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chaseatinydream · 3 years

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pirate king (4) || atz

You’re sitting at a tiny cove.

Your legs swing along the rocky ledge of the cliff you are on, dangling into the water. Beneath you, the water sparkles like liquid emeralds. Bright, colorful fish dart here and there around your feet and you laugh.

You leap down and there’s a splash, you’re waist deep in water. You move forward and forward until you’ve reached the mouth of the cove and the water comes up to your chin.

You close your eyes, take a deep breath, and submerge yourself.

Something soft and gentle brushes its way along your arms and you giggle underwater, bubbles escaping your mouth, but it’s of no concern to you. The soft arms caress you gently, as if you’re a precious treasure to them. You open your eyes.

Something stares back at you, glowing the colour of blood. It’s massive, almost twice your size, radiating some sort of curious light in the middle of the dark mass it’s in. Then it hits you.

It’s a single, unblinking eye.

You jerk awake with cold sweat running down your back and immediately regret it as you feel your head split in half from a sharp throbbing in your head. You groan, keeping your eyes tightly shut as you cradle your head in your hands, waiting for the pain to subside.

Something tugs lightly at your shoulder. No, not rope. Cloth? You start to panic when you realize that you are no longer tied to the mast.

Are they intending to kill you now?

“Ah, you’re awake.”

Your eyes fly open and you immediately shy away from the voice, pressing against the wall next to you. Your legs instinctively curl up to your body and you let out a cry of pain as your ankle knocks into wood.

“Don’t move, idiot.”

You look up to see the man talking to you. He’s tall and lightly built, dressed in a simple, oversized tunic and knee length shorts. Around his neck are a few silver chains, with strange symbols you don’t recognise, and his hair is a soft grey-green. Everything about him throws you off, he feels soft and reserved, nothing like a pirate.

Then you see the short dagger strapped to his left thigh.

You press against the wall more tightly, turning your face away from him. If he’s going to kill you, it might be more bearable if you can’t see it coming. You feel the tiny rocking of ocean waves.

“My name is Choi San, but you can just call me San.” The man begins to introduce himself, seating himself in a chair opposite you. You’re in a bed, you realize, as he continues to speak. “I’m the healer on board the Treasure, so I was responsible for treating your wounds. It’s admirable how you managed to keep quiet about a badly twisted ankle, an infected musket wound and a raging fever all at once.” There's something unsaid left in his voice.

You swallow.

“Especially for a woman.”

You freeze, all movement ceasing in a single second. Your hands unconsciously move up to your chest, only to find it unbound underneath a couple of layers of fabric.

Oh shit.

You’re definitely going to be shark food now.

“I haven’t told Hongjoong yet, if that’s what you were wondering.”

Your head whips around to stare at him in shock. His expression hasn’t changed the least, he still wears the same unreadable, blank face and you can’t tell whether he’s joking or he’s being serious. He has no reason not to report to the captain his findings, so why?

“It’s not my business that Hongjoong-ie is so blind he can’t tell the difference.” The healer leans back in a sturdy wooden chair, steepling his fingers with a calm gaze. You can’t tell whether that is comforting or terrifying. “Besides, I have a cat’s nature and I find my curiosity difficult to satisfy. So, if your story entertains me enough, I may keep your little secret from the captain. But I can see that you’re bursting to ask questions, so ask away.”

“Who undressed me?” Are the first words that tumble from your mouth. San chuckles at your question.

“Me.”

You groan in embarrassment and hide your face in your hands, unable to face him anymore. He snickers in amusement, and even though you can’t see it, his smile dimples his cheeks.

“No need to feel shy.” The man remarks, even though you can hear the mirth lingering in his voice. “I didn’t look. I just changed your bandages daily for the last two days.”

“I’ve been asleep for two days? That doesn’t make it any better.” Your words are muffled behind your fingers and you know your cheeks are tinged pink. “It’s still embarrassing.”

“I had to check you over for injuries.” San explains logically as you peer at him between the cracks in your fingers. “Who knows what else you might be hiding? I cleaned your wounds with salt water solution and bandaged you. As for your ankle, I splinted it with driftwood but don’t expect to walk normally for the next five to ten days or so.”

