#the wicked wench

[paintermagazine]

‘A spare pair’

Original source: ‘Wickedpictures.com’

[thisshrimpisfryingrice]

Black Pearl keychain for my Black Pearl and Wicked Wench needs.

Final product

[thottybrucewayne]

Across the spiderverse was fun, but I'll never forgive it for bringing swirl discourse to the main stage. White adults were calling Black teenagers Black supremacists for shipping Miles and Margo, I saw it with my own two eyes.

[bonerdonorxxx44]

[benjinkies]

using my birthday as an excuse to buy a bottle of mead

[emcads]

where is esme’s man like this

[trickstercaptain]

       also though while i'm thinking about tattoos and the symbolism of them, i also laugh to myself that i frequently describe Jack as not a romantic when the following things are true:

• he says in tpof that he has read "most of" shakespeare's poetry, and considering his poetry is almost entirely comprised of the sonnets, some of the most famous love poetry in all of human history.... and while you can say that it might have been pure coincidence that Jack happened to obtain a book of poetry over some of his plays while he was younger.... the indisputable fact is that Jack still read them.

• the bandana and the sash are both gifts from lovers and pieces of his clothing that he is inseparable from, and the majority of other effects and trinkets are sentimental gifts/keepsakes from people he's cared about and places that he's been.

• likewise, his method of gift-giving is to randomly pick up things on his travels and spontaneously give them to people. like a crow.

• literally falls in love with his ship on first sight and is therefore guilty of the most cliche romance trope of all, and does so in spite of the fact that she was in a poor condition and in desperate need of tlc, because Jack always sees past the surface level of the things and people around him.

• and speaking of his ship, everything that he has ever done for or because of her would be worthy of any romance novel if the Black Pearl were human, i'm js.

[yourluckieday]

Current obsession… Skull and Bones. I’m a menace.

[hatchetno1]

creepypasta kinks.

featuring eyeless jack, jeff the killer, masky, hoodie, and ticci toby.

cw: nsfw, knifeplay, blood, cnc.

Eyeless Jack finds his libido to only be elevated after his transformation into a demon. A helpless victim writhing in the grasp of his own carnal desires, he is left with no choice and seeks you out.

Marking. You are his. You are his, and every being, every living creature that lays eyes on you has to know it. The bite marks on your skin are perfect, perfect negative impressions of his impressive set of teeth. He finds the blood dripping from the deepest indentations on your neck to be beautiful.

Dirty talk. “Mine, mine, you’re all mine.” He whispers in your ear, licking at it, teasing its shell. Shivers run down your spine.

Manhandling, also linked to a size difference kink. Jack had always been a tall man, but after transforming, he had grown even taller and bigger, beyond what could possibly be considered normal. His silhouette engulfs yours, enabling him to pick you up with ease, toss you on his bed, carry you and fuck you.

Mirrors. He fucks you in front of a mirror and commands you to look at yourself. Look at you, just how delectable you look while his cock thrusts into you. You’re so red, you’re so bothered.

Breeding and creampies. But he’s not done with you yet, he tells you as he watches his seed drip out of your ruined hole. For even if your hole is useless, you still have other ones.

Jeffrey Woods has always been tightly wound, always ready to snap. It’s no surprise he takes his frustrations out fucking you, whether it be hateful fucking, or…well, it’s actually really mostly just that.

Consensual non-consent. You will be his, even when you don’t want to be, or at least act like you don’t. He’ll grab you, by the wrists, your hair, even your neck, and he will take you wherever and whenever he pleases.

Knife play. “You’re so beautiful when you bleed,” he’ll remark, and the occasional, “I want you and I covered all up in your blood.” And so cover himself in your blood he does, your vision fading as you bleed away.

Impact play. He’ll slap you, your butt, your face, wherever he pleases. You are not a person to him, not in that moment. You are his object to fuck and make use of. His pleasure is number one in his mind.

Licking and marking—though not out of affection. It’s a twisted possession, a wicked obsession. His, his, his. Blood drips everywhere. Red is all he sees. Red is all you are. Bleeding out in his bed.

Timothy “Masky” Wright’s personalities blend. Masky, and Tim. No, not Masky; Tim. Not Tim; Masky. Oh, what’s going on in his head? Why can’t he seem to control himself?

- Bondage. He must tie you up. He has to. The Operator wills it. Masky grabs the rope; Tim resists. He mustn’t tie his precious darling up. But Masky has to.

- Kissing. “I’m sorry,” Tim mumbles, and Masky hisses, don’t. But Tim prevails in this moment, and you get your affection, though it does seem like he’s holding back—from smashing your head in.

- Marking. You want to kiss your precious darling, so be it, growls Masky’s voice in the back of his head. But we do it His way. Masky bites at your flesh mercilessly, causing you to bleed, but at least Tim gets to leave his mark on you.

- Creampie—the struggle between Masky and Tim leaves the latter no room, no time to react to his ejaculation. He comes inside of you, and as he groans, he releases his seed. But before he can pull out, Masky commands: Stay.

- We will mark and imbue this wench. This one belongs to Him.

- YOU CANNOT FIGHT HIM.

Brian “Hoodie” Thomas is attractive, there is no denying it. But if a person were to lay eyes on him, with his charismatic smile, the furthest thought from their mind would be his true demeanor around you in the bedroom.

BDSM, namely sadism, bondage, impact play, and power play.

He is sadistic, dishing pain out without a second thought, like a billionaire spending thousands without a second thought. You plead and beg for mercy, a reprieve from the pain on your ass, but he simply smirks and the sting of his spanks begin all over again.

Bondage. For if he is to do what he truly desires to you, you must not be able to resist. “My pretty pretty darling,” he hums in a singsong, “I won’t be done with you anytime soon.”

Impact play. His favorite is flogging, seeing tears run down your face, red marks the exact shape of his weapon appear on your thighs, your chest, your stomach, everywhere. Your tears are everywhere. And as he fingers you, pleasure and pain blur together.

Humiliation. He unbinds you abruptly, causing you to fall to the ground. “On your knees,” he commands, and you have no choice but to obey.

“Worship me,” he whispers to you, and you obey.

You obey.

You obey.

Tobias Erin “Toby” Rogers is relatively inexperienced, but his confidence surprises you every time. Your guard down, he pounces, engulfing you whole.

Consensual non-consent. “Say you don’t want this.” “What?” “Say you don’t want this,” he whispers back, more urgency in his voice. And so you comply.

Zero foreplay. He inserts himself, intruding upon the sanctity of your body, and as you howl in agony your hole wettens itself around him. He sighs in pleasure. Pleasure—it’s only for him.

Crying. Tears. Tears all over your face, snot running down your philtrum unattractively. It all goes to his cock, it all emboldens him. “Cry more,” he whispers, voice trembling in excitement, fingertips wiping away your tears, bringing them to his lips for a taste.

Fear. The fear in your eyes, so enticing, so easy to get lost in. Were your eyes always so fearful of him? Will you never see him the same way again? The thought excites him, his heart races, his thrusts growing more erratic.

Punishment. All of a sudden, he pulls out and comes onto the floor. He turns back to your confused face and orders with surprising presidency in his voice: “Lick it up.”

You stare at him in horror.

[candy69gurl]

HIII NEW FOLLOWER :3 i js wanna cutely ask if u could make sukuna a gentle yet rough husband(he's still the king of whatevs) and the protagonist has a dragonfly pendant that glows and makes the protagonist submissive when originally, shes a VERY stubborn wife :3 thats all tyt (⁠´⁠⊙⁠ω⁠⊙⁠`⁠)⁠！

Trapped in Temptation

Heian Era Ryomen Sukuna x f!reader

Warnings- 18+, slight non-con, kidnapping, threats, mentions of violence (Sukuna is gentle only with you), tricking, use of nicknames, use of abdomen mouth and mouths on four hands, fingering (Sukuna has nails), double penetration (use of 2 dicks in rear and front), nipple playing, clit rubbing, choking, raw sex (cumming inside), breeding kink

wc- 4k

ART NOT MINE !

"Uraume, did you hear what that insolent wench said to me? She dared insult my honor!" Raging, Ryomen Sukuna paces back and forth across their opulent quarters, his four arms slicing through the air with anger. "I can't believe she would be so impudent before our subordinates! We should do something about her."

"Calm down, Lord Sukuna," Uraume interjects, standing in front of their master to block his path. "She knows not what she says. It was uncalled for, but I assure you, I shall handle the matter." They cross their arms, a determined look in their eyes.

"Uraume, she is so stubborn! Her constant attitude toward me is tiresome! I am the strongest, yet she dares to challenge me?" Ryomen Sukuna's voice booms throughout the room, emphasizing each word as he speaks. "And to think I took her as my consort... She must learn her place, or else I may end up hurting her"

With a sigh, Uraume nods understandingly, "I understand Lord, but the truth is, you've grown attached to her, haven't you?" Uraume asks, a knowing smirk playing on their lips. "I have the best solution for it"

"Tell me about it", he sits down on his throne, crossing his massive legs.

It was a sunny afternoon, as Ryomen Sukuna scanned his vast territory, standing atop the highest point of his temple. In the distance, he saw you - an unusual figure, unlike anyone he had ever encountered. Something within him stirred, a feeling he could not explain. His instincts screamed to hunt and devour this new prey, but a strange force held him back.

"You know I told you," Uraume said, looking up at Sukuna with a playful smile, "that sometimes we can find the most unlikely sources of entertainment."

Ryomen Sukuna grunted, acknowledging the truth in Uraume's words. He couldn't deny the fascination he felt for you. "Indeed, I will send my spies to follow her."

Weeks passed, and Ryomen Sukuna found himself consumed by your thoughts. He could resist no longer, and finally confided in Uraume, "I have grown obsessed with her. I've decided that I wish to bring her to me - against her will if necessary". A wicked grin spreaded across his face, revealing his sharp teeth. "Prepare the plan for her capture, and ensure she arrives here safely."

A sinister grin flashed across Uraume's face. "As you wish, Lord Sukuna. Your desire shall be fulfilled." And so, with expert planning and stealth, Uraume carried out the task of capturing you. When you were finally brought before him, bound and trembling, Sukuna couldn't help but feel a thrill of excitement.

In the grand temple, surrounded by darkness and the oppressive aura of Ryomen Sukuna, fear coursed through your veins like ice water. You couldn't help but tremble at the sight of the towering, monstrous figure before you. Even as he approached you gently, offering words of comfort, your heart pounded uncontrollably. The very air seemed heavy with his power, and you couldn't shake the feeling of loathing and dread that bubbled up within you.

"Fear not," Sukuna whispered, his voice a velvety rumble in the silence of the chamber. "I have taken a liking to you, and will not harm you...for now." He gazed into your frightened eyes, his own full of curiosity and perhaps even a hint of longing. "I promise you, you are safe here – for the moment."

Breathless and shaking, you pleaded with Ryomen Sukuna, "Please, let me go! I don't want to stay here, with you..." Your voice quivered, desperation clear in every word. But the mighty demon lord only stared at you, his expression unreadable behind his cold facade.

As days turned into nights, and then into weeks, you refused to eat, choosing instead to starve yourself in protest. Your pale and unwell body greatly concerned Sukuna.

"Enough of this nonsense!" Ryomen Sukuna's voice rang out, echoing through the temple chambers. "Uraume, attend to her."

Despite your protests, Uraume stepped forward, concern in their eyes. "Please, consume at least a bit, it will make things easier for all of us."

You looked up at them defiantly, tears welling in your eyes. "I won't eat!"

"This obstinacy is truly fascinating," Sukuna muttered, watching the scene unfold with a mixture of irritation and intrigue. "You underestimate the consequences of your actions. If you continue to starve yourself, your life will be endangered."

Uraume sighed softly, eyeing you with worry. "Just a morsel," they pleaded, gently placing a small bite of food on your tongue. "For your own sake."

But you stubbornly clamped your jaw shut, refusing to swallow the offered sustenance. Your determination was steadfast, fueled by your desire to leave the clutches of Ryomen Sukuna.

Seeing your resolve, Sukuna's eyes narrowed, and he spoke with a dangerous edge to his voice, "Very well. Have it your way. But know this, if you die, I am going to kill every human on this earth."

"Y-you cannot do that-", your words fell on deaf ears, as Ryomen Sukuna merely laughed darkly, the sound echoing ominously in the temple chambers.

"Oh, little mortal, do not mistake my words for idle threats. I am capable of such destruction. And if you persist in defying me, I may just do it."

Watching you waste away drove Uraume mad with worry. They tried once again to reason with you, "Do not test Lord Sukuna's patience, child. You know not the extent of his powers. You must eat, for humans' sake."

