SUBLIME CHAOS

[sublimechaotic]

𝙴𝚅𝙴𝚁𝙴𝚃𝚃  𝙲𝙰𝚁𝚁𝙾𝚆  |  owner  of  dead  man’s  bluff 

( intro.  threads.  visage.  musings. )

𝙼𝙰𝚁𝙸𝚂𝙾𝙻  𝙴𝚂𝙿𝙸𝙽𝙾𝚉𝙰  |  silk  of the  widow’s wake

( intro.  threads.  visage.  musings. )

[sublimechaotic]

dead  man’s  bluff  —  closed  starter  (@pearlboned)

the  house  was  full  tonight—rum-soaked  air  thick  with  laughter,  the  hiss  of  coin,  the  telltale  scrape  of  bone  dice  across  wood.  and  yet  rhett  carrow  had  been  watching  the  door  for  nearly  an  hour  now,  drink  untouched,  cards  untouched,  the  whole  damn  table  untouched.  all  except  the  empty  seat  he  hadn’t  let  anyone  fill.

he  didn’t  need  her  here  to  make  money—hell,  he  didn’t need  anyone  to  do  that.  but  when  she  was  here?  the  numbers  changed.  the  game  shifted.  men  who’d  once  played  cautious  started  throwing  coin  like  they’d  swallowed  gold.  all  because  she’d  smiled  at  them  once  in  passing,  or  leaned  just  a  little  too  close  at  the  bar.  rhett  never  said  thank  you  for  that,  not  outright.  but  he  always  cut  her  a  share.  always  made  sure  her  glass  was  full.  always  made  sure  they  knew  who  she  answered  to  in  the  end.

he  clocked  her  the  second  she  slipped  in—like  silk,  like  smoke,  like  sin.  always  dressed  to  distract,  always  playing  her  part  better  than  any  house  girl  could  hope  to.  he  didn’t  turn  to  greet  her,  not  right  away.  just  flicked  his  eyes  sideways,  let  the  corner  of  his  mouth  pull  up  into  a  slow  smirk.  that  little  seat  beside  him  stayed  empty.  he  hadn’t  let  anyone  else  sit  there.  they  knew  better.

“you’re  late,”  he  drawled,  voice  low  enough  it  didn’t  carry  past  the  table.  “i  was  beginning  to  think  you’d  taken  your  talents  elsewhere.  broke  my  poor  little  heart,  that  thought.”

he  finally  looked  at  her—really  looked.  took  her  in  like  a  man  who’d  seen  a  hundred  pretty  things  and  still  only  cared  about  the  most  dangerous  one.  “you  gonna  work  the  floor  or  are  you  just  here  to  admire  me?”  a  beat.  “not  that  i  blame  you.  i  look  fucking  good  tonight.”

[sublimechaotic]

rhett  didn’t  flinch  when  her  teeth  grazed  his  skin.  didn’t  blink.  didn’t  so  much  as  breathe  differently.  he  let  her  do  it.  let  her  draw  blood  if  she  wanted.  he  could  bleed  for  this.  he  could  drown  for  this.

he  watched  her  pull  back—watched  the  dare  in  her  eyes,  the  sharp  gleam  of  someone  who  had  walked  into  the  dark  on  purpose  and  wanted  to  see  what  would  crawl  out  to  meet  her.  his  grin  pulled  slow  across  his  mouth.  not  mocking.  not  cruel.  hungry.  “walk  away?”  rhett  rasped,  voice  rough  with  the  weight  of  inevitability.  “darlin’…”

he  shifted  closer,  slow  and  deliberate,  until  their  knees  brushed,  until  his  arms  caged  her  tighter  without  even  touching.  “you  lost  the  second  you  sat  down.”  his  hands  came  down  heavy  on  the  armrests,  boxing  her  in  completely,  giving  her  nowhere  to  look  but  straight  into  the  fire  burning  in  his  eyes.  “you  think  you’re  ready  for  the  way  i  break  things?”  rhett  said,  voice  low,  dangerous,  filled  with  something  more  terrible  and  beautiful  than  mercy.  “you  think  you’re  the  first  to  sit  there  smilin’,  thinkin’  they  can  survive  me?”

he  leaned  down,  mouth  brushing  her  ear,  his  breath  a  brand  against  her  skin.  “you  won’t.”  he  let  the  words  sink  in—heavy,  brutal  truth  wrapped  in  dark  velvet.  “you’ll  burn  slow,”  rhett  whispered,  voice  so  low  it  was barely  a  sound,  “and  beg  even  slower.”  he  pulled  back  just  enough  to  see  her  face  again,  to  see  that  beautiful,  defiant  fire  still  clinging  to  her  bones.

good.

he’d  enjoy  tearing  it  out  one  piece  at  a  time. he  smiled  then—dark,  slow,  real.  “but  don’t  worry,  stormborn,”  rhett  drawled,  voice  rich  with  dangerous  amusement.  “i’ll  make  sure  you  enjoy  every  fuckin’  second  of  your  fall.”  then,  without  hesitation—rhett  dropped  one  hand  from  the  armrest  to  the  curve  of  her  throat,  thumb  brushing  along  the  delicate  pulse  hammering  under  her  skin.

just  a  reminder.

just  a  claim.

and  then  he  kissed  her.  hard.  slow.  brutal.  final.  a  kiss  that  wasn’t  asking.  a  kiss  that  wasn’t  soft.  a  kiss  that  said:  you  chose  this.  you’re  mine  now.  his  hand  at  her  throat  tightened  just  enough  to  remind  her  she  could  pull  back  if  she  wanted—but  gods  help  her,  they  both  knew  she  wouldn’t.

he  pulled  back  just  barely,  his  mouth  still  grazing  hers,  his  breath  rough  against  her  lips.  “welcome  to  the  long  defeat,  pretty  thing,”  he  murmured.

then,  rougher,  hungrier:  “first  lesson,  sweetheart—devils  don’t  dance.  they  devour.”

[tidecalld]

The raven-haired man moved closer, their knees brushing as he angled his body, crafting a cage around her—an impenetrable barrier, designed to ensnare. He didn’t touch her fully, not yet, but he commanded the space around her until the very air bent to his will. Until she couldn’t look anywhere but him. His words were dangerous, taunting—meant to coax a reaction, whether worded or wordless, whether a whisper or a touch.

For a few heartbeats, she offered neither. She only stared, calm and unyielding, into the eyes of her captor. He demanded her eyes. Demanded her cold to meet his flame. Demanded the storm to rise. She held his gaze, lips parted slightly, as though her body were already halfway to a confession. But there was no softness in her stare—only ice forged in old wounds and deeper seas. “You think you’re the first to threaten to break me?  Think you’re any different from the ones who came before?” Her words mirrored his—sharp, deliberate—cutting back with the same blade he wielded. She didn’t falter, didn’t drop his gaze, though her mind betrayed her. A flicker behind her eyes, uninvited: an officer’s uniform, an accent not unlike his, words whispered not with desire, but with malice.

She blinked, fast and hard, and the ghost vanished. And his mouth was close. So close. His breath scorched the shell of her ear, fanned across her cheek like a brand. He wasn’t touching her—not really—but he might as well have dragged her into the fire with him. The heat of him filled the room, settled in her blood, threaded into her bones. He let the moment stretch until it nearly snapped—until the silence between them was thick and heady and humming with dark tension. Until his whispers weren’t just heard—they were felt, etched into the marrow of her bones. Until the truth of their bet was carved into her very being: there was no escaping this. Not now. He was trickster and devil both. And she had walked willingly into the dark.

The brunette’ hands found his—long fingers dragging across the backs of his like claws, carving red lines into his flesh. A tease. A promise. Her smile held no sweetness, only the dark amusement of a woman who’d walked through hell and liked it. Her eyes gleamed—icy blue, knowing. This is only the beginning, they said. You want war? So do I.

 “Show me how fast ice can burn, Mister Carrow,” she murmured, voice smooth and thick as honeyed poison. And then—he moved. Deliberate. Dangerous. Slow.  His hand found the curve of her throat with practiced ease, claiming her without hesitation. A wave of maddening euphoria surged through her as his thumb pressed against the pulse beneath her skin—steady, wild, alive. She tilted her head in offering, dragging her teeth slowly along her bottom lip, exposing the sun- and salt-kissed flesh of her throat. Still unmarred. His, for now. His to ruin. 

But he didn’t go for the throat. Not yet. He punished her mouth first.

His lips crashed into hers—brutal, unforgiving, claiming. It was possession, not affection—an unspoken oath that she had chosen this, had wanted this, and now she would pay. This was retribution. This was what came of dancing with devils and pretending not to love the fire. She’d stepped willingly into the abyss. And now, she was meeting the thing that lived there.

His grip on her throat tightened. Not enough to hurt, but enough to remind like glimpses of sunlight breaching to the surface. She could still rise for air, still choose light —but only if she wanted to. Only if she surfaced.  But Theia closed her eyes instead. Let the velvet dark wrap around her and let herself drown. 

His lips stayed near—hot, burning, teasing. His breath fanned across hers, and she let her tongue drag across his bottom lip, hungry for the taste of night and sin. A grin curled at the corner of her mouth when he spoke of devils and their appetites. “Then devour me,” she whispered. Her teeth nipped at his lip, soft and cruel all at once. One hand snaked around the wrist that still collared her, as if she couldn’t decide whether to pull him closer or restrain him. Her skin flushed with heat, aching for his touch to scorch, to ruin. But she knew—it would take more than fire to reach the depths of her.

“So this is what a master trickster enjoys?”  she purred, voice dipped in honey and cold malice. “Putting on a show to lay claim to a prize?” She shifted slightly, putting an inch of distance between them—no more, no less. His grip didn’t allow for much. But she met his eyes again, and the spark there was feral. Bright. Untamed.

Her eyes flicked toward the gambling den, where she could feel shifty glances being cast their way. No one intervened. Of course not. This was no place for purity and she had challenged its king. “I thought I’d stepped into a gambling hall, not the siren’s nest,” she murmured, tracing the lines of his hand now. Her fingers danced between the rings that adorned him—cool metal against fevered skin. “Didn’t know how much the poor devil hungered for more than just his share of coin.”

Her eyes found his again, her treacherous body leaning in closer.  “What will be the first act of my demise?” she whispered.  “Do you wish me kiss your ring, and beg for mercy?”

