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the-californicationist · 21 hours

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Hiii

First of all I wanted to thank you for your amazing fics 🤩. They have become a part of my life and I can’t live without them anymore 🥹💖

Secondly, I wanted to ask about a fic if you would consider. 🫶

Price is injured in his thigh and we are a medic. When attending to the wound the tension rises and a little bit of teasing from our part? 😌

Also, Price can’t take us like he wants because of the wound but we can do 69?

Or maybe something more thrilling! I know you are the greatest in ideas and writing! ❤️‍🔥

Thank you a loooot. (*＾3＾）/～♡

Do No Harm

After being shot in the leg, Captain Price is put on strict bed rest by his medic: you. When he threatens to break your orders, you decide to use your rank against him.

AO3 Link

TW: female reader, face fucking, hurt/comfort, come play

When the captain got shot, all hell broke loose. Ghost and Gaz retaliated swiftly, and the bomb that Soap rigged to blow the enemy encampment was more than a little overkill. The four of them had shown up back at your makeshift base, sweaty, bloody, and exhausted.

“What happened?” You asked the tall lieutenant, searching his face as he removed the skull mask, looking for signs as to how serious it was.

“He took a hit to the thigh. Dead bloody center,” the tall Brit rolled his captain over, the latter of whom let out a torrid string of curses and shouts, nasty enough to make you blush.

You inspected the wound, but his clothing was in your way. Ripping your scissors out of your chest armor, you set to cutting him out of his trousers, and you tried not to let the panic get the best of you.

The truth was that you were keeping a secret. You were sleeping with their captain. You and John had broken a series of rules (and furniture) over the past four months, enjoying each other in the most primal, carnal way. Every night that he was on base, he sneaked into your medbay, aching with something other than pain and searching for his cure.

You knew it was wrong. It was so far beyond protocol that you wouldn’t be surprised if they court martialed you when they found out, but you didn’t care. You were addicted to him. When he was away for too long, you crawled through the hallways and out into the common rooms with a slick problem between your legs. Something only his fat cock and filthy mouth could solve.

He was terrible with you. Nothing was off-limits. He used you like a toy, and his fervid want was enough to burn you alive. In the darkness, his grasping hands and hot breath scorched your skin, searing across your belly, pinching your nipples, playing in your lips, all for the express purpose of making you come. It was his favorite thing. By the sixth, the seventh, when you were begging him to squeeze his pulsing rod inside of you, pleading in whispered cries for him to fuck you, he would chuckle with a dark joy. Teasing you, calling you his pretty little plaything, reminding you that you were fully at his mercy.

It was hard to see him like this, but you were good at your job, and luckily, the bullet had gone right into the muscle. No broken femur, no arterial damage. Your predator would live to hunt you another day.

“I need everybody out. Come back in an hour,” you commanded.

“Yes, ma’am,” Gaz replied, leading the others out of the clinic to debrief and regroup after a hard night.

You sliced through his canvas pants, slipping the shears through the fabric to reveal his bare skin. He never wore any underwear, which you were always quick to rib him for. Then, you inspected the wound. They had packed it in the field, and as you removed the dressings, more and more blood pooled out of the hole, obscuring your view. You worked as fast as you could, administering as much anesthetic as you had on hand, knowing that it wasn’t enough. He was doing everything he could not to writhe in pain as you threw stitch after stitch.

“Jus’ wanted to get me alone, didn’t ya?” He teased you through gritted teeth. His voice was weak, but he was feisty, which was a good sign.

You smiled down at him, joking around,

“You know it. But, you’re lookin’ a little worse for wear today, Captain. Might have to get my fix somewhere else.”

“Don’t even think about it,” he growled, grabbing the side of the table hard enough to make the metal frame whine when you hit a nerve with your needle, “Another man lays a fuckin’ hand on you, and he’ll wish he hadn’t.”

“Can’t have you reopening this wound, John. I worked hard on these stitches.”

“How’m I gonna sneak in to see you tonight?” He looked up at you with softer eyes, a youthful gaze on his face.

You pitied him, winking cheekily,

“Might just have to keep you here for observation.”

His whole body relaxed then, relieved in a way you hadn’t expected. You had just been kidding around, but his reaction made you change your mind. If he felt better with you in your clinic, you’d add it to the orders. The last thing you needed was your headstrong man limping through the base just for a chance at some action.

You finished up, cleaning the wound and surrounding skin, wiping down the rest of him as best you could. He was filthy, and the water in your bucket was full of sand by the time you were done. But, he still smelled like the sun and his sweat, and it was enough to make the animal part of your mind practically salver at the idea of how his skin must taste. The saltiness, full of his pheromones… you chastised yourself for even thinking about it.

He was finally asleep, full of morphine and exhausted from his ordeal. Gaz popped back in, and you told him you’d be keeping their commander overnight. You thought you’d gotten away with your little game, but there was a knowing glint in the sergeant’s eye that told you he knew more than you thought.

You tried not to stress about it. His men were loyal to him, and you knew they wouldn’t rat you out. But, still. You made a mental note to be more careful in the future.

Your bedtime routine was short and easy. You slipped into some shorts and one of John’s abandoned tee shirts. Luckily, it looked like everyone else’s tee shirt, so no one was the wiser. You could always say you stole a larger one from the supply room. But, it smelled like him, and you slept like a rock when you wore it.

You climbed into bed, and before you could even think about going to sleep, the ache between your legs reared its horny head, coaxing you to touch yourself, disguising itself as a tingle, an itch that needed to be scratched. As soon as your fingers pried apart your soft petals, you discovered the truth. You were soaking wet, and your core was hot like molten lead, giving your digits no resistance as you played with yourself, slipping them in and out of your slick folds.

You heard a noise escape from your throat against your will, and you tried to hold it back, rolling your eyes from the slam of pleasure that rushed to your head. You were dizzy with want, and even though you tried to quiet the sound, you could hear your own wet flesh popping and sluicing with more and more of your precome, preparing you for an encounter you knew you couldn’t have.

You came quickly, and without much warning, clenching down on nothing, biting your hand to keep from screaming for him. You peeked over your shoulder, and luckily, he hadn’t woken up. You thought about how nice it would feel to have his big body curled against you as you crashed into a deep slumber, the scent of your wet hand and his old shirt mixing together and lulling you to sleep.

There was no way to tell how much time had passed, but when you woke, it was still dark. Your eyes darted over to the clinic table, and John was… missing?

You sat up with a start only to find him fully naked at the end of your bed, getting ready to crawl in beside you.

“John!” You hissed, “What are you doing? You can’t be walking around.”

“Gotta have you, love. I’m so hard, it hurts.”

“You were shot in your fucking leg, Jonathan Price. Let me see the dressing.”

“Quit fussin’ over me, girl. C’mere,” he covered you with his body and grabbed your wrists, forcing you to lay beneath him, flat and vulnerable. He set to pulling away your clothes, making quick work of it, sighing raggedly when he felt your naked body beneath his own.

But, he was in pain. You could see him adjusting and readjusting, trying to figure out how he could fuck you like he wanted to, unable to find a solution.

“John,” you whispered, feeling his mouth on your neck, “We can’t. You’re going to hurt yourself. Don’t make me order you to stop.”

“I’m your commander,” he breathed, threatening you with his teeth, leaving a bruise on your sensitive skin.

“Don’t…” you gasped as his fingers found your gooey center, “Don’t confuse your rank for my authority, Captain Price. You’re under my care.”

He glared at you, coming to a pause, leaving his fingers in you to play in your hole, gently pulsing in and out, teasing you just enough to keep you on the edge,

“You want me to stop? Hm?”

The more he teased you, the more hot slick collected on his hands, sticky and clear, covering his fingers and making him harden with every moment.

Then, he took a sharp breath in through his nose, and paused, hiding his grimace in the crook of his arm. You canted your hips, removing his hand from you, fed up with his defiance,

“John, that’s enough. If you make me restitch that wound, I will have to do it without drugs. We’re out of anesthetic.”

“Please, love,” he held you close to him, letting you feel his hard length as it rolled against your tummy, making a trail of precome across your skin, “I need you. I’ve missed you so bad. Lemme fuck you. Put my cock in you.”

“Hold on,” you shifted your body so that he would turn on his side. Then, you lay opposite him, your head laying at the foot of the bed, bringing you face to face with his swollen, hungry cock.

In this position, you could suck him off, and he wouldn’t need to use his thigh.

You licked your lips, trailing them across his cockhead, collecting his salty pearls of pleasure and wearing them like gloss, suckling from his tip as softly as you could just to taunt him further.

“Ahhh, fuck…” His sigh was delicious. All of that pain and all of the stress that had made him so tense rushed out of him, making his skin pebble with bliss.

Without hesitation, John bent his head, pulling your hips to his open mouth, and wrapping your leg under his arm, eating your pussy and groaning with a lurid, feral pleasure.

The feeling of his soft lips and scruffy beard against your sensitive skin flung you into a spiral of pleasure. You could feel his warm tongue prodding and exploring through you, greedily splitting you to get to your hot, honeyed center.

You wanted more of his taste, so you went to work, stretching your jaw to accommodate his girth, taking him deeper into your throat, using your tongue to trace a wet circle around his head when you needed to catch your breath, teasing him just beneath his foreskin. When you did, his cock throbbed for you, egging you on, eager to drip its load into your mouth.

“Fuckin’ hell, love. Gonna make me come,” he threatened.

Suddenly, you felt his fingers dip back inside of you. He was aggressive with his fondling, shoving two of his thick digits deep inside of you, curling them cruelly to press upon your most pliant, responsive spot.

As he fucked you with his hand, he let his tongue lap against your clit, making you whine around his dick, muffled by his shaft. You felt his hips begin to thrust forward and back, desperately fucking your throat, getting closer and closer to releasing his orgasm inside of you.

You couldn’t wait to taste him. You wanted him to use you. You didn’t want to hurt him, but the truth was — as hungry as he was for your body — you needed him just as badly.

You felt your body begin to tense, and you knew it wouldn’t be long before he would have you coming on his hands. He kept his pace, knowing your favorite rhythm, humming to himself as he devoured you, sucking up every drop of your wetness as if he’d never drink from your tight font again.

Your toes curled, your legs tried to close in on themselves, stopped by his body trapped between them, and something snapped inside of your core, letting loose spiraling sparks of pleasure, breaking you apart over and over, only for each gentle lick from his tongue to put you back together.

“Mmhm,” he praised you, “Good girl. Just like that. Rub your come on my mouth.”

You did as you were told, no longer in the driver’s seat when it came to your body, fully trained to submit to his will. You shamelessly smeared your pussy across his bearded jaw, humping lewdly against him, all for him to whisper gratefully between licks,

“Yes, more. More. Give it to me. Fuck my mouth, love. Fuck, I love it. Fuck…”

All the while, he was thrusting into your mouth, deeper and deeper, choking you on his hardness. But, you let him. You allowed him to use you, holding onto his hips for dear life, breathing in every gap that he left, gasping for air, feeling yourself getting dizzy.

“Are you ready for me?” He groaned, peering down at you between your bodies.

You moaned something you hoped sounded like a yes, and he turned his full attention towards you. You felt his fingers leave your pussy, only to wrap themselves through your hair, sticky and messy, making a strong, merciless grip at the base of your skull.

He fucked you in earnest, then. It was gratifying to hear his satisfied grunts, and as you felt his cock swell even more, you knew he was about to come. Your mind wanted air, but your body wanted his load. You wanted to feel it slip into your throat, hot and milky, pouring down your neck like a salacious prize.

Finally, he went stock-still, and the only thing that moved was his cock. It throbbed inside of you, shooting rope after rope of heavy come down your tongue, painting your mouth white.

He removed himself from you as quick as he could, pulling your head back up to your pillow, bringing you face to face with him, whispering in an animalistic tone,

“Lemme see it, pretty girl. Open up. Let me… ahh, yes. That’s it.”

He dipped his finger into your mouth, gathering up his own orgasm onto the tip, smearing it around your lips like he was putting on your makeup.

You were panting, gasping in the air you so desperately needed, and you tried not to swallow, gathering up as much of his foaming fluid on your tongue as you could, sticking it out for him, showing him what a good girl you could be.

He took more of it onto his hand and dipped down between your legs, painting your swollen folds with his spend, mixing your come together like some ritual.

You couldn’t help but whimper. You were overstimulated and raw, and he shushed you, bringing his hand back up to play with your soft nipples,

“Shh, it’s okay, love. It’s okay. Kiss me.”

You felt his mouth crash into yours, and your own heady taste invaded your senses, folding in with his, making your body roll itself against him, begging him for more.

“Leg already feels better. C’mon, love. Give us the go ahead, hm?”

“I will tie you to this bed, John Price. Don’t test me,” you looked up at him before laying your head on his furry chest, breathing when he breathed, watching his hairy belly rise and fall.

“Promise?” He chuckled, pulling you closer and holding you there all night, unwilling to compromise, claiming you in every way he knew how. You dozed against him, sated and happy, wondering how long you could keep a secret this good.

Sorry for the wait! Work is hellish right now, but as soon as this semester is over with, I'll be posting more. Thanks for letting me know your thoughts.

#call of duty fanfic #cod mw2 #cod mwii #captain john price #john price #cod #captain price #captain price x you #call of duty #captain price x reader #captain price x female reader #captain john price x female reader #john price x female reader #john price smut #captain price mw2 #oh captain my captain

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magics-neptunes-things · 2 days

Text

Ready, Aim, Shoot (3)

Hi guys!

I post it again, the other one just disappeared without any reason. Sorry if you already red it.

TW : Blood, creepy psychologist, panic attack, angst, depression.

PART 1 | PART 2

Blood. There is blood everywhere. The more you look, the more there is. You look at your shaking hands, cover in red. You don’t know whose blood is it though. The room you are in is only white, adding to the contrast with the blood color. Breathing quickly, you look around and that’s when you finally see her.

Alexia.

Alexia is laying in the middle of the room, her body surrounded by red too. Panicking, you kneel next to her, shaking her to try to wake her. But she doesn’t. She stays still in your hand, not moving. Not breathing. This is when you scream.

You scream so much that it wakes you up suddenly. Heavily breathing, you sit on your bed, blindly trying to find the button on your bedside lamp. You finally managed to find it, but when you put the light on, Alexia isn’t next to you in your bed.

It’s only when you left your room to look for her that you remember. She’s not here tonight, she’s sleeping in Tenerife, where she played today. Or yesterday, because it’s actually three in the morning. It’s the first time she leaves

you alone for all the night since you came back.

Alexia Is not here, but it’s your fault. You assured her that you will be ok, almost pushing her out of your flat. She made you swear to call her if you need her, no matter what time is it. She asked Mapi to come to look for you last night, so you watched the game with the blonde before she went home. You fell asleep quickly actually, you were far to imagine a wake up like that.

You should really call her; she will be disappointed with you if she learns the state of panic you are in without calling her. But you hate the idea to wake her up at this time of the night. She played yesterday, she’s coming home today. She needs to rest.

You find refuge on your couch, putting the TV on. But you can’t forget the picture of Alexia and the blood everywhere. You feel like it’s still on your body, no matter how many times you look at your hands to be sure that you don’t have a little red on you. Thirty minutes after you wake up, you decided to go take a shower.

You pass a long time under it, water burning, washing your body again and again. You ignore the scare that your accident left on your body. You hate them. No matter how many times Alexia kissed them, telling you that you are strong and even more beautiful than before.

You feel guilty as hell when you think about your girlfriend. She is amazing with you, so patient and so loving. You don’t feel like you deserve her. You don’t make any progress with your mental health and it’s disturbing. You even think about breaking up with Alexia one time, disgusting by yourself. She deserves so much more than you. But right after you had a panic attack, because how can you live without her? She’s your whole world.

You are not even strong enough to make the things right for her.

When the feeling of the hot water and the strength with which you rubbed your skin became too much to handle, you stop the water and get out of the shower. This time your skin is red, but you know why.

You pick a hoodie from Alexia and one of her old Barcelona’s short. If you can’t have your girlfriend’s arms, at least you can have her smell. And, after some hesitation, you even take her pillow to go with you to the couch of your living room. You take snack and watch some stupid things on TV while scrolling on your phone.

You are still tired, but you don’t want to take the risk to fall asleep again. You’re terrified to have this dream again. Every time the images came back in your brain, you try to hug Alexia’s pillow harder. It kind of work, but it has nothing to do with Alexia’s comfort.

You fall asleep after 8 o’clock, after your girlfriend told you that they are boarding and that she will be home soon.

You are still asleep when Alexia comes home. She smiles seeing you laying on the couch, cuddle against her pillow, in her clothes. You are watching YouTube now, from her account, and you choose the playlist where she puts all the games she finds interesting. Only putting her suitcase on the ground, she comes to sit next to you, softly stroking your hair.

“Alexia?” you mumble, opening your eyes with difficulty.

“Hi sleepy head”

Her smile is affectionate, and you get up on one elbow to rub your eyes and have a better look at her. Her hairs are down and she seems fine. She seems happy, maybe to see you? The plan was that she takes a taxi with Jana to come back home, Alexia didn’t want you to drive because some noises sometimes make you jump.

“How are you?” Alexia asks softly.

“Can I have a hug?”

She smiles and passes her arms around you to hug you. But you lay on the couch again, taking her with you on it. She giggles and you smile, forgetting for the first time your nightmare.

“I’m glad you’re here” you whisper after some minutes.

“I’m glad to be back to you too.”

You hum, turning a little to pass a lag around her knees and cuddle tighter against her. She’s stroking your back lovingly, sometimes kissing your head. You started to wonder how much mental pressure you are putting on her when she talks again.

“You remember Marta? From the media team?”

“I think I do” you answer, frowning. “Why?”

“She just left for her maternity leave, and she doesn’t know for now if she will come back.”

“Ok?”

You are still frowning when you look at your girlfriend, not understanding where she wants to go. I mean you are happy that people have baby and all. But what does it make a change for you?

It looks like Alexia’s idea was that you apply for the job. You try to escape that idea, not really happy about the idea of meeting tons of people who will know about your story and look at you with pity in their eyes. But Alexia assures you that it won’t happen, adding that you just can go for the interview without saying yes after.

Long story short, you are now sitting on your desk for your first day.

Your job is basically to find idea of activities to anime the games, a little more marketing than journalism to be honest. But it looks fun and like Alexia said before, when Marta will come back, you don’t have to stay here if you don’t want to.

********

“Hi, I’d like a meeting with the new media manager?”

A voice in front of you make you raise your head, even if you recognize it immediately. Alexia is smirking at you from the door of your office, looking like she just finishes her shower. Which she probably did given the time.

“I’m sorry, but you have to talk to my assistant first, she will give you my time schedule” you smirk back.

Alexia frown slightly, closing the door behind her before coming for you.

“You have an assistant?”

You know that frown and you roll your eyes while standing up to great her like she deserves it.

