#as revenge for the coarse hands thing

[fishareglorious]

Sinclair just went through his worst traumas in Canto 3 and now in 3.5 he can't event catch a goddamn break without someone mentioning how short he is

[littlefreya]

Neptune's Snare

Summary: She came to take revenge on the loathsome man who murdered her fiance, only to become his captive.

Read Chapter One

Pairing: AU!Pirate August Walker x Virgin OFC (for now 😏)

Word count: 3k

Warnings: 18+, minors DNI. Sexual themes, dark themes mentioned, historical inaccuracies, kidnapping, captivity, graphic descriptions of sex, intimidation, slow burn, sexual tension, foul language.

A/N: I was unsure whether I should do part 2, but @deandoesthingstome (💖) motivated me to do it, so I truely hope you will like it. Many thanks to @agniavateira, for beta'ing. I am no longer using my old tag list, but I will tag those who specifically asked to be tagged for this story via my new Writing Update Blog @littlefreyaslibrary.

Thanks for reading, and please reblog with a comment 🖤

Chapter Two

Hours had passed since the Captain left—hours of futile attempts to escape the cruelty of the heavy iron binds. By now, the ship was deep into the ocean, miles away from any harbour or piece of land. The notion that she’d been abducted by the most ruthless murderer known to authorities had only just begun to sink. 

As hot tears stung at her cheeks, Lizette couldn’t help but chuckle at the stupidity that led her to this fate.

‘Did you really think that a foolish girl could succeed where great men had failed?’ 

If Lizette had dared be honest, she would admit she never thought that plan through, not that it mattered much anymore. Soon enough, she would be yet another shiny trinket in Blackbeard’s gaudy collection.

Exhausted from a fierce yet futile battle, she leaned her head back against the plush, gold-paneled wall. Her weary gaze drifted through the open window, where the dark skies and black seas merged into a desolate void. No light shone through tonight; the darkness has devoured the stars and the moon. Lizette felt as if she was drowning in it too, sinking into a thick, tar-like liquid. With each breath, the collar around her throat grew heavier, the iron pressing into her skin and dragging her deeper and deeper until everything faded to black.

When she blinked again, it was still night but the cabin was lit in deep shades of honey and amber. Her heart skipped—once for the iron still hanging from her neck and twice as her bleary eyes caught sight of a shadow by the edge of the big table.  

It appeared that her host had returned. 

Boots flung across the food-abundant table, the Captain sat back in his royal velvet chair. One hand cradled a silver chalice whilst the other toyed with the edge of his thick whiskers. Silver trays of food, wine, and books were splayed before him, surrounded by dozens of fat, wax-dripping candles. The flickering flame guttered upon his eyes, painting them bright red while he observed the girl intently. 

The curiosity was mutual, at least to some extent. As loathsome as the pirate was, Lizette could not help but scrutinise. Never in her life did she see a man so crude and yet so regal at the same time, He looked like a washed-out king, holding himself to a higher status amongst the scum aboard his ship. Surrounding himself with fine art, books and scientific obscurities, one would assume that this low-life man was educated, or at least aspired to be. His appearance, too, was of some sort of false elegance,  with his moustache carefully groomed and his hair neatly combed save for an errant curl that fell upon his tanned forehead. However, the white cotton shirt that hung partially unbuttoned and loose from his shoulders exposed him for what he truly was as it revealed a myriad of tattoos, scars, and coarse hair. 

‘Nothing but a filthy scoundrel.’

“At last, sleeping beauty is awake.” 

Lizette kept her tongue knotted. The blazes on her stare answered on her behalf. 

August scoffed at the silent response. ‘Precious little thing,’ Had only she known how much he enjoyed obstinate women. The only thing that was better than bending a spitfire to his will was getting a nun to kneel before his cock.

A slight twitch tugged at his cheek; his smirk widening at the fond memory.  

‘Ah, Mary… you sure pray hard.’

Letting go of his whiskers and the chalice in his grasp, the Captain reached for a loaf of bread and split it in half. Steam rose and coiled to the air.  The scrumptious scent of the freshly baked goods quickly filled the room and wafted over Lizette in a tempting invitation. Absentminded, she suckled her bottom lip, almost able to taste the sweetness on her tongue. 

The pirate held out one piece of the loaf, an unmistakably provoking grin lighting his face. “Would you dine with me, pet?”

Weakness unfurled through her, reminding Lizette that it must have been hours, if not an entire day, since she last ate. Her empty belly flipped and gurgled so loudly that the pirate could hear it even from where he sat. Joy immediately cascaded about his glance; the impish grin between his cheeks further stretched. 

To his delightful surprise, the girl was a lot more stubborn than she appeared. Instead of begging, she offered a spiteful glare and turned her face away. 

“I’d rather starve!” 

“Suit yourself.” The Captain shrugged and bit on one of the pieces. Hums and moans sputtered from his mouth, all exaggerated to taunt his brazen prisoner. As he finished chewing, he sucked on each of his inked fingers. 

“Got a name, pet?”

“What matter is that to you?” The girl spat.

August shrugged again and returned to the chalice, dragging it on the table's surface in circular motions. A deep-red whirlpool briefly formed in his drink. He stared at it indifferently as he retorted, “Matters not, pet. But since you’ll be spending some time here in my quarters, I will require a moniker to approach you by. Question is, would you rather I choose a name for you myself? It won’t be a nice one. I can promise you that.” 

Keeping her eyes averted, the girl folded her knees and hugged them, a deep sigh sinking from her. She couldn’t even bring herself to imagine the horrendous name he would choose.

“My name is Lizette.” 

A touch of dark delight kissed his face—as if he had heard the enchanting hymn of a siren. Thoughtful, he stopped stirring his drink to the sound of her name, licked his lips, lifted the chalice and pressed it to his lips. “Ah, yes, you are definitely a Lizzy.” 

“It’s Lizette!” she vehemently corrected.  

“Oh!” The pirate abruptly twirled his free hand in the air, his brows lifting in a sardonically submissive gesture. “Forgiveness! Mercy, milady!” That had earned him the attention he was hoping to receive, as finally, Lizette snapped to glare at him. 

The pure ire on her face did nothing but feed his amusement. 

With a slanted grin and his thumb brushing his whiskers, he eyed her back. It’s been a while since a girl piqued his fascination, and this one was indeed something else. Fear seeped from her like dewy nectar from a ripe fruit. The sheen of sweat clinging to her skin and the throbbing at the crook of her neck gave away her true emotions. Yet, she exuded the unyielding fury of a harpy, the shackles around her throat barely deterring her brazen spirit.. 

‘Bold little thing. As ferocious as the ship’s cat…’ August thought and then frowned, ‘Where is that ungodly creature, anyway? Haven’t seen it in a while.’ 

“Lady Lizette…” the correct moniker rolled smoothly on his tongue in an inherently sinister sweetness. “Are you always such a rude guest to your hosts?”

“Guest?!” Lizette seized the chain that held her collar to the wall and lifted it in front of him—a deep frown decorating her weary face.  

“I am not a guest! I am a prisoner!”

“Ah! Ah!” The pirate lifted his inked index finger in an unbearably pretentious manner. "It was you who came aboard my ship willingly, and let us not forget—uninvited.” 

Lizette felt a chill in her chest, the same chill she always sensed when getting an answer wrong in her Latin lessons. He was right, and there was more to it. Pirate or not, doesn't every man deserve respect in his own home? 

That notion made her cheeks hot. 

“And if I may…“ the pirate drawled huskily and shifted into his seat. Lizette’s eyes followed his movement with the wariness of a skittish cat. Initially bemused, she realised his hand had snaked below the table and was now fumbling with his waistband. 

A deep, pulsating pang bloomed in her core as the primordial anxiety every maiden is doomed to suffer from awoke within her. Alarmed, she shook her head and blurted hoarsely, “Wait!” 

The pirate paid her no mind; either he didn’t hear or didn’t care. Then, his hand sprang back sharply with a pistol in his grip—the same one he had confiscated from her merely a few hours before. 

“Did you not attempt to murder me in my own home?” 

With those words, he slammed the pistol on the table, the dull thud booming through the cabin wall and causing Lizette to jump with a start.

Sinking back to his red regal chair, August crossed his fingers together and pressed his lips together with the contempt of an authority figure. The many golden trinkets around his fingers chimed as they collided. 

“Answer me, Pet.” 

Lizette regarded the pistol carefully. The golden floral embellishments upon the handle sparked with the candle's light.  For a fleeting moment, she wondered how fast she needed to be to grab the pistol and shoot him dead in his rotten heart. Instead, she simply nodded, much as she could with the heavy collar around her neck. The spots where the sharp edges grazed her flesh burnt as sweat dripped over the bruised skin.

“Dumb as your plan was, I do appreciate the gesture, las. It wouldn’t be the first time someone tried to murder me, but it’s definitely the first time it was a beautiful young lady. Was all of this because of a boy?” He challenged, crooking one eyebrow. 

This time, Lizette did not hesitate to answer. 

“You robbed me of my future!” She corrected, and though she tried to maintain a fierce demeanour, the quiver in her voice gave away the rageful grief. 

Sympathy, sadly, was not in August’s books, especially not whilst being distracted by the way her breasts pressed against the confines of the corset with every fervorous breath. A small, almost inaudible groan left his lips. He wondered if she, indeed, was a virgin. Did he deny her of her wedding night? Were these lovely tits ever in the hands of a man before? 

Surely, he would find out. One way or another. 

With a glare still fixed on her cleavage, he grazed his dimpled chin and simply shrugged. 

“Pirate.” 

Lizette hissed in response. Defiant, she snapped her arms across her chest to hide her cleavage. 

‘Pig.’

“So I robbed you of your future,” August continued, mimicking quotation marks with his long, inked fingers. “And thus, you thought you should rob me of mine?” 

“And what future would that be? Murdering and whoring?” she muttered hatefully.  

The pirate swatted a hand over his chest, giving her a fake, exaggerated pout. “Now that pains me, love.” 

Lizette could sense the blood seeth beneath her skin. She was used to men belittling her, but never did she experience such sheer mockery and humiliation. Trembling, she yelled back, “Good! I wish you nothing but pain!”

“And so she continues to insult me in my own home.” August clicked his tongue and shook his head with sardonic disappointment. “You highborn ladies sure lack respect. ‘Funny thing is, no matter how uppity women like you act, they all want the same thing…” his voice slurred and deepened, coaxing a baffled look from the maiden who abruptly forgot her wrath and ate the bait. 

“And what would that be?” 

The pirate stood and calmly paced to the fore of the table, where he leaned against the edge to peer down at his prisoner. Lizette remained guarded. he was fairly far away yet close enough for his shadow to fall upon her face and for his manhood to be situated at the level of her mouth. She struggled to avoid staring at it directly, which only made that wretched smug smile light his face again.

“What you ladies truly want is to be violated by none other but us ‘lowlife scoundrels’,” August nibbled his bottom lip, a dry chuckle escaping him as more fond memories came to mind. “Truly, the lots of you are bored by the castrated virility of the poised gentlemen. All you fantasise about is to be fucked dirty like a whore by a brute who has no sense of propriety.” 

The pirate held his fist before him and mimicked a slow pumping motion. Although Lizette did not quite understand it, his words alone were enough to leave her gravely unsettled. 

“You are an animal,” she snarled, not realising that her nails were biting into her forearms as she clutched herself so protectively. 

But that merely fueled him.    

“Tell me, Pet, did your boy satisfy those dark desires before he left a delicious bonny lass like yourself all alone? Did he split open and plundered your sweet little cunt, ass, and mouth, or did he leave you wet and miserable?”

Heat crawled at Lizette’s cheeks, yet she wasn’t sure whether it was from outrage or shame. Never in her life had she even considered the possibilities he had suggested, and now those horrifying images poisoned her mind.  

Amused by her obvious mortification, the pirate tilted his head impishly. “No? Not even a finger or a tongue?”

“Stop it!” She implored, her voice cracking.

Ignoring her plea, he clicked his tongue. “Aw, sweet, tender flower. That’s the problem, isn’t it? He left you all alone and uncharted—that lonesome seal, begging to be invaded. Well, milady, you didn’t have to threaten me with a pistol in that case. All you had to do was ask.” 

The pirate reached for his bulge and squeezed it, much to Lizette’s dismay.

”Trust me, one night with me, and you’d forget you ever loved him.”

That was enough to send Lizette over the edge. Not thinking twice, she jerked to her feet, the chains around her rattling along a furious onslaught that sputtered from her mouth. 

“Love?! What do you know about love? You are a monster! All you do is kill and rape! You are incapable of love, and I’d be damned if anyone could ever love you!” 

All the candles in the cabin flickered with a sudden gust of wind as the pirate suddenly lunged forward. He moved so fast, too fast. Lizette hadn’t even had the chance to sway from his touch, and already he was upon her. Crude fingers dug deep into the hollows of her cheek, forcing her to face his terrorising stare. 

“You think this is a game? You think you know anything about me, little girl? About what I’ve done!?” 

It was not a question to be answered, and even so, Lizette couldn’t bring herself to speak; she was suffocating, drowning on the surface. All around her, the air stood dense with the scent of iron, wine, and musky sweat, whilst the weight of his body crushed as it clung to her. 

Closer, deeper. Layers upon layers of silk and wool separated their skin from one another, and still, she sensed the curve and firmness of his robust figure. The woven map of muscles that adorned his torso and the flex each muscle made as he tensed were evident 

But none of this came close to what she saw as he forced her to look into his eyesa wrathful maelstrom pregnant with sinister urges beyond her darkest fears. It felt as if it was trying to draw her into a deep sense of anger, and grief submerged her.

Dread began to spill into her veins. He was going to kill her.

Lizette sucked in a deep shuddering breath. She was not going to join her Edward. Not tonight.

“Let go of me!” She squealed and began to punch his shoulders repeatedly. It felt like hitting iron, every blow more painful than the other, yet she refused to stop. 

Indeed, she was just like that sea monster of a cat.

Stoic as an icy sea breeze, the pirate tilted his head at the girl. Despite her desperate efforts, her battle did nothing but vex him. Quirking one eyebrow, he released his grip from her jaw and swiftly reached for her hands. Lizette did her best to evade, squirming erratically, but to no avail. With a swift single hand, he seized her wrists and pinned them above her head with a booming thud.

The girl gasped out with surrender, strands of her hair blowing back and forth upon her face as she heaved and panted exhaustingly. With his hand around her wrists and his body slightly bent to meet her height, he stood  closer to her than any other man had before. So close that she could taste the wine and sea salt on his breath and study every freckle and every scar that marked his skin. He was nothing like her Edward, she thought; he was coarse and terrifying, and despite it all, she found him tragically beautiful. 

She hated him for that. 

“Listen to me now and listen carefully,” he finally spoke, tightening his grip around her wrists.

Liaette lifted her chin disdainfully; it took every ounce of self-restraint not to spit at his murderous, smug face. 

“You’ve mistook my hospitality and playfulness for kindness, but let’s get this straight; I am not a good man. Upset me, and I will pluck that little flower between your thighs without blinking and then throw you to my crew once I have my fill.” 

His words brought a stark shiver down her spine, yet it wasn’t just fear this time but something far more primordial. Between her trembling thighs, she sensed dewy wetness. A desperate gnawing need she had never known before. Trying to ease and brush it off, she squirmed and ground her thighs. 

August’s brow rose with realisation, an immediate knowing grin spilling upon his malicious face. He leaned closer, his lips and whiskers brushing against her ear as he spoke. 

“Seems like there won’t be much resistance from you, isn’t that so, pet? Soon, you’ll beg me to fuck y…”

His words were cut as warm saliva splattered on his cheek. 

He shut his eyes momentarily, releasing a deep, exasperated grunt and then moved an inch away to fish a silk handkerchief from his pocket. Lizette watched proudly as he wiped his face. 

The pirate, however, was not amused. Throwing away the handkerchief, he offered her a deadly frown. And then he leaned in, his mouth drawing voraciously closer to hers as if meaning to devour her.

“I warned you…”

“Captain.”

A low, sonorous call followed from the door, drawing both August and Lizette to turn their heads toward the uninvited guest. 

Lizette blinked twice. The man in question was almost the spitting image of August, though his hair was wild with earthy curls and his beard fully grown, pointy, and tended with wax. Indifferent to the scene before him, he drew a pipe from his pockets and lit it with the flame of a candle that stood on a shelf near the door.  

August regarded him with slight respect, yet not without annoyance:." What is it? I am busy.”

“I can see that,” the other pirate puffed out, grey lines of smoke following through his nostrils, “you are needed at the brig.”

“About?”

“Flint might finally speak.”

Eyes ablaze with sudden intrigue, August straightened to his fall height and drew a step back from the girl yet kept his grip around her wrists. 

“I assume your methods worked, brother?” He crooked one eyebrow at the other pirate curiously. 

‘Brother, of course,’ Lizette nearly chuckled. The men must have been twins, although she could tell the other sibling had far more grey in his untamed mane. 

“My methods always work.” He answered with dry arrogance. “Finish her off later. This is more important.”

August lingered, his fingers brushing over his moustache as he contemplated what to do with his sweet little prisoner. The possibilities were endless, yet the more interesting ones would take some time, and with the trouble she gave him, he definitely wanted to give her what she deserved. 

A deep, exasperated sigh left his lips. “A moment, Gus,” he requested, finally unhanding the girl. 

The man, now known as Gus, bowed his head and threw Lizette a quick glance before disappearing into the darkness behind the door.

“It seems like I have some business to attend to, love. Shall we continue our little fun later?” August teased, slight annoyance still lingering at the tone of his voice.

Lizette did not answer. Rubbing her aching wrists, she watched him cautiously while he searched within his pockets.  She wondered what new cruel method of torment he would inflict to her now. 

To her surprise, it was a small silver key.

He lifted it to her face and offered her a razor-sharp  stare." The water is close to freezing; sharks and eels are swimming within them, and every man upon my deck is probably plotting to use you as fuckhole since the moment you stepped onboard. I trust you won’t try anything stupid in my absence.”

“Like what?” Despite her physical and mental exhaustion, she dared to speak back, “Seduce one of your crew members to fornicate with me so he would betray and murder you?” 

Her weariness must have brought out the worst in her because she would have never thought of such an inappropriate, vile thing. Then she realised it was  him who, in less than a few hours, corrupted her soul. 

August paused and contemplated for a moment as if this was an actual possibility he did not consider. However, he brushed it off with a burst of taunting laughter while proceeding to unlock the collar around her neck. “I wouldn’t  recommend it, love. They all come with so many exotic afflictions on their cock s that no doctor has even heard of.” 

