#well its very rough so hard to recognise

[moondirti]

𝟏𝟒. WANT

CHAPTER FOURTEEN OF ANIMALIC | MIGUEL O'HARA X F!READER

↼ chapter thirteen / chapter fifteen ⇀

summary: miguel finally gives in to what you both want

explicit (18+) | 8.6k words warnings: SMUT, it's seriously just all smut, unprotected p-in-v, choking, light degradation, dirty talk, interrogation as foreplay, praise kink, mentorship with benefits, dirty talk, belly bulge, power play, bondage, dom/sub dynamics, teasing, angst, unrequited feelings, eye contact kink notes: figured i'd add in some fluff before shit gets rough

“Let me go.” Miguel growls. “Lest I change my mind about fucking you silly, you bold little thing.”

Enclasped in the yawning dark of night after twelve, you wonder how you must look to him. The lack of light, on your part, obscures his harsher lines – shadows smudging the sharp apex of his cheekbone, bleeding to his aquiline nose, where the feature dips into an ink-blot puddle with the rest of him. What you can deduce is based on what you can see; hardly anything, really, save for what’s highlighted by the window to your right. The mole by the corner of his mouth, bobbing upwards with the curl of his lips. The red, acute glint of an eye. 

Are you as hidden as he is? Is his vision better adjusted to the murk? 

You hope not. You pray he can’t pick apart the shock that flits across your face, the spate that washes you off your wit. It’s timidity. A stricken bashfulness you haven’t felt in a long while. Seafoam that froths and clogs the blood supplied to your lungs, draining all warmth to feed the stocks behind your cheeks. Your waterline stings, desiccated by the breeze that whistles in through the aperture left open – and out of everything that occurs to you, what manages to refine into clarity is the urge to high-tail and jump out of it as soon as possible. 

Your fingers search for stability on his calf, clasping around its tense length as you clamber off him. Air syphons from you in rapid bursts – in, out, in – to sate a seemingly bottomless need for oxygen. He must be hogging it all, you reason, dismounting from his hips. Him – in all his grandeur, in all his broadness, stealing from you what precious left you can use to calm down. Everything he does feels purposeful in that way, curated with regards to both past and future, his contemplation on both. Like neglecting to mention that this was even a possibility, blindsiding you with the very thing you spend hours fantasising about. 

It wouldn’t surprise you if he knew this whole time. If he had somehow read your guilty conscience as fluently as an open book, saw where your fingers gravitated to in your free time. The way he says it – filthy language dripping in promise, so unlike the clinical ways with which he’s approached this before – makes you suspect one of two things. Either he truly recognises what the prospect does to you, and is therefore employing it to petition for his release, or– 

Or. He means it.

The rumble in his voice, charred and ready to snap into ashes, supports the latter. And try as you might, you can’t begin to understand it. His desire, if real, has come completely out of left field. 

“Well?” 

“I–” You swallow the rock lodged in your throat, patting your hips like a solution will materialise in your pockets if you pray hard enough. You can’t help but baulk at your poor planning. “I don’t have anything to undo you with.” 

Miguel releases a sharp breath from his nose, tipping his chin back. You glance anywhere but at the skin stretching along the column of his throat, contoured by taut sinew. 

“If you point me to the kitchen, I can get a knife?” 

“No.” The dismissal comes perhaps a little too quick. He doesn’t seem to consider the possibility, and it does little for your hope. His proposition – fucking you silly – feels like it exists on condition of a time limit. Like the longer you put it off, the more opportunity he’s given to retcon his lapse of judgement. This lust born from adrenaline. You’re familiar, and therefore appreciate how short it can last. “Just let them dissolve.”

Ducking your head, you take the acquiesce to observe the artificial webbing that binds him. It sparkles under indirect moonlight, dull white and wet-like, resembling the morning dew that would bud on blades of grass. Thin slivers branch out from the main line to wrap about his more complicated curves. With a more competent solution, it would prove almost impossible to get out of. You reason that only then would you have remained proud of the handiwork. 

“They will dissolve?” He stresses. 

“Yea– yes! Give it fifteen minutes.” You squeak, shaking out of your stupor to see him eyeing you incredulously. “What?” 

“You expect to get anything done when your webs last fifteen minutes?” 

“Hey, it’s not like I’ll be regularly apprehending bad guys back home.” Offence batters you back to your regular snark, conversation swaying until it clicks back into a comfortable tone. “Besides, it’s a prototype.” You shrug, turning on your heel to wander the room you lept into. It’s a clumsy segway away from the point, awkwardness rolling off your tongue in ugly chunks. “So… this is your place huh.” 

He doesn’t fall for it. “Tell me how you got in.” 

“It’s nice. Big. Of course when you own the building, the penthouse is kinda yours by default.” There’s not much you can see in the dark, the colours and aesthetics of his interior remaining lost on you. But it’s hard to ignore how high the ceilings rise, or the wide sweep of his tiled floors. 

“Did you phase through the door?” He attempts to reel you in.

You dodge the line. “Wish you told me you were rich though. I could’ve really milked those rewards. A dog for ten push ups. A motorcycle for a hundred.” 

“I wouldn’t get you a motorcycle if you stitched the multiverse back together yourself.” It’s amusing that, out of all baits, he should bite on the most ludicrous. You throw a small smile over your shoulder, forgetting yourself for a minute.

“So a dog’s still on the table?” Yet the sight of him fettered, immobilised on the ground, forces you to face your circumstance once more. His words, those parasitic words that’ve been gnawing on the supple tissue of your brain, worm their way back to the forefront. Bold little thing. Fuck. If he knew. If you recounted for him the events of the past half-day, how you’ve been following him since lunch – would he be more or less inclined to spread you out underneath him? “I jumped through the window.” You add, tentatively, toeing unsteady grounds. 

His jaw flutters, tensing, though he doesn’t give much else. You traipse over to said window, winding the casement shut with the crank at its edge. It seals smoothly, expunging the ambient street noise until the room buzzes in its own, overwhelming silence. Given the sudden contrast, you puzzle about how he forgot to close it in the first place. 

“You really ought to worry about security.” You continue your blind tour of his home, skimming the wall that guides your path. It’s harder to change the subject now that it’s been spoken out loud, your confession filling the gaps left by the outside tumult. Car horns and traffic, construction and wind – all substituted with a tension that drips like a leaky faucet, adding to a pool bound to drown you. 

“How’d you do it?” He asks, hoarse and hedging a more dangerous accentuation. 

“Dunno.” You trace the doorway he’d come out of, letting the coated stone frame cool the pads of your fingers. “What’s in here?”

When he doesn’t answer, you take a peek. Based on the rough shapes you make out, it could be an office. Had he been working before you arrived? It’s so late you can scarcely imagine it, especially after the already packed day you observed him to have. 

The thought is suffocating enough that you back away, rounding the corner of the living room instead to find yourself in a galley kitchen. 

“Fancy!” You shout, echo bouncing around the cavernous space. Counters and other facilities line either side of the spacious hall, one side breaking off into an L-shape by an attached island, which functions to divide the kitchen from the dining room at its end. Floor-to-ceiling terrace doors take up the wall directly opposite you, backing the table with views of the Hudson river. It’s gorgeous enough that you think about revisiting during the day – when the sky pulses cerulean blue and the sun butters the sight with warmth, painting a picture you’ve only read about in architectural digest or seen in film. 

One where the title sequence jumps to upbeat music, dancing credits cutting onto screen. The genre that calls for a place like this is doubtfully a sombre one. Perhaps a musical, then, or a comedy. Something where you’re introduced as the main character while sitting out on the balcony, cradling a mug of steaming coffee. You’re stressed about work, or the date that hasn’t texted back, but none of your issues will summit at death. Not when your next meal is always guaranteed, or a shower whenever you’re down. When this is home; not just the house, but the world itself. Clean and functional and packed with life. Slated in shades of green, of life – so different from the red and grey hues of antimatter fallout. How grateful you’d be.

But then you remember where you are, why you’re here. The reality spurs you to move again, stumbling stupidly out of the kitchen to where Miguel is likely fuming at your unwelcome exploration.

(On your way back, though, you take notice of an abandoned object by the fridge. It’s rubber, oddly moulded. Bright pink in a similar shade to Lyla’s glasses. Condensation beads and drips upon its surface, the insides certainly filled with ice, and it takes you a short bout of confusion to realise that it’s a teething toy. 

When you imagined Miguel as a father, it was to a child burgeoning school-age. Now, your imagery morphs to accommodate this new information. A baby girl, no more than seven months old. One who might live with her mother given his busy schedule, but visits constantly because he would make the time for her. That is, if the toy is any indication.

You can take comfort in the fact that, if not you, someone else leads that imagined life. Someone more deserving.) 

“You hanging on in there?” You call out, checking up on the man whose presence you’d temporarily forgotten. He doesn’t respond. It isn’t as worrying a development until you re-enter the living room and notice it looks bigger, emptier now. A nest of snapped webs cushion where he once lay. “Hello?” 

That’s what you get for taking your eye off him. It certainly hasn’t felt like fifteen minutes – maybe ten, at best – but he’s escaped irregardless, shedding the disadvantage as you remained entirely oblivious.  Trepidation blossoms like a mushroom cloud in your gut, billowing smoke and the migraine-inducing smell of petrol. He can be anywhere. Judging you from a secret alcove or on his way out, already regretting the salacity he’d resorted to. Each possibility is a shot to your flesh. You hadn’t realised how much you’d been counting on it; to be pinned down the instant he breaks free, fucked until you forget your name. And now, that’s been flipped on its head when he’s…

He’s–

Where the fuck is he?

Trailing the perimeter of the room with cautious scrutiny, you watch the ceilings, the pockets between couches in which he might be hiding. He isn’t in his office when you check, nor had he snuck up behind you into the kitchen. There are a few more doors – a laundry room, a toilet – that remain steadfast and shut. He isn’t in any, though you sense his presence as you always do. This universal force of attraction that draws you in, bound to his centre of gravity, negligent of all things physical. You track it – the direction in which your arm hairs spike, spider-sense tickling – until you reach the bottom of a spiral staircase. 

“If I hadn’t made it clear before, you’re a dick!” You hope he internalises it too. The second floor to his penthouse was the first thing you’d noticed on your self-guided tour, yet ascending it felt like trespassing beyond the degree you already have. Based on the amenities you’d counted, there’s only one left that could be stationed up there. His bedroom. A space that is wholly, privately his. 

And while you don’t know where you stand on Miguel’s hierarchy of interpersonal relationships, something tells you it’s not at that level. 

(Then again, you’ve experienced him in deeper ways. More intimate. And now–

He’s gonna fuck you. That’s what he said, at least. And of course you have half a mind to take it with a grain of salt. Though the credulous part of you poses – a little recklessly – what the harm could be in indulging him. 

In indulging yourself.)

“O’Hara.” You warn, tension gnarling in your chest. There’s only one way this’ll end for you. Anticipation makes it pretty clear. So, perhaps you bark his name rough and short for decorum’s sake. To prelude your concurrence, the foot you slot up on the first step. Then, the second – marching gradually upwards, clasping the railing all the while. It’s frigid and bites your goose bumped skin, licking up the heated flesh. 

Eventually, the loft sinks below your eye line. Forehead looming slightly over the landing, you try to piece together his whereabouts. It’s no easy feat – his bedroom is trapped in the same tenebrosity as the rest of his place. You have to strain to separate hazy forms; lamps from his towering frame, a dresser and not his crouched self. Through increasing efforts, you find yourself standing in the midst of it all, the trench-parallel staircase long since abandoned for a more preferable angle. 

Despite it, you can’t locate him. 

Hope wheezes, deflates, shrinks until it inhabits only the pinched area between your ribs. Whatever – you whisper to yourself. It doesn’t matter, even if the gaping hole it leaves behind pulses, devastating to everything on its horizon line. He probably had something to attend to, a commitment more important than this game of yours. You won, anyway. You hadn’t been promised anything but your own satisfaction, and while that’s been long diminished, swapped with notions of his body pressed against yours, you still won. Pinned him down in a plan entirely of your own creation, counter to all odds, when all you’d been given was a corrupt method and told to make do. 

That should be enough. 

(A lie you have to tell yourself to dissuade from the disappointment of his lacking praise. The need itches violently within you, marring your insides with crimson dissatisfaction. It’ll be your ruin, you think)

“Have it your way.” You say. It’s a last proffer of your will, extended to ears that might not even be listening. You wait a beat, riding the anticlimactic wave, before giving up and heading towards the staircase again. 

Until hands pluck your waist. 

They’re big, enveloping, heavy clutch seizing the sides of your abdomen. The fabric of your shirt glues to your skin where they radiate steady warmth, and your heart chokes with how high it soars, skyrocketing to pump thundering bursts of blood. The sequence of events that follows is tumultuous, a rapid execution away from the expected, of which you have a hard time understanding yourself. You try to break it down – have to, actually, to abate the erratic flutter of your chest when all of a sudden, you find yourself shoved on a plush surface. Wrists pinned behind your back, face half-smooshed down.

In short, this is how it goes–

You’d been unobservant. Too quick after his absenteeism, your guard had lowered enough that your spider-sense had dimmed with it. 

It allowed him to grab you. That much was clear the instant you felt it. Grabbed and hauled you to his bed, across which you’re currently bent. Your terrified shriek still rings in the gagged lull that follows.  

So now, it’s his crotch pressing flush to your rear, closely mimicking the position you’d found yourself in that morning in his office. Relentless hold, tungsten wrought around your limbs. Hips curved over the edge, toes barely reaching the ground as the mattress bolsters you upwards. This time, though, he fits his chest to your back so he’s folded above you, mouth caressing the shell of your ear. Your temples bloat with pressure and your tongue wrings dry. On the opposite end, your panties slip over the wettening slit between your thighs. It’s erotic, delicious in the manner that makes it hard to focus on anything else. 

Hot air wades through the piqued hairs on your neck when he speaks again. You jerk away from it, face shrilling like a kettle kept over flame. It’s almost impossible to shift under the heavy moor of his body on yours 

“That’s how you sneak up on someone.” He whispers, nudging the locks that fall between you away with his nose. The attention is too much too fast, flaying you alive until your innards and secret mortification spill, exposed to the elements. “It’s not so good, is it? Being ignored.”

All you can do is whimper, lower half wriggling for a friction that could abate the ache waxing in your core. It drums to the rhythm of his breaths, expectantly tensing everytime his chest swells. The act is desperate, much like the worm that still cleaves your brain apart. Rumbling promises, blasphemy, about leaps of faith into your mentor’s apartment. Or revelations like being fucked silly.

His voice takes on the same quality when he presses for a reply, canting forward to eject the burden from your lungs. The hard line of his erection stamps onto your ass, roughly illustrating an example for what’s to come. “Hm?” 

“N-No.” You stammer, nails grazing the calloused layer on the heel of his hand. His grip readjusts around your crossed arms, momentarily affected by the gentle brush.

“No.” And if you’d been a stranger to the nuances of his expression, you would have assumed he’s unaffected. But you’ve honed an ability to read between the complexities of Miguel O’Hara. (Majorly for self-preservation, however it’s proving useful now.) The mock is hummed in a husky, dulcet note, whipped somewhere in the back of his throat that turns the simple reiteration into a taunt. He’s teasing you. 

Fuck, why is that hot? You have to be a special grade of messed up to find his derision sexy.

(You’re convinced anything could be in this moment, though. Reality warped through rose-coloured glasses; except it’s your own, debauched lens.)

“Here’s how this is going to go. Are you listening?” Words gather on your tongue like clods of parched soil, too weak to build or nurture anything. They fall, crumbling in great flakes, until you have to recourse to nodding wildly, face stuffed into his sheets. They smell like him. Softer, sure, but woven with the same cedar-spiked musk, patchouli in diluted volumes. Your pupils roll to the back of your head – and even if you could reign your senses, you can’t stop your bottom from bucking for release at the aphrodisiacal scent. He continues. “You’re going to answer every one of my questions. I want total honesty. That means don’t sell yourself short.” 

The squirming must bother him. His free hand dips to your back, smoothing along its subtle arch. He applies just the correct amount of pressure to tame the feral movement of your hips. 

It lingers afterwards, warning you to hasten your reaction time. You can’t manage anything other than:

“Ok–Okay…” 

But he takes to it. 

“Good.” 

Shit. It almost feels fucking purposeful. He has to taste the potent head of your desire, the shameful state curling in your marrow. It sucks the soft tissue and imbues the calcium with diffidence instead, until all that’s left is a dependency on approval. Admiration. And he has to recognise it, because how else does he strike exactly what you search for? Good. Gruff and terse but still directed at something you’ve done that’s pleased him. Good. Planting a spot of heaven in your mind, forcing you to spend forevermore chasing a similar rapture. Your consequential whine is high-pitched and needy, muffled on the canyons of his wrinkled duvet. 

His palm treks lower, kneading the plump of your ass. It threatens to permanently configure to the valleys of his fingers, the hard press pad of his thumb. 

“How did you get in?” He tests. You give him the same explanation you did last, albeit broken with hoarse yearning. 

“T-the wind… window.” You cock your head to the side to be better heard, but find yourself face-to-face with him. The sudden eye contact burns a straight hole through you, snapping your skull into a million little fragments. You flinch, synapses firing at you to turn away, scalded as if you’d touched a piping stove. But Miguel catches on faster than you, left hand unwinding from your arms to instead hold your head down in place. Everything is automatic. Instinctual. The both of you resort to whatever path brings the most pleasure. For him, that must mean maintaining mutual gaze. You certainly feel him, harder now, rubbing on the back of your thigh. 

And you–

The second you’re released, you shoot to grab his right wrist behind you, rummaging for purchase against the determined path of his fingers. Lower, they skim the cliff where your cheeks meet. You think, if it wasn’t for your leggings keeping them together, he would’ve spread open like a packaged feast already. 

But he stops. Doesn’t work to shuck off your pants, or to rip them off entirely (of which you’d be willing, maybe overly enthusiastic about.) He just… 

Stops. Then, sweeps the wisps away from your hairline so your face is fully unsheathed to his scrutiny. His handle is familiar in a way that’s crept up on you – successively learnt, like resilience or courage, over the course of your tutelage. You’ve come to anticipate the dry scrape of his palm, the overwhelming warmth of it. Even so, you shiver against him, biting your lip when he asks again.

Stricter this time. “How?” 

A small part of you understands what he’s digging for. The complete picture, colours mixed and painted exactly how it’d happened. Yet a haar of delirium creeps up around your memory, obscuring details you’ve no mercy to exclude. And if you could wrap your mouth around them, you wouldn’t be able to choke it out with how close he veers. His nose brushes yours and his lips fold in that tantalising way they do when he’s pushing patience. A little closer and you’d be kissing him. 

You don’t, of course. Instead: 

“You left it– ah!” His caress picks up again, gliding over to your inner thighs. “Open… You left it open a-and I vaulted over. F-from the hall outside.” 

“And how’d you know to find me here?” He probes, tapping the firm plate of your crotch, teasing a descent to where you need him most. Encouragement, you realise. He’s rewarding your compliance in the medium that’s proved successful in the past. 

That’s why, when you finally register his request, you blanch.

“I–” The truth flutters on your tongue like a cornered bug, frantically evading every attempt to pin it down for dissection. You’re reminded of the rather extreme lengths you went to to execute your plan, and its aftertaste is foul. You do the only thing you have the strength for, then. Dodge his severe stare and lie. “I guessed.” 

No sooner after it exits your mouth does he call you out on it. In a cruel play on irony, he finally reaches your cunt, swirling over the clothed centre. For a blissful, naive moment, you actually believe he buys it. He can’t read your mind, after all, and your eye-contact avoidance can be misconstrued as bashfulness. It seems so when he touches you in the way you’ve been praying for, delicately tracing up and down. All’s well and good. Yeah– 

And then he pinches you through the fabric.

Pinches. Gathers your puffy lips between forefinger and thumb, made simple by the thin material, and nips them together until your clit is sandwiched in the smarting hold. Your jaw unhinges for what’s either a silent moan or scream. It’s hard to infer, your body oscillating between various conditions under his command. What feels like a bruise – dull, a gradual onrush of heat that laps at your limbs like water on a sun-drenched shore – melts on your nerves. It blooms and wears down to the colour of ripe plums, deliciously tender in the way all contusions are. Press on the pain enough and you get used to it, start salivating at the thought of doing it again.

(Penance, you muse, then shake it off. This delight is no holy thing. Nothing can fool you to think you’re doing it for a greater reason than yourself.)

Your skin prickles – glitches, more like, body flickering back and forth from materiality in different sections. Its consecutive order is the only factor preventing you from falling through the bed. 

Then, when Miguel eventually lets go, you find yourself wishing he’d do it again. Do more. Spank you until you relive the memory every time you sit. Come loose, like when he’d grabbed your face and fucked it within an inch of asphyxiation. You couldn’t speak for the day afterward, and for some reason, it’d please you to carry a similar mark now. 

He pulls you from your thoughts by directing your gape to his, locking you onto those carmine irises once more. Vaguely, lined up at the back of your concerns, there’s the throb of your scalp as he uses your hair to steer you around. Tears smudge the bottom of your vision, blurring his already shadowed expression. 

“Try again.” He mutters. A thickness accompanies it; molasses poured onto an open bonfire, popping as it hardens. You have no choice but to listen, intoxicated by his perpetual presence. It properly hits you, perhaps all too late, that this is his room. You’re being defiled on his bed, on sheets he wraps himself with every night. And they smell like him, but soon enough, they’ll smell like you too. The very concept – that you might have as much of an impact on him as he does you – could make even the strongest of spider-heroes keel. 

“I followed you.” You groan, blinking through the milky glaze that spools over your lashes and douses the world in a layer of euphoria. Though he keeps your gaze on his, you’re unfocused. Delirious. “Since lunch, I’ve… I’ve been f-following you. To catch you at th– what I supposed would-d be the perfect time.” 

“Why?” 

You expect he knows why, has known why. That he surmised all the answers himself the moment you pinned him down to gloat your victory, and that this whole thing is just an elaborate ploy to squander your ego. 

“I w–” You hiccup over the word, unable to voice it. It strikes a primal fear in you, subconsciously altered by the several instances where it went wrong. Want. Though he mouths it, hovering right over you. Want. Guides you into the house haunted by the enormity of your desire. You purse your lips around the letters; the round start and harsh end, teeth clicking before you ever make a proper sound. He circles where your pussy dampens the layers separating you, chest bearing down on your shoulder blades, forcing you to surrender your panting to his more consistent pattern. 

And, as you breathe in tandem, air ultimately supplies power to the verb. 

(Or, he does.)

“I wan–wanted to win.” You relent, echoing the confession when he flattens two fingers over your clit, winding it in firm circles. “I wanted to win.” Then again, over and over, coherency petering out until you’re left blabbering in splintered heaves. “I… wanind. W–” Miguel works you through it, contrasting the catharsis with a sort of gentle pleasure. Not enough to make you cum, not yet. Just peeling back petals to expose a bud in early development. Making you aware of it, of yourself.

“There we go.” Beyond the hazy realm of your current cognizance, you hear clicks coming from where his fingers rub you. You’re wet enough now that it’s soaked through your panties and leggings alike, and that’s him having barely done anything. He notices it too – or otherwise enjoys the way your clutch tenses around his wrist, humiliated – because his thumb soon wedges itself into the divet between your folds, teasing your hole. “And what do you want now?” 

Why ask? Your body has been begging for it, striking fervent flashes of light, rolling between his arms as you disperse all your energy into convulsing flesh. What do you want? Everything. Everything he has to offer you – more praise, more nicknames born of success and not strife. For him to rip a hole at your crotch and slip his cock in until you’re stretched over it. A ripple of universes, each plea and possibility greater than the last. Seaweed lashes around your ankles and you find yourself tripping into the wave, skull inundating with so much seawater that all you can yell out is: “More!” 

Miguel’s thumb creeps away, objecting to your answer. Too simple. Not the type he was looking for. You whine, nails digging into skin to keep his hand where it is, and drive forth. 

“This! More of- of…” 

His fingers follow soon after. It’s a noiseless deterrent, but an effective one nonetheless. If you didn’t catch the hint, he throws the gruff addition. “No.”

