#vision stairways

[visionstairwaysandmillwork]

Benefits of Spiral Stairs With Vision Stairways

Spiral stairs offer a unique blend of style and functionality, making them a standout feature in any home or office. Unlike traditional staircases, they take up far less space, making them an excellent choice for smaller areas or places where maximizing floor space is key. Beyond their space-saving design, spiral stairs can serve as a stunning focal point, with a variety of materials and finishes available to suit any decor. Whether you’re looking to add a modern touch or create a timeless, elegant look, spiral stairs can do both. Plus, their compact design doesn’t sacrifice safety, providing a stable and sturdy way to move between floors. If you’re considering adding a spiral staircase to your space, the benefits extend far beyond just aesthetics.

Our Spiral Stair Manufacturing Services by Vision Stairways

Space-Saving Spiral Stair Designs

Spiral stairs are perfect for homes or buildings with limited space, offering a compact design that fits into tight corners and narrow areas. This space-efficient structure helps preserve valuable floor space, allowing you to maximize your layout without sacrificing functionality or style.

Aesthetic Spiral Stair Appeal

Spiral stairs aren’t just functional; they’re visually striking too. Their elegant, circular design becomes a focal point in any room, adding sophistication. With customizable materials like wood or metal, spiral stairs seamlessly blend with your home’s overall aesthetic, elevating the space’s design.

Quick Spiral Staircase Installation for Vision Stairways

Spiral staircases are often quicker and simpler to install than traditional stairs. Many come in modular kits, making them easier to assemble in tight spaces or during renovations. Their efficient installation process minimizes disruption, saving both time and effort while enhancing your space.

Spiral Stair Safety Features

Spiral stairs are designed with safety as a priority. They typically feature sturdy railings and narrower treads to encourage careful steps, offering greater stability. Modern spiral staircases are built using durable materials, ensuring they’re strong and secure for all users, from children to adults.

Space-Saving Design: Maximize Your Floor Plan with Spiral Stairs

Spiral staircases are the perfect solution for maximizing limited space. Unlike traditional straight or L-shaped stairs, spiral stairs take up a fraction of the floor area, allowing you to use more of your living or office space. This makes them an excellent choice for small homes, apartments, or even commercial spaces where every square foot matters.

Their compact design doesn’t just save room, it also enhances the flow of the space by creating an open, airy feel. You can place them in corners or alongside walls without crowding the area. Whether in a loft, attic, or multi-level home, spiral stairs offer a creative and efficient way to link levels while still maintaining a sense of openness.

Elevate Your Home’s Aesthetic with a Stylish Spiral Staircase

A spiral staircase can quickly become the centerpiece of your interior design, adding a unique and stylish flair to any space. With their graceful curves and elegant design, spiral stairs can complement modern, traditional, or industrial styles. Available in various materials, from sleek metal to warm wood, these stairs can be tailored to suit your personal taste and home’s aesthetic.

Whether you choose a minimalist look with a simple steel frame or an ornate design with intricate woodwork, a spiral staircase brings sophistication and charm to any room. It’s an investment that not only enhances functionality but also elevates the overall design of your space, making it a statement piece that guests will surely admire.

Why Spiral Stairs are Ideal for Smaller Homes and Apartments

In smaller homes or apartments, every inch of space matters. Spiral staircases are an ideal solution because they provide vertical access without taking up valuable floor space. Traditional staircases can easily dominate a room, creating a cramped feeling. But spiral stairs are designed to be compact, allowing you to optimize your living space without sacrificing style or safety.

For lofts, attics, or any multi-level living area, spiral stairs are a smart choice. They fit seamlessly into tight corners or unused spaces, leaving more room for furniture and other essentials. Their ability to connect different levels while occupying less space makes them a great option for urban dwellers or those in need of efficient space management.

Choosing the Right Materials for Your Spiral Staircase

The material you choose for your spiral staircase plays a crucial role in both its functionality and appearance. For a modern, sleek look, metal staircases are a popular choice. Stainless steel, wrought iron, and aluminum can create a minimalist, industrial vibe that complements contemporary interiors.

On the other hand, wooden spiral staircases add warmth and charm to any space. Options like oak, maple, or walnut offer a traditional and elegant feel, perfect for classic homes. The material you choose also impacts the durability and maintenance of the staircase, so consider both aesthetics and practicality to ensure your staircase serves you well for years to come.

Safety First: Ensuring Stability and Durability in Spiral Stairs

When it comes to spiral staircases, safety is just as important as design. Modern spiral stairs are built with reinforced materials that ensure stability and strength, even with daily use. It’s essential to choose a high-quality staircase that features sturdy rails, secure steps, and a strong central column to prevent accidents.

Spiral stairs can sometimes be perceived as tricky to navigate, but with proper design, they offer a safe and stable experience. Anti-slip treads, solid handrails, and secure mounting systems provide added safety, making spiral staircases a practical solution for homes and offices. Ensure your staircase is designed to meet safety standards for peace of mind.

Customizing Your Spiral Staircase for a Personalized Touch

One of the greatest advantages of spiral staircases is the ability to fully customize them to your liking. From the shape and size to the materials used, you can design a staircase that perfectly complements your space. Whether you prefer a modern, industrial look or a more traditional, rustic design, the possibilities are endless.

You can also choose the color of the staircase, from neutral tones to bold statements that match your home’s decor. Additionally, customization options like integrated lighting or decorative balusters can give your staircase a unique touch. Personalizing your spiral staircase ensures it reflects your style while enhancing the overall design of your home.

Cost-Effective Benefits: How Spiral Stairs Save You Money

While some may think spiral staircases are a luxury, they can actually be quite cost-effective in the long run. Since they require less space than traditional staircases, they are often more affordable to install in smaller homes or apartments where every inch counts. Additionally, their compact design reduces the need for extensive remodeling or space alterations.

Spiral staircases are also durable and low-maintenance, reducing the need for frequent repairs or replacements. The combination of affordability, space-saving design, and long-term durability makes spiral stairs an excellent investment. Whether for residential or commercial use, the financial benefits of spiral staircases make them a smart choice for those looking to maximize both space and budget.

Installation Made Easy: A Seamless Process for Your Spiral Staircase

Installing a spiral staircase is often quicker and more straightforward than traditional staircases. Since they are typically modular and designed for easy assembly, they can be installed in a fraction of the time it would take to construct a traditional staircase. With prefabricated kits available, you can have a spiral staircase in place with minimal disruption to your home.

Many companies offer professional installation services to ensure your spiral staircase is properly set up, but with modular options, some homeowners even choose to install them themselves. The simplicity and speed of the installation process make spiral stairs a hassle-free addition to your home or office, providing both beauty and function without lengthy construction.

Spiral Stairs from Vision Stairways and Millwork

Spiral staircases offer a unique combination of style, functionality, and space-saving benefits, making them an excellent choice for any home or office. Their compact design is perfect for smaller spaces, while their customizable materials and styles can complement any interior. Whether you’re looking to add a modern touch or create a timeless aesthetic, a spiral staircase can elevate your space. With safety features like sturdy rails and non-slip treads, they provide both beauty and peace of mind. If you’re ready to make a statement and optimize your floor plan, consider installing a spiral staircase. Reach out to professionals today to explore your options and discover how easy it is to transform your space with a stylish, space-efficient staircase.

VISION STAIRWAYS & MILLWORK

Vision Woodstock, GA Location: 105 Smoke Hill Lane, Suite 180 Woodstock, GA 30188

Vision Raleigh, NC Location: 2200-108 Westinghouse Blvd Raleigh, NC 27604

800-701-5169 – Phone

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[juniperhillpatient]

girls who are the intersection of the final girl & the villain my forever beloved. I love you monstrous girls who are both a victim of a cruel world that would feed on you & objectify you & also cruel enough to bite back

[nathansurrealart]

This is a detail from a very old dream, it reappeared in my mind the other day, I had to draw it immediately before I forgot it again.

I wish I could show the rest of this location from different angles, there's so much more to see. I really should try and recreate some of these places in 3D to show them fully. Just a picture isn't enough...

[patrice-bergerons]

I really want to write a Morse and Thursday fic where they have this near death experience which traps them inside Morse’s mind--specifically, in his childhood home from before his mum died.

To survive, Morse has to confront the death of his mum and as a corollary his abandonment issues which he cannot do without Thursday's help. But! here is the kicker: the fic is set at the height of their Zenana fight. Even at their closest, Morse’s childhood trauma is never something he would have shared with Thursday; now, they can barely stand to look at each other, and yet if they don't find a way to work thru it together they are both going to die. I could have so much fun 👀

[balluprojects]

Seeding Light, 2021

Mixed media: watercolour and oil pastels on 300g paper have an Orange day*

[dreamspy]

"Visions of God" by @dreamspy

...above it were lightnings & the path of the stars,..& I looked & saw a lofty throne: its appearance was as crystal,...& from underneath the throne came streams of flaming fire so that I could not look thereon. & the Great Glory sat thereon,..👑

[wyvernest]

soft s3x and grey sweats

pairing: miguel o'hara x f!gf!reader

warnings: smut, tooth rotting fluff, miguel wears grey sweatpants, soft and loving sex, domesticity, unprotected piv

summary: miguel ft. grey sweatpants

A gentle drizzle splatters on the windows of your bedroom, tapping its soft, irregular crystal drops onto the glass only to wake you from your blissful nap.

You had fallen asleep with your head on his chest, invaded by the warmth of his body next to yours, the fascinating feeling of being home with him. You couldn't ever dare to ask for more than that.

With a spine-bending stretch, you step out of the cosiness of the king-sized bed following the realisation of his absence. Leaping down the stairs, you seek the comfort of him being near you like a throat-gripping vice.

You hear the water running, occasionally overlapped by clattering, dishes clanking and drawers being pushed shut.

You step out into the hall of your open-concept kitchen, linen stockings preventing even the subtlest noises of your movements from reaching him through the ambiance.

Your weight on the wooden floor is merely a gust of wind as you sit yourself into the corner of the sofa in order to watch him from up close.

You hug your legs to your chest in an attempt to adapt to the temperature change of the room, your flimsy top and panties doing little in covering your middle.

He hasn't turned to you since you hopped off the stairway. Arrogance tugs at the furthest corner of your mind after having sneaked behind his hyper vigilance, completely unnoticed. You seize the opportunity to study him in the absence of his piercing gaze fixed upon you.

Your eyes linger over the expanse of his broad back, the navy blue, short-sleeved shirt creasing in thin, cascading lines over his shoulder blades as he shifts his weight to his right, bicep bulging when he stretches his hand up into a cupboard.

You're more than delighted to note the easiness with which he attains things normally out of your reach.

Not only once did you call for his help to get you something from any place higher above you, having him stand behind you when doing so, and without fail him making sure to push his groin up against your ass in the process, prompting you to bend just slightly forward onto the board or sink in front of you before the simplest request for aid turned into you, taking him against any surface around the house.

It became quite the signal after a while. Whenever he heard you, 'Miguel! Come here for a second, baby’, his cock would fatten in advance at the sound of the command.

"Should've stayed upstairs, muñeca. I was making something for you." he snaps you out of your reverie, the sleepy raspiness in his voice deliciously running late over the last syllables of his remorseful disfavour.

While still not facing you, it turns out he was well-aware of your presence.

"Don't worry about it. I'll just watch." you excuse yourself, draping your midriff over the armrest, hands supporting your head on the soft cushions as you thaw at the sight of him cooking for you.

He returns to the kitchen island, his index finger mindlessly following the instructions he was mentally revising, before his eyes find you on the couch, scanning every patch of skin you have on display, as if sizing you up for his dessert.

He allows his vision to wash over your silky smooth thighs, your waistline that moulds into the hill of the pillows, the exact same way it moulds so erotically against him when he pistons his hips into yours.

With your pleading gaze inviting, thighs squeezed together in frustration, he is unsure of what to finish next, the pancakes, or you.

Your attention drops to the chubbed, prominent curve of his stiffening cock in his sweatpants, the shade of it nearly obscenely large, evident on the grey fabric. His hand slips down his crotch, lazily palming his dick through the material. You feel the heat pooling between your thighs, yearning growing unbearable.

"I have to let it rest. I'm all yours now." he suggests smugly, and part of you suspects that he had been needing to take you since you decided to flutter your eyes shut on the bed, arms coiled around his waist.

You shamelessly keep your eyes on target as he sets the dough bowl aside, approaching you with a heaviness in his pace that you know oh so well.

His dick twitches ever so slightly in his pants, hardening until its outline becomes lewdly evident, straining upwards into his pants in all its length and girth that ruptures you unforgivingly whenever he stuffs himself inside you.

Before he can even reach the sofa, your eager hands clutch his waist, feeling the rigid muscles underneath his shirt as you start planting gentle kisses down his abdomen, having him shudder at the contact even through the cotton fibre.

Your soft breasts meet his bulge in the process, offering nothing more than a few mere brushes that only rile him up more than he had hoped.

He drops his weight next to you on the cushions as the only way to avoid the urge to pull his cock out and shove it down your throat through your pretty, plush lips. He opts to rest his head back on the pillows, legs spread wide in front of him, taking up nearly all the space next to you.

Not a single moment is wasted before you take his cheeks in your hands, fingertips grazing his rough, barely visible stubble, pressing rushed, obsessive kisses all over his face.

You slide one leg over his, seeking the pressure of his broad, firm thigh to your clothed cunt.

His own hands are quick to grab your waist, pulling you flush against him, your chest flattened on his. His lips find yours through your loving pecks, deepening the kiss he caught you with, swiftly interrupted by a soft gasp of yours the second your ass meets his boner.

You teasingly lower yourself onto him gently, revelling in the feeling of the tip pressing harshly into the thin fabric of your panties.

Letting your hand travel down his firm chest, down his abdomen and over the sizable bulge in his sweatpants, you cup him through the material, applying just enough pressure to coax a groan out of his throat.

His wide thighs involuntarily flex on your sides and he twitches in your hand, a reminder of his force, his size in comparison to you, his ability to have you any time he wanted despite the position, despite your teasing.

His head leans back on the couch exposing his throat, eyes dazed out and fixed on the view of your breasts peeking from under your crop, visibly satisfied with the angle he found. Your boobs, round and soft, ever so inviting for him to knead in his large hands, he thinks.

Warm palms leave your hips to slide up your waist, disappearing under the cotton shirt, idly groping your chest.

You reel at the feeling of his rough, calloused hands on your smooth skin, touching and fondling in all the right places.

His knuckles protrude every now and then through the thin textile as he keeps massaging your breasts, feeling your pulse quicken with each deep breath you take.

Before you can even decide on your next move, you feel the blistering warmth of a splayed out hand on your back, propping you gently as he tilts you to the side, a familiar bow of such a dirty dance that has your thoughts melting out of your brain, your whole existential purpose being resumed to him alone in a matter of seconds.

He lays you down over the length of the couch with such care, such strength that has you submitting mindlessly, wrapping your frail arms around his neck. Legs up in the air, he has you just like he always does. Your blood boils through you, the ignition of nerves only he could ever cause.

He descends upon you, veiling your entire body in his, hands eagerly running over your body, playing you like an instrument that only sings for him, that only he can hold.

