#that bolero is so cute i was desperate to use it

[bugmari]

Hi! WCIF the lacy bolero in this post please ? Thank you :)

hii! it's a part of this set from cloudcat

[anubislover]

A Primal Need for a Marine (a X Drake x Reader fanfic)

In the past twenty-four hours, your luck had been, quite frankly, abysmal. First, while in pursuit of the infamous pirate X Drake, a storm came out of nowhere, wrecking your ship and nearly killing you, separating you from your captain and crew—assuming they were still alive. Then you spent hours floating on a piece of wreckage, until you finally spotted land and were able to paddle your way to shore. You thought perhaps things were looking better when you heard human voices coming from the jungle, only to discover they were the subordinates of the man your squad had been hunting. Before you could even attempt to parlay, they’d tied your hands behind your back, hoisted you up and carried you to a cave deep in the jungle, unceremoniously dumping you inside and sealing off the entrance, only saying, “The captain will want to see you.”

The inside of the cave was spacious, several lamps providing adequate light to see by, but also casting long, ominous shadows. There appeared to be a massive pile of plush bedding in the back corner, and some animal bones scattered about; a clear sign that something had decided to call it home. You immediately began looking around for a sharp rock or piece of bone to use to cut your bindings, as you had a lot more faith in turning your situation around if you had use of your hands.

“So, you’re the crew’s solution to my problem?” came a voice from deep in the cave. A figure approached slowly from the shadows, long strides powerful and sure with the grace of an apex predator. Nearly eight feet tall, made of pure muscle, and dressed in deep blue leather pants, gloves, thigh-high boots, and open bolero jacket trimmed with white fur, he cut an intimidating figure. His sunset red hair looked like fire in the lamplight, and the shadow cast across his face nearly hid the black domino mask over his piercing blue eyes. The X-shaped scar on his chin and tattoo on his bare chest were painfully familiar.

Now you knew for sure your luck had completely run out. You, a captured Marine, were alone in a cave with X Drake. The pirate your squad had been tasked with arresting and bringing to justice.

The traitor.

His eyes scanned your face, taking you in. “You look familiar.”

“We’ve crossed paths,” you bit out evasively. You really didn’t want him to remember you—at best, you’d be one of the starry-eyed recruits that had admired him back when he was a rear admiral. That innocent crush you’d once had had gotten you in trouble; he’d caught you and a few others watching him train shirtless when you should have been doing chores, and he’d marched you straight to your commander for a humiliating admonishment.

At worst…well, last time your crews had crossed paths, he’d been seconds away from cutting off your captain’s head with his giant axe. Thinking quickly, you’d jumped between them and blocked the blow with your rifle. It would have been extremely cool if it were your prowess that had truly stopped him, and not the way your ripped shirt fluttered in the breeze, giving him an unobstructed view of your bare breasts. He’d gone bright red, and you swore a slight trickle of blood dripped down his nose before he was distracted by an attack from your captain, who’d caught his second wind.

Crossing his beefy arms, he looked down on you, thoroughly unimpressed at your wet, shivering figure. “Your uniform is a mess. Back in my day, to come before a high-ranking officer in such a state would have earned you at least ten lashes.”

“Good thing there aren’t any officers around, then—just traitorous scum,” you countered, voice full of venom.

A ginger eyebrow arched at your cheek, but interest flickered in his eyes. “You’re a member of the squad that’s been chasing us, aren’t you?”

“Oh, have people been chasing you? I can’t imagine why,” you replied sarcastically. Your captain often complained about your attitude, but he’d also preached defiance in the face of death, and you planned on living up to his expectations.

“That’d be another twenty lashes for talking back. Either the Navy’s eased up on disciplinary measures, or you’re a particularly tough one to break.”

“A little from column A, a little from column B.”

The corner of his mouth twitched, and something like approval flashed in his steely gaze. “Do you know why my men brought you here?” he asked, circling you slowly, critical stare sweeping over your kneeling, disheveled form.

“They didn’t bother to fill me in.”

“Since we reached this island I’ve suffered…urges,” he grumbled, frustration lacing his voice. “My more bestial side has been rearing its head, even in my human form, demanding I sate some of its more primal instincts. I’ve hunted and fought and killed, but it’s not enough. It wants to mate.”

A shiver ran down your spine as you finally understood. “And you couldn’t find some nice lady dinosaur to get your rocks off with?”

He actually chuckled lightly as he knelt down behind you, reaching around to untie the kerchief around your neck. “No, those are in short supply. However, a mouthy little Marine should work just fine.” The tips of his gloved fingers trailed across your damp shoulders, down your back to your bound hands. Teasingly, he yanked at the rope that cut into your wrists. “If you’re a good girl and do exactly as I say, you might even survive this. Might. I can’t promise anything.”

“That doesn’t exactly inspire me to comply.”

His hot breath danced across the back of your neck as he whispered, “Then I’ll just have to fuck you into submission.”

You blanched. Of course Drake swore—he was a sailor, pirate, and former Marine. A dirty mouth was practically guaranteed, and even the most formal officer was known to turn the air blue under the right circumstances. But to hear him talk that way, when he was usually so stoic, brought a faint blush to your cheeks that you desperately hoped he couldn’t see. A few years ago, when he was still a rear admiral, you would have given your right arm to be in this position.

Now…well, you wanted to say you were utterly repulsed at the idea, but the spike of heat between your legs would call you a liar.

His hands returned to your front, and you watched as he carefully removed one of his leather gloves. Your heart raced as it morphed into a green-scaled dinosaur claw, wickedly sharp and deadly. Instinctively you flinched away, but Drake’s imposing figure gave you nowhere to go. Carefully, the tip of a curved talon stroked your cheek before sliding down to the collar of your uniform. “Hold still; I’d hate to accidentally slit your throat.” You knew he could do it; you’d seen him rend some of your comrades effortlessly with those ancient talons. Heart in your throat, you did as he said, though your cheeks reddened further when his monstrous claws shredded your shirt and bra into ribbons, leaving your torso completely exposed.

What the hell? you thought frantically. Isn’t he supposed to be weak to a woman’s body? Why would he do that?!

Without ceremony Drake picked you up and placed you on his lap, pressing your bare back to the exposed skin of his chest.

“Wha—!”

Once more gloved and human, large hands slid up your sides to cup your breasts, giving them an experimental squeeze. “You really are such a tiny thing,” he murmured in your ear, hot breath dancing across the sensitive skin as he massaged and fondled you. “So cute and helpless, like a bunny caught in a trap.”

There really was quite the size difference between you, but then again, Drake towered over quite a few people. And good gods, pressed against him like this, feeling his hard pectorals and abdominal muscles flex with every movement, made you feel like a doll, small and breakable in his powerful grip. On top of that, his body exuded heat like a furnace, and had the situation been different, you would have relished it warming your damp flesh, chasing away the chill of the cave.

His nose buried itself in your hair as he inhaled deeply, letting out a low groan as his palms squeezed your breasts hard. “You smell delicious, too. Like fear and sea water and sweet, soft flesh. Like prey.”

