#or makes him her tiny slave

[meowmeowmeowmeow4x]

mer Jason and Poison Ivy prompt

The Mangroves provide food, shelter and maintain the land. For that reason, the sirens of the mangrove swamp and its surrounding lakes and rivers reveer the trees as sacred offspring of the original World Tree. They live in giant mangroves with cloth or straw forming roofs. Their leftovers and droppings help to fertilise the trees, and the smaller mangrove roots provide a safe place for guppies to play.

To desecrate or, heaven forbid, destroy one of these trees is invite to invite the siren’s wrath. But one of the older kids dared him to do it for 50 whole dollars. Jason just needed to go in, spray some rude message, and get out. And he’d be able to afford warm meals for two weeks.

That was until Poison Ivy caught him. Jason’s body twists into agony. scales and fins burst through skin. For his crime of despoiling the sacred grove, Poison Ivy owns him now, until his debt is repaid.

[notebooks-and-laptops]

Why Fenris could Never Cameo in Dragon Age: The Veilguard

In the run up to Dragon age: The Veilguard, I was almost certain that Fenris would be our main legacy character from previous games. Not only has he been central in the comics released between DAI and DATV, he is an escaped Tevinter slave who's plot revolved around magisters, magic and the structural prejudices surrounding elves in Thedas. Not only that, but he's canonically in Tevinter killing slavers currently so he's geographically in the right place for us to meet him.

About halfway through the game though, it was clear to me: Fenris could never cameo in The Veilguard. Because he'd break it.

How the Veilguard treats Thedas is...odd to me, to say the least. I will be writing another post about how much I adored the expanded big lore in this game (the titans, ancient elves were spirits, where the blight came from etc.) and yet while these large lore expansions worked for me, the actual culture of modern Thedas is entirely softened, its sharp edges filed down until it's a sanitised fantasy world devoid of what made the franchise so vibrant and compelling in the first place.

So let's start with Fenris and slavery. In all three games, the reality of slavery is pushing at the corners of the world. In DAO Loghain allows Tevinter Magisters to enslave elves in order to raise money for his war effort. In DA2 Fenris is fighting to be free from slavers who will not leave him be, let alone the reminders that the city was built by slaves which are everywhere. In DAI one of the two possible mini-bosses is Calpurnia who was a slave, and characters such as Gatt and Dorian both show us how much slavery is tied into Tevinters culture and success.

But DATV the first game actually set in Tevinter where we get to see the famed Minrathous...it's like the game purposefully wants to avoid the issue. I can feel it tilting the camera away to not allow me to see. Slavery is mentioned, but never talked about in depth or as a specifically ELVEN problem in Tevinter. This might have been done to be less problematic, it feels ignored.

We are in DOCK TOWN. We are at the DOCKS. You would think that slaves from all over Thedas who are being smuggled and bought by various groups would be everywhere. You would think that the injustice in dock town would be partly built on the back of ships we've seen in the comics crammed with elves in chains. This is the world Dragon age set up for us. And yet...nothing. zilch. A tiny easily skippable side quest where we free a couple of venatori slaves, but only one of whom is an elf.

None of our Tevinter characters seem to have been influenced by their culture even a little bit when it comes to how they view elves; there is no moment when Neve fucks up and says something prejudiced, no moment when Bellara or Davrin are distrustful of her for being a Tevinter mage.

The same goes for Zevran; a character who epitomised the issues with the crows. The crows have consistently been characterised as very morally dubious assassins who kill for the highest bidder and who buy children on the slave market and torture them as they grow in order to assure that they reach maturity able to withstand torture without giving away a client's name. Zevran is very explicit about the fact that if you fail a contract your life is forefit.

Nobody responds particularly to you if you're an elf. Nobody trusts rook less for it in Tevinter. Nobody treats Rook any differently. Even DAI had better mechanics for this; with nobles in Orlais less likely to trust you as an elf.

Considering one of the main plot points of this game and what makes Solas sympathetic is the fact that he was fighting against the slavery of ancient elves...you'd think the game might want to mirror that in modern Thedas. It might want to show us how characters fighting to end slavery in Tevinter are similar to Solas and how the society Solas fought against was similar to the one that characters we love such as Fenris have fought against in modern Thedas. Maybe we'd want to explore how in a world of slavery like this, how could the answer NOT be to tear it all down? Maybe we should have that option at the end of the game so it really can chose whether we agree with Solas and his plans or not.

Adding Fenris to this game would entirely break the game because Fenris refuses to allow you to look away from this horror. He is a sympathetic character who had to learn to trust mages again because of course he didn't trust them. Of course he didn't. Fenris wouldn't allow the camera to shift focus because he's literally covered in the lyrium scars that show how slaves are used as experiments in Tevinter. Fenris WOULD question Neve on how she feels about elves and slaves. Fenris WOULD have things to say about Lucanis and the crows (let alone the fact Lucanis is an abomonation). So he could never be in this game; he'd drop a bomb on it's carefully constructed blinders to the very society its supposed to be set in.

And yet, in DATV, the crows are presented as...a found family of misfits and orphans? The politician who opposes the crows having absolute power in Antiva is framed as a comically evil idiot who doesn't understand that the crows are ontologically good. Yet...they're NOT. Crows in this game act more like a secret rebel group than an assassin organisation. We see no crow taking contracts with the VERY RICH venatori magisters despite being hired killers. We see crows just refuse to kill people despite having a contract because 'its crueler to leave them alive'. The crows don't feel like the crows here, they feel like a softened version of a cool assassin group who are cool because they wear black and purple.

Our pirate group are also sanitised; the Lords of Fortune are good pirates who only steal treasure that's not culturally significant. Theyve clearly read the modern critiques of the British Museum and have decided to explicitly stop anyone levelling similar critiques at them. There is no faction of the Lords of Fortune who aren't like this, no internal arguments about it. Everyone just. Agrees. And is able to accurately tell what a cultural artifact is vs. what treasure that you can have yourself is. Rather than showing us why a pirate stealing cultural artifacts might be bad (like in da2 where such a situation literally causes a coup and a war) it just tells us it's bad. But also pirates are cool so we still want them in our world.

This issue seaps into Thedas and drains it of any of the interesting complexity and ability to SAY anything that this franchise had before this game. It becomes a game about telling and not showing rather than the other way around. The games have ALWAYS asked questions about oppressive structural systems and their interplay with society, religion and culture and how these things can affect even the most well meaning character. Dragon age at its best IS a game about society and how society functions both for and against it's characters and what happens to societies built on cruelty and indifference. The best bad guys dragon age has given us are those who are bad because they embody these systems or have been shaped by them. Our main characters have had to wrestle with questions surrounding how to exist in these systems, fight against them, learn and grow.

Yet every group you come across in DATV is sanitised and cleaned up to the point of being as non problematic as humanly possible. None of our cast of characters have to wrestle with where they came from or the world that shaped them. None of them have to confront their own biases. They start the game perfectly non-problematic and end it that way too.

And this just...isn't what Dragon Age has been in the past. It isn't why I love the franchise. The whole game just felt, in a way, hollow. And this was a CHOICE and it is why the legacy characters are few and far between. Too many dragon age characters are just too...angry and complex for this game. You can feel them pulling their punches on this one. I have to imagine they did this because they didn't want to be criticised or have too much controversy? But I think it honestly goes far too much in the other direction and just makes it bland.

I can't imagine what I say here will be unique, but it is the basis for a LOT of my other thoughts on this game so I wanted to get it out of the way first. The softened Thedas and characters make this game by far the weakest in the franchise.

[mashtatosworld]

the distraction

summary: your pregnancy is hitting harder this time round and your husband isn't happy about your newest purchase + an evening with bss

The morning light slanted softly through the curtains, filling the bedroom with a gentle warmth. But despite the golden glow, you were not feeling so golden.

You sat propped against the pillows, a ginger biscuit in one hand and a cup of weak tea in the other, eyes heavy with exhaustion.

The constant waves of nausea had made most food unappealing, and your pregnancy cravings were fickle at best - one minute you wanted something, the next it made you gag.

Next to you, Diva was perched with her legs folded criss-cross, still in her bunny pyjamas, holding a half-eaten cereal bar. It was the only thing she would accept from her father’s breakfast attempts.

Her face was full of disapproval, lips pursed.

And then there was Jiyong.

Slumped beside Diva with his own tragic plate - a serving of scrambled pancake fragments (he had torn it up in frustration after it wouldn’t flip properly) and blackened toast, looking more like coal than food.

He was determinedly eating it - out of pure protest. Chewing each bite with slow, exaggerated defiance.

You glanced over at him, brows lifting faintly, but you said nothing.

You didn’t have the heart to comment on his cooking, not after you had heard him fumble around the kitchen for an hour, doing his best to make breakfast while tending to Diva’s toddler demands.

So you stayed silent, nibbling your biscuit with as much enthusiasm as you could muster.

Diva, however, did not share your restraint.

She turned slowly toward her father, eyes narrowed with ruthless judgment, staring directly at the plate of… whatever that was.

She wrinkled her nose, tilting her head slightly.

“Appa… no.”

Jiyong froze mid-chew, blinking at her.

He stared at his toast, then at his pancake-mess, and back at her. “No?” he repeated, incredulously, mouth still full.

Diva shook her head slowly, gaze unyielding. “No, Appa.” Then she pointed at his plate. “Yucky.”

You pressed your lips together, trying not to laugh as Jiyong’s eyes narrowed in exaggerated offence.

“Yucky?! Yah… I slaved over this!” he scoffed.

Diva remained unmoved, folding her arms with authority, her tiny chin tilting upward.

“No, Appa. No.”

You finally couldn’t contain your giggle, reaching over to brush a hand over Diva’s hair.

“Hey, hey,” you chastised softly, shooting Jiyong an amused glance. “Be thankful Appa tried.”

But Jiyong sighed heavily, his dramatic pout still in place.

“Yeah, well…” he muttered under his breath, stabbing his mangled pancake with his fork, “the food delivery guy will be here in ten minutes anyway.”

Your head snapped toward him, blinking in surprise. Diva’s eyes instantly widened, suddenly much more interested.

“B’donalds?” she asked hopefully, still chewing on the corner of her cereal bar.

Jiyong smirked faintly, wiping a crumb from her cheek with his thumb.

“No, baby… something healthy.”

She deflated at that, frowning and slumping into your side. You let her slip under your arm and held her as she sulked over the disappointment.

The three of you sat there in bed, Diva alternating between nibbling her cereal bar and side-eyeing Jiyong’s sad breakfast, while he gnawed dramatically on burnt toast, trying to look like he was enjoying it.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

Later that evening, Jiyong stood by the front door, lingering.

He stared at the wood grain, suddenly hesitant.

Behind him, you were stood, cradling your rounded belly with one hand and massaging your lower back with the other.

The third trimester was hitting you harder than expected this time around. You were constantly nauseous, your joints ached, and even sleeping was a battle. The weight of carrying your growing Angel made your spine throb by mid-afternoon.

And then there was Diva.

Your once-small, sleepy toddler was now a whirlwind of energy. She had grown bolder, faster, and far more mischievous. She could out manoeuvre you with ease, leaving you panting and defeated after just five minutes of playtime.

Jiyong glanced back at you again, brows pinched with worry.

“You sure you’ll be okay if I go?” His voice was low, almost reluctant.

You smiled tiredly. “Ji… they’re huge fans of yours. You can’t cancel.”

He sighed softly, leaning down to kiss your forehead, lingering a little longer than necessary.

“Call me if you need anything, okay?”

You nodded reassuringly, though you both knew he’d still text you every half hour.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

Jiyong arrived at the parking lot, feeling worn out before the night even began.

When the car finally pulled to a stop in front of him, he was quickly greeted by three large figures running at him full-speed.

“HYUNGGGG!!”

Before he could react, Hoshi practically tackled him with a bear hug, while Seungkwan and DK clung to his arms, chattering excitedly.

“Hyung, you’re really here! Oh my God!” DK beamed, practically bouncing in place.

“I’m sweating already!” Seungkwan announced dramatically, fanning himself with both hands.

“I’m shaking! This is a dream!”

Jiyong grinned, albeit tiredly, as he was smothered by their chaotic affection.

He chuckled softly, feeling overwhelmed by their excitement.

“Yah… calm down. You’re gonna scare me off,” he teased.

But they didn’t calm down.

Not at all.

For the next two hours, BSS ran circles around him - literally.

Their unrelenting energy was practically superhuman.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

Once he was on the road with BSS, he found himself actually liking the trio. They were sweet, funny, and eager - but, God, they were also so damn energetic. Their energy level made him feel every one of his nearly forty years.

By the time they hit the McDonald's drive-thru, he was already fatigued. His limbs felt heavy, his head slightly foggy from lack of sleep.

The last few weeks had been rough - too many late nights of you tossing and turning, and even when you finally slept, he was up watching you, worried.

When he texted you for an update, the reply came swiftly:

Jiyong stared at the message, then at the greasy paper bags in his lap, the smell of fries and burgers filling the car as an idea struck him.

“Hey…” he announced aloud, silencing their bickering about being from the same descendants as him. “There's another Kwon I'd like you to meet.”

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

Pulling into the driveway, Jiyong quickly climbed out of the car, leaving BSS inside. He was half-hoping Diva would be excited to see him and eager to come along - giving you some peace and also taking some heat off of him from the hyperactive idols.

His baby girl burned brighter than the sun.

He carefully strapped her shoes on as you zipped up her little coat.

But when he reached the car with her on his hip, her carseat in his other hand, her excitement turned to disappointment.

She eyed the three smiling strangers in the car. Her face scrunched up immediately.

“Where Uncle Dae and Bae?” she demanded.

Jiyong chuckled softly, kissing her temple. “Not today, Princess. These are new friends.”

Hoshi leaned out the window, waving eagerly from the drivers seat. “Hi!” he cooed in his most cheerful voice.

But Diva was not having it. She pressed herself against Jiyong’s chest, clutching his jacket tightly, glaring at the unfamiliar men.

“No go!” she declared firmly, refusing to get in.

Jiyong sighed, rubbing her back soothingly. “Baby, they’re nice… I promise.”

But she twisted in his arms, kicking slightly in protest.

And then - she saw them.

The McDonald’s bags on the passenger seat.

Her eyes widened instantly.

She stared at the bags, then back at her father. She pointed. “B’DONALDS?!!”

Jiyong smirked. “Yeah, baby… B’donalds.”

She wiggled out of his arms so fast, practically leaping towards the car, eyes locked on the prize.

Jiyong secured her in the carseat, as the boys greeted their idol's biggest accomplishment, Diva.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

On the way to the venue, the car was filled with easy conversation and laughter. But Diva was on a mission.

“Appa… fwhy?”

Jiyong, distracted by Hoshi’s story, absentmindedly handed her a fry from his portion.

“Appa… fwhy.”

Without a second thought, he reached for another fry and placed it in her little hand.

“Appa! FWHY!”

He chuckled softly, repeating the motion, completely oblivious to how many he was giving her as he continued talking with the boys.

By the time they arrived at the venue, he glanced down at the empty container in his hand, blinking in surprise.

“Wait…” he mumbled, furrowing his brows. “Where’d all my fries - ?”

He slowly turned toward the backseat.

Diva sat contently licking salt from her fingers, her cheeks slightly puffed, munching on the last of his fries.

Jiyong’s lips parted slightly in realisation. He glanced at Seungkwan, who had just placed the straw into his milkshake, ready to take his first sip.

But Diva’s eyes locked onto it instantly. Her little hand slowly reached out, her eyes wide and unapologetically longing.

Without a word, she pointed.

“Peas.”

Seungkwan blinked, caught off guard, then glanced at Jiyong, silently asking for permission.

Jiyong just shook his head and waved a hand.

“I'll buy you a beer instead,” he sighed in defeat.

With a grin, Seungkwan handed over the milkshake, and Diva’s face lit up. She took the cup with both hands, sipping triumphantly, and then gave Seungkwan a sweet, milk-stained smile.

“Tank you, uncle,” she mumbled sweetly, utterly charming him.

Seungkwan clutched his chest. “Oh my God - did you hear that? Did you hear that! I'm Hyung Jiyong's brother now!"

Jiyong just sighed, shaking his head with a helpless smile. His daughter had stolen all his fries and charmed her way into a free milkshake - and he was so proud, it was embarrassing.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

By the time Jiyong carried Diva into the house, she was nothing more than a limp noodle in his arms - completely knocked out, her little face pressed against his chest, soft puffs of air escaping her lips.

The sugar crash and karaoke had finally caught up to her, and she was deep in dreamland.

He moved through the dimly lit hallway quietly, mindful of each step, not wanting to disturb you. When he reached her room, he carefully dressed her in pyjamas and lowered her into her bed, his hands gentle and practiced.

The soft glow of her nightlight cast a warm, golden hue across her face, making her rosy cheeks look even rounder. He carefully tucked the blankets around her, brushing back the baby hairs from her forehead.

“Night, my Princess,” he whispered softly, leaning down to kiss her temple.

She stirred faintly, smacking her lips sleepily, but didn’t wake.

Jiyong lingered for a moment, just watching her breathe, feeling that familiar, aching warmth in his chest. She was growing so fast - it was almost unfair.

Finally, he turned and made his way to your bedroom, eager to crawl into bed and just hold you. It had been a long day, and all he wanted was to sink into the mattress with you pressed against him, your pregnant belly snug against his side.

But when he opened the door, he stopped in his tracks, his eyes narrowing in sudden offense.

There, taking his place, was a long, curved object lying obtrusively in the bed.

He blinked slowly.

What. The. Fuck.

His eyes immediately zeroed in on the new, menacing intruder - a pregnancy pillow.

The cushioned monstrosity was curled protectively around you, as if it were holding you in its plush embrace.

His lips parted slightly in disbelief.

Hell no.

Before he could even process his shock, you were stirring softly, having heard the door creak open. You blinked sleepily, your eyes still heavy with slumber, but when you spotted him, your face lit up with a warm smile.

“Hey…” you mumbled. “I finally got some sleep.”

Jiyong’s eyes remained locked on the pillow, his brows furrowed deeply. He pointed at it with narrowed suspicion, his voice flat and unamused.

“...What is that?”

You rubbed your eyes sleepily, not yet catching the disdain in his tone.

“Oh!” you perked up slightly, patting the offending object lovingly. “It came while you were out!”

He blinked, still staring at it.

“Haha… okay,” he muttered dryly, peeling off his clothes, tossing his cap to one side. “But that’s going now I’m here, right?” His tone was half-joking, though you could hear the slight plea in it.

He slipped into bed and reached out an arm, fully expecting you to abandon the pillow and tuck yourself into him, the way you always did. He was your pillow. That was his job.

But you nuzzled deeper into the pillow, sighing contentedly.

“Oh, but Ji… it’s so squishy,” you hummed with a sleepy smile, hugging it tighter.

Jiyong’s jaw dropped slightly, his eyes widening in betrayal.

His voice lowered to an incredulous mutter, almost to himself.

“...So am I.”

But you were already drifting back to sleep, oblivious to the silent war happening next to you.

He glared at the pillow, lying smugly between you two. When he reached over to brush your hair, his hand bumped into it. His lips pressed into a thin line.

The damn thing was in the way.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

The next morning, Diva stumbled sleepily into your room, still in her pink pyjamas, her hair a wild mess. She rubbed her eyes with her tiny fists before clambering onto the bed and climbing over her Appa, her default morning routine.

But when she saw it - the massive, obtrusive cushion - she paused, blinking.

Her little face scrunched up in disapproval. She frowned at the intruder in between her parents, as if she instinctively knew it was taking her place too.

Without hesitation, she stood on the mattress, and with a determined stomp, kicked it.

“Blegh!” she declared with a furrowed scowl, glaring at the enemy.

Jiyong’s eyes sparkled with amusement, and when he was sure you were still sleeping, he swatted the pillow with the back of his hand, as if it were a fly.

“Pfft.”

Diva’s eyes lit up instantly. She delivered another savage kick to the side of the pillow, her tiny foot bouncing off it.

“HAH!” she giggled triumphantly, turning to her father for approval.

Jiyong bit back a grin, whispering conspiratorially. “Good job, Princess.”

But then your voice cut through the glee, slightly stern.

