#soapy plot

[underneathsoldiers]

Soap Opera Plot

Alejandro Vargas x Reader

Philip Graves x Reader

Both only referenced

Y/n has a child with Alejandro

The title will be made one day

Alejandro was in uniform, in his base, and he was absorbing the information that you gave him. You had travelled to Las Almas, wearing your most virtuous outfit and practicing the pitiful tone of a mother in need.

“You went with the man that betrayed me and put me in a cell,” Alejandro was staring at you with a glazed look, his mind likely trying to keep his mind and emotion separate. Not for him, but for you. “And he has our daughter.”

You went rigid. “It’s not that simple,” you uttered weakly. Even you had to admit, you had messed up. It just hurt more when someone else pointed it out. Especially someone that had been so close to you once upon a time.

“¿Como pudistes?” His mind flooded with emotion. He turned to the wall behind him and slammed his fist to it. “¿Como pudistes ir con ese hombre? Maldita sea! Todas las mujeres me traicionan!”

How could you? How could you go with that man? All women betray me.

“N-no se. Como explicar,” I don’t know how to explain, you tried to say. Your Spanish wasn’t perfect. You only hoped that his mother tongue would get to him more. “I was in hard times, he helped me-“

“No, no, no,” he cut you off. “Don’t you give me excuses. You knew you could go to me if you needed anything. ¿Como ese diablo tiene mi hija?” How does that devil has my daughter?

“He took care of us. We had a step dad thing going on,” you began to weep. You were so pathetic. “I know it’s dumb-“

“I trusted you with he,” Alejandro waved his arms in anger, “You’re her mother! You’re all she has. Why did you go to him? How?”

Alejandro was losing his mind. You couldn’t blame him but it was still heart breaking.

You just wept pathetically, “I don’t know.”

Alejandro slammed on the desk, “Lo voy a matar. ¡Lo mato! Lo mato, voy a matar a ese diablo! Lo voy a destruir. ¡Me quita mi base, mi mujer, mi hija!. Lo voy a matar para que los demonios se ocupe de él.”

I’m going to kill him. I’ll kill him. I’ll kim him, I’m going to kill that devil. I’m going to destroy him. He takes my base, my woman, my daughter— with no shame! I’m going to kill him so the demons can occupy themselves with him.

Mi mujer. It sticks with you. He still called you his woman. Not in the possessive way, as he never stopped you from leaving him and taking your daughter with you. He had often assured you that he would always help you.

He called you his woman because you still had roots in his heart. You didn't want to see that before. It was easier to think that he hated you for leaving him. It was easier to think that he moved on quickly.

You had left behind a man that loved you.

And then you went to the first bad boy— no, a fucking criminal— that glanced at you.

[mummer]

idk if this is just early season weirdness but the tardis seems straight up USELESS for ten it’s literally never once in the right place or the right time. constantly fucking up, getting caught in parallel universes and the edges of the galaxy and shit. meanwhile eleven basically gets to do houdini tricks with it

[niuxita21]

No offense at all but doing a Big Shocking Reveal that only leaves the viewer confused because its "shockingness" hinges on the presupposition that a character knows something the show has given no indication as to whether they know it or how and then only explaining how the character knows that via flashbacks in subsequent episodes AFTER the Big Reveal is... not the best storytelling device

[aeyumicore]

misty invasion - lost oasis

━ .ᐟ✧ PAIRING: sylus x female reader (afab)

━ ✧.˖ GENRE: smut, porn with some/little plot, porn with feelings, angst

━ .ᐟ✧ WORD COUNT: 4.5k

━ ✧.˖ WARNINGS: mdni, explicit sexual content, spoilers AND alterations to ‘lost oasis’ (sylus’s misty invasion card), slight predator and prey, dom!sylus for the most part (though he shows vulnerability), use of Y/N, sub!reader but she teases doe, unprotected sex, cumming in coochie, against the wall sex, shower sex, hand play/kink, belly bulge, finger sucking, fingering, biting, slight angst, lots of hickeys (m! And f!receiving), allusions and predictions to sylus’s lore 

━ .ᐟ✧ LINKS: video | ao3 | twitter art | xav's version | raf's version | zayne's version

━ ✧.˖ A/N: hiii second part of the misty invasion series is here <3 this time our very own birb – sylus! Next will be Xavier but I don't have a timeline for it! Could be 3 days could be a week :’) will try and keep you guys updated

Small Sylus rant, feel free to skip this and read the fic!

I have huge problems with the hypersexualization of Sylus, from the devs not from fans. I feel like the devs sometimes use him as fan service. I felt that was especially true in this card, the shower scene felt out of place and didn’t feel intimate because they’ve done far too little mc/sylus building and sylus lore. I wished the ending scene in the hammock was the cut scene, even if there was no spice. For that reason, I’ve SLIGHTLY altered the dialogue and memory, especially at the end. I added in some of my own angst, heavily influenced by predictions to Sylus’s lore I’ve seen on Twitter, especially the twitter art i linked above.

Don’t get me wrong I love Sylus. I just wish we got to see MORE of his lore and backstory, because you just KNOW it's tragic. His myth cards were nothing like the other 3 boys, and I feel like they have a lot of opportunities to help Sylus “catch up” to the other 3 LIs (could’ve done a event similar to Rafayel’s bday event, waited until they could release more main story, etc), but they haven’t utilized it well. I’m sure there’s a reason why (rushed timeline, leak threats. End of the day I understand it’s a business), but as a reader/user/fan it kinda sucks. And again, I KNOW it’s coming and it will be great. But because we haven’t seen enough yet, it makes his spicy scenes seem less intimate and more fan service-y. So I wanted to add just a sprinkle of Sylus angst and story here <3 It made me cry, I hope you guys love it as much as I loved writing it. 

THIS IS MY ONLY ACCOUNT. I WILL NEVER POST MY FICS ON OTHER TUMBLR BLOGS. I WILL ONLY POST ON THIS ACCOUNT AND ON AO3.

✦ . ˖ ✧ .ᐟ ˖ nsfw | minors dni | 18+ only | minors dni | nsfw ✦ . ˖ ✧ .ᐟ ˖ .

There are moments in life where it really hits you.

That you’re in danger. 

Where your hair stands up on its ends and your legs itch with the need to bolt away. This felt like one of those moments. The way Sylus’s voice, throaty and deep, growled with evident hunger, his eyes watching you like a predator eyeing its prey. 

Only…this time, the goosebumps that painted your skin were from excitement, and the throbbing in your thighs was from desire and not fear. This time, the tight grip on your thighs, the imposing body against yours, holding you so possessively, only leaves you wanting more. 

Sylus’s arm is pushed against the wall behind your head, caging you in with his hard soapy body. His skin shines with water and the leftover suds of his shower, before the water had run out, leaving you with a wet and mischievous Sylus.

Your fingers languidly follow soapy suds that trail down his chest, not really actually wiping anything away. Sylus remains self-assured, smirking down at your shaking body as you touch him. You can feel goosebumps form where you touch him and it’s the only indication that the silver-haired man is close to losing it. 

His voice comes out deep and breathy, “Aren’t you going to do something about my hair?”

His smile is maddening, taunting you to touch him more. So you wrap your hands behind his shoulders, yanking him down to you. 

For a brief second, Sylus is taken aback, his lips parting with a surprised breath. But as quickly as it had come, Sylus composes himself. He lets himself be pulled to you, chuckling breathily. 

“Is that it, sweetheart?” 

Before you can respond, his arm releases the wall behind you. In an instant, his large hand is gripping the underside of your thighs, hoisting you up with one arm so that both your legs dangle off his strong arm, pressed against his hip. 

You yelp at the feeling of his large hands holding you against his wet and hard body, “What are you doing?! My clothes!” You can feel your deep red satin nightdress soaking up the sudsy water on his skin.

Sylus only laughs, sarcastic and deep, “Oh no. They’re wet. Now what?” 

You try to push him away, “Well you need to let me down first.” 

But Sylus doesn’t budge, shifting you so he can lean his free arm against the wall behind you, caging you in once more. Like a lost bird. 

“Doesn’t this mean you also need to learn how to humble yourself?” His cerise eyes are frustratingly playful, his eyebrows crinkled in amusement. 

You don’t respond, instead trailing your hand down his bare chest again. Your feather-like touch ghosts his collarbone, down to his thick pecs, that tremble deliciously under your fingers. From the strain of holding you up with one arm, or your touch alone, you’re unsure. 

You speak softly, trying to tease him into losing control, “I did, and this is what I see…” 

Your touch and suggestive words have Sylus breathing heavier. His pants come out raspily, sounding vaguely close to a moan. He nearly shivers at your touch, so absolutely enamored by the way your fingers claim him, barely able to withstand his primal urges to claim you.

His reaction fuels you with confidence, and you grin cheekily, “Oh? I guess I’ll have to be more gentle.” You let your hands explore more, stroking his down his marbled chest. 

Sylus grunts, his face turning away from you, contorted in tortured pleasure. His breath comes out in rapid desperate gasps. It’s so utterly rare for you to see Sylus in such a needy state, and you can’t help but tease him further. 

Your fingers touch his neck, enjoying the way Sylus is crumbling under your fingertips when normally it’s you coming undone for him, “How cute.” 

When your fingernail grazes his nipple, Sylus tenses up, a growl ripping from his throat.

He turns to you, squirming under your fleeting touch. “Hey,” he croaks. His voice is uncharacteristically hoarse, tense with desire.

“The soundproofing for this shower isn’t great. People might get the wrong idea if they hear us. At this rate, we could end up in a lose-lose situation.” 

But you continue, pinching his ear softly, grinning, “Tell me, who pinned you down and hit you?” 

Sylus’s smile falters. He knows you’re referring to the little boy from earlier, whom you’d been teaching how to fight against Wanderers, but he can’t help but think about the first time he’d been here at the desert oasis. Only that time, he was powerless. That time, he couldn’t protect you.

He quickly masks his brief moment of melancholy, smirking at you once more, “Oh, so class isn’t over yet.” You want to prod at his sudden shift in demeanor, but you can tell now's not the time. You made a mental note to ask him about it later.

Sylus holds your wrist gently, bringing your fist to his lips. His mouth pressing fleeting kisses to your knuckles, “Then can I trouble you some more…Miss?” He doesn’t wait for you to answer, hoisting you back up onto his forearm, forcing you to wrap your arms around the back of his neck for balance. He carries you in one arm to the bathroom door, before he falters, hearing the patter of footsteps outside.

“On second thought, I’ll take my lesson in here.” He walks you back to the shower, shifting your legs so that they wrap around his hips. Your back is pressed against the wet wall, Sylus’s strong arms holding you in place. 

“What should you do…if a wanderer has you pinned down like this?” His voice is sultry and suggestive, darkened eyes daring you to teach him. 

You lift your chin proudly at his taunting challenge. Your fingers trace inexplicable shapes into his chest, your nails gently and purposefully grazing his nipples. At his sharp inhale you make your next move.

“I would…go for the neck, since that’s where they’re most vulnerable.”

Sylus’s adam’s apple bobs with the anticipation of your double-edged words, “Is that so, little bird?”

You nod with confidence, “Let me show you…” You kiss up his collarbone until you read his pulsing neck, brushing chaste kisses along his jugular. Sylus’s chest heaves, and you smile against his neck in satisfaction. 

“I can’t imagine this would be…effective against wanderers,” Sylus masks the unsteadiness of his wavering voice with a layer of arrogant amusement. 

Sylus’s chest heaves, and you smile against his neck in satisfaction. Enjoying having the upperhand, “No…just you.” You softly sink your teeth into the thick muscles of his neck.

Sylus lets out a string of harsh expletives, slamming you further into the wall, his grip on the underside of your thighs digging in harshly. You shiver at the feeling of the cold wet wall tiles pressing into your satin nightdress.

Sylus lets you have your way a little while longer, enjoying the way your rapid heartbeat pounds against his wet chest, your tongue lapping circles where your teeth had sunken in. His hands shift to grope your rear under your crimson red nightdress, squeezing the plush skin there as if you were his personal stress ball. His demanding fingers find their way to your bare pussy, spreading them apart with his index finger and thumb.

“What a bold hunter you are…taunting the enemy with no…protection.” 

His words are vaguely threatening and it makes you squirm. As his fingers toy with you, you sink your teeth deeper into him to hide your pathetically lewd whimpers. Sylus hisses at your teeth nearly breaking skin, a mix of pain and pleasure he is all-too familiar with.

“You’d better watch yourself, my little hunter,” Sylus coos in your ear, fingers finding your clit and pressing down harshly, “You never know what a beast stranded in the desert might do to you.”

His words remind you of the reason he’d invited you out to this desert oasis to begin with, the woman who’d found him, and why he was returning now. Before you can ask him, Sylus is bullying his index finger into you, sliding in so embarrassingly  effortlessly.

“What now, little dove? What would you do now?” Sylus nips at the crook of your neck, where your shoulder and throat meet. His words are hot and dangerous at the shell of your ear, his finger curling inside you to reach the spongy corners of your g-spot.

You force your words out with all the strength you have, not wanting to give Sylus the satisfaction of rendering you speechless, “I w-would never – nnghh – be in this s-situation.” 

Sylus chuckles, inserting another finger, “And yet…here you are. About to be devoured.”

The imminent threat in his words makes you clench, hard. How it was possible for the tables to turn this quickly, you’d never understand. Sylus grins when he feels your gummy walls pressing down on just two of his fingers, the quivers typically indicative of how close you are. 

He pushes you harder into the wall, lips finding your earlobes as he huffs out his words, “Look at you, my dear little hunter. So beautiful when you’re helpless.”

You whine indignantly at his condescending words, wanting to retaliate. With his lips at your ear, his neck is exposed before you and you take full advantage of his vulnerability. You sink your teeth back into his pulsing neck, knowing just how much pressure is enough to have him writhing for you. 

Sylus jolts, his fingers slipping out of you and his knee buckling slightly. His grip on your thighs tightening as he hisses out in surprise. He composes himself just as quickly, straightening up and bouncing you up to readjust his possessive grip on you. 

He pushes you back against the wall, his hard abdomen pressing into your pussy. You groan when you feel your wet lips spreading against his chiseled muscles, his body pressing so forcefully into yours, your arousal smearing against him.

His thumb and index finger take your chin into his grip, still wet with your slick, pulling your face towards his. His arrogant grin is as alluring as it is infuriating, his ruby eyes swirling with a dark amusement. 

“No more mercy, little bird.”

Sylus presses his lips to yours, his fingers tightening around your chin. His kiss is demanding, nearly suffocating, in a way that makes you reel with excitement and anticipation. It’s so torrid and feverish that you almost don’t notice his Evol unraveling your arms from around his neck, bringing them to his chest. He holds you steady with his one arm, and with the other he releases your chin, taking the two of your wrists into his single free hand. His hands are so large that even just one of his hands can envelope both your wrists. 

As his tongue probes the parting of your lips, he holds your wrists, bringing them up above your head and pinning them against the wall. His fingers play with your trembling ones, tracing the lines in your palm and grazing all the way up to your fingertips. 

You feel a brief shuffle and hear the faint thud of Sylus’s towel dropping to the floor, the scorching head of his cock prodding at your entrance. You gasp into his mouth when you feel him taking the base of his erection, stroking it against your clit. You screw your eyes shut at the deliriously delicious friction, moaning into Sylus’s mouth, his tongue claiming every corner of yours. 

Sylus pulls away, his breath coming out in short rapid gasps. He leans his forehead against yours, his fingers still enclosing yours, binding your wrists together against the cold shower wall. His proximity makes it so his warm breath fans across your swollen lips, the taste of him still on your tongue. 

He looks down at you, his crimson eyes smoldering against the heat he’s so desperately trying to keep at bay for you. If it were up to him, he’d have you splayed across his lap, screaming until the whole small town in the oasis could hear you. Unfortunately, pressed up against the wall whimpering for more would have to do.

“Are you ready, sweetheart?”

You stare at him, arms restrained above your head, chest heaving in anticipation, lips swollen and parted. Sylus smiles at you. It’s that signature Sylus smirk, heart-stoppingly tender and predatory all at once. But when his glowing cerise eyes meet yours, that’s what has your breath catching in your throat. 

The tumultuous sea of red conveyed every ounce of emotion that his words couldn’t. What it meant to have you here in the desert with him, a place that once reminded him of hell. What it meant to have you here, wrapped up in his embrace, ready to do anything to make him happy, whole. With you here, it truly did feel like an oasis. 

So you murmur boldly, cheeks warming, “M’yours, Sy. Of course I’m ready.” 

Sylus’s smile falters for a second, before he growls, slamming you back into the wall, palm cupping the back of your head with one hand, and your lower back with the other, to protect you against the impact. 

“That’s my girl.” 

With those words, his swollen cock head at your entrance finally surges forward, nudging its way into your tight embrace. You cry out as Sylus curses, the both of you never getting used to how impossibly snug the fit was, almost to the point of not fitting at all. 

Sylus takes it surprisingly slow, watching your face carefully as he sinks into you inch by inch. His hand strokes your cheek, in an overwhelming show of tender affection. Something about this desert oasis had him unusually vulnerable and it was intoxicating. 

You squirm as he bottoms out, his cockhead nestled sinfully against your cervix, practically demanding entrance into your womb. His fist is pressed into the tiled wall behind your head, his knuckles white with desperation. His entire body twitches, his breath coming out in short desperate pants. You hold his face with your hands, forcing him to level with you, stroking his sharp jaw with your fingertips.

“Sylus?”

His carmine eyes dart to yours, the vast storm of his irises looking faraway and distant. But when he looks at you, his eyes soften, the sight of you grounding him to the moment, pulling him away from the agony he once endured here. 

You kiss his furrowed eyebrow, “I’m here, Sy.” 

Sylus groans, his facial features softening at your touch, your raw words making him heave with desire. 

“You are. And you’re mine,” he growls, finally moving inside you, pulling out until just his leaking tip is nestled in your warm waiting cunt. Giving you just a second to adjust, your pussy pulsing with the need to be filled once more, he slams back into you. The impact of his thrust knocks the air from your lungs, your body sliding up the wet walls of the shower.

“Sylus!” you squeal, trying to control  your voice. Sylus grunts, reveling in the sound of your pleasure, pulling out of you and rutting back into your poor quivering cunt at a rabid vigor. 

Your bodies are pressed so tightly together, that every minute movement Sylus makes causes your clit to brush against the trail of silver hair that paints his pelvis. His hot breath is in your ear, whispering the filthiest things to you.

“You like it rough, don’t you sweetheart?” he nips your neck, savoring the taste of your clean showered skin against his insistent tongue. Your bare shoulders are already littered in his claiming marks, beautiful red bruises forming where his lips raze like wildfire. Sylus’s eyes glimmer with satisfaction at the sight of it. 

“C-can’t take it,” you whine, fingernails digging into his shoulders. His passionate thrusts are demanding, almost mean, as they try to pull moan after moan out from your lips. Your pussy quivers, already shivering from the amount of pleasure Sylus is able to force on you, so much that it spills over. 

“Yes you can, hm?”

He hisses when your nails dig further into his skin, leaving beautiful little red crescents on his muscled shoulders. Sylus always thought it was utterly insane how you knew just how much pain to mix with his pleasure to have him unhinged, just enough to want to devour you. 

You find your wrists being bound above your head again, his hand pushing them against the wall. His forehead pushes against yours as his lips desperately seek yours, capturing you in a breathtaking and fiery kiss of unspoken feelings. A torrid storm of the way he’d missed you desperately on his trip away, so much so that he had to use the little boy wanting to learn to fight wanderers as an excuse to fly you out to him. 

He pulls away, leaving you both panting for air. As he continues his feverish ruts into you, he huffs into your ear, “You can take it. You’re my good little dove, right?”

The look of complete and utter desperation in his eyes makes you want to give into every wish and whim of the silver-haired man before you. So you nod obediently, closing your eyes in satisfaction when his fingers rub soothing circling into your palms. It’s a jarring contrast, the way his hand caresses you affectionately while his cock ravages you relentlessly. It makes you delirious with ecstasy, and your body is no different.

Your cunt throbs with the need to come undone, the coil tightening so tightly that your abdomen threatens to burst. From the pleasure of his touch or from his massive cock seemingly trying to find its way into your throat, you’re unsure. 

“S-so deep,” you cry, digging your nails into his hand as it holds yours in place. Your back slides up the wall at every one of his deliberate pointed thrusts, a mere ragdoll to his ravenous hunger against the cold dripping wall.

Sylus, groans. You feel a slight shift in energy, and Sylus moving beneath you. But your position against the wall doesn’t change. Sylus’s Evol gently grips your thighs, keeping you suspended as his arm that held you up is now free to press down on your tummy. 

“I know, doll. Can you feel me all the way here?” he draws his words out seductively, pressing down on where your walls bulge against your pulsing naval. 

You squeal at the overstimulation of him physically pressing your cunt down onto his cock that still spears in and out of you wildly. Sylus removes his hand to press it against your lips, his index and middle fingers slipping into your lips that are still parted mid-scream. 

His digits press down on your tongue, faintly tasting like his expensive body wash, “Shhh, Y/N. We wouldn’t want anyone to hear, hm?”

You whine. Truth be told, the imminent danger behind his words only gets you more and more excited, closer to the edge. His forceful fingers toying with your tongue only fueled your filthy desires more, and your body reacts just as eagerly. 

Sylus bits the inside of his cheek, swearing as your tight walls convulse tightly onto him. Your pussy unknowingly constricts the thick throbbing veins that press of his erection, pressed snugly into your sweetest spots. 

“Ah, my sweet girl is so filthy. Did you like that? Like the idea of someone watching me fuck you dumb?”

His condescending words have you shaking your head, still hanging on to your slim shred of dignity. Sylus chuckles, nuzzling into your neck.

“You can’t lie to me, little bird. I can feel the truth.”

“F-feels s-ooo good,” you admit, throwing all embarrassment to the wind. Sylus swears at how adorably muffled your words are against his fingers, how your eyes are hooded with pleasure as they watch him dreamily. The adoration in your stare was so palpable, hearts nearly reflected in your eyes. His knees buckle as he admires your beautiful face, so angelically fucked out that it ruined him. 

Sylus shifts you into his single arm once more. He could easily keep you secured in the air with his Evol for hours yet, but at this moment he wants nothing more than to be as close to you as possible. He wraps one of your arms around his neck, intertwining his fingers with your other hand.

“Hold on tight, my love,” he rasps against your collar, bringing your intertwined fingers above your hand and against the wall for leverage. His thrusts take on an unprecedented intensity, the globes of your ass slapping against the wall in loud, filthy, and wet paps. His vigor makes it easy for him to hammer into your g-spot at every thrust, having you reaching the summit of your orgasm all too quickly. 

“Sy-Sylus! I-I’m so close,” you wail, fingers desperately clutching his, other hand digging into the back of his neck.

Sylus is close too, weeks of pent up emotion and need brimming to the point of boiling over. The only thing keeping him sane is the grip he has on your hand.

“Need to cum in you,” he hisses, driving into you harder as he nears his peak, “Need to breed you so full of my cum, hm?” 

You nod eagerly at his filthy words, clutching onto him for dear life, “I’m c-cum—“ 

Sylus cuts you off, smashing his lips into yours. It must’ve been a sight to behold, the way Sylus had you locked in a passionate kiss, his hand holding yours above your head, his body pushing you up against the wall, pelvis wet from your arousal as his silver hair brushes repeatedly against your clit.

It was all enough to have you finally releasing all over his defined abdomen. You squirt against his stomach, eyes squeezing shut as his tongue claims your very breath. Your climax is powerful, mind-numbing, and utterly explosive. 

Sylus huffs in pleasure as he feels your dripping thighs slapping against him, his own orgasm imminent. Your cunt continues to throb in the afterglow of your climax, wringing tightly against his violent ruts.

Finally, he climaxes inside you, moaning wildly into your mouth as he continues to devour you,  thrusting through the intense waves of pleasure. His abdomen trembles, involuntary quivers wracking his body as rope after rope of his thick seed pours into you.  

His lips pull away and he leans his forehead against yours, his entire body still quivering with waves of the intense overstimulation. His chest heaves violently with the pounding of his rapid heartbeat, his fingers still tied to yours, tracing gentle shapes in your tingling skin. 

Sylus chuckles, the sound gentle and warm and the vibrations reverberating onto your own body as he clings to you still. 

His eyes glimmer with amusement, his fingers capturing your chin again and pulling it downward to where your bodies remain connected. His voice is tender and mischievous, “It’s just like you to make such a mess when you’ve already used up all the water.”

You blush furiously when met with the image of your bodies, fit against each other together like puzzle pieces, glimmering with a wet sheen that was definitely not water. Your red satin nightdress had ridden up, the lace embroidering of the hem soaked. The argent dusting of hair on Sylus’s pelvis was matted in both your arousals. It was an absolutely sinful sight. 

“P-put me down!” you hiss, tapping his chest, “We have to find a way to clean this up.” 

Sylus raises his eyebrow at you, “Sweetheart, the only thing keeping the mess inside is my co–” 

Your hands come together to cover his mouth, “Don’t say another word.”

Sylus chuckles into your hand, his breath warm and tickling You feel a sharp, but gentle, nip.

“Hey! Don’t bite m–OW!”

—--

The night air is brisk, sounds of ancient handbells ringing out softly as the dark sky twinkles with distant stars. A nearby bonfire rages, the sound of crackling of wood mixing with the distant chime of bells. And yet, it’s Sylus’s large body holding yours that keeps you warm against the gentle night breeze of the desert. 

The hammock the two of you cuddle in swings lazily, Sylus’s fingers languidly stroking your hair as he tells you myths of the Gods and humans that once resided in this very valley. 

“What about your world? What was your life like as a kid?”

Sylus is still as his body cradles your own, his fingers crushing the blossoms that had fallen into his palm. He hesitates for a second before saying, “Nothing special. I struggled to survive.”

Your heart clenches painfully at his words. His voice is nonchalant, yet something about his words is melancholic. Eerily wistful. 

“I never imagined that one day, we’d be sitting in a place like this. Having discussions about the world,” you whisper.

You look up to catch Sylus staring at you. For a brief second, you catch the emotions in his eyes. They’re desperate, pleading with yours. For what, you’re unsure. He quickly blinks, the cerise orbs returning to their natural state.

“Do you think we’re talking about the same world?” His voice is unbearably gentle, his words confusingly cryptic, as if edged with a double meaning that you can’t quite grasp.

“I’m not sure,” you confess softly.

There’s a brief moment of silence. You continue, “Today is when people give flowers to each other in Linkon, but…”  Your voice trails off. You gently dust off the fallen petals that’d landed on his shoulder, hand reaching to brush over his heart as you pick up a branch of the delicate flowers off his abdomen.. 

“Could those flowers bloom in this kind of soil?” You ponder aloud, holding the cluster of fallen and wilting blossoms, so different from the vibrant and thriving ones you’re familiar with in Linkon.

You glance up at Sylus again. The shadows of the palm trees above you obscure one side of his face, the other half haloed by the soft glow of the moonlight. He looks threateningly ethereal. The pools of carmine in his eyes glow as they search yours. Like earlier, they glimmer with inexplicable emotions that seem to plead with yours. Begging you for…something.

But he doesn’t speak, instead taking the cluster of wilted blossoms from your fingers. He twirls them in his fingertips, inspecting them carefully. He strokes the browning petals, a strange look of nostalgia flickering across his face. 

You don’t understand, but you reach out for his hand, squeezing his fingers in yours. He squeezes you back, still looking mournfully at the flowers in his fingertips, almost as if remembering a painful memory. 

