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sunkissedrafe · 1 month

Note

bffs w rafe and he’s obsessed w you. wakes you up by sneaking into your room and yall do stuff 🤭

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summary: the request above!:)

word count: 3.3k

(SPOILERS) warnings: somnophilia(sleeping), dubcon, p in v, fingering, male masturbation, secretive photos, breaking and entering, unprotected sex. MDNI!

⚝──⭒─⭑─⭒──⚝

You really don’t know how it all happened the way it did.

The way Rafe took you under his wing all those years ago. The way he’s constantly glued to your side, going as far as attending parties full of pogues, sticking out like a sore thumb while he marches around, grabbing you another beer when you need it or shooing away the belligerent drunk men trying to hit on you.

Things like this aren’t the norm.

Boys like him just aren’t friends with girls like you. He’s used to a life of luxury; boats, tropical vacations, the most expensive clothes made of materials you can’t even pronounce.

You consider yourself lucky if your water isn’t shut off when you got home after a long day of sweating and panting in the heat.

But the world works in crazy ways, and Rafe Cameron is your best friend.

˖ ݁𖥔.☁︎.𖥔 ݁ ˖

The two of you sit on the edge of your bed, controllers in hand as you peer up at the screen with wide eyes.

“No, no… Rafey!” You squeal as the screen flashes, letting your head drop down, your hair falling across your face with a huff.

He chuckles smugly. “What, kid?” He nudges you with his shoulder, a sly grin written across his face and amusement laced into his voice.

“You said you’d let me win this round.” You mumble, dropping the controller onto the plush rug below your feet.

“What the point in that?” He laughs as he pushes himself to stand. “Like… how would that even be any fun?” He moves in front of you and nudges your forehead with his fingers so that you look up. You trail your gaze up to his own, his blonde wispy hair brushing his brows. “Quit bein’ a baby.” He gives your jaw a light, playful tap.

You flutter your eyes at him before giving him a scowl, falling onto your back and staring at the ceiling as his footsteps audibly trail across your room.

You hear him fumbling with something near your window and turn your head to the side, raising your brows as he turns around holding your planter with a cactus you’ve nearly killed from incorrectly watering it.

“Look at this poor thing,” he chuckles, turning the planter around and examining the plant. “You’ll never have a green thumb.” He laughs and sits the plant down where he found it, patting his pockets as he walks away from his spot.

You sit up and watch as he settles near your bedroom door and grabs his tennis shoes, bending down to pull them over his feet.

“Leaving already?” You ask meekly, already dreading the feeling of his absence though he still stands in the room with you.

“Yeah, gotta go.” He lets out a long sigh as he stands back up to his full height and leans against the door frame. “Got some shit to work through with my dad tonight. I’ll see you soon though.” He walks over to where you sit, grabbing your hands gingerly to help you to your feet. “There’s talks of a party this weekend, yeah?”

“Mhm.” You nod, standing on your tiptoes and wrapping your arms around his neck.

“Consider me your plus one.” He mumbles into your hair. His strong arms wrap around your waist and hold you flush against his body, his woody aroma flooding your senses.

You can feel his warm palms through the thin fabric of your shirt. They slide around your body as he pulls away from the embrace, taking home on your hips with a light squeeze. You glance up and his blue eyes are already locked onto yours, a grin pulling at the dimples of his cheeks.

“Maybe… practice the game a little bit until then, hm?” He speaks lowly.

“Rafe Cameron!” You shout, slapping at his chest as he puts his hands up in defense, chuckling as he steps back.

“Let me know when to pick you up.” He gives you one final grin before shutting your door gently.

˖ ݁𖥔.☁︎.𖥔 ݁ ˖

You didn’t mean to fall asleep, but you took Rafe’s advice to heart and stayed awake as long as your eyes would stay open- practicing that damn game.

You lay peacefully, breathing deep and smoothly atop your blankets with the controller still loosely in your right hand. Your headset is still somehow on your head, softly playing the background music from the loading screen as you hadn’t had a chance to shut it off before your eyes gave out.

You don’t even stir when Rafe slides your window open, being as careful as he can to avoid the glass planter on your windowsill as he creeps into the warmth of your room. He carefully slides the glass shut once more, bringing a shaky hand up and flipping the latch, locking the window that he had made sure was unlocked earlier unbeknownst to you.

I can’t be crazy, she definitely wants me too. Right?

He turns around with a breath held deep in his lungs, praying to any god he can that the floorboards won’t creak beneath his shoes and that his best friend wouldn’t be awake.

His gaze falls onto your sleeping body, soft and still, and he slowly lets out the breath he had been holding in. The light from the screen illuminates your skin, glowing with the different colored hues as it flashes. He takes discreet, soundless steps towards you as he allows his eyes to rake over your figure.

Your hair is beautifully messy, strewn around on the pillow that you lay back against. He pays close attention to your tiny fingers that lazily wrap around the handle of the controller, one arm draped above your head and the other laid out to the side. He peers at your stomach, watching it rise and fall as you breathe.

His eyes wander up. You’re clad in the same tank top you’d been in when he left, but the way your nipples strain against the thin fabric just begging to be touched leads him to the conclusion that you ditched the bra.

It’s like she wants me to look.

I’ll look. I won’t touch her. I’ll look and leave. And then we’ll never think or speak about this again.

He takes microscopic steps toward your bed, his heart pounding against his sternum. His knees graze the edge of the mattress as he closes in on you and he gasps lightly, backing up so he doesn’t cause the bed to dip.

His face turns red, veins protruding from his skin as he holds in every ounce of oxygen he can to lean down beside you, placing his ear next to the side of your headset. He smirks to himself when he hears the music in the speakers, standing back to his full height.

He shoves a hand into his back pocket, fishing around and digging for his phone. He pulls it out and opens his camera, holding it up for the best angle and capturing a perfect image of his clueless best friend asleep in bed.

She doesn’t know how perfect she is.

Something inside of him wants more, wants to touch every inch he can. But he can’t, he has a goal and a plan. Get in and look then get the fuck out.

What would a couple more pictures hurt?

It’s like he moves in slow motion, he can’t control it as he reaches out and grabs the bottom hem of your tank top. You’d think he was performing brain surgery as he inches it up, exposing more and more of the fleshy skin of your abdomen. He wants to brush his fingertips along your skin, to feel every part of you along the way, but he can’t rush this.

Get the picture and go.

He watches as your plump tits spill out from the fabric, jiggling into place and sitting atop your chest, fully bared to him. His breath hitches and he pulls his hand away, gulping as your lashes flutter ever so slightly. You stir for a moment but you stay asleep.

A wave of relief floods through his body and he lifts his phone again, shakily clicking the shutter button. He takes so many more photos than necessary, moving and catching all the angles of your perfect breasts.

It’s like he loses himself. His pulse surges in his ears, beating so loud he’s almost convinced you can hear it over the music. His body betrays his logical mind and before he knows it, his fingertips brush over your delicate skin. He lets out a groan, feeling his pants tighten against his crotch as he moves to touch the other nipple.

To his surprise, your eyes remain closed and the rhythm of your breathing stays steady.

He swipes his phone over to the video setting, hitting the record button as he palms the fat of your tits, letting his fingertips dig into the skin lightly. His veiny hand explores your chest as the camera picks up all the evidence. He allows his hand to slide down the valley of your breasts, slipping across to your ribcage and down to your hip before he stops dead in his tracks.

This is too much of a risk, you’re being fucking crazy.

He stops his recording and shoves his phone back away into his pocket, biting his lip as he scans your body one last time.

Your body reacts to the loss of heat quickly. Your brows furrow and your cherry tinted lips form into a pout. Your legs stretch and move as your busy subconsciously tries to find a more comfortable position. Your leg falls to the side and your head turns the opposite way.

Rafe is frozen solid the entire time, too scared to even blink. He stays that way for a couple minutes, feet locked into his spot and watching you closely for any signs of rousing from your slumber.

But to his surprise, you don’t. You stay blissfully unconscious, your tits still exposed to him.

He doesn’t even realize he’s doing it until it’s too late. His cock throbs in the palm of his hand as he grips the base, choking back groans as he begins to slowly pump his length.

This isn’t bad, right? It’s just jacking off. I’m a man and she’s got a nice rack. She would understand.

He bites his tongue and presses it into his cheek as he tightens his grip around his needy member. His tip is red and weeping, streams of precum oozing out and dripping down the rolling veins that decorate his shaft.

He slowly inches closer, dragging his feet across the floor as he speeds up his needy movements. The muscles in his forearm tense and ripple as he desperately pumps himself, waves of dopamine shooting throughout his bloodstream as he stands beside your sleeping body.

I’m fucking sick.

He knows it’s wrong, but he can’t help it. He reaches out and lets his hand run up your smooth calf, shuddering at the contrast of the smooth skin against the rough pads of his fingers. They trail up carelessly to the expanse of your thighs and he has to hold back the animalistic urge to squeeze your skin.

Come on Rafe, stop it. Stop here.

His internal battle proves itself to be irrelevant as he does in fact squeeze the skin, his other hand giving his pulsing cock the same amount of pressure.

His breath hitches in his throat and he feels like any composure he’s had is long gone.

He brings his hand up and pulls your shorts to the side, not even caring about the audible moan that falls from his lips when he takes in the sight of your wet pussy.

He bites his lip until he tastes the metallic tinge of blood, sliding his hand up and down his cock as his thumb brushes over your clit with featherlight pressure.

You begin to stir, your body jolted by the foreign feeling, but he doesn’t seem to care. He lets the pad of his thumb press down onto the tender bundle and slide down to your entrance, dipping into your sweet center. He pulls back and traces his index finger across your wet slit before pushing in.

“Sh..shit…” he speaks aloud, sitting onto the mattress.

The sudden shift causes you to snap your eyes open, your vision hazy as it adjusts to the light. Before you can even form a coherent thought you’re suddenly aware of the pressure inbetween your legs. You blink harshly, clearing your eyes of the remaining haze and look up to see two blue eyes staring back at you.

His mouth is moving but you can’t make out his words.

Sitting up abruptly, you scoot back and rip the headset off of yourself, tossing it haphazardly into the floor.

“Rafe?” You squeal in shock, your pulse pumping wildly through your veins.

“Shhh.. sweetheart. Please!” He nearly begs, scooting closer to you. “You’ll wake your whole family.”

You look down and notice his right fist gripping around his cock.

“Just relax, okay?” He whispers.

He hooks his finger into your gummy walls and you let out a strained gasp, looking down to see your best friend knuckle deep in your pussy.

“R-rafe… what a-” you choke on your words as he withdraws his finger and plunges back in.

“It’s okay… shhh.. feels good, doesn’t it?” He murmurs, moving his thumb up to rub circles onto your swollen clit.

Your fatigue ridden brain is having trouble keeping up as waves of confusion and pleasure spread throughout your body.

“It… I don- fuck. W-what are you doing here?” You whine, your hips instinctively bucking closer to his hand despite your best judgement.

“Just wanted to look at you.” He croaks as he resumes his jerking motions on himself. “Then I… I just couldn’t help myself.”

The desperation in his eyes shouldn’t turn you on. The way you woke up to your best friend touching your body shouldn’t turn you on.

But even still you find yourself rhythmically grinding against his hand, dropping every single question from your mind as his finger brushes against a sensitive knot in your core.

“Yeah, there you go.” He coos, scooting closer to you and releasing his grip on his erection to paw at your tits. “So fucking pretty. Wanted to put them in my mouth so bad.”

“So do it.” You say before you can even think, reaching up to rid yourself of the fabric that served no purpose anymore.

A smirk grows from ear to ear before he leans forward, cupping the area right below your breast and right above your ribcage to push your skin into his mouth. He doesn’t stop the curling movement of his finger, he adds another one into your now drenched pussy as he sucks and licks at your nipple. You can’t help but arch your back into him, using both of your shaking arms to keep yourself propped up. He hums and groans against your skin as he removes his fingers from your core and hooks a strong arm around you, ridding you of the struggle and pulling you into his lap.

“Let me fuck you.” He whispers against your neck as he leaves hot open mouthed kisses to the sensitive skin.

You do nothing but nod eagerly, lifting yourself off enough to pull your shorts off in a rushed motion, him yanking his jeans and boxers down in the process. He reaches behind his head to grip the neckline of his shirt and toss it to the side. He grips the base of his cock as you sit back down and slaps it against your core, making you shudder at the sting it leaves on your aching clit.

He holds himself steady as you line his head up with your entrance, slowly sinking down to take in his length. The stretch is blissfully painful, and you take your time to let yourself adjust to him. One of his hands settles on your hip and encourages you down while the other rests against your throat, not adding pressure but leaving a tingling burn where it sits. When you sit fully down his head falls back and his fingers dig into your skin, gripping around your hipbone.

“So… so fucking big.” You sigh, rolling your hips back and forth.

His ego visibly inflates and he nods slyly. “I know. And look at you taking every fucking inch.”

A strained whine digs its way from deep in your chest and echoes off the walls as you lift yourself up and sink back down. His thick cock pushes against your clenching walls and fills you up beyond what you’d ever thought was possible. You get your rhythm and start bouncing up and down, crying out each time his tip kisses your cervix.

“Gotta be quiet, baby doll. Your parents would never let me over again if they knew I was fucking their little innocent princess like this.” He whispers and runs his fingers over your bottom lip, eyes widening when you accept them and let him lay them flat across your tongue.

You hum around his digits and whimper when he bucks his hips up to meet your own, sending a shockwave through your core. He takes notices and does it over and over, a satisfied glint apparent in his hooded eyes.

Your walls contract and squeeze around his throbbing length as the tension in your stomach threatens to snap. You flash your doe eyes at him and swirl your tongue around his fingers as he pounds into you from below, every ragged breath that falls from his mouth fanning across your skin.

