strongofheart

[strongofheart]

@luridtruths asked: “you sound so pretty when you moan” cc: @antolcgias  /  nsfw, kink.  pirates verse!

THE FIRST TIME HE’D WORN A DRESS, it had been too big. He was malnourished and overworked, and it being the smallest dress in the house didn’t stop it from falling loose around his frame. It worked out alright   —   a man cinched it around his waist with pins and it served its purpose, stayed on him throughout the theatre he’d been pulled into. The acting didn’t come natural to him but it didn’t need to. It was intimate and light-hearted; twenty men, perhaps, just blowing off steam. One kissed him once the production was over, called him a pretty thing in a most reverent way, and Sam shivered.

The first time he’d worn a dress in Nassau, the girls had tailored it just for him. It looked odd on the hanger, broad-shouldered to accommodate the healthy muscle he’d gained, but it felt nice on his skin, made him feel fluttery-nervous in an intriguing way. The man who’d asked him, shyly, to wear one had cursed at the sight of him, held him close when they fucked and whispered a woman’s name into Sam’s neck. 

Then hell rained down on Nassau and Sam didn’t think twice about it, left it behind in his closet as his Captains put him on a ship and sent him to safety. 

And now they’re here: safe, tucked away from the world, and the dress is too small, just something they’ve commandeered from the abandoned home they’re hiding in. The straps strain to stay on his shoulders and the corset lays open down his chest, but the skirt is familiar, loose and soft against his legs. 

It’s the first time he’s done this because he wanted to. Not like he minded it in the past, but   —   it’s the first time he’s sought it out, made the choice for himself instead of agreeing to it for someone else.

There’s a specific kind of comfort to it, and he thinks they feel it, too   —   Spencer, shirtless except for a man’s unbuttoned waistcoat; Reynold half-naked in stockings and a sleek robe. It’s like they’re all breathing a little easier, floating in the pretend reality they’ve carved for themselves here. Feeling their hearts beat for something other than survival for the first time in a while. 

Sam leans back into Spencer’s spread legs, lets his head rest on her shoulder, and she pulls the leather tie free from his hair, combs it out to lay loose around his face. Reynold’s on his knees in front of them, his hands buried in Sam’s dress and his mouth working its way up slowly from Sam’s ankle. It’s a torturous, blissful process, and when his kisses finally reach the sensitive skin of Sam’s inner thigh, he moans, soft and breathy, and slides his legs wider. 

     “ You sound so pretty when you moan, ”   Spencer whispers, low and dirty in his ear, and Sam shivers, whines like a helpless thing. He feels pretty. Long loose hair and soft cream dress, he feels smaller, gentler. Vulnerable, in a way that only comes when you truly trust someone. 

He twists to kiss her and there’s a desperate bite to it, reminiscent of the rough edge she always wants from him, but she holds his throat in her palm and slows him down, turns it tender and intimate, like she knows just what he needs even before he does. Reynold finally finishes his path, but he ignores where Sam is hard and leaking. Pushes Sam’s thighs further apart instead, and up, up, up, until he can nuzzle his way under his balls and lick him there. It’s not like Reynold's never rimmed him before, but   —   like this, in the dress, it’s like   —   it’s   l i k e  ... 

     “ Say it again, ”   Sam gasps into Spencer’s mouth, his eyes wild and glazed over. She smirks and coos softly, lovingly mocking, and strokes his jaw. His fingers dig hard, desperate, into her thighs on either side of him. Reynold’s tongue presses deeper. 

Like he’s a girl.

    “ You like it when we call you pretty, hm? ” 

Sam nods, because he’s gone, any lingering shame crumbled expertly under their touch, and Spencer rewards his honesty with a kiss, dirtier this time. The hand not around his neck strokes his hair, tugs his head back a little further until he looks her straight in the eye. 

     “ You’re our pretty boy, ”   she promises.   “ So good for us, aren’t you? The noises you make, the way you look in this fucking dress... yeah. So fucking pretty. ”

He whimpers, bites his lip as his heart pounds and his chest heaves, and Reynold’s blunt nails press harder into the underside of Sam’s thighs, before he hums an agreeing,   “ So pretty for us,”   into Sam’s skin.