Finally, Sylus turns to you. His smile is devastatingly beautiful and tragic all at once, his finger moving to tuck the loose strands of hair behind your ear.  His piercing red eyes bore straight into your soul, the faint luminosity of his Aether core beating behind them.

“I’ve seen far more beautiful flowers bloom in this desert.”

© aeyumicore 2024.

.ᐟ✧ THIS IS MY ONLY ACCOUNT. I WILL ONLY POST ON THIS ACCOUNT AND AO3. i am not @/aeyumicores or @/aeyumiicore or any variations of my blog name.

✧.˖ i do not permit translations or reposts of my work on tumblr, ao3, or others. please do not reuse my blogpost headers, dividers, or layouts. these are original designs of my own.

[rcbertsugden]

Charity stabbing Mack makes me so much more endeared to them, it elevates them to supercouple status even higher

[samuelroukin]

nonono it's fine you don't have to change your fics!!!! I can excuse some unrealistic points in stories it's just funny to me. it's mainly a thing with the x readers :/ (which I only read to laugh at) but "they always take really good care of their hair even on 2 month missions" is just so weird and wrong to me.

besides realism is overrated for writing the gay sex you want. let them have good water pressure and all the hot water the plot needs. you really don't want true military hygiene realism anyways.

no truuu but a little bit of realism can’t hurt either like yeah i’m not gonna focus on baby wipes and wet socks but pretending everyone is clean and comfortable all the time doesn’t hit either

[caifanes]

it’s becoming more apparent that we’re getting closer the point where fun goes to die bc i’ve been getting angrier after each passing week

[kngrose]

could u possibly do dom/soft sevika head cannons ?😋

𝐒𝐎𝐅𝐓 𝐃𝐎𝐌 𝐒𝐄𝐕𝐈𝐊𝐀

steamy shower with sevika

WARNINGS: established mommy kink, lots of praise, petnames, knee riding, fingering, brief mention of squirting, orgasm denial, spanking, implied dacryphilia, mean! sevika but i swear it’s subtle, don’t we all want sevika to dote on us

from roselí ᡣ𐭩: i know this was supposed to be hc’s but ialwaysgetcarriedawayimSORRY. very minimal plot, we dive RIGHT into it. i miss you guys! been busy with work and school lately, trying to find more time for this blog. xx

Somehow she’d managed to convince you to shower with her again�� which was always a mistake. You’d never get to show on account of her touchiness, and insistance on doing everything but showering. Pure insanity, that you thought you’d have a different outcome this time around.

Sevika grabs you by the hips, pulling you against her body as she closes the shower door and traps you right up against her. She's significantly taller than you, having to tilt her head down slightly to look you in the eyes.

"You're so pretty, you know that?" She murmurs almost mindlessly, holding you tightly against her as the hot steam from the shower fills the room. Her large hands wander your body, appreciating your soft skin.

She takes a moment to just hold you, enjoying having you in her arms. Her bare skin feels nice against yours, arms firmly wrapped around you as she just takes in your presence for a moment. She gently begins to rub your back, giving you a small peck on the forehead.

Sevika looks down at the loofa and soap in your hand before taking it from you, beginning to lather the soapy cloth. “I can do it myself, you know.” You smile up at her sweetly, but she shushes you, shaking her head dismissively. “Nonsense, baby.” Her eyes never once leave yours as she works, her other hand still continuing to massage and run over your body.

Once she decides the loofa is sufficiently sudsy, she begins running it over your bare skin gently. Her gaze finally leaves yours as she looks down at your body that she is now softly scrubbing, making sure to get every inch.

She doesn’t miss the gasp you let out as she scrubs in between your legs, huffing when you grip her arm softly.

She pays you a soft chuckle, hand moving a little rougher and faster. "This good, baby?" She inquires, eyes flicking up to meet yours. Her other hand continues rubbing your stomach gently, large fingers pressing into your skin ever so slightly.

“Sevika—” You only let out a airy moan in response, gripper her arm a little tighter. It was enough for her to understand. “We can’t do this— fuck— everytime—” You try to hold a firm ground but the way she’s looking at you— you resolve can’t help but crumble. “We need to shower.”

She hums softly in response, the loofa now dropping completely from her hand so she has both hands to work on your body. She begins to slowly push you further back until your back hits the shower wall, hands never leaving your skin. Her left hand massages your hip as her right hand makes firm, slow movements in between your legs. "But you look so gorgeous for me, pretty girl..." She murmurs, eyes once again glued to yours as she watches your expressions with an intensity that can’t be matched.

Impossibly so, your body seamed to heat up, even noticeable under the hot water.

"So sensitive for Mommy." She praises, hand beginning to work faster. She leans in, kissing across your cheek to your mouth. Her lips brush against yours, and then move down slowly to your neck. She starts to suck and lick lightly at your sensitive skin, nibbling and biting gently at the spots that have you moaning.

She sucks her teeth briskly, shaking her head when you— ridiculously— try to move her hand away from your pussy.

Sevika pulls away from your neck, grabbing you by the wrists and pinning them both against the shower wall above your head. "Oh no you don't, darlin'." She drawls, lips attaching back to your throat as her fingers press firmly and rub between your folds. "You're gonna take what Mommy gives you, yeah?" She murmurs against your skin.

“Mommy!”

She continues rubbing roughly between your thighs, pressing firmly into your clit as her other hand moves from your wrists to hold your waist again. "Yeah, just like that, pretty thing." She praises. "I know you’ll take it for Mommy…” She coos with a light nip to your earlobe.

You wrap your arms around her shoulders, clinging to her loosely as you feel that familiar coil bubble up in your stomach, bucking your pussy back into her hand feverishly.

“I’m gonna cum, mommy!”

And just as you feel yourself on the edge, Sevika pulls away, ceasing her movements immediately. "Look at me, babygirl." She says firmly, wanting your eyes to meet hers. "There they are." She murmurs softly at your eye contact. "My pretty girl." She coos, pressing her forehead against yours.

She chuckles as you whine at the loss of friction, your orgasm effectively ruined. "Oh, C'mere, darlin'." Sevika murmurs, gently moving you with her hand still firmly planted on your waist. She sits you down on the marble shelf in the shower, pushing aside your large assortment of soaps and salts she’d bought you. She turns you around so she can stand behind you. "Bend over." She orders, voice a mere whisper.

“Yes, Mommy.”

She runs a hand through your hair, admiring how you were so ready to comply with her. "Good girl." Her praise comes in a low murmur as she pushes you down so your upper body rests against the shelf.

Sevika's hands begin to explore your back, gently massaging and caressing any skin she can touch. Her face lowers to your neck, pressing light kisses at the back of your neck and your shoulder. "Such a pretty girl." She murmurs against your skin.

“Mommy, please—”

She hums against your skin, pressing one last kiss to your shoulder before standing back up properly. One hand is placed on the nape of your neck, the other moving to hold your waist.

She leans forward a bit, pressing her hips up against you, her pubes brushing softly against your ass her knee rubs back and forth against your core. She stared down at your bare back, watching the water roll off— almost in a trance. She wants to mark you, she thinks, and she wants to make sure everyone can see it.

You let out a choked moan, inching onto your tippy toes to better meet her knee. Your eyes roll shut at the feeling, the friction hitting your clit perfectly. She grins at the sound "How is it, hm? Tell Mommy." Sevika murmurs teasingly, leaning down to press her lips softly against your back.

“S-S’good~” You can’t help the way it drawls out of your mouth, the friction of her knee, the kisses down your back, the heat of the water, the cold marble— your senses are in a whirlwind and she isn’t helping.

She hums against your skin as she moves her lips to a different spot, starting to kiss and suck there too. "Can't have my pretty girl walking around unmarked, now can I?" Sevika murmurs teasingly, pressing her lips softly against your new bruise as presses her knee into you more firmly.

And there it is again, right at its peak. That knot in your stomach ready to snap. Your legs shake on your tippy toes, hands gripping tightly at the marble. “Ah—! Mommy, I'm gonna—”

"No, darlin..'." She denies you, knee ceasing its movements as she goes still. "Not just yet.” You whine in frustration, huffing softly and kicking your feet. It was childish, yes, but you wanted to cum so bad, and you knew when she got into moods like this it would be a while before you did.

"Behave, yourself." She orders firmly, hand leaving your hip as she delivers a firm slap against your ass. You let out a yelp, your feet stilling at the harsh sting. Her hands were so large and heavy, it was never a treat to be spanked by her.

"That's better." She purrs in praise, her knee beginning to press against your core again, slowly this time. "Gonna behave for Mommy, pretty girl? Fussings’ not gonna get you what you want, you know that."

“Yes, Mommy… m’sorry… jus’ wanna cum.”

Sevika coos sweetly at your tone, picking the pace back up. "Look at you, being a sweet little thing... you make it hard to say no." She murmurs, moving her lips back to your nape as she begins to kiss, bite, and suck at the sensitive skin.

It doesn't take long for your orgasm to build back up, her knee rubbing against your clit at a steady pace. She could tell, of course she could. She noticed the way your eyes shut close in concentration, your hands starting to grip the marble shelf tightly once again. Sneaky little thing you were.

And she brings you right to the edge again, meticulously this time, before pulling her entire body away from you, ceasing all contact.

"No." She warns, voice firm. "You aren't allowed to cum yet. Her tone is teasing as she watches your frustration build back up. Your eyebrows furrowed, your pouty lips set in a firm frown. It was cute. You audibly cry out this time, your body flustered and hot. “God!” Small tears pebble in the corners of your eyes.

Her hand comes back down hard on your bottom, spanking you once again. "What did I tell you?" Sevika warns, leaning down so her lips are level with your ear, "Be. Good."

You sniffle, tears blending in with the water from the shower head “Yes, Mommy...” You say, albeit a little reluctantly.

She offers a curt nod at your obedience, though you can’t see it. She looms over you again, pressing light kisses all over your wet skin. "Go ahead, grind your hips against me, darlin'." She encourages, knee moving back between your thighs.

You reach your hands under you and between your legs, grabbing at her thigh, trying to lock her in place while you buck your sopping pussy against her knee. You’re positive you looked somewhat pathetic, but it’s neither here nor there.

Sevika watches you grind against her knee for a moment before letting out a low groan. "Look at you… poor thing." She coos, the hand that she has planted on your hip aiding you, helping to push your body against her knee faster. "So desperate, aren't you, babygirl?" She questions with wide, lustful eyes.

She feels you shudder, moaning shakily, the build up seemingly intense. You continue to rock your hips into her knee rhythmically, your mosns growing shorter and shorter until they start to die in your throat. “Momm— Mommy! Can I please cum?”

You hear her hum considerately, and you just now she smirking down at you behind your back. “Hm… I don’t know. You've been awfully impatient…" She murmurs condescendingly, beginning to help you move your hips faster against her thigh. She hums once more, a short, guttural sound.

"Go ahead."

She freezes momentarily as you push her away, unsure of your next move. You sit up, turning around to face her. Her eyes widen as you spread your legs lewdly, showing off your pretty cunt. “Fuck me…” The most fuckable expression etched on your pretty face. “Please… I want your hands, Mommy.”

She quickly makes a move of pushing you backwards, your back pressed flush against the cool tiles of the shower wall. "Shh, shh, shh." She coos at you, gently wiping your baby tears away. "It's alright, darlin'." She presses her lips to your cheek, and then your lips. "I got you. No more whining. Mommy's gonna take good care of you." Sevika murmurs, left hand moving down your body.

Your eyes follow her hand in anticipation, breathing become a bit more labored in the steamy shower. “Y-yes, please…” It was said more to yourself than anything, you weren’t even sure that you had said it out loud.

She shushes you again, the teasing expression from before replaced by a soft, sympathetic one. "I know, sweet thing. I know." Sevika whispers as her hand reaches your soaked pussy. "M’gonna make you feel good, baby'." She says softly, looking you directly in the eyes as she rubs your aching clit.

Your hips meet her hand almost instantly, bucking clumsily against her fingers. Your wrap your arms around her shoulders again, grounding yourself.

She leans down and presses her lips softly against yours before letting her eyes leave yours to look down at where she's touching you. "Pussy’s so wet for Mommy." She murmurs, eyes wandering back up to yours as she watches your expressions. "Look so pretty when I rub your pussy..." Sevika coos, leaning down to press her lips to your throat.

“Fuck! Mommy— I’m coming!”

She watches you as your eyes grow in size, mouth gaping open, chest rising and falling quickly as you pant. “Good girl… That’s my good girl.” She stops rubbing at your clit to plunge two thick fingers into your cunt, curling her fingers meticulously and rubbing against your g-spot in a steady rhythm. Your pussy’s letting out lewd squelching sounds, just barely heard over shower.

“F-fuck!” You throw your head back, leaning weakly against the wall. "Looks like someone just hit the jackpot." She says teasingly, smirking against your throat. She groans feeling your pussy tighten around her fingers again. "She’s so eager." Sevika murmurs against you before attaching her lips to your neck.

She begins to suck a large mark on your skin, that primal urge of hers to mark shining through once again. She bites and nips at you, making little noises against your skin. Her fingers keep their steady rhythm, pressing her palm up against you to hit your clit simultaneously.

“You gonna come undone again, sweet thing? Gonna grip Mommy’s fingers with your pretty pussy?” You pant lightly, mustering the energy to weakly nod your head, it was becoming harder to stand in your own two feet.

She hums softly, running a free hand back through your wet hair. "Good girls ask for permission first." Sevika coos lightly, pressing teasing kisses to your jawline. "Can you be a good girl for me?" She whispers in your ear, rubbing her nose against your cheek.

“Please,” You let out weakly, “Please let me cum, Mommy.”

"How could I say no?" She coos, slowly and smoothly slipping a third fingers into you, stretching you deliciously. "Mommy's got you, pretty girl." She presses gentle kisses to your cheeks, nose, anywhere on your face she can reach. "You're so good for me." She murmurs, pressing her forehead to yours.

The pace of her fingers quicken, thumping against that spongey spot in your walls. You let out moans like a mantra, bucking your hips where her palm meets your clit. "Go ahead, darlin'." She encourages you, watching as you tense up.

You let the build up snap when she gives you permission, squirting a mess all over her fingers. “Shhiiiiiiiit—” It comes out as a tiny whimper, but she hears nonetheless.

"Aren’t you just the cutest thing, my sweet pretty girl." She coos, pressing a kiss to your throat. She breathes out on a heavy exhale, fingers sgill curled against your g-spot, rubbing and stimulating it continuously. "Think you can give Mommy s’more?" You haven’t even showered yet.

please let me know if you’d like to be added to my taglist to be notified whenever i post, xx

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[mentally-gone002]

pretty genius boy

summary: spencer gets a haircut!

a/n: i am obsessed with jesus spencer and boyband spencer so… i decided to do a little fic abt him because he’s my husband (im delulu)

————————————————————————

the front door to mine and spencer’s apartment opened, signaling that he was home. 

he was earlier than expected. 

and so was i. 

i kept washing the few dishes that were left in the sink, blowing at a strand of hair that tickled my face when it grazed my cheek with my lips drawn to the side without looking up as spencer wandered into my line of sight, greeting me with a quick “hey” that caught my attention. he wasn’t looking at me, but at a file from work in his hands.

when i looked up i dropped the glass in my hand and then flinched when it hit the sink basin with a loud thud. “oh, my god!” i raised my voice is shock. “your hair!” 

he flinched at the glass thudding into the sink and then pursed his lips into a smile. “yeah,” he nodded. “what about it?” 

i scoffed, abandoning my chore with soap still clinging and dripping from my hands. “what about it?” i reiterated. “spencer… you chopped it all off!” i reached him and we stood toe to toe and i was craning my neck to see his new haircut. he looked very different. 

he frowned a little. “is that bad?” 

i shook my head quickly to make his frown disappear. “no, no, it’s just… i thought someone broke in at first glance.” i stifled a laugh, reaching a soapy hand to his hair. “give me an hour and i’ll tell you how i feel about it.” 

spencer nodded, laughing gently to himself at how i was looking at him. “okay.” he leaned down to my height and kissed my forehead. “i missed you.” 

“i missed you too.” i smiled into the second long contact. “and i miss your hair!” i frowned. 

he smiled. “it was too hot.” 

“you’re right.” i agreed with my arms crossing over my chest.

“i think you misunderstood the correct meaning of the word ‘hot’ in this context.” spencer told me.

i whined. “stop being so… genius. let me mourn the loss of your beautiful hair.” 

spencer rolled his eyes. “okay. you mourn, i’m gonna go shower.” 

i nodded and watched him disappear into our bedroom before walking back to the kitchen. i dried my hands and grabbed my phone, dialing penelope’s number. 

“hello my lovely!” she answered the phone in the same cheerful manner she always does. “what’s up?”

“spencer got a haircut.” i told her. 

she gasped, already intrigued. “what’s it look like? please tell me it’s not bad.”

i laughed. “it’s not bad it’s just… i wasn’t expecting it at all when he came home. it’s so short.” 

“how short are we talking?” she asked. 

i hummed. “think like… harry styles from one direction, but less fluffy.” 

the woman squealed over the phone. “oh, reid has a boyband haircut!” i could hear her typing quickly before she stopped, there was silence and then she giggled. 

“what’s so funny?” 

“i can’t wait to see his hair! he always has good haircuts. and if it’s anything like harry styles i’m going to go insane.” 

i laughed. “i told him to give me an hour to get used to it. i like it when it’s long because i can braid it.” 

she gave me a pitiful ‘awe’ and then asked, “do you think he’ll grow it back out?”

i hummed. “have you seen all the haircuts he’s had over the last few years? he never sticks to one for too long.” 

penelope agreed with a simple hum as i started walking towards our bedroom. “i’m gonna go, just wanted to update you on the ever changing plot of my life.” i chuckled, seeing the bathroom door adjoined to our bedroom open slightly. 

“i enjoy the updates. say hi to boy genius for me!” 

“i will.” i laughed and then hung up the phone prior to pulling the bathroom door wider for my entrance and then pushing it partially closed again. spencer was hidden behind the dark olive green shower curtain but that didn’t stop me from peeking around it to stare at him. 

his back was to me but i still focused on his wet hair that was a few shades darker and the smallest sight of muscle definition over his back. 

maybe i didn’t need an hour for his short hair to grow on me. 

i withdrew my head from the shower curtain and left the bathroom, smiling to myself with the fond thought of him in my head. 

i went back to the kitchen to finish the dishes and by the time i was done spencer was back in the room with me, a tee shirt covering his chest and sweatpants covered his legs. 

“hi.” he rounded the island in the kitchen to stand beside me at the sink, back to the counter. he looked down at me with the same kind eyes he always had. 

i smiled and shut off the running water so that i could move and stand between spencer’s legs. “hi.” i studied his messy towel dried hair prior to reaching up and touching some of the strands, twirling them between my fingers, then letting my hand slide down to touch his face. i looked into his eyes before saying, “i know it hasn’t been an hour, but it’s grown on me.” a smirk slipped over my lips as he grinned as well. 

“i knew you wouldn’t need an hour.” he teased lightly, leaning down to capture my lips with his for a brief second. 

i scoffed. “how did you know?”

“i’m a profiler, honey.” he reminded. 

i nodded gently, sighing contently. “ah, yes. i forgot.” my smile reflected my teasingly feigned innocence that spencer smiled at. “but seriously, i love it. it suits you, and you’re as handsome as ever.” i winked, smiling widely. spencer kissed me again. i could feel how his lips curled into a grin. “pretty genius boy.”

spencer tucked his head into my neck. i knew he was smiling.

i put my fingers in his now short hair, loving how easy it was to comb my fingers through it now.

[gyuswhore]

Never Shall We Die (1)

«« Nothing is too outlandish when it’s a life of liberty on the line. »» 

PAIRING: kwon soonyoung x reader

PLAYLIST: right here!

pirate lingo glossary (pls refer!)

SYNOPSIS: Deadliest pirate on the high seas or a damn fool? The stupid King and his men have snatched Hoshi's precious pirate ship with their too clean, too soft hands; grounds to question his own vices. Except, when he and his crew land in the quarters of a navy ship, revenge on their roster, they stumble across a princess in its gallows. Hoshi wonders if he's just struck gold, or if you'd become the final tread to his downfall.

GENRES: pirate!au, enemies to lovers, slowburn, angst, fluff, smut [minor dni], some pirates of the carribean vibes but ? idk

WORD COUNT [full fic]: 48.1k

Part 1: 17.07k | Part 2: 15.2k | Part 3 [final]: 15.8k

@highvern's out of context comment box: new fear unlocked: hoshi with explosives, victorian ankle moment, HATE HIM (need him carnally), hoshi covered in soapy water would distract me enough, strip for me pirate mingyu [hes litrally taking off his jacket], your honor hes a bitch, freaks!, mingyu crushes hoshi's head like a grape, WONWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO, massive dick, the way i literally gasped like an old scandalized woman

masterlist

WARNINGS: slowburn, plot heavy, happy ending bc no angsty endings in this household, being taken hostage, knives, bombs, and guns, mentions of blood, mentions of SA (does not happen and it is not explicitly mentioned), alcohol, mentions of death (patricide), hoshi is ✨selectively moral✨but kind of moral nonetheless, side character death, [pls lmk if im missing something its alot] smut tagin following parts

[AN]: thank you so much to @highvern for betaing for me and helping out with the plot so much, this fic would not exist if it weren't for her!!!! and thank you reader!!! for clicking on this and reading it, this one's been about 7 months in the works and I would love to hear what your thoughts are when you're done, plsplspls leave a rb or a reply with your brainrot lol <3 happy reading

HOSHI’S BOOT IS STUCK in the ground. 

No, that’s a branch. 

Or is it a plank? 

He doesn’t try to find out as he yanks his foot out of whatever stopped him from moving. A tree root, he finds as he kicks the remnants of jungle rubbish from the surface of the shrouded root. He kicks it to satisfy himself. 

His crew resides on the beach; where he can see them attempt to build a fire before sundown, the mound of discombobulated twigs making up most of the sad pile of wood. Hoshi trudges up to it and drops another handful of puny branches into the mix. 

Exhaling loudly as Mingyu calls for him, he falls to his bottom and sits cross legged on the sand. Mingyu trudges up next to him to inspect his pile, sighing when he realised this was all he had to work with. He picks up two hefty looking stones and begins to strike them together, putting his faith in the primitive fire. 

Hoshi stares into the horizon, watching the died down waves drift onto the shore, moving closer by the minute. 

Hoshi thinks, which he can’t say is something that he does very often. Perhaps that’s why he was sat on this nature-overrun island as a shipless captain of his shipless crew. He chews on his tongue as he thinks of his Tigress, his beloved hunk of wood and metal; the beloved hunk of wood and metal that he could not see on the shoreline, because she was taken by the royal navy. 

He wonders if Tigress would ever forgive him for letting that happen to her, for letting those clean, soft handed soldiers rip her away from his grasp. 

Hoshi needs to start thinking more often.

Mingyu is frantic over the small flame that erupts in the middle of his leaves, dropping his rocks to blow into the fire, encouraging it to grow. 

“Captain, it’s done! We can rustle up those fish we caught, have supper sorted.” 

“Hm.”

The bustle of the entire crew lasts until night has fallen and they’ve gotten food in their stomachs. Hoshi hasn’t moved from his spot for hours, something the others noticed very quickly, but decided not to mention for fear of waking something dangerous. They understood he was suffering from a broken heart. 

It isn’t until the first of the crew had begun to doze off that Hoshi speaks. Chan is propped up against a tree while Seungkwan laughs at the dangerously low coconut that hangs above his head. Mingyu readjusts his trousers after a full meal. Minghao stretches onto the sand, feet facing the water. 

His voice isn’t loud, nor is it commanding, nor does it have his usual edge of jest—in fact, it sounds nothing like Hoshi at all. 

Or does it?

“Who wants to steal a ship?”

YOU'RE AWOKEN BY THE sound of yelling. Which is never a good sign in any case, but especially not when it’s pitch black outside and you’re on a ship in the middle of the ocean.

The grogginess is quick to fade as you try to understand what’s going on outside your quarters. Your room isn’t a mess, all the trinkets and royal seals remaining in their places on the walls and shelves. Nor is the ship lurching or moving in odd angles to indicate an unexpected spat from the skies. A quick peek outside the window shows you clear, calm water amidst the mostly dark expanse of ocean. 

There is only one other answer in your head that would cause this much commotion—especially on a boat where the admiral resides (and a princess). 

Slipping out of the covers, your feet hit the cool hardwood floors of your quarters, a small shiver going through your spine from the cold, with nothing to cover you but your thin nightgown. You’re in the middle of tying your robe to see what the ruckus was about outside when a particularly loud thud hits outside of your door. You immediately freeze. 

Staring at the doorknob, you attempt to move backwards in the space, heart beating faster as you watch the knob move slightly. The back of your knees hit the bedside table with a thud, the sound has you gasp out loud. Whoever it was outside your door jiggles the knob harder, the force exerted having you scan the room for something you could use as a weapon. 

Spotting the letter opener on your desk, you lurch across the room to grab it, holding it in front of you as you back away from the door. The knob continues to bang against the wood as you refuse to take eyes off of it. There’s sounds of men outside, loud and rambunctious, momentarily halting the grievances. 

Until the knob moves again, slower this time, a light click that could be heard as it unlocks itself, opening into the low light of your quarters. 

You recognise the frazzled looking soldier at your door. 

“Lieutenant,” you voice in recognition. “What’s going on?”

He eyes the letter opener that you hold defiantly in front of you from across the room, and it has you retracting your force slightly. 

“Pirates, your Highness,” he breathes out. “We must get you to lower deck—”

“Where is the Admiral? The Captain?” you ask as you take a couple steps forward. 

“They’re handling the situation, your High–” 

An arm has come up behind the soldier that pulls him into a headlock, a swift pull to have him dragged away from your vision. You would’ve gasped if your voice hadn’t been caught in your throat, refusing to make itself known as fear brews in the pit of your stomach. Your hold on your makeshift weapon is tighter than ever before, yet you doubt how it’s going to help you as the culprit finally steps over something to appear in your doorframe. 

His clothes are in a disarray; slashed, torn and covered in grime. There’s a deadly looking machete in one hand, the blood that coats it has you eyeing the trail that drips onto his hand and on the floor. His forearms are perched up on the doorframe as he inspects you, tongue to cheek as he stares. 

Threatened as you feel, there was less hunger in his gaze as you had expected, more like he was trying to figure out who you were. He eyes your tiny letter opener you hold like a knife and lets out a little exhale you think might be a laugh. It has you gripping the handle impossibly tighter. The man moves his face into the hallway, to where you know the staircase to the main deck is. 

“Hoshi!” he yells loudly. “How’s this for bait?” 

Your back is pressed inexplicably against the wall, wanting to sink into the wooden boards as you attempt to gain your bearings amongst the nauseous bouts of mortification that surge through you. Your only exit is blocked.

No. You have one more option. 

The sound of more men bounding down the hall has you praying there were more soldiers here, but the calm regard the man has for the approaching people has your heart sink to the depths of this very ocean itself. 

More faces peer into the room, men with the same haphazard, grimey clothing complete with  equally sinister weapons in their grasps. One of the men breaks out into the biggest grin as he lays his eyes on you. You nearly throw up. 

For the first time in your life, you wish you’d listened to your father. 

“Jun, you savvy motherfucker,” the grinning man explodes, slapping the man who found you on the back. 

Another voice speaks from behind him, “Ships cleared, captain.” 

“Perfect. Bring a spring upon ‘er. Get as far away from those cleans as you can, let them fend for themselves in a tiny boat for once.” 

Captain. The grinning, stupid looking one is their captain. 

