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gloomwitchwrites · 5 months ago

Note

First of all, I 100% know this is an overused trope... but still....

What If 141 2 people 1 bed trope

Who cares that it's an overused trope? It's a classic for a reason!

I will never tire of a one bed trope. It can be steamy and sexy. It can be angsty. It can be tense. It can literally be so many things at once. It's also a wonderful canvas to play around, and I had a lot of fun with this one. I know you've waited for this one for a while. I hope you enjoy it! :)

For the masterlist and how to submit your own request, click HERE

Task Force 141 x TF141 Female Reader

Content & Warnings: swearing, unprotected piv (wrap it up irl), creampie, multiple positions, rough kissing, vaginal fingering, oral sex (male & female receiving), admission of feelings, pretend sex, fake dating/married

Word Count: 6.3k

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // imagines & what if masterlist

John Price

“Fuck,” mutters Price.

You glance over your shoulder. Captain Price stands near the hotel window, the gauzy blinds closed but the thicker ones bunched to the sides, allowing in natural light. He’s staring at something happening in the parking lot.

“What it is?” you ask, starting to walk over to him.

“They might have found us.”

Dread flares hot, clenching the muscles in your stomach until it hurts. “Are you sure?”

Price nods, and then backs away from the window. “There’s no way they saw our faces during the infiltration. We wore masks. Might have tracked the stolen car.”

“We need to leave,” you say, but Price shakes his head.

“There’s too many of them, and they’re likely watching all exits on the main floor.” He sighs. “We need to play this right.”

The two of you are freshly showered, and the clothes you wore for the infiltration have already been discarded. Burned—actually, somewhere in the deserts of Arizona. At the moment, the two of you look like civilians.

“They can’t search the building, John. Not without bloodshed.”

He runs a hand through his hair, his gaze darting across the room as his brain works something over. You fidget, picking at your nails. It’s a terrible habit. One you do when you’re nervous.

Price glances at you and your heart drops. “They look official, and that’s probably all that matters. The scrawny teenager at the front desk isn’t going to put up a fight if the credentials appear legitimate.”

“Fuck,” you whisper, striding toward the window to look for yourself.

Captain Price is right. They do look official. They also look fucking terrifying which would scare anyone into compliance if you don’t know what to look for.

“We’re on the bottom floor,” you say, stepping back.

“I know,” growls Price. He pivots, examining the entire room.

He goes for the car keys and shuts them inside the safe. The only other thing in the room is a duffle bag full of plain clothes and generic toiletries. Price pushes clothes aside and then draws out the pistol hiding beneath it all. He checks the clip and then preps the barrel.

“Take off your clothes.”

“What?” you ask, startled.

Price walks over to the singular bed in the room, tucking the gun beneath the pillows. “Do you trust me?”

“Absolutely,” you affirm.

“Then take off your clothes,” repeats Price, reaching behind his head with one hand to grab the collar of his shirt. He pulls it over and off, tossing it aside.

“Spread it around. Make a mess,” he instructs as he goes for the belt on his jeans.

For a moment, you’re stunned, staring at Captain Price’s bare chest. While he’s muscular, it isn’t from a life in the gym. He is thick in all the right places. A solid wall with a beautiful dusting of dark hair that travels downward.

The belt is gone, and that too is tossed aside.

Without removing your gaze, you tentatively discard your shirt, but keep your bra on. It’s a barrier. A safety net. Price isn’t even glancing at you, but you do notice some color at the tops of his cheeks. A soft pink that makes your thoughts spiral outward to imagine if this gentle blush is the same color as the head of his cock.

Price’s jeans go next, already discarded before you move on to the next article of clothing. He’s only in socks and black boxer briefs. There is so much of him on display that you’re starting to forget yourself.

He glances at you, and that color in his cheeks darken. “You’re still dressed.”

You open your mouth to answer but then you hear a shout from down the hall and sharp banging on a door. They’re far too close.

This urges you on, moving with faster intention, and once you’re down to just your bra and underwear, you finally glance at Price again.

Price—who is naked. Completely bare. And you have a full view of what he’s been packing underneath all that.

Fuck.

He approaches the bed, and tugs back the sheets. The muscles in his arms and back tense as he crumples the bedding to sexed perfection—as if the two of you have been going at it for hours.

Price sits down on the edge of the bed and slides underneath, his legs parting enough that you get a glimpse of everything. This man isn’t even fully hard but from what you can see, it would be a tight fit if you actually sat on him.

Lifting a pillow, Price checks for the pistol and then sets it back, settling into the sheets. He frowns slightly when his attention returns to you.

“All of that has to go.”

“Does it?” you counter, crossing your arms over your chest.

There’s another thunderous pounding on a nearby door followed by shouting.

“It does if we’re going to make it out of here alive.” Price shrugs, and then smirks. “Could help you.”

Sighing heavily and you reach behind your back, unclasping the bra. You hurl it at him and Price catches it out of the air. Crossing your arms over your chest, you hurry toward the bed. But you don’t make it beneath the sheets.

“Everything,” repeats Price.

Reaching out, Price snags the thin cotton fabric and pulls down, revealing you to him and the room. Instinct as you grasping for control, hands splayed over his large forearms as he gives the fabric another yank.

You cannot form a response. Words leave you as Price drags you into the bed with him.

“Sorry about this,” he grumbles, that color returning to his cheeks in full force. It’s cute actually—how sheepish he looks.

You swallow, and lick your lips. “It’s fine.”

Price leans back against the pillows, guiding you with him. “Get on top.”

Straddling his hips, you settle yourself over him. You try—and fail—to not notice the way the hard length of him nestles against your pussy. You keep one arm crossed over your breasts but all it does is hides your nipples from him. Your other hand is splayed wide and pressed against his chest.

“We’re married,” he says, staring into your eyes. “That’s the story. I’ll do the talking. You act like the scared wife when they come barging in.”

You nod, and Price releases a deep exhalation. His hands rest on your thighs. They’re a brand. Warm. All you can think about. They move upward to settle on your hips.

“Pretend you’re riding me,” he murmurs.

With a gentle hand, Price grasps your wrist, drawing your arm away from your breasts. You don’t resist, and he brings your other palm to rest against his chest.

“Pretend,” he reiterates, hands returning to your hips. Price creates the motion by dragging you back and forth, imitating a rocking motion. Though you’re stationary, your pussy still drags against the length of his cock.

You notice the tremor in his jaw as your bodies rub against each other. This is affecting him as much as it is you.

“Pretend,” you say back to him.

Price nods and then grabs for the television remote from the bedside table. He turns it on and then ups the volume. You imitate the motion he created, rocking back and forth, sliding yourself along his cock, pretending you don’t notice how wet you’ve become over the course of the last few minutes.

His hands return to your hips, and then Price sinks back completely into the pillows, his eyelids softening as he gazes up at you. It’s far too intimate of a stare, and it’s only compounded when one of his hands meander upward to slide over your stomach and then between your breasts. You gasp as his thumb traces the underside of your breast.

Head tilting back, you grind downward, finding yourself diving into the warmth that’s starting to pool low in your belly.

A sharp pounding at the door has you snapping to attention. Every muscle tenses. Seizes.

“You’re fine,” coos Price. “We’ll be fine.”

The pounding comes again and then a yell from behind it. The voice is muffled. Not only by the door but from the television.

Swallowing, you try to connect into it again, rolling your hips, imagining that Price is your husband—that you love him—and this is simply an exploration of that love.

When you roll your hips again, Price sits up slightly, his warm breath brushing against your breast. A tingle shudders through you, and Price groans before his tongue grazes over your nipple, bringing it to a point.

“Knew you’d taste sweet,” he says softly at the same moment the hotel door bursts open.

One second, you’re atop Price, and the next his arms are around you, turning you away from the door to hide you from sight. You’re not on your back but Price has shoved you toward the bed as he sits up, creating a barrier between you and the intruders.

The tactical-clad trio entering the room—with a hotel worker nervously trailing behind—

don’t even get a word in before Price starts going off on them.

“Get out! Get the fuck out!”

His accent is gone, replaced by an American one. It’s incredibly good, and his feigned anger even more so. The men entering faulter under Price’s tirade. They likely weren’t expecting this, and Price uses this opportunity to push the advance.

“We’re fucking busy in here. Fuck off!”

The man at the head of the trio clears his throat and holds up a hand, but Price chucks one of the water glasses at the man. The guy ducks and it shatters against the wall. The hotel worker at their back squeaks and pushes forward.

“We’re so sorry. Just a search for some prison escapees. We’re clearly in the wrong room.”

Prison escapees? You want to laugh but think better of it. Instead, you press your face against Price’s arm, feigning sheepishness.

Price’s lips turn into a snarl, and the hotel worker blanches.

“We’ll give you a complimentary stay for the inconvenience,” the man babbles before waving his arms to usher the other men out.

For a moment, you don’t think it’ll work, but they go.

You and Price don’t sigh with relief until the door shuts. His forehead presses against yours, chest heaving.

“Nice accent,” you whisper and this draws a smile from his lips.

“Like it more than this one?” he asks, his regular accent returning.

“Nope,” you say. “This one suits you fine.”

Price’s gaze draws over your exposed body and then lands on your face. It’s soft. Sensual. You’re frozen beneath it, breath catching as his fingers brush along the line of your jaw.

You’re not sure who moves first but his lips are on yours and then you’re moaning. Price rolls you onto your back, each kiss more demanding and fiercer than the last. He tastes of the mint toothpaste he used earlier and smells of soap.

Reaching between your bodies, you find him hard, and there is no other need within you but the one that craves for him to be inside. To fuck you ceaselessly.

You stroke him and Price groans into your mouth, his hand wrapping around your throat. Hooking your legs behind him, you guide him to your entrance. With a light press of your heels, Price takes your meaning.

There is no gentle pretense. No soft kisses or playful coaxing. Price goes all in, and you break the kiss to gasp aloud, nails digging into his back. Price is thick and having him inside you is a deliciously painful stretch.

It is all desperate the way he moves. Price isn’t gentle. It’s skin slapping against skin. It is sweat and groans. A savage hardness that borders on hysteria.

Your hand reaches behind you to press against the headboard as Price fucks you into the bed, but even that is shaking, banging loudly against the wall. It’s clear even over the drone from the television. The people next door will know exactly what the two of you are up to.

Price is relentless. A man starved. He nips at your bottom lip. Sucks it into his mouth. And when that isn’t enough, he goes for your neck and then your breasts, making your nipples smart and throb under his teeth and tongue.

The orgasm comes sharp and hot, bursting forth like a wave. And when you squeeze around him, Price is right there with you, his cum coating your insides as he too finds his end.

The two of you are all heavy breath. Sweaty limbs.

Price nuzzles the side of your neck, placing soft kisses there until he travels up to find your lips again. These are gentle. Not desperate like before.

When there’s a moment to speak, it is you that breaks the silence.

“So much for pretending.”

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

It’s the middle of the day but you wouldn’t be able to tell.

A storm is raging—the rain thick and heavy. It falls from the sky in large drops that soak clothes and slick the skin. It’s a bit cold, too. A little chilly. The kind of wet chill that hardens the nipples and brings a shiver to your bones.

“Here. You’re soaked.”

Kyle presents a towel. It’s off-white and a bit frayed. But what can you expect from a motel in the middle of nowhere? Having a towel at all is nice. At least it isn’t threadbare.

“Thanks,” you reply softly, gently dapping the rough-textured material against your face.

Kyle strides over to the heating unit. It’s dirty and barely anchored to the wall. He hits a few buttons and then the thing turns on. It’s loud. Clunky. But heat starts to seep from the slats, warming the room.

After drying your face, you begin to remove outer pieces of clothing. Kyle might be your teammate, but there isn’t really anywhere to hide but the bathroom. Knowing the state of most motels, you don’t really want to find out either.

Kyle has the same idea. He dries off with his own towel, removing soaked articles of clothing as he goes. You try not to look—to be discreet—but it’s hard not to steal a peek. Kyle is all toned muscle and firmness. There’s a light dusting of hair on his chest. It’s a bit thicker around his navel. It trails downwards, and your mind wanders to a place it shouldn’t.

You glance away but not fast enough. His gaze roams upward, finding you, and there he pauses, observing you as you did him.

Pretending is best.

You attempt to act like you don’t notice him at all, turning your back like you’re incredibly interested with the wallpaper that likely hasn’t been replaced in years.

It’s his heat that draws your attention—that steals your breath, and makes every muscle in your body tense with anticipation.

“You’re shivering,” he murmurs.

Kyle is so close. Close enough that his breath brushes against your bare shoulder. You’re just in your bra and underwear, the only items that aren’t completely soaked from the rain.

He inhales, and that exhalation teases your flesh again. Giving in, you close your eyes, sinking into Kyle’s presence.

When you open them again, you notice a mirror hanging on the wall. It’s great if you were trying to plan an outfit, but that isn’t what you notice.

Instead, you see yourself. And Kyle.

The backs of his knuckles lightly caress the side of your arm. His head is tipped forward and turned inward like you’ll turn around any moment to kiss him.

The urge is there. Tugging. Wanting you to do just that.

The two of you are always walking around the other, seeking comfort and closeness but never seizing it. Maybe you should. Maybe—turning around is the best thing you can do for yourself.

“Kyle,” you breathe, and his little hum in answer tightens that string.

Without hesitation, you do turn.

Kyle’s lips are right there. They’re parted slightly. Inviting.

His arm drapes across your waist, hand splaying wide against your stomach, pressing until the two of you are sandwiched together.

It’s not like you don’t want this. You do. You want Kyle. Have since the moment he introduced himself to you. But the two of you have always remained professional in every space you occupy.

And now there is no one around.

No one to see.

No one to know.

Your head tips back in answer, and Kyle leans into it, pressing his lips to yours. It is sweet. Gentle. More of an ask than anything else.

And you reply, meeting him in equal measure. The pressure on your stomach increases just as Kyle’s other hand wraps around the front of your throat, holding you still. Each kiss is a claiming, one you freely submit to.

Kyle is all sugared-warmth, and you want to rot your teeth.

Draping your arm around the back of his neck, you pull him closer. Kyle nips. Bites. Sucks your bottom lip into his mouth before soothing the burn with a few tender kisses. Heat blossoms in your core before morphing into an aching slickness.

You’ve been putting him off—brushing him aside.

Why wait any longer when Kyle is all you crave?

“Fucking hell, love,” he groans against your mouth.

Your lips part, and Kyle slides his tongue inside. His taste is everything, but you want to know him everywhere.

Your hand seeks, brushing against his hardness through his boxer briefs. When you slip your hand beneath the elastic band, Kyle’s only response to kiss you harder.

Wrapping your fingers around him, you start to stroke what you can with the little room you have. Your thumb brushes over the head of his cock and Kyle draws back.

“I’ve wanted this since I met you,” he says, voice a bit rough.

Twisting in his grip, you turn to face him. “Can I show you how much I’ve wanted you, too?” you ask, pressing your breasts against his chest.

Kyle loosens his hold and you drop to your knees, taking his boxer briefs with you. His cock is gorgeous. It curves upward slightly, and a pearly bead of precum blooms in the slit.

He whispers your name, and then you have him in hand. Stroking once. Twice.

You lick off that bead. Savor his taste. Go back for more.

Kyle grabs the back of your head, drawing you to him. You open your mouth. Swallow him down. Throating him until you gag.

“Fuck,” he groans, elongating the vowel.

You work him with hand and mouth, keeping a steady rhythm that has him weak and wanton. You have all the control—until you don’t.

“Let me fuck your mouth, love. Please.”

The please is what does it. You release his cock, placing both hands on his thighs. With a pleased growl, Kyle keeps your head stationary. You anticipate the first thrust, and it is sinful. The movement goes straight to your pussy as you imagining him fucking you there like he fucks your mouth.

Fingers dig into muscled thigh. You want to touch yourself, to tease your clit while he does it. He is a god above you—Adonis.

“Can’t wait to taste your cunt, love,” rasps Kyle. “Can’t wait to make you drip for me.”

His desire fuels your own, and you urge him on, gently cupping him with one hand, thumb lightly rubbing the sensitive strip of flesh there.

Kyle’s hips stutter, and you relax your throat, humming around his cock as your lips meet the base. He holds you there, and you take it all, thighs chaffing from the friction of you rubbing them together in anticipation.

You blink up at him, and Kyle wipes away a tear with his thumb.

“My turn,” he murmurs.

You’re on your feet and then on your back in seconds. All the wind is knocked out of you, and then Kyle’s tongue is there, sliding through your slickness. Parting. Teasing the opening of your vagina before trailing upward to circle around your clit.

Gasping, your hands reach for him. Kyle grabs both wrists, keeps them planting on your stomach as he fucks you with his tongue. His shoulders dig into your thighs, keeping them wide. He’s stronger than you even as your thighs quiver, wanting to close, wanting to shut.

Kyle groans against your pussy, and then he’s on your clit, moving in such an easy, languid way that everything explodes outward. A shudder passes from the tips of your toes to the top of your head. Your pussy clenches. Unclenches. Clenches again.

Kyle doesn’t let up. He doesn’t cease. Every stroke strikes true and then your body betrays itself, overstimulation setting in, and the urge to wiggle away is paramount.

But just as you push at him—just as your body draws back. Kyle is releasing your wrists, pushing himself up and over you, spreading those legs even wider to slide inside.

The bed creaks beneath you, and then he’s thrusting.

Your moans of pleasure become one with the rain.

John "Soap" MacTavish

Single lamp. Lone bed.

Peeling paint. Dusty corners.

“Something’s on your mind.” Your voice is the only sound in the room other than the AC unit.

Soap’s sigh is soft and small as he takes a seat on the edge of the bed.

It’s the last night before the potential end. Before victory or failure. Just the two of you now with the plan to meet up with others later.

He nods, and you take a tentative step forward. “We attended the briefing. You know the details.”

“Aye.”

“Then what has you worried?” you ask, taking another step in Soap’s direction.

A warm, orange glow emits from the singular lamp on the bedside table. It’s not enough light to illuminate the cheap peeling paint or the dirt in the corners of the room. It only gives life to the bed and the side of Soap’s face.

It’s not like you have an unlimited budget. A motel room is the best the two of you could manage for some rest before moving on. The man at the desk didn’t even glance up when he asked if they only wanted a room for an hour.

You had asked for two beds. The man at the desk replied that no one who stops here asks for that.

One bed it is.

One bed.

Somehow, you’ll have to sleep beside Soap while simultaneously shoving down the urge to reach out to him.

Sighing, Soap leans forward, forearms resting on his knees. His gaze drifts slightly as if he’s not focusing on anything in particular. Running his fingers through his short mohawk, he tugs on the ends, mussing the freshly washed strands, creating a wavy mess.

Just that one movement as you leaning forward, nostrils flaring to inhale that clean scent.

“Adaptability,” he answers. Finally.

Instead of sitting on the bed beside him, you sink to your knees, resting your arm on the bed, and your chin on your arm.

The two of you have been on missions before but never together like this.

Never alone.

Keeping your gaze downward, you notice just how close you are to him—and how Soap leans in your direction, the edge of his knee brushing against the side of your hand.

It’s a small contact, but he’s warm, and that warmth is transferring into yourself, unspooling outward. It’s a difficult thing—because all this time you’ve harbored feelings for him, and yet have never acted on them.

“You’re quick on your feet, Soap,” you murmur, one finger absently extended to brush over the curve of his knee.

The corner of his mouth twitches. “You can call me Johnny.”

Johnny. You’ve never called him that. Soap, sure. Sergeant MacTavish? All the time.

“I thought Ghost only had that right.”

Only Ghost calls Soap ‘Johnny.’ That’s understood by everyone.

Soap shrugs. “He did.” He glances at you, his smile widening. “But I’d like to hear you say it.”

Something swirls in your stomach, twisting like a knife.

“How would you like to hear it?” you reply.

Johnny’s smile, which is so wide and teasing, softens into a sultry smirk. “I have options?”

“You do.”

Johnny’s usual playfulness emerges. “Say it like you’re angry with me.”

“Johnny,” you say, deepening your voice to sound like Ghost.

He bursts out laughing, falling back onto the bed, clutching his stomach. “Oh, aye. I’ll give you that.”

“What else?” you tease. “I demand more.”

“Say it like you’re annoyed with me.”

You do just that, and Johnny sits up, turning on his side.

“Again,” you prompt.

The middle of Johnny’s brow creases and then his hand cradles the side of your face. He closes the distance, kissing you deeply—as if you are his lover and not a friend.

But you don’t pull away. You indulge yourself, kissing him back just as sweetly.

You’re not sure how much time passes, just that it does, and his small retreat after it’s done is all you have in acknowledging its passing.

The withdrawal is short. Johnny doesn’t move away. He keeps his hand on your cheek. The tip of his nose nearly brushing yours.

“Say it now,” he breathes, voice raspy.

“Johnny,” but it’s not what you intended to say.

He sighs. “Again.”

“Johnny.”

This time he groans, and then your lips are fusing, becoming one. You’re dragged off the floor and into his arms, tangling in his heat, forgetting yourself completely.

“Johnny,” you repeat, and then your shirt is gone, followed by your bra.

He nips at the curve of your breasts before sucking your nipple into his mouth. His teeth graze flesh and you say his name again until it becomes a strangled moan.

The front of your jeans is open, and his hand is there, cupping your sex, fingers dragging through your wetness.

“Johnny,” but it’s to stop him, to remind him that this cannot go on.

“Fucking hell. Love the way you say my name.”

This melts your resolve. Makes your legs spread wider. Makes you shove at your pants and create plenty of space.

Johnny knows. He understands.

He yanks them down even as he peppers your breasts with little nips and kisses. Your fingers drags through his hair as he sucks the other nipple into his mouth, bringing it to perky attention.

One finger slides inside, and you groan loudly, legs falling wide as Johnny settles himself between.

“Beautiful,” he murmurs, claiming your mouth and pumping his finger. You whimper as he inserts a second. “Wanted you so bad.”

Your pussy flutters, squeezing around him. It is Johnny that groans this time, and it is a primal sound.

“Can I fuck you?” he asks. “Please.”

“Johnny,” you breathe. “Johnny.”

“Need a yes or no. Tell me. Do you want me? I’ve wanted you.”

You answer by finding him—guiding him to the place you need him to.

With a low growl, Johnny pins your arms above your head, slotting his pelvis against yours, the head of his cock sinking in until you’re taking all of him.

“Johnny!”

“That’s what I want to hear,” he croons, starting to thrust.

Simon "Ghost" Riley

“I can’t tell what blood is yours and what isn’t.”

“Can fucking do it myself.”

“Ghost—”

“It’s not a problem.”

“Simon,” you snap, and he stops fidgeting.

Behind the plain balaclava, you see the fire in Lieutenant Riley’s eyes. This man is your superior. At least, right now he is. But the mission is done. It’s over. Yet the two of you are stranded, and making contact with Price is going to take time.

Not to mention that Simon is injured, and you have no fucking idea where at.

“Let me help you,” you say as soothingly as possible.

You don’t want to fight with him. All you want is to help Simon, to clean him up, and get him into bed. Rest and healing are what he needs right now. Contacting Price can wait. Base can stew for a while longer.

The two of you are in a motel room in the middle of fucking nowhere America. It’s shit overall, but it will have to do. There’s no way anyone is searching for the two of you out here. You drove until you nearly ran out of gas, and then you refilled and drove some more. Simon was in the back of the car, covered in blood.

But he was awake. Moving. Not a head injury, and not enough to get him immediate medical treatment. Not like he would have allowed you to take him to a hospital anyway. Lieutenant Riley is fucking stubborn. Sometimes infuriatingly so.

Simon stares, hard, his dark eyes intense behind the balaclava. He blinks, and then pushes up from the chair, keeping his gaze trained on you.

“Lieutenant,” you mutter, annoyed.

As Simon stands and attempts to take a step forward, his left leg wobbles, and he nearly topples forward. Your arms go out to catch him, holding him steady. He’s a big guy, and he seems to know this because he tries to prop himself up using the chair.

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not,” you snap.”

“Listen—”

“I’m not arguing with you Simon Riley.”

Using his full name shuts him up. It’ll likely earn you a reprimand later, but fuck it, you’re over this.

“Stay there.” You shove him back down into the chair and head into the bathroom.

There is a single overhead light. Flipping the switch turns it on and the fan. It’s a tight space, but thankfully the shower isn’t also a tub. That would be a nightmare getting him in. Instead, there is a sink, a toilet, and a dividing wall that cuts the room in half. It’s more like a locker shower but it’ll work.

Reaching in, you turn the handle. You jump back as cold water shoots out of the shower head. After waiting for a few seconds, steam starts to rise.

You take a deep breath, knowing what you have to do. “You got this,” you murmur, heading back into the room.

Simon leans forward in the chair, forearms resting on his knees.

You hold out your hand. “Let’s go.”

Lieutenant Riley’s head swivels in your direction. “Seriously?”

“Yes,” you reply, holding firm. “Come on.”