[sublimechaotic]

rhett  didn’t  laugh.  didn’t  smirk.  didn’t  even  blink.  he  just  watched  her.  watched  her  lean  in  like  she  was  starving  for  the  destruction  she’d  asked  for.  watched  her  drag  those  clever,  dangerous  fingers  over  his  rings  like  she  meant  to  steal  them—and  him  along  with  them.

watched  the  wild  flash  of  her  eyes  when  she  dared  him  to  make  her  beg.  slow  as  a  pulling  tide,  he  brought  the  hand  on  her  throat  higher—sliding  his  thumb  along  the  curve  of  her  jaw,  rough,  commanding, until  his  fingers  caught  the  hinge  of  her  chin.

he  tipped  her  head  back  with  just  that,  forcing  her  to  bare  her  throat  to  him  fully  now.  no  more  teasing.  no  more  pretending.  and  when  he  spoke,  it  wasn’t  a  whisper.  it  wasn’t  a  threat.

it  was  a  promise:

“first  act,  pretty  thing,”  rhett  rasped,  voice  molten  and brutal,  “ain’t  mercy.”

he  dipped  lower,  his  mouth  grazing  the  skin  just  below her  jaw—a  feather’s  kiss  that  made  the  absence  of  touch  burn  worse  than  any  brand.  then  lower  still,  dragging  his  teeth  lightly  down  the  slope  of  her  throat, the  pulse  hammering  there  under  his  mouth.  he  felt  her  shiver.  felt  the  way  she  leaned  into  it  without  even  meaning  to.

good.

good.

he  let  his  lips  barely  graze  her  ear  as  he  spoke  again—low,  dark,  a  chain  slipping  around  her  neck  one  link  at  a  time.  “no  beggin’  yet,”  rhett  muttered,  letting  his  breath  sear  hot  over  her  skin.“you’ll  earn  that.”

his  hand  dropped  from  her  jaw  just  long  enough  to  slide  around  her  waist,  anchoring  her  to  him,  dragging  her  body  flush  against  his—hard  lines  against  soft  heat—like  there  was  never  meant  to  be  distance  between  them  at  all.

he  kissed  her  again—rougher  this  time,  claiming  her  mouth  with  a  bruising,  punishing  heat  that  stole  the  air  from  her  lungs.  this  wasn’t  a  kiss  for  softness.  this  was  a  kiss  for  breaking.

he  let  the  kiss  drag  out  until  her  hands  tightened  on  him,  until  he  could  feel  the  war  raging  under  her  skin—fight  or  surrender.  then  he  pulled  back,  just  barely,  breathing  rough  against  her  lips,  still  caging  her  in  so  tightly  she  couldn’t  have  run  if  she  tried.

“this  ain’t  a  show,”  rhett  growled,  low  and  dangerous,  “and  you  ain’t  just  a  prize.”  he  dipped  his  head  lower,  mouth  brushing  her  ear  again,  the  words  a  hot  brand:  “you’re  the  fuckin’  offering.  and  i’m  the  one  takin’.”

he  pressed  her  back  into  the  chair  a  little  harder,  keeping  her  pinned  just  by  the  weight  of  his  body,  just by  the  slow,  steady  burn  of  control  dripping  from  him  like  molasses.  “you  wanted  to  step  into  the  devil’s  den,  stormborn?”  he  murmured,  almost  gentle  now,  almost  cruel,  “then  you  better  learn  to  pray  real  sweet while  you  still  got  a  voice  left  to  do  it.”

for  a  moment,  he  let  her  feel  it—

the  burn,  the  inevitability.

the  way  her  body  was  already  answering  before  her  mind  could  catch  up.  then  rhett’s  hand  slid  lower,  rough  along  her  waist,  anchoring  her  even  tighter  to  him.  without  warning—without  a  second  for  her  to  change  her  mind—

he  hauled  her  up  out  of  the  chair,  not  rough,  but  final. like  she  weighed  nothing,  like  she  already  belonged  wherever  he  was  about  to  take  her.

“you  wanna  burn  for  me,  pretty  thing?”  he  rasped  against  her  ear  as  he  dragged  her  tight  against  his  side,  leading  her  through  the  smoke  and  dark  of  the  den  without  sparing  a  single  look  for  anyone  else,  “then  you’re  gonna  do  it  somewhere  only  i  get  to  see.”

and  gods  help  her—because  rhett  carrow  didn’t  make  empty  promises.

[sublimechaotic]

a  soft  laugh  slipped  out  from  the  shadows,  low  and  dry.  “germans,”  marisol  said,  stepping  into  the  light  like  she  hadn’t  just  been  eavesdropping,  “they’re  good  at  a  lot  of  things.  honesty’s  just  never  been  one  of  ‘em.”

she  didn’t  rush.  didn’t  need  to.  she  crossed  the  space  slow,  skirts  brushing  the  dirt,  eyes  sliding  over  the  crate  and  then  to  beto  like  she  already  knew  how  this  was  gonna  go.  marisol  reached  out,  nudging  one  of  the  fake  gems  with  the  tip  of  her  finger,  like  she  was  handling  something  filthy.

“should’ve  smelled  it  before  you  even  opened  it,”  she  said,  voice  all  lazy  amusement.  “real  plunder  sings  when  it  hits  the  air.  this?”  she  flicked  the  stone  lightly.  “this  hums  like  a  corpse.”

she  looked  up  at  him  then,  a  flash  of  something  sharp  in  her  smile.

“still.  there’s  enough  drunk  fools  in  tortuga  who  wouldn’t  know  the  difference.”

she  took  a  slow  step  closer,  voice  dropping  a  little.

“grease  the  right  palms,”  she  said,  soft  like  a  secret,  “and  you’ll  move  this  garbage  for  more  than  it’s  worth.  maybe  even  turn  a  profit.  if  you’re  smart.”

[xmaskedghost-deactivated2025073]

Beto looked up at the sound of the voice. If he was surprised to see someone emerging from the shadows he didn't show it. He had learned long ago there was always someone listening in Tortuga.

At times like this Beto still felt so green. Now that she'd said it he could smell it, a metallic scent which gave them away. "I'll remember that for next time, although I worry it's hard to smell anything over all that gunpowder."

Still, at least she thought he could still flog them. "S'pose your right. That's the nice thing about theivery - you always sell for more than you paid. Anything's better than nothing."

He shook his head as he looked down at the pile. "Not sure I love the idea of palming it off on some drunk fool. I'm a terrible pirate like that. If only there was a way to sell it back to them. Karma like that would be far more satisfying."

[sublimechaotic]

marisol  stepped  closer,  arms  crossing  loose  over  her  chest,  hips  cocked  easy  like  she  had  all  the  time  in  the  world.  she  tipped  her  chin  at  him,  eyeing  the  pile  of  worthless  jewels  with  a  smirk  tugging  lazy  at  her  mouth.  “you’re  not  a  terrible  pirate,”  she  said,  voice  warm  and  rich,  her  accent  lilting  soft  over  the  words,  “just  honest,  cariño.”

she  let  it  hang  there,  not  mocking,  just  real.

“and  honesty?”  she  added  with  a  little  shrug,  “don’t  pay  for  shit  in  a  place  like  this.”

her  gaze  flicked  up  to  his,  sharp  but  not  unkind,  the  corner  of  her  mouth  still  curled  in  that  small,  knowing  smile.

“you  don’t  gotta  feel  good  about  it,”  marisol  said,  dropping  her  voice  lower,  like  she  was  letting  him  in  on  a  secret.  “you  just  gotta  walk  away  with  more  in  your  pocket  than  you  started.”

she  crouched  down,  loose  and  easy,  plucking  one  of  the  fake  stones  between  her  fingers,  turning  it  over  like  it  might  tell  her  something  new.  “you  want  karma?”  she  said,  flashing  a  wicked,  quick  grin  that  lit  her  face  up.  “next  time,  sell  ’em  the  lie  so  good  they  brag  about  it.”

she  stood  again,  tossing  the  fake  gem  back  onto  the  pile  with  a  flick  of  her  wrist,  the  stone  winking  up  at  them  like  it  was  in  on  the  joke.  “let  ’em  run  their  mouth.  let  ’em  show  off.”  marisol  winked  at  him,  playful  and  sharp  all  at  once.  “then  you  win  twice,  mi  cielo.”

[sublimechaotic]

dead  man’s  bluff,  well  past  sundown  —  open  starter. 

the  sound  of  someone  yelling—loud  and  ugly—got  cut  off  quick.  not  with  a  blade,  not  with  a  fist,  just  a  quiet look  from  rhett  carrow  and  a  tilt  of  his  head  toward  the  door.  the  man  got  the  message.

the  bluff  didn’t  do  second  chances.  not  if  you  were  loud  and  wrong.  rhett  didn’t  even  flinch.  didn’t  pause.  he  went  right  back  to  flicking  the  edge  of  his  drink,  eyes  dragging  lazily  across  the  room  like  he  was  half-bored  and  half-starving.

he  looked  good,  which  meant  he  was  in  a  mood.  black shirt  open  just  enough  and  silver  rings  catching  the  light  every  time  he  moved  his  hands.  the  dice  were  already  out  on  the  table—bone  white,  and  never  far  from  him.

“you  can  sit,”  he  said,  not  bothering  to  see  who  walked  in,  “but  don’t  ask  me  if  the  table’s  lucky.  it’s  not.  not  for  you.”  he  looked  up  then,  sharp  grin  cutting  clean  through  the  haze.

“but  if  you’re  feelin’  generous  with  your  coin—or  suicidal—i’ll  deal  you  in.”

[woundedstatue]

xaden wouldn't dare to cross this man and see how rhett did this with a look was intimidating. it was surprise for him to be here at dead man's bluff but some of the other apprentices wanted to come and so he tagged along. if by chance he ended up at this table and hearing what he said, he was crazy to join but here he was. what did he have to lose? maybe everything his mind answered. "lucks never been much on my side so maybe this is the table for me. deal me in. " he replied while taking a seat.

[sublimechaotic]

rhett’s  eyes  dragged  over  xaden  slow,  weighing  him  like  a  man  might  study  the  edge  of  a  blade—deciding  if  it  was  sharp  enough  to  be  useful  or  just  sharp  enough  to  bleed  out  fast.  he  leaned  back  in  his  chair,  one  arm  slung  lazy  over  the  back,  the  other  idly  spinning  a  coin  between  his  fingers.

that  slow  grin  curled  up  at  his  mouth—not  cruel.  not  kind  either.  just  knowing.

“luck’s  got  nothin’  to  do  with  it,”  rhett  said,  voice  low, rough,  full  of  smoke  and  something  heavier  underneath.  “this  table  don’t  run  on  prayers,  kid.”

he  flicked  the  coin  across  the  table,  letting  it  clatter  loud  against  the  wood  right  in  front  of  xaden’s  seat.  “it  runs  on  whether  you  know  how  to  lose  without  cryin’  about  it.”

the  room  around  them  hummed  low  with  the  scrape  of dice,  the  clink  of  coins,  the  muttered  curses  of  men  already  halfway  bled  dry.  rhett  didn’t  look  away.  he  stayed  leaned  back,  slow,  steady,  watching  xaden  settle into  his  chair  like  a  man  watching  the  ocean  drag  a  new  sailor  out  into  deep  water.

then—casual,  unbothered—rhett  reached  for  the  deck,  shuffled  once  with  a  slow  flick  of  his  hands,  and  dealt  xaden  in  without  ceremony.  cards  sliding  across  the  table  like  fate  had  already  signed  the  boy’s  name  in  blood.

“deal  you  in,  then,”  rhett  said,  voice  low  and  final,  “let’s  see  what  you’re  made  of.”  and  gods  help  the  boy—because  the  house  always  won.  especially  when  rhett  carrow  was  the  one  dealing.

