#;it's time to toss the dice ;; musings | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

dramaticals · 5 months

Text

following instructions

pairing: theodore nott x gryffindor reader

summary: enemies with benefits with theo where they're constantly insulting each other but they still can't get enough. smut. au where characters at hogwarts are aged up to be 19+. mdni. / requested by anonymous.

author's note: co-wrote this with lily (@softeliza) <3 we honestly wrote this as a theo x hermione, but swapped hermione for reader

✧ read part two: following instructions (headcanons) ✧

Theo's judging eyes watch as you dice the sopophorous bean before tossing it into your cauldron, your gaze shifting between your opened textbook and your cauldron. A bead of sweat drips from your forehead. You were meticulously following the directions, and yet something still didn't seem right about your potion.

Theo scoffs, shaking his head. What an idiot, he thinks.

"You're supposed to crush it." Theo says, demonstrating pointedly with a silver dagger and popping the squashed bean into his own cauldron. The cauldron bubbles, and the liquid shifts a shade darker.

"You're supposed to follow the instructions, which clearly say to cut it," you say through gritted teeth.

Potions was the one class Theo never followed the directions for, and yet he always seemed to be doing significantly better than you. You hated that.

"You know," you add with a huff, annoyance laced in your words. "Just because you don't respect the rules any other time doesn't mean you shouldn't follow a simple recipe."

There was something about pissing you off that gave Theo the right amount of joy to get him through the day. Hearing you huff at his words was like finding a jelly slug in a mountain of acid pops. It was glorious.

"Do you believe everything you read?" Theo asks mockingly, his eyes unmoving from the cauldron in front of him. He doesn't know why he was helping you—this was meant to be a competition for the coveted felix felicis. Maybe it was because Theo knew you weren't going to listen to him anyway. "Besides, I respect the rules." Theo says, but even he can't keep a straight face at his claim, his lips tugging into a smirk.

"I believe everything I read in a textbook," you say, your eyes narrowing and your mouth falling open in shock. Was he serious? "You know, that book of words that literally outlines how to make the potion? How else would you know how to brew it?" You hope he doesn't notice the genuine curiosity in your question. You actually wanted to know how Theo knew what to do all the time. It was so infuriating.

"Natural intelligence and charm." Theo says coolly.

In actuality, Theo had managed to find a textbook filled with inscriptions, correcting the printed text with tips and tricks on how to brew a potion every time. But he wasn't going to tell you that. Theo would gladly and happily let you believe he was gifted.

Theo peeks at your cauldron and has to hold a snort back. It looked just about ready to implode.

"This is a simple recipe, huh?" Theo muses. "Is that why your potion looks and smells like absolute shit?"

"Maybe I just thought I'd throw you a scrap with this one. I mean, we both know you're in desperate need of some luck, especially on the Quidditch pitch. If anyone needs this win, it's you."

"Oh, so you watch me on the pitch, do you?" Theo says with a smug grin.

You roll your eyes. Curse him.

Theo stirs counterclockwise a few times and then once again clockwise. The potion bubbles again. This time, it shifts into its final colour form. Bingo.

Theo, with an expression beaming with pride, calls over Professor Slughorn to inspect the potion. You zero in on Theo's cauldron and let out a small sigh. You didn't need confirmation from Slughorn to know that Theo did it. That bloody asshole did it.

Slughorn tosses a single leaf into the cauldron. The leaf disintegrates, and Slughorn clasps his hands together and announces, "We have a winner! Class dismissed!"

As Theo receives congratulations from all around, you begin to tidy your workspace, empty your cauldron, and pack your things. Anger boils in your stomach. As much as you tried to avert your gaze from Theo, your eyes are drawn to the tiny vile Slughorn passes to Theo. With a triumphant smirk thrown your way, he tucks the potion into his pocket before cleaning his workspace.

"Try to use it for something other than trying to sleep with girls," you quip, clutching your books to your chest. The confident, holier-than-thou persona slips over you like a glove. It was a default shield whenever you felt threatened, especially academically. And Theo was often on the receiving end of it all. "I mean, I'm sure you could use some luck in that department, but I doubt that's what Zygmunt Budge had in mind."

"I'm doing quite well in that department, actually." Theo says. With looks and an attitude like his, girls were flocking to him like nifflers to gold. "Much like potions, really. They all just come to me."

Theo awaits your signature glare and snarky remark, but he was simply met with a silent shove to his shoulder as you headed to the door. His brows furrow, disappointed in the lack of repartee, before Theo's walking after you. He falls into step with you, following you through the dimly lit corridors of the dungeon.

"What's the rush, little lion? Can't stomach losing?"

"I'm not in a rush; I just don't want to be around you. Don't you have some dingy hole to crawl back into?" You fume, your grip on your textbooks tightens, and your pace quickens.

"You wound me." Theo simpers, clutching his chest in mock-hurt.

Being in Theo's presence was getting you more and more riled up. You felt like you were minutes away from becoming a human version of a Filibuster Firework. Theo loved when you got like this. He can't quite pinpoint the exact moment he realized why he liked seeing you so worked up, but he's quickly reminded by the staggered breathing and the rapid rise and fall of your chest.

Theo continues to stroll alongside you, an air of arrogance in each step he takes. You quickly realize you have no idea where you're headed. The echoing of both your steps, coupled with the hovering nuisance on your side, makes you let out a sharp, frustrated exhale. You turn to Theo, glaring daggers into his stormy eyes.

"Can you just go? You're so—ugh." You growl, unable to find the proper words.

Theo's brows perk upward. There's something familiar about the expression you give him. He'd seen it before. Last time he'd seen it, the two of you ended up christening the boy's change room after a Quidditch match—Slytherin should beat Gryffindor more often.

Before you can articulate your frustrations, Theo grabs you by the wrist and pulls you into a vacant classroom. The feeling of his fingers around your wrist sends a jolt of warmth straight through your body. Theo pins you against the door, your books falling to the floor with a sharp thud. He skillfully locks the door with a slight flick of his wand before muttering the muffliato charm and putting his wand away. Darkened eyes meet your gaze, a mixture of amusement and want in his eyes.

"I'm so what?" Theo demands. His hand caresses your cheek before roughly wrapping around the base of your throat. "Use your words."

Your mind goes hazy, as if you've been confunded, the moment you feel his hand on your throat. You'd never admit how much you loved when Theo did that.

With a shaky breath, you meet his intense gaze to say, "Infuriating."

The way you reacted to Theo's touch was unlike any other girl he had the pleasure of fucking at Hogwarts. You were just so obvious, and Theo had no shame in admitting that he found it all extremely arousing. Of course, your mouth would claim otherwise, but Theo always had a plan to occupy your pretty little mouth.

You bite down on your lip, stifling the whimper begging to escape. Your breathing is in sync with each other, and the sexual tension makes the air around you thick.

"Are you going to fix it? Or are you just going to stand there like an idiot?" You tempt, leaning up slightly, just to see if he'll close the gap between your lips and his.

"I don't know," Theo responds, keeping a fair distance—only enough for your lips to brush lightly against his. To keep you wanting. Theo leans into your neck, ghosting breathy, teasing kisses up until he's milimeters away from your ear. "Are you going to say please?"

"You've got to be kidding," you huff, shooting a glare at Theo as you try to keep your breathing steady.

You weren't exactly experienced, at least not like Theo. You had a few moments with others, but no one had ever gotten you to feel as good as Theo did. It enraged you that Theo knew how good he made you feel, but you also took pleasure in knowing that you must be riling him up just as equally because Theo always seemed to come crawling back.

You bring your free hand up, tangling your fingers in his lush, brown locks, before tugging his head back a bit so he could look at you. He groans at this. It was one of many acts that really got Theo going, and it just so happened to be where your hands gravitated to the most.

"Please," you say, the tiniest of smirks on your lips.

Anticipation runs through your veins. You didn't need to say anything else. By the way he was looking at you, his lustful eyes boring into your gaze, Theo knew you needed him right now.

"Good girl," he muses with a cocky grin.

The first time Theo had praised you like that, while laced with ridicule, it had elicited a whimper that had him reeling. Today was no different.

Theo moves his hand from your throat and down to your waist, expertly pulling you away from the door and onto the desks behind him. Theo wastes no time and captures your lips with his. One hand finds your thigh, teasing up your bare skin and under your skirt. Your hands find and tug at his belt. Theo unbuckles it and tosses it aside.

"Let's see if you can keep it up." Theo says hotly against your lips.

It was in your nature to be good. But with Theo, there was that bubbling voice inside you that beckoned you to misbehave—to get under his skin. To be bad, all so he could teach you a lesson. Which is why, as Theo plants nippy, wet kisses down your neck, you can't help the words that blurt out of your mouth.

"Let's see if you can make me shake, like—what was that bloke's name..." You trail off, pulling him up by the collar of his shirt for another kiss and wrapping your legs around his waist to keep him close.

There was no other guy, of course, but you wanted him to think otherwise. The mischievous glint in your eyes changes to amusement as Theo's eyes darken. His fingers drag possessively across the insides of your thighs. It was hard for Theo to imagine you with someone else. You two weren't exclusive by any means, but the way you'd whimper and dig your nails into his back had him feeling territorial.

"Shake?" Theo asks against your lips. There was a tinge of something in his tone, and, deep down, you wanted it to be jealousy. "I'll fucking make you shake."

Feverish kisses move down your neck, eliciting a whine out of you, his free hands taking residence on the base of your throat. He plants open-mouthed kisses down the sensitive spots along your neck, sucking softly on the skin, surely leaving a mark everyone would be able to see. Theo pulls back to admire his work. He's pleased. You, on the other hand, were equal parts excited and annoyed. Excited because the sensation made the blood rush to your cheeks and to your core, and annoyed because you had to explain the markings to your friends.

"Theo," you hiss. "You know better."

Theo doesn't listen, obviously. Instead, he moves down your body until he's crouched and face-to-cunt. Slender fingers reach under your skirt, hook onto your panties, and slide the garment off. In an instant, Theo's between your legs, lapping his tongue relentlessly over your clit.

"Oh my god," you gasp, one hand grasping onto the edge of the desk, your back arching instinctively to bring yourself closer to his tongue. Your free hand finds his hair again, your hips rolling to meet his movements.

Theo's smirks into your core, a low groan escaping his lips as he feels you roll onto his mouth. Strong hands position themselves on either leg, urging you to spread your legs wider. You try to obey his silent requests, but it's not enough. Impatience hits him hard, and he's repositioning your legs so they're slung over his shoulders, a firm hand pushing your hips down onto the wooden desk. The new position allowed him to be flush against you, his tongue circling your entrance and lapping up any arousal.

"Theo," you moan, louder than normal.

You could tell he was pissed. It'd always been your goal, especially in intimate settings, but Theo had never been like this. He buries his face between your legs, his nose rubbing against your clit as his tongue works on your opening. He dips a finger in and withdraws it out of you slowly, contrasting his unyielding tongue. Your eyes flutter shut with pleasure.

"More," you choke out. "Please, give me more."

Your moans were fueling the already raging fire in him. Fuck, he needed to hear more of that. Theo uses his free hand to hold you steady, his tongue and lips unrelenting. He adds another digit inside of you, curling his fingers against your spot. Theo wanted to make you cum now more than ever. He wanted you to remember that even if you were fucking someone else, he was the only one who could make you unravel like this.

"Sit fucking still then," he growled against your slit, stormy eyes shooting up to look at you.

You fight hard to listen to him, desperately trying not to squirm. Theo was cruel enough to stop and leave you high and dry, so it was in your best interest to do as instructed. You dig your nails into the edge of the desk in an attempt to keep your focus on something other than the pleasure growing inside of you.

"Th-Theo," you gasp. "I—"

You're close, and you know what Theo wants—what he always wants. Theo wanted you to ask for permission, and with the image of someone else messing with you fresh in his mind, Theo needed to know he had that control over you now more than ever. Breathy pants fill the room, and you fear you can't hold it back any longer.

"Fuck, please. Can I please..." You moan, throwing your head back against the desk.

"Please what?" Theo says roughly against you. If Theo's cock wasn't already erect, it would be now. Your moans and gasps of pleasure were truly something that needed to be studied. Who knew these delightfully ragged breaths could come out of someone so irritatingly uptight? "Words, Y/L/N."

The fog of pleasure Theo has you in has made it impossible for you to do the one thing you pride yourself on: following the instructions. Typically, Theo would remove himself and make you beg for contact. Today, though, his actions were ceaseless. Despite your strong will to be good, your body wouldn't cooperate.

"Oh my god," you whimper, your back arching as an intense orgasm washes over you. Your body jerks—no, shakes—and your moans are broken up by desperate gasps as wave after wave hits you.

Theo curses under his breath. As pissed as he was that you didn't ask, Theo graciously allows you to release on his tongue, lapping up your sweet fluids. He'd reprimand you later. As you come down from your high, your body collapses onto the desk. You've never felt anything like that before.

Theo stands and slides his fingers out of you slowly. His darkened, lustful eyes are trained on yours. As much as he enjoyed the view, Theo wasn't happy.

"Don't," you breathe. "I know—I should have... I know."

"So much for following instructions," Theo says, disregarding your words. He licks your arousal off his fingers casually, and the sight makes you shift and clench your thighs together. He was the hottest irritant you've ever seen.

"Fuck off," you say with an exasperated huff. You prop yourself up by your elbows, slowly moving into a sitting position. "You didn't exactly help the situation."

So maybe Theo was being a bit of a prick. Not like he could help it—you squirming and moaning for him like that triggered something primal in him. Theo didn't want to stop; he wanted to make you scream for him. Still, it really shouldn't have been hard to ask.

By the way Theo was looking at you, you could tell it would take more than a crass brush-off to wipe the icy glare and pouted lips from his expression. Delicate fingers grip onto Theo's shirt, tugging him closer to you. You ghost your lips against his, meeting his steely gaze. "Will you let me make it up to you?"

You don't wait for a response. Instead, you nip at his bottom lip before pulling him in for a slow, deep kiss. Despite his annoyance, Theo kisses back, placing a strong hand behind your neck to keep you in place. The kiss is full of passion, anger, and need.

You maneuver yourself off the desk, unbreaking the hot kiss, as you reposition so that Theo's the one against the desk. He acknowledges you taking charge, and he allows it because, quite frankly, whenever you did take charge, Theo found it extremely intoxicating.

Only now do you break the kiss, peering up at Theo as your hands fumble with his pants. He kicks them off just as you remove your own top, making a point of leaving your bra intact. Theo's breath catches. God, he wanted to bury his face between the valley of your breasts.

"So?" You ask again, a devilish smirk on your lips, your fingers making progress on unbuttoning his collared shirt. "Will you?"

"Go on, then." Theo says. It's not lost on him how much leniency he gives you—not just in this moment. Any other girl who disobeyed his instructions would have been tossed aside so he could move on to the next. But with you, as vexing as you were, you also very much intrigued him.

At his permission, you lightly push him back so he's sitting on the desk, giving him a much comfortable position to watch as you slowly unhook your bra, letting the garment fall to the floor. You can sense his probing eyes on you, and you can't help the sly smile that appears as you straddle him, one leg on each side of him.

Theo's hands find your waist immediately, slowly sliding up your sides, to your bare back, and then to your front. He squeezes your breasts, eliciting a breathy moan from you. Your skin was soft under his rough hands.

"And I thought you were going to let that ego of yours make a horrible choice for the both of us." You tease.

Theo's too enamoured with this new position (and view) to respond to your jests. One hand rests firmly on your jaw as he pulls you in for a kiss, his teeth grazing your bottom lip. Meanwhile, your hand moves to stroke his length, feeling Theo grow even harder at your touch.

"Shit," Theo groans.

"Someone's missed me," you whisper against his lips. Your thumb teases the tip of his cock, evoking a slight twitch out of him.

"God, shut up."

Theo wanted nothing more than to wipe—no, fuck—that smug expression on your face. And he's just about ready to take matters into his own hands, but you beat him to it.

Still wet from your previous orgasm, you were beyond ready to have Theo inside you. You lift yourself up slightly, guiding him to your entrance. He bites back a groan, his hands gripping your waist. You lock gazes as you slowly lower yourself onto him, your mouth falling open in a glorious 'o' shape as you take all of him into you.

While this wasn't the first time you had Theodore Nott resting deeply in your cunt, you took a moment to adjust.

"Are you going to move, or what?" Theo growls impatiently, bucking his hips and roughly nipping at the soft skin on your neck.

His impatience makes you smirk.

"Hey," you say, with a wry smile. You snake your fingers up to his hair, tugging his head back slightly to give you room to trail a path of kisses along his neck. You were going to prolong this and make you both ache for more. You didn't want to be the only one who was a moaning mess today. "If I'm making it up to you, then it's my rules."

"You know I don't give a shit about rules."

"Too bad."

This makes Theo's jaw clench. Before he can utter another quip, you're rolling your hips, feeling him embedded inside you. The movement feels good, but you know it's not enough for either of you just yet.

"God, I'm thankful your ego isn't the only thing that's big," you moan against his ear.

This makes Theo's jaw clench. You hear a string of curse words in another language, something you've noticed Theo does in moments where his brain had short-circuited. Enough sense, it seems, is knocked back into him as you can understand the breathless words, "And you take me so fucking well."

Theo's lips find the top of your chest, kissing down feverishly. His tongue flicks expertly against your right nipple as his hand moves to grip your bare ass from under your skirt. You arch into him, letting out a sharp gasp at the dual sensation. Despite his sentiment about rules, Theo lets you control the pace. He holds back the strong desire to thrust upwards into you, to fuck you hard.

"Oh, Theo," you whine as you continue to roll your hips. You wrap your arms around his shoulders and lift yourself up, almost completely off his dick. Ghosting your lips against his, you push yourself back down—hard—feeling him go even deeper. You repeat these movements, your moans growing louder.

Theo can't stop the thoughts of how gorgeous you looked from clouding his mind. You weren't bad to look at normally, but seeing you fuck yourself with his cock had to be one of the wonders of the world. Only if that were a reality, Theo's not sure he could stand anyone else ogling you like this.

"Yes, that... that feels good." Theo groans, his cock throbbing from your movements.

You press your forehead against his, your eyes locking with his as you continue. One of the things Theo liked most about this little arrangement was your unnerving ability to keep eye contact—there was nothing more sexy than seeing the woman you were pleasuring crumble. Eyes can tell you everything.

"I'm trying to—" you breathe, rocking yourself against him. The movement wasn't nearly fast enough, but the way you were moving had him reaching depths you didn't know were attainable. "—to be good."

"Are you?" Theo asks between pants, squeezing your ass roughly. He leans into your lips. "Can you be a good girl for me now?"

You give him a small nod, your eyes fluttering shut for a moment. Your breath is quavering as you try to speak; your eyes re-lock onto his. "Am I not being good for you?"

This makes him chuckle darkly. Theo wasn't an idiot. He knew you practically yearned for his words of praise. The knowledge was something he took advantage of from time to time, withholding and dangling his praise in front of you just to see how far you'd go to make him say it.

To prove to Theo you were being good, you push yourself down onto him roughly, a whimper escaping your lips. You increase your speed, unable to hold out anymore, fucking yourself hard, deep, and fast on his cock.

"Fuck." Theo swears, and he can't help himself now. Hands keep you in place as he fucks up into you, cock hitting your spot repeatedly and mercilessly. He relishes the feeling of your wet core around him. Your clit presses against his pelvis at each thrust.

You took pleasure (literally and figuratively) in Theo's natural ability in knowing. He knew what to say, how to touch you so you were melting, and when to take back control. His hands digging into your hips told you everything you needed to know: Theo was going to fuck you senseless.

"I want to be good," you pant, your nails digging into his back, grasping for a release.

"Then you know what I want to hear."

He holds you flush against him, arms wrapping around you as he continues to thrust. He can feel his own pleasure grow. Your head falls onto his shoulder as you feel it building up in your stomach again. This time, you weren't going to wait until it was too late.

"Theo, please," you practically beg. Theo was the only person who'd ever make you feel like this, and you were past the point of caring whether he knew it too. "Can I cum, please? For you."

"Yes," Theo hisses. He was close too. "Cum for me. Now."

Your orgasm hits you hard and fast, your head falling back as you drag your nails into his skin. Theo continues to thrust up sharply, chasing the high for the both of you. You clench around his length, the sensation mixed with your moans pushing Theo over the edge.