“Hey!” you scolded softly, turning over and raising your head to look at them from the other side of the pillow. “Stop that, young lady.”

Diva’s smile immediately vanished. Her lips wobbled slightly as she sulked, shooting a betrayed glance at Jiyong. She sat on the bed with a pout.

You sighed and swung your legs over the side of the bed, bracing your hand against your back as you waddled off to the bathroom for a much-needed pee.

The second you were gone, Jiyong grabbed the dreaded pillow and flung it across the room.

It soared clumsily through the air and landed with a heavy flop on a pile of Chanel gift boxes in the corner.

He smirked smugly, shifting to sit against the headboard, looking completely innocent by the time you returned.

But the second you laid eyes on the pillow’s new location, you narrowed your gaze sharply.

You squinted at him.

“Okay… well, I know it wasn’t her that time, Jiyong.”

His eyes widened.

“…What? No, I didn’t - ”

“Appa did it,” Diva declared loudly.

You sighed and stroked her hair lovingly.

“Good girl, baby,” you cooed, kissing her crown. “Telling the truth is very important.”

You shot Jiyong a pointed look, and he pouted dramatically, feigning deep offence.

But then your eyes lit up suddenly, and you perked up, your voice dreamy.

“Oooh… I’m craving French toast,” you announced sleepily. “I’m gonna make some.”

“Right now?” your husband asked eagerly.

Diva’s head shot up too.

“Fwensh toast?!” she gasped, clasping her hands.

Jiyong and Diva grinned at each other, the pillow rivalry forgotten as they both cheered excitedly.

But as you waddled toward the kitchen, Jiyong leaned down, whispering to Diva conspiratorially.

“Tonight,” he muttered, narrowing his eyes at the pillow.

She nodded seriously, mimicking his expression.

“Get wid of it,” she declared.

Jiyong gently patted her back.

“Deal.”

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

this is just a fun silly one, i've had a lot of pregnancy requests so i've got one more lined up before we get to angel's birth!

taglist: @petersasteria, @mirahyun , @allthoughtsmindfull , @gdinthehouseee , @infinetlyforgotten , @redhoodedtoad , @kathaelipwse , @lxvemaze , @loveesiren , @sherrayyyyy , @getyoassoutthetrunk , @shieraseastarrs , @ctrldivinev , @xxxicddbr88 , @onyxmango , @tryingtolivelifeblog , @tulentiy , @bettelaboure , @maskedcrawford , @breakmeoff , @emmiesoverthemoon , @rafesbunniebby , @ricecake9999 , @fleabagspurplewife

[societyfolklore]

Synthetic Obedience

Title:  Synthetic Obedience

Pairing: Dark!Tony Stark x Lab assistant! Female Reader  

Summary:  When Tony Stark personally selects you for a nanotech interface trial, it feels like your big break. But the tech isn’t what it seems.

Word Count: 3.3k

Warnings:  / Explicit Content /18+, Minors DNI, DubCon/NonCon/Mind Control, Bimbofication/Mental Reprogramming, Dehumanization, Objectification, Use of Technology for Control, Orgasm Control/Forced Arousal, Derogatory Language, Praise-Degradation Kink, Lab Setting

A/N: Entry for @avengers-assemble-bingo. Also my first Tony centered Fic.. Square: B3- Made a Slave    Card Number: AA014

You didn’t quite know exactly how it happened. But you remembered how it started.

You’d been a TA at MIT, buried in research papers, grading problem sets, and trying to scrape together time for your own side project- a low-energy neural link interface. It wasn’t groundbreaking by Stark standards, but it had promise. You weren’t even done refining it when you got the call.

You couldn’t believe your luck when Stark Industries reached out to you. You didn’t think lab techs got headhunted. Interns, maybe. Engineers with big-name patents? Sure. But you were still early in your career, working under professors who didn’t even bother to learn your name. And yet here you were, walking into the R&D division of the most advanced tech company on the planet, credentials in hand, heartbeat in your throat.

They said they liked your research. Said Tony had seen the write-up himself.

You thought it had to be a mistake. But it wasn’t.

Iron Man, Tony Stark. You got giddy thinking about it. 

You were sweet, eager to please, and more than a little nervous around Tony Stark...

You were sweet, eager to please, and more than a little nervous around Tony Stark. He was larger than life, brilliant, untouchable, he carried himself like he owned the world, and maybe he did. Still, you worked hard. You stayed late. You double-checked your data, kept your station pristine, made sure you never wasted his time. You barely spoke unless spoken to. But you listened. Oh, you always listened. And when he did speak to you- when he called you by name, it made your stomach flutter.

What you hadn’t expected, though, was how present he was. Tony Stark didn’t just pop in and out of the lab. He hovered. He asked questions. He leaned over your shoulder to see your readouts, close enough that you could feel the heat of his body behind you. Sometimes, when he reached around you to adjust a setting, his arm would brush your side, his hand steady on your back. It wasn’t inappropriate, never obviously so, but it lingered just a breath longer than it needed to.

“You’ve got good instincts,” he murmured once, low and warm against your ear as he looked over your data pad with you. “Don’t be afraid to trust them.”

You nodded too quickly, flushed to your ears, and he chuckled as he walked off.

You had a tiny crush, sure! What junior tech assistant didn’t? But it was harmless. Quiet. He had Pepper, after all. Everyone knew that. Though... you hadn’t seen her around much these days. Still, he’d never look at someone like you. You thought he didn’t notice.

But he was always there. Watching. Smirking. And touching- just enough to make you wonder if maybe he did.

He noticed everything.

He noticed the way your wide eyes followed him when he entered a room. The way you stammered when answering questions. The way you blushed when he looked at you too long. You tried to play it off, keep your head down, but he had this smirk every time, like he knew. Like he enjoyed it.

One afternoon, you were triple-checking a sensor calibration when you heard his voice behind you. "Hey, TA."

You turned too quickly, nearly knocking over a stool. "Y-Yes, Mr. Stark?"

"Tony," he corrected with a grin. "Got a minute? Need a steady set of hands."

"I- I mean, of course. Yes. I’m not doing anything urgent."

He handed you something wrapped in a velvet cloth. When you unwrapped it, you found a sleek silver glove glinting up at you.

"Prototype nanotech interface," he said casually, watching your reaction. "You’re the best candidate we’ve got for a live sync test. Thought you might want to try it out."

Your eyes widened. "Me? Really?"

"You’re smart, focused, and you don’t complain. That’s rare. Plus, I read your MIT paper. Neural sync stabilization through passive microfeedback, right? Sounded hot."

Hot?

You blinked. "Thank you. I- I mean... that’s amazing to hear. I won’t let you down."

He smirked again, but it was softer. "Didn’t think you would. Just slide it on and tell me how it feels. Might tingle."

It was just a glove. Sleek, cool metal. The inner lining was soft, lined with micro-filaments meant to link with your neural patterns. Harmless. Temporary. A basic integration test, you reminded yourself.

You slipped it on, and the moment it activated- a soft pulse, warm and electric. You gasped. It spread fast, licking up your arm and over your collarbone, tendrils of heat sinking into muscle and bone. It didn’t just rest against your skin, it felt like it merged with it. You could feel the micro-filaments slipping in, syncing with every nerve, every breath. Like it belonged there.

You blinked rapidly, lips parting as your body responded to something deep inside. Your breath caught. Your knees weakened slightly, the tingling sensation crawling over your skin and anchoring itself deep in your core.

Tony moved to a nearby console, fingers tapping idly at the interface. He wasn’t in a rush. He didn’t even seem surprised.

“You might feel strange,” he said casually, not looking up. “New tech and all.”

"Something’s... off," you mumbled. 

He tilted his head, watching you with clinical detachment. Not alarmed. Curious.

"Off how?"

You tried to find the words. Tried to ask him to shut it down. But your tongue wouldn’t cooperate. It felt big in your mouth. And then he said, "Calm down, sweetheart," in that smooth, steady voice and you melted. Your spine loosened. Your thighs pressed together, heat blooming between them.

Tony didn’t stop the test.

He just watched.

You lifted your arm, trying to tug the glove loose, but your limbs felt slower. Like resistance had to move through molasses. "It’s doing something- I think it’s-"

“Be a good girl for me and don’t touch the interface,” he said, still offhand, like it was just another lab instruction.

Your hand dropped automatically.

"Yes Sir.."  Why did you voice sound like that? All soft and breathy? 

Your thoughts slowed. Everything felt heavier. Thicker. Like your brain was under water. The edges of your mind felt like they’d been smoothed down, made pliable. A dreamy sort of heat flooded your chest, then lower. Your muscles relaxed even as your nipples hardened beneath your shirt.

You turned to Tony, eyes wide and a little unfocused. He was still typing, but now watching you closely, just beneath his lashes. Studying. Assessing. Smiling?

"Mr Stark, Sir," you murmured, your voice strange in your throat. Soft. Breathy. "Something’s wrong. My brain feels… off."

He looked up briefly, shrugging one shoulder with casual ease. "Yeah, I’m seeing some weird integration feedback. Can’t seem to undo the link just yet."

Your stomach tightened. "Undo the link?"

He waved a hand vaguely, as if brushing off the concern. "New tech, sweetheart. Bugs are normal. I’m working on it. Just be a good girl a little longer. You can do that, right?"

Your knees wobbled. The words hit something deep in your chest and between your thighs. Heat surged again. You shifted your weight, trying to discreetly press your thighs together, but your balance faltered- your limbs too loose, your mind too foggy. You stumbled a step and caught yourself on the bench.

"When can I take it off?" you asked, more desperate than you meant to sound.

Tony turned back to the console, fingers flying as he spoke calmly. "Gotta let the interface finish syncing before I can disconnect it."

That didn’t sound right. Did it? You weren’t sure anymore. Your thoughts felt distant, untrustworthy.

He stepped closer, his voice smoother now, hand brushing your arm. "You’ll have to stay here until we work this out."

You nodded slowly, too fogged to argue.

Then he smiled, said it again

"Good girl."

And you forgot why you ever wanted to take it off.

He stepped beside you, took your wrist gently, and examined the glove.

"Hold still," he said softly, already keying something in near the seam.

There was a flicker of warmth. Then a pulse.

Your skin flushed with heat as the tingling sensation spread through your arm and down your spine. You gasped, a giggle bubbling up before you could stop it as your body shivered with the sudden stimulation.

Tony just watched you.

That small, satisfied smile curved his lips—like he’d just solved a puzzle. Like this was what he had been waiting for. He didn’t talk to you like an assistant anymore. He said your name like it was a command. And every time, it made your breath hitch.

You knew something was wrong. Knew this wasn’t how your mind used to work. You were slower. Softer. Hornier. But it felt good.

It felt right.

You wobbled where you stood, your breath shaky, the heat in your core relentless. You opened your mouth to ask him what was happening again—but before you could, he looked up from the console and said it plainly:

"We need to go downstairs. Can’t have someone else finding you like this." He paused, almost to himself, then added under his breath, "Last thing I need is this getting back to Pepper… she already doesn’t answer my calls as it is.""

Your heart fluttered. Not in fear. In... something else.

You nodded before your brain caught up. "Yes, Sir." 

Tony brought you down to the lower lab.

It was private. Off-grid. The kind of space meant for things no one else was meant to see. The walls were soundproof. The door required a multi-factor biometric scan, and once it hissed shut behind you, the silence was absolute. The lights were dim, casting everything in a sterile blue glow. The air was cool enough to raise goosebumps along your bare arms. There were screens, live feeds, holograms, biometric data. All glowing with soft pulses of information. You barely noticed any of it.

You couldn’t stop staring at Tony. He stood against the console like he had all the time in the world. His sleeves were rolled up, his chest rising and falling slowly, measured. His eyes—those sharp, molten eyes—glinted beneath his lashes, dark and burning, like he knew exactly what you were becoming.

The soft glow of the arc reactor under his shirt pulsed with gentle blue light, drawing your attention like a beacon. He looked unreal in the dim lighting, like a Tech God. A superhero. A saviour. Iron Man.

But more than that… he was your idol.

And someone like him, someone that brilliant, that powerful- deserved to be worshiped.

He lifted his head up from the screen, his eyes possessive and intense.

Like he’d made you. Like he was admiring his favourite creation.

“Strip.”

One word. That was all it took.

Your hands moved before your brain could fully register the command. Fingers found the button at your collarbone. The shirt peeled away, slow and obedient, revealing more and more of your skin. It felt ritualistic. Your breath hitched as the cool air kissed your bare chest. As your nipples forming . Your hands undid the zip on your skirt the fabric slid down your hips and thighs, pooling at your ankles.

You stepped out of it, shoulders back, head high, presenting yourself without hesitation. Your chest rose and fell in shallow, excited breaths. Your skin tingled. Your pussy throbbed.

Tony's gaze was molten.

“Good girl,” he murmured, and you whimpered before you could stop yourself.

It wasn’t just arousal, it was relief. Praise made everything inside you bloom. His voice was a balm, a drug, a trigger. You felt warm all over, thighs trembling slightly as your mind swam in that golden haze.

“You wouldn’t say no to me,” Tony murmured, admiring “You wouldn’t scold me or tell me I’m wrong. You wouldn’t look at me like they do.”

His voice was soft, low, coaxing. Dangerous.

“No lectures. No morality speeches. No guilt trips. Just you, here… being exactly what I need.”

He smiled, dark and indulgent.

“You’re perfect for me, aren’t you, sweetheart?”

He walked toward you slowly, as though savouring the moment. His fingertips skimmed the underside of your chin, tilting your face up.

“You’re even better than I expected,” he murmured, voice rich and dangerous. “Responsive. Programmable. And fuck—look at you.”

He waved one hand, and the mirrors lit up all around you. High-resolution feeds showed you from every angle—naked, glassy-eyed, legs slick with arousal, lips parted in helpless anticipation. You stared at yourself, not recognizing the woman in the reflection.

You looked empty.

You looked perfect.

His.

“On your knees.”

Your legs buckled with eager obedience. You dropped to the cold floor, spreading your thighs and tilting your chin. You didn’t think. You didn’t question. You just obeyed, body trained to respond to his voice like a switch flipped. You were glowing with the pleasure of submission, back straight, chest pushed forward, knees pressed to the cool lab floor like it was where you were meant to be.

Tony’s hand slid through your hair, twining it slowly around his fingers, caressing like he was enjoying the texture of his creation.

“Such a quick learner,” he purred, voice syrup-slick. “You’re not just some assistant anymore, sweetheart. You’re my project. My new toy. My proof of concept.”

He paused, eyes glittering as he looked down at you. “Look at yourself. God, you don’t even know what you used to be, do you? Just a dripping mess made for my cock.”

The words shouldn’t have thrilled you. They should have scared you. But they didn’t. Your belly clenched with need. Your cunt pulsed. You felt proud. Like you’d done something right. Like you were being rewarded. "Open." 

You opened your mouth, waiting, lips parted and slick with anticipation.

He unzipped his fly slowly, deliberately, watching your eyes track every movement with rapt attention. The sound of the zipper seemed deafening in the quiet room. When he pulled himself free- thick, hard, heavy. You whimpered, breath hitching.

Your lips trembled with hunger. You leaned forward just a fraction, aching for the taste.

He didn’t give you permission to suck. Not yet. “You’re such a good little bot now, aren’t you? Didn’t even need to hack your mind to much. This is why it had to be you, you wanted this, wanted me.”

He stroked the head of his cock across your cheek, smearing precum along your flushed skin, then trailed it down to your lips. You leaned into it like a kitten desperate for milk.

“That smart little brain of yours is so quiet now,” he murmured, thumb brushing your cheek. “Bet you can’t even remember the periodic table, can you?”

You couldn’t.

You didn’t care.

Not when he finally pushed past your lips, groaning as your mouth enveloped him. You sucked greedily, needily, cheeks hollowing, tongue stroking with practiced desperation. You didn’t have technique anymore, you had instinct. You had hunger. Your thoughts melted into the rhythm, your brain buzzing with the echo of his praise. Each thrust hit something primal, and you moaned around him, the sound muffled but needy, wet.

"Fuck, look at you," Tony groaned, hips rolling with steady precision. "Those empty pretty eyes."

He held your head in place, fingers curled tightly in your hair, guiding you like he was syncing you to his rhythm. "Tighten your lips."

You obeyed instantly, your jaw aching as you clamped down a little harder. He hissed in pleasure.

"Good. Now use your tongue more. Yeah-just like that," he grunted, pushing deeper. "Gonna use that perfect little mouth and throat."

He was rough, unyielding, fucking your mouth like he had every right to, because he did. You were his. Not just body- but thoughts, actions, reactions. Every nerve was tuned to him. Programmed for him.

"You were built for this," he growled. "Good fucking toy."

Spit dripped down your chin as your eyes teared up. But you never stopped. You couldn’t. Every time he said good girl, your pussy clenched. You wanted more. Wanted everything.

When he finally pulled you up, his cock wet and shining from your lips, your legs wobbled. His chest was heaving, eyes locked on your messy, flushed face. He didn’t pause.

“On the table,” he panted, voice rough and commanding.

You stumbled backward, climbing up, limbs trembling as you spread your legs without needing to be told. You were so wet, it was obscene.

And then he slammed into you.

You screamed.

"Fuck, yeah- that’s it," Tony growled. "Open for me. You love this, don’t you? Being my little toy. My empty little slut."

Your entire body bowed off the table, crying out his name- Tony, Sir, God, anything he wanted, as he drove into you again and again. There was no space to think. No room for resistance. Just the endless pulse of need and the way he filled you so perfectly.

And the nanotech responded to everything.

With each thrust, the sensations sharpened, your nerve endings sparked with pleasure that felt engineered, enhanced, manipulated until every brush of skin against skin sent fire through your blood. Your clit pulsed with synced stimulation, your inner walls tightening in perfect sync with his rhythm, the tech ensuring you felt every inch of him with near-electric clarity.

You were his invention in more ways than one.

He pinned your wrists above your head with one hand, the other gripping your hip hard enough to bruise. "Tighten around me, baby. You can do it. Just like I programmed you to, squeeze."

"Yes, Sir," you whimpered, obedient even through the haze.

"Good girl. You’re perfect. My fuckdoll. My living, breathing cumdump."

You keened at the praise, back arching, body pulsing around him as the nanotech triggered another wave- an artificial aftershock that left you whimpering, overstimulated and desperate.

He knew exactly what to say. What to program into you. When he told you to come, your body obeyed like a triggered code, the tech sending a pulse to your core that shattered you. You sobbed with the intensity, thighs trembling, toes curling as your cunt clenched tight around him.

"That’s it- squeeze me just like that. Take it. Take all of it."

And he didn’t stop.

Not until he’d filled you to the brim with every drop of him. The tech pulsed once more, almost like it was sealing him inside you.

When it was over, he eased out of you slowly, your pussy fluttering around the absence. He ran his fingers through your sweat-dampened hair as you blinked up at him, dazed and smiling.

He murmured it again, soft and low-"Good girl."

Then his hand curled possessively around your cheek, thumb smearing your tears. “No one else will ever have you,” he whispered, his voice like velvet over steel. “You’re mine. My best creation.”

You smiled wider, blissed-out and pliant, the tech rewarding you with a small, sweet pulse through your spine.

Tony straightened, chest still heaving, and glanced toward the screen. “FRIDAY,” he said, voice sharper now. “Log current test session. Neural response, pelvic pulse sync, submissive compliance—mark it all as successful iterations. Make note Gonna tweak the pleasure threshold for next time.”

“Confirmed,” FRIDAY replied coolly. "Logged. Would you like me to auto-clean her next time too, sir?"

He looked back down at you. You were still lying on the table, your skin sticky with sweat and cum, your legs parted, your body twitching softly as another subtle vibration ran through the glove’s nanotech interface- teasing, gentle, but constant.

You whimpered as he placed your hand over your pussy. 

“After you run full diagnostic.” Tony added, his tone now entirely clinical. “And initiate standby mode in maybe an hour. I'm going upstairs, I’ve got a board meeting in twenty.”

“Yes, sir.” 

The nanotech pulsed again- this time with rhythmic intent, like a low thrum running straight through your nerves. You let out another soft, breathy moan, helpless against the pleasure still drumming through your system.