You gulp. Five days is more than you can afford.

“Is the captain going to throw me overboard?”

“As if I’d let him.” San’s complete indifference to Hongjoong’s authority surprises you, but you suppose even the captain needs to be on a healer’s good side in case he ever gets injured. This explains the sizable room and bed for the healer. Still, the informal way he addresses his captain is a little shocking. “He’s not going to waste all that effort I put into treating you. I used the last of my marigold petal antiseptic on your arm and he’d better get me more at Tortuga.”

You manage to stifle the tiny giggle that leaves your mouth, but San hears it anyways. He smiles slightly. “So, what’s your name?”

You pause, then answer as truthfully as possible.

“I don’t remember.”

To your surprise, San doesn’t try to call you a liar or force you to tell him some other answer. Instead he ponders your words carefully.

“That’s a common symptom among those who have head injuries. I was just telling Yeosang about them a few days ago.” You don’t know who Yeosang is, but you nod in understanding. You’re a little relieved that he seems to believe you, but is this a ploy to make you lower your guard? “They’re short term, but the memories usually come back after a few days or weeks. I don’t think I’ve met many who’ve forgotten their own identities though. Those usually die a few days after.”

“What?” You choke and suddenly you start coughing, your throat dry and scratchy. San reaches for a mug you hadn’t noticed before on his desk and passes it to you, filled with a fragrant green tinted liquid you don’t recognize. You can’t hide your suspicious look.

“It’s jasmine green tea.” San explains as he sits down again. “It’s helps calm the nerves and is also a fantastic cleaning solution for wounds as it prevents infection, but I prefer drinking it. My shipmates would rather ingest grog.” He sniffs in distaste and shakes his head. “Hongjoong knows what’s good for him, though. We’ve stayed in the cove for a couple days more because some of the scouting parties found tea leaves growing on one of the hills nearby. The rest are hunting deer with Shiber so we can have fresh venison tonight. It makes a nice change from eating preserved food all the time.”

As he continues to ramble about how some of the crew have started setting out nets to catch some fresh fish, you take a sip of the tea. It’s a little bitter with a warm, grassy flavor. You don’t enjoy it very much, but the next available option, grog, sounds even more unpalatable, so you choose to down the whole mug.

San pauses in his talking to nod his approval. “You’re a smart one. Anyway, as I was saying, the men usually die soon, but that’s because of internal bleeding in the skull. I found blood clots when I cut their heads open.”

You almost spit out the tea. “You cut their what open?”

The healer shrugs. “They’re already dead, so they don’t feel a thing.” When you continue to give him dubious, horrified looks, he starts to explain. “It’s for medical research! What I’m trying to say is, they don’t die because they lose their memories, they die because of the wound that caused them to lose their memories. From what I can see, you don’t have any such wound.”

“That’s reassuring.” You manage to say, thumping your chest. San nods.

“Captain said you claimed to have woken up in a prison cell in Raguza, am I correct?” He asks and you nod. San seems like a kind person and is the only one who is willing to help you. Then you pause.

“Raguza?” You repeat, unfamiliar with the name. San dismisses it with a wave.

“The town we raided a few days ago.” He explains, before carrying on. “He also said that you claimed to have no memory of how you came to be wearing the coat of a Royal Navy officer.”

You nod hesitantly. Even you’re aware of how unbelievable your story sounds. But San seems to be taking all of this in stride, better than you are, at least.

“Well, you could either be a skilled liar, insane, or telling the truth.”

You open your mouth to protest that nothing that has come out of your mouth has been a lie so far, but he holds up a hand to stop you. Your mouth closes with an audible clop.

“If you are a liar and are simply a spy of the Royal Navy here to steal the navigational maps, you must be a terrible one to present such a ridiculous story.” You try to protest again, but he continues. “From what I gather of my conversation with you, you are too sound of mind to be mad. So that only leaves me with one option. You are telling the truth.”

Just like that?

Something in you breaks down in relief and your shoulders sag. You’ve known that the whole time, that you’ve been telling the truth, that you have no memories. But suddenly, you’re not alone. Now, somebody believes you.