“More like bait,” you bluffed, eyes squeezing shut as he ran his teeth across the fragile skin of your neck, latching his hot mouth to your pulse-point and sucking hard. “I—ah!—let myself be captured to distract you. M-my crew’s taking out yours as we speak, and then you’ll be taken into custody, literally caught with your pants down.”

The flat of his tongue stroked the mark he left on your throat. “You had no clue about my…condition, as it were, so there’s no way you could have planned this. Given that storm last night, I’d say it’s more likely your ship capsized, and you washed up on shore, alone and ripe for the taking. No one’s coming to save you, and we’ll be long gone by the time another Marine ship shows up.”

His left hand dropped to press against your stomach, pinning you against him so you couldn’t wiggle free. Still, you made a valiant attempt to break away, twisting and writhing in his lap.

Your efforts were halted when he growled, amusement lacing his voice, “Oh, please, keep struggling like that. Your ass feels amazing against my cock.”

A hot blush painted your face as you realized that you could feel a hard bulge against your backside, and it probably wasn’t a pistol in his pocket. “You’re an absolute bastard,” you cried as his hand shifted to grab your hip, pulling you back to grind against his concealed length.

“What did you expect? I’m a pirate from the Worst Generation. Did you think a man like me would be sweet words and gentle caresses?”

Honestly, you kind of had, given how he seemed so shy around women, even back when you were a recruit. “No—I figured you’d pass out from a nosebleed the second you even touched a pair of tits!” you snapped back.

His right hand abandoned your breast to harshly grip your chin, yanking it up so you hand no choice but to meet his intense blue eyes. They weren’t quite in their more reptilian form, but you could see his pupils were blown wide and the iris had faint specks of yellow. “I remember you, now. You’re the one who flashed me to save your captain.” Blunt teeth caught the shell of your ear, his hot, wet tongue flicking against the delicate flesh. “Bold of you, I have to say. An effective strategy at the time, but I’m only weak to a woman’s body when I’m caught off guard, and definitely not when my Zoan side is impatient to fuck.”

You bit your lip to suppress the small, needy whimper that his tongue nearly coaxed from you. Your ears had always been your most responsive erogenous zone, and his mouth was stimulating it with just the right amount of heat and pressure. When he gave a sharp suck, you couldn’t quite hide your quick intake of breath, though you tried to hide it by renewing your struggles.

Drake didn’t seem to mind as his hips jerked to match your movements, grunting in appreciation. His left hand abandoned your hip to bury itself between your clenched thighs, cupping your hot core through your wet trousers and panties. “Mmmm, I can smell that you’re starting to enjoy this.” The hand at your chin shifted to press two fingers against your plump lips. Scowling, you closed your mouth as tightly as possible. There was an annoyed growl at your resistance, and the heel of his palm ground harshly against your clit, causing you to gasp in shock and outrage.

Taking advantage of your open mouth, he shoved his fingers inside the wet cavern, giving a shallow thrust. Instinctively you bit down on the meaty appendages, but it did little to dissuade him. In fact, he sank his teeth into the side of your throat in retaliation, making you scream in pain around his fingers.

“Bad girl,” he rumbled lowly as his tongue lapped at the sore spot, cleaning up the small drops of blood from where his fangs had broken the skin. “I’ve been restraining myself because I didn’t want to break you too soon, but if you keep misbehaving, you’re going to find out just what kind of animal I can become.”

You winced, finally accepting that you weren’t going to be able to discourage him from using your body how he pleased through resistance. He was a former rear admiral, a hundred times stronger than you, and if you really got on his nerves, he could just turn into his Allosaurus form and eat you.

Sensing he’d broken your resolve, he resumed pumping his fingers into your mouth, the smooth leather of his gloves gliding over your wet tongue. “That’s better. Now suck—unless you’d rather I replace my fingers with my cock and fuck your throat?”  

Swallowing hard, you closed your eyes and focused on sucking his fingers, hoping your skills would be satisfactory. When he gave a pleased grunt you rolled the flat of your tongue against them, imagining it was the hard cock of someone you actually wanted to please and not the traitorous bastard that held you captive. Your cheeks darkened as the fingers at your core curled against your covered slit, pressing into the sensitive flesh as his palm ground against your clit, enticing you to buck against him.

“Look at me, girl. I want you to acknowledge exactly who you’ll be servicing tonight.” His voice was right above you, steamy breath fanning your face. Instinctively your eyes opened, and his mouth stretched into a grin. He chuckled, stroking your nether lips in time to his thrusts, causing heat to coil tighter in your belly.

You were absolutely horrified at your body’s reaction—you couldn’t possibly be feeling pleasure because of X Drake, could you? He was a pirate and a traitor, and he made it clear you were basically only there as his fuck toy! Your crush on him hadn’t been that strong, had it?

Grinding his contained cock against the cleft of your ass, he said, “I know what you’re thinking, and there’s no need to be ashamed—we can’t always control when or how our bodies feel pleasure. A glimpse of bare skin, a touch to just the right spot, a few dirty words—it all involuntarily stimulates us. I used to think that it could be resisted with enough willpower, but after a week of my instincts driving me mad, I’ve realized that everyone has their breaking point.”

With a wet pop, he removed his fingers to stroke down your jaw and throat to once more play with your breasts, this time putting special focus on teasing your nipples. To your dismay, they quickly grew into stiff peaks under his rough pinches and flicks, his thumb circling the hard tips teasingly. “Bet you didn’t think your little flash of chest would result in this, did you?”

When you didn’t answer right away her gave your left breast a harsh squeeze, prompting you to gasp out a weak, “No.”

“Did you get a commendation for your bravery, little girl? A promotion? Or did you reject any praise because you didn’t want to be known as ‘The Tits that Felled X Drake’?”

You whimpered, though mostly in humiliation. He’d hit the nail on the head. You’d been mocked by your shipmates for nearly a month over that, and even though the captain had been grateful, he’d kept your involvement out of his report for that very reason.

“Well, now you’ll get to be ‘The Tits that Fucked X Drake,’” he chuckled, rolling his hips for emphasis. “In fact, that sounds like a great way to start.”

Before you could question him, he pushed you out of his lap to the cave floor, flipping you onto your back. You attempted to sit up, but a large boot rested lightly on your stomach, pressing down just enough to make it clear how easily he could crush your torso. There was no choice but to look up at him, and for a moment you couldn’t help but stare at the prominent bulge between his legs straining against the tight leather of his pants. Blushing, you forced yourself to look further north, landing on Drake’s unusually expressive face, his lips quirked in an amused smirk and a hungry gleam twinkling in his eyes. Your gazes locked as he palmed his belt buckle, undoing the clasp and allowing the long strip of leather to fall to the ground with a clatter. Next, he grabbed the zipper of his tight pants, pulling it down bit by bit, the clicking of metal teeth deafening in the silence of the cave.

As he freed his length, you swallowed nervously. Of course a man his size would have a massive cock to match. At least nine inches long, roughly two inches thick, and perfectly curved, he’d be like something out of a wet dream if the circumstances hadn’t been so horrible.

“Like what you see, Marine?” he chuckled, giving it a few teasing strokes, running his thumb over the already leaking tip. “Just imagine how it’ll feel inside you.”