"That's my good girl."

Theo's praise for you was not lost in the chorus of breathy moans and grunts of pleasure. His addition of the word 'my' made you shake even more as another wave of pleasure washes over you.

"Oh, God, yes, Theo."

His hand moves to the back of your neck desperately, guiding you into him for a passionate kiss as he spills into you with a moan.

Ragged breaths fill the room. There was always a moment of limbo after every encounter—a moment where the two of you stayed entangled and nestled with each other, savouring the proximity and stealing last, sweet kisses. You knew the moment you got up, the two of you would go back to despising each other again, until next time.

"So?" Theo asks after a moment, expectant of an answer, as if you could read his mind. "That dumb git you mentioned earlier. Was he better than me?"

His question makes you smirk, and you have to bite it back so as not to show how content you were that he had lingered on that thought.

"You don't want me to answer that," you say, giving him a small pat on the shoulder before getting up. You slip back into your clothes and adjust your hair.

The answer should have been obvious to Theo, but you weren't giving him the satisfaction of admitting it because it did nothing for your reality. This was as far as this would go. Theodore Nott was a pretentious asshole who just so happened to be a good fuck. There was never going to be more than that.

"You definitely exceeded expectations today, Theo," you say, gathering your books from the floor. "But you didn't do anything worth an outstanding."

With a swift flick of your wand, you unlock the door and leave Theo in the vacant classroom, already fantasizing about next time.

#if you squint this is theo x ravenclaw reader #theodore nott smut #theo nott smutt #theodore nott fanfiction #theodore nott imagine #theodore nott fanfic #theodore nott x reader #theo nott x reader #theodore nott x y/n #theo nott x y/n #theo nott x you #theodore nott x you #theodore nott #theo nott #*writing

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stories-and-chaos · 3 months

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Shrike: The House Always… Loses?! Pt 2

[Hazbin Hotel reader insert as Alastor’s “darling life and death partner” Ace x ace relationship, both parties are moderately sex favorable. This was supposed to be a one shot about how Husk sold his soul, but I couldn’t help myself.]

[Part 2/2 Word count 1760 Cw: gambling, addiction]

——————

It did end up entertaining. There were lots of gambling dens in the city (it was hell after all) but Husk’s soon came to be known as a place of class. You could lose all your money or your soul, but it would be somewhere that didn’t stink of demon excrement. You might pass out wasted while watching the shows, but the staff wouldn’t toss you into the gutter. They’d provide a bucket and water and charge you extra for the courtesy.

His policy on fighting was ironclad. Anyone who tried to stir things up got a beat down from him. Some demons, seeing Husk at half their height- or less- forgot that he was an Overlord. And the title wasn’t just given away. It was earned. Some nights you’d arrive for your performance and see scorch and skid marks on the ground in front of the casino. Occasionally a bloody splatter.

So with a reputation for the finer stuff, Husk had no end of high rollers gambling away their nights. Your presence definitely helped in the early days; you didn’t do many shows outside of your home district or Cannibal Town in the ‘70s. Demons who had only heard rumors of the voice that charmed the Radio Demon had a chance to get an earful. They came to hear you and they stayed for the thrill of the games of chance.

Alastor accompanied you some nights, roughly once a week. After your performance you’d have a meal together and mingle by the tables. Neither of you were fond of games of chance. It was amusing to watch others wager money and more on dice and cards.

Husk usually came out on top, which made the high rollers burn for the chance to recoup their losses. On nights you went alone, you could occasionally snare a couple souls. The delicate little bird offering chips for something so little as a favor? Even if she was the wife of an Overlord it couldn’t be that bad. It didn’t matter if they won or lost with your collateral. Your talon was hooked in. They’d come for more on other nights, you would oblige until the favors stacked up and the only way to pay was with their soul.

Husk knew what you were doing and let you play your game. The amount of deals you made was inconsequential to what the house did. And when he knew a good number were brought through his doors because of you…well, call it a bonus for the great work.

Exterminations came and went. You didn’t really keep track beyond holing up with Alastor the day of. Suffice to say, years passed and power fluctuated. Alastor’s broadcast of screams had an ever growing playlist. You had your flock, both willing and contracted. Husk’s casino continued to thrive.

Until it didn’t.

The problem with games of chance is there’s a chance you lose.

Maybe it was because the latest extermination rattled the gambler. His casino staff had been hit hard this time, losing almost half their ranks. Or maybe his streak finally ran out. But Husk took a loss, a big one. Then another.

And another.

He didn’t lose every game. But the high stakes ones were the ones he couldn’t seem to claw back from. The Overlord was rattled and his power was waning.

You and Alastor discussed the situation. You had returned home after seeing another big loss for Husk. As the two of you relaxed on the couch, the state of souls around you was an excellent topic.

“So it really does seem as though the poor fellow’s luck has run dry,” you mused. “Or at least, he can’t seem to make his own luck any longer.”

“Hmmm. Hmm hmm hmm.” You could see the shadow of his antlers growing as he considered the situation. “You’ve been there so often darling, do you think he can?”

You interlocked your talons with his claws. “Unless he gets some confidence back? No. He’s too shaken now.”

“Well. That sounds perfect.” The static in his voice intensified. “I trust you have no objections, cher?”

“Mais non cher! I’ll miss performing at such a nice venue and the easy pickings, but that’s the way of things.” You paused. “I would prefer his screams not be added to your repertoire, but I’ll leave that to you.”

He brought your hand up to kiss your knuckles. “I’m also fond of the fellow cher. I believe it will be better to keep him around after the deal is struck.”

You grinned, feeling your wings becoming sharp edged, the room lights reflecting off your now metallic feathers. “Lovely. I’ll let you know when the time is right.”

It was three weeks later. Husk’s losing streak didn’t stop. And he didn’t stop trying to win everything back. Even from across the building, you could feel his desperation. It was when he started eyeing some loan sharks you knew it was time for Alastor to come in.

Your husband escorted you, like so many nights before. You gave a lovely performance, making sure to put a frenzied tone to a number of pieces. Just enough to set the mood and keep Husk off balance. Then your routine of sharing dinner and mingling at the gaming tables. Not that there was much conversation going on. There were very few patrons around. The ship was sinking and even the most loyal were scurrying away.

“Husk my good man!” Alastor said jovially. “You seem to be in quite a situation here. I’d say things look rather dire if I didn’t know better.”

“Ah, no! No…just a slow night.” He scrambled to make everything seem normal. But there was no hiding the tension in his voice, the bags under his eyes, or the strain in his smile. “Things have been… quieter since extermination day, I’m sure Y/N told you.”

“Ah yes, she did mention the angels seemed to have it out for you and yours this last time. Tragic really. Well, if that’s all,” he said with a perky air, “what say we play a few hands?” He produced stacks of chips that Husk eyed avidly.

It was a given they’d play. The first few hands, Alastor won a couple, Husk won more. There was a desperate gleam in his black and gold eyes as his winnings grew.

It was a given he’d start to lose. Husk’s need to win it back increased. He’d been winning! Those chips had been his, he just needed a good hand to get them back. Alastor’s smile never faded, his confidence unnerving Husk. Which made him all the easier to read and manipulate.

It was a given that Alastor would play the other Overlord like a piano. And eventually, the wall of chips around your husband proved how well he’d done. Husk had only one thing left to wager.

“Let’s try something a little different for our last game of the night chum.” Alastor spread six cards out on the felt. A royal flush and a joker. “You get one draw of a card. Get the ace, the whole pot is yours. King, queen, jack or ten and I take my winnings. Draw the joker, and I win your soul as well.”

Husk hesitated. Were those odds worth putting his soul on the line? “I draw a face card, we split the pot,” he countered.

“Hmmm.” You shivered pleasantly as Alastor’s static hum reverberated. “Done!” He handed the cards to you to shuffle. “If you would, cher?” You happily obliged. The symbols of his magick gathered around as his antlers stretched out. You could feel your feathers shift to metallic and decorative at the anticipation.

It was a given Husk would draw the joker. It didn’t matter how long he hesitated, eyes flicking between the cards and Alastor’s eternal smile. His wavering claw pulled the card, dooming him.

As soon as he revealed the joker in his hand, Alastor’s magick formed a thick green collar and chain. The collar snapped onto Husk’s neck and the chain rested in your husband’s grasp. He made a tsk-ing sound as he wrapped it around his microphone cane.

“Bad luck, my good man.” His laughter grew, filling the building as his shadows spread. One of them found Husk’s own cane. The former Overlord reached for it out of reflex but the shadowy tentacle dropped it into Alastor’s hand. He examined the delicate orb on top before presenting it to you with a bow. “If you would please ma cher?”

You took hold of the gold body, admiring it for a moment. You could feel your cheeks stretching as you grinned. Your art deco wings rustled with your glee, sounding like dozens of wind chimes. “Of course darling.” You infused the cane with your silver wind magick. A laugh bubbled up from your core as you slammed the butt of it to the ground. A wave of silver blinded every present.

When it passed, the casino was gone. Everyone was in an empty lot, including one unfortunate with his pants around his ankles that was suddenly sitting on bare stone. You examined the head of the cane. Inside the orb was the casino, suit symbols, dice, and chips swirling around as if it was a snow globe.

Alastor leaned over to look at your handiwork. “Exquisitely done cher! One of your best works if I do say so myself!” He gave you a kiss on the cheek. Husk could only slump to the ground, weighed down by the chain of his deal. There was a blank look over his tired face. His hands hung limply down, claws twitching in shock. Not surprising, his stronghold and power base had just vanished before his eyes.

“Merci darling, I’m rather proud of this one. His power is neatly contained within and you can allow him whatever access you see fit!” You looked down at the feline demon. “We wouldn’t want our latest acquisition to be completely helpless after all.”

“Yes indeedy my dear!” He glanced around at the stunned patrons and employees. “Alright folks, you don’t have to go home but you can’t stay here! Ha ha ha!” He held out his arm, you took it, and the two of you started strolling away. “Come along Husker, we have some terms of your deal to review before tomorrow!”

Still in a daze, Husk trailed behind you two. His leash wasn’t visible at the moment but he followed as if he felt every link between him and Alastor.

A/N: I honestly thought this would take longer, surprise! Shrike’s taking the casino is pure self indulgence on my part. HC for when Overlords lose to another, the winner can do as they please with their base of operations: taking over it, destroying it, or preserving it like here. If it was one of the Vees, it’d be their portion of the tower, Alastor his broadcast station, Rosie her emporium, Carmilla her factory. Shrike’s would be her favorite performing venue at first, then her recording studio when she takes over during Alastor’s sabbatical. But it’s something they all can do.

@whitewolfsoldat @edgyboi10000 @ch3sire-blu3 @clearly-awkward @badatpunz @bengewatch @chewbrry

#hazbin fanfic #hazbin hotel #hazbin husk #hazbin alastor #asexual alastor #asexual reader #alastor x reader #alastor #asexual #acespec #ace representation

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broke-art · 11 months

Text

Kui Mulang x reader

SPOILER WARNING

You struggled against the soldiers as they dragged you further into the forest.

After Tang had teleported you in a rush, you and Mei had dropped into a forested area that you of course didn't recognize.

"Get off a me!" You shouted thrashing in their grips. You made one stumble slightly but the other quickly corrected him and tugged on your arm painfully.

"If I had my sword I'd slice ya and dice ya!" Mei yelled loudly as a circular entrance opened.

You gasped a bit as the pair of guards holding you and Mei shoved you both forward and you hit the ground on your knees.

The entrance behind you closed as a voice captured your full attention.

"Well well well." A man spoke from atop a throne ahead of you. "Who are these little creatures that have come wandering into my den?" He asked introspectively.

Instantly your heart fluttered at the sound of his voice shocking you especially. If you didn't know any better, you'd say his voice was familiar.

"Who are you?! What am I doing here?! What do you want?!" Mei demanded getting to her feet. You followed suit but kept your peace.

Yet inside your magic roiled almost excitedly. Though you had zero idea why. Instead of focusing on that you tossed your gaze around the room looking for an exit or possible escape.

Maybe if Mei could just keep him busy.

"Feisty." The man mused. "Very well, allow me to tell you a tale."

You felt the urge to squirm as Mei's tone turned nervous.

"Oh that's ok we should Go-"

She was cut off by his tale none the less.

As he spoke the story began to sound more and more familiar and more and more disturbing.

"I am Kui Mulang God of the celestial court one of the 28 mansions of the white tiger and devourer of earthly souls."

You flinched feeling a chill run down your spine.

"Oh I'll be spicy, Alright!" Mei shouted.

"Mei wait!" You began but it was too late she'd already charged at him only to be restrained by magic runes only a second later.

In an instant similar runes locked you in place despite your struggle

"Ah such power. And yet powerless to use it." Kui Mulang muttered thoughtfully observing Mei.

"Let her go!" You shouted thrashing against the runes holding you fast. To your shock the runes began to crack under your thrashes.

Kui Mulang gave a small hum as he looked around Mei.

"Come into the light." He ordered.

You were about to refuse but a rune at your back shoved you forward. Forcing you to kneel before his throne.

Kui Mulang's eyes widened. With a small gasp.

"It's you."

You glanced up.

"My beloved reborn." He whispered touching a hand to your cheek. "But how is this so? So soon?"

Despite yourself your cheeks heated at his touch but regardless, you pulled away as much as the restraints would allow.

"Don't touch me."

Kui Mulang frowned.

"You don't remember." He turned. "No matter. You will. In time."

"Take the dragon girl to the cells." He ordered with dismissive wave of his hand which effectively dropped Mei into guards who had just entered.

"Wait, No!" You yelled thrashing against the chains as they dragged her away.

Kui Mulang took your chin in hand.

"Don't fret, my love. Soon all will be made clear."

With a snap of his fingers your world seemed to blur then fade to black.

Dun dun dun!

Would you guys like more Kui Mulang fics? Let me know in the comments.

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moderately-batty · 3 months

Text

Prologue: The Prince and the Performer Vaddrigan Pol

TW: Captivity, mind control, cults, brief drug mention

Vaddrigan warmed his hands on his mug of tea, taking a moment to appreciate the satisfaction of how mundane this treat had become. Wealth was such a nebulous thing, hard to appreciate from ledgers and reports. Until recently, the only coin he’d needed to handle was whatever tips his acts garnered, quickly tossed to the ringmaster to distribute. Now that he ran his own show, everyone expected him to magically know how to keep records, pay his priests, and fund the repair of the theater. If Huldra hadn’t volunteered as his accountant, this godly act would be wholly unsustainable.

He could, however, appreciate the material comforts his newfound wealth brought. He didn’t need to ration the sugar in his tea, he had his own private room with a fine wardrobe of clothes, and mountains of blankets. Fleece sheets, layers of wool and fur, and a worn quilt that still smelled like his old train car bunk. Luckily for him–and unluckily for everyone who’d ever tried to steal his quilt–the smell of elephants was nigh impossible to wash out without magic.

Somehow, lately his thoughts always seemed to drift towards his bed. It was so cold and damp here that his bones ached, even with all the effort he’d put into insulating his room. The rest of the theater was worse–drafty and dark in a town already rarely blessed by the sun. Once he really was a god, which hopefully wouldn’t be long, he’d abandon this place for somewhere the seasons were measured in rainfall rather than temperature.

His musings were interrupted by a knock at the door and he nearly spilled his tea in surprise. Before he could wonder who was coming to bother him, the door opened–Huldra, then. No one else was quite so lacking in basic manners.

The dwarven woman pushed her way inside, looking like she might fight the door when it stuck on the rug he’d laid down to try and combat the persistent draft. “You need to walk your dog,” she demanded. “His crying is making Dreamrender hungry.”

“It sounds like it’s your pet who needs a walk then, Huldra.” Vaddrigan set down his tea. “What makes you think you can come in here and tell me what to do?”

“The fact that you have no idea how any of the drugs I make even work, much less how to *make* them?” Huldra gave him a self-satisfied grin, the sort that made him want to feed her to her slime collection.

Rather than hurt her, however, he just sighed and pulled on his coat. Carrius did probably need some attention, especially if he was in enough distress to be attracting the hunger of the resident living nightmare. He resisted the urge to give Huldra the satisfaction of a rude gesture (if only barely) and stepped past her to head towards the prince’s cell.

Huldra chuckled and pulled his door shut, clapping him on the back hard enough to make him stumble. “Scream if you need me, champ.”

“That’s hardly a proper way to address your god.” He grumbled back.

“You and I both know you’re no god yet.” She trundled off, countless bottles and vials clinking from her belts as she walked. Vaddrigan just shook his head and set out to check on his little figurehead prince.

Thankfully, things seemed reasonably quiet tonight, and the only other people he saw were a handful of priests playing some sort of dice game. He smiled to himself, almost wishing they’d let him join. Of course, he’d been banned from all gambling games after the tenth time he’d played a downright improbable hand of poker. A shame the loaded dice in his coat pocket were little more than decoration now, but games of chance were hardly befitting someone of his station anyways.

He reached the makeshift cell and flicked the key into the lock, pushing open the door and stepping inside to find the young Prince Carrius in a sorry state. He was sitting on the floor in the corner of the room, hands over his ears and legs pulled up to his chest. The night’s dinner decorated the floor, untouched food scattered about with bits of broken plate. He picked his way across the room, silently cursing himself for trusting the boy to eat on his own.

Well, he’d have to clean up one mess at a time. He took a breath and relaxed his aching shoulders, focusing his mind on reaching out to make a connection with Carrius’s. A spike of terror and confusion shot through the bond, but he easily brushed it aside, imposing his own far stronger will to drag the boy’s attention away from his fear by force. Almost instantly, Carrius’s hands loosened their grip on his hair and his shaking eased. Vaddrigan lowered himself down to sit beside him, catching his unfocused gaze with a practiced spin of the cell key. It glittered in the lamplight, Carrius’s eyes following the motion.

“What’s on your mind tonight, little prince?” he asked softly. Carrius stared up at him, emotions roiling beneath the forceful calm of Vaddrigan’s will. The boy’s expression hardened slightly, and he caught the sense of hatred burning its way to the surface. That wouldn’t do at all. “We all have nightmares sometimes, it’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

“It’s not a nightmare.” Carrius mumbled back, shutting his eyes to tear them away from the key. “Let me go.”

“Let you go? Nothing is stopping you, least of all me. Did you dream you were held captive again?”

“I am being held captive.You, you-” he sniffled, trying valiantly to shake off the spell.

“It’s alright, Carrius. You’re safe.” he leaned into a practiced script, shifting his focus to maintaining his hold. “Just breathe. Try to relax.”

Despite his resistance, Carrius obeyed and took a deep breath. “I want to go home.”

“You are home. Your dreams can’t hurt you, I’m here. Just breathe, focus on what’s real. You’re safe, you’re home.” The fear and hatred he sensed beneath his spell began to dim. “You’re free. There is no one keeping you here, there is no one who’s going to hurt you. You’re just very tired, and very confused.”

Carrius reached up to rub tears from his eyes with his sleeve, and Vaddrigan produced a handkerchief and offered it over. “That is what this was, a nightmare. You’re safe, you’re back in your room.” He took his hand and gave it a squeeze, smiling with the sincerity of an expert showman. “I’m here with you.”

A mumbled reply released the tension he hadn’t realized he’d been holding in his shoulders, though whether that was from his own worries or Carrius’s, he couldn’t tell. “You don’t need to talk, just relax. Take a deep breath for me, in for a count, two, three, hold…”

Carrius obeyed readily, their connection strengthening as his panic faded.

“And release, two, three…” He guided him through a few more breaths, watching in satisfaction as the prince’s eyes fluttered open to catch his piercing gaze. Immediately, the last of his resistance evaporated. “There we go. Do you feel better now?”

“What did you do?”

“You had a bad dream. I just helped wake you up.”

“I don’t think I-”

Vaddrigan pulled him into a hug, interrupting the protest. “Don’t think. You just need to trust me.”

Carrius felt for a moment like he might pull away, but finally melted into the touch.

“Let’s get your coat. We can go for a walk to clear your head while someone cleans up.” As much as he dreaded going out into the cold at night, Huldra hadn’t been wrong when she’d suggested the prince needed a bit of exercise–a stir-crazy captive was a pain to control.

@oliversrarebooks Thank you for your interest! I hope you enjoy!

