of the sheets. College assignments were piled up on your desk, a mountain of words and numbers demanding your attention, but your mind was somewhere else, lost in the echo of a revelation that still echoed in your ears. With every page you turned, every problem you solved, Eddie's image was superimposed on the text, blurry and persistent. Night fell without you realizing it, and with it, the promise of a new day.

Monday came without classes, a small relief in your routine. Your mother, oblivious to the storm brewing inside you, asked you to pick up your sister from high school. You accepted, almost grateful for the distraction, for the chance to get outside and breathe fresh air. You arrived at the school and parked calmly. Soft music filled the space of the car, a melody that tried, unsuccessfully, to calm the waves of your heart. You got lost in your thoughts, looking towards the small forest that stretched like a green blanket beyond the institute, remembering the moments of hanging out with your friends to smoke while hiding from everyone. That's when you saw it. Eddie, accompanied by a girl, entering the forest. Alone. The scene hit you like a punch in the stomach, mixing alarm with sadness and, above all, with anger that burned through your veins. How could he be with another girl after what they had shared just less than two weeks ago?

The car clicked off, the keys still dangling from the ignition, forgotten. You got out of the vehicle, driven by an anger that blinded you. You left behind the responsibility of waiting for your sister, each step towards the woods fueled by the need to confront Eddie, to demand explanations, to understand why he hadn't shown up on Saturday, why he had left you with a heart full of questions and no response.

You walked with a determination that seemed to emanate from every pore of your skin, your fists clenched so tightly that your nails, long and sharp, dug into the palm of your hands, leaving small marks that would be silent witnesses of your contained fury. Your boots, faithful companions of so many days, hit the wet ground with a force that seemed to want to leave a mark not only on the earth but on destiny itself. The mud, stubborn, adhered to the edges of these, as if it wanted to stop you, but nothing could stop your progress. The girl, the one who had come out of the forest, passed by your side, her presence just a fleeting shadow in your visual periphery. For an instant, doubt made you recalculate, but it was just that, an instant. Your determination strengthened and you continued forward, towards the place that Eddie had made into his personal sanctuary. The bank in the middle of the forest was a silent witness of transactions and secrets. Worn by time and the stories he had endured, he proudly displayed his growing moss and cigarette burn scars on the picnic table. The trees surrounded it in an almost perfect circle, as if nature itself had decided to protect that space from intruders. And there was Eddie, oblivious to the world, with his only Walkman for company, moving his head to the rhythm of music that only he could hear. He counted dollars and cents with a precision that belied the apparent nonchalance of his posture.

You approached him, who had his back turned to you, oblivious to the storm of emotions that brought you there. With a decision that admitted no turning back, you turned him around forcefully, forcing him to face you, to look into your eyes. Surprise was drawn on his face, an unexpected and unmanly scream escaped his lips, while he took off his helmets with a speed born of bewilderment. "Shit, what are you doing—?" He began to say, but his question remained suspended in the air, interrupted by your hand that closed on his shirt, bringing him closer until the space between the two of them was almost erased. "Listen to me carefully, Munson, I think you have to explain a lot of things to me..." your voice was a thread of annoyance, but also of a determination that he didn't expect, feeling a tickle in his stomach. Eddie looked at you, and you saw something in his eyes that disconcerted you. It wasn't fear, or even surprise. It was a glow, a spark of something that seemed dangerously close to taste. Did he like that intensity, that fire you had inside? Or was it just another of his facades, another game in which he pretended not to be vulnerable?

"Explanations?" he replied, with a crooked smile that you didn't know if you wanted to erase or deepen. "What exactly do you want to know?" His tone was challenging, but there was a curiosity in his gaze that you couldn't ignore. "Besides, what are you doing here? Didn't you finish high school a year or two ago?"

The tension between you and Eddie was palpable, like a guitar string about to break. "What the fuck do you mean by what explanations?" you repeated, keeping your tone firm and defiant. Eddie's confident smile faded, replaced by an expression of surprise as he realized the seriousness of the situation. "We fucked, Eddie. We fucked, so I thought you liked me, but at meet-up time you don't show up and tell the guys you didn't want to see me? Are you stupid or something?" The words came out of you like bullets, each one loaded with the confusion and pain of feeling rejected, something that never happened, so it hurt your ego. You let go of Eddie's shirt, your hands finding his place on your hips, emphasizing your defiant stance. You were dressed to impress, or perhaps to confront. Your tight, ripped and slightly flared jeans were typical of the time, a cry of rebellion and style that adhered to your figure. The belt, an accessory that marked your waist, seemed to capture Eddie's attention, who was lost in contemplation of it, taken out of his thoughts by the intensity of your reproaches. Eddie blinked, coming to, and for a moment, he seemed to search for the right words. "It's not what you think," he began, his voice a little lower, a little more serious.

