#ngl you will want to brace yourself for this one

[binsito]

Bestie idea..cuz I have dad!skz on my mind a lot .....laundry room quickies or quickies while baby sleeps

With any of them 😫😫😫😫

i propose to you.. ot8 dad!skz 😝 (i have been incredibly unwell after seeing chan with those babies..)

(i started this in 2023 but that above statement still holds true)

also not all of these involve laundry rooms and/or sleeping so i hope you don't mind bc i didn't want to be redundant with the scenarios! :]

warning: parenthood! pretty tame ngl! just lots of sex with dad!skz 🤤 unprotected piv, pet names such as "baby," "good girl," etc in a sexual setting, i believe minho is the only one that is specified as a boyfriend rather than a husband but who gives a fuck, jeongin has slight somno, a few might have slight exhibitionism/voyeurism/semi public sex but nothing crazy, cum, uhh fingering, mentions of oral, breeding in some, tit play, yeah!

bangchan: he's busy, you're busy - it's only a matter of time before you both just explode. he works hard at his office job and he's sick of getting business calls even on the weekend. so he decides to cash out some of his vacation hours just to spend time with you and your sweet baby.

god, he is so lucky..

seeing you take on a motherly role shouldn't be making him feel so fuzzy but he can't help it, you're just gorgeous, so natural at it. he takes it upon himself to help you put the baby to sleep while you do chores around the house.

he startles you when he creeps up behind you as you fold his clothes, letting you know the baby is asleep while he starts kissing on your neck. it gives you goosebumps, you can't remember the last time you had been intimate with chan and it's turning you to putty in his hands.

"what if we had another, hm?"

you try hard not to break out in a laugh - he would definitely have to find a way to juggle work, two babies and a wife efficiently but you knew that was his breeding kink talking.

"you want another baby, channie?" you giggle, playing along with it because you know it gets him going.

"mhm.. another wouldn't hurt right?" he whispers in your ear as he slips his hands under your shirt to squeeze at your bare skin.

before you could even protest, he had you bent over, face between your legs as he prepped you to take him - laundry long forgotten.

you were honestly a little scared of the stretch.. bracing yourself as he inched his cock inside you gently. his grunts and nails digging into your skin was a sign of how tight he was finding you. your cunt around him was driving him crazy and he knew he was going to have a hard time pulling out but what's one more little one, right?

minho: 'im coming back from work now, babe.'

'don't wear anything under your pjs.. im coming straight to you'

those text messages from your boyfriend left you reeling.

of course you followed his request obediently!

you had laid your baby to bed not long ago and you were hoping it would be a peaceful night - no crying or waking up in the middle of the night.

you had made sure to really tire him out to ensure he was out like a light.

and when you heard the front door to your apartment open, anticipation began to boil in your tummy at what awaited you.

you could hear minho fumbling with his belt down the hall before approaching your shared bedroom. cock already half pulled out by the time he reached you, shit eating grin plastered on his face.

"d'you prep yourself for me?"

you nodded, knowing he wanted you wet for him to take for when he got home. you were always so sweet to him, always knew exactly what he needed before he even asked.

he kissed you gently as he tugged your night gown up, the coldness of the air making you shiver a bit as he ran a finger down your wet slit. he angled his cock at your entrance and pushed in, letting your cunt envelop him. god, it felt so good to be deep inside of you - he was absolutely crazy about you.

just the feeling of having you around him could make him cum-

the baby monitor goes off, crying loud through the speaker.

"shit.. i got him.." he sighed out, quickly fixing himself as you laughed at him.

you could tell how frustrated he was over having blue balls but fatherly duties were awaiting him.

changbin: baby is out with his parents and as much as you love your little one (who is an exact copy of changbin), you are so glad to finally have the house and your binnie to yourself.

he couldn't contain his excitement much either, his mom wouldn't be back until two with the baby so he made sure to enjoy every second he could with you. he barely let you finish having breakfast before he was tugging you over to the couch. he would've taken you on the counter but

1). it might've been uncomfy for you and he's a gentleman!

2.) despite how needy he was, he wanted to have some decorum!

it felt so good to have his hands roaming your body, he always made sure to be delicate with you. he kissed you so sweetly and was shocked when you broke the kiss so suddenly, a whimper leaving his pouty lips. you smiled and just assured him it was because you wanted to be on top this time.

you?

on top?

who was binnie to deny his gorgeous wife the pleasure of riding him? especially when he would get the perfect view of your nice tits and pretty face. so he laid back, watching as you took a deep breath and aligned his cock with your entrance, breath hitching at the initial breach. his cock thick and heavy but so so good inside of you. your hands planted firmly on his chest as you set a steady bounce, moaning his name as he played with your nipples.

it was so easy to lose yourself to the feeling of his cock, so much so that the ringing of the doorbell almost went unnoticed.

shit.

was grandma and grandpa back so soon with the baby?

no fair, you were just getting started!

hyunjin: hyunjin had just helped put the baby down so you could go take a quick shower. your baby was just as clingy as he was, always throwing a fit if you weren't constantly showering him with kisses.

you didn't mind though, you loved both of your sweet boys and you were so thankful that hyune was such a great dad.

it felt nice to take a peaceful shower after such a long day, the water soothing any worries you might've had.

you heard the door to the bathroom open and some rustling as someone opened the shower curtain and got in.

"baby.." you laughed, knowing damn well it was hyunjin behind you. he just giggled and wrapped his arms around your waist.

"little one's asleep.. let me just have this with you really quick." he mumbled against your skin

hand reaching to your front so he could find your clit, rubbing softly as you let out a relieved sigh

"you sure he won't wake up?" you whispered

"no, but if he does, he's in the bassinet right outside next to our bed, babe. don't worry okay?"

his words reassured you as you relaxed into his touch, letting his fingers work at you as you leaned your head back into him. all he wanted was to bring you pleasure, he loved watching your pretty face contort and call his name out softly.

"gonna cum for me, angel? c'mon.. let go.." he whispered against your ear, kissing it softly. it gave you goosebumps and the way his fingers diligently rubbed you made your orgasm wash over you.

after showering (and letting him taste you after his endless begging), you both headed out into the room, baby still sleeping soundly.

jisung: there was nothing more exhausting to jisung than having a family dinner.

it was so stressful.

all the catching up and conversations clashing with one another from all sides of the table. at least your baby seemed entertained, playing with spoons while the waiter took everyone's order.

if jisung didn't step out soon, he feared he would literally explode. his parents kept bombarding him with questions and he felt like your family always questioned his worth as a suitable partner and dad.

you always made sure to let him know that you loved him and that he was perfect regardless what he or anyone thought. as soon as you noticed him zoning out and struggling to engage with the family, you excused yourself, asking your mom to watch over the baby while you stepped out with jisung, going on a short walk around the restaurant where you could talk in private.

"baby i-i'm sorry are you mad-"

"what? no.. i needed some fresh air. it was too noisy and stuffy in there.

you're doing your best y'know? im proud of you." you smiled softly at him while giving him a soft peck. you dug into your purse for his cigarettes and handed him one, grabbing the lighter and bringing the flame to the tip once he put the stick in his mouth.

"you gotta relax before going back in there though.." you whispered.

he was always able to relax when he was alone with you, you were comforting. he began blowing some smoke while his hands came up to cup your tits. squeezing them tightly which earned him a mewl. soon he was lowering the top of your dress down to reveal your chest to him, playing with your nipples between his fingers as if your breasts were some type of stress ball for him. you'd laugh at him if you didn't love the sensation of his fingers on you so much. he tossed his cigarette once he got tired of it, preferring to latch on to one of your tits instead.

"c-c'mon ji.. let's not get carried away.. we gotta get back.." you weakly said, but having to cut this short was proving to be difficult for the both of you.

once he got his fix (although if he was honest, he was still craving you), he let go with a loud pop, pulling your top back up with a smile

"thank you, doll.. i think i got the energy to kiss your dad's ass now." he joked.

"hope our princess is surviving his horrible baby talk." you giggled

felix: you and felix had planned a huge party for your baby's first birthday. everyone you both knew was invited, including the baby's eight uncles who loved spoiling her rotten. it was an outdoor party in your backyard, you had even gone as far as renting out a bouncy house for the older kids and a fun kid sprinkler so they could play in the water.

felix was in charge of food, he had spent the whole day on the grill outside making ribs and hot dogs before bringing them inside to set up everything nicely. you followed after him to help, putting everything out on aluminum pans so that people could pick what they wanted from each container.

"good job, babe, these taste great." you smile as you swallowed the piece of meat you had tasted.

he leaned in to kiss you, pulling you in close. he was so happy to get to celebrate your baby's birthday with such a big and wonderful family.

"baby's havin' fun out there. look at her playin' with the water." he giggled as he peeked outside

"what if we had fun of our own? everyone seems to be having a blast out there.." you teased him, hand coming to cup him through his shorts.

you didn't have to tell him twice, pulling himself out of his shorts as you fell to your knees for him. you knew you had to be quick incase anyone came in asking for the bathroom. thank god the kitchen island covered you from anyone who might've looked from the outside in.

felix was so sensitive and the idea of someone walking in made him quickly blow his load in your mouth which you gratefully accepted, licking your lips before you gave his tip a soft kiss.

seungmin:

family vacation was going great! you and seungmin finally got a chance to take your baby out on a trip and spend the weekend at a nice resort alongside other members of your family. it was nice to have a group of you together to enjoy some time away from your stressful lives.

the baby was having fun at the pool in his new floaty and didn't want to leave the water yet so you left him with his auntie while you and seungmin got washed up.

but seungmin was feeling quite handsy the whole day, especially now since you were both along in your room. he tugged on your bathing suit strap and smiled devilishly as your top fell down and exposed your chest.

"minnie we have to get ready for dinner, c'mon.."

"i'm getting ready! see? swim trunks off"

you rolled your eyes as he showed you his hard cock, his hand stroking it to entice you. the mere sight of your husband like that made you want to jump his bones.

"make it quick, hurry." but your voice sounded weak, desperate.

he bent you over the nearest surface and stuffed you full of his cock, not wasting a second where he could be inside of you. he knew he had to be fast, it would only be a matter of time before your sister would be knocking at your door with the baby.

the way he was tugging at your hair had you seeing stars, cock relentlessly hitting your sweet spot. you felt like you'd collapse under him if he kept this pace up but it was too good to protest.

"minnie.. oh god.. c-can the baby sleep with your mom tonight please? please.. n-need more of this.. need you!"

he just laughed at you, giving you a sharp spank.

"what am i supposed to tell her? my wife wants me to fuck her stupid on our family vacation? you want me to tell her how bad you want my cock?"

jeongin: "innie.." you giggled, nudging him gently.

he was not budging at all. you didn't blame him though, it was his night to check on the baby if he started crying and unfortunately for him it was a really difficult night to put him to bed.

you got under the covers and shuffled down until you were face to face with his crotch, rubbing him gently and watching as he grew in his pants.

he began to stir once you pulled him out, licking at his tip and feeling him start to sit up. he lifted the covers slightly to see you taking his cock in your mouth, popping off with a smile.

"happy birthday, baby.." you whispered

he smiled softly and cupped your cheek to bring you up and out from underneath the covers, he kicked the sheets off and pulled you on top of him.

"perfect way to start my morning, hm?" he teased, squeezing your ass tightly before tugging your shorts and panties to the side. his cock prodded against your entrance as he kissed you hungrily.

"finish what you started." he instructed as you began to slowly sink down on him, taking his cock like the good girl you were.

"fuck, jeongin.. need you to cum inside me so bad.."

it was so hard to contain your moans, biting your lip harshly to keep quiet.

"still on birth control, baby?" he asked, eyes hazy because your cunt felt so tight on him and it was making him delirious.

you shook your head, smiling at him playfully.

"gonna make me a daddy on my birthday? huh?" he grunted as he helped you bounce on him, he thrusted up into you and gripped your hips painfully tight.

"shiiit.. gonna cum in this pussy.. pump a baby in you.. give you my seed. will you take it? you're gonna take it."

please refrain from reposting, modifying, translating, copying or stealing my work. - © binsito

[captainfern]

HEY!! I saw that your requests are open, I have a filthy idea🤭 *rubs hands together smiling smugly*

You and price went out on a mission together, you ended it quickly and safe, but the evac will only arrive in the morning. so you search for a safe house and you settle down for the night. there's nothing to do so you suggest a sparring session to practice. you start, and after a while he gets you in a chokehold, you squirm and try to free yourself but he doesn't let go. suddenly he release the grip on you. then you turn around and you see why he let get rid of his arms. in practice he got excited and he could not resist more. after a moment of realization and serious eye contacts, you ask him if he need some help. he gets the best head he ever received in his life

Milk It

Captain John Price x fem!reader

["Milk It" by Nirvana]

[18+]

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• summary - what the ask says. you give price head lol. • rating - 18+ • wordcount - 2.5k • warnings - fem!reader, oral [m!receiving], praise, implied age gap, price is a bit whiney in this ngl, strong language

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You were panting and slick with sweat by the time you reconvened with Price. He was hunkering down amongst the ruins of a blown-up house, shouting into his comms over the distant rumble of explosives.

You sank down beside him, back to the stone wall and knee brushing against his. You tried to calm your breathing as beside you, Price wrapped up the conversation and flicked his comms off. He turned to you, resting a hand across one of your knees.

"Evac can only make it into the area at six tomorrow morning, n' that's the earliest," Price said, patting your knee. "We'll find a safe-house a few miles from here and camp out. Sound good?"

You nodded as he retracted his hand from you, gripping his gun as he got to his feet. He offered you his hand and you took it, allowing him to hoist you off the ground. You grabbed a hold of your gun as well and, ducking to avoid any stray enemy fire, you and Price departed from the crumbling stone walls of the old house.

An hour or so later, the two of you stumbled into a small cottage. It was cozy, with a cramped kitchen but a cute, warm living area. There were two other doors, with one leading into a particularly small bathroom and the other leading into the only bedroom of the safe-house.

But you were too tired to do any complaining.

Gratefully, you dumped your bag and assault rifle by the door, crossing the hardwood floor and falling face-first onto the plush couch. You groaned in contempt as you finally rested your aching bones. Price huffed a laugh at you as he closed and locked the door.

"And you call me the old man?" Price stated, also placing his pack and gun beside the door. "You're the one with aching bones, kid."

You groaned at him, voice muffled against the couch cushions. Since he had no idea what you said, you simply stretched out an arm and flipped him off. He just laughed at you.

"We've got a bit of time to kill," Price said, taking off his bulletproof vest. "What're we gonna do, eh?"

You sighed as you sat up, slouching. "Please don't suggest boardgames."

Price laughed again, low in his chest. He stood behind the couch, hands braced against the back as you rolled over and stared up at him.

"I wasn't going to suggest boardgames," Price said. "What about we have a little spar, eh?"

"I'm tired, Price." You grumbled.

"Just a quick session, I promise," He clapped his hands together. "And if you manage to get me to the ground, you can relax as much as you want. Deal?"

You got to your feet, rounding the couch. He stuck his hand out and you fought a smile as you shook it. "Deal," you nodded.

•º•

Twenty minutes later, you and Price were at the back of the cottage in the small, fenced-in garden. It was slightly overgrown, but had a short patch of clover in the middle– soft enough to act as a landing mat for when, as Price joked, he "slammed your tired arse onto the ground."

You replied with a smile and a sweet "fuck off, old man."

Now, though, you and Price circled each other for the fifth time. The first five times, you had been unsuccessful in getting your captain to the floor. The first and second round, you were slammed flat on your back, the air knocked from your lungs as Price chuckled above you. The third and forth time, both you and Price tripped each other over, tumbling to the ground, elbowing each other in the ribs in the process. He claimed it didn't count because you technically didn't get him to the ground on purpose.

So, fifth time's the charm, you thought.

Price was panting slightly. "This time, yeah?"

You felt sticky with a thin layer of sweat. "Shut up."

You lunged for him, right arm flying towards his face. He blocked it, while your left fist slammed into his stomach. He grunted, blocking a few more punches you threw at him, before he managed to take hold of both your wrists, throwing you backwards.

You stumbled, but maintained your footing. However, Price was on you in an instant– sweeping your legs from under you, sending you falling. You hit the patch of soft clover, cursing at him loudly. He grinned down at you, hands on his hips, breathing heavily.

"Too easy." He remarked.

You scowled, bouncing to your feet. You quite literally launched yourself up and at him– arms winding around his shoulders and pushing him backwards. He let out a shout of surprise as he fell flat on his back. Victorious grin etched on your face, you straddled his midriff and held a pretend knife to his throat. He rolled his eyes.

"Try better." He grumbled, bucking you off him.

"What the–?" You found yourself rolling along the clover as Price crawled after you, pinning you to the ground with one large hand to the top of your chest.

You tried to wriggle free, managing to get onto your hands and knees. You laughed as you crawled away, feeling rather juvenile, before he grabbed you by the ankle and dragged you backwards. You flailed an arm backwards, slapping him across the chest, laughing at his disgruntled facial expression, before the arm that was holding your ankle was suddenly around your neck.

"Jesus–!" You squealed as your body lurched, and you were pinned to Price's body, arse against his lap.

He had you in a fucking headlock.

Literally what the hell.

You squirmed against him, arms prying at the strong muscle of his forearm. Your lower half pressed against him, bumping against his lower torso as you attempted to slip out of his hold.

"Price, oh my god, let me go," you groaned, slapping his arm. "This is so embarrassing. I get it, you won, again."

He didn't reply. You couldn't turn your head to gage his expression, either, still pinned to his side.

"Price?" You voiced, arse backing against his lower abdomen again.

Then, you heard a gruff exhale of breath. Then, a soft, "Bloody hell."

You blinked, breathing laboured. "Um, Price? Can you let me go?"

He released you immediately. You sighed, flopping down onto the soft clover. Then, you picked yourself up, turning to face him.

Your eyes widened. Price was sitting on his knees, hunched over and breathing hard. You were about to ask what was wrong, when you noticed his palm pressed to the front of his cargos. He muttered something indistinct under his breath.

"Oh my god..." You whispered.

He was fucking hard.

A part of you wanted to laugh. But when he met your eyes, his own filled with flashing desire, you couldn't help but bite your lip.

"Fuck, I'm so sorry," he grumbled. "I don't... shit, I'm just gonna go–"

He got up and headed for the cottage. Shocked, you quickly followed him. Once inside, you managed to get a hand on his shoulder, and force him to turn around.

"Price," you whispered, running your hands along his broad shoulders. He tensed under your touch. "You don't have to be embarrassed."

He shook his head, cheeks slightly pink and still sheened in a thin layer of sweat. "No, I'm sorry. I've no idea why this is happening."

You allowed yourself to smile at the bashful tone that had overtaken your captain. He was finding it hard to meet your eyes, head bowed slightly as he tried to calm his breathing. His hand was still shielding his crotch from your vision, but you knew.

"Do... do you want me to take care of it?"

He snapped his gaze at you. "Absolutely not. I don't want you to feel uncomfortable–"

"What if I want too?" You said, trying to ignore the way the look on his face was making you insanely horny. "What if I want to help you?"

He groaned. Deep, rich and so fucking hot you could've moaned right then and there. He inclined his head back slightly, hand pressing tighter into the bulge in his pants. Then, he looked at you, eyes hooded. You stared back as confidently as you could.

"You sure?" He whispered.

You licked your lips. "Mhm."

"Oh, fucking hell." He uttered, voice straining with a restricted whine.

You smiled as your hands gently brushed his aside, beginning to unbuckle his belt.

"Where d'you want me?" He whispered, forehead coming to rest against yours. He was warm.

You unbuckled his belt. "Couch."

He obliged: walking backwards until the backs of his knees hit the couch. He sat down, right on the edge, and spread his legs so that you could situate yourself on your knees inbetween.

He groaned at the sight, while you made quick work of unzipping his cargos and shimmying them down his thick thighs. You took a moment to admire the muscle. You wanted to just sink your teeth into them, but you refrained. Later, you thought.

Instead, you turned your attention to his painfully hard cock being restricted by his black boxers. You trailed your fingertips along the imprint, and he let out a low sound, watching you with his mouth slightly open and his eyelids fluttering.

"All because you got me in a headlock, eh, cap?" You mused, trailing your fingers over the waistband and up the line of hair of his happy-trail. "Kinky."

He rumbled something deep in his throat in answer. You smiled sweetly at him, tucking your fingers into the waistband of his underwear and pulling them down his thighs. Cock free, you tried not to act insane at the way it had your cunt dripping into your own underwear.

Before you got too distracted, you wrapped one hand around the base, shuffling your body closer. Price automatically choked on a gasp, shooting a large hand down to hold the back of your head.

"Bloody hell, love." He moaned.

Your cunt now had a heartbeat. Oh my god–

You pooled saliva in your mouth, you pressed a gentle kiss to the tip, working your hand around the base of him. As he released a deep groan, you let your saliva drool from between your lips and onto his cock. You quickly followed the action, enveloping the tip with your lips.

He bucked his hips, a muted whine dislodging from his throat. “Fucking hell, love.”

You hummed at him, working the saliva around his cock with your lips and tongue, slowly lowering your mouth. You continued to work the base of his cock with your hand, movements slick with your spit.

The hand he had on the back of your head was a firm but gentle pressure. He didn't force you onto him, simply guiding you up and down, his hips jolting upwards periodically, chasing the heat of your mouth.

You traced a prominent vein on the underside of his cock with the flat of your tongue, and he moaned above you, head flopping back against the backrest of the couch. The sound made you moan, the vibrations causing Price to curse, dropping his head forward again, looking down at you with half-open eyes. You met his stare, doe eyes, sparkling with tears as you took him all the way to the back of your mouth, tip nudging the curve of your throat.

"So good. Doing so good," Price mumbled, moving his free hand around to press his thumb to the corner of your mouth. "Taking my cock so good."

He pressed his thumb past your lips, already stretched taut around his length. You whined at him as his thumb pushed in alongside his cock, pressing against your tongue. Saliva pooled, escaping the corners of your mouth, dribbling down your chin. It would have been a lot more embarrassing if Price didn't whisper, "that's my good girl" and drag his thumb out of your mouth, smearing your saliva across your face.

He continued to cradle your face with his hand, now sticky with your saliva, as you sucked him deeper. He responded with deep grunts from the depth of his chest, bucking his hips to meet the movements of your mouth.

"S-shit, love, fuck–" He gasped as you took him as deep as you could, nose pressed to the hair on his pelvis, gagging at his tip slamming against the back of your throat. "M'gonna– mmm-fuck– m'gonna cum, love, m'gonna cum."

He sounded so whiney. So fucking desperate.

His grip tightened on the back of your head and for the first time since you started sucking his cock, he really did push you. He gripped you, almost tight enough to hurt, and thrust you further down with a loud groan. You gagged around him, saliva making a mess on his lap. His thighs flexed beside your head as his hips jerked upwards, rutting his cock into your mouth over and over again as he neared his high.

He wanted to cum in your mouth. That was obvious. Obvious by the way he whispered your name over and over again, a muted moan escaping his lips as he made you take more and more of his cock in your warm mouth.

You weren't complaining. Your cunt, however, was– dripping, aching for him. You adjusted your position, rocking yourself lightly onto your heel. You let out a low whine around his cock.

"Yeah, that's it, that's it," Price uttered. "Good girl, love, such a good girl. Yeah, fuck, my good girl, taking my cock so good– fuck."

He locked your head in place, cock nestled deep in your throat as he came in hot spurts that made your eyes roll to the back of your head. He moaned your name, rich and dripping lust above you, as he filled your mouth. He came a lot, you noticed, as you gently pulled off his cock, and it leaked out of your mouth, rolling in pearls down his semi-hard length.

You rested your head against his bare thigh, enjoying the warmth of the hard muscle beneath your cheek, still holding his cock at the base. The coarse hair on his thighs tickled your flushed skin. You gave in to your earlier desires, skimming your teeth along the pale flesh, sucking your mouth to the skin with a satisfied hum.

Above you, Price delicately stroked your head, your hair, blinking lazily down at you with a fucked-out expression plastered on his face. His cheeks were dusted pink, his chest rising and falling as if he had only just stopped sparring.

You pulled your mouth away with a small bite. "Told you I'd help you."

He breathed out a laugh, other hand stroking your face. The lower half of it was tacky with your saliva and splatters of his cum.

"Always such a good girl for your captain." He whispered.

You nipped at his inner thigh again, and his breath hitched.

"Always," you whispered back. "Now, captain, if you don't mind me asking..."

He cocked an eyebrow at you, tracing a circle on your cheek with his thumb. "Hm?"

You battered your eyelashes at him. "Can you cum inside me next?"

His mouth dropped open. "Oh, fucking hell–"

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[viperwhispered]

Indulgence

Jamil finds out his sweet, loving girlfriend is totally capable of absolutely ruining him.

Pure smut, written with fem reader in mind and utterly self-indulgent (basically, a birthday treat to myself).

Ngl, this kinda feels like a femdom love letter to Jamil.

You'd thought you were joking - partially, at least - when you told Jamil you’d be happy to have him all for yourself to do with him as you wished for your birthday. Yet Jamil, the perceptive partner he was, soon was teasing out the truth of that statement from you.

So, after some rather in-depth discussions, here you are, filled with anticipation and excitement - and, you have to admit, more than a bit of nerves. Wanting something and actually going through with it always are two very different things.

“Come on, love. Just enjoy yourself, however you wish,” Jamil coaxes you, cupping your cheeks as he peppers your face with soft kisses. He’s looking at you with such openness - eagerness, even - which makes it difficult for you to get lost in your own head.

So, instead you wrap your arms around Jamil's shoulders and nuzzle your face to his, a soft smile rising to your lips.

“Someone certainly seems intent on treating me today,” you say, your own lips seeking contact with Jamil’s skin.

“Knowing how excited you are by the idea… Can you blame me?” Jamil replies with a cheeky grin. All you can do is chuckle in response, a smirk of your own forming on your lips.

“Well… Let’s hope you won't regret enabling me,” you say playfully.

Your lips finally find Jamil’s, meeting his with a soft, building pressure. You tug him closer by his hoodie, your tongue pushing between Jamil's lips and one of your hands seeking his hair. Jamil eagerly reciprocates your actions, the softness giving way to something more eager as you both deepen the kiss, your bodies pressing closer together and hands exploring.

Your eyes flutter closed as you breathe in through your nose, enjoying the way Jamil's mouth moves with yours, how your bodies are already fitting together. After a while, however, you begin to nudge Jamil backwards towards the bed, your lips still lingering against his.

It’s delightful how easily he complies, letting you guide his steps until his shins hit the edge of the bed. A gentle press of your palms onto his shoulders and Jamil’s eyes widen with momentary surprise as he falls back with a breathy oomph.

Still, Jamil’s quick to pull you down with him, grinning as you climb onto his lap and straddle his hips. Jamil’s hands slide up along your waist, your dress bunched up around your legs.

You brace yourself with one arm, your palm on the mattress right above Jamil’s shoulder, and you lean over him. You brush your fingers along his jaw, slowly tracing the contours of Jamil’s face.

“So you’re mine to enjoy as I wish tonight, huh?” you say in a low, almost contemplative tone, your thumb tracing the outline of Jamil’s lower lip.

“Yes.” There’s a slight breathlessness to Jamil’s tone, his eyes a little darker than usual, and you relish the sight of him already being affected.

Of course, this is just the beginning - but a good beginning, nonetheless, easily helping you feel more bold.

“Hmm, I suppose then the question is… Just what do I want to do with you first?” you murmur, your tone lowering to a more sensual, husky register.

You slide your thumb up, over the plumpness of Jamil’s lower lip, and press down gently. After the briefest moment of surprised hesitation he parts his lips for you and wraps his tongue around the digit, sucking on it lightly.

You’re not quite expecting the rush of warmth that shoots to your core. Jamil beneath you, his hair spilled over the bed, those gray eyes so intently trained on you as he obediently sucks on your thumb… Oh, it’s already so heady, making your mind and heart race.

“Mmm, look at you, being so good for me,” you purr. You keep your thumb in his mouth for a moment longer, enjoying the darkening of Jamil’s cheeks and the way his eyes flick over to the side even as his mouth slowly continues working.

Soon you drag your thumb out by the corner of his mouth, smearing his saliva over Jamil’s cheek. You slide your hand further until cup the corner of his jaw, your thumb coming to rest right before Jamil’s ear while the rest of your fingers slip into his hair.

You lean down further, and your lips meet in a slow, sensual kiss. Your tongue tangles with Jamil’s as you take your time tasting and enjoying him. You more feel than hear the soft moan that Jamil makes against your lips, lighting yet another fire within you. With a groan you press your body more firmly against his, wanting to feel every bit of him against you, your bodies undulating together.

You feel the firm pressure of Jamil’s hands sliding up along your back, pulling you closer, his fingers digging into your skin as the kiss becomes more fervent.

You nip on Jamil’s lower lip, his gasp sending another shiver of pleasure down your spine. You move your hand to his ponytail, your tug eliciting another sharp inhale from him. With your urging Jamil soon tilts his head back, exposing his neck to you.