“Yes, I have” you answer, letting yourself go against her when she takes you in her arms.

She hums, her lips against your hair, trying to look discreetly in the open office by the window. The gesture makes you chuckle and you raise your head to have a better look at her.

“What? I was just looking to know if you knew her, that’s all.”

“Sure, mi Amor.”

She pouts and you kiss it better, just to see the smile she has right after. You weren’t really happy to start to work again to be honest, but you have to admit that it’s a good thing for you to keep your head busy with something. Alexia was right, once again.

“Are you ready to leave? I’m taking you home.”

“I am.”

You take your stuff with you, before letting Alexia passes her arm around your waist to take you with her. You don’t know if it’s only the jealousy talking right now, but you have to admit that she is way more openly affective with you since your accident. Not that you have a problem with it, obviously. But the way her gaze is scanning the room when you left after saying goodbye to your colleagues, it makes you think that there is at least a little part of jealousy in it.

Which is totally stupid, you only see her.

“You seems happier” Alexia says cautiously over her plate that night.

You look at her for some seconds before nodding. You are, but you are scared to mention it in case that it makes your nightmares coming back.

“I am. Thanks to you” you smile softly.

“Are you really? Or are you hiding something for me like when I was away for the game to Tenerife?”

You blush and almost chock on your tomato, but you somehow are able to keep some dignity. You don’t take the time to try to deny her statement though, you know that she knows. Of course she does. She reads you like an open book. Alexia has the decency to not point anything else, waiting patiently for your answer.

“I really am better. You were right, I really needed to get out from here even if it was difficult at first. It’s great to have something to do, not that cooking for you wasn’t entertaining. But going out… It’s great.”

She nods softly, without leaving your face with her eyes. You know immediately that there is something else in her mind, but you don’t push, letting her carry the conversation.

“Do you think I was too suffocating with you? Maybe if I…”

“No!” you cut her after some seconds of incredulity. “Alexia how could you…? Are you joking? You are the reason that I’m still here and mentally good. You are the reason that I keep fighting to be fine again. I couldn’t have done it without you. I forbid you to think of anything like that.”

“I’m sorry. It’s some insecurities and I shouldn’t have told you that” she frowns again, playing with her forks and some pasta left in her plate.

“Alexia, don’t please.”

She looks at you again when you stand up, just to come sit on her lap. She welcomes you by taking you close against her with her arms. You pass your arms around your neck, one of your fingers playing with the baby hair on her neck.

“You are so perfect to me. I don’t know if I’ll be able to thank you enough one day for it. You were always right and done nothing wrong all those days. A lot of people would have abandoned, but you are still here with me.”

“I’ll never abandon you” she mumbles right into your eyes.

You can see how much she means those worlds and you have to take all your strength not to start crying like a baby. You’re pretty sure that your eyes are shining from tears but you busy yourself by stroking her cheek tenderly.

“You said one time that my come back is a miracle, do you remember? Well, you are my miracle.” you add, after she nods.

She kisses you and the way she did makes your head turned. She only let you breath for several seconds when you need air, before kissing you again with even more intensity. You had sex again after some weeks of rehab from your part, but not like you did before your departure. And it’s hard to see Alexia restrain her gestures, scared as hell to hurt you. Tonight though, you feel like that maybe it will come back.

********

It came back.

You are laying on your bed, lovingly enveloped in your girlfriend’s arms. Her skin is so soft against yours, your face hiding in her neck. You are lull by Alexia’s deep and slow breathing and you are starting to wonder if she’s falling asleep when she talks quietly.

“How are you feeling?”

“Great. Safe. Warm.”

“Perfect” Alexia sighs softly, moving a little to be more comfortable on the mattress.

You look up at her, admiring the shape of her jaw, her perfect nose, her beautiful eyes, and her so kissable lips.

“What?” she asks when she sees you staring.

“Nothing” you giggle. “You’re just so beautiful.”

She rolls her eyes before closing them, tightening you harder against her. You don’t need anything than her body to keep you warm and you love it.

“Would you be angry if I stopped working there?”

The sudden question makes her open her eyes again to look at you. She seems to be thinking for several seconds before answering.

“Of course not. Why do you want to stop anyway? Is someone nasty with you?”

“Not at all” you deny, already imagine her hunting the person who would do that to you. “I was thinking that… maybe I could finish one of my book projects?”

“You mean one of your thousand amazing scenario who are desperately waiting on your computer?”

“Exactly that” you answer, rolling your eyes.

She teases you way to much about it already.

“If it’s what you want, of course I’ll support you. But what about going out to meet people?”

You see the worried already and you answer, kissing her cheek.

“I’ll go write into a Café or something. Maybe seeing people, crowd and streets will help me to get idea.”

********

That’s exactly what you did, after finishing your job with the media. The first days, you weren’t really effective, more focused on what’s going on around you and which story you want to choose. After some debate with yourself and help asking to your mother and Alexia, you choose to mix two stories and start writing again. It made you start from the beginning, but it’s maybe better like this.

You still get to your psychiatrist to your session twice a week, always a little more scared to go without Alexia. Your psychiatrist told both of you that it could be good for you to come without your girlfriend. Alexia accepted immediately, always being interested in everything that can make you feel better.

You always have a strange feeling without Alexia’s halo, and it’s only happened when you come here. You don’t have trouble to go grocery shopping without Alexia or go to the Café to write.

It’s particularly hard to come today, you talked to Alexia by the phone before your appointment to ease your stress. She seems to realize that something is wrong, because she talks a lot about her day. She only does that to change your mind, and you love her for that.

“Hello Y/N” your therapist greats you.

You great her back and start talking about your new occupation, your activities since the last time and the travel Alexia proposed to you last night. It was something you can’t stop to think about since she mentioned it, eager to go away for some days in the sun with the woman you love.

“Don’t you think it will be too soon?” the doctor asks, only looking at her notepad.

You are taken aback. You would never have thought that she can be thinking that it’s a bad idea. She never stops to tell you to go ahead and try new things since the beginning.

“Taking a plane, going to an airport, in a place that might remind you of your trauma? What would you do if you have one of your panic attacks there?”

You don’t know what to answer to that. Alexia mentioned Canary Islands and a private hotel with a private beach, which seems far away from the Middle East.

“No, I mean… I’m going better now. And I’ll be with Ale. Everything will be ok.”

She looks at you this time, raising an eyebrow. Her look is sharp, almost mean and you have trouble swallow your saliva. You feel like a schoolgirl getting bullied by her teacher.

“Don’t you think you already lean too much on the poor girl? Maybe she suggests the holidays to have some rest, are you sure she wants you to go with her?”

You don’t really remember the end of the appointment and you don’t know how you managed to find yourself in the Barcelona’s facilities. You can’t think straight anymore, it’s like this woman knew all your insecurities and tell you that you are right to have them.

What if she’s right? What if Alexia can’t stand your presence, your toxics dreams and mental health? You already knew that you weren’t good enough for her and that she deserved better. You can’t believe that you let her makes you believe that she can love you. How can she? How can anyone?

You were turning around to go home when you hear someone call your name.

“Y/N?”

You recognize Mariona through your tears, but you can’t say anything. She doesn’t seem to mind though, carefully taking your arm in her hand.

“What are you doing here? Are you looking for Alexia?”

You try to scream at her to let Alexia alone and not to get you to her, but you can’t. When you don’t say a word, Mariona decides to take you to Alexia. Luckily the Majorcan woman came late today and she knows exactly where to find your girlfriend.

You let Mariona drags you around, hearing her soothing voice without being able to understand what she’s saying. Sweets, encouraging words, for sur. You can’t figure out really what happens next, but after several minutes of walk, you hear Mariona calling your girlfriend’s name. And more seconds after, you are surrounded by her arms, her perfume, everything that is her.

Everything that you don’t deserve.

When Alexia realizes that she’s facing a wall and that you won’t say a word, she takes you home. You are like anesthetized at this point, letting her do what she wants with you. When you are laying on the bed you retake some reality and stare at Alexia who seems to be choosing clothes to put on you after taking a shower.

“I’m breaking up with you.”

The words were lifeless, but you see Alexia froze. She turns in your direction, with eyes wide and the most chocked face ever.

“What?”

“I’m breaking up with you” you repeat, looking at her straight in her eyes.

A silence pass and you see Alexia watching at you, probably waiting for you to say something else. Maybe to explain yourself, but you don’t say another word. Plus, the reasons are obvious, no?

“Are you- don’t you love me anymore?”

She seems broken. That doesn’t make any sense, she is supposed to be relieved, not sad. You don’t understand her reaction, so you shrug before answering.

“That’s not the point, Alexia. You are free. I’m giving you your liberty back.”

“What the hell are you talking about? Are you drunk? Did someone give you something to you?”

She seems angry now, almost shouting with her eyebrows frown. You frown too, because why the hell won’t she understand? You sit in the bed while she’s still standing in front of you.

“No! I just… Why won’t you…”

Why is your brain suddenly transformed in pudding?

You look at Alexia when she comes to you and takes your face between her hands. She does it with so much care that you want to cry again.

“Why don’t you let me break up with you?” you whisper.

“Because I love you. I told you; I’ll fight for us every day if I have to.”

There we are, you are crying again. But this time Alexia is here, she can take you against her, rock you will you cry and whispers sweets nothing in your ears. She waits for your sobbing to stop, holding you tightly. Only when you can breathe normally again, she speaks.

“What happened?” she asks softly.

You don’t know really where to start, so you just shake your head without answering anything. But she waits, again and again. So, after some minutes, you talk too.

“I just want you to be happy. I know you’ll be happier without me.”

“You are wrong.”

Her voice is gentle, but as the same time strong enough to let you know that you don’t have to try to deny it. It’s her truth and that’s enough.

“Well you need to take some time apart from me so it’s not –“

“Where the hell does that idea comes from?”

She’s lost. You were good when you end up your call some hours later. And then you appeared crying during her training, only to say her when you come home that you want to break up with her. But you frown again, lost too. And tired, to be honest.

“My therapist said that I’m leaning on you too much. And that’s way you wanted to go on holidays without me.”

You explain that like it’s the more logical thing in the world, but for Alexia it doesn’t make any sense. She starts to understand where it comes from however, even if she doesn’t understand why.

“I’m not going anywhere without you, what the point to have holidays if you’re not with me?” she answers, looking right into your eyes. “Did your therapist say other things?”

You nod and start to explain everything happened and everything she told you. The more you talk, the more Alexia seems to be furious. Her jaw is clenched, her eyes are literally throwing lightning and she so tense that you are really concerned that she can have a cramp somewhere. But when she talks to you again, her voice is infinitely soft.

“Nothing of that is true. I love you. I will do everything to help you to make you feel better. I’m not going to give up on you, Y/N. I’m not going to give up on us.”

You look at her, almost desperately. But she has the same gaze that she has when says things like this. Her eyes are soft, caring and so loving that you can’t do otherwise than believe her.

“I don’t feel like I’m better, Ale” you whisper. “I don’t think I will be one day.”

“You are. You are working, you are getting out, you are smiling again. It’s ok to have bad days, like everyone else. Yours are a little more complicated because you had to go through horrible things. But you have the right to not feel good or needing help a little more some days. And what she said was wrong.”

You are lost, honestly. Alexia can see that you are coming back at yourself again though. Like if you are waking up. You seem always a little desperate and she takes you carefully against her. You let her, sighing of relief when you find the comfort of her arms.

“What if she’s right and you haven’t realized for now?”

“She’s wrong. And she will know it.”

You don’t question what she was implying, too tired to realize what her words may imply. You let Alexia taking you in a bath and more generally taking care of you. You look at her through the mirror when she does your hair.

“When I get better, it will be me who will take care of you” you inform her.

She smiles and finish to undo a knot in your hair before answering, looking at you through the mirror too.

“Okay Cariño.”

She’s smiling but doesn’t seem to make fun of you. You relax, letting your shoulder go down a little bit. That’s mean that she really believes that you will be better.

********

Alexia keeps her promise, going to your therapist’s office in the early hours to talk to her. You don’t know what she told her, but now you don’t have to go to your appointments, and you even have a new psychiatrist, advised by someone from Alexia’s staff.

Rumor has it that Alexia’s shouts still resonate in the psychiatrist’s office.

You don’t know if it’s your breakdown of the change of therapist, but some days after this episode, you feel better than ever. You wake up with your head and your body feeling lighter and Alexia is surprised to see you coming in the kitchen when she’s taking her breakfast. Usually, you stay way longer in bed.

“Is everything alright?” she asks nervously.

You nod, rubbing your eyes before coming behind her to pass your arms around her waist.

“Just wanted to be with you a little bit before you leave.”

Alexia hums when you kiss her neck. You can feel a gaze studying you while you are making yourself coffee, before coming to sit next to her.

“Are you sure that you’re ok Cari?” she asks, almost shyly while you stole a strawberry from her bowl.

“I’m sure baby” you smile at her.

Alexia is looking at you suspiciously during several seconds. She red things about people being “high” before getting down and of course she is scared. But you seem really good today and she can’t help but smile when you kiss her cheek.

“Uhu” she said, taping her lips with expectation.

You giggle but kiss her anyway, smiling against her lips. You are still smiling when she strokes your cheek with her fingertips and when she puts her forehead against yours.

“I love you so much” she whispers before kissing you again.

“I love you more” you smiles.

Alexia makes no with her head and put a finger on your mouth when you want to talk again.

“Would you like to come with me to training today?”

You hesitate for several seconds before answering. It’s been a while since you came to see Alexia in training. You can’t remember who you saw some days before, only Mariona. But you hope that they weren’t a lot.

“You can say no if you don’t want to.” Alexia adds after seeing you hesitate.

“No, I want to come. But… Who were here, the other day? You know…”

“Only Mariona. And I’m sure that she doesn’t say anything to anyone.”

You are relieved to learn that, even if you don’t know how Alexia can know.

“Did you treat her?” you smirk.

“No” Alexia laughs. “I know the girl, she’s one of the most loyal, sweet and discreet that I’ve never met.”

She was right. Mariona didn’t told anyone about what happened and after several minutes you realize that Alexia was right once again. You hug the Mallorcan woman a little longer than Alexia’s other teammates when you met them, silently thanking her. She seems to understand because she smiles at you before taping your cheek affectionately.

And today, as you watch Alexia training and laughing on the pitch with the teammates that she considered like her family, you’re starting to have hope again. Alexia was right every time, so maybe she will be right this time again. You will be better.

#woso imagine #woso x reader #woso fanfics #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas imagine #alexia putellas

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faetima · 24 hours

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THE AVEN + HANAHAKI THING YESSS I'VE BEEN THINKING ABOUT THIS FOR SO LONG BECAUSE LIKE. I know it's always super angsty when it's the reader that gets hanahaki but rine having it. imagine pushing your s/o away because you don't think you can do a relationship rn just to get hit by the stupid idiot in love disease. damn sucks to be you man

(tbh hanahaki as fun as the angst is I love aventurine so much and usually just alter hanahaki to be like less deadly because a) I DONT WANT TO BE SAD and b) the whole guilt of "I developed hanahaki because of you now love me or I WILL die" feels strange to me)(but also yum angst and the consequences of pushing someone away) ((sorry I talk a lot teehee okay bye))

𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐫. 𝐦𝐲 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠. .

. . too bad he wasn't your darling anymore.

// tws ; slight cursing, blood ; gn reader ; modern au, hanahaki au

a/n: finally wrote the aventurine exes hanahaki au lol ,, had no idea how to finish this but i might make a part 2 !! :3

ever since you had started dating aventurine, you felt like you were a burden to him in some way. but you were never sure if you were actually a burden to him, or if that was your mind playing tricks on you.

but last week had just solidified your beliefs.

you both had fought over something petty--you couldn't be bothered to remember what it was--and harsh words had been thrown around in the process.

words that cut deep into you, practically making you bleed out.

and after that?

aventurine had ignored you for the rest of the entire week. he hadn't even glanced in your direction. it was fine if he needed some space to think, but he didn't even tell you, he just started fucking ignoring you.

your efforts to talk to him had just been met by blank uninterested violet eyes.

everything that happened in the last week had all led up to yesterday.

you stood in front of his door, swallowing your nerves. why were you so nervous?

after everything that happened, everything you felt, everything he said, you didn't think you could handle a relationship at that point.

so, when aventurine answered the door, his blonde hair unruly and lavender eyes tired, you took a deep breath and finally said the words you had been so scared of saying.

"i want to break up."

now, you were rethinking your decision.

on one hand, it felt like a large weight had been lifted off your shoulders.

on the other hand, breaking up with him had left you in your current predicament: crouched on the cold tiled floor of your apartment, hurling up bright yellow marigolds. you coughed them up, unwillingly watching as they hit your newly polished floor. they hit the ground ungracefully, clumped together with a disgusting mixture of mucus and blood. you gagged on the flowers as the sickly sweet smell of the marigolds hit you, making you feel lightheaded and sick to your stomach.

you didn't think you would get the disease again after aventurine asked you out.

you had it once, albeit briefly. it was before you had even talked to aventurine, too scared to do so. maybe it had been your shyness, or maybe you were just scared of rejection. you weren't too sure which, but it had caused you to cough out a few lemon yellow petals.

but, as quickly as the disease had started, it had ended. aventurine talked to you and started getting close to you, and your hanahaki had eventually diminished into nothing. after that, you thought it would never start again.

but you guessed you were wrong, since the disease decided to plague you.

marigold petals--slick with mucus--fell out your mouth as you coughed your lungs out. they fell almost gracefully onto the small flower pile.

you took fast and shaky breaths, collapsing. you were too exhausted to move, the hanahaki sucking all the life out of you.

it had been a week now, and the disease had just gotten worse. at this rate, it would only take a month or two until you suffocated on the fucking marigolds.

you could talk to aventurine, but he would probably just ignore you again.

you could get the surgery, but you would rather die than forget aventurine. you still loved him.

at this point, you couldn't do anything but hope that the disease would just somehow go away.

aventurine was growing increasingly worried as the days passed.

he hadn't seen you at all after you had broken up. sure, that was normal, but his gut told him something was wrong.

horrible thoughts of what could've happened to you plagued his mind, and he couldn't take it anymore.

he grabbed his keys, his coat, and headed towards your apartment.

maybe it was an invasion of privacy, but even your friends felt as if something were terribly wrong. he'd just check on you once, and never speak to you again. you'd be okay with that, right?

aventurine had knocked about a dozen times by now, but had received no answer.

he swallowed. he still had a spare key to your apartment, but what if you didn't want him to come in? what if you were just busy? what if he was breaching your privacy?

he took a shaky inhale.

fuck it.

he stepped inside your apartment, and was hit by the extremely potent smell of marigolds.

he glanced around, and froze at what he saw.