Spencer smirks, makes eye contact with the other captain over Sam’s trembling body, and redirects Sam’s gaze to Reynold, too. The robe’s draped off his shoulders, one stocking a little higher than the other, his face flushed and lips slick-red. Spencer presses her mouth to Sam’s ear like she’s telling him a secret, but makes sure she speaks loud enough for Reynold to hear.

     “ Who knew the fearsome fucking Captain Argent could be pretty too? ” 

[strongofheart]

Thighs?

Oh you mean noise cancelling headphones

[strongofheart]

spotify wrapped has arrived. send me a number from 1-100 for a starter based on that song, or a lyric from it, or send a 🎁 for me to shuffle.

[strongofheart]

@luridtruths asked:   "All i want is to feel you deep down my throat..." - srs sugar when reyn's away.  cc: @antolcgias​ / nsfw, kink.

SAM KNOWS BETTER. Lord, how he knows better. It’s not the first time Reynold has made it clear that their pleasure is his to control, his to withhold when he’s gone, and it certainly won’t be the last. He knows the effect Sam and Spencer have on each other   —   how one look from Spencer can get Sam hard, how one of Sam’s hands on Spencer’s thigh is enough to get her wet   —  knows how much self-restraint it takes to limit themselves. That’s why he does it. That’s why he loves it. 

And God, every time feels so much (better) worse than the last. It hasn’t even been a full four days since he left, and they’re falling apart at the seams. Just five more minutes of rest in the morning turns into slow, hot grinding and quick, cold showers. Innocent kisses after dinner turn into wandering hands and breathless hunger. Doors are left open when they bathe or undress, half an invitation, half a bet. The way Reynold had purred his praise over Facetime, his voice deep and delicious, just last night when they told him they still hadn’t given in was almost enough to have them both making a mess of their underwear. 

It’s exhilarating and excruciating and so goddamn fucking frustrating. 

And this   —   Spencer drowning in one of Sam’s worn-thin graphic tees, the barest hint of thigh visible as she kneels before him on the living room rug, calculated hands sliding their way up his legs. On day one, he would’ve laughed and guided her hands away, cursed her for her attempt to destroy him so early. Day four and he’s dragging his thumb along her lower lip, letting his thighs fall further apart as he pretends he’s not already losing his war against temptation.

“We shouldn’t,” he groans, sincerely miserable about it, and she nuzzles the crease of his knee, looks up at him with pleading eyes like his cock in her mouth will make her whole. He knows her tricks. He knows better. But god damn it, he’s shuddering out an unsteady breath and pushing his thumb against her tongue like he’s helpless to say no, because he is. He is. 

Spencer knows the second his resolve crumbles and she grins, bright and wicked, sucks his thumb to give him a taste of what he’s in for as her hands finish their journey up his thighs and pull at the waistband of his sweatpants. 

“Just don’t let me come,” he mumbles, lifting his hips to help her get his pants down. She looks so damn innocent and so damn cruel all at once as she says, “Of course,” and takes him into her mouth. 

It’s heaven, because of course it is. She’s incredible at this anyway, knows the differences in how he and Reynold both like it, but after days of resisting their bodies, willing away their lust under the icy pressure of the shower, it’s especially sweet. She’s so warm and wet around him, sucks him just so to have his toes curling and a noise halfway between a gasp and a moan tumbling out of him.

His hands slide into her hair, holds it back out of her face as she sinks down deeper, takes more of his length into her mouth. He sighs, “Just like that,” into the air, his voice already getting breathy and light. Closes his eyes and rests his head against the back of the couch under the waves of pleasure, but lifts back up and drags hooded eyelids open again to watch her mere seconds later. She’s fucking beautiful, her lips already swelling and reddening, stretched wide around his cock. He tells her so and she smiles around him, looks up into his eyes with a pleased, wicked glint.  

