#loganwritesocs

You couldn’t quite remember how you’d ended up there, on the Silver Moon, surrounded by people who weren’t quite human, dancing the night away. They were all great, you couldn’t deny that, you’d had a lot of fun since boarding the ship and you couldn’t remember the last time you’d laughed this much. It was just surprising, in this cruel world. They’d met you, liked you, and just sort of brought you into their little family. Apparently, according to grumpy middle brother Derek, that wasn’t uncommon, though most people only hung around until the next island, or maybe one island after. You were lucky enough to be with them as halloween rolled around, a holiday the entire crew felt quite strongly about and so a huge party was being thrown.

Erica had pulled you up to the dance floor at her side, followed quickly by the young Malia, who excitedly attached herself to the two of you to dance. Genim wasn’t far behind, the four of you laughing and dancing together while other members of the crew looked on.

Food had been brought out at some point by Boyd and Peter, set out for everyone to take what they wanted as they wanted it, and plenty of cups out to pour your own drinks. Peter had stepped in amongst everyone with a drink in hand, hauling his daughter up with his free hand to dance with her. He then tossed Malia to Derek, who caught her without hesitation even given the height she’d achieved, her joyful shrieking echoing over the waves. Peter took Erica’s hand and spun her around with a grin, then passed her off for Genim, and finally you. He winked at you, pulling you in close, laughing together. It was the most relaxed Peter had looked since you’d arrived and you found yourself glad. You figured that had something to do with the booze in the cup he was holding.

Cora turned down the volume of the music, much to everyone’s dismay, after a couple of hours of dancing and chatting without much purpose. Though, laugher and cheers, and a few groans, echoed across the ship when she suggested spin the bottle. The dancefloor cleared quickly, leaving those who wanted to partake sitting in a circle around a single empty glass bottle - which didn’t feel like the safest idea given the faint rocking of the boat as the waves rolled, but you said nothing.

In the circle sat Erica, Boyd, Isaac, Theo, Genim, Tamashi, Cora, Peter and yourself. Laura, Derek, and Malia all sat aside, all related to some of the participants, two uninterested, and one too young.

Cora spun the bottle, happy to skitter off with Genim, laughing together the entire time. Genim had kissed most of the people on board, so you weren’t entirely surprised. You’d been able to hear them laughing the entire time, entirely unable to take it seriously, though from the pink on his lips when they returned you could see that they had at least kissed a little.

“What rules?” Genim asked as he changed his position again, Tamashi’s hands on his shoulders unable to dissuade him.

“Seven minutes in heaven.” Cora said with a shrug, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

“Where?” Erica asked, looking around the open deck.

“Oh. Uh..” Cora hesitated, floundering for a moment.

“The store closet with the cleaning supplies should suffice, just over there.” Peter said, pointing it out mostly for your benefit. Everyone else knew where it was, you nodded and everyone else mumbled agreements.

Erica went next, only too happy to drag Boyd away with a manic grin, and after several minutes of silence, aside from something being knocked over, they returned hand in hand, Boyd covered in Erica’s trademark bright red lipstick.

Theo followed, doing his best to look uninterested as he padded away with Isaac in tow. You’d seen them coming from a mile away, and so when they returned after an oddly quiet seven minutes in the store closet, you had to wonder what exactly had happened bewteen them. Though, the few glances they shared as Peter waited for the bottle to stop told you everything you needed to know really.

Knowing Peter, you should’ve expected him to have a trick up his sleeve. Before you could so much as say a word, he’d jiggled a shelf, then removed it, and revealed that behind that shelf was actually a door that led into a larger room. Based on where you were, it must’ve been in the centre of the ship, with no way to access it other than through the storage closet.

“Oi.” Cora’s voice snapped you out of your thoughts, and when you turned from Isaac to the group, you realised the bottle that Peter had spun had landed on you.

“Oh.” You said staring at it for a moment.