#The Encircling Bower #My Writing #Pathfinder #Pathfinder War for the Crown #Vaddrigan Pol #Prince Carrius Stavian #Huldra #mind control #hypnosis #captivity #cults #cw cults #cw captivity

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sinnohlunarfestival · 6 months

Text

Racer Application Delivery!

A Dragonite is seen flying overhead, zooming through the sky to and fro -- going all over the neighbourhood in which you lived. Eventually, it spotted you and zoomed towards you at astonishing speeds, only barely stopping itself from barreling into you mere inches away.

Landing properly, the delivery Dragonite (you can tell its occupation by the telltale sachel at its side) pulled out a decidedly thick envelope for you. Nodding at a job well done, the Pokemon took off quickly, most likely onto the next urgent delivery.

In your hands you find a nicely printed envelope with some forms, rules and regulations concerning an event being held next year in Sinnoh -- a grand race! To be precise, a Garchomp race, using supplied specialized Garchomp raised specifically for this race. You are expected to respond in kind, whether you will attend as a racer or declining the invitation to race.

All are welcome to reply to the application.

What will you do?

Simple rules to follow concerning this application.

1. If you are chosen, you must commit to taking part in the event. Exceptions can be made, of course, as life can toss us all into all sorts of dire situations.

2. Only one application per mun. Please choose only one muse to apply, no multiple applications. Breaking this rule will have you disqualified from the event and possibly future ones.

3. Please respect the dice roll results. Practice good sportsmanship. This event is for fun!

4. Event is being held on EST/Eastern Standard Time. Please respect that muns involved as staff/participants may not always be around/in the same timezone.

5. Pokemon IRL blogs/Personals cannot apply/participate as Racers.

6. This application is first come basis, don't feel too disappointed if you do not manage to join in as a racer!

Deadline for applications is November 12, 2023, 9 PM EST. Good luck!

Chosen blogs will be contacted as soon as all spots are filled (twelve/12 in all).

RACER APPLICATION: GOOGLE FORM

#sinnohlunarfestival2024 #pls send asks if something is odd about the form!#will address any questions or problems quickly as possible

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another-dave · 2 months

Text

“Still the beast?” you muse playfully, tossing the pouch back for him to catch, “You’ll be better off loosening his leash.”

“Sound like the wine’s talking.” Halsin remarks, shaking his head in defeat, “Trust me, my friend. I’ve have known the bear long enough to take caution of his ferocity.

“Though, I must admit”, he adds with a ghost of a smile, “it’s his curiousity that more oftentimes got me in tricky situations.”

As you settle down by his side, Halsin swiftly snuffs out the gleaming sparks and puts his pipe away. While the sweet-smelling smoke still lingers in the air, you stretch your legs and admire the lovely view. The water surface barely ripples, like running silver in this moonlit night. It does cross your mind for a second, how lucky you feel to have survived to behold this. Nevertheless, it only gives the druid his peace for a goodly breath or three, before you attempting to get him flustered again.

“I know you have many questions for me, as you have made it clear since the party started.”

You almost jump hearing him speak first; that sly old druid must be watching and timed the moment you open your mouth.

“I will answer one of those more light-hearted ones, for tonight. Come morning, we shall discuss your journey ahead.”

A scarce offer. You can’t help but picture Halsin as a giant male sphinx, sternly safe-guarding his life secrets. Biting the inside of your cheek, you know you must choose your words wisely. To not let this opportunity go to waste.

CHOICES: Roll your dice here. If you failed the check, you can pick other available choices 😊

1. “What’s your last name?” you ask him coyly, “I can’t believe we were gutting goblins by each other’s side and you haven’t told me that.”

2. [Charisma] “You mentioned something interesting already. Care to tell me about those tricky situations the bear found himself in?” (Difficulty 18)

3. “If you’re doomed to stay in one of your wild shapes for the rest of your days, which animal form would you rather take?”

Go back

Main post

#my writing #nocturnal kinds

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cellarfulofnose · 1 year

Text

Heart of the Country

Well, life on the farm is kinda laid-back...

(submitted by my lovely muse @adreadfulcantata. happy birthday ^3^)

Paul's milking the goat when the melody comes to him. He mumbles a line, and it almost shapes itself (really, there's only so many places the chord changes can go), but then Tina tosses her head and he realizes he's stopped in his work. He resumes diligently, raising his head to call out over Tina's back.

"Lin?" His breath fogs out into a pale cloud in the cold of the baby-blue morning. Swish, swish, sings the pail, ringing with each jet of milk.

"What?" Linda stands where she'd been squatting next to the chicken coop. There's only a small handful of eggs in her basket, and they're covered in hay and feathers and chicken shit but they're all lovely, the shells varying from blue to green to brown.

Paul blinks, because she's perfect and he doesn't have his camera. He hums the line again. "What d'you think?"

"What's that?"

"For the--second song." He hums it again, and taps his foot too. It's bluesy like that; a gut bass wouldn't go amiss.

Linda hums it back, nodding thoughtfully to the beat, then raises her eyebrows in acknowledgement. "I like it. It swings."

Paul gives a little wiggle, shoulders and hips, as well as he can for kneeling on the ground. Tina's all done; she walks off in search of her kid. He and Linda throw the tune back and forth a few times until it's got legs. On the walk back to the house, he starts to ad-lib, scatting a few bars, just until he can get his hand around a pen and start writing words. But it's a pan-handle that ends up in his hand instead, once they cross the threshold into the kitchen--omelets really can't wait. Linda compromises, lets him drag out a tape recorder to catch their little breakfast demo. As longs as he keeps cooking.

"What's that, Delta blues?" she asks, pouring tea.

"Mm, not quite. Little more country-western." A Texas drawl bleeds through to tug at his vowels, harden his r's. He adds diced peppers, tomatoes, and a handful of spinach to the beaten eggs. As they sizzle on the skillet, he whistles. Linda dances, shoulders shimmying. He laughs.

"This is nice, isn't it?" He's not planning to say it, but. Jesus, the sun coming through the window, the wind chimes on the porch. Somebody's got to.

"It smells great," Linda agrees--means to.

Paul chuckles. "No, the--"

"Oh, the song? Yeah, it's a good one."

"I just meant..." He gestures as well as he can with a spatula in one hand and a pan at the other. Shrugs at the room. "Just this."

"Hmm." There's a clink as she sets down the teacups, then her hands slide into his pockets from behind, and she kisses his shoulder. He curls against her, still too busy fending off burnt eggs to give much of anything back. But she's there for a breath, a side-to-side sway, then she's gathering plates.

"The country tune, it's not bad, though," Paul says a bit later, omelets plated and toast buttered.

"No. I like it."

He hesitates a moment, then, "John would hate it."

"Well," Linda says with exaggerated shock, "then." Might as well scrap the whole thing, hadn't we?

"I mean, I don't really mind, though. It's such a high, isn't it? Writing together?"

"It's kind of an ego trip," she admits, "making something ex nihilo. I don't know how you two kept your heads on." She raises the teacup to her lips. "Don't know how you stayed so ridiculously humble." Her eyes widen, then crinkle with a smile as she drinks.

Paul flips his hair over his shoulder, preening for her. He'll play the prima donna, because it's funny and she's right. He fancied himself a god among men once and, well, forgive him, but they were creating life out of nothing.

All right, not out of nothing. Thesis-antithesis, synthesis. Not genesis. It was part of them put together that grew into something as alive as a song, as self-sufficient as an album. Like...like childbirth.

Paul thinks of all the young songs toddling about out there, hyphenated to bear his last name, some old enough now to be starting primary school. He finishes his toast.

A few mouthfuls of bread doesn't push it down all the way, though. As they clean up, he starts talking again; not necessarily saying anything, mind you. "I think, with me and John, it was sort of..."

Linda pauses, giving him ample time to spit out the word he's looking for. He doesn't. "Give me a hint."

Paul shakes his head and hands her a dish to dry. "Not like exercise, you know, not a chore, like we were forced to, but we sort of...had to. Had to get it out, you know?" He gestures too broadly, wrist-deep in suds, and splashes his shirt.

"Cathartic?"

It clicks nicely. "Yeah," he says, because he's not going to find a better match than that. Purifying release. Yet it feels too...clean, somehow. Too pretty.

"Do you miss him?"

Paul doesn't like the feeling that floods his chest. The specific brand of defense that used to keep his blood pumping whenever they'd sit for American journalists. It's self-preservation--keeps him from blurting, Why the hell would you ask me that? Besides, he's not angry at her. She's not going to print it in the papers. She just wants to know.

He takes a breath. "Course I do, yeah. I mean. Shouldn't I?"

"What do you miss most about him?"

All right, that's...he's still not angry with her. He allows himself a laugh that's really a sigh. "Lin."

"Or is it the songwriting that you miss?"

"No. I don't--I just--" Linda motions for Paul to give her the next dish, and he rinses it and hands it over. "I mean, he's my best friend, I just. Miss him." She's quiet, so he continues. "I miss havin' him around."

"To do what?"

"Not to do anything, to just be there. Just be around each other." Paul shrugs. "I miss that."

Linda leans against the counter and smiles. "Great. Say that."

Paul blinks at her. "What, I just miss--"

"Not to me. Goober." She swats him with the dish towel. "Pick up the telephone. And say it to John."

"Oh." Paul huffs, taking great care not to roll his eyes as he reaches across the counter for an aubergine. "Right, let me just--"

"Go--down--the road." She punctuates each beat with another gentle whack from the dish towel and sets the last plate up in the cupboard.

Paul opens his mouth to protest, but it sort of dissolves. "Okay." Even now, this path is giving him uneasy footing. It's too simple. If it were that easy, he would've already just...wouldn't he? He dries his hands and rolls his sleeves back down. They're cold; he couldn't stop them getting wet. What harm is there in humoring her, though?

He must look like he's taking his sweet time, because Linda asks if he needs tuppence for the phone. As a matter of fact, he can manage, thank you, so he starts to hike down the road. The sun's coming up now. Just after six; Heather won't be up for half an hour yet. The driveway's all but dry now. After the last month's heavy rains, Paul was sure they'd be wading knee-deep in mud the rest of their lives, and yet. Slender green shoots will be daffodils soon, and then it'll be summer.

Paul's halfway to the phone box when he remembers the tape recorder. What a coda for the only demo of their country song--I miss him, I miss him, boo-hoo-hoo. Bleeding Christ. He's going to have to cut that tape. He picks up his pace, partly just to keep up with the way his lungs have kicked into fourth gear, but it's a bad idea. All of this. Right, he'll pick up the phone and call John, who he last spoke to through a lawyer, and tell him...tell him what, exactly? No, he can forget about the whole thing. He's not doing it. At least the trip isn't a total waste--he's getting a nice hike out of it.

He picks up the phone. He doesn't know why, but there's no harm in it, really. He could call Ringo, while he's here. His dad. Either of those would be reasonable options.

He dials John.

After six rings and no answer, Paul's stomach churns with the possibility that John just won't pick up. It should be a relief, infinitely preferable to what's absolutely going to happen instead (John will answer, and at the first note of Paul's voice, he'll slam it back down on the hook), but it's about to make him sick.

"Hello?"

It's not John. It's a woman's voice, but not Yoko, either. Paul almost stops breathing, certain he's got the wrong number, but it must be their staff, he realizes.

"Um." He can already hear himself putting on a BBC accent, and he hates it, but he's not sure what he would say if he didn't. "Hello, is John there, please, I'd like to speak with him."

For some reason, the woman doesn't ask who he is or why he wants to talk to John, just tells him to please wait a moment. Frankly, Paul's not impressed. Why bother with staff if they won't even screen your calls? It could be anyone on the other end of that line. He could be some kind of madman, some crazy ex-lover or--

"Hullo?"

At the sound of John's voice, Paul's not quite sure where he is for a moment. Not here, at least, not now. It doesn't seem plausible. He closes his eyes and says, "Hiya, John."

There's a silence so long that Paul bites his lip and starts to take another breath to repeat himself, but finally, "...Paul?"

"Hey," he breathes, staccato. His heart is racing like this is a matter of survival. There's no reason for it to be. It is, after all, a telephone call. He clears his throat. "Listen, I'm...are-are you doing anything right now?"

There's a sound like scoffing, as if John's too bewildered to string together a whole word. Then, "...Yes."

"Oh." Paul's throat tries to close, hot and aching. He forces a careful breath and continues. "I can just--"

"What do you want, exactly?"

Million-pound fucking question, there, thinks Paul. It's one he can't answer, so he gives John the next-best. "I miss you, mate."

He gnaws his thumb through another brick-load of a silence, before filling it with, "Just thought I'd...ring you and tell you."

"Oh you did, did you?" John says, with no pause this time, because it's a reflex, easier than speaking. It's a double-edged sword, not only lambasting this stupid bloody idea but insinuating that maybe it wasn't even Paul's to begin with; oh, YOU did, did you? "And that'd change, what?"

"No. I, I know. I just...look, it's the truth, I-- And I don't like that we've grown apart, you know."

There's a scratch of static, like John is moving the phone. "Do you hear yourself, man?"

More than either of us would like, Paul grouses to himself. But like he's always done, he keeps going. "No, listen, I know I-... I know what I did to push you, and I'm sorry. I am. I just can't stand it bein' like this, you know, we're not meant to be goin' at each other, or not speaking to each other, I--" He sighs. "Don't you miss it?"

"Miss what?"

Paul rubs his eyes. At some point, they'd closed again. "Be nice if you came out here, is all. Saw the farm."

"Nice. Yeah. What, so I can see how nice and bloody perfect your life is now? Without--without--is that it? You and Little Bo Peep?"

"I really, I really just thought you'd like to see it up here, and it's not, you know, John, it really isn't." Paul laughs a bit, only enough to make his breath shake, enough to wind him. "Without you. It's really not."

There's a huff, then another, heavier breath. "All right," John says, slowly. He doesn't sound happy.

Paul rakes his hand through his hair a few times, trying to weigh how lost a cause this is. "I'm writing a song. We are, Linda and me. You'd, oh, you'd hate it."

It's enough of a non sequitur that John actually laughs, a quick burst of disbelief before quieting again. "Yeah, I bet," he says after a while.

"No, it's Woody Guthrie doing musical chairs, it's really..." They're both laughing now, long enough that Paul can actually catch his breath. "I meant it, you know. You should come up here."

John doesn't laugh. "Paul."

"Not now, obviously--"

"But I can't just--"

Something kicks in Paul's chest. An unwise flicker of hope. John's arguing logistics with him now, not morals, not justification. "No, no, I know," he quickly says, "just sometime--"

"I..." John sighs. Struggles with something. "I'd have to...I'll, um. I'll call you back, all right?"

"...Yeah." Paul's heart doesn't just drop. He's pretty sure he can feel it split on impact, like a sack of flour. "Sure, yeah." Distantly, he remembers that this is a public phone box and he hasn't left John any number, and knows there won't be a call back. But it's all right. He got further than he expected. Hell, at least he got the bloody words out. Take that, Linda. That's what this was about. She hadn't said to invite him up here; probably would flip her wig if she knew he'd tried. Tell him what you told me. Those were her instructions. Check, done.

"Wait, hang on," John says. "Wait. Don't hang up, all right? I've--hang on."

"Okay," Paul breathes, automatic as if someone's just put a coin in him, and waits. And waits. There was a rough noise earlier like John put the phone down, but now there's nothing; no background chatter, no hold music.

Paul watches a lady beetle crawl up a stalk of grass. He follows the wispy trail of an airplane. He waits and thinks and stews and worries and just as he's about to ask if anyone's still there, John's voice comes through the line.

"Paul? You there?"

"Yeah, I'm here. I'm here."

"There's a flight, um..." John sounds a little out of breath. "Just got one of the last ones, actually, so I can, um. Tomorrow. Is--can I? Is that all right?"

Tomorrow.

Paul's vision swims. He feels like he's in a car, driven by someone who's pressing down the brake and the gas as hard as they can simultaneously. He could sing. He's going to die. "Yeah," he says. "Great."

"All right, then."

Paul swallows. "Good. Yeah."

They say good-bye, John hangs up. It is, after all, just a phone call.

Paul makes the seven-minute hike back up to the farmhouse in about ten seconds. He's never felt this full-to-bursting with conflicting energy. He wants John to come, but every time he thinks about it, his stomach lurches with a feeling remarkably like dread. Tomorrow? He's got a day, if that, to get the place ready. Never mind selling the idea to the girls. Surely it's not too late to call the whole thing off.

Heather's finishing breakfast when he returns. Linda doesn't ask how it went--she might have done, but he tells her everything before she's got the chance to. It's just Paul's luck that she needs only a few minutes of convincing to get on board with the idea. She could've vetoed it outright, saved them all a lot of trouble. But, funny enough, she says, she's been promising Heather a trip back to London, and they've an open invitation from Yoko if they should ever need a place to stay.

"You can manage the place all by yourself, right?" she asks with a smile. Before Paul can actually blow a fuse, she drops the act and kisses him, beckons him to join her in the chores that need to be done before tomorrow. Everyone's fed. Everyone who needs it and will stand still is washed. Everything that's started to dry up, or to rot, is cut and shoveled away, replaced with fresh and new.

It's not even noon.

Paul takes a quick dip in the washtub and cleans the house. All of the softening fruit from the kitchen goes into the trough with the table scraps. Flat surfaces are wiped down and swept. He's ready to organize the clothes in the wardrobe, but Linda and Heather are packing--striped pants everywhere--so he bins that idea. A spliff outside the bathroom window doesn't calm him, but it slows him down. He straightens the shoe rack. Finally, he sits down to write.

I look high / I look low / I'm lookin' everywhere I go / Looking for

Paul stares at the paper, twiddling his pen back and forth. Looking for what? There's the million-pound question again. The longer he glares at the mostly-blank page, the more he wants to feed it to the goats. So much for creation ex nihilo, he thinks. Three lines his eight-year-old daughter could've written, and no closer to knowing what it is he's looking for.

Eventually, he remembers to eat. He plays make-believe horses with Heather, bathes her, reads her a story. Sings to her. As soon as she's in bed, he can't keep his hands off Linda, for some reason. They kiss, share whispery breaths, and he kneels on the kitchen floor, lifting her patchwork skirt to bury his nose in corn-silk hair and eat her out against the sink. He's too wired, and too exhausted, for anything else.

---

The next day's not much easier.

"Give her my love, yeah?" Paul says as he kisses Linda a final time, and throws in a wink; you know I don't envy you. Heather waves and they're gone.

The problem is, John didn't say what time he'd come, and the pesky thing about tomorrow is that it consists of twenty-four circles of hell called hours, during any of which he might decide to turn up. Paul does all of the chores again, twice, just to be safe. When he starts feeling like he needs to run rings around the farmhouse, he picks up his guitar and writes. Looking for does not get a partner. But he gets the middle eight down, and it's not bad, either. The scatting can stand on its own; no need to conjure actual lyrics.

A distant, rolling crunch of gravel in the drive. John's here.

Paul darts to the window. A sleek black car, ridiculously out of place in the rugged landscape, is chugging along the dirt road, raising a terrible cloud of dust. It's John, all right--overdressed. On his way to the door, Paul ducks into the bedroom to fuss with his hair in the mirror--there, that's enough.

He hears a car door creak open and slam shut. Boot-heels crunch their way to the front step. Paul's heart leaps into his throat.

He opens the door.

John looks up, like he'd been studying the welcome mat. He's freshly shorn, a shorter haircut than Paul's seen on him in twenty years. His glasses are tinted yellow. He's wearing a smart jacket over an expensive-looking shirt, a fucking scarf, and even sharper slacks. His black boots gleam.

Paul laughs, and it doesn't even sound nervous. "Did you bring any other clothes?"

John raises his eyebrows and tightens his lips. "Left my gunnysack at home, actually." He can't keep his smile hidden.

In a fit of boldness that surprises even him, Paul throws his arms around John, knocking their chests together almost painfully. He holds on tight even as it makes it harder to breathe. John stalls for a second, winded and caught unawares, but he embraces Paul back. Wraps him in his long, long arms and pulls them together.

"Hey." Paul can barely get enough air out to shape the word. The hug is squeezing his lungs like a bagpipe. Any more pressure on his windpipe and he'd cough--his throat already itches like hell from his second time mucking out the stalls that morning.

John doesn't seem to notice. "Hi," he says, smoothly, with evident room enough to breathe.

