#its not to angsty here but full context its angsty | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

gyuswhore · 5 months ago

Text

Never Shall We Die (1)

«« 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

[AN]: thank you so much to @highvern for betaing for me and helping out with the plot so much, this fic would not exist if it weren't for her!!!! and thank you reader!!! for clicking on this and reading it, this one's been about 7 months in the works and I would love to hear what your thoughts are when you're done, plsplspls leave a rb or a reply with your brainrot lol <3 happy reading

HOSHI’S BOOT IS STUCK in the ground.

No, that’s a branch.

Or is it a plank?

He doesn’t try to find out as he yanks his foot out of whatever stopped him from moving. A tree root, he finds as he kicks the remnants of jungle rubbish from the surface of the shrouded root. He kicks it to satisfy himself.

His crew resides on the beach; where he can see them attempt to build a fire before sundown, the mound of discombobulated twigs making up most of the sad pile of wood. Hoshi trudges up to it and drops another handful of puny branches into the mix.

Exhaling loudly as Mingyu calls for him, he falls to his bottom and sits cross legged on the sand. Mingyu trudges up next to him to inspect his pile, sighing when he realised this was all he had to work with. He picks up two hefty looking stones and begins to strike them together, putting his faith in the primitive fire.

Hoshi stares into the horizon, watching the died down waves drift onto the shore, moving closer by the minute.

Hoshi thinks, which he can’t say is something that he does very often. Perhaps that’s why he was sat on this nature-overrun island as a shipless captain of his shipless crew. He chews on his tongue as he thinks of his Tigress, his beloved hunk of wood and metal; the beloved hunk of wood and metal that he could not see on the shoreline, because she was taken by the royal navy.

He wonders if Tigress would ever forgive him for letting that happen to her, for letting those clean, soft handed soldiers rip her away from his grasp.

Hoshi needs to start thinking more often.

Mingyu is frantic over the small flame that erupts in the middle of his leaves, dropping his rocks to blow into the fire, encouraging it to grow.

“Captain, it’s done! We can rustle up those fish we caught, have supper sorted.”

“Hm.”

The bustle of the entire crew lasts until night has fallen and they’ve gotten food in their stomachs. Hoshi hasn’t moved from his spot for hours, something the others noticed very quickly, but decided not to mention for fear of waking something dangerous. They understood he was suffering from a broken heart.

It isn’t until the first of the crew had begun to doze off that Hoshi speaks. Chan is propped up against a tree while Seungkwan laughs at the dangerously low coconut that hangs above his head. Mingyu readjusts his trousers after a full meal. Minghao stretches onto the sand, feet facing the water.

His voice isn’t loud, nor is it commanding, nor does it have his usual edge of jest—in fact, it sounds nothing like Hoshi at all.

Or does it?

“Who wants to steal a ship?”

YOU'RE AWOKEN BY THE sound of yelling. Which is never a good sign in any case, but especially not when it’s pitch black outside and you’re on a ship in the middle of the ocean.

The grogginess is quick to fade as you try to understand what’s going on outside your quarters. Your room isn’t a mess, all the trinkets and royal seals remaining in their places on the walls and shelves. Nor is the ship lurching or moving in odd angles to indicate an unexpected spat from the skies. A quick peek outside the window shows you clear, calm water amidst the mostly dark expanse of ocean.

There is only one other answer in your head that would cause this much commotion—especially on a boat where the admiral resides (and a princess).

Slipping out of the covers, your feet hit the cool hardwood floors of your quarters, a small shiver going through your spine from the cold, with nothing to cover you but your thin nightgown. You’re in the middle of tying your robe to see what the ruckus was about outside when a particularly loud thud hits outside of your door. You immediately freeze.

Staring at the doorknob, you attempt to move backwards in the space, heart beating faster as you watch the knob move slightly. The back of your knees hit the bedside table with a thud, the sound has you gasp out loud. Whoever it was outside your door jiggles the knob harder, the force exerted having you scan the room for something you could use as a weapon.

Spotting the letter opener on your desk, you lurch across the room to grab it, holding it in front of you as you back away from the door. The knob continues to bang against the wood as you refuse to take eyes off of it. There’s sounds of men outside, loud and rambunctious, momentarily halting the grievances.

Until the knob moves again, slower this time, a light click that could be heard as it unlocks itself, opening into the low light of your quarters.

You recognise the frazzled looking soldier at your door.

“Lieutenant,” you voice in recognition. “What’s going on?”

He eyes the letter opener that you hold defiantly in front of you from across the room, and it has you retracting your force slightly.

“Pirates, your Highness,” he breathes out. “We must get you to lower deck—”

“Where is the Admiral? The Captain?” you ask as you take a couple steps forward.

“They’re handling the situation, your High–”

An arm has come up behind the soldier that pulls him into a headlock, a swift pull to have him dragged away from your vision. You would’ve gasped if your voice hadn’t been caught in your throat, refusing to make itself known as fear brews in the pit of your stomach. Your hold on your makeshift weapon is tighter than ever before, yet you doubt how it’s going to help you as the culprit finally steps over something to appear in your doorframe.

His clothes are in a disarray; slashed, torn and covered in grime. There’s a deadly looking machete in one hand, the blood that coats it has you eyeing the trail that drips onto his hand and on the floor. His forearms are perched up on the doorframe as he inspects you, tongue to cheek as he stares.

Threatened as you feel, there was less hunger in his gaze as you had expected, more like he was trying to figure out who you were. He eyes your tiny letter opener you hold like a knife and lets out a little exhale you think might be a laugh. It has you gripping the handle impossibly tighter. The man moves his face into the hallway, to where you know the staircase to the main deck is.

“Hoshi!” he yells loudly. “How’s this for bait?”

Your back is pressed inexplicably against the wall, wanting to sink into the wooden boards as you attempt to gain your bearings amongst the nauseous bouts of mortification that surge through you. Your only exit is blocked.

No. You have one more option.

The sound of more men bounding down the hall has you praying there were more soldiers here, but the calm regard the man has for the approaching people has your heart sink to the depths of this very ocean itself.

More faces peer into the room, men with the same haphazard, grimey clothing complete with equally sinister weapons in their grasps. One of the men breaks out into the biggest grin as he lays his eyes on you. You nearly throw up.

For the first time in your life, you wish you’d listened to your father.

“Jun, you savvy motherfucker,” the grinning man explodes, slapping the man who found you on the back.

Another voice speaks from behind him, “Ships cleared, captain.”

“Perfect. Bring a spring upon ‘er. Get as far away from those cleans as you can, let them fend for themselves in a tiny boat for once.”

Captain. The grinning, stupid looking one is their captain.

He regards the rest of his crew as he finally steps through the threshold, waving them away as he enters your quarters.

It was taking everything out of you to not buckle your knees as you stood, every step he takes is turning your strength into dust. He keeps his eyes on you, eyes on your sorry excuse of a weapon. He registers the mix of fear and determination in your eyes.

He stops a few feet away from you, looking directly at you past the makeshift knife you hold.

He says nothing as he drops the knife in his own hand to the ground with a loud clang. He removes a pistol, a couple more knives, a grenade and a sword. Weapons drop to the floor one after the other, emerging from all over his body and clothes. All in a pile on the wooden floors. He puts his hands in the air.

“No weapons on me. I merely wish to talk.”

The look on his face is not ordinary, some strange combination of mock innocence and jest. You don’t answer him.

He continues, “You can keep your… scalpel… if you so wish.”

“What did you do to the soldiers?” you finally rasp out.

“They’re not dead, if that's what you’re asking.”

“Yet?” you ask with a slight tremble to your voice.

“They’ve been shoved into a boat with a map and a compass to fend for themselves. I’m not entirely ruthless,” he adds with raised brows and a hint of a smile. “Admiral, were they calling him? You must be his wife.”

“W-what?”

“Oh, guess not. Daughter? Captain’s wife, Captain’s daughter?”

Your previously stagnant brain is now running a derby with all the thoughts galloping across your mind. He doesn’t know who you are. Yet, anyway.

He’s scanning the room now, nodding at the trinkets and trophies scattered across the place. “Can’t imagine giving a lieutenant’s anybody quarters like this.” He circles back on you, eyes sharp. “Who are you, darling?”

You don’t think you have anything that should give you away, but the way he starts pacing the room has your anxiety going through the wooden roof.

He has his back turned to you. You’re not sure if he’s confident or careless considering you could drive your weapon into his back and make a run for it. But then what? By the looks of it there’s an entire crew of pirates pacing the deck. Perhaps the soldiers haven’t gotten that far; they know you’re still on board, they know it’s their heads on a pike if they leave you here.

He’s reached your desk during your thinking, inspecting your stationary, picking at the bejewelled quills and paper weights as he mutters nonsense to himself.

“Oh!” he announces, a little too enthusiastic. “What’s this?”

He brandishes the loose leaf of paper, and you recognise the print on the back immediately. It was a letter from your father, the King.

“How on Earth did you read this, the writing is illegible.” He flips the paper over, double taking when he sees the royal seal on the back. He looks into the letter closer now.

You wait with baited breath.

“The kingdom needs their princess…your father…ah.”

Should you plunge the knife into him anyway? You almost do it, but stop when he begins to turn around to face you again. His eyebrows are raised, a slight hint of exasperation on his face when he begins to laugh a loud, loud cackle.

It’s mortifying, especially when you don’t understand what on earth was so funny to elicit a reaction like that. The man is downright hysterical. He wipes a lone tear from the corner of his eye as he drops the letter back onto the desk.

“W-what’s so funny?” you try to sound brave.

“It seems, miss princess, that we’ve gotten more than we bargained for,” he says, looking straight at you as he sobers up. “You’re the King’s daughter, now, are you? What are the odds the first ship I hop onto with a royal seal slapped on it, held the crown jewel of the kingdom in its gallows.”

And then he starts walking, towards you, for that matter. Imperative because you know for sure that this is how it all ends.

You know you still have your one last option, the option that is now pressed against your back as you shimmy to it with miniscule movements. The window is cool on your hand that rests on the glass, you know the lamp will be enough to break it, enough for you to push through and fall into the abyss of the dark, dark sea. He knows who you are now, and you’d rather drown than die at the hands of a pirate—or go through whatever it was that’s curling the minds of all the men on this ship.

He takes another step forward, hands on his hips. “He’s not going to like this, is he? His dear daughter in the hands of the Kingdom’s favourite degenerate captain.”

What?

He then adds in a whisper to himself mostly, “Or least favourite with all the wanted posters off the churches and brothels.”

Hoshi. Hoshi. Hoshi.

The man who had found you had called him Hoshi. Hoshi the pirate. Hoshi the pirate that’s been giving the Kingdom and its court absolute hell for as long as you can remember.

The man that you are now trapped alone with on a ship is the most feared pirate the Kingdom has ever seen.

You don’t doubt your face has gone grey, feeling your breathing turn near erratic. “Oh God.”

He smiles wryly as the life is sucked out of your very soul.

This was bad. Very bad.

“Now, fear not, you will soon be returned to daddy dearest,” he places a mildly dramatic hand over his heart. “Pirate’s honour.”

He paces back to pluck the letter off the table, pocketing it. “All you need to do is relax and tell me a few things so we can part ways as soon—”

“No.” The word blurts out of your mouth before you can stop it, horrified at the thought of giving information to any pirate, let alone this one.

“No?” Hoshi looks genuinely shocked, his eyes wide, eyebrows raised. He laughs a little incredulously, “Oh, I see, can’t tell all the delicate details to a scary ol’ pirate.”

He smiles a little bit, “Worry not, miss princess, we shall only need a few minor details. Just enough to have your father sprinting to get you out of here. We all win.”

He stares at you almost expectantly, and you wonder if you look as confused as you feel.

“Well, I’ll be bidding you goodnight now, I’m sure we’ve interrupted your beauty sleep enough. Rest assured we won’t be bothering you for the rest of the morning.”

Hoshi begins to make his way to the door, picking up his pile of weapons off the floor before wrenching the door open. He’s calm as ever, but your mind is in a disarray.

A ransom, but whatever for? Gold could’ve been retrieved by raiding any ship, and it sounded like he’d chosen to hop on a ship belonging to the navy. Come to think of it, as much of a nuisance this man has proved himself, you don’t remember a case where he’s directly meddled with the Kingdom. All of this can’t just be for gold.

Steeling yourself, you bet your odds against your voice and asked him, “What do you want from my father?”

You watch as he halts in his tracks, halfway through the door as he finally looks over his shoulder. The look on his face has you wanting to break open the window immediately and let the water flood in, once and for all as you take these bastards down with you.

“Your father has something of mine. And I intend to take it back,” he says, before finally slamming the door shut. You hear a shuffle and a thud, and you do not doubt that he’s locked you in.

Your knees give out almost immediately, dropping to the ground as you breathe in quick, shallow breaths. Trying to look past the dizziness, you try not to think about the last thing he’d said before he left, moreso the look on his face as he did.

The first rays of morning sun are beginning to shine through the windows, casting the beginnings of a glow in your quarters. You think of the supposed assurance he had given you, that they wouldn’t hurt you, that they intended to return you.

The thought leads to a faraway memory, yet one that’s tucked itself into a front corner of your mind, you can almost hear your father's voice as he says it; never trust a pirate.

You remain on the floor, and you remain wide awake.

THE SUN IS HIGH in the sky by the time you put your limbs to work.

The first hours after the pirate locked you in your quarters were spent trying to reign yourself to earth. You can’t be entirely sure your soul has come back to your body, but whatever little of it that has landed is whispering some very dangerous things.

The lamp remains, the ornate jewels glinting almost enticingly in the afternoon light. The flame inside it has long died, but you itch to give it another purpose. You don’t note the trembling of your hand as you reach for it, pushing yourself to your feet as you get a feel for the heavy hunk of glass and metal in your hands.

If there was a level of regard before, it disappears when you set eyes on the bright window and the creases of crystal blue water. With all your strength, you don’t think twice when the lamp makes hard contact, a loud thud erupting as a result, but no damage when you pull away.

You go again, harder this time, and only vaguely register the glass of the lamp that shatters into your hands. Gripping the metal bit tighter, you swing for the third time, pulling back for the strongest blow yet.

A hand wraps around your elbow and you’re yanked backwards, landing on the floor. There’s a kick at your hand that’s flown into the air, the one that holds the bludgeoned lamp. It goes flying across the room as you retract your hand into yourself.

You don’t register a thing as you’re suddenly being pulled back up to your feet. Face to face with the pirate captain, your soul finally clicking back into place.

“Didn’t think I scared you this bad.” He’s made a joke, but all you can see is his face that’s a mask of rage.

The initial instinct is to move away, pulling your elbow out of his grasp in an attempt to flee. You fail as he tightens his grip to a painful degree, hauling you towards the ajar door of the quarters.

It’s only then that you realise that there’s more people in the room.You note another big, burly man next to the window you just assaulted, inspecting it with another shorter man. You don’t get to note more as you’re pulled into the narrow hallway, begging the saints he doesn’t take the turn towards the lower decks. Instead you find he leads you upstairs to where the main deck is.

Walk the plank? Did navy ships have planks to walk on? Not that you’d mind too much, you were trying to drown yourself and this ship in any case. But then there’s a settle of dread in the pit of your stomach, realising death may be the most merciful thing this man could give you.

The pirate captain pushes you against a mast, one of his other minions rushing in with coils of rope on his shoulder. The sun beats down on the deck, not a gust of reprieve from the wind.

“Keep the ropes tight, she’s got less wit than I’d thought,” the pirate captain says with a grunt, huffing as he lets go of you. He takes a few steps away, hands at his hips, the image of vexation.

The person who ties the cords around your hands whispers slowly, “Stop moving.”

But you can’t, not when the panic is near the lip, not when all the possibilities are flashing gore filled images into your vision. It's scary to blink.

“Why won’t you let me die?” you ask to the back that’s turned.

He turns around, not even bothering hiding the exasperation that paints his face, mouth opening furiously before closing again. “Why won’t—Because you were trying to take us all with you!”

“Kill me!” you all but scream. “They won’t know till you’ve gotten what you want, I’d rather be dead than let you try whatever’s brewing in all your sick heads!”

He’s silent for a moment, noting your defiant gaze, your pull against the ropes, the heaving of your chest. Taking a few steps forward, Hoshi seems to be attempting to bring the boil in his blood to a low simmer, “Listen, princess. We’re pirates alright, but me and my crew, we keep to ourselves. If your daddy the king hadn’t decided to meddle and steal my fucking ship, you would’ve been home in your pretty palace, asleep in your bed of gold by now.”

The pirate captain’s face is closer than you’d ever be comfortable with, seething in a way that has you pressing further into the mast. “We may be degenerates but we keep our own morals, as twisted as your people heed them to be.”

When he finally pulls away, you take a breath and thank the air that simply exists, eyes downcast as you attempt to look braver than you feel.

“I’m not pushing you overboard. I’ve duped your people once, they’ll be more prepared next time. We need you alive while you’re in our hands.”

“How are you going to summon a ransom? You sent away your only messengers,” you ask, a sad attempt at a mock, but also because you wanted to know what his plan was.

“Your useless Admiral’s taken up that job.”

“By lifeboat? You’ve left them all for dead, how do you expect this genius plan to work?”

“They could’ve swam to shore if it came to it, we were close enough.”

“How are you so sure?” you spit.

“Do I need to gag you too?” he gives you one last irritated look before stalking off towards the lower deck. You’re left alone in the cooling afternoon heat, the sound of the sea keeping your ears company along with your own slowing breaths.

Everything he said has a good enough chance to be a complete and utter lie. Never trust a pirate. No weapon to cut yourself out of your impossibly tight binds, nothing to protect you or give you reassurance besides a pirate’s word—the worst pirate’s word.

Your battered thinking leads you straight through the setting of the sun, the orange glow of the sky shrouding the ship in the dreamiest backdrop while you live what you can only sum as a nightmare. Perhaps not, for you doubt your mind could ever conjure up a terror like this.

This was life, the most terrifying nightmare of all.

Having managed to wiggle your tied hands downwards, you had seated yourself with your head against the wood of the mast, staring into the translucent skies. So much freedom that taunts you in its illusion of proximity, yet so far still.

There’s murmurs below deck, the only semblance of life you’ve heard in the past few hours after the stupid pirate captain stormed off. It seems to be on the stairs, a heated argument.

“Obviously this wasn’t part of the plan, the chances were supposed to be zero to absolutely none. We landed with that scumbag’s successor, that’s just our piss luck and nothing more.”

“You wanted a woman for bait, this should work the same.”

“Hao, I wanted a woman for bait to trigger a lukewarm reaction, this princess could either doom us all or make our job a fat punch easier, and I’m not betting on the latter.”

There’s a pause.

“If only she’d cut it with the random hysterics and creepy-staring-at-the-sky we could actually get something useful out of her.”

“Pray that window holds up or any chance of a miracle is gone to the wind.”

It’s like you’ve woken up with the way the stupid idea begins to form in your head. You think of your father, the kind of man he is, the kind of ruler he is. All the ‘if’s are guiding you to a conclusion. One that gives you a fighting chance, one that may go beyond this massive navy ship and clear into the rest of your life—if you make it that far anyway.

Your father and his men would come, give this unhinged pirate what he desires so dearly, you know that for sure. But you also know it wouldn’t be for you, but for the crown that’s destined to fall upon your cursed head.

If it’s his ship that he wants…

The next time you see one of the pirate captain’s goons on the deck, you ask for an audience.

“DID YOUR STUPID FATHER drop you on your head as a baby?”

Hoshi stands before you under the light of the midnight moon, an incredulous expression on his face. You try to keep the scowl off your own but it proves difficult when his voice pierces your skull.

You ignore him from your position on the floor, “I know my father, and I know he loathes you enough to finally want you and your incompetent crew gone for good.”

He scratches his chin, “Can’t be that incompetent if he hates us so much.”

“I can help you.”

“You were ready to die than to be on the same ship as us a few hours ago. What’s changed?”

“Perspective,” you shrug in an attempt to remain nonchalant.

“Are you gonna go back to wailing in the morning then?”

God, this was going to be the hardest thing you’ve ever had to do.

“You want your ship back and you were hoping for someone less important to exchange it for. But you’re stuck with me and you know it’s not going to end well for you. You need my help.”

“Why so merciful, miss princess? Are you not on your father’s side?”

You gulp as discreetly as possible.

“I want something in exchange.”

He raises his eyebrows, staring at you to continue.

“I want you to kill my father.”

If his eyebrows were raised before, they’ve broken for the skies now. He leans his head back, eyes closing for a moment before reopening, reigning back to you before asking very gracefully, “What?”

“I want you to kill my father.”

“No, I got that bit,” he snaps. “Your father as in, the King?”

“Yes, as you’ve pointed out far more times than anyone ever has.” You can’t help but roll your eyes despite the weight of the situation and the hammering in your chest.

He stares at you in an expression you can’t quite read, and it unsettles you deeply. For a moment, you wonder if you’ve gravely miscalculated, watching as he moves around the mast you’re tied to. Out of the corner of your eye you see the metal glint of a dagger, and you nearly short circuit.

Is he about to cut your hands off?

You feel a distinct tug at your wrists, the sound of slicing, and the voice in your head asking why it didn’t hurt.

Suddenly your hands are free, intact and free as you achingly bring them in front of you, wincing audibly at the pain of moving them after so long.

“You can jump into the water if you’d like, I won’t stop you.” He walks back over, sitting cross legged opposite you, at eye level.

“What?”

“You’ve clearly gone mad, I’ll find another way to get my ship back.”

“I’m being serious.”

“Of course, and I utterly enjoy having a kingdom’s worth of blood on my hands. Shall I take the entirety of the court down while we’re at it? Carry out a fucking waltz with Jack Ketch?”

“Why are you acting like you’re above murder? Another part of your strange moral code?”

“No, no, not above it at all. But I like my head and rather not have it guillotined. They might skim over the death of some too-nosy soldier but I doubt they’d leave me be after I put a bullet between the King’s eyes.”

“I’ll protect you.”

He looks at you for a moment, “Quite reassuring.”

You sit up straighter, licking your lips as you prepare yourself. “My father isn’t a good man.”

The pirate captain snorts, “Oh, I’m well aware.”

You try not to stare too hard at the still unsheathed dagger that he digs into the floorboards, knifing out splinters in disregard.

“My father doesn’t want me home, he wants the crown home. He wants me to be a carbon copy of himself, he wants to be in control long after he’s gone.” You try not to grind your teeth too hard but it’s difficult when your father’s face burns behind your eyelids. “I want control over the throne, full control.”

“And your conclusion is to eliminate him.”

“I don’t have another choice.”

“Then what? You’ll pardon me and my crew after we get our hands dirty for you?” he asks, eyes wide in mock hope.

“Yes. You can do whatever it is that you sail about doing and no one will be of bother. I might ask you for sparing favours. For a wage of course. But other than that, you can live as lawlessly as you wish.”

“You’re asking me to become your personal lackey?”

“Having a queen’s favour is no small feat I hope you’re aware. Besides, it's a leap better than the hoops you’ve been jumping through during my father’s reign.”

You realised his face had been shrouded by the dark between your negotiating and the clouds that had veiled the moon. Every moment that was supposed to strengthen your understanding of the man that sat across from you only brought you more confusion.

“You want your ship and freedom of land and sea,” you continue when it’s silent for a beat too long. “I only ask for a small favour in return.”

“I’d argue the miniscule nature of what you’re asking from me,” he scoffs.

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

There crawls in the silence once again, the same one that seems to grab you by the throat for every moment that ticks past undisturbed.

“We’ll have to see to that,” he says, huffing as he gets back on his boot clad feet. You follow him with your eyes as he walks towards the creaky stairs that lead to the lower deck, utterly confused.

“Where are you going?” you ask, bewildered at his strange behaviour.

Turning around, just as he had a mere day ago in your quarters and you feel yourself suppressing a shudder. “I have a crew to consult.”

So he was considering it.

“But you’re the captain.”

“And?”

THE SKY IS A lighter sheen of blue, leaning towards the premature hours of the morning. He’d left you untied, and as you gaze into the duned waters in the minimal light, the urge to jump in and create a ripple that goes beyond just the water is less tempting than you’d thought. The prospect of having a dead father, and a dead king, was enough to snap you out of your hysteria despite it being a plot of your own devising.

You’ve been alone for a while, little indication that there was other life on this ship at all with the lack of human activity. There wasn’t much that you knew of sailing or ship handling, but leaving the deck unmanned for this long gave you the vague impression that you were on a vessel with poor practising pirates. If they’d thought you’d be equipped to handle any hiccups, they’d either find out the hard way, or whenever it was that you could find the wit to bring it up to the pirate captain and his strangely attached crew.

Something that sounds distinctly like boots are thudding gradually up to the main deck, the unmistakable blond of the pirate captain himself coming into view. You aren’t quite sure what it is, but the low thuds are sending your heart racing, panic overcoming your senses for a brief moment before you recalibrate. It’s only then that you realise it’s been more than 24 hours since the ship was hijacked. Somehow, you could have believed it was a lifetime.

He’s disturbingly nonchalant, hand at the sheathed hilt of the dagger at his hip, a casual glance around at the empty abyss of ocean and sky. When he reaches the far end of the deck, right above the prow, he stops.

“Are you going to push me off the rails?” you ask, half genuine, half trying to fill the silence as you face one another.

“No.” He said it plainly, the single word reply leaving you even more uncomfortable.

“Have you thought about what I said…with your crew?” you ask, hand coming up to grab the railing for support.

“I did.”

“Do I sense an objection?” you ask, swallowing the lump in your throat

“Not exactly,” he says. “We want to hear your master plan for this heist before we agree to anything.”

He’s asking for a plan, a plan that you do not have.

You aren’t sure how he figured it out, perhaps it was the slight darting of your eyes as you thought of a response, but he seemed to read you like a book. He snorts loudly, “You don’t have a clue, do you?”

“You’ve done this before, you’d know better.”

“And if I led you astray?”

You look at him, this time right into his dark eyes, “Then you lead me astray.”

“Your contentment with death is wildly unsettling.” There’s a ghost of a sneer at his lip.

“I’d rather be lounging in the bottom of the ocean than live with a prospective future with my father.”

“So I’ve heard.”

There’s a huff that leaves you as you steel your voice. “I’m not trying to set you up if that’s what you’re afraid of.”

“I doubt you’d have that capability,” he says as he leans his forearms over the railing. You briefly consider pushing him over but think better of it.

As much as you wanted to be a sneaky link, you simply didn’t have that trait. You blame all the dependency your father’s fostered into you, ensuring that you couldn’t rule without his influence.

“Are you willing to brew a plan or not? I need to time my dip in the ocean accordingly,” you say, sounding almost disgruntled.

He lets out a big sigh, “Follow me.”

He’s made himself familiar with the ship, you soon realise, as he leads you right downstairs to the lower deck towards the war room. When he opens the door, the room is lit with lamps, casting a golden glow on the reddish interior, warmer than the rest of the ship.

“Stay here, and don’t do anything stupid,” he tells you as he shuts the door behind him, leaving you alone in the cabin.

