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All Mine // B.H.
Synopsis: Your friendship with Billy is forever changed when you see him playing basketball with Steve Harrington.
Word Count: 1k
Your friendship with Billy Hargrove had developed slowly but surely. Initially you were totally put off by his obnoxious bad boy attitude but after finding him smoking in the school parking lot one afternoon when you should have both been in lessons, you had started to realise that not only was Billy a total charmer, he also had the potential to be a genuinely decent human being. It was a shame that he hid that side of himself from the rest of the world but you felt lucky to catch glimpses of his secret self. It became a regular thing that you would slip out of lessons to meet Billy at his Camaro to share a cigarette under the haze of the Indiana sun and it wasn’t long before you found yourself growing inexplicably fond of the curly haired rogue.
You slipped into the gymnasium and settled yourself on the highest seat on the bleachers, content to watch the boys at their basketball practice while you waited for Billy so you could go for a smoke. They were already well into a game by the time you had taken your seat and your eyes bugged when you realised it was a shirts vs skins game. And Billy was not on the side of the shirts. He was all over poor Steve Harrington and you had to avert your gaze to the ceiling to avoid starting at Billy’s very short shorts. You’d rarely seen the man in anything other than his double denim and seeing him completely shirtless and sweaty was resulting in all sorts of new sensations. The coach called for a water break and Billy bounded up the bleachers, sitting heavily beside you in all his sweat soaked glory, chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. Your gaze was fixed at a point on the basketball court because you knew that if you turned to face Billy you’d be hypnotised by his dark eyelashes and plump lips and who knew what you’d say.
“What’s got you all googly eyed, princess?” Billy leaned into your shoulder, perhaps attempting to see the court from your perspective but enveloping you in a cloud of his scent as his movement stirred the air. Unfortunately Steve Harrington was right in your line of sight as Billy’s hair brushed across your cheek. “Oh ho ho, Harrington? Really!?” He sneered at you and you kept your mouth shut, trying to ignore the burning blush forcing its way up your neck and onto your cheeks. You could feel Billy staring at you, trying to work out what it was about Steve that had you all flustered. The seconds felt like hours with his beautiful eyes boring into your pink tinged skin until all of a sudden he jerked your face towards him with a solid grip on your chin.
“Tell me.” There was a fire in his voice that almost sounded like anger, but you knew Billy well enough to know that he wasn’t angry at you. It was probably just disgust at the thought that you were attracted to Steve Harrington of all people. You shook your head limply in his grip, casting your eyes downwards and trying to avoid staring at the white blonde hairs sprouting from his heavenly sun-kissed thighs.
“No, Billy, it’s not Harrington.” You muttered lowly, hoping that he wouldn’t ask you to repeat yourself. You feared that if you looked him in the eyes he’d see straight through you, but you did it anyway because you needed to remove his thighs from your field of vision, they were too damn distracting. As you looked up at him you could pinpoint the exact moment he realised that your wide eyed stare and fierce blush were because of him. Shit. A wolfish grin lit up his features and he slid even closer to you on the bench.
“It’s me? Oh babe.” You thought he was going to eat you alive the way his eyes were alight with mirth and hunger. “Meet me at the car in ten.” He smirked at you, shooting an audacious wink in your direction before re-joining his teammates. Your heart was stuttering so violently in your chest you thought you were about to pass out and you could still feel his lingering heat where his fingers had gripped your chin.
~~~
Ten minutes had passed and just as you were beginning to lose your nerve, Billy emerged from the gymnasium doors and sauntered his way across the parking lot. You knew his slow strut was for your benefit alone and you felt the hot blush, that had only just died down, already recolouring your cheeks. At least he had shown your poor weakened heart enough consideration to put on a shirt. You didn’t know if you could handle seeing anymore of his golden skin right now. He nodded his head towards the Camaro, blond curls swaying across his shoulders, and you opened the passenger door wordlessly, hoping that the slight trembling of your legs wasn’t too obvious. Billy ducked into the drivers seat with a greedy smirk spreading across his lips. You stared down at your legs, twisting your hands together in your lap. You had never been nervous with Billy before, how had seeing him shirtless had such a massive effect on you? It was because he knew about the effect he had on you, you reasoned. It gave him power, and it was that that made you nervous. Billy’s thumb skimmed your cheek before falling down to grasp your chin, lightly tugging your face towards him in a much gentler move than the one he had performed on the bleachers. You watched his tongue dart out of his godly mouth and moisten his lips and you felt yourself inching towards his body like he was a magnet and you would burn if you didn’t touch him.
“You’re mine.” He whispered as his lips met yours in a devastatingly delicious kiss. You felt his lips pull up into a smug grin as you whimpered into his mouth. “All mine.”
#billy hargrove#billy hargove x reader#x reader#billy hargrove x you#x you#stranger things#stranger things 2#stranger things 3#fanfiction#dacre montgomery#i'm not too happy with this but y'all thirsty for billy and i wanted to get something out there#pls let me know what u think#g writes
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Music To My Ears
König x Reader
Summary: Uninspired by the monotonous lull of life, König can't help but feel there's something missing. Though he's not quite sure what it is, entirely... until it shows up in front of him.
Words: 600ish
Warnings: angstiness, misunderstanding,
A/N: Another song fic, inspired by... this song.
While he'd never admit it to you considering it'd be grounds for the termination of his position, you'd caught the Colonel's eye. After you've been in the military for a while things start to become monotonous in a way. Sure, there are things that are everchanging and always differing when it comes to the minutia of it, but truly... once you've been in the ranks for a while, it's safe to say that you've most likely seen it all.
Suffice to say, if his life were a movie, the Colonel doesn't think it'd be entertaining in the least. A book? Repeating stories over and over. A song? Something simple, like a children's song. Perhaps something with three chords in the melody. Nothing fancy. Despite his choices, despite what he'd been dealt in life. The truth is... deep down, the one thing that his enemies would probably never be able to guess that keeps him awake is not the actions he's taken, or the things he's done. It's all the things he hasn't. There are days, hours, and moments where all that feel left of him is a shell- a husk of a man, drowned by yearning, longing, and want.
It's not to say that the life he has isn't the one he wants. That he hasn't tried to get where he is or hasn't chosen to pursue what he has. No... no, he's worked hard to get where he is today. Yet, there's always been that part of him. That something, just there, tugging at him, at his heart, deep down- somewhere- deep within.
