#also i can’t draw guns for the life of me

[lotus-pear]

11/20

[teeth-draws]

Riel, busting Blade’s door down: Did you send out an official notice equating PDA to TREASON?

Blade, steepling his fingers: Something Had To Be Done

———

The GIF conversation messed with my COLOURS I’m devastated but I didn’t draw it out to do nothing with it… CLICK IF THE IMAGE IS BLURRY!

Disclaimer: I used chat GPT to write the poster and then added bits. I could never in my life come up with the line “PDA is a dagger in the back of your unit” lmao I’m fkn crying

This was meant to be the first picture in a series but ummm idk ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Rising from the dead to doodle my favourite boy from @shepherds-of-haven

[gloomwitchwrites]

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, creampie, multiple positions, rough kissing, vaginal fingering, oral sex, admission of feelings, pretend sex, fake dating/married

Word Count: 6.3k

ao3 // 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.

[mintfullyyours]

Past Lives

SIMON RILEY x READER

summary: the past always finds a way to haunt you

PS: honestly probably shouldn't have been a one chap fic. I had so much more I want to write. Also had to look up this man's bio to get the cannon ages right. I guess also older reader but Si and reader are around the same age. Thank you for reading!!

For your consideration: angtybf!price drabble, Amnesiac!Simon, wallpaper w/simon

tags: tattoo inaccuracies, fluff, angst

“This is dumb.” You giggled, as Simon Riley held his arm out for you.

No one ever said it was a good idea to tattoo your significant other but when you’re both 17 and in love, everything seems like a good idea. That's why you're both sat on the floor of your room with a tattoo gun in hand that Simon pawned off somewhere.

"You want to be an artist." He gestured towards his bicep, "Make some art."

It was a pipe dream -- Become a famous tattoo artist and make enough money to get out of this small town.

“You sure about this?” You ask, leaning forward as the sound of the machine whizzed to life.

“Sure.” Simon shrugs, pulling his sleeve higher up. “Why wouldn’t I be?” He puffs out his chest, “Life is too fucking short to care."

His words caused your cheeks to tint pink. You leaned forward and started permanently etching the key template you two had drawn together. This night marked the first tattoos of many and there wasn’t anyone else you wanted to share this moment with than him.

Smiling at your finished key, Simon lifts his arm examining it with a scrunched face. “I've seen worse.” He purses his lips and you smile, quickly pecking his.

“By the way, have I told you about this thing called chapstick?” You tease, handing over your arm to the table.

Simon scoffs and takes over, drawing onto your skin: a heart-shaped lock.

You watched as he diligently shaded the areas, heart swelling with pride. Simon was everything you could’ve asked for in a partner. He admires his work as he wipes the excess ink and knowing you’re staring, he asks,

“What’s on your mind, love?”

Shaking your head, you give a smile, “Nothing, nothing.”

“It’s something.” He takes cling wrap to protect your new tattoo, just as you had for his own, “Tell me.”

Silence as you rest your arm flat on the table and he does the same, heart and key. Two halves of a whole. It’s not that you were ignoring him, you just didn’t know what to say. 

“Just that you'll always have a piece of me” You smile down at the fresh ink.

“As you for me.” Simon cups your cheek gently guiding you to look up at him. You were weak against his touch, “So what’s wrong?”

A sigh escapes your lips, knowing the truth has to come out eventually. “We can’t keep this up forever, you know? Secret meetings. Midnight getaways. I just… I want to be with you but not like this.”

“Alright. Then tell me.” His thumb brushes away the tear that fell from your cheeks, “What can I do?”

A moment of silence as the truth wracks your brain. “Come with me!” You blurt out, “I’m moving… To the States for Uni. And I––” The thought of getting away from this small town brought comfort to your mind.

“I want you to come with me, Si.”

The blonde pauses for a moment as he lets your request sink in. Leaning forward his lips capture yours in a gentle kiss, you closed your eyes allowing him to take the lead. Far too soon, he separates your lips and presses his forehead against your own. Eyes still closed as you let your lips curve into a smile, you’ve never felt more loved than right here in this moment. 

“Wherever you go, I’ll follow.” He states.

But that was then and this is now.

Two decades and some years later, you found yourself as an owner of a tattoo parlor in Los Angeles. The place was in a neon-lit, upstairs studio. Cozy and intimate. If you looked close enough flecks of Manchester littered the room.

But you could never go back, not after what he did.

In the break room you were putting on a fresh pair of gloves, Javier the cashier knocks on the door with the clientele briefings.

“Just one. Booked the whole day.”

You arch a brow but Javier nods and leaves the room. Taking one last glance into the full-length mirror, glad you chose to work in a tanktop that showcased your tattoo sleeves. Most clients felt at ease knowing you have the experience of being tatted so you wasted no time blending in one piece with another.

Exiting the break room, you look up and come to a complete stop.

He wore a leather jacket, smelled of gun powder and smoke with a black KN95 mask to cover his lips. But you knew this man.

Every fiber of your body knew this man all too well. Teenage lovers that whispered secrets against bare skin. There was something in the air, something electric between two passing bodies.

There was a slight squint in his eyes, you couldn't tell if it was a smile. You couldn't remember the last time he smiled.

The fucking nerve.

He thought he could waltz in here after all this time and what? Think nothing of it?

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” You mumble, turning your heel. “Cancel it. I’m sick.” You emit a fake cough and head back into the break room.

You’d rather be anywhere than here. 

Javier rolls his eyes, “I’ll leave you to close up.” He says, heading out. You stop and weighed your options. You could close. Losing the money was no big deal, especially if it means saving your sanity.

But accidentally stabbing Simon a little too harshly with a tattoo gun also seemed like a good idea.

You chose the latter and make your way over to your ex. He’s watching you, ever vigilant. Your spine straightens ever so slightly. You haven't heard much of his whereabouts since he left for the military but it wasn't pretty.

“Hey.”

“Don’t hey me.” Your hand reaches for his broad shoulder and forcefully pushes him down onto the leather seat. Simon Riley had filled out and by the looks of the ink on his skin, he'd added to his collection of tattoos. Dark black ink covers his once blank canvas.

“Sit.”

He looks shaken, as though the sudden touch and command woke something in him. 

You take the seat across from him, the table dividing you both. Glad the partition was there otherwise you might strangle him yourself, which was still an option. You unpack the tools, feeling his eyes glued to your every movement. Heart pounding in your chest, why did he still make you feel this way? 

“Whatever you have to say, don't.”

“Okay, ” He says, handing over his left arm to rest on the table. He lowers the KN95 mask too. You took a look at him and your breath hitches at the sigh of scars that marred his face.

He was still so beautiful to you.

“Just something simple. Something that says… I’m sorry.”

Your ears burn at his apology. He had no right to bring back feelings from so long ago. So you point at the blank skin, “How about  Idiot instead?”

Simon chuckles deep and your lips slightly tug upwards, you missed that. From his jacket he pulled out a template, it was a complex design that you estimated would take three hours. You rubbed your temples, knowing he did this on purpose. 

“Fine. But no talking. I don’t want to hear a word come out of your mouth.” You state, dipping the gun into the ink cartridge and getting to work. 

Finishing the last touches, both of your arms rested on the table as you shaded in his piece.

He cleared his throat as though to begin a conversation.

“Not a word, Riley.” You warn, gaze locked on his arm. 

“Hear me out.” Simon pleads. 

“No, I––”

“I went to the airport!” He cuts you off. Your eyes snap to his at his admission. 

Simon took your silence as a cue to continue his statement. There was stirring in the pit of your stomach. 

“The day you left for the States. I was there too. I made it so far to the gates but…” His eyes clouded over with a memory so clear in his mind. “Got scared. Fucking scared of uprooting my life and then holding you back from something greater."

Simon sighed, "I joined the military not long after you left."

"Oh so much for not being scared of war torn countries." you quip.

"We have different definitions of fear."

"Clearly."

He had a point but you were stubborn and would be damned to let him change that.

“You wanted this.” He gestures around the parlor. "You needed it."  

“No, I needed you.” You interrupt him. You couldn’t continue to hear how he was so close yet so far away the day you left Manchester. The day you both were supposed to leave. “You didn’t think I was scared? I loved you and the day you stood me up crushed me into a million pieces. Fuck, two decades later and I’m still putting those shattered parts back together.”

The anger bubbled in you as did the pain of having to live a life without him. No rhyme or reason until today. But you also understood how important family was, for both of you. So you weren’t punishing him for not coming but rather for not telling you. 

You sigh with defeat, “What made you think you could make that decision for me, Si?”

“This.”

With his free hand, he gently turns your right arm over to reveal the heart tattoo. Smiling as he lines it up with the key that was on his own. 

Two halves of a whole.

“I know your strength.” He admitted, "A bond like ours, once in a lifetime."

Silence falls between you. Anger was a heavy heart to bear for all these years.

“'m sorry, Love.” Simon leans down to place a kiss on top of your inked heart like it would heal the wounds on your own. Heat built in your core from the simple act of intimacy. 

“I will spend the rest of my life apologizing and making it up to ya.” Your man-child sighs, “You’re right, 'm an idiot. But I love you and will continue to love you if you let me.”

You allow his words to sink in. Love. You loved the man in front of you even after all these years. 

Still, one question remained, “Why now?”

Simon looks at you with the smallest smile, “I've seen a lot of shit. Killed men. Died, m'self. Came back... A ghost." He admits, the words falling freely. "Maybe doing all of that so to make the world a better place for one person who never left my mind."

With that, his hand reaches for the back of your neck as he pulls you into a kiss. You close your eyes and find yourself reacting to him. His tongue slips inside your own as you both battle for dominance. Exploring each other and trying to unravel secrets with such a kiss. He felt like a dream against you, one you never wanted to wake from.

You moan and whimper, realizing how long it had been without his touch. The kiss satisfied every need you had.

The kiss grew urgent, long gone was the gentle embrace. Lips still connected, you moved the portable easel that separated you both, and Simon guided you to straddle his lap. Clumsy, sure. But soon enough your legs secured both sides of his waist and never once did you break. 

He tasted like whiskey and cigarettes. 

