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magnolia-among-the-stars · 26 days ago

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losing me (jj maybank)

well, didn't think i would be up until 2:30 AM writing this but just couldn't stop myself. so forgive any errors! i'm sure once i get some sleep and coffee, i'll be cranking out a part two but if you have thoughts or want to send a request in the mean time, send it here :)

requested by anon: hey, could you write something angsty/fluffy about JJ with prompt number 5 "don't take a step closer"? Maybe they had a fight and the reader wants some space but they make up at the end? (this is so angsty, i really hope you like it!)

word count: 4457

trigger warnings: mention of luke, unhealthy communication, reckless couple

“You’re not even listening to me,” you say, running a hand through your hair as you try to catch your breath. It’s too hot out, the sun is burning the exposed skin between your shoulder blades. It’s too bright and in the midst of your argument with your boyfriend, you’d forgotten to grab your sunglasses from the shop on your way down to the water. So here you are, squinting at JJ - hoping it comes off as the glare you want it to be while not burning your retinas.

“Course I’m listenin’ to you,” JJ says. He grinds his teeth a little, looking down at the planks of wood on the dock. It looks like he’s trying to find words. He’s not doing well. “I never meant to miss it.”

“Clearly not,” you scoff. “It’s only our two year anniversary…who could forget that,” you say, arms wide to hold space for the exclamation.

You watch him try to gulp down the words. The milestone. You can tell he’s holding in any type of emotion that you’re begging for him to put on the table with his evidence for the reason he missed your very carefully planned out anniversary plans last night. After two years together and your whole childhood with the man, you knew the signs. Emotions, locked tight and tucked down deep in his gut until a belly full of beer brought them bobbing to the surface. His mouth is pinched tight, the sharp lines of his jaw accentuated as he sucked each word away with his deep breaths.

“JJ, now is not the time to hold on to what you want to say.” You put your hands on your hips, leaning forward in expectation. You want to forgive him. But you need to hear it. Need to hear what was more important than celebrating your lives together. It wasn’t just your blooming romance after years of pinning. It was the fact that you were alive. After two years of wild goose chases around the globe, the hunt for gold, his dad…you’d survived. The Pogues had built a better life and you’d done it together. That alone was worth celebrating.

So watching him say nothing, do nothing. You could feel the insecurity seeping into your veins slowly, like a drip. “I just…” he stops himself, tugging his old baseball cap off. His fingers tug through his hair, scratching at his scalp as he avoids your gaze. “I’ve been trying to work a few extra jobs…try to make enough to take you on a vacation.”

It’s not what you expect him to say. I got too stoned out on the boat maybe or John B and I were distracted while on the Mainland but not that. Your shoulders slump, head tilting to stare at him.

“What?” It comes out surprised, disarmed.

JJ looks up at you finally. He must feel the way you relax a little, must recognize the tone shift because he’s moving forward with determination and cupping your cheek so that he can look down at you. “Yeah,” he nods, wetting his bottom lip and searching your face as he speaks. “You’ve been taking care of so much darlin’ and I just…I wanted to treat you for once. So I’ve been trying to get some extra funds tucked away so I could surprise you on that surfing trip we wanted to do to Bali…”

Your heart melts at the thoughtfulness. “Really?” your eyes widen as your hands smooth up his wrinkled Maybank Charters tee, resting on his chest.

He grins at you sheepishly, nodding a little. “Really…I’m sorry I missed our night, I just-,”

You cut him off, reaching up on your tiptoes to kiss him. You stumble forward a little from the fervour, pressing your lips to his with purpose. He’s sturdy though, tugging you into him and moving his other arm to glide along the exposed skin of your waist, the flat of your exposed back. He hums into your mouth, his tongue lapping at your bottom lip like a melting ice cream cone.

“Well, that was fast,” you hear behind you and tug reluctantly away to see John B and Sarah, brows raised at the two of you. “Welcome back lovebirds…thought we were gonna have to make a bed on the floor for JJ tonight.”

JJ tosses his arm around your shoulder, presses a kiss to the crown of your head. “We’re all good,” he ducks down to look at you. “Right?”

You smile, lost in the vibrant blues of his eyes and nod, a little dazed from the kiss. He grins and pulls you in again for one last searing kiss. “Mmmm,” you start to say against his mouth, pulling away with a small giggle. You hold up a finger. “Under one condition.”

“And what might that be, m’lady?”

“You’ve gotta take me out to the marsh tonight for the fireworks. It’s the last night of the season and we missed them last year because of El Dorado,” I say, poking his chest.

“Well…you are in luck,” he says, voice dropping as we get back up to the counter. “I know just the spot…real quiet…real private.”

“Well, maybe if you’re lucky,” you whisper, grinning like you’re going to say something else but just pull away with a wiggle of your brows.

“Alright you two, hands where I can see them. JJ, I need your girlfriend for a run to the bank so if you’ll put your eyes back in your head,” Sarah says, stepping between the two of you with a shake of her head. She looks like a mother, wagging a warning through the air.

JJ blows you a kiss as you and Sarah turn to leave, smacking your ass as you walk away from him. You try to slap him away, not having enough time before his hand lands. He bites his lip and gets one kiss in before Sarah is shoving him off playfully.

“Save it for tonight, you pervs,” she says with a loud laugh.

“Fireworks start at 8,” I call out to him as we get down the walkway.

“Charter boat leaves at 7:30 sharp,” he calls back.

“I’ll bring the Natty Ice.”

“A girl after my heart,” he touches his chest and waves his hat at you, like he’s a wife waving off her soldier.

The rest of the day moves fast. Between the trip to the bank with Sarah and gardening with Kie for the community dinner next week in town, it’s not long before you’re rushing up to your bedroom to change into your anniversary dress for the fireworks. It’s discarded on top of the laundry basket but you barely pay that any mind as you change. JJ isn’t there so you imagine he’s already out on the water, waiting patiently for you. You grab your favorite quilt blanket and the tote with the promised six pack along with a few other snacks for the trip before rushing back down the stairs to the porch.

You see John B and Pope sitting, sipping on beers as they stare out at the water. They’re speaking softly, heads snapping over when they hear you approach. “Hey boys, good day?” you ask, adjusting the heavy tote on your shoulder.

“Hey, yeah…” Pope says, looking over at John B.

“You look great…headin’ to the charter boat already?” he asks, taking a swig of his beer with an urgency. Weird.

“Yeah…” you nod slowly, looking between them. “It’s a little early but…you guys are acting weird. What’s going on?”

“We’re not acting weird, totally not acting weird,” Pope says, the words rushing out. I raise a brow and nod.

“Right,” you say, shrugging. “What…JJ proposing or something?” Their eyes go wide and your heart skips a beat. “Wait…is he-,” You hold a hand up. “Don’t, don’t tell me…I’ll see you guys tonight.” You take deep breaths as you cross the lawn, cross the water to the bait shop. You can’t see the tufts of blonde hair around the boat but he could be working on the engine. You don’t think about it as you climb the stairs.

“Ahoy Captain…” you call out, flipping off your sandals and placing the heavy tote down on the platform. Nothing. “JJ?” I call, glancing around the bow and climbing on board to glance around at the engine and inside the cabin. “You in here Hotshot? I’m looking for a sexy captain to take me at sea…” you peer around, pouting when you come up empty. “Where the hell is he?”

You check your watch, realizing you’re still a little early. You convince yourself that he’s just run to the store. There is no chance in hell he’d stand you up again. Not after last night and this morning. But as the sun starts to set and the chill of the night brings nothing but lapping water against the dock, you start to lose hope. You tug your phone from your bag, checking for messages from the man but your inbox is empty.

Your heart falls in your stomach when you start to hear the pops and shouts of joy across the marsh. It’s dark now, the dock lights buzzing with mosquitos as you get a splinter in your thigh while shifting to stretch your legs. The hem of your dress catches on a nail, tearing a little as you tug on it. “Fuck,” you mutter, tears threatening to spill over.

You hear heavy padding come toward you but refuse to look up from the beer you’d cracked open and barely touched. A knee brushes against yours as they sit down beside you, sighing heavily. “Where is he?” Your tone is flat. You’re exhausted.

“He really has been trying to save up money to take you on that surfing trip,” John B says.

“John B,” you finally look up at him, tears sliding down your cheeks, leaving inky stains on your cheeks. You suck in a shaky breath, trying with all you have to blow it out without ripping a lung open. It hurts. “Where is he?”

Later, John B would tell Sarah that he’d never seen you look so hollow and empty, so broken in that moment. He’s afraid to tell you. Frustrated that he didn’t try harder to get his idiot best friend to stay and finish work like he should’ve. Disappointed in himself for even mentioning the idea that JJ might not have enough for the place he’d bookmarked on the work computer for the two of you. “He’s doing a run…for Barry.”

___________

It’s been an hour since John B sulked his way back up the dock after spilling the beans on JJ’s wearabouts. An hour had passed since Cleo, Kie and Sarah had screamed at the boys, putting them in the dog house for allowing JJ to do something so stupid. An hour since they’d all ran out to where you still sat, frozen in betrayal.

They’d grabbed the bottle of emergency tequila from the surf shop freezer, stole the spare set of keys to the Snapper and practically picked you up and into the warmth of the cabin of the boat. Kie wrapped you up in the quilt you’d tucked under your arm from your bed and Sarah poured shots while Cleo drove, weaving through the marsh with a watchful eye.

You cried. Grieved. Screamed. Another hour passes before your phone starts ringing out, loudly interrupting your venting session. You look down to see JJ’s name scrolling across the screen. “Fuckin’-,” you wind your arm back, ready to toss your phone into the marsh with the mackerel.

“Whoa, whoa,” Cleo is faster, slipping it from your fingertips. “Let me take this, before you do something you regret.”

“I hate him,” you say, lip trembling as you wipe your nose and curl into yourself.

“No babe,” Kie says, shaking her head and wrapping her arms around you again. “He’s done something stupid, like capital S stupid. But you don’t hate him, you’re just disappointed. And you have every right to be.”

Your phone keeps ringing, keeps beckoning you to answer. “Cleo, can you take us back? He won’t stop calling until then so…might as well get it over with,” you sniffle and head back to the docks. Dread fills you as the dock finally comes into view, not missing that there are only two figures standing under the flickering dim night lights strung along the walkway.

“He’s not even back yet,” you stumble a little as you try to climb out of the boat. Pope reaches out to stabilize you but you glare at him, not wanting his pity. Your phone buzzes to life again and you laugh harshly. “Ridiculous. Fuckin’ ridiculous,” you spit, forgetting all your things as you make the long trek back up to the house. You can hear your phone still in the distance, the noise rattling in your haze.