He has guesses of what'd fill that void. The longing, yearning, deep ache in his chest fulfilled by something so simple? It's a belief he holds. Yet, he's never found himself willing, or pushed, or whatever you'd want to call it. Perhaps, maybe, divinely persuaded to find purchase in pursuing such avenue. Not... until you.
Whether it was the way he found himself utterly enamored by the way he immediately noticed you and the humility you carry. Was there a chance it's the flaws you hold? Obvious in a glaring way when held up against a mirror to the almost perfect soldiers he and his captains train? Somehow you'd make it past selection. And he questions it every day, but doesn't send you home. Though you've only been sent out on a handful of missions he's seen the humanity you've shown not only the hostages, but the fatally wounded and surrendering enemy soldiers, the civilians. As Colonel it's his duty to uphold certain procedure and protocol, yet what could be deemed as a 'flaw', to him, is far more beautiful than everything that he's been taught, trained, and has been engrained into him to do.
Recently, you've been so kind to him. Treating him as an equal, not shying away your opinions or sucking up because of his position. It's clear you trust him, and while he knows that's a vulnerable thing to be given in this field, König knows he'd never betray you like that. Ever since you'd come into his life a few months ago when you'd been transported to base all he can hear is the way the simple music of his life has turned into far greater, more complicated music.
Maybe his outlook is different now, maybe there's a glimmer of hope, perhaps. Nevertheless, he knows his life could be ballads, or instrumental, or disco, or rave, or pop, or any sort of music he desires! Now, there's really a chance that those things he'd never let himself dream of having... of receiving... just maybe, he can dream of having them... with you.
~~~~~~~~
forever taglist: @ohdamnadam , @safarigirlsp , @jynzandtonic , @moonlightsolo
#könig x reader#mwii x reader#cod men x reader#cod x reader#call of duty x reader#my writing#g writes#song fic#song fics#queued#angst?#fluff?
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look who's back with a third part 👀 its my bad honestly. hope you still enjoy though!
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Finally wrote a little something. Just a little whumptober drabble.
in which the youngest of Torrent aren't having a good time, but at least they're not having a good time together.
Edit: oop forgot, ottaburas are by @sundownsquad
There’s someone in the apartment.
Dogma swallows and turns his face deeper into the pillow. In his head, he knows it’s nothing. A creaking floor. Pete bumping into something as he moves from room to room.
The wind whistles past the apartment. Dogma hears an explosion. The back of his neck tingles like it’s directly in someone’s crosshairs. An Umbraran lining up the shot. He imagines a commando droid next door silently stabbing Echo in his sleep. Fives’ vacant eyes stare into his eyelids.
He curls up more and pulls the heavy blanket tighter around his shoulders. It’s got to end. At some point it’s got to stop.
Please, just make it stop.
Someone in the room sighs. Dogma’s heart flutters and skips a beat.
“Can’ sleep either?” Tup faintly whispers from above, insomnia’s victim again. He slips down from the top bunk, only stumbling a little. Dogma tries not to flinch at any of the moments.
He shakes his head minutely.
“Le’s go,” Tup whispers again. Dogma considers staying in his cozy prison, and flinches again as some other sound comes from outside. He nods and slowly, slowly gets up.
He looks over at Twitch, curled up in his own bed and sleeping, unlike his roommates. Even as the thought crosses his mind, Twitch jerks and sits up. His chest heaves for a couple breaths before he slows himself. His eyes immediately latch onto Tup and Dogma, the fear retreating to hide in their dark depths.
“We’re goin’ to the roof,” Tup says. For all his fear of rough flying, Dogma’s never seen him back away from the high ground. It suits Dogma just fine, and apparently Twitch too, who follows without a sound except for a moment to bury his face in Pete’s fur and rub his ears. The mini Ottabura gently boops the youngest on the shoulder a few times, but lets them all slip out the door without protest.
There’s some infernal music on the elevator up. Dogma’s fingers twitch for his blaster. Tup hums along, and Twitch seems indifferent leaning against the wall.
When the doors open Tup takes one of their hands in each of his and leads them all to some quiet corner. The wind on Dogma’s face is cool and mildly humid, nothing like the dry and loud and all-burning rush of an explosion.
Dogma gets his back to a wall and looks out over Coruscant. Some part of his mind in the back, perhaps something filling one of the empty spaces left by the recon or perhaps something it could never erase, still expects one of the ships to come careening their way, blasters firing. But being up here, with Tup and Twitch, eases its bruising and relentless grip minute by minute.
They don’t say anything, don’t talk over Dogma’s paranoia or Tup’s insomnia or Twitch’s nightmare. They just sit side by side and look outward and upward, pretending the ships could be stars when they hold still for just a second.
At some point Twitch moves from Tup’s side and sits a little far away, eyes tipped up to the sky and mouth murmuring words too soft for Dogma to make out. That’s ok, they’re not meant for him.
Tup sighs and leans further into him. He still doesn’t look any closer to sleep than Dogma is, but he does wiggle his head to send his hair waving in a way Dogma knows the meaning of by now. He runs his hands through the hair, untangles every knot and tangle he comes across until he’s free to weave the hair into braids with calming hands and a stilling mind.
#g writes#clone trooper dogma#clone trooper tup#clone medic twitch#idk if dogma actually has this sort of paranoia but i wrote it anyways#whumptober
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Jake calls Shy!Wifey "Momma". He started calling her that when she was first pregnant with Alex, and it just stuck. He says it around the house, when he's talking to his kids, and even sometimes when they are out with the daggers at the hard deck. The simple pet name has a bunch of different meanings such as:
"Good morning, Momma," He's being sweet and wants a morning kiss with his coffee.
"I don't know, momma," He's stressed about having to go on detachment.
"Let's go ask, momma," One of the kids asked for something at Target and he lowkey wants it, but he's gotta ask her first.
"Hey, momma," He's in one of those moods where he's got a shit eating grin on his face, probably did something cheeky like smack her ass.
"Momma. . ." She's has like .02 seconds to get upstairs and get naked before he fucks her on the floor.