As the iron was removed from her little neck, the girl rested her hands around it, massaging the cuts and bruises that formed beneath. It ached even worse as the chill air of the night pecked at the raw flesh. 

The pirate waltzed toward the table, reclaiming the pistol in an obviously provoking manner. He sheathed it back at the front of his waistband and paced toward the door. 

“I won’t be long, love,” he promised, and with that, he left and locked the door behind him.

Lizette listened carefully to the sound of his footsteps, counting them one by one until she could no longer hear him. And then, she began to search around the cabin for anything, anything that can be used as a weapon. 

‘I will not be a pirate’s whore.’  She vowed to herself while absentmindedly grazing a palm over her cheeks where August had touched her. 

[silverskye13]

random thought, but i had a vivid image of, if helsknight and welsknight ever saw each other without armor (or just helsknight out of his armor tbh), helsknight showing welsknight the scar tanguish gave him and saying "this was intended for you."

i don't know how in character that is, but tbh it's haunting me. maybe it's part of helsknight's revenge against welsknight or something, calling out his unknightly behavior and unhonorable conduct.

"You didn't answer my summons."

Helsknight froze. It was a quick, momentary startle, a short-circuit of normality. The moment he did it, every instinct told him to keep moving. That old command [Do something.] blared loud in the quiet surprise of his mind. So he moved his hand to pick up the brush on his table, and pretended to be unconcerned.

"I'm not a dog. You can't call me to heel," Helsknight said simply. He smirked and growled, "Though if you feel like losing some limbs, feel free to try."

Behind him, Wels shifted uncomfortably. Helsknight liked making Wels uncomfortable, he didn't handle it well. He was a creature used to comfort and ease. Inconvenience often galled him more than a sword to the throat. Different tactics for different battlefields, and this battlefield was a delicate one.

Helsknight was cleaning his arms and armor, which was one of several reasons why he hasn't leaped for a fight when Welsknight had called him to one. He was only in a tunic and breeches. It was luck he even had his boots on. He had offered to run errands with Tanguish, but Tanguish had said he was visiting his church and wanted to go on rooftops. So Helsknight stayed home, and he left his boots on. That was the other reason Helsknight hadn't answered the call: Tanguish wouldn't know where he was, and he knew Tanguish got paranoid about being left behind. Besides, Helsknight had chores he could do at home [like cleaning his arms and armor] so he stayed. Cleaning the chainmail was almost a formality. Hels was hot and dry, and he wore it often enough that the rings clattering together cleaned themselves. But sometimes he just liked putting an extra shine on things, so he took out his brush and oil and started brushing it down for any miniscule specks of rust or broken links he could find.

Wels, always keen on the times he wasn't wanted, decided now was the perfect time to show up in his living room. He stood awkwardly, waiting on Helsknight to make some aggressive movement. When none came, he cautiously stalked further into the tiny living space. His emotions were loud and uncomfortable without the distance between their respective worlds to dampen them, and they clung like smoke against Helsknight's skin. Caution at an unfamiliar space. Disgruntlement at being ignored.

[Guilt, like ash on a burn.]

"Is this... Yours?" Wels asked, glancing around.

"No, I'm just squatting in a random house. Sounded like a fun way to spend a Tuesday."

Helsknight felt the ant-bite sting of vicarious agitation and smirked. He was already getting on Wels's nerves.

[Good.]

"Couldn't build something nicer?" Wels snapped impatiently.

"I'm a fighter."

Helsknight found a place on his chainmail to brush down and got to work. The rough, grating twinge of the coarse bristles on chain made Wels wince. Helsknight always found the noise pleasant. Like scratching an itch.

"So?"

"I have better things to do than spend hours building the perfect house."

Wels scoffed and looked around the room with renewed disdain. "Where's your little devil?"

It took Helsknight a moment to place what he was asking. He sneered, a quiet bearing of teeth, and caught the flicker of red in the reflective shine of his chainmail. Wels looked pointedly away from him.

[Like ash on a burn.]

"Not feeling remorse... are we, crusader?" Helsknight asked, finding a new place to polish. The coin-drop clatter of chain, and the shrill scrape of bristles filled the silence like an accusation.

"Of course not," Wels sniffed disdainfully, still refusing to meet Helsknight's eye.

"Careful." Helsknight murmured, that red flash reflecting off his chainmail again, anger simmering. "Lying's a sin."

"Why would I feel remorse for protecting my home?"

"A crusade well fought I'm sure."

"It's not a crusade!" Wels snapped, his own anger a living thing raising hackles. "A crusader invades! A crusader fights a holy war just for the principle."

"Right. And you're fighting because--"

"Because I'm protecting Tango."

"-because it's for his own good?"

Wels didn't exactly wince, but he did still, as though he'd heard someone draw a blade from its scabbard. Helsknight might as well have unseated his sword. He had stopped scrubbing, all pretense of work falling. The need to pace, to circle, to corner, rose up in Helsknight like a waking beast.

"Interesting choice of words. Protecting." Helsknight said, his voice low, his hands still. "I was under the impression they were friends. Do you often protect Tango from the people he's begging you to spare?"

"That doesn't matter." Wels said so firmly it was almost convincing. Almost. "People are convinced they need an abusive relationship. That doesn't change the fact it's bad for them."

"So many interesting words today," Helsknight hissed. He stood like a dark tower rising, all embered fury slowly stoking. Wels didn't bother turning to face him. He could feel his intent like thunder. "Abuse. Brings to mind the image of power. I do have a question."

"I didn't come here for your stupid questions."

"No, you came here looking for a fight."

"I didn't."

"You really do need to tame that lying tongue."

"I didn't come here for a fight."

"Did it feel powerful?" Helsknight demanded, pacing a step, and loathing the tiny room for denying him the space to circle. "The voice. The command. How did it feel."

"Shut up."

"To have someone begging you not to hurt them," Helsknight continued relentlessly. "Not your stupid play fighting on your stupid little server. True, shaking, terror. Did it feel good, crusader? Just?"

"I told you to shut up!" Wels shouted, taking a threatening step forward only to find Helsknight had closed the space between them and stood looming like a rook on a tombstone.

Fear, a caged thing howling, battered against Helsknight's anger. It made Helsknight feel almost giddy, the crash of malicious schadenfreude and self-righteousness against Wels; a flickering thing of brittle will. They made a terrible ouroboros together, fear feeding anger feeding elation feeding fear. They were always like this. No matter how calm either of them tried to be, once anger kindled in one, their emotions burned until there was nothing left but fury and loathing. Helsknight had been made to cut Wels down to size.

"Do you know what that kind of fear does to people?" Helsknight demanded again, his voice so near a whisper it was smothering. They were so close together, but they made so little noise, all will and wide eyes. "What happened to mercy for the helpless, crusader?"

"He wasn't helpless," Welsknight said, trying very hard not to back down. "He stabbed me."

"And a drowning rat bites. I wouldn't call it an apex predator. Certainly I wouldn't call it a danger to you, with your full armor and sword." Helsknight bared his teeth at Wels, something like a bitter grin. "I wasn't wearing armor."

Wels looked down, where Helsknight had drawn up his tunic to reveal the new scar in his abdomen. Wels looked like he'd stopped breathing.

"This was intended for you," Helsknight said. "You should thank me."

"You're-- you're here telling me he's harmless," Wels laughed nervously. "But he almost killed you. You."

Something in Helsknight snapped, and in the moment it took him to reach for it with white knuckles and compose it again, he'd shoved Wels hard in the chest. It didn't knock his other half off his feet, but he stumbled back hard enough hit the opposite wall. Not hard enough to hurt, but certainly hard enough to warn.

"He did," Helsknight snarled, pacing forward slow steps. "That's what terror does to helpless people, crusader. It makes them bite. It makes them beg. It makes them clamor to live. You. Did. That. What did it feel like to abuse that kind of power Wels? To turn someone into a scared animal? To make someone so desperate they would almost kill a friend? Did you find your righteousness there crusader?"

Helsknight didn't know what he planned on doing. Violence was in his blood like a serpent, and he wanted it. And Wels knew he wanted it. There was the ring of drawn metal, and the silver-bright glint of an enchanted blade in a dark room. Helsknight's advance stopped at the top of Wels's sword, not close enough to hurt, but close enough to warn.

"Stop." Wels said. A command. A plea.

"I'm unarmed."

"That doesn't matter."

Helsknight smiled, and there was loathing and euphoria in it, and the wine-dark dread of Wels right on the other side of it. The knowledge of a line crossed, a battle he hadn't even realized he was fighting made forfeit.

"Fine." Helsknight said. "My blood's already been spilled once on your behalf. At least this time do it with your own sword, coward. I'll make it easy for you."

He took a step forward, and nudged the blade with a knuckle, resting the point against his scar. The metal was cold, even through his shirt, the enchantments alive and writhing so close to his skin.

"How cruel have you gotten while I wasn't there to keep you in check, crusader?"

There was a long breath of silence between them. Helsknight stood, precarious and predatory, daring Wels to kill him. And Wels stood there, and dared himself to as well. And the room was dark, lit only by red anger and blue dread, and the pale, languid flicker of enchanted steel. And neither of them breathed. And the universe watched.

A loud clatter sounded on the roof. Both knights looked up towards the ceiling, Wels in startlement, and Helsknight in resignation.

"And he stays my hand once again," Helsknight sighed.

"What--?" Wels didn't get his full question out before Helsknight moved. He knocked the sword aside and lunged forward to grab Wels's shirt. In a move that would've made Martyn proud, he dragged Wels forward into his knee, knocking the wind out of him. In the time it took Wels to collapse to the floor, Helsknight had taken his sword, and held the point beneath his other half's chin.

"Go home Wels," Helsknight said, "before I send you there the hard way."

Wels, breathless on the ground, let out half a strangled laugh. "Why don't you?"

"Because I was asked nicely not to go running off and killing you."

"Helsknight?" A loud knock sounded at the door. Tanguish's voice, a bright comfort even in spite of its concern, called to him. "Is everything okay? I thought I heard something fall."

Helsknight glared meaningfully down at Wels, who only hesitated long enough for Helsknight to draw back the sword before slipping back to his world. The moment he did, Helsknight felt his breath leave him, the great void of being left to his own thoughts and emotions. In the wake of everything that was Wels, he felt ridiculous.

[What in hels had he even been about to do? Die on someone's sword to prove a point? Idiot.]

"Helsknight? The door is locked."

"I'm coming," Helsknight called, pausing only long enough to hide Wels's sword beneath the couch, where Tanguish couldn't see it and inevitably worried about it. He checked his tunic to make sure he hadn't managed to actually stab himself [he hadn't] and went to let Tanguish inside.

[fuckmyskywalker]

"Wide Open Vol. II." — Anakin Skywalker.

— CW: 18+, smut! Fisting. Anilingus. Squirting. Dirty Talk. | Word count: 1.4k (not proofread!) | Practically a part II of Wide Open (day 1).

— List of films! | Taglist.

The vengeful nature of Anakin Skywalker was not new.

It was more of a… common knowledge sort of thing. 

And you, more than anyone know how far his thirst for revenge can get him. 

It didn’t matter how much he enjoyed being fucked in the ass last week, you humiliated him and he was going to return the favor. So, he tied your hands behind your back and forced you to stay still on ar fours, ass in the air while Anakin ate your pussy until your legs quivered, the orgasms overwhelmed you and all you could do was moan and blabber— but it won’t stop there. Of course not. He needs to teach you a lesson. 

Removing his glove, the shiny metal and wires of his prosthetic shine under the dim lighting of the cheap motel room he found in the filthiest streets of Coruscant. With a wicked smirk, he trails the cold metal over your thighs, barking a laugh when he sees you shiver in anticipation and whine in panic. He relishes every reaction, delighted at how sensitive you can be. “You are so fucking beautiful— all mine.” He whispers, positioning himself more comfortably in between your legs, reaching for the same water-based lube you tortured him with, and applying a generous amount over his mechanical hand and your throbbing, overworked pussy.

He uses the index and middle finger first, inserting them slowly, testing the waters, and waiting for any negative reaction. The sensation is new, way different from any toys or any other object Anakin desires to use as a makeshift dildo— even the base of his lightsaber after a particular night of drinks and makeout sessions— it’s from a whole other planet. The ridges, creases, and even the texture, so smooth yet so rigid make you moan and clench around his digits and it’s so raw and real Anakin swears he can even feel how you squeeze his fake fingers, despite being physically incapable of doing so. He takes his time, just like you did spreading him with your strap; using his practiced precision to hit all the right spots that make you wriggle and squirm. He curls his fingers, looking for that spot that he knows will make you jerk and drool. Anakin’s flesh and blood hand caresses the supple flesh of your ass, groping it and giggling it meanly. He also loves your ass. 

The fire and hunger in his eyes is only comparable to the heat of an unforgiving summer in Tatooine, or the deadly lava rivers in Mustafar— and you are missing it completely, burying your teary face in the coarse pillows of the motel bed. Anakin watches you intently, ignoring with all his might he has the uncomfortable pain of his hard cock against his stomach. Adjusting the angle and changing the speed of his thrusts as he sees fit, Anakin’s mouth (just like usual) is unable to stay shut.

“I bet you wish it was my cock instead, right dollface? I bet you want to milk every drop of cum from my balls like the cock-hungry slut you are” It only fuels his neverending ego to talk to you in such a condescending way. Because it shows him that he can do it without any repercussions. That he can call you names, slap you, bite you, abuse you— and that you will love every second of it. 

You struggle to answer, so you opt to nod. He gets the message anyway, chuckling meanly. “I know, I know— not your fault getting your pussy ate makes you this stupid, okay baby? Go ahead and be dumb, I’ll take care of you.”

Eager to keep pushing your limits, Anakin adds a third finger, fighting the urge to become rougher, because as much as he wants to hurt you— he doesn’t want to hurt you. Fascinated, Anakin groans at your corporeal response, biting his tongue at the sight of your pussy accommodating his mechanical fingers, a tad wider and longer than his flesh ones. Your walls clench in front of him, as you get closer and closer to your release; so, he slows down. “You won’t come until I say so, Mama.” He smirks, lowering his face to kiss your asscheek. At your disappointed whine, he sinks his sharp teeth into your cheek. Instead of shying away from him, your hips push further to his face, inching his fingers inside of you a bit more. 

Adding a fourth finger, he keeps a mindful pace, working you out to endure the stretch. Anakin keeps his mouth occupied chewing and biting the skin of your ass, leaving bite marks and hickeys. His real hand is splayed over your thigh digging his blunt fingernails into your sweaty flesh. After another round of lube, Anakin has to take a deep breath, unsure if he is going to be able to witness fisting you with his metal hand and not blowing up his load right there. Positioning his fingers in a straight, almost duck-shaped placement, Anakin slides his whole hand very, very slowly, making sure his thumb is folded. 

The air is punched out of your lungs, and your body stays still, as your shoulders tense— this is amazing. It’s— surprisingly not painful, and you hazily remind yourself to thank Anakin for the endless prep. Being stretched like this is like nothing you had ever felt before, not even with his cock, which is by far the one you had struggled with the most.

Anakin freezes for a moment, wrist deep inside your warm, velvety pussy. Your walls pulsating and squeezing his prosthetic. He releases a shaky breath, swallowing the knot in his throat. He will never forget this view. When he sees you relax, his hand starts to gently work back and forth, as he readies you with the fullness of his fist. Your forehead rests on your forearms, pretty much like he did when you pegged him a few weeks ago. The way your body vibrates with pleasure makes him want to continue, to feed those lustful, taboo desires of yours, to blur your boundaries and give you another night that will stay forever in the depths of your mind and symbolize his love and possession for you; an eternal reminder that he is the only one capable of doing such things to you— of evoking such primal, forbidden desires to you.

Building up a faster pace, you realize too late how he spreads your asscheeks again, until he spits a globe of saliva right on your puckered hole, diving in. He circles your tight hole while your moans fill the tiny room, sweet and sexy— the wonderful melody that belongs to your body. 

He laps at you, thrusting his tongue in and out the thigh muscle, loosing it up gently. He adores to be able to use you without you putting up any resistance, it’s both a privilege and a right that he has awarded himself. Listening to the wet sounds of your pussy, how your slick starts to coat his metal hand until the material glistens, he ravishes your other hole while he fists you faster, making your poor, abused cunt clench and unclench as you approached the edge of your climax. When the climax— that fantastic release that you had been waiting for ever since he stuck three fingers in crashes into you, over you, is so strong your eyes shut and your ears ring loudly. Everything is blurry, foggy, and you wonder if this is really cloud nine. Anakin, on the other hand; was caught off guard by the sudden release of your arousal, but he wins back his poise quickly, his own sadistic urges building at the sight of you so thoroughly stimulated. The prosthetic fist continued to thrust as you rode out your orgasm and your body released every drop of that clear liquid that stained the already dirty covers of the room. 

Withdrawing his hand, your body falls limp to the springy mattress, spent and exhausted from your orgasm and first-ever-squirting. Anakin grins at the state he managed to get you, knowing well this is the revenge he sought. Raising his right arm, your boyfriend brings his fingers up to his mouth, licking the steel and wires clean. 

“You taste so sweet, darling,” He whispers, laying down next to you and wrapping his arms around your waist, peppering your face with kisses. “Do you think I can make you squirt on my cock?”

🌊Taglist!: @jellydodger | @sythethecarrot | @bimbo-baggins86 | @pockcock | @haydensgirlaela | @lovrsm | @valsarchives | @grimkaos | @daniiileee | @dianaaxoxo | @arzua10 | @seistars [removing people who won't let me tag em:)]

— 🐚 if you wish you be added to my taglist there's a google forms in the beginning of the post! There you can select which days you would like to be tagged in (or choose the option: all the above!). If you send me a DM or an ask I will tag you on every day! | some tags might not work due to your settings, so let me know!

[mermaidgirl30]

✨Crimson Tango: A Dance of Diamonds and Revenge Ch 4: Come What May✨

Series Masterlist

A/N: Another long, soft chapter of Joel and reader being in love 🥰 Me and @mountainsandmayhem have been having so much fun with this series!

Chapter Summary: After your uncle finds out about Joel, you take matters into your own hands.

Pairing: Joel x fem! reader

Word Count: 9.7k

Rating: Explicit (18+ MDNI)

Chapter Tags: Brief angst, lots of fluff, lots of smut, use of vibrator, oral receiving (fem), handcuffs, flirting, Joel and reader being in love, Joel and reader go on date

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

You wake up to the sounds of cheerful birds chirping their good mornings to each other. You left the balcony door open last night, and the cool morning air of fall rustles in through the sheer pink curtains. The sun sends bursts of light across the room as shadows splay around the intricate walls. 