#୨୧ -- aventurine #aventurine x reader #aventurine #hsr aventurine #hanahaki #hanahaki au #modern #modern au #angst #hanahaki disease #light angst #shy reader #how to angst #aventurine come home #pls #might make a part 2 #you can tell i've never been in a relationship before #anyways hopefully yhis was acceptable

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the-kr8tor · 2 days

Text

...And The Deep Blue Sea

Pairing: Pirate! Hobie Brown x Fem! Reader

Word count: 13.2k

Tags: Use of Y/N sparsely, No specific physical description of the reader (except for her clothing), CW food mentions, TW blood, CW violence, TW death, CW gore, CW injury, CW guns.

A/N: it's the end.

Navigation

Between the Devil and the Sea Masterlist

CHAPTER 15 >>>

“Hello, little birdy.” Mathias cackles like there's a pebble stuck in his throat.

He roams his sickly yellowed eyes at your body, sending shivers down your spine with every glance. “Or should I say Viscountess?” He laughs again. “You wear that gown well,” his eyes flick behind you, “Eugene, my boy!” The man beside you stiffens up. “Come get your bride and sit with me.” He drums at the table. “The Food is comin’, I heard that the bride and groom usually don't get to eat after everything is said and done. We don't want you to starve, ain't that right, lieutenant?”

The eye patched man standing in the corner nods slowly. His hands are neatly tucked behind his back like an obedient dog waiting for his master.

“You're alive?” You say breathlessly, teeth gritted, knuckles clenching tight on the skirt of your dress. Pulse rapidly thrumming, sending alarm bells to ring in your ear.

“‘course I am! No one can kill the king's flame, not even the red hydra,” he spits the name out. “or even a real fuckin' hydra.” Chuckling, scars mar his neck and hands, the only visible ones under his navy blue officer's uniform. It's still red and angry, you can tell some parts of it hasn't healed yet. You plan to add more, whether it's by your bare hands or a piece of cutlery; you're prepared to hit him where it hurts.

Numerous medals are on display on his jacket, shining under the sunlight filtering through the closed curtains. “Can you believe it? I go out to hunt the red hydra and I get myself a pretty bird.” He continues annoyingly, voice crackling, a dry cough escaping his pale mouth.

Mathias notices you still standing in the doorway, his eyes are dull, like a hurricane that's about to devastate a whole town. Eugene notices and he reaches for your arm to sit you down. You flinch away from his touch, eyes trained on the man before you.

“I said sit down!” Mathias’ booming voice rings out in the dining hall, his fist slamming on the table, champagne flutes fall over like dominoes with a harsh crack. “Fuckin’ grab her, Eugene! Don't be such a fuckin’ cock and grab her!”

“Y-yes uncle.” Your ‘fiance’ tentatively guides you towards the chair by your elbow, you brush off his touch, angry eyes gazing at his cowardly face.

Sitting down on the right side of Mathias, you intentionally choose a chair as far away from him as possible. But before you could sit, he clicks his tongue, finger wagging in front of his scarred face.

“Not there, gorgeous.” He pats the seat closest to him. “Right here.”

“No,” you stand your ground, shaking from anger, or is it fear that climbs in your stomach and crawls upwards to your quickening heart?

You refuse to get near the monster as Eugene stares across from you with anxiety in his eyes.

“Sit. Down.” Mathias enunciated, “or Lieutenant Dubois here will make you sit down.” Said uniformed man grunts, hazel eye roaming across the table, gaze boring a hole in between your twitching eyes. The sheath of his cutlass is engraved with tally marks among the ornate laurels and lions. “You already know what he'll do to you, he's quite amazing with a sharp object.”

“I am too.” You clench your jaw, still refusing to sit.

To your surprise, Mathias grins, a sickeningly hideous smile, teeth bared, tongue lapping at the gold in place of the fangs, lips wrinkling, he chuckles softly as something passes by his yellowed eyes.

“Sorry ‘bout that, you just reminded me so much of your father.” He leans on the back of his chair, hands gesturing towards you. “I literally saw him instead of you! It's fuckin' crazy innit?” He shoves Eugene by the shoulder, the viscount flinches, wincing at the ache. “Y’know, I recognized you— wait, lieutenant! Grab her and make her sit down! This story deserves to be listened to properly.”

“No!” You try to run back to the hallway, but the man is too fast for you. With the heavy skirt and weak leg, you didn't have a chance against him. “Motherfucker—!” With his arms around your torso, you kick and flail about, Mathias gives him a look and the man headbutts you from behind.

The room spins as he carries you towards the chair. The ceiling swirls, ears flooding with your rushing blood. With your muddled hearing, you swear you heard Eugene defend you, and you swear you heard a slap right after.

With a heavy thunk, the door closes behind you, your exit closes behind you. The only remaining door is across you, it's currently closed but you're sure it's unlocked judging by the draft coming from it. Head still aching, vision warbling, the one eyed man stands in front of the only exit.

“Now where was I?” Mathias continues like nothing happened. You glare at him through the corner of your eyes, your skin feels like spikes from the goosebumps rising above. “Ah, yes! I recognized you on the ship, before a literal myth came eating my crew. By the way, what the fuck was that, huh? Fuckin' weird, right?”

“Shut the fuck up.” You say weakly.

“Anywho, You looked a lot like your father but with your mother's beauty. I knew them, your father more so. Once upon a time he was my lieutenant, he was pretty good at it too. Too bad he had to disobey orders and marry above his station.”

“Why don't you ever shut up?” You lay your elbows on the table, arms flat, slyly covering the steak knife under your arm. “Are you a narcissist? Do you like hearing your own voice—?”

Mathias hurls a salad plate at your head. You dodge it in time before it shatters on the floor. You don't have time for this, you need to get to Hobie immediately, before it's too late. You have no plan, no weapons, but you'll be damned if you don't try. And you can still hear his screams echoing in your ears, as if he's already dead, as if he's already haunting you.

You need to try. Or it'll be your end too.

The monster before you clears his throat. “Don't be rude.” He points a finger at you.

You now notice how worse for wear he is, under the white paint and powdered wig lies injuries that haven't healed since the fight. You smell it, the herbs hastily smudged, and the rot in his flesh. It seeps into his bones, poisoning his body. You just wish it'll eat at him faster.

You're suddenly not afraid anymore.

“Anyway, before I was rudely interrupted. Your father, well, he fought a good fight on the Demeter. He stood his ground till the very end until a dozen or so bullets pierced his skin.”

The crescent in your palms gets deeper.

“He was smart though, smarter than you probably. You see, he rigged the ship to blow. He had the fuckin' balls to do it even though his entire family was inside. Ain't it funny—?” The double doors swing open.

The butler interrupts his speech, a handful of staff bring in an entire chicken at his plate. One pours him a glass of wine before he snatches the entire bottle and places it right next to his glass. Hot soup and meat pie is brought in also, the smell is appetizing but you place your hand over your plate wordlessly, telling them you're not hungry at the moment. How could you be when Mathias eats in front of you like he hasn't eaten in decades?

The tension is thicker than the cream placed in front of Eugene.

He munches loudly as he takes apart the roast. String of meat flies all over, the former white table cloth turns brown when he wipes his hands on it. Eugene spares you a look, eyes staring forlornly at his empty plate. His hand inching closer towards his goblet before deciding to just drink the ruby liquid.

You're on your own.

The wolves devour their fill whilst you plan your escape. Your mind screams for you to run, to run where no one can find you. The voice echoing in your ears is right at one thing, but you'll never hide anymore, not from Mathias, not from your past, not from anyone. You'd face it with fire in your veins just like your father had.

Mathias snorts, and you wish it was a choke. “He fought well, got a few of my men. How do you think the lieutenant here lost his eye?” He points at the stoic man using a half eaten chicken leg. “Your father was brilliant with a sword. A crack shot with a blunderbuss too. But, eh, it was all in vain. He shouldn't have messed with the crown and polite society.”

He continues to loudly eat, hands slick with oil, mouth full of meat. “You see, your mother was that fuckin' woman. Wealth, looks, title, she had it all. And the king wanted it too, greedy bastard he is.” There it is, the confession. But you still listen because you know something else will come after. “But your mum decided to run off and elope with the bastard son of an unpopular lord. The king was pissed off.”

Mathias laughs roughly. “But he got over it.”

Your eyes widened, but before you could hide it, the devil noticed.

“I knew you ain't as smart as your dear old dad.” He smiles, you can see the meat stuck in his golden teeth.

“He was the crowned prince,” Mathias rips open the chicken in half messily. “And he needed a wife from one of the big families.” He doused the meat in salt, “and the greedy fuck chose someone who didn't want him, just for the fun of it. Who could blame her, all he ever wanted was a brood of children to pass on his blood.” He takes a generous bite, teeth meeting flesh, the sound of his chewing makes you hasten your plan. “Thank fuck Frederick's father ain't as stupid as his son. That man sought out the opportunity when given to him and fuckin' took it. Too bad he didn't live long enough to see the fruit of his labour.”

Anger settles in your stomach, fury in your eyes and flesh, you want to damn him, and everyone involved. Especially her.

“It's her isn't it?” You say as you slither your hand towards the ceramic bowl. “The Queen, it was all her.”

Mathias smiles genuinely, “You finally got it, little bird!” He claps. “She's fuckin' brilliant, and so are her coffers. The pay,” he whistles out, “the pay was magnificent, still is by the way. I didn't even need to become an admiral for the money when I'm earning more than a fuckin’ duke.” Kicking Eugene under the table, he makes his godson choke on his drink. “See, I told you the little duchess here is just your type.”

His voice fuels your fury. Each vowel is grating in your ears, every wheezed breath he takes is a reminder that he still lives. A reminder that your knife isn't stuck in his throat.

“It ain't as bad as you think it is,” The navy man continues. “Married to my boy, you'd have a title, a home and a decent family. At least now you don't have mister Brown crawling all over you. He'd be dead by sundown, and I can't wait to see it.”

Mathias thinks his words would make you do something drastic that'll have his hands wrapped around your neck. But you've learned your lesson, so you bide your time, taking their attention away from your wandering hands.

“You're dying.” The heat from the bowl matches the fire in you. Your voice doesn't shake, nor your resolve. “Even with all the coin she gave you, you still can't save yourself. You are riddled with sepsis, I can smell it on you. A collapsed lung from the way you cough, and whatever the fuck disgusting shit you have in you. You are dying, rotting from the inside like how it's meant to be. And the world will be better off without you. They will forget you, first, your poor family, then your men, then the entire country. Even your bitch of a queen will forget you. Then the world. But Hobie will be remembered. His name will be etched in the annals of history while your name fades into obscurity.” You laugh humorlessly, teeth bared, eyes aflame. “And I can't wait to see it.”

He seethes in his seat, hand clenching around the cutlery. The devil doesn't show his anger bluntly this time, he hides it because you struck a nerve. With a grin, you promise to Hobie and to your parents that Mathias won't live to see the day end.

“Do you remember what I told you in the revenge?” You continue with a smile that sends shivers down the spine of everyone in the room. The quiet lieutenant remembers the day he lost his eye. “I intend to fulfill that promise.”

Through a clenched jaw, he coughs again, hiding his weakness from everyone in the room and how a drop of blood stains his pale lips. “I love it when women show me their claws. But I can't stay. I would love to see the ceremony and the festivities, but I can't miss the execution. That's why I came here earlier so I could pass on my blessings.” Mathias wipes his mouth clean harshly. “If you'd excuse me, I places to be—”

Before he could stand up, you quickly fling the bowl right on his painted face. The hot soup splashes on his skin, melting the white powder off his face. With his guttural scream, within a split second before his man could intervene, you take the steak knife and plunge it into his hand and into the table.

The screams he let out was music to your ears, holding the hilt of the weapon, you twist it before yanking it out of his flesh, tearing his hand in half, ripping the nerves and letting waterfalls of crimson into the white tablecloth. With a determined yell, you aim for his throat.

Mathias recovers a second before steel meets his skin, he backhands you with the same injured hand. The knife falls off your hand. Pain blooms on your face, and you go blind as your head hits the floor. His blood dirties your pristine white gown, splotches of red drenching the bodice.

Your left eye stings, cheek heated from the harsh slap. Despite your lungs gasping for air through your possible broken nose, you crawl over to Mathias. Your scorn drives you to grab his leg, pulling him down with a strong tug, he falls hard on his back, splitting the floorboards in half. Taking the crown off your head, you use the pointy end to stab his leg and his knee in quick succession. He yells and yells but you don't stop. The ichor from his wounds drenches your face and hands, you see red, and you see his untimely death in your blood soaked hands.

Climbing further up, you use the opportunity to aim at his groin. But a pair of arms stops you before you could hit your mark. Thrashing, slashing the hands around your shoulders, you mark the man with the same bloodied tiara.

“Fuckin’ bitch!” Mathias stands up, limping, he unsheathes his lieutenant’s cutlass from his hip. With a stomp over your thigh, he pushes in the heel of his boot as you let out a cry. The steel is pointed at your heart, his eyes demand blood for blood. “I should've just killed you instead—”

A shot rings out, the bullet hits the blade, breaking it in half. Mathias flinches before he smiles at the one who shot him. There on the opposite doors, stands Miguel O’hara with his gun raised, barrel aimed at his former comrade. Lyla stands next to him, her own blunderbuss raised towards the man holding on to you.

“Let her go and there won't be any more bullets flying around.” Miguel's voice is steady, back straight, eyes flicking over to you writhing on the floor.

“You better listen, cyclops, O’hara here might hesitate but I won't. Let our girl go.” Lyla reassures you with a nod, and you bite your captor's hand.

You tear his flesh open with your teeth, ichor filling your mouth as he hisses in pain, dropping you unceremoniously on the floor.

Mathias looks at you with wide eyes, disbelief in his burned face. “I guess you learned a thing or two from your man.”

You spit out the chunk of flesh whilst your eyes never leave his. Crimson dripping off your lips like rain, teeth the same colour as the wine spilled on the table, you smile at him.

“Come near me and I'll show you what else he taught me.”

The man before you laughs genuinely, yet his eyes never leave yours, making sure you stay away from him. You're more than ready to close the gap. The cutlass is still trained on you, you're about to pounce when Miguel calls your name with urgency. As if he can read your mind.

“Your girl is fuckin' insane ain't she?” Mathias addresses Miguel, like how a family member speaks about a niece he hasn't seen in years. Proud, there's a sense of pride laced in his tone. “Just like her dear old parents, eh?”

“I'm warning you, Mathias.” Miguel keeps an eye out for the uniformed man behind you. “Take your captain, Alexander, before I put a bullet in his heart.”

Mathias scoffs, legs shaking from the wounds you caused. “Please, you'd shoot me? You didn't have the balls back then, why would you do it now?”

Miguel raises his gun higher, aiming for the man's head. “Because she wasn't there,” he cocks his head towards you, “you didn't have a weapon aimed directly at my goddaughter.” Eyebrows knitted together in anger, his hand doesn't shake, eyes glowing red in the sunlight. “Now let her go.”

Mathias posture sags, “fine, but only because I've got an event I cannot miss.” He nods at his godson. “Make sure you're married to her by the end of the day or there will be consequences.” He clicks his tongue, Eugene melts into his chair, face turned away from you and his godfather.

Mathias gives you one last look. “Happy marriage, birdy.”

“You're going to die today Mathias, one way or another I'll get my hands on you.” You flick your eyes towards the man clutching his hand. “Death is coming for you too,” you say nonchalantly. “I'll finish what my father started.”

They leave with their fronts turned to you, not even twisting around to show you their backs that are susceptible to your attack. Or in this case, your teeth.

Lyla appears next to you, helping you by the crook of your arm. Pain lingers on your leg and face. “Christ, he burst your fucking capillaries.”

Sure enough, you feel the sting in your eye, a throbbing pain that leaves you nauseous. Miguel, tentatively closes the distance, weathered hand carefully holding your chin. You wince, as he moves your face.

“Fuck, you need to see a doctor.” He says whilst you flinch away from his touch.

“I'm alright, I need a horse.” You begin to walk away, Miguel and Lyla follow close behind you. “And I need my fucking knife.” I need him back, your mind whispers to you. “I need to save him.”

“His execution is in two hours.” Eugene says meekly, and you stop in your tracks. “I heard the officers talk, they're not going to hang him for his crimes, the crown gave him the ax.”

With quick steps, you take Eugene by his collar, gripping tightly as you spill venom. Miguel tries to hold you back but you blindly kick his leg.

“Delay them.”

“I can't—”

“Do you want to be under his boot your entire life? If we marry I'll be crushed with you,” You stare determinedly at his scared eyes. “because that will happen if you don't help. You said you cared about me, then help me and all will be forgiven. Please, you're a viscount, you have the means to help.”

He sniffs, lips curled into a frown. “I'm sorry, I-I can't—”

You scoff, letting him go. “If I fail, Mathias lives and that means you'd be dead too.” Walking away, leaving him cowering in his seat, your small entourage follows.

“Where are you going?” Miguel matches your stride, walking next to you, he stares with concern. “Y/N, where are you going?”

“To my room to pamper my nose.” With adrenaline coursing through you, his face flashes in your mind with every step. Save him, your mind yells, save him, save him, or it'll be the end for you too.

“Cousin?” Collette asks as you make your way towards the apartments where your chambers lie. She roams her worried eyes around your bloodied wedding gown, her hands that are clutching a bouquet of flowers shakes. “Are you hurt? What happened?”

“I stabbed Mathias and bit through a man's hand.” You say without stopping, she squeaks in place.

John stops in his tracks, “w-what the fuck happened?” The twins are both dressed to the nines, all fine fabrics and hair all made up. “Cousin!” He calls after you whilst you don't stop for anyone.

“Thanks for the hot tip, kids!” Lyla yells back to your cousins. “A bit of advice, tell the catering staff the wedding’s off!” She cackles. “Save me a macaroon though!”

“They called you?” You ask, your heeled feet ache but you press on. “Where were you Lyla?”

“I'm sorry, duchess, I overslept.” She shrugs. “But I'm here now ain't I? Also I got Miguel here so...”

“You should stop, Y/N.” Miguel says sternly. “You're hurt—”

“No.”

“Y/N.”

You whirl around to face him. Anger flares up once again. “You should've shot him where he stood.” You poke his sturdy chest roughly. “He's the one who killed them, yet you let him get away!”

“I know, I— there are repercussions to killing someone. Especially if they're an officer.” He falters but he composes himself. “Revenge is not the answer—”

“He killed them, Miguel!” Your broken voice echoes out into the vast hallway. “Him and the queen are the reason why they're dead, and you let him get away so he could kill Hobie.”

“It was the queen? Not—”

“Yes, not the idiot king.” You turn around to continue your trek. You curse the large estate. “I have no idea why she did it, but I'm gonna get her too. But I won't live to see that day if I don't save him.” Your tone falters as you pass by your mother's portrait. “I need to save him, even if it's the last thing I do.”