“You’re close.” He says matter of factly. “Give it to me.”

He moves the hand on your hip to the space where the two of you meet, rubbing fast circles on your swollen clit. You’re coming undone around him before you have time to utter a response, biting down on his knuckles and clawing at the skin of his chest. The pleasure tears through you like a wildfire, every synapse in your brain firing and focused on the orgasmic relief Rafe is giving you.

He pulls his fingers out of your mouth and moves both hands to your hips, lifting you up and down like a toy as he ruts into your pussy. “Gonna let me cum in you? Let me.” He grits his teeth as if he’s holding back. “Tell me to cum in you.”

“R-rafe, please.. cum in me. Don’t want you to pull out.”

With the dirty confirmation he craved, he releases, spilling hot white ropes of cum into you and painting every inch of your walls. You feel his warmth flood your core and you slump against his chest, rocking with every deep breath he heaves.

You sit like this for a while, sweaty and sticky and fucked out as he lazily runs his hands up and down your bare back. The beat of his heart against his chest is almost enough to put you back to sleep, but you whine when he lifts you off of his body and sits you back in your original position against your pillows. You sit in silence as he collects his clothes and redresses, smoothing his hair with his hands.

He slowly makes his way back to the bed and uses an arm to keep himself steady as he leans down and places a lingering kiss to your temple. He stands up without a word and walks to your window, undoing the latch and pushing it up. He turns around with a smirk and a deep chuckle before he crouches down.

“Gotta make sure to keep this thing locked.”

˖ ݁𖥔.☁︎.𖥔 ݁ ˖

taglist: @stepbrorafe @bunnycvnts @hewwokitti3 @pinkribboncoco @rafesgiirl @beautifuldisaster88

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dmslidez · 2 years

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Check out our Galaxy High Sandals @dmslidez now! https://dmslidez.com/products/alien-weed-blk-slide-sandals

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bimbobaggins69 · 3 months

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˗ˏˋ𝐇𝐀𝐕𝐄 𝐀 𝐓𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄 ˎˊ˗

bar-back e.m. x fem reader

blurb request: barback!eddie who let’s you try his newest concoctions on the house🤭 by @bcyhoods

authors note: thank you for participating in my little celebration and sending in your request(s), love. This was such a fun one to write and totally got away from me. Anyway, hope you like! <3

✷ ALL OF MY WORKS ARE 18+

A fog of smoke greets you as you walk through the double doors of the hideout, some run down dive bar in the middle of bum fuck nowhere, surrounded by cows and cornfields. You can’t help but grimace as each step you take is met with sticky resistance under the soles of your brand new loafers.

You take a seat at the bar, running your fingers over the skirt of your dress while you wait for the bartender to notice you and while you do, you take in every inch of him; in his black leather jacket, long brown waves and rings galore. He’s not like anything you’d ever seen outside of an MTV music video.

You’d spent your whole life around preppy assholes who thought polos and boat shoes were cool. They’d never be caught dead in that bad boy attire or much less in a sketchy place like this. That thought made your heart race with excitement, you set your sights on him and prayed your sweet charm and flirty banter would work in your favor.

“Uh, what can I get ya, sweetheart?” The smoothness of his voice instantly makes you want to clench your thighs, but you decide against it as your eyes meet his.

“Mmm, got anything sweet?” You ask with a flirty smile, you don’t want to lay it on thick too soon, just little by little for now.

“Sure, I can whip somethin’ up for you.” He says proudly, bending down to grab a whisky glass and a bottle of some fruity liquor. “Sorry, we don’t have anythin’ more fancy, we really only get beer and whisky orders here, if you can believe it.” He says sarcastically as he looks around the smoke filled bar, met with older working men and bikers who were, to no surprise holding an aforementioned beer or whisky.

“It’s fine.” You say, waving off his apology with a small swat to the smoky air. “So… aren’t you a little young to be bartending?” You ask curiously, also as an attempt to keep the conversation flowing.

“Ah, well you’d be right. I’m not quite a bartender yet, more of a bartenders assistant if you will. But…” he looks around with dramatic flare, making you giggle. “She’s not around at the moment, so looks like you’re stuck with me, princess.” The pet name sends a thrilling swoop straight to your stomach.

“Maybe I wanna be stuck with you.” The words are out of your mouth before you have a chance to fully process them and you immediately want nothing more than to swallow them back down. Your face heats up with humiliation when he raises an eyebrow that gets lost somewhere underneath his shaggy bangs.

He doesn’t even acknowledge your little slip up, instead he shakes his head as a smirk forms on his pretty lips, all the while pouring some red liquor and pineapple juice concoction into your glass. You both let the awkward silence flow around you, although the bar is anything but silent.

“So, tell me what ya’ think?” He beams, scooting the half filled glass closer towards you. The silver of his rings glint off of the yellow lighting and you can’t help but want to do some very shameful things to those fingers while he’s wearing those rings.

After the third concoction of his amazing fruity cocktails, you begin feeling that familiar burn in your chest. You’re nowhere near drunk just feeling loose, which was never good for the people around you.

“So, why haven’t I ever seen you around?” The metalhead asks as he takes a seat next to you at the bar, the bartender had since come back and told him he was off the hook for the rest of the night.

“Well, I was on my way to Loch Nora to visit family…but, well I got a flat and pulled into the parking lot and thought why the hell not? I could use a drink before I go see my uptight aunt and asshole cousin.” You ramble, before stopping yourself with another sip of your coconut cocktail.

“Uptight and asshole seems to be the theme in this shit town.” Eddie chuckles as he watches you between sips of his cheap beer.

“Uptight and asshole also seems to be the theme in my family.” You quip back with a small smile.

“Well I don’t know about uptight but asshole is definitely the theme in mine.” He smirks as he playfully pushes into you with his leather clad shoulder.

“Yeah, well you haven’t met assholes until you met the Harringtons.” You say back with a playful push of your own.

“Harrington? As in S-Steve Harrington?” He stammers, turning towards you in his bar stool as his eyes bore into yours, awaiting your answer.

“Oh, so you’re acquainted with king asshole?” A smile radiates across your face that makes Eddie noticeably gulp.

“Y-yeah, I guess you could say that. But, yeesh I think you might have me beat, sweetheart.” His laugh is boisterous and loud over whatever metal song is playing through the old speakers.

“Tell ya what, how bout I call you a tow truck and cab…and uh, these drinks are on the house since you were nice enough to be my taste tester.” The look on his face tells you he’s anything but ready to see you go. So of course, in your loose as a goose but extremely coherent state, you say something you never would’ve just an hour ago.

“Well, since you gave me something to taste, it’s only right if I do the same, no?” You throw in a flirty wink in a desperate plea to stick the landing of your intended innuendo.

What you didn’t realize was that he was in the midst of taking a sip of his beer and once those words slipped past your lips he immediately went into a violent coughing attack, his eyes wide as if in complete and utter disbelief while you swat at his back, trying to help him catch his breath.

Once his coughing died down, his eyes met yours again and the apples of cheeks bloomed a pretty pink, embarrassment clearly overtaking him.

“W-were you serious?” He asks, as if he was contemplating your proposal and that had the thrilling swoop vehemently returning to your stomach but now it traveled down towards your core as you clenched around nothing.

“Very.” Is all you say, but your eyebrow lifts in question before you begin to stand from your barstool.

Your hips sway seductively as you make your way to the dingy bathrooms, a smile overtaking your futures when you hear sneakers squeak behind you. You push the door open and are immediately met with graffiti riddled walls; it’s filthy, disgusting and so fucking thrilling!

You hear the door shut and lock behind you, and when you slowly turn you’re met with those warm brown eyes that you’ve been fawning over all night.

You don’t say another word, instead you take a few calculated steps over towards him before pushing him up against the graffitied door and smashing your lips into his, in an intense and desperate kiss. He moans into your mouth when your tongue sloppily glides against his, the kiss is all consuming and has you weak in the knees.

His lips pull away and you chase them with a whimper that has him smirking down at you with a cock sure grin.

“Up on the counter, princess. I want that taste you promised me.”

✷ LIKES, COMMENTS AND REBLOGS ARE SO APPRECIATED, LIKE YOU’D SERIOUSLY MAKE MY DAY (:

#— 𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐈 𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄𝐒 #eddie munson #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x you #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fic #eddie munson x female reader

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jointherebellion215 · 1 month

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Birdie

John "Bucky" Egan x female!reader

Summary: A rare night out in London has Bucky coming to terms with his feelings for you.

Word Count: 2.9k

Tags: mechanic!reader, songbird!reader, female!reader, she/her pronouns used, drinking culture, cursing, mutual pining, moderate bouts of denial, insecurities, women supporting women because it's what we deserve, let's pretend that The Old Therebefore is an ancient Appalachian folk song in this universe, maybe she's a Mary Sue idgaf, I just wanted to write something happy so LET ME LIVE, WWII era, there's no Y/N but reader has the nickname "Birdie"

A/N: Yeah, I'm obsessed with Masters of the Air. I had to write something for my mans before the creative procrastination literally killed me. Please leave a like, comment, or even a reblog if you're so inclined :)

You can read my OC version of this story on AO3!

Songs Mentioned in This Fic:

Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy by The Andrews Sisters

G.I. Jive by Johnny Mercer

The Ole Therebefore (Accapella) by Rachel Zegler

Disclaimer: I own nothing. This story and any recognizably named characters are based solely on dramatic portrayals of the characters from the series, not the real individuals they represent. All the respect to the actual service people who fought and died in the Second World War. Also, don't copy my writing without explicit permission. That includes you, you AI sonuvabitch.

Your heels clicked on the cobblestone streets, turning into the pub you’d heard so much about. You were out celebrating a very rare weekend off. The Brass had somehow allowed you and twenty other mechanics from base two days leave, so you took advantage of the opportunity and headed straight to London.

Your two best girlfriends from base were with you. Teresa was one of the toughest nurses you’d ever come across. She could give you a wide grin, crinkles around her hazel eyes, and reset a broken bone without breaking a sweat. It helps that she was already working towards becoming a nurse back in New Mexico, the war just sped along that process. You had bonded over your love of books, giving each other recommendations almost weekly.

You’d met Irene on the boat to England. She puked on your shoes almost thirty minutes exactly after leaving the port in New York. You gave a small grin, offering her a handkerchief and a piece of ginger candy and the rest was history. Finding out that she was a fellow mechanic was the icing on the cake. Coming in at a whopping five foot two, the spritely blonde could easily be found in a crowd with her loud Appalachian accent.

It seemed almost like fate for the three of you to have found each other. Being some of the few women on base naturally made you close, but you were closer with Irene and Teresa than any of the others. That’s not to say that you weren’t friends with any of the men, because you were. Friendly.

All three of you were dressed to the nines, in contradiction to your everyday work wear. You all got ready together in your hotel room, giggling while you applied makeup here, spritzed some perfume there. You all felt confident and were ready to have a good time. You spotted some familiar faces and made your way over towards them, your friends linked arm-in-arm with you. Lemmons was the first to greet you.

Of the fifty men on the ground crew, Sgt. Ken Lemmons was the most welcoming of them all. From the get-go, he didn’t care if you were a man or woman. He just wanted to know that you were capable. You were sure he had to go through some hazing because of his age, which probably changed his perspective on gatekeeping the job. This made earning and maintaining respect a lot easier for the women on your crew. We all came over with the same goal, it was better for all if we just helped each other out.

“Hey Birdie! Nice to see you out and about.”

Ah, the famed nickname. You tend to hum and sing under your breath when elbow-deep in a project. It helps you pass the time and clear your mind. Of course, the rest of the ground crew quickly caught on to this habit of yours, which quickly earned you the nickname “Birdie”. You, of course, never sing solo in public, so this confuses anyone who’s not around you while you’re working. But the name stuck, so here you are. Birdie.

Chairs are quickly cleared for you and your friends, which you all graciously take. You go up to buy some drinks, knowing what your friends like, and quickly return with your drinks of choice. Conversation flows, laughs are shared, and a few drinking games are played over the next hours. Teresa soon speaks up on a topic you’d been hoping to avoid.

“Do you think he’ll be here tonight?”

You shrug and look into your drink, “Dunno. Why does it matter?”

Irene, the ever supportive best friend that she is, backs up Teresa. “What do you mean ‘why’? This is your chance to finally make a move!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You quickly deny, taking another sip.

An unladylike snort leaves Irene, “My ass! You and Major Egan have been making googly eyes at each other when you think the other’s not looking for months. I’m saying it’s time for you to perk your tits up, buck on over and ride that—!” You slam your drink on the table, pressing your hand over Irene’s mouth, heat rising to your cheeks in embarrassment.

“Are you insane?” You whisper harshly, looking around to make sure no one overheard you. You seem to be in the clear, which makes you calm down a bit. Irene pushes off your hand, takes a swig of her drink, and consults the person who started this whole conversation.

“Am I wrong?” You look to Teresa, who cringes slightly in agreement.

You gape at the pair of them. Normally, you were the median between the two girls who had vastly differing opinions. But this is what made them come to a consensus? Unbelievable.

“Look, I’m not saying that I don’t want to.” You start, which makes your friends nod encouragingly at you. “It’s just that… Is he really as interested as you think he is?”

They both groan and slump against each other, like they’d just run a marathon. Teresa sits up, scooching your chair in closer so that the three of you were in a private triangle, cut off from the rest of the group.

“Let’s look at the facts here, okay?” Teresa starts to tick off a finger with each point she and Irene make. But you seem to always have a rebuttal at the ready.

“He brings you coffee every morning.”

“I thought he does that for everyone.”

“He constantly fixes his hair when you’re around.”

“He takes care of his appearance!”

“He walks you to the mess hall every day for dinner.”

“We just happen to be going the same way. And we happen to have the same dinner schedule.”

