#he thinks about it for a minute and then doesn’t

[sinofwriting]

Raised to Love - Max Verstappen (Dark Fic)

Words: 6,992 Summary: Drivers are shocked to find out that pretty much rookie Max Verstappen is married. Note(s)/Warnings: This fic is DARK! Taking place between 2002-2017. There's child abduction, mentions/talks of death, mentions/talks of underage sex, mentions/talks of sex, mentions/talks of periods, dubious consent. Jos is both somehow a better and worse person in this. Sophie and Jos are still married, Victoria and all of Max’s other siblings don’t exist. Inspired by Season 4 Episode 13 of Criminal Minds.

Masterlist | Emergency Dental Fund

2002

Tears are slipping down her face and she keeps rubbing at her eyes, small whines leaving her, but they won’t stop and her mom isn’t rubbing her back, trying to get her to calm down, her dad isn’t holding her and she cries harder. She wants her mom and dad, she wants them. But they aren’t here. She’s alone and in this room that’s cold and blank and she wants them.

She hiccups, eyes hurting and her hands can’t keep rubbing, tired of doing it. Sniffling, she turns on the small bed, burying her face in the pillow, even though her mom always tells her not to do it before turning her over. The tears fall faster now. She wants her mom. She wants her dad.

And now all she can think about is them sitting in the front of the car, completely still, not responding no matter how much she shouted or kicked at the back of her dads seat. How she was pulled out of the car through the window by a firefighter and how another one was talking about how her parents were dead.

They couldn’t be dead though, because her grandparents were dead, in heaven, her dad had told her. And they had been talking to each other just a minute ago. They were going to get dinner and candy because she had been a good girl. That thought had made her curl up in the firefighter's arms, lip trembling, because she had been shouting and kicking the seat, she had been naughty.

And then when she got to the hospital, a nice nurse had given her candy despite her being bad and held her hand as another one cleaned her up. She even let her pick out a stuffed animal to have. It was okay, even though she kept asking where her parents were until another lady had come in. She had crouched down in front of and told her that her parents were dead.

She shakes her head at the memory of the lady's face and her words. She didn’t want to believe that her mom and dad were dead. But they weren’t here, they should be here. They wouldn’t ever leave her by herself, alone, and in this room.

Lifting her head slightly, she sucks in a large breath of air, the pillow soaked in her tears and warm. As she takes another breath, she doesn’t hear the sound of the door opening and shutting.

She wants to bury her face in the pillow again, but her nose hurts from it and it’s gross and wet. Turning over, sits up, her small legs going up to her chest as she presses her back against the wall. It’s then that she notices the man in the room with her.

She stiffens at the sight, eyes going wide, and the blank expression that had been on his face softens.

“Hello.” “Hi.” She greets, voice quiet as she wraps her arms around her legs. “You were crying. Is everything okay?” Her bottom lip trembles and she shakes her head. “My mom and dad,” Her voice breaks. “The lady told me they're dead.” “I’m sorry. Are you waiting for your grandparents or an aunt?” She shakes her head. He frowns and then he moves, sitting on the bed with her, though he is at the foot.

“What’s your name?” Her voice is a little louder as she says it. ‘My name is Jos.” “Hi Jos.” He smiles. “How old are you?” “Four.” “I have a son that turned five recently.” Her arms loosen around her legs. “What’s his name?” “Max. He’s at home right now, I think, trying to convince my wife to get a puppy.” Her eyes widen and her arms drop, legs falling away from her chest. “Do you have a puppy? I’ve always wanted one.” “No.” He laughs and she frowns. “But I want dogs, so does my wife and Max. We just have been waiting.” “For what?’ She asks, head cocked to the side. Jos laughs again. “Special occasion, I suppose.”

She frowns as one of the things the lady said to her as they were in the car on the way over pops into her head. “Jos. Do you think whoever I stay with will have dogs?” “I don’t know.” Her frown grows. “Do you think they’d let me get a dog?” He shakes his head, “I don’t think so.” “Oh.” Her voice is quiet. “But, I’m sure I could talk to Anna about you coming home with me. That would be a special occasion. You and Max could both get your own dog.” “Really?” He nods. “Really.” She scrambles towards him, throwing her arms around him. “Thank you, Jos!” “Of course. Now let's get you to your new home.”

—

“Do you know who's coming today?” Max nods, small brows furrowed together, looking so much like his father, she wants to take a picture. “My wife.” She’s proud of the way his nose doesn’t wrinkle, no disgust clinging to his words. Max thinking girls were gross wouldn’t do. “Papa never said, but is it the one I choose?” Sophie smiles, remembering how Jos had shown him a bunch of girls and the way Max had seen the one and just kept looking, had easily chosen her. “Yes. Papa was able to get the one you chose.” He smiles and she runs a hand through his hair. “Will they be here soon?” She spares a look at the clock. “Yes. Papa had to drive a bit away, but he should be here soon. Why don’t you come and help me set up her room.”

It was pretty much already set up, but Max could rearrange some of the toys and books, place them how he’d like. She expects him to nod, eager, but he looks confused.

“But mama, if she’s my wife, why isn’t sleeping in my room?” She coughs to hide a laugh. “You two are much too young for that, Max. And you don’t know each other yet. Maybe in a few years you two can share a room.” In ten years, maybe, she privately thinks. “But what if I want to share a room now?” Her eyes narrow. “Max.” His eyes drop to the floor and she sighs. “You two could have sleepovers in your room, not every night, but some nights if you’d like.” He nods, but still doesn’t look at her. “Can I go help set up her room?” “Of course.”

She watches fondly as Max clumsily copies things he’s seen her do when making his bed, adjusting the blankets, fluffing the pillows before he moves onto the small amount of toys she bought, not wanting to buy too many without knowing what the girl did and didn’t like.

He frowns at them before he’s darting out of the room, she thinks of calling after him, but she can hear him moving down the hallway and then into what she thinks is his room. Only a minute passes before he’s back, a stuffed animal in his grasp. Walking towards the bed, he carefully places the toy so it’s resting against the pillows and she nearly gasps seeing what it is.

“Max, that’s Leo.” “I know.” “Sweetheart, you don’t have to give her Leo. Leo’s yours.” He shakes his head. “We’ll share. I want her to have it right now.” Her heart melts at the answer. “Are you sure?” She double-checks. “I’m sure.” “Alright.”

2008

Crawling out of bed, she shivers as the cold air of her room hits her skin. Wrapping her arms around herself, she tiptoes away from her bed and to her door. One of her arms leaves her to slowly twist the knob, making sure it slowly opens. As soon as it’s open enough for her body to slip through, she does. Her feet taking an all too familiar path.

Opening the next door, she does the same as she did with hers, slipping through the tiniest gap possible before shutting it behind her. The words of the maid ring in her head now that she stands in the room. How wrong this is, how inappropriate it is, how wanton she is. She doesn’t know what wanton means, but the way she said it had made her flush, bottom lip trembling as she made herself smaller.

The reminder makes her hunch, teeth finding her lip and she wants to go back to her room, she doesn’t want to be wanton. But her room is cold and the nightmare she had is lurking in the back of her mind. And sure this room is cold too, but Max is here. And she knows if she slips under the covers with him that it will be warm and he’ll even at least wrap an arm around her if not his whole body.

A shiver hits her and she darts over to the bed, slipping under the covers.

“Flower?” Max mumbles. “It’s me.” She says, feeling warm on the inside at the nickname he gave her six years ago when she met him. He makes a small noise and then his whole body is curling around hers and she can’t help but sink into it, sink into him.

She tries to fall asleep, but the word wanton just rings in her mind.

“Max.” She whispers. “Hmm.” She twists in his arms, making them face to face. “What does wanton mean?” “What?” His voice is full of sleep and his eyes are starting to open. “What does wanton mean?” His nose wrinkles, “I don't know. Why?” “Mrs. Loeh told me I was wanton.” “I,” he’s squinting as he looks at her. “I don’t know. I’ll ask my mom at breakfast, okay?” She nods before pressing closer to him. “Okay. Thank you, Max.” “Of course, Flower.”

2012

She stares in shock at the blood on the toilet paper. “Sophie!” She calls, voice nearly a shriek. She knew what this was, Sophie had told her about her body changing, getting a period, but this. This couldn’t be normal. There was so much. It was nearly bleeding through the toilet paper before she let it go.

She hears two different voices say her name, one far louder and closer than the other and she starts to see the door knob turn. “Max, no!” The doorknob stops. “What’s wrong?” “I need Sophie.” “Flower, what’s going on?” The knob started to turn again. “Please, no!” She begs and tears are starting to form in her eyes. “I’ll tell you later, I just need Sophie.” She watches as the door knob stays paused and then hears a sigh from Max before the doorknob is released.

“Max, go to the living room.” She breathes a sigh of relief at Sophie’s voice. “But mama.” “Go.” She can hear him stomping away and can imagine the frown on his face as he curses in his mind.

A small knock sounds on the door. “Can I come in, darling?” “Please.” Sophie easily slips inside the bathroom, shutting the door behind her quickly. “Oh, darling. What happened?” She looks down at where her legs are pressed together. “I,” she hiccups. “I started my period.” “Oh darling.” And Sophie is right beside her, giving her an affection tap of the fingertip to her temple. “It’s alright. I know, it’s a bit scary, huh?” She nods. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen so much blood.” “Well, it’s probably that heavy because this is your first cycle. Mine was like that as well, but it lightened up after a few months, and birth control helps as well with that.” Blood rushes to her cheeks at the mention of birth control. “I’m a late bloomer, aren’t I?” “A bit.” Sophie allows. “I told you about this two years ago for a reason. I didn’t think you’d be nearly fifteen.” “Am I okay?” “Of course. Everyone is a bit different. If you want though, we can talk about it with the doctor. Make sure that everything is okay.” “Please?” She asks and Sophie smiles. “I’ll schedule it right after this. Now, let me show you again everything you're gonna need.”

She watches and listens intently as Sophie shows her everything. It’s overwhelming and she wants to cry, just lay in bed, bury her head in Max’s pillow and cry. She’s thankful when Sophie slips out of the bathroom as she still sits on the toilet. Is ever more thankful when as she begins to stand, pulling up her underwear and shorts and it’s like she can feel it wanting to drip out.

The pad in her underwear is weird, but nothing compared to the new weird sensation of feeling like she’s leaking. It makes her want to sit back on the toilet and never leave. What if she didn’t change her pad in time and bled through? The thought leaves her mortified and as she leaves the bathroom after washing her hands thoroughly, she darts into her bedroom, forgetting her promise to Max.

Laying on her bed, she makes a face, trying to find a comfortable position, everything feeling weird. Maybe she’d buy a pad or a mattress protector, maybe both with how weird this felt. It would help any mess that might happen as well if she leaked.

Rolling onto her side, she smiles at Moos. The ten-year-old dog looks back at her, head resting on her front paws. “Where’s Freckles?” “The backyard.” She turns, Max stands at the entrance of her room, a look she doesn’t think she’s ever seen on his face before. “It’s later.”

Blood rushes to her face at the words, at the reminder that she promised she’d tell him what’s going on, and she has to tell him. She tells Max everything, always has. And he does the same to her. It’s why she found out when she was six that Max and her were going to get married, that he picked her. That and he was confused about her wanting to play house and how he had to play the husband because they were already husband and wife in his six-year-old mind.

She nearly smiles at the reminder that Max picked her. He’s told her a few times over the years about it. The memory is still so strong in his mind, despite it now being a decade ago. The way he had looked at a bunch of girls in an array of photos, but she immediately caught his eye, was drawn to her and the flower behind her ear.

He snaps his fingers and she can feel Moos stand up before she gets off the bed, no longer leaping in her old age. Max moves into the room, leaving the door open as Moos slips out before shutting it behind the dog.

“What happened?” He asks, approaching the bed and she cranes her neck to fully see his face. Her face feels like it’s burning. It feels embarrassing telling Max this, about this, even though they’ve talked about far weirder and gross things. Maybe, and her eyes drop staring at the hollow of his throat as she thinks, it’s because this means they can finally have sex.

The thought alone makes her swallow, breaths turning a little shallow as she imagines it. Max and her have done a lot of fooling around since his birthday last year. He knows how to speed her heart up with just a brush of his fingers. She knows how much he loves the feeling of her boobs pressed against his chest, bare or covered. Their breaths intertwined with soft pants as they move together, at least one piece of clothing still separating them.

She’s broken away from the thoughts by a hand under her chin, drawing her face up. “Flower.” “I,” she pauses, eyes darting around before settling on his face when she feels his thumb and forefinger gently apply a little pressure to her chin. “I started my period.” His brows are furrowed for a moment then his face smoothes out, mouth dropping into a ‘O’ shape, the fingers and hand under her chin disappearing.

“Are you hurting? Cramps?” “No.” She shakes her head. “It just,” and her voice is quieter than before. “It feels gross, like leaking.” His head cocks to the right. “Even with the pad thing? Is it not working?” “It is. I think it’s just how it can feel.” “I’m sorry. Can I do anything?” She glances at the empty space in the bed next to her. “Lay with me?” He smiles, a laugh shaking his body. “Of course, flower.”

2014

“I have an F1 seat.” “You have an F1 seat.” The shock is so clear on his face it makes her giggle and he immediately smiles, but that shock still lingers behind it.

“Max Verstappen,” She begins, watching as his eyebrows draw together, fingers twitching before his hands settle on her hips. “Youngest F1 driver ever, youngest to score points, youngest on the podium, youngest to win a grand prix.” She doesn’t know if the last three will be true, but she hopes they will be, thinks they will be. “You think so? I mean, it’s just a seat in Toro Russo.” “It’s not just a seat at Toro Russo.” She laughs, feeling flushed as his hands sneak beneath her top. “It’s an F1 seat, an F1 seat that you will do amazing in. I mean, Max. There’s never been an F1 driver younger than eighteen before.” She smoothes the slight furrow between his brows with her thumb before kissing that spot. “You are going to do amazing and achieve so much.” She pecks his lips. “I’m proud of you.” His cheeks are pink at her words, her flutters a little at him blushing because of her, like she hasn’t seen it thousands of times before.

Brushing her fingers over the apples of his cheeks, she frowns. “Maxy.” “Hmm?” Her fingertips trail down to his jaw. “Let me get you a skin care routine? Please.” She adds, sticking her lip out a little. “Flower.” He sighs, his left hand moving to span across the small of her back, pressing her closer. “Please? You know I don’t care about the acne, but you’ll be the youngest on the grid, still in the thick of it. This will help. It won’t be anything complicated, either.” He sighs, a small smile on his face. “Okay. But promise me nothing complicated. You won’t be there to remind me how to do it.” “Nothing complicated.” She promises, beaming. “I’ll even write up a little instruction thing for you and you can call me every time you're doing it, so we can do it together if you like.” “Yeah? Even when I’m like eight hours behind or ahead and you're sleeping.” “Even then.”

“Oh.” She presses up on her toes in excitement and Max’s smile widens seeing it. “I got us new sheets.” “New ones?” She nods. “Can I see them?” Voice going a little low and he’s thankful that his voice doesn’t crack. She never laughed when it did, but it was still embarrassing. Her teeth find purchase in her bottom lip for a second, before she nods. “You can see my new underwear too.” A giggle leaves her at the way he groans, hands pressing her body closer and against his bulge.

2016

Max stares at the ceiling as his dad talks to someone on the phone. This is what they wanted. They wanted him here in the Red Bull seat. Getting here this early was amazing, proving how good he was in an F1 car. And escaping the nightmare that was Carlos and his father was also a plus, even if both of them had taken to glaring at Max every time they saw him.

Max was pretty sure they were betting on him crashing out this race, costing Red Bull money, and then he’d get booted back down and Carlos would get called up. He shook his head at the thought. That wouldn’t happen. He was good, he’d prove he should be in this seat, should be here this early. Because he did. Max was talented no matter what the other drivers said, or the journalists or the legends who told him he had no business in their sport. His jaw clenches, holding back a scoff. Their sport.

It makes him more grateful to his dad and mom. They had told him, prepared him for not being liked. He was aggressive on track, abrasive off to people he didn’t know well. They knew it would make things harder and they had made sure he knew that too. He’s grateful for his wife as well and he wishes she was here now with him for his first F1 race in the big leagues.

He had wanted her there for his first race at Toro Russo, but that hadn’t been an option. But now? Now that he got promoted up, maybe, he looks at his dad considering asking him before shaking his head. His dad would never go for it. Not because she’d be too much of a distraction but because they didn’t need to deal with more media attention, Max was more than sure of that. He nearly shudders thinking of when he had arrived at the track yesterday and today.

“Max.” He sits up, spine straight. “Is everything okay?” His dad smiles and Max’s shoulders loosen. “Yes. I have to go and meet a friend quickly. You will stay by Christian or Helmut if you leave the garage, understood?” “Yes sir.” “Good.” He nods. “Look over the data. We don’t need you crashing out in free practice of all things.”

He dives into the data as soon as his dad leaves. A thread of curiosity is in the back of Max’s mind as he looks it over. Talking to all the mechanics and engineers, getting a feel for them, just like he knows they are getting a feel for him.

When Helmut calls him over he wonders if by friend his dad really meant a friend of Helmut's. His dad didn’t have many friends after all.

“How are you feeling?” “Good.” Max nods. “I haven’t gotten into the car yet though.” The older man nods, frowning like he nearly always is on race weekends. “You’ll do fine.” “I will do my best.” Helmut nods and Max takes the silent dismissal.

Standing towards the back of the garage, he looks at the track data displayed on one of the bigger screens. Seeing it displayed so large and clearly makes him breathe a little easier as he looks at it all. He doesn’t get to look at it long, however. The sound of his dad asking where he is breaking him away from the data and he steps out from where he had been tucked away.

His mouth opens, ready to greet his dad, but it clicks shut at the sight of her.

She smiles at him, but it’s just a bit wrong, too tight at the corners. It makes his chest ache, makes him want to snap and tell people to stop looking at her, makes him want to whisk her away so he can see his smile. “Hi Max.” The quiet sound of her voice makes him move, striding towards her. “Flower.” He breathes just a step away from her before he brings her into his arms and she melts into him as he hides her face away from everyone else. “What are you doing here?” He asks, lips pressing to the side of her head. “Jos got me a flight here. I couldn’t miss this race.” His eyes flicker to his dad who's standing behind her, looking at them, easily ignoring all the eyes of the Red Bull garage on them and the whispers that are starting. “Thank you.” He murmurs and his dad nods.

He pulls away just enough to look at her, his hands now framing her waist, hers resting on his chest. He feels breathless looking at her. Dressed in some pants, a shirt that he remembers his mom buying her last year for her birthday, the shoes that match his, she’s gorgeous and he can’t help but quickly kiss her. Their lips connect for just a second, but it’s long enough for her hand to land on his cheek, for him to feel the warm metal of her wedding ring and band.

“I missed you. Missed you so much.” He tells her as soon as they are in his driver's room, alone. She smiles at him, hands cupping his face, and he can’t help but lean into the touch, into her. Happy to see her smile, his smile. “I missed you too. How are you feeling?” “Nervous.” He admits. “But I’m ready. I can do this. I’m ready for this.” Her smile seems to grow. “You’ve got this.” “Will you watch from the garage for me?” “Will Jos be watching from there?” He nods. “Always does.” “Then yeah, I’ll watch from there.”

—

Daniel looks at the slip of a girl standing next to Jos, intrigued. She was young, as young as Max if not a bit younger, but more importantly she was hot. Nudging his new teammate, he tilts his head in her direction. “You never said you had a sister.” The eighteen-year-old just looks at him and Daniel hates the way it’s somewhat unsettling. He was twenty-six, there shouldn’t be any reason for it to unsettle him. But as Daniel looks back over, he supposes most eighteen-year-olds don’t have dickhead near abusive dads that are Jos Verstappen. “I don’t have a sister.” “Really? Hot cousin then?” “Not my cousin either.” And before Daniel can say anything else Max is walking away from him over to his trainer. “Alright then.” Daniel mutters to himself, eyes lingering on the girl before he goes to his own trainer.

—

“Daniel thinks you're hot.” Blood rushes to her cheeks and the shirt in her hands falls onto the floor. “What?” “Daniel, before we got into the car for FP1, he was asking me about you.” His face is burning with anger. “Thought you were my sister or my hot cousin.” Max scoffs. “Oh.” Her voice sounds lost and her arms wrap around herself. The anger softens on his face at the reaction and he wraps his arms around her from behind, exhaling when her arms loosen, hands resting on his arms, fingers stroking his skin. “You're mine.” He breathes, dipping his head to press his lips against her neck, barely resisting the urge to leave a mark. Her breathing comes out shaky and in her next breath, his pinky finger starts to dip below the waistband of her sleep shorts. “I’m yours. I’ve always been yours, Max.”

—

Max is shell shocked. He’s celebrating, screaming, throwing himself into the arms of his team, but behind his helmet, he’s shocked. He had hoped for points, dreamed of a podium, but a win? A win? That had never been in his wildest dreams for this weekend.

He’s guided over to the weighing station and then the first spot, a member of the team talking to him. His hands don’t shake as he removes his helmet and gloves. They don’t shake as he removes his balaclava either. Not when he clasps a few drivers' hands. They shake as soon as he sees his flower.

She’s standing next to his dad, crying, nearly sobbing. He can tell from the pattern of her chest moving up and down. And he knows that he should be going over to get interviewed, but he ignores the team member trying to guide him, darting over to her. The people surrounding her, all wearing Red Bull shirts, cheer, patting him wherever they can reach, but he’s only focused on her. His hands enveloping her face as he kisses her.

She gasps into the kiss, her hands settling on his biceps before moving down to his wrists, fingers wrapping around them as she returns the kiss.