You sigh, taking in the scent of him, letting it invade your lungs like inhalants. The visceral musky cologne, with shades of a pine forest that had your thoughts run wild and senses sharpened.

Half lidded eyes accentuate his savagely, crimson irises and dilated pupils, the sheer sight of you under him never ceasing to rile him up bad enough to make him beg for your touch.

You squirm weakly; quickly enough he takes the hint and hooks his thumb around your panties, dragging them down your soft skin, impatience evident in his movements.

You feel the weight of his hard cock on your thigh, head going dizzy at the thought of its girth stretching you open, the thought of the pained groans that crawl out of his throat when he comes, his dick pulsating inside you.

He stills above you, eyes darting over your face, as if searching for something he had just remembered he was missing, a gaze condimented with adoration, curiosity, and a hesitancy you may only interpret as astonishment.

"No puedo creer que seas mía" (”Can't believe you're mine.”) he mutters, barely above a halted whisper, following the realisation of your rather perplexed demeanour when confronted with such antics. ”Makes me think that maybe", he pauses, "pushing through all the shit in my life made me worthy of you.”, he confesses, vulnerable and wounded.

You've caught smudges of this view of his before, only not this categorical. In a way, you find it quite the most heartwarming yet peculiar thing there is to know about him. He seeks the comfort of believing that all the suffering he endured meant something, a sacrificial lamb for him to ultimately earn the limitless love of your embrace, your affections and unwavering devotion.

It wasn’t pride that clawed at his memories of having conquered and survived when so many others didn’t in the same circumstances he faced. It was relief, the relief of a man that swam the ocean to find paradise.

And there you were, silk-smooth, gentle hands cupping his face with such infatuation he did not think possible, looking up at him like there wasn’t anything more beautiful in existence you would rather see.

His heart had inevitably melted into yours; now soldered together against all odds fate could bestow.

”I love you, Miguel. With or without your scars.”, you pull him into a reassuring, promise-sealing kiss, which he softly reciprocates, regaining his confidence and unyielding want.

His lips ghost over your jugular, relishing in the way your exhales halt in your throat, pausing in expectancy as his hot breath excites goosebumps over the satin skin of your exposed neck.

”I love you more.” he teases, lips latching onto your pulse point, lightly sucking hungry kisses down to the valley where your throat meets your shoulder.

Despite knowing how adamant you were about your own love being immeasurable, let alone any lesser than his, he took great joy in dramatically rivalling you on the matter, beclouding your fondness only to start a competition of who manages to sway the other with their words of pure worship and fidelity.

Whether there was another underlying reason for his racing I love you more’s, you do not know. Maybe a reminiscence of his mistrustful, defensive nature, reflecting its last slither of bewilderment into a seemingly innocent insistence that he, indeed, loved you more than you loved him.

How could he not? You had no knowledge of the things he had to do for his job, what it truly meant to risk everything for someone, to risk your life for another.

And he prefers it this way, to have you shielded away from the horror of finding yourself in that situation, from the heartbreak of even imagining the circumstances in which you may decide to give your life for him in all your passion, let alone pondering upon the choice and place the verdict upon your declaration of love, weighing it down in all gravity and seriousness of the pledge. In the depths of his mind, he dreads it, hearing you say, ‘I love you, I would give my life for you’, although he would do so for you without thinking twice.

He dreads knowing that his presence in your life could scar you so that you may have to die for him, that his soul alone could be stained in your blood, even only in hypothesis.

Therefore, he feels far more content thinking that you don’t quite love him as much, thinking that you, as perfect as you are, would not suffer should anything happen to him. That your attachment to him will only ever bring you nothing but joy.

And oh how he brought you joy. Pure bliss and paradisiacal rapture. Even more so when he held you so dearly against him, painting you in doting kisses, marks of which linger on your skin long after he’s departed.

His warm, broad hand sails down over the plushy mound of your breast, indulging in a layover just to squeeze lightly. To drift below; its tender, round shape fitting in the junction between his thumb and index finger; his palm seemingly continuing its travel down your waist before returning unexpectedly, massaging your soft tit after a run down and up your waist, making the butterflies in your belly grow agitatedly.

The meagre shudders of your body underneath his unpredictable and exciting touch, the silent whines that die in your throat as he kisses down the crook of your neck have his cock twitching in his pants, beads of precum gathering on the flushed tip, staining the material. You feel the unmistakable length of it poke your thigh, hard and thick.

"Eres tan buena conmigo" (”You’re so good to me.”) he breathes deeply, voice hoarse with restraint, lacing his words with a poised thread that wraps around your neck, earning him a fractured moan. “Tell me what you want and I’ll give it to you.”

Grabbing onto his massive shoulders for support, delighted with the way his muscles ripple under your soft hands as he continues his attack on your most sensitive spots he knows so well, you press your leg tentatively into his hard-on, an unspoken, considerate request for him to cease the teasing and chase his own pleasure.

“I want you”, you whisper breathily, finding your voice on the last word, accentuating the singularity of your need, the force with which you crave him, only him. “I love you, Miguel, I wanna make you happy.” you declare desperately, planting another suffocating kiss on his slightly agape lips, having him gasp softly into your mouth, a killer whale surfacing above the waterline for a superficial breath before diving back into the depths of the ocean.

He kisses you with such ardour, savouring the addictive taste of your delicate lips, slipping his tongue into your mouth like you hadn’t seen each other for months, like one of those desperate days in which he has his way with you right after he returns from a bone-chilling mission throughout the multiverse.

After ending the kiss with an unnecessarily harsh smooch, he draws back, making you giggle through unrelenting panting. He scans your face, absorbing the image of you, in your most defenceless self, so full of what can only be adoration for him.

He takes in your half-lidded, love-struck eyes, the look he thinks not even the bestest of painters of the world could capture on canvas. The look he thinks would be perverted in blasphemy should it be, even in attempt, recreated on any portrait, any sculpture, any photograph.

He follows the line of your jaw that cascades sharply into the crook of your neck, the only safe place for him to lay his head at night, the place he reveres to place the sweetest of kisses upon, having you either laugh or melt in his arms.

His vision then lands on your sore lips, exhaling the very air he breathes, uttering the same words that echoed in his head out in the field; ‘I love you, truly, entirely and through my whole being. With my body, heart and soul, oh, I love you.’

He dips his head down your waist in reverence, leaving gentle pecks down the line of your stomach. In any other instance, you would giddily chuckle at his ministrations, a chuckle that would soon turn into a hearty burst of laughter, as he knew just the spots to touch and tickle and make you reel in retaliation when play-fighting on a particularly lazy Sunday evening.

However, now, there was no impulse to laugh. You watch him closely as he reaches the crease of your pelvic bone, looking up to meet your gaze.

You feel your face heat up at the sight of him, a strong hand wrapped around your thigh, the other holding your middle.

Satisfied with the moans he successfully drove out of you, breaths getting heavy at the thought of how wet you have to be by now, he sits up on his knees to hurriedly haul his shirt over his head.

His dick grows harder at the familiar picture of you, laid back on the sofa, eyes glazed with drunken want and the remembrance of his feverish touch on you.

Letting your hands roam his chest and firm abdomen while he disposes of the shirt, you curl your fingers into the waistband of his sweatpants and boxers, carefully dragging them down his bulky thighs, eyes widening as his cock springs upwards from the grey fabric, hitting his stomach before ever-so-slightly bending to the right under its generous weight.

You let yourself fall back into the cosy corner of the couch, parting your legs with lascivious speed while watching him stroke his now glistening cock, eyes trained on yours.

A vigorous, bulging forearm anchors next to your head, the other guiding himself inside you. His mountainous shoulders block any view of the room aside from him, and you obey the impulse to run your hands over his biceps, his pecs, his jaw.

You draw in a sharp breath at the contact of his fat tip on your wet folds, rubbing into the dampness at the entrance before breaching you.

You whimper softly, trying to adjust. No matter how many times you have sex, it always takes you time to adapt to his size, to fit him inside you to the hilt.

His forehead rests against yours as he pushes further in, a gentle hand coming to collect a few unruly strands of hair from your face. It stops to cup your fiery, rosy cheek, his thumb grazing your dainty skin protectively, soothingly, before his arm docks symmetrically to the other, beside your head to balance his weight on top of you.

Your tear-welled eyes flutter shut, the dip between your brows deepening and rising into an unspoken plea for a one-second pause. He stops, knowing of your struggles despite your fervent insistences that he may always bottom out regardless of your aches.

He cannot bring himself to cause you discomfort in any way, even under the greenlight of your sincere consent.

“I know, love, I’m sorry.”, he pacifies you, and you’re overwhelmed by his attentive care, starting to rain messy, fatigued kisses over each patch of skin on his face within reach. He returns the gesture in earnest, covering your features in slow smooches.

It calms you, allowing him to push all the way inside your tight cunt, grunting into your temple as you tense around his shaft the moment his tip presses against your cervix.

A loud sigh that swiftly leaves your agape mouth tells him to proceed. His hips start gyrating languidly, his dick exits you only halfway, coated in your juices, before driving back in with a quiet squelch. You throw your head back on the pillows, legs coiled securely around his waist as he makes love to you, laying you onto a cloud of pleasure.

"Ugh, oh-," he groans, his voice deep and rugged, mirroring his own mind-numbing bliss, “you feel so good”. With his head now leaned into your chest, his heavy breaths are hot on your skin, timed with the drive of his hips into yours.

He starts going faster, yet the force of his thrusts still soft. The second he finds the puffy nub of nerves that snaps firecrackers in your lower belly, you grab at the mattress, gasping and moaning weakly. Muted whines are put out in your throat as you close your mouth to swallow a kiss your body had craved to give him.

His shoulders flex under his weight as he picks up more speed, nearing his high and finding the rhythm you know only leads to those desperate grunts that have you coming only from their sound alone.

He pushes into his thrusts, rubbing the coarse hair above the base of his cock on your clit. Your back contorts and arches in response, gifting him an even more delicious angle for the precise rolls of his hips.

You choke on a pained scream that dissolves into your limbs as you come hard, your orgasm washing over you in drumming tidal waves, crashing onto you with every drive of his fat cock into your soft, drenched cunt.

"Oh-- ugh, yeah- so good," he groans into your rose, kiss-marked neck, seemingly taken aback by the force of his own euphoria, as if he had been expecting a gentle current of ecstasy as result of his intendedly soft and gentle session of lovemaking, instead being met a fierce jolt of elation. He stills, holding a breath from erupting out of his throat into a shaky moan.

The bridge of his nose is pressed perfectly into your neck, a sculpture-worthy puzzle of two souls sewn together. His hot palm seeks the feeling of your smooth skin, landing shy of your waist, holding you against him with the firmness of a man who heeds every longing you had ever voiced, who heeds the closeness you had always coveted as you rode the rapids of your orgasm.

The pressure hammers into you in aftershocks, hauling you back down in fading flutters, pulsing into your lower belly as he tenses, pushing his hips flush against your ass with one final blow, releasing into the warmth of your cunt.

You clench faintly at the feeling of his fat cock spasming and twitching inside you, catching on to the last gust of your high.

He groans in oversensitivity, pulling out before carefully placing his broad hand in between your thighs, tenderly cupping your dripping pussy to prevent his come from staining the peppered grey couch. You flinch at the contact, not having fully recovered from the stimulation.

He leans into you, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. You turn to him instinctively, unable to find your voice or enough strength in your arms to do anything but gaze up at him with the face he knew so well; the euphoria-painted face you grace him with when his love overflows your body, teeming into your watery eyes.

Sitting up, he unpacks a thin, white blanket from the opposite edge of the sofa, cocooning you into the clean, fresh fabric. You hum in comfort, struggling to chase the warmth of his arms as he tucks the edges of the material underneath the contour of your body.

”Just stay here for a bit.”, he whispers into your cheek, sending shivers down your spine. “ I‘m almost done with your surprise.”

“You want me to help?” you resort to a last-chance inquiry in hopes of finding an excuse to sit beside him for longer, even in the kitchen.

He knows you’re well-intended, but decides to better value the total credit of his courteous offering.

You will most certainly keep the stakes up and stubbornly get dinner ready for him on the very next occasion you find, so he might as well echo your stubbornness and finish his task alone, meeting great satisfaction in spoiling you with the opportunity your body has given him.

“No te preocupes, (Don't worry.) I’ll manage.”

You dramatically reach for him with your extended arms as he heads towards the kitchen. He throws you a sympathetic smile before resuming his cooking, fully aware that a considerable part of him would have wanted nothing more than to rush back into your arms and spend the rest of the evening smothering you into his warm embrace, play fighting you into submitting to his self-indulgent caresses and kisses.

divider by @cafekitsune

spanish translations by @bookished 🤍(tysm!!)

50% requested by @badbitchhour (ik u wanted a wedding night but my brain short-circuited when i tried to write it, it's still coming tho!!! meanwhile made the very soft and emotional lovemaking part til i get around it and start feeling it)

a/n: don't pick on me for the extremely creative! title i wanted to make shit clear from the start. (clickbaiting)

also smut authors try not to use the same words and phrases for every sex scene without using things like 'wand' and 'shaft' (challenge impossible)

[mariswxt]

hyperthermia

Summary: Based on a request by @yinorathedragontamer. You needed a break from hunting, so you didn’t go on the latest one, but found you needed something to occupy your time. Just your luck that the Winchesters happened to return home when you were washing Baby, and you caught the eye of a certain someone.

A/N - Banners in use by @cafekitsune, first entry for Jensen-A-Thon!

TW: Set in S9 (so hot, scruffy Dean guys), and blatant checking out/fantasising

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Dean and Sam ambled back into the bunker, duffel bags carried by their taut arms like they’d done a million times before, so what should be a bag of bricks was a feather. Dean swept his hand over his mouth while Sam’s went through his hair, both ready to crash from the wear and tear of the hunt.

“I swear, m’ready to goddamn pass out.” Dean chuckled, nails scratching over the scruff that had grown on his cheek. He’d been hit a few times - not enough to cause bruises and whatnot - hard enough to cause fatigue once the adrenaline of the fight was used and faded.

Sam could only grunt in agreement, trying to rub the effects of a long drive from Oregon out of his eyes, paired it’s the disgruntlement of having to listen to rock tracks in the car. “You and me both. But hey, we should at least visit-”

“Roger that.” Dean cut Sam off before he could finish, in search of you. You were always a sight for sore eyes after a hunt, no matter what you were dressed in or if you were covered in blood; he enjoyed the vision that you were. More than he cared to admit.

He checked your bedroom, but he only found an unusually neat bed and a clean room, which was a rare occurrence for you and had him thinking that you were kidnapped, which prompted him to take out his gun.

You never did up your bed.

He crept through the hall, hoping to the good God that his boots didn’t squeak, but then familiar humming of ‘Stairway to Heaven’ caught the attention of his ears, originating from the garage. Followed by his arrival there, where he spotted you. And it wasn’t only just the sight of you that had him standing up straight.