“Hold on, slow down,” John B calls, rushing after you - afraid you’ll fall into the water or hurt yourself in your drunken state. You only slow down when you see the headlight of the bike illuminating the side of the house, hear the car door slam shut in a rush. He’s quick to cross the grass, spotting you (and the rest of the chattering group frankly) coming toward him. You have to admit you aren’t expecting the nervous look on his face. The lack of a grin or smirk. He’s dirty, white tee shirt and jeans caked in what looks like mud. He shoves his hands in his pockets, his shoulders stiff.

You freeze in your tracks, fists squeezing so tightly that your nails dig into your palms. The tequila numbs the sharp burning sensation as you draw blood.

"I was gonna be there,” he’s breathless as he gets the words out. His voice is hoarse. You wonder if he rehearsed it the whole way here. If he practiced it all day, right after you left him to go to the bank.

You can’t help the laugh that bubbles up. It’s sharp, bitter. "And yet, here we are JJ. Again."

JJ swallows hard. “I know, pretty girl, I know.” He takes a step forward toward you, ready to grovel at your feet. Ready to sweep you away to Bali on the next flight.

You feel sick, your hands shaky as you raise a hand in defense. "Don’t move a single step closer."

Your words stop JJ in his tracks, halting every bone in his body. He goes cold and the words hit him like a ton of bricks. His hands go up, like he’s trying to show you he’s not a threat— that he’d never hurt you. He’s close enough that you can see the tears building up in his eyes, almost hurt himself at the way you’re recoiling from his presence.

"I just—darlin’" He stops, exhales sharply and searches the grass for the words. Searching again. His eyes flicker behind you, at your friends. They’re trapped behind you, afraid to burst the bubble of tension and trying to distract themselves awkwardly while your relationship falls apart. "Can we just—can I just talk to you?"

"You could have talked to me last night, JJ. You could have talked to me this morning. Before I had to find out from John B that you’ve been working for Barry."

JJ flinches. He closes his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I was gonna tell you."

"Bullshit,” you mutter, sobering up as you throw your hands up in the air. You shake away the dizzy wave that runs over you and a sharp pain starts to rattle along your temple.

He lets out a choked breath, dragging a hand through his hair. He looks maniac and you recognize the movements. He’s cornered, caught. Not sweet talking his way out of this.

"I didn’t want you to find out like that, okay?"

"And yet, I did,” you say, quieter than expected as you look away from him. You don’t have the energy to fight him anymore. You’re tired. You’re broken. You wrap your arms around yourself and notice him look you over, take in your dress.

JJ shifts on his feet. "I wasn’t doing this to hurt you, okay?" His voice has a bite to it, turning up to fill the space that you’ve left in your absence of a fire. He can’t help himself in the way he fans an ember. "I was trying to do something good."

You don’t mean to say it. But your filter is gone, replaced with Jose Cuervo and heartache. "You sound just like him."

JJ stills.

Your throat tightens.

A long, heavy silence stretches between you. You feel like your friends have disappeared from behind you with how silent it is.

His hands are balled up in fists, his head tucked down. I can hear how deeply he’s trying to control his breathing and when he glances up, you barely catch the tear sliding down his cheek before he swipes it away with the back of his hand. He looks away from you, toward the house looming to your right, like it’s an omen. “Say it.”

"JJ, I think we should take a breather," John B’s voice rings through the air, trying to defuse the dynamite that’s running out of wick.

JJ throws an open palm into the air with purpose, stopping him in his tracks as he sets his sights on you. His gaze is mean, closed off. "Shuddup John B. Let her fucking say it. You think I’m turning into my dad."

Suddenly you feel trapped, your lungs shrinking as you try to take a full breath to collect yourself. How did you get here? Why did you let it get here? You’re taking too long to answer and JJ takes that as answer enough, not giving you a moment to respond.

He huffs out, chuckling to himself as he looks away, like he’s disgusted with you. Like he can’t even look at you. "That’s bullshit."

You feel dismissed, enraged all over again. So you step forward in the grass, shoulders back as you say "Is it?"

His head snaps back to you, eyes dark. "Yeah. It fucking is."

You move further up the hill, stalking toward him. He backs away from you, brows raised as you take him by surprise. If you weren’t so angry, you would’ve realized that he was in fight or flight mode. That your purposeful strides toward him were bringing up childhood memories he didn’t want to think about.

"You’re sneaking around behind my back. Sweet talking and lying to me. You’re making deals with Barry and calling it ‘working’ as if that makes it any better. You tell me, JJ. What part of that doesn’t sound like that son of a bitch?” Your voice loses momentum, ending in a whisper. You don’t want to do this. You don’t think JJ is his dad but there’s a very large part of your heart that worries about him, no matter how upset you are.

He points a finger at himself, growling before saying "I was doing this for us. I was trying to give you something better, something more than just–,” he pivots away from you, afraid he’ll break if he looks at the softening look on your face for a second longer. Afraid that you’ll forgive him out of pity. Again.

"That’s your problem JJ. I never asked for more. I just asked for you.” The headache is building again and I have to plant my feet wide to keep the yawn from escaping me.

JJ drags a hand down his face, scratching at the caked mud on his jaw. He bites his cheek, puts his hands on his hips. You can see the bricks stacking back up in his mind, the gears practically turning in his head. He shuts the conversation down with a simple "I don’t know how to be enough for you."

"That’s such a cop out JJ, c’mon.”

"No. It’s fine. You don’t have to say anything. I get it. I get why you’re done,” he adjusts his cap on his head, nodding convincingly to himself. “We had a good run, you know?”

Your shoulders slump, hands falling to your sides as he shuts down. You realize there on the lawn in the middle of the night that you don’t know how much more of this you can take. You’re tired of being the only one holding this relationship together. Tired of JJ throwing himself into chaos and expecting you to just sit back and watch him self-destruct when conflict gets too real. You know that Luke was awful. That JJ’s upbringing really impacted his ability to express himself. You love him and at the same time, you always hit a wall of miscommunication.

You look past him—right to his bike.You find yourself shutting off your brain, you find your legs carrying you across the rest of the damn grass toward the house. You slip on an old pair of boots you’d left by the side of the house after doing some repairs to the siding a week ago. You try not to think about it too much as you move back over to JJ.

He looks unbothered but his eyes follow you. You try to not pay attention to your group of friends, watching the two of you fall apart intently. When you get close enough to JJ, you’re sure the last thing he’s expecting from you is for you to shove your hand into his pocket.

“Whoa, hey,” he says, voice cracking a little as he looks at you confused. “What are you–,”

The jingle of his keys causes his mouth to snap shut. He looks up at you, alarmed as you back away and stride quickly to the bike. It’s a fluid motion, swinging your leg over his bike. He’d taken you for rides more times than you could count but you realize it’s the first time you’re starting it yourself as you stick the key in the ignition.

“What are you doing?” he calls out when the headlight flickers on, nearly blinding him. Illuminated by the light, you can see how dirty his clothes are. He’s caked in mud and if you look close enough, you almost think you can see dried blood on his elbow. It’s a glaring reminder of the danger he put himself into as a way to prove he could provide for you. You swallow hard and clench your jaw.

You stop paying attention as he crosses the light to make his way toward you. "Hey. Seriously, what the hell are you—"

You kick the stand up.

"Okay—wait—Y/N—just hold on—"

You tune out his voice as you reach down, turning the key the rest of the way. The engine roars to life.

"Okay, seriously—that’s enough, alright?" He steps over the wheel, his face close as he grabs the handlebars. He tries to get you to look at him, tries to reach down to turn off the key but you swat his hand away.

"What? I can’t hear you," you call over the rumble of the engine, leaning forward to look up at him with a sharp look.

“Cute,” he grunts, trying again to reach down to turn off the bike and put an end to this. He can hear the pogues coming up the hill, shouting. “This is a bad idea.”

“Bad ideas have good outcomes all the time, JJ.”

JJ freezes. You grab the throttle tighter, hands shaking a little from the adrenaline. You’re buzzing now, wide awake. You should feel bad. But you’ll leave that for tomorrow. You rev the engine, watching the panic washing over his face.

"Alright, ha-ha, I get it darlin’. Very funny. Now just get off the–” he looks up at you, nodding encouragingly “just get off the damn bike. We can call it quits for the night, and regroup in the morning when we’re thinking clearly."

It’s a solid plan, a responsible plan. But you’re feeling reckless and the phrase ‘call it quits’ is reminding you of how he shut down earlier.

"Thinking clearly? I’m thinking real clearly JJ," you snap, fire burning in your chest now. "You get to sweet-talk your way through our arguments, call it quits when we get too deep. You get to run off, get in fights, make some money working with Barry—no communication, no heads-up, no partnership—and I just have to sit there and hope you come back in one piece."

JJ goes pale. His eyes widen, blue eyes twinkling with fear in a way I’ve never seen before as his mouth drops open. His hands cover mine, trying to peel my fingers from the throttle. But my grip is too tight, it just causes the engine to rev again.

"Y/N, baby. Come on. Just—just stop for a second, let’s talk about this." His voice is uneven, cracking as he searches my face to find reason. "It’s late alright. I can tell you’re exhausted, you’ve been drinking on the boat."

"Ohhh, I’ve been drinking,” I nod. “Riiiight. But what was that you told me that one time…oh! The beer totally helps me drive with more fluid movement, you know? Levels me out if anything,” I shrug.

He curses to himself, glancing back helplessly behind him. You take the opportunity to push backwards. JJ turns back to you, arm outstretched as you roll from his grip. He tries to hold on, desperately trying to pull the heavy bike back into a safe position.

"Fuck—okay, I get it! I get it, alright? Just—please. Please don’t do this."

"Why?" you fire back. "Because now you know what it feels like?"

JJ sucks in a breath. His fingertips are barely holding the bar as he looks at you, pleading. You stare back at him, heart pounding. He looks gutted, an absolute wreck. It’s a cruel punishment, you know it is. You hate the look of fear in his eyes, the pleading look to take a second and be smarter than him. I hesitate, take a slow breath to steady myself.

He must take that as a white flag because he takes a hand off the handlebar and lets out the breath he was holding. He makes the mistake before he can even realize, cracking a smile like this was all just some joke and says “There’s my cautious girl.”

I don’t even think about it as I flip into first gear, the way I’d seen him do so many times before, and let go of the throttle. The sudden motion causes him to let go and there’s nothing he can do as I speed off into the night.