“Shit. Shit, I jus’… W-want more– Please please…” Drivelling until you can find the magic plea that’ll get him to yield. It ends up finding you; thrashing up your gut, possessing every muscle to bid a madcap decree. You squeeze your eyes shut and twist away from his face, screaming into the sheets until you can’t stall any longer. “Want you! Miguel, please! Fuck me, fuck me. Fuck…”

It doesn’t hit you when he orders you to bring your knees up and arch your back for him. Or as you crawl to the centre of the bed, thrusting your haunches up to present your ass. Not when you extend your arms in front of your bowed head, and he peels your shirt off to your wrists, twisting it so both are forced together, keeping you bound and in one position. You’re too lost in the woes of titillation – manna sliding down your gullet – to process what you said. Food to feed a thousand. Forever sustained. Godsent. The evidence of it smeared over your chin in drool, over the swollen mound of your sex as he pares off your pants. There’s no space for it as cool air hits you, or when he grabs either ass cheek and pulls them apart to inspect your readiness. No space for anything apart from the thrill blistering down your spine.

So–

No. It doesn’t hit you (for all that it should) that this is the first time you say his name out loud. Not when it feels so right. A perfect seal, trim to the edges of this molten encounter.

(Much, much later though, you’ll wake up in a cold sweat with it still flaming on your tongue. Miguel. Miguel. And when you sober up, turn the memory over in your mind, you’ll clasp your chest while it flops rebelliously, betraying the fact that – despite your mortification – you’ll want to say it again. 

And again. And again.)

Given the makeshift handcuffs, there’s not much you can do besides knot your knuckles into his sheets, clinging on against heavenly ascension. There’s a shuffle, the sound of fabric rustling as his one hand remains on your rear, kneading the tacky softness of it as if to say hold on. You moan in spite of it, wiggling your hips impatiently. You’ve waited enough. Evidence to your arousal coats your inner thighs, dribbling from your clenching hole and carving a line down the already damp-with-sweat skin. He, better than even you, should be able to see that. 

A hazy picture refines in your mind’s eye in the meanwhile. This scene, reimagined through his perspective. It’s tinged with the liberties of your own ignorance – the extent of your vision ending where your forehead nuzzles into his comforter – but succeeds in that it builds itself off barebone facts. Where night still rages on, dousing everything in parallel values. Navy, black, grey – broken up only by the lurid blue light that would highlight your edges, streaming from the sloped windows on your right. It’d offer a vague suggestion of your form; curves folded in a pose resembling a cat’s stretch, rounding where your glutes plummet to anchored knees. They spread obscenely wide, affording him your unobstructed cunt.

“M- Mmf, pmfeeease. J-jutht… just fuck me already, you b-bastard. Need it so bad.” You wail. The scent of patchouli that had swamped his bed has since been watered down by brine – tears and saliva that mottle your face, glossing it with a sort of wetness that has you sniffing, heaving through the suffocating layer. You’re thankful he stays crouched behind you. If he has to witness your desperation, then let it retain a modicum of attractiveness, in contrast to the pathetic display up front. 

“Need it?” He taunts, tapping his cock on your clit. It’s done lightly, the heft of it controlled in his grip. Nevermind, you lapse. You wish you were laying on your back instead, neck propped on a pillow as you crane to watch the gorgeous thing sway between his legs. You haven’t seen it since you’d sucked him off. It’s always been about you; your pleasure, your satisfaction – not that you haven’t tried to return the favour. Several occasions had you reaching for the bulge in his pants, glowing in a post-orgasm high, only to get swatted away to continue whatever the two of you were working on that day. 

“Shhh-Shut up! Oh my God, I–” Your temper wanes, a crack splitting its centre, threatening to expand with every hit he aims at it. His length glides between your folds now, absorbing the searing heat like he has any reason to stall further. If you’d been closer to your inhibitions, you’d think he’s hesitant to do it with you – but lust isn’t always an inebriating force. You’re honed in on other matters; the leaden heaviness he grinds on you, fully stiff and about to burst. The way it slips, up and down and back up again, veins catching on every crevice. It’s plenty of indication that he’s as far gone. “Keep t-t-teasing and I’ll… I’ll le-eave.” 

“Mhm.” He huffs, but tugs on one side of your ass to pry it further apart. You don’t understand why until he repositions his tip to catch onto the brim of your hole. “I don’t think you will.” 

And then he bottoms out. 

In one, swift move. Wholly plunges in, groyne slamming your behind with a force that strikes the air straight from your throat. Your jaw falls open, meant for a scream that becomes a wheeze instead, energy diverting to better serve the effort of taking him in. You were under no illusion to his size, his cock searing bright in your memory. Long, thrumming, thicker than what you can wrap your hand around. But it’s almost like he’s gotten larger, somehow – nourished by your walls that squelch and suck him in deeper. The skin around your opening aches like a taut elastic, stinging with the stretch, and in a completely contradictory condition, you wish he should’ve gone slower. Allowed you the time to adapt.

As though he senses your affliction, he returns to your clit, easing things by flicking the swollen bud while he steadily draws back out. Your pussy sheathes every ridge, every vein that adorns his ample muscle, rippling until just his head plugs you shut. 

“Solid?” He checks. And it’s so unlike the croons he’s used thus far, so much more like him, that it polishes you up to a clearer state. Sniffing, you count the sensations battering you from all angles. The tension headache. The pressure at your core. The undefinable pleasure buzzing from where his cock continues to stuff you. 

It’s better than you could’ve imagined. Intense, yes, but in varying multitudes. None of your begging had taken that into account. You’re no virgin, yet all the people you’d slept with before had been strangers. Back then, it had seemed absurd that things could feel any different when sex sprouted from rich history. (Pleasure is pleasure.) Or more satisfying when, at each thrust, you’re preoccupied with the person behind them and not your own, selfish desires. (Because what could matter more than your next fix?)

It startles you that Miguel is the first non-stranger you’ll get to know in that way. In different ways. With every wave of pleasure, he proves your previous experiences wrong. Cups the foundations of your worldview and slips them over one another; breaks the ground and crust in magnitudes. Rolls an electric ruin on the valley of your legs. 

Though, you suppose, that’s always been his role. 

(Non-stranger because there isn’t any other word for what you mean to each other. Not friends. Nor lovers. Dancing the wary line between all plights, concurrently. Foolishly. One trip and you’ll find yourself barrelling down onto a term you’re not ready for.

But for now–)

For now. 

You shake the tangent off and harrow out a playfulness that got lost in the mix. It flips and curls like a ribbon, bouncing around in your gut, generating the courage necessary for you to push your hips back on him. As you do, you note that it’s just as much of an adjustment the second time. Swifter, smoother now that he’s lubed with your natural slick, but he bulges thicker midway, and it takes force to push past that on your own. Once you manage though, your eager cunt engulfs the rest with ease, seating you on the base. You make sure he has no room to pull out, wiggling onto his crotch until he’s nestled right against your cervix.

Dragging your arms back until you’re situated on your elbows, your neck twists to the side, a wry smile winding across your cheeks. His eyes are closed, fluttering, grappling with your tight clutch. You speak anyway. “You plan on warming your dick forever? Or are you gonna fu–ungh.”

He’s quick. You’re barely able to perceive the furrowing of his brows before he dives to wrap his arms around your midriff. Chest slotting neatly onto your back, hand grinding onto your lower belly, feeling for where his cock dents as he snaps his pelvis back and thrusts into you. Or– doesn’t thrust so much as he manhandles, slamming you back and forth onto the ample breadth. Brutally done, rough in all the right ways. It spurs him, you realise. This back and forth. Snatching the power from him like a bone from a dog, throwing it out for him to fetch. It makes it all the more rewarding, perhaps, when you bend and break and become the dog yourself, snarling under his heavy pet. He’d take greater satisfaction that way, boiling you down to a keening mess. 

Which he does, in record time. Nose mashing onto your shoulder blade and fangs extended to skim the flesh there. He kneads your clit and targets a very specific part of you – that patch of spongy tissue on the flipside of your mound – pounding until it memorises the mushroomed shape of his tip. It should hurt. The sounds spilling from you are those of a wounded animal, snivelling like every inhale is your last. The expanse where your bodies meet should rub abrasively, but you’re both sweaty enough that it’s a frictionless process. And you’re both sweaty – both, because he’s affected by this too. Up from his pelvis, to his palms, to his pecs. Bare pecs. 

He’s shirtless. 

You don’t know how you missed it. Like a shot of espresso as warm as the naked muscle that cradles you; he’s shirtless. Your moans escalate, cranking to a higher octave. They fluctuate, thumping in your lungs to the sharp beat of his pumps. There was no reason for him to strip. Your shirt was used to keep your wrists fastened, and your bra still cups each breast. Your nudity is a given, as it’s always been, but there could be no purpose behind his. Not if what you assumed is true, about power play and how it turns him on. If anything, this only knocks him down to an equal peg. You’re on level ground. 

Not that you’re complaining, of course. As it stands, you can feel every part of him. His body is a furnace, rolling coals onto your own, enveloping you all around. Forearm barring your tits, pure brawn keeping you from peeling your frame off his. Abs grate across your back, happy trail chafing the small of it, the vale running along the centre. He noses your shoulder, doesn’t kiss. Just runs his chin and teeth along the curve of it, groaning inaudible phrases in both English and Spanish, of which you strain to pick up on. You want to hear it. To be closer, to be privy to what he has to say about you. About this. To crack open his mind and pick his complicated psyche for the tasting. 

And– 

And maybe he wants that, too. Maybe he took his top off to feel closer in the most material sense. You won’t fool yourself into thinking he holds similar admiration, but your body has gained definition in the past weeks. Physically, you’re more spider-hero than you’ve ever been. It wouldn’t surprise you if that’s what’s got him going. The fruits of his labour. Your progress. With the way he takes in your form, all the questions, his demeanour cleans up to seem vaguely… proud. 

Proud. 

Is that it? Did he ask you to recount your achievements because he’s pleased with you? Don’t sell yourself short. That’s what he said when forwarding his interrogation. It would make sense – for all that it settles at the forefront of your brain, refusing to dissolve.

But God, you think, it doesn’t even need to be true. The mere notion lights your nerves until they whistle like soaring fireworks. You watch as pyrotechnics burst behind your eyes, lashes drooping with tears, jaw strained as you clench your teeth. Miguel fucks in short, hard pegs, forgoing pulling out all the way to instead beat your g-spot in rapid succession. His breath bursts hot and heavy, lips – those perfect, full lips – pressed to the shell of your ear. He’s stroking your sore clit with three fingers now. 

“Ay, mierda. Shit.” He curses. “I-Is this it, huh? Is this what… all I had to do to shut you up, you needy little thing? A good fucking. Just a little attention and you-you’re happy.” 

“Nnnngh. M-Mi… Puh-ple–” 

“No. I want to hear it.” He squishes your cheeks together, squeezing with one large hand. When you try to speak again, your words come out slurred. “Use your words.” The grip guides your head back until you can catch his gaze in your peripheral. He’s already looking at you. 

“G-Gon…” 

“Hm.” 

“C-cuuuu… mmuh uh uh–” 

“All together now.” He picks up pace, practically battering your insides. It’s enough to threaten your enhanced healing, bruising your walls at a quicker rate than it can work. You’ll hurt in the morning, you’re sure.

(At least, you hope you do.)

“Gon’ugh cum. Gonna– Mig… Please.” 

Your spine goes rigid. Blood rushes to your head. 

“Do it, then. Go on. Fuck.” His middle and forefinger push past your mouth, hooking behind your teeth to hold it open. “Cum. Cum on my cock, p-pretty.” 

The world burns white-hot and bright. You can’t see, can hardly feel him anymore. Just that word, branded onto your skull where it’ll stay forevermore. Pretty. He thinks you’re pretty; or is otherwise too wrapped up in the moment to dispute the intrusive conviction. It should be concerning that you don’t care either way. That, in any reality, it still bestrews a kaleidoscope of butterflies in your gut. Your insides flutter with them, frantic and galvanised at the deluge of dopamine, flooding through every synapse until everything, everything, becomes about the high. 

Your orgasm finds you a ragdoll in his arms. Bones liquid, riding the wave that continues to scroll over. He doesn’t stop jackhammering into your spent pussy, still seeking his and draining you of all the evidence of your devastation in the process. You’ve no doubt soaked his lap. That’s if the noises are any indication, downright sloppy from where you’re attached. Schlicks and slaps and low grunts that tell you he’s close. 

Before that happens, though, you’re flipped over on your back. He holds your legs together and pushes them high so your ankles sway mid-air. You’re tighter like this – something even you can feel when he re-enters you, cock cleaving you apart. Another, weaker orgasm pulses in your core. You’ve no energy to voice it, let alone moan. It’s all you can do to take him in. The striking sight he’s allowed you access to.

Not as bronzed in this lighting, but fit just the same. Grainy shadows stretch around the canyons formed by sinew, delineating the anatomy of his torso as though it senses your ogling. He’s huge. Bigger, brawnier when not constricted in a tight top. With arms that curve and cut perfectly into his broad chest, bridged by shoulders that seem to have a life of their own. They provide a golden ratio to the trim angle of his waist, partially hidden behind your thighs. 

A curl falls over his forehead. It’s heavy with sweat. His palm crushes into your flesh. 

“Inside.” You croak, exercising the title that started this all. Bold. 

“No me haga eso.” He shakes his head, pinching his eyes shut. “I–” 

“Y-You sca…scared?” 

“Fuck– Fuck!” 

It’s misleading. You’d think – with how his voice breaks, winded and tight – that he’s about to accede. Burst and pipe you full of his seed. But he pulls out, dropping your legs to scramble on top of them. A trade off, you reason. It’s hard to rue with disappointment when his cock finally makes an appearance, fat and heavy in his hand. Your palate immediately salivates with the thought of sucking him clean after this is all over, putting your talents to good use. Maybe, if you do good, he’ll soften enough to call you pretty once more. 

That’s getting ahead of yourself, though. 

Miguel cups your neck, pinching either side to cut your oxygen supply. Your vision dots with stars – black holes and supernovas, dying suns blazing on your eyelids. It’s the combination of everything; the victory, the suffocation, the weight and magnitude of his presence. The sheets you lay on, the room you occupy, the heights you leapt across. They weave to create a shroud that slowly descends on your consciousness. 

You don’t pass out, but you’re barely lucid when he spurts out onto your stomach. Dense, searing fluid coats your skin, pooling into your belly button and reaching the ravine between your breasts. 

“I’m–” Voice hoarse, you cough to rid of its scratch. “You c-coulda done, y’know. I can’t… The spider radiation–” 

“I know.” He says, then scoops some cum onto his finger. You automatically open your mouth when he reaches over to smear it on your tongue. “Good.”  

It’s a peculiar scar, you dwell. Buttressed on his deltoid. Geometrically circular in a way vaccine marks aren’t, with marks like teeth equidistant around its circumference. Blinking heavily, you try to deduce its origins on his otherwise unmarred body, only to give up as you draw blanks, unable to think at all. Sleep looms, a heady fog lurching up your neck.

Miguel sits, picking apart the complicated knots of your shirt. It still circles your arms, looser with his effort thus far. When you flick your study over to his worn face, you find that his attention is centred onto your own blemish. Situated above your wrist – four discoloured punctures in the same size of his claws. 

“If you think that’s bad, you should’ve seen the other guy.” You quip, smiling minutely. The man just shakes his head, pretending to reoccupy himself with his self-assigned task. 

What do you say in this situation? When you can’t separate guilt from the fraught expression he dons. It’s not okay that it happened. It’s not fair that you have to bear that memory for the rest of your life. But… you don’t mind. Your self-respect is nonexistent and you don’t mind the fact that he’d resorted to whatever he could when desperate. You've done the same. Worse, even.

You’re about to speak up when a crackle on your left fills the silence for you. A radio he keeps on his bedside shelf, to connect him to all emergency personnel, blares a hurried alert. 

“Possible superhuman event. Downtown city hall. Suspect is–” 

He sighs, rising to a stand to shut it off. Your shirt slips off your limbs.

“It’s late.” You pose before you can stop yourself. The protest is instinctual – even you don’t know where you’re going with it – and no sooner does it leave your mouth do you cringe. It’s too big now to stuff back into your throat, spoken out loud and stupid. You’re free now, aren’t you? Unbound, literally. There’s no reason to stick around.

“So?” Miguel calls you out on it. 

“You– um. Just, good luck.” Is all you come up with, curling into a foetus position to dissuade the embarrassment blooming behind your ribs. Now that his body isn’t on top of yours, his room seems that much colder. 

“You’re right.” His briefs slide back up his legs, fitting snug around burly thighs and snapping low on his hips. “It’s late. You can sleep here tonight. I have to go deal with–” He gives a vague gesture to your left, referring to the dispatch call. 

“Right.” 

He offers nothing else, oscillating between attached rooms in the quiet that follows. A bathroom and closet, you assume; confirmed when he walks out in full spider garb. The sight of his suit knocks you back into place. The fact that it’s more familiar than the bare skin you were only just getting used to is a sobering enough fact. 

And you watch as he moves to leave, shucking a window frame open to allow him access to Nueva York’s skyline. Perhaps it’s his back – turned to face you, at a guarded distance once more – that spurs you to ask. A distressed attempt for any tenderness he might have left.

(That wounded animal, raking for solace before death.)

“You opened it, didn’t you?” You ask, pitching the suspicion you’ve been ruminating over for a while. 

He stops, turns his head to indicate he’s listening. 

“You opened the window. You knew I’d been following.” 

You wish the mask didn’t obstruct his reaction. What a small blink, or smile, could do to dissuade the charged pace of your heart. Eventually, though, he nods.

“Why?” 

And there’s really one answer you’re hoping to hear. A comfort, along the lines of for you. But Miguel is funny in that way. Sometimes – as seen by the cum that glazes your abdomen, or the soreness between your legs – he gives you what you want. Readily. Seems to want the same thing too, if you’re lucky enough. 

And then, there the other times.

“To see what you would do.”

follow @moondirti-archive and turn on post notifs to be alerted of future updates!

[aziraphales-library]

Lost Fic #198

1. Hello! I'm looking for a fic. I remember it's explicit, top Crowley, bottom Aziraphale. This fic actually starts in the middle of the action with Crowley screwing Aziraphale very slowly over the kitchen counter, I believe. Meanwhile Crowley is calling Aziraphale out on how he (Crowley) has figured out that every time Aziraphale wants a rough screwing he tries to piss Crowley off on purpose. Crowley then goes on to mention a couple instances, such as a time Aziraphale dragged mud into the Bentley. Please halp. I don't even know how to begin filtering for this. Thank you so much. - @cinnabarmint

2. Hello! I'm looking for a one shot (I think) in which Archangel Aziraphale Falls and is dragged to Crowley to recover. He turns into a cat demon. They get together but for the life of me I can't remember was there smut. Shax, Muriel, Nina and Maggie have their roles to play. You're doing Lord's work on this blog 🙏 - @hillatar

3. hii!! hope ur having a great day and thank u so much for helping the fandom out, navigating this blog has been a blast :-) anyway, i'm currently looking for this fic that i cannot seem to find. its a wip that takes place in an au, and crowley has to pretend to be aziraphale's servant (who is a prince that got dragged from his village) and the emperor doesn't like aziraphale and wants him dead. in an attempt to get rid of aziraphale, crowley helps him escape (since he's actually a spy) and they find out aziraphale has magic when they reach crowley's kingdom. they also spend some time in aziraphale's old village and they navigate through aziraphale's magic towards the end of the wip. this is as specific i can get with all i remember oops.. thank u again for all ur help!! - anon

4. Hey there darlings! I would like to offer some tea and biscuits for all your hard work! ☕️ 🍪 Now, one of the first GO fics I read was so cute and smutty but I can’t find it any more. (Spoilers ahead!) Aziraphale peeks when they switched bodies and sees the edge of a tattoo. Back at the shop (assuming after s1 ended) they are on the couch and he gets Crowley to show him the whole tattoo, it’s a snake wrapped around a sword? I think and it has a date on it, 1798? and Aziraphale also has a tattoo I think and then they make passionate love. Can you find it for me? Idk maybe it was taken down 😭 - @procrastiel

5. Hello! First of all: Thank you for all your work! I found so many great stories thanks to your blog! But now, I lost one ;) It was a pretty dark one, but well written about Crowley trapping Aziraphale to protect him. I don't remember the details, but Crowley somehow snapped, made a mini dimension with a copy of the bookshop and locked Aziraphale there. The story was explicit if I recall it correctly. Oh, and Crowley killed several archangels to keep them away from Aziraphale. Unfortunately, that's all I remember. Maybe a mod or one of your followers recognises it. Thanks again for your library! - anon

If you know any of these fics please include the number in your reply! Thank you :)

- Mod D

[venomous-ragno]

One day whilst scrolling though Tumblr I saw a post (that I'd love to link but can't seem to find) by the lovely @konigdaddy and I was never the same after.

So I wrote it.

I take requests btw;)

Tags: König x you, female bodied reader, nsfw, you sit on his face and he absolutely devours you

Warnings: Mentions of alcohol, face sitting, obvs nsfw

Masterlist

Unhinged. Wild. Relentless.

That's how you've come to know him, the king of the field; he whose presence alone commands respect. Recruits stiffen when he passes, shut their mouths and one would think they forgot to breathe when he levels them with those piercing blues of his - his achievements are well known and his silence speaks volumes.

Perhaps that's why you couldn't keep your eyes off him.

That lingering thought you tried to push back, only for it to return and fester in your mind like an open wound; you wanted to know more, needed to know more.

He knew.

He always knew.

Call it anxiety, call it a sixth sense, König never failed to recognise the warmth in his neck from your gaze stuck to it. He never mentioned it though. You expected him to call you out on it, ask you what the hell your problem was, that you should focus on something else, but it never came. He let you watch him. Eyes met, your gaze wavered and yet, when you looked back, his didn’t.

It's safe to say that he had you. Drawn like a moth to the flame, always following that light as if it were calling for you; took some months until you got to feel its warmth though.

A coincidence, really. You passed by the workshop after work and listened in on the mechanics idly chattering away. Their typical, unfiltered banter never failed to get a chuckle out of you, and as you warmed up to their rough but well meaning ways, a clapback or two as well.

It's safe to say you won them over in the short time you'd been a member of KorTac - but they made no such distinction as they waved you over, spoke of an outing with the squad, that you had no business missing out on.

You laughed. Of course you'd be there.

Alcohol, card games and drunken shenanigans. Drunk men who got to relax for once, drown their sorrows in terribly off tune pop songs as they accused each other of cheating only to forget all about it over some shots.

The booze would have your head swim. Surely. That knot in your abdomen a telltale sign of one glass too many. You'd stumble back to your dorm, plop down on your hard mattress and doze off, perhaps hug the toilet the mornibg after.

So how the hell did you end up like this?

Clothes lay scattered across the floor. A dorm room indeed, but not yours. Head dizzy and body hot, but not from any drink you may have had. And that knot in your abdomen, getting more and more intense the longer those thick arms wrapped around your thighs-

It's safe to say that your night should not have ended like this.

"Sit on my face."

Your breath hitches.

"What?"

König's relaxed eyes meet your wide ones. The empty shot glass rolls between his fingers.

"I said what I said."

"You're drunk", you reply. No doubt that the sheer, utter bewilderment in your tone didn't go past him.

"Strange", he leans back, throws his arm over the chairs lean. "I don't feel drunk."

You swallow hard. Throat dry and fingers clenching the glass in your hand, you push your luck, fuelled by the alcohol warming your cheeks.

"Then... What do you feel?"

You regret asking as soon as the words leave your lips. König smirks, tilts his head. You look in his eyes and bite your lip; that dark gleam you always thought to be your imagination... Is anything but.

König. One of KorTac's best and most wanted. The one you'd stolen glances at, thoughts wandering 'till your thighs rubbed against one another.

That very same man now breathed against your skin, decorated with hickeys and marks the shape of this teeth. Fingers dug into your thighs whenever your attention drifted off; he wanted you here, focus on him and nothing else. He hummed at your every whimper. Cupped your jaw to have your eyes meet his as he whispered to your lips:

"Let me hear you."

How could you not? He had you in his palm, melting between his fingers. You shivered at his very touch and he smirked a way that had you squirm. At this point you weren't even sure how long he'd been feasting on you. His tongue never left your skin, pushing deeper into you, circling, nibbling. König revered your taste, touch and feel. If you thought him to be drunk at the bar then he was nothing short of intoxicated now.

Your voice is breathless as you call out to him.