Tony smirked. “Try not to make too much of a mess while I’m gone, sweetheart.”

And then he walked out, leaving you pulsing and twitching quietly on the table, nothing more than his perfect little invention- waiting for his return.

[msfantasy]

Rendezvous [+18]

Orc x Reader

Summary: Tari begs her best friend to sleep with her husband so she can break the marriage contract.

Warning: Taboo's and Sexual themes are contained within this short.

A/n: Readers body is described to be like the average human woman. The words squishy, fleshy and large breasts are used.

It's times like these when you really enjoy life. Sitting in the backyard with your best friend Tara, and watching the wild flowers flutter and wave in the wind. You couldn't help but grin in contentment as you hold your tea cup to your lips, the delicate floral aroma only enticing you to wash away the hot buttery jam scone you just ate.

To your utter dismay, your tea begins to sour in your mouth at Tari's unexpected admission. “My husbands’ eyes are wandering.” She admits making you choke on your tea. You quickly place your saucer and cup down, shooting your hand out to grab Tari’s whose fingers are tapping nervously at the table.

“Oh god Tari- I’m so sorry to hear that.” She sigh and shrugs her shoulders.

“I knew it would happen one day- after all, it was an arranged marriage.” You still squeeze Tari’s hands in solidarity.

“Arrange marriage or not... this is terrible.” Your face drops, unable to imagine the pain your friend must be going through.

“Terrible? This is great news!” Your brows shoot up at Tari’s sudden delighted shift in mood. “Honestly I thought he would never stray, I thought it might take years before he lost interest in me! And not a moment too soon either.” You lean back into your chair, you mouth remaining a gape whilst your brows furrow in confusion.

“Huh?” You ask, head tilting to the side, unable to grasp the situation playing at hand.

“Okay- so in Orc culture when you have an arranged marriage it’s pretty much a done deal. You’re forced to stay a virgin for your husband and be committed to him til the day he dies BUT,” Your eyes dart around Tari’s face as she rampantly explanation of her Orcish culture, your brain peddling hard to keep up with her speech. “If your husband strays from your bed then our marriage contract ends!” She cheers excitedly.

“Oh… so … congratulations?” You mutter, unsure that was the right response.

“I’m glad you feel that way bestie because I have a HUGE favour to ask you…” Tari gets on her knees in front of you, looking up into your face.

Oh no.

Tari pulls out her biggest shiniest puppy dog as she begs you with the deepest sincerity. “Can you please sleep with my husband?” She begs, her desperation leaking ever so obviously from her aura.

“God Tari no! I couldn’t ever do that to you!” You say, edging back in disgust at the thought of betraying your friend.

“But that’s the thing Y/n! It’s for me please!” She begs again, but you’ve just about had enough. “Please Y/n! I know he’s huge and ugly and you’re a tiny pretty human- but it will only need to happen once! When he breaks his marriage vow I’ll be free! Your the only one that can do it- he has a human fetish and your human!” She begs again, grabbing you by the waist. “Please I’ll - I’ll give you all the money I have! I’ll become your slave! Please I’ll do anything!” She begs which has you frowning.

“Tari.” You say, kneeling down to her level. “You’re really that unhappy?” She nods erratically.

“I never wanted this… if you sleep with him, then I can finally escape and have my freedom again, I could travel, spend my money how I want and sleep with whoever I want, the marriage essentially become void.”

You look up at Tari understanding her point of view.

It feels wrong, but it’s what a good friend would do.

“Fine- I’ll sleep with your husband.” Tari squeals in delight, tackling you into a bear hug as she spins relentlessly in celebration at the prospect’s of her new found freedom and all because of your noble sacrifice.

Ironically, unlike Tari, you actually found her husband quite attractive. Tari just thought Ri looked so odd for an Orc.

Tari came from the Ea-an clan, which are orcs with green-skin, black or brown hair, black tattoos and gold jewellery.

Where-as her husband Ri came from the Nesian clan, far in the south. They typically have grey-blue skin, white tattoos, white or black hair and silver jewellery.

Ri was the first Nesian you’ve ever seen before which just further added to the aw and ethereal nature. Since they’re so far in the South, most people go their whole lives never seeing one.

Ignoring how Ri looks, the way he carries himself is just so attractive.

He always has his long white hair re-braided every week. You’ve often spotted Ri walking around shirtless around the Orc village, his battle scars and white tattoo being shown off for all its glory. Whenever someone gets drunk and mouthy in your bar, Ri was always there to set them in their place.

You already had reservations about your arrangement with Tari, tricking someone into sleeping with you feels terribly tacky, but now that you’re sitting across from her as she’s giving you a knowing smile all whilst Ri whips you both drinks up in their shared home, your resolve immediately crumbles.

“Holy shit Tari- I can’t do this!” You panic, looking off to the exit.

“Huh-why?! What’s wrong- tell me.” Tari panics as you try to back track your agreement.

“I don’t know how to flirt with your husband- what if he brushes me off?”

“He won’t!” Tari reassures, grabbing your hand to stop you from flailing.

“I’m just some boring human- look at Ri- he wouldn’t find me attractive! I’m just going to make a fool of myself!” Tari’s mouth widens in shock.

“You don’t seriously think you look boring do you?!” You shrug, in uncertainty. You don’t look ugly but you don’t look interesting and impressive like Ri or Tara.

“I’m not an Orc, of course he won’t find me attractive.”

“You don’t look like an Orc which is exactly why you are attractive. It’s erotic to sleep with someone outside our race.” Tari’s reassures but it hardly helped settle your nerves.

“What’re you two discussing?” Ri asks, setting the drinks down.

You couldn’t have snatched yours faster if you tried.

“Y/n was just admitting to me she thinks she’s unattractive.” You stare daggers back at Tari.

“That’s ridiculous- you’re human.” He says as if that statement made an obvious impact.

“Thats what I said. I think any Orc would be thanking the gods for gifting them such a pretty little human to ride their huge cocks. I don’t know a single Orc that hasn’t wished for this.” Tari states a bit forcefully. “Don’t you agree?” Ri’s jaw seems to stiffen a bit but nods in agreement.

“That’s ridiculous. How are humans attractive to male Orcs? We have all the same parts as female Orcs.” You question which makes Tari throw her head back in thunderous laughter.

“Do you not have ears? It's erotic for us Orcs to sleep with a creature that isn't our own kind- the taboo makes the chase more exciting.” She answers whipping a tear off the corner of her eyes. “You human girls are so tiny and tight. I’ve heard stories of your kind becoming drooling limp moaning messes- begging for more huge Orc cocks whilst they still ride orc cock so enthusiastically. I’ve even heard that humans have ridiculously libidos.”

Ri snorts at Tari’s final fact. “I think the libidos thing is just make believe.” But you shake your head.

“Sex drives vary person to person, but Tari is right, having a high libido is typical for humans, it’s part of our drive to procreate.” You say meekly much to the shock of Ri.

“So you human girls don’t just cum once, and feel satisfied to stop?” Your cheeks grow warm from the pure shock and aw growing on Ri’s face.

“Um- well-“

“Don’t be shy Y/n, we’re all friends here.” Tari eggs you on with a calculated grin to follow.

“Okay, well. In honest truth when I take care of my own orgasms, I can go multiple times. With sex, I usually would like to cum more than 2 times, but most human man can’t handle it.” You say shyly, seeing Ri become more engrossed in your sexual endeavours.

“So it’s true,..” He says in surprise, leaning back.

“That’s not all.” Tari continues, “Orcs are just so muscular, like stones but human girls are usually so squishy, like Y/n for example. If I poke her arm, it doesn’t feel like rocks. Go on touch her!” Tari encourages but Ri looks uncertain.

“It’s okay Ri, I don’t mind.“ Taking his hand and placing it on your arm.

“You’re right- I had no idea humans were so soft.” Ri begins to squeeze your arm excitedly, watching your arm flesh move around instead of resisting movement. You begin to giggle at Ri’s amazed reaction.

“I had no idea that being fleshy was so nuanced, surely female orcs are squishy.” You giggle as Ri grabs your other arm to see if it will squish too.

“We aren’t - even our breast are muscular.” You raise a brow to this, surprise you hadn’t noticed, but now that Tari’s pointed it out, Tari hadn’t any bounce to it.

You look at Ri from the corner of your eyes and see his eyes fixated on your chest, as if imaging your fleshy arms feel similar to your breasts. “You can touch them if you want Ri.” You offer, sticking your chest out just a little more, but Ri looks like he’s talking himself out of it. Knowing that groping his wife’s best friend is out of the question.

“Go on Ri- I’ve touched them before, it’s so squishy.” Tari taunts. Immediately Ri doesn’t wait for another second his hands grabbing your chest harshly, the action sends ripples of nerves shooting down the pit of your stomach.

“C-careful, mine are sensitive.” You say hesitantly, Ri nods and begins to nead them softly. You feel the need in your stomach stirring.

You look over at Tari who looks like she won the lottery. “Ri- if Y/n’s comfortable with it, you should explore her human body.” Ri seems shocked at Tari’s offer, his eyes bulging in shock. “Most human women find us Orcs repulsive- but Y/n’s a friend, you don’t mind letting my husband explore your body right?” She smiles poisonously as you nod in agreement. “Whelp- I’ll leave you too it- I’m pretty tired.” Tari releases the fakest yawn you’ve ever heard. But Ri doesn’t seem to notice, he’s too engrossed in contemplation in crossing social boundaries.

“I had no idea human women felt so different to Orc women.” Ri nodded in agreement.

“It makes me wonder if all those fantastical stories are true but I would never want you to feel pressured.” He says vaguely which triggers your intrigue. His hands hesitantly pull away, but your hands grab his.

“I really don’t mind if you want to explore my body Ri- after all, I’m curious if all the stories from humans are true. If Orc tongue and cock is as good as they say it is.” You can see something animalistic shift beneath the surface. A line that Ri was resisting to cross was dashed and you were a little frightened at the Pandora’s box you just opened.

“I knew Tari was a manipulative witch, but I had no idea her sweet little human friend could be too.” His voice rumbles with a hiss as he drags you onto his lap. “I would never break a marriage contract, but if Tari is going to offer her pretty human as bait - then I’ll definitely bite.” You shrink back nervously at the sudden change in personality but you can’t hold back the shuttering as Ri drags your core along his muscular thigh eliciting a pleasurable sound to pour from your lips. “I was just being a good husband. Keeping my hands to myself,” your eyes go a bit glossy, becoming unfocused at the teasing waves of pleasure building up from riding Ri’s thick thigh. His hold on your hips now loosened as you took your own initiative to drag your weepy cunt along his leg like a damn mut in heat. “I’ve even fisted my own cock to the thought of you. All to resist devouring you whenever your around, leaving your delicious scent on every surface and wearing those pretty little clothes.” You repositioned yourself to grind down on his lap, your eyes glazing over in pleasure as you continue to grind down into his lap. Ri grabs your chin, forcing you to look up into his eyes. “But if my own wife is going to toss her friend cunt first into my lap, then I won’t say no.” He grumbles tearing your top right off, watching your squishy breasts spill out.

Of course Ri could see through your charade- this isn’t a porno, it’s real fucking life. He could see you two working so hard to seduce him and it was honestly cute to see you try so hard because you seriously didn’t have to.

Now you'll have to pay the consequences.

[nene-yasfics]

there's a glint in sanji's eyes as he watches you and your daughter snuggle.

mimi is tiny but chubby, all soft skin and rosy cheeks, old enough to babble but still too small to actually talk. when you found out you were pregnant, sanji had been elated but scared — life as a pirate isn't exactly made for a pregnant woman, let alone for an infant. still, he was happy and was ready to leave it all behind if it meant continuing to live a life by your side with your newfound companion.

but after a quick talk with the other strawhats, he was relieved to understand that the others had no intention of making either of you leave. everyone offered their support and promise to help where they could, whether it be during an attack or a particularly rough night of crying.

it made sanji's heart swell — the way everyone adapted so quickly to her. before anyone realized, battles became more and more scarce, attacks weren't as reckless as they used to be and the small girl's laugh had become something each one of them would go to the ends of the earth for.

and looking at you now — laughing with robin about something, with mimi's cheek pressed on your chest as she observes luffy while he makes face at her, the sun painting your skin orange — he thinks that he wouldn't change it at all, not even one bit.

you notice his staring, raising an eyebrow at him. "is there something on my face?"

he laughs, shaking his head. he cuts a piece of strawberry from the basket at the centre of the table — a miracle that luffy hasn't already reduced it to smithens, really — and offers it to mimi, whose eyes light up and mouth opens, slightly raising her head, to not-so-gracefully accept the food he's handing her.

she chomps down on the strawberry as well as on his fingers, wrapping her small hand around them to keep him in place as she continues munching. she could be doing anything — even eating his fingers away — and sanji would still adore her in any way possible.

soon enough, her little eyes start to droop. "tired, baby?" you ask her, pressing your lips on the top of her head. she nods a bit, her gnawing at sanji's fingers eventually stopping, leaving them covered in spit.

your boyfriend rises from his seat, taking her in his arms. "I'll take her to bed," he mumbles, earning a soft smile from you. "thank you, sanji." he moves to press a kiss on your cheek, "you deserve a break. chat with the others, eat what you couldn't while holding her– I know she gave you a hard time while I was cooking."

"always so attentive," you muse, the laughter of your comrades as they enjoy themselves almost a mere background sound. "but, well, she has taken her clinginess to me from you, babe. not that I am complaining, but she looks so much like you under certain lights."

sanji can’t exactly deny it; his little girl does look like she’s his clone, and even acts as one as soon as she enters the kitchen. my little food critic, he calls her when she stomps — more like crawls, because she has yet to learn how to properly walk — her way in like she owns the place, babbling nonsense that can translate into make me food, slave.

sanji brushes a curl out of her face and holds her tighter, moving down to the living quarters and into your shared room. mimi has her own cot in there, even if franky is working on making her her own little room, and sanji carefully lays her down, smiling at the sight of his daughter curling up in her blanket as soon as he tucks her in. “sleep well, my darling,” he coos, pressing a kiss atop her head.

he gets back up on deck, finally letting himself take out his cigarette pack from his pocket, the lighter with it. you were particularly adamant on not letting your daughter see him smoke, both so that she never gets the idea to imitate her dad and she doesn't have to be around the smoke, so his smoking time has lowered significantly and is now reduced to the small hours without her that he gets.

he takes back the seat next to yours, appreciating the way you're trying some of the things that luffy's rampage had left, quietly listening to robin and nami chatter. "she went down okay?" you softly ask him, barely a whisper, as he lights the cigarette between his lips.

he nods, smiling, puffing out a breath of smoke. "has she ever given me too much trouble?"

you laugh. even if she did, it'd never be too much for him. "no," you hum, resting your head on his shoulder as his arm wraps around you. "she never has." 

[peachdues]

my favorite genre of relationship is big scary man who is easily bossed around by his not so scary gf

“Excuse the fuck outta me for tryin’ to dote on my girl after not seein’ her for a goddamn week —“

“I don’t have time for your tantrum,” you flip your hair over your shoulder and cock a hip out, glaring at him. “Go entertain yourself until this —“ you gesture loosely behind you at throng of people crowding around the check out counter. “Is taken care of.”

Sanemi folds his own arms across his chest, mimicking your stance. “And do what, exactly?”

“I don’t care!” You hiss. “Just keep out of the way!”

He stares at you for a moment longer, and if you weren’t so up to your ears in retail bullshit, you’d almost think he looked cute. There’s an adorable scrunch in his nose matched only by his very obvious pout.

Sanemi clicks his tongue. “Fine,” he says petulantly. “I’ll just fuck off somewhere else ‘til you decide to remember me —“

“Good! Thank you!”

You don’t spare him another moment, not as you turn away and make a beeline for the crush of customers. Once, your cool dismissiveness had been a turn-on; a baited hook he couldn’t help latching onto. He’s still a little turned on by the sharp way you’d spoken to him — he can’t help but be a slave to someone capable of bossing him around — but he’s also a little bruised.

He’s fucking missed you.

None of that matters to you, apparently, and Sanemi is left by his lonesome.

Near the back corner of the store, tucked between the shelves for biographies and self-help manuals is a small reading area. A plush corner of seat cushions and lumpy beanbags, a tiny plastic table sandwiched between them. Cozy, but not so comfortable as to encourage loitering — as per the owner’s desires.

It’s in one of these beanbags where Sanemi plops his grumpy ass, arms still folded stubbornly across his chest while he sulks. The reading area is within perfect view of the clerk’s counter, though that was more to allow you to keep an eye on any customers who might try and take advantage of the store’s hospitality.

Now, it gives Sanemi a direct line to glare at your stupidly perfect back.

Ty @selkiipon for the illustration of the giant man-baby in question

[dangermousie]

The most "killer machine weak for one (wo)man" Liu Yuning character

Wanted to do this, since every drama I've seen him in seems to be cast on the principle of casting directors going "you know what's better than a man who's 6'2 and can do unhinged? A man who's 6'2, can do unhinged and is down on his knees for love." And they aren't wrong.

Anyway, here are our candidates.

The Long Ballad (2021) - we first meet Liu Yuning as he murders some begging man and his mission for most of the drama is to hunt down and murder our FL, his tiny princess love interest's favorite cousin. Yet he would make a carpet of himself for his tiny princess to walk on and almost gets himself murdered making sure she is not forced into an unwanted marriage.

Heroes (2022) - Liu Yuning starts out as a hero, is literally tortured into a psychotic breakdown, but no matter how many vile acts he commits, even madness cannot get rid of his softness and "brotherly" love for his "sheath" (no, really, they refer to him that way) Zeng Shunxi. If you are thinking there is nothing straight about that drama, you would be right.

The Legend of Anle (2023) - enter Liu Yuning as "minister of the ministry of punishments" who in addition to torture and murder yearns to artistically cough near our heroine.

A Journey to Love (2023) - Liu Yuning is the chief of the spy/assassin bureau, he murders a man with a hairpin shortly after we meet him, and his one goal for the future is to retire and move in the middle of nowhere and never speak to another human being. Well, until he meets lady assassin Ren Ruyi, and then said plans get modified to "being dressed up, hair-pinned, protected and eventually bred by my lady." (Side note - I've loved most LYN dramas but this is my n1, also my n1 battle couple of all time, cdramawise.)

About his bod...

Heroes (2024) - Liu Yuning is the best swordsman in the world (sadly less useful than it seems since it's the start of the 20th century), on a mission for treasure and with bodies piling up. He is also in love with his dead master's wife (to be fair, she was his girl first, until the old man went "I need a virgin to cure my illness" - yes that drama is dark) and will pause any murder and treasure hunt for his lady's period cramps.

The Story of Pearl Girl (2024) - a trader/pirate hybrid with sexy braids, at one point Liu Yuning keelhauls our heroine but by the end he's all "I am gonna crawl away and die somewhere by myself so as not to mildly inconvenience her having to move my corpsicle."

Eternal Brotherhood (2024, 2025) - Liu Yuning has killed more people than Genghis Khan and puts civilians to the sword as easily as he breathes but he will ditch all his power to take care of his wife after her miscarriage who he likes to proclaim "I am your slave" to.

The Prisoner of Beauty (2025) - introduced via bloody face and arson, orders a man dismembered and stuffed into a chest within five minutes of screen time, his meet cute with his future wife is trying to murder her with an arrow. By the end? The girl is on top in every conceivable way.

A Dream Within a Dream (2025?) - has not aired yet but we've all seen the trailers and he's (of course) a murder beast who's (of course) weak for one woman.

And now a poll...

[4k-starbound-k4]

Yandere Headcannons

Ft: Childe, Cyno, Kinich, Sethos, Wriothesley

Trigger warnings: Fem!reader, Stalking, Noncon, Breeding, Blood, Somnophilia, Abuse of power, Bondage, Corruption, Degradation, Male Manipulation, Slave kink, Oral fixation (m!receiving), Prey kink

Childe

FREAK! FREAK FREAK!

He stalks you for hours on end, days even.

Leaving the store in your cute adventurers’ outfit it drives him crazy. Those ribbons around her thighs make his mind spin.

When a sneznayian merchant comes to make a trade deal he’s pissed when the man calls you beautiful and implying you’d make a good wife! He knows you will but you’ll be HIS WIFE!