“You won, Max.” She’s breathless when they break apart. “You won.” He grins at her, enjoying the shine to her eyes, the width of her smile. “I won.” It’s breathless as well, and a laugh follows it. “I won.” “You won.” She laughs, quickly pressing another kiss to her lips before pushing him away. “Now go.” He nods, but leans in for one more kiss before leaving her to go to the post race interviews.

The questions are a blur to him and so are his answers. Except for the final one.

“Is there anyone you want to thank?” “The team of course. I mean really without them this wouldn’t have been possible, we hoped for a podium, for points, a seemed out of reach with how the Mercedes have been performing though. My dad and mom as well. And my girl.” As he continues he fails to see the reactions from people with those two words, my girl.

The person interviewing him’s eyes are wide, almost having stumbled back. Nearly everyone from Red Bull has their jaw on the floor. Daniel though already feeling pissed from Max winning and not him has more anger coursing through him. Because seriously? He had been eyeing her up since Friday and she was with Max apparently? Max of all people? He scowls as his eyes land on her, she is far too pretty to be with Max.

Sebastian at the weighing station let out a disbelieving laugh, adrenaline was a hell of a thing and he hoped for Verstappen’s sake that the girl he kissed didn’t take his words to heart of him calling her his girl. He’d cool down later and most likely get embarrassed by the slip. Perhaps even angry, he was the type, after all.

A few of the other drivers share looks, shaking their heads and murmuring to each other that it wasn’t going to end well. It was a hell of a thing to say after getting a win, your first win, but PR was going to be all over him after and they all winced at the thought of what statement he’d have to make and put out in the next few hours or days.

His former teammate scoffs, “bullshit.” he spits. It should have been him in that Red Bull seat if anyone was going to replace Kyvat. He and his father had banked on Max doing something stupid, crashing the car, finishing out of the points, so he could get the seat like he should, but Max just couldn’t do that. Had to have a one-off fluke of a race. And now he was claiming he had a girlfriend. Probably some sort of PR stunt to make him look better, more stable, like an adult and not a kid squeezing his way into where he shouldn’t be.

Kimi lets out a small chuckle, one that Sebastian hears but doesn’t question him on. Of course, the kid would let it slip that he had a girlfriend. He had been hoping that Max would have made it until the end of the season or even next season, but it was fine. Kimi would just have to make sure to not make another bet with Minttu, it was getting a little embarrassing how much he kept losing to her. At least Kimi considers, he didn’t let it slip that they were married.

“Well, she’s pretty, I’ll give him that.” Jenson comments, looking at the girl Max had kissed, the one that must be his girl. Fernando chuckles. “She is jail bait.” “And taken.” He eyes her. “I’m a bit surprised he hasn’t mentioned her at all. I didn’t even know he was seeing someone. Did you?” The Spanish driver shrugs. “We talk about racing not personal. And yes.” He adds. “I am shocked. Mainly because of that.” He nods his head in the direction of Jos, still stern faced, though Fernando had caught a smile on his face earlier. Jenson lets out a sharp whistle. “Yeah, that is the surprising part. Wonder what Max had to do to get his dad to agree to that.” He shudders, “I don’t want to know.” “Yeah, best not to think about it.”

Max lets the podium celebrations wash over him, laughing when Kimi claps him on the shoulder as they leave, murmuring his congrats. Walking back towards the cool down room, out of sight from fans and cameras, Max takes a deep breath, heart still racing inside his chest. This was unbelievable.

He follows the FIA official as they direct them through another room, this one filled with some team personnel and such and his grin widens, feet picking up their pace as he scoops her into a hug, ignoring her squeal of protest.

“Max! You’re dripping in champagne.” He holds her tight to him, face buried in her neck. “Good. Means you can shower with me.” She doesn’t say anything to that, but he knows that he’s flustered her with his whispered words. It makes him chuckle and he puts her on her feet, keeping her close, though. “I love you.” He murmurs. “I love you too.”

He makes them keep standing there, his face still in her neck, at least a dozen eyes on them, but he needs this. Needs to hold her, needs to breathe her in, needs to feel her against him, needs her to calm him down. He wants to stay there forever, but before anyone can interrupt them, he pulls away. Pressing a kiss to her forehead before he lets her go.

“Go wait in my driver's room, while I finish up.” She nods, flashing him a small smile, before walking over to his trainer, who nods at him before guiding her out of the building and he knows to the Red Bull garage.

—

“Max, during your post race interview, you thanked quite a few people including and to quote you, my girl. Was that the girl you kissed today?” Max is happy he’s already flushed from winning that they can’t see the way more blood rushes to his cheeks at the question. Red Bull had told him to expect at least one question that was personal during the conference because of the kiss, but he hadn’t been thinking it’d be so early. “I think we have to remember,” Max’s eyebrows furrow at Sebastian speaking and he glances at the older driver. “That adrenaline is a hell of a thing. And we can’t hold something the kid says in the rush of a moment or does really against him.” Sebastian finishes before giving Max a wink, making his brows furrow more.

Was Sebastian trying to say that he didn’t mean to thank her, didn’t mean to kiss her? He can hear a few reporters mumbling, the scratch of pens against paper.

“To answer your question,” Max starts. “Yes, the girl I kissed was the one I thanked, that I called my girl. We’ve been together a while, she’s seen my whole career in karting now single-seater. She deserved thanks.” Kimi lets out a small chuckle, leaning forward a bit to look around Max and see the puzzled expression on Sebastian's face. Served the German right for thinking that Max misspoke and acted while high on his win.

—

“No girlfriend?” Daniel asks Max as they head into debrief. “What?” “No girlfriend?” Daniel repeats himself. “I haven’t seen her yet. She not here?” Max sends him an odd look, “If you mean Y/N, no. She isn’t.” He scoffs. “Of course, I mean, Y/N. Unless you’ve got more than one girlfriend. And if that’s the case, I call dibs on Y/N.” The younger stops in his tracks, grabbing a fistful of Daniel’s shirt and yanking, making him stop as well.

“What?” Daniel laughs. “She’s hot, pretty, whatever you want to call it.” His laughter dies when he catches sight of Max’s face.

It was the face that everyone loved to talk about. The first thing that had been brought up when it was announced that Max had gotten an F1 seat. It wasn’t his age, though that was a close second. It was the look he’d get if something didn’t go his way on track, if someone smashed into him, made a risky move. It was the face that had to have been born from all the near fucking abusive shit that Jos was rumored to have done to Max.

It was narrowed eyes, glare sitting heavy and Daniel could feel sweat gathering on the back of his neck at the sight of it. Nostrils flared, lips in a thin line, but somehow Daniel just knew that as soon as Max spoke his mouth would look like it was gathered into a snarl.

Seeing it and seeing it directed at him, reminds Daniel how all of them had joked in 2014 about how Max was going to be so scary, just scare them shitless. It had been jokes because despite the rumors they had heard, the stories they had been told, none of them really believed it. It wasn’t because Max couldn’t have been some hotshot on the track with an aggressive style, refusing to back down and winning because of it. No, it was the fact that people thought anyone of them would be scared of it, would be wary of him, that made them all laugh. And then they’d seen him in an F1 car and suddenly all those rumors and stories came rushing back to them, because fuck they have might merit in them when it came to Formula 1 after all.

Daniel has the urge to reach for his phone and call Jules’ godson, Charles, and ask how the fuck he managed to race against Max for so long and never get terrified of him, on or off track. But before his fingers can even twitch to reach for it, Max is speaking and god, he does look like he’s snarling.

“Daniel, if you mention how my wife,” The Australian driver's eyes widen and the word fuck starts bouncing around his head. “Looks hot one more time, I will crash into you, and I will take the fine, the penalty points, the promotion down, or the loss of my seat.” “Okay.” Daniel clears his throat, the word coming out high-pitched. “Got it. I’ll stop talking.” Max releases his shirt, fingers flexing, jaw shifting before the murderous look he had disappeared. “Good. Now let’s go, we are probably late for debrief.” Daniel nods, silently following his teammate while the words what the fuck echo in his mind.

—

“So, Max is married.” Daniel says, as he sits with a bunch of drivers, downing a shot. “Yeah, Y/N, not his fucking girlfriend.” “Daniel,” Jenson looks at the younger, eyebrow raised. “What exactly did you do?” He winces, throwing another shot back and fuck he should’ve grabbed more than two. “Called her hot in front of him, again.” The last word comes out as a whisper, but the whole table hears it and they all shake their heads. “Dude.” “I know! But like the first time I didn’t know, alright? It was Spain, before free practice, I thought she was like his little sister or cousin. This time, I shouldn’t have done it, there happy?” Kimi shakes his head. “I think the kerbs are going to your brain.” Daniel scowls at the Finnish driver, but Sebastian thankfully steps in before he can tell him where to stick it.

“What happened this time? When you called her hot? Which to be fair she is.” At Seb’s agreement, Daniel can’t help but shoot a look around, despite knowing that Max was in his hotel room and probably talking to his wife. The thought makes Daniel frown. “He, uh, he told me he’d crash into me and happily lose his seat if it came to it for crashing into me.” The other four drivers look at him, Sebastian and Fernando looking with disbelief, while Kimi looks unsurprised, same with Jenson. “Are you sure you just called her hot?” Fernando checks. He nods. “And pretty. I think it was pretty, hot, whatever you want to call it.” “I don’t even want to know the context.” Kimi murmurs. Daniel opens his mouth ready to say but gets a tap to the back of the head, making his mouth shut. “Let’s not do that tonight, alright.” It’s near instinct to fight the words, because why not tonight, but he slumps in his seat, nodding at Jenson’s words. He didn’t have the energy for it anyway.

2017

“Max, put up a hell of a fight.” Max’s eyebrows raise, “I didn’t know you knew my name.” He murmurs, the microphone still catching it, however. Lewis lets out a laugh. “It’s your second win, right? Lots of pretty girls here to celebrate with tonight.” The slight smile on his face from Daniel trying to poke at his ribs vanishes at Lewis’ words and he can hear Daniel’s sharp intake of breath, the journalists coming to life a bit. “Well, I don’t think my wife would appreciate that.” It’s deadpan, or at least he tries to make it deadpan, he didn’t actually want to make his PR officer’s life hell, but he knew there was a bit too much steel in it. “Your what?” Daniel leans forward, peering around Max. “Dude, where were you last year? It was all anyone was talking about at COTA.” “You got married at COTA?” “I got married in February 2016.” “Aren’t you like twenty?” Daniel peers even more around Max. “Once again, where have you been for the last year, two years?”

“Well,” a voice interrupts. “I think we can call this press conference to an end. Let Max celebrate his win and let Lewis come to terms with things.” “Come to terms is putting it lightly.”

#max verstappen imagine #max verstappen x reader #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #formula 1 imagine #formula 1 x reader #f1 dark fic #max verstappen dark fic

[rodolfoparras]

Ok ok maybe in on a stretch here but just hear me out please‼️

Big Dick! Price x Mid/Little Dick! Reader

Like old man price having a dick too big for anyone to take to he comes across you and wants nothing more than to ride your dick dry. That big old man that’s twice your age with a dick too big that’s basically useless and him being teary-eyed and stupid from how dickmatized he is. Who would have thought that a mid sized dick would made that big man fall apart so easily. Him riding you and his large cock hard, leaky, and flopping up and down slapping on your stomach.

I got a lot more to say about this…

Thinking about Price who’s been a top all of his life mostly because of his size, until he meets you and gets to bottom for the first time.

Prep is a breeze with him, years of fucking his own toys and fantasizing about this very moment has made him able to easily take your fingers, greedy hole practically swallowing your four digits, even huffing and puffing when you insist on dragging things out because you’re afraid of hurting the man. But he assures you that he’ll be okay, sighs in relief when he finally feels you line your cockhead up with his entrance, easily sliding into him without much resistance.

It’e when you set a steady pace that he loses his head, violent sobs escaping his lips and erratically bucking his hips, his fat ass practically swallowing your dick, telling you he wants more and more and more even though you’re balls deep and fucking him so hard you’re rocking the bed beneath him.

It doesn’t take much for Price to flip the two of you around or rather demand to be flipped around and start bouncing on your cock, because he just can’t seem to get satisfied until he takes matters into his own hands. You can see the way his eyes roll into the back of his head, can hear the strangled noises slipping past his lips, can feel him grab your hand and putting it on his ass cheeks, looking content as ever as he sets a steady pace on your dick. panting harder faster deeper, please into your ear even though he’s the one riding you, making a whole mess out of himself in a matter of minutes.

And when he tips over the edge it’s like he’s a bottomless pit, his cum pooling on your stomach and staining your sheets, cock still weeping as you chase your own release. Price can’t even find it in himself to be embarrassed because just as you’ve caught your breath he’s sinking down onto your dick again.

#alec answers #this is just a little thought I polished I hope it’s ok #call of duty #john price x reader #john price x male reader #john price #captain john price #captain john price x male reader #captain john price x reader #dom male reader #top male reader #sub male character #bottom male character #dom reader #top reader #x male reader #x reader

[ceilidho]

sirius c

prompt: forced throuple au; Ghost decides that you and Johnny are his (part 7; ghoap x reader) [tags: noncon, implied cheating (in the context of Ghost's refusal to be a negotiation king lol), very nsfw] first part >> last part

-

No one tells you what to do when you finally notice the larger animal watching you from the thicket. 

It's been awhile now, you suspect. So long that it's managed to follow you all the way home.

Now they insist on helping you around the shop while you try to work. Try being the operative word. It’s hard to get much done with Simon scaring off all the customers and Johnny dogging at your heels, practically glued to your hip. You briefly consider stabbing him with the snips but then think the better of it. Simon’s stare follows you too closely for you to think you’d get away with it. 

Plus, after this morning—you cut that thought off at the root lest embarrassment make your eyeballs burn right out of your head. Despite the fact that he never brings it up, you can’t shake the thought that Simon knows. His face is just as expressionless with the mask off, which rests like a heavy weight on the kitchen table, imbued with a meaning too potent, too loaded, for you to fully digest or, really, understand in any concrete way. 

But the glint in his flinty eyes flirts with amusement. Brushes close to it. 

“What?” you snap, eggs dangling precariously from your fork.

His stare hasn’t wavered once since sitting you across from him. He doesn’t smirk nor snicker, but you can feel the laugh like a phantom limb that aches until you try to scratch it. He has a face carved from marble or granite, subject to some horrific fate. A statue pulled down from its pedestal and hauled into the river, now dragged out waterlogged and barnacle-crusted. Something terrible happened here and now something else wears its face.

His knees knock against yours under the table again, forcing one leg to spread to accommodate him. You stare at the elbow resting on your table as he chews off the end of a strip of bacon.

He doesn’t say anything, but you know he must have heard you and Johnny in the washroom earlier in the morning. Simon hadn’t even attempted to feign sleep when you’d come out flustered and turned around, stomach in knots. 

You can’t even look at Johnny for help because he stands behind the two of you at the counter, no space for him at your small kitchen table. Your life isn’t built to accommodate two men of their size; it’s hardly able to hold space for just the one.

Nevertheless, they stretch it to fit their needs.

Begrudgingly, you have to admit that Simon does help you out around the flower shop. He fixes the door to the supply closet that always jams, hoses down the sidewalk in front of the store where someone vomited near the entryway the night before, and even gives you a couple hours alone to yourself when he drags Johnny with him to do the bouquet deliveries. 

They come back with coffee in takeaway cups and pastries in a waxy bag and you nearly moan when you notice the label on the cup. Coffee from the good coffee shop across town. You actually moan when you sink your teeth into an almond croissant and then blink your eyes open wide when you hear Johnny groan in response. 

You steel yourself to keep your knees from knocking together.

It’s been a week since you saw him last. Hard to believe. You’ve been distant, rightfully so, contemplating the state of your relationship and coaxing yourself to the brink of texting him that it’s over, only to give up at the last possible minute. The tides receding again. 

You don’t think about how much you missed him. 

Since this morning, you’ve been on edge. Half tempted to corral Johnny into your apartment upstairs for some alone time. You don’t think Simon would allow that though, whether out of some sadistic glee in seeing you squirm or out of jealousy. It doesn’t seem unlikely. He acts like Johnny is his to do with what he pleases, and Johnny beams up at him like the sun and lets him.

You hadn’t realized there had been a third person in your relationship. Now it feels like his presence has always been felt. You can’t imagine Johnny without the half-shadow cast over his face.

All day, you wait for Johnny to break. Part of you hopes that it’ll be sooner rather than later. Unless he’s been entertaining someone on the side—and, for reasons unbeknownst to you, you discount that thought the second it comes to you, sure that you’d know if there was another woman—it’s likely that he hasn’t fucked in a week. He acts like it too, hovering close enough that you can feel the heat radiating off his body. Every accidental step back comes with a chance of landing straight into his arms. 

When you touch his arm gently to ask him to help you move a heavy flower pot, he looks down at you with irises gone black, ready to fuck on a dime. It’s not the right place or time, and you’re still tremendously pissed at him for letting his superior grope you in front of their whole platoon or whatever, but you’ve also gone a week without his dick, and you’re starting to think that your pride shouldn’t get in the way of good dick.

But then he looks over at the hulking figure haunting the doorway and draws back. The shadow on your relationship again. The tension breaks. Even though he postures and flexes when he helps you move the flower pot, it doesn’t come with an invitation to sneak away to your apartment upstairs. Johnny grits his teeth and holds himself back because Simon tells him to; because, in Simon’s own words, he’s a good lad. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you ask Simon when Johnny goes to take a leak, but he just stares at you with eyes still darkened by poorly wiped off eye black. 

The oxygen is sucked out of the room when it’s just the two of you. He’s imposing from afar, accentuated by the innate knowledge—gleaned just from looking at him, nothing more than that, just the size of him in his line of work—that he’s the most dangerous thing around, but with no one else to hide behind, you can’t help but feel like a trapped animal. 

“Means he knows who’s in charge,” he says. 

Like that’s supposed to tell you anything. 

The air still crackles with tension when Johnny comes back. He glances around almost nervously, pupils dilating. 

“The two of ye finally gettin’ on?” he asks.

There’s a moment where you consider ripping the veil down and saying, no, we aren’t, Johnny. You quisling. You can see exactly how uncomfortable I am. It’s more than visible; it’s oozing from my pores. You’ve let a wild animal into my house and now it won’t leave. In fact, it’s pissing on my sheets to mark its territory. You let it in knowingly, and even though you know something’s wrong, you’re letting it get worse.

Simon’s smile is severe and whetted when he cuts off your train of thought. “Reckon we're getting on like a house on fire, eh?” 

You can’t muster more than a weak smile and nod in response to that.

Around mid afternoon, a regular client calls in with a large, last minute order. You accept it because it’s nothing you don’t already have in stock, but it means you have to close the shop early to work on her order and then load up the van to drive to her place to drop the flowers off.

“I’ll come with you,” Simon grunts when you flip the sign and tell the two of them about your plans.

You freeze, a shudder rippling down your spine. “That’s not necessary—I can do it myself.”

“Don’t care.”

“I do it all the time when you’re not here!”

“It’s not up for debate,” he says, eyes going hard. Daring you to argue.

You’ve been getting the sense all day that he’s been trying to corner you, trying to get you on your own. You evade his efforts like a prey animal, but all that does is make him work harder for it. 

You look to Johnny for any kind of reassurance, someone to back you up and agree that you’re more than capable since you do this all the time, but he just grins from behind the counter where he helps cut lengths of cellophane and ribbon for the bouquets. “Aye, hen, let him help. Ye cannae carry all of that yourself.”

Your brain clicks back on when you’re barrelling towards your client’s place at breakneck speed, far too fast for a residential road. It’s not you driving though. Simon has himself parked in the driver’s seat, one hand on the wheel and the other dangling loosely out the window. His driving makes your stomach churn, nausea brewing. You bone-knuckle the grab handle reflexively. 

“Could you slow down?” you hiss out through clenched teeth.

Simon ignores you until you start to scroll through your phone to distract yourself. He transfers the hand on the wheel to jostle your knee with his free hand. “Eyes on the road.”

“I’m not even driving you,” you squawk, heart thudding in your chest when his hand doesn’t lift off your knee. 

“Tell me when to turn, doll.” The pet name makes your stomach jump. When he says it, his hand tightens over your knee, thick fingers with scraped up knuckles curling around, the width of his palm wider than your kneecap and you stare down dumbly, rabbit heart careening at the same speed as the van. 

You’re so dumbfounded that you nearly miss the street. He takes the turn suddenly when you mention it instead of making the sensible call to go up the next street and then come back down, and you swear and yell when he nearly takes the van onto the right two wheels. 

The sweat is still dripping down the nape of your neck when he parks in front of the client’s venue.

Simon ignores any attempt of yours to help unload the van. All you can do is watch helplessly as he carries multiple arrangements into the venue at once, leaving you to handle the contract and payment collection. The situation is spiraling rapidly out of your control. 

Your client, a housewife about a decade or so older than you, eyes him as he passes with two flower pots tucked under his arms. 

“I didn’t know you changed staff,” she murmurs, eyes following him into the next room and lingering on the backs of his thighs when he bends down to deposit the flower pots, making the material of his pants strain tight around his glutes and hamstrings. 

“I didn’t,” you protest, shaking your head. “That’s—he’s my boyfriend’s coworker. Um, his boss, I mean. I think. He’s just helping out for the day.”

“Well, I know how I’d like him to help out,” someone else giggles. One of the venue staff, judging by her uniform. Even your client titters at that.

Simon’s more approachable with the mask off, it seems. Still verging on the preternatural, but at least without the mask he seems more human. All six-foot-five-inches of him, arms and legs packed with a generous helping of muscle and fat; a square jaw must be appealing to any sex-parched person within range. It makes your jaw clench.

“Here’s your receipt,” you grit out before ripping it off the payment terminal and handing it to her. She blinks at your dour mood, unused to a less than professional version of you, but that’s what Simon’s presence does to you. Sours you right up. A lemon squeezed right into the mouth.