“He read The Hobbit when you said how much you loved it.”

“He’s an adventurous guy, it’s an adventurous book, what’s not to like about it?”

“You two literally will walk and talk outside alone for hours.”

“A man can’t have a stimulating conversation with a woman?”

“He laughs at all your dumb jokes.”

“Hey! They’re not all dumb. Like, the one with the goose and the—”

“Point proven. Anyways! He has your picture in the inside pocket of his jacket.”

That one stops you in your tracks. You brain tries to justify this meaning but comes up blank.

“He…” You struggle with an excuse. “He…” Your best friends give victorious smirks in your direction.

“He… likes the extra padding in his jacket?” You stutter over what is possibly the most pathetic, sorry excuse you could have ever come up with.

“When are you gonna admit to yourself that he likes you? Like, actually truly likes you?”

You gave a sad sigh, letting the insecurity you were feeling deep down come to the surface. “I just… He’s just so…” You had stomped down your feelings for so long that it was becoming hard to articulate what exactly you’re feeling.

“He just seems so unreal. Like, of everyone he could have chosen, why me? I mean, I know I’m great. But you’ve seen the other girls on base. They’re all so beautiful, smart, classy… and none of them are covered in engine oil ninety percent of the time.” You looked down at your hands, specks of grease and oil peeking out from beneath your nail beds. It seems like it would never completely wash out, no matter how hard you scrubbed. You hadn’t even painted your nails for this weekend, knowing it would be money wasted come Monday morning when you’re back on the clock.

Teresa and Irene share a look that you don’t see, then come forward and grab each of your hands.

“The words you just used to describe those girls. All of that is you, Birdie. That and more. You being a mechanic doesn’t make you any less of a woman, and to hell with anyone else who thinks otherwise.” You nodded in agreement, Irene’s words of encouragement slowly washing away your anxieties.

Teresa spoke up next, “You deserve someone who will rearrange the stars and the whole night sky for you. And I’m more than willing to bet that Major Egan is up for the job.”

“Besides, none of that 'unreal' stuff. At the end of the day, John Egan is nothing more than a man. If he can’t look past his nose and his d—" You gave a squeak to cover up the vulgar word Irene was about to blurt in public. She rolled her eyes fondly and continued.

“If he can’t see what you’re worth and make the effort to treat you a hundred times better than that? That’s on him. Not you. You know what you deserve, and you deserve everything you want. Absolutely everything.”

You sniffed, happy tears coming to your eyes. You brought your best friends in for a hug, thanking them profusely.

“Don’t sweat it,” Teresa grins into your shoulder “every girl needs to be pulled out of her well sometime.”

You pull back from the hug, grabbing your glass and tipping your head back, finishing the rest of your drink. “Even if he’s not gonna be here, let’s have a ball!” Your girlfriends cheer as the three of you go to the bar for refills.

One drink turns into two, which turns into a few more, and suddenly you’re buzzed. Your group are having a rambunctious time, Irene dancing by the local piano player. Once Irene looks over to you, she stops and whispers in the player’s ear. He nods, then starts a new tune. Irene starts up her voice, walking over to you and Teresa, encouraging you to join her.

The alcohol has loosened you up enough that you don’t feel the nausea you usually associate with being perceived, so you join in the harmonies you and your friends have practiced in your bunks at night.

He was a famous trumpet man from out Chicago way

He had a boogie style that no one else could play

He was the top man at his craft

But then his number came up and he was gone with the draft

Soon the whole pub was jumping and dancing along to the tune as you brought a new vibe to the pub. It was like a spark that started an entirely new night and everyone was eager to go on forever.

One song turns into an entire set, which ends with a full rendition of G.I. Jive, which had everyone singing along. It was a magical moment; made you feel like you were a part of something important.

Irene sidles up to you, giving you a hug. She says in your ear,

“I think it’s time to slow it down a bit. How about you sing that song I taught you.”

She means an old Appalachian folk song that’s been in her family for generations. You had heard her sing it one night and immediately loved the dark, but strong nature of the lyrics. It was an honor to learn it from her.

“I don’t know, it’s your family’s song and…”

“And I can’t think of anyone better to sing it to these soldiers.” You gave each other a look, her slight eyebrow raise gave you the courage to nod in acceptance. She smiled, hugging you again, her voice yelled out to the crowd.

“Birdie’s gonna sing solo!”

The announcement is met with raucous applause, Irene and Teresa shoving you towards a dodgy looking table. Crank offers a hand up, which you take gratefully. As you find your bearings on the tabletop, you quickly spin around and find all eyes on you.

The crackling energy in the air seemed to simmer, the fast-beating hearts of the pubgoers recognizing a moment to acknowledge you. Nausea starts to make an appearance, but a deep breath quells the sensation within you for the time being.

You take another deep breath. Inhale, exhale. Inhale. Exhale.

You close your eyes, open your mouth, and sing.

Meanwhile….

Majors Gale Cleven and John Egan walk down the familiar street, one eager to catch up with his fellow countrymen’s alcohol intake, the other just happy to spend time with his friends. They were arriving later to the festivities due to being caught up in filling out reports. By far the worst part of having a higher rank was the paperwork.

“It’s pretty quiet.” Buck acknowledges. “They’re usually rowdier by this point.”

Bucky sniffs, shrugging off the concern. “Ah, it’s probably nothing.”

As the two men approach the pub, they find that a crowd has formed. Soldiers, civilians, RAF, USAAF, old, young— people had obviously stopped to watch whatever was going on. It was dead silent, save for a voice singing. Was there a radio show on or something?

A familiar face peeks out at them from the crowd, DeMarco quickly waving them over.

Bucky is quick to question, “Hey, what’s going on?” but is immediately shushed by nearby crowd members. Buck cringes in apology, despite not being the one to disturb the peace. His best friend, ever unshaken by the opinion of strangers, carries on.

DeMarco leans in, whispering, “Your girl’s taking us all to church.”

“My girl..?” Bucky’s nose scrunches in confusion. He makes space through the crowd and quickly makes sense of DeMarco’s words. It was you.

I’ll catch you up

When I’ve emptied my cup

When I’ve worn out my friends

When I’ve burned out both ends

Standing on a tabletop, watchful eyes sat all around you like baby ducks flocking to their mama. You were captivating everyone with each note and word that flows from your mouth. Damn, you've got a set of pipes— a voice that belongs on the radio, in concert halls, on Hollywood records. He had no idea.

His little Birdie.

“Wow.” Buck mutters in awe from behind him, and Bucky couldn’t be more in agreement.

When I’m pure like a dove

When I’ve learned how to love

He hadn’t noticed before, but her eyes were closed. Like she needed to concentrate on each and every breath she took, every single movement her body made, before letting them out in an angelic melody.

As if by divine intervention, her eyes pop open and lock on his as she belts “how to love”

It could’ve been an eternity, for all he knows, the amount of time that they spent locked in each other’s gaze. The world pauses around them, everything frozen. Her eyes were already the kind to knock a man clean off his feet with a single gaze, but he thinks- for a brief moment- that his heart completely stops beating.

John Clarence Egan would swear every day from then on, until his dying breath, that the course of his life was altered in that very moment. He knew how it would continue from then on, and how it would end. How he wanted it to end.

Then the world starts back up and carries on.

Right here in the old therebefore

When nothing is left anymore

Her final hums are joined by a short blonde woman who stands nearby, another face he recognizes from base.

The applause that picks up after the end of the song is near deafening. The star of the hour gives a shy smile, a quick curtsy and is given a hand to step down from the table.

Everyone soon starts mingling, the normal chatter of the bar returning. But Bucky is stuck in his spot, dumbfounded. In all the conversations you’d had together, somehow this never came up. He should’ve put two and two together, as he recalls overhearing your hums one morning as he made his daily coffee delivery to you. But you had been caught off guard, so much so that you tripped off the ladder you stood on and fell. Luckily, his quick reflexes kicked in to catch you before any serious injuries occurred.

Remembering the sensation of his hands on your waist and thighs, face just inches from yours, sent his brain into a tailspin. That’s not even considering just how damn cute you were when, after a beat, you turned away from him and playfully mourned the cups of coffee that were splattered all over the hardstand.

“John. John?” A hand waving in front of his face knocks him out of his reverie. He blinks once, twice. Then looks to his best friend.

His voice comes out uncharacteristically weak in response, to which he then clears his throat and corrects. “Yes—yeah?” He pops the collar of his sheepskin jacket to try and hide the rampant red of his ears that signals the heat radiating from them.

Buck just shakes his head and gives him a knowing smile. “You sure know how to pick ‘em, Egan. Never thought I’d see the day.”

“See what day?” Bucky starts to consciously return to his body, leaning on the bar.

“The day when a girl finally knocks you on your ass. I knew you had a thing for her, but that?” He points to his face and motions to indicate where they had just been standing. “That’s something else. That’s something real.”

Bucky gives another shrug in response, to which Buck throws back an unconvinced frown. He turns his head to gaze over the pub patrons and is distracted by you once again. Any denial he was about to spout immediately dies in his mouth when you lock eyes with him again and give him a dazzling smile. The world starts to fade away again.

His heart pumps faster in his chest at the sight. Damnit. He sighs, telling his best friend the truth he’s been privately wrestling with for a while now, all the while keeping his eyes locked on yours.

“I know, Buck. I know.”

Bucky smiles back at you and is elated when your face lights up. You give him a wave.

“She kinda snuck up on me.”

261 notes · View notes

1800titz · 6 months

Text

Hi friends! I’ve been sitting on this for about 3 months now and had the spontaneous urge to share. More lengthy authors note is over on wattpad. ٩(◕‿◕)۶

This one is going to be a long, chaptered fic, and here's the first chapter!

Also, big thank you to Miss @freedomfireflies for her help brainstorming <3

WC: 6.5K

Harry thinks that prissy, pretty little princesses stowed away in his cabin, tied up with ropes like haphazard, shibari interpretations, outweigh all chests, upon chests, of dainty sapphire emblems and chunky pendants of gold. This particular …treasure, in fact, is worth far beyond her weight in pure gold. A sight for sore eyes, too. Still sopping from the sea, her low-cut neckline clinging to her flesh and her skirt sheerly draped over her parted thighs.

It’s a nice view.

Seren doesn’t know how she’s ended up strapped to some horribly uncomfortable stool in a rocking room that’s wood, ceiling to floor.

Well.

She knows that the boat she was on was a victim of piracy. She knows that the ship, aimed for Holland, met an unsightly demise at some point, in open ocean, between Rotterdam and Harwich. She knows she’d been in a cabin of the Mary when the first strike landed, when flames erupted over the forecastle, when the deck turned to screams and a beautiful morning of calm skies, wisps of white she’d admired minutes prior, meant virtually nothing to the tightening in her chest.

The pirate leans back against the wall. His eyes, like emeralds, wind over her shape. She grits at the balled fabric between her teeth, chest heaving. He’s a man — a man’s man, unlike in appearance to the men she’s used to spending her pastime around, back home. The kinds who wither at the sight of the wrong fork at the dinner table or something, and turn their noses up at the thought of carrying something heavier than forty pounds. The kind whose hair coils pristinely, seemingly solidified rock in place. The kind who carry umbrellas to ward off the glaring rays of the sunlight as they stroll through the courtyard of shrubbery in their fancy shoes and fancy garments. This man is not that type of man.

He’s different, she can see it just in the way he carries himself. He’s not scared to get his hands dirty, he’s not scared to do the work. The crest of his left cheekbone wears a scar, a nick, so small she wouldn’t see it had he not stepped into the buttery beam of the daylight cast through the little window on the precipice of wall and ceiling, particles of dust dancing in the makeshift spotlight. His fingers, adorned with chunky rings, his hands — they’re calloused, like a laborer. She can see it from her view. His garb is simple, clad over his skin for purpose and comfort, solely.

But simple isn’t the term she’d deem best to describe him, not with his myriad of accessories, from the trinkets glinting from his holster, to his plethora of rings, to the mysterious, rusted key that dangled in the glen between his pecs. That one’s highlighted against bare skin in the vale of his haphazardly unbuttoned shirt. From there, she can see ink over his torso, carved in shapes over swarthy flesh. All sorts of pictures; beaks, and wings, lines of careful shading and others of jet emphasis; thicker, deeper sketches in contrast.

He’s clean shaven, which is unlike any pirate Seren’s ever heard tall tales of. His mouth is pink, cushiony in shape, and when the corners of his mouth turn up, dimples wink awake beside the curl. An even slope of a nose, and jade irises that brew with mischief. Seren can almost see the way that the flinty shade would brew with a storm, like the sea. If he wasn't a pirate of the boat that’d throttled her own, sent it spiraling into the ocean as nothing but husks of chipped wood and dying ember, maybe she’d find an alluring quality to him. But it’s not food for thought.

“Should we try again?” he prompts, in his tantalizing cadence.

When she’d heard him speak, for the first time, she was floored. An Englishman. An Englishman, youthful and spry, sailing a pirate ship, and pillaging when so much more could be in the books for such a man. So much potential, wasted. What a crying shame. She’d heard of pirates, of brutish criminals from her homeland, but they were always, for some reason or another, older, unprepossessing, scarred and crude with unkempt beards and a lack of morals, too far gone to redeem. They had eyes much too hungry for riches, and lewd, groping hands that were much too focused on flesh. Seren eyes his hands. They’re colossal. He hasn’t touched her in that way, not like that, but the lazy smirk over his plush mouth, the way his irises rake over her neckline, down the meshified front of her dress — that practically urges her not to count her blessings too soon.