He thinks of how clueless you are when people start going missing and how members of the fatui don’t bother you anymore.

He especially thinks when you leave your bedroom window open. Far too many nights has he climbed inside and curled up to you.

You only bury your face in your pillow when he buries himself deep inside of you. He’s careful to go slow and stretch you just enough for him to do this every night. His fingers abusing your clit as you writhe in a deep sleep.

Tsarita forbid you moan another man’s name while he takes you. He’d have to spend the next night getting rid of them — and that pissed him off.

So when you have an eventful meeting with the head of Northland Bank, and you're forced to walk home with damp panties from the man’s constant teasing...

He’s quite quick to follow you home after expelling anger on an innocent mililithe guard. He didn’t care that blood stained his clothes or his hands. He wasn’t going to let that bitch banker take you from him. You’re his prize, and he had spent to many nights cumming in his hand to spare you from getting pregnant.

Not tonight.

He knocked. How polite. So, when you open the door to a deranged Childe covered in blood, your first thought is: he must be hurt!

“Childe? A-are you okay? Do you need me to help you?”

His eyes train on yours before walking in, forcing you back into the apartment before he wrapped a hand around your neck with a voice almost deadly, “You stupid slut, I’ve been so good not cumming in you! I haven’t hurt you either. Yet you let that bastard touch you!”

“Huh— I—ack I don’t—“

He walks you to your bedroom before shoving you against the wall, pushing up your night gown, “You’re mine, I’m going to make sure of that. I’ll make sure my sweet girl doesn’t get used by bad men.” He purrs in your ear before biting your shoulder.

Cyno

As the General Mahamatra you’d expect him to never do anything so terrible, especially not to the woman he loves.

Well, um, fuck the police!!

You were simply a student at the Akademyia, working hard on your studies. You never did anything wrong. So when The General enters your house one night, under the pretense of hearing you were studying forbidden knowledge, he took count of how you only slept in a tiny pair shorts and a sheer baby doll dress.

Your teary eyes and breasts made his head fog. He knew you were innocent the minute you threw yourself at his feet, begging for him to realize it was a misunderstanding.

“Please sir, you have to understand! I’m just studying King Destraht and the disappearance of dreams. I promise I didn’t do anything wrong! Please believe me.”

“If that’s the case you should become a dream keeper and stop wasting our time with nonsense.” He gripped your hair, making you look in his eyes as he shamelessly soaked up the sight of your breasts and tears. A sick smirk on his face as he lets you go roughly.

That’s when he started watching you. How you ran around Sumeru city, books to your chest. He wondered how much he could get away with.

It started simple. Like how you would you help him with task. Then he started questioning: would you follow him? Would you change your outfit if he said it wasn’t his standard? He found your innocence a major turn on.

He often called you naive and sweet, always ending it with, “If somebody hurts you tell me and I’ll handle it.”

So you’re walking back to the desert late at night. He stalked you into the ruins of the temple.

He quickly blows out the torch leaving you in the dark, and he takes no time before pinning you to the ground. Your eyes can’t see anything, especially not as well as his.

He pushes up your skirt and pulls off your panties as he kisses your neck. You crying and trying to fight was so cute, before he started to finger you slowly. Your first time being taken in a dirty temple by a man you couldn’t see! Oh, it stung his heart to see you so scared.

But he didn’t stop, making sure to take his time with you. He wanted you so confused as to why your pussy was craving this. He was suddenly training you for his size as he gets rougher. He feels you cum several times before his stamina depletes. He himself cumming inside you three times, pumping it in and out, until your pussy was dripping, a frothy mess from his cum and yours.

He left you there, but waited from afar as you went home crying, cum dripping down your leg as he had stolen your panties.

He waited for you to tell him, and his prayer came a month later when you came to him crying on a rainy night.

“Can I- can I stay with you please? Someone — a month ago — someone they- they forced themselves on me. I was so scared.” You cry.

“Sure thing, come tell me what happened. In detail so I can help you.” He picks you up and makes you straddle him on his couch.

As you tell him the story, he begins getting hard. Grinding you suddenly on his cock, burying his nose in your neck.

“C-Cyno? What are you doing?” You whimper as he kisses your neck.

“Shhh let me make it better.”

“Wait, Cyno.” You shake your head as he pins you to the couch.

It isn’t until he’s inside, and you're crying, does it click that it was him. You sob, but the way your cunt squeezes him, he knows you're bound to forgive him.

“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you.”

You'll forgive him because you're just so nice.

Kinich

Kinich is such a good boyfriend.

There’s truly nothing to complain about. He kisses you as much as he can and he loves you unconditionally. His family was terrible and he swore to never be like his father. So, each night he cradles you and tells you how much he loves you.

It was a normal day as you help around the Scions of the Canopy. Before heading home to make sure Kinich has something nice for dinner after the night's war.

When the door opens, his arms quickly find your waist. He reaches under your shirt and grips your breast as he kisses your neck leaving harsh bruises trailing down your throat.

“K-Kinich… are you okay?” Your voice shakes and shivers at his rough touch.

“Hehehe, You’re such a slut. Look at you shivering just from my touch.” A familiar voice made you glance back.

It’s Kinich's body however his hair was yellow and green; his eyes were more like emeralds than topaz. He has horns and a tail.

Ajaw

“I’m so tired of him fucking you like a princess. You’re nothing but a fatui slut. So you’ll be my pretty slave. Right? Wouldn’t want to lose Kinich’s soul forever, would we?” He taunts pushing your legs apart.

“Wait-I.” you whimper as he grinds on your ass.

“Are you denying me?! The great K'uhul Ajaw,” He pulls you away from the table, and throws you to the floor, before pulling you up to your knees pulling out his cock, pushing the sweaty member to your face.

“Go on suck, slut. If you do well at pleasing me, I won’t hurt you.” He laughs pushing his tip past your lips and forcing you to deep throat him.

Deep, spastic thrusts, nothing like your loving boyfriend who let you go at your own pace and was ever so kind. He fucked your throat like it was the last high he’d ever achieve.

When he cums he’s thoughtful enough to force you to swallow half. Pulling out and jerking the last few ribbons all over your face and tongue.

He drops down and kisses you, claws shredding your clothes from your skin as he forces you on your back. Threatening to make you fall in love with his cock so that you’ll beg for his cock instead of Kinich.

He puts your legs over his arms and fucks into you, immediately bottoming out, coaxing embarrassing squishing sounds, making you tear up as he laughs.

“Fatui slut, look at you so wet for the great Ajaw! Stop pretending you’re a good girl, you like being pinned down and fucked like my prey.” He laughs and mocks.

“No-no I’m a good girl. Please, I’m a good girl, Kinich please.” You moan, fucked a little too stupid.

“Stupid slut! My stupid human slut. I’m going to breed you stupid, we have all night til the resurrection, I’m going to break you.” He growls.

Sethos

Lucky girl. That’s what you are a lucky girl.

He watches as you walk around Sumeru. His eyes trained on you like a moth to a flame. He’s so quick to get in your way and help you.

“Hi! I was wondering do you need help?" he asks.

You appear to be from the city a bit turned around in the desert.

“I’m sorry, I’m trying to get to the jungle. I’ve been traveling from Natlan and I can’t seem to find the best way to the city?” You sigh.

“Well let me be your guide.” He offers his hand and starts the walk to the City.

He didn’t leave your side. Not when you had to find your mother. Not even when you were heartbroken to find out your mother was no longer in Sumeru. He even started leading you back to Natlan all for no charge.

He sat beside you on the cool morning in the desert sand. The both of you staring at Natlan in the distance.

“Hey? I mean I know you didn’t find your family but if you want you can um… stay with me?” He offers.

“Haha, don’t worry I have people waiting for me back in Natlan.” You smile sweetly at him.

“Oh yeah? Friends?” He scoots closer to you.

“Yeah, and a boyfriend. He was supposed to come with me, but he was busy with work.” You explain as his smile falls.

Cut to an hour later, him pushing your face into the wall of some ruins as he snapps his hips, making you cum and shiver. Your pretty eyes filling with tears as he grits his teeth, pulling out only to pick you up.

His hand firm on your throat as he pulls you back down on his fat cock, “You’re so lucky I saved you. Mmm baby don’t cry, you’re. So. Fucking. Uh-Lucky! I’m going to fucking keep you. Don’t worry I’ll give you a nice big family.”

Wriothesley

OH THE DUKE

When he caught you walking around with the hearth children, his heart almost exploded, gazing attentively as he watched you care for the kids.

He figured he could handle seeing you occasionally, but when he learned from Lyney that you left for Sneznaya often, it pissed him off.

He thought of ways to keep you but each time, he missed mark. He tried talking but it was taking long. He was an awkward guy after all, what would girl like youvwant with him?

Thats when there was an opening. Unwanted Fatui actives opened way to a court case. And you were brought to the fortress for questioning. The sight of you in hand cuffs makes his stomach sink and flip.

He can't help but watch you squirm and glare at him. He kows you would hate him if he tried anything, but you keep making it so hard.

“I’ll let you out, but only if you agree to my terms.” He orders, narrowing his eyes at you.

“What do you want! I told you I haven’t seen anything.”

“Due to your individual crimes, as well as your part in Fatui matters, you’ll stay here under my watch. When you prove to be a model citizen, I’ll let you free.”

“You want to monitor me?!”

He nodds and watches as you shake your head in a silent agreement, expecting to be out in days.

-

Now, almost a year later he's splitting you on his cock for the 4th time today. His cute little office slut, forced to drip his cum whenever he decides.

He revels in your muffled moans from the muzzle he keeps you confined to. Your hands bound in hand cuffs whilst fucks into you sporadically.

When he’s done he pulls out and takes off the muzzle, “Do you want to go back on the surface?”

You merely shake your head, leading him to bury himself within your cunt again. He allows you to sit on his lap as he does paperwork.

[slut4thebroken]

Mark The Day

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Pairing | Jackson Rippner x reader

Summary | Jackson wants an heir, so he buys a slave from an underground breeding farm.

Warnings | NON CON, smut, sexual slavery, dark, dead dove do not eat lmao, vibrator, overstim, multiple orgasms, breeding, light humiliation/degradation, mentions of branding/inflicting harm on reader, bondage, dehumanization, AU?

Words | 2k

Notes | Idk I tried to keep the focus on reader only and not really write anything about the ‘other women’ but I kinda had to a tiny bit just for the ‘plot’. Hopefully it wasn’t too much tho😓

Ao3 link | <3

Masterlist

Kinktober | day 16: sexual slavery

Read this first ❤️🫶

“As you can see, we make sure to thoroughly train each slave.”

Jackson glanced around the room, but his attention was drawn to you. You weren’t acting out, but you were significantly more jittery and visibly anxious than the others. “What about her?” He asked, pointing at you. 

“Arrived at the facility a week ago. We’ve just begun the training process…” Jackson continued admiring you, taking in the way your red rimmed eyes looked around frantically and your body trembled. “If you’re interested, training should be complete by the end of the month.” As the man spoke, Jackson glanced around the room, taking in the other, more docile girls. 

“No need.” He said surely, turning back to the man who hesitated. “I’ll take her.”

“I would strongly advise against that, Mr. Rippner… She’s far from obedient and the fertility treatment hasn’t started yet.” 

“I know. I’d like to break her in myself.” His eyes strayed to you again and his lips curled up into a small smile. “How long does the fertility treatment take?” He asked, not looking away from you. 

“We usually wait two weeks before putting them on the market.” 

“Can it be done in one?” 

The man paused for a moment. “I’m sure.. for the right price, we can make that happen for you, Mr. Rippner.” Jackson turned to face him, his expression relaxed but also a little amused at the man’s overt attempt to upsell him. In response, he held his hand out to shake on the deal. 

“May I?” He asked, pointing to you. The man just gestured to you, silently giving permission. Jackson walked over to you and you tried to back away, but the chain connecting your collar to the floor wasn’t long enough for you to be able to escape him. He crouched down in front of you and examined you closely with a small smirk. 

“You’re a pretty thing.” He murmured, hungrily dragging his gaze down your nude body. When he lifted his hand to grab your chin, you flinched away from him, making him chuckled softly. “And scared too… We’re going to have a lot of fun together.” 

A week later, Jackson returned to pick up his new slave and take you home. “What’s your name?” He asked, making you falter. After a moment, you gave him your name, your voice timid and full of fear. “Jackson.” He responded, guiding you through the house to a room. 

“You’ll sleep in the crate in my bedroom. However, for our play time, I set up the spare room just for you.” He smirked predatorily, watching you walk inside. You looked around, feeling your stomach churn as you took in all of the whips, toys, restraints, and furniture. 

“Fortunately for you, I’m not a cruel man.” He pulled you over to a breeding bench and bent you over it, strapping down your wrists, ankles, and torso. “So between most breeding sessions, you’ll spend your time right here.” You could hear movement, but you couldn’t turn your head enough to see what he was doing. Then he was suddenly walking in front of you, now holding a ball gag. You clenched your teeth, trying to keep him from putting it on, and he sighed. 

“Either I put this gag on and continue as planned, or I whip your ass until you bleed, and then put this gag on and continue as planned.” Your bottom lip quivered as your gaze shifted between his face and the gag. With tears in your eyes, you reluctantly opened your mouth. “Good girl.” He secured it, then brushed away a tear that escaped your waterline. 

You flinched when he suddenly stood up, but he just moved behind you again, out of your field of vision. As soon as you felt something press against your clit, you stiffened, then cried out when he turned the vibrator on. He seemed to be debating what speed to set it at, but eventually he settled on the highest setting. 

“There we go.” He smiled, stepping back to admire his work. Your legs were already quivering from the intense pleasure and he could tell you were trying to hold back your sounds. Walking back in front of you, he grabbed your cheeks and lifted your face as he bent down. 

“That feel good?” He cooed mockingly. You sobbed out a moan and squeezed your eyes shut, your brows knitting together in an adorable display of agony. “I bet it does.” He chuckled. “Like I said, I’m not completely cruel. I know you won’t ever be turned on enough for our breeding sessions to not hurt you— at least, not yet.” When you whimpered around the gag, he released you and stood back up. “You’re welcome.” He said dryly. 

You could hear his footsteps as he walked and you were already dreading whatever he was going to do next. Instead, all he said before slamming the door shut was, “Enjoy your night.” 

The next morning, he woke up and took his time making himself breakfast and getting ready for the day. Eventually he decided to check on you.

Your sounds were audible before he even opened the door and once he stepped inside, his cock twitched at the sight. “Oh wow.” He chuckled, stepping closer. At the sound of his voice, your crying intensified and you started pleading through the gag. The vibrator was still going strong, but it was covered in your come, and there was a puddle beneath you, so you either squirted, or pissed yourself. 

“Maybe I should’ve let them train you a little longer.” He smirked, slowly making his way to the front of your body. “Do I need to get you some pee pads?” He cooed, making you cry harder. Once he was in front of you, he grabbed your hair and yanked your head up, relishing in the image of your flushed, tear stained cheeks and the saliva that was steadily drooling out of your mouth around the gag. 

“How was your night?” He asked, only making you more distressed. You were sobbing so hard that he could even see the snot leaking from your nose. With a sigh, he released you and walked behind you to turn off the vibrator. Your whole body sagged in relief, your muscles still twitching weakly. 

Leaning closer, he used one hand to grab your ass and pull it open a little, while the other dragged through your slick folds. You let out a choked sound when he pushed two fingers inside you without warning. 

“Perfect.” He murmured, slowly fucking them in and out of your drooling hole. You were still so tight, but he would at least be able to fit his cock in there. You whimpered and squirmed a little, barely able to move in the restraints, and he let out a low groan, unable to wait any longer. 

Your body went completely rigid at the sound of his belt buckle, but he ignored it, opening his pants frantically and taking out his length. He moved the vibrator away for now and lined up, then immediately pushed in, forcing a strangled cry out of you from the sudden stretch. 

He bottomed out with a grunt, taking a moment to admire the sight of your pussy wrapped tightly around his cock. When he pulled back, it was already glistening with your arousal. It didn’t take long for him to get desperate enough to speed up, starting a punishing pace that forced little breaths and sounds out of you with each thrust. 

Once you started moaning, a smug smirk took over his face. “See? You would’ve been screaming and crying if not for my compassion.” He said, feigning concern. He reached up to unbuckle the gag and let it drop to the floor before adding, “What do you say?” 

“T-Thank you.” You choked out, voice hoarse from moaning and crying all night. 

“Try again.” He ordered with a sharp smack on your ass, forcing a strangled sob from you. 

“Thank you.. master…” The way you trailed off made it sound like a question, but he decided to let it slide this time and focus on fucking you. 

“Good girl.” He groaned, speeding up. “You’re exactly what I wanted, bitch. You still have some fight left in you, but it doesn’t take much to beat you into submission.” He chuckled, imagining all the ways he could force you to submit if you were ever disobedient. He was so excited to see your pretty skin covered in bruises, welts, scratches, bite marks, cuts— everything. He also made a mental note to brand you soon since he was now completely certain that you were the perfect slave he’s been searching for.  

The wet sounds of your pussy were obscene as he fucked you hard and fast, trying to savor his first time fucking you, but unable to hold back because of how good you felt squeezing his cock. 

“God- I’m already close.” He groaned, already deciding to do another breeding session in a couple hours, instead of waiting until tomorrow. “Your cunt feels fucking incredible.” You whined, but the way you clamped down on his cock was unmistakable. 

“Mark the day, pet. You’re going to officially be my breeding slave in a few minutes.” He smiled, making you stiffen, then start thrashing. 

“No!” You yelled, trying uselessly to escape the restraints. 

“Don’t pretend like you didn’t know what you were being sold for.” He scoffed. “You underwent the fertility treatment, didn’t you?” 

“Please— please don’t..” You sobbed, still trying to break free. 

“This is happening, cunt.” He growled bitterly. “I paid for a slave that would give me an heir and that’s exactly what you are.” 

“Please pull out!” You cried, becoming hysterical. Jackson groaned, feeling his orgasm rapidly approaching as you continued begging and sobbing. 

“Keep fucking crying, bitch. It only turns me on more.” He said with a dark chuckle. This was exactly what he wanted; some fight. He didn’t want a broken, docile slave who took his abuse willingly. He wanted a slave who still had hope that this wasn’t her new reality, and you were still clinging to that desperately. 

His hips stuttered for a moment, then he slammed in with a grunt, fully sheathing his cock inside you. Your pussy fluttered around his twitching length, greedily taking his come despite yourself. You were crying almost violently now, babbling out senseless pleas for him to stop, but it was too late. 

When his orgasm finally faded, he panted for a few seconds, then slowly withdrew his cock. It slipped free with a wet squelch and he quickly walked over to grab the internal vibrator he bought for you. He pushed it in, keeping you plugged up, then took off all the restraints and lifted you upright. You stumbled when he dragged you over to the bed, then whimpered when he threw you down onto it. 

He started with your wrists, tying them to each corner of the bed. Then he pushed your legs up and bent you in half, letting him tie your ankles to the headboard, keeping your cunt angled up a little bit so that his come could have a chance to take. 

He stood back to admire you for a moment before remembering the last detail. You watched him walk over to grab a cloth of some kind, then you tried to turn your head away when he moved to tie it around you as a gag, but it was no use. 

“There we go.” He smiled proudly. “Now, I have some work that needs to get done before our next breeding session so you’re going to be a good little slave and stay right here.” He chuckled at his choice of words. When he turned on the internal vibrator, you screamed around the cloth and squeezed your eyes shut, feeling far too sensitive after the rough fucking. “See you in a few hours for round two, pet.” 

[back2bluesidex]

To Be Popular - JJK [Prologue]

Pairing: Social Media Influencer! Jungkook X Marketing Manager! Reader ft. Yoongi

Summary:

You love everything about social media - apart from the ever-growing number of social media influencers. You don't understand how these people gain followers and admirers just by installing a camera and doing very basic things in front of it. And you despise how some of them can do anything to gain fame, to be popular - even if it includes uploading their bedroom scene in pornsites aka people like Jeon Jungkook. But when your company launches a new product and your department head tasks you with signing Jeon Jungkook up as an endorsement partner - you have no choice but to chase him like the corporate slave that you are. However, things turn worse when you embroil in a dating rumor with him and have to keep the game going for the sake of everything. is it really for the worse or things will turn in a way you never expected it to?  