He’s posted by the van when you come out still scowling and itching for a row. He frowns at the look on your face. “Fix your attitude. You’ve already upset Johnny enough.”

You halt in your tracks, dumbstruck. “I’ve upset Johnny?”

“Yeah. So fix it before we get back.”

You’ve officially reached your limit. All day, you’ve been waiting to go nuclear, bad mood settling deeper and deeper into you because you’ve never been good at managing your anger. The audacity to blame you for this whole situation nearly makes you lose your head. 

Simon looks almost bored when you stomp up to him and stab a finger into his chest. You pointedly do not let yourself focus on how little his chest gives beneath your finger. “All of this was your fault for sexually harassing me in the first place. I don’t even think you were ever sorry for that—this all just feels like some fucked up attempt to break me and Johnny up.”

He stares down at you. “You think I want Johnny for myself?”

Heat flares under your collar, but you push on. “I do. And you know what? You can have him. I don’t need this. Johnny clearly values your approval more than mine anyway or none of this ever would have happened once he caught you groping me in broad daylight. If you want him so bad, nothing I do is going to work, so why even bother? He’s yours. The both of you can fuck off when we get back—I’m sick of having you in my space.”

The tirade leaves you panting by the end of it, and then you look into his eyes. 

You wonder if it’s a universal phenomenon to sense the moment when you’ve made a grave miscalculation. It must be. The feeling is overwhelming; for you, it throbs in your very bones. 

Simon’s expression never changes, but the light behind his eyes starts to flicker in a different way, and you are suddenly conscious of him not just as a man but as a man paid to kill. A professional at that. At least a dozen bodies under his belt and likely more, and yet you stand chest to chest with him like you’re somehow tougher than that; like all those bodies mean nothing, like his knife hasn’t quenched its bloodthirst ad infinitum, like his arms haven’t felt a neck crack until it’s become a habit, an easy kill, a morning fix. 

You’ve never felt more like meat than under his gaze. 

“Get your ass in the van,” he commands, and you listen because your mouth has gone dry and you understand now, somewhere deep in your reptile brain, a little creature hissing at you to turn and run, that he doesn’t warn. He just does. 

Humiliation festers under your skin when he buckles you in. Your mouth opens on a smart remark until you catch a glimpse of him from the corner of your eye and it’s all anger leaking tar, mafic lava dark and flowing, smooth and lobed and striated with hellfire. 

You think at first that he’s just going to drive you home. Your words might have offended him, but the lack of refutation makes you think that at his core, he must agree. Simon is just another man with an unholy allegiance to ego, an ugly incarnation of desire and pride that you might have briefly mistook as a person as complex as yourself until he snuffed that inkling right out with a hand on your ass. 

Then, lost in your thoughts, you miss when he pulls over and puts the van in park. 

You hear the click of your seatbelt, but your head doesn’t have time to turn before Simon hauls you over the center console and into his lap, a hand already clamping over your mouth to muffle your scream. 

“I’ve had enough of the fuckin’ attitude, girl,” Simon snarls into your ear, shoving his hand down the front of your pants without any preamble, the stretchy jogger fabric not putting up any resistance. “I haven’t got the patience for it. We’ll sort you out and knock these stupid notions from your skull.”

You must shriek under his palm because his fingers tighten, digits pressed into your jaw to the point of aching. It’s hard to tell under the white hot fear that washes over you, nearly blinding you. 

If it bothers him to find you dry under your panties, he doesn’t say anything. Calloused fingers spread your labia wide and trace over your clit lazily, trying to coax the slick out of you. You squirm in his hold, desperate to somehow wriggle out, but Simon chooses now to give you a glimpse of his strength, holding you tight to his chest. No matter how much you squirm, there’s no way out of his hold. Shouting behind his palm doesn’t help either; Simon just curls his hand tighter over your mouth. 

Horror blooms in your chest when your core starts to warm up at his touch. The first traitorous bead of wetness nearly has you apoplectic with rage. His fingers saw up and down over your slit until he thinks you’re wet enough to handle two fingers shoved knuckle deep. 

“Enough of that,” Simon grunts when you yelp and knee the underside of the steering wheel in your haste to get away. “It’s just two. You’ve been fucked before; you can take it.”

Your knee aches from slamming into the steering wheel, but it’s nothing compared to the ache of his fingers stretching you open, the skin around his knuckles delicate and febrile. For all his flaws, Johnny loves getting his mouth on your pussy before trying to cram his cock in, addicted to the taste of you on his tongue when he’s got you folded in half and taking his dick like a champ. Simon seems like he wouldn’t mind railing you in the back of the van without any prep whatsoever. 

“Can’t wait to break you on my cock,” he growls, his breath hot over your neck, and lust stinking up the van so bad that the air is nearly rancid with it. Sulfuric. “You think you’ve had it rough with Johnny? You don’t have a fuckin’ clue what you’re in for with me.”

His hunger is a noxious, billowing cloud. Miasma like. It threatens to smother you. His shaft is hard under your ass, evident when he thrusts his hips up. Your ensuing yip makes him grunt, gratified, like his pleasure comes part from your shock. 

“I’m not explaining this shit anymore. This is the way it’s gonna be from now on—no discussion, no arguing, no nothing. It’s not up for negotiation.”

Simon’s fingers piston into you without remorse, brutal hunger foisted off on your body. You again try desperately to push away from him, almost levitating out of his arms until he forces you back down and bites down hard over your clothed shoulder. The horn stays silent when you try to honk it, mocking you somehow. You wonder if anyone would hear your muffled cries from beneath Simon’s hand if they happened to pass by, or if they’d chance a glance into the van and see the devil himself playing with your pussy in his lap and keep on walking. 

Your body plays you for a fool though, sweltering under his touch. When he growls in your ear, your pussy clenches up nice and tight, and slick drips down your inner thighs. 

A third finger nearly makes you choke on your gasp. You go quiet after that save for the occasional whimper, all of your energy concentrated on accommodating his fingers, each as wide as almost two of yours. A fourth almost doesn’t feel fathomable, but then he sinks it into you and every thought leaks out of your head.

“Christ, you’re a dream when you shut your mouth, aren’t you, doll?” Simon breathes, nosing the corner of your jaw. “Johnny picked a nice little cunt for himself.” 

He doesn’t pick up on the irony somehow. Even shaking in his lap, your brows furrow at his words, a barb on the tip of your tongue until a glob of slick leaks from you and wrenches you back out of your head. 

He clicks his tongue against his teeth all condescendingly when your breathing goes hitched and panicked, so close to coming that you feel a hairsbreadth from it. When you jump at the sound of his tongue snapping in your ear, he chuckles, the broad chest at your back shaking with his laughter.

“There we go,” Simon murmurs, rubbing a soothing hand over your belly. “Tired, eh? Just need to come and have a nap. I know Johnny left you hanging this morning. Poor girl.”

You hadn’t even noticed that he’d dropped his hand from your mouth to your stomach, but there’s nothing to do about it now. All you can do is lean back against him and stare at the fine, blond hair on his knuckles as he drags it over your belly button in slow, languid strokes. 

“Oh god—” you groan when he thumbs your pearled clit and sinks his fingers in as deep as they’ll go, your hole stretched too tight. 

Sweat beads on your hairline. It feels like tears might be leaking down your cheeks, but it’s hard to say. The only thing you can do is focus on not coming apart at the seams.

The air in the van is moistened by your breath, the windows almost completely fogged up. Your lower back aches from arching into his hand. When it comes out in a sob, he tells you he’ll have Johnny massage it when the two of you get home. 

“It’s always gonna hurt a little with me,” Simon says, and you almost mistake it for apologetic until he pulls you into an open-mouthed kiss that makes you twist your neck and ignores the way you whimper into his mouth.  

You nearly black out when he finally makes you come, your head tipping back and resting on his shoulder. You tense in his grasp and open your mouth on a soundless moan when your walls spasm around his fingers. Nothing you can do but let it happen. Like splintering down the middle. It hits you so hard that your belly cramps. 

Shame hits you so much harder. A half second after, like the sky splitting open and a voice thundering down, you know what you did. 

Your leg gives a feeble twitch when he pulls his fingers out, his palm soaked with your juices. You’re a limp mess of sour sweat and come in his lap, reeking of sex musk and a warm, spicy scent. 

You squeal and jolt back to awareness when he pushes a finger back in, sensitive to the point of pain. “Simon, I can’t—”

“Hold still; m’not done yet,” he cuts you off, irritation layered in his voice again. 

You don’t have to endure it for as long this time at least; he paws at your overworked sex and pants in your ear like a bear. Luxuriating in the soft, wet folds of your pussy. His touch isn’t clumsy, but it feels like he’s making up for lost time. It almost makes you wonder how long he’s wanting to get between your legs, but that thought evaporates when he reaches further down to press his fingers against the rim of your other hole, chuckling into your hair when you clench up. 

Then, after a few minutes, he pulls his hand out of your joggers and pats your belly with his wet fingers, leaving dewy strands of your juices on your skin before helping you back into the passenger seat. You don’t even have it in you to protest when he buckles you in again. You even accept it when he leans over to plant another wet kiss on your mouth, one with too much tongue and too much teeth, come drunk and aching for any kind of affection. 

“Sweet as pie, eh?” Simon rasps, eyes half-lidded and heady. Almost lovesick. “Couldn’t have asked for better.”

You stare at the side of his head as he drives the two of you back to the shop, eyes glued to his cauliflower ear. Rough son of a bitch. Brute strength hewn into his bones, covetous need in his veins.

And this is what your boyfriend thought was appropriate to bring home. 

He stops one more time to feed his cock down your throat before you make it home. Your tongue curls around the mushroomed head of dick when he drags your head down, the wiry hair at his crotch tickling your nose. The scent of him here is pungent, musky. Old lichenous rocks and rust like blood on your tongue. You’re so pliable that you hardly even gag when it touches the back of your throat. 

His come is still hot and tacky on your tongue when he pulls you into his lap to let you cry it out, wiping up your tears with a rough thumb. It’s a while before you manage to settle down again. 

Johnny’s still beaming behind the counter when you come in, Simon at your rear to keep you from running, his hand planted firmly at the small of your back. You can barely look your boyfriend in the eye. You’re afraid he’ll see it plain as day on your face, hair mused and lips swollen from sucking his lieutenant off in the van on the drive home. 

“The two of ye have a good time all by yourselves?” he asks, either deliberately ignoring the obvious or naively trusting. You don’t know which would be worse.

You can hear the dry grin in Simon’s voice. “We had a nice chat, didn’t we, doll?”

All you can muster is a weak smile and croak, “Yep. We did.”

You hold off a flinch when Simon’s hand slips down and grabs a handful of your ass.

#ceil writing #cod mw2 #cod x reader #ghost/soap/reader #ghoap x reader #ghost/reader #ghost x reader

[inkdrinkerworld]

can i request a girl flirting with spencer but he is too oblivious to understand she is flirting (bc of course he doesnt) so he keeps talking to her, and reader (they are dating) is FURIOUS and he is sooooo confused. i think it could be funny 🤭

post prison!spencer x sunshine!reader are out with the team when spencer gets sidetracked, you don't like that he is. 1.2k

You’re frowning into your long island iced tea. The entire team can see it and Luke is itching to make a comment. He also knows that despite your sunny disposition you might kick his shin under the table. 

“You could always just go bring him back here,” Matt says, sipping his beer as he watches you burn holes into Spencer’s back. 

You’re not jealous, no matter what any of them might imply. 

“He’s a big boy. If he doesn’t want her flirting with him, he can just leave.” 

JJ laughs into her drink, Penelope rolls her eyes as she chews her cherry and Emily shakes her head at you. 

Spencer likely will remove himself from the girl if he doesn’t want to be flirted with- but since he’s been there for the last twenty minutes you suspect he isn’t as into you as they’ve all suggested. 

It was silly of you to let your heart be captured by a man fresh out of prison you suppose. Your frown worsens at your thoughts, Spencer isn’t the ‘lead a girl on,’ type. Still you feel the hot and heavy sting of jealousy and something bitter settle in your chest. 

“He’s still a bit awkward about this,” You roll your eyes this time. They all talk of Spencer like he’s a thirty three year old virgin. He isn’t. You know he isn’t because Penelope had informed you that he’d been in serious relationships before. 

Not that you’d wanted to know. 

When Spencer comes back, you’re itching for a game of cards and the rest of your team is itching for some sort of reaction from either of you. 

It’s been clear over the ten months you’ve been working at the BAU, that you and Spencer have begun to orbit each other. You’re like Pluto and Charon. You bring each other breakfast, make each other’s coffee, you were even almost halfway in his lap on the jet the other day ‘doing crosswords.’ You really were doing crosswords. 

They suspect you’re both just too oblivious (you) and frightened (Spencer) to do anything about the feelings everyone can see you have. 

“Sorry I took so long,” though he says the words loud enough for the entire group to hear, his eyes are on you. 

“Did you at least get her number?” You kick Luke in the shin then, earning a smirk from the man across from you. Maybe if you put salt in his protein powder he’ll relent. 

“What?” Spencer asks, sipping his rum and coke. He brushes a curl of hair from his forehead, tucking it behind his ear. 

You reach into your bag and pull out your sparkly deck of cards and shuffle them. “Oh are we doing readings?” Penelope asks, you don’t trust the peachiness of her tone. 

“The girl from the bar.” Matt clarifies for Spencer, whose eyebrows shoot up to his hairline. 

“Why would I get her number?” JJ looks at you with a, ‘do you see what we’re saying,’ look but you only shake your head. 

You don’t care if Spencer did get her number or if he’d been flirting back with her. You’re not dating. You don’t care. At least, that’s what you keep telling yourself. 

“She was flirting with you man.” Luke says and Spencer shrugs, leaning into you as Penelope takes the cards from you. They’re only playing cards, but she’s been trying to get you to read them as well as she reads tarot. 

“Are you okay?” Spencer whispers in favour of a reply to Luke, eyebrows knitted together when you shrug him out of your space. 

“Fine.” Emily chuckles which only worsens Spencer’s frown. 

“Hey, what about this song?” JJ says, the entire group dispersing. Penelope is the last to go, leaving the ace of hearts face up on the table. 

“What’s wrong?” Spencer asks, hand reaching for your chin. You shake your head from his hand. Spencer feels burned. 

“Nothing’s wrong. I’m fine. I’m just enjoying a night out with my friends.” You make it a point to stress the word friends and Spencer almost flinches. 

“I don’t believe you.” he says the words plainly. “Are you upset with me?” You turn to face him then, face stony, an expression on your face Spencer has never seen. Other than that day you were on the phone with your brother. 

“Why would I be upset with you? You’re just the clueless thirty three year old everyone thinks can’t tell when a pretty girl at the bar is flirting with him.” Your words are hushed and low, your eyes dark in the poorly lit booth. 

Spencer sighs, his shoulders reaching his ears before falling. “You’re jealous?” 

You grumble, no point in hiding what is so very clear. “You flirt with me for ten months, and then you spend almost thirty minutes letting a stranger put their hands all over you and come back here like you didn’t know she was flirting? If you just wanted the attention you could’ve said so from the beginning, Spencer Reid.” 

There’s no ‘Doctor,’ before his name that lets him know you’re being playful or funny. No, your words and your expression are the iciest thing he thinks he’s ever witnessed. You sound hurt more than anything and that makes Spencer’s heart crack right down the middle. 

His hand reaches for your chin, turning you to face him. “I didn’t just want attention, you know that,”

You roll your eyes, “Oh do I?” Spencer likes this attitude on you, he can’t even pretend to lie to himself. He just doesn’t like the way you doubt him. 

“I like you. You know I like you. Yes, the woman at the bar was flirting with me, but the conversation was being redirected. She was flirting with me till I told her I wasn’t interested and that I had someone waiting for me.” 

You don’t believe him, “Took you twenty eight minutes to do that?” 

Spencer smiles then, pressing his forehead into yours. “You’re worked up, sweet girl.” The nickname settles you a little. “It took me a little to catch on. I’ll admit it takes some getting used to from total strangers. But I didn’t enjoy her flirting with me if that’s what you’re really asking.”

Spencer’s thumb presses into the slight divot in your chin, your eyes stuck on his as he refuses to break eye contact. “I only want you to flirt with me.” 

Your breath hitches, Spencer smiles. “You let her touch you.” He laughs at how petulant you sound, he knows your grip on your anger is slipping. 

“Am I supposed to push her hands off me?” You nod and Spencer lets his nose run along your jaw. “You’re too much.” 

Spencer doesn’t leave your side the rest of the night.

#spencerreid #spencer reid #spencer reid one shot #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid blurb #spencer reid headcanon #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid angst #spencer reid x black reader #spencer reid x sunshine!reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x yn #spencer reid x y/n #dr spencer reid

[angelsassassin]

Home • Spencer Reid x reader

In which Spencer comes home to you

Spencer was a free man, and you were there waiting for him.

Details: fem!reader x spencer reid, established relationship

Warnings: nothing that I can think of to be honest.

Caution: MINORS DNI!

AN: I spent like ten minutes looking for this gif it’s actually so sad.

Spencer was a free man. After three months of being in prison following a wrongful conviction, he was free. JJ had come to tell him the good news, telling him that after a few days, you’d be coming to pick him up.

When that day finally came, Spencer woke up feeling better than he had in those months. He woke up knowing he was finally able to hug you again, kiss you again, touch you again.

He had missed you so much, more than he could ever imagine was possible. When the guards came to get him, he began to feel nervous. As he put on the suit he had worn the day he was sentenced to prison in court, his heart began to beat quicker than it ever had done before.

He had instructed the team to not let you see him while he was in prison, not wanting you to see how broken he was. He hadn’t seen you in three months, and only spoken to you over the phone a handful of times.

But now, he was finally able to be with you again.

You were waiting outside the prison, leaning against your car. You were shaking due to how nervous you were. Every sound that came from the prison would make you look up, hoping to see Spencer, your loving boyfriend, finally walk out of there.

Eventually, you heard a different noise, and you immediately knew it was time. You looked up, seeing guards exiting the building, and Spencer following behind. His eyes found yours almost immediately, as if he knew exactly how to find you. The guard opened the last gate that stood between the two of you, and let Spencer walk out of it.

He was a free man.

Upon seeing him walk out of the gate, your legs moved quicker than your mind could register what was happening. You jogged up to him, almost throwing yourself into his arms when you finally reached him. You wrapped your arms around him, and he wrapped his arms around you.

The two of you stood like that for a few minutes, before he pulled away and looked at you, really looked at you.

“Hi.” He said, with a small smile growing on his face.

“Hey.” You replied.

Those two words were all it took for Spencer to grab your face, pulling you closer to him and placing his lips down onto yours. The kiss was electric, it was passionate. Three months worth of missing each other, of uncertainty, it was all poured into the kiss.

Once you pulled away, needing to breathe, you placed your head on his chest. “I love you so much.” You mumbled into him.

“I love you, angel. I love you so much.” He says as he kisses your head. “God, I missed you.”

It felt like eternity before you finally pulled away from each other, looking deep into one another’s eyes. “How about I take you home?”

Spencer eagerly nodded.

The drive back to your home was silent, but it was a comfortable silence. Spencer kept his hand on yours the entire time you drove, not wanting to let go and be void of your touch for any longer. He glanced over at you several times, each time he did, his heart swelled with love.

As you entered your home, he looked around, noticing that it hadn’t changed at all; everything was the exact same. The pictures that lined the walls were the same, his satchel still in the exact same spot he had left it in.

“This doesn’t feel real.” He whispered. You turned to face him and placed both of your hands on his face.

“It is, Spence. You’re home. You’re back. It’s over.” You assure him. “Everything’s over.” At your words, Spencer wrapped his arms around you, burying his head into the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent.

Spencer never admitted it, but your smell, it always gave him comfort. The way your hair and your body smelled like the shampoo you use, the one you insist on never changing, it made him feel at home. It made him feel like he was safe, and okay. And in that moment, that was all he needed.

He needed to know he was safe, and that he was okay. He needed to know that he was home, and that he would never go back to prison. He needed to know that you were there, that you would always be there, even in his worst moments.

You wrapped your arms around him, and let out a sigh. “You know, I finally feel like I can breathe again. It feels like… like I’m complete again.” You whisper into his chest.

Spencer didn’t reply, afraid that if he spoke, he’d break down. All he could do was hold onto you tighter, pulling you even closer to him, if that was even humanly possible.

Despite not saying anything, Spencer felt the exact same way. For three months, it felt like pieces of him were being chipped away, like he was becoming a shell of a man. There was a very real possibility that he would never be able to be the same man again. But as he held you, he felt complete. He was a changed man, of course, but the one thing he knew would never change, that could never change, was his love for you, and how much he needed you.