Reluctantly, you opened your mouth for Uraume, swallowing the food they offered. The taste was foreign, and your stomach growled in protest, but you knew better than to refuse. Your eyes met Ryomen Sukuna's, a mixture of defiance and despair in their depths. You were trapped, a caged bird desperate for freedom.

As days passed, you learned to endure your imprisonment, adapting to the odd rhythms of your captivity. Ryomen Sukuna watched you closely, a never-ending study of this fascinating creature who had captured his interest. Though you remained subdued, he couldn't help but notice the occasional flash of rebellion in your eyes.

One fateful day, unable to contain your frustration any longer, you spoke out of turn, lashing out at Ryomen Sukuna in front of his ever-loyal servants. The words tumbled from your lips, sharp and cutting, as if driven by sheer desperation to assert some semblance of control over your situation.

Ryomen Sukuna's eyes narrowed, his expression turning dark as thunderclouds. With a swift movement, he took hold of your arm, lifting you off the ground effortlessly. "Is this how you repay me for keeping you alive?" His voice was low and dangerous, sending shivers down your spine.

"Perhaps I should reconsider my decision to spare you," he snarled, holding you aloft in his powerful grip, the muscles in his arms straining visibly. Your heart leaped into your throat as you realized the severity of your actions.

"Kill me, it's better to die than to live with a monster like you!", defiance blazed in your eyes as you spat the words at Ryomen Sukuna, your voice shaking with emotion.

Surprisingly, Ryomen Sukuna paused, his eyes softening momentarily. "Monster?" He released you, allowing you to stumble back, breathless and terrified. "I have done nothing but provide you with a measure of safety, and this how you repay me?"

Uraume stepped forward, trying to diffuse the tension. "Lord Sukuna, she is weakened, emotionally and physically. It's not wise to push her too far." They glanced at you, concern etched in their face. "Let us give her time to adjust to her circumstances."

Ryomen Sukuna hesitated, his sharp gaze never leaving you. "Get her out of my sight. NOW!"

Uraume quickly complied, guiding you away from Sukuna and into the comfort of your quarters. As the door closed behind you, you slumped against it, gasping for breath. Emotions swirled within, tearing at your fragile psyche. Fear, anger, resentment, and a strange kind of fascination with the demonic ruler.

In the quiet hours of night, Uraume approaches Ryomen Sukuna, a dragonfly pendant glimmering in their hand. Their voice soft but filled with purpose. "We have found a way to control her defiance, Lord. A dragonfly pendant of ancient origin, said to bring submission to those who wear it."

"Show me," Ryomen Sukuna commands, his interest piqued. Taking the gleaming object from Uraume's hand, he examines the delicate craftsmanship, a faint glow emanating from its center. A slow, predatory smile spreads across his face. "This could prove useful."

Uraume nods, understanding his intentions. "Once she wears it, and the pendant comes in contact with your iris, she will become submissive, appeasing her rebellious nature. Perhaps we can break her spirit and bend her to our will."

Ryomen Sukuna studies the dragonfly pendant, imagining the effect it would have on her. His dark eyes sparkles with anticipation, the plan working perfectly in his favor.

"But Lord.. Remember you have to trick her into wearing it", Uraume warns knowing your stubborn nature.

Rolling his eyes, Ryomen Sukuna dismisses Uraume's warning. "Trust me, I know how to manipulate her."

The following day, as dawn breaks over his kingdom, he seeks you out with a seemingly contrite expression. Apologizing for the previous day's outburst, he holds out the dragonfly pendant. "Here, take this as a token of reconciliation. Wear it close to you, as a sign of our understanding".

There's an underlying current of menace beneath his words, caught off guard by the unexpected apology, you tentatively accept the dragonfly pendant from Ryomen Sukuna's hand. As the delicate piece of jewelry slides around your neck, your heart races in anticipation.

Sukuna's eyes fall on the pendant and it glows, then a sudden warmth floods your being, and you feel an overwhelming sensation of... submission?

The change is immediate and profound. Your resistance crumbles, replaced by an inexplicable urge to obey. You fall to your knees, your eyes fixed on the ground, "I am sorry, Lord Sukuna. Please forgive my insolence." A wave of submission washes over you, eliminating the last vestiges of rebellion in your heart. The dragonfly pendant, now resting delicately against your collarbone, pulsed gently with each beat of your heart.

Ryomen Sukuna's eyes widens in surprise, a twisted grin spreading across his face. With a predatory grin, Ryomen Sukuna takes advantage of this newfound submission. Grasping your arm, he pulls you to your feet, your eyes locked with his. "Now that we understand each other, let's start fresh. Let me introduce you to the joys of our new arrangement."

A sense of helplessness grips you, as he leads you to a sumptuous room, adorned with silk sheets and plush cushions. Your heart hammers wildly in your chest, and you struggle to process the turn of events. As Ryomen Sukuna guides you towards the luxurious bed, you can't help but wonder how much more control he intends to claim over your body and soul.

"Remove your clothing," he orders, his tone commanding yet tinged with anticipation. Your fingers tremble, complying with his demand. Slowly, you undress, the dragonfly pendant glowing softly against your now-bare skin. An overwhelming sense of submission courses through you, leaving you vulnerable and exposed in front of the imposing figure of Ryomen Sukuna.

He watches you intently, his eyes never leaving your form. He steps closer, the heat of his body enveloping you, and you can't help but shudder, a mix of fear and desire coursing through you. "Turn around," he instructs, his voice a seductive purr. You obey without question, presenting your bare back to him.

His skilled hands move over your skin, tracing patterns that send shivers down your spine. "You are mine now," he whispers, his voice thick with desire.

He gives a searing kiss between your shoulder blades, his touch dominant and undeniably passionate. Every stroke of his hands, every caress of his lips, is a reminder of your new reality - one governed by his desires and his will alone.

Underneath his command, you find yourself responding in kind, your body betraying the fear that once held you in its grasp.

Ryomen Sukuna gently places you on the silken bed, his massive form towering over you. Your body trembles under the weight of his gaze, and his four arms wrap around you, holding you tightly, securely. The sensation is both terrifying and exciting, your heart racing in tandem with your growing arousal.

Slowly, he begins to explore your body, his fingers probing your core. You arch your back, torn between pain and pleasure.

"My, you're tight," he murmurs, his fingers sliding in and out of you with practiced ease. "Such a shame. You need to learn to relax for me."

Each thrust sends shockwaves of sensation through your body, the dragonfly pendant glowing with each movement. You moan softly, unable to deny the pleasure intermingling with your fear. "Please, Lord Sukuna," you whisper, the words slipping past your lips without conscious thought.

"Please, what?" He asks, his fingers continuing their rhythmic dance inside you. His voice is deep and velvety, wrapping around your senses like a warm blanket.

"Make love to me, please," you beg, your voice barely steady. There's a strange vulnerability in your plea, a stark contrast to the defiance he once faced.

Ryomen Sukuna's smirk grows wider, his eyes shining with triumph. "I have been waiting for this moment." he confirms, his fingers pausing briefly before he removes them from your body.

As Ryomen Sukuna leans in to kiss you, his enormous tongue darts out from his abdominal mouth, tracing a path to your clit. The sensation is unlike anything you've experienced before, sending jolts of electricity through your entire body. You gasp, your mind reeling with a mix of pleasure and confusion.

His tongue laps at your sensitive flesh, eliciting a moan from deep within your core. Simultaneously, his lips meet yours in a searing kiss, his tongue invading your mouth with the same boldness. His four hands roam freely, exploring every inch of your trembling body.

"You taste divine," he growls against your lips, his tongue from abdomen continues its assault on your clit.

One of his four arms reaches down to your core, thrusting inside with surprising ease. The sudden invasion triggers a response, your body arching off the bed in a fierce orgasm. Pleasure rips through you, a tidal wave of release that leaves you breathless and panting.

Breath still ragged from your climax, you watch in awe as Ryomen Sukuna discards his garments, revealing not one, but two erect phalluses. Shock momentarily paralyzes you, but his command snaps you out of it. Nervously, you position yourself between his legs, your hands trembling as you reach out to touch the unfamiliar appendages.

Your tongue darts out, hesitantly exploring one of his erect members. Your inexperience is evident, but he seems content to guide you. "That's right," he murmurs, his voice rough with desire. "Show me how eager you are to serve me."

You obey, your skill improving with each passing second. You alternate between his two phalluses, each one throbbing under your touch. His hands thread through your hair, guiding you as he mutters praises under his breath, his grip firm but gentle on your scalp. Your lips wrap around one of his member, your cheeks hollowing as you take him deeper. A strange sense washes over you, realizing he's taken complete control of this encounter.

Ryomen Sukuna groans, his hips bucking slightly under your ministrations. "So eager to please your master, aren't you?" he taunts.

"Mhm," you mumble around his member, your voice muffled by the flesh filling your mouth. The dragonfly pendant glows fiercely at your chest, a constant reminder of your submission. "Whatever you want, Lord Sukuna."

His laughter fills the room, a deep, rolling sound that vibrates through the air. "Delightful. Just remember, you belong to me now."

You continue to service him, your body responding to his every command, every thrust of his hips.

Ryomen Sukuna's laughter dies down, replaced by a growl of satisfaction as he pushes your head back. With an effortless strength, he picks you up with his four hands, aligning one of his hardened members with your entrance. In one swift motion, he pushes inside you, filling you to the brim.

You cry out, the sensation intense and overwhelming. Your walls stretch to accommodate his size, toes curling and head resting on his broad chest.

Ryomen Sukuna grins down at you, clearly pleased with your tightness. He responds by pounding into you with brutal intensity, each thrust driving deeper into your core.

"Tight little thing," he mutters, his voice guttural with lust. "Perfect for my needs."

Suddenly, Ryomen Sukuna notices the dragonfly pendant is missing from around your neck, but your face remains submissive. Confused, he slows down his movements, searching your face for any trace of rebellion. But there's none; only submissive yearning stares back at him.

"P-please lord, d-don't stop, i-i am so close.."

His lips curl up to a grin, his eyes narrow, studying you closely. "Is that so?" He resumes his thrusts, watching your reaction carefully. Your face contorts with pleasure, your body responding to his every stroke.

Without warning, Ryomen Sukuna pulls out of you, urging you onto your knees. You comply instantly, your body quivering with anticipation. He positions himself behind you, entering you from behind with renewed vigor.

The difference in angle sends waves of pleasure cascading through you. Each thrust strikes a new nerve, bringing you closer to the edge. You moan, your body begging for release.

Just as you start to crest, he stops with his thrusts keeping his member deep inside you, leaving you panting and desperate. "Patience," he growls, wetting his fingers with his saliva.

Your heart races, knowing what comes next. He inserts his wet digit into your tight rear, stretching you in a whole new way. You gasp, the sensation overwhelming. "P-please" you stammer, but it comes out more like a plea than protest.

Ryomen Sukuna chuckles darkly, his fingers working in concert with his cock. "Relax, little one. This will make you sing."

The added pressure forces you to focus solely on the sensations engulfing you. You breathe deeply, trying to accommodate his digits. His laughter echoes in the room, a cruel counterpoint to your mounting frustration. His other member pulses, impatient and ready to join the fray.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, he withdraws his fingers, coated in evidence of your readiness. You tremble, anticipation building to a fever pitch.

In one swift motion, he introduces the second shaft inside you, stretching you beyond belief. Tears prick at your eyes, a mix of pleasure and pain washing over you, but you don't resist, your body listening to him.

As both of his members work inside you, his four hands come into play. Two grip your hips firmly, guiding his thrusts while the others explore your body. His mouth forms from his other pair of arms, closing over your breast. The sensation is unlike anything you've ever experienced.

His suckling mouths formed from his hands tug gently at your nipples, sending sparks of pleasure throughout your body.

"Oh gods, yes!" You exclaim, surrendering to the sensation. His dual attention, the incredible fullness inside you, overwhelms you.

"That's right," he croons, his voice deep and sultry. "Take it all, show me how much you enjoy being filled."

Two of his hands reluctantly leave your breasts, giving them a tight squeeze before retreating. You whimper, feeling deprived even though you remain filled to the brim. It's almost too much, his dual penetration combined with his previous attentions.

Then, one of his hands drifts lower, touching your clit with feather-light touches. The other wraps around your throat, cutting off your air.

"N-no, wait...!" You choke out, struggling for breath.

"Quiet," he growls.

Without warning, his tongue emerges from his hand currently stroking your clit. It dances across your nerve bundle with expert precision, pushing you closer to the precipice. At the same time, the other hand leaves hickeys on your exposed neck, marking you as his own.