You can feel the unevenness of Jamil’s breaths beneath you, soft, delightful noises catching in his throat.

“Mmm, aren’t you such a compliant treat tonight,” you tease Jamil, hearing him huff in response.

“The things I do for you,” he muses, not a hint of bite in his words.

You chuckle and trail your lips along his jaw, planting a line of soft kisses until you’re below his ear. There you tug Jamil’s earlobe with your teeth, delighting in the way you can feel him squirm beneath you. You trace the tip of your tongue along the shell of his ear, making Jamil hiss and tense.

You chuckle, your warm breath fanning Jamil’s ear and the moisture left behind by your lips and tongue.

“Already twitching, are we?” you tease him - as if you weren't purposefully targeting the weak spots you're well aware of.

“Shush,” Jamil says, swatting you lightly.

You chuckle and move your lips lower from his ear, slowly kissing your way down along Jamil’s neck. You keep your grip on his hair, urging him to keep still as you continue teasing him with your mouth. You place warm, open-mouthed kisses along the sensitive skin, only changing your course when you come to the neckline of his shirt.

You feel the way Jamil tenses beneath you when you move up the column of his throat, even if you keep your kisses light on such a vulnerable spot. Yet, when you notice the way his Adam’s apple bobs under your lips, you can’t resist softly wrapping your lips around it. The action earns you a strangled sound from Jamil, who tries to pull back but is unable to quite do so.

“Uncomfortable?” you ask softly, peppering soft, almost apologetic kisses to his jaw.

“A bit,” Jamil breathes out, his chest noticeably rising and falling.

“Noted,” you murmur.

You move to the other side of his neck - you loosen your hold on Jamil’s hair, yet he tilts his head aside just the same, taking in a deep breath as he does so. You smirk against his skin, satisfied to see him so pliant.

There’s definitely a part of you that would love to see him like this more often.

This time you don’t settle for just soft kisses. You let your teeth graze Jamil’s skin, a shiver of delight going down your spine when you hear him hiss in response.

And when you get to that particular spot where his neck meets his shoulder you basically latch on, sucking on the skin. Jamil inhales sharply, grasping onto you tighter, his neck arching and tensing beneath you.

“Ahh-” It’s a soft, barely audible sound, yet hearing the cry escape Jamil’s lips fills you with warm satisfaction. You bite harder, feeling the way Jamil jolts beneath you, before you allow him reprieve and soothe your tongue over the spot.

“You’re not usually this… aggressive,” Jamil breathes out.

“You know you can stop me if you need me to,” you say, sticking to the softer kisses for the moment.

“No need,” Jamil says, letting out a shaky breath. You can practically feel the way he’s trying to relax, at least a little, even as he’s trying to anticipate your next move.

You tug on Jamil’s neckline, teasing as far down his shoulders and collarbones as you comfortably can with your kisses and licks.

Yet, as much as you’re loving the reactions you’ve gotten out of Jamil so far, it’s becoming more and more apparent that just teasing his neck is not enough for you.

You lean back, sitting up on Jamil’s lap. Your hands slowly trail down from Jamil’s shoulders along his body, your eyes half-lidded as you regard him.

There’s a delightfully flustered look on Jamil’s features, his lips slightly parted as he looks at you intently.

“You know… I think we’re going to have to get you undressed,” you murmur, smirking when you see the effect your words have on Jamil.

“Are we now?” he asks with a grin.

“Mhmm. I mean, I can hardly enjoy you to my heart’s content otherwise, now can I.”

You lean down for one more kiss, your hand lingering on Jamil’s side, your hips slightly rocking into his. You’re both making soft noises into the kiss, momentarily distracted by each other, before you finally pull yourself off Jamil’s lap and sit down on the edge of the bed.

“So… Lose those clothes for me, now would you?” you say with a grin, giving Jamil an expectant look.

There’s barely any hesitation when Jamil gets up from the bed. You can tell he’s feeling a little awkward with you looking at him like this, waiting for him to undress for you, yet there’s also a part of him reveling in being the center of your attention.

So, Jamil pulls off his hoodie by the neck, slowly revealing his body for your greedy eyes. His movements are fluid, deliberate, despite the mixture of embarrassment and excitement that’s evident on his features. The flex and curl of his body entrances you, your eyes drinking in every little movement and the dancer’s grace he displays.

His shirt thrown aside Jamil moves to his trousers, slowly pulling them down along his legs and revealing the way his cock is already tenting his underwear. You find yourself leaning forward, taking in all the wonders of his body - a sight you never seem to tire of. Jamil’s hair cascades over his shoulder when he bends down and he pulls one leg free, then the other, until he’s left in just his underwear, his fingers hooked under the waistband.

“Careful, you might start drooling,” Jamil teases you, clearly satisfied with your rapt attention.

“Oh, but can you blame me?” you respond playfully, feeling the flush on your cheeks.

You slide your palms down your legs, gripping your knees, as Jamil removes that last piece of clothing.

“There we go,” you say huskily, your eyes raking over Jamil’s exposed body. The planes of his chest, the softness of his stomach, the patch of dark, curly hair surrounding the cock that’s slowly stirring to life under your eyes, the lean limbs and that lovely brown skin...

“Come here,” you say, lifting a hand.

Once again, Jamil complies, and when he’s within your reach you pull him to stand between your legs, running your palms over him. Just a sliver of exposed skin always has you itching to touch - or to kiss, as it may be - so the sight of Jamil fully bare before you like this is as irresistible as ever. You press soft kisses to his stomach, your hands following the curve of his back until you can grip his rear.

“For all we discussed, I did not think you being in charge would involve you being this adoring,” Jamil says, trying to hide his fluster behind playful words.

You chuckle against his skin, squeezing his ass in response.

“All part of enjoying you, you know,” you say, looking up at Jamil with a playful, loving smile.

“Is that so,” Jamil murmurs, cupping your cheek.

“Mhmm,” you nod. “Now… Lay down on the bed for me. In the middle of it, on your back,” you say, giving Jamil’s hip a playful nudge to get him moving.

While Jamil settles down, you pull off your tights and underwear, dropping them on the pile of Jamil’s clothes. Then you walk around the bed, admiring the sight of Jamil sprawled on the bed - all for you. He’s folded his hands behind his head, his gaze following you. It feels like you’re trying to devour all of him at once with your eyes, not knowing where to settle when all of him is calling to you so.

You grab the cuffs you set aside earlier and crawl over to Jamil on your hands and knees.

Sure, it would be easier to just sit next to Jamil while you tie up his wrists. But where’s the fun in that? So you straddle his chest instead, your bare groin against his skin, and lean over to capture his hands.

“Cheeky. Are you keeping the rest on?” Jamil asks, pushing his chest against you.

“For now, at least,” you say lightly.

You trace your palms over Jamil's arms, guiding his hands above his head. After looping the cuffs around the headboard you fasten them around Jamil's wrists, making sure they're snug but not too tight.

“How’s that?” you ask, running your fingers over the cuffs.

Jamil flexes his fingers, shifts his arms, testing the feel of the bindings.

“Feels fine.”

“Good. Let me know if that changes,” you murmur.

You caress Jamil’s face, tracing his features. Your thumb brushes his cheek, and with a soft breath he nuzzles into the touch.

Gently, you guide Jamil to tilt his head to the side. You pull loose his ponytail, running your fingers through his hair.

Soon, Jamil’s hair is spilled around him on the bed, yet another lovely addition to the scene unfolding before you. Jamil, bound and bare beneath you, his cheeks darkened and eyes trained on you.

Not often do you get Jamil looking at you with such vulnerability, and the sight of it makes your heart flutter. He’s clearly filled with anticipation, too, with the trepidation of surrender. Yet, there is trust in him as well, trust in the way he’s yielding to you and all but urging you to continue.

Oh, you’d love to take a picture of him like this, commit the sight to memory and never let go of it.

Slowly, you drag your body down along Jamil’s, some of the wetness of your pussy leaking onto his skin. You feel Jamil’s tension beneath you, his breaths uneven and his hands flexing.

You only stop your movement when your pussy is right over Jamil’s hardening cock. You let your weight settle on him, pinning him down and holding him still under your warmth.

There’s a definite sharpness to Jamil’s inhale. He wriggles beneath you, what little he can, testing your control over him, and you press yourself down more firmly on him.

“Behave yourself, won’t you,” you say playfully, pushing down onto his shoulders.

“Or you’ll make me?” Jamil asks, humor and challenge evident.

“Indeed. Glad you understand,” you grin.

You draw your hands down over Jamil’s body, this time without the barrier of his clothes. From his shoulders across his chest and stomach your fingers dig into him, his skin pushed into ridges and divots under your touch.

Jamil’s body flexes beneath your touch, muscles rippling with tension and the release of it as your hands make their way. His eyes are trained on you, so intently, his palpable anticipation and the responsiveness of his body filling you with triumph.

You lean down again, your hair falling down over your shoulder and spilling over Jamil’s bare chest.

“Mmm… You really are such a delight, my dear,” you murmur, your lips brushing the shell of his ear.

You return your mouth to Jamil’s skin, trailing kisses and nips from his jaw down along his neck and collarbones. When you make your way down to his chest, you twirl your tongue around a nipple, Jamil’s body jolting in response.

Yet, that reaction is nothing compared to when you bring in your teeth, enclosing that sensitive point of Jamil’s chest in your mouth but not directly biting the nipple. You slowly increase the pressure of your bite until Jamil’s breaths turn into hisses, body writhing.

Oh, he’s actually whimpering.

You inhale sharply through your nose, trying to keep some rein over your baser instincts. Oh, how you want to push harder, grip tighter. How you want those sweet noises to increase in volume and pitch until neither of you would know anything else.

Once again, you soothe over the spot with soft kisses and kitten licks, a dark part of you hoping you’ve left a mark that might stay for a while. It is not like you to hurt or mark just for the sake of it, but Jamil’s reactions, the thought of the evidence of your dominance lingering on his skin… Oh, it is most tempting indeed.

“Was that too much?” you ask lowly, just in case, still feeling Jamil’s tension beneath you.

“Nhnh… I told you. You can let go tonight.”

You laugh in response, a mischievous grin on your lips as your eyes meet Jamil’s. Oh, you can tell he means it, despite the heaving of his chest. There’s that shine in his eyes, such a vivid spark of desire. A desire for more, a desire to see how much you can do and how much he can take.

“If you say so,” you say with smug satisfaction.

You return to your task, your mouth - your lips, your tongue, your teeth - traversing Jamil’s body, taking your time to enjoy every inch of skin as you slowly move lower. The dips of his chest, the ridges of his ribs, the softness of his stomach… You take your time savoring - and marking - it all.

With your actions Jamil’s getting increasingly restless, drawing in sharp hisses of breath, tugging on his restraints, squirming beneath you.

Yet, not once has he asked you to stop, or to go easier on him.

You’ve slid down far enough for you to feel the twitch of Jamil’s cock against your breasts, his hips wriggling beneath you. You press your hands on him more firmly, keeping him still, nipping on the skin of his stomach both to warn him to behave and to urge him to react even more.

Moving lower again, your tongue follows the line of his hip towards his groin, teasing and tantalizing. Yet when you feel the coarse curls against your cheek you change course, moving to kiss your way down Jamil’s thigh instead.

Jamil hisses out your name, his hips bucking, and there’s no hiding your smug, satisfied look.

“Something the matter, my dear?” you ask, as innocently as you can muster. You grip Jamil’s hips tighter while you suck the soft skin of his inner thigh between your teeth.

“Ahh!” Jamil cries out, his leg twitching.

“You’re such a tease,” he huffs, nearly panting.

You let out another satisfied laugh and drag your nails down the outside of his thigh, loving each and every one of Jamil’s reactions.

“You’re the one who told me to enjoy myself and not hold back,” you say with a smirk.

“Please. At least…” Jamil’s words trail off, his tongue darting out to wet his lips.

“You’re going to have to ask for it to get what you want, you know,” you say, your words low and sultry. You caress a splayed palm up along the top of Jamil’s thigh, your thumb just brushing the edge of his pubes.

“Please. I’m aching for you,” Jamil pleads, emphasizing his words with a twitch of his hips, his heavy cock bobbing with the movement.

Oh, that plea was one of the sweetest things you had ever heard from him, your core throbbing just with the sound of it.

You tilt your head, as if thinking over his words.

“Asking for relief, are you, my love?” you ask. You brush your fingers over his hardened cock, the lightest of touches on the velvety skin, yet that is enough to make Jamil inhale sharply.

“Yes,” Jamil breathes out, his eyes wide, expectant, when he looks up at you.

There are a few different options on your mind - a few different temptations, calling to you, as you wonder just how much you should push Jamil.

Then again, he had been the one telling you to not hold back. That he could take it.

You reach over to the bedside table and pull out a vibrator from the drawer. You keep it concealed from Jamil, just to prolong the tension - though he does know well enough what sort of things have been stashed away there.

A pump of lube from the bottle on the nightstand, smeared against the tip of the toy with your palm. You wipe your hand mostly clean against Jamil's thigh and bring the vibrator to the underside of his cock. For now, you keep it turned off, just slowly moving it along his sensitive parts in circular motions.

Even like this, there are a few spots that make Jamil's cock twitch or body tense.

Then you turn on the vibration, and Jamil actually gasps.

“How's that?” you ask in a low tone.

“It's…” Jamil pauses, as if considering the sensation. “It… feels good.”

“Well, my dear… If there’s something you like in particular, I’d love to hear it,” you purr.

At this point, Jamil’s responsive enough that it’s not difficult for you to tell what the most sensitive spots are just by judging his reactions. Yet, hearing him admit it, too, telling you what he likes, what he wants more of… oh, it’s absolutely delicious. So, whenever he does admit to something feeling good, you gladly reward him by giving special attention to that particular spot.

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” you say with a satisfied smirk, pressing the vibrator more firmly down against the sensitive spot right under the head of his cock, your other hand cradling his hardness to keep it still.

“Yes, nghh…” Jamil groans in response. You can tell he wants to buck and twitch, yet he’s trying to keep still with you touching such sensitive parts.

You press down, ease up the pressure, time and time again, until Jamil is quivering, his legs twitching and body curling with the intensity of it all. You can see his arousal, impatience and tension building, his whole body pulled taut as a wire, only for you to ease up once again and switch to gentle caresses.

If you’d enjoyed his whimpers before, now Jamil’s noises and reactions were absolutely delightful. Whimpers, hisses, groans and breathy words… Oh, it was driving you wild, seeing him like this.

“Please…. How long do you plan on just teasing me?” Jamil whines, a mess of longing and frustration.

“Well… I could listen to those sweet noises you’re making for quite some time, you know,” you say casually, flipping the vibrator to life once again.

A strangled, indignant noise catches in Jamil’s throat, the color of his cheeks quickly darkening further. You can’t help laughing in response, even as you lean down to press a greedy kiss to his lips.

“I mean… You are so wonderfully responsive right now, and it’s just absolutely delicious seeing you like this,” you murmur, your lips brushing Jamil’s cheek.

“You’re tormenting me,” Jamil huffs.

You can see how taut the bindings on his hands are, how tense his body is as he practically trembles to do something instead of just having to take what you have to give.

“And do you dislike it?” you ask with a smirk, pressing the buzzing vibrator against Jamil and pulling another wide-eyed gasp out of him.

Jamil swallows thickly enough that you can see the bobbing of his throat.

“...No. I don’t,” he sighs.

Jamil takes a deep breath, visibly steeling himself.

“Please… Let me have more of you,” he begs, looking over the dress you’re still wearing.

Perhaps you could grant him a little more. He’s been such a delight, after all.

“Hmm… Maybe I can give you that,” you murmur, once again weighing your options.

You settle the vibrator down to a spot you know gets to Jamil, drinking in his reactions as you slip your hand under your dress. You slide your fingers between your pussy lips, fondling your clit. You know Jamil can't quite see what you were doing, the hem of your dress covering it up, yet you’re sure he can guess. 

The way he looks at you, eyes burning as his bindings keep his hands away, certainly suggests so.

“Patience, my dear,” you say teasingly.

The buzzing of the vibrator and Jamil’s shaky noises are joined by the lewd sound of your fingers finding your wetness, the shuddering breath you take when you find just the right angle. Your eyes don’t leave each other, both of you watching the other get lost in the pleasure - all of it by your hand.

Then, finally, you move, pressing your wet cunt right against Jamil’s aching cock. Jamil’s hips buck, a low, needy noise falling from his lips. You rock yourself against him, coating him in your juices as you prepare yourself to take him.

“Won’t you let me see you?” Jamil groans, his eyes brimming with desire, his voice ready to break at any moment.

“Maybe if you ask me sweetly enough,” you say, reveling in the power you have over him.

Yet, before Jamil has the chance to consider begging, you take his cock into your hand and guide him to your entrance, rubbing the tip along your folds. Your dress is still pooled around you, covering the way you’re joined, the hem gathered over Jamil’s belly.

Jamil’s moan is pure music to your ears, your core throbbing as you slowly ease him in. It’s a delicious feeling of fullness, his hard, straining cock stretching you open, settling snugly within you.

Once Jamil's fully enveloped by your welcoming cunt, you settle down more comfortably on his lap. You grab the vibrator you just used on Jamil and slip it under your dress to bring it to your clit. With a soft gasp you lean your head back, a jolt shooting through your nerves when you find just the right spot to tease with the toy. 

You keep mostly still on Jamil, the faint reverberations of the vibrator and the flutter of your pussy around Jamil’s cock all the stimulation you grant him. It’s always particularly wonderful, combining such stimulation with the sensation of having your pussy filled - and even more delicious now, when it’s Jamil inside you, when you get to enjoy his every reaction to your actions.

Jamil growls, his hips bucking up to you nigh uselessly. Your name on his lips is somewhere between a plea and an admonishment, your continued teasing and denial driving him towards his breaking point.

“Love… Please, please, I need you to move, I need you to milk me with this perfect pussy of yours, please…” Jamil whines, another desperate thrust of his hips finding enough purchase to nearly topple you forwards.

You click your tongue and give Jamil a warning look.

“Keep still, my dear.”

“I can’t help it when I want you so much. Do you even know what you’ve done to me?”

Jamil seems so sincere, all his pretenses fallen, yet you can recognize the part of him that likes to rely on honeyed words to get what he wants. Still, his desperate desire is undeniable, his body quivering beneath you, all of him full of wanton need that only feeds your own arousal.

“Why don’t you enlighten me, then?” you goad Jamil, still pleasuring yourself with the toy, feeling the warm pleasure fill you as your body tenses.

Jamil pauses, his tongue darting out from the corner of his mouth.

“You… You have such power over me, driving me completely wild with the way you’ve been teasing me… Please, won’t you have some mercy on me? I need you, need to feel you properly, need both of us to feel good..”

The genuine need in Jamil’s tone makes you groan, a shudder running down your spine all the way to your cunt.

So you drop the vibrator to the bed and place your hands on either side of Jamil, bracing yourself as you begin to move.

“Ahh, yes!” Jamil moans, his head tilted back, his hips quickly moving to match your rhythm.

You’re tempted to remind him to keep still, but at this point you can’t resist, either. In fact, you love feeling his eagerness, the desperate way he’s rutting into you from below.

You lean back, pulling your dress over your head and tossing it away. Your bra soon gets the same treatment, finally leaving you bare for Jamil’s eyes to devour.

“Better?” you ask with a playful smile as you lean down again, beginning to ride Jamil in earnest.

“Yes,” he breathes out, bracing his feet against the bed so that he can move with you with more force.

Soon, you’re both panting and moaning, all the buildup leaving you both on the verge of release. Your bodies meet time and again, a forceful smack of your hips as you take Jamil’s cock deep within you over and over. It’s so delicious, the way his cock is dragging along your insides, the way Jamil’s fully let go and just chasing more of you. You lean lower, your lips meeting in a sloppy, delirious kiss that’s muffling both of your moans.

“Gonna come for me, aren’t you? Gonna fill me with your cum?” you murmur hotly against Jamil’s mouth, a moan falling from his lips in response.

“Mhmm, I’d love to drive you into the mattress right now, smother you with kisses, touch you all over…” Jamil groans, his hands clenched into fists in the cuffs.

You can’t help your breathless laugh in response. “Well, turns out that’s my privilege tonight,” you tease him, adjusting your position so that you can tug on Jamil’s hair before giving him another fierce, hungry kiss.

Jamil’s eyes scrunch closed, his breathing uneven, his thrusts faltering. You pick up the pace, sliding up and down on his cock, until you see the bliss of his orgasm overtake Jamil. He groans, spilling his load inside you, face contorted in pleasure as his body trembles.

“There you go,” you breathe out, giving Jamil another deep, passionate kiss, stealing the last of his breath away.

Your hips slow, settling down against Jamil’s again, his cock and cum swallowed by your cunt. You grab the toy again, leaning back, gasping when you feel the buzz on your clit.

“Mmm, let me see you come, let me feel you squeeze around my cock,” Jamil urges you, even breathless as he is from his own release.

It does not take you long to follow after Jamil. The tension has your legs trembling, the pleasure building in your core until you can’t contain it anymore. The burning bliss takes you under, both of you gasping when your pussy clenches around Jamil’s cock in a tight squeeze. Your back arches, body jolting, as you ride the waves of pleasure.

Eventually, you toss the toy aside and slump against Jamil, your lips fumbling against his, both of your breaths ragged and chests heaving. You remain there for a moment, savoring your afterglow and the feel of Jamil’s body against yours.

“I swear, love, if you don’t let me touch you soon…” Jamil says in a low, breathy tone.

You chuckle, pecking Jamil’s cheek quickly.

“I suppose I should,” you mumble, lazily moving to undo Jamil’s hands despite the languidness that’s taken over your body.

You kiss over Jamil’s wrists as you release them, making sure he’s fine. There’s some indentations on his skin, presumably from the way he pulled against the restraints, but nothing for you to worry over.

As soon as he can, Jamil pulls you close, feeling you up as if making up for lost time. You chuckle, gladly enjoying the touches and the skin to skin contact.

“Mhmm… How are you feeling, my dear?” you ask softly, still a little out of breath.

“Oh, love… You really are something else,” Jamil mumbles, his face nuzzled into your neck.

You smile, feeling the warm satisfaction settle within you.

“Glad you enjoyed yourself, then,” you murmur, settling more comfortably against Jamil.

“Who knew my sweet girlfriend had such a side to her,” Jamil says, his tone teasing - though you suspect he’s also trying to cover up just how affected he is.

“Who knew my stubborn boyfriend would be so willing to go along with it,” you tease back.

You take in a soft breath, enjoying the feel of Jamil's body against yours. It was always particularly sweet, feeling Jamil’s body against yours after sex, and you found yourself practically soaking in Jamil's presence. 

Jamil's lips lock with yours, the kiss languid and tender, yet tinged with the remains of your passion. 

Happily, you sink into the softness of the moment, the heady satisfaction of your lovemaking mixing with the warm comfort of the current moment.

“So…” you murmur, your fingers trailing on Jamil’s skin. “Do you think you’ll let me do this again sometime?”

Jamil chuckles, giving you an amused, affectionate look.

“Hmm… I think you could persuade me, yes,” he says teasingly. “Though I will definitely have to pay back the favor sometime, too.”

You chuckle.

“Maybe I could be persuaded, too,” you grin and move in for another soft kiss.

Hopefully y'all enjoyed this (and this doesn't have just the target audience of me personally). As always, would love to hear your thoughts!

Also I wrote this on an awkward loan laptop instead of my own PC so please, if there's any mistakes, do let me know so I can sort them out.

This line sure was telling of my whole writing process: "There are a few different options on your mind - a few different temptations, calling to you, as you wonder just how much you should push Jamil." So many places I could've gone with this, but this is where we ended up (this time).

If you'd like to be tagged for my future works, let me know and I'll be happy to do so!

Tag list:

@colliope @crystallizsch @diodellet @jamilsimpno69 @jamilvapologist

@perilous-pasta @twstgo

[songmingisthighs]

Sweet Strawberry Gloss

February Filth Fest - 2; oral fixation

group : ateez

pairing : sugar daddy!seonghwa × reader

genre : smut

word count : 3.6k

warning : mdni, oral sex; blow job, slight humping, kind of voyeurism ?? (seonghwa having his dick sucked in an online meeting), idk what else ngl

a/n : second fff post !!! how am i doing so far ?? be honest

buy me coffee ?

"You're doing it again,"

You snapped out of your daze to be met with Seonghwa's teasing smirk. "I was not," you huffed, defending yourself against Seonghwa's accusation. Though, after thinking about it, you furrowed your eyebrows, "What was I doing anyways?" Seonghwa chuckled at you as he shook his head in disbelief at your utter adorableness. He moved away from his laptop for a bit to reach out to you on the left side of his position on the dining table, "You were sucking on your thumb again like a child," he scolded, taking your red thumb away from your lips.

It was embarrassing that he saw you like that and then having him call and treat you like a child. You pouted and slapped his arm out of retaliation, "Shut up I'm bored," you grumbled.

Seonghwa is a businessman, a successful one at that being a C-level executive at one of the biggest business firms in the country. He's charming and smart and so absurdly sexy. You love him and being with him, he just makes you feel so special and beautiful and precious and in return, you made him feel like he's worth more than just his money. You never complained during days like this one, having to just stay inside, ordering cheap, MSG-dunked food, while Seonghwa deal with whatever business he had to deal with you accompanying him. Truly, he couldn't ask for a better girlfriend. Well, it WAS only sugar baby but how could he leave room for the chance of another guy swooping you away? Not that you'd leave anyways.

One of the things you love about him was how much he knows you. He spent a good amount of time studying and understanding you. Every time you both spend together, every intimate time, he'd put all of his attention and focus on you. But that also means he can anticipate your actions and even understand what it means.

Seonghwa chuckled at your words and took a moment to part from his laptop, he let the hand you slapped to take your chin in his soft grip and have you gently look at him, "I'm sorry baby, you know I need to be on standby because the American clients will be up and about soon and I just have to make sure we land this deal," he pouted, showing you the time on his phone's screen that showed it was 9.47 pm in Korea which means it was near office hours in New York. You sighed, understanding where he came from but you just couldn't help but want to spend private time with him. So you took the hand that he used to caress your cheek in both of your hands as you started peppering kisses on the soft palm. "I know Hwa, I understand... I just... Well..." you paused, hesitating for a moment. Your hesitance only intrigued him, however, knowing full well that there was something you wanted to ask of him but you don't know if you should say it.

To urge you, Seonghwa tilted his head down and to the side slightly, seeking your gaze, "Well... What? Is there something you want, honey?" he asked, smiling gently as an encouragement. God, he has such a nice smile. It was the smile that made everyone swoon for him and yet it was the smile he reserved for you. Still hesitant, the pecks your lips were giving him turned to soft grazes. The glossed surface of your lips caressed the supple skin of Seonghwa's palm, making his jaw tense almost immediately.

"I don't know if I should say..." you muttered, eyelash fluttering to look at him from under it. Seonghwa had to brace himself by clenching his other hand, not wanting to get worked up too much before his client meeting. He let out a whispered shaky breath as he tried to maintain his eye contact with you and his smile, "You can tell me anything, baby. I will give you whatever it is you want," he ensured, just wanting to know what he can do to help you. And also because he had a feeling that he was going to like what you had to say.

With his encouragement, you took a deep breath and stood from your seat, surprising him when you plopped down onto his lap with your arms around his neck. As his arms instinctively wrapped around your waist securely, you nestled your face on his shoulder. Your breath hit the skin of his neck and was soon followed by your lips grazing around the area, the sudden feeling made him shudder slightly, delighting in the sensation. "I want you, Hwa... I've wanted to taste you for a while now," you confessed, gripping his crisp white shirt tightly in your fist, making him grip at the fabric of the shirt you were wearing with an even harder grip, "Please, I need to taste you now," you whined.

Now Seonghwa found himself in a bind. Between the clock on his laptop glaring at him, showing that his meeting will start any minute, and you who were begging for him, for his taste, he so obviously wanted to choose you. But he still had his responsibilities that he couldn't abandon. "Baby, I-I," he halted his words to let out a groan when he felt you nipping upwards, to his earlobe and then slowly left trails of kisses to the corner of his lips. "I..." His words died down when he felt your tongue swiping at his bottom lip, seeking permission to enter his mouth but all he could think of was the taste of strawberry lipgloss that he knew you knew he loved so much. "Please..." you muttered against his lips, clearly becoming more desperate after having even just a small taste of him. To make things worse, you had started to grind down on him, allowing him to feel your warm cunt riling his cock to harden. He shifted in his seat, not knowing whether it was from the discomfort of having his dick hardening or wanting to seek more pleasure from your cunt.

The reminder alarm going off from his phone snapped him from his pleasure haze, mind clearing up for a bit when you tensed up and detached your lips from his to look at the source of the sound. "Shit," he muttered, having had half the mind to coax you off of his lap so he could work. But as he looked at you, he saw your eyes staring back at him, seemingly more glistening than usual (but that could be his imagination) and to make his heart clench even more, you were pouting at him, your glossy lips seemingly inviting him for a taste. Park Seonghwa is a man of strong will, he was known as The Brick Wall in his industry, having known for never moving from the deal he wanted that forced his opponents to bend to his will instead. But even The Brick Wall knows he was no match for his girl's influence on him. When it comes to her, he's putty.