Theme: Strangers to lovers au, fake dating au, kind of enemies to lover au, angst, smut, fluff.

Full Series Word Count: 26k

Chapter word count: 1k

Warnings: a tiny little smutty scene, dirty words.

Masterlist | Patreon (For access to the complete series)

Taglist requests are open.

Minors, I am not responsible for what you consume online. So, act more rationally and stay away.

A/N: After brooding for a long time, I have decided to (alongside your votes) release one of the patreon exclusive, since no other stories are working out. Though this is originally a drabble series, I will release longer chapters here.

Chapter index: -

Prologue | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 |

Or read the full series right away on Patreon at a discounted price today!!

Your eyes zero on your laptop screen - the quality is just above what is called grainy. 

But you can clearly recognize those tattoos. Moreover, you can recognize that voice, even if he says nothing good but filth. 

“You whore!” a slap rings as if to punctuate the man’s breathy voice, “look at your greedy hole swallowing me up so good!” 

You look at what his voice is referring to. The place where his cock disappears into her, creating a lewd, wet sound, her arousal drips down the back of her thigh - your own thighs come against each other as an impact. 

Even though their faces are not visible in the 3 minute video, the whole country knows who they are. 

Social media influencer Jeon Jungkook and Youtuber Kim Doona. 

There are a plethora of reasons behind why you don’t like these social media influencers. If you have the energy to make a list then it will go like: 

1. These people think of themselves much more highly than they actually are. You mean, they are not even celebrities or making the country proud or something. What the fuck make them so obnoxious? 

2. They have an awful number of dumb followers. Why do people even follow them? For showing their makeup and skin-care routine? For screaming loudly at the gaming screen? For recording themselves eating, doing the most random shit every normal human being does on a daily basis? You just don’t understand why. 

3. These people are absolutely fame-hungry. They can do anything and everything to boost their followers even if the said actions aren’t really positive. 

Take an instance from the current scenario - two of the most popular social media influencers have dropped their bedroom scene at an adult site and it got monetized within a day. Nice move because they gained both money and fame 10x overnight. 

It’s not that you have paid to watch what you are watching currently - you would rather die than feeding into the delusions of these influencers. You are watching because you despise these people and there was a leaked version circulating on Telegram. 

You scoff at the screen but the wetness in between your legs scoffs back at you. 

You hate them, yeah, but it’s not like you are totally immune to the sexy scene they have portrayed. Especially the way Jeon Jungkook’s tattoo arm held onto the female’s waist, or the way his muscles flexed under the dim light, or the way his cock- 

“Y/N! What the fuck?” you scold yourself, slam-shutting your laptop with unnecessary force. You blame it on your temporary state of celibacy that has been forced upon you since your last break up. 

And the fact that you have a fat crush on your manager - doesn’t make things any less painful. 

So you decide to shut off your system for the night and go to sleep as you should have done long ago. You have work tomorrow and a meeting, being wet after watching some influencers fuck each other wouldn’t help you with your career. 

Or would it? 

Your jaw hangs ajar, threatening to touch the floor as Min Yoongi, aka the manager you have a fat crush on, presents the campaign plan of your company’s new product’s marketing. Everything was fine until Yoongi suggested influencer endorsement and if this is not a joke of the universe then you don’t know what it is because you can see Jeon Jungkook’s picture gracing the screen.   

“Jeon Jungkook? Why?” you utter these words without so much of a thought. 

Yoongi looks at you with his narrowed eyes, “why not? You know, he is really famous. He is trending currently.” 

“Yeah but the reason he is trending- well. I don’t think he is suitable for our brand image.” you press on. 

Yoongi chuckles at your constipated expression, “Y/N-ah” he calls you softly and a tiny part of your heart melts, “I am sure our brand image can go up with a few charitable works here and there. But the company wants a return of what they are investing in marketing. I bet signing up Jeon Jungkook will help.” 

“Y/N, you know we are already at a tight spot right? Our last campaign wasn’t as successful as we expected. The company may take steps if we don’t do this right this time.” calls Mrs. Lee from the other side of the table. 

“And before you ask me why him, why not the other influencers…” Yoongi chimes in again, “We are selling gaming laptops and this guy is addicted to games. He has more followers than the actual streamers. He is young, hot, and talented in many areas. In one word, he is perfect.” 

“You awfully sound like you want to date him.” You scoff at the man. He only chuckles. 

Yoongi tries to say something but a knock rings on the door. One of the staff opens the door only a little and says, “Sir, he is here.” 

Yoongi nods and says, “send him inside.” 

“Who is coming?” you place the question. Only for Yoongi to smirk as a response. 

When you are about to press more, the door swings open revealing the man who-should-not-be-named, Jeon Jungkook. 

Your eyes go wide as you take him in - all baggy clothes and a cute bucket hat perched on the top of his head. Bambi eyes scanning the room like a puppy brought to his very new home. As if he is not the guy who is going viral for fucking on camera and selling it to an adult site. 

He bows deeply and opens his mouth to greet, “Hello, I am Jeon Jungkook.” 

You feel your blood pressure raising at the thought of working with him. You will survive it right? 

You will have to. 

Permanent Taglist:

@phenomenalgirl9 @chimchimmarie @coffeedepressionsoup @meowstake @vonvi-blog @nochuel @chimmisbae @i-have-no-life-charlie @mikrokookiex @jjk174 @lallataegi @savageyoongi @jwnghyuns @parapiop7 @futuristicenemychaos @armystay89 @ryryvna @purple-realms

[bunny-jpeg]

the big, bad wolf(f)

toto wolff

cw: smut/pwp, hybrid au, wolf!toto, rabbit!reader, needy!toto, size difference/kink, missionary style, age difference (20s/50s)

a/n: this is part of a f1 hybrid au, i haven't stopped making bakery prompts, this is just something a tiny bit different! if have any ideas to share lemme know!

"my, my, what big teeth you have, mister wolff." you came close to him and wrapped your arms around his shoulders before you sat down in his lap.

toto's wolf-like ears twitched at your words before he leaned in close to you. he cupped your face softly and gazed into your eyes with his dark ones, "teeth, my love." he held you a little closer to him and kissed at your arm, "i guess all the more to bite you with."

he watched your ears twitch a little. cute bunny behavior. he reached for one of your long ears and touched it gently. he watched you squirm a little and he chuckled. he knew you liked that.

toto could be a little scary. he stood much taller than you, and could easily pick you up. with pointed dark ears and a tail that you often rubbed up against when he didn't (or couldn't) give you attention.

you pressed your thumbs against his lips and giggled, "but you wouldn't eat someone like me. you love me too much." then kissed him on the lips.

an alarmingly younger bunny girlfriend and the rich older wold who loved her. it was a match made in heavy. he knew that it turned a few heads, especially when you were dressed in something cute.

he had to restructure your wardrobe so you weren't in softer colours every day, and everyone in the neighbourhood started to make assumptions. you were a university graduate, even though your degree was more wall decoration than actually used.

"i don't know, hase." he cupped your behind and pulled you closer to you. he buried his nose against you and took a small inhale, which was still enough to make the ticklish bunny in his lap jolt. he said as he held onto you tighter, "be still."

you felt a warmth in your body as you looked at him. eventually his face were between your breasts. the prettiest breasts toto had ever seen. he groaned.

you knew your older boyfriend was craving rabbit. you held his head and pressed your breasts up against him. he groaned and held onto you harder.

"does the big bad wolf want a taste of bunny?" you said lowly and hear him deeply exhale. you were going to be the death of him. you tilted his head to look at you and you giggled at the sight of him, "c'mon, honey, let's get you into bed." then got up off his lap, but you didn't get too far. as your wolf lover was close behind you.

your bunny ears twitched a little bit, and toto wanted to yank on them while you rode him. he hated that he felt a slave to instinct. but it was hard not to when his lover was just soft in all the ways he was tough. he was surprised a little bunny like you could take someone like him.

he knew he was so much bigger and had a domineering power over most. but you with those cute little ears, beautiful eyes, and cheerful demeanor, toto was a a panting dog.

when you got close enough to the bed and tried to get your slippers off, toto pushed you onto the bed ass up and you made a small panicked noise as you hit the bed then felt the weight of your lover on top of you.

you yelped and kicked your legs out a little bit and toto had his hands under you and was groping at your choice heavily. he wanted to feel his lovely rabbit.

"don't tear my clothes, you animal!" you kicked out a little more and felt your lover get off of your back and slowly take off your clothes. while the clothes weren't particularity expensive, it was a good pair of t-shirt and sleeping shorts (both stolen from your lover). it was hard to find comfort in most clothes these days!

before he took your sports bra on, he got you onto your back and groped at your chest. he shuddered a little bit at the sight of you, almost naked for him.

"such a pretty rabbit." he noticed the twitch in your ears and he rubbed his clothed cock up against your barely clothed front, "beautiful." he said, "i could put you between my teeth and just bite down. but i'd rather make you cum." something wild ran through toto when he was with you.

soon you were naked and you began to help toto out of his clothes. his large hands on you as you unbuttoned his dark blue shirt. your hands were a little shakey as you undid every last button.

toto eyed you carefully before he was able to take the shirt off his shoulders. you whined a little bit as the sight of you, but he took you by the chin and pulled you in for a heated kiss.

"so lovely." he said, his lips so close to yours. he watched you squirm a little bit as you panted heavily against his lips. he felt like a dream, you felt heat do its rounds in your core.

both striped as naked as you could get. toto kept you on your back with your legs spread for him. he licked his lips, his gaze felt hot. almost like a predator. he leaned into your touch when you ran your hand through his dark hair.

"you should let it go grey." you remarked.

he chuckled as he invaded your space more, his eyes level with yours with his chest pressed against you, "no, no, hase. me all grey and you in those soft sweaters. people will get alarmed."

you giggled, "as if you're not like a foot taller than me. the little bunny and the big bad wolf!" then held onto his shoulders as he got his hands on your hips.

his larger cock pressed up against you. you shuddered a little bit at the feeling of it against you. you gasped when he inched it inside of you. his dark eyes on you as you squirmed a little bit.

"are you okay, hase? not too much pain?" he might be a wolf, and you might be a bunny, but he didn't want to harm you. you were his perfect rabbit. he clutched onto your hips as he moved himself against you.

he slowly got as deep as he could go and he watched your expression grow softer. a little blissed out as he got his entire length into you. you squirmed a little and felt the heat in your body grow.

you were beautiful under him. like the sweetest fruit on the tree, or the most tender rabbit in the field. of course, toto had to sink his teeth into your shoulder as you moved against him. he watched your toes curl and your legs kick out from the hot feeling of it all.

"my rabbit." he said, his voice tinged with a desperate want, "i need you. i need you every day of my life. you excite me in so many ways. you look beautiful under me."

you glowed a little under his attention and felt your stomach do small flips as he moved against you. your cute little cunt took him perfectly. everything about you was always so much smaller than the big scary predator you called a lover. the hungry wolf that was desperate for pretty bunny cunt. but, toto would always take care of you! he wasn't a crazy person.

he knew that he had to take care of his little rabbit, even if that meant thrusting up into her wildly. that made keeping your pussy nice was wet with his cum. he rutted against you and snapped his jaws a little from the pleasure of it all.

"my beautiful rabbit." he purred as he continued to move up against you. you fit him perfectly, he remembered when it was a bit of a struggle. but it wasn't your fault, you were just made so small for him. but nothing a little training wouldn't have fixed. you whimpered and whined as he fucked you.

"please, toto." you whined as you arched your back a little. pressed yourself further against him as he got a good look at every curve on your sweet body.

he once told a friend of his that bunnies fucked the best. the cutest little hybrids, pussies can take a beating and toto loved yours most of all. got him addicted to sweet cunt and cute smiles. he knew if you were on top, you'd be bouncing on him with that same blissed out look.

toto knew he was far gone with you. he knew that he wanted to make you his little bunny bride. then he'd make sure that nothing else could have you the way he did. except maybe a toy for when he wasn't home, something to occupy that cunt of yours. but, nothing else. no one else.

he was a wolf possessive of his little pack.

he continued to brush up against the softest parts of you, your pussy like a grip around his achy cock. he could feel his heartbeat in his throat the more he fucked you. he was egged on by your sweet sounds and your soft breasts up against him.

he gripped onto your hips tighter and heard you let out a sweet, almost sugary moan as he moved up against you. his cock hit all the right places for you. he knew he was going to leave you pretty insides all bruised, but you loved it.

you love when sex with him hurt a little, a reminder for days of how well he took care of you. he pressed into you further, his lips found yours as the two of you feverishly made out.

the bed squeaked under you, and it paired like a symphony with your beautiful muffled moans. when he broke the kiss you panted heavily.

"you pant like a dog." he said in a hot tone that left a shiver through you. he knew you were getting close. he could tell by how tense you were and the expression across your face.

his pace continued and soon you were holding onto him tightly. your arms hung around his neck as you grasped the back of his neck. you held onto him tighter via your legs as he thrusted as hard as he could. the bed moved under you and you felt a sense of euphoria when you climaxed.

"ah! toto!!" you whimpered as you came, leaving his cock fully slick with your wetness down to his balls. you clung to him like a lifeline while he battered the back of your sweet pussy. with a few more heavy thrusts, he finished inside you as well.

he marked your pretty insides with his cum and heard you whimper loudly into his ear. he eventually slowed to a stop before he was able to catch his breath. pleasure ran through his body like a lifeline. he tried to stop but your pussy called him back.

he was only able to stop himself when he saw how tired you look. bunnies fucked well, but they got easily tired out. all that energy in such a small package.

"do you mind if i take you again?" he asked softly as he took you in his arms. he watched you nod and say yes softly before he put you on your stomach and held your hips up.

he still needed his rabbit. he needed to feel your gooey insides and get himself off. you were so perfect for him, letting him use you while you get comfortable on your shared bed. he slipped his cock into you once more and knew that he would never get enough of his sweet bunny's cunt. <3

[stateofdreaming14]

Idk if there are any fics like this but Star Wars fic where Padme lives but she goes into hiding to escape the empire Of course she ends up involved with rebellion bc Padme is just like that but she is cautious to keep her identity and the existence of the twins hidden

Anakin and Padme both think the other is dead

This leads to a years long cat and mouse game where Vader is hunting what he knows as a rebellion leader (prob with a cool nickname) known for bringing hope through the galaxy with their bold speeches (spread in secret over holorecording and featuring voice changer+mask) rallying thousands to the cause

Vader comes close to finding her many times but she evades him each time Something about it is thrilling and Vader becomes obsessed without being able to acknowledge why (bc he would never be able to accept having the hots for anyone but Padme but something about her teasing/bickering with him over com as she slips out of his grasp time and again or her dedication to her cause or her way with words that makes it clear how deeply she cares it's worse than drugs to him)

Something something Anakin 'slave his whole life' Skywalker and Padme 'never saw a dictator she wouldn't overthrow even if she never can be happy herself' Amidala

Anyway this culminates in Vader taking the twins hostage (just imagine Darth Vader cradling 5 y/o Luke in his arms while little Leia pouts angrily in the corner bc she tried to pull one of padmes guns on the sith but he literally just pulled it out of her hands with the force Luke thought this was very cool and Vader ends up floating random things through the room to amuse him)

Vader is panicking on the inside bc he actually doesn't know what to do with children that young (it's not like he was ordered to kill them) and something in the force sings when he's near them

Anyway Padme finds them eventually and is alarmed+confused to find Vader with a tiny yellow handprint on his mask while Luke is fingerprinting in the corner and Leia is huffing at the two and the man says in a very demanding voice, "what took you so long", like he was just the baby sitter(now dead) staying at work an extra hour bc Padme was late home again

She is not amused

Anyway she is forced to reveal herself and this somehow leads to them overthrowing Palpatine and living happily ever after now that Anakin is in the role he was born for (trophy wife to a famous senator) after going through the justice system of course (he manages to get a reduced sentence given his willingness to work with the new Republic and the fact that there is literally no one powerful enough to defeat him)

[trippinsorrows]

trials of love + one

authors note: how does that saying go? we listen, and we don't judge? well, let's apply that to ari, please. 😭😭😭

one of two maybe? probably. hopefully.

this is a beauty and the beast retelling hands down.

warnings: a tiny bit of fluff, tiny bit of smut, and a hell of a lot of angst

words: 3.5k

song inspo: evermore by josh groban

gif belongs to the wonderfully talented @dejameflorecer

Solana is anxiously chewing down on her bottom lip the moment she hears the front door open and guards greet the man she’s been waiting on all day. Longer than that, but for this particular thing, it’s been just the past few hours. 

Hours she’s spent slaving over the stove, preparing various dishes, doing her absolute best to make sure they’re up to par for Roman’s standards. Wanting, needing to make sure everything is just right, because there’s a small part of her hoping they can actually sit down and have dinner together. Something that’s yet to happen since they wed. 

And, it’s less about sharing a meal together, and more about just talking. They’ve barely done as such since that night, and she has so many questions, and remains just so confused regarding just what happened that night. What changed so drastically between the moment she fell asleep, his arms around her, her head on his chest, and when she awoke the following morning to an empty bed and a voicemail message from Roman’s chief advisor, Paul Heyman, simply stating: “The Tribal Chief has business out of town to attend to. He shall return in a few days.”

Just thinking back on it has her clearing her throat, needing a distraction to avoid trickling back into that dark space.

Looking over her outfit once more, an outfit she took an hour to settle on, she uses one of the pots to check her reflection. She’s never really been that great with makeup—that was always Isabella's thing—but she tried. 

A common theme for her lately.

Trying.

It’s all she really has at this point. She turns the knob on all the burners, allowing the food to simmer versus continuing to heat up when the footsteps become louder. Louder and closer, and then finally, he’s here.

Solana finds herself momentarily distracted. 

Roman is easily one of the most beautiful men she’s ever come across. Tall, broad shouldered, body sculpted by Zeus himself, piercing brown eyes that feel like they’re peeking into her soul, and beautiful, silky black hair he seems to prefer pulled back and out of the way. A true masterpiece of a man. 

If only that beauty extended beyond appearance.

She clears her throat and holds her hands behind her back. “H–hi.” Roman’s gaze is neutral, borderline uninterested. Somehow, it doesn’t deter her. “I—I made dinner.”

To be fair, she’s made dinner every night since the day they said “I do.” And most nights, the food has gone cold given Roman’s return time varies from day to day. When he does return home, that is.

His expression is unchanging. “Okay.” To say she’s disappointed by his indifferent response is an understatement, even if she shouldn’t be. She shouldn’t, because this man has been everything but existed or uninterested from the moment they met only two months ago. Outside of that night. “Not hungry.”

Her shoulders drop at the same moment her throat starts to feel heavy. “But, I—I made all this—” Solana gestures around the kitchen to the various meals she’s prepared and slaved over since early this morning. “I did all this for—”

“Did I ask you to?’ Is his harsh reply, the cruelty of his tone crushing to her prior hope. Hope that maybe, somehow, tonight would be different. That he wouldn’t be so….him.

A foolish thing, clearly.

Roman turns to leave, and she should let him. Should take some satisfaction in watching him walk away, providing a deprivation from the heaviness he seems to always leave her with in their interactions.

Well, not all of them.

For a brief moment, she’s taken back to their wedding night, to the insane and unfamiliar pleasure he brought her. A night she was so nervous about but ended up thoroughly enjoying, only to wake up alone and confused, not seeing or hearing from her husband again for three days. Three days that ended with his return as an almost completely different person than the man who was so kind and patient with her for her first time, for their first time.

“Roman….” Her nails dig into his back, her hips lifting to meet him thrust for thrust, a hunger on both ends that can’t seem to find relief nor release. The depth of him inside her is almost too much yet oh-so addictive. That sinful, partially painful, mostly pleasurable feeling of him driving in and out of her. 

And then he stops, Solana frowning, dislike and confusion abundant.

Pulling out of her, Roman shifts their positions, moving so that he’s on his knees as he pulls her on top of him, effectively entering her again.