“You won't succeed.” Miguel stands in front of you to stop you, and you roll your eyes, wanting to kick him in the groin. “He's a pirate, Y/N, he won't do the same for you.”

“He has, and he would. I need to try, I can't let him die.” You choke back a sob. Reality crashes around you. What would you do once you get there? Will you be able to save him on your own? You have no one, you have no idea where the crew is, and he's going to die. You can't live with yourself if you don't try.

“Y/N.” Miguel says your name like a reprimand.

“You said back in the carriage that I can leave whenever I want, all I needed to do was ask.” You chuckle without humour. “Here’s me asking, Miguel.”

“You'll die, Y/N, I can't lose you too.”

“And I can't lose him.” Tears gather in your eyes. “If no one will save him then who will? I have to go whether you like it or not.”

“The people will,” Lyla pipes up, she casually leans against the wall, checking her nails. “there have been…whispers since they announced his execution. If you go, I'm sure you won't be alone.”

You face the taller man again. “See, I have help—”

“Rumours aren't enough! Don't you get it? You're better off marrying Thompson at this point.” You blink in surprise. He backtracks. “I–I didn't mean it that way, I meant, I'd rather see you settled than dead.”

“You might not be as bad as Mathias, but you might as well be.” You brokenly say. Miguel's face falls at your words. “You claim to love my parents and me by extension, but you're complicit,” you spit out the word full of venom. “you're only helping them by not letting me go. I don't want to be settled, Miguel.” You shake your head. “It isn't love if you make me.”

Miguel visibly shatters in front of you. None of the composure he showed to Mathias is left in his body. He hasn't seen this much devotion since your parents. He hasn't seen this much love since he felt their presence. He hasn't felt this hurt since his daughter left this world.

“You had time to grieve for them, I didn't.” You push him out of the way, controlling your sob. “Please don't stop me, or I'll fight you like how I fought Mathias.” You open the doors to your chambers.

Miguel lingers outside as you and Lyla make your way inside the familiar room. The man that has your dagger sits in front of the vanity, the large man is currently trying on a spare tiara, and is wearing one of the ruby earrings.

“You can keep those,” Your sudden voice makes him jump away, large eyes staring at you with slight embarrassment. “I won't tell a soul, just take them, give me my dagger and get out of Hazelside.”

The cogs in his head move, swallowing thickly, he nods curtly. “Can I keep the necklace too?” He asks gruffly.

“Sure,” You shrug, Lyla stifled a giggle.

Wordlessly, he shoves a ruby necklace in his pocket, then he unsheathes your dagger and places it on the vanity.

“We good, duchess?”

“Actually,” you have an idea. “You're a muscle for hire, correct?” You've noticed how he doesn't move like the other foot soldiers do, or the guards for Hazelside. His disheveled uniform solidifies your theory. The man nods proudly. “How would you like to take my entire jewelry box in exchange for you and your men's services?”

“That depends, what kind of work are we talkin’ ‘bout?”

Lyla adds to the conversation. “Murder of some pompous nobles and free a bunch of pirates. With a main focus on the red spider of course.”

“Kill the red spider too?” He asks, a thick eyebrow raised.

“No!” You say quickly, “free him and kill anyone who stands in the way.” You mutter a curse under your breath. “I don't have time for this.”

The mercenary thinks once again, he seems to be weighing the pros and cons.

Stepping closer, you practically breathe down his neck. “I'll throw in my shoes and gowns too,” you raise a hand for him to shake. “As long as you'll be there before the execution starts, and you keep my uncle and aunt distracted, scare them is all. Just don't touch my cousins or the staff.”

The scarred man chuckles deeply. “An offer I cannot refuse, duchess.” He clasps your hand, shaking it once. “Creating chaos is our main specialty.”

“Yes and I saw a glimpse of that in the barn.” You give him a tight-lipped smile, eyes lit with tamped down anger. “You better hold your end of the bargain, or you'll have my dagger in your throat instead of my necklace.”

“‘course, my lady. My men will be there.” He leaves with a grin, shoving Miguel by his shoulder.

“What just happened?” Your godfather asks as you lift your skirt to rip the metal of your petticoat off using the dagger. He turns around, closing the doors to your chambers and shuts his eyes while still turned around.

“Our girl here just used her charisma to strike a bargain. Oh they grow up too fast.” Lyla dramatically wipes a nonexistent tear in her eye. “Don't forget to change your shoes, my lady.”

You stare at yourself in the vanity, blood coats the front of your gown, a smattering of crimson coats the lace, splashes of ichor paints the front of the bodice right next to the pretty embroidery. Your face isn't any better, the makeup the handmaidens painted you with is still there, but now it coincides with Mathias' drying blood. It drips down from your cheeks down to your neck, it hides the gold underneath the crimson. Your left eye shares the same shade, capillaries burst, spreading your blood into the whites of your eyes. The gloves meant to hide the callouses and fresh scars are sticking to your skin, drenched in ruby, drenched like the floors of the revenge.

You leave it on, a reminder of your goal.

“I haven't forgotten.” Tossing the heeled shoes away, you make your way towards where you hid your old friend.

The sight alone of the weathered leather shoes would make you weep but you don't have time for that. Lifting your skirts up, still wearing the ridiculous wedding gown that has become significantly lighter, you quickly run towards the unicorn tapestry.

Dagger in hand, you're surprised to hear Miguel's heavy strides following you inside the hidden tunnels. Once the sun greets you and the grass crunches under your feet, you beeline for the barn.

A stable boy jumps at the sudden intrusion, he stutters, moreso when he sees your blood drenched form.

“Can you saddle Bernard quickly?” You ask, and the poor boy almost has a heart attack. “Please? I'm a friend of Hobie and—”

“Oh, Hobie! You should've said it earlier then. You're her! He told me a whole lot about you." He smiles at you, already picking up the heavy saddle. "You know how to ride, My lady?"

“No need for that.” You wave away the title. “And yes, perks of running away for years, you learn how to run away in different ways.”

He chuckles, yet the nervousness is still palpable in his eyes. “I'm on it, your grace.”

Smiling softly, you don't correct him anymore. Turning around, you see no one accompanying you. “Lyla?”

“She went off to get her horse,” Miguel appears from behind the barn door. “I'm keeping a lookout.” He returns to his post, acting casual while leaning on the door.

“You don't have to be here if you don't want to, Miguel.” You walk behind him, the wooden doors are blocking you from his view and vice versa.

“I…pondered your words, Y/N, and you're right. I don't want to make you do something you clearly don't want. I won't make that same mistake again, it cost me years without you. It won't make me lose another day without you, even if it means saving a damn pirate.” He chuckles, and you take his hand from where you stood. You hear his breath hitch, “I'm sorry. I think your parents would hate me right now.”

“I don't know them very well but, I think they'll be proud of you. You found me, you brought me home. You were doing the best you can with good intentions.” You squeeze his rough hand, placing your forehead against the door where his shoulders would lie. “Thank you for letting me leave. I think it's best for you to move on, uncle. They'd want that for you.” You hear him sniff, squeezing your hand back.

“Yes, I think it's best.” He lets your hand go, “starting with this,” Placing something round in your hand, he closes your palm around it gently. “They’d want you to have it, something to keep close to you when you're at sea. It helped me back then, I'm sure it'll help you now.”

“You're not coming with me?”

“Not yet, I'll follow you once I can. I'll keep your aunt and uncle here, making sure that they don't get their footmen to follow you. And I'll make sure the ruffians you hired won't go overboard and actually do what you asked them to.” Miguel tearfully chuckles, “just promise me you won't lose your humanity after you take your revenge.”

“I promise, I won't let it consume me.” You whisper your promise just for him.

Taking a peek at the object in your hand, your heart almost shatters at the familiarity of it. It's the same one your mother was clutching in her portrait. Opening the golden locket, you see a portrait of your mother on the left, and on the right, your father. They look younger in the painting, happier, more alive. They were right, you bear a resemblance to your father just as much as to your mother's features. You finally got a good look at them together, and your heart squeezes at the thought.

Sniffing, you look up at Miguel with gratitude, “tell my cousins ‘thank you,’ please.”

“I will. Keep the locket safe for when we meet again?”

“I will, I'll see you in the water, uncle.” He's the only person who's worthy of the title you've bestowed him. Lyla gallops her horse in the distance. “Now get out of here, or I'll end up not letting you go.” You tease, it has half truth in it. Your smile falters, "Tell my mother—"

“Come back and you can tell her yourself. She's still staying in the same town. I know she's waiting for you.” He finally turns around to face you. “Before you go,” shrugging off his coat, he hands it to you. “You'll get cold.”

You look at the fabric with tears in your eyes. Taking the blue coat, he helps you put it on. Sniffing, he turns you back around, rubbing the creases in the sleeves away.

“There, it's perfect but it's missing something.”

“Something blue, and now I've got something borrowed.” Joking, you smile at your godfather.

Miguel hands you a blunderbuss, it's an ordinary looking one, save for the purple leather handle that decorates it.

“It was your father's, he gave it to me when he named me your godfather.” He points at the silver barrel where three letters are etched on it crudely. “It's our first initials. He said that it gave him extra luck.”

“I—I can't take this.”

“Well, you've already taken my locket and coat, what harm falls on me if I gave you his gun? You're gonna need it wherever you're going.” Miguel shoves it in your hands, “just— save a bullet for Mathias and the queen.”

“That I can do.” You grin at him despite the pain in your chest.

“The party's here.” Lyla’ horse stops just outside, she exclaims with fanfare. “Ready to kill some motherfuckers?”

“Aye,” you nod with determination. The fire is blazing under your eyes, lightning in your fingertips, you wear the locket around your neck with pride.

For your parents that you've never met but came to love. For Miguel, for the crew and for all they've sacrificed for you. for Hobie, the love of your life. And for MJ.

—

You ride off on Bernard's back, flames in your chest, wind whipped cheeks, and hands clutching the reins tighter. Your father's blunderbuss weighs heavy on your hips, the smell of Mathias' drying blood stings in your nose. But the putrid smell keeps you awake, a reminder of your goal, a reminder of what truly matters— Hobie. Your love that is currently in shackles, hands bound tighter than the rope around his neck.

Lyla snaps you awake, her own horse huffing from the intense speed.

“Your eyes keep glossing over, duchess, keep ‘em clear for me, yeah?” She yells above the loud hoofbeats.

“I will, are you sure about your plan?”

“My guild consists of a bunch of sacks of shits that'll do anything for a quick coin.” You knit your eyebrows in worry. “But they're loyal to a fault, ‘sides, your captain used to be one of us, once upon a time.”

“What?” You spot the capital's sign, entering the city without stopping. There's a fork in the road as you ride towards the center of the city. The familiar smell of the sea fills you as you ride closer and closer to your destination.

“A story for another day, gorgeous.” She rides faster, her guns clinking against the saddle. “I'll ride ahead, gather as many as I can. Go to him, and disrupt the festivities.” Her voice fades as she hurries off.

Lyla heads towards the left whilst you ride on the right, trying to remember the directions she told you during the short ride.

Numerous buildings whizz by you as you ride faster and faster. Rickety stone buildings turn into elegant carved marble. The streets become smoother as you get closer to the palace. You heard the crowd before you saw them.

Bernard stops in his tracks, right at the edge of the thousands of people clambering to see the execution. He whines as you try to calm him down. Some of the common people are quiet, eyes straight towards the stage where a large man with a black hood stands. The scraping of the ax getting sharpened makes your heart stop.

The palace looms overhead, its golden terrace holds the royals, faces smug, wigs high as they look down at the crowd. Right next to them stands Mathias, hand hastily bandaged, still dripping in blood. His face contorts into pain as he clutches at his injury. You draw your father's gun out, resisting the urge to shoot at the man, but with how far you are, you know you'll miss.

Scanning the stage, you bite your tongue, preventing a pained whimper from getting out.

You've made it, and he has too.

Clad in a white undershirt with the sleeves too big for his frame, trousers too short for his legs, hands tied behind his back, face beaten. Hobie stands with his back straight despite all the red gashes under his thin shirt.

You whisper his name like he can hear you above the yells of the people. You're frozen, hands shaking, eyes unblinking at his form.

The uniformed men make him kneel, his knees slam harshly against wooden floors.

Hobie was never afraid of dying before, he avoided it a hundred times. Yet, his binded hands quiver, dull grey eyes scanning around the crowd, he tries to find familiar faces amidst all the strangers. Trying to find his crew, not for help, but the thought of dying in front of them fills him with sorrow. He doesn't see them, and he's glad. Moreso when he doesn't see your face, he doesn't want you to experience what he had seen before.

But there's a part of him that wants to see you for one last time before steel kisses his neck. He wants to feel your lips against his again, but for now, having the memory of it is enough. The pearl you gave him is cold against his chest, he wishes to hold it again.

Having you in his arms however brief is enough for him, he'll think of you when the blade strikes him down for the last time.

Even with his imminent death, he still finds the will to smile, the same smile you love so much. It's enough to snap you awake.

A navy officer yells above the crowd, scroll in hand, voice booming and commanding. “Here stands the notorious pirate Hobart Brown, he stands here waiting for his sentence. The crimes he has committed are atrocious enough that the crown has automatically given him the guilty verdict!” The people don't cheer, some even boo and hiss at the man. You inhale deeply, hand holding on to the reigns tighter, as you weave Bernard through the crowd. Surprisingly, they part for you.

“What say you, Hobart Brown?”

Hobie chuckles deeply, lips split and bloodied, he grins. “It's captain, actually!” His voice drives you to ride faster, gun raised. He twists around to look at the nobles in their high tower. “It's captain Hobie Brown, you fuckin' wankers!” Cackling, the officer kicks him down. He falls, gasping, neck landing harshly at the stone slab that still has remnants of its last guest.

Still, Hobie yells obscenities, “you haven't won! You might cut my head but two more will replace me! Just like how I replaced the emerald bastard from the south!” He tries to sit up but another man holds him down. “They'll be stronger and better than me! From my death, the people will gather at your gates and break your golden walls!”

The executioner raises his large ax, the sun bouncing off the metal.

Hobie quiets down at the glimmer of the ax shining in his eyes. Whispering the names of his loyal crew, then he softly calls for you like an acolyte prays for forgiveness.

The crowd parts for you like the sea parts for a sailing ship. Giddying up, hooves hitting loudly against stone, you aim.

It's the end, but it doesn't have to be.

“Hobie!” You scream as loud as you can before you shoot.

He blinks in surprise for a second, the man holding him down scampers away as a shot rings out. Now free, Hobie quickly moves away from the stone slab as your bullet hits the executioner's hood right in-between his eyes.

Gasping, the ax falls next to Hobie's head with a thud. The edge is embedded in the wood, missing his face just a few inches away. Eyes staring at the clear sky, he thinks he has died when your face suddenly appears in front of him.

“Scuttlebutt,” he softly says in disbelief.

“Hi, captain, I'm here to rescue you.” You smile at him, “hold on a minute.” Sitting up right, you shoot at the remaining officer. A body thuds, and you return to his side. “I've got you.” You say as you help him sit up, hands already untying his bonds.

Hobie looks at you like a sailor looks at the sea for the first time, with reverence, and awed by the sheer beauty. “You've got me.”

Ropes falling off his aching wrists, he moves to hold your face desperately. Without a second thought, he kisses you fervently. Life spreads back to him, fingertips electric as he holds your face close. Lips warm, you kiss back like it's just you and him. Hands instinctively sliding to his head, you pull away when you feel scruff under your palm.

“What did they do to your hair?!” You almost weep, hands roaming across his bare head. “Oh my god, they have to pay for this.”

Hobie laughs, still holding your face like holding on to a precious pearl. “It'll grow back.” Tears prick your eyes, mirroring his own. “I love you, you did good, scuttlebutt.”

“I did good?” You peck his chapped lips once more.

“Yeah, love.” He prevents you from looking at the military that has their weapons raised and their eyes targeting you and him. “You did very well—” tears escape his grey eyes when he hears the familiar click of a gun.

It's the end.

“I love you too,” you know it's the end. “I'll see you back at the revenge?”

“Save some of Finn's bread for me, yeah?” Hobie leans his forehead atop yours. “I'm sorry.” His voice falters.

“Don't be, I'm glad I fell in that net.” You hold on to him for dear life. Etching his warmth in your brain so you remember it until you're cold. “I'd run towards that dock all over again if I had the chance again.”

It's the end, and you hold him close.

As you embrace each other, as your love is displayed for all to see, your warmth radiates through the crowd. You burn together with him.

Fire consumes and burns but it also lights the way.

The silence wraps around the city center, then, someone yells, pushing off the officer who has his gun aimed at your head. The people follow, rioting against their oppressors.

You both stare below in disbelief, hand cradling your head, he shields your eyes from seeing the violence unfold. Just when bullets hit flesh, and knives slash at necks, an explosion booms above.

Hobie holds onto you tighter, battered arms wrapped around you protectively as debris and smoke fills the whole place. The building across the palace is in flames, and from the billowing ashes out comes a familiar face.

Gwen takes off her hood, feet precariously standing on the ledge, then another form comes out of the smoke, Miles takes his stance next to the first mate, handing her a long rope.

“Holy shit! It's them!” Hobie exclaims, letting you see them with your own eyes.

You grin as you spot them above, “it's them,” you say in shock. A second later, they jump off the building effortlessly, guns raised as they land on their feet right next to the stage.

“I'll cover you!” Miles yells above the chaos as more and more buildings around the palace erupt in a chorus of explosions.

Gwen clambers next to you, relief on her face, hugging the two of you. Embracing back, she leans away to stare at you and her captain.

“You fucking idiots! I'd slap you over the head if I didn't love you both.”

“We love you too, Gwendy.” Hobie smiles amidst the aches.

“What he said, Gwendy.” You beam at her with overwhelming love.

“Love you too, now we need to get you out of here.”

“I have a ship docked somewhere, it's called the osprey. Take it and—” You start but Hobie and Gwen interrupt.

“You make it sound like you're not comin’ with us.”

“Y/N,” Gwen warns as she helps you two on your feet.

“I’m coming with—” a gun goes off.

Blood splatters across your faces. Crimson blooms across Gwen's stomach.

“...oh” she looks at you with her eyebrows knitted together, hand pressing on her belly. You catch Gwen in your arms as you feel the fear in you spread. She calls your name weakly.

Hobie stares at you with terrified eyes as he clutches the back of Gwen's head.

“No, no, don't speak—just… oh fuck!” You try to stop the bleeding by ripping a part of your gown to stuff it inside her wound. Ichor spills out of her like waterfalls. “I've got you!” She yells in pain and you simultaneously hear Miles scream.

Flicking your tear filled eyes over to Miles, he has his back on the ground, face contorted into pain whilst Mathias has his boot on his shooting hand. Miles still fights, kicking and scratching at the man's leg.

