The Marks Left On Your Skin
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It took Ed a moment before he caught on and started to take off his weapons himself. He put the gun aside but lingered on the knife.
He wanted this, wanted to be pressed against the broad chest, wanted to be held down by the strong arms, wanted the large hands to crack him wide open, leaving him completely vulnerable, before just—He shuddered and couldn’t say if it was from desire or from fear of the precarious position meeting those desires would require of him.
“I want to make myself very clear, mate,” he said slowly. He could feel the smoky tendrils of Blackbeard creep into his voice. He hated it. It was necessary. “I’m here because I just wanna get fucking railed and everybody out there’s being real fuckin’ weird about it.”
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An illustrated exploration of why one would get a "Trust No One" tramp stamp (that tattoo did not look fresh!), since that feels less like a reminder to yourself and more like a message to the people topping you...
Told through seven sexual encounters spanning from Hornigold's ship to Post-Canon Era.Series
- Part 1 of The Marks Left On Your Skin