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Hair Dye & Surprise Reunions - Jake “Hangman” Seresin x gn reader
a/n: i haven’t written anything and posted it in like two years so apologies if this sucks honestly i’m dying my hair rn and just thought this would be cute.
warnings: purely self indulgent & shitty writing & no knowledge of the navy & fluff (:
He had left for a mission 6 months ago to the day. You were handling things pretty well, you’d gotten yourself into a daily routine, started reading more, watched the entirety of Greys Anatomy twice, and even started working as a bartender at the Hard Deck 5 nights a week after your full time job. You had gotten really good at keeping yourself busy.
So how come you are wandering the aisles of the Sally Beauty with the company of Amelia Benjamin? Well, you at least know how you ended up here in the company of Amelia.
“Okay, you two, can I ask you something?” You inquired from a bar stool where you sat next to Amelia, helping her make notecards for an upcoming exam she had, while Penny continued to get the bar ready to open.
“Sure.” Penny said as she moved to ready the section of bar in front of you, ready to here you out.
“Shoot.” Amelia spoke at the same time as her mother, putting down her pen as she turned to give you her undivided attention.
“How do you think I would look with pink hair?” You asked the pair, squinting your eyes and scrunching your face in anticipation of backlash that never came.
“Honestly, if anyone could pull it off it would be you.” Penny said, her daughter nodding her head in agreement, “you don’t even need to go to the salon, this one here does mine every month.”
It’s no secret Amelia has become quite the amateur hair stylist, she currently sported firecracker red as her color, last month having been platinum blonde, and two months before that she had done just the color you were thinking of, hot pink.
You needed some spontaneity and change, still not expecting Jake home for another two months, you figured this would be the time to do it. You didn’t want to scare off the aviator who after almost a year of being stuck in the limbo of a situationship, had finally asked you to be official two months before he left for his current mission.
“Are you gonna redo it for when Jake get back?” Amelia asked as she reached for the hair dye off the shelf.
“Honestly, I don’t think so? I mean I’ll see how he reacts when we have our skype date tonight, but I’m doing this more for me. I want to do something fun and I think that I could put Lava Girl to shame.” That got a laugh from the girl who had just recently forced you to watch the classic Shark Boy and Lava Girl when you admitted to having never seen it before.
The drive back to your house from the beauty supply store consisted of the two of you going back and forth for the Instagram debut of your hair. The two of you set up in your kitchen, towels around the sink, news paper on the floor, and dawned some of your old college t-shirts.
Three hours later, your personal hair dresser had your hair styled and dried, stepping back to admire her work, “yeah, you’ve set the new standard for pink hair. Lava girl or even that chick from Lazy Town have nothing on you.”
You get up to see yourself in your bathroom mirror, your now bright pink locks complimenting your complexion surprisingly well. A satisfied grin over took your face and stayed there while you drove Ameilia back to her house, and still remained as you worked to transition your makeshift salon back into your kitchen, a playlist Jake made for you echoing through the house along with your voice as you sang along.
A fan favorite song of Jake and yours came on shuffle through the speakers and you turned up the volume, grabbing a spatula to use as a microphone as you belted out the lyrics of the chorus. Too enthralled in how main character you were feeling, you didn’t hear the as Jake used his copy of the key to your house you had given him once you made things official between the two of you. You had relished in the opportunity to humble to aviator as you gifted him a small box that held a key decorated in purple cow print. He loved it, though, reminded him of your sense of humor that he had come to fall in love with.
Jake couldn’t help but smile when he opened the door, met with the sound of one of his favorite songs and your voice singing along with it. Curiosity crept up on him as he made his way to your kitchen, following the sound of your Grammy worthy performance, and he started to get the hints of a smell. Almost like that of a hair salon he thought to himself. However, it all made sense as he stopped in the doorway, jaw dropped as he took in the sight of you.
Your back was turned to him as you clutched the spatula you sang into, dancing to yourself, you spun around to face your imaginary Grammy award audience that in your head you were performing for. As you landed your dramatic 180 twist, your eyes that were once closed for dramatic effect, opened and you let out a shocked gasp, spatula dropping to the floor as your hands came to your chest, feeling your heart skip a beat at the shock from the sight of your boyfriend leaned against the doorway with a surprised glint in his eyes and a smile reflected in every feature of his tanned face.
“Hey pinky pie, thanks for the welcome home performance. There gonna be an encore? Do you take requests? I’d really like to hear some Taylor Swift.” He said as he made his way to you, wrapping his arms around your waist and burying his head into your neck.
“Are you really here right now?” You whispered in disbelief and afraid that if you raised your voice you would wake up from the dream it felt like you were living in. You were holding him, he was back.
“I’m really here and I apparently missed a lot since our last skype date because I may not be the most observant but I think I would remember you having pink hair.” He chuckled as he pulled back from your tight embrace, one of his hands coming to cradle your jaw and the other carding through your bright hair.
“Do you hate it?” Worry quickly painted your features, you were prepared for him to hate it from a distance and for you to embrace your new look while he finished out his mission but right now you are feeling on edge.
“Baby, are you kidding me? You look hot as fuck. Who did this? Amelia? Kid is talented and could go places if you ask me.” He placed a kiss to your temple as he grabbed your hand, leading you to your living room.
So many questions and thoughts were floating through your head right now, “when did you get back?” he sat down on the couch first and you went to sit next to him.
“This morning. Our mission timeline had gotten moved up and we ran it yesterday.” He said as he looked at you expectantly and he motioned for you to lay your head in his lap.
You chuckled as you did just that, you weren’t expecting him to be home let alone to have such a reaction to your hair. It’s no secret that his love language is physical touch but it’s so endearing to you as he seems to have this need to be constantly playing with your hair. This was something you could get used to.
“Why didn’t you tell me you were coming back early?” You relaxed and your eyes fluttered shut as he carded his calloused hand through your head, scratching at your scalp lightly, emitting a content sigh from you.
“Well, I’m not sure if you’ve heard of this thing. It’s kind of a new concept, it’s called ‘a surprise’.” You opened one eye to be met with the look that captured your heart, Jake’s sweet lips were curled into a subtle smirk, smile lines on show, but his eyes reflected his joy and playfulness. He still earned himself a gentle whack to his chest for the sarcasm. He captured your hand upon its impact and lifted it to his lips, pressing a loving kiss to your knuckles, before he leaned down and placed a long awaited kiss to your lips.