"Mhm", he mumbles.

His grip on you didn't ease even as your hips quivered at his tongue. He was relentless. Attacking your swollen clit time and time again, pressing to your hot lips, your core.

Your mouth goes dry and you still moan his name.

König doesn't let up. He licks and sucks and your body grows hotter by the second, hands desperately clenching the bedsheets, his hair, anything to help you stay grounded. Electric tingles, waves, then bolts, he keeps you flush to him, groaning with heavy breaths and you almost sob as the tension grows and grows and-

Nothing.

It takes your racing mind to catch on. Heart still beating in an unforgiving rythm, you whine at the ache, the lack of climax right about to hit you in all its might.

His low chuckle brings you back.

"Not yet." He licks his lips. "The night's still young, mäuschen."

[literalite]

I remember you saying you liked young justice so I wanted to know who's your favourite character or the one you think is most like you? I've been attached by the hip to this show since I was 13 so I'm a little... not normal about it lol.

also opinions on s3?

YES oh my god it was like formative media for me genuinely and i still love yj dearly i was rewatching it like last month actually along with yaboyroshi's reactions to it 😅 we are both a little not normal about this show dw 🤝🏼 im putting the rest of this under a cut because i start Yapping

my fave characters were dick, artemis, jaime, bart, and zatanna! dick i was Obsessed with from the moment i laid eyes on him in hindsight for gender reasons, probably but artemis always meant a huge deal to me as a kid because she was like the only vietnamese character (and with a skintone like mine!) that i'd ever seen on a screen. i loved everything about jaime's character and personality and arc and i had a really soft spot for bart because characters who are very outwardly upbeat and fun but are going through a lot of shit and hiding it are my favourites ever usually 😅. i also liked rlly them as a duo. zatanna's sort of cool-girl sass was always really fun to see and i think especially in s4 where her sort of less-rigid morality had more room to shine, really made me appreciate her character more. OH also when they introduced cassandra wu-san/orphan in s3 i like literally cheered out loud 😭 shes one of my fave characters from dc comics in general, so i was already biased towards her and i really liked her depiction and the room they made for her arc

i'm actually not sure which character is the most like me... i think because i watched it so young a lot of the characters kind of made their way into my personality in one way or another. i think irl im most like dick but it could be wishful thinking 😅 i'm not as cool as he is for sure

season three.... i'm kind of on the fence about it? i will say though i think it was a little rough with the dialogue especially, and i definitely didn't bond as well with the outsiders as i did with the original team and then the s2 cast. violet was the most likeable of the group by far but i think i was really put off by the fact that they kept killing them 💀 like i get that you guys can do this now with the higher rating but there are better ways to show off your newfound creative freedom than repeatedly brutally killing them. it was offset with the majority of the other characters suffering from basically no visible injuries too- if they'd been hit with bruises or scrapes or broken bones or ANYTHING and reduced the harm dealt to vi then i would've been less urgh by it.

i also wish they'd introduced victor a bit earlier into the season instead of spending sooo much time with brion because cyborg's story felt a little tacked on at the end, and um i was annoyed by brion from the jump 😭😭 tried so hard to sympathise with him because to be fair he went through a Lot but he just kept being such an aggressive ass to like everyone. which i guess was the point.. didn't make it any more fun to watch though.

i do like that they kept with the huge mass of entangled threads of the plot that were to me the hallmarks of the earlier seasons, picking apart scenes to try and work out how things interconnect was always my favourite part. i think the cast of the show at this point for what they were trying to do and focus on may have exceeded the show's bounds though- it was still a compelling narrative but i imagine for a casual watcher who isnt as meticulously invested in who is who and can recognise adaptations of arcs from the comics it can get very confusing or frustrating. its hard because i Love the og cast too but i think with s3 they couldn't decide on letting them go or letting their new characters shine and it ended up muddying the waters a bit, with the outsiders suffering the most from it due to no nostalgia or prior narrative heft to keep them from looking secondary to the original members of the team.

with s4 they chose to throw their lot behind the old team, which i appreciated and it neatened the rough edges of the show more, but i do still miss the s2 cast quite badly so i actually kind of wish they'd kept expanding the cast but just narrowed focus onto the new characters for every season. the title of the show is young justice, so i personally would've liked to keep seeing a focus on the newer and rising heroes of each successive generation as opposed to returning again and again to the originals

sorry that this is such a wall of text 😅 but i think this is one of the shows that i could genuinely just like sit and talk about for ages and ages... even the characters i dont like at all have a fair amount of gravity and heft to them that i love. wally is still alive btw i will never stop believing 😤 get that man out of the speed force!

[prettyflyshyguy]

little bit of a vent rant? a vant. A rent. Anyway.

Winter has been tough and I keep flip flopping between wanting to work on X Y or Z project and then when I have the time, I'm too tired, or manifesting the energy/motivation is hard. Sometimes you have to very literally make yourself do the thing, but its hard. Anyway grumbling about the creative process, time management, and related under the cut.

It's been a tough year and a very rough winter period. Like we had a couple good days of sunny weather and it was so nice and now its wet and miserable therefore I'm wet and miserable and this fucking sucks.

As soon as I'm done with this Horus Heresy army in a week I'm gonna try and work on Virtual Ground again. Dropped off a bit over the worst of winter but I'm hoping the shift into spring soon will help me feel better. Its like, I'm drawing or doing something else: I should be painting my space marines.

I'm painting my space marines: I should be working on Virtual Ground.

Don't get me wrong I'm so excited for the event I'm painting space marines for, it's gonna be awesome, I think its just the depressing oppressive winter this year specifically thats hit me really hard.

I'm juggling a few things to do with business and career stuff and I have a very strong feeling I'm about to receive an absolutely gutting rejection email tomorow. Mostly just because I didn't fit the criteria as good as the average candidate that applied for The Thing, and that I was told pretty candidly that there's very limited slots and there's a lot of competition. Just very tired of always being told "you did really well but..." I want to have hope but I know it's gonna absolutely fillet me if it falls through.

I'm a fighter. I just wish it wasn't so hard to get things up and running. I want to make my comic, I want to run my art business, I want to make a living. A decent living. I don't need to be rich off it I just want it to be profitable in a justifiable capacity thats self containing and also gives me enough dollary doos to buy some nice things here and there yknow. Like to live.

Anyway I've told myself I'm trying to ballance my negative feelings cause the last year (like as in from today, going back a year) I've been Real Up and Real Down so we're gonna end on something of a 'manifest healthier attitude' note - don't give up your dreams, be real with yourself, get a healthier sleeping pattern, eat well, exercise, you'll feel better, and learn to recognise when its the dog shit Melbourne winter weather that's making you feel like utter crap - and that it too, like all things, shall pass.

Pic unrelated but here's a cute chibi of Walking for anyone who dared to read the horrors of my twisted mind. Have a treat.

[inkdemonapologist]

How do you feel about the upcoming DCTL graphic novel?

Cautiously optimistic!

When I first heard the rumours, before Adrienne’s announcement, I had pretty mixed feelings. My background is in comics, like that’s what I went to school for and worked on semi-professionally for years, and I love it as a storytelling medium, so I’m really intrigued to see how they handle the adaptation…and I also really, really don’t envy whoever has to make decisions on how to depict these characters.

But the announcement is encouraging! I haven’t kept up with Chris Hastings’ more recent work, but I remember enjoying Dr. McNinja back in the day, so I have to admit there’s something exciting about seeing a name I recognise and can be hopeful about to do a good job with the adaptation. Checking out the artist’s work, I’m gonna put a lot of my poker chips on “Sammy will look really normal actually,” but I don’t think that’s a dealbreaker – like, Dober’s Sammy is a big fav as far as Sammy designs go, and I think he’s a good example of how you can still get great Sammy vibes in a more conventionally attractive face. (though i also think there’s a chance of “the artist will lean fully into his unhinged vibes and make Sammy look like a batman villain” so wE’LL SEE!!) Genuinely, the artist’s portfolio seems well-suited to this. I would’ve pictured DCTL with a rougher, more indie look if you asked me to pick a fitting style, but I think this artist's slick Western-Comic-Book style with its strong spot blacks could be a REAL good fit for the inky vibes this story demands, and they don’t have the level of “sameface” that I’d usually be concerned about with these kinds of styles; there’s enough solid variation in their character art that I believe they can handle all the characters needed, and also do a cool ink demon.

DCTL does have some design questions that are genuinely pretty fraught, in that there's no perfect way to handle it (Norman’s a great example; do you take someone that 80% of the fandom has been drawing as a black man for years and make him canonically white, or do you present the Weirdo Creeping Around In The Shadows Who Mysteriously Gives The Protags Supernatural Info And Then Dies At The End And Nobody Misses Him as canonically a person of colour??? ROUGH CHOICE I DO NOT ENVY), but I'm still so curious to see designs for these guys, and my big hope is that the fandom will be understanding of the huge task the creators have been given and that this won't be regarded with the pressure of getting “The Official Canon Design That I'll Be Mad If It Josses My Interpretation” – like, getting an official Henry & non-old-man Joey in BatDR just felt like, y’know, seeing anyone in the fandom make a new set of designs. It feels like drawing fanart of the BatDR AU; it doesn’t mean my henry and joey designs are Obsolete. And I hope these designs are enjoyed from that perspective, as a new DCTL Comic AU, and that the fandom takes whatever we get as less THIS HAS TO MATCH MY PERCEPTION OF SAMMY B/C ITS THE OFFICIAL REAL SAMMY and more just, a take on a design for Sammy Lawrence.

Though of course I can’t help but be a little more anxious about Sammy specifically, haha. He is my big fav after all, and as embarrassing as he is in DCTL it has become a part of his story I’m quite attached to. A lot of humanity could be added to him or taken away depending on how he’s drawn… I don’t want to get my hopes up, but it’s hard not to hope that he’ll have Good Sammy Vibes that Resonate With Me Specifically.

And in general, my expectations are still tempered – the comic could certainly turn out to be very mediocre, especially depending on how well the artist is paid and how much time the creators can afford to put into it – but tbh I’m super interested in how this turns out. I can’t wait to see Joey in this style and it’ll be SURREAL to see a comic of like……. BatIM humans…… I’ve wanted sincere visual content about the humans for a long time and I’m stunned we’re actually getting it, so I’m feeling kinda cautiously eager!! I’m also curious if the comic will make an effort to preserve Buddy’s “voice” from the original novel, and how that will be handled – like, the whole book is really strongly framed as being written by Buddy, and that’s not just an incidental detail; it fleshes out his feelings about Dot, ambiguously gives us info on Boris without directly revealing the ending, and shapes the way he presents some moments as unreliable and time jumping strangely – he even talks about the frustration of not being able to just draw these things and having to describe them! (RELATABLE) – but at the same time, just filling a whole comic with tons of narration boxes is not usually a great artistic choice. It’s a really interesting challenge for the adaptation, and I’m curious if they’ll shift away from the framing device altogether or look for a balance to keep it.

Anyway TL;DR I’m keeping my expectations low but I’m really intrigued!! I don’t know if I’ll, like, actually acquire it; I usually don’t buy JDS Inc. stuff, but I feel more wibbly about the books in general b/c of how strongly I appreciate Adrienne Kress specifically, so we’ll see how I’m feeling when it comes out, haha.

[urwendii]

For @cilil and @a-world-of-whimsy-5 . The famous shock collar prompt. Set in the Dark Queen Arien AU. self indulgent. ☀️Wordcount: 742 ☀️Pairing: Eönwë x Arien ☀️Rating: T+

The cell was surprisingly well cleaned, the straw new, the walls warm. To his surprise there even was a tiny window letting the afternoon's light filter through the little space, its golden light playing with shadows, their sharp edges dancing over the stone. 

He had been chained lightly to the wall, the chain itself long enough to allow him stretching his legs. A small mercy he supposed. Eönwë had been tracking the hours of the day in hope and trepidation of a visit from anyone - mostly her he supposed but so far silence had been his sole companion and with that the ever returning feeling of anxiety simmering in his stomach. 

He had not intended for this to happen, yet despite his choice of joining her, he had not been able to help himself. Warning the small settlement of the surviving Noldor had been a mistake he was now paying dearly. Tugging on the chain wrapped around his leg, Eönwë had not even bothered trying to free himself. The craft, he had recognised immediately and if one thing was certain it was that Mairon's smith skills were unrivaled. 

The light was slightly dimming when at last he heard footsteps coming from the spiraling staircase. Light and graceful. His heart thumped painfully in his ribcages and tension turned his entire body alert as Arien emerged in the hallway. 

The Queen was wearing a silky robe tied around herself, in her usual deep red shade, decorated with golden suns on the sleeves edge. 

Eönwë dared not meet her eyes in fear of seeing the disappointment he was sure to find in the entrancing blazing gaze. 

“I must say I find the entire situation disgraceful.” Arien began, not unkindly. He heard the familiar sound of a key inserted in a lock, the rustling of a dress and suddenly his queen had knelt in front of him.

“Must you betray me too Eönwë? I had so many hopes for you.”

The almost tenderness was even worse than blatant anger he thought, swallowing around nausea at having let her down. Words didn't come though, and he found himself unable to justify his actions. With his eyes still fixed on the floor he startled slightly when a warm finger forced him to look up and into the golden eyes that always shine too brightly. 

“I have asked you a question. Are you there as the former Herald of Manwë, Fionwë or are you there as my dear protector, as mine? Urion.” 

And how could he answer this? How could he deny how desperate he was for her affection, her consideration and the trust he surely had destroyed today. 

“You have my loyalties my Lady.” His voice was rough, throat dry but he forced it not to tremble the way his hands were under the force of her bright gaze. 

Arien seemed to contemplate him for a while, her thumb coming to lightly graze at his cracked lips. Eönwë's wings were tucked back in but he felt the slight spasm in his muscles at the motion when Arien had suddenly reached behind his neck and pressed a cold object there. 

“I suppose I do. Mairon had advocated for a more thorough punishment but I refuse to waste potentials. Even when these potentials have been naughty.” 

The weight that settled around his neck was cool against his skin, but slightly too narrow as it bit into it. 

“And so until you have proven yourself enough you will keep this on Eönwë.”

The collar was tight enough so he felt it with every motion but not to severely impede his breathing and for some reason it made him flush hard to be handled this way. 

Arien let out a dry chuckle, as if guessing the very direction of his shameful thoughts. 

“It does suit you Eönwë. Maybe I should have you wearing a collar all the time.” His cheeks burned in shame and he lowered his gaze back on the floor. 

“One last thing, my beloved.” 

He blinked, barely having time to process the endearment when a painful shock crossed his entire body, making him spasms, a strangled moan escaping his lips. Panting in a daze Eönwë looked up to see the Queen smirking at him, the dark edges of her smile sending tingles through his hands. 

“Let me down once more and you will spend the following days whimpering, begging for it to end.”

[truly-morgan]

[JC has daddies]

AllCheng | Mo Dao Zu Shi Modern AU 10-04-2021

[#allcheng - modern]  (cw: has nsfw-ish parts) 

Jc knows jfm has somewhat given up on him, or at least on him ever wanting to take over the company one day. He knows very well that jfm never really want /him/ to take his place anyway, wwx had always sounded like his first choice, if not for yzy he would probably have long since decided to make him the heir. 

Jc just got tired of always failing in meeting expectations and broke away completely from the vicious cycle he had been stuck in for years. Getting his hope up on something, working hard to do it well, waiting to see if he did good, receiving no positive reaction to his success, feeling like a failure. Rinse and repeat again and again. 

So he stopped that, deciding to study something that sounded much more interesting than what had been planned for him probably-

even before he was born. And if he couldn’t get his love and recognise from his father, then he would find it else. 

And else he did. 

With many people. All people his father knew actually (either old friends, business friends or rivals). 

Lqr was one of the first. He was one of the two who tried picking up the first broken jc who had officially started a new path of study /by himself/ for /himself/. This is where the worst blow had been given, his mother clearly disappointed and jfm... nearly indifferent, as if it didn’t matter anymore. one of the two who tried picking up the first broken jc who had officially started a new path of study /by himself/ for /himself/. This is where the worst blow had been given, his mother clearly disappointed and jfm... nearly indifferent, as if it didn’t matter anymore. He had always thought the older man was severe and stoic, but he was actually rather nice and gentle, making sure jc was doing good both mentally and physically. It had been weird to see someone so attentive of his wellbeing, it had not happened in years. 

Wrh was part of this- duo helping him up. Maybe jc had simply wanted to rebel a bit against his father and decided one of his business rivals would be good. Although the man had always intimidated him, he was surprised by how affectionate and passionate the man could be by moment, all going against the idea he had of him. He helps in pulling jc back up, trying to shove in more self-confidence and some more boldness so he could speak what was on his mind. He was also the first one with whom he had any kind of sexual relationship. 

Lxc came rather soon after them. Probably he had heard from lqr, probably he was just worried about for the kid he had seen many times when their families would go to the same events. He was similar to lxh in his love, although he was easier to give out praise and was freer to take him places than lqr was. Jc was happy to see the two men didn’t seem to mind sharing him. 

Nmj came after lxc, and the first time he really had any contact with him was because of lxc. Of course, he knew the man, he had been acquainted with nhs for many years now. But its only from there that he developed something with either of the nie brothers. There was something really comforting with them, maybe it was the familiarity of nhs that had made him at ease like this. He like the attention that was given to him, different from how lqr or wrh would do, less father-figurely or nearly as a sugar daddy by time. 

Sex soon became something he would do often with them, very rarely with more than one at a time really. Lqr was someone who would go painfully slow, yet it was still good, always making sure he would feel pleasure despite not being as rough as wrh could be. Although his age made it that he was not as energetic as jc could be (bit his crazy strong arms and hands would probably always surprise him). Lxc is a bit rougher (probably because he picked up jc likes it) and has obviously more stamina, so he fills in where lqr cannot always when he’s over at the lans. 

Wrh is one of the best (not that any of the others are bad, there’s just something). He has also made jc realise he maybe had more kink that he would have ever thought he had more kink than he would have ever thought he had, exploring with him newer things he feels comfortable doing. He feels like he can just let himself go and forget everything, only needing to follow whatever wrh says. And despite also not being young, wrh still has a lot of stamina, making jc wonder where he gets it. 

Nmj is a mix of both, starting all slow before things get rougher as he seems to lose himself in the pleasure with jc. Nhs is the only one jc tops, although nhs can be a bit of a power bottom (which he does not mind). He sometimes even had both brothers at the same time. It was admittedly a bit weird at first, but being stuck in a sandwich between them had been extremely good. 

All of them were providing for jc, helping him out monetarily (although he did find a job, not wanting everything he has to have always been given to him) and with his studies. He gets all the love and care he needs from all of them, more than he has ever received in the past years. 

All this lead to this night, where jfm is getting to a restaurant with his family, minus jc who apparently had something planned already, jzx joining in this time with jyl (“jc won’t come this time and it a five persons reservation, you might as well bring you fiance”). 

As he’s waiting for jzx and jyl to arrive, he notices a familiar car, his suspicion of who it is confirmed when he sees wrh getting out. He scoff to himself, wondering who he brought here this time, knowing this was somewhere wrh seems to like bringing his latest conquest. 

His shock when he sees jc getting out from the passenger seat, joining the man. He can barely believe it, is his son with wrh? Why do they wear clothing that nearly looks like they were meant to match? Everything about his appearance seems a bit... off, as if he had seen everything somewhere. 

From the nearly matching clothing, to the necklace which split into a double necklace with two pendants that he /swears/ normally belongs to the Lan family, to his hair he has let grown longer and now arbour some neat braid leading to a bun. 

He's distracted from his observation when jzx and jyl arrive, trying to put to the back of his mind what he has just seen, forcing a smile on his face. But this doesn’t stay long, because once they are seated, he realised that they are in the /same/ area as wrh and jc, half listing to what everyone is talking about, looking at them. 

They join nmj, which makes him wonder since /when/ does the man even enjoy wrh company. They are even joined by lqr after a while, only making him more confused. What is this weird meeting including his son? 

They are all talking happily, his son smiling and looking happier than he has ever seen him before, he would probably never have seen it was jc if he had not seen him outside. 

He tries to stay on whatever they are talking about in front of him, yet his eyes often shift back to jc, still unsure what he was doing with such a weird miss-match of man. 

He nearly chokes on his wine when he sees wrh arm moving closer to jc, leaning closer to whisper something that makes his son blush heavily, nmj and wrh laughing a bit at his reaction while lqr seems a bit amused. Jc seems to argue something, only making wrh grin widen. 

Then his eyes meet wrh across the room, the man clearly having seen him. He shoots him a smile and that look in his eyes is one he had seen before, the “Too late, this is mine now” look. 

What is happening?!

Original

[wordsbymae]

hi mae!! can i request something for eli? maybe what it’s like for the reader on full moons and what he’s like? please and thank you <3

hope you’re doing well! <3

Of course you can! I'm doing well thank you! Hope you like this and are having a wonderful day! xx

part one, part two, alphabet

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It's been a month since Eli stole you from your home and hid you away. You have refused all of Eli's attempts of ignoring his heartbreaking confession of murder and pretending that he was still his sweet and kind self. But Eli is changing and with the full moon rising he has finally had enough of your attitude.

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Pairing: Oc Eli x gn!reader

18+

MINORS DNI

tw: gn!reader, possessive behaviour, vulgar speech, perv behaviour yandere, rough kissing, implied smut, predator/prey complex, reader called a bitch/slut

petnames: sweetheart, darling

notes: hi! I ignored every single piece of the werewolf myth, legend and story to create my own sorta "change". Eli can change whenever he wants, but on the full moon he is much more aggressive, violent and let's be honest horny, so he has a lot less patience and will choose to change quicker than he normally would.

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You felt like a fool to not have seen it all before. All the minute changes that were occurring. You had focused so intently on his actions, on the bloody display of affection he had done for you, that it hadn't occurred to you to ask, not why, but how. How was he capable of such a thing, of such pure primal aggression and violence. It seemed like such a simple explanation, yet so hard to believe.

His sharp canines were the first clue. Their pointed edges would jut out whenever he smiled, showcasing four sharp points where there had once been blunt mounds. They often nipped at your lips and neck whenever Eli deemed himself deserving of a reward, leaving faint bruises across your skin. Then there were the eyes. They were still their rich brown, still looking at you with such affection, but if you were brave enough to shine a lantern at them in the dark, they glowed. Pale and yellow. Like a monster hiding in the shadows. Like a wolf in the woods. Then there was of course the final, most damning piece of evidence. The full moon.

The days leading up to the full moon had Eli been even more insufferable than usual. Constantly nagging for your attention, always demanding your affection. You refused all his attempts of pretending he hadn't stolen you away, hadn't threatened your family and hadn't murdered two brothers for the crime of speaking ill of you. But Eli was determined, feverishly so, to regain the lost love between you two. If you hadn't been so stubborn, or if you had been smart enough to recognise the very real threat in front of you, you would have allowed him to play pretend. Maybe it would have saved you the pain and horror of watching Eli turn into a monster in front of your very eyes.

Or maybe nothing could have saved you from the hunger of the werewolf that lay hiding under his skin.

------------------------

You awoke in the night to a hand running along your skin. It had snaked under your sleepwear and its rough skin dragged along, from your arm down to your hip and back, each pass it grew more confident. You lay facing the wooden cabin wall, staring at the planks that were decorated with wood grains that you could barely make out in the dark. It wasn't the first time you had awoken to Eli's hands on you, most of the time all it took was you snapping at him before pushing him off the bed he forced you to share. Then he would pout and sook from the floor, sighing and moaning over his misfortune that you were forced to allow him once more into bed to shut his whines. You saw no reason why tonight had to be any different.

You gave a sound of disgust before grabbing his hand and throwing it off you. Edging onto your other side you turned to face Eli.

"Stop being so annoying. I'm trying to sleep" you growled before falling onto your back in contentment. Eli inched his body closer to yours but didn't reach out. You allowed him. A few moments passed and your eyes drifted once more closed.

A hand was touching your thigh and with slow intent drifting higher and higher, under your sleepwear. With a scowl, you jumped up and flung his hand away. Turning once more to him you began to push him towards the edge of the bed, fully intent on letting him fall. But tonight was to be different to other nights, and Eli was also going to be much different. He did not allow you to push him away and instead, he gave a soft growl. You saw it as Eli playing with you and overlooked its obvious warning.