His foot vacated your chest so he could straddle your hips, pinning you down with his superior body weight. Blue eyes stared, mesmerized, at the twin peaks of flesh before him. Your chest was flushed and swollen from his earlier attentions, nipples hard and practically begging for his touch. A pink tongue darted out to wet his lips, then he leaned down, wrapping them around a straining, rosy bud.

“Ah!” you cried, overwhelmed by the heat of his mouth on your sensitive areola.

Your chest was completely at the mercy of his ravenous mouth and tongue. Alternating between sharp sucks and soothing licks, his attentions sent sparks through the soft mounds of flesh, making you arch further into his mouth, your body wordlessly begging him for more. He eagerly complied, and you were ashamed at the surge of moisture that pooled between your thighs when he brought his teeth into the mix, shallow bites and taunting scrapes of his incisors both frightening and thrilling you.

Trailing his mouth down the silky peaks, he lavished the valley between your breasts with long, slick strokes of his tongue. Your nipples weren’t abandoned for long, however, as his hands returned, the leather deliciously smooth in contrast to the sharp pinches to your straining buds.

This time, you couldn’t quite suppress the little sighs and whimpers that bubbled up in your throat as his arousing actions. For all that the situation demanded you resist, Drake played your body like a harp, strumming your taut strings of desire and producing a symphony of lustful sounds.

Finally, he leaned back, critically studying the wet trail between your tits before nodding to himself in approval. He lifted himself from your lap to straddle your ribcage, resting his straining cock in your cleavage and pressing your swollen mounds of flesh around it for extra stimulation.

“Brace yourself, dear—I’ve been dreaming about this since you first flashed me.”

There really wasn’t much you could do to brace yourself with your hands tied and back pinned to the ground, but you lifted your knees and planted your feet as best you could, praying that the stone floor wouldn’t tear up your skin too badly. His grip on your breasts was harsh, squeezing them together so tightly you were sure he’d leave finger-shaped bruises behind. Each thrust rocked your entire body, his long cock peeking out from between your breasts to brush your chin. Blue eyes fixated on the drops of precum left behind, and you watched his pupils dilate until his irises were nearly overtaken by the black.

“Imagine if your superiors could see you now,” he panted, a few drops of sweat trailing down his temple. “Helpless, at the mercy of a pirate, being used as a fuck toy and loving it.”

“I’m not—” your whimpered denial was cut off by a particularly brutal thrust and a massive hand yanking your hair.

“I told you that I could smell your arousal, little one. Lie to me again and I’ll hand you over to my men to have a turn with that cute body of yours. Now open your mouth.”

Being used by one horny pirate was bad enough, and your luck had been so awful you dared not call his bluff. Instead, you silently obeyed, parting your lips as he released your hair to continue tit-fucking you. If his erratic thrusts were any indication, he was close to climaxing, which meant it was nearly over. Closing your eyes and taking as deep a breath as you could with the massive man straddling your chest, you forcefully pushed down the disappointment that the fire he’d stoked between your thighs wouldn’t be sated.

With a sound that was somewhere between a grunt and a shout he came all over your face, his hot, sticky seed splattering across your chin and lips, but mostly shooting inside your waiting mouth. Salty and thick, you had to swallow several times to get it all down.

Panting and wiping the sweat from his brow, Drake leaned back to study you, grinning at the drops of cum that dappled your cheeks.

“Aren’t you a sight?” he purred, wiping a sticky glob off with his finger and painting it across your lips. “I’m glad I started with tit-fucking you instead of finishing.”

Your eyes widened in horror, even as your cunt clenched in anticipation. “You…you’re not finished?”

The tips of his fingers stroked his still-hard cock. “Do I look finished? If this problem were solved by a single orgasm, I would have just jerked off and been done with it. No, I need to properly mate, and even then I doubt I’ll be sated until I’ve fucked us both unconscious.”

If the way he’d used your chest was any indication, it wouldn’t be hard for him to knock you out, and once he had his fun, what did he plan to do? Ransom you? Interrogate you? Kill you? Behind your back, your nails dug into your palms, wishing your hands were free so you had a better chance of escaping.

Eyes capturing yours, he raised his left hand to his lips, white teeth catching the leather encasing the middle finger, pulling slowly to expose pale skin and thick, calloused digits. “I wonder if you can even take me,” he murmured, more to himself than you as he pulled of the other glove. “You’re such a little thing…”

You seriously doubted you could. He was twice the girth of any man you’d ever slept with, and long enough that you were positive he’d wreck your insides if he bottomed out. The fact that he was still hard even after already cumming indicated his stamina was nothing to scoff at, either.

You were, figuratively and quite literally, fucked.

Removing himself from your torso, he crawled down to your legs, hooking his now bare fingers into your waistband to slowly peel your trousers from your legs. You tried to kick at him, to fight back and wiggle away, but he grabbed your thigh, nails digging into your skin in warning.

“Behave, girl,” he growled, eyes flashing with something fierce and primal as he ripped off your panties, nostrils flaring as he caught the undiluted scent of your womanhood.

“Please, let me go,” you tried to reason. Drake was a traitor and a pirate, but surely he hadn’t lost all of his honor? “You’re not the kind to take an unwilling woman, right?”

“But you’re not unwilling,” he chuckled, leaning in to lap up your juices with a long, luscious stroke of his tongue. Your back arched at the delicious sensation, cheeks flushing and toes curling as the coil of arousal deep inside you tightened. “You’re impossibly wet. You smell like a bitch in heat, waiting to be mounted by a worthy male. You’re aching for me, aren’t you?” he growled before nipping at your sensitive nether lips.

Head shaking in denial, you closed your eyes in hopes of blocking out the overwhelming pleasure the sweeps of his hot tongue brought you. That only made it worse, though; your body’s sense of touch heightened, making your empty cavern ache to be filled.

For his part, being so close to the source of your womanly scent was driving Drake’s beastly instincts wild as he feasted on your arousal, your cream thickly coating his tongue and dripping down his prominent chin. The flexible appendage delved deep, teasing your inner walls as his fingers tightly clutched the meat of your ass, lifting your hips so he could get a better angle. It was when his nose brushed your clit, though, that you finally unleashed a lustful cry, hips bucking, unconsciously chasing that intense spark of pleasure that rocked your entire body.

“Ah, that’s more like it,” he purred as he pulled away, licking at the juices that coated his lips. “I can’t wait to hear what other noises you’ll make.”

He turned his attention to your swollen pearl, teasing it with the tip of his tongue while one of his long, thick fingers leisurely penetrated your molten core up to the knuckle. “You’re going to be a tight fit, but that just makes it all the better,” he groaned, deep voice practically reverberating through you.

Your teeth sank into your bottom lip as you felt your inner walls clench around his finger. It was nearly as wide as two of your own, hot and wonderfully rough, massaging the sensitive tissue of your core.

As he experimentally began pumping his finger in and out, his tongue flicked your sweet little bundle of nerves, chuckling at the strained sounds that slipped from your lips. He dragged the calloused tip along the top of your passage, licking and teasing your sensitive nub.

After a minute or so, pleased at how wet you were for him, he forced in a second finger, curling the pair against your G-spot while suckling your clit when you let out a whine of discomfort.

