#pls shove your gun up my p-

[expiredsoda]

wild west au with cowboy!bela ? sign me up 👌✨

I shit you not the moment this idea get pum into my brain my mind just keep showing me images of bela manspreading 😮‍💨

[loliwrites]

I. Tenacity | Edelweiss

pairing: joel miller x f!reader  rating: explicit, 18+, minors dni  warnings/tags: jackson era!joel, sharpshooter!reader, age difference [joel is mid 50s, reader is early 30s], joel lives forever fight me, canon compliant violence, no infected here just terrible humans, mention of death, blood, and murder, mentions of hunger, diva cup appearance, talk of irregular menstrual cycles [trauma-induced menopause][epigenetics], DUBCON/NONCON [tagging ‘cause reader allows it but true enthusiastic consent is absent], brief SMUT, unprotected p in v sex, female reader, no physical description other than a height difference, slow burn-ish, protective!joel, no use of y/n. word count: 5.6k series masterlist a/n: my first go at writing something tlou-related. be gentle pls.

⌾ ⌾ ⌾ ⌾ ⌾

Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump.

The steady rhythm. You could count the number of times your hip would be shoved into the wooden table with a high degree of certainty of when it would be over. Michael never lasted too long. Somewhere between thirty-four and thirty-seven thrusts. He was never particularly rough, and though he was never chasing to make you feel good, he was at least better than George and James – both of whom would probably be lining up after Michael was done. George seemed to last forever. Some old fart who’d gained his stamina before the world came to a screeching halt. He usually landed somewhere between sixty-two and sixty-six thrusts. The bruises he left behind always lasted the longest because of the sheer amount of times he slammed your body into whatever you were up against. A table, a railing, an old pool table with torn, dirty felt. And the worst of all was James. He may not last the longest, but he had the uncanny ability of making you feel like some depraved wild animal he was trying to break. He never took his time to make sure it wouldn’t be absolutely painful like Michael did. Nor did he have a pencil dick to make it somewhat manageable like George. He took it how he wanted it – fast, unceremonious, and always left you in a mess you’d have to clean up.

Part of you wondered if this was worth it. If the wolf was only as strong as the pack, then having a pack was supremely necessary. And though, these guys… and the group they led… weren’t the people you would’ve gone with by choice. A pack was a pack. Alone, you were an easy target for almost anything and anyone. Being together afforded you safety in numbers. Relative safety in numbers. Safe enough to have stayed alive with them for the past six years. Years that you likely wouldn’t have gotten if you’d fought them tooth and nail and went off on your own. Solitude could only get you so far. No matter how proficient you were with your rifle.

The one that lay in front of you on the table. Clean, well-oiled, with a scope affixed to the top. As Michael started to moan recklessly behind you, you thought about the meals you’d forfeited in trade for the supplies needed to keep the weapon in the best of shape. Times were tough – had been tough for a couple decades now – and a gun was a gun. It didn’t need to be clean, it just had to work. But this was no ordinary gun.

Michael came inside you with a strangled grunt and pulled out a second later. That was a relatively new twist in the routine. For years the men were careful to never finish inside you… or any of the other women in the group. Food and resources were scarce enough as it was, let alone adding little mouths to feed and take care of. But a few months back, you’d confided in some of the women that your period hadn’t been coming when you expected it to. And when time had passed and neither a baby nor your period came, you came to the conclusion you were suffering from the same fate as some of the other women. A hard life compounded. Trauma induced menopause. You weren’t sure which of the women had ratted you out. But soon enough the men had become aware of your new biological situation, and they stopped the frantic pulling out as they came. Perhaps that was for the best. Who’d want to bring a child into a world like this?

“Was that alright?” Michael asked, buckling his belt back up. His back was turned toward you as he reached for his own rifle, which he’d propped up against the wall.

You glanced over at him and pulled your pants back up your legs. Over the lofted railing, you could hear George and James mumbling to each other. “Fine,”

“Did you…?”

He finally met your eyes. Anxiety-ridden. None of the other men ever asked, but you didn’t have it in you to lie to him. At some point maybe it’d sink in that he should stop partaking in the act just to fit in with the boys. “No,”

His gaze averted to the floor sheepishly and he shouldered his rifle. “Guess we should get back downstairs,”

“I’ll be down in a couple minutes,”

Now you were the one to turn your back on him. Though you hoped he’d come to his senses and start to become a better man. You knew he wouldn’t. He was initiated into the system. The one George and James, and all the other men in the settlement formed. The one that meant they brought girls along on patrols so they could get their kicks and save face with the others that they were doing their due diligence in protecting the group. And you joining the group… well you turned out to be the little guardian angel for the women in the pack. Good with a gun, able to pick off infected and humans alike from a mile out. It only seemed natural that the men going out on patrols would take you with them. For that you inadvertently protected the other women from your fate. 

Michael cleared his throat and started down the stairs from the loft. You bit the inside of your cheek to show yourself you could still feel something, and – BANG! 

Your head flicked around toward the noise. What was left of Michael was splattered against the wall leading up the stairs. You grabbed your gun and held it poised. Looked over the lofted banister and down at the room below. George had backed up into the far corner; his arms raised in non-threatening compliance. Someone must’ve been pointing a weapon at him, but you couldn’t tell from the angle. And James, well… if it didn’t warm your heart a little bit to see him being restrained in a chokehold with a handgun to his temple. The man you could see, holding James, was tall, muscular… he had black, curly, jaw-length hair. A thick mustache. He was in all denim. And it was clean, which was the thing that caught you the most off-guard.

You lifted your gun, disregarding the scope, and looked down the barrel. James may’ve been part of your pack, but you’d thought about putting a bullet in him on a daily basis for the last eight years. And while these guys might kill you afterward, at least you’d have the brief satisfaction of knowing that you’d taken one terrible human off the face of the planet.

So there was no hesitancy when you squeezed the trigger. The round flew by the denim-clad man’s head and went straight into James’. He crumpled to the floor and the man who’d been holding him looked up in your direction, though you’d backed away enough to ensure you weren’t seen.

Your pulse was pounding in your ears. Despite two thirds of your life having been in a post-Cordyceps world, the sound and reverberation of your rifle going off right by your ear didn’t keep it from ringing. An almost concussion-like haziness emphasized by the adrenaline coursing in your veins. From down below, you could just barely hear George pleading for his life. Something about how he had a woman he loved and wanted to go home to. Strange considering he had his dick in you on most days out.

The ringing in your ears started to quiet, just in time for you to hear a footstep behind you. A heavy one. Definitely belonged to a man. But not in time for you to spin around with your rifle before finding the man already pointing his rifle at you.

“Drop it,” he commanded gruffly. A deep, gravelly voice. He was sure of himself. Confident. His tattered jacket bunched up around his shoulders. He wasn’t as clean-looking as his partner currently detaining George. Graying, brown hair, a prominent scar over his nose, a scruffiness… and yet, he still looked too put together to have been living off the land for any amount of time. You should know. God knows what you looked like had you ever taken any time in front of a mirror. If the dirtiness of your hands were any indication, you were a little worse for wear. “I said, drop it,”

Your eyes flicked back up to his face and you slowly bent over and placed your rifle on the floor. No sooner than you’d completed the action, he had another order for you. Kick it here and get on your knees. So you did. Nudged your most prized possession away with your foot when another BANG! rang through the old hunting lodge. Your eyes flinched shut; the nanosecond of thought that this was it. You’re dead. But then… you still felt alive. And you squinted your eyes open to evaluate. Yep, definitely still alive. No bleeding holes coming from your body, and the man still in front of you waiting for you to comply with his last order. Which you did… awkwardly. A grimace stretched over your face when you knelt down and felt your pants sticking to your thighs; Michael’s spend dripping out of you.

The muzzle of the man’s rifle never left you, “got anything else on you?”

“Knife in my front pocket,”

“Slide it over,”

You did. Quickly. Hoping that your quickness and willingness to obey him would mean he’d let you go with your tail tucked between your legs.

“You infected?”

You glared at him, “do I look infected?”

He cocked his gun and held it up in line with your head. You trained your eyes on his index finger around the trigger. Just one twitch. That’s all it’d take.

“Joel,” both you and the man… Joel… looked away from each other, and fixed your eyes on the stairs where the second one – the one you’d disregarded in order to kill James – entered the loft. “Look at her gun,” both men looked at your rifle. “I don’t think she misses very often. If she was gonna kill us, we’d already be dead.”

He went to approach you, and this time Joel spoke up. A cautious step forward, “Tommy.”

But this Tommy… he took another couple steps in your direction and handed off his rifle to Joel when he went to stand in front of you. You kept your eyes on his face, tilting your head back to keep him in your line of vision. Even if he tried something, you weren’t sure what you’d do to stop him, but at least you’d see it coming.

“I don’t think you missed me. I don’t even think you were aiming at me,”

“I wasn’t,”

A victorious smile spread across his face and he twisted around to look back at Joel, “see.” Tommy looked back down at you and set his hands on his hips. “What’s your name?”

You flicked your eyes at Joel quickly before returning them to Tommy to answer his question.

“You’re with the other settlement?”

“I wouldn’t call them a settlement,” your eyes flicked over to Joel when he clicked his tongue on his teeth and rolled his eyes. “Nomads, at best,”

“And at worst?” Joel barked.

Your eyebrows lifted quickly in contemplation before… “a bunch’a assholes,”

Another wide grin broke out over Tommy’s face. “You got a family or a partner in that bunch of assholes?” He waited for a verbal response but you only shook your head. “We’ll take her back with us. She might be able to give us some answers about our friends we’ve been seeing on patrol.”

⌾ ⌾ ⌾ ⌾ ⌾

They made you walk while they sat easily atop their horses. Some kind of cruel twist of fate that your own gun was turned on you the whole time. Joel made sure of that. Based on the way the sun fell toward the horizon, you figured you’d all been an hour and a half walk south of their settlement. Which as you neared the large wooden gates, seemed to be more like a QZ than some random encampment. And judging by the way the two men bickered, you assumed they were brothers. Only siblings could piss each other off like that and not take it personally. How lucky, you thought, that after all this time, they still had each other.

When you did near the enormous gates, Tommy left you behind with Joel. A precarious position. His face remained stoic the entire time, muzzle of the gun pointed at you… didn’t even answer when you asked if his horse had a name. You thought about goading him into an argument for the fun of it. Maybe he named his horse Princess. Or Spike. But Tommy interrupted again, riding up with a handful of others and even a dog. It growled and snarled in your direction, and you weren’t sure why, but you glanced back up at Joel to see if his expression had changed. Maybe you wouldn’t be so scared if he didn’t look like there was something you should be nervous about.

To your surprise, he was already staring at you. Upon meeting your gaze, he nodded once and jut his chin in the direction of the dog. “S’gonna sniff you. See if you’re infected. If not, like you say, nothin’ll happen.”

“If I am?” You cocked your head back toward the snarling animal.

“It’ll probably just take your leg off or somethin’,”

“Any chance this dog fucks up?”

“Probably not,”

And it didn’t. Thankfully. Hopefully this meant they’d trust explicitly that you indeed weren’t infected. They seemed to trust their trained animal enough to let you inside their settlement. Jackson, they called it. You’d never heard of it. Never heard of any rumblings of a massive commune. And yet…. It was gorgeous. Nice buildings, string lights, stables, a bar, dining hall, and in the distance, what seemed to look like a large, sweeping neighborhood.

Tommy had joined up with a woman: Maria. They kissed and spoke fondly to each other, so you assumed they were partners. Both walked ahead of you, while Joel remained at your rear. You figured with your rifle still pointed at you. Everyone stopped what they were doing when you passed by. All staring to get a glimpse of the newcomer. Would you be joining them permanently? Would they kill you? You asked yourself the same questions.

Your feet had stopped moving but you didn’t notice until you felt the muzzle of your rifle press against your upper back. Joel jabbed the metal against your back again, growing antsier with the fact that your gaze had settled on a teenager in the distance. She was staring at you, too. A fact that seemed to make Joel even more aggravated. He mumbled his annoyance to you and you got moving again, walking up the boarded steps into the dining hall. 

⌾ ⌾ ⌾ ⌾ ⌾

They treated you better than you expected. Hell, better than your group would’ve treated someone they didn’t know. They set a big glass of water in front of you with a heaping plate of vegetables, chicken, and fresh bread. The water was one of the biggest surprises. You couldn’t remember the last time you didn’t have to boil water before drinking it. Maybe when you were still with your parents. That felt like a lifetime ago.

Tommy and Maria shared glances like they weren’t sure what you were going to tell them. Considering no one else joined you, you figured these three (or a combination) held a great deal of power in the settlement. Joel, however, looked pissed that this was even happening at all. That he hadn’t just shot you on sight back at the hunting lodge. It was pretty easy to ignore him. You’d spent the better half of your time on earth ignoring men just like him. But then the questions started coming and you figured all this kindness came at a price. They wanted to know everything. So you didn’t hold back. Maybe if you were open and frank with them, they’d let you stay here. They wouldn’t make you go back to those awful people. 

Told them that you’d been with that group for the last eight years. And in those eight years, they hadn’t really expanded their numbers by any considerable amount. That they hovered somewhere between forty-four and sixty-two people -- including the three that had been killed today – and that about two thirds of them were men. You even told them about how you’d become a sort of fun novelty for the men. That they brought you along on their scouts because you were better than anyone with a rifle. Once they got their rocks off by watching you down game a mile off, they got their rocks off again, fucking you up against anything sturdy enough to withstand the weight and pressure. 

Joel looked down at his lap at that. Avoided your eyes. You took it to mean that he knew what that was like. Maybe he did the same. 

You shrugged and pushed the remnants of food around on your plate. Eight years was a long time to endure that type of treatment. You told them as much.

“You don’t have loyalty to anyone in the other group?” Maria asked, probing. 

“She shot one of her own guys today. Doesn’t have loyalty to anyone,”

Everyone’s heads turned to Joel. He’d since leaned back in his chair, almost nonchalantly. The gun that had been pointed at you now lay on the opposite end of the table. You thought you saw indignance in his eyes. Disdain for you and the plight he perceived you to be on. Scorched earth. Loyal to no one but yourself. Maybe that was true. Maybe you’d evolved to become highly selective in where to lay your loyalty.

“He wasn’t my guy,” you spat in Joel’s direction. It might as well have been just the two of you in the room. “He was the guy that killed my parents. So fuck him,”

It was hard to tell what they thought of you. Tommy was the only one who smiled freely. Maria saved hers for Tommy. And Joel didn’t smile at all. There was no talk of a plan or a future. No conversation about what was to become of you. All they told you as you wandered from the main street and down one cul-de-sac road lined with houses was that they didn’t allow anyone to have weapons in town. All firearms stayed at the armory. 

That conversation ended as they stopped in front of a small one story cottage. It was dark and rickety, and for the life of you, you couldn’t fathom who you were to be put into the arms of. If the house was any indication, probably some horribly untidy mess of a man. Maybe it’d be the type of man you’d wished you’d have your gun around for. 

Maria, Tommy, and Joel led you inside that dark, rickety cottage. Unlocked the door and flicked the lights on as they entered the living room. You kept your eyes and ears alert. Your awareness might be the only upperhand you had in sensing danger here. But you heard nothing. You saw nothing. There wasn’t another soul in this house waiting to attack. It was just you and the three who’d brought you here. They didn’t offer an explanation. Joel just stood back and eyed your every move carefully while Maria handed you a little stack of clean clothes, a toothbrush and a tube toothpaste, and a small cardboard box that held something you���d never heard of before: a diva cup. 

You looked up to give her an apprehensive glance but found that she was already giving you one. It was a look you’d seen before. When you’d talked yourself into joining that other group all those years ago. It was the look the women had given you before they realized you were about to become their saving grace. She turned away from you and gave Tommy a peck on her way out; not even bothering to acknowledge Joel.

There was a part of you that admired her. For the amount of power she clearly wielded over not only these two men, but seemingly the entire commune. And the other part of you was scared of her. She reminded you of your mother. A strong, domineering type who knew how to control the men around her. You figured if the outbreak hadn’t happened and humans didn’t devolve before your very eyes, you might’ve become the same type of woman. The type who could keep her men in line with a look. The type whose men would’ve quivered at the look you’d shot them.

The front door shut behind Maria in the same moment Tommy was handing you a key. You took it in your hand and ran your thumb over the cold, smooth metal. It had been decades since you held one like it. Surely even before the outbreak, people just didn’t hand over keys to houses for nothing.

“You can stay in Jackson for a month on a little trial run–”

“Probation,” Joel interrupted.

Both you and Tommy flicked your eyes at him. While Tommy looked annoyed, you actually smiled. Somehow Joel’s bluntness was growing to be comforting.

“Jesus, Joel,”

He shrugged, “S’call it what it is. Probation to see if she’s a problem and we gotta send ‘er packin’,”

“Appreciate you both not shootin’ me,” you said, you voice sounding hoarse. You cleared your throat and shook your head absently; a small smile passing over your lips, “would’ve put a damper on my day.”

Tommy grinned though his brother looked unamused at your effort of levity. “Someone’ll come ‘round tomorrow morning around seven-thirty to bring you to the greenhouse. Teach you the workflow down there.” Then off your confused look, he smiled again, heading for the door, “if you’re gonna live in the community, you gotta help out.”

Joel turned his back on you to follow his brother, and you were quick on their heels, “what about my gun? I mean, does everyone have their own gun at the armory, or…”

“It’s a commune. We share,” Tommy said over his shoulder as he tugged the front door back open. He and Joel stepped through the threshold, but your voice stopped them.

“It’s just that… I’d rather not be here and have my gun, than be here and have someone else usin’ it. I appreciate what you’re doin’, and your helping me out, but… to me, staying in Jackson isn’t worth havin’ someone else use my weapon,”

“It’ll be safe,”

Tommy’s voice rang clear and sure, trying to reassure you of something. What, you weren’t certain. But he continued on his way, and only once he stepped off the small porch, did you realize that Joel had momentarily kept himself frozen in place. By your front door, staring you down. You started to shrink back beneath his gaze, unable to discern what it was trying to convey to you. Anger. Resentment. Disappointment. The door nearly concealed you entirely before Joel got his bearings again and descended the porch steps and jogged to keep pace with Tommy again.

⌾ ⌾ ⌾ ⌾ ⌾

The whole thing was weird. All of it. Jackson was an anomaly and the more you tried to make yourself at home, the weirder it got. The house they’d just given you was definitely a pre-outbreak build. It was obvious. Some of the other houses on the block looked new. You imagined they’d smell new. Not your cottage. Scuffed up wood floors. Cracks in the paint and drywall. Even the wood-burning stove. And when you looked out the front window, out at the street, you saw children. Walking by themselves. Joking around. Not nearly on edge or high alert. In fact, you dared to say that they looked like they were having fun. 

You’d only been ten when the world came crashing down around you. Fun ripped out from right under your feet. The homestead you’d grown up on – climbing trees, playing hide and seek, shooting down Coke cans – once a safe place to be a kid, had quickly become something to be defended. As you found out many moons later, to the death.

At ten, there wasn’t anything to rebuild in the new world. You hadn’t had any worldly possessions to hang onto. When money became obsolete, it didn’t matter because you’d never had any. Perhaps in a bank somewhere, stuffed away in a savings account that no longer held any weight. Nor did you need the money to get by in life these days. You’d heard tales of the QZ’s from people who’d come from them. Escaped from them. They had a new type of currency. Not the kind you used to have. The green paper money with a bunch of old dudes on the front. The kind your family burned sometime in the winter of 2006 when the first freeze took over and you were sure you’d never get back to the old normal.

And that was what made Jackson the weirdest. It was the closest to ‘old normal’ you’d seen in over two decades. A whole town. Village. Commune, they’d called it. A formal education had stopped young, so the only awareness of anything commune related came from a book your father had about the Bolshevik’s October Revolution. And if you were being honest, it didn’t sound too good. But on top of that, how were you supposed to rebuild now? Maria had been kind enough to give you a few things, but there wasn’t wood for the wood-burning stove. And the electricity might’ve been working, but there wasn’t any food in the fridge. No sides of deer cut up and stored in a chest freezer. How were you supposed to get that in a commune? Did they have money? Did they barter? And either way, you had no money to give and nothing to barter. So how exactly were you supposed to get on in life?

Face up, staring at the ceiling, you laid in bed willing yourself to go to sleep. You’d gone to bed hungry before. More times than you could count. But usually those nights were accompanied by a dirt floor, extreme cold, the threat of being hunted. A million other things to keep your mind off of the fact that your stomach was growling. There wasn’t any of that in Jackson. Everything was quiet, almost eerily so. You were warm. And even though the mattress wasn’t the comfiest of things, it sure as hell beat the floor. With all these little luxuries, it was hard to ignore the hunger.

But even if you had been asleep, you’re sure you would’ve been woken by the footsteps on your old, rickety porch. None of the wood planks laid exactly right. All creaking with age and rot. Much like the world, you thought. Plus you couldn’t remember a night’s sleep that wasn’t disturbed by panic or anxiety, or just plain fear. Probably hadn’t had a peaceful night like that since before the outbreak. Now that creaking on your porch made you jump up and scurry into the corner of your bedroom. Into the shadows. Praying you’d had your rifle. Cursing the idea that you’d stay here without it. 

The creaking came and went in a steady procession. Four footsteps. A pause. Another four footsteps. On and on for a few minutes. Long enough for you to have gained your courage again. Long enough for you to have crawled to the front room and peek through the window. Long enough for you to see Joel Miller ambling back and forth on the porch, stacking pieces of wood, conveniently chopped to fit the size of your wood burning stove. What a stark difference from the Joel Miller who’d been pointing a gun at your head this morning. You went to the door and unlatched it, slowly pulling it open so as to not startle him. He came to an abrupt stop. An armful of wood. Staring at you.

He blinked a couple times in quick procession, gaining the wherewithal to move again. “M’sorry if I woke ya’,”

You shook your head, “I don’t sleep much.”

Joel nodded and set the armful of wood on top of the rest. He wiped his hands on the back of his jeans, almost sheepishly. “Winter comes up on us pretty quick here. Insulation in this place is for the birds. Figured you’d need some wood for the stove.”

“Oh,”

“I cleaned out the flue a couple months back so you shouldn’t smoke yourself out,”

Lips pursed together, you pondered the stack of wood nestled up against the cottage. “I don’t think I’m gonna stay. Doesn’t seem like this is the right place for me,”

Joel didn’t have a response for you, just looked down at his feet and kicked at a nonexistent something on the porch.

“That gun–my gun. My dad gave it to me in 2003. September 26th,”

Joel’s eyes flicked back to yours. Pain riddled in his gaze as if he remembered that date all too well. And when it vanished, the coldness you’d first noticed in the hunting cabin returned.

“It’s all I have left. And as ridiculous as it sounds to be so attached to a rifle, I am. And I–”

“It doesn’t sound ridiculous,” he interrupted. Just when you thought he’d continue on and show a little more softness, kindness… he kept speaking, “Look, I don’t care if you stay or go. Don’t need stragglers hangin’ ‘round. So I’d love to give you your gun back and dump ya’ out past the gate. But Tommy’s always been a little stupid. Takes chances on people,”

“What an idiot,” you smirked.

A smile flashed over Joel’s face. It was gone in a second. And he turned away from you, descending the porch steps. “He’ll bring you to the greenhouse. Teach’ya how things operate, and…” he took a deep breath. Something almost like fondness erupted in his tone, “you might not wanna stay, but don’t fuck things up there for the rest of us. We got families here. And we’ll need the resources to get through the winter.”

“You think I’d fuck things up on purpose?”

Joel looked over his shoulder and nodded, “yeah. ‘Cause I’ve been in your spot before and I did.”

He continued on and you stayed put on your porch, watching him until he was out of sight. Wondering where the house he was given was. If he was alone, or if he had some sort of partner living with him. But also figured you’d never get the chance to know. 

⌾ ⌾ ⌾ ⌾ ⌾

“We get most of our roughage and root vegetables in the colder months. There’s a constant harvest to keep up with the community’s needs, but some of these aren’t hearty enough to withstand the winter. Even inside the greenhouse,”

You nodded dutifully behind Wendy. At least you think that was the name Tommy mumbled as he was being dragged out of the greenhouse by Joel. Something about being late for patrol and not wanting to spend all day on some godforsaken cliffside. She’d just got done showing you the strawberry vines. The lifeless things that she assured you would spring to life when the warmer weather came back.

The work was easy enough. Boring. Nothing you hadn’t already done on your family’s land as a teenager. Only this was on a much smaller scale. Maybe most of these people had come from QZs. And maybe before that they came from big cities. Places where they never knew where their food came from. That it just somehow appeared in their groceries. Yet, by current standards… of canned things from yesteryear, the greenhouse was a bit of a spectacle. Something beautiful.

Wendy continued on her well-practiced lecture about potatoes as you got lost roaming the rows of plants. Up and down each long, leafed path. Fingers gliding over them, not taking the time to stop and acknowledge any plant in particular. Until, in the absence of your thought, your fingers brushed over something woolly. Pulling your hand back, you focused in. There, just beyond your fingertips, a tray of small white flowers. The petals, less like blossoms, but more like leaves. And woolly. Fuzzy. Unlike anything you’d ever seen.

“What’re these?” Eyes still locked onto your discovery, you hadn’t fully comprehended that you’d interrupted Wendy’s spiel.

And yet when she came upon you, there was no ill will or annoyance from her. Just her gentle hand on your shoulder. “It’s edelweiss,” she smiled and shrugged her shoulders when her answer had you giving her a questioning glance. “It’s usually up in the Alps. In the middle of nowhere. Jesse came back from patrol one day ‘bout a year ago with a handful of these plucked up from the root. No idea how they ended up in Wyoming.” Wendy brushed her fingers over the fuzzy leaves.

“How’d you know what they were?”

“Call it coincidence or divine intervention, my grandfather had an oil painting of them above his fireplace in the eighties. When he was stationed in Germany during the war, he’d heard all these stories about this little star-shaped flower. Soldiers would climb high up into the mountains to find them. They grow in the harshest places, sometimes even right on rocks. The journey to get them was hard. A lot of guys didn’t finish the trip, but if they did, they got to pin one of these to their uniforms. A symbol of true bravery,”

You admired the flowers again. Now even a smile crossed your face.

Wendy let out an exasperated sigh, “and I figured, hell… if they can survive on the top of the Alps and in this nightmare of an apocalypse, Jesse finding ‘em wasn’t no mistake. Maybe we’re lucky here in Jackson.”

[gyuswhore]

Never Shall We Die (3; final)

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

PAIRING: kwon soonyoung x reader

PLAYLIST: right here!

pirate lingo glossary (pls refer!)