With a huff, Seonghwa pulled his chair back and ushered you to stand up, making you think that he was telling you to go for a split second. Your eyes widened when he began undoing his belt and pants. "I told you I'm gonna give you anything you want, baby," he smirked, letting you know that he was going to let you suck him off whilst he was doing his meeting. You immediately perked up, looking very excited as you waited for him to tell you what to do and how he wanted you. "Okay, get under the dining table," he instructed, having already taken the bottom half of his outfit off and kicking them to the side, near his chair. You, however, had your eyes transfixed on his hardening cock. It still looked quite soft as it hadn't had enough attention earlier but you know what it will look like once it's fully hard and you just couldn't help but only think of the fact that you want to have him in your mouth. "(y/n), baby," Seonghwa called out, causing you to shake yourself from the daze you were in before embarrassedly looking down to your feet when you realized his cocky stare, "Can you please get under?" he asked in a teasing tone. You simply nodded and got under where he wanted you to be.

Seonghwa soon pulled the chair back in position, leaving slight room for you to situate yourself. With his legs spread just enough to accommodate you, you immediately placed your hands on either of his thighs, leaning in to get ready to put him in your mouth. But before you could even get any closer, Seonghwa hissed and tapped his foot to get your attention on him. Displeased that he was preventing you from having his dick in your mouth, you let out a whine and frowned up at him. "I need to open the meeting first baby, I can't have you sucking my cock whilst talking, they'll know something's going on!" he explained through gritted teeth, eyes moving between you and the screen of his laptop to open the application where the online meeting will be held and making sure that the camera only captured the area from his chest up. Hearing him talk like that made your pussy clench with want. Despite desperately wanting him in your mouth and his cock just sitting idly by in front of you, bobbing along with Seonghwa's breathing. You know you couldn't so you defeatedly held back, leaning on Seonghwa's right thigh with your gaze on his cock as your mouth opted to suck on your thumb instead.

Once he was sure that you wouldn't try anything, Seonghwa opened his mic just as meeting attendees entered the meeting room. One by one, Seonghwa greeted them with a professional smile, not knowing that behind the camera, Seonghwa was naked from the waist down with his lover between his legs, lusting after the taste of his cock.

The meeting had barely started, everyone was still waiting for the others to come in as they prepared their point for the meeting. Seonghwa took this chance to mute his mic and covered his mouth with the papers in his hand to talk to you, "You holding up good there sweetie?" he teased, knowing full well that you were not doing good. You looked up at him with a glare, hating how easy it was for him to tease you like that. To tease you more, Seonghwa nudged the hand of the thumb you had between your lips, wordlessly telling you that you shouldn't suck on your finger. The nudge was had enough that your thumb fell out of your mouth much to your dismay. You scoffed and were about to say something when you heard Seonghwa's name called by someone from the meeting. Seonghwa gave you a warning glare before his whole demeanour changed into a professional one.

You loved watching Seonghwa in his professional mode; his demeanour, his words, his choice of clothing, everything exudes confidence in a minimalistic way, subdued but it was evident. There was a strong pull towards this side of Seonghwa, a pull that made you whimper and repositioned yourself so you were sitting on one of his legs. From the way Seonghwa's pointer finger twitched on his knee, you realized that he didn't expect you to do what you just did. You smirked to yourself as you began grinding onto his leg with your hands taking anchor on his chair, your lips peppering kisses onto the skin of his thighs. You caught Seonghwa's hands clenching as he felt you teasing him and he knew you were doing it intentionally to rile him up because you were just a brat like that. Seonghwa had no choice but to will himself to not react as best as he could no matter how much he wanted to get some stimulation as much as you were getting it from humping his leg. Poor man almost yelped when he felt your lips leave his skin only to put his thumb in your mouth, sucking gently with eyes closed, clearly enjoying yourself. His cock twitched as the thoughts of you sucking his cock appeared in his mind, how much you'd enjoy the feeling and taste of him.

So in the end, Seonghwa relented, he couldn't handle the teasing anymore. He pulled his hand off your grip and place it on his thigh, close to his half-hard twitching cock and simply tapped on his flesh, signalling for you to come up and finally have a taste of him.

Giddily, you leaned forward to take the tip of his dick in your mouth, eyes rolling back and thighs clenching. Meanwhile, Seonghwa had to mask his moan with a cough from the sudden impact, excusing himself by telling everyone that his throat was dry. You tried your best to hold in your chuckle, amazed and amused at Seonghwa's attempt to remain professional despite the treatment you were giving him. But you couldn't care less at that moment. Sure, you cared about how much Seonghwa cared about his job and his professional demeanour around people from his work. But how can you when you have his cock in your mouth? You revelled at the feeling of his cock twitching and hardening in your mouth, knowing that you were the only one who could make him do that, knowing that you have an effect on him. You've heard of blowjob horror stories from your friends, mostly about how the men who expect to get a blow job from them seemed to not consider the importance of keeping hygiene. But not Seonghwa, the man was a nutcase about housekeeping, you can only assume that he wouldn't let his dick in an unhygienic state. You can initiate blow jobs with him at any time and you'd always have the same reaction, a pleasant surprise.

As you kept your mouth busy with bringing Seonghwa to his full length, Seonghwa was trying his best not to move. He kept reminding himself that he only needed to talk for a few more moments before he can kill his mic. His head was clouded with the pleasure you were giving him, though. Since the beginning of your relationship, you've always shown a certain interest in giving him head and the longer you both were together, the more apparent it was for him that you actually GAINED pleasure from pleasuring him in your mouth. From said interest, you gained more and more expertise in blowing him. Only him. Your tongue was tracing his cock from the base to the tip whilst you had one of your hands holding the base gently whilst simultaneously cupping one of his balls, the other free hand you used to "anchor" yourself on his thigh, massaging the flesh gently. Seonghwa nearly bucked his hips and let his eyes roll back. Had he had less self-control, he would've absolutely moaned from how heavenly it felt to be in your mouth.

As soon as his opening statement ended, Seonghwa handed the meeting over to the clients and his partners, excusing himself to mute his mic so as to not disturb the people speaking. The very moment his mic went mute, Seonghwa let out a guttural groan, his head falling forward which he masked by pretending to cough again with his clenched fist over his mouth.

Hearing him letting out sounds that he would absolutely hate to let out in front of other people, you took it as an opportunity for you to be vocal yourself. You chuckled after letting your mouth off of his dick but let your lips remain on the tip, making Seonghwa let out a shaky exhale from between his lips. "You taste so good, Hwa, I couldn't help myself," you said, defending your actions. Seonghwa pretended to sort through the paper he prepared for the meeting, making sure his mouth was covered so he could talk to you, "You're that horny for me huh, slut?" he hissed, bucking slightly when you began stroking his whole hard length with the hand that was holding his base. You looked at him with a mocking pout, "Can you blame me? I just can't help myself, Hwa, not when it comes to you," you said in a pitiful tone. Whatever words Seonghwa was about to use to call you out on your bullshit died in his mouth when he saw you wiping the precum that leaked from the slit of his tip around your lips. His eyes widened when your tongue darted out to lick the substance off, mixing it with whatever remnants of lipgloss you had before moaning out loud.

You went back to take his dick in your mouth, greedily swallowing the appendage and slowly bobbing in rhythm. Seonghwa found it so hard to hold himself, everything just felt too good to him and you were just treating him so well. With his full hard length receiving stimulation continuously, Seonghwa felt so close to cumming. He couldn't even begin to decide whether he wanted to cum in your mouth, on your face, on your tits, or even to hold off until he got the chance to fuck you. He winced when you delivered a particularly harsh suck, the sensation of the harshness of the suck itself paired with your soft lips on him shot straight to his spine and this time he couldn't help but shudder.

"Something wrong, Mr. Park?"

Seonghwa froze while you just scoffed into his dick. With a slightly trembling hand Seonghwa turned his mic back on to talk, "I uh... Got the chills suddenly. Please continue ladies and gentlemen, I will adjust my thermostat for a bit and return momentarily," he said before turning both his mic and camera off. As soon as he was sure that he wouldn't be heard or seen, he pushed his chair back slightly, just enough that he could see you clearly and immediately placed his hand to the back of your head, pushing you into his dick deeper, causing you to gag slightly. You didn't care though, because the burn of him being harsh with you felt so good. "F-fuck," he moaned out, "You better make me cum fast, baby or else I'm gonna edge you for hours after this." Your ears perked up at the challenge, heart swelling with excitement and need to prove to him that you could also give him whatever he wanted.

It was like a race against time. You were bobbing your head at a pace that wasn't too quick as you focused more on taking him in your mouth. The part that your mouth couldn't fit was occupied by both of your hands, pumping him just how you know he liked. With the freedom of not having to care about his appearance, Seonghwa had his head thrown back in pleasure as he let out moan after moan. The sounds he made were melodious to your ears, it pumped your ego as you know that you were doing a really good job. You began moaning into his dick, the vibration it produced added even more pleasure for Seonghwa. His eyes opened when he felt like he was seconds away from cumming and from his point of view, he was able to see the screen of his laptop that showed professionals in the middle of work and at the same time, he saw you sucking him off as your hips ground itself onto the floor beneath you. He could only assume that you left a puddle there. Was it bad that he kind of felt a sense of pride knowing that his girl was pleasuring him in front of other people despite them not being able to see?

Closer to the edge, Seonghwa held your face in its place to thrust into your mouth instead of having you bob your head up and down. When you looked up at him, you saw that he had his eyebrows scrunched and a look of determination on his face. On the other hand, you were looking up at him with glazed eyes, flushed cheeks, and swollen lips that has his cock slipping in and out of it. With the aid of how you looked, Seonghwa let out a grunt and a last thrust of his hips before cumming hard, filling the cavern of your mouth with his seed. The warm sensation made you close your eyes and moaned softly, looking absolutely in bliss. Seonghwa smirked at this, feeling a sense of pride from being able to make you react that way and even more when he pulled himself out of you, making you whine and chase after his dick. But he knew he had no time for that as he still have to see the meeting through.

You stuck out your tongue for him, showing that you had swallowed his load like the good girl you are, making Seonghwa chuckle at how the way you were acting. Seonghwa gently pulled you up and out of the place where you hid, ushering you to go to his room to wait for him with a smile on his face. You nodded obediently and slowly walked away. You halted in your tracks halfway, thinking that you wanted to do something for him first.

"Seonghwa," you called out, catching Seonghwa's attention before he could turn his camera back on. You simply lifted your shirt, flashing him your tits with a proud smile on your face while Seonghwa had a look of utter shock; big eyes paired with stuttering lips that soon broke into a boyish grin. "Good luck with your meeting, I'll be waiting for you!" you said cheekily before running off to his room.

Seonghwa can only shake his head at your antics, clearly amused with you. As he returned to his meeting, some of his coworkers noticed how he seemed to be calmer and more serious, looking like he had millions of thoughts running in his head. Little did they know, Seonghwa was thinking of ways to return the favour to you.

FFF taglist :

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taglist :

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[honeysuckleharringtons]

Part Two: "Déjà Brew" ~ S. Harrington

Summary: (Then) Back in Hawkins, Reader is still reeling from the news she's just received. Turns out, sometimes the love of a mother might just be the very help you need when times are tough. — (Now) At Brew and Me, Reader struggles with the stress of motherhood and working. Turns out, a visit from her least favorite patron might be the thing she needs to cheer her up.

Pairing: Nurse!Steve Harrington x Fem!Byers!Reader

Word Count: 2,120

Content Warning: teen pregnancy, mentions of food, mentions of medical-related things, small mention of childhood cancer (not related to any of the main characters in this series), lmk if i missed anything!

Extra Notes: ngl, the writing in this chapter sucks but i promise it gets better!!

Originally Written: 10/08/2023 through 10/12/2023

honeysuckleharringtons' masterlist can be found here!

'brew and me' series masterlist can be found here!

[ Then, June of 1987 ]

You'd been holding onto the knowledge of your pregnancy for roughly two days, and since then, everything had felt upside down.

You'd looked for every reason possible to not see your boyfriend. You only spoke to your mom and siblings when spoken to. And worst of all, despite the human being growing inside of you, you felt absolutely empty.

You truly wanted to be happy about this. After all, a new human life was forming in your stomach. But the pain of anyone in your small town finding out you were a sinner, and the gossip about how you'd thrown your life away for some guy, it was just too much to bear.

So instead of facing your problems, you'd holed up in your room, lights out and window closed. You only left your room to grab snacks—which lay uneaten on your nightstand—and to use the bathroom. To your family, you were a passing ship in the night, a ghost barely seen. And just when you thought you'd run out of tears, more slipped out of your eyes and onto your pillow, which you were holding like your life depended on it.

It was sometime in the afternoon when Joyce knocked on the bedroom door. You'd cried for so long that you lost track of time, only realizing it was afternoon due to the setting sun peeking through the curtains. "Honey?" she called, barely getting the word out before gently opening the door. She must've registered quickly what was happening, closing the door behind herself in record speed. "Honey, what's the matter?" she cooed, a loving hand meeting your shoulder.

It's now or never, you thought to yourself. Pulling yourself up, you wiped the excess tears away with the pads of your thumbs. "Mom," you sniffled, the word sounding weaker than ever, "I've done a terrible thing."

"I'm sure it's not that bad, my sweet," she said, taking your hands in hers. "You know you can always talk to me, right?"

You nodded, though you were questioning if that statement really was true, considering the bomb you were about to drop on her. More tears involuntarily slipped down your cheeks, your eyes darting anywhere in the room besides her face.

Joyce ran a soft hand through your hair, clicking her tongue lightly. "Honey, I want you to know that you don't have to feel pressured to tell me what's wrong. But I am always here if you do want to tell me."

You forced the words to come out, and you were nearly hyperventilating before you'd even said them. "I don't really know how to tell you, because I'm not quite sure how you'll take it."

Her lips left a soft peck on your forehead, a silent reassurance that she was there for you. An unsteady breath exited your mouth, before you finally said the dreaded words you'd been thinking about for the last forty-eight hours. "The terrible thing is… I'm pregnant. And I have no clue what to do."

You braced yourself for impact, waiting for her to throw you out into the street or scream at you or slap you or anything really. You'd gone over every possible reaction in the book, hoping to find a rebuttal to each one.

Still, the screams never came and her hand never even touched your skin, other than the moment she pulled you into her side. "Oh, honey," she whispered, a tone of sympathy clear in the words.

Tears started to fall once again as she held you close, a gentle hand rubbing soft circles on the small of your back. You'd surely covered the both of you in tears and snot, but truth be told, that was the least of your concerns, given the situation.

"Y/N, you're gonna be okay," she reassured. "I promise, there is nothing you could ever do to make me stop loving you. And from here on out, there's nothing that is going to stop me from loving this child. I'm going to be here for you every step of the way. Okay?"

Through your crying, you managed to ask, "You aren't mad at me?" Genuine confusion took over you at her response to the news. You'd been convinced she'd be angry, never considering that she was the one becoming a grandmother.

She clicked her tongue again. "No, I'm still very frustrated with you for doing something this irresponsible. But that doesn't mean I don't love you or this baby."

It felt like all the blood had drained from your body as you lay practically limp in your mother's arms. The air was heavy as she waited for you to say something, anything, but the words never came. Words seemed a million miles away as the discovery of life inside you started to feel all too real.

Some time passed before she spoke again—whether it was two minutes or two hours, you didn't know. Her hand rubbed soft lines over your disposed arm, her touch as warm and welcomed as your favorite childhood blanket. "Honey, I've been where you were before. Maybe not exactly your situation, but I know what this feeling is like—the worry of what the dad is gonna think, the anxiety of caring for two people. It's terrifying. But I've got good news for you," she paused, kissing the top of your head. "You don't have to do it alone. Because I'm gonna be right here."

You weren't sure you gave her a response to that. Full-on sobs were now wracking your body, despite her kind words. Your tears flowed and your chest heaved, and no matter how hard you tried, you couldn't seem to stop. Panic and fear coursed through you, and as much as you wanted to be happy about this baby, the only true feeling you had at the moment was resentment toward yourself.

[ Now, November of 1991 ]

"Max, honey, do you know what time it is?" you asked, quite frantically. "I left my watch at home this morning."

A knock sounded on the counter behind you. "It's time for me to be your boyfriend," Steve said smugly, giving you a smirk as you turned to face him.

Max glared down at her watch, rolling her eyes at the cheesiness occurring in front of her. "Actually, it's almost 7:30," the redhead answered, pulling down the sleeve of her flannel shirt.

A grateful sigh slipped past your lips. "Ah, sweet freedom," you said before turning your attention back to Steve, who was sporting a curiously teasing look across his face. "What? I've got a hot date with a bubble bath and my feet and backbone couldn't be happier."

"Sounds sexy," he snickered.

Max huffed in fake annoyance as she passed the latte in her hand over to the brunette girl on the opposite side of the counter. "Have a nice evening," she smiled, then turned to you and Steve, to which she quipped, "If I had a dollar for every time one of you told the other something that was inappropriate to say in a coffee shop, I'd make enough money to pay off my student loans."

"Hey, it's not my fault your boyfriend is off playing basketball at Princeton and training for the NBA," you shrugged, joking of course.

Max gave you a fake pout. "That is below the barista belt, Y/N. That's just cruel."

You shot her a playful smile, giving her a sisterly pat on the arm. "Why don't you get started on the tables, hon'?"

And with that, Max was grabbing her cleaning supplies and heading to clean off the abandoned tables. You gave Steve your attention once more, curious as to if he was interested in holding up to his end of the bargain.

He surprised you with the response that came out of his mouth. "I will have a salted caramel latte with almond milk," he said proudly, sure that his answer was right. "Are you ready for that date yet?"

Your lips formed into a thin line, a look of regret coming to your face. "I hate to tell you, Doc, but nut allergies are a very common thing in my family."

"You work with almond milk all the time," he rebutted, a hand on his hip.

Your eyes narrowed in on him, not ready to back down from his challenge. "I don't like caramel."

He scoffed. "Who doesn't like caramel?"

You shrugged. "Me."

"Why don't you just admit that I was right and tell me where you wanna go next weekend?"

"Because you're wrong and I'm busy next weekend," you answered, both responses true.

He finally broke eye contact with you to look over at Max. "Hey, Max, is a salted caramel latte with almond mix Y/N's favorite item on the menu?"

"Everyone knows she hates almond milk," she answered. "I'm disappointed in you for not knowing."

His attention turned to you again, his eyes narrowing in on yours. "How do I know she isn't being paid to say that?"

An exasperated sigh left your mouth. "We make five bucks an hour and you expect me to have extra money to throw at Max? No offense, Max."

"None taken," she laughed, still scrubbing away at one of the tables. "I don't have money to throw at you either."

Steve shook his head in some mixture of disbelief and playfulness. "Would you just get me my coffee? To-go, please."

Your brows furrowed as you got to work on the drink. "What's with the to-go order? You hardly ever get your coffee to-go."

"If you must know, I happen to have a hot date of my own," he said vaguely, a sly smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

"Sounds sexy," you jested. "Who's the girl?"

"A cancer patient in the PEDS ward."

Your expression went from curious to downright confused at his statement. "Do I wanna know how that constitutes as a hot date?"

"She's got a crush on me so I get asked to sit with her on nights that her mom works," he explained, slipping some cash into the tip jar. "It's a hot date because every time I go in her room, she asks me to crank the heater all the way up. I think that's just because she likes the way I look when I'm sweaty."

A gentle smile appeared on your face as you passed him his latte. You thought about your own little girl, who'd be here any minute, and how much you regretted nights like those where she was left to her own devices, left to stay with your mom or one of your brothers instead of the person she needed most.

You shook off the thoughts, taking the money from his opposite hand and placing it in the cash register. "Have a brew-tiful night and enjoy your date, Doc."

And with that, Steve gave you one last playful smirk and headed out the door, but not before a certain little girl ran past him and over to you. Joyce followed suit behind her as Steve held the door open, then began his journey out to his car and, presumably, the hospital.

"Mommy!" Mandy squealed, running around the counter to greet you.

You picked her up, happier than ever to see her, placing a kiss on her soft hair. "Hey, sweetpea," you smiled, love overflowing from you as she wrapped her tiny arms around your neck. "What did you get up to today?"

"Grandma took me to the park!" she answered excitedly, her hazel eyes lit up with delight.

You gasped, playing along with her enthusiasm. "No way! You'll have to tell Mommy all about it."

"Now, don't get mad," Joyce started to say as she walked over to you.

Your brows furrowed. "Mad? Why would I be mad?"

A regretful look came across the woman's face, explaining, "We passed an ice cream truck on the way here and-"

"Mom, you know I always give her one of the leftover cake pops at the end of the day. She can't eat too much sugar."

"I know," Joyce said, "but Jon's in town for Thanksgiving so he's offered to give you us both a night off."

It was selfish, but you'd never been so grateful for your brother to be home. You sighed, setting your daughter back on the ground. "Well then, let's put all that energy to use, shall we?"

And with that, Mandy was hot on your trail, following you around as you worked to close up the shop. You just smiled down at the girl, prouder than anyone had ever been to be a mom. Sure, it was biased, but you were quit certain you had the best girl in the whole world.

-> taglist: @dungeons-are-too-cold @ducky-died-inside @awkotaco24 @liberhoe @princesseddie @aftermidnightwriting @manuosorioh @esoltis280

[weixuldo]

Enigma// ch 21

anakin x reader

a/n: bear with anakin, he’s emotionally constipated lolll- i’m ngl i didn’t do a great job explaining his emotions- it makes more sense in my head i think- but i hope y’all understand where i’m coming from and if u don’t, don’t hesitate to send an ask!!

You can’t deal with Anakin’s juvenile attitude any longer; a confrontation follows.

warnings: cursing, alcohol abuse, hospitals, alcohol poisoning, ableist names (from anakin), self hatred

_______________________________

“What the fuck are you staring at?!” you heard Anakin yell from his room as you make your way down the hall. 

“Nothing sir, I just need to-”

“You work in a fucking hospital, you should see cripples all the time- so quit staring like i’m some sort of anomaly” he spat. 

“Sir, please do not speak to me that way. I’m simply doing my job” you heard the nurse protest. 

You debated entering, but you might just make it worse. 

“Well I don’t need your help- I don’t even know why i’m here in the first place- I’m fine”

You knew Anakin hated hospitals, but he could have died… he needed to take it easy.

Timidly you entered his room, “Anakin..”

He shot his head towards you and so did the upset nurse. She was here to help him bathe and as much as you didn’t want to deal with his temper tantrum, you knew how insecure he was and you wanted to spare the nurse the verbal and emotional abuse. 

“I can take it from here, If that’s alright” you offered to the woman standing beside the bed. 

She looked relieved at your offer and nodded her head before hurrying for the exit. Before leaving she stole one last glance at Anakin. 

“Take a picture, It’ll last longer!!” he shouted as the woman closed his room’s door. 

Why did he do shit like that? 

You closed your eyes and sighed, “Anakin, they’re just doing their job” you said, walking towards him.

“I don’t want them near me- they look at me like I'm some sort of freak!” he exclaimed, aggressively pointing his right stump at the door.

You sighed and advanced to his bedside. He wasn’t going to like it, but he did need to be cleaned; you placed a hand on your belly and sat on the edge of his bed.

“You know as well as I do that you need to stay clean”.

He just scoffed and turned his head away which made you roll your eyes at his immaturity. 

The soft sponge slid against his bare chest as you cleaned him, you tried to keep light pressure so not too much water fell from the sponge.

Both of you stayed silent, neither daring to face the other. 

Though he was silent, you could feel his burning gaze; as you focused on cleaning his body, his eyes lingered on you.

Anakin hadn’t seen you since you told him the news… he hadn’t seen how much you had grown. 

He felt his heart thumping against his chest as he eyes the curve of your belly and newfound glow. You were absolutely stunning.

There was a sparkle in your gentle eyes as you carefully ran the soap along his broken body, you were meticulous and didn’t linger too long on his limbs (you knew he was insecure and he appreciated your notions).

Your hair was up but a few imperfect strands fell around your face, though to him, everything was perfect. 

He missed you so much. 

…so much. 

Anakin winced as you attempted to clean around some of his IV ports. 

“I’m sorry” you exclaimed, bracing yourself for his fallout, but it never came. 

Odd. 

You finished up, dried him, and began to leave; though before you turned the door handle you turned back around. You needed to know. 

“Anakin, I just want to know…” you began after taking a deep breath. 

Your eyes met his and all he saw was pure worry and care.

Fuck. 

He didn’t deserve any of that from you, after saying what he said and tossing you aside. 

“What?” he snapped a little harsher than he intended. 

You jerked your head back at his bark of a response, “I’m just worried about you, that’s all.”

Though it pained him, he felt that he was no good for you; there was no guarantee that he would be able to give up alcohol and as long as he was with it he couldn’t be sure that he would treat you right. In his fucked up brain he felt like pushing you away was the best (and easier) thing to do. 

“Well don’t be. I’m fine.” he snapped again.

“Anakin, you’re being ridiculous” you huffed as your patience began wearing thin. 

“Alright, the door is that way if you think i'm being ridiculous- I never asked you to sit here and help me. That was your own fuckin’ decision y/n. You can be done doing your ‘charity work’ now-”

“Fuck! Why do you have to be so goddamn difficult” you cried as the tears finally fell.

No response. 

You should be used to his closed off behavior by now but something about it just tipped you further over the edge… you were desperate for a minute of his attention- you cared about him even though he had put you through hell the past few weeks.

You were here for him and he wouldn't give you a shred of respect. 

“Are you so prideful that you can't admit that you were wrong?! I saw the test results Anakin, there’s no use hiding it from me anymore”

You saw his brow furrow and you continued, hoping to actually get a constructive response out of the stoic man.

“Would you rather drink yourself to death than just admi-”

“No!” 

His sudden exclamation startled you and your eyes widened.

“Fuck, y/n.” he huffed; his blue eyes shooting an icy glare your way.

“I admit I was wrong. I have no problem admitting that-”

“Then why are you avoiding me and pushing me away?!” you pleaded with the man in front of you.

“I’m not- I just…” he trailed off as he looked out the window.

You sighed, walked towards the foot of his hospital grade bed, and placed your hands on the footrest. You were so exhausted; exhausted from the baby, exhausted by all of the preparations you had to make, and exhausted by playing this stupid game of cat and mouse with the man who once told you he loved you.

“Anakin, please… I don’t want to fight anymore. I came here because despite everything that’s happened some stupid part of me just cant let go of you and I hate that I cant. But that part still cares for you even though it shouldn't…and at least I have the decency to admit my feelings” 

He blinked a few times before biting the inside of his cheek, he almost looked apologetic.

“I came here because I wanted to see you… When I got the call that you were in the hospital for alcohol poisoning- when they told me just how much you consumed… I was afraid you might not wake up.” you huffed out a sad laugh and shook your head. “Ya know, people don’t usually slip into a coma from drinking unless it's a life threatening amount.”

Your chest tensed when you remembered the emotions you felt when you got the call and began to tear up again.

“When they told me the severity of the situation I-I knew I had to be here… Anakin, I just wanna…” you trailed off, trying to figure out what you wanted to ask. 

“Why did you… What the fuck made you feel like you needed to drink that much?”

The sandy haired man in front of you sat quietly for a few moments, probably collecting his scattered thoughts, until he finally landed on an answer.

“You”

What? How were you making him drink? You had done nothing to him.

“That makes no fucking sense Anakin, I haven’t reached out to you and you made damn sure that we wouldn’t see each other. So how exactly am I the reason you drank yourself into a fucking five day coma?!”

“No! It's not like tha-”

“Then what is it like?!” you shouted, your emotions flying all over the place; the hormones from the baby were not helping but neither was Anakin’s mood swings.

“I treated you like fucking shit! I was completely in the wrong to say all that I said and I’m a major fuck up!” he exclaimed as some veins became visible along his neck. 

You went silent, when the hell did being an ass to you ever make him feel bad?

Why was this any different?

“I messed up… and when I got the results back…”

He cut himself off by attempting to keep his sobs subsided.

“I couldn’t deal with the fact that I treated you like that. And even now I can't handle the fact that I was so grotesquely vicious to you…”

He paused as he choked on his words.

“To the most kindhearted woman I have ever met” he squeaked out through his tears.

“Fuck, Y/n, I can’t believe what i’ve put you through, I h-hate myself more than you could imagine, I just don’t- I was so afraid of losing you and in the end, I fucking ruined it myself! I needed to forget, I needed to drink you away” 

You relaxed your boxed off posture for a moment as you watched Anakin struggle with his emotions. 

“I-I’m so sorry” he panted  

Your heart broke at the pitiful scene unfolding in front of you… but even though his apologies were sincere and appreciated- a few words weren't going to change what happened. 

“I appreciate your transparency, but I can’t just forget everything you’ve done” you explained with a sad expression. 

HIs chest heaved but he nodded, attempting to blink away the tears.

“I don’t expect you to… But I just want you to know how- how deeply sorry I am. I-I don’t know what is going to happen with us, but I know, if you’ll allow me, I would like to be involved in the kid’s life” he said. 