"Just get off you big lump!" you heaved, falling to your elbows and side in an attempt to gain friction. His growls grow louder before he finally becomes silent. You stopped your attack and huffed in annoyance.

"Fine, be that way, I'll sleep in the kitchen" you sneered, leaving the warmth of the bed, but not before gripping the thick wool blanket with both hands and ripping it from the bed. "And I'm taking this with me!"

---------------

The kitchen wasn't really a kitchen all to itself. The cabin Eli had stolen you to was just one big room, a bed in one corner, a small wood stove in the other and a dining table in the middle of it all. It was small and modest but comfortable. You choose to ignore the questions of who lived here before you, or how Eli become its owner. Which is why you never went to the left side of the cabin, where two soft dirt mounds lay silent in company.

The kitchen was warm, increasingly so. The stove was on to fight the bitter winter frost drifting from the sky and winds. You were forced to abandon the blanket by your feet as you awoke once more in a sweat. With a groan, you lifted yourself up to your elbows to see if Eli was asleep and if you would be able to sneak back into bed and then leave before he awoke. But he was gone. The bed lay empty and lonely in its corner and your skin bristled when the front door slammed open, letting dainty flakes of white snow drift inside.

"Eli?" you called, getting to your feet. The sweat on your skin turned cold and unpleasant, leaving you no choice but to pick up the blanket and wrap yourself for comfort. You took a step forward. Then two back. A lonely howl commenced from the hills.

"Eli?" you whispered.

Four steps forward toward the door. One step back.

"Eli this isn't funny!" you shouted "I'm sorry I tried to push you off the bed!"

The patio moaned as slow footsteps ached around the corner outside. You held your breath as they cruelly made their slow journey towards the door. A dark figure stopped silent in the doorway, not moving an inch. You slowly moved for the lantern that sat on a small table next to you. The figure took a step forward. You took one back.

"Eli?" you begged, hoping the figure would speak, laugh, cry, anything to prove to you it was Eli. You lit the lantern slowly, trying desperately to calm the shake in your hands. The room was quickly clothed in soft light and it was then suddenly plunged back into darkness as you let the lantern slip from your fingers and shatter on the ground and a scream raced from your lungs. A pair of pale yellow eyes. Sharp canine teeth. And a face once you loved twisted into a grotesque monster. This was not Eli.

"You alright there sweetheart? You're not looking too good"

It talked like Eli, sounded like Eli, and even had the same matt of dirty blonde hair as Eli. But this monster, this abomination was not him. Its face was twisted and moulded to suit that of a dog or a rabid wolf, an expression of constant aggression was plastered on its face. You raced for the axe that sat next to the stove, swinging high in the air as you faced the beast.

"Stay the fuck back!" you screeded, waving the axe with a fever of desperation. "I'm warning you!"

"Sweetheart! Langue, please! No need to use such words" The beast called, hands up in surrender.

"Who are you?"

"Why! Eli of course, do you really don't recognise me?" he smirked, teeth glittering in the pale moonlight.

"Like fuck you are! What did you do to him! Where is he! Did you- did, you eat him?" you cried, holding the axe out as a barrier as he inched closer, nearly sobbing at the idea of Eli being ripped apart by this beast. Eli may have been a bad man, a murderer, but he was once your friend and you still cared for him.

"C'mon, Darlin don't be ridiculous now, it's me" and before your very eyes, it was Eli. The eyes turned rich brown, his face untwisted from its grotesque form and became the very man you were crying for. It was meant to calm you, the transition from beast to man. But it only made you angry and more afraid to the point of violence.

"You meant it literally" you whispered, holding the handle tight. "You meant that you ripped his face off literally. I thought you meant... that you meant... what are you? why are you...? Oh my..." you trailed off, a hundred thoughts racing by.

"Get out" you muttered. When Eli only stared at you, you broke.

"get out! get the fuck out!" you screamed, holding the axe high by your side. "Get out! get out!"

Eli just stood. Silently. With a look of impatience distorting his face.

"Now listen here peaches. I've been good to you. Haven't I? I've looked after you and cared for you and protected you. And by god almighty, I ain't gonna be paid for my good deeds in such a way. Your gonna put that axe down and start actin proper or so help me I'll give you somethin to scream about." he threatened, one long finger pointed out like a rifle. "I said drop it!"

with that you let the axe fall. It clanged against the wooden floor.

"Now come here, I wanna have a talk with you. It's high time we fixed this attitude of yours once and for all."

"no" you muttered.

"I'm gonna give you a chance to change what you said, sweetheart. I understand that tonight may be a bit overwhelming. But it's just one chance I ain't got no more patience for your tantrums, so end it right now, ya hear me?"

"I said no. I don't wanna go to you. I don't wanna have a talk. I want you to leave me the fuck alone!" you yelled, staring at him with anger. This man lied to you, stole you away, and killed for you. He doesn't get to order you around like some dog.

"You really wanna act a bitch huh? That's alright I don't blame ya. I've been spoiling you since the start. My fault really. I Shoulda put you in your place a long time ago. I've been too kind. Too gentle, I should be grateful that the moon's givin me a chance to finally snuff out this rebellion. Remember peaches I gave you a chance. What happens next is on you."

Eli rushed towards you, with such speed you don't even remember him moving. One moment he was standing by the door, the next his arm was wrapped around your waist and he was dragging you to the bed. You screamed and cried, battering his arm, pulling at his hair, to no avail. You were thrown roughly onto the bed, and just as quick Eli found his way onto you.

"You wanna act a bitch? Fine, be one. I was gonna treat you right. Treat you like I should, but you just had to act like a spoilt brat, all so high and mighty." he took a second to wrangle you back into place as you desperately tried to leave his grasp. "You just couldn't let us be happy. Couldn't let us get past the whole murder thing. that's alright, we don't have to do it the right way, we don't need a preacher man or some golden rings, we can do it the old fashioned way. You know if it wasn't for the full moon I wouldn't have done this, would have been too scared to scare you away, but we both know you're enjoying this aint ya, I can smell it on you."

As much as you wanted to deny it, hate him for it, he was right. Eli pressing down on you, his voice, his scent, was driving you crazy.

"It's alright peaches, I won't tell your ma and pa about how much of a slut you are, how much you want my cock in you. Don't think they would be impressed with their precious peach fucking a killer do ya? What they don't know won't kill em, so roll over for me honey and give me a show"

once again I can't end things

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Full Moon headcanons:

Such a sook in the days before, he acts like a kicked puppy begging for attention.

He is just desperate for you. In my world, he can change whenever, but during the full moon, his emotions and senses are more heightened and sensitive.

So sounds are louder and smells stronger. Leading to him, literally leaving for two hours to track down some bird making too much noise.

He will get angry and jealous much quicker, often leading to a dead body hidden away somewhere.

but most of all he just wants sex. All day every day, please. He doesn't care where, he just wants you.

And that before the full moon, when it is at its fullest, he likes playing games. Often having you racing through the woods so he can track you down and have some fun on the ground.

Usually, he is quite sweet, but during full moons, he can be a bit cruel and vulgar. You are used to him cracking dirty jokes but the things he says to you on these nights have you getting a little upset. He degrades you a bit, and with you not used to it, the next day often has him trying to apologise for it. The worst is that you like it just are a bit ashamed that you do (its the 1800's my bad)

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Hope you liked it! All the best.

Lots of love,

mae xx

[postgameroutesix]

my personal ranking for the gang’s english dub voices is as follows btw:

itona: consistently excellent but that’s ricco fajardo for u!!! ESPECIALLY good with itona’s emotionally charged and distressed moments but also very good at his standard flat, monotone voice. it’s notably different to megumi ogata’s take on the character, but is great regardless, only missing that mysterious edge ogata brings

hazama: great at bringing her dryness and sarcasm to the forefront, consistently funny delivery that makes hazama’s one liners that more memorable, the only thing she misses i think is hazama’s creepiness, her eeriness!!! almost too focused on the sarcasm at times - fuko saito’s voice for hazama is so distinct and eerie with that trembling ghostly feel to it and is hard to match. to be fair.

yoshida: retains the wavering, strained feel of his original voice well - the occasional voice cracks are very good!!! i think this type of voice is fitting for him, but the overall performance could be better .. there’s also that weird blip in season 2 episodes 12 and 13 what happened there

terasaka: just rough and gruff and that’s it… but as i said it at least is recognisable as a terasaka voice. i don’t think it’s a voice suited for the long speeches terasaka gives though lmao nor for any kind of emotionally charged scenes where it just sort of falls flat ..

muramatsu: THAYS NOT HIMMMM HE WOULD NOT SOUND LIKE THAT 😭😭 how are u going to make muramatsu sound so generic omfg. one or two funny deliveries and thats IT its so nothing burger

[parulayurvedhospital]

Benefits and Advantages of Kshara Sutra on Piles Treatment

The problem of piles or haemorrhoids really hurts and makes us look for help. We want help that is gentle on our body and mind. The old Ayurvedic way called Kshara Sutra treatment for piles comes as a kind of help. It guides us softly to get better.

Think about going through your day with something bothering you all the time: the steady, annoying pain of piles. It's like a noise that won't stop, making simple things hard to do. Once you know you have piles, it feels like a dark cloud is over you, making you worry about the pain and the time it will take to feel better.

The Hug of Kshara Sutra Therapy

Imagine a treatment that is as gentle as a soft touch, showing care for your body. The Kshara Sutra is this kind of help. It uses a special thread soaked in natural healing liquids. This thread helps your body heal in a soft way, like a gardener looking after a fragile plant. This method is part of Ayurveda's whole way of healing and feels like a gentle breath of relief compared to hard surgery.

The Kshara Sutra works softly, not with force. It's like a wise old friend who eases your worries without adding new ones. With Kshara Sutra, there's less chance of problems after surgery, so you can feel calm while getting better.

Thinking about getting better in a hospital can be upsetting. But Kshara Sutra therapy often lets you heal at home, where you're comfortable, with things and people you love. Being at home can help you feel better, adding peace and well-being to your healing journey.

The Gift of Affordability and Compassion

In the delicate dance of healing, financial concerns weigh heavy on a tender heart. Kshara Sutra, at its very core, is not merely a physical treatment but a regard for your financial well-being. It is a therapy that recognises the burden of medical costs and positions itself in place as a value not only for your health but also for your wallet.

A Healer of Versatility

The way Kshara Sutra therapy works shows how well our ancestors knew the human body. This therapy helps not only with piles but also with other problems in the lower part of the digestive system. It can change to help with different problems, always offering gentle help.

Conclusion

Like a lighthouse guiding ships through rough seas to safety, choosing Kshara Sutra treatment for piles offers a similar path to healing. It reminds us that in our search for healing, we are not alone. We don't have to choose harsh or unkind methods.

This old practice, filled with Ayurveda's wisdom, invites us to choose a kinder way, treating us not just as patients, but as people deserving of care that honors our body, mind, and soul. For those looking to move away from the pain and discomfort of piles, Kshara Sutra therapy is like a guiding hand leading us back to comfort and health, with care, respect, and an understanding of nature's healing powers.

[levia-san]

AU where SJ meets a stranded YQY, whom he helps of course and later be friends. SJ is a slave at the Qiu Household and regularly abused there ofc. For endgame I thought that one day SJ runs out of breath to the beach and is crying. YQY spots him immiediatly and decides that whatever is haunting SJ on the land, can’t be good. So he offers SJ to take him to the sea. Turns out when you eat mermaid flesh you too become a creature of the sea (its also a courting ritual but psssh). Thus they both elope <3 Bonus:

YQY brings SJ regularly seafood to eat but cant help but be a bit jealous...

[vintagemulti]

pieces

pairings: marc spector x fem!reader , steven grant x fem!reader

desc: you argued, you made up. you argued, you made up. it was never ending - you thought it would never change. and then it did.

warnings: toxic toxic TOXIC relationship, injury, blood, fighting, yelling, swearing, very unhealthy relationship, choking, i know i said swearing but i mean it, throwing shit at each other, angst and no comfort (kind of), reader is injured, violence (there’s one push), divorce mentions, manipulation, talk of physical violence to each other, alcohol, death/killing mentions, a couple sex mentions

a/n: please take these warnings seriously. im spiralling and i had a dream about this the other night. BOLD AND ITALIC MEANS STEVEN/MARC ARE COMMUNICATING. READER CANNOT HEAR IT. this is in absolutely no way cannon lol. this is also super long so hold onto your hat

masterlist

series masterlist

you knew it wasn’t right. you knew, deep down, you and marc were not good for each other. fuck, it didn’t wasn’t even that far down. it was on the back of your mind permanently - how you had married a monster, and how marc had married a monster as well.

since the day you had said “i do”, the beast within both you and marc had began rearing its ugly head, coming out with every argument (followed with rough, hard makeup sex), every night marc had took the couch, every time your wedding ring seemed less of a promise and more of a shiny rock stuck on your finger for display. marc didn’t even wear his ring anymore.

it took you years to realise that maybe, just maybe you weren’t right for each other. nine years, nine billion tears, what felt like a million arguments, nine years you had been married to marc. for the last nine years you had felt him change, night by night, until you didn’t even recognise the man in your bed most nights.

not even marc recognised himself these days, with someone else living inside his body. steven, who was admittedly a better husband than marc could ever have been, was always the one who would run to pick up the pieces of you after every argument, for as long as you could remember. sure, it had taken him a while to get used to everything, but he took his vows much more seriously than marc did. whenever steven had control, he always wore his wedding ring. always.

for better and worse seemed almost comedic when you compared the two. marc would start fires and steven would be left to put them out - always getting burned in the process.

the fires marc started were hot, but never as hot as the blood running through your veins right now. you could almost feel the liquid boiling and bubbling under your skin.

“what is that supposed to mean?” you snapped, throwing your travel bag onto the bed.

“it means, i don’t want you here. i told you not to come. doesn’t take a fuckin’ genius.” marc rebutted, tone even harsher than yours.

you could already smell the argument, like it was hanging in the air. a bitter, sour spice that consumed the entire room, blocking out the scents of the street below.

“what the fuck, marc? i told you already, wherever you go, i’m coming with you.”

he scoffed. “you’re like a little lapdog, following me around everywhere. take the fucking hint and leave.”

your jaw hung for a moment. all you wanted to do was surprise him, but no. he just had to be fucking difficult.

“yeah, real mature there. you want me to leave? fine. i’ll take the first plane back, but you can keep this.” you slipped your wedding ring off and threw it at marc.

the ring fell to the floor beside him, landing with a small clatter. he didn’t need to look at it to know what it was.

“you want a divorce?” he spat, looking round at you. “that’s what you fucking want?”

you shook your head. “seems like the only thing that would make you happy, right about now.”

marc pushed himself up, his frame towering over you as he came closer. “sounds about right.”

looking at him, you could see his pupils were blown. normally, you’d think it was love. but you weren’t stupid. you could see “love” in a bottle beside where he was sat on the floor, leaning against the bed.

“i can’t believe this. you are so fucking selfish, you know that?” you looked away from him, only to feel his hand pull your jaw back towards him.

“selfish? i’m the selfish one?” he hissed, grip tight enough to bruise. “i have killed for you and yet, i’m the selfish one?”

“i never asked you to do anything for me. ever.” you pulled back, his grip releasing.

he shook his head. “look at you, huh? always playing the victim. don’t you fucking dare come here and act all holy with me.”

“no, you see that’s the difference between us marc. you do shitty things and blame it on everyone around you, but me? sure. i’ve done my share of bad things but never, never would i pretend like it’s not my fault.”

marc bit the inside of his cheek. he’s about to yell.

“you are fucking pathetic, you know that!?” there it was. “you take and take and never give anything back - why? in the name of love? such fucking bullshit, y/n.”

“love? are you kidding me,” you raised your eyebrows, not even flinching to his sudden outburst. “this was never love, marc. the day i took your last name, it all went to shit. so you can take that “name of love” bullshit and stick it up your ass.”

“oh so that’s the problem then?” his voice was still slightly rained. “my last name? that’s what ruined us?”

you nodded spitefully. “yeah, must be. all spector’s must be hard fucking work.”

“she’s not wrong there, mate.”

marc turned and walked to pick up the bottle, ignoring steven’s comment. “if you hate it so fucking much,” he took a swig. “then leave. never talk to me again and sign some divorce papers, it’s that easy.”

biting your lip, you stared at him, the silence almost deafening.

well, silence to you. marc could hear something far different.

“you are a fucking nightmare, marc.” steven shook his head, watching him from the mirror. all is seemed to do was make marc even angrier, though.

marc looked back at you, tilting his head slightly. “no, that wouldn’t work though, would it? you hate easy. never letting anyone around you have a fucking day off.”

scoffing, you rolled your eyes. “says the man who runs away for days at a time because he’s too lazy to do the right thing.”

that seemed to really get him going. “what?” he walked towards you, strides full of anger. “what the fuck did you just call me?”

the space between you was so small you could see yourself reflected in the star of david handing from his neck. making eye contact with him, you could feel his hot breath fanning down on you.

“lazy.” you hissed.

hands coming to your neck, marc pushed you back until you hit the closest wall, which happened to be the mirror. he must have been shoving you harder than you realised, because you felt the glass crack against your head.

“you have some balls, you know? coming here, when i told you not to, and calling me lazy? me, who would burn the world if you asked me to?”

you laughed, bitter and fake. “that’s the problem, marc. i don’t think you would. fuck, i don’t think you would do anything for me.”

the vein in his neck grew more and more prominent. in any other setting it would’ve scared you, but right now it only made you proud. you were affecting him.

“shut your mouth,” he sneered, hands still firmly around your neck, but he wasn’t applying any pressure. “shut your pretty little mouth or i swear to god i’ll-”

“what?” you asked. “you’ll what, marc? you’ll hit me, like you hit everyone else? be my fucking guest.”

his hands fell from your neck straight away, and went to his hair instead. “i’m not that type of man. you know it, for christ’ sake.”

“sometimes i’m not sure i know you at all, actually. you’ve changed, marc. you’re not the man i fell in love with and i can’t love this version of you.”

for a spilt second, marc looked hurt. if you weren’t looking you never would have caught the pain in his eyes, but it was gone as quickly as it came. he shook his head, taking another swig from the bottle.

“i’ve changed? turn around and take a look in that mirror and tell me you’re the same person i married.”

“this is my point, marc!” you yelled, finally losing your temper. “we are fucking destroying each other! what happened to us being happy?”

he looked at you, wordlessly. a stare so intense, so hateful, you felt as if you were shrinking where you stood.

finally looking away, marc took yet another drink, making you scoff.

“can’t do this sober, then?”

as soon as you said it, he turned around and launched the bottle. you didn’t even realise he had thrown it until it hit the mirror behind you - it couldn’t have been more than an inch away from your head. you flinched, feeling little shards of glass fly into your skin, blood mixing with the dark rum that poured down your skin.

“fucking hell.” you whispered, looking at your arm. you could see the little pieces of glass lodged in the flesh - but you didn’t feel it enough to care. the pain, the blood, the smashing bottles - it was all normal. it only made you angrier, more eager to rile him up.

“you’re sick in the head, marc. you wonder why i don’t put it past you to hit me?”

he looked at your arm, noticing the blood that poured down. “i’m sorry, i-”

“no,” you shook your head, dodging the broken glass on the floor to walk towards him. “i don’t want your fucking apologies, we both know you don’t mean it. i just want you to do better.”

“better?” marc walked away from you, across to the mirror where you stood before. he stared into it, and you knew he was looking at someone else. “like him?”

pointing at his own reflection, you imagined what steven would have been saying right now. in fact, you thought, he never would have gotten in this mess.

“you want me to be more like him, yeah? weak, afraid, can’t string a fuckin’ sentence together?”

“no need, mate.”

“maybe i do.” you whispered, not meeting marc’s eye. you looked down at his body, only wearing his boxers - he was a beautiful sight.

perhaps that’s why you did this every time, the screaming matches and the thrown objects. because there’s was a thrill, a carnal lust between the hunter and the prey. you swallowed, eyes on his bare back.

he looked at you in the mirror, then back at steven. he raised his eyebrows. “well? you gonna fix this?”

marc took a deep breath, looking back at you. his blood had reached boiling point, and before he even knew what he was doing, his hand went through the glass of the mirror, the reflection of steven shattering into a million pieces.

the smash was loud, louder than the bottle. you knew it would have hurt, but you didn’t rush to help him. you didn’t come to his aid. why would you? he did this to himself.

“fuckin’ hell.” steven’s head fell to his hands and he rubbed his eyes.

marc could feel the glass shift in his knuckles, but like you, he didn’t care about the pain. the blood dripped onto the floor as he walked to the side of the bed, where another bottle was sat. you thought he might have poured it onto his hand, but no. he took one long swig before turning back to you.

“if you really want me to be like steven, then,” he flatlined. “you’ll have no one to protect you.”

“maybe it’s you i need protected from.” you retorted.

he scoffed. “yeah, because i’m the bad guy, as always.”

“there seems to be a theme here, marc! look around. what the fuck are we? was this ever- i mean, really, did you ever love me?”

“of course i loved you, y/n,” he muttered. “but i’m trying to change the fuckin’ world here.”

the sadness hit you like a wave.

“i never needed you to change the world,” you took a breath. “all i ever needed was for you to love me.”

marc didn’t reply, only walking to the edge of the bed, in front of the window, and slumping down.

a minute of silence passed. the air was still thick with the smell of anger, but this time the iron of blood seeped it’s way into the mix.

“i did love you. i do, love you.” marc almost whispered, his voice still laced with anger. “but look what we’ve done to each other, y/n. we fuck each other up.”

you shook your head. “no,” looking down at him, you reached down and picked up the bottle. “you did this. you ruined me.”

taking a swig, you felt the alcohol burn it’s way down your throat. unlike marc, you didn’t stop there. bringing the bottle to your arm, you poured it out. it burned and seared, but you didn’t feel it - not really. your head was clouded and there was a ringing in your ears.

walking back over to marc, you placed the bottle next to where your wedding ring lay, the sun coming through the curtains to make the diamond shimmer and gleam. he stared at you, not taking his eyes off of your face.

sighing, you picked up your bag off of the bed and turned to the mirror once more.

although you could only see yourself, white dress stained red and amber, you knew there was someone else watching. “find me.” you mumbled, taking one last look at marc before walking to the door.

you were already half out when he called back to you.;

“you talk about me ruining you,” he stared straight ahead. “as if you didn’t fucking enjoy it.”

——————————————————————————

after seven hours, you weren’t sure if steven was ever going to find you. maybe, you thought, he hadn’t even heard you - perhaps he wasn’t standing on the other side of the mirror.

although seven hours doesn’t sound like a long time, since leaving marc in the hotel you had managed to temporarily bandage your arm (although you knew there was still glass inside), find a hotel for yourself, get changed and find a small cafe.

sighing, you looked around you once more, sunglasses obscuring your vision slightly. yes, the sun was setting, but you didn’t need to block out light - your red, puffy eyes would be a telltale sign that you had been crying.

you had almost given up all hope of steven finding you, so when the chair opposite you scraped along the floor, you were surprised to say the least.

“you came.” you smiled, steven’s presence almost instantly soothing you.

he smiled back at you. “how could i not?”

“i’m surprised he let you take control.”

“well,” steven sighed. “he seemed to remember that he can disappear for a while, so that convinced him. along with my fantastic persuasion skills, of course.”

you nodded. “fuck knows what you could have said to him, though.”

steven laughed. “a lot of swearing. and i told him that if he didn’t let me take control you would most likely actually divorce him, so.”

“like he gives a shit.”

“no, love-” steven reached across the table and took your hand in his. “he does. we both do, he’s just an ignorant, arrogant, stupid sod.”

you smiled, although it faded as you looked down at his hands. although less bloody, his knuckles were still covered in cuts, big and small - although there didn’t seem to be any glass in them. as always, steven was wearing his wedding ring, the metal cool against your skin.

“what has he done to you, eh?” you mumbled, lifting up his hand and pulling it closer to your face.

pushing your sunglasses up, the change in hue took a few blinks to get used to. but as your eyes adjusted, you could see the bright red gashes along his fingers. you brought his hand up to your lips, kissing his knuckles.

“m’sorry, steven,” you mumbled. “it’s just, me and marc, we- well, you know. we do this to each other, and somehow you’re left to fix it all.”

steven smiled, moving his hand to cup your face. “i don’t mind, love. i’d rather put my hand through a million mirrors than lose you, marc too. he does this.. i can’t explain why he does it, but i know it’s so he doesn’t do anything stupid, not to you.”