As promised, she swallows him deeper when she’s ready, and he cries out at the sensation of her throat tight and pulsing around him. His thighs tremble and his chest heaves, grip tightening in her hair to hold her there for one beat, two, three, until he relaxes and she slides back up again. The rhythm comes to them like muscle memory: Sam’s hips rolling up to meet Spencer partway as she sinks down, her open throat and careful breathing making it an easy slide in and out. It’s noisy and   f i l t h y   and so fucking good, and Sam rides the high, floats on the cresting waves of pleasure until heat starts to coil low in his gut and his own movements fall still.

“Spencer, I’m close,” he whines low, his voice wrecked, his tone a warning. He tugs on her hair, presses himself deeper into the couch. “You gotta- ease up, or I’m gonna-”

She doesn’t ease up. She works him harder and faster, barely even lets his cock leave the tight hold of her throat before she’s swallowing him back down, and fuck, he tries to fight it. Lingers on the precipice of that white hot pleasure for as long as he can, all desperate, urgent whines and an offended little “Spencer—” before he tumbles right over the edge with a shout, his head spinning and body shuddering from the force of it, his vision whiting out. 

When he fades back into reality, he’s heaving for breath like every one might be his last, and it takes a few seconds for his dazed eyes to locate Spencer. She’s a sight to behold, her hair wild from his grip, a mess of come and saliva all over her chin, but her attention is still focused on his cock, cleaning it with broad licks up the length that have him twitching away, hot and oversensitive. 

He extends a hand, catches the mess where it’s started to slide down to her neck with the pad of his thumb, and pushes it up flushed skin until it reaches her used, swollen mouth. He feeds it to her slowly, lazily drags it up off her chin and onto her tongue, and Spencer lets him. 

Her eyes are bright with mischief, her smirk so self-satisfied as she sits back on her heels, and Sam can’t help but feel a little petulant. He pouts at her like he has any right to be complaining.

“We’ll see how smug you are when Reynold gets back and turns your clit purple.”

[strongofheart]

@antolcgias asked:  “ work your hips for me ” (sugar!srs—samreyn first time? :> )

IT SHOULDN’T FEEL LIKE THIS. Sam has sex more days of the week than not, sometimes multiple times a day. Such is the nature of his job. But months denied of Reynold’s body feels like months denied of any touch at all, and Sam is reeling, drowning in the relief of finally being allowed this. Finally having   e a r n e d   this. 

Reynold is bigger than Sam is used to and he can feel the burn right down to his toes. It’s not painful   —   the full torturous hour of foreplay had guaranteed that   —   but full in a deep, delicious way that has Sam halfway between a gasp and a groan every time he sinks to sit flush against Reynold’s thighs. 

He steadies himself with a deep breath and lets his blunt nails scratch lightly down Reynold’s chest, over his nipples, before he heeds Reynold’s order and curves backwards, braces his hands on the man’s thighs instead. He drags heavy eyelids open to watch Reynold watch him as he begins to roll his hips in a slow, hot, grinding motion, and god, what a sight.

Reynold looks at Sam like nothing else exists, like nothing else has   e v e r   existed, and it’s not exactly   —   uncommon, for men to look at him in that awed, intense kind of way, but his stomach flips and knots itself tight when it’s Reynold. Reynold, who has refused him for so long. Who has spent countless evenings in private with Sam just sitting and talking, lining Sam’s wallet with cash and never letting him do anything more than kiss him. 

Finally, finally, they are here, Sam fucking himself onto Reynold’s cock like he’s been waiting his whole life for the opportunity, and he’s loathe to admit that the wait has made it better. Every look is electric. Every touch sets Sam’s skin on fire. Reynold’s eyes are glued to where their bodies connect as Sam slides up and grinds back down, and the new angle allows Reynold’s cock to press hot and hard into Sam’s prostate on every downstroke, pulling filthy, needy noises from his throat. 

“ You like that, Daddy? ”   he asks, ever the performer even when dazed and drunk on the pleasure, and Reynold groans, snaps his eyes up to meet Sam’s as he promises him in a rough voice that, “ Yes, baby, you’re doing so good for me. So beautiful. ”

A broad, firm hand leaves Sam’s hip to cup his face in the same moment Sam pitches forward to kiss him, licking into Reynold’s mouth with a hunger he suspects might never be satisfied. Reynold lets him for a minute before he pulls Sam’s face back, drags a thumb across his swollen lower lip, and Sam whines, an urgent pang of arousal hitting deep in his gut as he takes the thumb into his mouth and sucks. He rides Reynold faster and louder as Reynold sinks heels into the bed and starts to fuck up into him, skin slapping skin and brows furrowed as they both chase their building release.