They break apart before Paul suffocates. He blames the sudden dizzy feeling on a lack of oxygen. "Want to come in?"

John unwraps his scarf as he crosses the threshold, like there's any meaningful temperature difference between inside and outside. Like the flimsy thing was doing anything to keep him warm, anyhow. "Should I take me shoes off?"

"Doesn't matter. Our floors will probably deal more damage to your shoes than you can to do them."

John toes off his boots. Paul's eyes flit around the entrance, the main room, and the kitchen, looking for anything he might've missed. "How was the drive?" he asks.

"Un-fucking-believable. Do you know people keep sheep out here? Look out the left-hand side, sheep. Right-hand side, sheep. Crossin' the road in front of you for half an hour, sheep on sheep on fuckin' sheep. About did me fucking head in. You don't have any of them, do you?"

"Oh, no," Paul says, mock-serious, with a curt shake of his head. The guttural baaa of a ram can be heard just outside the kitchen window.

"Good. Be too bloody soon, if I never saw another one." John turns as he speaks, taking in the sights of the farm cottage. The herbs hung to dry, the hand-hewn table, the quilt on the sofa. Paul considers them from an outsider's point of view, and he feels at once self-conscious and proud. It's kitsch, but it's, well, home. "This is cozy," John remarks, which doesn't clarify whether he appreciates it or hates it.

"Keeps us dry when it rains," Paul says, and does his best not to press.

John turns back to Paul. "What's there to do around here?"

"Have you eaten?"

John shakes his head. "Starving."

Paul spins around with a smile. As he makes his way to the fridge, John adds, "Why? Gonna kill the fatted calf?"

"We don't keep cows." Paul emerges from the fridge with the picnic hamper and a naked grin. It's so well-packed that the bottles of milk don't even clink as he lifts the basket, his eyebrows high with hope.

"Oh, do let's," John twitters, airy and delicate like a fine lady, tossing his head and batting his lashes with a dead expression. The mockery arrives a bit flat when his head-toss nearly launches his glasses off his nose, and he has to quickly push them back up.

Paul doesn't back down from the dig, either. If John wants to be an Edwardian gentle lady, he'll hear no complaints from Paul. He crooks his elbow, offering it out to John. John takes it--in those boots, he's almost-almost a little bit taller--and they stroll out the Dutch door.

They don't get to play Mary Poppins for long. A few steps out, Paul concedes that he needs both hands to support the basket. John storms off ahead, pretending great offense that Paul doesn't want to hold his hand anymore. It's minutes later before John realizes he might not be the best candidate to walk in front, as he doesn't know where they're going.

"It's not far," Paul says. "You can see the meadow, just ahead."

John manages not to get lost, but their journey is delayed several times when he needs to stop and pick something out of his sock. The spear-head seeds of the wild grasses lodge themselves in his expensive clothes, adorn his pant legs, fill his shoes.

"Ow!--God damn it," John snaps. For the ninth time, he stands on one foot and wobbles dangerously as he attempts to rid the other one of stickers.

"Just wait until we get there and get them all out then," says Paul. "You're only going to get more anyway. It's just over this hill."

He's underselling it a bit. The hill in question is deceptively steep; it might be the highest point on the otherwise uniform moors. John gripes about the trek and the burrs, Paul smugly advises him to dress for the environment next time, but soon, they're both panting too hard to jeer at each other.

It's starting to worry Paul, actually, how hard he's breathing. Not just the reminder that he's no spring chicken and should probably smoke less than he does, but now every lungful is starting to burn. Every inhale makes his head feel thick and fuzzy with a deep, flowery itch. This isn't good. He thought--he wanted to be certain that it was too early in the year for everything to be germinating, but alas, it is. The air is earthy and sweet with pollen, and fuck if John isn't kicking up more and more with every stomp, just in time for Paul to walk through its wake.

This isn't fair, Paul thinks. He's usually got more warning than this. Enough to plan around it. The hay didn't bother him at all this morning, not even on the second pass through the stalls, when the dust made his throat sting. Apparently, that doesn't mean he's in the clear. Though alfalfa hay isn't always the best litmus test--sometimes it gets to him, sometimes it doesn't. The wild grasses, on the other hand? Always. Just not this bloody early in the season, he thinks as his eyes start to water.

He could walk ahead of John, he supposes, get less of it kicked up his nose. But back here, he's got the distinct advantage of discretion. He can paw and scrub at his twitching nose all he wants (and then some more, when the itch immediately returns) without attracting attention. It's a pain, a real Sisyphean drag, but it's not more than he can manage.

Paul feels the first sneeze coming a mile away. A tingling that starts in the back of his nose and creeps up, spreads out, little by little. It feels too small, at first, for anything to come of it (Paul wonders if it'll be one of those that just teases him for a few hours), but it builds until it's bigger than his head. Before he can gasp in too much air, he seals his lips, holds his breath...but it doesn't matter, he can't stop it--

"hdt--!"

He has to clamp a thumb and finger around his nose to hold it in, squelch it down to nothing. The awful pounding feeling in his sinuses that results is almost enough to make him regret it, but what's the alternative? John's attention should be on the landscape, not on...shit, there's another one... "hdt--mph!" It feels like he's imploding, but he shakes his head free and tries to catch his breath. One sniffle against his sleeve, then he should be all right for a while.

Paul's so preoccupied and bleary-eyed, he nearly bowls into John, who's stopped at the top of the hill.

"Woodie Guthrie, eh?" John asks, hands on his hips, gazing out at the land, and Paul has to admit, it does look like the American prairie.

"Mm," Paul nods, blinking, pursing his lips together, just in case.

It's only a few steps down to the meadow, where it's flat enough to lay out the-- "Shit!" Paul suddenly spits, so quick and percussive it almost scratches the itch for a moment. Just fucking typical.

"What?"

"I've forgotten the picnic blanket." Paul hears, as soon as he says it, that he sounds like an A. A. Milne character; Oh, bother. But what are they meant to do--sit in the grass?

Without a second thought, John does just that, stretching out on his back like it's carpet (and not, for example, a blanket of weeds that practically trembles to cover them both in seeds and pollen). "The water's warm," he offers, swirling his arms and making the grasses ripple.

Paul tries not to shiver as he sits cross-legged on the ground. At least he remembered the picnic lunch; he spent half the morning cobbling it together. Cheese, berries, honey, cucumber sandwiches, tomato sandwiches, scones with jam. Milk and a small flagon of wine. (A lovely set of checkered napkins, too--Paul sequesters one away in his pocket, just in case worst should come to worst.)

"Is that your place?" John points at the valley below them.

Paul squints, then nods. "Yeah." His farmhouse is storybook-sized from where they're sitting. They've come a long way.

"How many acres is it?"

"We've--" Paul's about to answer, but his eyes flood and his breath skips. It comes up on him so fast down here, at nose level with the grass, that he scarcely has time to duck sideways against his wrist and catch two more sneezes he can't quite suppress. "Two hundred," he quickly breathes, before he's quite out of the grip of the second one. His face burns--some of it's allergic flush, some of it's the hike, but either way, he doesn't look at John.

"Bless you."

Paul doesn't know why it's so unexpected. But the shock of hearing John say it is enough to scare off a third sneeze that's fighting its way out. So casual, unconcerned. Paul rubs his nose, trying to soothe the burning, pulsing ache left behind when the sneeze retreated. John, mercifully, leaves it at that, and they eat.

"I just don't get it."

It's John who breaks the silence, which Paul is grateful for, but it strikes him dumb. He casts a puzzled look at John, who clarifies, "Why would you want to live out here?"

"What?" Paul knows he's talking on borrowed time, so he gets to the point. "It's beautiful. What d'you mean, why?"

"To look at, sure, but..." John takes off his glasses and folds them in the basket. "What do you do, day by day, month after month?"

"I..." Paul has to press a fist under his nose just to keep the breath in his lungs. It's a temporary fix, a finger in the dam, but as soon as he's able, he huffs, "There's a lot that goes into running a farm, you know."

"But why do it? What for? What was the point of getting rich and famous if you're just gonna live like it's the bloody nineteenth century--"

"Is that why you did it?" Paul coughs. Sniffs. "To get rich and famous?"

"That's why we did it. Or at least, that's what you told me, every day for ten years. If I'd known this was what you meant by 'the toppermost of the--'"

"I did-...Sorry..." Paul can't get two words of his interruption out before the need to sneeze nearly blinds him, and he has to twist away and grab his nose. He pitches forward three times, small and sharp, too quick in succession to breathe in between. As he straightens, catching his breath at last, he considers that he could probably keep it down to one at a time if he didn't try to hold them in. But really, there's only so much humiliation he can take. "God," he rasps, shaking his head. "That's...sorry."

"Bless you," says John, plowing right through the threshold. "You all right?"

"Fine. I just..." Paul closes his eyes briefly. He runs the edge of a finger under his nose, a quick swipe to keep it dry. "Well, I did it because I loved writing songs. I couldn't do anything else."

John doesn't push back on that--how could he? It's as true for him as it is for Paul, so it's back to knocking the farm. "There's nothing out here," he says.

"My family's out here."

"Your family's all over." John's voice drops slightly, like he's started to check out of the conversation. Only occasionally does he look at Paul. "There's real life happening out there, you know, in cities. Art and culture. There's a war on, as well, right now."

Paul's skin crawls. It's sweat from the heat of the day, it's everything John's saying, but this godforsaken grass... He rubs at his wrists, his neck, trying not to dig his nails in. He itches.

John doesn't notice, or he doesn't care. "But it's happening out there, not here. Sure, raise your family, raise a couple of goats. Raise a giraffe for all I care. But at what point do you pull your head out of the sand--"

"This was supposed to be perfect." Paul spits it out, half-laughing. This is just too absurd. It's too stupid. "I had it all planned out. Can you believe that?" John's gone quiet, but Paul can't seem to shut up. "I was going to bring you out here, and I wouldn't have to explain anything, you'd just...you'd just--" Paul gasps like he's drowning and lets out a shuddering sneeze into his fist. It's so unsatisfying he could cry. The first of many to come, and doesn't that just fucking figure? Bloody perfect. He might as well keep babbling and make a proper ass of himself. "You'd just see it, and you'd get it, I don't know, the--hh'chhew!" Across the back of his hand.

"Paul."

"The house, the animals..." Paul's trying to talk through the wrist he's jammed over his top lip, which is starting to feel like it's for nothing. "The land, th--hh-!...'Ttchhoo! God, the fresh fucking air..." He rises clumsily to his feet, trying to put a little distance between his head and the fresh air in question, just in time to whip around and muffle a violent sneeze with the cuff of his sleeve. With an exasperated huff, Paul goes digging for the checked napkin. He has to laugh once more as he folds it over his nose. It's just...sad. "Sorry. Bloody hell. This was going to be nice."

"I don't mind," John says earnestly. Paul makes a noise of dismissal, so John appends, "Paul, look at me."

Over the tent of red-and-white cloth, Paul looks.

John's face is soft and open. At the edges, maybe a bit pink from the hike and the sun. There's not a hint of derision. "I don't mind. I don't."

Paul casts his eyes down and turns away. "Thanks," he mutters, before drawing a tentative breath and blowing his nose. Straight away, a cool rush of relief--but only temporary, he knows. As soon as he starts to breathe again, the time bomb begins to tick.

John waits patiently for Paul to turn back around before he asks, "Hayfever?"

"...Yeah." Paul's cheeks lift as he tries to squash a mortified smile. "Well, but it's. Not hay that does it." Usually.

"Bloody well hope not. You might be in the wrong line for that, mate." John plucks a wildflower from the grass, tall and straight with a stiff violet plume. "What about them?"

"Um. Not too bad." Bit by bit, Paul's smile twists into something resembling laughter. "It's mostly the grass, I think. The weeds."

"Hmm." John brings it close and sniffs, blinks curiously, then leans in for another sniff. His face is solemn as stone.

For a moment, Paul feels bold. "Not givin' you any trouble, is it?"

John shakes his head. "I don't get hayfever anymore. 'M cured."

"What?"

"I get a jab once a month." John taps his left shoulder. "Yoko knows a fella, a doctor. Used to be every week, at first, could hardly stand it. But it's done wonders for me voice." John gives the wildflower one more sniff and shrugs, raises his eyebrows. Nada.

Paul gives a snorting scoff, and pays for it with a short spell of coughing. "Sounds nice. I'll take your word for it."

"Nah. I miss it." To Paul's heart-stopping surprise, John inverts the flower, pokes the end of the stem into his nostril, and swirls it around.

Paul's eyes widen. "What're you--"

"ahhh..." John's mouth lolls open, drinking air. His head tips back, his nose wrinkles, and he sneezes, hard enough to shake his whole body. "hh'ESCHhiew!"

Even with ample warning, Paul jumps very slightly. How pathetic is it that his heart's thumping double-time now? Only, he supposes, it's been a while. He wants to say something--call him an idiot, give him the full rites of the Catholic Church. All he can do is laugh.

John groans lightly. Once he's recovered enough to acknowledge his audience, he throws Paul a wink. "For auld lang syne." He tosses the flower, and it disappears into the grass.

Paul's not sure if that's quite what Rabbie Burns had in mind. He opens his mouth to tell John as much (in a Scots accent, to boot), but what comes out is: "I've missed you." His eyes itch and fill with tears--it's the pollen.

"Yeah, I heard." John's face stiffens as he hears himself say it, like he didn't mean to be so flippant. By way of an apology, he offers Paul a sandwich, saving him from sitting down again, and Paul accepts it. "I wish...It's silly, but I wish we could...All right, there?"

The itch that's been toying with Paul finally blossoms, and he jolts into the hand that's not holding a sandwich. "hh'nkxtch!"

John chuckles softly, in the most non-derisive way possible, blesses him, and announces that they're heading back now. Paul can only snuffle and gather up the basket.

---

"That head-in-the-sand bit, I didn't mean that."

John starts rehashing the argument when they've made it back to the farmhouse in once piece--which was no guarantee. Paul doesn't slow down, never mind stop sneezing until he's had a wash, changed his clothes, and flushed out his head with warm water. John did, in fact, bring different clothes, each outfit more extravagant and ill-suited to farm life than the last. But he changes too, resolves to burn his sticker-laden socks. It's only once tea is served that he revisits the matter of Paul's farm.

"I don't think you're hiding," he says, "whatever this is. But I don't know why you're so married to this place, if that's not true."

"Why do you care?" Paul sets his cup down. "It's not your life, is it?"

"Evidently not." There's a little venom to it.

"John." Paul does the opposite, drops his voice to his head register, retracts his claws. "Why are we doing this? I can't come back to London."

John looks down with a tight, joyless smile. "I can kid myself, can't I?"

"Look, it's--" Paul lifts up his hands. "Think what you want of me, but my home's here."

John's quiet. It tears Paul up, but there's a sense of relief that comes with it, too; if he were going to say something biting, something really unforgivable, it would've slipped out without a pause. He's quick like that. Paul doesn't know how he ever endured it. He can't see how he'll live without it.

"I miss it, too," John says.

Paul feels caught. Struck. They're having two different conversations and still managed to run into one another, in a clatter of heads and a tangle of limbs. It's a dead end. A corner.

This isn't what Paul invited him for.

Paul swigs his tea and marches into the bedroom. He returns with a cotton shirt, a pair of dungarees, and a battered pair of socks. "Put these on," Paul orders before John can ask, and dumps the bundle of clothes on his lap.

"Are you kicking me out?" John calls over his shoulder, but Paul's already in the bathroom. He returns with an antihistamine pill--pink, horse-sized, the kind that may as well be a sedative--and swallows it with the rest of his tea.

"In half an hour, this'll kick in," Paul explains. "And then I'm going to teach you how to ride a horse." He turns around as John's face is morphing from puzzlement to glee, hoping he'll change his clothes if given the privacy of the living room.

"Can you show me that song?" John pipes. The one you said I'd hate.

Paul bites his lip and goes off in search of his guitar.

#yoko and linda are sucking each other silly as this retreat is happening. btw

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rove-bogge · 2 years

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"I'm afraid I'm not very familiar with food for fire fae. Or fire for that matter." The corner of Jade's mouth twitches upward, the faintest laugh concealed in his next breath as if over some private joke. His partner for the shift - the insect-loving Rove Bogge of Ignihyde's recluses - is out of sight and, as far as Jade knows, out of earshot as well as they pick through the storage closet in search of something to keep their candle alight. He had no trouble blaming ignorance on his deep sea upbringing, but he found it just as useful to preemptively divert blame. Gloved fingers brush across the label affixed to the front of an opaque box. Fire was a volatile element, and he's certain the same mercurial nature belonged to the fae who commanded it. The wrong "food," and the whole campus could become an inferno.

But could one really blame a fish for that? When tending a flame was so novel an activity?

Smiling to himself, Jade continues on from the ingredients he knows from alchemy class to be unstable and rounds the corner for the selection of gemstones that Professor Crewel keeps stocked.

"Perhaps a fire garnet," Jade muses, bending down to pull out the labeled drawer. One lone stone rolls to the front. Eyes catch then on another label directly above it. "Or was it a sunstone?" This drawer though is full of speckled, crystalline marbles, varying in shades of red, and the stock gives Jade pause. He glances up toward Rove, then stands back up to his full height.

"How dangerous it would be for me to guess. I shall leave the decision to your land-dwelling instincts."

When Rove had been told it was his turn he had been excited. Though that excitement faltered when he saw who his partner was. Jade made him nervous…. The man had vibes of an apex predator eyes that scanned for a weakness. Sharp teeth hidden behind a polite smile. Collected movements that concedaled strength and deadliness. Waiting for that moment his prey was exposed and vulnerable. And it was typical when they arrived the required flame nourishment was empty…. Currently digging through the storage grumbling about lack of a labelling system and preparation as he tried to find the right rock to shove in this flames mouth and go back to his room to relax. The worry of what could happen made his stomach churn slightly. Would they be forced to pay for the repairs if the candle blew up and took out half the school….to be fair if the candle exploded after they fed it it likely took him and Jade out first anyway so not his problem so to speak. As he dug through the rocks and crystals he was haphazardly tossing the rejected ones over his shoulder. Not caring about the mess he left behind until he grasped a crystal that looked like what had been described to him. He trotted back to Jade smugly holding the crystal in hand about to boast that he found it first until he spotted the drawer Jade had opened.. Ah….a problem… Either rock could be the right one….chose poorly and the consequences would catasphrophic… And Jade was throwing the choice to him! “ME?” He squeaked seeing that fake charming smile as he used polite words to make it hard for Rove to Argue. Whining slightly, Rove stared at the rocks with no idea which one to pick. Sweating slightly he could tell Jade was watching him. Likely enjoying seeing him losing his nerve as he inspected each one in hopes something would give it away. Nope…nothing. Well….time to do what he did best. Reaching into his pocket He dug around till he found a Dice sat in the depths. Pointing to the rocks in turn he numbered them. Assigning each Rock a side on the dice. With that he rolled the dice. The clattering was loud and rang in the silent room till it stopped. Assigning them with the Rock they were placing all their bets on. Carefully picking up his dice and the rock he held it up, almost giving Jade one last chance to take over and pick a rock. He glanced up to Jade eyes trying to hide worry as the pair returned to the candle. Pulling out his phone he debated texting a few people to prepare them for the possible danger of the candle blowing sky high with the school with it. But then the thought of it being his dangerous bet made the adrenaline rush through his blood as a slight smirk grew. Nah he had this he rolled perfectly and chose the right stone. This was a gambling high of his lifetime. As he approached the candle he gave it his best poker face as he chucked the stone into the flame. The flame flickered and burst flames reflecting in dark grey eyes as Rove held his poker face. Moments ticked by as eons as he waited to see if his gamble was a win or loss. Then the flame simmered down, satisfied with its meal and Rove grin grew. The ultimate gamble and he had won. Turning to look at Jade he gave a smirk as he walked towards him dusting his hands off from invisible dust. “No doubt that was the best choice.” Cocky adrenaline running through him he reached up to flick Jade’s earring. “Who knew you were a lucky charm.” He laughed cockily as he returned to the flats of his feet crossing his arms smugly.