#hi i think i hate this but i thought fuck it might as well still post it#jake seresin x reader#hangman x reader#jake hangman seresin#jake hangman seresin x reader#jake seresin fluff#jake seresin fic#jake seresin imagine#top gun imagine#g writes
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finally finished writing my post Davy Back Zolu fic!
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Nothing shows me what an evil person I am like finishing a chapter with an angst of a cliffhanger. And hoping it will make someone cry. 😈
#g's randomness#my randomness#g talks#g writes#ofc im not talking about my 'quest available!' our dating sim story#no never#why would i hurt them#when they so precious and sweet and so in love its sickening?#naaaaaaaah 😈
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the reasons i had for keeping my claws away
Fandom: Our Flag Means Death
Pairing: Stede Bonnet/Edward Teach
Words: 6519
AO3
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In the wake of the raid, the dust settles- the Revenge stops creaking of battle to return to natural rhythms, blood staining the wooden boards dry and the fearsome Captain Blackbeard, known lately as the Kraken, has been defeated. Not that he’s fucking happy about it.
He’s a pirate, on a pirate ship, and it shouldn’t have been a surprise, but it was. The small fishing vessel slipped past notice despite the clear afternoon, and then it was too late, and he emerged on deck to face a small army of people he’d thought long dead. Jim and Frenchie had switched sides, Fang and Ivan had given up immediately (and far too happily in Fang’s case), Izzy had been bellowing something, begging for orders maybe and swishing his blade about, but it all fell to background noise as soon as the Kraken laid eyes on… Him.
The whole thing was all a bit jumbled, really- Kraken remembered lunging at Him, punching and knives and yelling and blood, His face melting from a wide grin to panic to frustration, yelling things back, parrying and trying to fucking talk they weren’t in the middle of a fight.
“Fucking traitor. Fucking bastard, liar, fucking deserter!” the Kraken had yelled, drowning out anything else.
In the end, it had taken the final surprise of Lucius Spriggs (the final piece of the puzzle, really) emerging from the hull, yelling about secret passages and throwing himself into Black Pete’s arms that had allowed the crew to get the jump on him. They’d dragged him kicking and screaming, off and away from Him, and so now he sits, ass to the floor, legs straight and bound against the bow mast, rope wrapping securely around his chest and right arm, leaving him pinned.
For a brief moment while Oluwande and Pete had been tying the knots, Kraken had pulled his left arm free, raising it to strike, only for the Swede to swoop in, pin it to the wood above his head and tie it in place there with yet more rope. What a stupid way to tie someone up, he’d had never tolerated it from one of his own crew.
Humiliating, is what it is. He’s fuming and mad, definitely not pouting- he’s a weathered sea Captain, the pirate scourge of seas and several monarchies, and a ragtag crew of idiots had him trussed up like a bird ready to be cooked within twenty minutes of their initial boarding.
It’s all a temporary measure, he’s been assured. Until he calms down, or some shit, and besides Izzy has already taken up the ship’s singular cell below, shouting himself more hoarse than usual until someone had knocked him over the head to shut him up.
Accommodations will be made, the crew said, but it would all go a lot simpler if you would just cooperate. No one has to die here if it can be helped.
“Not very pirate-like,” he’d spit back, with all the venom of his cold heart, which was still thumping wildly in his chest.
But that was hours ago now, and they’ve tied his binds tightly, and so the Kraken has little choice but to sit still, occasionally flexing, testing the knots or mast for any sign of give (curse the steady, expensive craftsmanship!), glaring at any who dare make eye contact. Cursing and mumbling, and pretending like the arm above his head wasn’t falling asleep (fuck) or that his bum knee didn’t ache or that the bruises from the fight weren’t making themselves known as adrenaline faded.
And thinking. He’s doing a lot of that.
Plans, strategies, to escape, to regain control, so just throw himself into the fucking ocean and let the waves take him rather than face… well, whatever the fuck the next few hours might have in store.
And other things, like at least they didn’t gag me and how the fuck did they get the drop on us and unless they had someone on the inside and Frenchie’s probably been communicating with them for weeks and what kind of an idiot custom built a pirate ship with only a one jail cell?
Well, only Him, the idiot who approaches him wearily now- by rights a Deadman, crawled out of his expensive grave and across the ocean specifically, it seems, to haunt the Kraken’s waking life as well as his dreams.
A fucking ghost- no, a ghost would have turned to vapor under his fists and the knife he’d buried into the man’s shoulder during the fight (he’d been intending for the heart, but had inexplicably missed). So not a ghost, but still a traitor. A traitor, a bastard, a thief (and Kraken’s chest has been aching since the moment he looked in the man’s eyes again, but he ignores it) and a lying deserter.
“Edward,” says The Gentleman Pirate, grimacing as he sits cross legged some feet away, bandages across his shoulder and arm in a makeshift sling, bruises blossoming across his face, blonde hair shoulder-length, flat and greasy on his head and the scruff of rough beard marring his white jaw.
Stede Bonnet. Fucking Stede Bonnet. Or Stede focking Bonnet, as Izzy might say.
“I’m sorry about this. I truly hoped it wouldn’t go this way-”
“That’s Blackbeard to you, dog,” the Kr-Blackbeard hisses, “Now shut the fuck up and leave me alone.”
And Bonnet doesn’t. In fact, his eyes narrow, lips purse and fingers curl into fists. The determination of a lunatic.
“No. No, I will not do either of those things. I’ve come too far and done too much get back to this ship, to you- so you are going to hear me out, and you will sit still and you will shut the fuck up, and not try any funny business while I do so, or-!” and Bonnet gestures wildly to a point off behind Blackbeard’s right ear- “Jim over there will have something to say about it!”
The sound of a knife hitting wood is all the confirmation Blackbeard needs of that. He turns his head anyway to see them in periphery, leaning casually against a nearby railing, staring and twisting a knife into the handrail with obvious threat. Notably, they are still wearing their black leather jacket, reminding him that only several hours earlier he’d had full control of his ship and crew. How quickly tides could change.
“Now, I’m not expecting a miracle here,” continues Bonnet, “I’m not stupid enough to think that just hearing my side of the story will cause some miraculous reconciliation or that forgiveness can be so easily earned. You’re angry at me and I deserve it, but I think it’ll do us both good to get at least a little closure with each other. You know what I always say, best to talk it through as a, uh, crew. So, I’ll tell my story, and you can tell yours, if you like, and we can decide where to go from there together. Hopefully with words, though, because I’ve had quite enough of knives for today.”