“Just relax,” he murmured, dropping a brief kiss to your thigh as if in apology while he scissored his fingers, stretching your tight hole. “If you’re too tense to take my fingers, how can you hope to handle my cock? Take a deep breath and relax.”

You wanted to argue that there was no way you could relax when you were being molested by a filthy pirate, that you didn’t want to take his cock, but then his lips wrapped around your throbbing clit and sucked hard, and your mind went blank as you were momentarily overwhelmed by white-hot pleasure.

“That’s it,” he rasped, lips barely pulling away long enough to speak before diving back in, sucking in time to the thrust and curl of his digits, coaxing your hips to match his rhythm.

Against all decency and logic, your walls clenched around him as your body sang, coil of pleasure winding tighter and tighter in your belly with every heady bend and eager suck.

Just when you thought you might reach that peak and finally climax, Drake completely stopped. You whined, bucking your hips in hope of taking your own pleasure from the slick fingers that rested motionless inside you, but his free hand grabbed your hip in a bruising grip. Sluggishly, you opened your eyes, meeting his intense gaze as he gave you a feral smile.

“Beg me to let you cum.”

Despite your flushed cheeks, humming nerves, and aching cunt, you refused to give him that victory. You may be his prisoner and a slave to his desires, but you wouldn’t beg. Steeling yourself for whatever he had planned, you defiantly shook your head, provoking a low, menacing chuckle.

“I was being nice, little one. I don’t have to give you pleasure at all—I could just flip you over and start fucking you. Are you denying yourself out of pride? Think you’ll get a moral victory by refusing to give in to your urges like I am? You think your will’s stronger than mine?” he snarled, suddenly angry. Your heart sped up as you realized you’d unconsciously touched a nerve—X Drake was famous for his composure since his days in the Navy. He was a man who strove to be in control of his emotions; to not give in to vices like lust or anger like his father had. That his Devil Fruit had driven him to this was a testament to how frustrated he was, how powerful the urges were, and how insulting it was to think that you could hold out when he couldn’t.

His hand started moving again, brutally ramming inside you as his fingers slammed against your G-spot with every stroke. “If you won’t beg me to let you cum, then I’ll just make you cum. I was giving you a choice. Something you’re never going to have again.” His mouth latched onto your clit, sucking hard, overwhelming you with sensation as his fingers continued to piston in and out. Captive to his touches and powerless to do anything but lay there and feel, your mouth let out little wordless cries, and even you couldn’t tell if they were meant to be denial or encouragement. It was when he started humming, sending sweet vibrations straight into your throbbing clit, that you finally felt your climax hit, pleasure shooting through you like liquid lightning, your walls clenching around his digits while your back arched.

The second he felt you spasm around his fingers Drake pulled away, grabbing your hips and refusing to let you ride out your orgasm, watching you writhe hopelessly under him.

“That’s enough foreplay,” he rumbled, tossing you over his shoulder and carrying you over to what could only be described as a nest of pillows, blankets, and other bedding. It made for a soft landing when he tossed you down, flipping you onto your stomach. To your surprise, you felt his fingers at your wrists, and the harsh rope tying your hands behind your back fell away. “It’s time we got to the main event.”

Wincing at the awful pins and needles travelling up your newly freed arms, you managed to brace yourself on your elbows and look up at him over your shoulder. His eyes had turned fully yellow and dangerously reptilian, and his ravenous gaze was fixated solely on you as he peeled off his leather bolero. You could feel his eyes caressing the smooth expanse of your back, your pert ass, quivering legs, and flushed face like you were a feast laid out just for him. His attention dropped briefly to his thigh-high boots, bending down to remove them, and you grasped at your chance, clumsily darting to your feet and attempting to make a run for it while he was distracted.

You didn’t even make it out of the nest before a beefy arm wrapped around your waist, swinging you up into the air before slamming you down into the bedding. The soft blankets and pillows prevented any injury, but the air was knocked out of your lungs, rendering your immobile while you struggled to regain your breath.

“At any other time I’d commend you for not giving up the fight, but right now all you’re doing is making this harder than it needs to be,” he growled as he rolled you back onto your stomach, prying your thighs apart so he could settle between them and elevating your hips with a pillow. One hand seized your right wrist, pinning it behind your back while the other grasped the back of your neck, pressing just hard enough to ensure you wouldn’t even dream of moving. Like this, he had full control, completely dominant and ready to claim his prize.

The hot tip of his erection teased your dripping entrance, and you let out an involuntary whimper. “Please…” You weren’t even entirely sure what you were begging for. Sure, you’d just tried to escape, but had you really thought you’d get away? Had you really wanted to, with your core aching to be filled? Or had you just wanted to see just how far you could push him?

“I warned you,” he growled. “Let’s see how much of me you can take. And just so you know, I will be cumming inside you. Every. Fucking. Time.” With deliberate slowness he pushed his stiff, throbbing cock into your tight, wet sex. Inch by inch he filled you, penetrating your womb as he finally bottomed out.

“Fuck, you feel good,” he said with a deep, relieved groan, stilling his hips to savor your walls clenching him. “Such a tight little cunt. Here I was wondering if I’d split you in half, but you took me like a champ. Like you were made for me,” he finished with a possessive, rumbling growl, slowly rolling his hips back before plunging back in.

Your free hand clawed at the bedding beneath you, caught between pain and pleasure. He was stretching you to the breaking point, slamming against your cunt like a battering ram, speed increasing with every rotation of his hips. At the same time, each thrust hit that magic spot inside you, and you were already so sensitive from your earlier orgasm, you couldn’t help but let out helpless little mewls as you squeezed him tightly. Pinned beneath him like this, helpless as his rough treatment stoked a fire in your belly, you wondered if, should you survive this, you’d ever be able to lay with another man again.

Hips snapping against your backside, the sharp slap of skin on skin echoed through the cave, accompanied by your needy cries and Drake’s terse grunts.

The hand pressing down on your neck tightened slightly as he growled, “That’s it, little one; you’re taking my cock so nicely. Should have known you were meant to be a pirate’s whore. It’s probably your dream, isn’t it? To get fucked day and night by a Navy traitor. Well, congratulations, dear; mission accomplished!”

You’d never imagined being degraded like this would get you off, but it was like his words were the catalyst you needed to cum so hard stars filled your vision. Your silken walls desperately milked him as your orgasm and his thrusts rocked your body, screaming his name like it was the only word that mattered anymore.

The sensation of you milking his cock sent Drake over the edge after you. With a nearly inhuman roar his seed filled your womb, hot cum painting your inner walls in thick spurts as he buried himself as deeply into your eager cunt as he could.

For a few moments the two of you just lay there, panting heavily and basking in post-orgasmic bliss. You whimpered a little when he pulled out, strangely mourning the sudden lack of heat and pressure, but soon found his arm wrapped around your waist, hoisting you up so you were vertical and pressed to his chest, legs spread as he lowered you back onto his cock. His free hand played with your breasts as his teeth latched onto your ear, sending shockwaves of pleasure through you.

“Drake~” you moaned, hypersensitive but matching his thrusts as best you could.

“Finally giving in, huh?” he panted in your ear, rutting up into your aching cunt. “I knew you would—you can only deny your instincts for so long.”