Simon leaned back on the chair as his hands roamed underneath your shirt to touch bare skin. His touch felt like fire to your skin. You moaned in his mouth at his touch and ground your hips against his cock, feeling him harden beneath you. He bucks upwards and you relish in the control. 

You felt his fingers reach to pull the hem of your shirt up but placing a hand on his chest, you gently push him back. He groans with protest. You inhale a sharp breath, “I’m not doing this unless you commit to me, to this life. And if you can't, tell me right fucking now because we're both too old for this."

He leans up to press his forehead against yours. It’s his next words that cause your own emptiness to fill fully and wholly with love. 

“Wherever you go, I’ll follow.”

[nijigasakilove]

They took a week off just to come back with this Shishou/Shisui masterclass omg this was brilliantly executed. Both father and daughter are such tragically written characters who were willing to play the villain for the greater good. Tears in my eyes because This can’t be how my Shimao ship goes down man wtf 😭 Shisui deserved to be happy. Yea, Shenmei got her due, but at what cost..

I like how morally grey a lot of the stuff in this series is. Shishou’s a complex character because he did bad shit for a good reason in his heart, but then again he also let Shenmei abuse his own daughter and treat her like a slave for years. His love for Shenmei teetered on unhealthy obsession. Once it became clear Shenmei just cared about status and thought she was too good for him, he should’ve let her go. Easier said than done, but still.

At the same time, he was obviously conflicted between his commitment to his family(mainly wife) and his commitment to the nation. It’s like he set everything up for a final confrontation in the mountains between his family and the nation and whoever came out on top deserved to win, since he couldn’t choose.

Shisui’s part in all of this was incredible. It’s hard to believe this is the same carefree ditz we used to see hanging with Maomao 😢 For the first time in her life, she really got to do what she wanted to and stand up for what she thought was right. Even at the end, she tried giving her mother a chance to make the right choice. She knew she’d take the gun, she knew there was a chance she might pull the trigger, but she hoped her mom for once in her life would do the right thing. She didn’t. Pride was her downfall.

“If only you’d shed a tear, I wouldn’t have had to do all this” literally if Shenmei had just stopped and realized what and who she had with her, none of this would’ve happened. Crazy.

The snow dancing scene was one of the most beautiful in the entire series so far. The fluidity of Shisui’s movements, the haunting OST, the cuts showing the soldiers drawing weapons.. she knew scratching Jinshi’s face would seal her fate, but she accepted it. How ironic is it that in those last few seconds, that’s the freest she’s ever been in life..

Superhero movies and comics have conditioned me to not believe someone’s dead if we don’t see a body and they conventionally don’t pan over the castle, so if Shisui is out there somewhere alive and well and we just don’t see her for years.. I’d be ok with that. As long as she can finally be herself.

Ahhh my full Jinmao reunion next week is gonna be amazing. Maomao definitely saw Jinshi trying to touch her when she was asleep and they have a LOT to talk about now that the cat’s fully out the bag with him being the prince. The next episode title of “the beginning” makes so much sense because it does feel like this was all just the prologue to the real story and Jinshi x Maomao relationship taking the next step! Can’t wait s3 please 🙏🏾

Edit: Rewatched the ending and yea this series commitment to details is crazy because you see the sparkle of the ornament in the bush so you know she survived and dumped it. What a series and what an episode.

[starlikeswomen]

lalalala mic fguy headcanons lalalala

batatatt

most of my battat idea inspo came from scrolling through @systarkitty s account thank u battat master

I imagine he’s always been a little stinker conspiracy theorist… he’s like the only guy who questions the weird shit that goes on

he specifically stuck to the mike thing as his main conspiracy bc tenna would always take it out on him n the other guys when he was grumpy abt mike n that pissssed him awff

I think he’s not so much into gambling but moreso just takes big risks in life (like disguising himself as mike in the first place)

all the other pippins are from the same game but him, Kris accidentally stole him or smthr

also I gave him hair, leave me alone, fuck you

pluey

my fav…

I figure he is not so musically inclined… he is a kitty…….. meow meow meow……

most of the shadow guys don’t understand him so muhh ch he’s ummm more like the kitties in roulx fight BUT

those guys don’t like him either bc he gun and not yarn

little autistic outcast whom I love

jongle

he is cowboy

lalalalala I’ll think of more for him later I can’t get much ideas til I get better at drawing him

[blue-jisungs]

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

[sexiestpodcastcharacter]

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.

[gyuswhore]

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

[a-writing-otter]

This is a little something I wrote for @a-scary-lack-of-common-sense ‘s Kook Ford AU. Sorry that it’s not actually Ford, but the post about what Fiddleford and Stanley were doing kind of ate at me for a bit until I blacked out and this was on my screen.

Go check out his AU art, it’s absolutely delightful. Honestly, thanks for inspiring me with this to write anything. It’s been a minute. Thanks for your killer AU, I hope I did it justice. Enjoy!

It’s well after five in the morning. Tate, Soos, and the twins are all asleep. Fiddleford is standing on one side of the kitchen, glaring at Stan who is looking through the cabinets of this old ghost of a house with something intent on his face, pointedly not looking at Fiddleford.

“I’m sure it’s around here somewhere. God knows I wouldn’t drink that swill, ha!”

Fiddleford says nothing. Stanley looks at him, then winces, and looks away.

“C’mon, Fidds, you can’t be that mad.”

“Can’t I?” Fiddleford reaches a hand up and then pushes his goggles to the top of his head to pinch at the bridge of his nose. “Let’s count it out, shall we? Y’turned on that portal after your brother and I told you not to; you endangered the lives of your niece and nephew, your supposed heir, and, apparently, my son; you faked your death; you abandoned your brother; you took my name; and you run a leg of the mafia. Am I forgetting anything else?!”

“Hey! I saved your life!”

“You almost killed everyone in this—!” Fiddleford stops at the sound of shuffling from upstairs. He clears his throat, exhales a breath, and tries again, quieter.

“You almost got everyone in this damned town killed. And for what? This ain’t Casablanca.”

Stan turns sharp eyes on him.

“Don’t,” he says pointedly at him. “I didn’t—“ Stan fists a hand and thumps it against the wall beside the cabinet he’s still searching through, though not nearly loud enough to let out the frustration Fiddleford can see building up in him.

“You’re right,” Stan says, measured. “You are also… the only one that can fix this. I tried. I tried real hard, Fidds. There ain’t nothing I can do. No money, no power…”

“That’s why you brought me back. To clean up your mess,” Fiddleford sneers.

“No. To save Ford.”

Fiddleford goes quiet and his mouth draws into a line.

“You said he went crazy after I left,” Fiddleford says slowly. “That he— With the memory gun and—“

Stan looks up the stairs and finally gives up his pursuit and comes in close to Fiddleford. His words are quiet and low.

“Ford… After you went through, he got a little skrewy. He got… agitated and scared. He was convinced that Bill was comin’ after him after everything with the portal.”

“Yes, well, if I do remember, my last words were ‘oh god, Bill’ before I disappeared into another dimension.”

“Yeah. Thanks for that, by the way.”

“You’re going to blame me? You’re seriously going to blame me? Who in the hell’s fault was it that that portal even turned on?”

Stan winces and then rubs a hand over his face.

“I know, I know, I know. It’s mine. It’s all my fault. Everything in this godforsaken—!”

Stan reels it back and forces another breath out his nose. All things considered, Fiddleford is rather impressed how well Stanley is handling his temper. He was never the kind of lash out, but certainly the kind of get loud. Fiddleford shakes his head, walks away from Stan, and goes over to the cabinet just above the fridge. The robotic wrist extends out to grab the extra few inches he needs to open the cabinet. From there, he can open the door and then pull out a crystal clear mason jar. Pulling it down, he struggles with it for a second. Stan holds a hand out and Fiddleford meets his eyes fiercely before something in his robotic wrist clicks and the seal pops. He keeps looking at Stan as he takes a swig.

“Does that taste good?” Stan asks, disbelieving. Fiddleford is trying not to gag.

“Like vinegar. Better than nothing though.” After a second, he holds it out towards Stan who shakes his head. “Y’always were a wuss, city boy.”

Stan’s lips twitch slightly.

“Not all of us were kitted out to be hicks.”

They lapse into silence again and Fiddleford leans into the counter as he continues to nurse the jar of moonshine like it’s some kind of fine wine—after the swill he’s had these thirty years, he’s happy to have this, vinegar or not.

“What happened next?” Fiddleford finally asks, looking at Stanley. “What happened to Ford, why does my son call you my name, why are you a mob boss?”

Stan takes a deep breath in.

“That’s where it gets a little… eh, complicated. Ford and I got into an argument about him refusing to boot the portal back up. I told him if he was going to leave his best friend to die, he should consider me dead too. And I, uh,” Stan pauses for a second, expression haunted, “I don’t think I’m never gonna regret that. I got in the car, I left. Decided to tell your wife and kid something, didn’t know what. It, uh, went… Well, I—“

He looks at Fiddleford and holds his hands out like an offering, expression sheepish.

“I don’t know, Fidds, it happened so fast. I was— I was convinced that you wouldn’t want them to be left alone and I— I mean they missed you, so—“

“Did you wipe their memories to make them think you were me?!” He hisses out. Fiddleford doesn’t really believe a word of what he himself is saying, but it gets louder and almost desperate when Stan nods his head.

“You stole my identity?!”

“You were gone! Or dead! I didn’t know! I didn’t know how long it’d take to get you back! I just thought, well, you know… I’d look after them, make sure they were okay, and then when we got you back, everything would be great!”

“Stanley Pines, you’re insane!”

“Uh, yeah. Yeah, yeah, yeah. Apparently, it’s a family trait.”

Stan is running his hands through his hair over and over again to the point it’s sticking up in every direction. It takes more effort than Fiddleford cares to admit not to reach out and smooth it out.

…he almost misses the mullet.

Fiddleford shakes his head—no, no, he doesn’t. There’s nothing about this bastard that he misses.

“So, what? You convinced my family that you were me and then just left Stanford?”

“Well, no. I, uh, went back to Gravity Falls, figured that he’d had some time to think, so we’d team up, figure out what to do, all that good stuff. Your family managed that long without you, figured a little longer would be—” A pause. “Except he wasn’t himself anymore when I came back. I—“

Stanley slumps down into the chair, elbows on his knees and head in his hands.