As he took deep breaths in order to steady his heart rate, he realised in that moment that he could never live without you ever again. He knew that he needed you like he needed oxygen, like he needed water. Spencer Reid needed you, and he was going to make sure you spent the rest of your life knowing how much he needed you, how much he loved you. He was never going to let you go, and he knew exactly what to do, and how he was going to prove that to you.

~~~

AN: This series will not be in chronological order of how they meet and fall in love and blah blah blah. It’s more about the little moments between Spencer and reader throughout their years together.

#series #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #prison reid

[liyahin4k]

𝐅𝐚𝐦𝐥𝐢𝐲 𝐝𝐚𝐲

(𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐆𝐄 𝐗 𝐁𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐊𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑)

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: Paige and reader spend the day with her family but in the process her family stills you away, she doesn’t like that very much.

You stood in the kitchen with Paige’s mom Amy sipping on a little wine while looking through Paige’s baby pictures laughing and giggling as drew and Paige played her game. Paige eyes move to you hearing you two laughing “what so funny” she asked pausing the game making drew shout sense he was about to win.

“Oh nothing” you giggled as she walked up behind you wrapping her arms around you looking over your shoulder she saw the baby pictures “mommm,nooo” she cried taking and closing the picture book “why not” Amy laughed, you along with her.

“Because there embarrassing” Paige mumbled sitting back down “well I think there cute” you smiled. She just rolled her eyes.

“I think there ugly” drew cut in laughing you and Amy looked at him before bursting out into tears “I hate all of you” Paige mumbled stomping to her room “I love youuu” you shouted after her still giggling.

It was almost 8 when you were in their backyard with drew watching him play basketball “see that” he giggled pointing to the ball that made it into the basket you nodded smiling at him.

“You know I could be the next Paige” he smirked bouncing the ball “oh yeah,prove it” you smirked. “Prove what” Paige asked walking out “that I’m better then you in basketball” drew laughs.

“In your dreams little man” she smirked sitting next to you and laying her head down on your lap in you continued to watch and talk to drew as Paige just watched you too with a frown.

“Let’s go to bed” she asked trying to get your attention you didn’t hear her due to you taking to drew. “Babyyyyy,let’s go to bed” she said louder gaining your attention.

“Uhm” you looked down at her “I said let’s go to bed,you’ve been with him and mom alllll day” she said sitting up, you looked at her with a small smile “you sound jealous”. “What no I’m not” Paige mumbled looking down “can we just go to bed” she asked “yeah in five minutes” you said looking back at drew, she got up and walked away mumbling to herself.

Five minutes turned into 30 minutes by then Paige was over it. She watched you walk in and began changing with a glare “Paige you can’t be that mad” you softly smiled getting in the bed “well I am” she mumbled crossing her arms.

“You know I love you right” you asked she nodded side eyeing you “it not my fault they love me,and besides I don’t get to see them like that, I’m always with you” you reminded her “I know” she uncrossed her arms looking at you.

“I’m sorry” you mumbled pulling her for a kiss,you went to pull away but she pulled you closer not letting you go making you laugh into the kiss “you’re mine now” she mumbled in the kiss pulling you even closer.

#paige bueckers #paige bueckers x reader #viral #tumblr fyp #black reader

[formulawolff]

xii. the final verdict - t.w.

pairing: female!driver x toto wolff

word count: 3.3k

warnings: smutttttt, two idiots in love, YEARNING, LOTS OF YEARNING, lewis being a little shit, george is lowkey dumb sometimes, slightttttt use of daddy dom!kink, cursing, angst, poorly translated german, yadayadayada

prev. | next.

night falls over the track, swathing it with a blanket of darkness. yet, three shadows make their way towards a crisp white building, a comfortable silence settling in. one of the figures carries a woman in his arms, her head nestled in his shoulder. 

“how are you able to carry her like that?”

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖

“it’s not like she’s very heavy, george,” toto shrugs, motioning his head towards the door, “lewis, get the door for me, will you? it should be unlocked.”

“she leaves it unlocked?” lewis raises a brow, “that’s not very safe.”

“she usually leaves it unlocked this time of night,” toto huffs, “she probably did it out of habit.”

“is this the time you usually come over?” george inquires, propping the door open. 

“so many questions,” toto shakes his head, “and quiet down, will you?”

“yeah george,” lewis sticks a tongue out at his teammate, “the wittle baby is sweeping!” 

“she’s not a baby,” toto growls, strolling down that familiar hallway, “stay here for a minute. i’m going to get her in bed.”

“aye, aye, captain,” lewis salutes the team principal, “we’ll stay right here.”

as the team principal disappears behind her bedroom door, lewis shifts, turning to george, “george. he’s not falling in love. he loves that girl.”

“as if that wasn’t already obvious the second he scooped her up into his arms,” folding his arms across his chest, george surveyed the space, taking in the minimal decor and plain furniture, “no wonder she wants him over all the time. if i was basically living in a space like this, i would lose my mind.”

“should we help her decorate it?” lewis pauses, crossing over to the kitchenette. opening a few of the cupboards, a frown forms, “she doesn’t even have very many snacks. so much for making this a comfortable space. it’s not very homey.” 

“that’s what i was saying,” george mutters, “we should mention something to toto. maybe he’ll take her shopping.”

“maybe it’s a racing strategy? like she needs a blank space to clear her mind?” lewis inspects the fridge, lip curling in disgust, “to make things worse, she likes red bull!” 

“oh god,” george shudders, “throw it out! throw it–”

“what the fuck do you think you two are doing?”

the drivers freeze as toto stands before them, eyes narrowed into mere slits, the toe of his foot tapping against the floor. lewis glances over at george, the drivers sharing a panicked look as he clears his throat. 

“umm nothing!”

“right,” toto clicks his tongue, strolling towards the couch. he sits, letting out a shaky sigh as his head rolls back, fingers massaging his temples, “don’t worry. she has a shipment coming in soon with some decor. i ordered some things for the place. like you both said, i think she needs to make this a little more cozy.”

“you heard all of that?” lewis shifts uneasily, rubbing the back of his neck. 

“i heard everything,” toto tsks, “i think she’s okay. thank you both, for your help tonight. however, you do realize that she is a grown woman, right? you don’t have to play babysitter for me.”

“i was just a bit worried about you know?” lewis fiddles with a loose thread on his shirt, “i know she’s a grown adult, but i was just a bit nervous of what could have happened if she got too fucked up and said something she shouldn’t have.”

hmmm. lewis did have a point there. 

“i just wanted to make sure she got home safely,” george’s voice is low, “if she’s going to be my future teammate, i want to make sure she’s taking care of herself.”

at george’s statement, toto feels a smile form on his lips, “how kind of you, george. i appreciate that.”

“do you think she’ll sign with mercedes?” 

the inquiry is one that had been on toto’s mind frequently, more and more apparent as they got closer and closer to miami. now, it was all over. the lights on the track were shut off, the cleanup crew was well past finished, and the stands were completely empty. 

and toto needed an answer.

well, not now. not in her current state. 

he would have to wait until morning, when her mind was clear and senses alert. 

as of now, toto was only about seventy-five percent sure she would say yes. that she would depart from williams, take his hand, and follow him to mercedes. 

that twenty-five percent is what worried him. 

with the current momentum of williams, and the relationships she had established with the team, he knew it would be hard to leave. it would be hard to say goodbye to james, the one who believed in her, bringing her in when the other teams said no. it would be even more difficult to leave alex, as he was well aware of their sibling-like friendship. 

but the heart wants what it wants. right?

surely she would pick him. 

surely. 

“i’m not sure,” toto murmurs, running a hand through his hair, “she has a lot of emotional attachment to williams.”

“but she loves you.” 

she loves you. 

at those words, a warm, cozy sensation rippled in his heart, sending waves of bliss crashing all over. yet, there was a twinge of disbelief. 

there was no way a woman like her loved a man like him.

a recently divorced father, who happened to be one of the busiest men on earth. he was constantly on the go. he was emotionally available at times, his exterior cold and brittle, like ice. he was too cruel. too matter-of-fact. the travel would be too much for her. she hated traveling, anyway. the jet lag, the sleepless flights, the perpetual feeling of not having a place to call home. 

yet, toto ached to know. to know when she said it. how she said it. the expression she bore as those words tumbled from those perfect lips. the way her voice sounded. he wanted to know every miniscule detail. 

he needed to know. 

“when did she say that?” 

“while we were waiting for the uber,” lewis’ eyes shine, glimmering with joy, “it was quite cute, actually. we were making fun of you, not really making fun, more like teasing. she got so defensive, telling us to quit it because she loved you. she said to not make fun of the man she loved.” 

“she was very adamant about it too,” george adds, his chuckle ringing through the space, “we asked her if she loved you, and she said ‘well of course i do. i love him. don’t tell him i said that, though.’”

“and you guys told me?” 

“i didn’t mean to,” lewis admits, “you just seem really distraught about the whole thing so i figured i would try to help ease your stress.”

well, that did the trick.

fighting a yawn, the team principal covers his mouth, “we can talk about it more tomorrow, after i come back. i’ll keep you two in the loop. don’t expect every detail, though.”

“i don’t think i want every detail,” george teases, yawning, “okay lew, i think it’s time for us to go. carmen is waiting on me.”

“have fun! don’t break your hips from–”

“lewis.” george hisses, “let’s go.”

“okay,” lewis rolls his eyes, “see you, toto.”

as the two drivers exit the motorhome, the door clicking shut, the team principal clambers to his feet. fuck, today was completely and utterly exhausting. yet, he could finally hold you in his arms. he could finally just be with you. 

that alone was worth the trouble brought by the series of events that transpired this evening. 

pushing open the door, toto melts at the sight of you. 

you were lying on your hip, one pillow underneath your head while you held onto the other. your knee was bent, the other leg sticking straight out. in the dim light he can make out the glisten of drool, strands of hair tousled, messy and unkempt. 

yet, you were as breathtaking as ever. 

luckily, toto was able to get your clothes off of you with ease. it wasn’t the method he preferred, but he was grateful to be able to do those little things. he was more than willing to do anything you needed. all you had to do was bat those pretty little lashes and pout. 

that was his weakness. 

and you knew it too.

well, you were his weakness. 

as he settles on the edge of the bed, pulling his joggers off, he reaches out, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. 

did you know much he adored you? did he make that clear enough? were you aware of how completely and utterly weak you made him? 

“hi baby,” you mumble, your eyes still shut, “i missed you.”

baby. 

oh god. 

what were you doing to him?

“hallo, miene liebe,” toto whispers, “wie fühlst du dich?”

“schlecht.” 

his heart swells at your response, a chuckle rumbling in his chest, “so you have picked up on a thing or two.”

“come here,” you whine, shifting your body towards the middle of the bed, “you’ve been yapping with lewis and george all nighttttt.”

“did you hear any of that conversation?” momentarily, panic sets in, yet dissolves as you shake your head. 

“i just woke up. i figured you were talking to them. i heard the front door shut.”

“ah,” toto climbs into the bed, wrapping his arms around your frame, bringing you close, “were they being loud?”

“no,” your voice is thick with sleep as you nestle into his collarbone, “thank you for coming and getting me, toto.”

“of course,” his mouth connects with your temple, placing tender kisses all over, “i’ll always come get you. call me, and i’ll be there.”

“promise?”

“i promise,” taking your hand, he locks your pinkies together, “i pinky promise.”

“i didn’t know old people made pinky promises.”

“it’s your fault,” toto tuts, yet you can feel him smile against your skin, “you make a mess out of me, you know that? every time you’re near me, i’m just a mess. i can’t think straight. i can’t focus on anything other than you.”

“well, you’re gonna be a complete and total mess all the time then.”

“and why’s that?” he squeezes your hand gently, resting his chin on the crown of your head. 

“because i’m accepting your offer. i’m going to sign with mercedes.”

in that moment, toto wolff nearly crumbles completely.

although there’s a fiery sureness in your tone, brimmed with authenticity, he knows in his heart that he shouldn’t be so sure. 

yet, as you doze off in his embrace, he can’t shake the complete and utter bliss. 

after one last kiss, his mouth hovers by your ear, the words so gentle, bursting with an emotion that could only be described as one thing. 

“ich liebe dich, mein goldenes mädchen." 

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖

a fiery pain sears through your skull as you stir, groaning. 

“fuck.”

“good morning, my little lightweight,” a voice, his voice, an octave lower than normal, rumbles from behind, “do you need some water and tylenol?”

rolling over, you bury your head into his chest, grateful for the traces of cologne clinging to his shirt, “yes.”

“how many? i can order breakfast too.”

“i wouldn’t go that far yet,” the idea of food has you nauseous for a moment, “i think snuggles would be just fine.”

throwing your leg over his waist, your arm hangs loosely around his rib-cage as he lets out a laugh, “i can’t help you feel better if you’re on top of me, schatzi. you have to let me get up.”

“five more minutes.”

“as you wish, my golden girl,” a hand wraps around the base of your neck, his fingers kneading into your skin, “it’s only six thirty-four. you only slept for about three hours.”

“not like i can sleep in,” you exhale, grateful for the soothing gesture, “i have to meet with my parents in a couple of hours.”

“oh yeah? fun day ahead?”

“i guess,” you shrug, “as much as i love spending time with them, i just get so fucking sad thinking about the inevitable goodbyes. we probably won’t be able to see each other till our summer break.”

if you signed with mercedes, i would have your parents moved to brackley in an instant. you would never have to worry about those goodbyes for the rest of your life. 

yet, toto bites his tongue, “then how about you start getting ready, hmm?”

“because there’s a very attractive man in my bed with me and i don’t want him to leave me quite yet.”

you would never have to worry about that. ever. i could never leave your side. 

“is that so?” fingers grasp your chin, tilting it upward, “do i know him?”

“mhmm,” you hum, “his name is toto. toto wolff. you may know him, i’m not sure though.”

“i think so too,” he leans in, mouth ghosting over yours, “come here, baby.”

as your lips collide, your hands roam, tangling in his brunette locks. the kiss is passionate, laced with desperation, as if you were reuniting after months spent apart. it sucks the air out of your lungs, leaving you breathless as his tongue finds yours, teeth nearly gnashing together as the tension builds, the kisses growing more and more needy by the second.

every move is electric, sending a shiver down your spine as his mouth detaches from yours, down your jawline and on to your neck. he nips the heated skin, sucking lightly as your head rolls back, hips bucking forward. 

between your thighs, you feel his cock twitch, throbbing as you grind against it. 

“fuck.” he moans, jaw clenching as your hand glides along the waistband of his boxers, “you just can’t wait, can you?”

“no daddy,” the innocence notes, so pure, so sweet, drip in his ears, “i can’t wait. i need you to fuck me.”

oh fuck. 

he was going to ruin you. 

absolutely ruin you. 

“take these off,” fingers hook the band of your panties, “the shirt too. and bend over.”

your cheeks burn at the authority in his tone. fuck, you couldn’t get enough of this. of him. since brackley, you were craving a moment like this. a moment where the two of you could just lose all inhibitions, completely enamored with one another. 

sliding his boxers down his legs, toto kicks them to the floor. raising his arms, he peels off his shirt, tossing it. yet, as his attention shifts back to the bed, he nearly unravels right there.

your back is arched, your ass jiggling as you situate yourself on the bed, getting more comfortable. as he can’t help but stare, his heart flutters as he takes in the way your body flows. how your shoulders, toned and defined, ripple as his fingertips roam. how the curve of your ass sits perfectly below your waist. how your pussy looks from this angle, dripping as you anticipate his next move. 

fuck, this must be a dream. 

it had to be a dream. 

“you’re perfect,” toto murmurs, dropping to his knees, “absolutely perfect, my love.”

“my lo–” you begin, yet the words never leave your mouth.

his tongue finds your swollen clit, savoring the way the juices seep onto his tongue. hands spread your cheeks, granting him access to your weeping pussy. pleasure washes over you, your moans flooding the space, reverberating off the walls. 

however, that pleasure quickly fades as he pulls away, a whine rising in your throat. 

“toto.”

“what?” his voice is low as he taunts you, “what do you want, schatzi? tell me, what do you need?”

“i need you,” you whimper, wiggling your hips, “please, i need you.”

“and what do you need me to do?” his hands grip your ass, squeezing, “i won’t give it to you till i hear you say it.”

“i need you to fuck me.”

“braves mädchen,” the praise rolls off of his tongue, and for a moment, he’s guilty at how easy it is giving it to you, “good girl.”

licking his lips, toto relishes the lingering taste as spit accumulates in his mouth, falling onto his fingers. his hand glides along his cock, wetting it. 

the moment his tip pushes inside of you, your walls expanding, back arching instinctively, he loses it. 

as he pounds into your drenched pussy, you grip the sheets, knuckles turning white as a hand weaves into your hair, tugging on the roots, “do you have any idea how much i’ve missed you baby?”

“i-i’ve missed you too,” you grit your teeth as his tip brushes against your g-spot, the pleasure absolutely overwhelming, clouding your senses, “i’ve missed this so much, toto.”

“what is it that you called me last night?” 

oh fuck. 

he remembered. 

“i called you daddy.”

“that’s right,” he coos, the noises filling the room downright sinful as he plowed into you, hips slapping against your ass, “good girl. lewis and george heard your entire conversation with me, you know that?”

oh god. oh fuck. fuck, fuck, fuck. 

“but you know what? i don’t give a fuck what they heard. you’re mine, schatzi. all mine.”

with every thrust, stars burst in your field of vision, the pressure growing in your abdomen. the fabric of the sheet balled up in your hands as you held on, desperate for your climax. 

toto could sense that you were close with the ways your walls were squeezing his cock. the way your muscles strain, tensing up. the way your voice was practically crying out his name as he fucked you senseless. 

fuck, was he crumbling now, the control slipping away by the second. 

“i-i’m going to cum,” fuck, were you so pretty like this, exactly where he wanted you, teetering on the edge of your orgasm, “toto, you’re going to make me cum.”

“let go baby,” maintaining his pace, toto leans down, lips planting sloppy kisses all over your shoulders, down your back, “cum for me. you can let go. be a good girl and cum for me.”

the feeling that overcomes you is nothing like you had ever felt before. 

it’s euphoria, pure euphoria. 

seconds later, you feel him pull out, coating your back with his cum. collapsing into the bed, your chest heaves, inner thighs spasming. 

toto disappears momentarily, slipping into your bathroom. moments later, warmth envelops your back as he cleans you up, murmuring praises under his breath. they were in german, your heart swelling as he’s beside you once again, hands gliding along your body, savoring the way you feel against him. 

“what?” 

“nothing,” you melt as his gaze meets yours, “just you.”

in that moment, you swear you see stars shining in those mocha depths. you notice another emotion glinting, but you are unsure of what it could be.

well, you have an idea.

but you're far too nervous to ask.

“what about me?”

“you’re just beautiful,” he murmurs, “my beautiful girl.”

“about that,” you scoot closer, your head resting in the crook of his neck, “what are we?”

his chest vibrates as he speaks, “what do you want us to be?” 

“i want to be yours,” you whisper, so quiet that you were unsure if he even heard you, “as in i want to be your girlfriend. i want to wake up next to you every day. i want to come home to you every night. more than anything, your face is the first one i want to see after a race. i want to hold your hand as we walk to the podium. i want to be able to love you. i can’t do this anymore. i can’t just lie and act nonchalant. i want you, toto. i want you every day. every hour. every minute. every second.” 

toto finds himself at a loss for words, blood roaring in his ears as she sucks in a breath, her voice trembling, laced with the threat of tears. 

yet, they weren’t tears of sadness. it was more like a cathartic release, like she was finally confessing her deepest, well-kept secret. like she was finally allowing the walls guarding her heart to come crumbling down.

“i’m accepting your offer. i want to drive for mercedes. however, i can’t wait any longer. i can’t be away from you any longer than i have to. i want to start driving for mercedes as soon as possible.”

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖

taglist: @younxii @toldyouitwasamelodrama @kravitzwhore @persona1lies @pucksandpower @k3ira13 @prettiest-at-the-party @martwll @annewithaneofthegreengable @zoeyjadetice2010  @sinners-98-world @laura-naruto-fan1998 @nebarious @joalslibrary @swifth0lic @statuewoman @strangegirl974 @thatgirlthatreadswattpad @m-1234 @whoisss @msbyjackal @annaaepf1 @paigelouise

as always, if i forgot to add you, or if you would like to be added to the taglist, let me know! thank you all for the endless support and love for this series! y'all are the sweetest! <3

#toto wolff #toto wolff x reader #formula 1 #f1 #formula one #alkaline series #formula one x reader #f1 x reader #alkaline #alkaline: female driver! x toto wolff #toto wolff smut #toto wolff x y/n #toto wolff x you #mercedes amg petronas #williams racing #george russell #lewis hamilton #formula one fanfiction #formula 1 fanfic

[box-of-roses]

♡.﹀﹀Chapstick﹀﹀.♡

Characters: Tsukki, Kageyama, Hinata, Makki, Mattsun, Iwaizumi, Sakusa, Atsumu

Warnings: None that I can think of <3

Synopsis: What chapstick I think the different Haikyuu characters would use

Tsukki

Strawberry

Probably not one to just have chapstick on him at all times so he steals yours

When you first notice he’s been stealing your chapstick you can’t help but smile

Everytime you kiss it tastes like strawberries now because he’s started carrying his own supply of chapstick so you kiss him more often (not that he would admit that)

“Kei, have you seen my chapstick?” You ask as you start looking around the room. You were sure you left it in here. Not on the table, not on the couch…where could it have gone?

“Yeah, I have it right here. You really need to be more careful where you leave your things dummy.” He rolls his eyes and holds out the chapstick to you. You notice a sheen across his lips though and smile a little. 

“Did you use my chapstick?” 

“And if I did? What are you gonna do about it?” You laugh a little and lean into his face. 

“My lips are a little chapped if you don’t mind.” With that you kiss him and while he’s still in shock take your chapstick back. “You know if you wanted to use it you could’ve just asked.”

Kageyama

Milk Tea

He unlike some others on this list would keep chapstick on him

You’re the one who steals his chapstick

He gets the same flavor every time and goes to one specific store because it’s the only one that carries that flavor

“Tobi, take me with you!” You cling to him. He rolls his eyes and shrugs a bit to get you up and walking by yourself. 

“Sure, you can come with me. Maybe you can get some of your own chapstick while you’re at it.” He teases and gives you a smile. You shove him playfully.

“Then where would be my reason to kiss you?”

“Maybe you can just kiss your boyfriend?” He raises an eyebrow at you and opens the door to the store for you. 

“Nah! It’s more fun this way.” 

He gets jealous when you do in fact find a chapstick and stop kissing him when your lips get chapped

He 100% hides the chapstick so you have to come to him again

Hinata

Cake

Another one to steal your chapstick

It was a random one you had in your bag so you just gave it to him from your stash

Definitely only uses cake flavors now because it reminds him of you

Hinata looked around everywhere for the small tube of vanilla cake chapstick you had given him. He was upset that he couldn’t find it. Where was it? He looked everywhere before he gave up. He was sulking on the couch when you returned home. “Y/N, I’m sorry.” He sniffles.

You rush over to him and sit down in front of him. “Oh, Sho, what’s wrong?” You cup his face.

“I lost the chapstick you gave me.” You start laughing. 

“Is that it?” You smile and rummage through your bag before pulling out another chapstick. “I have more, you know.” You hand the chapstick to him. Birthday Cake. 