“This is what happens when you disrupt—” Red appears on his side as Hobie uses your fallen gun to shoot him where he has his foot crushing atop Miles’ hand. Mathias yelps in pain, a throaty sound escaping from his pale lips.

Hobie is filled with rage, embers flickering in him, turning into flames and then a blaze that burns his insides into ash.

Miles coughs as Mathias runs away towards the enormous church right next to the palace. He pushes away people, blood trailing behind him.

“Miles!” You yell, in your relief, he stands back up, weaving around people to clamber up the steps of the stage.

“I'm here!” He crawls over to Gwen, gently clutching her pale face. “Oh god no, please,” Miles looks at you. “Fix her, please.” Tears slide down his cheeks. “Please.”

You look towards Hobie, not knowing what to do, but said man is nowhere to be found. You briefly spot him running around the crowd, cutting down coppers swiftly with your father's gun and a stray cutlass, following after the man who has shot at his family.

Not again, you think, hands drenched once again in crimson. Not again, not again. You've failed once again.

Someone calls next to you, familiar hands holding yours.

“Tell us what to do.” Yuri thaws you out from your frozen state. Gwen gurgles, grip around your wrist weakening. James appears next to Yuri as you see in your peripheral the same mercenary and his men shooting at soldiers. Lyla cackles near them, adding her guild to the mix in the chaos. “Y/N,” Yuri calls again sternly. “We need you.”

With a sniff, you compose yourself, for Gwen. “Keep your hands on her wound, pack it with cloth then keep pushing.” Gwen groans, you look at her apologetically. “I know it hurts, I'm sorry but we need to do this. Let us do this.”

“I saw a doctor's clinic near here.” James pipes up, “if we take her there will you be able to save her?”

“Yes, we need to—”

Pavitr runs towards the group, guns raised, eyes full of rage once he sees Gwen. “No…” he says weakly. He fixes his composure, for Gwen. “James and I will cover you while the three of you carry Gwen.” He instructs, voice steady.

“No, no, no!” Gwen protests. “It hurts— I can't—”

“You can!” Miles beats you to it. “D’you remember what I told you when we realized Y/N and Hobie weren't behind us after we got attacked?” She nods weakly, lips bitten to stop her pained whimpers. “I meant it, Gwen. I meant all of it yet I haven't shown it because I'm a goddamn coward. Let me show you how much I love you, but I can't do that if you don't let us carry you. So please, let us carry you.”

Gwen smiles, icy eyes staring fondly at Miles. They have a wordless conversation, then Miles gives her a gentle peck on her forehead.

“As long as the d-doc here follows our captain.” She says.

“What—? No, you need me.” You shake your head.

“We already know what to do,” she winces, “you're the only person that can stop him, he'll die, Y/N. Meanwhile I've got a chance with them beside me. And he's all alone.”

You look at the others, they all nod and you blink in surprise. “But—”

“We have her, wifey.” Yuri smiles kindly at you. “This isn't our first bullet wound. Go and fetch our captain for us would ya?”

You have no time to think about it, so you choose what they instructed you to do. “Keep your hands on her and support her back—” your eyes find the familiar large man wearing your rubies. “Oi!” He pauses from crushing a soldier's arm. “Get a handful of your men and help them get to the doctor's!”

“Do I have to?” He asks, shrugging.

“Yes! I paid you!”

The man sighs then he gestures to a few of his people to climb up the stage. Before you let go of Gwen, you stare daggers at the men in the fake uniforms. “Keep all of them alive and I might just give you a piece of Hazelside.”

“Say no more, duchess, we got ‘em.”

“Gwen—” You take one last look over to her.

“Go, I don't plan on dying today.”

“You better. Meet us back at the ship.” You roam your eyes at the crew like it's the last time you would see them. With a nod towards Yuri, you slide your hands away quickly, Yuri replaces the space you left with her own.

Wordlessly you turn away from them. You fight yourself from looking back. Running away towards Hobie, you hope that it's not too late.

Weaving through the crowd, dodging bullets and swords, you keep your head down and keep your eyes forward at the grand church waiting ahead. The spires are tall and sharp, reminding you of the dragons that rose up from the sea and blocked out the moon. Gargoyles decorate the roofs, all stone and eyes large, mouths agape, unmoving.

You lift the skirt of your tattered gown, it might be covered in blood but the white colour of it is a stark contrast to the dark chaos surrounding you. It acts as a beacon to the people as they see you in their ranks, a noble in their eyes that bears gold and silver around her neck and sleeves. Someone who fought everyone just to get to her pirate captain, they find it in themselves to continue fighting. A few even helps you get to your destination by blocking any guards or soldiers from laying their hands on you.

Smoke in your lungs, steel clanging against steel. Blades slashing at limbs, people screaming in all directions, both with rank and without, they all end up in the same fate. You run through the blood soaked field.

Feet sprinting across the field, people are few and far in between once you get nearer and nearer towards the church. Hands on the large doors, you push the heavy oak to no avail. It's locked, the evidence of it is the rattling noise it makes as you shake it in desperation.

Hobie's in there, and you'd do anything to get to him.

You go around the structure to find a window that's big enough for you to slither into. But all the stained glass windows are too high up for you to reach even if you try to break one. Losing hope, you turn a corner towards the back. You finally breathe when you see a wooden door. Without wasting time, you push it open with your shoulder, shoving it, the rust covered hinges creak with your strength. And finally, it bursts open with one final push.

The sight alone made you stop in your tracks. Clutching your dagger, a finely dressed man lays dead in a pool of blood. A sword embedded in his back, a cracked crown sitting next to his bloodied head. The person standing over the king is none other than his own wife, her face isn't one of sadness but of sheer happiness as she grins at her husband's dead body. Blood dripping off her royal hands, she lifts her head to gaze upon you.

“Hello, little bird, you finally made it.” Caroline stands in front of the altar, the kaleidoscope of lights from the glass windows acts as her spotlight. Her gown is in rich velvet, furs covering her shoulder. And a large tiara on top of her intricate powdered wig.

“You killed him.” Gripping your dagger tighter, you stay away from the bloody queen.

“I did,” Caroline giggles, a sound that sends shivers through your spine. “You look marvelous in your wedding gown by the way. A shame that you didn't get married to that fine young man.” Her voice echoes around the large church, its ceilings are high and painted with saints. They look down at you, eyes lifeless. “Lieutenant.” She calls and the man answers, coming out of the shadows and into the pews. “Do me a favour and kill her for me.”

The disheveled man walks over to you, hand still decorated by your bite.

“Why don't you kill me yourself? Like how you killed your husband.” You address the woman, taunting her.

The queen raises a hand and the navy man stops immediately. She smiles and takes the sword out of her husband's body with ease, then she steps over his body without remorse.

“With pleasure.” She unclasps her cloak, the heavy cloth thuds against the marble. “If I couldn't kill your mother personally, I'd settle for killing you instead.”

“What the fuck—!” The queen arches her sword, thankfully you parry it with your dagger. You know you'll lose in the duel with your smaller weapon against hers and her swordsmanship. A yell echoes from above, a distinct scream from who you hope is from Mathias.

“I wasn't lying when I said you remind me of her!” She slashes, right foot pointed towards you, dodging the sharp edge, the heels of your feet hit a pew, then you fall backwards, back and elbows hitting the hardwood. “But she wasn't much of a fighter just like you!” Her eyes are ablaze as you scramble away.

“Why are you doing this?!” Your voice carries off around the church. “You said you were friends!”

Raising your dagger to shield your face when she tries to slash at your chest, she stands atop you, knee right next to your thigh, leg perching her up. Steel dangerously close to your face, wrists aching from her push, you take your free hand to grip the sharp edge of your dagger to combat her own strength. You feel the knife dig into your palm.

“Why?” The queen cackles, leaning her mad face close. “Because she's the reason why I'm here, she's the reason why that man has ruined me until I couldn't even recognize myself—!”

Lifting your legs, bending your knees, you kick her right in her chest. Making her lose her balance, face falling flat on the marble floors. You take the opportunity to crawl and stand up, sprinting away from her. As you bolt off towards the altar, and towards the door to the bell tower, the stairs are within your reach, but Caroline yanks you by your skirt. You fall off the steps of the altar, body and dagger sliding off the smooth marble.

Groaning, she points her weapon towards your neck, taking your mother's necklace by her blade. “Why did you kill them? For revenge?” You ask, vision blurring from the way your head hit the floor. Everything aches in you, but you continue to fight.

“No, for the satisfaction of them being dead.” She eyes the golden necklace and you glare at her. “She was meant to take the crown, not me. Instead she ignored her duty and ran off with a bastard, and I was forced to marry that fucking beast!” Her voice booms, the saints above look down at the chaos. “Forced to carry his children, children I never wanted but loved nonetheless. Children that I never saw grow up because they were taken from me the second they came out of me!” Her hand shakes around the sword.

You slyly inch your hand towards your dagger that's only a hair width away from your fingertips. You let her continue as the tears in her eyes fall on your bloodied face.

“I never wanted to be queen, all I've ever wanted was to see the world. Your mother took that away from me, and now her daughter is living my fucking dream! The second I knew you were alive I wanted to wring your fucking neck. To hurt you just like her choices had on me.” She twists her sword so the blunt edge is kissing your neck, torture, she's planning on sawing your head off with the blunt edge. “If she can't pay, I'd settle for making you hurt instead.”

“You want to kill me because of what happened decades ago? You're fucking mad if you think sins are passed from parent to child! I never knew them!” You fight back despite the blade near your neck. “Do you understand that you caused the same pain to me that the king has caused you? Whatever you want to call it, it's still revenge!” Caroline pushes the cutlass closer, so close that you can feel it in your throat, choking you. “You're blaming the wrong people for your misfortune, blame the people who used you, who said yes to his every whim, not the couple who only wanted to marry the one they love!”

“I’m the victim here—!”

“You are, but who points the sword towards the innocent?” She blinks, lips wobbling. “Look at you, Mathias told me you're brilliant, but you never thought this part through, haven't you? What do you think the nobles of the land will do to you the moment they hear of your regicide? Who will they blame? Me, who bears the mark of your cruelty? Or you, who has the king's blood on your golden hands?”

You distract her enough to finally reach the dagger, swiftly, you plunge it to the nearest part of her that you can manage, her thigh. She screams in agony, sword and crown clanging loudly on the floor. The once favoured queen clutches her wound that's gushing blood, seeping out of her velvet dress and spilling over the white marble.

Unexpectedly, she cries as she desperately wraps her skirt around the gushing wound. You clamber up to your feet, eyes flitting over the stoic man when Caroline calls for him to kill you where you stand. He doesn't move from his position near the confessionals.

“Are you gonna fight me too? An eye for an eye?” You ask, hands shaking while you bend down for your crimson drenched dagger.

“No, your father and I are even.” The simple words turn your eyes the same shade as the fluid pooling around the queen.

“You're just gonna stand there?” You ask while Caroline's wails echo around the expansive church.

“I'm waiting for you to leave so I can help her.” He seems to be unbothered. A scream rings out from above, louder than the woman's screams. Alarm bells trigger in your mind. “Sounds like someone needs your help.”

“Don't follow me,” you threaten, knife pointed at him as you slither towards the door. “Don't help your captain.”

“Alexander!” She screams for the lieutenant.

“You're right, he's already dead anyway, not my problem anymore.” His eye follows you, “Good luck, duchess.”

With one look towards the mysterious man, you get a glimpse of him crouching next to the woman, hands casually tamping down the rushing blood. Locking the door behind you, you run once again.

The winding spiral staircase seems to go up forever, hand clutching your dagger, you don't even feel the pain in your ankles anymore. Numbness flashes over you for a second, but you carry on. The walls get smaller and tighter as you go on, the stone scratches your hands, the small windows barely provide any light for you. The sounds of struggle get louder, so you speed off with the last of your strength.

Rushing, you make it to the top where Mathias has his hands wrapped around Hobie's neck, with no ounce of hesitation, you plunge your dagger in the devil's flesh, right in between his clavicle.

With a shriek, Mathias lets go of Hobie. Your captain gasps for air, clutching his neck. You wrap your hands around his shoulders, relief washing over you just from seeing him breathe.

“I have you!” Holding his face, you thank the stars that he holds you back with his warm hands.

Hobie utters your name softly, “You have a habit of savin’ me, eh, scuttlebutt?” He smiles at you even with his left eye swelling, even with his mouth full of ichor.

You grin, getting him back to his feet. “The others are waiting—!” A large hand picks you up, wrapping a thick arm around your waist, the other is holding your own weapon in his cracked knuckles. Your own blade is placed harshly against your throat.

A trickle of blood drips from your flesh, and Hobie has the same look back on the revenge. Terrified, the swirling greys of his eyes are mortified at the scene in front of him.

Mathias still lives despite the laceration on his neck, despite his life rushing off of him in waves. He stands precariously on the edge of the tower, his back against the sea, the waves lapping against the cliffs below. He holds you tight as a noose when the wind rushes from behind.

There's a bout of silence hanging in between, Hobie's breath hitches in his throat at your fearful face.

“Don't—” Hobie's voice is broken, pleading desperately. “Please,” Not again, not again. The words scream at him. Not her, never her. “Take me instead.”

Mathias gurgles a response. “Just like old times, eh?”

As the blade kisses your neck, you could only look at Hobie. The copper bell is hanging behind him, large and magnificent, and he stands there with his hand desperately reaching towards you, his gun holds no bullets, sword lay broken in half near his feet.

It's the end, but he declines for it to end, for your life to end at hands of the same man that ended his old love three years ago.

He thinks fate is cruel, he thinks the fates hate him. He thinks his life is a Greek tragedy that was waiting to be written for the fates’ entertainment. He refuses to give them the ending they wanted.

You know it's the end, but it doesn't have to be the end for him too.

There's no other option, no other hope but, "No more sacrifices." You whisper to him even though you know he couldn't hear you, at the same time, you whisper an apology to him.

Images of the past six months flashes in your mind. Images of the tavern you once called home, images of the ship you still call your home. Images of the people you've come to love, images of your island and the sand in between your toes, and the sun on your back. Images of Hobie smiling down at you, images of him holding you close as you cry in his arms.

Images of you learning to love him.

You love him and all his sharp edges, all his anger and all his warmth. You loved him, and that's all that matters in life. To love someone so wholeheartedly that it burrows into your bones and digs deep into your marrows, never letting go. You loved him, and he's worth it for what you're about to do. To be loved back is a gift that he graciously granted you, you intend to cherish it until your end.

You call his name like the softest of silk wrapped around your tongue. "Hobie," and you smile at him, letting your smile tell him that he wasn't born to be a knife, letting your smile tell him that you love him more than the moon loves the tides.

He whispers back your name, pleading with you, for he knows you more than he knows himself, and he knows what you're about to do.

With a loop of your foot around Mathias' ankle, you pull hard, then you let yourself fall backwards.

“Alis volat propriis” You softly say, prying the knife from Mathias’ hand.

And fly you did.

Fear encapsulates him as you fall, the same fear flows out of you like spring water as you plunge into the dark depths.

Hobie refuses to look, frozen on the spot, unblinking eyes still staring at the space you left. His heart feels like it's about to give out as he says your name over and over again like a mantra.

He's a knife meant to grieve.

Slowly, his feet move for him. Body stiff, he makes it to the ledge. Grief stricken eyes darting below, he lets out a guttural wail that carries on with the wind.

Clutching his broken heart, he falls to his knees. He keeps repeating your name as he stares at the bubbles rising up on the surface, the waves deliver seafoam on the beach below, and with it, hope still clings to him.

“No,” A sob breaks through when you don't emerge a second later. “...no, c'mon scuttlebutt, don't fuckin' leave me.”

Grief rolls over his skin like tiny pinpricks of sorrow puncturing his insides and into his scarred heart. Your face flashes in front of him, and the voice inside him asks, 'will it be bad if you follow?'

“Brown?” A familiar voice calls behind him, Hobie whirls around, grief evident on his face, Miguel already knows what happend. He shakes his bloody head profusely, “where's— where is she?”

Hobie doesn't answer, he turns back towards the sea. Agony filling his very being as he stares below.

“No!” Miguel follows Hobie's eyes. And then he screams for you. He searches for you under the waves.

Hobie lays his head on the wall of the bell tower. A minute, it's been a minute since you fell, yet no sign of a body has floated up. The sky is still calm, the sun still shines, yet, you don't resurface.

He blinks away when he sees fingers reaching amongst the waves. “Did you see that?” Praying, praying to any deity out there that is listening to him, he prays that his mind isn't playing a cruel joke on him.

“What?”

Hobie stands up, taking Miguel's face to turn it towards the waters. Something moves under the seafoam, someone moves under the seafoam.

His heart picks up speed, and he rushes down the stairs. Miguel follows close by, their feet thudding loudly on the stairs. They ignore the various pains in their body, what matters is you, and they intend to get to your side as quickly as possible.

They go through the broken door that Miguel kicked, and they run over a puddle of blood without a body. Sprinting outside, the sea breeze greets them. They don't stop for anyone or anything, even though the palace burns to the ground behind them, even though the heat from the melting golden gates sears their backs. They continue downward towards the path to the beach.

Hobie trips on a rock, Miguel helps him up swiftly.

From the tides, you rise once more.

Heaving from the swim, drenched and sore. You grin at the two men rushing towards you. Like the waves lapping at your feet, relief washes over them.

You raise your arms in time just before Hobie crashes his body to yours. His face finds safety in the crook of your neck. Arms holding you tight and comfortable, he breaths you in, taking a deep shuddering breath. You smell like the sea. He can't believe you're alive, can't believe that you're back in his arms.

“I lost the dagger,” you say against his cheek as you press cold kisses on his skin.

“I'll get you a new one.” Tears flow out of his eyes, he feels like he's dreaming, he feels like fate has finally granted him reprieve. “I’ll get you a hundred more, fuck that, a thousand more if you asked.”

“I just want one.” You chuckle.

“I'll get you one then.” Hobie peels himself off you, fingers roaming your face, the heel of his hand is placed atop your pulse, making sure he didn't fall off the tower himself. “You're alive.” He says breathlessly, “you fuckin' swam!”

“I had a good teacher.” You say as you hold him tenderly. “He's dead, it's over, Hobie.” Salty tears in your lashes, he pulls you in for another hug. Eyes closed, you savour the calmness with the sound of the rushing sea behind you, knowing that Mathias lays beneath its waves with your dagger embedded in his eye. “It's over, and I'm alright.”

Holding your hand towards Miguel who sits on his knees on the sand, eyes glowing with consolation. You flex your hand towards him so he could hold your hand. He stands up, taking it willingly, squeezing once like how he held your parents’ hands once upon a time.

Miguel nods proudly at you, gently pressing a gentle kiss on your knuckles, he gives you and Hobie space. You mouth a thank you towards the man.

—

“Shit!” James exclaims, jumping up and down on the docks. “Look at her! She's magnificent!”