You, in nothing but a soaked through plaid shirt tucked into some tight denim shorts, the sleeves of the plaid rolled up to your elbows and drawing his attention to your pretty hands. Hair damp and falling just right and had him biting his lip and fighting off the urge to ruin your friendship entirely. Droplets of water running down your neck, that damn sexy curve of your slightly bent legs and trailing beneath the v-shaped neckline that the collar of your shirt made that he was starting to think was made on purpose to make him go insane.

The image was too damn sinful. And he was suddenly not so tired and ‘ready to goddamn pass out’, more like licking his lips and biting the bottom one as he folded his arms over his chest. Eyes trained on you. Yeah, not so tuckered out anymore and ready to catch the full nine.

His bed can go to hell, he wanted you pinned against the bonnet of his Baby, legs spread wide so he could fit in between and show you how much he appreciated the job well-goddamn-done. Did he mention you were washing Baby? Probably not, he was too distracted with the way your hips were swaying as you stepped to cover another part of his beloved Impala with soap suds that then trickled down your own body and made your attire that much more see through and you that much more delicious.

Holy Jesus of Nazareth, you were giving his self control a run for its money. And his self control was likely to lose the money and go bankrupt if he wasn’t distracted pronto.

Wait- but why was he objectifying you? You were doing him a solid by cleaning the other girl of his dreams, why the hell would he think about your legs like that? And your body clearly outlined by the wet, clingy material of your shirt that he was starting to feel jealous of because he wanted to be that close to you.

No. Bad Dean.

He licked his lips again, his hips shifting slightly as he fought a clearing of his throat in case it’d alert you of his presence. His mossy eyes trained so precisely on you, it’d probably let you know he was there anyway, heat radiating from his gaze.

He didn’t want to think about the curve of that pretty neck. Or the way it’d feel under his lips.

Neither did he want to think about those delicate hands - that he knew were tough as hell - holding the sponge that was lathering up his Baby. Or the way they’d feel working his - nope, too far.

Definitely not the way the shirt looked like it now had to be peeled off your skin to reveal the treasure underneath, because god-holy-damn he had managed to catch a glimpse of black lace underneath that plaid. He’d happily unwrap you like a frickin’ present and it wasn’t even Christmas for about six months.

“Damn, pretty girl.” He muttered, running a hand through his hair that was begging to let his feet walk over, grab your hip and pull you into him so he could lick up your neck to collect all the water droplets running down them. What he wouldn’t give to just pop the button on those shorts, get to his knees and work you until his tongue ached.

Right there. Right-frickin’-there. Against his Baby-

“Pretty girl? That’s what we’re calling her now?” Sam muttered into his ear with a snort, not loud enough for you to hear as you bent over Baby’s bonnet in just the right way to have Dean’s eyes sliding down to that gorgeous ass framed in those shorts that should damn well be illegal.

Dean was snapped partially out of his thoughts, left embarrassed and disgruntled and somewhat still ogling that God-blessed ass before he followed Sam through the halls, the latter of which was sporting a smug smirk. “H-Hey, I was just-”

Sam raised his hands in surrender with a small laugh, looking back to Dean knowingly. “Hey, if you wanna check out her ass, do it at your own risk.”

“I wasn’t checking out her…” Dean got an image of it again and smirked slightly, jerking his head to the side, “yeah, maybe I was, so what? Can you blame me? That thing’s-”

Sam held up a finger, shivering in borderline discomfort as his mind filled the blank. “I’m gonna TMI you before you say it.”

“I’m just sayin’, I’m a man. I have needs, where a female who’s a badass hunter and also happens to be gorgeous and also happens to live with us is concerned. And it’s worse when she’s handlin’ my Baby.” He gave Sam a sheepish grin, but the younger Winchester only shook his head in mock disapproval, grabbing the duffel with his pyjamas.

“I’m going to bed.”

“You do that.” Dean grabbed his own duffel, heading to his room which, to his luck, passed the garage and you working on the car. You managed to lock eyes with him, and you gave him a cheery wave. He returned it, and as you turned, his eyes slid down to the curve of your ass again, eyebrows pumping once as a smirk stretched his pouty lips.

“I’ll see you in my dreams, sweetheart.” He muttered before he disappeared off to his bedroom to live his fantasy.

Meanwhile, you dried your face and neck off with a chuckle, going back to your room to change into some get into some drier and more comfortable clothing with a smug smirk on your face.

You’d noticed Dean through Baby’s newly cleaned mirror that you could probably sing ‘Reflection’ from Mulan in. His eyes taking you in and licking his lips like you were the latest snack he wanted to devour. His hands itching to touch you, his mind going blank when you pushed out your ass on purpose in order to catch his attention.

That was just phase one of your multi-step plan to strip Dean Winchester of his self control where you were concerned.

“Mission accomplished.” You muttered under your breath with a giggle.

I’d really appreciate feedback, loves! Have a great day!

TAGLIST: @k-slla @hobby27

[carolmunson]

blood machine.

emperor geta x senator's daughter!reader songspiration: in keeping secrets of the silent earth 3 | coheed & cambria

did not once plan to write for this guy but here we are. also like, is it historically accurate? no. like, not even a little. (hell is mentioned and technically hell wasn't 'a place' until 400 BC but like WHATEVER.) am i making a semi effort? sorta kinda. have i been a little stoned every time i've worked on this? well, yes.

summary: when what was supposed to be a diplomatic dinner before a much bigger and lively feast becomes a marriage offer, all of the wine you drank turns to ash in your mouth. haters to haters, bay-bee. tw: 18+, drinking but like -- idk it's ancient rome, tension, fighting, some mild body shaming (??), a literal threat of domestic violence but again it's ancient rome so like i don't think they cared, two stupid little bitches who hate each other. mentions of war and ultimate distaste for the poor. reader kind of has lady macbeth vibes. my little evil queen.

Wine is poured, golden chalices exalted. You are a vision and he is a toad looking creature of a man that only his mother could love. Not quite his brother, never quite measuring up the same way -- always trying to puff his chest. It was easy to tease him, ego easy to bruise -- little brother. You’d spent time in your childhood tagging along with your brother and the other kids to taunt him, pathetic and whimpering. 'Tale teller!' you'd jeer, every time he'd run off to his mother to blubber over how mean you all were. And you were mean.

But people grow, as they do. And so did you -- still mean, but in a different way. Listening to meetings, reading maps, keeping tabs on new republics, on potential uprising. The poor -- the fucking poor. Finding new ways to keep them occupied so that they'd stop trying to find ways to be powerful. Powerful like you. Powerful like the man at the head of the table with a plum to his lips. And as it has been said, a man in possession of a good fortune and power, must be in need of a wife. It became clear when you arrived that this was not a business dinner before a grand feast, your parents simply forgot to mention what this was really about. Your best linens, your hair coiffed, your best jewelry, you should have known it had been a ruse the moment you got there. His home on Palatine just sparkling the way the gold on your fingers did, candles in the halls and stairways glittering when they hit the rubies and pearls on your chest and ears. When your father veers the conversation from politics and business to marriage you both choke, stern eyes glued to your mother's painted face. A business dinner where you are currency -- more than worthy. Just a few months shy of being eligible when Caracalla was, regrettably, forced to marry Flavia at the last moment. It would've been nice to have the gang together again in some capacity. Could've bullied the toad to assasinating himself if you were lucky enough. Total power. Complete upheaval. The more you thought about it, the more of it your craved. The pit in your stomach grew, if it wasn't with his brother -- even though you bore no attraction -- there was not a point at all. Geta didn't think nearly as critically, didn't hit hard enough, didn't strategize correctly. You'd never even seen him pick up a sword -- but then again, that made sense. You very rarely spent time in his palace, much prefering the festivities of Caracalla's close by.

You listen while your mother goes on and on about his grace, tongue dipped in honey while she blabbers. She mentions how handsome he is, his valiance in leadership, how honorable he's become as he's taken the place of his late father -- you can't help yourself but laugh. The giggle echos and bounces through the high ceilings, floating against the archways, getting caught in the drapery by the open hall. His eyes flick to you over his goblet, catching in the candle light, an aggravated sneer plaguing his face. He looks like a pig when he does that, you think to yourself.

You know that business, for the most part, is a man's game. But it does not deter you from doing your best to try and wager yourself out of this. Ideas drip into your mind while the drone of the conversation turns to fuzz in the background. How can you sell that this is a bad idea? It will bring less publicity, less of a threat, less resposibility if married to someone with equal nobility. Certainly not an emperor. Especially not one like this. So petulant, so competitive, so eager for a war he does not know how to plan, so temperamental, so weak, so conniving, so consumed with the colosseum that he doesn't think of what should be done around him. It's his voice that brings you back to attention.

"And why is it she hasn't been taken for a wife then, at this age?" he asks, brow quirking in your direction. You let out of huff of offense while he sips his wine, metal clinking as he places it back down. A smirk flits across his features at the remark, "Is something wrong with her?"

Your father, sweating with embarrassment, looks over at you and back at the emperor, "Well she, she's of course beautiful." Geta winces, cocking his head to the side with a shrug. Your father sighs, desperate to try to find a better angle, "She um, she -- she has great wits, Ceasar, unmatched. She knows her duties as a wife, but -- a great thinker. She could -- she could be helpful!" "Wits," he mumbles sourly under his breath before leaning back leisurely in his chair, "Great thinker? Very surprising." "August--" your father starts. "Co--" you correct over a sip of wine, "Co-Augustus."

Geta tosses you another sour look, tongue running over his teeth before clicking it behind his lips. You shrug while swallowing. "Semantics, Publius," you wave a hand at him. A hush falls over the room as his gaze snaps up at you, blanching at the disrespect of being called by his first name. Your mother hides her face in her napkin with a groan. Your father leans his temple against his fingers, eyes closed in frustration. "Mind how you address me," Geta corrects with a stern pull to his lips, eyes glittering with rage. Your eyes catch over the mountains of food before you, holding your glass out as one of his servants pours you another glass of wine. "Is that not what your mother calls you?" your voice feathery, but certain. A vein begins to raise and pulse in his neck while his shoulders round forward.

"Please apologize, dear," your mother mutters, putting the napkin back on the table, "Tell -- tell the emperor what it would mean, to be -- to be wed to someone of such calibur."

Your eyes stay on his, challenging him while your mother begs you to say something to make amends. Another sip of wine passes your lips, "No, shan't."

Your mother scolds you, your full name escaping her with embarrassment tainting her tongue. Sweat beads at your father's forehead while he changes the subject, doing aything to try to keep his good favor with both sides of the imperatorship.

You grin into your goblet at the sight of Geta's face -- reddened with anger and frustration at the brazen disrespect. But it was fine to continue to be an enemy if it meant you would leave these regal walls and never have to step foot in them again. And if you did, it would be as another senator's wife, visiting his brother in another house where you'll laugh and drink wine and cheer when he's killed.

Even his posture is revolting, hunched over while he listens to your father speak. Now going on and on about paper work that doesn't interest you if it doesn't have a say on who is next on the list to conquer. Your eyes glaze over in boredom while pomergranate, honey pudding, and dates are placed on the table. Rose wine replaces the red to sweeten the tongue -- you're sure your parents wished it were true.

It's not very long after dessert is served that your parents start again.

"As you know, she does come from a family of very fertile women," your father encourages. You quickly swallow the bite of date you'd taken to interrupt, nearly choking, "Excuse me, I'm not sure this is appropriate dinner conversation."

Geta looks at you while you speak, scanning you and then lingering on the dessert in your hand, "Her hips are quite sizeable -- big enough to bear multiple childen, that's certain. Is that her only sell?"

Anger bubbles under your chest, but warning looks from both of your parents keeps your sharp tongue between your lips. The grip on your goblet tightens, jaw clenching while your pass another sip through gritted teeth. You let a seething breath out through your nose. "As I tried to explain before," your father continues, "She is very on the pulse in terms of the political climate and, and, and great with strategy." "I'm not looking for a wife who tries to strategize for me--" he responds coolly. "From how the empire has not expanded since your father's death I would guess that perhaps you should be," you snap back smartly. His posture straightens, chains and medallions across his chest glinting in the candle light. The room quiets itself again, only the sound of untensils and cups being put down or collected filling the dead air. The soft scrape of metal, the rustle of linens while servants and guards alike avert their gaze downward.

"Leave us," he states, voice pungent with authority. You stretch your neck on both sides while the servants depart, already bored with the back and forth. Already moved on from the eventual scolding and potential exile that won't get put into motion because you are simply too friendly with the rest of the upcoming generals and politicians. One rogue idiot who barely has the power his brother has, that his father never trained into him, could not dole a punishment that is worth your genuine fear.

You sigh, hearing the staff make their way down the long stone corridors into the grand halls to prepare for a more formal party with other higher status families. More likely a collection of offerings for him to choose from, other parents trying to arrange a marriage with the empire's most powerful and eligible bachelor. It would be one of the few times the brothers would have to engage with each other, which you're sure put Geta more on edge than normal.

"Senator, please take your wife to the grand hall to be seated," he commands, his voice lower, delving darker. The vein in his neck continues to pulse, forearms straining against the golden cuffs over his wrists, "The guards will accompany you."

You watch as your parents rise, bowing their heads before following the guards out of the room and through the blood red drapery hung from gilded valances. Geta's eyes stay hardened on you, and yours him, while you rise as well, taking a few steps around the large wooden table toward the exit. "Not you," he says, not turning to face you, "You will stay." "It is not appropriate for me to be unaccopanied in the pres--" "Do not speak," he huffs, hand coming up to silence you, "Your voice grates on me." "Then you can imagine what your own voice does, Augustus," you say without thinking, letting the insults flow out of you like the fountain water in the courtyards. He pushes away from the table, steadily walking towards you with enough vigor that the bottom of his cape starts to billow behind him. On his way, he pulls a sword from a guard's holster, dragging it so the tip grinds against the stone, making your jaw clench at the shrill sound.

"What happens to those who speak against me?" he asks, steps clicking against the floor from the studs on the bottom of his sandals. He begins to stalk around you, circling while he waits for an answer. "Execution," you respond, keeping your eyes on the drapery just twenty feet ahead of you. "What else?" he asks, you can feel his breath behind you, the whining grind of the sword against the stone making your shoulders tense. "Exile," you answer, a laugh bubbling out of you, "But I can't imagine your brother agreeing to either of those. You'd really banish me, Publius? Because I was a little mean to you?" When he appears in front of you again, your lips stretch into a sickeningly sweet smile, sarcasm staining your tone, "But we're such old friends."

He cocks his head to the side, taking a step closer with the sword between you, "Oh, I wouldn't do that to you."

He leans forward, enough that you can smell the rose wine on his breath. His voice quiet and menacing, "Though -- it could be that the senator said something to offend me tonight at dinner. It could be that perhaps he -- spoke poorly of my dear brother or my late father. Something just dastardly enough to sour my brother's respect for him." "And you expect Caracalla to believe that?" "In what way does it benefit me to lie about it?" he challenges, "And even more so -- with your father exiled, where does that leave you?"

You swallow thickly, not giving him the satisfaction of replying while your look into his now wild brown eyes. Flashing with mania and endless possibility.

"A peasant," he spits.