He regards the rest of his crew as he finally steps through the threshold, waving them away as he enters your quarters.

It was taking everything out of you to not buckle your knees as you stood, every step he takes is turning your strength into dust. He keeps his eyes on you, eyes on your sorry excuse of a weapon. He registers the mix of fear and determination in your eyes. 

He stops a few feet away from you, looking directly at you past the makeshift knife you hold. 

He says nothing as he drops the knife in his own hand to the ground with a loud clang. He removes a pistol, a couple more knives, a grenade and a sword. Weapons drop to the floor one after the other, emerging from all over his body and clothes. All in a pile on the wooden floors. He puts his hands in the air.

“No weapons on me. I merely wish to talk.” 

The look on his face is not ordinary, some strange combination of mock innocence and jest. You don’t answer him.

He continues, “You can keep your… scalpel… if you so wish.” 

“What did you do to the soldiers?” you finally rasp out.

“They’re not dead, if that's what you’re asking.”

“Yet?” you ask with a slight tremble to your voice. 

“They’ve been shoved into a boat with a map and a compass to fend for themselves. I’m not entirely ruthless,” he adds with raised brows and a hint of a smile. “Admiral, were they calling him? You must be his wife.”

“W-what?”

“Oh, guess not. Daughter? Captain’s wife, Captain’s daughter?”

Your previously stagnant brain is now running a derby with all the thoughts galloping across your mind. He doesn’t know who you are. Yet, anyway.

He’s scanning the room now, nodding at the trinkets and trophies scattered across the place. “Can’t imagine giving a lieutenant’s anybody quarters like this.” He circles back on you, eyes sharp. “Who are you, darling?”

You don’t think you have anything that should give you away, but the way he starts pacing the room has your anxiety going through the wooden roof.

He has his back turned to you. You’re not sure if he’s confident or careless considering you could drive your weapon into his back and make a run for it. But then what? By the looks of it there’s an entire crew of pirates pacing the deck. Perhaps the soldiers haven’t gotten that far; they know you’re still on board, they know it’s their heads on a pike if they leave you here. 

He’s reached your desk during your thinking, inspecting your stationary, picking at the bejewelled quills and paper weights as he mutters nonsense to himself. 

“Oh!” he announces, a little too enthusiastic. “What’s this?” 

He brandishes the loose leaf of paper, and you recognise the print on the back immediately. It was a letter from your father, the King.

“How on Earth did you read this, the writing is illegible.” He flips the paper over, double taking when he sees the royal seal on the back. He looks into the letter closer now. 

You wait with baited breath. 

“The kingdom needs their princess…your father…ah.” 

Should you plunge the knife into him anyway? You almost do it, but stop when he begins to turn around to face you again. His eyebrows are raised, a slight hint of exasperation on his face when he begins to laugh a loud, loud cackle. 

It’s mortifying, especially when you don’t understand what on earth was so funny to elicit a reaction like that. The man is downright hysterical. He wipes a lone tear from the corner of his eye as he drops the letter back onto the desk.

“W-what’s so funny?” you try to sound brave.

“It seems, miss princess, that we’ve gotten more than we bargained for,” he says, looking straight at you as he sobers up. “You’re the King’s daughter, now, are you? What are the odds the first ship I hop onto with a royal seal slapped on it, held the crown jewel of the kingdom in its gallows.” 

And then he starts walking, towards you, for that matter. Imperative because you know for sure that this is how it all ends. 

You know you still have your one last option, the option that is now pressed against your back as you shimmy to it with miniscule movements. The window is cool on your hand that rests on the glass, you know the lamp will be enough to break it, enough for you to push through and fall into the abyss of the dark, dark sea. He knows who you are now, and you’d rather drown than die at the hands of a pirate—or go through whatever it was that’s curling the minds of all the men on this ship. 

He takes another step forward, hands on his hips. “He’s not going to like this, is he? His dear daughter in the hands of the Kingdom’s favourite degenerate captain.” 

What?

He then adds in a whisper to himself mostly, “Or least favourite with all the wanted posters off the churches and brothels.” 

Hoshi. Hoshi. Hoshi. 

The man who had found you had called him Hoshi. Hoshi the pirate. Hoshi the pirate that’s been giving the Kingdom and its court absolute hell for as long as you can remember. 

The man that you are now trapped alone with on a ship is the most feared pirate the Kingdom has ever seen. 

You don’t doubt your face has gone grey, feeling your breathing turn near erratic. “Oh God.”

He smiles wryly as the life is sucked out of your very soul. 

This was bad. Very bad.

“Now, fear not, you will soon be returned to daddy dearest,” he places a mildly dramatic hand over his heart. “Pirate’s honour.”

He paces back to pluck the letter off the table, pocketing it. “All you need to do is relax and tell me a few things so we can part ways as soon—”

“No.” The word blurts out of your mouth before you can stop it, horrified at the thought of giving information to any pirate, let alone this one. 

“No?” Hoshi looks genuinely shocked, his eyes wide, eyebrows raised. He laughs a little incredulously, “Oh, I see, can’t tell all the delicate details to a scary ol’ pirate.”

He smiles a little bit, “Worry not, miss princess, we shall only need a few minor details. Just enough to have your father sprinting to get you out of here. We all win.”

He stares at you almost expectantly, and you wonder if you look as confused as you feel. 

“Well, I’ll be bidding you goodnight now, I’m sure we’ve interrupted your beauty sleep enough. Rest assured we won’t be bothering you for the rest of the morning.”

Hoshi begins to make his way to the door, picking up his pile of weapons off the floor before wrenching the door open. He’s calm as ever, but your mind is in a disarray.

A ransom, but whatever for? Gold could’ve been retrieved by raiding any ship, and it sounded like he’d chosen to hop on a ship belonging to the navy. Come to think of it, as much of a nuisance this man has proved himself, you don’t remember a case where he’s directly meddled with the Kingdom. All of this can’t just be for gold. 

Steeling yourself, you bet your odds against your voice and asked him, “What do you want from my father?” 

You watch as he halts in his tracks, halfway through the door as he finally looks over his shoulder. The look on his face has you wanting to break open the window immediately and let the water flood in, once and for all as you take these bastards down with you. 

“Your father has something of mine. And I intend to take it back,” he says, before finally slamming the door shut. You hear a shuffle and a thud, and you do not doubt that he’s locked you in. 

Your knees give out almost immediately, dropping to the ground as you breathe in quick, shallow breaths. Trying to look past the dizziness, you try not to think about the last thing he’d said before he left, moreso the look on his face as he did. 

The first rays of morning sun are beginning to shine through the windows, casting the beginnings of a glow in your quarters. You think of the supposed assurance he had given you, that they wouldn’t hurt you, that they intended to return you. 

The thought leads to a faraway memory, yet one that’s tucked itself into a front corner of your mind, you can almost hear your father's voice as he says it; never trust a pirate.

You remain on the floor, and you remain wide awake. 

THE SUN IS HIGH in the sky by the time you put your limbs to work. 

The first hours after the pirate locked you in your quarters were spent trying to reign yourself to earth. You can’t be entirely sure your soul has come back to your body, but whatever little of it that has landed is whispering some very dangerous things. 

The lamp remains, the ornate jewels glinting almost enticingly in the afternoon light. The flame inside it has long died, but you itch to give it another purpose. You don’t note the trembling of your hand as you reach for it, pushing yourself to your feet as you get a feel for the heavy hunk of glass and metal in your hands. 

If there was a level of regard before, it disappears when you set eyes on the bright window and the creases of crystal blue water. With all your strength, you don’t think twice when the lamp makes hard contact, a loud thud erupting as a result, but no damage when you pull away. 

You go again, harder this time, and only vaguely register the glass of the lamp that shatters into your hands. Gripping the metal bit tighter, you swing for the third time, pulling back for the strongest blow yet. 

A hand wraps around your elbow and you’re yanked backwards, landing on the floor. There’s a kick at your hand that’s flown into the air, the one that holds the bludgeoned lamp. It goes flying across the room as you retract your hand into yourself. 

You don’t register a thing as you’re suddenly being pulled back up to your feet. Face to face with the pirate captain, your soul finally clicking back into place. 

“Didn’t think I scared you this bad.” He’s made a joke, but all you can see is his face that’s a mask of rage.

The initial instinct is to move away, pulling your elbow out of his grasp in an attempt to flee. You fail as he tightens his grip to a painful degree, hauling you towards the ajar door of the quarters. 

It’s only then that you realise that there’s more people in the room.You note another big, burly man next to the window you just assaulted, inspecting it with another shorter man. You don’t get to note more as you’re pulled into the narrow hallway, begging the saints he doesn’t take the turn towards the lower decks. Instead you find he leads you upstairs to where the main deck is. 

Walk the plank? Did navy ships have planks to walk on? Not that you’d mind too much, you were trying to drown yourself and this ship in any case. But then there’s a settle of dread in the pit of your stomach, realising death may be the most merciful thing this man could give you. 

The pirate captain pushes you against a mast, one of his other minions rushing in with coils of rope on his shoulder. The sun beats down on the deck, not a gust of reprieve from the wind. 

“Keep the ropes tight, she’s got less wit than I’d thought,” the pirate captain says with a grunt, huffing as he lets go of you. He takes a few steps away, hands at his hips, the image of vexation. 

The person who ties the cords around your hands whispers slowly, “Stop moving.”

But you can’t, not when the panic is near the lip, not when all the possibilities are flashing gore filled images into your vision. It's scary to blink. 

“Why won’t you let me die?” you ask to the back that’s turned.

He turns around, not even bothering hiding the exasperation that paints his face, mouth opening furiously before closing again. “Why won’t—Because you were trying to take us all with you!”

“Kill me!” you all but scream. “They won’t know till you’ve gotten what you want, I’d rather be dead than let you try whatever’s brewing in all your sick heads!” 

He’s silent for a moment, noting your defiant gaze, your pull against the ropes, the heaving of your chest. Taking a few steps forward, Hoshi seems to be attempting to bring the boil in his blood to a low simmer, “Listen, princess. We’re pirates alright, but me and my crew, we keep to ourselves. If your daddy the king hadn’t decided to meddle and steal my fucking ship, you would’ve been home in your pretty palace, asleep in your bed of gold by now.” 

The pirate captain’s face is closer than you’d ever be comfortable with, seething in a way that has you pressing further into the mast. “We may be degenerates but we keep our own morals, as twisted as your people heed them to be.” 

When he finally pulls away, you take a breath and thank the air that simply exists, eyes downcast as you attempt to look braver than you feel. 

“I’m not pushing you overboard. I’ve duped your people once, they’ll be more prepared next time. We need you alive while you’re in our hands.” 

“How are you going to summon a ransom? You sent away your only messengers,” you ask, a sad attempt at a mock, but also because you wanted to know what his plan was. 

“Your useless Admiral’s taken up that job.”

“By lifeboat? You’ve left them all for dead, how do you expect this genius plan to work?” 

“They could’ve swam to shore if it came to it, we were close enough.”

“How are you so sure?” you spit.

“Do I need to gag you too?” he gives you one last irritated look before stalking off towards the lower deck. You’re left alone in the cooling afternoon heat, the sound of the sea keeping your ears company along with your own slowing breaths. 

Everything he said has a good enough chance to be a complete and utter lie. Never trust a pirate. No weapon to cut yourself out of your impossibly tight binds, nothing to protect you or give you reassurance besides a pirate’s word—the worst pirate’s word. 

Your battered thinking leads you straight through the setting of the sun, the orange glow of the sky shrouding the ship in the dreamiest backdrop while you live what you can only sum as a nightmare. Perhaps not, for you doubt your mind could ever conjure up a terror like this. 

This was life, the most terrifying nightmare of all. 

Having managed to wiggle your tied hands downwards, you had seated yourself with your head against the wood of the mast, staring into the translucent skies. So much freedom that taunts you in its illusion of proximity, yet so far still. 

There’s murmurs below deck, the only semblance of life you’ve heard in the past few hours after the stupid pirate captain stormed off. It seems to be on the stairs, a heated argument. 

“Obviously this wasn’t part of the plan, the chances were supposed to be zero to absolutely none. We landed with that scumbag’s successor, that’s just our piss luck and nothing more.” 

“You wanted a woman for bait, this should work the same.”

“Hao, I wanted a woman for bait to trigger a lukewarm reaction, this princess could either doom us all or make our job a fat punch easier, and I’m not betting on the latter.”

There’s a pause. 

“If only she’d cut it with the random hysterics and creepy-staring-at-the-sky we could actually get something useful out of her.” 

“Pray that window holds up or any chance of a miracle is gone to the wind.”

It’s like you’ve woken up with the way the stupid idea begins to form in your head. You think of your father, the kind of man he is, the kind of ruler he is. All the ‘if’s are guiding you to a conclusion. One that gives you a fighting chance, one that may go beyond this massive navy ship and clear into the rest of your life—if you make it that far anyway. 

Your father and his men would come, give this unhinged pirate what he desires so dearly, you know that for sure. But you also know it wouldn’t be for you, but for the crown that’s destined to fall upon your cursed head. 

If it’s his ship that he wants…

The next time you see one of the pirate captain’s goons on the deck, you ask for an audience. 

“DID YOUR STUPID FATHER drop you on your head as a baby?” 

Hoshi stands before you under the light of the midnight moon, an incredulous expression on his face. You try to keep the scowl off your own but it proves difficult when his voice pierces your skull. 

You ignore him from your position on the floor, “I know my father, and I know he loathes you enough to finally want you and your incompetent crew gone for good.”

He scratches his chin, “Can’t be that incompetent if he hates us so much.”

“I can help you.”

“You were ready to die than to be on the same ship as us a few hours ago. What’s changed?”

“Perspective,” you shrug in an attempt to remain nonchalant. 

“Are you gonna go back to wailing in the morning then?” 

God, this was going to be the hardest thing you’ve ever had to do. 

“You want your ship back and you were hoping for someone less important to exchange it for. But you’re stuck with me and you know it’s not going to end well for you. You need my help.” 

“Why so merciful, miss princess? Are you not on your father’s side?” 

You gulp as discreetly as possible.

“I want something in exchange.”

He raises his eyebrows, staring at you to continue. 

“I want you to kill my father.”

If his eyebrows were raised before, they’ve broken for the skies now. He leans his head back, eyes closing for a moment before reopening, reigning back to you before asking very gracefully, “What?” 

“I want you to kill my father.”

“No, I got that bit,” he snaps. “Your father as in, the King?”

“Yes, as you’ve pointed out far more times than anyone ever has.” You can’t help but roll your eyes despite the weight of the situation and the hammering in your chest. 

He stares at you in an expression you can’t quite read, and it unsettles you deeply. For a moment, you wonder if you’ve gravely miscalculated, watching as he moves around the mast you’re tied to. Out of the corner of your eye you see the metal glint of a dagger, and you nearly short circuit. 

Is he about to cut your hands off?

You feel a distinct tug at your wrists, the sound of slicing, and the voice in your head asking why it didn’t hurt. 

Suddenly your hands are free, intact and free as you achingly bring them in front of you, wincing audibly at the pain of moving them after so long. 

“You can jump into the water if you’d like, I won’t stop you.” He walks back over, sitting cross legged opposite you, at eye level. 

“What?”

“You’ve clearly gone mad, I’ll find another way to get my ship back.”

“I’m being serious.”

“Of course, and I utterly enjoy having a kingdom’s worth of blood on my hands. Shall I take the entirety of the court down while we’re at it? Carry out a fucking waltz with Jack Ketch?”

“Why are you acting like you’re above murder? Another part of your strange moral code?” 

“No, no, not above it at all. But I like my head and rather not have it guillotined. They might skim over the death of some too-nosy soldier but I doubt they’d leave me be after I put a bullet between the King’s eyes.”

“I’ll protect you.”

He looks at you for a moment, “Quite reassuring.” 

You sit up straighter, licking your lips as you prepare yourself. “My father isn’t a good man.”

The pirate captain snorts, “Oh, I’m well aware.”

You try not to stare too hard at the still unsheathed dagger that he digs into the floorboards, knifing out splinters in disregard. 

“My father doesn’t want me home, he wants the crown home. He wants me to be a carbon copy of himself, he wants to be in control long after he’s gone.” You try not to grind your teeth too hard but it’s difficult when your father’s face burns behind your eyelids. “I want control over the throne, full control.”

“And your conclusion is to eliminate him.”

“I don’t have another choice.”

“Then what? You’ll pardon me and my crew after we get our hands dirty for you?” he asks, eyes wide in mock hope. 

“Yes. You can do whatever it is that you sail about doing and no one will be of bother. I might ask you for sparing favours. For a wage of course. But other than that, you can live as lawlessly as you wish.”

“You’re asking me to become your personal lackey?”

“Having a queen’s favour is no small feat I hope you’re aware. Besides, it's a leap better than the hoops you’ve been jumping through during my father’s reign.” 

You realised his face had been shrouded by the dark between your negotiating and the clouds that had veiled the moon. Every moment that was supposed to strengthen your understanding of the man that sat across from you only brought you more confusion. 

“You want your ship and freedom of land and sea,” you continue when it’s silent for a beat too long. “I only ask for a small favour in return.”

“I’d argue the miniscule nature of what you’re asking from me,” he scoffs.

“Nothing is too outlandish when it’s a life of liberty on the line.” 

There crawls in the silence once again, the same one that seems to grab you by the throat for every moment that ticks past undisturbed. 

“We’ll have to see to that,” he says, huffing as he gets back on his boot clad feet. You follow him with your eyes as he walks towards the creaky stairs that lead to the lower deck, utterly confused. 

“Where are you going?” you ask, bewildered at his strange behaviour. 

Turning around, just as he had a mere day ago in your quarters and you feel yourself suppressing a shudder. “I have a crew to consult.”

So he was considering it. 

“But you’re the captain.”

“And?” 

THE SKY IS A lighter sheen of blue, leaning towards the premature hours of the morning. He’d left you untied, and as you gaze into the duned waters in the minimal light, the urge to jump in and create a ripple that goes beyond just the water is less tempting than you’d thought. The prospect of having a dead father, and a dead king, was enough to snap you out of your hysteria despite it being a plot of your own devising. 

You’ve been alone for a while, little indication that there was other life on this ship at all with the lack of human activity. There wasn’t much that you knew of sailing or ship handling, but leaving the deck unmanned for this long gave you the vague impression that you were on a vessel with poor practising pirates. If they’d thought you’d be equipped to handle any hiccups, they’d either find out the hard way, or whenever it was that you could find the wit to bring it up to the pirate captain and his strangely attached crew. 

Something that sounds distinctly like boots are thudding gradually up to the main deck, the unmistakable blond of the pirate captain himself coming into view. You aren’t quite sure what it is, but the low thuds are sending your heart racing, panic overcoming your senses for a brief moment before you recalibrate. It’s only then that you realise it’s been more than 24 hours since the ship was hijacked. Somehow, you could have believed it was a lifetime. 

He’s disturbingly nonchalant, hand at the sheathed hilt of the dagger at his hip, a casual glance around at the empty abyss of ocean and sky. When he reaches the far end of the deck, right above the prow, he stops. 

“Are you going to push me off the rails?” you ask, half genuine, half trying to fill the silence as you face one another. 

“No.” He said it plainly, the single word reply leaving you even more uncomfortable. 

“Have you thought about what I said…with your crew?” you ask, hand coming up to grab the railing for support. 

“I did.” 

“Do I sense an objection?” you ask, swallowing the lump in your throat

“Not exactly,” he says. “We want to hear your master plan for this heist before we agree to anything.” 

He’s asking for a plan, a plan that you do not have.

You aren’t sure how he figured it out, perhaps it was the slight darting of your eyes as you thought of a response, but he seemed to read you like a book. He snorts loudly, “You don’t have a clue, do you?”

“You’ve done this before, you’d know better.”

“And if I led you astray?”

You look at him, this time right into his dark eyes, “Then you lead me astray.” 

“Your contentment with death is wildly unsettling.” There’s a ghost of a sneer at his lip. 

“I’d rather be lounging in the bottom of the ocean than live with a prospective future with my father.” 

“So I’ve heard.”

There’s a huff that leaves you as you steel your voice. “I’m not trying to set you up if that’s what you’re afraid of.”

“I doubt you’d have that capability,” he says as he leans his forearms over the railing. You briefly consider pushing him over but think better of it. 

As much as you wanted to be a sneaky link, you simply didn’t have that trait. You blame all the dependency your father’s fostered into you, ensuring that you couldn’t rule without his influence. 

“Are you willing to brew a plan or not? I need to time my dip in the ocean accordingly,” you say, sounding almost disgruntled.

He lets out a big sigh, “Follow me.”

He’s made himself familiar with the ship, you soon realise, as he leads you right downstairs to the lower deck towards the war room. When he opens the door, the room is lit with lamps, casting a golden glow on the reddish interior, warmer than the rest of the ship. 

“Stay here, and don’t do anything stupid,” he tells you as he shuts the door behind him, leaving you alone in the cabin. 

You only exhale in response as you turn away from the door, towards the large table in the centre. It’s slightly cluttered, studying the scrawled notes as you realise they’re all from the Admiral, his directions and plans of course littered across the table. Turning towards the map on the walls, you lift a finger to trace the lifted ridges of snow capped mountains, trailing towards the dipped shallows of the blue water. 

It was an exact replica of the tactile map in the war room back home, and you’re suddenly hit with a pang of nostalgia. Not that you’d been away from home for too long, but the end result of what you're about to do, regardless of the outcome, would change your life forever. 

You feel yourself breathing in the lingering scent of mildew, a strange comfort in the warm quarters.

There’s a creak at the door, and you quickly retract to find the pirate captain back at the door, walking in with a trail of men behind him. You recognise them by their faces, watching as they all take their places in the edges of the room. They look relaxed. You note the pirate captain taking his place behind the main drawing table. 

“Your throne, miss princess.” He gestures exaggeratedly towards the lone cushioned chair across from him. You’re hyper aware of all the eyes that are trailed on you, and you feel almost embarrassed to take the only seat. 

It only lasts for a moment. You walk up to the chair with what you hope exuded confidence and take your place across from the pirate captain. His men circle the edge of the room, and you count five other men. 

He sighs, “I think introductions are in order.”

“Mingyu, Minghao,” he points to the two men that had inspected your window right after you tried breaking it open. 

“Jun,” he gestures to the one who had found you in your quarters the night it all went wrong. 

“Seungkwan and Chan,” you recognize the latter as the one who’d tied you to the mast at his captain’s command. 

“They’ll be helping kill your dear father.” 

It’s silent for a moment as you attempt to moisten your mouth. You’re reminded you haven’t eaten or drank for hours, not since one of them had come up with a tray of whatever they could find for you from the reserves. 

“I know I may not be the most admissible person to trust, or vice versa—” You hear someone snort but choose to ignore it. “But I’m willing to make myself useful to you if it means you would help me too.”

“Would it not be easier to lock him up instead?” someone asks, and you turn to find Seungkwan asking the question from next to the tactile map. 

“He has too many people indebted to him, too many that are too loyal for their own good. I cannot truly rule for as long as he’s alive and well.”

“And how do you expect his loyal court mongers to let you bid favour to the people who killed their king?” the pirate captain asks with a raised brow. 

“Which is why it needs to look like an accident.” 

“How do you reckon we go about that?”

“What message have you given the Admiral?”

“You don’t answer a question with another question—”

“We need to be transparent with each other if either of us wants to make it out relatively unscathed.”

He doesn’t look too happy but he answers anyway, “My ship and five hundred thousand for all our trouble. Two months from now at the Green Islands up north.”

The Green Islands were anything but green, the glaciers being near uninhabitable owed to the ruthless weather. It was smart enough, it’d be near impossible to bring as much violent power that far north, no matter how influential anyone is.  

“Is five hundred thousand all I’m worth?” you feel the beginnings of a sneer rise up your mouth. You aren’t sure what prompted it but you don’t want to fight it either. 

“Didn’t know I was bartering for a fucking princess’ case, did I?” he snaps. “Now tell us how you want us to commit the undetected homicide of a King.”

“We need to blow up his ship.” To your surprise (and maybe even a little horror), the pirate captain breaks into a slight grin. Neither do you miss other bits of his crew releasing a bit of a snicker. 

There’s a flare of defiance within you, “Do you have any better ideas then?” 

“No, no. Go on,” he says with his head hung. You’re surprised he has the character to shield his smile. 

“He doesn’t frequent the seas but I’m almost sure he’d be present at the exchange.”

“Almost?” he questions.

You hesitate. The combined chance of needing the crown home and seeing to the downfall of his enemies would be enough warmth to send him to the greenlands himself. You were confident, but your father could also be unpredictable.

“He’ll be there. I’m sure of it.” 

The pirate captain lifts his head, locking eyes with you. You try not to look as weak as you felt, as unsure as you felt, pooling all the remaining confidence into your face. 

He swallows before looking away, addressing one of the crew members. “How big are we talking?”

Jun looks up like he’s only just begun to pay attention, fumbling over the revolver in his hands as it thuds to the ground like a theatrical mistake, “What?”

His captain sighs before replying, “Explosion. How big does it need to be to blow up a naval ship with a King on it?”

The man brings a hand up to the back of his head, scratching his nape. “If it’s anything like this one, we’re gonna need a lot of ammo.” 

“Just enough to sink it,” you speak before you could decide not to. “Even better if they don’t realise it’s happening.”

He thinks for a moment. “We could plant it in the bilge somehow.”

“But how do we get on that ship? When they’re giving us a tour of the lower decks?” The man you recall as Seungkwan scoffs. 

“Throw a grenade on board somehow?” you hear one of them suggest. 

“Real subtle, Chan,” you hear another mock. 

The war room is in shambles before you know it, loud voices talking over threats to slit throats and to shove people overboard. The room is humid and it feels as though the light from the oil lamps are fading. You close your eyes amidst the utter chaos, rubbing the heel of your palm on your temple in an attempt to soothe the throbbing vein. 

“Enough!” The pirate captain has spoken and you have the urge to ask what took him so long. 

Tranquility once again and you almost thank the man. Before anyone can say another word, nausea begins to build in your stomach. 

It takes you a minute to realise the room was spinning and that you weren’t completely losing your mind. The ship begins to rock harder as the seconds tick by, everybody in the room seemingly still as they perceive the change.

“Batten down the hatches,” the pirate captain says to no one in particular.

Chan is the only one who moves to the door to leave before he’s interrupted. 

“All of you. Those clouds weren’t looking too nice up there, we’ve got a storm on our hands.”

By everyone he surely did not mean you, because as the room rushes out and you hear the thuds of boots clamouring up to the main deck, you’re left alone with the captain. Yet again.

It’s becoming increasingly difficult to keep steady, and you wonder how he’s able to remain balanced while on his feet. It isn’t long before your chair begins to slide as well, the legs croning as they slip on the hardwood. You spring up on instinct, hands coming to the bolted down drawing table to stabilise yourself. 

The pirate captain seems unphased, moving the curtains on the far end to try to get a glimpse at where the water breaks. He steps like he knows exactly where the evermoving floor would be, barely glancing below to gauge his footing. 

“Shouldn’t you be up there?” There’s effort in your voice, your grip on the table as hard as ever as the ship banks to a hard left. He barely grabs the wall in support. 

“Huh? They can figure it out themselves, they’re big boys,” he grunts.

“Your big boys were at each other’s throats a moment ago,” you grunt back, stumbling at a particularly forceful lurch. 

“If you weren’t so ill prepared they wouldn’t need to use their brains, that’s always dangerous,” he shoots back. He’s on the other end of the room, pushing the unbolted cabinet back in its place 

“I gave you a job and it's up to you to see it done, I’m not—ah— I’m not supposed to be planning at all!” 