#jj maybank #jj mayback x reader #jj mayback imagine #outer banks fic #outer banks fanfiction #jj mayback angst

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firemenenthusiast · 6 months ago

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—“spades”

ivo x fem!reader

summary: keeping a straight policy is hard when you have a deep voice talking into your ears

warnings: 18+, smut, porn with little plot, unprotected sex (be safe people), cunnilingus, fingering, semi-public sex

a/n: been wanting to write for ivo for a while cuz he’s a babygirl 🙂‍↕️ also we hit another huge milestone !!! WHOHOOOO THANK YOU SO MUCH EVERYONE. this is my gift to you <3

it’s quite unusual for you to come down to the basement where all the geeks work to provide information for the charter, especially you. when you work with them, you’re usually some place else, only being able to hear them through the earpiece all the time.

you couldn’t care less about them, as long as they make sure that everything going in the way of your mission goes away, and that you’re getting paid for whatever extremely dangerous agenda the charter is putting you through. of course that changed when jack’s suddenly not the one receiving the signal at the end of the frequency.

“this is homebound requesting confirmation, can you hear me well ?”

he had a really deep voice. maybe it’s the prickling ice scattered along the climate you were landed on but his voice sent chills down your spine.

“where’s jack ?”

“jack’s not here to assist you today, i am” frowning, you could sense the sternness in his response, as if he’s pissed to be assisting your every movement from now on.

“hey i didn’t ask for you either alright” all you wanted to do was complete the mission assigned as per usual, collect the check and go home. none of this unnecessary chit chat with the people you only wanted to strictly work with. if you could do it all by yourself, you would’ve a long time ago. but you’ve learned a while back that the mission will only go smoothly with the help of the basement geeks sending cues through your earpiece.

so the mission went okay, it would’ve gone well if the one providing you informations was jack, but instead it was some guy named ivo. at least that’s what he referred himself as, and he sounded pretty unsure about everything. as if he was only put on that task for the first time. you are just glad that no parts of you were severed just to complete that mission, especially with an incompetent assistant panicking in the earpiece.

oh how you wished they’d never put anyone else on other than jack, as he was the only one that actually sounds like he knows what he’s doing.

yet you still couldn’t help but paid a visit to the basement the next day you were free.

that particular voice stood out inside your head, lingering around especially when you tried to close your eyes and drift away. it was all you could think of for days until your feet dragged you down to the headquarters, before your lips specifically requested access to the underground labs.

when you finally laid eyes upon the pair of lips that emits that voice, an immediate grin crept itself across your cheeks. your lashes fluttered naturally to look at him, with the curls on top of his head almost grazing the low ceiling of his work area. you just prayed he’ll never bump his head ever. from the long lashes decorating his deep brown eyes to the neat beard on top of his clear tan skin, that voice suited him so well. maybe too well that he was nothing short of pretty.

it was common for other spies to come down to the basement, especially stone. you heard that she was real friendly to everyone she works with, and for her to occasionally come down there is no surprise.

on the other hand, that’s not your style at all. you choose not to expose yourself to unnecessary danger of being close with anyone down there, as you have nothing to give you reason to trust them. so when you appeared in his work area, leaning against his desk on your hips, it came to be quite the surprise.

“wh- ?! what are you doing here ?” there’s that deep voice you missed from the mission again. the whispered tone of his voice told you he was agitated to say the least, having no recollection of you saying anything about coming down there. carefully slipping away to the files room from the main database platform, you then made sure that your footsteps are followed by his much larger ones.

but that was a number of visits before, you couldn’t exactly put a number of how many times has it been. particularly because you almost always end up banging your head on one of the files cabinet that you forgot you were ever down there, and being fucked stupid to the point of brain fog, accompanying you all the way home from your visit.

you’ve succeeded again this time, in getting him to follow you into the control room, hearing him groan in protest as soon as he turns his back against the door

“i told you this is too close to the main platform, do you not see these glass frames ?” he’s pointing around to the see-through panes surrounding the room, obvious that anyone passing through the room will definitely see the both of you. looking up at him, you have to crane your neck to meet his gaze as he’s towering over you.

“let’s go to the back, please” he’s told you that multiple times, trying to convince you that no one ever goes there anyways and the fact that it’s at the other end of the compound

smoothing the palms of your hands across his fabric covered broad chest, your fingers settle to grip on the edge of his sweater. sighing, the firm flesh always feels so good against your hands. smiling up at him, your grip around the edges tighten before pulling him down, your faces now only inches away, allowing you to feel him shiver a breath out through his nose

“where’s the fun in that, hm ?” you grin at him

wasting no time, you’re quick to peel off the ugly sweater off his shoulders, your tugs slick as he’s immediately left only in his top. his large fingers work on the hem of yours, trying to lift them off before stopping and grabbing you by your waist instead, the size of his fingers almost wrapping the entirety of your sides.

“c’mon, we can’t- not here. if anyone sees im done for” the firm grip against your skin makes you stop your work on his belt to look him in the eyes

“you’re right. oh, or i can just leave, you know ?” raising both your eyebrows at him, you cock your head to the side as you earn a look from him, flashing across his eyes

“no- no, please i just- i don’t wanna get caught” he’s half begging, batting his lashes. though you enjoy seeing him like this, a part of you cares if he’s at risk of losing his job because of you.

he tries to make it up to you quickly, planting soft kisses down at the crook of your neck, delicately trailing his lips down towards your breasts before swiftly pulling your top off your head with ease. letting out a soft moan, you lean against the table behind you on your hands, giving him access to keep kissing down your body, his lips now grazing the tip of your nipples through your bra. you forgot how good is he at this, and just how gentle he could be.

“fuck— just take it off” you urge him, to which he looks at you through his pretty lashes, you can feel him grinning against your tits. he’s shaking his head slightly, opposing to your words as he pushes the fabric of your bra, releasing both your mounds to bounce against his cheeks. between the soft flesh and the hardened nipples on his face, he could feel the rush of blood towards his cock, making him moan against your skin.

he’s continuing his kisses on your navel now, with a hand cupping his crotch trying to relieve the pain of blood quickly rushing to his tip. both of his knees are already settled on the hard floor, the palm of his hands steadying himself against your thighs. as soon as his lips get to your jeans, his fingers move fast to unbutton it before pulling it down, the fabric pooling at your ankles.

tilting your head down, you could see him kissing on your clothed pussy with half lidded eyes, his arms moving slightly to help the grip he has on his hard on. you nod your permission to him as he looks at you, raising both his hands to pull your panties down, immediately closing his eyes again as soon as he feels his lips on your soaked puffy folds. feeling the vibration of him moaning against your pussy, your fingers rake across his scalp in between his tight curls.

his sudden sucking on your wetness takes you by surprise, your mouth forming an ‘O’ before he’s lapping in between of your folds, the tip of his tongue flicking against your clit repeatedly. at this point you regretted not listening to him about going to the far back of the compound, as you feel like screaming your lungs out. the pleasure of the flat of his tongue licking on the entirety of your pussy makes you curl your fingers, grabbing at his hair as you couldn’t help but grind against his face.

he’s enjoying having you smother your juices that some of it is beginning to cover his cheeks that he’s moaning, further sending vibrations to the nerves beneath your folds that also has you struggling to conceal the whines pushing past your lips.

“ivo,, fuck—“

“in a second” you manage to make out of his mumble to the strings of curses falling down your lips

he’s now tongue fucking your hole, you can clearly feel the wet appendage sucking at your sensitive clit alternatively. at this point he’s simply burying his face into your pussy, eating you out like he’s been starved for days. the sounds of tongue smacking on the wetness, accompanying the sucking on your hole makes the room sound so dirty.

before you know it he’s sucking on your clit again, flattening his tongue to feel your folds grazing against his tastebuds for the final time before you’re cumming into his mouth, to which he eagerly laps it all up, his face shiny with your wetness clinging onto his skin.

looking down at him, the both of you lock eyes as you try to catch your breaths, bead of sweat already prickling at the surface of your temples. you hadn’t even calmed all the way down before he gets up to tower over you again, turning you so your back is now pressing hard against his chest, his large hands grabbing you by your tits. his swift movements earns a squeak from you, before you could feel him continue your previous work on his belt with his free hand. the clinking sounds of his buckle tells that he’s impatient, his fingers move fast to push his pants down, forcing the crotch to push down his boxers covered cock, making him wince.

“i’ve missed this pussy, fuck—“ you swear his voice just got deeper when you hear him utter against your ear, his teeth grazing the skin at the side of your neck before biting down on it, making sure to leave marks. the last time he did this, it was accidental but fuck, it got him going like a rabid dog.

pushing his boxers down next, his cock springs up from the elastic band as his fingers immediately wrap around his length. collecting saliva at the tip of his tongue, he spits a huge glob of it down for his hand to catch, before carefully spreading the slick all over his cock.

he still has both his hands grabbing your tits, his fingers playfully flicking at the nipples with his head resting at the crook of your neck. your body is flushed against his, sweaty skin sticking against each other’s as you feel his other hand trailing along your waist towards your pussy, before his fingers settle on your puffy folds.

you’re trying to hold onto the elevated bar attached on the wall, feeling your hole being grazed by the tip of fingers before being split open by two of them, the size of his fingers enough to get him another moan from you. it’s almost crazy how you feel so stretched out with just two of his fingers; let alone his cock.

“i swear you’ve the prettiest pussy” he let out, making you lean back further onto his shoulder. of course he thinks that, it’s not like he’s fucked that many, or anyone had ever wanted to fuck him.

plunging his fingers into your pussy, you could feel them against your walls, curling the tip against it. as soon as he finds the spongey spot when he presses down, he pulls his fingers out making you whine in protest.

“oh baby it’s fine, gonna give you my cock now” the words leaving his lips almost make your knees give out, but he has a strong grip across your waist propping you up.

wrapping his fingers around his cock, you could hear the slick sounds of him pumping his shaft before slowing down to position it against your pussy, rubbing the tip in between your folds to collect some of your wetness.

as soon as he thrusts half of his length into your hole, you could hear him sigh as he adjusts his position. he’s pulling his cock back to only leave his tip inside before pushing it all back in again, his large hand squeezing the soft mound of your tit at the pleasure.

“more ivo, please-“ you hear yourself let out, begging him for more, wanting him to just fuck your senseless

“yeah ? tell me what you want” he’s holding his hips back from fucking into you, making you say it before even thinking to move

“fuck me please, fuck me” pretty much sums up everything that you want him to do to you at the moment, not caring about anything else, even if it means that he’s gonna fuck you dumb.

you hear him tsks at you before thrusting hard, his cock slotted tight into your pussy with a loud slapping sound of his hips against your ass.

“so much for being a hard ass, i could just fuck you dumb” his words slip through his gritted teeth, the pleasure of your walls hugging his cock tight have him groaning into your ear.

the thrusts of his hips makes you bounce against his thighs, your tits bouncing in his hand making him squeeze them harder. his other hand moves down your pussy, circling his fingers on your clit at a rapid pace along with his cock fucking into your pussy, your whines sounding perfect in his ears.