When he squats just ahead of her, watching her in pause, his eyes glinting with this sort of condescension, because she’s indisposed and at his whim, Seren wishes her legs weren’t bound to the legs of the chair. She’d kick him, if she could. She’d scream, and kick, and claw, and—

“Are you going to start shouting again? Is that what you’re thinking about?” he murmurs, the corners of his mouth buckling. When she’s unable to respond, for obvious reasons, the man cups his palm over the shell of his right ear and twists his head a tad, leaning towards her a smidge.

“M’gonna need an answer, if you’d like to me to un-gag you. M’specifically gonna need a no,” the pirate prompts, a jesting air to his tone that Seren would love to crush. Her chest is still heaving from the last screaming fit, from the first time he’d tugged at the rope pressing to her cheeks and pulled the smushed fabric off of her tongue. His mouth twitches wryly.

He plants his forearms onto his thighs, casting his gaze to her as he weighs out the options, lips crooked, but eyes narrowed, just a bit, in a way that wordlessly suggests she comply.

“Let’s give this another go.”

When the man digs his forefinger under the abrasive rope and yanks it down, over her chin, and then plucks at the outside of the makeshift gag, Seren doesn’t nip at his fingertips. She’d tried that, the first time, but he’d retracted before her teeth could come into contact, his mouth jolting at the fire within her he’d underestimated. She expected a smack, she’d expected her neck to twist as her cheek bruised in response to the attempt, but he’d just stuck his tongue against his cheek, all mirthy, until she’d started to scream. Then he’d gagged her again.

So.

That was a failure.

The second the back of her throat meets the air, rather than the garbling cloth, the young woman starts screaming. Again. He’d kind of expected it. It’s a very lovely attempt, she’s quite loud, and all, but unfortunately, her efforts are sort of moot. That kind of thing tends to happen when you’re miles, and miles, and miles out in the open sea aboard a ship of men who work for the opposing team. Harry would clap if he wasn’t putting on a show of tucking a finger into his ear at her shrill cries. Eventually, he just watches her, letting her scream for a bit, and she holds seething eye contact as her help rises in pitch.

“Okay— alright,” Harry shakes his head, balling the cloth, daubed with her saliva, and shoving it past her lips haphazardly. She attempts to spit, but can only wriggle as he presses the rope back over her mouth like the task is effortless.

For a moment, neither of them say anything. The princess can’t. Harry tuts.

His tone carries notes of amusement when he tells her, “You’re quite pitchy. D’you know that?”

Seren stares him down.

“Have you got rocks in your head?” his lips nearly jolt up at the blunt nature of his own inquiry. They don’t. “I tell you not to scream,” he waves with an arm, “you scream anyways. I say, let’s try one more time, because— you know. Maybe you didn’t get the memo, the first time.”

The princess watches him talk, bemused. He gestures with his arm like a tired parent, stressed and lecturing a menacing, little child.

“And you yell again. So I’m wondering, have you got rocks in your head?”

Seren says nothing. She does wriggle in the restraints, like his question has insulted her enough to launch at him. But she stills when he squats ahead of her, once more, her heart hammering behind her ribcage.

“Who’s going to rescue you?” the pirate asks. It’s obviously rhetorical, and he knows she can comprehend that much. When the roll of her chest slows and she settles back, he can see it in her eyes that his point has left her crestfallen. His mouth quirks, and Harry presses again. “Who?”

When he knows that the message has sunk in, when she stares at the wall behind him, blankly, the only evidence of her consciousness being her glazed over gaze and the flare of her nostrils on every inhale, Harry sighs down at his palms and shakes his head.

“I’d just like a chat.”

Seren twists her head away. As much as the binding over her neck and face allows for, anyways. Harry tuts.

“So glum. You’re alive, aren’t you?” he cocks his head, voice low, “You’re not at the bottom of the sea. Not like your little boat.”

Those words hit a nerve, he can see it in the way she side-eyes him, the flame reignited, kindling in her scorching gaze. The pirate nods down at his hands, twisting a ring with a ruby red gem, like a shitty mockery of a moment of silence.

“It can’t possibly be comfortable, sitting with your mouth full, like that. And you must be thirsty, what with all that saltwater you were gargling,” he raises a shoulder, a coy reasoning to his speech.

Seren doesn’t want his stupid water. He’d probably poison her, have his way, and roll her off the ship, back into the raging waters he’d pulled her from. Harry blinks. She doesn’t offer an inkling to show that she’s willing to comply, but he stands and reaches for the rope, digging the pads of his fingers under the binding, over her cheek. His forefinger brushes the corner of her parted lips.

“Third time’s the charm.”

Though, he doesn’t sound the least bit convincing, not even to his own ears. He cradles the square of cloth between his fingertips and listens to her screams for a moment.

And then he startles her when he starts to harmonize with her screeching pleas. The first one is enough for her vocal chords to stutter, for her to jolt back in her seat, alarmed.

“HELP!” Harry calls, stretching the vowel outweighing her own scream in volume as the young woman’s own dies off, and the princess balks, startling in the ropes at the sound. He takes a pause for a deep breath, and screams again, “HELP!” banging on the wooden beams over the ceiling, bumping with his palm loudly, in an outrageous display that’s clearly meant to taunt. The sound of him striking it, alone, causes her to jump in her restraints.

He’s unhinged. Seren is convinced. Her spine straightens out like an arrow, and her shoulders square as she ogles the bizarre display, watching him strike over the ceiling, the walls, stamp the soles of his boots against the floorboards. After a second, he settles down. His hand is crooked against one of the beams overhead, and his gaze roves over her slowly. Purposefully. The corners of his mouth curl up sardonically.

“It’s not a very nice sound, is it?”

He’s deranged. His screws are loose, Seren decides, her eyes still wide as the racing pace of her heart settles in her chest — but any man who sinks ships for fun, in the open sea, who sails and pillages, and murders innocents with a hunger for riches, has screws loose. These aren’t insightful revelations. Maybe she’d just expected him to be less …bizarre, in their interrogation. He was going to get his answers out of her — they were his, they were going to be, and there’s no kidding about it — but the young woman is unsure of what answers he’s looking for or why. Why, why, why. Why did these pirates sink her boat? It was nothing but a small ferry in comparison to the opposing monster of a galleon. It wasn’t even a merchant ship, there were no riches to be stolen. Ironically, the pirate reaches a hand out, and Seren fidgets until his fingers clasp over her ruby pendant. He lifts it from her skin with prodding fingertips and a gaze of scrutiny.

She won’t give him answers, the princess decides. Whatever dialogue he may want from her, she won’t comply. She doesn’t know what he has in store for her lack of subservience, but she doesn’t care. She will not bend her will for this mangy brute.

“This is a pretty piece.”

Loose tendrils, clumped wetly, sway as she jerks her neck to tug the pendant from his grasp. She fails. His digits twitch and flex over the pendant, and the chain digs into the skin at the back of her neck with the faulty motion. The corners of his mouth quirk up as the princess makes an mmph.

That’s a pretty sound.

“M’not going to steal it. What kind of a man do you take me for? We’re good men here, on this ship,” the pirate declares, a sort of vehement passion to his statement, but the crook of his mouth says it’s an unlikely story.

So do the remnants of her boat, somewhere at the bottom of the sea, Seren thinks dryly. Maintaining eye contact, he lets the pendant settle back between her collarbones. It is a pretty piece, Harry wasn’t lying. Real gold, too — no princess would wear something less. But he’s got no need to pilfer it from her. Every molecule of her being, every cell, will pay out tenfold the cost of the necklace. It’s with that thought that he fixes the gag back into place and leaves her, trussed to that chair in the cabin.

“Ta,” the pirate bids in his slow roam towards the door, a glance aimed over his as he tucks his fingertips into the belt holstering his array of daggers, one handle bejeweled. The look he fixes her is sure, the kind that’s relaxed, but showcases that his word is final and will be the outcome. “Chat soon.”

Fun fact; being tied to a shoddy, little wooden chair for hours on end fucking blows. Especially when your hands are bound, in such a way where the rope weaves through the pegs of the back of the chair, keeping your joints wrung together tightly. It’s really aggravating to have a coarse rope, its weaving splintered with pinprick-y tufts, stuck up over your cheeks to hold some sordid rag in place between your teeth.

It’s safe to say that the experience is not one of Seren’s most favorite past-times. She’s not sure how much time has passed before that heavy wooden door creaks open on its hinges, again. Only a few hours, it must be. The crack of a window behind her hasn’t broken with nightfall, though the light cast through its opening has dimmed, if only a little.

It’s the same pirate as before. All glimmery jade and the bare vale of tanned skin from the unbuttoned sector of his shirt, where she makes out a faint dusting of chest hair, between his pecs.

The princess is still a gorgeous view, in Harry’s opinion. Her thighs are still splayed, but her cream dress has dried some, now, and so has her hair. It’s wild, mussed and frizzy. A half-soaked clump rests over one of her eyes.

“Hello to you, too, darling,” he says in response to the glare she fastens him with through the one that’s visible, like instant daggers. The corners of his mouth crook. He ambles toward her with a steel cup of …something. Something mysterious, something unknown, something she eyes warily up until the point where he’s towering over her. The young woman tears her gaze away, casting it up to his handsome face, instead.

He pries and tucks his digits up under the rope that’s settled over her cheeks and drawn ruddy hues, but he pauses before he pulls it down.

“Y’gonna get loud?”

Seren doesn’t say anything. In fact, she sort of can’t, which is quite nice, Harry thinks, but she doesn’t even make a garbled sound to appease or amuse him. The captain is thankful for what little fragments of peace he’s been granted before he’s forced to endure her ludicrously grating screeching. He weighs his options for a moment, but ultimately, tugs.

Of course, the second he’s pulled the cloth out, the young woman is screaming, of-fucking-course she’s screaming. And at this point, it’s so obviously a ploy to irritate him, and Harry would laugh if the whole display wasn’t so vexing. There’s a tick in his jaw when he sets the lip of the tin cup to her parted, strawberry mouth, roughly — and he wouldn’t be so rough if she wasn’t so fucking loud — and tips. Instantly, that shout is garbled by liquid. It morphs into a cough and a much more tolerable string of sputters, as water leaks over and drenches down her chin, her chest, the front of her dress.

“There we go,” the pirate says, the smooth baritone of his cadence louder over the fit of her coughing, “Attagirl. That’s much better.”

He doesn’t tip more of the beverage into her mouth — a ransom on a princess who’s drowned in her own lungs is worth virtually nothing — and lets her cough and sputter a little longer. She strings together a sequence of breaths he deems good enough, before he smushes the rim of the metal cup back against her bottom lip.

“Drink,” Harry advises and nudges the tin back in a way, again, so that the liquid sloshes and spills out into her open mouth.

This time, she doesn’t cough. She expects it, the water. The princess affixes her top lip lower to siphon the beverage and takes a few swallows. Harry watches her throat bob, and he watches a little rivulet escape, too, dribbling down the corner of her mouth in a little streak. It drips down her chin, down her neck. His pupils follow the trail. He gives her a little break part-way, once the tin is close to empty and her neck is craned back with the swallows. He draws it away. Good. That was good, nice and easy. As easy as it could be, given the circumstances.

Except she fixes him with this horrible glare, again, as he pulls the cup away. This glare that speaks volumes, this glower that should warn him of his error before he lets it happen. Harry doesn’t catch the drift. Only a glimpse of her cheeks puffing before she puckers her lips and spits the remnants at him, coating the bottom-most half of his linen with a mist of the water. His belt too, and a bit of his trousers.

And then her mouth is empty and she’s just scowling at him, head tipped down in a way so that the chunk of her frizzy tendrils settles back over an eye. Harry doesn’t waste a second before angling the cup, miffed, and flinging what little water is left in the cup right back in her face.

And the way her eyes screw shut, the way her lips fall open in silent appall the second he returns the energy, (except, he’s far more polite, in his humble opinion. He doesn’t spit at her like an improper animal), when she’s doused in the chilled liquid, and it coats the face-framing layers of her hair, her lashes, and drips down her chin — that’s the highlight of his day.

He doesn’t instantly fix the gag back into her mouth, or slip the rope back over her irritated skin. He watches her, his jaw set, and when the young woman opens her eyes, she sees that storm brewing, manifesting — the kind she’d only imagined prior, in the flinty green of his irises. Like he’s harnessing his own composure. But then he takes a step back, and just. Leans against the closed door. Like he’s scoping her with his gaze. Like she’s just this shiny thing for his sight to pore over.

And Seren thinks that feels worse than if she were to face the bite of his skin against her own, the swat of his palm against her cheek. She’d rather that, honestly.

Her skin is cold from the water. She’s still sort of reeling that he’d done that, to begin with. He’s drumming the pads of his fingers against his bicep, over the nearly-sheer, cream sleeve of his shirt when he asks, a serious note of authority to the molasses of his speech, “Do you know who I am?”

Seren curbs parroting the question wryly. As much as she’d love to tell him her father will torch the ship he rides upon and hang every member of his crew, him and his stupid fucking dimples included, she’s sure that all she’ll receive in response is a grating twitch of his pink mouth.

“Hm?” he prods, making a show of cupping a palm behind his ear and steering his torso forward a smidge, half-expecting her response to be a series of shrill cries, for the hell of it.

Her answer is not one he expects. Frankly, the man doesn’t expect an intelligible response, the history of her opting for incoherent shouts, considered. But she speaks, afterall. It’s soft in decibel, feminine, and pleasant — her voice, unlike the aimless yelling he’d become accustomed to. Even still, it carries that undeniable note of derision.

Seren tells him, “Someone …terribly disturbed.”

Harry almost can’t help the way his cushiony mouth quirks.

Almost.

“Disturbed?” he scoffs, sardonically mirthy, “She spits at me like a fucking …filthy animal, and I’m disturbed. Aye, I’m disturbed.”

The princess makes daggers with the gaze she sends in his direction. He lets her simmer in the wake of the light insult, for a moment, just drumming over his bicep, his mouth twitching in a kind of way that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“I’m the captain of this ship,” Harry supplies softly, jade narrowed.