“Spell ‘magnificent’, James.” Yuri taunts.

“Don't ruin this for me!” He turns towards you, grinning from ear to ear like a child in a sugar shop. “You're actually giving us this ship?”

“Mm-hmm—” before you could finish nodding, James sprints off towards the fine ship. Yuri winks at you before she follows behind James.

The sun slowly sets, bathing the waters in pink and orange light. James isn't wrong, the ship is magnificent. It's bigger than the black hellion, much bigger. Two crow's nests sit at the highest point of the masts. The body is well maintained, oak still shining in the late afternoon sun. Silver violets and hazelnuts decorate the sides, a reminder of what could've been.

Looking at your new home, you shift your gaze to Hobie, knowing wherever he is, as long as you're with him, you're home.

Your tired eyes flick over the figurehead of an osprey with its wings outstretched around the head of the ship. Hobie taps your head with his own gently.

“It needs some work done.”

You chuckle as you fix your hold on him. Still in your wedding gown, skin still smelling like the sea, you move impossibly closer to him. You're both winded, but Hobie has sustained more injuries than you and needed more help in standing up straight. “Do you think we should change the name?”

“Love,” he turns his head towards you, his smile almost makes you kiss him right there and then. “I think I've got a few ideas, for now let's get the fuck out of here.”

“Alright— wait, where's Gwen?”

“Here, worry much, landlubber?” She asks on her stretcher. Miles, Pavitr and an unknown blond man carry her.

“Well you were shot, Gwendy, I think I have every right to be worried.”

“I'm fine now, can't even feel a thing!” She smiles and you recognize her state.

“I think that's the medication talking.” You eye the stranger, “and who might you be?”

“Oi,” Hobie points at the man. “You better not cause any trouble Stacy.”

You lightly gasp, finally noticing the resemblance.

“Not planning on causing any, captain.” Gwen's father smiles and gives you a curt nod.

“Can we hurry the chit chat?” Miles groans.

“You telling me I'm too heavy, Morales?” Gwen teases but the fatigue must've taken a toll on Miles as he takes it seriously.

“W-what? Of course not!”

“You calling my daughter heavy?” Her father jokes back. They're father and daughter alright.

“No! Let's just get on the ship.” Miles pouts, you send him a smile, wordlessly giving him your thanks. He shakes his head, hiding his grin in reply.

“Pav!” You call after Pavitr, “tea later?”

He beams at you, happiness almost blinding you. “Hell yeah!” Jaunting happily, he practically skips off, to Gwen's protest, who still lays on the gurney, shakes from his little dance.

Miguel taps your shoulder, Hobie lets you go so you could hug the man.

“Room for one more?” He asks while patting your back.

Leaning away, your eyes widen, smile widening. “What!”

“I meant for Lyla, kid.” Miguel laughs, smile lines appearing.

“Oh, you're not coming with us?” Disappointment is evident in your voice.

“No, sorry. Maybe one day. I've got unfinished business” He holds your shoulders, “you better take care or I'll chase you again.”

“Oh god, don't say that!” You giggle whilst he mirrors your smile. “If you're not coming, then you can have this back.” Taking off the locket, you place it in his rough palms. “A reminder of them,” you close his fingers around the gold. “Besides, I already have his gun. You deserve something of theirs too.”

The sun shines in his eyes. “This was Gabriella’s, she gifted it to your mother when she got sick. It's a family heirloom.”

“She was Gabriella's godmother, wasn't she?”

“Yes, and your father was her godfather.”

You tap his hand. “It's back in the right hands then.”

“Thank you,” Miguel sniffs, neck craning towards Hobie who sits on a crate. “And you,” Hobie dramatically points at himself. “Take care of my goddaughter, or I'll come after you again.”

Hobie, smirks, “aye, aye, admiral.” He mocks a salute.

Miguel shoots you a look, “you sure about that one?”

You gaze at Hobie, your Hobie. “I'm sure.” He winks at you and you wink back.

“God, I gotta let you go before I get sick.” You chortle as Miguel hugs you one last time. Pressing a kiss on the crown of your head, he nods once, staring at your face, seeing his friends’ faces in yours, saying goodbye to the three of you. “Be good, I'll see you in the sea.”

“Looking forward to it, uncle. Don't get caught by the coppers.” He lets you go with a laugh, unhitching his horse and then getting on, he rides off.

Lyla suddenly appears from the dust with a big grin on her face, she carries suitcases upon suitcases in her arms. “Where to, captain?” She asks you.

“Not the captain, he is.” You gesture towards Hobie who doesn't even correct Lyla. He just waves at her with a small shrug.

“I thought whoever owned the boat was the captain, anyway! Off to adventure!” She cackles into the sunset, feet thudding loudly as she hurls all her luggage on the ship. You vaguely hear someone yell ‘who the fuck are you?!’

You ignore it for now, how could you not when Hobie stares at you so sweetly that you prefer this than chocolate?

“She's not wrong y’know.” He says whilst you saunter towards him. Stretching his legs, he gives you space to stand in between them.

“Are you planning on giving me your title, captain?” You tease, sliding your hands up and down his arms. His own is wrapped around your middle, staring up at you with endearment.

“You're already a captain,” you raise an eyebrow, tilting your head. He sighs, so full of love for the woman in his arms. “of my heart—”

“I knew you would say that!” You laugh, feeling like the weight off your shoulders has finally turned into dust. And he feels like the fish bone stuck in his throat is finally gone.

Hobie smiles softly at you, heart shaped grey eyes full of life. “Are you sure about this? Stayin’ I mean.”

You squeeze the back of his neck, already missing how his hair would tickle your palms. But you love him even with his scruffy head. He looks handsome with or without it, you'll never tell him or his ego would implode. At least now you get the pleasure of seeing it grow, you can't help but press a sickeningly sweet kiss atop his head.

The sound of the anchors getting lifted up fills your ears so you lean closer for him to hear your words better.

“I'll stay as long as you want me too.”

“Forever then?”

“Forever.” You kiss the tip of his nose. “Until I'm cold, you can't escape me.”

Hobie has a lopsided smile on his lips, grey eyes aglow with affection. “You're still in your white dress,” you raise an eyebrow. “Y’know what that means—” Lifting you up like a bride, he carries you towards the ship as you yelp and giggle in his arms. “Off to our honeymoon then!”

As the sun sets, you set off to new beginnings. You've found where you belong, you've finally found home.

A/N: And it's done!! Thank you all so much for reading, interacting and genuinely showing your support whether it's by making fanart or sending your thoughts, I'm forever grateful for all of them!! Love you ❤️

Already missing the crew? They'll be back for Between the Devil and the Sea Book 2!! You can check out my ☕ page for a lil sneak peek!

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pin-k-ink · 8 hours

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friction // gojo satoru

tw ⇢ teacher-student relationship, pet names cx i refuse to use y/n any more than necessary, mutual pining, implied age gap, gojo being a fucking tease, mentioned violence and injuries, sexual tension, unprotected sex, fingering, praise kink, dirty talking

wc ⇢ 10.4k

a/n: meh

If looks could kill, Gojo would be dead and buried 6 feet under right now. You glared at him from across the training hall, your eyes narrowed and your jaw clenched tight. The audacity of this man never ceased to amaze you. Just moments ago, he had casually commented on how your technique needed work, followed by a wink and a smirk that made your blood boil.

It wasn't that you didn't appreciate his guidance. Far from it, actually. Gojo was an incredible teacher, with a wealth of knowledge and experience that you could only dream of. His insights and advice had helped you grow tremendously as a jujutsu sorcerer. But sometimes, his teasing remarks and playful attitude made it hard for you to not wish he was dead.

Gojo, for his part, seemed utterly unfazed by your glare. He stood at the other end of the hall, hands tucked into the pockets of his baggy white pants, his signature smile playing on his lips. The fluorescent lights overhead cast a soft glow on his silver hair, making it look even more ethereal than usual.

"What's the matter, beautiful?" he called out, his voice echoing off the high ceilings. "Don't tell me you're giving up already?"

You gritted your teeth, your hands curling into fists at your sides. The nickname, as always, sent a flurry of butterflies through your stomach, but you refused to let it show. You couldn't give him the satisfaction of knowing the effect he had on you.

"Not a chance," you retorted, shifting into a fighting stance. Your feet were shoulder-width apart, your knees slightly bent, ready to spring into action at a moment's notice. "I'll show you just how much my technique has improved."

Gojo's grin widened, his pearly white teeth gleaming in the light. He beckoned you forward with a lazy wave of his hand, as if he couldn't be bothered to take you seriously. "Then by all means," he said, his tone dripping with amusement. "Come at me with everything you've got."

You didn't need to be told twice. With a burst of speed, you lunged forward, your cursed energy crackling around you like a storm. It was a sensation you had grown accustomed to over the years - the tingling in your fingertips, the rush of power surging through your veins. You channeled that energy into your fists as you threw punch after punch, kick after kick, each one infused with all the frustration and determination that had been building up inside you.

But Gojo was too fast, too skilled. He dodged and weaved around your attacks like they were nothing, his movements fluid and graceful. It was like trying to catch smoke with your bare hands. Every now and then, he would reach out and tap you on the shoulder or the hip, a light touch that sent shivers down your spine and made you lose your focus.

You gritted your teeth, pushing yourself harder. Sweat beaded on your forehead and trickled down the back of your neck, but you barely noticed. All you could focus on was the man in front of you, the infuriating smile on his face, the way he made everything look so effortless.

After what felt like an eternity, you finally stumbled back, your chest heaving and your face flushed with exertion. Your muscles burned with fatigue, and your lungs felt like they were on fire. Gojo, on the other hand, looked as calm and collected as ever, not a hair out of place.

"Not bad," he said, his tone teasing. He walked towards you, his footsteps echoing in the empty hall. "But you're still relying too much on brute force. You need to learn to control your cursed energy, to use it with precision and finesse."

You let out a frustrated huff, blowing a strand of hair out of your face. It was a criticism you had heard before, and one that never failed to get under your skin. "I know," you muttered, looking away. "I'm trying."

Gojo's expression softened, and he took another step towards you. He was close now, close enough that you could feel the heat radiating off his body. "Hey," he said, his voice gentle. "I know you are. And you're making progress, even if it doesn't always feel like it."

He reached out and tucked the loose strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering on your cheek for just a moment too long. Your breath caught in your throat, your heart pounding in your chest as his fingers moved a bit lower, gently tilting your head up towards him. His touch was electric, sending sparks of sensation across your skin.

"Keep practicing," Gojo murmured, his eyes locked on yours. Even through the blindfold, you could feel the intensity of his gaze. "And don't be afraid to ask for help when you need it. I'm always here for you, pretty."

You swallowed hard, your mouth suddenly dry. The nickname, combined with the low timbre of his voice and the way his fingers curled around your jaw, made your knees feel weak. It was a feeling you had grown all too familiar with over the months you had spent training with Gojo - a heady mix of attraction and frustration, desire and irritation.

With a final, lingering touch, Gojo pulled away, his hand dropping back to his side. He turned and walked away, leaving you standing there with your mind reeling and your skin tingling from his touch. You watched him go, your lips parted and your heart racing.

It was moments like these that made you question everything you thought you knew about your relationship with Gojo. He was your teacher, your mentor, the person who pushed you to be better every single day. But he was also something more, something that made your pulse quicken and your palms sweat.

You shook your head, trying to clear your thoughts. You couldn't afford to get distracted, not now. There was too much at stake, too much you still had to learn. With a sigh, you turned back to the training dummy in the corner of the room, ready to start again.

Days turned into weeks, and you threw yourself into your training with a renewed sense of purpose. You spent long hours in the training hall, perfecting your techniques and honing your skills. When you weren't training, you were out on missions, putting your abilities to the test in the real world.

It was during one of these missions that things took a turn for the worse. You had been tasked with taking down a particularly nasty curse, one that had been terrorizing a small village on the outskirts of Tokyo. It should have been a routine mission, something you had done a hundred times before.

But you had underestimated the curse's strength, and it had caught you off guard. One moment you were on the offensive, your cursed energy pulsing through your veins. The next, you were on the ground, your body battered and bruised, your vision swimming with pain.

You don't remember much of what happened next. There were flashes of light, the sound of shouting, the feeling of strong arms lifting you up and carrying you away. When you finally came to, you were back at the school, lying in a bed in the infirmary.

Gojo was there, sitting by your bedside. He looked haggard, his hair disheveled and his clothes rumpled. When he saw that you were awake, he leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees.

"You gave us quite a scare there, beautiful," he said, his voice hoarse. "What were you thinking, taking on that curse alone?"

You winced, both at the nickname and the accusation in his tone. "I didn't have a choice," you said, your voice weak. "It was going to hurt those people. I had to do something."

Gojo sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I know," he said, his voice softening. "But you can't keep putting yourself in danger like that. You're not invincible, you know."

You couldn't help but smile at that. "Look who's talking," you teased, your voice still weak but with a hint of your usual snark. "Mr. 'Strongest Jujutsu Sorcerer' himself."

Gojo chuckled, shaking his head. "Fair enough," he said, leaning back in his chair. "But I mean it, you know. You need to be more careful out there."

You nodded, your gaze dropping to your hands. They were bandaged, the white gauze stark against your skin. "I know," you said softly. "I'm sorry for worrying you."

Gojo reached out, his hand covering yours. The warmth of his touch seeped into your skin, chasing away the chill that seemed to have settled into your bones. "Just promise me you'll be more careful from now on," he said, his voice low and intense. "I don't know what I would do if anything happened to you."

Your heart skipped a beat at his words, and you looked up, your eyes meeting his. There was something in his gaze, something that made your breath catch in your throat. It was a look you had seen before, in stolen moments and lingering glances. But this time, there was no mistaking the emotion behind it.

Before you could say anything, a knock at the door startled you both. Gojo pulled his hand away, and you felt the loss of his touch like a physical ache. He stood up, clearing his throat.

"I should let you get some rest," he said, his voice back to its usual nonchalant tone. "I'll check on you later, okay?"

You nodded, watching as he walked towards the door. Just before he left, he turned back, his gaze locking with yours one last time.

"Remember what I said, pretty," he said, his voice soft but firm. "Be careful out there. I need you to come back to me in one piece."

With that, he was gone, leaving you alone with your thoughts and the memory of his touch. You leaned back against the pillows, your eyes drifting shut. Despite the pain and the exhaustion, you couldn't help but smile.

Because even though things were complicated, even though there were a million reasons why you shouldn't feel the way you did, you knew one thing for certain. Gojo cared about you, more than just as a student or a colleague. And that knowledge, warm and bright and shining, was enough to chase away the darkness, at least for a little while.

It was a few days before you were cleared to leave the infirmary, your wounds healing slowly but steadily. Gojo had been a constant presence during your recovery, stopping by to check on you whenever he had a spare moment. He would bring you books and snacks, regaling you with stories of his own misadventures as a young sorcerer.

But as much as you enjoyed his company, you couldn't shake the feeling that something had shifted between you. There was a new tension in the air, a crackling energy that made your skin prickle whenever he was near. You found yourself watching him more closely, taking in the way his muscles moved beneath his clothes, the way his lips curved when he smiled.

It was maddening, this newfound awareness of him. You tried to push it down, to focus on your recovery and your training. But it was always there, simmering just beneath the surface.

Which is why, when Gojo barged into your room one morning, you nearly jumped out of your skin. You had been in the middle of getting dressed, your sleep shirt halfway over your head when the door slammed open.

"Rise and shine, beautiful!" Gojo called out, his voice far too cheerful for the early hour. "Time to get back to training!"

You yelped, yanking your shirt down and whirling around to face him. "Gojo!" you shouted, your face flushed with embarrassment and anger. "What the hell? Can't you knock like a normal person?"

But Gojo just grinned, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed over his chest. "Where's the fun in that?" he teased, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Besides, it's not like I haven't seen it all before."

Your jaw dropped, and you sputtered indignantly. "What are you talking about? You haven't seen anything!"

Gojo just shrugged, pushing off the doorframe and sauntering into your room. "If you say so," he said, his voice dripping with amusement. "But I seem to recall a certain someone forgetting to wear a bra to training last week."

You felt your face heat up even more, and you crossed your arms over your chest self-consciously. "That was an accident!" you protested, your voice coming out higher than you intended. "I was in a hurry and I forgot!"

Gojo chuckled, shaking his head. "Sure, sure," he said, his tone making it clear that he didn't believe you for a second. "Whatever you say, pretty."

You glared at him, your eyes narrowed. "Don't call me that," you snapped, your voice tight with anger. "I have a name, you know."

Gojo's grin only widened, and he took a step closer to you. "I know," he said, his voice low and intimate. "But I like calling you pretty. It suits you."

You swallowed hard, your heart pounding in your chest. He was so close now, close enough that you could feel the heat of his body, the brush of his breath against your skin. Your gaze flicked down to his lips, and you felt a sudden, overwhelming urge to close the distance between you, to taste him and feel him and-

Suddenly, Gojo's hands were on your shoulders, and you were being spun around. You yelped in surprise as he pushed you towards the door, his grip firm but gentle.

"As much as I'd love to continue this conversation," he said, his voice strained and a little breathless, "we have work to do. Meet me in the library in ten minutes. And don't be late, or else there will be consequences."

With that, he was gone, leaving you standing in the middle of your room with your heart racing and your skin tingling. You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. It was going to be a long day, you could already tell.

Ten minutes later, you walked into the library, your footsteps echoing on the polished wood floor. Gojo was already there, seated at one of the long tables with a stack of books and papers in front of him. He looked up as you approached, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

"There you are," he said, his voice warm and teasing. "I was starting to think you weren't coming."

You rolled your eyes, dropping into the seat across from him. "I'm not that late," you grumbled, pulling one of the books towards you. "What are we working on today?"

Gojo pushed a sheet of paper towards you, his fingers brushing against yours as he did so. "Your essay on cursed techniques," he said, his voice taking on a more serious tone. "I've made some notes on areas that need improvement."

You nodded, your eyes scanning the page. Gojo's handwriting was neat and precise, his comments and suggestions written in the margins. You felt a swell of pride as you read through them, noting the things you had done well and the things you needed to work on.

For the next few hours, you worked in companionable silence, the only sound the scratching of pens on paper and the turning of pages. Every now and then, Gojo would lean over to point out something in one of the books, his shoulder brushing against yours as he did so. Each time, you felt a jolt of electricity run through you, a shiver of something that had nothing to do with the chill of the library.

As the hours ticked by, you felt your eyelids growing heavy, your head nodding forward. You had been up late the night before, studying for an upcoming exam, and the lack of sleep was catching up with you. You tried to focus on the words in front of you, but they seemed to swim and blur on the page.

Suddenly, you felt gentle fingers curl around the back of your neck, and you blinked your eyes open. Gojo was leaning over you, his face soft with concern. "Hey," he said, his voice low and soothing. "Why don't you take a break? You look exhausted."