“Are you?” He’s turned to look at you know, mouth hitched in a snarl as his forehead reflects a light sheen. “Because trying to murder a—”

“Trying to murder a King isn’t a normal task,” you finish for him in a hiss. “Yes, as you’ve reiterated a million times.”

“Great, so you know!” Sarcasm is a deadly look on him, you realise as he walks over from the cabinet to where you were in the middle of the room. The waves have given in, the rocking becoming significantly slower. “Now do you mind telling us about a plan that actually has better odds?”

Your white knuckles have relented, the hands that gripped the table coming loose as you stare back at the pirate in defiance. “I should just hand you over.”

“It’s sweet you think you’re in charge here,” the grit in his voice is evident. “This isn’t your turf anymore, miss princess.”

“You don’t trust me, and you don’t give me reason to trust you—ugh.”

The waves seemed to have decided she hadn’t had enough just yet, this particular lurch sending you hurtling backwards into the wall, back hitting the hardwood as the stable pirate himself loses his footing. You could almost believe you’d landed sideways with the gravity that’s lost its way beneath your feet. 

The chair you were once sitting on is hurtling towards you with a vengeance, gaining momentum as you simply watch it approach like a wooden bullet. A boot clad foot kicks it to the other end and you realise the pirate captain’s gotten hold of his bearings before you have. 

“What happened to being transparent with one another?” he huffs, breathless and wide eyed as he attempts to pull himself to his feet. 

There’s another lurch that sends you both skidding towards the table, just short of grabbing on before you’re hurtled into the cabinet that had moved again, and now slams back into the wall with the weight of the sea and two humans with a bang!

“Fine. You give me your ammo to blow up the bilge, let me on the ship with my dear father and one of you scoops in and saves me before I drown with him,” you yell over the sounds of clanging and banging of everything on this cursed ship, and the whooshing and thunders of the skies, winds and water. “And if I riddled the chances of you letting me drown with my father? Where does that leave me?”

“On the bottom of the seabed,” he deadpans. “But that also leaves me without my freedom.”

You find the opportunity to look at him for a moment, and he’s looking at you too. He looks away towards the door, already making moves to walk out and join his crew above deck. The conversation was over, and it was evident in your lack of reply.

Mother nature, however, sends another one in as a surprise and you're both sent flying to the other end of the ship, yet again. 

There’s a cushion to your blow this time as you find yourself landing right into the pirate captain’s chest, hand above his heart in your instinct to save yourself any more bruises. Between your bickering and the staggering of the ship, his shirt had flown open nearly down to his navel. 

Your eyes barely register the nasty scar across his left pec, instead moving upwards to lock eyes with him. It’s insanity, how you instinctively dart your eyes towards his half open mouth. 

“If you wanted me that bad, miss princess, you could’ve just asked.”

Whatever airborne drug that’d been willy nillying in your noggin seems to spin into a rage as his words register a moment too late. Clenched jaw and a vice grip on his shirt, you spit back. 

“I don’t ask for things. They come to me.”

There’s a crash above you and you realise the oil lamp that was suspended above has shattered, raining glass over your forms. 

Expect you don’t feel it, because he’s ducked over you and suspended his arms in the air to catch the crystalline. 

Before you can decide whether it was instinct or not, you hear a yell at the door.

“Captain! One of the—oh.” 

A barely balancing Mingyu, is staring into the now dimly lit war room, his captain and their supposed prisoner pressed against one another in a dark corner of the room. 

Your instinct forces you to take a slow step backwards. 

“Get back up,” he snarls, already pushing past you to stalk towards the door. He actually makes it this time, shoving Mingyu into the hall towards the stairs. 

Not as much as a glance back before he slams the door shut, leaving you in the tattered war room alone, shards of glass at your feet.

THE STORM SEEMS TO have done its damage as it calmed itself for the rest of the morning and well into the day. 

One of them had come down and escorted you to your quarters, Chan telling you that you could keep it while the rest of them adjusted in the other cots and quarters aboard. Changing out of your ragged, days old clothes felt luxurious, the familiar scent of your quarters putting your tense shoulders at ease; or at least a semblance of such. 

Neither you nor the captain have attempted to speak to each other after the incident in the war room. Having berated yourself for letting your guard down enough, you chalked it up to the lack of food and sleep and put the matter to rest in some deeply buried chest in your head. 

For now you board up the door of your cabin (because you haven’t completely lost it), and burrow under the covers for some much needed shut eye. 

You aren’t sure how long the universe lets you rest, because unless you’ve slept all the way to the Green Islands the banging on the door seems incessant enough to warrant an arrest of its own. The sleep is slow to leave, and it’s hard enough to push an entire drawer against a door, the bleariness paired with whoever the fuck was outside the door isn’t making it easier to push it away from the entrance either. 

By the time you’ve wrenched the door open, you’re thoroughly annoyed, and met with a very alarmed Seungkwan. 

“Oh thank goodness, I was about to try opening it,” he says, looking genuinely relieved. “I thought you might’ve….anyway.”

“You weren’t trying to break in before?” you ask.

He only thrusts a tray of rations and water towards you, “Captain said to give this to you.”

Accepting the tray, you try to balance it in one hand with furrowed brows, “Oh.”

“Um. That’s it, sorry for waking you up.” He makes a move like he’s about to turn around and leave but falters. “If…if you need anything a bunch of us are on the main deck.”

And then he’s gone. 

You take it as your cue to shut the door, kicking one of the heftier pieces of furniture against it before moving back inside. 

When you peer up your tiny window, it’s late afternoon and the beginnings of orange on the surface tell you the sun is beginning to set. You decide it was a good enough amount of sleep. Setting the tray down on the smaller than usual desk, you find that these pirates do not have a knack for subtlety. Many of your letters and papers are haphazardly stacked and shoved into one corner of the table, very obviously sifted through. 

Not that you care too much, there was nothing awfully important that you wouldn't have told them yourself. Ripping off a piece of bread from the tray, you take pleasure in chewing as loudly and as open mouthed as you wished, plucking the parchment at the top of the pile to study. 

It’s another one signed by your father, not a question of your wellbeing in sight as he scrawls ink on paper all the incorrect things you did in the Southerner’s banquet last month. If anything, you were glad the stupid Admiral was away from your presence, his incessant habit of reporting your every breath and turn to your father was becoming too much to handle. 

This was one of his tamer letters, less insults attached to his criticisms but a pain to read anyway. You don’t brush away the crumbs that fall onto the parchment. 

There is not a diplomatic bone in your body. Perhaps move on from drinks and dessert and into more important territories besides the Duke’s son. Our kingdom needs a ruler that’s strong, not one that forgets where she is after a sip of brandy!

If you squint hard enough, it almost reads as a parent scolding a child for a spill, like regardless of what you did, he might just love you the same. 

You wonder how good of a mood he was in when he wrote this. 

Sifting through the rest of the papers you take a mental note of every reason he’s given you to believe that you’d be a hopeless ruler, a few years ago you even questioned why he kept you around before realising his contradicting intentions. As you read, letter by letter, you think of reasons you know are going to make you a better ruler, better than him and better than his stupid court of old men.

These pirates are a blessing, you think, and you aren’t about to let this chance from the universe drown in these waters.

HOSHI ISN'T IN TROUBLE. No, he isn’t. On his butt on the sleek floorboards of the ship, his own golden dagger glinting in the sunlight as it's held in a threatening hold, except it isn’t in his hands. 

It’s pointed right into his jugular vein, held by some grimy sailor who considers himself something akin to a pirate. Perhaps the stench this sorry excuse of a crew carries around may be their idea of a criteria, but as Hoshi remains inches away from death, all he can think about is the atrocious fingers around his dagger, and all the scrubbing he’s going to be doing after this is all over. 

Mingyu had warned him, told him to take down the flag of the navy from the mast, the royal seal in the smack middle of the ginormous thing. He brushed it off. He wasn’t quite sure if he was tipsy, hungry or just plain exhausted when he made that decision, because he’d forgotten just how stupid some of these simpleton sailors could get. 

They were taken by surprise, their only weapons mops and buckets of soapy water as they were ambushed by some overlooked wherry that had suddenly thrown hooks over their railing and climbed up like uninvited sewer rats. 

In the initial confusion, interrupted mid-chorus of some pretty siren and her pirate prince, the first few intruders had simply crumpled over onto the slippery deck, a few slipping overboard completely from the suds and water on the wood. His crew, and Hoshi himself, could only stand and watch as the newcomers sabotaged themselves for a few incredulous moments before they gained their bearings. 

Chan and Seungkwan swang their mops right into the necks of a couple, sending them into the ocean without waiting for a splash. 

Hoshi slips out his dagger with practised ease, swinging the butt of the hilt over the head of another ambushing intruder, right on the head as he crumpled to the floor with a loud thud. He kicks him over for an indication of where he came from. No ink that shows an alliance, no brooch or jewels with a crest. 

New guys, ones that were clearly still learning the ropes. 

Hoshi’s crew had better senses than required for him to yell out orders, and it only took a few more disgruntled minutes to disable the remaining extra men aboard. 

“Where the fuck did these guys come from?” he asks no one in particular, mostly just annoyed that they were disturbed. 

Minghao, who’s peeking over the railing replies, “It’s a tiny thing. They either lost their actual boat or didn’t have one at all.”

He vaguely registers him making a jerking arm movement over the exterior before he hears a wail and a splash. “Disgusting.” Minghao holds his hands away from his body like he didn’t want it anymore. 

Hoshi’s mistake was keeping his guard down, because before anyone could warn him, the dagger that he held loosely against his hip had slipped out his palm. The next thing he knows, his neck is in some grimy sleeve’s grip, and the point of his dagger is lodged into his own throat. He holds his breath, afraid he might pass out completely from the stench alone. 

“Not a move.” He sounds like a boy more than anything, but his grip indicates a harsher life. “Everybody into that fishing boat. I’ll throw this one in when you’re done.” 

He sounds unstable, but that only makes him more dangerous. Hoshi can’t try to wiggle his way out of this one, one wrong move and it’s the end. His crew can’t do anything as they stand with broken mops and empty buckets as their weapons. 

It was stupid of him to even allow himself to be cornered like this, not when he’s weaselled his way out of more dangerous situations with more ease than this. 

His crew looks at him, and he can only close his eyes in encouragement. He watches as Jun steps over one of the defeated bodies to reach the hooks that’ve lodged into the railing. His movements are slow, and he can tell he notices the unhinged nature of this boy that he doubts is barely over 17. 

Chan follows, then Seungkwan as Jun double checks the integrity of the ropes. He’s stalling. 

“Hurry!” It was supposed to come out as a threat, but it sounded more like a plea from the boy. 

And then Jun stops completely, his eyes trained on Hoshi. His eyes are wide, his grip on the rope so tight he can see the whites of his knuckles from the other side of the ship. 

No, he wasn’t looking at him, he was looking behind him. Before he can register, there’s a loud bang of a gunshot, and Hoshi feels the body of his captor slump against his back, his dagger dropping to the ground with an ominous clang. He falls with him, turning over to push the dead weight of the body off of him. 

There’s smoke in the air when Hoshi looks back and it takes him a moment to realise who just basically saved his life. 

You stand in your nightgown, shawl over your shoulders, and a revolver, Jun’s revolver, clenched tightly in both hands. It remains frozen in the air, hovering as he takes in your face. Eyes wide, mouth open slightly, the colour drained from your face. 

Hoshi scrambles to get up as the rest of the crew swarm both him and you. He grabs his dagger before anything else, looking back to see a bullet lodged in the back of his captor’s skull, blood pooling the deck. 

He looks back at you shoving the revolver back into Jun’s hands eagerly, like you didn’t want to feel the warmth of the metal any more than you wanted to make that shot. 

He looks back at the cooling body, and then back at you, an undeniable warmth overcoming his chest. 

You just saved his life.

“Are you alright?” he hears Chan ask you. You nod slowly, and then quickly. 

“Where did you find this?” Jun asks. 

“Uh, in one of the quarters. Downstairs. I went down because I thought it’d be safer, you were handling it and I didn’t want to get in the way. But then…all your weapons were there.” 

Your voice sounds airy, like you were in a daze. Hoshi comes to the stark realisation that this may have been your first time with a weapon, and then even more horrifying, your first kill. 

“I’m sorry, I just thought it was getting out of hand and—” 

“It’s alright,” Seungkwan says. He watches as you let him lead you back down the stairs below decks. 

It was like the shock turned you into a different person, complacent, less defiant. Seungkwan clearly had more of an emotional range, because it certainly took Hoshi too long to realise you might be on the edge of panic. 

Hoshi doesn’t say a word as you disappear, the smell of gunpowder from the singular shot wafting through the deck. He doesn’t realise he’s staring into space until Mingyu interrupts. 

“Should we—”

“Throw them overboard,” Hoshi says, voice flat. 

“But, this one seems like he’ll come around. We could question him and drop him off wherever next—”

“He’s a shit seaman, if even a pirate, he’s got what came for him. Throw. Him. Overboard.” Hoshi is out of breath, yet grits the words out through clenched teeth. “All of them.”

Hoshi slips his dagger back into its sheath at his hip. All he can think about is your blown pupils and you in your nightgown. All he can think about is how they were almost bested by a child. All he can think about is how you had to make that final shot to save his ass, that he couldn’t do it himself. 

Mingyu senses his mood and asks no more questions, simply pushing the remaining bodies out into the water. He vaguely registers Minghao sending the men a prayer into the sea. Mingyu’s already trying to get the stupid naval flag off the mast, stripping off his jacket and disposing of it at the base to start climbing. 

Chan pushes a clean rag into his chest, and he looks down to receive it and notes a tinge of blood at his collar. Right, he was bleeding. 

They go back to cleaning, except it’s a lot more silent. 

Jun walks back up to help, but this time he has both of his clean, black revolvers strapped at his hip.

THERE WERE FEWER PEOPLE in the war room this time around, the captain sits beside Mingyu, Jun and Minghao as they attempt to sketch out a crude rendition of your discussion. The pirate captain does nothing but use his dagger to pick under his nails, barely speaking as he listens in on the conversation. 

Not that you cared, you and the rest of his crew seemed to get along better than you did with the captain anyway. Saving the man’s life seemed to hold no weight to him, not that you expected it but a ‘thank you’ would have sufficed. 

“Keep the grenade til the last minute if it makes you feel better, so you’ll know I’m not trying to sink the wrong ship,” you sigh as you clarify. Minghao doesn’t reply as he scribbles the details. Jun rolls his eyes at his meticulous nature. 

“We need to port in the next couple days if I’m gonna finish this grenade in time,” he says, looking at his captain pointedly. 

“We can stop at Port Ash,” Hoshi says. 

Port Ash was no man’s land, which also meant it was every man’s land. 

Being mostly occupied by pirates and other thieves and criminals it was considered dangerous territory for anyone who didn’t speak in lies, deceit and fists. This crew would fit right in, but you worry for yourself. 

“That’s not gonna be till a week and a half,” Mingyu interjects. 

Jun frowns as he looks at Mingyu and then back at his captain, “I can’t wait that long.”

“We’ll pick up what we can at Hasry when we stop for rations,” Hoshi replies. 

“But—”

“Deal with it. There’s nothing we can do about it.”

Jun looks like he wants to say something, and Mingyu has the good sense to interject again to ask more questions about the plan. 

“How much manpower do you think the king’ll have?” he asks.

You sigh, crossing your arms as you lean back in your chair. “I have no idea. Could be five, could be fifty.”

“Not even an inkling?”

“Considering how he wants the lot of you gone, it’s probably on the larger side. But…” you pause. 

“But?”

“He’s smart. Always seemingly one step ahead. I wouldn’t be surprised if he catches us blind.” 

“I know enough about that,” Hoshi snorts. There’s a glint in his eye that suggests something, but you don’t press.

“I was wondering…we should probably change course even if it takes us longer. My father might intercept—”

“Did that. Didn’t take the obvious alternative route either,” Mingyu replies, and you note that he looks proud of himself. “We can take our time too, the ransom note suggested we took the way past Scarsfield.”

“We should be careful of other boats anyway,” you say, gulping down a lump in your throat before continuing. “Those other sailors could’ve been my father’s men too, for all we know.”

“They were on a smaller boat too,” Hoshi adds, he looks like he’s making connections in his brain. “What’re the odds they were dropped farther back into a smaller boat?”

There’s a pause as you absorb what he’s implying. “Are you saying they’re on our tail?”

“I wouldn’t doubt it,” he says, exhaling heavily through his nose. “He’s done it before. It was a sorry attempt then and it was a sorry attempt now.”

“How did you shake him off last time?”

The panic in your chest is barely there, but as you register the possibility, you find yourself breathing increasingly heavy. 

“Circling farther out before going the opposite way so we wouldn’t cross paths.” He shakes his head. “But we can’t do that now, not when we can’t afford detouring. The port stops are as late as I’m willing to go.”

“What if we skip Hasry? It’s our more obvious stop, we’ll just stop at Ash later,” Minghao suggests. 

“We’ll starve, we’ve got no food,” Hoshi gruffs.

“Portwater?” 

“Too far.”

It’s silent yet again as everyone racks their brains. You feel very useless all of a sudden, you didn’t know the names of harbours or ports this far out.

“We’ll just port at Hasry and be extra careful, there’s nothing we can do.” Hoshi sighs at his own ultimatum. 

He gets up and walks around the table to the door, “I’ll update the others.”

You glance as he walks past you, his figure leaving a gust of wind in your face. He smelled nice, which was saying something considering the state some pirates are known to be in. As he brushes past, your gaze is met with the other side of the war room, an empty oil lamp bracket on the wall. 

The memory of the storm floods your mind, and suddenly your cheeks are burning. Snapping your head back, you're thankful they’re all absorbed in the papers and plans on the table, oblivious to the memory that’s flashed before your eyes. Mingyu was the one who saw you in your compromising position, and you didn’t know him well enough to decide whether he’d do something as dumb as dish out his captain’s ‘affairs’. 

You file out the room with them. They don’t escort you to your rooms, make sure you stay in one place, restrict your wandering anymore. Perhaps they’d realised you weren’t actively attempting to sink the ship anymore, or that if you jumped off the edge it didn’t matter to them that much, but you appreciated the space anyway. 

Briefly catching Seungkwan filling Mingyu in on the past couple hours they’d been below deck, you turn over to catch his eye. He waves, and you wave back. You don’t realise what you did till it already happened, noting the smile on his face as he did it. You choose to move past it and find the captain. 

There was something you wanted from him. 

There’s no trace of him on the main deck, eyes scanning the area to no avail. A movement from above catches your peripheral attention, eyes squinting as you crane your neck up to look. Hoshi has leaned his back against the railing of the crow’s nest, arms crossed, visible hand occupied with a brass telescope that glints in the sunlight. 

He isn’t using it though, merely gazing at the horizon with furrowed brows. As though he could see better without the device in his hand. In the few minutes that you’re looking at him, you notice the muraled, multicoloured shirt that blows with the wind, a kaleidoscope of beiges, greens and reds. The crop of his blonde hair blends in with the clear blue-white sky. 

Briefly wondering how he’s managing the impossible heat, a hand coming over your own eyes as a visor, you simply look back down. Seungkwan is next to you. You aren’t quite sure how he got there, but he stands next to you, hands on his hips, a pleasant expression on his face. 

“Is there anything you want when we dock? We’re trying to make a list,” he says. Somehow, the prospect of pirates making lists boggled you a little. It was a little jarring, not quite sure why he asked a captive anyway.

But then again, were you a captive anymore?

“I don’t think so, no,” you reply and then juggle whether you should push it with another measly formality. “Thank you for asking.”

“That was your first kill, wasn’t it?”

“What?” You knew what he was talking about, but you weren’t expecting him to bring it up in the moment when he’s asking you about restocking supplies. And especially not with a smile on his face. 

“That day, when you used Jun’s revolver to shoot the lad.” 

A kid. He was a child. 

“I…yeah I’d never done it before.”

“What made you do it?” he asks, remaining as nonchalant as ever. 

“I—I don’t know, it looked like there wasn’t another option,” you say, not quite sure of yourself either. 

Why did you shoot him? You’d never laid hands on a gun before, your father forced you into the category of archery and crossbows, not that you were very good at them either but it was also because you simply wanted to spite your father by being plain bad. It worked, because it only took a year and a half and an arrow straight into his study window to retire from the sport entirely.

Even then, your targets had been apples, barrels and tree trunks. Never a person. 

You’d heard of what people tended to do in pressuring situations, and with the way the aftermath unfolded, it didn’t seem like you made the wrong decision to pick up that revolver anyway. 

But the feeling lingers, the same one that you saw as you gazed into the back of the boy that held the captain of this ship hostage. It felt wrong. Like watching the pirate captain cornered was a picture you couldn’t quite make sense of in your head. 

So you pulled the trigger. 

“In any case, we’re glad you made that decision. We all owe you for it.”

You don’t know what to say to that, so you gulp, inhale and press your lips in a line. “That’s a lot for a pirate to say.”

“I know.”

BY THE TIME YOU manage to corner Hoshi it’s already the next day, and you’re only a couple hours away from docking at Hasry. 

It’s an anxious ordeal, the crow’s nest constantly occupied by someone trying to catch sight of a possible tail. There was no sign, yet anyway. 

“I want to learn to use a knife.”

He was piling coiled ropes when you’d said it, pushing the heap to the side, sweating through his clothes. There was a flash of confusion on his face as he registered you. 

“Why? So you can slit all our throats in our sleep?” he grumbles as he pushes a barrel against the railing. He’s too aggressive, and the force has the splashback soaking his clothes in freshwater, tsk-ing audibly. 

You ignore the way his previously loose shirt now sticks to him, ignore the way the droplets land on your boots when he shakes his sleeve. 

“We’ve discussed what we might be up against, I don’t want to be useless when the time comes.”

“Seemed pretty alright with that revolver.”

“Anyone can shoot a gun,” you say, getting the sudden urge to fidget with the front of your shirt. You try to make your voice sound as declarative as possible. “I want to learn to fight. With a knife, with a sword, with my hands if I have to.” 

He doesn’t say anything as you look down, fiddling with the tassels on your shirt. Your excuse was the sun and the way it was beating down on the deck this afternoon, getting tired of squinting to simply look straight. When the silence prolongs you look up to push further, juggling with bringing up the fact that you saved his life and that, as Seungkwan very graciously told you, he owes you. 

The sound your throat makes is unhuman, because when you look up the captain's soaked shirt is now off his back. 

The skin is near white from the glare of the sun, remnants of glazed water that’s somehow made its way to his back as well. The dip in his shoulder blade reflected a dark marking, one that you couldn’t make out. 

He wrings it as you can only watch, mouth gaping like a fish. Hanging it over one of the suspended ropes to dry, he mutters as he walks to the lower decks. 

“Fine,” he says nonchalantly. “We’ll get you a knife at Hasry.”

Hasry. Right. 

The port is quiet, at least as quiet as a port can be. There’s not much to see but fishermen both returning and leaving for another week's worth of fish supply. Minghao manages to pay and convince the harbourmaster that they were merchants on their way back to the Kingdom, stopping for supplies. The naval make of the ship helped, and then the crew pulled lines and ropes secured from masts in ways you couldn’t quite decipher. 

You assumed you would stay on board, yet when Chan knocked and brought you some roughspun clothes from the town, you were informed you’d be joining them. 

Hoshi deemed it safer, keeping the rest of the crew on board while he, along with you and Seungkwan, ventured into the village to get what was needed and leave before the sun fully set. If they really were being followed, the ship was going to be the first thing they seized. 

Pulling the grey shawl further up your head, you attempt to look as blended as you could, Chan pressing down your shoulders to force you into a slouch. 

“Stop walking like you're important,” he had said. 

“I’m a princess,” you snapped back, but he wasn’t listening, only jabbing at you to keep the haughtiness out of your tone before it caught somebody’s attention. 

The town was a quaint little place, something out of what you were read from storybooks, reminiscent of the paintings that you’d run past on the walls of the palace. The streets cleaner than you’d expected, the faint scent of baked goods in the air mixed with, onion soup, was it? In any case you were glad you were past the fish market, the yelling and the stench nearly sending you to the pavement, gagging. 

When Hoshi returns, you and Chan are looking at a jewellery stall that’s selling necklaces, bracelets and anklets that look like rosaries; colours of deep ocean blue and sunset pinks, beautifully vibrant against their grey canvas backdrop. 

You can only observe from afar, instructed to not interact with anyone while he was gone. Hoshi was gone to get food supplies, but returned empty handed. Systems were in place, that the crates would be on their way to the “big naval ship” at the docks for the rest of the crew to receive.

“They said there was a blacksmith up this alley” Hoshi says, eyes also trained on the uncharacteristically colourful jewellery stall, but he does nothing to move towards it. “We can get your knife there.”

“Knife?” Chan asks, confused. 

“Miss princess wants to learn to fight—”

“Don’t!” Chan hisses, eyeing the men in black uniform that patrol the market from the shadows. 

“It’s fine, they’re too far,” Hoshi says. “Let’s get this over with.”

You do find a blacksmith, an older man with a greying beard and bloodshot eyes that presents Hoshi and Chan with an array of knives and daggers. Either they were able to give an excuse, or he gave no mind to the third woman that trailed behind, the blacksmith continued to deal with the two men as they haggle over prices. 

There’s another seller a ways away, and she’s laid out her goods on the floor on what looks like old drapes. It’s a woman, not much older than you were, unravelling a long string of leather cord. She cuts it, strings a charm through and seals the frayed end with a candle flame that burns at her side. 

The curtain she’s laid her accessories on is patterned with bright colours, and you realise you can’t make out any of it from where you stand. 

Glancing behind you, the men are still occupied with their bartering, seemingly forgetting of your presence. Taking a step back, you pretend to skim through the neighbouring stalls, glancing breezily at woven baskets, layers of folded fabric and towers of painted ceramic cups. 

You stop before the laid out array of more necklaces and earrings, scanning the ground. The vendor looks up and gives you a big, crooked toothed smile, urging you to come forward, to take a look at what she has to offer. 

Something does catch your eye, and you immediately crouch down to see it better. Picking up the necklace from the charm, you let the gold and red rest on your fingers as you study the make. 

“That one’s new,” the woman says. “Practical too.”

The small brass letter opener that’s looped through the cord looks like it could do its job just fine despite its miniscule size. 

“It’s quite popular among the busy merchants,” the vendor speaks in a rough tone, almost like she had a perpetual sore throat. “Easier to use this instead of looking for those bulky ones in their neverending drawers and—and in their cabinets.”

She lets out a laugh, “Quite pretty too.”

You stare at it for a moment, “How much?”

“Ten coin.”

You sigh, setting the necklace back down onto the cloth. Standing straight, you turn to walk away before she yells again. 

“I’ll do seven!” 

You consider whether you should speak, but you also doubt you’d be recognized just by the sound of your voice.

"I don’t have coin,” you rasp. 

“How about that pretty thing on your finger then?” she asks. 

The ring on your middle finger is a simple band of silver, a coming of age present from your father’s court a few years ago. You stare at the band, worth boatloads more than what this woman in an alley was offering you.

But you find yourself moments later, middle finger empty, and pocket lined with the long leather necklace with the miniature letter opener charm. 

By the time you return to the blacksmith’s shop front, Chan is handing the man his coin as Hoshi holds an object sheathed in fabric. They turn around just soon enough to make it seem like you never left. 

“Why are you standing so far away?” Chan asks. “Come closer.”

You listen, moving closer to the both of them as they get ready to make the trek back to the docks where the ship waits. 