Peeling your eyes open, you see Joel is still fast asleep beside you. The orange glow of the morning sun alighting him in a golden warmth. He’s so handsome, so beautiful as his chest rises and falls slowly in waves, his tousled curls falling delicately over his forehead. 

I love you, you say in your head before placing a gentle kiss on the tip of his nose.

“Good mornin’, darlin’,” he murmurs softly, his voice deep and coated thick with sleep. Without opening his eyes he pulls you into his broad chest, and you melt effortlessly into his warmth. 

“Morning, handsome,” you smile into the crook of his neck as his hands trail up and down your back slowly. 

“So, I was thinkin’. Maybe this afternoon you could meet me at my apartment? I could show you around my place, and if you’re up for it, you could show me how to use that pottery wheel over there?” He nods to the wooden pottery wheel that sits in the corner of the room and looks back at you with a gleam in his brown eyes. 

“Oh, you want to learn some pottery skills? What peaked your interest?” you ask, fluttering your sleep coated eyelashes up at him as he gently caresses your cheek.

“You did, darlin’,” he smirks, face so handsome in the glow of the morning yellow sun as his brown irises look at you affectionately. 

God, you love this man so much. 

He leans down and kisses you softly, his plush lips melding into yours as you wrap your fingers around his messy curls. You slot your lips open and let him taste you, relish in you as you get lost in the slow, romantic kiss. He tastes like a piece of something you want to keep forever. When he breaks the kiss, you groan and open your eyes back up to his flawless face. 

He’s so pretty. 

“Well, if you want to learn then we need to pick up a few things at the store. I need some more clay. So, how about I meet you at your place in say a couple hours? Then we can pick up some supplies and come back here. How does that sound, handsome?” you smirk as you trail your fingers along his patchy scruff, the hair soft and coarse under your fingertips. 

“Sounds perfect, darlin’.” 

He stares at you for a few more seconds, sunlight flashing through his golden eyes, then he gets up and buttons his flannel up and slips his leather boots on. You internally groan as you see him start to leave. You don’t want him to leave, you don’t ever want him to leave. 

Before he walks out the door, he rushes over to you and leaves you one more long lasting kiss on your lips. A kiss that burns through your entire body. Gentle, soft, hungry. 

“See ya soon, darlin’. Bye, beautiful.” 

He exits your room and right as you hear the door close, you lean back into your pillow and let out a long sigh. You’re so in love. Joel Miller is the love of your life. The only one for you. 

Joel walks down the dim lit hallway with a huge smile on his face as he shoves one hand deep in his pocket, the other shaking out his ruffled curls. He loves you so fucking much. He can’t wait to see you again. 

Just as he slides down the winding staircase, he misses something that lurks in the shadows. Something that could end his time here at the Moulin Rouge. That something is Edward, your uncle. The one that warned him never to touch the dancers. But he did, he did. 

There’s only one condition, don’t touch my dancers.

Edward’s eyes glare at Joel, a deep anger burning through the course of his body as he snarls and clenches his fists together. Edward warned Joel, but he didn’t listen. He didn’t fucking listen. Edward fumes down the hallway, all teeth and grit as he slams on your bedroom door. He’ll make Joel pay. 

You hear three large pounds on your bedroom door that make you jolt out of bed and throw your fluffy pink robe on. “Petal, open this fucking door!” your uncle yells as you run to the door in a hurry and open it up. 

His face is fiery red, eyes narrowing as he walks in and slams the door shut with a bang. He paces around the quaint living quarters and stomps his elegant shiny shoes on the wooden floors. He looks at your unmade mess of a bed and scowls as you hear him curse under his breath. 

Oh no. Joel. 

He slowly turns back to you and clicks his tongue in a deceitful manner. You wipe sweat off your forehead as you gulp, waiting for the yelling to start. Just as you clasp your hands behind your back, he starts the yelling. “Joel was in here with you last night? In your bed!” 

You wince as the accusations echo off the pink walls of your room and you shake your head no. “No, he wasn’t,” you lie, hoping he’ll take the bait. 

“I saw him creeping out of your room this morning!” His words are hot, scathing, pulsing through your body as you feel your heart snap in half as your eyes go wide.

 He knows. 

“He uhh… he…” You don’t know what to say, what you can do to make the situation better. But you don’t want him to be fired. He can’t be fired. You can’t be the reason he loses a source of income. You just can’t. 

“I warned him, petal. I told him to never touch the dancers. And look what he did. He touched the most sought after Diamond!” he yells, eyes bloodshot as he lets the anger feed his rage. 

You panic and try to make it better. You have to make it better. “Please, uncle! I’m the one who pursued him. Don’t blame Joel. It wasn’t his fault. It was mine. I’m the one that asked him to stay last night. It was all me,” you say desperately, eyes as wide as the sun as you clamp down on your teeth and fight back a tear that licks the back of your eye. 

He looks at you scornfully and crosses his arms over his chest as he furrows his thick eyebrows together. “I don’t care if you’re the one that pursued him, Joel could’ve said no. But obviously that was too hard to do, so allow me to take matters into my own hands,” he growls as he walks toward you and tries to push past your shoulder. You step in front of him and try to push him back. 

“No! You can’t fire him, I won’t let you!” you scream, tears burning your eyes as you see him drop his mouth open and stare at you with gasping eyes. 

He shakes his head sadly as his slicked back blonde hair holds in place. “I’m sorry, petal. I have to do this.” He tries to brush past you again, but you step in front of the door, not allowing him to pass until he listens to you. “Move, petal,” he demands, eyes burning through your skull. 

“No,” you say with narrowed eyes. “If you fire him, I will walk out of this place and never turn back. I won’t see Terrance ever again, and your precious Moulin Rouge will close down for good.”

His jaw drops and his pupils expand as he gulps down a large breath of thick air. “Petal, just think this through,” he begs. 

You cut him off and continue on with your demands. “No! I’ve thought this through long enough. It’s time to take back what I want, not what you want. I’ve done enough for you in this club. I’ve danced for those disgusting men for long enough. I’m done, uncle. Finished. You won’t find me up on that stage again.”

“But, petal! Those men come for you! You’re the star of this place. Do you know what that’ll do to business if you don’t dance?” he asks with sweaty palms, sweat pooling on the edge of his forehead as it glistens brightly by the blinding sun.

“I’m sure you’ll figure it out,” you scoff. “You sold me to Terrance, so you made your bed. I don’t owe you anything anymore. I’ll continue to see him, for now. But I won’t get up on that stage ever again. You did this, uncle. You. You got your filthy money, so now I’ll get what I want. And that’s Joel.” 

Your voice carries around the room, echoing back in your uncle’s ears as he stands there in a bind. His eyes worried and his stance not as tall as when he came in. He sees his mistakes now, the error of his ways. And now he’ll have to figure out how to fix the mess he put all of you in. 

He sighs and nods his head slowly, eyes looking down at the polished wooden floor. “I’m sorry, petal. For everything. But I guess you’re right. I did put you in this mess and now I have to find a way to fix it.” His sad eyes trail back up to yours slowly, and for just a minute you feel a bit of sympathy for him wash over you. But then you remember he sold you to the worst of the men in this place. And for that you can’t forgive him. 

“Just leave, please,” you sigh as you open the door wide, waiting for him to pass through. He gives you a sympathetic nod and drags his feet through, not looking back as you slam the door shut. 

You rest against the back of the door and let out a long sigh, closing your eyes to go through the moments that just happened seconds ago. You did it. You saved Joel’s job, you told him you wouldn’t dance again. You fucking did it! 

After simmering over your achievements of the day, you decide to get dressed and ready for the day. You have a date with Joel Miller, the love of your life. 

Joel opens the worn wooden door of his apartment after hearing your soft knocks echo through his small space. You barely make it through the door and he’s already pulling you into arms, hugging you tightly and meeting your lips with his as you drink in his lush taste. His lips feel like velvet against yours and you can’t help but open your mouth for him, letting his tongue slide against yours slow and tenderly. You let out a desperate moan that he answers with a gentle pat on your ass before parting.

You look around his little apartment, taking in his private haven as sunlight pelts through the windows. Even though the building is old and probably about to fall apart, the inside of Joel’s small one bedroom apartment is beautiful. Wooden furniture in warm browns fills the space, a dark mahogany throw rug in the living room helps tie in the exposed brick wall along one side of the kitchen. It smells like leather and Joel and it feels like home. You love your frilly pink studio room at the Moulin Rouge, but this feels solid, a place you could settle and make memories, become a family.

You wander over to his couch, your hand smoothing along the warm light brown leather. “This is beautiful, all of your furniture is beautiful.”

He brings a hand up to rub the scruff on the back of his neck, almost like he’s embarrassed. “Thanks, I uh - I made it.”

Your eyes widen as you glance around at the couch, the large chair, the side tables and coffee table. Then your eyes dart to the kitchen where there’s a long wooden table that looks like it came from one tree sits, a bench on one side and three chairs along the other. “All of this?” you ask surprised, your lips parting in wonder. You’re not necessarily surprised, but why is he working as a maintenance man when he has all of this talent?

“Yes,” he nods as he joins you by the couch, resting his hip along the back of it as he crosses his large arms together, “all of it. Every piece of furniture in here I made. I have a small woodshop. That’s what I was doin’ to make money, but it wasn’t payin’ the bills so, well, you know.”

“Wow.” You really aren’t sure what to say, especially when his arms are crossed like that, making all the cords of muscle lining his biceps pop out. You trail your eyes down to take in his thick forearms, veins protruding slightly. You avert your eyes toward the two doors across from the couch. “What’s behind that door?” you ask teasingly.

“The bathroom,” he says flatly.

“Oh,” you giggle, “and the other one?”

His eyes turn mischievous, a little smirk pulling at his right cheek, “My bedroom, baby girl.”

“Did you make the furniture there, too?” you ask, fluttering your lashes at him.

He lets out a quiet laugh through his nose. “Are you askin’ to see my bedroom, darlin’?”

You brush past Joel towards the bedroom door, over your shoulder you say, “Well, how am I supposed to tell my friends where to buy their furniture if I don’t see the whole collection?” 

Joel takes a few long strides and ends up right behind you as you reach for the solid door knob. You can feel the heat of his chest as his hand beats yours to the door. He turns the knob slowly, his breath tickling your neck as he says, “If you wanted to try out my bed, that’s all you had to say.” He has the biggest smirk on his face that looks like he wants to get in a little trouble. You just shake your head and laugh.

 He opens the door and you smile at his unmade bed, white sheets all twisted into each other like he flew out of it the other morning to get to you. The bed frame is made of the same wood, vertical slats running along it, and you have no idea how someone could make such intricate but sturdy looking furniture. He has a small dresser and one bedside table. There’s a vanilla candle on the bedside table that’s never been lit, but the wax fills the room with a smoky scent. Again, you find yourself feeling that this is a home. He is home. 

“You know,” you say as you wander to his bed, “the other dancers say that you can tell a lot about a man by what's in his bedside table.”

“That so?” Joel asks with a raised eyebrow, following you and sitting on the edge of the bed near the pillows as he watches you graze your hand on the wooden material.

“Mm-hmm,” you nod your head and put your hand on the knob to the drawer.

Joel parts his legs and pulls you into him by your waist as you feel his calloused fingers trail along your skin. His honey eyes stare deeply into yours, “Go ahead then, darlin’, see what kind of man I am.”

You don’t break his eye contact, slowly pulling the drawer open with your right hand, the left carding through the curls at the back of his head. When he’s sitting on the bed, he’s in line with your chest, his breath fanning across the top part of your dress. It hits your nipples lightly and you are so glad you decided to go braless today. 

Once the drawer is open, he cocks an eyebrow at you. “Well?”

You turn your head to look in the drawer, and while you weren’t sure what to expect, it definitely wasn’t what’s lying in front of you. Your cheeks grow pink as you reach for the first item, handcuffs. The cool metal of the handcuffs feel powerful in your hands. You feel powerful.

“Well well, Miller. Have a lot of girls coming through here?” you smirk, eyes narrowing playfully as you take in his nervous glance.

He laughs and shakes his head, “No baby. Not for a long time.”

“You have the key for these?” you ask, popping open one of the silver cuffs. Joel nods, so you quickly clasp his left wrist with one side of the cuff and then thread the other side through the spacers in the bed frame. Joel doesn’t pull away or stop you, even though he very easily could overpower you and have you naked and strapped to his bed in a matter of seconds. 

You twist out of his grasp, grabbing the second item from the nightstand and step back so you’re just inches out of his reach. “Oops,” you say as innocently as possible, fluttering your eyelashes as you send him a mischievous wink.

“Whatcha doin’, baby girl?” Joel’s eyes are starting to glaze over the same way they did when he was licking your pussy in your kitchen the other night.

You hold the small vibrator from his drawer tightly in your palm, hooking your thumbs under the straps of your dress as you slide the material down your arms. You keep your eyes locked on Joel, bottom lip slipping between your teeth as you let the dress fall to the ground with a quiet whooshing sound as it pools at your feet.

“Nothing,” you say, still using an innocent voice. Joel lets out a whispered ‘fuuuuck’ as he takes in your body in nothing but a small black thong. You spin around and hook your thumbs into the waistband of the lace as you slowly tease him. 

You hear the handcuffs rub along the wooden bedframe and even though you can’t see him, you know he’s trying to reach out to you. You start to bend at the hip, pushing your ass out to Joel as you drag the thong down your legs as it lands in a heap on the floor. At this angle, you’re on full display to Joel. He can see you're already glistening for him, already so fucking wet.

“Goddamn, darlin’, you’re so fucking pretty.”

As you stand back up, you run your nails gently along the sides of your smooth legs and curvy hips, gathering your thick hair to one side. You glance over your shoulder at Joel as you let out a very seductive, “Oops.”

“Don’t tease me, baby. I’m a weak man when it comes to you.”

“Oh I’m not teasing, just consider this payback for the sink thing the other night.” You kick your dress and panties to the side before sinking to the floor. You plant your feet firmly in front of you and rest back on your elbows. “I’m going to make you watch.”

You relax your knees as they fall open, your pussy on full display for Joel to drool over. He jerks forward and groans at the tug from the handcuffs. “Goddamn, you’re so wet baby, I can see it from here,” he groans, a desperate plea for you to open the handcuffs for him. He wants to touch you so fucking badly.

You adjust your weight on one elbow and bring the small vibrator to your pussy, leaving it off as you spread your arousal slowly through your folds with the shiny toy. You let out a tiny moan, and it’s empowering having Joel tied up as he watches you tease him. His eyes rake over your body, but anytime he talks he’s staring into your eyes. Men don’t often look you in the eye, but you are more than a body to Joel. You’re everything to him. His special Diamond. 

You turn the vibrator on low and your whole body jolts when it hits your clit, electric pulses coursing through your body as you hold on for dear life.

“Fuck baby, you look so gorgeous right now. You gonna make yourself come?” His voice is deeper with arousal as you can see his hard cock bulging in his pants. It looks so enticing, but you need to concentrate.

You gasp as you continue to tease yourself with the vibrator. “Y-yes,” you moan, “and then I’m going to do it again and again, until you’re begging me to come over to you.”

“Oh, so this is what we’re doin’? Seein’ who breaks first?”

You giggle and nod your head, you’re already so close, heat building in the lowest parts of your spine. “Okay, if that’s what you want,” he smirks, his voice a quiet whisper as he undoes the button of his jeans and slides them down, palming his hard cock through his boxers.

You moan his name, just on the edge of your orgasm. 

“Show me, be a good girl and show me how you make yourself come,” he instructs, eyes wide with black lust taking over.

The heat in your lower spine spreads rapidly and your legs start shaking. You throw your head back. “No, look at me when you come,” Joel commands. You snap your head back and lock eyes, his brow furrowed, jaw clenched as he watches you. “That’s it, come on, darlin’, show me what my voice and my commands do to you.” 

“Joel!” you yell and your orgasm hits, pulsing hot through your whole body. Your breaths come out shaky as you ride out the small vibrator in your hand unashamed. “Fuck-fuck. Oh my God, Joel.”

“That’s my good girl, so good for me.” Just as your orgasm starts to ease Joel says, “Turn it up, I want to see you come again.”

You do as he says, somehow this has turned from you teasing him to him teasing you, but you aren’t going to give in first. As much as you want his hands on you, you are going to win this. 

“Feels s’good, Joel. S-so good.” You’re sure you look like a mess already as you feel a thin sheen of sweat on your forehead. 

“Yeah? You gonna break? I could do that for you, baby girl. You could just lie down and enjoy it. Let me take care of you,” he smirks, dark eyes glazing over as he stares straight into your eyes. It’s almost alarming how hypnotized he looks, the look of love above lust swirling in his dark eyes. You can see it now, and it makes you feel a thousand things at once. 

“N-never,” you stutter, swirling the vibrator around your sensitive clit as your legs begin to shake uncontrollably. 

“That feel good, baby girl?” he asks, his lips curling up as he knows it does. He just wishes he could do something about it.

You moan and shiver in response, a second orgasm just on the edge of breaking. Something in Joel’s eyes seems lighter as he watches you, something that makes your heart pump just for him.

“Come, baby. Enjoy it, cuz you’re gonna break and then I’m gonna absolutely ruin you,” he smirks as a devilish grin takes over his beautiful face.

Your legs start to quake, you can already feel that the second orgasm is going to take over your entire body. You ease off your clit to taunt Joel. “You’ll be breaking the headboard before I give in.”

Joel’s features soften, his voice a deep baritone as he says, “I’d do more than break a headboard to be near you. The moment that spotlight hit your soft porcelain skin, my entire world collapsed in on itself. I would rearrange the stars just to be close to you. I’d swim  across the furthest ocean just to see those beautiful eyes. I’d give up food and water if it meant getting to hold you in my arms. Even if it’s only for just a second. You, my perfect little Diamond, are all that matters to me.”

The air in the room has changed from playful to overwhelmingly intimate. It almost crushes in on you like a large boulder, and you never want it to stop. 

You pull the vibrator from your clit, but you remain open to him, knees parted as your eyes water over. He’s not looking at your weeping pussy. No. His honey colored eyes are wholly focused on yours now. You get the inkling you’re the most important person in his world now, and it completely overwhelms you. He’s your world. Him. 

“What?” It comes out in a tiny whisper, your mouth parted as your eyes softly bore into his. 