[sublimechaotic]

rhett  didn’t  give  devi  time  to  breathe.

the  second  the  last  desperate  word  slipped  past  their  lips,  the  second  their  nails  raked  down  his  back,  he  moved,  flipping  them—hard,  fast,  brutal.  hands  gripping their  wrists,  pinning  them  down  against  the  mattress  above  their  head  with  one  hand  like  it  was  nothing.  like  they  weighed  less  than  a  promise.

he  leaned  in,  mouth  brushing  the  shell  of  their  ear,  voice  so  low,  so  rough  it  barely  qualified  as  human  anymore.  “you  want  to  be  destroyed,  pretty  thing?”  rhett  growled,  his  hips  rolling  against  theirs,  slow  and  punishing.  “you  don’t  even  fuckin’  know  what  that  means  yet.”  his  free  hand  dragged  down  their  side,  nails  scraping  just  enough  to  leave  the  faintest  burn,  just  enough  to  make  them  squirm  under  him.

he  took  his  time,  forcing  them  to  feel  the  weight  of  him,  the  heat,  the  control,  before  he  shifted  his  hips  back—and  with  one  slow,  merciless  thrust,  he  sank  into them,  deep  and  full  and  complete,  grinding  a  broken,  desperate  sound  out  of  their  throat  whether  they  wanted  to  give  it  or  not.  rhett  groaned  low  against  their  skin,  rough  and  full  of  something  filthy,  primal,  like  even  he  had  been  holding  back  until  now.

“fuck,”  he  muttered,  voice  wrecked  against  their  neck,  “you  feel  better  beggin’  for  it.”

he  stayed  deep,  grinding  slow,  hips  pressing  flush  to  theirs,  forcing  every  inch  of  him  into  them  until  there  was  nowhere  else  for  them  to  run,  nowhere  else  for  them  to  hide.

he  rocked  into  them  once,  twice,  slow  enough  to  be  cruel,  deep  enough  to  make  the  bedframe  groan  under  the  strain.  letting  them  know  this  wasn’t  just  a  fuck.  this  was  rhett  carrow  claiming  every  inch  they’d  offered him—and  more.  “you’re  mine  tonight,”  he  muttered  again,  biting  rough  at  their  pulse,  “and  when  i’m  through  with  you…”  another  thrust,  brutal  and  full.  “you  won’t  fuckin’  remember  what  it  feels  like  to  stand  without  me  holdin’  you  up.”

rhett  smiled  into  their  skin—sharp  and  hungry—like  he  was  only  just  getting  started.  “now,”  he  rasped,  pinning  their  wrists  harder,  slamming  into  them  deeper,

“beg  me  like  you  fuckin’  mean  it.”

[glitteringgcld]

They gasped as they were suddenly flipped. No more were they face-to-face with Everett; now, they were facing the sheets, his body pressed to theirs as if they were in a much smaller, enclosed room than this. He lifted them as if they weighed nothing, as if he couldn't wait for this just as much as they couldn't.

It was exactly what they were wanting from him.

Devi groaned at his words. "Yes," they whispered, nodding their head the best they could in their position. They wanted to be destroyed by him so much, no words could fully express it. They wanted him. They wanted everything that he could offer and more. No, it was more than a simple want; they needed him. They needed him to destroy them. And now that they have him like this, they weren't sure if they could ever go back to the way they fucked each other before.

Their body tightened as he rolled against them, his grunts and growls driving them fucking primal. They clenched their fists, desperately wanting to grab him and insert him inside them finally. So that he can finally fuck them. "Please, Rhett... Please," they groaned. "I need you inside me so much... Please..." How long would he continue this? How long would he tease them like this? They tried rolling their hips back against him, trying to gain some friction against their cunt that would help soothe the rising ecstasy growing inside them.

Until finally, finally, he inserted himself in them. Causing a broken and desperate low moan to leave their lips and their body clenching. Fuck, he felt amazing. No matter how many times his cock was in their body or where, their body took to him so easily, so naturally. It only felt even better hearing him groan. It felt so much better knowing that he needed this just as much as them. That he was allowed to be as filthy and primal and rough with them as he wanted, as he craved.

"Gods, yes," they moaned. Moving their hips to match his pace. "Yes, don't stop... Please don't stop, Rhett..." This was proving to be better than all their times together before. Between his words to his actions, his animalistic growls and how fucking low his voice was... Gods, they were going to remember this night for the rest of their lives. They were going to remember how his cock filled them up entirely, every single inch of him deep inside their cunt and how it wrapped around him perfectly. They were going to remember his deep, slow grinds and rocking heavily into them.

You're mine tonight.

Fire lit through their entire being and they nodded quickly. "I-I'm yours," they panted, whimpering as they laid their forehead against their forearms and shut their eyes tightly. Moaning loudly as he bit down on her. "I-I'm all yours, Rhett, fuck... Please don't stop. Please ruin me for anyone else, please."

They needed more. They needed to be destroyed. They needed to be wrecked. They needed to be ruined. They needed him. In all his glory.

Finally, he began to fuck them within an inch of their life. They screamed out, their head raising to rest back against his shoulder and their back arched right against his body. "Y-yes! Yes, Rhett, please! Please don't stop! Please ruin me, please keep fucking me like this!"

[sublimechaotic]

rhett  heard  the  way  they  moaned,  desperate  and  broken  underneath  him.  heard  the  way  they  said  his  name  like  it  was  the  only  word  they  could  still  hold  onto.  felt  the  way  their  body  clamped  tight  around  him every  time  he  ground  in  deep,  slow,  fucking  deliberate.  and  it  ripped  a  low,  guttural  growl  out  of  his  throat  that  he  didn’t  bother  to  muffle.

he  wanted  them  to  hear  it.  wanted  them  to  know  what  they’d  done  to  him.  “mine,”  he  snarled  against  their  neck,  the  word  broken,  ragged,  guttural  “fuckin’  mine  tonight.  mine  to  wreck.  mine  to  ruin.”

he  bit  down  again,  hard  enough  to  bruise,  while  his  hands  gripped  their  hips  brutally  tight,  dragging  them  back  to  meet  every  devastating  thrust.  like  their  body  was  just  another  thing  he  owned  now.  like  they  existed just  to  be  filled  up  and  split  open  by  him.

he  wasn’t  teasing  anymore.

he  wasn’t  taking  his  time.

he  was  fucking  them  deep—hard—relentless—grinding  up  into  them  so  heavy  and  rough  it  felt  like  the  whole  bed  might  collapse  under  the  weight  of  it.  every  thrust punched  another  ragged  cry  from  their  throat—every  cry  fed  the  fire  roaring  under  his  skin.

“you  asked  for  this,”  rhett  growled  against  their  shoulder,  voice  almost  shaking  from  the  sheer  fucking  force  he  was  holding  back  from  breaking  them  even  faster.  “you  fuckin’  begged  for  it.  now  take  it.  take  every  fuckin’  inch  i  give  you.”

he  drove  into  them  harder,  deeper,  grinding  their  body  down  into  the  mattress  until  there  was  nowhere  else  to run,  nowhere  else  to  hide,  nothing  left  but  him.  their  hands  scrambled  for  him—nails  dragging  down  his  back,  clutching  at  him,  needing  him—and  rhett  let  them  have  it.  gave  them  everything.  held  nothing  back.

“you’re  gonna  be  ruined  for  every  other  bastard  that  even  fuckin’  looks  at  you,”  he  snarled  low  against  their ear,  biting  down  again  as  their  back  arched  against  him,  perfect,  desperate,  fucking  wrecked.  “you’re  gonna  remember  how  i  made  you  scream  my  name,  every  fuckin’  time  you  try  to  breathe  without  me.”

he  grabbed  a  fistful  of  their  hair,  yanking  their  head  back  just  enough  to  bare  their  throat  to  him—not  cruel—claiming.  because  they  were  his  tonight.  no  doubt.  no mercy.

“you  feel  that?”  rhett  rasped,  grinding  into  them  brutally  slow,  his  cock  dragging  deep  enough  to  make  them  cry  out,  to  make  their  body  quake  against  his.  “that’s  what  you  fuckin’  asked  for.  that’s  me  ownin’  you.  wreckin’  you.”  his  pace  didn’t  slow.  it  just  got  harder.  deeper.  rougher.

perfect.

he  drove  into  them  like  he  had  a  point  to  prove—and  gods  help  them,  he  did.

[satlun]

🤎

[sublimechaotic]

rhett  didn’t  reach  for  the  coin  right  away.

just  sat  there,  watching  her  over  the  low  firelight  like  he  was  studying  a  creature  rare  enough  to  be  hunted—or  worshipped.  the  weight  of  the  gold  on  the  table  didn’t  move  him. she  did.

he  let  out  a  slow  breath,  rough  around  the  edges,  almost  a  laugh.  “you’ve  got  teeth,”  rhett  muttered,  voice  low  and  full  of  something  that  sounded  almost  like  admiration.  “i  like  that.”  he  reached  out  finally,  fingers  slow  and  deliberate,  dragging  the  gold  coin  toward  him  without  breaking  her  gaze.

he  turned  it  over  once  between  his  fingers—nothing  flashy,  no  sleight  of  hand—just  a  man  who  could  crush or  grab  to  kiss  with  the  same  hand  depending  how  the  night  turned.

“this’ll  do,”  he  said,  voice  dipping  lower.  “hell,  it’s  better  than  what  i  offered.”  his  grin  sharpened  at  the  edges,  dangerous  and  real.  not  mocking.  not  cruel.  hungry.

“heads,”  rhett  said,  tapping  the  coin  once  against  the  table  with  a  dull  thud.  “always  did  like  the  ones  that  stare  trouble  in  the  face  instead  of  runnin’  from  it.”  he  set  the  coin  flat  between  them.  one  finger  pressed  lightly  on  the  edge,  just  enough  to  make  it  clear:  one  flip,  one  shot,  no  tricks.

he  leaned  in  slightly  then,  voice  dropping  rough  and  slow,  like  a  secret  meant  for  the  space  between  their  mouths.  “but  this  is  still  my  place,  i  am  still  master  of  this  den…  if  you  win,”  he  murmured,  “you  walk  out with  what  you  came  for.  the  ring,  gold,  pride,  whatever  story  you  wanna  tell  yourself  later.”

he  let  the  pause  drag,  the  grin  cutting  deeper.  “but  if  i  win,”  rhett  added,  voice  rough  velvet,  “you  don’t  walk  out  at  all.  you  stay.”  he  tipped  his  head  slightly,  eyes  gleaming  under  the  firelight.  then,  without  breaking  the  tension,  without  looking  away—

he  flicked  the  coin  into  the  air.

a  gold  blur.

firelight  catching  the  spin.

the  whole  world  holding  its  breath.

the  coin  hit  the  table  with  a  sharp  clack.

heads.

rhett  didn’t  move  for  a  beat.  just  sat  there,  the  grin  on his  face  growing  into  something  slow,  dangerous—the  kind  that  meant  the  trap  had  been  set  long  before  she even  sat  down.  he  dragged  his  gaze  up  to  meet  hers,  slow  as  a  tide  pulling  something  under.  there  was  no  gloating  in  his  face.  no  cheap  victory.

just  that  heavy,  bone-deep  certainty  that  this  was  always  how  it  was  gonna  end.