You only exhale in response as you turn away from the door, towards the large table in the centre. It’s slightly cluttered, studying the scrawled notes as you realise they’re all from the Admiral, his directions and plans of course littered across the table. Turning towards the map on the walls, you lift a finger to trace the lifted ridges of snow capped mountains, trailing towards the dipped shallows of the blue water.

It was an exact replica of the tactile map in the war room back home, and you’re suddenly hit with a pang of nostalgia. Not that you’d been away from home for too long, but the end result of what you're about to do, regardless of the outcome, would change your life forever.

You feel yourself breathing in the lingering scent of mildew, a strange comfort in the warm quarters.

There’s a creak at the door, and you quickly retract to find the pirate captain back at the door, walking in with a trail of men behind him. You recognise them by their faces, watching as they all take their places in the edges of the room. They look relaxed. You note the pirate captain taking his place behind the main drawing table.

“Your throne, miss princess.” He gestures exaggeratedly towards the lone cushioned chair across from him. You’re hyper aware of all the eyes that are trailed on you, and you feel almost embarrassed to take the only seat.

It only lasts for a moment. You walk up to the chair with what you hope exuded confidence and take your place across from the pirate captain. His men circle the edge of the room, and you count five other men.

He sighs, “I think introductions are in order.”

“Mingyu, Minghao,” he points to the two men that had inspected your window right after you tried breaking it open.

“Jun,” he gestures to the one who had found you in your quarters the night it all went wrong.

“Seungkwan and Chan,” you recognize the latter as the one who’d tied you to the mast at his captain’s command.

“They’ll be helping kill your dear father.”

It’s silent for a moment as you attempt to moisten your mouth. You’re reminded you haven’t eaten or drank for hours, not since one of them had come up with a tray of whatever they could find for you from the reserves.

“I know I may not be the most admissible person to trust, or vice versa—” You hear someone snort but choose to ignore it. “But I’m willing to make myself useful to you if it means you would help me too.”

“Would it not be easier to lock him up instead?” someone asks, and you turn to find Seungkwan asking the question from next to the tactile map.

“He has too many people indebted to him, too many that are too loyal for their own good. I cannot truly rule for as long as he’s alive and well.”

“And how do you expect his loyal court mongers to let you bid favour to the people who killed their king?” the pirate captain asks with a raised brow.

“Which is why it needs to look like an accident.”

“How do you reckon we go about that?”

“What message have you given the Admiral?”

“You don’t answer a question with another question—”

“We need to be transparent with each other if either of us wants to make it out relatively unscathed.”

He doesn’t look too happy but he answers anyway, “My ship and five hundred thousand for all our trouble. Two months from now at the Green Islands up north.”

The Green Islands were anything but green, the glaciers being near uninhabitable owed to the ruthless weather. It was smart enough, it’d be near impossible to bring as much violent power that far north, no matter how influential anyone is.

“Is five hundred thousand all I’m worth?” you feel the beginnings of a sneer rise up your mouth. You aren’t sure what prompted it but you don’t want to fight it either.

“Didn’t know I was bartering for a fucking princess’ case, did I?” he snaps. “Now tell us how you want us to commit the undetected homicide of a King.”

“We need to blow up his ship.” To your surprise (and maybe even a little horror), the pirate captain breaks into a slight grin. Neither do you miss other bits of his crew releasing a bit of a snicker.

There’s a flare of defiance within you, “Do you have any better ideas then?”

“No, no. Go on,” he says with his head hung. You’re surprised he has the character to shield his smile.

“He doesn’t frequent the seas but I’m almost sure he’d be present at the exchange.”

“Almost?” he questions.

You hesitate. The combined chance of needing the crown home and seeing to the downfall of his enemies would be enough warmth to send him to the greenlands himself. You were confident, but your father could also be unpredictable.

“He’ll be there. I’m sure of it.”

The pirate captain lifts his head, locking eyes with you. You try not to look as weak as you felt, as unsure as you felt, pooling all the remaining confidence into your face.

He swallows before looking away, addressing one of the crew members. “How big are we talking?”

Jun looks up like he’s only just begun to pay attention, fumbling over the revolver in his hands as it thuds to the ground like a theatrical mistake, “What?”

His captain sighs before replying, “Explosion. How big does it need to be to blow up a naval ship with a King on it?”

The man brings a hand up to the back of his head, scratching his nape. “If it’s anything like this one, we’re gonna need a lot of ammo.”

“Just enough to sink it,” you speak before you could decide not to. “Even better if they don’t realise it’s happening.”

He thinks for a moment. “We could plant it in the bilge somehow.”

“But how do we get on that ship? When they’re giving us a tour of the lower decks?” The man you recall as Seungkwan scoffs.

“Throw a grenade on board somehow?” you hear one of them suggest.

“Real subtle, Chan,” you hear another mock.

The war room is in shambles before you know it, loud voices talking over threats to slit throats and to shove people overboard. The room is humid and it feels as though the light from the oil lamps are fading. You close your eyes amidst the utter chaos, rubbing the heel of your palm on your temple in an attempt to soothe the throbbing vein.

“Enough!” The pirate captain has spoken and you have the urge to ask what took him so long.

Tranquility once again and you almost thank the man. Before anyone can say another word, nausea begins to build in your stomach.

It takes you a minute to realise the room was spinning and that you weren’t completely losing your mind. The ship begins to rock harder as the seconds tick by, everybody in the room seemingly still as they perceive the change.

“Batten down the hatches,” the pirate captain says to no one in particular.

Chan is the only one who moves to the door to leave before he’s interrupted.

“All of you. Those clouds weren’t looking too nice up there, we’ve got a storm on our hands.”

By everyone he surely did not mean you, because as the room rushes out and you hear the thuds of boots clamouring up to the main deck, you’re left alone with the captain. Yet again.

It’s becoming increasingly difficult to keep steady, and you wonder how he’s able to remain balanced while on his feet. It isn’t long before your chair begins to slide as well, the legs croning as they slip on the hardwood. You spring up on instinct, hands coming to the bolted down drawing table to stabilise yourself.

The pirate captain seems unphased, moving the curtains on the far end to try to get a glimpse at where the water breaks. He steps like he knows exactly where the evermoving floor would be, barely glancing below to gauge his footing.

“Shouldn’t you be up there?” There’s effort in your voice, your grip on the table as hard as ever as the ship banks to a hard left. He barely grabs the wall in support.

“Huh? They can figure it out themselves, they’re big boys,” he grunts.

“Your big boys were at each other’s throats a moment ago,” you grunt back, stumbling at a particularly forceful lurch.

“If you weren’t so ill prepared they wouldn’t need to use their brains, that’s always dangerous,” he shoots back. He’s on the other end of the room, pushing the unbolted cabinet back in its place

“I gave you a job and it's up to you to see it done, I’m not—ah— I’m not supposed to be planning at all!”

“Are you?” He’s turned to look at you know, mouth hitched in a snarl as his forehead reflects a light sheen. “Because trying to murder a—”

“Trying to murder a King isn’t a normal task,” you finish for him in a hiss. “Yes, as you’ve reiterated a million times.”

“Great, so you know!” Sarcasm is a deadly look on him, you realise as he walks over from the cabinet to where you were in the middle of the room. The waves have given in, the rocking becoming significantly slower. “Now do you mind telling us about a plan that actually has better odds?”

Your white knuckles have relented, the hands that gripped the table coming loose as you stare back at the pirate in defiance. “I should just hand you over.”

“It’s sweet you think you’re in charge here,” the grit in his voice is evident. “This isn’t your turf anymore, miss princess.”

“You don’t trust me, and you don’t give me reason to trust you—ugh.”

The waves seemed to have decided she hadn’t had enough just yet, this particular lurch sending you hurtling backwards into the wall, back hitting the hardwood as the stable pirate himself loses his footing. You could almost believe you’d landed sideways with the gravity that’s lost its way beneath your feet.

The chair you were once sitting on is hurtling towards you with a vengeance, gaining momentum as you simply watch it approach like a wooden bullet. A boot clad foot kicks it to the other end and you realise the pirate captain’s gotten hold of his bearings before you have.

“What happened to being transparent with one another?” he huffs, breathless and wide eyed as he attempts to pull himself to his feet.

There’s another lurch that sends you both skidding towards the table, just short of grabbing on before you’re hurtled into the cabinet that had moved again, and now slams back into the wall with the weight of the sea and two humans with a bang!

“Fine. You give me your ammo to blow up the bilge, let me on the ship with my dear father and one of you scoops in and saves me before I drown with him,” you yell over the sounds of clanging and banging of everything on this cursed ship, and the whooshing and thunders of the skies, winds and water. “And if I riddled the chances of you letting me drown with my father? Where does that leave me?”

“On the bottom of the seabed,” he deadpans. “But that also leaves me without my freedom.”

You find the opportunity to look at him for a moment, and he’s looking at you too. He looks away towards the door, already making moves to walk out and join his crew above deck. The conversation was over, and it was evident in your lack of reply.

Mother nature, however, sends another one in as a surprise and you're both sent flying to the other end of the ship, yet again.

There’s a cushion to your blow this time as you find yourself landing right into the pirate captain’s chest, hand above his heart in your instinct to save yourself any more bruises. Between your bickering and the staggering of the ship, his shirt had flown open nearly down to his navel.

Your eyes barely register the nasty scar across his left pec, instead moving upwards to lock eyes with him. It’s insanity, how you instinctively dart your eyes towards his half open mouth.

“If you wanted me that bad, miss princess, you could’ve just asked.”

Whatever airborne drug that’d been willy nillying in your noggin seems to spin into a rage as his words register a moment too late. Clenched jaw and a vice grip on his shirt, you spit back.

“I don’t ask for things. They come to me.”

There’s a crash above you and you realise the oil lamp that was suspended above has shattered, raining glass over your forms.

Expect you don’t feel it, because he’s ducked over you and suspended his arms in the air to catch the crystalline.

Before you can decide whether it was instinct or not, you hear a yell at the door.

“Captain! One of the—oh.”

A barely balancing Mingyu, is staring into the now dimly lit war room, his captain and their supposed prisoner pressed against one another in a dark corner of the room.

Your instinct forces you to take a slow step backwards.

“Get back up,” he snarls, already pushing past you to stalk towards the door. He actually makes it this time, shoving Mingyu into the hall towards the stairs.

Not as much as a glance back before he slams the door shut, leaving you in the tattered war room alone, shards of glass at your feet.

THE STORM SEEMS TO have done its damage as it calmed itself for the rest of the morning and well into the day.

One of them had come down and escorted you to your quarters, Chan telling you that you could keep it while the rest of them adjusted in the other cots and quarters aboard. Changing out of your ragged, days old clothes felt luxurious, the familiar scent of your quarters putting your tense shoulders at ease; or at least a semblance of such.

Neither you nor the captain have attempted to speak to each other after the incident in the war room. Having berated yourself for letting your guard down enough, you chalked it up to the lack of food and sleep and put the matter to rest in some deeply buried chest in your head.

For now you board up the door of your cabin (because you haven’t completely lost it), and burrow under the covers for some much needed shut eye.

You aren’t sure how long the universe lets you rest, because unless you’ve slept all the way to the Green Islands the banging on the door seems incessant enough to warrant an arrest of its own. The sleep is slow to leave, and it’s hard enough to push an entire drawer against a door, the bleariness paired with whoever the fuck was outside the door isn’t making it easier to push it away from the entrance either.

By the time you’ve wrenched the door open, you’re thoroughly annoyed, and met with a very alarmed Seungkwan.

“Oh thank goodness, I was about to try opening it,” he says, looking genuinely relieved. “I thought you might’ve….anyway.”

“You weren’t trying to break in before?” you ask.

He only thrusts a tray of rations and water towards you, “Captain said to give this to you.”

Accepting the tray, you try to balance it in one hand with furrowed brows, “Oh.”

“Um. That’s it, sorry for waking you up.” He makes a move like he’s about to turn around and leave but falters. “If…if you need anything a bunch of us are on the main deck.”

And then he’s gone.

You take it as your cue to shut the door, kicking one of the heftier pieces of furniture against it before moving back inside.

When you peer up your tiny window, it’s late afternoon and the beginnings of orange on the surface tell you the sun is beginning to set. You decide it was a good enough amount of sleep. Setting the tray down on the smaller than usual desk, you find that these pirates do not have a knack for subtlety. Many of your letters and papers are haphazardly stacked and shoved into one corner of the table, very obviously sifted through.

Not that you care too much, there was nothing awfully important that you wouldn't have told them yourself. Ripping off a piece of bread from the tray, you take pleasure in chewing as loudly and as open mouthed as you wished, plucking the parchment at the top of the pile to study.

It’s another one signed by your father, not a question of your wellbeing in sight as he scrawls ink on paper all the incorrect things you did in the Southerner’s banquet last month. If anything, you were glad the stupid Admiral was away from your presence, his incessant habit of reporting your every breath and turn to your father was becoming too much to handle.

This was one of his tamer letters, less insults attached to his criticisms but a pain to read anyway. You don’t brush away the crumbs that fall onto the parchment.

There is not a diplomatic bone in your body. Perhaps move on from drinks and dessert and into more important territories besides the Duke’s son. Our kingdom needs a ruler that’s strong, not one that forgets where she is after a sip of brandy!

If you squint hard enough, it almost reads as a parent scolding a child for a spill, like regardless of what you did, he might just love you the same.

You wonder how good of a mood he was in when he wrote this.

Sifting through the rest of the papers you take a mental note of every reason he’s given you to believe that you’d be a hopeless ruler, a few years ago you even questioned why he kept you around before realising his contradicting intentions. As you read, letter by letter, you think of reasons you know are going to make you a better ruler, better than him and better than his stupid court of old men.

These pirates are a blessing, you think, and you aren’t about to let this chance from the universe drown in these waters.

HOSHI ISN'T IN TROUBLE. No, he isn’t. On his butt on the sleek floorboards of the ship, his own golden dagger glinting in the sunlight as it's held in a threatening hold, except it isn’t in his hands.

It’s pointed right into his jugular vein, held by some grimy sailor who considers himself something akin to a pirate. Perhaps the stench this sorry excuse of a crew carries around may be their idea of a criteria, but as Hoshi remains inches away from death, all he can think about is the atrocious fingers around his dagger, and all the scrubbing he’s going to be doing after this is all over.

Mingyu had warned him, told him to take down the flag of the navy from the mast, the royal seal in the smack middle of the ginormous thing. He brushed it off. He wasn’t quite sure if he was tipsy, hungry or just plain exhausted when he made that decision, because he’d forgotten just how stupid some of these simpleton sailors could get.

They were taken by surprise, their only weapons mops and buckets of soapy water as they were ambushed by some overlooked wherry that had suddenly thrown hooks over their railing and climbed up like uninvited sewer rats.

In the initial confusion, interrupted mid-chorus of some pretty siren and her pirate prince, the first few intruders had simply crumpled over onto the slippery deck, a few slipping overboard completely from the suds and water on the wood. His crew, and Hoshi himself, could only stand and watch as the newcomers sabotaged themselves for a few incredulous moments before they gained their bearings.

Chan and Seungkwan swang their mops right into the necks of a couple, sending them into the ocean without waiting for a splash.

Hoshi slips out his dagger with practised ease, swinging the butt of the hilt over the head of another ambushing intruder, right on the head as he crumpled to the floor with a loud thud. He kicks him over for an indication of where he came from. No ink that shows an alliance, no brooch or jewels with a crest.

New guys, ones that were clearly still learning the ropes.

Hoshi’s crew had better senses than required for him to yell out orders, and it only took a few more disgruntled minutes to disable the remaining extra men aboard.

“Where the fuck did these guys come from?” he asks no one in particular, mostly just annoyed that they were disturbed.

Minghao, who’s peeking over the railing replies, “It’s a tiny thing. They either lost their actual boat or didn’t have one at all.”

He vaguely registers him making a jerking arm movement over the exterior before he hears a wail and a splash. “Disgusting.” Minghao holds his hands away from his body like he didn’t want it anymore.

Hoshi’s mistake was keeping his guard down, because before anyone could warn him, the dagger that he held loosely against his hip had slipped out his palm. The next thing he knows, his neck is in some grimy sleeve’s grip, and the point of his dagger is lodged into his own throat. He holds his breath, afraid he might pass out completely from the stench alone.

“Not a move.” He sounds like a boy more than anything, but his grip indicates a harsher life. “Everybody into that fishing boat. I’ll throw this one in when you’re done.”

He sounds unstable, but that only makes him more dangerous. Hoshi can’t try to wiggle his way out of this one, one wrong move and it’s the end. His crew can’t do anything as they stand with broken mops and empty buckets as their weapons.

It was stupid of him to even allow himself to be cornered like this, not when he’s weaselled his way out of more dangerous situations with more ease than this.

His crew looks at him, and he can only close his eyes in encouragement. He watches as Jun steps over one of the defeated bodies to reach the hooks that’ve lodged into the railing. His movements are slow, and he can tell he notices the unhinged nature of this boy that he doubts is barely over 17.

Chan follows, then Seungkwan as Jun double checks the integrity of the ropes. He’s stalling.

“Hurry!” It was supposed to come out as a threat, but it sounded more like a plea from the boy.

And then Jun stops completely, his eyes trained on Hoshi. His eyes are wide, his grip on the rope so tight he can see the whites of his knuckles from the other side of the ship.

No, he wasn’t looking at him, he was looking behind him. Before he can register, there’s a loud bang of a gunshot, and Hoshi feels the body of his captor slump against his back, his dagger dropping to the ground with an ominous clang. He falls with him, turning over to push the dead weight of the body off of him.

There’s smoke in the air when Hoshi looks back and it takes him a moment to realise who just basically saved his life.

You stand in your nightgown, shawl over your shoulders, and a revolver, Jun’s revolver, clenched tightly in both hands. It remains frozen in the air, hovering as he takes in your face. Eyes wide, mouth open slightly, the colour drained from your face.

Hoshi scrambles to get up as the rest of the crew swarm both him and you. He grabs his dagger before anything else, looking back to see a bullet lodged in the back of his captor’s skull, blood pooling the deck.

He looks back at you shoving the revolver back into Jun’s hands eagerly, like you didn’t want to feel the warmth of the metal any more than you wanted to make that shot.

He looks back at the cooling body, and then back at you, an undeniable warmth overcoming his chest.

You just saved his life.

“Are you alright?” he hears Chan ask you. You nod slowly, and then quickly.

“Where did you find this?” Jun asks.

“Uh, in one of the quarters. Downstairs. I went down because I thought it’d be safer, you were handling it and I didn’t want to get in the way. But then…all your weapons were there.”

Your voice sounds airy, like you were in a daze. Hoshi comes to the stark realisation that this may have been your first time with a weapon, and then even more horrifying, your first kill.

“I’m sorry, I just thought it was getting out of hand and—”

“It’s alright,” Seungkwan says. He watches as you let him lead you back down the stairs below decks.

It was like the shock turned you into a different person, complacent, less defiant. Seungkwan clearly had more of an emotional range, because it certainly took Hoshi too long to realise you might be on the edge of panic.

Hoshi doesn’t say a word as you disappear, the smell of gunpowder from the singular shot wafting through the deck. He doesn’t realise he’s staring into space until Mingyu interrupts.

“Should we—”

“Throw them overboard,” Hoshi says, voice flat.

“But, this one seems like he’ll come around. We could question him and drop him off wherever next—”

“He’s a shit seaman, if even a pirate, he’s got what came for him. Throw. Him. Overboard.” Hoshi is out of breath, yet grits the words out through clenched teeth. “All of them.”

Hoshi slips his dagger back into its sheath at his hip. All he can think about is your blown pupils and you in your nightgown. All he can think about is how they were almost bested by a child. All he can think about is how you had to make that final shot to save his ass, that he couldn’t do it himself.

Mingyu senses his mood and asks no more questions, simply pushing the remaining bodies out into the water. He vaguely registers Minghao sending the men a prayer into the sea. Mingyu’s already trying to get the stupid naval flag off the mast, stripping off his jacket and disposing of it at the base to start climbing.

Chan pushes a clean rag into his chest, and he looks down to receive it and notes a tinge of blood at his collar. Right, he was bleeding.

They go back to cleaning, except it’s a lot more silent.

Jun walks back up to help, but this time he has both of his clean, black revolvers strapped at his hip.

THERE WERE FEWER PEOPLE in the war room this time around, the captain sits beside Mingyu, Jun and Minghao as they attempt to sketch out a crude rendition of your discussion. The pirate captain does nothing but use his dagger to pick under his nails, barely speaking as he listens in on the conversation.

Not that you cared, you and the rest of his crew seemed to get along better than you did with the captain anyway. Saving the man’s life seemed to hold no weight to him, not that you expected it but a ‘thank you’ would have sufficed.

“Keep the grenade til the last minute if it makes you feel better, so you’ll know I’m not trying to sink the wrong ship,” you sigh as you clarify. Minghao doesn’t reply as he scribbles the details. Jun rolls his eyes at his meticulous nature.

“We need to port in the next couple days if I’m gonna finish this grenade in time,” he says, looking at his captain pointedly.

“We can stop at Port Ash,” Hoshi says.

Port Ash was no man’s land, which also meant it was every man’s land.

Being mostly occupied by pirates and other thieves and criminals it was considered dangerous territory for anyone who didn’t speak in lies, deceit and fists. This crew would fit right in, but you worry for yourself.

“That’s not gonna be till a week and a half,” Mingyu interjects.

Jun frowns as he looks at Mingyu and then back at his captain, “I can’t wait that long.”

“We’ll pick up what we can at Hasry when we stop for rations,” Hoshi replies.

“But—”

“Deal with it. There’s nothing we can do about it.”

Jun looks like he wants to say something, and Mingyu has the good sense to interject again to ask more questions about the plan.

“How much manpower do you think the king’ll have?” he asks.

You sigh, crossing your arms as you lean back in your chair. “I have no idea. Could be five, could be fifty.”

“Not even an inkling?”

“Considering how he wants the lot of you gone, it’s probably on the larger side. But…” you pause.

“But?”

“He’s smart. Always seemingly one step ahead. I wouldn’t be surprised if he catches us blind.”

“I know enough about that,” Hoshi snorts. There’s a glint in his eye that suggests something, but you don’t press.

“I was wondering…we should probably change course even if it takes us longer. My father might intercept—”

“Did that. Didn’t take the obvious alternative route either,” Mingyu replies, and you note that he looks proud of himself. “We can take our time too, the ransom note suggested we took the way past Scarsfield.”

“We should be careful of other boats anyway,” you say, gulping down a lump in your throat before continuing. “Those other sailors could’ve been my father’s men too, for all we know.”

“They were on a smaller boat too,” Hoshi adds, he looks like he’s making connections in his brain. “What’re the odds they were dropped farther back into a smaller boat?”

There’s a pause as you absorb what he’s implying. “Are you saying they’re on our tail?”

“I wouldn’t doubt it,” he says, exhaling heavily through his nose. “He’s done it before. It was a sorry attempt then and it was a sorry attempt now.”

“How did you shake him off last time?”

The panic in your chest is barely there, but as you register the possibility, you find yourself breathing increasingly heavy.

“Circling farther out before going the opposite way so we wouldn’t cross paths.” He shakes his head. “But we can’t do that now, not when we can’t afford detouring. The port stops are as late as I’m willing to go.”

“What if we skip Hasry? It’s our more obvious stop, we’ll just stop at Ash later,” Minghao suggests.

“We’ll starve, we’ve got no food,” Hoshi gruffs.

“Portwater?”

“Too far.”

It’s silent yet again as everyone racks their brains. You feel very useless all of a sudden, you didn’t know the names of harbours or ports this far out.

“We’ll just port at Hasry and be extra careful, there’s nothing we can do.” Hoshi sighs at his own ultimatum.

He gets up and walks around the table to the door, “I’ll update the others.”

You glance as he walks past you, his figure leaving a gust of wind in your face. He smelled nice, which was saying something considering the state some pirates are known to be in. As he brushes past, your gaze is met with the other side of the war room, an empty oil lamp bracket on the wall.

The memory of the storm floods your mind, and suddenly your cheeks are burning. Snapping your head back, you're thankful they’re all absorbed in the papers and plans on the table, oblivious to the memory that’s flashed before your eyes. Mingyu was the one who saw you in your compromising position, and you didn’t know him well enough to decide whether he’d do something as dumb as dish out his captain’s ‘affairs’.

You file out the room with them. They don’t escort you to your rooms, make sure you stay in one place, restrict your wandering anymore. Perhaps they’d realised you weren’t actively attempting to sink the ship anymore, or that if you jumped off the edge it didn’t matter to them that much, but you appreciated the space anyway.

Briefly catching Seungkwan filling Mingyu in on the past couple hours they’d been below deck, you turn over to catch his eye. He waves, and you wave back. You don’t realise what you did till it already happened, noting the smile on his face as he did it. You choose to move past it and find the captain.

There was something you wanted from him.

There’s no trace of him on the main deck, eyes scanning the area to no avail. A movement from above catches your peripheral attention, eyes squinting as you crane your neck up to look. Hoshi has leaned his back against the railing of the crow’s nest, arms crossed, visible hand occupied with a brass telescope that glints in the sunlight.

He isn’t using it though, merely gazing at the horizon with furrowed brows. As though he could see better without the device in his hand. In the few minutes that you’re looking at him, you notice the muraled, multicoloured shirt that blows with the wind, a kaleidoscope of beiges, greens and reds. The crop of his blonde hair blends in with the clear blue-white sky.

Briefly wondering how he’s managing the impossible heat, a hand coming over your own eyes as a visor, you simply look back down. Seungkwan is next to you. You aren’t quite sure how he got there, but he stands next to you, hands on his hips, a pleasant expression on his face.

“Is there anything you want when we dock? We’re trying to make a list,” he says. Somehow, the prospect of pirates making lists boggled you a little. It was a little jarring, not quite sure why he asked a captive anyway.

But then again, were you a captive anymore?

“I don’t think so, no,” you reply and then juggle whether you should push it with another measly formality. “Thank you for asking.”

“That was your first kill, wasn’t it?”

“What?” You knew what he was talking about, but you weren’t expecting him to bring it up in the moment when he’s asking you about restocking supplies. And especially not with a smile on his face.

“That day, when you used Jun’s revolver to shoot the lad.”

A kid. He was a child.

“I…yeah I’d never done it before.”

“What made you do it?” he asks, remaining as nonchalant as ever.

“I—I don’t know, it looked like there wasn’t another option,” you say, not quite sure of yourself either.

Why did you shoot him? You’d never laid hands on a gun before, your father forced you into the category of archery and crossbows, not that you were very good at them either but it was also because you simply wanted to spite your father by being plain bad. It worked, because it only took a year and a half and an arrow straight into his study window to retire from the sport entirely.

Even then, your targets had been apples, barrels and tree trunks. Never a person.

You’d heard of what people tended to do in pressuring situations, and with the way the aftermath unfolded, it didn’t seem like you made the wrong decision to pick up that revolver anyway.

But the feeling lingers, the same one that you saw as you gazed into the back of the boy that held the captain of this ship hostage. It felt wrong. Like watching the pirate captain cornered was a picture you couldn’t quite make sense of in your head.

So you pulled the trigger.