Someone understands.

You don’t even realize you’re crying until San reaches forward to brush the tears from your eyes. His fingers are gentle and warm, like Seonghwa’s hands. Then you start.

“Did Seonghwa bring me here? Where are we?” You look around the room you are in. You’re sitting on one of the two small beds in the cramped cabin, the shelves along the walls overflowing with written text, books and boxes with messily scribbled labels. There’s a small wooden table in the middle, a stack of paper in danger of falling off the side, and several stalks of dried plants on its surface. Opposite you is a wooden door.

“We’re in my cabin. You’re currently in Seonghwa’s bed. He offered to bed down with the rest of the crew until you recover.” San hesitates. “As for who brought you here… he asked not to be mentioned. It wasn’t Seonghwa.”

A frown tugs at your lips. Besides the kindly cook, who else would take any sympathy on you to come drag you here in the middle of a rainstorm? San shakes his head and gets to his feet.

“Don’t think too much about it.” Before you can protest, he moves over to the table and retrieves a small wooden box, opening its clasp. “Anyway, I was intending on returning this to you once you woke up.”

A thin, silver chain dangles from his fingers, at the end of which is a tiny, clear cut crystal. Small, delicately wrought silver leaves hold the crystal in place, and your mouth falls open in awe as San presses it into your hand. A kaleidoscope of reflected colors fall on your palm.

“It’s beautiful.” You breathe, lifting your hand to inspect the gem. San’s head cocks to the side in confusion.

“That is not the response I was hoping for, considering that I took it from your neck when I was undressing you.” He frowns, and your eyes widen in surprise.

“From me? As in, it was around my neck the whole time and I didn’t notice it?” You babble and San nods. He taps the largest silver leaf with a finger.

“Look at this carefully.”

There’s an inscription in the lid, beneath a carving of an elaborate swirl. You squint to make out the minuscule words.

I will be with you every step of the way.

You pause in shock at the revelation.

From before you lost your memories, from before you came to be in that tiny prison cell, you were not alone. If you just find the person who gave you this, you’ll know who you were before.

“You should keep it with you.” Gently, San takes the necklace from your hands and clasps it behind your neck. You’re silent in wonder, fingering the tiny crystal that nestles in the center of your chest. “Now, I should really go check on Wooyoung’s arm before he starts whining again.” He rises to his feet. “Do you have any last questions?”

“Is the captain really not going to throw me overboard?” You manage, gripping the tiny crystal in hand. At this, San really laughs.

“No. Although he did burn the Royal Navy coat you were wearing and tossed the ashes into the sea.” The healer replies as he plucks a small jar of ointment from a shelf. “If you give him no reason to kill you, he won’t.”

“Being alive seems to be reason enough to him.” You mutter unhappily under your breath, tucking yourself under the covers once more. Your eyelids are getting heavy once again. “The captain really hates the Royal Navy, doesn’t he? Why?”

Out of the corner of your eye, you see San shrug as he pulls a leather sling bag over his shoulder. “He has good reason to, but it’s not my story to tell.”

Then he crosses over to you and tucks the blankets a little more securely around you. His grey eyes are soft.

“Go to sleep. I’ll come back and tend to you later.” San’s voice is gentle and melodic, like a lullaby.

You close your eyes, still clasping the small crystal in your hand. “Okay.” You murmur in reply, pulling the blanket closer around you. “Just for a while more, then.”

You don’t wake up till a day later.

#ateez #ateez fanfic #ateez fanfiction #ateez hongjoong #ateez seonghwa #ateez yunho #ateez yeosang #ateez jongho #ateez mingi #ateez san #ateez wooyoung #pirate king #ateez pirate king #w; pirate king #w; fanfiction #w; ot8

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alitheamateur · 5 years

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Back-Seat Bliss

Warnings: SMUT. Language. 18+

Summary: Newly married, but still sitting on the secret, Chris warns you he’s going to slip the announcement into an interview on the carpet. You're of course, eager to shout to the world you’ve been crowned his wife, but you know the night will turn to an even bigger circus. Chris, the dutiful, dedicated man he is, takes it upon himself to settle your nerves...