You noticed he liked the cake flavors so you kept a stash with you at all times incase he happened to lose another one

He found the chapstick he lost the next week, turns out he left it at practice

When you lose your chapstick though he’s there proudly offering the one you gave to him

Makki

Hot Coco

Got it on a whim

Now during Christmas time he stocks up because you told him you liked how his lips tasted once

This doesn’t mean he doesn’t like playing tricks on you though

Remember that trend where people were kissing their partners with lip plumper? Yeah he 100% did that to you

Makki smiled as his plan was coming together. You were going to come home any minute and he was the picture of a doting boyfriend. Sitting on the couch waiting patiently for you to return so you could give him a kiss. 

When you do finally walk through the door you smile and rush to your boyfriend. He’ll never get over how your face lights up when you see him. It’s probably one of his favorite things, that he can make you happy just by being there. You immediately go down to kiss him. After a few minutes though your lips start tingling. Your eyes narrow at him. “Makki. Did you put lip plumper on?”

“Are my kisses that electric to you honey?” He says with a shit eating grin on his face. Well, that answers that question. 

It’s okay though, you get back at him 

You two keep each other on your toes but there’s no denying that when you kiss him and taste hot coco you fall in love all over again

Iwaizumi

Mint

A traditional man

Not against changing flavors if you give it to him though

He always has one on him, a habit he picked up from Oikawa

Definitely teases you though when you first kissed him and recoiled because you weren’t expecting mint

You had finally worked up enough nerve to kiss Iwaizumi. You lean in slowly but once your lips touch you jump back. Your lips tingle and you’re not sure why. Iwaizumi starts laughing though. “My lips are so tingly!” You whisper-yell and put your hand over your mouth. It’s then that you notice the smell of mint. “Hajime! How could you,” you push him back a little. 

“Sorry my love! I didn’t know you would react like that!” This time though you’re prepared when he kisses you again. The tingling of the mint fades away quickly and it’s replaced by the warmth of his lips

As a result his kisses are cold and then warm

You learn to love the cold and find it refreshing, especially if he’s coming back from his morning run and you need a kiss to wake you up

Pair that with his mint toothpaste and you’ve got a recipe to wake you up and get ready for the day

Mattsun

Blueberry Poptart

He tries to find the weirdest flavors he can

He just also really likes the Blueberry Poptart flavor though so it’s the one he always comes back to

It’s a hard flavor to find but he thinks it’s worth it for the smile you make when you notice the flavor

Chapstick game with his collection

Mattsun thought with his collection of wacky flavors it would be fun to play the chapstick game. A good excuse to kiss you as much as he wanted to without any other reason. Of course you agreed so here the two of you were, sitting on your bed with chapstick splayed out on the blanket. 

“So, do you want to go first?” You ask as you look at all the options. Mattsun smiles and nods. 

“Yeah, sure. Close your eyes though. No cheating.” He could care less about if you cheated or not. He just wanted to kiss you for hours. Hence why he brought out his full collection of 60 different flavors. You were going to be here for a while.

It was the chapstick you were wearing on your first date when he kissed you (That’s why he comes back to it) 

You two also definitely play the chapstick game again whenever either of you want to kiss each other without a good reason

Sakusa

Cherry

Another simple man

He just wants his lips to be hydrated

Enjoys your smile when you kiss him and realize it’s cherry though

There’s nothing sentimental about it you just like the taste of cherry chapstick

Your first kiss wasn’t anything spectacular. The both of you were nervous but weren’t sure why. The two of you had kissed other people before so why was it so nerve wracking this time? Sakusa is the one who gets his head together first and cups your face. He pulls down his mask and smiles softly at you. “Are you ready?”

You nod your head with a shaky smile. Both of you lean in and it’s a very nice kiss. It’s gentle and you’re not sure why you were so worried before. The both of you pull away with a smile. “That wasn’t so scary. We were just being silly. Also, the cherry is nice. I like it.” You say and lean back in for another. He lets out a small chuckle and leans back in too. 

Will only try a new chapstick if you’re the one wearing it

If he really wants to try it he’ll give you a quick kiss before standing back up and acting like nothing happened

Atsumu

Fanta

Another weird chapstick connoisseur 

He just really likes Fanta so he keeps some on him wherever he goes

He has at least 6 of them at a time; One in his gym bag, school bag, pants pocket, jacket pocket, one at home on the counter, and one on the bedside table

Also on that enjoys the shocked look on your face

He had only just started carrying around chapstick after he learned your lips could get sunburnt. Needless to say when you kissed him goodbye that morning Fanta was certainly not what you were expecting to taste. He just stands there smirking as you lick your lips confused. “Is that…Fanta? Do you have Fanta chapstick?” 

“Guilty as charged.” He says and leans against the door frame. “Want another one?” You roll your eyes but pull him into another kiss. 

“Not what I was expecting but it’s not bad.” 

Switches it up with other soda flavors

Loves surprising you but that doesn’t mean you can’t surprise him too

You find a Pepper chapstick and rewrap it so it looks like the Fanta one

Payback for all the times he’s pranked you

I hope you guys enjoyed! Once again an impulse post 💀 let me know if you want a part two with different characters!!! <3

masterlist

rules

#haikyu x reader #hq x reader #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu x reader #iwaizumi x reader #shroom writes #tsukishima x reader #tsukishima kei x reader #kageyama tobio x reader #kageyama x reader #hinata shoyo x reader #hinata x reader #hanamaki x reader #hanamaki takahiro x reader #matsukawa issei x reader #matsukawa x reader #iwaizumi hajime x reader #sakusa x reader #sakusa kiyoomi x reader #atsumu x reader #atsumu miya x reader

[hitlikehammers]

Steddie Missed Connection AU

feat. Craigslist-trawling-wingwoman!Robin + earnest-LA-transplant!Steve + rockstar!Eddie ✨ inspired by this actual Craigslist love story

It’s always about a 50/50 shot when Robin starts making her little back-of-the-throat squealing noises. Up to a certain pitch, Steve could pretend he had his AirPods on noise cancellation mode.

Once she reached fire-alarm-screeching levels, it overrode the settings and boom: he lost his fall guy.

Thanks, Apple.

But that’s where they are, and the squealing plus the screen in her hands, plus the way her leg’s bouncing against the table they’re both sitting at—which would have overrrode Steve’s AirPod excuse in about a minute because she’s gonna start splashing his glass of orange juice in a hot second—but all of it lumped together?

He’s lucky he’s retained his athletic reflexes post-high school—maybe only because of being joined-at-the-hip with this particular platonic soulmate, really—because by the time she’s swinging her iPad from its case to plop right down in front of him?

At least he’s quick enough to save his overnight oats from becoming aluminum-flavored when she drops the goddamn thing down without warning—caseless, the heathen—and makes indecipherable noises Steve thinks he’s maybe only heard at the zoo as she taps her nail with an migraine-inducing click on the screen.

Steve…supposes this means he’s obligated to look.

He sighs, fully expecting a dumb meme or a ‘cute TikTok’ because he knows who he fucking lives with; he reaches across the table and unfolds his glasses—really, assaulting him with this before he can even get his contacts in…

And it’s a…webpage. Like: just a webpage. A boring webpage, even. Definitely not matching up with the…squealing and table-sized earthquake of bouncing knees. He squints, tries to make it make sense.

Oh. Wow. He didn’t…

Steve did not actually know Craigslist still existed, let alone that people still used it. He was pretty sure the things for sale were always just kidnapping plots with extra steps, and then also that finding a person you walked past that one time was an FYP problem to solve. But.

Here, in front of him, in black and white and honestly like no other color:

Steve squints; it was posted this morning, but only just. Like 4am. So the last afternoon for there to be a one o’clock hour was—

Yesterday.

His yesterday was uneventful. Went shopping with Robs. Filled up the freezer and overbought shit again so they had a kind of massive and wholly mismatched dinner with the leftovers nearly popping open the fridge door. Can’t take the Midwesterner out of the man or woman, apparently.

Definitely nothing like the day this poor soul on a maybe-less-dead-than-presumed website had had. But Steve won’t pretend his heart doesn’t clench a little when he finishes reading because…it’s cheesy.

But Steve’s always been into that romantic…stuff.

“That’s very sweet,” he lands on commenting before passing the tablet back to Robin, who’s staring at him with frankly terrifying eyes. Like: lost-your-fucking-mind eyes.

“Steven.”

“What?”

“Steven.”

“Robin.”

He won’t even pretend he doesn’t jump with the metal slams on the wood where Robin narrowly misses flipping his bowl of sadly-abandoned oats with her iPad again when she slaps it down in from of him and points frantically yet again.

“Look at the location.”

Steve tilts his head.

Oh. He’d just looked at the time. And it’s not like the location in the title was…unique on its own.

“Huh,” he huffs with a shrug when he sees their part of the city listed in the main link up top. “Coinkydink.”

Robin’s growl starts deep, like a diaphragmatic thrum and Steve would be terrified of her if she were anyone else.

As it is: he’s only mildly unsettled. Specifically because the growl rumbles so…long.

Like at least a minute before she screams bloody fucking murder:

“My hair was in the buns!”

And the way she screeches it, and the maniacal twitch of those eyes…she’s saying more than those words, with those words.

Which means Steve has to put in effort to follow her coded message style of communicating, fucking hell. He hasn’t even eaten his breakfast.

He tries to think it through, at least manages to down his glass of OJ so it can’t be a sacrifice to flying iPads when he thinks he…

“Wait.”

Steve frowns. Robin just blinks.

“You don’t,” he shakes his head, or starts to, it’s a slow motion thing; “you don’t like honestly think,” but even as he’s saying it, the look in her eyes starts to make sense, and answers for him:

“This is not about me.”

Because: seriously.

“We were laughing!” Robin is immediate with her rebuttal, still in her screeching era. “No one else was there!”

“Because we specifically time our shopping for when people are at lunch on a weekday,” Steve counters quick, tries to cut her off at the pass; “a statistically slow window of opportunity for us to debate the list!”

“We write the list to avoid debating,” Robin answers in a more sedate, be reasonable now, dingus tone before she shakes her head and scowls and:

“Stop distracting me!”

Yep, back to the screeching.

“Why were you even on that fucking site?” Steve sighs as he crosses his arms and leans back in his chair.

“Steven,” Robin says again in that fucking tone that always means he’s missing the biggest, far-more-important point but does jack shit to help him find it.

“Robina.”

“Not my name, eww.”

“Well, now you know how I feel when you make up a middle name for me,” Steve sticks his tongue out very maturely to her scrunched up face: “they’re never even nice ones,” he adds, because they’re really not; “and I do know that was your next move so,” he smacks his hands opposite the screen on the table in front of him in victory as he crows:

“Denied.”

“This isn’t basketball,” Robin’s working her tongue around her lips inside her mouth, which is always deadly foreshadowing; “you didn’t block my shot or whatever—“

“Didn’t I?” Steve pushes because, well, one, he did, and two, the original conversation was absurd even for them.

“Maybe it was so empty because his security was there.”

Steve frowns. The tone’s too…even. No. No: too haughty.

“The fuck does that mean?”

“I said he looked like a rockstar,” she leans to grab back her tablet and poke near the top, obviously switching browser tabs: “so I did some digging.”

“Robin, what city do we live in?” Steve asks as she works, because yes, Steve remembers seeing a very hot fucking dude staring less in their direction than looking dumbstruck-lost as hell, and he’d considered walking over to ask if he needed help—Midwestern transplant to the bone—which was accompanied by the stray I’d fuck that gorgeous toothpick silly, but in the paper product aisle, like on the 48-count pack of Charmin, he looks soft under all that leather—then both thoughts were swiftly abandoned when the toothpick’s eyes met Steve’s and Steve maybe had to force himself to finish laughing at a joke he can’t remember now, that Robin told, because his skin felt like it was burning a little except the sun had poked behind a cloud, and his throat, it had like, it had just, it—

It just felt…weird.

He does remember that.

“But we don’t see rockstars every day,” which is fair, their neighborhood in particular is less music biz than others.

“Plus, look at this!”

Then she’s shoving the iPad back in front of Steve: it’s a TMZ shot or some other pap photo that’s more than half blur. It is indeed the parking lot at their Costco. And it does…feature a toothpick-esque figure looking similar to the one Steve remembers, but it’s more from the back than the side. And like, anyone can wear that much black in the summer. It’s a free country.

“And look at him!”

She split-screens to a Wikipedia article about a band even Steve’s heard of, if not for listening to them himself. It…he glances at the paparazzi shot.

Lead guitarist of Corroded Coffin Sighted Getting Groceries Just Like Normal People in Mar—

And then he looks back to the wiki: okay. Same band name. The guy with the guitar in the photo looks…

He has the same hair.

“Don’t tell me it’s just coincidence.”

Steve rolls his eyes.

“It is just coincidence.”

“Steve.”

Steve feels his face sour.

“I know that tone,” because he does. It never leads to things he enjoys.

“You’ve thought about him.”

“He was gorgeous,” Steve thinks he surprises her with his honesty but like, what does he have to gain by lying? Plus:

“LA’s is like the plastic surgery capital of the fucking world, it’d be kinda sad if a lot of people generally weren’t pretty.”

“He wasn’t that kind of pretty.”

And fuck if they don’t share a brain cell; fuck if she doesn’t see right through him.

“And that’s not why you’ve been thinking about him.”

And fuck if she doesn’t know Steve, far too well.

“I never once said I’d been thinking about,” he hears the words and knows they’re weak, goddamnit.

“You never had to,” Robin smiles a little and taps an annoying finger at the screen again, that’a somehow flipped right back to the Craigslist ad thingy.

And she’s actually not entirely right, because he hadn’t thought much about the gorgeous toothpick man with curls Steve wanted to be smothered by, suffocate in like a pillow. But when he did?

He’d thought most about how he looked soft, on the inside. Thought wild and idiotic things like maybe his soft could match Steve’s soft when no one else’s ever had and he was always left bruised for it, more than once near-unhealable, and maybe they could, like, if their softnesses matched, then like—

Something.

But Steve always comes on too strong, wants too much, hopes to hard and way too fast, though this shit might take the cake, there: so it was idiotic and he’d left that train of thought to derail on its own and—

Did that come on too strong?

His gaze snags on the words, those exact words up on the screen and he’s very tempted to start growling deep in the pit of his stomach, take a cue from Robin’s absurdity.

“Don’t you have a class to get to?” Steve asks, looking pointedly at the clock on the microwave: he knows she does. Pottery making. For self-edification.

She scowls but looks—swears colorfully because it’s later than she thought as she jumps up and goes to presumably…do whatever she does in the bathroom to get ready to leave and look her lesbian-luring best before she gets smattered in wet clay.

Steve remains unclear on whether that look’s more or less attractive to the specific ladies she’s trying to bait.

Either way: it prompts Robin to drop her one-woman campaign insisting Steve’s soulmate of the romantic flavor is calling our desperately into the void of the internet. But it also, however, has the…side-effect of making the time itself an obvious thing. 11:09.

Rob’s gonna take the car, she’s got…supplies and stuff.

Why that’s important is…lost on him.

He could debase himself and brave the bus, if he got off at Washington and—

What the fuck.

What. The. Fuck.

Steve very forcefully shoves Robin’s iPad back across the table and doesn’t think about anything, especially not the numbers, like the number 214, like two hours and fourteen minutes until—

Steve nearly chokes himself on his fucking spoon with how violently he shoves it, full of oats, between his lips. As if he can shut his brain up as easy as he can his mouth.

It…actually kinda works. He might have chipped a tooth.

——————

In the end, Steve is proud of himself for being reasonable and having standards. He doesn’t take a fucking bus to meet a stranger in a Costco parking lot, Jesus Christ. Come on.

He books an Uber.

(And yes, he and Robin agreed no solo Ubers for a month to save up to have the air conditioner looked at before it copped out on them because their landlord only gave a shit if it was dead-dead and yes, maybe she’d gone so far as to put their account on a hold you had to call and remove to avoid temptation—though of the two of them, she definitely had the bigger problem—but little did she think on the fact that while you had to link a phone number, you could just use Google Voice and make a new account and no, Steve’s not insane, or a hopeless romantic, or almost-asking-for-heartbreak-on-the-regular, thank you very much.

He is resourceful. And it’s only like $15 with tip. It’s a quick ride.)

He asks to be dropped near the back of the lot, and takes the walk up slow. Almost goes the long way, straight into the store. Almost turns back entirely.

But then he sees those curls.

And his throat does the…the weird tight thing for no fucking reason, and his feet don’t ask permission to walk in the direction of the man standing…less dumbstruck, now. Even from the back it’s clear.

Now: he’s waiting.

Steve can barely breathe, can’t fucking swallow for the state of his throat, but his feet still aren’t waiting for permission, so it’s only fucking seconds before he’s close enough to catch a whiff of cologne and then—

“Sorry,” Steve ducks around the man from behind and reaches out automatically to steady him when he startles. “Hey, sorry, you just looked like maybe you were looking for something?” Steve smiles as open, as reassuring as he knows. “Just wanted to check if you needed any help.”

Keep it casual, Steve, keep it fucking friendly and extra polite and—

“Oh my god.”

The guy barely breathes it out, his eyes so wide, and Steve doesn’t know why he hasn’t moved his hand from the guy’s arm but Steve can feel the electric current that runs through him, like the finest grade of trembling. And electricity, right, it travels. Conducts.

In case you felt your heart skip just one beat, didn’t even have to full-on stop—

And even that proximity to this man is nothing compared to hearing his voice, low and a little syrupy even as he stares in shock, in disbelief—and oh. Oh, but what was it the guy had written in his post? About feeling the earth move a little, or like, rewiring your cells just for meeting eyes?

Steve, he’s…

Yeah. Yeah.

Okay.

“You’re here.”

Steve blinks, rocked back to the moment to deal with the new tilt of the globe and the spontaneous realignment of his insides later. This guy’s looking at Steve like he’s unbelievable, like he’s miraculous, like he’s…

Sunshine.

“I’m here?” Steve asks, a little breathy, a little curious.

“I,” the guy swallows, lips shiny as he bites at them, fucking adorable; “I saw you, umm, yesterday and I maybe, well, possibly I wrote some,” he fumbles and sounds like he’s building up to eventual hysterics, so Steve acts wholly on instinct and reaches further now to catch at both his hands.

“Relax,” Steve breathes out with a smile, and doesn’t overthink smoothing his thumbs over the guy’s knuckles, just in case it soothes him.

“My friend,” Steve lets go with one hand and grabs his phone to show the page he’d loaded on the ride here; “she was convinced it was you, about me. I wasn’t, so,” he shakes his head quick when something falls in the guy’s face, something dims: oh, umm, no.

He cannot have that.

“Not trying to catch you out or something,” Steve exhales it warm, as reassuring as he can, with his whole chest as he grabs the guy’s hands in both his own again—since he seemed to not mind; “just,” and Steve shrugs even as he smiles a little, less self-deprecating with it than he’d probably have landed on if the guy hadn’t reacted to Steve’s hands on his by clinging back so tight:

“Just a little hard to believe, is all.”

The man barely lets the words settle before his jaw drops almost comically and he demands, high-pitched and somehow still rumbling, something commanding in it nonetheless:

“How?”

Like it’s unimaginable. Like Steve reading that post and walking into this lot and striding up to a perfect stranger—who may or may not be very famous but that’s actually not even a little bit of the point—but a stranger who would want to see him—

But then Steve’s meeting the guy’s eyes again; hadn’t wholly realized he’d been staring at their hands more than anything. Those eyes are like the night sky, swirling and endless and sparking in the right slant of light, and Steve feels them like a welcome, like a cushion of the stars, like a safe landing in a chaotic universe.

He doesn’t even know this man.

But he thinks…yesterday. Yesterday, his heart didn’t stop, not like this guy had written, but Steve understands now what it did do instead, the thing he did remember, the tightness in his throat: his heart didn’t stop.

It just surged upward and took up residence to pound at his trachea where it tripped instead. Which is kinda where he’s back to right now.

“Could I,” the guy’s voice is rough, shaky, and so is he, Steve feels it where he’s still got his hand gripped firm; “would it be too much to ask if I could hug you?”

And he huffs a breath, and it sounds too….too small, like he’s afraid or ashamed and it pings something hateful, but so much more protective in Steve’s blood just to hear it as he confesses on a end of an exhale:

“I just want to know if you’re real.”

And Steve didn’t grow up a hugger, but he sure as shit’s grown into one; he’d be one of those people standing in the city with a ‘Free Hugs’ sign without much convincing. But this guy.

This man in front of him who may or may not be famous, is definitely a stranger either way save that he poured out some lines on the internet that maybe exceeded the term ‘heartfelt’ by a mile, who may or may not be standing in here, inside this moment, for something like fate because…Steve did feel it.

Maybe he didn’t think twice about the immensity it could have, not in the moment, because he’d been shopping, and Robin’s story was funny and maybe he was just struck by his luck in living a life with his platonic soulmate and knowing joy; surely your heart can trip for that and just because it never had before, just because it did this one first time when he crossed eyes with a genuinely beautiful man who left Steve with half-a-second’s certainty that looking any longer would flay wide this unknown person’s soul for Steve to sift through: but Steve felt things like that easy, always had. Romanticized nothings like it was a profession.

But it never hit like this had, has—is—before, if indeed this is actually anything—

And Steve’s heart is still tripping but it’s back in his chest, and he knows it because where he’s pressed against this guy’s kinda-gasping chest, now, close and tight? Maybe Steve’s never paid attention before, or maybe Steve’s just never…touched like this before, even if all they’re doing is hugging in a fucking parking lot.

But.

He’s pressed there and his heart’s tripping in his chest and he knows it wholly and fully because he can feel this man’s heartbeat next to his own—and where it should be a battle, because it’s pounding, both of them are, one side literally against the other?

It feels like a caress. It feels like, like…

Steve closes his eyes tight because they start to sting with the single word it feels like: impossible, absurd, but…

Here he is. He’s never felt someone’s heartbeat pressed up against his own before. Definitely never felt—never dreamt—that it could feel like it fits.

He leans back when he thinks he’s got a hold on the hopelessness of his tender-hearted absurdity, but the guy is staring at him already when he does and suddenly Steve’s got a handle on absolutely nothing except his pulse jackrabbiting some more but then also feeling…like it lost something. Like it’s not complete.

And the man, he’s staring with those eyes so wide again but now it’s like he’s…it’s kinda like he knows. He knows his eyes are going to let Steve flay him wide open.

It’s like he’s begging Steve to…look. To look and less to take, and more to…have.

Maybe, maybe to keep?

And…how?

“Do you feel it?” the guy whispers, those deep dark eyes so big: just these vulnerable, bleeding hearts on main. “Even just—“ he tries to walk back, to open it all up wider, desperate and hopeful and Steve hears all of it because it’s all written in the same key as all that Steve knows, all that Steve is. Somehow.

Somehow.

So Steve blinks, too many times before he grabs the man harder and drags him in again to hold, hold, hold until the heartbeat on either side of Steve’s ribs is reaching for the other, touching. Until they’re holding on, too, and once they do, then he can whisper, warm and maybe wet in the crook of this man’s neck, this stranger who’s holding onto his heart now, unfathomable, as he speaks words he doesn’t have to think about first to know they’re going to shift the world again, this time so they both can know it in the souls of them together, all at once:

“I feel it.”

For @hbyrde36, who requested 'Missed Connection AU' at my HOBBIT-STYLE BIRTHDAY MONTH PROMPT FEST

✨permanent tag list: OPEN (lmk if you want to be added/removed): @pearynice @hbyrde36 @slashify @finntheehumaneater @wxrmland @dreamwatch @perseus-notjackson @estrellami-1 @bookworm0690 @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @nerdyglassescheeseychick @swimmingbirdrunningrock @goodolefashionedloverboi @sanctumdemunson @theheadlessphilosopher @lawrencebshoggoth

divider credits here and here

💫 ao3 link here

#steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #fluff #romance #missed connection AU #modern AU #love at first sight #rockstar!eddie munson #(but it's 100% secondary to:) #eddie immediate-heart-eyes munson #steve the perpetual romantic harrington #maybe this is the time he doesn't get burned for it either #(bah that's hilarious—MAYBE—as if there's a chance that it's NOT) #criminally soft #schmoop #slightly-crazed-wingwomen!robin #endearing platonic soulmate bickering #platonic stobin #stranger things #gift fic #hbyrde36 #hitlikehammers' hobbit-birthday prompt fest #hitlikehammers v words #hitlikehammers writes

[gyuswhore]

Never Shall We Die (1)

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

PAIRING: kwon soonyoung x reader

PLAYLIST: right here!

pirate lingo glossary (pls refer!)

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

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

WORD COUNT [full fic]: 48.1k

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

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

masterlist

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 tagin following parts

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

HOSHI’S BOOT IS STUCK in the ground. 

No, that’s a branch. 

Or is it a plank? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hoshi needs to start thinking more often.

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

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

“Hm.”

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

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

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

Or does it?

“Who wants to steal a ship?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You recognise the frazzled looking soldier at your door. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No. You have one more option. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“W-what?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You wait with baited breath. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What?

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

Hoshi. Hoshi. Hoshi. 

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

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

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

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

This was bad. Very bad.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How are you so sure?” you spit.

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

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

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

This was life, the most terrifying nightmare of all. 

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

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

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

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

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

There’s a pause. 

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

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

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

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

If it’s his ship that he wants…

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

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

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

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

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

“I can help you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

You gulp as discreetly as possible.

“I want something in exchange.”

He raises his eyebrows, staring at you to continue. 

“I want you to kill my father.”

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

“I want you to kill my father.”

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

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

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

Is he about to cut your hands off?

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

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

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

“What?”

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

“I’m being serious.”

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

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

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

“I’ll protect you.”

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

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

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

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

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

“And your conclusion is to eliminate him.”

“I don’t have another choice.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So he was considering it. 

“But you’re the captain.”

“And?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I did.” 

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

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

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

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

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

“And if I led you astray?”

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

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

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

“So I’ve heard.”

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

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

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

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

He lets out a big sigh, “Follow me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How do you reckon we go about that?”

“What message have you given the Admiral?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Almost?” he questions.

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

“He’ll be there. I’m sure of it.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Captain! One of the—oh.” 

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

Your instinct forces you to take a slow step backwards. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then he’s gone. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You just saved his life.

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

“Where did you find this?” Jun asks. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Should we—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But—”

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

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

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

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

“Not even an inkling?”

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

“But?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How did you shake him off last time?”

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

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

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

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

“Portwater?” 

“Too far.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There was something you wanted from him. 

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

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

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

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

But then again, were you a captive anymore?

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

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

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

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

A kid. He was a child. 

“I…yeah I’d never done it before.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

So you pulled the trigger. 

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

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

“I know.”

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

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

“I want to learn to use a knife.”

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

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

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

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

“Seemed pretty alright with that revolver.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hasry. Right. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Knife?” Chan asks, confused. 

“Miss princess wants to learn to fight—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ten coin.”

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

“I’ll do seven!” 

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

"I don’t have coin,” you rasp. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Princess?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you alright?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you feel better now?”

“A little,” you answer. 

“Maybe a weapon can help.”

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

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

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

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

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

He smirks. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Come on, find a pace,” he grunts. 

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

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

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

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

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

Oh. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I keep going because I live without regret.”

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

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

You remain silent. 

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

Sighing, you ask him, “Why?”

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

“That insinuates you think before you act.”

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

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

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

“You’ve looked into my eyes?” 

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

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

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

Never turn your back to your opponent, my ass. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

That could’ve been your throat.

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

That could’ve been your throat.

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

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

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

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

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

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

One deep breath, a slow exhale.

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

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

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

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

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

You just pushed Chan overboard. 

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

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

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

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

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

You make your way over, crouching beside Chan sheepishly. 

“Sorry about that, got carried away.”

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

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

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

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

Hoshi pushed him into the water. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s nostalgic, and you hate it. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Make me what? you grind. 

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

“Nothing,” he says, to your surprise. 

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

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

#svthub #hoshi fluff #hoshi smut #hoshi angst #hoshi fic #hoshi imagines #hoshi x reader #hoshi #soonyoung smut #soonyoung fluff #soonyoung scenarios #soonyoung imagines #soonyoung x reader #seventeen #soonyoung #seventeen flluff #seventeen smut #seventeen angst #seventeen fic recs #svt #svt smut #svt fluff #svt imagines #svt scenarios #svt x reader #em.writes

[violetarks]

“baby keep talking, but nobody’s listening!”

anime: jujutsu kaisen

characters: gojo satoru, choso, fushiguro toji

summary: they find you on a date with someone they've never seen before, but they don't need to look for long to see how bored you were. deciding for you that it would be the first and only date you ever went on with that man, they come to your rescue.

warnings: afab! reader, she/her pronouns used, reader is on a date with a man, said date sucks ass (trying to regulate what y/n eats, snarky comments, egotistical, rude to hospitality workers), shoko/itadori/shiu help set you up on a date but they suck at it

↣ gojo satoru

"satoru, you have to get out," you huff at him, crossed arms over your chest. he sat on your cough, flicking through tv channels. "my date is coming here in ten minutes!"

"you mean the stranger that shoko met at the mall and said would 'totally be your type'?" he says, looking over his shoulder to you. you raise a brow. "c'mon, blow him off. we need to finish 'the last of us'!"

"don't you dare watch it while i'm gone, satoru, or god so help me—" your phone rings, interrupting your threat. you answer when you see the number of your date. "hello? oh, yes, this is y/n."

you begin to walk to grab your keys and your bag, satoru following after you when you suddenly stop.

"oh, uh... you want to meet there?" you say, tilting your head, "no, that's fine, i'll leave now. see you—..."

"he's not coming to pick you up?" satoru questions, watching as you take out your car keys.

"he's actually already there. and he's ordered for me." you say with a bit of doubt in your voice. satoru can hear it. "it's fine, i should go now. don't you dare watch that show, i will kill you. see you, satoru."

the whole time you're gone, he can’t do anything. he’s sitting in silence for an hour, not even looking at his phone. he felt angry at himself.

so he followed you, obviously.

he looked up the restaurant you had mentioned to him before and saw the pictures posted online. it looked like such a nice first date place. and that boiled even more jealousy in him. of course he had to follow you.

and luckily he did; you looked miserable.

he takes out his phone as soon as possible.

“you know how many calories are in that meal?” your date said after the waiter left your table, “way better for you than what you wanted.”

you had just told him your favourite dish in the menu. and he told you he ordered you just a salad. while he got two meals because he was ‘bulking’.

when shoko showed you his instagram, you had to admit that he was cute. he was fit too, and you did your fair share of exercise. he had a nice smile and he also posted photos of his dog. but that couldn’t shield you from what was right in front of you.

you found out he was a model for a magazine you’ve never heard of, and while that was impressive, it was his whole personality. you asked about his pet, and he somehow turned it back to his career and how he did a fireman themed calendar last year. you’d think he was surely more than that, but it didn’t seem it. you had barely talked about yourself. it didn’t look like he was interested anyway.

“hm, what did i do today?” he thought out. you cringed at the way he tapped his chin, pretending to think. “i hit the gym at 5am, walked my pet for an hour and a half, took some photos for my resume since i’ve got a new deal coming up, and spent time from then to now just at the studio.”

you were waiting for him to ask about your day. he doesn’t.

“and you know, i’m actually the most valued model at my studio. they always call me for shoots, i’m always first on their list. you’d think i could catch a break every so often,” he chuckles out, rubbing up and down his arms. you hold back from rolling your eyes as you sip your water. “but it’s hard being so… handsome.”

you stare at him and fight the urge to roll your eyes once again.

"what about you?" the moment you've waited for comes a little too late. you're not even interested in speaking about yourself.

"well, i did some grocery shopping this morning—"

"what did you buy?"

"me and my friends are having a movie tomorrow, so i just bought some snacks for us," you explained for some reason, "chocolates, popcorn, chips—"

"junk food?" he scoffs back, "no, no, you don't need all that. you oughta' bring it back and get some fruit. way better for you."

you down the rest of your alcoholic drink you had ordered (the one thing he did let you choose) and look away.

that is when you feel a hand rest on your upper back.

"excuse me, ma'am," you look up and widen your eyes when you see satoru standing before you. he's wearing a white button-up, black slacks, dress shoes and a black waist apron. you freeze up. "the gentleman over there asked me to give you this, already paid for."

you look over to where he was pointing. nanami sits in his own suit as he waves his hand at you, pained smile. satoru places a mojito in front of you. your date stands up.

"the hell? doesn't he see that i'm here?" he scoffs as he stands up. his chair screeches against the floor, which collects everyone's attention in the restaurant. "he's insulting me! what a prick! i'm gonna fuck him up!"

"hey!" you stand up as he begins trudging over. satoru places a hand on your shoulder to stop you, and you see nanami roll his eyes and stand up as well, ready for the fight. "what are you two doing here? and why are you dressed like that?"

"i'm the ultimate undercover agent, of course," he replies. he begins pulling off his apron and dropping it on your seat. he hooks his arm with yours and smiles. "let's get outta' here."

"but my date—"

"he's fine," you watch as nanami dodges one of his punches with and irritated face. "nanami will take care of him."

you let him whisk you out of the restaurant while everyone is watching the two men fight (not really). satoru walks you to his car and starts the engine. you see nanami's car behind his.

"did you seriously bring him along to get me out of that date?" you chuckle as you stare at him. satoru purses his lips and looks away. "thank you, satoru. you didn't have to."

"you're welcome, gorgeous," he responds to you, "i could tell from the phone call that he wasn't all that. wonder what barrel they fished him out of."

you let out a small sigh and look out the window. you were embarrassed; this was the first date you've ever been set up on, and it went horribly. you knew you should've left earlier, not wait until satoru came along. he was your saviour for today, you had to admit.

but what was even worse, you seemingly let than man talk to you like that. you could chalk it up to just being friendly and giving him the best benefit of the doubt, but deep down you know you would never have let that slide with people you know. hell, yaga could speak to you that way and you would still give him an earful.

"don't be sad, y/n, now we can go to yours and watch our show," satoru attempts to cheer you up. he flashes you a smile. "i promise, i won't eat all your food."

"you're a liar, satoru." you laugh back.

"seriously though, that guy was a wreck. why did he keep talking about calories and stuff?" he mumbles out with a disapproving shake of his head, "i had to shut him up somehow. i should've just spilt the drink over him."

"oh god, what about the food? i didn't pay for my meal."

"you mean the salad you didn't want? i cancelled it for ya'."

"why aren't you this nice all the time? you usually bully me." you claim in a joking matter. satoru pouts at you. "i appreciate this, a lot. i guess guys who only ever think about themselves aren't my type."

there's a quietness in the car as he turns on his indicator. you enjoy the little noise coming from the radio, a song that you've heard quite a lot.

"you know, yuuji, nobara and megumi?" he clears his throat.

"yeah?" you respond to him in confusion.

"yeah," he hums with a nod of his head, "i think 'bout them a lot. they're good kids."

"they are," you agree with him. it takes you a few seconds before you look at him again. "satoru, that's not what i meant."

"so am i your type?"

"oh my god."

"answer the question, y/n."

↣ choso

"yuuji?"

"yeah?"

"do you know who this is?" choso shoves his phone into his brother's face.

"uh, that's y/n." yuuji responds in a bit of confusion. the two of them were sitting in a new restaurant with ramen on their tables. choso’s sat nearly untouched for the past ten minutes as he flicked through some pictures you sent to a groupchat with him in it. yuuji was halfway through chewing noodles when choso asked him about the photo you sent a few minutes ago. “why? she looks good.”

“no doubt,” choso mutters in response as he zooms in on the other figure in the picture you took of your reflections in the window, “i mean him.”

“oh, that’s the guy who me, nobara and y/n saw last week at the movies,” yuuji responds, “he asked y/n for her number, so i think they’re out together right now.”

he looks at yuuji in disbelief as the pink-haired boy starts slurping on the soup. it takes him a few seconds to properly react.

“are you serious?” choso says a little loudly. people turn to stare at the pair. “you let him get her number?”

“what? he seemed cool and y/n didn’t seem to mind that i gave it to him.” yuuji holds his hands up in defense as choso angrily glares at the photos on his phone screen. “you said you weren’t gonna’ make a move on her anyway!”

“that doesn’t—” a groan leaves his lips as choso holds his head. he lets in a deep breath. “okay, it’s fine.”

“i’m sorry, choso.”

“no, it’s my fault, i did say i wasn’t going to ask her out,” he tells yuuji, who slowly goes back to eating, “i… i missed out, i guess.”

yuuji frowns as the guy in front of him sadly eats his food.

“you know…” he begins with a small smile. choso looks up to him. “they’re just out for lunch nearby. y/n told me where they were going. we could—”

“yuuji! hurry up!” choso has grabbed his jacket and is rushing to the door before yuuji can reply, “we might miss them!”

yuuji scurries out of restaurant after he gobbles down his ramen. it isn’t too far of a drive, actually. it took about 15 minutes to get there and choso had easily spotted your car in front of a cozy cafe. he parks next to it and almost ducks when be notices you in the chair facing the window, facing the two of them, with your date sitting in the booth — your favourite spot. choso always let you sit in the booth side.

choso clutched onto the steering wheel with gritted teeth. yuuji looked towards you to get a better view.

“huh… she looks annoyed.” yuuji points out.

“this guy…” choso grunts.

inside the cafe, you had taken a few photos of your food and your drink. you’re glad yuuji suggested this place, you loved the service and the food here. the servers were always so nice and helpful and quick, and the food was amazing too.

it was obvious to you that your date didn’t think the same.

“god, everything in here is so…” he begins as he examines the design on his waffles. he cringes a little. “girly.”

“it’s just a bunny design,” you point out as you sadly stir the cat-shaped foam into your hot drink, “it’s cute.”

“it’s embarrassing,” he reiterates. you purse your lips and sip your drink. the delicious taste was enough to make you forget his sour tone. until he speaks up again. “can’t believe your friend told us to go here.”

“i love this cafe,” you state, “everyone here is so nice.”

“the service is slow and they gave me the blueberry waffles instead of the normal ones like i said,” he complains. you set your drink down and hold back from rolling your eyes. “i don’t care how busy you are, you always check five times that the order is correct.”

you don’t even reply to him after that, only trying to enjoy your meal that you paid for. he wasn't helping at all. you thought that because he was so charismatic when talking to yuuji that he was probably a good catch, but you couldn't have been more wrong. maybe he was just putting up a front in order to score you. you really shouldn't judge a book by its cover anymore.

"hey. over here," he begins to snap his fingers and nodding at a server with four full plates of food. the guy looks over frantically, obviously under pressure. "i wanna' ask you something."

"ah, right, give me a second, sir—" the guy was trying to distribute the food with the customers who he was serving.

"i told you, slow service," your date scowls towards you. could you be any more embarrassed right now? the server finishes off his task before coming over to you two. before he can even ask, your date is holding up a nearly empty cup of coffee. "this is the most bitter coffee i have ever had in my whole entire life."

"oh, well, you ordered an americano, sir," the poor server explains, "they tend to be bitter."

"what? no, no, no," the guy in the booth starts shaking his head, "i ordered a flat white."

"you..." the server begins. he was the one who had taken your order too.

"you ordered the americano, actually," you pointed out. the guy raised a brow at you, unamused. "it's okay, you can just order a flat white—"

"god, i did not order an americano." he claims.

but you distinctly remember him saying 'americano' for his drink. and the server repeated the order back to him before it was confirmed annoyedly. you stare down at his nearly empty cup.

"y'know what? just put the flat white on the tab, i will pay for it." you sigh out as you rub your neck.

your date looks more pissed off as the server leaves.

"he was wrong, you don't have to pay for another drink." he mutters out.

"it's nothing, don't worry." you retort and stare back down at your food. you didn't have an appetite anymore and a few minutes pass in silence.