He continues, “You are all that matters to me. This might sound crazy and irrational, but I knew from the moment I saw you on that stage. I knew you were the one. You are it for me, darlin’. This is it for me. Forever.”

Forever? Oh. 

You swallow hard, scared to blink, breathe, or move just in case none of this is real.

Joel whispers your name, tears building along his lash line, “I love you.”

“That’s cheating…” you whisper, your words barely making a sound over the thick tension in the little room as the sunlight beams through the glass window.

“I’m not playing the game anymore, darlin’. I love you.”

The words reverberate around in your skull. He loves you, he knew the moment he saw you. You abandon the small toy on the floor as you stand up and start to pad over to him. “Say it again.”

He clears his throat and looks straight at you, eyes staring right into your soul. “Nothing in my life has made sense lately. And then I saw you. The Sparkling Diamond, my Diamond. Something in my gut pulled me towards you, darlin’. This is it for me, baby girl. I’m in love with you. I have been from the moment I laid eyes on you.”

You stare at Joel, lips parted and eyebrows knit together as a wet tear rolls down your cheek. You don’t think you’ve ever cried a happy tear over anything, nonetheless a man. But Joel… he was different. He made you so happy, the happiest you’ve ever been in your entire life. 

Joel’s uncuffed hand reaches up to you, his rough palm facing the ceiling. You step forward and clasp his hand in yours as you knit your fingers together, letting his calloused fingers run along the back of your hand. His skin is so warm, inviting like a soft bed. He pulls you close, kissing your knuckles softly before placing your hand on his broad, tanned shoulder as he moves his hand to trace along your hip, then down to your thigh.

“Key?” you ask, voice cracking through the emotion in your chest.

His eyes fall to the drawer in his bedside table, and you see the small silver key at the back of the drawer. He had easy access to that key the entire time, but he didn’t take it, he wanted you to be in charge and do what felt right to you. 

You wrap one hand around his wrist, using the other to unlock the cuff with a small click. The moment he’s free, his hands come to your body, pulling you between his legs as he places light kisses along your sternum. Your hands card through his tousled curls and he moans at your gentle touch before sucking your pebbled nipple into his mouth. You cry out in pleasure and then crawl up into his lap, straddling him slowly. He’s almost painfully hard, cock straining the fabric of his boxers.

“Joel,” you moan, rocking your hips along his long length. Your hand snakes between your bodies to pull him out of his boxers. When you pull him out, you see he’s massive. 

Your eyes go wide as you take in his large cock. You watch a bead of pre cum glistening on the tip and you reach over to slowly spread it around with your thumb. Both of your breathing is labored, eyes glazed over in anticipation. You both want each other so badly. Both gasping for breath as you smell thick arousal encasing the air, the tension strong as you feel it in the room. It’s hot, strong, thick, and you want to taste it.

“Whatcha doin’ there, baby girl?” he says again, more passionate this time around. 

You lift up slightly and press the tip into your waiting, wet heat, feeling just how big he is as you choke out a moan. You stop once the thick, rounded tip is inside of you and rest your forehead on his. “I love you too, Joel.”

He smiles sweetly at you, cupping your face in his large palms before kissing you deeply and passionately. You rock your hips, sliding him in more as you feel the stretch start to happen. You feel every inch and ridge of him until your bodies are flush together. Both of you moan into the kiss, your body shuttering against his as you take him deeper, harder. 

“I got you,” he whispers between kisses, his coffee scent encapsulating you completely.

You roll into him again, the feeling of him filling and stretching you causes a new surge of wetness between your thighs, your nails digging hard down his back at the extreme pleasure. You roll again, the soft part of his abdomen putting gentle pressure on your clit.

“Oh God - Joel - aaaah.” His hands move from your face, gliding over the smooth skin of your neck and shoulders, tracing the dips and curves of your back and hips before resting on the globes of your ass. He moves with your rhythm, helping you take what you want.

“That’s my good girl,” he whispers, voice gravelly and rough, yet somehow tender and full of care. “You’re close, ain’t ya?”

You grind down on him hard, mouth falling open in a silent scream as you feed off the ecstasy of how full he’s making you. He feels so good, and your clit is still so sensitive from the vibrator. “Mmmm - yes, Joel.”

Joel helps you move faster and harder against him, trying his hardest not to come and end this because he wants you to take what you want. All you do is give to others, and he swore to himself the second he saw you that he would make this world yours. Anything you want, whenever you want it. He will always find a way - for you. 

“Say it again,” you moan, hands moving back up to the hair at the nape of his neck.

“I love you,” he whispers, placing soft kisses along your jawline. His plush lips move to your neck as he says it again, “I love you.”

Your body jolts into his, your orgasm rolling through you as Joel continues kissing your skin lovingly and saying he loves you over and over and over again. You fill his bedroom with your cries of ecstasy, pussy clenching around his hard cock. “I love you, too. Oh, God - don’t stop,” you pant out as you tremble in his arms, head falling to his shoulder quickly as pleasure courses through your body. You’ve never experienced an orgasm this intense before. You’ve never experienced him until now, and it was something you could do forever.

Joel takes over, thrusting up into you faster and faster as you feel his cock bottom out inside you. “I’m - fuck - I’m gonna come, baby.”

You smile into Joel's shoulder, in a complete state of blissed out intoxication. “Please,” you moan, “come inside me.”

Joel chants your name in a quiet whisper as his thrusts turn slow and sloppy, feeling his heavy body start to give out around you. You find the strength to look up at him, locking eyes with those beautiful deep brown eyes as you whisper sweet words to him. “I love you, Joel Miller.” 

You feel him twitching inside you, followed by the warmth of him filling you up. Aftershocks of your orgasm jump through your body and you squirm on him as he fills you, moaning your name as he milks your insides. 

Joel wastes no time lifting you and turning so he can rest his back against the wooden headboard. The springs of his mattress creak as you both settle, he’s still deep inside of you, your arms wrapped tightly around his neck. His strong hands rub up and down your naked back, relaxing you into his welcoming arms. Neither of you say anything as you catch your breath and the silence around you is screaming that you are safe here. You’re safe. Joel is safe.

“Are you okay?” you whisper when his breathing gets shallow.

“Yes, darlin’. Just relaxin’,” he says as he lets out a content hum, squeezing you tighter as his arms bring you closer into his broad chest. “I want to stay here forever, but I should probably get you cleaned up.”

You start to lift your hips off him and you swear you could come all over again just from that tingling feeling. You whimper quietly as he helps lift you. “I got ya, baby girl,” he says softly, rolling you onto the bed, “be right back.” He hikes his jeans back up and slips out of his bedroom to the bathroom. 

Seconds later, he comes back with a small cloth. “Open your legs for me honey.” 

His brown eyes and gentle touch are so soft as he cleans your thighs with the warm washcloth, dragging it gently over your sensitive pussy. You cry out in a mix of pain and pleasure as he repeats, “I got ya, baby,” before pulling you into his arms.

You press your face into his chest, soaking him all in and trying to memorize this euphoric feeling. You’ll have to be with Terrance soon, and if you can find a way to put yourself in this moment again then it won’t be so bad. You’ll just think of Joel. 

You breathe him in, bathing in his mahogany and sawdust smell. “I love you, Joel.” 

He smiles into your soft hair, kissing the top of your head and whispering, “I know, my Diamond. I love you, too. Rest here in my arms for a little bit, then we’ll go get that clay and some wine and go make pottery together.”

Your eyelids get heavy and you drift off into a peaceful and dreamless sleep in his arms, feeling like the luckiest woman in the world. There’s gotta be billions of people on this earth but somehow you get to exist in it and experience it with Joel Miller. You think that’s pretty special.

You both doze off longer than originally planned as you lay sprawled on top of him in his warm bed. The afternoon glowing sun fills his bedroom as the two of you stir awake. You rub your eyes sleepily, stretching your long naked body against his. Joel had been awake moments before you, looking down at how peaceful and beautiful you looked. That’s another thing for him to add to the list of things he wants to prove for you, peace. You don’t deserve to be shined up and sent out for those men. You should be able to put on his sweat pants and sit on the couch with your hair piled on top of your head. You’d still be the most beautiful woman alive to him like that. He’s so over the moon in love with you.

“Sorry,” you mumble. 

“Never be sorry, love. You needed rest,” he says as he  lays on his back, one arm bent to rest his head on his large hand, the other arm closed tightly around you. “I think we’re gonna have to divide and conquer though.”

You crane your neck up at him, eyebrows knit in confusion. He slides his hand out from behind his head and uses the pad of his thumb to gently rub the crease between your eyebrows. “You go get the clay, I’ll get the wine and dinner. We can meet at your place.”

You laugh to yourself. Oh right, you had other plans together that didn’t involve handcuffs and a vibrator, followed by a really long nap. You nod up at him, excited to teach him how to make pottery, you’ve already decided that you’re going to make matching coffee mugs. That way on mornings when you can’t be together, you still will be together. You plan to paint ‘Come What May’ on the inside of both of them once he’s gone to surprise him. You know he’ll love it.

He helps you get dressed, giving you a peck on the cheek and a pat on the ass as you giggle and head out his door to the small craft store in town. Joel grabs some spare clothes, having a feeling that pottery is messy, and then rushes off to gather his side of the bargain. The town rushes around him but he’s almost in a haze, still somehow surrounded by his Sparkling Diamond. 

After he gathers the food and wine, he sneaks into the back door of the Moulin Rouge and heads to your door, knocking gently on the wooden door. You open the door and smile up at Joel, pulling him inside and kissing him deeply as you free his hands from the bags. 

When you pull apart, he takes in your clothes as he looks you up and down carefully. You’re wearing a cotton t-shirt style bra and a pair of jean overalls, one strap undone as it hangs down the back casually. The overalls are covered in splatters of dried pottery clay and colorful paint. Your hair is piled on top of your head, a few loose curls falling around your face and the nape of your neck. Quite simply put, you could be wearing a potato sack and you’d still take his breath away.

“Ready to get messy?” you ask with a teasing giggle.

“With you?” he teases as he places the groceries in your kitchenette, “always!”

You grab his hand and lead him to the pottery wheel. “Okay, so I guess I’ll show you mine and then you can make yours?”

He crosses his arms over his chest, biceps flexing as he watches you sit in front of the wheel. You have everything set up already, clay split in half, the water and sponges set aside. He nods and says, “Sure baby, what’re we makin’?”

“Coffee cups,” you smile, “this way we can be together every morning.”

A warm smile crosses his face, tanned skin around his eyes crinkling, “Ain’t you just so damn sweet, darlin’.”

You blush and then take a deep breath, starting the wheel and explaining to Joel what to do. He’s completely enamoured by you. The way you light up when you’re talking about something you're passionate about sets his heart on fire. Your bright eyes make his lips curl up into a warm smile as he takes in the sight of you doing something you genuinely love. He’d like to see more of that. More of that free spirit that pulls him to you. 

Soon, your coffee cup is formed and when you smile at your cup he feels an intense sense of pride. Now it’s his turn but before you can get up he sits behind you, pressing his strong body against your back. He’s so warm and comforting when he’s this close. You absolutely love it.

His scruffy cheek lines up with yours, his warm breath tickling your skin as he reaches around you for his lump of clay and places it in the middle of the wheel. “Okay, baby doll. Walk me through this again.”

You blush and relax into him, explaining the steps carefully as you give him a step by step. He starts off well, shaping and molding the clay, but he’s too rough with it and the mug caves in on itself. “Son of a bitch,” he huffs as you giggle.

“You’re being too rough, be gentle.” You take over, reshaping the clay into a ball for him. As you move your hands back to your lap, his large hands cover yours.

“Show me,” he whispers, goosebumps traveling down your spine as you feel his hot breath breathe down your neck.

You swap to control his large hands with your small dainty ones. He starts to shape the mug, just like last time. “Good job, handsome. You’re almost done.”

When it comes time to create the hole again, it crumbles under his strong grip. “God dammit,” Joel huffs, he’s too distracted by you and your long exposed neck just right where he can reach it. So tempted to just kiss you and cover your body with the wet clay that’s caked on his hands. 

You giggle again but try your hardest to encourage him. “You almost had it that time, baby. Come on, one more try.”

“You’re distractin’ me,” he says, kissing that soft spot right below your ear. You moan, lips parting and eyes closing at the feel of his warm lips. 

You turn your head to look at him, placing a light and lingering kiss to his lips before saying, “Just one more time, please.”

The sun is starting to set, casting a pink glow across your room as the early night air rustles the curtains lightly. “Anything for you, my love.” Joel hums, kissing you back until you pull away and get his clay ready. 

He takes a big breath and tries again, this time being extra gentle when forming the hole in the cup. You encourage him quietly the whole time, reminding him to be gentle and cradle it carefully. He knows you don’t mean for it to be teasing or sexual, but hearing you whisper things like, ‘just like that’, or ‘softer baby’, have his cock starting to strain against your back. He knows you can feel it, can sense the change in your breathing as he finishes his mug. It’s not as pretty as yours, but he sure as fuck is going to be drinking his morning coffee out of it everyday for the rest of his life. 

You use your wire to get the cup off the wheel and put it beside yours. You both look at them side by side for a little bit, admiring the extra care you took to make them. Yours is showroom quality, people would pay to have that perfectly shaped mug, unlike Joel’s. But you love them, they’re un-perfectly perfect, just like the both of you. 

Joel's chin rests on your shoulder as his lips hang just over your smooth jawline. “I love them,” you say with a small smile, admiring the dips and smooth edges of the cups. 

He drags one clay covered finger in a heart shape along your arm and with his voice in a gravelly whisper says, “I love you.”

His lips trail from your ear to your shoulder blade before he licks a line across the nape of your neck, making a new trail of kisses to your ear on the other side. You feel your body start to go limp, ready for him to take control and do whatever he pleases. “As sexy as you look in these overalls, baby, stand up and take them off.”

You do as he says, standing up in front of him, back still towards him as you undo the one clip holding your jean overalls up. The metal clasp makes a scraping sound against the metal button before your overalls fall to the floor, pooling in a heap around your feet. 

Joel lets out a deep moan at the sight of you in just a grey cotton thong and grey t-shirt bra. “Stay,” he says softly, clay covered hands coming to cover your body as he traces a line down your spine. You can’t see what he’s doing, but his fingers brush against the globes of your ass, then the backs of your thighs, then in random spots on your back. The cool clay left behind, hardening on your skin as he continues marking you with the clay. 

“Spin around baby,” he finally says. He looks up at you from the stool, kissing just to the right of your navel, coating his fingers in more wet clay from the wheel. His hands come back to your body, drawing tiny little hearts all over your soft skin. He draws one around your belly button, then the front of one of your thighs, the top of your knee, one right above your actual heart, a few more up and down your arms. His face is soft as he focuses on each heart, each little bit of your body. He’s so taken aback by you, so madly head over heels in love with you that he knows he won’t survive seeing you with Terrance again. So he’s going to mark you, claim your body with clay so he knows you don’t belong to Terrance. Yes, it will wash off, but he was here first and he’s going to be here last. This is his. You are his. 

His hands come to grip your hips as he stands, towering over you so you have to crane your neck to see him. His lips come down to yours slowly and softly. You tilt slightly to give him access, swiping your tongue against his bottom lip and moan quietly into his mouth. He returns your passion, kissing you deeply before lifting you up into his arms and walking you over to the side of your bed. He stops for a second, unsure if you want to get your sheets dirty, so he changes course and lowers you to the ground instead while your legs wrap around his waist. He breaks the kiss, moving himself to kiss every square inch of your skin that doesn’t have a clay heart on it. Claiming you again as your wiggle and jolt under his touch. 

You moan his name when he hits the sensitive spots, like the tops of your breast or the dips in your hips. You keep your eyes locked on him the entire time, watching the passion in his eyes as he kisses your body nice and slow. 

Fuck you love him. You love him so fucking much that it’s almost unbearable to think about him not being near you. How will you fake it with Terrance now?

His gentle kisses move to your legs as he works his way up your body, alternating between limbs before finally getting to your inner thighs. Each kiss is a delicious torture. “Please Joel, please,” you’re practically panting, almost begging for him to touch you. 

He sits up and removes his pants and boxers, his cock looking almost painfully hard and you gasp at the sight of him, “I know, baby. I know”

He’s so turned on that it takes a moment for you to realize that it’s just from kissing you. Your body, your little moans, and your whimpers are the most erotic thing to him. “I love the sound of you begging, I’m right here. I got you,” he reassures you.

He situates himself between your legs, kissing the growing wet spot of your clothed center. Your body twitches at the warmth of his lips and you cry out again, desperately needing him so badly that it almost hurts. 

“Alright, alright,” he hushes you, “do you need to come darlin’?”

You nod down at him, raising your hips towards his face, “P-please,” you whimper.

He pushes your panties to the side and licks his lips at the sight of your pussy weeping for him. You push your hips up again, desperate for friction from his warm tongue. Joel smiles up at you, “Always so eager for me, ain’t ya? Such a good girl.” And then he dives in, licking at your clit with quick, light flicks of his tongue. You feel yourself go boneless, melting into the soft rug below you, crying Joel’s name out and begging him not to stop. 

His tongue slows, almost licking you lazily. The hurried passion evolves into a controlled worship. Your heart rate slows, breathing coming back to normal as you look down at him. His warm eyes pull you in, giving you comfort and security as they seem to melt into yours. This big strong man lapping at your pussy feels like home. He is home.

“Please, don’t stop,” you whisper, the love for him coating your ragged words.

“Never,” he says between licks, “I’ll do this forever if you let me.”

When Joel Miller makes a promise, he keeps it. He’s a man of his word.

Your head falls back to the floor as he continues to lick, kiss and suck you deep into his warm mouth. Your center on fire for him as he awakens your throbbing bundle of nerves. Your hands run along your body, playing with your breasts, pinching your nipples gently, fully immersing yourself in Joel. He doesn’t rush or try to force your pleasure, he just lets you enjoy it. He knows you’ll come when you’re ready, and fuck does he hope you’re never ready. 

“Enjoyin’ yourself, my Diamond?”

“Y-yes,” you pant out. Your legs start to shake, the familiar tingle building in your core. He keeps teasing and tasting you over and over again until you’re right on the edge. “Oh God - yes - Joel.”

He smiles into your sensitive skin as he continues pleasuring you. “That’s my good girl,” he praises as he laps at the slick between your legs.

You’ve lost track of time, there’s a chance Joel has been at it for hours, but he moans and encourages you so you let yourself enjoy him. The tingling sensation grows stronger, spreading out to your whole body before it snaps and you're wrapped in pleasure. It waves through your whole body, you moan and cry out, Joel talking you through the whole thing as you start to break.