Hand encircling your throat, he pressed your head to his shoulder, looking down at you with fierce yellow eyes. “You’re loving this, aren’t you? Getting railed by a pirate’s cock. You greedy little slut. You make a hell of a sight right now—needy juices dripping down your thighs, eyes glazed with pleasure, face covered in my cum.” He leaned down to lick away one of the milky droplets that clung to your cheek. “I should take a picture to send to headquarters; show them what happens to cute little Marines that fall into my clutches.” The hand supporting your waist slid down over your sweat-slicked stomach to the apex of your thighs, mercilessly grinding his thumb against your clit.

You didn’t even try to fight your orgasm this time, letting it wash over you, bouncing on Drake’s cock to draw it out while screaming your throat raw. Sharp teeth latched onto your shoulder as he released, hips snapping up hard as he came.

Drake wasn’t quite done yet, though. Somehow, despite two consecutive orgasms, he was still hard inside you. You mewled helplessly, too worn out to even rock your hips. Sensing you were at your limit, he pushed you back onto your stomach, hoisted up your hips, and proceeded to fuck you into the mattress.

Covered in sweat, stretched to your limit, limbs weak, overstimulated and hypertensive, all you could do was lay there, ass in the air as Drake continued to pump his massive cock into your twitching hole. However, the pathetic sounds of pleasure that you let out at every snap of his hips seemed to egg him on, and before long he slammed himself inside you with a penultimate, animalistic groan, emptying the last of his hot seed inside you.

At last sated, he removed you from his softening cock to wrap you up in a loose blanket before laying down beside you.

“Mmmm, can’t wait to do this again tomorrow.”

“To-tomorrow?” you gasped, forcing yourself to stay awake even as exhaustion darkened the corners of your vision and your limbs grew heavy and lethargic.

“I was eager to fuck you and rid myself of these damned urges, but now, I think I rather like them. I haven’t felt this relaxed in years.” Muscular arms engulfed you as he pulled you to his warm chest. Glancing up, you could see his eyes had returned to their normal, intense shade of blue. He purred, “And for such a little thing, you’re surprisingly durable. I’d be a fool to give you up. When my crew and I leave this island, you’re coming with us.”

“I can’t…”

“Your squad’s most likely dead, and the survivors would be trapped here until another ship stumbles across them. Even if they all lived, they couldn’t stop me from carrying you off.” His thick fingers combed through your hair, not caring that they were still damp and sticky with your juices. “You can’t go back to the Navy, anyway; the anti-fraternization laws are rather draconian, and if you don’t get court-martialed just on the off-chance that I could have recruited you as a spy, you’ll be looked down on with disgust and suspicion, passed over for promotions and missions for the rest of your career. Join my crew, and you’ll at least have my men’s respect.”

“I’m not a traitor,” you insisted, even as you buried your head against his chest to hide the tears that threatened to fall. Damn it, he was right—if the Navy found out that you’d been involved with X Drake, even under duress, you’d be branded a pariah and, at best, shuffled to some out-of-the-way base doing paperwork until judgement day.

His large hand cupped your chin, lifting your face so he could press a gentle kiss to your brow. “Then I guess you’ll have to spend your days as my captive and feisty little bed warmer.”

“Better keep me in the brig—otherwise, I might slit your throat in your sleep.”

“You can try, dear, but if I have to tie you up and fuck you into unconsciousness every night to ensure my safety, well, that’s a cross I’m willing to bear.” Tilting your head, he leaned in to whisper in your ear, “I’d advise against killing me, though. If you prove yourself trustworthy, I’ll let you in on why I became a pirate. It’s a fascinating story, and it might just make you realize I’m not as bad as I seem.”

Your brow furrowed. What could he possibly mean by that? You wanted to question him, but the strain of the day was finally catching up to you, making your eyelids heavy. It was even harder to focus with the soft bedding underneath you and Drake’s bare chest keeping you warm.

He chuckled softly as you began to drift off, murmuring, “Get some rest, little one; that’s an order from your captain.”

[hostagine]

UwU dance headcanons! Can you do the dance headcanons you did for Honey and the twins but for the other hosts?

Tamaki:

He's the first one to ask to dance. He's very traditional. And if they ask him first, he'd sulk "----- I'm supposed to ask first."

And he asks like it's the first time. Everytime.

No embarrassment, just very polite and gentlemenly. He's always effortlessly impressive. Offering his hand like he's offering food.

"May I have this dance?"

Always adding special nicknames. Princess/ m'lady/ lovely

His Host Habits never leave him

Tamaki's elegant. He refused to dance anything but.

He thinks unchoreographed dancing is preposterous. So of course the Waltz's is his Go-to. The tango is as adventurous as he'd get.

Always has to lead. He'd complain otherwise.

But he's gentle. If his S/O messes up, or steps on his toes, he'll just ignore it. He'd think it's cute.

He likes dancing in the center of the floor. 1): to be the center of attention, and 2): It's his way of showing them off.

He's always so much more closer than necessary. To whisper those random sweet nothings into their ear. Unbeknownst to everyone else.

Likes intimate, heavy eye-contact.

Kyoya:

He Doesn't like to dance. But he doesn't dislike it either.

He'd probably frustrate his S/O a lot, cause he waits until the very last minute to ask.

He likes sharing the last dance. It's the last song. The one everyone passes over cause they're too tired.

But most importantly, he likes building up that need in his S/O. So that they desperately want to be next him. And really enjoy their one dance and their time with him

He probably ignored them the entire party just for this moment.

And when he asks, he acts like he's doing them a favor. (Even though he secretly really wants to).

So he doesn't ask per se, he kind of just takes their hand, and leads them away.

He prefers somewhere more private. Sometimes takes them completely out of the room, far away from everyone, but close enough where they could still hear the music.

Though while he knows how to dance, and is quite good at it, he doesn't stick to anything traditional. If he isn't around anyone of important status that he'd have to impress, he using facing as just an excuse to be close to his S/O and just casually sways back and forth. In time with the music but nothing notable.

And he gets kind of handsy. Putting his hands lower than they should be, caressing his hands through their hair and breathing against their neck.

But if in front of a crowd, his favorite is the Bolero.

People always compliment how graceful on foot he is.

Haruhi:

Has two left feet. She's hates dancing and never gets the hang of it.

She's only ever learned how to dance the male part of the Waltz, and that serves as troubling when she gets older.

And even that's a pain. She's always stepping on her S/O's toes or tripping over their feet, or tripping them. It's no use talking her through it, it all goes through ear and comes out the other.

The only thing she sort of gets the hang of is the typical slow dance kids dance at prom because it doesn't necessary take any skill.

Her grip is always a little too tight because she's nervous and doesn't want to fall over.

And always gets tired halfway through.

She especially likes it if her partner is taller than her so she can rest her face against their chest.

Almost always dances half asleep.

Mori:

He likes dancing. But prefers just to watch, rather than actually dance himself.

He's so fascinated by it. All the fancy clothes. Especially watching dancing competitions on television.

But he's like Mitsukuni. He's never actually had to dance before joining the Host Club, so the only thing he's relatively good at is the Club's signature waltz. And only because he had to learn it for parties.

Besides that he's way too awkward.