“you mean so he doesn’t hit me?” you said sadly, so quietly it was almost inaudible.

steven’s eyes widened. “he wouldn’t hit you, darlin’. he’s just… angry.”

“stevie,” you sighed. “there’s no point in pretending; marc and i aren’t good people. not when we’re with each other.”

he ran an hand through his hair. “but that’s the thing! i’ve seen you two, you are good with each other! it’s when you’re angry, that’s when you turn into bad people. i mean, marc’s anger… marc’s anger is terrifying.”

you raised an eyebrow. “and mine isn’t?”

“no, i didn’t mean- i- that’s- no, of course yours is, i just mean-”

“i’m kidding, stevie,” you smiled. “but i know what you mean. fuck, you think throwing a bottle is the worst he’s done to me? this-” you pointed to your arm. “this is tame.”

steven’s eyes looked at the bandage on your arm, softening as the patches of red caught his eye.

“he hurt you.”

“no,” you shook your head. “he didn’t. he threw a bottle, which hurt me. not him. never him, you know? it’s never by his hand.”

he chewed his lip. “but it’s his fault, love.”

“and it’s my fault you’re dealing with that,” you looked at his hand.

shaking his head, steven took your hands again. “it’s probably more my fault, actually. i was talking to him.”

“i know,” squeezing his hands, you met his eye. “it’s weird, i can always tell when you’re around. marc gets angrier, but it’s like.. this self-destructive rage. he’s not angry at me anymore, but himself.”

“me, more like.” steven mumbled.

“and i hate him for it, you know.” you said. “fucking hate him for it, always doing this with me and never bothering to fix it himself. don’t get me wrong, i love seeing you, but when i’ve just had a screaming match with marc… fucking hell, it’s torture.”

“but it’s not your fault, y/n.”

you smiled, a self pitying kind. “it is, really. it’s just as much my fault as marc’s. you see, we love like this - it’s just how we are. some people love gently but us? we’re violent, we’re unhealthy. it’s just how we are.”

steven nodded. “i know.”

looking back at the sunset, you wondered if steven would ever turn into that kind of lover. violent, angered, intense. you didn’t put it past him, but for the time you’ve spent with him, steven has always been the kinder lover. he would hold you, make you coffee, comfort you - something marc only did before your marriage went south.

your marriage; it reminded you.

“im not gonna divorce him, by the way.” you looked back at steven, who seemed instantly relieved.

“i was hoping you’d say that.” he smiled, pulling your ring out of his pocket.

he slid the ring onto your finger, and interlocked your fingers. his hands were warm - another difference between him and marc.

“i have something to say, but i don’t know how to say it.” you thought out loud, staring at your hands.

“go on, darlin’. i’m listening.”

you took a breath; “i know that technically, i did marry you. but fuck, stevie, i wish it was only you.”

as you met his eye, he smiled softly - he understood what you meant.

“i can get why, but marc does love you as well. he’s just not good at showing it.”

“but that’s the difference,” you breathed. “his love is conditional, it’s about sex and heat and boiling each other’s blood but… but yours isn’t, you don’t pick at me for everything i do, fuck, you don’t throw half empty bottles of rum at me!”

sure, you and steven had fucked - but it was different. with marc it was rough, makeup sex that ran on anger, but with steven it was personal. slow, loving and gentle, everything you wished marc could have been.

“but you said it yourself,” steven said. “you and marc love differently. sure, you’re toxic for each other and fucking can only get you so far, but you do love each other. why else would you still be married, hm? if deep down, you didn’t love each other?”

he was right, you thought. the love was there, but it was much deeper down. deeper down than the hate, the anger, the awareness of the toxicity. albeit there - it was buried under nine years worth of boiled blood and broken glass.

steven seemed to notice your quietness, squeezing your hands in his own. “come on, then. we’ll get you cleaned up.”

nodding, you stood up, not letting go of his hand.

“you have a hotel? i’m not sure either of us want to go back there yet. the rooms a bit of a state.”

“mhm,” you pointed down the street. “just down here.”

“alright, love,” he breathed. “and i’ll tell you what.”

“what?”

“for now,” steven pulled you closer. “you can be married to just me.”

[sw1mmingfoolz]

☠️ LINSTOCK - LEE MINHO (THE GENDERLESS EDIT) ☠️

requested? Y/N

pairing: lee know x gn!reader

genres: pirate!au, fluff, angst, royal!reader, captain!minho, kinda slow burn

content warnings: kidnapping, general pirate violence but nothing graphic, some swearing, minho is a very flirty cocky fella, hyunjin is insanely flirty, reader is slapped once, gambling, drinking and being drunk

wc: 15.9k (I'm rounding it properly this time lol)

a/n: hello! in making all my fics gn and more inclusive going forward i decided to rework linstock to be gender neutral as it's my favourite fic of mine and one i worked really hard on! the original also has its fair share of errors (grammatical and spelling oversights mostly) that were fixed in this, and while it's not hugely different one part of the poker scene was changed and only made Minho MORE flirty 😭 so yes, please enjoy this arguably better written genderless edit of the fic I consider my pride and joy! feedback is always very appreciated, i love everyone's comments and tags so much :)

You weren’t sure what exactly startled you into panic first. The salty air burning your lungs was a sharp contrast to your usual, well perfumed bedroom, the rough twine binding your wrists was tied far too tight and leaving indents in your skin, and opening your eyes from your slumber showed you… nothing. It was as black in front of your eyes as it was behind your eyelids, and upon scrunching your nose you found a coarse material covering them. It smelled slightly of oil. Whatever it was caused a scream to get lodged in your throat, and you started thrashing aimlessly in the seat you hadn’t realised you’d been slumped over in. Your neck ached.

“They’re moving?” You didn’t recognise the voice that spoke, a harsh imperative question that burned its way into your cochleas so hard it forced its way to repeat in your brain. You tasted iron, but you didn’t feel like you were bleeding.

“They just started,” Another unfamiliar voice - a gentler, slightly afraid sounding one. There were a few heavy footsteps before a door slammed, and you jolted in surprise at the sound. You tried to pry your wrists apart again to no avail, only hurting yourself further. Your skin prickled with goosebumps.

“Hah, they slept for longer than I expected,” The first voice sounded again, a tinge of amusement lacing the gravelly timbre. “I’ll go fetch the captain. Remove the blindfold.”

“Aye, sir,” The second voice was suddenly louder as its owner moved closer to you, crossing the room faster than you could register his presence. Okay, so wherever I am is quite small, you thought, stilling your arms. Your heart was racing as if it were trying to break through your ribcage, breathing coming out in ragged stutters.

“Where am I?” you were taken aback when your question actually came out. They hadn’t gagged you, at least.

“This might be easier if you don’t speak. Not that I mind, but the Captain… well…” uncoordinated hands pulled unceremoniously at the cloth over your eyes, struggling to untie the knot behind your head. The man spoke softly, which you didn’t expect, words melting on your ears in a stark opposition to whomever had left moments ago. After what seemed like an eternity your blindfold was pulled from your face, and you blinked as you adjusted to the light. It didn’t take long, however, as the room you sat in was dimly lit by a single candle sat atop a wooden crate in the corner opposite you. Wherever you were being held was as small as you’d expected. The man who’d gifted you your sight back moved to crouch in front of you, eyes scanning your face curiously. Your breath hitched in your throat at the sight of him - soft and fairylike, with gentle eyes and an equally clement demeanour. He was pretty, and seemingly full of surprises. Streaks of dirt only seemed to enhance his looks, which you mentally described to yourself as unfair, your eyes mimicking the fast movements of his as you took one another in “Well, you’re as attractive as they say,” he chuckled shyly, brushing your hair from your face. You hadn’t noticed how it’d fallen while you’d hunched over in your sleep.

“Who are you?” You whispered timidly, not forgetting what he had said minutes ago. He hesitated for a moment, before flashing you the brightest smile you think you’d ever seen.

“I’m Felix! Or Yongbok, people call me both. I guess I prefer Felix, though,” You noticed he flicked his eyes upwards when he spoke, lips pursed as he thought of his words at the same time he said them. “I’m trying to be nice because, well,” He gestured to you. “I can imagine you’re a bit scared. And I’m sorry to tell you it’ll probably get worse. Or better! Depending on what you get up to in your free time I guess,” Before you could ask what he meant the door clattered open with as much force as it had shut; only now you were able to look over at who entered. A large man, broad shouldered and brawny, strode into the room with an aura of power you could only deem ridiculous. He demanded the attention of everyone in it, apparently even when there were so few people as you and Felix. The man who followed hot on his heels, however, was somehow even more powerful, despite his slightly smaller frame. His face was extremely cat-like, delicate yet cold, dark eyes betraying no emotion as he adjusted the puffy sleeves of his blouse and looked over you like you were nothing but prey.

“Felix!” He called out, voice authoritative and commanding. It sent a chill up your spine - and you’d spent a good chunk of your childhood around some of Joseon’s most fearsome warlords and generals.

“Aye, Captain,” Felix responded, standing upright and giving him a salute. Captain?

“I did not tell ye to converse with the royal, did I? Unless ‘watch them’ means something rather different to what I was taught?” Felix gave a sheepish apology. Captain…

“You’re pirates,” You just about managed to breathe out, pieces clicking in your head.

“I don’t remember giving you permission to speak,” the Captain said with a quick turn of his head, boots heavy and footsteps loud as he walked over to where you sat. “But, yes.” He smiled at you, a smile that was somehow both charming and unnerving, eyes still lacking any feeling.

“Captain, I will command the ship while you are down here,” The man who had brought the Captain to you finally spoke, and all three of you looked over at him in unison.

“That is, indeed, your role, Chris,” the response he got was sarcastic, and somehow you felt that was par for the course. “Take Felix with ye. He’s to be lookout, I'm quite sure we’re somewhere near Singapore at the moment.” Felix nodded and followed Chris out the door, leaving you alone with a man who caused your nerves to burn when he so much as glanced at you. Which, at this point, was about as much interaction as he was allowing you. He watched you as if he were hunting, and you wondered how you were possibly still alive with your heart racing so inescapably fast. After a few minutes of laboured breaths and hearing your pulse reverberate in your ears, he spoke, allowing you only the tiniest relief from the intense pressure. “So, you have probably come to realise that you have been kidnapped,” He began, tone way too merry for the words he spoke, eyes burning into your own. You felt oddly mesmerised, and in spite of your will to pull your gaze away, you couldn't. “It’s quite simple, really. We are pirates, and we like money, therefore we are holding you for ransom.” He clapped his hands, and you felt further confused by his demeanour. What was this man feeling, what was his story, and why was he so horrendously enthralling?

“My apologies, Captain, but you have got the wrong royal,” you responded quietly, to which he brought up his hand to strike your face. You gasped as your cheek burned, eyes beginning to water.

“I once again did not give you permission to speak!” he all but bellowed, rage washing over his face before fading away almost as quickly as it appeared. You stared at him in shock, wishing you could bring your hand up to massage at the flesh he had just smacked. As if reading your mind, he brought his own hand up, a thumb running across your cheekbone. “My apologies, Your Highness. I am too used to my crew, and even then I despise laying a hand upon anyone” he hummed. “I am just someone who does not stand for disobedience, and perhaps more importantly, someone with airs to maintain,” You merely blinked at him, feeling rather useless as you shifted in your seat. This man was as unpredictable as he was terrifying, and you bit down on your tongue to try and keep your face as stoic as you could. You wanted to give him nothing to work with. “However I feel now I must allow you to explain as I would like to know what you meant by that,”

“It’s quite simple, really,” you copied his speech from earlier, gaze fixed on your lap. “You will not get a single penny for me,”

“You’re the child of Emperor Sunjo, no?”

“I am a child. However, I am disgraced, widely unloved by my family. They will thank you for taking me off their conscience,” Your eyes were brimming again but for different reasons, hot and stinging, but you merely moved your jaw so you were now biting on your cheek. Far be it from you to let this cocky man see you as weak.

“You are a noble. They would not leave you to die, that would do unimaginable damage to their reputation,”

“Their reputation is already damaged. My father’s government is horribly corrupt, and I have been nothing but vocal about it. I myself am surprised that I have not been slain in my sleep,” You laughed sadly, breathily, at your last sentence, knowing your already barely there facade was crumbling.

“In any case, we have already sent the message,” the Captain replied, eyes seeming softer. “My name is Minho, by the way. Not that it matters much to you, for you shall address me as Captain. Which you’re doing a grand job of thus far,” He grinned, tipping his hat towards you. It was plain leather; simple but fitting of him. “We may be the bad guys, but I can promise you that we are not bad people,”

“Captain, may I make a request?” You chided yourself inwardly for never seeming to learn, but this time his hands remained perched on his knees.

“A bold question, but luckily for you I am feeling particularly jolly today,” You swear you saw his eyes glint. “What be your request?”

“The rope is burning my wrists,” you wiggled them a little and brought your eyes to meet his. “Might I request that you remove it? I have nothing to fight with, and I give you my word that I will be most compliant,” He watched you in silence for a moment.

“If you step out of line even slightly, you shall be bound even more than you are now. We are not here to kill or hurt you, so I suggest you make this easy for yourself,” he warned you, tone stern. You nodded, mute in agreeing to his terms, and he pulled his cutlass from the scabbard on his side. You flinched as he cut through the rope in one fell swoop, metal dangerously close to your skin, a cry catching in your throat and dying in remnants on the tip of your tongue. Minho held his hands out to you, at which you stared dumbly, before he rolled his eyes and took your wrists in his grasp. He was uncharacteristically gentle as he pulled you to your feet, moving one hand down to your waist to steady you. You gasped at the touch, knowing if your mother were watching you she would deem you ‘obscene’, but said nothing as you realised why it was necessary. The ship creaked as it rocked underneath you, a motion you hadn’t yet had the chance to process, and you felt yourself stumble as you tried to walk. “Not got very good sea legs, ey?” he jibed, tightening his grasp a little. His thumb rubbed over the angry red mark left in bands on your skin, so soft you weren’t sure if it were deliberate. It made you look back at him, where he held your gaze steadily. Unreadable and seemingly unthinking, as expected.

“I have never been on a boat,” you admitted shyly. He cocked his head, seemingly surprised, and wordlessly guided you to the door. He led you down a long corridor to a small flight of stairs that trailed up, grip still light but sturdy around your wrist. “I suppose I’d better introduce you to the crew, since you’re one of them now,” he smirked, to which you raised an eyebrow. “What, you just expected to sit pretty for a while? We have work to be getting on with.” You nodded slowly, knowing you had no choice regardless and intimidated by how close his scabbard was to your side as he guided you from behind. You were stunned when you saw the rest of the ship, the tiny room you’d just been confined in laying low expectations in your mind to be set alight and blown to pieces. You lingered on the top step as you took it in, Minho above you on the deck with proud eyes. The main deck was vast, three masts flying billowing black sails, a small platform high on the main one holding Felix, who waved down at you gaily. The floor was well polished and shining in the high sun, and the quarterdeck was large, bearing grandiose windowed doors as an entrance. Chris was speaking to a man with shoulder length blonde hair you didn’t recognise at the rudder on the stern, which was just as imposing. You were raised in a resplendent palace, and yet you had never had so much open space before you. You also wondered how such a tiny crew could sail such an impressive barque, but as you looked up to ask Minho his attention was taken before you even held it.

“Captain!” A call came from across the deck as soon as you both emerged, an eager young man hurrying over to the two of you and panting erratically.

“Aye, lad, speak!” Minho commanded, looking around as if after someone in particular.

“Land ho, sir, we’re nearing Singapore. However, we have company.” Lines of worry were etched deep into the crewmember’s face, in spite of how young he looked. Minho reached for a telescope in his pocket, extending it with a satisfying click and watching the horizon.

“Black flags,” he murmured. “It’s not worth it. Tell Hyunjin to bring a spring upon ‘er and fly the yellow jack,” he instructed with a huff, replacing his telescope and bringing you to the battered wooden railings of the starboard to gaze over the vast expanse of sea surrounding you. You don’t recall ever having felt so tiny.

“Will I have to learn all of these pirate terms?” you asked, half joking, to which Minho shrugged.

“It might make it easier for you.”

“Well, what’s a yellow jack?”

“Just a yellow flag,” he responded simply, pointing over your head to where the man he’d just spoken to was hoisting new sails. “They indicate that someone on board has yellow fever.”

“You brought me onto a ship carrying someone so ill?” you asked incredulously, to which you received a derisive snort.

“And here I had heard you were smart,” he scoffed. “No one is ill. We are merely less likely to be approached by other pirates and seamen alike if someone thinks we are.”

“Ooooh,” you nodded as you were brought to understanding. “I’ll have you know I am smart, I was simply raised for royalty, not piracy.” You cried indignantly, unused to having your pride scorched in such a way by anyone other than your family.

“Were you not trained in military affairs?”

“A little,”

“Then you should have ‘a little’ tact,” he said, air quotes around your own words as he mimicked you, You rolled your eyes at his mocking, to which his eyes darkened slightly. You figured no one else was really brave enough to do such a thing.

“How did you deliver the message to my parents?” You changed the subject quickly.

“We simply left behind a letter when we took you. You really shouldn’t keep your windows unlatched whilst you sleep, Yn,” You felt your heart flutter when he called you by your name for the first time, unaware he had even known it. With how used you had gotten to nicknames like “insolent” and “useless”, you supposed you might have soon forgotten it yourself.

“How do you know so much about me?” you murmured dejectedly, and whilst he wouldn’t let it show, your sudden change of disposition took him aback.

“I do my research,” he responded vaguely. “Come on, I want to introduce you to the rest of the crew.”

It hadn’t taken long for Minho to assemble said crew, all of them obedient to a fault. You wondered how many times each of them had felt the sting of his backhand, grimacing at the memory. You sat at a round table, covered evenly in a cloth of green, one you figured was intended for poker. However, at this moment it served as any other table, bowls of a red meat you couldn’t identify sat portioned in front of every crew member surrounded by small dishes of hardtack and pulses. Felix set a heavy tankard in front of you, half filled by a liquid that glinted burgundy in the light. You didn’t need to smell it to know what it was.

“Captain is being generous in letting us drink some of his rum,” The man beamed, taking a small sip from his own cup. “I think he’s celebrating your being here.”

“But I already told him he isn’t going to get any ransom for me,” You sighed. “I am terrified of the ramifications that will hold for me when I turn out to be right.” Felix bit his lip, as if he wanted to press but deemed it too disrespectful. This had to be the most docile bunch of pirates to ever exist.

“Lads!” Again, Minho easily commanded everyone’s attention, clinking his spoon loudly against the side of his drink. “As ye can see, we have a temporary addition to our humble crew,” He gestured to you and the men surrounding the table let out whoops and hollers, Felix clapping you on the back. You gave a shy wave, looking at the faces around you. You could count seven; an extremely small crew, which if anything only made them more intimidating. They seemed relatively successful, judging from the random piles of loot in the corners and lining the baseboard. That’s when you realised; this was the Captain’s quarters. “You’ve already seen Chris, or Chan as we sometimes call him,” He addressed you just as you realised someone was missing, and you started to fear he really could read your mind. “He’s me Quartermaster, and a damn good one. We’ve been close for years. He dines later, and is currently steering us in the direction of the East Sea.” You nodded with raised eyebrows, signalling your intrigue. Minho, seemingly satisfied with the reaction, continued.

“Here on me left,” he gave a gesture to a man who was smiling at you widely, the brightness a worthy rival of Felix’s. “Is Han Jisung. A formidable sailor and quite a way with the ladies, I must say,” Jisung snorted and shook his head, to which Minho laughed.

“Nice to meet you, Yn,” he grinned.

“Next to Jisung,” Minho continued, voice booming with over exaggerated grandeur. “Is Seo Changbin. And next to him is Kim Seungmin. The three all joined at the same time.” The two new introductions nodded at you, and you studied their faces for a moment, Minho giving you time to before he continued. Changbin’s face confused you - features bold and perpetually irritated looking but smile wide and inviting. You didn’t give his body more than a glance, immediately noting that he could tear you in half without a second thought. Seungmin was intimidating in a different way to the others; he was incredibly quiet and watched everyone with intensely dark eyes. You didn’t feel able to look into them for more than a fleeting second, and you wondered if you too could master the rather unsettling smoulder everyone at the table seemed to have. “Next to Seungmin is Hwang Hyunjin, who usually steers the ship.” The man in question was dazzlingly pretty, even with his dirty hair straggling around his face and clothes streaked with black. He smiled softly at you before flashing a wink so small you almost missed it, and you hoped you weren’t blushing as you wondered how someone so docile and downright angelic looking could be a pirate. They all seem so harmless, you thought. “Yang Jeongin is next to Hyunjin,” You recognised him as the man who’d run over to you when you emerged from below the deck, the smile he gave you somehow making him appear even younger. He was extremely fox-like in both appearance and mannerisms, nimble in every movement no matter how small, and wore a torn up beret that he seemed particularly fond of. “And you’ve already met Felix, and meself so… I suppose that’s it!” Minho concluded with a clap, Felix giving you a thumbs up and jostling your shoulder. You weren’t used to being treated so informally, being royalty, but you couldn’t say you disliked it. In fact, it was quite the opposite.

The meal was merry, with the crew talking about their adventures at sea and poking good fun at one another, though you couldn’t help but notice they were wary in how they spoke to and about the Captain. Your tankard was never empty; the rum continuously flowing, and you didn’t recall ever having felt so light. Eventually, though, the pressure in your head was a little too much to handle and you excused yourself with, in your own opinion, an embarrassing lack of grace. You stumbled towards the edge of the ship, hands gripping the railing until you were white knuckled, head spinning and vision hazy. You’d never properly gotten drunk, for your family deemed it unseemly, and you couldn’t help but laugh at the irony of the freedom you felt under the status of someone kidnapped.

“Y'alright over there?” A call came from the helm, shaking you from your thoughts. You slowly turned your head to find Chris looking down at you, face somehow as stoic as Minho’s, as caring as his voice was.

“'M good,” you slurred, wondering if he could hear you over the steadily increasing night breeze. You’d never known how windy it is at sea. “Just had a bit too much rum.”

“You’ll build a tolerance eventually,” He reassured with a laugh, double checking the ship was on course before heading down the stairs and striding over to you with the same strong and wide steps you’d heard him take when you were still blindfolded. “Didn’t take you for such a grog-blossom!” He added lightheartedly.

“I’m sure if I knew what that meant I’d be offended,” you giggled, trying to find your balance. You were thankful for the railing before you, as your nonexistent sea legs were assuredly worse when you were under the influence.

“Yer one to talk, ye ol’ carouser!” Minho’s voice came from the nearby doors, which you had neglected to close. He clapped Chris on the back jovially, the pink tint of his cheeks evident in the beaming moonlight. He was like the star of a play, and he definitely commanded his stage. “Go join the rest of the crew and get some grub in ye,”

“Aye, sir. But Captain, I might advise against steering drunk,” Chris joked, flashing you a wide smile before disappearing into the Captain’s quarters where you could still vaguely make out the raucous shouts of young men having fun.

“I am not that drunk,” Minho defended to you, though you were in no position to question him anyway and you knew it.

“Minho,” you started, before realising your mistake and widening your eyes. “Sorry, I mean, Captain,” he waved a hand at you.

“Seeing as you’re absolutely sloshed, I can forgive you,” he smirked. “What’s up?”

“I have many brothers and sisters,” You started, twiddling your thumbs as you let the railing hold most of your body weight. “All highly decorated, up to their ears in accolades. Why kidnap me?” Minho gazed at you, silently hoping that the air of disinterest and authority he tried to uphold hid the fondness that threatened to creep into his heart as he admired how the moonlight hit your face.

“If you want my honest answer,” He murmured, voice barely audible over the crashing waves lapping at the side of the ship. “I just thought you were stunningly good-looking,” You looked at him with your mouth agape, stunned by his honesty. You gave him a timid smile and nodded.

“I guess you all really do just think with your dicks,” you joked. “Although, aren’t you pirates notorious for, like, violating capties or something?”

“Some, yes,” He responded bitterly. “I have known pirates that have done unspeakable things to taken women especially, and I am not afraid to admit they all met an “accidental” grizzly end upon my finding out,” He looked at the dark horizon as he spoke, inky black sky blending into the sea seamlessly, indistinguishable at points and creating an isolated feeling you never knew you craved. Home was rather hectic. “Have you ever heard of Zhang Bao? Or maybe Cheung Po Tsai, as he may be better known?”