Not what you were expecting. 

“y/n, I still love you-” he choked out. 

“I know I’ve messed up- I’ve messed up my own life. I understand if you resent me or even hate me. And as much as I yearn for you, being with you is not a choice I get to make…I’ve missed you. Truly” he said sadly.

“As much as I want us to be able to go back to how we were, I know that is not possible. As much as I want to be with you through the rest of the pregnancy and after that, I know that ultimately, it is your decision” 

He was bearing his soul to you and you felt your heart pulling for him, almost like a magnet. 

“Just please- Please don’t- don’t disappear without a word… I-I can’t- I don’t know if I-”.

“I won’t.” you responded.

His eyes lit up for a fraction of a second as he looked at you.

“But I need some time to think about things…” you said as he nodded again.

“Alright” you grabbed the handle once more, “I’ll come back later”. 

___________________________________

You waited patiently behind an older woman who couldn’t determine whether she wanted a chai latte or a macchiato. After leaving Anakin, you took a walk to process his emotional confession; sure, he said those horrible things to you, but you understood where he was coming from- but just because he had trauma did not give him the right to treat you so viciously. 

You couldn’t just let your fond memories with him cloud your judgement.

You weren't going to just let him back into your life as it used to be; he needed to prove to you that he was actively making improvements. But you could tell he was genuinely bearing his soul to you and-

“Excuse me, mam…. Mam” the barista called, snapping you out of your haze.

You quickly stepped up and apologized to the people behind you. 

“Hi, could I get an espresso with two pumps of caramel?” you asked sweetly.

“Of course, may I have a name?” she asked.

“y/n”

“Alright Ms.Y/N, we’ll call you up when it's ready” 

You stood by the pick up counter and retreated back into your thoughts.

It had been awhile since the initial argument and he had time to think about his actions, and obviously he did, otherwise he wouldn’t have communicated with you a few minutes ago.

Maybe it was time to give him another chance; you wanted him to be involved with your child, you would never take that from him. 

And deep down you knew you weren’t ready to remove him from your life, you still loved him and sometimes love makes you too forgiving… but if you didn’t give it another chance, you would be wondering about it for the rest of your life. 

“y/n!” 

Your coffee was up, you grabbed the cup and thanked the worker as you headed back to the room. 

As you walked through the halls you made a plan; you were going to tell Anakin how you felt about what happened and tell him what types of improvements you would like to see in order for you to let him back into your life as you were (you would be willing to forgive if he truly made changes).

You would start spending more time with him to see if he would take your words into consideration (also he probably would need some supervision for a week or so after he gets discharged from the hospital).

***

a/n: poor y/n… who’s lookin out 4 her 😩 anyways- get ready for some more angst filled chapters :)

taglist: @dnamht @sxoulohvn @angeelcoree @wtf-andys @httpeachesblog @katsukiswrld @jetiikote @poisonedsultana @imarimone12 @fallinlovewithevil

[throneofsapphics]

hiii can i request a crack/ kinda fun/suggestive fic where reader asks lorcan or azriel to put her in a chokehold. Literally thought ab the other day, their huge bicep around ur throat, i’d be giggling like a schoolgirl ngl🤞🤤 he’s kinda worried but she says go harder and he accidentally knocks her out😭😭 she wakes up and couldn’t be happier😁

teach me

Lorcan x Reader

Summary: you convince Lorcan to teach you something new.

Warnings: passing out, tiny bit of suggestiveness, not proofread

A/N: thank you for the request! it deviated a bit

“Why, again, do you want me to do this?” Lorcan had that mixture of annoyment and amusement on his face - a look saved specifically for you. 

“So I know how to escape it.” You huffed. You’d asked him three times, and given him the same damn answer. 

“You want me to put you in a headlock, and teach you how to escape from it.” He deadpanned. 

“Are you scared?” You crossed your arms. That, absolutely, would get him - and you knew it. He grabbed your arms, spun you around, and within a second had you in a headlock. You laughed and heard him grunt behind you. One arm was wrapped firmly across your neck, the other bracing the back of your head. 

“Turn your head,” he instructed and you did, towards the crook of his elbow. “Other way.” You snorted and you twisted the other way. “Tuck your chin.” You did, trying to create some space between your windpipe and his arm. He gave you more instructions, stepping your foot back, keeping your body balanced - not leaning back into him, and throwing your weight forward before twisting your hips to the side. 

It took you a few tries to actually make any progress, and you got the feeling that despite how difficult it was for you, he really was going easy. 

At one point, you shoved your hips back particularly harshly, and he grunted in surprise before his arm shifted the tiniest amount, just enough for you to wiggle out of his grip. You laughed and cheered for yourself, ignoring his eye roll.

Still, you had to ask him. “Why were you going easy on me?” 

“What makes you think I was?” You raised your brows, and he sighed. “I don’t want to hurt you.” 

“Do I look hurt?” You braced your hands on your hips. He frowned, but shook his head. “Then make it harder.” 

“Normally we’d be doing something very different when you say that word.” 

“Lorcan,” you said through gritted teeth, even as your cheeks blushed. His mouth twitched up at the corners, and you rolled your eyes. “You’re scared,” you taunted, and he lunged for you. You tried, but couldn’t move quick enough.

He had you in a hold, and his arm flexed. You didn’t have your chin down, couldn’t create enough space and he must’ve hit a pulse or something as well because within seconds you were unconscious. 

You woke, probably less than a minute later, to Lorcan cursing - you laid out on the couch. The relief in his eyes was immense as you blinked yours open. “Gods, I’m sorry.” He grasped one of your hands, sitting on the couch next to you. 

You shook your head, and a grin formed on your face. “That’s what I meant.” 

His jaw dropped, eyes widening slightly. “You’re insane.” 

You flicked his nose. “You love me for it.”

[vanillabourbon]

the first of many. | intro | ongoing tlou series

story summary. joel arrives at Jackson twenty years after the outbreak with a young girl that cares for him just as much as he cares for her. little did he know, he would soon meet someone else that would urge his returning sense of humanity one step further.

introductory chapter warnings. weaponry. alludes to suicidal thoughts and behavior. mentions of blood and violence. wounds. kinda sad ngl but let’s call it canon. pls let me know if i missed anything.

story pairings. joel miller x reader, tommy miller x platonic!reader

words. 11k (i went a bit overboard, hehe, but editing is going slow so pls ignore any obvious mistakes. this is the first work i’ve taken seriously so please enjoy :))

-

Chicago, Illinois. September 2003.

The mind and the body’s initial response is always denial – denial of things, of circumstances, and of situations that are too radical, too unconventional, to believe.

How could anyone believe the events of things as they were? Social and societal constructs had been dismantled in a matter of hours, as if the very fabric of everyone’s being had been tied together by a mere string. The justice and sovereignty in belief, in trust in the nature of things themselves, was apparently so fickle, so haphazardly constructed in the first place, that it took a rapidly spreading infection to displace and make known just how unsafe anything is from harm.

No one should be shocked, really. Least of all you.

In hindsight, which is the only perspective anyone can rely on at a moment’s notice, everything gave way to regret and humiliation. How had no one seen this coming? Everything up until that point in time suddenly seemed so obvious – so commonsensical. It was as if someone had balled up every bad thing and every imperfect thing until it could no longer withstand its own constraints and, instead, chose to flow directly toward the seemingly permanent. 

There’s always an element of impermanence in the seemingly permanent.

For whatever reason, now, only a day had passed since the events that led to an abrupt collapse in society as you knew it. You wanted to believe the best – that society and the nature of man would prevent anything from happening. You trusted that the condition of humanity would never outweigh the moral weight of integrity and righteousness. You told yourself that the militant responses of the government were out of necessity and that order and control would fall soon after – or, at least, eventually.

Whether you truly believed that or not no longer mattered.

You were being ushered through the city of Chicago by your older brother, trailing after your uncle, aunt, and two cousins in the wake of another riot. It was dark, darker than any time you had ever stepped foot through the streets of Chicago. And it was bare. Every skitter and harsh knock of a tin trash can sent your brother’s nerves into overdrive; his fingers dug into the flesh of your forearm, dragging you beside him with every step he took. His vice-like grip pained you, but you didn’t bother to tell him that.

You did exactly what he had instructed you before: keep quiet and avoid eye contact.

Military brigades sat empty in the torn and destroyed city streets. Fires engulfed and illuminated countless buildings – convenience stores, pharmacies, mini marts, miscellaneous retail stores. For a moment, you could’ve sworn you saw a young boy, no older than your small cousins, ducking behind a fire hydrant. Tiny fingers braced against the stained red paint, gripping the rusted bolts as if a life depended on it. Maybe it did. But the boy was gone when you chanced a look back.

“Eyes forward,” your brother mumbled.

You didn’t bother to argue. You were far too consumed with wandering, catching stray remnants of the world around you in your peripheral. Anything and everything surrounding you seemed too fantastical, like a stupor you were unable to shake yourself from. The tall, familiar skyscrapers were in stark contrast to the now empty storefronts and abandoned vehicles.

Even though it felt like the end of something, it seemed like the start of something else. Of what, you didn’t know.

Regardless, you wanted to make no effort to distract or distress your brother any further. You’d never seen him so laser-focused, so adamant about one thing, in your life. It was clear that safety was his top priority, and the thought sent your mind and your heart reeling. 

Even if your brother hadn’t been dragging you toward Lawrence Avenue, you felt that your feet would have been bumbling about of their own accord. You were sure they weren’t moving because of anything you were doing. Your mind was elsewhere, eyes flitting to and from every glimpse of dark corners and shattered glass you dared to witness. Surprisingly, it wasn’t fear bubbling up and threatening to overtake your every sense; it was surprise, perhaps confusion. 

Your gaze would’ve gotten lost down a dark side road as you were marched by it, but you were torn from your daze. A slight stumble, the slip of a toddler’s foot, caught everyone by surprise. One of your cousins rested in an awkward heap a few feet in front of you, ground having scraped her knee and stray debris nearly slicing her palm as she braced herself. Among stray tires and pieces of burnt wood, she looked so small, so petite. Her face twisted in pain and sadness as she turned about, first to you and your brother as you approached then to her parents only a few steps away.

Without missing a beat, your uncle ushered your aunt forward, pushing her lower back and guiding her to keep going. He did the same with his young son before going back and reaching down, scooping up his daughter from where she lay on the pavement with one hand and reassuring her with the other.

Momentarily, his eyes flitted toward you and your brother. It was the first time he had turned to look at either of you since you started your trek. For a moment, you wondered if he was about to say something. 

But he didn’t. He only locked eyes for a second, maybe longer, before he was turning on his heels and picking up his pace to a light jog.

Only minutes had gone by before your family’s pounding footsteps were quieted by shouts and gunfire. A frighteningly sudden halt came when you all jolted to a stop. If things were still, you would’ve been gracious for the moment to rest your feet, for the chance to catch your breath and rock back on your heels to ease the pain from your soles. The act of running was starting to take its toll – stripping and coercing your composure and relief from their rightful place.

Calm felt so far removed. Even more so when the gunfire ceased and a loud, nearly automated voice came over a distant speaker: “ALL REMAINING CIVILIANS MUST REPORT TO ONE OF TWO EMERGENCY MEDICAL CAMPS.”

A tan army vehicle passed by your group just then. It rolled passed, and you all did a poor attempt at ducking into the shadows. Your brother’s grip tightened, if that were even possible, and dragged you to his side. Your breath caught in your throat until the back tire of the vehicle disappeared from sight, rolling down the road and toward the loud din still protruding from two streets over.

Whoever was among the shouting didn’t matter. It was clear that there were a lot of them, and that scared you. The streets had seemed so empty, so shallow. For a moment, you could pretend like your family was all that was left, that you all would make it to your aunt and uncle’s vehicle you’d left at airport parking. Maybe drive until you found a place safe enough to sleep. Wake to a world not burnt and bruised on every side.

It was a good dream. A pipe dream, perhaps, but a good one.

Your uncle was the first to move. He wrapped his arms around your aunt and cousins, driving them down a side street a few feet away. Your brother, a slight wild look in his eye, chanced a look around. For a split moment, he looked as if he was going to grab your wrist and keep running, chance a run-in with the military or with a group of people just as scared as the two of you. But he didn’t. He let out a low huff and dragged you toward the same side street.

Your aunt was huddled a few feet away, partially occluded by shadow and rocking one of your cousins in her arms. She was crouched, whispering, or pleading, something in a low voice. It was almost unnerving to watch her come undone.

Your gaze was torn from the sight when your uncle grunted. He was crouched right beside you, tying your other cousin’s shoes. Your cousin’s small hands were splayed across his back as she tried to balance herself.

“Danny boy, you’re with me,” he finally said. He looked over his shoulder and up at your brother. “We’ll run the rest of the way. It’s just a few blocks.”

You furrowed your brow, stepping forward quickly. Danny’s hand was still locked around your arm, but he made no move to stop you nor speak for himself. “Wait, what?”

Your uncle turned his attention back to the small white strings in his hands, his fingers fumbling awkwardly with the small shoelaces. “I know we said we’d get the car checked, but it should run just fine. We’ll come back for them in five minutes, tops.” His head was nodding before he even finished his sentence. “Yeah, yeah. Five minutes. Tops.”

“You can’t be serious.” Since he made no effort to acknowledge you, or to look at either of you again, you turned to your brother. “Is he serious?”

Danny was chewing on his bottom lip then, staring down at your uncle with eyes that did not seem in the least bit alarmed. “You sure about the car?”

“Positive.”

“It’ll run?”

“Should.”

At that point, your chest started to heave. Slightly, but heave all the same. A thickness suddenly but slowly started to coat your throat, like someone had lodged a softball right between your esophagus and windpipe.

Danny might’ve been calling your name, but, if he was, you couldn’t hear him. In seconds, he was dragging you backwards until you were pressed into the wall of the closest building. It was some worn-down bar. Your shoulders dug into the brick. “You have to stay here. Okay? With Aunt Lorraine and the twins.”

And that did it – that truly jolted you. “No,” you protested, hands coming up to grip your brother’s forearms. Now it was your turn to dig your fingers into his flesh. Anything to keep him there and grounded, right beside you, where he belonged. “You can’t just leave me.”

“I have to. We can get the car. Skirt downtown and be on our way to Indiana.”

“What about the military?”

“We can get away from them.”

“How?”

“We can.”

“It’s the military,” you deadpanned.

For a moment, you could almost make out a brief glint of humor in his eyes. The side of his mouth perked up, threatening a smirk that always drove you crazy whenever he found hilarity in situations not in the least bit hilarious. But right now, in this moment, it lifted whatever burden was trying to settle like a rock in your chest. Your brother was still your brother. And, to you, he’d never leave you.

“We just can, alright?” He reasoned. “We have to.”

“Well, what happens when we get to Indiana? What if we can’t find a place to stay?”

“You let me worry about that.”

“But, that’s the problem, Danny. You don’t worry about these things.”

You finally broke eye contact then. Pools of tears were beginning to form, blurring your vision and making everything around you swim.

“Well, that’s why I need you, isn’t it? Gives me an incentive to actually come back for you.”

You scoffed, a slight sniffle leaving you as you did. “As if you’d ever leave me behind.”

“Hey, we need to go, kid,” Your uncle said.

Afar off, he had long since stood and was waiting for your brother at the mouth of the street. When you turned toward him, he looked away, chancing a quick look both ways before exiting the shadows entirely. He loitered there, clearly waiting for Danny to join him.

Your brother had completely ignored him, not taking his eyes off of you for even a second. “Exactly. That’s why you have to trust me when I say I will come back.”

When you returned his gaze, his eyes were as earnest as you had ever seen them. He was telling you the truth and trying his hardest to make sure you believed him before he took off. You did, of course, but something was making every nerve in your body hot and every hair on your head stand. Something wasn’t right.

“I trust your word, Danny, but I have a bad feeling about this.”

“I’ll be fine. We’ll be fine.” 

And something told you he didn’t mean himself and your uncle. 

He urged himself forward, pressing a hard kiss to your forehead. He stayed there for a few seconds, crushing you to his chest, before abruptly letting go. He determinedly strode down the street, meeting your uncle on the sidewalk with a firm nod. 

Before he disappeared, he turned once more to you and added, “I’ll see you again.”

–

Austin, Texas. September 2003.

If Joel could give voice to the crushing weight of a broken heart or the sudden unwillingness to yield to the innate response to keep going, he still wouldn't be able to properly identify it as true sorrow.

He still couldn’t quite pin it – anger, disbelief, pity … guilt. Everything had happened so fast, as they always do. But never to him. Calculations and planning, pure thought – the things he was used to and relied heavily on simply because they worked – were nothing compared to the devastation of unpredictability – of spontaneity, the unexpected. As cruel as fate could be, as cruel as life itself could be, there was very little possibility that it could bring about something like this – to take something so pure, so innocent, as a life. A child’s life.

A life for a life, he determined.

“Swear?” Sara had asked. Long ago now, it felt like. Something about a birthday cake, but the softness in her voice had sent Joel’s heart pumping with love and affection.

“On my life.”

A woman screamed somewhere to his left. His brow twitched, and, for the first time, he became semi-cognizant of his surroundings. A makeshift medical camp was teeming with victims, families, military and doctors alike, swarming and descending around him. White lab coats and camouflage armor were a hazy swirl as frenzied bodies wheeled grocery carts, gurneys, wheelchairs, beds – anything they could find – all through one Austin plaza. 

For one second, one split second, Joel could vividly picture himself and Tommy driving by here on the way to pick up supplies not even two months earlier. He had been laughing, then. Shaking his head at something his brother had said to diffuse his anger for having been late the morning of.

Joel had been clutching a juice box then, too. A ‘good source of vitamin D.’ It felt small and strange in his hand at the time. Foreign. An odd replacement to the coffee usually growing cold in his tired grip. But he had promised her. Even when she threw a smile over her shoulder and clamored out of the truck to bound across her school’s parking lot, he didn’t let the box go until he’d drunk it all. Even when the memory was fading now, lost to a couple of weeks and now permanently overwritten by the last time he’d dropped her off, Joel could still feel the box. 

Small. Strange. Like the last image of her now boring into the backs of his eyelids – curling and uncurling her failing grip in his t-shirt with every gasping breath.

Out of nowhere, a woman screamed again. Not loud enough to startle him from whatever depth he was losing his footing in, but still loud. Loud enough to draw the attention of nearby soldiers, who rapidly trained their weapons toward her. They didn’t shoot. They didn’t stand down either.

The woman was on her knees in the middle of all the chaos. A nurse unknowingly side-stepped a soldier and nearly tripped over the wailing woman. She didn’t notice of course. She just knelt there, rocking and shrieking. It took a moment for Joel to notice the small body she was clutching in her hands. A girl. Straight, dark hair thick and spiraling, down her mother’s lap and nearly sweeping the concrete. Her legs were dangling, bedazzled skechers limp and uncanny. There was a trail of blood leading from a misshapen wound – like indents left from teeth – on the girl’s left calf. 

He looked away.

“Joel.” A voice came. Hardly recognizable. Seconds later, Tommy appeared in front of him, hands gripping his forearms and eyes pleadingly searching Joel’s countenance with growing anxiety.  “Joel, c’mon now. Talk to me, brother. Say something.”

He did say something, though it didn’t quite reach Tommy’s ears. He was muttering, balancing himself on the perch of the old gurney beneath him and rocking himself slightly. 

“On my life,” Joel muttered, continuously, trapped in an earlier memory. An earlier conversation. With the only one who mattered.

“Alright, well,” Tommy started, dropping one hand as he scanned the surrounding area. “We need to get you something to cover that hand.” He turned his attention back to Joel, leaning down and pushing forward to take up Joel’s entire field of vision. “I’ll be back, you hear me? Don’t move.”

He was gone almost as fast as he came. At his words, Joel’s eyes dropped to his hand, the one he’d been unconsciously cradling in his lap. Blood dripped, unceremoniously, down the valley of his palm and onto the cracked pavement under his boots. He vaguely remembered lashing out at some guy before being ushered into the camp. In front of some convenience store. He had landed roughly, shards of glass impaling his skin before Tommy got the chance to haul him up and press him to keep running.

There wasn't a single part of him that felt it, though. The gaping wound – the whole ordeal – seemed like a hallucination, like something plucked from the deepest, most submerged part of his consciousness. Something hardly thinkable. Something vicious and unnerving. Something that simply couldn’t be true.

“Dad … Daddy!”

Joel jolted awake. A stray frosting tip fell from his fingers and rolled across the floor until it hit the edge of Sarah’s heel. His vision swam with exhaustion, drowsy eyes sweeping over the kitchen table. A half frosted cake, a bit lopsided and slightly whiter than the yellow version advertised on the box. A frosting bag filled with purple frosting resting precariously on the edge of the table, inches from his hand now numb from laying on it.

In sudden alarm, he turned back to a curious Sarah. “Baby, I –.” When she met his gaze, he just sighed, dropping his shoulders. “What’re you doing up? It’s late.”

“I saw the light,” she said simply.

She bent down, retrieving the frosting tip before ambling over to his side. He watched her every move, weighing every option that popped into his head about what her expression meant. Child-like innocence. Brief reminders of every year he’d spent enjoying her life right before his eyes.

The small gears were shifting in her head; he could see them from here. She was eyeing the cake, if he could even call the mound of crumbled blocks a cake. Her gaze momentarily slid toward him as she neared him. She stopped at his side, a small hand on his thigh indicating her intent. He pushed his chair back, hands easily guiding her up and onto his lap.

“What’re you doing?” She finally asked.

“Figured I’d try my hand at baking. Construction’s getting slow these days. What’d you think?”

His voice was casual, but he was anything but. He had worried his lip in the aisle of the supermarket just at the thought of buying the wrong cake decorations. The moment of truth had come too soon for him. If he hadn’t been so damn tired, if Tommy had gotten the supplies earlier and hadn’t caused the job to go until ten – 

“It’s pretty.”

Her voice startled him, laced with joy and, what seemed like, pleasant surprise. Her back was leaned against him, and he could just make out her face, angled slightly away from him. She was smiling softly at the poor imitation of whatever he’d bought. The only store left open had been out of cake mix, of course. A woman in the aisle with him explained how easily he could make something close to it with this. Easy for her was hell for Joel, but he couldn’t put a price on Sarah’s smile at that moment.

“Thank you. Tried real hard on it.” He was trying for humor, but he meant every word. His attempts were born from a real place – a place that desperately wanted to see her light up the way she did when he forced himself to sit through her favorite movie, when they decorated the Christmas tree early last year, and when he finally let her drive the truck on Tommy’s lap.

The two looked at the excuse for a cake. It was leaning now. A small portion protruding from where Joel attempted to make a flower out of a mold.

“Is it –,” she paused, cautiously, but hopefully, picking her next words. “Is it for me?”

“‘Course, babygirl. This masterpiece of a cake ain’t for just any eight-year-old.”

“I’m not eight yet,” she reminded him. “Except,” she paused again, frowning. “My birthday’s tomorrow.”

“You always wake up so early. Thought I’d try to surprise you by fixin’ it tonight.”

She stared a bit longer before nodding decisively and throwing an arm around his shoulders. She twisted in his lap, eyes and smile beaming up at him. “I would’ve slept in for you.”

Luck. It had to be luck. Joy, devotion, trust, unquestionable love. A child’s eyes swim with all of the above, and one child in particular, his child, was looking at him with all that and more. Her tightly-wound curls framed her small face and swept her tired eyes, but her expression remained the same. Joel’s heart twisted at the sight.

He cleared his throat, hesitant to speak with the growing lump in his throat. “You would’ve pretendin’ to, anyway.” He rose, maneuvering her until he was carrying her comfortably against his hip. “C’mon, now. It’s late. Gotta get to bed if you want your gifts.”

Abruptly, she pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Thank you, daddy.”

He smiled, part of him worried his eyes were growing wet. “Anything for you, babygirl. Happy birthday.”

Joel was torn from his stupor at the sight in front of him – the sight he’d been staring at while reliving a memory he felt fading almost as fast as he began to remember it. It was a boy, barely old enough to be a teenager. His tear-stained cheeks were nothing compared to the way his eyes rapidly and wildly scanned the area. His gaze hit Joel’s for only a second before he was moving on.

“Dad!” he was shouting. “Dad!”

The boy was turning in circles, looking every which way and shouting into the sea of unknown faces. Every so often he was jostled by complete strangers – unnamed faces covered in weaponry, medication, or grief. One man bumped into him so hard he nearly lost his footing. It didn’t matter. It didn’t stop his shouts or his turns or his wild eyes cutting through the masses of people.

“Dad!” 

“Dad … Dad!”

Joel turned suddenly, new reading glasses perched on the edge of his nose and hands gripping a cup of coffee – fresh seconds. His elbow was propped against the kitchen table he had been occupying for the last hour, mountains of papers and file folders splayed across the tabletop along with a black pen resting atop an unfinished tax document. With Sarah now in sight, his eyes briefly scanned the backyard through the patio-door window, where he’d last seen her playing soccer with Tommy. 

His brother, of course, now leaned against their fence with a shit-eating grin on his face as the woman he was talking to from his neighbor’s yard threw her head back in laughter. 

Of course.

Joel’s eyes turned back to Sarah, breathing in feigned annoyance. “What? Jesus, you keep calling my name like that you’re gonna dad me to death.”

She snorted. “If I wanted that, I’d do it more like this – Dad. Dad. Dad. Dad. Da–.”

“No, now that’s more like it.”

With a shake of her head, and a small smile, she wandered closer to him with a simple, “What’re you doin’?”

“Takin’ a break from you.”

She ignored him, stepping close enough to peer over the table. Normally, Joel would shoo her away with an obvious hint that she shouldn’t concern herself with whatever was his job. He didn’t like her looking or hearing about their situation in any way, good or bad. She was supposed to be thinking about soccer and school and zoos and the fair he and Tommy were taking her to later that week. Not any of this.

After a moment, he finally did; he abruptly moved forward, reaching and shuffling the papers into a messy stack.

“Nothing you have to worry about, honey, it’s –”

“Line eight E is repeated three times.”

He froze. “What?”

“Line eight, letter ‘E.’ It’s repeated three times.” For emphasis, she pointed down at the document closest to her.

Joel picked up the paper, letting the black pen slide off of it and land with a soft thud on the paper beneath it. She was right. There was no denying she was right. “Huh.”

“‘Sometimes it’s good to have a second pair of eyes,’” she quoted him, turning and strolling to the cabinet to retrieve a bag of chips. He’d told her that when he let her replace the axle nuts on her bike tire. She’d sworn the nuts wouldn’t rotate until he came over to help. The sentiment worked then, and it was working now. “You don’t have to do everything by yourself, Dad.”

He gave her a look, brows furrowing, but her back was turned. She busied herself pouring chips into a bowl. He tried for humor again, responding, “I’m never by myself. I got Tommy breathin’ down my neck every day. He’s all the help I need.”

The only indication of her response was a slight shake of her head, curly hair brushing, back and forth, between her shoulder blades. A quiet huff, something close to a laugh, escaped her.

“We’re also out of milk.” She threw a reply over her shoulder casually, very obviously avoiding turning around.

For a long moment, his eyes were still trained on her. It took a mental connection, a moment of realization, for his brows to lift slightly. His gaze slid over to a purple sticky note hanging diagonally on the refrigerator. Her frilly handwriting, turned cursive upon entering middle school, etched out ‘Get milk from the store!’ in large letters.

“That’s what the note on the fridge is for?”

She remained silent but finished making her snack, ambling back to his side and taking a seat in the chair beside him. There was no need for her to respond, but Joel’s nerves went into overdrive at any and all underlying insinuations. Was she worried about something? Worse yet, was she worried about him?

“Where’s all this coming from?” he continued.

She shrugged, not quite meeting his eyes. “You just work so much. More than usual. I just thought – Least I can do is help you some.”

“You really wanna help out around here, maybe you can finally get a job,” he tried, verbally poking fun. “Pick up a few hours.” 

“Oh, ha ha.”

She briefly smiled at him, but the act ended as soon as it began. It was clear something was bothering her. Worry was etched between her brows, and it was then Joel realized that’s how she’d been looking at him all month. Eyes wide and deep with concern; brows furrowed with a tight smile that didn’t seem quite as natural anymore. His heart nearly broke, and he cleared his throat to hide his upset.

“Look, I’m sorry. I know I work a lot, and I’m not … around as much as I used to be. I’ll do better. I will. But there’s nothing you need to be worryin’ about.”

She only nodded before adding a soft, “I know.”

“Good. So you also know I love you, babygirl. Not much I wouldn’t do for ya.”

“I know.”

“That all?”

She rolled her eyes good-naturedly. “I love you too, dad.”

“That all?”

“Well, I wouldn’t wanna ‘dad you to death.’”

“Oh yeah,” he teased, leaning forward to swipe a few chips from her bowl. He flung one towards her, grinning when a laugh erupted that she couldn’t quite contain. Popping the rest of the chips in his mouth, he warned, “Stop playing with your food.”