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

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

WORD COUNT [full fic]: 48.1k

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

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

masterlist

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Big bomb, more boom, less predictable!” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Please be okay. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So much for leaving quietly. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What he sees puts his heart in his throat. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“She—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He could find his freedom elsewhere. 

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

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

THE GREEN ISLANDS WERE on fire.  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And…?” he asks in silence. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

IT WAS A SPECTACLE to see Hoshi in his element. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What are you thinking about?” Hoshi asks. 

“Everything,” you sigh. 

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

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

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

“I mean it.”

“Hm?”

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

“Who said I didn’t have to?”

“Our deal was done.”

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

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

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

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

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

“And you are…?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

He chortles, “Other than my criminal status.”

“Tell me.”

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

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

“How humble,” you hum. 

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

“Am I a survivor?” you question. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Smaller albeit, but monsters nonetheless. Problems nonetheless. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Will you stay with me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Your Majesty—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Our greatest apologies, your Majesty.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Stay. Please.”

True as he has always been, he does.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Have the wrappings on your wound come off?”

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

“Disappointed?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But you don’t. 

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

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

“Tell me what?”

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

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

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

Deal? Why was he mentioning that now?

“Are you going to abandon me too?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m sure you’ll find someone—”

“I don’t want someone! I want you!”

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

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

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

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

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

“I—” he stutters. “The court—”

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

You squeeze his hand tighter, moving impossibly closer. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Has the Captain approached?” 

“No, your Majesty.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Your guards mortify me.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Soonyoung!” 

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

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

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

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

“What…What’re you doing?” 

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

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

Ah. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I need words, my love.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You weren’t?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, Soonyoung.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Soon—Soonyoung, it’s too much.”

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

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

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

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

“Hi,” he grins. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mhm,” you muffle. “Want to sleep.

“I’d let you, but…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Soonyoung—”

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

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

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

“Yes, my love?” He smiles softly. 

“I love you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You could get used to this. And you will. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There’s a pang in your chest, one that brings a tear to your eyes. It’s all very dramatic, the way the melancholy makes a home in your heart. An inkling tells you how you’ll probably become quite used to the feeling, learn to greet it like a friend. 

For now you enter the lighter palace, and take your place on the chair in your study and find solace in the ideas your mind brings. 

That no matter how long Soonyoung will remain far from you, he will always come back home to you. 

Always. 

[AN]: ty for joining my babies on their journey, i cannot thank you all enough for reading all 48fuckingK words of this i love you guys truly!!! thank you for all the reblogs and comments on the other parts, it makes me genuinely so happy to see you guys enjoy this universe that i've built. I read every single comment and know i appreciate all of it so so much <3

[mommycitas]

Hi!! would you pls write some negan x fem!reader? i love angst so maybe the prompt “this is gonna hurt but you need to be quiet okay doll?”

A/N; thank you for the req!!! I wasn't really sure what situation you wanted for the prompt so me being me it's gonna be sum smut ToT !! But if that isn't what you wanted,(I'm so so sorry if that's the case btw ToT) feel free to re-req and specify the situation you wanted and any other further details!!

summary; After being found by some of the Saviors, you are brought to Negan where he gives you a offer of a lifetime.

pairing; Negan x Virgin!fem!reader

Pronouns/Name; She/Her , Y/N

Warning; Age gap (reader in early 20s, Negan in early 40s) Swearing and such, Negan being Negan, sexual comments, semi-public sex(inside a storage closet), taking of virginity, fingering, p in v, unprotected sex, thoughts of cunnilingus and sex. breeding kink if you squint hard enough. NOT PROOF READ !!

Word count; 1.7k

!! MINORS DISCOURAGED !!

You run through the woods, dodging trees, vines, and bushes. You look over your shoulder to see a large group of zombies chasing you. You lost all your handheld weapons and ran out of ammo for your gun, so you had no choice but to run.

You had been running for what seemed like 30 minutes until you couldn't seem them anymore. You leaned against a tree to try and rest. You grabbed your bad off your shoulder and reached inside to get some water, finding you had nothing but empty bottle you angrily toss all your belongs on the ground.

"Fuck!!" you practically screamed. Hearing a branch snap from the tree behind you, you realized the error of your ways. Standing silently, breathless, you waited for whatever was there to pass. After a minute or two you turn around the tree to see if you can see anything. Before you could even see anything or one, you felt something hard smash against your head and everything went black.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Slowly waking up, you open your eyes to darkness. Laying on the cold floor of a broom closet it seems like. "Oh well fuck me." You groan to yourself before steadily trying to stand up. Kicking on the door a few times "Let me out!!" you yell. You go to kick one more time before the door swings open. A man with stringy blonde hair and half his face had a nasty scar on it. "Where am I?" you demand "Be quiet" he groans at you. He backs up and a few men walk over, most of them holding guns and such. "Come with me" he groans yet again. Following him, you see the kind of place you're in. It seems to have been a factory before the old times maybe?

It's full of people and children. You haven't seen anywhere like this in so long. A feeling of euphoria brushes over you when you suddenly walk into the same man you were following. "Watch where you're going, we're here." He opens a door and shoves you in before closing the door again.

You looked around the room shocked at what you were seeing. You couldn't believe something like this existed in a time like this. Doing a little spin to look around you hear someone clearing their throat behind you. A tall man wearing a leather jacket was standing behind you. "Here doll, sit down." He ushered you to the two couches sitting face to face on the side of the room. taking a quick seat, he follows and does the same. "Hi, I'm Negan." you smile at the introduction "I'm Y/N."

"Welcome to the sanctuary!" he had such enthusiasm in his voice, it was nice to hear after months of only having hearing zombie groans. "Sorry, my men were so brute with you. They saw you in the woods and thought you needed help." "So they knocked me out?" he didn't respond to that, only giving you a weird look. "Now. If you want to stay here, you have to work for your place. So I'm gonna break it down for you, in four choices. One: You wind up on the spike and you work for me as a dead man. Two: You get out of that nasty little cell you woke up in, you work for points, but you're gonna wish you were dead. Or three: You work for me, you get yourself a brand new pair of shoes and you live like a king. Or." He paused and examined your facial expressions.

"Number four. You become one of my wives and don't work a day in your life, get whatever you want, and get screwed by me every night!" You just stared at him blankly, not knowing if he was joking or not "Cat got your tongue?" he laughed "One of your wives? Plural?" the thought of that made you feel sick, but you've had it so hard for months, not having to do anything sounded kind of nice. "Hell yeah! You know, you are super hot and I'd love to be pounding into you already." "That's gotta be a joke, right? This whole thing is a joke? All four options?"

He just let out a low belly laugh that sent shivers down your spine. "Let me show you doll." before you knew it he was leading you down a corridor swinging around a baseball bat. The first spot was "door number 1" as he would say. You watched as men in sacks fight with walkers chained to a fence. You look at Negan and shake your head "I'm not one for manual labor." One by one she shows you the next two locations. None of them really resinated with you, like you've said you don't really like doing work. That was until he showed you a room where four beautiful girls wearing cocktail dresses sat, laughed, and drank. When you walked into the room they all gave you a look. Negan explained what being a wife meant and the perks and rules of it was. But you weren't sure what to do or even if you should stay.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You sat in the dark cold room you woke up in. Thinking all the situations over, you thought about Negan. About how good his salt and pepper beard would feel against the inside of your thighs when he's face first in your cunt. While you were a virgin and you've never even tried to touch yourself, you had a good idea of sex and foreplay. You thought about how good Negan would look naked, pounding into you. You felt your pussy throb at the thought.

Before you knew it you were pounding on the door yelling for Negan. After a minute he threw the door open "Jesus doll! Are you dying in here? Lucky I was just passing by." he laughs before being interrupted by you aggressively placing your hands on his chest "Please Negan, I need you, I want to be your wife, take me please." you look up at him and see his eyes are already blown with a lustful fog. "I've been waiting for you to say that since I laid eyes on your tight ass." his lips crash onto yours before you have the chance of even considering changing your mind. He closes the door, the only light coming from the small lantern on the floor he had brought in. He pushes you against the wall making quick work on the button of your cargo shorts, dropping them on the floor, leaving you your underwear.

He rubs you through the material, feeling how wet you already are for him, feeling him smirk against your lips. In one quick motion he tugs off your underwear and rubs your clit. You moan against him before pulling away. "Negan.. umm I'm a virgin." you embarrassingly reveal "Holy shit. Been a while since I plowed a virgin, this should be fun." He plunged one finger into you, gaging your reaction and never removing eye contact. You squeak and your head falls into the crook of his neck, feeling a kind of pleasure you've never known before, quickening his pace you become more slick by the second. He kisses you on the top of the head before continuing "I'm gonna add another finger, ok doll?" you nod in response. Feeling him stretch you out, you let out a cry. He pumps his digits in and out of you while nipping at your ear. Just as you feel that knot in your stomach start to form, he removes his fingers and brings them to his mouth, you whine in protest. But before you can protest more, he grabs your shoulder and turns you around, pressing your face against the harsh cold wall. Using his free hand he unbuttons his jeans and pushes them down, grabbing his cock out of his boxers. "This is gonna hurt but you need to be quiet ok doll?" he whispers in your ear while rubbing his tip from your entry to your clit back and forth. He lines his tip up with your opening and slowly pushes himself in about half the way.

The strange change from absolute pleasure to the feeling of your cunt ripping in half made you loudly cry out. "Doll, I told you, you need to be quiet. Anyone that walks by could hear you." he says while covering your mouth with his rough palm. You stare up at him through the glossy coating covering your eyes. He continues pushing himself into you until he's skin to skin. You had never felt such pain yet such pleasure in your life. He soaks inside you for a minute to let you adjust to being so stretched out. You nod to the best of your abilities, letting him know he can continue. At first he starts slowly, rocking his hips gently back and forth in and out of you. After a minute or two of this he removes the grip on your shoulder and replaces it on your hip and starts going harder and faster. Violently crashing into you at a quickening pace making a dull smacking noise. You moan in a muffled tone into his palm. Drool sneaking past his calloused grip flowing down your chin. A minute into this you feel that same knot tighten inside your core. Negan could tell by your mannerisms that you were close and you could tell too. Tears streaming down your face you let out one final loud moan that even muffled would be loud enough for anyone near to hear, you released all over Negans large cock. With your cunt tightening around him, he was teetering over the edge.

With a few more sloppy uncoordinated thrusts you feel his cum all inside you. Ropes of warmth shooting up and inside you. He quickly pulls out and pulls up your underwear, leaving you sitting in his semen. You both adjust yourselves and throw your clothes on before leaving the closet.

You were filled with such a happy euphoria hand in hand with Negan. "Now lets go get your sexy little ass one of those hot ass black dresses."

[creepzkilla]

Hello there! May I request some Masky NSFW headcanons? I love your writing and devoured the Toby and EJ ones so fast. Feel free to make it as dark as you want!

↳˳⸙;; ❝ MASKY KINK HC'S! + BONUS ᵕ̈ ೫˚∗

Nsfw. warning-- fem! gentials not proof read, sadism, humiliation, oral, marking, gun play, corruption,

[A/N-- PLS READ. my official back to tumbler post! i will be going through my inbox of creepypasta requests-- after I am done with them all I will be not writing for creepypasta until I am back in the fandom! lately I haven't been too into the fandom and will be focusing on the other fandoms. feel free to still send in requests-- but you have until the 18th to send them in! then I will be closing any asks for creepypasta.

MASKY IS NOT A VERY AFFECTIONATE MAN—

let’s face it, he isn’t, and you’ve come to terms with that. his love language is more acts of service. you know that he'll always be there for you no matter what. doing your chores around the house-- making the bed, the little things, is how you know he loves you. but you've always found another way. sex.

sadist/ humiliation: masky is known as being brutal. someone who would do anything to get what he wants. he just loves to humiliate you-- degrading you in a public setting, making you wear a vibe to a nice dinner setting-- and he revels in your pained expressions that begged for release

oral: he adores seeing your pretty mouth wrapping around his cock with tears in your eyes. you were never good at deepthroating, it makes it even worse when he shoves his girthy cock down your throat and starts fucking it without letting you breathe.

marking: he could spend all night littering bites and hickies all along your body that will surely last days. but don't worry! once they fade away, they'll be replaced with even darker ones!

gun play: this is self-explanatory... masky loves placing his glock-19 against your temple as you go down on his cock. the fear in your eyes when his eyes meet yours is enough to get his cock hard again.

corruption: all the pastas, i feel have a sense of humanity left-- even if only a sliver. their other half--their murderous persona's take pleaser in seeing the innocent face of their new fuck buddy be taint by their corrupted hands. masky partially is rough with his toys, fucking their holes as long as he wants, using them as practically a fleshlight.

stretching: he loves stretching out your tight walls with his girth as your hands claw against anything you can find. you’re pussy if just so tight

MASKY HAS DEFINENTLY TRIED TO CONVINCE YOU TO A THREESOME--

i mean, how could you blame him? he just wants to flaunt your perfect little body and face. so why not let someone else have a turn with you? just to let them know how good he has it with your divine mouth and pussy. to be honest, he pities anyone who hasn't experienced you in your entirety. esp, your pussy.

5 INCHES ISNT ALL THE BIG, BUT A GIRTH OF 7 INCHES--

is fucking insane. im serious 7 inches for the circumference of a dick is massive. built like a coke can. masky is so girthy that he has to stretch you out first before having sex with you or his tip won't even go in. sometimes when he can't wait anymore, he just shoves it in with no warning as tears brim your eyes and your hand grabs the nearest thing it can.

—-ˋˏ [‘in through your nose, out through your mouth’] ˎˊ

--("mmm, p-please hurry up and stretch me out already.." desperate moans fell from your mouth as your thighs ached from your position. your head; shoved into the pillow as you used your arms for extra comfort with your ass up in the air.

the tightness in your stomach increased with every moment as you laid buried in the satin pillow sheets. a thick warm substance ran down your tired legs, seeping out of your hole-- a sign that you are more than ready to take your lovers cock in full. yet, he seemed to be taking his sweet time.

the killer was utterly enthralled by the sight in front of him. his hands traced the curves of your ass in an almost desperate attire that sent shivers down your spine. his thumbs stretched apart your ass, showing off your heat that was soaked in your own excitement. he marveled at the thought of you getting off to him, its only been a mere 10 minutes, and you're already this wet. its a marvel to him.

you feel his hands prying you open, displaying you perfectly in front of him. it was like you could feel his hungered gaze burying in your skull, into your hippocampus; therefore it being permanently ingrained into your memory. this moment-- filled with nothing but lust, and hunger as he stared at your heat as if it was on a golden platter, made from the finest gold.

"y'know... youre just so fucking pretty," you practically moaned at his words as his hands run through your tangled hair, giving it a harsh tug, making you hiss, "have I ever told you that?" he sneered almost, lust and anger mixed in between. he was angry at himself for taking his precious time playing with you-- worshipping you, but he couldn't bring himself to just fuck you, no he needs to savor this. he needs this memory to be ingrained into his very being so he can just replay this--sight, over and over again.

"please... please i need you--" a desperate whine fell from your mouth, you felt as if you could explode. the knot in your stomach tightens with the very thought of his cock entering your body, if anything you could cum on that thought alone-and you might- if he didn't hurry up.

masky sighed before taking a deep breath. he positioned his cock at your aching entrance, brushing against your folds ever so slightly, sending tingles down your spine. he about just came right then and there, you're just so fucking wet. but that doesn't mean its gonna be easy getting it in.

"imma need you take a deep breathe for me okay?" you obeyed, taking a deep breathe, letting your chest rise and fall- preparing.

this cock pries at your entrance, struggling to get in. even with your pussy being so wet, you still didn't want to open up for him. by now, some time had passed as he tried to get it in but, to no avail. he was beyond annoyed at this point, just wanting to fuck you dumb on his thick dick.

with his patience wearing thin, he shoves his cock in with no warning-- slipping past your pussy with ease. a curdled scream rips through your throat as it slowly morphed into scattered whines and moans.

"breathe through your nose, out through your mouth, hun." you hear the flick of a lighter and the smell of cigarettes permeate the room. you always hated when he smoked in the bedroom (despite how good he looked fucking you with a cig in his mouth)-- it always ruins the complete mood. (you could imagine what he looked like, a cig loosely y hanging from his lips as his muscles flex with desperation-- almost like he's holding back.) but your mouth was too busy to form any coherent words as an endless barrage of moans cascade from your lips-- and he's only stretching you out... he hasn't even begun fucking you yet.

masky could cum right now if he wanted to. with your tight pink walls stretching so good against his thick cock, if he could he would be able to stretch you out like this every moment of every day. it just feels so good-- he almost forgot he needs to begin fucking you. he hasn't even started fucking you yet and he already needs to cum? how pathetic is that? he balls ached how much he needed to cum.

"well, i hope your ready because im ready."

"w-wait it still hurts--"

"remember? in through your nose, out through your mouth...now breathe."

[thenyoumightaswellwrestleangels]

Am I lost in the vastness of these stars? (will you take my hand and guide me home?)

Day 2 of Thank You, Haikyuu - event masterlist here

pairing: sawamura daichi x reader (gn) x sugawara koushi

length: 7.8k

genre: wild west au !! fluff, hurt/comfort

warnings: there's some talk about murder and a single slightly graphic crime scene but nothing too intense at all, lots of miscommunication and heartache in this one, but happy ending I promise as always, also wounds inflicted from broken glass at one point, it's all p tame but just a heads up

a/n: I feel like I'm running a marathon rn I feel like I'm sprinting but this one's niiiice to pls enjoy <3

tags: @love-and-lore @melodramaticmatter

It's a town you've never been in, in a saloon you've never heard of, with three counts of robbery on your tail, when fate finally catches up to you. You're not really paying attention to who the bartender is when you swing open the doors, shoving past the closed sign hanging on them and stumbling in. Maybe if you'd been slower, you would've taken note of the distinct silver shine in his hair before you grabbed him and turned him to face you, a gun to his ribs in preparation.

But when he sees you, dropping the mug he was drying and letting it shatter on the floor, it's Sugawara Koushi's face that stares at you. He's older now, of course, the boyish softness in his features having given way to deeper, sharper edges. But it's still Koushi, eyes kind and gentle even as they widen at the sight of you - at the sight of the gun you have pressed against his side.

You holster it when you catch up to yourself, though, letting go of him and stumbling back.

"Koushi," you begin desperately, but the sound of horse hooves hammering against the ground outside has you grabbing onto his shoulders again. "I need you to help me out of here," you rush out, voice wavering. "I need you to lie to the sheriff - you live here, you have to know him. I heard he's caught wind of where I am and I can't-"

"I can't," he begins, but you barrel on.

"Please Koushi, I know I - I know we're not anything anymore but there was once a time, right? Where you would help me? Where you would take my hand?"

But Koushi reaches out to grab you by the shoulders, shaking you into silence as he says your name. You catch, out of the corner of your eye, the gleaming silver band on his ring finger.

"I'm… married to the sheriff. I can't do that," he says slowly, like the words hurt as they come up. And they do, you're sure - they do to you, at least. Koushi's married, moved on from you and Daichi enough to marry someone else, so unknown to you now that that's enough for him to turn his back on you, to forsake you to whatever fate his spouse will give you.

You're standing there frozen, reeling from Koushi's words, when the doors swing open behind you and you hear the jingle of spurs. You step away from him, letting his hands slide off your shoulders and fall, useless, to his sides, as the click of boots walking across the wooden floor rings through your ears. You know the sounds of the law catching up to you when you hear them.

But then the sheriff speaks and it's Daichi's voice you hear. He asks Koushi who he's got there, his voice ringing through the empty space. Koushi just stares at him, anguish painted across his features as Daichi steps further forward and frowns, his hand on his gun cautiously. 

You turn slowly, stiffly, rotating on your heel to look at the sheriff - at the face of your old lover staring back at you, older and broader, his badge strapped to his hip and his wedding band shining on his finger.

All these years that you thought the three of you had gone your separate ways, turns out it was just you who was left behind. It's enough to make your breath catch - the betrayal of it all. The shock and guilt that flashes across Daichi's face, at least, mirrors what's hammering through your heart. Fortunately, however, you've always been a quicker draw than him. 

You tell yourself that you can't really be hurt by the two of them ducking when you draw your gun - that you're a wanted criminal, that you're no longer in the company of love or trust. Perhaps it's fortunate, you think as you shoot through the window next to Daichi's head, causing him to flatten himself to the ground long enough for you to make a run for it and go through the opening, rolling over the broken glass on the windowsill and out into the street.

Stealing the sheriff's horse as your getaway ride isn't strictly necessary, but a way out is a way out and you're not sure you owe Daichi any kind of courtesy these days.

Koushi, as he stands by the broken window, looks at the trail of blood that's drying on the loose shards from when you rolled over it. Outside, Daichi stares at the place where his horse used to be, scowling with his arms crossed.

"Someone needs to find them," Koushi says, making Daichi spin around to look at him. "They'll bleed out at this rate."

"Someone needs to find them because they're a criminal," Daichi answers shortly. Koushi sighs and crosses his arms, mirroring his husband.

"You can't go alone," Koushi points out. "It's not safe. Not… well, today was a little too close. If they catch you off guard again, they might not miss a second time." Daichi frowns and walks towards Koushi, standing on the opposite side of the window to look at him properly.

"Do you really think this was a missed shot?" he asks quietly, eyeing the blood on the windowsill.

"I think that, with the crimes that they're running from, it wouldn't be a surprise," Koushi answers, but his voice is halting and low. Daichi reaches through the open window to take Koushi's hand, thumbing over his wedding band as he turns over the day's events in his head, knowing that neither of them will say what they know is true.

You're not the person you used to be. You're dangerous, you're wanted, and it's the sheriff's responsibility to take you down.

"Come with me, then," Daichi says abruptly, making Koushi stare at him.

"What?"

"Come with me. I can't… I don't want to do this alone." Koushi sighs at his husband's words, looking past him and out towards the town that they now call home, the one that they built, just the two of them, in your absence. 

"I guess it should be the three of us," he responds quietly, something heavy weighing in his heart. It feels a lot like guilt, and when he turns and sees the wanted poster on the wall of his saloon with your name on it, he can't help but wonder how it all went so wrong.

Perhaps it's a coincidence that all three of you are reeling from the same question, racking your memories to find the moment when it all began to fall apart. You think of it, of course, as you weave through towns and backroads, further and further from the strange saloon that held your past - and the future that you could never have. It's late in the evening when you make your decision, your legs aching from days of running away and your thighs chaffed from your stolen horse. It's that evening, as you lay on the hard, cold ground three hours outside the nearest town, that you feel the loneliness in a way that you hadn't thought was possible.

Yes, the three of you walking away from one another had left you staggering, alone and directionless in the wide open sands of the desert. Yes, being on your own for all these years, running and running and running had taken its toll, loneliness creeping in with the setting sun every night to wrap around you and squeeze.

But somehow, when you'd thought that all three of you were alone, it hadn't been so bad. Somehow, it had been simpler to convince yourself that it was fine, that there was really no such thing as home for people like you.

But now, staring up at the stars, their lights winking in and out across the night sky, there is nothing but you and the vastness, the open desert and the open sky and your closed-off heart. Now, knowing that the two of them are wrapped around each other, sharing a life that they couldn't bear to share with you - that is a loneliness that is unbearable, an agony of longing that tugs at your soul.

So, your decision is made. No more hopping towns, no more slipping just barely out of reach. The next train will have a ticket with your name on it and you'll get as far away from it all as you possibly can. 

Unfortunately for you, Daichi and Koushi know you a bit too well, the two of them being able to trail after you with more accuracy than anyone else ever has. They weave through the same back roads and small towns, trailing after your footsteps as if they're still intertwined with you in some way - as if they can feel the tugs of your heart leading them to you, still. 

It doesn't take much, then, for them to find the clerk who sold you the ticket, and it's only a mild scramble for the two of them to kick their horses into action, stumbling onto the train as it pulls out from the station. Mild, of course, is a relative term, which Koushi considers as Daichi loads their horses in while he gives the conductor their tickets. He's not sure what Daichi would've done if he'd lost you, if he'd been forced to stand on the platform and let you slip away, getting smaller and smaller against the endless horizon as you vanish from their grip.

Daichi swears up and down that it's a professional desperation, that he swore to protect the law and punish those who deviate from it and this is nothing more. He promises to catch you and throw you into jail, himself, content to let you rot in a cell until this version of you that exists now dies alongside the part of you that's already buried - the part of you that loved them and was loved back. Daichi swears that all of that is dead and gone, buried under the endless sand and the heat of the desert. Koushi, as he looks at the wild pain in his husband's eyes, isn't so sure. As he feels his own heart constricting, his soul pushing against him, he knows that it isn't true for himself, at least.

"Are we sure we're on the right train?" Koushi asks quietly as Daichi slams another cabin door shut, scowling as he shoves his badge back onto his belt. The endless rows of doors loom ahead of them as they continue the process of flashing the sheriff's badge and asking if anyone's seen a wanted criminal wandering around the train. 

"We are," Daichi answers stubbornly, making Koushi frown. He follows after him nonetheless as he continues his search. He's sure you're here. You have to be. 

And as you watch through the crack of the door leading to the next train car, you curse Daichi's determination - his desperation to find you. They've backed you into a corner, methodically moving through the cars towards the back of the train, pushing you further and further until you run out of places to hide.

As you slip into the luggage compartment that marks the final car, you think that perhaps it really is all catching up to you - perhaps there really does come a day when you just can't run anymore. But you slide the large side door open, anyway, gripping onto the frame as the wind rips in through the doorway, knocking a stack of suitcases over and causing you to teeter on the ledge. 

Surely, no one would survive a jump like this, out of the side of a moving train and into the vast nothing of the open desert, endless miles away from the nearest town. But surely it's worth it, you think, to not have to face them, to not have to look the ones you love in the eye and watch them cease to recognize you. Surely, it's -

But it is, you realize suddenly as a strong pair of hands haul you off the edge and into the car, finally time to stop fleeing. You think, for just a moment, that if Daichi hadn't caught you and pulled you back, you would've kept blindingly running until it killed you. Just like he said it would every time you fought about it. Just like be promised on the day the three of you split up - the day they moved on without you. 

"What the hell is wrong with you," Koushi spits angrily as Daichi uses a strong hand on your shoulder to sit you down on someone's suitcase, the leather creaking underneath your weight as the sheriff swiftly cuffs your hands behind your back. "Do you have any idea how stupid that was? You could've died. Are you so lost that you really have to -"

"Koushi," Daichi says his name gently, a quiet request for his husband to stop his tirade as Daichi pulls a trunk over to sit opposite you, leaning his forearms onto his knees so that he can look at you properly. You stare at him, your eyes locked with his and you think, somewhere unimportant in the back of your mind, that this is the first time you've really faced him. It's the first time you've really faced either of them. 