“well,”  he  drawled,  voice  low,  rough,  soaked  in  something  dark  and  sweet,  “looks  like  luck’s  got  a  cruel  streak  after  all.”  he  leaned  forward,  elbows  on  his  knees,  so  close  now  that  every  word  felt  like  it  weighed  more  than  the  gold  between  them.  his  hand  came  down  over  the  coin,  covering  it  completely,  sealing  the  deal  like  a  man  who  already  owned  her  next  breath. then,  slow  and  deliberate,  rhett  pushed  to  his  feet.  the  chair  scraped  back  behind  him,  heavy  and  rough,  and  he  stepped  around  the  table—not  fast,  not  threatening—measured,  calm,  impossible  to  stop.

he  came  to  stand  over  her,  letting  the  air  between  them  tighten  until  it  burned.

then,  without  a  word,  he  braced  one  hand  on  the  armrest  to  her  right—then  the  other  to  her  left.  caging  her  in.  close  enough  she  could  feel  the  heat  coming  off  him,  close  enough  that  even  breathing  wrong  might shatter  whatever  cold  fire  she  was  clinging  to.

his  gaze  stayed  sharp,  wicked,  but  there  was  something  heavier  in  it  now—something  possessive,  something  that  said  you’re  not  walking  away  from  this,  and  we  both  know  it.  he  dipped  his  head  closer,  voice  dropping  to  a  dangerous  whisper  meant  just  for  her.

“guess  that  means  you  stay,  sweetheart,”  rhett  murmured,  his  breath  brushing  her  skin,  warm  and  rough  and  full  of  bad  promises.  “long  enough  to  learn  real  slow  what  losin’  to  me  really  feels  like.”  he  leaned  in  closer—almost  touching,  almost  giving  her  the  mercy  of  distance—and  when  he  spoke  again,  his  voice  was  a  low  growl  at  her  ear:  “don’t  worry,”  he  added,  voice  dipping  even  lower,  a  rasp  now,  a  promise,  “i’m  a  generous  winner.  i’ll  break  you  real  slow.  i’ll  even  let  you  have  the  ring  when  i’m  done  with  you.”

[tidecalld]

Heads.  The call shivered through the stagnant air, an unseen thread weaving between them as she offered the faintest of nods — a ghost of a gesture, a whisper of surrender. Naturally, she could have seen the inevitability of it — a man with nothing to lose and everything to gain. A dangerous creature she had been reckless enough to tempt, his hunger rolling off him in heavy, aching waves, a warning she had willfully ignored. But the deal was made. A spoken promise, as his tide beckoned her forward, eager to pull her under.

The jagged edges of his words clung to her skin long after they were spoken, scraping their melody into the fragile silence that followed. His wicked grin, that glint of unholy mischief in his eyes — they branded themselves into the darkness behind her closed lids as she drew a single breath. Such a familiar one, the last breath before drowning. It was as if the room itself exhaled her defeat, the air growing thick, expectant, before she opened her eyes. She did not bother to glance down at the table. She didn’t need to. The look on his face told her everything.

You stay.

The Stormborn remained motionless as his words drawled out, dripping darkness and laced with sickly sweet poison.  She did not move. Watched instead as his hand descend to claim the coin — sealing their devil’s pact with a casual, merciless finality. Still she did not move when he rose — a panther, slow and precise — not far, probably, from licking his lips at the offering set before him.

Predator. The heavy scrape of his chair against the floor was a scream in the hush that fell around them. All other sounds were devoured, the world narrowed to this. To him. To her. To the thrum of inevitability. And as he prowled toward her with measured steps, a strange calm washed over her, slowing her heart. Darkness engulfed her without hesitation, wrapping her in its familiar cold. And gods, how her cursed mind reveled in it.

Fire and smoke, velvet-soft and suffocating, slipping around her throat with a lover’s hand. And gods help her — she welcomed it. The air between them burned. Not with the sharp bite of winter she was so accustomed to, but with a savage, stifling heat that wrapped itself around her bones. He caged her without touching her, pinning her to the seat she’d never intended to abandon. When at last she dragged her gaze from the broad line of his chest to the molten cruelty in his eyes, a slow grin split her lips. A baring of teeth, challenging. 

Her body betrayed her first — a shiver that whispered down her spine when he leaned closer, his breath a sin against her skin. The delicious flames of the devil of which she had so adoringly spoken now licked at her fair flesh. A breathless scoff slipped from her lips — ice against his flame — as she shifted ever so slightly in her seat. “Do not go soft on me now," she murmured, voice low and haunting. "You may count yourself lucky, but you have no idea what prize you’ve just laid claim to.” 

Her voice was a siren’s call to which he compelled her — a death song, a curse, to the sailors of the sea, beckoning them into freezing waters before they ever realized their mistake. She leaned in, let the sharp edges of her teeth scrape gently along the vulnerable line of his jugular — a warning, as old as the sea itself — before whispering against his skin.

“You seem used to playing with sirens and hellcats,” she breathed, velvet and venom. "You think you've danced with devils. But, darling... you haven’t even begun to scratch the surface.”

Slowly, she peeled herself back, reclaiming the fragile sliver of space between them to find his eyes again.  Still unbowed. Still burning with icy flames. Still daring him to dive deeper. “It’s not too late,” she whispered. “Not too late to walk away from the prize you think you so desperately want. It would be for the better -- Though gods, how curious I am... about all the wicked ways you did plan to try and break me.”

[sublimechaotic]

rhett  didn’t  flinch  when  her  teeth  grazed  his  skin.  didn’t  blink.  didn’t  so  much  as  breathe  differently.  he  let  her  do  it.  let  her  draw  blood  if  she  wanted.  he  could  bleed  for  this.  he  could  drown  for  this.

he  watched  her  pull  back—watched  the  dare  in  her  eyes,  the  sharp  gleam  of  someone  who  had  walked  into  the  dark  on  purpose  and  wanted  to  see  what  would  crawl  out  to  meet  her.  his  grin  pulled  slow  across  his  mouth.  not  mocking.  not  cruel.  hungry.  “walk  away?”  rhett  rasped,  voice  rough  with  the  weight  of  inevitability.  “darlin’…”

he  shifted  closer,  slow  and  deliberate,  until  their  knees  brushed,  until  his  arms  caged  her  tighter  without  even  touching.  “you  lost  the  second  you  sat  down.”  his  hands  came  down  heavy  on  the  armrests,  boxing  her  in  completely,  giving  her  nowhere  to  look  but  straight  into  the  fire  burning  in  his  eyes.  “you  think  you’re  ready  for  the  way  i  break  things?”  rhett  said,  voice  low,  dangerous,  filled  with  something  more  terrible  and  beautiful  than  mercy.  “you  think  you’re  the  first  to  sit  there  smilin’,  thinkin’  they  can  survive  me?”

he  leaned  down,  mouth  brushing  her  ear,  his  breath  a  brand  against  her  skin.  “you  won’t.”  he  let  the  words  sink  in—heavy,  brutal  truth  wrapped  in  dark  velvet.  “you’ll  burn  slow,”  rhett  whispered,  voice  so  low  it  was barely  a  sound,  “and  beg  even  slower.”  he  pulled  back  just  enough  to  see  her  face  again,  to  see  that  beautiful,  defiant  fire  still  clinging  to  her  bones.

good.

he’d  enjoy  tearing  it  out  one  piece  at  a  time. he  smiled  then—dark,  slow,  real.  “but  don’t  worry,  stormborn,”  rhett  drawled,  voice  rich  with  dangerous  amusement.  “i’ll  make  sure  you  enjoy  every  fuckin’  second  of  your  fall.”  then,  without  hesitation—rhett  dropped  one  hand  from  the  armrest  to  the  curve  of  her  throat,  thumb  brushing  along  the  delicate  pulse  hammering  under  her  skin.

just  a  reminder.

just  a  claim.

and  then  he  kissed  her.  hard.  slow.  brutal.  final.  a  kiss  that  wasn’t  asking.  a  kiss  that  wasn’t  soft.  a  kiss  that  said:  you  chose  this.  you’re  mine  now.  his  hand  at  her  throat  tightened  just  enough  to  remind  her  she  could  pull  back  if  she  wanted—but  gods  help  her,  they  both  knew  she  wouldn’t.

he  pulled  back  just  barely,  his  mouth  still  grazing  hers,  his  breath  rough  against  her  lips.  “welcome  to  the  long  defeat,  pretty  thing,”  he  murmured.

then,  rougher,  hungrier:  “first  lesson,  sweetheart—devils  don’t  dance.  they  devour.”

[sublimechaotic]

marisol  laugh  against  his  shoulder  when  he  pulled  her  in,  “terrifying’s  the  least  of  it,”  she  said.  “sometimes  i think  i  ought  to  start  charging  you  for  the  service.”  she  let  him  hold  her,  then,  when  he  let  go,  she  rolled  her  eyes  in  that  slow,  deliberate  way  that  somehow  managed  to  be  both  affectionate  and  exasperated  all  at once.

“irresistible,”  she  echoed,  deadpan,  as  she  stepped  back  to  lean  against  the  railing,  arms  folding  lightly  across  her  chest.  “that’s  one  word  for  it.  reckless  would  be  another.  insufferable,  if  we’re  being  honest.”  the  words  were  sharp,  but  the  smile  curling  at  the  corner  of  her  mouth  softened  the  blow.

she  looked  out  over  the  water  for  a  beat,  then  shot  him  a  sidelong  glance,  something  a  little  brighter  sparking  in  her  dark  eyes.  “lucky  for  you,”  marisol  added,  tone  easy,  “i’ve  got  a  soft  spot  for  beautiful  disasters,  cariño.”  the  smile  curling  at  her  lips  grew  before  she  added,  “so,  what’s  the  plan  for  today  captain?”

[bvlodless]

He watched her twist and lean against the ships railing and can't help but grin at her comment. "Marisol!" he gasps loudly, comically. He presses a hand to his chest and shakes his head, maiming offense. "I can't believe you would say that to me, ma jolie soie-" he pouts at her, those blue eyes shining ruefully. "-I'm hurt."

He laughs then, humming in agreement. "You and me both it seems, we have a crew full of pretty disasters." Laurent glanced away from her, out toward the sea again. He seems to go still again, as if silence is the only thing helping him mull over her question.

"Tortuga." he starts "We have much to do here. I need eyes and ears out there Marisol, I don't trust half of these wretches as far as i can throw them. We need information, leverage-" he glances at her, those big blue eyes bright as the sea in summer. "-I need enough secrets to bury people, if it comes down to that. So, I suggest we spend our day doing that. Watching-" he smirks at her "-and listening."

[sublimechaotic]

marisol  turned  toward  him,  elbow  braced  on  the  railing, chin  tipped  slightly  in  his  direction  as  she  watched  him  pretend  to  be  wounded.  “hurt?”  she  echoed,  dry,  letting  a  small  smirk  curl  at  the  edge  of  her  mouth.  “you’ll  survive,  peacock.  you  always  do.”

when  he  looked  away,  toward  the  water,  she  gave  him  that  moment.

silent.  steady.

because  she  understood  that  too—the  need  to  think,  to  plan,  to  look  ahead  and  see  all  the  storms  before  they  hit.  his  words  pulled  her  back,  and  the  teasing  faded  from  her  face,  sharpened  into  something  quieter,  more  real.  “good,”  marisol  said  simply,  voice  low.  “i  like  secrets.”

she  pushed  off  the  railing  then,  standing  straighter,  brushing  invisible  dust  from  her  sleeves  like  she  was  already  ready  to  move.  “watching  and  listening,”  she  echoed,  glancing  sideways  at  him  with  a  glint  in  her  eye,  “i  can  handle  that.”

a  small  pause,  playful,  but  behind  it  a  steel  promise.  “just  don’t  blame  me  if  i  end  up  finding  more  than  you  bargained  for.”  because  marisol?  when  she  went  digging  for  secrets,  she  didn’t  stop  at  the  first  layer.  she  went  deep  enough  to  make  the  whole  damn  foundation  shake.