You gasp, the combination of sensations finally proving too much. Your body convulses, your orgasm soon going to occur.

As your orgasm builds, Ryomen Sukuna leans in close, his voice a seductive rumble against your ear. "I found your weakness," he whispers, his abdomen's mouth tracing lines along your spine. "Tell me you accept me as your husband."

You shiver, the combination of his words and actions overwhelming. His thrusting never stops, pushing you higher and higher.

"Lord Sukuna..." you manage, your voice breathy.

"Still a stubborn one, aren't you?" he chuckles, his pace increasing.

His thrusts become more urgent, matching the rhythm of your impending release. "I said accept me as your husband," he commands, the demand clear in his voice.

You nod, your body shaking from the sheer force of his command. "Yes...my Lord, I accept you as my husband" you admit, surrendering completely.

"Want to bear my child?," he asks, his mouth on his abdomen resuming its licking.

"Y-yes yes yes.. F-fill me, Lord.. I want.. your babies.. hnghnn", you reply, drools dripping from your chin. The thought surging through your body as you shatter, your orgasm crashing over you like a tidal wave.

Ryomen Sukuna matches your release, his own body convulsing as he finds his own climax.

With a final burst of energy, Ryomen Sukuna fills both your holes, his seed spilling hot and thick inside you. The sensation is indescribable, filling you to the brim. As he finishes, his seed trickles down between your legs, coating you in his essence.

His breathing labored, he collapses against you, resting his forehead on your back. You lay there, basking in the afterglow of your shared experience.

His eyes fall upon the dragonfly pendant lying innocently on the floor, and a slow smile spreads across his face. "Well well, look at that."

He lifts you gently, turning you around so you're facing him. Holding the pendant between his fingers, he holds it to your lips. "We don't need this anymore"

Taking the pendant from his fingers and throwing it away you pout angrily at him, "You tricked me."

A wicked gleam enters his eyes, and he pulls you closer, capturing your lips in a passionate kiss. "Just wanted you to realize your real feelings towards me. All you needed was a little push."

You pull back, your lips parting slowly. you stare into his eyes, realizing he's right. Your body did submit without the dragonfly pendant at the end. Your feelings towards him are genuine.

"I'm yours, Lord Sukuna."

His grin widens, he is indeed thanking Uraume in his mind, his hands caressing your face tenderly. "That's what I always wanted to hear, love."

[bapple117]

Velvette Slang Masterlist: for the fandom

A gift from a humble Brit to anyone (not from the UK) wanting to write Velv convincingly ~

Hello you wayward sinner!

Are you looking to write Velvette into a fan fiction, comic, roleplay or something else? Would you like to make her sound legit but you have no idea about British (or indeed, South London) slang? FEAR NOT! I, Bapple, am here to hold your hand and guide you through the wonderful world of British slang so you can have fun making Velv sound legit. Let's proceed!

Not all of this will be limited to the UK, of course, and it's not an exhaustive list of ALL British slang either - it's just the kind of things Velv WOULD say as someone from South London.

Insults

For men: bastard, prick, wanker, knob, dickhead, wankstain, bellend, git, tosser, sod, cock, pillock, numpty, codger (means old man)

For women: bint, bitch, slag, wench, slut, tart, trollop, scrub

For anyone: arsehole, arse, twat, sket, muppet, minger (means ugly), bugger, gobshite, cretin

The absolute worst thing you can call someone else is cunt - this is very strong and isn't used in casual conversation, unless you are in VERY informal company, in which case it's thrown around like it's nothing at all. (Come here you cheeky cunt - playful)

Terms of Endearment

Babes, hun, luv, darlin', sweetheart, mate, sweetie, mucker, pal, blud, fam, dear, dearie, honey

Eg: "Alright babes? How's it going darlin?'"

British people often use insults affectionately, too, especially with close friends as a way to tease / banter. (You silly sod, you useless prick, you cheeky git, you daft muppet, etc)

Slang Words

Drunk: trollied, smashed, pissed, wasted, legless, hammered, sloshed, battered, bladdered, merry, shitfaced, arseholed, plastered, lashed

Good: banging, well good, mint, the dogs bollocks, ace, blinding, cracking, brill, fab, neat, beast, fresh, hench, jokes (that's jokes innit), lush, peng (good looking), sick, wicked, peak, wavy

Bad: grim, naff, shite, shit, crap, tat (useless old tat), minging, rank, dry, nasty, humming (means gross)

Pleased: chuffed, buzzing, tickled pink, sorted (I'm sorted mate)

Annoyed: gutted, miffed, pissed off, fucked off, fuming, raging, ticked off, well annoyed, bovvered (used more sarcastically eg: I aint bovvered), vexed

Curses

Bollocks, fucking hell, bloody hell, bugger, piss off, any of the insults used above

Other random words

Bare = a lot of (eg bare money)

Chirpsing, grafting = flirting

Garms = clothes

Lips = kiss (are you tryna lips me?)

Peng ting = good looking person / high quality thing

Standard = of course, yeah no duh (Yeah that's standard mate.)

Tight = cheapskate (Don't be so bloody tight!)

Yard = your house (Come over to my yard)

Banter = conversation that's funny, casual, playful (S'just banter innit)

Convo, chinwag, chat = conversation

Defo = short for definite (Oh he's defo up to something)

Other random phrases

Are you taking the mick? = are you mocking me?

Stop faffing around = be serious and stop messing about

That's mad = wow, I can't believe what you just said or that's amazing

Allow it = just leave it, it's no big deal (Whatever mate, allow it)

Other helpful pointers

When British people (who talk like Velv) swear angrily we do so many times in a whole sentence and add a lot of qualifiers, eg:

"Fuck off you fucking prick, you absolute fucking useless arsehole!"

"Don't piss me off babes or I'll fucking end your shitty little life!"

Making a crude observation about something nearly always a curse in-front of it, eg:

"That's fucking rank."

"It was fucking buzzing mate!"

The Magical Use of Innit:

Innit is a wonderful word that can be used everywhere, especially for someone from South London. It basically means "isn't it?" but it has MANY uses. It can be used to mean an agreement, like "I know right?"

"That was well good innit"

"He's a right twat" - response: "INNIT!"

"It's fuckin grim in here" - "Innit mate"

Adding "well" to words

That was well good - that was well bad - that was well grim

(You get the idea)

That's about it for now!

If I think of anything else I will edit this masterlist and if anyone has any questions please feel free to pop them in my inbox. Happy writing!

[eternal-evergreens]

Can you please do a yandere sukuna x fem reader

｡⁠*ﾟ⁠+*⁠.⁠✧ "Iron Forged In Blood" ｡⁠*ﾟ⁠+*⁠.⁠✧

Post format: drabble

Pairing: Yandere! Sukuna x Fem! Reader

Word count: 1.2k

Warnings: abusive household, period-typical misogyny (not from Sukuna), violence, light gore, theft

"Please spare my son!" Your mother cried, a protective hold on your younger brother. "If no one else, please spare his life!" Your father nods ardently, encasing your mother and brother in an embrace.

What a touching sight---for a family of three. Ryomen Sukuna, the monster who pillaged your town, looks down at your family with disdain.

"You beg for your son, but not for your daughter?" He asks. "How pathetic."

Your mother stiffens, a look of horror etched upon her face. Your father's expression morphs into anger.

"Our son is the pride of our family! He's the one who will succeed my craft!" He yells. "My daughter, in comparison, is just a useless girl."

That's not true, you think to yourself. Your brother shows absolutely zero talent for blacksmithing, despite being personally taught by your father. You had to teach the craft to yourself, in a futile attempt to win his favor.

"You're an embarrassment," your father said, throwing your first sword to the ground with a clang.

"We feed you, clothe you, and yet all you do is throw yourself into useless things! Don't you know a woman's only purpose is to marry into a good family?"

"Ungrateful wench! Are you trying to show up your brother?"

Your father's lips curl up into a wicked smile. "But since your lordship has shown such concern over her," he says slowly, as if testing the waters. "Perhaps she can be of some use to our family after all."

Ryomen Sukuna raises an eyebrow.

"Please spare our family," your father says. "In return, please take our daughter, and do with her what you will." Your jaw drops. You aren't sure what you're feeling right now. Shock? Disbelief? Fear? Anger?

Perhaps you are feeling all four.

"I've listened to your useless ramblings long enough." In a flash, your father's head is separated from his body. Your mother screams, and your brother begins to wail. Blood splashes to your face, but you don't react. The world is spinning, the cries of your family are ringing in your ears, but all you can focus on is one thing.

"In return, please take our daughter, and do with her what you will."

The screams of your mother are cut abruptly short. Next is your brother. Only you remain.

Should you beg for your life? What would be the point? You'll never be a blacksmith, anyways. You'll never earn the recognition of your peers. Not as a woman, anyways.

"You," he says, commanding. You look up numbly. "Give me one good reason I shouldn't kill you alongside your kin." You blink, looking down at your lap.

"I'm afraid there is none, my lord," you say to him, voice and face devoid of any emotion. "Like my father said, I am just a useless girl."

"Oh?" The monster sounds amused. "Your arms are quite muscular," he says. "Are you a blacksmith?"

"I'm not very good," you say.

"Uraume," he calls.

"Yes, master." A white haired person steps forth from the shadows, head bowed.

"Bring me the sword."

"Yes, master." Just as quickly as they appeared, the servant vanishes, returning with a sword black as obsidian. Your sword. Your magnum opus. "Here it is," they say, presenting it to Sukuna.

"Did you make this?" You nod. You don't know how he got his hands on it, but that's definitely your sword. The same sword your father confiscated and threw away, stating you'd be lucky if those calloused hands would ever house a ring.

"You aren't aware of it, but you possess potent cursed energy, it's been etched onto this sword. Meanwhile, that 'father' of yours had no talent for sorcery at all." You don't follow, but knowing it would be unwise to question him, you keep your head bowed. "Listen up," he says, voice commanding authority. "You have a talent. Continue to make swords for me, and your life will be spared. Refuse and you will perish alongside these worthless rats you call your family."

You...have a talent? That can't be right. No, rather, it wouldn't matter even if it was. Because you're a...

"But I'm a-" Sukuna scoffs.

"I've fought countless sorcerers in my life," he says. "Both men and women. Most are equally untalented, but there are some that have been strong."

"Raise your head," he commands. Your eyes meet his. There's an expression in them you can't quite make out. "Strength does not have a gender. Nor does talent. Follow me and you will not be looked down upon again."

This man...he believes in you. He sees your worth.

"If I follow you, will I be a blacksmith?" You ask tentatively.

"What an idiotic question," he says. "You already are."

｡⁠*ﾟ⁠+*⁠.⁠✧

After working under Sukuna for some time, you've come to realise some things about him. Namely, that he does not pillage for no reason. There's always a motive, an underlying goal to achieve.

"My lord," you say, having just finished polishing a new spear. Sukuna is watching you from the edge of your workshop. He has a habit of coming to you whenever he gets bored. Though you don't make very good company when you're working, he doesn't seem to mind. "May I ask you a question?"

"Hmph. Ask."

"Why...did you choose my village?"

"Do I need a reason?" His tone is challenging, imposing. He speaks as though you need to watch your words, lest he cut out your tongue for impudence. You know him better than that, though. It's not a threat. Not if it's you. You look at him expectantly and he scoffs. "That sword..."

"Hm?"

"When Uraume presented it to me, I thought finding the craftsman behind its creation and forcing them to work for me would be an amusing way to pass the time. But the man who claimed to have made it didn't possess even a lick of cursed energy."

"There was a group of bandits that picked a fight with Uraume. They lacked talent, but one of them was wielding a sword that almost made up for it."

"Was that...?" Sukuna nods.

So your father had stolen your work to pass off as his own. If you had found this out even just a few weeks ago, you would have been devastated. Now, you feel nothing.

"I thought you'd be more upset," he says, eyeing you. You shrug.

"It's in the past. My father has already paid for his crimes in death. There's no need to let it bother me anymore," you say, face blank. The expression you're wearing is eerily similar to the one you wore that day. Sukuna shifts uncomfortably.

"Perhaps he did not suffer enough." Sukuna smiles. "If it would please you, I could have him ripped from his grave and brought back to the world of the living so that you may do away with him yourself."

"Like you'd go through all that effort just for someone like me," you say, a hint of teasing in your voice. You think you hear Sukuna say something else, but his voice is so low you can't make it out.

"There's little I wouldn't be willing to do, not if it's for you."