"If it keeps me out of these halls I should be lucky, no?" you fire back, looking at him from under furrow brows. He continues to circle you, dragging the sword again. The click, click, click of his shoes keeping time in your head. "I'm sure my brother would be happy to keep you as a pet in the meantime," he laughs to himself, "Or we could put you in the colosseum, you think you'd fare well?" "Better than you could, that's certain," you cross your arms over your chest, "Could never stand up and fight like a man, even as a kid. Your father would be embarrassed."

The grinding gets louder as he presses harder down, causing small sparks to fly from the edge of the sword.

"If you were to be chosen, would ever even attempt to learn respect?" he asks sharply, "Or would it have to be beaten into you?" You snort, "At least you're the funnier brother, you have that going for you." You can see him out of your periphery, the way he pulls his cheeks in, the roll of his shoulders -- he's losing patience. "What, would you prefer I called you Geta? Augustus? Ceasar?" your eyes roll. A soft cackle comes from his through, canines showing in a gleeful smile, "No, no -- from you? I'd much prefer something more respectful." Click, click, click. The grind of the sword. The rose on his breath. "Dominus," he nods with the threat, "Dominus et Deus."

"You disgust me," you respond quickly. "As a husband and as emperor is that not my title, already?" he shrugs, looking at you like it's obvious.

"You are nobodies Lord and God, you are a petulant -- sniveling -- repulsive little brother who is only where he is by being lucky to be born," you glower.

"You still see me as a child, femina," he tuts, "I promise you, what ever Caracalla has told you is a tapestry of made up stories. You could hang it on the tallest arch and it would hit the floor ten times over."

"I do see just a whining child before me," you hiss, "I'm sure you'll run to your mother after this, too."

His chuckle turns to a low, dark laugh from deep in his chest. It crawls up your spine and rings in your ears, mixing with the grating 'shhhhhhinnnngggg' of the sword on the ground.

"If it were fate that there was union between us," he asks from behind you, "What would you say to that?"

You look straight ahead, hearing the click of his shoes. The heat of the torches on the walls billowing onto your face while you keep your eyes on the drapery, still closed -- still keeping you here.

"It would be a fate worse than the hottest hell," you confess, your voice not wavering.

The whine of the sword stops, sheathed into his belt. The click of his shoes halts.

Quiet.

Rose wine on his breath, you feel it on your skin now, his chest against your back while he closes the space between you. A hand reaches up to push the hair from your neck, the other gripping the fat of your hip to pull you ruthlessly against him in a thud. Your eyes shut, bile crawling up your throat in disgust. His nose coasts against the shell of your ear, making you tilt your head away while goosebumps rise on your arms. Through a knowing grin he whispers, the words burrowing deep in your chest in loathing and a glimmer of fear: "I pray every moment of it burns you."

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

Their Pearl | Yandere Pirates

My response to @sweethoneyrose83's writing prompt about yandere poly pirates. Took me forever but I just had to get it out my system! 🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

“This meetin’s officially called to order.” First Mate Ran is glaring at the scallywags of his Captain’s crew, without an ounce of sympathy for the guilty-looking few, “Seems like y’all have been costin’ us a month's worth of travel delaying our biggest job yet.”

The six pairs of eyes looked anywhere but Ran or the glaring Captain Lu at the head of the table. Some of them didn’t have the decency to look away with guilt but at the wooden ceiling whistling familiar tunes, rocking on the chairs they were leaning in. Ran didn’t know if that indifference bothered him more.

“Since y’all think it’s not worth comin’ straight ta me or the Captain we’ll be goin’ over each of yer fail’res.”

Black eyes scanned the long table, a relic earned on a heist of a Queen’s museum. The history within its worn wooden finish and stone markings was of the infamous pirate band—Deadman’s Collect–a band of pirates that would meet at the table to plan their grandest loots. For a crew descended from the captain’s owned it, collectively they decided it was better off in their hands than in the museum of a royal, who fought for their executions. As it belonged, it was serving pirates once again on a mission to defy the oppressive oligarchy they were forced to live in. 

“Looks like you’ll be first—Heine brothers.” 

All heads turned to look at the mischievous pair of twins, their silent smiles graduated to smirks  Their unbrushed and untamed heads of burgundy hair, fashioned like the manes of the lion statues standing guard in front of the Western King’s palace. Almost indistinguishable from one another there’s Klaus and Kurt—the strong hands of the ship and the muscle in every fight. Despite not always being the first to come up with a plan or scheme, neither needed to be goaded to do whatever it took to keep the crew safe. Usually, that was what they preferred to do rather than be patient and not kill everyone in their path. Their dynamic with the crew was silently loved; always up for a joke, and their overprotectness of everyone, especially the crew’s weaker members. So it was the most shocking for Ran to discover the brothers no longer poking at the prisoner but playing with them. 

“In our defense,” Kurt spoke playing with a strand of his unruly hair,” we found the little Pearl incredibly entertaining.”

Klaus giggled diabolically as he thought back to their interactions with the prisoner. Of course, it wasn’t unusual that when there was fresh meat the twins enjoyed torturing them but never would they take it farther than that. But of course, there was something different about the King’s Pearl. 

“Getting seasick?” Klaus had taken advantage of Ran’s divided attention to sneak off to the brig, where the most expensive item they’d ever had on their boat was.

“Nope.  As the eldest of the North Creston Name, I’ve been on plenty of ships before!” 

Klaus chuckled watching them stick their nose up and then stumble as the boat rocked. Checking the narrow stairway down, the redhead tested his luck, looking around for the key to let himself in. Finding it in a barrel out of the cell’s field of vision he quickly unlocked the cell, making its only occupant jump.

“You lyin’ to me aren’t you?”

“W-what? I’m not! It’s the truth!”

His smile dropped, green eyes giving a death glare hundreds had seen before their deaths. Without breaking eye contact he pulled out his favorite dagger, twirling the jagged blade expertly in his hand. 

“Y’know what we do to liars, meat?”

“No.”

“We mark ‘em. Make sure the truth is carved into their skin forever,” he held the dagger under their chin making them lift their head so that Klaus could enjoy the fearful expression on their face,” like a tattoo except ours is going to be..much…deeper.”

Suddenly the expression was gone and a look of curiosity remained instead. 

“Wait what’s a tattoo?”

What a setup! He could stab them and they’d have their answer, but the tilt of their head despite the dagger less than a hair away let him humor them. 

“It’s easier if I just show ya.”

They lit up, moving forward so fast he almost didn’t have time to pull his dagger away. Sheathing it he knelt to their level, pulling back his opened collar more to reveal the marking underneath his collarbone. A gnarly twist of snakes and daggers on a rotting corpse. It was his go-to for torture; the well-known marking striking just as much fear if not more than they were already experiencing. 

“Wow,” their eyes were wide and their mouth open,” does it hurt at all?”

“Ha not really I don’t–” he was going to continue to rave about how pain doesn’t scare him in the slightest instead he felt the warm and soft hands trailing the design. 

“Cool!” 

They looked up at him with an unfamiliar expression. One of wonder. Something Klaus wasn’t exactly known for inducing. It made something in his heart tug, a feeling exclusive to his adored pirates. Usually looking up at him in admiration of his strength or with a challenge but this….was nothing he’d ever felt before.

“I’ll be back, gotta go!”

“Oh uhm bye then.”

Ignoring the way that same tug reappeared as he, hearing them sadly play with their fingers. He left as soon as possible, barely remembering to close the gate before heading up the stairs to safety. 

It just couldn’t be!

He needed his other half to be sure.

“Oh, it’s you again!”

The joyful greeting was not what Kurt was expecting. Just returning the key his brother was carelessly carrying around. If the Captain figured out it was misplaced they’d never hear the end of it.

The prisoner couldn’t go far thanks to the chain and cuff attaching them to the bed, but they were standing looking starry-eyed and smiling as they mistook him for his brother. Alas, Kurt wasn’t devoid of mischievousness, even though some may consider him the more behaved brother, when an opportunity presented itself he just couldn’t refuse!

“Do you by any chance have more of those tattoos to show me?”

Kurt held back a laugh before agreeing to unlock the cell once again to do what he knew his brother would have done, choosing another one. Lifting the sleeves of shirt up to his shoulder he showed off his bicep, trying not to react when he was so willingly touched.

“Wow! So many! Super duper cool!”

Kurt scoffed to himself. So a little gushing was what got him all worked up, how cute! He’d be sure to tease him with this later–

“And you’re so strong! I reckon—sorry I’m real sure you could just carry me! Wait let’s try it!”

The absolute invasion of the prisoner hanging on his curled bicep is startling but not as much as the end of it when they clumsily dismount falling into his chest. For a moment, maybe it’s instinct that his arm wraps around to steady them. Leaving him unguarded for the unbelievably carefree face staring up at him.

“Thanks! Sorry for stumbling over you like this, if you don’t mind we can try again!”

Kurt liked being looked up to and praised, but this was making his heart thump the same way it did when he cornered their bratty cabin boy. Even still this was a whole new feeling and he wouldn’t be a Heine if he didn’t explore this further!

“But of course!”

From that moment forward the twins decided they’d extend their efforts from lightly teasing with their crew to outright delaying them. They couldn’t deny it hurt their heart to hear them complain about the waning supplies and the money they needed to repair the oldest parts of the ship. But they figured the extra time was worth it to know of the intense feelings they had for their dear prisoner.

“Just cause ya caught feelin’s, that excuses you’re behavior?”

Klaus hummed looking carelessly at the steps that led to the upper deck of the ship as if he could see their Pearl through the wooden door. It bothered Ran that Kurt wasn’t even paying attention in his brother’s stead, like he usually did, only slowly blinking up at the ceiling with a lovestruck smile on his face. 

“It’s without a doubt Klaus and I have fallen deeply for our little Pearl. I’d definitely give you trouble if you tried to turn them in now.”

Ran was openly glaring as twin pairs of emerald eyes glared back with an intensity typically reserved for the bedroom the pirates on this ship. As much as he’d like to dismiss it as an over-exaggeration from them he’d seen the kind of devotion they had. 

“Hello (Y/n) you’re getting better at using that mop.”

Klaus and Kurt had managed to slip away after breakfast to visit their favorite prisoner, who had graduated from daydreaming in their cell. After the first two weeks of being delayed, the Captain approved of them having a few chores of course while always being monitored. Though it was very quickly learned they didn’t have to worry about them escaping too much at all.

“Really?!”

They weren’t, but Kurt thought the way they struggled with waving the mop nonsensically on the deck was incredibly cute. His brother, of the same mindset, cooed before pinching and squishing their cheeks.

“So cute! Maybe I should show you my technique with the mop?”

“Oh, you will? I’d love that Klaus!”

Kurt rolled his eyes. He knew what his brother was doing and he wished he thought of it before him. He frowned at his brother as he slotted himself behind (Y/n) and clasped his hands around their awkward grip on the mop. Kurt settled to stand aside already concocting a way to intervene, in the meantime hoping they wouldn’t catch onto his brother closing the distance.

“--So if you want you should bend back into me and–”

“I didn’t know you had others on the crew!”

“Yes, I’d love it if you bent into—wait what?!

Kurt followed your gaze toward a man attempting to hide behind some barrels, and looking further past them he could tell others were coming up the side of the boat. It was supposed to be a silent ambush, from some amateur pirates. They must’ve counted their crew and thought it’d be an easy job. They’d be dead wrong. 

The brothers already had their hands on their trusted knuckle knives and jeweled punch knuckles. They spared a second to look at one another–the silent orchestrating of a plan to quickly dispatch the intruders only for their Pearl to speak out before them.

“Hey! What are you doing sneaking around for?”

The first head that had been hiding figured their cover was blown or would be if he didn’t dispatch one of the waving witnesses, charging with a long knife. Kurt and Klaus sprung into action, the former twin breaking the arm of the lunging intruder, holding his other hand on their face casually snapping their neck. By then Klaus had spun (Y/n) around excusing the intruders' attendance on the ship; it was refreshing having someone so unfamiliar with their gritty style of life around. But it came with its own challenges. Challenges Klaus and Kurt would love to have. Kurt quickly threw the corpse where it was hiding before, joining Klaus in encouraging (Y/n) to go to the kitchen. 

“We have to dismiss our unwanted guests, so if you would please go help Marie in the kitchen.”

“Oh okay but if Angel comes back you’ll have to tell him why the deck isn’t swabbed.”

“Sure sure little Pearl. Bye-bye now!”

The brothers turned to the intruders who they purposely lightly incapacitated quietly groaning as they attempted to get up. They wanted them to be lucid for the ‘fun’ the twins planned to have. Ran recalled finding the aftermath of said intruders and not clearly being able to tell how many originally invaded. The twins infamously spend a quarter of their day reducing their enemies into a bloody, burnt mess. With great pride, they confided in him, how they wished they could show (Y/n) but the First Mate convinced them not to. Part of the agreement was that no permanent damage was inflicted and Ran was sure looking at the amalgamation of human corpses would scar them for life. Ran was certain such a reaction was only reserved for the crew.

“Are you openly admitting to betraying this crew on behalf of a prisoner?”

The twins shrugged and Ran had half a thought to throw them in the brig just for their nonchalance. He was going to do just that before their Angel spoke up. Always the odd one out of a crew of pirates, his hair was the brightest blond almost white. Combed and maintained just a little past his ears, his skin lightly sunkissed an active choice many on a pirate crew wouldn’t care to do. Despite technically being the cabin boy Angel’s almond-shaped red eyes with long lashes to boot were a soft spot for the whole crew. 

Blushing oh so cutely, he faked a cough to bring attention to himself,” Ahem, I also…like them and would like them not to be delivered.”

His statement made all but the twins and Captain Lu gasp in shock. The Captain smiled, her dagger-like silver teeth glinting from the sparse lanterns around. She was leaning forward, her talon-covered index fingers tapping excitedly on the table, leaning even closer to the petite cabin boy on her left. His blush intensified as she twirled a talon around one of his blonde strands. The surrounding crew getting just as hot as him.

“I thought you wanted them ‘gone as soon as possible’?”

He closed his eyes as though that would stop everyone’s curious gazes, with his nose slightly in the air he made his case.

“Well I’ve changed my mind…last time I checked that wasn’t a crime.”

The Captain chuckled her metal claw softly grazing from his hair to his naked neck,” It isn’t, but what made you change your mind?”

The question saddled Angel with too many different memories. In the short time, his Pearl arrived on the ship he couldn’t deny the fluffy feeling in his chest when there was any inkling of their prisoner involved. But it wasn’t always this way. Firstly he didn’t mind all that much, the crew had held hostages before. It was the change that was taking over the crew that made him reevaluate. Two weeks into their imprisonment already half the crew were sneaking off and arguing about sneaking off to “play” with the prisoner. Ignoring Angel’s usually coveted advances was an easy way to earn his hatred. Which resulted in his usual routine with the Captain–cuddled up to her after a particularly passionate romp to ask for the one thing that would cure his sadness.

“You want me to get rid of our big-ticket prisoner?”

“Yes! I mean aren’t you worried about all the stalling the royals have been doing? Don’t you think they’re stringing you along? And heck we don’t even need to keep all of them alive and just keep a finger that we can send for…motivation!”