You shook your head, sitting up straighter in your chair. "I'm fine," you said, your voice thick with sleep. "I need to finish this chapter."

But Gojo just shook his head, his hand still on your nape, his thumb absently rubbing your skin. "It can wait," he said firmly. "You need to rest. Here, why don't you put your head down for a bit? I'll wake you up in a little while."

You wanted to protest, to insist that you were fine. But the warmth of his hand on your skin, the gentle pressure of his fingers, was too much to resist. With a sigh, you nodded, lowering your head onto your folded arms.

As your eyes drifted shut, you felt Gojo's hand move from your neck to your hair, his fingers carding through the strands. It was a soothing motion, gentle and rhythmic, and you felt yourself sinking deeper into sleep with each passing moment.

As Gojo watched you sleep, he felt a profound sense of peace wash over him. It was a rare thing for him, to feel so content, so at ease. But something about your presence, the gentle rise and fall of your chest, the soft curve of your lips, made all the troubles of the world seem to fade away.

Unable to help himself, he reached out, his fingertips ghosting over the delicate skin of your face. He traced the slope of your nose, marveling at the smoothness, the perfect symmetry. His touch was feather-light, a whisper of sensation, but even so, he felt a thrill run through him at the contact.

His fingers drifted lower, skimming over the soft swell of your cheeks, the strong line of your jaw. And then, almost of their own accord, they came to rest on your lips.

Gojo's breath caught in his throat as he felt the plush fullness of your mouth beneath his fingertips. Your lips were slightly parted, soft and inviting, and he felt a sudden, overwhelming urge to lean down and capture them with his own.

He imagined how it would feel, to press his lips against yours, to taste the sweetness of your breath. He wondered if you would sigh into the kiss, if you would reach up to tangle your fingers in his hair and pull him closer.

The thought sent a shiver down his spine, a heat pooling in his belly. He had kissed countless people before, had experienced pleasure in all its myriad forms. But somehow, he knew that kissing you would be different. It would be a revelation, a moment of perfect clarity in a world that so often seemed shrouded in shadow.

His thumb brushed over your bottom lip, a ghost of a touch, and he heard you sigh softly in your sleep. The sound was like a siren's call, tempting him, beckoning him closer.

But even as the desire surged through him, hot and insistent, Gojo knew he couldn't act on it. Not now, not like this. You were his student, entrusted to his care, and to take advantage of that trust would be a betrayal of the highest order.

And so, with a herculean effort, he pulled his hand away, clenching it into a fist at his side. He took a deep breath, then another, trying to calm the pounding of his heart, the rush of his blood in his veins.

Minutes ticked by, then hours, and still Gojo sat by your side, his hand resting gently on your back. He knew he should wake you, send you back to your room to rest properly, but he couldn't bring himself to disturb your slumber.

Finally, as the sun began to set outside the library windows, Gojo knew he couldn't let you sleep any longer. Carefully, he gathered you into his arms, cradling you against his chest as he stood.

You stirred slightly, your eyes fluttering open. "Sensei?" you murmured, your voice thick with sleep. "What's happening?"

"Shh," he soothed, his voice low and gentle. "It's alright. You fell asleep while we were studying. I'm just taking you back to your room so you can rest."

You hummed softly, your eyes drifting shut again as you nestled closer to his warmth. Gojo felt his heart skip a beat at the trust in that simple gesture, the way you curled into him as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

He carried you through the quiet halls of the school, his footsteps echoing softly on the polished floors. A few students passed by, their eyes widening at the sight of their teacher carrying a sleeping student, but Gojo paid them no mind. All that mattered was getting you to your room, making sure you were safe and comfortable.

When he reached your door, he shifted you slightly in his arms, freeing one hand to turn the knob. The room was dark and quiet, the only sound the soft whisper of your breath against his neck.

Gently, Gojo laid you down on your bed, pulling the covers up over your shoulders. You sighed softly, your face turning into the pillow, and he felt a rush of affection so strong it nearly took his breath away.

For a long moment, he simply stood there, watching you sleep. He knew he should leave, knew that staying any longer would be inappropriate. But he couldn't seem to tear himself away, couldn't stop himself from reaching out to brush one last strand of hair from your face.

"Sweet dreams, pretty," he whispered, his voice so low he wasn't sure you would hear it. "I'll see you in the morning."

With that, he turned and slipped out of your room, closing the door softly behind him. His heart was racing in his chest, his mind whirling with thoughts and feelings he couldn't quite name.

But one thing was clear, as clear as the memory of your warmth in his arms, the softness of your skin beneath his fingertips. He was falling for you, hard and fast and irrevocably. And though he knew it was wrong, knew that he shouldn't feel the way he did, he couldn't seem to stop himself.

All he could do was hope that somehow, someday, you might feel the same way too.

The next day, you found yourself back in the training hall with Gojo, your heart still fluttering madly at the memory of his gentle touch as he carried you to bed. You tried to push those dangerously tempting thoughts aside and focus on honing your cursed techniques - but Gojo, it seemed, had other ideas.

From the moment you stepped into the hall, he was on you, teasing and taunting, pushing your buttons in all the ways he knew so well. He corrected your stances with lingering touches, his breath hot against your ear as he leaned in close to adjust your posture.

"Come on, beautiful," he purred, voice low and intimate. "You can do better than that. Show me what you're really made of."

You gritted your teeth, frustration mounting with each passing moment. It was hard enough to concentrate with him invading your space, his presence an electric current setting your nerve-endings alight. But as he kept goading you, pushing and pushing until you felt like screaming, something inside you finally snapped.

With a growl of unadulterated rage, you lunged at him, hands outstretched to grab him by his shirt. Gojo's eyes widened in surprise but he didn't dodge, letting you tackle him to the mats, your body pinning his down.

For a charged moment, you could only stare at each other, chests heaving. You were suddenly hyperaware of every point of contact - the press of his strong thighs between yours, the firmness of his abdomen, the intoxicating heat radiating off him. His muscles flexed as he shifted slightly but made no move to throw you off.

He breathed your name like a prayer on his lips. "What are you doing...?"

Blinking, you came back to yourself, a hot flush creeping up your neck as you realized the position you were in. Straddling your teacher, hands fisted in his clothes, faces inches apart... Mortified, you tried to scramble off him, only for his hands to tighten around your hips, keeping you on top of him.

"I-I'm so sorry," you stammered, refusing to meet his eyes. "I don't know what came over me. I shouldn't have let my emotions get the best of me like that."

But Gojo just sat up slowly, gently letting you slide down his stomach and onto his lap as he waved off your apology. "It's alright. I pushed you too hard. I know how much your training means to you."

Glancing up, you found him watching you with a soft, almost vulnerable expression that made your heart clench painfully. He reached out, hand cupping your cheek and tilting your face up to his blindfolded one.

"You have nothing to be sorry for. You're doing your best and that's all anyone can ask. I'm proud of you."

Hearing those words in his deep baritone, you felt emotion welling up, threatening to spill over. Throat tight, you managed a weak smile, leaning into his touch briefly before sliding out of his lap.

"Thank you, Sensei. I think I'm done for today though. I need some time to clear my head and refocus."

His hand fell away reluctantly but he nodded in understanding, rising fluidly to his feet and offering you a hand up. You allowed him to pull you up, hyperaware of the way his long fingers wrapped around yours, the rough calluses from years of fighting scraping pleasantly along your skin.

"Of course. Take all the time you need. And remember, I'm here if you ever want to talk. Or not talk." He shot you a playful wink.

Rolling your eyes fondly, you thanked him again before beating a hasty retreat from the quickly shrinking training room. You felt his heavy gaze on your back the entire way out.

The next few days passed in a blur of intense focus. You threw yourself into your studies, determined to master new techniques and grow stronger. But no matter how hard you concentrated, Gojo lingered at the edges of your thoughts, a phantom touch ghosting along your cheek.

He remained an inescapable presence even outside of training - "accidentally" brushing against you in the halls, showing up at the library during your study sessions, barging into your room unannounced at all hours. His teasing and flirting ratcheted up to nearly unbearable levels now that he knew the depths of his effect on you.

And lord, but you wanted nothing more than to give in, to grab him by his stupid collar and kiss that infuriating smirk right off his face. However, you couldn't let your desires interfere with your duties. The world of jujutsu was dangerous and letting yourself get distracted could mean death for you or innocent civilians.

So you grit your teeth and endured his antics, ignoring the knowing gleam in his eyes and the heat pooling in your core whenever he shot you a particularly roguish grin. You had to be strong, to remember your place as his student.

Even if every fiber of your being ached to be so much more.

Matters finally came to a head one rainy afternoon during an advanced technique lesson. Soaked to the bone and exhausted from hours of practice, you found yourself pinned to the mats yet again, Gojo's knee pressing into your thigh as he loomed over you.

Blowing a damp lock of hair out of your face, you scowled up at him petulantly. "Okay, I get it. I over extended on that last kick. No need to rub it in."

But he made no move to release you, head cocked slightly as if deep in thought. There was an odd tension in his frame that hadn't been there a moment ago. "Gojo...?"

His gaze snapped back to you, unseen eyes boring into yours with startling intensity. Without warning, his free hand came up, thumb tracing along your lower lip in a slow drag that left you trembling.

Your mouth parted on a shocked gasp just as he leaned down, lips brushing the shell of your ear in a ghost of a touch. "You have no idea what you do to me. How badly I want to ruin you."

And then he was gone, leaving you splayed across the floor, body throbbing and mind reeling. By the time you gathered your wits enough to sit up, the training room door was already swinging shut behind his retreating back.

Staggering to your feet, you headed for the showers in a daze, thoughts a chaotic whirlwind. Did Gojo really feel the same way you did? Was he implying what you thought?

No. You shook your head, sending droplets flying. Indulging in this fantasy would only end in heartbreak. He couldn't possibly return your feelings. More likely this was another strategy to fluster and throw you off balance. Just a new twist in your increasingly dangerous game.

Still, you couldn't stop the tiny kernel of hope from taking root in your chest as you let the scalding spray beat down on you, imagining elegant fingers tangling in your hair instead.

Dangerous game indeed.

A few days later, you found yourself back in the training hall again, feeling more centered and focused than you had in a long time. You went through your usual warm-up routine, stretching your muscles and getting your blood flowing.

As you bent forward to touch your toes, you heard a low whistle of appreciation from behind you. Glancing over your shoulder, you saw Gojo leaning against the wall, arms crossed over his chest and a smirk playing on his lips. His gaze raked slowly up your body, taking in every curve and plane, and you felt a shiver run down your spine at the blatant desire in his eyes.

"Well, well, well," he drawled, voice rich with amusement. "Looks like someone's been hiding a secret talent. I had no idea you were so...flexible."

You straightened up, turning to face him fully. The air between you practically crackled with tension as you met his gaze head-on, refusing to back down from the challenge in his tone. "There's a lot you don't know about me, sensei," you said, voice low and teasing.

Gojo pushed off the wall, stalking towards you with a predatory gleam in his eye. "Is that so?" he murmured, stopping just shy of touching you. "Well then, maybe it's time for a private lesson. Just you and me, working on your flexibility."

Your heart stuttered at the implication, desire licking through your veins like wildfire. But you forced yourself to keep a coy smile in place, unwilling to let him fluster you so easily. "I don't know, sensei," you purred. "Do you think you can handle me?"

His answering grin was positively wicked as he leaned in close, breath fanning hotly over your ear. "Oh, beautiful," he purred back, "I think the real question is, can you handle me?"

Before you could formulate a response, Gojo was guiding you into a new stretch, hands firm on your hips as he positioned you. The heat of his touch seared through the thin material of your clothes and you bit your lip harshly, fighting back a whimper.

He led you through a series of increasingly challenging poses, hands roaming your body under the guise of deepening each stretch. You arched into his touch, skin burning everywhere he made contact, desire clouding your mind until all you could focus on was the low rasp of his voice in your ear and the delicious ache building between your thighs.

At one point, he had you bent nearly in half, chest pressed to the floor with your legs splayed out in a side split. Gojo knelt behind you, hands kneading your lower back as he urged you to sink deeper. "That's it," he murmured, "Just a little further. You're doing so good for me, pretty."

The praise ran through you like a live current, sparking along every nerve and setting you ablaze. You could feel the solid heat of him at your back and had to choke back a moan, fingers curling uselessly against the mats.

Just as you thought you might actually combust from the tension, Gojo eased you up, hands gentle on your waist as he helped you stand. "I think that's enough for today," he said softly, though the roughness of his voice belied his innocent expression. "You did great. I'm proud of you."

You managed a shaky nod, not trusting yourself to speak around the lump in your throat. He was so close, radiating warmth and barely leashed power, the clean scent of him filling your lungs until you felt dizzy with it.

For a suspended moment, you both stood frozen, lost in the gravity of everything left unsaid. Your eyes traced the strong line of his jaw, the tempting curve of his lips. When his tongue darted out to wet them, your self-control nearly snapped then and there.

But Gojo stepped back before you could do something foolish, putting much-needed distance between your bodies. "I'll see you tomorrow, [Y/N]," he said, casual and cheerful once more. "Get some rest, okay? You've earned it."

With that, he turned on his heel and sauntered off, hands tucked in his pockets. You watched him go, equal parts frustrated and relieved. These stolen moments were getting harder and harder to write off as simple teasing between teacher and student.

How much longer could you keep dancing around this inferno threatening to consume you both? Sooner or later, something would have to give. You only hoped you'd survive the fallout.

Sighing, you gathered your things and headed for the showers, resolutely ignoring the persistent ache low in your stomach. Tonight would be another long one with only your fantasies for company.

The joint mission a few weeks later was grueling, both physically and emotionally. Tracking down the malevolent curse spirit took every ounce of skill and power you possessed, pushing you to your limits and then some. But in the end, you emerged victorious - if a bit worse for wear.

Stumbling into the hotel lobby, you barely registered Gojo handling the check-in process, too focused on remaining vertical. Every muscle screamed in protest and your clothes were caked in dirt, blood, and things you'd rather not think about.

It wasn't until you were standing outside the room that his words finally sank in. "I'm sorry," you said, blinking hard. "Did you say there's only one bed?"

Gojo shrugged, looking entirely too unconcerned. "Yep. Apparently they messed up the reservation. But hey, I'm sure we can make do. We're both adults, right?"

He shot you a pointed look over his shoulder as he unlocked the door, lips quirking up slightly at your gaping expression. Before you could formulate a response, he was ushering you inside the lavish suite.

You froze just over the threshold, eyes widening at the sight before you. Plush carpet, elegant furnishings, a bed big enough to fit five people - it was easily the nicest room you'd ever stepped foot in. But all you could focus on was that single, massive bed dominating the space.

Gojo, however, wasted no time making himself at home. In a few long strides, he crossed the room and flopped backward onto the sinfully soft-looking comforter, spreading his arms out with a contented sigh.

"Ah, this is more like it! Way better than those stiff dorm cots, don't you think?"

Forcing your gaze away from the distracting stretch of his body, you gave a noncommittal hum, edging further into the room. The door swung shut with an ominous click, sealing you in with the one person you simultaneously most and least wanted to be alone with.

Dragging your eyes back to Gojo, you fought down a shiver at the blatant invitation in his posture, the teasing curl of his lips. With his rumpled hair and half-lidded eyes, he looked like pure sin sprawled out on the bed, begging to be debauched.

"Well? Aren't you going to join me?" He patted the space beside him. "There's plenty of room for two."

Your heart threatened to beat out of your chest at the implication, mouth going bone dry. This was dangerous territory - you were exhausted and aching, defenses worn down to nothing. If you lay beside him now...

Scrambling for some semblance of composure, you cleared your throat and looked away, deliberately casual. "Actually, I was thinking we should probably get some sleep. Separate sleep. It's been a long day."

The pout Gojo leveled at you was downright deadly, plush bottom lip enticing you to catch it between your teeth. "Aw, c'mon beautiful! The night's still young. And we've got this big, empty room all to ourselves..." He trailed off meaningfully.

Flushing, you turned your back on him completely, rummaging through your bag for something to sleep in. "I don't know, sensei. What exactly did you have in mind?"

In a blink, strong arms wrapped around your waist from behind, pulling you back into his firm chest. You gasped, nearly choking on air when his lips brushed teasingly over your ear. "Come here and I'll show you," he purred, hands settling low on your hips.

You settled down beside Gojo on the plush hotel bed, your heart fluttering nervously in your chest. The mattress dipped slightly under your combined weight as you perched on the edge, trying to maintain a respectable distance. For a long moment, you simply sat there in charged silence, acutely aware of his presence mere inches away. You could feel the heat radiating off his body, hear the soft rustling of fabric as he shifted almost imperceptibly closer.

Gojo's face was unreadable behind his ever-present blindfold, but you swore you could feel the intensity of his gaze raking over you, taking in every detail. The air practically crackled with unspoken tension, the space between you ripe with possibility. Your own eyes drifted unbidden to his lips, tracing the curve of that infamous smirk. What would it feel like, you wondered, to lean in and finally taste it for yourself? Your breath quickened at the thought.

Just as you gathered the courage to break the stalemate, Gojo's hands shot out lightning-quick, long fingers finding the sensitive spots along your ribs. An undignified yelp escaped your throat as you squirmed away, body instinctively curling in on itself even as surprised laughter bubbled up.

"Gojo!" you gasped between breathless giggles and half-hearted swats, "What are you doing?"

His grin only widened, eyes glinting with mischief behind dark lashes.

"Just trying to liven things up a bit," he replied, voice dropping to a low, playful register that sent shivers down your spine. "You looked like you could use a little fun."

Two could play at that game. Narrowing your eyes in mock outrage, a wicked idea suddenly struck. "Oh, is that so?" you purred, saccharine sweet. "Well then, sensei, prepare yourself."

Quick as a flash, your hand darted out to snatch a downy pillow and, with a mighty swing, you brought it crashing over his silver head in a magnificent explosion of feathers. His shocked bark of laughter was muffled by the impromptu weapon as you pressed your advantage, raining down fluffy blows.

Thus began the most epic pillow fight to ever grace the luxury suite. You traded volleys back and forth, a whirlwind of flying bedding and unrestrained glee. Propriety utterly abandoned, you rolled about in a graceless tangle of limbs, each trying to gain the upper hand. Your cheeks hurt from grinning, lungs burning with giddy exertion.

In that stolen moment, you weren't teacher and student, sorcerer and subordinate. You were just two young, bright souls, reveling in a reprieve from the darkness constantly nipping at your heels. Here, now, nothing existed beyond this room and the carefree laughter ringing between you.

An eternity later, chest heaving, you finally collapsed side by side in the carnage, utterly spent. Glancing over, you took in Gojo's flushed, boyish face, usually perfectly coifed hair in complete disarray, a smattering of errant feathers clinging stubbornly to the wild silver tufts. Something warm and fluttering took roost behind your breastbone at the sight.