The sound of laughter, even from a memory, felt jarring, too rich and too pure for the dark scene unfolding around him. He was long-since aware of his eyes growing wet, and, for once, he didn’t care. Couldn’t bring himself to fear or worry about it. He just stared – from the shrieking woman to the shouting boy to the wide, suddenly imposing, city landscape in the distance. It all felt void, lacking meaning in a meaningless world. 

What was to be gained from this? What did any of them gain from anything?

Someone ran by, bumping into Joel’s gurney and swearing a harsh apology in the process. Or maybe just swearing. He couldn’t quite place it, and he didn’t try to. But the action was enough to remind him of his being; his body felt weightless as he drifted from distant memories to distant memories, deliberately failing to grasp one long enough to replace the bitter nightmare threatening to replay itself, over and over again. Maybe if he’d twisted the other way. Or took a chance on running. Or held her a little tighter. Or –

The gurney suddenly felt rough where his hands were gripping the edge, knuckles white and blistering. Now he could sense pain from his open wound. And maybe that was the point. To sense, to feel, something other than what was threatening to send him spiraling. The recent events were still forming pictures in his mind. Consolidation taking its time as depictions kept reordering and restructuring themselves. Building and tearing down again. It was like his brain refused to settle on any one experience.

Because they were all wrong. It was all wrong. It shouldn’t have happened. Not like this.

Emotions had yet to hit him like a brick wall, and, quite frankly, he didn’t want them to. Not now. Not ever. Sensations were returning, sporadically. There was only one he settled on. He vaguely remembered Tommy slipping a handgun into the waistband of his jeans earlier, telling him he might need it before hoisting him to his feet and pushing him to run. To run like his life had depended on it. Even if he was forced to leave his entire life – a child – lying on the cold ground behind him.

That was the sensation he focused on: the hard lick of metal curling its cool touch against his lower back.

-

Chicago, Illinois. September 2003.

Waiting is just as agonizing as not. You still couldn’t quite decide if you wanted time to go faster or to go slower. You were, however, determined to maintain as much control over the situation as possible. If Danny could manage a calm head, so could you, for his sake and in his absence. You made sure your aunt was comfortable, reassuring her with a few pats on the shoulder after she’d sunken to the ground. Your cousins kept near her, staring up at you with pure curiosity.

You wondered if they understood, or just how much they understood. For their sake, you hoped they hadn’t a clue. If their silence was any indication, you were sure they were fine, probably more so worried about their mother’s – your aunt’s – tear-stained cheeks than anything else.

You tried your best not to glance at the street entrance every minute, but your head was on a swivel. Time itself seemed to stand still. How could you not wish you could do the same? Stand still, as if holding your breath might make it easier to hear your brother’s footsteps come back to you. His footsteps – loud, heavy, familiar.

That’s what you were thinking about when your uncle stumbled through the mouth of the side street he’d left you in. A purple bruise was forming on the lower left side of his jaw. A streak of blood ran across the chest of his gray shirt. Most disturbing of all, he was completely and utterly alone.

“We’ve got to go,” he said.

He hurried right by you, taking long strides towards his family. After checking his wife and daughter, he crouched and busied himself zipping his son’s jacket.

“Where’s Danny?” You asked.

The question hung in the air – thick and unanswered. He ignored you. Easily. His eyes remained pinned to his son’s body as his fingers fumbled, first with the jacket and then with the cuff of his son’s jeans. 

“Where is he?” You were still calm, then. With no answer, you pulled back and stepped cautiously toward the end of the street, looking down where he’d come from. When no one else came by, you returned to your place a few feet away from your family. “Where’s Danny?”

All action and thought cease to exist when laughter brings forth pure, adulterated delight. Especially for a six-year-old child. Laughter and millions of innocent giggles bubble over and make it easy for small feet to run freely. Untamed footsteps can easily fall in line with grass and get lost to rows and rows of trees.

Lost. So, so lost.

You stood in the middle of a clearing. At some point, your laugh had burned down to a chuckle, then to silence, when you realized how far you’d made it alone. Your brother had teased you, playfully giving chase about a mile back, and you had wonderfully ran and leapt over branches and small creeks. Even climbed over a small boulder. You only came to a stop when your echoes seemed too quiet for two.

“Danny?” You called to no one in particular. “Where are you?”

It only took a moment for the beautiful chirps and snaps of branches to seem daunting, not tranquil. Terrifying, not serene. The stillness of it all threatened to suffocate you and evoke fear where you didn’t think it previously possible. You wanted to back away, but your foot had already nearly slipped on a slick mud spot.

Your eyes bounced, wildly, from one tree trunk to another. An unfamiliar feeling coiled up your back and settled at the base of your neck. The sun was starting to slink toward the horizon then. Which way had you come from? What would happen if you didn’t make it back home? What if Danny had gotten hurt, and you hadn’t both to hear him or stop for him? Had you left him somewhere?

“Danny!”

There was no answer. Only the distant sound of water trickling over rocks and another quick snap of a tree branch waving in the wind. Hot tears trickled down your face as you dropped down, sitting and pulling your knees under your chin. You were lost, but, above all, you had lost your brother.

“Hey, little sis, look what I found!” You nearly jumped out of your skin, twisting around to see Danny stepping around a bush and joining you in the clearing. He looked up to proudly present you with a small frog, cupped carefully in the palms of his hands. “Wanna name him?”

For a moment, you stayed right where you were. A soft cry escaped your lips, but there was an early sense of relief flooding every part of your small frame. You still hadn’t relaxed your furrowed brows or the frown that wound tightly on your face. Fear had gripped you, and you were beginning to realize it was the hardest thing to shake.

It only took Danny a second to realize you were crying, and only a second longer to bound over to your side and drop to his knees. “Hey, what’s wrong?” He set the frog down on a dry patch of grass before fixing an intense stare on you. “Did you fall? Are you hurt?”

You shook your head, sucking in a breath and releasing a broken sob. “I – I thought you were gone.”

Danny’s shoulders dropped a bit. “I’m sorry for scaring you.” He reached out and set a hand on your shoulder. “I would never leave you, okay?”

You nodded, and he dropped his hand. He let you take a few breaths and calm down a bit before he stood to his feet. 

“I think we should go back now. It’s getting dark.” He stuck out his hand, pulling you to your feet when you slipped your hand into his. “Do you remember our secret handshake?”

“Yes.”

An easy grin graced his features once more. “Good, you can show me when we make it back home.”

He moved to leave, but you pulled him back. Your hand fell from his and pointed down at the frog. “What about the frog?”

“What about him?”

“He doesn’t have a name.” He stood back and looked at you expectantly. “I think we should call him Rex.”

Danny nodded, pretending to be lost in thought for a moment. He tapped his chin with the tip of his finger before smiling down at you. “I like Rex. It’s cool.”

Your smile returned, and you skipped out of the clearing, grabbing Danny’s hand as you went. That’s how it was, and that’s how it should be, when an older brother is so near – when another’s presence soothes the quiet that only loneliness can bring about. Your tears had dried and a glimmer of tranquility returned to the noises in the air and the stillness of the environment. A feeling of safety returned soon after, too, and the discomfort of fear had fallen without your notice.

His word was enough: I would never leave you.

You half expected him to scare you like he had when you were children. To step around the wall and stumble towards you, completely oblivious to your worries and concerns about his whereabouts. You would berate him, maybe smack his arm or chest for sending your nerves into overdrive, but you would most likely pull him into a hug and look him over for any bruises. You kept glancing in the direction of the street, waiting for an arrival that would never come.

“Where’s Danny?”

“Honey,” your aunt tried, giving your uncle a sincere look that read: Please answer your niece.

He ignored her too, setting his hands firmly on his son’s shoulders and giving him a nod. He looked at his son intently, probably trying to reassure him with just one look. With the state the world was currently in, words were starting to fail. All anyone could do was offer some sense of familiarity in gestures and in looks.

But that wasn’t enough for you. It never would be.

In desperation, you moved to grab at your uncle’s shirt. “Where is he? Where’s D–.”

Your uncle stood abruptly, whipping around to face you. You were nearly chest to chest as he leered down at you. “He’s not coming back.”

Your response was immediate, taking a step back as if someone had punched you squarely in the chest. “Wha– What?”

A long, silent moment went by. You could just make out the screaming crowd now nothing but a soft, inaudible sound to your ears. Your uncle dropped his gaze. He looked almost guilty for not being able to offer you the reprieve you were obviously searching for – the answer he just couldn’t give you.

“He’s not coming back, kid,” he said, softer this time. “I– I’m sorry.”

He turned, picking up his son and grabbing his wife’s arm to hoist her up with him. Your aunt held her daughter close to her chest, unable to meet your eyes. There was another moment of silence between you all. They stood there, uncertain. Your uncle refused to meet your eyes for longer than a second, flitting his gaze from you to the street behind you. It was the sound of another military vehicle that finally made him straighten his posture and look you in the eye.

“You need to get out of here. It’s not safe out in the open.”

He turned to jog further down the street, in the opposite direction of where you’d all entered originally. That’s when your aunt offered you a sincere look. “Come with us.”

You made no effort to move. Your feet were cemented to the soiled street; Your eyes still glued to your uncle’s distressed countenance. His words were the only thing you heard: He’s not coming back.

“C’mon, Lorraine. We need to go.”

“We can’t just leave her here, David.”

The military truck came louder now just as the backdoor to the bar slammed open. A man stumbled through the door and landed in a heap of tangled limbs on the ground. A low growl escaped him as his hands fisted the concrete, and he doubled over, twice, in obvious pain. His brown hair was awry, fingers caked in something you couldn’t quite place. The back of his shirt was ripped in various places, and his veiny flesh was exposed; skin long since too inhumane to not deserve the look you gave him. Your eyes blown wide and jaw slack.

The man’s head snapped up, wild eyes looking directly at your aunt.

“C’mon, Lorraine!” Your uncle shouted louder, backing away and pulling his son tighter to his chest. “We gotta go now!”

Your aunt stayed there, frozen in fear. You took a step back, foot catching in a small puddle and sending the man’s horrid attention barreling toward you. The break in harsh scrutiny was all your aunt needed. She took that moment to hug her daughter close and sprint after your uncle. Their retreating footsteps hit like lead to your chest, every step sending you reeling backward as your chest heaved with something closer to alarm than fear.

The man shrieked, scrambling to his feet and running toward you. For a moment, your eyes slid to your aunt and uncle’s distant figures just over his shoulder. A part of you half-expected them to chance a look back, to answer their curiosity about you and your wellbeing. But they didn’t. They didn’t spare a single look, even when they turned sharply and disappeared around a corner.

A deep pain began to throb, harsher now, from the spot Danny had been gripping your arm. The man was within arms length now, hand reaching out to grab that same arm – the arm Danny had held protectively in place.

Your body reacted quicker than you did. You weren’t sure you would’ve reacted at all, if not for the slightest inkling, the slightest hope, that Danny was still out there, somewhere close. Who would come for him if you didn’t?

With a surprised yelp, you turned on your heels and sprinted toward the street entrance – toward the street Danny disappeared down not even thirty minutes before. Gnashing teeth and a horrible stench followed you closely, squirming and throwing itself at you like an animal. You had made it only a few feet in the street before the man tackled you to the ground. Pain erupted from your knees and elbows as you fell with a sharp cry.

A hand pulled your hair, clothes, arms, just about everything fingers could find purchase. You twisted sharply, coming face to face with the man. His teeth came dangerously close to your face and, on instinct, you brought your forearm up to his neck, pushing him away with as much strength as you could muster. You gritted your teeth, but a scream soon ripped from your throat as his upper body pushed further and further down on you. Closer and closer until – 

A shot rang out, and the man’s body went limp.

–

Austin, Texas. September 2003.

The finality of acceptance had still escaped Joel. Maybe that’s why it was so easy for him to take anything in that moment as truth, no matter how outlandish it might have been.

Two white coats rushed by, stopping mere feet away. Even among the chaos, their conversation was easy enough to overhear.

“I have a dad asking after his kid.”

“Everyone’s asking after someone.”

“Yeah, but she was here when they arrived. Apparently lost her in all the confusion.”

“Take him to triage. A lot of missing kids there. We just revived one.”

Joel looked up at the new truth being presented to him – a truth that was far easier to accept than the one bombarding his current experience. His feet were carrying him away from his spot of refuge before he could even think. In fact, he wasn’t thinking. He was scanning for her. Curly hair. Eyes looking for him as much as his eyes were looking for her. 

We just revived one.

If there was a possibility she was here, he was willing to take it. He had already accepted that possibility as fact without his own notice. His heart was elated and his chest was rising just at the thought. It was easier, fairer. And in no way was he preparing, or thinking to prepare, for the inevitable crash that always took place when attempting to deny reality.

“By nine, Dad.” Sarah hopped out of the truck, slamming the door behind her. She went to Tommy’s side, hand clamping down on the opened window and eyes boring into her Dad from where he sat in the passenger seat. “You said nine.”

“I know, I know.”

She opened her mouth to add something, but the bell cut her off. She huffed in resignation before pointing at the two of them, each in turn. With a growing smile, she waved and ran towards her school, throwing a quick “Don’t forget the cake!” over her shoulder.

Just as Tommy pulled out of the lot, his eyes slid over to his brother, and his face twisted into a wide grin he couldn’t hide even if he tried. “Jesus, that kid loves you to death.”

At that, Joel couldn’t hide his own smile, even if the weight of Tommy’s words felt heavy on his shoulders. “Yeah, I know.”

A content quiet fell between the two as Tommy maneuvered out of the school lot. Once he was back on the road, his eyes drifted toward his brother a few times before he shook his head. He always did that when something was on his mind but didn’t know quite how to approach it. Especially when it was Joel he was trying to approach.

“I tell you what, Joel. You gotta cut back.”

Joel was no stranger to the topic Tommy was attempting to bring up. He knew he was working like a madman again, picking up projects and stumbling into the house late at night often long after Sarah had put herself to bed.

Still. He acted oblivious. “What do you mean?”

“Sarah, man. You gotta cut back. Spend more time with her. I know you mean well. You want to provide for her, protect her. I respect that, Joel. Hell, everybody sees and respects that. But she’s still young. Still needs you. It won’t be like that always. She’s got a bright future ahead of her. Nothing’s going to take that from her. From you. Nothing’s going to change that. You don’t have to work so damn hard just to keep it that way.”

Joel didn’t say anything, but he offered his brother a brief nod when he glanced in his direction. They both knew he was right.

“Besides,” Tommy continued with a teasing grin, “you need to get a hold on her before she gets too much older. If she’s anything like we were, they’ll be hell to pay.”

Joel grunted. “Nu uh, my Sarah’s too smart. I ain’t worried ‘bout nothing.”

“You say that now.”

“And I’ll say it then.” Joel nodded decisively. “It’s like you said, she’s got a bright future ahead of her.”

“I know, brother, I know. All I’m saying is that you should make the most of it now. These years will be gone before you know it.” Tommy turned to look at him, more intensely this time. “She’ll be gone before you know it.”

The children were many, but the number that resembled her were few. The child they had revived was a boy no older than four and had been revived for reasons unbeknownst to Joel. The inevitable crash of secret humiliation and embarrassment at his own deception led him to a corner, away from the frenzy and uproar in the camp. Two soldiers stood, with their backs toward him and weapons drawn, with their heads on a swivel. But they paid no attention to Joel. Even with the cool metal resting in his hands, safety off and finger poised at the ready. They still paid him no mind. He might as well have been a dead man.

Should’ve been, anyway.

On my life. Not yours, babygirl.

With that thought, he was ready for anything that might come after. Truth be told, he was more than ready. He wanted to pull the trigger, so he did.

But he flinched. Even before the bullet had left its chamber, a part of him was wholly certain that any shot or amount of lead was not meant for him. It was a destiny he was never meant to share, no matter how much he wanted to.

–

Chicago, Illinois. September 2003.

Four pairs of hands were on you and hauling you to your feet before you could reassess your situation any further. The body slid off of you as you were pulled to your feet; its weight made a sickening noise as it thumped to the pavement at your feet. You were being dragged to an armored truck filled with people – men, women, children. Greedily, you scanned the faces for the only one that mattered. Maybe they’d got him. Maybe they’d saved him, too.

There were a lot of people, but none resembled Danny.

Finally, something broke – anger, bitterness, nauseous … mostly anger. You dug your heels into the pavement, nearly sending one soldier tripping over his feet at your sudden protest. You took the moment of surprise as an opportunity to rip your arm free from his grasp, shoving him away and clawing at the hand still clamped firmly around your other arm. You tried desperately to free yourself, scratching and pulling like your life depended on it. Like Danny’s life depended on it.

“No!” You shouted. “No! Get off me!”

Your doorknob rattled before your brother let himself in, closing the door softly behind him as if he hadn’t already made a world of noise just by entering.

“Jesus,” you started, sitting up in bed, “don’t you know the first thing about knocking?”

“I’ll knock when you stop stealing my sweatshirts from my room.”

Childishly, you stuck out your tongue and crossed your arms. “Fair.”

Without missing a beat, he took three long strides toward your window and looked out, smiling down at something. Undoubtedly his friend’s car, waiting for him in the driveway. “I’m heading out.”

“When are you not?”

“Just open the window for me when I get back, alright?” You got up to join him by the window as he opened it. “I won’t be too late this time.”

“I’m starting to think you like asking for trouble.”

He turned to smile at you – soft, mischievous, winning. Your brother could just as easily ask to leave the house, but he preferred sneaking out. He was defiant just to be defiant, doing so in a way that still made him agreeable and likable. Roping you into his mischief was like a sibling rite of passage, as he put it.

Despite yourself, you smiled back before watching him clamor out of your window. He crouched on the roof, turning to flash you one last smile. “Don’t forget my knock.”

“Three knocks.”

“Always three so you know it's me.” He winked.

“You say that like anyone else would be knocking on my window at one in the morning.”

“You’re right. Because you’re lame.”

“Go before I push you off the roof.”

He grinned widely before turning and inching his way toward the edge. He immediately stopped when you called his name.

“Danny,” you said softly. He looked over his shoulder. “If anything ever happens, don’t be afraid to call the house. I’ll come get you myself if I have to.”

“What could possibly go wrong?”

“I’m serious, Danny.”

“Relax. I know my fearsome sister will always come to my rescue.” He gave a mock salute before jumping down to the lawn. He ran toward the idle car before turning back toward you, cupping his hands around his mouth and shouting, “Three knocks!”

When the soldier had recomposed himself, he walked back toward you and yanked your arm, much harder this time. Your outburst drew the attention of the others on the vehicle. A mom pulled her child closer to her, but you didn’t care. All you cared about was still out there, missing, and not a single person seemed to give a damn.

“Get off me!” You screamed again, voice breaking as a tear slipped down your cheek. In frustration, you sent a swift kick that the soldier sidestepped easily. “Get off me!”

One soldier finally let you go as the other wrapped his arms around you, pulling you off your feet and carrying you the rest of the way to the awaiting vehicle. Your struggle was rendered useless as he carried you with ease, tossing you onto the truck like you meant nothing. You probably didn’t, not to him and not to anyone. But you knew you meant something to Danny, and you weren’t going to go down without him. Not without a fight.

You pushed off the bed of the truck, attempting to scramble off of it and back onto the street. “Danny!” You shouted, pushing a stranger out of your way and making a quick jump for it. “Danny!”

You were sure you were still calling his name, even when the butt of a gun connected with the side of your forehead.

–

Austin, Texas. September 2003.

The sound of a weapon firing draws a lot of attention. Namely from uniformed soldiers who were to make sure all civilians had been thoroughly searched and weapons properly confiscated before entering the medical camp.  The mistake was sure to cause one of them trouble, which is probably why they tackled Joel with such ferocity. He was on the ground and surrounded by military and medical personnel before he could blink.

Tommy was shouting his name again, parting the crowd roughly as he clawed his way to his brother. White bandages gripped in his hand. He was searching for him, relentlessly, before catching sight of the commotion. All the while, Joel was calm. The realization hadn’t dawned on him yet; the adrenaline of the deed he was trying to commit had not yet worn off. He was delusional with the loss of will – his volition having been stripped from him through no effort of his or anyone else’s. 

For a second, he let himself believe he was dead. Like some instinctual force hadn’t just caused him to flinch.

Someone hoisted him to his feet; all while someone, most likely Tommy, was shouting, “Don’t shoot him! Don’t shoot him!”

A doctor stepped forward. She flashed a light in his eyes. “Sir. Sir? Can you hear me?”

A trickle of blood slid past his peripheral. It dawned on him that the commotion around him was real – it was happening – and his unfocused eyes finally snapped toward the soldier gripping his arm. His unfeeling expression hidden under his helmet felt familiar. Too familiar.

“Joel,” Tommy warned. He knew his brother well enough to predict his intent. He stepped forward, cautiously, trying but failing to shoo the soldiers and doctors back. He momentarily looked between the wound on Joel’s head and the discarded gun on the ground. He hesitated, partially, but hesitated all the same. “He ain’t sick or nothing.” Tommy turned from the doctors back to Joel. “Joel, listen to me, brother. Let’s get you patched up, alright? Let’s ge–.”

Joel was swinging before he knew what he was doing. He lunged, kicked, and swung wildly, nearly ripping himself from the awkward grip now three soldiers had him in. They were strong; non compliant. They wrestled with him for a moment before another doctor ushered him away.

“Here,” the doctor was saying, “bring him over here.”

 “Careful, I said he ain’t sick,” Tommy butt in, grimacing at the hold they had on his brother. “Joel, calm down. Everything’ll be okay, Joel. Just — Just calm down.”

The soldiers were dragging him to a nearby gurney. A few medical personnel were preparing a syringe somewhere off to his right. He sure as hell wasn’t going down without a fight, and every single thing he was doing was an indication of that. Somewhere, deep down, he could hear his brother. Calling for him to stop. Calling for him to settle down before they did something to him. But he couldn’t bring himself to care.

Maybe they should do something to him. Put him out of his misery. Or subject him to the same fate they subjected her to. It was a cruel thought that they’d spare him – that they’d do everything in their power not to hurt him in the way they hurt her.

They were wrestling him onto his back when his mouth finally caught up to his actions.

“My daughter!” He shouted. “My daughter. You took her.” He leered in the face of the nearest soldier, tears glistening in his eyes. “You took her.”

A needle was being pressed into his skin when a third voice spoke to him, calmly. Another doctor. “Don’t worry, sir. We’ll find her. I’m sure, wherever she is, she’ll be alright, if she’s not already.”

His next protests were weak as his body suddenly relaxed. His eyes fluttered just as Tommy came into view at his side. Tommy just stared at him. Horrified. Guilty. Sad. They both looked at each other, eyes mirroring one another and telling stories neither one of them were ready to say aloud.

–

2023.

The consequence of grief and sudden loss might be unique to the individual, but it is imminent for all individuals. No one can measure the actions or reactions of another. Neither can blame be given or taken away. The repercussions of any event are often cyclical, far outweighing descriptions or explanations. In any one situation, one might fall and another might rise. Or perhaps one and another might both fall. 

With loss, it’s typically the latter.

Joel’s gruff appearance was unmistakable to the people in the Boston QZ. Unsurprising. Like the rumor that swirled around about him after the day’s shifts ended and the people could return to their nightly rituals of whatever placated their poor souls — beer, pills, sex. The former two either stolen or traded for rations.

The rumor didn’t spread far — not past a block, maybe a sector at most. It was a cautious one. A woman told of her inability to toss a child’s body to the flames during her shift. An unforgiving job. A thankless act of service to the QZ that meant discarding the ones killed at the hands of those in authority — by Fedra. Infected. Suspected. Guilty (or not). Didn’t matter. Her story was one that stoked plenty of bitter, angry people who already hated the QZ for their wrongs and misdoings.

But it was Joel who stoked their feelings too — feelings of fear and avoidance. Wordlessly, he had tossed the lifeless child into the awaiting flames with as much absence of emotion as he always displayed. Unfeeling. Unapproachable. Never spoke a word but was somehow enough all on his own – enough to cause others to steer clear, to look away whenever he came around. 

The only one that could tolerate him, that could placate him, was Tess. Something she could use to her advantage and soak in the pleasure of.

Nearly a thousand miles away, you were pacing wordlessly outside a freezer in the back of a restaurant in downtown Chicago. A bitter cry had long-since been muted by the sounds of grunts and a flurry of punches before a familiar face stepped out. He didn’t say anything, even when he walked right by you and wiped his hands on a dirty rag.

You did as you always did — followed at his heels. “I don’t trust this guy, Dallas. He’s lying.”

“You never trust anyone.” His face was serious, but his voice carried humor. You rolled your eyes.

“And for good reason. He’s been lying since I found him by the old medical camp near Lincoln Park.”

“You don’t think I know that?”

He turned to look at you, eyes boring into yours for a few seconds. You were dropping your gaze before the intensity of it all could get too thick. For a moment, your attention bounced around the small kitchen. Your ears caught the quiet voices of your group outside — a good mix of men and women. 

Dallas turned fully, tossing the rag on the floor and standing in front of you with arms crossed over his chest. “What were you doing near the old med bay?”

“I told you.” Your voice had a dangerous edge to it. You shifted your weight to your other foot and finally met his gaze again. “I ran an errand.”

Unconvinced, Dallas nodded. “You were looking for him again, weren’t you?”

He commanded and barked orders well. You usually followed them — usually. But even he wasn’t stupid enough to mention his name aloud to you. Your sibling’s name was never spoken again after you revealed to Dallas that dark night twenty years earlier. But Dallas knew this was about him. He could tell in the way a muscle in your jaw jumped, and you looked away briefly. 

He chuckled. Dark. Low. “Look, I get it. You haven’t been back here in years, and I figured the thought of finding him’s been tempting you since Arizona. But you keep putting the group at risk, and I’ll have to abandon you.”

You snorted. “As if you’d leave me behind.”

“Watch me.” 

He was grinning, a certain humor in his tone that wasn’t in the least bit light or airy. There was nothing indicating that he wasn’t as serious as his darkened eyes meant to be. Something twisted in your stomach, heart plummeting, as your smile dropped at the thought. Only a moment went by before you forced the feeling away, choking the thick emotions down until the only thing you could feel was cold metal being pushed into your hand.

“If you don’t trust him,” Dallas muttered, stepping closer to you as he pressed the gun into your limp palm a bit firmer, “then end it.”

You swallowed quietly, taking the weapon and testing its weight without once looking up at him. You could feel him hovering over you. His heat dripped off of him and pooled at your feet. Deep. Menacing. Unforgiving. His request wasn’t the first time, and you were sure it wouldn’t be the last. But this time, this one time, some part of you felt off. Something tugged at your lips until you unknowingly frowned down at the tigger your finger hovered over. 

Maybe it was the mention of him. Maybe your emotions were too high and your willingness finally waning. Maybe it was the sister waiting back at the old medical camp, looking for the brother you helped kidnapped and now held hostage in some worn-down freezer. 

“Is this really necessary?” You asked. “If he’s really lying, we can still use him.”

“And have them get to him? He’s a damn liar, sure, but he’s a traitor first. He knows what we did.”

“Yeah, but he did the same to them.” You finally looked back up at him, gun held loosely at your side. “For us. Remember? What else did we expect? For him not to turn on us, too?”

Dallas was quiet for a moment, a long moment. But the way he was peering down at you, with hooded eyes and clenched teeth, didn’t change for a second. “I’ve never stopped to question you. We are the only two here. I never left you.”

You knew what he was referencing. Suddenly the group just beyond the thin white door separating the kitchen from the dining area seemed too close, too imposing. Every person in your group was a new face. Their voices were still unfamiliar and discomforting to hear. Your old companions were either dead or dying, snitching to Fedra for brownie points or taking their chances on their own, and Dallas was all you had left...

 He measured the look on your face before leaning in further, adding, “Now’s your chance to prove your loyalty to me.”

Your eyes snapped up at him, mouth now partially agape. Everything you had done leading up to this point had been erased by that measly sentence. Your actions, however gruff and unforgiving, were whittled to nothing before your eyes, and you were made out to be a fraud. Weak. Someone incapable of returning the favor of protection or dishing it out in the first place. The thought made you sick.

With a low huff, you spun on your heels and walked determinedly back to the freezer. You threw open the door to find your old partner, Brett, tied haphazardly to a chair surrounded by two of your guys. At the sight of you, his eyes were blown wide and head shook furiously from side to side. He was shouting something: No. No. No— please, no. But you were already gone, doomed to proving what you had already proved time and time again.

It only took one steady aim before you pulled the trigger.

Your men stood, jaw slack, as Brett’s body fell with a sickening thump. Your knees suddenly felt wobbly as adrenaline seeped from your body in waves, nearly doubling over as a pain hit your chest. You sniffed, waving the barrel of the gun between the two men before pointing it in Brett’s direction.

“Clean this up.”

Perhaps — for you and for Joel and for anyone else — the mind and body’s first instinct is denial. Perhaps sorrow cannot be given a true voice. Perhaps acceptance is far more brutal than the precious time one can spare living a half truth. Whatever the reason, manifestations of pain and suffering matter little when grief goes unnoticed and the heart unattended.