“We don’t have to.” Peter offered, though he was looking at you like prey already. You hesitated for only a moment before you stood, and Peter followed with ease, his body flowing in the odd way it always did. Like his bones weren’t entirely solid. People laughed and jeered as the two of you walked away, then slipped into the small closet.

“You’re a mad man.” You said, looking around with disbelief in your eyes, while Peter dropped himself onto the small sofa in the corner.

“How did you get that in here?” You asked, taking the spot beside him with ease, allowing him to loop an arm around your shoulders.

“I built it in here. And yes, it was immensely irritating.” He admitted without concern. You leaned against his chest and exhaled deeply, content to just be there with him. You might have definitely had a major raging crush on Peter, but then it was hard not to. He was respectful, but flirtatious; he was mischevious, but mature when he needed to be; he was vicious, but his hands touched you so gently. He was everything you could want, even though he was also someone to be feared. Maybe you should talk to someone about that.

Peter looked down at you intently, just watching as your mind drifted, allowing you your time to think. When you felt his fingers brush over your shoulder, rubbing small circles there, you blinked a few times to refocus yourself and look up at him in return. You’d not realised just how close he was until that moment, you were able to feel his soft breaths on your face.

“Hey.” You mumbled, and you felt more than heard the rumble of Peter’s laugh in return.

“Hi.” He replied, and you struggled not to flush like a school child, even if you weren’t sure he’d be able to see it in the low lighting of the room. While some of the typical discomfort of the game was absolved by the increase in space the two of you had, the tension in the room was notably still present. Peter had flirted with you plenty, though he did that with everyone, and it had played on your mind regularly as you lay in bed at night. The bonus of them having a spare room specifically for guests was that you got the space to yourself, so the chances of being caught masturbating to thoughts of Peter were much lower.

“Can’t focus, hm? Don’t tell me I fluster you that much sweetheart.” Peter whispered against your ear, and you were startled by the realisation that he’d moved even closer to you. He dragged his nose slowly downward tucking himself in against your neck. You were sure he could feel the way your heart was racing, or smell the sweat on your palms with his enhanced senses.

“You don’t really do personal space, do you?” You asked, Peter only laughed.

“Sure I do. I just really like other people’s personal space.” He replied, the hand that had been around your shoulders trailed down your back until his large hand held your waist instead of innocently resting beside you.

That was all it took. Next you knew, his hand was in your trousers, having only unzipped them to get himself access. He didn’t need more than that, apparently, as his skilled fingers easily found your hole, circling it to gather the wetness there to ease his way as he pushed a single, long, thick finger inside you. He repositioned you both with his free hand, looming over you as you lay back on the small sofa, which somehow only served to turn you on more. You’d reached out to wrap an arm around Peter’s neck when he’d pushed you back, fingers tangling in his short hair to tug on while you moaned softly, lip pulled between your teeth in an attempt to quiet you.

“What do you want Peter?” You asked, because that was Peter’s game. He always wanted something.

“Maybe to spend the next.. oh six minutes with you actually experiencing heaven.” He replied, as if it were nothing at all. As if he wasn’t propositioning you in a small room on the ship it seemed nobody else knew about, like you could both go uncaught in that time.

“Do you only last that long?” You followed with, finally refinding your confidence.

“Ouch, sweetheart. But it’s alright, I can make you last less.”

“Are you thinking about it now? How it’d feel inside you?” He whispered, and you didn’t need to look at him to know he had a smug little smirk on his face. You knew the expression well for various reasons, but in that moment something about it just turned up the intensity of the situation. You bucked your hips toward his hand, seeking more pleasure. You were sure you’d felt the temperature in the room rise, and all you could feel was Peter.

“Oh darling, you make the sweetest sounds. It’d be a shame I had to share them with everyone else.” He teased, his smirk broadening when you only tightened around him in response. A second finger pushed inside you, then a third joined them, thrusting into you with no hurry. You threw your free arm over your eyes, as if it would somehow prevent Peter from being able to see your pleasure, like it would protect you from how embarassed you’d no doubt feel later.