The attempt at a joke falls flat on its face.
Blackbeard lets a few awkward beats go by, glaring, and Bonnet clears his throat. “So, uh, do you agree to the terms of this little chat, Blackbeard?”
“You can do whatever you want, Mr Bonnet,” Blackbeard sneers, and to make a point he flexes again against his binds (although, curiously finds a slight give in the separate ropes of his left hand, but he easily masks the surprise there). “Not like you’ve left me with any bloody choice here, mate.”
That last word slips out unbidden, and gives him slight pause. This isn’t a friendly conversation. We are not friends. We are not anything, not anymore. Traitor, bastard, liar, deserter.
Bonnet, however, doesn’t appear to notice.
“Ah yes, I suppose that’s true.” He nods, for way too long and maybe only just for himself, fidgets with the ends of his bandages and shuffles around as though to get more comfortable on his ass. Like wooden planks were ever any kind of comfortable.
The next silent seconds tick by torturously slow, winding Blackbeard up tighter than that the chains of an anchor being pulled from the depths. He’s a moment away from cursing the man out again, to tell him to just get it over with or to just torture him or to just fuck off again, when Bonnet takes a steeling breath, and pins him down with those sharp, brown eyes.
“Ok, then.”
And then he’s talking, at first with structure and intent, as though he’s rehearsed this, but it then dissolves into a desperate, rambling vomit of words.
It takes Blackbeard a few moments to figure out what he’s hearing- a fucking play-by-play of Stede Bonnet’s entire fucking life since they’d last seen each in the dim light of the Academy’s dormitory. He talks of misfired guns and splattered brains, art exhibits, kebab sticks, petrified oranges and a dramatic fuckery of carriages, jungle cats and pianos (“My only regret is that I wish you could have seen it.”) and there’s more still.
Bonnet tells of belated love realisations (an awful twisting, gut punching feeling) the obvious stupidity of setting sail in a small boat with minimal provisions, the luck of stumbling upon his own marooned crew on a tiny island, the ache and anxiety of the pursuit; the longing and long nights and careful plans and ‘acquiring’ a boat from some poor fisherman and also the apologies.
Turns out he has a lot of those.
I’m sorry I left you there that night, sorry it took so long to find you again, sorry I hurt you so much you had to turn that hurt outwards, sorry, sorry, sorry.
And Blackbeard, well, he just sits. And listens. He tells himself he shouldn’t; that the only reason he’s still here is the rope tying him to the mast. That Stede Bonnet would, should be a real corpse under his hands for ripping through his life and heart and pride all those months ago.
He’d tried to do as much only hours earlier, Izzy Hands’ whisper in his ear as he’d bellowed with rage and murderous intent. Punched the stupid man in the face and stabbed him in the shoulder (he’d meant for the heart, he keeps telling himself) and tried to- well thinking back, he wasn’t so sure what he’d been trying to do in that moment. Something or other about proving the Kraken’s power to the crew or showing Bonnet that he wasn’t that weak fool on that beach anymore or maybe just… trying to make him feel as shitty and hurt as Blackbeard felt inside.
But now Izzy is below deck, probably still out cold, and while at first it had taken restraint (and a reminder of Jim’s sharp and pointy presence behind him) to keep his mouth shut, it seems the more Stede speaks, the more tension oozes from Blackbeard’s own body, like a sluggish mortal wound leaking blood.
“It’s not simple, why I left you there. Please believe me, it wasn’t anything with you, or what happened that day, and especially not- well.” A beat. “It was me, and it was a lot of little things and big things, and in the moment, I truly and stupidly thought you’d be better off without me, Edward.” Stede has been crying for some minutes now, tracks running through the grime on his face and frilled sleeve occasionally coming up to wipe at his reddening, watery nose.
“It was the wrong decision to go back to my family, I see that now crystal clear. I was never the husband or father they needed. These past months have only solidified my belief that I belong out here on the ocean, with my crew, with-”
He stops himself, but the ‘you’ is so obvious it seems to physically hang in the air between them. He looks away, blinking, and Edward does the same, taking a moment to steel himself and take stock of his surroundings- it’s nearing sunset and the air is cooling, a gathering of darker clouds on the horizon and a familiar ache in his knee heralding the likely arrival of rain later. Oluwande has sidled up to Jim and they talk quietly, arms intimately brushing against each other, but still keeping a watchful eye with hands on their weapons.
Edward waits until their gazes are elsewhere, and tugs again at the rope around his left wrist. It gives a little slack.
Stede turns back again, slightly more collected. Opens his mouth, closes it again. Kinda like a fish, gaping and awkward. Edward finds his gaze drawn unconsciously to the pink of those lips, and the memory of the last time they’d sat side by side, talking quietly and he’d leaned in closer-
In a fit of anger, the Kraken rears its head.
“Oh, fuck off with this SOB story, Bonnet! So what, you had an epic journey of self-realisation, doesn’t change the fact that you deserted me to run back to your comfortable little life, whatever reasons you had. And then, when they didn’t welcome you back like a hero, and wasn’t all easy and fucking roses, you just ran away again. That’s all you seem to be good at, isn’t it Stede?”
Blackbeard expects an equally heated reply, a cutting remark, some passive aggression.
Instead, Bonnet fixes him with a shrewd eye. He sighs.
“You know,” he says, “It’s been months now, but I just seem to keep coming back to the things Chauncey Badminton said that night, before he died.”
And Edward’s poor heart, which had felt little else but numbness and heat and alcoholic haze for so long, sinks in his chest. He honestly doesn’t know how much more of this he can handle. He groans, dipping his head, feeling things and feelings and memories and emotions so much it’s almost dizzying.
He’d begrudgingly accepted some time ago that a part of his brain would always be on that dock- staring at the stars, jumping up expectantly at every noise, pacing back and forth like a naïve, lovesick fool pining for his boyfriend. But somehow now it’s even worse knowing that the man he’d been waiting for- the man he’d thrown his life away for and planned to sail away to a distant land with- had only been minutes away at gunpoint. What awful, horrible thing had that Badminton fucker said that it still vexed Stede’s mind?