“s’good ivo—hmm,”

with the fog starting to cloud your mind it’s clear that he’s fucked you dumb. your hands are holding onto his arms as you struggle not to let your tongue lol past your lips. his thrusts have gone eager and sloppy too, desperately hitting the tip of his cock against your walls trying to get your pussy to make him cum.

as both your highs are starting to chase your conscience, he’s biting down on your shoulder, the pressure’s sure going to leave marks.

“fuck, m’gonna cum” he pants, his thrusts messy

“inside, ivo please” all you could think of in that moment is how good his cum is gonna feel filling you up and oozing out your hole

“hmm fuck— oh fuck, thank you- thank you” you could feel his cock twitching against your walls as he mumbles a string of thank yous, wrapping his arms tightly around your body as he’s cumming, you could feel his warm load spurting inside your pussy, his hips faltering, pumping you full of his cum all while you’re orgasming yourself.

the control room is filled with the sounds of both your moans as you ride out your highs, sounds of staggering heavy breaths and the smell of sex reeks the space.

ivo’s kissing your shoulder gently, slowly pulling his cock out before turning you around to kiss you. returning the kiss, your eyes are half closed as his lips feel so soft against yours, the kiss slow and delicate, in contrast to what he just did. as he pulls away, his lips still close before trailing down to kiss on your tits, wet tongue grazing the nipple with your hands on his head.

he pulls away smiling, reaching down for his pants allowing the both of you to get dressed.

“you gonna visit me again ?” he asks, leaning on the control panel, watching you smooth your top out

“in your dreams, ivo”

and there’s that damn smile he’s near falling for.

taglist: @flipsconhelado @r4vn @love-me-pls @radioloom @farleighlover @imjustheretoreadsmuthaha @luckystrikerealness @juniperhasfallen @themoonchildwhofell @khxna @fuckshitslover @szapizzapanda @inglourious-imagines

divider creds: @loser-otaku-girll

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fandomtrumpshate · 2 months ago

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Fan Labor Offerings

We've had 67 offers for fan labor so far - everything from SPag and cheerleading, to translations in 5 languages, to sensitivity reading for head injuries, to specialist knowledge of camp counseling and US law, to offers for custom AO3 skins and podfic editing - and LOADS more.

Under the cut you'll find the full list, but just as a preview we've got:

Translation in five different languages

Specialists offering their unique knowledge on 15 professions, 15 hobbies, and a variety of medical conditions and subcultures

Sensitivity readers on ten different topics, mainly medical issues and LGBTIA+ topics

Cultural knowledge of eight areas of the US plus seven other countries and two religions

Editing a variety of mediums

Read on for the full list - and stay until the end for some of the more unique offers!

Specialist knowledge offers:

Professional- Academia (US) American legal system/bar exam/practicing law Camp counselor Civil engineering Drafting legislation for local government (American) Employment in movie theaters Forensic science/crime scene investigation/autopsy Funeral services/embalming Medical field expertise: operating room nurse, inpatient/outpatient, emergency and wards Public libraries Small business/environmental/real estate/contracts/and general business law (American) Social media and TV/Film production work Theatre Theme/amusement park (there is a difference!) operations

Medical issues including: Ehler Danlos, surgery, escoliosis, partial disability, poor eyesight, migraines, diabetes, stroke, intellectual disabilities, physical disabilities, and experience with hospitalization

Educational info on charter schools, language immersion education, and US public education

Hobbies- Camping/hiking Chess Choir Classical music, specifically opera Film Geocaching Historical literature Horse care & general equestrian activities Music Musical instruments (guitar, ukulele, handbells) Pet ownership of multiple species/breeds Sewing, tailoring, alterations, fashion history and flat pattern-making Sports culture (US) Textile crafts (esp knitting and mending) Voice and vocal technique

Subcultures including BDSM and leather/kink, Goth, and j-fashion.

Sensitivity reading offers:

ADHD Aromanticism Asexuality Autism Blindness including: accessibility, Braille education, experience with ablism and activism, experience with assistive devices, guide dog use, rehabilitation services, navigating with or without white cane Butch/femme (esp. stone) Genderqueer Head injuries LGBTQ+ Transmasc/non-binary gender identities and/or social/medical/legal gender transitions

Cultural knowledge offers:

Australian American Chinese diaspora British culture/history Catholicism China Columbian culture/Latine culture German culture Judaism Mexican culture United States (Baltimore, Maryland; Illinois; southern California/greater Los Angeles; Great Lakes region; Pacific Nortwest; Upper Midwest; small town/rural college) Taiwan

Translation offers:

Catalan/English French/Catalan French/English German/English Spanish/Catalan Spanish/English Spanish/French Spanish (Latin-American)/English Limited English/Classical Latin

Other fan labor offers:

Typesetting a fic for printing/binding Commenting! Podfic editing Historical research assistance/developing research methodology Book review Custom AO3 workskin Basic AO3 coding Podfic mentoring/tutoring/coaching using Audacity

You guys know So Much. We're so lucky you're all so willing to share!

Want to join us? Sign ups are open until Sunday Feb 2!

#fth 2025 #fan labor #breakdown of offers #... so far

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religion-is-a-mental-illness · 3 months ago

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Aya: My name is Aya Ahmed Abdullah Sa'id al-Banna. I study at [UNRWA's] Tulkarm Camp Girls' School.

Interviewer: Did you learn anything in school about the Right of Return?

Aya: Yes. The right of the brave, and we'll return to our land, stuff like that.

Interviewer: What do they teach you about Israel?

Aya: That we'll... That we'll shoot them

Interviewer: Do you hate the Jews?

Aya: Yes, a lot.

Interviewer: Why?

Aya: Because they're our enemies and we'll take back our right from them.

Interviewer: What do you think about the attack on Israel on October 7th and the war that happened after it? Is this connected to the Right of Return?

Aya: Yes. So that we can take Palestine, and so that our land returns to us.

Interviewer: Do you think Al-Aqsa is just symbolic?

Aya: No, I'm willing to fight for it.

Interviewer: Is there room for the Jews in Al-Aqsa?

Aya: No.

Interviewer: Do the Jews have the right to exist here in Palestine?

Aya: No. Because Palestine is ours, not theirs.

Interviewer: Is it possible to divide Palestine between the Jews and the Palestinians?

Aya: No. This is our land.

Interviewer: What do you like to watch the most on your phone?

Aya: I like to watch things about Palestine, the martyrs, the resistance fighters and Hamas.

Interviewer: So, would you want to join the resistance?

Aya: Yes.

Interviewer: Why?

Aya: So that I can fight, and take my rights from Israel and become a martyr.

Interviewer: What do you learn in school about peace?

Aya: It teaches me... that we don't like Israel.

Interviewer: Are the martyrs heroes?

Aya: Yes, they're big heroes.

Interviewer: Do you want to become a martyr?

Aya: Yes.

Interviewer: Why?

Aya: So that we can rise up to Allah.

UNRWA is just a front for Hamas.

Reminder that Al-Aqsa resides on the Temple Mount, and the existence of both the First and Second Temples at that location is well-established. Yes, the bible is fictional, but so is Spider-Man and we don't have to assume that New York is fictional too, because fiction can be set in real locations. And we don't have to blindly trust the fables of the bible when there is archaeological evidence.

No matter how much bogus postmodern academic gibberish Hamas supporters throw around, this is about Islamic hate for Jews. And always was.

"You should attack every Jew possible in all the world and kill them." -- Fathi Hamad, Hamas Interior Minister

"People of Jerusalem. We want you to cut off the heads of the Jews with knives. With your hand, cut their artery from here. A knife costs five shekels. Buy a knife, sharpen it, put it there, and just cut off [their heads]. It costs just five shekels." -- Fathi Hamad, Hamas Interior Minister

"... the Islamic Resistance Movement aspires to the realisation of Allah's promise, no matter how long that should take. The Prophet, Allah bless him and grant him salvation, has said: 'The Day of Judgement will not come about until Moslems fight the Jews (killing the Jews), when the Jew will hide behind stones and trees. The stones and trees will say O Moslems, O Abdulla, there is a Jew behind me, come and kill him.'" -- Hamas Charter, 1988

#UNRWA #UNRWA is Hamas #Defund UNRWA #UNRWA schools #Hamas #exterminate hamas #hamas terrorism #islamic terrorism #antisemitism #islam #this is islam #islamic violence #palestine #israel #indoctrination #martyrs #martyrdom #die for allah #religion is a mental illness

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straightline-bow · 4 months ago

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FUCK ben sulyamen actually.

rant about the D&I charter in regard to being lgbtq+ below the cut but I do discuss the punishments for queer people in some countries F1 races in and that has the potential to be triggering, so.

TW: mentions of the death penalty & torture

look i love that hamilton’s mission 44 was able to help with the D&I charter that the fia/fom have recently signed, but that doesn’t help the fact that there are 195 countries in the world, and of those 195, only eleven have the death penalty for being gay, and yet f1 races in THREE of them.

of ONE HUNDRED AND NINETY FIVE countries, 65 punish homosexuality explicitly, and f1 races in four of them (Qutar: death penalty, UAE: death penalty, Saudi Arabia: death penalty, Bahrain: semi-illegal). Beyond that, in Hungary, Azerbaijan and likely the USA, queer people face discrimination and in the case of Azerbaijan, imprisonment and possible torture.

jesus. it’d be so easy to race in countries that just don’t criminalise being gay, let alone give the DEATH PENALTY for it, but no, he just has to accept the money, and then greenwash the whole thing with some bullshit about renewable jet fuel and a instagram post with some pretty words.

what happened to the bullshit ‘we race as one’ little slogan they used to have plastered everywhere? vanished in 2022, with Domenicali saying they needed to change “gesture to action” to sky sports. i haven’t seen that happen. the ‘we race as one slogan’ was designed to encompass multitudes more than just lgbtq+ rights, fair enough, but they co-opted the rainbow branding for it, which is iconic enough that by itself people associated rainbows with lgbtq+ rights. for them to have used that branding to clean up their image and sell shittons of tickets and merch, to then do absolutely fucking NOTHING for lgbtq+ people within the sport is fucking disgraceful, and the worst kind of rainbow-washing.

ralf schumacher has done more for lgbtq+ people in the sport than the fia/fom ever has. by coming out whilst alive and famous, and by being a race winner, he has single-handedly given any young kid who is queer and wants to be an f1 driver a figure to look up to. he’s created a possibility for every young queer kid out there who loves f1. hell, i hate his opinions most of the time, but that doesn’t prevent me from standing behind the opinion that he’s one of my faves now, even when i disagree with him. (which is often.)

but it SHOULDN’T have to be down to individual ex-drivers. fucking hell. the fia is meant to KEEP THEM SAFE. no driver will be able to come out whilst driving at the moment, even if their team and fom/fia were fully behind them, because they wouldn’t be able to race in some countries for fear for their life. fuck that. i mean, i’d love to go into motorsports journalism, but i face the prospect that i wouldn’t be able to be open and public about my sexuality if i did make it, for fear of being imprisoned etc in what would essentially be my workplace in some countries.

it’s just so fucking frustrating. i get that a lot of people have an issue with it due to the racism still kind of baked into the institution of the sport, although i think an argument can be made toward it being more of a classism problem than specifically a racism problem (aka more white kids get opportunities because more of them are rich. not JUST because they’re white, although there is still that discrimination) but at least they aren’t in a situation where if they go to certain countries, they are risking being legally killed for their sexuality.