With a deep sigh, Simon reaches out and slides his hand into yours. It’s warm. Calloused. You squeeze it and step forward, extending your other arm to wrap around his torso. Simon stands. Wobbles. But you snake your arm around him, and then it’s a slow trek into the bathroom.

Simon is limping, but he’s showing no other signs that his injury hurts him. Might be minor, or he’s just good at covering up the pain.

Once the two of you are inside the bathroom, you realize just how small the space is. Maneuvering Simon to the shower is difficult, a weird dance to wiggle around the door and toilet to the opening of the shower.

You retreat slightly, and Simon leans against the wall, his eyelids closing as he takes a deep breath.

“You good?” you ask, concern creasing your brow.

Simon nods. “I’ll manage.” His eyelids open slowly and then he stares into the shower. “You want me in there?”

“You’ll need to remove a few things first,” you reply, gesturing toward his uniform.

Simon snorts. “Trying to get me naked?”

“You wish,” you retort, even as your cheeks heat with embarrassment. “Need help?”

At first, Simon doesn’t say anything. He just reaches for his belt, removing it slowly with one hand.

“I’ll leave you to it,” you mumble, starting to turn away.

“Wait.”

You freeze, and then glance over your shoulder. “What is it?”

Simon shrugs. “What if I slip? Might need you to catch me.”

This bastard.

“Then I’ll stay,” you reply cooly, pretending that this doesn’t affect you.

But it does. It’s reshaping you, and Simon’s slow undressing isn’t helping things. He keeps his gaze on you the entire time, and you purposefully keep your eyes averted, when really you want to look. You want to know what he’s like under all that.

The belt goes. So does his tactical gear and jacket. Next is his shirt followed by his balaclava. You sneak a peek then, and Simon grins at you like he knew you’d look eventually.

“I’ll need some help with these. Getting them down that is.” Simon gestures towards his pants and you feel your face grow so hot you fear it might explode.

“Sure.”

You reach for him, silently chastising your shaking fingers. This is too much, even though you like it, and want more from it. You undo the button and zipper. Sliding your hands beneath the band, you shimmy Simon’s pants to the floor. He kicks them away and all that’s left are his boxer briefs. They’re tight and you notice the massive bulge in front.

Fuck.

“You can do the rest,” you reply, glancing away.

Simon removes them, and then he starts forward, arms outstretched to balance himself as he enters the shower.

“Fucking hell,” moans Simon as the hot water hits his body.

The groan that comes after is deep, and so sultry you feel a bolt of pleasure spike from your pussy.

“Should join me.”

“No thanks,” you say, averting your gaze away from Simon’s muscled backside.

One moment you’re facing the wall, and the next you’re under the spray of water.

“What the fuck,” you shriek, stumbling backward as Simon chuckles. Muttering under your breath, you stare down at your soaked clothing. “Goddamn it.” You start removing articles of clothing, the wet fabric peeling away from your skin.

“Fucking fine, Simon.”

You shed everything and storm under the spray, only for Simon to wrap his arms around your waist and pull you against him. There is no pause between then and the moment his lips find yours. It is sweet, and warm. You instantly melt, enjoying every second.

But it’s fleeting.

You draw back, heart hammering in your chest.

“You’re covered in blood. Remember?”

Simon shrugs and then offers you the soap. “Clean me then.”

You do it, and when you’re done, he does the same for you. It’s far too intimate, and Simon’s gentleness is surprising. Once finished, you dry and bandage the wound on his leg. It’s not terrible—and will likely need stitches—but it’s not bleeding anymore.

The singular bed in the middle of the room is far too small. Not with Simon in at, spread out and naked under the sheets.

You slide in beside him, not knowing where you should settle. Simon is large, taking up most of the best. The only place is curled up next to his side.

Turning your resolve to steal, you settle in. You begin to turn away from Simon, but his arm shoots out, grasping your waist. You’re yanked across the bed, only to find yourself in Simon’s arms.

“What are you doing?” you ask.

“Stop pretending, love. We both know what’s going on. Don’t deny it.”

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.

“Simon—”

“We’ve been making eyes at each other for fucking months. And now we’re alone. You think I don’t see the opportunity?”

Simon’s hand slides over the curve of your ass, and then dips beneath your shirt. You’re not wearing underwear, and when his fingers brush over your pussy, you gasp, pressing into him.

“You’re already wet for me,” growls Simon as he drags a finger through your folds. “So fucking wet.” He presses in, and your pussy parts for him.

“We can’t, Simon. You’re injured.”

“Not so much,” he coos. “Especially since I can do this.” On this, Simon drags the tips of his finger along the inside your pussy, hitting that sweet spot.

You moan, fingers digging into his chest as your back arches to press you further down on him.

“It’s just my leg that’s injured.” Simon’s lips brush against your cheek and then the edge of your ear. His breath is warm against your skin. “I can still fuck you. Have you on top. Bounce you on my cock.” Simon gives the curve of your ear the faintest kiss. “Would you like that, love? Do you want me to fuck you?”

“We—we—”

With his other hand, Simon grasps the back of your neck, drawing you against him, silencing whatever it is you’re trying to say. He seizes your mouth in a fierce kiss. You open for him, and his tongue slides inside. He tastes nice, and you want to sink into the feeling. Have him devour you completely.

“Let me in,” he murmurs against your lips.

You push up, doing exactly as he wants you to do. You settle on his lap, his hard cock pressed up against your thigh.

With a low growl, Simon removes your shirt, leaving you completely bare to his gaze.

“Much better,” he says, cupping your breasts as you lean on his chest, lifting your hips.

His cock slides through your folds, and then you start the descent, moaning as he splits you in two. The stretch is intense—nearly sharp with pain, but laced with pleasure. Simon’s eyelids flutter slightly, and his groan is pure sin.

Simon lightly squeezes your breasts one more time before his hands find your hips. He lifts you up, and then back down, bouncing you on his cock. You cling to him, allowing him to use you, to fuck you in whatever way he wants.

Each grunt and growl from him only makes you wetter. Hungrier.

“I’m gonna come inside you.”

It’s not a question. There is no other option, and you wouldn’t take anything else even if there was.

“Please,” you whimper.

Simon’s hands tighten, his hips thrusting upward to meet every downward movement. He sits up, his mouth clamping around a nipple to nip and suck. Your orgasm roars up from nowhere, and then you’re clenching around him, milking Simon’s cock as his own end greets him.

taglist:

@km-ffluv @glitterypirateduck @tiredmetalenthusiast @miaraei @cherryofdeath

@enarien @saoirse06 @ferns-fics @unhinged-reader-36 @miss-mistinguett

@ravenpoe67 @tulipsun-flower @sageyxbabey @mudisgranapat @ninman82

@lulurubberduckie @leed-bbg @yawning-grave81 @azkza @nishim

@haven-1307 @voids-universe @itsberrydreemurstuff @spicyspicyliving @keiva1000

@littlemisscriesherselftosleep @umno-yeah @blackhawkfanatic @talooolaaloolla

@sadlonelybagel @kadeeesworld @iloveslasher @sammysinger04 @dakotakazansky

@suhmie @jackrabbitem @lxblm @beebeechaos

@no-oneelsebutnsu @kidd3ath @certainlygay @thewulf @lovely-ateez

@gingergirl06 @eternallyvenus @smileykiddie08 @vrb8im

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blue-jisungs · 1 year ago

Text

she was an angel, he did video games

author's note. while i struggle with my reqs here u have a small thingy that was inspired by me going into a rabbit hole of watching old vids of my fav childhood youtubers (rezi to taki crush still like OH MAAAA GAAAD ++ jego stare filmiki = top tier)

also val @kyrjnie tis is for u,, bc it may or may not have also been inspired by the gyu edit u sent me 😁😁😁😁😁😁

warnings. c u r s i n g. so much cursing. also mention of shooting n dying (they’re playing gta lol)

summary. you can’t sleep because of your yelling gamer bf,, that’s literally it (gamer bf!gyu)

word count. 618

“fucking hell! shit, shit, shit–!”

beomgyu let out an inhuman screech, leaning on his chair. the sound of his friend’s laughter echoed in his headphones as he held his stomach that started to hurt from laughter too.

“please, please taehyun!” beomgyu whined, leaning forward and running after his friend’s character in game.

“gyu?”

he yelled when he got shot again, this time by yeonjun.

“you fucker! no, no, no don’t run away!” he didn’t seem to hear your quiet voice.

you never complained about beomgyu’s passion being playing video games. everyone needed their de-brainer that would make them relax and enjoy life. you were glad he got to spend time with his friends and have fun but–

“haaa, eat shit!”

“gyu!”

he squealed upon feeling your hand on his arm.

“oh my f–” he turned around instantly, heart rate picking up. but when his eyes met yours, his brows knitted “y/n?”

ignoring the way he went afk and his friends used that fact to kill him (again), he patted his thigh. taking in the sight of you in his oversized t-shirt, messy hair and two different socks on your feet he couldn’t help but grin that you’re his and–

“could you be a little more quiet?” you asked gently, voice barely above a whisper. his ebony eyes softened, flickering quietly between the screen and you.

“oh”

a small chuckle left your lips and it was quickly followed by a yawn.

“yeah, i couldn’t fall asleep” you mumbled and leaned closer to place a kiss on his forehead.

“no, wait. actually, i’m done playing. they’re assholes either way” he breathed out. a sudden wave of guilt washed over him.

“what? it’s you who sucks!” soobin whined offended “also say hi to y/n”

“no” he grunted and with a devilish smirk used the sniping to point at the friend. then, he turned around at looked at you with a joyful yet mischievous spark in his eye. beomgyu just mouthed: “one sec!”

“y/n’s such an angel, bahi always screams at me” kai mumbled.

“same, my mom just smacks me in the head out of a sudden. i almost shat myself when she did that when i was playing the forest” yeonjun sighed “y/n is the best–”

“what the hell was that?!” soobin yelled out when his screen flickered black and then he saw the text: wasted. beomgyu gunned you down “you fu–!”

beomgyu left the voice chat and game giggling, proud of himself. then, he turned around and smiled upon seeing you wait for him. your eyes were closing slowly, fighting the sleepiness.

“i know, sorry. if i cuddle you, will you forgive me?” your boyfriend pouted, sneaking his arms around your waist. you nodded lazily and felt his lips brush against the corner of your mouth. letting out a small sigh, you tugged his hoodie.

“let’s just go, my stinky little gamer of a boyfriend…” you mumbled, fighting a smirk.

“yah!”

“also i wasn’t mad at you to begin with. just… the bed was cold, or whatever” you said, dragging him to the bedroom. beomgyu’s heart skipped a beat – something that he’d think he’d get used to while dating you. but such cute gestures still made him flustered.

“you’re really an angel, huh?” beomgyu mumbled into your hair once you were in bed. you snuggled closer to him, embracing the warmth.

“huh?” you asked drowsily, sleep creeping up on you way faster than when you were in bed alone, without him.

“sleep well, angel” he just hummed, hands pulling you even closer. fingers drawing shapes on your (his) t-shirt absentmindedly, beomgyu realized that he liked spending time with you way more than on his silly games.

masterlist <3

taglist. @primoppang ,, @mirxzii ,, @laylasbunbunny ,, @slytherinshua ,, @kazmura ,, @nicholasluvbot ,, @ameliesaysshoo ,, @weird-bookworm ,, @dazzlingligth ,, @ocean-minho

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sexiestpodcastcharacter · 1 year ago

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Sexiest Podcast Character — Unscripted Bracket — Round 4

Propaganda

Glenn Close (Dungeons & Daddies):

#Propaganda for Glenn Close: one of the other PCs mentions multiple times how hot he is #Actually several characters point it out but especially Henry #Also the only person in a podcast that has to put a disclaimer about not being a BDSM podcast to have had sex during the course of the show

We didn’t do hot Glenn summer for him to LOSE. Spoilers for his story but MORE PROPAGANDA FOR YOU:

Young hot rocker dilf

Loyal to his dead wife <3

Does in fact smoke weed

BARD!! HES A BARD. HE WAS LEAD GUITAR IN HIS BAND (that he was kicked out of)

His band was a Christmas cover band btw.

Literally the fandom had hot Glenn summer which consisted of drawing him being incredibly hot and sexy

Anti government (ofc)

Kind of cringefail (Disney adult) (was on dilfs of disneyland)

Young and sexy not your style? Then how about HIM AFTER YEARS LOCKED IN A TIME PRISON WITH A DAMN HANNIBAL MASK ??

Lost an eye and wears a fucking eyepatch

One incredibly buff arm

Has a pet rat named after his son <3

Immeasurable amounts of trauma in this man- becomes progressively more unhinged

OH OLD HUMAN BARD ISNT CUTTING IT? FINE

HE BECOMES A FUCKING DEMON

A COOL HOT ONE-EYED DEMON WHO WANTS TO KILL HIS DAD (also sexy)

HE CANONICALLY ENDS CHRISTIAN HELL VIA CHRISTMAS

IS ALSO WAY OVERLEVELED

Becomes a demon hunter for the rest of his existence

Also nonwhite !!! We are done with cringefail whiteboys !!!!!!!!!

I can’t put into words ok just know he is the best plz love him.

Listen, I don't know this other character but I've seem some good arguments for her However Consider Glenn Close winning through no effort of his own in a bullshit way despite being a dick is the most in character thing ever. He leveled up three times and got a crab mech, we GOT to give him this win, it's fitting

I don’t regulate if minors follow me or not bc I’m a pretty chill space but I hope the world is aware that’s the only reason I haven’t been downright nasty about Glenn close. I’m down bad. I’m NOT in the boat of ‘Glenn isn’t sexy but I want him to win bc it’s my fandom’. I would estimate I have 200+ drawings of Glenn on my phone that AREN’T safe for work. Way more that are. Where did they come from? That’s MY business. But I tell you this fact to assure you- Glenn IS sexy. I’m not voting to represent my fandom I’m voting out of TRUTH AND LOVE. IF YOU DON’T GET IT YOU DON’T GET IT!!! I just think my level of feral over this man is more powerful than y’all realize. If you don’t get his sex appeal that’s okay, but don’t doubt that this is my truth.

Okay but Glenn made a minivan cum by talking to her so

HE HAS A BOOK THAT HE MARKS X’S AND CHECKS FOR EVERY DAY TO SEE IF THAT DAY WAS A SUCCESS OR NOT. TO SEE IF HE DID GOOD THAT DAY. ITS ALMOST ENTIRELY X’S. HE WAS CUCKED OUT OF A SON. AND A DEAD WIFE. HE DIDN’T EVEN GET TO KILL HIS DAD IN REVENGE. There’s absolutely nothing going for him except his sex appeal in his life. Nobody he loved remembers him. He lost his eye. All he has is a pet rat and friends who admit they don’t really like him that much. He was kicked out of his own band. The band was named after him. He was kicked out of the Glenn Close trio. All he could do was deez nuts the big bad and be sexy. If nothing else, then pity him. Look in his eyes. Look at his heart and soul. Do you think pickman needs this to feel good about herself? Can she not accept a loss for the sake of a pathetic father? Can she shake hands with the minivan fucker and his human gun and just take the L on this one? He did not do the BDSM episode for this I’ll tell you what. Do this for my his sake. Do it for Nick Jr, who needs the prize money to pay for his rat snacks. Do it for his son. For Morgan. Ganbatte.

Mod Note: While I will still take "bad dads are sexy" propaganda and "bad dads aren't sexy" anti-propaganda, I kindly request no more discussion on whether or not he was a bad father. This is a sexypoll, not a parentingpoll. If you see a post you strongly disagree with, you can just not reblog it.

Mod Note 2: This tournament is about fictional podcast characters. Please do not vote for the real actress Glenn Close.

Lup (The Adventure Zone: Balance):

Is somehow the hot twin between her and Taako

Lup Bluejeans (née... Taaco? Tacco? Taco? Tako? who tf knows this is why I'm going with her husband's last name. doylistly she gets her last name from her brother whose last name is given as "Taako again but spelled differently"): Hot, funny, smart and undead. Is there anything else you could want in a woman?? Well, in case there is: she's also canonically trans

LUP IS THE HOTTEST. VOTE LUP.

#Round 4 #Glenn Close #Lup #Lup TAZ #Dungeons & Daddies #Dungeons and Daddies #Glenn Close DnDads #The Adventure Zone #TAZ Balance

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gyuswhore · 7 months ago

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Never Shall We Die (3; final)

«« Nothing is too outlandish when it’s a life of liberty on the line. »»

PAIRING: kwon soonyoung x reader

PLAYLIST: right here!

pirate lingo glossary (pls refer!)

SYNOPSIS: Deadliest pirate on the high seas or a damn fool? The stupid King and his men have snatched Hoshi's precious pirate ship with their too clean, too soft hands; grounds to question his own vices. Except, when he and his crew land in the quarters of a navy ship, revenge on their roster, they stumble across a princess in its gallows. Hoshi wonders if he's just struck gold, or if you'd become the final tread to his downfall.

GENRES: pirate!au, enemies to lovers, slowburn, angst, fluff, smut [minor dni], some pirates of the carribean vibes but ? idk

WORD COUNT [full fic]: 48.1k

Part 1: 17.07k | Part 2: 15.2k | Part 3 [final] : 15.8k

@highvern's out of context comment box: new fear unlocked: hoshi with explosives, victorian ankle moment, HATE HIM (need him carnally), hoshi covered in soapy water would distract me enough, strip for me pirate mingyu [hes litrally taking off his jacket], your honor hes a bitch, freaks!, mingyu crushes hoshi's head like a grape, WONWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO, massive dick, the way i literally gasped like an old scandalized woman

masterlist

WARNINGS: slowburn, plot heavy, happy ending bc no angsty endings in this household, being taken hostage, knives, bombs, and guns, mentions of blood, mentions of SA (does not happen and it is not explicitly mentioned), alcohol, mentions of death (patricide), hoshi is ✨selectively moral✨but kind of moral nonetheless, side character death, [pls lmk if im missing something its alot] smut tags: hoshi loves thighs, corruption kink to the mAX, clit stimulation, oral (f. receiving), breast play, p in v sex (unprotected, 1800s contraception will make you prefer it but pls dont do this irl), making out

[AN]: final part oh my god if youve read the other parts up till now, THANK YOU SO MUCH I LOVE YOU i hope you guys enjoyed reading this as much as i loved writing it, im really proud of this fic and im so happy so many of you have enjoyed it so far. @highvern betaing as always ty for not giving up on me. AS ALWAYS, PLS TELL ME YOUR THOTS IN THE RBS OR THE REPLIES OR SEND ME AN ASK LITERALLY WTV MUAH MUAH HAPPY READING <3

THIS IS THE NICEST PRISON Hoshi has ever been in, which was saying something, because he had been in quite a lot of prisons.

But it was uncomfortable nonetheless, six grown men tied up and shoved into a crouching space to be done with as the men that prowled above pleased.

Hoshi would be lying if he said he hadn’t had to restrain from pushing some of those sorry soldiers into the ice waters beyond the glaciers. He had resisted, the crew had resisted, but just enough to convince them of their unwillingness.

Hoshi had realised early on that there was no possible way of getting aboard Tigress without somehow climbing aboard the King’s boat first. The king wasn’t about to simply hand Hoshi’s ship over, and there was no indication that they'd wait till after nightfall to depart.

Hoshi also knew that the King would refuse to have him die so easily in the waters of the Green Islands, his pride depended on it. He imagines the man drawing up the specifics of the most gruesome execution the Kingdom would ever see. Hoshi was counting on it.

The bounds could’ve been broken out of and the locks somehow picked, but Hoshi also knew that he had to wait. Wait for you to find him first.

“What’s taking her so long?” Jun asks. He’d been the most anxious out of all, the shaking feet and restless moving making it clear.

“The bomb won’t…go off still strapped to her, will it?” Minghao asks and Hoshi isn’t quite sure he wants to know the answer.

“It shouldn’t. Not until she pulls the tab. But…”

“But?” Hoshi whips around. “Why is there a but? You were supposed to make sure there was no but!”

“Big bomb, more boom, less predictable!”

“Are you sure we can’t break out and look for her ourselves?” Mingyu grumbles, the most compromised with his longer limbs folded in uncomfortable positions.

“The minute they know we’re loose they’ll swarm her. There won’t be a way to get to her, not without fighting off every last bastard on this ship. They’ve taken our stuff too, we don’t stand a chance.”

They did, actually, stand a chance. But that was only if they were to break away and head straight for Tigress that was empty and standing right beside this very ship. But they couldn’t. Hoshi couldn’t. Not without taking you with him.

Nobody dares to suggest the easier route, and he doubts it’s just because of what he wants.

But panic was beginning to trickle into Hoshi’s veins anyway, the closed off brig refusing to give him any indication of the time of day.

The sun was only beginning to set when they were taken to the ship, and he knew they were near done for if they didn’t finish what they started before nightfall. He can’t tell how long it’s been, and it eats away at his insides.

Please be okay.

And then he hears it, the sound of a body hitting the floors with a loud thud, a chortle of air before it’s knocked out. He finds himself sitting up straighter, pressing his hands to bars of the prison, trying to peer out the narrow walkway that leads to the doors.

And then you appear in the lamplight, haphazard and ruffled up beyond measure.

The knife in your hand drips with blood, your shirt torn at the arms, your hands bloodied and bruised.

When Hoshi sees your face he almost doesn’t recognise you.

There’s angry blooming marks of red and purple all across your neck and collarbone, your eyes bloodshot and red, watering like you’d been swimming in salt water.

“Who did this?” he asks before anything else, watching you drop to your knees in front of the prison, unanswering as you fumbled with a giant ring of keys in your hand.

You jam each key into the lock, twisting it to no avail. Your hands are shaking.

The crew finally twist out of their loose bonds, Minghao lurching forward immediately, swatting your hands away. He picks out a few skinny pins from his boot, picking the rusty lock. Despite the strange angle, the bars creak open within seconds.

“There’s…There’s ropes hooked onto the ship on the main deck.”

Your voice sounds like you’re speaking through sandpaper, talking while struggling to emerge with the bomb you had.

Hoshi doesn’t know what to do when he crawls out of the space.

He’d had it all figured out in his head, what would happen in every possible outcome. You getting hurt wasn’t in any of his universal conclusions; especially not on this ship. They’d kill his crew, they might even kill the King with themselves, but you were meant to remain unscathed.

“Why–why do you look like that? What happened?” Nothing registers in his head, not even when Jun is pushing him out into the hall.

“Get up to the deck and get out across the lines!” Jun gruffs in his ears. “That bomb’s gonna go off with us still on here.”

He sees the canister that lies in the same prison they had just exited, he sees your mouth moving without sound. All he can think of are the distinct fingerprints around your throat and how it looked like somebody tried to kill you before they tried to kill him.

“Soonyoung,” he hears you say in a broken voice and that’s all it takes for him to snap out of it.

His crew is looking at him expectantly. He looks back at the door and sees the crumpled bodies of the prison guards.

So much for leaving quietly.

The minute Hoshi is out the door of the brig, he finds a chest next to the collapsed, bleeding soldiers. Kicking it open, he can only scoff as he finds the entire crew’s weapons in such close vicinity.

He feels better with his dagger at his hip, along with the rest of his knives that he slips into the loops. Even more so with the rest of his crew armed and ready.

“We know where the deck is.” He swallows, eyeing his crew’s weapons in their ready hands. He knew they’d agreed to ensure the clean sinking of the ship, but the fallen bodies on the floor were an ode to a different route they’d have to take. “Don’t hesitate if someone gets in your way.”

Taking cautious steps to the upper decks, he finds more bodies collapsed onto the floor, bleeding and unconscious. He opts to ask you the details later, wondering how you were able to take down all these guards by yourself.

It isn’t until they reach the stairs that lead to the main deck that he comes across a guard.

Before the witness can raise any alarm, Hoshi’s slamming the butt of his dagger into the side of his head, knocking him clean unconscious as he falls off the side of the short railing.

Clambering up the steps as quietly as possible, he raises a hand behind him to signal his crew to halt, peering into the main deck first.

The sun is still out, but low in the sky as it dips in the sky. There’s a few people on the deck, pacing and moving about in preparation for departure. Angling his gaze, he finds ropes suspended over the edge of the railing, parallel to the water.

He can’t see Tigress, but he knows that’s what the ropes are hooked on to.

“Jun,” he beckons. “How long till the bomb on the other ship goes off?”

The bomb Jun had planted in the first ship they had arrived in should be going off any time now, and Hoshi finds himself needing it to go off now.

Jun barely opened his mouth to reply when the ship shuddered.

For a moment, Hoshi thinks the bomb in the brigs had gone off, but when he finds the clambering of boots to one side of the ship, opposite to where the ropes tied to Tigress, he realises their surrogate ship had given its last gift to the crew.

The rest of the ship would be bounding to the main deck to inspect the noise soon, so he shoots a quick, “Hurry!” behind him before stepping onto the main deck.

The entire deck is occupied with the ship that lies a ways away across the expanse of sea, the beginnings that would soon lead the entire ship to be engulfed in flames. It’s tilting at a dangerous angle.