#yeah i'm the boogie man!#oh? antivirus? haha #nru: vigilance #rygfinne #Rove is going to loose that hand #He riding his gambling high please don't hurt him Jade XD

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whitecrownsblackthrones-archived · 2 years

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We both love a good royal ball on our blogs! However, I'm curious: out of all of your muses, who is the best dancer and who barely muddles through a ball, often stepping on their partner's feet? And if one doesn't want to dance at a ball in Camellia, what else do they do besides enjoy the food and drinks? Are there smaller rooms to rest, read, or play cards? I imagine some muses either don't want to dance because they don't like it, or they want to avoid someone who is very persistent in asking them.

Ah, the ball thread, where at least a quarter of my muses are looking forward to leaving as soon as possible.

The best dancer? I’d say that honor goes square to Diana Jefferson if Rosa was still alive then it would be her without question. She, like Rosa whom was her best friend, was a dancer & musician before becoming a lady in her marriage to Victor Jefferson, & her poor husband used to have a hard time keeping up with her, but at least the many years of dancing the nights away with her have taught him much! And, even those who dislike the couple, agree they look so romantic when they dance together~ On the other end of the spectrum? The worst dancer is a toss up between Stan Galle & Elliot Seymour. For Stan, that’s unsurprising, as he is an Admiral, a military man, he was never taught to dance & never really wanted to either, he’s a warrior, not a noble, he has no use for such, especially now that he’s much older! For Elliot, while he did start his dance lessons as a young boy, he never completed them, as he began taking care of the Seymour family’s duties. He doesn’t even like being at balls, as that’s time he could be using to do more work! Such a workaholic he has become, & it’s a little sad since he’s still quite young, only 21!

As for other things people can do when they wish to escape the ballroom, the front garden is always open to those who need fresh air, & sometimes people who may or may not be quite drunk having splash fights with the water of the main fountain. There are also plenty of lounging or drawing rooms open for guests who need a good rest, need to get away from a pushy suitor, or want to find themselves a book to read instead. The library itself however, is closed, as there have been a few too many instances of guests hiding down there. In any one of those lounging & drawing rooms, you will find some people playing cards, dice, or any sort of gambling games, more often then not, you will find Britany-Adelaide Lirana Marsh hosting such games.

#morethanaprincess #『A Royal Degree』Headcanons

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luckhissoul · 2 months

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𝟑-𝟓 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐄 𝐂𝐀𝐍 𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐈𝐋𝐘 𝐁𝐄 𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐅𝐈𝐄𝐃 𝐁𝐘.

𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐑𝐒:

green

blue

red

𝐒𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐒:

some kind of expensive cologne ( like i have the idea of the scent in my head but don't know what its called lol )

faint hint of tabac smoke

a somewhat woodsy/floral-ish soap ( don't tell him it's got floral notes, he'll deny )

𝐅𝐀𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐎𝐍:

he wears tailored, expensive but wrinkled ( 🙄) embroidered coats. he has a very fancy blue one with a ridiculous amount of gold embroidery on the sleeves. but he's more commonly in his green coat. he can be flamboyant with his clothes. but don't tell him that.

black or gray trousers

partially unlaced ( cover yourself sir ) white shirt with a touch of lace at the collar and his cuffs

leather boots with the tops turned over

silk scarf at his neck to hide that hanging scar, don't ask him about that plz

black wide brimmed hat

and time line depending --- he wears a leather eye patch because he's missing an eye later :( poor bb

like this !!!

𝐎𝐁𝐉𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐒:

knives. so many knives. he wears knives tucked up his sleeves, in his boots, inside his coat, down the collar of his coat, everywhere. he never runs out of them. he's obsessed and a little paranoid here but yes knives!

his ashandarei ( this !!! )

his dice cup and his dice.

how about i mention the random ass thread that both him and rand had in their pockets at different points in these books. tf guise

various rocks that he picks up along the way. he has a rock collection. he likes their colors. don't judge him. let him live.

his signet ring that looks sorta like ( this !! )

his fox head medallion ( the aes sedai need to stop trying to steal it )

he has the dragon banner with him. he has hung it up at least once to prove a point. he's a secret rand stan but he'll never admit it. lol

his pipe ! !

𝐁𝐎𝐃𝐘 𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐔𝐀𝐆𝐄:

relaxed, almost lazily lounging. like when he sits, back, with his boots up on something or his legs stretched out. arms behind his head.

in direction contradiction ( because he's him 🤨) nervous fidgeting, tugging and adjusting at his scarf, pacing

he's a little paranoid or just overly cautious - dependable so - constantly checking his knives under his sleeves before entering a place. always on the defense. he likes feeling that they're all there, a shrug of his shoulders to check the ones at his back.

another tick i guess - a little antsy ? toying with the dice in his pocket.

always assesses the whole room when he enters, the things and people, reading the general vibe of the whole place and the people in it. looking directly at people in the eyes or the face. so he'll know right away how to act in / handle the situation

he walks with a confidant swagger, direct, sure of himself

𝐀𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐒:

war : the sound of explosions, fire, ash, blood, wounded, a stitched wound, battle scars, the dead, guilt, the thrill of being alive, the banner of the band of the red hand

luck : a game of dice, gold coins, always winning, the sound of dice rolling ( plz stop it though he doesn't want to hear it in his head anymore ), crowded common room, pissing off everyone at the table

random : horses, knives, a long expanse of field,foxes, a farm ( don't send him back plz ), kids ( he loves kids sm but he won't admit that lol ), feathers ( he also had a feather collection lol ), inventions, women ( lmao ) ,fireworks, blood on his hands, regret, smoking, knife throwing, quarterstaff, maps, alcohol, a stage, ravens

tagged: @caracarnn & @adversitybloomed tagging: @agoldenlily & @xhideyourfires & @xradiant & @honorhearted & @petitsdieu & @laviexenrose & @lovepurposed & @cannotfly & @bas0rexias & @lunarruled

#;it's time to toss the dice ;; musings #( why did this take me so long tf #long post for ts #i did more than five on some lol

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saiakv · 2 months

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[ TOP OF THE WORLD ] ( either with Kenjaku and Sukuna; or with Geto and Gojo, your pick )

SETTINGS WITH POTENTIAL : accepting

[ TOP OF THE WORLD ]: one of the muses finds the other on the roof-top in the middle of the night. neither of them want to sleep, and so they sit together for the remainder of the night until the sun comes up, content to sit and talk and exist with each other.

From the top floor of a high-rise skyscraper, one might be tricked to believe the expanse of buildings they see to be endless. It's that age old sense of awe bestowed upon humanity by things of gargantuan sizes; a reminiscence that beckons the cunning mind to peer beyond and wonder — is it a clue to set a compass for their expectations? Does it mean that if a beast born of their collective duhka manifests in this world, it will be a creature that towers far above those buildings men pour their sweat and tears into building, all for the sake of a fantasy to touch the sky? A creature so large it will force the perspective of their own puny size in the grand scheme of things?

Humorous. When even Gods possess the humility to understand the confines of one's own limits, there are no boundaries to the human hubris. Humans are but the spritz of paint from a brush painting into the celestial — and it is they who hold the handle.

The proverbial rope to herd humanity into its inevitable evolution has been tossed; lambs ripe and ready for the slaughter. And Kenjaku can witness it all from the comfort of a small screen - that is miniscule in size, yet so, so important.

Happenstance had brought them to the rooftop. But it was a place that inspired one to stay, especially with the gorgeous sight of hoisted barries and the smell of blood and war heavy in the air. Reminders of times past. Donning the monk's kasaya with dark locks swept with each passing breeze, Kenjaku's frame fit perfectly into a scene unearthed from forbidden history books.

The Golden Age is nay.

And speaking of which-- someone's residuals tickled their nose and their head snapped around sharply. A frown replaces the everlasting smile momentarily as the body of one Suguru Geto reacts strongly to the King's presence; shivers, gritting teeth, fists inadvertedly clenching all until Sukuna's aura has well settled around the mastermind's own. Violet eyes creep over a heaved shoulder as Kenjaku reprograms mundane reflexes with the same grace as strings dance around the puppeteer's fingers.

The unpleasant look melts from their visage, giving way to that everlasting smirk.

❝ I will admit, you are the last one I would expect to find up here at a time like this. Don't tell me you're bored already, Sukuna. ❞

With that, they turn back to the phone at hand. There's a pause, filled only by distant echoes of souls being ripped from their shell. And then, another, uglier sound; like nails on a chalkboard, the sorcerer gargles a laugh.

❝ Call me sentimental— but I will miss the humans of this age. They might be a pitiful bunch, but they are very reliable. ❞ No matter what comes next, he doubts it's going to be as pliant. Unless absorbed. Or sliced and diced. Or— Kenjaku cuts his own thread of thought before it unravels into endless possibilities. The unbothered look returns upon their features when lifting the phone screen to where their unexpected company may witness the gruesome footage.

So ready to be at each other's throats given the slightest opportunity. Faintly, Kenjaku recalls Jogo's rants about humankind being a blight on earth; but they never really cared about the moral aspect of it. Creation has no morality attached to it.

#( kenny rizz ♥ )#cannibalvillains #ANSWERED.#꧕ 🇹‌🇭‌🇪‌ 🇺‌🇳‌🇫‌🇦‌🇮‌🇱‌🇮‌🇳‌🇬‌ 🇱‌🇦‌🇸‌🇸‌🇴‌ ꒰ ᴠᴇʀꜱᴇ 000 ꒱

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jasongoldtrap · 1 year

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City of Music, part 7

By Jason Goldtrap

March 4, 2022.

In this series I am exploring the many sounds of Nashville. The following is a mixture of fact and fiction.

1963.

July 27.

Nashville, Tennessee. Present day Jefferson Street and I-40.

It is a sweltering, sticky night outside the Club Del Morroco. There are groups of African American men and women. The club has stiff competition with the nearby Club Baron, Maceo's and the New Era Club, but tonight they have the biggest crowd.

Many people are trying to get in, most but the front door remains; watched over by two large security guards. A paper sign slid into an aluminum slot next to the door reads, "Sold Out."

Many of the men are comparing cars, telling jokes, tossing dice or trying to talk to one of the young ladies. A few Whites mingle separately. Music brought them together but unfortunate cultural norms still apply. Some of them are interacting with each other.

On the second floor, the dining room is packed. They are cramming five in a booth of four. People are standing shoulder to shoulder against the wall. The hat rack is full. An old jukebox is unplugged.

Club owner Theodore Acklen, takes pride in his club. Everything is neat, clean and orderly. He opened the club while still a Sophomore at Tennessee Arts and Industry College- present day Tennessee State University.

Friends and fans call him "Lily" due to his generosity to the community.

The bar is running low on Pabst and Vermouth. Above the bar there are pictures of notable stars who have played the club: Little Richard, Ray Charles, Nat King Cole, Ethan James, Harry Belafonte Duke Ellington, Sarah Vaughn and Dinah Washington.

The King Kasuals are playing tonight. They have earned their reputation as having a tight sound. The lead singer is handsome and has a strong timbre in his voice. He and the band are wearing matching gold jackets, pressed white shirts and charcoal black slacks.

Supporting the lead singer is a double bass, tenor sax, drummer, rhythm guitar and lead guitar. The band was founded by the lead guitarist and the bass player, Billy Cox.

Let's talk about the young man on lead guitar.

He's a south paw so his guitar neck angles up from his right instead of his left. He plays it cool but, on occasion, will include his own unique style.

He is twenty-three years old. He grew up in Seattle but after being caught driving a stolen car he has to choose between jail or joining the United States Army. He was assigned to Fort Campbell, Kentucky, as a paratrooper in the famed 101st Airborne. He earned a Screaming Eagles pin but on his twenty-sixth jump he broke his ankle. This along with passing bad checks and general indifference towards military culture got him kicked out.

This was fortunate for him. He moved to Clarksville and then Nashville to make a living doing the only thing he cared about: playing guitar. When not at work, he kept to himself reading science fiction short stories. He also likes to write songs. Sometimes the lyrics are ambiguous and just plain bizarre. While he enjoys playing in the clubs but he is destined for bigger things.

His song notes are kept scribbled on pieces of paper. Just bits of words. Over the next five years, he will tour and record with bigger bands. He does alright but inside he is developing his own thing. Later on, his unique lyrics, musings and sensual style, imitated by others, will be called "Psychedelic."

He would rent a recording studio for two hours and just play around with his guitar; making it "talk." After one long session, he looks through some notes and sees two words written down long ago: "Purple Haze."

During an appearance on a tour with Cat Stevens and Engelbert Humperdinck, and the headline act The Walker Brothers playing at Finsbury Park Astoria in London, for the first time, after a raucous performance. He placed his guitar flat on the stage, doused it with lighter fluid and lit a match. And so Jimi Hendrix became a worldwide sensation.

As the smoke billows the scene fades.

#jimi hendrix #music #nashville #tennessee #history #rock and roll #african american #60s psychedelia

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fatummortem · 2 years

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@fiddlingonthetympanic asked:

How may Freudians does it take to screw in a lightbulb?

Two; One to screw in the lightbulb and one to hold the penis... I mean ladder.

She speaks in near monotone, as if musing on the weather, or her grocery list: "How many Freudians do you think it takes to screw in a lightbulb?"

Tess doesn't look up from her work in the kitchen, dicing her way through potatoes with succinct little shnkshnkshnks of the blade sliding against the cutting board.

"Two. One to hold the lightbulb--" shnkshnkshnk--"and another to hold the penis."

Shnkshnkshnk.

"The ladder. I'm sorry." Accepting Randomness

Daken walks into the kitchen, ignoring her as he goes about making himself a fresh cup of tea, granted he probably reflect that selecting fresh leaves to brew the tea with was a poor choice later as he has to put the kettle down when she starts going on about Freudians.

He turns to lean against the counter, his tongue pressing against the inside of his cheek as he looks to the little feral, blinking his blue eyes at her thoughtfully when she seems to have gone back to slicing. Turning back to his tea he goes back to pouring the hot water over the leaves. Lightly tapping the container he’d had the fresh herbs inside against the mug before tossing it in sink. He would have been methodically neat about everything any other time.

“Ah yes, Sigmund Freud’s sexist views on dick envy, you really focus on a gag & run with it.”

Taking his tea he leaves the kitchen, the kettle still hot on the stove as he goes off to find where he’d put that book.

#fiddlingonthetympanic #daken ask #daken asks

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justmaybee · 3 years

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The Phantom’s New Clothes

(Alternatively: ‘I Like Ya Fit, G!’)

A/N: Yes, the spam is gonna end in a dumb fic. No, I’m not confident in posting it. But honestly? I don’t think I’ll ever be when it comes to Fling Posse. So I’m doing it anyways! Because Gen looks like a whole prince, and if I don’t start somewhere I’ll never be able to write them!

Summary: Fling Posse photo shoot time! ~ ☆ and Dice has taken a special interest in Gentaro’s outfit for the day….

Of the many things required by divisions during battle season, one ‘checkpoint’—so to speak—is the creation of promotional materials. A Chuohku-designated event, ‘asked’ of the representative teams from each district.

This is Fling Posse’s second time representing Shibuya, so Gentaro is more or less acquainted with the roadmap ahead of them. And as a group member—and friend—of one Ramuda Amemura, he’s quite used to the mild discomfort of modeling clothes far outside his comfort zone.

Though it had at first been a point of contention in the group—due to some very polarized creative decisions—Gentaro has grown into his role, just a bit. He may never go so far as to call himself a ‘model,’ but he’s done much stranger tasks for the sake of his posse.

Thankfully, this shoot leans decidedly into Gentaro’s style of choice. Unlike Ramuda’s last artistic venture, which had involved a bright yellow top in an aquarium of all settings, this outfit could be described as almost tame in comparison.

The blouse is a loose and flowing white number, tucked into a similar style of black pants. A little tighter to his waist than he’d prefer, but the fabric is soft and stretches down to his ankle—for the most part—so it’ll do. The addition of some colored cords to secure an ash grey cape around his shoulders finishes the look, and Gentaro hums an appreciative note when Ramuda shows him the full look in a mirror.

Ramuda seemed pleased, smoothing out Gentaro’s cape and tucking stubborn hairs back into place before flashing him a grin and bouncing off to help Dice finish dressing.

It’s comfortable, fashionable, and well-suited to his tastes. Gentaro must say, it’s one of his favorite designs from Ramuda so far.

That being said—there’s…one small thing he could recommend be changed.

It doesn’t occur to him until the picture taking is about to begin.

———

“Ya think Ramuda will let me keep it?” Dice asks, impish grin flashing his canine. He pops the collar, striking small poses as the dressing room around them clears out. Gentaro humors him.

He takes his time, stepping forward from behind Dice, peering over his shoulder at their shared reflection. His hand comes to rest on his chin, scrutinizing the tropical pattern with a deliberate trail of the eyes. He continues until Dice’s gaze lowers, until his hands start fidgeting in front of him.

Gentaro finally breaks with a smile, resting his chin on Dice’s shoulder. He can feel the way Dice sags with relief.

“It’s very likely that he will,” Gentaro muses. “This outfit was made specifically for you, and I’m not sure anyone else would wear it willingly.”

Dice nods in a small repetitive motion, absentmindedly checking his reflection in the mirror. The moment he comes to recognize Gentaro’s backhanded confirmation is both visible and audible. His body jolting upright with a pitchy ‘hey!’ tossed back over his shoulder. Gentaro hides a smile behind his hand.

“Oh, Dice. There’s no need to be insecure,” He coos. “From what I’ve heard, sustainable fashion is on the rise! This set may have been a curtain at some point, but your confidence in it is very admirable.”

Dice has that tight-lipped smile on, the one that pushes his cheeks up and makes his squinty faux-glare even more endearing. It says, ‘I know I’m being made fun of,’ but he continues to endure it anyways. Because it makes Gentaro smile.

Still, he’s come a long way since the early days of Fling Posse, and he won’t take things lying down if he can help it. So he sneaks his hand behind him, aiming a light pinch to Gentaro’s side; his comeback of choice since learning of Gentaro’s…sensitivity.

Unlike those recent times, Gentaro quickly back steps, pulling his head off Dice’s shoulder to smother a gasp behind a well-timed fist. Dice blinks, hand still hovering behind him in the empty air where Gentaro once stood.

Then he spins around; the biggest, toothy grin on his face.

Gentaro can feel the butterflies slowly flutter to life in his stomach. His free arm moves subconsciously, to wrap around his front and hide his torso. The longer they hold eye contact, the more his face begins to burn.

And then the photographer can be heard, calling Dice for photos.

They stay in place, gazes locked for a moment longer; then Dice shoots him a wink and jogs off.

Gentaro breathes a shaky sigh, rubbing away the phantom touch.

———

So yes, while it was obvious the outfit had less layers than Gentaro was accustomed to, he hadn’t realized just how much thinner the layers he wore were.

Photo shoots don’t have a lot of downtime, in his experience. There’s always group shots, touch ups, individual shots. While it’s undoubtedly ‘Posse Time’—as Ramuda would put it—he doesn’t get more than a passing word to either of his group mates at any one time.

Which make the times he runs into Dice all the more memorable.

Slipping past one another in the hallway when it’s Gentaro’s turn for solo shots. Gentaro feels a distinct skittering of nails over his flank. It has him stumbling, tripping on his own feet. He can hear Dice laugh as he straightens up and continues walking.

Getting his hair touched up, making sure his pesky bangs stay out of his face. Dice comes to watch for a while, leaving Gentaro with a quick pinch either side of his waist. He jolts so hard, the hair on his left side falls out of place. He mumbles an apology to the poor stylist, eyeing Dice’s retreating smile in the mirror.

In a moment to himself, Gentaro tries to retuck his blouse, smooth out the uneven bunching of ruffles. He doesn’t notice when Dice slips behind him, when he grips onto Gentaro’s hips—too easily accessible through these pants—and squeezes. Gentaro yelps, drops to a crouch to dislodge the ticklish pulses. When he turns with narrowed-eyes, he finds himself alone.

Although Dice has been able to startle a reaction out of him several times today, calling these occurrences ‘uncommon’ would be nothing short of a lie. In his extended stay at Gentaro’s apartment, Dice has been very — thorough in his exploits of Gentaro’s unending sensitivity. One could say that once he got a reaction, he couldn’t will himself to stop.

Also a lie. Well, a half-truth to be more precise.

While it had been Dice’s curiosity and willingness to take a chance that led to the discovery, he didn’t act on his newfound information much at all. While a very physically affectionate lover, he would never go so far as to touch Gentaro in a way that caused discomfort or distress.