[affiesque]

As promised, here’s the second half of my random thoughts and observations about Desire Catcher now that I’ve finished my latest rewatch (links aren’t working for me right now, but if you want to read the first half just click on one of the tags on this post and it should come up easily). The entire series is 24 episodes, most of which are somewhere between 35 and 45 minutes long - so, depending on what types of shows you usually watch, it might be a bit of a commitment. But I definitely think it’s worth it.

OK, time to brace yourself, as there’s a lot going on in this second part…

At the halfway mark the relationship between Luo Fei and Lu Fengping is starting to fray (oh look, it's my good friend angst again) - essentially, Lu Fengping is frustrated that his mom’s murder remains unsolved and Luo Fei hasn’t given him much in the way of clues like he was supposed to. Lu Fengping ends up working with the main villain (Bai Ya Xing), who is behind all of the crimes/murders that have been happening, to find his mom’s killer and get revenge. (I won’t spoil the details, but I will say that this particular storyline could probably have used some fleshing out, as the details and motivations don’t quite come together in the end. As I’ve noted before, the real draw with Desire Catcher is the relationships, so you can kind of wave those plot holes away - unless that sort of thing really bothers you, which I totally get.)

There’s a bit of a cat-and-mouse game going on throughout the middle episodes, with Lu Fengping getting more cagey and Luo Fei chasing after him a bit, attempting to figure out what he’s hiding. You get Luo Fei trying to casually inquire with multiple people as to Lu Fengping’s whereabouts when he’s gone for no more than a couple of hours at a time (we get it bro, you’re obsessed), not to mention lurking in the shadows near his apartment at night (yikes, dude). During this period there are definitely times when Lu Fengping looks almost guilty for pulling away and for what he’s planning to do, like he wants to confide in Luo Fei but he can’t - there’s a particular wistfulness to his expressions that’s so on point and gets me every time.

One nice little touch throughout is the many dinner dates the two leads go on - granted, one ends with Luo Fei leaving before they even eat anything, and another has him answering Lu Fengping’s question “Does everyone look like a suspect to you?” with “Yes - you look like one too,” so not exactly the most romantic situations (social skills are not Luo Fei’s strong point). But I am a sucker for those little intimate moments - misty evenings with blurry streetlights, tables piled high with steaming dishes and clinking glasses, the muted conversations of the people around them - and of course the sharing food = love symbolism.

Speaking of tropes, if you’re a fan of jealousy, then DC has got you covered. Again, no big plot spoilers here but Luo Fei finds out Lu Fengping has brought a girl home one night - not for the reason he (or anyone else) thinks, but you can tell he’s in his feelings about it (and Lu Fengping, I love you, but maybe in the future do not kidnap a stranger - even if you had your reasons and you were sort of helping her in the moment). He ends up getting arrested (twice!) for the abduction and when Luo Fei fails to help him, their “big breakup” begins in earnest - Lu Fengping saying “I shouldn’t have counted on you right from the start” got me right in the heart, ngl.

*Books as symbolism alert* - we get just one shot of some books strewn around Lu Fengping’s apartment in the second half, but I did find it interesting that the subtitles call out two of them specifically, which feels important. Those are “The Sea, The Sea” by Iris Murdoch and “It Takes More Than A Carrot And A Stick” by Wess Roberts. The former is about love and loss and romantic ideals by an author known for writing about morality and the power of the unconscious - things that seem relevant to a hypnotist, I would think. The latter actually made me laugh audibly when I noticed the subtitle: “Practical Ways Of Getting Along With People You Can’t Avoid At Work.” Sounds about right for them.

Here’s another alert - BIG GIANT SPOILERS AHEAD!! Click below with caution…

OK, so the big event of the second half is Lu Fengping faking his death(!!) in order to give him the time and space away from Luo Fei/the police to move ahead with his revenge plan. Long story short, Luo Fei thinks Lu Fengping has blown himself up, goes through the five stages of grief, figures out he’s still alive and somehow manages to be like, “Hey, thought you were dead but no biggie - let’s not even hug it out and instead just go right back to teasing each other and solving crimes - it’s all good.” Honestly, I’m glossing over a lot here - how absolutely devastated Luo Fei (and everyone else, for that matter) is when he thinks Lu Fengping is dead, how they finally yell a bit about their feelings and come clean about certain things when they reunite, how the OST rips your heart out again and again in these moments (“Did we meet just to be torn apart?” - I mean, come on), how relieved Lu Fengping looks when he realizes that Luo Fei doesn’t hate him for what he did, how Luo Fei suddenly can’t stop smiling (you’ve come a long way, baby). I think these are probably some of the strongest scenes in the entire show, but I must admit that the way they don’t truly address the fallout of something this intense still bugs me (stay tuned for a fic I’m writing on that very topic, in case that sort of thing interests you - and @thinkonce-acttwice, I ✨promise✨ I’m actually working on it!).

I know I haven’t mentioned Liang Yin in this second-half review yet - what happened/happens to her still plays a major role in the story of Lu Fengping’s mom’s death. I won’t give the details here, but do note that there are some flashback scenes of her getting attacked that might be rough for some viewers - so please keep that in mind. However, aside from a couple of moments where the men in her life feel the need to protect/shelter her despite her being quite capable of handling things herself, I will say that the story gives her back some agency, and it does feel as if by the end she’s come to terms with her past and is in a good place overall. And the relationship between her, Luo Fei, and Lu Fengping gets a really nice resolution - a sort of found family thing that brings them all together.

There’s lots of plot movement as we work our way through the final episodes - the big bad villain is vilaining, there’s an evil nurse who’s in on the shenanigans, poor Professor Ling (Lu Fengping’s mentor and fellow hypnotist) gets accused of being a fraud and ends up in the hospital, Lu Fengping almost stabs himself in the heart while hypnotized by Bai Ya Xing (though of course Luo Fei shows up in the nick of time to save him - I swear, despite knowing that this is just a “bromance” show, every time I watch that scene there’s one split second where it seems like they’re about to lean in and kiss - oof), poor Liang Yin gets kidnapped by the big bad villain (unfortunately, more “man pain”). I tell you, this show is a roller coaster ride every freaking episode.

I won’t spoil the final ending too much, but rest assured Liang Yin is fine. Stuff happens, Lu Fengping ends up in prison - though he sort of puts himself there on purpose, sacrificing himself for Luo Fei, even if he doesn’t come out and say that’s what he’s doing. And he basically gets a form of justice for his mom’s death. The very last bit sees him return from prison on parole - he reunites with the police team and Luo Fei in a slightly cheesy but rather touching moment, though, again, even just a quick hug would’ve been nice…

Bottom line, I love all of them, your honor, and will probably never be over this show - there’s so much to unpack in terms of the role of fate in our lives, how broken people can find something in each other to live for, how to forgive others and, importantly, yourself.

OK, again, this one got away from me, and I know I’m probably forgetting like a million little things, but hopefully I’ve managed to entertain at least one other person with my ramblings. And if anything here has sounded intriguing, please check this little show out so it gets the love it deserves! 🖤

[chiefbeifongcanrailme]

Curious your thoughts on Linzin post-canon (show, not comics)? Would they ever get back together, or have angsty we can’t be together sex? Who is pining for who? Why or why not?

Well, I do have a lot of thoughts on post-canon Linzin. It's gotta be my favorite kind of Linzin ngl. I think I've said this before where I don't quite like the idea of them getting back together without any proper redemption or catharsis, you know? I will die on the Lin-deserves-better- hill and even if that means she reunites with Tenzin or finds love elsewhere, I'll take that.

This may be a little long, so brace yourself.

In terms of the angsty "we can't be together sex", I'd see that happening very early on. Pretty much breakup sex in that very moment and nothing more. With the way Lin has the tendency of being, raging before anything else, she wouldn't be someone who'll let sex manipulate her as good as it may be. She also holds her moral standards quite highly, so I don't particularly see her having "we can't be together sex" with Tenzin anything later than when they're breaking up. She'd never be one to cheat, or even facilitate cheating, even if she was/wasn't cheated on. Tenzin, on the other hand, would have sex with Lin given the opportunity, but he'd be super guilt-ridden through it and either want to turn it into an extramarital affair (our man loves committing to the deed) or do it over and over with the promise of it being the "last time". I don't think Lin deserves that though, and like I said, with her characterization, I see it nearly impossible for her to allow herself to be seduced by Tenzin again. Although, everyone makes mistakes and has moments of weaknesses. Make of that what you will😌.

When it comes to pining, that's a simple answer. Lin doesn't pine. She rolls her eyes, walks away, and stays mad with a fat grudge. Tenzin, however, definitely pines for Lin. It's so blatant in the way he looks at her. Plus, Lin took the hard route of grieving their relationship, moving on, and building walls around herself. She processed their breakup, albeit not in a healthy fashion. Tenzin jumped straight to Pema. He didn't take the time to heal or learn or grow. He just went on to the next available thing. He'd hide from his feelings while Lin would spar with those same feelings. Pacifist versus head-on, right?

Would they get back together? That's a toughie. When I watched the show for the first time, I really thought the side story was going to be a Linzin reunion, thereby normalizing divorce lol. I also thought that not having Lin be Tenzin's wife, his kids' mother and the Chief of Police was such a wasted opportunity to display how women are multifaceted and can do literally anything they want to. Given that, and everything that conspired through the four books of the show, I'd say maybe. They certainly love each other, platonically and maybe even a little more- and that's canon. But, would Tenzin throw away his picture-perfect life for Lin? Would Lin want to return her heart to the same person who broke it? The answer's yes. Because of love. But there's more: How much have they changed as people? How much around them has changed? Is it worth discarding what they now have for something they once had? Have they grown? Couldn't the memories be enough? Can they deal with each other's flaws again? Can she trust him again? There's more baggage, kids, exes, and whatnot. What would people say? I can see them doing this only if they had some kind of assurance and validation from the other. And that would require communication. But Lin is emotionally constipated and loves bottling up her feelings, and Tenzin is too much of a pusillanimous man, buckling under the pressure of anything under the sun, even a damn feather. It'd be difficult to get them back together, but not impossible. And that's what good writing is for.

I think this should answer all your questions, anon. I'm sorry, I have no work-life balance, and getting on Tumblr to answer asks has become a faraway dream for me. But this year, I'm going to try and have a better hold on life and dedicate more time to the things I enjoy.

Thank you so much for the ask! I enjoyed answering it. Now, good luck reading my mini Linzin thesis.

[theshippingcorner]

do you like stranger things? if so could I have a Nancy x any pronoun reader, maybe something pre season 4?

Took me way too long to remember season 3 was Starcourt Mall ngl but absolutely, can do! Can't promise it'll be as lovey as some of my other ones but I hope it's just as satisfying!

For a while you couldn't even get close to Nancy, just having to admire her from far away...after all she was rich, pretty, and popular so everyone wanted to be her friend just to look good in front of their peers. That wasn't really you though, you had seen the way she actually talked to people she liked, especially after the popular kids left her behind...and she was so sweet, and funny, and just so bright!

So eventually despite the fact you were only half sure she was dating Johnathan, and you'd never actually spoken to her before, you approached her during school with a nervous smile.

"Uh, hi, Nancy right~?"

She was surprised to hear her name, but gave a friendly smile and nodded as she turned properly to Face you!

"Yep, that's me, need something~?"

You hesitated, you were honestly nervous but tried your absolute best to not let it show.

"Oh, well uh...I'm [Y/N]! We have a class or two together and I just think that you seem like a really nice person and I maybe wanted to see if you'd like to go to a movie with me..?"

You braced yourself for the worst, honestly you didn't expect to see the smile on her face as she laughed just a little bit softly...

"Oh! If I can find the time to sure, why not~?"

It would be a nice break from the usual pace in her life with babysitting the kids and everything!

"If you have a phone number I can call you when I know I have time~?"

You nearly dropped your bag with how quick you nodded and rummaged through it to get a pen and paper to write it down for her, making sure it was readable as you signed your name on it and handed it to her with the biggest smile.

"There you go! I'll try to answer before my mom can if you do call~"

You were so embarrassed but she just laughed again and nodded, taking the paper and tucking it into her bag.

"Right, and if she does answer I promise I won't embarrass you~"

You blushed but nodded quickly,

"Right! I don't think you could really~"

She nodded and hummed softly, turning to leave though did look at you again with a soft smile.

"By the way, you aren't very subtle when you stare cutie~"

[audrinawf]

audri help me! I'm so overwhelmed I can't get out of bed. I have graduated from college a year ago and I still don't work, I feel like I haven't learned anything and that all jobs require minimal knowledge. then I tried to make a study plan, but it seems that I need to learn so much, that I'm so late that I want to do a thousand things during the week and it's driving me crazy! I can't imagine myself in a calm, slow routine because my brain is screaming WE'RE LATE! THERE IS NO TIME! THERE IS NO TIME! and it paralyzes me in every possible way. I can't even stop and breathe and plan just the basics. it's killing me this anxious need and this feeling that time is passing and I can't do anything with it.

Hi! Okay so first of all brace yourself cause my answer is going to be so long lol but anyways I just had a similar conversation with a friend just yesterday and I was telling her that it’s so important to remember that you cannot always achieve everything you want in one single day. I’m ngl I feel like your feeling a lot and that’s cause I have adhd so time management isn’t my strongest skill. You can’t excel at 5 different things on the same day. Some days you need to prioritize work and some days you prioritize the gym and that’s normal. One thing that really helped me was realizing that I’m not a type A personality, I’m not a perfectionist and I’m not compulsive so I wasn’t going to compare myself to those types of people and make myself feel bad. Some people just have it in their dna to do 537 things in one day and that’s fine but if that’s not your strength don’t worry.

You need to stop thinking that you’re late. Quit that thinking right away. You’re not late. And even if you feel that way just know that 6 months of focus and determination can set you forward much more than you can imagine. I wasn’t doing jack shit for two years during covid so from 2020 to late 2021 I was living at home miserable while a lot of people younger than me were out there starting business and doing lots of cool things. But you know what happened since November 2021? I moved twice, I own my own home, I’m the youngest in my friend group to do so and the first in my family since my parents have rented their whole lives and on top of that I traveled 4 times in less than a year, I got engaged and learned probably 5 new hobbies in less than a year. I thought I was late too but I wasn’t. I’m just telling you this cause you can actually achieve more in 6 months that you’ve done in years. Please be patient and have faith.

And now onto why I think you should do in the meantime, I think you need to start meditating even if it’s just for 3 minutes a day and do some light working out. I know it’s not fun but I promise that it clears your head so much and give you so much energy to do more throughout the day.

One thing that’s helped me a lot is to for one do a daily brain dump so I just take a blank paper or journal and write everything I’m thinking, it doesn’t even have to be in any order but just imagine taking all your anxious thoughts and placing them on paper. You don’t even have to read it just throw it away if you want. So once you’ve written down all the noise in your brain the second thing I would do is to get a timebox journal. You can Google time box journal and just print the ones you find online or if you message me privately I can send you my time box that I created cause I use it every single day even when I’m just chilling cause it really helps you see how much you can achieve in one day and it helps you better your time managing skills.

But please remember that for one you need to quit your mind first of all. Second you need to make small changes every day. I wasn’t even 1% as productive a year ago as I am today. I’ve incorporated small changes and small but productive habits to my daily routine for a year

Hope any of this helps you <3

[mingiswow]

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I tagged 803 of my posts in 2022

#kpop - 69 posts

#bee.txt - 58 posts

#bee’s rant - 55 posts

#kpop x reader - 50 posts

#nct - 37 posts

#wrong place right time - 36 posts

#kpop scenarios - 36 posts

#nct 127 - 35 posts

#nct 127 headcanons - 33 posts

#nct smau - 33 posts

Longest Tag: 140 characters

#jisung rly said today is the day to give lotta 3racha at night w hip cocked bin and knee brace chris and my trashboy in between.. god bless.

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

Boyfriend!Changbin

⚠ English is not my native language, so pardon me if there’s any mistake. And you can always tell me what’s wrong.

Oof

Kay

Not ready but here we go

Changbin is S O F T

he just tries to be dark and we all know that

but he is a soft human being and you can’t tell me otherwise

and we go cliche all over again

coffee bf

yeah

so you work at a small coffee shop near jype building

and he went there once because he wanted something new

and boy got in love not only with the coffee but you

he could buy his coffee at the jype cafeteria? yes

would save him money? yes

but would he see you? no

so you can imagine what he chose

so every day he would go there and order his usual iced coffee

and engage in some conversation with you

and within time he would get to know you better

until someday you actually asked him out

to his surprise bc you did first

but obv he said yes

and that how it goes

ngl the boys joke around with him because he gets all giggly and stupid in love whenever he talks about you

no

whenever he thinks about you

I feel like he wouldn’t care if you were older or younger than him

but he would really like it if you were older than him

See the full post

253 notes - Posted January 21, 2022

#4

Summary: you worked really hard for that, and you finally were accepted as an exchange student at Neo Culture Institute of Technology. But, for some reason, the system crashed and put you into an all-boys dorm.

Pairing: Johnny Suh x female reader

Warnings: curse words, suggestive themes, mentions of alcohol use, mentions of food, mentions of cheating (if I forgot anything let me know)

Status: completed

⚠️ this is a fictional piece, the characters and their behaviors are purely fictional and DO NOT represent their actual personalities

⚠️ There will be quite a few written chapters because I love them

⚠️ English is not my first language, so pardon me if there’s any mistake

⚠️ I didn’t realize that Haechan’s name was wrong halfway through the story being written so please pretend is right lol

⚠️ Time, days and other dates don't matter to the story

⚠️ I tried my best to make it as inclusive as possible so everyone can enjoy the story

See the full post

325 notes - Posted February 12, 2022

#3

Boyfriend!Hyunjin

⚠ English is not my native language, so pardon me if there’s any mistake. And you can always tell me what’s wrong.

Thx to the anon who requested Hyunjin's version 💖💖

ok listen to me very carefully:

he gets wiped really easily

He believes in love at first sight for sure

which is kinda what happened with you

you’ll be with your friends at one of those open karaoke things

idk man i don’t have karaoke where I live

and then he saw you enjoying yourself and having fun

he let out a little giggle and you saw him standing there looking at you

then you started to sing to him as a joke

and boy oh boy

he liked your attitude

he really likes confident people

but if you’re not, i’m sure he’ll fall for your personality

he’s not the one to care about looks

so back with the meeting thing

after you went back to your table with your friends he kept looking at you

But was too afraid to do something lmao

So he just sent a drink with a little note asking for your number

which you obviously gave to him

And the rest is story

like I said baby boy gets attached really fast

so expect him wanting to spend a lot of time with you

he’s not big on pda

especially in front of the boys

he gets all shy and flustered

but when you guys are alone he has you always on his lap

and if you’re bigger than him, he’ll be on your lap

See the full post

425 notes - Posted January 11, 2022

#2

Boyfriend!Lee Know

⚠ English is not my native language, so pardon me if there’s any mistake. And you can always tell me what’s wrong.

ah… our mischievous cat boy

ok, it’s hard for me to read him ngl

he comes off as very cold sometimes but then he’ll become the softest

anywho

I feel like baby boy lee know is hard to conquer

so it took a lot for you to win his heart

but when you do,,,, oof prepare yourself

I feel like you’d catch his eye while working

You were one of the staff at the tv station where he mc’s

and he saw how hard you’d work, making sure everything was right

running from side to side checking on everyone without losing your smile and your sympathy

don’t tell him but he fell for your smile

so seeing you every week and slowly interacting with each other made him grow fond of you

and after discussing to himself if he should or not he asked you out

you were quite shocked but said yes nonetheless

after all, you ain’t dumb and he is a gorgeous human being

let’s be honest here: he LOVES to show you off to the boys

you are his precious girl and he is the lucky man to be with you

“you’re so annoying after you started going out with y/n”

“annoying because you’re single and lonely”

proud proud proud boyfriend

he is your biggest supporter

will always be there for you

I think he’ll make it big when asking you to be his girlfriend

not like flash mob and public stuff hell no

I’m talking more like fancy dinner on a rooftop just for the two of you

soft music on the bg and shit

Minho is not much fond of pda

See the full post

445 notes - Posted January 14, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Boyfriend!Bang Chan

⚠ English is not my native language, so pardon me if there’s any mistake. And you can always tell me what’s wrong.

Chan is my bias so y’all better buckle up

You guys met through mutual friends

Nothing oh my god

I feel like it would pretty normal lol

Like, your friend invite you to some of his get-togethers and Chan was there

You started to talk because you were in the same little circle of people

And you noticed you had a lot in common

Especially when it came to cultural taste

So you spend the whole night drinking and talking about music, movies, and books

You barely noticed the time now that you both were getting really tipsy

Ending up sleeping on the couch of your friend house cuddled to each other

When you woke up the next morning you guys exchanged numbers

And kept talking every day

He even asked for music recommendations to play in Chan’s room

You started meeting each other in his studio for helping him and the other boys with music

You didn’t even realize but when you saw you two were acting like a couple

“I think we should make it official”

“What?”

“Our relationship”

So that’s how you became a couple

I feel like Chan would be a very relaxed boyfriend

He already stresses himself so much with the whole idol thing

So he just wants to enjoy you and your relationship

In the beginning, he’s not going to push you into PDA

especially around the boys

but a few months into the relationship the boy won’t leave your side

ngl the boys will act a little jealous

but because they love their leader and want them happy

See the full post

788 notes - Posted January 7, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[toraleistripe]

Okay, so I finished Jigsaw. But it's also occurred to me that I never made a post actually talking about Saw 3D as a whole, I just kinda lost my shit and spammed my dash for a while there 😅😅 So I'll be talking about Saw 3D first and then I'll make a separate post talking about Jigsaw. This, uh, this got kinda long, so brace yourself if you actually read this. Also I sorta lose my MIND once again near the end of this post 😅

SO BARELY ONE MINUTE IN, THEY DECIDE TO SHOW LAWRENCE GORDON

NOT THAT I LOST MY SHIT OR ANYTHING FKJGSLJDSLK

Nah, but I ABSOLUTELY lost my shit as soon as I saw him ngl. I was SO excited to FINALLY see what happened to him.

But they cut away from that pretty quick to show a Jigsaw trap set up in a public space. That was a BALLSY move, man, just setting it up where people walking by can see that. It kind of astounded me that more people weren't losing their shit over what they were seeing. I mean, yeah, it showed people looking concerned, but I would've been screaming my head off if I saw something like that in person. And from what I could tell, only ONE person used their phone to try to call for help?? That's fucked up. To be fair though, maybe more people were on their phones and I just missed it.

So Hoffman DID in fact survive the reverse bear trap. I thought maybe he could survive if he got immediate medical attention. But nah, man decided to just stitch his jaw back together himself. Okay then. Pretty boss move if I do say so myself, that was badass.

I wasn't really surprised when Jill went to turn Hoffman in. I kinda felt bad for her, she was clearly afraid he was going to come after her.

I was suspicious of Bobby's story right away when he was on that talk show, he just seemed so fake to me. When he showed his 'scars' at the meeting, bruh those didn't look that bad at all 😂 Not exactly the sort of wound I'd expect from a real Jigsaw survivor.

AND THEN HE SHOWED UP AND I LOST MY SHIT AGAIN FKGKSDJKSJD

Just seeing Lawrence for that one scene, just knowing he was ALIVE was amazing, holy cow, I was SO happy to see him!! He's been my favorite Saw character since day one, in case that wasn't obvious enough, and it drove me nuts that the movies kept name dropping him, but we never actually saw what happened to him. BOY DID THIS MOVIE CHANGE THAT!!

But I'm getting ahead of myself. Turns out I was right about Bobby being a fraud! I don't get why you'd want fame and notoriety from THAT though, I mean, falsely claiming to be the survivor of a Jigsaw 'game' seems like you're kinda asking to be kidnapped and stuck in an actual Jigsaw game, y'know. And look what freaking happened. I felt bad for Joyce though, that woman SO did not deserve to be there.

ONCE AGAIN, THEY MADE A TRAP THAT INVOLVED EYEBALLS AND I DID NOT LIKE IT, COULDN'T EVEN LOOK AT THAT SHIT 😭😭 I couldn't watch the scene where the guy glued to the car seat tore his own flesh off either, UGH, couldn't look at that, no siree.

The scene where Bobby pulled out his own teeth was pretty tough to get through too ngl. But I did kind of feel for him, he clearly loved his wife and was trying his hardest to save her. Had a hard time watching him pierce those hooks though his body too. Anything to do with eyeballs or flesh getting pierced/torn, BLEH, that's so hard for me to stomach 🤢

Hoffman gaining entry into police station in a body bag was a power move, Mark Hoffman is easily one of the most impressive characters I've ever seen in a movie, he just figures out such crazy, even creative ways to do shit.

And after Hoffman kills Jill and everyone else at the police station, after he blows up his workshop and gets ready to bail, thinking he really got off scott free, THEN SHIT GETS REAL, Y'ALL, LET ME TELL YA FKGKSJD

So when Hoffman first got jumped by the three people in pig masks, I immediately wondered who tf they were.

AND THEN

AND THEN

THE THIRD GUY TOOK OFF HIS MASK

AND IT TURNED OUT TO BE LAWRENCE MOTHERFUCKING GORDON

Y'ALL

I ONCE AGAIN LOST👏MY👏FUCKING👏SHIT

I WAS SHOOK

I SAT HERE IN SHOCK, BRUH

AND TO FIND OUT THAT JOHN LET HIM LIVE, THAT LAWRENCE BECAME JOHN'S APPRENTICE FKGJSKDJSKDJK

THAT HE HELPED JOHN WITH ALL THE GAMES THAT TOOK PLACE AFTER HIS OWN FKGJLSKDLSKDDKHGJHDFK

I COULD NOT EVEN FKGJSLJDSJFDJVBJSH

IT TOOK SIX MOVIES TO FIND OUT LAWRENCE GORDON'S FATE

AND I WAS SHOOKETH

THAT FINAL SCENE IN THE BATHROOM WHERE IT ALL STARTED

LAWRENCE LEAVING HOFFMAN CHAINED UP THERE

TAKING THE HACKSAW AWAY FROM HIM

"I DON'T THINK SO" 😏

UM, SIR, THAT MOMENT HAS NO BUSINESS BEING AS HOT AS IT IS, THE FUCK 😭😭

SO YEAH, SAW 3D KINDA FUCKED ME UP IN THE BEST WAY FKJGKJSDFDKJKSDJ

All in all, I thoroughly enjoyed it! It HURT to see Adam's corpse at the end ngl that was tough ;_; So I guess we're never gonna see Mark Hoffman ever again, WOW, what a way to go. Pure nightmare fuel right there, being chained up in a pitch black room with nothing but rotting corpses around you fkjgkdjsd he thought he was so slick, but by the end, he got straight up fucked.

AND I'M GONNA END THIS BY SAYING IT WAS WONDERFUL TO SEE LAWRENCE AGAIN, I WAS SO HAPPY TO SEE HIM AND KNOW THAT HE SURVIVED LIKE A BOSS 😭😭😭😭

[qqueenofhades]

The Dark Horizon: Chapter XXXVIII

summary:  AU. The Caribbean, 1715: Royal Navy Lieutenant Killian Jones and his brother, Captain Liam Jones, have just arrived to help pacify the notorious “pirates’ republic” of New Providence. But they have dangerous allies, deadly enemies, and no idea what they’re getting into when they agree to hunt the pirate ship Blackbird and the mysterious Captain Swan. OUAT/Black Sails. rating: M status: WIP available: FF.net and AO3 previous: chapter XXXVII

The moment the incoming ship cleared the breakwater of the harbor, she opened fire. Liam stood dumbly on the deck for a split second longer, spyglass pressed to his face in some misbegotten hope that one more inspection would somehow prove it to not be who it was, and then whirled away with a roar, pushing Regina down, as the battery struck, sending up a hail of splinters and cracking a beam. They were still just that bit out of range, preventing them from taking the full bore of the cannon, but that would not last more than a few minutes. The Jolly Roger was only lightly gunned, the wind was with the newcomer, and even if they managed to get up enough canvas to run for it, there was nowhere that they would not be chased. The account was far too long, and far too terrible, for that. They had to make their stand here, and fight Captain Henry Jennings for what, Liam knew coldly in his gut, would be the final time. For which of them, there was no way to say, but death hung tangibly in the air, over the burned city of Charlestown, over Miranda pale and lifeless in the cabin, in the remorseless approach of the Bathsheba, as her bow-chasers blazed brightly again, and the air whistled and hissed, the water splashed, the hull thumped. By the next volley, they’d be dead to rights.

“Go!” Breaking out of his reverie, Liam spun around, grabbing Regina by the arm. “Get the nurse, get Geneva and Henry, and get below, into the hold! Now! Don’t come up until I find you!”

“As if the hold’s going to be safe, if Jennings scores a direct hit!” Of course, even now, Regina would have to argue with him. “We’ll be trapped by the water before we have a chance to escape!”

“If we sink, we’re all dead. It’s the safest place for now, we can’t let him get the children, go!”