“Don’t you dare,” he growled, forcing your hand away again, “don’t you hide from me, let me see that gorgeous face. This is what that face and those noises do to me.” As he spoke, Peter guided your hand to his crotch to feel his hard cock straining in his jeans. You inhaled sharply, taking in his size. Peter was no slouch.

“I think you are, I can feel how wet you’ve gotten. All for me, right sweetheart?” Without warning then, Peter removed his fingers from your hole. You weren’t given a chance to complain though, not when without hesitation he descended on you like a starved man and shoved his thick tongue into you instead. Peter ate pussy like it was his God given right, and his sincerest pleasure. You’d had some experience in your life, but a fleeting thought told you that Peter was going to make it incredibly hard for anyone else to pleasure you, as they’d just never measure up to him. Somewhere in the background you heard a knock, the announcement that you had just three minutes left on your time, but neither had it in you to respond, to absorbed in the moment.

A better person than you might have been able to resist, but you couldn’t, the moment Peter’s lips touched your folds you began to grind down on his face, and he encouraged it with hands on your hips helping you move, taking what you needed from him. You couldn’t decide if his inability to talk was a curse or a blessing, as with the embarassment removed so was the thrill of his voice dirty talking right into your ear in hushed words.

Gently, Peter helped you turn in his lap so he could kiss you slowly. You spent the final two minutes of your time like that, kissing and feeling each other’s bodies over your clothes. It was almost sweet. He was eager to taste your mouth, exploring every inch with that talented tongue, while expert fingers rubbed knots from your muscles.

When his fingers joined his tongue inside you, you were a goner, cumming over his face and into his mouth only moments later. Peter licked you clean like you leaked ambrosia, and when he sat up to look at you his chin glistened with your release. You had the urge to cover your face again, embarassment quickly flooding through you, but Peter was quicker, his clean hand cupping your face gently.

“Don’t look so shy. I did exactly what I set out to do.” He said, then stood. On the other side of the room was a small set of shelves, and on one of them was a pack of wipes which he pulled a few from, and tossed them to you to wipe up - he didn’t need them himself, he licked his fingers and face clean. Once you were done, he helped fix your clothes and pulled you up into his lap, arms wrapped snuggly around your body.

“What about-” you began to say, but Peter shook his head.

“Nothing about me. I told you, I did what I set out to do, which was to find out if you taste as sweet as you look.” His words sent a new jolt of desire down your spine, which you vehemently ignored.

“So that was it? Nothing else?” You asked, doing your best to sound entirely neutral.

“I’m happy for a repeat performance any time, sweetheart.” He replied, and you nodded, accepting that answer. You knew better than to accept commitment from Peter you supposed, he was known amongst his own family as a man whore.

You and Peter sighed, aware that neither of you would live it down, but once the younger woman had gone back to the others to tell them what she’d heard, Peter winked at you and nodded.

“Hey Peter?” You asked absently as he helped the two of you back through to the closet itself.

“Yes?” He replied, concentrating on the shelf he had to refit to hide the door.

“Do you have a knot?” Peter wasn’t the only one to drop something, as behind you Erica dropped her drink.

“What?” She yelled, laughing hysterically.

Yeah. You’d be going back for that repeat performance.

Tag list: @claryeverlarkf @uselessboots @cainnoable @hyperfixationthingss @queenmimi2817 @mermaniaa @undeadeurydice @armiliadawn @discordantwritings @villainousace @kermitothefroggo @conspiralyse @nocturnalrorobin @fanaticsnail

Crocodile wasn't the only child that she became pregnant with, but due to mistreatment by her husband, he was the only child that survived to term. Her little miracle, her rainbow baby.