“I didn’t know what happened. I came back and he started howlin’ about ghosts. His head was bleeding and there was metal in there and he had—“ Fiddleford sees Stanley shudder from head to toe. “Fidds, he had no idea who I was. I tried to jog his memory, you know, I’m his brother? Twin? Stanley? And then he started wailin’ about his dead brother. Shook me off to crawl over to a phone that wasn’t even plugged into the wall, talkin’ to no one, wouldn’t even look at me. I— I was a coward, Fidds. I couldn’t stay, didn’t know what to do for him, so I just— I left. I faked the death of Stanley Pines he thought was real and put the whole thing behind me.

“Only problem is that my life as ‘Fiddleford McGucket’ wasn’t exactly charmed. Couldn’t wipe Em’s mind of you bein’ gone for four years and she was real pissed. Then, of course, I couldn’t work a computer for the life of me. So, uh, Em left me, took Tate, and… and it was just me. Alone. In Palo Alto. No brother, no…” he hesitates for a second before pushing on, “you, no your family to look after. Everything I’d done, I’d kind of come up empty on.

“So, I, uh, did what I was good at. Clawing my way out of bad situations. I’m real good at lying, you know. Pretty damn good. And you had some real amazing equipment still at your house. Some tongue-in-cheek lies, some bravado, some promises I threatened others to keep, and I—“

“You used my technology to bribe your way into the mob?” Fiddleford groans. “You couldn’t even replicate my stuff!”

“You’re right! Tech? Computers? Screw that! But I’m great at making connections with people who know people. And, uh, when the connections ran out, I made other connections. And, eventually, with enough time and connections and power, I—“

“Became the head of the mob?”

“I mean, that’s a bit of an over-exaggeration, but, eh, more or less. Was able to keep the house, keep myself afloat, even made sure I could be ‘round Tate’s life.”

“You exposed my son to the mob?!” Fiddleford takes a step forward that Stan reels back from as much as he can while seated.

“I kept him safe! Look, he and Em were always safe, I made sure of that!”

“Okay. Great. Wonderful.” Fiddleford takes another two gulps of moonshine and, again, tries not to gag. “You put my family at risk, you abandoned my best friend. How the hell did you end up back here?”

It gets quiet again and Stan goes from looking like that cocky bastard who believes his own lies to that scared kid who got caught telling a lie.

“It was Tate,” he starts. “He was stayin’ with me, sleepin’ real tight in bed before he came in to get me. It was nightmares for a bit, nothing out of the ordinary for a ten year-old. But they kept happening over and over and— And finally, I ask him to tell his old man what’s eating him. …and he says there’s been something coming to him in his dreams. That a man who looks like me with yellow eyes and so many teeth keeps talking to him, trying to tell him he needs to come to Gravity Falls. I— I don’t know. I tried to convince myself it was a coincidence, that he’d seen something on TV. You know kids and their imaginations, right?”

Fiddleford just stares at Stan.

“But he was shoutin’ one night, went to go check in on him and— And he said my name, clear as day. Said Ford’s name too and I— knew I couldn’t stay away.”

Stan folds his arms over his chest. Fiddleford’s eyes are drawn to the way that the tattoos bulge slightly when he does. He’s not the starved vagabond he once knew. All things considered, he looks healthy. Well, healthier.

“Came up here, came to the house. I expected to find Ford, but… he wasn’t ‘round. Looked high and low for him ‘til the dame at the diner told me about the ‘Crazy Kook Ford’.”

“…Crazy Kook Ford?” Fiddleford presses, jaw dropping. “You left your brother to— to be a crazy old townie?”

“Not like I didn’t try to bring him inside! Geez, I’ve had better luck taming seagulls and those things are nasty. But, no. No matter how much reasonin’, how much cajolin’, I couldn’t get him to talk to me or recognize me. He’ll talk anyone’s ear off if given the time, but me? He avoids me like the plague.”

Then Stan shrugs.

“Couldn’t leave him again, though. Came up here, kept up my work long-distance and brought some of it here. Small towns like Gravity Falls are happy to take in someone who can keep it afloat and prosperous. And I knew that, if anyone was going to get Ford back to one-hundo, it was going to be you. So I tried to rebuild the damned portal. It, uh, took longer than I would have liked.”

Thirty years is a helluva long time, Fiddleford has to admit.

“What do you want me to do?” Fiddleford finally asks. “I mean, you got me here, sure, but I don’t know damn about neuroscience and memory. Well, other than how to scramble it. That’s all frequencies and brainwaves and hypnotism. I can’t put memories back, that’s a lot more complicated.”

“You’re not even gonna try?” Stan demands and Fiddleford throws his hands up.

“I didn’t— Christ Jesus, Stanley, I didn’t say that! Just— This ain’t gonna be easy. This is gonna take time. Might be years.”

“…we don’t have that kind of time.”

Fiddleford snorts.

“Look, I know you’re not keen on Stanford spending his golden years as a drooling, crazy, old man, but—“

“He’s got Bill in his head.”

Fiddleford stops at that. Blinks. Shakes his head a little.

“Come again?”

“I mean that Bill Cipher, that rat bastard is still inside of Ford’s head. He takes him over in spurts, does all kind of crazy shit. I think that when Ford put that metal plate in and did whatever to his head to wipe the memories, he ended up trapping Bill in there.”

“We might not have a choice than to keep him like that,” Fiddleford says, slowly. “Look, I know, I know, that’s not ideal, but Bill—“

“Is using him to create a tear in the universe.”

Ah.

Right.

Of course.

Because Fiddleford couldn’t escape one point of insanity without landing in another.

He sets the moonshine down and puts his head into his hands.

“So you’re telling me, Lee, that Bill Cipher is inside of your brother’s mind and he’s taking him over to try and take over the universe again.”

He hears Stan suck air from between his teeth.

“That’s about it.”

Silence settles in the room and Fiddleford leans his head back into one of the cabinets. He’d spent years trying to escape Bill Cipher and the monsters that he kept company with. All things considered, he wishes he’d known about Bill being trapped on this plane. …beggars can’t be choosers, though, right?

“Give me two hours to sleep, a pot of coffee, and time alone in the basement. Don’t know where to start, but I’ll figure it out.”

A smile cracks across Stan’s face and it does something to Fiddleford’s chest that makes him have to grit his teeth and look away. He seizes up when Stan grabs his shoulders before immediately shaking him off.

“You’re amazing, Fidds, I can’t thank—“

“Don’t,” Fiddleford says firmly. “This don’t mean nothing. I’m not doing this for you. After this is figured out, frankly, I don’t want to see you again. I want my life back, I want my name back, and then I don’t want to breathe the same air as you ever again, y’get me?”

He’s seen kicked puppies look less pathetic. Once upon a time, he’d have raced to soothe the burn, but there’s thirty years of rage that’s only growing hotter as they stand there in the kitchen.

Stan balls his hands into fists, pulls them back down his side and looks away.

“Right. You got it, McGucket. I’ll, uh, let you to it.”

Fiddleford doesn’t spare another look to Stanley as he pushes past him and towards the stairs, remembering where Stanford’s old room used to be. He passes by a mirror and winces at his own reflection. Lifting a hand to his head, he pulls the goggles back on and winces at the old, weathered man staring back at him. He hasn’t had a proper look at himself in god knows how long. The wrinkles are plenty, his hair is white save the few strands of blond that try to peek through. It’s a miracle, he supposes, that he still has hair. He’s tired and he looks it.

“No rest for the wicked,” Fiddleford sighs before ducking into the bedroom to try and catch some shut-eye before attempting to fix yet another of the Pines’ messes.

[diorgirl444]

you’ve got mail or a dallas winston x reader prison penpal au…

warnings: bad writing?, um swearing i guess, fem! reader, set after the events of the novel, brief mentions of period typical prison violence, 3.1k words <3

also if people like this au i’d be happy to write more drabbles for it if they wanna send requests in!

to be completely honest dallas winston has no idea why he signs up for the penpal program in the first place.

he knows why the other men do - “hope to get a pretty thing who sends me real nice pictures” “yeah bet she’ll be a real betty” and he nods and guffaws like the rest of them but the real reason is a lot harder to think about.

he tells himself that it’s the boredom which is partially true. he isn’t the kind who thrives of the dull monotony of prison life the way some men do. knowing what’s about to happen everyday makes him feel strangled, makes him feel suffocated and like a cog in this endless machine of the corrupt federal system of Oklahoma.

but in the smallest part of him, the part that nobody will ever see or hear from he thinks the reason might be a bit simpler. that he just wants to remember that there are nice things out there. way, way out there. things that feel pink and golden and light the way ponyboy said there was. things like cinemas and banana splits and the cool silk of girls underwear and cigarettes that you don’t have to loose part of yourself to get. it’s not his first time in a prison, hell he attends prisons the way most people attend schools but now johnny’s gone it certainly feels like his longest sentence.

so he goes to the stupid meeting, walks along the corridor to with an officer and a gun at his heels and sits down at the scratched desk that feels altogether too small for his body. glancing around the room he’s struck by all the different sorts of men sat there: tall men, short men, old men, young men, innocent men, guilty men and he wonders where that puts him. what draws all these men together though is the hope - he can see it glinting in their hollow eyes,desperate, hungry hope.

the kind of hope you’d kill for.

the officer at the front rattles off rules though it’s clear he’s rather be anywhere else

1. no asking incriminating things like names or locations

2. no asking for things like pictures or cigarettes. if the person chooses to send it to you it’s different but you can’t ask for it

3. no using it to contact any gang friends

and that’s it, with the strict reminder that every letter is examined before being sent.

in that all too small desk he writes:

hi you,

if you’s one of those freaks writing hoping to get to talk to a real sicko you’re about to be real disappointed. mine was a real simple issue with the fucking asshole sorry we’re not supposed to say stuff like that. what i mean is i’m in here because of a little falling out with the cops. so yeah don’t be sending me vials of your blood or any witchy crap like that because i don’t want it. a pack of kools wouldn’t go remissed if you’s offering though.