Sam comes first, his legs still making jerky, aborted, autopilot movements to fuck himself down onto Reynold as he shoots up Reynold’s chest   —   but Reynold isn’t far behind, holding Sam close to his sweaty, sticky torso as he pulses inside him with a groan. They lay like that as they catch their breath, and between Reynold’s hands stroking Sam’s cooling back and the soft, low praise Reynold murmurs into Sam’s ear, Sam knows. He’s a goner.  

[strongofheart]

@luridtruths​ asked: “Be patient: I’m not going to fuck you dry, no matter how much you beg.” - older/sk

SAM WANTS HER TO. God help him, he really wants her to. Knows all too well that it’s more pain than pleasure when it’s dry, but he feels like he’s been waiting   —    a lifetime for this. How it’s only been a week since she left the site open on her laptop for him to find is beyond him; that sleek silicone and the words your order has been dispatched have been haunting his every waking minute since. 

And tonight   —   fuck, tonight. Spencer’s too damn smart and too damn wicked, made sure he’d seen the package sitting on her kitchen counter before she’d whisked him out for a night of luxury. Dinner at a place with a name Sam will never be able to pronounce, a long drive to the theatre for a play Sam would only half understand at the best of times, champagne on a high-rise balcony with a view of the river. Sam usually loves to play pretend with her. Loves to make her laugh around her fancy steak as he talks nonsense about the stock market and golf like he has any idea what he’s saying. 

But all he’d been able to think about tonight was this   —   coming home with her and opening that goddamn box   —   and she’d known it, kept her hand high on his thigh during the show and teased the inseam of his expensive slacks with her toes under the dinner table. Dragged the evening out for as many hours as possible. Denied his wandering hands and hungry kisses even as the car finally,   f i n a l l y ,   took them back to her building. 

And now they’re here, and she’s still   —   still fucking teasing him. The strap looks like it was made for her, black silicone matching her lacy bralette, matching the elegant smoky eye she’d applied for their date. Because she coordinated it, Sam thinks. His head spins with the thrill. Coordinated her entire fucking evening look with the new fake cock that sat at home waiting for them.

She ties his hands behind his back with silk and fucks his throat first. Moans above him like it’s real, like she can feel him swallowing around the toy. Whispers all manner of praise and filth about his pretty mouth, and he flushes red-hot with it, stains those expensive slacks as his own cock leaks with need. She makes him eat her out once his mouth is sufficiently red and swollen, right there standing above him, both hands fisted in his hair as she rides his tongue, and he buries himself into her like a man starved. 

Sex has been many things in Sam’s life, but never this. This bone-deep trust and acceptance that has his mind floating in the most blissful way, that has him feeling like one dark look could shatter him into the best orgasm of his life. He’s addicted to her   —   her taste, her mind   —   so intensely that sometimes he thinks he could implode with it. 

Spencer pulls him away before he can make her come. He whines in protest, tries to dive back between her legs, but her grip gets sharper in his hair and holds him back. She pulls him up, strips him out of the rest of his clothes, and pushes him face-down on the bed. Pulls the silk restraints loose so Sam’s hand are free and just   —   teases, like she hasn’t enough already. Slides her cock between his cheeks, a thumb pressing it down to make sure he can feel the heft of it, and enjoys her own personal show as she thrusts slow over the skin, watches it glide past his hole and up along his back. 

Sam’s dizzy. He’s so hard it aches, and the mindless needy moans keep catching in his used throat and turning into whimpers. He hasn’t had this in so long. He knew he missed it   —   that’s why the purchase was made in the first place   —   but he’s only just beginning to realise how much he’s needed it. His hands splay flat and wide on the bed so he can fuck himself back against her, raw and shameless in the way he begs for it.