“I know, I know. That’s it baby, just relax.” His tongue swirls you gently as you come, careful not to push you into overstimulation. He’s so hard that it’s almost painful.  “Good girl. Fuck, you’re so beautiful when you come.”

It starts to feel too intense and you’re suddenly desperate to feel him inside you. Your hands come to his hair, tugging him away lightly, your eyes matching his. “I need you, please. Fill me,” you whine.

You strip off your clothing slowly, taking every single piece off as you keep your eyes on him. You watch as his large body covers yours and lowers you gently to the ground as he crowds your space. He’s so beautiful in the purple sunset lighting of your room. His face and beard are shiny with your arousal but you don’t care, you press your lips to his, a deep and passionate kiss burning while he runs the tip of his cock through your folds, collecting your slick thoroughly.

“Please please please,” you whisper as his kisses move to your neck.

Finally he slides the tip in, you both gasp and then your lips meet again. Kissing one another with hunger as he slowly pushes himself the rest of the way in. Once he’s flush against you he pulls away from the kiss, both your lips puffy and swollen. His arms are resting on each side of your head, hands pushing your hair back as he smiles down at you, fully settled inside of your warm, tight heat.

“I love you, Joel Miller.” Your voice is practically dripping with admiration, each word seems to tattoo itself onto his heart.

He slowly pulls himself out to the tip as he slides back in as he groans you name, bringing his forehead to yours. “I love you, too, baby girl,” he smiles while he ruts deeper inside you.

For the next few thrusts you’re both silent - just panting breaths and little moans, foreheads together and eyes locked onto each other. He moves in and out of you as you circle your hips into his, the soft bit of his belly rubbing against your already sensitive clit. 

“Oh God, baby,” you moan. You can feel tears building behind your eyes, pleasure starting to wrap around you again. “I’m - I’m gonna…”

“I know, fuck, I can feel ya. Gettin’ so tight around me, darlin’.” He doesn’t stop the slow push and pull of his hips. “Go on, baby. Come for me.” 

Your whole body breaks out in shivers as you come all over him, your slick coating his cock as he works it deep inside you. He presses his body down onto yours more, helping ground you as your body writhes under his. You feel the hot tears escape your eyes as you moan his name loudly.

“There’s my girl, lettin’ go for me. I’m so proud of you.” His thrusts speed up a little as he chases his own release. As you start to come back to earth you feel him growing harder inside of you, his cock twitching as the aftershocks of your orgasm have your walls shuddering.

“Fill me, please,” you grind into him harder. “Want to feel you come inside of me again.”

Joel's hips snap into you one last time before his strong body quakes above you. He doesn’t hold back, moaning and whining out your name as he shoots ropes of warm come deep inside you - marking and claiming you all over again. 

“Oh, fuck, darlin’. Feels so good,” he moans as he comes down from his own high and slowly slips out of you, dragging his seed down your thigh as he drops to the floor and pulls you into his chest tightly. 

“That was incredible,” you pant as you let your hand drag down his soft stomach, collecting sweat on your fingertips as you look up into warm, loving eyes. 

“You’re incredible, my little Diamond,” he smiles as he cups your chin and brings his plush lips down to yours. The kiss is slow, passionate, like you’re the only two people in the world right now. It’s so euphoric with him, everything so full of bright colors that you just can’t get enough of him. He’s the love of your life. 

When he pulls away he taps you on the tip of your nose with his index finger and pulls you up off the ground. “C’mon, love. Let’s get you in the shower.”

He whisks you away into the lit up bathroom as he turns the faucet to hot, and the water comes pouring down. He lifts you up into the edge of the shower and steps over, grabbing a soft washcloth as he lathers it in lavender soap. 

“Turn around, love. Gonna clean ya off,” he murmurs as you smile and turn toward the water, letting the warmth pour over you as sticky clay starts falling down the drain. 

His large hands move languidly over your body, gently scrubbing off the clay as he starts at your collarbone and moves down the length of your arms. His lips graze your neck as he takes his time coating you in the sweet aroma of lavender, the smell of him is everywhere. Hanging in the steam filled air, lingering on your skin, filling your insides as you breathe him in nice and deep. He smells like coffee and a hint of mahogany as his experienced fingers cover your body. 

You slowly turn and press your lips to his, sinking your body against his broad chest as he pulls you in and drowns you in all of him. You get lost in his everything as you let your fingers slot through his tousled curls, opening your mouth to invite him in. His tongue tastes like candy, and you devour the taste. Sweet, savory, euphoric. 

You don’t know how long you’re in the shower as his hands thoroughly explore your body. You take your time washing him, too. Sliding your hands over every single crevice of his body, trailing kisses over his shoulders, down his spine, all the way to his long fingers. You’re in so deep with him, and this feels like heaven being with him. Every second you’re with him it’s a piece of heaven, he’s your heaven, your saving grace.

After the shower, he wraps you in a soft towel and dries you off and then slides his large grey t-shirt over your head. It smells like him and you want to keep it forever. He leads you to the bed and pulls you against his glowing chest as he wraps an arm around you and gently skims his fingers through your hair. Warm, he’s so warm. 

“I had the best day with you, sweet girl,” he whispers as he places a kiss sweetly on your forehead. You nuzzle your face deeper into his neck and wrap your arms tightly around him. 

“I did, too. Every day is like a dream with you. Promise it won’t change. Promise me this is forever,” you say quietly as you run your fingers slowly over his chest, praying this isn’t all just a dream. 

He sighs and nods his head. “I promise. You’re my forever, darlin’. Never gonna let ya go. You’re mine. My special, rare Diamond.”

He wraps you tighter around him as you feel your eyes start to close, relishing in his scent, his body, his everything. “Joel?”

“Hmm?”

“I love you…” you breathe, sinking all your weight into his body as you kiss his scruffy jawline. 

“Oh, baby. I love you more, my little Diamond. My forever…”

You smile and let your mind drift off to sleep as the room grows quiet and dark. You dream of brown eyes, your future, your forever. You dream of Joel. 

The last thing you hear is Joel’s voice slipping through the darkness. “Goodnight, my precious Diamond.”

Tags: @casa-boiardi @keylimebeag @skysmiller @vvitchesh3x @littlevenicebitch69 @jessthebaker @strawberri-blonde @pansexual-potatoes

[freedomfireflies]

PART TWO OF THIS PLS?? LITERALLY SO SO GOOD

JACK SHIT pt. 2

“Fuck…please. Please, Angel, just—”

Jack’s plea is cut short by the sound of your insatiable whine, your head dropping back as you slip a second finger in and curl upward. You let the pleasure settle, mind fuzzy and eyes squeezed closed as you hear the familiar clink of the handcuffs tugging against the headboard.

“Angel,” comes his voice once more. Rougher. Angier. “Get the fucking key, or I swear to God—”

“What?” you find the strength to ask. “Or what, Jack? What are you gonna do? Tied to the bed and begging for me?”

His teeth grit but you’re not finished. You won’t be finished for hours after the way he treated you at that party.

You thrust your chin toward his cock, smirking to yourself as he refuses to look down. “So fucking pathetic, baby. Just dripping for me. Needing me. S’a shame, really. I would have loved to take care of it for you.”

And he knows you would. Knows there’s nothing Victory could offer you that’s sweeter than Jack’s cock.

He pulls again, strong muscles contracting as his veins press against his skin. To be honest, you’re quite shocked he hasn’t ripped the headboard apart yet, but you suppose deep down, he likes being helpless. In fact, you don’t doubt it at all.

And this torture has been going on for at least an hour. You laid him down all pretty on the bed. Lured him into a false sense of security. Tied his hands to the bed the moment he’d become distracted by your tits and proceeded to get your revenge.

You started by fucking yourself with his cock. Because of course you did. And he was so miserable. So desperate to touch you, have you, take you. Make you his own personal plaything and you adored the fact that he couldn’t.

When you came around him, you swear he cursed every god in existence at the feel. Then, he nearly pulled a muscle in protest when you climbed off of him just before he had the chance to find his own release.

You figured this is exactly what he deserved. To sit there and behave the same way he’d made you just earlier this evening.

So, you indulged in his punishment. Crawled to his side and began to fuck yourself with your own hand, desperate for more. And my gosh, you were gonna kill him. You could see it. Written all over his face. The way he’d never felt so inferior to you. The way he’d never needed someone more than he needed you. The way he needs you. In this moment and all the others.

“Angel,” he murmurs, coarse and deep from the back of his throat. As if his own body is protesting the force it takes just to speak. “You don’t wanna play this game with me, I promise.”

You hum, lazy smile slipping free as you hit that spot, the hand that was holding you up now slipping away as your back finds the mattress. “Think I do.”

“You don’t,” he corrects but you can tell there’s nothing behind his threat. You own his ass and he knows it. “Unless you’re just desperate to get punished and I think I know my angelic little whore well enough to know you are.”

“How do you know this doesn’t hurt me, too?” you ask in an airy whisper, so caught up in your own pleasure you can hardly think straight. Your head rolls to the side so you can catch a glimpse of his face. That beautiful, outrageously pissed-off face. “Hurts me not to have you touch me, baby.”

He yanks his wrists forward, only to scowl when they catch on the chain still trapped behind the headboard. “So, let me go…and I’ll make it better.”

You pull your lip between your teeth, head shaking gently. “Then how will you learn?”

With that, you thrust to the knuckle, palm pressing into your clit as you come for a second time, jaw dropping as you whimper a curse and his name, back arching off the mattress as you vaguely hear him call out for you.

You still for a moment or two, just listening to your own pants for air and the thumping of your heart in your chest.

He’s quiet now. Waiting. He thinks this is it. Thinks this is where you give up and unlock him.

Jack Chambers is many things.

But bright is not one of them.

You sit up, scooting closer for just a moment as you watch the hope find its way to his eyes. You take your soaked hand and reach out to him, swiping your finger along his bottom lip.

He has the nerve to glare at you but he takes your thumb into his mouth and sucks, biting gently as your lashes flutter and your stomach flips. 

And he watches you. The entire time. Keeps his eyes on yours and never deviates for even a moment. Desperate to make sure you know that he’s enamored by you. Even now. And always.

Once he’s through, you let out a soft chuckle and lean back, swinging your legs off the bed before straightening up and moving for the door.

You hear him lean forward, confused and furious. “The fuck are you doing?”

You don’t turn back until you’ve reached the hallway, glancing over your shoulder to call, “Don’t go anywhere.”

And the flat, unamused look he gives you in response just about makes your day, and you suppress a louder laugh as you stroll to the kitchen to grab some water and rehydrate.

You spend about five minutes smirking between each sip of water as you hear him call out his threats, demanding to be released, or demanding you finish what you started, or demanding that you get your ass back in there so he can ruin it.

When you return, now feeling much better, you make a show of it. Hips swaying as you stride toward the bed, hands pulling your hair down your back and out of your face, and fingers reaching for his thighs.

He tenses as if so wound up, even a brush of your skin against his will send him over the edge. And you imagine it just might. Which, of course, had been the goal.

You make your way closer, knees and palms deep into the mattress as you hover over his body, lips ghosting near his pathetically ignored cock, and he thrusts his head back against the wall in anticipation.

He doesn’t speak. He’s learned. Knows that if he wants you, he’ll be quiet. He’ll be good.

You reward this realization with a smile, head dipping until you swipe your tongue along the underside of him, watching the way his fingers curl into his hand to brace himself.

He sucks in a sharp breath, and you think to yourself how fucking beautiful he still is to you. Even after everything. He’s so beautiful.

Another lick before you move to the top, ready to take him down your throat when you hear the clang off the cuffs and his voice, murmuring a desperate, “No…wait.”

You hesitate, brow wrenching up as you meet his eye.

He swallows, hips shifting slightly. “I’m sorry.”

Your heart warms and your expression softens, your touch caressing his thighs to comfort him. “I know, baby.”

He huffs, but he’s not through. “You know I wanna fucking ruin that throat but not right now. Not…can’t do it that way.”

“What do you mean?”

His teeth clench together tightly, head thumping back against the wall once more as he struggles to get the words out. “Shit, can’t…can’t be anywhere else but inside you, Angel. Need to feel you like that. Please…please.”

And you swear you’ve never heard him sound more sincere and desperate, and your heart and your cunt go out to him. 

A second or two passes between his admission and your agreement, filled with the sound of his gentle voice whispering, “Please,” once more as his earnest eyes find yours.

So, you reach for the lock on the nightstand, despite the warning in your head that you’re gonna be fucking in for it the second he’s free.

And the moment you bring it back to his wrists, he exhales a heavy breath, so relieved that he rolls his head to the side to kiss your arm gratefully. Mumbling all the while, “Shit, I love you. Love you, Angel. I love you, I love you, I love you.”

The moment his hand falls free by his side, he reaches out to loop his arm around you and toss you onto your back, settling himself between your thighs as your head spins.

You gasp when his fingers find your throat, but you can’t help grinning with him as he nudges his nose against yours. You don’t care if he never lets you forget tonight because my god…was it worth it.

And Jack can see it written all over your face, desperate to fulfill the promise he’s been making all night.

“Oh, my sweet Angel…you’re gonna fucking regret that.”

~ Other Harry Blurbs

~ Full Masterlist

[honeyedmiller]

The Bounty | Din Djarin

pairing: din djarin x f!reader

warnings: mentions of death (of a family member as well), murder, swearing, fluff, and just... Mando being Mando. hope y'all enjoy <3

word count: 2.8k

synopsis: Din catches a bounty that utterly intrigues him, and that bounty happens to be you.

divider by @saradika

Fuck.

Your head hurt so bad. Your vision was so blurry, and you couldn't comprehend what the hell even happened. You kept fading in and out, whole body just absolutely aching.

You felt like it was forever until you came to. You blinked rapidly, several times, just to even regain consciousness of reality. Once your vision focused, you noticed you were on a ship. What the fuck?

You look around slowly, drinking in the sight of your surroundings. You noticed you were perched up against a metal wall, legs extended out in front of you. It was only until now that you noticed your hands were cuffed behind your back, the cold, rough metal biting harshly at your wrists every time you tugged slightly. You furrowed your brow, which was coated in pure cold sweat. The fluorescent lights in the ship were still too blinding for your vision, and you groaned in agony.

You stilled for a second, closing your eyes again to see if you could at least hear something familiar, because even the stars in space knew you couldn't muster up the energy to stand up, even if you wanted to. You didn't hear much except for the still air of hyperspace, it seemed like, and... is that... a baby cooing?

Your eyes instantly snapped open, being startled by a tall, extremely intimidating Mandalorian. You looked up at him from your place on the ground, his almost blindingly shiny beskar armor glinting the reflection of the lights on the ship. His helmet was tilted down toward you, making it devastatingly obvious that he was staring... maybe even... observing you.

You gulped in terror as your fight or flight kicked in, but then it suddenly dawned on you: one, he's a fucking Mandalorian. He has all kinds of weapons and trinkets that could kill you in a second, and two: even if you did put up a decent fight, where the fuck would you go? You're literally in hyperspace.

It's only then that you notice a little creature, who couldn't be more than a foot tall, making his way to the Mandalorian. He was so tiny, with big dark green, almost black-ish eyes. You blinked a couple of times in disbelief, making sure you were seeing things correctly. The little creature cooed his baby noises once more, trying to get the man's attention. He didn't budge.

"Uhm," You try your damndest to break the awkward silence and thick, unwavering tension, "What am I doing here?" You choke out, your mouth feeling so dry, throat extremely coarse.

You had an idea of why you were a bounty, but in your defense, the man you murdered had it coming. He killed your father, the last family you had on Tatooine, and you simply wanted to avenge his death. You didn't think the New Republic would frown so deeply upon getting revenge. But, alas, you were another identity on a puck, being ruthlessly hunted by a Mandalorian.

"Just kill me now," you wavered, feeling exhausted and quite literally having no will to stay alive, "I'm sure you'll get a good amount of credits for turning me in." You felt tears prick the back of your eyes, because your father was the only reason you kept going. Now that he was gone, what was the purpose?

Your response astonishes Din, even though he stays incredibly still. He's never had a bounty, especially as young and healthy as you were, plead for him to take their life. Usually it was a bounty that was older, or a renowned criminal within the galaxy, that truly didn't give two fucks if they died or not. Especially commenting about how many credits he'd get after turning you in. Something was off about you, but not in a bad way— Din just couldn't figure it out. He didn't trust anyone, at all, except for his green little son that was still trying to get his dad's attention at his feet.

But, for some reason, Din's gut told him to not freeze your body in carbonite. And so, he didn't... and he let you stick around.

-

That was six months ago. Six months you've been by Mando and the kid's side, flying all throughout the galaxy with them. Six months of incredibly dangerous yet exhilarating missions, beautiful planets, and little by little, getting to know the man armored in beskar himself. He never says much, and quite frankly, neither do you. The silence is something you both enjoy, but there's times where you'd both get curious about each other and your lives.

You told him the reason you ended up on that puck he was given to by Greef Karga, which made him ten times more glad he didn't do anything stupid on impulse that resulted in you no longer being in this galaxy. Mando knew you could fight, quite well, to his astonishment. He also knew you could shoot a blaster, and basically carry your own. Only thing you were missing was practically just the armor.

You never ceased to amaze him with your abilities— one minute you're his little sidekick joining him on a couple of missions to catch other bounties, and the next, you're making a deliciously hot meal for him and the kid. He didn't need help catching the bounties, but because of your quickness and ability to be sneaky, you were a great asset to him catching his targets. Plus, he thoroughly enjoyed spending time with you—

but he'd never admit that to you.

He generally always wondered how you'd acquired all of these vital survival skills over the years but never asked you, well, for one, because of the enjoyment of peace and quiet. Two, he didn't want to overstep. He wanted to get to know you more, and the more he found out, he always made a mental note to himself.

He remembers that your favorite flowers are nightbloomers, you like the warmth of the sun (because it wistfully reminded you of your home planet) much rather than the harsh and cold snow, your favorite drink is Bantha milk, and you love to secretly dance, especially when you think he isn't looking.

You can say being a quiet person really comes with some perks, especially being an excellent observer. Sometimes it's better just to sit back and watch, and that came as second nature to the both of you.

You sat in the co-pilots chair, basking in the same comfortable silence you two always do. The kid, who's name you found out long ago is Grogu, is fast sleep on your lap. He's snoring lightly, little breaths in and out at a steady pace. His tiny, three-fingered right hand is grasping onto the lapel of your black robe. Your heart swells at the sight.