"You're under arrest," Daichi says firmly. Standing next to him, Koushi crosses his arms and presses his lips together, something akin to anguish flitting across his face. "I understand that you've always had a knack for getting into trouble, but this just going too far."

"Daichi, come on -" you begin, the disapproving tone in his voice making you shift, your wrists straining against the metal cuffs.

"No, I mean it. How could you? How could you become this thing?" Daichi's words have you pausing, your brows furrowing together. Bank robbery's not great, sure, but he's acting like you've killed someone.

"It's just - it's not that bad," you begin, but Koushi pales as Daichi's face hardens. He slams his hand onto the suitcase that he's sitting on and looks at you like he can't stand you.

"Three counts of murder and that's how you act?" Now that's enough to make you freeze.

"I… I beg your pardon?" You say slowly, your eyes wide. "Three counts of… robbery. I robbed three banks." Something in the back of your head screams at you for confessing to a crime like that, but the idea that they think you've been murdering people is enough to have you stumbling.

Daichi scoffs and scowls and Koushi sighs in a heartbroken sort of way.

"It's too late to lie," he says quietly, but you shake your head desperately.

"I haven't killed anyone," your voice catches with distress. "I would never - I don't know how you would think -" But Daichi's reaching into his pocket to pull out a series of wanted posters, crumpled and smudged from his travels, and slamming them against your chest with an open palm. It knocks the air out of you, your babbling cut off by the force of it as he pulls his hand back and lets the papers float down to the floor so that you can stare at them.

"These are… Wakatoshi's crimes," you say slowly, staring at the information scrawled onto the posters. "I remember these murders - and you have to remember Wakatoshi's gang. This wasn't me."

"So, you're being framed by one of the most infamous criminal gangs alive," Daichi says dryly, his arms crossed. You open your mouth to respond, but any defence you have dies on your lips as you stare at the two of them, your eyes flicking between them. Two hard gazes trained on you, two people who once thought the world of you, scowling down at you as if you're nothing more than the sand crushed beneath their boots.

"You won't believe me," you say weakly, your voice wavering in a way that makes Daichi flinch and Koushi look away. You know that, if you could see his face, you'd be able to see the tears gathering in his eyes. You wonder when they stopped knowing you the way that you know them, when they became strangers to your love.

You think that might be worse than being framed for murder. You're not sure what to do with it, with the way the walls close in on you and the way your breath shortens in your chest. But then there's a scream from somewhere in another car - something loud and shrill that has Daichi jerking to a stand and reaching for his gun. There are shouts following it, a jumble of yelling voices that ricochet off the walls and into the luggage compartment with the three of you. You can hear it well enough to understand what's just happened. There's been a murder on the train, the killer spotted and running away.

The two of them look down at you with wide eyes and you slouch where you sit, clicking your tongue in annoyance.

"Well, see, now that couldn't possibly have been me," you say dryly. Daichi just glares at you, grabbing you by the shoulders so that he can haul you to your feet and drag you with him and Koushi towards the commotion, tugging on your cuffed hands as you stumble when the train begins to lurch to an emergency stop. As he steps into the car in question, he nudges you towards Koushi, who wraps a hand around your cuffs to keep you pulled close to him.

"Aw, come on, where do you think I'm gonna run away to?" You sigh. Koushi frowns at you.

"I think you'd fling yourself out of that window if you had half a chance," he says flatly. You can't really defend yourself against that because, as you eye the cabin window, you think it might be true. You'd have to get past Daichi, though, who's currently leaning over a very dead body that's splayed over a seat while he speaks to the hysterical passengers that apparently saw the crime.

It was a stabbing, they explain - as if the splatters of blood and puncture wounds riddling the body weren't evidence enough. A woman, weeping into a handkerchief, goes on to say that the killer disappeared towards the engine after the crime, most likely using the train's slowing momentum to flee the scene. 

"These stab wounds match the other murders," Daichi murmurs.

"Yea, but these are sloppy - it's like someone didn't know what they were doing," you chime in. When Koushi and Daichi look at you pointedly, you go to hold your hands up in innocence, your wrists catching on the cuffs as you end up just tugging Koushi closer to you. "I didn't do it," you say indignantly. "I'm just saying."

Sawanura pointedly ignores your comment as he straightens, brushing imaginary dust off of his knees as he looks to Koushi, jerking his head to have him follow him out of the compartment and back towards the caboose.

"I have to go after him," he says firmly. "If I start now, I might be able to catch up with him. I need you to stay here and take care of this - don't let anyone interfere with the body, don't let anyone leave. Can you do that, love?" 

"Of course," Koushi answers quickly, pulling you along as Daichi slides the door of the next car open, horses lined up and tied in their stalls. "But - how will you catch up with him?"

"I have to try," is Daichi's only response, firm and resolute in the way that he always is as he unties his horse, leading it out of its stall. 

"Daichi," you say quickly. He looks at you, something painful and longing clouding his eyes for a moment before he goes back to tacking up his horse. You step towards him as you realize that Koushi's no longer holding onto your handcuffs. "I have my horse here, too. You'll have a better chance of catching the killer with a second pair of hands."

"You're still under arrest," Daichi says bluntly. You reach out to wrap a hand around his bicep, stopping him from moving away from you. He stares, first at your hand, then at the unlocked cuffs in the fist of your other hand, then finally at your face.

"How did you do that?"

"I promise to tell you when we get back?" You offer. A hand taps on your shoulder and you turn to see Koushi holding the reigns of your horse, having gotten everything ready for you while you and his husband were bickering. Daichi just sighs in that long-suffering way of his and you take it as an affirmative, smiling at Koushi and taking the reigns from him. 

Just as you reach for them, though, Koushi grabs you by the front of your shirt, pulling you to him so that he can slam your lips together and kiss you hard. By the time you part, Daichi's already on his horse, looking mildly amused at the way you pant and blush.

"Promise you'll come back to me," Koushi says gently, a command whispered against your lips. In that moment, you think he could've asked you to pluck the moon from the sky for him and you would've said yes. "Promise that I won't lose my star again," he whispers, and it's all you can do not to fall to your knees for him.

Koushi watches, after that, as you and Daichi ride off into the endless desert, dust plumes rising and sun beating down. He tries to think of a time when you've ever broken a promise to him and comes up short. Then, in a way that makes him sort of nauseous, he wonders why he didn't just make you promise not to leave them in the first place. 

It's much to Daichi's relief, in the end, that you were right - two experienced riders who are calm and focused have a distinct advantage over a criminal who's panicked and fleeing for his freedom. It's when you catch up to him, though, that his relief vanishes, stamped out by dread when you pull your gun, cocking it and aiming it for the man's back.

But Daichi's just opened his mouth to call out to you when you fire, grazing the killer's shoulder enough to knock him off balance, sending him tumbling off of his horse in a flash of panic. He curls up in a ball and covers his head with his arms as the horse kicks and stamps, sides heaving and eyes rolling before it bolts. You dash after it on your own horse, trusting that Daichi will handle the arrest.

And he… trusts you to come back. The two of you make a good team, he realizes abruptly, a fact that slams into him enough to make him stagger when he dismounts his horse. He wonders, in a swaying, painful sort of way, if you always had.

"Did you think I was going to shoot him?" Your voice, as the two of you ride slowly back to the train, the killer tied up on his horse with Daichi holding the lead tightly in his hand, jerks him out of his spiralling thoughts.

"You did shoot him," he says bluntly.

"But did you think I was going to kill him?" You press. Daichi stares straight ahead, at the long, dusty horizon and the stars that blink over it as the sun dips below the earth, beginning to bathe the two of you in darkness.

"I think it's hard to believe that you got lucky twice." You look at him and frown at that, racking your memories with him to try to figure out what he could mean when it finally hits you.

"Twice? Daichi, I… I wasn't trying to shoot you. I was aiming for the window," you say, and you don't really try to hide the hurt that bleeds into your voice.

"How was I supposed to know?" He snaps, bristling defensively. You recognize it for what it is - pain and regret swirling together into a nauseating mirage of the past. But your own pain still burns in your throat as you look at him.

"Because I'm not a killer," you say simply.

"I know that now," is his only response. Your hands tighten on your reigns, your knuckles paling at the force as you listen to the killer sniffle quietly on his horse. He's young, young enough for Daichi to realize that he didn't get into this life alone… he's young enough to remind him of you, of the first time he caught you stealing from saloon cash registers when the three of you were kids.

The boy had claimed that his name was Goshiki and that he was trying to get in good with Wakatoshi - they all were, apparently, him and the others who were responsible for the four total murders. It was confession enough to render you innocent. It was proof enough for Daichi to feel sick with regret and shame. 

"Have you ever thought about working in law enforcement?" He blurts out, and you whip around to look at him like he's gone mad.

"You're… joking, right? Was that a joke?" You say hesitantly, your eyes scanning over his body as if you'll find some source of blood loss that would explain his insanity.

"You're smart," he says instead of answering, shrugging. "You're quick, you're capable, you're… good. You're good, and I shouldn't have ever thought differently."

"I don't blame you for believing it," you say quietly, but he turns to look at you, his eyes soft and remorseful.

"You should," he says gently. You choose not to fight him on that - not to find another reason to burn a bridge and run away. Instead, you tip your head back to stare past the brim of your stetson at the vast darkness of the night sky, the sun having fallen over the horizon enough to bring any last traces of light with it.

"It's a bit too late now," you say finally, voice so soft that Daichi doesn't think he would've heard it if he wasn't so attuned to you. 

"Is it?" He asks. You look at him like he should already know the answer, your lips pressed together into a thin line.

"If I stop now, it'll all catch up with me. That's the thing with running… once you start, you can never give it up." Daichi stares at you when you say that, a faint memory of yelling those same words at you many years ago wafting up to the front of his mind. If you notice the guilt that tightens his chest, you don't comment on it. You just smile up at the stars, at the only company you've had for all these long years, and sigh. "Well, you always were a bit better at looking ahead than me."

"I was wrong," Daichi says quickly, and you hum in interest. "I can pardon you. I can -  I can give you a chance."

"What good is a chance for someone who always does the same thing?" You sigh, reaching to stretch your arms above your head as if Daichi isn't trembling with the stress of it all, gripping onto the resign of his horse next to you.

"It's good - you're good. Take the chance," he offers desperately. You look at him finally, staring long and hard as the sand dunes roll endlessly behind him. 

"What would Koushi think of it?" You ask quietly. He laughs at that, his shoulders sagging a bit.

"I'm not the one who kissed you like that when we left," he points out. You grumble and turn away, hoping you can tilt your head enough that he doesn't notice the heat in your face at the memory. But the stars blink back at you and the horizon stretches on and on and on into the unknown, and you have to ask the question that's been burning the back of your tongue.

"And what happens when I get bored again?" You say. "What happens the next time I get restless, wanting for something that the two of you can't give me?" Daichi just shrugs, though, remarkably unconcerned.

"My work always brings me out of town. Koushi hates it - I spend months away sometimes, helping folks in the neighbouring towns who need it. It'd be nice to have a deputy to be able to do that for me."

"Really," you say suspiciously. "It all works out - just like that?"

"Yea," he says easily. "Just like that. Maybe… maybe it always was a little easier than we thought it'd be."

It shouldn't be surprising, you think as you and Daichi make it back to the train, that Koushi's done such an excellent job of keeping everything together. It's what he does, you recall - it's what he is. The pillar, the steady guiding hand, the shoulder to lean on. 

The train passengers, while still anxious and restless, are quiet and settled in their compartments when the two of you arrive, Daichi trusting you with the horses while he hauls Goshiki off to the car that serves as the crime scene.

After giving the conductor the go-ahead to continue the journey, Koushi's quick to follow after him, already standing in front of the criminal and scowling when you join them. Daichi's keeping Goshiki's hands cuffed behind his back, sitting beside him with his arms crossed as he keeps an eye on the killer while Koushi interrogates him - he's just getting to asking why you of all people were framed for the murders when you slide through the open door of the car, closing it gently behind you.

"I doubt you'll get anything from him," you say as you stand next to Koushi, crossing your arms and looking down at the sniffling boy and the way he presses his lips firmly together. "Wakatoshi doesn't treat traitors kindly."

"How do you know so much about Wakatoshi?" Daichi asks, yanking Goshiki's cuffs when the boy starts to shift, bracing his legs. The train begins to sway gently as it picks up its previous pace and you look down at the criminal carefully as you grin.

"I stole from him," you say simply. Goshiki, to your delight, doesn't look particularly surprised, choosing instead to glare up at you. With the way he shakes and the blotchy red of his tear-stained face, though, he looks a bit like a wet kitten trying to hiss for the first time.

"What?" Koushi whirls around to face you.

"The bank robberies - they weren't random." Koushi throws you a disapproving look at the boasting edge of your voice. "Wakatoshi has new little nobodies like him open accounts at banks and keep his blood money there. It means that it can't be traced back to him and he doesn't have to worry about the security of his own profits." Daichi blinks up at you as he listens, a hard look on his face as Goshiki shrinks under your words.

"So, the murders were… payback?" He questions. You shrug.

"Maybe," you say, your gaze trained on the boy in Daichi's grasp. "He might be getting sloppy. I wonder if he even killed them himself."

"He would never," Goshiki all but shouts as the three of you turn to stare at him. "Wakatoshi doesn't get his hands dirty like that, it's what he has -" He seems to realize his mistake too late, his eyes widening in panic as he stammers. "I - I didn't mean that. I didn't say anything. I -"

"Well, what's done is done." Daichi claps a hand onto Goshiki's shoulder, the boy flinching under the pressure of it as he lets his head hang. 

"Wakatoshi will have his head even for that," you say quietly.

"You shouldn't have taunted him then," Koushi quips, an annoyed sort of look on his face. 

"It's nothing we didn't already know," you respond lowly. "Wakatoshi's been using others to do his dirty work for years. But he keeps his people close… if we want to get to them, we need names." You stare at Goshiki hard as you speak, your foot propped up on the seat next to where he's sitting so that you can lean on a forearm as you look at him closely.

"We?" Says Koushi coyly. Your foot slips and you stumble to stand normally again, looking between him and Daichi.

"I said you."

"I think you said we," Daichi points out. You cross your arms and scowl at him.

"A day ago you thought I killed people for a living."

"Daichi's wrong all the time," Koushi points out. "It doesn't mean much." Daichi makes an indignant, defensive sort of noise, but the way he frowns and pouts makes him look anything other than genuinely angry. Koushi smiles gently, just for a moment, before turning to where you're standing and shifting your weight from side to side. He reaches to brush sandy residue off of your stetson and smooth down your windswept clothes, actions that have your face heating as you turn your eyes away from him.

"Come on, love…" he says gently, and when you look desperately to Daichi, the sheriff just laughs and shrugs. "You gonna let me call you Deputy? Hm? You gonna come home with us?" You just sigh and tip your head back, staring at the dark, steel ceiling of the train car, low and curving like the endless sky that it covers. You stare and you let yourself think, just for a fleeting moment, about what it must be like to have a home to come back to.

Koushi reaches to hold your chin gently between his thumb and forefinger, tilting your head back down to look at him. You groan and squeeze your eyes shut as you lean away, spinning on your heel to slouch into the seat opposite Daichi and Goshiki. When your back hits the fabric, though, and you wince, the two of them narrow their eyes at you.

"How are the stitches?" Koushi asks stiffly, like he's biting his tongue to keep from chastising you. You just arch a brow in confusion.

"What stitches?"

"The ones I'm sure you got when you had your back looked at," he continues. You stare at him for a moment before letting your eyes flicker to Daichi, but he's mirroring his husband's disapproving frown.

"When you rolled over a pile of broken glass," the sheriff points out helpfully. You make a sound of understanding and purse your lips in mock indignation.

"Oh, you mean when I tried to shoot you," you quip. Daichi's face turns apologetic, but the effect is hindered by Koushi sitting down next to you and tugging at the layers of your clothing.

"Can I help you with something?" Your voice climbs in pitch as Koushi pulls your arm out of your jacket and moves on to tugging up the hem of your shirt.

"I'm checking on your stitches. Have you been cleaning the dressing regularly?" He asks easily - insistently.

"There are no stitches to check on -" Clearly the wrong choice of words. Koushi pauses his movements, leaning to look at you suspiciously. 

"What kind of doctor wouldn't give you stitches for cuts like that?" He asks flatly. You squirm in your seat, looking to Daichi for help, but he just glares stubbornly in response.

"The kind that doesn't exist?" Your voice is slow, wavering as you hesitate. Koushi scoffs. "I'm a wanted criminal, Koushi, I can't just go to a doctor, can I?"

"They swear an oath to help all people, you know," he chastises as he stands, stomping across the compartment to where Daichi's already rifling through his bag. When he pulls out a first aid kit, Koushi snatches it from him, coming back to you with it in his hand like he's brandishing some kind of weapon.

"Yes, but they don't swear an oath not to have you arrested after they - ow, Koushi -" But you have a distinct suspicion that your partner's stop listening to you when he successfully rolls the back of your shirt up, hissing at the sight.

"How bad is it?" Swamura says softly, looking at you with a gentleness that has you shifting where you sit, your shoulders tightening.

"It'll be better once I'm done with it," Koushi responds quietly, concentration thickening his voice as he works on cleaning the wounds as the antiseptic burns you. He shushes you softly at your sharp inhale, distracting himself just enough to press a kiss to your shoulder as he wipes away dried blood.

There's an intimacy of it all that has you reeling, has you staring out the window towards the dunes of sand that pass in a blur, the endlessly sweeping winds tumbling by. When you were younger, you'd dreamed of sights like this - sights of an open road leading on and on and away. But now that you have it, there's a longing in you that still won't quit, a need that's tugged at your heart for all of these long, lonely years.

It's a need that slows now, you realize haltingly - a yearning that paces itself amidst the thick haze of worry that pours from Daichi and the gentle touch of Koushi's hands brushing against your spine. You notice the safety of it all with a hint of panic, whipping your head around to face forward and being met with Koushi's hand resting firmly on the back of your neck, his low voice chastising you gently for moving so much while he bandages your back. And so, it becomes inescapable - the care that wraps around you. 

"Maybe it was stupid of us," you say slowly, letting your eyes fall to the compartment floor.

"Hm?" Koushi murmurs. 

"For us all to go our separate ways the way that we did," you clarify. Daichi smiles in a quiet, remorseful sort of way.

"We did waste a lot of time, didn't we?" You look up at him as he speaks, at the softness in his voice and the age in his eyes. He shifts where he sits, his hand tightening on Goshiki's handcuffs as his eyes flicker to the empty seat next to you. You wonder if the distance pains him the way that it's pained you for all of these years, if even the few feet that separate you now feel as vast as the desert outside.

"I don't think so," Koushi's gentle voice breaks the intensity of the longing gazes you and Daichi had been shooting at each other - much to the embarrassed relief of Goshiki, who sits and squirms and pulls at his cuffs. "Don't we always have to find ourselves before we find each other? Hm? There's a lot of places to get lost out here." You tilt your head back to face the window at Koushi's words, at the horizon that stretches on beyond what you can see.

"You two didn't really leave, though," you murmur. "It was just me who got lost out there." Koushi, having smoothed your shirt back down and helped you gently back into your jacket, brushes a hand over the back of your head gently. Daichi clears his throat and jerks his head towards Goshiki, leading Koushi to get up and switch places with him without another word needing to be said. 

It stings, watching the two of them move in such a rhythm, years of love and belonging making themselves known. But then Daichi sits next to you and pulls you against him, one arm wrapping around you gently while the other cups the back of your head and tucks your face under his chin.

"We would never leave you like that, my star," he murmurs gently, rocking you back and forth in that firm way of his. You try to pull away from him, try to plant your hands on his chest and push him away, but Daichi's gotten strong in the years since you've known him, broad and firm and immovable.

"But you did -"

"We didn't. We left - we give up when you give up, we walk away when you disappear," he says firmly as you give up your struggle, letting yourself sag against him with a weary, dejected sigh.

"It was a coincidence, love," Koushi adds as he looks on, pained by the stress in your eyes and the distance between you. "We stumbled onto each other in a town that we were both trying to be strangers in. We just… found each other. We find each other." 

You look at Koushi as he speaks, feeling Daichi's hand trace up and down your arm while he hums his agreement. You wonder, sort of distantly, what made you go to that town when you did - what made you choose that road, that saloon, that memory to drag back up from the dead.

"Is this really all coincidence?" You ask quietly. Koushi grins, a soft, loving sort of thing that has you looking away.

"Maybe it isn't," he offers shyly. "Maybe we were always going to find one another out here in the middle of nowhere." You scoff at his words, a vain attempt to distract from the tears blurring your vision as you stare out the window, refusing to be where you are now. Daichi places a knowing kiss to the back of your hand and tucks you further into his chest, away from the outside world and the endlessness of it. 

"We have a long way to go still," he says quietly, a welcome distraction that you thank him for by squeezing his hand gently and intertwining your fingers with his. "We should rest… and take turns watching him." Goshiki shrinks under the attention, but Koushi just laughs.

"And when we get to the end of the line?" He asks. Daichi just settles further into the cushioned seat.

"We'll buy some new tickets and catch a train home… all four of us," he declares. You eye Goshiki hesitantly, watching the way he tugs on his cuffs and lets his eyes flit around restlessly.

"And what will you do with him then?" You ask quietly. Daichi sucks his teeth in a moment of pretend thoughtfulness just to see the boy squirm.

"I think anyone like him deserves a second chance… you never know, if he's willing to turn on Wakatoshi and spill some secrets… well, things could start really looking up for him."

"You should be careful who you give second chances to," you quip quietly as you watch the boy's eyes light up. "There's no limit to how many times someone can turn their back on you."

"No, there isn't," Daichi says thoughtfully, smoothing a hand over your back carefully. "But I have a good feeling about it this time around."

Koushi thinks, rather sullenly, that three months is far too long for any deputy sheriff to be away - that when you finally return home he'll make you and his husband swear to never send you away like that again. He's polishing glasses, muttering under his breath about the audacity of it all when the saloon doors swing open and the familiar jingle of spurs reaches his ears.

He's a bit surprised, honestly, that you manage to catch the glass he all but throws in his haste to slam into you, hugging you tightly enough to have you stumbling back.

"Aw, did you miss me?" You ask coyly. Koushi untangles himself from you and sniffs indignantly, snatching the glass from your hands and moving back behind the bar to put it away.

"No," he says flatly.

"Hmm, I think you did." Koushi shoots you a scathing look and you grin, sliding onto a stool at the bar and watching as he pours you a drink without having to ask. You prop your chin in your hand and watch as he wipes down the counter.

"I hope you did," you say quietly, a bit of the teasing melting from your voice. He looks up at you then, blinking in a startled sort of way before softening, throwing the rag he'd been using somewhere behind the bad and coming to stand in front of you and lean over the wooden top towards you. You lean in, too, a response that feels innate as you close your eyes. 

But instead of his lips against yours, you feel your stetson being plucked from your head and when you look at him, Koushi's got it placed haphazardly on his own head. You scoff, turning away for a moment in the desperate hope that he won't notice the heat spreading through your cheeks, but his laugh tells you that you've been found out.

"What do you think, am I a real cowboy now?" He taunts, and you run a hand through your hair as you stare, flustered more than you care to admit. 

"I think you're a real fuckin tease, that's what," you quip back, but the way he tips his head back and laughs makes the embarrassment of it all worth it. "This is stealing. I could arrest you for this, you know." Koushi just bats his eyes and sticks his wrists out towards you, pouting.

"Aw, wouldn't you?" he says coyly.

That's how Daichi finds the two of you, of course - you groaning hopelessly and burying your head in your hands while Koushi adjusts your hat on his head. The sheriff laughs at the sight, rolling his eyes fondly as he pats you on the back consolingly and slides onto the stool next to you. 

You lift your head enough to look up at him, at the shining mirth in his eyes and the way he opens his mouth to join in on the teasing. Intent on stopping that, though, you reach up to pluck his own stetson from his head, placing it on yours instead. That is, of course, enough to have him snap his mouth shut and blush profusely, looking away from you in a vain attempt to save face. 

Koushi leans over the bar to press a kiss to his heated cheek and then to your grinning one, murmuring something sweet in your ear about how he really is happy to have you back. Something in you flutters a bit as he looks at you intently and you realize that he's not just talking about having his deputy sheriff back in town.

"Well, I'm glad someone is," you sigh dramatically, leaning against Daichi's broad, solid shoulder. That seems to draw him out of his embarrassment enough to wrap an arm around your shoulders, the thumb and forefinger of his other hand tilting your head gently up so that he can plant a kiss on your lips. 

"It's good to have you home, my star," he says softly. A gentle sort of sentiment. You smile against his lips, a tension leaving you that you hadn't really realized you'd been carrying.

"Yea," you sigh. "It's good to be home."

[be-my-ally]

The Lisa-Marie

Big Bunny + The Return Flight (in case you want to catch up!)

Warnings: 18+, exhibitionism (public rehearsal, but no-one else is watching/or sees), elvis is a panty thief for no reason other than it’s now totally canon in my head that he continually stole knickers, fingering, mentions of drug use + abuse, oral (v receiving, p mentioned), jealousy, p in v sex, the briefest mention of a gun threat, references to elvis’ ill health. this is somehow the least-bunny fun + plottiest, while also the smuttiest so uhhh enjoy the angst at the end?

Director Elvis is linked where the scene goes in the middle of this, however there have been some minor adjustments to the opening + closing paragraphs to make it fit *just right* and so they’ve been inserted here. 

wc: 12k

Pls forgive me for the longest author note ever:

I went waaaay too far into attempting to make the timeline totally accurate; to the extent that I was noting down what city each night when i wasn’t even referencing them but honestly it was stressing me out so much that I gave up and removed a lot of the references - so this is *mostly* accurate in the general tour dates and vibes but not entirely because … this isn’t a biography, it’s smut with a lil teeny weeny bit of plot. 

Confession time! I was and am super unhappy with The Return Flight, there was so much in it that I was excited to share but I think my writing is off and I’m not super sure why, which affected my motivation for this A LOT so apologies for the fact this took a literal months. But hopefully you’ll all think it was worth it! And hopefully a lesser wait for the fourth and final part. 

Anyway, I might return Elvis onto the Big Bunny plane for a little spin-off fun but for now, enjoy bunny still being referred to as Bunny even though, by half-way through this, she is no longer a bunny. 

October 1974. 

You’re awake before him, gently shaking his shoulder as he groaned into the fur comforter that he didn’t want to wake up yet. He eventually shoves you hard enough that you decide it’s probably safer just to leave him as he is, pulling yourself together and redressing instead - he’s still got his eyes closed when you slip out. Ten minutes later you get a note passed to you with details about where to meet them for the pre-show rehearsal but you don’t actually get the chance to see him again, too distracted with dealing with all the matters of the disembarkation and cleaning. After you’re done you change as quickly as you possibly can, ignoring the questions from the other girls about where you’re going - practically sprinting to catch a cab.