i kinda wonder if we ever met before i was locked up but i doubt it. most people i know either already know someone locked up that is if they haven’t been in the jailhouse themselves so they probably wouldn’t be writing to some inmate. nah my guess is your some bleeding heart beatnik who wants to know what’s really going on behind the bars. good old commie bs. still i’d like to hear from you, don’t let my words fool you. i may be an ass but i’m a bored one so i’ll pretty much take anything.

anyways i think i’m supposed to tell you about myself or something like that so i guess i’ll do that. i like the band the monkees, paul newman because he just gets it, dairy queen sundaes, mustangs and the smell of cheap beer. christ how i miss ice cold beer, you don’t know what it’s like only get stale water and moulding milk with every meal. i’m telling you go and crack a beer open right now, one for me. also in your letter back to me tell me what stuff you like. and if you’re a guy or a girl… can’t blame a guy for wanting to know that.

thanks,

inmate 4175

he can’t lie he’s curious and strangely excited to hear from his penpal. some guys he knows have already got there’s and yeah it’s pretty infuriating the way they brag and preen about there’s. it’s even more infuriating the way his stomach sinks at breakfast every morning when there’s nothing on his bench.

but then on a rainy friday morning, he gets his letter. he wants to save it till he’s alone but patience has never been his strong suit and so he tears into reminiscent of the way a wolf hungrily tears through flesh.

dear inmate 4157,

glad to report that i have no evil powers that you need to be on the look-out for nor sick fascination of criminals (i could barely get through psycho) and most mention of any gore has me hiding my face in my hands. which now that i think about it probably isn’t the best thing to tell a criminal… but then again i don’t wanna think of you as a criminal which is silly i know but criminal is such a nasty word. it makes it sound like you did something completely wrong which i’m certain for most cases i simply isn’t that cut and dry. does that make me naive? maybe but i don’t mind.

and ouch bleeding heart beatnik that was kinda mean don’t you think? whilst i wouldn’t consider myself a beatnik, i like the colour pink too much to dedicate myself to that lifestyle, i don’t think there’s anything wrong with having empathy! that was part of the reason when i saw the flyer about the program i couldn’t help but sign up. it sounds kinda strange but i thought i could kinda connect with you. i like my life i do but it’s very ‘samey’ i talk to the same girls everyday, we all have the same opinions on things, we all go out with the same boys and are all planning on going to the same colleges as our parents. which is nice i mean i’m lucky, far luckier than most in fact but i can’t help feeling dissatisfied. the one girl i know who did break out of the box now refuses to talk about it and acts us if last year didn’t happen. secretly i’m jealous i wish i was as brave as her.

j guess this is me breaking out / rebelling in my own way, in my bedroom lit by candles writing a letter to convict which i suppose will do for now. maybe if we meet when you get out you’ll like teach me how to rob a store or something (joking!!!) and sorry i don’t fancy a beer! anyways i got side tracked from what the actual letter was supposed to be about so to answer your questions i’m a girl if that wasn’t obvious enough already and to answer whatever question you might be wondering next - no i won’t send you any pictures. but for likes, my favourite band is the beach boys (don’t laugh even though i bet you want to), audrey hepburn because she just gets it!!!!, vanilla milkshakes, peonies and the smell of the ground after it rains. i’ll stop it here though because my letter has turned out so much longer then yours so sorry about that.

bye for now,

a friend <3

the letter is - the letter is so nice which he knows sounds ridiculous but it’s true. there’s hardly anything nice in his life right now but this is truly nice. he can imagine the sort of girl that would write a letter like that, pretty and sweet and clever. the exact kind of girls who would never so much as look at him on the outside let alone talk to him and instead here she is spilling her guts out. he reads it over and over tucking into against his undershirt so that nobody else can read it. then he sets to work writing his response.

dear a friend,

is that what we’re calling each other now? pals are we? i’d tell you that’s pretty dumb of you but you’ve made it pretty clear that you’re aware so i guess it’s alright. you probably need someone to take care of you, one day someone’s gonna try and take advantage of that thing you call optimism. so just be on your guard okay? but and even though it’s the same kinda thing it did make me smile to read that you don’t think criminal means fully guilty or whatever. not many people look at it like that, the jury certainly didn’t.

on the whole your life being “samey” thing i would tell you to embrace it, that at least it sounds like you’re well provided for and looked after. the truth is though reading what you said about it makes me not think that at all. because what kinda life is it if it’s living you and not the other way. my life was the opposite of that, it was wild and chaotic but it was mine. you should do something wild, doesn’t have to be big like stealing from a store (might hold you to that offer) but you should do something. i dare you to do something and then you have to write and tell me what it was. i’m living through you right now after all.

and yeah i think i worked out that you were a girl the second you started your letter with dear. that’s a dead giveaway. anyways wasn’t gonna ask for pictures, i can already tell you’re pretty just from the things you say you like. the beach boys might need a rethink if you ask me. i mean you got the beatles and the rolling stones and you choose some guys with stupid soc haircuts and striped shorts who sing about going surfing and cars…. i’d sort that if i were you. peonies were something i’d never heard of before your letter so i visited the library here, my first time ever going in that dusty old building, and i asked the guy what they were. he just threw this yellowing book on the table in front of me and said “picture in there”. i learnt that they’re those fluffy ones that grow on big bushes. i’d seen them before. i used to pass pink ones growing in front of this masisve old white house on the nice side of town. never saw the people inside it which is good because they were probably they were probably a bunch of preppies too scared to even look at a greaser. but i mean part of me wonders if we weren’t writing to each other would you even look at me? ignore me, being in prison so long has got me overthinking stuff.

bye,

inmate 4175

which begins the friendly correspondence of dallas winston and his mystery girl. what’s great about writing to her is there’s no societal pressures, though he’s gathered she’s a soc, or worries about matching how people think guys like dallas winston should act. they talk about anything and everything and he hoards whatever he learns about her like its the most valuable jewel.

“grandiose gestures are so wonderful, i think if you were out i’d be you a bouquet of cigarettes. how’d you like that inmate 4157?”

“i think things are getting better on the outside. still your lot had a right to be angry considering the way my lot screwed them over”

“i want, no i beg even for you to give the beach boys another try. don’t worry baby is the most gorgeous song in the entire world”

and she sends things too, sweetheart that she is, packs of cigarettes, those caramels that old women keep in pockets, polaroids of her dog françoise and posters of movies that he’s mentioned liking tied up with pretty pink ribbon. he thinks johnny would of liked her, yeah johnny would of liked little miss optimism that’s for sure. every letter from her is carefully tucked away from his bunk mate and though the guys tease him, he’ll never let them read her words. the only person he tells about her properly is ponyboy when he visits.

“no i don’t think you understand kid if this girl is even half as pretty as a box of matchsticks i’d be crazy not to turn my life around and marry her in some dinky chapel out west” he whispers passionately to ponyboy one one of his visits, glancing around to make sure no one head such a soft statement and anxiously running his hands through his cropped too short hair.

ponyboy just grins, bemused at how these letters has reduced his friend to a different man altogether. “must be a pretty special girl then” he drawls knowingly.

but the letters continue, sweet as anything and then she asks something especially wonderful.

dear inmate 4157,

this isn’t my best letter. i haven’t got anything special to tell you about but i wanted to write because the truth is i’ve grown to love writing to you more than nearly anything else. you are the rebellion in my life, i hope you don’t mind and i hope you understand. most of friends don’t, they think i must be crazy to write to some greaser convict. my father kinda think your okay though so i guess that’s kinda good. anyways i’m getting sidetracked. the real reason i’m writing now is because i wondered if i could come visit you?

it’s okay if not but i desperately want to. to see you, to hear your voice, maybe take your hand if that’s allowed. i’ve imagined it all lots but i can never get it right in my head. i mean how can you imagine someone who you’ve never met but seem to know more intimately then anyone else. i hope you feel the same, i hope you aren’t dreadfully disappointed by what you see. i’ve been more hopeful then i ought to be about something that i don’t want to have to write. i want to say it to you face to face. i hope that’s okay.

yours,

your dear friend <3

it’s right at the end and beside it there a few scribbled out words as if she overthought it again and again before finally settling on asking. his letter back is short, he wants it sent as quick as possible. and to her question it says “yes”

he awaits that visit with ther nerves of a schoolboy awaiting a test, pacing his cell, splashing cool water on his face and making sure the dull grey of his jumpsuit is unbuttoned just enough to see his vest and st christopher. the bang of the guard’s truncheon against the metal of his cell bars breaks him out of it.

“out you go winston” grunts the man as dallas is carted along the corridor like cattle but all is forgotten when he sees her sat at his table.

he knew she’d be pretty but christ.

she looks too good to be sat there, her floral dress splayed out prettily as she sits, hands nervously clasping at the fabric and her hair framing her face like a dream. her expression softens into a surprises smile when she sees him sit opposite.

“dallas winston” she says quietly and his own eyes widen.

“you know who i am? thought i was supposed to tell you that angel” he says in quiet disbelief.

she laughs softly, idly wonders if he could tuck the sound beside her letter in his vest.

“oh no it’s just that everyone in tulsa knew you. i didn’t realise it was you i was writing to. goodness i probably bored you half to death with all my ramblings about flowers and whatever else i was blabbering about” she says chewing on her lip, shy expression on her features but he just shakes his head.

“nah doll i liked hearing about your world, the things that mattered to you. all flowers and shit” and he means it, desperately but even if he didn’t it’d be worth it to see the way her face lights up. she introduces herself, and “isn’t that funny?” he thinks. that to know someone the way he knows her and yet to not even know her name.

then she’s looking at him again, eyes wide and hopeful before speaking and her hands now toy with a silver locket at her neck “well that’s - um - that’s good. the thing that i wanted to talk to you about - well the thing i was hopeful about - about you was that maybe um - i could write to you not just as friend. if you feel the same that is…”

a grin cracks across his face. there she is - the girl he’s had countless foolish dreams of, the girl who’s letters he’s cradled like precious gold and who knows more about him then he probably knows about himself - sat before him with a shy little smile on her face asking if they could go steady.

he’s an asshole though and so he can’t help but tease her ever so slightly “nah don’t think that’s gonna work doll” and yeah he gets a confidence kick from the way her features fall as if the thought of him not wanting her is upsetting, as if he ain’t lucky just to breathe in her perfume (something sweet and floral - he hopes she’ll spray some on his next letter for him). quickly he glances at the guards which since they’re not looking he leans over and tilts her chin up to meet his gaze.