“In any case, we’re glad you made that decision. We all owe you for it.”

You don’t know what to say to that, so you gulp, inhale and press your lips in a line. “That’s a lot for a pirate to say.”

“I know.”

BY THE TIME YOU manage to corner Hoshi it’s already the next day, and you’re only a couple hours away from docking at Hasry.

It’s an anxious ordeal, the crow’s nest constantly occupied by someone trying to catch sight of a possible tail. There was no sign, yet anyway.

“I want to learn to use a knife.”

He was piling coiled ropes when you’d said it, pushing the heap to the side, sweating through his clothes. There was a flash of confusion on his face as he registered you.

“Why? So you can slit all our throats in our sleep?” he grumbles as he pushes a barrel against the railing. He’s too aggressive, and the force has the splashback soaking his clothes in freshwater, tsk-ing audibly.

You ignore the way his previously loose shirt now sticks to him, ignore the way the droplets land on your boots when he shakes his sleeve.

“We’ve discussed what we might be up against, I don’t want to be useless when the time comes.”

“Seemed pretty alright with that revolver.”

“Anyone can shoot a gun,” you say, getting the sudden urge to fidget with the front of your shirt. You try to make your voice sound as declarative as possible. “I want to learn to fight. With a knife, with a sword, with my hands if I have to.”

He doesn’t say anything as you look down, fiddling with the tassels on your shirt. Your excuse was the sun and the way it was beating down on the deck this afternoon, getting tired of squinting to simply look straight. When the silence prolongs you look up to push further, juggling with bringing up the fact that you saved his life and that, as Seungkwan very graciously told you, he owes you.

The sound your throat makes is unhuman, because when you look up the captain's soaked shirt is now off his back.

The skin is near white from the glare of the sun, remnants of glazed water that’s somehow made its way to his back as well. The dip in his shoulder blade reflected a dark marking, one that you couldn’t make out.

He wrings it as you can only watch, mouth gaping like a fish. Hanging it over one of the suspended ropes to dry, he mutters as he walks to the lower decks.

“Fine,” he says nonchalantly. “We’ll get you a knife at Hasry.”

Hasry. Right.

The port is quiet, at least as quiet as a port can be. There’s not much to see but fishermen both returning and leaving for another week's worth of fish supply. Minghao manages to pay and convince the harbourmaster that they were merchants on their way back to the Kingdom, stopping for supplies. The naval make of the ship helped, and then the crew pulled lines and ropes secured from masts in ways you couldn’t quite decipher.

You assumed you would stay on board, yet when Chan knocked and brought you some roughspun clothes from the town, you were informed you’d be joining them.

Hoshi deemed it safer, keeping the rest of the crew on board while he, along with you and Seungkwan, ventured into the village to get what was needed and leave before the sun fully set. If they really were being followed, the ship was going to be the first thing they seized.

Pulling the grey shawl further up your head, you attempt to look as blended as you could, Chan pressing down your shoulders to force you into a slouch.

“Stop walking like you're important,” he had said.

“I’m a princess,” you snapped back, but he wasn’t listening, only jabbing at you to keep the haughtiness out of your tone before it caught somebody’s attention.

The town was a quaint little place, something out of what you were read from storybooks, reminiscent of the paintings that you’d run past on the walls of the palace. The streets cleaner than you’d expected, the faint scent of baked goods in the air mixed with, onion soup, was it? In any case you were glad you were past the fish market, the yelling and the stench nearly sending you to the pavement, gagging.

When Hoshi returns, you and Chan are looking at a jewellery stall that’s selling necklaces, bracelets and anklets that look like rosaries; colours of deep ocean blue and sunset pinks, beautifully vibrant against their grey canvas backdrop.

You can only observe from afar, instructed to not interact with anyone while he was gone. Hoshi was gone to get food supplies, but returned empty handed. Systems were in place, that the crates would be on their way to the “big naval ship” at the docks for the rest of the crew to receive.

“They said there was a blacksmith up this alley” Hoshi says, eyes also trained on the uncharacteristically colourful jewellery stall, but he does nothing to move towards it. “We can get your knife there.”

“Knife?” Chan asks, confused.

“Miss princess wants to learn to fight—”

“Don’t!” Chan hisses, eyeing the men in black uniform that patrol the market from the shadows.

“It’s fine, they’re too far,” Hoshi says. “Let’s get this over with.”

You do find a blacksmith, an older man with a greying beard and bloodshot eyes that presents Hoshi and Chan with an array of knives and daggers. Either they were able to give an excuse, or he gave no mind to the third woman that trailed behind, the blacksmith continued to deal with the two men as they haggle over prices.

There’s another seller a ways away, and she’s laid out her goods on the floor on what looks like old drapes. It’s a woman, not much older than you were, unravelling a long string of leather cord. She cuts it, strings a charm through and seals the frayed end with a candle flame that burns at her side.

The curtain she’s laid her accessories on is patterned with bright colours, and you realise you can’t make out any of it from where you stand.

Glancing behind you, the men are still occupied with their bartering, seemingly forgetting of your presence. Taking a step back, you pretend to skim through the neighbouring stalls, glancing breezily at woven baskets, layers of folded fabric and towers of painted ceramic cups.

You stop before the laid out array of more necklaces and earrings, scanning the ground. The vendor looks up and gives you a big, crooked toothed smile, urging you to come forward, to take a look at what she has to offer.

Something does catch your eye, and you immediately crouch down to see it better. Picking up the necklace from the charm, you let the gold and red rest on your fingers as you study the make.

“That one’s new,” the woman says. “Practical too.”

The small brass letter opener that’s looped through the cord looks like it could do its job just fine despite its miniscule size.

“It’s quite popular among the busy merchants,” the vendor speaks in a rough tone, almost like she had a perpetual sore throat. “Easier to use this instead of looking for those bulky ones in their neverending drawers and—and in their cabinets.”

She lets out a laugh, “Quite pretty too.”

You stare at it for a moment, “How much?”

“Ten coin.”

You sigh, setting the necklace back down onto the cloth. Standing straight, you turn to walk away before she yells again.

“I’ll do seven!”

You consider whether you should speak, but you also doubt you’d be recognized just by the sound of your voice.

"I don’t have coin,” you rasp.

“How about that pretty thing on your finger then?” she asks.

The ring on your middle finger is a simple band of silver, a coming of age present from your father’s court a few years ago. You stare at the band, worth boatloads more than what this woman in an alley was offering you.

But you find yourself moments later, middle finger empty, and pocket lined with the long leather necklace with the miniature letter opener charm.

By the time you return to the blacksmith’s shop front, Chan is handing the man his coin as Hoshi holds an object sheathed in fabric. They turn around just soon enough to make it seem like you never left.

“Why are you standing so far away?” Chan asks. “Come closer.”

You listen, moving closer to the both of them as they get ready to make the trek back to the docks where the ship waits.

“The crates have probably been loaded too,” Hoshi says, his hands suddenly empty. You assume he’s pocketed the knife somewhere. “Let’s hurry and leave before—”

“Princess?”

It was your mistake that you turned around to acknowledge the title, something you realise as soon as you register the man that spoke to you.

Henley was a stout man, dressed even now in the finest suit of a berry colour, hair white as a ghost. There was no reason for a merchant so rich he had ties with the royal family to be wandering in a harbour market, but he also had every reason to be here.

If it was the recognition in your eyes, or the fact that they were just being smart, you feel one of the pirates wrap their fingers around your upper arm and pull you to walk away from the alley.

“Princess!” Henley yells and you cringe at his volume. People are looking now, and you briefly wonder why you aren’t running yet.

Your heart is pounding against your chest so hard it’s deafening any other sound in your ears, you still don’t know which one has a hold of you, but you let them guide you into a speed walk as you exit the narrow alleys of the main market.

The shawl above your head is pushed further down, shielding your face in a shadow. There’s nothing in your mind other than Clarence Henley and his rich suit, his gold pocket watch, his trimmed, white hair. His face that you only ever saw within palace walls, always accompanied by your father.

There’s a good chance you’re shaking, because you can feel your body rejecting it with the pain in your palms that you can only consider to be your own nails pressing into your hand.

The stench of the fish market helps, bringing you back from your daze as you finally register the ground beneath your feet. It’s only a few more minutes till you reach the docks and you’re suddenly being pushed up the ramp that leads to the main deck of the ship.

It’s immediate comfort, the familiar brown of the floorboards, the scent of saltwater and warping sounds of the sails. You’re led to your quarters, where you finally let the makeshift hood and cape fall.

“Are you alright?”

Snapping your head up, you’re met with Seungkwan and his concerned gaze.

“Oh, erm.” Your voice sounds…not like your own.

“It’s okay, breathe.” It helps, because it really did feel like you’d forgotten to breathe.

“We’re leaving in just a few, everything’s been loaded. Nobody followed you on board, don’t worry.”

Right. You were on the ship, you were in your quarters with some of the most feared pirates on the seas.

The way Seungkwan is easing you through your gulps of water suggests legends in the mix, but you appreciate it regardless.

When you’ve come round, feeling more like yourself, the ship has already left Hasry Harbour, sailing into the deeper waters of the ocean.

“Captain said they couldn’t run because it just would’ve been more suspicious,” Seungkwan informs you as you nod. “Did you…did you recognise him? The man at the market.”

The thoughts come flooding back, the colour of his suit, the jarring nature of a man of such wealth standing in a rundown port market.

“He’s a merchant, one of the wealthiest. A friend of my father’s. If he even has any friends.”

You pause as you think about the near blackout you’d had, the way the panic more than boiled over, taking over your senses and your rationality.

“I think…” you trail off. “I think I just felt like it was the end. I finally had an opportunity to get rid of that tyrant and seeing something that was from home, felt…it felt like I was going to end up right back where I started.”

Seungkwan doesn’t say a word as you digest your own words, accepting your own fear that had rendered you useless in the time it probably mattered most.

“Do you feel better now?”

“A little,” you answer.

“Maybe a weapon can help.”

At the door stands Hoshi, a stern expression on his face as he looks directly at you on the bed. In his hands, the same fabric covered knife he acquired at the market.

You know that you asked for this, but the jolt in your stomach still makes itself known.

“He’s right,” Seungkwan says, lifting from his chair. “Blades have a way of calming you in any case.”

You note the glinting hilt of Seungkwan’s sword sheathed at his hip, remember Hoshi’s own daggers that he seems to be emotionally attached to.

Lifting your head back to Hoshi, you ask, “Can we start now?”

He smirks.

ALL NIGHT, THE STUPID pirate captain had you taking swings at the air.

“Your opponent’s baked a fruit cake by the time you were done with that swing,” he comments, continuously unhelpful. “Swing faster.”

It’s nighttime, nothing but a few oil lamps on the floor of the deck keeping you and Hoshi in the light. Your shoulder burns, your forearms are liquid, and your non-existent opponent remains forever stronger than you.

“I’m done,” you huff, thoroughly spent. Crumbling to the floor, you bring your non-dominant hand up to your aching shoulder in an attempt to massage it.

It’s been a while, the moon high up in the sky when you finally decide to quit it for the night. He lets you go without a fight, and you doubt you’d have the energy to if he decided to do it anyway.

The following day, he’s tweaked his regiment a little, and you find that you’re finally swinging at something tangible; him.

He leaves himself open, an invitation to strike wherever you want. You feign for his shoulder, but he sees you coming from a mile away, already deflecting your flattened blade that comes for his thigh.

“Don’t look where you want to strike, you’re giving yourself away.”

Furrowing your brows, you dislodge your knife from his own and back away again. He’s immediately cocking a brow, telling you to come at him again. You go for his middle, slashing your knife in an arc as he simply deflects.

“Come on, find a pace,” he grunts.

Coming down with your knife again, he blocks you but this time with his forearm, pushing you back by the wrists. It was a battle of strength, as he forces your wrists down. He was stronger than you, and there was no way you could push away, so you dispel your own force. He stumbles from the sudden forward force, and you pull away to take a swing from above.

He recovers faster than you thought he would, already coming up when you’re ready to swing. He raises a hand to deflect, half a moment too late as your blade slashes across the heel of his hand.

There’s a brief splash of red against the blue backdrop of the sky, and you gasp on instinct, immediately moving away.

There’s an apology ready on your lips, mouth gaping as you watch him inspect the wound. You don’t get to say anything because he beats you to it.

“Deep enough,” he comments, like he was inspecting a painting. “Keep this up and you might actually be good by the end of the week.”

Oh.

“Alright,” he says again, moving back into position.

“Are you gonna wrap that?” you ask, referring to the bloody hand.

“It’s fine, I’ve fought with worse,” he says.

You blink as you reluctantly get back into position, bracing yourself as you continue to look at his hand dripping blood onto the deck.

“You’re getting the hang of pacing, but you need to start considering your blade as an extension of yourself—JESUS!”

You’ve swung at him faster than you ever have, putting everything into that single tug of your knife. He wasn’t expecting it, still talking over your glances at his palm. He had his guard down, and you took the chance. He ducks on instinct, but it could’ve been another scar for him to remember if you’d made it.

You stumble as he circles you to the other end, flattening his blade on your back.

“Nice try,” he says. “Really nice try. But you never turn your back to your opponent.”

“I lost my footing,” you defend, but even you knew that wasn’t an excuse.

“And I just stabbed you in the back. And now I’ll have to present your corpse to your father and hope he’ll accept it and give me my ship. We all lose.”

The pressure of the blade leaves your back and you're suddenly left looking stupid despite doing something somewhat right.

“You’d just swindle another poor sailor off his boat and move on,” you say. “You’re a slippery thing.”

He has a smile on his face that borders a smirk yet is innocently mischievous enough. It’s a strange sight, bloody hand, relaxed face. There’s a clean-ish rag on a nearby closed barrel that he uses to wipe the excess blood off his hands.

“I keep going because I live without regret.”

You can only roll your eyes as a scoff leaves your mouth before you can stop it. You simply turn around, settling to the floor, going back to massaging your still aching shoulder. That last blow only made it worse.

“I don’t regret things, miss princess. Ask me why.”

You remain silent.

“Come on,” he urges, that silly smile remaining on his face. He’s washing the wound now with freshwater from the barrel.

Sighing, you ask him, “Why?”

“Because I don’t ever do things I’d regret.”

“That insinuates you think before you act.”

“Right-O,” he declares, wrapping another torn cloth on his cleaned wound.

“Funny,” you answer. “Because I dont think I’ve ever seen any hint of light behind your eyes.”

He turns around to you, sheathing his dagger at his hip, a dangerous look in his eye.

“You’ve looked into my eyes?”

The clench in your jaw must have been visible, or the look of disgust on your face might’ve been apparent just the same, because the pirate captain simply laughs out loud before retreating towards the stairs to go below deck.

“I’ll send Jun up, practise with him.”

You wanted to send your knife, point first, hurtling into his retreating form.

Never turn your back to your opponent, my ass.

But you don’t, mostly because he’d probably manage to deflect that too. So you resort to sitting cross legged on the deck, staring at your dagger while waiting for Jun to meet you upstairs.

Hoshi said he picked the knife based on a number of things you’d already forgotten, something about carbon steel and having a good grip. It’s quite pretty, you’ll have to admit. It’s plain silver, but the reflection it makes in the sun makes it difficult to look away. You’d gotten used to the handle and how it fit in your palm, Hoshi assured you that the more you used it, the more the hilt would mould into your grip.

Jun stomps onto the deck, revolver-less and instead equipped with an array of knives that he deposits on the deck.

“Should’ve picked a plain old gun,” he grumbles as he holds one of the longer blades in his hand. “Job’s done and you don’t need to get within ten feet.”

“Don’t have to reload a knife, do I?” you comment, taking the first swing.

Jun may have an affinity for guns and explosives, but his handling with a knife was still nothing below an expert level. He pushes your arm off before spending you into a ballroom spin, flatting his blade at your collarbone.

That could’ve been your throat.

“No, but by now I could’ve shot you, thrown you overboard, and been on my way to a nap,” he says in your ear, before releasing you as you get back into position again.

That could’ve been your throat.

THE FOLLOWING WEEK PASSES with your days and nights muddled into a strange mixture of swinging knives and taking breaks slumped against the deck of the ship, unmoving.

It’s a particularly hot day, the giant glowing orb beating down on the deck with no mercy. Not that it stops you, because the sun remains unwavering, high in the sky, and you remain unwavering in your wide legged stances as you lunge for Chan again.

Chan’s entire being glistens in the afternoon light, the beads of sweat that he wipes off his forehead only seem to reappear every couple minutes. His clothes cling to him like a second skin, taking long breaths through his teeth amidst the difficult, humid air.

You don’t doubt you look the same, one hand in your hair suggesting you just took a bath in your own sweat. But Chan seems accustomed to the heat, and while you weren’t, you couldn’t deny your growing comfortability with it all.

It’d been a while since your meal, hence your sluggish movements were slowly turning increasingly sharp, having cornered Chan multiple times in the duration. You’re determined to not be the one to call for a time out, so you find yourself pushing beyond what you’ve been doing for the past week or so.

There’s a particular punch of heat at your sides, and you can feel yourself slowing.

One deep breath, a slow exhale.

It’s all clangs and reflections of knives, tiny droplets of blood as evidence of both of your tiny, unintentional nicks and cuts. You’re succeeding, pushing the man further and further back.

“You’re getting sloppy, aim for the blade not my tendons,” Chan seethes through his teeth.

“I’m trying,” you grunt through the effort.

You’re set back for a couple minutes before you go back to pushing. Your lungs burn, your entire side is numb from exertion, but you give more than your body is made for, and you succeed—kind of.

Chan back is against the railing of the deck before he realises it, and perhaps it was momentum, or sheer exhaustion, because one minute you’ve got eyes on Chan’s hands and his blade, and the next he’s gone. There’s a loud splash, and you suddenly realise what you’ve done.

You just pushed Chan overboard.

You scream before you can help it, dropping your knife with a loud, resonating clang. Pushing against the rails, you peer down to find a giant ripple on the surface of the ocean, whipping your head around to the stairs leading below deck to find Mingyu and Hoshi bounding upstairs.

“What? Where’s Chan, he was supposed to be with you,” Hoshi asks, whipping his head around the deck.

Your wide eyed, horrified response from near the edge tells them all they need to know.

By the time Chan’s pulled himself on board, soaked and dripping like a wet poodle, you’ve sat yourself the furthest away from the railing to prevent any more trouble. He drops onto the floor, creating a human sized puddle.

With the way the two men had merely sighed and threw the ladder over the exterior of the ship, you concluded that this must happen enough for them to be beyond the point of concern. It only adds to it when you see Mingyu nudge Chan’s unmoving but heaving body with the toe of his boot, giggling at his expense.

You make your way over, crouching beside Chan sheepishly.

“Sorry about that, got carried away.”

He’s sitting up now, quickly pulling himself back to his feet and you spring back from your crouched position.

“It’s fine, happens.” He has a small smile on his face as he says it and you conclude that he may find the situation laughable as well.

“Now, Chan,” Hoshi says, not letting Chan move into the deck any further from the railing. “What’s the first thing you learn about brawling on a ship?”

Chan looks slightly embarrassed as he answers, “Be aware of your surrounding—ARGH.”

Hoshi pushed him into the water.

You jump as you run back to the rails, watching as Chan’s head re-emerges at the surface after his second dip in the ocean.

Just as you’re about to say something to Hoshi, he’s stuck his head over the railings as well, yelling at Chan in some singsong voice.

“One time was a mistake, twice is a problem!”

To your left, only adding to your horror, is Mingyu doubled over in his fit of laughter, heaving as he giggled uncontrollably. He’s also holding onto the railings for dear life, but clearly, for reasons completely different from yours.

The situation resolves itself as both you and Chan learn a few lessons of practicality. Deciding you’ve done enough damage to your body, you announce that you’d be retiring for the day.

“Thank goodness, I was about to confiscate that stupid knife, I’ve been hearing clanging in my sleep,” Mingyu mumbles as he pulls the rope ladder back up to the deck.

In any case, you have the urge to take a dip in the ocean yourself, feeling increasingly uncomfortable in your drying sweat.

Grabbing a clean washcloth, you fill a bucket of freshwater from one of the barrels on deck and lug it into your quarters. The soaked washcloth does wonders for your overheated body, feeling enormously better after a change of clothes.

Your scalp, however, remains itchy and burning, so you decide to go back up to the main deck, hoping to manoeuvre a hair wash situation without needing to mop the floors of your quarters.

Refilling the bucket of freshwater, you set it down before scanning the empty deck for another spare bucket. You try not to scoff at the unwavering determination of the pirate crew to keep the deck unoccupied for such long increments, that last altercation teaching them absolutely nothing. You wonder how they’ve managed to survive for so long like this.

Shaking the thought, you use the spare bucket as a way to deposit your waste water as you pour cups of clean water over your aching scalp. The feeling does wonders for you, letting the water wash away weeks worth of grime, sweat and stress.

You’re almost back home in your quarters when the whiff of your hair salts hits your nose, the ones you’d packed for yourself, closing your eyes for a moment as you rub them into your scalp. You don't expect the clench that seizes your chest, but you falter when it happens anyway.

It’s nostalgic, and you hate it.

It smells like the palace, like the incense your ladies in waiting always burned, the stench of citrus having made its way into your bones from the years of exposure to the scent. It’s too much as you blink back tears, owing them to the suds that have made their way into your eyes.

The sting helps bring you back, opening your eyes to an orange glow and the waft of seasalt hitting your nose. You’re more aggressive when you dunk your cup into the bucket this time, too aggressive as you feel the half full bucket tip over and spill water all over the deck as you cause yet another accident.

Cursing loudly, you try to blink away the suds from your eyes, soap still in your hair as you try to figure out how to get another bucket of water without ruining your fresh change of clothes, mentally kicking yourself at not thinking this through.

“You realise we have to make do with that freshwater till we make it to Ash?”

Wet hair still in your hands, you attempt to peer up at the voice, only to find Hoshi standing above you, arms crossed over his chest with a funny expression on his face. Huffing, you grumble out in response, “Can you just get me a fresh bucket?”

“Hm, I don’t know, can I?” He removes his gaze and begins to pretend looking over at the horizon and the setting sun.

Chiding yourself for even bothering to ask, you reach for the tipped bucket yourself, deciding you’d figure it out yourself if this dumb pirate was choosing to be of no help. But before you could latch your fingers on the handle, the bucket’s snatched away.

At first you think he’s being funny, taking the bucket away to watch you struggle even further. “You—”

Except you watch him as he dunks the bucket back into the barrel of freshwater, lugging it back to where you could reach. “Try not to paint the deck with it this time, I’ve already mopped twice.”

The thank you freezes on your tongue, and for some reason you can’t say it to him. So you make a scene of splashing into the bucket with vigour, sending spills over the rim and taking mild satisfaction in hearing him sigh at the sight of more mopping.

He’s already gotten hold of the worn mop by the time you’re done as you remerge with clean hair, wringing your own mop of hair to deposit the excess water. Straightening out your back, you take hold of the spare cloth you brought along with you, patting your hair with it.

The sun remains in its mission to cast its golden glow, but only illuminates Hoshi’s grumbling form as he mops up all the water you’ve spilled.

“You know, I should really be making you—” He halts as he makes eye contact with you, your hands still occupied with patting your hair dry, flicking the wet strands. You have a rebuttal already prepared, waiting for him to finish his jab.

“Make me what? you grind.

You can’t make out the look on his face, somewhere between constipated and on the edge of a yelp, he keeps staring at you. You note a slight trickle of water making its way down your neck and chest, bleeding into your shirt as yet another water stain.

“Nothing,” he says, to your surprise.

And with that uneventful climax, you trudge back down to your quarters, a strange brewing in your chest.

[AN]: congrats you made it to the end of part 1!!!!! reblog ur thots and opinions or send me an ask, id love to hear the turmoil in ur minds lol

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astralis-ortus · 6 months ago

Text

game for two

✱ husband!bc × gn!reader

— guess who just got his old yearbook in the mail?

w.count → 0.8k genre → fluff, married life!au, non-idol!chan warnings → minor cussing (light hearted context), chan referred to as chris ⋆ see masterlist

coming home from work, you’re usually greeted with one of the following—an empty house, a soft reverberating beat from the small, cozy studio located at one end of your home, or a soft snore while some romance movie thickens its plot on the screen of your neatly mounted tv.

a view of your husband with a stack of books on his lap, however, was not exactly something you would ever have in your bingo card.

“whatcha up to?” became your follow up question after chris’ quick how-was-your-day debrief. it didn’t take you long before promptly securing the spot next to your husband, where he—judging from the way your ivory-colored couch emanates heat—had been hanging around on for quite some time now. “i don’t think i’ve seen those books before.”

“mm, just got them in the mail today,” chris hummed, an arm swiftly encaged your figure as he attempts wrap you in his warmth, “mum and dad found these in the attic while they were clearing out the house. thought would be better to keep these here than to fill up space in their new home.”

it only took you a second to realize what kind of book your husband has been flipping through when a familiar-yet-way-younger-looking dimpled smile came into view, eternally captured in the printed sheet. “oh! baby chris!”

“good lord,” a chuckle ignited from the depth of his chest, ones that always pair with the soft crinkles near his eyes and sometimes a nuzzle to your hair when he couldn’t stand the adoration bubbling in his heart, “i was an angsty, moody teenager there, not a baby.”

“sure, whatever you say, baby,” you teased, emphasizing the word as you stole the perfectly conditioned yearbook from his hands. you’ve seen countless of chris’ teenager years' pictures, sure, but what harm could it bring to have a peek at more?

chris comically let out a sigh as he rolled his eyes—a signature telltale of his attempt to ‘look’ annoyed. “you’d really be in a huge trouble if you call an angsty teenager a baby, you know.”

“i don’t, actually,” eyeing the faint playful glint in chris’ eyes, you decided to lure him into a game. after all, what’s a more fun way to spend your evening than to bicker with your husband? “what would this-” you pointed at his half-heartedly grinning self of the past, “-angsty teenager do if teenager me called him a baby?”

another set of chuckles escapes him—ones louder, which, more often than not, indicates his approval of the arena you’ve built.

he’s in the game.

“well, for starters,” chris tilted his head, quite obviously setting himself to get a full view of your reaction just by gauging the godawfully attractive smirk he got etched on his lips, “i’d probably…”

“…probably?”

his way of building suspense will one day definitely be the death of you. really. if you were honest to yourself, you would actually rather kiss that damned smirk off his face right now—but the game has just started, and you’d hate to lose to your husband on your own little trick.

only… would he even let you win?

“well…” shrugging his shoulder nonchalantly, chris continued,

”i’d probably tell you to fuck off.”

the way your grin transformed into a face of utter disbelief was enough of a trigger to fill the room with echoes of chris’ laugh, filling the space with the kind of warmth you’ve only known after you met him. for now, however, you feel like you’ve been betrayed.

“that’s rude!” you huffed, incredulous. though arms are now completely folded in front of your chest, chris knew you’d still let him push more of your buttons; otherwise, why would you still melt into him?

“i’m your future wife! how could you tell me to fuck off?”

“in his defense, he didn’t know that!” he countered, wiping a stray tear which had involuntarily escaped while he was celebrating his first strike. "he was just a kid who thought the world in general was a mean ol' crone, so he just, you know, returned the energy."