He always apologizes for stepping out of tune and moving too fast.

He never asks his partner to dance first because of that. They'd have to ask him first and of course he'd happily oblige.

Unless his S/O clearly wants to but doesn't ask him, then he'll eventually cave and ask.

And it's simple. And sweet.

"Would you like to dance?"

Or sometimes just gentle and less obvious. Asking them if they like the particular song that's playing, and then offers them his hand.

He prefers dancing that doesn't take much movement on the male part.

His dancing is very unchroegraphed but He likes twirling his them around, and bringing them close. And honestly anything that would be fun for them, but not necessarily need a lot of movement on his part.

[buttercupsfrocks]

Hey, Tumblr, did you know that there’s an Interior Design Police as well as a Fashion Police?! Strangely neither did I until I stumbled upon a listicle entitled 75 Things No Woman Over 50 Should Own on the delusionarily titled bestlifeonline.com. There, along with the usual arbitrary selections of sartorial crimes against humanity, (tracky bottoms, skinny scarves, bolero jackets), were the following:-

Tapestries. (What, even if one designed and made them oneself, comme ça?)

Neon signs.

A piggy bank.

Novelty salt and pepper shakers, (Oops!)

A vinyl tablecloth. 

Novelty pillows. (Dang!)

A rolodex.

Indoor wicker furniture.

A lava lamp. (Who doesn’t love a lava lamp? Not this fully paid up B52s fan, I can assure you).

A dish of seashells.  (D’oh! Missed the memo again).

Framed autographs (yep, got one of those too).

Talk about random. And there’s more; much more. It appears I should have jettisoned my giant pin boards at least twenty years ago, along with my magnifying mirror, stuffed animals, coloured pens, fairy lights, frameless posters, cheap mismatched silverware, decorations based on cartoon characters, mismatched towels, striped wallpaper, tassels, and elaborate keychains. (They’d have a blue fit if they knew that one of my keychains has both a twiddly fake key and a tassel on it). In fact the entire website is little more than an endless litany of stuff you should feel ashamed about owning, wearing, and in some cases, even saying. Like I totes can’t say “totes” – me, a writer, who loves slang so much she has at least a bookshelf-and-a-half dedicated to it. I also can’t say: “OMG”,  “humblebrag”, “talk to the hand”, “fauxpology”, “sorry not sorry”, “I can’t even”, “as if”, “sus”, (a term in common UK parlance among people of all age groups for the duration of my lifetime), “ship”, (fuck you; Spuffy forever), and…wait for it…”adulting”, even though I plainly know a good deal more about doing it than the embarrassingly embarassable twelve year old ninny who probably wrote the article.

And still on the subjects of lists that give me the right royal pip, there’s thelist.com. 

“If you are familiar with Dr Martens, you are too old to wear them.” 

I’m sorry, what now?! 

“We know those Crocs and orthopaedic shoes are super comfy, but they're not doing you any favours. There's something to be said for smart, sensible footwear, but you don't have to sacrifice your style and give away your age just to save yourself a few blisters”.

Unless of course you suffer with any kind of condition that dictates you  have to wear fugly orthopaedic footwear, as numerous older people do. And blisters are the least of my problems, bub. Believe me the bunting and party hats come out when I can persuade anything approaching normal-looking footwear to accommodate my orthotics. Doc Martens are one of the precious few options available to me. I am, incidentally, feeling especially “salty” (another word my age precludes me from using), about this right now as, having discovered I can sometimes wear sandals with a moulded orthotic-like sole, these Office sandals... 

...which I genuinely love and desperately wanted to rock this summer, damn near crippled me when I tried them on. 

For all the blather about older women being able to cast off the shackles of convention and wear what we please, (or whatever the expert du jour thinks is within reason), the same unspoken assumptions that prevail in mainstream ladymedia are present in spades on these websites. Nobody reading could possibly be fat, or if they are they’re assumed to be fighting their poor beleaguered bodies unto death. The only chub ever alluded to, (albeit soto voce), is “middle aged spread”, but only the vestigial kind that can be miraculously rendered  invisible by the belting of an “unflattering” oversized garment in the middle. 

“Show off your curves by adding a cute belt to that dress or coat. It will accentuate your shape and let you still wear those comfortable items in your wardrobe without looking like you're wearing a muumuu.”

Never mind that I quite like wearing a muumuu, far from showing off my curves, belting any of my coats would make me look like the Albert Hall, which while undoubtably a Look, is not one I’m after.  

“Balance is important when it comes to crafting a stylish look. Wearing oversized clothing disrupts that delicate equilibrium and unintentionally ages you.”  

What. Ever. 

The hectoring never lets up. 

“There really is no such thing as grown up glitter when it comes to apparel, so it's best to accept that fact and avoid glittery tops, bottoms, and everything else!” 

“Dressing like the '80s or '90s can be fun for a party, but being attached to a trend from your youth can look tired and disconnected and therefore can make one age themselves.” 

“Large prints, especially on a tight clothing item like leggings, are an avoid-at-all-costs look. They are just too loud and aren't a piece that helps you look your best”

Among the ten items everyday.health.com bans me from wearing on account of my encroaching dotage are “too trendy denim”. Apparently I’m “not in my element” with it so my hard work was all for nought. Also verboten are oversized, overly decorated hobo bags, cheap unflattering underwear; (fat chance of finding cheap underwear in plus-sizes anyway though apparently I should do like the Sainted Gwyneth and wear Spanx under everything. Because she totally needs to and I so enjoy colic); and…wait for it…wait for it...  

...“loud accessories”. This includes, horror of horrors, plastic earrings, which apparently I forfeited the right to wear at 35. (Do they count vintage phenolic, bakelite, and lucite as plastic I wonder? Because if enough rich older women get dissuaded from wearing it I might actually be able to afford some instead of faking it). Instead I’m exhorted to make a... 

“Stunning Substitute: think quality and quantity. Limit yourself to one funky accessory per outfit – as long as it’s well-made. Think a leopard-print scarf, thin silver bangles or a gold clutch to dress up nice jeans and a simple top”. 

Yeah, no. And, by the way here’s a picture of Helen Mirren in quite the loudest plastic necklace I’ve ever seen which, as you can plainly see, ages her terribly. 

*snort*

Which brings me neatly to the subject of role models. Dame Helen comes up a lot. Here’s Harper’s Bazaar with some more:

“Pay close attention to the way women like Robin Wright, Julianne Moore, and Kristin Scott Thomas dress. And revel in the moment when you can justify shopping for labels like Céline, Calvin Klein, Jil Sander, and the Row — because not all sweaters are created equal. The Perfect Length (not too long, not Rihanna short), with the just-tantalizing-enough neckline, is more than worth the extra zeros”.  

Wow. So much nope to pick apart in just three sentences! 

Firstly, while I’m sure they’re all perfectly charming, I look nothing at all like any of these women, so why would I aspire to their style? Secondly, they have allllllll the extra zeros in their bank accounts while I have zero zeros. Thirdly, even if I could afford any of those labels, (a sweater from The Row costs well over a thousand quid by the way), why the love of little fluffy kittens would anyone think I want to dress like this?