“Vaguely,” You hummed, mind too hazy to recall events that unfolded at least a decade ago.

“He had three rules, and I can still recite them by heart. His third? ‘Women captured from villages shall not be harmed or harassed. All women captives shall be registered, their place of origin recorded, and be given separate quarters. Those who rape or commit adultery with the women captives shall be executed.’” Minho’s voice was suddenly rather sober, and you watched him through half lidded eyes as he spoke passionately. “I personally think the rule is in need of updating to cover everyone, but I suppose he’s a little too dead to care,”

“You sailed under him?” You whispered, and he still didn’t spare you even a glance as he nodded.

“Only briefly. I was loyal to Captain Zheng Yi, and I suppose Ching Shih by proxy.” He smiled sourly, looking down at his hands and back up to the sky. Silver stars speckled the vast expanse of dark, twinkling down at the two of you. You suddenly thought to take a deep breath, night air cold, sodium tingling on your tongue, and you realised for how long you had felt like you were suffocating. “The Red Flag fleet was formidable, and I was proud to be a part of the crew. Having trained under the Tây Sơn it was pretty much a set path for me,” He finally looked at you, and you wondered if in opening up to you the wall would crumble, but his face remained as rigid as always.

“Were you born into piracy?” You asked, anxiety bubbling in your chest at the thought of pushing too far with your line of questioning. However, if you were, he didn't show it, surprisingly open for a man who seemed so closed off.

“I guess so,” He pondered on your words momentarily. “My father was a farmer, and my mother was…” he trailed off, as if reassessing whether he should tell you or not. You willed your face to look encouraging, and it seemed to work, however successful you might have actually been. “My mother was a wench. A prostitute.” His mouth pressed itself into a thin line. “Do not get me wrong, my reaction is not me judging her for it. Rather, I am annoyed at the necessity.” He shook his head solemnly. “It got hard for farmers, as I am sure you know. My father saw his land stolen and torched, and for a lot of people put at such a disadvantage, the seas were the place to turn.” The breeze picked up suddenly, tousling his usually rather kempt hair, and the smell of salt burned at your nostrils as he looked down at you. The prompt silence was oddly comfortable, which you hadn’t ever really thought to be possible, relishing in the way your heart thrummed heavily in its protective cage as you both watched the waves dance harmoniously. You knew you were sobering up, but whatever inebriation fizzled away was quickly replaced with heavy ripples of fatigue. You leaned against his shoulder a little. He didn’t react.

“To be honest, you’re nothing like I would have expected,” You chuckled softly, breaking the stillness you had revelled in. He raised an eyebrow, cocky as always, and you knew you were blushing, your knees feeling suddenly weak.

“Oh yeah? What did you expect?”

“Well I wasn’t expecting you to be so flirty, for starters,” you mumbled just loud enough for him to hear. He scoffed and opened his mouth to retort, but before he could a shiver wracked your body, unexpected gusts raking unseen claws along your skin. He pulled his heavy woollen coat off his shoulders and slid it onto your own so confidently and seamlessly you hardly registered the touch, taken aback by the immediate warmth it provided. You looked up at him with wide eyes, and the faintest trace of a smile graced his lips.

“You looked cold. Now, you were saying I’m flirty or something?” he jibed, yelping when you poked his ribs in response. You pulled the collar of the coat around yourself more, looking down at the way it pooled at your feet. It was overly large on him too. “I just meant, like… Aren’t you supposed to be barbaric, and hurt people? To kill and torch cities and… other pirate-y things,” Minho exhaled sharply through his nose in amusement and shrugged as you continued. “Your crew aren’t the most fearsome either, honestly. Felix looks like he’d cry if he accidentally killed a fly.”

“That has probably happened before. Felix cries a lot,” Minho grinned. “But, Yn, don’t think you know us after one meal together. These men are my family, and they are not to be underestimated. Plus, it’s healthy to cry sometimes, wouldn’t you agree?” He placed a tentative hand on the back of your shoulder, studying your face for a second to see if the red flush the alcohol had brought to your face had dissipated at all. You daren’t look in his eyes as you knew it would return, despite you not drinking any more. You gave a shy nod. “Regardless, you can see them for yourself tomorrow. We’re currently on course to the Hà Tiên Islands, where we will probably have to pilfer food from other pirates, before going for an attack on a Chinese merchant ship that should be sailing the gulf,” He explained. “We can also see what strengths you have!”

“You’re including me in this?!”

“Oh, my sweet little dove,” he hummed, voice smooth as ever. The endearment might have made you weak at the knees if you didn’t know it to be mocking. “You will have the most important role, for you will be like my second pair of eyes. And unless you want us all to dance with Jack Ketch, I suggest you take this seriously, savvy?” His eyes were dark, dangerous, and they made a lump rise in your throat. You nodded. “I’ll brief you tomorrow, don’t worry. You’ll be fine.”

“Well, I have no choice but to be.”

“That’s the spirit! Now come on, you still look positively squiffy!” You giggled at the term, inclined to agree in spite of you still not really understanding him. He was so very persuasive. “Let me show you to your quarters so you can take a good caulk, ey?” You nodded, too prideful to admit you had no idea what he was talking about, sleep beginning to overtake you. It had been a lot to process in one day.

~

You half expected Minho to lead you to the dingy little cabin room you’d woken up in and guide you to the uncomfortable wooden chair again, in spite of him having opened up to you a little more. There raged a war in your mind, as you knew pirates weren’t to be trusted under any circumstances. However, you had never felt so untethered, enjoying feeling like a miniscule speck, as insignificant as any of the tiny stars that had watched over you talk. Your room was rather large, second only to Minho’s, so he told you, a hammock suspended between two sturdy wooden beams and a definitely stolen chest of drawers standing next to a bucket you definitely did not want to know the use for.

“Your uh, clothes,” Minho shuffled his feet, trying hard not to appear shy but not doing the best job. “Are in the top drawer. I trust you can wash them yourself. There is a bar of soap in there too, but don’t use it all at once. It’s rare we come across such stuff.” He smiled at you, and you got the feeling he was a little insecure about it being enough. Almost as if he hadn’t kidnapped a royal who had long lived in luxury.

“Why a hammock?” You questioned, running your fingers over the smooth cloth it was composed of. It was suspiciously clean.

“It rocks with the ship. Trust me, you’ll get the best sleep you’ve ever had.”

“Thank you.” He was stunned by your sincerity, and this time made no effort to hide it.

“It’s no palace, I know, but. I am merely holding you for ransom, not because I want to make your life difficult.” He grinned and bode you goodnight, having you follow him to the door so you could latch it shut behind him. You put your hands to your cheeks, inwardly slapping yourself at how hot they felt, and sat down on the edge of your hammock, fully dazed. In the day you had known Minho he seemed to have shown you every possible emotion, whilst also managing to show none at all. He liked to joke with his members, he was actually rather kind hearted from the looks, albeit commanding and liking authority. He wanted people to look up to him, to see him as a fearsome leader, to come at his beck and call, and he refused to let his feelings show easily. Yet you didn’t feel he had to, and you wondered if he felt just as in tune with you as you did him, as you let the material of your hammock cradle you into what was indeed the best sleep of your life.

Your second awakening on the ship was far less peaceful than the first, which you laughed at inwardly given how tranquil your sleep had been. Felix was rocking your hammock, having the time of his life as you swung wildly side to side, screeching about how you were going to kill him when the vertigo stopped. If it ever would.

“Have ye not tortured them enough?” Minho’s amused voice came from the doorway and you felt your face flush slightly, something you knew Felix would take every opportunity to taunt you about later. He reached up and stilled your bed, grin stretching ear to ear. He found himself so funny.

“If I ever stop feeling too nauseous to stand, I'd say you’d better sleep with one eye open, Lee Felix,” you glared at him as he helped you to your feet and held you steady, still giggling at himself like an excited child. You couldn’t help but grin at his exuberance, shifting away from him when you finally found your balance. “What time is it?”

“Not sure, probably around eight AM,” Minho remarked, peering out of the small round window that let tiny streams of light enter the cabin to check the sun’s position.

“None of you own a watch?” you inquired innocently, to which Minho blinked at you.

“I never really considered the need for one,” he hummed. “You don’t appear to have one either?”

“You didn’t exactly bring my overnight bag,” you chuckled, joining him at the window. Felix slipped out awkwardly, leaving the two of you alone again. The sky was blue and cloudless, again meeting the sea in a shimmering harmony you couldn’t tear your eyes from. The sunlight bounced off the waves, glittering gently, and suddenly you fancied a swim.

“We are due to arrive in around ten hours,” he spoke, turning to face you.

“Aye, Captain,” you smiled, and he couldn’t help but mirror it at your confidence.

“Hyunjin, Chris, Seungmin and Changbin will all be going over to the merchant ship to fight, and Jeongin to plunder, as it were,” he smirked. “Felix is the lookout as always, while you,” he sniffed. “Will be on the offence with me.”

“Would the men going to fight not be on the offence?”

“Well, technically, we are all on the offence,” he chuckled. “We always sink the ships we've ransacked. And then, if necessary, raid the wreckage for parts. But our ship is fine right now, and I do not see that as being necessary.”

“So we’ll be sinking the ship?”

“Correct. I presume you have never seen the likes of a canon before?”

“Not particularly. As I have said, I was only trained a little in combat, and it was all more of the “how to lead an army if your father, mother, and more capable siblings are all somehow unable to” sort,” you snorted. “It’s like you’re training me,”

“I suppose that’s precisely what I’m doing,” he smiled. “You’ll be a valuable member of this crew, I can feel it.” You’d never really felt valuable to anyone, and you felt your heart ache at his words as he turned to leave. “We didn’t bring your overnight bag, but we did provide a change of outfit so you weren’t running around in those nightclothes,” He gestured to the drawers with a grin before he left, and again your heart seemed to skip a beat as you went to change and join the others for breakfast.

“It’s not dark yet,” Hyunjin murmured as he slung a heavy looking rope over his shoulder, checking the grappling hook on the end was tightly secured.

“The sun has set,” Chris replied, redoing the knot on his own hook. “The ideal moment to go across is while they are all eating, which should be any time around now.”

“They’re coming up on our right,” Felix yelled to everyone. You had passed up landing at Hà Tiên as the merchant ship passed through early, and so you were currently obscured behind a large rock formation with Minho guiding the ship expertly through water you would think way too shallow to sail through. You were at the mouth of a cave, one that was apparently deemed extremely dangerous for trading ships to sail through but provided a good shortcut through the gulf, and Minho had all but screamed when he had learned the ship he had his eyes on were stupid enough to take the gamble.

“Ji, take the rudder,” he instructed, voice determined. You were starting to understand what he meant the night before; everyone’s attitude had changed dramatically, with everyone helping each other prepare their weapons and equipment and making jokes you found to be all too bloodthirsty.

“Yn, they’re about to head on over. Come down with me,” he held out his hand, voice dripping with faux sweetness that did little to reassure you, and you all but prayed you would make it out in one piece. You had been assured the job you had, whilst crucial, was the most harmless. And with such a well trained veteran Captain by your side, it was sure to be a walk in the park.

It took no time at all for the crew members transferring ships to reach the merchant vessel, arm muscles flexing as they deftly and easily pulled themselves along. Their ship was smaller than Minho's, a standard trade junk as he explained. It was an older one, evident by the lack of cannon ports, and it groaned in protest as it pushed through the waves slowly. Jisung kept pace beside it, and your eyes widened in awe as you flickered them over the intricate and ornate woodwork adorning the sides; a far cry from the simple wooden railing running the way around the ship you stood on. It almost broke your heart to know you'd have to splinter it apart.

As expected the four were completely undetected, as no one was on deck around or facing the broad stern as they clambered over the railing and set about finding the door that led to the cargo hold. A harsh contrast to the expanse of gleaming wood they darted across, you and Minho were currently in the gun deck, which you hadn't expected to be so small. Dust was caked on the equipment, indicating a lack of recent use. The floor and the ceiling were incredibly close, and Minho was stooping a little so as to not bump his head. He gestured to the cannons by their ports and tables covered in ammunition; both gun and cannonball. Some of the cannonballs were simple metal, while some seemed rather precariously handmade. The wood constructing the room was lighter than the deep red hue of the oak the rest consisted of. He picked up a long, smooth wooden staff, forked at the end, and placed it in your hand. It had rope wrapped around the head where it forked, a little hanging off the wood. "Linstock," he said matter-of-factly, pointing to the staff. "You light that rope and use that to light the fuses. To be honest, they're a bit outdated by now, but so are our carronades. They do the job, so I see no reason to change it." You nodded along as he explained, showing you how to light the rope with flint. He was detailed but hurried, and you wished you'd gotten a chance to learn before being thrown in at the deep end. "I loaded the cannons already, which is the role of gunner's mate. Jisung will fill that role in the future while I steer, but I wanted to be the one to show you what to do. Your face heated up again in the glow of the small flame he produced.

“As you have probably gathered, we no longer have a gunner,” Minho spoke quietly, watching his men the best he could through the small observation window on the gun port. He had half opened all of them on the starboard side and had them loaded and ready to fire, and he had wasted no time in explaining to you exactly how to do so when the time was right. “Our old one had to be… removed from the crew,” He chewed on the inside of his cheek, and you watched him silently. “We’re hoping you can take over, obviously, so.” He pointed at the carronade on your left. “In there we have a grapeshot, which is used first to… tear everything up. It will tear through the sails, cut the rigging, and just kind of mess their ship up,” You were ever confused by him, as he spoke with such passion but seemed so hesitant to do so. He gestured to the cannon on your right next. “The canister shot comes second. I’ll be doing two and you’ll be doing two, and together that should be enough to sink it. She's not a particularly sturdy ship, she's just long,” He smiled. “If you have any questions, I’m afraid it’s too late.”

His eyes were once again fixed on the opposing ship, where Hyunjin and Chris at the very least had been spotted, and were engaged in the most brutal sword fight you’d ever seen. You were oh so used to fencing with its courtesy and rules, and seeing a man get his arm hacked off rather unnecessarily was definitely breaching one or two of them, you figured. Chris was quick on his feet and an incredible swordsman; nimble and agile, whilst Hyunjin was just fast in general, more evasive than anyone you had ever seen. The ships were kept incredibly close to one another by Jisung's expert precision, which made the cannon fire effective, but also obscured your view of much of the merchant vessel. You silently wished you could see more of the action from the tiny hole you peered from, which shocked you, as you had never thought yourself one for such indecent displays. The deck was slowly staining carmine, and you felt the ship rock slightly as Jeongin caught the crates thrown up to him by Changbin and Seungmin and threw them carelessly onto Minho’s boat. “It’s almost time. We have more than enough.” Minho murmured, internally hoping the hands would realise this too and get back to the safety of their own ship. Two men fighting a whole crew on their own was incredibly ambitious, even for them. A flood of sailors ran out to the deck when you realised this, and they seemed completely surrounded. Minho sighed and turned to you, eyes serious.

“I believe in you, okay? On my signal I need you to fire all of them. I admit it’s a lot to ask, but I need to go and fire some warning shots and try to take a few of the sailors out from above,” Panic raised in your throat and bubbled there, words dying behind your teeth as your eyes widened. He took a hand in yours and squeezed it. “Trust me, you will do fine.” He ran up to the deck before you could say anything, both linstock and flint left in your hands. You willed your heart to slow down and continued to watch, waiting patiently for Minho’s signal. You heard shots, and resisted the urge to cover your ears and shut your eyes, an instinct you knew was better listened to. However you were in too deep, and surprisingly, you were less against it than you’d expected.

You watched as Minho’s crew started crawling the lines back the ship, shots coming from either direction as Minho attempted to single handedly cover them. A scream got lodged in your throat and came out as a startled gasp when Chris suddenly cried out and fell into the waters below, and you faintly saw Minho’s expression change as he hung off the small platform on the top of the mast where Felix stood wide eyed and trembling slightly. Minho suddenly aimed down, shooting at the ropes his own crew were climbing across, making you scrunch your brow, but before you could question what he was doing he screamed “NOW!” and pointed in your general direction. More shots sounded and you felt your hands buzzing with static, lightheaded and shaking as you hurriedly lit the fuses of what you remembered to be the grapeshots. Your head was foggy as you strained to remember his instructions, lighting the fuses of the canister shots not too long after, hoping they would fire far enough apart to have the effect Minho had asked of you. You stepped back and covered your ears, eyes squeezed shut after making sure the fuses were indeed lit, and you tried to shut out everyone’s screams as the ship was suddenly propelled sharply to the left. Your head hit the wall, hard, as you hadn’t prepared for the sudden veering and you felt your body hit the floor before you’d even registered you were falling. Your ears rang, you smelled iron and you felt yourself try to cry out. You couldn’t tell if you had succeeded. And then all you saw was black.

"If ye lay one finger on them I will personally see to it that ye can never touch anything again!" A violent hiss was the first thing you heard, before a mumbled apology and some rustling that sounded impossibly far away. You groaned as your head throbbed, wondering if you dared open your eyes. You ultimately decided you weren't going to fall back asleep and braved it, finding your gaze instantly fixed on dark wooden beams. Your quarter's beams were different.

"Captain, they’re awake," you recognised Seungmin's tentative voice, shifting your eyes down and finding yourself surrounded by worried faces. Felix's face was red and streaked, and when Minho finally turned to face you at the very foot of the bed you lay upon he looked as if he'd never slept.

Wait a second.

Bed?

You moved your hands carefully, and sure enough, there were sheets beneath your body, silken and soft to the touch. You scrunched your brows and looked back over at Minho.

"What happened?" You croaked, surprised by the dryness of your throat, your head delivering another dull throb that made your spine feel electric. You winced at the feeling, knowing your eyes were betraying your concern. You then caught sight of Chris, who was shirtless, one arm and shoulder wrapped tightly in clean bandages.

"You hit into the wall when the cannon fired," Minho began, his voice as hoarse as your own. Worry lines were apparent on his face, and while he hid it well from the rest of his crew, he sat facing you with an air of vulnerability you'd never have expected to see. So he does have feelings, you thought jokingly. "I should have thought to inform you of the ricochet, my sincerest apologies. You've been out for a few hours, you hit your head quite hard. I was worried you'd have brain damage, but I think you just fell asleep,"

"Well, that at least explains the throbbing," you chuckled grimly.

“None of us have slept, except Jisung,” Changbin laughed, earning him a punch to the shoulder by the still groggy looking man in question. “Glad you’re not a vegetable,” Felix glared at him for his rather insensitive remark, though you were sure all of them had said far worse. Or maybe not, they were far from typical pirates.

"Yeah, I’m okay. I just have a headache," you smiled, trying to reassure him. "What happened to Chan?" Chris raised an eyebrow at the use of his Korean name but didn't mention it, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly as he looked at his bandages.

"Got shot in the shoulder while getting across. Nothing too serious, though. Luckily Jeongin is medically trained from his time as a privateer," He grinned at the younger boy, who looked positively exhausted, sitting in an uncomfortable looking chair across the room.

"I saw you," you murmured, the memories flooding back to you as you came around more. "You fell into the water,"

"Changbin fished me right back out,"

"Did I…" you worried your bottom lip between your teeth, taking a shaky sigh to try and control the tears that were threatening to spill over your lash line. To say you were overwhelmed would be an understatement, and they seemed to realise this as everyone but Minho moved back to give you space.

"Don't worry," Minho hushed, his fingers grazing yours so briefly you could've sworn you imagined it. You smiled slightly at the gesture. "It was an overall success, and you sank the ship. Chris was the only other injury,"

"That's a relief," you let go of the breath you hadn't realised you were holding, bracing your palms on the bed and slowly sitting up. Minho let his concern show evident in his face yet bit back his want to fuss over you, merely telling you to be careful. He missed the warmth of your hand next to his, but he'd never tell you that. "Where am I?"

"Jeongin's quarters. He has a big bed, because he insisted on having one to join us," Minho rolled his eyes and Jeongin flashed him a wide grin.

"I'm sorry for stealing your bed," you said, to which Jeongin waved a hand dismissively.

"Hey, you knocked yourself out, even I'm not as evil as to just throw you in a hammock and hope for the best," he chuckled. Minho requested everyone leave and tend to the ship now you were awake and physically fine, and they obeyed immediately. As soon as the door was closed behind them he let the façade crack, just a tiny bit, taking your hand fully in both of his with an urgency you figured he hadn't meant to show. You felt something cold press against your palm, smooth and hard.

"Thank you for waking up," he murmured.

"Wouldn't want you to miss out on that ransom, now, would we?" you smiled sadly, to which he frowned.

"That's not why I want you alive, Yn, and you know that. Rest your head, we're currently stopped on the islands as we'd planned before so there's no rush to get up again. We got a lot of food, material and soap from that pillage, and that's partly thanks to you." You smiled and he left once you'd carefully settled back against the soft pillow, promising him you'd rest. You unfurled your fingers as the door clicked shut, a gold glint greeting your eyes from where the low sun reflected off what you had been gifted. A small pocket watch, on a dainty chain, rested in your hand, ticking quietly. You clutched it to your chest and let it lull you to sleep again, letting your lips turn up at the corners as you did.

~

"Hey, Yn," a gentle voice was luring you out of your dreamless slumber, a small hand resting on your upper arm and threatening to shake it a little if you didn't respond. "Wakey wakeyyyy! It's time to eeeeat," You opened your eyes to see Felix smiling down at you rather adoringly. Why is he so cute all the time?

"Is everyone eating together?"

"Yeah, the Captain told me to bring yours up to you though," he held a bowl outstretched, brimming with foods you definitely could recognise this time, and not a piece of hardtack in sight. You smiled before setting the bowl down on the crate at your bedside, reaching out for Felix. Upon realising what you were doing he took your hands in his, helping you slowly sit up and eventually stand. You took it slowly despite your head not hurting much anymore, not wanting to chance anything, and Felix's brow furrowed as he supported you. "Maybe you should just eat in bed?" He suggested lightly, to which gave a miniscule shake of your head.

"I want to sit with everyone. I'm tired of this room," you huffed, Felix's face evidently conflicted as he tried to figure out whether to coax you back into bed or guide you out of the room. It quickly became apparent that there was nothing he could do regardless, as you picked your bowl up again and started making your way for the doors yourself, and so he resigned himself to supporting you by holding your arms and just hoped Minho wouldn't order Chris to cleave him to the brisket or anything. Minho was scary when he was ordering Chris to do that to people. Felix frowned at how common an occurrence that actually seemed to be during pilages. "What are you thinking about?" You frowned at how pale his face was.

"Nothing! Nothing at all." You squinted at him but decided not to push it. “You know, I’m really glad that you’re okay. And you joined our crew.” The vulnerability in his voice made you reach out to squeeze his hand instinctually, smiling down at him as he walked behind you on the stairs. “I love the other members but I’ve never had a friend like you,” His smile was timid and hesitant, making you squeeze his hand again. He seemed to be scared he’d lose you as soon as he’d gained your friendship.

“I’m glad I met you, Lixie,” you reassured him softly, causing him to beam so genuinely you thought you would cry. He was sunshine, personified.

“That’s a shame, because I’m pretty sure Minho is about to kill me for letting you out of bed,” he joked, arm around your shoulders to steady you as the tide picked up. You laughed together as you headed for the quarterdeck, steeled ready for Minho’s scolding.

"Yn, are you sure you're okay being up so soon?" Minho asked for the hundredth time (or so it felt). You nodded, shovelling more food into your mouth, not having realised how ravenous you were after almost a straight day of slumber. You were happy that Minho’s concern took the form of incessant nagging over anger, but you wanted him to eat instead of boring his eyes into your skull.

"If you keep asking I will nod my head harder," you threatened, to which he scoffed.

"That will just hurt you more,"

"Exactly," you grinned, eyes burning into his. His tongue poked at his cheek but he simply continued eating, the crew members letting out mocking "ooooh"s. Minho rolled his eyes and turned to Chris, who was eating from a bowl Hyunjin was holding in front of his face. The younger male was chortling as he did so, though he stopped to flash you another wink when he caught you looking. Such a flirt.

"How's yer shoulder doing?"