"meeting you, however," setting his yearbooks aside, chris then took the chance to entrap you in his arms, "has changed my view about the world—for the better—and i owe you my life for that."

you've been speculating that there's something going on about chris' voice—is he a siren? or is he actually a highly skilled mage? how is it that his voice alone has never failed to untangle every single jumbled up knots under your skin?

or maybe, just maybe, the problem is you—because unknowingly, somewhere along the way, chris had long become your achilles heels.

"...shut up, christopher."

"aw- look at your ear! they're burning!"

"shut up!"

"heh- i love you too, baby."

©️ astralisortus, 2024. | likes and reblogs are highly appreciated♡

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dickgraysonisnothereforthis · 24 days ago

Text

Outgoing Call

A Jason Todd x reader story. It's funny, until it's not. Then it's angsty.

MDNI, NSFW, not smut but mature language. Excessive swearing, sexual situations, you know the drill. use of a slur, but in jest. content warnings for addiction.

I have no idea how long this is.

---

Jason doesn't want to be here. The stupid fucking pageantry of the Batcave gets on his nerves and sets his teeth on edge, always has. A whole-ass cave is fucking unnecessary, Jason makes do with a handful of safe houses—apartments really—and a storage unit. Bruce, sitting stoic at the computer in his full Batman getup and looking right at home among the exposed rock and towering ceilings that end in darkness, never seemed to know when to stop. It irritates Jason to no end.

Dick and Tim's blind chirping chatters angrily in his ears, and Jason considers putting on the helmet to block them out before he remembers he left it at his place. Damn. He’s going to have to experience this stupid meeting unfiltered.

Jason only realizes they're trying to get his attention when Dick taps him on the shoulder.

"You okay there, Little Wing?” he asks, raising his eyebrows and nudging an elbow into his gut. It's enough to make a swell of vomit claw its way up his throat. Jason swallows down with a grimace. "Yes, dickface," he snaps. "Just wondering when we're going to get this fucking show on the road."

Dick shrugs, and Jason's secretly glad he's not offended. He probably wouldn't be acting so much of a shit if he didn't go and overdo it at some unknown dive bar last night. It's possible Jason is mixing up his eager disgust with Batman and Co. and alcohol poisoning.

Like he isn't part of Batman and Co. Bruce grunts, and Dick and Tim refocus, alert. Jason does the same, then forces himself to relax. He ildly imagines shooting himself in the face.

"You know why you’re here," Bruce starts. Actually, Jason doesn't. He didn't read the report Bruce sent him, but whatever. He can figure it out with context clues.

"Oracle has a new lead on the cyber-crime case. She managed to override the suspect's phone and took control, creating an essential bug. It goes live in one minute."

Right. The hits on Gotham National Bank, GCPD, and the mayor’s office. Plus an attempt on Oracle's highly protected Batman case files. Jason doesn't know why he's here, he doesn't give a shit about this case. If the hacker manages to get into Bruce's stuff, he'll take them out to dinner himself.

"Do we have a name?" Tim asks.

"No, and no location either. The security on the phone is too tight, Oracle could only get outgoing calls. She'll silently trigger a call to a secure line. Our side is muted. We only have until the suspect realizes the call is ongoing."

Jason sighs, tries to settle in for the next few hours. He reluctantly takes a seat in front of the computer, furthest away from Bruce. Tim, teacher’s pet that he is, pulls out a notebook and pen. Bored, Jason thinks about what he's going to do when Bruce finally lets him off the leash. His thoughts go to your apartment, your bedroom, before he remembers that after last night, he's definitely not welcome there.

He slumps down in his seat. Oh well. It's for the best.

"Call goes live in three, two, one."

The cave is silent. There are a few gentle beeps as the call connects. Quiet, then, a subtle clacking of computer keys.

He catches Tim shoot Dick a look. Well, they're in.

The clacking continues uninterrupted for a few minutes. "Location still unknown," Dick murmurs. Suddenly, there is the sound of shifting fabric. The phone is in the perp's pocket, Jason thinks.

"You done in there?" someone calls. "I just cleaned my shower, don't get it all gross. You'd better not be shaving in there."

Location known. Perp's apartment. Tim all but flies to the computer. "Searching for voice recognition," he explains. Bruce nods.

"What? I can't hear you." The audio crackles, and then there's the sound of footsteps, the rain of a shower.

"I said, relax, I'm not shaving my pubes in your apartment, you asshole."

What the fuck? Jason stiffens, then internally recoils, trying not to sit at obvious rapt attention. He quickly surveys the room to see if he got away with it. Dick seems like he's trying not to laugh, and Tim looks mortified. He feels rather than sees Bruce shift minutely in his direction. Fuck. Fuck. He may have been made.

“Unknown person. Accomplice?” Tim mutters under his breath. “Attempting voice recognition.” As if Jason needs Tim’s tricks to recognize who's on the other end of the line.

"Good, I don't what that shit clogging my drain."

"It's just pubes, moron." Jason knows that voice, knows that tone, even on the phone, where he's been a million times over the past four months. He can imagine you rolling your eyes to match. "You have them too, you know, it's not just women.”

What the fuck are you doing in their perp's shower?

"Girl pubes are gross. I'll stick to men's, thanks."

Bruce's fingers move over the keys, gently moving Tim to the side. He's definitely writing out "homosexual" in the perp's file. If Jason had anything left to spare, he'd laugh out loud. But he's too busy furiously trying to figure out what you're doing there (and if you're in danger, and if he should be jealous) while keeping his reactions to himself. He doesn't need anybody knowing about his girlfriend.

Well. Ex-girlfriend, or at least soon to be.

"Speaking of men's pubes," the perp, starts, "how's Jason?"

Oh. Fuck. Jason's tongue shoots to the roof of his mouth. He doesn't think anybody noticed. Except Bruce. Maybe. He still might be in the clear. There are a lot of Jasons, but if you keep talking about him eventually Gotham's greatest detective is going to put two and two together.

He can almost taste vomit again as the thought crosses his mind. That would actually be really, really bad. Bruce wouldn't hesitate to use Jason's connection to you as a way to move forward on the case, Jason’s feelings be damned.

"He's okay. I mean, I think. I haven't seen him in a few days."

"Really? Is that weird, does he do that often?"

"Nah. Well, nah, yeah, he does it often," you say with a laugh. "It's fine, he always resurfaces." The trust evident in your voice grates against his skin, then settles warmly in his heart, then drops to his stomach. That was one of the things he liked most about you, that you didn't question his weird schedule or habits. Though he never allowed himself to think about what that might mean, how that meant you felt about him. It hurts more than he expected to hear it now, to have you connect the dots so clearly in front of him.

"What does Jason even look like? You've never actually told me." Shit.

"I dunno," you muse. "He's tall. Blue eyes, black hair.”

Jason hears Tim shift in his seat, feels Dick's eyes on him. Shit. Shit.

"You're bad at descriptions," the perp sniffs. "Here, let me find him. What's his last name?"

Your sheepish chuckle echoes through the cave. "Uh, I actually don't know."

The perp snorts. "Well, you're a goddamn idiot."

"Thanks, dipshit. His profile said Jason T."

Jason swears, swears, he doesn't react, but it doesn't matter. They know him too well. They have him. "Holy shit," Tim whispers. Dick lets out a low chuckle. "Putting yourself out there, Little Wing?"

Bruce clears his throat. "Name?" he asks Jason. Of course that's the only thing on his mind right now.

Jason shakes his head. "No fucking way," he snarls.

"Good enough," the perp answers. The sound of the shower fades as he walks back to the computer in what must be another room.

Soon the clack of computer keys crackles across the line. Jason braces himself. Let's see how dangerous this hacker really is.

Another comm line buzzes to life. "This is Oracle," Barbara announces. "Someone's putting out a search for Jason T, dipping into some private data. I swept everything out with your face and name."

At almost the same time-- "What the fuck kind of website are you on now?" you call from the shower.

"CCTV footage. GCPD and private contracts."

"Oracle," Bruce barks. "Any CCTV footage?" Jason wishes he were anywhere else. Surely, surely, he doesn't need to be here for this nightmare.

"GCPD footage is protected," she answers quickly. "Checking now. Wait--"

"Got it!" the perp sings. "Data breach," Oracle reports. "They got you, Hood."

"Noted," Bruce grunts. "Any connection between Jason and Red Hood?"

"Negative. Shutting them out now." Barbara's fingers fly over the keys.

If anything, the perp's are even faster. "Fuck, he's so hot. Holy shit. You didn't mention he's ripped. " Dick bumps Jason's shoulder, then easily dodges Jason's punch. "Red Hood," Bruce intones.

"Don't start," Jason threatens.

"Someone's trying to kick me out," perp calls to you. "I've got, maybe, fifteen seconds. Just enough time to zoom in on his ass."

The sound of the shower stops, plastic rustling as you pull back the curtain. "Yeah, zoom in on his ass."

"Wow. I hope you're fucking that shit up," the perp says. This is officially too much for Jason. He feels himself start to turn red.

There's the sound of footsteps again. Maybe it's in his head, but Jason feels like he recognizes it, the pad of your bare feet across the floor. "Don't worry. I'm eating that shit out every day of the week and twice on Sundays." Jason almost shits his pants as Tim sputters and Dick cackles.

"Quiet," Bruce commands. Jason wants to punch him.

"--disgusting," the perp is saying. "I can't believe you do that."

"I can't believe you don't," you shoot back. "Aren't fags supposed to love that?"

"Watch it," the perp warns. For a flash of a moment, Jason wonders if he's going to get angry at you, if you're in any danger. If he should rush in and save the day, if he has an excuse to see you again.

"Do you have to specify that in your Grindr profile?" you press on, delighted.

"Everyone's different, you cunt." The perp's voice is fond, and Jason relaxes slightly. "Speaking of which--" the line muffles and shakes for a moment. "I got a message I need to look at."

Grindr profile, Jason mentally notes. The sound is clearer now, the perp must have taken the phone out of his pocket. "Hm. I think this man needs a dick pic," the perp says thoughtfully. There's the metallic sound of fingers fumbling with a belt buckle.

"Christ, are you taking one now?" For the first time, Jason stops to wonder what your relationship is with this guy. Are you friends? Did you used to hook up? He tries to ignore the jealousy rising in his blood.

"Yeah," the perp sounds unconcerned. "Hurry up and get dressed, I can't get it up with a naked woman in the room."

Jason winces. He looks over at the others. Tim looks almost green in the face, and Dick is grimacing. This is quickly turning into porn audio, not exactly something he wants to listen to with Dick and Tim, much less Bruce. There's the sound of the phone being set down. Jason prays it's far enough away that it doesn't pick up what the perp is doing now.

"Do you want help?" you say after a moment. Tim gasps and whips his head toward Jason. Squeezing his eyes shut, Jason grits his teeth. He doesn't know what he did to deserve listening to you jerk someone off with his whole fucking family next to him.

Thankfully, thankfully, the perp snorts. "No!" he sneers as you cackle in the background. "I don't want your gross women hands anywhere near my dick." No past hook ups, then.

"You are so close to misogyny that if you're not careful it's going to smack you in the face."

"That's not what I want smacking me in the face," the perp sighs. "Hence, the dick pic."

"Well, you've got your work cut out for you,” you say. “You have the most hideous flaccid penis I’ve ever seen in my life.”

“Shut up,” the perp snaps. “It’s normal!”

“Hit a nerve did I?” You’re clearly amused. It makes Jason miss you enough to shake his head. Ugh. Apparently the alcohol didn’t flush the sad out of him.

“C’mon, help me out here,” the perp says, ignoring you. “What do you think of when you want to flick your bean?”

“Jason,” you say instantly. It makes him grow warm, then sick.

“Wow, she’s got it bad for you,” Dick murmurs. Not for long. “Nice job, Little Wing.”

“I’m happy for you,” Tim pipes up. Jason scrubs a hand over his face. He can’t take much more of this.

“Yeah, I can see why. Can I think about him?”

“No!” you snap as the perp laughs. “Fine, I’ll just think about Nightwing’s sweet, sweet ass.”

Jason’s out of the hot seat. Finally. He looks at Dick, ready to give as good as he got. Unfortunately, Dick doesn’t look offended. He’s grinning, the arrogant ass.

“Okay, I’m good.” They hear the artificial sound of camera. “God, that took forever. Send.”

Dick’s phone pings, Grindr notification echoing through the cave.

“Holy shit,” Tim mutters. “This is the best and also worst day of my life. Can’t you two keep it in your pants?”

Dick shrugs, but he looks embarrassed. “Would you believe me if I told you it’s not for the case?”

Your voice on the line cuts across anyone who would answer. “An unsolicited dick pic?”

“Nah, he sent me one earlier. Wanna see?”

Tim sounds like he’s choking. Bruce’s jaw is working, but thank god he’s quiet. “Nah, dude. I’ll leave that for you,” you answer.

“Dick,” Bruce says lowly. Dick can’t meet his eyes. “You may have to cut off communication.”

“What? Why?” Dick protests. Bruce opens his mouth to answer, but you do it for him.

“Couldn’t you hack his phone from that? Have you ever done that before?” you wonder.

“No.” The perp is quick to answer. “That’s a line I won’t cross.”

“See? It’s fine!” Dick insists. Bruce grimaces, but doesn’t say anything. The sound of a phone going off saves Dick from further embarrassment. Jason wishes he could have caught their attention for longer. He needed a break.

“That’s you,” the perp says. “Can you see what it is?” you ask. “I’m still getting dressed.”

“Sure,” the perp says, floor creaking as he crosses the room. “It’s your mom. Want me to answer?”

“Yeah, what did she say?”

“She’s asking if she can call tomorrow.”

“Yeah, sure, whatever. You can let her know.”

Jason hears rustling, the sound of you pulling your clothes on. He connects it to the sound of him doing the opposite, of tugging your clothes off and tossing them to the floor.

Damn. This is harder than he thought.

“You also have a text from Jason,” the perp offers.

“Yeah, I know,” you sigh. “I’ll read it later.”

Wait? You haven’t read it yet? Jason feels rooted to the floor. No wonder you said so many nice things about him.

Shit. Shit. He shuts his eyes. He knows what’s coming next.

“Dude,” the perp says. “Dude. I think he broke up with you.”

The cave is dead silent.

“What.” Your voice is flat. “What.”

Jason rests his forearms on his hands, head hanging down between his knees. When he sent you the breakup text, he didn’t think he would have to hear you react to it.

Maybe it’s what he deserves.

“He broke up with me over text?”

“Yeah.” The perp’s voice is gentle. “Yeah. Yeah, it looks like it.” The perp pauses. “I’m sorry, sweetheart.” At least you have a good friend, even if he is a wanted criminal. Not like Jason isn't, too.

“What the fuck. What the fuck.” Jason’s never heard your voice sound like that. He feels familiar bile rise in his throat. “What did he say?”

“You want me to read it to you?” Dick shoots Jason an alarmed glance. Whatever. It’s not like he has any privacy left anyway.

“Yeah. Yeah, read it to me. Actually, wait. How long is it? How many lines?”

There’s silence as the perp counts. “Four.”

“Four?!” you shriek. “Four?! That dumb motherfucker ended a four month relationship in four lines of text?”

“Jesus, Jason.” Tim mutters. Jason can’t even blame him.

“Uh…yeah.”

“Oh my god.” You’re seething. “Oh my god. I’m going to kill him.”

That’s fair.

“I’m going to kill him. I’m going to take the gun he thinks I don’t know he has taped under his mattress, and I’m going to shoot him in the penis!”

Dick bursts out laughing, but Jason has bigger problems. You found the gun?

“He’s got a gun taped under his mattress?” The perp asks, before Bruce adds “Jason, what does she know?”

“Nothing!” he yelps. “Nothing, I didn’t…” he trails off as your voice picks up again.

“Yeah, yeah, he’s some common criminal or something. His apartment’s definitely a safe house, there’s like, nothing in it and only non perishable foods. Whatever.”

“Dude, I think it’s more than whatever.” Jason agrees with the perp. You shouldn’t be with some common criminal. You shouldn’t even be with him.

“Well, it doesn’t matter now! Because he dumped me! Over text!” Your shout rings hard in Jason's ears. “Read the text to me. Read the fucking text.”

Ugh. This fucking rips. Jason would brace himself, if he had anything left to brace.

“‘I’m sorry babe. We have to end it here. It’s not you, it’s me. Hope you had fun.’” It sounded worse read aloud.

“Damn, Jay. That’s low,” Tim comments.

"'It's not you, it's me?'' Dick says incredulously. "Seriously, Little Wing?"

Shockingly, Bruce clears his throat. "Jason--"

"Nope. No. You shut the fuck up right now." Jason's anger is so quick, and blissfully distracting. "You don't get to lecture me about anything, especially this shit."

It seems like, on the line, you're matching his energy, bar for bar. “‘It’s not you, it’s me’? Is he fucking serious?”

“As a heart attack, apparently.”

You let out a small scream. Honestly, Jason didn’t know you had it in you. “Holy shit. I’m so fucking angry.”

“I can see that,” the perp says carefully. “Do you need anything?”

You seem to ignore him. “Oh my god, I am going to read this man for filth. This dumb motherfucker thinks he’s Holden Caulfield.”

Jason opens his mouth, slack-jawed, dumbfounded, as the perp lets out a sharp laugh and Dick sniggers. “Okay, yeah. Let it out, babe.”

“This dumb motherfucker watches Fight Club and thinks it doesn’t apply to him.” You’re on a roll. “This dumb motherfucker holds up any spherical object, says ‘alas, poor yorick,’ and creams his fucking pants.”

Dick and Tim are practically rolling on the floor. Jason swears he sees Bruce crack a small smile.

"This dumb motherfucker is one homoerotic experience away from a Richard Siken poem."

"I like Siken," the perp says defensively. "Come on," you sneer. "'You're in the car with a beautiful boy, and he won't tell you he loves you, but he loves you,'? What the fuck does that mean? He won't tell you he loves you but he does? Screw that!"

You pause, heavy breathing echoing across the line. "'He won't tell you he loves you. Why couldn't Ja--" you cut yourself off quickly. "Fuck. Fuck."

Jason squeezes his eyes shut, fingernails gripping his forearm with enough force to draw blood. He didn't realize this would upset you so much. He's done the in and out, three-month fling so many times it's hard to count. He gets close enough that the sex gets really good but not close enough that it gets messy. It's not supposed to be like this. Sure, he'd made an exception in your case, but he didn't think it would get so bad. He just couldn't help himself. You were too cute, and funny, and easy to be around. You had slid into his life like a hot knife through butter. The parts he was willing to show you, at least. Or maybe, the other parts too, he thinks, remembering your threat to shoot him with his own gun. You definitely don't have anything to do with the criminal underworld, and Jason would prefer to keep you on the surface of that. But maybe there was more than you could handle. You thought he was a common criminal, but you had stayed anyway.

And Jason's not a common criminal. Not that that's anything to take pride in, but still. He has finesse. And he's been playing by the rules enough lately that Bruce invited him back to his lair. That probably counts for something, somewhere.

And you clearly didn't mind criminals, if you were friendly enough with their perp to shower at his house and let him go through your phone. You definitely knew he was a hacker, you'd mentioned it enough times. Maybe--

"You okay, sweetheart?"

"Fuck off, Jess," you snarl.

"Yes ma'am," the perp (Jess. Name acquired) says. "I'm sorry you're upset," he adds carefully.

Right. It doesn't matter what Jason learns about you now. He ended it, and the past is the past. It might take him a bit longer than usual, but he'll get over it. He hopes you do, too.

"Ahh!" You let out a shout, then go quiet. "I know. Thanks, Jess."

"You're welcome, sweetheart." The two of you stay quiet for several minutes. Jason wonders if he's going to have to endure hearing you cry over the phone.

"He doesn't seem like he was good for you," Jess offers.

"Fuck off." Beat. "I know. But why does everything have to be good for me? Why do I--ha." You let out an acidic laugh. "'You do not have to be good. You do not have to walk on your knees for a hundred miles through the desert repenting."

"'You only have to let the soft animal of your body love what it loves,'" you and Jess recite together. "Point taken," Jess adds. Jason knows Mary Oliver's Wild Geese. He just didn't know you knew it, too.

A beat. "I don't think you get to make fun of him liking Shakespeare after that," Jess observes.

You laugh humorlessly. "I know. I know. I'm acting like I'm not a fucking dork over here, too." Dick is looking at Jason very cautiously. So is Bruce.

"What are you going to do?" Jess asks after several beats of silence.

"I'm going to pick up a drug habit, that's what I'm going to do. Now seems like a great time to become an alcoholic."

"Don't," Jess says fiercely. "Don't even joke about that. You can't go back there."

"I know," you say softly. "I know."

Jesus. Jason didn't even know you'd had issues with addiction in the past. If he did, maybe he would have...done things a little differently. He can't even look at his family, can't meet their eyes. Not when he knows he may have inadvertently sent you over the edge. Holy shit. He feels sick with himself. How could he have missed that you were a little bit fucked up, just like he was?

Jason is suddenly grateful you didn't read his stupid text last night, when he had first sent it. Thank fuck you were with Jess right now.

As if to echo Jason's thoughts, Jess snarls "No. No way am I going to let this insensitive, fucking prick set you back. Not when you've come so far. You can't let him ruin you. He's not worth it."

Jason agrees.

"But what if..." you say quietly. "What if he could tell, and that's why he ended it. That there's something...awful inside of me."

"No!" Jess shouts. "No! How could you say that? There's nothing--"

You let out a choked sob, cutting Jess off. "Fuck, I'm sorry," you say desperately, voice cracking. "I just--" Shit. Shit. You sound so...broken, Jason wants to take you in his arms, tell you he didn't mean it, tell you he's got his own shit and then some, but you're perfect, and maybe you'd even understand some of it. Maybe you had more in common than he'd thought.

"It's okay, sweetheart." Jason hears footsteps, hopefully Jess was going to put you in his arms, like Jason wants to but can't.

"It just feels like...like I always have to try twice as hard. Like I have to keep myself under surveillance, like I have to be so careful. Because if I slip, it's...it's all over. And it makes me feel like I'm not good enough."

Jason knows what that one feels like.

"Listen to me. Listen," Jess implores you. "You don't have to be perfect. It's okay. Everyone makes mistakes. Everyone slips. Recovery is not a straight line. It's okay."

"I know," you say, voice resigned. "I know."

"And you're doing so well. Two years without touching anything! Even when you lost your job, and your sister got sick. You're so strong, sweetheart."

"Thanks," you say quietly.

The two of you stay silent for several minutes. It gives Jason more than enough time to consider his next move. Should he text you an apology? Is it too late for that? Does he still want to be with you? Yeah, no shit. His hangover is proof enough that he won't be able to get you out of his mind. And it sounds like you're more alike than either of you realized.

Suddenly, Jess's computer dings with an alert, disrupting the silence. There's a shift as Jess walks over. "Oh, shit," he murmurs. "I got in."

The tension in the cave ticks up even higher. "Oracle," Bruce says evenly, "brace for an attack."

"What happened?" you ask, voice still raw.

"I got into the GCPD protected records." Jess breathes. "Fuck yes. I'm going to dox the shit out of those crooked cops and the politicians Black Mask has in his pocket."

"He's out for blood," you comment with a shaky laugh.

"That motherfucker has it coming, after what he did to my father. If I can't get at Sionis directly, I'll chip away at his stupid empire until he's left with nothing." The floorboards creak as Jess settles himself at the computer. "Are you okay?" he offers distractedly. "I'm sorry sweetheart, I need to tune out, I have to--" he trails off, as the clicks of a keyboard start coming through across the line.

"Don't worry about it," you say, but Jason thinks, worries, you might be putting on a brave face.

"Okay. Okay. I'm going to put in headphones. I'm sorry sweetheart," Jess says again, "but this is the chance I've been waiting for."

"Don't worry," you say. "I get it. Do your thing."

Jess must put in headphones with the music blasting, because they can hear it faintly through the call line. The cave is alive as Bruce barks orders at Oracle while Tim all but shoves him out of the way, flinging himself down at the keyboard and getting to work blocking Jess out.

Whatever. Jason doesn't care, if anything, he cares less than he did before. He's all for getting rid of crooked cops, any hit to Black Mask is a win in his book. He's only still here because you're still on the line.

The call is silent, save for Jess clacking away. Finally, Jess' phone picks up your voice again.

"Fuck. Fuck. I can't fucking do this. I need a drink. I need a fucking drink," you mutter.

Jason rises to his feet, just as Dick says "I think you gotta go, Jaybird."

He knows that. His feet are already leading him towards his motorcycle. But where--?

"I've got a location," Tim whispers. Jason turns to him eagerly, but he's not even looking at him. He's looking at Bruce.

Jason's seething. If that asshole thinks he's going to beg and plead for this--

"Go ahead, Jay," Bruce says gently, seemingly without thinking twice. "We can handle him from here."

Gratitude flooding through him, Jason turns on his heel and moves. He's on his bike in what feels like seconds, speeding towards the location Tim had sent into the bike's GPS.

He just hopes he makes it to you before you're too far gone.

#jason todd x reader #dick grayson #jason todd #tim drake #bruce wayne #cw: addiction #tw: addiction #kira writes #batfam #batman #jason todd imagine

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thenightwolf51 · 1 year ago

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So i originally had this idea when i reblogged this post by @saphushia but i wanna just seperate it out as its own little prompt.

A quick context is that Danny seems to be roaming around Gotham like some homeless cryptid, kinda Bus to Nowhere style but with more vigilante interaction and casual offerings of first aid. And the batkids are keeping their adoption bait First Aid Cryptid(tm) secret from Batman.

One set of tags in the reblogs from @little-pondhead caught my attention

I came up with both funny answers and an angsty answer for that "#why?" but here's the angsty one (though i promice i actually envision it to be more hurt/comfort with a lot of family fluff)

Actual Prompt⬇️⬇️

Something happens, maybe a reveal gone wrong, maybe he got capture by the GIW, maybe he lost Jazz and his parents somehow.

Whatever it is, it leaves Danny with a need to escaped to a new dimension which just so happens to end up being the DCU. He winds up in Gotham and is just trying to start over, easier said than done but at there's plenty of heros around so he doesn't need to go ghost and he can still patch up the local vigilantes to feed his obsession. He's just not up to being Phantom yet and he's still recovering from whatever happened in Amity, whether it be mentally or physically.

Plus these vigilantes are kinda fun to mess with. Danny can practically see the gears turning as they try to put together and make sense of his little "lore drops", that Red Robin almost reminds him of Wes in a way.

Its not like he really needs to hide anyways. There's no GIW here, no Anti-Ecto Acts, if it really comes down to it he could probably pass as meta and fall under those protection laws. Judging by Signal, Danny's pretty sure Batman's bluffing on the whole "hating metas" thing anyways.

It takes awhile before Danny actually does meet the big bat himself and the reaction he gets is nothing anyone was expecting.

You see theres one little detail danny couldn't have been warned about, and its that there just so happens to be a version of Jazz here.