Hoshi stands as he uses the crew straight towards the ropes that lead to Tigress. Glancing, he finds Mingyu and Chan already hanging on the suspended ropes, making their way towards the empty deck of their ship.

Hoshi keeps his eyes on the occupied men on board, still staring at the lightshow that was their old ship. It isn’t until one of them turns, eyes towards the stairs that lead to the lower decks, that his eyes dart to the unfamiliar men on the deck.

“Fuck,” Hoshi curses, before lunging, grabbing the man by the shoulders and covering his mouth, dragging him wordlessly to the edge before throwing him off the ship and into the icy waters below.

“Go!” he hears you rasp brom behind him, ushering him to the ropes.

The crew is gone, Jun making the last jump to land on the deck. They’re running around, pulling ropes and fastening the sails to push the ship off into open waters as soon as possible.

There’s two ropes that tie the two ships together, and Hoshi ushers you onto one of them, pushing you to suspend yourself before he follows.

“There’s not enough time, go to the other one!” you tell him, pushing him to hold onto the other tattered rope.

Soonyoung eyes your state, “Are you sure you can—”

“Yes! I promise I can, please, before they cut both the ropes.”

So he trusts you, eyes straight ahead to the railing of his ship, gripping the rough, frayed rope to push himself towards the deck. His hands burn, but he finds himself moving ever closer to his final destination.

His hand grabs hold of the wooden railing of his Tigress at long last, pulling himself onto the deck of his beloved ship. Immediately whipping his head to his right, he tries to find you reaching the ship with him. The crew is preoccupied in attempting to get the ship ready for departure, he finds your form nowhere.

When he looks back, the rope he had climbed was gone, leaving gaping space in its absence. He trails the second rope, from the hook that had dug into the railing of Tigress’s wood, trailing it to the naval ship’s deck.

What he sees puts his heart in his throat.

You stand on the deck of your father’s ship, swarmed by now alert guards and soldiers who swarm you, yelling profanities and orders as they watch their prisoners get away right in front of them.

Hoshi watches as you lift your dagger, and cut the last rope that ties you together, free to fall and hit against the hull of his ship.

He calls out your name in what could only be described as a guttural scream.

His crew halts whatever it was they were doing, taking the steps to realise what had just happened.

Hoshi’s boot meets the top of the railing, ready to take the plunge into the water. He’d climb back up the ship and get you out. He doesn’t know what you were thinking, what he was thinking when he left you there, but he’d get you out.

Arms pulling him, he’s yanked back and positively thrown onto the deck.

“What is wrong with you?” Minghao yells, pushing his captain back as he springs up.

“She—”

Your father emerges from the crowd of guards and soldiers that run rampant on the deck, approaching you at the railing of the main deck.

Hoshi sees the hand that remains on his shoulder, the blood that covers the still bleeding wound, the effort it takes him to simply walk.

The bruises on your neck, the wound at his shoulder that looks like it was slashed through by a knife.

And then it clicks in Hoshi’s head, what had truly happened in the hours that you were out of his sight. And all he sees is red.

WITH THE WAY THE words on the pages seem to double, you would’ve thought you were going mad.

You’re a child, barely grown into your own body as you sit in the dimly lit library of the palace, utterly exhausted, wishing to be anywhere but sitting at the wooden desk with your name on it. The moon barely shone through the window, your only source of light the fireplace that burned in the corner and your lamplight.

It was a time where you felt like you could prove yourself, that perhaps, the reason your father refused you his approval was because you were simply not working hard enough. And now, at an hour where you should be fast asleep in your four poster bed, you attempt to understand diplomatic structures and everything that made your country what it was.

It was late, and there was nothing you would’ve liked more than to put your head on the table and rest your eyes for a few tantalising seconds, which you do, right over the book you were reading.

You awoke in the same place, shaken awake by a panicked looking servant, the sun shining through the great windows of the palace library.

It seems your disappearance from your bedchambers had put the entire palace in disarray, not realising the princess was fast asleep behind the giant pile of books other servants had already skimmed past thrice.

Not only were you unable to recite the rankings of the constitutions with the vigour your father required, but you were unable to give him a reason as to why you were absent for both breakfast and morning lessons.

He made the servants kneel in the throne room for hours, and did not fail to tell you that it was all your fault.

And now, in the ice cold of the Green Islands, old and wise enough to know that your father simply needed a reason to despise his heir, you accept the hands around your throat as his final act of terror.

Red faced and arms shaking, your father does not speak to you as he presses down on your windpipe with all his might. Your vision is going dark and splotchy, and you decide, for a moment, to let him have this moment.

He’s too preoccupied in applying his pressure to realise that you’ve raised your right foot enough for your hands to fish out your knife from its place, taking positivity in the handle of your knife that fits in your hand.

Before you can lose consciousness, you raise your arm high, and plunge it directly into his neck.

Howling, he releases you from his hold, both of you dropping to the floor of the ship with a resonating thud. You cough, sputter and hack, cold hands finding your now warm neck.

Your father lays clutching his shoulder as he remains in agony on the floor, and you realise you missed the crucial plunge in your own disarray.

It was good enough, rendering the old man incapable of finding his bearings.

You watch as he writhes on the floor of the quarters that almost became your figurative deathbed, the same hands that wrapped around his own daughter’s throat now clutching the shallow wound that renders him useless.

Standing over him, throwing your own shadow on his body, you feel a surge of power, a rush of adrenaline that shoots straight to your head. Perhaps this was your circulation returning from the deprivation, but you let the feeling imprint in your soul, let your father’s broken figure bring you satisfaction.

You leave him there, writhing in pain, digging your knife under the lock of the quarters, pulling back to break it away from the door. The guards stationed outside do nothing as you leave, and it isn’t until you’ve taken to lower decks that you hear the distinct yell of, “Your Majesty!”

Two more guards, who don’t expect an altercation from their princess, simply buffer as you send your knife plunging into them both. You do it deep this time.

Nobody was innocent, you knew these people as your father’s closest men, and knew that all of them were to remain silent as their King murdered his daughter. And when the remorse doesn’t do that thing where it trickles in after doing a bad thing, you decide you weren’t part of the innocents either.

It’s easier than you would’ve expected to get to the crew in the brig, letting out a sigh of relief as you appreciate the familiarity of people on your side.

And when Hoshi took his place to guide everyone out and into the open space of the main deck, you let your racing mind rest and decide to trust the man in whatever decision he made to lead you all out. And he did, he led himself and his crew right into the ship that was theirs, safe and where they would have the upper hand.

Hoshi didn’t know it when he climbed onto the ropes that lead to his boat that he wouldn’t have made it if you hadn’t stayed, hadn’t used your voice of authority to keep the soldiers from attempting to shoot at the escapees, cut the rope while Hoshi remained suspended from it, still only halfway there.

You didn’t look at him when you sliced both ropes before either party could pull back, didn’t register him screaming your name across the void, pretending it wasn’t taking everything out of your strength.

But you couldn’t jump into the water, not now when a dozen of the royal guards remained ready to take the plunge to save their princess as their duty. The same guards that would comply with their king when told the princess was dead for reasons they all knew but were to forget.

The bomb had to go off first, and you had to keep them away from hooking another line to the ship in the meantime. You were operating on a flawed plan and an overenthusiastic crowd of guards that were moments away from shooting a canon straight into the side of the disconnected pirate ship.

The distraction comes in the form of your father parting the crowd of soldiers like the red sea, swatting every soldier that attempts to help his bleeding form for anything it was worth. He approaches you at the railing, and for once, you don’t look at the ground in his presence.

“Bold,” he heaves, the effort in his voice apparent. “Bold of you to think you could slip away.”

“I haven’t tried to slip away, father,” you correct. “I’ve stayed right here, even after you failed to kill me. And I, you.”

“Nobody is going to listen to you, child. Give in. This is the easy way out,” he says.

As if on cue, Jun’s bomb goes off for the second time, but this time the ship shudders with more force. It has your father unbalance and fall, along with multiple other soldier’s stumbling. You grip the railing tight, counting on your father’s need to live.

Despite your horrid throat and the ache in your body, you announce as loud as you can. “The bomb is in the brig, this ship is sinking.”

The fallen king trembles in a rage you had never quite seen before. Any other time of your life, you would’ve wished for the ground to swallow you whole to be the subject of such anger.

Except, in the setting sun, a burning ship in the background, a pirate ship that awaits you, and the ground beneath your feet that was actively sinking into the freezing water; you smile at your doomed King.

“Get to the brig! Secure the lower decks, do not let this ship sink or so help me God!” His voice rings across the deck, spittle blowing from his mouth at the situation.

And just like that, your father gives you the final gift of clearing the main deck out for you, leaving but a few straggling soldiers that are too preoccupied with either the sinking ship or their bleeding sovereign.

Looking back, you find the crew of Tigress standing at the railing, you find Hoshi already half over the edge and send him a slow nod.

Turning back to your father that remains on the floor of the ship that would become his coffin, you utter your next words; for yourself, and the girl that was every second before this, all the way to her first ever memory of sad:

“You’ve taught me to be a ruler fit to be the best for our Kingdom. Consider your death my first act of service for the Crown.”

And then you jumped into the darkening void of the waters below.

THE COLD FEELS LIKE every nerve in your body ceased to work.

It was nothing at first, the temperature so intense it had your body numb in the face of shock. And then it grew, to a striking cold, and then a feeling that pricked every inch of your skin like a million needles plunging into your body. It was only getting worse with each passing second, before it was so painful it was hot, going from cold to searing and blistering like you’d plunged into the licks of flames.

Nowhere in your body did you find a rational sense of mind, something to tell you to kick, flail or float. The warped sky was an orange through the green, only more vibrant. Like there were two ships actively burning on the surface of this water.

Hoshi’s face appears behind your closing eyelids, like a mirage or a taunt. Like he was there with you when he wasn’t.

Would he come for you? Would he take the plunge for the girl he held in his arms, promising her something to fill the gap of a companion, right before she killed her own?

You’d given him what he wanted; your father, his worst enemy, dying as he sank slowly into the bottom of the ocean. You’d run your course of use, and if he was as smart as people claimed, he’d leave you to suffer the same fate as your father.

He could find his freedom elsewhere.

And you would find your freedom in the close of your eyes, and the sinking feeling of nothingness.

Except, you feel a hardness against your body, stronger even than the current of the waters. Moving impossibly upwards, you remember opening your eyes to find a leather cord suspended in the float of the water, before you remember nothing.

THE GREEN ISLANDS WERE on fire.

But as unnatural as it seemed, Hoshi had no inclination to register anything but the way the ship in front of him tilts so far out it's already half submerged in the waters. He’d assumed they might have to ready the cannons, but with the way debris and hollowed wood floats in the waters below, they would not need to.

The King was about to be introduced to Davy Jones’ Locker at the hands of his enemy and successor, but Hoshi could not care enough right now to relish in it.

Right now, he stares at the direct circumference of water your body had made contact with and disappeared into, like the world would explode if he lost his place.

“Should I jump as well?” Mingyu asks, already half taking his boots off. However, when the man turns to find his captain gone, he lurches over the railing to find his captain diving into the water through all the debris.

Hoshi lets the momentum of his dive take him as further down as possible, whipping his head around as soon as his eyes open into the abyss. The water ripples and erupts in showers of bubbles as broken pieces of ship come apart to fall into the water. It blurs his vision immensely, any ripple that could be you in the water coming out to be yet another piece of wasted wood.

The deeper he goes, the more the water presses into his ears. He was a good swimmer, good at holding his breath when needed, but even he had limits.

When he cannot see any sign of you, he begins to feel the churning of something skin to panic brew. Panic was never good, not this deep in the water.

Twisting and turning, flailing about in place, moving dangerously closer to the burning ship that continued to drop flaming bits of killing slabs, he finds no sign of you in the water.

Instead, he watches men in uniform sink deeper and deeper in their failed attempts to stay afloat.

All he can think about is if they were losing the battle for air, then so were you, somewhere deeper in the void than he was. He prays that he’s looking aimlessly, that you’ve already somehow made your way to the surface by yourself, and you were safe on the deck.

The beaded bracelet that remained on his wrist, but belonged to you.

“A reason for you to come out of this alive.”

Even without the encasing on his wrist, you had given him more than enough reason to want to come out of this alive, to want to live beyond just for himself and his duty to the crew he’d taken in.

He chose the life of a pirate because it was his only out, and every member of his crew that he recruited in succession, he acted as the hand he had needed so desperately in that awful brothel where his mother despised him and his father, a faceless man of Port Ash.

Amphitrite was not kind, it was a lesson he learned quickly in his first ventures out at sea. So he too, had to learn to be unkind, to survive in the horrid bellies of ships that weren’t his own. And when Tigress came into his life like a vessel of hope, he found a home in her merciful wood, in the ship that he could call his very own.

Hoshi lived as a free man on his ship, with his crew that had become his brothers in ways beyond what the thick of blood could offer. He did not care if he lived or died after that, as long as it was on his ship, in the waters that held no quarter for anyone, but gave him everything that nothing else could give him.

And so when you approached him with a proposal so bizarre yet so apt for a man like him, he could not refuse. It may have been the way he saw himself in you, terrified of the prospects but thirsting for an escape more than the fear that came with it.

Besides, the king was a nuisance that needed to go, and he found himself agreeing to play the hand too complicated for you.

What he did not expect was to end up here, in the depths of the ocean in the most uninhabitable part of the earth, trying to pull you out of the cold, unrelenting sea.

Hoshi realises in that moment that this might ruin him, the possibility of breaking the surface without you.

He decides that if the heavens do not let him find you, he would simply drown in the same waters that gave him purpose, and find peace with the idea that he would lay rest in the same waters as the person who might have given him something more.

Kwon Soonyoung, the deadliest pirate to cleave the seas, was in love with you. A princess, so undeserving of a man like him; a bastard, a rogue, a good for nothing criminal.

And when he spots the all too familiar build of your form, the linen shirt under the corset he had tied for you just hours ago, the dark brown trousers that signified the change he’d brought into your life, he swore to leave everything he’d ever known to thank the skies and seas for bringing him to you.

His burning lungs, screaming and searing for air, grabbing for your suspended arm that looked as defeated as your closed eyes. Tugging you towards him, he wraps his arm around you to press you to him as tight as he could.

Relief. And with the warm sting in his eyes that he doubted was from the salt in the water, he’s sure of everything he’s felt with the feeling of you in his arms.

With the bruising on your neck, the bleeding wound in your father’s shoulder, he finds it within his breaking body to begin kicking upwards.

Every limb, every cell, every hint of life in his body shrieked with its efforts to make him stop. There was no air in his lungs and he’d lost track of time in his search for you, he doesn’t know how long he has.

But if the blots of nothingness in his eyes were anything to go with, he doesn’t presume he has much. In a last ditch effort, he attempts to kick his boots off to weigh him down a little less, holding your dead weight tighter than anything.

He was so close, he could feel the warmth of the upper levels of the water change in its temperature on his skin. The glow was near blinding as the orange refracted on the disrupted surface of the ocean, so close yet so far.

Inch by inch, kick by kick, memory by memory, he does everything left in his drained power to touch the surface.

And he does, breaking out hand first into the burning air of the world above, taking the longest gasp of air he ever has in his life. Once he’s sure he knows where he is, he pushes you up further on his chest, your head resting against his collarbone, still unconscious.

“Stay with me, princess,” he pants into your ear, hoping you could hear. “I’ve got you.”

Chan and Mingyu are in the water beside him, pushing him towards the pulley that awaited them.

Mingyu makes an attempt to take your weight of his already struggling captain, but Hoshi finds himself holding on to you tighter, simply urging him to help him back on the deck.

The minute your head hits the wood of the deck, he’s checking your pulse. There’s no regard for the chaos that ensues around Tigress, both him and his crew too preoccupied with the way you were not breathing.

“I–I can’t feel anything,” he stutters his words as Seungkwan places a less panicked hand at your neck, under your nose.

“It’s weak, she’s taken in too much water.”

In an instant, he reaches for his knife at his hip, only to realise it was gone, lost somewhere in his rescue.

“Knife,” he rasps before repeating louder. “Someone give me a knife!”

The minute a hilt is in his hands, he’s pushing you over, to reach the back of your constricting corset, pushing his knife into the complicated sailing knot he’d tied it into before, breaking it free. With both hands, he takes hold of the top of the corset and rips it clean in half.

Turning you back over, he presses his hands over your clothed stomach, pushing into it with all his strength in an attempt to get the water out of your system. He keeps his eyes on your face, and when he sees no sign of you coming round, he feels another set of hands pushing him off.

Seungkwan takes over for his weakened captain, pushing into your stomach harder, attempting to get a break out of you.

“Why isn’t she coming around, what’s going on?” He throws the question aimlessly as he takes your unmoving face in his hands, trembling from everything.

Only a moment later, he hears the glorious sound of you sputtering like something was stuck in your throat, promptly spilling out an ungodly amount of water onto the deck as you retch loudly.

Sitting up from the force, your hands clamp onto the deck as you cough and heave, Hoshi’s hand coming behind you to thump your back hard, pushing you to throw up any remaining seawater from your body.

The sight of your back moving up and down, the audible sound of you taking in air; it was enough for Hoshi to simply lay on the deck and pass out.

You rear your head and look up at him, both of you still breathing heavily.

“You’re okay,” he assures, gulping. He takes your face in hands cupping it very gently as he speaks to you. “Go with Seungkwan, you’re okay, you’re safe.”

Nodding, you let yourself be helped up by the rest of the crew, watching as you’re led to the lower decks of the ship.

“Open your shirt, let me see the wound,” Mingyu says, and Hoshi doesn’t know what he’s talking about. Looking down, he sees his shirt soaked in red, sticking to a wound on the right side of his torso. He didn’t even know where he got it.

It looks like a shallow gash, but enough to leave a scar. He takes it better to have it tended to while he was still high on adrenaline and he couldn’t feel much of the pain.

By the time Mingyu and Minghao are done cleaning him up and Hoshi’s standing upright with wobbly legs, he finds the two burning ships beyond his own mere floating structures of wood that were in slow flame. There’s too much debris, too many bits of everything that bob in the large expanse of water to make out any bodies.

“There’s nobody,” Mingyu tells him. “Most of them were in lower decks when it all went down. Trapped themselves.”

“And…?” he asks in silence.

“He stayed on the deck until it sank,” Minghao informs. “Yelling about how he…about how he should’ve finished her when he had the chance.”

“Horrible king and somehow an even worse father,” Mingyu scoffs. “Made it better to watch him die.”

“He didn’t suffer enough,” Hoshi croaks as the marks on your throat dot his vision.

Just then, floating in the water, illuminated by the final streaks of setting light, Hoshi sees it. A darkened purple cloth right next to the hull.

“That,” he points out. “Get that out of the water.”

The late king’s purple cape laid on the deck of Tigress, darkened with water, but also with his blood.

To the Kingdom, this cape would be the last piece of their King that was gone too soon. But for every person on this ship, it would forever be their spoils of war.

Hoshi makes sure the cape will be dried and stored, ordering his crew to begin their slow journey out of the Green Islands, before he too crumples onto the deck unconscious.

IT WAS A SPECTACLE to see Hoshi in his element.

Something about how he seemed to beam, like this ship was charging him a different kind of energy. It was infectious, the rest of the ship decreasingly sour as they put on musical performances on the main deck while they cleaned the floors.

As relieved as you felt, the tight ball of anxiety refused to leave the pit of your stomach as you grew closer to the Kingdom. Nothing could prepare you for the shitstorm you’d have to deal with the moment you’d step onto the soil off a pirate ship of all things—let alone as Queen.

The first few days following the ship's exit from the Green Islands were difficult, if that was all you had to describe it. You took to your hammock for most of the day, curled up as you pretended to sleep, only waking up when one of the crew would come down to force feed you and to make sure you hadn’t died.

You knew they were doing all this to make you feel better, and somehow it was working. More than halfway through your journey, you began to feel more like yourself, emerging from your cave to visit the deck on times other than the nights.

Even now, as you sit on the floor of the deck with Seungkwan, who hands you an all too familiar stack of parchment, you feel nothing as you take them into your hands. As you read his handwriting scrawled in ink, you appreciate your past self for having the sense to keep them all.

“I’m glad you’re feeling better now,” he says to you. “Had us worried for a while there.”

“Sorry.” You smile weakly. “But thank you for…everything. I don’t think I could ever express how much I appreciate everything you’ve done for me. All of you.”

“I’d like to think we’ve gone past the status of mere business partners,” Seungkwan chuckles. “Lion befriends the bear? Whatever it is. But know we’d do it again.”

Blinking back the sting of tears and doing your very best to not let the warm feeling in your chest overwhelm you, you place the letters on the floor next to your folded legs. When you look up, Seungkwan's eyes are on your neck.

“They’re taking their time to fade, aren’t they?” you say.

Seungkwan has a hard look in his eye, “I guess you didn’t need your letters to remind you of anything after all.”

Your mind wanders, drifting past how easily this crew could have been forgotten in the unforgiving elements. Perhaps you would have let the man that wrapped his hands around your neck finish his job.

“Was getting captured part of your grand plan?” you ask Seungkwan.

“Hm?” It takes a moment to realise what you may be questioning him about, smiling slightly. “What makes you think we went in with a plan?”

“I thought I asked you to man the wheel?” Hoshi stands above the both of you.

“Not to batten down the hatches,” he side-eyed his captain. “Clear waters ahead, the wheel does not need manning.”

You zone out as they squabble over nothing, not finding the heart to be entertained by their back and forth. Seungkwan either loses or forfeits, because you feel him rise from next to you, only for his captain to take his place.

“What are you thinking about?” Hoshi asks.

“Everything,” you sigh.

“How come Seungkwan gets a thank you for your service and I don’t? Need I remind you who jumped for you and who didn’t?”

Rolling your eyes, you answer him, “Thank you, Captain Hoshi Kwon, I am forever indebted to your service.”

He chuckles in exaggeration, “Oh please, all in a day's work.”

“I mean it.”

“Hm?”

“I never did say thank you. But you did jump for me when you didn’t have to.”

“Who said I didn’t have to?”

“Our deal was done.”

“Of course not,” he scoffs. “Our deal was to get you out when you jumped. I merely honoured that promise!”

“Merely?” you raise a brow. “Was it all merely a matter of conscience?”

His gaze locks with yours. “Don’t ask questions you know the answers for. I would’ve jumped even if you asked me to rope myself to the mast.”

“Please. I have enough blood on my hands and I haven’t even sat on my throne yet.”

“Blood is only on your hands if you tell a soul of what you’ve done,” Hoshi utters. “You’re the only living soul who knows.”

“And you are…?”

“Pirate. Our word means nothing.” Hoshi smiles.

The thought hangs in the air as you take in the man in front of you. He’s changed an era’s worth, yet all the same. His hair is longer, going from his initial shorter crop to curling around his ears, shielding his eyes. It makes him look younger, like a boy with much to live for.

That, and the multitude of notable scars he’s added to his collection, many of which have somehow been because of you. The wound at his torso is doing better, but far to go in its quest to heal.

Hoshi senses something amiss even after his sermon. Breaking his gaze, he turns to look straight ahead at the raised bow of the ship instead.

“Do you know how I got my splendid reputation for being the filthiest pirate on the seas?”

You can only stare, “I have a few guesses.”

He chortles, “Other than my criminal status.”

“Tell me.”

“Unnamed sailors have the odds of a peanut facing its inevitable fate of being crushed under a straggling boot. Pirates don’t see the government as their enemy when they’re own supposed brothers are more likely to jam a cannon in their mouths.”

He lets out a heavy sigh before continuing, “My mistake wasn’t that I was on the losing side in my early days, but more about how I was leaving nothing behind when I was done.”

“How humble,” you hum.

“Dead men tell no tales. When it’s worth it, it might be better to leave a straggler or two to live to tell the tale. A routine stab in the jugular can turn you into somewhat of a myth.”

“Am I a survivor?” you question.

“You may be sovereign on land, but you’re also an unnamed pirate,” he responds, turning back to lock eyes with you. “And you’ve left nobody to tell the tale.”

No one listens to a pirate, and everyone listens to a Queen.

“This isn’t to say there won’t be a legend that follows you.” He quirks a brow as he speaks. “Shows up and claims her father and his entire ship and crew sank at sea, only to befriend his sworn enemies in the aftermath. And then it evolves; she sent a cannon through her fathers ship, he died at the end of his own daughter's sword, she cursed him to captain a crew of the undead for eternity.”

“Have I planted the seeds for yet another ghost story?” It’s difficult to not giggle at the thought, despite how morbid.

“You’ve given yourself substance,” he says, a little stronger than before. His eyes too, wander to your neck and the bruises that refuse to budge. “Beyond just a royal or even a pirate. You did it for your honour as a human being, and that may be braver than anything I have ever conquered.”

In your anxiety ridden, feeble mind, your thoughts had convinced your conscience that everything would be over the minute your father’s heart stopped beating. That it would bring you peace at last.