For a second, Angel thought he’d won. The Captain cooed, running her dark hands through his tussled hair and lovingly kissing his forehead. Barely able to hide his victory his pink lips curved into a smile, that dropped with the Captain’s knowing smirk.

“You’re jealous of them?”

“What jealous!?” Instinctively Angel perked up sitting up in the bed, completely ignoring his worried damsel routine. 

“I have nothing to be jealous of! That barnacle is getting everyone worked up for no good reason!”

“How do you know?”

“What?”

“How do you know they aren’t worth the fuss if you’ve never played with them yourself?”

Angel crossed his arms to pout, managing his dramatic fall into the captain's bed (minding his sore behind). Glaring at the wooden grooves of the decorated wall as if they were the ones denying him. 

“I don’t need to know.”

“Well maybe you should….then you could leverage it for some much-needed time with everyone.”

Angel hated knowing that he was taking the Captain’s advice in the first place. Fully accepting the task of making the pampered prisoner useful by sharing his chores with them. The collective groans from the disappointed crew only spurred him on. Harshly shoving a pale and scrub into their hands and screaming for them to scrub the deck. Leaning back on a barrel as he styled his hair looking in the reflection of a compact mirror that Kurt stole just for him, he was sure it’d be easy. “Spending time to learn” while the prisoner he hated did his chores sounded like a wonderful dream. Except this prisoner was like nothing he’d dealt with before.

“Alright so make sure to scrub the floor. Don’t be too heavy with the wat–”

SPLASH

“...Okay…that’s a bit much but–”

SPLISH! SPLISH!

“STOP STOP! What are you doing?! Serves me right to believe some rich kid would know how to scrub a floor!”

“Well I’m sorry but I wasn’t exactly allowed to learn at home.”

“But I’m sure someone was scrubbing the floors, wouldn’t hurt to watch them right?”

“I was strictly forbidden from spending time with others….including the maids.”

“...Well you’re going to learn. Grab the scrub.”

He hated to admit, that he enjoyed watching them flounder with the new tasks. Turning to him with that wide-eyed curious stare admitting they had no idea what a ‘sea shanty’ was. It was weirdly endearing, to be the one looked up to despite being the shortest. To be asked for his opinion on things other than costumes for a disguise. Being the one to do the pinning against the wall when he’s being particularly mean.

Angel hated to admit it but when he was confided in about an arranged marriage, he actually intervened. 

“So we’re docking at Restwood Kingdom. Small town. You’re not going to get to see it though.”

“That’s okay I’ve already been.”

“...You have?”

“Yeah, my….betrothed lives there.”

“.....Your betrothed?”

“...Yeah my family wasn’t thrilled but they said he would have been the best for me.” “Do you feel the same way?”

He studied their face so intensely then, studying the quirk in their lips and their wandering eyes. He prided himself on knowing when his Pearl was happy. When they were reminiscing. This was not one of those times…there was something off.

“It doesn’t really matter,” the sad smile made him sick, “ when I go back they’re going to start the wedding plans.”

“...Hm that’s a shame.” 

Angel felt no remorse, casually reminding Ran of a juicy bit of information the prisoner let slip. Handing over the drawn map he convinced them to draw to ‘see the garden’ they talked so much about. Pretending to be just as distraught that a headline of the prince being massacred is published during their stay. Hiding the smile that threatened to come while cuddling a crying (Y/n) into the bed he was sharing with Marie. 

“So yes. I changed my mind because as much as I hate to admit I do…like them.”

“Whoa so they were gonna marry that prick,” Kurt piped up, smiling wide as he looked at the pinned headline in the brig. Klaus and a few others at the table snickered an air of pride exuding from everyone in the room, making Ran roll his eyes. They were getting distracted again. 

“That explains your sudden necessity for a…noble’s head…movin’ on. Willow? What about yer navigation blunders? You’ve purposely been leading us astray fer over a month now. I thought yer vow of loyalty trumped that.” 

The islander navigator sighed, “I’m loyal to my heart. That is why I came on this ship, in the first place.”

A series of cheers and whoops erupted from the table, Marie and Reese high-fiving her from both sides, much to Ran’s displeasure. Willow simply shrugs, her hooped earrings jingling against her necklaces as she shakes her head. Even without her culture’s morals influencing her, she was always inclined to follow her heart. Why else would she leave the stifling paradise of the islands and its familiar grottos and underwater caves and the singing with sirens if not for love? Watching the Captain, then the twins, then the others all falling for the poor prisoner. She recalled when she first laid eyes on the little Pearl, freshly plucked from the protective mouth of the royal clam. The Captain and the First Mate had headed the mission, relying on Reese and her to keep their passage out clear. It was but a moment when they needed to get past a crowd of marching guards. Reese had been the one to ask what everyone was thinking.

“Uh, are we going to gag them or something? What if they screamed right now?”

They didn’t respond instead the prisoner that was tied up and currently sitting on the sewer floor was attempting to raise their hands as if they were in school. The Captain snickered and Ran rolled his eyes, as Reese watched their eager attempt to ask for permission. Willow was the one who finally let them speak, with a finger to her lips. The prisoner’s expression lit up…like a teacher’s pet who could finally speak.

“Oooh I promised I wouldn’t make a sound for the whole trip! As long as I get a street beignet in the end!” 

Willow quietly laughed along with Reese before they were on the move again. Watching as their untouched ankle was shackled in their cell and the expression on their face not even changing did something to her. Something she found not many of her current partners had. Not that they weren’t sympathetic or understanding, just that they couldn’t possibly know how easy it was to be swept away by the pirates when she met them. And she knew that her Pearl felt the same way.

“Did you really promise not to speak for some pastries?”

“Yes!” 

“But weren’t you afraid? Didn’t you want to be helped?”

“I…kindof have always wanted to sneak away I just could never do it. If that makes sense.”

“It does. More than you’ll ever know.”

She recalled their conversations between the bars of the cell. Animated and intrigued with every word that came from her typically untalkative self. Even her dreams were filled with their endless chatter and entrancing smiles. Being a follower of her heart meant listening to her dreams and more than anything telling her destiny demanded she have them. Have you. And she’d do anything to keep you.

 “Mmmh Willow.”

“Sorry little Pearl, I’m almost done.”

“S-s-so this is kind of like a tattoo? Except with your mouth?”

“Yes,” she licked lovingly at the puncture marks along their neck. Pride filled her heart as she watched the blood underneath their skin coagulate, “something like that.”

That’s probably why she could only stare in response to Ran’s question.

“You’re asking if I’d join the twins? If they were to ever rebel for them?”

Ran nodded.

“Of course, I would.”

Kurt and Klaus cheered roping a reluctant Angel into it too, making Ran send a scathing look for them to stop. It didn’t and without his prompting Marie, the brunette chef spoke her peace. 

“I’d also reckon they deserve a place with us, forever. Don’t think I could bear it if they left me now!”

The freckled chef had their own share of tantalizing conversations over the meals she’d deliver. The kind she often never could have with the other pirates being as close as they were, it was lovely having a new taster.

“Hmmm so good…though.”

“What? What is it?”

“I think this could use…some more spice.”

“Really?! But I tried using that oregano they got for me.”

“No no, another spice maybe try,,,, coriander.”

“I’ll have to give that a try.”

Marie would love to say that she too had waited for a long while before she was enraptured but that just wasn’t the case. From the second they scarfed down and happily ate her food she was hooked. She just loved a good eater! Dreaming about what else she could feed their lovely little captive, who was just so responsive. So responsive they rarely ever refused her dishes even when they were well beyond the point of full. Not exactly free to roam around the ship, she’d fill them up with her concoctions and recipes until they couldn’t move. Her favorite instance was during their first day out of the cell, finally allowed to be out but only with a chaperone. Marie had volunteered, shoving her stuffed Pearl into her bed, taking advantage of their feast and the sleepiness that followed. With a few exhausted groans, they were asleep giving her free range to poke and squish the fat of their stomach. Squealing to herself at its light firmness, she delighted in the freedom to do so. Her other lovers on the ship were freaky open but not enough for her to do all she pleased. But her Pearl was different so oblivious asleep they wouldn’t protest her hands wandering to explore and touch and taste.

“You’re so easy, (Y/n)...so mine.”

She’d only felt inclined to stop when Reese had walked in on her, a silent warning to go no further as she nibbled on an ear and placed a grape into her Pearl’s lips. There was no one she could do this to without being scolded or with anyone so unaware of their own limits that they would stop her. Not to mention she adored the compliments given to her without caring where the meat she’d gotten came from. At this point, she could never go back.

“That would leave you Reese…do you too feel this way about our hostage.”

All eyes were on Reese. The impish, pick-pocketer with a big smile, an aloof personality, and hair dark as the sea. Suspicious as he was a good fighter, rarely was he on the receiving end of such big questions. Often preferring to go with the flow of his fellow pirates and backing his Captain in any way possible. When the plan was in motion to abduct the greatest payoff that they’d ever attempted he was all for it. Dismissing their weird behavior and the Captain’s quiet opinion of them. Not once had he tried to risk it, until he’d seen it. Everyone on the ship had dopey faces and distracted behavior–it was so out of character for everyone. It didn’t take long before he’d found the culprit and was tempted to do what he did to all his problems.

Chuck it off the plank.

“Are you sure this is a fun game? It just seems a little scary to me!”

“That’s part of the fun! That little adrenaline rush is how you know you’re playing it right!”

“Oh okay!” 

It was just too easy. The simple proposal of a ‘pirate game; had them following like an obedient dog, completely unaware their owner was going to shoot them in the back of the head. Reese didn’t think he’d feel bad about it. Chalking it up to another kill of some enemy to his crew, he’d done it before so many times. Using his tricks and wit to outsmart them; it really was too easy to instruct them to balance themself on the plank above the sea.

“Okay I’m at the end Reese I did it!”

“Good…real good.”

“Wow the water is—”

It was second hand to slam his foot on the end of the plank, sending their hostage slightly in the air and tumbling into the depths below. From his safety on the ship's railing, he watched them resurface once, reaching out to him and struggling to call his name. 

“Ree—”

Seeing their face disappear under the waves Reese thought he should feel free, yet his feet refused to turn away. Staring at the unmoving water trying to decipher why there was a piece of him hoping they’d resurface. But he recalls a conversation he’d had with them. It was a one-off something he probably didn’t even initiate.

“Oh yeah, I don’t know how to swim. My family told me I’d never need to!”

He remembered thinking the same thing he was now.

How helpless.

They need me.

He was only reassured when he finally dove in, a floating device tied to him as he held them up. Wet coughing and puking of saltwater against his chest and their hands hanging tightly around his neck. It was the tears that had him hugging back.

“Reese…”

“Yes?”

“I-I really don’t like this game.” 

“I know me neither.”

“C-can we g-g–go home?” 

Home. That’s where they needed to be because they were so darn helpless. He had to make sure they did just that, forever.

“Yup they gotta be here, I don’t know how they’ll survive otherwise.”

Once again the pirates around the table began to cheer, a collective air of acceptance of the same truth it all stopped though as everyone was reminded of had the real say. Captain Lu sat at the head of the table with her talon-covered hands folded underneath her face. Her luscious lips are straight, her expression far too apathetic for the cheering pirates before her. They held their breaths in anticipation—a silence encompassing the mess hall as they waited on her command. 

Her First Mate turned to her, his words suddenly so much heavier,” Cap’n Lu, do you want to keep the prisoner or d’ya prefer to return ‘em and get our reward?” 

The Captain leaned back into her chair—her throne observing the faces of her pirates whom she adored, all waiting for her word as they ought to. She, like many here, felt as though someone was missing from their ranks….and she couldn’t agree more. Having been the one to receive a message in the bottle written by the King’s beloved child. On the parchment was a plea to see the world, to see the ocean for themselves, and to find love.  

Well, now they had eight. 

There was an apparent thrill for Lu–with every successful treasure hunt, there was a small part of her that felt satisfied. There truly was nothing that beat pure ale down her throat, a lover at her knees, and a view of the treasures she’d acquired burying her other lovers. It beat a hard day's work. It beats an ‘honest job.’ She could think of nothing as fulfilling until she met (Y/n) in the flesh. 

She and Ran lead the heist, letting only themselves into the innards of the intensely guarded wing of the castle. It felt disgustingly perfect to be trampling the lightly pink rug of the castle bedroom, leaving the faint dirt print within its wool. Passing a tray of ornate gifts, ranging from perfumes to portraits and priceless works of art. The handles and doors grand and golden would be fine prizes any other day but Rand and Lu walked right past them. All to stop in front of the completely bored Pearl at the center of it all. 

“I got your message.”

She handed the bottle over. The original writer tracing their sloppy handwriting from so long ago. A smile spread across their face.

“So have you come to take me? Like a hero?”

“Just like one.”

“Will I…” they trailed off eying the calendar plastered on the opposite wall. Large and in an overly fancy font mapping out a schedule that didn’t change much at all,” get everything I asked for before I come back?”

Without hesitation, she responded, “Of course and so much more.”

With a smile on both of their faces, the Pearl allowed themselves to be tied up. Stopping to negotiate a gag, and then leaving into the sewer systems of the castles. In the comfort of the ship, Lu felt no better place for her Pearl was by her side. In her bed. In her First Mate’s bed. In any of her pirate’s beds. 

No greater gift than seeing them there….among her pile of treasures.

“What do you think Ran? What will your Captain say?”

The question made the pirate fluster, shifting their boots along the floor. Dutifully looking into his Captain’s single purple eye. The silent question hanging between them—’ What do you want me to say?’. It was easier than breathing, the split-second answer that punctuates every scenario his heart likes to play out. 

Thinking back to all the new memories he’d made with their Pearl. It was the evening of a minor heist that ended with a fight. Not against the corrupt merchant but with Reese. The pick-pocket had been particularly reckless attacking the knight-in-training who’d followed their band bag to the ship. Despite shakily holding a sword up, Reese attacked with extreme prejudice. Holding the boy by the neck as he repeatedly stabbed a dull knife into his sternum, dragging through the skin to his intestines. Ran was the first to witness this, surprised by the aggression to someone they’d usually let live. 

“He saw them! Sleeping in the brig! He was going to tell! I can’t–! I wouldn’t–! We can’t let that happen!”

Ran listened to Reese flounder, the manic look in his blue eyes anxiously darting about. He’d rarely seen him in such a state. The detached sneak had a habit of masking his pain, a survival instinct he couldn’t quite part with. A paranoid obsessiveness that requires unspoken requirements to be fulfilled puts him on edge. People, not tied up, are the usual ones—too many opportunities for danger. And apparently, anyone threatening to remove their little Pearl would do the same. 

Ran did what he usually did when he got in this state. Pulling Reese into his chest, blocking his view of the dying intruder. Letting his rough hands curl within the locks of his shaking partner, holding him tightly as he hummed. 

“No one’s taking our Pearl. They won’t be going anywhere.”

“....Promise?”