He’s already on the stage when you walk in, pacing about - blocking the show as best they can in preparation to allow for the lights crew to have some idea of where he might be at any moment. He looks marvellous - absolutely gorgeous, his hair back but essentially left to do what it likes, all fluffy and soft looking. Eyes bright underneath his tinted glasses. He’s dressed in a white shirt, cuffs like a pirate, damp see-through sweat patches evident when he raises his arms, filigree studded belt, huge against his stomach, blue stones glinting in the lights. You feel your mouth water and tummy start to flip just at the sight of him. He smiles when he sees you, with your tiny little halter dress on, chilly in the cold air of the auditorium at the venue. The breeze causes you to wrap an arm around yourself a little self-consciously as he waves you closer to the stage. You're practically leaning on the edge when he kneels down in front of you and you get a sudden flash of what it must feel like to be a girl at his concert. Someone who hadn't had the luxury of falling asleep beside him, or the feel of his palms against theirs. The feeling of being forced to look up at him, his head backlit by the lights, a halo like he's the goddamn messiah. That feeling of desperately pining for a single moment of his attention. 

“Ah-ha! lil Bun-Bun! C’mon up here,” He puts an arm down before retracting it, looking you over more carefully, a note of stern shock in his tone,

 “Good lord! That might be more r’vealing than your lil bunny get-up. Uh - here!” He gropes around the floor for his jacket before he thrusts it at you, and you look at it with amusement, it’s a rainbow. Rainbow fringe. It’s truly one of the most preposterous things you’ve ever seen in your life. He grumbles as he holds it out, 

“Don’t need every man in here to be starin’ at you. Got work to do - don’t need ‘em bein’ distracted.” You don’t think you’re particularly scantily clad, you’re certainly showing a fair amount of leg but you’re far more covered up than Playboy enterprises would like you to be had you been on shift. But still, it was chilly, so you shrug it on gratefully. The soft leather caresses your arms, encasing you in his thick scent, it’s heavy on your shoulders and big enough that the fringe tassel tickles your thigh. 

“Uh Hi, Where-“ You wonder if you should even ask, “Where’d this come from?” You shake your arms out, making the fringe dance. 

“Oh - it was a gift,” He grins at you, lips all crooked in his sheer delight, “You like it?” He clearly loves it. So you lean into the absurdity and realise that what you’re about to say wasn’t even really a lie. 

“Uh. You know what, yeah I do,” You giggle as you shimmy a little making the strands swing. “I love it.” He looks at you fondly before he leans over the edge of the stage, tugging you up with a grunt. 

“Glad you could make it doll, been waiting for you.” You smile back at him, pleased as anything that he’s laying on the charm but that underneath you can still sense the sincerity in his voice. 

“Thank you for inviting me.” He pulls you close to him and you brace yourself with a hand on his belt, feeling the weight of the buckle against your fingertips. He reaches down to grasp your hand, pulling it up to press a kiss against it. It’s intimate and gentlemanly and you feel like you’re in a period drama, feeling your chest heave as your breath catches in your throat at the movement, and you’re helpless to do anything but gaze into his eyes. You glance down, eyes catching on the wide white band on his wrist, just above his diamond encrusted ‘Elvis’ bracelet. 

You stroke his wrist gently before looking up at him with a questioning brow raised. He kicks his foot out to show you that beneath his gently flaring trousers there’s a matching white band on each of his ankles. 

“It, uh, it mimics the weight of the ‘suit, gets me used to it for the performing.” He flicks a wrist, “And, uh, gotta try and get some of this weight off.” He pats his stomach, gripping the side harshly, “No-one wants to see a big doughy ol’ Elvis.” He shakes his wrists at you, and you’re mortified at the fact that it makes you squeeze your thighs, drool pooling in your mouth forcing you to swallow hard. Something about the way the rings on his fingers glint under the stage lights, the way the buckle makes the tiniest little metallic clang, feels akin to being shown a hidden sliver of skin. Makes you think all sorts of things. Of the weight of them around his wrists, of the possibility of them around yours, weighing you down, wrapped around your ankles too, making you heavy and pliable. Or his belt around your middle, the huge buckle pinning you in whatever position he chose. You don’t realise how low your eyelids have slid at this line of thinking until he laughs, 

“God - you got them dirty thoughts written all over your face Bunny, this is a respectable r’hearsal, don’t you go getting any ideas now.” He wags a finger at you, you feel like you’re being hypnotised watching it.

“Go on now - hop over there for me, sit yourself down, just watch the show baby.” He slaps your ass, causing you to yelp as he catches your bare thigh, while he grips your upper arm and ‘helps’ to lower you down gently, almost missing his huff of laughter in response. You have to take a second after you're on the ground forcing a deep breath feeling your heartbeat between your thighs. 

You take a seat where he’d pointed, content to try and settle down and watch him practice. It’s gorgeous to watch, he struts about the stage, breaking into gospel every now and again, making you smile at the clear little flashes of joy on his face. You’d considered if it was going to be boring, contemplated even bringing a magazine with you but now you were here you can’t imagine being able to concentrate on anything but him.  Every now and again he cracks a joke, changing the lyrics to something dirty and tossing you a wink, laughing back at the boys who all join in like a pack of wild hyenas. It’s different to how he is in private, yet shockingly the same - there’s flashes of the insecurity you caught on the last flight, a quietness to him while he waits for a song to be set up or a wire to be fixed. But also an exaggerated boyishness to him, playing the jester for men who don’t seem to be aware he’s putting it on.

He calls a break after you’ve been there about an hour, and he slides himself off the stage to walk over to you. You were going to try and play it cool but you can’t stop yourself from gushing at him; 

“You sound wonderful. I can’t wait to see the show tonight.” He smiles, a little bashfully, 

“Yeah? I can see you wigglin’ your yittle hips from all the way over there,” He narrows his eyes at you, crinkles forming as his high cheekbones move, “ ‘just wonderful’, ‘s that all I am?”  

“Well you’re not - ” You squirm a little under his line of questioning and consistent stare, suddenly feeling a bit too hot in his jacket, “- not bad to look at. You’re so different out here than on the plane.” 

“In a good way?” You hum back a non-committal noise and though his brow wrinkles a little he lets it go. Instead leaning back on the chair in front of you, feet crossing between your legs. He folds his arms across his chest, your eyes track the bands on his wrists again and when you look up he’s smirking at you watching him. You can’t take it any longer and his smile grows wider watching you shrug his jacket back off, letting it hang over the back of the chair, fringe tickling your arms as it falls, 

“Let’s make this more interesting for you huh, must be boring having to wait for all this - ‘n I can see you’re all fired up for me doll.” You look around, but he’s blocking your view forcing you to focus on him even more, as if he wasn’t already the only thing you could see. 

“Oh no, it’s plenty fascinating enough El honestly,” He shakes his head, magnanimously as if he’s doing you a favour, 

“No, no, must be boring for an exciting lil girl like you.” He taps his chin almost pantomime-esque in its overdramatic nature. 

“Hmm… what shall we do to keep it entertaining.” You squirm silently begging him to stop drawing your attention to his wrists. He bends down, unstrapping the weights from his ankles, 

“They’re gonna be a bit big on you. But still,” He kneels down, like he’s the prince and you’re Cinderella, tapping your foot to make you lift it up for him. He slips it onto your ankle, letting it fall down over the top of your foot as the weight drags it down. You wiggle your foot - it’s not particularly heavy, you could definitely still walk and run in them - as was probably their intended use. But they made you feel very … aware, made you notice whenever you wanted to move your leg. He grabs your right leg now, doing the same, placing it back down when he was finished, your legs wide. You glance down at him, realising that your dress was certainly too short for this. You try to close your legs but he stops you with a hand to your knee. 

“No, no, darlin’, leave ‘em where they are. That’s gonna be your job ok baby? You’re gonna keep these yittle legs spread, and when you try to wiggle around again these-“ He taps one of the weights “ ‘ll remind you to keep still.” You hiss back at him, 

“Elvis - someone’s gonna, you gotta get up - they’re all gonna think we’re up to no good, don’t want - I don’t wanna get you in trouble.” He grins up from between your legs, spreading them further. You cringe a little, feeling the air now brush against your uncovered underwear, feel your wetness start to drool onto the fabric despite the embarrassment. 

“Ain’t gonna be no trouble ‘round here little one. ‘Member I’m in charge.” He takes a second to leer at you, and your thighs twitch at him staring straight up your skirt. Finally, he stands up, using your thighs for balance, clutching at them on his way up, you gasp at the firm grip. He leans down over you, one arm bracketed on the back of your chair, and the sudden scent of him, stronger than what was lingering on his jacket almost overpowers you - his cologne almost too much, like walking past a men’s locker room. He leans down to murmur in your ear, his other hand going down to brush against your hip, feeling through your dress for the waistband of your panties.  

“C’mon Bunny slip ‘em off, let me have ‘em as a good luck charm. I haven’t got any of yours yet.” Your legs slip a little closer together and while he looks down and smirks he allows it, 

“You got a collection?” You ask shocked, tilting your chin up at him, he grins back at you, boyishly and amused ignoring the question. 

“C’mon! Hurry up, gotta get back to work in a second baby, want you all bare - so its nice and easy for you to slip a lil hand up there, want you to rub yerself every time you like what ‘m doin, ‘till you’re all silly with it. Okay doll?” He says it like its a totally sane request, and you have to wonder if he’s of completely sound mind. You glance around, double checking that the building is practically empty, and where there are people that they’re all preoccupied with the stage rather than glancing back at you sat in the middle of the row a few lines behind the mafia. You roll your eyes, heart going almost a little too fast, but still obediently lift your hips up to tug your panties down and off, they catch on the weight on the way down, 

“No need to be shy doll, I’ve seen it all before.” He winks, as he bends down to pick them up, glancing straight up your skirt as he does. You flinch a little at the sight of them in his hand, if you’d known Elvis was gonna be taking them home you’d have put on something a little sexier, but you can’t imagine that any change could have made his face more gleeful, as he stares down at the wet spot on them before slipping them straight into his pocket.

 “You ‘member what you’re meant to be doin’ now.” He whispers in your ear, pressing what would look like an otherwise fairly chaste kiss to your cheek, before sauntering back up to the stage.

 You nervously fumble the hem of your dress, delicately sliding a hand up, trying not to noticeably flinch as your fingers brush over yourself. You wonder if it wouldn’t have made more sense to slip your arm down the side of the wide arm-hole of the dress, more subtle perhaps? But all you can hope is that the the way the chairs are placed in front of you obscures your actions should anyone look back. From anyone that wasn’t up high on the stage. You can practically feel his laser focus up your skirt, you’re far enough away that you’re sure he can’t see anything in detail, perhaps not even the way your slickness glistens against your skin, but just the gentle motion of your fingers teasing yourself. There’s a clang as the metal inside the cuff on your ankle knocks against the chair leg and you freeze, anxiously glancing around to check no one had heard. Elvis’ head had whirled around at the noise from where he’s been talking to someone at the side of the stage and you can see the way his face contorts into a knowing smirk. 

You didn’t think you’d be into this level of wanton exhibitionism, but the sudden fear that had jumped through you had translated straight into excitement, and you could feel the pulse of arousal swirling with the butterflies in your stomach. You brush your fingers more confidently, rolling your hips with the motion, not even really aware of how much your body was moving, but simply going with it. Your eyes briefly slip closed as you rub a singular finger down your self, trying to build the anticipation, but you can’t resist moving your hand to play with your clit when your vision clears and you witness him moving about the stage - dancing, thrusting. He pauses while they reset something - the mic perhaps, or the lights, and you can feel the thrum of your climax growing; the fear of being spotted, the sheer desire for him, the feel of your feet firmly planted on the floor, weights holding them down, enough to bring you closer and closer. 

He starts singing again but if someone had had a gun to your head though you wouldn’t have been able to tell them what, and as you start to move your fingers again you make eye contact with him, swallowing a moan as you watch him attempt to surreptitiously adjust himself. You should feel embarrassed, you think, but instead a sudden boldness creeps over you at the evidence of his undivided attention, and you instead spread your legs wider, your skirt riding into the little roll of your stomach, completely exposing yourself. You run your fingers against yourself, feeling them slip as you gather wetness and drag it up, reducing the friction on your clit when you finally let your finger brush over it again. 

Elvis is stood still now, ostensibly staying put so they could manually hold the lights for him to sing a ballad, but in reality in the perfect position to watch you. You watch his face flush as he misses a note, watching you finally dip your finger into your practically dripping entrance. You’re made away of the weight on your feet when your legs try to jerk and your body compensates by crunching in on yourself a little. Making it startlingly obvious to anyone watching, hopefully just Elvis, what you’ve just done. 

You let his voice wash over you, and your eyes close as you go to add a second finger, thumb moving to tease your clit with little circling touches. Your climax comes over you suddenly and unexpectedly, a slightly unplanned harder touch directly over your clitoris and the combination of your fingers curling inside yourself sending shockwaves down your spine and belly. You continue to touch yourself through it - dragging it out for a moment. Until you just know that if you push yourself any further you’re going to scream and you have to slow the pace, gently stroking yourself as you slowly come down from the high. Your head had fallen back and with a little effort you manage to bring it back around, shifting yourself upright as you do. 

When you make eye contact he winks, mimics licking his fingers, and you look down at your own sticky pair, before following his mimed instruction. You meet his eyes again and watch him trail off mid-sentence as his chest heaves taking you in, squinting under his glasses to try and focus on your fingers leaving your mouth. You make sure for a second that you let your tongue peek out, watching him gulp in response.  Before hastily rubbing your hand against your dress, thankful for the colourful pattern that hides all sin. He sets the microphone back onto its stand, slowly, deliberately. Then, he motions you to the stage, and when you make no attempt to move, fear shooting through you that you’re going to be leaving a wet patch behind, he makes the request vocal. 

“C’mere Bunny, can’t see you all the way over there.” You rapidly close your legs, weights knocking against each other, and sit stock straight as several of the boy’s heads spin to look at you. Elvis breaks into song, “C’mon and be my little good luck charm.”  While pointing to a spot in the front row. You swallow hard, trying to make your limbs cooperate again, but it just looks like pure defiance, and he’s frowning at you when you try to plead with your eyes. 

His tone changes, “Ain’t gonna ask again honey,” You flinch as several other heads in front of you turn around to stare. You trip a little as you stand, forgetting about the extra weight on your ankles and when you look up Elvis’ smirking straight at you. 

“Can take them off now baby, leave ‘em on the chair, someone’ll clean it up later.” He winks and you suck in a gasp as you do as he directed, the implication of someone having to clean up both the weights and the seat of the chair. You can feel the heat in your cheeks at the complete lack of secrecy, with your mind all muddled you don’t have the capacity to consider that the other people in the room wouldn’t understand the double entendre. 

 “There we are, right there Bunny,” He points at the same spot again and you gratefully stumble down there, collapsing into it. You can feel your cheeks blazing and you clasp your thighs together, trying to tell yourself to just watch Elvis and not pay any attention to how wet you still are, or the embarrassment of being ordered around in front of everyone. 

You sit there primly, for the rest of the rehearsal, ignoring your newfound nakedness under your skirt - unable to draw your eyes off of his wrists, his waist, now you know how those innocuous little white bands feel. Waiting to be dismissed, sent home - although you hope that you might get another invitation. He finishes, stripping off the weights as he’s laughing and thanking the sound guys - although shouting back at them as he stalks across the stage to where you’re sat to the side of the front row.

“That interference needs to be cut by tonight, it’s messin’ with my ears, I don’t care if you have to go out and buy a whole new fucking system - just get it done.” Despite his harsh words by the time he’s kneeling in front of you he’s smiling slightly bashfully. His eyes crinkling at the edges as he mutters to you - 

“Don’t know why I keep ‘em around.” He offers you his hand, pulling with his suddenly weightless feeling arms to yank you up with him, clearly overcompensating without the weight, causing you to stumble with the force of it. His arm comes around to steady your waist. He stands there, legs spread and solid, holding you to him, brushing your hair off your neck to whisper in your ear. 

“Wanna come back with me, honey? C’mon baby,” He’s pleading with you, entreating you to follow him, babying tone convincing you as if you even needed encouragement. “How - How’d you feel about, I got some things we could watch, we could, could - I sure would love to tape ya, baby.” You lean back, brow furrowing as your mind runs through what he’s suggesting. 

(Director Elvis + Model Bunny)

But still, after some consideration you agree, and before long you’re relaxing on the bed with him, taking in the moments of quiet before he’s got to head out into the screaming crowds, performing for the pleasure of the girls and women. He’s magnificent in the flesh, masterful in his ability to command the ultimate attention of the audience. But still, as wonderful as it is to watch him, rhinestones glinting in the stage lights, you have to admit to yourself that you much preferred him in the somewhat faux intimacy of the rehearsal. 

By the time you’re all filing up the steps to the plane once more it’s night again, looking forward to a short day-break for you all after the busy past couple of days. Elvis is exhausted, and though he’s gentle with you still you can tell he’s had enough. He wearily waves to the other girls, calling you over to ask for some food before disappearing.  You push the cart into where he’s ensconced himself in the bedroom to discover him in the bathroom - door open, and you can’t help but take a peek. Your eyes catch on the little pill bottles lined up on the side, the man himself shaking seemingly every bottle possible into his palm until there was a little cocktail of medication contained in his hand. He takes them with a swig of water and jumps when he makes eye contact with you in the mirror. 

“Jeez honey, make a noise next time.” His tone isn’t harsh, it’s not annoyed - but it is solid, serious. You frown, the floor was carpeted but the rickety wheels of the cart still made some noise. 

“Oh, uh, sorry - didn’t mean to scare you.” You laugh a little bit in an attempt to lighten the atmosphere. He doesn’t respond. “Uh, I’ve got, there’s hamburgers, and sandwiches and uh-“ He’s wiping his hands on a hand towel when he comes out of the bathroom, throwing it back onto the floor behind him when they’re dry. 

“S’ok Bunny, that’s good. Just-just leave it over here.” He sits on the edge of the bed, pointing to a spot within arm’s reach. He’s in the tracksuit again, out of the jumpsuit from the show, out of the the sharp outfits you were now used to seeing him in. But he still looks appealing, if not moreso now. Soft, approachable and above all else - cuddly. He’s evidently exhausted, face pale after removing the stage makeup, and he shuffles back on the bed. He’s starting to slur his words a little as he reaches for a sandwich, 

“Come. Come sit here baby… come sit here with me.” He pats the side of the bed next to him as he shuffles further up. You do so and he tucks a hand into the crease of your stomach and thigh, thumb brushing in circles, a gently squeezing grip. 

“Here.” He holds out a sandwich for you and you take it gratefully, “Gotta…feed you up while I got the chance.” His head is starting to slip forward as his eyes fall closed. You pat his arm, leaning over to take the parchment out of his hand. He grips your wrist, forcing you to put your sandwich down too as he slides down the bed to lie down, tugging you into him. 

“S’ok El, just, just close your eyes. You did so good today.” He hums, a little pleased noise like he’s somehow not used to being praised still. He pulls you closer, arm wrapping under and around you, pulling you tight to him. 

“That’s it Bunny, that’s it, just - just gonna rest my eyes for a moment, doll. Be…be ready for action in a mo’ - just, ju-“ You shush him, his eyes were fluttering closed, arm clenching around you and you felt it relax a second later as he drops off into sleep. 

There’s a few more flights scheduled, but they’re busy ones - short flights with barely enough time to get the men fed and watered, let alone enjoy any other kind of extracurricular activities - there’s a hasty blowjob and an attempt for the world’s quickest round of intercourse and that’s it.

There’s a break for a little while before he cancels the next flight on Big Bunny so you only see him once more, and that time he barely acknowledges you; exhausted from a show he locks himself in the bedroom and doesn’t appear until the plane is touching down. You wave goodbye to him, a little melancholy and hating yourself for wishing that he make some grand gesture to prove it had all meant something, instead he winks at you as he leaves down the steps, whispering a

“Thanks for takin’ such good care of me, Bunny.” As he went. 

That’s the last you hear from him. For little over six months you hear nothing else. You’re almost immediately thrust back into the reality of the normal world and you’re kept busy enough that he doesn’t pass through your mind too often. 

Occasionally, when you see a tour announcement pop up in the tabloids, or from a fan-club membership that you totally didn’t take out in a pitiful attempt to keep up-to-date with his life, you wonder about him. About whether you were a bit of fun to flirt with, to tease, to sleep with for a couple of days - a distraction from the real life, like all the bunnies were intended to be, or if he’d meant any of what he’d said. The thing is, even if you were curious, you could never know - despite being so intimate, so close to him; had he lied? Did he help every girl through a panic attack with meditation? There no longer felt like six degrees of separation between you, no longer like you were travelling in similar circles, there now felt more like a hundred degrees; what were you supposed to do; ring the operator in Memphis and ask for Elvis’ number? Pull Hef aside on the next flight and ask him? Don’t be so ridiculous, so clingy you tell yourself, disgusted at your inability to let it go. 

Time passes, as it does, and though you somehow feel like you can’t escape him, ultimately you have. Months have passed and you’re busy - being promised a promotion, training a couple of new girls and it means that you don’t get to go home for what feels like weeks.

 You finally get back to your apartment, relieved to be there for at least a week, with a stack of mail waiting as tall as your arm. You take your time enjoying the peace and by the evening it feels like you can relax for the first time in a long while, glass of wine poured, comfortable little short pyjama set instead of the bunny-approved corset or dress. You’re just starting to open the first of what looks like several catalogues of clothes you’ll never get a chance to wear when the phone rings. 

You glance over at the clock, surprised that anyone would be calling you at half eleven at night, when as far as you’re aware none of your friends or family even know you’re home yet. You consider not answering, too content with your night, but it rings insistently so you drag the handset closer, accepting the call. 

“Fuckin’ finally,” You’re immediately taken aback by the annoyed exasperation of the voice on the other end of the line, 

“Where’ve you been?” You start to protest, to question who on earth is questioning you and explain that you’ve been working but the voice doesn’t give you the chance. 

“Listen, Boss’ got a new plane, he’s uh, calling it the Lisa-Marie,” he shouts to someone on his end, “I don’t know man, thought it would sweeten the deal if she knew he’d already named it! Like - ain’t that what you’re supposed to do if you’re negotiatin’ - let ‘em know you have a name?” Right. So, Elvis. Someone is calling about Elvis’ plane. You’re trying to comprehend that when he continues,

 “Sorry. Anyway, he wants you on it. He won’t hear otherwise.” He pauses, “Permanently. On call whenever and wherever he needs to fly,” As if he can sense this isn’t the most attractive prospect, “but you’ll uh, all expenses paid for, apartment in Memphis, the whole shebang, you’ll be well taken care of.” You take a second to process that, 

“Uh, I don’t quite know what to say - do, do you need to know right away?” He chuckles down the phone at you, 

“Well - uh, no, but, he’s goin’ on tour soon and we need the flights staffed by then so….” He trails off, and you know from your limited experience with Elvis and his methods that this means, actually yes, we do need to know right now, and we’re not actually giving you a choice. You take a deep breath, still confused as to why you’re getting this call out of the blue, thinking that you’re going to regret it if you do, regret it if you don’t. 

“Oh, uh, ok fine - look I’ll be at one of the offices tomorrow; I’ll give you a call and you can fax me over the information for the dates and things?” 

“No need, we need you by July.” You pause, that’s… barely a month away, 

“Ok, I’ve got a three week notice period though, I can’t just -” 

“We’ll take care of it with Hugh direct.” You laugh incredulously - is that how they think it works? 

“Hugh Hefner isn’t my boss - how high up do you think I am? I’m a jet bunny for god's sake.” There’s silence on the other end of the line as if they'd expected you to feel cowed, or awed by their famous friend. You can hear them whispering before the voice returns, just as confident as before; 

“Well, we’ll take care of it.” You frown but you’re not sure what else to do but agree - at least this way of something falls through you can claim you had no clue about any of this. 

“Ok, but you’ll have to ask for Ellen at the office and I’ve got a notice of -“ You’re cut off by him, 

“We’ll make it happen.” Well, you couldn’t say more than what you’d said - you’ll just have to hope they do enough that it all gets sorted somehow, and without totally burning all your bridges. 

“Right, well then, -” 

“Tickets for your flight on the 26th June to Memphis will be waiting at the airport. Someone’ll pick you up there.” 

“Uh ok, um, well then that’s -” 

“Thanks again, you’re a doll, bye!” The phone hangs up and you’re left holding the receiver wondering what on earth you’ve just agreed to. 

—— 

It turns out you’ve agreed to a stewardess job pretty similar to any other. You’ve got a cute new little uniform, and it was indeed little, sleeveless and hem skimming the middle of your thighs but Elvis had indeed fulfilled his promise - it was stretchy. With a scarf around your neck and tall boots it almost didn’t feel much different to your bunny outfits. In fact it all would have felt quite similar if it weren’t for the sudden increase in responsibility you were facing. There was another girl who worked on board here and there, but whether as a cost-saving measure (although you couldn’t fathom the necessity considering the gold sinks on the plane) or simply the knowledge that one stewardess and the pilots were enough for a plane of this size you weren’t often put on the plane together. It meant that you were often working alone and solely responsible for the cabin. It was certainly an adjustment, you’d been safety trained before - of course - but you’d never really had to use it; the focus of your jet bunny role had pretty much been to cater to the whims of the people on board. Like a Barbie doll you’d had too many jobs to count, and the responsibility to look good while doing so. On the plane you’d had to be waitresses, dancers, chefs and bartenders but less so a safety officer. 

And it’s so strange, you’d not been expecting much but you had been anticipating at least an acknowledgement, or something? But instead on the first flight Elvis collapses in a seat, clearly out of his mind and ignores you completely, There’s this, somewhat odd, hierarchy evident and you somehow just know that you shouldn’t approach him like this - trusting that his needs are being catered for by his entourage. But you can’t help but glance over at him, inspecting that he looks paler than before - almost sallow-like in comparison to the fit tan of the first time you’d seen him in the flesh. So you do your job, and see them on and off the plane with nary a word exchanged between the two of you. 

You fall into this habit pretty quickly, flight after flight. When he’s awake his eyes skim over you, unfocused and never stopping for long. You hate yourself for how upset it makes you, he hadn’t owed you anything and yet you still feel like you’d signed up for something under false pretences. It keeps you up at night, wondering how you could have been so stupid - you’d given up a stable salary, a life and an exciting one at that, for this - for him. With every month that passes you’re more and more aware that you’re creeping towards your next birthday and the chance to return to Playboy in any capacity is dwindling. They aren’t shy about declaring there’s an age limit. You feel like you’re trapped, in a never-ending cycle - flight, sort the plane while they’re at a concert, flight, fitful sleep in a hotel, flight, flight, flight. 