[sublimechaotic]

rhett  didn’t  move  right  away.

just  sat  there  on  the  edge  of  the  bed,  wide-legged,  solid  under  them,  hands  heavy  on  their  hips  like  he  was  anchoring  them  down.

their  hands  were  on  him,  their  mouth  leaving  heat  against  his  chest,  up  his  throat,  their  body  rolling  slow  against  his—and  rhett  could  feel  every  word  they  whispered  like  it  was  branding  him.

he  let  out  a  low  sound,  deep  in  his  chest—half-growl,  half-laugh,  like  they’d  just  woken  up  something  that  wasn’t  gonna  let  them  walk  straight  for  days.  “you  sure  about  that,  sweetheart?”  rhett  rasped,  voice  low,  thick,  brushing  their  skin  with  every  word.  “you  really  ready  to  lose  everything  you  got?”

his  hands  dragged  slow  down  their  thighs,  then  back  up,  rough  and  claiming,  pulling  them  tighter  against  him,  grinding  them  right  down  into  the  hard  line  of  him  without  giving  them  a  damn  second  to  pretend  they  weren’t  aching  for  it.

“you  get  one  chance  to  back  out,”  he  muttered  against  the  hollow  of  their  throat,  kissing  there  once,  slow  and  mean,  like  a  warning.  “after  that—”  he  bit  down  lightly,  just  enough  to  make  them  jolt—

“you’re  mine  to  wreck.”

he  rolled  his  hips  up,  slow  and  punishing,  once,  twice,  a  deliberate  grind  that  stole  the  breath  right  out  of  their  lungs.  “gonna  fuckin’  ruin  you,  darlin’,”  rhett  growled,  voice  breaking  rough  against  their  ear,  “til  you forget  your  own  damn  name.  til  everybody  outside  knows  exactly  who  you  belong  to  without  ever  havin’  to  ask.”

rhett  didn’t  give  them  time  to  catch  their  breath.  didn’t give  them  time  to  rethink.  he  shifted,  dragging  them  back  with  him  onto  the  bed—not  rough,  but  heavy,  undeniable,  the  way  a  storm  drags  a  ship  under  without  even  trying.

he  moved  slow,  deliberate,  like  he  had  all  the  time  in  the  world  to  take  them  apart  right,  piece  by  goddamn  piece.

settling  deeper  against  the  bed,  hands  dragging  them  down  until  they  were  straddling  him  just  how  he  wanted—right  where  they  belonged.

his  mouth  ghosted  up  their  throat,  across  their  jaw,  slow  and  hungry,  and  when  he  reached  their  ear  again, his  voice  dropped  lower—filthier.  just  for  them.  just  between  the  two  of  them  and  the  goddamn  walls  that  would  remember  it.

“bet  you’re  gonna  sound  even  prettier,”  rhett  rasped,  rough  against  their  skin,  “when  you  start  beggin’  for  real.”

[glitteringgcld]

It was always fun to play with fire. To push buttons and see exactly how far they can take someone until they lose control. It was even more fun with Rhett. With the man, they knew exactly the cost of getting him to lose control. And it was a cost that they were eager to pay, even if it meant being unable to walk for awhile or their throat growing hoarse from screaming. It was a cost they've been willing to pay since the day they met Everett. Since the day they bedded him and realized just how much they wanted to continue to bed him. To do anything and everything under the sun and moon with him. To do all the things they've already explored and everything they've still yet to explore. Rhett Carrow made them want to do that.

His words struck them to their very core, causing Devi to shiver with anticipation and desire. "I've been ready since the day I met you," they admitted. Biting down on his neck and sucking until they made a mark. They had a rule not to mark their clients; Rhett was the exception. They gasped as he gripped them, soon moaning lowly as they hid their face in the crook of his neck for a moment. "Fuuuck," they whined softly. Gripping to him tightly as they rolled their hips just ever so slightly faster against him.

They knew that he would be able to feel their growing wetness now. That he would know exactly what his words and actions were doing to them. Just how much they desired him, craved him, needed him. They cried out softly at the bite and his words, their head tilting back and eyes shutting tightly. The pain was so delicious that they needed more of it. That they needed more of him. "Do it," they moaned. "Fucking destroy me."

A groan left their lips as soon as they felt his hips move against them. He was teasing them, waiting to see them back out, but they won't do it. They've been wanting more from him for awhile now; they wanted to receive it. They wanted everything he was capable of and more. It didn't matter what happened to them in the process: as long as they were utterly destroyed by him in the best way possible, they would be content. They would be happy.

Their mind could hardly process his words, the siren feeling too much elation, when suddenly they were on their back. Their legs were quick to wrap around his waist, locking around him tightly as they beamed up at him. "Fuck me," they commanded at first. Needing a reminded that they weren't in control here; Everett was. Their hips rolled faster against him, their breathing heavier, as his lips ghosted over their skin. Devi let out a whine, one hand sneaking into his curls while the other traced nails up and down his back, as they finally began to beg: "Please... Please, fuck me, Everett. Please destroy me. Please fucking wreck me, please. I need you."

[sublimechaotic]

rhett  didn’t  give  devi  time  to  breathe.

the  second  the  last  desperate  word  slipped  past  their  lips,  the  second  their  nails  raked  down  his  back,  he  moved,  flipping  them—hard,  fast,  brutal.  hands  gripping their  wrists,  pinning  them  down  against  the  mattress  above  their  head  with  one  hand  like  it  was  nothing.  like  they  weighed  less  than  a  promise.

he  leaned  in,  mouth  brushing  the  shell  of  their  ear,  voice  so  low,  so  rough  it  barely  qualified  as  human  anymore.  “you  want  to  be  destroyed,  pretty  thing?”  rhett  growled,  his  hips  rolling  against  theirs,  slow  and  punishing.  “you  don’t  even  fuckin’  know  what  that  means  yet.”  his  free  hand  dragged  down  their  side,  nails  scraping  just  enough  to  leave  the  faintest  burn,  just  enough  to  make  them  squirm  under  him.

he  took  his  time,  forcing  them  to  feel  the  weight  of  him,  the  heat,  the  control,  before  he  shifted  his  hips  back—and  with  one  slow,  merciless  thrust,  he  sank  into them,  deep  and  full  and  complete,  grinding  a  broken,  desperate  sound  out  of  their  throat  whether  they  wanted  to  give  it  or  not.  rhett  groaned  low  against  their  skin,  rough  and  full  of  something  filthy,  primal,  like  even  he  had  been  holding  back  until  now.

“fuck,”  he  muttered,  voice  wrecked  against  their  neck,  “you  feel  better  beggin’  for  it.”

he  stayed  deep,  grinding  slow,  hips  pressing  flush  to  theirs,  forcing  every  inch  of  him  into  them  until  there  was  nowhere  else  for  them  to  run,  nowhere  else  for  them  to  hide.

he  rocked  into  them  once,  twice,  slow  enough  to  be  cruel,  deep  enough  to  make  the  bedframe  groan  under  the  strain.  letting  them  know  this  wasn’t  just  a  fuck.  this  was  rhett  carrow  claiming  every  inch  they’d  offered him—and  more.  “you’re  mine  tonight,”  he  muttered  again,  biting  rough  at  their  pulse,  “and  when  i’m  through  with  you…”  another  thrust,  brutal  and  full.  “you  won’t  fuckin’  remember  what  it  feels  like  to  stand  without  me  holdin’  you  up.”

rhett  smiled  into  their  skin—sharp  and  hungry—like  he  was  only  just  getting  started.  “now,”  he  rasped,  pinning  their  wrists  harder,  slamming  into  them  deeper,

“beg  me  like  you  fuckin’  mean  it.”

[sublimechaotic]

rhett  didn’t  move  at  first.

just  sat  there,  arms  folded  across  his  chest,  watching  dorian  fight  the  bottle  like  a  man  drowning  slow—and  liking  it  too  much  to  throw  him  a  rope.

he  let  out  a  low,  rough  laugh,  warm  and  mean  all  at  once.  “shouldn’t  have  trusted  it,”  he  said,  grinning  wide,  lazy  as  hell.  he  caught  the  bottle  when  dorian  shoved  it  back  across  the  table,  fingers  tapping  once  against  the  glass  before  setting  it  down  like  he  had  no  plans  to  touch  it  again.

“don’t  look  at  me  like  that,”  rhett  drawled,  blue  eyes  glinting  in  the  firelight.  “you  walked  right  into  it,  sweetheart.  i  just  held  the  door.”  he  leaned  back  in  his  chair,  boots  kicking  up  onto  the  edge  of  the  table  like  he  owned  the  whole  damn  room—which  he  did.

his  grin  stayed  sharp,  fond,  dangerous  “you’re  lucky  i  like  you,”  he  said,  voice  dropping  low  and  rough.  “otherwise  i’d  be  pourin’  you  another  just  to  see  if  you  survive  it.”

rhett  tipped  his  head  slightly,  studying  dorian  with  that  slow,  amused  look  that  said  he  was  already  thinking  of the  next  way  to  wreck  him  just  for  the  hell  of  it.

“but  you  always  did  love  the  pain,  didn’t  you?”  he  added,  “guess  that’s  why  you  keep  comin’  back.”

[cursedsails]

just about catching his breath, dorian laughed as the last few coughs tore through his chest. "you know they always said to never trust a pretty face, but i could never help myself." his tongue wet his lips, gaze raking up rhett's body as he lounged in his chair with his feet up. there would be no question of who owned the place, not when he carried himself as such.

his eyes settled on his face, the dim light casting a handsome shadow over him, and dorian made no effort to hide the desire in his eyes. it was always there, more so with some than others, but he was an opportunist at heart. "that does make me a fortunate man." his fingers stroked the bone dice on the table, gently rolling them between his digits.

"you know me well." he chuckled, tilting his head to look at him with narrowed eyes. "but i come back for your delightful company, despite your attempts to poison me. i so rarely see you in my own home that you have to drag me out to yours. why is that, hm? you aren't running a secret brothel from here, are you darling?"

[sublimechaotic]

rhett  watched  him  through  half-lidded  eyes,  the  firelight  carving  sharp  shadows  across  his  face,  catching  the  gleam  in  dorian’s  eyes  like  it  was  bait  left  out  on  purpose.  he  let  dorian  look.  he  wanted  him  to.

a  slow  grin  dragged  across  rhett’s  mouth,  lazy  and  dark,  as  he  stretched  his  arms  back  behind  his  head,  broad  chest  pulling  tight  under  his  shirt  in  a  way  that  sure  as  hell  wasn’t  an  accident.