Ran didn’t hesitate when he promised. He also didn’t hesitate when Marie and Willow asked to make a special pitstop. The chef wouldn’t stop talking about how their Pearl in passing spoke of a specific spice so fondly, that they’d die if they never got to see their expression when they finally tasted it again. Stealing anything from the spice merchants meant going out of their way; possibly mingling with other pirates who specialized in the trade. Yet he still said they could. Purposefully stalling their pearl until Marie was in the position to watch excitedly as they gleefully ate her cooking. Sending Willow to ‘wait’ with their Pearl for their scheduled bathroom break. Keeping quiet Willow promises to visit later.

“Are you alright with this, Ran?”

“Yes…you were very helpful…for our requests with the prisoner.”

“It’s not a problem. We haven’t broken the routine or protocol.”

He did lie just that once about not breaking protocol. He didn’t bother saying anything the next time Angel and the twins, confiscated a line of rope. Typically Ran demanded strict ledgers and labeling when it came to any supplies on the ship. It was the best way to make sure everything was in order. So typically he’d have quite a lot to say about the unspecified use of an extra rope—but this case was special. It was in front of the twins’ room, Klaus and Kurt usually kept the door open as an invitation but not this time. Knocking brought out Klaus and Kurt, pink on their cheeks and large smiles on their faces.

“We’re using it for a game.”

“Yes, a very fun game.”

Ran was so annoyed he hadn’t figured out why yet,”Well am I getting the rope back?”

The twins shared a look as they usually did before speaking up. Their door opening to reveal a flushed Angel has them stopping and eagerly turning to him. 

“---We’re ready for you~ Oh  Ran, how’ve you been?”

The twins no longer interested in the faux conversation, went into their room leaving Angel to placate their First Mate. 

“Sorry, no guarantees about that rope. It might not survive what we have planned for it.”

Ran wasn’t an idiot he recognized the specific shirt he was wearing. The one that was flowy and hung off his shoulders–deliciously inviting. Though it begs the question who was being strung up if it wasn’t him?

“Oh, and I’m chaperoning our Pearl by the way! Bye!”

He quickly disappeared into the room behind him, leaving Ran to burn with the broken rules of any prisoner. Granted special permissions were given, he wondered just how far he was slipping or just how bad it had gotten.

“Thank you Ran for helping me! If you can believe it I usually am not allowed to do this completely by myself.”

Beneath him was (Y/n) colloquially dubbed their Pearl bare and resting within the tin washbasin. In his hands was the washcloth lathered in the sudsy remains of a dwindling soap bar. Fighting the burning in his cheeks and begging twitchy hands running over unmarred skin, with the reverence it usually did. It was the quiet splash of the water with the slightest movements, their breathy moans of satisfaction that brought Ran to his knees. In his heart, nay! His very soul was for them.

For them, no amount of gore and death was unnecessary.

For them, no amount of stalling, lying, or breaking of rules was unneeded.

For them, no amount of rope, jewels, or spices could compare.

For them, their Pearl was worth more than all of it–and trading them in for any pile of gold or riches would be a loss. For nothing can compare to the value of their Pearl. 

“My Cap’n, you must say yes. As you already have the greatest of treasures.”

——————————————————————————————————

The nervousness you felt was growing exponentially. A little while ago you’d been left in the crow’s nest; Lu assuring you’d be helpful while they had their meeting. For all the stories and headlines you’ve read about pirates, it’s crazy to know they demanded to have meetings with one another. 

Staring at the endless sea and sky full of blue, you let your mind wander. Thinking back to the endless cycle you originally lived through. Waking and being pampered day in and day out, in the same room you’d been in since your youth. Looking at the definition it constituted it being called insanity, but this insanity eased all in court. All in the castle. All in the Kingdom. To know their future was locked away, upkept, and healthy. 

But that was gone now. 

You were free.

For now. 

You wondered how long it’d take for your parents to chase, for the pirates to lose interest, for others to learn that the jewel of the crown was easy pickings. It felt so dreamy. To spend your days learning something new, trying what you’ve heard adventurous heroes get to do. Daring heists, escaping storms….being loved. 

It was foreign but good.

So good, you dreaded seeing the Royal Messenger ship appearing on the horizon. The white sails instead of red or black proving this was the one to pay whatever it took to bring you home. 

Quickly you stood, peering into the eye-glass once again. Turning to the ladder you made your way down, running to knock on the closed door of the mess hall. Instead, the door swung open revealing the dressed in purple Captain Lu smiling her infamous smile. Reminding you of the first day you finally met… a shame it’d be your last.

“Captain the Royal ship is here on the North horizon.”

She hums stepping to the side to reveal the others who had heard such major news. The first to step out was Marie, her bottom lip jutted out and quivering with an onset of tears. Throwing herself at you, you caught her to the best of your ability. The chef was petite but her grip around you was tight, making her dead weight a problem for you. 

“Don’t tell me yer gunna leave me (Y/n)! How will I go on?!”

You had nothing to say, just patting her flowing brown hair. Saving you from outright admitting you’ve never comforted anyone ever, Angel piped up.

“You’ll be fine,” he lightly kicked her, looping an arm around yours, “get up we’ve got work to do.”

“So what do we have to do to get ready? How do ransoms work exactly?”

The pirates around you stopped for a moment, something unfamiliar jading their expressions. But as quick as it came it was gone, them smiling and laughing like you’d told a funny story. You didn’t hide your curious face…was that the wrong thing to say? You felt a nibble against your earlobe, the familiar smell of lemons invading your senses as Angel pulled you close.

“You're absolutely hilarious, (Y/n).”

Klaus sauntered towards you coming on your opposite side, to hold your chin up. A light peck was all he got in before Kurt butted in. Holding the gesture for much longer before his brother pulled at his matching messy hair. The tug of war continued for a while until you heard a large a two smacks occurring simultaneously. Klaus and Kurt snapping upright clutching their behinds with a smirk and a flustered smile directed at Willow, who took advantage of their surprise to squeeze in pressing a kiss to your neck. 

“We’ve come to an agr’ment, Pearl. You won’t be going.”

“What?!”

“Isn’t this just the best,” Marie piped up. Tears gone and her grip now fondling the fat of your waist,” You get to try to fill up on all the new ideas I’ve got cookin’ up!”

Reese stepped forward minding Marie still kneeling on the ground, he looked you deep into your eyes a warm smile spreading on his face. 

“You’re stayin’ I doubt that ships going to get within boardin’ distance of us before they’re blown to smithereens.”

You don’t choose to focus on the dark look on his face or the way they all seemed to smile along with him. With Angel still clinging onto you, you turn to Lu who’s tucking her own spyglass into her coat pocket. 

“What d’ya say, Pearl? Gettin’ a little bit more than you asked for.”

Your first meeting ran through your head, and you nodded. Looking past her to see Ran who has a rare smile on his face. You pull Angel and Marie into a hug, leaning backward when Kurt, Klaus, and Willow join. Reese comes forward slipping past the arms going for him before he runs for the crow's nest. 

A look is shared with Ran as he runs off, making the First Mate fake cough to get your attention. 

“Now (Y/n), your trainin’ as a pirate begins now, and for yer first lesson: we’ll be discussin’ battle at sea!”

You beamed, wiggling free to follow Ran who was cleaning his handgun. Watching in awe as he practiced his aim at the incoming ship. 

“Are we really going to hurt them?”

He hummed, “Only if they choose not to leave us be. As a pirate, we protect our own first and foremost. You think you can handle that (Y/n)?”

It wouldn’t hurt to enjoy this adventure a little while longer!

[justblades]

๋⚝ being messy! boothill, gallagher, sunday

MINORS DNI, gender neutral! reader, drabble formatting. oral sex, penetrative sex, light bondage, praising. in honor of boothill's banner tmrw <3

GALLAGHER

it was upon mutual understanding that this will only be a one time thing. yet, the way he crashes his lips onto yours with fervor, his bulky arms wrapping around your torso tightly to bring more proximity, to ease the warmth and lust brewing in your bodies - makes you yearn for more. gallagher relishes the aftertaste of aperitivo and absinthe twirling on your taste buds, reveling at the lingering flavor of the cocktail you downed in one go earlier.

gallagher's breathing is far from stable at this point in time, he cums inside you once more, letting his satisfaction paint your insides white. amidst reaching his orgasm for the third time this long night, he continues to pump in and out, letting out a hoarse groan as he feels his cock erect again. "it doesn't stop." he says, breaking the kiss for a moment to glance at his dick. he draws a heavy sigh, feeling himself become more sexually driven.

"well, no matter. gotta make the most out of this one time occurrence, yeah?" the brunette asks rhetorically, leaning in for another passionate kiss. furthermore, he skillfully slips his tongue inside your mouth, this time, familiarity binds the two of you - he could taste himself in you and vice versa, making a perfect concoction to relish in full bliss. wasting no time, he rams inside deeper this time, filling you up as your legs begin to go numb from the overwhelming sensation.

he shows no signs of halting at every service he's offering, a perfect open mouthed kiss as you're buried in the solace of being towered and wrapped by his large figure, and an endless stream of libido coursing through his veins. he proceeds to pick up the pace of his thrusts, earning him more absent-minded, lewd noises gush out of your saliva slicked lips.

his girthy cock becomes coated by his own white juices, several drops trickling out of your hole the more frequently he hits your sweet spot. "feels good. . ." you manage to utter in between his impactful thrusts while he manages to let out a deep chuckle, emerging victorious as the intercourse felt more like who'll endure longer. a bizarre idea suddenly lit up his mind, evident as soon as the magenta dyed tie adorning his collar come undone from his own gloved hands - he snakes it around your neck instead in a blink.

confused, he does a swift knot and wraps the end of the fabric around his wrist. casting a focused gaze, he pulls the tie towards him, making your body jolt awake from the abrupt movement. gallagher inches forward, his golden copper eyes anchor from the neck tie up to your face, watching your melting expressions as if he were etching every second in his memory. "the view just got even more beguiling—" he pauses, out of breath as he continues thrusting into your walls. "—stay for a little longer like this."

SUNDAY

the situation he's in just got a little more taxing. he looks at the stack of paperwork laid before him, fingers massaging his temples in a desperate attempt to process everything. golden eyes drift from one document to another, his vision starting to get lost among the sea of words tangling together, a stairway to mental fatigue.

as an assistant, you come rushing to his aid and offer him two beverages of his preference, accompanied by a sweet snack to lift his spirits up, at least, his physical system. "mr. sunday, perhaps you can take a break." you query and set the tray on his desk table, bowing slightly as a greeting, although suddenly.

"i need to clear my head." with one simple sentence, you understood from the get go what he really wanted. this has always been a little secret, a guilty pleasure the two of you had in agreement, you grant him access to your body at anytime he wants, while you submit to his requests willingly. embarrassment wallows you whole, but sunday feels himself slowly drift into relaxation, proceeding to let his dick spring free from the stress, letting everything unfold naturally.

as the head of the oak family is a perfectionist and employ rules to abide by - his taste in oral sex can sometimes become a dichotomy to the mentioned quirks of his personality. betwixt the belief of instilling strict order and the bliss of being free in anything, he gets off on the idea of you being messed up, looking disoriented as cum overlays your features, yet another preferred stress reliever of him.

as you take all of him in with your mouth wide agape, your wet cavern wraps itself around his shape. his mouth tightly shut, stifling the threatening hums of pleasure to slip out his hushed lips. however, your eyes remain locked passionately with his, an aspect he deems tantalizing - among your usual attentive look, whenever these instances happen, he indulges in the fact that your eyes now cast a lascivious one, an obvious longing displayed for the highly esteemed individual. "that pacing is good . . ." he states, long lower lashes bat slowly as you continue to suck him.

lewd noises continue to reverberate inside his private vicinity, the sounds then die down as an authoritative voice arises. "wrap your tongue around it." another knack sunday has in encounters like this is that he enjoys submission - having the power to be in control, to dominate. you stick your tongue out and twirl it around the head of his cock in gradual motions, ensuring he feels every second of the sensation. slowly but surely, he feels the build up of his release, evident from how his hips buck along your rhythm.

the feud ends as soon as he cums, letting the white strings sprawl all over your features down to the clothing you don, marking darker patches from the sticky liquids. huffing for a brief moment to catch his breath, he then carefully shuffles his pocket and fetches a handkerchief, folding it into a tidy square as he wipes your cum stained face with the soft fabric. he displays a reassuring smile this time, one different from previously - the present feeling more sincere and intimate. "well done."

BOOTHILL

boothill believes in the art of giving - he has your legs rested on his broad shoulders as he stimulates your sensitive parts. a smug smirk carved on his lips, augmented teeth peeking with a boastful look painted on his features. "like it when i do that?" he queries, slate gray eyes focusing on your body language.

too overwhelmed to be capable of verbalizing any word you intend to deliver, he doesn't wait for an answer as he digs himself in you again, sucking the flesh to where you'd mewl the most in. sharp, static, what felt like needles struck your lower limbs, a familiar numbness gush through your body. "wait— not there!"

tears well up in your eyes, lips quivering. the cowboy revels in this, enjoyment prominent the way his cold iron hands grip the plush of your thighs. "ya taste too good baby!" he proclaims, one hand then proceeding to glide to your inner thighs. with his fingers, he ghosts a caress on the other parts of your sex as well as flicking the tip of his wet tongue over your hole. arousal continues to drip down, a cloudy color spilling the longer the oral sex dragged on.

a pungent scent of cum mixed with sweat wafts inside the place - you feel lost and at cloud nine at the same time. it felt ecstatic, but unreal as to how your head buzzes with euphoria. you couldn't get enough of the galaxy ranger pleasuring your parts in more ways than one, his tongue and hand makes a perfect combination to douse the flames of your lustful temptations. your eyes roll back the slower boothill goes with licking your part . . . drool slowly escaping past the margins of your lips.

he halts for a moment, tilting his head to the side as he watches you become disheveled from the overwhelming stimulation. desire sears inside him, a strong carnal urge to make you feel good even more. suddenly, he flips you around, your naked back facing him and your only support being his leaden, metal arms. he was cold to the touch, a surprising chill rides on your sweaty skin.

"i'll keep ya still darling." the male proudly states and leaves a chaste kiss on your nape. as the cyborg was left with no more mortal parts other than his heart and mind, he buries his face in the crook of your neck, reveling in the warmth and intimacy of being skin to skin. "however, i can't say fa' sure if i do this." a distinct accent laces his tone as he thrusts his fingers inside your hole, the glacial surface of his digits makes a polar opposite of your velvet walls.

endless strings of ejaculation spring out - it appears that all you needed was a tad bit of penetration for you to reach your climax. you heavily pant to desperately catch your breath, eyelids weighing heavy. "well? how was it?" he asks, curiosity dancing in his two monochrome hues.

[obsessedwrhys]

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ The Boys x Rogue!Reader (2)

ᯓ★ angst, fluff, typical the boys content, Butcher is an asshole?!?! (what a surprise) 😲. Reader is fem!! Here's part 1 if you missed it. (Didn't proof read because im sick again 🤒)

Sounds of muffled talking... needles poking through your skin... your mind fogged from the effects of the drugs... the heavy feeling of helplessness as you were tied down. Nothing you could do. You were hopeless. You didn't stand a chance.... Slowly you squint your eyes open as the vision of your friend's corpse comes to view. The horrifying sight jerking your body awake.