There’s a twitch to her face then, something that slots by and withers in the blink of an eye. Something like recognition. And, fucking finally, Harry thinks — he can practically hear the angels croon at the crumbs of reception, from her, to his authority.

“That means,” he motions out with the cup, his other arm still crossed, fingers wrapped about his waist now, “I’m in charge.”

His voice is soft-spoken, a croon that spells it out for her, if she hasn’t already caught the drift.

“I’m in charge of this ship. This crew,” he takes a step forward, ducking his chin as his eyebrows tip up a bit, “And you. And that means I’m in charge of what happens to you. So don’t you think it’s in your best interest to behave?”

If he expects her to bow down and kiss the toes of his scuffed boots, the young woman doesn’t bite the bait.

“You’re nothing but a mangy sea brute,” Seren declares, then, her chin held audaciously high, despite the ropes binding over her breasts and the foreboding ocean that sways beyond, with ravenous threat. He could lug her off onto the deck and chuck her off the plank, tied just like this.

He doesn’t.

He just stays leant against the wall, arms crossed over his bare chest.

“Mangy sea brutes,” the pirate weighs her words, nodding slowly as he purses his lips in deliberation. And then his brows pinch together, “that’s quite insulting, actually. I take pride in my appearance, I’ll have you know.”

“Mangy,” the young woman confirms, venom in her tone.

The pirate props himself up and off, taking a languid step, each syllable of his cadence laced with condescension, “Now, rugged—“ and open mouthed smirk, a nudge with his chin, “I’ll accept. You don’t think I spend time in front of the mirror, darling? Mangy. What a rude word. I wasn’t aware that Siren, Princess of Essex was so abrasive.”

There’s a flicker of something in her eyes when they flash to him — something like sharp surprise, mottled with pique. Like she didn’t expect him to know who exactly he was harboring upon his ship. The corners of his mouth crook. She’s seemingly appalled that he’s done his research. The glint of shock is gone, as soon as it shows itself.

“Oh,” the captain takes a slow step forward in this sort of way, as if his body language is entirely meant to taunt her, hand in hand with his tongue, “I see. You thought I didn’t know who you were. Just some nameless, pretty little thing on my ship.”

It’s a purposeful dig — the mispronunciation of her name. It’s only a vowel off, it could be chalked up to simple error, but it’s blatantly to mock her. Really, it’s a funny little dub since she enjoys spending so much screeching like the nuisance of a blaring alarm that just won’t shut off. It’s meant to demean her, to belittle her, because not even her name, blue-blooded and all, is worth correct pronunciation. That’s what she seems to hone on from the whole revelation, Harry finds.

“Seren,” she corrects with bite, that same glower she’d worn prior reincarnated.

The man takes another step. He cups behind his ear, and Seren promises herself that the moment she’s freed, she’ll personally chop off his stupid fucking ear for all the times he’d cupped behind that shell of it that way, so condescending. “What was that?”

“Seren,” the young woman scowls, “Seren, Princess of Essex.”

He pauses, a cinch in his brows with this patronizing nod, like he’s weighing her correction, and then he tells her, motioning with an arm as the cinch relaxes, “Siren, Seren. Tomato, tomato.”

He motions with his palm nonchalantly. She wants to bite at his fingers. She doesn’t.

“How dare you?” the young woman says instead.

Harry’s mouth quirks. How dare he? What a pompous inquiry, molded by prissy lips.

“How dare I?” the pirate repeats, and then just lifts his shoulder in a casually apathetic shrug. He takes a third step forward, raspberry lips smug and curled, “I just… dare.”

And before the princess can voice her obnoxious protest, he shoves the cloth into her mouth and tugs up the rope, plucking a garbled sound of anger from her in the process.

The silence is wonderful.

By the time Harry returns to her for the third time, it’s well past nightfall. Light stops leaking from the crack of the window. Seren watches the shift, the way it rolls as the hours tick by, in the room. It morphs from behind her, its bright gold slipping into a darker orange, mottled with pink, and then dimmer, and dimmer, and dimmer, as minutes leak away, until all that’s left is dusk and the glow of the moonlight.

The door creaks. She almost doesn’t see it, but she hears the pad of his boots over the wood and twists her neck to catch the sight of his legs as he steps through the threshold.

“Honey, I’m home,” the pirate calls.

Her eyes strain their sockets to catch the moonlight cresting off his cheekbones as his head dips, the dimpling that rises awake beside the corners of his mouth as they turn up at his own jest. He’s holding something. The captain winds around her, through the coat of darkness, and settles somewhere she can’t see. A thump, like something being set onto a table. Then, soft breaths fill the void of the silence. A strike of a match. Her eyes are forced to adjust to a warm, buttery glow as the little beam of fire, merged to a lantern, and then another, sends gold bouncing wall to wall.

That’s when Harry sees that she's managed to make a home for herself on the floor, the chair she’s been restrained to tipped on its side. He almost doesn’t think anything of it, for a split second, but then, as the pads of his digits work buttons through their slits to disrobe, the pirate casts his gaze up for a double take. A twisted coil of satisfaction blooms in his chest as he observes her, the thought that whatever faulty maneuver she’d made to escape had resulted in this, and, well. That makes something joyful and mean bud.

Seren listens to his boots, the step of them slow against the floorboards, until she sees him towering over her, in her peripherals. Her pupils shift.

“Comfortable?” his brows climb with emphasis. The work of his fingertips over the buttons on his shirt are sluggish. Tired. She notes that motion, too — that fact that he’s actively shedding clothes. Nonchalantly. And it must show in her eyes, then. Something vulnerable, something uncomfortable, something raw, and petrified, because, yeah, she’s a petulant, little princess strapped to a chair in his cabin, against her will, and she fights him tooth and nail in every instance that he comes to visit her. But she’s a princess strapped to a chair, against her will, and it’s nightfall, and his skin is growing more bare, square inch by square inch, as the seconds pass.

He must note that — whatever that shows, because the quirk of his priorly mirthy, strawberry mouth slips a tad. And then his features shape something relaxed. Something tired, again. Like he’s too worn.

The sarky comment has those same traces of exhaustion seeping into it as his dismissive gaze disengages, honing on the work of his digits as he loops the final button through, “Don’t flatter yourself, sweetheart. You’re not my type.”

The cloth slips apart, showcasing more skin. A line of hair from below his belly button, in soft, dark wisps that melts off behind his belt. Sturdy muscles of his abdomen that ripple as he moves, chin ducked—

His palms cup over the belt of holsters, and that clinks as he discards it, too, winding around to, she assumes, set it somewhere. And then, more skin to pore over when he returns, the sharp cut of a V, decorated with laurels, emphasized by the low hang of his trousers. He cocks his head down at her, like he’s contemplating. Contemplating what, Seren’s unsure. He moves out of her line of sight again.

Her arm aches. She’d tipped over onto it what felt like hours ago, and it’d taken the brunt of the fall, lodged against the side of the chair with the situation of her joints being married in the bindings, behind her. She’d managed to roll forward on her shoulder, just a tad, so that the press against it wasn’t constant, but it still fucking hurt. Her palms, down to the tips of her digits, were numb, she had this heinous crick in her neck, and she’s sure that the moment she’s able to stand her tailbone will hurt like hell. If she’s ever allowed to stand again. Maybe he’ll hurl her into the open ocean, strapped to this godforsaken chair, afterall.

For now, he just hauls her up. His touch — warm — skims the opposite arm before his palm wraps over the beam over the back of the chair and tugs, leveling her with ease. The young woman squeaks against the gag as she hovers, terrified to drop straight onto the limb again. She doesn’t. The pirate sets her straight with a tired grunt. His sight scales her arm, the one she’d toppled onto, and Seren can’t see, but she assumes it’s not in the most pristine condition. And then his touch smooths over the ache, a crease over his brow bone as his eyes pry, and she bristles.

His mouth twitches, but it’s tired. Tired after having to deal with her, tired from whatever he’d spent his time doing beyond the cabin. Tired after sinking her ship and taking her hostage, Seren thinks bitterly. How exhausting. And Harry takes his hand away.

From her new, upright view, she can see that little metal cup — the same one he’d brought her hours earlier. He’s set it onto the table, and she knows it wasn’t there before, which means he’s brought it with new water. Seren turns her head to face it. It’s the most she can manage given that she can’t tell him what she wants, what with the gag and all.

“Thirsty?” he notes, chin over his shoulder in her direction as he shimmies the sleeves of his shirt off. Seren eyes the expanse of naked skin as it expands, from cuts of muscle to ink sunk into the flesh of his arm. Certainly, if she wasn’t before.

The princess doesn’t answer. She can’t, and she’s not going to resort to a string of pathetic hums to get his attention. The captain sets his shirt onto the table in a pile of disarray, beside his belt, and takes the cup. When he makes his way over to her, Seren’s eyes don’t follow his figure. And for a moment, there’s only a deliberative sort of silence. She doesn’t look until he talks, until his tone is far more serious than she’s heard thus far.

“If you spit it at me again, I will personally make sure you lick it back up, off the floorboards.”

And wisely, she doesn’t spit the liquid back up at him when he tugs the gag free and tips the rim of the cup against her mouth. Seren doesn’t doubt he’s the type of man to follow through on his words. But that’s not why she drinks — she drinks because she’s fucking thirsty. Her tongue’s gone dry, and the back of her throat pinpricks with an uncomfortable soreness, and because the lukewarm liquid feels good spilling down her throat. She cranes her neck back, throat bobbing, and doesn’t stop until he’s pulled the cup away himself, and a little rivulet of water dribbles down the corner of her mouth. She takes a big gulp of air and expels it.

And then, with angry sorts of eyes, the princess declares, “I’m hungry.”

“You’re hungry,” the pirate mirrors, but it’s only wryly amused — his tired, sardonic smile doesn’t reach his eyes, and he sets the cup back onto the table with little urgency to get her food. “We don’t offer room service.”

“You haven’t fed me once today,” Seren declares indignantly when he winds behind her, out of sight. And then there’s a sigh and a creak, the kind that seeps from mattress springs compressing. “This is— this is cruel, I’ll have you know. This is torture, this is—“

“Thank you for your honest review, we’ll make sure to take your feedback into account,” Harry chimes at her in true, facetious fashion, scrubbing over his eyes with a palm as he knees his way onto the bed. And then the pirate tells her, with a more serious note to his drawl, before she has a chance to interject with another complaint, “If you’re going to talk all night, I’m going to put your gag back in until the morning.”

Seren doesn’t say anything. Finally, she doesn’t say anything at all, and it’s splendid. It’s peace and quiet, and all he hears, for a perfect moment, is the creak of the wood and the subdued roar of the waves.

“I don’t want to stare at the wall,” the princess speaks, eventually, like a petulant child. “Why am I staring at the wall?”

“Because …that’s the way the chair’s facing,” Harry responds, matter-of-factly and almost instantly, sure that a note of irritation has managed to teem into the words despite his best efforts. He will not let her know that her efforts of poking are chipping at his composure, he won’t.

And for another moment, Seren doesn’t say anything. He lets his eyes drift shut.

“I want to face you,” the princess says, eventually, and her tone implies she’s taken the bridge of silence to build the phrase up into something more demanding, something royal and authoritative. If he wasn’t so fucking tired he’d laugh.

“You want to watch me sleeping?” she hears the pirate from behind her, his honey-smooth drawl grown raspy and lower from, seemingly, exhaustion, “That’s an odd request.”

Her brows furrow as a scowl paints her mouth. The bed creaks in the gap of quiet. Every hair stands on end when, suddenly, he’s inches from her, his presence looming and warm from behind, with calloused fingertips brushing the side of her neck in their venture towards that godforsaken gag.

“Just turn me!” Seren shrieks, “Just turn me, and I’ll be quiet!”

He doesn’t put the gag in. He winds around her, hand still on the rope, his features shaped with apathetic seriousness, “If I turn you because you want me to turn you, what good am I at putting my foot down? Hm?”

Seren blinks up at him.

“Please,” the princess tells him, hushed and earnest, “I don’t feel …safe.”

His brows twitch. There’s something that blooms in the jade at her admission, but it flits by, gone as quickly as it’d appeared. And then his brows furrow, and he looks absolutely exasperated, the subtle downturn at the edges of his mouth emphasized with the roll of that same jade. The pirate scoffs, and his boots stomp over the wood, each step an inclination that his frustration has leaked into his body language.

“I told you—“ the legs of the chair screech against the floorboards — he doesn’t even grunt as he maneuvers her with ease, the motion rough like it’s a chore, “—that you’re not my type. Not everybody wants to fuck you, your highness.”

Seren blinks, pupils poring over the priorly unseen sight of the opposite end of the room. A slit of a window, brushing the edge of the wall that merges into the ceiling. A bookshelf of literature and knickknacks. A dresser, a queen-sized mattress on the floor. The pirate still looks absolutely miffed when he walks toward the table with the lantern, bare shoulders squared and the muscles in his back rippling. He sets the light out, kicks off his boots, and falls into the bed unceremoniously.

It’s a victory.

And for a moment, Seren thinks he’s just going to wordlessly roll over to avoid her prying gaze. He doesn’t do that. They bask in the crash of the waves outside, the darkness, and their quiet breaths. He’s got this knack — Seren’s learned. This skill of morphing from sarcastic and teasing to broodingly serious, and it’s mercurial, sort of. She wonders if this brooding side’s what’s brought him to lead an entire ship.

“Be quiet now,” the pirate drawls from the sheets, in that broodingly serious cadence, “If I hear another word, I’ll personally carry you out onto the deck, and you can sleep in the chair out there.”

The man rolls over to face the wall. Seren doesn’t say another word for the rest of the night.