   “ Please, Spencer. Please. I need it so bad, so bad, please fuck me. ” 

One particularly determined, well-timed grind backwards has the head of it catching on the rim of his hole, the silicone bending a little from the resistance before it pops free and grazes along skin once more, and Sam cries out in frustration, gets more frantic as he pleads with her. 

A firm hand between his shoulder blades pushes him flat into the bed, forces his movements to cease. That’s when Spencer says it:   “ Be patient: I’m not going to fuck you dry, no matter how much you beg. ”

Sam moans like he’s dying, one last hoarse little   “ please ”   getting muffled by the mattress. Her strap-on slides away and he’s dying, he’s dying, he’s dying, his thoughts almost incoherent with the irrational panic that she might not give it to him at all   —   but then her hands spread him wide and her tongue drags over his hole, and relief and pleasure crash together into a full-body shudder and a helpless cry.

He’s okay. He gasps for air. He’s okay. He’s o—

Just a few broad licks have him spiralling into his first orgasm of the night. It starts in his toes and rushes upwards, has him white-knuckling the sheets and wailing as he thrashes with the force of it. Spencer grips his ass tight, keeps her tongue on him even when he’s shivering and whining and oversensitive. 

She promises it won’t be his last. 

[strongofheart]

@luridtruths​ asked:  “I don’t care if he's watching. I’m not done with you yet.” cc: @antolcgias​ / nsfw.

SAM FLUSHES RED-HOT.  It is true that they weren’t done   —   interrupted by her obligations as Captain before either of them could finish   —   but Sam had expected to have to wait... longer, before continuing what they started. Until tomorrow, was his hopeful wish. Until their current mess was resolved and they were all back on Nassau sand, was the most likely outcome. 

Until Reynold had left the room was such a foregone conclusion Sam hadn’t even considered an alternative. 

The Captain’s cabin is Reynold’s, technically, but four captains of four different crews share this ship now, driven together out of necessity until new ships can be acquired. No one aboard seems to understand how much luxury each captain should maintain in these circumstances, but Hastings waltzes in like the cabin is rightfully hers and barely even acknowledges Argent   —   who had been sitting at his desk updating his logs while Sam lounged in his cot awaiting the task’s completion   —   as she strides over to Sam and straddles him with practiced ease. 

‘Captain Argent is—’   Sam had started, but Spencer cuts him off with the kind of careless confidence he so often envies and sends him plummeting back into the depths of arousal with just a few short words. His breath hitches around a surprised, “ Fuck, ” and the distant scratching of Reynold’s quill on paper comes to a instant halt. The many skirts of her dress are lifted out of the way to grant access and she pulls Sam, already mostly hard again, out of his breeches. 

She’s still wet from earlier and a strangled, stuttered moan escapes him as she slides down onto him without preamble. He’s scorching hot all the way down to his toes, impossibly exhilarated as his gaze shifts from her face   —   eyes closed, brow furrowed, as she chases her own pleasure in shameless grinding motions   —   to past her shoulder, where Reynold stares at them both with a slack-jawed awe. Reynold’s eyes flick to his and Sam thinks he might die from the jolt it sends through him to see the man’s pupils blown the way they are, so he surges forward to kiss Spencer instead, biting until she groans above him. 

“ Fuck me, Sam, ”   she grits out, and Sam obliges, wraps arms around her waist to stand and flip them over. Presses her into the bed   —   Reynold’s bed   —   and steadies himself, one knee on the sheets and the other foot on the ground, to fuck her hard like she likes it. 

The high of it all makes Sam dizzy, wondering how many times Reynold has plotted the next phase of their stupid fucking rivalry in this very bed, how many times he’s pretended not to be thinking about her when he’s touched himself here. And now she’s sprawled out on it, moaning wild and digging sharp fingernails into Sam’s sides as he drives her closer to the peak she was denied earlier, Reynold bearing witness as they defile his sheets. 

Sam’s fucking obsessed with her, and when she reaches her orgasm, gasping and shuddering, Sam is not far behind. Spills all over her skirts and thighs as he pulls out, face buried in her neck as the waves of pleasure consume him whole and threaten to never surrender him. They lay like that, panting, until the ringing in Sam’s ears begins to fade and he can finally hear Reynold’s laboured breathing in the mix, too.

