(obs) Teach - Tumblr Posts

📌   //   pin  my  muse’s  wrists  above  their  head (from teach while they're fooling around)

AGGRESSION   //   SEXUAL  TENSION .

Anne gasps and immediately tries to stifle it; really, as long as this has been going on now, she should know better.

Kissing--even when straddling his lap, grinding down at times to tease, topless and moaning, even pressed up against him and desperate, nipples pebbling, flush starting in her cheeks and his--was one thing. Is. Is one thing. And this is quite another.

Anne is breathless and even past the chiding she hears in her own mind--whore, slut, captain's woman and naught more--her legs fall open for him. Lips parted. Eyes a bit glazed. In only her trousers and spread-kneed on his bed. There's something dangerous in liking men like Teach--big enough and tall enough and broad enough and strong enough to bend anyone over their knee but smart enough to do the same without lifting a finger. From down here, there's no escape from him. It's exactly where she wants to be and more than probably where she needs to be, held down but gently, all the dressings of a fight to make giving it up a little easier for her pride to bear.

She's almost scared to speak. To move. To do more than stare up at him and dumbly pray he'll kiss her, or worse.

Anne's head swims when they kiss. Even if she weren't so button-lipped half the time, she wouldn't have the words to explain the world of difference Edward and his stupid cunting "courting" had done so far. And even if she did have the words, they were a long way off of being something she'd be able to say. It'd been a shock after the first time that he'd let her stay without making her pay, as it were, but she'd barely had time to start wondering what the fuck that could mean before he'd been off doing some stupid thing else and keeping her on her toes.

She's not complaining about his way of letting her catch her breath, though. She squeezes his fingers back and tries to strangle another stupid fucking needy sound out of her when he shifts on the bed and presses her more into it. Fuck. Fuck!

She follows him without thinking when he pulls away, eyes half-lidded and pupils blown. Broken intensity be damned! If he'd wanted it broken, he should've broken it before getting them here.

It takes her an embarrassingly second to realize she hasn't answered, just lain there staring at his lips like an arse. It takes her another fumbling moment to find her voice, already hoarse.

"Y--yes." That feels stupid. "I like that." Not helping the matter. She stops her dumb motor-mouth before it goes off and makes her look any more a foolish whelp under in front of him, settling for squeezing his fingers to convey that instead. Please?

When he looks down into her striking, sea-glass eyes and sees his own desire reflected right back at him it's enough to make his head spin. Anne's beautiful; red hair splayed around her and flushed skin. For a few moments all he can do is gaze down at her, caught up in the moment.

What Edward wants is to touch her, but it's their first time to get this far. So he settles in between her legs and kisses her slowly. His hands on her wrists slide upwards until he can weave his fingers into hers, gives an affectionate squeeze while keeping Anne pressed into the bed.

It occurs to him he's buying some time for cooler heads to prevail, breaking up the intensity to create space to think.

Edward looks into her eyes again, studying her face with an open and yet hungry expression of his own. He's only human, damn it. "Do you like that?"

@neverhangd

[ bathe ] sender helps receiver wash themselves in a bath (from teach)

PROMPTS FOR COMFORTABLE INTIMACY

Anne sits in the chair feeling as good as nude, despite being a few layers off of that. No boots, no socks, no coat, no hat. Swords at the door. Leather ring off, even, though now in her distraction she plays with the dull golden bands attached by a cord to serve as a necklace. Just that, her trousers, her belt, and her blouse. --And the knife he's already seen and knows better than to expect to see again any time soon.

It shouldn't be this intimidating, really. And maybe if it was only her blouse that still needed to go, she wouldn't think twice about feeling intimidated. But there were things she hadn't exactly mentioned to Teach Edward that she can't help feeling unsure of.

So now he's staring at her like a petulant child and oh, does she feel like one, but not following an order and telling him to go fuck himself are two very different things, and Anne--be proud!--has so far only done the first.