"Positively unmovable," Chan responded around a mouthful of rice, nose scrunching up in distaste of his situation. "I've had worse, I guess." You shuddered at the thought of what "worse" could possibly be, thick scars in various states of healing a prominent fixture of his broad chest, and decided you'd rather not know. The rest of the meal was quiet, clattering of spoons and chopsticks against metal bowls deafening in the silence. You wondered how long it had been since they'd eaten such a hearty meal, and felt a sense of guilt wash over you. You had taken plenty for granted at the palace, you realised.

"Hey Jisung, could you help me clean these up?" Changbin spoke suddenly, snapping you from your thoughts. Everyone was talking amongst themselves and sipping on rum, empty bowls and plates strewn over the table, and Minho was rummaging around in a nearby cabinet.

"What are you looking for?" you asked, leaning your chair back to speak to him as an aside. He glanced over at you with a smile before going back to digging through the small drawer, which was filled with random trinkets.

"These… and these…" he responded slowly, producing a pack of cards and a bag of mismatched, heavily used poker chips from the bottom of the disjointed collection and setting them before you. He saw Jisung up tidying and took the opportunity to steal his seat next to you, knee resting against yours wordlessly. You looked over at him while he kept his eyes fixed on the cards, shuffling them with deft fingers as he waited for everyone to be ready. "It's poker night. Do you know how to play? Five card?"

"I learned horseback riding and fencing," you scrunched your nose. "Not gambling and… killing people." You earned a snort and an affectionate eye roll from Minho, who dealt only you five cards. "Ooh, you have a fifty-two card pack!" you exclaimed, eyes surely sparkling, to which Minho cocked his head.

"I thought you didn't play?"

"My dad does," you said, words tasting bitter as you spoke them. "I at least know that fifty-two cards is a new development,"

"Impressive," he grinned, showing you how to hold the cards. "So here you have a pair of kings, which you should absolutely keep, and what you exchange out of the others is up to you. You're trying to make the best hand and win other people's chips," he explained, taking more cards from the deck to show you. "Ace is a high card unless used in an ace two three pattern straight," he continued, taking you through the picture cards, and what a "flush" meant. The crewmembers watched, mildly enthralled and joking amongst themselves, but their words fell upon deaf ears as Minho and yourself crafted a bubble separate from the rest of the world.

"I think they get it now," Felix said with a nudge to your shoulder as you did your fourth practice round, trying to figure out the strategy. Minho looked at you expectantly, waiting for an answer, and you gave him a miniscule nod.

"Let's try,"

~

"Isn't that cheating?"

"What?"

"You literally lied to me," Your mouth was agape, genuine offence burning on your nerves as you took in Chris' single pair of threes. He laughed loudly, everyone else somehow having folded early on and leaving you both battling head to head. You could have beaten him.

"That's called, bluffing, Yn," he grinned cheekily. "It's a strategy, not a cheat."

"He does cheat a lot though," Felix mumbled, earning him a hard whack on the arm. "Ow!" You laughed at them and rolled your eyes, shoving the pot towards Chris. Minho's knee was still against your own, moving slightly every so often to rub against it. You knew he saw your blush every time, and you wondered why he hadn't mentioned it.

"So," you started, watching the Captain deal everyone's hands again. "How did you all come to join the crew?"

"Didn't expect to have this conversation so early," Jeongin smirked, changing two of his cards and sighing heavily. He had the worst poker face you'd ever seen.

"Who wants to go first? They already know my story," Minho grinned at you, causing Chris to pipe up.

"That probably leads to me, right? I served the Red Flag fleet with him, under Zhang Yi, and I helped Minho escape after the Captain's death."

"Best friends since we were crew members together," Minho said fondly, hi fiving Chris. "It started with just us two, in the tiniest little galley," he reminisced. "Oi, Hyunjin, splice the mainbrace would ye?" He instructed with a raise of his tankard as soon as the younger made a move to stand up, to which the crewmember rolled his eyes.

"I was literally just going to piss," he deadpanned crudely, to which Minho shrugged.

"Piss afterwards, then."

"Aye Aye Captain," Hyunjin responded, picking up the empty bottles of rum and leaving to get two more. For the first time, you noticed Minho had less of an accent to him when he spoke to you in comparison to the crew.

"We met Seungmin, Jisung and Changbin in the strait of Malacca, where they were just bouncing between crews for food and a place to sleep. They helped us on our first big "job" I guess, and we ended up on our first clipper," Minho smiled at the memory. "Everyone knows what my response was-"

"We've got a fuckin' mizzen!" Chris, Seungmin, Jisung and Changbin chorused, all mimicking Minho's voice in dramatically different ways. They erupted into raucous laughter and you couldn't help but join, finding him incredibly endearing. You were sure if you knew what a mizzen was you too would be excited.

"We were finally off that little dinghy,"

"And then we found Felix," Felix perked up and smiled at the mention of his name, looking away from the cards he'd just been poring over.

"Oh yeah!"

"Our first "man overboard!" call," Chris recollected, eyes turned upwards as he thought. "I jumped in to grab him and Changbin helped me pull him up on deck. He was thrown overboard by his old crewmates, and we still have no idea why," You turned to face Felix with wide eyes, and he shrugged.

"I don't know either! Maybe they just found me annoying or something," he pouted, to which you frowned.

"I will kill anyone who makes you feel that way," your voice came out in a low growl, shocking even yourself, and everyone around you laughed loudly.

"So protective! Your partner is so loyal," Jisung teased, and you did not miss the clench in Minho's jaw.

"My only love is the sea," Felix cooed in response, his eyes flicking nervously up to his Captain before he looked back at his cards. Hyunjin returned and started pouring more rum for everyone, whispering 'pace yourself, darling' in your ear teasingly as he brushed past you. Another clench.

"I was also found overboard, having fallen and gotten swept to sea during a fishing trip," he explained as he finished pouring Minho's drink.

"I have no idea how we got so lucky, everyone we simply stumbled upon has been incredibly adept," Minho grinned, a hand moving to rest on your thigh suddenly. Again, you looked up at him, ears burning, and again, he merely looked at the table.

"Jeongin was last. He actually fought against us, once. He was a privateer," Chris said, the youngest of the group taking a long swig of rum and grimacing.

"Don't remind me," he laughed. "And we're supposed to be the evil ones. Working under the government really does open your eyes. Bunch of bilge sucking bastards." His eyes landed on you and you shifted uncomfortably in your chair, knowing exactly what he was getting at without him having to say it.

"Don't look at me like that, I know," you sounded more defensive than you meant to. You hated the pity their eyes held and as such didn't look up at any of them. "Honestly, being here has given me more freedom than I ever did at home. My father is a terrible emperor, and my siblings are insufferably competitive. They take every opportunity to tell me what an embarrassment I am. When I got caught kissing a friend as a literal child out of pure curiosity, I was locked in the shed overnight for 'being indecent'," you hadn't realised you were rambling until you caught onto what you'd said, taking in the sudden shock on everyone's faces. "Yeah, you were insecure about the ship's conditions but I wasn't living a total life of luxury," you laughed halfheartedly. Minho’s fingers massaged your flesh reassuringly, and his smile, his horrendously beautiful smile, blossomed a warmth in your heart you really wanted to get used to.

"You’re free to kiss whomever you like here, so uh. Make of that what you will." Minho grinned, sneaking a glance at your cards and nudging your shoulder. You had no idea how you'd managed a royal flush while not paying attention, but it took everything in you not to squeal when you noticed it. Felix asked why your ears were so red as you felt a slight squeeze on your thigh, and you concluded that your poker face wasn't so great either.

"How are you so good at that?" You asked Minho as he cleared away the cards and chips. He'd eventually swept everyone, though since they shared loot as a crew evenly (their democracy certainly stunned you initially), it was widely meaningless anyway. Just for fun, they said.

"I mentioned Ching Shih before," He reminded you as he slid the door shut, turning around and leaning back on his palms against the cabinet. "She runs a gambling house now. She taught me pretty much everything I know. However," He was closer to you now, impossibly so, and you hoped he didn't notice the tremble that shook your whole body when his hand grazed yours. "You're one to talk, Royal Flush," he smirked, heading for the door and leaving you stunned by the wall, alone. "If the hammock is too uncomfortable I'll kick Jeongin out of his bed!" He called behind him, having forgotten to mention it before. You decided to go up to the deck and watch the sea for a while, feeling it too early to retire to your quarters. You checked your pocket watch again to confirm that notion, smiling as you did every time you checked the time that day. You had never considered the act anything special before.

~

The night breeze was cool on your face, slapping colour into your cheeks and biting at your nose. You regretted not bringing a blanket to wrap around yourself, hugging your torso as you listened to the sounds of waves against the side of the ship. Goosebumps prickled on your skin only to melt away again when you ran your hands over them quickly, watching your breath condensate in front of your face. The moon was full and high in the sky, surrounded by her smaller celestial friends, all winking down at you as you gazed up at them. You felt them filling your eyes, overcome by awe, and suddenly tears pricked. For once you didn't try to hold them back, knowing you were alone, letting them run silently down your cheeks as you watched the horizon. Being kidnapped wasn't supposed to feel so good, was it? The way they looked at you, the way they joked with you, the way they didn't treat you like something fragile or ask you to keep up airs. You choked back a sob, and another one, and another, as your hands wrung each other tight. Minho watched you from his doorway, and he considered saying something, but he eventually retreated back into his quarters unseen.

"You looked cold," you couldn't tell if the fabric hit you first or the words that graced your ears, but either way they were comforting in tandem, a silky voice paired with a soft blanket thrown lopsidedly over your shoulders. He didn't look at you, and you were thankful, as you wiped your streaky cheeks.

"Thank you," you whispered. It wasn't just for the blanket. He knew.

It was a while before Minho let you join in the more violent, hands-on side of piracy again, leaving you to spend most of your days watching the sea from your window, taking inventory, or drinking and playing poker with your newfound friends. You and Felix got on incredibly well and on slower days would make your own fun on the deck of the ship. Sometimes you shot extra ammunition at dummies made of sacks full of sand for target practice. Sometimes you’d play “I spy” from the crow’s nest, although that usually consisted of “I spy something blue” being the prompt and either the sea or the sky being the answer. Minho taught you to batten down the hatches in case you ever needed to, and you used the privilege of your upper class education to teach Hyunjin, Jisung, and Seungmin to read and write using a box of chalk that was pilfered from a ship off the Western Australian coast and a slate tablet Chris had chipped off for you on a random island you’d all just decided to explore. You took an interest in foliage and flora, to which Minho responded by bringing you random flowers he found pretty on the isles you traversed to tuck behind your ear or ask you details about, glaring at the crew when they’d tease him about his strange mix of bashfulness and ever present cockiness. He wasn’t as hard on them as you’d first expected, though, as everyone in the crew was incredibly close. You enjoyed your freedom and the peace, exploring the seas and feeling so very close to the Earth, but eventually you did crave that adrenaline again, and you hated when the crew would go on jobs and leave you sitting behind in the confines of the Captain’s quarters.

As such, when Felix yelled “sails, ho!” and everyone set to grabbing their usual equipment, you pulled Minho aside to give him the best pleading eyes you could muster.

“I don’t want you getting hurt again,” he said monotonously before you could say a word. Again with the mind reading.

“I won’t,” you promised, hearing the eagerness in your voice and knowing it leaked through into your expression as well. “I’ve been practising. You need a gunner,” You placed a hand on his arm and gave him a small pout. “Captain.”

“Stop weaponizing your cuteness,” he scolded unseriously, waving a hand in defeat. “Go set up, then. If you get hurt, your new role is tutor!” He called after you but you were already too far down the stairs to give him a reaction, busying yourself at the shot racks. You peered through the observation window to find Chris and Hyunjin already shuffling up their ropes, and began loading the cannons quickly.

~

“All set in here?” Minho asked from the stairs, hat almost falling off his head as he swung his head down to look at you. You giggled as he fumbled to keep it on, giving him a wide grin and a nod. “Yep! And from the looks of it, this ship had a really small crew.” You gestured for him to join you at the window, and he peered through to find Jisung and Changbin easily fighting off a small group of men one by one, as if their whole strategy was taking turns to get completely bodied. You grimaced slightly at the sight of Changbin’s cutlass emerging from a sailor’s back, slicing through the flesh like it were warm butter. Changbin was very top heavy, and very useful for it.

“That’s good for us,” Minho grinned at you, squeezing your hand before he had realised he was even holding it. The crew on the other vessel’s deck surveyed the ship for a moment before heading back for their ropes, giving you a thumbs up when they saw you watching.

“Lots of rum and beer!” Chris cheered, and you whooped back at him as you waited for Felix to give you the all clear.

“Looks like we’re getting drunk again tonight,” Minho chuckled, to which you shook your head.

“I think you’ll find I plan on getting absolutely squiffy,” you said with a giggle, to which he laughed harder.

“Look at you, fast learner,” he commended, but before you could keep the jokes going you heard Felix shout from above deck.

“All clear, Yn! Take ‘er down!”

“Fire in the hole!” You yelled back in response, however upon lighting the fuses you realised you weren’t the only one who had just said that. Everything felt like it was moving in slow motion as you saw the glint of an eye in the small gap of the other ship’s gun port, which you hadn’t noticed was open, and threw your weight onto Minho. For a moment you wondered if it would work, for he was heavily built, however he was also not braced for impact and fell to the floor with a thud, the two of you flying back to the wall.

You kept your body covering his, arms over your head as a single cannonball broke through the side of the ship with a power it thankfully lost rather fast, rolling dully into the corner opposite you. You thanked whatever deities might exist at the opponent’s shoddy aim and cheap, plain metal cannonballs as your own carronades fired, sinking the other vessel quickly and easily. The hole in Minho's ship made by the cannonball was not low enough as to allow water in, but you knew it had to be patched quickly anyway. The Captain called up to Chris and informed you that they’d be pilfering the wreckage for materials to patch the hole and keep around for the next time something like that might happen, promising you could join them next time. He hesitated by the stairs before turning back to you, gaze tender on your face.

“Thank you for saving my life,” he whispered, the vulnerability causing his face to burn. He was thankful for how dark the room was. He reached over and hovered by your face, thinking for a moment, before opting to kiss your cheek as usual and letting his thumb graze the side of your jaw lightly before running upstairs to tell the crew what had just happened. You put your hand against your chest, and wondered which of the events had caused your heart rate to pick up so much, before busying about cleaning up the area.

~

Minho was right - apparently rather often. You were an excellent gunner as he had predicted, once you got used to the cannons, and in your opinion a great fit into the crew. The boys loved having you around, and days faded into weeks, which in turn faded into months. You learned that a mizzen is the third mast on larger ships in the end, as you watched the sails billow in the wind, and every night Minho would stand next to you as you silently observed the sea. When you had first met, you had caught on immediately that he wasn't a fan of words. You'd come to realise he didn't need them.

He got bolder, as the seasons changed, clammy hands stealing grasps of your own in the heat of summer and calloused fingertips brushing your hair behind your ears in the gales of autumn. Your smiles were more frequent, your laughter bubbly and jubilant, and you found yourself rather proficient in poker and rummy. His lips found your cheeks, and your forehead, multiple times, and it went unaddressed at every one. At one point you let your lips press against his cheek in return, and you didn't realise a human being could be so red. Felix witnessed the whole thing, and it was all the crew spoke about for weeks as the leaves began to depart their branches. Stolen kisses on the face became a regular occurrence when you were away from the crew, but you avoided one another’s lips, as if playing a game neither of you had explicitly agreed upon. The branches bared.

~

"You fight like a fencer,"

"Maybe because I was one?" your smirk was short-lived as his sabre grazed your chest, his eyes glinting mischievously as the wind nipped at your exposed arms.

"That doesn't really work if you're a pirate,"

"It doesn't matter, you could just pull a gun on me anyway,"

"You learn so fast!" behind his mocking was genuine pride, and your laughs carried along the breeze to dissipate in droplets of salt water. He chased you around the deck valiantly, the swishing of his sabre satisfying to your ears as you made little effort to defend yourself. Felix watched from the mast and Hyunjin from the rudder, the two exchanging knowing glances every so often as their Captain allowed himself to laugh so freely.

You continued into the night, dancing with one another and singing shanties, twirling around your deck in Minho's arms in the finest clothes they’d managed to steal for you. Light cotton trousers swooshed around your ankles as you hopped around, Minho's eyes twinkling as he gazed at you. He only wished it wouldn't ever stop, especially so as the rum granted you the courage to finally mould your lips to his, smiling into the kiss as the crewmembers screamed in the background. He kissed you back so fervently you felt you might explode, his hands gently resting on the small of your back.

Had anyone noticed your absence? He wondered. Were people looking for you?

Something was off about that night.

He stood beside you at the railing as always, the growing chill of the approaching winter gnawing at your exposed skin. But this time there was no blanket. He wouldn’t look at you, feeling the cold air grating at his lungs, leaving them raw. He wanted to take you in his arms, to give you the little warmth his body managed to keep contained, but he knew he couldn’t.

“Yn, we’re-” he strained to speak, although he knew he would have to eventually. His stare was downturned. “We’re… we’re nearing Joseon again.” You stood entirely still, swearing you could hear the gears turning in your brain as you processed what he was trying to say. Your eyes narrowed, and you swallowed thickly.

"What?"

His face was forlorn and his eyes would not tear themselves from his hands as he stood next to you, dark clouds obscuring the stars that usually observed you so diligently.

"We're nearing Joseon again," he repeated the words in a small voice, which was unlike him. He'd said enough for you to understand, and it made rage fizz through you, threatening to pop.

"Tell me you're not fucking serious. After everything we've been through, you're taking me back?"

"I mean we took you for-"

"Yeah, the ransom, I get it," you spat, and somehow you felt you had the power over him this time as his shoulders shrunk. "You're not getting one, why won't you believe me? To say I really thought I was a part of this crew," Vitriolic tears were burning at your corneas, brimming up and boiling over in unison with the waves of anger that shook your entire form. The tide picked up, and the boat rocked.

Memories you held dear started crumbling to ash, your hands trembling violently, as you wondered how the most genuine happiness you’d ever felt could be pulled from you so quickly. You felt as if you were falling, hurtling towards the same rock bottom you’d already visited so many times, and bile raised in your throat.

"Yn, really, just let me explain-"

"Don't fucking bother, Minho," you fumed as you stormed to your quarters, hands balled into fists. You turned back to watch his face change as you addressed him by name. He wouldn't hurt you. You knew that by now. He opened his mouth as if to say something more but thought better of it, leaving you alone to break down in your hammock, sobs wracking your body as you watched the sky. The clouds had mostly parted and the moon shone full again, her shining sisters blinking as stunned as yourself. You looked up at her sadly before turning to look at the blanket draped over the chair in the corner. A lone, delicate, pink lotus - a flower you'd taken a strong and vocal liking to during your many travels to and from Vietnam - laid suddenly discarded on the deck in view of your window, waiting to be swept up in the wind and lost to the sea. “You asshole.” You didn’t know if your insult was directed at him, or yourself.

~

"Did you know about this?" Your voice was quieter than you'd have liked as Felix tried to work quickly, rope once again tight and coarse against the skin of your wrists and ankles. You were allowed to keep your vision this time, for which you guessed you were supposed to feel grateful. Felix merely looked at you sorrowfully, ever unable to hide his emotions as the lump in his throat grew. "We tried to argue with him," he whispered as he tightened the knot for the last time. "Chris almost knocked him out. I mean, who kisses someone like that and then does this? Fucking blighter…" You sighed, heart pounding and nausea building gradually in the pit of your stomach, rising and falling in your throat with the words you wish you could say. How could you do this to me, why aren’t you all fighting for me, did our time together mean nothing to you… you didn’t feel any number of questions would settle the betrayal that laid heavy in your chest. Minho entered the room and picked you up without saying anything, arms hooked under your shoulders and knees. Before you could ask him any of the million questions that flurried around in your mind, he handed you to Chris, who you hadn't seen behind the door. He led everyone out to the ladder to disembark, not saying a word the entire time.

You watched as he stayed on the ship.

You watched as the only real home you’d ever had became smaller and more distant.

You watched as everything you had ever cared about slipped from your grasp as quickly as it had fallen into it.

I guess my luck has run out.

~

Your eyes glazed over as you laid limply in Chris' incredibly solid arms. At any other opportunity you would have been poking mildly flirty fun, but your heart felt like it had sunk to your toes, ticking gold metal pressed firmly into your palm as a cruel, sadistic reminder that you weren't as wanted as you'd easily been led to believe. The two men started making their way towards the road, air so tense it was stifling. They did not have to walk very far, as a man dressed in the palace staff garb was quick to meet you by the shore. His tall sandals kicked up sand as he stepped towards Chris, not even bothering to look at you as he produced a scroll and began to read from it.

"We have been expecting you, pirates," he began, unsuccessfully trying to hold back a snigger at the words he'd been instructed to deliver. "The palace would like to request that you dutifully keep the now title-less Yn, as they are a perpetual disgrace to the Royal Family and their country alike. The terms of your ransom are rejected, regardless of what you do with them. Should you kill them, you will be doing our great nation a favour," He coughed and rolled the parchment back up, turning on his heels to walk away towards a hut stationed just off the beach. Felix blinked slowly after him, looking over at Chris, who mirrored his expression of shock and appalment. Your ears rang, stomach churning and heart seeming to sink further, which you hadn’t thought possible. You had known it was coming, you had known they would reject you upon your return, but you had not expected the statement to be so viciously blunt. You had never considered it your home regardless, but now you had lost the one place you did. The flames of rejection licked at every fibre of your being, indolent tears not bothered enough to push past the corners of your eyes. You didn’t register them. You didn’t really register anything. You knew you were shutting down.

"Fuck, what do we do now?" The younger whispered, not daring to look at you in case he burst into tears, his own heart aching in spite of him never even having met his parents. Chris slowly turned to find Minho had followed them off after all, watching with clenched teeth and a red face.

"Take 'em to their quarters. Immediately," he all but spat, eyes dark, like a brewing storm ready to wreak havoc. They were readable this time, yes, but you weren't sure if you prefered that as his shoulders began to tremble. You weren’t sure if he was angrier at your family or himself. You hadn't realised the tears were now running down your face until you sniffed, suddenly embarrassed and wanting to make yourself as small as possible, which you attempted to do in Chris' arms. Felix drew the blade strapped to his thigh and cut your binding as to allow you to curl up, and Chris found himself massaging small circles into your shoulder. They were all stunned beyond words, as if they hadn't believed the stories you'd told. You couldn’t fully blame them. You had heard many a tale of barbarism during poker nights and mealtimes, however they were usually physical and gorey. They had underestimated games of the mind. Chris did as instructed, bringing you to your quarters and whispering an apology before shutting the door. You couldn't say you cared for how many times this had happened now, déjà vu hitting you hard as you came undone at the click of the latch.

You had always considered the sound of knocking to be rather irritating, however you had never imagined it on this level. It was frequent, day and night, various voices begging you to come out and speak to them, however as the palace help's words ran laps in your brain, you could not find the drive to do anything except cry bitter, bitter tears, clutching your pocket watch to your chest with a heavy heart and drifting in and out of sleep as the hours passed. The taste it left in your mouth was acrid - the taste of betrayal you figured - as you chided yourself repeatedly for daring to think you could ever find a family, or belong anywhere. You were free help, and a broken dream of riches. He should have just discarded you on the beach to die, you figured, and be absorbed into the sand; let the earth claim you as no one else would. Minho’s voice grew more tired - at some points he even sounded like he was crying - but the last thing you wanted was to look at his face.

So what changed? You asked yourself.

What led to him sitting on the edge of your hammock, face pained, cheeks pink and streaky where salty tears had marked their trail? Your stomach knotted itself over and over, teeth sunk into the soft skin of your inner cheek and eyes flitting everywhere that was not his face.

He had fallen asleep with his back against your door, tremors rippling through his muscles in the harsh chill of the growing winter. The season reminded you that almost a year had passed since he had taken you, and you hated that you felt so taken by him. It had been hard for you to try and hoist him into your hammock; the movement had woken him up, and now he sat expectantly, eyes downturned and mask crumbling by the second.

"Why would you do that to me?" You finally managed to speak, voice embarrassingly small, feeling pitiful under the gaze of a man you felt foolish for having trusted. He got up to move to you, crouching before your legs and taking your hands in his. "Did you really want me off the ship that bad?"