"Oh...oh..." You breath heavily with your body covered in cold sweat. The adrenaline coursing through your veins. You looked around to make sure you weren't inside your cage, but rather inside the room your brother had given to you.

When you were sure you were safe, you let out a relieved sigh as you rub your eyes, giving yourself a moment to settle down. Something tells you this won't be the last nightmare you'll have. Once you were sure you were in a stable condition, you got out of bed and decided to head downstairs to what seemed to be their office.

After last night when you were taken to their headquarters, Butcher offered you some clothes to change into and also making sure you were well fed. From how exhausted you were at the time, you could only remember talking about something to Butcher before passing out on his bed.

As you descend from the stairs, you couldn't help but peek your head to look at who were present. Even though they were told to be his friends. You yourself weren't that 100% willing to trust a bunch of strangers just because he said they were 'not the worst people he's met'. To your surprise it was just three people inside and they were each doing their things.

Butcher wasn't anywhere in sight.

This sucks.

Since you aren't planning to stand and wait at the stairway, you entered the office, it only took a few steps for your presence to be noticed. You sat on the sofa just a few feet from the girl who appeared to be busy writing in her book. She shoots you a warm smile which you hesitantly smiled back.

"I'm (Y/N)... what's your name?" You asked but she suddenly shifts her eyes from you to someone else. Curious, you looked over the sofa to see someone already approaching you.

"Her name's Kimiko..." He said as he takes a seat beside you.

"You still remember my name yes? I was the one who snuck you out" You thought for a second before finally recognising him.

"Frenchie right?" You asked and judging from the smile on his face. You must be right.

"I didn't get to say but thanks for rescuing me" You said to which he laughs.

"Ahh...! Don't thank me! Your brother would have skinned me alive if I refused. If you had seen his outrage when he found out Homelander had you involved, you'd think twice before pissing him off by saying no" He recalled, emphasising everything he says through his hand gestures and facial expressions.

"He does have a temper..." You uttered.

Just then the door opens and all four of you turned to see Butcher walking in with another guy. You got to your feet and went over to your brother who after taking off his coat, hands you the takeaway he had bought.

"Here ya go sis. I figured durin' your days as a lab rat you probably ate like one" He said as you realise he had bought you your favourite food.

The simple gesture somehow making you feel like a kid again. The simpler times where you felt stress free. Just sleep and eat. Though you didn't dwell too much into the feeling as the feeling of hunger soon made you quickly sit down and started eating. Butcher eyes you for a second before walking off to talk to his friend about something that you could care less about.

Mm... good food...

You were too focused gobbling down the food in front of you that you failed to notice the guy sitting on the chair before you. He watches you consciously as you ate like you never eaten in ages. It was when you began to choke that he panicked and quickly pushed the cup of water towards you. His hands retreating back to his lap to avoid any contact with your skin.

As you gulp down the water and finally waited for the burn in your chest to vanish was when you realised you had been eating like a wolf. Months of being locked up by Homelander felt like a physiological torture that you seemed to have lost all your self control. You really lost touch with humanity. It makes you hate him even more for what he did.

"Hey um... you holding up alright? We haven't properly met. I'm Hughie" He said once he sees you zoning out. You look at him with your brows slightly raised.

His voice was somehow soothing. Like the feeling of a fever dream.

"I'm (Y/N)"

"I know" He smiles slightly at you, almost like he's fascinated by your presence.

"So you're his sister. I didn't even think he had any family. He was always private about his life"

"So am I. I guess it runs in the family..."

Your harmless joke making him chuckle softly. As you go back to eating in a more slower pace, he couldn't help but watch your every movement. It was like watching a kid eating for the first time. When they had saved you, you were almost all bones. Your hands are trembling even now just from holding the spoon.

Just even thinking of that night, what still intrigued him was even after those months of torture you still had the energy to argue with your brother. It was there where he finally understood how you were both related. You were just as much as a fighter as your brother is.

"Ahh motherfucker" You cursed as you fan at the fly to get away from your food though the second it touches your skin, it instantly drops dead on the table.

The two of you stared at it as it twitches slightly before going limp.

Problem... solved?

"I assume that you did that on demand?"

"I... think so?"

Just when you thought things were ever gonna be back to normal, your powers always had to remind you of the true reality. The reality that you are NOT normal. Since you were curious of your new abilities, you reached out and touched the flower pot just placed in the center of the table.

Just one touch of your finger on the leaves. The plant slowly devolves from a lively colour to a rotting brown. The flower withers as the stem grows weak. Due to the lack of stability, it collapses completely. Somehow the sight of the dead plant made your throat dry. Images of your friend's corpse flashing in your mind.

Hughie took notice of your dilated eyes and decided to take the plant off the table, placing it carefully on the ground to make sure it's out of your sight. You could only take long breaths as you tried to get rid of the terrible image. Gosh... you can't even imagine how her family is dealing with this... or if they even know she's... sigh..

"Oi!" The sound of Butcher's call causing you two to look at him. When he waves at you to head over to him, you shoot Hughie an apologetic look as you got up to see what he's calling you for.

"You know you don't have to call me over like a dog, I have a name"

"Oh really? Your character hardly screams 'man's best friend', especially with that pissy look" He teases you with a slight smirk which you simply ignored.

"What is it?"

He stares at you, taking note of your expressionless face before nodding to himself. His whole demeanour becoming serious within seconds.

"It's about your powers" He said, his words catching your full focus in an instant.

"From what we've known... the only possibility for a non-supe person to have powers is to dose themselves with a modified version of compound v. But that's only temporary, and yours... are permanent" Butcher said, his eyes avoiding yours.

"Whatever they did to you, we're gonna figure it out... so, while I do that, M.M will be supervisin' you, won't ya M?" Butcher said, looking over his friend who's hunched over his table and writing something down.

"Well if it ain't me then who else is gonna"

"I can!" Frenchie spoke up, his forwardness catching everyone's attention. Once he realises the looks he was getting, he awkwardly smiles.

"You know, for research" He adds. You sigh as you close your eyes, turning your head to face your brother.

What are you getting yourself into at this point...

"Nothing you say quite makes sense to me. The fuck is a compound v??"

"It's what gives the supes their powers"

"What??" You narrow your brows.

"You're saying they weren't gifted?? Like, God didn't bless them and made them our saviours?? They're just a bunch of normal people high off of superpower drugs??" He grins widely at your conclusion.

"Congratulations sis, you're finally catchin' up" He said, giving you a pat on the back before walking away. You stand there, still a bit confused before going after him.

"Waitwaitwait, where are you going? You just got back a few minutes ago" You asked as he puts on his coat.

"I'm going to meet someone. Hopefully they can help me with your situation, or at least provide some insight on what Homelander did to you"

Homelander.

Just the mention of his name being said by someone made your blood boil.

You wanted to tear him apart.

"Alright... but don't take too long... okay?" You look at him, almost like you were trying to beg him to stay with your eyes. You could tell it was working when you saw how his face started to relax a bit.

"Yeah..." He reaches for your head but stops midway when he realises he can't.

The sad reality of wanting to hold his own sister could cost him his own life was completely breaking him.

All the more reason to meet up with this contact to figure out a solution.

He doesn't say anything after letting his hand fall to his side. You could only stand there and watch him leave. Somehow, some part inside of you was fearful of the speech Homelander gave you was becoming true. That his goal of striking fear in Butcher by using you was slowly working.

"Hey, (Y/N). I'm gonna need you to come here" M.M said. You didn't say anything but sat on the chair he instructed you to sit on. You watch as he scribbles something on his book before eventually turning to face you.

"Alright so I wrote down some theories and I need you to work with me" He said, his instructions pretty clear. Your eyes however couldn't help but peek at what he had written down.

Does it only work when it's in contact with skin?

Is it like poision? Or does it disintegrate everything it touches?

Can it be controlled?

If it's dangerous then how dangerous can it be?

"Here, put these on" He then handed you a pair of leather gloves.

You took it and did just as he said. You couldn't help but clench your hands a couple of times to adgust to the fabric of the gloves. Somehow you felt hopeful of this plan. Just then you see him pick up a small plant and placing it on the table in front of you. He nods his head towards it, telling you to touch it.

Though you hesitated... before finally obliging.

You let your fingertips touch the leaves just as you did only a few minutes ago to the other plant. To your surprise, it didn't change colour nor grow weak. It was perfectly fine. This discovery caused you to be overjoyed to the fact you were struggling to form words. M.M simply nodded as he wrote something in his book.

"Holy shit it worked" You exclaimed and couldn't help but stare down at your gloved hands.

"Guess the only thing that can stop you from hurting someone is those gloves..." He turns to face you once again. The smile on your face slightly drops at the mention of hurting someone.

"Guess so..." You uttered, a wave of sadness washing over the joy you were experiencing just now. This will have to be the new normal now...

"Hey, at least it's better than nothing" He said, giving you a comforting pat on the arm. You look at him with a grateful smile, acknowledging his optimistic view of the outcome.

For the next few days you were able to conduct several experiments with the boys. Ranging from testing out your strength to trying to read minds. There were definitely some very odd ideas they've come up with but neither of them wanted to leave out anything so they had to think of all the possibilities of what you could do. Although you were still uneasy about this new change, you felt reassured after knowing more about your powers. In a way you like to think that you had more control over yourself.

It was now Sunday, you were in their office resting on the sofa. Compared to your first day here, you could tell by your own body language that you were beginning to grow comfortable around the group. As you watched whatever was on the TV, you overheard a conversation going on between Butcher and M.M nearby. However judging by their tone it seemed to be about something serious.

"Seriously Butcher? You want to get him involved?" M.M said, displeased with something.

"Nobody knows this better than he does and I'm runnin' out of options"

"Options or patience Butcher, do you have any idea what he's done? If you ever so blink, he will put a bullet right between your eyes"

"Well then, you can rest assure that I'll keep my eyes wide open for any bullets" Butcher's stubbornness earning an annoyed grunt out of M.M.

"Relax mate... I've got this. When have I ever let you and the others down, huh?" He said, placing his hand on his shoulder.

"You actually want me to answer that?"

Without saying another word, Butcher simply walked away and you, who've been secretly hearing their conversation couldn't help but take a peek of your brother. Once you see him heading to the other part of the room far from the rest, you decided to get up and approach him.

"Are you having a fun time staring at the wall?" You said, pointing out how he has his arms folded as his hand is stroking his chin. His brows perked at your words.

"You're talkin' about me?" He scoffs.

"Honestly it's better than starin at your face... what do you want?" He looks at you, a playful look on his face.

"What were you talking about with M.M just now? Sounds like it was tough"

"Oh it's nothin', he's just being dodgy about the guy I strucked a deal with"

"If I heard it right, he also said he's slick enough to put a bullet through your head" You lift your gloved hand up to point at his forehead which he simply brush your hand away from his face.

"I've got my share of bullet wounds, I'll survive"

"Not through the skull though"

"How ironic, you've always did call me hard-headed sis" Just as he said that, he started to walk off like he always does when he feels himself being lectured by you, or anyone. That's why you stood in his way when he was just a few feet from the door.

"Where are you going?"

"What makes you think I'd tell you?"

"Okay, fine, don't tell me, just take me with you" He stares at you, unsure of what you were trying to do.

"No way in hell am I bringing you outside"

"If that's your concern then I can wear a disguise. Nobody will know it's me"

"Nobody is not my concern, my concern is you. What if you accidentally let a bit of your skin show and you, oh I don't know, turn a pedestrian into a fucking mummified corpse"

"What the fuck are you crying about? I can wear layers! C'mon, anything to get out of this cooped up place for once"

"You're complaining about this being cooped up? Tell me, would you rather spend a year here or that lab?"

"Hey fuck you! That is not what I meant! I just wanted to go outside!"

"Alright alright! Would you two quit it before you tear my ears off" M.M said, having to be the one to end the bickering.

"I was just about to leave anyways" Butcher didn't even look you in the eye and walked past you. His attitude was making you angrier than ever.

You just wanted to shout and throw things around. This is just like your argument with him regarding his path of going down a life of committing crimes against supes. He always never chooses to take you seriously. Yet even after years where you'd think the consequences of his actions would shape his character a bit, it sure as hell didn't, instead it just gave him a sloppy kiss on the face. You went upstairs into your bedroom and just as you open the door, you found Hughie inside. Awkward, he quickly stands from where he was crouching.

"What are you doing in my room?"

"Oh uh sorry I was looking for the tools Frenchie asked for, he said it was in Butcher's room... which... is... your room now..." He clears his throat as he avoids your gaze.

"Is it the yellow box with the 'Do not touch' note on it?"

"Y-Yeah how do you—?" Without even letting him finish, you were already heading over to your bed to get it out from underneath it. You hand it to him and he takes it with a surprised look. The heavy weight causing his body to drop a bit but he quickly recovers from it.

"I guess I'll go... thanks" He said but you had your back turned to him as you went to sit down on your bed, clearly indicating you weren't in the best mood. He walks to the door, though he doesn't leave. After hesitating, he turns around to face your back once again.

"You okay?" He calls out. His question leaving you feeling even more conflicted.

"Just Butcher" You replied.

Oh.

Somehow that simple answer clears it up. He may not have worked with him the longest but he's worked long enough to know that the man can be such a pain in the ass. Pretty much a day with the man is enough to get a clear picture of his personality. What didn't make it any better was the difference in their beliefs about the supes.

"Do you wanna talk about it?" Hughie asks. You stared down at your hands that are scratching at your nails. You do wanna talk about it but you're not sure anyone would listen to you, like actually understand how you felt.

"Are you gonna judge me?" You asked.

"Judge you? Why would I do that?"

"Well... would you be concern if I told you I'm debating whether or not if I should punch him the next time I see him?" You looked at him, searching for his reaction.

"... would it make you feel better if I told you I once had?" He said and the image of someone like Hughie punching Butcher made you chuckle a bit to yourself.

"I find that very hard to believe... but did it at least feel good?" You look at him and you could see him slowly inviting himself into the room as the conversation continued on.

"It did. For a while..." Soon he sat himself beside you on the bed.

"I don’t wanna seem like I'm intruding but why is it that you guys are always at each other's throats... I mean, he really seems to care about you so shouldn't you two get along well?"

"Psssh... he doesn't care about me"

"Errr, if he didn't he wouldn't have gone out of his way to save you from Homelander. He even sent me to spy on you when you were at work once. It was kinda—"

"Huh?" You interrupt him and your reaction had him hold his tongue.

"Spy on me? When was that?" He stares at you, batting his lashes at you blankly a few times.

"Uh I thought Butcher told you... I was the customer who asked to go to the restroom. Remember? The one with the jacket on?" He said but you were having a hard time recalling the exact memory. Your mind still a bit fuzzy from everything that happened before the kidnapping.

"I don't know... but I can't believe he would do that. Spying on me?" You said and once again the anger that was slowly dying down was now going back up.

"He was worried about you"

"If he was worried about me then he would talk to me face to face, not send one of his friends while he hid away like a coward"

"Maybe he was trying to find the right time?" You suddenly turn your head to look at him.

"Why are you making so much excuses for him??" You called him out since you figured from some of the things he told you, he probably hated him just as much as you did.