[medievalthymes]

wicked wench winter is OUT‼️‼️ medieval maiden spring is IN 🍞🐑🍓🍯🍂🥧🍄 🧺

[darkdemeter]

𝐒𝐈𝐑𝐄𝐍, 𝐁𝐄 𝐁𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃 𝐓𝐎 𝐌𝐄 𝐈𝐈

— BUCKY BARNES COLUMN (ONESHOT)

Dark Pirate! Bucky Barnes x Siren! Female Reader

—- not my gifs, credit to original posters! -—

| A/N | DISCRETION |

A/N — Ey yo let’s go! Here it is, part 2!

Dark, pirate Bucky — possessive Bucky, also feat. possessive reader — profanity — angst! — mention of alcohol — pet names ("Siren") — SMUT 18+ Minors DNI — unprotected (given) p in v sex — mention of marks/hickeys — there be depiction of wenches/prostitutes — semi-exhibitionism — mention of memory wipe through magic — minor cigar consumption (not reader) — very brief depiction of harm against a crew member — Rumlow, he's a bit of a sly creep — I think that's it?

| SUMMARY |

You are his siren. Why do you insist on your curiosity when you know it will only get you into trouble? In your captain's search for the ancient treasure, a temple only you know the location of, the voyage will take momentary port in Nassau. Mina, a fellow siren, reveals to you the dark truth that you have been blind to. Lied to. She encourages you to take back the necklace. The time to be a siren is now, to lure your captain into a false sense of devotion, that your sights and desires only draw to him; and not the necklace bound to his hand and the secrets he's been keeping from you.

*6.1𝐤 ────────────────┘

| M-LIST | TAGLIST:

@identity2212 @sebastianstansqueen @openup-yourmind @kandis-mom @calwitch @cjand10 @ashdoctor @missmarvelophilic @mostlymarvelgirl @daddy-bucky @thegirlwholoveslivesfanfiction @armystay89

────────────────┘

Dawn kisses the horizon’s rolling waters, erasing the wicked hue of intermingling black and blue with colours brighter, more promising, to bloom over sky and sea. A sight that portraits serenity in order to inspire a welling of hope. The flaming orb of heat commands to stir the once slumbering crew into action. Little does it work to awaken your captain, already awake and buried deep in the channel of your cunt, his cock surges forward aggressively, tip kissing your cervix with each powerful snap of his hips. 

  Relentless, he rolls in tandem with the rock of the ship, a string of grunted breaths and deep, stuttering groans thrum in the cavern of his large chest, heart hammering against his ribcage. 

  He pulls from you another countless orgasm to add to another countless hour of this tortuous bliss. A flushing, white and hot, seizes hold of you and beckons your body to respond accordingly, trained in his art of greed your legs drag over the terrain of defined muscle to bring him impossibly closer. Skin melding to inked skin, sweat laced bodies mingling in heated, frictional euphoria. 

  “Y’love that, Siren? Huh,” he pants on the shell of your ear, “love it when I have you full of me?”

  You mewl a small, whiney sound. 

  “Yes—” you intake sharply, “C-Captain…”

  “Aye, say it again.” He growls deeply, teeth nip the lobe of your ear, his nose buried in the crook of your neck inhales deeply the sweet dew of your flushed skin. Rough and strong, his hands have yours pinned, as he does your entire body, pressed against blood-red and snowy white velvets and silks and dark, exotic furs once belonging to pompous princes. Now, they belong to the king of the sea and his siren. Hips rolling together in time, fingers interlacing, woven together in bound strength to hold each other as guarded lifelines, the webbing between your slender digits draws and withdraws from their tucked beds of skin. Pupils conflict between dark, slitted lines and circular globes of blackness blown in pleasure. 

  “Shit… fuck– so fuckin’ tight, Siren!” he hisses, “mine… only mine.”

  Already your core burns enticingly, welcoming another orgasm that follows closely behind your one just prior. His navel arcs to brush your clit, the girth of his cock strikes true each time, he pummels harder and faster, his tip the only portion to remain before he thrusts forward with a moistened glide.

  Corded notes of pleasure are threaded into hitched knots, producing small, hiccuping whines as your abused, slickened walls constrict around his cock to milk him of every drop. The small bridge of your back arches, the smooth surface of your salty skin gliding over the defined divots and scars of his muscular front, inch by inch you feel him everywhere; both outside and inside. 

  He’ll never let you go. As a man who prides himself in the fine freedoms of piracy, he’s a blackened heart that guards you with vigorous possessiveness. Nor do you think you’re capable of ever leaving him. He is all you have. He is yours just as much as you are his. 

  The treasure he covets with unmatched greed. No woman on this earth could ever encounter what you have above you and between your quivering legs that loop tightly over his strong waist. And because of this, you equally covet this treasure of yours. 

  His cock ruts your cervix roughly, tugging forth a long, high noted yelp underlined with a breathy huff, the rhythm of his hips stutters at the sound. His pink lips find yours, tongue drawing over your own, your submission allowing him to do as he pleased. He feeds off the chorus of your breathless song, a song meant just for him. Because of him. 

  “Fuckin’ hell…” His voice rasps, teeth sinking into the bend where your shoulder and neck meet. “Love it when y’sing for m— me.” A gut-emitted groan reverberates in his chest, Skin meets skin in synchronised slapping, raw and primal with need. Wooden legs rub and claw the floorboards with heavy creaks. 

  “L–look atcha… huh, whiney and cock drunk– mmm, gonna make you scream for me, Love.”

  His thrusts grow as ruthless as the brewing storms of the sea, lashing and rocking you beyond the point of refusal. There is no denying, no pushing away. Not when it comes to your captain. 

  “C’mon, Siren—” He pants with a series of rushing thrusts that pin you down. “Sing for me.” 

  The erected peeks of your breasts are tender as they push against his chest. You whimper softly. 

  “Captain…”

  “Aye, louder,” he growls. Of his flesh hand, his knuckles whiten dangerously until the skin melts over bone. Another harsh snap of his hips sends you spiralling on the verge of your orgasm.

  “Captain—” you gasp and he bites down into the bevel between your collarbone with a rasping growl. “Captain!”

  Your velvety walls tighten around the hardened length penetrating you, filling you, his cock encumbered by the vice of your cunt. The blinding flash covers your vision and heat spreads through every corner of your body, leaving nothing but a siren blinded in lustful bliss. He groans with each drag and push, muscles glistening in the soft glow of the rising sun. The flowing wave of his precious seed finds purchase in your lower abdomen. 

  It’s not until he completely empties his hot load, does he finally slow his pace to a stop. Above you he pants heavily, each breath reminding you of the sea’s spray and sun-tainted breeze that tousles the darkened locks of his hair. 

  Your energy sapped from the unbridled temper of your beloved captain, you find reprieve in the gentleness of his tongue tracing the numerous dark marks covering your skin - his marks. 

  “Know this…” His voice rumbles lowly, his flesh hand harbouring the necklace dangles it mere inches over your parted lips. “There is nothing for you to find in a dried pearl, Siren. I am all you need.” 

  Metal squeezes your jawline, pursuing your understanding. The pink tip of his tongue wets his lips and he arches a brow.

  “Yes…”

  You needn’t be jostled twice by the threat of his grasp, you whisper, voice barely audible, “…Captain.”

  “Atta girl.” 

   Arriving at port in Nassau means safe haven for the crew of The Avenger, a chance to rekindle spirits with a few dozen barrels of liquor and a woman’s belly to keep any weathered sailor happy. In the Caribbean’s turning and heating morn, gulls scavenge for pickings of food, the white banks of sand converging with the blue tinged tide bathe the nudity of your feet with absorbed heat, it brings an irate wince to cross your features. Over the vast stretch of beach and headed further inland, the jolly tune of harboured pirates emit from the wooden, creaky shacks, if not counting the ruckus of noisy patrons enjoying their paid company. 

  Never did your captain have need for such sleaziness, such lazed women who lounge in wait for coins to fill the near-always empty drawstring bag tied to their thigh. He had you.   To hold you close to the scorching warmth of his battle hardened body, to passionately entangle your limbs in an endless thread of desire, and to bask in the radiance that is one another; the possession of a companion no other can have.

  And your own guard for your beloved captain doesn’t go unnoticed, by either him or the hungering gazes of those women yet in wait, your arms encircling around the bulk of Bucky’s flesh arm, in your neck the muscles strain as your fangs become elongated in a threatening display, the disguise of your eyes falters into narrow strips of glaring obsidian. 

  These women are no strangers to the presence of sirens, in spite of the limited number of population, a siren’s prize is never to be taken from her. 

  “Easy, Lass,” Bucky coos, lips drawn on either side into a charming grin. “There’s none suiting my fancy but you.”

  His assurances brighten refocused pupils and the lines around your mouth pull into a smirk. The now scornful glares of ladies unworthy of his time burn into you, and you in turn purse the tip of your tongue between your lips in retaliation. Behind, you hear a few members of the crew huff in their amusement. 

  With the crew tailing loyally behind their captain, each body a weighted husk ready to drown themselves in all that Nassau offers, the striking colour of a scarlet coat saunters forward in the corner of your vision. In a briefly stolen glance to your side, the brilliance of her green irises invade you with a soulless engagement, full lips drawn into a thin line and below the crimson stripe of her bandana, her brows are furrowed. 

  It comes to mind Bucky’s attendance on deck to anchor the ship at port, and so too does the possible thought that during that increment amount of time, Bucky could have very well informed Wanda of your curious skirmish ending in upheaval, caught red handed in the act. 

  And yet the events, the memory of what you experienced - the estranged bond you shared with the necklace - all of it remains. No bouts of stomach churning nausea or blurred hazes that leave you to stumble on your two feet, abandoning you to the mindless plane of confusion where memory is your worst and forgotten enemy. 

  And you prefer to keep it that way. These invasions that leave you more curious, sensing something greatly amiss the more of its occurrence is known, perhaps it’s best if you surrender the search. Your captain is all you need. Nevermind the ghostly songs that haunt the realm beneath the surface. Maybe, just maybe, there is good reason why you don’t remember anything. And if you cease this affair, then maybe with the grace of your beloved, that there will be no need to be swallowed into the misty thicket of her dark, scarlet magic. 

  I am my captain’s siren. I must remain with him. He is all I have. All I want to have…

    ‘Mm hm, mm hm, mm~hmm~hm~mm… mhm.,.’

  The melody chimes to lure your attention, the trickery of the voices blooms thickly throughout the forefront of your mind. You press to ignore the empty promise of their secrets revealed. This search ends now. No more. In defiance to the woeful, bleeding song of murmured hums, your arms hold tighter to Bucky, his chin dips low as his blue eyes look you over, gorgeous eyes of the ocean, captured within the handsome sculpture of his visage. A forbidden make of marble, carven with perfection in mind. 

  ‘Mm hm, mm hm, mm~hm—’

  “Something the matter, Siren?” thrums the husky drawl of your captain. You turn your eyes - your entire form of attention - to him, devoting it to him alone, and not to the tune that wanes with grieving cries that drown in the mists of that plane. You shake your head with refined elegance and bring a smile to grace him with. 

  “Nothing, my Captain,” you purr sweetly. Voice soft enough to easily die in the crashing of heavy waves, but so throbbing to the heart that the lilted beat of your voice could never be lost to him. Bucky grins at your words, respite is found in the security of your vow. Not only does your answer satisfy him immensely, but it draws Wanda’s intense focus away from you. 

  The quartermaster, Steve Rogers, is met in an engulfing embrace by a striking brunette with bouncy curls, lips bright and red and grinning, brown eyes sparkling in the Nassau’s brimming sun. Truth be told, she was far too pretty to be a mere human, her beauty akin to a glistening ruby, and maybe it saddens you the littlest bit that she foresees you with eyes of weariness rather than friendliness. 

  Perhaps if she were a siren herself, you’d both have settled together rather fondly as friends - as bonded sisters. But alas, with her own treasure now ashore for now, she takes to him and welcomes him with moaning cords and absorbing kisses, Bucky chuckles slyly with a wink to his exhausted friend. 

  Weather-beaten tables score the large deck of the tavern, most of them being vacant outside, but given the beginnings of your skin drying out, Bucky takes care to situate you as close to a shaded spot. Something you are noticeably grateful for with your cheek nuzzling into the openly revealed space of his chest, the belted strips of leather strapped over his chest warm your skin as well as his skin. 

  Casting you in flittering shadows are the swaying palms, their long and prickly spine leaves howling in the sea’s constant winds driven ashore. While other members of the crew flee to their own affairs to relax, those of Bucky’s inner circle remain close, like cards held to his chest, and you being the winning ace of his games, are held the closest. 

  “Restock of the ship’s supplies will take all day, not to mention, the girl needs a few restorations herself,” says Bruce, spectacles resting low upon the bridge of his nose, eyes finalising his scrawlings as his voice confirms. His hand runs over the plump of his cheek with a drained sigh, middle finger pushing the brass loop of his glasses upwards. 