“pretty  face’ll  kill  you  faster  than  a  knife,”  he  drawled, voice  low  and  rough,  like  smoke  curling  slow  in  the  back  of  his  throat.  “figured  a  man  like  you  would’ve  learned  that  by  now.”

he  let  the  dice  roll  in  dorian’s  hand  a  second  longer,  the  sound  soft,  almost  musical  against  the  heavy  heat  sitting  between  them.  “you’re  fortunate,  alright,”  rhett  added,  shifting  just  enough  to  plant  his  boots  wider,  a  lazy  sprawl.

the  brothel  comment  earned  a  rough  chuckle  from  deep  in  his  chest.  he  leaned  forward  then,  slow  and  easy,  bracing  one  forearm  on  the  table,  letting  the  firelight  catch  the  heavy  rings  on  his  fingers,  the  way  his  knuckles  curled  loose  and  ready.  “ain’t  runnin’  a  brothel,”  rhett  said,  voice  dropping  into  something  darker,  heavier,  “but  you  keep  lookin’  at  me  like  that,  sweetheart,  and  i  might  start  thinkin’  there’s  a  better  use  for  you  than  losin’  dice.”

he  let  the  words  sit  there  between  them—lazy,  cocky,  heavy  with  intent.  rhett  just  let  his  dragged  slow  down  dorian’s  body  and  back  up,  no  shame,  no  hurry. 

[sublimechaotic]

rhett  let  her  words  hang  in  the  smoke  between  them,  dragging  the  moment  out  like  he  was  savoring  the  taste  of  it.

she  was  good—better  than  most  who  tried  to  sit  across  from  him  thinking  they  could  play.  but  even  the good  ones  cracked  eventually.  he  leaned  back  in  his  chair,  the  firelight  catching  the  hard  line  of  his  jaw,  the glint  of  the  rings  on  his  fingers  as  he  tapped  once,  twice,  against  the  table.

“i  don’t  take  you  for  a  common  thief,”  rhett  said,  voice  low,  rough,  dangerous  but  entertained.  “common  thieves  don’t  have  the  spine  to  sit  across  from  me  talkin’  about  death  like  it’s  a  damn  business  deal.”

he  dragged  his  gaze  over  her  slow,  from  the  lazy  way  she  leaned  back  to  the  sharp  gleam  tucked  behind  her  calm.  god,  she  wore  that  danger  well.  he  let  a  small,  rough  laugh  slip  from  his  throat—quiet,  real.

“nah,”  he  said,  grin  cutting  sharper,  “you’re  somethin’  else.  somethin’  that  knows  exactly  how  long  you  can  dance  with  the  devil  before  you  burn.”

he  reached  into  the  inside  pocket  of  his  coat,  slow  and deliberate,  pulling  out  a  small,  battered  silver  coin—nothing  fancy.  just  old.  worn.  heavy  with  promises  nobody  should  want.

he  let  it  spin  once  on  the  table  between  them,  letting  the  firelight  catch  the  edges.  “payment,”  he  said,  voice dropping  even  lower.  “you  want  the  ring?  you  win  the  coin  toss.”

he  tilted  his  head  slightly,  eyes  locked  on  hers,  the  grin  widening  like  he  already  knew  she  was  too  stubborn  to  back  down  now.  “but  if  you  lose…”

he  let  the  words  trail  off,  heavy,  deliberate.  “well, i have a few ideas.”

he  spun  the  coin  again  once  with  two  fingers,  the  sound  low  and  hypnotic  between  them.  “deal?”

he  didn’t  blink.  he  didn’t  breathe.

he  just  waited—letting  her  feel  exactly  what  it  meant  to  shake  hands  with  the  devil  and  not  be  allowed  to  pull  away.

[tidecalld]

Theia prided herself on not being foolish enough to gamble away every last scrap a man like him might lay claim to. But pride was a thin shield in a place like this. she knew the moment she stepped into the den to demand an item, she would have to play a game at some point. And gods help her, part of her welcomed it.  The rush was a slow, seductive burn in her veins, sparked by his voice — rough and wicked — fanned higher with crooked grins that cut across his mouth. A mortal thrill. A pathetic thing to surrender to. But her calm, glacial exterior never cracked. Betraying nothing. 

She sat there, statuesque, as his gaze dragged over her, allowing him to assess as he pleased, curious to hear what verdict he might deliver. His amusement bled into the air between them, thick and dangerous, sweet as poison. Whether the full attention of the gambling master was a reward or a curse was yet to be determined.

The Stormborn merely shrugged, a slight, careless motion, when he branded her as something else. Other. “Ah,” she murmured, pale blues steady and sharp. “but aren’t we all constantly trading hands with death? Those unaware… Bless their precious, foolish hearts.” She did not avert her gaze, daring him to stare into the dark pool of her soul and glimpse what slumbered beneath its depths — dangerous, restless things that knew the chill of the sea and the sharp kiss of ruin. “What’s wrong with a little sting of a burn,” she added, the barest whisper of a smile touching her lips, “so long as you don’t set yourself ablaze solely for the entertainment of another?”

When he produced a silver coin and let it dance between his fingers, something inside her stirred — an ugly, eager thing rearing its head. Part of her wanted to dive head first into the fray, heart thrumming a sharper beat. Oh, how easy it would be to step in wide-eyed, like every fool who ever darkened this den’s doorway. Like tossing oneself into a pit of vipers, with hopes your blood tastes bitter enough to survive. But she would not let the edge of danger — nor his dark, wolfish grin — twist her into foolishness. True, she enjoyed her share of dances with devils and death, but never without a fighting chance. Playing dangerously was not the same as playing stupidly.

Slowly, she shook her head as he toyed with the coin, the reflective surface catching the firelight, glittering like the gates of hell. A cheap distraction. Instead, she reached into the satchel hidden beneath her garment and withdrew a coin of her own, similar in size but marked by time — and unmistakably gold. She placed it between them with no flourish, no ceremony — just the soft, final sound of gold hitting wood. “I’ll agree to your game,” she said, voice like a quiet tide pulling him in, “but we play with this.” 

She returned to her easy posture, loose and casual, leaving room for him to inspect if he wished.  “Pick your side,” she offered, cold fire glinting in her gaze. “Whichever feels most lucky to you. I’ll take the other.” And for the first time, the ice around her mouth cracked — just barely. A smile tugged at the corner of her lips. There was no safety here. Only the beautiful, brutal chaos of not knowing.  “I’m sorry if it’s not your preferred weapon,” she said, her tune a low, cold velvet, “but I promise you this — should you lose, I’ll let you keep it. A parting gift, if I walk away from this little wager... unscathed.” A heartbeat of silence. “— Deal?”

[sublimechaotic]

rhett  didn’t  reach  for  the  coin  right  away.

just  sat  there,  watching  her  over  the  low  firelight  like  he  was  studying  a  creature  rare  enough  to  be  hunted—or  worshipped.  the  weight  of  the  gold  on  the  table  didn’t  move  him. she  did.

he  let  out  a  slow  breath,  rough  around  the  edges,  almost  a  laugh.  “you’ve  got  teeth,”  rhett  muttered,  voice  low  and  full  of  something  that  sounded  almost  like  admiration.  “i  like  that.”  he  reached  out  finally,  fingers  slow  and  deliberate,  dragging  the  gold  coin  toward  him  without  breaking  her  gaze.

he  turned  it  over  once  between  his  fingers—nothing  flashy,  no  sleight  of  hand—just  a  man  who  could  crush or  grab  to  kiss  with  the  same  hand  depending  how  the  night  turned.

“this’ll  do,”  he  said,  voice  dipping  lower.  “hell,  it’s  better  than  what  i  offered.”  his  grin  sharpened  at  the  edges,  dangerous  and  real.  not  mocking.  not  cruel.  hungry.

“heads,”  rhett  said,  tapping  the  coin  once  against  the  table  with  a  dull  thud.  “always  did  like  the  ones  that  stare  trouble  in  the  face  instead  of  runnin’  from  it.”  he  set  the  coin  flat  between  them.  one  finger  pressed  lightly  on  the  edge,  just  enough  to  make  it  clear:  one  flip,  one  shot,  no  tricks.

he  leaned  in  slightly  then,  voice  dropping  rough  and  slow,  like  a  secret  meant  for  the  space  between  their  mouths.  “but  this  is  still  my  place,  i  am  still  master  of  this  den…  if  you  win,”  he  murmured,  “you  walk  out with  what  you  came  for.  the  ring,  gold,  pride,  whatever  story  you  wanna  tell  yourself  later.”

he  let  the  pause  drag,  the  grin  cutting  deeper.  “but  if  i  win,”  rhett  added,  voice  rough  velvet,  “you  don’t  walk  out  at  all.  you  stay.”  he  tipped  his  head  slightly,  eyes  gleaming  under  the  firelight.  then,  without  breaking  the  tension,  without  looking  away—

he  flicked  the  coin  into  the  air.

a  gold  blur.

firelight  catching  the  spin.

the  whole  world  holding  its  breath.

the  coin  hit  the  table  with  a  sharp  clack.

heads.

rhett  didn’t  move  for  a  beat.  just  sat  there,  the  grin  on his  face  growing  into  something  slow,  dangerous—the  kind  that  meant  the  trap  had  been  set  long  before  she even  sat  down.  he  dragged  his  gaze  up  to  meet  hers,  slow  as  a  tide  pulling  something  under.  there  was  no  gloating  in  his  face.  no  cheap  victory.

just  that  heavy,  bone-deep  certainty  that  this  was  always  how  it  was  gonna  end.

“well,”  he  drawled,  voice  low,  rough,  soaked  in  something  dark  and  sweet,  “looks  like  luck’s  got  a  cruel  streak  after  all.”  he  leaned  forward,  elbows  on  his  knees,  so  close  now  that  every  word  felt  like  it  weighed  more  than  the  gold  between  them.  his  hand  came  down  over  the  coin,  covering  it  completely,  sealing  the  deal  like  a  man  who  already  owned  her  next  breath. then,  slow  and  deliberate,  rhett  pushed  to  his  feet.  the  chair  scraped  back  behind  him,  heavy  and  rough,  and  he  stepped  around  the  table—not  fast,  not  threatening—measured,  calm,  impossible  to  stop.

he  came  to  stand  over  her,  letting  the  air  between  them  tighten  until  it  burned.

then,  without  a  word,  he  braced  one  hand  on  the  armrest  to  her  right—then  the  other  to  her  left.  caging  her  in.  close  enough  she  could  feel  the  heat  coming  off  him,  close  enough  that  even  breathing  wrong  might shatter  whatever  cold  fire  she  was  clinging  to.

his  gaze  stayed  sharp,  wicked,  but  there  was  something  heavier  in  it  now—something  possessive,  something  that  said  you’re  not  walking  away  from  this,  and  we  both  know  it.  he  dipped  his  head  closer,  voice  dropping  to  a  dangerous  whisper  meant  just  for  her.

“guess  that  means  you  stay,  sweetheart,”  rhett  murmured,  his  breath  brushing  her  skin,  warm  and  rough  and  full  of  bad  promises.  “long  enough  to  learn  real  slow  what  losin’  to  me  really  feels  like.”  he  leaned  in  closer—almost  touching,  almost  giving  her  the  mercy  of  distance—and  when  he  spoke  again,  his  voice  was  a  low  growl  at  her  ear:  “don’t  worry,”  he  added,  voice  dipping  even  lower,  a  rasp  now,  a  promise,  “i’m  a  generous  winner.  i’ll  break  you  real  slow.  i’ll  even  let  you  have  the  ring  when  i’m  done  with  you.”