No, absolutely not. And so despite many implicit hints and invitations, Gentaro found himself having to get very explicit.

He didn’t dislike Dice’s teasing touch.

No, quite the opposite actually.

It was flustering to a degree Gentaro couldn’t imagine, but…Dice got the message.

He got it loud and clear, and now here they are.

In a game of cat and mouse; Gentaro’s eyes darting toward every movement, hands enveloping his torso at the slightest noise. The fabric on his skin is light, breathable, and silky to the touch; impossible to ignore. His stomach swoops nervously, broiling with anticipation—borderline excitement.

Oh, the monster he’s created.

———

After two hours of lights, cameras, make up, hair, and such; things are finally starting to wrap up.

Gentaro can see the end’s approach easily due to experience. It always comes in the form of Ramuda’s name. Called out by a weary photographer and followed in turn by their leader’s sing-song reply, skipping happily out of the dressing room and into the limelight.

Ramuda’s solo shots are always saved for the end. One must save the best for last, of course.

That being so, it would be a good idea to begin making preparations to leave.

Gentaro can feel the pinpricks in his legs as he slides them off the dressing room couch, uncurling from his seated position. He kicks out, pointing his toes in a stretch, arching his back and spine. The relief pushes a quiet sigh from his lips, leaves him sagging back into the cushions for a moment, suddenly drained.

Time spent in the presence of others can already be tiring, but the looming eyes of Chuohku make things far more intense. Gentaro can find peace in having his posse with him, but the sooner he can get these clothes folded, the sooner he gets his regular attire back—the sooner he’ll be home and out from under the Party’s prying gaze.

It takes Gentaro a few attempts to rise to his feet. His center of balance equals out as Dice makes his way into the room. The timing is very lucky, Gentaro gets barely a greeting out before his arm is in Dice’s hold. Before he’s swung around, in a blur of cobalt blue and floral print.

His back hits the wall with a dull thud. Not hard enough to hurt—Dice would never—but enough to have his breath catch in his throat. The way Dice leans into Gentaro’s personal space—hand still firmly gripped around his wrist, pinning it to the wall beside his head—makes getting air back a bit difficult.

“Hey Gen,” Dice breathes, a soft smile on his lips that completely contradicts the situation, and makes Gentaro melt all the more for it.

“Hello, Dice.” Gentaro’s hesitation is hardly noticeable.

“Whatcha up to?”

It’s so casual — the way Dice speaks, despite their position which has Gentaro’s brain buzzing like radio static. Strangely, it’s somewhat placating, in a way.

“Well — I’d intended on tidying up while Ramuda’s away…” Gentaro musters up a teasing smile, a lighthearted jab. “If you’re attempting to have me fold your clothes for you, I’m afraid I’ll have to stop you right there—”

Dice laughs. The sound does strange things to Gentaro’s heartbeat. Difficult to miss while it thrums so vividly in his ears.

“No, not that.” Dice smiles. Gentaro can’t help but return it.

“But could I—uh—do one thing? Before you go?”

Gentaro can take a fairly good guess at what Dice is referring to.

He shuffles, wrist rotating the smallest bit in Dice’s hold. His grip is strong, warm, and noticeably firm. Dice hasn’t moved, not an inch from his close lean over Gentaro, but he’s suddenly all that Gentaro can see, smell, feel.

He’s trapped.

It’s invigorating.

Gentaro is somewhat proud of the light, careless hum he gets out. A flippant roll of the eyes before his gaze meets Dice’s.

“Oh fine, if you must.”

Dice laughs again. Gentaro feels that familiar swooping sensation.

“I’ve been dyin’ to do this all day.”

Despite the unaffected air Gentaro puts off, his body is already tensed up in wait. Free hand poised to the side, ready to fend off Dice’s experienced fingers. His waist, hips, stomach; they’re all compromised in this outfit, leaving him more vulnerable than even his home loungewear would allow. It’s anyone’s guess as to where Dice may strike.

Which makes it extra shocking when Dice suddenly drops Gentaro’s wrist. When he slips both hands, with a pre-planned speed, into the gaps of Gentaro’s billowing sleeves and under his outstretched arms.

Gentaro is able to clamp his lips together before Dice’s fingers make contact. It makes muffling his surprised shout marginally easier. The same can’t be said for his limbs.

Before he can even think about it, Dice has found his rhythm, spidering feather-light strokes beneath his arms. His fingertips are gentle, calloused, and so very effective in their unpredictable movements.

Gentaro’s shoulders lock up. He chokes back the bubbling wave of laughter, then clamps his arms down in attempted self-defense.

Immediately after, his spine snaps off the wall. Thrusting his torso flush against Dice, leaning in to cover him. He tosses his head back, a squeaky cry pathetically stifled as the feelings grow exponentially.

It takes all of Gentaro’s remaining brainpower to lessen the pressure of his arms against his sides, to bring his elbows a centimeter out from his waist. Because when he tries blocking Dice’s fingers—

Gentaro bites his lip against a particularly loud squeal; Dice using one finger on each hand to vibrate into the center of each hollow. Oh, please.

—when he tries to guard himself, he just pushes Dice’s fingers deeper.

“Mph! D-Dice!”

It’s debilitating. Dice rarely has access to his bare skin in most situations, but this may very well be a first for both of them. The skittering touch under his arms has Gentaro squirming, shaking. Every time his arms twitch down to stop it, he’s stuck muffling louder laughter at the added pressure he’s made for himself.

It’s all Gentaro can do to hold as still as possible; minimize the jerky, impulsive movements. But it’s so hard, and he’s quickly losing the battle with his volume as well.

What were once small, nondescript sounds are now squeaking—almost whining—noises. As Dice continues his careful track, sweeping soft fingers around and around and around each twitching hollow.

It takes Dice vocalizing aloud to get Gentaro to lift his head from the wall, blink one teary eye open and get a look at him.

Dice is smiling sweetly—no doubt a much nicer look than the hot flush and wobbly smile Gentaro’s trying to control—with his head tilted to the side. It leaves his neck and shoulder open, right at Gentaro’s head level.

He takes the invitation for what it is.

Gentaro quickly buries his face into the side of Dice’s neck. If he had the mind to think and the hindsight to see, he might have considered if this was well-meant aid or a well-sprung trap. It really depends how much credit Gentaro decides to give Dice. His scheming side is somewhat lacking.

Either way, it makes things much more manageable, and far less embarrassing when Dice’s fingertips turn to nails and Gentaro finally breaks, spilling surprised giggles into the other’s skin.

“Dihihice! What—whahat are you—ahahahaha! Wait! Th-that isn’t fahahahahahair!”

Dice had never kept his nails long before, not for so long as Gentaro has known him. He had no use for them, and it was much easier to keep clean with nails as short as can be. But he’s taken to growing them out, just a tad, for…special situations.

Situations where Gentaro is foolish, careless. Usually in the comfort of his own home, in clothes that make it too easy for Dice. To touch, caress. Warm hands over soft skin that finds another’s touch one part foreign to ten parts addictive.

Situations where the small scratch of a nail can amp the feeling of a tingle to a spark.

“Dihice, pl-plehease. I—aha! Oh no, oh pleheheHEHEHEASE!”

It’s so much easier to hide; in the warm, familiar grip of Dice’s embrace. Where he can smother his keening laughter and sudden gasps. No care in the world for his pink cheeks and ruffled hair, so embarrassingly genuine after the painstaking process of making him ‘modelesque.’

Where all he has to focus on is the rippling movement, scratching up and down the dips beneath his arms. A constant, offset graze on hypersensitive skin; gentle as can be but more than enough to drive Gentaro past the point of composure.

All too quickly, Gentaro feels his knees go weak. His back slips down the wall a fraction, hands gripping onto Dice reflexively.

Dice responds in kind, keeping him stable, then going the extra step forward. Literally.

He steps until there’s no space between them. Until Gentaro can be held up with no need for his own legs; just the cool, sturdy wall behind him and Dice’s chest against his own. He’s surrounded by Dice’s warmth, by his scent. It’s been only minutes, but Gentaro is panting for breath.

“Hey,” Dice mutters, softly, once Gentaro can focus on him. He tugs his hand free, chuckling along to the author’s stray giggle, before reaching up to cup his cheek. His thumb strokes habitually, eyes staring deep into Gentaro’s — searching. Always searching. Making sure he’s okay.

And he is. Better than okay. That’s not a lie, it can’t be, and the way Gentaro narrows his eyes, sends a challenging smirk Dice’s way — makes that abundantly clear. Dice drops his gaze, laughing to himself. Then he straightens up, thumbs the moisture from the side of Gentaro’s face.

“As I was saying…” Dice trails, locking eyes with Gentaro as he speaks. Watching the way they widen, lips pressing together, when his remaining hand flexes.

“I’m not done with you yet.”

#bee stuffs #side note I’ve never played arb #I just love their aquarium fits ✨#tickling #tickle fic #dhfhhfhdjd I don’t wanna tAG THIS #Hypmic #Dice #Gentaro #Gendice #Daigen #ticklish!Gentaro #this may be the first FP tickle fic and that’s the only thing I can be proud about #✌🏼

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uncommoncold · 3 years

Text

Treasure

Summary: After a lengthy chase, Park Seonghwa finds himself face to face with the dread pirate Hongjoong. Will he find a blood thirsty pirate or dashing rogue? Will he lose the one thing that he holds most dear, his heart?

Word Count: 11.2k

Content Warning: Top Park Seonghwa, Bottom Kim Hongjoong, Pirate-teez, Boys Kissing, Oral Sex, Two Sex

The flag whipped violently with the gale winds and blistering rain. “Captain, if we keep going like we are, we’re going to break apart.”

“I know but unless you’re looking for a long drop and a short stop, we have to keep going.” He peered through his cabin window and into the storm, trying to make out the shape of their pursuers. The fact that he couldn’t see them gave him hope.

At first they had kept their distance, following just far enough away to make him think perhaps he was mistaken. But they had followed for two days, getting closer the closer they got to the islands. He knew what that meant, they were being hunted.

Not that he wasn’t sure that someone thought he deserved it. He had done more than enough to put himself a few people’s sights.

“They can’t possibly see us if we can’t see them.” Hongjoong mused.

“Let’s head for the leeward side of this island.” He pointed to the map. “There’s a cove there we can shelter in. Maybe we’ll get lucky and they already took refuge from the storm, or better yet, maybe they sank.”

His first mate, Yunho smirked and nodded.

A short while later, they were pulling into a sheltered cove. It was a risk, if their pursuers were still chasing them, then they were stuck with nowhere and no way to run. However, it was sheltered enough that if you didn’t know it was there, you could sail right by and never see a ship. The island wasn’t populated by more than flora and fauna but it would do to sit out the storm.

Normally, it would have been a good time to pull out the casks and enjoy some downtime but he didn’t dare when they didn’t know who was on their tails. It seemed unlikely that whoever it was was hunting him to give him birthday wishes. He couldn’t count out revenge or the authorities.

***

“We’ve lost them sir.” Seonghwa informed the captain.

“It’s this blasted storm, keep looking. I’m not letting that son of a bitch slip away again.”

“Again sir?”

“I’ve been looking for him for nearly three years since he took my last ship. Brazen, cocky, and slippery as an eel. I’ve been so careful… I’ll have the reward and see him dance on the end of a rope yet.”

Seonghwa wasn’t entirely sure he liked the malicious light that lit up his captain’s eyes as he talked about seeing the pirate they were chasing hang. It wasn’t that he was ignorant of crime and punishment, he just preferred not to watch it and he took no joy in death. The captain was no longer a young man and he was determined to have the pirate Hongjoong in his grasp before he died.

“Since we’ve lost him, I suggest we shelter from the storm at one of the nearby islands, sir.”

For a long moment, the captain was quiet before heaving a weary sigh and nodding, “Alright, take us in. We’ll pick up the search after the storm dies down.”

“Yes, sir.” Seonghwa went out on deck and informed the helmsman of the captain’s decision and they fought their way into the bay of a nearby island. It was just in time as well as the storm was only getting worse. It was just a little spit of land, mountainous and good for nothing unless you liked coconuts and sea birds.

***

“Captain!” Yunho tore into the room.

Hongjoong had been nursing a headache but he bolted upright from his bed, “What is it.”

“A ship pulled into the bay sir. They’re making no moves toward us but if they get any closer, they’ll surely spot us. What do you want to do?”

Hongjoong headed up on deck and looked through his telescope at the ship’s colors. Shit. He knew exactly who that was, he had been chasing him for nigh on three years now, ever since he took his ship. In fact, it was his ship that he was using now. He tapped his fingers thoughtfully on the railing. He could send the men with the cargo inland but there were no promises they wouldn’t go looking for them and they would be vastly outnumbered… “I have an idea.”

Yunho turned slowly, Hongjoong was grinning broadly at him. “I don’t like that smile.”

“It’s a really stupid idea that just might get me killed but will ensure everyone else’s safety.”

“I really don’t like this idea.” Yunho crossed his arms and glared at his captain sternly.

“You haven’t heard it yet.”

“I’ve heard enough to know I don’t like it, not if it might get you killed. The last time we went with a plan that might get you killed, I ended up running naked through town.”

“You won’t end up naked this time. I promise.”

“I still don’t like it.”

“No, you won’t like it.” Yunho tended to think of himself as Hongjoong’s keeper, he chased after him when he needed to be chased. He protected him from his own most dire instincts. He was the best first mate and friend Hongjoong could ask for. This time he wasn’t joking, it really might get him killed. It was a roll of the dice, then again, life was a roll of the dice.

Yunho groaned, “Alright tell me.”

Yunho listened to Hongjoong’s plan and it was absolutely the daftest thing he had ever heard in all of his life but if he could pull it off, it would save the lives of everyone on board but it still would leave his own life in a precarious place. Honestly, he couldn’t think of a better plan. They were a small ship and they had two guns out of commission. He also knew that Hongjoong put the lives of his crew above his own, it was part of why he was so well loved. He was a great captain… and friend. “Why do I get the feeling if I say no, you’ll do it anyway.”

“Because I will.”

“Shit.” Yunho ran his hands through his hair and braced his hands against his hips. “Fine, I can’t stop you.”

They set to work, loading one of the dinghy’s with provisions and a small amount of the treasure they had accumulated. It took a little cajoling but he had Yunho punch him a few times.

Hongjoong then cut his head with his trusty knife and let the blood run down over the side of his face and ear. “How do I look?”

“Like a man who has had a rough time.”

“That’s how I want to look. Let’s go.”

“Be careful.” Yunho grabbed Hongjoong in a tight hug. “If you get yourself killed I’ll never forgive you.”

“How do you think I’d feel about it? I’m not ready to die yet.” Hongjoong grinned brightly and stepped into the dinghy. He waved as it hit the water. Happily, the wind was on his side, he sailed out to where he should be able to be seen by the larger ship and lowered his sail. He then lay down in the boat and waited. It didn’t take long before he saw two boats break away from the larger boat and come his way. “Ahoy!”

Hongjoong put on a show of struggling to lift his head before raising a hand, “Ahoy!”

They towed him back toward the bigger ship, when he was brought on board, he spun a tale of intrigue. There had been a mutiny on his ship and he had just barely managed to escape. The men who had picked him up were enraptured by the tale he told. Seonghwa stood by and listened, he certainly looked the part. He had seen better days. There was something about his story that niggled at the back of his head but their guest was still a man alone with few provisions and just looking for a lift to the closest populated island.

They were a full crew of able bodied men with arms. Seonghwa was just about to show him to a cabin when the captain came out. Immediately he began pointing and sputtering. Hongjoong paled when he saw the captain. The old man immediately lunged at Hongjoong and caught him right on the chin with a forceful left that knocked him to his knees. In all truth, it had taken Hongjoong by surprise. He wouldn’t have thought that someone of his age could have come up with such speed.

“What’s he doing here?” The captain said as he stepped back nursing his sore knuckles.

Seonghwa told him the story that had been relayed to them. The captain’s expression slowly shifted from incredulous to gleeful. “All of these years and I’ve finally got you where I want you. Toss him in the brig.”

“Yes, sir.” Seonghwa grabbed one of Hongjoong’s arms and another sailor grabbed the other.

Hongjoong shot a look of pure venom at the captain.

“What are you going to do? Swim? We’ve got your boat and this island is uninhabited. Maybe the magistrate will be lenient on you but considering you're a wanted man, I doubt it. Oh and one more thing…” The captain hauled off and punched him again and again. “That’s for my ship.”

By the time he was thrown into the brig, his head was swimming and his ears were ringing. Yunho hadn’t pulled his punches, nor had the captain. He was alive… for now. Considering that they didn’t go into battle, nor were the rest of his crew joining him, his ruse had worked. He breathed a sigh of relief and waited.

Eventually, the storm passed. He could hear sounds overhead of the crew making ready to get underway. It was another hour that he strained his ears for every little sound before deciding that they really were underway and heading back out to sea. Only then did he risk laying down and closing his eyes.

Seonghwa lay in his bunk and stared at the ceiling. It seemed almost miraculous that the very man they were looking for just happened to have a mutiny and just happened to end up in their hands. He couldn’t think of a reason why he would just hand himself over to someone who wanted him dead. Surely stranger things had happened in the history of the world. Still, he couldn’t help feeling a bit sorry for him, pirate or no. He had had a string of really rotten luck.

Since the captain hadn’t given him any orders to not feed the prisoner, he took it upon himself to bring him down some food. The fact that the captain just so happened to be busy when he did was purely coincidental… mostly.

The prisoner looked a good deal worse for wear, bruises had formed on his cheek, jaw, and left eye into his hairline. The swelling had gone down though. “I brought you some breakfast.”

Hongjoong lifted his head and offered a half smile as their eyes met.

Seonghwa’s heart skipped a beat. He immediately looked away, unable to account for the strange feeling.

“I’m going to guess this wasn’t the captain’s order?” He said as he reached out to take the bowl of porridge. There were bits of some sort of meat in it, salted fish if he were to take a guess.

“How did you know?” Seonghwa looked back surprised.

“Someone who has been chasing me as long as he’s been chasing me, is not likely to be the forgiving sort. I doubt he would be worried at all about my comfort and would probably like to see me suffer as much as possible.” He took a bite, their ship’s cook wasn’t as good as Wooyoung was but it was passable. He was lucky he was getting anything at all.

“I guess you weren’t expecting to end up here.” Seonghwa watched Hongjoong take another bite.

“No, I have to admit, it was a big surprise to me. I’m not sure what I thought would happen when I left my ship.”

Hongjoong paused for a moment before asking, “Are you supposed to be talking to the prisoner?” Despite what might be a harsh question, there was an almost mischievous light in his dark eyes.

“No, probably not.”

“A man who likes to break the rules, I like men like that.”

“Are you trying to charm me?” Seonghwa asked. It was unusual to find someone as charming as he found their prisoner. He found himself wanting to get to know him. His smile was a physical weapon he could wield as surely as a sword or a pistol.

“Only if it’s working. If not, then of course not.” Hongjoong flashed an easy smile.

That forced a surprised laugh from Seonghwa. There was that smile again, the weight of it hit him and he found himself gazing at Hongjoong’s lips. For some reason Seonghwa was suddenly wondering about the details of his mutiny. He seemed like an easy man to like, which meant that wasn’t why his crew had mutinied. Still, he was going to have to face the fact that they were probably taking him to his death. Then again, maybe he was entirely different here than he was with his men, perhaps he was a tyrant but something whispered to him, told him that wasn’t the case.

He didn’t like it.

If the prisoner was a pirate, then he had killed dozens of people. He found himself asking, “How many men have you killed?”

Hongjoong looked surprised at the sudden question, “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you?”

“That means it’s either very high or very low.”

“Very low.” There was no hint of teasing when he said it. There were times when killing someone was unavoidable but every single death had repercussions, if not for himself then for someone, somewhere and he took each death as something that should be respected and honored, no matter who his foe was.

“Really?” Seonghwa asked, genuinely curious.

“There are usually many, many ways to get what you want without resorting to murder.”

“Then why are you wanted?”

“Ah, now just because I’m not a wanton murderer doesn’t mean that I haven’t broken any laws. I have broken more than a few laws and I don’t feel bad about that in the least.” The smile was back and this time he turned its full power on Seonghwa who felt more than a little shaken by it. Bruises and all, the pirate Hongjoong was a beautiful man and a fascinating one. He opened his mouth to ask another question when someone bellowed his name from above.