The tension in the air was almost tangible, like electricity before a storm. "Oh, right? So what is it, huh? Excuse yourself," you demanded, your words sharp as the red fingernails that were now pointed at him, a perfect contrast to your small maroon jean jacket. Eddie seemed lost, unable to find the right words. “It's just...that...” his voice trailed off, and with each syllable that trailed off, your frustration grew. Your brow was furrowed, a grimace of disgust was drawn on your face, and without thinking about it, you grabbed him by the cheeks. Your nails, now weapons of your anger, dug lightly into his cheeks, scratched by the shadow of a stubble. Eddie had never seen you like this, with such fierce passion, and that, somehow, seemed to light a different fire in him, a desire that grew with each gesture of your discontent. "Speak up, Eddie! You have no right to leave me like this, with doubts and no answers," you continued, your voice a crescendo of mixed emotions. "After everything that's happened, you avoid me and send messages through others? It's unfair and you know it!" Munson finally raised his gaze, meeting yours. There was something in his eyes, a flash of something that wasn't just surprise or fear of your reaction. It was deeper, a mix of regret and something you didn't dare name. "It's not what you think," he said finally, his voice firm but soft.

Eddie looked at you with eyes that seemed to seek refuge in yours, his voice trembling slightly as he confessed, "It's just that I'm a loser and you mean a lot to me..." The words hung in the air, loaded with raw sincerity. and vulnerable. "I didn't pay attention to you after fucking because I didn't want to be discovered at that moment, otherwise we would be the subject of ridicule." He paused, as if each word cost him a piece of his pride. "I didn't show up to the meeting because I knew I would get hard and it would be weird, which I didn't think you would see very well, so I excused myself to the boys with the excuse that I didn't want to see you." His confession was a labyrinth of emotions, a clumsy attempt to protect something that he himself didn't fully understand. And then, with a look that drifted toward the ground, he added, "And I haven't been able to contact you because my uncle has had problems with his diabetes and the only times I've left the house were to sell, you know, as you can see right now. I swear..." His gestures were limited, restricted by the pressure your fingers exerted on his cheeks.

Hearing him, guilt took over you, you let go of his face and looked at him, this time with an expression that mixed understanding with remorse. Eddie felt the cold on his skin where the warmth of your hand used to be. "No, no, you can leave your hand here, if you want... ..." he teased, attempting a smile that didn't reach his eyes, a forced laugh that desperately sought to relieve the tension of the moment.

Eddie stood up with a slowness that seemed to measure every second, his commanding height creating a shadow over you. You looked up, following the contour of his figure until your eyes met his, half-closed and shining with a mischievous light.

His smile, that familiar curve of his lips, enveloped you in a spell that you didn't want to escape. With a softness that contrasted the roughness of her skin, her hand found your neck, sliding to the back of your neck in a possessive gesture. "Let me clarify that that wasn't just one night, really..." The confession came out of him in a whisper, his voice a thread of vulnerability intertwined with the firmness of his words. For an instant, his gaze averted, as if the emotions he carried inside him sought to escape. But you weren't about to let him walk away from her, not now. Your hand acted of its own volition, drawing his attention back to you, demanding the connection you both knew existed. A knowing smile appeared on his face, a reflection of yours, while a part of him longed for you to repeat the gesture, to maintain that contact that seemed to be the only anchor in the whirlwind of feelings that surrounded you.

The atmosphere around them was a mixture of tension and electricity, as if the air itself was charged with the intensity of their emotions. The forest had become a private sanctuary, the tall and majestic trees formed a natural roof that filtered the sun's rays, creating a play of light and shadows on them. The ground was covered in fallen leaves, which crunched softly under their feet, a reminder of the fleeting nature of time.

The physical contact between them was its own language, a wordless conversation where each touch and each gesture had its own meaning. Eddie's hand on the back of your neck wasn't just a touch; It was an affirmation, a silent promise that what was between you transcended the everyday. His rough skin contrasted with the softness of yours, creating a sensation that made you want to get even closer.

Your hands, although they had been weapons of your anger moments before, now became explorers, tracing the contours of his face, feeling the texture of his skin, the firmness of his jaw. The pressure of your fingers was an echo of the pressure in your chest, a mixture of desire and need for understanding.

Eddie responded to your every touch, his body instinctively reacting to yours. There was a dance in their proximity, one step forward and one step back, as if they were on the edges of an emotional precipice, seeking the perfect balance between confession and reserve.