"No! If anything, I wanted you to stay so desperately it terrified me and I just kind of… shut down!" You watched him in silence, trying to decide whether you believed him or not. "As I literally always told you, it was never about the money," he continued, swallowing his tears and willing himself to look strong. You wished he'd just drop the act for good. That he'd just trust you enough. "I admit, I didn't believe you about your family. And I was wrong for that; I genuinely apologise. I didn't think anyone could be so downright cruel to the children they chose to have. And I'm a pirate! The people I know are barbarians and yet they are nothing compared to the people who birthed you! Hell, Ching Shih marrying her adoptive son didn't even cause me to feel this nauseous, and that shocked all of us! I apologise for putting you in such a horrible situation and for not communicating the plan to you. I can only imagine you were scared and I feel like an arse."

"What fucking plan, Minho? The plan to make me feel like I might finally belong somewhere only to pull the rug from under my feet and try to deliver me to people who consider my existence their biggest mistake?"

"I had wanted to offer you a permanent position on the ship, I had just wanted to collect the ransom first," He stuttered, struggling to explain a line of thought he knew had been wrong and rash.

"I was gone for months, Minho. Why do you think no one tried to find me? Why do you think I kept telling you you'd not get even a penny for me? I feel so stupid for finally letting myself believe I could be happy. For trusting a disgusting, evil, twisted pirate such as yourself."

"You don't really think that about me,"

"I do right now,"

"Yn, please trust me, you really do belong here. We all love you so much, our ship is so lively because you're on it," he hesitated, his hands still on yours, grateful you hadn't pulled away as you looked at him with more venom in your eyes than he could handle. "And if I'm honest, I think I love you a little too much," he added the admission quietly, at which point you felt the anger wash from your face entirely, alongside any colour that might have resided below your skin.

"What?"

"I mean that I am hopelessly in love with you," he laughed, avoiding your gaze. "And that scared me, because I'm pretty sure people like me aren't supposed to feel that way, and I struggle enough with portraying my feelings, and I am supposed to be this big scary Captain, and I made some very stupid decisions, and I cannot begin to apologise enough-" you laced his fingers with yours to stop his rambling, and he looked up through his lashes at your stunned face. "Yn, you are, unequivocally, a big part of this little family. You are an incredible sailor, a masterful gunner, and most importantly, we love having you around, so," he held your palm up and pressed his lips to it slowly, as if waiting for you to bat him away or protest, and when you didn't, he smiled triumphantly. "I really want you to know you do belong here, and I want you to stay." Your eyes searched his, heart flipping in your chest, as he dared inch closer, your eyelashes kissing one another’s cheeks as his hot breath fanned across your lips. "With me." He finished in a whisper. You reached a hand up to cup his cheek, thumb tracing the chiselled bone, your other travelling further to grab his hat and set it upon your own head. He smirked as he finally leaned in to press his lips to yours, impossibly tender for a man so apparently fearsome, short and sweet as he tested the waters. It was as if he were afraid you might fade away beneath his fingers, and far be it from him to lose you for good. He felt as if his heart had erupted in his chest, fire and water all at once, fireworks of all colours. He had never really expected to find such pure happiness. Born to be evil, so said his path from the start, but your gentle touches and radiating kindness lit a warmth in him he'd never known he needed to feel, and now didn't think he'd survive without.

"Just promise you won't pull anymore stupid shit? And believe what I tell you about my own life and family?" You requested, making him pout cutely. A rare sight, and one you knew you alone were blessed with.

"I promise." another gentle kiss, then a slightly stronger one, and a contented sigh against your lips. You were both far from noticing the eyes of curious men crowded around the small window in the door and their subsequent hollering.

“You really aren’t a bad man,”

“Just a stupid one. But, in spite of my idiocy, you’re like, my Pirate Royal now,” he grinned at his own cheesiness, to which you snorted.

"We can work on the title, Captain,” you hummed, carding your hands through his hair as you kissed him again, and again, and again. His eyes misted over as he smiled between kisses, and finally, the wall came crashing down.

[wri0thesley]

Ok ok so one of my biggest dreams for the longest time has been gentle yet spicy facesitting the 4taro so I'd like to request that! Thank you and congratulations on the 5,555 Nat!!!

savouring - jotaro x reader (1.4k)

warnings: afab reader, no pronouns. face-sitting. nsfw, minors dni!

Jotaro’s hands feel so big on your thighs, as he urges you to straddle his chest. You look down at him, lip bitten; his eyes are almost black, blown wide, his hair (free from his hat, for once) spread out in dark curls over the pillow. He sees you looking at him and his eyebrows furrow, his lips barely tilting; you recognise it as Jotaro’s way of smiling, and heat rises to your cheeks.

His chest is broad enough that your straddle makes an aching stretch in your legs. Everything about Jotaro is huge; his hands, his chest, his thighs . . . as well as . . . Well. If you chanced a glance behind yourself, you would see the bulge in Jotaro’s underwear that made it very obvious how big he was there, too.

“You okay?” He asks, gruff, with a dusky flush on his cheeks. He’s not the kind of guy who smothers you with affection and kindness and checks up on you every single moment, but that doesn’t mean he’s not caring. Your own hands cling to his shoulders as you take a slow, careful breath.

“Just nervous, I guess,” you tell him, feeling self-conscious at the way that his eyes graze your body. There’s hunger in his gaze, yes – but it’s hard not to feel self-conscious around Jotaro. Even without taking into account what he looks like, you’re currently straddling him in a penthouse suite at the Morioh Grand hotel, a place of luxury that is costing him more than you’d really like to think about--

“You haven’t got anything to be nervous about,” Jotaro says, his voice very deep and simple. The hands on your thighs slide up, curving over your hips, his thumb gently brushing your waist. “I won’t hurt you.”

“I—I know,” you say, squirming; your bare sex presses against his hard chest, and you wonder if he can feel that you’re wet. If he can, he’s polite enough not to say anything about it. His thumb circles you soothingly. “I’m not scared of you hurting me--”

A quirk to his lips, again. One that makes you feel all hot and bothered, your heart feel like it’s going to burst right out of your chest. The look in his eyes is impossible to read as anything but bare-faced hunger.

“You’re not going to hurt me, either.” That’s simple, too; Jotaro doesn’t gloat about his strength, though you know how much he’s withstood (and his body is littered with the scars to prove it). “I wantthis.”

There’s that desire leaking into his tone again; a rough vein of need running through it. He pulls you forward a little, his eyes not leaving your face for a minute.

“Please,” he says to you, and how are you supposed to resist him when he’s so polite? When his words are so dark, shivering with suggestion? “I want to taste you.”

How are you supposed to say no to Jotaro speaking so plainly – to his firm grip guiding you to place your knees over his shoulders, spread your legs wide enough that your pulsing sex is revealed to him in all of its full, sopping wet glory? He breathes deeply, letting your scent linger in the air.

“You’re beautiful,” he rumbles low. You look down at him, seeing that the flush on his cheeks has not subsided in the slightest. You’re not exactly surprised by that; compliments aren’t exactly his style. But the fact that he’s able to look up at you from the angle he’s seeing you at and still say that to you--

“You’re getting soft,” you say to him, and he laughs. The sound is still rare and precious, despite how long the two of you have been an item; warmth suffuses you.

“Only for you,” he mumbles, and urges you down to rest yourself over his mouth completely and be quite literally sat on his face. “C’mere--”

The first slow lap of his tongue makes you gasp. It’s hesitant, but not exactly shy; the muscle is wet and flat but firm. Your thighs squeeze around his head almost by themselves, surprised by how intense the sensation is in the new position. Your hands reach out to steady yourself on the headboard of the king-size bed; if Jotaro’s first lick on you feels like that, you know you’re not going to be able to keep your balance through more intense stimulation.

“You taste good too,” he mumbles, pulling back to press the words into your inner thigh along with a kiss. The vibrations of his words send an ache through you, a low curl of tension making itself known in the very pit of your stomach. He doesn’t let you respond, immediately going back to lapping at you.

It’s a slow, exploratory kind of motion; Jotaro’s tongue delving between your slick folds, letting the taste of your arousal soak into his mouth. The firm press of his tongue against the delicate petals of your cunt has you clenching fingers around the edge of the headboard, your head swimming in foggy pleasure.

You can hear a panting noise, and you realise that the panting is you, responding to everything Jotaro is doing with his mouth by breathing shakily and gulping down air. It feels so good. Every swipe of his tongue sends electric sparks through you, warmth flooding you entirely. Your fingertips tingle, the way that Jotaro is eating you out spreading to every part of your body.

That’s nothing, though, compared to the feel when his tongue traces your entrance and thrusts up. It’s neither as firm nor as big as his fingers or his cock, but the flexible muscle exploring your inner walls and fucking you gently is still enough to have you moaning out his name, feeling sweat dampen your brow. Jotaro’s tongue massages your inner walls, somehow still knowing exactly where to brush to get you to feel like you’re about to come apart on his face.

He pulls his tongue out, leisurely, slow – guides it back over your sex, his breath ghosting hot on your slickened cunt, before he flicks it quickly out over your clit and you feel yourself tighten, thighs clamping about his head again.

“J-jojo,” you whimper. You wish you could fist your hands into his hair, but if you move yourself from the headboard you know you will simply fall flat on your face. The feelings that Jotaro’s tongue is eliciting has you all hot and needy and trembling; your legs will give out, you know it, if you do not keep yourself anchored.

He makes an ‘mm’ noise of both pleasure and understanding that vibrates through you, your spine tingling. You want to kiss him; but all you can is stay there, sat on his face, as his tongue continues to play with your clit. He gradually ups the pressure; alternating between flicking with the tip and lapping slowly over it, your entire body a mass of sensation. You’re aware you’re squirming on his face, trying to get him to go harder, faster, meaner--

And Jotaro delivers. He senses the way your body is moving and makes good on it; his tongue getting quicker and rougher. Your clit is swirled and played with as the coil of need inside of you is pulled tighter and tighter and tighter, your thighs and knees squeezing so hard around his head it’s a wonder he doesn’t pass out from suffocation.

And then, he does something with his tongue that’s just right, utterly perfect, and your world comes apart around you as your orgasm washes over your body. Heat and need and pleasure rolling over you in wave after wave, your panting turns into wailing – and Jotaro clings to you through it, carefully and gently rolling his tongue over the bud to guide you through your shuddering aftershocks.

You’re trembling and useless as he helps you slide down his chest, his face all glittering with your wetness. He pulls you down to smooth a kiss against your mouth, hungry and heated, the taste of you still lingering on his lips; and he’s gentle, helping you dismount, pressing you to his side.

“W-where did you learn to do that?” You breathe, as Jotaro pulls you in against him. He’s firm, and you cling to him; warmed and comforted by his familiar sea-salt scent and the feel of strong arms wrapped around you. Jotaro isn’t good with words, but his body always seems to say ‘this is where you belong’.

“Hmm,” he rumbles against you, nosing against the junction between shoulder and neck. “Not sure. Think I could do with some more practise, if you’re up for it.”

You sure are.

[han-shinsuke]

h a n d h e r o v e r

f e m a l e r e a d e r 🌹

m i n o r s k e e p o u t

[ tags, smut, nsfw, anal, foursome, themes ]

—•—

Without prior notice, he shows up in front of your dorm, dressed casually. You invite him inside but declined, telling you to come with him somewhere. You argue with him, insisting that you should change to something presentable but Bokuto seems to be in a rush so you have given up when he uses his puppy eyes. Inside his car, you keep checking your looks and it disappoints you. Unlike him, you look so ordinary. Well, you are someone insignificant. What’s the difference anyway?

“I’m gonna 𝒃𝒂𝒃𝒚 you later, Y/N,” huh? you shot him a confused look at the use of some endearment.

You laugh awkwardly, “what, Kou?” he is your best friend and your secret crush.

“You look like a kid in your clothes and considering your height, you really look like 𝒐𝒏𝒆.” you pout your lips and he bursts out laughing.

It’s his fault! He didn’t even let you fix yourself! You were running around the University’s oval when he calls. Now, who’s fault it is that he’s being accompanied by a lady in core 5 inch shorts in black and a plain hoodie?

“Shut up, Kou. You’re annoying!”

After driving for almost an hour, Bokuto parks his car in front of Sakusa’s house.

Wait. Sakusa’s house?! You grab onto the belt when Bokuto tries mounting off the safety strap.

“Wait, Kou! Why the fuck are we here?!” you panic. Sakusa, you, and Oikawa are both in an unstable relationship. Not romantically, okay! You are their damn victim! They’re not criminals, well closer to that! Those two are your bullies and they are friends with your best friend, Koutaro Bokuto!

He taps your temple and comforts you that everything will be fine, that you won’t be harmed while he’s around, “it’s Omi’s birthday. He invited us for lunch.”

You nod your head. There’s no point in arguing. You were already there. He has your sweating hand inside his palm when you both entered the house.

“Give me ten seconds, Kou.”

Sakusa’s house rule no. 1; leave your shoes outside but if you are his friends, go straight in.

You remove your sneakers and leave your white socks on. You have been there before and you almost familiarised yourself with his rules. Since he considers you as his enemy rather than his subject of bullying, you are not allowed to sit or touch anything inside his home so you remain standing near the stairs when Bokuto runs to Oikawa in the kitchen.

You give Sakusa a nod as he descends from the top landing. He smells clean and fruity tuitee and you couldn’t help but blush when you notice his stare goes down to your feet.

Your insides trembles from the intensity of his gaze and that makes you feel like running away or hide from his sight.

Your breathing halts when he kneels after removing his fur slippers. His warm hand grab your ankle then slide your left foot in his slipper, then your right foot.

He didn’t speak a word. He just pointed you to the kitchen. His footwear is too big for your small ones but you still manage to walk comfortably.

While helping in the food preparation, Sakusa and Oikawa are constantly bumping their muscular arms against your shoulders. They even teases you that you lack in the free access of healthy foods in the fridge in your own home that’s why you’re thin and small. You 𝒂𝒓𝒆𝒏'𝒕, okay?! They’re just huge and very athletic that developing muscles and all is no issue to them. And your case is different. Your height is 5'3", you weight right, meaning your body mass index is normal! Again, they are huge people and they look down on your kind. And these men prefers model-like body figures for women!

You let it all pass. You seem immune to all the teasings and soft pinches that those were no longer affecting you. Sakusa leads the way to his theater room, while you, Bokuto, and Oikawa are in charge of bringing all the foods in there.

There’s a long and wide white couch that looks like a king sized bed in the center and there’s also a big screen mounted on the wall. You settle on the lone chair in the viewing room, sit properly and try avoiding Sakusa’s intense gaze.

What? You did nothing to him!

The three men sits besides each other, Oikawa scrolls on the menu of which genre of movies to watch, Bokuto starts picking up some tarts and chews it. And then, there’s still him, Sakusa! Staring at you!

“Hand her over, Koutaro.” your face turn pale when Sakusa pulls his shirt off his body and leans on the couch.

You couldn’t find the will to speak. You stoned on your seat. Bokuto whistles, inching closer to you. He cups your face and whispers soothing words.

“Wh–what is happening here, Kou?” you sound nervous. Bokuto brings you closer to Sakusa. You grab onto your best friend’s arms. “Koutaro... ” a breathe of panic.

“You are his present to me, Y/N. You’re the desserts.” Sakusa pulls you down on his lap, he breathes closer to your hair. Something is growing in between his thighs. You look so scared. He gets even aroused.

“wanna rub my tongue on his pussy, Koutaro,” Oikawa moves closer, too, licking his lips.

“I’m... I’m not—” Oikawa stops you from talking, taking your chin in his hand. “You’re not what, Y/N?” he asks seductively.

“Kou–Kou... help me.” you hold onto his hand, giving him a scared look.

Sakusa tugs on your long hair before latching on your earlobe, “don’t worry, Y/N. Koutaro will help you. He will help you fuck yourself to sleep.”

And the talking ended there.

Oikawa snatches your face and slams his mouth on your opened ones, rolling out his tongue into you before brushing roughly his lips against your lips. Your both hands twitches, the kiss is electrifying. You try to pull away but he restrains you by gripping lightly your neck. You hear Sakusa laughs. He wraps his arms around your body, locking you in restrictions. Oikawa continues kissing you roughly that you can feel his warm saliva dripping from his mouth down to your chin. You didn’t respond to his kisses. You were in shocked. When he sucks on your lips and tongue, you didn’t recognise the moan that passed your lips.

“Undress her quickly!” still in a rush, Bokuto puts his words into action. He separates you from Oikawa’s mouth. You were panting when he pulls out your hoodie, showing your uncovered titsx in broad daylight. They look perfect and round and flushed. The three men growls, pouncing all at one on you. Bokuto has the right breast, Sakusa’s on the left and Oikawa, he moves between your legs, pushing your shorts to the side to take a good look on your rosy folds.

Oikawa licks the slit back and forth until it gets covered with his saliva. He chuckles when your body twitches. He dips his mouth again, flicking the tip of his tongue against your clitx while scratching your inner thighs. You moan loudly, arching your back again and again. Your moan matches the others’ moans and grunts. Both Sakusa and Bokuto are sucking on your titsx and they’re doing it like they’re milking on you. Swirling sharply their tongues and grazing their teeth on its softness. Damn. You didn’t even say yes to them!

Unknowingly, your mouth also salivates as well as your cunt being treated like a meal by Oikawa’s hot and needy mouth. He’s swirling his tongue and he’s sucking you there so noisily.

“Tooru~” you moan his name when he starts pumping digits into you while his thumb is pressing hard on your clitx. Your legs stretches up and down whenever his fingers goes deeper and harder and at the same time, circling his knuckles hard as well on your cunt. He makes you drip like crazy and it’s evident on your oozing core and salivating mouth. He laughs triumphantly, giving you the best finger fuck and tongue fuck. Your body convulses when you come in waves, the two men abandons your chest to join Oikawa slurping your first and rich orgasm.

They pushes your legs up and there are three long and thick tongues slurping and licking your tight pussy that still waves down thick juices. You find support by grabbing on the edges while you were being worshipped by their mouths. A squeal escapes your lips when you feel someone’s tongue poking your anusx.

When they finished, Oikawa pulls you near the edge and kneels in front of your head hanging by on the ends. He’s the first one to get fully naked before Sakusa and Bokuto.

“Kou~” your eyes waters, not in fear but in excitement and other unnamed feelings.

Sakusa goes below you, putting your small body on top of his own while slowly inserting his fat cockx in your tight pussy. You let out a yelp when his balls bumps on your opening. He’s deep inside you!

“Sakusa hnngggg~ sooo deeeppp haaahhh!” you grip his arm that locks your head beside his by putting it tight around your neck. You struggle to breathe properly so you gasp for air. His other hand goes to your stuffed cunt and slaps your folds harshly until he hears you sob and cry.

“Enough, Omi, she’s sore already.” Bokuto slaps Sakusa’s hand away and replaces it by his own, giving soft touches and light kisses.

“Hmm~ Kou... Kou... ” you cry his name, grabbing his hand toward your mouth. You kiss his fingertips and suck on them later. Earning soft moans and heavy breathes from him.

Bokuto takes his hand from your grasp and gives you slow and sensual kiss on your lips. You feel Sakusa inching his length out but you give no enough attention to it. What matters now is how Bokuto kisses your numb lips. He’s good and it feels good.

Your dear friend ends the kiss but not his finger work on your clitx. He’s rubbing it softly.

“My turn baby doll.” you almost forgot about him. Oikawa kisses you again and what he does next surprised you. He shoves his cockx in your mouth, all the way down to your throat. You gag at how big he is but you can’t do anything to remove it not now that he starts moving in and out.

Your moans gets dissolved by Oikawa’s rough fucking inside your mouth. He moans louder than you and his friends and you feel like doing the same so you cooperate with him, sucking him in while he fucks his length harder to your throat.

Down to the remaining men, Sakusa has been hammering your tight cunt with his massive cockx and swear! Your eyes widened when Bokuto positions his big cock head to where Sakusa’s fat one is inserted.

You put your free hand on his abdomen when he hovers over you, slowly joining his friend’s dick into party.

No, Koutaro! You’re gonna rip me with your cockx!

But he didn’t stop. He slides his fat member into your stretched core! Stretching it even wider with Sakusa’s!

Oikawa moans louder and louder and he even dirty talks while spurting his thick loads in your mouth. You gag on it and you do nothing but swallow it all.

When it’s your turn to moan and scream, you give all your best in doing it because fuck, it’s hurt having two fat and long shafts inside your cunt. So you moan and cry and then repeat while ramming themselves into you. Your body shakes and your lips quivers and they huffs and pants and slams their hips until you bleed thick and rich heat again, covering their cocks with your juice and their sperms.

Bokuto and Sakusa only pulls out when they empty all of their loads inside you.

It’s not over, Oikawa pulls you and folds you in mating press, inserting his hard cockx into your leaking hole, pumping faster while kissing your roughly again. He does it again. The rough and deep pumping. The rough kisses that leaves your lips swollen and numb.

“Tooruuu aahhnnggg~ hmmppp~” you shake your head, he’s using you so rough. You can feel the weight of every thrust and you wish for it to be over.

Again, it’s not over even after he cum inside you. He flips you on your stomach, pushing his cockx back inside you. He pounds you harder from behind, groping your chest before slapping your ass as he keeps pounding. You cry. And cry. And cry.

Three times. Oikawa cums inside you three times before handing you back to Sakusa who chooses to fuck you ass up, too.

“Not today, Omi. Her parents would notice. She comes home every weekends.” Bokuto advises his friend when Sakusa put his tip on your anusx.

Sakusa spits on his length and on your anusx, “okay, I won’t anal fuck her hmm~” he says but does it anyway.

He shoves right there! Sliding his full length inside your ass. You let out a loud cry and sob hard. Sakusa laughs. Oikawa, too. Bokuto attends to you and takes your both hands, drawing circles at the back of your hand he’s gripping tightly.

“Kou... Kou... it hurts, please, Kou... ” you cry while holding hands with your best friend.

Sakusa starts grinding his hips against your and that makes you feel the very pain of being analed. Bokuto didn’t leave you. He keeps holding your hand while Sakusa pounds you senselessly, almost adhering you deep against the softness of the couch.

“Ssshhh, baby~ you can take him~ you’ll feel good.” you focus on his words while endurimg Sakusa’s rough thrusts.

“Kou—” you were cut mid sentence. Sakusa pulls you away from Bokuto, flipping you on your back again to face him.

You can feel his loads dripping from your assholex but he’s not done yet. He separates your legs and dips between your thighs, pushing his shaft back.

You wince in pain when he slaps your swollen folds. You tell him it hurts with tears in your eyes but he just smiled. Slapping for the last time before rocking you again and this time, claiming your lips. He kisses expertly and you find yourself returning his kiss even though your lips hurts.

“Omi... ” you cry his name softly and that stuns him for seconds, watching your face contorts in beautiful pleasure. He sees something different in you in that state so he rocks you deep but slow this time, kissing your chin down to your neck and moments later, he’s shooting his loads inside you while still kissing you slowly.

Once again, that moment isn’t over yet, Bokuto takes you inside his arms and brings you in the backyard where there is a inflatable pool set up near the wooden fence.

The sun is up and so is his cockx.

He puts your nakedness in the cold water and slow fuck you there but bruising your whole body with his deep bites and tight grips. He pushes the hair strands that covers your face while ramming himself into you. He looks at you softly and he notices your puffy eyes from all the crying.

“You good, baby?” his voice is gentle so you smile, nodding your head until it slowly falls down backwards. You feel drained and you can’t keep with his deep rumblings while moving up and down on his lap.

He catches your head on time, eyes fluttering from being overworked.

“Kou, I like you. I lied when I say it’s Omi.” you confess before closing your eyes.

Bokuto does your job, he moves your ass up and down his length even though you fell asleep on him. As he shoots his loads inside, he says this, “but Omi found you first, Y/N. He’s afraid to tell you his feelings so he finds another way to get close to you. By bullying you, he gets closer and closer. I just jumped in the scene and befriended you. I like you, too, Y/N. But he likes you first. So, you are his.”

But, you didn’t hear it. You were too tired to fight against the need to sleep.

Two hours later...

You were in the backseat, straddling on Sakusa’s laps, his cockx installed inside your creaming cunt while holding you tight as he kisses your lips torridly.

On your way home,

Bokuto drives the car.

While Sakusa is fucking you mercilessly in the backseat.

With all the bruises and marks of ownership, there’s no doubt you are his.

You are Kiyoomi Sakusa’s property.