“Oh my—” Solana gasps at the sudden re-entry. Her fingers move to his scalp, tugging at his locs, forcing his head back as he guides her on top of him. She forces her mouth shut, trying her best to remain calm, quiet almost. The wrong thing, clearly.

“Naw….” Roman presses his lips against the slick skin of her shoulder. “Let me hear you. I wanna hear how good it feels.”

Good seems like a poor adjective compared to what she’s experiencing. “Mmmm.”

His deep baritone voice chuckles underneath her, those big, strong hands squeezing her ass. “Words, sweetheart. I like words.”

He may like them, but she can’t really speak them. Not right now, at least. “Pl—please.” She whines as he alters his pace, cruelly dragging her across his length, angling his hips so he’s hitting a certain spot inside of her, a critically sensitive spot, that has her eyes watering.

Roman’s lips pepper along her temple, “that’s it….” He continues this awful, wonderful thing, clearly enamored by the sight of her unraveling before him. Roman says something in a language she doesn’t understand. But, his next word is in English unmistakable, affirming, and every bit possessive. “Mine.”

But, that man is gone. Or, maybe he never really existed, and it was all a cruel ruse.

She’s not quite sure which would be worse, at this point.

“What—what did I do?” A soft, vulnerable question. One that makes him stop in his tracks. It’s the perfect opportunity to retreat, to leave it at that and let him leave, but she doesn’t. She can’t. “What—what did I do to make you hate me so much?” Because that’s exactly what it feels like. It’s what she feels. 

Like he hates her.

“I—I—” Her voice catches, Solana helplessly shrugging as he turns around, countenance unchanged despite the emotional crumbling before him. “I—I cook for you, I clean, I—I don’t—I don’t ask you for anything, and yet, it’s—it’s never enough.” And since she’s already on this one way street. “And you brought—you brought that woman here the other night.” For the first time, Roman gives some indication of a reaction as he lifts his chin. “Who—who was she?”

His eyes narrow, his voice even. “You don’t get to question me.”

An unsurprising response, but one she can’t seem to sit with. “I’m your wife.”

Not that that seems to mean anything to him. 

“In name only,” he gruffly replies. “It doesn’t mean anything.”

The sharpness of his words is a deep cut into the sensitivity of her soul. A sensitivity she feels dying out every day that passes living in this house, a kindness about her being swallowed by an unfamiliar feeling.

Hate.

“Roman…..” She shakes her head, eyes closing, a battle between hurt and anger. “I am in this country by myself. I don’t have anyone else but—but you—”

And that’s what does it for him. Makes him, requires him to silence her, to get off this conversation.

“Look,” he cuts into her, both literally and figuratively. “I don’t know what the fuck you think this is, what your expectations are of this, of me, but shit is clearly off base.” He steps forward, and Solana finds herself moving back. “This is an arrangement. I only married you so that I can have an heir. I didn’t want a wife, and I still don’t.” It’s confirmation of what she was already suspecting, but God, does it hurt. “We’ll fuck when we have to and talk when we need to.” It takes a tremendous amount of restraint for her to hold back the tears that are beating at the door of release. “It’s obvious your parents failed to teach you what an arranged marriage means, and that’s on them, so let me teach you now.” Again, he steps forward, his voice dangerously calm as he lays down the unchanging law. “I do what and who I want. You can do the same. I don’t care, so long as you’re safe and don’t embarrass me.” Something flashes too quickly in his eyes for her to process. “Understood?”

She doesn’t say anything, can’t say anything. Not without breaking down before him. Thankfully, by some miracle or maybe some long-awaited mercy from God, she doesn’t have to worry about that. 

Because he turns to walk away, leaving her alone.

Only then does she break down, crying in her hands, uncaring any more of, anything, really.

—----------

Roman hisses when he hits the bag one too many times, feeling a sharp pain in his wrist. He curses quietly, inspecting it, already knowing he doesn’t require any medical attention. Just rest. If only that was something he was capable of. 

If it was something he could have right now, but he can’t. Not with so many thoughts racing throughout his head, not entirely unfamiliar given who he is and what he does.

But, it’s different this time given the content matter.

Solana

His wife. 

The woman whose devastated countenance is something he can’t scrub away from his memory. The gutted look on her face as he so cruelly laid out the reality of their marriage, a reality she was obviously unaware of. A reality that, any woman, would be crushed by.

He tries his best to remind himself that it’s not his fault her family didn’t teach her what an arranged marriage in the crime world constitutes. That it’s nothing but a business arrangement. No feelings or love involved. Just fucking and contracts. Everyone knows that.

Well, not everyone.

Roman sighs, shutting his eyes. He shouldn’t be so surprised. The woman who now shares his last name was a quiet, reserved, passive thing from the day he met her. It annoyed him then, but for some idiotic reason, he figured he could deal with it. Figured she’d be seen and not heard. And she has in many ways, mostly because he continues to go out of his way to avoid her.

Bit, it’s when he can’t that he’s hit with all of it. The kindness. The niceness. All of this unfamiliar shit he doesn’t know what to do with.

The same way he still doesn't know what to do and make of what he felt on their wedding night, a large contributing factor  as to why he continues to avoid her like the plague. Has not allowed himself to touch her, having to settle for the women on his roster, all of them having nothing compared to what filled him as he filled up his wife that night.

There’s something strangely calm and comforting about having her body right next to his, tucked under him, her hand on his stomach and head on his chest.

Roman traces absent patterns against the back of her arm when she asks, almost nervously, “is it….normal to be….so tired after….you know?”

A small smile falls on his handsome face. Her innocence is also unfamiliar but almost intriguing. “With me, yes.”

Her exhaustion after one round, albeit a thorough round, might be something to work on. A natural thing that will improve, her stamina that is, as their sex life grows. And truth be told, given this was her first time, Roman can say he’s slightly impressed by how well she matched him. Her hunger for him. A hunger he most definitely reciprocated.

“Hmmm.” She buries herself further into his chest, and his smile drops. There’s a postcoital warmth about this, about them laying in bed together on their wedding night, him having taken her virginity, and consummated their marriage that feels…..different.

Rarely, if ever, does he engage in pillow talk, so a part of him wonders if that’s it. Not to mention the fact in all of his sexual escapades, never has he fucked anyone raw. Too risky, especially with his extensive list of sexual partners. 

But this, tonight, with her, his now wife, there was no protection. An expected, normal thing given the whole purpose of the marriage.

So maybe it was that.

But, even with that possibility, there’s this small part of him in the foreground, that feels, almost knows, it’s something else.

Something he’s never felt before with a woman. 

Ever. 

“What does your middle name mean?”

It’s the last question he expected her to ask, especially given how exhausted she clearly is, but it’s appreciated, nonetheless.

“Chief,” he answers, partially curious what brought about such a random thing. “Why do you ask?”

She peers up at him, Roman briefly taken back by her beauty. She’s easily the most stunning woman he’s ever come across. “My abuela always says you can say a lot about a person by their name.” The corner of her lips lift into a small, almost playful grin. “I guess yours is fitting.”

He chuckles. “I guess so.” Cursorily dwelling, he asks, “what does yours mean?” And then it hits him, while the priest used his full name during the ceremony, he’s almost certain only her first and last name were used. “What is it anyway?”

Her smile falters, her cheeks tinged with a redness. “I—I don’t really like telling people.” The redness deepens. “It’s….it’s kind of embarrassing.”

Now, he’s even more curious. “How?” She doesn’t say anything, looking down. Roman reminds, more from an informative place than anything. “You know I can find out anything I want, right?” A true statement. He’s not sure if there’s anything in this world he can’t find out if he tries hard enough, and finding out his wife’s middle name is pretty high up there on the list of ease.

It’s an effective reminder, Solana answering in a small voice. “It’s Esmeralda.” The smile on his face is inescapable as she groans quietly, forehead against his chest hiding her pretty face. “I told you.”

“Isn’t that that girl from that kids movie?” He asks, having to dig deep into his limited recollection of movies. “The one with that ugly fucker?"

“Hunchback of Notre Dame.”

“Sure.”

He’s certain he can feel her smiling against him. She then lifts her head, explaining, “it’s actually a Spanish name. Means Emerald.”

Roman says nothing, watching the twinkle of the moonlight in her light brown eyes. 

He moves his hand to her face, thumb brushing against the apple of her cheek. “Fitting….”

Roman closes his eyes. 

He’s tried to push it away. Fuck it away. But imagining her, pretending it’s her body under him doesn’t do shit to satiate his need. A need that starkly contrasts the equally strong desire to stay away from her.

Roman can’t afford to be in that space.  A space where nothing exists except her. It’s too addictive, too captivating, too dangerous.

She is dangerous for him, which is why, until he figures out how to compartmentalize shit, he’s gotta keep his distance.

No matter the gnawing guilt that chews at him for being so cold with her. 

It’s…..it’s for the best. 

Roman calls it the end of his workout and grabs the towel, moving it around his neck to absorb the sweat he’d built up. Phone in one hand, he walks out his home gym, not bothering to open up the unread texts from Sam, Sasha, Bianca or Jade, his finger navigating to his inbox.

He’s halfway down the hall when he hears it. Hears faint voices. Keenly tuned in, Roman redirects his focus from his phone in hand to following the source of the voices, a journey that leads him outside of the door of one of the random, unused bedrooms in the house.

“Oh, mija, we miss you so much. Maybe we can come visit you soon.” Somehow, Roman instantly recognizes the voice. Alma. Solana’s mother. 

“I’d like that,” is Solana’s soft reply. “I—I miss you guys, too.”

Roman frowns. Solana missing her family seems like an understatement. They all seemed so close, Xavier holding his daughter for a good five minutes at the end of the wedding when it was time for them to leave. It’s obvious how connected they all are.

Someone, a woman, a different voice, says something in Spanish, prompted by Solana speaking again, “mommy, can I talk to Isabella alone?” 

More Spanish from all three women and some distorted noise on the other end and then a firm, “okay, she’s gone. Now tell me right now,  Sola, what’s really going on?”

Roman waits for a response, knowing it’s wrong to eavesdrop but also not caring. 

And then he hears it.

A quiet little sniffle that quickly and easily morphs into something tremendously bigger and heavier.

Crying.

Solana is crying.

“I wanna come home, Isabella,” she whimpers. Roman’s eyes shut, his jaw clenching for reasons unknown. “I—I hate it here.” Something that shouldn’t shock him but still fills him with something unidentifiable. “I hate him.”

To overhear someone say they hate him is a tale as old as time for Roman. He’s like by few and hated by more than many. Par the course. But, there’s something about hearing it come from her that doesn’t settle right with him.

That feels….wrong. 

“Solana….” Isabella, Solana’s sister, is every bit empathetic and sympathetic. “I’m so sorry. I would give anything to come take you from there. Has he….has he hurt you?”

“N—no.” Roman can practically picture the way Solana must be rubbing at her eyes, trying to discard away any evidence of the heaviness that weighs her down. “N–not physically anyway.” He’s far too interested and invested, waiting on the edge of his mental seat for her to finish. To know just what she thinks of him, even if he knows damn well in no universe could it be anything remotely good.

Not when she just said she hates him.

And, he right.

“He’s so mean to me, Isa. He—he won’t talk to me, he barely looks at me, and—he’s sleeping with other women.”

Isabella gasps. “What?”

“He had one of them here the other night,” is her quiet, almost embarrassed response. Roman leans back against the door, unaware of why he doesn’t just walk away and deprive himself of hearing all of this. Of feeling all of this.

“That son of a bitch,” Isabella curses. “Hermana, I’d do anything to come take you from that place. You don’t deserve that.”

Silence

And then the tears.

Hearing Solana cry so heavily, feeling almost the weight of her hurt and pain is a newfound experience for Roman, stirring up an emotion he rarely, if ever, feels.

Guilt.

He feels guilty.

“I’m so lonely,” Solana sniffles. “I have no friends. No one to talk to. No job. I’m so far away from you all. I barely ever leave the house. I just—” She’s stopped, silenced by the sound of a dog barking and then whimpering. “Dulce.” There’s such a heavy sorrow in that single word, one that anchors down his frown even deeper. “I miss you so much, baby.”

The dog cries even harder, Isabella saying on the other end, “we’re gonna figure this out, Sola. Okay? I promise.”

Solana doesn’t say anything, and he’s grateful. Grateful for the brief moment of silence that allows him the almost permission he needs to walk away. To at least grant her some privacy given there’s not much else he’s given her.

Nothing good, at least.

Roman ends up upstairs, in his master bathroom, shower running as he leans against the counter, unable to shove away the sound of Solana crying and the image of her looking so devastated in that kitchen.

Because of him.

All because of him.

And while there’s so much from that one overheard conversation to sit on, Roman, for whatever reason, can’t get over how much harder Solana cried seeing the dog. The way the dog cried with her. It has him wondering something he needs answered.

Pulling out his phone, he hits dial and listens to it ring three times before the other person picks up.

“Hello, My Triba—”

“Does Solana have a pet back home?” Roman doesn’t have time for introductions and shit.

His Wise Man answers almost immediately. “She did, but I made sure to inform her family that the Tribal Chief doesn’t like pets, so—”

“Why the fuck would you do that?” Roman snaps. Paul isn’t entirely wrong. Roman has never been big on animals, but to separate Solana from her dog seems….cruel. “You should have fucking asked me.”

Paul stammers on the other end. “I—I apologize, sir. I—”

“I want her dog here by the end of the week.” Roman announces only to think about it, to think about how broken she seems. “By the end of tomorrow.”

“But, sir—”

“Make it fucking happen,” is Roman’s final directive before hanging up the phone and tossing it on the counter. Head thrown back, he closes his eyes.

This marriage shit is about to be a lot harder than he realized.

[fantastymaidenscrolls]

Amongst the Shadows - Azriel x Fem!Reader

Synopsis: You’ve spent your entire life enslaved Under the Mountain. But when you’re freed and brought to Velaris, you capture the attention of Azriel. But the two of you are broken souls, both of you deeming yourselves too damaged to ever feel love.

A/N: I’m only on book 3, but I couldn’t resist writing about Azriel. I love him so much. I also found the fan art on Pinterest and am trying to find the original creators. Once I do, I will give them credit. If anyone knows who originally made the images, please let me know!!!

You’d been born Under the Mountain. The daughter of two human slaves, captured by Amarantha and her band of nightmarish goons, you and your family had been forced into a life of servitude. You’d never seen the outside world, had never seen the tiny village your parents had lived in before they’d been captured. Your mother used to tell you stories of their quaint little cottage with the tiny garden and rickety roof. You’d tried to so hard to picture what it would have looked like, but when all you’d ever known was darkness and death, it was near impossible to conjure up images of beauty.

You’d been 12 when you’d watched your parents die, forced to kneel and stare wide-eyed as Amarantha ripped them limb from limb simply because she was bored. You were sure the same fate awaited you, that one day you too would be torn to shreds for the amusement of others.

But you hadn’t counted on Rhysand, hadn’t hadn’t known that he’d been watching you from the shadows, protecting you since the day you were born. He hadn’t been able to save your mother and father, but he’d saved you. Whenever Amarantha needed to let loose, he would divert her anger, set her upon another unlucky soul. You weren’t sure why Rhysand took pity on you, why he deemed you worthy of saving. The day Amarantha died, you’d been running through the darkened halls, desperately searching for an exit you weren’t even sure had existed. It had been Rhysand who’d grabbed you, transporting you from the dark, dank caves of Under the Mountain, to the beautiful wide-open skies of Velaris.

You’d been granted your own apartment right in the centre of town, with an unlimited flow of money to spend on whatever your heart desired. The freedom you’d spent your whole life dreaming of had finally been given to you, and yet you couldn’t bring yourself to feel happiness.

You were a human in a world of fae, so different to everyone else who walked beside you. Your mortal life was nothing but a blip to them, and when your skin wrinkled, when your irises went milky with age, none of them would remember you.

You’d spent weeks aimlessly wandering the streets of Velaris, taking in the sights, sounds and smells that came with freedom. You’d been so preoccupied that you hadn’t noticed the man who watched you, the Illyrian warrior who blended so seamlessly into the shadows.

Azriel knew the moment he set eyes on you that you were special. Everything about you was pure beauty, your essence entwining itself around his soul. He could see how scared you were; a rabbit ensnared in a hunters trap. He wanted to tell you that you didn’t need to be afraid, that you were safe and he would ensure your safety for the rest of your life. You seemed so fragile, so delicate and mild, as if a gust of wind could break you.

“You should go to her,” Rhysand had told him one night. “Stop hiding in the shadows, my friend. You could both do with some happiness.”

But Azriel couldn’t bring himself to make his presence known. Your life had been nothing but death and fear, and Azriel’s world had been marred by much of the same. You needed a ray of sunshine in your life, not the darkness that surrounded him.

So he stayed in the shadows, your silent protector as you explored your new home. Azriel knew your mortal life would not last long, and it made his heart ache. If he’d been a different man, if he’d been Cassian or Rhysand, he’d have made your fleeting life so full of light and love. But Azriel wasn’t his brothers, and he knew he couldn’t give you what you needed. Even if he could, he was fairly certain you wouldn’t accept his affection.

So the broken shadowsinger watched the equally broken human, two souls so ravaged by the cruelty of the world that they felt sure they’d never find happiness. If only they took a moment to look, they’d see that happiness was right in front of them.

[velvetvisionsaurora]

Pairing: Hongjoong x reader, Seonghwa x reader, Yunho x reader, Mingi x reader, Wooyoung x reader.

Summary: Five eight-year-old boys aboard the slave ship Crimson Serpent form an unbreakable bond with five-year-old y/n. before she's sold at auction. Despite their failed rescue attempt, they swear a blood oath on her teddy bear to find her. Fifteen years later, now feared pirates leading the ATEEZ

Warnings: Slavery/Human Trafficking, Separation/Loss, Violence, Eventual Smut. SA(not by any main characters) y/n gets switched to a real name but it has a purpose. More warnings to be updated.

Want to be notified when a chapter is updated? Join the Taglist!

‼️if you have read chapter 7 already please go back and make sure you have read the reunion part with Ella/Yeosang! It’s after the flash back scene! Something happened with posting and it got removed‼️

<<Previous Next>>

Masterlist

Chapter 7

Intersections

In their shared cabin on the ATEEZ's port side, Yunho sat cross-legged on his bunk, carefully fixing a torn sail section while Mingi cleaned his special tools at the small workbench beneath their single porthole. Neither spoke for several comfortable minutes, the silence between them built on years of shared understanding rather than awkward emptiness.

Finally, Yunho looked up from his stitching. "She knew the stars in Orion's belt before I even pointed them out."

Mingi nodded, continuing his careful work on the firing mechanism laid out in perfect order on his workbench. Unlike the nearly silent way he acted in group settings, here in their private room, his shoulders looked more relaxed, his movements less stiff, more natural.

"And she knew exactly where to find Canis Major," Yunho continued, his normally gentle voice showing a hint of doubt. "The same stars I taught y/n to spot during night watches on The Crimson Serpent."

"Important," Mingi replied, his voice fuller and more flowing than the short phrases others heard. With Yunho, words came more easily, the safe space of their shared cabin allowing him to express himself in ways he rarely showed elsewhere.

"But not proof," Yunho countered, setting aside his sail repair. "Seonghwa pointed out that anyone with basic star knowledge would recognize major constellations."

Mingi turned from his workbench, giving Yunho his full attention—something he did almost only for his roommate and oldest friend. "You doubt now?"

Yunho sighed, running a hand through his hair in a gesture of real frustration. "I don't know what to believe. Yesterday I was certain. Today..." He trailed off, the conflict clear in his usually calm expression.

"Seonghwa's reasons," Mingi observed, not a question but understanding.

"He makes good points," Yunho admitted. "Everything we see as her recognizing things could be explained other ways. Common behaviors, basic knowledge, chance preferences."

Mingi rose from his workbench and moved to sit beside Yunho on the bunk—a closeness that would have surprised anyone else aboard the ATEEZ. While the quiet gunner typically kept careful distance from others, with Yunho he allowed closeness built through years of shared hardship and looking out for each other.

"Found my maker's mark," Mingi said, his tone showing unusual certainty. "On the gun port housing. Hidden on purpose. She knew exactly where to look."

Yunho's expression brightened slightly. "You didn't mention that in the officers' meeting."