Oliver began beating Annalise after a few years of being married, when she'd not managed to conceive yet and he was getting deeper into his family's criminal business. At first she defended it - he was stressed, and he was always so sorry. She lost a total of five babies before she gave birth to Crocodile, and the only reason he survived is because Oliver often disappeared for long periods of time for his work - and he was gone for the entirety of her pregnancy.

She hoped that he would stop after Crocodile was born, because now he had a child - a little girl, who looked so much like him - maybe this would be a turning point.

It wasn't.

Annalise spent the next sixteen years of her life taking beatings to prevent her child from sustaining them. But Crocodile was brilliant, and good to her, and so smart. She wasn't foolish enough to think he didn't know what was happening, he'd known for a long time.

While she'd been struggling for cash, Crocodile had been helping around the neighbourhood doing any jobs that needed doing. It was a town with an aging population, so often the jobs were manual labour, and he took anything he could get. Crocodile grew to tower over both his mother and father, and became quite muscular from years of work.

The last time Oliver came home, Crocodile was the one to answer the door, and he beat his father senseless. When Annalise came home, having been out baby sitting as she often was, she found her son on the living room floor, bleeding sluggishly from his wrist, where his hand used to be. She blamed herself for that until the day she died.

In order to earn money, both so she and Crocodile could survive and also so that she could give money to Oliver when he came home demanding it, Annalise worked as a baby sitter. There were a few young couples in their town, amongst the elderly, and Annalise babysat any child that needed to be babysat. It didn't pay amazingly, but it was enough until Crocodile turned thirteen and began helping.

One of the children she babysat was called Venus, and she was somewhat of a sister to Crocodile. They grew up together, with her just two years older than him, and when she stopped needing to be babysat at age fourteen, she continued to be a presence in Annalise and Crocodile's lives.

❀⊱┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄⊰❀

╭──── ⋅𖥔⋅ ────╮

ʙᴀꜱɪᴄ ᴅᴇᴛᴀɪʟꜱ

ɴᴀᴍᴇ: Marsh Linwood

ɴɪᴄᴋɴᴀᴍᴇꜱ: N/A

ᴀɢᴇ: 29

ɢᴇɴᴅᴇʀ: Cis male

ᴘʀᴏɴᴏᴜɴꜱ: He/him

ꜱᴇxᴜᴀʟɪᴛʏ: Bisexual (male lean)

ʙɪʀᴛʜᴅᴀʏ: September 3rd

ᴢᴏᴅɪᴀᴄ ꜱɪɢɴ: Virgo

⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅∙∘☽༓☾∘⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅∙⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅

ʜᴇɪɢʜᴛ: 6'3"

ꜱᴋɪɴ ᴛᴏɴᴇ: Fair

ʜᴀɪʀ: Mousy brown

ᴇʏᴇꜱ: Green

ꜱᴄᴀʀꜱ: Various scars on his body, all covered by his shirt

ʙᴏᴅʏ ᴍᴏᴅꜱ: N/A

╰──── ⋅𖥔⋅ ────╯

❀⊱┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄⊰❀

❀⊱┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄⊰❀

╭──── ⋅𖥔⋅ ────╮

ʙᴀᴄᴋꜱᴛᴏʀʏ

Marsh grew up in a small village on a small island in the East Blue. He'd always had a love for learning, and was lucky enough to learn about Devil Fruits from an older man who lived on the outskirts of the town before he died. Everyone had believed the man was insane, that he was little more than a crazed old man telling fairy tales. His village had never seen a Devil Fruit, and so didn't believe in them. But Marsh believed.

His mother had died in birth, so for the first ten or so years of his life he was the son of a single father. Until his father died. When he died, there were marines on the island and one of them had found him crying in the small island graveyard. The marine had seemed kind, gentle even, and offered to take Marsh with them. The idea of leaving his closed minded town appealed, so he agreed. What a mistake he'd made.