the flat white comes out after such a long time of waiting. your date drinks it quietly, but you notice that he makes a face to show he doesn't like it. you quickly excuse yourself to go and pay at the counter for your food (he insisted on splitting the bill since he didn't like the place) so that you don't have to hear him bicker about it.

"hey," you turn behind you to see choso standing there in a baggy hoodie, a bit nervous, "fancy seeing you here..."

your eyes flicker to outside, where you see yuuji waving at you from choso's car. a smile lands on your face.

"nice to see you, choso," you mutter back as you fish out your wallet. the cashier rings up your total and you press your card to the reader. "how was your lunch with yuuji?"

"good. we cut it short to save you," he bluntly says. you blink as he glares at your date. "i don't like the guy you're with."

"me neither," you sigh out, "i think this is the last time i'll see him. but i gotta' tough it out for the rest of the date."

"you could just leave now." choso adds. he looks at you with furrowed brows.

"ah... i'm not that confident—"

"a takeaway box and takeaway cup, please," choso asks the cashier. she had been sitting there and silently agreeing with you that the guy you were sitting with was a total jerk. "thank you."

he places them in your hands and pushes you gently towards the table.

"who the hell is this guy?" your date scoffs and glares at choso, who does the same back.

"look, i'm not really having a good time on this date," you say as you play with the takeaway boxes. choso hastily takes them from you and fills it with your food in an organised matter. "i think this is the farthest we go. please enjoy the rest of your food, though."

"you serious? ditching me for some jackass?" he accusingly points at choso who wears a shit-eating grin on his face. "this is bullshit!"

"calm down, god..." you groan and rub your temple, "i just don't like you, you're so rude."

"me? you're the one who dragged me to this shithole!"

"shut your mouth before i drop you right now," choso scowls as he pushes the guy back into the booth seat. everyone was watching now, quietly thanking choso for showing up and dealing with him. "grow up, man. you act like a child."

choso grabs your hand and tugs you out of the cafe. you both thank the service with your takeaway in hand. yuuji gets out of the car with a wide smile once you two get closer.

"so, how did it go?" he asks with wide eyes.

you throw your keys at his chest.

"you're driving my car back to my apartment as punishment for setting me up with that asshole," you say with a small frown. you all knew you didn't really blame him, though. "never giving my number out to anyone ever again."

yuuji apologises thoroughly before getting into your car and driving off in the wrong direction. choso opens your door and gives you the food. once he's inside the car himself, he starts it up and begins driving.

you rest a hand over choso's on the middle console.

"thanks, choso," you sigh out, "i should've done that earlier."

"it's fine, y/n, i just wished i came sooner." he replies.

you stare at the side of his face, how irritated he looked just thinking about your date. a smile settles onto your lips and you brush your thumb over his knuckles. he falters and looks back to you for a second before muttering a 'what'.

"i'll take you out for dinner as a thank you," you state, which makes his ears go red, "you're a sweetheart, choso."

"i... uh, yeah, i'll go out with you," he mutters, "thanks..."

the laugh you let out is worth ruining thousands of your dates.

↣ fushiguro toji

"have you ever been to france?" the conceited finance guy in front of you asks, fixing his tie. he wears this smirk on his face that proves that he just knows how rich he was. he wasn't coy at all. you force a smile and shake your head slowly, trying to enjoy your meal at least. "really? that's a shame. i've been plenty of times before, and i've gotta say, the best part is..."

you begin to zone out, sighing to yourself as you move your pasta around on your plate haphazardly. he had chosen such a nice italian restaurant to absolutely ruin your perception of this guy after the first ten minutes of talking to him. you look to your watch, showing it had been only two hours since your date started.

cursing out shiu in your head, you cautiously look out the window to the sky. it wasn't that dark yet, but it felt like your night had been taken away. your mind wanders to yesterday to your conversation with shiu.

shoe

you're getting picked up at 5 tomorrow

y/n

am or pm?

shoe

???

shoe

don't show him how stupid you are, he's a rich guy. maybe he'll bring you to a yacht

y/n

why would i want to be on a yacht for our first date? is he nice?

shoe

he's rich, y/n. that's all that matters.

sometimes, you wonder how he managed to meet all these people. but then you remember that assholes attract assholes. they move together in flocks.

you stare at your red wine and tap your finger on your cheek.

"what do you think about it?" he questions, getting your attention again. you look up to see his smug face. did he really want to know?

"oh, me?" you asks, sitting up straight. you had no idea what he had been saying for the past 15 minutes.

"well, who else would i be talking to, silly?" he says in this mocking tone.

'yourself, it's who you've been talking to all night', you internally say. you had wasted such a nice outfit too. it was such a shame.

"mmm, well, it's a bit—" you begin, only to get interrupted.

"it's insane, isn't it? how could you lose so much money in only a year?" he barks out a laugh, as obnoxious as he was. the table shakes as he bangs his fist against it, waiters and guests looking towards you two. "it's absolutely preposterous! i would never make such a decision like that."

you chew out an awkward laugh before turning to your wine, sipping it.

unknowingly to you, toji was waiting in the car outside the building, getting a good view of you and your new date. he cursed shiu in a huff; not only did he set you up with someone, but the guy was a total prick. he couldn't have done a worse job, and he was broke. he pulled his seat back, watching him with pointed eyes. that guy's mouth hadn't stopped moving ever since you entered the restaurant.

and you? you looked gorgeous, your dress hugged you just right, so much so that he was jealous. toji knows it should've been him to go and take you somewhere like this.

he snaps when the guy calls the waiter over, complaining about his half-eaten food and causing a scene. you looked so uncomfortable. standing up, you excused yourself to the bathroom. and toji is quick to get out of the car.

"he's such an asshole." toji claims as you exit the ladies room. you freeze, pressing out the creases of your dress before walking closer to him at the end of the hall.

"when did you get here?" you ask, hand on your hip, "and how do you know he's an asshole?"

"been watchin' the whole time from the car," he tells you, watching as you widen your eyes and tilt your head at him, "what? couldn't help myself. shiu said you were on a date with some rich guy, 'n i had to see it."

"yeah, well, remind me to kill shiu. he's got the worst taste in men." you sigh out, crossing your arms as you lean against the wall with him. he peers at you. "you know he asked to try every single wine they had before we ordered? and he complained about the merlot not being darker. not only that, he saw my plate and said 'are you gonna' eat all of that?'. the dickhead!"

"that shit looked good." he commented, shaking his head, "who wouldn't finish that food."

"right? ugh, i hate him so much. and he hasn't even asked me about myself other than my name. he explained to me his 'entrepreneurship' and dropshipping. wanted to clock him in the face." you complained more, only fueling toji's own hate for the man.

he lifts himself off the wall, grabbing your arm and dragging you with him. "go 'n get your things. we're gettin' out of here."

"what? what am i supposed to say to him?" you mumble, stumbling behind him, "where are we going?"

"don't say anything to him. if ya' feel bad, pay for your own food." he explains to you, hand moving to rest on your back, "i'm not lettin' you waste that pretty little dress on someone like that guy."

you stare at the back of his head before falling into step with him, stopping at the table with your date. he does a double take once he sees toji, slowly standing up.

"who's he?" he asks, scanning him up and down.

"none of your business." toji retorts, looking down at him.

you begin to grab your purse when he holds out his hand to you. "where the hell are you going?" your date asks you.

"here. for my food." you say, handing him a fifty. the note flutters onto the table in front of him, which he stares at in awe. tugging on your jacket, you stare back at him with furrowed brows. "good luck in life."

with that, you turn around and begin to walk to the exit. behind you, toji sticks his tongue out at the other man and follows after. his hand finds your back once more and you wait to cross the road, sighing out to him, "thank you, toji. saved me."

"no problem." he replies, opening the door for you.

"how did you get in my car?" you ask, sitting in the driver's seat.

"don't ask." he tosses you the keys, making you wonder even more. he gets into the other side, looking back at you. “we’ll hit up that restaurant downtown. the one you always talk about wanting to go to.”

“but you said you don’t like their cuisine.” you claim, starting the car.

“it’s the only place i know that’s fancy.” he explains, looking out the window.

“sweetheart, i wouldn’t say that’s fancy—”

“do you want to go out or not?”

you laugh, reaching out a hand and holding his. he gives a small smile before looking back at you. “thank you, toji.” you say, stopping at a red light. you glance at him, sincere look in your eyes. “it means a lot that you care.”

“jus’ saving you from being stupid as fuck.” he tells you, making you roll your eyes and snatch your hand back, “could ya’ not tell he was a tool when he didn’t knock at your door? motherfucker waited in his car.”

“my god, you’ve been watching since then? toji!” you jokingly reprimand, looking at him for a split second, "i should've known from the start though... he was on his phone the whole time, in the car ride. on bluetooth speaker too."

"i woulda' jumped out the car." he retorts, shaking his head, "we should jump shiu."

"we really should." you laugh, smiling at him, "maybe for our next date."

toji can't help but roll his eyes. he knows deep down that you were hoping shiu was going to set you up with him instead. he can see it on your face, a smile that is pushing through on your lips. you're secretly happy that it was toji who 'ruined' your 'date'.

"i say that because i know you can't pay for dinner."

"did you think i was paying for this one?"

you scoff back, elbowing him, "you leech."

"you know you love me." he says it teasingly, but he knows better than anyone that you actually do.

#gojo satoru #gojo satoru x reader #gojo #gojo x reader #choso #choso x reader #kamo choso #kamo choso x reader #fushiguro toji #fushiguro toji x reader #toji #toji x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk #jjk x reader

[skzdust]

Snapshots: "Can I kiss you?"

I'm starting a new series I'm calling Snapshots, which are basically just gonna be little drabbles responding to a prompt with each of the members of Stray Kids :)

Some will contain smut, some will be sfw, and some will be a mix.

For this one, Changbin's has smut, and Han's is suggestive, but the rest of it is sfw!

Pairing: ot8 x reader

Word count: approx. ~100 each, total ~800

Reblogs, likes, comments all appreciated!!!

Masterlist

-----

Bang Chan: When Chan asks if he can kiss you, it’s with a trace of hesitance lifting the words. “Can I… kiss you?” His hand plays with your hair, and he looks at you intently. You’ve been best friends for years, but he wants more, and you want more, and you both know it. “Yeah.” You whisper, and he breaks into a smile, bright as the sun coming out from behind the clouds, before leaning in. It’s long, and sweet, and he knows how to read you like no one else. He knows when to deepen the kiss, and when to pull back and laugh and say, “I’m so glad I asked.”

Lee Know: When Minho asks if he can kiss you, the words rush out of his mouth. You’re about to get out of his car, holding the bouquet he’d given you before your date. “Can I kiss you?” He says, and your hand leaves the car door. “You’re such a gentleman.” “Shut up.” A flush rises on his neck and cheeks. You smile. “Yes, you can kiss me.” Minho leans over the center console of the car to give you a kiss, one that lingers on your lips, one you’ll be thinking about until your next date.

Changbin: When Changbin asks if he can kiss you, he’s sweaty, you’re sweaty, and he’s inside you. “Can I—ngh—” He grunts, thrusting into you. “Can I kiss you?” “Please do.” You exhale, parting your lips for him. The kiss is somewhat jerky as he continues to fuck you, but it’s passionate and heady and it sets your head spinning. His hands work their way up and down your body, and you’re so sensitive, and you feel and feel and feel. He’s sensual with his lips, he always is, and you feel like you could let yourself float away into him if you wanted to. So, you do, giving him everything, and he takes everything.

Hyunjin: When Hyunjin asks if he can kiss you, he says it bearing coffee and pancakes. He sets them down on the table in front of you and leans on his hands towards you. “Can I kiss you?” “Of course.” You smile. He gives you a quick peck on the lips before walking away, throwing a coy grin over his shoulder. “That does not count as a kiss.” You stand up, following him into the kitchen. “Can I get a real one?” “Was that not good enough for you?” He puts a hand to his chest. “My own partner doesn’t like my kisses.” “You know that’s not it.” You grab his shirt, pulling him towards you, and he puts his arm around you, and he’s so close. You get your kiss.

Han: When Jisung asks if he can kiss you, your hair is being ruffled by the breeze in the park. “Can I kiss you?” He leans in close, by your ear, voice low and sexy, but with an unmistakable playful note. “Jisung! There’s kids!” You jerk your head at the play structure. “We can go somewhere else.” “And disturb our picnic?” “If you don’t mind… I want you.” “Yeah?” You swallow. “Do you?” “I do.” His eyes are dark. “I really want you, baby.” You pack up the picnic in a matter of minutes, and you’re barely on the far side of the car before Jisung presses you against the door, capturing your lips with his.

Felix: When Felix asks if he can kiss you, his breath fogs in the air. “Can I kiss you?” His eyes are wide, sparkling in the winter lights, a snowflake falling to land on his face like one of his freckles. You brush it away, your thumb lingering on his face for a few moments longer than it needs to. “Please, Felix, I thought you’d never ask.” His kiss is soft, and sweet, and he sighs into it. When he pulls away, it’s to smile at you with a radiance you can’t help but melt at.

Seungmin: When Seungmin asks if he can kiss you, he does so with a big smile. “Can I kiss you?” Your smile is just as wide. “Please do, babe.” He leans across the table to give you a short kiss, brushing his pants as he sits back down. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t resist, you look so good!”

I.N: When Jeongin asks if he can kiss you, it’s mumbled and sleepy. “Can I kiss you?” You’re sitting on the edge of the bed, tying your shoe to go for your morning run, and you turn around to see Jeongin reaching for you with one hand from his position still in bed. You smile. “‘Course.” You lean down and give him a kiss, then ruffle his hair as he grins, eyes still closed. “Have a good run, baby.” “I’ll see you when I’m back, love you.” “Love you too.” He smiles one more time and rolls back over, promptly falling back asleep.

#requests are open!! #stray kids #stray kids x reader #skz x reader #hyunjin #felix #han #bang chan #changbin #seungmin #i.n #lee know #hyunjin x reader #lee felix x reader #han jisung x reader #bang chan x reader #changbin x reader #lee know x reader #i.n x reader #seungmin x reader

[wnwoolvr]

silent treatment (mingyu)

cw: free use? kind of. nsfw 18+ mdni, possessiveness, i think that’s all

i actually got this idea from a s.coups ff and i can’t remember who it’s from for the life of me 😞 but inspo by them ofc!!

enjoy!!

the door pad beeped, signaling someone was coming in, it was mingyu. He came home from work and as usual you greet him at the door with a kiss, “hi” you say and kiss him, but he doesn’t kiss you back, he just makes a sound, you take that as your hint and back off.

last night you guys argued about mingyu being jealous of your male friend, he said he didn’t like how he was so close to you, and did things your boyfriend should be doing, you thought your friends actions were okay and appropriate, so you fought mingyu back on it, which lead to where you guys were now.

mingyu sat at the table and ate quietly, he looked angry, and pissed off, but for some reason him looking like this was a huge turn on. “gyu, how was work?” you say trying to make small talk with him, hoping he responds, “fine” he replies coldly, finishing his plate and dropping it in the sink and heading upstairs.

you stood there dumbfounded as to why he was acting like this, once you were done eating you headed upstairs to start your night routine, mingyu sat in his gaming chair in the room gaming with his friends, he was talking and laughing, you hopped in the shower and once you were done you slipped on some tiny pajama pants and a white tank top.

once you exited the bathroom mingyu was in bed on his phone, you climbed into bed and sat on your heels next to him, “min…” you mumbled softly as you ran a finger to his muscular bicep, he didn’t even react, “what?” he responded, clearly not interested but you didn’t back down.

“can we do it mingyu? i’ve been thinking about your cock all day” you mumble against the soft flesh of his neck, mingyu may have not liked your actions yesterday but he was never going to deny his girl sex, but he was gonna have to make you work for it.

“take it, i don’t care” he responds nonchalantly, you wanted him so bad you didn’t care how you got him, you pulled down his sweat pants, revealing his semi hard cock, you laid some spit on it and played with the tip to get him fully hard, it was taking everything in mingyu to not react.

you were annoyed that he didn’t want to fuck you and you had to do all the work, mingyu watched you as you climbed ontop and slid back and forth on his cock, not putting it inside, you were desperately grinding until enough became enough and you slipped his tip inside, you were going crazy all the while mingyu was sitting there on his phone, as you pathetically tried to fuck your self on his cock.

after 2 minutes you were tired, you didn’t see your release anywhere near, “mingyu” you babble out, your red flushed face, agitated lips begging for his attention, mingyu sighed and flipped the positions now he was on top, your legs spread widely awaiting anything he was going to give you.

“only because you look fucking pathetic” mingyu spits as he slowly thrusts into you, “min..” you whine out as he slides a finger down to tease your clit, “you’re so desperate aren’t you?” he asks and you can’t do anything but hum, you were so lost in his thrusts and how good he was making you feel, that was until he landed a light slap against your cheek “answer, or i’m gonna stop” he demanded, slowing down his pace threateningly.

“yes.. yes.. i’m desperate..” you respond with flushed cheeks in embarrassment, “should i let you cum?” he taunts, licking your neck, making you moan, “yes.. mingyu i wanna cum” you respond back desperately as you were being shaken back and forth from his relentless thrusting.

“i’ll let you cum, if you cut that guy off, got it?” he tells you, you didn’t care what you had to do, you just wanted to be selfish and focus on coming, you nodded your head frantically “yes! yes! i’ll cut him off” you threw your head back waiting for his command to let you cum, you were holding onto it. “promise?” mingyu says slowing down nearly making you lose your orgasm,

“i promise mingyu” you say leaning up to look at him, and capture his lips as he smiles while kissing you, he continues to thrust until he feels your walls clench and unclench around him, then they flutter as he shoots his hot cum inside of you.

mingyu pulls out with ease, “call him and tell him you guys can’t be friends anymore” mingyu says in a strict tone, you did promise him, you picked your phone up and rung your friend, he answered sweetly on the other line, “hello? y/n? what’s up? why are you calling so late?” he answered, “just calling to let you know we won’t be friends anymore” i say and cut the phone off before he can respond, mingyu captures my lips in a kiss, “good girl, see how easy things can be if you just listen to me? hm?” he rubs your back and kisses your forehead.

————————

well 🙂‍↔️ what do u think …

i haven’t updated in so long life got so crazy and it’s just been HORRIBLE, but since it’s summer i have time to write loll

pls send me requests on like anything i will literally write about it,

#kpop imagines #svt fluff #svt x reader #svt imagines #nct dream #nct smut #nct x reader #mingyu #mingyu x reader #mingyu x you #mingyu smut #svt smut #kpop smut #wonwoo scenarios #scoups

[chimielie]

“I really like this place,” Yachi says brightly, “the owner is really nice, and he doesn’t mind when I take ten minutes to decide what I want. Once I took twenty minutes and he actually just brought me food, like, decided for me, and at first I thought that was so nice! Then I got worried that maybe I should be upset that he didn’t let me choose, but then I remembered that I could just come here again so I wasn’t missing out on anything. The food was really good, anyway.”

You hover between the cool interior of the restaurant and the summer daylight as she speaks, unwilling to walk away even though she’s holding the door open and probably letting all the cold air out. With a short yelp, she realizes how long the two of you have been standing there and crosses inside. You stand behind her in the line behind the counter, shuffling forward as you read the posted menu.

“I think I’m gonna get the salmon,” you decide. “Hey, so how are things with that girl you’ve been seeing?”

“They’ve been good!” You’re about three people away from the counter, but the first one is line is like, a really huge guy with a booming voice who has been talking forever. Maybe he knows the cashier? “She’s really pretty, and she doesn’t mind or get impatient when I’m anxious. She also gets anxious!”

“That’s great?” You pat her on the shoulder. “I’m really happy for you, Yachi.”

“Me too,” she beams at you. “What about you? Have you met anyone?”

“No,” you snort. “I’m on the apps. So dating is basically a cesspool.” The giant guy who was ordering seems to be done now, but he’s still talking, being slowly dragged away by the elbow by a guy in a cardigan and glasses. You slide your phone out of your pocket and open your dating profile. “See?”

At that moment, your phone pings with a new notification.

Atsumu liked you!

He’s not… bad looking. If you saw him in real life, you’d probably hide behind a bench or something and stalk him with your eyes just so you could look at him as long as you wanted, actually.

He’s your age, a pro volleyball player, his hair dark where it’s been shaved short on the sides but dyed blond up top. He has a kind of sardonic, dead-eyed expression in all of his photos that you think is really funny.

My love language is… arguing in missionary.

You smother a laugh.

“He’s kind of cute!” Yachi peers at your phone. “Kind of scary…”

“Please, I could beat him up,” you laugh. “I don’t know, he’s fine, I guess.”

You swipe left. He’s hot, but definitely a fuckboy. You’ve reached the counter, anyway, and a pro athlete on the apps is like, so many red flags.

You look up at the cashier.

You look down at your phone and click undo. The profile reappears.

You look up at the cashier.

“Fine, you guess?” Scowls Atsumu, 23, (volley)baller. Or maybe not, considering his Onigiri Miya apron. “Welcome to Onigiri Miya, what can I get for ya. Geez.”

He talks in Kansai dialect, you note, which you’ve always thought is melodic. Pretty.

In real life, Atsumu is very pretty. His eyes have midtones of honey and amber that don’t show up on photo and give him a sparkling dimension that sort of detracts from his aura of evil. Even though he’s scowling at you, you want to ruffle his hair and bite his cheek.

“Um, I’ll have the salmon ball,” you say. “And, yeah. I guess.”

He scribbles so hard he breaks the tip of his pencil. With a grunt of disgust, he tosses both notepad and pencil over his shoulder.

“What, pro athlete not good enough for ya?” He points at Yachi, who squeaks. “And for ya?”

“What?” She says, looking terrified. You put a bracing hand on her shoulder.

“Your order,” he drawls.

“Oh! I don’t know.”

“Two salmon balls!” He yells to the back. “‘S on the house.”

“What?” Yachi gasps. “We couldn’t possibly—”

“You’re clearly not a professional athlete,” you say. “You’re a cashier.”

“This is charity work!” He snaps. “My teammate is right over there if ya need proof. I’m Miya Atsumu—this is my brother’s shop. I help him out on my off days.” He emphasizes his family name, underlining it on his apron with a finger.

That’s really sweet. You swoon a little inside, then shake yourself.

“You’re off every time this time this week?”

“Yeah, about,” he turns and bends over to grab his hastily discarded notepad. You do not make a secret of checking out his ass and quirk your lips into a smile when he turns back around, one he matches with reckless abandon. He has nice teeth, not perfectly straight, that imply that maybe he didn’t need braces growing up.

“Let me repay you for the meal,” you put a hand on the counter and lean across it, biting your lip, stomach singing with nerves. “Eight, next week?”

“Nah,” he shrugs you off, gestures for you to move along so he can get to the next customer in line. Your stomach drops, and so must your face. “Too far away. I’ll see ya this Friday for dinner.”

#shorts! #atsumu x reader #miya atsumu x reader #haikyuu!! x reader #haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #hq!! x reader #inspired by a comment nova left on one of my personal posts #and the horrors of online dating (in which i will NEVER partake) #miya atsumu x reader fluff #atsumu x reader fluff #meet-combative-cute? #haikyuu x reader fluff #haikyuu x reader drabble #atsumu x reader drabble #miya atsumu x reader drabble

[corazondebeskar-reads]

of rage and ruin - chapter four