The boy remained waiting full of impatience, his eyes fixed on you, shining with the expectation of what was to come. It was as if he had cast a spell, and you, responding to that silent call, grabbed onto a strand of his long, dark hair, tugging at it with a playful but determined gesture. In one fluid motion, you pulled him towards you, and your lips met in a kiss that sealed all the unspoken words, a kiss that was a promise and a confession at the same time. Eddie's hand, which until then rested on your neck, began its slow but sure descent, tracing the contour of your collarbone before settling on the curve of your waist. His fingers, strong but careful, caressed the skin exposed by your shirt, exploring every inch with a tenderness that contrasted with the intensity of his gaze and exchange of saliva. It was a caress that spoke of possession, an intimate connection that united you beyond the physical, but right now it was what you were looking for.

The metallic melody of Eddie's headphones, now a persistent hum, becomes the backdrop for a moment that feels suspended in time. The wet whisper of your kisses transforms into a secret language, communicating unspoken desires that only you can understand. Eddie, with a determination that leaves you breathless, he spins you around with gravity-defying skill, leaving you with your back to the bench, where your butt rested on the surface littered with tobacco flakes, adding a rough texture to the scene. You were trapped between that cool surface and Eddie's firm crotch, which pulsed with desire, sending shivers down your spine, which was caressed by Eddie's hand. A shared sigh escaped your lips as you felt the reconnection of that pressure, fueling the erotic tension that intensified with each moment.

Eddie's tongue lasciviously explored from your mouth to your neck, tracing a trail of sensations that made you sway slightly, sliding back onto the picnic table, followed by your neck, giving him just enough room. While Eddie concentrated on his task, he firmly grabbed your sturdy thighs, lifting you up and placing you on the table, causing the money counted earlier to slide on the wet grass on the floor, a detail that added a note of chaos to the scene, increasing the intensity of the moment. Each bill and coin was lost in the undergrowth, as a metaphor for the debauchery and overflowing passion that consumed them.

"I want to fuck you right here. I want to take that stupid belt off you and choke you with it," Eddie said, his voice hoarse and heavy with desire, his words reverberating in the tension-laden air. You gasped as you broke the kiss for air, his hot breath brushing against your wet neck, leaving a new electric trail on your skin. His hands, eager and determined, slid down your lower back, searching for the belt that promised to release the pent-up desire.

Eddie ran his hands anxiously down your abdomen, urgently undoing your belt as your eyes were fixed on his desperate expression. Around you, the world seemed to fade away in a swirl of colors and sounds, leaving only room for the electricity that flowed between the two of you. With a quick tug, Eddie undid your belt, making you wobble slightly as he looked at you with a devilish grin, nimbly folding it. The rustling of the leaves in the wind intermingled with the accelerated beating of your hearts, creating an atmosphere full of tension. "What would happen to that eyeliner of yours if I smacked you in the face?" he asked sarcastically, each word ringing with defiant energy. "Would he cum from your tears, or would I be the only one who would?"

Your playful response brought a flicker of desire to Eddie's eyes, which burned brightly as he watched you. "Why don't you see for yourself?" you challenged with an innocent but mischievous look, causing the tension between you to reach a new level.

Eddie obeyed with a malicious smile, giving you a sudden spank on your cheek, causing you to emit a moan of pain mixed with a hint of pleasure. The sound echoed through the air, mixing with the rustle of leaves moving in the nearby breeze. A slight redness appeared at the site of impact, marking your skin with a warm, burning tone, while your breathing quickened, full of anticipation. Meanwhile, the palpable tension between them increased, making each brush of fabric against skin feel more intense. Eddie's cock, imprisoned in her boxers, pulsed with a exquisite sensitivity, as if she were eager to break free and join the game they were both playing.

Eddie, almost instinctively, pressed his erection, imprisoned by his rock jeans, against your groin, eager to free himself. There was a tangible electricity in the surrounding environment, as if nature itself was aware of the burning desire manifesting between you.

“You look like a bitch in heat,” you teased Eddie with a mischievous smile, as your delicate hands slid to his skull-adorned belt buckle, undoing it with deliberate slowness. Each click of the buckle resonated in the air, generating a slight tremor in Eddie, who awaited with anticipation what was about to happen. His erection rubbed against the fabric, causing involuntary movements that did not go unnoticed by you, unleashing a mischievous laugh that escaped your lips, full of complicity.

You released Eddie from his belt, letting him fall nonchalantly behind you as you focused on pulling his pants down enough to show his erection, remaining careful that he could quickly pull them up if someone showed up.