(yes, obviously, police brutality and racism can make it fucking risky and awful for poc to go to some countries, because they have a higher risk of being ‘accidentally’ killed. Qatar has stones people to death LEGALLY for being gay. these things are not actually the same)

and this charter does fuck all. i’m sorry, it probably will help for women and poc in motorsports, and for that i’m grateful, i truly am. it’s been long coming, and it’s fantastic that it’s here and hopefully will be used to actively help increase diversity & inclusion in those areas. that does not, however, negate the fact that NO mechanic, engineer, scrutineer, hospitality worker, driver, broadcaster, photographer, team principal, commentator etc can come out and be able to go to these countries without fear. none. THATS what the fia/fom should be fucking focussing on, eliminating fucking death threats to it’s workers.

#tw death penalty #tw torture #both only mentioned #f1 #formula 1 #ben sulyamen #fia #fom #lewis hamilton #ralf schumacher

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ellynneversweet · 1 month ago

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My strongest opinion on how Touchstone became a statue is that it was an honest-to-god accident. There’s a few survivors in the palace, panicking, the Charter was broken, and someone, probably the Abhorsen, who has just banished Kerrigor and rebound Mogget and is all but falling over with shock and exhaustion tries to cast a spell — but he’s making it up as he goes and kinda going ‘vibes of peace, stillness, not dying…Holehallow (fuck!)…incorruptability? Sure, that works…’ and it straight up goes wrong because they’re standing on top of the broken stones in a building riddled with wards to defend the crown and Touchstone’s brimming with free magic with no rational mind controlling it because that’s more or less what being beserk is and, well, whoops. Now what.

What I’m saying is. I think trying to cast Charter magic in the time immediately after the stones were broken was probably like trying write an essay in the middle of an earthquake with a concussion.

#in line with my previous opinions that the blood and bone great charter members are sources of the charter #I think this continued after death #which is why we get preservation of the corpses of the Clayr and the royal family #Holehallow and the clayr’s ossuary are like less powerful versions of the great stones acting as a source rather than #a conduit as the lesser stones are #the old kingdom series #Abhorsen

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middlingmay · 2 months ago

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Thanks to everyone who gave me advice on side-blogging versus main blog!

So, if you don't already know, I kind of do my own original writing, too. And I've promised myself this is the year I start to put it out there and hopefully publish my first piece of fiction.

A huge part of this has been writing my main fic, That Ol' Devil Called Love. Because it's kind of proved to myself that I can write novel-length pieces if I'm obsessed with them enough <3

Big thanks to @avonne-writes @amiserableseriesofevents and @jjubilee-fluff for being so encouraging on my earlier post looking for advice, and smooches to @soliloquy-dawn who's had eyes on an old draft of my main original work and shared their very lovely feedback.

SO. If that's not your thing and you're here for MOTA, or any of the other fandom content I blog, then I'll be tagging posts with my original work with the tag #original writing. and the name of whatever piece it is I'm posting that day. Creative, I know. But just in case anyone wants to filter it out :)

Here's a little taster for my main work, called All Grown-ups Must Die, set in 1960s Scotland:

She was silhouetted against the headlights. They were the only source of light on the back road.

Mama would be raging at her, being out so late.

The thought floated in some quiet space in her mind. It erased the pricks of rocks and pebbles and stones digging into her palms and carving a home for themselves in her knees. The car radio continued to spit out soft sounds.

The night we met I knew I, Needed you so. And if I had the chance I’d, Never let you go.

She watched the gnarled and matted mass of her hair catch the nighttime breeze. All her oils and sprays hadn’t held up to their end of the bargain. She laughed once. It was a gasping, rough sound. Maybe mama would writer her a letter to the manufacturer. Of all the things she’d had to endure tonight, she could have done without the split ends and tangles.

Her wrists were red and stinging. Her nails were scuffed and several were broken ragged. Her favourite ring—a sapphire that mama got from her mam, and her mam, and her mam—was covered in a dark splotch.

“-Enny?” The tinny voice crackled into life through the open door of the idling car. “Benny? –ick up…radio!”

Benny sat back on her heels. The spike of one pressed against the small of her back. If felt good, grounding. She gradually took stock of the cooling and sticky blood speckled on her skin and splashed in her hair.

So won’t you please, Be my, be my baby? Be my little baby, My one and only baby.

A leg hung out of the car on the driver’s side. She hauled in a ragged gasp of air and bared her teeth, pearly against her skin and the blood, in a snarl.

“Benny! Hey – give it!”

“Benny? Pick up the radio Benny. Will—fucking gonnae drive faster!”

Benny dragged and scraped her palms and shins as she crawled across the dirt and gravel road. Little pricks of pain left a red, spotted line chartering her progress towards the car, like a treasure map.

#original writing #all grownups must die #agmd #writeblr #writers on tumblr #my writing #1960s #Scotland #fiction #dark fiction #dark humour

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colormepurplex2 · 3 months ago

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The Sirens' Song | Into The Deep

↳ Namjoon x Jimin x f.Reader ⤜ Strangers to Lovers, Merfolk/Sirens, Myth/Legend, Fantasy AU ⤜ Rating: MA🔞 ⤜ WC: 7,688 ⚠️Melancholy thoughts, crass language, shipwreck, mild fear, mentions of death, grief

Next Chapter⇾ (coming soon) ◅ Back to story masterlist

In the moon’s glow, where darkness plays, The ocean breathes in rhythmic ways. Against obsidian rocks that are jagged and proud, The tempest whispers secrets, fierce yet loud. Each wave a tale of journeys long gone, Of the briny depth’s roar laced with siren’s song. She foams and crashes, wild and free, A dance of power like a haunting symphony. The salt-kissed air filled with misty spray, Birthing endless nights that will never give way. Watch her still, the tide, relentless; she seeks To carve the stone with her lashing peaks. From rocky cliffs, the sirens wail, Their haunting voices spin a tale. Of sailors lost in the tempest's grip, Drawn to the edge, where they are oft to slip. In Black Rock Bay, the legends doth swell, Of gold and gems that decorate a haunting hell. As storm clouds gather and shadows creep, The restless spirits never sleep. For in this bay where echoes cling, The tempest rages, and the sirens sing.

The song continues, the bard sitting by the fire supporting the mournful words with the harp settled across his lap. His gnarled fingers surprisingly spry on the delicate strings. The dower tune does nothing to bolster your dreary mood. Not even the tankard of sour ale clasped between your palms seems to be working. If anything, the song only proves to darken your heart further.

You’ve heard stories about Black Rock Bay, with the treacherous breaker waves constantly lashing at the jutting obsidian spires that are said to hide untold treasures if one can make it through the squall and ripping current. That is, if you don’t get swindled away into the black abyss enthralled by a siren’s song first.

Just last summer, Miguel, the man you had been sharing your bed with, stole away in the middle of the night with your ship and crew with a course chartered to Black Rock Bay. Fool’s you, you suppose, for letting a man get that close to you. It’s hard enough being a woman, harder still being a woman who is also the captain of a ship. It took you almost a decade to earn your sails and the loyalty of your crew—or so you thought, bunch of mutinous fish guts, the lot of them.

You hope Miguel is somewhere at the bottom of the bay, the sirens using his bones to pick their teeth. The last year has been challenging, trying to rebuild what you once had. But you have enough salt in your veins that it would take more than a stab in the back to see you give up. The hardest part has been gathering a new crew. As it is now, you have the bare minimum of bodies needed to man your new ship. And you’re not sure a few wouldn’t do the same as Miguel did for the right price.

After all, being a pirate comes with its fair share of dangers.

But…maybe… It sits like a lead weight in your belly, the idea of conquering Black Rock Bay out of spite. No one would ever dare to laugh or betray you then, no daggers in your back or sweet smiles slithering their way into your bed only to strike with venom while you’re least expecting it. You’d be a legend. There would be many songs written, stories told far and wide...

“‘Ey, Cap, we off with the sun?” The spritely voice of your best friend, and the only crew member who didn’t take off with Miguel, pipes up from beside you, breaking through your mental wallowing. She slides her petite frame onto the bench beside you, her elbow jostling yours and causing some of the now-luke-warm ale from your tankard to slosh onto your hand. “Oh, sorry,” she adds with a nervous chuckle. “Let me just…” She snatches a handkerchief that has seen better days from her coat pocket and dabs at your hand and the table.

“Ollie, leave it, it’s fine.”

She gives you a gap-toothed grin, her freckled cheeks coloring as she stuffs her soiled handkerchief back into her pocket. Olivia Ramsey has been your friend since you were both urchins on the street fighting over crusts of moldy bread.

You never knew your parents, only that your mother was a flavor that many were partial to, and she indulged for the right amount of coin. It’s supposed that you were begotten on her by one of those men—a pirate, most likely. Once you were old enough to pilfer your own meals, not quite ten, those proverbial apron strings everyone believes mothers possess were indefinitely sheered off at the source. All your memories of her are vague, a hazy figure shooing you away from a darkened doorway...a woman too busy earning her next coin to worry about the ill-gotten welp that she saw as more of a curse than a blessing.

Ollie came from a loving home. Or as loving as an ill-favored family can be. Her father had a gambling problem, and her mother had the spine of a jellyfish. When she was seven, she ended up being the payment of a gambling debt. Servitude to an upper household was her fate. At some point or another—the details are muddled to you as Ollie changes the story just about as many times as she’s told it—she escaped and tried to make her way back to her parents, only to find the house empty when she returned.

It wasn’t long after the two of you became struggling companions that you noticed she sometimes sought answers about her family. You followed her once when she slipped off in the middle of the night, right to the door of a gentlemen’s club. That’s when she discovered she could pass in men’s spaces, thought to be a boy sneaking about. The men would laugh at ‘him’ and be none the wiser to their spilled secrets being consumed by feminine ears.

You look her over now, automatically taking account of her constitution. Curls of her straw-colored hair peek out from under the knit cap pulled low on her head. It’s part of her ploy, continuing to dupe men and cleverly blend in in places where you would be turned away at the door.