You hear Mando input something on the navigator of the Razor Crest, and your eyes shift to his fingers. He was putting in new coordinates to a planet.

"Where are we headed?" You ask softly, eyes trained on the navigation system.

"Coruscant. Figured you'd want to get some fresh air and see the markets they have." He replies to you simply, no further explanation.

This was odd— he never really went out of his way to go to a completely different planet he didn't need to be on. Nonetheless, the kind gesture of his didn't make your heart fail to flutter.

You can never tell what goes on through his mind, mostly because you've never seen his face. You knew about the creed the Mandalorians needed to strictly follow prior to meeting him, but didn't know the full extent until he decided to explain it to you on a warm, sunset-filled evening not even a few weeks ago. You'll never forget the way the hues of orange and red reflected off of his armor.

His identity basically became a secret for the rest of his life, from childhood on. You were always curious as to what he looked like, but never questioned him or pushed it because, well, it really wasn't your place to know. You'd only known him for half a year, so you were nowhere near deserving to ask more than slightly intrusive questions about his appearance, or his past.

You arrived to Coruscant faster than you anticipated. The kid was still sleeping soundly when you guys landed, so you made sure to be extra careful to put him in his crib. Soon enough, you made it to a more secluded area of the city-covered planet. It was only a twenty minute walk from where the Razor Crest was stationed.

The planet was warm, and the outskirt markets of the city had solid dirt roads. The sound of dirt crunching under your boots as you walked became all too prominent, realizing the buzzing market before your eyes suddenly became quiet. You were confused at first, until you realized everyone was staring at Mando. He seemed to ignore all of it, probably so used to holding so much power that a whole lively, bustling town falls silent at his mere presence.

The power trip he must have is insane.

Everyone slowly returns to their own doings, some still whispering amongst themselves. You were here for the market, so that's what you were going to focus on.

You stop suddenly, guilt tinging your being just slightly. Mando looks down at you, confused as to why you suddenly halted your movements.

"I don't have any credits." You look up at him, your grimacing face reflecting off of his visor.

"Don't worry about it. We need food for the ship anyways." He keeps walking past you like it's no big deal at all. Although he is the one who captured you, you couldn't help but feel bad for not contributing to buying food or necessities. You know he made a decent amount of credits doing what he does, but you never questioned how much.

Again, it wasn't your space to pry.

"Here," Mando's modulated voice breaks your wandering thoughts, "Buy yourself whatever you'd like." He slips fifty credits in your hands, and you gasp.

"Mando, this is a lot. I can't take this." You shake your head in refusal, trying to push the credits back into his big, stubborn hands.

"I insist. You help out a lot and never complain about a damn thing," He pushes your hands with the credits toward your body, "It's the least I can offer you." He finishes, looking down at you. Oh, how you wish you could see his face underneath all that beskar.

You couldn't form words to show how much gratitude you felt in the moment, so you just offer him a soft, sweet smile.

Something else Din would never tell you: he loved your smile. You seldom did it, but when you did, it's like the weight of the world was lifted off of his shoulders, and he felt like he could relax. It was genuinely such a rare treasure being able to see such a sight.

He looked back up at the busy marketplace, spotting a vendor he wanted to buy something from. Grogu's crib followed Mando, so you went off to a fruit vendor only a few feet away. You smile at the woman as you pick out your favorite fruits, putting them all in one bag. You gave her credits she charged you, thanking her for the bag and you step away to look at what the other vendors had to offer. You saw one that offered Bantha milk, and you gasped in pure delight.

You quickly walked to the stand, immediately getting three bags of the delicious blue milk you used to drink on Tatooine. It reminded you so much of your dad and mornings with him as you sat and watched him repair people's ships from all over the galaxy. He was a very well-trusted mechanic, and he taught you everything you know. Oh, how you miss him dearly.

Mando put a hand on your shoulder, prompting you to turn around and face him. He held out a bag of dried meat toward you, and you happily took a small piece.

"Thank you for bringing me out here," You smile up at him, feeling overly spoiled, "It means a lot that you'd go out of your way." You rest a free hand on the chest plate of his armor without even realizing your actions at first. You quickly remove your hand, gathering up your bags of goodies once more in both arms. You spot a small boutique across the way, excusing yourself from Mando's presence.

You saw the prettiest pale pink nightgown, and you bought it immediately. It got so hot on the ship sometimes because of how warm the heaters were, despite being in freezing cold space nearly all the time. You had fifteen credits after that, so you looked around some more.

You spotted a shoe vendor, but your arm was immediately yanked by Mando before you could even step forward.

"What the—?!" Mando's leather-gloved hand covers your mouth, pulling you to the side of a building and away from the view of the main road.

"New Republic officers and Mandalorians don't get along," He grits, voice sounding agitated, "We need to leave." And all you do is nod in understanding, not even thinking twice about questioning it. He's seen far more of the galaxy than you have, so it's easy to say that what he's saying to you comes from utter experience.

Mando made sure you followed close behind him, and you turned to check on Grogu every couple of minutes. You just wanted to make sure he was safe. That kid could sleep through anything, seriously. He's been asleep this whole time.

Following his lead, you three were hiding behind as many buildings as you could until there was no more. You stopped behind the last building before he looked at you.

"Can you run?" He asks, helmet looking down at you. Of course you can. You grew up on Tatooine. You nod feverishly, adrenaline pumping through the course of your being. He gives you a short, slight nod, before he takes your hand in his and you two book it back to the Razor Crest.

You heard the officers shouting from behind, but both of you couldn't be bothered to look back unless it was to check on the kid. After about ten minutes, you made it back to the ship. You were a bit breathless, but the officers were nowhere to be found.

You've never outrun the law before. To say it was exhilarating would be a complete understatement. You lean your back against a metal wall of the ship, hands behind your head to steady your heart rate. Mando immediately took off, shooting into hyperspace in less than no time.

Your heart was still beating rapidly, but your breaths weren't as labored. Mando made his way back over to you, and you stood up straight once he was in front of you. You looked up at his helmet with wide eyes, then suddenly— you couldn't contain your joy any longer.

You started laughing, hard. So hard that you were hunched over, gripping your sides. You can't believe you just did that.

Maybe for Mando it was something normal, but for you? You'd never do something like that. Your dad would've kicked your ass would he've known about these shenanigans.

Din's heart felt lighter when he heard the sweet sound of your laugh. It was like music to his ears. As soon as you settled down and looked at the shiny armor in front of you, he put both arms on each side of your head. It wasn't in an intimidating fashion whatsoever. It was gentle, almost like he was going to tell you a secret.

"Do you trust me?" He rasps, voice hardly present. You nod, no apprehensiveness in your movements. "Close your eyes. Please. Promise me you won't open them." His words are stern, but still kind.

"I promise," you whisper, immediately closing your eyes. "Mando, what's this abo—" You couldn't even finish your sentence, because a small hissing sound like pressure was being released was very close and present in the air in front of you.

Suddenly, you felt a pair of plush, velvety lips press up against yours. You gasp into the kiss, not expecting it one bit, but still melt into it. Your lips move with his in perfect sync, slow and steady. Your heart was fluttering and your stomach was doing all sorts of flips. Who knew a Mandalorian could be one hell of a kisser?

When your lips finally parted from his, you hear the same pressurized noise, except this time it sounded like it was being sucked in instead of let out.

"It's Din," he says, putting his leather-gloved hand on your cheek, grazing it softly with his thumb. "My name is Din." He reveals, resting the cold metal of the beskar helmet against your forehead. A smile spread across your lips like a wildfire, both hands reaching up to hold either side of his helmet.

"It's nice to finally meet you, Din." You teased, but smiled nonetheless. You knew, right then and there.

Din was your new purpose.

[inherstars]

Future Days | The Last of Us (2 of 2)

Part one is here.

After Tommy nearly incapacitated his brother a second time with the ferocity of his embrace, he was granted the dubious honor of helping the man get properly showered and dressed.

“I can do it my damned self,” Joel argued.  Then he tried to stand, and that argument went out the window.

“It’s me, Mimi or Ellie,” Tommy informed him, not exactly relishing the infliction of indignity, but certainly not hating it either.

Mimi said, “And I got real cold hands.”

Ellie supplied, “And I’m already emotionally scarred.”

“Just put me back in the damn coma,” Joel groused.  Tommy grinned.

“Somebody get me one of them little pink pouf things.  I’m gonna make my brother look all purty.”

While Tommy helped him shower, and Joel did his level best to pretend that Tommy wasn’t helping him shower, he learned a little.  His brother was clearly hesitant to be the first to share some things, but others seemed to be fair game.

“What happened to those people?”

“Ones’at jumped us?  Couple made it out, and our boys couldn’t track ‘em, but they shot down the rest.  Don’t know if they’re gonna try to come back, but we’ve doubled up patrols.  We’ve got eyes out for ‘em.”

“Did you ever find out--”

“Why?”  Tommy’s head shook tightly.  “No, they wouldn’t say.  It was personal, for sure, but… knowing us--”

“Yeah,” he graveled.  “I’m sure there’s more than just them out there, looking for revenge.”

“I don’t remember most of it, o’course,” he defended.  “They clocked me out cold pretty much right away.  Mimi said I might not remember some of what I’d seen anyway, on account of the concussion.  We were, all three of us, pretty fucked up.  I remember getting jumped, and then… I woke up here.”

“Where is here,” Joel insisted.  “And who’s the redhead?  Some kind of doctor?”

“You never met her.  Hell, I never met her until I woke up to her shining a light in my eyes.  She and her group came by while we were out on patrol.  Used to be a traveling vet for zoos and such. Not precisely parallel with a human doctor, but we’ll take what we can get.  Her husband is some kind of animal tech, too.  They’re gonna help us get everybody some basic medical training.  For now, they set up a… convalescent hospital, of sorts.  We weren’t honestly sure how long you’d be out.”

Joel grunted, satisfied.

“How long was I out?”  He waited and, when Tommy hesitated too long, turned his head to needle him. “Tommy.”

“Two months, nearly.”

“Two goddamned months?”

“Yeah.  Seven weeks, thereabout.  Snow’s nearly melted, now.”  He gave him time to digest that, unhooking the shower attachment from the wall and hosing him off with all the gentility of a garbage can.  “Ellie’s been beside herself, I don’t need to tell you.”

“And I don’t need to hear it,” he said coarsely.

“I’m just saying--”

“What we got to say, we’ll say it to each other.”

Tommy shut the water, slinging the towel down from the shower door and tossing it at him unceremoniously.

“Be sure you do, old man.  Don’t need to remind you that all of us are living on borrowed time.  Anyway, I’m getting sick of all the drama between you two.”  He gave his brother a wink and a sober lip-lick as he dried off. “Was it good for you too?”

Tommy just barely made it out of the shower unscathed.

Once he was dressed, his brother reluctantly departed, leaving Ellie and Joel alone.  She helped him into a ladderback chair and draped him with a tablecloth, beginning a slow circle around him with a pair of hairdressing shears.  Snip by snip by snip the length he’d accumulated over the past two months fell away, her sense for the normal, unruly nature of his hair -- its curls, its cowlicks -- as accurate as ever.  She trimmed his beard as best she could with smaller and more precise snips, his eyes following her closely all the while.

“I get to talk yet?” he asked.

“Not if you don’t want a big chunk missing from your face.  Give me two more minutes.”

He’d waited this long.  He could wait a bit more.

Over the past two years she’d made excuses not to cut his hair, until he’d quietly started asking someone else for his twice-monthly trims.  With the scissors back in her hand she restored him to a more youthful and -- she thought -- more flattering style, though afterwards he looked even more silver than usual.

She set the shears aside, reaching behind him to free him from his makeshift smock.

“Are we gonna have to throw down about who gets to go first,” she asked.  He roughed a hand lightly back and forth over his hair, dislodging a small storm of tiny, glittering hairs to his shoulders.  Ellie brushed at them, thumbing a few stray pieces off his temple, the scar at the bridge of his nose.

“In my current condition, I’m fairly sure you’d have me beat.”

“Great.”  She sat on the edge of the bed to face him.  “Because I’ve had a really long time to think about all the shit I had to say, and I’m not sure I can put it off anymore.”

Joel’s eyes were sad but resigned.  Whatever she was going to say, he probably had it coming.

“Go on, then,” he said softly. “Let’s hear it.”

Ellie thought she knew where to start, but after sitting there, too long silent and wordless, she realized she was still woefully unprepared to face this.  All the things that made sense in her head required an eloquence she lacked.  There was a reason it took her and Joel months after their return to Jackson to finally, fumblingly, awkwardly get out the words “I love you” to each other.  Fortunately it was much easier every subsequent time but… fuck.  How did two of the world’s most emotionally constipated human beings manage to find each other after the apocalypse?  It was a miracle they weren’t actually related.

She stood, pacing the room a little, brushing her palms together as if trying to rid them of cobwebs.

“Shit. Now that I’m trying to do this, I don’t know where to start.”

“Start wherever you need.”

She laughed, humorless. “What I needed was for you to survive.  What I needed was you here with me, alive again, awake, because I knew none of the other bullshit would even remotely matter anymore.  And it doesn’t.  I was so angry at you for so long, and it ate up my entire world, and now I… I can’t even remember why.”

Back to the bed.  She sat again.

“A couple months ago… well, the other night, from your perspective.  When we were talking on the porch?”

Joel’s head moved in a single, small, acknowledging nod.  Ellie took a breath and continued.

“I’d been hesitant to tell you about Dina because… I thought: I’m not sure how he’ll react.  I know he loves me, but y’know…”

“I’m still a good-old-boy Texas redneck?”

Ellie’s lips threatened a smile.  She pointed at him. “I said that once, and I regretted it immediately, but.  Yeah.  I just didn’t know, so. I kept everything with her… everything with me… close to my chest.”  She swallowed, rubbing her palms down the tops of her thighs, staring at the floor.  “But what was the very first thing you said to me, when it actually came up?  That she’d be lucky to have me.”

Ellie’s eyes lifted again, sheening with tears.

“I called you an asshole.”

He snorted softly, the fix of his mouth forming a small smile.

“You do that a lot.”

“I know.  But that time it wasn’t actually directed at you.  That time… it was because I wanted so badly to be angry with you.  I wanted to hold onto this… this absolute anger in my heart.  This blame.  All the venom inside me, the dissatisfaction at how my life was turning out.  It was so easy for you to be the focus of all that.  I had so many reasons I could make you the convenient villain, so I could go on being the angsty teenager.  And instead, you just… continued to love me as hard as you could.  In the best ways you knew how.”

Ellie sobered, ashen.  She struggled for a few seconds, trying to find the words, then murmured, “How… how do I feel worthy of that?”

Joel too started and stopped, frustrated with himself, then pushed up from the chair.  With a little difficulty he transferred to the bed beside her.  Both of them sat forward, elbows-on-knees, in unconscious mirror.

“How? You… you don't. Do you think I feel worthy of everything good you brought back into my life? I barely felt worthy of Sarah, and when... when she was taken--”  His breath stuttered and stopped, chin tightening as tears came to his eyes.  He turned his face away from her.  

Ellie stared at his averted profile, the tense but regulated rhythm of his breathing.

“I am not a young man, Ellie,” he said softly, after what felt like days.  “And I have done awful things. Awful things.  Some of them I'm ashamed of, and others…”  He trailed off.  This was a discussion they had long ago, never with details but always with just enough for Ellie to understand why he didn’t want to share them.

He continued, half-facing her again.  “And then you came along.  And I have never once felt worthy of that.”

Once more they fell into silence, tensionless but resigned, as if at the graveside of something neither of them could ever truly bury.  Eventually, Joel nodded softly.

“But.”  He inhaled and exhaled, long and hard.  “But grateful? Oh. Oh, I have been grateful. And until the day I die, knowing I have done my best for you to follow me one day, hopefully long, long afterward…”  He looked at her.  “I will always be grateful.”

“Unworthy,” she whispered.  “But grateful.”

He snorted softly, with a kind of distant, nostalgic irony.

“Yeah.  You’re takin’ me back to Church.”

Ellie inched nearer to him, closing the gap between them.

“I wish we could go back,” she said softly.  His head turned just enough to look at her again.

“Back where?”

“Not… where. Maybe when?  To a time, a feeling?  Back to me sketching you while you worked out the chords for whatever song I'd just asked you about. To sitting on the porch during thunder storms.  Movie nights.  Pancake mornings.  The smell of your coffee, the tap of your finger on the pick guard while you counted beats.  Christmas days where you made me find that stupid pickle ornament, so you could give me an extra gift that we both knew you were going to give me anyway.”

Joel smiled, broadly and genuinely, face turning down again.  Ellie watched him all the while.

“I was in love with those things.  Those moments.  Those… stupid little in-jokes and quiet evenings and adventures.  I didn’t have anything inside of me but excitement for whatever new thing you were going to show me, or that we’d discover together.  In my heart I knew -- Joel, I knew -- that things hadn’t gone down at the hospital the way you said.  I wasn’t fucking stupid.  I just… shelved it.  Put it aside, because… I don’t know.  Maybe because I wanted to.  And the closer I got to feeling like an adult, feeling like I really needed to have my shit together and make something of myself… the more I made myself look at the truth, and blame you for it.”

He inhaled, struggling for a reply, but Ellie reached out and laid a hand on his knee to stop him.

“All I know,” she whispered, “Is if I keep going like this, if I keep fueling myself with anger and resentment, I'm going to do everything out of spit or anger. I'm afraid of falling so far down that hole that I can't get out again. And then what does it matter if I'm immune? There'll still be poison in my blood, killing me one way or another.”

Joel waited for the length of a few slow heartbeats before sitting back, spreading a gentle hand at the center of her back.

“We can’t go back, Ellie.”  He let her deflate softly before reminding her, “But we can go forward.”

She bent into her hands, palms pressing against her stinging eyes.

“I’m not angry with you, you know?” she managed to get out.  “I’m just… I’m sad, Joel. I’m so goddamned fucking sad.”

He sat silently with her, hand circling her back, gentle in its rhythm.  The smell of him flooded her, clawed into her heart and drew her back into herself like a child burrowing into a security blanket.

“Can't say sadness is better than anger,” Joel murmured.  “And… it'll eat you up in a different way, but. Maybe it's easier to do something constructive with it. To come back from sadness feels a hell of a lot better to the soul than anger.”

He looked at her steadily as she lowered her hands, meeting his gaze with tearful eyes.  “I still did what I did, Ellie, and I don't regret it. But I do regret the lying. If you can't be OK with that, I'll understand. I'll let you feel what you need to feel about that. But it don't change that I love you, and I'm always going to.”