"Ye should get in," she says, though she isn't a dumbarse: she can see he's full-clothed and knows this bath isn't supposed to be his, anyways. She's the one that's been running all over port, the one that hasn't spent more time than it takes to sleep in this room. She just wasn't expecting to get ambushed by a bath first thing on waking from a short nap. Even steeped in sweat from the intolerable heat that'd driven her to disrobe to this point, it's not something she's sure she can face right now.

"Water's gonna go cold if ye don't."

Somehow, this'd be easier if he was less damned pleasant about it. Him being so even-keeled--outside of battle, the drama queen--is one of the only reasons she'd even provisionally agreed to this bath that she'd still taken as being a few days off. Plenty of time to unknot the last of her issues, or, more likely, to find a reason to not and do it later, when he's gone. And even then, she knows she'd've gotten an earful for the shite way she cares for her hair, but that's still a more palatable option than the roil in her stomach.

The only reason Edward can call it low stakes is that he hasn't seen them yet, the only scars she's ever felt any sort of shame for. Every mark on her body has a story attached, a decision made, a consequence for action. The burns on her thighs are "consequences of her actions," too, but they don't feel the same, like maybe they were consequences of inaction. (It felt dumb after Jack, realizing the door had been there all along and all she'd ever had to do was walk through it. But the door had been invisible, then.)

She's being quiet too long. Edward keeps filling the silence, watching her, mistaking her squint and the way she worries at her rings for something they aren't, knowing him. Trying cajole her into this. There's a part of her that gets full and warm at that, him trying so hard to make her look after herself, but that part's held fast in the snapping jaws of terror threatening her breathing. It's only Edward. It should be fine. He won't care. Hasn't before. But Jack did.

Anne's without a stick by which to measure this moment against and she hates that right behind hating the scars. But there's no way out of this that doesn't end, at some point, in him seeing the very intentional pattern burned into her thighs so methodically, night after night but years ago. So she nuts up about it, numbly removing the necklace first like he'll change his mind in the next few seconds. He doesn't. But maybe there's hope.

Anne focuses on getting her belt off without shaking and with a forced casual air says, "D'ye even have any fuckin towels?"

He does. She can see them where she sits, though she's careful not look up at them. Belt in hands. Trouser fly open. Second he's turned, she decides, she'll shuck her trousers and make as casual a mad dash for the tub as possible, or maybe keep her shirt on her back until she's low in the water like she just forgot it. She'd rather look like a dumbshite now than show the evidence of how she'd been forged to steel, afraid in some way he might stop looking at her like she knows what she's doing if he ever sees evidence from the time that she didn't.

Everything's a fight with this one, however Edward is the last person to back down from a challenge. "Very funny," he remarks pleasantly. Nice deflection, but he can do that too.

He would offer her privacy, though he knows it's not about that. Living and working at sea in such proximity to others has a way of removing any shyness for casual nudity.

This is more intimate. It's vulnerable. "If you hate it, you can just get out," perfectly reasonable, he thinks. "Low stakes operation here."

Mentally he calculates the rate of his own survival if he were to just pick her up and drop her into the damn tub. Briefly the thought brings forth memories of bathing his childhood house cat. It makes him smile.

"This heat is miserable enough on its own, and you're a moist sleeper. Come on. The only way this ends is your feeling better for it. You know I'm right."

ʘ‿ʘ from Teach of course

Send a 'ʘ‿ʘ' if your muse finds my muse attractive.

Pros: Anne is weak for a baddie; already thinks he’s The Shit™️; our story avoids a lot of trauma on accident and then Teach keeps it healthy besides; she loves him You Honor; would risk it all to climb this man’s dick for this man

Cons: Anne remains a tsundere idiot; Teach is probably Too Old For Her Shit™️; I s2g if Teach dies in any way but way too quickly in the heat of battle before he and Anne get a happily ever after I will actually sue; she still won’t marry you, Eddie 😒

Dynamics: Battle Power Couple; Captain & First Officer; Your Patience WILL Ruin Out Before My Stubbornness Does; Drama And Mz. Knives; Always A Fight, Make The Victory Worth It; I Would Die For You; A Chance At “Happily Ever After”.