Except this Jazz lost her Danny when they were in high school, as in full on dead and gone Danny, no halfas here, the portal simply did not work and it was just regular ole lethal electrocution that hit her little brother.

What if she grew up with a young Bruce somehow, whether it be because CPS took her from the Fentons after her Danny's death or Amity Park simply doesn't exist in the DCU making Gotham the city with the thinnest veil and thus where the Fenton's chose to settle down.

This Jazz is an adult in her 40s but was once a kid smart enough to go to Gotham Academy on scholarship (or maybe the Fenton's had enough money from patents?). A kid who took one look at young Bruce's grumpy little face and decided he needed a honest friend, one that wasn't after status or money.

This Jazz grew up being a secondary voice of reason for Bruce, ganging up with Alfred in their own crusade to enforce healthy habits on him in between their weekly tea sessions.

This Jazz lost her brother and could not only understand Bruce's resoning on a minor level but encouraged his planned "journey of self discovery and healing". (Though the bat costume he made when he came back was unexpected and she gave him a look to rival Alfred for it)

This Jazz grew up to be a social worker because if anyone had cared enough to take her away from the Fenton's sooner then her brother might've still been alive

This Jazz being the one Bruce calls when he first gets Dick because holy shit he has no idea what hes doing and "Jazz, i just became a father, help!"

This Jazz being a sort of aunt to all the Batkids and is a major influence that has led to their dynamics being similar to Wayne Family Adventures

Bruce goes pale and later calls Jazz after he finally gets a glimps/meets the so called "First Aid Cryptid" his kids have been obsessed with. Because this kid that he's looking at with the barely visible lichtenberg scars... that's a face he hasn't seen in little over 20 years, that's his old friend's long dead baby brother.

Bruce sees danny and his mind rapidly jumps to all sorts of possibilities. Is this a clone? Is this a trap? Are the Lazarus pits involved somehow? Time travel? He does consider a ghost but this kid is too solid and they're nowhere near the old dilapidated Fenton Works building

Eventually, down the line when they get the full story of Danny being from an alternate dimension, Jazz might try to adopt him. Which has potential to be unhealthy but i fully believe Jazz would be aware enough not to project her decades old grief on this Danny, who is so similar but so different to her brother.

(Because I think a Gotham raised Danny would've been similar to a young Jason in street smarts so this Amity raised Danny is noticeably different)

Danny on the other hand... not sure if i could say the same, especially if he just lost his Jazz before winding up in the DCU. But again, this is an adult Jazz in her late 40s with professional experience dealing with traumatized kids, and she'll do her best to help him through it

Im imagining Jazz and Bruce to have a more platonic friendship, maybe even see each other as family, but you could go with Parent Syndrome if you want

(And because i love to see other peoples ideas and opinions, @omnicrafts @ailithnight @atiyasnake @hdgnj @nelkcats @nerdpoe @im-totally-not-an-alien-2 @dcxdpdabbles. Sorry i tag you guys so much but i like your writing, im eager to offer ideas, and your posts have been major sources of joy while ive been hyperfixating on DPxDC)

#dp x dc #dpxdc #dc x dp #dcxdp #danny fenton #batman #jazz fenton #bruce and jazz know each other #bruce and jazz are childhood friends #at least in another dimension #jason reminded jazz of her danny #she did her best to help with the bat kids #writing prompt #fic prompt #found family #is it found family if one person is your biological sibling from another dimension?

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zorosimpclub · 7 months ago

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A new life – Toji Comfort (SFW)

⊹˚. ♡ Summary: In which Toji is hired to assassinate the reader but ends up comforting her instead.

⊹˚. ♡ Trigger warning: implied severely depressed reader, implied attempt, happy ending, comfort

⊹˚. ♡ Word count: 3.6k

⊹˚. ♡ Author's note: sorry I've been MIA – life is hectic, hope you're all okay! enjoy this angsty but happy ending comfort piece <3

“Toji Zenin. Handsome and knows it. Hired to assassinate me. Motivated solely by financial gain.”

She said out loud to him, sensing his presence behind her, not looking up from her glass.

"That's me, spot on."

The words that left his lips were low, calm, and coolly spoken. He had a habit of speaking with an even tone regardless of the circumstances or context. He had been standing there behind her, taking in every detail.

His words were short, but he took a moment to drink in her image before him. She wasn't just beautiful, she was breathtakingly gorgeous. Despite this, his eyes maintained a steady, unreadable demeanour as he answered her question without adding anything else.

She chuckled a little and motioned for him to sit down beside her, sliding a full glass of whiskey to him.

He paused for a brief yet significant moment before he slowly took a seat next to her. He took a sip from the glass of whiskey offered to him before he replied, "You sound rather nonchalant about the fact that I'm here to take your life."

“Mm. Yeah. Doesn’t really bother me.” She took a sip and looked ahead of her, watching a couple canoodling together. Couples made her sick. It was only a matter of time before one of them disappointed the other.

He took in her words and her mannerisms, his gaze shifting from her to the couple briefly, before he looked back at her with a raised brow, "I see... you really aren't fazed by the fact that I'm here to end you? You must be a very confident woman then."

“No. Just a woman who has nothing left to be here for.”

The quietness in the air was palpable as his eyes remained on her. It was a somewhat unexpected reply from her. His lips pulled into a thin line, and his eyebrows slanted down, his eyes becoming cold and sharp, but they quickly resumed their usual neutral expression. He took a drink from his glass, "You really have nothing left to exist for?"

“Nope.”

"Huh..." He spoke with a slight air of curiosity. But his tone quickly returned to its previous stoic state. "That's quite pitiful. Mind if I ask why?"

“So guy who hired you to assassinate me is actually my ex boyfriend. Well, he was married. And I found out. Turns out my 4 years with him was just a lie.” She downed her drink, it was bitter but not as bitter as her current reality.

"Ah, a typical married-man affair then." He said with a soft chuckle. He was only slightly amused by the situation. The fact that his mission was due to a failed relationship wasn't really worth his attention. He took another sip.

His eyes scanned her, taking in the way she was sitting, the way she had spoken... she clearly had a nihilistic attitude toward life. She was apathetic. Something about it was compelling. His head tilted slightly to the side without him realising it, as his eyes never broke away from her. He took a drink. "Tell me, miss..."

“(Y/N) Fushiguro.”

“That's a pretty name." He spoke in the same calm that he always does, but in her presence, he felt somewhat differently. Maybe it was due to her beauty, maybe it was due to her unusual attitude, eitherway, he was intrigued. The way she accepted her impending assassination was oddly intriguing to him.

"So... is this a habit of yours? Drinking, I mean.”

“Only when I find out my last 4 years of my life was a lie.” She chuckled dryly, swirling the cup in her hand… not taking any notice of the environment around her.

"So? You're still young. Your whole life ahead of you, yet you'd just willingly let it go..." He spoke with a hint of a sigh.

“And you? Your story I mean.”

His gaze remained on her, unwavering. "You're asking me about my story? Me?" The question took him by surprise, but it didn't take him long to answer it.

"Why should I divulge such details to you?" He spoke with a soft smirk.

“Because you look like you’re lonely.”

The words that she spoke were like daggers to his heart. They struck him right where it hurt. He was silent for a while, not responding, simply continuing to stare at her. It was difficult to find an appropriate answer without betraying his feelings and his emotions. Eventually, he responded, "And what made you believe that?"

"Your eyes, they look lonely." She said softly, treading lightly.

His eyebrows furrowed slightly. She was perceptive enough to notice the look of his eyes and interpret it as loneliness. But he wouldn't show that he was slightly touched by her words. He was silent, the only sound coming from him was the sound of his breathing.

Then he spoke with a slight grin, "Well, you're not entirely wrong. The eyes are indeed a window into one's heart..."

She smiled a little, she was breath taking, "That's true. So make it quick."

"Make what quick?" He smirked and raised a brow, his tone was mocking. "Are you telling me to assassinate you?"

"Precisely, that's what you're here for right?"

His grin only widens. "You're so calm about the fact that you're going to die... Do you have no desire to live at all?" He spoke the words in an aloof demeanor, but he was genuinely curious, something about her tugged at him. He could have just finished his mission and then walked away. It was good money too. But he just couldn’t for some reason.

She looked up at him emotionlessly, "I mean, there's nothing left for me."

"Hmmm... no fear... no attachments, no desire to keep living... not even a single bit of emotion." His eyes remained on her, analysing her, but his expression remained unchanged. He wondered how someone could be so apathetic.

"Are you?"

His eyes narrowed slightly, and a smile played at the edges of his lip, "Am I what exactly?"

"Happy?"

"Happy?" She caught him off guard with her word choice. His usual aloof demeanor cracked a little, and he let out a small chuckle.

"Ah, that word. I don't remember the last time I was truly happy, if ever. But no, in this moment, the answer is no."

She took his hand and placed it on hers. A look of surprise crossed his expression for a second before he looked back up at her. His eyes remained on her as his hand remained on hers, but neither of them spoke. A quiet tension filled the air.

"Toji was it? How about yourself?"

"Someone to live for?" He paused for a little before he continued. "Not anymore... At least that's what I say to myself." He chuckled dryly. "If you're asking me about my past, then yes, I did have someone to live for until I lost them."

"Then you know what it feels like." She said softly, looking into the distance.

He didn’t speak. His words were true, and he could empathise with her situation. Though, there were many differences between her and him, but their pain was one and the same. He remained still, thinking for a second, not breaking contact as his hand remained on hers.

"Would you want things to end?"

It was a bold question coming from her. No one had ever asked him something like that. Not like his answer would make a difference, but he would answer truthfully eitherway. He shifted his weight, but his hand didn’t leave hers, "Sometimes... yeah."

In her presence, he felt a strange comfort. It was unusual for him, and it was quite unexpected. But still, he felt at ease with her next to him. A light warmth washed over him, and for a brief moment, the loneliness he always felt was diminished. The silence between them continued for a while, the only sounds were their quiet breathing.

He couldn’t deny that he was somewhat broken. A loneliness that had been with him for most of his life, the pain of loss that ate at his heart, the despair that he felt on a daily basis, they were all slowly eroding him. She was broken, too, he could tell that much. The thought made him somewhat sad, knowing all that had happened to her.

"What are we but two souls that are lost?" She whispered, her voice trembling slightly.

He watched as she calmly drank her drink, taking in every movement she made. Though his response had been slow and hesitating, he felt something stir within him at her suggestion.

"You know..." He spoke after a few moments, "There are many things that we don't know. How life would play out, if we would be truly happy... or would our lives end up worse off."

She traced his lip scar, "You... this has a dark story, doesn’t it?”

The touch of her fingernails running against his scar only gave him goosebumps. She was right in guessing that his scar was the product of the pain he endured from his clan. He didn't say a word, but from the slight tightening of his jaw, it revealed the truth without the need for words.

She stroked it gently and smiled, her smile not reaching her eyes. He didn't pull away, but his expression held a touch of surprise. They had only known for each other for a short time, yet her action had caught him off guard. His hand squeezed hers in response, his gaze never leaving hers.

"Goodbye, Toji." She whispered and got up, pulling on her jacket weaving in and out of partygoers to leave the bar.

He was frozen in his seat, his mind trying to make sense of her last words. It didn't take him long to reach the conclusion that those were her final words. But he wouldn't let her simply go without trying to show her that live was worth living. He doesn’t know why he cared or why he quickly dashed after her, rushing through the streets to search for her. But he did.

She stood by the bridge, overlooking the city. Watching as the streetlights twinkled softly in the distance, the wind blowing through her wispy hair.

He soon found her by the side of the bridge. He slowed his pace as he approached her from behind, trying to gauge the situation. He could tell that she was standing near the bridge with one goal in mind.

"Wait..."

She turned to him, "Toji?"

His eyes remained on her as her gaze locked with his. "Your last words... they were goodbye."

"You figured it out, huh?"

"I'm not letting you give up." He responded softly, his voice holding a hint of determination. He took a few steps forward and gently placed a hand on her shoulder, his breath catching slightly.

"...Why? Doesn't this make your job easier?"

"Easier?" His voice contained a touch of disbelief. "That's what you think? That it's all about a job?" He sighed, his grip tightening around her shoulder. "You're a person, just like me... a human being. And I would be a terrible person, if I just stood by and let you... throw it all away."

She chuckled dryly, "You're a hired assassin."

"Even an assassin has a heart." The hand on her shoulder remained firm, and he looked right into her eyes, his gaze intent. "And as a person with a heart, I could never stand to watch you give up like this."

He saw a glimpse of her inner torment as the quivering of her lips suggested she was trying to hold back her emotions. He felt pity and sadness for her. But there was only one thing that he could do in that moment. He silently brought his index finger to her lips and gently traced it against them. Slowly, his touch lingered as his finger stayed there for a couple of seconds before he withdrew it. "Don't."

As his finger ran against her lips, her heart skipped a beat, and she could feel something stir within her. A surge of adrenaline rushed through her system, stirring excitement and something else she couldn't quite define. A strange feeling rose within her heart, and for a brief moment, she felt her chest grow tight as she tried to breathe. In that singular act, he had broken the ice between them. It was only a touch of a stranger, but it felt like so much more.

"I have no where left to go... no money to my name...this is easier."

The words had caught him off guard, and he felt a strange twinge of concern and sadness as his eyes remained on her. She sounded... so hopeless. Without a trace of hesitance, he stepped forward, his body filling the gap between them. His hands gently rested on her shoulders, and he looked into her eyes. He was close, very close to her, but he didn't pull away. Instead, he spoke quietly once again, his voice containing a hint of urgency. "You have me."

"You don’t even know me.”

"A stranger can become a companion, and maybe even more." He spoke softly, his gaze never leaving hers. "Let me be the person by your side. I'll give you a reason to try and live..."

She looked up at him, tears welling up in her eyes, "Why would you do that for me...?"

“You're deserving of love.” He said simply enough, his hold on her shoulder tightening. "You're broken and hurt, but I don't see you as a pathetic, nobody has been. I see a person, a human being who's suffered too much in her life. And you deserve to be loved, cared for, and cherished."

Her breath hitched as she searched his eyes for deception, but she couldn't find any.

He was being truthful. Every word that he had spoken was sincere. He didn't see her as pathetic in any way. He saw her for who she was... a human.

"And even though we met for just a short while, I feel a connection between us. I feel it in my gut and in my heart that you and I have much more to give each other. You're not alone anymore. I'm here...."

He instinctively wrapped his arm around her and he felt her body pressed against his own as she hugged him close. He was taken aback by her embrace as he hadn't felt another body this close to his in years. Gentle sobs eminated from her chest as she buried herself into his, allowing his warmth to comfort her. He allowed the embrace to continue, and the longer she stayed within his arms, the more his heart raced.

He could feel himself becoming attached to her, but he didn't mind.

A sudden snowflake brushed her cheeks, and they both looked up to see the lone one softly flutter down to the ground. The night sky was filled with a soft flurry of snow, and the view was breathtaking. His eyes stayed locked on the falling snowflakes, fascinated with their beauty and graceful movements. As his gaze slowly moved back to hers, he noticed the small droplets of moisture on her cheek. He gently brushed them away with the pad of his thumb, and their faces remained close to each other, his heartbeat increasing with every passing moment.

"I..." She trailed off, looking into his eyes defeated by her own thoughts.

He remained silent and kept watching her with a slight smile on his lips, his eyes never leaving her own. The snowfall slowly increased in its intensity, covering the ground in a white blanket, and a gentle wind danced around them. The night sky was beautiful, and their small, intimate moment felt like time itself had stopped. The tension and excitement were building in the air, and his heartbeat was steadily growing faster, his breath coming in a little short.

"I want to live..."

His own heart jumped with joy at her words, and he closed the gap between them. He embraced her once again and pulled her close to his chest. His hand tightened around her shoulder, and he spoke softly, his voice tinged with emotion.

"Then live..." He gently brushed the tears off her cheeks and looked straight into her eyes, his gaze intent and unwavering.

His breath brushed her own, and his other hand moved from her shoulder to the base of her neck, fingers grazing it ever so gently. Then, the lightness of their breaths suddenly grew heavier, as if their breathing was in sync with each other. He remained so close to her that he could feel the heat of her body against his own. His gaze never leaving hers, their eyes locked and their lips mere inches apart.

As the space between them finally closed, the moment exploded with a powerful shock. It was as if, in that single instant, the tension that had built between them, the excitement, and the buildup of their breath, all released in an intense burst. They had finally come together, their lips finally meeting in a fiery, passionate kiss. Their mouths entwined, their tongues intertwined, their breathing intertwined, and their hearts beat as one. The intensity of their kiss only grew as they remained locked in it, their breath becoming faster and more frenzied as the moment intensified.

"Did you...feel that too?"

"...Yes," he replied with a breathy voice, still coming down from the incredible high of their kiss. The nearness of her skin still lingered in his senses, and his heart continued to beat at a rapid pace. "I felt it..." His eyes remained locked on hers, his gaze not faltering. "I felt it all.."

His gaze remained locked on hers. They shared a silent moment between them, their eyes remaining connected as they were still processing the sudden rush of emotions from their kiss. The tension was palpable in the air, as if they were still bound by that powerful surge of emotions from moments ago. He saw her mouth open slightly, as if trying to say something...

She smiled a little, "Looks like you failed your mission."

A smirk tugged on his lips, and his gaze softened slightly when she smiled. "Failed?" He asked, his tone now filled with a hint of amusement.

"Yeah, you were hired to assassinate me, yet instead you took me into your life."

"And I don't see that as a failure," he replied, his voice becoming softer and more vulnerable. "On the contrary, in my book," he added, his voice picking up a teasing tone again. "I'd say this was a remarkable success."

“Take me home…”

"Home?" he asked softly, his voice tinged with surprise. Then a sly grin appeared on his lips, and his arms tightened around her. "Okay..." He paused and added, "But there are conditions.”

"What conditions?"

He pulled her slightly closer as she shifted her body, resting her head on his shoulders. He looked at her for a moment and spoke softly, his breath soft on her skin. "One..." he started, his voice slightly rumbling. "You must promise to never give up to this world. Never let anyone or anything take away your worth. Always believe in yourself. And... never, ever give in to despair..."

"The second condition..." he continued softly, his breath still light on her skin as his thumb continued the soothing gesture, gently wiping away her tears. "Is that you must give yourself a chance. Give life another shot."

He let out a small breath, relieved that he had gotten her to agree to give herself another chance. “The last condition…” he started, and as he spoke, he felt the tension grow once again, the excitement palpable in the air.

The snow gently coated the ground around them as the silent night carried only the sound of the flakes slowly falling down, the silence only momentarily interrupted by their breath. “Is that…” he paused and cleared his throat, making sure to find the right words, “you must promise to let me guide you. To let me protect you. To let me try and love you…”

She felt her tears well up again. His grip on her shoulder tightened again as he felt her body tremble with the sudden urge to cry. He knew the words had hit home for her, and he felt a surge of protective fondness for her, his thumb gently stroking her cheek where the tears were running down. It was a tender gesture, and his eyes remained on her.

"Don't," he whispered softly, his tone carrying a hint of concern. "No more tears..."

She grinned as he wiped her eyes, "A new life."

"A new life," he repeated with a smirk, and his hands moved to run through her hair, letting his fingers drift down to brush her cheeks, and his gaze never left her own, still locked onto her eyes.

"Together." he added softly.

The night was still, and every sound had grown quiet around them, as if the world had stopped to witness this intimate moment. The snow continued its silent descent, covering them in a white blanket as the atmosphere grew heavy. His fingers remained on her cheeks, his gaze never leaving her eyes.

His heartbeat was a steady thump in his chest, his chest moving slightly with each breath. Their lips were just mere inches away, their breaths brushing against each other just slightly. Each moment seemed to stretch out infinitely as their eyes remained locked on each other.

#jjk fanfic #toji fanfic #toji fushiguro x you #toji fushiguro x reader #toji x reader #toji fushigro x reader #jjk men x reader #jujustsu kaisen x reader

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callmelola111 · 1 year ago

Text

color me purple ♡ part two

✄ - - - - part 1 , part 2 , part 3 - - - - soundtrack - - - - ♡

synopsis: it’s summer and you’re back at camp stillwater. as a counselor you mean serious business and you’ll do whatever it takes for your cabin to come out on top. the only thing in the way of that; ellie williams and her crazy antics.

| 𓆣 | pairing & wc: ellie williams x reader. wc: 3.3k

| ❀ | cw (by part): 18+ themes (MDNI), modern au, fem reader, some fluff but mostly angsty, HEAVY sexual themes on the verge of smut, swearing, slight mention of marijuana, ellie is kinda a perv, ellie calls foot fetishes weird so if u have one i'm sorry lol not trying to kink shame its just for the plot !!

a/n: happy wednesday y'all!! i was literally kicking my feet while writing this hehe. i love being a delulu lesbian on paper. also i've never played poker before so if i worded something wrong i am so sorry lolz. sending hugs and kisses 2 you all ♡~ lola

Mrs. Campbell seemed taller this evening as she stood waiting to confront you with your fate. The moon shone brightly casting her long, mangled shadow across the dirt. As she spoke, your gaze remained locked to it, avoiding the disappointed look you knew was written all over her face.

“What do you two think you’re doing?!?” she yelled. You struggled to form any words with the large lump consuming your throat. Your stomach would’ve dropped too but you were pretty sure you had lost it during your barefoot dash through the woods. Ellie stood next to you just as silent until your devastated face clued her into your current state. She quickly tried to rationalize, speaking for the both of you.

“Mrs. Campbell, we're so, so sorry. Seriously, it was all my fault, please don’t blame Y/n!” You softened hearing Ellie so quickly take the fall. Feeling compelled to finally join this tense confrontation, you looked up from the ground. Your eye’s met with the wardens but they were filled with concern rather than fury as you had expected. Your injuries had alluded to a situation that she felt needed a bit more context.

“I’m just trying to figure out how you two ended up here bloody, wet, and 2 hours past curfew!” she said. With the guidance of Ellie you calmly explained the situation. Of course, it wasn’t the full truth. You took extra care to leave out the part about your little smoke sesh. And after what felt like hours of questioning and nagging, you and Ellie were given the benefit of the doubt, remaining counselors for the summer.

Mrs. Campbell gave her final say, “You girls better count your blessings. I’m feeling nice tonight. But, I can’t let your behavior go unpunished. Neither of you will be participating in tomorrow's first round of games. I'll take your campers under my wing while you two think about your behavior back at the cabins. Alone.” Tears welled in your eyes as you came to terms with the consequences of your actions. Ellie shifted her gaze to your heartbroken expression and the corners of her mouth turned down. Sure it was just one day of sitting out, but she knew how much the competition meant to you and felt like a total piece of shit for making you miss out. Even if it wasn’t completely her fault.

“That’s final. Now both of you please go wash up and stop making me worry!” Mrs. Campbell concluded.

You and Ellie made the 5 minute walk to the showers in silence, still shaken up from the recent events. Despite the water’s icy temperatures, it felt nice to wash off the evidence of your night living on the wild side. However, Ellie showered one space over with little emotional relief, too consumed by you. She just stood idle as the sharp drops of H2O hit her back. Questioning how you felt about her, if you were mad, and what you were thinking but wouldn’t say.

She couldn’t take it anymore and quickly switched off the water, drying off with a rough gray towel. You followed in suit, stepping out wrapped in your pink towel. The textured fabric wrapped tightly over your breasts hoisting the mounds up to peak over the linen. They sat pretty like a Victorian woman in a tight corset. Ellie, now in a fresh pair of clothes, kept her head forward but eyed you from her peripherals before finally speaking.

“I’m so sorry… I don’t even know what to say. I never wanted to get you in trouble.” She looked absolutely miserable, so convinced you hated her. You’d never seen this side of Ellie before. A side that was real and vulnerable. You had always pinned her as this impenetrable tough guy, never seeming bothered by anything. And now here you were, bothering her. What was so special about you, why did she care?

“Ellie, I’m not mad at you, just a little sad. This was my choice as much as it was yours.”

Ellie turned to you, voice breaking, “Wait… really?” Part of her felt like an idiot for bringing it up now, considering it was all in her head, but you didn’t think twice about giving her the reassurance she seeked.

“Yes, really.” Ellie gave a timid smile slanting to one side and breathed a sigh of relief knowing that her assumptions were just a product of overthinking.

“Now please, stop being so melodramatic and help me patch up all these stupid cuts.” You took a seat on the long bench placed in the tiled bathroom and Ellie followed like a humble servant. She got down on her knees like she owed it to you. Taking a wet cloth in her right hand and carefully cleaning your cuts one by one. Her touch was gentle, almost too much, but she didn't want to hurt you. You took pleasure in Ellie’s tender care and couldn’t help but wonder if she’s like this with all her friends. Even more, you questioned if it’s something you should be enjoying as much as you did. Ellie took her sweet time rinsing out the dirt from your wounds that you had acquired as an unwanted souvenir. Tending to your injuries gave her more time to study all of your nooks and crannies. Something she had only dreamed of. Ellie enjoyed every second until she reached your thighs, your gorgeous plush thighs. She observed as your pink towel bunched at the abdomen before splitting down the sides of your legs in a triangle-like formation. Mind hazy with desire, she couldn’t help but yearn for the other body parts under that towel that she wished to tend to. Ellie internally slapped herself for the heat that followed her nasty thoughts and her tour of your body was cut short. Following the clean, she took some Neosporin to smooth across the bigger gashes that covered your knees and elbow. You winced at the friction.

“It really got you good huh,” she teased, “maybe you can lie and say you got attacked by a bear or something.”

“No, not a bear,” your eyes rolling, “just Ellie Willaims and her antics.”

“Oh shut up, you had fun.” You didn’t say anything back, just gave a smile, because you knew Ellie was right. As much as you wanted to be upset about how everything went down and how you were so easily influenced by her, you just couldn’t. Maybe because you knew she had no ill intent, or maybe you were beginning to realize that breaking rules wasn’t so bad- perhaps, it was even a little fun.

You woke up early the next day with everyone else, despite your impromptu grounding. Although you yearned for sleep, the sun shone too bright and the girls chatter, too loud. You pulled the scratchy covers of your twin bed up, making it semi-nice for your next sleep. A sleep you looked forward to, as it signaled the end of this awful day. But, with the cabin overcome by girlish excitement it was hard to remain in such a sour mood. You ventured to the top of an empty but rickety bunk bed to observe the members of team red from above. It was like watching a village of little ants running around prepping for the day ahead. Some flew out the screen door to shower, a few braided each other's hair, and all of them finished dressed up in color coordinating outfits.

As 9:30 am approached, you wrapped up your finishing touches to the last few stragglers with silky hair ribbons and red face paint. By 9:40, the once bustling room was empty and the silence was loud. In an attempt to occupy your wandering mind you cracked open a Nancy Drew book, the 3rd in its series. The crisp pages slid between your fingers as the mystery consumed you, but it wasn't long before your peace was interrupted.