[sublimechaotic]

rhett  let  out  a  low  laugh,  rough  and  easy,  head  tipping  back  against  the  worn  frame  of  the  bed.  “holdin’  out?”he  said,  voice  still  warm  from  the  heat  they’d  made  between  them.  “sweetheart,  that  was  me  bein’  generous.”

he  didn’t  bother  hiding  the  grin  pulling  at  his  mouth—sharp,  smug,  and  real,  the  way  it  always  was  around  devi.

he  shifted,  arms  folding  behind  his  head,  watching  them  pull  their  hair  up,  watching  the  way  it  spilled  back  down  like  they  were  doing  it  just  to  fuck  with  him.  maybe  they  were.  hell,  probably.

“funny  thing,”  rhett  drawled,  tone  dipping  lazy  and  dangerous,  “you  talk  real  big  for  someone  who  was  beggin’  for  mercy  five  minutes  ago.”

he  lifted  one  hand,  reached  out  slow,  caught  a  piece  of  their  hair  between  two  fingers,  twisting  it  lazy  like  he  had  all  the  time  in  the  world  to  fuck  with  them  right  back.  “almost  convinced,  huh?”  he  said,  low,  a  flicker  of  amusement  bright  in  his  eyes.  “guess  i’ll  just  have  to  make  my  case  harder  next  time.”

he  let  the  strand  of  hair  slip  through  his  fingers,  the  threat  light  and  playful  but  not  empty.  never  empty  with  him.  he  could  already  feel  the  next  round  buzzing  between  them,  thick  in  the  air,  waiting.

“unless,”  rhett  added,  tilting  his  head  slightly,  voice  dropping  rough  and  soft,  “you’re  scared  you  might  start  likin’  losin’  to  me  too  much.”

[glitteringgcld]

"Generous?" Already they felt a pool of warmth growing deep inside them once more. It was a song and dance with the man that they never grow tired of. In fact, it was something that they found themself looking forward to whenever they felt that familiar ache for him. The kind of ache that desperately needed him, that was always ready for him. Whether it had been seconds or days, the moment they saw him, they were ready to pull him to the nearest unoccupied space so that they could have him. "What if I were to beg nicely? Would you generously stop holding out on me?"

They took a glance over their shoulder to smirk at him. He knew the affect he had on them. They'd be quite surprise if he didn't. But they knew as well the kind of spell they had on him right back. They heard it in the dip of his tone. They felt it as he took a bit of their hair in his hand. A sigh left their lips at the sensation, their head tilted up to the ceiling and their dark eyes closing. "Mmm, I guess so." It would be quite an easy answer. It was one they were ready to give to him right now.

"Unless?" Their eyebrow arched up. Keeping their face hidden, a smile began to grow. "Is that right?" It very much so was. They enjoyed fucking as much as the next person, of course. But with him... It was something else entirely. After all these years and how often they were together, Rhett has discovered parts of them that no one else has. That they weren't sure anyone else ever could. Opening their eyes, they slowly moved to sit atop him. Straddling his waist and tracing their fingertips across his torso. Tilting their head, they leaned down to kiss his chest. Slowly, every so slowly, they kissed up: up to his neck, up to his jaw, kissing as much of his bare skin while they slowly rolled their hips. Reaching his ear, they whispered, "Perhaps you should make that case now. Give me everything you're capable of; I want all of Tortuga to know that I've lost to you and am prepared to always lose to you... But only if you can prove it."

[sublimechaotic]

rhett  didn’t  move  right  away.

just  sat  there  on  the  edge  of  the  bed,  wide-legged,  solid  under  them,  hands  heavy  on  their  hips  like  he  was  anchoring  them  down.

their  hands  were  on  him,  their  mouth  leaving  heat  against  his  chest,  up  his  throat,  their  body  rolling  slow  against  his—and  rhett  could  feel  every  word  they  whispered  like  it  was  branding  him.

he  let  out  a  low  sound,  deep  in  his  chest—half-growl,  half-laugh,  like  they’d  just  woken  up  something  that  wasn’t  gonna  let  them  walk  straight  for  days.  “you  sure  about  that,  sweetheart?”  rhett  rasped,  voice  low,  thick,  brushing  their  skin  with  every  word.  “you  really  ready  to  lose  everything  you  got?”

his  hands  dragged  slow  down  their  thighs,  then  back  up,  rough  and  claiming,  pulling  them  tighter  against  him,  grinding  them  right  down  into  the  hard  line  of  him  without  giving  them  a  damn  second  to  pretend  they  weren’t  aching  for  it.

“you  get  one  chance  to  back  out,”  he  muttered  against  the  hollow  of  their  throat,  kissing  there  once,  slow  and  mean,  like  a  warning.  “after  that—”  he  bit  down  lightly,  just  enough  to  make  them  jolt—

“you’re  mine  to  wreck.”

he  rolled  his  hips  up,  slow  and  punishing,  once,  twice,  a  deliberate  grind  that  stole  the  breath  right  out  of  their  lungs.  “gonna  fuckin’  ruin  you,  darlin’,”  rhett  growled,  voice  breaking  rough  against  their  ear,  “til  you forget  your  own  damn  name.  til  everybody  outside  knows  exactly  who  you  belong  to  without  ever  havin’  to  ask.”

rhett  didn’t  give  them  time  to  catch  their  breath.  didn’t give  them  time  to  rethink.  he  shifted,  dragging  them  back  with  him  onto  the  bed—not  rough,  but  heavy,  undeniable,  the  way  a  storm  drags  a  ship  under  without  even  trying.

he  moved  slow,  deliberate,  like  he  had  all  the  time  in  the  world  to  take  them  apart  right,  piece  by  goddamn  piece.

settling  deeper  against  the  bed,  hands  dragging  them  down  until  they  were  straddling  him  just  how  he  wanted—right  where  they  belonged.

his  mouth  ghosted  up  their  throat,  across  their  jaw,  slow  and  hungry,  and  when  he  reached  their  ear  again, his  voice  dropped  lower—filthier.  just  for  them.  just  between  the  two  of  them  and  the  goddamn  walls  that  would  remember  it.

“bet  you’re  gonna  sound  even  prettier,”  rhett  rasped,  rough  against  their  skin,  “when  you  start  beggin’  for  real.”

[sublimechaotic]

rhett  didn’t  flinch  when  dorian  touched  him.  didn’t  even  blink.  just  let  him  tilt  his  chin  up,  slow  and  easy,  like  he  had  all  the  time  in  the  world  to  entertain  the  game  being  played.

the  second  dorian  let  go,  though,  rhett’s  mouth  tilted  up  into  something  sharp—slow,  wicked,  like  a  knife  sliding  free  of  a  sheath.  “ain’t  worried  about  flattery,”  rhett  said,  voice  low,  rough-edged.  “i’m  worried  about  you  survivin’  it.”

he  watched  the  dice  roll,  arms  folding  across  his  chest. seven.  safe.  easy.  predictable.

he  let  out  a  low  laugh,  “lucky  roll,”  rhett  said,  reaching out  to  scoop  the  dice  back  into  his  hand,  feeling  the  weight  of  them  settle  easy  in  his  palm.  he  rolled  them  once  between  his  fingers,  gaze  never  leaving  dorian’s  face.  “but  i  don’t  play  safe,”  he  said,  and  tossed  the  dice  across  the  table  in  one  smooth  flick.  they  clattered,  bounced,  spun.  nine.

rhett  leaned  back  in  his  chair,  slow  and  smug,  the  firelight  catching  on  the  heavy  rings  at  his  knuckles  as  he  spread  his  hands  out  like  he  was  offering  dorian  the  whole  damn  room.

“guess  you’ll  be  drinkin’,  love,”  he  said,  voice  dropping  to  a  low  drawl.

“unless  you  think  you  can  sweet-talk  your  way  out  of  that  too.”

he  tilted  his  head,  grabbing  the  flask  at  the  table  and  offered  it  right  to  dorian. 

[cursedsails]

"oh my love." immediately there was a grin on his face and his eyes were drawn back to rhett as he volleyed the flirting back to him. dorian would charm anyone he met, no exceptions, and there was nothing he loved more than someone joining in the dance. "you mustn't threaten me with a good time, not if you don't expect me to see it through."

the roll of the dice caught his attention again and he clicked his tongue as they settled. "house always wins, huh corazón?" he chuckled darkly, sucking in a breath through his teeth as the bottle was offered to him. he took it from rhett's decorated hand, glancing over at him with darkened eyes.

"i could." he flashed a grin. "but i'll play fair just for you, darling."

he took one look at the bottle and, with a shrug, down the hatch it went. not a moment later he was coughing, spluttering into his sleeve. "fucking hell." he choked through a laugh. "what the fuck is this? i've tasted better piss." he slid the bottle back over the table to rhett. "you're a sick fuck, rhett. i always did love that about you."

[sublimechaotic]

rhett  didn’t  move  at  first.

just  sat  there,  arms  folded  across  his  chest,  watching  dorian  fight  the  bottle  like  a  man  drowning  slow—and  liking  it  too  much  to  throw  him  a  rope.

he  let  out  a  low,  rough  laugh,  warm  and  mean  all  at  once.  “shouldn’t  have  trusted  it,”  he  said,  grinning  wide,  lazy  as  hell.  he  caught  the  bottle  when  dorian  shoved  it  back  across  the  table,  fingers  tapping  once  against  the  glass  before  setting  it  down  like  he  had  no  plans  to  touch  it  again.

“don’t  look  at  me  like  that,”  rhett  drawled,  blue  eyes  glinting  in  the  firelight.  “you  walked  right  into  it,  sweetheart.  i  just  held  the  door.”  he  leaned  back  in  his  chair,  boots  kicking  up  onto  the  edge  of  the  table  like  he  owned  the  whole  damn  room—which  he  did.

his  grin  stayed  sharp,  fond,  dangerous  “you’re  lucky  i  like  you,”  he  said,  voice  dropping  low  and  rough.  “otherwise  i’d  be  pourin’  you  another  just  to  see  if  you  survive  it.”

rhett  tipped  his  head  slightly,  studying  dorian  with  that  slow,  amused  look  that  said  he  was  already  thinking  of the  next  way  to  wreck  him  just  for  the  hell  of  it.

“but  you  always  did  love  the  pain,  didn’t  you?”  he  added,  “guess  that’s  why  you  keep  comin’  back.”

[sublimechaotic]

rhett  didn’t  answer  right  away.

just  leaned  back  in  his  chair,  slow  and  easy,  letting  the weight  of  the  moment  stretch  between  them.  she  wasn’t  smiling.  wasn’t  bluffing  either.  he  liked  that.

he  rolled  his  glass  between  his  fingers  once,  the  firelight  catching  on  the  heavy  rings  he  wore,  before  dragging  his  gaze  up  to  meet  hers  full-on.  steady.  unreadable.  “not  here  for  the  games,”  he  said,  voice  low,  rough  around  the  edges.  “shame.  you’d  probably  be  good  at  ‘em.”

the  grin  that  pulled  at  his  mouth  was  lazy,  but  his  eyes  stayed  sharp—watching  her,  measuring.

he  tapped  the  table  once  with  two  fingers.  deliberate.  “fair-haired  bastard  with  a  scar,”  rhett  said  after  a  beat.  “yeah,  i  remember  him.”  he  let  out  a  rough  breath  that  might’ve  been  a  laugh.  “couldn’t  hold  his  drink.  sure  as  hell  couldn’t  hold  his  luck.”

rhett  leaned  forward,  forearms  resting  on  the  table  now,  the  easy  posture  of  a  man  who  could  move  faster  than  he  looked.