These carpet premiere primps never got any less chaotic, and over-the-top. You’d walked the orange, the purple, the gold, the black, most often the red carpet, and yet the pit in your stomach was still wound like a sailors knot. There had been accidentally sheer skirts, overly teased up-dos, the occasional horrendous streak of botched spray tan, but one accessory remained the same. The classic, timeless, rustically tailored and put together man to your left. His ‘good side’, he’d say.

For the last 3 years, you had trailed yourself in front of the paparazzi at premieres, awards ceremonies, charity events all of such, dangling securely on the arm of Chris, your deemed A-list boyfriend who still burped at the kitchen table, and drank beer like a frat boy. You had learned all the poses, the half-smiles, the gazing into each other’s eyes to display the intimate look of a couple in love like the pair of you. Through the years, you’d become quite the regular on the carpets thanks to Chris and his continual rise up the latter of success. But, tonight, there’d be one difference. Your hair color the same, his driver the same. The chilling champagne in the sterling silver ice pale by the front door where you would toast before he helped you settle in the back of the stealthy, blacked out SUV, the same. Your last name?

Different.

The subtly of your intricate, delicate, thin wedding band had aided in disguising the whim decision the pair of you had concluded last weekend when you hired a minister to marry you on the balcony of your rented villa in Costa Rica. Your gorgeous engagment stone was no longer breaking news, and the public eye had, in its own little way, left you alone as of late.

But tonight, Chris had warned you he was planning to “let it slip” during an interview “whenever he felt like it.”

You were a touch fearful of the announcement breaking the surface, knowing the tailspin it would unleash for the rest of the evening. Every news outlet would beg and fawn for a photo, every journalist and TV personality requesting every detail of the nuptials. Maybe you’d sneak two glasses of that golden bubbly before the tornado set in.

“Fuck. You’d think I’d be used to you by now. But, damn it, Y/N.”

Chris was tying his shoe at the foot of the stairs, eyes to the floor on the black laces when the clack of your stiletto captured him. Your dress was a custom silk number that crawled to rest perfectly in every crevice of your warm skin. It’s girlish shade of rosy blush cut high up the line of your thigh, then gathered with intricate beads around your round, “child-bearing hips”, as Chris called them. Your bosom was accentuated by the lifting seams of the bodice, and you held no shame in making the request to the designer with your lovers’ lust-blown pupils in mind.

He pulled you in by the hand not securing your clutch, throwing it over his neck right where he wanted it, and palmed the luscious cheek of your silken covered bum. The pucker of his plush lips barely pecked the line of your jaw, mindful not to smear anything on your glorious face. Your tropical island induced tan was fresh on your skin, the bronze glittering with coconut scented body butter. Chris sniffed and inhaled into your hair as he tongue-kissed your exposed shoulder. His presence instantaneously soothed over your chattering reserve, but there was no doubt your observant husband would scope out the slight trembling.

“Hey, gorgeous. Talk to me, hm?” He searched your face, fiddling a moment with your earring.

“This is going to be a big night, Chris. You know I don’t necessarily like the unforgiving spotlight.”

He gathered your hand, palm down, in his, and kissed your knuckles. As he was about to dissipate your qualms with one of his very “Captain” like pep-talks, his assistant barreled in from the front steps.

“We need to be getting you guys on the road if that’s alright.” She meekly instructed.

You swigged a hearty gulp of the lavish liquor before you took your man’s arm to tiptoe down the cobblestone steps. His warm hand, so brazen yet unbelievably tender and considerate resting where the skin of your back blended into the cheeks of your bum was a cocktail of all things contented and zen, but your worried mind held on, ready to put up a fight.

Once you buckled yourself in with Chris’ assistance so you wouldn’t cause any creases in the expensive fabric, he leaned over the console to whisper something to the driver that you couldn’t make out over the thrums of the radio. When he settled back, silently a black partition slid up, separating the two of you from distraction.

“Where’s that gorgeous smile, baby? You shouldn’t be so tense about all this. It’s supposed to be a happy occasion, you know.”