“ Sam, ”   Captain Argent says from behind him, his voice hoarse and strained, yet still commanding. Sam grunts in acknowledgement. Spencer’s nails dig a little deeper into Sam’s skin, possessive.   “ Would you like to show our mutual friend what a sight you are when taking my cock? ” 

Sam’s head spins. His entire body shivers.

Spencer bites his jaw hard.   “ Do it. Show me. ”

They will be the death of him, he's almost certain.

[strongofheart]

@luridtruths asked: “something... happened today.” julia

IT’S NOT EXACTLY A SURPRISE. She returned hours after she was meant to, shaken and silent, and busied herself with bathing away from Sam’s confused questions. He’d gotten the hint: whatever it was, she wasn’t ready to talk about it. The surprise is that Julia’s come around already, volunteering a story he thought he’d have to wait days for.

He covers her hand with his own and squeezes, brushes his thumb over her knuckles. She always looks tired   —   he’s sure he does as well, these days   —   but it seems more prominent than ever as she stares vacantly into the evening’s fire.  

“ Tell me about it, ”   he says, keeping his voice soft.   “ I’ve got you. ”

[strongofheart]

“Did you touch yourself, thinking of us?” Sugar!SRS

@antolcgias & @luridtruths / nsfw.

HEAT RISES IN SAM’S CHEEKS. It’s ridiculous, being embarrassed of something so small after everything they have seen from him, every filthy thing he’s done in front of, to, and with them. But Reynold has a knack for asking   j u s t   the right way to make him and Spencer both squirm in spite of themselves. Can make them feel like they’ve done something wrong, something forbidden, with as little as an eyebrow raise. 

And now is no exception.

Sam swallows and lets out a self-deprecating laugh.   “ You know I did, ”   he says, a hand combing his hair back off his forehead.   “ That video... ”   He can feel his body’s interest reigniting just remembering it   —   one of Reynold’s broad hands holding the camera steady and the other ruining Spencer’s hair, her on her knees in her tight evening dress as she worked her mouth over his length. It was a masterpiece worthy of an award, as many of their personal videos are. 

And all Sam could do was watch and touch himself, stranded miles away from them and restricted from reaching any real kind of release. It’s a special kind of torture on weeks like this, the control Reynold has over them. Sam easily could give into the frustration, the live-wire sensitivity that follows him every second of the day, and simply tell Reynold he hadn’t. But when he’s by himself and he begins to peak, gasping and arching into his own hand... he stops, every time. Because Reynold asked it of him. Because giving himself wholly to the two of them, allowing them to decide when and how he gets what he craves, is hotter and more satisfying than any quick release could be.  

He groans and scrubs a hand over his face. Laughs at himself again as he watches their matching wicked smirks on his phone screen.   “ God, don’t look at me like that, I’m getting hard again already. It was so hot. I can’t wait for y’all to get back. ”

[strongofheart]

an insomnia-induced drabble for @antolcgias & @luridtruths​ ✌ 

The night is quiet. The patrons downstairs have either shacked up or filtered off back to their boats in search of sleep, their bellies full of rum and their needs sated, leaving nothing but the gentle sound of the ocean waves to accompany Sam and Reynold as they lay, sweaty and breathless, in the afterglow.

Reynold is by far the softest person Sam has lain with since landing in this town. A fierce pirate captain by all means, as ruthless as the rest of them, but Captain Argent melts away once that door is closed. In his wake is a gentle soul, one that wants to soothe the weariness from his bones rather than obliterate it the way people like Captain Hastings do. Even the moments when arousal leads to something rougher, hungrier, it is accompanied by fingers intertwined with Sam’s, or lingering kisses against the nape of his neck.

Tonight is no exception. He sent a man ahead to request a bath be drawn for him while he wrapped up some business, and Sam helped to scrub the grime from his fingernails and the sea salt from his hair as he sat pliant and tired with his long limbs folded in the tub. He kissed Sam with a tenderness otherwise unknown by pirates and touched him even sweeter, turning minutes into hours and groans into pleas as he explored to his liking.