But then, like magic, two weeks before your birthday - two weeks before the deadline you’d come up with in your head to quit he notices you. He’d been looking better for a few days, on an upward swing or so it would seem, and seems significantly more aware than he had been.  He almost does a double-take, as if seeing you for the first time. It’s then that, suddenly, Georgia - the other girl, starts to come on board with you a lot more frequently - taking care of the other guys while Elvis not so surreptitiously pulls you into his excessively decorated bedroom.

It’s not the first time you’ve been in there, you clean the damn place after all, but it’s the first time that you’re able to look at it with fresh eyes, through the lens of the awe of a girl being invited back there as a guest. You feel the bend of the fibres of the plush carpet underfoot, against the smooth sole of your boot. 

He sits down, patting his thigh, “Give me your lil footsie baby, them little footsie sooties, put ‘em up here.” You look at him slightly askance, fondly, but still do as he asks, putting first one foot up on his lap, letting him unzip your boot, tugging it off and then your other one when he taps your ankle. He looks up at you, as he holds onto your foot, and you know you’re both getting flashbacks to that first flight, when he’d tugged your heels off, got caught in your pantyhose, the joy of that first time. He grips your wrist, forcing you to kneel onto and then shuffle across the bed as he tugs you while sliding back himself.  Pulling you're both placed far enough to the headboard that he sinks down into a lying position and drags you down with him. 

“Elvis - I, I, I don’t know what -“ 

“Shhh baby, don’t worry about anything, just, just feel it with me - you feel that?” He shifts to hold your hand, “Feel that energy? ‘S right between us darlin’ girl, right there.” You’re not really sure what he’s talking about, but you had been feeling the thrum of a connection, willing him to pick up on your silent desires, so you can’t deny a strength of feeling there. 

“I feel it.” He hums at you, happily, still holding onto your hand, threading his fingers through yours and pressing his nose against your cheek. He nuzzles at you for a moment, starting off gentle and slow, before rolling you into him and catching your mouth with his. He’s sure of himself, pressing himself skilfully against you - you’re more than aware that this is a skill he’s nurtured, learnt - been judged upon, almost as much as his singing and it shows, it feels no different to the first time you’d kissed. A masterclass in the right moves, just the right amount of bite, just the right amount of tongue, and it makes you buck into him. You’re suddenly desperate for him to break out of the cultured practiced mould, feel him lose control and slip. You gasp, trying to provoke it in him, biting down on his lip a fraction too hard. He shifts his grip to your neck, clutching it to pull you back a little, 

“Careful, honey, careful.” You can feel his lips move against your skin as he murmurs and it makes you shiver a little at the tickle of his breath. He kisses across your jaw, little sucking presses, before he returns once again to your mouth. 

It’s hard not to assign more feeling or meaning to it than what it is, when he seems to do everything with such feeling. Not for the first time you wonder how it would be possible to be kissed at a concert and then have to continue to go about your life, acting as if nothing huge had happened, as if something totally earth-shattering hadn’t taken place. But then, you imagine, it’s probably not that different to what you have to do. 

He pulls back a little, pushing himself up to be more on his knees than lying back, before he slips a hand down between you, pushing underneath your dress to pull at your panties, rubbing a finger on the outside. He pushes them against your folds, circling with his finger until a little damp patch is forming where he’s touching. He pulls them to one side, shimmying his hand underneath, a ring knocking against your thigh and catching on the fabric and your hair as he cups your mound. You reach a hand down yourself, brushing it over his trousers, but you’re slightly surprised to feel him still soft inside. He jerks his hand off of you, gripping your leg instead, shoving your hand away with his other. 

You pat his face as it peers over the top of you, the creases in the corners of his eyes a little scrunched up in disappointment and his lips in a slight pout; as if he were trying to stop himself being upset.

“‘S ok El, You’ve still gotta perform tonight too -“ You go to tug your dress back down assuming there was no need for you to remain bare but his hand flies out, gripping your forearm and pushing it against your stomach.

“Take it all the way off,” You look nervously over at the unlocked bedroom door but obediently wiggle down a little, as best you can with his arm still locked over top of you to slither out of the dress. He shifts back down into a horizontal position, sliding himself further down, shirt crumpling with the motion, before gripping you with one hand on an arm and one on a leg, to hint at where he wants you to move to, tugging you until you’re in position, straddling him.

“El - seriously, I don’t think, it’s fine, it happens all the time it’s noth-“ He cuts you off by sharply pulling, with hands gripping right on your hipbones, you closer to him - forcing you to stumble on your knees even further up his body. 

“‘Nough of that.” In that wonderful growly voice only he seems able to achieve, he lifts his chin up to press a kiss against your inner thigh. “Can still, still make you feel good Bunny, baby. Still make that pretty yittle cunt o’ yours feel good.” He yanks you so you’re perfectly placed, hands gripping the navy velvet headboard to hold yourself steady. “Just gonna have a lil taste, ok darling? Just needta give me a little more time. Let, let it kick in.” You nod frantically, although you’re not 100% certain what you’ve got to let ‘kick in’. 

“Yes, god, yes. Sure.” The kiss, and his brief touches had been enough to turn you on, and you jerk as he holds your thighs to press a kiss against your now bare cunt, 

“Oh, fuck.” Elvis laughs against you, and you can feel the vibration up your spine, thetickle sending sparks straight into your stomach. The sheer level of arousal makes you feel almost a little nauseous but you’re distracted by the feel of his tongue moving again, holding you tight to him with his grip on your thigh when the feeling makes you try to thrust out of his hold.  You can feel twin bruises form from the thick bands of the ring on each of his hands and the twinge of pain when he lifts the pressure makes you gasp, 

“Oh, Christ - Elvis, need, need you to,” You’re not sure if you were planning on asking him to let go, or hold you tighter - but you’re distracted by him shifting to suck down directly on your clit, briefly, just enough to make you choke on your own spit, before he releases, flattening his tongue and moving it down. Every time you clench or move you can feel his fingers digging tighter in and you can’t help but move, grinding onto his mouth and against his tongue. He pulls away, and you shift your hips slightly so you can look down at him, and your head tips back with a moan as he quirks a little grin at you. It’s utterly filthy the way his chin and mouth is glisteningly sticky and wet.

“You like that honey?” You nod, and he returns, surging forward to renew his efforts, your hips circling in response. 

“Oh god, yes, don’t, oh, holy fuck, - don’t stop,” You can’t stop moving your hips, and part of you is briefly concerned that you might be suffocating him, but the larger part is more concerned with making sure he keeps licking right there until your building climax hits. His tongue is flicks between lapping at your vagina and your inner folds. Your hips are constantly moving and you grip the headboard even harder, feeling the fabric pile shift and flatten under your hold as he finally captures your little puffy clit in his lips again and sucks hard, reaching up to slip a finger inside you as he does. 

Your lower back is starting to ache, thighs beginning to cramp but you can’t think about that, reaching down with one hand to comb through his hair, clutching at it as you thrust up and back, finally your climax rocking through you. He licks you through it, holding you open still, feeling you shudder around him, until you finally insistently tug on his hair enough to make him come away. 

You dread to think what it must have sounded like on the other side of the door, the wet smacking having been all you could hear past the blood rushing through your own ears and you’re sure you couldn’t possibly have stayed silent. You watch him wipe his mouth with a sleeve, blushing the whole while before he slips out of the shirt. Fully exposing his bare chest and, finally, reaching down to unzip himself. 

You’re sticky and soft when he reaches down, running a finger against you, opening you up to bump against you with his now, hard, cock. You’re not quite sure when it had happened, if it was a delayed reaction to a pill he took earlier, or if he simply was that turned on just by licking you to completion, but you’re not about to complain feeling how his head slips against your wetness, nudging at your clit before he angles himself down, bumping against your entrance. 

“There he is, Bunny, got Lil’ Elvie here just for you baby, for my sweet lil - ah, bunny bun,” 

Elvis pushes into you, a hand straying to stroke your labia on its way up to clutch at your waist, feeling the way you open up around him - for him. You groan at the sensation - it’s been a while, actually it’s been a long while; the last man you’d been with was the one currently pressing inside of you. He takes a moment to allow you to adjust, although you suspect it also allowed him a moment or two, either to calm himself down or encourage himself up. 

“That’s it, honey, there we are, there we go, Oh Lord, here we are, I got you, gonna, gonna do such a good job, you just lie back. I got you, got -“ 

He’s fucking into you now, slowly, sweetly, accompanying each thrust with his mouth joining onto yours, and sloppy open-mouthed kisses against your jaw and neck. He’s trying to get the angle right, you can tell, but he’s decidedly less sure than he ever used to be, or least how you remember him. Taking longer to hit the right spot, and then almost immediately slipping away and losing it.

“Ah, that’s - that’s it, right there,” You almost cry out as he moves again, begging him in your mind to return to where he was. 

Still, he’s not totally unskilled, and the motion of his body against yours, of the feel of his hand reaching down to play with clit, combined with the growling curses and praises falling from his lips, southern accent coming out harder as he loses himself in it, is enough for you to feel yourself start to shudder your way towards a second orgasm, clenching down onto him. That is, apparently, enough to set him off and he takes some time firmly rocking his hips into you, before, with a hand splayed on your tummy for balance, withdrawing fast to shoot across your stomach. He collapses there for a moment, lips in a pout and eyes closed from the sheer pleasure of the minute before. 

He rolls off of where he’s pressed against you, where you’d welcomed being crushed under his weight, tummy pushed against yours, hairs tickling your own bare skin to flop onto his back. You watch his chest heave, eyes drawn to his tight little nipples, as he catches his breath back. You take a moment to swipe the cum off your belly with the edge of the bedspread, noting in your head to send it to the laundry later. You know you should be getting up to pee sooner rather than later but he’s holding out an arm to you, and you can’t bear the thought of refusing his offer. Instead curling into him with a sigh. He smells the same as you remember now, that same heady mix of sweat and sex, woodsy heavy cologne combined with the tint of smoke, and you hate how it sends flutters down your tummy again at how you feel a sense of familiarity from it. He murmurs into the top of your head, lips catching on your hair, 

“You been here all along Bunny? Hopping around my plane?” You nod and you feel him grimace, “Didn’t recognise you without your ears, or your yittle tail.” You don’t mention that you very rarely wore ears on Big Bunny, and that he had in fact seen you both on and off the plane without them too. He tips your chin up to look at you and you make eye contact with his pair of guilt tinged blue eyes. Your nose wrinkles and he taps it with a finger, “Twitchy lil thing though still ain’t ya?” He pats your cheek, “Still gonna be my bunny? Ain’t got another bunny, got, got,” He stumbles over his words as he takes a breath in, clearly struggling to stay lucid enough to have the conversation, “got other girls, not got ‘Cilla no more, but got, got Linda … and, and - I got a whole list, baby, but no - you’re my only bunny.” 

The thing is though, it’s never for long. You prefer the flights after a show to the ones before, he’s more awake before but he’s panicked like a tiger in a cage. It’s still difficult to tell what kind of Elvis you’ll be dealing with on any given night. There’ll be one flight where he’s perfect, drowsy from a show but awake and alert, flirty and fun, and then another where he sleeps for so long and so deeply that you worry he’ll never wake up. The worst are the ones where him and Dr Nick, his father or one of the other boys with that damned black bag disappear into the bedroom for the flight. He stumbles down the stairs after in a daze, clearly half out of his mind. The alternative - that you have to listen to his whimpering cries, that his body aches, that sleep won’t come to him - why won’t anyone listen to him? That he wants his mama, that everyone leaves him, “even my yittle yisa.” Is worse, it makes you wish for when he’s sedated or so over the top in his exuberance that you know his ‘vitamins’ have a lot to do with it. You don’t know how much longer you can silently pick up the pieces - cleaning up when he’s trashed the room in a rage, or left pill bottles littering the floor. Going in to him when he calls for you, acting as his waitress, nurse and on-call girlfriend all at once. 

Linda accompanied him often, and you’re shooed out of the way of her keen eyes as they watch you a little too knowingly. She’s sophisticated and classy though, more than you would be in the situation. More than you are. You take the opportunity to swap with Georgia as often as you possibly can when you know she’s coming with him. 

You’d avoided her too at first, often being the only one working on the little plane, not usually that many people on board - maybe ten at most, well within the capabilities of a single girl and the pilots. You hated that you felt the sting of jealousy, of worry that he was fooling around with her too, to the extent that when she, unprompted, had reassured you that she had not slept with him and nor would she ever sleep with him you had laughed it off. Pretending you had no idea what she was suggesting. 

Linda though proved difficult to ignore. She was a presence - even when she wasn’t physically there - he was swearing to the boys they were through, broken up, done, and then would spend hours on the phone to her. He’d swear he didn’t give a shit about her anymore; just had to keep his promises to take care of her - but then a week later she’d appear on the plane with him. They’d sit cuddled together half the time, shouting and screaming for the other half. You had no idea how to react when she called you in to the bedroom, Elvis’ head pillowed on her thighs, dead asleep. She doesn’t ask you for much, a coffee and some water to be brought to them. You do so, still slightly surprised to be invited to intrude on what seemed like an overwhelmingly private moment. But then, a large part of your job is being invisible when necessary. You don’t expect to her acknowledge you when you return, but she does - she’s polite and courteous, but quiet, eyes never leaving his relaxed forehead. A cynical part of your brain wonders if it wasn’t intentional, if she didn’t purposefully call you in at that moment to prove she was different, but that line of thinking gets you nowhere. It’s not your place to be jealous.

Occasionally there’s other girls with him, you burn when Sheila comes aboard - you’d given up your cover dreams for this, and it feels like she’s the new kid in town - replacing you in every way. Better than you in every way, she’s pretty and lithe and young; you’re young and pretty too but you’re feeling it less and less. She’s above you - in the privileged position to sit at the side of the King while you have to settle for serving him and her. She had the cover, you had gotten pouring the drinks into branded glasses.

Elvis didn’t help how you felt - the first time she came on board he took it upon himself to personally introduce the two of you. He was sat with his legs spread wide, Sheila’s own legs over the top of his, an arm tucking her tight against his side out in the lounge area, the public display of affection almost too much for you to witness. 

“Here she is!” He called out when you came around the corner of the half-dividing wall, and you balk a little before steeling yourself to walk over, 

“Here I am.” You respond, flatly. He’d been particularly difficult recently, and your patience was wearing thin. 

“Looksies - this here is my Sheila,” He raises her arm, she nods politely, “She’s - she’s a bunny too, she was on the cover.” You smile, what else can you do? 

“Oh - wow, congratulations.” You nod at her, she’s silent. 

“Two bunnies on the plane! My two bunnies together!” He laughs, and the tone and words immediately make you smart. There’s a cruel edge to it that you don’t quite understand, it’s not like you’ve ever turned him down or refused him, not like you’ve done anything to be treated second best - to have her paraded in front of you. 

 It makes your skin crawl, furious with every decision that led to this point, cursing those pretty blue eyes that you couldn’t refuse. Makes your skin crawl that he’d sworn you were his only bunny; and as ridiculous as it might seem, the evidence that that wasn’t true at all, that it was an empty promise makes you cry yourself to sleep for too many nights in a row. The first time you’d found a notelet, tucked under the bed having perhaps fallen out of a pocket or book, 

“To Sheila, 

Love you allways, 

E.P.” 

You take two weeks off, and debate whether you should even return, if it’s worth how it makes you feel. You don’t have time to see anyone else, and you’re not dating him. But then in some ways it makes sense all your emotions would be put onto him, you weren’t physically seeing anyone else, in general, exclusively cocooned in the Elvis Presley Show bubble. There is, you think after three glasses of red wine at home in your fancy new Memphis apartment, nothing else in your life. There is only Elvis. You wonder if you can use that as the excuse on your notice. You make yourself go back though, determined to get a grip of yourself, of your feelings, give it one last try. 

It’s short-lived with Sheila, at least from your perspective up in the air above the reality of the ground below. Ultimately, you feel you somehow won. And although he may, every now and again, bring some pretty young thing up into the air with him or have Linda come on board during some of the tour he’s fundamentally alone again - the same group of men his only constant companions. You form your own opinion of them, watching two of them cringe at the sight of the little black bag of pills and needles and two others writing his signature out on blank cheques. 

You’re horrified, making eye contact with Charlie, you think, you know their names now you need to start to use them. You open your mouth to say something, but uncertain about what, but he catches your eye, shaking his head and you wonder if there’s anyone on this plane willing to stick up for him.  You’re forced ot consider if it’s something you can do too - turning a blind eye to all of this or if you’re going to be forced to leave because you were unwilling to do so.

But then, there’s a few months where he behaves differently, and he looks different - his face brightens up, and though you don’t dislike how he looked before you can appreciate that he’s slimmed down a little, looking less bloated than he had before. A renewed interest in the happenings of the group. Suddenly, he’s interested in you again - ensconcing you in his bedroom, telling the boys to stop telling you what to do or asking you for things,

“It’s not her job - her job is looking after me.” And you do, distracting him as best you can when that’s what he’s after - reassuring him when it’s not. You have to talk him down from a panic at one point and you’re thankful to have the memory of him calming you down to use as your guideline, even if you find irony in being the one trusted to provide the measured breaths. 

The sex though, is still almost non-existent; he apologises constantly, and at one point you try to have a conversation about it, lying with him in the bed, cuddled together. 

“I’m not your girlfriend, E, you don’t needta explain yourself to me,” He hushes you, 

“You’re my girl as much as any of ‘em.” It’s your turn to stroke his cheek, 

“I don’t need to be, you don’t hafta say that to me.” He just hums at you, tucking you further under his arm and cupping your face to his chest. That’s when the gifts start rolling in, before you’d even arrived back at your apartment for a few days off, finding on the doorstep a gift bag filled with lingerie. You smile when you see it, but you’re a little puzzled - he’s not even seen you in your underwear in months. Was this a hint? Were you meant to be the one putting out? You took it as you thought he intended it, picking out and wearing the little white set you found in there, but you were unsurprised when nothing came to fruition on the flight. You tentatively bring it up the next time you’re curled up next to him - the flight not really long enough to justify a nap but happy to be tucked up in his chest.  You’re drawing circles with a fingertip through the gaping neckline of his shirt, absentmindedly thinking of how best to bring it up. 

“El, what’s -, not that I’m not appreciative but you don’t needta buy me things - especially, especially if you’re not gonna get anything out of it.” You refuse to look at him, anxious for his response. 

“Wasn’t that what you told me before? That you don’t dress for me?” You can feel him already grinning at you in anticipation of your reaction and you laugh, surprised he’d even remember that conversation from a year and a half ago. 

“Well, You weren’t really my boss then.” He chuckles, wrapping his arm tighter around you, 

“Oh-ho, so I can have my wicked way with you now huh?” He squeezes you hard against his side. You giggle, and he continues - his tone turning more serious; “Honey… - Bunny,” he laughs when you squirm at being called bunny still, “I’m just, I can’t, can’t do more at the moment but I uh, I do still - I like thinking about you all pretty for me unner that tiny little scrap of a dress.” He flicks the hem, leaving his hand grasping the back of your thigh and your respond in playful outrage. 

“Scrap! You picked out this dress!” You smile into his chest as you feel his tummy move with his laugh, “Elvis - you don’t owe me anything, I don’t need to be bought things, you don’t need to feel like we have to do anything. I just, just want you to take care of yourself.” He hums at you, as non-committal as one can be. 

He shifts a little so he’s lying on his side, brushing his hand down your body, fingers fumbling as they graze over your core, he seems remarkably less sure of himself than the last time he’d touched you, and you have to wonder if, despite all these girlfriends hanging around, he hadn’t actually been doing it with them either. Whether it’s because his fingers are a little thicker than before, or his skills are simply rusty,  or maybe this is all some new technique he’d thought he’d try, he seems to take a while to do anything. He slips a finger between your folds, gathering the wetness you’d started to feel drip as a pavlovian response to his fingers anywhere near you, and rubbing it up your pussy but when he reaches the apex he seems to struggle, fingertip roving around, rubbing down but not quite finding your clit. You squirm as he continues to rub around just a bit too low, his finger making you pant simply from the virtue of it being Elvis’ finger, but not because of success with his ministrations. You panic, eyes flying open, wondering if you’re gonna have to fake it with Elvis beforehe pulls his hand away with a grunt. 

“Ain’t no good little, my hands are hurtin’ too much tonight, got them, got them shakes again.” You nod even though you know it’s at least partially untrue - his fingers not in the least bit unsteady, if anything they’d been a little too solid. 

“Just, it’s fine to just cuddle El.” He’s silent beside you for a few moments, 

“One sec doll, lemme just -“ He shakes his arms out, staring at the curvature of the plane ceiling as if he’s trying to talk himself up. “Ok, ok Bunny, lets, lets give this another go.” He captures your mouth in his, sucking gentle little bruises across the bottom of your jaw, and lowering himself down to your neck. He concentrates there for a moment as he dances his hand back down your body, shifting your dress up again. His touch this time is more sure, more similar to how he’d always felt, the confidence appeared to be back.

He circles your clit just right, the two fingers curving inside you hitting just the right spot, and he moans with you, 

“C’mon darling that’s it, oh that’s your lil button isn’t it - let me, just relax into me baby, relax, I’ve got you.” He crooks a finger, and your hips jerk, his other hand reaching over to pin you firmly against the bed while he takes the opportunity to brush directly over your clit once again. You squeal, panting, as he whispers into your neck, 

“Such a good girl, good little baby Bunny, c’mon now,” He croons into your ear, voice unmistakable, “C’mon - for me.” His words, the sight of his face, the feeling of his fingers, it all combines so that in mere moments your back is arching off the bed, clutching at his arm as you tip over the edge. 

When you’re back into the land of the living, and your breathing is starting to ease up a little, you’re able to sit up. You get onto your knees for him, expecting to reciprocate but he shakes his head at you, “Just, just lie with me, mama, let me cuddle, ‘s that alright? No-one lets -  everyone wants somethin’ offa me.” You frown, standing up, his words manipulating you into believing you’d even asked him for something, 

“Sorry El- there isn’t, there’s no pressure from me, I just thought because -“ You gesture to his still clearly wet and sticky fingers, “Just wanted to give it back to you.” He huffs, lying down again, and looking over his shoulder at you. Betrayal written on his face. It softens when you clamber back under the covers with him, and he tugs you closer. 

It goes downhill fast, the tours just keep coming, and the random, sudden desires for trips here and there. You’ll be home for a scheduled three, four week break and get maybe 60 hours before a call comes in - he wants to be taken to Colorado, California, to Vegas. Before you know it you’re careening into 1976. He swings like a pendulum from happy to angry - the emotions impossible to keep up with. He wasn’t ever wholly staid before but everything seems suddenly emphasised and the erratic nature of his personality is making you wonder if you can do this job much longer. It’s worse without a girl on board. Linda and he may have argued but he was almost always easily soothed. But she’s coming on less and less, and he’s telling tales about her more and more with the boys. Expressing how he hates her shopping now, how she deserves it but doesn’t earn it, how he can’t stand her nagging. He seems to have more girls than ever before, one or two picked up for him in every city, but they never seem to make it onto the plane.

Without the settling presence of a girlfriend that role falls to you, and although you’ve now spent countless hours with him it’s different; the fits and starts with which you get to see him is completely different to being a girl who’s able to be with him in his home - you find him almost overwhelmingly difficult to manage. The first time he’s brandishing a gun and threatening to shoot you for attempting to put him to bed, you laugh - not expecting to be essentially thrown off of the plane for weeks for such an indiscretion. It doesn’t get mentioned again - not until a while later; simply brushed over, forgotten about. There’s no apology, just suddenly one day, a bashful joke gets made with Elvis tucking his chin to his chest to look at you shamefacedly but almost immediately he cracks a laugh, and you’re forced to laugh it off with him.

His health swings like his moods, it seems to be entirely dependent on a number of factors that all seem to change within a minute’s notice. It’s a combination of his mental health, the exact cocktail of medication at any given time, the number of shows he was doing, how often he was getting to see Lisa, whether he’d been home recently, the financial situation or whether he’d recently liked how he’d looked in the mirror. As soon as any one of these changed it would either send him crashing into lengthy highs or a period of lucidity. 

You didn’t sign up to be a nursemaid - it wasn’t the role you were expecting to fill but as time goes on it seems the only form of relationship you can have with him. You don’t truly mind, although you do wish for more, if he’s going to let you have this part of him - the part of him that’s sad and lonely, the part of him that he’s ashamed of - even if just for a few hours on a plane where he can pretend to be distinct from real life, then you think you deserve the same relationship back on the ground. But you would never broach that with him, not even when he’s alone, or when he brings a girl on board who doesn’t even make it to the next city. All you can do is stay. 

The last part of the year is particularly hard. He looks awful, you only really get to see him directly after a show, the schedule doesn't allow for more spare days in each spot, and the sweat pores off of him. You can’t say he doesn’t look appealing in some ways, you wouldn’t mind  licking him clean, or crawling onto his sweaty chest. But in other ways, his face growing paler and yellower, it makes you cringe away from him. It’s not that you don’t want to spend time with him, or that you’re disgusted - a fear he’d mumbled into your stomach one night recently, it’s that it’s so difficult. Difficult to watch a man, so otherwordly virile to succumb to earthly decay. It’s almost painful - and it’s made all the worse by the fact that you’re only given the choice to witness it in fits and starts - over a tour you watch him, keeping a close eye, spending hours alone with him. But then, as you land back in Memphis, or Vegas, or California you lose him again - with no idea of how he’s getting on physically or mentally, no idea of how he’s feeling. He grows distant - and all you want is to make his journey easier, although the destination at this point is unclear. 

--------------

TAGLIST:

i’m just gonna tag anyone that’s specifically msged me about it and/or anyone who commented/reblogged the last two chapters - there’s one last chapter to this ‘verse coming soon(ish) so lmk if you wanted to be added or taken off the list before then :)) 

@ellie-24, @whositmcwhatsit, @thatbanditqueen, @vintageshanny, @doll-elvis @18lkpeters @prompted-wordsmith @richardslady121 @meetmeatyourworst @marriedtopresley @steph-speaks @a-literal-no-name @elvisabutler @precious-little-scoundrel @eliseinmemphis @iloveelvis @literally-just-elvis-fics @livelaughlove-talia @angelborn1

[sinbrook]

Who is the muscluar big guy from trigun that I keep seeing?

BLESS BLESS BLESS thank you for asking me about Trigun!!

So I think you probably mean Livio?

Livio and Razlo are my BOYS man, they're my guys. OUGH.