A peculiar knocking sound tore you from the novel opened in your hands. Setting it down on your green and pink bedding, you ventured to your dirty window to scope out the inexplicable noise. On the other side of the glass stood Ellie, like a kid, throwing rocks at your window. You stared out the gray panes that divided her in four, rolling your eyes at the audacity of it all. She continued her little performance pulling out a janky sign written in dried out blue marker. It read I'm bored… You pretend to be distraught at the news, playing into her little game. Ellie then flipped the sign over to show you the back where she had scribbled the words Do U wanna hangout? and then some idiotic smiley face to complete the message. Ellie’s own face mimicked the emoticon as she displayed all her teeth like a child on picture day. It was stupid and cheesy and it was kinda working.

The sign continued to waver in the wind as you consulted the imaginary angel and devil that lurked on your shoulders. You finally answered Ellie (whose arms were getting tired) through the window with a simple middle finger and yanked the curtains closed knowing you weren’t supposed to be leaving your living quarters that day. And although you maintained a tough exterior for the sake of the bit, you felt just a little bit giddy being invited over by Ellie. That same giddiness nagged at your morals until finally you sided with the devil. Besides, everyone will be gone and too busy to catch you guys slacking off.

You rushed to the sink to brush your teeth aggressively and then changed into a red cropped shirt with a wide neck and black biker shorts that sculpted your ass perfectly. You weren’t sure why, but you had this sudden need to impress her. Her opinion now carried a weight that was foreign to you. That weight then influenced a smear of the same cherry flavored lip gloss from the night before, remembering Ellie’s thoughts on it. You slipped the tube into your bra just in case and then skipped over like the girl next door.

Ellie opened up with a smirk. Her hair was messy and despite waking up hours ago her lounge wear remained on. You didn’t mind though. Something about her toned body in a black wifebeater tank and gray sweats made you excited.

“Well hello there.” She gestured for you to come inside. You sat in the middle of the room on an old, sage green rug. Anticipating Ellie’s next move, you pulled your scuffed up knees to your chest. She plopped down next to you and began to poke.

“I was starting to think you weren’t gonna show up.”

You scoffed, “I mean, I hate you Ellie, but not that much.” You straightened out your right knee and gave her a little kick in the shin.

“Shut up dude. I know you love me.” Ellie nudged your shoulder and you gave a simple chuckle in response, but inside you were questioning the past feelings of distaste you once harbored for her and the new ones that replaced them. You needed a distraction.

“Sooo.. how are you gonna entertain me??” Your question sent Ellie’s mind to all kinds of places, some dirty most dirty.

“Oh? So you wanna be entertained? How about a little game of poker?”

“Poker?” you said, becoming suspicious of Ellie's seemingly normal answer but the tone of her voice was a dead giveaway to the mischievous plans.

“Well… not just any poker. I play a little differently.” You urged her to continue.

“Like different how?”

“Ever heard of strip poker?” she questioned, scrunching her freckled nose in anticipation of your response. She wouldn’t think twice about indulging in this game with other friends but it was something about you and the unspoken homoerotic nature of your relationship that made the request much more daunting.

“Oh my god Ellie,” you gave a long sigh, “Do you really wanna see me naked that bad?” Usually her face would go bright red at a comment like this but today she was prepared for your little quips, having taken the leap to propose such a game in the first place.

“No. I wanna watch you lose.” she stated bluntly. And with her words, a jolt of that familiar cutthroat attitude surged through your body along with a little arousal that you ignored, pretending it was just adrenaline.

“Oh you’re on.” you spat. What had Ellie Williams done to you? Just days ago you would have opposed such a scenario like sneaking over to play strip poker but her dangerously seeming presence was exhilarating to you. She was a drug you just couldn’t quit. And before you could even think twice, that drug was pulling out her playing cards and popping a mixtape ← into her old cassette player.

You grew quiet and the music grew loud as you anxiously waited for Ellie to shuffle the deck. She had a classic one with the red patterned backings. The cards slotted into each other as Ellie thumbed the split stack from bottom to top. It made a satisfying noise that repeated a few more times before she dealt them out between the two of you.

The rules were simple, each chip signified an article of clothing, whoever had the worst hand lost a chip and a little bit of dignity along with it. A stack of 4 old poker chips sat in front of you balancing on the ridges of the rug. 1 for your shirt, 1 for your shorts, and 2 for each sock. Ellie had the same. You could practically feel the sweat gathering on your brow as the game began. The first round was close, Ellie with a straight and you with 3 of a kind.

She quickly snatched up one of your chips before saying, “You lose!!”

“This is just the first round, don’t get used to it.” you replied, peeling off your left sock. Quickly you placed your other foot on top of the now bare one, hiding it from Ellie like it was something to be embarrassed of. She took note of your behavior and clarified her intentions.

“You know, I don’t have a weirdo foot fetish if that's what you’re thinking.”

“Oh my god. Shut. Up. I don’t think that, I just don’t want you looking at my feet.” You turned your face away from her, putting your hand up theatrically. Your embarrassment amused Ellie.

“Just wait till you have to take your top off.”

“That won’t be necessary.” You tried seeming confident in your reply but your face felt hot and your hands were clammy. You didn’t want to imagine being so exposed in front of Ellie. What if she doesn’t like it? Why did it matter if she did?

“Right, we’ll see how that goes…” Ellie’s voice trailed off, letting go of your stubborn ramblings. The game continued as so; round 2: you won, round 3: you won again, round 4: Ellie won. At this point there were no more socks to take off. Your stomach twisted and turned thinking of the next possibilities. Part of you wanted to give up and take off but the other part of you wanted to stay around and see what Ellie looked like without a shirt. This confused you.

During round 5 you could hardly focus, but luck was on your side when all Ellie could present was a pair against your straight, leaving you a winner. Without a second thought she crossed her arms grabbing at the hem of her tank. Her biceps flexed with motion as she pulled it over her head revealing a black sports bra. You stared unintentionally, mouth agape.

“Like what ya see?” Ellie remarked. Your cheeks flushed red and your head shot down into your lap like a reflex.

“Relax, we’re just friends having fun. You can look.” she continued. Right… friends. You took a deep breath in trying to calm yourself. There was still more of the game to play and a craving for victory that lingered.

The next round was brutal leaving you with a measly high card, the worst hand you could get. Before Ellie even revealed her hand, your mind was at war deciding if you should remove your pants or shirt first. This felt like so much more than a simple game of cards with a friend. I mean here you were in front of half-naked Ellie, questioning if she was more of an ass girl or if she liked tits better. After your losing cards were revealed you took a pause, twirling a stray thread around your finger that you had pulled off the rug. Just as you were settling on pants Ellie interrupted.

“If- If you dont wanna, you don’t have to. I don’t wanna make you uncomfortable.” Ellie was starting to feel guilty for roping you into her games. For her, this wasn’t about winning, it was about pleasure and that's what made her feel so bad. You were here to play poker and Ellie was just waiting to see what panties you wore that day. Such a perv.

“NO,” your voice raised, halting Ellie’s skewed thoughts like your life depended on it. “I want to.” You stood up slowly trying to steady your shaky hands. Gently, your long fingers rimmed around the waistband of the shorts. Ellie sat criss-cross looking up at you like a god. The black spandex peeled off your wide hips and down your thighs at an agonizingly slow pace for Ellie. Finally reaching your knees they fell the rest of the way down, pooling at your ankles. The cool air tickled your pantie-clad privates, sending you back down to the warm spot you left on the floor.

Ellie couldn’t even speak. It was like a wet dream seeing you dressed in nothing but a crop top and some lacey, pink underwear. The heat between her legs was almost unbearable and she could feel as her slick seeped straight through the plaid boxers hidden under her sweats. Too busy with her downstairs, she failed to give you any sort of sign that would hint to the pleasure your body was giving her. You felt stupid for even wanting that from her and flipped to lay on your stomach trying to hide your nakedness. Without Ellie’s approval or encouragement you felt ashamed.

Wanting this moment of awkwardness to pass, you reached for more cards to continue to the next round. Ellie grabbed the deck before you could even reach it.

“Actually uh- we should just stop.” she said, not even able to make eye contact from how overwhelmed she was with lust. Of course, you didn’t know this and a downward spiral of thoughts began. Have you done something? Said something? What happened?

You stuttered out a “Wha- why?” Ellie continued staring down at her crotch. Her stupid crotch- that was the reason why. She knew that if she lost the next round, her sweatpants that shielded her from embarrassment would have to be removed. The large and growing wet spot of your doing was something Ellie refused to let you see. She assumed that if you were to ever discover the amount of arousal a friendly game of poker caused, you’d be disgusted and never speak to her again.

“I just- I think you need to leave.” You blinked hard and fast, trying to swallow back any tears being provoked by Ellie’s response.

“So… I’m that ugly, huh?” you said, voice now shaking. You felt humiliated.

“No, no!! It’s not th-”

“Save it Ellie,” you yelled, tears beginning to run down your cheeks. “This is the last time I let you make me out to be some loser idiot who falls for all your tricks! I am not ending up like all those stupid girls who you’ve fucked over!” You kicked open the swinging door taking one look back at Ellie. Her face was dumbfounded, confused, hurt. What were you saying? What was all that supposed to mean? She thought of chasing after you but knew it would be no use. You were too stubborn and upset to be talked to by Ellie, and it was quite clear that neither of you had realized what this game had meant to the other.

✄ - - - - part 1 , part 2 , part 3 - - - - masterlist - - - - ♡

taglist...

@endureher @gold-dustwomxn @alexpritch @4rt3m1ss

(taglist is for all callmelola111 works, if you'd like to be removed just kindly lmk)

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picnokinesis · 11 months ago

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flux adjacent fic recs

in media res by wreckageofstars (3k, 1 chapter, gen) summary: “Well,” she said. “Now you know what the mattress is for.” Dan shifted. “And the trampoline?” “Best not ask about the trampoline.” //I think this is probably the first Dan pov fic I ever read, and it’s absolutely brilliant. This author gets the character voices down so perfectly it’s unreal, and the whole thing is just so wonderful to see from Dan’s outsider perspective. It’s set in the immediate aftermath of Once, Upon Time, and it does a fantastic job of exploring the impact of what happened in that episode – both from a whump perspective and an emotional one. Angsty, but also funny in the worst kind of way – someone please go give Yaz a break, she REALLY needs one. Anyway, it’s great, everyone go read it right now.

Hearts of Stone by weirdpug (previously xhonia) (1k, 1 chapter, thoschei) summary: The Doctor loses herself. The Master finds her. //Ohhh this one this one, it’s SO awesome – it’s one of those fics that does really cool things with the formatting? Which works great here, because it’s a weeping angel!13 fic and wow, wow! Extremely awesome indeed, and just beautifully written – the prose is just so full of character, even when the Doctor is losing herself and it’s so well done.

Divination by WalkerLister (6k, 1 chapter, gen) summary: “There was a name for someone similar to me once. They called them the Valeyard. You can call me that, if you like. I quite like it, it’s suitably eerie. Little bit of drama never hurt anyone.” //Right, so we all remember what happened when War of the Sontarans aired…we got that ‘next time’ trailer of Once Upon Time…and all collectively lost our minds over the inverted dark coat. Since then, I feel like everyone has been finding really creative ways to get it into fanfics, and this is a wonderful example. And, well, if the promise of dark coat!13 wasn’t enough, this fic is just an absolutely fascinating look at the concept of the Valeyard in the context of the fobwatch from Flux, but focused on Yaz and her relationship with/perception of the Doctor. It’s such a good concept and so so wonderfully done! (also, if you’re a fan of thasmin, this author has a ton of stuff, so definitely go check it all out! For the less thasmin-inclined folks, I highly recommend Ipesity, which is one of my favourite post-TTC fics)

three points where two lines meet by Ymae (4k, 1 chapter, gen) summary: The Doctor tries to get those memories back, and breaks herself, bit by bit. //Oh man. This fic. I still remember when this one first posted and hoooooo boy, it is a hell of a gut-punch and absolutely wrenched my heart right out of my chest but HHHHHHHHH wow!! WOW. Genuinely, I think this fic rewrote my brain a little bit. It's set in the immediate aftermath of Once, Upon Time where the Doctor makes some very unwise decisions about trying to tug at her timeline and it's absolutely incredible. Very angsty, very whumpy, and full of a HUGE amount of the Doctor messing with timelines and very visceral, tangible descriptions of her timesense. It is such a treat, guys. And if you like this one and want something with similar vibes, I also highly recommend this post-flux fic by the same author!

Sheer Poetry! by Papapaldi (57k, 5 chapters, gen) summary: Trapped within her own mind, the Doctor travels through an impossible house, with everyone she has ever been locked inside. Her body is an unresponsive, useless bag of flesh somewhere far and away in reality. The part of her brain that she knows, where her past resides, sits somewhere else entirely within the old machine. The Ravagers eat, buried memories beckon, and the Doctor's faith is shaken to its core. She will never be the same – but that's what she's all about, right? Incredible change. //oh my days. THIS FIC, guys - look, I see the word count, I know, I know. This fic is a serious undertaking, but like so many things in life it is soooooo so worth it. Bucket loads of absolutely ASTOUNDING imagery, more references to Lungbarrow and Timewyrm Revelation than you can shake a stick at, BUT you don't need to have read those stories at all to enjoy this absolutely fantastic saga (put it like this - I've not read those books, and I had a whale of a time). Incredibly poetic, a little nonsensical in the best kind of way (it IS a mindscape fic) but startlingly funny and so beautifully in character. I laughed, I cried. This fic is just a love letter to everything Doctor Who, weaving all of canon into this beautiful, cohesive tapestry. I highly recommend. (and, if you're hungry for more and want tpotd content, there's an excellent sequel as well)

every step i choose to take (begins to set the world aflame) by SleepyMaddy (12k, 1 chapter, thoschei) summary: In a spaceport lost in a remote quadrant of interstellar space, a Doctor who doesn’t know herself anymore runs into a Master who doesn’t know himself yet // Ok so the sheer concept of this one ALONE is absolutely brilliant – the Doctor, escaping from the Division and half out of her head, bumps into the Master, who’s not long regenerated from Missy. And, guys. It’s fascinating. Seeing the Master right at the start, before he finds out everything that comes to define him in this era, and then having him meet a version of the Doctor who is quite a lot further along than him and just completely out of it? It’s like catnip to me, guys. And, of course, it’s all helped by the fact that the writing is absolutely brilliant – the characters are just absolutely spot on, which is quite an incredible feat seeing as they are both in very different places to where we see them in the show, yet they still manage to ring true throughout the whole thing. And also the mindscape imagery? The psychic whump? The emotional gut-punch that is the entire fic? Absolutely unparalleled. (also, if you’re a spydoc fan? Just help yourself out and read this author’s entire set of works, because it’s all fantastic)

see me bare my teeth for you by picnokinesis (16k, 1 chapter, gen) summary: “Do you know your mission?” //This is a bit of a cheeky self-rec, but, in my defence, if you're looking for flux fics, then I think you'll enjoy this one. I wrote it in the week after Village of the Angels aired, and it's basically all my thoughts and theories about what was going to happen in Survivors of the Flux thrown into a 16k oneshot. I was...mostly wrong HAHA but I’m still really proud of it. If you like division!doctor, then this one is for you

we're only dreaming (tell me who i am) by SpaceBetweenGalaxies (2k, 1 chapter, gen) summary: more the-memory-house-is-Lungbarrow clowning //ok, so if you were like me when flux was airing and absolutely lost your MIND over the illogical house which was a bit too on the nose regarding Lungbarrow related things, then THIS FIC IS FOR YOU. Absolutely brilliantly done, with some gorgeous imagery that I'm still thinking about to this day, and just a wonderfully unsettling exploration of the Doctor and how she picks at those cut off memories in the aftermath of the Flux

the stars are bound to change by emptypockets (9k, 1 chapter, gen) summary: Being trisected across the universe has unexpected consequences for the Doctor, and Yaz is tasked with the responsibility of keeping her awake. //ohhhhhh this fic is so wonderful!! It's that weird sweet spot of 'soft angst', where it hits where it hurts but at the same time the whole thing feels like it's wrapping you in a warm blanket. Augh!! Such a lovely portrayal of the Doctor and Yaz's dynamic - I adore how this author writes these two so much. An absolutely lovely (but angsty!) character exploration, with a healthy dose of whump and sleepiness on the side. What more could you want?

Everything by rowanthestrange (24k, 13 chapters, thasmin) summary: In which Yaz wants to know everything, and the Doctor finally wants that too. //Ok, so full disclosure, I don't read that much thasmin, but this fic, guys. It's just gorgeous. A beautifully written exploration of Yaz and her relationship with the Doctor in the aftermath of Flux, which explores the years Yaz spent in the past and how that changed her; the Doctor grappling with her identity issues and how that's changed her; as well as all sorts of other wonderful things besides. Another fic that had tears streaming down my face (the TARDIS chapter got me...). It's such a poignant, emotional fic, and it's very focused on character in a way that I really adore. If you like thasmin, this is an absolute must-read. If you're not a fan of thasmin, I recommend it anyway (- signed: a thoschei shipper) because it's just such a brilliant portrayal of these two.

#doctor who #thirteenth doctor #dw fic #yasmin khan #the doctor #the master #jodie whittaker #thoschei #spydoc #sacha dhawan #thasmin #fic #fic rec #doctor who flux #doctor who series 13 #dwedit #taka edits #feel free to add more recs in the notes if you like!!#share the love!!#apologies for the wrong username on the hearts of stone one #because i made that edit so long ago that the author changed their name KSKSKSKSKS #but my editing programme has updated and completely changed??#so the settings I used to make that. are. not there anymore RIP ME #BUT AHHHHHH YES i've been meaning to make another one of these for AGES!!#anyway forgive me if i missed anyone's fics!!#honestly half the challenge is finding fics that like....i can find a screencap that WORKS for the story #which is a challenge in itself #there were a couple of others i also wanted to rec but the TITLES WERE TOO LONG #GUYS #like i know im part of the problem i KNOW

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eoieopda · 2 years ago

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redamancy (knj)

redamancy (n): a love returned in full

Kim Namjoon wasn't known for making wise decisions. He acted first and, on rare occasions, he asked questions later. The path he'd taken so far was left broken behind him, but the light at the end of that tunnel sure looked a hell of a lot like you.

Pairing: Kim Namjoon x Reader Type: One-Shot - sequel to lacuna Word Count: 5.5K Content: Established relationship AU; fluff but some angsty bits, i guess?; pov switches; smut (18+ - MINORS DNI) p in v pentration, shower sex, unprotected sex, multiple callbacks to lacuna, and a gratuitous cameo. A/N: Please read "lacuna" before proceeding! This is a sequel/epilogue, so the context is important. No spoilers, so my actual note will be at the end :) Listen to the playlist here! Tagging: @borahae-k @i-purple-buff-bunni @pamzn @myimaginationsrunningwild @nonbinary-demonbrat @yoongiphoria @bangtansmauyeondan @goddessjichu @ggukkiereads @dearly-somber @jihopesjoint @indgio @junsai-tree @persphonesorchid @mgthecat

Namjoon tucked his black marker into the pocket of his joggers with a sigh.

With the last box labeled, all he had to do was shove it in the corner with all his other possessions. In an instant, he could make it all the movers’ problem instead of his. He hesitated, though, and he didn’t know why.

That’s a lie, he thought, he absolutely knew why. It just felt so fucking childish to mourn a piece of real estate the way his heart seemed so inclined to. It was especially odd in his case because there were only fleeting moments where this artfully decorated apartment felt like a home; and not a museum he’d gotten locked in after failing to adhere to business hours.

There had been a lot of upheaval since he woke up in Yoongi’s guest bedroom with your bare body nestled against his. This was to be expected, after all. He’d blown up his life a year prior and just recklessly, maddeningly continued to set fire to the rubble. Now, he had to glue the pieces back together carefully.

What he broke could absolutely be rebuilt, but those cracks would still be visible, even once they were mended. The biggest of them — the nimbostratus cloud looming over that guest bedroom — was your impending flight back to Los Angeles, and the home you still had there.

Loving you was easy; it always had been. The logistics of loving you, however, had historically proven to be anything but.

Before you left, you said the pieces of your joint failures fell down like confetti. In reality, tying up all these loose ends felt more like cleaning up glitter. Reminders of his mistakes stuck everywhere. No matter how hard Namjoon swept, he always missed a spot. They stuck to him, catching the light.

This move was your clean slate.

If someone were to invade his brain now, they’d undoubtedly be alarmed by the tornado of nostalgia tearing ceaselessly through his thoughts. As it twisted, it uprooted everything and subsequently dumped it all in cardboard boxes. Namjoon was the spinning cow added for cinematic value, hanging on for dear life.

A hand clapped on his back, knocking him out of his thoughts and back into that empty bedroom.

“End of an era, eh?” Yoongi asked with his mouth still pressed to the lip of his coffee cup. He took another large gulp despite the scorching heat of its contents and he didn’t flinch.

“Yeah,” Namjoon conceded. It was a one-worded answer, but it spoke volumes. He didn’t need to look at Yoongi to see if he heard them all. The squeeze on Namjoon’s previously smacked shoulder indicated that he did.

This was where Namjoon decided that he loved you, not even four hours after meeting you. You looked at him then like no one ever had and he heard that cinematic record scratch. Then, the internal narration chimed in to give away the plot — that you were it for him.

Looking over the now-bare hardwood floor, his mind conjured you like a hologram: love-drunk in the corner, wearing his t-shirt and nothing else, serenading him with Whitney Houston’s “How Will I Know?” and using an empty soju bottle as a makeshift microphone.

He could hear it now and it gave him the same feeling he had then, like he was on an upswing and he would never come back down. He could hear himself, too, blushing red in the present at his past admission.

“I think I love you,” he’d said it so fast because it already felt like a reflex. A knee-jerk reaction that he couldn’t stop, so bat-shit and embarrassing because he’d only met you a few hours earlier.

Presently, he pictured your coy smile in that moment — the first time you’d graced him with it — and remembering your response had him warm all over.

“How sure are you? Enough to wager on it?”

“At least seventy-nine percent sure,” he’d responded immediately, which would become a habit of his, and relished in the way your eyes twinkled. So, you loved it when he’d buy into a bit — noted. He’d continued, no longer shy, “And yes, I would. All in.”

He could nearly feel the way your touch sparked against his hand once you’d skipped back and crawled over the mattress to settle in front of him. He’d prayed to a god he didn’t believe in that you’d do it again, and again, and again, running so eagerly into his arms.

“Then let’s make a deal, Joonie,” you’d smirked.

It was the first time anyone had called him that without being swiftly punched in the arm. It was the best that stupid nickname had ever sounded, coming out of your sweet mouth.

You’d tilted your head to the side and hummed with a thoughtful finger tapping at your chin, “Two years. If in two years’ time you realize that you were right — and you’re one-hundred percent sure — you’ll win a prize.”

He’d put his hand out to shake on it, but you’d swooped in with your fingers sliding through his hair. You’d kissed him instead and, against your soft lips, he’d mumbled, “Deal.”

Namjoon could’ve stood in that bedroom all day, watching the montage of you that somehow flickered against the bare white walls.

Yoongi seemed to sense this, though, and he intervened. After all, that’s precisely why Namjoon had brought him along: to keep him from getting lost on Memory Lane.

With a gentle pinch at Namjoon’s elbow, Yoongi nodded his head towards the doorway, “Movers will be here in ten. Anything left to pack?

Namjoon initially shook his head, but then he remembered. Fuck! Thank god — or whoever — for Yoongi, who stood there wide-eyed as Namjoon jerked forward and flew out the door.

He dashed to the kitchen and grabbed the only thing still there: his grandmother’s tea pot, bearing intricately painted cherry blossoms. He cradled it in his arms like a child on his way back to Yoongi, who was still standing where he was left. Still wide-eyed, too, like not enough time had passed for him to blink.

“I need you to keep track of this,” Namjoon confessed as he held out the teapot, “I know me and I know that I’ll break this if I’m the one responsible for it. Just — just don’t open it, okay?”

Without batting an eye — or heeding Namjoon’s words in any way whatsoever — Yoongi pulled off the lid and glanced inside. There was no change in his blank face, merely a tiny flex of his eyebrow that Namjoon just barely caught.

True to form, Yoongi asked no questions. His only response was, “You’re right. You would absolutely break this.”

Namjoon would’ve rolled his eyes if he wasn’t so distracted by his own pulse hammering away in his ears. “Right,” he muttered weakly.

“Ready to kiss this place goodbye?” Yoongi changed the subject after noticing how flustered Namjoon had become. He was alarmingly perceptive even when he wasn’t actively working to uncover Namjoon’s secrets.

Namjoon was — and wasn’t. He didn’t know how the fuck to feel, finishing a chapter so conclusively. In the past, all his endings had been ambiguous. They faded out, for the most part, so subtly that he didn’t notice right away.

All but one, that is.

Yoongi studied Namjoon’s face for one silent moment before landing a weightless punch on his bicep. His knuckles barely brushed him, but Namjoon felt it through his shirt, through his muscle, down to his bones. Then, without any response from Namjoon, Yoongi offered him a moment alone.

The apartment door clicked shut behind him. Though inherently quiet, it echoed loudly through the hallway and reverberated through every naked room on its way to Namjoon. As he stood there, silent and solitary, he realized how much he truly hated that sound. What it represented.

“So, is this it, then?” Your face told him that you knew the answer before you asked; but that you simply didn’t want to accept it.

He’d never seen you cry, save for the moments you laughed so hard that your eyes couldn’t contain your mirth. During sappy movies, maybe, but never because of sadness. Never because of him.

Namjoon had to stuff his hands in his pockets to keep them from reaching out to you.

He looked down at his shoes, nudged the rubber toe of one into the rug, then glanced back up at you. It was becoming increasingly impossible to look at you, but it felt so foreign not to.

He’d seen true sadness before — not from you, not until now — but your expression communicated something even deeper than that. Devastation, maybe? Whatever it was, it mingled with your mascara and spilled over your cheeks.

“I think it has to be,” his voice was thick when he replied, and it was a miracle he’d gotten the words out at all, “If you’re going to get everything you deserve in this life — everything you’ve worked so fucking hard for — I can’t be the thing that stands in your way.”

You were crying so hard that your sobs made his chest ache.

“I wanted all of it with you, Joonie, so badly,” You whimpered, then you wiped your leaking eyes on the excess sleeve clutched tight in your fingers, “I need you to know that. If we could’ve found a single way to make this work, I —“

When your voice gave up, his took over. “I know, baby,” and fuck, now he was crying too, “I would’ve lassoed the fucking moon for you if it could’ve made a difference.”

It hit him like a bullet train when you said it. As if you’d ever needed to ask.

“Can you kiss me one last time before I go?”

So, he did. Hard. And then, when you walked away, he let you.

Click.

Namjoon stayed frozen, staring into space, until he heard the movers clambering over the threshold.

You’d never seen more paperwork in your life.

Flipping through the binder, you were even more likely to stroke out than you were to get a paper cut. The sheer number of words made you dizzy; an insurmountable mountain of hangul. An avalanche, ready to overtake you.

After reading and signing for what felt like forty years, complaining all the while, you began to wonder: At what point would your brain simply give up and forget how to read as a form of protest? The thought was tempting — forgoing literacy entirely just to avoid this drawn-out task.

“I don’t understand,” you muttered, turning yet another page. You’d written your initials so many times that they stopped looking like real letters.

Maybe your brain was losing its capacity for language.