TW: Slave treatment, abuse, sexual implications toward minor

"Scrub the floors, until your knees are black; clean these clothes by hand, until your hands are raw; make these beds perfectly, or you'll be strung up in the yard; clean my boots with your tongue.." Marsh paused then to breathe deeply and swallow, "you don't get to eat, you don't deserve it; I'll keep you awake all night, so you understand how hard my work is; I'll trade you to pirates to be their slave, they won't be as kind as me; maybe I'll give you to the new recruits, they've got far filthier minds than I have, I wonder what they'd come up with."

╰──── TW Over ────╯

The Marine that took Marsh in was a very cruel man, who'd treated him like dirt. The fact that he ever managed to get away was frankly a miracle.

╰──── ⋅𖥔⋅ ────╯

❀⊱┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄⊰❀

❀⊱┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄⊰❀

╭──── ⋅𖥔⋅ ────╮

ᴄᴀʀᴇᴇʀ

Marsh isn't technically employed. His work is a passion project and he doesn't get paid for it, which does tend to make his life quite hard.

⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅∙∘☽༓☾∘⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅∙⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅

ʜᴏʙʙɪᴇꜱ

Marsh is very lucky in the sense that is hobby technically is his career. He does have other things that he enjoys, such as reading outside his research area and he's stronger than he looks, despite not being as active as one might expect. He enjoys jogging, it helps him to think, and he's surprisingly good in hand to hand combat.

⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅∙∘☽༓☾∘⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅∙⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅

ʟɪᴋᴇꜱ

☾ Milky coffee

☾ Reading

☾ Cheese

☾ Learning

⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅∙∘☽༓☾∘⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅∙⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅

ᴅɪꜱʟɪᴋᴇꜱ

☽ Marines/WG

☽ Tea

☽ His father

☽ Alcohol

⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅∙∘☽༓☾∘⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅∙⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅

ᴀꜱᴘɪʀᴀᴛɪᴏɴꜱ

Having grown up in a small town on a small island where people were so ignorant of the world around him, Marsh wants to bring knowledge. His biggest dream is to create a Devil Fruit encyclopaedia that isn't only available to the elites, and he wants it to be as detailed as possible, even if he has to risk his life to achieve it.

⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅∙∘☽༓☾∘⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅∙⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅

ꜰᴇᴀʀꜱ

Marsh doesn't particularly fear anything. He has his issues, sure, but fear? Not really for him.

╰──── ⋅𖥔⋅ ────╯

❀⊱┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄⊰❀

❀⊱┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄⊰❀

╭──── ⋅𖥔⋅ ────╮

ꜰᴀᴍɪʟʏ

ꜰᴀᴛʜᴇʀ

➼ Edmund Linwood

➼ Deceased

⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅∙∘☽༓☾∘⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅∙⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅

ᴍᴏᴛʜᴇʀ

➼ Clarise Linwood

➼ Deceased

⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅∙∘☽༓☾∘⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅∙⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅

"ꜰᴀᴛʜᴇʀ"

➼ Chester Houghton

➼ Living

╰──── ⋅𖥔⋅ ────╯

❀⊱┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄⊰❀

❀⊱┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄⊰❀

_ _

╭──── ⋅𖥔⋅ ────╮

ʜᴇᴀʟᴛʜ

ᴘʜʏꜱɪᴄᴀʟ ʜᴇᴀʟᴛʜ

Marsh's physical health is generally good. He enjoys exercise, though he doesn't do it often. Though, he's sure there's likely to be lasting damage from his treatment by his marine 'father'.

⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅∙∘☽༓☾∘⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅∙⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅

ᴍᴇɴᴛᴀʟ ʜᴇᴀʟᴛʜ

"The only thing that was guaranteed, was ale at the end of the night. A cigarette on a good day."

Marsh's mental health is.. fragile, perhaps is the best word to describe it. He lives because he wants to spite the man who took advantage of him for so many years, but he knows that he has issues that he should probably work harder to overcome. His relationship with alcohol and cigarettes is complicated.

⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅∙∘☽༓☾∘⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅∙⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅

ᴇᴀᴛɪɴɢ

Marsh's relationship with food is complicated, and he tends toward hoarding when he does have the money to buy food supplies. He eats in small portions, just in case - he wants to savour what he has and make sure he doesn't run out.

⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅∙∘☽༓☾∘⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅∙⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅

ᴍᴇᴍᴏʀʏ

Marsh wishes his memory was worse. That he found it easier to forget. Though, it's what makes him such a good scholar.

⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅∙∘☽༓☾∘⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅∙⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅

ꜱʟᴇᴇᴘɪɴɢ

Marsh is prone to sleeping poorly, after the way he was treated. He struggles to fall asleep, and then wakes up frequently in the night, though he's more than used to exhaustion.

╰──── ⋅𖥔⋅ ────╯

❀⊱┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄⊰❀

There is a very thin line between hate, and love, or so people say. Corwin has become familiar with that more intimately than he ever would’ve guessed, or would dare to admit.

Evanthe was everything Corwin hated in one body. He was loud, annoying, narcissistic, and unfortunately he was also hot. He didn’t even remember how it had happened the first time, but they’d fallen into bed together and every time they encountered each other it seemed to happen again. Then Corwin gave him his personal snail number. It was a rookie error really, he was getting in too deep, and he’d been here before and gotten hurt but this time it was different because he wanted nothing more than to bash Evanthe’s skull in.

Until it wasn’t different at all.

“I hate you.” He’d growled down the snail, listening as Evanthe fucked himself with a dildo, one Corwin had personally sent to him, a mold of his own, he listened until the pathetic slut came over his perfect silken sheets untouched as he had a dozen times before. He found himself feeling glad that the other man was too deep in his own pleasure to notice that for the first time, his words were a lie. He didn’t call Evanthe for three weeks after that. It wasn’t that they had a schedule of any kind, but generally speaking the calls came at least once a fortnight. Corwin couldn’t bear to call again, to hear Evanthe moaning for him and to know he couldn’t really have it. He knew himself well, and he knew what he could handle, and he knew what he felt. He felt too much for Crisanto Evanthe. Any amount of genuine feelings for that buffoon was too much, but he was far too deep. The fact that there was even a general schedule for how often they called and that showed that he was in too deep. So he went cold turkey.

The next time he got any hint of Evanthe was on an island - in person, which was the worst kind of way to be with Evanthe, especially after so long separated. He had wanted to remain strong, to keep himself away, and behave. He just needed to behave. But of course, nothing ever went Corwin’s way. Instead, he bumped into Evanthe in a bar and had to pull him outside and around the back of the place, shoving the man to his knees on the ground. He’d not so much as said a word until the slut was kneeling before him, looking as if he was ready to worship. “You’re so pathetic. I bet you’ve not been able to stop thinking about me, I bet your pretty little hole is fucking begging to be filled by me.” He spat, unbuttoning and unzipping his trousers while he spoke. Despite how he protested and denied his own queerness, Evanthe looked eager - ready to suck on Corwin’s dick because he was exactly the whore the marine knew he was. Then, rather than allowing that to happen, Corwin took his dick in hand and let go, releasing himself all over the man below him. For a moment, Evanthe looked confused, then shocked, and then he settled into arousal, a tent quickly pitching in his trousers, leaning forward into the warm stream, eager to be marked.

“You’re a fucking animal, aren’t you? So needy to be marked. Owned.” Corwin said, and though his voice came out strong and harsh, he felt as if the words had hurt to get out, stuck momentarily in his throat and making his heart clench. Oh to own him. Evanthe only whined, unable or unwilling to speak, and Corwin didn’t have it in him to comment. He finished his business and tucked himself away, then for good measure leaned over slightly to spit down on the pirate, before turning and walking away to leave him in a puddle of piss.