And it did, especially when it felt like you’d gotten rid of this constant monster under the bed that had followed you far into adulthood. But from the bleeding heart of the creature emerged yet another one of its brethren, and then another and then another.

Smaller albeit, but monsters nonetheless. Problems nonetheless.

Weeks of this, and in one short interaction, Hoshi seemed to have given you the key to turn this monster into a pet.

On instinct, you feel your hand reach up, brushing against the skin of his cheek. It’s an all too familiar setting, seated on the deck of a ship too close for anybody but yours’ comfort. But without the rum and resentment, of course. And how you doubt he’d pull away this time.

Very lightly, you brush your lips against his. It was nothing but to simply feel him again, to feel a semblance of familiarity.

You feel him take your hand that rests on his cheek to place a kiss on your palm, nuzzling his nose into the concave of your hand.

Everything that was to come seemed a little more possible in that very moment.

Even more so when his fingers found the sensitive areas of your coloured throat, when his lips closed against your jaw, only to trail lower and to press into the marks his fingers continue to trail tucked into your neck.

That night, when slipping into your hammock felt like the most unbearable prospect in your near future, it couldn’t possibly be worse than uttering your next question to the man that seems to fix it all.

“Will you stay with me?”

With nothing but the light snores of the rest of the crew and the creaking of the ship, both you and Soonyoung laid in a hammock most definitely not meant for two. Head on his chest, ear pressed against where his heart beats under his scar, it’s bliss.

The feeling of his warm body against yours and the scent of him settling in your lungs, you decide that this was enough. At least for now.

IT WAS DIFFICULT TO give yourself the full list for obvious reasons, but it does seem to help when you tick off all the possible reasons why your patience has run as thin as it has.

Sitting at the decorated seat at the convened court of old men appointed by your father, you briefly wonder if you should finish them off too amidst your flash of anger. The men continue to squabble and babble about the next course of action, slamming their wrinkled hands on the pristine table and sending their own daggers of threats to the other inhabitants of the table.

“If you’d like to send a search party for the King’s body, be my guest,” you finally speak, having had quite enough when the throb in your temple worsens. “But remind me what troops you’ll be sending to the North if your best men will be gone for months attempting to find a body they never will.”

The dispute in the North side of the Kingdom was taking up most of the conversation anyway, and you doubt they’d put customary burial rites over their own glory of victory the North would bring.

“Your Majesty—”

“I would happily jump on the next search ship for my father,” you lie through your teeth. “But I watched him drown in front of my own two eyes, and as the next sovereign I cannot let you waste our resources for something that will both risk our soldier’s lives and have them come back home empty handed.”

Perhaps you had come off slightly more heartless than you intended, so you quickly add, “Please, let my father rest in peace.”

That seems to end the conversation easier than you had expected, but they’re quick to jump to the next issue not long after.

“The court would also like to bring light upon the palace guests.”

Tightening your jaw, you slump against your seat slightly. “What about them?”

They remain silent as their mouthpiece attempts to form the right words for the following question, mostly because you’ve addressed this multiple times beforehand but they continue to sit restless.

“Allow me to help you, Lord Bridge,” you sit up straighter, intending to put this matter to rest. “My guests will remain here for as long as they do, and if you have any more arising issues towards my guests I will only take it as your collective issues towards me.”

In the moment of silence, you continue, “The Kingdom is in a place of instability as we are all well aware. I find it most appalling that you remain fixated on trivial matters of the palace’s domestic code of conduct than you do for the wellbeing of this country!”

Silence yet again as you wait for their forcibly rehearsed chorus of apologies.

“Our greatest apologies, your Majesty.”

The pain in your temples becomes near unbearable as you dismiss the table after that, screeching your chair as you push it back as loud as you possibly can to do nothing but spite the men.

Turning the corner out of the room, you catch the open gates that lead to the paved gardens outside, the sun seeping into the marble floors indoors. Taking an instinctive step towards the gardens, you find most of the crew sprawled onto the grass as they soak in the sun.

Chan and Seungkwan look like they’re wrestling, their laughter ringing throughout the open court while their captain snaps at them to cut it out, only to get roped under one of their headlocks all the same.

There’s a call of your name and a giant wave from Mingyu, who spots you from beyond the flower beds. Still leaning against the gates, you smile and wave back.

Years the halls of the palace had gone, never hearing laughter in its walls. And something about watching them let themselves ruin the petunias and laugh so loud it echoes, heals you just a bit.

Even that night, when you find yourself in your giant four poster bed you’ve slept in since you were a child, this time dozing under the arm of another, you feel the itch of a healing wound somewhere in your heart.

Soonyoung laid with you for every night on the ship since that night, and stayed even here where the space was big enough to host the ghosts of your worries if not distracted.

He had found you on that first night in the palace still awake, haunting the library fireplace with another stack of papers to keep you company.

“Can’t sleep?” he’d asked as he picked up some of your documents.

“Clearly not,” you huff. The papers were mere decorations as you attempted to find an excuse to leave your rooms.

“You realise you won’t be much of an effective monarch if you exhaust yourself to death?”

There was no answer to that, especially when you were absorbing nothing of your new duties. You’d expected to fall asleep on the armrest of the uncomfortable settee whenever it was that you exhausted your brain of thoughts, even then refusing to sleep in that large bed.

He’s awfully persuasive, because as he tucks you into those very sheets, about to leave but not before placing a kiss on your forehead You stop him.

“Stay. Please.”

True as he has always been, he does.

THE CROWN IS HEAVIER than you had expected, even more so when it remains on your head for longer than your previously practised sessions walking around the throne room. The crew was exceptionally good at giving you things to train with, including fraudulent rodent scares to ensure the crown would not topple from your own head the minute you rise from your coronation.

And now, as you finally remove the decorative piece from your head after your actual coronation to replace it with something lighter for the following ball, you find relief in the fact that you’d only ever have to wear the actual thing only a few times in your life.

Everything moves as smoothly as it could, the decorated pirates that saved their Queen from a horrid shipwreck taking up most of the attendees attention as they either question inquisitively or send snarky remarks to the men who are well versed in how to rebut in true informal manner.

The past months had taken up more of your time than you had anticipated, and during the latter half of the still twinkling party, you attempted to spot the person you’ve been trying to corner all night.

Soonyoung stands at the edges of the gathering, empty handed as you watch him reject yet another offer for a drink from the trays that float about. His attire is the most formal you had ever seen, his face scrubbed and hair pushed back for the glorious occasion.

Approaching him from the sidelines, you take hold of his wrists and pull him towards one of the many doors in the ballroom and into a hallway you knew for a fact was rarely ever frequented.

“I feel I haven’t seen you ages,” you say once you’re sure you’re alone.

“Probably best for you to keep busy,” he replies with the smallest smile.

“Have the wrappings on your wound come off?”

Looking at his covered torso, he runs an instinctive hand over where the wound was. “Just a smaller patch now, but it’s nearly there. Disappointed it won’t scar too much.”

“Disappointed?”

“These are my spoils of war, miss princess,” he adds with a smirk, before correcting himself. “Ah, miss queen?”

“Doesn’t have the same ring,” you comment.

“The crown suits you.” His voice is soft and sincere.

Scoffing a little, you answer, “I would hope it did.”

“Although, I do prefer you in trousers and a knife.”

Laughing, you can only agree. Especially in your heavier than yourself dress and jewels. “I think I prefer them too.”

At the mention of your new status, he asks, “Shouldn’t you be milling between your new subjects?”

Keeping your eyes on his face, you wait until he meets your gaze. “I have more important things to attend to.”

He breaks eye contact first, and you can feel the distance grow further. One reach and you could take his hand in yours.

But you don’t.

“I know I’ve been quite busy, but…” you trail off as you attempt to find the words. “Is something the matter? What’s going on?”

With a long sigh, he runs a hand through his kept hair, effectively tousling it a little. “I was going to wait until after the ball to tell you.”

“Tell me what?”

He makes no moves to look at you when he utters his next words. “The crew and I will be leaving at dawn tomorrow. We’ve taken up enough of your space and it’s best if we don’t intrude any further.”

It’s like you’ve taken a blow to the chest, the air knocked out of your lungs as you register what he’s just said. “You’re….you’re leaving?”

“I would think we’ve both gotten what we wanted. We had a deal.”

Deal? Why was he mentioning that now?

“Are you going to abandon me too?”

His head snaps up to finally meet your eye, mouth opening closing as words betray him.

“What happened to what you said about gaining you? All of you?” There’s a blatant accusation in your words.

“And you have! We’ll visit. Assuming the state doesn’t want my head on a pike anymore,” he chuckles uncomfortably.

In a moment of desperation, you take his hand in both of yours; his scarred, gnarled hands that tell you even in the dark who’s warmth it is that you feel every night next to you.

“Stay. Stay with me, please,” you plead. “I can’t live in this place alone, I despised it when I was young and I’ll only despise it even more now.”

Soonyoung brings his other hand to clasp over both of your own, eyes closing as you hear him take a somewhat shaky breath. “I’m doing this for the both of us.”

“So am I! I can’t possibly rule a kingdom by myself.”

“I’m sure you’ll find someone—”

“I don’t want someone! I want you!”

He begins to whisper your name, moving his face away to blink rapidly.

“How do you feel about becoming a pirate king? I can never forbid you from the waters, that’s your home, and you will have it.”

He does not look at you, but you know he’s listening more intently than ever before.

“But I ask you as someone who loves you more than I have ever anything else, will you stay and marry me?”

Soonyoung falters as he absorbs the fact that you’ve just proposed to him.

“I—” he stutters. “The court—”

“The court wouldn’t dare to deny me the man that saved my life.”

You squeeze his hand tighter, moving impossibly closer.

“And even if they do, I'm ready to fight for the man who fought for me. So answer me as a man and not a pirate, Kwon Soonyoung, will you marry me?”

Soonyoungs mouth enclosing over your own is all the answer you need as you feel him break free of your hands to let them find your waist instead. Amidst the pile of fabric he pushes himself into you as close as possible, letting your hands guide his head to move against your mouth.

It’s everything, as you grip onto the back of his shoulder, pressing unforgettably into his open mouth. He takes in your bottom lip between his own, sucking before letting go, only to engulf your mouth once again.

“We’ll figure it out,” you whisper against his lips, feeling the nuzzle of his nose against the apple of your cheek, hot tears spilling from your eyes. “I promise, we’ll figure everything out.”

He shushes you when he feels you shudder in his hold, pulling away to rest his forehead against yours. “No need to torment your pretty head. Not right now.”

For once, you listen to your pirate captain without a fight, simply feeling the stretch of your lips as he moves down to capture them once more.

The pressure of his hands isn’t nearly as strong as it would’ve felt without the layers upon layers of fabric that cover your form, but standing in this desolate hallway, you swear his fingers might as well be caressing your bare skin underneath.

The thought sends your mind into a dazzling spin, letting go of his mouth with a gasp, suddenly needing to take a step back.

“I have to—I have to go back inside,” you breathe into his slick mouth. “Meet me outside my quarters at midnight.”

As scandalous as it was, you could not deny how alive it made you feel to be like this, meeting in darker corners in the dead of night. But for now, you allow him to fix the bits of your ensemble you could not see. With the bad of his thumb, he blends in the smudges of your rouge, swiping at your lips ever so delicately to ensure he leaves no trace of himself. Tucking the loose strands of hair back behind your ears, and finally, fixing the encrusted crown on your head, a flash of one of the diamond’s gleams reflecting onto his perfect face.

“You’re beautiful.” There’s a dazed look that graces him. “Beyond beautiful.”

With one last innocent press of your smiling mouth onto his, you promise him your midnight.

BY THE TIME IT was finally an appropriate hour for you to excuse yourself for the evening, you were near to exploding entirely.

Whispers of “Are you alright, your Majesty?” plaguing you through your already racing mind. It was beyond difficult to keep the constant shaking of your foot unobvious, however you could not simply up and leave whenever you wanted—at least not yet. The monarch would remain in an unstable authoritative position for quite some time after ascension, and with the unorthodox situation at hand, you assume you’d really have to push yourself if you were to be of any use as sovereign.

But when the time finally came and you were escorted out of the grand ballroom, only mere ticks away from the resounding bells of midnight, you were holding back from breaking into a sprint. Outside your quarters it was empty, but you remain steadfast in your refusal for your ladies in waiting tonight, promising you could dress yourself for bed on your own.

Standing at the double doors of your rooms, still the princess’ quarters as you refuse to move into the Queen’s rooms, you stand waiting. The two guards remain staring straight ahead, and you wait for the clicking of your ladies to go muffled before you ask.

“Has the Captain approached?”

“No, your Majesty.”

You try not to feel disappointed, despite knowing the midnight bells were yet to sound. “If he does, allow him in, please.”

Opening the double doors, you half wish you had let your ladies help you out of the god awful dress, tight and loose in all the wrong places. The jewels are thrown haphazardly on your vanity, needing the heavyweight of them off of your body.

Perhaps months of little to no bedazzling had rendered you incapable of wearing anything mildly less comfortable than linen and leather, but you suppose you’d slip back into the habit just as easily as you slipped out of it. Your nightgown feels like heaven on your tired, tired body, and the dimly lit interior of your bedchamber is only encouraging you to slip under your covers and fall deep into sleep.

That was one thing about the ship you doubt you’d ever miss.

Three rapt knocks outside of the heavy double doors have you sitting rapt at attention, hastily making your way to the door from your vanity. Pressing the front of your nightgown down, you open the door slightly and poke your head out.

Soonyoung stands at the door, nervous of all things, still clad in his full suit. You smile as you let him in, closing the door to turn the lock.

“Your guards mortify me.”

“Oh? So they’re doing their job right?” You walk up to him and grasp onto his lapels, pulling him down to meet the lips you’ve missed so much despite only being hours apart. “Why? Has this big bad pirate found his match in the palace guards of all places?”

“Hmm,” he’s humming against your lips. “I could take them both.”

Giggling like you were in love, you wrap your arms around his neck and hold him close.

“I hope you weren’t bothered too much,” you say. “The aristocracy seem to have being a pain in the ass written in their birthrights.”

“I think they were too scared to approach, probably thought I’d start swearing and snatching the pearls right off their necks. Some of them were bearable, asked me how long my sword was.”

It’s difficult to not laugh at that, “Well?”

He raises his brows unceremoniously, “Won’t you like to know?”

Taking the opportunity while you giggled uncontrollably at the situation, he goes back placing never ending kisses to your mouth. Sighing involuntarily, you melt into him once again, infinitely more relaxed than in the hallway.

Soonyoung’s eyelashes brush against yours in a whisper of their own, only reminding you how close you were to him in the moment. His kisses go from soft and fleeting to something with a little more vigour. The warmth of his mouth goes back to overtaking the lower half of your face, sucking and licking into your mouth like his life depended on it.

If your mind was reeling when his hands were merely ghosts of pressure over your heavy dress, the feeling of his palms and fingers so distinct over your nightgown, the only thing separating you two, is enough to have your knees begin to buckle.

From your waist, they move to your back, before caressing back to the sides of your waist, thumb running in circles. Gentle handfuls of your flesh, bunching and letting go of the material of your nightgown. Very soon, his mouth leaves yours and instead moves to your jaw, the air in the room letting you feel the wetness that he leaves behind as a passionate trail.

He soon reaches the junction of your jaw and neck, leaving a particularly long suck in the area that has a gasp leaving your mouth. Remaining in that area, you feel the pleasant graze of his tongue on your skin, only making you tilt your head farther out to let him carry out his loving.

Your mind wanders back to the hands that grope you in ways that would defame you, the unseemly palms that have you needing to feel him all the same.

With grazing hands, you slip your fingers underneath his jacket, pushing it off one shoulder. He understands the message, flicking it off of his frame before loosening his cravat and throwing it somewhere behind him.

Unlatching from your neck, he comes round to face you to find your face the epitome of disconnected and dazed.

“Can you wait for me on the bed, my love?”

“But—” The thought of him being even an inch away was most aggravating, but he cuts you off before you can refute.

“I’m not going anywhere, I promise.” Soonyoung rests his forehead against your own, taking your hands in his. “I’m right here. I just need to take this awful suit off.”

Your face must have been peculiar because he’s immediately jumping, panicked. “Uh—do you not want me to, we don’t have to, I just thought—”

“No!” you yelp, wide eyed. “I, um, I’ll wait. On the bed, I mean.”

He lets you walk over to the giant four poster bed, pushing the flow of your gown down when you realise how high it had ridden, cheeks burning scarlet at the thought of exposing so much.

Hearing ruffles from behind you, you cannot bring yourself to look back at him, already extremely lightheaded and afraid that the sight might make you faint altogether.

Perhaps you were experiencing a delayed case of sea legs, because it’s more difficult than usual to make yourself comfortable on the soft beddings. You make a futile attempt at slowing your breathing.

By the time Soonyoung is done, meeting you in the middle, you keep your eyes on his face as he’s immediately climbing over to kiss you softly. Hand on the back of your head, he guides you to lay flat, adjacent to the headboard so you’re laying on the breadth of the bed.

He handles you like you were made of glass, and it only makes the strange ache between your legs increasingly present and uncomfortable.

Noting a cool feeling on the base of your throat, you open your eyes and catch the leather cord that dangles from his neck, the letter opener charm that’s attached to the end of it connecting you two as your lips part. Just beyond, through the dip of his collarbones and the valley to his chest, you catch the scar that curls above his heart. Even lower, you find the smaller wrappings of his scarring wound.

You trace over the edges of the new addition, shaking hands as you try your best to not brush over the wound.

On the other side, Soonyoung has his hands on shin as his body hovers over you between your legs. Curling around, he caresses the skin of your bare calf, drifting to the back of your knees. He takes the opportunity to lift your leg, urging you to wrap it around his waist.

The action has gravity doing what it does best, the hem of your nightgown dropping to bunch over the junction of your leg, your entire thigh exposed for the air.

Soonyoung takes no time to let his hands wander higher, taking light handfuls of the flesh of thighs, dragging his grip further and further up.

“Nearly tipped the ship over when I saw you in those fucking trousers,” he says, eyes closed as he drags his mouth over the inner part of your thigh.

The sound that leaves your mouth is breathy, mind preoccupied with how quickly he was making his way towards the apex of your thighs. He’s using his mouth like he used it on your own lips, nipping at the flesh before biting down hard.

“Soonyoung!”

Tongue running over the patch, he sucks on the area to sooth the bite. It’s taking everything out of you to not twitch uncontrollably in his hold, the heat in your core reaching temperatures you’ve never experienced.

Unlatching himself from your thigh, Soonyoung rears his head slightly. The sight has your head rolling back, mind drifting to the face of the man who’d visited you in your dreams, the same man that had now made home between your legs.

Before you realise it, the bunched hem of your nightgown is flown upwards entirely, fluttering as the fabric lands on your stomach.

Your heat is bare underneath, evident with the way Soonyoung keeps his eyes on the now fully exposed part of you. Your chest continues to rise and fall as you lift your head to look at him, eyes half closed and mind muddled.

“What…What’re you doing?”

Soonyoung looks like you’ve disturbed him from a trance, snapping up to look at you as you ask him your question.

It hardly registers in his mind. What was he doing? Was it not obvious—

Ah.

If the mere sight of your bare thighs weren’t enough for him to release his load onto the sheets untouched, your unawareness might just end up doing it for him.

Of course you didn’t know why he was at eye level with your cunt; women from this world were not supposed to know.

The buzz in his mind renders him useless for a few moments as his vision blurs, the pain in his lower region unbearable. The thought of him being the first person to do this to you, to pleasure you like this; he wasn’t sure if he’d make it till the end of the night alive.

Screwing his eyes shut, his palms full of your thighs, he drops his head and counts to ten.

“Will you let me show you how a Queen is meant to be worshipped?”

Wet mouthed and unhinged eyes, your arousal was doing nothing but multiplying at the sight of him.

“Do you trust me?” he asks. “I promise I’ll make you feel good.”

It takes you less than a moment to nod your head, eyes locked with his.

Bringing a hand closer, he dips one finger into the beginnings of your hole. Bringing some of the glisten onto his fingers. Your lips are parted and he brings a second finger to gather your arousal, rubbing over your entrance ever so slowly.

The motion makes you let out a heavy exhale, gripping onto the bunched fabric at your stomach till your knuckles turn white.

With little warning, you feel his fingertips push and drag upwards, right over the sensitive bundle of nerves. Immediately, he’s rubbing your arousal all over the area, rubbing your clit in rhythmic circles with both fingers.

You can’t stop it when you throw your head back and let out a slight whimper, relishing in the feeling that overtakes every last sense and capability, anticipating the next surge of pleasure that courses through your entire body like you've been struck by a bolt of something.

Vision obscured, you loll your head to the side when you feel his fingers retract, confused.

All you catch is the outstretched nature of his tongue, and how it lands directly where his fingers were.

You let out the loudest moan yet, back arching off the bed as he licks a forceful drag up your cunt before moving back down your clit, circling your hole with the tip of his tongue, right before repeating. He flicks your nub right where he’s found you twitch the most, back and forth as your hips begin to fail at your suppressed stutters, his hands needing to pin you down onto the sheets to continue.

He becomes more generous, laying his tongue flat now as he massages your nub so good. Your thighs are closing around his ears and he does nothing to stop you, nearly suffocating between them. Hips going from their stutters to a grind, you find your hands flying to his hair, grip tighter than you thought you’d come down with. It doesn’t help that he’s now taken a finger to circle your entrance while his lips suck on your clit.

“Soonyoung.” It’s all you can say, throat incapable of forcing anything but his name, the burn behind your eyes only making it harder to not say it louder.

When he pushes the finger in, it has you letting out a moan, the foreign feeling against your walls only forcing them to clamp onto his digit. Gradually, you feel his pace quicken as he slides his finger in and out of your hole, his mouth still doing beautiful things to your cunt.

It doesn’t take long for him to shove in another finger, stretching your hole as you let out a constant string of noises through the pleasure, ever-building as every passing moment only scrambles your brain further.

And then you feel him groan, a vibration throbbing through your system.

It’s suddenly all too much, and before you can tell him what’s going on, you’re rendered incapable. You don’t know where your limbs fly, but all you feel is white hot and overwhelming to an unbelievable degree.

“Oh–ungh—” Your body is telling Soonyoung all he needs to know as he only pushes into your pussy even further, letting you ride out your high as you claw at him in every way possible.

Inevitably, the feeling subsides and you realise you’ve been reduced to sobs, tears streaking the sides of your face. Laying flat with your head still on the sheets, you stare at the ceiling of your four poster, trying to remember where you were.

Barely noticing the man that now hover above you, you hear him whisper. “Are you alright?”

Nodding weakly, you don’t even try to lift a finger in the remaining aftermath.

“I need words, my love.”

Swallowing thickly, you give him a breathy, “Yes.”

The lower half of his face glistens in the light like unorthodox diamonds, and all you can think about is how you need him closer to you.

You make an attempt with your nightgown, your trembling arms, still coursing with the aftershocks of your orgasm.

Soonyoung decides to help, hands pushing your spine into an arch as he pulls the slip up and over your head, now entirely bare in front of him.

You watch as instead of throwing the fabric away, he brings it to his mouth to wipe the slick off, tainting the gown with your essence.

Mouth over yours in a salty kiss, you pull him into you as close as humanly possible, needing to feel his heat, his weight, his scent as close as possible. His mouth reaches your throat again, lips brushing over the expanse as he places open mouthed kisses over the nearly faded marks.

His hands are lingering once again as they ghost the sides of your breasts, thumbs coming close to your nipples before retracting in a caress. He takes them in handfuls as he goes back to busy your lips with his own, massaging the mounds with a pressure just enough to have you reeling.

Flicking your nipple lightly, he goes back to circle the bud with thumb again. Making himself further familiar, his fingers begin to pinch and pull at them, pressing down to get a noise out of you, one that you sound as you breathe into his mouth.

Trailing over your stomach, he pushes himself off of you. On his knees, he takes the distance as his chance to look at you in your entirety for the first time. Your fucked out expression and your lack of words is doing nothing but fueling him, your loud breaths somehow more sinful than anything he could ever do to you.

In one swift motion, he’s slipping his arms beneath you, pulling you up so he can lay you against the headboards and pillows. You barely register what’s happening, having given yourself up to him long before.

Grabbing one of the millions of cushions on the bed, he swings one over. Using no strength of your own, he lifts your hips and places it down beneath you, effectively propping you up.

And then he’s meeting you at eye level, hands cupping your face. “I need you to listen to me, darling.”

He waits for confirmation, of which you can only nod, still seeing mild stars. “Do you want to stop?”

It's a visceral reaction; the violent shaking of your head, the hand that flies to his bicep. “N–no!”

You pause as he grips onto your upper arms tight, right as you continue. “I just—a moment. Don’t stop, please.”

Leaning down, he places a long kiss on the corner of your mouth before moving his head to fit into the crook of your neck. He nuzzles his nose against the skin below your ear.

“I’m right here,” he whispers. “For as long as you want me.”