Sam has never truly made love the way he was raised to understand sex should be, but he can only assume his time with Reynold   —   the only slightly consequential issue of it being sodomy aside   —   must at the very least resemble it.

After, Reynold holds him to his side, lazy fingers trailing over Sam’s spine, and Sam peppers equally lazy kisses into his shoulder. The captain sits up after a spell and reaches for the satchel he brought with him, producing a book that he passes to Sam as he sinks back into their embrace.

“ Would you read to me? ”   he asks.

Sam swallows. The blue leather of the book’s cover is worn and faded, soft to the touch, its spine thoroughly cracked with overuse. Underneath the anxiety building in his chest, Sam wonders if it is so well-read because it is Reynold’s favourite, or if it was already in disrepair when it fell into Reynold’s possession. But first and foremost in his mind is shame, hot and tight where it festers in the base of his throat.

“ I can’t, ”   he admits, his voice strained.

He knows little   —   nothing concrete   —   of Captain Argent’s life before piracy, but he can tell from the way he carries himself and the things he knows, that he was a well-educated man. Wealthy, Sam believes. Someone who had all the best resources at his disposal and could have made a far more respectable name for himself if he hadn’t been driven down this path.

Sam’s upbringing could hardly have been farther than that.

“ They tried to teach me, ”   he hastens to add, though it feels empty. There were countless ways he never took to schooling; this was by far his worst. The anger of his teachers as he failed to learn time and time again still lingers in his dreams on occasion.   “ But the words don’t... ”   He flounders. Sighs, frustrated with himself. The heat on his cheeks is almost unbearable and he can’t look at Reynold directly.   “ I know it sounds like a fiction, but the letters don’t stay where they should be. They don’t always make sense. There are days I can’t even spell my own name correctly, even though I know how. ”

Reynold is quiet, until his gentle touch under Sam’s chin forces Sam to look him in the eye. There is no judgement there, nor pity.

“ It’s okay, Sam. ”   He kisses him chastely and strokes his cheek. And then, like he can see straight into his soul and read the darkest parts of his mind:   “ A third of the men on my ship were never even taught. I don’t think any less of you for it. ”

Sam presses his lips together tight and nods, grateful, before Reynold pulls him back into his body. He takes the book from Sam’s hands and kisses his hair.   “ May I read to you instead? ”

Sam exhales, closes his eyes. The anxious knot in his chest eases.   “ Please. ”

[strongofheart]

@luridtruths asked:   five times saved - srs   ( cc: @antolcgias ) TW: strong violence, injury, blood, swords, guns, war, executions.

ONE.

HIS JOB IS A DANGEROUS ONE. To look lawless men in the eye and tell them there are consequences for their actions is to face all manner of violence, whether they choose to throw punches or pull pistols. He handles it, because someone has to. Because he loves those girls like they’re his family, and the pirates need to learn he will not allow harm to come to them.

He handles it  —   until one man gets the upper hand, sends half-full tankards flying as he slams Sam into a table and drives his ring-clad fist into his face. Until that hand is caught midair and yanked behind him, twisted until he cries out in agony, further and further and further until there’s a sickening CRACK beneath the skin. 

The man is dragged out by her men and there she stands, beautiful and terrifying, an expression of angry disgust giving way to barely-concealed concern as she steps into Sam’s light and touches his bloodied face. 

“ Thanks for the save, ” he croaks, that boyish smile shining through the pain. 

She scoffs. 

TWO. 

HE SAVES THEM FROM EACH OTHER, the first time Captain Hastings sees Captain Argent slipping out of Sam’s room. They come to blows out in the street, each staking their claim to his bed   —   they’ll share him with anyone   ( a n y o n e )   else, but not each other   —   and Sam has to barge into their space before swords are drawn. One hand flat on Argent’s chest, the other stretched to keep Hastings at bay. 

He is prey, standing unarmed and barely dressed between two hungry lions, but his voice alone   —   the stern, bold, “ Neither of you own me. Neither of you came to me out of any desire to fuck each other over. This is a pointless fucking fight, and I don’t want to see it. ”   —   gets them to loosen their grips on the hilts of their swords. 