“ah cool it duchess it’s only not gonna work cause i get out on account of good behaviour next month. just making sure that you know i’d want you to be my girl when we’re both on the outside too…”

he decides it was worth it to tease her if only to see the way her smile returns, bright as sunlight and twice as warming.

“yeah i’d like that dallas” she says softly just as the guard calls visiting time over.

and as he’s walking back to his cell he thinks ponyboy might be right, there are nice things out there…

hope you like it! xoxo, flo <3

[keehoes]

୨୧

--------- 𒂭 ℜ𝔬𝔪𝔢𝔬 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔍𝔲𝔩𝔦𝔢𝔱 𒂭 ---------

𝒜𝒸𝓉 𝐼

ᴀ ꜱᴘɪɴ ᴏɴ ᴛʜᴇ 1996 ʀᴏᴍᴇᴏ ᴀɴᴅ ᴊᴜʟɪᴇᴛ

𒂭1996 ʀᴏᴍᴇᴏ! ʀɪᴋɪ ɴɪꜱʜᴀᴍᴜʀᴀ 𝔵 1996 ᴊᴜʟɪᴇᴛ! ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

𒂭 ꜱʏɴᴏᴘꜱɪꜱ- "Two households, both alike in dignity, In fair Verona, where we lay our scene, From ancient grudge break to new mutiny, Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean. From forth the fatal loins of these two foes. A pair of star-cross'd lovers take their life; Whose misadventured piteous overthrows Do with their death bury their parents' strife. The fearful passage of their death-mark'd love, And the continuance of their parents' rage, Which, but their children's end, nought could remove, Is now the two hours' traffic of our stage; The which if you with patient ears attend, What here shall miss, our toil shall strive to mend."

𒂭 ꜰɪᴄ ɴᴏᴛᴇꜱ- major character death (come on, it's Romeo and Juliet), slight suggestiveness (insinuating), lovesick Niki, written in the modern English language, mentions of Catholic ideology and symbols, depictions of drug use (ecstasy)

𒂭 ᴀᴜᴛʜᴏʀ'ꜱ ɴᴏᴛᴇꜱ-this piece of writing is a recreation of the 1996 Romeo and Juliet with Clare Danes and Leo DiCaprio. I immediately thought of Niki for some odd reason when I was watching this. SO I decided to write a fic. I will be following the plot of the movie and the book. I'm mostly taking inspiration from the movie, so most of the plot is not technically mine, but all writing is mine. ALSO IF YOU WANNA GET HYPED FOR THIS FIC WITH ME THE MOVIE IS ON HULU

𒂭ᴄʀᴇᴅɪᴛꜱ- William Shakespeare wrote the book. Baz Luhrmann created the plot for the movie. Some quotes are from the movie. It's a mix of old and new English when I felt it sounded best. Watching the movie and reading the book might contribute to how much you comprehend this.

𒂭tags- @sofiafromvenus @highway-143 @nishimurarikisthings

--------- 𒂭 ℜ𝔬𝔪𝔢𝔬 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔍𝔲𝔩𝔦𝔢𝔱 𒂭 ---------

“A dog from the house of Capulet moves me!”

Jungwon and Sunoo cackle as Jay continues driving down the highway, screeching into the gas station. “Any man or woman from that god-forsaken house can’t escape my hands,” Jungwon exclaimed, hopping out to pump the car with gas. “The feud is between our fathers and uncles,” Jay gets out of the car, already sick of where this conversation was heading. “And we are among their men!” Jungwon finished. Jay rolled his eyes and continued to the bathroom. 

Jungwon and Sunoo continue their passionate discussion. A car door slams open, but neither boy looks up. Three Capulets step out, one of whom is Sunghoon, and all head into the gas station. Neither party notices the other.  

“Honestly, we should just brawl it out, prove that we are the Great Montague house through violence!”  Jungwon declared. “Yeah! They’d never see it coming! We come in the night, kill the men, make the women watch, then behead them!” Sunoo entertained. 3 girls passed by the boys as they turned up the music and whistled at them. The girls rolled their eyes and continued into the car that was next to the boy's convertible. The girl's car pulls away, revealing 2 Capulets behind it. 

“Oh, for god's sake…” Jungwon’s face paled. The 2 Capulets only smirked at the 2 boys' fear. Sunoo swallowed, pulling his gun out. “If we fight now, I will back you.” “Wait! Let’s let them make the first move!” commanded Jungwon. Sunoo only nodded while stepping back slightly. 

BAM!

The 2 boys jump as someone slams the hood of their car down. The 2 Capulets laugh as they mock the boys before getting into the car. Sunghoon steps out of the gas station and glances at Jungwon and Sunoo, and only sneers as he continues to get into the car. Jungwon was quick to flip them off as they sped away, but at a stroke of bad luck, the car screeched to a stop, and one of the men stepped out. 

“Did you just flip us off, sir?”

Sunoo places his hand on the gun as he gets ready to draw it out at any sign of threat. 

“Y-Yes, I did flip my finger…sir” replies Jungwon shakily.

“I said, did you flip US off, sir” 

Jungwon hastily turned to Sunoo and whispered, “Are the odds in our favor if I reply with yes?” Sunoo quickly shook his head “No, Jungwon!” Jungwon turned back to the Capulet, “No I did not flip you off, sir!” 

In a stroke of boldness Jungwon looked the Capulet in the eyes. “Do you wish to fight?” he stuttered. The Capulet only smiled and replied with “Why, of course not, sir.” Sunoo decided to play along with Jungwon, “If you do decide to fight, we will be just as good as you” this comment caused the Capulet’s smile to deepen “But no better?” he whispered. Sunoo quivered slightly, trapped with the question “Well..” Just then, Jay exited the bathroom, giving the two boys courage to continue egging the Capulets on. “Quick! Say you fight better! Jay’s coming.” 

“Ay! We fight far better!”

The Capulet's face turned from his smirk to a face of pure anger, “You lie!” he yelled, enraged. Jay, watched in horror at the men. “Fine then! Draw your weapons if you truly think you are better! Go on, be a man!”

All four men drew their guns and pointed at each other. “Are you all idiots? Do you not have an idea of what you are starting? Put away your guns if you are all truly men!” Jay screamed. Someone’s gun cocks, as Sunghoon steps out from the car, aiming directly at Jay’s head from behind. “Why Jay, wasting your time on mere servants? Turn around and see who will kill you.” 

Jay turned his head slowly, “Sunghoon, I am only keeping the peace” 

“Peace? Please, I hate that word. Especially coming from a Montagues mouth.” he sneered. 

Suddenly, something flew past Sunghoon’s head, causing him to quickly shoot towards whoever his attacker was, sending a bullet his way. A child had merely shot a toy gun from a car, but the bullet that Sunghoon shot had caused Jay to fall back and accidentally fire his gun towards Sunghoon to which Sunghoon responded with a bullet nearly 3 centimeters from Jay’s head. 

People of Verona had run for cover, as the two kinds fought in the middle of the street. Bullets whizzing, nearly missing each other, explosions from the gas tanks as the lead hit them. The commotion from the brawl was intense, as Lord Montague pulled up to the scene, with his wife. Lord Capulet reached for his gun, ready to intervene, but his wife only restrained him. 

Sunghoon had Jay in a compromising position, with Jay on the ground and Sunghoon standing above him. “Look upon your death, Jay” exclaimed Sunghoon as he readied his pistol. As he was about to pull the trigger, a blinding light and whirring sound from above.

“Rebels! Put down your weapons and come to peace!” 

Sunghoon looked up, and a police helicopter was above. 

“Put. down. your. weapons.”

𒂭

Lord Montague and Lord Capulet sat in the police captain's office, with Jay, Jungwon, and Sunoo standing behind Lord Montague and Sunhoon standing behind Lord Capulet.

“Three times have you men disturbed the peace of Verona! I suggest you get this Quarrel under control.” cried out. “Sir.. I can assure-” started Lord Capulet’s lawyer, but the captain would not have it.

“If there is one more brawl in the streets of Verona… you have no choice but to pay with your lives.” 

Silence overcame the room.

𒂭

Jesus overlooked the city of Verona, as Lord Montague’s limousine pulled up to the beach at dawn the next day. Jay says awkwardly in his uncle’s limo. 

“Oh, where is my son Riki? Have you seen him today? I’m just happy he wasn’t around for this fight” Lady Montague sighs. 

“I saw your son at the beach, ma’am earlier this morning” Jay stutters. 

She only sighed again, “I figured. He’s been there, crying a river. He doesn’t even let light in his own room anymore. He’s created his own artificial night! We haven’t a clue what’s got him so wayward like this. Jay, why don’t you talk to him?” Jay hadn’t even noticed that they had pulled up to the beach that Riki was spotted at, waves crashing in the distance as the sun came up. Jay could make out a shape around the old ruins of a building. Jay sighed as he stepped out of the limo.

𒂭

“Love is a smoke made with the fume of sighs; Being purged, a fire sparkling in lovers' eyes;  Being vexed, a sea nourished with lovers' tears. What else is it?  A madness most discreet, A choking gall and a preserving sweet.”

Riki sighed to himself, puffing on his cigarette, his own heartbreak keeping him company. Jay approached haphazardly as he watched Riki right in his pocket notebook. 

“Good morning, cuz” Jay sheepishly smiled at the 19-year-old. Riki turned his head slightly to look at his cousin, then looked back out onto the ocean. “Hm.. is it that early in the day?” he said. Jay immediately noticed his tear-stricken face and red eyes. Just then a car screeched off causing both boys to look towards the vehicle. 

“Oh god… was that my father?”

Jay only turned towards Riki as he smiled guilty and nodded. “What made you so down this early in the day?” Jay joked slightly. “Not having what makes my days seem so short.”

Jay nodded knowingly. “In love with a girl?” Riki only sighed hopelessly. “On the contrary cuz, out of love. With my only true love, Rosaline. Alas, I love her, but she does not reciprocate my love. A nun! Can you believe it?” With that, Riki turned to get a good look at Jay, furrowing his eyebrows as he noticed the evidence left by yesterday's fight. 