Regina opened her mouth, thought better of it as a cannonball screamed just past the shrouds, and darted inside, emerging shortly with the nurse, a petrified-looking Henry trying very hard to be brave, and a squalling Geneva. She steered them across the deck and down the hatch as Liam shouted at the crew to prepare for action. They carried only minimal stores of powder and shot, as they knew that any gun battle would end poorly for them anyway, and they hadn’t wanted the extra weight to slow them down on the crossing to France. There was no way they were blasting their way out of this, and Liam looked around wildly for something else. If there were wrecked or burned ships in the harbor, if he could trick Jennings into fetching up on one of those – he could not let that mad animal on here with Regina and the children and Miranda, he could not –

Briefly and uselessly, Liam hoped that Jennings was actually dead, and that this was just another enterprising captain who had taken over his ship and his crew, but he already knew that he wasn’t. Perhaps all along, this had been inevitable. That it always had to end like this. One last battle, one last time. Only one would walk away from it.

The Bathsheba was running up hard on their fore port quarter, clearly intending to prevent them from getting any space to slip free, and Liam dashed to the helm, driving them for the vee of open water just beyond. If they were boxed in here, it would be like shooting ducks in a gallery – at least if he made it out and down the Carolina coastline, he could find some convenient sandbar or shallow reef. The art, of course, would be only tearing out the Bathsheba’s hull and not their own, and as both vessels were of comparable size and draft, anything that jeopardized Jennings would endanger the Roger as well. But there was no other choice.

The next bombardment chewed through one of the foresails on the spar, as the two ships were now almost level broadside, and Liam bellowed at the men to load and light one of their precious volleys. The five-gun array was nothing near enough to daunt the Bathsheba permanently, but it might get their attention, and he felt the deck kick and sway under his feet as they spoke. Eat shit, you son of a bitch. Liam had a sword and a pistol, which felt like very slender surety in any hand-to-hand fight. He had of course taken two serious wounds, which – even mostly healed – would unavoidably slow him up as well, and while Jennings might be somewhat damaged, at least cosmetically, from whatever Miranda had done to his face with the oar, this would only have made him angrier. I cannot let him get on board. I cannot.

When the smoke cleared, however, Liam saw a direly unpromising sight. The Bathsheba was still closing, the Roger’s measly six-pounders appeared to have irritated rather than impeded them in any significant fashion, and the Charlestown headland was coming up fast to starboard. It was clear that Jennings intended to crush them against the rocks if he could, rendering the Roger helpless and prime for boarding, and then – no, what came next was too horrible to imagine. Why is he here? Not that it mattered, not really, and all Liam could come up with was that Jennings had probably been sent after Vane, his former partner in crime and co-robber of the Spanish wrecks, upon receiving word that Vane (and Flint, of course) had done their worst to the city. That he should stumble upon the chance to have his final confrontation and vengeance upon Liam, Regina, and Miranda as well was mere and morbid serendipity.

“MORE SAIL!” It was a symbolic order at best; their foresail was torn, their topgallants were already flying, and the wind was against them, but Liam couldn’t stand watching this, the way the two ships were veering inexorably closer and closer, like a catastrophe in slow motion, like a nightmare from which he could not wake. The water purled and frothed white, the Bathsheba’s starboard battery boomed like the drums of hell, and he felt a horrifying scrape and jolt from the keel. The Roger’s draft was eleven feet, and here by the headland, they must quickly be getting shallower than that. In a minute more, they’d be stranded, aground, and completely defenseless.

Liam wrestled the wheel once more, feeling them swing and snap and struggle against what seemed to be the crushing fist of fate itself, and managed to buy them a few more yards, just clear of the shoals.  Still the Bathsheba was closing, and he could see men on the other deck with throwing grapnels. There was only one order left to give, one final stand to be made. Fine, then. Fine. If nothing else, William Raleigh Jones would do his duty to the last.

“PREPARE FOR BOARDERS!”

The next moment, hooks came flying out of the night and mist – hooks, Liam thought, hooks, how bloodily, fittingly, perversely appropriate – and latched onto the railing, biting out sharp divots of wood and trailing ropes like Medusa’s snakes. They were followed almost instantly by the hooting, hollering hordes of Jennings’ men, piling over and bristling with every sort of deadly weaponry. Oddly enough, however, none of them seemed to be using it – yet. They were holding in check, arrogant in the knowledge of their superior numbers and armaments, over the Roger’s valiant but tiny crew and almost total lack of resources for an extended fight. They’re toying with us. Jennings has been waiting too long. He doesn’t want us dead before he enjoys himself. The very fate they had gone overboard to escape in Jamaica, now, here.

The last figure, the tallest, the most casual and vindictive of the lot, emerged from the mist like the Devil stepping from the clouds of brimstone, loosed from a crack in hell to visit mere anarchy upon the world. His shaggy sun-white hair was tied back from his face, as if to give Liam the best inspection of its new look. Twisted and scarred and hideous down the left side, lip pulled back over his teeth, eye milky and bloodshot, as if Ulysses had tried to blind the Cyclops and not quite succeeded. It was clear, however, that Jennings had suffered absolutely no impediment to his marksmanship, if the pistol he drew and pointed dead at Liam was any indication. “Good evening, Captain Jones. Just caught up with your little brother recently. So lovely to see you again as well.”

“Killian?” Liam knew that he shouldn’t say anything, that this was already enough of a disaster and would only get worse, but as ever, the mention of his brother caught him hard under the chin. “What the fuck did you do to Killian, you sick bastard?”

Jennings grinned broadly, rendering his disfigurement even more ghastly. “Just got to see if he was interested in talking, alongside Governor Rogers. He wasn’t, you’ll be proud to know. Though since it got his arse skelped raw, I’m not sure that was the smartest decision.”

“You what – you tortured him?” Liam felt his fists clenching, his anger rising in his chest like a cutting black tide. All he could think of, any way to head Jennings off from finding their precious passengers, was the same. “Fine, well. You must have plenty of the same you want to do to me. Don’t you want to fight me? Hurt me? Come on, take me.”

“And why would you be in such a hurry for that?” Jennings studied him thoughtfully, head to toe, with that same amused ease with which he did everything. He rested a hand on the hilt of his cutlass, and Liam saw the gleam of his old ring, the one Jennings had taken from Emma so long ago and never given back. “You and I know each other too well, Liam. As I’ve told you so many times, we’re all but the same. Who are you protecting? Who else is here?”

“Nobody.”

“Oddly enough, I think you’re lying.” Jennings raised a hand, beckoning to his men. “Search the ship. Stem to stern. Anyone you find, I want them brought up here. Alive, for the moment.”

Liam lunged at the first of them, throwing his shoulder into them hard, and while it knocked them back on their heels, it clearly confirmed to Jennings beyond a doubt that his hunch was correct. He cocked his pistol, twisting it into Liam’s skull behind the back of his ear. “Not yet, Jones,” he said lazily. “You’re not going to die for quite a while, I’m afraid.”

Liam grabbed at the muzzle, twisting it aside and almost getting up enough leverage to rip it out of Jennings’ hand, but Jennings punched him viciously with the other, making his teeth clack and his breath choke as he stumbled back. Still he tried to reach Jennings, not caring if he was shot, as anything in the entire world would be easier to bear than what was about to happen, but Jennings dodged adroitly away. Then he gestured to more of his men, who had had their hands full with subduing the Roger’s crew. “Tie him.”

Liam kept fighting as they lashed him to the mainmast, biting and kicking, until another blow full across the face stunned him and left him briefly unable to resist as they finished the knots. Blood was dripping in his eyes as he heard the hatch creak, and saw Will, Regina, Henry, and the nursemaid with Geneva marched out before Jennings, who wore an expression as if Christmas had come early. A moment later, another few crewmen emerged from the cabin, dragging Miranda’s body, which they dumped on the boards. “Her too! Can you even bloody believe it, Cap’n? All of ‘em!”

“So I see.” Jennings licked his lips, considering his tantalizing options, as Geneva continued to scream and he looked briefly aggravated. “Silence the brat, or I will.”

The nursemaid joggled Geneva frantically, face white; she clearly had not expected to walk into the middle of hell on earth (escaping the other hell of Charlestown, that was) when she agreed to come aboard and feed a hungry child. Jennings paced deliberately down the deck, stopping to dig the toe of his boot into Miranda’s side. “This,” he announced, “was the cunt who made me so very pretty, lads. But then, we knew her well, didn’t we? Seems she’s been paid back for that mistake, but surely there’s more to be done?”

“Don’t.” Liam knew he was begging, knew there wasn’t much he could do, there was nothing he could do, but he would have wanted to have his shoulder annihilated by a falling spar, or to be stabbed by his half-brother, a hundred, a thousand times before enduring this. “You can have me, Jennings, you can bloody do whatever you want to me! I’m your enemy, fuck you! Fight me!”

Jennings eyed him up and down, slowly and insolently, then turned to the nursemaid, putting a finger beneath Geneva’s chin. “Pretty child. Not yours, I’m wagering?”

The nursemaid opened and shut her mouth in terror, clutching the baby closer, as Will Scarlet decided just then that he had had more than bloody enough. He broke free from the crewman holding his arms, whirled and kneed him in the balls hard enough to bend him double, and ran straight at Jennings, who turned an instant too late. Will tackled him flat to the deck, punching every inch of him he could reach, as Regina took advantage of the abrupt confusion to likewise stamp on the foot of her captor, slam him in the face with her elbow, and race toward Liam. She pulled the boat hook off its mount – the same kind of hook that Killian had made into his namesake and replacement hand – and slashed at the knots with them, unraveling the ropes as they fell with a slap. Liam wrenched free, drew his sword, and sheathed it in the belly of the first privateer to lunge at him, so far that it burst in an explosion of blood out his back.

The chaos was complete for an insane thirty seconds, as the nursemaid shielded Geneva and Henry against the capstan – whatever they had been planning to pay her, it was clearly not enough. Then Jennings rolled off to one side, managed to grasp his pistol as it skidded away on the boards, and – as Will leapt at him – shot him at point-blank range.

Will’s leap turned into a stumble as he went down hard, clutching at the bloodied hole in his side. Jennings fumbled for another pistol, clearly intending to finish the job, but at that moment, a second gunshot stunned everyone, and they looked around madly for its source. Henry, leaning out around the capstan, had somehow managed to get his hands on a gun, aim it at Jennings through the melee, and score a glancing hit, tearing through his coat sleeve and leaving a bloody streak. Not a serious wound by any means, but still a wound, and Liam felt a sudden, blazing pride in his foster son. It was followed at once by even more consuming terror.

Will was down, still alive but losing blood fast, as Regina made for him, dragging him away, as she tore her skirt and struggled to stanch the wound. Jennings, for his part, seemed briefly thrown, raising a hand to touch the gash on his arm. “You,” he said. “You shot me.”

Henry looked as if he wanted to answer defiantly, but he was just an eleven-year-old lad, and this elder Henry was the most terrifying individual to ever walk God’s green earth. Man and boy remained frozen, staring at each other, until Jennings looked away with a jerk, sweeping his loosened hair out of his eyes. “I’ll let you choose, Liam,” he said, almost pleasantly. “Which one dies first, which one keeps you company, and which one the crew gets for their sport.”

“Go to hell.” Liam took a better grip on his sweat-soaked sword. “Go to hell.”

“There isn’t one, if you ask me.” Jennings turned to face him, one eye that unsettling pale color and the other more bloodshot than ever, half in the glow from the ship’s lanterns and half in absolute darkness. “Nor heaven either. It’s a queer sort of god that would permit men like me to flourish, don’t you think, and men like you with your poor, useless decency to wither? In fact if there is a god, I rather suspect He is exactly bloody like the rest of us. And there’s no devil either. Nothing beyond this life but the void. How unfortunate for all those addled sheep who live their lives under the thumb of tyrants, thinking it will get them a fine prize in the hereafter. There’s only silence beyond. Only darkness. Hell is now. Hell is here.”

Their gazes remained locked on each other for a moment longer, as they circled like lions at the kill. Jennings’ hand went again to the hilt of his cutlass, and he drew the heavy blade with barely a flick of his wrist. “Come on, Liam,” he said, almost tenderly, with the insane rictus of a smile. “Let’s finish this.”

That, at last, was the one thing Jennings had ever said that Liam could unequivocally agree with. They took half a step forward, half back, and then rushed at each other at once, Liam slamming his sword down in a vicious two-handed sweep. Jennings knocked it off contemptuously and flicked his at Liam’s chest, as Liam had to move quickly to avoid it, driving down and keeping up the attack with all the fury of months, of years, of their entire sordid history. Of watching Jennings cut off Killian’s hand, of hearing that he had sunk the Blackbird and taken Emma and Miranda prisoner, of their fraught interview in Boston, of Regina trying to drug him, of Jennings grinning as Liam Junior stabbed his elder brother, of Liam then hearing what Jennings had done to him in turn. Of Jamaica, their captivity on the Bathsheba, of fighting for their lives in the boat until Miranda brained him with the oar. Of hearing that Jennings had tortured Killian one more time, to this, to now, to the flashing, flaring, crashing edges of their swords, to the looming loss of everything, everyone, the rest of Liam’s family that Jennings had not already managed to take from him. It gave him a wild strength beyond even desperation as they dueled, darting in and out among the helm and the deck and the splinters from the bombardment, over and under and side to side, low and high and everything in between, blades whirring and tumbling in lethal Catherine-wheels of steel. Sparks flew where the edges kissed, and Jennings bared his teeth. “Come on,” he said again, in a serpent’s hiss. “You wanted this, Jones. Fight me.”

Liam did not waste his breath in a reply, swinging his sword at Jennings so hard that when the other man twisted out of the way just in time, it bit several inches deep into the aft mast. He pulled it out and ducked Jennings’ retaliatory blow, as neither the Bathsheba’s men nor the Roger’s made any move to interfere, mesmerized by the beauty and terror of the spectacle. It was understood, word unspoken, that this was Liam and Jennings’ battle, and they alone had any right to finish it.

Liam could feel his shoulders – especially his bad one – starting to burn with the exertion, wearing down under the relentless, crashing force of Jennings’ attacks, the point of the cutlass biting constantly for his face, for his heart, for his stomach, and he had to keep summoning up everything he had to turn it away. I am losing. He knew it with a terror to pierce his very soul. Whatever he had, everything he had, everything he was giving, it wasn’t enough. Jennings was still stronger than him, and he was slowly but steadily gaining the upper hand. A blow slashed the side of Liam’s sleeve, and then caught him briefly on the hip, sparking brief and breathtaking flares of pain in each. Then Jennings’ knee came up, slammed Liam hard in the belly, and he lost hold of his sword, staggering backward. The next thing he knew, he was down.

There was a moment in which all the world held its breath, and then the bloody tip of Jennings’ cutlass lifted Liam’s chin. “Look up, Jones,” he said. “Unless you want to meet your death cowering like a fucking craven.”

Liam had nothing left, no trick up his sleeve, no clever move, no sleight of hand. He was breathless, disarmed, bad shoulder ablaze with agony, and his sword was six feet away. He’d never get to it before Jennings gutted him like a fish – he thought briefly and madly of deboning herrings on the Pandora, of the smell when they came to Boston, of doing it for Killian, trying not to let him get hurt – and this, then, was it. Jennings would kill or at least seriously maim him, render him unable to interfere in his leisurely torture and disposal of the others. After this. After so long, after everything, Liam Jones had failed, and all he could do was watch the sword descend toward his face with almost hypnotic slowness. Smite him, and –

And then, for the third time, a gunshot cracked across the deck, taking everybody utterly off their guard. The sword veered off, as Jennings took a stumbling step backward, mildly perturbed more than anything. Looked down at the spreading crimson stain between his ribs, and then up at Regina, still holding the smoking pistol with both hands. “You,” he said again. “You shot me.”

Regina didn’t answer, white to the lips, as Jennings took a step toward her, reeled and had to steady himself, and in that moment, Liam lurched to his feet. Didn’t think of anything but his sword, of reaching it, even as everything seemed, once more, to be moving impossibly slowly. Then it was there before him, and he was bending to grasp hold of it, and Jennings was turning toward him, and this was the only chance, this was all, this was everything. Liam swung it back with both hands, and drove it into Jennings with every bit of his strength.

He felt the other man convulse, even as their faces were close enough to kiss, as they stared directly into each other’s eyes. Liam pulled the blade back, feeling it scraping against bone, not trusting that this was close to enough, and plunged it into Jennings again. This time he went down, pulling Liam with him, still trying to fumble for his own dagger, but couldn’t summon the strength to draw it. Liam wrenched the blade out, yelled at Regina and the nursemaid, “DON’T LET THEM LOOK!” and had to hope that they turned Geneva and Henry’s heads away, that they didn’t see. There was no time to be sure. He took one final, almighty swing, and parted Captain Henry Jennings’ head from his shoulders in an explosion of blood that was, in the torchlight, black as the very deepest hell. Now. Here. It was true, then. It was true.

Jennings’ body folded slowly to its knees, still twitching, reaching for its weapons in a final act of defiance. Then it slammed into the deck, crimson rivers coursing from the stump of its neck, as the head rolled away. Even then, Liam raised the sword with both hands and drove it ferociously into the corpse’s chest, stabbing once and then again, until there was nothing but a mangled mess. He was soaked in Jennings’ blood, could taste it metallic on his lips, sweet as spring rain. Saw his dead half-brother’s face before him, smiling sadly. I’m sorry, Liam Junior whispered. Forgive me, brother. Forgive me.

Liam stabbed again. I’m sorry, he thought back, burning. I’m sorry. I failed you and Killian. I couldn’t protect you. Not enough. Not in time. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.

It was finally Regina who had to get to him, to force the sword out of his hand, to grab his face and make him look at her, to make him surface from the depths of the drowning sea. “He’s dead,” she was saying, over and over, half in tears. “Liam. Do you hear me? He’s dead.”

Liam could not be sure. Jennings would rise again. He always rose, would always hunt them, even from beyond the grave. They would never be free, he would never be free, of the possibility of it, of the return. Nonetheless, his fingers opened, and the sword fell from his hand to the sodden deck, alongside the butchered remnants of the Caribbean’s most feared privateer. The mist had turned to a light rain, pattering Liam’s face and the bloody deck, making the lanterns spit and hiss. His hands were shaking, and he could not make them stop.

Jennings’ crew remained where they were, staring at the fallen body of their immortal, invulnerable, inexorable captain. Then, one by one at first and then faster, they began to back away, panicking and scrambling over the lines back to the Bathsheba, none of them with any thought in their head but flight. They cut loose from the Roger and took the wind, as Liam himself could not remotely summon up the wherewithal to give the order to pursue. He sank slowly to his knees alongside Jennings, thought about taking his ring back from the man’s finger at last. How angry he had been to see it on Jennings’ hand, the first time in Boston. Thought of how he had given it to Killian as a promise that they would be slaves no more. The symbol of a lie. Of his infernal bargain with Plouton, of the deaths of the entire Benjamin Gunn, of the sinking and the sack and the sundering. Cowering like a fucking craven. Jennings’ last words burned into him. As I’ve told you so many times, we’re all but the same.

Liam did not want it. He did not want it. He sat back on his knees, still in shock, as the rain kept falling. Then Regina was kneeling next to him, gripping his hand hard, trying to steady him, familiar enough with the darkness herself to know exactly what he was going through. “He’s gone, Liam,” she said again. “He’s gone. It’s done. It’s done.”

Liam didn’t trust himself to agree. Instead he leaned to one side, was briefly and comprehensively sick, and remained crouched and gasping when it was over. Then he managed to look up at the Roger’s crewmen, who were all staring at him. “Get that thing off my ship,” he managed. “Sew it in sailcloth. Three cannonballs. I want it away.”

They scuttled to comply, hauling Jennings’ corpse off the deck and retrieving the head; there was no point in the last stitch going through the nose, the traditional way of ensuring that a seaman was really dead before he was dumped, but they did it anyway. Others were tending to Will, who was in very precarious estate indeed. “We need to go back,” Liam said, staring at his wound. “Back to Charlestown, he can’t sail like this, he – ”

“No,” Will managed, coughing. “Don’t you dare. Don’t you dare go back to that fuckin’ place on account of me, Liam. Fish out the ball and sew me up – one way or another – but we go to France. You know we can’t turn back. We can’t lose everything. Not now.”

Liam didn’t answer, couldn’t bring himself to, even as he was academically aware that Will was right. Now that they had a wet nurse for Geneva, and now that the final battle with Jennings was done, they had to get out of here. They couldn’t render all the sacrifices that Emma and Killian had made, trusting them with their children, in vain. They couldn’t go back to Charlestown one more time, that transparently cursed and forsaken and burned place, already knowing what it had cost them. At best, they could tarry a few hours under cover of darkness, to see if Will pulled through or if he didn’t, and then set out for the long Atlantic crossing at dawn. They could not turn away from what was before them. They could not look back.

Liam’s grief was too deep and savage for words, twisting him in half until he was not sure he would ever be able to breathe properly again in his life, to stand up straight, to remember his name. He heard a splash as the crew tipped Jennings’ body over the gunwale, watched it swirl and eddy in the tide rush, had a brief and horrible impression that it was trying to swim back to the ship. Then it dipped, once and then again, and slowly, finally, went under.

Dully, Liam knew that Miranda had to be sewn up and put overboard as well, that there was no way her body would keep for a six-week-long voyage, even if he might have wanted to grant her the dignity of a final resting place in France. Yet once again, he could not quite bring himself to it. He rinsed the blood off in the rain barrel, then turned to the nursemaid, intending to instruct her to get Geneva and Henry away from this horror. Instead, rather to his own confusion, he said very quietly, “Can I have my niece, please?”

The nursemaid – he had to ask her name, but not quite yet – looked startled, but did so, and Liam lifted the baby into his arms, still feeling a faint tremble in his fingers and momentarily afraid that he would drop her. She had exhausted herself with terror and somehow managed to fall asleep, and he felt tears spring to his eyes as he braced her against his shoulder, assuring himself that she was solid, still breathing, alive. Then, not knowing exactly what he was doing, only that he had to, he carried the tiny girl to her grandmother, and laid her gently on Miranda’s chest.

“Liam – ?” Regina, who had gone to get the medicines she had unsuccessfully tried on Miranda earlier, and was now administering them to Will, looked up with a start. “What are you – ?”

He shook his head, holding up a hand. Kept staring at them, had a sense of a coin tossed in the air, flashing and spinning, spinning. On what side it would fall, and how, he had no notion. Life and death and life and death and death and life again. The price was paid. Oh God, it was paid.

For a moment, a few moments, still nothing. Geneva’s small fist clutched the filthy fabric of Miranda’s torn dress, and she slept on. Then, so faintly that Liam was sure he had imagined it, her body stirred ever so slightly. Up and down. As if riding on the wake of a slow-drawn breath.

Regina caught it as well, and stared. Neither of them moved, tense beyond words, waiting for it not to come again, until it did. And then, after the same nerve-wracking interval, a third.

There were many prayers Liam Jones could have uttered then, if he still believed in God, and yet, he did not know that he did. Too much had burned for that, too much had fallen, until he was not at all sure that Jennings was not right. Yet he stood there under the cold and empty stars, and saw what seemed no less than a miracle, and perhaps, for a stolen moment, he did. No way to say if it would last. No way to say if Miranda would wake again, or if Will would survive. If this was only the reprieve before they had to part ways for good, a brief spark of hope to make the final loss more crushing. But just now, that did not matter. Nothing else did.

Liam turned away, and straightened up, and faced his crew.

“Raise canvas,” he said. “We sail for France.”

--------------------

Nearly all of the voyage back to Nassau was a blur. Emma did not want to believe that David Nolan’s terrible news was right, that Flint and Miranda were dead, but she also knew that she had no luxury to pretend otherwise. On a coldly practical level, there was also no way to say what had happened to the Walrus, and if they were down a third of their impromptu pirate fleet, it raised their already-stiff odds to all but impossible levels. They could still hope that David made it to Antigua without, say, being destroyed by Blackbeard, and delivered the charges and proof of Gold’s treason, but that did them no good in the short term, and could just as well end up going nowhere. Emma had to fill her head with these logistics, determinedly occupy her thoughts and her time, or otherwise she would have to face the staggering reality of having lost both her daughter and her mother at once – as well as, in Flint, the remotely closest thing to a father she ever really remembered having. If she wept a single tear, the dam would break, and she could not let it. Not now. Not yet. Possibly not ever.

Killian could clearly tell that she was suffering, but he also seemed to sense her desperate need to keep herself together, and did not directly ask her how she was, all too well aware of the answer. As before, the Whydah’s crew did not require much attention or direction from them to sail the ship, but both of them kept stubbornly persisting at it anyway, as the only alternative was to sit and drown in their thoughts. Driven hard on the back of the trades, they managed to return in just a bit under two days, dearly hoping that Woodes Rogers had not managed to execute another catastrophe in even this comparatively short span of time. They had to take extreme care on the approach, to avoid being spotted by any wandering Navy ships, and finally made it back to their more or less sheltered anchorage on the leeward side of the island. There they found the Jolie, still loaded with Vane’s stolen Spanish gold, and a very nervous Rackham waiting for them.

“Flint’s dead?” was the first thing out of Jack’s mouth, once they had acquainted him with the account of their most recent misfortunes. “Bugger me if I believe that. Any word of Charles?”

“No,” Emma said tightly. “All Captain Nolan said was that Lord Peter Ashe had held Flint and Miranda prisoner, and that they were dead. We don’t know what else happened, or where Vane is. We don’t know if it’s true, or what we’d do even if it wasn’t.”

“Fuck,” Jack said, which nobody could argue with as a way to sum up the situation. “Well. That does leave us rather literally between a rock and Woodes Rogers, doesn’t it? Not to mention that we still can’t risk going far with the gold, if Charles would come back and find it missing.”

Charles Vane’s feelings about the safety of his treasure haul were, in Emma’s opinion, the least of their concerns at the moment. “Did Sam and Lancelot go inland to the plantations? Make any headway on possibly recruiting slaves?”

“They did.” A crease linked Rackham’s brows. “Go to the plantations, that is. And haven’t come back yet, in fact. So either they’re doing so riotously well with volunteers that they can’t handle them all at once, or something, somewhere, with a nearly innumerable possibility of potential causes, went regrettably sideways. Given the general state of our fortunes thus far, one would find no difficulty at all in wagering on the latter.”

“Bloody hell.” Killian raked his fingers through his hair, which was beginning to get rather long, tousled dark locks ruffling in the wind. “And Rogers? Still hanging pirates?”

“We sent a few scouts out. They say he’s stopped for now, but they don’t trust it.” Jack sat down on the hatch cover next to Anne, who from her windblown appearance had been doing most of the scouting. “We’re fairly sure that he still thinks the Halifax made it safely off to Antigua to alert Gold to the situation, but either way, he is certain to be preparing some spectacular reprisal. That man does not like to lose, or to be humiliated, and over the past several days, we have done both. And Jennings is gone, that can’t be good. Likely went after Vane, so. . .”

Killian and Emma absorbed this in communal grim silence. While on one hand it was always at least something of a relief to hear that Jennings was no longer in the immediate vicinity, they were all too aware of the damage he could do anywhere else he had gone. No immediate solution to their dilemmas had thence appeared to them, so they bid Jack and Anne good night and went back to the Whydah, crawling into Sam’s bed and staring at the ceiling. Both of them were exhausted to the bone, but sleep felt very far away. And as well, something else. Something that neither of them could quite put their finger on, but disturbed them further.

“Something’s wrong,” Emma said at last, sitting up. Her hair fell loose around her face, her heart pounding fast and short. “Geneva and Henry. They’re in danger.”

Killian had been having rather the same sense himself, with absolutely nothing rational to explain it, and had been hoping it was just an extension of the general feeling of doom which seemed to have fallen over them. He could feel something just as ominous and unexplainable about Liam, and did not want to countenance even the possibility of it being real, of what else they could still have left to lose. He sat up and put his arms around Emma, pulling her close, as if he could somehow shield her from a peril that neither of them could even properly name. A storm at sea? One of Gold’s ships catching up to the Jolly Roger? Something still worse? Whatever it was, it wrapped strangler’s fingers around their hearts, pulling tighter and tighter, until neither of them thought they could stand it a moment longer – and then, as they were still holding each other as hard as they could, it broke over their heads like a crashing wave, washed into shore from the tumult of the tempest, fetching up on the sand among all the other flotsam and jetsam. They both gulped raw, ragged breaths as if coming up for air from the deepest of dives, and Emma clutched at his shirt. “Are they – ?”

“I don’t know.” Killian rested his chin on her hair, heart hammering. “I don’t know what just happened. Only that. . . something did.”

Emma made an inarticulate noise against his shoulder, tucked into his neck, as Killian tried to steady himself. He somehow thought he would know if it was wrong, if their family was dead, but then again, perhaps he wouldn’t. He only had the sense of a great and powerful change, some fulcrum shifted, as if whatever the world had been a few hours before was no longer what it was now. After a few moments, he leaned down and kissed Emma’s forehead. “Sleep if you can, love,” he whispered. “I’m here.”

She pressed herself closer, knuckles white with holding onto him, as he could finally glimpse the sheer agony beneath the fragile façade she had ever more tenuously been holding together. Then another breath shuddered out of her, and she settled almost bonelessly against him, their weary, battered bodies sinking into the comfort of the bed, the quiet of the night. There was some sort of peace, almost, as if in the wake of the storm passing, sweeping all clean. Killian Jones did not know what. He did not ask. All that mattered to him was that Emma Swan breathed.