She broke again, an ugly sob shattering out of her, and Joel caught her in his arms as she fell into them. 

“I’m sorry,” she muffled into him, but his arms only tightened.  His voice was choked.

“I don’t want to hear it.  We’re both sorry, and we know it, and that part is done.  We’re gonna do what… what normal people do, and learn from it, and start over.  And be grateful.”

He held her until the awful, gutting tension of her sobs subsided, then gently eased his arms into a low loop around her. Ellie sat, cradled against his chest, her head on his shoulder and eyes faraway, staring.  Joel reached up and brushed away the last tears from her cheek.  He was home in a way that no one and nothing else had ever been, and she had been far, far too long away from her home.

“Can I move back into the house,” she asked softly.  “Into my old room?  Not… I mean, I don’t want to crowd you, but maybe just for a little--”

“Whenever you like, baby girl,” he said.  “For as long as you like.”  He bent to kiss her hairline.  “Let’s you and me go home.”

[marshmallowprotection]

Dahlia

Pairing: Unknown/Reader Description: On the evening of the charity gala, you encounter him in all his glory, the hacker who brought you to this place.  Word Count: 1328 [Read on AO3]

“Don’t you know I’m no good for you?” 

The chuckle in the back of his throat was a telling one, reminding you just how dangerous it was to let him this close to you without a second pair of eyes to make sure he didn’t do anything he shouldn’t. It wasn’t like you cared, though. Who could expect you to think twice when you hardly stopped to think once? You weren’t the kind of person who wanted to think things through. 

You were just another one of those reckless and impulsive fools that wandered right into a minefield because you didn’t pause to read the sign that said: Danger ahead! You idiot! 

You never had much self-preservation skills in the first place.

Would you have those fears deeply woven in your veins as someone who was willing to listen to a stranger tell you what to do even though it could’ve gotten you killed? No, you wouldn’t, wouldn’t you? You didn’t care to think, and because of that, you found yourself amongst the RFA and their chaotic storm of emotions that spiraled around you like a thundering set of crashing waves against rocky shores. 

But, more importantly, your actions led you where you were that evening, away from everyone and everything, sans the hacker that brought you to them in the first place. 

He wasn’t what you expected him to be, either. 

Shaggy white curls, unruly and untamed, with pink highlights kissing the tips, bright baby blues that seemed to be drinking in every inch of your features, and what appeared to be coarse hands that had a lifetime of scars trailed from his fingertips to the cuffs of his sleeves. 

He wore a suit for the occasion of the night, but with his own flare, a choker around his throat, belts mish-mashed across his chest, and a chain dangling from the hip of his pants. 

Despite the dark rings around his eyes, the chipped lips that were in desperate need of gloss, and the bemused look in his eyes, you thought he was… handsome. 

There was a certain charm about him in your eyes, but no matter what you thought of him, that nagging feeling in the back of your head was there to remind you that he manipulated you to get revenge. You weren’t sure what he wanted or the pain he suffered at the hands of the RFA, but there was one undeniable truth about Unknown: That look on his face told you how easily he could cage you in and devour you. 

You could call for someone to swoop in and save you if you wanted. 

But, did you want that? 

His little game of cat and mouse… the late night calls and feverish text messages sent between the two of you that were always at risk of being found out… the way you knew what he wanted to do to you all night long and the way he knew just how far you were willing to go to tumble away from their side… right into his embrace. Would you do anything he said just to find out how serious he was about his promises? Would you bend just to have a taste of something bad for you? 

Would you give in just for whatever abysmal chance he would allow to show you what he meant when he promised to gulp you down in the dead of night? 

“What if I do,” you began to say, eyes unwavering as you watched his eyes size you up by the minute. The sounds of the music playing inside the ballroom were long gone from your mind, knowing that you could only focus on the sounds of his haughty whisper, daring you to come closer… closer… and closer… until he snapped. You took a step in his direction, undaunted and afraid. “And, what if I don’t care?” 

He laughed, the tangled sound bouncing off the walls of the balcony you shared. “Heheheh… I think I like you a lot more when you show your true colors, party coordinator. What would those morons say if they knew you were playing right into the palm of my hand? What would they think if they knew the truth… that you’re a traitor… willing to throw them away… all because you want me?” 

Was he wrong about that? 

No. 

Unknown wasn’t wrong in the slightest. 

You came to him willingly, you told him everything he wanted to know, and you lied through your teeth anytime they asked you if you knew something about him. You were a liar, a filthy liar, and he made you feel like one in the best kind of way. Did you care about what they would think when this was all said and done with? Maybe, maybe you cared once, but you didn’t care anymore. 

You didn’t care what would happen behind you when the only thing that mattered was standing right in front of you. There was only one thing you cared about, and it was that nebulous look in his eyes that dared you to be bad. 

He grabbed you by the waist, that look in his eyes never wavering once as you fell into his embrace, and on bated breath, you sank into his arms like puzzle pieces slotting together… always meant to be one and the same. Unknown’s laughter felt like a symphony to your ears, and you couldn’t help yourself… you had to join in, laughing along to the sounds of his amusement. 

There was a desire in your heart you had to satisfy before the storm of hellfire began and you lost control with each passing second he satiated his twisted desires. 

You slung your arms around his shoulders, swaying to the music once again, falling deeper and deeper into the stormy seas of his eyes that sparkled like seafoam. The rest of the world didn’t matter to you at that point. The only thing you cared about was knowing that he would trade everything just to have a taste of your lips. You wanted that, you realized, you wanted someone to choose you over the world. It didn’t matter what happened to everyone else, as long as you had him. 

Whoever remained in the aftermath could think whatever they wanted of you… but you didn’t care if they thought you were no different than the villain in your arms. If anything, they were villains. 

They never cared about you in the first place, nobody did, they wanted you to be a replacement for another person who was long dead and would never return to them. You didn’t want to be a replacement for a dead soul. You wanted to be yourself, and if they’d realized that from the beginning… 

Perhaps, you never would’ve chosen to smile at Unknown’s whispers and leering taunts. They were the ones who drove you to it and they would be the ones to blame for their suffering. Not you nor him, the pain in their hearts was theirs to own and tolerate until the last quivering breath left their throat. 

It wasn’t your fault you wound up like this, torn and twisted from the shame, but they would pay for it all the same. 

You looked at him, praying he was watching you the same way you were studying him, “So, how long until the real party begins?” 

Unknown chuckled. You could hear the sounds of screams and shouts from behind you, and you knew at that moment that the party had started, not the one they wanted, but the one he planned right from the start. Yet, he didn’t stray from your side, nor did you with him. 

You just spun around the sound of the music and cries that came from those who would learn just what it meant to be welcomed to a paradise fit for two. 

Just the two of you. 

“Our party has only just begun, my beautiful traitor.” 

[mak3itr7ght]

Pair : Jeong Hoseok x fm!reader (Pirates of the Caribbean AU)

Words count: 2197

Warnings: mention of death by drowning, MANY SPOILERS about the movies.

Author's note: This is from a whole story I wrote months ago🫶 hope you'll enjoy it~ Happy birthday to our sunshine💚

For a better experience listen to this one, you won't regret it🤭

Y/n managed to stop the phantom crew on time. She observed Jack and Elizabeth escaping through a rope. The duo has been threw up at sea and rescued by the Black Pearl's crew.

Y/n smiled in relief knowing that her friends would be safe. They would end up beating Beckett as well, now that Jones was out of the games.

Finally, Hoseok's death was avenged and his soul could have left the chest and rest in peace and with it, Angie's too.

The girl leaned against the dirty main mast of the Flying Dutchman, the crew was surrounding Will's body, from which they were taking out the heart.

"The Dutchman must have a captain" that was the rule, after all.

Y/n felt her body heavy. She was wounded, not seriously. She was tired, though, mentally. She couldn't andle anymore a life without her lover. The only thing that kept her alive was have revenge, and she got it. Then, there was no other reason to be alive.

The young woman felt the coarse and cold wood against her shoulders' blades, through her blouse's delicate fabric. She gave her red jacket to Jack, asking him to take it back on the Pandora (Hoseok's ship) and leave it there, in his cabin, where it belonged to.

She let herself sliding down the wooden surface, sitting on the deck. The ship was sinking in the ocean, the crew would survived, it was part of their curse, and so would Will, who became one of them. But she wouldn't. Y/N was still human, and she chose the best way to die. Her life, sweetly took away by the water, which accompanied her day and night in the last four years.

She felt her body under the water, her hair floating above her head, the air leaving her longs, replaced with water, a tear escaped from her left eye, dispersing and blending into the blue.

She felt the sun's warmth getting distant, along with its light

Which could hardly reflect on the girl's pupils which she kept wide open even if the salty water made them burn. She wanted to admire the ocean for one last time.

Her life flowed before her eyes, savoring the most beautiful moments she had with her friends, and the small time she had with Hoseok before his death.

She didn't move even if she was suffering, she kept her composure animated by the thought of seeing him again, finally, and then dark, no sound, no perception, the mind disconnecting from the body. An eternal moment.

The sound of the waves spread again in the air, the sun's rays hitting the wet skin, stimulating the young woman's senses. Y/N opened her eyes again, slowly, taking a deep breath, she couldnt understand why she was still breathing. She felt knockles brushing against her cheek and her head resting on someone's lap. She looked up, spotting a shape, the sun shining right behind it.

'Hey'

That voice so familiar, sounded like a melody. Y/n smiled in response.

'I made it' She said in a whisper.

Hoseok kept caressing her face while admiring her with pure love and a sweet smile decorating his asian features. He was wearing a white bluse, white pants, no shoes, his hair were longer, slightly wavy, moved gently by the breeze, his skin, tanned reflecting perfectly the sun's light, his dark eyes that, even in backlight, sparkled.

He looked like an angel, he was an angel, no one could believe that, during his life on Earth, he was the fiercest pirate of the seven seas.

Y/n relaxed all her muscles in that moment, enjoying his touch and the sight.

She extended one hand to move a stread of hair from his eyes and, reluctantly, sat back up,

'I never doubted about that' He whispered calmly, while wrapping an arm around her shoulders to pull her in his embrance.

Y/n could finally dig her fingers in those soft dark hair, smelling his scent of soap and saltiness on his smooth, golden skin. She buried her head in the crook of his neck, leaving some kisses, while holding him tighter. She had no intention of leaving him anymore.

Hoseok did the same, leaving some kisses on her head while a hand stroked softly her back, the other her wet hair. The couple stayed like that for what seemed hours, didn't care anymore about time. They were in the other world, after all, there was no hurry anymore.

The man's expression darkened slightly, while pulling back. He kept holding her face in his hands, observing her, admiring each feature of hers.

'Come with me' He breathed. She nodded in silence.

'We're in the other world. I wonder how it works here..last time he came here I was still alive' she added, chuckling.

'Vieni con me' Disse ad un tratto. Y/n annuì.

Hoseok smiled, amused.

The two walked along the shore, hand in hand. They stayed silent most of the time. The white sand curshing against the waves' foam. The wind moved the tropical plants' leaves, which signed the edge that separated the beach with the island's heart.

They reached the top of a cliff.

Y/n looked out to enjoy the panorama before turning towards her lover, the wind messing up her hair.

'We're free, finally' She smiled broadly.

Hoseok smiled back and got a step closer. His eyes teary and Y/n got the feeling that those tears weren't about joy, but something else. Her smile faded.

'What is it?' She tilted her head.

'You had a task...when you were alive' He started.

'Yes, get a revenge for your death, take your place as a guardian, nominated by the Brethren court and protect everyone. I did it all' She pointed out, raising a brow, wondering why he chose to talk still about that topic.

'I sacrifaced myself to save Jack as well, according to the Code, the title now belongs to another pirate that will be chosen in the court. It'over. We don't have to worry about that anymore, Hoseok' she added, taking his hands and squeezing them.

The man shook her head. "It's not over, Y/n' he corrected.

'W-what the hell do you mean by that?' The girl felt agitation increasing in her body, she couldn't believe that, even if she was dead, she could feel those sensations.

Hoseok scosse la testa. 'Non é finita, Y/n' Corresse.

'You have to protect the seven seas, yes, that's your duty, your time to die hasn't come yet. I can't let you die like this just for our selfishness..' He explained.

'But...but-' She stepped back, loosening the grip on his hands to run a hand through her hair in frustration.

'I don’t understand, Hoseok. When we came in the chest to rescue Jack, you told me that, once I finished the task, we could have been together. That's what made me return in that shitty world again and not remaning in the chest with you!' She shouted. She felt her nose itching, her "heartbeat" accelerating, her stomach burning.

Hoseok got closer to her and rested his forehead against hers.

'Your duty was to protect the sea' He pointed out.

'No. It isn't... I died. I protected the pirate lord i had to protect. The Code speaks-' She objected.

'You had the chance to escape the Dutchman, you chose to die on purpose to be here. It doesn't count' He stated, his voice trembling.

'Listen I don't want you to go' he hesitated, feeling his throat hurting. 'But your destiny is already written, if you don't comeback there, there will be chaos and death' He explained. 'I saw things, Y/n. I saw bed things happening in a world without you, and good things in a world with you' He kept speaking not caring anymore about the tears streaming down his cheeks.

She cried in silence, looking down and listening to him.

'I'll be here, waiting for you, for eternity. I'll guide you, as i always did. As i did when i had to bring you in Davy Jones' chest, as i did taking you to Isla de caja, making you meet my crew... just promise-' he hesitated again. 'Promise me that you'll be happy, that you'll live at the fullest' Desperation in his voice, he was internally fighting against his own wishes and the great good.

Y/n started sobbing louder. 'That's not fair' She cried out.

'We will meet again. You know that my heart is yours' Hoseok leaned in to place a soft kiss on her forehead.

She cupped his face pulling him towards her. Their lips meeting with a certain range, without the intention to break that moment. The girl let her finger bury in his hair while the contact intensified.

She was the one who pulled back first, grudgingly, but she knew that she had to do it otherwise she would send everyone to fuck themselves and let her selfishness win. She admired his features once again, her eyes travelling along his beautiful almond-shaped eyes, his perfect pointy nouse, his heart-shaped lips slightly parted to regain the lost oxygen.

Y/n felt more alive there, by his side, in the overworld, then among the living people, living a life that she didn't even felt like hers anymore, that she had to chose in order to rescue Hoseok, at the beginning of the Journey, and, after losing him in front of her eyes, to get her revenge, escaping from the remorse that she was unable to save him.

She must live, something or someone above them decided that and there were no ways to escape that fate. Both Y/n and Hoseok had to accept it. One thing was sure, it wasn't a goodbye.

'Once you'll be on the Pandora, look in my cabin, at the desk's drawers, especially the last one, there is a double bottom. You'll find something useful. Wear my jacket, my hat, fight with my sword, be the captain of my crew, sail with my ship, protect the Code, the pirate lord you've been assigned to and live, live for me, for yourself, for us' Hoseok said with a more serious but still soft tone, like he was commanding her to do that.

He smiled after that, trying to reassure her. She forced herself to smile back

'That bloody smile of yours' She whispered.

'It will be the reason I'll wake up every morning' She stated, taking his hand and placing it on her chest. 'This heart will restart beating only for you' she eventually kissed the back of his hand.

The man brushed the knuckles of that same hand against her cheekbone, wiping her tears. He felt a pang in his stomach and he was cursing, in his mind, against whoever decided to take her away from him. He didn't want her to go. She was his everything. He felt the burden to be reason why she suffered this much, for lying about his identity, for being murdered this stupidly, for falling for her this hard.

Hoseok tried to kick off those damned thoughts, cupping her face and leaning in again for another kiss. A soft kiss filled with the sourest desperation.

They pulled back, staring into each others eyes. The wind got stronger, the waves got angrier, impersonating the couple's repressed feelings.

'Now go'

'Wait-'

He pushed her from the cliff. His face got pale, feeling his heart sank, he felt like he died once again, in that moment.

'Keep your eyes on the stars' He mouthed to her while she was falling. She felt the whole fall in slow-mo, she gently closes eyes while gaining consciousness about the situation, getting ready for the impact. The ocean was about to welcome her once again. Her back hit the water, the rest of her body following.

A blinding flash hit her closed eyelids, a weight on her chest made her jump on her feet, making her threw up tons of water that freed her lungs. The girl looked around, confused, gripping a wooden surface. She looked out. The entire English navy's float was there, before her eyes. The black pearl beside the Endeavour, Beckett's ship. Y/n widened her eyes at the view. The cold wind moving her bluse like the sail of a ship, her wet hair falling heavily over her shoulders.

Instinctively she looked up at the sky, the clouds fading, letting the weak sun's rays to penetrate through them, she lingered there, as she knew that he was watching her. She nodded to herself and looked down. The ruined and humid deck of the Flying Dutchman beneath her, and a familiar voice shouting orders coming from the steering wheel. It was Will, her dearest friend, he was alive, christened as the new captain of the ship, bearer of his predecessor's curse. Y/n realized she was on the crow's nest, noticing that, next to her, there were her bow and two arrows. The young woman smiled looking above again and once her look fell on the Endeavour it was filled with range and fury. She got a task, a battle to win, friends to protect, a ship to take care of, a new life to start.

[mermaidsirennikita]

hey, I’m sorry if you’ve already had this request but like, the line ‘princesses don’t marry kitchen boys’ has SUCH a hold on me… could you recommend any historical/paranormal romances with that vibe?

Luckily, lol, I just a answered a SOMEWHAT similar ask here and from that list I would specifically recommend:

Dreaming of You by Lisa Kleypas. Sara isn't even like... noble lol, she's gentry I think? But Derek is all "THESE FILTHY HANDS ARE NOT GOOD ENOUGH FOR YOU SARA" and she's like "well I severely want them on me so can you please get over that".

Marrying Winterborne by Lisa Kleypas has this MILDLY because Rhys is kind of like "Helen is objectively too good and pure for me" but he also has sex with her within the first 50 pages so clearly he's off and on about it lmao.

Seduce Me at Sunrise by Lisa Kleypas is this HARD lmao, Kev is bASICALLY the Hathaways' kitchen boy, and even though he and Win grew up together, he still feels deeply unworthy of her for various reasons. And he also thinks he'll have sex with her too hard and she'll die. Kev is going through a lot, mentally.

Again the Magic has the "we were separated from each other by her father" thing, and McKenna does raise himself up to be more powerful than Aline in a lot of ways and actually wants revenge against what he believes was her decision... BUT you still have elements of this, especially in the beginning.