Jinseo furrowed her brows with such conviction, you could see them knit together in your peripheral vision, “I don’t know how much clearer I can make it. I’ve explained the terms to you no less than five-hundred times.”

You set down your pen and sat up to meet her exasperated eyes with a smirk, “No, not that. Your unsolicited lecture on contract law has me bar-exam ready.”

Jinseo’s mouth dropped open, always dramatic but never truly offended. You clarified, “I don’t understand why I can’t simply write smell you later on a post-it note, sign that, and be done with it.”

“Oh, I don’t mind all the time this is taking you,” Jinseo swapped out her shock for a wolfish grin, “It’s all billable, baby.”

At this, you rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t contain your laughter, “Unnie, don’t I get the friends-and-family rate?”

“Friends and family don’t forget the guacamole, sweet bean,” she chided you with her fork pointed teasingly at you.

With your attention finally secured, the fork directed your eyes down to the admittedly lackluster burrito bowl you’d traded for legal advice. Oops.

“You get what acquaintances and hot, divorce-seeking strangers get.”

“Which is what, exactly?”

“Me another margarita,” she purred. With a wink, she lifted her not-yet-empty glass from the table. “And when you’re done breaking up with Big Hit, you can talk me up to the owner of your new label.”

You slumped back in your seat while feigning hesitation. Sucking a breath in through your teeth, you sighed, “Yoongi? Well, I don’t know… He’s married to his work.”

At this, Jinseo quirked an eyebrow. “Did you not hear me about the whole hot, divorce-seeking strangers thing?”

“Menace,” you giggled.

Your laughter petered out too soon and an unexpectedly heavy silence settled between you and the only friend you’d successfully kept in the whole of California. In all of the United States, really.

You didn’t want to say it, but you couldn’t keep it in, either: “I don’t know what I’d do without you.

Jinseo, dropping her chin to rest on the heel of her hand, smiled with only half her mouth. She paused before admitting, “I don’t know what you’d do without me, either.”

Your instinct was to cry, but you’d never hear the end of it if you did. Jinseo, like you, seemed to develop contact dermatitis when confronted with vulnerability and affection. Instead, your friendship was grounded in playful smacks to the arm and glances nobody but the two of you could decipher.

For this reason, you picked your pen up off the table and gestured to the page before you. “You’re sure that catch you on the flip-side, nerds, won’t hold up in court?”

“If you really want to fuck around with Bang PD, I suppose you’ll find out.” She shrugged, then she winked again.

You didn’t, for more reasons than one. The most recent of those was the grace and understanding Bang Si-Hyuk had shown you when you raised the idea of leaving his label. The heaviest of them was the simple fact that you owed him everything — your career, your success, and most of all, the family you’d found through him.

In your best friend, who you’d never have met without Si-Hyuk's help in breaking through the American market. She was your lifeboat in a lonely, intimidating sea of unfamiliar people, customs, language, and food.

In Yoongi, the illustrious Big Hit producer who collaborated with you during the wild hours you kept, no matter what time it was on his end. He was your parachute, saving you quietly and without fail, through every leap of faith. He kept you company when you left Korea — then he started a company to bring you back.

In Namjoon, whose release party changed the trajectory of your entire life. His role could never be adequately described in any words — in any language.

A lighthouse, maybe, guiding you through jagged rocks to shore.

Or a cabin in the woods that you never expected to find, but that held you warmly when the trail ahead couldn’t be found in the dark.

More simply: he was everything.

“Where’d you go just now?” Jinseo’s sudden statement made you jump. There was a muffled knock when your kneecap collided with the underside of the table.

You blinked over at her and watched as her pursed lips curved into a smile. Your instinct was to keep your sentimental nonsense to yourself — after all, this wasn’t goodbye in any way that mattered. The two of you would stay in constant contact, visiting one another at any and every possible opportunity.

Why did you always try to eulogize what wasn’t dead yet?

Again, Jinseo surprised you. “You do know how proud I am of you, right?”

She snorted at your bemused expression: wide, watery eyes sitting between raised eyebrows and a mouth that was neither closed nor fully open.

Just as quickly, she course-corrected, resuming her abnormally solemn tone. “You do hard things every damn day and you always get out of bed the next,” Jinseo continued.

Apparently, her margarita’s rim demanded more than table salt; it wanted tears, too.

“You’re brave as hell — braver than me, that’s for sure. You jump because you know you need to; and I sit on the ground because I’m too afraid of heights.” She reached across the table and gave your hand a squeeze, “And your survival rate, despite it all, is one-hundred percent.”

You wiped furiously at the tears streaking through your foundation. Everything you needed to say to her was communicated with a shared glance, like always. Your friendship was telepathic; it would endure regardless of distance.

What you said out loud earned you the belly laugh you loved so much:

“Imagine what you would’ve said if I remembered your guacamole.”

Namjoon wouldn’t normally use the word giddy to describe himself. Even at his most excited, he was able to maintain some ounce of chill — the tiniest fraction of composure, whether he truly felt composed or not.

Then again, he’d never experienced this level of exhilaration before. Not when he was signed, not when he released his first track, not even when he was nominated for a Grammy.

In a matter of minutes, your plane would land at Incheon and his whole damn world would resume its intended orbit. The tectonic plates would shift back where they belonged; and every natural disaster he’d set loose inside himself would finally — after all this time — subside.

Though he wasn’t the one who left, it felt like his homecoming, too. Even in Korea, surrounded by everyone and everything he’d always known, Namjoon’s recent existence was nomadic. He bounced between surface-level relationships and sleepwalked through events that should’ve mattered; never allowing himself to feel connected to any of it.

Namjoon was a comet — arriving quickly and on fire, then disappearing just as fast. He was ready to stop being temporary, so long as you became permanent, too.

It was that dream of roots that had Namjoon refreshing the flight-tracker once an hour for the thirteen you’d spent in the air. He watched that tiny, animated plane inch closer while your estimated time of arrival began to look more and more like the one on his watch.

When they finally matched, Namjoon slammed his hand down on the steering wheel of his parked car and shouted to no one but himself, “Yes!”

There was an old woman — why did she look so familiar? — glaring at him through his passenger window. He might’ve scared her with his sudden display, but Namjoon couldn’t find a fuck to give. He was too busy grabbing the carefully curated bouquet off the seat to his right, then clambering out of his own.

It was a confusing assortment, and not necessarily a beautiful one. Instead of a single phrase, Namjoon’s choices communicated paragraphs; combining every type of flower he’d ever given you on this very same sidewalk. If you were anyone else, you might take this eyesore and dump it immediately in the nearby trashcan — but you weren't anyone else.

The first addition was white camellias, matching the ones you received after your first flight home. Like they did back then, they confessed how much he adored you from the start. Then came pink roses because he loved you happily, softly, despite the distance.

On your third arrival home, he gave you baby’s breath. Those delicate petals commemorated the pieces of himself that went missing when you went away; all falling back into place the second he saw you again. White tulips followed, begging forgiveness for the increasing time you spent apart and how little you’d get to spend together on that fourth trip.

For this trip, the last you’d ever make alone, he added bridal wreath.

Namjoon read it somewhere recently that this plant was virtually impossible to kill once it was established. It could survive just about anything and remain beautiful despite its hardships. Like the shrub he’d clipped it from, he’d withstand everything with you.

The fondness he radiated must have summoned you because, after ten minutes of scanning the out-coming crowd, he finally saw you. There you were, shuffling on travel-weary legs, with your signature, mint-colored headphones; and your self-congratulatory boba.

Unfortunately, you didn’t see him — miraculous, given the way he was waving his arms like a fool and shouting through cupped hands to get your attention. Instead, your sleepy gaze fixated squarely on your phone.

You must’ve assumed that this arrival would be like the last one.

Before you could summon an Uber – definitely not another taxi – Namjoon dug his own phone out of his jacket pocket. He struggled to text with one hand occupied by his bouquet, so he took the easy way out.

[To: Jagi 🤫] 👋🏻

Your gasp came before he could look back up at you, but he heard it loud and clear. When his eyes found you again, he watched in slow motion as your beloved boba fell out of your hand and clattered against the sidewalk.

The sound of plastic hitting pavement was the starting whistle. Now, you were off to the races.

With shocking speed, you leapt over the spilled tea and flew towards him like your Prada backpack came equipped with rocket boosters. At that cost, anything was possible. He managed to catch you in his arms without losing a single petal.

Once he had you, he kissed you like it was the first time: shy to start, growing increasingly desperate with every passing second. With your arms linked in their rightful place around his neck and your lips so warm against his, he wondered how many times he could shout I love you without saying a word.

Panting, you eventually pulled back with lips pink and semi-swollen from the urgency of it all. You sighed if you weren’t the breath of fresh air, “Hi.”

“Hi,” Namjoon repeated with a chuckle, grinning like a fool.

Though he didn’t want to, he let you slip out of his arms to your feet. After all, he couldn’t complete your airport ritual unless your hands were free. He swallowed hard and tried his best not to blush when he held out the bouquet.

It felt like he was gifting you his whole, beating heart instead.

You froze once the flowers transferred from his hand to yours.

Immediately, his pulse began to race. If he was still holding that massive bouquet, he would’ve beat himself over the head with it. Once again, Namjoon had overthought everything and analyzed a simple task to death.

But your pupils dilated ever-so-slightly when you looked back up at him with swimming eyes. He should’ve known you’d remember. Given you long-due credit for the way you always made him feel seen.

You reached up and did what you’d only done once before — in a dark hallway, five months earlier. Your gaze followed the tip of your thumb as it swiped gently over his bottom lip, and you smiled.

“Say less, Joonie."

After picking you up from the airport, Namjoon promptly whisked you away to the apartment you’d both recently closed on. As a life-long renter, leaving town more often than staying, it was your first major purchase. It was also your first joint purchase.

The old you would’ve been terrified of killing these two, deeply committal birds with one stone; but the person you were now didn’t bat an eye.

What was there to panic over, anyway? It felt right because it was.

Given your exhausted state, the tour was brief. You spent it all clinging to Namjoon’s back like a jetlagged sloth in a tree, but your excitement was evident despite the mumbled voice that expressed it.

If there was any moisture left in your worn-out body, it would’ve left you in tears when you saw the combination of your respective design styles incorporated so perfectly throughout the space.

The items you’d shipped internationally arrived before you did. Namjoon seemed to know without asking exactly where you’d choose to put them. Your kitschy trinkets didn’t look stupid next to his art collection in the way you thought they would. Even more shocking was the way your eccentric, eclectic taste meshed seamlessly with his modern neutrals.

Your home with him was a mirror, reflecting the very specific way you each provided what the other lacked.

And he’d handled it all himself, taking the daunting task of unpacking off your plate so you could finish your chapter in Los Angeles.

Though he wasn’t physically present for the hours you spent making plans with Yoongi — or the hours you spent explaining those same plans to Bang Si-Hyuk — you felt him. He listened to every complaint and over-caffeinated rant. He gave you patience, reassurance, and equal enthusiasm in return.

Because you loved him, you could do hard things.

You could navigate the nightmare realm that was moving internationally. You could join your friend in doing what neither of you had ever done before — creating your own label, then your own studio — while you were still stuck on the other side of an ocean. You could move back home without your tail between your legs, feeling like you’d failed to hack it alone.

You didn’t fail. You simply realized – much later than you should have — that any path worth taking was one you walked with Namjoon.

When the tour concluded, you fell asleep — at three o’clock in the afternoon — in his arms. When you woke up six hours later, he was still holding you. That is, until you lurched forward and spun around in a frenzy.

“Joon!” Your exclamation was interrupted by a yawn, but that didn’t undermine the urgency. “Were you trapped under me this whole time? Oh my god, you missed dinner. Aren’t you thirsty? I’m a monster —”

Namjoon’s entire face crinkled up under the force of his smile. His laughter twinkled in his eyes, too, and threatened to spill out. You stopped rambling mid-sentence and released your death grip on his hand so he could wipe the mirth from his cheekbone.

He was still chuckling despite the horror on your face.

“What?” You asked incredulously, though you were starting to giggle, too. “What’s so funny?”

The more he laughed, the more you did. It was a cycle, certainly, but far from vicious. Was this the kind of life you got to live now? One so perfect that endless laughter — caused by nothing in particular — echoed through every room?

His hands cupped the sides of your face and guided you towards him. Still smiling, you were both catching your breath when his forehead came to rest against yours. Nose tips bumping into one another, he hummed contentedly, “You just sat alone on an airplane for thirteen hours, jagi. If I get to be your pillow for even half as long, you won’t catch me complaining.”

You kissed him automatically; a reflex your body had acclimated to without requiring your brain to prompt it. It was brief, but you had all the time in the world to kiss him again. For now, you wanted to stare at him for as long as it took to prove to yourself that you weren’t simply dreaming.

“Hang on,” Namjoon said suddenly. He kissed you before you could pout and then he rolled off the side of the bed. He held one finger up as he stared intently back at you, “Don’t move, okay?”

After all that time sitting still with your body pushing against his bladder, you assumed he was headed for the adjoining bathroom. He wasn’t; he rushed right past it and disappeared out your bedroom door. You listened to his footfalls against the hallway floor until he was too far away to track.

What on Earth was he doing?

You sat there cross-legged in a pool of sheets for several minutes. One eyebrow raised in confusion while your gaze stayed locked on the doorway. It still managed to surprise you when he reappeared — not just because his arrival was sudden, but because he was holding his grandmother’s tea pot in his hands.

Is that why you didn’t hear him jogging back? Because he was moving at a snail’s pace, protecting that floral-printed ceramic like his life depended on it?

You opened your mouth to speak, but he cut you off with the same finger he’d pointed at you earlier. Namjoon ignored your furrowed eyebrows, crossed back to his side of the bed, and crawled back into the space he’d left behind. While your eyes darted between him and his tea pot, his never left your face. Uncharacteristically quiet, taking deep, measured breaths.

No, really — what on Earth was he doing?

“I can tell by that look on your face that you have no idea what the hell is happening, but hear me out, okay?”

He waited for you to nod before continuing slowly, “I overthink things. Sometimes, it ends up fine, but it usually doesn’t. I try to think before I act, then I think instead of acting — I don’t want to do that now.”

Namjoon paused for a moment, finally glancing down at the tea pot cradled in his hands. “I asked Yoongi to hang on to this during the move because I break things. I never mean to, but for some unknown reason, all that over-thinking doesn’t make me careful. I ruin things far too easily and I hate that about myself —”

“Joon,” you frowned. Placing a hand on his bouncing knee, you begged him to look up at you. “You don’t ruin things —”

He shook his head, stopping you from continuing. You’d never seen him look so determined. “I do, but that’s not the point I’m getting at.”

He shot you a tiny smile as if you were the one deserving reassurance. “I let you go when I didn’t want to, let this thing we built fall to pieces. The timing couldn’t have been worse, either — now I’m late cashing in.”

“Cashing in?” Clearly, you'd lost the plot.

Namjoon laughed, “Two years. You said to give it two years and if it turned out that I was right, I’d win a prize. It’s been a little bit longer than that, but I'm one-hundred-percent sure.”

Oh.

You'd replayed that night over and over in your head since it happened. Really, you should’ve caught on immediately; but you thought you were the only one carrying that memory around like a torch.

Did he really remember that conversation after all this time? Some silly, inside joke that you made after only knowing him for a few hours?

Namjoon took the lid off the teapot and set it down softly on the nightstand behind him.

“It took me too long to realize it, but it’s you — you're the prize. I don’t want to orchestrate some ridiculous, dramatic gesture because this is us. It feels exactly like it did that first night, when I took this bet in the first place.”

His hand dipped down into the tea pot. When it re-emerged, he was holding a small box made of exquisite black leather. You started crying in the split second it took him to open it. He was blinking back tears of his own when he flipped it around to show you its contents.

“I’m all in if you are.”

Namjoon was a lot of things, but he wasn't a quitter.

After he slid that ring on your finger, neither of you could keep your hands to yourself. Like history repeating itself, he loved every inch of you on every goddamn surface in that apartment.

In the bed he'd wake up in, next to you, for the rest of his life. On that bright yellow couch you loved so much; the kitchen counter he'd have to clean before making too big of a breakfast for you in the morning. When you christened every other room, the pair of you retired to the bathroom.

Initially, your goal upon entering the shower wasn't sex. In fact, it was to soothe your exhausted, sweat-slicked bodies before collapsing onto fresh sheets and a re-made bed. If you thought you were tired before, you'd sleep for a week now. Every part of him ached in the best way, so he'd welcome the opportunity to rest for several days at your side.

But then he smelled your shampoo — vanilla and honey — and it flipped a switch in his fucked-out brain. The warm water spilling in rivulets over your soft skin pressed the issue; and so did that diamond sparkling up at him through the steam.

He didn't follow you in here to fuck you, but he'd be remiss if he let the moment slip down the drain with the suds.

Experimentally, he pushed your hair away from the back of your neck and brought his lips to the space he'd cleared. Watching your slow inhale, he lingered there for a moment to gauge your reaction. Your head tilted slightly to the side; he considered it an invitation. In lieu of an RSVP, he sent his tongue in a short, languid line.

The moan he coaxed out of you was quiet, but despite the falling water, it reverberated across the glass walls and tile. You followed up with a sigh, leaning your head back against his chest as his mouth moved to claim the side of your neck.

"Shit," you keened with your eyes closed, "We're never leaving the house again, are we?"

Namjoon hummed as he flicked his tongue over your earlobe, "Outlook not so good."

As expected, you caught his reference immediately. You wobbled as you laughed; his arms snaked around the curves of your waist to satiate his need for closeness and his desire to keep you upright. "Mr. Kim, certified genius, is now citing the Magic 8 ball?"

"It's the poet laureate of our generation, Mrs. Kim."

Even if you didn't whimper at the utterance of your future name, Namjoon still would've repeated it over and over again. A mantra, an invocation manifesting a long life in which you matched. So, he did say it again, whispering it into your flesh as his hands slid up your torso.

Mrs. Kim, Mrs. Kim, Mrs. Kim.

Given what they'd been through over the past several hours, he treated your nipples with the utmost care and reverence. Sensitive thing that you were, even his feather-light touch had you mewling. Fuck, he loved that sound.

"Baby?" Your voice was barely distinguishable from an exhale, but that perfect softness hit him hard, "Please."

Your wish was, is, and always would be his command.

Namjoon worried about your trembling legs, so he chose the first solution that came to mind: he turned you gently around, kissed you deep, and lifted you off your feet. As always, you molded so easily against his body. You legs wrapped around him in tandem with your arms.

Carefully, he rested your back against the stone wall and adjusted his grip so that his arms slotted under your thighs. “This okay, Mrs. Kim?" He asked.

Your answer came in the form of your hand dipping down and guiding the tip of his cock to your entrance. He followed your lead, leaving both of you to moan when he entered you.

Like a glove, you enveloped him completely. He'd never believe that you weren't destined to fit together like this. Out of every person, in every timeline, he was the lucky bastard meant for you.

Unlike the previous rounds, this was slow. Deliberate, not underscored by some carnal desire or desperate need to reclaim lost moments. He took his time grinding himself into your unimaginable warmth because he now had it in spades. Namjoon refused to let a second pass without cherishing it fully first.

Your head dipped back against the cool stone, allowing you to tilt your jaw upward. Placing a kiss at the column of your throat, he pushed himself deeper into you.

Breathy moans thanked him wordlessly for his fluency in your body's language. Namjoon had studied religiously to learn your unspoken cues, so your raised eyebrows and closed lids foretold your orgasm before your velvet walls clenched around him.

"Fuck, Joon," you cried out as you shook in his arms.

Your little whimpers lured him to the edge; your tightened grip on his shoulder pulled him off behind you. As he spilled himself inside of you, he screwed his eyes shut and nestled his face into the crook of your neck to muffle his chest-deep groan.

After several moments of silence, you shifted. He rolled his neck to move his head further down your shoulder. From this vantage point, he gazed up at you — the only thing worth looking at, all he ever wanted, the one he got to keep for good.

With a kiss left at his temple, you murmured, "I'm glad you took it back."

"What?" He asked quietly, searching your flushed, smiling face for answers.

"All the love I have for you. I know where to put it now."

A/N: aaaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH IT'S FINALLY HERE! i cried like a bitch baby when i was writing this - even more so when i finished writing this (aka now) - because this lil series takes up my whole heart. i buried so much of myself in lacuna, so this was my attempt to plant flowers in the achy bits, lol. i left lots of easter eggs, so i'd love to know what you find! also, yes, i did write my damn self into this one. hahahah. lacuna was largely autobiographical (except the namjoon part, obvi) so it felt right to fictionalize myself as the person saying what i would've wanted to hear back then.

i'd love to know your thoughts, so please please please let me know either by replying, reblogging, PMing me, or dropping a line in the ask box.

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angel-of-hunky-doryness · 7 months ago

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The Conflicts of Disney's Hercules (Part 3): Hades vs Zeus

Brother vs brother- talk about a tale as old as time, huh? From Cain and Abel to Hamlet and Claudius to the more modern examples of Mufasa and Scar to Thor and Loki, what's not to hate about about two brothers at odds with one another? Well technically its more of an angsty, brooding guy who's had it up to here with their perfect golden retriever brother getting the throne, daddy's attention, and/or the girl. While our bootiful no-thoughts head empty golden child becomes intimately aware at the last possible second of their brother's treachery as they're falling into your proverbial wildebeest stampede.

That's right y'all.

May I present to the surprise of no one.

THEM:

Finally we come to the conflict that sent the proverbial Sisyphean boulder into motion that is Disney's Hercules.

Part I: And now a word from our IV pound sponsor:

Before I begin my analysis on the relationship between Disney's Hades and Zeus, I thought I would provide a bit of background to the established canon Disney presents us. Mind you, dear reader, we have the 1997 film and the Hercules animated TV show (1998) to look towards. However, there are minor conflicting information between the two, but as always, the movie is always more canon than what the TV show gave us.

Zeus is older, Hades is younger. Weird I know.

But I'm gonna go out on a limb here and support Disney on this one. Because while in the grand scheme of things Hades is most definitely NOT the youngest child of the siblings in Greek Myth, there is a small technicality that cements Zeus' authority to rule over his older siblings as if Zeus was the firstborn child this whole time.

That technicality being: Kronos

Kronos gets the big bag prophecy/curse from Gaia that one of his children will overthrow him like he did with his dad, so Kronos starts baking his cake and eating it too.

Hades was the first male born (hestia is traditionally firstborn but patriarchy or whatevs) so that also made him the first to be swallowed by Kronos. Thus, when Zeus freed the rest of his siblings, Hades was the last son to be up-chucked since he was ingested first - that made Hades the last "born."

And this "second birth" of Poseidon, Hera, Demeter, Hades, and Hestia is what cements the order of authority in the 6 siblings hierarchy. Therefore, Zeus was made firstborn and had full authority to claim the sky if he so desired.

But Zeus was a chad in those days and still gave his brothers a chance to draw lots and all that b/c even he saw how unfair the Fates had been to his brothers. Yet still, destiny favored Zeus and Mr. High and Mighty got the kingdom with a view.

Which is a perfect segway to the next set of rules I'm working with here:

2. Zeus is a good guy.

Okay, I know it hurts to accept this, buttercups, but we have to muscle through it. The version of Zeus that we got in Disney's Hercules is a sanitized, lovable goofball who loves his son, his wife (is that allowed?), and his brother who's going through a phase.

BTW I would like to draw attention to the fact this is the first time in an adaptation of greek myth where Hera is Hercules' bio mother. This is clearly outlining to the audience- hey! Zeus is faithful?

So Zeusy's worst flaw (infidelity, Don Juan, insatiable sexual appetite- pick your poison) has been erased. That's wild, but we have to accept this to better understand the context of Hades vs Zeus. We have to establish who has morality in this equation. Earlier parts of my Hercules Conflicts series had obvious good guys vs Hades, but for this one I have to build it up because of the history of these mythological figures.

However, before I roll into it, I would like to dig on Mr. Thunder Dunder Head once.

This man violated the Geneva Conventions doing this to Danny DeVito:

Talk about some Zeus ex machina- yeesh.

Part II: And Then Along Came Zeus

With the introduction out of the way, now we can talk about the central conflict that kickstarted this movie into gear.

From the get-go, Hades establishes that he doesn't reciprocate his brother's affection. What should've been a good ol' fashioned family reunion turned into a neon flashing sign that Hades is very uncomfy around his brother. Hell, even when Zeus is trying to be friendly he ends up ordering him around.

And I don't think anyone's mentioned this before, but doesn't it seem like Zeus is just as touchy-feely here as Hades is with those beneath them? It makes me wonder if Hades learned this behavior from Zeus.

Now, we also get the idea that Zeus is clueless. Not just to how Hades is purposefully keeping him at arm's length, but also to how the other party guests, the gods, get very quiet and passive aggressive the second Hades showed up to spoil the party.

And you better believe this three-minute scene is the basis for this entire post. And there is a lot to digest here.

First off, we get Hades' motivation, his goals, and the receipts. You better believe this babe is writing in his little black burn book as soon as he gets back in his chariot.

From Zeus, to Hercules, to the rest of the gods, home boy has a lot to update after popping in after a long time. And I hate to be that guy, but a show of hands on who felt more sympathetic for Hades here?

Like I've mentioned in Disney's Most Sympathetic villain post already, but Hades' villain entrance is not intimidating in the slightest. If anything, it quickly establishes that Hades is kind of a loser in these circles.

To recap, while on Mt Olympus for two minutes Hades is:

Manhandled by his older brother

Manhandled by his nephew (ok i get this one, he nearly hurt a baby, those are spikes after all)

Ignored. Nobody but Zeus makes eye contact/or acknowledges him. More than likely this is b/c they can't stand the guy and out of respect for Zeus they've elected to just ignore him and hope he goes away.

Zeus gaslights him - yes, the guy who gave him the underworld job is telling him to slow down and live a little. That's like your boss gives you a crap load of work and comes by to ask you why he never sees you take time off. I will die on this hill that's positively diabolical.

And lastly, Hades gets laughed off the mountain.

Not once in this entire film did Zeus ever check up on Hades after this. Not to apologize, not to make up for lost time, bring up an opportunity for a party you could come to, or perform a wellness check. That would've been so hilarious seeing Zeus pop into the underworld and the entire scene is just Hades shenanigans of trying to cover up evidence of his plot to murder this guy.

Although to be fair, Myth!Zeus had the same issue!

BUT to Myth!Zeus's credit, he made an attempt to improve his brooding brother's mood. And he did it in the worst way possible by immediately fixing him up with Persephone. So you really can't say that Myth!Zeus isn't trying.

Now since I've bashed Zeus I will give him some credit on his first scene. Hades isn't there to stay and chat, he's on a recon mission. And he evades all his brother's attempts at conversation. He cuts bolt boy off, uses humor as a defense mechanism, and he deflects every time Zeus tries to get cozy. Why?

Homeboy found out a new godling was born.

And the way the movie presents Baby Hercules- from Zeus being awkward and kind of scared to hold him- I get the vibes that the writers are making Zeus out to be a first time dad.