He couldn’t get any more attached than he already was, and yet they seemed to be pulled together like opposite poles, drawn to each other again and again, their lives irrevocably changed by the other. Or maybe it was just Corwin that felt like that. Perhaps Evanthe didn’t wake up thinking of Corwin, he didn’t wonder what it would be like to wake up together, to share a meal, to terrorise each other through their days but still come together at the end of it to be just that, together. Was it truly so much to ask that Corwin might just once fall for someone who had the ability to love him in return, someone who would return his dedication and loyalty, someone who would give as well as take? In another life, maybe, he would get that chance. In another life he might find a lover willing to burn the world for him like he was willing to do for them, his other half who would complete and protect him as much as he would do for them. Not in this life, he supposed. No, in this life, he was doomed to suffer the same fate over and over, never learning his lesson. Fate was a cruel mistress, after all.

“Where’d you go doll?” Evanthe teased over the snail, and Corwin could picture the shit eating grin on his face. “Thinking about anyone but you.” Corwin snipped, and he was glad that he was always so short with Evanthe, otherwise he’d have been caught there. He knew he sounded different to usual, his hatred turned to a personal sort of venom. “I know you’re not. You can’t resist me. You’re probably imagining you were here right now, inside me instead of this replica, because nothing can compare to the real thing. I just can’t fuck myself the way you fuck me…” Evanthe teased, and Corwin growled, teeth elongating in his mouth as the fight began to contain himself. “Pathetic.” He slurred around his canines, still fighting to contain the beast inside him. He preferred to be at least somewhat civilised thank you. “Struggling to contain yourself, lieutenant?” Evanthe mocked, though a moan escaped him not a moment after. “Maybe I should stop, and next time I’ll fuck you with a dick almost twice the size of normal. Then nobody else will ever be able to fuck you like I can.”

He was avoiding Evanthe again, naturally. Of course, that also means that Evanthe has to show up where Corwin had docked to relax, and let him men recuperate. Which also meant he was alone when he was approached. “Lieutenant.” The smug bastard greeted, slinking up behind Corwin shamelessly, wrapping arms around the man’s larger body. “Get off,” Corwin demanded roughly, shoving the pirate away, “we’re in fucking public. Maniac.” He stepped away from the blonde and turned to face him, fire burning hot in his eyes. He had no reason to feel quite this angry, it wasn’t entirely fair. Though, when had Evanthe ever cared about fair? “Who got your panties in a twist?” The pirate teased with glee, taking a slow, mischievous step forward, closer to Corwin. “I’m seriously not in the mood today.” Corwin said, and he should’ve known that wouldn’t work as a refusal considering that was what their entire dynamic was built upon. “I’m sure I can.. Persuade you..”

Corwin had hit him before he’d realised what he was doing. Square in the jaw. “What the fuck!” Evanthe yelled, his playful temperament having disappeared. “I told you - I’m not in the mood.” Corwin replied, but instead of angry he just sounded resigned. “Oh, did your little girlfriend break up with you? Don’t take that shit out on me!” Evanthe replied, pulling himself back up to his feet, irate. He had been hit, and there was no real reason for it. “Don’t do this, Crisanto.” Corwin said, voice low, the threat clear. He clenched his teeth, closing his eyes for a moment to keep the monster crawling beneath his skin at bay. “Do I make you angry, lieutenant? Are you going to hit me again?” Evanthe taunted, and Corwin grunted, eyes opening to reveal something far more animal than man inside him. “Don’t.” He said again, and this time it was far closer to a beg. Please, do not do this. That was what his body wanted him to say, but he couldn’t allow himself. “Seas, you really are fucked up.” Evanthe said flippantly, raising his brows as he looked Corwin up and down, a truly judgemental look in his eye. Corwin opened his mouth to make space for his elongated canines, flexing his fingers as they slowly began to grow in size. 