  “And that’ll spend us… half our funds.”

  “Wouldn’t need to waste so much coin on crackers ‘nd other shite, had someone not snuck ‘round like a rat.” Clint’s eyes squint in his accusation towards none other than the master of maps and navigation, Stark, who partakes in defending himself behind a weak shrug. 

  “There’s actual rats aboard. T’wasn’t me.”

Clint’s upper lip curls into a sneer, the ship’s cook primed to render Stark into salted meatloaf, a dullened knife he took to using in both battle and kitchen is held in his nimble fingers. 

  “Fuckin’ thievin’—”

  “Quit your squabbling,” rumbles your captain, “strike what isn’t needed for the voyage. Double on reinforcements and armoury.” His gruff voice sends tingles through your still connected cheek to his front, content in hearing its booming and steady beat. Bruce nods and returns his gaze downward to his leatherbound companion, quill resipping ink, he scribbles into his book once again, humming and murmuring to himself. 

  Bruce Banner, though quite brutal in the midst of battles, is a relatively quiet man who tends to keep to himself for most of his membership as a crewmate. Often he dwells below decks, counting stock, taking note of damages and overall engaging the skin of parchment rather than a woman. 

   Not to completely disregard the sometimes scarce glances between himself and the fiery, flintlock dancer herself, Natasha, eyes meeting between the wooden blanks separating their worlds from dark to light. If history is planted there, there is little to know in your knowledge - your hazy knowledge. From what you’ve gathered, Natasha has a tongue that leaves many of the males on board chest torn and heart bleeding, in dire need for her to bandage them with a moment of her time. Time that she rather spent either dancing in the heat of conflict, pulling the ship in order or occupy herself with you. 

  In comparison to the neighbouring woman often skulking silently by Bucky’s heel like a prowling animal on a leash, Natasha offered you what nobody else truly had; a connection. Someone you can maybe call friend. 

  By no means is she completely softened around you, she pushes you beyond your limits, but in her interactions with you, she layers herself with a bout of steadiness and calm to keep you level headed at best. She even takes the time to teach you letters and words of human speech. Too nervous to ask such a tedious task of your own captain, it had been Natasha called upon to teach you.

   Under her mentorship, she had governed you away from the native tongue of your sea dwelling folk, and what had at first been mistaken as the ship’s adored feline, Alpine coughing up a fish bone, had just been you taking the first step in learning to speak the language of humans. Only then and afterwards did your captain also take part in your teaching, albeit through a more erotic means of lessons behind the closed door of his cabin. 

  Steve returns with a sway to his step, Peggy held snug to his hip, the two bound by invisible, sticky sap that glues them together. “We’ve drinks comin’, Cap!” He laughs with a clap to Bucky’s broad shoulder, jostling you forward with a startled whine, eyes stinging and dry in alertness. 

  You miss catching it at first, the sharpened glare of ice in his eyes towards Steve for his abrupt disturbance of you, the blonde haired man, lass-drunken already, clicks his tongue with a grimace of offered sincerity, uttering a quiet apology under his heated breath.

  Bucky is only willing to let his scowl go after you assure the quartermaster that there is no harm done, excusing yourself that your fatigue had gotten the better of your guard. 

  Flared tempers now cooled, Steve leans back against the rickety stage of the deck’s plank railing. The ruffled skirts of his companion’s dress ride a little higher on her thigh as she rests it over his lap, drawstring bag visible… and fattened with coin. Paid very early in advance. Paid full with at least three weeks worth of salary strapped to her leg. 

  A chorus of cheers spill out into the open air when tankards of foam-headed refreshments are delivered. Tony’s chapped lips bend around a cigar stick, catching a flame to his match by the heel of his boot, he lights it and puffs a smog that brings your nose to wrinkle and lungs to jump. 

  “Right,” he says, the end of the word lost in its pronunciation, “Down ter business.” The master of maps of navigation procures from his coat rolled parchments and lays them flat to the wooden rot, he knocks a knuckle hard in indication of the pirate’s haven. 

  “We’re here, Lassy. Show us where it is.” Silence falls over those of the inner circle, each pair of eyes lace between the strewn papers and your expression, gauging the lines around your eyes that speak of your concentration. In wait for either your truthful answer or another lie. 

  The tips of your fingers run the inked lines that describe the landmarks of islands, points of interest, known ship routes and x marks, whilst your captain’s own fingers trace along the outer of your thigh teasingly beneath the cover of your robe and the table. His touch is distracting you, but could you be to blame for their failure in search of the ancient treasure? After all, your memory wasn’t of best quality these days. 

  Tony rolls his fingers in a drumming pattern, each minute it grows louder and pounds in your eardrums, the wafting curtain of thick, cigar smoke clouds your senses. 

  Your captain, scowling at this, shoots his metal arm forward and plucks the cigar from Tony’s mouth and pushes the burning ash and tobacco into the veiny hide of his bare hand. Tony bites a string of curses as his hand retracts. 

  “Next time, it’s shoved down your fuckin’ throat, got it?” 

  “Aye, Cap…,” mutters Tony. He shoots you a seething glare but nevertheless, relinquishes his attempts to intimidate you into answering. 

  “You forget, sirens speak a certain way.” Comes the low purr of his lilt, breath hot against the shell of your ear, the encouragement of his hand snakes your thigh over into his lap, leaving your core, though hidden to others, exposed to his addictive touch. Your breath becomes latched in your lungs, struggling to be free and your toes curl as his flesh hand slips between your parted legs. “You just need to know how…” 

  You barely hide the hiccup in your erupting breath. His thumb, rough and firm, toys with the delicate bud that spurs the welling of arousal to moisten your folds. Behind the sealed line of his lips, he breezes a rich chuckle that courts you with promised, devoting attention to your clit, circling it slowly as the long, thick body of his middle finger runs further down your folds. The chill of gold grinds into your skin gently, the pearl hums lowly in the deep reverie of your mind once more, grazing your skin with a harmonic resurgence against the combating of Bucky’s explorative touch. 

  If the air had been thick with the sun’s heat before, then it was downright unbreathable now, your skin aches and itches to be submerged in the tranquil waters. You all but claw a single rocky formation on the far edge of the map. All eyes zero in on the point, taking in the towering form of inked rocks. 

  “You’ve to be jokin’,” Clint hisses quietly. Sam Wilson is the next to speak with a sigh, “That’s a death wish, Captain.”

  “Siren, you’re sure?” Your head bows slowly to Bucky’s question and his thumb ceases its movement. Your finger situated over the landmark trembles, your throat is dry, saliva collects in thick rivulets and makes it difficult to swallow your despair. 

  Hushed whispers fall over the crew as Bucky’s smouldering eyes darken in thought, contemplating the high stakes. For your finger lands not just on the precise location of the temple harbouring the world’s greatest treasure horde any pirate or king alike could dream of. 

  It spans over into dangerous, uncharted territory. Territory that resides as a mass graveyard for ships and souls. The Misted Song Isles. 

  A bedded corner of the world untouched by sunlight, forever shrouded in a mist that never falters in its opacity, leaving many blinded to the ambushing predators that await them. 

  These cousins are the cause of your repulsion. They are not sirens. They do not possess the ability to sing beautifully anymore. That which haunts the mists are not curated melodies to turn a heart soft and a man stirred in longing, no, but devilish shrieks and wallowing howls that scream in revel of their kill.

  “Captain, think about this for a sec—” The quartermaster, as is everyone else, silenced within an instant. You yelp and pull your hand close to your chest as the sharpened point of a blade punctures right where your finger had been. Your heart races against your ribcage. 

  “We set sail at dawn.” 

  His command goes unchallenged and hangs in the eeriness of uncertainty. His lips formulate into that smirk, daring of the course ahead, ready to face whatever thrilling adventure awaits him and his hardened crew. 

  “Prepare yourselves. We’ll soon amass a fortune like no other. Riches beyond belief,” Bucky preaches with a deepened, growling cord, thumb reviving the pleasing buzz between your thighs. Your head presses back into his shoulder, arching your core slightly into his hand. “I’ve never known those of my crew to shrink away from glory and plunder. So what of it, mates? Are you lot ready to take what’s ours?”

  “Aye!” erupts a booming throng of cheers and hollering, tankards fly skyward with trickling, foamy ales, and fists pound the tables enthusiastically. From you, Bucky draws a softened, pleasured whine only captured by his ears, a musical note he licks his teeth in savouring delight. 

  “What a rousing speech, Captain Barnes. Touches my own heart.” The inner circle becomes disrupted, parting into a narrow corridor to give their captain sight of the outsider. Bucky’s thumb comes to pause again, much to the displeasure of your quiet grumbling, your eyes seek out the intruder and gape with widened eyes. 

    “Rumlow,” growls Bucky. His hand bares upon your thigh a tightening squeeze. 

  Brock Rumlow, captain of The Lady Strike, stands present, brown coat beaten and done in by the rough life at sea, tricorn equal in match to the rest of his dishevelled attire. Dark, matted and oily hair is swept behind his ears, stubble very much unkempt and in need of a shave. His brown eyes take in the near bareness of your form, your hand pulls the robe’s fabric over your already covered breasts, and Bucky curls you further inward, protecting you from the fowl leering of Rumlow’s dark eyes. His jaw is set hard as a deep, possessive growl emits from his large chest, the storm of his jealousy on the rise. 

  With a cock of his head, Tony shoves the plans back into the confines of his coat with a huff, missing the tangy flavour of his cigar.

  By now, those of Rumlow’s crew move in behind him, a battle of glares and curled snarls, only one amongst the opposing crew brings a grin to fall over your face, eyes brightened in relief. Long, raven black hair sweeping down the curve of her back, strips of plaits are decorated with beads and small shells, A tall and lean build of a woman a few years older of your age, eyes the shape of almonds and disguised as kindly, sparkling hazels of greens and browns. 

  Her thin lips form a smile to match her tender features. You barely have another chance to second guess your next move, taking care to keep the intricately patterned robe around to protect your modesty, you push yourself away from your captain and fly into her open arms, her embrace a welcomed one after all these weeks. 

  “Mina!” 

  She greets your name with a softened breath, the calming lull of a siren’s power. The prodding of shells poke into your chest, but you pay little heed to them, too much absorbed into a fellow siren’s hold. To be held and nurtured by one so connected to the sea as you, and who is also held prisoner above its beckoning tides. 

  “My dear, your skin!” she gasps. Her lithe fingers skim the lengths of your exposed shoulders, shoving under the flowy sleeves to do the same along your arms. “How long has it been since—”

  “She does not speak that way anymore.” 

  The voice of your captain is sharp, cutting right through to the bone, it chills you. You know you did wrong by your actions, caught in the flurry of your excitement to meet Mina. He hadn’t expressed his permission for you to leave his side.

  Her eyes forecast the irritated slits, the ridge of her mouth shifting. You shake your head quickly. “Don’t…”

  She listens to your plea and directs her gaze aside, retrieving back a more composed appearance. “Apologies, Captain Barnes. I forget her tongue falters and is now consumed by human speech. Please, forgive me.”

  His eyes stare point blank akin to the barrel of his flintlock, finger locked ahold of the trigger and primed to fire a metal ball right between her eyes. He takes into account that her voice is dry in its sincere case that begs forgiveness. A case he finds unmoving. 

  And so it falls to you. Her arms fall from around you reluctantly, you press on towards Bucky, hands caressing the carved shape of his jawline. “Please, Captain… forgiveness?”

  For a moment he is silent, his stare unwavering and unblinking, it churns your innards unassuredly. “Aye.” His response brings you to breathe again with a smile. You swallow thickly, steadying yourself with the words you have become accustomed to, at first rehearing it over in your thoughts before you speak.

  “May I go to the Pools? My skin… is dry.” As if to further accentuate, the inflection of your voice matches your statement, having to clear your throat gently. 

  He nods. “Very well, Love. Hour’s half.” Ingratiating yourself in his good graces, you capture his lips in yours, his own chase after your brief kiss but the embarrassment that they give away just how parched your body is steers you away quickly. 

  You are blind to the narrowing of cold, steely eyes following Mina who walks at your side, arms encircling around you protectively, her own eyes meeting the ferocity of Bucky’s glare, her own hardened stare watered down to save you from being caught in the crossfire for her temper. She knows that you would suffer just as well as her if Bucky turned his decision around. 

  The conversing crews are drowned out noise in the back of your head, Mina guides you along the dirt path towards the haven’s centre. 