Yeah, apparently we're ignoring Athena, Ares, Apollo, Artemis, Bacchus, Hermes, Hephaestus, etc

Wild I know, but there is a purpose to it.

@persephoneflowerpetals made a very interesting blog post about this particular aspect that deserves a look and got me to thinking.

So not to steal their thunder, but Hades showing up to Hercules' Amphidromia (ancient greek family festival where newborn babies are given their name in front of their family & friends on 5th or 7th day of life) was for him to see who his competition was - whether or not Hercules sided with Zeus or not when Hades' own uprising happens.

And by not siding with Zeus, I'm talking about Hercules having his own type of uprising and usurping his father as all the previous kings had done before him.

Which is really cool! It's taking the Lion King/Hamlet story from a different angle. The nephew is just as much of a threat as his father if not more.

You see age doesn't really factor for Greek gods (Artemis was born minutes before her brother and she helped her mom deliver him & the food of the gods aged baby godlings quickly) so it's a very smart move for Hades to see what he was up against very quickly. Hell at this point in time he had no idea he just needed to wait 18 more years for his uprising.

And that's why Hades was more concerned about the sunspot than his own brother. It could very well be that he wouldn't be fighting Zeus, but Hercules for the ownership of the Olympian throne.

This puts Hercules on equal footing with Zeus in terms of level and power and establishes why Herc is the main protagonist- not Zeus.

Hell, if anything, Hades knows from experience that posterity can easily overtake the previous generation. He did that once despite the odds being stacked against him and his siblings even though Gospel Truth claims Zeus stopped the Titans on his own.

Part III: Olympus is That Way

The Titan Jail break will never not be funny to me. We see 5 giant Titans stomping around in the woods, the seas, the fields, cities, etc in what I am assuming is about sunrise?

You mean to tell me there wasn't a single person- or god, we have to remember there are gods in this universe that didn't want to- I don't know- let Zeus know what was coming? I mean it's not like Poseidon would know they were freed from their underwater prison, or Apollo as he's driving his chariot- it is a bit cloudy after all, or any others to notice their cities with mortals actively praying to them are under a massive attack.

Horses were killed, Poseidon. Your descendants. My sibling the horse girl is very disappointed in you.

Now I know this is touched upon in my series Hercules Conflicts Part II, but it does merit a mention since ultimately it is Zeus' fault / laziness that the Titans were able to show up on their front doorstep without anyone realizing until too late.

And Zeus is absolutely torn apart when he realizes it was his brooding baby brother who gave him the ol' Judas Kiss.

I couldn't find the gif of Zeus' realization face that maybe what his brother was going through was not just a phase. However, just like Mufasa before him, bolt boy realizes too late of his brother's treachery.

And what's the last line, Hades delivers to Zeus:

Oh?!

Is- is Hades bitter about the job Zeus gave him? Of being ordered around while the rest of the pantheon got to play around and have some fun?

Jokes aside, but Hades' whole plot, all his animosity and antagonism towards Zeus came because of the lot he was given by bolt boy over here. And while Hades does call Zeus his greatest rival it's because Zeus put him in that position in the first place.

Zeus created his worst enemy.

It's like one of my profs commented once in my classes back in my uni days. The oil spill that happened in the Gulf of Mexico didn't happen because of one mistake. It happened because of several mistakes, several oversights, several safety overrides for the sake of not losing money were made over a period of years that eventually lead to a disaster that no longer could be ignored.

And that is ultimately what became Zeus' fatal flaw in this movie.

His negligence.

We can blame the other gods for not being as committed as well, but it's like Hopper says in bug's life:

Zeus is at fault for his brother's betrayal, his son being turned mortal, and the mess the Titan's left in their wake.

So at the end of the movie when the Muses deliver another absolute banger, the system doesn't change. Things go back to the way they were just minus the one guy at the bottom most rung of the cosmos' ladder.

If change is to happen it starts at the top.

Not to end this on a downer- although we all know how screwed this world is after the credits roll, but I am happy to report, dear reader, that change does happen.

It's small, but it's still resounding.

Hercules chooses not to join his father. Just as Hades predicted in the opening scene if you go along with my theory from earlier in this post in Part II. And this wasn't even with the assistance of prophecy, it was because Hades knew his brother too well.

Zeus has a very exclusive club atop Olympus and he would never let someone like Meg, despite all that she's sacrificed and redeemed herself for. Because Meg is a representation of Hades here. Something I was very vocal about in Part 1 of my Hercules Conflicts Series.

And before you argue, remember, Zeus is the one who told Hercules that only gods can live on Olympus. Bolt boy knew Hercules was about to ask for a freebie for her, but his stance was made very clear on the matter.

So, Hercules refuses. Hades was proven to be correct.

Now, Hades just didn't know why Hercules would defect. And Hercules goes back to being a mortal because of Hades. Because Hades put Meg in the right place at the right time. Sure, it's because of Meg that Hades loses. But Hades got someone to realize Olympus isn't all its cracked up to be.

Through mortality.

The very aspect Hades himself represents as lord of the dead and god of the underworld.

Maybe Hades did win after all.

If you made it this far, thanks for reading!

Till next time, my dear readers

~Angel

#disney #disney hades #disney hercules #disney megara #disney villains #my rambles #greek mythology #greek myth #hercules #zeus #disney zeus #hades #disney persephone #disney movies #hercules 1997

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isleofair · 3 months ago

Note

🥀⚡🌞 For your asks! And for the sun one I would love to see a quote from Stereoscopy! ❤️

That is TWICE this evening you've made me squee into a pillow, now by asking for a quote from Stereoscopy!!! 🥺🥺🥺🥹🥹🥹 Thank you so much for this ask, I love it! 💚💚💚

🥀 favorite angst quote from a published work

Oh, gosh. There are a few I like... they'd all need context, but this bit I like well enough (and is certainly plenty angsty) even on its own. It's from Intertidal:

He held out his hand, smiling, as sweet and welcoming as ever, and Nathan went, her steps light, picking up speed, like gravity was inescapably guiding her to him. But before she could reach him, to her abject horror, faint wisps of smoke started to rise from his figure, a flicker of flame igniting on his open palm; the fire was lighting him up from the inside, burning through his flesh, turning his flawless golden skin into a charred, smoldering wasteland. Her outstretched fingers brushed against his, and at her faintest touch his hand crumpled into ash, followed by his arm, his body, his ruined, startled face; in just a few instants, Keith had disappeared, carried away on the wind until nothing was left.

⚡️ wild card: dealer’s choice of quote from a completed work

Oooh, spoiled for choice here! There's a chapter in Second Song that I love dearly; I plucked what I think is one of the prettiest quotes from it.

"You love peace," she murmured, unable to hold back a tiny, fond smile. "Yes," he said quickly, giving her a surprised, pleased look, like he hadn't expected her to understand him so instantly, so easily. "Yes, I do." Of course, he had no idea that she was cheating; that she'd had years with him, and not just minutes, that she knew him almost as well as she knew herself, and loved him even more. "But..." Keith sighed, leaning his elbows on his knees. "Lately, I've been thinking that maybe sometimes you need to fight, in order to protect peace." He opened his hands, palm up, and gazed down at them pensively. "I got into a college with a really good aviation program. But now I've got these powers, and..." "And you're thinking of becoming a hero," Nathan whispered, mesmerized. She felt like she was witnessing the birth of something beautiful, something precious; a cloud of luminous dust starting to coalesce into a future star.

☀️ asker’s choice of published work: request a quote from a published work

And here, as requested, is your quote from my beloved Stereoscopy:

There was no room around him; he was dropping from the sky, through the cold night air above Stern Bild. He was far higher than he'd ever flown on his own; he could recognize the shape of the city lights below him, but they were so terribly, achingly distant. And Fire Emblem wasn't there. Keith hadn't been afraid of falling for a very long time. But the thought of not being able to find his partner, the thought of losing him, filled him with the purest dread imaginable. There was only one person he could think of who might be able to help him. He wasn't wearing his helmet, but he did have the rest of his suit; he angled his limbs to take full advantage of the stabilizers, and directed his fall towards the golden bird glinting faintly above the river. Like he had been hoping, Nat was waiting there for him, perched on the very tip of the phoenix's beak. Her red coat billowed around her like a cape, its ends gilded in an illusion of fire by the light reflected by the metal under her feet. Keith's fall slowed as soon as he saw her; he floated down until he was standing in front of Nat, almost, but not quite close enough to touch. He resisted the urge to reach out; if he did, he knew, somehow, that he'd lose what he was looking for.

(the ask game)

#ask game #writing #my fic #firesky

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wangxianficfinder · 2 years ago

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Fic Finder

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1. Saw this on a Tumblr post and I'm intrigued. Do you know of any fanfic that has a line like this in? “lan wangji had fallen in love with all the enthusiasm of a child being forced to eat their vegetables” - the post seemed to indicate it might be a NHS pov or narrator fic. Any help would be lovely, thank you! @katonahottinroof

FOUND! An Elegant Solution by giraffeter (E, 205k, niewangxian, canon divergence, arranged marriage, friends to lovers, fix-it, everyone lives au, courtship, polyamory, smut) Chapter 14: Lanling Marriage of An Elegant Solution by giraffeter, and my apologies to the OP for quoting the line and not following up to your request for context until now lol. The full quote was "Wei Wuxian had fallen in love with Lan Wangji like a stone falling down a well, which would have been sweet (and kind of annoying) on its own except that Lan Wangji had clearly fallen in love with him too, with all the enthusiasm of a child being forced to eat his vegetables, and that was extremely funny."

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2. Hi! I'm looking for a canon divergence fic where the ending is LZ and WY is dual cultivating at the battlefield (not sex, just using their energy to purge out resentful energy from wy's body, guqin and flute) and this in turn results in wy developing a core - both their energies after joining together comes down powerfully to settle down in wy's body.

The ending para of the fic says about a long lost poem about lan an (? Or some other lan ancester) and his partner cultivating a new core through the same method wangxian did. It says no one knows this method.

Before this dual cultivation (not sex) wy suffers a memory loss and lan zhan calls out to him "wei ying" to tether/ground him and bring him back. It took a while for him to succeed. The fic was very angsty.

FOUND? If I Could Go Back in Time by Runningbarefoot (M, 122k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Role Reversal, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies, Pining, Angst with a Happy Ending, Grief/Mourning, YLLZ WWX, Eventual Happy Ending, The Twin Jade Brotherhood, Hurt/Comfort, Healing, Character Study, Twin Prides of Yúnmèng Dynamics, Slow Burn) what was described happened specifically the last 2 chapters Wwx didn't have memory lost tho, just an overwhelmingly resentful energy that he couldn't recognise anyone while using resentful energy but lwj was able to call and ground him back, lwj did some lwj things and wwx ended up getting 'cleaned' with spiritual energy of his own. The fic ends with some lines from a book that was burned before.

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3. hello! its me again. I hope you can help me find this fic: wwx hides with the wens (leaving burial mounds, building his own sect) but its so hidden like i think lwj tried to go in there but its at the edge of a cliff(?) and he needs to overcome the heavy resentful energy before wwx's new village. i remember lxc is very worried that his brother cant do it and will die afterwards.

i also remember that there's a time that the cultivation world needs wwx's help bcos some demons or monster or idk appeared, like they need wwx to eliminate it. then there's one meeting scene, i think its in koi tower? they showoff some archery skills. song lan and xxc are both alive and lan yuan is also wei yuan, he's still using guqin, i think. i read it before but its not complete that time and i cant find it now. thankyouu in advancee. @httpskaixx

FOUND! 💖 Echo, Murmur, Dream, Here by bluerainmist (M, 51k, wangxian, canon divergence, WWX survives, sect leader WWX, yiling wei sect au, slow burn, angst w/ happy ending, getting together, pining, love confessions, reunions, mind all the tags)

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4. hello! i’m looking for a fanfic where lwj is a single father at first—i can’t remember the specific details of how that came to be but a-yuan was a newborn iirc, and wwx meets lwj in a store i believe and he’s like “i know this is weird but my sister has been sending me pictures of your baby because i’ve been going through some shit” and they end up getting closer after that—and i also know that jyl and lwj were friends before he met wwx

FOUND! box your errors by mellowflicker (T, 42k, WangXian, Modern AU, single dad lwj, Domestic Fluff, Family Issues, Slow Burn, Kid Fic, let lwj have friends agenda, Hurt/Comfort, Pining)

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5. im sure i saw a post (that i cant find now sadly) about lwj encouraging a-yuan's friendship with the loud and rule-breaking jingyi because he wanted lsz to have that fun growing up, and not like his own childhood. do you know any fics or posts that mention that?

FOUND? Twitter thread by gaylittleyiibo the original tumblr post they're referring to is also linked there

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6. Hello I have a request but I am kind of new here. I can figure out how comment a request. I am terribly sorry if this is disturbing you. I read a fanfic once where lan qiren showed up to the burial mounds and decided to take wei ying as his personal disciple. I thought J had it saved but I guess not. Eventually lan qiren gets punished by the discipline whip? Anyway I have been searching for days and any help you could give would be high appreciated. @autumnchild26-blog

Also if you know if any fic where wei ying takes the 33 lashes instead of lan zhan. I'd appreciate it. I hope you are enjoying the holidays and that you have a week. (This part put into a mood post)

FOUND? Discordant Rhapsody by nirejseki (T, 49k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Fix-It, LQR has background trauma, LQR has current trauma, Hurt/Comfort, Protective LQR, protective lwj, Protective wwx, Cultivation World Politics, Lan sect politics, lqr centric, Whump, Angst)

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7. Heyo! Trying to find a fic where, during an investigation of mysterious happenings in a town, WWX and LWJ are under a curse where they can’t hear/see each other. It turns out the curse user was just some kid experimenting with spiritual energy, but it takes a while for the situation to clear up. Thank you! @solid-no-on-that-one

FOUND! Linger in the Sun by etymologyplayground (T, 39k, wangxian, post-canon, case fic, curses, intimacy, getting together, romance, fluff, scars, non-verbal communication)

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8. Hello, it’s my first time asking and also using tumblr, so I hope I don’t make any mistakes. The fic I’m looking for was Wei Wuxian-centric and a modern au. I think both him and LWJ went to the same uni, and I think they were in an orchestra? I think WWX’s aunt had dropped off baby Yuan at his doorstep and had him take care of him. I also remember a scene where he left Yuan at the uni’s nursery and he got sad idk. I’ve been searching everywhere for this fic so I hope you can help, thank you. :)

FOUND? The Simplest Way Forward by harriet_vane (E, 70k, WangXian, Modern AU, Accidental Baby Acquisition, Kid Fic, explicit in much much later chapters, green card marriage (but not really), pining for your own husband, endless pining, Slow Burn, Happy Ending, Nothing else bad or traumatic happens to the baby)

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9. Hello, I'm looking for a Wangxian fic that I'm pretty sure I have saved somewhere. It was a pretty short fic on ao3. From what I remember it was set in a dystopian future where magic was fading from the world. Wangxian knew each other but not well and they were not together. LWJ was a shifter, possibly a huli jing and could no longer shift into animal form. WWX had a workshop where he worked with androids and helps give LWJ his animal form back. It seemed like this was very dangerous for them.

For #9, this is super random but it caught my eye - this is almost the exact plot of a Ken Liu short story called "Good Hunting". I'm wondering if the fic in question was sort of a re-telling of that story with Wangxian as the characters? Maybe that gives this person an idea of tags or keywords to search - hope that helps someone track it down!

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10. Hello! I’m looking for 2 specific fics A) wwx is caught after the war and as punishment his lips are sewn shut because they think he can cultivate and survive. He almost dies from starvation at one point B) wwx plays a prank that changes the color of the tea and madam yu tries to drown and kill him, he ends up in the cloud recesses to recover and has trauma about lotuses. Thank you for your help ♥️ @plzloveme

10A)

FOUND! ❤️ whipstitch by curiositykilled (M, 131k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Dysfunctional Family, Torture, WWX Lives, but basically no one else, Case Fic, Cultivation Sect Politics, Past Abuse, WWX Whump, YL WWX, JL Needs a Hug, JL Tries, Yunmeng Bro Reconciliation, Past Character Death, Body Horror, Non-Consensual Body Modification, POV Alternating, Flashbacks, Eventual Happy Ending, Heavy Angst, Suicide Attempt, PTSD, Depression, Not A Fix-It, Mouth Sewn Shut)

10B)

FOUND! 🧡 rain falls and soaks into the earth series by RoseThorne (T, 43k, WangXian, WIP, Near Death Experience, Attempt Drowning, Madam Yu Bashing, Recovery, No war AU)

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11. Howdy! I was looking for a vampire Lan Wanji fic where he refuses to have human blood. He's been an outcast from his clan and the towns people all fear him, and or are trying to kill him. Except for Wei Wuxian who's a traveling merchant of some kind. One night Lan Wanji goes out to hunt, and gets chased by humans. He ends up in a sink hole with an injured Wei Wuxian who ends up dying. But before he dies he kisses Lan Wanji, and cuts his tongue on the vampires fang. So Lan Wanji has to drink his blood. Wei Wuxian ends up turning into a vampire and living with Lan Wanji @crimson-gay-sought-flower

FOUND? Inevitable by Miss_TeaDDK (E, 14k, WangXian, Isolated/Trapped, Vampire, Angst with a Happy Ending, Communication, Developing Relationship, Anxiety Attacks, Explicit Sexual Content, Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Non-Linear Narrative, Pining LWJ, Anxious LWJ, Gothic Armchair Romance, Running Away Together, Mild Blood, Making Love, Anal Sex, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort)

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12. i'm trying to find this fic where wwx is a system, and one of the alters is yiling laozu who is more of a protector. i think there was a scene with school protest? and there's also the wen siblings in the fic too. thanks!

FOUND! The Other Sides of Wei Ying by orphan_account (T, 14k, wangxian, modern, dissociative identity disorder, mental health issues, therapist LXC, slow burn, WWX has DID, past abuse, dark YZY, dark JWY, hurt/comfort, angst)

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13. Hello! To start off I want to say thank you to the mods for the hard work! I've been trying to find a fic for awhile. Im pretty sure it had multi chapters and was complete.

The main thing I remember is that it's about LWJ kinda having an idealized/rose-tinted version of WWX since it's been 13 years. So the when he returns in MXY body he finds himself surprisingly annoyed with WWX antics and flaws that he had forgotten.

The story doesn't diverge much from canon and is mainly about LWJ's perspective. Thank you! @sketch-a-doodle

FOUND? 💙 The Price of Old Wishes by SoManyJacks (E, 67k, WangXian, Minor canon divergence, Angst, POV LWJ, Depression, Suicidal Thoughts, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Smut, Slow Burn, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, semi-verbal!LWJ, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Suicide)

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14. hello, for your next fic finder can i ask if anyone knows a fic where wangxian is in modern au but they're muzlims? like i know its so weird, but I can't have possibly imagine that. like I'm sure it exist but i just cant find it. its so specific and unusual sorreyy

FOUND? yeh ladka hai allah by teorusu (G, 18k, wangxian, modern, ABO, Islam, Islamic references, mating cycles/in heat, omega LWJ, alpha WWX, comfort, fluff, mischief, scenting, eid, ramadan)

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15. hi!! thank y'all for all the work you do!! im looking for a wangxian fic on ao3 where wei wuxian is taken to cloud recesses and is under the care of (married to????) lan wangji and for some reason wwx is going to get some punishment and before its done (starts??) lwj steps in and takes it for him and lxc has to drag wwx away?? thats the only scene i remember from it but i think the fic is pretty long. and im not sure but the punishment might have something to do with demonic cultivation but im not totally positive.

hi #15 here for most recent fic finder, i think my brain combined both fics into one and somehow its both the cage sun one AND the restraint one?? i read through both of them and they both fit my memory so found!!! but idk which one it was exactly lol probably both!!

not FOUND reminds me of a scene in a stone to break your soul, a song to save it by rikke (chapter 11) (M, 179k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Arranged Marriage)

heyyoo i asked about the #15 one where wwx gets a punishment and its not that one :/ but im thinking more and im /think/ jgy might be in it too? and maybe hes the one who drags wwx away and not lxc?

FOUND! Rattling our cages and stealing the sun Series by danegen (E, 166k, WangXian, A/B/O Dynamics, but like polite, Slow Burn, Pining while fucking, so much hair combing, wwx has a vagina, POV WWX, no yin iron or wars or plot really, Canon Era, POV Alternating, Sexism, Pregnancy, brief attempted sexual assault, still 98 percent fluff)

FOUND! Restraint and Realization by Winglesss (E, 12k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, A/B/O Dynamics, Alpha LWJ, Omega wwx, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mating Bites, Arranged Marriage, Idiots in Love, Miscommunication, Supportive LXC, Explicit Sexual Content, Scenting, Fluff and Angst, Porn with Feelings, Porn With Plot, Mutual Pining, Happy Ending, Lack of Communication) its a/b/o but wxx is going to get punished for cultivating but lwj takes it instead

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16. im looking for a fic and its driving me wild because i could have sworn i bookmarked it on ao3: cw for lack of consent, sort of? basically lwj and wwx are married but wwx thinks lwj doesn't like him and tries to seduce him, they have sex but its not good or what wwx wants and he passes out and lwj gets lxc to fix stuff?? they eventually talk it out, very angsty with a happy ending :)

NOT FOUND! A Marriage Story by DeviyudeThoolika (E, 38k, WangXian, NieLan, married wangxian, but there are some complications, because it’s marriage, Sex is complicated, Angst and Pining, Pining while fucking, Mature elements., Mutual Pining, HEA, Arranged Marriage, Sort Of, Misunderstandings, of epic proportions, One True Pairing, Good Sibling JC, Good Parent YZY, Fluff and Angst, in that order, Slow Burn, Angst with a Happy Ending, Everyone Loves WWX)

FOUND! As It Should Be by kuro (M, 36k, wangxian, arranged marriage, slow burn, fluff & angst, miscommunication, dub con, accidental baby acquisation, siblings, running away, (from your problems), eventual fluff)

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17. Hey! This is an nsfw ask, if that's okay?

I'm looking for a modern fic with the following situation. Lan zhan is either an immortal or a mythical being, I'm not sure which. Wei ying is a human. Well, LZ has the ability to smell WY's arousal so to speak. Once LZ visits WY's apartment right after WY did the deed. WY upon opening the door after cleaning up is surprised to see LZ looking at him so weird. WY invites him inside and later finds LZ by the window opening it and letting the wind flow inside.

When they finally get together after a long time WY finds out about LZ's ability and then suddenly gets why LZ opened WY's window that time.

FOUND! Lost and Found by diamondbruise (E, 51k, WangXian, Modern AU, Aliens, Slow Burn, Alien LWJ, Crack Treated Seriously, Soulmates, Kid Fic, .....kind of, i use that tag very loosely, Masturbation, Rough Sex, canon typical cnc elements, Happy Ending) the described scene is in chapter two

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18. heyy, for your next fic finder can i ask if you might about a time travel(most probably) fic where LWJ quite literally dragged QHJ out of seclusion?

FOUND? Looking at You Always, All Ways by Keysmashed (T, 29k, WangXian, Time Travel, Fluff, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Nostalgia, Subtly Assertive LWJ, WWX Won't Back Down But Blushes Anyway, very mild angst, Angst with a Happy Ending) has a scene where lan zhan requests an audience with his father, tells him about what could happen in the future, and then his father comes out of seclusion

FOUND? Menace, to headache, to…nephew in law? by Nyatci (T, 5k, LQR & WWX, wangxian, LQR & QHJ, canon divergence, time travel fix-it, characters watching the series, LQR pov, good uncle LQR, cloud recesses study arc, crack treated seriously) For 18, well, it's not LWJ, but LQR was implied to have done that in this fic

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19. I was on Reddit and found this fanfic someone mentioned and I wanted to send it here to see if I could get any luck! “with WWX as Gordon Ramsay and LWJ as single dad who brings his son, reluctantly, to the kids cooking session. But he doesn't like WWX because on TV he's always mean and then later he sees how good he's with kids and stuff.”

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20. Hi! I’m looking for a fix-it series where LQR notices LWJ has a crush on WWX during the lesson period. He gives the the two of them tutoring lessons and the first part ends w WangXian making out in the library lol

The series ends w them married after fixing the Sunshot campaign and adopting LSZ

Some minor ships in the series are JYLxJZX, JWYxWQ, NHSxWN

Tysm for all your hard work in this fandom!

FOUND? Just Say Yes series by edenwolfie (M, 338k, wangxian, canon divergence, matchmaking, pining, cloud recesses study arc, getting together, fluff, humor, hurt/comfort, everyone lives au)

~*~

#wangxian #mdzs #wangxian fic finder #wangxian fic search #the untamed #wangxianficfinder #long post

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gyuswhore · 5 months ago

Text

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!)

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

masterlist

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Big bomb, more boom, less predictable!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Please be okay.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So much for leaving quietly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What he sees puts his heart in his throat.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“She—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He could find his freedom elsewhere.

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

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

THE GREEN ISLANDS WERE on fire.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And…?” he asks in silence.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

IT WAS A SPECTACLE to see Hoshi in his element.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What are you thinking about?” Hoshi asks.

“Everything,” you sigh.

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

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

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

“I mean it.”

“Hm?”

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

“Who said I didn’t have to?”

“Our deal was done.”

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

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

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

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

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

“And you are…?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

He chortles, “Other than my criminal status.”

“Tell me.”

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

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

“How humble,” you hum.

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

“Am I a survivor?” you question.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Smaller albeit, but monsters nonetheless. Problems nonetheless.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Will you stay with me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Your Majesty—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Our greatest apologies, your Majesty.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Stay. Please.”

True as he has always been, he does.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Have the wrappings on your wound come off?”

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

“Disappointed?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But you don’t.

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

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

“Tell me what?”

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

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

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

Deal? Why was he mentioning that now?

“Are you going to abandon me too?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m sure you’ll find someone—”

“I don’t want someone! I want you!”

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

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

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

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

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

“I—” he stutters. “The court—”

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

You squeeze his hand tighter, moving impossibly closer.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Has the Captain approached?”

“No, your Majesty.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Your guards mortify me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Soonyoung!”

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

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

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

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

“What…What’re you doing?”

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

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

Ah.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I need words, my love.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You weren’t?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, Soonyoung.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Soon—Soonyoung, it’s too much.”

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

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

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

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

“Hi,” he grins.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mhm,” you muffle. “Want to sleep.

“I’d let you, but…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Soonyoung—”

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

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

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

“Yes, my love?” He smiles softly.

“I love you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You could get used to this. And you will.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There’s a pang in your chest, one that brings a tear to your eyes. It’s all very dramatic, the way the melancholy makes a home in your heart. An inkling tells you how you’ll probably become quite used to the feeling, learn to greet it like a friend.

For now you enter the lighter palace, and take your place on the chair in your study and find solace in the ideas your mind brings.

That no matter how long Soonyoung will remain far from you, he will always come back home to you.

Always.

[AN]: ty for joining my babies on their journey, i cannot thank you all enough for reading all 48fuckingK words of this i love you guys truly!!! thank you for all the reblogs and comments on the other parts, it makes me genuinely so happy to see you guys enjoy this universe that i've built. I read every single comment and know i appreciate all of it so so much <3

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