Usually I am Not A Fan of characters being added to the main cast super late in the game, but I think him being introduced a little earlier as a villain superrrr helped me accept him as Part of The Gang. Ya know? He's one of my favourite characters and I just adore him. That being said, it's really hard to talk about him without spoilers. Like, really hard. Actually Trigun is hard to talk about without spoilers! So I'm gonna shove this long ramble nobody is gonna read, under a read more. I'm a kind soul, I'm protecting your dash.

Also total warning, this isn't like... legible, this is the worse way to learn about the character cos im just going "wow it was cool when he did this thing... and also this thing... hes so cool i love him" for too many words.

So I'll address his main sort of... thing, first off. So Livio has dissociative identity disorder, and like, for a lot of it, it's quite clear that Nightow didn't exactly go in with a heap of research on the subject. However, I wouldn't call it a negative portrayal at all. Ofc its not really up to me, but like, he wasn't really portrayed as dangerous because of his disorder. He and Wolfwood have the same backstory, they're dangerous because of The Eye of Michael and those dudes have always been explicitly condemned in-narrative as, y'know, the baddies. It's less "he's bad because he's bad" and more "he does these things because he's been conditioned by a cult from a young age to do these things". His disorder is like... not even a factor. The Eye just likes stealing kids and training them for bad stuff, man. And like, you do feel sorry for them. Both Livio and Razlo have been hugely manipulated by Chapel in particular, who positioned himself almost as a father figure, and certainly led them to believe he cares about them. So like, it's not really surprising he does everything he's asked to, he hasn't really had anywhere else he's felt cared for. Anyway I LOVE Livio's intro in the manga. We're told two guys are coming, Livio the Double Fang, and The Tri-p of Death.

Then these two dudes show up:

And like... you make the obvious assumption that those are the guys, ya know? Sure looks double-fangy to me. They're then shown tearing through a bunch of intimidating looking dudes to sort of, hype up how strong they are, right? But nuh cos see.

Livio just comes in and wrecks their shit, picks them both off as though they were nothing.

and to be fair, they are! He's a very high-level eye of Michael dude ya know?

So yeah, that's our introduction to Livio, fantastic way to show that he's just, like, strong as hell. We learn he's joining the Gung-ho Guns, so y'know, oof, he's now in direct opposition to our heroes, supposed to make you nervous and all. Anyway he and Chapel show up every now and then to just be... y'know... annoying. Try and kill him a lil y'know... that sort of thing.

It's these fucked up family reunions that we love ya know. This is totally me at Christmas.

Anyway this time was rlly funny because Elendira rlly said "you three are so annoying pls leave your drama at the door"

And they DID hahaha. I don't blame them, she's scawy.

Anyway what I think I like most about Livio is how like... y'know, sweet he is. He's kinda like Wolfwood in that he's a total sweetheart at his core but life just hasn't let him be sweet, ya know?

When Jasmine was in trouble, baby Wolfwood didn't even hesitate to run out and save her.

And Livio was the same, you know? And after The Couch, Livio even says, he wants to live his life like Wolfwood so like, we've got these two dudes with near identical journeys.

From orphans, to initiates, to assassins, to good guy with a gun lmfao. Despite what Livio does, it's really hard to ever hate him, and Razlo, too is extremely sympathetic...

Like he's got his own motivations and shit he's working through, man.

Anyway I really love during the Elendira fight when hes like, struggling to beat her, how Razlo gives Livio his own sort of hype man experience like the manga flashes back to how hard Livio worked to keep up with Razlo and the Eye, and Razlo is like hyping him up the whole time. It's really nice and wholesome :)

Anyway his journey from emo cult man to himbo cowboy was fantastic and I love Livio so much, he's a sweetheart.

And I loved his appearance at the end of the manga, like, showing he was looking after the orphanage and stuff.

And also this whole scene where he and Vash ate together made me cry.

[trolloled]

ase-trollplays​:

>> You freeze upon hearing an unfamiliar voice from the trees. You’re normally more observant than this, and you grumble that you failed to notice someone in your territory. However, rather than get territorial, you shove the feeling aside. You need help, and he’s the only one around that can help you.

Vvv Yeah, I need help! Can you get me out? I won’t bite or nothin’. vvV

>> The sound of his rifle shifting causes one of your fins to twitch. You’ve attacked enough hunters to know the sound of a gun when you hear it. You’re pretty sure that’s a gun, at least.

Vvv If yer a hunter, leave my gators alone! They didn’t do nothin’ to you, an’ they’re my family! vvV

>> You don’t tack on a threat since you’re in no position to follow through on one, not to mention you want him to help you.

>> Meanwhile, the frog starts struggling with renewed vigor in your hands, and you fight to keep your hold on it. You’re close to just biting a leg off to weaken it since you were planning to eat it anyways.

“| C+n I g-t you out? I could. I could not. Both, -qu+lly possibl-. |”

“| You +r- c+ught in m-r- shrubb-ry. I -stim+t- -v-n my comb+t prow-ss -xc--ds th+t of + b+r-ly mobil- pl+nt. |”

> You give her a grin and a sharp laugh at the idea of her biting you, flashing her your own wicked looking teeth.

“| If you bit- m-, I bit- you! W- c+n t+k- turns, but p-rh+ps, for hygi-nic r-+sons, w- should not. |“

> You clamber down easily from your ostensible sniper’s nest, as if it were the easiest thing in the world for you to practically spider crawl down the side of a swamp tree.

> You hit the muddy and soggy ground with a light thump, dusting bark off your hands as you head towards the trapped seadweller.

“| If you w+nt your f+mily s+f-, you should k--p th-ir popul+tion in ch-ck. |”

“| I no long-r hunt for funds. I hunt to k--p popul+tions in b+l+nc-. |”

> You squat down to look at her from eye level, watching the frog squirming in her hands for a few moments.

“| Too m+ny pr-d+tors m-+ns no pr-y. |”

“| Too big pr-d+tors... s+m- probl-m, only now oth-r pr-d+tors c+nnot comp-t-. D-lic+t- b+l+nc-. |”

> You shrug, standing back up to examine how tangled up she is in the shrubs.

“| Wh+t is your n+m-, young g+m- w+rd-n? |”

[yelenasdiary]

Could you maybe write 18 and 20 but for Dark! Maria Hill please?

The Woman From The Bar

Pairing: Dark! Maria Hill x Reader

Summary: Maria has been patient enough and decides to take matters into her own hands.

| Angst| 2K | Kidnapping, drugged, overall dark themes, slight degradation, language warning| 

Requests are closed.

Prompt: 18 & 20 from THIS list.

She watched you from across the room with a drink of whisky in one hand and her cigarette in the other. You worked as a bartender and she was a regular, she kept to herself and ordered the same drink every night. You noticed her eyes burning into you as you attended to other customers with a smile and cheerful conversations. Maria tensed when she noticed somebody flirting with you, she hated it. You were hers and only hers, you just didn’t know it. 

“Can I get you another?” you smiled placing her now empty class on the circled tray. “I’d love another sweetheart, make it a double, will you?” she winked, her blue eyes eyeing the way your uniform showed off your body perfectly, if nobody was around, she wouldn’t waste any more time pulling you onto her lap and making you whimper from her touch. 

“Coming right up” you swung gracefully around and head back to the bar. Again, she watched you carefully as you poured her order, licking your thumb to clean the droplet of alcohol from the bottle. “Oh honey, you have no idea how much I’m going to enjoy this” she mumbled to herself quietly as you walked over to her. “Here you go, is there anything else I can get you?” you placed the whisky glass on the table in front of her, giving her yet another smile. “That’ll be all, for now, darling” her tone sweet and warm unlike the drunken men that called you sweet names. “Well, you know how it works, holla if you need anything”.

“Oh, I will”. 

Maria knew when your shift would end, 1am just like every other night. You were left with the joys of closing and making sure everything was locked away and the money from the till was locked in the safe upstairs. She knew you always left from the back door; your car always parked closest to the exit. 

“Thank god that’s over” you mumbled as you exit out the back door, hand in your handbag searching around for your car keys. “Oh, for god’s sake!” you groaned when you couldn’t find them. The night was cold, the ground wet from the late-night shower, prostitutes shared the street waiting for passing cars. It was an ideal area of work, but you needed the money and your boss paid well enough. During the day, you had a cleaning job that made up for the extra money you needed to keep yourself afloat. Finally, you found your keys and stuck them in the door, turning twice before hearing the car unlock. 

“Pop the trunk” a voice spoke sternly behind you, your heart racing quickly when you heard the click of a gun, “now” the voice said in a hurry. You did ask told, you’ve been mugged before and knew better than to fight the criminal. 

“P-please, just take my purse, there’s $150 in cash and a little more on my credit card” you spoke, dropping your purse. “I don’t want your money” the hooded voice replied. “Wh-what do you want? I’ll give you everything I have in my handbag…pl-please just take it and go” you begged, turning to turn around. “DON’T!” snapped the criminal, “don’t turn around” they added, quickly you stopped in your steps. “Pl-please what do you want?” tears now filling your eyes. “Get in the trunk” they instructed. 

“N-no please…don’t hurt me, just take everything, my car as well…please just let me go…I won’t tell anybody” You begged with your tears now endlessly streaming down your cheeks. 

"If you want it all to be over, you have to get in the trunk” the end of their gun pointed harshly into your back, “now” they added, shoving you towards the back of your car. “O-okay” you sobbed again before getting into the trunk, curling up with your knees to your chest. “You’ll understand in time” the voice spoke before you heard them spraying the trunk with something you’d never smelt before. Your kidnapper closed the trunk and before you knew it your vision went dark and fuzzy, drifting asleep. 

Maria didn’t feel bad for what she’d just done, in her eyes, you would understand why she did this and one day see the love she has for you but for now she knew it would take some time. She waited for you to wake up with a glass of water and a sandwich beside her for you. For her own safety, she handcuffed your hands to the bed and your ankles together, whispering sorry’s as she did so. 

Opening your eyes, your vision was fuzzy, the room felt like it was spinning, and you felt sick to your stomach. Your eyes were met with piercing blue eyes once you were able to get your fuzzy vision back. “Yo-you’re the girl from the bar” you stuttered. “Good morning” she smiled, “do you feel okay? I’m sorry I had to do what I did, I just had to get you alone” she explained. “You kidnapped me!” you spat. 

“Oh honey, yes I did but you have to understand that I’m only protecting you, my sweet girl, you’ll understand in time” she smiled softly making your stomach turn even more. “You’re sick” you frowned.

“I’ll let that slide as you are clearly still in shock” she stood from the wooden chair, “I’ll come back when you’ve rested more” she spoke before leaving the room. Your raced with a thousand thoughts as you looked around at your surroundings trying to find a way out, you hoped that one of your boss’s would notice your sudden disappearance and file a missing person’s report, but you knew that they would have to wait 24 hours before the police would do any sort of investigating. Remembering the many crime documentaries, you’ve watched you had little time to come up with a plan to survive, if your kidnapper wanted to hurt, surely, she would’ve already done so by now you thought. 

Her comment “you’ll understand in time” replayed over and over in your mind giving you the first idea for plan A, play along. Give her whatever she wanted, no matter the cost. You’ve heard many cases where the victim convinced their kidnapper of their understanding and they survived so surely you could do the same. The next thing you remembered was her calling you “my sweet girl” she’d always been one to compliment you, so it wasn’t new but the tone she spoke was different. For now, you knew the only way you’d live through this was to simply play along. 

It was hours before she returned, hearing the many clicks of the door unlocking woke you from the short nap you took. “How are you feeling?” she asked in a sweet tone. “I... I’m okay, could I please have a drink…my throat, it’s so dry” you asked, seeing the glass of water and sandwich still sitting on the table beside the double bed. “Of course, I’m sorry, I forget you uncuff you” she chuckled sending a shiver down your spin, “if I do uncuff you, do you promise to be good?” she asked. You nodded, “please I just want a drink”. She placed a straw in the glass and uncuffed one of your hands, handing you the glass making sure you didn’t spill any. 

“Thank you” you softly smiled after downing the water. “You seem calmer now, a good rest did the trick” she commented, placing the glass down and cuffing your free hand back to the bed. “Yes, thank you” you replied. Maria sat back down on the seat beside your bed and brushed the locks of hair from your face, “I know this might be scary for you, but you’ll adjust, I promise. I just got so tired of seeing all those disgusting drunken men flirting with what was mine. Watching you each night with them made me very upset, you’re too beautiful and sweet to be around those type of people” she stroked your cheek gently, “and before you even try, there is no way for you to escape, nobody will hear your screams or cries for help, I will make sure you are protected here” she added. This was your chance to put plan A into action.

“Wh-what if I don’t want to leave?” you asked with the softest smile tugging on your lips, “would you uncuff me? Let me be free…here?” you added. Maria chuckled, “oh baby girl, you’ve going to have to earn my trust first.” She leant back in her seat. “I understand” you replied softly, “I didn’t want to do this too you angel, but you left me no choice, you knew how much I wanted you and you ignored me, you just treated me like a normal customer” she explained. “Y-you wanted me? I just thought you were being nice” you looked at her earning yourself another chuckle, “You really are just a dumb little sweetheart, aren’t you. Of course, I wanted you, why do you think I came to the bar every night, I sure as fuck weren’t wanting anybody else in that disgusting place” she went on. “Why didn’t you just, I don’t know, ask me out?” you asked with a sarcastic tone.

“Watch that tone little love!” Maria snapped slightly, “this was easier because I get what I want” she adds. “Will you ever let me go?” you asked one last question, looking into her blue eyes as she brought her hand to stroke your cheek softly, “I won’t need too because soon enough you won’t want to leave” she smiled before leaving the room again. You wouldn’t see her again until the following morning.

You woke slowly to the feeling of being watched, your eyes fluttered open as they were met with a pair of deep blue eyes and a soft smile. “Why are you staring at me sleeping?" you asked with a tremble in your voice. Maria brushed the messy strands of hair from your face “I just wanted to admire your beauty” she spoke softly, your stomach turned at her words. “You must be hungry by now” she commented earning a light nod from you. “Good, I’ve made breakfast” she grabbed the plate of eggs and bacon from the table beside the bed, “I can feed myself…it that’s okay?” you spoke in a questioning tone. 

“I know” said before uncuffing one of your hands and helping you into a seated position, “I made you a coffee as well” she said as she placed the plate on your lap and handing you a plastic fork. “Thank you” you replied softly. 

Maria watched you eat the entire plate before she placed it on the floor beside her feet, she looked at you as you tried to hide the worried and scared look on your face, but it was no use, she saw right through you. “I know you want to go home” she broke the silence, “I know you think I’m the devil right now but here, with me, you wouldn’t have to work another day in your life, we could be happy, I can give you everything you’ve ever wanted. I can give you the life you deserve” she added. 

“Kidnapping me isn’t the way to do things if you like somebody” you muttered causing her to huff in a chuckle, “you still don’t understand, do you? Baby, you are mine. Any life you had before this is gone. Do you think I was stupid enough to let people wondering about where you’d gotten too?” she asked, “My sweet, sweet darling” she leant towards you from her seat and stroked your cheek once more, “everybody thinks you died in a very tragic accident” her words were cold as your heart dropped, “you belong here now. You belong to me” she added before you felt her plump evil lips press against yours.

Plan A soon because plan nothing. For now, you belonged to Maria Hill, the woman from the bar.

[whumpasaurus101]

Summer of Whump- Day 22- Magical Exaughstion

ONE OF MY FAVOURITE TROPES, I HAD TO!!!!

@summer-of-whump

Cw: Sidekick referred to as kid but is 17/18/19, magical exaustion, sidekick whump.

---

“Again,” Villain instructed. Sidekick whimpered, lowering their shaking arms, “P-please Villain, I cant… it's too heavy!!!” Villain sighed, squeezing the bridge of their noise with their thumb and pointer finger, “That was an order, Sidekick, not a request.”

“Villain, i cant, I really cant!!!”

Villain growled, backhanding Sidekick hard across the face, “You think you're better than me, don't you? You think you don't need all this training. Making me out to be the bad person here. I saved you sidekick, I put a roof over your head and I can easily take it all away from you.” 

Sidekick’s eyes blew wide, “N-no.. please.. I'm sorry, I don't think that at all!!!” Villain took a step forward, “Then.do.it.again.” Sidekick gulped, shakily lifting their hand as they quickly used their powers to lift Villain’s car, lifting it up with grunt and setting it back down to the ground. “Good, now teleport.” 

Sidekick bit their lip to hold in a whimper. They closed their eyes and blipped to the inside of the car before back to their original position, stumbling slightly but managing to catch themself. Villain simply nodded, “Good. Now suit up, we have our mission today.”

Sidekick nodded, quickly running into the base and into their room. Their hands shook like mad as they changed into their uniform. Keep yourself together. It was too much. Villain’s constant training was ruining them. Everytime they teleported, they felt as if they could collapse, everytime they lifted something heavy, they felt as if their knees would collapse from under them.

Oh shut it, stop feeling sorry for yourself.

They let out a sigh, looking at themselves in the mirror, fluffing their hair slightly before dusting down their uniform and nodding. They thought it would be best not to collapse before the mission so they walked back to Villain who was waiting for them outside the base. 

“Oxford bank, teleport us there.”

Sidekick gulped, quickly blinking back tears as they slowly nodded. They placed their hand on Villain’s shoulder, closed their eyes and blip.

They quickly clung onto Villain as they stumbled, starting to feel weak, “S-sorry…” Villain shoved Sidekick’s hand off, “Hurry, grab what you can before Hero gets here.” 

Sidekick nodded once more before running into the bank, trying to ignore how their vision swayed. Villain worked with the safe as Sidekick went to the smaller rooms, full of wads of cash. They took out their bag and quickly shoved as much money as they could into it.

“Drop the bag,” A voice came.

Hero.

Shit.

Sidekick yelped, spinning around quickly, met with Hero’s eyes as they held a gun pointing at Sidekick. Sidekick quickly raised their shaking hands, not dropping the bag, “W-wait… don't shoot…”

Hero smirked, taking the safety off of the gun, “Oh? Then drop.the.bag.” Sidekick whimpered, Villain would kill Sidekick if they ruined this mission!!! “I-I can’t…” “Oh, you cant, can you? You even have a superpower which could save your life right now and you're not even using it. Villain mustn’t be training their Sidekick very well, so why don't we start training?” Hero smirks before quickly firing the gun.

Sidekick cried out, blipping to the other side of the room to dodge the bullet, making Hero chuckle, turning around slowly, “Hm, you don’t look too good, Sidekick, something the matter?” Sidekick couldn't tell them! If Villain found out they had snitched to them, oh boy- they would be dead.

Hero raising their gun once more was enough to make Sidekick blip to their original spot, stumbling sloppily as they clutched onto a vault. Hero chuckled, “Tired already? My my, Villain is a terrible mentor!!!”

Sidekick whimpered, “H-Hero, st-st’p, pl-please….”

Hero barked out a laugh, “Oh, I'm not doing anything, you're the one who's tiring yourself out, dear!!!” They raised the gun once more, Sidekick didn't fall for it this time until they say Hero’s finger slowly press down on the trigger, they yelped and quickly blipped, but this time, they glitched.

They glitched, stumbling into Hero with a sob, their whole body seizing in pain as they broke down crying, “‘m s-sorry…I ca-cant.. Pl-please.. No m-more!!!” Hero’s eyebrows furrowed in concern , quickly dropping the gun and holding Sidekick close.

“Woahwoahwoahwoah, kid, hey, it's alright, what happened, buddy?” Sidekick sobbed against Hero, their whole body shaking, in abysmal pain They couldn't manage any words, a cloud of pain filling their brain.

“Sidekick I-” Villain paused, their face darkening, “Let go of my Sidekick, Hero.” Sidekick felt as Hero tightened their grip protectively on Sidekick, “Not happening, what the fuck did you do to them?”

Villian only scoffed, “Oh will you stop falling for their dramatics, they’re fine! Now I suggest you let them go before I make you.”

“Villain, I am not letting this slide, you're clearly not training them properly if they show up to a fight. Their power drained.” Villain’s face darkened as they raised an eyebrow, “Oh, well their power better not be drained because I warned them what would happen if they run out of power so they can’t teleport us home.” 

Hero felt Sidekick flinch against them, realizing their mistake. Hero only ran a hand through Sidekick’s hair gently, feeling how they leaned into the touch. Villain took a step forward, hand raised, fire blazing from their palm, “Let.Them. Go.”

Sidekick looked around them, just before Villain’s blaze could touch Hero, Sidekick raised their shaky arm, picking up a money box from the corner of the room, using all the rest of their power to move the box through the air at full speed, quickly knocking it into Villain’s face, sending them sprawling back unconscious.

Sidekick fell limp against Hero, just about conscious, Hero held them tight and gently rubbed their back, “Heyheyhey, it's alright, I got you kid, you're safe. You don't have to put up with them anymore.”

Sidekick sobbed into Hero’s shoulder, clinging onto Hero’s shirt as tight as they could.

Pathetic.

---

tagging: @shywhumpauthor

[smolla-than-a-bug]

I humbly come to your ask box to request a Crispin x fem!reader smut fic. I am a Crispin simp who is starved for a Crispin smut 😫😫😫😫😫

Sincerely, your local Abswang Emissary who wants to hide behind an anon ask HAHAHAHAH

pretty boy

drabble. crispin x reader

navi | trese m.list

content — nsfw, fem!reader, smut directly under the cut, dom!crispin, gun play, dacryphilia

notes — WHSJSJSJS THE WAY THIS WAS THE FIRST THING I SAW WHEN I WOKE UP PLS I WASNT PLANNING TO POST TWICE TODAY BUT I JUST HAD TO ANSWER TO THIS AGAD PUTA 💀 alrighty bestie heres a lil filthy drabble for ya horknee hourzz

Your saliva fell down your chin in sticky waterfalls in the same way tears were rapidly racing down your cheeks. Your eyeliner’s smudged, your mascara’s ruined. You could taste yourself on the barrel of the gun currently shoved down your mouth.

Prior to this, he’d been teasing you with his mouth while his fingers impaled you until you came once… twice… then thrice… and you lost count. Just when you thought he was done, leaving your naked form bound on the bed, extra sensitive and shaking all over, he came back with a surprise for you. He’s not letting you rest, that’s for sure.

You know the safety is on; you trust him with your life, yet the thought of him using a weapon for your pleasure amplifies the sensations hitting your nerves and therefore blinding you with both excitement and ecstasy.

You whimpered as Crispin traced the icy metal tip of his gun down your stomach, flicking the tip against your sensitive bud and collecting the dribbling wetness.

“Cris…” your back arched as he poked your entrance with the tip of his gun. “Cris, please…”

Crispin pulled his gun away, pinning it by your head and harshly grabbing your chin so you’d meet his fiery gaze. “Say it again.” His eyes are clouded over with both awe and lust at your fucked out state. “What you called me earlier—say it again.”

“P-Pretty boy...”

“Again.”

“‘M pretty boy…”

Crispin groaned, finally unzipping his pants. He was so hard, he’s sure his cock is all red by now. He lines his tip by your entrance, sinking himself in inch by inch. “Fuck, sweetheart.” You gasped when he threw the gun on the bedside table, the clattering of items startling you, making you involuntarily clench around Crispin’s throbbing length. “Shit, fuck…” he panted, the sensitivity of his neglected cock hitting him all at once. “I’m gonna fuckin’ ruin ya, baby.”

© smolla-than-a-bug, 2021. please do not copy or repost my works. reblogs are appreciated!

trese tag list — @lumpiang-toge @binibiningbabaylan @marinac15 @effmigentlywithachainsaw @disappointmentpastry @minshookie29 @haliya-mori

[sunflowersteves]

52 I thought I almost lost you, ummm alpha steve and omega reader?

author’s note || pls bear with me, I’ve never done (nor do I really read) A/B/O before so I’m hella sorry if it’s bad. Also, I’m assuming you want smutty because it’s A/B/O?? ah sorry, I’m nervous because I’ve never done it!! I really hope you like it🥺🥺

psa || I know this has the ‘marking’ thing in it, however, I don’t describe what the skin looks like when Steve marks it!!

prompt || “I thought I almost lost you.”

warnings || a/b/o, smutty as hell, vaginal sex, swearing, soft!alpha!steve

You cringed as you heard the door slam, making the whole house vibrate. You could hear Steve’s large booming steps on the hardwood floor. You sigh and start up the paperwork you were doing before he got home.

The two of you had just gotten back from a mission, a tough one at that. You had jumped in front of Steve when multiple guns were being shot at him. You had taken a bullet to the top of your shoulder, it had almost missed. There was blood seeping through your suit and you immediately hit the ground, yelling in agony. You don’t really remember what happened after that, but Natasha had informed you that Steve had gone into a pretty hefty rage.

After you got back to the tower, you were given painkillers and bed rest for the next week. Steve, on the other hand, hadn’t spoken to you one bit. He didn’t speak to you on the quinjet, in the infirmary, and even when he left the tower. You assumed he had just been wandering around Brooklyn and trying to cool himself down. However, it seemed he failed at that.

So here you were, almost 3 AM, and just finishing up paperwork before a livid Steve to burst through your apartment door. He was very loud; he would curse and rummage about, making as much noise as it seemed possible. He took off his boots halfway to the couch and took large breaths to keep his cool.

He couldn’t get that vision out of his head. It was like your blood was still on him, fresh and thick as it splat onto his skin. You scared the living fuck out of him, considering that he would be utterly devastated, rotted to the core if you had died in his arms. He just got so angry at the fact that you would risk your life for his.

He knew he would do the exact same in that situation but for some reason he just couldn’t get your death out of his head. He can’t afford to lose the one thing keeping him grounded and loved and happy.

You peak yourself out from your studies, watching as a tear rolled down Steve’s cheek. Your heart dropped into your stomach at the sight, wanting to so badly comfort him. You ever so slowly walk over to him, and placed a hand on his shoulder.

That’s when he spoke up. “I thought I almost lost you.”

The defining silence told you everything, especially when he stared at you with sad orbs. You still sat next to him, watching as his tears continued to roll down his cheeks. “I can’t get that out of my head. All I can see is you in my arms stained with blood and I-” 

You shushed him and wrapped your arms around his shoulders. You pressed a small kiss to his temple, closing your eyes at his loud sobs. “I mean I- how can you be so reckless? How can you just risk your life like that? We’re in this relationship together!”

Your soothing movements stopped and you unwrapped your hand from his shoulder. How the hell was he going to talk to you like that when he’s the one that was making everything difficult?

What relationship was he referring to because it seemed like you were the only one trying to get to that point. You exhausted yourself it seemed like at every turn. You wanted to be more than just ‘this is my friend, y/n.’ You wanted more than to hide behind walls and closed doors.

Steve had made that quite clear with long nights under the stars, kissing feverishly that this wasn’t a one time thing. However, Steve has still yet to mark you, to make you his forever. 