#pirate!harry #pirate au #piraterry #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfic #harry styles smut #harry styles writing #harry styles x oc #dom harry styles #harry styles #harry styles dirty fanfiction #enemies to lovers #harry styles enemies to lovers

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dtpreek · 4 months

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#no socks with sperrys #fashion police #gay #gay pride #love #preppy men #celebrating tumblr's fratty and preppy gentlemen #boat shoes #feet #sperrys

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tarjapearce · 8 months

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~Iridiscent (Pt. 3)~

PirateAU! Miguel O'Hara x Mermaid! Reader

WARNINGS: Historical figure use, historical figure research, Historical timeline inaccuracy just for the sake of the plot. Angst, betrayal, GORE, feels, slow burn.

Summary: Enemies rise, loyalty is shaken and a new purpose is born.

Disclaimer: Edward "Ned" Low belongs to history ✨

Pt. 4

His men were nowhere to be found, And the sailing time approached. He'd go to Kingston, and then sail up towards the Honduran coast to get a hold of a Spanish brigantine. The wood extracted from the country were surely one the best, after all many of the carpenters used it to repair their ships.

Even though he said two nights the urge to go just sunk in deeper, not because of the mermaid, but rather for safety. He never remained more than 3 days in a same place, not when the Spaniards and English men were hunting and executing pirates, and press ganging the remnants of the crew.

He went to a tavern to get something to eat. He wouldn't waste the chance to try good food, cause once on board fish would turn into his main protein source.

Mostly of his crew were men that just like Mundaca had once said to him, were people that were pushed into a life of piracy due poverty and lack of chances at a modest yet deserving life. Most of them used to be underpaid farmers, workers, common people that none would actually believe to be now pirates and ransackers that preyed on spaniard and english ships.

The Red Eyed Demon had a penchant for attacking the english navies, after all, the man that had killed his biological mother was one of them. In fact, the first thing Miguel oathed to himself to do once he'd turn into a feared pirate, was to plunder and destroy as many english ships he could in name of his mothers.

An english man had killed his mother, an english boat had brought Adia to his old home and it was an english doctor that had left him without hope since he refused to actually give any further aid to his daughter.

With the spaniards he meddled little to nothing, unless they had valuable cargo. Sadly for him, most of the valuable cargo seemed to be slaves. Slaves that whenever he could, would free them, and drop them in the nearest port.

He'd been there, in their tattered shoes and sullied flesh. Some flogging scars were still etched into his back, always reminding him where he came from.

Some of the slaves would stay with him and offer their lives in gratitude. As messed up as their logic was, he wouldn't waste the talents offered to him.

But right now, he couldn't see none of them, but a few passed out in the tavern. The supplies were being loaded into his ship. Flour, a couple of live cattle and farm animals to keep fresh food on board, and of course, grains and legumes.

He ate a stew, some bread, cheese and rum. He wasn't picky with his food, life at sea supposed a vast array of issues, inanition, dehydration, scurvy and other sickness. As soon as one of his men presented symptoms of incurable disease, he'd put him down and throw him over the plank, even if they had been there for more than six months.

Life at sea was slow, like time had froze. But in land, changes were always happening. And of course he'd adapt to survive.

Right now his food was all that mattered, unbothered by the raucuos carousing around him, he ordered another plate, until his appetite was satisfied. He left a couple of gold coins and headed to his ship. A man however bumped into him, red eyes fixed on him but quickly dismissed him, knowing his conflictive nature.

"Watch your step" Edward Low mumbled as he deepened into the tavern. Miguel left, not really in the mood to give the man the attention he craved.

A few of his crew members were rounded up in the threshold of a hut, they seemed to be discussing but one of them shut up as soon as he saw Miguel walking to his galley.

The rest just watched him with unreadable expressions on their faces. Their captain, always busy and so reserved, but a good and fair captain nonetheless.

A bit too good at times for their own likings. Specially when he treated slaves as equals.

But none of that mattered as their gazes trailed up behind him, their goosebumps making a presence in their skin as none other than Captain Edward 'Ned' Low waltzed his way towards the dock, in the same direction as Miguel.

They rose and followed Low's little group from a safe distance, watching and ready to jump if needed.

"Oi! O'Hara!" Low called as Miguel stopped, annoyed brows furrowing deeper.

"Mind to share where'd ya'get this... beautiful shiny pearl?"

Hijo de puta (son of a bitch)

His mind cursed, and of course reprimanded himself for not paying enough attention. Edward had been a petty thief his whole life, but pick pocketing was his best attribuition. The bumping back in the tavern was enough for his nimble hands to scourge his pants pockets.

Miguel wasn't really interested in the pearl, he could have it. What actually had pissed him off was the audacity the man, although tall by everyone's standards still seemed small compared to him, had to actually tried and pick pocketed him.

"Merchant back there have more of those." He turned to face him, hulking figure stepping closer, hand stretched towards him with a glacial stare.

"Give it back."

"Didn't know you were into this mermaid nonsense"

The men behind sneered at him, as Low toyed with the pearl with his fingers.

"Do you know what I'd do if I ever get my hands into one of them?"

"Kill them in a horrible way only you know?" Miguel’s face showed nothing but boredom at Low. He had heard about the many and different kind of torture methods he used to get people's information, and even those who surrendered peacefully ended up being treated abominably by him.

Thirty four years, just like himself. Same age, yet different mentality. Same age yet different motivations. Low's was madness and making a name for being a possible psychopath. Miguel's was more purpose oriented, a call that he had attended long time ago.

"You seem to know me, sweetheart" the last word was spat with venom, "Mind if I keep it?"

"Give. It. Back." Miguel seethed, and even still kept a calm attitude. The least he wanted was to cause unnecessary trouble or to draw attention. But Edward surely was making it difficult. The day seemed to have risen with the only purpose of annoying him.

"Just looking, just-" He munched on the pearl trying to prove it's authenticity. Much to Miguel's dismay the pearl was coated in his saliva and sand as Edward spat it in the floor.

Miguel kneeled to pick it up, and it was the perfect chance for Edward to attack, or at least attempt to do so. Miguel connected the first punch in his stomach knocking the air out of him, but Low wasn't giving up that easily. He connected one on Miguel’s jaw.

Both men seemed to be fighting but in reality, Miguel was just containing him. A hard butt head on his forehead however made him grind his patience to dust. He took Low by the collar of his shirt with one hand to punch him square in his right eye. Low cackled as Miguel bared his teeth at him. Some gasped upon seeing pointy canines underneath his lips.

"Como vuelvas a intentar robarme, me aseguraré de que nunca vuelvas a usar tus manos de nuevo, ¿¡Entendido?!" (If you ever try to rob me again, I'll make sure you're never able to use your hands anymore, understood?)

"Sorry mate, can't understand shite!" He tried to punch Miguel again but his arms only flailed. A click of a gun was pointed at Miguel and it only unleashed a domino effect as everyone pulled out their guns and pointed at eachother. O'Hara crew vs Low's.

A knife however was thrown in between the two. Red silky lace flowing at the end of it; a clear warning to behave.

Sheng Hyun pulled the knife back and glared at the both.

"Edward Low..." Miguel threw him on the floor as he went back to his business. He'd let Sheng to deal with him.

"The fuck y'want!?" Edward spat as he staggered while standing up.

"This is your second warning. We will not tolerate your instigations any further."

One thing everyone knew about Low was that once his derangedness started, nothing but blood could stop it. He lurched for Sheng, that as gracefully and fatal she was, neutralized him with a kick at the last minute, knocking him against the wooden board, Sheng's right foot stretched enough to reach his throat, pressing tightly against him, refraining herself by crushing it completely.

A set of curses in her native language flew out of her mouth as she hurled Edward to the ground. She was small, but vicious and lethal. Exactly why she was part of the council and perfect for her role as the peace keeper. Miguel understood that men like Edward, pushed people's buttons too fast and too rough. It was pathological at this point.

Edward enjoyed torture and the bloodshed, it was rare if ever when he showed mercy.

Miguel’s crew finally gathered up after the ruckus and immediately tended to prepare his ship.

"I'll fucking hunt you down, O'Hara!" Low kicked dirt as he yelled his promises.

"And when I do?! I'll take everything you hold dear away from you, you mixed bastard!"

His eyes settled on Low for a moment, red eyes cold and sneering

"La vida se te adelantó en eso." (Life beat you to it)

Ignoring the ongoing provocations of Edward, Miguel sailed away. Rested with a restocked ship, ready to get the wood for future upgrades.

------

The soiled pearl was washed from all impurity and tucked back into his pants.

"We gotta fish out, Cap!"

"Set the course. Tighten those rigs well cabrones!"

By the position of the sun he'd guess it was around midday, their usual fishing spot would take them another hour to get to. Some of his men still recovered from the hangover and the excess of enjoyment they had the previous night.

The quarter master, Elliot Jackdaw, the few of the english people he actually tolerated, approached to his office.

"Men are quite confused, Cap. Thought you had said two nights, why leaving so soon?"

"A hunch."

"Oh..."

Miguel's intuition often served as a life saver, and the crew soon learned to trust him. And if his intuition deemed necessary to go, he would.

"Right. I'll let them know."

"Elliot?"

"Aye, sir?"

"After restocking, set the course to Honduras. Wood exportation season just begun."

"Aye, Captain."

He remained inside, removed his hat and half tossed it on one of tables nearby. He removed his coat and pulled out a little thin gold necklace, a little shell shaped locket. The only tangible memento he had from his little girl.

The awestruck and dreamy eyes she gave him when he showed it to her for the first time was still burnt into his core memories. Gabriella loved to hear the stories about the mermaids, something her long gone mother had told her in hopes to quiet her down. The locket had been a bit too large on her small neck, but that didn't stop her from wearing it.

It'd be quite the disappointment to tell her, if she'd had the chance of surviving, that they didn't exist. His hands rubbed his face, and then tucked the locket inside his pants as well.

Miguel’s nose flared, exhaling tiredly at his upcoming thoughts. He removed the weaponry off his body. Belts filled with little knives he used to throw at front coming enemies, gone. His gun attached to his hip, removed and placed on his desk. The arm braces loosened and removed, leaving his wrist bare.

His armoring was stripped off his body, the ever human reminder of his flawed and sullied flesh thanks to life's hardships only made his lips to curl softly. He had many scars that were worn proudly, each of them an experience that made him who he was.

Leaning to his chair, he closed his eyes and gave a final shaky breath before letting tiredness to take over him. It was little times like these that allowed himself to be weak enough to be unguarded and physically vulnerable.

---

The clicking of a gun jolted him awake, eyes snapping open as he saw three men standing before him, Elliot in the middle, sneering at him.

"Sorry, Cap, but I think we need a new administration aboard."

Miguel's hands fisted in anger, but knew that retaliating was futile. His weapons were out of reach and his men knew his fighting style. But the two weren't his men, surely had snuck in as the ship was getting restocked.

" Just when I was getting a change of heart about your english scum fellows you just prove to be the worst of them all."

"Get over it, Cap. Pretty sure you'll end up with an english woman."

"Your point is?"

"It's not personal, Cap."

"It feels very personal to me, Jackdaw."

"Too fucking bad. Do you know how much the english and spaniards are offering for your head alone?"

The hollering outside at a bounty fishing made the ship to tilt to the right.

"Captain! Come see this!"

The distant voice of the cook he knew so well called him, and that's when he realized, The mutin had only been planned by a few insiders, it still hadn't reach outside. Or it all could be a trap.

None really was safe from the mistrusting fits that took over Miguel.

He tried to stand on his feet but another clicking of a gun echoed behind him, he was surrounded. He was forced to stand up and pushed out of his quarters, guns aimed to his head.

"Alrit' you fuckin' city rats. There is a new Captain in this fucking ship!"

The men quieted down as they stared both in surprise and in awe as Miguel was brought to the deck, circled slowly bit by bit, by not only the traitors but those who had held a silent grudge against him for quite the time but were patient enough to let a chance like this to rise.

" Set the course for the American shores, we're dropping him to the english, we'd get paid and split the loot."

"And you think an english man betraying his captain is a good example of good faith?"

"Shut yer'gob, you bastard. You know how humiliating is it for us to have a mixed bred slave to boss us around?"

"Then make it quick, cabrón. If I am to die here, don't waste your fucking time and do it!"

"Gladly so, Cap."

As Elliot pulled out his gun, the fishing net, full, wriggled violently, the rusted chain creaked until it snapped under the weight. Several fishes flailed in the air as everyone stared at the bulging fish mountain that moved, as if something was trapped underneath.

Some men were cautious enough to drag with long tridents the fishes above, Elliot however approached, gun in hand. Sidling around the fish mount that was slowly descending in height.

Miguel's hands were contained, shackles adorned his wrist, chains clinked. But his feet remained steady on the floor. Eyes settled on the fish. His heart thumped miles per hour as a collective round of gasps echoed through the ship.

Bit by bit the fish were removed, only to reveal the biggest fins a man had seen so far. A fin that was attached to a long tail, clad in scales that none had seen before; pearly white, green, rose gold scales, intricately dressing it, the rainbow's grandeur making a show of its presence as the light shifted on them. Iridiscense at its finest.

The men marveled at the colorful pearls that seemed etched into the creature's skin. Hair cascading off her shoulders, her hand, donned with a little see through membrane between her fingers. Her torso seemed designed by a superior being as it was adorned and covered with pearls.

Miguel's eyes couldn't widen more cause they'd surely pop out of their sockets.

A mermaid. A mermaid laid before them. A creature he had refused to acknowledge a good chunk of his life, was now there, before him and the crew.

A creature that seemed confused, a beauty that surpassed everything he had know so far. His eyes tried to blink as little as they could, not wanting to miss any detail of the being that seemed to have swam out of a fairy tale and dragged into human twisted fantasies.