His kisses go from desperate to something with a little more intent, pressing his lips into your neck consistently. Oh so gently, it begins to feel like a draught. He turns into calm just as he could become chaos, bringing you down from the after effects of his own actions.

The hum that leaves you is unthinking, fingers remaining deep in the roots of his hair. Your own nose is pressed against his hair, his scent mixed with sweat infiltrating your nostrils. It fills your head with a pleasant buzz, one that you feel force a pull at the corners of your mouth.

“I meant it when I said it,” you murmur into his hair. “I don’t want anyone but you.”

Raising his head, he meets your eye, smiling slightly. “I believe you. Forgive me for making you believe I was trying to leave you.”

“You weren’t?”

He presses his lips into a line, exhaling as he drops his chin to his chest. “I’ve needed to be selfish my whole life just to survive. Leaving…I wasn’t sure how I would’ve gotten on that boat in the morning without taking you with me somehow.”

Moving back to look at you, you realise very quickly there’s more to the mere glassy look in his eye. “For once, I wished to be anything but a pirate, to be anywhere but near the sea. Not when you wouldn’t be there with me.”

Taking one of his beautifully decorated hands to your mouth, you kiss the soft of his palm. “You’ve done more than anyone ever has to protect me.”

You laugh against his hand, “This is my turf, captain. Let me protect you… protect us.”

Something injects you with a dose of bold, and you find yourself wrapping your arms around his raised shoulders. “But…I believe we were in the middle of something. I’d hate to ruin the mood.”

The smirk that graces his lips is immediate, pushing you back down onto the sheets as you let a laugh escape you.

And then you feel something warm graze your bottom lip, pointed in the way it pushes inwards. He’s brought the glinting letter opener charm up to your lips, the trinket pinched between his fingers as he continues to keep it on your mouth. He kisses you deep as the metal remains between you two, your hands run across the expanse of his back, feeling the muscles ripple as he props himself between you.

“I love you,” he cuts between the kiss to groan, the charm dropping from between your mouths to your chest.

“I love you, mmh—” His fingers have found your clit mid confession, rubbing quickly as he attempts to get you all hot and withered again.

Your legs raise on instinct, back arching as he rubs you mercilessly, the pressure building quicker than it had before.

“I–I think—” you start to tell him, and it seems it’s all he needs to remove his fingers entirely.

“Soonyoung!” you yelp, landing on the bed with a thud.

Looking down, you find his hands wrapped around the length between his own legs, and you realise this was your first time seeing it. Past the white-oozing slit, his tip is a painful looking red. If his hands weren’t already pumping and he hadn’t already lined himself up to your hole, you would’ve taken him into your own palms, done exactly with your mouth that he’d done with his own.

But you can’t find it within yourself to stop him when you feel the initial push of his bulbous tip against your hole, the stretch causing you to drop your mouth open.

“Fuck,” you hear him curse, and when you look up you find his own eyes screwed shut. His hands grip the plush of the pillow beside your head as tight as ever, face askew like he was holding himself back from combusting entirely.

Slowly, you feel the stretch turn into something akin to a burn, a sting in the back of your eyes. You let him push himself into you at his own pace, the never ending battle between your mind and your refrained hips ever present as you attempt to keep them at bay.

He keeps his pelvis flush against yours ince he’s sheathed himself inside you entirely. BOth of your pants fill the thick air of the room, the throb of your walls around his shaft leaving a tremble in his forearm despite your forsake.

Hand somewhere above your head, you feel Soonyoung pull out ever so slightly before pushing back in. Just like this, in shallow thrusts, he pumps himself in an out of your walls in a slow pattern.

It begins with a simmering tremble of pleasure that prolongs as he drags his cock in and out, and then in and out, and then—

Your eyes fly open when you feel his hips slam against yours with a resounding sound, fingers gripping his arm as he does it again, your moans penetrating the air. Before you know it, he’s hiked your legs up to wrap around his waist, ankles locking as he goes back to snapping his hips into you.

“Oh, Soonyoung.”

Your nails are digging into his bicep like it was the only thing tying you to this earth, the only thing keeping you from passing out entirely. He’s taken up a brutal pace, pistoning into your clamped walls with a vigour unmatched.

All Soonyoung can hear is the stretch of your moans and groans directly in his ear, the obscene squelch of both of your fluids mixing at your middles. Your hands have migrated to his back, clawing at the skin like you’ve been utterly possessed.

He can’t seem to mind, not when they’ll simply become reopening wounds every time he’ll have you like this, all to himself and no one else. He wonders vaguely if your guards outside can hear the way you’re losing yourself in him just as he is in you, wonders if it appalls them that a filthy pirate gets to have their Queen in his arms as her vindictive pleasure.

One hand rubbing over your slick clit, he pulls back to sit on his heels, the angle allowing him to keep ever part of you occupied, his spare hand coming up to toy with the pillow of your breast.

It’s all too much, for the both of you as your collective noises become increasingly frequent and high pitched.

And then he’s pushed you over the edge, the shake of your thighs electrifying as you nearly scream out in the bliss of your high. Hands moving every which way to find a grip as you let the feeling crash into you over and over again.

“Oh, that’s so good, so good, oh my goodness.”

You’re still in the middle of your climax when Soonyoung can’t take it anymore, letting himself release his load inside of you like a mark. It’s a mess of force and pleasure as the both of you lose sight of your strengths and weaknesses, the feeling of his hot cum shooting into your walls only prolonging your orgasm even further.

He continues to thrust, continues to play with your nub, continues to flick at your nipples despite the orgasm subsiding. It’s all suddenly too much all at once, the sharp jerk of your body and your voice asking him to stop.

“Soon—Soonyoung, it’s too much.”

Hands coming to a halt and his thrusts slowing, you feel him ease himself out of you.

It’s a sight Soonyoung doubts he could ever forget even if he tried, your still pulsating walls doing everything but keeping the milky white of his load inside you, globs of the liquid spilling out as you shudder near lifeless on the bed. His hands grope at the inside of your thighs, pulling your lips apart to take in the mess he’s made.

He can’t help himself when he pushes two fingers into your hole, feeding his cum back into your hole right where it belongs.

You’ve only barely started to come round when he meets you at eye level, plopping next to you on the bed.

“Hi,” he grins.

“Hi,” you breathe back, hands coming up to touch his face.

He lets you breathe for a few moments as he finds himself getting off the bed to find your tainted nightgown, moving back to you to spread your legs and wipe you clean as best as he could.

You find it within yourself to allow him to pull you into a sitting position, a cup of water from the nightstand pressing against your tired mouth.

“Come on, just one,” he urges as you slump against his chest.

You take a few sips as he coaxes you into drinking the full cup and half of the second helping.

He gives up as he holds you against his chest, brushing his fingers through your tangled hair to push past your face.

“Are you alright?” he asks you. Your eyes are closed when he leans down to place a peck on the apple of your cheek.

“Mhm,” you muffle. “Want to sleep.

“I’d let you, but…”

“Soonyoung, I can’t go again,” you whine.

He chuckles, “I meant to ask where we could find some sugar around here. You barely ate anything at the ball.”

“The kitchens?” you answer with a floating question mark.

Soonyoung can’t help it when he squeezes you so tight it has you complaining loudly, not being able to sustain the love just in the tiny expanse of his heart.

“Come on, let’s get you some cake before both our hearts give out.”

BUNDLED UP IN WARMER clothes, the only thing the palace walls hear is the tiny whispers and giggles of you and your lover as you make your way to the kitchens.

It’s empty at this time of night, the dying embers of the fireplace the only source of light. Soonyoung uses every last bit of his thievery to manage to find a basket of dough balls, the syrup more readily available at the table in the centre.

The tingling in your brain can’t seem to decipher the overwhelming happiness that floods you from the ends of your hair to the tips of your toes. Especially when you call out his name amidst his shuffling, your heart can’t take the grin on his face as he hurries to join on the floor in front of the fireplace.

Arm looped through his own and your head on his shoulder, you decide you’d be quite okay dying like this.

The dough balls are cold and the syrup is probably a little too sweet, but you can’t possibly complain when it warms you just the same.

“I’ve despised my name my entire life,” Soonyoung starts in the silence, picking at the insides of his treat. “Some old merchant sailor was giving his ship away in exchange that the taker would take care of it. He’d built his Tigress from the first board to the last sail, but the years had made their mark. It was practically falling apart when I took it off his hands.”

He pushes the remaining bit of the pastry into his mouth, muffled as he continues, “He had a strange name, said it was given to him by his crew when they realised he was born without a name. Hoshi. I liked it well enough so I kept it.”

“Soonyoung—”

“That one. I wanted to replace the name I loathed, the one my own mother gave me.” You watch as his throat bobs as he swallows. “Ash is my birthplace, my mother worked in the brothels where I was born only because she couldn’t get rid of me.”

Taking one of the hands that wrap around his arm, he brings your fingers to your mouth, kissing the tips of each one. “I despised that name, until I heard it from your lips.”

“Soonyoung.” It felt right on your tongue, like you were destined to say his name.

“Yes, my love?” He smiles softly.

“I love you.”

“I love you more,” he says as he kisses you again. “Thank you for keeping my name, thank you for giving it life.”

You take the opportunity to grab one of the syrup soaked dough balls from the basket and stuff them into his mouth. “Enough, don’t tell me all this luxury’s made you soft.”

It was a jab but a lighthearted one in any case, you loved to see this side of him and you doubt you would ever get enough of seeing him like this. Vulnerable with his softer smiles and squinted eyes.

Bringing one of your digits to your mouth, you suck the remaining syrup off your fingers.

Soonyoung is quick to take notice as he takes your hand and brings your fingers up to his mouth, running his tongue over the pads of your fingers to take in the remaining sugar left on your fingers.

He keeps his eyes locked onto yours as he sucks on the tips of your fingers, making sure every last hint of sweetness is gone.

And then he’s kissing you, tongue in your mouth as he moves against your lips slowly.

Breaking apart, you whisper, “As much as I’d love to, the bakers will be coming in any minute now.”

Soonyoung’s grin is dangerous, and you find out why the minute you feel his arms loop around your waist and under your thighs, lifting you clean off the floor of the kitchens.

You squeal before you can help it, his lips finding home in your neck as you laugh as loud as your chest would allow.

You could get used to this. And you will.

THE SERVANTS CARRYING THE giant stack of plates nearly topple over when you sprint past them, yelling a loud apology over your shoulder as you do nothing but hasten your pace.

The paper in your hands is clutched tight in your fists as you run to where your carriage awaits, near yelling at the driver to make it to the docks before the streets would be full of the early morning merchants and bakers, slowing the gallops of the decorated horses.

The town is waking as your carriage races past, the beginnings of the new day making itself known as the sun peers through the gaps of the houses. You’re incapable of sitting still, your heels tapping against the floors of your cabin incessantly as the docks grow nearer and nearer.

And then you see it, the rush of dock handlers that see the royal carriage slow to a stop in front of the boardwalk. You slam the door open before any of the tens could do it for you, breaking into a sprint as you find the distinct flag of the royal crest wave high on the other end of the docks.

You had already seen Soonyoung off in the dark of the night as he made his way to the ship that was near ready to depart as you slide to stop in front of the anchored ship.

There was nothing sane about what you were doing, the chortles and shocked noises of sailors and merchants deaf to ears as you finally spot him near the prow.

His eyes meet yours and he has to do a double take.

Panting and needing to hold onto your knees for support, you peer up as you watch him run towards the ramp that leads down to the docks to see you, to ask why you were here when he’d kissed you goodbye mere hours ago.

By the time he meets you at the wobbly boardwalk, you’ve somewhat recovered.

“Are you alright?” he asks you as soon as you’re within earshot, hands grasping onto your upper arms in evident concern.

“I had to tell you, this came in right after you left.” You brandish the paper clutched into your fist, smoothing it over as the light catches the red stamp at the bottom.

It takes him less than a minute to realise what it said, eyes blinking rapidly and mouth gaping like a fish. “They…They said yes?”

“They said yes,” you repeat, nodding furiously as you break into a smile. “We can get married, Soonyoung, they said yes.”

His arms are crushing you before you know it, wrapped around you so tight as he buries his face into your neck, repeating it like a mantra, “They said yes…”

By the time you part, he keeps his arms around you, still embracing you in front of the entire port. You take hold of his face bringing it closer to you.

“Three months, and then you come home,” you breathe. “And I get to marry you, in front of everyone.”

Soonyoung lets his lips meet your own in a chaste kiss as he corrects you, “I get to marry you in front of everyone.”

There’s a thud of something nearby, and you look up to find the crew of the Tigress hanging over the railings of the newly appointed naval ship that looked suspiciously like a pirate’s.

“He can’t come back home, if he doesn’t leave!” Seungkwan yells over cupped hands.

You’d like to send him an affectionate gesture involving your middle finger, but choose to save him in front of the crowded port.

“You’ll miss me, Seungkwan, just you wait,” you send him a pointed glare that he simply scoffs at.

He might miss you, but you’ll definitely miss the lot of them when you return to a significantly emptier palace.

“Don’t let the royal snobs walk over you, you’re a better sailor anyway,” you tell Soonyoung. “Not that I needed to tell you, anyway.”

“I promise on our future wedding to be a complete menace.” He grins at the declaration as you admire him in the morning light.

One last time, you memorise the dips and hills of his features, pressing your final kiss into his lips as the voices telling him to hurry it up grow louder.

He blows you a kiss from the railings as the anchor is hoisted, and you send him one right back.

As your carriage trudges its path back to the palace, at a pace more acceptable for both the stamina of the horses and the integrity of the structure, your eyes remain glued to the shrinking ship that fades into the distant horizon.

There’s a pang in your chest, one that brings a tear to your eyes. It’s all very dramatic, the way the melancholy makes a home in your heart. An inkling tells you how you’ll probably become quite used to the feeling, learn to greet it like a friend.

For now you enter the lighter palace, and take your place on the chair in your study and find solace in the ideas your mind brings.

That no matter how long Soonyoung will remain far from you, he will always come back home to you.

Always.

[AN]: ty for joining my babies on their journey, i cannot thank you all enough for reading all 48fuckingK words of this i love you guys truly!!! thank you for all the reblogs and comments on the other parts, it makes me genuinely so happy to see you guys enjoy this universe that i've built. I read every single comment and know i appreciate all of it so so much <3

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gojocon-main · 1 month ago

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ummmmmm excuse me, my dearest fae, you can’t just say this and then not expand???

bounty hunter satoru?? do you think he has a dirty little space ship that desperately needs maintenance and he constantly brings back aliens from trips just so he can play around with them, exploring their bodies till they’re trembling and whining…………………………………

imagine in a galaxy far, far away, there’s a place where aliens and humans co-exist. now, about most of the population of aliens appear pretty humanoid, just very colorful skin and hair (pink, purple, green, blue, etc.)

the setting is very much like that of guardians of the galaxy, and gojo satoru is the most notorious bounty hunter there is. i imagine him (i’ll try to post a drawing soon) with a lot of cyber tech. his whole outfit would be black and he uses two guns, one with blue led lights and the other red (trying to get y’all to envision.) he’d also have his signature blindfold but instead, it comes in the form of cyber tech mask glasses that can dematerialize by pressing a button on the side (kinda like peter quill’s.)

he rarely ever misses when he shoots and he always catches the perps (nah, i’d win space edition.) and satoru is very serious abt his job (ik shocking but he’s gotta make that bag somehow and being a bounty hunter pays really well.) he’s very confident to say that nothing is able to distract or deter him from getting it done. but unfortunately for him, he has only one weakness. and that was alien girl puthayy 😛

see, the problem was, aliens and humans can not reproduce with one another. it wasn’t impossible, it was just against the rules. and by that definition, it also meant that it was illegal to have sex with one another. but let’s be fr, it’s going to happen whether it’s outlawed or not.

the first time satoru’s fucked an alien woman, it was at a strip club. as a man, he was curious to what it’d feel like to fuck one. and unfortunately for him, it was the best he’s ever had. it was his guilty pleasure, the one thing no-one could know about or else, it’d risk his job. but it was just too good. and where he used to jerk his cock off to human girls on his ship, now he does it thinking about alien girls. it always has him coming fast, and sometimes, just the thought can have him busting a nut in his pants, completely untouched.

he’s never had mind-blowing sex like that before in his life. the man is already a sex fanatic and craves it all the time (it helps him blow off steam), but he can’t cum when fucking regular human women anymore ;( it’s cause aliens were far more sensitive than humans, their senses advanced with the ability to feel more. and there was no feeling on earth (pun intended) like rutting into a warm cunt that was eager to suck him in, strangling his cock cuz some alien chick was horny out of her mind, pussy practically drooling all over him.

it’d have to be a secret though. and luckily for satoru, no one suspects someone like him, who’s job was to hunt down rogue aliens, to love sloppy extraterrestrial pussy.

satoru’s ship is made from the same advanced tech as his suit. it gets dirty from his constant partying and hook-ups. so, when he needs to get it checked cuz some huge beefy alien dude breaks his console during one of his ragers, he doesn’t bring it to the usual repair shop everyone goes to for their space ships. oh no no, he goes to one run by the other species.

there were a lot of hot ladies working there (because sexism doesn’t exist amongst aliens like at least they doing sumn right unlike us 😒) so, a lot of the times, his ship doesn’t end up fixed at the end.

he… likes to stay and watch them with dark, hooded eyes as they prance around his ship, eager to do their job. every once in a while, he’ll put a hand on their hip, letting it linger just long enough before pulling away when he comes over to “check on the progress.” the touch isn’t uninvited, he knows from the sultry gazes and flirty touches that are given in turn that they’re very much into him too.

it’s not long before he has them bent over the console, thrusting into the warm gooeyness of their sticky hole as they mewl and whine for more of his fat cock while he pinches their sensitive nipples ‘till they squirm.

they’re loud, and he loves it. it feeds his ego to know how hungry they are for him, for his cock. aliens were known for multiplying by the dozen, he assumes it has something to do with that. satoru’s thought about it before, breeding an alien. it was just a fantasy though, a fantasy that has him spilling his cum inside them on the spot, their needy whimpers begging him to.

that was his routine, catching criminals and fucking alien girl pussy on the side. and when his next mission entails finding some lady who stole some priceless piece of tech that could’ve sold for a lot, he was on board to find you right away (and that had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that you were smoking hot.)

it was easy for him to track you, he was the best at this job after all. you try to flee but he manhandles you against the wall, trapping you with your wrists pinned behind you, his chest up against your back. his warm breath hits your neck, panting from chasing you down. satoru’s eyes are dilated, but you’re unable to see with your cheek pressed against the cool metal in front of you.

this wasn’t what you had expected, you were caught so easily! it was a bad idea from the start, but it was either take a leap of faith and end up rich or be broke forever.

the pleas instantly leave your lips, begging to be let go. you didn’t want to go to prison. you were young and had so much to live for! (the two cents in your back pocket 😓) satoru listened, his cerulean eyes twinkling with amusement and poorly concealed arousal as you went on, swearing how you’d never do it again, that he could take back what you stole and forget it ever happened. he contemplated for a moment, choosing his cards carefully, before he’s leaning in next to your ear to whisper, “no can do, sweetheart.”

you shiver, and the atmosphere seems to change around you suddenly at the shift in his tone. a feeling you were all too familiar with stirs in your stomach, your body simply a slave to pleasure (curse your biology!) and the way he had spoken to you just then had you wet in a matter of seconds.

you try to compromise, “i’ll do anything!” it flies out of your mouth before you can even think. and he smirks, like he had been waiting for that the entire time.

“anything?”

and that’s how you end up getting railed by the human man who was sent to capture you.

“‘s so fucking good— fuck!”, he’s slurring by your ear, like he was getting drunk off of pounding into you. the thrusts were desperate, as if he could never get enough of your insides. satoru could stay like this forever, watching his cock slide in and out, stretching you open with his girth. he clings onto you like he never wants to let go, your wrists free and resting on the metal in front of you, the warm puffs of your breath condensing on the cold alloy. strong pale arms covered in high-tech were wrapped tightly around your waist while his hips thrust into you with a hungered fervor.

you release a keen whine, senses overwhelmed by the pleasure. satoru craves to see and feel your puffy cunt enveloping his girth over and over. he was obsessed with the way an alien girl acted at her most natural state, unable to fight the desire to be bred like a feral animal, not a single thought in those dumb brains once you stick a cock in them.

the tip of his mushroom head hits that spot inside you that has you seeing stars and absolutely gushing around him. he gives you a low groan of approval when you clench, “jus’ like that pretty, jus’ like that—”

then he lets you go after blowing a load inside you, leaving you with shaky legs and a throbbing for more. and you totally don’t start thieving more often just so he can come find you and do it all over again.

#εつ — fae writes #satoru only feeds his cock to alien girls sorry!! 🫠#take a shot for every time i said alien #♡ྀི — satoru

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pauli-writes · 6 months ago

Text

warning: angst, aventurine is gambling his life, slavery, a gun is involved, jade is here again

pairing: aventurine x reader

author’s note: here is part 3 and holy shit it’s more dramatic than i first thought of. it’s also much longer than the other parts also not proofread :,)

part I ☆ part II

you didn’t like to be dragged somewhere.

it reminded you of all the times when your previous master was angry and dragged you to his bedroom to “relieve his stress”. despite that you tried to ask the low ranking ipc members of why you were suddenly being manhandled to one of the conference rooms. they wouldn’t reply to you, and why would they, you were just someone’s pet to them after all.

“now, now, don’t be to rough with them.” your body tensed as you heard the familiar voice of jade ringing throughout the room. you were abruptly let go and stumbled forward into the middle of the room as you looked up you saw jade sitting on a chair, petting her snake, and aventurine next to her with an unreadable expression. everyone else had left the room.

a slight feeling of relief flooded your body upon seeing him again, but you quickly started to wonder what was going on in the first place, had you done something wrong? was he unhappy with your behaviour? before you could continue to think of all kinds of different scenarios, jade tapped her cane on to the floor, making you straighten up.

“you look tense,” she spoke up, her snake hissing as if it was agreeing with her, “relax, we are just here to have a chat about your… employment.”

“did i do something wrong?” was the question to immediately leave your mouth. your eyes darted over to aventurine, but he was avoiding your gaze, which made you think that you most definitely did.

jade chuckled as she saw your reaction and raised her cane to lay underneath your chin, gently tilting your head back to look at her once more. “on the contrary, in fact i would say your ‘master’ is rather fond of you.”

you furrowed your eyebrows in confusion and glanced at aventurine once again, he kept his gaze on the ground, almost hiding his face beneath his hat. “i don’t think i understand.”

“aventurine here has asked me for your freedom.”

your eyes widened and you blinked in surprise and shock, “m-my freedom?”

jade smiled amused, her snake hissing happily, while aventurine sighed and stepped up to you, raising his head to look at you for the first time since you entered the room. his eyes distracted you for a moment, the beautiful colours drawing you, making you feel warm and slightly more relaxed, until you felt something cold and heavy being pressed into your hands, a gun.

your expression quickly turned from relaxed to scared and confused, your hands started to shake and you tried to give the gun back to aventurine, but he only pushed it back to you.

“ah, ah, ah, don’t do that.” you stopped once you heard jade’s voice and turned to look at her in clear distress, her expression however was still amusement. “it’s your ticket to freedom. the ever generous aventurine has offered his life in exchange for yours, isn’t that sweet?”

your eyes widened and you felt like throwing up as you realised where this was heading, you could feel your breathing getting shallow and your hands shaking, and you started to feel lightheaded. it was a familiar feeling of panic, but it dulled as you felt a hand on your cheek.

“it will be fine.” aventurine caressed your cheek with one hand, while his other was hidden behind his back. the way he looked at you made your stomach churn, but for a different reason than before. it was so soft and gentle, nothing like the aventurine you’ve talked to before, nonetheless you couldn’t believe his words.

“no, no. i-i can’t- i won’t-“ you managed to choke out, the gun visibly shaking in your hands.

aventurine just put his hand over yours and pulled the gun closer to his chest, the barrel pressing against it. “just pull the trigger. you’ll be free. don’t you want to be free, reader?”

free. the word repeated in your mind over and over, but you didn’t even know what it meant. you spent most of your life in servitude, what would you even do as a free person?

you glanced back up at aventurine. he was challenging you with his expression, his usual cocky smile, as if he didn’t care that his life was on the line here. what kind of person would sacrifice his own life for someone like you?

you then glanced back up at jade behind him. she was smiling, while you were undergoing the biggest emotional crisis of your life, she was enjoying herself, laughing at your situation as if you were nothing more than a circus animal. people like her, people like your previous master enriched themselves at the misfortune of others. it made you angry.

“reader trust me,” the quiet whisper of his voice brought you back to reality. aventurine smirked at you and wiped away the tears that unknowingly poured down your face, “when have i ever lost a bet?”

never. you wanted to say, but held it back. despite aventurine’s abnormal luck, you couldn’t see a way for him to win this. this wasn’t a game at a poker table, this was life. and yet, when he looked at you with those eyes and caressed your cheek so gently, you caved in and believed at least for a second that he could get out of this unscathed.