“What brawl has gone on!” he exclaimed. Jay was quick to reply but Riki only cut him off. “Nevermind! I already know. Let’s just go.” Riki angrily walked toward the boardwalk, soon coming to a halt in front of his car. Jay, deciding to change the subject, continued about Rosaline, “Just forget her cuz, you will find love sooner or later. Look upon other beautiful girls!” 

“It’s not that easy Jay.” With that, Riki started off in his car, and Jay quickly hopped in.

𒂭

Mark sat in Lord Capulet’s office. “Alas! My child is unknown to this world! She is a beauty, but has no care to be wed! Let her grow into a woman with obligations for the next few summers before we discuss a wedding between you two.” Capulet decides. Mark, ever so insistent, decides to press the matter, “Young women such as she, are made to be happy mothers of course!” At this, Capulet ponders for a moment. “I suppose, it won’t hurt if you court her. You have my blessing young man. But be careful with her Mark, one wrong move and I’m afraid you have no chance. Peculiar girl she is…” Mark only nodded, smiling empathetically. Capulet started out the door but not before placing a hand on Mark’s shoulder, 

“Tonight is my annual party, I hope to see you there.”

𒂭

Jay and Riki play pool inside a dingy bar. Riki takes a puff of his cigarette. “Come on cuz, consider a different obsession with some other girl. We are young! Are you crazy to be this hung up over a girl?” 

Riki sighed, “Not simply crazy, but bound to crazy more than a lunatic himself. I’m tortured, Jay. Kept without my food, if you will.” Riki stomps off toward the gun check.

“Good day, sir,” Riki exclaims to the man behind the gun check. The man only sneers at him. Riki reaches into his pockets for his ticket, handing it to the man as soon as he finds it. The man shuffles back, and Riki turns toward Jay. Jay's eyes are on a TV in the corner of the room, talking about the party at the Capulets that evening. Jay turns to Riki with a bright idea.

“Why not just go to this party tonight! I’m sure there will be plenty of fair beauties to feast your eyes upon.” Riki only scoffs at the notion, “One fairer than my Rosaline, sure… Not to mention, we need an invitation to this party.” Riki turns to retrieve his gun from the man at the counter. But Riki considers for a moment, turning back to Jay, “Oh what the hell, I’ll go.”

𒂭

“Y/nnnnnn!” Lady Capulet runs around the house, slamming open doors. “Y/nnnn!” She runs out to the pool deck, hoping to spot her daughter. Not seeing a sign of her, but finding her Nurse. “Nurse, find my daughter! Quick! I must speak with her!” 

Nurse ran around also slamming open doors and windows screaming the young woman’s name. Y/n floated in the tranquil water of her bath, eye’s open staring at the bottom of the tub. Nurse’s voice disturbed her peace, as she quickly drew her head from the bath, choosing to get out all together, drying then putting on her robe.

“Mother, I am here! Be at peace now.” Y/n suddenly arrived at the staircase. Lady Capulet rushed down, grabbing her hand and quickly dragging her to her bedroom. Nurse followed just as quickly behind. 

“Nurse, why don’t you stay out here while I have a private chat with my daughter.” She turned dragging Y/n into the room with her. Taking one sweeping look at her, she decided she needed a little help. “Nevermind that Nurse, do please come in and help make my daughter presentable.” Y/n simply rolled her eyes. “For what mother? It’s only a costume party.” Lady Capulet only turned and fixed her makeup and hair in the mirror, eventually slipping her corset over her skirt.

“My dear daughter. It’s about time you consider marriage. Haven’t you an eye on any man? You are quite the beauty my dear, you are my daughter after all.” Y/n threw herself backwards onto her parents bed, done with having this conversation before it even started. “Mother, I’m only 18. I should at least have another year to enjoy my freedom before being tied down to obligations and children and a husband.” Nurse looks at Y/n then to Lady Capulet, who was now drinking sherry out of a crystal glass. Nurse got to work on combing Y/n’s hair as Lady Capulet continued. “Mark Lee has declared his love for you.” she sighs breathlessly, continuing on focusing on her own appearance as Nurse sighs, while detangling Y/n’s wet hair. Finally being contemptuous with her appearance, Lady Capulet joins her daughter on the bed. One of the servants came in, “Madam, the guests have arrived!” Lady Capulet waved him off and turned to her daughter;

“You will accept his advances tonight, I want you to truly consider him as your future husband already.” With that she patted Y/n’s face and jumped up, running to welcome the guests.

Y/n sighed as she retreated back to her room with a nurse following behind gently cooing about her appearance.

𒂭

Riki sits on the shore of Verona Bay dressed in his costume, King Arthur. Jungwon, Jay, and Sunoo were running about next to him, drunk, dancing to the wild music. “Come on, cuz, the night is still young, drink up!” Jay brings the bottle to Riki’s lips, forcing Riki to take a sip. Riki coughs and wipes his mouth just as a headlight shines on his face. All the boys quickly turn to see who it could be. A familiar figure jumps from the car. “Jake!” Riki exclaims as the boy jogs up to the group. Jake only looks at all the boys, smirking slightly. Riki stares back, questioning, as the music blasts, disturbing the peace of the Bay. 

“Well, gentlemen. Is Riki going to dance with us tonight?” he says as he pulls 5 invitations to the Capulet party out from his jacket. Jake grabs Riki’s hands and starts pulling him forward, but Riki pulls back, chuckling.

“Nay, Jake, you can dance, that’s for sure, but believe me, it won’t be me dancing tonight.”

Jake, having heard of Riki’s little predicament, rolled his eyes. “Are you oppressed by such a thing as love?” he sighed. “A thing of torture, Jake. Oppressed by something so cruel and hard to break.” With this Jake pulled him from the pillar of the ruins. 

“If love be rough with you, be rough with love!”

Riki sighed once again, and turned to look at the Bay “I might as well just sink with the way love has been weighing on me.” 

“How do you know about this so-called love? Have you ever experienced such a thing?” Jake begins to pull out a small pill box with the Virgin Mary depicted, and picks up something from it. On his index finger is a small pill with a heart. “If love has you by its sharp claws, there’s only one way to solve that.” He places the small pill into his hand. “You must enjoy yourself, gentle Riki!” he skips away. Riki pops the small pill into his mouth before following him. 

Jay, still extremely drunk, moves to the convertible, “Come cuz! Dinner’s almost done already!”

𒂭

Riki’s pupils dilated as he laid in the convertible as it sped on the highway, towards the infamous mansion. The 3 boys in the back drunkenly cheered. Riki, consumed by the warm, euphoric feeling, laughs suddenly grabbing Jake’s face before kissing his cheek and also cheering. 

Pulling into the estate, Jay, Jungwon, and Sunoo jump from the vehicle as soon as it slows, Jake and Riki following. The music felt through the ground's pulse. When they reached the entrance, they waved their invitations at the guard's face, who allowed them through. Immediately being pushed up against all the bodies, Riki was already feeling the effects of the drug, as he stared at the colorful decorations, costumes, and performers dancing. 

Riki continues through the crowd of moving bodies, stumbling. A drunk Lord Capulet comes and throws himself at Riki, laughing, obviously not comprehending who he was. Lord Capulet babbled about something trivial, to which Riki removed himself from his grasp. The overstimulation of everything was starting to get to him. He feels claustrophobic in his own body as he continues to weave through the crowd. His body started to spin and his ears pounded and he felt his vision tunneling, before going black.

𒂭 If you want the full experience, listen to this song at this part 

Riki throws his head back, wiping the water from his face, after dunking it into a basin. Regaining his footing and consciousness. He couldn’t remember how he got to where he was, but was grateful to have gotten there himself, without any trouble with the Capulet’s. He looked around taking in his surroundings and saw he was still at the party, just on the second floor where he could hear a soft song playing from the party room. He noticed a fishtank in front of him, and stared at the fish swimming around, hypnotized by the little bursts of color swimming. 

He continues looking, slowly leaning down to look at the little fish. Movement catches his eye, but not from the fish. A face, on the other side of the glass, stares back at him. A face that captures his attention. A face that he’s convinced is the most beautiful he’s ever seen. The face moves up and he follows her gaze. Just staring at each other. She offers a small smile as he presses his face against the glass smiling back. Her eyes hypnotized him in a way that was irrevocable, his heart mended as soon as it had been broken. The moment was stripped away as he saw an older face appear behind her.

“Madam! Your mother calls for you!”

The girl offers a quick smirk before allowing herself to be pulled away. As she’s being dragged away from him, like a chain wrapped around his heart, he was dragged along with her. Chasing after her as a nurse led her quickly through to the main dance floor, the soft music getting louder. Riki watched as the girl- his girl- was handed to another man, none other than Mark Lee. Mark turned to the girl,

 “A dance, my lady?” 

Riki watched as he waltzed with her, the girl’s eyes only on Riki’s as she giggled at Mark’s awkward movements, Riki offering a giggle himself, hidden behind the pillar. He noticed how she was dressed as an angel and she looked divine, like his own personal heaven. He couldn’t take his eyes off of her and she couldn’t do the same. 

“Did my heart love till now? Forswear it, sight. For I ne'er saw true beauty till this night.”

Riki moved through the crowd slightly, trying to get to a closer pillar to be near his Angel. Meanwhile, Sunghoon had noticed Riki at the party and was fuming, standing next to Lord Capulet. 

“Riki Montague! Whatever is he doing at this party? I must handle this situation at once uncle!” He turned to his uncle, who was far too drunk to comprehend his words and only brushed him off, “Now Sunghoon, I won’t have you tormenting my guests.” he slurred. “But uncle! A Montague! A Montague at a Capulet party! I must dispose of this waste!” Sunghoon started towards the staircase. Lord Capulet’s strong arm came out, stopping Sunghoon in his tracks and sternly pulling him towards him, “I will not condone this right now, you will let him be.” Sunghoon could not do anything but obey as not to aggravate his uncle even more than he already did, staring at Riki with a scornful look not liking this situation one bit.