  The Pools, a central hub that extends low into the island’s heart, and a system of interconnected tunnels for sirens to rejuvenate their exerted bodies, confining them to an enclosure with no means to swim directly back into the ocean. By all means, it was a natural formation turned into a cage. 

  Peering over the rocky lips, the inviting waters below reflect minute glimpses of the sun, a portion of it concealed under the shrubbery and towering palms. The hue of bright blue blankets the surface before the long stretch of abyssal black that cascades down the rock walls.

  The waters, as expected, are vacant of any other sirens, and those scarce few could only be seen in flashes of shining scales and shadows moving beneath, dipping into the mouths of the tunnels. Hidden from sight.

  You shed the covering of your robe and set it aside, its luxurious fabric smelling of yours and Bucky’s intermingling scents, the decorative stitchwork and colours flaunt it as one of a kind, a nabbed piece from a Japanese merchant schooner Bucky and his crew pillaged, and which your captain presented to you as a gift. The first of many he would later present. Intriguing artefacts.

  Mina didn’t have need to discard herself of human-given clothing, plunging into the heavenly waters before you, her attire made with the natural ingredients of the sea, leather strips and woven cords stretch around her chest and back with rings of shells to fasten over it, keeping her breasts pushed together. The wispy lengths of her skirt flows with sheeted seaweed, circling around her slim waist as a ghostly curtain. You follow not long after with an eager dive, your nude skin is soothed by the cool waters. Your legs morph together into the singular, powerful tendril of your trail, the webbed fins attached to your lower back flutter like the wings of a dove finding freedom on the winds. 

  Your bodies take refuge below the surface, skin no longer assaulted by the lacerations of the sun’s light and blazing scorch. How sailors could idle by whilst under the cruelty of it, you will never understand. Your back arches into a spiralling twist, a high pitched chirp bouncing from your throat and coursing through your gills. 

  You bask in the excitement with Mina who twists and bends, circling you with a teasing swish of her tail, she gargles a sweet note that bubbles around her lips, her forehead presses to yours affectionately. 

  She intends to regard you with the native speech of your kind but stops, brows falling into a firm, saddened line over her eyes. In shame, your head bows. 

  Those of your crew may have stripped you of your right to recollect the siren dialect, but if she can count on anything, it is the motion of her hands and arms. The common communication of one’s body. 

  In a sequence of expertise, her arms rotate and her fingers stretch and curl. 

  What do you remember?

  Your eyes analyse her movement, careful to decipher her code. Not as fluent, given the occasional puzzled twist of her head, followed by a nod of understanding and correcting signal, she encourages through your hesitation, wanting for your answer. 

  I… remember a necklace. Bound to my Captain’s wrist.

  And what did this necklace look like?

  Again, it takes you a moment to find the rhythm of your response, her eyes narrow in their deep seated concentration, almond curved eyes that widen upon realisation.

  You tell her of the golden chain, sleek and elegantly thin yet strengthened, the many, tiny crystallised pearls that line the gilded netting over one larger pearl, with a finer shaped one looped beneath it that dangles.

  Given her momentary pause, you nervously motion. 

  What is it? 

  She raises her hand over her head, webbed fingers fused together, she rotates her wrist in circles.

  Royalty. Pearls represent royalty. 

  The sudden confusion presently blinking in your eyes gives Mina reason to continue. She moves quickly, it’s hard to exactly understand, you motion for her to pace herself, that you’re struggling. With an apologetic chirp, she starts over. 

  You must get it back. That necklace is more significant to you than you realise. Undoubtedly, a gift from your late mother—

I don’t understand! What… of my mother?

  Mina truly sees the sickening infection of your hazy memory, all too aware that it’s the doing of that scarlet witch, tainted by the dark magics that spawn from the mangroves, the teachers there no strangers to utilising sirens as part of their rituals. And all by the order of your captain. A crew lacing you with deceit. 

  Her waterline is touched by tears that form into uplifting bubbles. She organises her words slowly. Each one brings a sharp pang to your chest and your stomach to drop further and further down into the abyss below. 

  Your mother - the Queen - is dead. 

  Your heart is scored by the penetrating daggers of Poseidon's trident, the creeping of unnatural coldness sweeps the back of your neck and down over your shoulders, you huddle into yourself. You shake your head and it ensues into a maddening display of denial, your body trembles, the water grows increasingly troubled, once a calm settlement over the surface now laps at the surrounding edges of the enclosure. 

  This cannot be right, this cannot be the truth. No, you don’t wish to believe it. A weight is crushing around your chest, you want to resurface. For the first time, you crave to be out of the water. All you seek now is the scent of your captain washing over you, drowning you passionately in his possessive devotion, to be treasured by him and him alone, bathed in his dominating presence. His shadow. 

  At this point, you’d happily let him fuck the knowledge out of you. 

  In your abrupt desperation you take to moving swiftly, your head breaches through the barrier with a sputtering fit of coughs and gulps, but Mina follows you. Her webbed hand catches your wrist, her voice plucks through the ripples like the baritone string of a guitar. She calls for you to wait. Gently, she coaxes you to delve below once more, her eyes imploring you to remain, to not go running off to the very same man who wants for you and holds you captive. 

  The milky glaze of your eyes brim with tears, tiny bubbles run to the corners before they float upwards. 

  She rests her head to yours, silky thumbs caring over the form of your cheeks, running smoothly under the bend of your tearful eyes. When she believes you have calmed, she asks another question. 

  What else about this necklace can you tell me?

  I hear… voices. A-a melody. I don’t– don’t understand the words. It plays faintly.

  If the crew who harbours you stays for the festivities tonight, get the necklace and bring it to me. I may be able to appraise it.

  A lump catches in your throat, eyes bearing your terror, the harrowing thought of being caught again. You aren’t sure if the potential of another scarlet mist is worth the risk. 

  Steal it? I-I can’t! He’d know if I stole—

  You cannot steal what’s already yours, young one. Besides, you know just the way to get it from him. I saw the softened regard in his gaze for you. 

  What she suggests is laughable, and your disagreement shows, your head shaking and throat bobbing in motion akin to a scoff. But still, her insinuation brings warmth to bloom in your cheeks. Her brows furrow at this display, tail idly swaying, the length of her hair creating a dark, winding halo behind her. She dissects the gestures of your words. 

  His gaze never softens to me…

  In spite of this, she rolls her eyes, but they are hopeful in their stare towards you. You were done with the search… before. Now, you want answers. 

  “Siren!” A familiar voice booms, tone muffled by the watery barrier. Answering his summons, you return to the world above, sighing a deep breath of air, the few faces you recognise are mere blurs, unfocused in your vision. Your eyes meet the wintery cold of his eyes, not softened, and clouded in their ever present desire to have you under him - pinned skin to skin to him - and his beautiful lips shaped into a smirk. His stance high above you dominates you in his darker shadow that casts over the water. 

  “Hope you’re in a festive mood, my little Siren.”

[pearl-blue-musings]

I See You pt 3

Hi I know this is a long time coming. This is also gonna be in 4 parts not three cause well this got long

Pairing: pirate!Shinsou Hitoshi x fem!princess!reader

Warnings: 18+, smut, fingering, vaginal penetration, alcohol, drinking, unprotected sex, pretty lore heavy

Word count: 5.4K

Part 1, Part 2, Part 4

The stuffy air of the palace dungeon smells extra pungent today. Despite being down there and held captive for years, his eyes have yet to adjust to the darkness of the rotting walls. The captive takes a deep breath and his lungs fill with smoke, mold, and the disgusting smell of his own excrement. He tries to keep the growing bile wanting to escape his mouth down as he hears pounding footsteps. Great, he thinks, what do they want to tell him now? The dimming light from the torch slowly approaching burns his eyes. He hisses as more light streams in and a few men come toward his cell, one figure he’s come to know against his own wishes. The gold that gleams from his crown does not match the wicked and sinister smile that lies underneath.

“Your disgrace of a daughter is dead.”

The booming voice of the king barely registers in the prisoner's mind. His daughter is dead? How? How can this be? He stumbles back farther into his cell, a series of mumbled words leaving his lips. A guard smacks the bars, shaking and startling the man inside. His jaded eyes meet the kings and there’s no sense of sadness or despair. There’s no love, just pure hatred and an unbridled desire for power. The man struggles to speak, feeling his voice rasp and scratch against his throat as empty tears try to fall. “You, you killed my family. My wife, my daughter… what more do,” he pants, “do ya want from me?”

In the midst of the darkness, the king is able to see weak and tired sky blue eyes and almost spits at the man behind bars. A sinister chuckle emits from the king's mouth that jolts the guards around him. The king bends down and reaches forward to grab an aggressive amount of hair on the prisoner’s head. “Let’s get one thing straight, pirate scum. Your daughter jumped into the open waters of the sea all on her own accord. I didn’t have to take in your hellspawn! I treated her with the utmost respect-”

“You hated ‘er. I heard ya was tryin’ to marry her off t’ the Todoroki’s. Guessin’ she didn’t like that. She was always a smart one.”

That earns the prisoner a harsh tug and smack against the bars. He groans in pain before chuckling. “What’s the matter? Ya upset you can’t control me?”

“Whatever that wench saw in you I will never know,” the king huffs with frustration. “How could she fall in love and bear the child of a pirate when I was second in line for the throne?! You gave all of that up!” The king starts to pull roughly on the prisoner so hard the guards had to pull him back. The bruised man behind bars continues to laugh at the struggles of the king, blood seeping from his nose and lips.

With a bloody and crooked smile, the prisoner responds: “I decided a pirate king was better suited fer a guy like me. And yer mad ma and dad lemme do it. And,” he coughs out, his bright blue eyes burning with a passion seldom felt…

“It’s not my fault she fell in love with me first.”

The starry nights on deck have started to feel different the longer you’ve been on your fathers ship. The sound of the waves crashing against the vessel have now come to calm you down as your mind races. You take a deep breath and welcome the salt and grime from the ocean and ship deck, smiling as the once unfamiliar sights and smells now bring you comfort. As you sit dangerously atop the gunwale, palms gripping the fortified wood as your legs sway above the depths of what could have been your grave. A part of you, hidden away still wonders what it would be like to be consumed by the waters that stole your father-

“Earth t’ princess? Ya not thinkin about jumping again are ya?”

Your stomach drops and fills with butterflies at the sound of a voice that has made you happier than you thought. Secure hands hold onto your hips and pull you off and into a firm chest. You feel a heat rise to your cheeks that you haven’t felt since that night with the prince. Shinsou looks down on you fondly before gently letting you go. A quick blush comes to his ears before he clears his throat and stands beside you. You both rest your elbows along the edge, letting your head rest against his arm. You suddenly find the courage to speak after letting your thoughts run wild.

“I hope,” you cough out, “I hope you get to be captain of this ship. I know it’s in my fathers name but, after our port stop a few days ago,I…” You trail off as you turn your head toward your companion and your voice is lost. There’s something about seeing Shinsou in the moonlight alone on the ship, his hair blowing in the wind, that has you believing in a future you never imagined. You never want to leave this ship. You don’t wanna leave his side. You want to stay with this crew and captain this ship with Shinsou by your side. Why has being on a pirate ship opened up a new side to you? It’s like this has been destined for you your whole life. If only your parents could see you now. If only.

Shinsou smirks and snaps in your face. “See somethin’ ya like? I know I do.” You blink quickly to catch his gaze, realizing you were just lost in your thoughts. Your chest heaves, you’ve never been this nervous ever in your life. Is it because you’re going back to your kingdom? It’s been weeks. “Hello? Princess? Ya alright?”

You shake your head on instinct and feel yourself wanting to close off. It’s like you’re back at the castle, being nervous in front of the king trying to get your voice heard. Your throat constricts and blocks your breathing as if the wrath of the king's commands are holding you back once again. It isn’t until you feel calloused hands grip and shake your shoulders that you take a deep inhale.

“Where’d ya go? Are ya really sure yer up for going to the kingdom?” Shinsou rubs your shoulders and walks you away from the edge. He walks you to his room, considerably smaller than the captain’s but well enough. The other crew members, specifically Midoriya and Bakugou, look on with concern. They both ask their quartermaster what’s going on but Shinsou waves them off. “Just some nerves, panicked a little. Keep up the night watch.” The duo salute him and the pair make their way to his private quarters.

There, he sits you on his bed as he grabs you something to drink. You take the cup from him and give a quick sniff, coughing from the strength of the alcohol. “Rum? Really?” Shinsou chuckles at your inquisition and shrugs his shoulders with a grin. “Imma pirate,” he chides, “‘ta be expected.” You couldn’t help but laugh with him, clinking your glass with his as you take a swig of the drink. You cough a bit, not used to the potency of the alcohol as your pallet has been adjusted to wine. It burns more than you would like but the taste is admirable. Shinsou watches you carefully as you drink, relaxing more into the situation.