“and  you  want  his  ring,”  he  said,  voice  dropping  just  a little.  “that  right?”  he  studied  her  another  second,  like  he  was  deciding  what  it’d  cost  her.

“so  tell  me,”  he  said,  that  slow,  dangerous  grin  curling  at  the  edges,

“you  lookin’  to  pay  for  it?  or  you  hopin’  to  steal  it  off  me?”  he  said  it  without  heat,  without  warning.  just  matter-of-fact.  like  either  option  might  end  the  same  way.

[tidecalld]

The master gambler moved with the certainty of a man who understood the weight of silence, laying it down like a heavy cloak between them. A tactic designed to unsettle, to command the reverence he believed was his by right. In a den teeming with boastful souls and the stench of desperation, it served him well. But she was not so easily moved. She wore silence like a second skin, meeting his gaze with winter-sea eyes, unflinching and cold. They held each other there, adrift in the stillness, until a slow tilt of her head fractured the quiet — the barest hint of challenge coiled in her composure. “Perhaps," she said quietly, words slipping from her tongue like smoke. "Shame you’ll never know whether your instincts are right"

She watched him with careful detachment — the curve of his grin, the seemingly restless dance of his fingers, the sharp gleam buried deep in his eyes. He spoke of the rat who had gambled away a stolen piece, and she answered with a wry nod, nothing more. "Such idiocy is hard to scrub from one's mind," she added with a shrug, unsurprised that the bastard couldn’t hold his liquor — or his luck. Then again, she doubted luck had much to do with anything here. No, it felt more like a favor granted by a particular ringleader, not the work of the fates.

The man leaned forward, weaving another performance from ease, the predator cloaked in velvet charm. She did not flinch. She did not blink. Her lips stayed sealed, her gaze unwavering, when the raven-haired gambler spoke of the golden piece as though it had belonged to someone else. In his eyes, it had. But she would not throw her cards onto the table, not toss her bargaining chip out the bloody window by correcting him. Better to let him believe it was just another ring. Her eyes gleamed, catching the firelight, when a dangerous grin curled at the corners of the man's mouth — a twisted, exhilarating feeling flaring low in her gut, the same rush she felt when diving deep into the sea’s salt-black embrace without a tether. How she enjoyed dancing on the knife’s edge of danger.

"You take me for a common thief?" she asked, her voice carrying a low, almost amused lilt. "I’ve already told you I bargained with death elsewhere. I have no wish to meet it here, at the end of one of your pretty knives or the blades of one of your goons. It would be far too… lackluster." She leaned back with a feline ease, letting her gaze drift lazily across the room. A gambling den like this thrived on muscle and menace; she was nimble enough to slip past it, but not foolish enough to forget it. "I doubt anyone walks away with what belongs to you — not for very long, at least." Her mouth curved, soft and cutting. "As for payment... that depends on your offer"

[sublimechaotic]

rhett  let  her  words  hang  in  the  smoke  between  them,  dragging  the  moment  out  like  he  was  savoring  the  taste  of  it.

she  was  good—better  than  most  who  tried  to  sit  across  from  him  thinking  they  could  play.  but  even  the good  ones  cracked  eventually.  he  leaned  back  in  his  chair,  the  firelight  catching  the  hard  line  of  his  jaw,  the glint  of  the  rings  on  his  fingers  as  he  tapped  once,  twice,  against  the  table.

“i  don’t  take  you  for  a  common  thief,”  rhett  said,  voice  low,  rough,  dangerous  but  entertained.  “common  thieves  don’t  have  the  spine  to  sit  across  from  me  talkin’  about  death  like  it’s  a  damn  business  deal.”

he  dragged  his  gaze  over  her  slow,  from  the  lazy  way  she  leaned  back  to  the  sharp  gleam  tucked  behind  her  calm.  god,  she  wore  that  danger  well.  he  let  a  small,  rough  laugh  slip  from  his  throat—quiet,  real.

“nah,”  he  said,  grin  cutting  sharper,  “you’re  somethin’  else.  somethin’  that  knows  exactly  how  long  you  can  dance  with  the  devil  before  you  burn.”

he  reached  into  the  inside  pocket  of  his  coat,  slow  and deliberate,  pulling  out  a  small,  battered  silver  coin—nothing  fancy.  just  old.  worn.  heavy  with  promises  nobody  should  want.

he  let  it  spin  once  on  the  table  between  them,  letting  the  firelight  catch  the  edges.  “payment,”  he  said,  voice dropping  even  lower.  “you  want  the  ring?  you  win  the  coin  toss.”

he  tilted  his  head  slightly,  eyes  locked  on  hers,  the  grin  widening  like  he  already  knew  she  was  too  stubborn  to  back  down  now.  “but  if  you  lose…”

he  let  the  words  trail  off,  heavy,  deliberate.  “well, i have a few ideas.”

he  spun  the  coin  again  once  with  two  fingers,  the  sound  low  and  hypnotic  between  them.  “deal?”

he  didn’t  blink.  he  didn’t  breathe.

he  just  waited—letting  her  feel  exactly  what  it  meant  to  shake  hands  with  the  devil  and  not  be  allowed  to  pull  away.

[sublimechaotic]

rhett  leaned  back  in  his  chair,  arms  folding  easy  across his  chest  as  he  watched  her  play  the  part.

cute.  too  cute.

“beginners  luck,”  rhett  repeated,  low  and  amused,  like  he  was  tasting  the  words.  he  dragged  his  gaze  down  to  the  coin  purse,  then  back  up  to  her  face,  slow  as  the  tide  pulling  something  under.  “funny  thing  about  luck,”  he  said,  voice  rough  but  almost  lazy,  “she  likes  to  cozy  up  to  the  cocky  ones  first.  makes  it  easier  to gut  ’em  later.”

he  let  the  dice  roll  lazy  between  his  fingers,  casual,  like  he  wasn’t  even  thinking  about  it.

“but  hell,”  rhett  said,  flashing  that  slow,  dangerous  grin,  “far  be  it  from  me  to  stand  in  the  way  of  destiny.”

he  nodded  toward  the  table,  the  cards,  “buy  in,  sweetheart,”  he  drawled.  “let’s  see  just  how  far  that  beginners  luck  of  you.” 

[xmaskedghost-deactivated2025073]

"My dad used to like joints like this one... He told me proper ladies didn't gamble, and I should be very careful to learn nothing while I was there, but he still let me scamper around the tables." She smiled slightly at the memory.

"He also warned me that lady luck could cozy up to whoever she wanted, the winner was still the same in the end. As long as there's bums in seats and trust in the dealer the house will always win."

Kadriye eyes followed the dice's movements through his fingers. "Very smooth" she said. "If I knew anything about how these games work such quick fingers may have me very worried you'd know how to cheat."

She pulled one of the real coins from her purse, mirroring his movement with it, before pulling an old slight of hand, and replacing it with one of her coin shaped stones.

"What are we playing for?" She asked, dropping the stone between them. "I'm here to lose my coins eventually, but I figure I should probably pace myself with something more fun first."

[sublimechaotic]

she  was  good.

not  good  enough  to  fool  him,  maybe,  but  good  enough to  make  him  curious.  “proper  ladies,”  he  repeated,  voice  tinged  with  amusement.  “ain’t  never  made  it  very  far  in  tortuga,  from  what  i’ve  seen.”

he  tapped  the  stone  she  dropped  between  them,  slow  and  deliberate,  like  weighing  it  meant  something. he  spun  the  dice  in  his  hand  once,  casual,  before  setting  them  down  with  a  soft  click.  “you’re  smarter  than  most  walkin’  in  here,”  he  said,  meeting  her  eyes  dead  on.  “i’ll  give  you  that.”

he  nudged  the  stone  back  toward  her  with  two  fingers, slow  and  easy.  “what  are  we  playin’  for?”  rhett  echoed,  a  wicked  grin  growing  on  his  lips.

“easy.  first  game’s  on  the  house.  call  it  an  introduction.”  he  leaned  forward  slightly,  dropping  his  voice  lower  so  it  rumbled  between  them  instead  of  cutting  across  the  whole  room.  “win?  you  get  a  drink  on  me.  maybe  two  if  you’re  lucky.”

a  beat.

“lose?”  his  grin  sharpened,  just  enough.  “you  owe  me  a  story.  somethin’  real.  not  one  of  those  pretty  little  lies  you  tell  around  the  fire  to  make  yourself  sound  bigger  than  you  are.”  he  sat  back  again,  arms  folding,  watching  her  like  he  already  knew  the  answer  and  was  just  waiting  to  hear  it  out  loud.  “what  d’you  say,  beginner’s  luck?”

[glitteringgcld]

𝚌𝚕𝚘𝚜𝚎𝚍 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚎𝚛 — 𝚍𝚎𝚟𝚒 & 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚝

"You've been holding out on me." Glancing over, Devi raised one of their eyebrows at the man. A smirk appearing on the siren's face. "I know the whole deal with us makes things even more fun, but seriously—where did that come from?" It was quite a fun friendship they held with the businessman. He was fond of chaos-making as much as they were, which led to some rather interesting times together. That and with them sleeping together, sometimes as friends and sometimes as siren and client, they couldn't help but to cherish the man and their friendship even more.

Especially when it came to their "whoever can cause the most chaos can do whatever they want to the other" game. Damn, they felt like a genius for coming up with it. Sitting up, they winced slightly at the ache, but didn't mind it. They gathered their long waves up into a bun and held it in place with one of their hands atop their head. Taking a moment to breathe before letting their hair down, it cascading down their back. "I'm almost convinced to let you win more often. Almost."

location: the siren's nest

when: april 1728

who: @sublimechaotic

[sublimechaotic]

rhett  let  out  a  low  laugh,  rough  and  easy,  head  tipping  back  against  the  worn  frame  of  the  bed.  “holdin’  out?”he  said,  voice  still  warm  from  the  heat  they’d  made  between  them.  “sweetheart,  that  was  me  bein’  generous.”

he  didn’t  bother  hiding  the  grin  pulling  at  his  mouth—sharp,  smug,  and  real,  the  way  it  always  was  around  devi.

he  shifted,  arms  folding  behind  his  head,  watching  them  pull  their  hair  up,  watching  the  way  it  spilled  back  down  like  they  were  doing  it  just  to  fuck  with  him.  maybe  they  were.  hell,  probably.

“funny  thing,”  rhett  drawled,  tone  dipping  lazy  and  dangerous,  “you  talk  real  big  for  someone  who  was  beggin’  for  mercy  five  minutes  ago.”

he  lifted  one  hand,  reached  out  slow,  caught  a  piece  of  their  hair  between  two  fingers,  twisting  it  lazy  like  he  had  all  the  time  in  the  world  to  fuck  with  them  right  back.  “almost  convinced,  huh?”  he  said,  low,  a  flicker  of  amusement  bright  in  his  eyes.  “guess  i’ll  just  have  to  make  my  case  harder  next  time.”

he  let  the  strand  of  hair  slip  through  his  fingers,  the  threat  light  and  playful  but  not  empty.  never  empty  with  him.  he  could  already  feel  the  next  round  buzzing  between  them,  thick  in  the  air,  waiting.

“unless,”  rhett  added,  tilting  his  head  slightly,  voice  dropping  rough  and  soft,  “you’re  scared  you  might  start  likin’  losin’  to  me  too  much.”