Seeing his covered but noticeable cock, you licked your lips in anticipation, reveling in the sight. Eddie's white boxers were soaked with precum, revealing the level of his arousal. Your gaze fell on his crotch, where his erection was begging to be touched and pleasured. Without further ado, you pulled down his boxers, leaving light marks on his thighs from the rubbing of your nails, which caused his arched cock to release completely, hitting his clothed abdomen with a light sound. The arousal in the air was palpable, and his cock throbbed eagerly, twitching slightly in anticipation of what was to come.

Determinedly, you wrap your hand around Eddie's firm erection, beginning to pump at a slow but steady pace. A content sigh escapes her parted lips as his body tenses at the contact, letting out a barely audible moan that is lost in the air charged with excitement. His trembling hand finds its way to your hair, gripping it firmly as his mouth curves into a mischievous smile. Every movement you make provokes a response in his body, a slight contraction of his muscles, a ragged inhalation that adds to the ambient noise.

The sound of skin rubbing against skin mixes with the rustle of the breeze rustling nearby leaves, creating a symphony of pleasure and anticipation. Your hand continues to move skillfully, gradually quickening the pace, as Eddie's breathing becomes more labored, his moans more audible.

Every time your thumb brushes the sensitive tip of his member, his body shudders involuntarily, and his moans intensify, filling the air with a heady mix of arousal and desire.

With provocative elegance, you slide from the table you were sitting at, moving gracefully until you are on your knees in front of Eddie. From that lower position, you look at him with a look full of desire and eagerness to please him, while a playful smile curves your lips. Leaning forward slightly, you open your mouth in a clear sign of your intentions, indicating your willingness to take his cock in your mouth. Anticipation shines in Eddie's eyes, his breathing becoming more labored as he watches you with a mix of desire and arousal.

Without warning, in a provocative act, you playfully open your mouth, inviting him to immerse himself in the pleasure you offer him. Eddie's hand, which was firmly gripping your hair, pushes you decisively, forcing his cock forcefully into your mouth. You feel the sudden onslaught of his member, causing a strong tremor in his body as he experiences the humidity, heat, softness and tightness of your mouth. The intoxicating sensation of having him inside you awakens a wave of pleasure that runs through every fiber of your being, noticing how those jeans that you considered favorites began to get wet due to the transfer of your panties.

A deep, desire-laden moan escapes Eddie's lips as he pronounces your name between broken breaths. His voice, full of passion and desire, resonates in the air, further fueling the fiery moment. “Ahh... fuck...” he moans your name, revealing the overwhelming effect you have on him. You give yourself fully to the act, letting desire and arousal consume you completely, as you dive deeper into the pleasure of giving Eddie exactly what he craves.

Eddie’s hands grip the sides of your face with palpable determination, like he’s eager to explore every inch of your mouth. He begins to move at a frenetic pace, fucking your mouth with an unbridled passion that leaves you breathless. Little by little, his member reaches the beginning of your throat, causing an intense sensation that makes you shudder. A gag escapes your throat, caused by Eddie's deep intrusion, but he doesn't stop, instead continuing to thrust hard, causing pleasure mixed with slight pain that makes your moans intermingle with his. The feeling of his tip lightly crushing your palate only intensifies the ecstasy shared between the two of you, causing louder, deeper moans from Eddie.

You could feel Eddie getting closer to climax, his ragged breathing and higher-pitched moans indicating he was on the brink of release. However, something else was seeping into your consciousness: close footsteps, a sound that didn't fit the intimate atmosphere you shared with Eddie. Worry began to bubble inside you as you continued to do your duty, but unease took over. The desire to find out who was interrupting this private but at the same time public moment grew with each closer step, but Eddie's firm grip on your face kept you trapped, preventing you from moving away. With concentrated effort, you fought against his hold until you finally managed to free yourself enough to separate yourself from his cock.

You pulled away from Eddie's cock with a sharp movement, feeling his cream slide between your fingers. Your eyes met those of the step holders, two figures who looked at you with a surprise that seemed carved into their faces. "Eddie?" the Sinclair's voice cracked, revealing his bewilderment, while your sister remained at his side, a motionless silhouette in the chaos of the moment. "Sinclair!" you exclaimed, your voice rising above the murmur of the forest as you realized he was holding a used and tied condom, a crucial link in the chain of events unfolding before you. The long-haired man's erection, now abandoned by his misfortune, collapsed, and a torrent of almost translucent white liquid spread across your face, hiding your shocked expression.

Eddie's deep moan that followed this echoed through the forest, marking the end of one act and the beginning of another. Eddie, Sinclair, and your sister looked at you, their expressions a mirror of absolute shock. None of the four of you knew how to react, trapped in a moment of mutual transgression, a game of secrets and silences that had been broken by Eddie's cum on your face.

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