“The crates have probably been loaded too,” Hoshi says, his hands suddenly empty. You assume he’s pocketed the knife somewhere. “Let’s hurry and leave before—”

“Princess?”

It was your mistake that you turned around to acknowledge the title, something you realise as soon as you register the man that spoke to you. 

Henley was a stout man, dressed even now in the finest suit of a berry colour, hair white as a ghost. There was no reason for a merchant so rich he had ties with the royal family to be wandering in a harbour market, but he also had every reason to be here. 

If it was the recognition in your eyes, or the fact that they were just being smart, you feel one of the pirates wrap their fingers around your upper arm and pull you to walk away from the alley. 

“Princess!” Henley yells and you cringe at his volume. People are looking now, and you briefly wonder why you aren’t running yet. 

Your heart is pounding against your chest so hard it’s deafening any other sound in your ears, you still don’t know which one has a hold of you, but you let them guide you into a speed walk as you exit the narrow alleys of the main market. 

The shawl above your head is pushed further down, shielding your face in a shadow. There’s nothing in your mind other than Clarence Henley and his rich suit, his gold pocket watch, his trimmed, white hair. His face that you only ever saw within palace walls, always accompanied by your father. 

There’s a good chance you’re shaking, because you can feel your body rejecting it with the pain in your palms that you can only consider to be your own nails pressing into your hand. 

The stench of the fish market helps, bringing you back from your daze as you finally register the ground beneath your feet. It’s only a few more minutes till you reach the docks and you’re suddenly being pushed up the ramp that leads to the main deck of the ship.

It’s immediate comfort, the familiar brown of the floorboards, the scent of saltwater and warping sounds of the sails. You’re led to your quarters, where you finally let the makeshift hood and cape fall. 

“Are you alright?” 

Snapping your head up, you’re met with Seungkwan and his concerned gaze. 

“Oh, erm.” Your voice sounds…not like your own. 

“It’s okay, breathe.” It helps, because it really did feel like you’d forgotten to breathe. 

“We’re leaving in just a few, everything’s been loaded. Nobody followed you on board, don’t worry.”

Right. You were on the ship, you were in your quarters with some of the most feared pirates on the seas. 

The way Seungkwan is easing you through your gulps of water suggests legends in the mix, but you appreciate it regardless. 

When you’ve come round, feeling more like yourself, the ship has already left Hasry Harbour, sailing into the deeper waters of the ocean. 

“Captain said they couldn’t run because it just would’ve been more suspicious,” Seungkwan informs you as you nod. “Did you…did you recognise him? The man at the market.” 

The thoughts come flooding back, the colour of his suit, the jarring nature of a man of such wealth standing in a rundown port market. 

“He’s a merchant, one of the wealthiest. A friend of my father’s. If he even has any friends.” 

You pause as you think about the near blackout you’d had, the way the panic more than boiled over, taking over your senses and your rationality. 

“I think…” you trail off. “I think I just felt like it was the end. I finally had an opportunity to get rid of that tyrant and seeing something that was from home, felt…it felt like I was going to end up right back where I started.”

Seungkwan doesn’t say a word as you digest your own words, accepting your own fear that had rendered you useless in the time it probably mattered most. 

“Do you feel better now?”

“A little,” you answer. 

“Maybe a weapon can help.”

At the door stands Hoshi, a stern expression on his face as he looks directly at you on the bed. In his hands, the same fabric covered knife he acquired at the market. 

You know that you asked for this, but the jolt in your stomach still makes itself known. 

“He’s right,” Seungkwan says, lifting from his chair. “Blades have a way of calming you in any case.”

You note the glinting hilt of Seungkwan’s sword sheathed at his hip, remember Hoshi’s own daggers that he seems to be emotionally attached to. 

Lifting your head back to Hoshi, you ask, “Can we start now?”

He smirks. 

ALL NIGHT, THE STUPID pirate captain had you taking swings at the air. 

“Your opponent’s baked a fruit cake by the time you were done with that swing,” he comments, continuously unhelpful. “Swing faster.”

It’s nighttime, nothing but a few oil lamps on the floor of the deck keeping you and Hoshi in the light. Your shoulder burns, your forearms are liquid, and your non-existent opponent remains forever stronger than you. 

“I’m done,” you huff, thoroughly spent. Crumbling to the floor, you bring your non-dominant hand up to your aching shoulder in an attempt to massage it. 

It’s been a while, the moon high up in the sky when you finally decide to quit it for the night. He lets you go without a fight, and you doubt you’d have the energy to if he decided to do it anyway. 

The following day, he’s tweaked his regiment a little, and you find that you’re finally swinging at something tangible; him. 

He leaves himself open, an invitation to strike wherever you want. You feign for his shoulder, but he sees you coming from a mile away, already deflecting your flattened blade that comes for his thigh.

“Don’t look where you want to strike, you’re giving yourself away.”

Furrowing your brows, you dislodge your knife from his own and back away again. He’s immediately cocking a brow, telling you to come at him again. You go for his middle, slashing your knife in an arc as he simply deflects. 

“Come on, find a pace,” he grunts. 

Coming down with your knife again, he blocks you but this time with his forearm, pushing you back by the wrists. It was a battle of strength, as he forces your wrists down. He was stronger than you, and there was no way you could push away, so you dispel your own force. He stumbles from the sudden forward force, and you pull away to take a swing from above. 

He recovers faster than you thought he would, already coming up when you’re ready to swing. He raises a hand to deflect, half a moment too late as your blade slashes across the heel of his hand. 

There’s a brief splash of red against the blue backdrop of the sky, and you gasp on instinct, immediately moving away. 

There’s an apology ready on your lips, mouth gaping as you watch him inspect the wound. You don’t get to say anything because he beats you to it. 

“Deep enough,” he comments, like he was inspecting a painting. “Keep this up and you might actually be good by the end of the week.”

Oh. 

“Alright,” he says again, moving back into position.

“Are you gonna wrap that?” you ask, referring to the bloody hand. 

“It’s fine, I’ve fought with worse,” he says. 

You blink as you reluctantly get back into position, bracing yourself as you continue to look at his hand dripping blood onto the deck. 

“You’re getting the hang of pacing, but you need to start considering your blade as an extension of yourself—JESUS!”

You’ve swung at him faster than you ever have, putting everything into that single tug of your knife. He wasn’t expecting it, still talking over your glances at his palm. He had his guard down, and you took the chance. He ducks on instinct, but it could’ve been another scar for him to remember if you’d made it. 

You stumble as he circles you to the other end, flattening his blade on your back.

“Nice try,” he says. “Really nice try. But you never turn your back to your opponent.”

“I lost my footing,” you defend, but even you knew that wasn’t an excuse. 

“And I just stabbed you in the back. And now I’ll have to present your corpse to your father and hope he’ll accept it and give me my ship. We all lose.” 

The pressure of the blade leaves your back and you're suddenly left looking stupid despite doing something somewhat right. 

“You’d just swindle another poor sailor off his boat and move on,” you say. “You’re a slippery thing.”

He has a smile on his face that borders a smirk yet is innocently mischievous enough. It’s a strange sight, bloody hand, relaxed face. There’s a clean-ish rag on a nearby closed barrel that he uses to wipe the excess blood off his hands. 

“I keep going because I live without regret.”

You can only roll your eyes as a scoff leaves your mouth before you can stop it. You simply turn around, settling to the floor, going back to massaging your still aching shoulder. That last blow only made it worse.

“I don’t regret things, miss princess. Ask me why.”

You remain silent. 

“Come on,” he urges, that silly smile remaining on his face. He’s washing the wound now with freshwater from the barrel.

Sighing, you ask him, “Why?”

“Because I don’t ever do things I’d regret.”

“That insinuates you think before you act.”

“Right-O,” he declares, wrapping another torn cloth on his cleaned wound.

“Funny,” you answer. “Because I dont think I’ve ever seen any hint of light behind your eyes.”

He turns around to you, sheathing his dagger at his hip, a dangerous look in his eye.

“You’ve looked into my eyes?” 

The clench in your jaw must have been visible, or the look of disgust on your face might’ve been apparent just the same, because the pirate captain simply laughs out loud before retreating towards the stairs to go below deck. 

“I’ll send Jun up, practise with him.”

You wanted to send your knife, point first, hurtling into his retreating form. 

Never turn your back to your opponent, my ass. 

But you don’t, mostly because he’d probably manage to deflect that too. So you resort to sitting cross legged on the deck, staring at your dagger while waiting for Jun to meet you upstairs. 

Hoshi said he picked the knife based on a number of things you’d already forgotten, something about carbon steel and having a good grip. It’s quite pretty, you’ll have to admit. It’s plain silver, but the reflection it makes in the sun makes it difficult to look away. You’d gotten used to the handle and how it fit in your palm, Hoshi assured you that the more you used it, the more the hilt would mould into your grip. 

Jun stomps onto the deck, revolver-less and instead equipped with an array of knives that he deposits on the deck. 

“Should’ve picked a plain old gun,” he grumbles as he holds one of the longer blades in his hand. “Job’s done and you don’t need to get within ten feet.”

“Don’t have to reload a knife, do I?” you comment, taking the first swing. 

Jun may have an affinity for guns and explosives, but his handling with a knife was still nothing below an expert level. He pushes your arm off before spending you into a ballroom spin, flatting his blade at your collarbone. 

That could’ve been your throat.

“No, but by now I could’ve shot you, thrown you overboard, and been on my way to a nap,” he says in your ear, before releasing you as you get back into position again. 

That could’ve been your throat.

THE FOLLOWING WEEK PASSES with your days and nights muddled into a strange mixture of swinging knives and taking breaks slumped against the deck of the ship, unmoving. 

It’s a particularly hot day, the giant glowing orb beating down on the deck with no mercy. Not that it stops you, because the sun remains unwavering, high in the sky, and you remain unwavering in your wide legged stances as you lunge for Chan again. 

Chan’s entire being glistens in the afternoon light, the beads of sweat that he wipes off his forehead only seem to reappear every couple minutes. His clothes cling to him like a second skin, taking long breaths through his teeth amidst the difficult, humid air. 

You don’t doubt you look the same, one hand in your hair suggesting you just took a bath in your own sweat. But Chan seems accustomed to the heat, and while you weren’t, you couldn’t deny your growing comfortability with it all. 

It’d been a while since your meal, hence your sluggish movements were slowly turning increasingly sharp, having cornered Chan multiple times in the duration. You’re determined to not be the one to call for a time out, so you find yourself pushing beyond what you’ve been doing for the past week or so. 

There’s a particular punch of heat at your sides, and you can feel yourself slowing. 

One deep breath, a slow exhale.

It’s all clangs and reflections of knives, tiny droplets of blood as evidence of both of your tiny, unintentional nicks and cuts. You’re succeeding, pushing the man further and further back. 

“You’re getting sloppy, aim for the blade not my tendons,” Chan seethes through his teeth. 

“I’m trying,” you grunt through the effort. 

You’re set back for a couple minutes before you go back to pushing. Your lungs burn, your entire side is numb from exertion, but you give more than your body is made for, and you succeed—kind of. 

Chan back is against the railing of the deck before he realises it, and perhaps it was momentum, or sheer exhaustion, because one minute you’ve got eyes on Chan’s hands and his blade, and the next he’s gone. There’s a loud splash, and you suddenly realise what you’ve done. 

You just pushed Chan overboard. 

You scream before you can help it, dropping your knife with a loud, resonating clang. Pushing against the rails, you peer down to find a giant ripple on the surface of the ocean, whipping your head around to the stairs leading below deck to find Mingyu and Hoshi bounding upstairs. 

“What? Where’s Chan, he was supposed to be with you,” Hoshi asks, whipping his head around the deck. 

Your wide eyed, horrified response from near the edge tells them all they need to know. 

By the time Chan’s pulled himself on board, soaked and dripping like a wet poodle, you’ve sat yourself the furthest away from the railing to prevent any more trouble. He drops onto the floor, creating a human sized puddle. 

With the way the two men had merely sighed and threw the ladder over the exterior of the ship, you concluded that this must happen enough for them to be beyond the point of concern. It only adds to it when you see Mingyu nudge Chan’s unmoving but heaving body with the toe of his boot, giggling at his expense. 

You make your way over, crouching beside Chan sheepishly. 

“Sorry about that, got carried away.”

He’s sitting up now, quickly pulling himself back to his feet and you spring back from your crouched position. 

“It’s fine, happens.” He has a small smile on his face as he says it and you conclude that he may find the situation laughable as well. 

“Now, Chan,” Hoshi says, not letting Chan move into the deck any further from the railing. “What’s the first thing you learn about brawling on a ship?” 

Chan looks slightly embarrassed as he answers, “Be aware of your surrounding—ARGH.”

Hoshi pushed him into the water. 

You jump as you run back to the rails, watching as Chan’s head re-emerges at the surface after his second dip in the ocean. 

Just as you’re about to say something to Hoshi, he’s stuck his head over the railings as well, yelling at Chan in some singsong voice. 

“One time was a mistake, twice is a problem!”

To your left, only adding to your horror, is Mingyu doubled over in his fit of laughter, heaving as he giggled uncontrollably. He’s also holding onto the railings for dear life, but clearly, for reasons completely different from yours. 

The situation resolves itself as both you and Chan learn a few lessons of practicality. Deciding you’ve done enough damage to your body, you announce that you’d be retiring for the day. 

“Thank goodness, I was about to confiscate that stupid knife, I’ve been hearing clanging in my sleep,” Mingyu mumbles as he pulls the rope ladder back up to the deck. 

In any case, you have the urge to take a dip in the ocean yourself, feeling increasingly uncomfortable in your drying sweat. 

Grabbing a clean washcloth, you fill a bucket of freshwater from one of the barrels on deck and lug it into your quarters. The soaked washcloth does wonders for your overheated body, feeling enormously better after a change of clothes. 

Your scalp, however, remains itchy and burning, so you decide to go back up to the main deck, hoping to manoeuvre a hair wash situation without needing to mop the floors of your quarters. 

Refilling the bucket of freshwater, you set it down before scanning the empty deck for another spare bucket. You try not to scoff at the unwavering determination of the pirate crew to keep the deck unoccupied for such long increments, that last altercation teaching them absolutely nothing. You wonder how they’ve managed to survive for so long like this. 

Shaking the thought, you use the spare bucket as a way to deposit your waste water as you pour cups of clean water over your aching scalp. The feeling does wonders for you, letting the water wash away weeks worth of grime, sweat and stress. 

You’re almost back home in your quarters when the whiff of your hair salts hits your nose, the ones you’d packed for yourself, closing your eyes for a moment as you rub them into your scalp. You don't expect the clench that seizes your chest, but you falter when it happens anyway.

It’s nostalgic, and you hate it. 

It smells like the palace, like the incense your ladies in waiting always burned, the stench of citrus having made its way into your bones from the years of exposure to the scent. It’s too much as you blink back tears, owing them to the suds that have made their way into your eyes. 

The sting helps bring you back, opening your eyes to an orange glow and the waft of seasalt  hitting your nose. You’re more aggressive when you dunk your cup into the bucket this time, too aggressive as you feel the half full bucket tip over and spill water all over the deck as you cause yet another accident. 

Cursing loudly, you try to blink away the suds from your eyes, soap still in your hair as you try to figure out how to get another bucket of water without ruining your fresh change of clothes, mentally kicking yourself at not thinking this through.

“You realise we have to make do with that freshwater till we make it to Ash?” 

Wet hair still in your hands, you attempt to peer up at the voice, only to find Hoshi standing above you, arms crossed over his chest with a funny expression on his face. Huffing, you grumble out in response, “Can you just get me a fresh bucket?”

“Hm, I don’t know, can I?” He removes his gaze and begins to pretend looking over at the horizon and the setting sun. 

Chiding yourself for even bothering to ask, you reach for the tipped bucket yourself, deciding you’d figure it out yourself if this dumb pirate was choosing to be of no help. But before you could latch your fingers on the handle, the bucket’s snatched away. 

At first you think he’s being funny, taking the bucket away to watch you struggle even further. “You—”

Except you watch him as he dunks the bucket back into the barrel of freshwater, lugging it back to where you could reach. “Try not to paint the deck with it this time, I’ve already mopped twice.”

The thank you freezes on your tongue, and for some reason you can’t say it to him. So you make a scene of splashing into the bucket with vigour, sending spills over the rim and taking mild satisfaction in hearing him sigh at the sight of more mopping. 

He’s already gotten hold of the worn mop by the time you’re done as you remerge with clean hair, wringing your own mop of hair to deposit the excess water. Straightening out your back, you take hold of the spare cloth you brought along with you, patting your hair with it. 

The sun remains in its mission to cast its golden glow, but only illuminates Hoshi’s grumbling form as he mops up all the water you’ve spilled. 

“You know, I should really be making you—” He halts as he makes eye contact with you, your hands still occupied with patting your hair dry, flicking the wet strands. You have a rebuttal already prepared, waiting for him to finish his jab. 

“Make me what? you grind. 

You can’t make out the look on his face, somewhere between constipated and on the edge of a yelp, he keeps staring at you. You note a slight trickle of water making its way down your neck and chest, bleeding into your shirt as yet another water stain. 

“Nothing,” he says, to your surprise. 

And with that uneventful climax, you trudge back down to your quarters, a strange brewing in your chest.

[AN]: congrats you made it to the end of part 1!!!!! reblog ur thots and opinions or send me an ask, id love to hear the turmoil in ur minds lol

[daryltwdixon]

Daryl Dixon x Reader

word count: 3.5k

warnings: smut!! not much plot!! kind of emoshie too tho MDNI

notes: fem!reader, no use of y/n. inspired by a scene from part III of ruins of us, so don't come for me when you see this scene in there too lol

I also barely proofread this sorry

In the quiet of Alexandria, the first real quiet you’ve had in what feels like forever, the two of you sit side by side on the porch steps, sharing a silence that says everything and nothing at all. Daryl’s thumb idly brushes the edge of your hand, a rare gesture, but you notice it. He’s tense, uneasy in the stillness of this place where people laugh and gather like the world outside doesn’t still burn.

You take a breath, finally standing, and hold out your hand. “Come on.”

He stares at your hand for a second, something unreadable flickering in his gaze, then he reaches for it. His grip is strong, his skin rough, and as he lets you lead him inside, he’s silent but attentive, like he’s half waiting for the rug to be pulled from under him.

In the bathroom, you glance back at him, feeling something tight and warm in your chest. He’s watching you with that familiar intensity, one that can only be found in the private moments away from everyone, just you two in your own space. You step closer, your fingers reaching up to the collar of his shirt, carefully peeling away the fabric stained with dust, grime, and sweat. His breathing is almost inaudible, but you feel it, each steady exhale brushing against your skin as he watches you work, layer by layer, his guard slipping with every piece.

When you pull off your own clothes, you don’t shy from his eyes. They’re guarded as always, but there’s something else there too, an almost reverent way he lets his gaze roam over you, taking in every part of you that’s been hidden under layers and dirt. It’s like he’s seeing you for the first time in weeks—maybe months. The sound of the water brings you back, its steady, warm rush filling the room with steam, curling around you like an invitation.

You step in first, shivering as the hot water cascades down your back. Daryl follows, closing the glass door behind him. As he moves under the spray, the water runs down his face, through his hair, carrying with it the weight of miles, fights, sleepless nights. You take the bar of soap and lather a small rag, moving close to him, feeling the heat of his body beneath your fingertips. He closes his eyes, letting you guide him, trusting you in a way he rarely allows himself to trust anyone.

Your hands work over his shoulders, firm yet gentle, tracing the muscles that have carried him through every hard road and long night. There’s a small tremble as your fingers brush over a scar, a reminder of another life. You let your hand linger there, pausing, pressing just a little, showing him in silence that you remember every bit of what brought you both here. Daryl swallows, and you catch the faintest edge of vulnerability in his eyes as they open, catching yours with a gravity that makes the breath catch in your throat.

You move lower, your fingers sliding down his arms, washing away the grime in gentle strokes, lingering, memorizing the feel of him beneath your touch. When you reach his hands, you lace your fingers with his, feeling the strength there, the familiar roughness that’s so uniquely his. You smile, just a hint, and for a moment, a soft, almost shy smile ghosts over his lips.

As you pull the soap away to wash yourself, his hand stops you. He holds your wrist, his touch firm yet delicate. “My turn,” he says quietly, his voice low, a rasp that holds a world of unsaid things.

His hand moves carefully as he takes the soapy cloth and begins to trace slow, steady circles on your shoulders. The warm cloth glides over your skin, and you feel his fingers linger just a little longer than necessary, like he’s savoring this rare chance to touch you after weeks of only thoughts of survival. His hands move down your arms, so gentle it feels like he’s memorizing you all over again, learning every curve, every line. The heat of the water and his touch seem to blur together, wrapping around you, grounding you in the present.

He moves lower, the cloth brushing over your stomach, his fingers firm yet tender. His eyes flicker up to meet yours, holding you there in his gaze, and it feels like the world has shrunk down to just this moment, just the two of you. There’s a weight to his touch, like he’s saying everything he’s never found the words for.

He softly, slowly, turns you around and you think he’s going to begin scrubbing your back, but he reaches for your waist, and the cloth slows, his hand lingering as he continues making small circles. You exhale, your breath coming shallow as he closes the space between you, pulling you against his chest. You feel his fingers press gently, a question, an offer. The feel his heart, steady and strong against your back, calms you as he feels you with the cloth moving up your stomach, moving in slow, deliberate strokes over your breasts, his breath warm against the side of your neck.

You close your eyes, letting the sensation wash over you, the warmth of the water, the gentleness of his hands, the way he’s holding you like you’re something fragile and precious. You lean your head back against him, eyes fluttering shut and letting the water hit your face from the shower head. You feel his grip tighten, his breath hitch as his hand moves lower, gliding down your stomach, his fingers trembling slightly as they reach your hips.

And in that moment, you feel him against you, hard and unyielding against your back. Your breath catches, and you tilt your head up to meet his eyes, his face inches from yours. There’s a fire there, barely contained, a want that matches your own. His fingers dig into your hips as he holds you closer, his mouth brushing over your neck, his lips ghosting over your skin.

As his hands travel lower, your skin prickles with anticipation, every inch of you attuned to his touch. The air between you is thick with unspoken need, weeks of restrained desire spilling over, saturating the space around you with a quiet intensity. You can feel the tension building as he reaches down, his hand moving carefully, deliberately. The soapy cloth brushes over your thighs, lingering, teasing, before he lets it drop to the floor, forgotten, freeing his fingers to explore you without the barrier.

He leans you back against his chest even closer, solid and warm, his other arm wrapping around your waist to hold you close. You close your eyes, losing yourself in the feeling of him, your senses sharpening as his hand slips between your thighs, his fingers sliding down to find you already wet, warm, and aching for his touch. His breath is a low, throaty murmur against your ear as he feels how ready you are, and you can hear the satisfied growl that rumbles in his chest as he presses his fingers against you, gliding over your softness with a deliberate slowness that makes your knees weak.

“Been waitin’ for this,” he murmurs, his voice rough, each word sending a thrill down your spine. His fingers begin to move in slow, steady circles, each stroke purposeful, as though he’s savoring the way your body responds to his touch. The sensation builds with each movement, his hand creating a rhythm that matches the pulse thrumming through you, leaving you clinging to him, one of your hands gripping his neck for support as he works you closer to the edge. The other rests against your chest, slow and tantalizing against your breasts.

You let out a soft moan, tilting your head back to rest on his shoulder, your breaths coming faster as his fingers explore you, slipping deeper, curling just right, making your whole body tremble. He tightens his hold on you, pressing his mouth to your neck, kissing, nipping, his hot breath delicious against your skin. The friction of his fingers sends waves of pleasure radiating through you, and you arch into him, pressing yourself closer, feeling the solid strength of his body holding you steady, silently begging for more.

“Like that?” he murmurs against your skin, his voice low and thick with satisfaction as he feels you respond to his touch, your breaths coming in shallow, uneven gasps. His fingers press deeper, finding that perfect spot that makes you gasp, a soft cry spilling from your lips as he intensifies his rhythm, each movement drawing you closer, building the tension until it’s almost too much.

He doesn’t let up, his hand steady, fingers curling, his thumb tracing gentle circles that make your body tighten, the pressure coiling in your belly. His other arm holds you firm, keeping you steady as he works you over, his mouth moving to your ear, whispering words you can barely make out, each rough syllable sending a fresh shiver through you. The combination of his voice, his touch, the way he’s holding you like he can’t bear to let go—it all drives you higher, until you’re teetering on the edge, every nerve alive, every inch of you aching to fall.

“So fuckin’ perfect for me,” he murmurs in your ear, “pussy always so needy, so ready for me–it’s been too long, baby,” 

“Daryl…” His name slips from your lips in a desperate, breathless moan, and he growls in response, his fingers moving faster, more insistent, until finally, the tension shatters, and you’re left clinging to him as waves of pleasure roll over you, your body shuddering against his as he holds you close, his hands never leaving you.

As you come down, your breaths still uneven, he presses a kiss to your shoulder, his hand gently stroking over your skin, grounding you, bringing you back from the high. You lean back against him, your head resting against his shoulder, feeling his heart beating steady and strong, a quiet reminder of the connection between you, of the intensity that’s been building for far too long.

You turn in his arms, meeting his gaze, and there’s a gleam in his eyes, a smirk tugging at his lips as he watches you with a satisfaction that leaves your heart racing all over again. He brushes a hand over your cheek, tucking a damp strand of hair behind your ear. Leaning forward, his lips find yours, tentative at first, then deeper, more fervent as his hand slides up to cradle the back of your head, fingers tangling in your hair. You melt into him, losing yourself in the taste of his mouth, the familiar scent of him mixing with the steam that’s blanketing the two of you. His kisses grow hungrier, more insistent, the warmth between you intensifying as his hands reach down further, gripping your ass with roughness that makes you squeal. His grip on you tightens, his hands rough and possessive as they knead your skin, pulling you against him with a desperation that makes your heart race. The low growl that escapes him as his hands continue their palming of your cheeks sends a thrill through you, and without thinking, you wrap a leg around his waist, bringing him flush against you.

You both shudder as his hardness presses perfectly between your legs, a friction that ignites every inch of you. His breath catches, mingling with the steam and your own hitched sighs. You feel him slide against your wet, gushing lips, and you press down further, chasing the friction he offers between your legs.

“Goddamn,” he murmurs, voice low and thick as he buries his face in the crook of your neck, his lips and teeth grazing the sensitive skin there. His grip on you tightens, pulling you against him with a roughness that makes you gasp, your hands clinging to his shoulders, nails pressing into his skin as he holds you close.

“Daryl, wait,” you whisper into his skin, feeling his breath hot and ragged against your neck as you pull away just slightly. The look in his eyes, dark with blown pupils, makes you hesitate, a storm of longing and vulnerability held there as he tries to read your intentions, unsure if you truly mean to pull away from his warmth, his need, his fervor. A flicker of uncertainty crosses his features, a silent question in the tight set of his jaw, and before he can think anything of it, you slip away, dropping slowly down to your knees before him.

From this vantage, he’s breathtaking. Standing tall above you, his damp hair falls around his face, shadowing his gaze, droplets tracing lines down his jaw and dripping onto your skin, adding to the heat already burning between you. His body glistens with drops of water, the slopes of his chest and stomach mesmerizing as the shower’s spray falls around you both. His broad frame blocks the full force of the water, sheltering you in this intimate space.

“What’re ya—” he starts, but his words cut off with a harsh intake of breath as your hand wraps firmly around the base of him, your fingers barely meeting around his girth. The sound he makes—a strangled, low whimper—reverberates through the steam-filled space, and his hands fly forward to brace himself. One hand anchors in your hair, steadying his weight with a gentle hold, while the other presses against your cheek, his thumb brushing over your skin as he watches, chest heaving.