“promise?” you whispered quietly in reply.

he nodded, “i promise.”

you squeezed your eyes shut and forced yourself to pull the trigger. you waited for the gunshot, for the grunt of pain, for jade’s triumphant clapping, but it never came.

you slowly opened your eyes and saw that aventurine still standing in front of you, a smirk on his face as he locked eyes with Jade.

it was a blank.

you dropped to your knees with a shaky breath, starting to sob and cry from the overwhelming emotions that flooded you, relief, frustration, anger, stress. you could faintly hear aventurine talking with jade in the background, but you couldn’t make out their words. it was all too much, as always you were being used like a pawn in someone else’s game. after a few minutes you could feel yourself getting picked up and guided out the room. your vision started to focus again and you looked up to see aventurine had draped his coat over your shoulders and wrapped his arm around your waist.

“we did it. you’re free to do as your please.” he spoke quietly, trying not to startle you in your fragile state.

you hiccuped and wiped away the remaining tears from your face. “how could you make me go through all that knowing it was a blank.”

“oh, i didn’t know that,” he replied casually, making your eyes widen in shock, “i was simply betting that i was an important enough asset to the ipc strategic investment department.“

you were silent for a moment, processing his words, before taking a deep breath to steady your breathing. “you were ready to lay down your life for me?”

aventurine let out a chuckle upon hearing your surprise, “don’t sound so surprised. you should know by now that i care about you at least a little.”

you could feel a warm feeling spreading through your body, you wondered for a brief moment if that was what love felt like, before dismissing it. “so, what do i do now?”

“whatever you want,” he replied, “you can leave the ipc and go wherever you want.”

“i don’t know where to go… i’ve never been free before, my planet is destroyed and my family is… dead.”

aventurine expression softened, all too familiar with the feeling you were experiencing. “don’t worry, you’ll figure it out. in the meantime you can stay with me indefinitely. you don’t even have to work. just… exist.”

you nodded softly, “yes, i’d like that.”

“good,” he replied, his hold on you tightening slightly. it seems like he truly won’t be alone anymore like jade had told him in the very beginning.

#honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail x gender neutral reader #honkai star rail x you #hsr x reader #hsr x gender neutral reader #hsr x you #honkai star rail #aventurine x reader #aventurine x you #hsr aventurine

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becauseicantthinkwritings · 3 months ago

Text

Forsaking All Others 1

Part 11 of my Accidentally on Purpose Series!

Warnings: Anxiety, angst, mild smut, robbery, TW: violence, kidnapping, TW: possible claustrophobia trigger at the very end, guns and gun violence, cliffhanger.

A/N: Splitting this into multiple parts cause I write too damn much. Also, my house is making a lot of random ass sounds right now as if someone's in the house with me but I know I'm alone.

The city whirls around you, spinning in and out of your vision as you rush through the streets, trying to make your way to Anvil.

You can barely focus on the blur of people and cars moving past, mind still caught up in the conversation you just had with your mother.

It had been painfully heated, your throat squeezing at the reminder of what was said, at the truth in her words and the storm they’d started in your head.

She was right. That was the worst part.

You stop suddenly as a car zooms past, almost clipping you. The streets of New York had to be one of the worst places in the world to be distracted.

Still, you can’t get your head out of that phone call, you’d rang her the minute you’d wrapped your head around the papers in your hands.

She’d made accurate assumptions based on the things Dominic had said to her previously. The rings specifically, had helped her put all of it together.

She’d even called the seller, investigative as ever and inquired as to when they were commissioned.

She’d figured out that you’d been forced into the marriage, with no way out.

Like an idiot, you’d denied everything, but the facts were too significant to be outweighed by your little excuses.

You loved him. You said as much to her.

Her rebuttal had speared into your heart.

“Do you really? Or is that a comfort you’ve found in the cage he’s built?”

It had made your voice shake.

You didn’t know the answer.

Only a fool would deny that this marriage was a trap, only someone ridiculously stupid, would look at your relationship and call it real love. It could barely be called true, love was not something that could be made under these conditions, it was something free, right? Freely given, free to walk away, light as a feather, this couldn't be love.

Your heart grows heavy with your thoughts.

Did that make you a victim? Billy, your captor, and you, his captive? There was not supposed to be words like ‘love’ in between that.

You barely register making it to Anvil, chest aching with your thoughts, that what you were doing was wrong, that loving him was wrong. The elevator doors close, and you feel the air around you thicken until breathing is difficult.

Where are you even going? You wonder as the elevator doors open, were you going right back into the arms of the man that had trapped you?

He's not in his office, and it somehow makes everything worse, you lean over his desk, one hand pressed to your chest because you don't understand what you're feeling, the world swarms around you like static in your head and you can't focus on anything except the frantic beating of your heart and the thickness of the air in the room-

You jump when the doors swing open.

“Hey sweetheart.” He says softly, eating up the space between you till you're pulled into his arms.

You stiffen for a moment, taking a small breath, breathing in his cologne, feeling something unknot in your chest.

Your shoulders drop, hands coming around to return his hug, his arms squeezing the dear life out of you in response and you accept it eagerly.

“Hi Billy.” You whisper, feeling your body turn to mush in his arms.

“Missed you so much little wife.” He kisses your ear.

“It's only been a couple of hours.” You laugh.

He chuckles with you, fingers under your chin to tilt your head up, waiting a second for your smile of consent before he dips his head to kiss you.

You moan into his mouth, not expecting his kiss to feel so good, he draws back too soon for your liking and you whine, bringing your hands to his cheek to pull him back down again.

Where your heart was once so heavy, it flutters, fills with neverending emotion for him, and you find difficulty in questioning how wrong it is.

He's just as taken as you are, pressing his mouth harshly to yours, bringing a hand up to grip your jaw, encouraging your lips to part so that he can press his tongue into your mouth.

“I fucking love you.” He voices between kisses, hands in your hair, roaming over your body as if he's never had you before.

You giggle into the kiss, voicing your love for him too, hearing him groan in delight as you say it.

A few moments later, the phone rings, and he groans in displeasure, which makes you laugh as he reaches for the device.

“Yes?” He answers, listening to someone on the other end, his hand reaching to interlock with yours.

You hear him let out a frustrated breath, and even that is hot, his eyes fixed on you as he speaks into the phone.

You’ve been kissed absolutely stupid, leaning against his office desk trying to remember anything about yourself while he's busy.

“I'm coming down, then, prep some gear for me.” He says before hanging up.

“Another training sim?” You ask, a little sad he'll have to leave.

“Yeah, I'm sorry baby.” He says softly, making you smile, you reach out, fingers dancing over his tie.

He catches your fingers, bringing them up to his mouth to kiss, rubbing his beard lovingly over your skin.

“Wanna come with me? You can watch?”

“Yeah.” You say eagerly, nodding, following along when he tugs at you, fingers intertwined.

You feel like a silly girl as you follow him, hanging onto his every word, begging for him to look back and smile at you.

When he does, you feel like there's a hook in your heart and his hand on the line, tugging you closer and closer.

And in those moments, you're not thinking about anything other than him.

There was not a damn thought going through your head right now, your eyes glued to the screens in front of you, eyes scanning for him, drinking in each glimpse you can get.

The way he looks in full tactical gear makes you wet beyond belief.

Worse than that, it reminds you of your recent castle date, and the sound of his knife dragging against the wooden panels on the wall makes your stomach tighten eagerly.

You clear your throat, trying to appear calm as you sit in the back corner of the room, monitors cover the wall in front of you, capturing various angles of the training room below. There are other people here, some representatives from one of the intelligence bodies, tactical specialists from Anvil, and a few other people that you hadn't been introduced to because they'd come in late.

One of the agents you'd met earlier finds her way to the seat next to you, and you can feel the air thicken with unsaid words. You glance over at her, smiling politely in hopes that she speaks, so that she can leave you to fantasize about your husband in peace.

“What do you think about the simulation so far?” Agent Madani asks.

Great, now you had to formulate thoughts? You almost want to tell her that you're wondering how scratchy all that gear Billy's wearing would be on your thighs.

“It's… really intense, hard to wrap my head around the idea that this is normal for some people.” And now that you thought about it, you realise that this is what Billy probably looked like in action, in those tours he'd done… this was the soldier you didn't see often.

She gives you an understanding smile.

“It can be hard for civilians, but it's the shared experiences that helps us cope.”

And exactly what the fuck did that mean?

You glance at her from the corner of your eye, finally looking at her, curly hair and sultry eyes, an intelligent smile that could make you feel like you were dumber than her.

“I suppose, it's good to have friends that get what you've been through.”

She nods, eyes still on the monitors ahead, but you can read the subtext of what she really wants to say based on how easily she agrees with you, that it was even better to have a partner that could share your burdens.

That, tells you everything you need to know about her. When Billy had introduced you two earlier, it had been very casual, nothing that raised any alarms. But now you were beginning to realise that Agent Madani had an expert poker face.

“How long have you known Billy?” You ask softly, eyes travelling back to the screen, where you watch him give silent orders with gunfire going off around him. You knew it was him, even though the footage was smokey and he was wearing a helmet, you knew his frame and mannerisms, even if you've never seen him in battle like this.

“A few years, we met at a training just like this one, when his company was still very new. His strategy knowledge really helped us work better.”

“Bet you're really glad you met him.”

You catch her turning her head to look at you in your peripherals.

“I suppose so.” She murmurs with a contemplative nod, “What about you? How long have you known him?”

“Maybe two years? We met a while ago at a company party.” You explain, trying to keep things as vague as possible.

“And, if you don’t mind me asking, how long have you two been married?”

You knew where this was going to go, no doubt the comment that Billy wasn’t the type to get married. You’d heard it so many times. It really made you wonder what type of person he seemed to be outside of your relationship.

“Not long at all, maybe a couple of months.”

She seems to nod, either deep in contemplation of your words, or focused on the simulation, you couldn’t really tell.

“Not sure if he ever mentioned it, but a long time ago we used to date.”

Oh?

“Sorry, no he didn’t.”

She shakes her head with a small smile.

“Not surprised, it was a long time ago and it didn’t last long. Neither of us were interested in commitment, so it kind of surprised me today when he introduced you.”

Bingo. You can’t believe she was distracting you with something as useless as this when your husband was literally being the hottest person on the planet right now. Case in point, when you focus on the screens, you see him, on one knee, peeking out from behind a wall, firing shots lower than the other team expects.

You want him to eat you out in that exact position.

“I just mean that he never seemed willing to do the whole marriage thing.” Agent Madani says, interrupting your thoughts.

“I know what you meant. I just can’t add any real input. I don’t know him that way.” You say, very tired of this conversation.

“You must have really made an impression.” She mutters, and for the first time, you hear a touch of jealousy in her voice.

Agent Madani was effortlessly beautiful, seemed strong willed and had the confidence to suit. If you’d met her at any other point in your life you might have shirked under her eyes. It was kind of amazing though, that he’d been with her, and could clearly get her easily if he wanted, and yet somehow, he’d gone through the trouble of catching you.

You resist a smile. You should not be feeling this pleased that he’d gone through such lengths to trap you.

But he did. He manipulated his way into knowing you, learned everything about you against your will, used it to get closer to you, took advantage of a weak moment to permanently seal himself into your life, and then he’d unlocked something in you, a darkness that you worried could match his own.

The reminder of it made you burn that much hotter for him.

You turn your head slowly to Agent Madani, smiling as she meets your eyes. She could like him how much she wanted, he’d never spare her a glance. You were sure of that.

“Maybe I did. Excuse me, Agent, I’ll be right back.”

The basement is large, maybe the size of a warehouse, in the middle is the training floor, easily changeable for various maze formations, that can also be converted into two levels when necessary. There’s an observation deck wrapped around the entire basement, so that you can look down through one way glass and have a better idea of the formations and clusters that each group takes on during the simulation. The Watch Center that you just walked out of, rests in one of the corners of the deck, farthest away from all the fighting.

It’s easy to spot him from where you are, moving through the maze, pausing to peek around corners, his team following dutifully behind him.

You’re not really sure why he’s there, if it’s because he’s the best at what he does, or maybe he just felt like joining them today. You don’t really follow his day to day business, and you make a mental note to pay more attention.

Phones weren’t allowed on the training floor, but you’d noticed earlier that Billy had his smartwatch on, and you were about to use that to your advantage.

You keep it short and sweet, and not as lewd as you want to be, just in case anyone reads it.

His watch buzzes at some point between scoping out his surroundings, and directing his team. His phone is set to do not disturb, with a few contacts allowed to actually interrupt him: you, your security, Frank and his family.

Hurry up. I miss you.

The little brat.

His stomach flutters, And he smiles, turning his body to face the general area of the Watch Center for a moment so that you know he's read your message.

He definitely should not try to speed up the sim, because running into a fight with no backup helps no one in a simulation like this. But God does he want to. His girl wants him, and he wants his perfect girl.

He clears his throat, gives a shake of his head. If he plays this well, he'll be out of here soon.

His watch buzzes a second time when he has his LVOA-C raised, Using the scope to scan for passing shadows before giving the all clear to move.

He directs his team forward, letting them take the lead so that he has a chance to glance at his watch again.

Should I start without you?

You were playing a dangerous game.

He thinks about you touching your pretty body without him there, feels his blood boil. There are better places to get hard, and during tactical training, surrounded by veterans is not one of them. He can’t even adjust himself, because he knows there are too many eyes on him, not just here, but in the Watch Center as well.

He’d have to manage his discomfort here, but after, he feels amusement grow within him, after this, you were in so much-

Someone on his team gets hit in the chest and goes down. Of course, the bullets are non-lethal, but that doesn’t mean it’s painless.

The ambush comes next, pinning them in position, and he has no doubt in his mind that if he hadn’t been distracted, he would have seen it coming.

This team is good, but his is better. And he even decides to pull some of his tricks to give the other group an advantage.

After a few minutes, the simulation is over, and a buzzer sounds to signal the same.

His team helps the others, checking on any unfortunate wounds that might have happened, directing them to the exits, gathering gear and guns that have been discarded in the melee.

Billy groans, tugging his helmet off, unstrapping his vest that had been constricting his breathing for the last two hours.

He can feel sweat running down the back of his neck, handing his gear off to one of his guys so that he can run a final sweep of the terrain. Sometimes, the map can have people so disoriented by the activity that they don’t hear the buzzer go off, thinking that the sim is still going.

He takes his time, starting from the back and making his way forward, hearing the extractors start up, pulling the smoke up and into the air filtration system. He rounds a corner and stops short, when he finds you standing in front of him.

He takes a second or two to read the look in your eyes, the way your lashes flutter so seductively when you blink. He can feel that primal urge roaring in his head, the need to take you in this very second, right here, where everyone can see or listen in.

“You shouldn’t be in here,” He warns calmly, approaching, observing, “I haven’t cleared the space yet. You could get hurt.”

You shrug, a toss of your hair and he’s all but ready to grip the back of your neck harshly.

“I’m not worried, I know you’ll keep me safe.”

Of course he would, but the thought of someone hurting you, even a little, could probably make him blind with rage.

“I would, sweetheart, but why take the unnecessary risk?”

You pout, and Billy swears internally, he was going to buy you the best flowers money could get later. Maybe he should take you out on a date somewhere nice.

“I missed you.” You answer, repeating the words he’d said to you earlier, and if he wasn’t in the line of sight of the camera to his left, he would have pressed you against the wall behind you and kissed you stupid.

Instead, he smiles in amusement, extending a hand for you to take.

“Come on, stay behind me while I finish my sweep.”

You comply with his request, keeping a step behind him as he goes through the rest of the maze, eyebrows raising when he finds a discarded handgun, probably misplaced during the fight.

“Isn’t it really bad if someone loses their gun in a fight?” You ask softly, wondering what the consequences would be.

“Yeah, but it’s a learning experience, sometimes a rookie leaves it behind if they’re switching guns in the heat of battle. It’s why the sims are important, so they learn to think under pressure.”

You make a hum of agreement, deep in thought, not really paying attention to where you’re going, listening to him and watching scorch marks from bullets and the occasional smoke grenade type thing.

It really looks like a battle zone, you’re not sure why it surprises you so much, maybe because you’ve never seen one up close, amazed at the way things go down in real life, the way it looks absolutely nothing like the movies.

When he tugs on your arm suddenly, you gasp in surprise, stumbling forward, feeling his body crush against your back, pressing you into one of the walls of the maze. When you make a squeak of surprise, you feel his hand reach to cover your mouth.

His slow exhale says everything.

“You liked watching me work?” He teases, his voice a low vibration in your ear. You struggle for the fun of it, just to feel him press you against the wall harder.

“Answer me, wife. Did you have fun distracting me with your messages?”

You whine behind his palm, and you almost yelp in surprise when he tugs your skirt up roughly so that he can slap your thigh. Tilting your head back, you catch the smell of gunpowder residue on his hands, making you ache for him.

You wiggle your hips, hoping to urge him into a reaction that would be more pleasurable for you. You hear him grunt, before his hand reaches under your skirt to grip your hips.

Another sound of bliss leaves your throat, and you realise that the way he grips your hip is arousing all on its own.

“You have no idea what you do to me, wife. The ways I want to fucking ruin you, and you tease me? Do you have any idea how hard it is to keep myself together around you?”

God, you arch your back, silently begging him to undo his pants and take you right here.

“I bet you're already so wet for me. If my hands weren't covered in gunpowder residue, I would make you come on my fingers right here.”

Please, you want to say.

You hear him laugh.

“Look at you squirm, baby, you want your husband bad, hmm?”

You nod, glancing back at him, trying to see him in your peripherals.

“Why don't you show me how wet you are.” He hums, pulling you away from the wall to give you some space.

“Go on, baby, reach down, under that skirt, and touch yourself for me.”

You do as he says, not really knowing if you were being seen by cameras or not, but knowing Billy, he'd probably picked an area with a blind spot.

You reach under your skirt, fingers sliding shakily under your panties, and you make a sharp breath when you realise exactly how aroused you really are.

“That much?” He asks, reading into your reaction, a smug smile in his voice.

“You get so wet for me, don't you? Always so ready for your husband, isn't that right?”

“Mhmm.” You agree behind his palm.

“You have no fucking idea what that does to me. It's hardly fair.” He breathes, “Go on, rub that little clit for me.”

You do as he says, sighing into his palm as you gently slide your middle finger teasingly over your bud.

“Is this what you meant when you wanted to start without me? Did you really think you could?”

You were honestly beginning to think that you'd been all bark and no bite this entire time.

He tugs your skirt up higher, the coarse feel of his pants against your bare ass makes you press your fingers harder on your clit.

“That's it, baby, work yourself for me.” He guides, right in your ear and you moan into his palm, breathing in more of the sharp gunpowder smell.

You whimper too, shuddering as you press down firmly on your clit for a few seconds, blinking, dazed at the way you feel.

“Good,” he breathes out, his face pressing in firmer, voice full of unsaid passion, “So good for me.”

Your eyes roll back in your head, eagerly playing with yourself, desperate to come, but standing on your feet pulls too much focus to let yourself go.

He pulls his hand away from your mouth, spinning your body till you're facing him, your fingers still pressed to your clit as you gaze into his dark eyes.

“Let me taste you.” He says, and you shudder, tugging your hand out of your clothes, raising it to his lips, watching as he seals his mouth around your fingers.

He moans, eyes rolling shut for a few moments as you feel him pull your taste from your fingers.

When he's done, you withdraw your hand, waiting for his next words eagerly.

His breathing is laboured, eyes clinging to your face, you can almost see the way he tries to pull his thoughts together.

“When I'm done here, I'm going to take you up to our office, lift that skirt up and make sure you come hard on my tongue.”

He rubs the backs of his fingers over your cheek, watching you smile happily at his words.

“After, would you wanna get some dinner with me?”

“Like a date?” You ask, trying to hide your excitement.

He nods in affirmation.

“I'd love that.” You murmur, leaning in to kiss him, breathing in the wisps of gunsmoke and husband that reminds you he's distinctly yours.

He walks you to the elevator before going back to the Watch Center for a quick debriefing.

It's not easy to focus when he knows you're upstairs eager for him, he can almost feel the press of your thighs around his face and he has to struggle to keep himself together.

After, when everyone's mostly gone, he knows there's nothing good coming when Dinah finally approaches him.

“She's too good for you.” Dinah says while he's gathering his stuff. He pauses, feels the anxiety spear into his chest, keeping a poker face as he turns to look at her.

“Maybe, but does it really matter?”

Billy watches Dinah lean against the table, a relaxed appearance to make it seem like she was just trying to be honest, and not what she was actually doing- attempting to manipulate him by needling at his insecurities.

“When she finally sees who you really are, she's not going to stay. Who knows, she probably already has an exit plan prepared.” Dinah shrugs as if this is the most obvious thing.

“Jealousy doesn't look good on you, Agent Madani.” He responds, continuing to gather his things.

She shakes her head, letting out a small laugh, reminding him why he'd never really liked her. When she was upset, she lashed out, uncaring of what she said so long as she got the last word in.

“I'm just trying to be honest, I know you, I know the dark shit going on in your head, a girl like her will never understand.”

Dinah was so wrong and she didn't even know it. Billy didn't have to worry about that, you'd seen him, the real him from the very start, and the more of himself he showed to you, the less inclined you seemed to turn away.

“Thanks for the advice, Dinah, If you don't mind, I'm gonna go spoil my wife rotten now. Enjoy your evening.” Billy finally says, turning away and leaving Dinah behind.

Now, more than ever, he feels that darkness overwhelm him. Of course you were too good for him, and maybe there was a high chance you'd have an exit strategy already prepared.

But Billy had worked hard to have you, and he would not let you leave so easily.

You glance up when you hear the door open, sitting on your desk reading through one of your reports, you drop it when his freshly showered and dressed form steps into his office.

He's got one hand tucked behind his back, and you hear rustling as he approaches swiftly, his free hand slipping behind your neck to pull you into his mouth.

You moan against his lips as fireworks go off behind your eyes. He kisses you harsher than normal, tormenting your lips with his, making your head spin, dizzy delight dancing on your tongues.

You chase his mouth when he pulls away, your eyebrows lifted, peeking a look at him through half-lidded eyes.

You give him a dopey grin, that he mirrors, before pulling his other hand from behind his back to present you with a bouquet of red roses.

You let out a surprised giggle. Reaching out to take them, admiring The black wrapping paper and red ribbon.

“What's the occasion?” You inquire, bringing the roses up to your nose to breathe in their flowery scent.

“I need one? I'm so fucking obsessed with you that I can't think straight. Is that a good enough reason?”

You smile bashfully, pressing your face into the flowers to hide, grinning widely into them in hopes that he doesn’t see.

You peek at him, to find him looking at you with warm eyes.

He sucks in a deep breath, glancing off for a moment before speaking.

“I wanna take you out, show you off, I want people to look at you and be jealous that I'm the only one that can touch you. What do you think?”

The idea honestly terrified you. In what world could you ever be considered a prize?

Yet, your found yourself willing to try, for him.

“There’s a charity gala I was thinking we should attend,” You offer up shyly, face still buried in the roses, “It’s on Saturday.” You extend the folder you were just reading out to him, with all the details that you had about the charity.

He takes the folder from you, flipping it open and you watch his eyes scan the page.

“Are we doing security for this?” He asks, deep in thought.

“No, Phoenix is,” You answer, almost laughing as Billy turns his face up at the mention of a business competitor, “That’s on the other page.”

You watch him flip the page, waiting patiently for him to come to a decision. You hoped he would appreciate the cause, a scholarship fund for kids. You also hoped it didn’t strike too much of a chord.

“It’s good publicity too.” You offer up softly, and he nods in understanding.

“I like it,” He finally says, snapping the folder shut and looking up at you.

“I’m in.”

You smile, lifting your head, Billy drops the folder in lieu of bringing his hands up to either side of your head to kiss you more.

You hum into his mouth, moving the flowers from between you, placing it gently on the desk without looking. He takes the opportunity, sliding his hands under your ass, encouraging your legs to wrap around his hips before he lifts you.

He walks you over to his desk, which has less of a clutter on it, placing you down gently before swiping a rough hand over everything, sending his items scattering to the floor.

It makes you laugh, watching the disaster he creates in an attempt to have you. He catches your laugh, laughs too, shrugs his jacket off and drops it to the floor.

“What's funny?” He asks lowly, stepping back between your legs, uncuffing and rolling up his sleeves right in front of you.

“Is needing you funny?” He taunts, pushing your skirt up until he can see the cut of your panties between your thighs.

You watch his eyes drop down, he groans as his eyes lock to the apex of your thighs, pushing his clothed erection against your cunt. You gasp at how remarkably hard he is.

He grips the back of your head, tugging you close until your lips just barely brush.

“Are you laughing now?” He taunts.

You'd decided on a sage green dress from an amateur designer. Meeting with Sam again had been a welcome surprise, and she'd compiled an even more extensive list of dresses based on what she'd seen you admire last time.