They will have this fight another day, no doubt. Their paranoia will convince them Sam has whispered all their secrets to the other, that the other planned for as much all along. But for tonight, the fight is quelled. Argent is sent on his way and Hastings is guided upstairs. 

He has a power over them they might not have fully realised yet.

THREE. 

THERE’S BARELY A WARNING WHEN THE ENGLISH INVADE   —   a matter of a few days’ headstart when they would need   w e e k s   to prepare Nassau for a battle it’d stand a chance in. Argent bursts into Sam’s room with even less warning, and greets him not with a hello but with a plan:   “ I’ve secured you and the girls safe passage off the island. The boat leaves at dawn so pack your things, get the girls ready. ” 

Hastings is minutes behind with a similar proposal before Sam has even had a chance to process the first. There’s a fiery tension when the captains make eye contact, hands hovering over their weapons, but they seem to reach a silent truce. There’s no time for in-fighting with war on the horizon. Not with Sam’s life at risk. Perhaps the only thing they’ve ever agreed on is their furious refusal when Sam suggests he stays to join the fight.

Before dawn, they both visit again to have him escorted to the ship. They kiss him in the shadows with only each other as witness, and they stand side-by-side on the beach   —   a fragile, fledgling understanding beginning to build between them   —   to watch Sam ferried to safety with the rising sun.

FOUR.

THE WAR FOR NASSAU’S LAND is long, bloody, and not remotely in the pirates’ favour. The first battle sees their numbers slain in half, both in men and ships, and victory feels like little more than a fantasy. But Argent is hopeful. To a fault, perhaps, but Hastings is there to reign in his more outlandish ideas, to provide the tactical realism the men need to get on board with the bold plans they have to leap into.

The latest involves taking an English ship. A feat, given their numbers, but Argent’s plan gives them the element of surprise   —   the initial ambush is successful, and it helps their chances, though the battle is no less brutal once it’s underway. The clashing of swords across the deck is near deafening and the scent of blood is soon thick in the air. 

It’s thick underfoot, too, and it is almost Hastings’ downfall: her boot slips in a puddle and sends her flying onto her back, winded and disorientated as the soldier she’d been sparring LOOMS above her with a gleeful grin. But before she can blink, the soldier is impaled on a sword, kicked to the ground to reveal perhaps the last face she’d ever want to see save her. 

“ You’re welcome, ” Argent says with a smirk, reaching out a hand to help her up. 

She reaches instead for a nearby body, pulls a dagger from its abdomen and sends it whizzing past him, straight into the chest of a soldier with his pistol aimed at Argent. 

Argent huffs.

“ You truly couldn’t stand to be in my debt for even a second, could you? ”

There’s a spark when their eyes meet.

FIVE. 

HE’S TO BE GIVEN A FAIR TRIAL, the messenger says, but they all know that means nothing. In the wake of such a revolt, England is more desperate than ever to reclaim the narrative. The trial will last all of an hour and he’ll be executed immediately as a symbol of their strength, a message to all pirates that this is the fate that awaits them. 

Sam’s knees go weak with the news. Scared eyes find Spencer’s, a fragile hoarse “ Reynold… ” getting caught in his throat with all his grief. 

Her hand settles over his. She holds his gaze with such a fierce certainty that it manages to ground him, even when her words are so grand. “ We’re going to save him. They will not win today. ” 

She keeps her promise.

[strongofheart]

[strongofheart]

YOU MAY NOT BE INTERESTED IN WAR,   BUT WAR IS INTERESTED IN YOU !

INDEPENDENT  +  HEADCANON-BASED   JESSE TURNER   OF  SUPERNATURAL

[strongofheart]

🏈

[strongofheart]

Oliver Queen in Pacific Rim (2013) dir. Guillermo del Toro

[strongofheart]

Chord Overstreet as Tom. The Swing of Things (2020) Dir. Matt Shapira. 

[strongofheart]

Chord Overstreet The Swing of Things (2020 ) ─ Dir. Matt Shapira.