Mingi shrugged one shoulder, a small gesture carrying complex meaning. "Seonghwa would find an explanation. Coincidence. Good observation skills."

"And you don't believe that?" Yunho asked, watching his friend carefully.

"No." The single word carried absolute certainty, rare from the careful gunner who typically added qualifiers to his statements with careful precision.

Mingi reached beneath his shirt and pulled out a simple leather cord from which hung a small wooden compass rose, its five points carefully carved despite its tiny size. The navigation symbol that had become his maker's mark—appearing on every weapon he designed, every mechanism he created, every carving he left behind—was an exact copy of this original pendant.

"The compass I made for Mr. Hugs," he explained, holding the pendant where Yunho could see it. "Fell off during struggle at auction house. I kept the original design. Put it on everything since."

Yunho studied the wooden compass with new understanding. For fifteen years, he had seen this symbol on Mingi's creations without fully understanding its importance—not simply a maker's mark but a deliberate connection to the teddy bear's lost navigation guide, to the little girl who had called Mingi "Puppy" with innocent affection rather than mockery.

"I forgot you kept the original," Yunho said softly.

Mingi tucked the pendant back beneath his shirt, the private gesture showing how he carried both keepsake and mission against his heart. "Reminder of promise," he said simply.

He returned to his workbench, but instead of going back to tool cleaning, he opened a small drawer built into its side. From within, he took out a rolled piece of fabric, carefully unfolding it on the workspace to reveal dozens of tiny wooden animals, each small enough to fit in a child's palm, each bearing the special compass mark on its underside.

"Make one every port," Mingi explained, his voice softening with rare emotion. "Leave them where children might find. Markets. Docks. Public squares."

Yunho stared at the collection with growing realization. For fifteen years, he had sometimes noticed Mingi carving small animals during quiet moments, had sometimes seen him lagging behind when they left port cities, but had never connected these observations to their shared mission.

"You leave them as messages," Yunho realized. "In case y/n might find one and recognize your work."

Mingi nodded, his finger gently touching a small wooden rabbit, perfect despite its tiny size. "Fifteen years. Hundreds of carvings. Every port we've visited."

The revelation—delivered in Mingi's private voice rather than his public way of few words—carried emotional weight beyond its factual meaning. While the others had searched through official channels, tracking auction records and slave lists, Mingi had kept up his own parallel effort: creating tiny wooden messengers that might somehow find their way to a lost girl who had once treasured his carvings.

"Why didn't you tell us?" Yunho asked, moving to stand beside his friend at the workbench.

Mingi's expression shifted slightly, showing rare vulnerability. "Might seem foolish. Not practical."

"It's not foolish," Yunho countered immediately, his hand settling gently on Mingi's shoulder—one of the few touches the gunner accepted without tension. "It's... hopeful. Faith that connection might last through separation."

Mingi's posture relaxed slightly under Yunho's reassurance, the acceptance flowing between them without need for more validation. Unlike others who might have dismissed his silent fifteen-year ritual as superstition, Yunho understood the deeper idea: that connection sometimes followed paths logic couldn't predict, that effort kept up without guaranteed result still had value.

"You really believe Ella is y/n," Yunho observed, the statement carrying no judgment or pressure.

Mingi nodded once, certainty clear despite his usually careful expression. "Too many matches for coincidence. The way she moves. Watches. Protects herself. Knows things without saying she knows them."

"Seonghwa suggests those behaviors might come from fifteen years of captivity rather than specific connection to us," Yunho countered, though his tone suggested he welcomed Mingi's counterargument.

"True," Mingi acknowledged, his response more detailed in Yunho's presence than others ever witnessed. "But combined with specific knowledge—star patterns, maker's marks, food preferences—pattern becomes clear."

He selected a small wooden dolphin from his collection, its details remarkably precise despite its tiny size, and placed it in Yunho's palm. "Made this last night. For her."

Yunho examined the tiny carving, noting the compass rose carefully embedded in its underside. "You want me to give it to her?"

Mingi shook his head slightly. "Leave where she'll find it. Without obvious placement. Test whether she recognizes what it means."

The suggestion—smart yet respectful of Ella's choice—reflected Mingi's careful approach to all challenges. Unlike Wooyoung's desire for immediate confirmation or Seonghwa's careful skepticism, Mingi proposed subtle opportunity for recognition without pressure or manipulation.

"Her bedside table?" Yunho suggested. "When she's with the captain for afternoon briefing?"

Mingi nodded approval. "Natural discovery. Her choice to acknowledge or ignore."

The plan settled between them without need for further explanation, their years together creating shorthand communication that others aboard the ATEEZ marveled at but couldn't copy. Even Hongjoong, with his smart planning and leadership instinct, sometimes found himself excluded from the silent understanding that flowed between the ship's tallest officer and its most reserved.

"If she is y/n," Yunho said after a moment, his voice carrying the uncertainty Mingi's lacked, "why wouldn't she simply tell us? We've given her no reason to fear us."

Mingi considered this carefully, his expression thoughtful in ways he rarely showed outside their private quarters. "Fifteen years captive," he replied finally. "Trust becomes a tactic, not instinct. She weighs benefit against risk before sharing."

"And the risk of revealing herself to us?" Yunho prompted.

"Expectation," Mingi answered immediately, the insight flowing more freely in Yunho's presence. "We might expect y/n unchanged. The child we knew, not the woman survival created."

The observation showed emotional intelligence that would have surprised those who knew only Mingi's public persona—the silent gunner whose rare words addressed practical matters rather than people's feelings. Yet with Yunho, he revealed the depth of understanding that made him not just the ATEEZ's weapons specialist but one of its most insightful observers.

"You think she fears disappointing us," Yunho realized. "That we might reject who she's become in favor of who we remember."

"Possible," Mingi acknowledged. "Survival changes people. Needed adaptations might not match childhood memories."

He carefully rolled up the fabric containing his collection of carved animals, securing it with careful precision before returning it to its drawer. "We remember five-year-old child. She brings twenty-year-old survivor shaped by captivity."

"And if she's not y/n?" Yunho asked quietly, the question reflecting his lingering doubt despite Mingi's conviction.

Mingi paused in his careful organization, considering this possibility with typical thoroughness. "Then she remains valuable ally against Blackwell. Worthy of protection regardless of identity."

The simple statement reflected core principles that had guided their mission through fifteen years of increasingly dangerous operations: that their campaign against the slave trade went beyond personal revenge, that protection extended beyond specific connection to broader purpose.

"You're right," Yunho acknowledged, his expression clearing somewhat. "Whether she's y/n or not, she deserves freedom and safety after fifteen years of captivity."

"Exactly," Mingi confirmed, returning to his workbench with renewed focus. He resumed cleaning his special tools, each movement precise yet flowing with natural grace rather than forced control. In Yunho's presence, he kept to careful standards without the rigid tension that marked his public performance, the safety of their shared space allowing expression that others never witnessed.

Yunho watched his friend work for several quiet moments, appreciating Mingi's confident movements and focused attention—qualities that had saved their lives countless times during fifteen years of increasingly dangerous missions. Though Mingi spoke rarely in public and avoided casual contact, in their private sanctuary he revealed the person beneath carefully built protection—thoughtful, perceptive, and far more talkative than anyone beyond Yunho ever experienced.

"Thank you," Yunho said simply, the gratitude covering their current conversation and fifteen years of unwavering loyalty.

Mingi looked up briefly, a small but genuine smile softening his usually blank features—an expression reserved exclusively for Yunho. No verbal response followed, none being necessary between two who had survived childhood captivity, teenage rebellion, and adult warfare side by side.

Outside their cabin, the ATEEZ continued its steady progress through morning waters, feared throughout the maritime world as the Black Ship, the Compass Crew, the vessel whose appearance meant precise revenge rather than random destruction. Few who encountered its distinctive silhouette understood the vessel's true purpose—that its feared reputation came not from bloodthirst but from blood oath, from promise made by children and fulfilled by the men they became.

And within that black-sailed ship, the quietest officer continued creating tiny wooden messengers marked with five-pointed compass rose, carrying fifteen years' hope that connection might somehow last through separation, that paths cut by violence might eventually come together through persistence and determination.

*Blackwell's Estate - Seven Years Earlier*

Twelve-year-old y/n stood stiffly in Blackwell's formal study, her expression carefully blank despite her inner panic. The summons had come without explanation—guards appearing at her work station in the laundry, taking her directly to the master's private domain where staff entered only when specifically ordered.

Victor Blackwell sat behind his massive desk, fingers joined beneath his chin as he studied her with the same clinical detachment that had marked his ownership for seven years. Unlike most slave owners who barely told apart individual pieces of property, Blackwell kept detailed knowledge of each person he owned—their abilities, their connections, their vulnerabilities. This personal attention made him more dangerous rather than more humane, his understanding used for maximum control rather than compassion.

"Do you know why you're here, girl?" he asked, his cultured voice showing no particular emotion.

"No, sir," y/n replied, the response automatic after years of conditioning. Show no curiosity, no initiative, no independent thought—only prompt obedience and proper respect.

"Valuable property requires proper maintenance," Blackwell continued, as if explaining a basic concept to a slow student. "This includes not merely physical health but appropriate mental conditioning. Assets that form incorrect attachments develop divided loyalties, lowering their functional value."

Cold dread settled in y/n’s stomach as his meaning became clearer. Blackwell rarely spoke directly about specific wrongdoings; his preferred method involved philosophical explanations that forced the listener to recognize their own mistakes, confessing through realization rather than questioning.

"Individuals within my household serve specific functions according to their abilities," he continued, rising from his desk to pace with careful steps. "The doctor's assistant provides medical support to maintain collective health. You girl, are to become the perfect slave. Educated, hard working and pretty enough to fulfill any requirements a buyer might need. Neither role includes unauthorized socialization beyond what's needed."

Y/n kept her carefully blank expression despite the growing certainty that her friendship with Yeosang had been discovered—the shared moments of connection they had believed properly hidden, the small kindnesses exchanged out of sight of watchful eyes, the wooden carvings passed between them as comfort during hard times.

For seven years, they had kept their alliance through increasingly careful precautions, knowing that their growing connection was a vulnerability that Blackwell would exploit if discovered. Yet somehow, despite their precautions, their secret communication had been exposed—perhaps through carelessness, perhaps through deliberate betrayal by another household member seeking good treatment.

"I have invested considerable resources in medical training for the boy," Blackwell remarked, his tone suggesting discussion of weather rather than human lives. "Skills development represents significant value improvement for specialized property. Such investment should not be harmed through inappropriate distractions."

He turned to face her directly, his expression showing neither anger nor cruelty but merely calculated business assessment. "Correction is therefore needed to maintain optimal asset functionality."

Before y/n could interpret this clinical declaration, the study door opened to admit two guards escorting a third figure between them. Yeosang's usual composed expression had broken into barely contained fear, his fifteen-year-old frame appearing suddenly younger and more vulnerable between the towering guards.

"Ah, excellent timing," Blackwell noted with the same detachment he might use when discussing furniture delivery.

He gestured for the guards to position Yeosang before his desk, then resumed his seat with the casual confidence of absolute authority. From a drawer, he took out a leather portfolio containing documents arranged with characteristic precision.

"Medical training increases property value considerably," he observed, reviewing the contents with practiced efficiency. "Several captains have expressed interest in acquiring specialized personnel for extended voyages. Captain Severino has offered particularly favorable terms for a ship's doctor with your specific qualifications."

The meaning became terribly clear: Yeosang was being sold. Their punishment for unauthorized friendship wasn't merely separation within the household but permanent division through transfer of ownership. The realization hit y/n with physical force, her carefully maintained composure threatening to break despite years of practiced control.

"The transaction will be completed today," Blackwell continued, directing his comments to Yeosang now. "Captain Severino's ship leaves with evening tide. Your medical supplies have been packed according to inventory requirements, with appropriate checking of controlled substances."

Throughout this clinical explanation, he maintained the same detached tone he might use when discussing crop rotation or equipment maintenance—human life reduced to asset management and inventory control. Only the slight tension in Yeosang's shoulders showed his internal response, years of conditioning preventing visible reaction despite devastating impact.

"The girl will observe transfer of ownership," Blackwell added, his gaze shifting to y/n with sudden sharpness. "Visual demonstration provides more effective behavioral change than theoretical explanation."

The deliberate cruelty of this decision—forcing her to witness Yeosang's removal—revealed the careful calculation behind Blackwell's seemingly dispassionate management. He understood precisely how to maximize psychological impact while maintaining appearance of reasonable business operations.

"You are prohibited from direct communication before departure," he instructed, rising to indicate the meeting's conclusion. "Guards will escort the boy to preparing quarters and the girl to observation position at front entrance. Asset transfer will proceed at four o'clock precisely."

As the guards moved to separate them, y/n’s efforts to fight and maintain her neutral expression crumbled, she turned and with tears hugged Yeosang tightly. "Please don't!" She said.

Yeosang, although grateful for one last interaction, closed his eyes in sadness. That moment of weakness would transform already devastating punishment into something far worse—Blackwell's method always escalated when emotional vulnerability was displayed.

Blackwell's cold and dismissive behavior morphed into an almost delightful smirk at the girl's behavior.

"See to it she is punished for this outburst." Blackwell commanded the guard. "It seems more training is necessary to her daily lessons." He commented to no one in particular.

Yeosang stiffened, and before he could open his mouth to speak as the guards roughly dragged y/n out of the room, Blackwell interrupted him.

"I cannot punish your words or actions any longer, however," He looked at the boy smirking. "Since you and the girl are so close, I'm sure she wouldn't mind taking the punishment of your disobedience in your place."

Yeosang's eyes widened slightly and quickly closed his mouth obeying Blackwell. Years of treating y/n’s wounds, with or without permission, taught him how cruel and gruesome they were with punishing her.

Three hours later, positioned on the mansion's front steps where her supposed "observation" doubled as humiliation before the entire household staff, y/n watched stone-faced as Yeosang was escorted to the waiting carriage. His few possessions—medical reference texts and carefully maintained instruments—had been packed in a single trunk that represented seven years of dedicated study and practice.

Captain Severino, a weathered man with calculating eyes similar to Blackwell's, inspected his new acquisition with the same clinical assessment used for livestock or equipment. His cursory examination included checking Yeosang's teeth and reflexes, testing basic medical knowledge through rapid-fire questions, and verifying physical condition through demonstration of movement and strength.

Throughout this degrading process, Yeosang kept the careful composure that had protected him through years in Blackwell's household—present yet somehow removed, cooperating physically while preserving essential selfhood behind strong walls. Only y/n, who knew him better than anyone else in the world, could read the subtle signs of his internal devastation: the slight tremor in his left hand, the carefully controlled breathing pattern, the small delay before each response.

As final transaction details were completed between Blackwell and Severino, Yeosang was permitted to gather his trunk under guard supervision. In that brief moment, as he knelt to secure the latches, his hand moved with practiced sleight developed through years of passing secret messages within the household. Something small dropped into the ornamental grass bordering the front path—a movement so subtle that even watchful guards failed to notice.

Y/n noted the deliberate placement, memorizing its exact location without shifting her gaze directly toward it. Whatever Yeosang had left behind, he had risked severe punishment to ensure she would find it after his departure—a final communication despite Blackwell's explicit prohibition.

The actual moment of separation passed with anticlimactic efficiency—Yeosang boarding the carriage, Severino completing final documentation, the vehicle departing down the long drive toward Halazia's harbor where ship awaited. No opportunity for goodbye, no acknowledgment of connection being severed, no recognition of human cost behind business transaction.

Only after night fell and household activities quieted did y/n risk retrieving Yeosang's final message. With careful movements honed through years of navigating Blackwell's household undetected, she slipped from her dormitory to the front gardens, locating the exact position where Yeosang had knelt hours earlier.

Buried in the ornamental grass, her searching fingers found familiar shape—a wooden wolf with its distinctive compass marking, not the same shared treasure passed between them for six years whenever one needed comfort or strength, a different one. Perhaps Yeosang made another one? A replica? Or he found another one hidden. This final gift represented both farewell and promise: that connection lasted beyond physical separation, that memory remained despite deliberate division, that hope survived even systematic attempts to destroy it.

Clutched tightly in her twelve-year-old hand, the small carving represented Yeosang's final resistance against Blackwell's calculated control—solid proof that something belonging uniquely to them had survived despite their owner's deliberate intervention. Neither understood its deeper significance: that the compass marking connected them to five boys searching throughout maritime world for a lost girl, that the wooden animal was created by a quiet child named Mingi who continued carving similar messengers during fifteen years of searching.

For y/n, it simply represented proof that genuine connection had existed despite Blackwell's systematic isolation—tangible evidence of the one friendship that had sustained her through seven years of captivity. For three more years, she would keep it carefully hidden within Blackwell's household, until her transfer to his business associate necessitated new hiding strategies.

For eight years, Yeosang would carry the original wolf, a memory through multiple transfers between captains who valued his medical skills without recognizing his humanity, until fate and a black-sailed pirate vessel named ATEEZ stepped in to offer unexpected freedom.

Neither could have imagined that 7 years after their forced separation, they would reunite aboard that same pirate ship—or that its feared officers were the very boys who had once protected a small girl aboard The Crimson Serpent, their fearsome reputation built upon the foundation of childhood oath to find someone both they and Yeosang had deeply loved in different ways.

The ship's bell had just rung midnight watch when Ella jolted awake. The nightmare of one of the three worst days of her life jolting her awake. Ella slipped silently from her cabin. Years of moving through hostile environments after dark had honed her ability to move without sound—a skill developed initially for survival, now used for deliberate purpose rather than desperate necessity.

The ATEEZ ran with skeleton crew during night hours, most sailors sleeping in shifts while essential positions maintained minimal vigilance. Her exploration earlier that day had yielded thorough knowledge of watch patterns and patrol routes—information gathered out of habit despite her apparent freedom aboard ship.

She moved through the darkened hallways with practiced efficiency, avoiding the occasional crewman on night duty through timing rather than hiding. No one had forbidden her movement throughout the vessel; nevertheless, caution remained ingrained after fifteen years of restrictions.

The medical bay's location on the lower deck provided ideal seclusion—positioned away from sleeping quarters and primary operational areas, its specialized ventilation creating sound barriers that would contain conversation. As she approached the partially open door, soft light spilled into the corridor, suggesting Yeosang remained awake despite the late hour.

For a brief moment, Ella hesitated outside the threshold, an unexpected wave of uncertainty washing over her. The boy she had known—gentle hands treating injuries, whispered encouragement during dark moments, the quiet strength that had kept her going through seven years in Blackwell's household—had become a man she recognized yet didn't truly know. How much had fifteen years changed him? How much suffering had he endured after Blackwell separated them?

Taking a steadying breath, she pushed such questions aside and entered the medical bay without announcing herself, slipping through the doorway with the silent movement that had become second nature during captivity.

Yeosang sat at his small desk, back to the door, apparently absorbed in writing notes in a leather-bound journal. The small wooden trinket box she remembered from childhood sat open beside his inkwell, medical supplies arranged with the same careful precision she remembered from their shared past.

He spoke without turning, his keen awareness of surroundings showing training beyond medical practice. "I wondered when you would come."

The voice—deeper than the boy she remembered yet carrying the same measured pace—confirmed what his posture already suggested: he had been waiting for her, perhaps since the moment she had left his medical bay hours earlier.

"You knew I would," she replied, closing the door silently behind her.

At this, he finally turned to face her, the careful composure of their earlier meeting giving way to more genuine expression. The distinctive birthmark near his left eye crinkled slightly as emotion transformed his features from professional detachment to painful recognition.

"Y/n." He spoke her true name as if testing its reality on his tongue. "It really is you."

The sound of her name—her actual name, not the shortened "Ella" she had offered the ATEEZ officers—created strange feeling after years of deliberate anonymity. She found herself momentarily speechless, the planned greeting dissolving under the weight of genuine connection.

Yeosang rose slowly from his desk, keeping careful distance as if uncertain of appropriate boundaries after fifteen years' separation. His movements held the same deliberate grace she remembered, though his frame had matured from teenage slenderness to adult strength. A thin scar traced his jawline—evidence of violence experienced since their forced separation—while his eyes carried shadows of witnessed suffering that hadn't existed in the fifteen-year-old boy she had known.