“If we leave wi’the sun, there’s a chance we beat Fat Al through the breakers and can hit the reef first.”

You sigh, giving your friend a sidelong look before pushing away your ale and angling your body toward hers. As nice as it would be to put that sniveling pock-marked arse of a wannabe pirate Fat Al in his place…a new plan is formulating in your mind. Slumping slightly, you drape an arm over her shoulders and put your mouth close to her ear.

“I say we let Fat Al have the reef.” Your eyes flick to the bard still crooning about briny ocean air and hauntingly beautiful creatures harboring chests of riches. “There is another place I have set my sights on…”

🌊🌊🌊

Jimin

There is a storm brewing. Jimin can feel it in how the temperature changes in the currents. He’s long since grown used to the drastic changes when the cooler waters from deeper in the ocean surge up into the warmer surface waters. After all, his home has always been this bay, where storms often rage in the skies overhead.

What he isn’t used to is seeing the giant belly of a boat slicing through the water of his bay. More often, the boats that attempt to come to the island of Black Rock Bay come in on the eastern side of the isle where the shore looks smoother and more welcoming—though it is anything but, with its hidden reefs and jagged lava rock just below the surface of the ocean.

“What do you think?” Namjoon’s voice so close startles Jimin out of his vigilant assessment.

“Storms coming on too strong. The ship won’t make it into the bay before the breakers gain height. Most likely, it’ll end up in pieces scattered along the shore,” Jimin murmurs, the frilled gills along the sides of his neck opening and closing, emitting small streamers of bubbles with his words.

“Should we send out the runners and try to steer them clear?”

Jimin thinks on this for a second before shaking his head. “They won’t make it here in time, perhaps if we had asked them before the sun went down just in case this happened. Yoongi would do his best, but…no, my love, we just have to wait and see what grace Calypso may grant these poor souls.”

He knows that even if Yoongi could coax a few of the larger whales to the surface, they’d barely make a difference in causing the boat to change course. As it is, it would be unlikely for whoever’s manning the ship to even see the whales, considering how dark the sky is and how violent the sea is becoming. They’re more likely to accidentally clip one of the gentle beasts than see them.

Namjoon nods, implicitly accepting Jimin’s judgement without question. “We best go deeper; I can already feel the tug of the tide. You’ll be swept away if you linger this close to the surface.”

It’s just as Jimin expects. The sea is angry, thrashing heavy squalls against the shore. Gusts of wind rip through the air, with piercing screams to rival the ocean's own shrill cries. Even from this far down, Jimin can hear the cacophony causing the wood of the boat to groan and creak.

Namjoon’s arms tighten around Jimin. They both watch in horror as the wide berth of the ship rocks violently, getting tossed around like a child’s toy by the turmoil of the sea. “I’ve never seen anything like it,” Namjoon murmurs in Jimin’s ear, the bubbles from his words getting lost in the swift currents moving around them.

They’re both watching from the relative safety of one of the many underwater passageways that zig-zag through the underbelly of the island of Black Rock Bay. Small windows look out into the open water, doubling as entrances to the tunnel systems.

It’s like watching a painting come to life, the edges of the window acting as the frame. The boat daring to chart through the bay must be manned by a demi-god, as they continue to battle and persist against the storm.

Jimin is in awe at the display of sheer will. Despite being tossed around with every crashing wave against its bulwark, it careens ever closer to the jagged rocks along the shore, but somehow, the boat rights itself every time and manages to dodge the deathly peaks.

“Whoever they are…if they can navigate through this storm without breaking their ship on the rocks, I’ll personally give them enough gold to fill their hold,” Jimin tells Namjoon as his eyes stay locked on the vessel overhead.

The rough stone lip of the window makes his fingers ache as he clenches them around it every time the ship comes close to one of the outcroppings of old lava rock hidden by the foaming, swirling sea.

“You think they’ll make it?”

Just as Jimin opens his mouth to respond to Namjoon, the first reverberating impact thunders through the bay. Just as the boat started to swing one way, the raucous waves sent it into a near tail-spin without enough time for correction.

Wood splinters, the ocean roaring its victory as it floods into the bilge of the ship, filling it with far more water than it could hold. Jimin sighs, his chest aching from knowing that this was the inevitable end. Even though he had spoken the truth, maybe this fate might have been avoided if he had kept his mouth shut.

Or better yet, maybe if he had agreed to let Yoongi call for the runners, the souls lost above wouldn’t have been swept away by the ravaging sea. Even a tiny chance would have been better than watching this catastrophe; no matter how fruitful the spoils might be from the wreckage. But it’s too late now.

The boat's keel ruptures as it runs along one of the bigger jagged points of bedrock, like a sharp knife through kelp. With that surrender of wood to rock, Jimin knows there is no hope for the ship; it’s been ripped open from stern to bow. They can only watch…wait, and maybe catch an unfortunate soul or two and try to help.

Just as the thought passes Jimin’s mind, Namjoon gasps. He thrusts a hand out over Jimin’s shoulder. “Do you see that?”

Jimin shakes his head, eyes frantically searching the dark, murky waters. Suddenly, he sees them, a flailing figure struggling through one of the rip currents. Jimin doesn’t think twice, using his grip on the window's ledge to propel himself forward. Namjoon is a second behind him, his powerful pearlescent tail hurtling him past Jimin.

“Go!” Jimin urges when Namjoon glances back at him. He can see the hesitation in Namjoon’s eyes, uncomfortable with the idea of leaving Jimin behind with the waters so turbulent. “Don’t worry about me!”

Namjoon gives him a resolute nod before renewing his efforts upward. Jimin watches, his own tail and muscles straining as he fights the currents, as Namjoon dodges through the debris field where they last saw the figure in the water.

For one harrowing second, Jimin loses sight of Namjoon around a large piece of ship wreckage. A relieved cry catches in Jimin’s throat as Namjoon reappears, his arms cradling a much smaller being.

“A woman,” Namjoon grunts when Jimin reaches him. “I didn’t see any others.”

Jimin uses his arms to push himself backward, trailing slowly after Namjoon, who doubles his efforts to drag the limp woman toward the opening to one of their open-air caves. It’s a short swim, but all the same, Jimin worries for the woman. There is no telling how long she’s been under or when the last time she had a breath of air was.

Worry eats away at the pit of Jimin’s stomach as he watches large swaths of sail and immense sheets of timber sink to litter the bottom of the bay. Something tells him if anyone else was aboard that ship, they’re lost to the sea. With one final sweep of his eyes over the wreckage, he turns and slips into the tunnel, following after Namjoon and the woman he is carrying in his arms with the hope they will be able to help her.

🌊🌊🌊

Chills seep into your body, burrowing all the way down to your bones. Everything aches. You feel like you just went on a two-week bender and fell into the ocean. Your clothes are sodden, and you feel the violent urge to sick up…maybe you had gone on a bender…

The urge becomes too much, and you heave onto your side, emptying briny water and bile from your belly. It burns on the way out, clogging your nose and making your eyes water as you retch onto the sand.

Clarity begins to ebb in, and the fact you’re lying in the sand with the moon and stars twinkling from above makes no sense because the last thing you remember is—Fuck!

You fling yourself up onto your backside, stirring a shower of wet sand into the air, and you have to clamp a hand over your mouth, the sudden movement of sitting up threatening to have you heaving once more.

Swallowing the bile bubbling up, you cough before shouting, “Ollie?!” Your voice is hoarse, the ocean water having stripped your throat raw. “Please, Ollie?!”

The sand shifts beneath your unsteady feet as you struggle to stand. You tilt wildly to the side, your balance off and everything around you showing double. Finally, the shore stops spinning, and you can take in everything around you.

Fat and heavy overhead, the moon illuminates stray bits of what you can only assume is your ship dotting the sand—about thirty feet from the shoreline, a thick jungle stretches in either direction as far as you can see. You wouldn’t have guessed the sky was full of turmoil just…hours ago? Well, you assume it’s only been hours, at least; it’s hard to be sure, but judging by the moon's position, you think you’re right.

You know you should have turned around as soon as the first streak of lightning lit up the horizon. But, with Ollie reassuring you, along with the bolstered attitude from the rest of the crew, you pressed forward, hands tight to the wheel as you steered the bow toward the distant shoreline.

It was with the intent of anchoring just outside the breaker point of the bay, where the reef and lava rock can be seen jutting from the waters. However, the winds were too strong, and the storm tossed the boat about and put you completely off course, right into the path of the old slag tunnels.

You remember how the ship shuddered, the piercing squeal of wood and iron giving in to the relentless power of the rock. Ollie’s alarmed face was the last thing you remember seeing before the whole boat rocked hard to the side, and you were ripped from the helm by the force and sent tumbling into the dark waters of the bay.

Suddenly, you hear voices coming from ahead of you—from the jungle. You stop and listen, holding your breath before exhaling in a rush. “Ollie!” you call, scrambling toward the tree line. “Ollie! Jameson! Red! Anyone?”

Darkness swallows you as you stumble ahead, arms wheeling to keep yourself upright. You shove against trees, using their rough, wet trunks for support as you propel yourself through the underbrush.

“Captain.”

The word shivers down your spine, seeming to come from all directions. You spin in a circle, wet greenery whipping you in the face. The deep emerald greens and rich browns of the jungle are barely perceptible, with the meager moonlight filtering through the dense overhead canopy.

“Ollie!” you scream, the name echoing around you ten-fold. “Where are you? Ollie, can you hear me!?”

“Captain of the shining sea.”

“Looking here, looking there; come to find me.”

“Ollie, this isn’t funny,” you croak. The silence that follows is deafening. Not even insect noise or the hum of wildlife greets you. “Please.” The word falls in a whisper from your trembling lips.

“Captain, Captain of the shining sea. Looking here, looking there; come to find me.”

The words repeat, only this time there is a distinct lilting quality that makes your blood run cold. Ollie isn’t a singer. More so, the entire crew would rather shove nails under their fingernails than belt any sea shanty.

Only one thing comes to mind: a singular possibility as to who—what—it could be.

Sirens. Luring you to your death, enticing the next meal that will fill their bellies.

Foolish, so foolish. And you want legendary songs written about you. You scoff to yourself. The only songs they’ll be writing about you will be the tragic or humorous kind. Everyone will have a good laugh after they toast your memory. No wonder everyone thinks women are bad luck aboard pirate ships. Here you are proving them right.

Turning on your toes, you do your best to hurry back the way you came. Only it’s impossible to tell which way is which in the dark. Everything looks the same. The words continue to haunt you, nipping at your heels no matter how far you manage to go.