And the Kraken and even Blackbeard cry in his head that he doesn’t, shouldn’t care, Stede had left him there alone and the dickhead was probably lying on top of all of that- some elaborate plan to not get himself killed- but the part that was Edward is in control as he nods at Stede to continue.
The man draws in a ragged breath.
“Before he shot himself, Chauncey said it was all my fault. That I was a monster… a plague. That I brought the greatest pirate in history to ruin- that, that I… defile… beautiful things.”
And Stede looks at him with those big, honest, (beautiful brown) sparkling eyes, like he’s just confessed the most awful of crimes, and Edward, blinking, can’t help but be… well, confused.
“What? And you believed that? That’s fucking ridiculous.” It’s the first thing he’s said to Stede since the raid without any malice or hurt, just incredulity.
Stede shrugs with a half-laugh, playing absently with the bandages on his shoulder. A red stain was slowly blossoming through them. They’d need to be changed again before the morning, probably.
“That fucker’s better off dead, I could tell he was a nut from the first,” says Edward, “What kinda Admiral trips onto his own gun, anyway? Stupid.”
“Well, he was quite drunk,” offers Stede.
“Don’t defend that bastard, he tried to kill you!” exclaims Edward.
“Trust me I’m not, he and his brother were right dicks even in our childhood. Still, it’s not proper or gentlemanly to speak ill of the dead, even if you wish they’d died sooner.”
Edward snorts, and immediately wishes he could suck it back in when Stede shoots him a small smirk.
No, not mates, not friends, not anything. Not a friendly conversation, here, between a captor and captee, no co-Captains to be found.
He growls. Clenches his hands into fists, willing the anger of the Kraken to rise again, but it barely seems to lift a tentacle, in truth, the fight had left alongside the adrenaline. Still, he tries.
“You think you ruined me? I’m a grown man and a pirate, mate, I make my own decisions, always have,” he says. “And defiling pretty things or whatever? What the hell’s that got to do with this or me?”
It doesn’t make sense- it’s not like Edward Teach has ever been a beautiful thing that could be defiled or ruined in the first place. He was and is a tight bundle of skin, bones, shattered nerves and tattoos. He is a flag waving in the wind that sends fear into the hearts of brave men, a story of eight guns and smoke to scare children in their beds, a finely tuned instrument of destruction, just a half-crazed maniac with running black charcoal across his eyes and jaw, rampaging across the Caribbean. He’s the child strangling his father on a dock decades ago and the man throwing a friend into the ocean to drown just for caring and a caged animal always waiting to strike, especially now, trussed against the mast of his own damn ship.
And Stede, Stede fucking Bonnet, looks at him with soft realisation, mouth opening to a soft ‘Oh’, full of all the softness and tenderness in the world- almost like he had after Edward had idiotically kissed him that twilight on the beach.
“Oh, my dear. My heart, my love, my darling,” the words feel foreign to Ed’s ears, but they tumble so naturally from Stede’s mouth, upturned in a gentle smile. “I thought I’d make myself clear in the story, but perhaps I haven’t.”
And Stede stumbles forward on his knees, the hand of his uninjured arm suddenly cupping Edward’s face, so close he can smell sweat and a hint of whatever far too plain soap he’d been using, and see the individual bristles of that grey-blonde scraggly (and admittedly attractive) beard.
Stede’s calloused fingers brush so tenderly against Edward’s cheekbone it almost hurts, gooseflesh erupting and eyes starting to water, stupidly, from just the feeling. It’s more gentleness that he wants or deserves and it’s the most he’s been touched so gently in so long and- oh god it’s like looking directly at the sun or a lighthouse in the night, the brightness burning his eyes.
Blackbeard shifts uncomfortably, the sting of rope pressing against leather and chafed skin a stingy reminder that, yes, this is happening and no, he can’t get away from it. And maybe that’s not… the worst thing ever. The Kraken would be sneering in disgust right now, spitting in Stede’s eye, but Edward can’t bring himself to do that, only stare like a child into the face he’d once thought he’d never see again in waking life.
“You,” says Stede, like a prayer, leaning closer, “You, my lovely Ed. All you did for me, all you gave up- your free life at sea, your beard, everything. I ran partly because I thought I’d ruined you, taken a beautiful ship and ran it aground with my selfishness. I couldn’t bear it.”
Edward can’t bear it. He shakes his head minutely, wills himself to speak, to deny, to shout or bite his own tongue off, but can’t. Stede is right there, so close, and the best he can do is lean his head back as far as the wood behind him will allow but it’s not enough distance. It’s too close, at the same time, too far. Oh, god, he had forgotten the exact shade of brown of Stede’s eyes until this very second!
Stede’s hand travels downward, fingers gently tugging the black cravat around his neck on the way down, (shoulda thrown that thing out months ago, damnit), down his chest until it settles on what he can reach of Edward’s right hand, tied down somewhere next to his midriff.
(He wriggles his separately tied left arm, feels the rope loosening even more.)
And Stede is still talking, damn him, rambling again with short, excited breaths that dance across Edward’s face.
“I love- I fell in love with you, in that short time we were together. You made me happy, and I’m such an idiot, for not realising it sooner- I suppose you kissing me should have been a huge clue, but it wasn’t because I was just so stupid. And you’d best believe I’m still in love with you, even now, after all the time and distance I’ve crossed to be here today. I wish I could conjure better words or that I was dressed a little nicer for this, but you need to know. Oh, my beautiful, beautiful Ed, my love!”
“I’m-I’m not,” is all Edward can grunt, mind empty. Not beautiful, no, never. No one has ever- he isn’t, he’s not. Just not.
“But you are!” Stede replies, and suddenly his scratchy lips are on Edward’s forehead placing a gentle kiss, and he’s gazing into folds of a white shirt, a peak of bare chest beneath it. “You are! I’ll tell it to you a thousand times over, I’ll shout it from the crow’s nest for the whole ocean to hear, whatever it takes for you to believe it. Edward Teach, I love you and you are beautiful!”
There are tears in Edward’s blinking eyes, and it all comes roaring back like crushing wave- how Stede had made him so fucking happy too, made it seem like he had a choice for the first time in a long time. Like maybe he could live the rest of his life softly, surrounded by fine things, avoiding that violent, bloody destiny he’d been sailing towards since childhood. But Stede had left, he’d left, and Izzy Hands’ words had buzzed around in his head (maybe just like Badminton’s had with Stede), and something had snapped in his brain, the Kraken emerging from the wreckage calling him a stupid fucking fool for trying to veer off course.