“That’s juicy coming from you.” A full frown pulled at his lips. The venom that was laced between your lips made his heart pang. He was beyond confused and wanted an explanation, but his response seemed to fuel you even more. 

“What?”

You shook your head, now moved a couple of spaces away on the couch. “Look, Steve, I don’t know what you think this is,” You gestured your fingers between the two of you. “But if you think that it’s okay to ignore me like a child when all you think of me as a fling then you’ve got the wrong idea.”

Steve moved his head back in surprise, slightly widening his eyes. He had no idea you thought that. He assumed that you two were in it for the long haul. “You think this is a fling?”

You just roll your eyes as his expression turned cold. “I don’t, Steve. You do.”

Now, he was beyond confused, especially since he had not once thought of you as a fling or just someone to fuck around with. He thought of you as the light at the end of the tunnel.

“I don’t at all, baby-”

A sudden force of anger surged through you and you scoffed. He was the one that always left in the evenings. He was the one who wouldn’t take you anywhere. He was the one who caused you all this pain.

You were now standing, your body towering over his sitting one. “You haven’t marked me! We’ve been together for months, Steve! Every time I try, you just leave me feeling unwanted!” His expression turns into an acknowledged one, understanding how he made you feel. He didn’t mean to, he just wanted to do it on your terms but instead, he thought your advances weren’t ever sexual making you feel unwanted. 

“Oh, little love.” He came up to reach your cheeks and squished them slightly with his fingers. You tried to hover away from him, but it was no use.

“I didn’t want to pressure you, sweet baby. When you told me about your last alpha and how he treated you, I wanted to make sure we did it when you wanted. I’m so sorry for making you feel that way.”

A sigh escaped his lips as he pulled you into his lap, resting his hands around your stomach. His nose pressed up against your neck, leaving soft fluttering kisses. “I’m sorry, baby. Can I show you? Can I show you just how much I love you?”

You nodded and leaned into him, anger completely fading away with each kiss. He then had a tiny smirk on his face before latching his teeth into your skin.

You felt yourself gasp, gripping his forearms that were wrapped around you. His lips were soft on your skin, wetting the area wholly. Your scent had skyrocketed, arousal already dripping out of your cunt.

Steve growled, his senses only rising at your pure smell. You were squirming underneath him, not familiar with the touching love from an alpha. It was intoxicating and addicting, his scent masked of oak and mint which all the more made your mouth water with desire. 

“You smell so sweet, little love.” A whimper fell on your lips at the pull of your skin on his teeth. He nibbled on the sensitive skin, watching as you writhed with pleasure from just his lips attached to your neck. You couldn’t get enough of the man; you wanted him so badly it burned.

“You want me to mark you, sweet love? I’ll mark you with my knot.” You sigh in despair as his lips left you bare. He lifted you and turned you around so you were facing him.

He took out his already hard cock, pumping it slowly. You whined, watching as a breath of chuckles left him at your impatience. “Fuck,” he whimpered slightly at the feeling of your throbbing heat being exposed underneath your skirt.

He rubbed himself back and forth on the entrance of your slick, a tight moan sent your way. Your toes curl at the sensation of him plunging into you. “please, steve, p-please.”

He made you sink all the way and you could feel the bulging veins that prominently stood out on his member. “Fuck, y/n.”

All you could do was moan as he made a steady pace, his fingers dipping into your waist. You were bouncing up and down his large member, mewling as he sat up to attach his lips to your neck again. Both of your scents intertwined together, the love and passion of it all creating your bond. 

“Steve!” His hand moves up to your cheek, cupping it gently. He watched as you bounced up and down on his cock. Your slick had now spread onto his thighs, your scent flowing up into his nose and he almost came undone there. 

He felt himself latching onto your beloved cunt watching you take is cock perfectly. Of course he had many dreams about this moment. He would rub up. and down his cock, wishing it was you. However, he hadn’t imagined this much ecstasy and desire. He wished his cock could never leave you, filling you whole at all times. 

“That’s it, y/n.” He fucked you, again and again, watching as high pitched yelps echoed across the room. You couldn’t take much more. It was all getting too much; the sound of skin slapping, his sweet sensations he dug into your neck, and his cock fucking you raw. Your head flew back, screaming and shaking uncontrollably. Your legs trembled around his thighs and he groaned, feeling close himself.

“Steve, Steve, Steve!”

He moans. “Little love, you take my cock so well.” 

He fucked you good and went beyond your orgasm, keeping his word about knotting you. Watching you come undone was the single hottest thing he had ever seen.

Eyes blew wide he watched as you screamed his name in pure lust and love. He had you completely latched, shoving his load deep within your sensitive cunt. You whimpered a bit, Steve was still pumping in and out of you, slowly.

“Fuck, y/n.” You giggled as you wiped your Steve scented slick and brought it to your lips, licking the salty white substance. Steve groaned, his hand that was cupping your cheek was now tracing the features on your face.

You got up to go clean up the two of you before Steve grabbed your hips and pulled you back down with him. “I’m not done making my mark on you, little love.”

~~

Masterlist // Permanent Taglist: @captainchrisstan @angstysebfan

[taejeonie]

dream vs dream

— i can’t find a gif of mark in dream vs dream :(( so take this screenshot :>>

“ncity-“

“hihihi”

“gotta go get em”

“HAHAHAHAHAHA”

i present to u

markhee(HEE, i saw that reply and i loved it)

bffs forever mwah <3

i swear mark keeps laughing around taehyuck best friend goals

“mic test,,ncity...gotta go get em :)))”

video cuts to taehee moving her chair closer to mark

“hey, what are you doing?”

“i’m moving closer to you. what does it look like?”

“there you go again”

“iS it mY fAuLt fOr wAnTinG tO bE cLosE tO mY bEsT bUdDy?”

and mark just deadass stares at her but there’s this loving look in his eyes yes mark she’s still ur best friend and u love her bc that’s what bffs are <3

“ahh i knew you would be like this”

“how much do you wanna bet we’re gonna ask the same thing?”

“like,,,for real? cause-“

“are you scared, mark?”

“if that’s the case, i’m not betting. i have a feeling we’re gonna ask at least two questions that are the same”

taehee @ the camera: “if we get one of the questions wrong, we’re gonna eat it.”

“wh- HAHAHAHAHA”

“so that we can remember the answer after this.”

“HAHAHHAHAHAHA”

“but then we throw it away if we get it right”

“let’s fold the paper like this :p” MARK IS SO CUTE PLS

“but then eat it if we get right...you have to swallow okay?”

“oKAAYYY DREAM VS DREAM START!”

they play rps

taehee threw scissors and mark threw rock

mark, shaking his head: “you always throw scissors it’s so predictable”

“one day, i’ll throw u off. we’ll see -.-“

“okay, what year did we meet each other?”

...

...

...

“DONT PRETEND U DONT KNOW THIS IS EASY!!!”

“2012. we arrived at the same day, right?”

“right.”

“mark and i were really shy back then so we became each other’s first friends in the company”

“we were,,,13? 13, right?”

“i was 12, u were thirteen. our friendship was going strong,,,until haechan came along so mark started hanging out with him more >:((“

“you and haechan fought a lot back then!!!”

in nana’s voice: “but you chose to hangout with me and you left me all alone (-｡-; “

and mark’s in faux disbelief

taehee and her antics tsk

“okay next question....give me one thing i appreciate about mark lee and why?”

mark’s fLUSTERED TM

everyone loves u dont be shy markus

“one? just one?”

“yeah-“

“that’s so hard there’s so many”

“WOW AND YOU FINALLY ADMIT IT”

“NO NOT LIKE THAT HAHA”

“just answer the question”

“is it...i’m cute?”

“then what’s the reason for that?”

“do you like me?”

“oh no...how’d you find out :OO”

“JUST TELL ME IF IM RIGHT OR WRONG”

“no,,i’ll give u another chance. it’s something that you say”

“my habits? ‘약간’?”

“that’s cute,,but no.”

...

mark snaps his fingers and goes, “AH!”

“when i call you ‘joanie’ becauseeee.....”

“because?”

“it reminds you of your mom?”

“i was going for family but mom works too ;))”

and mark laughs in delight

“yo that was EASY”

taehee playfully rolls her eyes, “your turn”

“what is mark’s sleeping habit?”

taehee’s eyes widen for a split second before answering

“kissing your roommate”

“crawling on the floor”

“what?”

“sleep talking in korean and english”

“that’s right”

“konglish” - taehee, 2k18

“i witnessed it personally and when i do get the chance, i will record it and post it on sns”

“...please don’t”

“you’re right i might get fired”

they both laugh,,you can also hear renjun’s laughter off-screen

“okay next, you’ll know the answer to this if you’re really interested in me”

“i feel uneasy”

“what is my favorite song as of now,,,,”

“uhh ‘better now’?”

“no”

“‘i like it’”

“nooo”

“‘better now’”

“HEY YOU SHOULD KNOW THIS :(((“

“WHAT IS IT”

taehee puffs out her cheeks before giving him a clue

“it’s a song by one of your favorite artists”

mark blanks out for a moment and he’s like

uhhhhhhh

and taehee sighs disappointingly bc so far she’s got two of mark’s questions right

i mean her questions aren’t that hard pfffft

“AH! ‘new light’ by john mayer”

“DING DING DING”

“i told you to listen to it, right?,” mark says proudly

she nodded cutely before singing the lyrics

“oh i want a take two,”

“i want to breakthrough,”

and mark joins her and it becomes the perfect recipe for a louder duo

mark + taehee = loud

“I WANNA KNOW THE REAL THING ABOUT YOU”

and now they’re calm again, “so i can see you in a new light~”

taehee: “applause!!”

cLAP CLAP CLAP

“in how many cities did mark live in?”

“torontonewyorkvancouverseoul”

taehee main rapper we stan

“HAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAH THAT WAS SO FAST AHHAHAHAHAHAH”

“f o u r,” she spelled in english

“mARK LOOK FOUR HAS FOUR LETTERS”

“rEaLLy???”

simultaneously: f o u r.

and they’re both shocked like the five year olds they are so they high five each other

#dreamiesatheart

“what is taehee’s most recent sleeping habit?”

“told you it would be the same”

“yeah but mine has a ‘most recent’ on it? see,” she gestures to the paper in her hand

“you raise your arm when you’re asleep”

taehee’s like >:(( as she puts mark’s hand down when he demonstrates

“there’s another one”

“ahh sleeping on the floor”

“yeapp :DD”

“why do you get on the floor tho?”

“honestly i don’t even wanna know”

“okay in what restaurant did we eat together”

“like...just the two of us?”

“yeah”

“do i have to name all of them”

“name the most memorable one.”

“ah 삼겹살!!!”

“that’s correct but there’s another-“

“김치찌개!!”

“wow you got all of them right”

“paper doesn’t exactly suit my appetite...but maybe it does for you”

mark laughs at this

“wait, see? i’m getting goosebumps right now. what was the first menu mark and taehee ate together?”

“just the two of us? isn’t it 김치찌개 also?”

“yes,” and the girl goes in for a high five

“woah we really wrote the same thing ...”

“we should’ve discussed this earlier”

“okay last question!!! are you ready?”

“yES IM READY,” she shouts causing mark to let out a giggle

“name the film that we watched together in the movie theater”

“train to busan. i loved that movie.”

“that’s right!!”

and they make their 93488293rd high five in the video

best friend tingz

mark laughs, “no one knew about this.”

“yeah we had to sneak out,” taehee says before making that

oops i did it again face

taehee and her escapades the managers have trouble monitoring her sometimes

but she’s a good girl for the most part lmao she still needs to pay rent

“i didn’t want to watch the movie-“

“but i forced him to”

“i thought you didn’t like scary movies?”

“scary movies are fine as long as i’m with....”

everyone expects her to say ‘the members’ but it’s taehee ffs

“...you ;)))”

“oKAAAAAAAAY”

“okay my turn,,,”

“WOAH YOU ACTUALLY GOT ALL OF THE QUESTIONS CORRECT”

taehee suddenly throws the paper behind her shoulder and catches mark off by surprise

“mark,,,,,”

then there’s this look in her eyes which made mark laugh nervously, “whaaat are you gonna do?”

“are you tired?”

“is that the question?”

taehee nods, “ask me why,,”

“....why?”

“because you keep running through my mind all day ;)))”

*finger guns*

chenle and jeno laugh behind the cam while mark attempts to keep a straight face while shaking his head at you

“that was good right?,” taehee’s still laughing as she nudges mark with her knee

“oh really?,” mark says

“then you must be exhausted”

taehee: ( O.O )

“WOAHHHH”

“MARK-HYUNG!!!”

“DID HE REALLY JUST DO THAT”

taehee’s in shock bc??? mark lee??? flirting back???

“wah that was good...”

and mark’s just laughing at her expression

“wah .... i didn’t ....”

video cuts to taehee looking sullen while mark :))

“okay, the score is 5:4-“

“WHAT NO-“

“i’m hurt,,,clearly mark isn’t interested in me”

*proceeds to fake cry*

“hey, that’s no fair. the last question wasn’t even about you-“

*fake cries harder*

when taehee “calmed down” she looks at the camera

she’s still wiping her non-existent tears

acting queen give her an oscar

“from now on, i will try to be less interested in mark”

she turns to mark and makes this cutting/slicing gesture with her hand

and mouths “friendship. over. -.-“

“she gave the wrong questions. that’s why-“

“wHAT CAN GET MORE PERFECT THAN THESE”

bleep

“this was dream vs dream which ended in my victory. thank you for watching!!!”

they give each other a bro hug

and when taehee pulls away she looks down and pointed at mark’s shoes

“tie your shoes properly!!”

“but they don’t-“

“i don’t want you falling for anyone else ;)))”

mark shoves her causing taehee to go out of frame

“HAHAHHAHAHA- HEY!”

“tHAT WAS BAD I DONT EVEN HAVE SHOE LACES”

“IT WAS GOOD THOUGH!!”

“try to come up with a new one, i heard you use that on yuta-hyung already.”

“whatever-“

[somedayonbroadway]

okay so there are two whump tropes that id loveee to see with newsies, but i don’t know which one i like best 😂 the first one is the “part of being a parent is making hard choices, which of your children should come with me for the hour” or something like that- the second one that’s also killing me is manhandling could you pleasee write something newsies with one (or both, if you prefer) of those?

Yes! I tried to incorporate the manhandling into this a little too, I hope you like it!

Please enjoy!

A kick to the gut got Jack to shut up quick. He coughed as the air rushed from his lungs and Snyder bent down towards him. “See Jack… I know you’re too stubborn for your own good. So I’m taking a break from you today…”

It should’ve been a relief. But Jack didn’t like the sound of it in any way.

The door swung open. Two of Snyder’s goons walked in.

But they weren’t alone.

“No…” the young man breathed.

“I’ll be spending time with Charles and little Tyler James instead…”

Jack was still on the ground, trying desperately to breathe. He tried to push himself up on his elbows. But he fell back to the ground with a pained whimper. “P-please… don’t- don’t bring them into this… j-just hurt me. Kill me,” he rasped, tears streaming down his face as he looked up to the man that hovered above him.

And two little boy’s who were trembling like mad.

Snyder smiled and glanced down at both of the children, reaching to pet their blond hair individually as he circled them. Both of them had black blindfolds pulled tightly over their eyes. Jack wrapped an arm around his ribs, shaking his head as he watched the man find pleasure in this awful, impossible situation. “Being a parent is all about making hard choices is it not?” he laughed.

Jack tried to reach out for them. His hand was kicked away as the man stood posessively in between the two boys. Tyler was hardly breathing, clearly disoriented and confused and, above all else, terrified. Charlie was shaking just the same. There was a cut on his lip. He sniffled, trying to lean away from the menacing touch of the man above him. Their hands were bound tightly behind him.

Both of them were on their knees.

Jack sobbed. “Pl-please…”

“Which one of your precious boys gets to come with me for the hour?”

The youngest Kelly brother whined when the hand came back down on his hair. He tried to lean away. It only got his hair grasped onto. He cried out. And Jack let out a breathy groan. “N-no… Tyler… Tyler, don’ move—“

“It’ll be over before you know it, James… the longer you take to choose, the worse it’ll get. Just pick one,” their captor ordered, tossing the small boy’s head forward and glancing back at the two guards he had standing by the door. Both of them looked amused.

Jack fought for air and tried to crawl closer to his small, broken family. “J-Jack, just pick me! Please!” That was when a gun was drawn from Snyder’s belt. And the man kneeled down next to Charlie, grabbing the sixteen year old by the chin and squeezing the child’s face tightly in his hand, raising the gun to the boy’s head and forcing him to face Jack.

“Leave ‘em alone!” the young man demanded, finding his voice again.

Snyder pulled the safety back on his weapon. Crutchie couldn’t speak. Not with his cheeks squished the way they were. It was painful.

Jack shook his head, looking between the two children who he loved more than any other thing or person on the planet. “I�� I won’t choose between ‘em… I can’t…” he admitted. “Please… please let them go… it ain’t them ya want…”

A pout worked its way onto their captor’s face. And the man released his hold on Charlie’s face. The boy ripped away from him as soon as he could, scowling hard as he tried to struggle out of the ropes that held him so defenseless. “You can take me,” he forced out. He was trying so hard to stay angry.

If he wasn’t angry, he was terrified.

Snyder hummed as he traced his pistol down the side of the older boy’s face. “Well… since you’re so willing…” he cooed, turning back to his guards who just smirked at him. “Boys… take Tyler to my office.”

Crutchie screamed. Jack did too.

“No! No! Let him go!

“Racer! Don’t touch him, you sick bastard! He’s only fourteen!”

Race cried out too, trying to scramble to his feet and blindly rush away. But he was grabbed onto by one of the guards immediately. An arm was around his waist, lifting him up into the air for a moment as the boy cried out. “Jackie! Please!”

The guard laughed, forcing the child into him and then roughly throwing him towards the other guard who caught him with ease before throwing the child over his shoulder, even as he screamed and kicked to try and cried out for Jack.

Jack stood, ready to chase after them, forgetting for a moment that the chain around his ankle only allowed him to go so far. “Stop it! You can take me! Just take me!” he begged, tears running down his cheeks faster as he screamed at them. “He is an innocent child!”

“Don’t worry, James… we’ll take good care of him,” Snyder assured, gripping Charlie by his hair and roughly shoving him forward. Jack caught him in his arms.

“No! Jack! I want Jack!” the child cried. “Don’t touch me! I want my brother!” Jack could hear his baby brother scream, even as he was carried out that door. His cries echoed through the room. “Jack!”

Jack made to run at the door before he fell to the ground, all thanks to the chain around his ankle. He hit the ground right as the door was shut and locked from the outside.

He could hear the boy give one final scream before it was all gone.

And Jack couldn’t help his sobs as he looked up helplessly at the door in front of him.

“I’m sorry… I’m so sorry…” Charlie muttered. “I tried ta get him ta run, I tried ta tell him ta get out, but he wouldn’t!”

Jack turned to his little brother quick, ripping the blindfold off of the boy to find red rimmed, teary eyes. “None of this is your fault, Charlie…” Jack whispered, trying desperately to keep his voice steady. “I’m so sorry… you were never supposed to be a part a’ this…”

Charlie shook his head. He studied his big brother, every bruise and cut on his exposed skin, and he let out a quiet sob. “What’re they gonna do to him?”

It broke Jack’s heart when all he could do was bring the boy to his chest and helplessly reply, “I don’t know…”

The boy cried onto his shoulder as his hands were untied.

And they sat there together, praying that their brother would be alright.

It would be a long night.

Anyone want more of this? I have very dark ideas.

[wkemeup]

The Witness (6)

series summary: After witnessing a Hydra hit and the handsome, borderline endearing cop who had become a regular at your bar takes it upon himself to ensure your safety off the books, you learn to rely on someone else for a change and find you don’t mind it at all. Not when it’s him.

pairing: detective!bucky x reader

word count: 7.2k

warnings: descriptions of violence, angst angst angst SMUT (18+) 

author’s note: thats right! update two days in a row! couldn’t leave you guys hanging too bad 😅I love seeing your comments so pls let me know what you think!

series masterlist // previous chapter

Bucky dove behind the police car, shielding his body from the spray of bullets lodging in his direction. He curled against the tire, wrapping his hands over his head as he shot a glance at Sam who was groaning on the pavement next to him, having just thrown his whole body up and over the trunk of the car. Bucky knelt on his knees, trying to get a better look at his partner to assess for damage.

“You okay, Wilson?” Bucky shouted over the gunfire, ducking down when the whiz of a bullet flew by his ear. Sam groaned but he rolled onto his side, yanking his handgun from his holster.

“Where the hell is our backup?!” He shouted as he jumped up and fired three shots over the trunk of the car before dropping back to the ground, back pressed against the frame.

“It’s been three hours, man. They ain’t comin’,” Bucky grunted. He looked down at his wrist for the fifth time in as many minutes. It was coming on eleven, and he should have been to your bar two hours ago to relieve Parker. Bucky clenched his jaw.

“She’ll be fine, Barnes,” Sam repeated, having said it at least ten times so far, eyeing the way Bucky couldn’t seem to keep his eyes off his watch. “Parker won’t leave just because you don’t show up.”

Bucky nodded. He gave the kid a lot of crap, but he knew you’d be safe with him. Plus, he was pretty sure Parker had a bit of a crush on you anyway. He might enjoy the extra time. Though, he hoped you wouldn’t be upset with him for failing to tell you or Parker that he wouldn’t make it tonight. He and Sam were too far out of range for Peter’s walkie to pick it up and with the heavy rain of gunfire, a quick call or text wasn’t an option.

It was supposed to be a simple in and out.

One guy; an old hydra affiant who had supposedly been out of the game for years. Sam had got word from one of his informants that he might have some information on the gunman from the alley, could possibly even identify you as the witness. Bucky couldn’t take the chance he was bluffing, so he grabbed Sam and went to have a ‘conversation’ with the man that led to a shootout in the middle of the street.

Nothing was ever easy with Hydra.

Four men were currently firing from inside the house, using windows for leverage and ducking behind the walls. Bucky and Sam had yet to get a decent shot in, though Bucky’s shoulder got grazed pretty early on. Dispatch wasn’t coming through, so Hydra must have figured out a way to jam the reception. The only message he had time to call in was to Steve, telling him they’d arrived at the house. No one knew they’d been held up in a rain of bullets since.

It went on for hours. Long past midnight and Bucky had stopped checking his watch.

Sam was in the middle of another round of shots when his gun stopped firing. He was out. The pause it took him to realize was too long before a bullet dove itself through his arm.

“Shit!” he cursed, grabbed onto his bicep as he slumped down to the ground. Blood oozed through his fingers. Bucky reached out and hastily ripped a section of his shirt and wrapped it around his partner’s arm, pulling tightly as he tied it, causing Sam to wince.

“Don’t fucking move,” Bucky ordered. The gunfire had ceased in the meantime. Bucky slowly laid down on the pavement, ignoring the look Sam was throwing at him, and kicked up at the side view mirror with all of his strength. It popped loose and jutted into the air before falling back into Bucky’s lap. With a triumphant grin, he readjusted until he was seated with his back on the car again.  

“What the hell are you doing, Macgyver?”

“Watch and learn, asshole,” Bucky grinned, holding the mirror up above the car. Through the reflection, he spotted a shimmer of light in the top right window. “Gotcha.”

Bucky sprang to his feet and fired a single shot where the glare had been. A hand slumped over the window pane.

“Goddamn,” Sam laughed, shaking his head. Bucky bent down to take cover again as the firing resumed. “I can’t believe that worked.”

“You should learn to trust me, partner,” Bucky taunted and Sam rolled his eyes in such a way it was probably painful. Bucky held up the mirror again and proceeded to take out another two of the men. Only one remained.

“On your left!” Sam shouted, but he wasn’t fast enough before Bucky was kicked hard in his shoulder, causing his gun to slide out of his grasp and a few feet away. He slumped onto the pavement with a groan.

“Come on, pig!” The man jeered, holding his fists up as he nudging Bucky with the side of his foot. “Get up!”

“You sure you don’t want to fight my partner? He’s a lot easier of a hit than I am,” Bucky grumbled, throwing a teasing look in Sam’s direction as he stood. Sam narrowed his eyes in annoyance just as Bucky winked. He took the moment of surprise and sent a fist barreling into the man’s jawline.

His hand stung as he pulled it back. This guy was no joke. Standing at least a half foot taller than Bucky and with the kind of look in his eyes that said he wasn’t going down easy. He came at Bucky with a roar and Bucky ducked his jab. When the fist came at him again, Bucky wasn’t quick enough, and it collided hard against his cheek bone before the other barreled into his ribs. Blood pooled in his mouth as he bit down on his tongue.

“Shit, Barnes! Step it up!” Sam shouted from the sideline.

“Shut the fuck up, Wilson!”

Bucky spit a glob of blood onto the ground and ignore Sam’s gag of disgust. Bucky managed to get another swing in at the man’s cheekbone before he kicked Bucky hard in the stomach. He stumbled back a few paces, grabbing onto the edge of the car for support. Sam narrowed his eyes, urging him on and Bucky groaned.

The man charged again and this time, Bucky went for his knees. This guy clearly spent too much time on arm day and ignored his lower body, and it gave Bucky the perfect target. A solid kick to the man’s knees and he lets out a shout in pain and dropped down. Bucky ran up behind him, snaking an arm around the man’s neck and yanking hard, squeezing as the man clawed at his arms. He dodged the man’s swings up at his face and he continued to squeeze.

Then, the man slumped, dead weight in Bucky’s arms and he dropped him to the floor.

“Fuck,” Bucky exhaled, panting hard as he wiped the trail of blood from his cheek.

“You kill him?” Sam asked quizzically, raising a suspicious eyebrow.

Bucky shot him a glare. “He’s just unconscious. Need one of these assholes to talk, don’t we?”

Sam studied the man lying on the ground before he eventually shrugged. “I guess.”

Bucky reached down and dragged the man’s arms behind his back, cuffing him to be safe. With all of his strength, he dragged him over to the police car and shoved him in the back seat. It took almost as much exertion as knocking the man out. Once the man was locked in the back, Sam was in the front seat, messing with the radio to try to get it back online.  

“I’ll try and call Steve,” Bucky suggested, reaching for his phone in his back pocket. When he pulled it out, his screen was illuminated with dozens of notifications. “What the-“

Hey Detective Barnes, it’s Peter. It’s 9:15 and you’re not here yet. Just checking in. Miss Y/l/n is in a weird mood...

Hey Detective B. Peter again. It’s 9:30 and I’m getting nervous. Y/n is drinking… should I be worried?

It’s 10:00 and I haven’t heard anything…

I’m freaking out a little here...