The pair remained silent as Corwin finally caved and let the transformation overcome him, it was always easier when he welcomed the change. He sighed and tossed his ruined uniform aside, sitting down beside the bench he’d sat on before. Evanthe remained there, marvelling at him. “Don’t look at me like that.” Corwin said, unable to even tack on a comment about him looking pathetic. “Like what?” Evanthe asked, turning his nose up - literally - at the marine. “Like you want to worship me.” “I don’t.” “No. You don’t.” Corwin agreed, looking down at his large, dark palms in his lap. Evanthe didn’t want to worship him, it was true, and that was the entire issue.

“What? Nothing snarky or witty to say?” “Not this time.” His words were hollow. Empty rather than unfeeling. “Ew. I don’t like you like this.” Evanthe grumbled, and his feelings more than showed on his face. Corwin didn’t much like himself like this either.

“Just go.” Corwin told him, still not looking up. He couldn’t bear it. How could he have let this happen? Why did he always insist on getting himself hurt? “I’m not going to ask you what’s wrong.” Evanthe said. “I know.” “I don’t care what’s wrong.” “I know.” “I only even see you for the sex.” “I fucking know, Evanthe!” Corwin wasn’t sure he’d said the man’s name before now. “This is about me, isn’t it?” Evanthe ventured, and Corwin took a deep breath to calm himself, not wanting to lose his control any more than he already had. It wasn’t worth it. He didn’t want to kill the guy. “It is,” Evanthe said, gleeful all over again, “don’t tell me you’ve gone and gotten yourself all worked up over little old me? Could you truly not resist my endless charms, baby doll? I know I’m gorgeous, but I thought better of you.”

In a split second, Corwin was a man again, and naked as the day he was born. He took Evanthe by the neck and lifted him from the ground, eyes wide with fury. “Shut your mouth.” He hissed. “Did I hit a nerve?” Evanthe teased, and Corwin couldn’t resist it anymore. Instead of putting him down, instead of walking away, instead of using the handcuffs he’d thrown on the ground somewhere, he pulled the pirate close to his body and kissed him. 

They’d kissed countless times before, of course, in the throes of passion, but it was always so sexual. Not this kiss. This kiss burned with a different kind of need and passion, something that Corwin could never dream of expressing in words because seas forbid he expressed feelings. As long as his thoughts remained non-verbal, he could remain in denial outwardly.

He released Evanthe and let him fall the rest of the way to the ground, grabbing what he could salvage of his uniform for the sake of his modesty. “You really have, haven’t you?” Evanthe asked from where had fell to the ground, on his knees staring at Corwin. “Goodbye, Crisanto. Lose my number.” Corwin said, trying his jacket around his waist to cover his junk and hold up what remained of his trousers.

“Why? Afraid you’ll fall completely and irrevocably in love with me?” The pirate taunted, and Corwin didn’t feel the need to speak again, he simply turned back to face Evanthe for a long moment, eyes sad, face flat, and then continued his walk away, intending to return to the ship for a change of clothes.

“I miss you.” Evanthe whispered into the snail phone, needy and missing the arrangement he’d had with Corwin. He was sitting on the dildo he’d been gifted, and had been teasing himself for an hour, working up the courage to dial the number. “I told you to lose my number.” Corwin simply said, hating the way his dick hardened, reacting to Evanthe’s words. “I have it memorised, not so easy to lose.” “You won’t manipulate me, Crisanto. I know your games too well.” There was a pause.

“This is it? Really? You’re getting scared and running away? What happened to owning me?” “I don’t own you though, do I? No matter how many of your firsts I got, there will always be a woman in your bed whenever I’m not there. You aren’t mine, you never were, and you never will be. That’s not how you work. You can’t give your whole self to someone.” Corwin paused, his eldest brother’s words ringing clear in his ears. “I deserve someone who will give me all of them.”

“How pathetic.” Evanthe muttered, and Corwin just sighed. “Goodbye, Evanthe. I’m sure you can find another man to bend you over every surface he deems worthy. If you ever decide to admit you enjoy that sort of thing, that is.”

Ka-chick. Corwin ended the call.