"Angel," she whispered, the childhood nickname coming unbidden. "I never thought I'd see you again."

Something in his expression cracked at the sound of her private name for him—the one she had given when they'd first connected in Blackwell's household. His careful composure faltered momentarily before he regained control, professional discipline evidently ingrained through years of necessary survival.

"I looked for you," he said quietly. "After I gained my freedom. But Blackwell's records were deliberately hidden, and his associate who purchased you had disappeared from known trading routes."

The admission created conflicting emotion—gratitude that he had tried to find her, pain that neither of them had succeeded in finding the other until now. Ella found herself moving forward almost unconsciously, closing the physical distance that symbolized their years of separation.

"How did you end up here?" she asked, genuine curiosity momentarily overriding the flood of other questions demanding attention. "On this specific ship?"

"The ATEEZ raided the vessel where I was being transferred between captains," he explained, his voice steady despite the difficult subject. "Unlike other pirates who typically claim medical personnel as valuable assets, Hongjoong recognized I was captive rather than crew. He offered freedom without obligation, though I chose to stay as ship's doctor."

He gestured vaguely toward the well-equipped medical bay. "This is the first place I've practiced medicine by choice rather than being forced. The first place my skills have served healing rather than maintaining property value."

The bitterness in his final words revealed wounds that professional composure couldn't fully hide—scars from years serving masters who viewed his healing abilities as tools for profit rather than compassion. Ella recognized the underlying anger; it mirrored her own carefully contained rage at fifteen years of being treated as an object.

"They don't know," she realized suddenly, studying his expression. "The officers—they don't know about our connection."

Yeosang shook his head slightly. "I never speak of my years under Blackwell. The specifics of my captivity remain my own."

His gaze sharpened with sudden intensity. "But they know you. Somehow, they know you—or believe they do. The way Yunho was watching you, the way Wooyoung's mouth moves at a faster rate when he speaks about 'Ella'." Yeosang rolls his eyes with a smirk.

"I was disgusted and surprised at first when I learned the captain had purchased a slave, even more surprised when heard the amount he paid just to turn around and free you." He raised an eyebrow. "I can see there's more to it than that."

"The Crimson Serpent," Ella confirmed, the explanation forming connection between separate pieces. "Before Blackwell bought me at auction, I spent three months aboard that ship with five cabin boys who tried to protect me. They tried to rescue me during stop in Halazia but failed. I was sold while they were recaptured."

Understanding dawned in Yeosang's expression. "The blood oath," he murmured, almost to himself. "The reason they target Blackwell's operations with such specific focus."

He looked at her with renewed intensity. "Y/n, they've been searching for you for fifteen years. It's the foundation of everything they've built—the ATEEZ, their campaign against slave traders, their reputation for precise revenge. All of it began with a promise to find one little girl sold at auction."

The confirmation of Wooyoung's earlier claim—delivered now by someone who had no reason to manipulate her trust—created momentary confusion. The implications seemed too vast, too significant to fully understand immediately.

"You knew they were searching for someone," she realized, studying his expression. "But you didn't know it was me."

Yeosang nodded, his face reflecting the complexity of this revelation. "They speak occasionally of a girl they lost, a promise that drives their mission. But never specific details—not her name, not her connection to Blackwell. I assumed she was someone they met after building their reputation, not its very foundation."

He moved to a cabinet secured with small lock. With practiced motion, he retrieved a key from within his medical bag, opening the cabinet to reveal shelves of specialized equipment. From the bottom drawer, he took out a small wooden box similar to the one on his desk but larger, its surface distinguished by detailed carvings rather than simple utility.

"After joining the ATEEZ," he explained, placing the box on his examination table, "I noticed Mingi's habit of carving small wooden animals—leaving them in ports we visited, sometimes asking me to place them in specific locations when I went ashore for medical supplies."

He opened the box carefully, revealing interior compartments organized with careful precision. "I helped without understanding why—assumed it was some personal ritual or superstition. He never explained, and I never asked."

From a hidden compartment within the box's lid, he withdrew a small object wrapped in protective cloth. With gentle movements that spoke of treasured significance, he unwrapped the bundle to reveal the wooden wolf they had shared during their childhood—worn from years of handling but still recognizable, its compass marking visible on the underside.

"I kept it," he said softly. "Through eight years, four different captains, countless ports. The only thing I managed to take from Blackwell's household that day."

Ella stared at the carving, emotion welling despite her determined control. "I lost the one you left for me that night. When I was transferred to Blackwell's associate. The guards found it during the transfer, destroyed it along with everything else I'd managed to hide."

Yeosang shook his head slightly.

Understanding dawned as she connected memories previously separated. "A second wolf. You carved it for me? The one you left the night Blackwell sold you?"

"No," Yeosang corrected gently. "I never had the skill for such detailed work." He turned the wolf over, indicating the compass mark. "This is Mingi's craftsmanship. All those animals he leaves in ports—they all bear this same mark. He's been creating them for fifteen years, leaving them throughout the maritime world."

The revelation hit with unexpected force—that Mingi, the quietest of the five boys who had protected her aboard The Crimson Serpent, had continued creating tangible connection despite their separation. That the wooden wolf she and Yeosang had treasured during their years in Blackwell's household had been Mingi's creation all along, its compass mark his signature rather than mere decoration.

"He leaves them hoping you might find one and recognize his work," Yeosang continued, his voice softening with newfound understanding. "For two years, I've been helping him distribute these messages without realizing they were meant for you—that you were the lost girl they've searched for all this time."

Ella reached into her pocket and withdrew the small leather pouch she kept hidden on her person at all times. From within, she removed a tiny wooden figure—not a wolf but a sparrow with folded wings, small enough to hide completely within her closed fist.

"I found this in the garden after a storm knocked down part of the wall," she explained, holding it where Yeosang could see. "Two years after you were sold. I didn't realize it was connected to the wolf—thought it was just similar craftsmanship."

Yeosang studied the sparrow, recognition dawning in his expression. "Mingi's work again. The compass mark is identical." He looked up, newfound understanding in his eyes. "They've been closer than we realized all these years—their search and our survival running parallel without crossing until now."

The meeting of these separate paths—five boys who became feared pirates searching for a lost girl, two children who survived Blackwell's household supporting each other through secret connection—created meaning beyond chance. It seemed like more than chance that these paths crossed—five boys turned pirates looking for a lost girl, and two children who had helped each other survive Blackwell's house.

"Do you trust them?" she asked, the question showing vulnerability she rarely displayed.

Yeosang considered this carefully, his natural caution evident in measured response. "I trust their intentions," he said finally. "Their protection of the vulnerable is genuine rather than strategic. Their opposition to the slave trade comes from personal conviction rather than mere profit opportunity."

He studied her thoughtfully. "Seonghwa reminds me of you," she observed suddenly. "The way he organizes everything, his careful movements, how he keeps emotion behind careful thinking."

"He's nothing like me," Yeosang replied, an unusual edge entering his voice. "His control comes from natural preference for order. Mine was beaten into me through eight years serving masters who viewed showing emotion as a fault needing correction."

The raw honesty—expressing personal history he clearly revealed to few—created momentary silence between them. Ella recognized the pain beneath his words; it echoed her own experience of enforced compliance through systematic punishment.

"I'm sorry," she said softly. "I didn't mean—"

"No," he interrupted, regret immediately replacing defensiveness. "You couldn't have known. I've never spoken of those years to anyone aboard the ATEEZ. Not even the captain knows the specifics of my captivity after Blackwell."

The admission—that he had shared his full history with no one else aboard ship—emphasized the importance of their reconnection. Like her, Yeosang had survived through careful compartmentalization, revealing only what circumstances required rather than complete truth.

"Will you tell them?" he asked after a moment, echoing the question from earlier with new context. "That you're y/n? That you remember them from The Crimson Serpent?"

She considered this carefully, weighing factors with careful assessment built through years of calculated survival. "Not yet," she decided. "I need to understand their expectations first. What they believe 'y/n' should be after fifteen years. What they want from her—from me—beyond keeping a childhood promise."

Yeosang nodded acceptance without judgment, his respect for her choice as clear now as it had been during their shared captivity. "Your identity remains yours to reveal or withhold," he affirmed. "I won't betray your trust."

The promise carried weight beyond its simple words—alliance without demand, support without expectation. Unlike potential pressure from others who might discover her secret, Yeosang offered protection for her choice rather than pushing for a particular outcome.

Ella placed the wooden sparrow beside the wolf on the examination table, the two carvings creating tangible evidence of connection kept despite fifteen years' separation. "Everything connects," she said softly. "Paths I thought completely cut somehow coming together against impossible odds."

"Not impossible," Yeosang corrected gently. "Unlikely, certainly. But we always knew connection lasted beyond separation. That's why we passed the wolf between us—solid proof that bonds survive despite deliberate division."

His words echoed their childhood understanding, the philosophy that had kept them going through Blackwell's systematic attempts to isolate and control. Even as children, they had recognized that genuine connection represented resistance against calculated dehumanization—that sharing the wooden wolf created meaning beyond mere comfort.

"I've missed you," Ella admitted, the simple truth emerging without tactical consideration. "Every day since Blackwell sold you. Even after I buried the memory to survive, something remained missing."

The unguarded confession—so different from her carefully measured responses since boarding the ATEEZ—reflected the unique safety Yeosang represented. With him alone, she could express vulnerability without fear of exploitation, reveal emotion without risk of manipulation.

"I searched for you," he responded, matching her honesty with his own. "After the ATEEZ freed me. When Hongjoong offered free movement at port calls, I used that freedom to track Blackwell's operations, hoping to find some record of where he had sent you."

The revelation—that his first use of newfound liberty had been searching for her—created unexpected emotion. After fifteen years believing herself forgotten or abandoned by everyone who had ever shown her kindness, discovering that both Yeosang and the ATEEZ officers had actively sought her challenged core assumptions that had guided her survival.

"But Blackwell erased the trail deliberately," Yeosang continued, frustration evident despite his controlled expression. "His records showed only that you had been transferred to a business associate, with no documentation of identity or location. By then, eight years had passed since our separation—the trail had grown cold before I even began searching."

"He sold me to a man named Calloway," Ella explained, the name still bitter on her tongue despite the years. "A trading partner who specialized in 'premium domestic personnel' for wealthy households. The transfer was deliberately kept from official records—private arrangement between business associates rather than formal sale."

Something darkened in Yeosang's expression at this information—recognition of deliberate concealment designed to prevent exactly the kind of search he had attempted. "Blackwell understood the value of strategic concealment even then," he observed, professional analysis masking deeper emotion. "His operation has only grown more sophisticated in recent years."

"The ATEEZ's campaign has forced adaptation," Ella noted, her own tactical assessment engaging with his. "Their systematic targeting of his ships created operational challenges that required improved security protocols. Blackwell speaks of them with genuine fear disguised as contempt—'The Compass Crew' who appear without warning and disappear before naval response can gather."

Yeosang's expression shifted slightly at this information—pride briefly visible beneath professional composure. "They've earned their reputation through careful precision rather than random violence," he acknowledged. "Each raid specifically designed to disrupt slave trading operations with minimal civilian damage."

"You admire them," Ella observed, studying his reaction carefully.

"I respect what they've built," he corrected, though the distinction seemed mostly semantic. "Their opposition to the slave trade goes beyond mere piracy—they target specific operations with tactical intelligence that military vessels lack. And they treat freed captives with dignity rather than simply alternative utility."

The assessment aligned with her own observations of the ATEEZ's unusual culture, yet hearing it from Yeosang—who had witnessed their operations from within for two years—carried additional weight. Unlike her necessarily limited perspective as recent arrival, his evaluation incorporated extended observation across multiple campaigns.

"And personally?" she prompted, seeking understanding beyond professional assessment. "Beyond their tactical approach and ethical stance?"

Yeosang considered this more carefully, weighing personal opinion against professional evaluation. "They're good men operating within a brutal world," he said finally. "Their methods reflect necessity rather than natural inclination. In another life, they might have been scholars, artists, builders—their intelligence and skills directed toward creation rather than strategic destruction."

The insight revealed deeper understanding than mere tactical alliance—genuine appreciation for the complexity underlying the ATEEZ officers' fearsome reputation. Unlike outsiders who saw only calculated violence, Yeosang recognized the fundamental principles guiding their operations.

"Hongjoong carries the heaviest burden," he continued, his voice softening slightly. "Each decision, each casualty, each compromise weighs on him even when necessity leaves no alternative. Yet he never passes that weight to others—maintains responsibility without giving up despite personal cost."

"And Seonghwa?" Ella asked, curious about his perception of the quartermaster whose controlled precision had reminded her of Yeosang himself.

"The foundation that enables Hongjoong's leadership," he replied without hesitation. "His careful analysis balances the captain's intuitive strategy, creating operational effectiveness that neither could achieve alone." He paused thoughtfully before adding, "Their partnership represents complementary strengths rather than competition—rare in any context, nearly unique among pirates."

"Wooyoung?" she prompted, continuing her exploration of his perspectives on the officers.

A small but genuine smile touched Yeosang's features—rare expression she remembered from their childhood, reserved for moments of authentic pleasure rather than strategic presentation. "Exactly as he appears," he said. "His theatrical energy isn't performance but genuine nature. Yet beneath the constant movement lies remarkable intelligence—he gathers information through casual conversation that formal questioning could never extract."

"Yunho, the heart of their operation," Yeosang answered immediately. "His natural kindness could be mistaken for weakness by those who don't understand its function. But his compassion creates bonds throughout the crew that tactical authority alone could never establish. The men follow Hongjoong's orders out of respect, but they'd die for Yunho out of genuine loyalty."

"And Mingi—" Yeosang stated finally.

Ella leaned forward particularly interested in his assessment of the quiet gunner whose wooden carvings had unknowingly connected all three of them across fifteen years.

Yeosang's expression grew more thoughtful, suggesting deeper consideration than previous responses required. "The most complex despite appearing simplest," he said carefully. "His quiet exterior hides remarkable perception and emotional intelligence. He observes relationships and interactions that others miss entirely, understands motivations beyond surface behavior."

This assessment aligned with Ella's own observations of Mingi's watchful presence, his rare words carrying weight out of proportion to their economy. Yet Yeosang's insight suggested deeper understanding than mere tactical evaluation—genuine appreciation for complexities others might overlook.

"Why did you stay with them?" she asked, the question addressing fundamental choice rather than mere circumstance. "When Hongjoong offered freedom without obligation, why remain aboard a pirate vessel rather than establishing independent practice?"

The question clearly struck deeper territory than previous exchange, Yeosang's expression shifting toward greater reserve before deliberately relaxing into unusual openness. "Because they offered genuine choice rather than merely alternative obligation," he said finally. "And because their mission against slave traders represented purpose beyond mere survival—opportunity to transform personal suffering into constructive resistance."

The explanation revealed philosophical alignment rather than merely practical arrangement—shared principles rather than simple convenience. Unlike her carefully calculated assessment of potential alliance aboard the ATEEZ, Yeosang had found authentic purpose that went beyond tactical advantage.

"And now?" she asked softly. "Knowing who I am—that I'm the girl they've searched for all these years?"

"The choice remains yours," he assured her immediately. "Whether you reveal your identity or maintain your current presentation, my loyalty extends to you directly rather than merely their mission. Whatever you decide, I'll support without qualification or condition."

The promise—alliance without demand, protection without expectation—created emotion beyond tactical assessment. For fifteen years, Ella had navigated captivity through careful calculation of advantage against vulnerability, protection against exploitation. Yeosang's unconditional support represented freedom beyond mere physical liberation—choice without strategic consequence.

"Thank you," she whispered, the simple gratitude encompassing far more than his current assurance.

Without conscious decision, she moved forward and wrapped her arms around him, pulling him into an embrace that went beyond tactical consideration. The contact—initiated without calculation or strategic purpose—represented emotional truth rather than rational assessment, genuine connection rather than deliberate action.

For a moment, Yeosang remained perfectly still, his body tense with surprise at this unexpected physical closeness. Then, with careful movements that suggested both unfamiliarity and genuine desire, his arms encircled her in returned embrace—tentative at first, then firmer as emotional response overcame habitual caution.

It was the first genuine human contact either had experienced in fifteen years without tactical purpose or enforced compliance—chosen connection rather than calculated advantage or unwanted imposition. The simple act of embracing contained healing beyond words, tangible proof that something fundamental had survived fifteen years of deliberate dehumanization.

"We made it," she whispered against his shoulder, the words emerging from deep recognition rather than conscious thought. "Despite everything, we survived to find each other again."

His arms tightened briefly, the gesture conveying agreement beyond verbal confirmation. For several moments, they remained in this unexpected connection, neither willing to break physical proof of reunion after fifteen years believing the other forever lost. When they finally separated, Yeosang's carefully controlled expression had softened into genuine emotion—vulnerability he clearly revealed to no one else aboard the ATEEZ.

"I should return to my cabin," Ella said eventually, practical consideration overriding emotional need. "Extended absence might draw unwanted attention."

Yeosang nodded, understanding flowing between them without extensive explanation. "Dawn watch is quietest," he replied, the practical information conveyed in neutral tone that would appear unremarkable to potential observers. "Medical bay remains unoccupied until morning rounds begin."

The invitation for further private conversation registered clearly despite its indirect delivery—evidence that some habits formed under surveillance remained useful aboard pirate vessel despite apparent freedom. Ella nodded understanding, grateful for his continued respect for strategic communication.

"Rest well, Angel," she said softly, the childhood nickname carrying new meaning after fifteen years' separation. "Thank you for keeping our wolf safe all these years."

As she prepared to leave, Yeosang carefully rewrapped the wooden wolf and pressed it into her hands. "Take it," he said quietly. "It's always been meant for moments when either of us needed strength. Tonight, that's you."

The gesture—returning their shared treasure without qualification or condition—echoed their childhood exchanges, when the carved animal had passed between them during difficult periods. Unlike those earlier transfers, conducted through careful concealment to avoid Blackwell's notice, this exchange occurred through deliberate choice rather than desperate necessity.

"Until tomorrow," she promised, securing the wolf within her clothing with practiced movement that spoke of years hiding treasured possessions from hostile discovery.

As she slipped silently from the medical bay, moving through darkened corridors with habitual caution, Ella felt subtle shift in her carefully maintained reality. For fifteen years, survival had required calculated solitude—alliance temporary and limited, connection dangerous beyond immediate advantage. Now, against all probability, genuine recognition had appeared in the most unlikely location: aboard notorious pirate vessel, among men feared throughout maritime world for ruthless efficiency and precise vengeance.

The officers of the ATEEZ had built their fearsome reputation on the foundation of childhood oath to find one lost girl. And now that very girl moved through their ship's passages, carrying knowledge that could fulfill fifteen years' search or shatter carefully maintained alliance. The power of that knowledge—the choice to acknowledge or deny her true identity—represented freedom unlike any she had experienced since childhood.

For the first time in fifteen years, y/n held genuine choice rather than merely strategic options. The realization carried both excitement and terror as she returned to her cabin in the heart of the most feared pirate vessel on the seven seas, its black sails cutting through darkness like shadow given form, its reputation for merciless precision earned through years of calculated violence against slave traders who never understood the personal vendetta driving their destruction.

Clutching the wooden wolf Mingi had carved fifteen years earlier—the tangible connection that had unknowingly linked her to both her past aboard The Crimson Serpent and her seven years with Yeosang under Blackwell's control—she whispered her nightly ritual, the familiar names grounding her amid turbulent revelation: "Joongie, Hwa, Woo, Yuyu, Puppy."

But tonight, she added the sixth name without hesitation, acknowledgment rather than discovery: "Angel."

Tomorrow would bring further navigation of this complex situation—continued assessment of the officers' expectations, strategic planning for potential outcomes, careful balancing of vulnerability against advantage. But tonight, for the first time since childhood, she allowed herself to think about possibility beyond mere survival—connection beyond calculated alliance, protection beyond temporary advantage.

Taglist: @hopeless-lovex0 @frankielou02 @jilxxasu @kur0kki @lezleeferguson-120 @uniquecloudbread @miniverse-zen @symmieangela @monstacheol @ateezswonderland