“Baby… you don’t have to…” he rasps, his voice thick and trembling as he struggles to speak. But the low groans he lets slip with every slow, deliberate movement of your hand make it clear he doesn’t want you to stop. You meet his gaze, a teasing glint in your eye as you flatten your tongue against him, trailing slow, languid strokes along his length, savoring every shudder, every soft moan that slips from his lips.

When you take him fully into your mouth, cheeks hollowed with a fierce, focused hunger, his control shatters. His hand tightens in your hair, a mix of gentle guidance and barely-contained restraint, his hips instinctively pressing forward as he lets his head fall back into the cascade of the shower, his breath a rough gasp against the tiled walls.

“Shit,” he whispers, voice ragged, almost reverent, as his other hand finds its place on the back of your head, steady and protective, losing himself in the feel of you. You can sense his restraint, how carefully he holds back, letting you set the pace, his muscles taut as if he’s fighting against every instinct telling him to give in.

You move with a steady rhythm, taking your time, mouth and hands working together to bring him closer and closer to the edge. Every gasp, every groan that spills from his lips fuels the fire between you, each sound a delicious reward as he lets himself unravel in your hands. His moans vibrate through you, making you feel every ounce of his need and raw desire as he allows himself to fall apart under your touch.

But then, suddenly, as if remembering himself, his grip in your hair tightens, and he pulls you away, breathing hard, his chest rising and falling as he looks down at you, nearly busting from the sight of you—kneeling, head tilted back, cheeks flushed, lips wet and swollen, parted and ready. From his perspective, you’re utterly captivating, the sexiest thing he’s ever laid eyes on. Your wet hair sticks to your skin, strands of it catching on the dampness of your face, your neck and the rest down and flowing behind you, soaked and clean. The water beads on your skin, tracing delicate trails down your neck, glistening along the curve of your collarbone and catching on the subtle lines of your muscles, and he’s completely mesmerized. 

You catch the intensity in his gaze as he absorbs the sight, his restraint wavering in the face of his raw, undeniable want. He swallows hard, then leans down, his other hand coming to your cheek again, cupping you with a gentleness that feels like a promise, and kisses you deeply, thoroughly, his tongue sweeping inside your mouth to taste himself on you, each movement as consuming as the last.

A soft moan slips from your lips as he kisses you, and he lets out a sound—a low, growling sigh—as he pulls you to stand, holding you close. His hand drops to your waist, fingers sliding down to find your hip and then lower to your thigh, hitching your leg up around him again in one smooth movement. He presses you firmly against the warm tile wall of the shower, his body a solid weight against yours, grounding you in the moment as he leans in close. 

The sensation of him, rock-hard and twitching against you, has you quivering, and you can feel the urgency in his touch as he pushes agonizingly slow into your walls, letting you adjust to his girth for a long moment as you suck in deep breaths, holding him close with your hands over his shoulders. “Jesus,” he mutters against your skin, voice low and thick, his breath coming fast as he slowly begins to grind into you, as he feels you pulsing around his cock, the tightness electric as he begins to move in a tantalizing rhythm. You gasp, clinging to him as his hand slides down your thigh, holding you steady as he presses harder, opening you up for him further. His other hand slides between you, fingers teasing over your slick skin, each slow, deliberate circle overstimulating to already your sensitive clit. His thumb grazes over it, and a tremor runs through you, your hips bucking into his hand, uncertain if you want more or if its too much, but you crave the way he pushes you closer to that brink with each stroke.

He lifts his head, his eyes dark and intense as he holds your gaze. “You feel so damn good,” he growls, his eyes flickering from watching himself buried in you to your lips, and he finally pushes his mouth into you for another deep, searing kiss as his hips dig harder against you, the friction a delicious, toe-curling pressure that makes your body tighten with need. His mouth moves over your jaw, down your neck, teeth grazing your skin with a hunger that sends a fresh wave of heat through you.

Without warning, he adjusts his angle, snapping his hips forward with brutal force, finding that perfect spot that makes your head fall back, your eyes fluttering shut again as you gasp his name, the word spilling from your lips in a breathless moan. His hand on your thigh tightens, keeping you open for him, holding you steady as he moves, each thrust deliberate, intense, sending a fresh wave of pleasure coursing through you. The rhythm he sets is deep and powerful, every stroke designed to make you feel every inch of him.

“Look at me,” he commands, his voice a low rasp, and when you open your eyes, his gaze is filled with something dark, possessive. There’s a smirk playing at his lips, a glint of satisfaction in his eyes as he watches you, every moan, every gasp, feeding that hunger in him. The pleasure builds, a coiling tension in your belly that threatens to spill over, and you bite your lip, trying to hold back the cries that rise up in your throat as his pace quickens, the intensity between you burning hotter. His hands grip you harder, pulling you against him as his mouth finds your neck again, nipping and biting, leaving little marks of possession on your skin. He snaps his hips into you with irrevocable need and your breaths come in short, wanting gasps as he presses into you, his thumb still against your clit, while the other stays locked on your thigh, his bruising hold keeping you from falling. His mouth finds yours again, devouring you as if he can’t get enough.

You try to kiss him back, you really do, but its all you can do to not gasp and moan against his lips, the pressure building too recklessly inside of you. The feeling of power in him as he moves, the strength in his body, the way he holds you as if you’re something he can’t bear to let go of, only makes your skin shiver even more. 

“Daryl…” you moan again, the sound barely a whisper as you feel yourself hovering on the edge, the pressure coiling tight, ready to explode. It’s like it’s the only thing you can think, only thing that coherently comes out of your mouth. His grip on you tightens, his voice low and hoarse in your ear.

“Just like that,” he murmurs, his words sending a fresh wave of heat through you as his pace intensifies, each thrust more relentless, pushing you closer, until finally, you shudder, your body clenching around him as waves of pleasure crash over you, leaving you breathless, your moans filling the shower as you unravel.

Moments later, he lets out a strangled groan, his grip on you fierce as he follows, burying his face in the crook of your neck, his body tense and shuddering as he holds you close, as if he’s letting himself go completely, surrendering to the pleasure that has overtaken you both.

[lostinlovingrevery]

Pine-Scented Soap

Trilogy! Logan X F! Reader

A/N: i just love trilogy logan

Plot: You take a shower, and Logan joins you

Warnings: SMUT 18+!!, and fluff :), fingering, handjob, (is that considered mutual masterbation? IDK), some choking, slight breast play, scenting? is that a thing? It wasn't the goal but i wrote it anyway, Logan being a menace and sneaking in the shower. Smut first, fluff after

Word Count: 1356

Hot water ran down your head, over your face and down your back, and down to the drain at the bottom of the porcelain tub. Steam filled the bathroom, fogging the windows of the sliding glass door of the tub, and the mirror. 

Your eyes were closed as you washed your hair, performing you usual routine. Soapy bubbles painted your wet skin, slowly washing off as you rubbed your hands over your body with a bar of soap now. Something pine-scented, a bar of soap you actually got for someone else. 

Your hand ran down you arm, scrubbing it clean from the day you had, when you felt a second hand on your shoulder, almost ghost-like in the the way the fingers travel over your collarbone and then up your neck, softly resting there, as you felt a warm body press into your back. 

Now, how did he manage to sneak in without being noticed?

“Logan.”

Your voice held a warning- yet playful tone. His hand came up to cradle your jaw, softly tilting your head to the side. He brought his cheek against yours, his beard softly tickling at your skin, as you felt his other hand slide onto your hips and up your soapy torso.

“Yeah bub?” He answers lowly. Turning his head, where his nose brushed against your cheek. You carefully opened your eyes, and once you didn’t feel the soap burning your eyes, your rolled them as he pressed a kiss to your cheek. 

“What are you doing?” You muttered, as his hand came up and traced over one of your breasts. 

“What?” He feigns innocence. “Just helping ya get clean sweetheart. You think I have less than innocent intentions for you?” His hand came back down over your neck, gently squeezing the flesh, and you could barely suppress your amusement. His hand cupped your breast, thumb rubbing over your peaked nipple. The slipperyness of the soap and water combined made the simple movement rush over your body, as you felt heat grow between your thighs. 

You felt him tip your head back onto his shoulder, his nose coming down to your neck and taking a deep inhale. “Mm.” 

“What?” You whispered.

“You smell like me.” He groans. He always had a thing about that, you smelling like him. Something possessive you didn’t quite understand.

“I’m using your soap.” You giggled. 

“Lil thief.” He grunted, he kept his free hand over your neck. His hand fondled your breasts, soap making things slippery, the heat of the shower making things intense. 

His hand ran down your torso and between your thighs, his fingers finding home between your folds. His rough calluses began pressing and circling over your bud, causing you to spread your thighs wider, in attempt to get more friction from him. 

“Lo, you think we could ever shower normally?”

“Normally? You saying this ain’t normal between us bub?” He says, a teasing edge in his voice. “Besides, don’t act like you don’t like it.” He growls into your ear, before nipping at your earlobe. 

He was right. Technically your normal was him and you getting it on in the shower. If you weren’t, there would be something terribly wrong. Logan loved showering with you, and at first you thought it was cute, possibly a bonding thing between you. Now though you’re pretty sure it’s because he gets a ticket to seeing the naked lady, and the easy access. You didn’t mind, you liked it to, just like you like giving him a little grief over it every single time just to see him beg- just a little.

His ministrations over your clit got faster, as he used practiced techniques he’d learn over his time with you to bring you to that peak. You moaned, tipping your head back onto his shoulder. His hand tightened over your throat, creating a pressure that wasn’t intense but more grounding. He brought his lips down to the crook of your neck, pressing soft gentle kisses along your skin. 

Your breath became faster, harsher, as the steam and the pleasure began to take over you, making you light-headed and weak in the knees. You brought an arm up, hand curling into Logans hair, his brown locks just now starting to get wet from the shower. His body pressed into yours, his hard erection against your back. You reached your free hand around to grab it- eliciting a groan from him as you began to stroke him. 

“C’mon baby.” He purrs, his voice tittering between controlled and a whine. With the wetness of the shower and your hand combined, your hand stroking him picked up pace. He let out a grunt when you brought your hand into a fist over his tip, thumb rubbing over his slit, pre-cum leaking out furiously over each stroke.

 Your hips involuntarily began thrusting with Logans fingers working over you- as your thighs trembled and you began to reach your peak. Logans breathing becomes harder as you matched his speed. Small whines and grunts escaping him as his hand grew tighter over your throat.

“Fuck- doing good baby- c’mon cum for me.” He moans into your ear. “You’re such a good girl, letting me do this to you- look at you-”

His praise was the final blow that sent you over edge. Your back arched, as waves of pleasure coursed through your veins, your abused clit throbbing as Logan continued working you through your orgasm. Your fist pumped him furiously, working on some sort of auto-pilot as you saw spots in your vision- unable to focus really on anything but Logans fingers. 

A loud curse escaped him, as he opened his mouth and bit down on your shoulder, a low moan vibrating against you as you felt something warm splash onto your back and cover your hand, his dick throbbing with each splurt of cum coming out of him. His hand loosened over your neck, and you attempted to catch your breath, still holding his softening cock in your hand. 

“Bleh-” You heard Logan groan, and you turned look at him cringing in disgust, licking his lips and shaking his head, his hand coming up to wipe his lips.

“What?” You asked in confusion.

“Got soap in my mouth when I bit you.” He mutters. You grinned and giggled and he smiled at your mirth, as you wrapped your arms around his neck, pressing your chest against his. 

“You’re a goof.” 

“Yeah.” He says. “I’m yours though, ain’t that right?” 

“Mhm.” You hummed with a smile, looking into his hazel eyes with fondness. “Okay, time to clean you up.” You inform him, moving to grab your shampoo bottle, and squeezing a generous amount onto your hand and reaching up to begin shampooing his hair. He tipped his head down a little bit to help you accurately scrub his scalp.

“That’s not my shampoo by the way.” He says with a raised brow, looking at you.

“I know- But if I get to smell like you, with your soap. You get to smell like me.” 

He chuckled. “A’ight, I get to smell like…” He picked up the shampoo bottle, reading the name off it. “Blushing peonies….Manly.” He nods, a purse of his lips confirming it. You giggle, turning him around and tipping his head back, so you can start washing the shampoo out of his hair. 

Once thoroughly washed, you spun him back around, and began washing him with your body wash - something called ‘Pink sugar’ that smelled like vanilla and flowers. Logan didn’t complain though, as your hands ran up and down his body in massaging motions. He tipped his head back, a deep exhale escaping him, and when you finished lathering him up, your arms wrapped around his waist, as you pressed yourself up against him- looking up at him cheekily.  He looked down at you, a look of amusement, and love. On his face. You aren’t quite sure how you and Logan managed to get here, with everything you both been through together. You do know though, that you totally get it, you really enjoy him smelling like you too.

[sanjisblackasswife]

Okay but Gojo teasing his s/o with his infinity- like taunting them and getting them really horny.

But they can’t touch him but he can touch them 👀

(Saw your JJK asks and had to)

“ℂ𝕒𝕟’𝕥 𝕋𝕠𝕦𝕔𝕙 𝕋𝕙𝕚𝕤”

ɢ*ᴊ* ꜱᴀᴛ*ʀᴜ x BLK ꜰᴇᴍ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

I hate him sm. also this is like a year or so old and its been half done so i decided to finish it.

CW: Use of Infinity, Teasing, Reader is Sensitive, G*j* being G*j*

“You’re full of shit.”

“Haha. I know, right.”

Gojo always has the tendency to be super sweet and the best boyfriend ever OR being a complete teasing asshole.

Today he was the second all because you said he was clingy, because you were on the phone with YOUR BOSS and Gojo couldnt read the room and kept trying to kiss your neck.

He hates being called clingy.

“Okay, you may kiss me.” His voice laced with tease, he bends down to pucker up in your face and even though you didnt have the same ability as your special white haired boyfriend, it didnt take a rocket science to know what he was plotting behind those sunglasses.

You lean in, and as predicted you just couldn’t kiss him. You felt your lips stop at a hault, slowly moving still, but not making any progress to connect with his lips, you couldn’t even feel his body heat despite hovering over his mouth.

“I hate you.” You grumble, walking off, you then feel a hard smack to your ass. When you turn, you are greeted with his smug smirk and a goodbye wave.

The white cocky bastard went his entire day off to push your buttons.

Finally taking a nap, you throw off your clothes to dive in your cozy warm bed in only Gojo’s white button down. He was gone for the evening to deal with an emergency and you began to replay today in your head.

He spent half the day in your apartment wearing his infamous baggy pants and topless, hair down, and his cheeky little smile. You of course tried your damn hardest to look the opposite way when he was around, but he could read you like a book, reaching behind you to rub his soft dick against your ass, but when you tried to push back he activated his power again almost making your lose balance.

Suddenly the dickhead started to do push ups in the middle of your room, and might I add he wore NO UNDERWEAR.

His grunts and groans were borderline pornographic as you were trying to study on your couch. You noticed the longer he did it the sweatier and flushed he became which was not only cute, but extremely attractive to you.

Gojo didn’t stop at that either he even joined you in the shower, which was challenging for him though he wouldnt admit it, but fun nonetheless the less….for him of course.

He’d offer to scrub your back, his bend down a little to breathe on your neck, his soft fingers “dropping” the towel on accident , leaving his soapy hands that had a mind of their own to rub under the mounds of your breast.

“Y’alright?” You could hear his voice holding back a chuckle, rolling your eyes you ignore him, but that didn’t stop him from using his infinity to twirl his fingers against your nipples, though it wasn’t direct contact, it was enough to drive a shiver up your spine and hold back a moan, “Why don’t you just apologize for being mean? I can literally smell your puss—-“

“Alright.” You manage to wiggle out of his non existent hold to get out of the shower, once again getting another swat to the ass.

Your pride didn’t let you apologize, but it definitely was a two edged sword, because all you could think about was how if you would have just said a simple “Youre not clingy” Satoru would have easily turned off his shield from you and took you right there. Even though you couldn’t feel it you knew he was hard.

And he was, because he not only teased you, but ended up riling his self up.

He hates to admit it, but he did. Your scent from earlier still lingered in his nose. The sight of your wet tits and ass plagued his mind, even that oh so not quiet moan of his name when he was on your neck had him antsy to get home.

Rushing out of that stupid meeting he contemplates if he should apologize with his mouth or keep teasing you. He hated edging himself, but seeing you beg for it was even better.

Just like now; laying in your bed, legs spread and your little fingers twirling your cunt,

“‘Toru~”

Oh you’re so fucking cute.

Gojo could be so mean right now and make himself known and watch you struggle, but even though he’s the strongest.

He’s still a man.

A man that if he keeps seeing you buck up your hips one more time to reach that sweet spot you know he always could he’d go insane.

aaaaand you did.

“‘TORU—“

“Okay, even if I am clingy.” He mumbles funbling his clothes off his body to accompany you in between your thighs, “You’re fucking needy. Agreed?”

You suck your teeth, wanting to retort back, but in a flash you felt his fingers finally make contact with your sensitive clit, “O-okay, I agree…just…don’t do that again I ….I didn’t get ….”

“Any kisses from me?…I know baby i know” He rubs tighter circles and kisses your cheek, “…and I’m sorry.”

His lips finally lands on yours and it was greedy, wet, and long. Practically moaning into your mouth he pulls away, “I’ll make it up to you…”

[cinnasweetss]

to love and to cherish. | l.hs

genre: smut, very minimal plot, fluff (a pinch.)

characters: husband/dad!heeseung, wife/mom!reader, “uncle”!jake at the end, seung (reader & heeseung’s son)

wc: 2.8k

content below cut. (plz read…or you’ll be v surprised…)

content: established relationship, mentions of pregnancy & marriage, domestication, reader is a stay at home mom, body insecurity, body description, SLIGHTTTT dacryphilia, lactation, love making, tit play, pussy eating, unprotected sex, creampie, pet names (hun, love, baby, etc.), praise, etc etc…

A /N: i’m experimenting in my writing (still tame imo)! this might not be everyone’s cup of tea n that’s ok <3 thanks for reading!!

"dinner looks great, hun." heeseung slides in, slipping a hand around your waist from behind, pressing a kiss to your cheek.  it startles you, whipping your head around to him, soft smile plastered on his face. 

"Didn't hear you come in." you mumble, returning his smile before you continue the dishes. "Got you something." he pulls away, shuffling behind you, "give me a second, hee." you need to finish these dishes tonight. it'll be pain the ass tomorrow if you don't. "Did you put Seung to bed? Told you I wanted to see him, hun." he says, immediately noticing how quiet the house is tonight. lights dimmed, living room picked up and neat instead of the usual plethora of toys. "he got fussy." 

"Baby, come on-"  he nags, only because you have barely looked at him since he stepped in. no 'how was work, honey?' and a cheerful smile like usual. 

"Give me a minute, heeseung!" 

there's a long pause in the air, making you immediately regret raising your voice, dropping the plate in your hand back into the soapy water, "I'm sorry." 

heeseung told you to not let it get like that. he told you to not stress yourself out when you both found out you were pregnant. he knew this would happen. it was inevitable. but you promised him. "Look at me." 

"Oh, hee..." you immediately soften, face falling into your hands once you see the beautiful, huge bouquet of flowers in his hands. he sets the bouquet down on the island, quickly moving to wrap his arms around your crying figure. you quickly accept the embrace, wrapping your arms around his neck. "Why are you crying?" he chuckles, rubbing his hand on your back soothingly. "I'm sorry!" 

"It's okay, love." he pulls you off of him, wiping away your tears. "so pretty." he leans in to kiss you, using his thumbs to wipe the rest of the stray tears. 

Heeseung is so good to you. he always has been. when you met him six years ago, when you married him three years ago, and when you gave him his firstborn a year and a half ago.  his love has been unconditional, unwavering, always consistent. all you could ask for and more. 

"I told you not to stress yourself out. You can ask me for help." he's smiling, despite your continued tears. you feel so awful. "But you're working-" he stops you there, "so are you, love." he knows that being a stay at home mom is a lot, a lot more demanding than his silly little corporate job. "what are you handwashing the dishes for, anyway? we've got a dishwasher." 

"cause, it's a lot to run it..." he sighs, face shifting to a scowl. he hates when you talk about the price of things, bills, anything with money. "It's not, and that's not for you to worry about." it's firm, almost scolding. but you know it's just because of the many times he's had to tell you to not worry about the bills. not that you've seen one in years. 

"Get in bed. I'll finish up." he pulls away then, moving to the sink. you scurry behind him, grabbing a vase to put the flowers in. "Bed, babe. I'll do that too." 

"let me warm up your food-" he doesn't have to say much, turning with a dissatisfied expression across his face as he leans on the counter. "Get upstairs." you know better than to argue after the third time, so, you do as told.

...

he joins you just an hour later, walking in on you fumbling with the baby monitor, making sure it's on and working before you set it on the bedside table. he eyes you, wet hair stuck to your shoulders and neck, saturating the t shirt you have on. 

he grabs your hand, pulling you back to the bathroom. he places you infront of the mirror, reaching for the hair dryer in the cabinet. "Did you even towel dry it? you're soaking." 

"Thought I heard Seung crying..." you mumble, heeseung running a brush through your hair. "That hairdryer- Dyson. it's so expensive. you won't even use it."he grabs a towel, gently drying each lock of your hair, then your neck and shoulders. 

"I do use it!" five times since he got it for you during Christmas. You'd brought it up maybe once, showing him a video on TikTok of some influencer using it. it was probably the millionth video you'd showed him. still, he paid attention. "Sometimes." he agrees, flashing you a playful smile in the mirror. 

"you don't have work to do?" you look at him through the mirror, squeezing the water out of your hair with the towel. "Work? While i'm at home with my wife?" he turns on the hairdryer after, running it over your now damp hair. 

this week he's been coming home without his laptop. spending almost no time in his office downstairs, instead getting into bed with you every night after work. 

you hadn't said it out loud, but he knew you were bothered by sleeping first. sleeping next to an empty space that he only filled from the hours of 1am to 6am. disappearing into his office right after dinner. you continue watching him through the mirror, fond smile on you lips as he finishes. his eyes catch yours, mouthing a playful "what?" before he shifts his eyes back to your hair. 

he turns off the hair dryer, using a brush to smooth out the now dry hair. he guides you out the bathroom, stopping you in front of your shared dresser.

reaching for the bottom of your tee, he pulls it up, only stopping when you step back and push his hands away. "come on, you gotta get out of this. it's wet." 

"I'll do it." "Babe, really." 

you surrender at that, raising your arms so he can lift your shirt above your head and get you a new one. Only he has his gaze locked on yours...trying to remember the last time he was intimate with you. the last time he saw you undressed. you notice his expression change, unfamiliar glint in his eyes. 

had it really been that long? 

"What, hee? you're staring..." you ask worriedly, afraid he might not like what he sees. you damn sure don't look like the woman he married, not after having his child. 

each time you look in the mirror you're reminded, each time you look at your wedding pictures, each time you get naked infront of him, each time you look at your son. 

your arm lays against your chest, holding your breasts as you reach for another shirt. Heeseung's way quicker, grabbing your arm before you can reach it. "Wait."

his lips are on yours seconds later, pulling your body flush against his, trapping you in a very passionate kiss. 

you know what he wants when he kisses you like that. when he pulls you in by your waist and holds your cheek with one hand. when he lifts you up and takes you bed, placing you against the mattress softly. your stomach flutters with excitement, eager to experience a different type of intimacy with him.

he pulls away, pulling at his tie with one hand and letting it fall to the ground, undoing a few buttons of his shirt after.

he connects your lips again as wall as your groins, grinding softly through kisses. it's enough to get you worked up, moaning into the kiss when he gropes at a tit. 

he gives it some love with his mouth too, sucking one and squeezing the other. its enough to stimulate your ducts, breasts tingling as they secrete milk. he purposely squeezes a nipple, milk spilling from the ducts, as you squirm beneath him. his skilled hands force a moan from you, his tongue swirling as he sucks, likely making your other breast leak too. 

his hips rut against yours, grunting at the little bit of friction it gives. he's gotta get out of these slacks, and fast. he pulls his mouth away, kissing down your chest and abdomen, paying special attention to those areas he knows youre insecure about. 

your lower belly that's riddled with stretch marks and hips that look the same from carrying his child. he wouldn't trade you for the world, not when you've given him the best gift on gods earth. a family. 

he pulls your night shorts down with one motion, doing the same with your panties before he spreads your legs. his kisses move to your thighs, stopping when he reaches your core. he moves your hips to the edge of the bed, kneeling before you. "Fuck.." he feels his mouth water just looking, pushing your legs before he dips his head between your thighs. 

six years and every time feels like the first. six years and neither of you can get enough. 

he always takes his time, soft kisses against your pussy to start, soft licks against your clit when he slides his tongue through your folds, huge hands that knead at the flesh of your thighs to stimulate you even more. he gradually moves to sucking, tongue flat against the little bundle of nerves, forcing moan from you.

your eyes flutter closed, sinking further into the mattress as you reach for his hands. 

your fingers intertwine perfectly, much like they did the first time you two met in college. he was sweet then, he's even sweeter now. always, always so compassionate and caring, even more since you've gotten married. 

he watches from between your legs. eyes shut, brows furrowed, mouth agape as you let out the prettiest moans. matching the pretty expression you have. 

he knows you like the back of his hand, sucking your clit just how you like it. your back arching off the bed tells him so. especially when you remove a hand from his, sliding it through his hair instead to swirl your hips. 

"oh, god- hee!"

he can hear your breath quickening. short and shallow through endless curses as your orgasm builds. "fuck, baby, i'm cumming!" it hits you like a truck, heeseung moaning as you cum right on his tongue, nothing else. holding your hips steady so he can eat you through it. through the soft convulsions and quiet moans, hands that grip his and his hair. 

heeseung finally pulls his lips way, rising from the floor with lips coated in your arousal. he doesn't lick them, keeps them wet and moist so he can lean down and kiss you. he's letting you taste yourself as well, sliding his tongue past your lips to give you sloppy, wet kisses. 

you pull at his button up, pulling it from his slacks, moving to remove his belt right after. you pull away from the kiss, pulling at the buttons with frantic hands. "help me, hee..." you mumble, looking up at the man above you. he forces you both up, reaching to unbutton his pants as you work on those damn buttons. 

"take your time, darlin'. Im not going anywhere." he kisses your forehead gently, capturing your lips again once you finish. you push his shirt off his shoulders, only satisfied when you hear it make contact with the wood flooring below. "tell me how you want me." you barely manage to get out between kisses. he doesn't respond for a minute, focusing on kissing you before he makes up his mind. 

"bend over." he pants, catching his breath from the very heated kiss. you do as instructed, turning around to bend over for him. his hands immediately attach to your hips, one hand pressing against the small of your back, guiding you into position. "Arch that back, yeah..." he pulls you back against his dick, hard length sitting right between your ass. he retracts, sliding his length through your folds, coating it in your arousal. 

you can feel him line himself up with your entrance, head of his cock just barely penetrating, pausing before he decides to fully slip inside. a soft cry leaves you,  leaning yourself away from the intrusion that has your walls stretching. "Uh-ah, keep that back arched for me baby." that makes you whine, forcing yourself back into position as he pulls you right back on his cock. "Good girl..." he coos, hand rubbing softly against your back to soothe you, legs already trembling just from him sliding in. 

he takes you painfully slow, pulling half his length out, pushing it back in, in a long drawn out movement. his eyes are stuck right where you suck him back in, despite your little noises that tell him you're struggling with it. he barely has to move his hips, you're pushing back on him likely without even realizing. 