𒂭

Riki haphazardly approaches closer, dangerous, but worth every torture in the world to get close the his beauty. The Angel looks around seeing Mark watching the festivities, occasionally looking back to offer a charming smile. Lady Capulet gushes over Mark and distracts him for long enough that Riki can pull his Angel back towards the pillar. She gasped, surprised, but it was replaced by shyness as she realized who it was. She looked back at Mark who turned to give her yet another smile. Riki got close to her ear and whispered sweet things;

“If I profane with my unworthiest hand. This holy shrine, the gentle sin is this. My lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand. To smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss.”

He slowly leans in, hoping to catch her lips, but she dodges it, ending with him brushing his lips against her cheek.

“Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much, Which mannerly devotion shows in this. For saints have hands that pilgrim's hands do touch, And palm to palm is holy palmers' kiss.” she replied giggling softly.

Riki drags her to the elevator, pulling her in. As soon as the door closed, he pulled her in by the waist, kissing her gently to test the waters, feeling an immediate spark. He deepened it and she reciprocated it, moving her hands into his hair. The doors opened and she quickly pulled him out by the hand, but not before almost colliding with Mark and Lady Capulet. She quickly drags Riki back to the elevator holding in a laugh, despite how serious the situation was. 

“Oh, Y/n-” 

Her mothers voice was cut off as the elevator doors closed, taking the chance to kiss Riki again, this time, with more passion… and love. It all felt too natural, and despite her supposed future husband being right on the other side of the door, she couldn’t think of anything other than the taste of Riki’s lips, the way his hands felt as he gripped her waist and leaned her back slightly. He began kissing down her neck, peppering light touches with his lips.

The elevator doors whirred open revealing the same old face that took the girl away from him earlier. She could only flash a quick frown before grabbing the girl’s hand again.

“Come Y/n, your mother wants a word with you”

And with that, she was dragged from him again, and chased her again. And he would continue ‘till death took him. But this time he was not as fast as he watched as she was brought to the large staircase, eyes still locked with eachothers. He continued to watch as she was brought directly to Lady Capulet and Lord Capulet and ascended up the stairs. The realization and horror hit him all at once. 

“Is she a Capulet?”

𒂭

Nurse turned towards Y/n, 

“His name is Riki, and a Montague, the only son of your great enemy.”

Y/n didn’t stop staring at Riki. 

 “My only love, sprung from my only hate. Too early seen unknown, and known too late. Prodigious birth of love it is to me”

𒂭

Jake grabbed Riki’s hand tugging him out towards the door.

“Quick, Riki! We must flee before they catch us!” 

Riki kept looking back at Y/n, willing himself to stop, but everytime he looked away, he felt like he was being burnt from the inside out. Riki continued out the door following closely behind Jake, Jungwon, and Sunoo. Reaching the gates to pick up his weapons from security, the other boys exclaiming wildly about the night. Riki was quiet, body on autopilot. Jake tugged him to the convertible, starting the car and slowly pulling out of the parking area. The other 3 boys blasting music, despite coming from a loud party. Riki sat in the back, just staring back at the mansion, ghost of Y/n in his vision. Jake was trying to get his attention but Riki didn’t care. Riki didn’t care about anything at this point. That’s when he jumped out of the convertible and ran back towards the massive estate. Jake slams on the breaks calling after him. Riki climbs a tree hiding from security and his own friends.

“Riki! Come back!” Jay yells.

Jake is screaming profanities at him, referencing Rosaline although the comments have no effect on him. Eventually security comes to escort the boys back to their car. Jake shouts a quick call to come back, before eventually accepting defeat and driving off. Riki turned immediately, noticing the wall, jumping from the tree to the top of the wall, was no easy feat, but he needed to see his Y/n. He reaches over the wall, eventually reaching an area with a pool. Looking up for any sign of his angel.

“ But soft, what light through the yonder window breaks?”

𒂭

[theunconciousmind]

about me

୨୧ Make up your own name for me, I don’t care.

୨୧ I like reading, writing, watching films and shows, drawing, self care, fashion, norman reedus, makeup, video games, listening to music and my vinyls, and shit posting on here

୨୧ topics/things I enjoy: history, philosophy, occultism, mysticism, esotericism, fashion design and modeling, cults and religions, bdsm, literature, writing, movies and cinematography, zaza, photography, norman reedus, exploring, WW2, non current politics and political history, tattoo art, being a weird creepy fag, norman reedus, ancient history, 2000’s pop culture and anything y2k, weapons and guns, anything paranormal, poetry, and cars and motorcycles

୨୧ I freely block literally anyone

୨୧ my visionaries: lana del rey, norman reedus, lady gaga, vincent gallos, amy winehouse, paris hilton, jim morrison, snooki, marilyn monroe, tom hardy, shalom harlow, clara bow, gabriette, megan fox, jeremy scott, mads mikkelsen, aeysha erotica, and father john misty

୨୧ my favorite movies include: marie aintonette, the bling ring, buffalo 66’, lolita, priscilla, six ways to sunday, donnie darko, jennifers body, black swan, johnny 316, psycho, sixteen candles, fight club, boondock saints, lolita ( 1997 ), leon the professional, norman reedus, perks of being a wallflower, texas chainsaw massacre, american psycho, uptown girls, the phantom of the opera, the shining, saw, legends of the fall, the notebook, 500 days of summer, etc, etc… ( I have tons of other movies I really like but these are the ones I can’t live without )

୨୧ my favorite musicians: lana del rey ( and her unreleased obviously), die antwoord, air, alex g, lil wayne, chief keef, amy winehouse, crystal castles, father john misty, aeysha erotica, kendrick lamar, kmfdm, life lover, chet baker, johnny cash, deftones, j. cole, fiona apple, 50 cent, imogen heap, korn, lou reed, marina, a$sap rocky, modest mouse, 2pac, nancy sinatra, eminem, katy perry, ke$ha, ic3peak, hoffmanita, system of a down, nicole dollanganger, princess chelsea, weyes blood, elliot smith, big thief, adrienne lenker, black box recorder, norman reedus, sufjan stevens, boygenius, pheobe bridgers, ethel cain, faye webster, video club, machine girl, radiohead, the weeknd, led zeppelin, sade, cocteau twins, kanye west, the doors and jim morrison, childish gambino, the velvet underground, lady gaga, nicki minaj, sublime, the kinks, the smiths, korn, tool, type 0 negative, etc, etc… ( I listen to a LOT more artists but these are the ones I can’t live without )

୨୧ my favorite authors: ottessa moshfegh, earnest hemingway, donna tartt, vladimir nabakov, leo tolstoy, fyodor dostoevsky, j.d. sallinger, norman reedus, f. scott fitzgerald, anne rice, franz kafka, oscar wilde 

୨୧ my favorite fashion houses/designers: chanel, dsquared2, yves saint laurent, norman reedus, cartier, jean paul gaultier, jeremy scott, agent provocateur, chloé paddington, moschino, miu miu, paco rabanne, 

୨୧ my favorite artists and drawing inspiration: simone legno, akira uno, nell brinkley, fukai kuni, norman reedus, akami watabe, toko ohmori, vampberry ( on insta ), and gustave klimt

୨୧ my favorite/current shows: gossip girl, gilmore girls, breaking bad, the walking dead, supernatural, american horror story, south park, house md, norman reedus, buffy, devilman crybaby, castlevania, new girl, and real housewives ( I have plenty of other shows on my to watch list… trust )

୨୧ my discord is rosiedollie, I promise I’m somewhat nice and love talking to people so reach out if you want

୨୧ I have another blog for my writing and a03 works but it’s under heavy renovation so I’m waiting to tag that account in this post

୨୧ I also have other accounts such as a Spotify and Pinterest but again both are under renovation but I will also be putting those @‘s in this post when ready they’re ready

୨୧ I love my friends… top of my list, the sweetest girl in town: @fawnesque-vanillyee

@legoghini

[luna-the-bard]

Uhhhh so I’ve been. Drawing a lot lately.

I think last time I posted was like over two weeks ago? So yeah there’s a bit of a backlog.

I’m honestly not sure what else to say as an intro so I’m just gonna. Dump a bunch of art here real quick and if it doesn’t all fit then maybe I’ll make two posts or something. There WILL be rambling. Anyways-

I spent like 6 hrs last night studying one of my Boothill screenshots because I’ve been meaning to learn how to draw him.

Little did I know I was gonna go back to it today again to fix his legs. I can’t believe that asshole took 6+ hours of my life how dare he (I want to draw him again)

I took a break from drawing him somewhere in the middle there only to draw him in my sketchbook instead lol. don’t look at that gun it’s not there shh.

There’s also a new oc I’ve been working on. (Don’t mind the ref screenshot in the bg this is a wip lol)

Playing around with the idea of a princess who slays her own dragon, so when the rescuers come, their job is already done (it’s okay, they can be her getaway drivers instead). Named her Lady Eithel, although her full name and title is “Princess Eithelmira of the House of Thorns”, since she is part of her planet’s/kingdom’s royal family.

Im also putting her on the path of Beauty, because it makes more sense for her than any currently playable paths in hsr, and we know that even after the fall of an Aeon, their paths can linger (as seen with Trailblaze, Order, etc). Also, it not being a playable path means I can do whatever I want with it, and boy am I gonna have my fun >:) She’s gonna be finding Beauty in all kinds of things, folks. I’m gonna throw her around the universe into all kinds of situations (probably).

Eithel’s home planet, Struna-5, are worshippers of Idrila, and it’s said their the planet’s moon was a blessing from THEM. Struna-5 is divided into several major kingdoms, like Pelionore (that Eithel hails from) and their neighbor, Aurora. My vision for the planet overall is a combination of scifi and fantasy/medieval aesthetics. (Not unlike what Nimona did with their worldbuilding, you should go check out the art book for that film, it’s online for free)

Eithel’s been incredibly challenging for me to draw, despite having the same old traits I usually tend to give my ocs. But there’s a certain vibe I’m going for with her and it’s been hard to capture, I suppose.

Some more art of her:

She is 5’2 so if you’re over 6ft tall this is probably what you see any time she talks to you x)

I also really like the sketch I had for that wip from above.

There’s also a few earlier studies of her, including the first time I managed to capture her face/feel right:

I’ve been studying MsLeeSketchbook ‘s (on twitter) art a lot for her, I really enjoy how they paint.

I think I’m getting to the image per post limit, so have this alt lighting mockup from the wip:

I’ll put the smut and other stuff in a separate post, ig.