It isn’t lost on him that the two of you are sitting on his bed as you share your drinks. The rum has you feeling more loose and relaxed, the most relaxed you’ve felt in years. And it might be the liquor, but you don’t want this night to end, this moment, this adventure… you never want it to stop. You fall back against his bed which causes Shinsou to laugh.

“You tryna choke? You gotta sit up when ya drink,” he chides with a small laugh. He tries to pick you up but you’re determined to bring him to where you are. The pirate finds himself falling under your pressure, his hand wrapping around your waist to try and get you up but you’re being a cute deadweight. He does his best to not squish you as you yelp from the surprise position. You find yourself now sharing breaths with the man on top of you. You suddenly realize his hand is on your waist, your chest is heaving up and down from the closeness and he doesn’t smell bad? Your head is swirling, but you’re not afraid of it. Your eyes travel from his own down to his lips which he keeps licking. Has he always been this alluring to you?

“Fuck, princess… can I kiss ya? I just, ya look…”

You gently whisper, “yes. Yes you ca-“

Shinsou doesn’t let you finish your sentence before he captures your lips in a long awaited kiss. His grip on your waist tightens and he shifts his legs to be straddling yours, almost naturally. Shinsou tilts his head and gently cups your face, feeling the callouses on his palms and fingertips caressing your cheek. You’re not sure where to put your hands as the kiss deepens, feelings of anxiety starting to rise within you. The only time you’ve ever been intimate in this way with anyone was before your supposed wedding, the night with the Todoroki prince. He had made you feel things you never thought were possible, sensations you’ve been wanting to relive again and again. And it’s starting to happen now as Shinsou began to grind his hips into yours. You find yourself placing your hands on his chest and matching his movements, spreading your legs wider instinctively. You want to be wrapped up in him, drowning in his touch and his scent.

Above you, Shinsou groans into your mouth as he repositions his arms to cage your head in. His eyes flutter open as the need for air becomes too great. Purple strands of hair start to press to his forehead as the heat in his room and between the two of you rises. He can already see the way your gorgeous pupils are becoming more and more dilated, similar to his own. He spots a bead of sweat trickle down your neck and he leans forward to suck on the warm skin. The way you moan and keen up into his chest goes straight to his cock and he sucks harder. Your fingers run through his soft tufts of hair, tugging as his lips go lower on your neck, nearing your collarbone. Your button up shirt is proving to be a hindrance and Shinsou sits up slightly. He takes a deep breath and makes certain eye contact with you. “May I?” His fingers play with the fabric of your top as he waits for your consent. The way he’s touching you with such care, such comfort, such possessiveness; where has he been your whole life? You almost want to tear up. No one in the kingdom will or had ever treated you this way and you doubt you ever will.

Your head drops in a nod and a whispered yes, while your hands fondle with his top eager to take it off. Shinsou nods back and rumbles out, “be patient, kitten. We’ll get t’ me.” You pout as he carefully undresses you, exhaling sharply through his nose at the sight of your naked body. Heat rushes to your cheeks but you don’t dare hide your expression. He smirks and sits up, the alcohol getting to him slightly. Shinsou struggles to take off his top and you find yourself giggling with him as he gets stuck. “Quit yer laughin’,” he chides. You can’t help but laugh harder as your hands touch the bottom of his top, which happens to be at his mid torso. Your jaw drops at how chiseled and rugged it is, your fingers running up and down the front of his body. His skin is littered in scars and you’re mesmerized by the potential stories each one has. You barely register that his top has hit the floor and Shinsou is openly staring at you ogling his body. He suddenly feels shy yet proud of himself at the same time.

Your fingernails brush against his skin and Shinsou shivers. Your eagerness to see him undress spurs him on to take your hands and force them to remove his top. The movement is intimate, and your hands end up pressing up his chest to finally feel him underneath you, his pecs making you keen. The heat is intense, your chest heaves as you pull him into another fiery kiss. This time there are no barriers barring you from truly feeling each other. His confident hand trails down your side and toward your front, diving lower to where you need him most. Your hands haphazardly reach for his pants to pull them down, then your own impatiently.

Shinsou steps out of his trousers with a horny chuckle as you kick your own away as well. He goes back to what he was doing before, his fingers travel toward your core. He curses at the heat and juices emanating from your now throbbing pussy. His breath gets heavy as he slowly rubs at your lower lips. A jolt shoots through you at how gentle yet possessive he is, making you moan loudly. A hand slaps over your lips as Shinsou continues to lubricate his fingers. “Princess,” he lulls out, “ya gotta be quiet. Do ya want the whole crew to hear ya?”

You shake your head with a whimper as he inserts a finger into your waiting cunt. Your hips move on their own against his hand, your own grabbing onto his shoulders. Your nails dig into the skin as he inserts a second finger, scissoring you open. The way your body moves and the sounds you emit go straight to his cock as he holds back a grumble of desire. A slimy warmth is felt in his palm and he realizes it’s your tongue. He hisses through his teeth as he gently removes his hand from your mouth. You pant with your tongue out, “I want more,” you whisper lustfully. “I wanna make you feel good.”

Shinsou clamps his hand over your mouth as he brushes and pushes the bottom of his other palm against your clit, earning him an almost silent whimper. Your body shakes at the increased pleasure. Shinsou’s cock twitches at the noise as beads of pre cum form at his flushed tip. Almost too quickly, he removes his hands from in and on you to place your hands above your head. Shinsou leans in close, the alcohol on his breath intoxicating you further. “Keep ya hands there, okay pretty girl?” You can feel his voice rumble in his chest as you nod at his request. He releases your wrists before sliding two fingers up your slit and coating his dick with it. Your throat strains to hold back the moan of ecstasy that wants to escape but you do as you are told (maybe you’ll find out what happens if you disobey him someday).

A calming hand rubs at your hip and inner thigh as he lines up with your entrance. The tip of his cock teases your lower lips and you keen against the bed. Shinsou takes a deep breath before calling out, “princess.” You gently meet his gaze and he continues in a low tone. “You can back out if ya want. There ain’t no pressure. Stop m’now before I get lost in all that y’are.”

The two of you may have started this under the influence of alcohol but there isn’t a sign of it at this moment. The two of you are drunk off of each other, slowly getting poisoned over the course of your relationship. You briefly disobey him and move your hands to cup his face, his stubble more present covered in sweat. Your legs widen as you hold his stare. “I want this. I want you.”

That was all he needed to hear before he slowly slid himself inside you. A whimper is caught in your throat as you hold onto him tightly. Your breath comes out labored as more and more of his length enters you. Shinsou shushes and coos at you, “I’ve got ya, ya doin so good f’me. Shit princess, my princess, ya feel so…”

He drops off as he bottoms out with a grunt. Sex with Shoto was great, but now you’re convinced your body was made for Hitoshi. Although he’s thicker and longer, the pain subsided easily as you adjusted to him. A ring of cream is already forming at the base of his cock and it takes everything in him to not fuck you senseless. The fucking can be saved for another day, he needs to make sure you know you’re loved.

“‘M gonna move.”

His hips slide out and then back in, meeting yours in a juicy squelch of skin against skin. Your toes curl and your jaw drops in an agonizing scream of pleasure that never comes. Shinsou slots his lips over yours to silence the two of you. The atmosphere is heavy with sweat and sex, nary a scent of rum from before. Almost naturally, you wrap your legs around his waist and he somehow goes in deeper. Both of you break the kiss to groan together at the new sensation. His body rolls and thrusts into you like a dance you never want to end or tire of. Your walls clench around him and he stutters slightly, his dick twitching inside of you. That coil inside has been wound up so tight and for so long that the spring is finally going to release. Your abs contract as you meet his hips with yours. You bury your head into his neck and whimper out, “I’m so close, baby. I wanna cum!” The way you beg for him to become undone almost makes him finish right then. He can feel how close you are with how you’re gripping his cock. He never wants to be without this feeling; a feeling he hadn’t realized he was looking for.

He takes one hand to cup your cheek as he pumps in and out of you faster, the other rubbing intense circles on your clit. Your toes curl and your muscles begin to shake from the intensity with Shinsou whispering in your ear. “That’s it baby, cum fer me. Want ya to cream all on my cock.” He pistons his hips faster, “fuck I’m gonna make ya all mine. Yer all mine.”

“Hnng, I’m cumming Hitoshi!”

“Kiss me.”

With your hair stuck to your forehead, you kiss him as your muscles twitch and contract. Your orgasm rocks you, screaming into his lips as you finally let the spring loose. Shinsou holds you tightly as he fucks you through both of your orgasms. Warmth fills you up as he releases inside you, spilling his seed into you. Your muscles finally relax as your legs flop onto the mattress, Shinsou gently following suit. He kisses your sweaty cheeks, forehead, nose, before reaching your soft lips. Your bodies are still connected as he presses his forehead against yours. His breathing finally calms down enough for him to gently pull out. You whimper from the loss of his touch. He chuckles and pecks your forehead. “I gotta clean ya up. I’ll be right back.”

Shinsou steadies himself before walking to the other side of the room to grab a rag and some water. He rakes a hand through his hair to get out more of the sweat. He’s about to ask you how it was when he sees you passed out, soundly asleep. His stomach jumps and his heart flutters at seeing you this peaceful. For the last couple of months of knowing you he’s never seen this expression on you. He must have really wore you out and that swells his pride. Shinsou gently brushes some hair back as he cleans you up just as softly. He slides into the bed next to you and wraps you in his arms.

Of course he hopes you won’t regret what happened, but he’s more worried about how you’ll feel being at the gates of your home that hates you so much.

****

Shoto Todoroki tries to hold back any malice that would show on his face as the ceremony proceeds on. It would be fitting that the day of your funeral would be cloudy. It’s not lost on him that it took months to assemble this ceremony when it took days to assemble his almost marriage.

It also isn’t lost on him the reception is considered more of a celebration.

The king didn’t even shed a tear as your empty casket was paraded through the land. The people there were more happy to see some of the royals up close, giving fake condolences as they slipped in “you can marry me or adopt my child,” as they all walked through. He was included as the fiancé that was robbed of a wedding and an heir. There were even some cheers and signs of relief. Was there no one in this kingdom who saw all the good that you are? The amazing princess and person that you were and could be? He wanted to yell at them, freeze them, burn them, anything to get them to stop sullying your name even in death.

Have they no respect for the dead?

The parade continued up to the palace’s cathedral steps where the funeral would take place. The prince lets his emotions show by crying at your portrait; at least they captured your beauty in a kind manner. The bells ring and the organ plays loudly, letting the kingdom know the funeral is about to begin.

Your casket is adorned with what he assumes are you favorite flowers as well as the flowers of the castle. From the one night he had with you, he knows you would hate all of this. Shoto whispers to his brother, who happened to show up, “this is bullshit. She would hate all of this.”

Natsuo sighs and places a hand on his shoulder. “I agree with you. Your letters barely touched the surface of how this kingdom views their fallen princess. It’s blasphemous. And their king is no better.”

“You two,” King Enji hisses, “watch it. We don’t know who is listening.

“But I concur.”

The king, your stepfather, approaches the podium and motions for his subjects to sit. He takes a deep breath to feign sadness before the bells go off for a second time. Shoto sighs as he’s now thankful for the interruption. However when he looks forward, the king’s eyes are full of dread. Some of the townspeople are unsure of what the bells are for and whispers flourish throughout the cathedral. “Father,” Shoto asks, “what are those bells?”

The king answers with a drop in his voice and confidence.

“Pirates.”

****

Your heart beats out of your chest as the alarm bells of your kingdom blare loudly. The last time you heard those bells was the last time you saw your father. You breathe deeply to calm and steal your nerves. On your right, Aizawa grips your shoulder and gives you a nod of approval. To your left, Shinsou holds your hand tightly and squeezes it firmly. You turn your head to Eraserhead and nod at him, standing along the beaches of your former home. Your eyes scan up the beachside cliff where atop sits the castle.

Pirate Queen Nemuri and Captain Yamada have already ascended into the kingdom, the screams of soldiers and citizens growing. They are to be the distraction as your faction enters the castle and ransacks it. No longer will you be resigned and be an observer of your own life. A sinister smile comes to your face as the future is yours for the taking, starting with your home. The pirate ship Yuuei crew follows you toward a secret entrance into the castle. Judging by the old maps, there was once a dungeon and you want to find it and see what secrets your stepfather had hidden. Covered in vines and moss, you use your new found weapon to slice away at the greenery that at one point was your escape to the waters below your room. The king then forbade you from using this way and you never knew why. You had assumed he hated you immensely as it was right after your mother had died.