“I’m sorry, I have to go. I’ll bring you something later.” He turned and started to walk away.

“How far are we from shore?”

“We’re about three days out from the nearest port that I know you are wanted at.” He might be a pirate but he wasn’t a big enough name to be wanted everywhere. However, one group of people that wanted to hang you was more than enough.

“Three days… I didn’t catch your name.” Hongjoong said.

“Park Seonghwa, you?”

“Kim Hongjoong. For what it’s worth, I appreciate the food, even if it is going to waste in a dead man’s belly.”

“If it gives you comfort, then there’s no waste.” Seonghwa walked away then, heading up to find out who was calling him.

Hongjoong played with his food while he thought about his guest. He wondered if he might be inclined to help him escape. He drummed his fingers against his knee as he contemplated it. Yet his thoughts kept drifting back to the man himself, he was almost heartstopping in his physical beauty. There was a gentle aura around him that made him seem like someone he would want to protect. He sighed and pushed the thought of his sparkling eyes and sweet smile out of his head.

Despite what he said, he had no intention of dying. There were a thousand ways to get what you wanted, he had managed to save his crew now hopefully, he could find a way to save himself.

Over the next few days, Seonghwa continued to bring Hongjoong his meals and they spoke at length. Seonghwa told him all about his home, his family. His father used to have his own ship but he had decided that with the pirates, it was safer on shore so he had retired from the sea to run his own shop, which proved to be an excellent move on his part. Their family business did far better than expected and he had managed to secure an excellent retirement for himself and his family.

Hongjoong had planned on playing it close to the vest but he found himself opening up to Seonghwa, he told him of his ill-spent youth, why he had turned to piracy. He told him a good deal more about himself than he ever intended, he found himself waiting anxiously for just a glimpse of Seonghwa’s face through his day. It wasn’t just because he was bored either, it was because he genuinely enjoyed his company. He loved listening to his deep smooth voice, he loved listening to his stories. He was going to be sorry to lose him when there was still so much he didn’t know about him. Unless he could swing it so that he didn’t have to.

There was a buzz in the air on the fourth day since Hongjoong had been captured. He wasn’t sure what time it was when two burly men came down to his cell to let him out. When he was brought up on deck, the captain was standing there looking like the cat who caught the canary. Seonghwa was standing nearby but the expression on his face was conflicted. There were three men waiting, they looked like town guards and perhaps a magistrate. They handed the captain a small purse, presumably the reward for catching the dread pirate, before they clapped Hongjoong in irons and began to drag him away.

“Bye bye, I’ll see you at your hanging.” The captain called after Hongjoong.

Now that Hongjoong was taken care of, the captain turned a brilliant smile on Seonghwa, who couldn’t help feeling a little sick. “Now that I’ve seen to it that that miscreant will hang, what say you we have a talk eh?”

Seonghwa took a last look at Hongjoong’s back, he wanted to run after them but he managed to suppress the impulse before following after the captain who headed into his cabin. “You’ve proven to be an excellent first mate, have you ever thought about captaining your own ship?”

“Sir?” Seonghwa looked puzzled at the question.

“Well now that I’ve done what I wanted to do, I’d like to retire, head back home to my wife and family. That means this ship will need a captain, I’d like to hand her over to you. You keep running it in my name and we split the profits, what do you think?”

It sounded like a dream come true, “Are you sure, sir?”

“I think it sounds like a fine plan. Your first task as captain is to let the men have shore leave for the next week.”

“Yes sir!” Seonghwa did as he was bid to the delights of all of the crew

Seonghwa himself headed into town and found an inn. He was looking forward to sleeping in a bed that didn’t sway and a fresh meal. As he sat down to his lunch he couldn’t help but imagine Hongjoong in jail. In the days they had spent together, they had grown to know each other quite well and he just couldn’t stand the idea of him locked up without a friend nearby to hear his woes or maybe help to make him a little more comfortable. If he were completely honest, the man he had gotten to know didn’t deserve the hangman’s noose. He deserved his freedom. He kept telling himself that he wasn’t going to interfere but still he found himself asking the locals as to the location of the local jail.

It was in a small wooden building, the front was where the guards sat and the back was the jail. It was a small town and it didn’t look like their city guard was the largest employer in town. It was a small and run down building. He couldn’t imagine it would be particularly warm or well insulated.

“What am I doing?” Seonghwa paced back and forth. He wanted to go see him, make sure he was alright. But he already didn’t like the idea that he was going to die. He didn’t like the idea of him being hurt or suffering at all. Maybe he was too soft hearted. By the time he finally made up his mind to go, it was getting dark. He marched up to the guardhouse. There was an exceptionally tall man talking to one of the guards animatedly.

He approached the other guard who was sitting behind a desk smoking a pipe and looking bored. “Excuse me, I was wondering if I could see a prisoner.”

“Sure, I’d ask who but there’s only the one?” The man drawled as he pulled his feet from the desk and sat up.

“Kim Hongjoong.” Seonghwa said anyway.

The man who was talking to the other guard looked momentarily surprised and stopped talking but seemed to shrug it off and returned to his conversation. He couldn’t tell since it was at his back but the man was now watching him.

The guard took him back into the back of the jail, there were only two cells and only one of them was occupied. Hongjoong was stretched out on the floor staring blankly up at the ceiling, when he heard the footsteps stop in front of his cell, he said without looking over, “I was wondering if you were going to come see me.”

“I almost didn’t.” Seonghwa said as he grabbed a chair from the corner and dragged it over to sit by the cell.

“What made you change your mind?” Hongjoong sat up and turned to face his visitor.

“I had a question for you.”

“Oh?” Hongjoong perked up and gave a curious tilt of the head.

“Is it true?” Seonghwa leaned forward, lowering his tone and resting his elbows on his knees.

“Is what true?”

“How you came to be on our ship?” It was the one question that he hadn’t asked that he had wanted to.

Hongjoong was quiet for a moment as he contemplated Seonghwa, “Let me ask you a question, how close are you to the captain?”

“He’s my employer. He took me on after my father retired. It’s purely business and if I’m completely honest…” He looked around and added, “I don’t really care for him much.”

Hongjoong pursed his lips thoughtfully, “Hm… Then in that case, I don’t feel bad letting you know the truth. It was a plot.”

“A plot?”

“A plan, a ruse, a machination, you see… my ship was harbored in the bay that your ship sailed into. If I didn’t do something, then we would have been stuck with no way to run. Your ship is a good deal larger than mine, we were outgunned, outmanned and trapped. My crew means everything to me and if I could save them by sacrificing myself then I would… and I did. I was kind of hoping for an opportunity to escape but one never came.” Hongjoong sniffed and brushed the back of his finger against the tip of his nose.

“Is that why you were so friendly with me?” Seonghwa asked.

“Yes and no.” He answered honestly. “If you would have given me the chance, I would have taken it but you didn’t. I don’t hold it against you and I don’t regret having spent time with you. I-”

Hongjoong looked thoughtful, carefully thinking about what he wanted to say. He finally gave up with a sigh and shrugged, “I like you. I like talking to you, spending time with you. Even if we had met under different circumstances, I would have still liked you.”

Seonghwa opened and closed his mouth a couple of times and dropped his head thoughtfully. Conflicted emotions reflected in Seonghwa’s face, “I almost wish I had, you sacrificed yourself for your men. That’s not an act that should be punished but celebrated. I think, believe it or not, you might actually be a good man.”

Hongjoong smiled brightly, “That’s a hell of a thing to say to a man sitting in a cell waiting for escape or the hangman’s noose.”

“I believe it.”

“Then,” Hongjoong scooted closer to the bars, “if I asked, would you help me?”

“Help you how?” Seonghwa was completely cognizant of the fact that he might be being played but he didn’t think that Hongjoong was playing him.

At the skeptical expression on Seonghwa’s face, Hongjoong waved his hands. “No, it’s nothing like that. Could you take a message to one of my crew, I know they are here. There’s no way they would let me swing without trying… something.”

“Only a message?”

“Only a message.”

“What’s the message and who am I taking it to?”

“There’s an inn on the far side of town, away from the harbor, near the blacksmith. There’s a man named Choi Jongho, he’ll be staying there.” He proceeded to describe him down to the fact that he dressed far more nicely than you would expect of a pirate, a bit of a dandy and his jewelry.

“Would you tell him that if the weather’s fair then open the sails and if the skies are threatening, to fold up the sails and ride out the weather.”

Seonghwa frowned at the message, it sounded plain and harmless enough but he wasn’t a total fool. He knew there was meaning to what he was being asked to say. “Alright, I’ll deliver it.”

He took a deep breath and looked at Hongjoong squarely, “If you get the chance…”

Hongjoong turned a brilliant smile on him, “Absolutely. I’m a man who takes every opportunity he gets.”

“After I deliver your message, I’ve got some business to attend to but I’ll come back to see you again.”

“You know,” he paused and then nodded, “I think I’d like that very much. I’ll look forward to it.”

Seonghwa bid Hongjoong farewell feeling both better and worse than he had when he had arrived. He now knew the truth of how he had come to be on the ship but now that he knew the truth, he couldn’t just let him sit in a cell until they hung him.

He followed the directions he had been given to the inn near the blacksmith. When he asked for Choi Jongho the man eyed him coolly until he said he had a message from his captain. He repeated it back to him word for word. “He would say that. Idiot.”

He looked Seonghwa up and down, “Why did he send you with it?”

“I told him I wanted to help him if I could. I don’t think he deserves to be executed, maybe some prison time but not executed.”

Choi Jongho laughed outright, “Hopefully, it won’t come to that. Thank you for the message.”

If the captain trusted him, he felt like he ought to extend him the same but the captain tended to fly by the seat of his pants sometimes and he was more cautious than that. He bid Seonghwa farewell and called together the other members of the crew to tell them about the captain’s message and then they all waited for Yunho and San to return to find out whether or not the guards were bribeable.

It was quite late when Seonghwa got time to go back to the jail. He should probably just wait until the morning but he didn’t want to leave Hongjoong waiting to know that his message had been delivered, assuming it was as important as he thought it might be. Much to his surprise not only was the door unlocked but there were no guards to be seen. Did they go home at night? That would be strange wouldn’t it? It wasn’t as if they had a lot of prisoners to watch but what if something happened? What if someone escaped? Although, in this case, he wished someone would escape. If it was empty and the keys were nearby...Yes, he would let him out.

If his men were here then that meant that his ship was here and they could escape. The captain would be livid if Hongjoong escaped but he didn’t care about the fragile ego of one vindictive old man who spent three years chasing someone because of one lost ship when he owned a whole fleet.

Seonghwa turned back to look at the open guardhouse door when he heard a sound behind him. He turned to see Hongjoong and then just as suddenly, he felt the other man’s lips close on his, his hand reaching up to cup Seonghwa’s cheek. He was too startled to remember to respond or push him away or react at all. He felt the hot wet brush of his tongue against his lips before he pulled away.

All he could manage was to gape at the shorter man who had just kissed him. Finally he managed, “You’re out.”

Hongjoong smiled, “I am and I’m getting out of here. Wanna come with me?”

“With you?”

“Whether you're coming with me or not, let’s get out of here. The guards won’t be gone forever.” Hongjoong grabbed Seonghwa’s hand and tugged him out of the guardhouse and toward the docks. As they walked, Seonghwa looked down at their still joined hands in total bemusement. He didn’t know what to do or say but he did notice when a man intercepted them.

“Captain.”

“San, is the ship ready?”

“Sort of.”

“I can’t really linger around these parts, we need to go - Now.”

“We had more damage from the storm than we realized and by the time we got into port… There’s no way the shipwright can have the repairs finished by the time we needed so…” San gestured for the pair to follow him. He spared a glance at Seonghwa, wondering if that was the man who had delivered the captain’s message to Jongho.

If the captain thought he was good to join the crew then it was alright by him. The more the merrier. However, the way they were holding hands made him think it might be something else. He guided them to the docks and right to Seonghwa’s ship. Seonghwa stopped before following up the gangplank when Hongjoong pulled up to a stop, “Are you serious?”

“It really was the best option,” said San.

“And Yunho was feeling vindictive.” said another man who was a little shorter than San and bore an open smile. “It’s good to have you back captain. If you ever do anything like that again, I’ll keelhaul you myself.”

Hongjoong laughed, “It’s good to see you too Wooyoung.”

Wooyoung grabbed Hongjoong up in a warm hug and squeezed him tight. Hongjoong gave a little squeak at the force with which he was hugged.

“Where’s the crew?” Hongjoong asked as he canted his head toward the ship.

“Shore leave.” commented Seonghwa. All heads turned to look at him questioningly.

“This is Park Seonghwa, he was the first mate on this ship but he’ll be joining us now. Right?” He turned to look at Seonghwa.

Finally Seonghwa snapped out of the haze that he had been pitched into when Hongjoong kissed him. “I-��

Did he want to go with them? It surely meant being hunted, they were wanted men after all. Hongjoong was an escaped prisoner, a thief, a pirate, and who knew what else. Yet he was thinking about it, seriously.

“Go on, I’ll catch up.” Hongjoong said to the assembled men before he turned back to Seonghwa. “Are you scared?”

“Yes.”

“But you want to.”

“Yes.”

“Well then there’s only one thing to do, come with us and you can say you were asleep in your room when we took the ship, so we accidentally kidnapped you. If you change your mind later, then we can let you off at the next port of call.” Not waiting to see if Seonghwa agreed with him or not, Hongjoong grabbed his hand again and dragged him behind him up the gangplank.

“Captain.” Yunho walked out onto the deck and smiled broadly.

“How much did it cost?” Hongjoong asked.

“They really should pay their guards more because it didn’t even take a quarter of our last haul to see to it that they found something else to do for half an hour.”

Hongjoong nodded, “Good, good if everyone’s on board, let’s shove off shall we?”

“Aye, aye captain.” Yunho turned and began to bark out orders. The men all jumped to and began to make way to set sail.

“By the way Yunho…”

Yunho stopped what he was doing and turned to look at his captain.

“Thank you.”

Yunho smiled and nodded, “You’re welcome. It’s good to have you back captain.”

“It’s good to be back. This is Park Seonghwa, he’ll - hopefully, be joining us permanently. He was the first mate of this ship but I think he needs a little time to get to know us first… or maybe just me. Seonghwa, this is my first mate Jeong Yunho. After we get out of here, I’ll take you around and introduce you to everyone. We’ve got some really good people on this ship.”

“Energetic people.” Yunho added with a touch of mirth.

“Maybe we have too much energy.” Hongjoong posited.

Yunho snickered and went back to work. As they cleared the harbor, the town bells sounded, likely announcing that there had been an escape. Hongjoong turned to Seonghwa, “Want to show me around? Show me the captain’s quarters. I know the brig well enough, it’ll be nice to see the rest of the ship.”

Seonghwa still wasn’t quite sure this all felt real. One minute he had been trying to think of the best way to help Hongjoong escape, the next minute he was on a stolen ship making their escape. Then it occurred to him exactly what they had just done. They had stolen yet another ship from the man who had spent three years chasing him down for having stolen his ship.

Would he immediately outfit another ship and give chase again? He knew that his wife held the purse strings and she wanted him back home. Somehow he couldn’t imagine her sanctioning another three year long wild goose chase. He was likewise sure that Hongjoong wouldn’t allow himself to be caught again so easily, unless his men were on the line again. That didn’t seem like the kind of situation that happened more than once. The real question was, now what was he doing here? Was he perhaps infatuated with the dashing pirate? That was the only reason he could think of that he had accepted the offer of joining them as a trial run. His family was going to kill him if he became a pirate. He was supposed to take a few years out to sea and then come home and learn the family business with his brother, not take up piracy because he had a crush on a pirate.

“Sure,” he said after perhaps too long of a pause. “I’ll give you a tour, we can start at the bottom and work our way up.”

Fifteen minutes later they were standing at the door to the captain’s quarters. The door was locked but Seonghwa had the key.

“I guess he trusted you.” Hongjoong commented as he watched Seonghwa unlock the door.

That gave him a pang of guilt as he pushed the door open, “He offered me the captaincy of this ship after they took you away.”

“So I stole your ship?” Hongjoong asked as he followed Seonghwa into the room and closed the door behind them. It was poshly appointed. The furnishings were over the top in the extreme, it was as if the former captain was furnishing a mansion instead of a room on a ship. No wonder he had locked it.

“I hadn’t exactly taken control yet.” He said. It hadn’t actually sunk in yet that this ship was going to be his. Perhaps it was his ship that had been stolen but it didn’t feel that way.

“That’s not right, I don’t steal from friends.”

“Friends?”

“We are friends aren’t we?” Hongjoong took a step toward Seonghwa.

Seonghwa felt his heart pick up pace and he swallowed hard in a suddenly dry throat. “Are we?”

“Unless you want to be more…” Hongjoong reached out and brushed the backs of his fingers over Seonghwa’s cheek.

“What do you mean more?” Seonghwa’s voice cracked and he cleared his throat.

“I want to be your lover. You don’t know that already?” He asked.

Without really realizing he was doing it, Seonghwa took the final step forward, closing the distance between the two of them. There was nothing that separated them now. He leaned down, eyes intense as they met Hongjoong’s before he kissed him. The softness of their lips played together, their tongues met giving an electric thrill.

Seonghwa gave a small sound of pleasure as they sank into one another, their arms stealing around one another, bodies flush together. Their hands began to roam over each other. Seonghwa’s lips traveled down over Hongjoong’s jawline, down to his throat. He tasted his pulse thrumming against his lips, he scraped his teeth over the silken skin of his neck. “Why am I so captivated by you?”

“The same reason that I can’t get you out of my head.” Hongjoong gasped and sighed.

“I know the feeling, every time I close my eyes I see you, hear your voice, I can’t stop thinking about you. God you taste so good…” He leaned back in and reclaimed Hongjoong’s lips.

Running his hands up over Seonghwa’s stomach, he caught the material of his blouse and pulled it up, his fingers grazing against his bare skin as he did so. They traveled further, slipping under the soft linen as they moved over his bare chest, the slightly long tips of his nails raking over Seonghwa’s nipples. They tightened at the delicate scraping. A soft moan slipped between their joined lips, let out with a sigh.

Seonghwa pulled his jacket from his shoulders and let it drop at their feet, Hongjoong caught his shirt and pulled it up over his head, immediately dropping his head to rain kisses over his bare chest, to taste his skin.

Seonghwa moved to pull off Hongjoong’s clothes as Hongjoong worked at his partners’. They moved in concert back toward the bed, Seonghwa moving over the smaller man as they moved. The heat of their bodies grinding together, their cocks sliding together. Hongjoong reached between them, wrapping his fingers around their lengths, trapping them against one another as he stroked.

Seonghwa’s golden skin was beginning to glisten in the low lamp light. A drop of sweat trickled down over his smooth chest, running down to where their naked bodies pressed together. His kisses traversed their way down over Hongjoong’s chin, his throat, suckling and biting his nipples before continuing down. The muscles in his stomach trembled as Seonghwa’s lips brushed down over his ribs to his hip bones. Hongjoong squirmed, his hips rising up as Seonghwa’s beautiful lips wrapped around the head of his cock. His finger’s winding in Seonghwa’s thick dark locks, a heady sigh falling from his parted lips.

He had never wanted anyone so badly as he wanted Seonghwa and his body was on fire and Seonghwa’s touch were the flames that consumed him. He watched the way his lips glided over him, consuming him. He was so beautiful, their eyes met and Hongjoong smiled, “You’re going to make me cum if you keep that up.”

“Maybe I want you to cum… or maybe I just want to make you squirm.” Seonghwa smiled in return as he flicked his tongue against the sensitive underside of Hongjoong’s throbbing prick. Then quite suddenly, Seonghwa dropped his head down, pushing Hongjoong’s cock all the way to the back of his throat before bobbing his head up and down.

A sudden hiss and a sharp inhalation of breath as Hongjoong slammed his hands down against the bed, his hips arching upward without his bidding. His orgasm was ripped from him as he fucked back against Seonghwa’s face.

The first spurt of sticky sweet cum hit the back of Seonghwa’s throat as he sucked milking him for every last drop.

Slowly he let his lover’s cock slip from his lips as he crawled back up over his body. He caught Hongjoong’s lips in a sultry kiss before murmuring against him, “We need-...”