of rage and ruin series

chapter four

series masterlist | prev chapter | next chapter

werewolf!alpha!Joel Miller x f!omega!reader

word count: 2.9k

summary: You get a better idea of Joel's life here, and your purpose is made explicitly clear.

chapter warnings: dark, dead dove do not eat, a/b/o, alpha/omega dynamics, omegaverse, captivity, canon-typical violence, genre-typical violence, horror themes, graphic violence, abuse by captors (not by either joel or reader), depiction of injury, body horror, typical raider/hunter behavior, mention of cordyceps, angst, viewer discretion is advised, menstruation and oral, slow burn, whipping, explicit abuse by captors

also on ao3

dividers by @saradika-graphics

“You, girl,” Jim snaps. “Heel.”

Your head whips to the door, fear forgotten long enough to stare incredulously. But the look falls off your face quickly at the rage on his. Out of the corner of your eye, Joel shakes his head minutely, jerking it just enough toward Jim that you get the picture. 

You’d bristle about it later, but the cold rushes back through your veins as Jim’s ruddy face grows darker. 

“Now, bitch.” 

Despite being fully human, a growl rumbles from your cellmate. The shadows do nothing to soften his sharpness, but Jim just waggles the remote to the shock collar in his hand.

“You got somethin’ to say, boy?” he says. 

Joel’s lip twitches, but he falls silent. 

You get to your feet, making your way to the door on shaky legs with your head down. 

He hates it. Hates how you shrink yourself down, how your smell stings his nostrils. 

But he’ll hate what happens next more.

Jim shuts the bars behind you, but not the door. He pushes you roughly up against them, wasting no time binding your hands. With a hand on the back of your neck, he smiles.

Unlike Cheryl’s preternatural ability to be put together in the post-apocalyptical wasteland, Jim wears the end of the world. His hand is rough and wrinkled against your skin, and the terrible grin he puts on when he leans close to your ear is missing more than a few teeth. 

“I told you,” he says, low and slithering, his hot breath gusting in your ear and making you shudder. “You only get her when you behave.”

Joel tears his gaze away from the place you’d vacated, and his whole body jerks like he's about to get up. Everything goes tense, the muscle in his neck taut and twitchy, and the room darkening with the furrow of his brow. “Don’t.”

“Too late for that,” Jim says, huffing a breathy laugh. “You still haven’t learned. I don’t think you’re going to. But she might.”

“Don’t,” Joel warns again.

But it's empty, and both men know it. 

You aren’t sure what's happening, but the overwhelming dread is seeping through your haze of ignorance. Jim yanks you away from the bars just as Joel jumps to his feet to reach it. You're shoved against the door to your room, just far enough to keep Joel’s less-than-human arm from swiping through, claws popping out as he changes. 

For the first time you've seen, though, he doesn’t go all the way. He's still undeniably human, though pushing into something unsettling. An unspeakable oddity, his face just warped enough to be wrong. 

Jim pushes your head against the door. “Don’t fuckin’ move,” he spits

“Leave her the fuck alone,” Joel says. His voice slurred a little with too-long teeth straining his jaw. 

The first hit shocks your system. It doesn’t register right away. The crack rings in your ear, and your vision goes a little fuzzy for a moment before the pain seeps below your skin. 

By then, he’s hit you again. You jerk away, ducking to avoid the range of the belt, but it doesn’t save you. It just means the leather catches you on the thigh, and you nearly topple over. 

Jim catches you by the ear and yanks you back in place. “I said don’t fucking move.” 

This time, when he strikes you, you cry out. You can’t help it; you try to move away again, and finally, he kicks you to the ground. You turn your face in time to avoid breaking your nose, but it hurts like hell. His boot grinds into your back, and he brings the belt down over and over while you writhe and cry. 

When he lets up, you don’t move. With your hands tied, it’s not like you could have gotten up on your own anyway, but you don’t try to roll over or curl up. You just cower, body shaking, blood dripping from a few of the stripes on your back. 

You don’t need to look to know he’s gone full wolf now; the cacophony of rage tells you everything you need to know. You don’t need to look to know when Jim hits the button on the shock collar and takes him to the floor. 

Jim hefts you up by your bound arms and shoves you into your prison, away from his room.

Away from Joel. 

One sunny September morning—because, of course, it was September, life always ends in Septembers—Tommy Miller arrived at his brother’s cabin ahead of the full moon. He had a case of shitty beer in dusty bottles and was looking forward to the venison jerky Joel’d been smoking.

He knew something was wrong as soon as he opened the door. The cabin was empty—not in of itself a warning sign—but it was immediately clear that Joel wasn’t just out on a hunt or bathing in the creek.

His boots and coat were gone. So was the shotgun. But the quilt on the sofa was musty and the distinct smell of rotting food permeated the cabin.

Tommy’s stomach plummeted and he broke out in a sweat, not bothering to take his boots off as he crept through the tiny home, praying he didn’t find his brother.

The prayers were answered. 

He spent two nights there, knowing it was fruitless, but combing the perimeter for signs anyway. On the third day, he found one.

Maybe it was someone else’s tan cotton duck Carhartt. Someone who happened to be Joel’s size and smelled like the hand-rolled cigarettes and bootleg whiskey Tommy brought from the QZ. 

Maybe.

But he wasn’t a fool, and no matter how many maybes he tried on, they never fit. Neither did the jacket, not really, but that didn’t stop him from pulling it on.

The coat, now a deeper, splotchy brown with tattered gashes, had belonged to his brother.

He took the jacket back to the cabin and took himself back home to Tess for the last time.

They stayed in touch—him delivering to her outside the zone and her traipsing out to the woods—but Tommy Miller would never step a foot back in Boston.

The days after you took Joel’s punishment were hell. There was no way around it. In addition to the whipping, you went without food or fresh water for another day. With no deliveries, you were left in total isolation.

Your only company was the plaintive whining of your neighbor. Anything louder was immediately silenced by the unmistakable buzz of the shock collar and his sharp yelps. 

On the second day, Cheryl pays you a visit. Her arrival is heralded by nasty growling, and she’s scolding him like a naughty puppy when she opens your door.

“Now aren’t you pathetic?” she coos at your limp body before closing herself in amidst a renewed cacophony. 

You don’t answer. You’ve sprawled yourself out down the length of a bench, uneven boards digging into your stomach just to keep the pressure and dirt away from the welts. 

“Up,” she snaps her fingers. “Wash day. Can’t let you get an infection and die after all we’ve invested in you.”

The steel door to Joel’s cell is closed when she drags you out, but he can clearly smell the fresh blood from jostling your wounds because he starts growling again.

“Stop,” you whisper, barely audible, and he falls silent.

“What was that?” Cheryl asks, but you don’t acknowledge her and let out a slow breath when she brushes it off.

Wash day is always terrible, save one part: the sun. It’s the only time you get to be outdoors, the only chance you have to feel sunlight on your skin. Today is particularly nice, the warmth immediately embracing you.

Cheryl doesn’t usually do the honors herself, but the others seem to be absent. At least, that’s what you think.

She clips your cuffs to the hook dangling from an old, rusted basketball hoop and grabs the hose, unleashing the frigid spray on you without warning.

It always hurts, but your sore and wounded body suffers more today. Blood drips down the back of your thighs, and you bite your tongue against the wretched sting. She doesn’t scrub you which is a blessing and a curse. No rough sponge on your wounds, but no soap, either.

She leaves you there for a minute, nozzle still dripping lazily as it dangles from her hand.

“Why hasn’t he claimed you yet?” She asks after you’ve begun to shiver despite the weather.

“What?” 

“He didn’t fuck you. He shouldn’t have been able to help himself. What’s wrong with you?”

You’re baffled, but overcome by the sudden sense of fear. She thinks he’s rejecting you, and it’s clear now that by not raping you, he’s endangered you still. 

You can feel your life expectancy dwindling under her scrutiny.

“I-I don’t know,” you say uselessly.

“Hmm,” is all she says, drumming her nails against her folded arms. 

“Um. You keep taking me away,” you try quickly. “He probably just thinks you’ll do it again.”

She scoffs. “Sweetie, his last omega didn’t make it ten minutes before he lost control.”

When she brings you back in, there’s not a peep from the wolf. She shuts you back in your shitty locker room, water still dripping from your hair. Your bra and panties are drenched.

But you’re used to it. 

It’s not long after she leaves that he whines again.

“Shut up,” you hiss. “Just shut up. ” The anger blindsides you both. You want to be mad. You want to reach down somewhere deep in your chest and unearth the bloody lump of indignant rage.

“I know you can hear me, so just listen. I’m stuck here because of you. I’m injured because of you. And now she’s threatening to let me die because of you. So just fucking be quiet and leave me alone for once.”

It’s like a slap in the face. No, it’s worse. It’s true, and he knows it. Your words, your undeniable words, tear into him and hurt the wolf so badly that he turns back into the man.

That’s a first.

Now he knows the line. Being rejected so thoroughly by his mate is more than the beast can bear.

“I’m sorry,” he croaks, and it’s the last you hear from him for two weeks.

By the time you’re back in his room, you’ve come to regret your cold words. You know he didn’t ask for any of this; didn’t ask to be held captive; didn’t ask for them to take you.

But you can’t unsay it, and you can’t bring yourself to admit it out loud.

You’re loose again, the cage seemingly a thing of the past, when he returns. The Wolf stalks in and almost ignores you. Almost.

But he can’t, not when you smell like blood. 

You look rough. He doesn’t like it. It stands his fur on edge, bristling at the way you wince when the cramps roll through, how you can’t settle in a way that soothes your aching hip. The way you can’t eat your stew when they bring it alongside his heaping tray of meat, wrinkling your nose at the smell. 

It takes him mere minutes to gobble it up, but the hunger lingers. Tomorrow’s the full moon, and he’ll be released to feast, but the insatiability gnaws at him until then. And it’s so hard to resist you.

Your musk may be undercut with battery acid but the coppery tang on the air has him salivating. Literally slobbering.

And that primal burning inside him knows just how to sate his hunger and the frankly distressing need to soothe his omega. 

His. The thought sends him rumbling, startling you with the deep, entrancing sound. You meet his eyes, and when he sees them shine with unshed tears, all resolve dies.

Omega, hurt. 

Help.

Taste.

He stalks over, lumbering on all fours, warped spine arched as he gives into the slinking, slow approach of the predator he truly is.

You still flinch back when he nears, and he has had enough. Don’t you realize? If he wanted to hurt you, if he was capable of it, he could have. Would have.

His hot breath floods across your knees, the only warning before he nestles his snout between them and shoves.

You recoil against the wall. 

He whines, nudging you again, urging you to open up for him, to expose the sweet flow that is so uniquely you and just for him. All for him. His.

“Stop,” you whisper.

He nudges you again.

“Knock it off. I told you, it’s just my cycle.”

He makes sure you’re looking before he rolls his eyes. 

Your jaw drops. “Seriously?”

He huffs. Why won’t you just cooperate? Why do you always have to be so goddamn stubborn?

He nudges your hand and waits until you look at it. He licks your wrist with a long, wet stripe of saliva left behind and then looks down at where your thighs are resolutely closed.

“Ew,” you say instead of obeying.

He tries again and watches it click as you cringe back.

“I don’t care if it’ll take away the pain,” you scold. “Absolutely not. You cannot be serious.”

He growls at your protests, bumping you again.

“That’s gross. Seriously, Joel.” But your resolve is not strong. You acutely remember how nice it felt when he healed your rope burn and how gently his tongue had lapped at the raw flesh. And you’re on your second day, the migraine fading but the sore ache making itself known as you hold your body tense through the pain. 

He nudges you again.

“It’s… wrong,” you try weakly. And you think you should feel that way, but deep down, you just don’t. There was a reason you read Twilight when you were too old for that kind of horny pre-teen nonsense. There was a reason your bookshelves had been full of Anne Rice and Charlaine Harris. 

There was a reason you watched The Creature From the Black Lagoon and American Werewolf in London and all those classic monster movies over and over and over.

The tension in your thighs eases, and when his cold nose shoves between them again, your knees part easily.

He rumbles his approval, knocking your legs apart as he lowers his great, hulking self to the ground, where your blood is slowly pooling.

Two enormous, furry hands grip your legs, careful not to prick you with the long claws. The muscles of his arms ripple, and you feel your breath hitch, growing shallow.

You jolt at the first brush of his long, rough tongue. You had expected him to start slow, tentative. To see if he could tolerate it.

But he has you spread firmly, all but forcing his tongue into your aching cunt and lapping greedily at his spoils.

The flow is quickly becoming diluted by your arousal, which only serves to spur him on.

You make the mistake of looking, stomach swooping as you take in the nightmarish beast, whose eyes are flooded with ichor as he slurps greedily from you.

It wasn’t even necessarily erotic. He wasn’t attempting to coax an orgasm from you, not enticing you with soft flicks to your clit or any real stimulation. He was simply feasting . 

That doesn’t stop you, though. It’s an electric feeling, his wide tongue filling you, emptying you, purging you of your pain with each swipe against your walls, and it brings you abruptly over the edge of your pleasure.

You come back to your senses gasping, a hand fisted in his fur. You loosen your grip but don’t let go as you come down from the feeling.

The noise doesn’t register at first, but it’s not long before the echo of the slick slapping where he’s fisting his cock surrounds you. He’s still between your legs, his snout pushed up against your cunt with fervor as he tugs roughly at the thick, uncut length.

It’s a beast all on its own, and you shiver at the thought of him splitting you open with it, of watching the angry red tip emerge and disappear inside you.

You think he’s going to be embarrassed, but he can’t find the feeling within him. His hot cum splatters on the ground, splashing against your toes, and instead of slinking over to his waiting bed, he curls his entire body around you like a can cozy.

You can’t complain. His tongue had eased your aches, leaving you drowsy and tingling, almost drugged. His fur is rough and yet somehow silky, and he’s broad enough to envelop you entirely in warmth. 

The Wolf may have no qualms, but the Man, as you come to find out, is another story.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fic #alpha!joel miller #werewolf!joel miller #alpha!joel miller x omega!reader #fic: of rage and ruin #joel miller smut #dead dove fic

[billskeis]

˖ ࣪ ⟢ bill doesn’t think he’s a good fuck

looking at the screen in disbelief, replays the video as to bill’s ex girlfriend live streaming the announcements to why she broke up with her boyfriend, ‘why did i dump my sexy boyfriend..? because he was bad at sex!!!’ as voices around the class continue to mumble so loud that their secrets were no longer secrets. a pat to comfort his broken spirit, tom, gustav and georg stood by their lead singer.

“don’t listen to her bill, i mean, i know your dick isn’t as big as mine but surely you can’t be that bad!” tom exclaims, georg and gustav stare at the dread-headed boy in disbelief to his attempts in comforting his younger brother, “really helpful tom, are you serious??” georg spews but bill himself doesn’t even seem to be listening to him.

blood and thoughts rush to his head as be begins to feel dizzy, her agonizing voice booming through his head as a reminder as to that the multiple times they’ve done it, she’s never felt good. it was all, fake, and inevitably, all for nothing. how could she?? georg and gustav echo in the back of his head as they call her an attention whore who’s just looking for trouble, but again, bill can’t help but scroll through the comments of how lame of a ‘boyfriend’ he was.

“try not to let her get to yer head mr. sexy ex boyfriend, you deserve way better than this—oh, we gotta go now?? see’ya later bill!”

gustav leans to look down at bill’s face who sulks at his cellphone, quickly leaving as the three boys now have to leave for basketball practice. shutting his phone off and slamming it onto the wooden desk, bill remain seated in the classroom where bodies begin to dissipate in the academic environment at the sound of the school bell ringing for the end of the day. maybe he should just stay home tomorrow, he thought, or for the rest of the week, or for like, forever.

a tap on your shoulder causes you to turn to the figure that stood behind you, “hey y/n,”

with a smile, you hug the baggy-clothed figure. “tom! what’s up? where’s bill?” with a heavy sigh, tom looks at the floor, licks his lips and looks back to you, “that’s exactly why i’m here. bill hasn’t come out of his room in days. he’s missed more school than i have, can you believe that?? i mean, we knew that his lazy ass would’ve loved to skip to stay home, but he never actually followed through, d’ya think you could go see him? he won’t talk to me.”

you tilt your head in confusion, “if he won’t even talk to his own brother what makes you think that he’ll talk to his neighbour?”

“i-i don’t know, out of courtesy i guess? i know he’d hate it if he were ever rude to you, considering that you’ve helped us ever since we were young.. he’s always listened to you. just, please, give it a try? his morale has been down ever since the breakup,” and you’ve definitely heard of it, who didn’t. that crazy bitch of an ex had no hesitation in streaming the whole thing for the world to see, for even his previous ex’s before him decided to also come out about the same ‘problem.’ poor bill, you thought. you made a mental note to go to his house right after school.

with a knock to his bedroom door, school had finally ended and you made your way to the kaulitz household before going back to your own home to finally talk some spirit back into bill! greeting ms.kaulitz, she eagerly let you in with a pinch of your cheek and a thanks for trying to help her son out, mentioning that she can’t keep him home for any longer before he can’t graduate highschool.

“bill? hey, it’s me. can ya let me in? i need to talk to you,” but you were met with silence.

standing in front of his door, still, you waited, and waited. five minutes passed before you finally decided to give up and think that maybe he’s finally cracked and you were no longer able to provide him the comfort you and him were always used to. that is, until, you hear the creak of a door opening, implicitly inviting you into bill’s private space. widening the gap of his door, you’re met with your best friend, sat in his bed, wearing sweatpants and a slim fit greenday tee, messy hair and without makeup.

he hasn’t been crying, but his face is visible with glum, “hi y/n..” his voice, soft and quiet. you make your way toward his bed and plop yourself beside him, awkwardly hugging him.

“tom’s told me you’ve been missing school. c’mon. you’re gonna really let her get to you that bad?”

he sits there, just listening as you begin to ramble, explaining to him how you knew she was a bad person from the start. that she only really wanted him for the fame and if he was really that bad at sex? she as a good girlfriend would look past that and just love him for him, but she didn’t. biting his nails, he chips away at the black and white polish that adorned his fingers. you notice this, and immediately grab his hands away, intertwining your fingers with his and placing both your hands in your lap.

“—stop that. but anyways, it’s unbelievable!! like, i can’t believe that despite how long you’ve dated, she has the fucking gall to go and say that. and even worse, say it in public?? like are you kidding me?? what a bitch..”

and bill almost laughs, because you never swear. not in the many years that you’ve known him, and you made a promise to yourself that you never would. but today, of all days, had just become he day you broke that promise. who knew, that even although this wasn’t your relationship, you were angry. angrier than bill, THE ex-boyfriend. smiling, he appreciated you getting angry for him.

“is that a smile i see?” you tease, “in your dreams.. but, do you think she’s right?”

“right about what?”

“about me being bad at sex,”

“o-oh, uh, i haven’t actually thought about that y’know? being friends and all it isn’t really something that’s on my mind..”

“i have.”

“you what?”

“i’ve thought about it. about you. have been. for the past days, actually,” he brings a hand to caress the backside of your neck, that soon pushes your head closer to his so he can press a kiss onto your lips. already flustered, you use an arm to gently push away his body, that only fights back to be closer to you.

“bill.. we shouldn’t, you just got out of a relationship and—”

“please, schatzi, i wanna prove it to the world.. indulge me just this once ‘kay?”

“hnn.. bill, you’re taking too long..” you wail, sopping cunt that prettily sits above the pudgy tip of bill’s cock. you straddle his lap as you try to push yourself down onto his length but he only holds your hips still. “patience, baby. tryna savour every moment that we have together, ‘m trying here y’know, holdin’ myself back to reallyyy prove that i’m as good as a fuck that she doesn’t say i am.”

seconds pass that feel like agonizing hours, bill finally slides his length into your cunt, the shape of your walls perfectly moulding to his shape. bill’s pupils dilate at the sight of how you just swallow him whole, hugging his cock as you feel every pulse of him inside of you, “can i move?”

nodding, bill guides your body up and down him, slick already leaking onto his lap as he gropes onto your tit, squeezing the flesh to his liking, a needy hum eliciting from your lips. he stared, and stared, and wholeheartedly admired at how pliable your body was within his touch, bad at sex? yeah right.

“so pretty..” a low groan escapes as he brings his mouth to your chest, tongue swirling against the hard and sensitive bud, leaving you to entangle a grip into his hair, bringing his head closer to your body than it already his. “f-fuck bill, you feel, amaz—ah—amazing..” as he looks up to you from down below, he smirks as he nips on your chest, already tainted with hickeys you didn’t even know were there in such a short amount of time.

“yeah? feelin’ good princess? we’re more compatible than you probably thought so..” he’s talking about earlier, about how you never thought that you would ever have fornication with one of your best friends, “eeeek..! t-that’s because you had a girlfriend!! it’d be wrong to..”

a conflicted hum falls onto your ears, “considering that.. isn’t it also wrong how you’re circling your hips onto mine?? wouldn’t it be wrong that you just can’t help but fuck yourself deeper onto me while also complain that we’re ‘just friends?’” and you can’t help but feel as though bill is right. you’re just as bad as he is with how you continue to bounce on his cock, tongue lolled out for him to collect all the saliva that threatens to spill out of your mouth.

tongues dancing in harmony while your hips move in sync, the both of you chase your orgasms, “h-hahh.. y/n.. s’know what? am i bad as a fuck as she thinks i am..?” and you shake your head, you shake your head as bill begins to relentlessly thrust his cock to bully your cervix and body into total and utter submission, a pulse of electric pleasure surges through your body.

and he frowns to your lack of verbal response, a shake of the head isn’t enough. why won’t you say something? he wonders and wonders, and his wondering has led him to continues thrust as you bitch and moan from pressure of his mushroom tip that abuses the sensitive cunt that’s now his to please. “answer me, liebe.”

it feels dirty, it feels wrong. but the overpowering feeling of sex overpowers such thoughts, bill kisses your sweaty forehead as he awaits your answer. and you want to, trust me! you really do want to answer his question, this was the whole reason you decided to show up to his bedroom door, isn’t it?

“shit, gonna cum bill, wait—”

“but you haven’t” thrust. “answered” thrust. “my” thrust. “question :(.”

“yes!!”

“yes what, baby?” bill goads onto you as he brings the pad of his thumb to rub circles onto your clit, “say it.”

“you are a good fuck!! oh my god—” in an attempts to speak, all you manage to squeak out a short and sweet sentence. complete bliss clouding your mind as you begin to see white. however, bill doesn’t seem completely satisfied with your answer as he curls his arms tighter around your body, the slapping sound of skin growing louder by the second, “and what else?”

“makin’ me feel s’good! ah! i’m gonna come on this cock!! this cock that’s—mmngh—making me feel like i’m in heaven! oh..! oh thank you, thank you—thank you bill..!”

“that’s right, i am a good fuck aren’t i baby?”

hai guys , i’m back :3 bee tee dubz the setting takes place in highschool but everyone is of age ^_^

will i be active?? maybe not .. i have sm reqs to do and i’ll try to get em out asap , no promises tho <3 i love you all , and i guess i’m not ready to leave yet . see you next post !

#tokio hotel #tokio hotel x y/n #tokio hotel x you #tokio hotel x reader #tokio hotel fluff #tokio hotel smut #bill kaulitz #bill kaulitz x y/n #bill kaulitz x you #bill kaulitz x reader #bill kaulitz fluff #bill kaulitz smut #2000s #fyp #billskeis