He began peculiarly fretting with the clasp of your simple, strappy shoes, finally loosening their fasten and pulling your freed toes toward him. He rubbed over your already extremely sore ankle and heels, drawing little hearts and smiley-faces on the most ticklish bend of your arch.

“I know, I know. And I am happy. I’m thrilled to finally get to shout from the rooftops that I snagged such a catch as yourself. You just know how I get, Chris.”

He had somewhere between your words, slid off his jacket and hug it just-so over the headrest, and was know working his massaging fingers into the trim, but filled out flesh of your thigh.

“I do know how you get, angel. And I also know exactly how to make everything all better, as well, don’t I?”

He hummed as you spread the span of your thighs and bit, shifting a smidge to face him, and your belly began to heat with a white-hot simmer. With so much as a look, Chris could absolutely shatter your world with the most pleasurable, tantric high unlike any substance known to the world around you.

“I don’t think we have the space to exactly attempt that now, do we, Mr. Evans?” The zipper of your dress began to click and widen with the stress of your heavy breast heaving with short, reckless pants.

“I think I can definitely make do, Mrs. Evans. You know there isn’t a thing that can stop me when I get the urge to taste you.”

He was a man crazed when it came to you. His favorite flavor, he’d say. More times that you can count, you’ve had to nearly choke and stifle the life out of him by shoving his loud mouth between your globed chest because he insisted on taking you in the corner at a party, or in the restroom at a fitting, but couldn’t keep his howls under control. You’d nearly lost all your nerve for the taste of exhibitionism when his mother nearly stumbled in on the two of you in her kitchen last Christmas. You heard sweet Lisa telling everyone in the next room that she could almost swear she heard something like a bear growling in the back yard.

“Be a doll and hike this fantastic dress up those sweet fuckin’ thighs, will you?”

Oh, but he wasn’t asking. The shift in his voice now laced with a delicious heat, and the glorious bulge that you inadvertently gawked at making your belly growl with hunger, told you so.

Fiending for the calmness you knew would follow his gifted release, you raised just enough to settle the dress out from under you, revealing with pleasure the evidence of your bare core.

“Uh-oh! Seems I may have left something at home…” Your mock gasp, and squeaky dash of faux innocence make him smile. That satisfied, lustful sneer that made you want to punch him in the face, then sit in the same spot thereafter. It was vile, and cocky, and so incredibly your favorite smile in the entire world.

“Trust me, sweetheart. I knew there couldn’t possibly be a shred of anything under that dress the way it’s glued to this perfect ass.” You could already feel the half-mooned marks of his claws bruising into you as he used said ass to yank you into him.

The slick you had already worked up caught the waft of his hot breath as he nuzzled his face into you, and your legs shuddered. His defined nose, his pert lips, and his bristly chin daubed into the oversensitive slit. You knew all evening he’d have the tiniest remnants of your scent stained around his face as he greeted friends, and smiled for the photos, and it made you nearly come.

“Chris.” It was all you could conclude, and the only word that mattered in the English language to you in the very moment.

He pulled your blooming bulb in to his mouth by the teeth, then soothed the tiny sting with a flat swipe of his relaxed tongue. Thankfully, the tussled waves of ‘sex-hair’ was the ‘in’ look when it came to the latest beauty trends because the way you burrowed and rucked around trying to catch a view of him staring and sucking in the entrance of your cunt was definitely electrifying the static of your auburn curls. You loved the sensation of his wet licks, but watching him did so many throbbing things to your insides. His airy lashes would flutter forth & back between your face, and the bloom of your clit, and for added measure he would pull his own lip between his teeth.

“So fucking sweet, as always. I wish I could bottle you up, sweetheart. Have a little taste of you wherever I go.” You hissed and nearly took a bite out of your own tongue at his dirty words.

Amongst the nibbles and peppering of kisses to your clenching sex, he maneuvered a long finger inside to probe your leaking walls. His come-hither motions pulling and kneading at your deepest cavity had your legs twitching like something inside you was short circuiting, and crashing into his dutiful hands. Another finger. Then another…

You were stretched and prepped for the most satisfying and sensual fill that no one had ever given you the way your insatiable husband did. He was blessed, and quite equipped for all the perfect trappings to please the female race, and luckily, you just so happened to pin him down as your own.