→ Zero fucks about your proposal

“You’re cold. Come here.” (from Teach)

𝐒𝐎𝐅𝐓 𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒 ♡

She’d normally complain. Normally bitch and grouse and moan, find any way other than following the order to see it through, but Edward has Anne at one very large disadvantage: he is well. And recognizing that is all the sign Anne needs to show her she is not. She’s quiet when he fusses her into the bed, mumbles a thank you when he wraps her in a blanket. She supposes, distantly, that she really must have been cold to be wrapped and held against him, human furnace that he is, and not overheat immediately.

Her eyes start to droop and she leans her head on Edward’s shoulder—misses it a bit for his chest but lays her cheek there all the same. Surely she just needs a rest. Right? Would he mind her napping on him like some overgrown infant? She ought to ask. She ought to open her mouth and ask. But Anne’s mouth stays mysteriously closed as her blinking starts to get slower and slower.

“Don’ let Jack know,” she slurs automatically, fear-trained in this. She can’t even keep her eyes open and she knows this, anchored while she drifts deliriously between past, present, and sleep by it: if Jack finds out, there’ll be trouble.

She nestles her cheek into his tit, breath tickling the inked bits of his skin as well as the scarred. Even adrift, it’s nice here. Comfortable. If she’s not careful she’ll say some really pathetic shit, like mentioning any of this out loud. Instead, she mumbles, “Don’ wanna be no trouble. Get back too it soon ‘s can.”

“You’re cold. Come here.” (from Teach)

𝐒𝐎𝐅𝐓 𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒 ♡

She’d normally complain. Normally bitch and grouse and moan, find any way other than following the order to see it through, but Edward has Anne at one very large disadvantage: he is well. And recognizing that is all the sign Anne needs to show her she is not. She’s quiet when he fusses her into the bed, mumbles a thank you when he wraps her in a blanket. She supposes, distantly, that she really must have been cold to be wrapped and held against him, human furnace that he is, and not overheat immediately.

Her eyes start to droop and she leans her head on Edward’s shoulder—misses it a bit for his chest but lays her cheek there all the same. Surely she just needs a rest. Right? Would he mind her napping on him like some overgrown infant? She ought to ask. She ought to open her mouth and ask. But Anne’s mouth stays mysteriously closed as her blinking starts to get slower and slower.

She must be a glutton at heart, starved for this feeling and half-wishing this could be always, being held and fussed over and all else. A fat tear runs out one eye, a happy one, and prompts a sigh from Anne. Jack won't chance coming in if she's sick, so there's no rush to leave the warmth she finds herself enveloped in. Y'know. Except that E_____ (it's a dangerous name to say, just in case, a sacred name she wouldn't want to get sick all over) won't leave her alone if he figures out she isn't well, judging by how he chastened and clucked over her for her hair. And she can't risk his dumb arse getting ill on her account--and he will. No question about it. Leave Vane in command and call that well enough, knowing him.

But she has another hour, by her own mistaken accounting, before he even shows up to change. So that's at least a few more minutes of this feeling she can steal.

"Don' leave. Leastways not 'til I'm out. Please." Might as well try her manners again, as long as she's sampling the soft things in life. And while she's at it, she adds a compliment, something as sincere as it is rare, plain though it ends up being: "'S nice here. With ye. Ye're...--nice t'be with," she sighs, stubbornly fighting off sleep while she angles her way after his hand. The brush of it is nice. She chases it after it, lifting her face from his chest long enough to land a sleepy, somewhat sloppy kiss upon it before turning back with a sigh through the nose.

"Like it," she declares sleepily.

Mm, deliriously ill then. It'll be of no use trying to correct her and easier on her besides to just go with it, so that's what he does. "My discretion is yours. All there is for you to worry about is resting."

He's concerned. She'll be fine, he refuses to entertain any thoughts otherwise, but in the interim he wishes there were more he could do for her.

Edward fidgets with the blanket to ensure she's still bundled up, and then he's stroking her hair in his attempt to calm her. "Try to get some sleep, please. I'll be here when you wake."