"Fuck," his dick is soaked, coated in your wetness, glistening in the soft light coming from your bedside lamp. He grabs both hips, taking over your soft and cautious movements, replacing them with his own. Still slow, but much deeper, holding your ass to his hips each time he pushes himself back in. 

"Taking it so good, baby." heeseung doesn't know why you're always so caught up in your own thoughts. each time he fucks you like this, you forget all about your silly little insecurities. It's all proof of the woman you are today, anyway. the mother and wife he's built within you. 

"Hee..." you reach a hand back to hold his, heeseung quickly pinning your arm behind your back, hand clasped within yours. His movements increase, throwing his own head back as your body drives him to near madness. you sink further down, hand knitting into the soft fabric of your cream coloured duvet. 

so deep, so big. he's hitting all the right spots, bending over you to reach and grab a tit. he squeezes at the flesh, mouth steady kissing on your shoulder as he fucks you near completion. the both of you. "fuck, baby! harder!" nothing but a word, he happily obliges. he's been waiting for you to say it since he started. "Yeah?" his breaths shallow and short as he fucks into you harder, a loud moan of approval from you forcing a smirk on his lips. "Yes! god, heeseung!" from his lips on your neck, to the way his balls repeatedly slap against your clit, you're already there before you realise. "Like that, yeah, let it out."

you grab at his flexed arms beside you, crying out as you both ride out your orgasm together. Heeseung's hips stutter as cums inside you, sloppy uncoordinated thrusts pushing more waves of pleasure through you. "Shit." He blinks through the haziness coursing through his body, only pulling out when both of your breaths return to normal.

you stay even when heeseung leaves, relaxing your body against the bed. he comes back, turning you back over so he can clean you up, laying next to you right after. 

comfortable silence fills the air, heeseung pulling you into his arms when you snuggle up close. "I love you, hee."

"I love you more, baby." 

...

"Say hi!" you grab your sons arm, waving at the man in the doorway. "My big man! Say hi to uncle Jake." he takes the baby from your arms, bouncing him in his. "Where's your dad, big man? always leaving mommy to do the work, huh?" you move to the kitchen, starting the coffee maker for heeseung.

"Dad is doing laundry." Heeseung emerges, passing Jake the diaper bag. You furrow your brows at that, heeseung hadn't said anything about Jake taking Seung. "Morning." he slips behind you, pressing a kiss to your cheek. "Seung is-"

"You need a break." he quickly interjects, eyebrows raising when you don't immediately respond. "What? You don't wanna spend some time with me?" it's sly, the way his hand slips under your shirt to grab the soft flesh of your ass.  "I was the only man in your life at one point, you know." he smiles, moving his hand back to a more appropriate position. "Whatever." you laugh, eyes shifting over to Jake who's preoccupied with your son. You slip past heeseung, going to say your goodbyes. "Thanks, Jake. You really-"

Heeseung's familiar hiss of disapproval stops you. Jake simply laughing, "It's all good. My girlfriend wants to see him anyway. she calls it playing 'house'."

"Marry her and have your own, dude." heeseung comes over, kissing his son’s cheek. "Yeah, yeah." he's always dismissive when the topic comes up, but you know he's just waiting on the right time. "I'll take off then." Jake smiles at the both you before he makes his way to the front door. Heeseung pulls you in as you both wave Jake and your son goodbye. 

"Let's have another one." 

[humaling]

Typical Tuesday Morning.

pairings: finnick odair x reader

summary: you got a little bored and decide to have some fun make-over with your pretty husband

warnings: use of pet names

word count: 3.2k

author's note: set on years after the war! okay so reader being pregnant isnt that focused on—only did it for plot but also bc i like the idea of finnick having his happy ending in thg like he deserves.

It’s another typical Tuesday morning. Finnick had woken early, as he usually did, with his beloved wrapped safely in his arms. He spent a few quiet minutes simply admiring your sleeping face, his fingers brushing slowly up and down your arm with that signature tenderness of his. When the first golden light of morning crept over the horizon, he leaned in to press a soft kiss to your forehead before sliding carefully out of bed. He tucked a pillow in his place, just to keep you warm and feeling less alone. A fond smile pulled at his lips when he saw you instinctively nuzzle into the pillow, still lost in sleep.

The beach wasn’t far—just a few steps outside the door. That had been one of your dreams, something you whispered to him in the depths of District Thirteen when hope had been nothing more than a stubborn ember. A house by the sea. He made it happen. One item checked off your bunker-made bucket list, and he'd do it all again if he had to.

After his morning swim, Finnick came back inside, toweling off the saltwater and starting breakfast. Well—breakfast for three now. Baby number one was arriving in six months, and Finnick couldn’t contain his giddiness as he cracked four eggs into the pan—two for him, one for you, and one for the little one growing inside you. He toasted bread and sliced your favorite fruits, arranging them neatly on one of the pink plates you’d bought just a few weeks ago. Hot chocolate was next, two cups. Finnick never liked coffee, and you’d been leaning away from it lately too—something about the baby bringing out your sweet tooth more and more with each passing day.

Finnick liked to say it was the baby inheriting your love for all things sugary. You never had the heart to argue.

While he stirred the hot chocolate, you snuck up behind him, wrapping your arms around his bare waist and peppering his back, shoulders, and the nape of his neck with soft, sleepy kisses. Your mumbled "good morning" made his heart stutter the way it always had. He set the spoon down instantly, turning to scoop you into his arms and drown you in kisses—sloppy, dramatic ones, all over your face. You groaned, pushing him away half-heartedly, calling him disgusting. He only laughed. Hormones, he figured.

After breakfast, you tried to help him clean, but of course, Finnick wasn’t having any of that. He picked you up and sat you on the counter, wagging his finger with a grin. “Sit pretty for me, sweetheart,” he told you, and you did, watching as he cleaned up every last dish.

Then came the bath—shared between soft giggles, soapy hands, and fleeting kisses. Finnick’s calloused fingers were gentle as they moved over your skin, washing you with care. His lips were greedy for affection but never rough. He was never in a rush. And he always kissed you like he’d been waiting forever. Maybe he had.

It was barely ten in the morning when you both collapsed onto the couch, limbs tangled. Finnick had gotten obsessed with some new show that came out recently—something with drama and swords, probably—and you rested your head on his chest, listening to the steady thump of his heart while he peeled an orange and fed it to you piece by piece. You were warm, safe, content—but also just the tiniest bit restless.

You weren’t ungrateful. Not even close. But the days were starting to blur together. And sure, the nightmares still crept in sometimes, but when the sun rose, everything became soft and slow again. Sometimes... maybe too slow. You loved Finnick. You loved your life. But there was a tiny part of you that missed the thrill, the spark, even if it came with a little chaos.

Maybe you just needed a plan. Or a distraction. Or maybe—just maybe—you were about to stir up some harmless trouble just to see Finnick roll his eyes and chase after you again.

You slowly began to slide off Finnick’s body, but his arm instinctively tightened around your waist, tugging you right back into place. His eyes finally peeled away from the TV, landing on your face where your cheek was smushed into his shoulder, a slight pout forming.

A soft smile curved his lips. “Where you goin’, baby?” he asked, leaning in to kiss you lazily.

“Just gonna pee,” you mumbled, gently pushing yourself off him.

Finnick let out a quiet hum and loosened his hold, though his hand caught yours for a split second before letting go, giving it a light squeeze. “Come back quick. It’s cold.”

You hummed in reply, skipping lightly down the hall—but instead of turning toward the bathroom, you veered left. One last glance over your shoulder confirmed it: Finnick was still glued to the screen, completely enraptured by the show. He didn’t even notice you were headed the wrong way, too busy tearing open a bar of chocolate with exaggerated focus. You stifled a laugh as you caught sight of him with one leg propped dramatically over the couch, elbow resting just right so he could eat his chocolate with minimal effort. He looked absolutely ridiculous—and you loved him even more for it.

You turned your attention back ahead and hurried into your shared bedroom, making a beeline for the vanity. With practiced speed, you grabbed a few pouches, some bottles, and a small handheld mirror before sneaking your way back into the living room.

Finnick looked immediately confused when you plopped down on his stomach, arms full of makeup.

He tilted his head slightly, one brow arching as he wordlessly grabbed the remote and switched off the TV. “What’s all this, honey?” he asked, narrowing his eyes at you like he already knew he was about to be roped into something.

You gave him your most innocent smile as you set everything down on the coffee table. “Just gonna doll you up a little, Finn. Nothing serious.”

His hands found your waist again, warm and firm as his thumbs started rubbing gentle circles. “Uh huh,” he muttered, unconvinced. “I better not end up lookin’ like one of those Capitol clowns again.”

You giggled, already dabbing a bit of primer on the back of your hand and warming it between your fingers. “No, baby. I swear. You’re gonna look fantastic this time.”

The product was cool and a little wet against his skin, and it made him flinch slightly—but he didn’t move away. Instead, he relaxed under your touch, eyes fluttering shut as your fingers smoothed the product across his cheeks, the bridge of his nose, and his forehead.

He didn’t say anything after that. He just breathed softly, letting you work your magic, trusting you the way he always did—with everything.

You took your time, layering a bit of concealer under his eyes and patting it in gently. Finnick peeked one eye open. “This supposed to get rid of my eye bags?”

You nodded. “Mhm. You're gonna look so fresh people are gonna think you sleep ten hours a night and drink kale smoothies.”

He snorted. “Joke’s on them—I live off chocolate and my pregnant wife’s cravings.”

You grinned, tapping his nose playfully with the sponge. “Exactly. You're a miracle of modern beauty.”

Finnick let out a dramatic sigh, flopping his head back on the couch cushion. “Do what you must, sweetheart. My face is yours.”

That earned a little laugh from you as you pulled out a brow pencil. “Okay, but hold very, very still. This part is serious business.”

Finnick's eyes popped open with exaggerated fear. “Wait. Are you gonna touch the brows? The golden arches?”

You rolled your eyes, trying not to giggle. “Relax. I’m just filling them in a little. You barely have any tails.”

“I like my barely-there brow tails!” he gasped.

“You also liked jelly with tuna once,” you reminded him, arching a brow right back.

“Hey, that was an experimental phase,” he muttered as he pouted and stayed still, though his lips twitched with amusement.

With light strokes, you filled in his brows, gave him a little eyeshadow—not too much, just a bit of shimmer to bring out those ridiculous green eyes—and then, very carefully, you reached for the mascara.

Finnick opened his eyes when he felt you hesitate. “What now?”

“Do not flinch,” you warned. “If you blink while I’m doing this, you’ll ruin the whole masterpiece and we’ll have to start over.”

Finnick sat up straighter like he was prepping for war. “Understood. Eyes wide. No blinking. Death before dishonor.”

You held in your laughter as you leaned closer, applying the mascara with surgical precision.

He blinked at the last second. Mascara dotted his upper lid.

“Finn,” you sighed without glancing at him, “stop staring at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you’re two seconds away from getting down on one knee and singing a love ballad about me.”

He grinned, absolutely unapologetic. “I actually might, you know—hang on, just let me—”

He shifted beneath you, clearly attempting to sit up, but you pressed your knees into the couch on either side of his waist, fixing him with a warning look.

“Stay still. I’m almost done.”

He obeyed with an exaggerated pout, hands resting obediently on your thighs while you applied the final touches: a bit of blush to warm his cheeks, then—because you couldn’t resist—a soft pink tint to his lips. It suited him way too well.

Finnick smacked his lips dramatically. “So... do I look kissable, or very kissable?”

You tilted your head, pretending to analyze his face with the eye of a seasoned artist. “You look like a summer dream... but with emotional depth.”

His eyes lit up. “So basically, I’m a walking romance novel?”

“Exactly.”

Finnick leaned forward, lips already puckered and eyes fluttering closed like he was in the middle of some dramatic Capitol soap opera. “Then I deserve a kiss from my leading lady.”

You pulled back immediately, one hand on his chest to stop him. “Absolutely not.”

His eyes flew open. “What? Why?”

“Because I just put the lip tint on!” you said, scandalized. “It took forever to find the right shade for your undertone. If you kiss me, it’ll smudge and ruin everything.”

Finnick blinked. “So I went through all that for nothing? No kiss? No reward?”

You crossed your arms. “Your reward is looking like a ten out of ten. A kiss would destroy the integrity of my art.”

He groaned dramatically, throwing his head back. “This is a cruel, cruel world.”

You patted his cheek lightly, trying not to laugh. “Hold out ‘til I take pictures. Then you can have all the kisses you want.”

Finnick peeked up at you through his lashes, lip jutting out. “I want them now.”

“And I want to preserve the aesthetic.”

He let out a theatrical sigh, settling back against the couch cushion. “Fine. But just know this is the biggest test of my love and patience yet.”

You smirked, reaching for your camera. “Pose pretty, sweetheart. The world needs to see your artistic depth.”

You positioned yourself on the couch while still on top of Finnick, camera in hand, angling it carefully to capture Finnick in his full, made-up glory. The lighting was perfect, the lip tint still fresh, and his sea-green eyes looked unfairly stunning with just the slightest shimmer of eyeshadow catching the light. You could already tell these photos were going to be some of your favorites.

“Okay,” you murmured as you lined up the shot. “Give me dreamy. Brooding. Soft smolder. Pretend you’re on the cover of some Capitol romance novel, but it’s tasteful, not trashy.”

Finnick arched a brow and tilted his jaw just so, immediately falling into character. He shifted his expression with exaggerated drama—first a wistful, far-off gaze, then something sharp and stormy like he was about to deliver a poetic monologue about love and loss. You snorted behind the camera, trying to steady it as he flipped his hair back with a dramatic flourish.

“This one’s for District Four,” he said in a low, theatrical voice, striking a pose like he was about to sell luxury fishing equipment. “And this,” he added, turning his face to the side and narrowing his eyes, “is for my adoring fans.”

You burst into laughter, lowering the phone as your shoulders shook. “Okay, I got enough. You can stop now. Don’t strain anything.”

Finnick immediately sat up, his hands planted firmly on either side of him, muscles shifting beneath your favorite hoodie he’d thrown on earlier. His eyes locked onto yours with a glint of mischief that sent a warning straight down your spine.

“Good,” he said, lips twitching with a smirk. “Now give me my prize.”

You blinked, immediately scooting back a little on instinct. You’re now on his lap. “Don’t you dare.”

But the look on his face was dangerous. That playful, daring grin only grew wider as he started to rise from the couch like a predator who had just spotted his next meal—and unfortunately, that meal was you.

“Finnick—no.”

You yelped as you scrambled backward, but your balance was off, and Finnick was fast. In a blink, he had you tackled back onto the couch, his arms caging you in as he hovered over you with wild, delighted eyes. His weight was just heavy enough to keep you pinned, but not too much—never too much. You squirmed beneath him, palms pressed to his chest, still laughing breathlessly.

“Don’t you want to see if it’s kiss-proof?” he asked, voice all low teasing and smug delight.

You barely had time to shout before he dipped his head and smashed his mouth onto yours in the sloppiest, most ridiculous kiss he could muster. It was all squished lips and way too much pressure, his nose bumping yours and your laughter muffled beneath his lips. You tried to pull back, tried to push him away, but it was already too late—the lip tint had been thoroughly, spectacularly destroyed.

When he finally pulled back, you stared at him in absolute horror. His once-softly tinted lips were now comically smudged, color bleeding past the corners of his mouth. The tint had transferred onto your face too—your chin and upper lip dotted with smears, your nose slightly pink as if you’d rubbed your face in a bowl of berries.

“You absolute menace,” you muttered, grabbing a pillow and lightly swatting at his head.

Finnick only laughed, completely unrepentant. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, inspecting the color with amusement. “Worth it.”

Groaning, you reached for the makeup wipes while muttering curses under your breath. “You look like you made out with a strawberry milkshake.”

He sat back proudly, eyes twinkling as he let you clean him up. “Thank you. I strive to be both delicious and memorable.”

You gave him a flat look while scrubbing the worst of the tint from his cheek. “I was serious about preserving the aesthetic. I warned you.”

“And I heard you,” Finnick replied smoothly, leaning into your touch. “I just didn’t listen.”

You tossed the used wipe aside with a sigh, already reaching for the primer again. “You know what? Fine. Sit still. But if you try anything again, I’m going full Capitol glam this time. Glitter, sequins, fake lashes, the works.”

He blinked, genuinely intrigued. “Will there be rhinestones?”

You narrowed your eyes. “There will be humiliation.”

But five minutes later, Finnick had a shimmer of gold dust on his temples, a tiny glittering heart stamped onto his cheekbone, and his lip tint perfectly reapplied—though this time, you kept a strict three-foot distance rule.

“I look fabulous,” he said, examining his reflection in your phone camera with the pride of a man who knew exactly what he was doing.

“You look like a fever dream,” you countered, though your smile betrayed how much you adored every second of it.

Finnick leaned back against the couch, arms behind his head as he basked in your attention. “Then dream of me, sweetheart. But no more kiss bans after this.”

You raised your brow, uncapping the glitter tube again. “That depends. Do you want glitter eyebrows next?”

He paused, eyes darting to the tube, then back to you.

“…Yes,” he whispered solemnly.

By the time the makeover wound down, the living room looked like a beauty salon had exploded. Brushes were scattered across the coffee table, half-opened palettes balanced on the cushions, and there was a trail of glitter dusting the floor like a trail of stardust. You sat cross-legged beside Finnick on the couch, your elbow resting against his arm as you admired your handiwork one last time.

He looked thoroughly ridiculous and painfully handsome all at once—his lashes curled and tinted, cheeks kissed with soft color, and a shimmer of gold catching the light on the apples of his cheeks. And somehow, despite it all, he wore every bit of it like he was born to.

Finnick tilted his head toward you, watching as you gently gathered the last few items into your pouch. His hand found yours again, fingers threading through with quiet purpose.

“You’re really something, you know that?” he said, voice low and steady in a way that made your heart ache just a little.

You glanced at him, a smile already forming. “Is this about the makeup or the fact I managed to keep you still for twenty minutes?”

He chuckled, eyes half-lidded with lazy warmth. “Both. But mostly just... you.”

For a moment, neither of you said anything. The sun had started shifting through the windows, casting soft golden beams across the walls and painting the room in a warm, drowsy hue. Outside, the sound of waves drifted in faintly through the cracked window. It was quiet, peaceful in a way your life hadn’t been for years. And now, here you were—curled up with the man you loved, laughter still lingering in the air, his skin dusted with sparkles and your heart full.

Finnick leaned over slowly, brushing his nose against your temple. “You know, if you ever get tired of me doing absolutely everything around here, you could just sit on me and do my makeup more often.”

You snorted. “Is that your way of asking me to pamper you?”

“I think I’ve earned it,” he murmured, his lips grazing the edge of your cheek. “After everything. After all of it.”

Your hand found his jaw, thumb sweeping gently across the tinted corner of his mouth. “Yeah. I think you have.”

You leaned in, kissing just beside his lips this time—careful, so you didn’t smudge the color, but slow enough to let it linger. His eyes fluttered shut as he exhaled through his nose, curling an arm around your waist and pulling you in close.

“I love you,” you whispered, your voice nearly lost in the hush of the afternoon.

“I know,” he whispered back, his smile brushing your hair. “But say it again anyway.”

You nestled against his chest, cheek against the curve of his collarbone, and held him close. “I love you,” you said again, softer this time, like it was just for him.

“And I love you most.”

And for once, there was nothing more to be said. Just two souls wrapped in warmth, laughter still clinging to the walls, and the soft, steady rhythm of a love that had survived the storm.

[written-in-flowers]

I Need a Big Boy: 3racha x Male!Reader

Pairing: Chan/Han/Changbin x Male!Reader

Word Count: 7k

Genre: Smut (loads), fluff | AU: idolverse, ninth member au

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Summary: What started as a simple shower between friends turns into body worship very quickly.

Disclaimer: These works are completely fictitious and for entertainment purposes only. They are not meant to reflect or label the members of Stray Kids in any way. The events within never took place. Thank you.

Tags: porn without plot (maybe? tiny bit?) polyamorous, foursome (MMMM), group sex, body worship, slight muscle worship, switching partners, shower sex, blowjobs, rough blowjobs, face fucking, throat fucking, light degradation, rim jobs, anal sex, anal fingering, dom/sub undertones/dynamic, creampie, cum swallowing, dom!changbin, dom!chan, sub!han, switch!reader,

Taglist: @james-is-here @onementally-unstabel-kid @omg-lexiloveyou @drinkingrumandcocacola @belladonna6-6-6 @channiesbum @oreoqueen @succubus-hansol

Here's What You Missed on Newbie!

Next on Newbie!

****

You both truly did mean to leave for the studio. After the gym and lunch at a new cafe, you and Han planned on freshening up at his place and then leaving. With some more recordings and alterations, the album will be done and they'd move onto their comeback preparations. You’d been thinking about the newest song, singing it in your head when the shower door opened. 

“Hey,” Han stepped in behind you, “I was thinking about your song, and wanted to talk about an idea I had for it.”

“Here?” you asked incredulously. “We’re going to the studio. We could talk about it there.”

“I don’t want to lose the thought. Scoot over,” he slipped past you to be underneath the water. “You always get the perfect temperature,” he sighed once the water hit his face, “You need to tell me your secrets, water wizard.”

“It’s an art form,” you shrugged. You might as well let him, you thought, as you picked up the shower gel. It’ll certainly cut down on time. “What idea did you have for the song?”

You and Han stood underneath the steaming shower, your naked bodies dangerously close to each other. It started with washing yourselves while talking about the album and comeback. Casual and light hearted, you didn’t expect anything to really happen. Minho said Han could sleep with whichever member he wanted, but that didn’t mean you’d jump at the chance every time. Plus, the workout left your muscles feeling slightly worn. You didn’t know how you’d make it through recording, but you promised Chan you’d show up so you would. But, when Han asked you to get spots on his back, you’ll admit it was tempting. 

Soapy hands trailed down the arch of his back, massaging the tense muscles and cleaning off the smooth skin. The curvature of his spine caused his ass to stick out naturally. You knew he wasn’t doing it on purpose. He even hunched to avoid your dick, but as your hands rested above his pert ass, the thought came to you. 

“Pervert,” Han chuckled, sensing your hesitation right away. 

“I’m not the one with my ass sticking out like this,” you replied, transfixed by the round curves inches from your hands. 

All you had to do was sink lower, and they’d be fully in your hands. Instead, you went back up to his shoulders. Thumbs rolling in circles, Han gave a much more emphasized moan. You kept working on his back, always careful not to touch his ass even with temptation exciting you. When Han finally turned around, water hitting his shoulders and streaming down his front, you saw his fully formed body. He’d been working out more, hence his chest and shoulders being wider than before. You thought about him in the gym earlier, hard body lifting weights and stretching before you. The temptation had not hit you then, but it did now. Especially when his soft hands started working on your chest and stomach. When something hard touched your cock, you knew he’d gotten aroused just with a few touches. 

“You’ve gotten so buff, hyung,” Han said, that sweet voice dripping with seduction. He gave your biceps gentle squeezes, “I like it.”

“You too,” he pulled him close so your bodies came together. The urge to grind on his hardening cock came to you, but you withheld it. “You’re not the little twink I used to fuck before.”

He laughed, cheeks lifting in his smile, “I guess I’m not, huh?” He let his fingers drag across your collarbones to your chest again, “Does that bother you?”

“Not at all,” you assured him, hands finally grasping his ass. “It just takes a bit more to throw you around on my bed.”

You brought him in for a kiss, your tongue sliding across his bottom lip. Heat built up between you in the kiss, tongues touching every so often and pushing your arousal further. He released a soft moan when you squeezed both cheeks and pulled them apart. You could feel them jiggle slightly when you lifted them, the soap making  them slip from your hands. 

“Keep doing that, hyung,” he whispered, lightly kissing you. “I like it when you do it like that.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Mm-hm.”

A hand sliding between them, you grazed briefly over the clenched hole. You made small trails from the middle to the space connecting balls and anus. Every brush over it made Han eager for more. You let out your own moan when his delicate hand grabbed the base of your cock. In languid strokes, Han worked both you and him together. His throbbing dick right up against yours, you did your best not to move up into it. You focused your efforts on his ass. Moans resounding in the shower stall, water pattering onto the tiled floor, the two of you stood there fondling each other. Nothing ever felt as good as the members, who were always so eager for you. Even months later, you still found it hard to believe. It sounded like something out of a erotic fanfiction or one of those smutty romance novels. As pathetic as it made you look, you could never resist when one of them suggested it to you. You really were a pervert. 

“May I suck it, hyung?” Han asked after a while, the both of you raging hard. “I love sucking yours.”

“Yes,” you breathed, eager for more of him. 

Your back hitting the cold shower wall, you ran a hand through Han’s damp hair as he crouched down. Hands on your thighs, he easily guided your tip into his mouth. Pure euphoria coursed through you like a drug. His soft lips tenderly sucking the head, Han swiped the tip of his tongue over the wrinkled side of your dick. Occasionally breaking it to suck up saliva and precum, he kept his eyes on you the entire time. You stared right back, stroking his hair to guide him further down. You groaned when his tongue caressed the pulsing vein pumping more blood into the long muscle. 

“No hands,” you said when one hand reached to grab your base, “Only your mouth and tongue.” 

Han didn’t protest at all. Keeping both hands on your thighs, he kept himself leveled as he filled his mouth. The slight pressure of his hands caressing your inner thighs added to the pleasure. Your fingers slide over slick tiles, for something to grab when it finally took hold of you. Every muscle in your legs tensed as he sucked. Nothing ever felt as good. When your dick finally hit the back of his throat, you bit down on your lip to keep yourself grounded. Each time with them felt brand new. You could stay like that forever, enjoying Han's mouth. Looking further down his body, you saw his cock standing straight up to his stomach. You smirked. 

“You really love blowing me, huh?” You asked, scooping long strands of hair from his face. He didn’t answer, only nodding and humming his response. “Answer me properly, baby,” you said. 

“Yes,” he panted, your dick on the tip of his tongue before he went back into it. “I love blowing you, hyung.”

“I can tell,” you started pushing slowly into his mouth. Immediately taking the hint, Han stayed in place as you slid in and out. “You get so hard when my dick is in your throat,” you pointedly pushed right to it, groaning as the younger gulped around you. “Does it feel that good, baby?” You asked when you withdrew to the last inch. 

Drool falling onto his chest, Han answered, “Yes, hyung.”

“Do you want me to fuck your throat?”

“Yes, hyung.”

Holding him by a fistful of hair, you started pushing your hips into his face. His full lips sucking you hard, cheeks hollowing to touch the sides, he did his best to pleasure you. 

“Eyes on me,” you huffed, stuffing yourself to the bottom. “Good boy, keep looking up at me while I fuck your pretty mouth.” 

You watched his shoulders shake, and felt his grip on your thighs tighten. You kept him there as he started gagging. His round brown eyes stared up at you so innocently, tears starting to build in the corners whenever you stayed deep for too long. Every so often, you slipped out to tap his tongue and lips, watching him struggle to catch it without his hands. The eagerness in his eyes amplified your teasing. He whined when you pulled yourself out of his reach, wagging his tongue to lick what he could. When he did manage to catch it, he sucked firmly and licked greedily. You thought you just might cum when he began moaning around you. 

“Let’s get to the bed,” you said, removing your cock to tap on his lips again. “Hyung wants to play with you before he cums.”