“Give me one, love. Like this, please. Fill my mouth. Then, we’ll get to the good stuff, okay?”

“I’m so close, Chris. I can feel it so, so close.”

He interpreted your information as a challenge, and began working swift clicks with his mouth. He slurped and ravished like no sustenance on the planet could fulfil his cravings like your juices, rolling along the circle of your puckering peak. And before too long, he elicited the inevitable and blurred your vision with the fruits of his labor.

Thankful for smudge-proof lip stain, you stifled your own monstrous moans with the hot cover of your palm, coming down from orgasmic Mars as Chris popped the button of his pants.

“I’m not sure how we’re gonna swing this one, babe. There’s not exactly a lot of wiggle room with this dress.” You managed, voice barely the trace of a whisper.

“Don’t you worry, baby. Just sit back, and let your man do the rest. Got it?”

Giddy, you smiled and had to pull back the dopey drool of your mouth.

Chris let the waist of his pants fall slack, barely revealing the thickness of his standing shaft. His choice of attire for the evening was of course, in the family of classic black, and you couldn’t imagine him escaping this exchange without some lasting traces somewhere on his suit.

He situated a white-knuckle grab around the door handle just to the right of your head, and let the other fist wrap around your leg just above the knee. He was buckling in for what would be a predicted wild ride.

Just as you felt the seeping tip of his head toy with you, he dove in without reservation. This wouldn’t be the time, or place for a slow burn, and Chris knew just how much you could appreciate a ruthless, dirty quickie. You felt the car come to a halt slowly, and peered with side eyes just out the window to see a stoplight turned red. There was traffic as far as the eye could see, and in fact, a similar model vehicle right beside you in the next lane. You knew the shade of tint on your window was specifically designed for desertion, but still the titillating thrill egged you on.

Thrusting with his rhythm, matching every move, Chris began to undo between your legs. A sheen of dolloping sweat was now rolling between the crease of his brows, and a loose tassel of his perfectly combed hair had flattened to his forehead. From the waist up, he was poised with his perfectly knotted tie, and crisply steamed white oxford. Gentlemanly, posh for the cameras. But, below the tail of his shirt, he was rucking and pounding inside of you like an ill-mannered fiend.

“My pretty girl. You seem awfully relaxed now, hm?”

“More. I need more, baby. Let me feel you lose yourself inside me.”

When his blue-flamed eyes screwed closed, you knew his own ending was in sight. You yanked him in by the tie, longing to work his mouth with yours. Then suddenly, a stop. You heard voices chattering, a random erupt or claps here and there, and you gathered the two of you had arrived.

You imagined the frame of the car had to be rocking a bit when it parked near the rear curb of the entrance, but it wouldn’t stop Chris from finishing what he started, and ensuring his girl was free of worries for the evening.

With his tongue rolling with yours, mouths roaming each other, Chris jolted once more, and his cock twitched inside you. There’d be nothing to catch his seed from surfacing to trail down your legs once you stepped into the sea of cameras, but it gave you salacious pleasure regardless.

As if Tucker, his longtime driver and bodyguard, had known exactly what was unfolding in the back seat, he stood post just outside your rear door, assuring no one opened it and caught a glimpse of an R-rated body part. Using the compact inside your clutch, you reapplied a layer of gloss, and Chris dabbed away the simple beads of perspiration on the tip of your nose after securing his pants. Giving each other a cautious, engaged once over for smears, or wrinkles and stains, you clasped his cheek before letting him open the door to the world.

“I feel much, much better. Thank you, handsome.”

His head leaned into your tender touch, nuzzling. “No need for thanks, angel. Now, can I please get out of this fucking car and tell someone besides my Ma that this amazing, flawless, astounding human is my wife?!”

TAGS: @miidailyinspiration @eap1935 @mollybegger-blog @littleluna98

#Chris Evans #chrisevans #chris evans fanfiction #chrisevansfanfic #chris evans oneshot #chris evans x female reader #chris evans imagine

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