“Captain, Captain of the shining sea…”

“Stop! Stop it! Leave me—”

The rest of your plea turns into a shriek as you hurtle down a steep incline. Pain races through your limbs as they smack into trees and bushes, your descent an uncontrollable plummet.

The ground rises to meet you, the stark reality of your situation flashing before your eyes right before your head meets the unforgiving surface of a rock, and everything goes black.

🌊🌊🌊

Namjoon

“Where did she go? She was right here! You said you’d look after her while I got the stew going.”

Jimin scowls at Namjoon, gesturing to the space where the human woman was just moments ago.

“Simmer down. I’ll go look for her. She can’t have gone far.” In fact, Namjoon is relatively sure he knows exactly where she went.

“No harm better come to her, Namjoon. I mean it!” Jimin’s sour attitude follows Namjoon as he shuffles out into the jungle. It would be better if the sun were out, but as it is, his vision is only mildly impacted by the dark of night. If he were able to assume his mer-form, he’d have no issues at all. Being on two legs only serves as a minor hindrance, mainly in things like hearing and sight.

It’s not like Namjoon intended for the female to wake up and immediately seek to escape. Granted, Namjoon’s knowledge of human females is nearly as limited as Jimin’s, but he at least thought she might wait around to listen to him. He had only stepped away for a second, seeking to put on some acceptable clothing and then bring her some fresh water to drink so it might help clear her head.

“Oh,” Namjoon startles. “What do we have here?” He crouches down next to the crumpled form of a woman. The clothing is similar enough, but the woman is not the same one he rescued from the wreckage.

“Namjoon!” a familiar voice calls a moment before the sound of crunching leaves and soft grunts enters the small clearing at the foot of the incline leading into the heart of the jungle.

“Hoseok? What are you—oh, you found her.”

“Put me down, ya fish-eyed freak! Put me…fuck! Captain, oh seven seas, Captain! Put me down, for salt's sake!”

The small woman Namjoon rescued from the wreckage tumbles from Hoseok’s arms. She scrambles forward on her hands and knees to kneel beside the prone woman at Namjoon’s feet.

“You shouldn’t have wandered off,” Namjoon begins, only to be cut off by the murderous glare thrown up at him.

“What did ya do to ‘er?! I swear to the goddess below, if ya so much as put your slimy hands on ‘er, I’ll gut ya like the fish ya are!”

Namjoon backs away, his very not slimy hands in the air before him. “I only just found her. She was already like that.”

Hoseok shuffles his feet, rubbing at the back of his neck. “It was probably the others. I heard them singing earlier. I was coming to get you when I stumbled upon this one,” he says, gesturing with his other hand at the small woman with freckled cheeks and short blond curls, “trying to climb the cliffs. Nearly went over back into the ocean.”

“You have to help ‘er,” the blond woman says, all the fiery ire gone from her voice. She gently brushes sand from the other woman’s cheeks and hair, her fingers coming away sticky with blood. “Please.”

Namjoon had no intention of not helping the woman from the start. But, to placate the small one, he nods his agreement. “I will do what I can. But I need to pick her up.”

The blond one gives him a lingering look, clearly judging his merit, before sliding back on her knees to provide Namjoon with the space he needs to kneel beside the prone woman.

“Be careful wi’ ‘er head.”

Namjoon’s lips purse into a frown, his brain trying desperately to place the woman’s accent. It’s a mixed jumble, consisting of influence seemingly from multiple places. When the woman waves a frantic hand in Namjoon’s face, he blinks, startling back to the task at hand. There will be plenty of time later to figure out where the humans have come from.

Doing just as instructed, with careful ease, Namjoon takes the unconscious woman into his arms, letting her head rest against his naked chest. The linen trousers he pulled on earlier only come to mid-calf, his feet bare of the shoes he knows humans are partial to. The short pants were the only thing he found in Jimin’s chest of human treasures that remotely fit. It’s been so long since either of them had the company of someone other than their own kind that it hadn’t dawned on Namjoon that greeting the young woman in nothing but his skin wouldn’t be proper.

“Hoseok,” Namjoon says, dismissing his inner thoughts about human propriety surrounding clothing, and nods toward the opening to the cave system where Jimin should be waiting.

Hoseok, who is one of Namjoon’s closest friends, trails his eyes over the blond woman before offering her his hand. “Would you like to come with her?”

With no outward hesitation other than the slight narrowing of her eyes, the small woman slides her hand into Hoseok’s, and he hauls her to her feet. “I’m Ollie, by the way,” she says, her shorter legs keeping pace with Hoseok’s with little issue. “And, you’re Hoseok?” Namjoon has never seen his friend nervous, but right now, he’s pretty confident that’s exactly the emotion coloring his friend’s cheeks. Hoseok nods. “Well, I have a lot o’ questions, Hoseok. Maybe ya can answer some as we walk.”

🌊🌊🌊

You’ve had your fair share of blackouts in your life. What with how sour ale can fill your belly and the enticing bet to drink someone under the table…you’d be remiss in saying you’ve never awoken a time or two in a strange place with only a small inkling of how you ended up there.

However, doing it twice in a row is something new. Your head aches. Differently than it had before when you awoke on the beach. This is a skull-deep pounding, something that only comes when you catch an errant fist in a fight or take a sail boom to the back of the head.

You want to empty your stomach for a whole different reason now. The sickly feeling swirls in your belly, your eyes fluttering open as you dry retch. “Fuck,” you whisper coarsely.

“Captain!”

The relief at hearing Ollie’s voice is second to the splitting pain that ricochets through your head at her volume. “Softer, Ollie.”

“Oh, right.” Her freckled cheeks plump around the sheepish smile she gives you. “Sorry ‘bout that, Cap. I’m jus’ so happy to see ya awake. Ya plum near ended my days, seein’ ya layin’ there on the ground wi’ your head split open like a melon.”

You tenderly probe at the lump forming over your right temple. It’s warm to the touch, the flesh swollen and aching. You can feel the rough humps of stitching crisscrossing over the edge of the lump. You wince as your fingers map across the seven sutures. “I must look a sight. Did you stitch me up?”

“Beautiful as always, Cap. Would take a wonder stronger than’a rock to change that. And I wish I could take credit for ‘at beautiful jab job, but it wasn’t me.”

Gods love this woman; she’s a treasure you don’t deserve. Your eyes focus enough that you can take her in wholly. She sports her own discolored lump on the side of her jaw, and dark circles rim the soft skin under her eyes. There is a split at the corner of her mouth, and her right arm, you realize, is secured in a burlap sling. You’re so overwhelmed with taking her in that you don’t even register that she said she wasn’t the one to stitch you up. “Oh, Ollie,” you whisper softly. “What did I do to you?”

She jerks upright, indignation written all over her face. “This wasn’t you, Cap. This was that surly sea we love so much. Ain’t nothin’ I’ve never had before.” It’s clear she believes that wholeheartedly with the stern look in her eyes. “Besides, ya ought not worry about me. How’s yar head?”

You sit up slowly, your vision narrowing slightly as your world rights itself. Blinking, you let your eyes slide over your surroundings, taking an account of what’s around you. A soft mat and scattered blankets create a nest of comfort under you.

The walls are smooth stone with tiny carved-out nitches that form shelves holding a mix of books, shells, and other small trinkets. There is a homey feel to the sea cave, with a few chests and other odd bits of furniture lining the walls. You’d almost think you were in a bizarrely themed boarding room if it weren’t for the giant opening in the floor some feet away, the soft lap of water nibbling at the hole's edge.

Lichen sticks to the ceiling, its soft blue and green glow giving enough light that your eyes aren’t straining as you continue your perusal. Aside from the large hole in the floor, a narrow doorway leads into darkness on the other side of the room.

“Where are we?” you ask, choosing to focus on finding answers of your own rather than the incessant pounding of your skull.

Ollie rocks back on her heels, wrapping her good arm around her knees. You notice she’s not wearing the same clothes she wore the last time you saw her on the boat. Ugh, the boat…you don’t even want to think about that right now. The faded green tunic and sandy-colored breeches dwarf her tiny frame, the neck of the top hanging off one of her shoulders. You glance down and see her petite toes, her shoes nowhere to be seen.

She wiggles her toes, giggling softly. “Hoseok says bare feet’re better for walkin’ the tunnels. Less likely to slip and split my own noggin’.” She emphasizes the words with a rap of her knuckles against the side of her blond curl-covered head.

“Hoseok?” you ask, your attention catching on that name. It’s familiar, almost like you heard it in a dream, but far too fuzzy for you to be sure.

“Oh, he’s—”

“He’s right here,” chirps a jovial, masculine voice from the passageway across the room. “Nice to see you awake. Think you could stomach some stew? Would do you well to get something in your body.”

Your eyes grow as wide as saucers at the nearly naked man shuffling into the cavernous space. In his hands is a wide wooden board covered in what looks like chunks of bread, sliced fruit, and a bowl of steaming stew. The smell of the luscious, smoky broth hits your nose as he draws closer, and your stomach gives an appreciative gurgle.

“I promise the food is safe ta’ eat,” Ollie whispers, slanting a hand against her mouth in your direction. “It’s smoked fish stew. I had some earlier and even asked after seconds.”

That captures your attention, your eyes swinging in her direction, an incredulous look overtaking your face. “Ollie—”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Rule number one: don’t accept food from blokes ya don’t know. But, Cap, I was starvin’, and I knew ya’d be in need of some food when ya woke. So, really, I did it for ya, had to make sure they wasn’t tryin’ to poison ya.”

You take a moment to assess Ollie’s countenance, realizing that aside from the visible bruises from her toss into the ocean, she seems no worse for wear. Her pallor is rosey, a healthy flush beneath her freckles, and her eyes are bright and clear.

“Just some water,” you say, your gaze flicking towards this Hoseok character.

“But, Cap—”

“For now, Ol. Just to be sure my stomach doesn’t sick up from anything more hearty.”

You hate lying to her. Even though she seems to be of her right mind, she almost seems too eager…too trusting. Which is so far removed from the Olivia Ramsey you know, the one who would turn her nose up in suspicion at even the slightest hint of stink. And this has the ripe stench of three-day-old chum all over it.

“Water then.” Hoseok nods, though his lips kick down in a frown as he sets the tray laden with food beside the tangle of blankets and pillows you woke up on.

“Thank you,” you mutter as Ollie hands you a ceramic cup from the tray. The contents look clear enough and holds no distinct odor as you give it a tentative sniff before putting it to your lips.

The water is crisp and surprisingly cool, tasting faintly earthy like it came directly from a rocky stream. You gulp it down, your aching and raw throat rejoicing with the soothing relief.