Everyone's breath stilled as her eyes settled on Miguel. The courtesan was right, He could see the stars on them, and to be acknowledged by such thing, bestowed his mind with something he couldn't quite explain. None really could.

"H-Hello" Elliot tried as he approached. Miguel swore that the mermaid's irises narrowed into a sharp slit as she saw the weapon, but quickly went back to their full round shape as Elliot put it away.

"I... I won't hurt you. It's ok!"

The mermaid stared at him, eyes tracing his form. Crouching, broad shoulders, pale skin that seemed to burn red under the sun, blue eyes, short beard, prominent nose and dirty blond hair. A gentle grimace in his face.

The Mermaid extended a hand towards him, and the ones that had weapons, pointed it at her. A defenseless face made Miguel to shout an order. To leave her alone. Her gaze once more on him, and his skin crawled.

"Elliot, step away" Miguel ordered but Elliot was gone. Too enthralled by the siren's beauty to actually pay attention to what Miguel was saying. Even worst when the mermaid seemed to caress him.

A soft tune played in his head, a tune that only Elliot seemed to hear as he relaxed. Another collective gasp as the creature slithered to where the quarter master was. Hands cupping his cheek to finally deliver a kiss on his lips. Everyone was in awe, looking at eachother, unsure of what to do. They looked at Miguel that seemed too stunned to actually do something.

His muscles however twitched once the kiss ended. The mermaid licked her lips and smiled, revealing a harrowing sharp smile for teeth. It was the exact moment Miguel knew Elliot was doomed for good. The lovely irises he was initially met with turned into this sharp slit again, face contorted into something wretched, wicked and evil.

Her tail recoiled behind, ready to pounce, the prey was subdued, and her hunger only seemed more evident the more she crawled onto him.

"ELLIOT!" Miguel shouted but it was no avail, the mermaid pounced on him, biting with sharp pronged teeth at his mouth, ripping his tongue off with a bite. The men around them recoiled to themselves, genuinely scared as the creature kept on devouring Elliot.

The man could only wail in pain as chunks and pieces of his own flesh were munched away and devoured. The initial beauty was tarnished by the cruel reality that were behind the romanticism a mermaid portrayed.

Her pearls were smeared in blood, just as her scales. Dainty fingers were now donned with elongated talons that tore flesh and held the prey still.

The iridiscense was now tainted crimson, and to everyone's horror the light in Elliot's eyes was dulling as the being took a hold of his head and munched with a lurid crunch on his throat, finally stealing the vitals from his body.

Even though he was shackled, Miguel took the weapon of one of the traitors and fired at the air, stopping the entity's attack. She snarled at him, only to give an inhuman and shrilling wail, before chomping down on the corpse and dragged it to the border.

"Don't let her escape!" Miguel ordered and the few that remained on his side, dared to throw one of the tridents at her, but missed. Miguel fired again and this time the bullet grazed one of the upper fins, making it bleed, but no matter how much of a ruckus they made, the mermaid's task was seen through.

Talons dug through a man's throat, killing him instantly, blood oozing like a pipe had exploded. It made some men to slip and fall. With a final glance at Miguel, the Mermaid smirked before going back to the sea with a body trapped in her mouth.

Men rushed to peek their heads, carefully, overboard to see if they saw any traces of their old quarter master.

Another splash was heard, as Miguel's tried to keep himself a float.

"Captain!" Some of the men were shot immediately as they tried to save Miguel. Their bodies were thrown over the plank board.

Miguel's eyes could only witness as his ship, a ship that he had worked so hard for, a ship that he named after one of the biggest heartbreaks he had ever experience, the last memory of his skewed father figure, sailed away without him to command, without him to look after it.

Keeping himself a float was harder when his hands were heavy and the constant struggle was wearing him off. His head collided with a loud thud against the moving ship.

His ears didn't hear anything after the hit. All sound was drowned, and his lungs felt a burning sensation, distant heartbeats turned weaker, his blood obscured his sight, nothing but darkness below. Darkness that seemed to pull him closer and deeper into a deadly embrace.

His arms felt caged in a hug, and the sea waves lulled him to sleep.

Fight

The distant cry of his survival instinct thrashed in his mind.

Wake up!

Darkness and calm were way too inviting for him to turn his back on them.

Not your turn yet, Papa

His eyes snapped open. Stars above him, like a distant blanket that refused to fall ontop of him yet. His lungs were no longer burning, even though his head still spinned. His body was drained of any traces of energy.

The soft coming and going from the waves, kept him grounded. Anchored to life. He was alive. Pulled away last minute from death's grasp.

He was on land.

---

Taglist:

@nerdykat @munixumai @raiirai @sarapaprikas-blog @deputy-videogamer @rizahawkeye1380 @littlenyx @marit332 @iz-iplier @mad-hatter-rici @viriexo @obi-mom-kenobi @allysunny @tayleighuh @lishdfish @not-ur-average-fangirl @freehentai @darksidecorner @winteringfalls @ellasarich @eustashh @nyxismoon

@murnsondock @pluviophilis @oooof-ifellforyou @tojismommymilkers00 @plusultrayokai @teacoffeeflavored @ctizu1 @dickfartcheesy @s0lm1n @vonev

#miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #atsv miguel #pirate au #mermaid au #t writes✨#spiderman 2099 x reader

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eetherealgoddess · 3 months

Text

ꨄBeneath The Watersꨄ

Oneshot - Yandere Mermen/Soulmate Au

❦Y/n, a new marine biologist, was working along with her older brother and coworkers on a trawler. They come across the most ethereal yet dangerous sea creatures. Survival rate? Guess who the one percent is❦

Sano Manjiro, Hanemiya Kazutora, Sanzu Haruchiyo, & Haitani Brothers x Reader

Not fully proofread

MY TR FANDOM WORKS ARE ONLY ON TUMBLR, AO3, AND WATTPAD UNDER EETHEREALGODDESS! REPORT IF YOU SEE IT POSTED UNDER ANYONE ELSE BUT ME!!!

Mermaid language is blue

I apologize if I get any Japanese etiquette or culture wrong, I literally have to research the culture for some of my fandom stories so if anything is wrong, please excuse my ignorance.

The guys are mermen princes and they’re all brothers. Their dad is the king so because of their royal blood, they have the gift of singing which puts their victims in a trance, and can form legs. They can also change any human they want into mermaids. They can understand human language but have a harder time speaking it. ‘Human’ language is all languages btw I’m just doing english bc that’s the only language I know.

Notice:

✩Y/n is 18+. I picture her as a black female but you can see her however.

✩Some parts of the story may not be realistic or factual. After all, this is a work of fiction.

✩Although it's a dark 'romance,' I do not condone any of the behavior displayed.

✩Dark content such as: gore, violence, triggering topics, graphic scenes, vulgar language, explicit sexual content, etc.

✩There will be scenes that involve non con and/ or dubcon so don’t read if that makes you uncomfortable

✩That being said, this story is for 18+ only.

Enjoy!

Beneath the Waters

“Did you receive the latest sample for the lab, Y/n?” Darius, her older brother asks as he stands beside her resting form on the trawler. The waves of the ocean rocking the ride slightly as the current carries them on.

“Yes, for the fiftieth time.” She sighs, sitting up from her leaned position against the side of the boat. She pulls her sunglasses off as she places them inside of her backpack. He nods in response as he chuckles.

“Sorry, I just want to make sure you have everything.” He scratches the back of his head with a sheepish smile. She smirks light heartedly as she shifts her arms to rest against her knees which are bent as the platform of her shoes are plastered against the floor.

“There’s nothing to be worried about. I got this! Yeah, I’m new to this thing but you know more than anyone else that I’m a fast learner when I put my mind to something.” She states, waving her hands as she gives him a comforting smile.

He sighs as he looks across the water, “Yeah, yeah I know.” He places his hands in his pockets. “I’m proud of you, Y/n. You’ve come far in this industry.”

“Don’t get all sappy on me now, dude.” She laughs, standing from her spot after their coworkers are heard yelling. She eyes her brother with a raised brow, him mimicking the same expression out of confusion.

The trawler rocks as they walk toward the gathering of individuals, four of them bent as they seem to be pulling a net from the outer side of the boat. Everyone else stands around them. When she gets closer, her eyes widen as she notices a large pink tail flapping around the net violently.

One of the men seems to be holding it down as the woman beside him moves her arms around as if she’s wrapping something quickly. Y/n and Darius walk beside one of the designated divers.

“Check this baby out!” She exclaims, standing from her position as she moves out of the way. Y/n’s eyes widen at the sight of an ethereal looking man. Despite his narrowed icy blue eyes glaring at the employees, nobody could deny the intense beauty of the man’s face. His blonde eyelashes cause his irises to pop as his long platinum hair lays out gorgeously under him, some falling over his shoulders.

Once his wrists are tied, they pull him over the boat, still wrapped in the net as he struggles against his restraints. His long nails, sharp as he accidentally cuts his own skin. Y/n could only look as she felt guilt suddenly overtake her mind. After they bound his tail, holding it down, Y/n had enough.

“I think we should let i-, him go, guys.” Everyone, except the mermaid turns to look at her as if she just grew two heads. Her hands place themselves on her hips as she eyes them back.

“Y/n, you’re new so I’m just going to let this slide. You see, this is a one chance in a lifetime kind of deal, you get it? We’d be the second in years to have not only discovered, but captured a real life mermaid. There’s no way we’re letting him go.”

“But why can’t we just study them down in the ocean as we swim? I know that some can be dangerous but not all of them are.” She suggests.

“Because they are dangerous creatures as a whole. They don’t just think like a fish they can act and think like a human which is bad for us. Not to mention, we’re their choice of food besides other species of fish.”

“I get that but we have gear for that, don’t we?”

“Y/n, stop! Okay? It’s fine, they can breathe for at least twenty four hours outside of water and we’ll put it in a secure tank. If you’re worried about its well-being, it will be fine.” Darius explains, trying to keep her from getting fired.

The blonde merman’s eyes shift back and forth between the two humans conversing, particularly observing the woman who is speaking for the merman. Under the cloth, he licks his lips as he smells the divine scent spewing from the female, closing his eyes as he inhales. The smell brings his tense body to a tingling, relaxed sensation, a deep purr emitting from his body as his eyes shut.

“Fine, alright! I’m sorry. I’ll leave it alone.” She sighs, crossing her arms as she turns away, refusing to look at the creature with pity.

“Alright, everyone! Let’s get this show rolling!”One guy says as they walk over to the netted merman. Before any could move any further, a high pitched whistle sounded in the air, causing everyone to pause. Y/n’s eyes widen in concern as some of the coworkers stop their movements. Everyone stares across the ocean, over the being that’s lying down.

“Shit! Everyone, grab the ear plugs!” Someone yells out.

Y/n immediately turns her body as she runs to her bag. Roughly grabbing the ear plugs as she shoves them into her ears as the sound of a melody occurs. She sighs in relief as she stands from her crouched position, sound muffled as she turns around. Her breath hitches as she watches everyone slowly walk towards the edge of the trawler as they look to be in a trance.

“No!” She yells as she runs to Darius, roughly gripping his arms as she pulls him in a hug, his heavy body walking ahead as if she weighs nothing.

“No! Please, Darius! Wake up!” She smacks his face multiple times as he continues his stroll.

A muffled tune could be heard once more through her ear plugs as she eyes the ocean, four heads peeking from below as only their eyes are shown glaring at the crowd coming toward them.

“Fuck! Darius, wake up! Please!” She runs quickly to grab a random pair of ear plugs dropped from the others. She runs back to him, shoving them into his ears. Unfortunately, the melody is already pulling him in.

She runs to the edge as she blocks him from moving further, though he tries. She turns her body slightly to face the other sea creatures as all the other people climb over the trawler and hop into the water as they swim toward the predators.

“You already have enough, don’t take him goddamnit!” She shrieks. Her nails scrape against the paint as she holds on to the edge as he attempts to push her to the side.

The blonde watches the display as he observes her distressed state. He shakes the feeling of wanting to nurture her, guiding her into letting go of that useless human considering his restraints and her species. The scent gets the best of him as his tail tingles, moaning softly as his eyes roll into the back of his head, the fumes becoming overwhelming as a cold heat fills his body.

The four glare curiously as they ignore their incoming meal to watch the girl struggle. The one with black hair and blonde streaks tilts his head as he watches her actions. He disappears under the water as his yellow tail splashes the water. The other three ethereal beings use their nails and sharp teeth to shred the flesh of their victims.

“Darius, please wake up.” She cries, tears finally falling as he continues to struggle in her hold. The yellow tailed male peaks above the water closest to the trawler as he eyes Y/n.

She makes eye contact with his brown irises. He emerges from the water slightly.

“L-…let go. Too l-late.“ His soft voice struggles to speak English as the human language differs from the sea.

She gasps as she fully turns her body to face the male.

“No! I can-!” Darius shoves her to the side, almost knocking her over as he dives into the water.

“DARIUS!” She releases a blood curdling scream as she runs for him, only to be forced back by the merman jumping from the water and pushing her on her back as he falls on top of her. His tail fits in between her legs as his claws hold on to her wrists. She struggles under him as he uses his heavy body weight to hold her down. Goosebumps form on her body as the water drips onto her from all over, including his hair that drapes over both of them. The symbols embedded into his skin, black and prominent as she analyzes her situation.

“Get off of me! I need to save him!” She yells. He shakes his head as he inhales her scent, his grip tightening when the addictive fumes reach deep into his nostrils. Her eyes widen when his head drops to her shoulder, smearing the water against her neck. Rustling causes both to turn their heads toward the merman who they originally came to the trawler for. The man on top of her points to his restrained sibling.