Basking in the afterglow, it took you a moment to register your compromising position - sprawled on your back, body pressed along the solid line of his, faces scant inches apart. His arm draped loosely across your middle felt unnaturally heavy, intimate.

For a single, suspended second, you forgot how to breathe, drowning instead in this strange new awareness buzzing just beneath your skin. Gojo seemed similarly affected, features slipping into something contemplative and tender as elegant fingers traitorously began tracing delicate patterns over the exposed sliver of hip where your shirt had ridden up. You shivered at the whisper-soft touch.

"Gojo," you breathed, barely audible over the roaring in your ears.

"Shh," he hushed you gently, hand coming to rest soothingly at your waist. "It's okay, pretty. Just relax."

And then, rather than pressing the burgeoning tension simmering between you, he tugged you closer into the shelter of his arms, tucking your head beneath his chin. The embrace was chaste, devoid of ulterior motive, and yet all the more earth-shattering for it. Closing your eyes, you let yourself sink into his steadying warmth, lulled by the rhythmic drumming of his heartbeat against your cheek.

A huge yawn suddenly overtook you, eyelids growing heavy. The adrenaline of the day was quickly seeping away, leaving pleasant exhaustion in its wake. "Get some sleep," Gojo murmured into your hair, voice rumbling through his chest. "I'll be right here if you need me."

And though your racing thoughts screamed that you shouldn't, that this was toeing a dangerous line, you couldn't find it in yourself to care. Surrounded by comfort and safety, bonelessly relaxed in a way you so rarely allowed yourself, you drifted off into a dreamless slumber, content in the knowledge that he would guard you through the night.

The next morning, however, you awoke alone, the space beside you long since grown cold. Disappointment and uncertainty churned in your gut, cheeks aflame with embarrassment. Had you simply imagined the intimacy of the previous evening? Mistaken a meaningless moment of pity for something more? With a groan, you buried your burning face into the pillow.

It was only when you rolled over that you spotted it - a folded square of hotel stationery perched neatly on the nightstand. With trembling fingers, you retrieved the note, heart pounding as you unfolded it to reveal Gojo's elegant scrawl.

"Had to run out for a bit," it read. "See you back at the school. Sweet dreams, beautiful."

A broad, silly grin split your cheeks as you traced reverent fingertips over the words, lingering on the private endearment. Clutched to your chest like a talisman, you fell back onto the bed with a giddy sigh, staring up at the ceiling with stars in your eyes. Your smile never wavered the entire trip home.

A few weeks later, you found yourself standing morosely in Gojo's apartment kitchen, every available surface covered with an explosion of baking supplies. It was a dizzying array of flour, sugar, chocolate, fruit - everything you'd need to whip up an impressive assortment of mouth-watering desserts.

Unfortunately, this wasn't some cozy bonding activity - it was a punishment. After your abject failure on a recent mission, Gojo had been understandably livid. His normally unflappable composure had fractured, revealing the sheer depth of his terror and concern.

The cursed object you'd gone after solo was more dangerous than anticipated and you'd been severely injured in the ensuing scuffle. "How could you be so reckless?" he'd demanded, voice ragged with some unnameable emotion. "You could have been killed. Do you have any idea how that would have made me feel?"

Shame had burned through you like acid, head bowed under the weight of his agonized stare. "I'm sorry, sensei," you'd mumbled, fighting back the sting of tears. "I didn't mean to let you down."

Running a hand through his wild silver locks, Gojo had deflated slightly. "I know you didn't," he'd sighed, "but you need to be more careful. I can't lose you, pretty."

Your heart had stuttered at the raw admission, eyes wide and disbelieving as you'd finally met his gaze. But he'd looked away before you could respond, expression closing off into something unreadable once more.

That's how you'd ended up here, consigned to a grueling weekend of non-stop baking. "And I expect nothing short of perfection," he'd declared with that familiar smirk. "Since you're so determined to waste your talents, we're going to put them to the test."

Countless hours in and you were ready to well and truly throttle him. He hadn't been content to simply observe your cake-fueled toil, oh no - he'd posted up in the kitchen alongside you, providing a ceaseless stream of 'helpful suggestions' in that low, melodic drawl.

Whisk clattering into the mixing bowl, you slapped an indignant hand over your mouth to muffle a traitorous whimper as Gojo materialized at your back. His chest pressed flush to your spine, breath curling sinfully around the shell of your ear as he bent to examine your handiwork. "Make sure you cream the butter and sugar together really well," he purred, palm skimming down to rest at the small of your back. "Nice and slow, just like that."

Squeezing your eyes shut, you prayed to any merciful god that he'd attribute your full-body shiver to the chill of the refrigerator still wafting over your overheated skin. And lord have mercy, his hands - those long, dexterous fingers you'd spent far too many lonely nights imagining on your body were definitely, unequivocally sliding down to grip your hips, thumbs tracing maddening circles over the jut of bone through your thin leggings.

A sharp inhale had you glancing over, catching him in the act of slipping a digit into the mixing bowl for an illicit taste. He made a low sound of approval as he brought it to his lips, tongue peeking out to swipe broad strokes over the creamy coating. "Mmm, delicious," he sighed, hooded eyes ensnaring yours. "But I bet it would taste even better off of you."

You sucked in a sharp breath, the very air seeming to thicken with tension as Gojo's darkening gaze bored into yours. Before you could so much as form a coherent thought, his hand whipped out to capture your wrist in an unforgiving grip. Calloused fingertips skated over your knuckles before tugging your hand towards his mouth with agonizing slowness.

Heart pounding wildly, you could only look on in rapt fascination as he purposefully dragged the pad of your sugar-dusted index finger between the plush seam of his lips. The soft, lived warmth of his mouth engulfed the very tip as his eyelids fluttered in apparent rapture. An embarrassingly needy whimper punched its way past your constricted throat at the erotic display.

Gojo's stare remained locked on yours as his tongue slowly unfurled, swiping in languid, maddening stripes to lave up the sticky-sweet trail. You watched, transfixed, as his cheeks hollowed minutely on each indulgent suckle. The bolt of molten, aching want that lanced straight to your core was dizzying in its intensity, leaving you flushed and swaying dazedly into his solid frame.

When at last he released your fingertip with one final, lingering lap of his rough tongue, the tortured sound he dragged from your parted lips bordered on the obscene.

Suddenly, the once-spacious kitchen felt stiflingly small, air too hot and heavy to pull into your lungs. Unbidden, your gaze darted down to trace his mouth, lingering on the sheen of saliva clinging to his plush lower lip. What would it be like, you wondered wildly, to surge up on your toes and lick it off? To finally give into the temptation that had plagued you since that night in the hotel room and discover if he tasted as sinful as he looked?

It was only when his smirk widened into a full-blown Cheshire grin that you realized you'd been caught staring like a dog with its tongue lolling out. Heat rapidly flooded your cheeks as you whipped back around, praying to spontaneously combust on the spot. A ghost of a touch through your hair had you swallowing harshly, fingers white-knuckled against the edge of the countertop. You could practically feel the path of his gaze as it dragged up the rigid line of your spine but you refused to turn, terrified of what he might see written across your face were you to meet his eyes right now.

The press of lips just behind your ear had you jerking, an embarrassing squeak punching out of your throat. "Good girl," he rumbled, and the blatant satisfaction in his voice made you want to drown yourself in the bowl of egg whites you'd just finished whisking within an inch of its life. "I knew you had it in you."

Gritting your teeth, you forced yourself to focus on the task at hand, losing yourself in the soothing monotony of measuring, mixing and portioning out heaping trays of dough into uniform spheres. Soon enough, you found yourself pleasantly adrift in the familiar haze of concentration that came with long hours in the kitchen. The sweet scent of vanilla and cinnamon filled your senses as you bustled about from oven to oven, carefully monitoring pans of cookies and intricate latticed pies.

Lulled into complacency by the peaceful atmosphere, you never even heard Gojo sneak up until large palms were wrapping securely around your waist, tugging your back into the solid heat of his chest. Blinking sluggishly, you glanced down at the thick pot of bubbling caramel you'd been methodically stirring moments before.

"Careful, pretty," he chided gently, maneuvering the spoon to the far edges where a few darker swirls were beginning to creep in. "Don't let it burn."

Only when he was certain you wouldn't scald yourself or ruin the batch did he release you, though not without a teasing little squeeze that had your cheeks coloring all over again.

By the time the last tray finally emerged from the oven, golden and steaming, you were dangerously close to faceplanting right into your latest culinary creation. Gojo eased the spoon from your cramping hand, brows furrowed as he scrutinized your slumped posture.

"Hey," he prompted gently, "You okay, beautiful?"

Too exhausted to bother fudging the truth, you shook your head, fighting to keep your drooping lids from sliding shut altogether. "Just tired," you yawned, "Guess it really has been a long day."

Something soft flashed across Gojo's face then, gone too quickly to properly parse. Large hands settled on your hips as he turned you to face him fully, head cocked assessingly. After apparently coming to some silent conclusion, he bent at the knees and, without warning, hoisted you up onto the countertop in one fluid movement, fingers pressing against your hips.

"Rest," he commanded, cutting off your half-hearted protest with a stern look. Long fingers carded adoringly through your hair, brushing stray strands back from your clammy forehead. You nearly purred at the soothing contact, lashes fluttering wildly against your cheeks.

When he shifted to pull back, one of your hands shot out of its own accord, fisting in the front of his shirt to tug him stumbling into the bracket of your thighs. Wide eyes locked on his, so close you swore you could see a ring of silver around those striking pools of blue. For a charged moment, the only sound was your shared breathing and the faint bubble of cooling caramel on the stovetop.

A muscle ticked in Gojo's jaw and then he was leaning in, the warm brush of lips at your temple practically scorching in its tenderness. "I'll finish up here," he promised in a rough whisper before disentangling himself to shoo you off towards the nearby couch. Already half-asleep, you were powerless to resist as your legs moved on autopilot.

Burrowing into the plush cushions, you watched through heavy lids as Gojo puttered around the kitchen, putting away ingredients and packaging up an explosion of colorful delights. The low rumble of his absentminded humming buoyed you gently into slumber as your heartbeat slowed to match the steady cadence.

These quiet moments of care and support, you thought drowsily, were worth more than a thousand love songs blasting from the rooftops. Here, in the shelter of his presence, the world narrowed down to just the two of you, separate from the darkness and chaos outside.

Hand outstretched in hopeless yearning, you finally succumbed to sleep's inexorable pull, dreams full of silver hair and secret smiles. A single word ghosted past your lips like a prayer just before you went under.

"Satoru."

And then there was only blissful darkness.

Your eyes fluttered open at the feeling of gentle fingers carding through your hair. Gojo was seated beside you on the couch, gaze soft as he watched over your slumber.

"Hey there, sleepyhead," he murmured, voice a deep rumble that sent tingles down your spine. "Feel any better?"

You hummed an affirmative, stretching languidly before settling back against the plush cushions. "Much. Thank you for letting me recharge."

Gojo's smile broadened and he shifted closer, arm draping along the back of the couch behind you. "Of course. I know how hard you've been working." His tone sobered. "I don't want you running yourself ragged like that again though, okay pretty? Promise me you'll take it easier from now on."

Meeting his intense stare, you felt yourself getting lost in the molten blue of his eyes, deeper and more turbulent than any ocean. "I promise," you whispered, transfixed.

Something flickered across his expression then, tender and wanting. Slowly, giving you ample time to pull away, Gojo leaned in until his brow rested gently against yours, breaths mingling in the scant space between you. Your eyes slid shut of their own accord as his nose brushed tenderly along yours in an achingly intimate caress.

And then, softer than a sigh, his lips were on yours - a gossamer brush at first before settling in a warm, unhurried glide. Instinctively, you wound your arms around his neck, pulling him closer until the hard planes of his body bracketed you against the cushions. He went willingly, slotting one lean thigh between your parted legs as his tongue teased at the seam of your mouth in a silent request for deeper exploration.

A low keen escaped the back of your throat as you opened for him eagerly. He surged forward with renewed fervor, mouth moving over yours in a heated glide of searing, slick heat as he coaxed your tongues into a sensual dance. Utterly intoxicated, your fingers wound into the thick strands at his nape, holding him close as your senses drowned in the taste, smell and feel of him surrounding you.

Gojo cradled you reverently, one broad palm cupping your jaw while the other mapped the dip of your waist through the thin material of your shirt. You arched shamelessly into his touch, chasing that electrifying tingle that sparked across your nerves with every heated caress. An embarrassingly needy whine slipped free when he finally pulled back, putting barely an inch between your lips as you both struggled to breathe.

"Satoru," you rasped out, practically delirious with wanting. You could feel his smile against your mouth as he reclaimed it in another breathtaking kiss, slower but no less intense.

"I've got you, pretty girl," he purred between devastating sweeps of his talented tongue. "I'll always take such good care of you."

You believed him wholeheartedly in that moment, drowning in sensation as his touch grew bolder, both cherishing and claiming every inch of newly exposed skin. Rational thought fled in the wake of his ardent worship, the world shrinking down to just his body, his hands, his sinful mouth rendering you into an incoherent, needy mess.

Distantly, you recognized this as a line you could never uncross - a point of no return. But Gojo was so warm, so solid and reassuring around you that you couldn't find it in yourself to care about consequences. Not when he was pillaging your lips with such fervent devotion, hands mapping out every shudder and whimper he pulled from your rapidly unraveling form.

All you knew was that you never wanted this to end, this sublime sublime torture of hands and lips and roaming caresses that stoked your desire ever higher into an inextinguishable blaze. Fisting in his hair, you pulled him impossibly closer with a wounded sound.

"Please," you begged against his mouth, though you weren't quite sure what you were asking for. More, everything, a lifetime of this sublime rapture - you needed it all like you needed air to breathe.

Gojo simply hummed low in his throat, the vibration doing devastatingly sinful things to your already overheated skin. "Always so greedy for me," he purred, rolling his hips in one lazy, purposeful grind that punched the air from your lungs. "Don't worry, baby. I'm going to take such good care of you."

True to his word, he lost himself in lavishing every inch of exposed skin with hot, open-mouth kisses until you were trembling and writhing beneath him. Only then did he trail scorching paths lower, intent on learning exactly what sounds and caresses could reduce his normally unflappable student to a whimpering, pleading mess.

Your clothes quickly became a haphazard pile on the floor, joining the growing heap of his discarded layers. His dexterous fingers found purchase everywhere they touched, sending lightning bolts of pleasure zinging through your veins until all you could do was cling to him desperately.

Gojo was no less affected, his usually immaculate silver locks falling in a disheveled halo around his head, cheeks flushed and pupils blown wide with lust. The sight was almost enough to send you careening over the edge right then and there.

His smirk told you he knew precisely the effect he was having. "Look at you," he praised in a low, silken drawl, "so beautiful and needy for me. Are you gonna be a good girl and come for me?"

You nearly sobbed as his clever fingers curled perfectly inside you, coaxing you higher and higher, until you were practically vibrating with the strain.

"So perfect, my sweet girl. Such a good little slut, taking my fingers like that. C'mon, let go, beautiful. Come for me."

With a strangled cry, you shattered, back arching off the couch as his mouth latched onto one rosy peak, teeth catching on the hardened bud in a delicious bite of pain. He worked you through the waves, whispering sinful praises into the sweat-slick skin of your breasts as you shuddered and quaked around his hand.

The aftershocks still hadn't abated when he was flipping you onto your hands and knees, kneeling behind you with his cock in hand. You watched with lidded eyes, heart skittering in your chest as he pumped lazily, his other hand coming to grip your hip.

"Gonna make you feel so good, pretty," he promised, dragging the flushed head over your entrance teasingly. "Want to see you fall apart on my cock. You're gonna look so gorgeous when I fuck you full, mark you up so everyone knows who you belong to."

The words set your entire body alight, a fresh surge of arousal trickling down your trembling thighs. A breathless whimper was all you could manage, eyes rolling back at the delicious drag of his cock against your oversensitive flesh.

With a groan, Gojo sheathed himself fully in one slow thrust, burying his cock to the hilt. Your head fell forward with a breathless cry, spine curving instinctively to deepen the angle.

"God, look at you, baby," he gasped, sounding utterly wrecked. "Fuck, you're so perfect, so tight around me. Such a good girl, taking me so well."

And then, without further preamble, he was pulling out nearly to the tip before snapping his hips back home in a relentless tempo that had the couch squeaking and shaking beneath you.

The room was filled with the obscene sounds of your skin slapping together, punctuated by his rough grunts and your high-pitched keens. You couldn't even muster the strength to move, could only kneel there and take whatever he chose to give you, his grip on your hips the only thing keeping you upright.

He pounded into you hard and fast, the delicious stretch of him nearly overwhelming in its intensity. Every nerve was lit aflame, a wildfire racing through your veins. You were so close, you could feel the precipice rushing up to meet you.

"Touch yourself for me, pretty," he urged, hips slamming into yours. "Let me feel you come."

Your hand shot down to frantically circle your clit, fingers slipping over the sensitive nub with practiced ease. Within seconds, your body was locking up, vision whiting out as clear fluid gushed out of you, drenching the couch beneath you.

"That's it," Gojo groaned, hips stuttering. "Fucking squirt for me, beautiful."

With a muffled curse, he buried himself balls deep, fingers digging painfully into your waist as he pumped rope after rope of hot cum into you. You could feel every throb, the pulse of his cock as he filled you up.

Afterwards, you collapsed into an exhausted, sweaty heap, utterly boneless. You floated on a cloud of endorphins, drifting hazily through the haze of afterglow.

It was only once Gojo's breath had slowed and steadied that you finally dared to glance up, half-afraid you'd see regret or remorse etched into his features. Instead, he met your questioning gaze with a soft, tender smile, brushing the hair back from your flushed cheeks with surprising gentleness.

"I've got you, pretty," he murmured again, thumb grazing your flushed cheekbone. "Sleep. We'll figure out...this...in the morning."

Tilting your head back, you searched his lidded gaze, looking for any hint of hesitation or regret. But his striking blue eyes were clear, open and certain in a way that squeezed the breath from your lungs. Whatever came next, you realized with a strange sense of calm certainty, you wouldn't face it alone.

Offering him a small, private smile, you pressed one last lingering kiss to the corner of his mouth before tucking your head under his chin once more. He tightened his protective arms around you as your breathing gradually synced.

As the world shrank down to just the two of you cocooned together on the couch, you let your eyes drift shut.

You had both crossed a line tonight, whether you were ready or not. There was no going back to the way things were before. But as sleep began pulling you under, you felt a strange sense of peace settle over you. Whatever came next, you would take it on together, come what may.

Nestling closer, you let out a slow exhale and surrendered to the pull of slumber, secure in that singular certainty. The rest could be figured out later.

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