Hoseok squats down beside Ollie, your eyes tracking his every movement. His pants are thin, the worn fabric hanging loosely from his frame. It’s clear they’re not new, perhaps aged even further from the constant wear from the briny ocean air. His chest is bare, emphasizing a slender frame with smooth, corded muscles. His trousers might be worse for wear, but his eyes are a clear, beautiful brown, complimenting the shag of black hair on his head…though, there is something off-putting about him…something you can’t quite put your finger on.

“I hope those stitches are okay. I tried not to tie them off too tightly, but it has been quite some time since I last performed such a task.”

Your lips twitch, brows furrowing ever so slightly. In all your years, you’ve had your fair share of stitches with everything from catgut wire to medical-grade thread. With just the brief inspection you gave your sutures, you can tell they’re on the better side. You’d maybe even go so far as to say they’re on par with a medical professional. Perhaps this Hoseok character is a sea-lost doctor washed up on shore once upon a time, the same as you and Ollie. “What is this place?” you ask him, your fingers flexing around the empty cup clasped in your hands.

“A sea cave—”

“No. I mean, what is this whole place? Where are we, exactly?” Your eyes flick away from him, darting across the walls as if you tried hard enough that you could see through the dark stone and figure it out yourself.

“I believe your kind calls this place Black Rock Bay. Though, that’s truly a misnomer, considering the rocks in the bay are more of a dark blue than black, but I can see how one might make that mistake.”

You blink at him, the cogs in your mind trying desperately to lock the details into place. Two things stand out above all the others—your kind and Black Rock Bay. So, clearly not a medical professional, and, wait—

“We truly made it?” you whisper, your lips suddenly feeling numb and your tongue thick like molasses.

“Just you n’me.” Ollie’s voice slices through the silence, landing you harshly back into the very stark reality of what happened. Your eyes meet hers for a brief moment, and she winces, an apology already forming on her cracked lips.

You shake your head, addressing her before she can take back her words. “There were no other survivors?”

The question was addressed to Hoseok, but another voice answers you. “None that we’ve found thus far, but we are still searching the shore and the wreckage.”

You’re better than the sound that rips from your throat. Maybe if you hadn’t taken a knock to the head, you’d have been able to hold your ground and have suppressed the surprise. As it is, the unintelligible squawk you emit echoes around the cavernous chamber as your eyes widen on the figure emerging from the lagoon pool on the other side of the room.

Pearlescent scales ripple along strong arms as hands brace against the lip of the lagoon. The shimmery teardrop shapes spread over an impeccably defined chest, blending into the creamy skin of a toned stomach and narrow hips before ending at the ridged blue and green band of a…tail? The long, flowing appendage slides over the stone as the figure pushes themselves completely out of the lagoon opening.

Water slicks off of them, the soft sloshing sending a gentle spray of misted salt water into the air. You watch in abject shock as the scales slowly recede with every drop of moisture that wicks away as the newcomer quickly brushes a length of fabric they grabbed from a nearby shelf over their body.

You want to reach out and finger the wet lengths of hair that swing with their every movement, like scattered moonlight on ocean waves. You’ve never seen hair quite so bright; it’s even lighter than the wheat-colored curls adorning Ollie’s head.

It’s a mesmerizing sight, watching the way the glittering scales disappear, melting away to reveal smooth and supple skin as if they never existed. Slender legs take shape; flexing toes and taut muscles speak of a delicate grace you’d never have associated with the male form before. And male it is…the very breath in your lungs stills as your eyes catch on the faint outline of a very prominent appendage before it’s covered by the now-damp cloth as he wraps it around his waist.

Brilliant mocha-colored eyes meet yours, the center of a controlled, measured look that gives absolutely nothing away. “Easy, Cap,” Ollie whispers a moment before you feel her hand grazing along your jaw.

You firmly snap your gaping mouth shut.

“I wish I had better news to share with you. But I’m sure I don’t have to tell you that the storm you attempted to sail through was not a kind one. You’re fortunate to be alive, the both of you.”

“Holy Shining Seas,” Ollie mumbles, her fingers crossing over her chest in a sign meant to ward off evil. It’s an automatic gesture, one she does without thought, ingrained in her from a young age; well before she met the fates of the streets.

Your fingers itch to make their own sign. The few weeks you spent with Sister Agatha in the convent are ones sorely hard to forget, even at the best of times. You’ve never been religious, far from it. But those two weeks made you feel closer to hell than the deepest trench of the ocean ever could.

Clenching your fingers closed in the quilt beneath you, your mouth pops open instead. “Y-you…wait, you—is that? Was that—you, uh, your—your skin,” the last word comes out barely louder than a whisper.

Hoseok stands and crosses the room, snagging a pair of trousers from an open chest. He tosses them at the newcomer, firmly scolding him, “You know better than to skin shift in front of humans. Why didn’t you come in through the central lagoon?”

At that moment another voice filters through the room, coming from the same direction Hoseok had entered through. Your eyes flick away from the first unknown male to the empty doorway, a second before a tall, silver-haired man wearing pants far too short for him, and nothing else appears. In his hands is a worn red cap.

“I told Jimin it was a bad idea. But, you know how he is, a will stronger than the southern currents.”

The stranger with the calculating gaze—Jimin, it seems—rolls his eyes and huffs out an annoyed breath. “Would rather rip it out like an urchin barb, Namjoon, get it over with. Better that way in the long of it, considering our visitors will be here for quite some time.”

Namjoon. Jimin. Hoseok. Your eyes flick between the three strangers, noting the same sense you got from Hoseok earlier also radiates from the other two. As you watch them exchange heated words, the low timbre of their voices making their words hard to discern, Jimin tugs on the trousers Hoseok threw at him, and you realize what that odd feeling is. They’re…perfect. Too perfect, otherworldly.

It’s unnerving.

And now you’re sure you know why. As plain as the pearlescent scales and tail, the truth screams at you from the smooth skin of their foreheads to the perfectly straight, white teeth behind their rose-hued lips. No mere human could be so pristine. Clearly, the bewitching nature of a siren isn’t just exaggerated prose reserved for their voices.

“Is that Red’s cap?” Ollie asks, her voice low, meant only for your ears.

You force your eyes away from studying their faces to the crumpled lump clasped in Namjoon’s hands. It’s a detail your brain registered earlier but clearly was too muddled to fully comprehend.

“Where did you find that?” you ask, but you are only met with silence in response. The three males are still caught up in their soft bickering. You give Ollie a sidelong look, your face pinched in a frown before demanding louder, “Excuse me!”

Your barked words echo through the chamber, rebounding ten-fold and making even you wince at the sharp, biting sound.

“Where did you find that?” Ollie’s voice fills the sudden silence as she nods her head at the red cap in Namjoon’s grip.

Namjoon loosens his hold on the worn red fabric, the once vibrant carmine faded by the salt and sun to a tawny vermilion. An unmistakable blob of golden thread peeks out from one of the edges where Jory ‘Red’ Meander had haphazardly tried to stitch together a hole put there by a disgruntled card companion.

He had a penchant for gambling, not always with honest intentions, either. A scoundrel with a quick smile and charming hazel eyes. Despite being barely old enough to be let loose from his mother’s skirts, Jory joined your crew mere weeks before you got it in your head to chart a course for Black Rock Bay, demanding with a puffed-out chest that everyone refer to him as ‘Red’, like the color of his hat and the blood spilled at the end of his rapier, from here on out. Said it was a better-suited name for a future pirate mogul than Jory.

A few nights into your journey towards Black Roy Back, as you sat with Red in the crow’s nest watching the moon slip through the sky, he confessed that he actually chose the name Red because it reminded him of his mother with her fiery red hair and spit-fire attitude. But he figured that wouldn’t be a very pirate-like reason. He honestly had no business on your ship…but you were desperate for a full crew and, well—

“I-uh, I found it on the beach…I followed your footsteps back through the jungle.” Namjoon clears his throat before stepping close and offering the cap to you. “There was a man…a boy, really. His body—I’m sorry.”

You hesitantly take the hat. The soft fabric flops over the back of your hand, and a memory flashes through your mind. Red screaming at you, the stupid hat he refused to ever take off, sluicing the stinging water into his eyes, hauling you bodily through the turbulent water. Red forcing you above water, pleading with you to hold on…

Tears fill your eyes, but you don’t let them fall. Anger replaces the hurt pounding away in your chest. You will not fall apart now…not when…fuck. You furiously wipe at your eyes, sniffing back the burn welling in your nose. Red would laugh and waggle his brows at you if he knew you were getting choked up over him.

“Have you found others? Bodies, I mean.”

Jimin and Namjoon share a look, an exchange of words without making a sound.

Red. Jameson. McLaughlin. Straub. Okiro.

From the descriptions provided to you by Namjoon and Jimin, you mentally etch their names into your psyche. Men whose loyalty you once questioned are now forever lost to this world because of your petty grievances and selfish desires. And more yet to be confirmed…

You worry the edge of your thumbnail, fisting the red cap in your other hand over and over.

“Maybe ya should eat somethin’, Cap.”

You can’t bring yourself to look at Ollie right now, lest you might not be able to fight back the tears any longer. “I’m fine, Ol.”

“Some rest then,” Jimin says. “Hoseok, if you take Olivia to the storage room, you might be able to find her something a bit more fitting to wear in the alder chest, the one with the iron straps. You know which I mean?”

Hoseok makes an agreeable sound. You snap out of your stupor enough to realize Ollie stands up without so much as a mutterance of protest. In fact, she almost seemed eager as she took Hoseok’s hand, and he pulled her to her feet. There is a look on her face that you’ve never seen there before…it almost looks like longing. But that can’t be because that’s absolutely absurd. However, there she goes, giving you a girlish wave and mumbling, “Later, Cap. Get some rest, ‘k?”, as she allows Hoseok to lead her from the room.

“Wait, Ol—”

But just like that, Ollie walks out without so much as a backward glance before you can get the protest out of your mouth, her focus now solely on the male at her side. She has that same silly, infatuated look on her face.

And now you’re alone—alone with two strange males who are looking at you like you’re the most interesting thing they’ve ever come across. Perhaps you are…but most likely, they’re trying to come up with the best way to pick your bones clean.

You can feel the heat drain from your face, receding from the tips of your fingers and toes, turning into a wash of icy chills down your spine. You’ve heard enough songs about this…you know what happens next, yet you can’t get your body to do what you want it to. All you can do is stare, your eyes moving between the two males, your fingers holding a death grip on Red’s cap.

“Hungry?” Jimin asks, his eyes flicking to Namjoon.

Something is wrong…something is very wrong.

The taller male tilts his head to the side, eyes sliding up and down your seated form. “Yeah, Jimin, I’m hungry.”

You swallow hard, trying not to let the sudden wave of fear curdling in your belly show. Maybe Red should have just let the sea take you…

Next Chapter⇾ (coming soon) ◅ Back to story masterlist

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