I mean I know I like an oversized garment but I’m good with Monki, thanks. If that lot doesn’t say, “this was the only shit I could find to fit me”, I don’t know what does. And quite what the tiny, terminally haggard looking Olsen twins, who dreamed up the wretched label, would look like in any of this eye-bleedingly expensive folderol I shudder to think. You’d probably need to send in the fire brigade to find them in all that fabric, poor loves.

At its root shaming-as-entertainment is a tool for capitalism, both simple and complex. Feel mortified for owning something age inappropriate? Buy something new and more grown up, preferably at enormous expense. Or, if pay day’s too far off, invest in some garbage gossip rag and bitch about the state of those richer and more famous than you are. It’ll make you feel great for all of five minutes, then you can fill the emptiness that follows in its wake with some cheap fast fashion or cake. Even though cake is naughty and unclean and fast fashion is killing the environment; but hey that’s what diet books (kerching!) and gym memberships (kerching!) and ethical fashion, (with a cut-off size of 16), are for, right? 

Ironically, in yet another catalogue of grievous mistakes to make once you’re over forty, bestlifemyarse.com includes “neglecting your mental health” and “basing yourself-worth on what other people think”. But how the hell are women expected to do that under a constant barrage of opprobrium, not least since also included in the aforementioned list is “avoiding the scale”?

Tumblr, I put it to you that people are just as likely to buy stuff if they’re feeling good about themselves than if they’re feeling shite. I fucking love stuff but there has to be an alternative way to sell it that’s less damaging to our sanity and self esteem. That’s in part why fat women created their own media. But, the more it edges into the mainstream, the more it it puts the wind up advertisers and those who rely on their sponsorship. So now our message – the one about self acceptance and being able to live unrepentantly in the bodies we have – has been appropriated, de-fanged, and rebranded as “Body Positivity”, an ersatz movement intended to reassure average-sized women fretful they might be a little bit fat, with the added proviso, “as long as you’re healthy”, (i.e not fat). And while the net abounds with token examples of older lady bloggers granted the status of fashion maven, they’re all slender as reeds, and most of them are ex-models. Big fucking whoop. Meanwhile anyone of any age who is objectively fat is “promoting obesity” simply by expressing our personal style in public.

My collection of shells incidentally, includes some my mum brought me back from the Channel Islands when I was a child; a conch a friend dove for  in the Virgin Islands and presented me for my 19th birthday; several beauties that held pride of place in a late family friend’s study for decades; an abalone shell from New Zealand plucked from the beach by my Kiwi pal Di; a sand dollar from Ocean Beach in San Francisco given to me by my dear friend Jude who died of secondary breast cancer a few months before Jane did; some pebbles gathered with my friend Lesley in literal sub-zero temperatures on a completely deserted beach one not-so-flaming June up north, both of us in hysterics over the utter bleakness of it all, and a load more shells from the Pembrokeshire coast contributed by my friend Steve’s departed mum back in the 1980s. Even the bowl itself was given to me by Karen, whose parents found it in the attic of their new house and thought I might like it. It’s a veritable a lifetime in shells; a celebration of love and friendship spanning decades. In short it has meaning, which is a damned sight more than you can say for any of these wretched lists.

Rise above the buzzkill, Tumblr.

[thearcaneescape]

Chapter 3

Waking up to the smell of bacon and the barking of dogs was both reassuring and haunting. He shot up from the bed, hair flopping all around, but a quick scan of his surroundings made him calm down.

“What time is it?” He groaned his way out of bed, dragging his feet to the boxes to pull on a pair of pajama trousers and a new shirt. A knock to the door made him jump slightly.

“Are you decent?” Jin’s voice was a little muffled by the door, but still melodious as all hell. A shrill bark accompanied the question, followed by a hushed reprimand from Jin. “Breakfast is ready.”

Hoseok groaned once more, stretching in such a way that his back cracked in one fell swoop before opening the door with a sleepy smile. “Mornin’.”

Jin’s smile was bright and wide awake, and a small grey ball of fluff was jumping up at Hoseok, tongue out and tail wagging. “Good morning. This is Odeng, and Eomuk is with Joon in the kitchen.” Hoseok followed Jin to the kitchen, blinking rapidly at the relatively bright sunshine, trying to get his eyes accustomed to the light. When he finally got his eyes to focus, he saw Joon sitting at the table. Joon was dressed in soft pastels, hair tied back in a simple braid, unlike yesterday’s French, pierced ears boasting bigger and thinner hoops and chains, more feminine than the ones yesterday. The open-front pink jumper was draped over a black shirt the Hoseok had seen employees use at FOPP with a nametag on the front saying My name is Joon, with a little washable marker addendum (she/her).

“Good morning! You out-slept all of us.” Joon said, a beaming smile on her face. Another pomeranian was sitting at her stockinged feet, white kneesocks matching the pale cream skirt she was wearing, and the pom was the same grey as Odeng.

“I was kinda tired.” Hoseok mumbled, rubbing his eyes in an attempt to clear them of sleep. “I’m a pretty deep sleeper, too, so I didn’t hear anything.”

“Good, because Joon snores really loudly.” Jin had walked to the stove during Hoseok and Joon’s interaction, a low chuckle escaping the man. “It’s one of the things we have a separate savings account for, surgery for Joon’s bridge.”

Hoseok winced, sitting down in front of Joon. The makeup she was wearing was minimal, lipgloss and a swipe of soft pink on her eyelids, very unlike Jin’s makeup in the club.

“It hasn’t gotten any worse, but it’s annoying.” She shrugged and checked her watch, sighing. “Speaking of annoying, I have to go to work.” With a final drink from the coffee cup in front of her, Joon stood up and walked to Jin, giving him a kiss on the cheek and waving goodbye to Hoseok, who waved back. “I’ll see you at the bar, Jinnie.”

“I’ll bring your uniform.”

The door clicked closed and Hoseok looked at Jin plating a generous but smaller portion of scrambled eggs on toast, bringing it to Hoseok alongside a cup of coffee.

“Do you want to come to the bar again tonight? Have a cute time with the brats? I’m pretty sure Jimin wants to do your face.” Jin chuckled, sitting down across from Hoseok.

“Oh, wow. You know, I’d let him. And, yeah, that’d be nice.” He took a sip from his coffee, licking his teeth. “I’m actually surprised that I’d never really heard about the club until yesterday.”

Jin let out a deep sigh, rubbing his chin slowly. “It’s not the biggest club in Soho, and to be honest it barely is a club, it’s more like a speakeasy. We’re in absolutely desperate need of exposure and staff. Kook is our only bartender.”

Hoseok choked on the mouthful of honestly absolutely delicious scrambled eggs. Only one bartender? Were they that desperate, and with such good ideas? “Wait, seriously?”

Jin nodded, fiddling around with the cup that Joon had left behind. It was heavily chipped and small cracks could be seen on the surface. “Yeah, we’ve lost some of the girls and even with Tae and Jimin still here, they bring in a good crowd, Sugar is barely scraping by with this club. The burlesque makes good money, but whenever we try to diversify with a more relaxed evening, it just doesn’t work that well.”