The two of you shared sloppy, passionate kisses while you dried each other. It was the anticipation that excited the both of you. Fully dried off, you guided Han to his own bedroom where you flung him onto the bed. Your eyes scanned over his naked body as he laid back on the pillows. He looked beautiful, sculpted as if an artist took their time on him. His chest broader than when you first met, he'd even started gaining a bit of a four-pack. You couldn't help dragging your fingers lightly over them, catching on the hard dark nipples. The muscles relaxed and less defined, you still felt them flex when touched and kissed. He was gorgeous. You could spend an eternity exploring his body. His eyes full of lust and need, body nearly shivering from arousal, you understood why Minho drew out their sessions. Since splitting the unit dorms into pairs, Han had moved in with his boyfriend. You saw evidence of this in the dashes of Minho around the room. You’d moved in with Chan naturally, and you couldn’t have asked for a better roommate. 

Or boyfriend. 

You kissed down expanses of smooth, hard muscles while your hands caressed his thighs. His dick twitched when you drew near it, though you only gave it a small swipe of your tongue. Your lips landed everywhere except there. You memorized the pleasure points of his body, skimming over his thighs and legs to find them. You wanted to commit each one to memory for later. His balls underneath entered your mouth in small suckles, your moans vibrating on the tender skin while your tongue rolled over them. The small tugs to the top had Han wriggling above you. It was when your tongue flicked the very bottom of his dick that he began grinding into your face. 

“Stay still for me, baby,” you said, kissing up his length. 

“It just feels so good,” he whined. 

“I know it does,” you cooed, giving the head a light flick, “But I want you to try for me. Okay?”

“O-kay.” 

The tip of Han's cock in your mouth, precum spilling onto your tongue, you hardly noticed the phone lighting up beside him. You were too distracted by his quivering body and soft whimpers to care. The sensation of his cock pulsating in your hand kept you distracted enough. Pretty, petite Han laid against his pillows, mewling and panting as your tongue gradually circled his head. You stroked him slowly, sucking softly until he whined and arched his back. It made for a beautiful sight. An arousing, erotic sight that pulled you from reality and into your personal lust driven world. Sliding a hand up his body, you teased a nipple with the pad of your thumb, earning more moans. It had only been when he spoke that you noticed the phone. 

“Hel-Hello?” the brunette stammered, full lips parted in silent moans of pleasure. “No, I'm n-not…Ye-Yes,” he wriggled when your tongue lashed at the underside of his head. Han watched with heavy lidded eyes as you licked up the slit of his cock. “He's…He's sucking my dick, and playing with my nipp-nipples…it feels so good, Hyung. Oh god, it feels so good,” he released a breathy moan as you took his tip in your mouth. “Just the tip…”

You wondered which member called as you started stroking his shaft. It could only be Chan, since you and Han were supposed to be at the studio by now. You imagined he’d been annoyed before calling, but once hearing Han’s breathy reponses, that likely disappeared. The image of an intrigued Chan leaning back in his chair, hand lightly brushing his thigh, came to you as you teased Han. 

“O-Okay…” 

Han, with shaky hands, fumbled with his phone. Sliding him further into your mouth, your cock pulsated knowing what was coming next. Was he alone? Was he about to facetime with the other members and producers there? No. Chan might get risky and kinky, but not like that. He wouldn't have stayed on the line if he was surrounded by people. Han pressed another button, and you heard two familiar voices groan in surprise.

“There's my boy,” said Chan, his voice recognizable by his Australian accent, which switched back to Korean as he said, “Looking so pretty with Hannie in his mouth.”

“How does he taste, Ynie?” Changbin asked you, his tone playful with a hint of naughtiness underneath it. 

“So good,” you murmured against Han's head before kissing it teasingly. “He’s so sweet. I can’t stop.” 

“Neither can I when I have him to myself,” he said, sounding mesmerized by the act. 

“Show us your tongue, show us your tongue,” Chan said lightly. When you dragged your tongue up Han's shaft, they both groaned. “Good boy,” he said, “Keep doing it just like that; nice and slow how he likes it.”

You couldn't see their faces, but you knew they were enthralled by you. You'll admit, you liked the attention. You kept licking straight lines along the throbbing shaft, starting at the base and stopping on the tip. Your hips habitually grinded into the mattress, your low whimpers vibrating on the hard muscle. Han's hand tightened around the corners of the phone, his whining loud and clear.  

Changbin then chuckled. “Hannie, you need to hold the phone straight so we can see him better. We can't see if you're shaking like that.”

“S-Sorry, hyung,” he whimpered. “It feels so good; I can’t help it.”

“I know it does, but we want you to try until we get there.” You heard a soft groan when you licked up Han’s hard length once more, making sure both of them saw streams of drool spill from the top. Giving him a few tugs, Changbin spoke, “Look how pretty Han’s cock is. I’m going to have such a good time playing with you two.”

“Please…” Han whimpered. 

“Please?” Chan asked in a teasing voice. “‘Please’ what? Use your words, baby.”

“Play with us,” he said, moaning when you sucked and licked around his tip. “Play with me.”

“Hm, I don't know, Binnie-yah,” Chan said, a taunt in his voice. “Minho-yah might not like it. I don't think Hannie got permission to let anyone touch his cock.” 

“Wait,” you suddenly stopped, smirking when Han whined, “Did you get permission, Hannie?”

“I did!” he cried out, wriggling his hips around. “He said I could.”

“Your master said you could get fucked?” You gave his tip a few teasing licks, “That doesn't sound like Minho-hyung. I heard someone got punished recently…”

“I swear he said I could,” he said, moving his hips up before you held them down. “Pl-please, hyung.”

“I wouldn't want you to get into trouble,” you lapped at the underside until he squirmed. He was so erect, his cock stood up on its own. Your occasional flicks made it move back and forth, and you kept doing this for amusement. 

“I do,” cackled Changbin. “Minho lets me watch sometimes. Hannie is so pretty when he’s all teary eyed and begging.”

“He does,” agreed Chan, entranced by the sight of you. “So, so pretty.”

You imagined both men already picking up their bags to leave. There must be nobody else there for the moment. You heard Changbin somewhere in the background, while you knew Chan put in an earbud to avoid anyone else listening. You went back to your teasing, flicking and pumping Han's length while the boy struggled under you. 

“Lick his balls, baby,” Chan said, his order gentle as always. “I like watching you do that-Oh, you're such a good boy for me.”

Han jerked when you wrapped your mouth around one side of his sack. You kept your eyes on the phone, innocence radiating off of you juxtaposed to your actions. Chan liked good boys, you knew. You liked pleasing him. Ever since your first time, you and Chan spent a lot of time in each other's bedrooms. You knew everything he liked, and he liked good boys. 

It was Changbin who brats. 

You heard nothing but Han's soft panting and whining. They must be on the move. You kept the hard balls in your mouth, sucking and licking them gently. Your cock ached for friction. The image of Chan stroking you from behind came to you and you kept pushing into the bed. Sliding Han back into your mouth, you bobbed your head up and down to his sharp intake. Han gripped the sheets, nails digging into the soft, white fabric as his hips bucked up and down. 

“Must be your throat, Ynie,” Changbin ordered, sounding inconspicuous to anyone else in the car. “I have some tea left from when I had a cold. Make some and relax.”

You knew an order when you heard it. Positioning yourself more comfortably, you held Han by the base as you took breaths through your nose. Gradually, you slipped him over your tongue to the back of your throat. Thankfully, Han wasn't as large as Changbin, whose girth ached your jaw and length penetrated your throat with ease. This made the youngest rapper quiver, a breath exhaled through his teeth and he struggled to keep his phone straight on his chest. You felt his head pushed past your uvula each time, causing a soft gagging sound you knew they all loved. Two low groans stifled by coughs sounded from the phone when you gazed up at them. You kept the pace slow, hands on Han's inner thighs as you kept your eyes on the phone. The shutting of car doors made you glad the company building was close to the apartment. 

“Spit on it,” Chan said breathlessly, groaning when you dribbled over it. They must be in the elevator if he spoke so boldly. “Why did I wear these shorts today? I feel like I'm barely hiding it.”

“I tucked mine into my waistband,” said Changbin. Why did their casual conversation during such a filthy moment turn both you and Han on more? “If they'd told me they'd do that, I would've come over. Pretend my cold hadn't gone away yet. Did you tell Seungmin not to come?”

“Yeah,” said Chan. “Then he was like ‘what? why?’ and I told him the microphone was broken,” he said with a stifled laugh. 

“What did he say?” laughed Changbin. 

“Nothing. He was like ‘oh okay, cool’. He and Felix are going out, so there's no worries, I guess.” When you spat on Han's cock again, he groaned. “He spat on it again.”

“What? Let me see.”

You did it just for him, spit trickling down before you took it back in your mouth. He huffed in frustration. “Why do we have to be in the world's slowest elevator?!” he said as Chan laughed. 

The ding of the elevator made him laugh a bit harder. “You should see how excited Binnie is for you two,” Chan said, his laughter dying down. “Get up on your knees for me, baby,” he told you, “I want that ass in the air when I show up.”

Both you and Han suddenly flinched when you heard the front door open. Everybody had keys to each other’s dorms, so they didn’t need to worry about answering the door. Changbin and Chan likely discarded their bags and shoes quickly, since you heard hurried footsteps reach the bedroom door. 

Changbin moaned at the sight of you both on the bed, and instantly removed his shirt. The broad muscles made you salivate around Han's girth. The abdomen he hid all the time appeared less defined than after a workout, but still traceable with fingers or a tongue. He quickly tugged off his pants and socks as he moved to the bed. His hastiness took you and Han out of your horny haze for a moment for a laugh. 

“Fuck, look at you two,” he groaned, pecking Han's lips, then kissed yours. “How did this happen, hm?”

“In the shower,” Han moaned, whining when you pulled away from him. 

Which you did to kiss Chan, who tilted your head to lock lips with you. For those few seconds, you forgot Han and Changbin. You let Chan's full lips lock with yours, brushing your tongues together before he pulled away. You shifted around, the covers grazing your dick again, as he slipped his tongue over yours. A moan escaped you when his hand slid down the curvature of your back to your ass. 

“Naughty,” he muttered, giving one cheek a light tap, “To stay away from work when you know we have a comeback soon.”

“It's not for a while,” you whined into his mouth. “It just happened, I swear.”

“Is that so?” He cooed when he reached down your crack to your balls. “Is that how the sheet got all wet?” He said, giving them a gentle tug that made you tremble, “From all this precum? You've been at this for a while, huh?”

“Yes,” you breathed, needy for more of his touch. 

Not getting the friction you’ve ached for, you whined at the middle finger dragging up your balls to your ass and back. Chan captured your lips with his, giving slow kisses as he rolled a finger around your entrance. Not pushing past it, he hummed when you began grinding into his hand. 

“Not yet,” he said. “We only just got here.” 

“But Leader-nim…I need it super bad,” you pouted. He chuckled at your eagerness, giving your neck soft kisses. 

“I know,” he returned the pout. “You’ll get plenty of dick soon, you know that.” He brought the fingers to your lips and you coated them in spit, “How about you put Han's pretty cock back in your mouth while I take care of you, hm?”

“Yes, Leader-nim.”

You went right back into the proper position. Unlike Changbin, Chan hadn't removed a stitch of clothing. He didn't do this out of shyness but for torture. He knew you loved his body, and he'd make you work to see it bare. You jumped at his warm hands sliding up the backs of your thighs to your ass, giving the fleshy parts soft squeezes as he did so. Han filling your mouth, you could only give a muffled cry at the thumbs grazing your center. The two digits massaged up and down your balls, moving over the insides of your cheeks and spreading them apart every so often. Simply having him so close to you, his hands groping and massaging your ass and balls, kept you eager to push into his face. But, you knew better. He’d only pull away if you did that. 

“Han made you so hard, baby,” Chan said, voice low and full of lust before he flicked your balls with his tongue. “Let’s see if I can make it harder.” 

Everything in you screamed for him to take you right then, yet you practiced patience. He planted soft kisses right over the middle before fully making out with your balls. You could feel his lips catch onto one and his tongue sliding up and down it. The sensation sent more blood pumping to your cock, which twitched underneath you. He sensed your trembling thighs, then wrapped his arms around them to push his face further in you. With Han deep in your mouth, your moans came out muffled pleas and whimpers. The obscene licking and sucking matched the sloppiness of your blowjob, and it turned you on more. 

When you looked up to Han, you saw him preoccupied with Changbin. Abdomen tensing and hips slowly thrusting, Changbin slid half his length into Han's mouth. Wide, round eyes stared only at him, soft moans stifled by his thickness. Han would whine pathetically when the older member pulled away, keeping his tongue out for Changbin to rub himself against. He enjoyed it too much to let Changbin go. You saw the eagerness he restrained in his firm sucks. The sight of Han, shaking and whimpering, taking Changbin's cock so easily made you hornier. 

As Chan delicately licked at your hole, you sucked Han more firmly and took him further into your mouth. Soon, a symphony of moans filled the room and you thanked God only the four of you were in the apartment. By the time Han started pushing his hips to your face, you knew he'd finish soon. 

“No, no, no, baby,” Changbin breathed, pulling your head off Han's lap. He pushed hair from Han’s forehead as he said, “You haven't been fucked yet. You know you can only cum when you've been fucked first.”

“Binnie-hyung,” Han whined. “Please, I want to so badly.”

“You know the rules,” he continued, tapping his tip on Han's lips before he stuck out his tongue. “You don't want to be a bad boy, now do you? I don't think your master would like to hear you're being naughty again.” 

“No,” Han said, words whining as he kept his tongue out. “No, I don't.”

“Alright, so be a good slut and do what you’re told,” he sighed in relief once he pushed back into the salivating mouth. “I'd hate to punish you when you're behaving so well.”

“Oh please,” said Chan from behind you, lapping at your leaking tip until you mewled. “You love punishing them.”

“I’m too tired for it today,” he admitted, pushing to himself until Han choked slightly. “I just want to use their holes until I'm drained dry.”

Both you and Han moaned at his words, earning chuckles from the other two. You nearly lost control when a slender digit pushed through the threshold into your ass. Chan made sure you felt each stroke in his slow pace. They curled against the rigid walls to the very center of you; they gently stretched you while his tongue rolled around your tip. Your eyes rolled back at the slim fingers, wanting them to go faster and deeper. He knew exactly how badly you needed him, 

“Both of you kneel up for us,” Chan ordered. 

The kneeling position put his fingers further inside you. Han copied your position, eyes heavy with desire as he knelt in front of you. 

“Kiss each other,” Changbin said softly, intently watching both of you. 

“Deeply,” added Chan. “Yeah, that's it. Just like that…soft and slow.”

“You two look so pretty like this,” Changbin said, kissing Han's neck. You saw him grab Han's free hand to wrap around his girthy shaft. “Don't they, hyung?”

“They do,” Chan agreed, doing the same to you. 

Finally having his cock in your hand, you made sure your lover felt every small squeeze you have. Your thumb started tracing the veins slowly rising through the velvety skin, rolling around the back of the sensitive head each time. Beads of precum fell onto your thumb, and his raspy breaths filled your ear. You couldn't help losing yourself in Han's kisses and Chan's fingers. They prodded deep inside you, pressing that special spot in intervals. Han's small squeal told you Changbin began stroking his hardon just as slowly as he fingered him. The youngest grinded into the hand needily, holding onto your shoulders as he pushed back. Your tongue keeps his mouth busy, so he could only whine into you. 

“Somebody is getting needy,” Changbin groaned, his hand smacking Han's cheeks as his palm picked up the pace a moment. This caused Han to break from you to cry into the air, staying still as he was fingered. “Look how much he's leaking,” he said, kissing Han's neck. “You're making such a mess, Hannie-yah.”

“Please,” he whined, “I need it.”

“Oh, you need it, huh?” 

“Yes!”

“Do you need it badly?”

“Yes!”

“Did you hear that, YNie?” Chan smirked, “Han needs it. Be a good boy and give it to him. We want to watch.”

You didn’t hesitate to get between Han's thighs. Hands sliding down the slender thighs, you pressed onto the flesh just enough for him to feel it. But then Changbin grabbed them for you, lifting them to Han's stomach. This left him fully exposed and vulnerable to the three of you. You let out a soft gasp when Chan grabbed you by the base to give a soft squeeze. He gave long, slow strokes that spread your precum all over it. Your arms behind your back, you couldn't do anything except let him tug on you. He traced the length of Han’s cock with yours, tapping the tip lightly on his balls before going further down. The light motions had you quaking in his embrace. 

“Patience, baby,” he cooed, swirling your tip around the tight ring. “You'll both get it soon. Binnie-yah and I just want to watch you stretch him slowly.”

“We need to get you a little wetter,” said Changbin, bending down to swipe his tongue over you. “You're too big to put in like this.”

Chan rolled your nipples between his fingers as Changbin's mouth moved up and down on you. His lips massaging the sides in every suck, his tongue worked the bottom. You watched his hand move in time on Han, who was shivering at each touch. You used every bit of strength to hold back the orgasm building within. 

“This is fucking heaven,” he moaned, lifting Han to his mouth for firm sucks. “I love having pretty boys to play with,” he put you both together to slide his tongue over the heads. “Pretty boys with tight holes and nice cocks.” His tongue flicking each one, he gave them short, quick sucks before switching. 

“I could die happy right now,” said Chan, lifting a hand to tweak your nipple. “I'd do this all day if I could,” he said while he kissed your neck. “Just stay in bed fucking your holes and tasting your cum,” he pushed his shaft between your cheeks, and you nearly came from it. “Can I taste your cum, baby? Will you shoot it in my mouth and down my throat for me?”

“Yes,” you said in a shaky breath. “Please…”

“I'd prefer to taste Hannie,” said Changbin, sliding his tongue up his cock, “Would you like that, Hannie-yah?”

“Yes, hyung,” Han cried. 

“Can we have as much as we want?”

“Yes, hyung.”

“Every little drop?”

“Yes.” 

“Then, let’s see how much we can get out of you two.” 

Changbin let Chan take over you again, and he pushed the first inch inside Han. A new flood of pleasure came as Han's body drew you inside naturally. Chan pushed you gently until you filled him, then he held you there for Han to adjust to your size. With whispered encouragement and slow guidance, Chan and Changbin watched your dick carefully slide in and out of Han. You swore his body pulled you inside on its own. Every pull outwards showed his hole clinging to you, while every push was inviting. Changbin lay beside him, he kept stroking and kissing him tenderly. You watched Han fall into a pit of lust, body remaining still as it was overcome with sensations. 

“Look how far you stretch him,” Chan whispered, kissing near your ear. “I love watching your big dick stretch our little bottoms out. They turn into such sluts when they’re with you.” 

“You can’t turn them into something they already are,” said Changbin, bending down to catch strings of Han’s leaking precum. “Isn’t that right, Han-ah? Aren’t you already a slut?”

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, I’m a slut, hyung,” he sobbed. 

“Yeah, that’s right,” he suckled the tip, tasting the clear fluid coming out. He then kissed up your stomach to your nipple. “And you, Ynie?” he sucked on one of them softly, nibbling on it. “Are you a slut too?”

“Yes, hyung,” you moaned. 

“And that’s what we love about our cute little Pervert,” Chan said, putting his dick between your ass cheeks. The thick shaft gliding over your entrance caused you to shake. “Go faster, Pervert,” he said, pushing your hips for you, “Fuck him how you like being fucked.” 

And you did. Deep, quick thrusts coupled with Chan and Changbin’s teasing brought you both closer to the edge. You couldn’t hold back much longer. 

“Leader-nim,” you whined as Han’s ass clenched tightly around you, “I’m going to cum.”

“You are?”

“Yes! I can’t help it. His ass feels so good.”

“I don’t know if I should let you,” he said, putting his tip right to your ass hole. “I haven’t fucked you yet.” 

“Then fuck me, please.”

Changbin laughed, “It’s not rocket science, hyung. Your baby boy wants to cum and you want to fuck him.”

“So I should, huh?” Chan chuckled softly. “Where’s your lube, Hannie?”

“Drawer.”

Changbin grabbed it for him, and handed it to Chan. “Lube me up, baby,” Chan removed his shirt and shorts as he laid next to Han on the large bed. “Then you can ride me like a good Pervert.”

Han cried in frustration when you withdrew from him. However, these cries were silenced with Changbin’s soft deep kisses. After coating his length in a thick layer of lubricant, you mounted Chan’s hips and put his head to your hole. Fully sitting on his cock, you stayed there as pleasure pulsed throughout your body. The tip pushing on your g-spot, you could cum just like this, but you held onto your orgasm tightly. Chan’s hands rubbed over your thighs to your waist, where he started urging you to go up and down. You looked down to see him shirtless and breathless. One hand on his chest, you rubbed a nipple while picking up speed. He was so strong and big. Even if you bulked up, he was still stronger than you and you liked that. 

“You’re so big, Leader-nim,” you moaned, feeling up and down his chest. “I love it so much.”

“I know, baby,” he said, hand going up to your cock. “Why do you think I work out so much, hm? I want to look good for my sweet boy,” he pulled you down for a deep kiss. “I need to work out if I’m going to keep up with you.”

The both of you shared a laugh before kissing again. It was then you noticed Han also straddling and kissing Changbin. While you kept a steady pace, impatient and dazed Han bounced needily. Changbin did not stop him, instead jerking his bobbing dick in time with it. 

“Ride me like that,” Chan instructed, grabbing your ass. “Just let go and enjoy your leader’s dick.”

You sat up again and matched Han’s desperate pace. The two moved in near unison as they fully unleashed themselves. The men underneath them moaned and watched in awe as their respective partners moved. After all this time with Stray Kids, you couldn’t want anyone else. Nobody fucked you the way they did. You thanked God every day you joined their group; that you pushed down your hesitations and decided to give it a shot. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have them in your life. Sex aside, you’d grown so attached and so close, you couldn’t picture yourself in any other group. 

“I think YNie’s about to cum,” Chan asked, holding your cheeks open and pushing upwards. “Hm?”

“I think Hannie-yah is too,” said Changbin, still stroking Han. “He always gets louder when he’s close.” 

“I’m so close, hyung,” Han panted, eyes closed and mouth open. “I’m so fucking close. Please, let me cum. Please.”

“Me too!” you cried out next, changing your angle and pushing further down on him. “I’ve wanted to cum this whole time, please, Leader-nim. Let us cum. Please.”

“Oh, YNie, you know that’s not the right way to ask,” Chan breathed, mesmerized by your body. “Good boys get what they want when they ask politely.”

“May I please cum, Leader-nim?”

“May I please cum, Changbin-hyung?” 

“Only if you put it in my mouth.”

“And mine too.”

Neither of you wasted any time moving up to their chests. Chan and Changbin immediately opened their mouths for you two to fill. Two fingers in your ass, his throat humming around your dick, it didn’t take long for you to explode. It was like two bombs going off at the same time. You and Han gripped the headboard tightly as your orgasms burst in your partners’ mouths. Thick, creamy droplets fell down their throats as they greedily swallowed the loads. Their moans of approval only tickled more out of you. Shuddering as you slowly came down, Chan continued sucking until nothing else came out. 

“On your sides,” he said, swiping at your sensitive cock, “We’re cumming inside you two.”

Nothing pleased you more. Laying on your side facing Han, you lifted your leg to Chan’s shoulder to let him thrust deep inside. Your lips found Han’s, and his hand wrapped around your softened dick. Unable to help it, you started stroking him back as Chan pounded into you. The feeling alone made you want to get hard again. Looking down to see Changbin doing the same, you wished he’d be in you too. The need to keep being fucked came on too strongly. You soon felt something warm blossoming in your ass. Chan’s moans turned into breathy whines as he came. Changbin followed right after, causing him to move faster and harder. You and Han moaned in each other’s mouth as their cum spilled into you. It felt so good having a piece of Chan stay there even when he pulled out. Feeling full, you tried keeping whatever didn’t leak out of you. 

Then the two switched partners. You all laid in bed, touching and kissing to rebuild up that arousal. Changbin slid through inside, and you immediately noticed the difference in size. He giggled at your wide eyes, hips gently meeting yours in each thrust. Your hands gripped his shoulders, feeling his muscles flexing in each movement. You explored his taut, buff body while he kissed your neck and shoulders. Every time you watched him on the weight machines in the gym came back as his cock buried itself in you. You’d see his muscles grow more defined from being worked on so much, making him appear bigger than he normally did. You’d see it and think about how they looked tensed in his orgasms. 

“I love how big you are,” you moaned without thinking. You held onto his biceps, “So…big…”

“It must be nice to get fucked by someone as big as you,” he said, pushing a bit faster. Propped above you, he curled your body upwards and directly hit your prostate.

“N-Not big that way,” you said, eyes falling closed. “Your-Your muscles…”

“You like my muscles, huh?”

Arms and legs went around him when he lifted you off the bed. Out of everyone, Changbin carried you the easiest. He started pushing upwards while standing, balls hitting your ass in every fast thrust. The new position brought on bursts of pleasure each time. It pulled him deeper, and you felt so full. You held onto his shoulders this time, fingers locking in his dark hair as he kept going. 

“Like how strong I am, Pervert?” he asked, panting and groaning in your ear. “Hm? It turns you on to be thrown around like a ragdoll?”

“Yes, yes!” you whined, feeling your orgasm approaching in this position. “I love when you manhandle me.”

“Then I guess I’m doing it more.” 

Behind you, Han’s moans grew louder with his ass hitting Chan’s hips. You heard the sharp sounds of spanking, each hit pushing Han to his orgasm. Chan’s would be arriving soon; you knew by how low and breathy his moans became. You pictured them both fucking you in the gym together.

Changbin tossed you onto your stomach, arms hooking around yours to keep them in the air. In the tight lock, he stuffed himself back in and went even faster. Your cock, heavy with blood and arousal, suddenly twitched when you came. Strings shot onto the covers underneath you, making droplets that seeped into the cloth. You couldn’t do anything except take Changbin’s thickness in you. Your position couldn’t stop him from cumming inside you. You stayed in place as Changbin used you like a fleshlight, spilling his seed deep inside until he got every drop. Glancing at Chan and Han, you saw them on the corner of the bed. Han bent over, Chan charged into him from behind. Both of them tense, sweat starting gleaming on their skin, you thought of them in your workout fantasy. By the time you finished, you were wishing all three of them would converge on you, tossing you to one another like a game of catch before fucking you.

“Show me,” Chan whispered when he reached you.

You turned your back to him, ass in the air and showed him where a mix of him and Changbin leaked out of you. “Fuck, that’s hot,” he groaned, squeezing both cheeks. “Your ass always looks so good, full of cum.”

“Especially when yours is in there too.”

“Maybe I’ll add a little more later.”

The promise of more had you pulling him to you for a deep kiss. Officially spent, you laid in his arms as the tiredness settled. His strong arms kept you close to his chest while you spooned, making you feel safe in his embrace. The light sensation of his lips on your skin, dotting loving kisses, warmed your insides. Right beside you, Han snuggled into Changbin’s chest, eyes already falling closed as the other whispered in his ear. You heard snippets.

“…You did such a good job. Your owner will be so proud of you when I tell him…We can eat later, Hannie. You should sleep.”

“I adore you,” Chan’s voice filled your ear. “You know that, right?”

“Yes.” You never said a word with such confidence before.

“I’d never really be angry at you about anything, right?”

You grinned, knowing where he was going with it. “Yeah…”

“But, next time I ask you to be somewhere,” he gave your ass a small smack, “You get this tight little ass there, understand?”

“Yes, Leader-nim.”

“Good boy.”

He pecked your temple, then cuddled you to him. You felt his body relax the same time as yours, your bodies almost melting together on the bed.

You rarely ever slept so well. 

****

A/N: okay, this is purely a result of my ovulation season and Hannie working on his fitness more lately lmao I know it's kind of pwp so nothing really happens except Newbiew getting fucked. Hope you still liked it though <3