The dress in question was covered in embroidered flowers, with an elbow length puff sleeve, and a low neckline that just looked very fun to wear. You hoped it was okay that you were picking the fun option, and not the classy, or even sexier pieces.

You ponder if you should get Billy's opinion, worrying that it might not work into his idea of showing you off.

You snap a photo of the dress, sending it to him with a little message.

Thoughts?

You see the typing bubbles show up after a few seconds, and then the little symbol goes away before popping up again. You frown, watching him struggle with finding something to say and you feel a little sadness that he might not like it and you'll have to pick another.

You'd look stunning in it.

The words aren't enough, and you find yourself craving the reassurance.

Sure? I can pick something else if it's too… flowery.

No way, I think you'd kill me in this dress.

You let out a surprised laugh.

Are you sure? There are other options.

You take a photo of another dress, a red one to send him as an example.

Save it for another time, the first dress is beautiful and looks like it could be fun to wear, and more suitable for a children's charity.

You make a good point.

Of course I do, I'm a genius.

Name one smart thing you've ever done.

Don't make me put you over my knee, brat.

Touchy.

I'll show you just how touchy when I see you 😌

Keep it in your pants, Russo.

Trying my best, you're just so pretty.

You giggle, rolling your eyes.

He catches you unaware in the walk-in closet while you’re picking out the shoes you’d decided on for the dress.

“Oh my god.” He growls into your ear, arms wrapping around your midsection. Your hands rise to cover his, as you smile and turn your head to look back at him, mostly dressed save for your shoes.

“You look so fucking gorgeous, little wife. I can’t wait to show you off.”

You let out a small breath of air, smiling up at him happily.

“You’re not so bad yourself, husband.” You say jokingly, finally glancing back and almost moaning when you catch his attire.

All black, no tie, the top two buttons of his shirt undone, contrasting beautifully against his pale skin.

Jesus H Christ.

“What?” He asks, looking down, and you blink, realising you’d spoken that thought aloud.

You make a pained sound.

“You’re… uh… hot.” You stutter out, tilting your head downwards in shame at your loss of control.

His chuckle of amusement warms your stomach.

“Am I?” He asks, a lone finger presses to your chin, encouraging you to tilt your head upwards.

You meet his eyes, deciding to be honest instead of deflecting.

“Yes. Any woman-” You gulp, “-would be-”

“-I don't want any woman. I just want you.”

You let out a shaky breath of air, eyebrows pinching for a moment in disbelief before a weak smile pulls onto your face.

This is his attempt at manipulating you, comes the intrusive thought, a voice that sounds very much like your mother.

Your smile drops, and you turn away before he can read the expression on your face. You reach for the shoes you'd been initially reaching for.

“Are you okay?” He asks.

You close your eyes, finding the willpower to keep your voice even.

“Mhmm,” you say eagerly, “We should leave soon or we're gonna be late.”

You glance back at him with a smile, and the lines on his forehead disappear.

He extends a hand.

“I'll put them on for you.”

You smile, passing the simple velvet green heels over.

“Relax,” he murmurs, spreading a hand over your back when he feels your shaky breath, “Everything is going to be okay.”

You nod at him as the car comes to a stop.

The door opens, and the flashes of cameras temporarily stun you as he steps out, extending a hand to you, which you take, focusing on him in order to cope with the constant flashing.

The bubble in your ears pop, and suddenly you can hear everyone shouting around you.

He'd warned you it would be this way, and his descriptions didn't do the din justice.

You glance over at the crowd, unable to focus on any one thing with the lights and the sound being so intense.

You paint a soft smile onto your face, waving as his hand interlocks with the other, guiding you along.

The press is good, you remind yourself, not just for Anvil, but for the charity as well, and you feel your insecure self be buried under a more confident you.

Your smile widens, your shoulders relax, you try to imagine the crowd as one being for now, as they try to get you to look in specific directions.

You pause at one point, allowing photos to be taken of you. It's then that you and Billy finally meet each other's eyes.

He leans in, lips to your ear, the flashes coming faster.

“You're doing amazing.” He says reassuringly, drawing a genuine smile from you.

You look up at him, heart pounding at the way he looks at you, before turning back to smile at the crowd.

It's over after that, you make your way inside where your ears ring for a few minutes, unable to hear much as you're seated.

His hand remains locked with yours, never leaving your side as the events begin.

You’d never been to one of these events before, and it amazes you how much actual thought goes into the entire charity. Though, it’s quite clear that this specific occasion is designed to stroke rich people’s egos.

You’re interested to see how the charity has benefitted children, though you know that the photos you see are definitely staged to paint the charity in the best light possible. You’d done a bit of digging into the organisation, and though there were some hiccups along the way, you hadn’t found any serious red flags of note.

You wished you could focus on the speech, hear anything going on and internalise the words, but your brain kind of stalls, anytime you look over and catch sight of Billy.

The black shirt and pants combo is very similar to what you saw him wearing that night- the night you got married.

He’s so at ease beside you, his hair styled to perfection, your ring on his finger, a delicate silver chain hanging around his neck.

He looks like sin, like your dirty fantasies come to life. If he asked you to kneel, you suspect you very well might.

When people applaud, you refocus on your surroundings, softly clapping too, though you have no idea what’s going on.

There's an exhibit set up for your perusal, art pieces donated by organizations, even a smaller exhibit to view some of the art made by the students of the program.

Mostly, it's a reason to mingle, for rich people to join with other rich people and pat each other on the back for the tax cut this is going to give them.

It kind of makes you hate them a little.

Still, you smile and shake hands with all the wealthy people, watch them give you some kind of knowing look that you’re supposed to interpret.

Why anyone thinks you’re a gold digger is beyond you. Weren’t people like that supposed to be the epitome of attractive? It made you roll your eyes internally.

What if he’d chosen you because no one would ever believe he’d done what he’d done to you? Why would he have his pick of the most beautiful women on the planet and still fight for you?

It’s your mother’s voice again, and you swallow, dropping your head meekly as a conversation with an older couple ends, and they move away from you.

You feel his hand on the small of your back, drawing you to look into his eyes.

“Are you okay? Want to take a break?” He asks softly.

You gaze at him for a long moment. What if he’d been manipulating you into liking him this entire time?

No, not liking… loving.

“Can I have some water?” You whisper softly.

He knows something is up, you can tell, but you watch him nod, excusing himself to head to the bar.

You let out a long sigh, turning away and walking deeper into the exhibit, in hopes that he takes a few moments longer to find you.

You needed to think, but this was the worst place for it. Did you really love him? Or were you just getting comfortable in his cage?

You were beginning to unravel.

You're at the very edge of the room, at the corner of the exhibit when the first few bangs go off.

You flinch at each sound, the noise cracking in your head, further amplified by the acoustics in the room.

Your ears ring, and it takes you a moment to register that there’s screaming.

The shrieks get cut off by a loud shout, an instruction for everyone to get down on the floor.

You gulp, eyes widening as you feel your heart begin pounding, you couldn't see what was going on, and maybe you didn't want to. The choice was taken from you by your own body that refused to move at all.

You couldn't hear anything after that initial shout, too far away and it would be dumb of you to get closer to see what was going on.

Where was Billy? Probably knelt on the ground somewhere waiting for the right opportunity to strike.

It's what kicks you into gear. He'd need backup, which means you'd need to go get help.

There's a door at the end of the exhibit, and you turn, walking that way quietly, trying your best to stop the soft clicking of your heel as you move.

You have the door in sight when someone calls out loudly behind you.

“Don't move.” They say.

You turn, stiffening once more when you find a man dressed head to toe in black pointing a gun at you.

Your heart squeezes in your chest.

He eats up the space between you until he grabs your arm forcefully, the gun presses into the middle of your back as he guides you back toward the middle of the room.

Your thinking unfortunately stalls, the rush of adrenaline makes you dumb, your brain in panic mode because this was a real life scenario with real people that would kill you, and not your husband, playing his games.

You can feel your shoulders trembling as the man pushes you into the room.

“I found a stray.” He announces to the other men standing about the room in full black gear with various types of guns in their hands.

You scan the room, searching for your husband, but unable to spot him.

One of the men approaches you, You can see nothing but his eyes, an average brown, through his mask.

He presses his handgun to your cheek, turning your head forcefully with it. You squeeze your eyes shut.

“What's your name?”

You stutter out your first name.

He presses the gun deeper into your cheek until you whisper your last name.

“What was that last part?” The man in front of you presses.

“Russo.” You say louder.

The man behind you, gripping your arm, releases it the moment he hears your last name, and you open your eyes just in time to see him reach forward and push the other man's gun of your cheek.

“Stop. We don't want to cause any trouble with her. Let her sit with everyone else.”

The man draws back angrily, twisting his gun from the first man's grip.

“The fuck are you on about?”

They both move a step away from you, and even though the first man drops his voice to a whisper, you still hear it.

“Don't you know who her husband is? She's more trouble than she's worth.”

“Isn't that the point of this? To cause trouble?”

“Trust me, man, that's more trouble than you want.”

You almost sigh with relief, the knowledge that Billy's name could keep you safe definitely eases some of your anxiety.

Except that the second man doesn't listen to reason, and he's right back in your face, his gun pressed to the center of your chest. The barrel isn't as cold as you'd expect, and you wonder if this was the gun that was fired earlier.

How many shots did you hear? Five, you think. How many shots did he have left? You had no fucking idea.

“Give me all your stuff. Now.”

You blink, glancing at the first man, seeing him raise his hands in surrender. Realising he won't intervene further, you raise your shaky hands to tug your earrings off, and then your simple necklace, placing them into the man's open and waiting palm.

“And the ring.”

You stiffen.

“No.” You answer, as if you had any means of stopping him.

“Give it to me,” he says calmly, “or I hit you until you do.”

You were practically shaking.

“It's not valuable, it's worth nothing. Please.”

He pulls the gun from your chest, and you sigh in relief as he turns away.

You don't see his fist coming.

He hits you with the hand holding the gun, and you stumble, falling almost comically on your ass as your jaw aches. You feel tears spring to your eyes.

In your disoriented state, he reaches down and rips the ring from your finger, despite your sluggish efforts to hold on.

Your face stings, but you don't think he hit you hard enough to cause any real damage, your tailbone also hurting from where you hit the ground.

You want to cry so badly, beg for your ring back, but the fear is overwhelming, almost nauseating.

You sniffle, shuffling back, away from the men quietly arguing with each other, while there are two other men gathering valuables from the crowd.

It makes no sense to steal from these people, these aren’t items that can be pawned off without raising red flags, these items would probably have to leave the country to be sold, and even then, they’d still be traceable.

They finish grabbing what they came for very shortly, and when they group together, the man that hit you earlier turns to look at you.

It’s easy to tell them apart, he was the second tallest in the four man group, and the man that had defended you, was a little shorter, almost your height.

You scuffle away faster as he moves to approach you, and you know exactly what’s coming.

He grabs you by the arm and pulls you up, your ankle twisting in your heel before you can get your feet under you.

It hurts, but you can’t worry about it because you’re being pulled along with the group of men.

“She’s gonna slow us down, I thought we agreed to pick someone with flat shoes?” One of the unknown men says.

His hand tightens on your arm.

“If another one of you questions me, I’m putting a bullet in your head.” He hisses out, pulling you along.

You try to stand your ground, to pull away, but someone else grabs your other arm and you’re suddenly being more pulled along than anything else.

“Stop.” You grit out, wriggling in their grips, “Let me go.”

They don’t answer you, moving fast through the side exit, and towards a sleek vehicle.

It blends in with the rest, and when they try to force you into the back seat, you lean away, bringing your hands up to brace them against the car to stop yourself from going any further.

It’s then that you lash out, knowing the scary statistic of being taken to a secondary location, you swing a kick at one man, elbowing the other as hard as you can.

It barely does anything, your manoeuvrability is difficult in your pretty dress, someone uses your disadvantage to grip your wrists behind your back.

“Fuck this- open the trunk.”

You struggle more, someone grabs your feet and then you’re picked up, tossed into the trunk, your body aching at the impact.

The trunk slams shut, and all you can hear is your own disoriented breathing and the muted thudding of the other doors in the car closing. Your body jerks as the car takes off rapidly.

#billy russo #billy russo x reader #billy russo x female reader #the punisher #dark!billy russo #accidentally on purpose #my writings

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garoujo · 2 years ago

Note

Imagine riding a needy nagi seishiro whilst shotgunning him ♡

✩ ˛˚ . NAGI SEISHIRO ; — nagi doesn’t think he’s ever felt as relaxed as he does beneath you.

warnings: f!reader, weed use, all characters written 22+, shot-gunning. note: i will forever remain obsessed with this agenda i am not normal about it <3 also this is v sloppy written i’m sorry sob i just bashed this out in 20 mins :<

“does it feel good, sei?” you gasp as nagi watches you, hes all bated breathes and flushed cheeks, sweating hard as he lets your words roll around his clouded mind. he feels fuzzy, his mouth suddenly dry as his head drops back against the back of the couch when you sink down onto his cock again, pulling a dreamy, needy whimper from the snowy haired striker beneath you as you bounce on his lap.

good—was an understatement, the tingling along his limbs is only exaggerated by the weed mixed with how perfectly your pussy is hugging around the length of him, pressing him deeper along the swollen spots inside of you that make you bear down on him eagerly.

nagi liked having you like this, half clothed and lazy as you take another long draw of the joint hanging between your pouty lips, the smoke of your exhale curling into the room before it thins out. he gives you another starry eyed look before he moans, half lidded and blown out gaze meeting yours as his toes curl against the carpet beneath him.

“sei~ don’t be mean, answer me.” it’s such a pain how fucking cute you look right now despite how well you’re taking him, you’re like a demon in one of his video games as you lean back but still manage to lure him in. your pretty breasts bounce with every intoxicating roll of your hips and he can’t help but reach out to take a handful of them, pinching and kneading before your fingers are brushing through the messy bangs across his cloudy, bloodshot gaze and he finally speaks.

“fu—uck, angel. yeah..” nagi begins before his train of thought trails off, suddenly too enamoured by the press of your body underneath his palms as he squeezes at you, easing you along the length of him despite the way he feels like he’s full of cotton and so fucking close already. “jus’ don’t wanna cum yet, g’na give you more first.”

it’s needy and a little desperate the way he’s still managing to roll his hips up into you, slow and languid but still making your insides curl and ache with how deep he feels like he reaches — throbbing inside of you as you press him even deeper into the cushions below you both.

“do you want more of this?” you purr as your fingers graze under the neckline of his hoodie and nagi’s never felt so warm in his life, he’s flushed to his chest but he still nods with a slow blink before he’s knocking his head against yours drowsily, although managing to smear a kiss along your cheeks before he’s mumbling out a “y-yeah. share w’ me though, please.”

the white paper glows as it crackles, cherry eating away at it before you’re slowing your pace to a roll as you inhale — but your boyfriend’s greedy when he moves to curl his hand around the back of your neck to draw you into him. your fingers twist naturally into the snowy peaks of his bed head before you pull and it’s almost erotic the whimper that pours from his lips as you kiss him.

“mffff—pretty thing.” it’s slow and messy as the heat of your exhale floods his mouth and senses, urging him to inhale instinctively as you press yourself closer — rolling your hips lazily against his as his free hand curls and kneads at your ass and hips. nagi feels utterly consumed by you as he loses himself in the dreamy tightness, his lungs trembling with how enthralled he is by the press of your lips and the hug of your body.

the room feels like it spins and his cock throbs when you lick into his mouth, gliding your tongue along his own until he’s grinding himself up deeper into your warm cunt and he feels like he’s fucking melting beneath you. you only pull away to breathe and he already misses the thrilling tightness in his chest as he exhales, allowing the kiss to break wet and smokey despite the way he dreamily follows you forward as you pull away.

“hey— no fair, why’d you stop.” nagi’s eyes are still closed when he asks, smoke trailing from his lips as he speaks but his gaze is sleepy and lidded when he leans back to blink up at you. he pouts through his heavy, lustful expression before he’s letting his hand smooth through his hair — even more mused from your own touch before he’s haphazardly—and clumsily—pulling his hood up over his head.

“to breath, seishiro.” you giggle before you’re leaning back to rest the remaining joint back in the ashtray on the coffee table. but the movement only seems to press his cock even deeper into you when you fall back into his arms and another dreamier, sweeter moan falls from his lips this time when they part.

your arms hook around the back of nagi’s and you let them graze underneath the neckline of his hoodie, making him shudder as goosebumps trail along his skin at your touch — his senses heightened by the weed in his system and the warmth of you. but it still feels natural the way he lets himself curl into you, face pressing into the crook of your neck as he smears wet kisses along your collarbones between slurred grumbles and drowsy, drawn out whines as his body rocks seamlessly with yours.

“eh, breathing’s so bothersome. can go again, come on. gimme more.”

#݁ . ࿓ : sealed#cw weed #blue lock x you #blue lock x reader #blue lock smut #bllk x reader #bllk x you #bllk smut #nagi x you #nagi x reader #nagi smut #nagi seishiro x you #nagi seishiro x reader #nagi seishiro smut

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ghostdaughterr · 27 days ago

Text

“a place where no one has died”

lyric breakdown

“so, it’s just me and this tap water all full of lead

and we circle the drain ‘til i go back to bed”

— LA tap water is gross and so am i

“it’s just you in the morning, you’re all that i want

and you’re so far away, i hope the bombs don’t go off”

— homesickness, a feeling of an impending doom/violent end

“and this world is bad theater, the 3rd act is on

and it’s falling apart ‘til the curtain draws

there’s a light i can’t see but it shines on the stage

and i’m sewn to my seat like i’m part of the play”

— it’s all falling apart and i am powerless to stop it. there is an illusion i cannot quite see through. maybe this illusion is life itself.

“is it true? what you told me an autumn ago

empty words in the darkness from mouths full of smoke”

— not even the ones you love are outside the illusion

“it’s just me and this medicine no one prescribed

it gets caught in my throat and i choke and i cry”

— neither are the drugs. numbing yourself stops working eventually.

“it’s just you in the mirror always judging me

take my eyes and my tongue, i forgot how to speak”

— self-hatred, self-denial, trying to not give up

“it’s okay, give it time, it’ll all be alright

there’s a girl in the shower, she’s singing and alive

there’s a dog in the graveyard so patient and sad

there’s this place we can go where it won’t be so bad”

— reveling in the ecstasy of a life drenched in grief, the girl singing in my shower is a recurring hallucination, and idk if it’s me or the dog that’s in the graveyard waiting

“there’s fresh air and clean clothes and silence you can stand

your grandmother’s in the kitchen with flour on her hands”

— the most beautiful place i can imagine

“and police don’t exist there, you won’t have to hide

and police don’t exist there, and no one has died”

— acab and also “song for a chicken named jenny” by pat the bunny means a lot to me and there’s a line where he says ‘here in your arms my darling police don’t exist’

“and we never tried the hard stuff and no one has died

and our bodies worked perfect and no one has died

and nobody owns nothing and no one has died

and no one has died and no one has died”

— would’ve could’ve should’ve-ing my way into heaven

“it’s just me in this bedroom rewriting cliches

cutting open my sickness every fucking day

and it all tastes like ashes and blood in my throat

there’s a man with a gun in my childhood home”

— retreating into solitude trying to make sense of it, the violent machinery of my mind and the loneliness of this life. then being robbed of even the safety that should exist in your own mind or in your childhood bedroom.

“and you’re tied to the radiator, burns on your wrist

nothing bad happens here since my mother got sick”

— the death of innocence. the marks left by cruelty.

“and the walls are asbestos and no one has died

and the water’s still poison but no one has died

and the kids all have cancer but no one has died

and my body’s a target but no one has died��

— old houses i grew up in, LA tap water + dirty water in my hometown after Hurricane Helene, cancer being everywhere in my life and my family, existing as a trans person in america but particularly in the south

“and no one has died” x12

— obviously we have all died. everyone i loved. everyone. this is a prayer. a desperate and ultimately futile prayer.

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ladykailitha · 2 years ago

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Do You Know What Shovels Dig? Graves Part 1

Just dipping my toe into the shovel talks trend.

“Hey, Steve?”

Steve turned around and Jonathan frowned. Steve’s eyes were puffy and his nose was red. “Oh, hey, man. What’s up?”

Jonathan could tell he was trying not to wipe the obvious tears from his face. As if that wouldn’t draw attention to them.

“I wanted to talk to you about you and Eddie’s relationship--”

Steve crumpled. That was the only way to describe it. The man was barely holding it together as it was, but it seemed that that was straw that broke the camel’s back.

“Look, I get it,” Steve snapped. “Don’t break Eddie’s heart. It sooo soft and I’m suuuuch a bitch. I don’t need the shovel talk from you.” The last word was said with such venom, Jonathan was forced to take a step back.

“Who’s been giving you shovel talks?” he asked.

Steve threw his arms in the air. “It would be easier to list off who hasn’t. The Byers family and El, only I can’t say that because you’re here. So just Will, your mom, and El.”

Jonathan frowned. “Even Robin?” Because that didn’t sound right. He had seen the two of them together and they were like freakishly close.

“Oh, yeah,” Steve snarled bitterly. “That’s the latest one. The one that makes me just want to throw myself into the god damn pool.”

Well, shit.

“Apparently this is Eddie first real relationship and since being gay is so hard right now, breaking his heart would be a disservice to humankind,” Steve mocked. “I asked her about my heart and my first relationship with a guy. But apparently that is as important as Eddie’s experience.”

Now that? Jonathan didn’t believe. But Steve was clearly hurt and was being dramatic about it. Which he was going to allow because holy shit.

But apparently Steve was just getting started. “At least Eddie’s friends all showed up together to give one shovel talk so that was nice. Hop and Wayne each did it while cleaning their hunting rifles, like they weren’t terrifying enough. I mean Mike’s an ass, so his I could brush off, but Dustin and Erica? Why does Eddie get more loyalty from them when I literally saved their lives? But Lucas and Max also double teamed me, so that was all sorts of fun. Nancy casually brought up that she has three guns now. So yeah, just get it over with so I can go back to being the worst boyfriend in Hawkins!”

Jonathan forced him to sit down. “That was a lot to unpack, I’m not going to lie. But take a deep breath for me, can you do that?”

Steve nodded and took a deep breath.

“Now let it out slow,“ Jonathan continued. Steve followed his instruction. “Great now keep doing that until your heart no longer feels like it’s going to burst out of your chest.”

Steve started breathing more normally and Jonathan sat next to him. “I’m not actually here for a shovel talk. I was wondering if you or Eddie would be willing to talk to Will about liking boys.”

Steve blinked at him for a moment. “What?”

“Yeah, he’s going through a really hard time with it right now,” Jonathan explained. “And I’m not really getting through to him because I’m straight and it’s pretty much meaningless coming from me.”

“Oh.”

“But no, I get your reaction, dude,” he said. “I really do. Has anyone given Eddie the shovel talk?”

Steve shrugged. “It’s not like I can ask, is it? ‘Oh hey, Eddie, anyone threaten your life over our relationship lately. No, no, not homophobes, I mean our friends? No? Well that’s just peachy!’“

Jonathan barked out a laugh. “Yeah, no matter how you phrase that it’s going to come off as bitchy. Especially if no one has.”

Steve nodded.

“Look, if you talk to Will for me,” Jonathan said, “I’ll talk to Eddie. Deal?”

Steve looked at the hand for a moment before he shook it. “Deal.”

Jonathan knocked on the Munson’s door. Eddie opened it with a look of surprise.

“Look, man,” Eddie said with a sigh. “I don’t sell anymore. And besides your friend from Cali has better stuff.”

Jonathan held up his prized. “Oh, I’m aware, I’m offering to share.”

Eddie looked at him for a moment and then closed the door behind him. “Yeah, okay.”

Jonathan lit two blunts and passed one to Eddie.

Eddie took a drag and sighed. “Shit this stuff is good.”

Jonathan just smiled.

“Not that I don’t appreciate the share, man,” Eddie said after a few minutes, “but why are you here?”

“I went over to Steve’s to ask him if he would be willing to talk to Will for me,” he said after taking a drag.

“Because your brother is gayer then the May pole?” Eddie supplied.

“Yup,” he replied. “Only our Stevie wasn’t doing so good.”

Eddie leapt to his feet. “What?!”

Jonathan tugged on his pant leg. “Sit down, dude. Let me explain before you go off half cocked and make things worse.”

Eddie sat down with a grumble. “You better start talking and you better do it fast.”

“In my experience shovel talks are for people you don’t trust not for people you care about,” Jonathan said slowly. “Only it seems our friends didn’t get the memo.”

“People have been giving Steve the shovel talk?” Eddie asked, eyes wide, jutting his chin forward in shock. “But no one’s said shit to me!”

Jonathan winced. “That’s kinda what me and Steve were afraid of.”

Eddie felt his heart sink to his stomach. “Do you--did he say how long it’s been going on?”

Jonathan shook his head. “But the fact that only my house and El haven’t given him the shovel talk I would probably bet since you two announced your relationship.”