Bucky scrolled through the dozens of text messages, small ones in between where Parker asked for an update, where he was at, telling him what number drink you were on. Bucky’s heart was racing faster than it was when the bullets were firing in his direction.

Then, he landed on the final text.

Hey Dt. B. It’s 10:30. I just got dispatched on a 273D and I’m the only backup in the area. I have to go. No choice. I can’t get ahold of anyone else. I’m so sorry. Y/n said she’s alright until you get here. Please come soon.

Bucky didn’t even have a chance for the wave of panic to pass through him before he finally noticed the small, red notification in the bottom corner of the screen.

A voicemail.

From an unknown number.

You.  

Twenty-seven minutes ago.

“Shit!”

Bucky ran to the passenger side of the car, sliding over the hood of the car and nearly losing his balance as he scrambled to open the door. He threw himself inside the car and slammed the door shut behind him. Sam was giving him a curious look from the driver’s seat as Bucky’s hands were starting to shake.

“Drive,” Bucky could barely get the word out.

“Dude, are you-“

“Y/n called. T-There’s a voicemail. Twenty-seven minutes,” Bucky rasped, the fear so evident in his voice that Sam immediately dropped the wires in the radio and pulled the door shut. The car roared to life as he shifted it into gear.

“Well, listen to it!” Sam demanded as he slammed on the gas and pulled the car out onto the street. Out on the main road, they were weaving in and out of traffic, the siren wailing in Bucky’s ear through the open window shattered in the crossfire.

Bucky nodded, more unnerved than he had been in his life as the momentum of Sam’s driving shoved his body against the door. His hand was shaking, but he was able to press down on your message. It set it to speaker.

The automated voice announced he had one new message at 2:14am.

Then,

“B-Bucky, please,” your voice echoed through the speaker and Bucky clamped a hand over his mouth to keep himself from screaming. “I need you to answer. P-Please, Buck. Shit. He was here. He was just here!”

“Who’s ‘he’?” Sam interrupted, but Bucky shook his head frantically. He didn’t know.

“Please, I need you,” your voice cried, and Bucky felt a pang so violent in his chest he was sure it would give out. “C-Call me back. I’m -- fuck-- I’m scared. Please. I don’t know what to do. No one’s-- no one’s here. It’s just me. Bucky, please. You promised you’d answer. You promised.”

The message ended and Bucky could barely keep it together. He clenched the phone in his hand, Sam watching him nervously from the corner of his eye as he drove, and Bucky let out a scream that tore through his vocal cords enough to burn them raw.

He was panting, lightheaded, by the time he clenched his jaw again. The siren and rips of wind through the broken windows the only sound breaking the otherwise tense silence.

“I’m sure she’s still at the bar,” Sam offered hesitantly. “She said ‘he was here.’ As in no longer-“

“Just fucking drive!” Bucky bellowed, left hand gesturing aggressively towards the road as the right anxiously swept his hair from his eyes. Abruptly, he slammed his hands against the dashboard. “Fuck! Fucking hell! This is all my fault. Goddamnit!”

Sam stole a glance in Bucky’s direction as he took a sharp right turn. “You don’t know what happened yet. She could be fi-”

“What if she’s not there?” Bucky sounded years younger. The fear laced in his words enough to startle his partner. It was unlike him. Sam hasn’t seen him shaken like this since – ever. He slumped down into the chair, hands clenching at the fabric of his pants, searching for grounding. “God, what if she’s-“

“Shut up,” Sam snapped, slamming on the horn when the car in front of them didn’t move fast enough. “Stop making assumptions. We’ll get to the bar and go from there, you hear me?”

Bucky nodded, though it didn’t ease the dryness in his mouth or the racing throbbing of his heart. As Sam drove, Bucky tried to call your number back but you didn’t answer. He’d catch the first word of your answering machine, hang up, and call again. It was no use.

The car skidded in front of your bar with a piercing screech and Bucky was out the door before Sam could even put the car in park. He barreled through the front door, shoving his shoulder against the frame, only to find it unlocked as it tore open easily.

“Y/n!” he shouted, the crack in his voice unnoticed as he desperately scanned the empty room. “Y/n! Please! Answer me!”

Gun in his hand, only less than a handful of bullets left in the chamber, Bucky raced behind the bar. He dunked underneath but you were nowhere to be seen.

Sam raced in behind him. “Where is she?”  

“I don’t--” Bucky was shaking his head, trembling hands running through his hair as he tried to catch his breath. “I don’t know.”

“Okay,” Sam said calmly, slowly lowering his hand as if easing on a break. “I’ll check the closet. Go to the back office.”

Bucky nodded, feeling slightly relieved at the direction. He jogged back to the office and jiggled the handle, only to find it locked. Bucky narrowed his eyes.

“Doll?” he called. No response. “If you’re in there, move away from the door.”

Again, nothing.

He waited ten agonizingly long seconds as Sam regrouped behind him having found nothing in the closet and kicked the door with all of his strength. It swung open and slammed forcefully against the adjacent wall with a loud BANG. Bucky stumbled into the room, eyes scanning frantically when he felt Sam’s lay carefully upon his shoulder.

He looked up at Sam inquisitively before he followed his partner’s gaze to the glimpse of a shoe hidden behind the desk. Bucky inhaled a quivering breath as Sam nodded and stepped back towards the door to give his partner space. Slowly, Bucky walked towards you, view still obstructed by the desk. The floor creaked under his shoes and he winced at every sound.

He came up to the side of the desk and he took in a sharp intake of air. Careful not to startle you, he lowered himself to his knees. You sat with your back against the wall, clutching a thin, small, paper card in your hand as your phone sat on the ground next to you, dozens of missed calls illuminated on the screen. Your eyes were staring off far beyond Bucky’s shoulder, almost like you were in a daze.

“Y/n?”

You didn’t respond. Bucky swallowed, quaking as he reached out gather one of your hands in his own. He clasped it gently, both hands surrounding it as he rubbed small circles on the skin. He brought it to his lips and pressed a kiss to your knuckles. Tears welled in his eyes. You didn’t react in the slightest.

“Doll, look at me,” he pleaded, his voice breaking. “Please.”

A flicker of realization and gradually, your eyes trailed over to his. Bucky clenched his jaw, his heart pounding painfully in his chest.

“Bucky?”

Your voice never sounded so sweet as it did in that moment. He let out a heavy exhale and nodded feverishly, pressing another kiss to your hand.

“Yeah, doll, I’m here.”

You paused, furrowing your brow. You reached out towards him with your free hand, brushing impossibly soft traces along the side of his cheek, just under the busted skin and along the bruising forming along his jaw.

“Your face,” you exhaled, concern replacing the numbed expression you wore. “What happened to you?”

“Nothing. Nothing, sweetheart, I’m fine. Don’t worry about me,” Bucky quickly replied, reaching for your hand laying upon his neck and bringing it back to his lap. He took a deep breath. “Are you okay? What- what happened?”

Your gaze fell to the floor and you pulled your hand from his, wrapping your arms tighter around your knees. “You didn’t answer.”

Bucky’s heart dropped.

“You said you would answer if I called, and- and you didn’t pick up.” Tears brimmed in your eyes and you moved to tuck your face behind your knees. You shuddered as the sob crawled its way up your back and Bucky was certain he’d never feel worse than he did in that moment.

“Shit, I know, doll, I know,” Bucky whispered as you let out cry that cut right through him. Guilt filled and racked in his chest as he reached towards you and pulled you into his arms. You came willingly, hands clenching at his shirt, tears dampening the fabric the tighter he held you. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I’m so sorry.”

Lips pressed to the crown of your head, Bucky murmured apologizes again and again until you cried what was left in you, until nothing else would come out and your throat had gone dry. He rocked you back and forth, brushing away the tears in his own eyes with the end of his sleeve.

What felt like hours later by the time you settled down again, Bucky was humming softly, fingers trailing through your hair and rubbing patterns in your back. You sighed and Bucky could feel the gentle movement of your body against his. He pulled back, only enough to see your face. Tracks of tears ran down your cheeks, glistening in the dim light. Tentatively, Bucky reached out and brushed the wetness from your face with the edge of his thumb. You sniffled, and tucked your head back into the crook of his neck. Your breath warm on his skin.

“His name is Brock Rumlow.”

Bucky closed his eyes as he exhaled. He knew Rumlow. Nothing more than a thug by his standard, but a high-level hitman for Hydra nonetheless. He had been charged with at least seven murders in the last year, none able to stick when evidence would turn up missing or he’d have an overly convenient alibi he didn’t have the night before lock up.

He wasn’t the guy making the decisions. He was the enforcer.

“He doesn’t know I’m the witness,” you continued before Bucky could say anything.

“You’re sure?”

“I don’t think he would have let me live if he did,” you said calmly, too calm for the words that left a shattering ache in Bucky’s chest. A shiver crept over your skin and Bucky held you tighter. He was sure he’d never let go again.

***

You wanted to hate Bucky. You wished you could despise him for leaving you to face Rumlow on your own, for failing to answer when you called after he promised he would, for making it so incredibly hard to feel anything other than singular, overwhelming relief upon seeing his face.

He didn’t let his touch fall away from you for even a second since he found you curled up under the desk in your back office. Not when he helped you back to your feet, half carrying you out towards the bar. Not when you noticed Sam leaning against the wall, arms folded over his chest as he waited patiently for you to emerge. Not even when you reached out to hug him and Bucky’s hand stayed in contact with your shoulder, exchanging an unreadable glance with his partner.

Sam had left to take the Hydra affiant they had been caught up in taking down back to the station before you even knew the difference. He was still bleeding through the thin bandage of Bucky’s ripped shirt wrapped around his arm. Sam noticed your stare and waved you off, telling you it was a ‘battle wound for the ladies’ but you still found yourself searching for Bucky’s hand when a pang of guilt swarmed in your chest. His fingers intertwined with yours easily and you could feel his thumb gently running back and forth in hopes to sooth you.

He didn’t let go when you crawled into the back of the police car and were surprised to find Bucky sliding in beside you as Sam jogged around to the front.

On the drive to your apartment, Sam told you where they had been all night, why Bucky couldn’t have possibly been able to hear the phone ring over the rain of gunfire, and how desolate he had become when he realized what happened. Bucky had his jaw clenched as Sam spoke, staring out the window, and you found yourself squeezing his hand to draw his attention back to you, though it proved futile. His kept his stare on the blurring lights as they drove past.

Sam pulled up to the stoop of your apartment and shifted the car into park. He glanced back over his shoulder at Bucky. “You need any help?”

Bucky shook his head and Sam hulled himself out of the car to unlock the door for you. The cool air hit you harder than you anticipated as the door pulled open and you shivered, pausing a moment as you looked up at your front door. Bucky nudged you carefully with a whisper in your ear to ‘go on, doll. I’m right behind you.’

Standing on the sidewalk, you felt incredibly exposed and found yourself leaning into Bucky when he pulled himself out of the car behind you. Bucky reached out, shaking Sam’s hand firmly, before Sam slid back into the car without another word.

“My keys,” you realized, feeling for your back pocket to find it empty, “they’re at the bar.”

“I have mine,” Bucky eased. “Sam’s going back to the bar to close it up for you and he’ll grab them.”

You nodded, watching as Bucky pulled a ring of keys from his pocket. There were five on it. He must have seen you eyeing it because he added, “yours, mine, and my locker down at the station.”

Trying to push aside the weak feeling in your stomach, you let him gently pull you towards the door, hands still intertwined. He fumbled with the first key as he shoved it into the lock on the front door. You slipped your hand from his to give him more leverage to work at the lock and missed the warmth of it immediately. He didn’t waste a second in grabbing your hand again once he shimmied the door open.

He switched to the second key and undid the locks to your apartment door, twisting smoother this time since Bucky had replaced the locks nearly a month prior. The door pushed open and he gestured for you to walk inside. His hand fell away as you worked to shrug off your jacket and kick off your shoes. Bucky twisted the deadbolt and slipped the chain over the frame of the door into place.

You walked further into the apartment; arms folded over your chest. You turned slowly.

“You won’t-” you took a deep breath, desperate to avoid his eyes. “You won’t leave, will you?”

“Of course not,” he replied quickly, like it was the easiest thing he’d ever said. He shuffled his feet awkwardly. “Even if you asked me to, I’d probably sit outside your apartment door all night. I can’t imagine leaving you after what happened.”

You nodded, finding yourself growing used to the way your heart never seemed to settle around him. As Bucky started to pull off his jacket, wincing somewhat as he did so, you started to retreat back to your room. You rummaged through your drawers until you found an old t-shirt and baggy sweatpants big enough to fit Bucky. They looked a little large, but it would beat sleeping in slacks and a half-ripped button down.

“Here,” you offered, holding out the clothes for Bucky. He eyed them, a flash of hurt lingering behind his stare as he took them from you.

“Old boyfriend’s?”

You shook your head, almost amused at the question. “A friend’s brother left them behind a few months ago when they came to visit the city. I don’t really... do boyfriends.”

Bucky smiled at that, nodding in thanks as he gripped the clothes at his side. He glanced over at the living room. “I’ll go ahead and take the couch, if that works for you?”

“Sure,” you nodded, trying not to sound as disappointed as you felt. “I’m going to go change and I’ll grab you some sheets.”

You shuffled off to your room and closed the door behind you with an anxious exhale. Quickly, you changed into a cotton short-sleeve shirt bearing the name of the nowhere town you had visited with your father in the week before he was imprisoned and a pair of sleep shorts. You gathered several blankets from the closet, unsure if Bucky ran cold or warm at night, and made your way back out to the living room.

Bucky was sitting on the couch, his slacks hung over the chair in the kitchen as he discarded his shirt directly into the garbage. He was breathing heavier than usual as he tried to pull the t-shirt you had given him over his head, but slumped his arms back to his sides with a pained groan before he could pull it on.

That was when you noticed the deep red gash along his outer edge of his arm. You gasped, and Bucky winced at the sound, having not realized you were watching him.

“You were shot?” you stammered, eyes wide as you rushed towards him and sat next to him on the couch, body facing his as one leg tucked under you.

Bucky shook his head, trying to pry your hands away as you reached to touch him. “It’s just a graze, doll. I’m fine.”

You bit down hard on your lip as your eyes trailed down his exposed torso. Markings of purple and blue littered upon his skin in parallel to the bruising upon his face. Fingertips reached out and brushed against the colored skin, goosebumps trailing in the wake. He shivered.

“Jesus, Buck,” you exhaled. You pulled your hand away, tucking it in your lap. He had already managed to find your first aid kit as it sat on the coffee table next to you. You reached for the disinfectant and started to unscrew the cap.

“You don’t gotta do that, Y/n/n. I can get it myself,” Bucky sighed, though he made no movement to stop you. You brushed the gel onto the edge of a cotton swap and raised it to his arm. You rested your wrist on his forearm, eyes glancing at him for permission before you went further. Bucky nodded and you began to brush the gel along the wound.

You tried to ignore the groans he let out and the way his hand curled into a fist as you worked. You moved quickly, covering the wound, and pulled back.

“I’m not a doctor, but I don’t think you’ll need stitches,” you said, setting the swab on a tissue and began unpacking a bandage. You pulled away the papers from the adhesive and slowly pressed it against his arm. His hand came up suddenly and he held it against yours, pressing against the bandage.

“Thank you,” he whispered, his hand curling under yours and gripping your fingers. He let it drop away just as fast. “You shouldn’t have to be taking care of me. Not after what I did.”

You swallowed, watching as Bucky’s eyes fell to the ground. You reached up, letting your elbow set gently against his shoulder as you ran your fingers through his hair. The tension in his muscles slowly started to relax and he closed his eyes, leaning into the touch.

“If there was any excuse to not answer that goddamn phone of yours, it was this,” you said sincerely. “Besides, I’m okay.”

“Are you?” Bucky countered, turning to face you and you pulled your hand away. “You never actually told me what happened.”

“He just asked me whether I knew anything about Charlie. Ordered a drink. I had to, uhm,” you brushed your hair behind your ear, nervously, “flirt with him to draw suspicion from myself,” you said, shivering at the memory and subverting your gaze from his. Bucky’s eyes narrowed and you saw a subtle movement in his jaw line where he clenched the muscle. “I can still feel his grimy hands on my-”

“He touched you?” Bucky gaped and you shook your head.

“Not like you’re thinking,” you clarified quickly, though it didn’t seem to ease him at all. “He just... The way he was looking at me, I knew if I could subvert his attention elsewhere, he’d leave. Men like that, they don’t put much stock in women they’d rather fuck. But... God, Buck, I swear it's like I can still feel him.”

Bucky was gripping at his thigh so tight were sure his nails would dig through the sweatpants and break skin. He couldn’t look at you, his breathing picking up in pace as he shook his head back and forth, subtly, like he was talking to himself. You reached out to sooth him but he flinched away.

“I’m so sorry, Y/n. I should’ve been there,” Bucky said, standing to his feet and pulling away from your outstretched hands. He started pacing back and forth down the walkway between the kitchen and the living room, hands raking through his tussled hair.

You scurried up from the couch, standing off to the side as you watched him. “Bucky, it’s not your fault. You were being shot at for God’s sake.”

“It doesn’t matter,” he argued, his bare chest rising and falling at a near rapid pace. The colors of bruising upon his skin palpable in the dim lighting. “You should have never been alone. And Parker-”

“It’s not Peter’s fault either and you know that,” you snapped, though he didn’t let up.

“This could have been so much worse! Don’t you get that?” Bucky lashed out, throwing his arms out to the side and wincing at the effort. He planted his feet. “Rumlow could have found out who you are and he could have –,” he shook his head unable to finish the sentence. “I could have lost you and I can’t-- I won’t let that happen. How can you stand there and- and tell me it’s not my fault when I failed do the one goddamn thing I swore I would do? How can you even look at me? How can you possibly trust me again?”

You had crossed the hall before he had finished speaking and suddenly you were standing inches away. The heat of his heavy breaths warming your skin as you ran a gentle hand up along his stomach muscles, careful to avoid the bruising, tracing up along his chest until you let it settle against his neck, cupping the side of his face.

“Look at me and believe me when I say this,” you urged, your other hand reaching up to hold the other side of his face and drawing his attention to you. Blue eyes boring into yours. “You have not lost me. I am right here, Bucky, and I trust you with my life.”

“But-”

“No,” you retorted. “No exceptions. Tonight was a nightmare of bad timing and no one’s fault but the Hydra assholes that got us into this mess.”

Bucky swallowed and you could feel his muscles contracting under your palms. You readjusted your hands, sweeping your right over his forehead to push his hair from his eyes, before settling against on his jawline.

“You’ve done more for me than anyone else ever has. You’ve been so incredibly selfless and kind through all of this. Somehow, I can’t even remember what my life was like before you and I… I don’t want to,” you confessed and Bucky took in a sharp inhale, wide eyes flashing to yours. You sighed, running your thumb soothingly along his cheekbone, just under the swollen wound. “One missed call isn’t going to change that.”

A pause of silence as Bucky contemplated your words. He took a deep breath, sad eyes staring down at you, though he tried his best to force out a smile.

“You forgive too easy, doll.”

You shrugged, fingers playing with the hair at the nape of his neck. “Only when it’s you.”

Your gaze flickered down to his lips; parted slightly as he exhaled, his tongue tracing over the crack in the skin. He was watching you so tenderly, a semblance of awe and disbelief colored in the shades of blue. Impossibly slow, you leaned forward, your nose brushing his. A gasp escaped you as he snaked his arms around your waist, pulling you flush against him. He groaned slightly, loosening his grip on you for only a moment, adjusting to favor the bruising on his ribs.

He nipped at your lips, hesitant, burning with anticipation; so quick that he did it again before you could ache for more. He paused, lips touching yours ever so slightly, breathing against one another until you grew too inpatient and compelled yourself closer. Your lips meld into his, pulling and sucking sweetly against his mouth.

Bucky let out a moan that sent a shiver down your spine as he stumbled back against the wall, hitting it with a thud. Strong, rough hands ran under your thighs and he tugged, urging you to help give him leverage he needed. You jumped up, hooking your legs behind his waist and he spun you around, holding you up against the wall to offset your weight, his hands held firmly on the curve of your thighs.

He kissed you hungrily, like he has been waiting for years, unable to get enough as he sucked on your lower lip, drawing a whimper from you. Your hands raked through his hair and along his shoulders. There was too much of him you hadn’t touched, needed to touch. You needed him closer, as close as two people could be. This wasn’t enough. You needed more.

His tongue ran over your lip and you parted your lips further, grinding down against him as his tongue brushed yours and he flinched at the sensation, squeezing at your thighs. When you were breathless, you moved from his lips to pepper kisses along the blue marks of his jawline, over the shadow of hairs of his beard, down his neck, to the sweet spot near his collar bone that made him shiver. As you nipped at him, he pulled you away from the wall and carried you down the hall to your bedroom.

He laid you down on the top of your comforter carefully, a soft smile on his swollen lips as he brushed the hair from your eyes. It was a soft, tender moment; finding yourself lost in the warm blue of his eyes.

Then, Bucky crawled over you and settled on the bed beside you as you grasped him by the side of his face and brought him back to your lips, unable to stand another second not touching him. Laying on your back, he leaned against you, your left side compressed by the length of his body as he wove his thigh between your legs. You pushed up against him and he let out a carnal groan. You could feel how hard he was against your thigh.

His hand trailed down over your t-shirt, hand roaming up under the fabric to your skin. Goosebumps littered in his wake as his hand caressed your side. You kissed him harder, sucking at his lips and biting down ever so slightly when you wanted him to move his hand along your skin more.

Slowly, his hand began to travel down to the waist band of your shorts and you were shaking with need. He paused just before he could slip his hand down where you needed him most and pulled back abruptly from your lips.

“Maybe we shouldn’t,” he panted, nervous blue eyes searching for resistance in your expression he wouldn’t find. “Tonight’s been... a lot and, and maybe it’s just the adrenaline-”

“I don’t want to be afraid anymore,” you begged, the words falling from your lips before you could stop them. “I don’t want to feel him anymore. Please, Buck.”

Bucky swallowed, nodding in a gentle kind of understanding, though his eyes fell away from you, not fully understanding what you were asking of him. You set your hand on his cheek, drawing his attention back, thumb brushing over the stubble on his jaw. The way he looked at you, so sweetly and full of an adoration you had only seen glimpses of behind his cover of flirty jokes and light-hearted teasing, was enough to make your heart overflow.

“I only want to feel you,” you urged, your voice just above a whisper as you dared to meet his eye, finding comfort in the shades of blue. “Just you.”

A flash of awe washed over him and his lips parted in disbelief. He exhaled, a subtle shake of his head as if trying to convince himself of what you had said. Bucky leaned down to kiss you, chaste and gentle, before he set his forehead against yours.

Then, as you hummed softly in contentment, his hand slipped under the fabric of your shorts and beneath your underwear until they traced at the outer lips of your core. You grind down against his hand, kissing at his jawline to compel him further. His fingers parted and dipped between the folds, running a long stripe up to your clit, causing you to shudder at the sensation.

Bucky kissed your forehead as he rubbed circles in the wetness, spreading it, before he sank his middle finger into you. You moaned, bucking your hips into his hand as he curled his finger at the knuckle, brushing over the spot that made your legs quake. He pushed in a second finger, pulling in and out, curving inside your walls.

"Shit,” you cursed, eyes closing as Bucky started to kiss at your earlobe.

His thumb pressed on your clit and you let out a whimper, biting down on your lip. It was the only sensation you could register. Bucky. Only Bucky. His lips on your neck. His heart pounding loudly in your ear. His breath on your skin. His fingers inside you, bringing you to the edge.

The pressure at your core was building, threatening to release as Bucky pumped his fingers harsher, circling firmer at the sensitive bundle of nerves.

“Bucky,” you gasped, walls beginning to clench around him. One hand grasped at the sheets, bunching it your hand, desperate for relief, as the other wove around the nape of his neck to his hair, pulling at the short strands to hold him against you.  

“I know you’re close,” Bucky mewled, panting against your collarbone. He pressed a kiss to your jawline, breath hot on your skin. “Let go, sweetheart, I’ve got you.”

The ache released in waves of pleasure as you cried out, tucking your face into the crook of Bucky’s neck to muffle the sound. His fingers worked you over, prolonging your peak as long as he could. Though now he moved at a slower pace, careful as to not overstimulate you. He kissed sweetly at your neck as you gathered your breath.

“God, you’re so beautiful like this,” he whispered, though it was so soft you almost didn’t hear it, like he had said it aloud by accident. There was a subtle ache in his voice, almost pained as he said it, but you were too dazed to catch it.

You looked up at him longingly, bringing his lips down to yours to kiss him affectionately and he smiled against your mouth. He pulled his hand away from your core and you missed it instantly.

Mind clearing from the rush of your high, you started to reach for the waistband of his sweatpants, desperate to pull him closer, to touch him, to make him feel as adored as he made you. Your fingers only brushed the skin above the grey elastic band before he recoiled and pulled away sharply.

You narrowed your eyes, confused as you watched Bucky swing his legs over the side of the bed and spring to his feet, adjusting the band of his sweats to sit higher on his waist. He swallowed thickly, eyes darting over towards the door and back to you lying on the bed, waiting for him.

“Bucky?” you asked slowly, apprehensively, “What are you-“

“You should get some rest,” he interjected hastily, dipping down to kiss your forehead before he started rushing towards the door.

“Wait!” You jumped to your feet, throwing yourself from the bed and darting after him. You planted yourself between him and the door, blocking his escape. Your heart began to sank when it occurred to you, he couldn’t meet your eye. You ran your hand up his arm soothingly, hoping to draw him back to bed. He clenched his jaw, turning away from you, almost as if he was fighting an internal war with himself.

“Let me return the favor, at least.”

“It’s not about favors, doll. You don’t owe me anything,” he said dejectedly, tucking his hands into his pockets and an ache burned in your stomach when you realized he wasn’t just talking about the sex. Following the movement of his hands, your eyes glanced down and saw the prominent outline of his arousal through the fabric of the grey sweatpants. He was hard, painfully so, but still, he wouldn’t let you touch him.

A sharp pang of realization. He didn’t think he deserved it. He was still punishing himself.

“Bucky,” you pled, fingertips brushing over his hardened length but he flinched away from you. “Please, let me-“

“Goodnight, sweetheart,” he muttered, pushing past you as he slipped out the door, closing it sharply behind him.

You stared blankly at the white wooden door, heart aching as you listened to his footsteps pacing back and forth in the hallway restlessly. Reaching out carefully, you pressed your palm against the frame, as if it were a life line to him, as if it would bring him any source of comfort, and let out a heavy sigh. You backed away and let your hand fall away from the wood, heading towards your bed.

The soft echoes of Bucky’s footsteps lulled you to sleep.

part seven

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