[pauli-writes]

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.

[voidspiraling]

Im talking abt the newest IvanTill merch

I realized I am tooo impatient to wait for a better picture lol

I’ve also decided to talk abt the MiziSua merch and HyunaLuka merch as well just for comparison. I think these were in a pop up store in I thinkkkk Shanghai??? I just saw them in twitter.

Let’s start with the girlies!!!!

Here we see the message LoveHate with Rest in Peace at the bottom in a heart. The heart itself reminds me of a tombstone. Mizi and Sua are in their Round 1 outfits with Sua wearing small angel wings likely because she is dead.

I want to draw attention to their poses, Mizi is curled up in a ball with her hair in front of her face. She also has mascara running down her eyes due to her crying. Sua is standing and bending down to look at her, we can’t see her face.

To me Mizi looks like a little kid peeking up at Sua. While Sua looks almost playful leaning down to look at her. I think this shows the power balance between Mizi and Sua. Mizi feels small and helpless without her, meanwhile Sua feels more carefree now that she’s “free” in a sense from living. She’s happy that her plan worked out and is seemingly content with the outcome of Round 1. Mizi sees Sua as her god and I think this artwork shows the consequence of that. Worshipping someone as a god is in my opinion not very healthy and will end in sadness. And we can see that as Mizi is curled up into herself, because her sole source of warmth is gone. She has no one to cling to because she focused her entire life to Sua and no one else. She’s friendly and has friends, but she’s never opened up in a meaningful way with anyone but Sua, she essentially put all her eggs in one basket. And now that Sua is gone Mizi is totally alone. However I think that because we can see Mizi’s eyes it represents Mizi picking herself back up. She’s curled up and self soothing herself but she seems contemplative.

The love and hate here is interesting bc I wasn’t sure if they could ever really hate each other. Did Sua hate that Mizi was so ignorant? But kept her that way bc it was her only salvation? Did Mizi hate Sua for lying to her? But also loved it bc she realized it also protected her? It’s very interesting to me. MiziSua is actually the pairing I understood the least bc I felt like most of the interaction I saw of them were through Mizi’s idealistic POV.

Next let’s talk abt the hyuna and Luka picture.

Here we see Luka on his knees clinging to Hyuna’s leg with his eyes closed. He has a flushed face and appears to be happy. Hyuna is standing with her back towards us, she’s holding a gun in her right hand and Luka’s hair in her left hand. Holding something with your left is seen as holding something that’s less significant than what’s in your right hand according to the Bible. The left has also been used to symbolize negativity and misunderstandings. This is all just speculation however.

What I think is important is that it looks like Luka is clinging to a false hope. He’s literally clinging to her cold metal leg, not even Hyuna herself. Meanwhile Hyuna looks like she’s ready to leave and doesn’t even face Luka except to push his hair out of his eyes. I think this is her way of saying “I’m not going to be with you anymore you have to stand on your own.” With Luka closing his eyes trying to deny his reality. I think Luka is a hypocrite and an unreliable narrator but I’ll find the brain power to talk abt it another time. This seems to be another god worship relationship. Just like the MiziSua picture Luka is worshipping Hyuna as his god. Luka and Mizi are actually pretty similar they’re both almost child like around the one they love.

Mizi in all-in seems more adult like and Luka during the rounds was antagonistic and menacing. But around their “god” they act childishly and hopelessly in love. I think they’re meant to reflect one another and it shows in how similar their relationships are.

This is my speculation but I think they both loved each other romantically but also hate each other viciously. Hyuna’s was already explained in her final moments comic where she states that this is her revenge dying in front of Luka. But I think Luka also holds some hate for Hyuna as well. I remember the artbook where he rates his relationship with her at 70%. To my knowledge this is supposed to be objective but I wouldn’t be surprised if it was Luka being an unreliable narrator and putting her at 70% when it should actually be 100%.

The reason why I think Luka hates her is bc she “left” him. Luka has grown up in an extremely abusive environment where his only salvation was Hyuna. He loves her but also resents her for leaving him. Honestly after watching Weige I still don’t understand this manchild. But him clinging to her metal leg makes me wonder if he ever really liked Hyuna at all. Did he fall in love with her bc she’s Hyuna or is it bc she was just the first person that was nice to him? It’s hard to tell but it’s clear from this picture that they are on two completely different wave lengths.

Now to talk abt my favorite pairing IvanTill!!!!

There is a clear difference between this picture and the other two pictures. Mainly how intertwined IvanTill are. In the other pictures the deceased character is standing above the living one. But here Ivan and Till clutching at each other. Till is holding onto Ivan’s pants meanwhile Ivan is literally pulling at Till’s shirt. Almost like he’s trying to pull Till even closer to him. Another interesting point is that they’re both kneeling (no Ivan isn’t sitting in Till’s lap) I take this to mean that they both bring the other to their knees. They’re each other’s weakness. Neither Ivan nor Till puts the other on a pedestal.

IvanTill has always stood out to me because of how conflict driven they are but also how they’re the only pairing on equal footing. Mizi was sheltered by Sua, and Luka worships Hyuna. This is to both of their detriment bc Mizi believes a false narrative and ends up walking towards her own doom. And Luka doesn’t even flinch when a gun is at his head bc Hyuna is in front of him. The consequence is then that their one and only dies in front of them and now they have navigate reality without them.

With Ivan and Till it’s different. Ivan loved Till even at his lowest and Till loved Ivan even at his lowest. Till saw Ivan before he went through “image” training and he accepted Ivan for his true self. Even though he complains abt Ivan it’s clear from his actions, the fact that he was willing to let Ivan kill him, that he cares a lot for him. And for Ivan he saw past Till’s anger exterior and saw a sensitive boy who’s passionate.

He cares a lot abt Till and his passions. Both Till and Ivan have something that is unique abt them, and it’s that uniqueness that the other falls in love with. I’m basing this off the free content but I’m sure the paid content goes more into depth for each pairing. But from what I’ve seen so far IvanTill is the easiest for me to understand. Till likes it when Ivan is weird, he doesn’t bat an eye when Ivan touches him or invades his personal space.

This is from another Merch thing the blind box figures. But on Till’s post it says “Drink me up with the eyes you look at me.” And idk abt u but that sounds like Till giving Ivan permission to stare at him. And Ivan likes Till despite him being incomprehensible. Even though Till ran back to captivity, basically throwing away his chance at freedom, Ivan still loves him. Enough to want to protect him even if only for a little longer.

Now let’s talk abt the hate aspect bc oh boy do they hate each other. From Till consciously blocking Ivan from memory and Ivan being insensitive to Till. From the audiences perspective it’s clear as day to see the love they have for each other (if you have obsessive eyes like mine) but imagine the guy you like pretending you don’t even exist. To the point that even if you act mean to him he won’t react to you. Now imagine what it’s like for the guy you like to constantly pick fights with you while he acts so polite to everyone else.

They’re special to each other but bc of their hate they act immaturely. This is what drives the misunderstanding.

But even so they both can’t help but cling to one another.

Looking at each other face to face for probably the first time in a while. And even tho Till is in color to represent that he’s “alive” he looks so monochromatic he looks “dead” like Ivan. Is Till alive who knows? But in this picture he looks like he’s being enveloped by Ivan symbolizing that he’ll meet Ivan’s fate.

Another thing I wanted to point out is that Sua and Hyuna were planning on dying for their other half. But in Ivan’s final moments he said he doesn’t understand why he did what he did. Of the three of them, Ivan wanted to be alive with Till and him sacrificing himself was a last resort. Even in death he tries to get closer to Till. The hand pulling at Till’s shirt looks aggressive and desperate. But the hand around Till’s waist and Ivan’s head resting against Till’s looks so soft and loving. Like Luka Ivan didn’t know how to love properly, but unlike Luka Ivan knew that Till wasn’t a god or his savior. He knew that if he stayed with Till he’d be miserable, he’s literally his Black Sorrow. But even so he still stays with Till bc of his love for him. Bc Till is only human and Ivan was the only person who could comfort him.

Till may fantasize that it’s Mizi who protects him, but the reality is that Ivan has been the one protecting him. Likewise Ivan may think he means nothing to Till, but Till has always cared abt Ivan to the point where his death led to Till’s loss in round 7.

Another thing I wanted to point out is just how physical IvanTill are. They have the Kiss Scene✨ the comic where Ivan has +19 thoughts while standing behind Till, their fights and Ivan putting his hands around Till’s waist and chest whenever he can. In this artwork too, they’re literally glued together. I don’t mean to say physical intimacy is the ultimate proof of love, or that it makes IvanTill better bc they are more physical with each other. But I do think that this physical closeness, this attraction is very romantic, and shows how deeply they care for one another in a way the other pairings don’t show.

Again Mizi literally monologues abt how Sua is her god. Luka has Hyuna’s wanted posters up like she’s his idol instead of his childhood friend. (I thought it was funny that during the IvanTill clematis the monologue was more comedic. Almost like they’re both aware how silly it is to treat a human as a god.)

Till doesn’t like Ivan bc he’s a good student with a nice smile or bc he’s a good singer. And Ivan doesn’t like Till because he’s his savior or god. Ivan is awkward and two faced when it comes to other people. Till is reckless and self-destructive. They are into each other not bc of what the other person does for them. Till doesn’t validate Ivan and Ivan doesn’t validate Till. But still they are drawn to each other because it’s the messiness of the other person that they like.

It has to be love to think that Till, despite his stupidity and one track mind is a precious person. It has to be love to think that Ivan, despite his bluntness and weirdness is like family. It has to be love to be so happy just quietly spending time together.

Again not trying to say the other ships aren’t good or real just bc I don’t understand them. They’re interesting as well and I liked the exploration of each parings relationship in the series. I just thought it was interesting how different IvanTill is compared to the other characters. I think that’s bc of how conflict driven they are, I feel like that’s where u see a characters true motivations and thoughts.

Anyways Love and Hate suits IvanTill the best methinks, and I really like this art of them. Till angry and looking for answers and Ivan looking somber that he can’t provide any. They’re embracing and stealing each other’s warmth despite the awful situation. And their heads against each other is too wholesome!!! Imagine if they actually communicated when they were alive they would’ve been married with 5 kids already lol