So he’d overcorrected, leaving Lucius, the crew, most of Stede’s possessions and even Izzy to bear the consequences, scattered and hurt like the debris left in the wake of a hurricane.
But that wasn’t the last of it, either, because whatever pieces of his heart that remained had shattered the day Ivan handed him the newspaper page with ‘STEDE BONNET, WEALTHY LANDOWNER THOUGHT DEAD, DIES SHORTLY AFTER MIRACULOUS RETURN HOME’ splashed upon it like a tombstone’s epitaph, and well- that was it, wasn’t it.
He’d been drinking more ever since, alcohol the only way he could keep a steady aim in a raid or pass out in the night, without the feeling that all that business with the Act of Grace and giving his beard and life away had been for nothing- or even worse, that Stede Bonnet had taken the last of Edward Teach’s goodness and grace with him to the afterlife.
And who really gave a shit if he was cruel and hard to his crew, if the Kraken was less myth than Blackbeard had ever been. He saw it every time he happened on his own reflection nowadays, just a feral beast animating the body of what once had been a man. His unchangeable, unbearable course directly into the fires of Hell.
But… was it really that unchangeable?
After all, the real crew of the Revenge had come home today. He can hear Lucius, Black Pete and Fang laughing together somewhere behind him, the sounds of merry celebration and glasses clinking softly filling the air, Wee John tearfully telling Frenchie how much he missed him, and he knows from sound alone that Olu had yet to leave Jim’s side against the rail. He’d seen them kiss earlier, embracing as though they were afraid to let go of each other. Even Izzy would wake in a few hours, furious and with a splitting headache, but very much alive, and Stede, well- Stede is on his knees between Edward’s legs, filling his vision with golden curls and soft, pale skin. Frowning at him.
“Ed? You do believe me, don’t you Ed?”
Edward meets his gaze, dazed, suddenly aware that he has yet to form a complete sentence out loud since Stede had declared his, well, love.
“Don’t know. Don’t know what to think, it’s all a lot, everything you’ve said, all complicated and shit.” He clears his throat. God, he wants a drink. Maybe that will make things clearer and easier. It’s all foggy and muddled, this feelings business.
Stede pulls back a onto his haunches with a ‘hmm’, brow furrowed. Crooks his head, runs his eyes up and down, lands on Edward’s lips, licks his own. Clenches his fingers.
“Well, maybe this will make things a little simpler, then.”
Stede leans in again and then, inexplicably, for the second time in his life, Edward Teach is kissing Stede Bonnet. Properly, on the lips, and his brain goes fzzzzzzz and then empty. But it’s not the nothing numb empty of the Kraken, no, this is almost nice- there’s no cataclysm of pain being kept at bay here, just lips, awkward and searching on his and the sensation of fingers running down the matted mess of his hair and the warmth of it all, the touch, the exhale of Stede’s breath through his nose against his own nostrils, how easily they seem to slot in together like-
And Edward jolts back into himself, eyes flying open. Why the fuck are you allowing this? It’s Izzy’s voice, or maybe his own instead or as well. A poisonous whisper that seems to shove a sinking weight into his stomach. He’s a fucking traitor, bastard-
And he wants to blame the ropes for his sudden inability to move, but that wouldn’t be the truth- it’s him, his body that’s… betraying him? Was that the right word? Anyway, here he is, angry at himself, at the world, at Stede Bonnet rising from the grave to make him feel his fucking feelings, angry that actually wants to kiss the fucker like he wants water or air. Or maybe he’s angry that he isn’t angrier. He should be angry, right? Right?!? This is all so confusing.
And, probably sensing the maelstrom brewing in Edward, the blonde bastard pulls back, eyes fluttering open, face etched in disappointment or maybe sorrow. The outsides of his mouth are stained black with the Kraken’s charcoal beard, a horrible mar on the pink of his lips and the pale skin surrounding them. He takes another steeling breath, like he had at the start of the conversation, and seems to pull himself together.
“I’m sorry, Ed. I shouldn’t have done that. Shouldn’t have assumed you’d still want that after all this time.” The apologetic smile he plasters on seems oddly forced, not reaching his eyes and the wetness they are still brimming with. “It’s ok, though! We have time now to do whatever you want to do, whether that’s getting you back to your old self again, or helping with this new fervour you have for piracy, either way, I’ll be here for it! Anything you want I’ll do, except leave you alone of cours. I’m determined to never do that again for the rest of my life, if it can be helped.”
His face falls. Something in Edward’s heart tumbles with it.
“And if you don’t want… me like that ever again, well that’s ok too.” Stede gestures vaguely, awkwardly at his lips. “I hurt you terribly the first time and as much as I had hoped- well, all that matters is that you’re ok, I suppose. And if you’re ok, then I will be too, love.”
Edward can only stare, and stare and stare some more, at the earnest man before him. It was too much, too soon, all at once.
‘I’m not a good person,’ he’d once told Stede, huddled in a bathtub under a stolen dressing gown, and that was true then and even truer now. The Kraken wasn’t really all that new, just a bigger, bolder and darker Blackbeard, he’d told himself. Blackbeard without reservation, without the weakness and morality of Edward holding him back, everything Izzy wanted and more.
Just yesterday they’d raided a Dutch fishing vessel, ripping though the ship and it’s crew like a violent storm, leaving little else but a leaking hull for the terrified survivors to desperately patch as the Revenge sailed away victoriously. Two weeks before it had been a French trade ship, and he remembered that even through the whole bottle of rum he’d downed, because the Captain had been oddly brave. He’d fought to the last in defence of his cargo and crew, and barely screamed as the Kraken pushed him down the galley steps, ensuring that Edward heard every sharp crack of his bones snapping on the way down. He couldn’t remember how many raids he’d led these past months, all of them blurring together in one big soup pot in his brain.
Blackbeard’s himself again, Izzy had said proudly at the start of it. But now, all Edward could think was how strangely easy it had been for Wee John and Buttons to take him down in the raid, almost as though the man had just wanted it to be all over.
Absently, Edward tries again at the separate rope on his left hand, and there! It gives enough that he knows he can slip out of it.