“I came prepared.” Hongjoong interjected before he turned and leaned over the side of the bed to capture his clothes. From a pouch tied to his belt, he produced a small corked bottle. As he wiggled back onto the bed, he held it up and shook it slightly.

“See?” He pulled the stopper and poured a liberal amount of oil into his palm and reached for Seonghwa’s swollen length. Seonghwa’s head fell back, throaty groan slipping past his full lips. He rested back on his hands, presenting himself for Hongjoong’s attentions.

The teasing smile was back on Hongjoong’s lips again as he lifted the bottle and poured some of the oil over Seonghwa’s chest and stomach, leaving him glistening as he ran his hands down, to return to stroking. He bowed his head to suckle Seonghwa’s balls and nibble the insides of his thighs. God he was so beautiful in the lamp light, his eyes filled with a universe of stars as he stared at him with unabashed lust, his golden skin aglow.

His breathing grew short, he could feel himself getting close so he reached out and caught Hongjoong’s hand and brought his fingers up to kiss them. “I want more than that now, I want you.”

Hongjoong licked his lips and nodded as he leaned into Seonghwa’s and kissed him. Seonghwa’s arm slipped around his waist as he leveraged Hongjoong back into the mass of pillows, slipping easily between his thighs. He buried his face against his throat and breathed, “I want to be inside you.”

Hongjoong gasped at the nip of teeth at his neck, he could feel Seonghwa’s cock sliding against him, not as eager as his words made him seem but slowly and methodically grinding against him. He wriggled against his touch as Seonghwa’s reached between their bodies and slid his slick, oiled fingers against him and into him.

“I’ve never done this before…” Hongjoong breathed. “But for you, I want you.”

Seonghwa raised his head and looked down at Hongjoong, instead of teasing or darkly lustful, there was supreme tenderness and affection. “I’ll go slow.”

As he promised, he slowly worked against him not going any further than his virgin’s body was ready for. Incrementally, Hongjoong began to relax beneath him. Only when almost all resistance was gone did he begin to enter him. Jesus, so hot, so tight. As he hilted himself he let out a sigh and for a lingering moment, he just held still, “Are you alright?”

Hongjoong nodded, “Yes.”

While the slow entry had spared him any discomfort, it had driven him slowly insane so that now he would have killed any man who dared to try to separate them. “Now fuck me.”

Seonghwa’s tongue flicked out to lap at Hongjoong’s lips before he languidly and fluidly began to move. “As you command.”

With little rolling lifts of his hips, Hongjoong rose to meet each and every thrust. His lover’s cock stimulated something deep inside of him, driving him nearly wild. They moved together, their pace increasing with a shared urgency.

Hongjoong’s fingers dug into Seonghwa’s back, leaving small crescent indentations. His balls tightened as molten sugar unwound in his stomach, slowly reaching its burning tendrils through him. The first spasm forced him to slam his head back into the pillow, the second brought a cry as his cum shot up between their joined bodies. Seonghwa’s arms sealed around him as he began to fuck him with ferocity. Each thrust brought a deep guttural growl, his cock swelled, balls tightened, and then he came, filling his lover with wave after wave of his seed.

For a lingering moment, they lay still, both lost in their own little world of pleasure. Seonghwa was the first to move, turning his head to pepper Hongjoong’s neck and ear with little kisses. Eventually, he sighed and rolled off to the side, grabbing a pillow and tucking it behind his head as he pulled Hongjoong into his arms. Hongjoong took a deep breath and let it out in a rush as he laid his head on the pillow beside Seonghwa.

“I think,” Hongjoong began as he adjusted himself in the bed. “I’m glad this all happened. Sure I had to spend a few days in a jail cell but I got you.”

Seonghwa chuckled and let his eyes fall shut. He hadn’t realized exactly how stressed he had been, not until he felt the last of that stress flow out of him with his orgasm. “My new captain is making me feel quite welcome indeed.”

“Are you sure you can do it?” Hongjoong lifted his head and looked at Seonghwa seriously.

“Do what?” He reached up and ran his long, slender fingers over Hongjoong’s sweaty hair and face.

“Piracy.” While he had no doubts that Seonghwa would stay with him if he asked him to, he wanted to make sure that it was actually something that he wanted. He was equally sure he had the other man’s affections but was this life really what he wanted or had he allowed himself to be swept away.

Seonghwa bit the corner of his bottom lip thoughtfully, “I don’t know, really. I never thought I would become a pirate. I also never thought I’d help a fugitive escape jail and a hanging and then steal my ship.”

“Take some time and think it over.” Hongjoong sighed and laid back down. “It’s late and being in a comfortable bed reminds me of how little sleep I’ve had the last few days. It’s late, what say you we get some sleep?”

“Alright.” Seonghwa hadn’t really been giving any thought to his predicament. He had, as Hongjoong thought, just allowed himself to be buoyed along. Now that he had time to think about it, would he be able to do it? He wasn’t a fighter, he never had been and had only fought when his life had deemed it necessary and that wasn’t more than a couple of times. What would it do to his family? He was quite close with his family and he didn’t want to hurt them.

There was another matter, he was quite sure he was falling in love with Hongjoong at breakneck speed. If he were to stay with him, he would hurt his family and perhaps shorten his life. If he were to leave then… then he would break his heart? He wanted nothing more than to give into his heart but what should he do? It was the same thoughts chasing each other around his brain until he finally fell asleep in the small hours of the morning.

He awoke early as he felt Hongjoong slipping out of his arms. He opened his tired eyes to see the other man smiling down at him before brushing a kiss across his lips and whispering, “Go back to sleep, you deserve it.”

Seonghwa didn’t argue. His eyes were already closed before Hongjoong’s feet hit the floor and he was already returning to slumber before he reached the door.

Yunho gave him a look as he sat down at the officer’s table, a knowing smile on his lips.

“What?” Hongjoong asked the younger man.

“Me? I didn’t say a word.”

It was obvious from the expressions on the faces of the assembled men that the entire crew probably knew but none of them seemed inclined to ask the questions. Silent smirks and two looks of feigned innocence, one from San and the other from Mingi, were all Hongjoong received as he looked down the table.

“So!” Jongho broke the silence, “What position is our new crewman going to have? Yunho is the first mate, that’s not to say you couldn’t have two first mates… I think I heard Park Seonghwa was supposed to be captain of this ship?”

Hongjoong’s own smile faded a little at that. He wanted Seonghwa to stay but he wasn’t sure he should. Most of the men under his command had come to him from other pirate vessels or had their own situations that made serving with him ideal. Seonghwa’s situation was quite different and as much as he wanted to keep him with him, he wasn’t sure it was best for him. The thought of letting him go twisted his heart into knots. He had never been in love before but he was getting dangerously close to loving Park Seonghwa. Maybe he already did, it was hard to say never having felt this way before. Sure he had slacked his lusts but love? Never.

“What new crewman?” Mingi asked.

All of the heads at the table turned to look at him.

“The new crewman who came aboard with the captain last night.” Wooyoung answered.

“I didn’t see him. Where is he now?” Mingi asked for more information.

Yunho dropped his head into his hand and Wooyoung’s grin grew a little wider as he decided to answer again, “I imagine he’s still in the captain’s quarters.”

Yunho peeked up at Mingi through his fingers as if to beg him with his eyes alone to cease his line of questioning before it got uncomfortable.

Mingi started to open his mouth when he yelped in pain. He was seated at the end of the table between Yeosang and Wooyoung. He shot a look at Yeosang who was an expert at looking like a beautiful serene statue. Whatever he had done, his expression hadn’t changed but Mingi seemed to get the hint. He reached under the table and rubbed at his leg.

Hongjoong shook his head, “We can decide that, if he decides to stay. I’m not sure he will yet.”

“Why wouldn’t he stay?” San asked curiously.

“I’m not sure he’s cut out for the pirate’s life. He’s got a good family, a good job if he wants it.” Hongjoong shrugged and reached for his breakfast.

San straightened his spine as he said, “We’ve got the best family.”

All of the men hurrahed at that and breakfast settled down into something more normal… and boisterous.

The next three weeks were like a dream for Seonghwa. He sailed with the men of the Treasure, spent his days working beside them, spent his nights with the man he had come to love but there was a growing unease. He knew that Hongjoong was avoiding other ships but he was a pirate and he couldn’t avoid other ships forever. The men were looking forward to their next great haul. Hongjoong was not just a pirate but a successful one and the day they rather accidentally ran into some low hanging fruit was the day he knew.

Seonghwa stood outside the door listening as he heard Yunho and Hongjoong arguing about the validity of the target, a poorly defended merchantman carrying fewer than 8 guns. He knew Hongjoong was avoiding getting into any scrapes to protect him, he couldn’t let him keep doing it. A very angry looking Yunho stormed out of the captain’s room and he went in. “You should take it.”

Hongjoong didn’t look up from the map he was looking at, “Why’s that?”

“Because the only reason you haven’t already gone for it is because of me. The men are restless as it is. You can’t keep avoiding it because you think I can’t take it. This is, as much as we might like to have it otherwise, a pirate’s ship and you are a pirate. If I’m to stay with you, I have to learn to live with this part of life. If I can’t do it then…” Seonghwa let his words trail off, a knot forming in his throat.

Hongjoong finally looked up and met Seonghwa’s eyes and sighed. He was determined. Hongjoong was silent for a long moment before he nodded and walked over to Seonghwa and kissed him. “Alright, tell the men.”

Seonghwa clung to Hongjoong for a lingering moment before he turned and briskly walked out of the cabin. The next few minutes were an absolute whirlwind of activity. All of the usual silliness, chaos and levity were gone and they became a force of nature. They were focused and deadly accurate. They carried out the strike perfectly. Seonghwa watched with a semi-detached air. Could he do this? The first thing that hit him was the thrill, the exhilaration but he wasn’t sure.

The two ships collided. The men from the Treasure poured onto the decks of other ship. Blades clashed and the men of the Treasure worked as a well oil machine. Hongjoong found their captain readily, he was old but still defiant as they crossed blades. What he lacked in youth, he made up for in sheer bloody mindedness. He concentrated as he fought the captain, there wasn’t a man alive who wouldn’t tell you his next move if you were attentive.

There! Hongjoong feinted to the left as his opponent made a move to block but he left himself open. He struck, bringing him down. Just as he struck he heard a voice yell, “No!”

The rapport of a pistol shot rang out across the deck and momentarily all fell silent. Directly behind Hongjoong, a man lay supine. He had been just inches away from burying his blade in the pirate captain’s back. Seonghwa stood with perfect form, holding his pistol, smoke wafting up from the tip.

Seonghwa had just saved Hongjoong’s life.

The men were elated with the booty they had looted, it was far more than anyone expected. The casks were opened and the alcohol poured freely as the men rejoiced.

Seonghwa sat silently in the captain’s quarters in the dark. He hadn’t even realized that the sun had set, so deeply lost in thought was he. It wasn’t the first time he had killed a man and he had done it in defense of another. He didn’t feel badly about it and that was what bothered him. The captain had been the only man who had died today but he wouldn’t be the last. Every single man of the Treasure would fight to the last to protect one another and their way of life. They loved it, they thrived on it. He too had felt the touch of exhilaration, the rush of blood in his veins. The only thing that came close was making love with Hongjoong.

He knew he could do it. He knew he would grow to love it if he stayed. That was what scared him.

“I thought I’d find you here.”

A voice yanked him from his quiet reverie. “Oh, yes.”

“We’re headed in, we should make port in about eight days.”

“Eight days? I didn’t think we were that far from shore.”

“We aren’t but I thought it might be nice for you to go home, see your family.” Hongjoong didn’t put on a lamp, but just walked over to stand behind Seonghwa’s chair, putting an arm around his shoulders.

“I see.”

The silence was thick and heavy between them but neither seemed inclined to break it.

“How did you know?” Seonghwa asked at long last.

“One of the things I love best about you is your tender heart. What kind of man would I be if I destroyed the one of the things that I loved best about you?” Hongjoong’s voice was barely above a whisper but it carried in the darkened space.

“Promise me something.” Seonghwa said as he turned to look up at the moonlight kissed visage of the man he loved.

Hongjoong cocked his head slightly to one side, reaching to run his fingers over Seonghwa’s hair, “What’s that?”

“Promise me that if you ever decide to retire from piracy that you’ll come find me.”

Hongjoong smiled and drew a slow breath, “I will come find you.”

“Bring the rest of the crew too, we always need more hands.”

“You’re part of the crew. They’ve grown as fond of you as I have.”

“Have they really?”

“Well, maybe not quite as fond as I have.” Hongjoong turned his head and pressed a kiss to Seonghwa’s cheek.

Seonghwa closed his eyes and concentrated on the warmth of that small kiss. Eight days…

***

Seonghwa stood on the cliff by his family home looking out toward the sea. It had been three years to the day since he had said farewell to the crew of the Treasure and its exceptional captain. He hadn’t really known whether he would see Hongjoong again and he regretted his choice everyday. Now with three years between him and the roguish captain’s smile, he could see clearly. Life only gives you chances at real love maybe once if you’re lucky.

He had his chance and he had surrendered it because he was afraid of change, because he was afraid of the lifestyle. He had been wrong and now there was no way to go back and change it.

Hot tears trickled down his cold cheeks and he sniffed before reaching up to wipe them away. He knew now he would never see Hongjoong again and he had to live with that, as much as it hurt him everyday.

“Can’t you find him?”

Seonghwa turned and saw his mother standing behind him. She was the only one he had ever told the truth about his ‘accidental kidnapping’. The only one he had ever told the truth about the only love he would ever have. Not entirely trusting himself to speak, he shook his head before looking back at the sea.

“You don’t have to go through with this you know. I know your father is pressuring you and Soojin is a nice girl but…” His mother sighed. The wedding was in two days and she had tried to talk Seonghwa’s father out of it but he didn’t see the problem. Seonghwa was a good looking, polite boy from a good family. Soojin was a good looking, polite girl from a good family. They made for a good match and they seemed to like each other as friends at least. It was as good of a start for a marriage as any, so her husband thought. It was better than the beginnings of most marriages these days. She understood his reasoning but he hadn’t been the one to hold Seonghwa as he cried his heart out as he explained what happened.

She knew it wasn’t as if you could just post a letter to a pirate. If she could see his broken heart mended, she would go find this pirate herself and send her son to him but she didn’t know any better how to find a man who was constantly on the move and didn’t want to be found any better than her son did.

“Come on, let’s go inside. You’ll catch a cold and you don’t want to catch a cold right before your wedding.” She caught Seonghwa’s hand and he gave one last lingering look at the horizon before turning to dutifully follow after his mother.

“Why don’t you go down to the market and buy some of those buns you and I both love?” His mother suggested to take his mind off of things.

“Why don’t you come with me, mother.”

“Your father will be home soon, I wanted to talk to him when he gets home.”

“You’re going to try to talk him out of the wedding again aren’t you?” he asked with a sad smile.

“I’ll talk to him about what I’ll talk to him about. If it was for your ears, I would ask you to be there. Now shoo.” She swatted his behind lightly and bodily shoved him off toward the market while she stood watching him go.

The market was bustling, he had to squeeze his way between bodies to make his way to the vendor he was looking for. Someone bumped into him without apologizing or even slowing down. They hit him hard too. He turned and caught a glimpse of a familiar face, Choi Jongho? No, it couldn’t possibly be. He turned and tried to follow after the man, trying to push through the throngs of people who were all trying to go in the opposite direction. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t make any leeway. He finally caught a pocket of space and managed to break through. He raced after the man he thought he had seen and caught up to someone wearing a jacket the same color as who he thought he had seen. The man turned and it wasn’t him.

Of course it wouldn’t be.

It was all he could do to keep from breaking down there in the middle of the market. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He turned around and made his way back to the vendor who was selling the buns he had been sent to buy. He wasn’t hungry anymore but his mother wanted them. The entire way home, he scanned the faces of the crowds of people around him. Surely who he had seen had just had a resemblance to his old friend.

He realized how much he missed them then, not just the love of his life but the entire crew. He had grown close to them all and it felt just as much home to him as the place where he had grown up.

What a fool he had been.

The entire next day, he moved through a haze. It didn’t feel like he was going to get married. He liked Soojin, she was a nice girl but she never could or would be the one he loved. Yet he would do what his father wanted him to. Maybe she could help him find some kind of, if not happiness then contentment.

His wedding day dawned bright and early. The families had planned the wedding for the late morning. He honestly hadn’t been too bothered by it one way or another. Actually, he hadn’t really cared about any of the wedding arrangements and only nominally cared about the choice of the bride. He checked the time and got dressed. He was just checking the mirror before heading out when a sound caught his attention. It sounded like someone saying, “Sorry about this.”

Just as he started to turn, there was a sharp and sudden pain behind his left ear and consciousness faded. The last thing he saw was the ground rushing up to greet him.

When he opened his eyes, it was dark but the room was warmly lit with lamp light and candlelight. At first, he had no idea where he was. There was something familiar though, a scent, old paper, candle wax, the tang of the sea. No. He had to be dreaming there was no way.

“How’s your head?”

Very slowly, he turned to see Hongjoong sitting beside him. His jaw slowly dropped open and he stared open mouthed at the very man he had been dreaming of for the past three years. “Hongjoong?”

“I’m glad you remember me. I would be heartbroken to think we had gone to all of this trouble and you didn’t even remember me.”

“Like I could ever forget you.”

“I’m glad to hear that.” Hongjoong smiled and put down the book he had been reading.

“Wait.”

“Hm?”

“You kidnapped me!” Seonghwa accused.

“Well, technically I didn’t do it. San, Jongho, and Yeosang kidnapped you but I did ask them to and I was in on the planning. I was on the distraction team, I didn’t think I could hit you.” He reached out and gingerly brushed his fingers over Seonghwa’s hair.

“Why did you kidnap me?” Seonghwa asked, wholly bemused.

“When I found out you were getting married, I wasn’t sure that you would walk away from it. You know I can be a little impetuous sometimes and I’ll be honest, I was a little hurt.”

“I didn’t think I’d ever see you again. It’s been three years…”

Hongjoong winced, “I know but I wanted to be sure that I was the man I wanted you to come back to… and I love you.”

“Hongjoong…”

“I’ll be completely honest, I was so hurt I was ready to walk away and let you get married. Wooyoung was the one who decided we needed to kidnap you, for your own good. If you want to go back then we can take you back. If you want to stay-”

“I want to stay. I know I was wrong, there hasn’t been a day I haven’t regretted the choice I made. I missed you, every minute of every day. Every night I would lay in my bed wishing I could turn back the clock to make my choice again. If I could have, I would have never walked off of this boat.”

“Are you sure?” Hongjoong asked leaning forward, elbows on his knees.

“I’ve never been more sure about anything. I want to be here. I want to be with you. I want … I want the ocean, I want to sail the world beside you. I want to be part of this family.”

A slow smile curved Hongjoong’s lips and he blinked his eyes, overbright with unshed emotion. “How dare you try to make me cry.”

“I’m not trying to make you cry.” Seonghwa said innocently.

“I know, that makes it worse.” Hongjoong drew a shaky breath and reached out for Seonghwa’s hand, lacing their fingers together. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For being on my side, for wanting to be with me.” He leaned in, their noses almost touching.

Seonghwa squeezed Hongjoong’s small hand in his, he leaned further, closing the distance between them, sealing Hongjoong’s lips with his. God how he missed the taste of him, the smell of him, the feel of him. He tasted tears, he wasn’t sure to whom the tears belonged but he didn’t want to stop kissing him, not ever.

“This is only the beginning,” whispered Hongjoong against Seonghwa’s lips.

Seonghwa smiled, his eyes still closed. “Here’s to our beginning.”

Again their lips came together, Seonghwa reaching up, his fingers slipping into Hongjoong’s wild locks, pulling him closer. Hongjoong rose and climbed into the bed beside his lover.

“I missed you so much.” Hongjoong murmured into their kiss.

“I’ll never leave your side again.”

“You better not, I’ll just have to kidnap you back again.” he teased with a nip of Seonghwa’s lips.

“Who knows, I might start to like it.”

Their lips, their bodies, their destiny came together in joy and love.

NOTE: Other words can be found on my master list.

#ateez #ateez imagine #Ateez hongjoong #ateez seonghwa #seongjoong #honghwa #ateez smut #ateez fluff #ateez smut and fluff #kpop smut #kpop imagine

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