Between the Devil and Desire by Lorraine Heath is this distilled, lol. I mean. Jack is still trying to GET with her, but the class difference is a major issue.

I think other Lorraine books that emphasize the vibe a lot are Beyond Scandal and Desire and DEFINITELY The Scoundrel in Her Bed.

Scoundrel of My Heart by Lorraine Heath has an interesting variation in that the hero WAS the second son of a duke when he and the heroine first fell in love, but then his father was convicted of treason and executed, and the family lost everything. He and the heroine meet up again when he's rebuilt but scandalous and lower class, and she's engaged to a duke. It's A LOT.

Thief of Shadows has this vibe; the heroine is widowed and a lot more experienced than the hero, but she's kind of a major society fixture and their relationship seems untenable.

The Rogue of Fifth Avenue by Joanna Shupe has this hard, especially because the hero works for the heroine's father.

Marry Me by Midnight by Felicia Grossman has an heiress heroine, whereas the hero is this poor guy who works in the synagogue.

Pippa and the Prince of Secrets for sure has this vibe, by Grace Callaway. I mean, they even knew each other as kids, which I looove.

Once More, My Darling Rogue by Lorraine Heath has an interesting variation (and an insane twist lol) wherein the heroine is blue blooded and even looks down on the hero... whereas he's solidly working class by blood but was adopted by a duke and duchess.

For My Lady's Heart by Laura Kinsale is a medieval with this vibe, as the heroine is very literally a widowed princess, and the hero is the lower class knight sworn to protect her.

The Leopard Prince, by Elizabeth Hoyt, DEFINITELY. The hero is literally the heiress heroine's steward, it's super star-crossed.

Heart of Iron by Bec McMaster is a Victorian paranormal--werewolf hero is sent in to protect this upper class type girl, and there are a lot of issues keeping them apart, but her princessyness versus his "coarseness" and self worth are part of it.

[semiotextiana]

Poem by Konstantin Simonov, published in 1942 shortly before the Battle of Stalingrad

Konstantin Simonov Kill him! [Ubej ego!]

If your house means a thing to you Where you first dreamed your Russian dreams In your swinging cradle, afloat Beneath the log ceiling beams. If your house means a thing to you With its stove, corners, walls and floors Worn smooth by the footsteps of three Generations of ancestors. If your small garden means a thing: With its May blooms and bees humming low, With its table your grandfather built Neath the linden — a century ago. If you don’t want a German to tread The floor in your house and chance To sit in your ancestors’ place And destroy your yard’s trees and plants...

If your mother is dear to you And the breast that gave you suck Which hasn’t had milk for years But is now where you put your cheek; If you cannot stand the thought Of a German’s doing her harm, Beating her furrowed face With her braids wound round his arm. And those hands which carried you To your cradle — washing instead A German’s dirty clothes Or making him his bed...

If you haven't forgotten your father Who tossed you and teased your toes. Who was a good soldier, who vanished In the high Carpathian snows, Who died for your motherland’s fate, For each Don and each Volga wave. If you don’t want him in his sleeping To turn over in his grave, When a German tears his soldier picture With crosses from its place And before your own mother’s eyes Stamps hobnailed boots on his face.

If you don’t want to give away Her you walked with and didn’t touch, Her you didn’t dare even to kiss For a long time — you loved her so much. And the Germans cornering her And taking her alive by force. Crucifying her — three of them Naked, on the floor; with coarse Moans, hate, and blood, — Those dogs taking advantage of All you sacredly preserved With your strong, male love...

If you don’t want to give away To a German with his black gun Your house, your mother, your wife — All that’s yours as a native son — No: No one will save your land If you don’t save it from the worst. No: No one will kill this foe. If you don’t kill him first. And until you have killed him, don’t Talk about your love — and Call the house where you lived your home Or the land where you grew up your land.

If your brother killed a German, If your neighbor killed one too. It’s your brother’s and neighbor’s vengeance, And it’s no revenge for you. You can’t sit behind another Letting him fire your shot. If your brother kills a German, He’s a soldier; you are not. So kill that German so he Will lie on the ground’s backbone. So the funeral wailing will be In his house, not in your own. He wanted it so — It’s his guilt — Let his house burn up, and his life. Let his woman become a widow; Don’t let it be your wife. Don’t let your mother tire from tears; Let the one who bore him bear the pain. Don’t let it be yours, but his Family who will wait in vain.

So kill at least one of them And as soon as you can. Still each one you chance to see! Kill him! Kill him! Kill!

[belacqui-pro-quo]

'No longer to think of oneself.' — Let us reflect seriously upon this question: why do we leap after someone who has fallen into the water in front of us, even though we feel no kind of affection for him? Out of pity: at that moment we are thinking only of the other person — thus says thoughtlessness. Why do we feel pain and discomfort in common with someone spitting blood, though we may even be ill-disposed towards him? Out of pity: at that moment we are not thinking of ourself — thus says the same thoughtlessness. The truth is: in the feeling of pity — I mean in that which is usually and misleadingly called pity — we are, to be sure, not consciously thinking of ourself but are doing so very strongly unconsciously; as when, if our foot slips — an act of which we are not immediately conscious — we perform the most purposive counter-motions and in doing so plainly employ our whole reasoning faculty. An accident which happens to another offends us: it would make us aware of our impotence, and perhaps of our cowardice, if we did not go to assist him. Or it brings with it in itself a diminution of our honour in the eyes of others or in our own eyes. Or an accident and suffering incurred by another constitutes a signpost to some danger to us; and it can have a painful effect upon us simply as a token of human vulnerability and fragility in general. We repel this kind of pain and offence and requite it through an act of pity; it may contain a subtle self-defence or even a piece of revenge. That at bottom we are thinking very strongly of ourselves can be divined from the decision we arrive at in every case in which we can avoid the sight of the person suffering, perishing or complaining: we decide not to do so if we can present ourselves as the more powerful and as a helper, if we are certain of applause, if we want to feel how fortunate we are in contrast, or hope that the sight will relieve our boredom. It is misleading to call the Leid (suffering) we may experience at such a sight, and which can be of very varying kinds, Mit-Leid (pity), for it is under all circumstances a suffering which he who is suffering in our presence is free of: it is our own, as the suffering he feels is his own. But it is only this suffering of our own which we get rid of when we perform deeds of pity. But we never do anything of this kind out of one motive; as surely as we want to free ourselves of suffering by this act, just as surely do we give way to an impulse to pleasure with the same act — pleasure arises at the sight of a contrast to the condition we ourselves are in; at the notion that we can help if only we want to; at the thought of the praise and recognition we shall receive if we do help; at the activity of helping itself, insofar as the act is successful and as something achieved step by step in itself gives delight to the performer; especially, however, at the feeling that our action sets a limit to an injustice which arouses our indignation (the discharge of one's indignation is itself refreshing). All of this, and other, much more subtle things in addition, constitute 'pity': how coarsely does language assault with its one word so polyphonous a being! — That pity, on the other hand, is the same kind of thing as the suffering at the sight of which it arises, or that it possesses an especially subtle, penetrating understanding of suffering, are propositions contradicted by experience, and he who glorifies pity precisely on account of these two qualities lacks adequate experience in this very realm of the moral. This is what I have to conclude when I see all the incredible things Schopenhauer had to say of pity; he who wanted in this way to force us to believe in his great innovation that pity — which he had observed so imperfectly and described so badly — is the source of each and every moral action, past and future — and precisely on account of the faculties he had invented for it. — What in the end distinguishes men without pity from those with it? Above all — to offer only a rough outline here too — they lack the susceptible imagination for fear, the subtle capacity to scent danger; nor is their vanity so quickly offended if something happens that they could have prevented (the cautiousness of their pride tells them not to involve themselves needlessly in the things of others, indeed they love to think that each should help himself and play his own cards). They are, in addition, mostly more accustomed to enduring pain than are men of pity; and since they themselves have suffered, it does not seem to them so unfair that others should suffer. Finally they find that being soft-hearted is painful to them, just as maintaining a stoic indifference is painful to men of pity; they load that condition with deprecations and believe it to threaten their manliness and the coldness of their valour — they conceal their tears from others and wipe them away, angry with themselves. They are a different kind of egoists from the men of pity; — but to call them in an exceptional sense evil, and men of pity good, is nothing but a moral fashion which is having its day: just as the opposite fashion had its day, and a long day too!

— Friedrich Nietzsche, Daybreak §133

[akumanoken]

"Why aren't scared of me... - of us." ~ vergil ; *us* being he knows who -- thinking on past things again and that slipped out.

memes for that specific brand of ships @silvxcs

Souji's little ramble ceased, eyes moving from the papers in front of him to Vergil. Confusion on his face yes, but warmth blooming in his chest that surely reached his eyes. "Scared of you... why in the world would I be scared of you?"

"Are you thinking about the tree again?" It was a quiet question, both their voices hushed so as to not disturb the peacefully sleeping boy not too far from them. "When I think about it... what Urizen did, all I feel is pain. People died... and no one deserves to die as they did... but do I blame you for it? No. You weren't yourself. You weren't whole. You had discarded your conscience...and the part of you that only knew pain, that only knew rage and hatred did that. And your other half fought like hell to stop it." Urizen and V. Two parts of one man. Pain and Hatred. Compassion and Caring, despite his body crumbling to dust. Seemed no wonder now, the crush on V he felt forming during that time.

He reached out then, grabbing the other's hands. He ignored the soft thrill that coursed through him, thumbs running over coarse knuckles. "It's only human... to want to discard the pain and not care about how the world is cruel to you. It's only human to want revenge when your life has been so unfair. I'm not scared of that. And not of you. You and I... we have too much history together. I don't see the demon who planted the Qliphoth tree when I see you." He smiled. "I see the man who saved me all that time ago, who looked at me funny because I wouldn't leave him alone. I see the man who allowed me to stick around and give him a place to rest. I see the man who brought home a child and gave him a family because he was so small, and no other child needed to suffer out in the cold. I see... a man who I constantly tell he has a home... because at this point, it doesn't feel like a home without him... So how can I be afraid of you? It's impossible."

[jamesgalgano]

NEVER REVENGE SO SWEET

Never revenge so sweet By james a. galgano

Whose sun also never rises because the carnival barker says it’s so Therefore, many his surmise as though it must be undeniably true While his hand is in every generation to come pockets to pad the status quo Even as they feast the monthly crumbs upon which their paychecks barely grow Ah wilderness of a void we find ourselves held captive under this mad man’s rule As if this emperor of thieves wears no clothes his wardrobe of royalty they still see After he speaks to their fears and idle hopes, which make them no more than fools Endlessly waiting for Godot who never comes bringing with him hoped for eternity It will for them always seem the best the times though things couldn’t be but worse Giving in to such diatribe of despair offered as answer to their prayers anticipated The scales of justice will never be in their favor but remain malingering curse Where chickens come to rest their worried laurels to lay their eggs obfuscated From which no dreams will ever come true but remain a wing of uncertain flight Traveling along some unlit trail forever tread from dawn of time falsely awaken Into the untold proximity where expectations remain far from reach beyond night Though every hopeful shadow is roused up from doldrums dearly earth shaken Once bright and shining lie covers each once hopeful eye with inevitable remorse For road well travelled from birth until day every soul feels like Jesus betrayed The road to Galilee won’t be paved with roses the smell will reek more coarse All those soon double-crossed will rise up from their defiled graves At long last to revile with ferocity none will remedy with mere humble discourse The rage will sweep over the snake oil lies once offered as remedy falsely made To a sun where one now never rises with but with broken promises never forgotten Once time has been allowed to accumulate the lies from near untold past betrayed At long last to rise with an anger never quenched until all redeemed once rotten

[demibats]

IN REPAIR prologue [F. CASTLE]

author’s note! this will be a short series inspired various John Mayer songs. i had this idea over the weekend and immediately put it to paper as soon as i could! this is the prologue

synopsis; Frank Castle is a dead man trying to live again. He can’t run from the past, but he can’t make peace with it either. In the midst of trying to mend himself in one way or the other, he finds his favorite distraction in a dive bar in Hell’s Kitchen. She’s feisty, energetic, a total wildcard. And not even he can predict her next move, let alone how things will turn out. 

warnings: mentions of trauma/PTSD, implied caused harm, implied age gap (reader is 21+), alcohol mention, use of profanity. 

word count; 1.4k

The Punisher was dead. 

Frank Castle was a name spoken in hushed words throughout the city, too many people still reaping the aftermath of the mayhem he caused. Hell’s Kitchen had seen some dark days, and as the saying goes, ‘it’s always darkest before dawn.’ And that’s what this was for the people of New York City. The optimists had the shiny idea that now things would get better. Wilson Fisk was imprisoned, the Punisher was dead and they hadn’t seen the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen in weeks. For once, life seemed normal. As normal as it could possibly get living in New York City. The streets were boisterous, cab horn’s honking, chatter ringing throughout the avenues, the sound of an upside down paint bucket being used as a drum was the soundtrack of the evening. Neon signs and brightly lit billboards accentuated buildings and cascaded bitter lights onto glum faces. It felt as though New York City was frozen in time, suspended in the air. As if their lives were being watched through a hazy screen from an old television. Considering the harsh broadcasts that occurred just months prior, perhaps that’s all they were doing. Living life through a set of wires and glass.

Unbeknownst to the city of New York, The Punisher was alive and well. No. The Punisher died. Frank Castle died. But Pete Castiglione, he was…surviving. He knew he needed to disappear. He had done his job, he’d taken care of business. He’d avenged his family. He didn’t need to exist after that. At least, Frank Castle didn’t. He had what seemed like a clean slate, a fresh start to live a life outside of revenge. Though, that wasn’t the driving force behind burning the vest that donned his infamous skull insignia. Frank Castle was not bothered by the bloodshed, a part of him thrived off of it. He didn’t think he had another purpose, his purpose in life was murdered. He couldn’t quite put his finger on why he decided to go borderline nomadic, even though it only occurred to him once in a blue moon. He spent his days and partially his nights, pounding away at concrete with a sledgehammer on a construction site he was working. Sometimes he’d read. He couldn’t get much sleep, not with nightmares crawling from the dark corners of his mind. But even with his eyes open, he could still see those same images.

Rain hit the cement with a powerful force, visibility was barely a few feet forward. His hood was not providing much shelter from the storm above. Droplets of water fell into his eyes, dangling on his lashes at times before plopping onto his cheeks. Bruised hands were shoved into his pockets, his wide shoulders acting as a personal barrier. The foot traffic was low, not many people walking the streets of Hell’s Kitchen at this time of night, or maybe it was due to the weather. His hovel of an apartment didn’t provide much comfort, but he didn’t see it as a home. Hell, he barely saw it as his house. Just a place to reside outside of work and get about two hours of sleep maximum. The grimy mirror he stood in front of, reflecting back to him, was a complete stranger. Someone he didn’t, no, couldn’t recognize anymore. His hair had grown over his ears and got tangled a lot easier. His beard was unkempt and coarse. He turned the faucet on, the water pressure nothing shy of a trickle and washed his face with cold water. He couldn’t keep track of how many times he filled his massive hands with the water and splashed it back into his face. After a while, fatigue was beginning to settle in and he finally turned the faucet off and let the water drip from his face. 

Laying in bed, a copy of The Great Gatsby propped up on his abdomen with one arm tucked under his head, he laid there, reading the words and actually letting the story soak in. It had been a while since he allowed himself that. The smallest pleasure when he could focus his cluttered mind on something, anything else. He read about 60 pages before sliding a receipt in between the pages to mark the place he left off. He placed the book on the chair beside his bed and dug his head into his pillow. He’d exhausted all the energy he could muster and when he finally closed his eyes at nearly 3AM, he immediately drifted off to sleep. It wasn’t much longer later, shortly after four when he woke up with a start, checking his surroundings. He grunted, eyes frantic as every memory washed over him caused by the repeated nightmare. Cursing under his breath, he stared up at the water stained ceiling, trying to catch his breath and return to sleep. 

- - -

How he found himself at Josie’s was beyond himself. Thankfully, due to his overgrown hair, nobody even looked twice at him. He sat at the bar, hunched over his pint, hand wrapped around the glass. It was quite late, Josie would be doing last call soon and he’d have to pack it up after only having one and a half drinks. Josie busied herself with cleaning glasses, the hushed chatter from the regular customers still buzzing around the bar. A surprisingly chipper young woman came to the bar, apron around her waist, hair pulled back out of her face and a serving tray tucked under her arm, she leaned on the counter, “Five bucks says the guy at the far side table throws up before he makes it outside.” She beamed at Josie, wide eyes too awake for Frank to even comprehend. 

“For your sake, Neon, I hope he doesn’t.” Josie replied, turning around to toss her dirty rag into a soiled bin. Neon? Weird name, he thought, hoping it was a nickname and not the name on her birth certificate.

The bubbly waitress turned and caught a glimpse of Frank perched at the counter and grinned, sliding over toward him, “Here all by yourself, huh, handsome?” She chimed, cocking her head to the side. 

Frank craned his head slightly, catching her eyes almost immediately. She seemed like a mischievous little thing, bouncing around the bar and cracking jokes that only she and Josie seemed to understand. “Seemed like a good place to be alone.” His voice was gruff, he definitely came off unapproachable, which was his goal. But this waitress did not budge. 

“Josie’s definitely is a place for sad sacks like you. However, I refuse to close up until I can get you to laugh.” This woman was impossible, not to mention the complete opposite of Frank. Her tone was completely energetic and rambunctious, a vivacious woman working in a complete shit hole bar surprised him. Usually the bar keeps and waitresses he’d met were perpetually upset.

“That right?” He didn’t let himself smile, despite the fact that he involuntarily let the corners of his lips turn up into a partial smirk. 

The waitress grin widened somehow as she placed her tray on the bar next to her and leaned more on the counter, “I’m already halfway there.” She responded, “However, I do have to work. But I will get you to laugh before the night is over.”

And she was right, when she was walking away to assist other bar attendees, Frank let out the breathiest laugh, trying to stay quiet. It didn’t feel forced or totally awful, but it was definitely a foreign feeling. A genuine laugh coming from him. He placed the cash for his drinks on the counter before pushing an additional twenty to Josie, “Give this to that spitfire waitress of yours for me, yeah?”

Josie took the money but shook her head, “Be careful around that one, son.”

Frank wasn’t paying much attention to Josie’s mannerisms, too focused on sliding his arms into his jacket, “Why do you say that?” He questioned, his smile still slightly spread on his lips. 

“Who knows how long she can go before she burns away.”