Hoseok swallowed his mouthful with difficulty, an unusual feeling of worry settling into his belly. Something about Jin’s solemn and melancholy expression was heartwrenching. From what he’d told Hoseok last night, Sugar’s bar was his home, and everyone there was family. Losing it would mean losing passion and some extra money to put into Joon’s surgery and money to be able to keep the dogs well-fed.

“I’ve been looking for an extra job. I was a waiter during Uni, Jungkook could teach me how to bartend.” Hoseok rasped out, nervous energy thrumming through his veins.

Jin’s eyes widened, and he let out a soft sound, of what, Hoseok wasn’t sure. “Oh, you don’t have to do that-”

“But I want to. I need more money anyway, and if I’m staying here indefinitely I should help with the rent, at least until I can get back on my feet, and the bar is such a welcoming environment.” Hoseok was hovering a couple of centimeters from his seat, hands pressed against the wooden tabletop. He fell back into the chair, some of the energy leaving him after the outburst. Jin let out a soft laugh, and he ran a hand through his hair.

“Oh, alright. Sugar is gonna be at the bar, he always is. He gets ready with us.” Jin swirled around his coffee in the cup, a soft smile on his pink lips. “Who knows, maybe he’d even rope you in to performing with us.”

---

Walking into the bar before it even opened was a new experience. House lights were on, and now Hoseok could see how run-down the place actually looked. There were cracks in the ceiling and the bar was irreparably stained.

“Woah.”

Jin looked at him and sighed, pulling the duffel bag with his and Joon’s clothes for tonight higher up on his shoulder. “Oh, yeah. It’s a bit worse for wear, but, it’s home.”

“Ain’t that true!”

Hoseok whirled around to give Jimin a wide smile, making the younger smile even wider than he already was, eyes turning into slits.

“Did Jin tell you I want to do your face?”

Hoseok nodded, rubbing the back of his neck slowly. “Ah, yeah, he did.” He tried to avoid looking into the big, wide puppy-dog eyes that Jimin was giving him, but the power they held was palpable and he caved almost immediately. “Alright, sure. Do the whole shebang.”

Jimin squealed and grabbed Hoseok’s hand, dragging him and a duffel bag bigger than himself to the dressing rooms, where Taehyung was already half-painted.

“Judging by how my boyfriend is quite literally vibrating in excitement, you agreed to letting him paint your face?” Taehyung turned to look at them, hair pushed back with a hairband and lines of unblended and half-blended, black and white contour and highlight on his face, eyes already made up with glittering silver eyeshadow and a modest cat eye. The dress on the mannequin behind him was even more extravagant than yesterday’s, silver satin cinched tight around the mannequin, the dropped waist turning into a short train at the back. The mannequin head sported a pinned silver-grey wig that matched Taehyung’s natural hair.

“He said “the whole shebang”, which is awesome, because I already have the perfect outfit for him!” Jimin pushed Hoseok to sit down before rummaging around in the gigantic duffel and pulling out his own outfit for the night. It was a cream-colored strapless bustier bra with a matching corset with various fake flowers on the edge of it to make a tutu of various colours. The bra and the corset had gold ribbing criss-crossing them, adding to the fantasy. The outfit that was pulled out next was a more direct homage to Victor/Victoria, with a sprinkling of Dita Von Teese. The mannequin next to Taehyung’s was immediately dressed up, white sleeveless button-up under a black bolero-cut swallow-tail tux jacket, and a high-waisted swing skirt that would fall to the knees.

“The lingerie comes after!”

Hoseok had his hands pressed on his cheeks, excitement running through his body. He’d actually let an artist friend of his do him up for Halloween, and even then the clothes had been very ill-fitting. Jimin stood next to him, makeup bag placed on the table in front of Hoseok, and a big shining smile on his face.

“Are you ready?”

Hoseok nodded, and settled into the seat, helping Jimin put a headband on his hairline to keep his overgrown bangs out of his face. Immediately after that, the door crashed open and a very tall someone made their way into the room.

“Oh, hi, Sugar!” Taehyung crowed, not even looking over at who Hoseok now knew was Sugar. Hoseok, on the other hand, turned his head to look at the man. He was tall, taller than even Joon, with a sharp jaw and nose, high cheekbones and black hair cut into an undercut not unlike Joon’s. He was imposing and intimidating, having shrugged off his jacket to reveal a low-cut black tank top and multiple colourful tattoos that went all the way to his fingertips, multiple scrapes and bruises on his face and knuckles. There was even some blood dripping from his palms

“Who’s the new guy?” Sugar’s voice was rough and sleepy, like he’d smoked ten packs of cigarettes before he’d walked into the bar.

“This is Hoseok! He’s letting me make him up for tonight.” Jimin aimed one of his signature smiles at the sleepy-and-disgruntled-looking Sugar, making the taller man smile.

“Is that the outfit you’re putting him in? What colors are you going for with the face?” Sugar sat down languidly on the chair next to Hoseok, his own makeup bag being thrown on the table.

“I was thinking of a red eye and lip with black liner? Keep it simple.” Jimin had tugged his own hair back into a half-pony. Sugar nodded, reaching out slowly with an impeccably manicured hand, fake acrylic nails sharp black with silver studs.

“May I?”

When Hoseok nodded, Sugar cradled his face gently, turning it side to side curiously before humming softly. “You have great bone structure there, mate. Jimin’ll have a blast doing your face.” He said, a soft smile on his face before he turned to look at his own mirror.

There was a moment of silence while Jimin prepped Hoseok’s face, gently massaging his skin with moisturiser. The door opened once more and Jin walked in, a tired and splotchy-faced Joon behind him.

“Heya, Sugar.” Jin’s voice was barely a whisper, and that made the taller Sugar stand up. He outstretched his arms towards Joon, who was very visibly shaken, and she fell into his arms with a shudder.

“Come on. Let’s go to my office.”

The silence that followed was more tense than ever, with Jimin chewing his lower lip nervously and Taehyung standing up to hug his boyfriend.

“What was that?”

Jimin sighed heavily, shaking his head. “We get some people who harrass Joonie. Before, Joonie wouldn’t tell us it was happening, but Sugar saw it happening once and that was one of the worst days we’ve ever had here.”

“Yeah, he walked in completely bloodied up and we had to close the bar for the evening.” Taehyung said, a frown on his face as he recounted that evening. “Joon was fine, but Sugar was out of commision for almost 5 months, and with how the bar’s been doing, he and his partner had to pay out of pocket for the surgery and the recovery.”

Hoseok swallowed with difficulty, pain settling behind his sternum. It was ludicrous, what he was hearing. This was Soho, for crying out loud. Wouldn’t there be more solidarity for people like Joon? Apparently not. Jimin patted Taehyung’s shoulder, prompting him to go back to finishing up, clearing his throat as he picked up the bottle of foundation from his makeup bag.

“I think we’re going to need a new waiter. Joon is a bit out of it tonight, she needs an isolated space.” Sugar had walked back into the dressing room, running a hand through his hair. “We need new staff in general.” He muttered, looking up at the three pairs of wide eyes looking at him. His dark eyes landed on Hoseok’s face, and he raised an eyebrow. “Do you have any experience as a waiter?”

Hoseok nodded, and something in him knew that today wouldn’t be the only day he’d see blood in the dressing room.