“Shit,” Eddie whispered. “I bet the first two were funny, endearing even. Steve likes that kind of stuff. And then as it kept happening...”

“Yeah,” Jonathan agreed. “Has he been distant lately?”

Eddie closed his eyes and nodded. “Now I know why.” He thought for a moment. “Is there a way to call everyone together without alerting Steve, too?”

Jonathan shrugged. “If his boyfriend were to ‘accidentally’ turn off the walkie for an hour for some hot makeup sex...”

Eddie laughed. “I can absolutely do that.”

“I’ll set it up,” Jonathan said. He flicked the remainder of his blunt to the ground and stood up to grind it out under his boot.

Dang it, this was getting longer than I planned, but I’ll put out a part two later.

Edit: and it’s later! And part three! Part four and Part FIVE! Part Six!!!

#My writing #stranger things #steddie #jonathan and steve are friends

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extasiswings · 9 months ago

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Post-4x13 Fics

I was going to go on a reblog spree, but instead figured I would just put all of my S4 finale spec/post-4x13/S5 spec fics in one handy list.

some things you just can't speak about

A collection of S4 finale spec fics.

a flower in a gun (a bird in flight)

Even if Buck felt the same—and Eddie isn’t convinced of that, doesn’t have the arrogance to assume—what right does he have to say please, to say wait, to ask Buck to put his life on hold indefinitely while Eddie sorts through the tangled mess in his head in the hope that one day he’ll finally be ready? He can’t be that selfish. Especially not with Buck. [Or: in the aftermath of the shooting, love endures.]

mark me like a bloodstain (or a tattoo kiss)

Eddie finds words difficult. So he comes up with other ways to show how he feels. [For the prompt: "You've always felt like home."]

stars choose their lovers (save my soul)

Most of the time, Buck feels like there’s no one in the world who understands Eddie as well as he does. Most of the time. Because there are still some other times when he’s completely in the dark.

safety and home

The thing Eddie remembers most about the shooting isn’t the shot itself, or the pain, or even the fear—it’s the cold. [Or: Eddie dreams of drowning]

burning like a slow flame

For the prompt: "I felt it shelter to speak to you." “With all due respect, Mr. Diaz,” the doctor says, “you’re in the emergency room because of an acute stress response in which your brain tricked your body into believing you were in danger to such an extent that you thought you were dying. I’m not sure you’re as fine as you think.”

slipping away (call on me)

For the prompt: "I exist in two places, here and where you are." Buck feels like he lost part of himself when he watched Eddie being rolled through the emergency doors and he hasn’t gotten it back. There’s a hollow space in his chest crowding out his lungs so he can’t draw a full breath, squeezing his heart so his blood isn’t circulating properly. He’s a shade. Half-alive. And the other half left on a city street, in an ambulance bay, in a hospital room.

paint me a heaven with your bloodied mouth

Buck. Four letters. One syllable. Eddie knows it’s a nickname. He doesn’t know why Buck picked it or why Buck seems to use it exclusively, but he figures it isn’t really his business. And also that it probably isn’t that deep—all of them use nicknames at work or otherwise in their daily lives. Eddie himself might find it weird if anyone outside of his immediate family suddenly started using his full name regularly after so many years of only rarely hearing it from anyone else. So. Eddie calls Buck "Buck." And he doesn’t think anything of it. At least…not at first.

#chapel writes #buddie #buddie fic #911 fic

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tgmsunmontue · 5 days ago

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To wake, perchance to dream 6/6

Hangster - Jake wakes up ~13 years in the future and thinks he has amnesia. Instead it's a glimpse of what his life could be. When he wakes up right before being called back to Top Gun for the special detachment he's going to try his damndest to make that future come true...

Edited to add: One of the first piece of TGM I saw was this amazing piece by @beezelarts as well as this follow on one (both of which I have printed and up on my wall). They both deserve ALL THE LOVE. I stared at them both a lot while drawing this last chapter.

ONE TWO THREE FOUR FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

“Why do you put up with me?”

“Well that’s a stupid question.”

“Jake. I’m serious.”

“So am I. Why do you put up with me? When I’m angry and I say hurtful things or piss you off… Why do you put up with me?”

“Because I love you.”

Jake looks at him and tries to convey just how much of an idiot he thinks Bradley is being. He remembers future Bradley, how alarmed he’d been at Jake having to deal with all his shit. He wonders if getting those two days of his future were offered as an incentive to not give up. Wonders what he did to deserve it. Or whether it’s somehow Bradley that deserves him.

“Do you think I love you any less than you love me?”

“It’s not a competition.”

“Good thing, because if it was I’d win. I put up with you because I love you. All of you,” Jake says, flicking him on the forehead to drive his point home, and it makes him feel more settled as well when Bradley startles at the sharp pain but then laughs, captures his hand and kisses over the knuckles.

“Oh.”

“Oh he says. Oh. Did you think I was lying all those times I said it?”

“No. No. I just…”

“You thought I only loved certain parts of you?”

Bradley shrugs, unable to meet his eyes and Jake shakes his head. They’ve come a fucking long way in sixteen months however he expects they’ve still got a chunk of work ahead of them. However Bradley is working with him now, rather than against him or trying to break up, so it’s so much better. It helps that Bradley is back in the air, flying again and while Jake is proud of him he’s also waiting for the day when Bradley decides he’s had enough. Knows it has to be soon if the rough timeline he sketched out is accurate.

“I’m… I’m going to make myself some tea. You want any?”

“Of course…”

Tea making is almost a ritual now between them, and he’s always dropped everything when Bradley has said he’s making tea. It’s for moments of quiet, but also deep conversation, reassurance and also the simple act of making it now grounds Jake in a way nothing else does. He knows it’s similar for Bradley, that if he wants to talk something out, he’ll make an entire pot of tea. Jake watches as he reaches for the stupid pot that is painted like a rooster and wonders if this is the moment. Watches Bradley turn over the little three-minute timer he’d bought and watches him watch the sand fall through the hourglass silently. He knows from experience to not interrupt the silence now. Bradley is gathering and organizing his thoughts.

“I… I think I’m going to retire.”

And there it is. All of the sand hasn’t even fallen through.

Another piece falling into place.

“Okay.”

“Okay? Just okay?”

“You want me to talk you out of it?”

“I… no? I… fuck. I don’t know. I don’t know. What am I going to do if I’m not flying planes anymore?”

Jake knows exactly what he’s going to do, but he can’t, won’t, just blurt it out. He wants Bradley to figure it out for himself. Reaches a hand across the counter and wiggles his fingers and waits impatiently for Bradley to hold his hand. Grips it tight and jiggles it to give his next words more weight.

“How about, how about you find a dream you actually want huh, rather than chasing what you think someone else would want for you? You have time…”

“Yeah. I guess.” Jake hums. “I think I’ll talk to my therapist about it…”

“I think that’s an excellent idea,” Jake says, and he wonders if it’s them that places the seed in Bradley’s mind.

“When did you get so smart?” Bradley asks and Jake snorts.

“I’ve always been smart. You were just too busy to notice.”

“Oh no, I always noticed you. I meant… you’ve gotten smart about me. It’s like… you sometimes know what I need even before I do.”

“Just been paying attention Bradshaw…”

“Bradshaw is it?” Bradley asks, eyebrow quirking up and Jake raises both his eyebrows in response, because he’s never going to get sick of flirting with him.

He knows it to his core.

… … …

“What do you think about me becoming a therapist?”

“I think you’d kill it.”

“Jake. Be serious.”

“I am being serious! You would make a great therapist…”

“I… you really think so?”

“Babe. Bradley… why’d you join the Navy?”

“To fly.”

“If you hadn’t made it into aviation, what would you have done? Stayed?”

“Yeah. Probably.”

“Why?”

“What do you mean why?”

“Deeper than flying… why did you join?”

“To…” Jake waits. He’s pretty sure he knows why, suspects Bradley’s therapist also knows why but Bradley hasn’t maybe put it together yet. “To serve… well. To help people I guess.”

“Hmm. Like I said. I think you’d be pretty good at it.”

… … …

So their lives shift a little again, and Bradley goes back to study, and he’s going to the same University as Amelia and suddenly he gets why and how Amelia becomes so entrenched in their lives. She spends the first year in the dorms, and Bradley rattles around in a two-bedroom apartment. Bradley has never lived alone and while he’s away Jake worries, so when he suggests Amelia maybe move in and they live together everyone treats him like it’s a genius solution. Which finds him, the summer before her second year helping her move in. While she’ll keep Bradley company while Jake’s deployed, her living with Bradley has made both Penny and Mav feel an infinite sense of relief about her living off-campus.

“I feel much better about her living with you than in a sorority house or… well. I know you’ll keep an eye on her,” Maverick is saying and Jake catches Bradley’s eyeroll from across the room. Penny is busy cleaning the kitchen and doing a deep clean, which he knows Bradley is going to appreciate. Eventually. Once everything is back where Bradley wants it.

“Yeah, because she’s totally going to want to hang out with me…” Bradley says with a grin towards Amelia and she grins back.

“Don’t sell yourself short. You’re okay looking for an older guy, might make me look a little more interesting if I’m seen talking to you…”

“You hear this Jake? I’m okay looking!”

“For an older guy. I mean… I’d fuck you,” Jake calls back with a grin and Amelia pretends to vomit. Penny calls out a reprimand and all three of them roll their eyes, because they’ve all heard Penny swear a blue-streak.

“Can you two ever not be gross?”

“Nope.”

He likes Amelia living with Bradley, it means he doesn’t worry so much when he’s deployed. That Bradley will make sure Amelia eats, and therefor taking care of his own needs. Plus he starts messaging Amelia for behind the scene updates and she doesn’t disappoint and Jake gets daily candid photos of Bradley doing domestic shit, or passed out cold on the sofa, or on campus meeting with his study group. When he comes back she makes herself scarce for twenty-four hours and then he takes her out for an expensive meal, which is apparently an acceptable trade.

… … …

“This weekend! We’ve got forty-eight hours man. You said you wanted to be my best man, well, time to be the best…”

“What?”

“We’re getting married this weekend! Sunday!”

Jake freezes, because they hadn’t set a date and he’d sort of been drifting, knowing that it was going to be ten-years from whenever they got married. And now he has a date. One only two days away.

“Why are we in such a rush?”

“You’re here, I’m here, Nix is here… Bradshaw can get here. She wants it in the small chapel on base, the one with those big pale wood arches. Plus we don’t want to wait anymore.”

“Holy shit. Yeah. Okay. Fucking… tell me what you need me to do.”

He rings Bradley, tells him he needs to get on a plane if he wants to stand up as witness for Nix. Of course Bradley drops everything, Amelia insisting on coming and Jake knows that that’s how it’s going to work, she’s going to be as big a part of Javy and Nix’s kids’ live as he and Bradley will be, so her being at the wedding feels right. Then Jake finds himself organizing a cake and a simple flower bouquet. Javy and Nix both have given him very strict instructions to not even think the word wedding when talking to anyone.

The service is going to be small and private, set for the afternoon after the standard Sunday morning service. They have a week before they both get deployed again, so Jake searches for a resort within an hour drive which also has a honeymoon suite available, books it for them for five nights and lets them know he’s sorted his and Bradley’s wedding present to them.

He’s pretty proud of what he and Javy have managed to achieve. The chapel didn’t need any decorating, but the Hard Deck, where they’re having the reception of sorts tomorrow evening, well, he supposes he has Penny and Amelia to thank for that, along with Maverick and Bradley. They’ve found soft fairy lights and large white paper lanterns and the whole place is unrecognizable as their usual watering hole. Except he recognizes it. It’s exactly like it is (was?) in the photos he can still remember looking at. As they shut up for the night everything is set for tomorrow and Jake doesn’t know why he’s so nervous.

It’s not his wedding.

… … …

Bradley has the confidence to look good in a hessian sack, and the legs to pull it off. In a tailored suit he looks mouthwatering. Jake knows he isn’t too shabby looking himself, glad he has an excuse to wear his suit rather than his dress uniform.

“You look good…” Bradley says, giving him a slow sweep with his eyes and Jake laughs.

“I am good…”

“Fuck yeah you are…”

“Not how it’s meant to go, but I’ll take it…” Jake says with a smirk, because he gets it now, why Bradley had looked at him so weirdly when he’d told Jake he looked good and he’d replied with a simple good morning. Fuck, no wonder Bradley believed him. That and Jake told him. At the wedding that they’re both at right now. Javy and Nix have disappeared somewhere for some photos, but Jake knows that they’re going to come through the doors, with Nix wearing a different dress from the one she got married in but looking no less gorgeous or happy.

“Want to hear something really crazy?” Jake asks, leaning against Bradley for the reassurance of his presence, hopes he manages to come across as… sincere rather than insane.

“Crazier than deciding to get married within two days?”

“Yeah. Much crazier…” Jake says, and he’s still hold the half-filled champagne glass they’d used to toast Javy and Nix earlier. “I’ve seen photos of this… of this moment right here that we are in right now.”

“How much have you had to drink?” Bradley asks with a laugh, taking the glass from his fingers.

“Four sips of that champagne.”

“So… what? You’ve got a sense of déjà vu?”

“No. More than that… Just… imagine this with me. One day, actually, exactly ten years in the future, we’re happily married; I wake up and your arms are around me. Javy and Nat are off celebrating their tenth wedding anniversary and we’re looking after their three kids. They love and trust us enough to look after these three precious little humans. So I wake up and I don’t remember any of that. All I remember is being on a carrier stationed near Japan and suddenly I’m not anymore.”

“What are you…”

“Just… listen. So in ten years if I act a little weird for a couple of days, well, you made me fall in love with you over the space of a weekend… showed me how well we work together. I’m looking forward to filling in all the blanks.”

“You’re… Jake. Are you being serious right now…”

He shrugs.

“Maybe it was just a dream. But it was a very fucking vivid dream. And I’d put money on Natasha and Javy coming through that door, she’s changed to a salsa dress and Javy’s going to be wearing suspenders and looking ridiculous, but they’re going to do a surprise dance number for us… we have a photo of it on the wall.”

“Oh my god, you’re serious. Jake.”

“I fell in love with you in this dream, and it made me want that with you so much… and I kind of figured if I could make you fall in love with me then we might get a chance at this happily ever after dream of mine.”

“You’re a secret romantic… I mean, I knew that already. But just getting it confirmed again. I love you, you weird strange man.”

“Mmm. Yeah. Love you too.”

… … …

With the wedding photos now available he starts building the photo albums for his future-past self, and even if it’s all crazy and it never happens he doesn’t want to take the chance. Also he finds going through all their photos and picking the ones for including in a book to be an activity that brings him a lot of joy, seeing all their happiest moments and proudest achievements frozen in time.

… … …

When they’re on vacation in the Rockies and Jake recognizes the view, stands there and takes it in with a deep breath, turns back to see what the hell is keeping Bradley only to find him on bended knee holding a ring box and even though he knew he would end up marrying him, having someone declare they love you so much they want to spend the rest of their live with you makes him burst into tears. He takes so many photos through blurry eyes, knowing that at least one is going to turn out so he can include the view in the photo album.

… … …

Their bands are simple gold, although they’re made from gold melted down from Bradley’s parents wedding rings and a bangle that used to belong to his mom. Maverick had insisted on him keeping it all, and when Bradley gets a little emotional slipping the ring onto Jake’s finger he knows the moment is bittersweet, the fact that his parents aren’t here sad but the joy of the day will be everlasting. A photo of their joined hands, both showing off their rings, means more than just the start of their marriage. It encompasses their pasts too and he goes through the process of changing his name to Bradshaw.

… … …

They have their honeymoon on a small island in the Pacific Ocean, and despite Jake’s insistence that Bradley didn’t use high enough SPF sunscreen and reapply it often enough after swimming Bradley gets terribly sunburnt on their third day. Fortunately the air conditioning in their private cabin is good, and they’re more than happy to spend the time together in bed. When the worst of it is over though Bradley starts peeling, making it somehow look worse and when they venture out to the night markets to find food Bradley gives him such a stink eye after he snaps a quick picture and sends it to the group chat.

… … …

There are moments which he doesn’t capture. Natasha and Javy inviting him and Bradley over for dinner and telling them that they’re expecting a baby. That they’d like Jake and Bradley to be the godparents, and legal guardians, and that they want them both involved in the family care plan, seeing as they both still serve. Bradley’s jaw drops but Jake knew, hoped, and he wonders when he starts looking for their house. Their home. Of course both he and Javy are deployed when Nix gives birth to Alleisha, but Bradley is there for the birth, sounds fairly awed and disgusted by the whole process. Amelia makes herself invaluable and he knows now that she’s a speech and play therapist. Her and Bradley talk about things that overlap, but Bradley doesn’t ever work with kids, but he is good with them. One of Jake’s new favorite pastimes is watching Bradley hold Alleisha.

… … …

He sees the notice and does a double take, because there’s a photo and he finds himself paying more attention to those these days than he ever has before. The dog looks like Thea. Bradley’s Thea. He wonders if he’s the one that gets Bradley a puppy. He snaps a picture of the flyer to show Bradley. When he raises it later, whether Bradley has ever thought of getting a dog, he gets a shake of the head and a weird look. Apparently Carole was allergic. Huh. Okay. Maybe things will be different.

Of course he comes home two days later and finds a book about therapy dogs on the counter and he grins at it, raps his knuckles against it and then turns to find Bradley watching him from the doorway.

“Am I getting a dog?” Bradley asks, and it’s like this sometimes, like he thinks Jake is somehow psychic and he guesses he does have quite a few insights about their future, but they’re more like markers laid out on a trail and he has to find all the paths between the points. He tries to keep them to himself for the most part, not wanting to enjoy the moments and time he has.

“I don’t know. Do you want a dog?”

“I didn’t think so. But I had my therapy appointment today.”

“Yeah?”

“And my therapist had a friend visiting who breeds therapy dogs. And that picture you showed me? That was her.”

“Oh shit…”

“Hmm. Her current litter is all spoken for, but Ali asked me if I would be interested in one from the next litter.”

“That’s a hell of a coincidence…” Jake says.

“Yeah well, I said I was. So I guess I’m getting a dog.”

… … …

He’s deployed when Bradley sends him the link to several house listings, and then he sees it. Pictures of their house and his heart swells. There it is. He sends back this one. Bradley asks him if he’s sure, says it needs a lot of work. Jake replies that he’s as certain about the house as he is about loving him and that’s all that Bradley needs to make an offer. When he steps inside the first time his eyes widen, because it is nothing like he remembers but also Bradley had said it needed a lot of work. He wasn’t fucking joking.

“I hope you like DIY…” Bradley murmurs, coming up behind him and pressing against him and Jake looks around, remembers photos of them painting and grins to himself.

“Yeah, I think I’ll like it fine…”

… … …

They have a trip to the beach, Nix and Alleisha firmly planted under a sun umbrella when Javy pulls out a soccer ball. He remembers the pain in his knee and he wonders if he should maybe avoid playing if it means he doesn’t get hurt. Except he can’t. He can’t not take part and he tries to be careful but when he feels his foot shift on the sand and his body weight goes the wrong direction over his knee he knows. He doesn’t try any heroics like walking on it. Tells Javy and Bradley both that they’re going to have to carry him and take him to the hospital immediately; asks for icepacks to assist with the swelling. Javy looks at him like he’s crazy but Bradley looks at him with wild eyes.

“It’s my ACL and LCL. I’ll need surgery but I will fly again. Going to have to get used to having me around for a bit though…”

Of course Bradley rolls his eyes, has words with Jake later about why he didn’t avoid the injury and he shrugs, says he doesn’t have it in him not to be competitive and kick a ball around with Javy. The benefit of being on light duty while he recovers and rehabs his knee means he’s there for James’ birth and holy shit. He gets why Bradley didn’t want to do it again.

… … …

He smears the paint down Bradley’s naked chest, and the dark blue looks really nice against his skin. He says as much and Bradley twists against him, laughs and tries to buck him off where Jake’s got him pinned.

“Uh uh Bradshaw… going to take you apart…”

“Jake… the paint… it’ll dry and make a mess…”

“Don’t care. We can buy more paint. We can clean up the mess… want to make another sort of mess right now.”

With that declaration Bradley stops fighting and instead reaches to bring him down for a kiss and Jake grins into it, because he likes getting his way.

Later, when Amelia and Bradley are both laughing at him over glasses of wine as he clips chunks of dried paint out of his hair he is less happy, but he still wouldn’t change anything.

… … …

“Bradshaw… any relation to Nick Bradshaw?”

“My late father-in-law,” Jake provides, and the eyebrows of the Admiral in front of him shoot up.

“You married…”

“Lieutenant Commander Bradley Bradshaw. Retired. Nick Bradshaw’s son.”

“Huh. Means you must know Maverick as well then. I’m sorry Captain, what was your name previously?”

“Seresin sir. Much prefer keeping the Bradshaw name and legacy alive and well instead.”

There is a flash of recognition at his old name, because he’s just as legendary as Maverick now, if not better because he’s also known as someone who has saved Maverick’s life in the top-secret mission that of course everyone has heard rumors about. It’s years ago now though, and he doesn’t need to think anymore about his signature when he signs paperwork.

“Fair enough.”

… … …

Bradley buys him a camera for his obsession with taking photos and he enjoys it, becomes the unofficial photographer of their wider group of friends even though he’s got his own reasons for taking the photos. However he continues documenting all their vacations and gatherings, takes family photos and candid shots of them just hanging out. He doesn’t take any of it for granted, still occasionally blinks awake from sleep with his heart pounding and the knowledge that his life would be very different if he’d been a second later.

… … …

When Brandy is born Javy is not deployed and both he and Bradley tell him he’s on his own. Instead they look after Alleisha and James, their bedroom is the biggest one in their house and there’s already a crib ready and waiting for when Brandy is old enough to start staying over. He startles then, realizing that it’s getting closer. The ten-year anniversary of Javy and Nat’s wedding. He pulls out a phone and looks at the calendar for 2035. Their anniversary is on a Friday next year. He has about nine months to prepare and he submit his leave request immediately.

… … …

Of course he doesn’t get nine months. He’s deployed for a long six-month stint and he knows he’s missing some key moments in Brandy’s life, having seen so many of James’ while he was rehabbing his knee. However he’ll be home two weeks before the wedding anniversary and that’ll give him plenty of time to reacquaint himself with his husband before he… well. He’s not sure where he might go while his younger self is going to be hanging out in his body. He wonders if he’ll be back on the carrier in Japan and suddenly scrambles for memories that he might have to recall. Maybe he’ll just fake a stomach bug and get quarantined for the duration.

“I can’t believe it’s been almost ten years…”

“Best ten years of my life… and then some,” Jake murmurs, pressing a kiss onto the naked skin of Bradley’s shoulder. “Ten years…” Jake repeats and Bradley startles a little.

“Yeah. Tenth anniversary. You uh…”

“I remember what I told you… I still have no idea what the hell happened, or if it is even real but I guess we’ll know soon enough.”

“Yeah, I guess we will.”

… … …

He wakes under the weight of Bradley’s arm, his entire body pressed up tight against the line of Jake’s back, including a semi-hard erection and he knows without even opening his eyes that he’s back home, right time and right place, right name and also that while he can’t explain it he’s also not been fucking imagining what happened. He rocks back against Bradley’s cock and feels joy bubbling away through his entire body.

“Mmm… Jake.”

“Morning.”

“Mmm,” Bradley mumbles, snuffling into the back of Jake’s hair and he keeps rocking, can feel the effect it’s having, can feel Bradley beginning to rock back into the friction, seeking it out. Then he’s gone, sharply pulling away, snapping on the bedside light and Jake winces and shades his eyes.

“What the fuck Bradley…”

“Are you…”

“One hundred percent me, back to normal.”

“You’ve never been fucking normal a day in your life…”

Jake laughs.

“Glad to have me back?”

“Yes! Oh my god. So glad. I completely forgot… you let me sleep in! You… how the fuck did you just wake up and not freak the fuck out? I stress cleaned Jake. Our house is fucking spotless.”

“Oh yeah… I remember that. I thought you were putting off having sex with me…”

“That’s what I was stressing out about! You didn’t seem any different!”

“You can have sex with me now. Again… also I was plenty freaked out but I also remember feeling pretty pleased that I had somehow gotten married to you.”

“Oh my god… how… what even...”

“I don’t know. Some things just can’t be explained I guess. Now going to give me my standard welcome home?”

“Jake…”

“Mmm… I fell in love with you over this weekend and then made you fall in love with me.”

“You… so you don’t know what’s going to happen from now?”

“I mean, I have some hopes for the short term…” Jake says, reaching a hand to stroke Bradley’s cock which makes him laugh and settle back against Jake, facing him and circling his hand around both their cocks. “And it’ll be our anniversary soon. Want to go to Hawaii?”

“I guess the future is all ours…”

“Baby, it’s always been ours.”

THE END

#To Wake perchance to Dream #Hangster #Sereshaw #Top Gun maverick fanfiction

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