Sam and Lancelot returned shortly before sunrise. Killian and Emma found this out when they were startled from a shallow sleep by the sound of the cabin door opening, and Sam ducked through, looking even more tired than them, clothes worn with dust and salt. Upon seeing them try to sit up, he firmly waved them down, shucked his boots and jacket, and crossed the floor to climb into bed with them, settling on Emma’s other side so he and Killian could both hold her. They lay there in the silence of the pearly grey predawn, listening to the Whydah creak softly beneath them, until Killian asked quietly, “What about the slaves?”

“I don’t know.” Sam blew a long strand of black hair out of his face. “Lancelot and I made it into a few plantations – barely made it out, in more than one case – and gave them our pitch, but we’ve had no miraculous uprising. Not that I can blame them. There is far too much at stake for them to risk it without complete assurance of success, and that, of course, is one thing we cannot give them. A few did seem interested, aye, but that will not make an army.”

“Ah.” Killian struggled to control his dismay, knowing that this had only been a slight possibility in the first place. “So. . . not much help to be expected from that quarter?”

“I wouldn’t think so.” Sam sighed. “We did everything we could, I swear.”

“Of course you did. I’d never blame you for it, you know that.”

Sam smiled at him over Emma’s head, but his eyes remained drowned. He clearly did hold himself responsible, as if there was something else he could have done to make a difference in their fight, as if it would be his fault if he had not found it. After a moment, he said, “Did you hear anything about Flint and Miranda?”

Killian grimaced. “We. . . did.”

Sam seemed to understand at once from the look on his face that whatever they had, it was nothing good. His lips went white, and he glanced away, clearly unable to press just yet for details. After a long pause he said, “We’ll have to come up with something. Rogers is getting his feet under him, he’s garrisoning Nassau to within an inch of its life, and the hangings will start again at any moment. With Flint or without him, we still have the Jolie and the Whydah. Either we make another attack with those, or we find help elsewhere. Did you deliver the message about Gold to David, I’m guessing?”

“Aye. Who knows what comes of that, but we did.” Killian wished it felt like more. “And the Jolie still has Vane’s gold on it, so if we take it into battle and it sinks – ”

“We can’t afford to keep it out of action just to serve as a treasury vault,” Sam pointed out. “As well, between that and my own recent rather remarkable success, we have all the money we could possibly spend in several lifetimes. There are swords and sails for hire. Jennings and his scabrous bunch aren’t the only mercenaries in the Caribbean. French flibustiers, my old mate Olivier La Buse if we could find him, and for that matter, plenty in the colonies. I’ve been thinking about making a trip back to Massachusetts for a while. It’s my old haunts up there, Williams and I know plenty of men willing to sail with us for a little coin, and there are no shortage of ships on Cape Cod. With just some of the treasure, I could get us an actual fleet.”

“Could you make it there and back in time?” Killian asked, frowning. “Be at least a fortnight, even assuming the best weather. If Rogers moved on us before then – ”

“The war won’t be over in a fortnight,” Sam said decidedly. “For better or worse.”

“Aye, but – ”

“We’ll keep it in mind, eh?” Sam put a finger to his lips. “Have to do something.”

Killian supposed this was true, and subsided as gracefully as he could, though still with a faint misgiving he could not quite wish away. The three of them slept for another few hours, and then woke up, put back on whatever bits of clothing they had taken off, and trudged topside. The day was fine and warm and clear, but their situation was growing increasingly urgent. Lancelot had returned to the Jolie to relay the same news to Jack and Anne, that they could not count on any support from the slaves, and while their current spot was more or less out of the way of potential discovery by the English forces, it also meant they were doing exactly bugger-all of good. It sat well with nobody to keep hiding while the occupation grew stronger, and it was finally decided that Sam, Emma, and Killian would take the Whydah up the coast, while Jack, Anne, and the Jolie stayed behind to hold their position. The Whydah was the faster and more maneuverable of the two, and while she did not run quite as many guns, she still could take anything the Navy felt like throwing at them. As well, everyone felt in need of a few straight answers.

They made their way cautiously up the eastern side of New Providence, sailing just in sight of land, double lookouts posted to warn of approach from any direction. Most of the day passed with nothing, and the three of them were just debating whether they could risk a closer venture to Nassau, when a shout went up from the forecastle. “Sails!”

They crowded to the rail, Sam and Killian clicked open their spyglasses at once, and stared – then stared again. “Christ,” Killian said. “I don’t believe it. Is that – is that the bloody Walrus?”

“Looks like it.” Sam’s face lit with a brief, fierce joy, as all of them felt their innards turn over at this merciful twist of fate at long last. None of them, however, expected this reunion to be pleasant, and they made as much sail as possible, hastening out to meet their battered compatriot, which looked rather literally to have been through hell. It was blackened and smoke-scarred, gunports still open, a stark and menacing death’s head. When Sam shouted up at the deck, Killian found himself briefly wondering who – or rather what – was going to emerge. Didn’t know that he was entirely ready to see it – to see, he greatly feared, himself. A man driven beyond all endurance and all restraint and any and all flicker of hope, a man in the darkest place of his life, and who saw no means of getting out. Who was not at all sure he should even bother.

The man who stepped onto the deck, therefore, bore a passing resemblance to James Flint, enough to be recognized as him, but who looked like nothing that Sam, Killian, or Emma had ever quite seen. He regarded them with no apparent interest or disinterest, gritted and bloodied and grim and raw as an open wound. Then he said, “You lot.”

“Aye, it’s us.” Emma’s relief to see him was plain, but she could also clearly tell by his face that half the news had, at least, been true. “You’re. . . you’re alive.”

Flint snorted, as if to say that was debatable. His fists tightened white on the railing, as if stopping himself from breaking it only with a terrible effort of will. “Was I dead before?”

“We’d heard so.” Killian looked up at the older man, sensing the pain and rage and heartbreak boiling off him as tangibly as poison. “Mate, what did – ”

“Does it matter?” Flint’s voice growled at the very edge of control. “What’s happened on Nassau?”

“It. . . it, well. . .” Nothing but absolutely horrendous news all around, it seemed. As briefly as he could, Killian explained the circumstances, the blockade of the harbor and the ever-increasing grip of Woodes Rogers’ war on the pirates, from pardons to punishments, to worse. He downplayed his own part in this transformation, noting only that Rogers and Jennings had unsuccessfully tried to make him talk, that Anne may have shot the governor in the course of the rescue attempt, and that Vane’s fiery blitz of the Navy ships had made him even more sorely aggrieved. It was, in short, a spectacular clusterfuck.

Flint listened without speaking, a muscle going in his cheek. Then he glanced at the man standing to his side – it was, Killian was surprised and disquieted to see, John Silver, leaning on a crutch and not quite entirely restored from having his leg brutally hacked off in Jamaica, but still surviving, evidently. “You tell them,” Flint ordered. “You’re the fucking talker.”

With that, clearly barely holding himself together, he whirled on his heel and vanished into the cabin, as it was left to Silver to elucidate the full extent of the past few weeks’ catastrophes. He crossed to the Whydah, as he did not want to shout over the decks of both ships, and that at least afforded them more privacy. Once they had retired to the cabin, he told them everything. In sum: Flint and Miranda had arrived in Charlestown, managed to obtain an audience with Ashe, and then confronted him with their knowledge of his treachery. Silver was unclear on the details, as only those three had been present, but it had exploded like a barrel of Greek fire. Miranda was shot, Flint had been taken prisoner, and held in preparation for public execution, until Vane arrived in the nick of time. The pair of them ripped Charlestown to shreds, Flint killed Ashe, and sailed off blindly, attacking the first ship he came across and killing everyone aboard, then taking the Walrus into the heart of a monster storm. Blown far off course and set adrift in doldrums, they finally fetched on a remote island that was home to another settlement of Maroons, who had not been inclined to appreciate the invasion. It had taken a lot of work from both Flint and Silver, but they managed to talk themselves, and the entire crew, out of being killed. As a matter of fact, they had also proposed an alliance, and several members of the colony were presently on board, under the leadership of their chieftainess’ daughter, Madi.

This unexpected piece of moderately hopeful news, after the disappointment of recruiting the slaves of New Providence, briefly plucked up sorely downtrodden spirits, and the sight of Sam bolstered the case; these Maroons were in contact with their brethren on the island led by Poseidon, and knew of his reputation as a friend to their kind. It was plain, however, that none of them trusted the other pirates as far as they could throw them, and that Flint’s mental state was, to say the least, extremely precarious. Silver said he had been having nightmares and terrors and worse, and that while he had pulled himself together sufficiently to deal with the Maroons, that was only a flimsy bandage on a gaping heart wound. “Not that he’s said so. He can’t. But I think the poor bastard would rather be dead, and with Miranda, than try to live without her.”

At that, Emma flinched as if she had been the one shot. She had been hanging for dear life onto Killian’s hand during this entire story, and this final confirmation that Miranda was dead seemed to snap her spine. She searched Silver’s face as if desperate for him to tell her that there was a mistake, but he only looked down, uncharacteristically grim and serious. A monstrous silence reigned over all of them, until at last Silver turned to Sam. “On the ship we took,” he said, “there was, as it happens, a letter for you. Flint didn’t know, and didn’t care – he shot both the captain and his wife, and most of the crew. I have it, if you want it.”

“A letter for me?” Sam was clearly surprised, and more than slightly wary. “Who’d risk their skin writing to a convicted pirate captain?”

“No idea. But the ship’s log said she was out of Boston, and if I recall, you have a number of acquaintances there. Presumably one of them heard that the ship was making for the West Indies, figured that would be close enough for it to somehow find its way to you, and got it aboard.”

Sam still looked wary, but nodded once and held out his hand, as Silver fished the battered letter from his jacket. Killian expected him to name his price, as this man so rarely traded valuable information (or anything, really) without a favor obtained in return, but for once, Silver simply gave it over. Sam slit the seal, unfolded it, and read it through. Then without a word, he leaned forward, put his head in his hands, and did not move.

“Sam?” Startled from her own grief by this unexpected reaction, Emma frowned at him. “Sam, are you all right?”

“Hey.” Killian, equally concerned, leaned over. “Sam. Sam, what is it?”

Sam still did not stir for another long moment. Neither Killian nor Emma wanted to read what was clearly a most upsetting and personal letter without his permission, and they were also not sure that they wanted Silver privy to the information, but as he was the one who had brought it, they could hardly throw him peremptorily out on the spot. The silence remained acute. Then Sam straightened up and said, “Those fucking Puritan bastards.”

“What – ?”

“Mariah.” The word was punched out of Sam as if at a blow. “Mariah Hallett, remember her? My lass in Eastham, in Massachusetts, with the fucking father who wouldn’t let us be married? She – she was. . .” He looked down at the table, gripping it hard. “She fell with child, evidently, after my visit there last summer, the one where I met you, Emma, and took you aboard the Whydah. But it. . . it was born too early. In a fucking stable, where Mariah had to take refuge after her most-holy parents threw her out of the house. It is – was – a boy. A lad. He lived only a few hours.”

“Jesus Christ.” Killian felt punched himself. “Sam. Jesus. I’m so sorry.”

“After all I did for them.” Sam rocked back in his chair, eyes unseeing. “After all the money I gave them, the disputes I settled, the friends I made along Cape Cod, the time I spent there – the fine folk of Eastham shunned Mariah, threw her in jail for unlawful fornication outside of marriage, and would not even let her bury her son – our son – properly. I’m surprised they didn’t burn her at the fucking stake, unless they’re saving that for the grand finale. Jesus. Fuck those people. Fuck them!”

“Sam. . .” Emma reached out, face crumpled with pain, trying to put her hand over his, but he jerked it back. “Sam, I. . .”

He didn’t answer, continuing to stare fixedly at nothing, as the horrible irony and tragedy of it hit both of them broadside: that Sam had given up so much, fought so hard, been so steadfast and so generous in so many ways so that Killian and Emma’s child could live, that Geneva Elizabeth Jones had even had a chance to be born, and as a result, he had lost his own, never even knowing it until it was too late. They couldn’t ask him if he was angry, if he regretted it, if he wished he had done differently, because either way, it would be too unbearable. For once, even Silver had nothing to say, tactfully pretending not to be there, as it seemed as if the dragon of loss and tragedy would spare no one from the grip of its jaws. First Flint with Miranda, and now Sam with Mariah and their unnamed son, and Killian and Emma with whatever they had endured with their own missing children last night. On and on, inexorable.

“I have to go,” Sam said at last, roughly. “I’ll take my treasure, I’ll try to recruit men and ships for the cause, as I was planning earlier. But I have to go. I have to at least apologize to Mariah, even if she wants nothing to do with me ever again. I wouldn’t blame her. But I – Jesus. I can’t leave it like this. Jesus.”

Killian and Emma looked at each other, then back at him, unable to deny him. They knew if it was either of them, they would have been desperate to do the same thing, even as their own hearts broke with the need to try to put it right for him, when it was so far beyond their power to do. Sam had already faced so much and barely come through it – but he had, he had, he was somehow still struggling forward, the kindest and bravest and best of them, even if he could no longer believe in it himself. He did not deserve this. He did not deserve any of it.

“All right,” Killian said at last, quietly. “If you wanted just to go to see her, and to hell with trying to recruit reinforcements, I’m sure nobody would blame you. Or – ”

“No,” Sam said. “I made a promise to you, that I’d fight with you until the war was done. It’s not. And if anything good can come out of this, anything at fucking all, then I’d be twice as much a fool to let it slip away. I’m doing it.”

Killian looked at him wordlessly. “Sam,” he said at last, very quietly. “I love you. We love you. Come back to us, all right?”

Sam considered him, then nodded once. “I’ll leave Charlie,” he said to Emma. “Whatever happens in Massachusetts, I don’t want you to have to worry about your brother too, on top of everything else. If you two want to take him and return with Mr. Silver here to the Walrus, I intend to leave at once. No point in wasting time.”

-------------------

The Whydah set sail at twilight. After he had bid farewell to Killian and Emma with a long hug and a quick kiss for each, doing a better job of holding himself together for their benefit than he at all felt, Sam ordered the canvas raised and the course charted, grateful for the distraction of the work. He did not blame them, as he loved them too much and knew it was not their fault, that they had had no more pleasant fate in having to give Geneva up with no certainty of ever seeing her again. Nonetheless, he wanted to be away from them. He already had the whole of the voyage to be alone with his turbulent thoughts, so perhaps it was jumping the gun a bit to get started just now, but he couldn’t stop himself. Jesus. Whenever he stopped being stunned, it was likely to hurt even more. Or worse, it wouldn’t.

Sam had loved Mariah, as he loved most people when he came to know them, and he still had meant to go back for her when the war was over, even though her father was not likely to have changed his opinions at all on the suitability of his nice Puritan daughter marrying a pirate. But at the same time, Sam could not have given up either Killian or Emma, or Flint and Miranda, in the different ways that all of them mattered to him – Miranda, at any rate, seemed to have been settled for him – and that he would have been all right if he had not, in fact, seen Mariah again. That guilt, that knowledge, was almost worse than the grief. That she had given up so much for him, that he had taken her presence and her love and her ability to be returned to whenever convenient for granted, and he had done this to her as a result. With the best of intentions, and with his own cursed inability not to connect too deeply with this, with everyone, he was the person who bore the most responsibility for Mariah Hallett’s current predicament, not the Puritans. They might have thrown her from her home, forced her to give birth in a stable only to see her child die, and imprisoned her for fornication and carnality, but Sam was the one who had left her there.

They sailed all night and all the next day without a halt, changing the crew shifts and taking advantage of a favorable wind. It was just over a thousand nautical miles from Nassau to Boston, and while they did not have the trades to speed things up, that was, strictly reckoned, not much further than the distance between Antigua and Jamaica in the Caribbean. It still worked out to a journey of at least a week in most cases, but then, most merchants and traders did not sail as if the Devil was after them, flying every scrap of canvas for as long as they could and running their crew to the brink of collapse from exhaustion. Sam worked harder than all of them, trying to shut up his yammering head. Whenever he did snatch a few winks of sleep, Hume had a disturbing tendency to appear in his dreams.

It was the morning of the fifth day out when the waters began looking somewhat familiar, and Sam reckoned they had to be close to the Nantucket Shoals, which was a tricky and dangerous bit of ocean that took careful negotiation. Numerous ships had been wrecked here, and he did not intend to add his name to the list. On the other hand, Nantucket was only about thirty miles south of Cape Cod, and if the weather held up, they could be there by nightfall.

Here, the Whydah happened across an apparent happy stroke of luck, in the form of a two-masted ship that surrendered quickly after a warning shot across the bow: the Mary Anne, bound from Boston to New York with a cargo of wine. Sam knew that he had been running his crew ragged, and that they deserved a spot of reward for all their exertion, so he ordered the spoils divided up and the drink passed around. For the time being, they were limited to the five bottles in the captain’s cabin, as the Mary Anne’s anchor cables barred access to the hold, so they drew her alongside, took her into tow, and decided to make full investigation of her delights later.

Sam checked the charts again and took a heading. He reckoned they could make it to Provincetown, the largest settlement of any size on the Cape, as the Whydah could stand to take on fresh supplies after all her venturing, and it was not far to Eastham from there. He sent a small crew over to take command of the Mary Anne, and they set out again.

For the next few hours, the weather was miraculously cooperative, the seas gentle and the wind steady, and they made good time north, despite the contrary currents from the shoals. Around three in the afternoon, however, one of those pernicious New England sea fogs arrived from nowhere and dropped over them like a ghostly shroud, so that the Whydah and her captive lost sight of each other at more than a few lengths apart. Sam ordered them to halt, checking the mercury in the glass. It had held level earlier, but now it was falling, and fast.

“Fuck,” Sam muttered to himself, already regretting his decision to be so munificent in taking the Mary Anne along. He had barely started to chew over what to do, however, when they were interrupted by a third ship sailing into the middle of things: a small trading sloop, the Fisher, with a captain who promised he knew the area well, and would help guide them around the hook of the Cape to Provincetown. Whether he felt this was preferable to being robbed by pirates was unclear, but no need to look a gift horse in the mouth.

A few hours later, however, Sam was cursing his rash capture of the Mary Anne more than ever. It was now fully dark, the wind and weather were getting worse, and the wine-sozzled eight men of his crew aboard the prize had caused her to fall well behind, obliging him to once more slow up and wait. “Hey, you lazy sons of whores!” he yelled, having to raise his voice considerably over the crash and thunder of the waves. “Sail the bloody ship, then drink!”

It was hard to see what, if any, response this evoked, and Sam felt a brief, unpleasant flicker of fear. The wind was shifting on them, coming from south by southeast, and what with the seas as high as they were, that meant they were being shoved hard toward the uncharted coast of Cape Cod, which was not the friendliest of places in the best of times. As well, the mercury was still plunging. This is not good. Sam had idly wondered if the captains of the Mary Anne and the Fisher might be interested in donating their vessels to the pirate cause, but at this rate, he was going to be lucky to keep any of them afloat. He could have made more speed in the Whydah, gotten out and away, but he was hampered by the need to keep his captured ships, and the men on each, together in the rising storm. I’m not leaving them behind.

By ten at night, the long-brewing gale had turned nasty. Rain pounded the deck and the sheets, lashing sideways, and bolts of lightning as bright as Zeus’ heavenly darts scalded the ink-black sky, followed by booms of thunder that rattled Sam’s teeth in his head. The seas kept climbing, waves twenty or thirty feet, so that despite all his best intentions, he had lost sight of the Mary Anne and the Fisher altogether. Huge, violent blasts of frothing white spray kept breaking over the deck and in towering sheets at the foot of the – cliffs?

Oh, fucking hell.

In the completest of all imaginable ironies, Sam realized all at once that he knew exactly where he was: precisely where he had meant to go, the village of Eastham on Cape Cod, the place where he had drawn Jennings away from Boston so Flint could have a go at rescuing the captives, the place where he met Emma for the first time and they became fast friends. The raging wind and water had driven them here, down the coast and toward the high sea cliffs that bracketed each side of the beach. If they could make it there, there might be some hope of a safe landing, though it would involve deliberately running the Whydah aground. If not –

Sam shook his soaking hair out of his face, spinning around on the deck. They were being tossed and slammed like a spoiled giant’s plaything, and there was only one possibility of salvation that he could see. “HEY!” he bellowed, yelling at the top of his lungs and still barely heard over the screaming madness. “LOWER THE ANCHORS!”

His men slipped and struggled toward the capstan, fighting the bucking braces with all their might to get the half-ton anchors free. The Whydah’s bow pitched and plunged into the trough of a seemingly endless wave, and Sam had a moment to be desperately grateful that he had not brought Charlie Swan along. He did not fancy explaining this to Emma if – when, damn it, when – they made it back to Nassau.

There was another splash as the anchors went under and their lines paid out, jerking and catching them to a croaking, straining halt. There was a moment of almost perfect silence and stillness in the heart of the storm, when they did not budge at all, locked in place as the ocean continued to throw its fit to every side. For that time, just that alone, Sam breathed.

Then he felt a jerk. Then another one. And then another, and that one did not stop. The anchors were dragging. They were on a direct collision course with the cliffs whether they liked it or not, and picking up speed with every writhe and thrash of the sea.

“CUT THE CABLES!” There was only one chance left, one small hope. They were currently being bashed backwards, stern-first, and if they could get swung around and go aground bow-first, there was some small hope of keeping the Whydah intact, of giving the men enough chance to swim for it. “WE’RE GOING ASHORE, LADS, HANG ON!”

Sam grabbed an axe with the others and hacked madly at the straining cables, fighting the sodden hemp with every blow, until finally they split and parted. Then he whirled on the helmsman. “TURN HER! TURN HER!”

The helmsman hauled on the wheel with all his strength, trying to fight the Whydah through the slamming, screaming, snarling tempest. But they weren’t turning. They kept plunging, helpless as a leaf on the wind, toward the mighty cliffs of Eastham, faster and faster, heading in stern-first and completely out of control. Sails tore loose, ropes snapped, and Sam could hear the sound of cannon breaking their mounts belowdecks and rolling like juggernauts. The ship tipped violently as the cargo in its heavy-laden hold broke loose, all the spoils of their weeks of wildly successful plundering, all the treasure he meant to use to purchase reinforcements for their cause. There was only this, now. Only inevitability.

There was no way to brace for it. One moment the cliffs were looming directly overhead, and the next, the mountainous waves slammed the Whydah into them with a force great enough to launch men clean off the deck and rigging and into the howling sea like bullets. Sam felt something snap in his shoulder, a blazing pain raced up it, and then he was engulfed in the blackness of seething saltwater to every side. He thrashed at it with his good hand, kicking and swimming as hard as he could, utterly unaware which way was up, until he broke the surface seemingly by chance. The deck of the Whydah was there, yes, but now it was over his head. It had no bloody business being over his head.

Sam sucked a desperate breath, clawing at the slick wood, then twisted out of the way in the barest nick of time as a cannon fell out of the next wave and crushed the man next to him into bloody pulp. Jesus, Jesus, no, not the Whydah, not his beautiful girl. Not his treasure, not his crew, not this, not this. He had meant to go back to Mariah and beg forgiveness for his sins, and yet by the looks of things, he had not started to be appropriately punished for them. He could see Robert Gold in his head, and Josiah fucking Hume, and all the leering faces watching him being marched to the gallows on Antigua. Whatever great cosmic debt he had incurred to the universe for his survival then, it seemed about to be paid in full.

Dimly, Sam heard an almighty, shattering crack, and twisted his head around just in time to see the Whydah’s mainmast split, plummeting into the frothing abyss of whitewater and taking the full rig of its sails with it. The hull couldn’t be far behind. The ship was barely recognizable as a ship, pounded into matchwood by the unforgiving might of the tempest, and Sam realized, in a very calm way, that he was about to die.

Very well, then. He did not want to die thinking about Gold and Hume and the sight of Robin Locksley dead in his arms, of grief and pain and darkness. He wanted to die thinking of Emma Swan’s smile, and Killian Jones’s strength, and the night he had kissed James Flint and Miranda Barlow and taken them to bed to breathe for the first time in ten years. He wanted to die thinking of Mariah Hallett, who had loved him despite the terrible injustice he had done to her, and he wanted to die thinking of a clear and perfect night under the Caribbean stars, and rum on a beach with his friends, with his family. He wanted to think of little Geneva Elizabeth Jones, and even her stubborn uncle Liam, and David Nolan. He wanted to think of home, and his sisters. Remembered their kisses and their tears as he left their poor farm in Hittisleigh, in rural Devonshire, a boy from nowhere who meant to be a man that everyone would know, and told them that he was going to make his fortune.

Another wave slammed him down, down and down, such a long way down, into the blackness of the undertow, and the crushing force of the submerged boulders. Sam was aware of the pain, but only distantly. He was not coming up this time, he knew, and he felt his air begin to run out, his mouth fill with salt and sand. He breathed one last time, and only water rushed into his lungs. But in his head, brilliant as a burning star until it began to fade, until all the lights went out, he was air, and sun, and fire, and there was no defeat, no death, no sundering. Only him, and the darkness that moved over the face of the deep, and the soft arms of the sea.

[seasonsbloom]

R O M E O - “you could punch me in the face and i would still want you ngl.” with jake pretty pls

♡ pairing ; hangman x reader

♡ wc ; 720

♡ warnings ; none? drunk hangman I guess.

♡ note ; I'm sorry this got super silly???

After years and years of bartending experience, after mixing countless cocktails and pouring a myriad of shots, after throwing gaggles of obnoxious men out on their asses and cutting up what could probably amount to a truckload of limes, you’ve gotten incredibly good at spotting drunk people.

But even without all of that, even if you’d never set foot into a bar before in your life, you think this wouldn’t be difficult to discern: Jake Seresin is absolutely and completely hammered.

“I think I’m in love with you,” he says, his big, green eyes blinking at you through the bleary haze of alcohol. He’s sitting with both elbows braced on the bartop, his Old Fashioned forgotten and melting into a sad excuse of water and whiskey.

“And I think you’ve had enough,” you mutter, reaching for the glass. You try to ignore the effects of the word, the blood rushing into your cheeks, the hope rushing into your chest. A fluttering, flailing, frantic fledgling of a thing.

He watches as you toss the last dregs of his drink into the sink, the ice cubes going with a loud clatter. “I don’t even like Old Fashioneds,” he reveals suddenly, eyes fixed on your hands like he’s trying to center his vision on something.

You frown. “You’re the one who keeps ordering them, Hangman.”

“Only cause you said you like men who order Old Fashioneds,” he mumbles, then pauses. “Is that a word? Old Fashioneds… What’s the plural of that? Old Fashions?”

You ignore his rambling. “Dude. I have no idea what you’re on about.”

He waves his hand through the air like he’s auditioning for a spot on the Disney Channel, then says, “You told Phoenix.”

Very, very vaguely you recall a conversation, over a year ago, about ideal partners, about dream futures. You’d made up some half-formed, half-true lie about a man with green eyes drinking an Old Fashioned you’d mixed for him.

Now you stare at Jake Seresin under the lights of this bar, here on this Tuesday night, with his sleeve in a puddle of indefinable liquid, with his hair mussed, with his heart on the tip of his tongue, and your head spins.

“How do you remember that?” you ask. You feel winded, breathless, as if you just ran a marathon.

He shrugs. “I remember everything about you.”

It knocks the words out of you. You just stand there, blink at him, hands slack and mind sluggish. 

“I’m really mean to you, Hangman,” you remind him, voice gentle in the face of something that feels too big. It’s Tuesday, man. “We like… hate each other.”

It’s not even a lie. You really are mean to Hangman, Hangman who is obnoxious and cocky and way too confident, who flirts with you at every turn, who takes home too many girls and always asks for the most expensive Whiskey in his drink. Who drives you to the brink of insanity and then pulls you back with a well-placed grin, a soft word, a tip just a little too high to be commonplace.

“I like it when you’re mean to me,” Jake admits, his face sliding ever so slowly off his palm. “It’s my favorite part of the day.”

You don’t know what to say. You feel like he’s just punched a hole right through you.

“Sometimes I fantasize about punching you in the face,” you blur, and then cringe at yourself.

Again, he just shrugs. “You could punch me in the face and I would still want you ngl.”

“This is a verbal conversation, Hangman,” you say. “You can just say the words out loud, you know?”

But you’re already halfway there with him, out in the sea of love.

“Okay,” he says, nods, and then he grins. “I’m so drunk, I’m totally seeing double. There’s two of you. You wanna have a threesome?”

Jesus, you think. “I think you should maybe have some water first.”

“Tomorrow when I’m sober,” he begins, his eyes finally going from your hands to your face, “can I ask you out?”

You swallow. “Yeah.”

“Will you say yes?”

“Probably.”

He grins. “I lied earlier. I don’t think I’m in love with you. I totally know it.”

It doesn’t take a professional to figure out that Hangman is absolutely and completely hammered. That’s how you know he’s telling the truth.