"I don't know... maybe it was that night when you guys hugged that... kinda changed my mind about him a bit... it's hard to explain but a different side of him showed. After you went to sleep, he stayed up the entire night in the office figuring out how to help you. I did try to get him to sleep but he just started cursing at me to fuck off" He said, recalling the night.

Just thinking of your brother going through computers and documents trying to find the reason behind your manifestation of powers made your heart melt a bit. You can only imagine the hours of sleep he missed, not that he even gets enough sleep but all that hours he could be using to rest and instead using it to solve your issue was nice yet sad to know. Too bad it lead him to doing business with some shady person you don't even know about. All because he wanted to help you.

"So I'm pretty sure that yeah, he does cares about you..." You stare at him, somehow amused at his way of talking things out with you.

"You really went all out trying to prove a point huh?" You said to which he laughed.

"Force of habit maybe? Anyways, I better go, Frenchie needs his tools and you look like you need some rest" He got up and began heading towards the door again but before leaving, he stops to look at you.

"Hopefully you guys work it out. He's been through a lot and I think having his family close by might keep him... human" He added. You take his words into consideration as he finally goes.

....

"Why'd you let that happen to me?" She yelled through her tears, grabbing at your shoulders as if she needed support from her limping body.

......

"You dragged me into this mess!!" Her nails were so sharp you felt like it was digging through your skin.

.............

"You killed me!! You were my friend!! You fucking bitch!!!" You couldn't breath. You felt like you were floating in an endless void.

...................

"Rot with me" She uttered. You scream as thousands of hands began grabbing at every corner of your body. The countless amount of nails on your skin sent shivers down your body. You try to scream for help but its as though your voice was stuck in your throat as no sound comes out.

........................

"NO!! STOP!!" You shout as you awake on your bed. Your screams were loud enough that it caused the door to swing open.

Your brother quickly sat himself on the bed, being careful to wrap you in the blanket before holding you close in his arms. Though your mind was too focused on the nightmare to even know who it was that was holding you. Her whisper like voice, her skeleton face, and fuck... the feeling of the thousand of nails poking your skin haunted you even more. It was so real.

"Sis... hey...! You're safe. You're here with me. No one's goin' to hurt you" He said, his voice being the thing to bring you back to the present. Your breathing somehow steadies after scanning the room to double take.

You really are safe.

"Shit.. sorry..." You could only say as your brother rubs his hand behind your back. The sight of your pale face grew concern.

"You wanna talk about what's got you screamin' in your sleep?" He asks and you let out a half embarrassed sigh. Hopefully you weren't that loud.

"I don't think I'm ready for that..." You said since what you wanted to do now was forget it.

"Aight..." He nods and continues on rubbing your back to provide some comfort. He's not big with words so this is the most he can do...

The room remained silent while you enjoyed the peace you got from his presence. When you felt yourself finally able to think rationally, you can't help but think of what Hughie told you. Working things out... To be clear, talking about your feelings with your family, let alone your sibling ain't easy as it seemed. But seeing the things you and him have gone through, that seems like the best option right now.

"Can I ask you something?" You look up at him and he looks down at you, you could tell he was worried about what you might say, yet he nods.

"Go ahead"

"... what happened after I left... like how did it lead to this? To... how you are now...?" You asked and it caused him to look away with a defeated grunt. As though he saw the question coming from a mile away.

"Theres not much to say... I fought... and I did what I had to do to survive... I wish I could tell you I was a good person for it but... I'd be lying, you wouldn't look at me now if I told you half the things I've done" He answers with his hand placed on your arm. You frown.

"It feels as though you're treating me that way already. You're my brother but sometimes you treat me like I'm just a package to you. That's what your job is about right? Whatever this job is..."

"That's not true sis..."

"Then why does your face tell another story?" You said and your words made him furrowed his brows even more. He stares at you, as if he's considering something in his mind.

"... you won't understand it"

"What don't I understand? We're family right? Blood is thicker than water. That sort of bullshit. We've been through hell together as kids. Having to take abuse from our shitty parents... then losing Lenny..." The mention of his deceased brother pained him even more that he was struggling to maintain eye contact at this point.

"Don't push me away... not again..." You pleaded while placing your other hand on top of his arm. He stayed quiet... almost too long that you were beginning to think he was gonna choose the quiet route out of the conversation until he finally opened his mouth to speak.

"How do I even start... I was furious when I found out Homelander got you involved in our fued.. but then through that rage, I also thought... what if I never went on pissing off a bunch of supes for my selfish reasons? It could have prevented how it led to this. To how he found you" Butcher began to say and you could just hear the guilt in his voice as he began confessing to you about his feelings.

"I regret some choices and some not so much... sometimes I wonder if I should've listen to you and visited that therapist you suggested. I still have the card in my wallet... but I also thought the road was too blurry to head back. I've already got too much blood on my hands, enough to fill a whole sea..." He pauses, then letting out a shaky breath.

"But if I'm being honest with you, my biggest regret would be puttin' you in any danger. Now I can't even look at you without being reminded of my mistakes... that's why it was better that you hated me instead, because it's not fair for you to forgive me after all that"

All his talking about himself was painful to even hear. Let alone the sad and defeated expression on his face. This was the most vulnerable he has ever shown himself to you. The big brother you always thought to be this indestructible force was now bawling out his emotions to you. Oddly enough, you felt glad to see him open himself up to you. This was a new start... when he became quiet, you decided to speak.

"I get why you'd think that but... didn't you tell me it was useless to dwell on things you know is irreversible? Yeah sure, I did have bad stuffs happen to me but you also helped me out of it"

"Bad things which you wouldn't be in if it weren't for me" He was quick to add when you paused but you were fast to respond.

"I know I know but... my point is... some good came out of it... and we can't change the past so we might as well control what comes next. You know... shape our destiny..." You said, feeling awkward as he stares at you a bit too hard but suddenly out of nowhere he snorts into laughter.

"What! Why are you laughing about?" You were confused at his reaction because you weren't sure if he was genuinely humoured or losing his sanity.

"I didn't know you were into that cheesy Shakespeare shit. Where'd you read that one from? The library?" He wheezes and you roll your eyes from his teasing. He can never take you seriously.

"Did you even hear what I said?" You said and from his body shifting a bit was when you realise your feet has been pressed against his leg the entire time you've both spoken. The heavy weight of the blanket must have made it harder to feel.

Even though your skin is touching his, he doesn't seem to be rotting or anything. Rather, he's still laughing at your talk just now. When he finally stops is when you point out your discovery to him. By the time he sees it, he's fast to pull his leg from contact of your skin as to not play with his luck.

"Well shit... what do you make of that?" Butcher looks at you after pretty much leaping up to his feet.

"Then it means that my powers could be controlled?? How is the question..." You said but Butcher seemed to have lose interest on that as another thing is already on his mind.

"So you don't blame me... after everything?" He asked and you look at him, your body frozen with your hand was in the process of lifting up your feet just now to get a close inspection.

"No... but if you keep pissing me off with your attitude I might start hating you" You said after finally leaving your feet alone. He chuckles lowly.

"You're not the brightest person I know" He said but there was a smile on his face. A happy one to be precise.

"That's because I'm related to you, fucker" You joked back.

Eventually after you two seemed to resolve the tension between you both, you manage to go back to sleep with Butcher willing to watch over you by sitting beside you on the bed, but it didn't take long for him to fall asleep, which trying to be as discreet as possible, you were able to catch a peek of. Since you didn't want him to freeze, you place the extra blanket onto him. After all, maybe he's not that much of an asshole.

TAGS

@demodemo909 @naniky @1infp1

[juniperhillpatient]

I’m literally so excited for the ways in which some of these characters have doomed themselves

[nathansurrealart]

Stairway to Enlightenment

By Nathan Benedict

Inspired by a retelling of someone else's dream, I had a vision of a stairway inside a temple. The symbols of fire, sun and moon are omnipresent. Balance brings perfection. Lucifer is the key. The phases of venus bring balance to the world. Follow the left path.

[lunarw0rks]

*groveling on the floor* nice simon

pleeaase anything w big sweet man simon 😭🩵

ugh… you know what's been on my mind lately?? neighbor!au with all my favorite men - but especially simon! here are some of my thots;

he's so... awkward and off-putting. in the sweetest way. like a stray dog that's only allowed to bite you. neighbor!simon, who's the perfect coresident. rarely home, and if he is, you don't even notice! except for those awkward elevator rides...

obviously, simon being the most vehement introvert, does his best to avoid him. but it's a shady apartment building. things happen; maintenance or rowdy visitors blocking the stairway. so sometimes it's easier to suffer thirty seconds of agonizing silence.

there was you. across the hall from the strange, intimidating man. it's difficult not to be frightened, especially when his way of communicating is through grim eye contact, or god forbid a deep sigh when you accidentally bump into him.

neighbor!simon is never upset with you, though. grumpy is merely his default :( for many reasons. but he always feels awful when you give him that anxious look or go out of your way to make space for him in the narrow hall.

it's not every day he meets someone like you, quiet and respectful of his boundaries. let alone live next to. so... he began to make peace his own way. taking advantage of him always being up at dawn; salting the pavement by your patio to ensure your safe commute to work. cleaning up the stack of mail that the courier tossed at your box, tucking it in neatly.

aaaand eventually moves on to more outgoing gestures. knocking on your door, two little taps with his knuckle. asking if you heard "that noise" outside, purely to make sure you were alright. partially his overthinking getting the better of him, also a cheeky move on his part to see your face.

finds a way to learn more about you, even when you're at your most bashful. typically, when he's caught you in your nightclothes, all pampered and ready for bed. next to him, you feel ridiculous, as if he's not wearing the most basic athleisure.

sometimes neighbor!simon will lean against the entrance of the building, watching cars and listening to the city noise. but he isn't out there for fun. in his mind he's waiting on someone; you. when he hears the creak of the rickety door opening, his posture becomes even straighter than usual.

"bloody cold out here, isn't it?" his gruff voice murmurs, breath visible with every word. months ago, the presence would've startled you. but you'd grown used to his very predictable, unpredictable routine of running into you.

you sigh out your words, rubbing your icy fingers together. no gloves, he notices, but doesn't acknowledge. "why aren't you inside, simon? place is pretty cozy if you look past the water damage."

simon scoffs, "i like the cold," he places his hands into his pockets and reaches for the door handle. "y' workin' today, love?" he inquires, despite noticing your work bag slung over your shoulder.

you mutter an unenthusiastic 'yes', exhaustion evident in your features. it's too damn early for you to be out and about, struggling to make ends meet.

he hums to himself as he walks away, waiting until your figure disappears before crossing the street. he's on his way to the nearest shop.

that evening, when you return to your flat with dragging feet, there's no sign of neighbor!simon. out front, out back, or in the hall. only sign of life is the flickering lamp peaking under the gap of his front door. frankly, you're too exhausted to think about it much.

you raise your key to the lock, stepping forward when it gives way. something blocks your foot, nearly sending you tumbling forward. you peer down at the quaint gift box, nearly embarrassed at the tumble it gave you. proves that your post-work tunnel vision is no joke.

curiously, you examine it. no fancy wrapping paper, plain cardboard. and in place of the ribbon is some decorative twine, halfway decently tied into the shape of a bow. with a gentle tug, you release it and take off the lid. the aroma of cardboard is stronger now, as well as a spritz of a very familiar cologne.

gloves; knitted and coordinated to match your winter jacket. you smile to yourself, taking one last look at simon's door behind you, just as he shuts off the lamp for the night, the spotty yellow glow ceasing.

waiting on you to get home safe, no matter how late. of course, there's a price tag on them. he's not that showy, or crafty. anything he'd try to knit would end up a crumpled slab of yarn.

stepping inside your flat, you set your things down on the counter and run your finger over the soft, thick material. you can already picture the relief these will be on your walk, no longer clocking in with stiff, frozen fingers. new winterwear was on your list for months, but you're notoriously bad at gifting yourself nice — basic — things. and apparently, it shows.

the hollow box rattles when you set it down, as do your keys. finally, you slip them on, thinking of all the days you passed your neighbor simon. never knowing how observant he could be, in the sweetest way.

and they're a perfect fit, of course.

[janananarei]

His Favorite Artist

Blind Gojo x Reader

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Genre: Fluff

CW: SFW, Fem! Reader

Note: Yayy, my second work! It's not as long as the first one, but I really just wanted to write fluff. Feel free to send any requests since I have no idea what to write next.

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Warm sunlight hits Satoru's skin as he navigates his way to the stairway. He had won his battle with Sukuna at the cost of his vision, he had to retire after and learn to live not being able to see anything. Luckily for him, his wife was there with him to help adjust to his new life. Living at the countryside, not needing to worry about any curses or curse users, and finally having the life he had always wanted.

Once he touched the familiar railings of the stairs, he slowly steps one foot down and follows the other. He takes his time, almost reaching the last step when suddenly his foot got stuck making him lose balance. A loud thud was heard, and you quickly stop whatever you were doing to check it out. There at the bottom of the stairs lays a groaning Satoru as he rubs his head.

"Satoru! Are you okay? Why didn't you call me?" You ask as you kneel beside him and check his head for any bruise. "Sorry, I thought you were busy and I didn't wanna disturb you." Satoru feels your soft hands grab his arm and pull him up, securing them around your shoulder. "Can we go outside? I've been cramped all day in our bedroom."

"Of course sweetheart. I've also baked a fresh batch of cookies that I'm sure you'd love." You lead him to the door and open it. Satoru feels the fresh breeze hit his face and he sighs in satisfaction, feeling the warm sunlight once more. You lead him to sit in a chair, and grab one of your own. Satoru feels at peace, only hearing the soft swaying of the trees and grass, no growling and groaning from curses to be heard. His arms only feeling the warm sun and the light breeze, clean from the blood of curses. And his eyes, not overwhelmed by information and cursed energies. Although, he was quite disappointed not being able to enjoy the view with you, only being able to see a blank canvas. He still feels the grief of losing his sight and not ever being able to enjoy seeing the world, looking at how grown his students are now, and appreciating your beauty. There is still a feeling of uselessness in his mind as he is no longer able to perform his duties and uphold the title of being the strongest.

"Satoru, do you want me to describe what we're looking at right now?" He feels your soft hands hold his and he smiles. "Of course darling, paint the world for me." He squeezes your hand.

"We're surrounded with trees and flowers of all sorts, giving color to the land. The sun is setting over a lake, painting the sky a beautiful orange hue, while the water reflects the beauty of the sun. In the distance, there is a flock of ducks resting by the shore. Our home is just right beside us, with a bird's nest lying on the roof. Everything is peaceful and quiet." As you further explain the scenery, Satoru imagines the world that you describe it to be. And he now remembers that so long as you are with him, his canvas would never be blank and devoid of life.

You feel him squeeze your hand, so you stop and look at him. You can see the wonder and softness in his eyes, as he continues to stare at the sunset. "What would I ever do without you." He spoke softly.

You smile and lean your head onto his shoulder. Silence taking over the atmosphere, as you both bask in the sunlight. At that moment, Satoru thinks that the world is beautiful.