She ignores him, peaking over his shoulder as the sound of screams and shredding could be heard, muffled through her ear plugs. She grits her teeth as all she could see was red covering the area, splashes here and there but no sign of any humanity. No sign of her brother.

She releases a strangled cry as the emotional pain takes its toll, realization creeping in as she finds it hard to accept her brother’s demise. Her head drops to the floor as her eyes shut tight, tears and snot mixing together as she weeps. The man on top stares in awe as the moisture falls from her eyes, gaining the knowledge of a human being able to express such heart wrenching emotions for another. He uses one hand to hold both wrists as he uses the other to trace the streak of tears. He eases his face lower as she sobs, slowly leaning in to lick the tears before a hiss sounds from the side, reminding him of why he’s here.

He pulls back, using his hand to gently smack her cheek to gain her attention, succeeding as she opens her lids.

“R-release?” He demands, though it comes out more softly as he knows she’s in a vulnerable state.

“Fine.” She whispers, voice hoarse as she sits up from her position. He shifts his body to allow her to stand up. The pink tailed man stares at her as she walks toward him. He observes her intently as she releases his restraints, including the cloth around his mouth causing her eyes to slightly widen as she notices the scars shaping his lips. She also notices the blood staining his wrists from when he cut himself. He sits up as they face each other. She yelps as she grabs his wrist by reflex when his hand wraps around her throat and pulls her in.

He inhales her scent deeply as he breathes heavily, revealing his sharp teeth as blood rushes to his face. She watches with concern, kneeling as he pulls her once more. His nose reaches the side of her neck as he takes in more air. It’s only in this instance that the feeling of danger comes back, as she is now alone on this boat with these man-eating creatures.

She removes his hand gently as he allows her to before standing back.

“I have to leave so everyone just needs to get off this boat so I can.” She sniffs, wiping her eyes as well as her nose. She hears a muffled shriek as she turns to the end of the boat where the other three mermen float. Her body tenses as she sees faint blood dripping from the corner of the black haired one’s mouth, his dark eyes boring into hers. Seemingly, at the same time the three men inhaled the air before the blonde and black haired man on the left opened his mouth, indicating his singing as she could hear a muffled hum through her ear plugs.

“No, you can’t eat me.” She growls, pointing to her ears as her eyes narrow. “Haven’t you had enough anyway?”

She eyes the faint colors of their tails, two of them being a matching purple while the middle blends in with the darkness of the ocean, a little darker indicating that it’s black. She turns on her heel as she begins to walk to the wheel, luckily having the knowledge of driving this kind of boat. After hearing the water swish, she hears footsteps behind her, she turns quickly, hoping it to be another human. Her breath hitches as her eyebrows raise when she sees the men climbing on the boat with their newfound scaly legs, a pale hue that matches with their individual tail colors, though shimmering as they walk. Her eyebrows furrow at the nakedness, quickly looking away as her face warms. To the side, she sees that the yellow and pink tailed men are now standing on their own pair of feet.

How could I forget that the most powerful of mermaids can shift their tails to walk on land? They’re also the same type to even use their voices as a weapon. They even have tattoos that symbolize their royalty! What did we get ourselves into?

She internally gulps as they all stand intimidatingly across from her. She looks around for any weapon near her, unfortunately one not in her eyesight whatsoever.

“Shit.” She whispers. All she could do is stand alert as she watches them, attempting to cover her evident fear as she eyes the murderous creatures standing in front of her.

She eyes them as she notices all inhaling intensely, furrowing her brows when she observes through her peripheral how their bare cocks erect the more they inhale. Besides the very light hue of their normal tail colors covering their erections, it looks human for the most part besides that and their size. Nothing too big but bigger than the average human.

She shrieks as the blonde and blue haired man and his black haired twin run full speed towards her, grabbing her arms before she had time to move. They hold her arms, long nails slightly piercing her skin as they grip her, all forcing themselves on the ground to kneel as they force her to sit on her bottom.

She breathes heavily as she watches the other three get closer. She struggles harder as she yanks her arms. One of the grips actually uses his claw to scratch her skin, splitting it slightly as he leans to her ear.

“Stop it!” The blonde and blue haired man hisses, giving her a painful squeeze as the blood drips down her arm. She yelps as she stops pulling.

“Big brother, what are we going to do with her?” The pink man asks, her eyebrows furrowing at the differing language that consists of croaks and low shrieks.

“Take those things out of her ears.” He answers. The black haired twin listens as he uses one hand to take out both ear plugs and throws them to the side, causing her to gasp.

“Get away from me!” She yells.

The short man walks forward before crouching in front of her, kneeling and crawling half way on to her body. His cold skin drips with water as it falls on her. He inhales her scent once more as his palm holds her cheek. She sits frozen in fear, not anticipating what comes out of his mouth.

“Mate.” He states in her language. Her eyes widen as she pulls back.

“N-no! Humans don’t have mates!” She exclaims.

“Mate.” She hears the others whisper.

“No, absolutely not!” She shakes her head, frowning at the creatures surrounding her.

“Sanzu, Kazutora, secure her legs.” They comply by grabbing her legs and pulling her to lie on her back as the other two secure her arms down.

“What are you doing?” She questions, anxious thoughts forming as the worst case scenarios appear. He climbs higher as his hair drapes over both of their faces. His dark eyes staring at her with intensity and determination.

“Mikey.” He says, wanting to hear his name from her lips. She pauses as she hears his words.

“Mikey, please get off of me! All of you, just go away! I want to go home!” She exclaims in frustration, wanting privacy and peace to mourn before having to contact their facility about the deaths.

“Home?” The older brother on the left asks, his purple eyes observing her as he points over to the ocean. “O-our, no…. y-your home.” He nods.

“No, no, no that is not my home! I am not your mate! I’m not anyone’s mate, I’m human!” She reasons, hoping to get that through their heads. She yells in pain when she feels a harsh scratch on her leg, blood oozing from the wound.

“Y-you are mate!” Sanzu hisses, his nail paused against the end of her wound with his other hand wrapped around her ankle. Kazutora grips her other leg tighter as a frown falls on his face to the rejection, his eyebrows furrowing. The twins glare at her as they also give her a warning squeeze, involving the tip of their nails. She breathes heavily as she tries to ignore the pain.

“N-no, I’m not! I can’t be because I’m -!” She’s cut off by cold lips smashing on hers, Mikey gripping her chin painfully as he roughly combines their lips. His other hand grabs her shoulder as his naked chest is pressed against her clothed breasts. His erection pressed in between her legs.

The two brothers above her bend their bodies to gain better access to her neck as they satisfy their taste buds. Nipping and sucking as they bruise her skin. Sanzu licks the blood of her wound, slowly savoring the taste. Kazutora purrs as he caresses her other leg, removing her shoe and sock, throwing them to the side. Sanzu does the same so he can smell more of her sweet flesh.

“Rin, let’s release the stimulant.” The oldest twin says. He nods his head as they both bare their sharp teeth, piercing her skin as they release the venom. She let out a scream as the pain was sudden and prominent.

“Oh, God!” She exclaims against Mikey’s lips as the feeling becomes unbearable, the throbbing in her neck reaching all over her body.

“Ah.” She breathes out as the feeling turns into an intense sensation, tingling and arousal surrounding her body as her nipples harden and clit gains a heartbeat. Wet slick forms, beginning the breeding process her body has been forced into. Her chest rises and lowers as she breathes deeply, her eyelids heavy as her body yearns to be bred.

“Fuck, n-no! L-let me go.” She whines, sobbing as her reproductive system takes over, her clit pounding as her hips slightly buck against Mikey’s erection. She shivers as they all smile in content, smelling her heat as her pheromones fill their nostrils, turning them on even more.

Rin rips her shirt open, revealing her bra as she yelps. Mikey grabs her hand from the other twin as he wraps his lips around her finger, slowly suckling as he sits himself on top of her torso, using his other hand to trace from her chest to her stomach, lightly scraping his nails against her skin. Both twins rip her bra apart, revealing her diamond hard nipples, her gasping at the cold air hitting her breasts.

She begins to struggle against their holds, only to regret it as Mikey pulls her finger out and chomps on her hand as a warning, drawing blood. She cries out, tears falling as her mind conflicted with the sensations all over her body. He returns to suckling her fingers and tracing her skin, licking the blood up as well. The twins move to grab her breasts as both use their tongues to lick her nubs, Rin roughly pulling and nibbling her as his brother gently sucks and kisses her other. She could only breathe heavily as they continued their assault.

Kazutora and Sanzu tore her pants, spreading her legs as far as they could while gripping her thighs with one hand. Both men position their heads between her legs before using a claw to slice her panties off, leaving her wet and bare for them to see. Her head falls back as her clit throbs, anticipating contact but only bucking her hips against the air.

Kazutora leans in as he gives a slow and light kiss on her clit, her twitching at the contact. She bites her lip to remain in control, not moaning out or begging for more. Sanzu retracts his nails to a normal size, using his finger to scrape her juices and wrap his lips around his own finger, quietly moaning as her taste reaches his tongue. Kazutora takes her whole clit in his mouth, sucking her clit as he bobs his head slowly.

“Oh my god.” She whispers, the sensations becoming overwhelming as she feels Sanzu gathering more slick and entering a finger into her vagina. Mikey takes the opportunity to lick all around her hand and wraps her fingers around his cock. She attempts to pull back but his hold is tighter.

“P-please? N-need it.” He says softly. Although she’s almost blinded by pleasure, she wants to end everything as fast as possible. She begins to move her hand up and down at a steady pace. He moans as he thrusts back into her hand.

“Feels good, Mikey?” He teases.

“Shut up, Ran.” He whispers as his head falls back, thrusting a little harder as his cock pulsates. He grabs her wrist to balance himself. Her head is pulled to the side as the blonde and blue haired man eases the head of his cock to her mouth. She shakes her head and attempts to turn away. He keeps his hold on her head as he grabs her nipple roughly.

“B-bite off.” He growls, threatening her as his cock throbs in her face. He releases her nipple when she nods and opens her mouth. He shoves his erection all the way to the back of her throat. He grunts as he pulls back and enters again. She whimpers around his cock as she feels two fingers hitting her g spot as a tongue flicks her clit. She grinds her hips subconsciously, seeking more as they continue to stimulate her.

Both Rin and Mikey moan as they thrust into her, eyes rolling in the back of their heads as their hair flops against their back. Ran reaches for his own cock as he plays with her nipples.

Suddenly, an idea popping into his head, he restrains his thrusts as he gives her hand to Ran. He positions his cock between her breasts and squeezes them together. Mikey thrusts her chest as he purrs. Ran takes the opportunity to wrap her fingers around his cock, essentially the same idea with Mikey a minute ago.

Kazutora and Sanzu stop their motions, their dicks tense and in need of assistance, dripping as they throb.

“Guys, readjust so I can get behind her.”

They ignore him until he lets out an ear piercing shriek, causing her to groan in pain for her ears. This gets everyone’s attention so he repeats himself. Everyone readjusts so that he she lies on top of him, her ass rubbing against his abdomen.

Mikey stays sitting on top of her in the same position and fits his cock back in between her breasts. Sanzu sits behind Mikey, positioning his cock to her entrance. Rin reconnects his erection with her mouth as well as Ran using her hand.

She cries out when Kazutora and Sanzu shove their cocks inside of her until they reach the end of her walls, deeply stuffing themselves inside of her slowly. Kazutora grips her hips as Sanzu grips her legs. Both men pull back as they slam back in, the slick coming from their cocks moisturizing her up enough to enter, besides her own slick.

She grunts loudly as they fill her up, her body being used every which way as her nipples are pinched occasionally. The men’s beautiful moans echo in the middle of the ocean, enticing her as she feels nothing but intense pleasure. The wet squelching sounds of their cocks connecting with her skin accelerate as they move faster.

Her own walls tighten around Kazutora and Sanzu’s cocks, pulling them in as they push, sinking deeper into her as Sanzu hits her cervix. The feeling of her body bouncing with movement was enough to send her over the edge as her body is very sensitive from the stimulant.

“Mm, s’ fucking good.” Kazutora whispers as he takes her ear into his mouth. His grip tightening, leaving indents in her skin. His thrusts are steady and hard as her asshole grips him.

Mikey breathes hard as slight moans draw from his lips occasionally, almost slamming his cock against her chin as he relentlessly thrusts his hips. Sanzu moans as he leaned over her lower body, thrusting hard as he bites his bottom lip.

“Good fucking girl. So fucking good for me.” Rin’s head falls back as he fucks her mouth. He holds her head in place with both hands as he rises closer and closer. Ran releases breathy moans as his jaw falls slightly open, gripping her wrist tightly as he gets close.

She moans loudly as she releases, the men following behind as Sanzu and Kazutora cum deep inside her, semen falling out of her holes as there was too much to fit all of it. Mikey’s cum reaches her chin and chest as Ran hits the side of her head. Rin cums in her throat, forcing her to stay in the same place.

After taking a moment to breathe, everyone removes themself as she lies there with tears in her eyes, worn out as she breathes heavily.

“We should change her now and then breed her when we’re home.” Ran states, leaning back against his arms as he sits on the ground.

“No, we should mate her and then change her.” Rin argues.

“No, sex now and then we mate her. I want to breed her.” Mikey pouts.

They continue their argument, Kazutora and Sanzu joining in as Y/n watches the brothers argue weakly.

“How about we mate her, breed and then change her.”

“It wouldn’t make sense to breed her up here.”

“Fine, let’s mate, change her and then finish breeding.”

She would’ve used this opportunity to escape if the stimulant hadn’t weakened her body. She can barely shift on her own comfortably. A hand rubs her forehead as it caresses her cheek. Tears fall as she mourns her brother, coworkers, and life before this moment. She couldn’t even fight as she lay in despair, awaiting her fate to live in the ocean and be tied to these creatures forever.

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