The door squeaks open and a wave of dust and cobwebs hits your face, the rusting nails practically falling out of the hinges. Aizawa presses forward and takes a cautious step on the stone. He presses his foot into the material to assure its stability. Satisfied with his determination, he turns his head toward his crew proudly. He gives them a silent signal to tread behind him and they follow suit. However, Kaminari perks his ear and halts those behind him.

“Someone’s comin’,” he whispers.

The pounding of metal on gravel alerts you to two guards that have their swords drawn. They approach the group with fear and loathing as the pirates around you draw their own swords. With a stern pout, you pull out yours and step in between them. Shinsou attempts to stop you but Midoriya holds him back. The two guards slow their approach as their eyes widen in shock. “Y-your highness! We thought you dead, the kingdom is mourning you as we speak,” the first shakes out before kneeling in front of you. The second scoffs and pulls up his mate. “Ain’t no need to kneel to her,” he steps toward you with the tip of the sword about to graze your neck. Behind you Shinsou growls as he and the rest of the crew close in on the three of you. “This one has been declared dead by the castle. We never did like you.”

Your grip tightens on the sword as you try to control your breathing. “And why is that? Do you have no thoughts of your own?”

“Heh, the king didn’t like you. That’s good enough for me.”

The second guard lunges toward you aggressively with malice in his heart. You duck out of the way and avoid his attack as you come up behind him. With his guard lowered along with his head, the back of his neck is wide open as you start to dig the edge of your sword into his neck. The first guard drops his sword in surrender as a trickle of blood falls down the other’s back. The man underneath you grunts in frustration as you had bested him in quick combat. Your eyes narrow as the defeated guard drops his sword and stands up, your sword never leaving the nape of his neck. Aizawa steps forward and flashes an eerie smile of discontent.

With his hands on his hips, he snickers. “How’s it feel t’be bested by ya own princess? Yer gonna lead us inside the castle or she won’t hesitate t’kill ya.” You smirk behind the resistant guard as you walk towards the secret entrance. Sharp black eyes follow where the soldiers came from and hums to himself. “Aye, go back t’where they came from. Take Mind Jack with ya.”

Your eyebrows furrow in confusion, knowing full well you need to be the one leading the charge inside. You grumble to yourself and withdraw your weapon, only for it to be replaced by Bakugou’s own cutlass. “Get ta steppin’,” he chews out. You know better than to talk back to your captain so you turn your head and retrace the steps left in the gravel and sand from the guards. Shinsou trails behind you, giving you enough space to process and follow the footsteps. With the crew, the guard in opposition out front to lead them and whispers under his breath.

“No surprise you turned out to be a pirate, just like your father.”

****

You and Shinsou tread carefully along the sand to not disturb the trail. The silence is heavy as you think about what you’re going to find. For as long as you’ve lived at the castle, there were still parts you never explored. And whatever had your stepfather guarding this area this way means there’s something for you to find. Shinsou follows your lead and places a hand on your shoulder. The two of you stop as you see another hidden cavern with signs and smells of knights standing for long periods of time. If you hadn’t been surrounded by pirates for weeks and weeks, the smell of feces and urine would have made you vomit.

Hidden away is another door, similar to the secret entrance of the castle. You look back down to the map in your hands and realize this location isn’t on there. Your eyebrows furrow closely. “What is it?” Shinsou calmly asks. You turn your head to meet his serious expression, rolling up the map with a sigh.

“This entrance,” you start slowly, approaching the door. “Is not in my memories or any castle drawings. What is this?” With a confirmation nod from your, you assume, lover you turn the knob. The hinges squeak and another set of rotting stone leads upwards. You gulp and hold Shinsou’s hand as a new sense of anxiety overcomes you. What are you going to find at the end of the stairs? Your heart is beating a mile a minute when you reach another door. It looks to be in better shape and you keep a hand on the hilt of your sword as it opens. Your eyes are met with what looks like a dungeon. You relax your shoulders as confusion swells inside you. Beside you, Shinsou takes in his surroundings as he questions. “A dungeon?”

“I-I don’t understand. We’ve never had enemies,” you stammer. You look through the bars of the empty cells and see rotting wood, mold and moss, skeletal remains, and rusting metal. You step on gravel and twigs as your mind is a mess, until the sound of flesh against metal makes you yelp. Shinsou quickly rushes to your aid and pulls out his weapon, standing in front of you. The two of you see a hand on a faraway cell.

“The kingdom getting invaded by pirates again? Sheesh, it’s sure been a while.”

The voice is raspy, full of experience and loss. The two of you hesitantly head toward the farthest cell. The hand, covered in grime and calluses reaches out to you. Shinsou speaks up first. “Who are ya?” The man in the cell chuckles with a cough before pointing up and behind you. You turn and notice a set of keys. Without hesitation, you grab them and unlock the cell. It creaks open and the man inside falls to the ground. The chains that are attached to him shine in the light, and you unlock those too. There’s a ring of bruises around the prisoner's wrists and neck as he falls to the ground.

Hitoshi, still on guard, keeps his sword drawn and at the ready. The man in front of them seems to have matted and tangled hair that is entirely too familiar. It’s only when he lifts his head that you fall to the ground. A gasp escapes your lips as disbelief comes across your features. Your lip trembles as your mind goes to the picture Eraserhead had shown you. The man smiles as if his life has always been easy and foretold to him. He rubs at his wrists and sits on his knees in front of you. Shinsou lowers himself to you and wraps an arm around your shoulder. “It can’t be…” he whispers.

Although worn down by years of confinement, that unmistakable cloud like hair reminds you of your own. You blink furiously as realization dawns on you. Tears cascade freely down your cheeks as you shake your head in shock. His soft blue eyes affirm everything your brain is trying to conjure. The man in front of you meets your eyes and gives you a warm and welcoming smile as he starts to cry.

“So,” Oboro chokes back, “m’daughter became a pirate afta all. ‘M so relieved.”

[thedeviltohisangel]

Fall For A Shooting Star//Cassian Week 2024: Day One, Flying

a/n: So many people were expecting my first foray into ACOTAR fic to be my Azriel novel and that is coming too I swear it. I just saw it was Cassian week and knew I HAD to participate. I've had Cassian and Thea rolling my head for a bit and I have more plans for them so anticipate this being a little one shot series. Over the week I will introduce to them you further. I hope you all like it!

tw: allusions to physical abuse

Windhaven was as it always was. Snowy and windy and filled with the sounds of swords clashing and men fighting. It was home, for all its flaws. The canvas tent she shared with the other females her age would no doubt do nothing against the weather when she finished her chores and retired for the evening. 

Thea was at least thankful she was on cooking duty tonight. It gave her an excuse to be close to the fire and not incur the wrath of Lord Devlon. He had been keeping a careful eye on her ever since the incident from last week. It had earned her ten lashings that were still tender across her back. It also hadn’t helped that they’d rip her one cotton shirt to bare her skin and she was left with the scratchy, stiff fabric of the laundress who had been kind enough to lend it to her. She would have to figure out a couple of replacement garments soon. The eyes of the males finishing their training for the day told her that they knew it too. 

“I heard Cassian got a siphon today.” That was Scarlett, her closest friend in Windhaven. “He came by looking for you earlier.”

“It must have been while I was at the healers.” Every morning Thea had trudged across the camp for the healers to spread a thin layer of salve across the scars of her whipping. The scars from the loss of her wings had healed over many moons ago. Scarlett furrowed her brow as Thea continued to stir at the pot and begin to prepare herself for the leering that came from the males lining up for dinner.

“Something happen between you two?” Normally the mention of his name would send Thea into a flush. Now she was gritting her teeth and looking like she could snap the ladle in half.

“No.” Thea paused. “No. I just-”

“I’m hungry, wench.” The metal bowl was thrust forward by the warrior, knocking the breath from her as it found a landing against her stomach. 

“Apologies, Emmett.” It was always better to show fealty. Then they were less likely to find an excuse to beat her later. He took a step closer and grabbed the collar of her dress.

“You best learn to keep your mouth shut before I get any ideas on how to fill it for you.” His eyes looked her up and down like he was hungry for more than just stew. Thea shivered. While she hadn’t been able to fend off the loss of her wings, she had been successfully fighting every day to keep herself from a marriage or a bedmate. Cassian’s shadow had certainly helped. “That bastard doesn’t seem to be coming back for you any time soon…Maybe I’ll take my chance and pay you a visit tonight.” She did her best to hold his gaze. To not flinch when a wicked smile spread across his face. Everything had to catch up to her eventually. And he was right. Cassian wasn’t around to protect her anymore. Not with his completion of the Blood Rite and receipt of a siphon and a war looming on the horizon. 

And Thea had pushed him away for that exact reason. He deserved to be free of this place. To live his life with the heir to the Night Court and the Shadowsinger. Together they would be formidable. Make a difference in all their lives. The burden of her would do nothing but drag him down. Cassian deserved to soar.

“I’ll rip your fucking throat out if you even think about it, Emmett.” Yet he always happened to know exactly when she needed him. The male had the nerve to laugh. Cassian took a step forward but Thea threw her arm out to stop him.

“Don’t, Cass, he’s not-”

“Fucking son of a whore.” Emmett spit the ground by their feet. “Your mother get whipped for your behavior the same way she does?” Scarlett physically choked at the statement. Thea felt the blood drain from her body. She knew she should turn and face him. Explain what it was the Illyrian was talking about. But she couldn’t find the necessary skills for her brain to talk to her legs.

She felt the growl in his chest as it pressed to her back, his arm wrapping around her waist. “Thea,” he whispered into her ear, “Take a deep breath.” He exploded into the sky, her hands grabbing at his forearm as the war camp disappeared beneath them. And if anyone asked she would say the tears streaming down her face were from the cool air and not the release of emotions that always came with flying. From being with him. 

He banked to the left and arced until she recognized the flat patch of dirt that overlooked Windhaven and the white valley below. It was a place of solace on the occasion it was just the two of them. A place he hadn’t even thought to share with Rhys or Az because it belonged to him and her.

Thea tucked her knees into her chest as he landed firmly, his arms not loosening their hold around her in the slightest. “I’m sorry you had to find out that way,” she whispered after a moment of silence. “I was hoping my back would heal before I saw you again.” 

“Your back…” 

“They didn’t care that they were lashing over my older scars if that is what you are asking.” 

“Why?” She blinked back more tears. Anything to not tell him why they had punished her. 

“Because I used the dagger you got me to get one of the newer camp members to leave me alone. I cut him and he didn’t like it.” She found the courage to spin his arms, gasping as the red siphons gleamed on his hands. “Scarlett said you got a siphon. Not two.” Cassian bristled as she distracted herself with a soft caress of his hand.

“Seven, when I’ve got my armor on.”

“Cassian, that must be a new record. Gosh, the look on their fucking faces when they gave you seven siphons. I could only imagine.” Thea smiled and, despite better judgment, brought the back of his hand to her lips. “You’ll get your own legion in the war. I’m sure of it.” He was a born leader. A skilled fighter. She could think of no one better to lead the Illyrians into battle against Hybern.

“We’ll see,” he murmured. “I’m sorry the dagger got you in trouble but I’m not sorry, and will never be sorry, that I taught you to protect yourself. And you should never apologize for doing so.”

“Soon you’ll all leave for the front anyway. Windhaven might be peaceful for once.” Thea fell against his chest and his lips pressed into her hair. “You don’t need to come back, Cassian. Go with Rhysand and Azriel and make this world a better place.” She was giving him permission to leave her behind. To move on from whatever thing lingered in the space between them and unleash himself across the sky. 

“It’s not coming back when I’m taking you with me. Right here.” He pointed at his chest. 

“Do the siphons amplify your levels of sap?” she teased with a smile. 

“I’m not kidding, Thea. Wherever I go after the war, I’d like to bring you with me. If you’ll have me.” He had thought about marrying her years ago when she had first bled to keep the rest of the camp away from her. But then they had removed her wings and she’d been sent away to heal and the timing was never right. After the war, Cassian would force the fucking Mother to time it right if he had to. 

“Only if you promise to fly me out here whenever I ask. Just us. Our own sacred corner of light.” His wings flared and his head bowed. 

“With every breath and heartbeat I have, I promise.”

Hell would be awaiting her at Windhaven when she got back. Of that she was certain. And the hell of war would be awaiting in the coming days. Of that she was certain. But there was something on the other side of all that. Tantalizing and taunting. Urging her to dream and hope and believe that the after was possible. 

And what a dangerous thing that was.

@cassianappreciationweek