He knows what he should do, now, and he has very little time to do it. He’d noticed the knife on Bonnet’s hip the second he’d sat down. One quick and coordinated move and he’d have it, and a quick, unexpected kick would send the other man flying onto his ass, his injured shoulder keeping him down. The next bit would be tricky, a split second where Jim and Olu would thunder towards him and Ed would have to figure out how to block an incoming knife. But if he can survive that, maybe even injure one or more of them as they struggle to contain them, then he can work on cutting his binds. From there, if none of the other crew are close or quick enough to get to him, he can make a break for a dinghy, and maybe, just maybe, if enough of them are too inebriated from their party to man the canons or alter course, he’ll be able to row fast enough to get away. Not his best plan, really, but it could work. Probably. Maybe. Yeah.
He looks to Stede. Stede is once again wiping at his eyes.
“Well, that’s all I wanted to say, really. I suppose I should, uh, get out of your hair.” He moves awkwardly to stand and Edward’s chance is slipping away, and the Kraken and Blackbeard are screaming in his ears-
“No!” And Ed pulls his hand free and surges forward, (hears Jim shout, “Hijo de puta!” behind him) but instead of going for the knife, he twists his hands in Stede’s shirt and yanks him in with a surprised squeak.
For the third time in his life, Ed kisses Stede, but it is nothing of the gentleness of the first two- this is all force and teeth, and Ed’s hand feels dead and Stede groans in pain and needs to throw his one good arm against the mast to find some kind of balance, but they both keep going until they are forced apart by a need for air.
“No, shut up, but don’t leave me alone,” gasps Ed, “You stupid fucking idiot, you never should have left me on that dock. God I hate you.” He punctuates the you with another quick kiss to the corner of Stede’s now thoroughly stained lips. “You and your beautiful hands and face and clothes. Come closer, traitor, I’m not through with you!”
And they’re kissing again and grinning at each other, shifting into less awkward positions, and it’s glorious, until a shadow blocking the orange light of the now-setting sun falls upon them. Ed looks to see Jim and Olu standing over them, looking ready to intervene but holding themselves back.
“Sorry, need to interrupt here,” says Oluwande. “But we kinda need to know what’s happening now? Is this you cooperating, then?”
“I’m not gonna try to escape,” Ed says instantly, Stede whining when their lips break contact, “Or hurt anyone else, I promise. You can retie me if you want.” He pulls his free hand from where it had become tangled in Stede’s hair and raises it in surrender.
“Oh, pish posh, Ed!” says Stede with a breathless giggle. He’s practically in Ed’s lap now. “If anything, we need to be getting ropes off you, not putting more on!” His hand starts to move towards the knots.
“Not a good idea, Captain,” says Jim, glaring suspiciously at Ed and still very much holding their knife in plain view.
“Yeah, as much as you want to let him out, the rest of the crew won’t be so keen,” supplies Olu, “Might be best to keep him immobilised until we’re all sure, as a crew, you know. They might want to take a vote.”
“They’re right, Stede,” adds Ed, softly, gently lowering his hand to cup the man’s face. “I promise I’m not a danger anymore, but they’ll still think it for a while.”
Stede blinks, once, twice, thrice. Beautiful brown.
“Ah! Yes, that’s right, I wasn’t thinking there, was I?” he answers, his cheeks flushed.
“Not with your head brain anyway,” quips back Ed, lowly, and that draws a delighted laugh.
“Ok, well if you two are just gonna flirt instead of murdering each other, I think I’ll just go re-join the party,” Olu says. He gives Jim a peck on the cheek and a warm “See you later,” before saluting Stede and heading off.
“Well, if you’re planning on leaving his arm free, then I need you to give me your knife, Captain,” Jim states manner-of-factly, gesturing to Stede’s holster.
“What? Oh, I’d forgotten about that,” says Stede, handing it over quickly.
“I coulda stabbed you again with that, you know,” adds Ed, half-joking.
“I’m glad you didn’t. I’ve grown rather attached to this shirt. It’s not the finest, but it’s seen me well through the last few months.”
“I bet.”
“Oh madre de dios, I’m still going to be keeping watch so don’t try anything bad,” cries Jim, stomping back the way they came. “Or anything gross. I do not want to see or hear it!” They add over their shoulder.
Ed and Stede both laugh, and it feels like a fucking fantastic thing to do. Like a snake shedding it’s skin, all the bullshit and tension falls away, until all he can feel is Stede’s very real and warm and not ghostly presence shifting around him. The man climbs over Ed’s thigh and turns to settle cross legged with his back to the mast so they’re side by side, sighing.
“Big day,” he says. “I’m exhausted.”
“Yeah, same.”
Ed turns his head to get as much of Stede in his vision as possible. Stede, he thinks, and there’s a dopey smile on his face, and he’s thinking again.
Things like am I really this lucky and if someone had told me this morning I’d be here now I would have shot them and I wonder how often he’ll let me kiss him from now on, like, where would the limit be?
Stede’s fussing again at Ed’s bounds, finger fluttering across the fibre of the ropes and frowning. “They’re not too tight, are they, darling?” he asks. “I’m sure I could ask someone to loosen-”
“You’re not a defiler, Stede, so you better stop thinking that,” Ed says softly, reaching to gently press his hand over Stede’s heart, that he was now infinitely glad not to have stabbed. “Badminton was wrong, you’re a- fuck, I’m not good with metaphors- well, more like a gardener, I guess.”
Stede raises an eyebrow. “A gardener, you say? I’m afraid you’re going to have to elaborate on that one, Ed. If you mean dirty and ready for a bath, you’d be right in that sense.”
Ed could picture it in his mind clear as day- all things soft and beautiful and delightful came to life in Stede’s hands, growing under the care of that loving gaze, tenderly watered and weeded and guided to become it’s best. It was all those little things- reading stories to his crew at night, his boldness and quick wit inspiring such loyalty, the soft kindness that led him to delicately folding a piece of red silk into a pocket square. No doubt even the thorniest, ugliest plant would bend into place if it found itself in his garden.
And yeah, maybe a storm would roll through now and then, but Ed knew now that Stede would always find a way back to rebuild it, even from scratch. Because he was a fucking lunatic, really, but Ed liked that.
“Just like,” he gestures, trying to form his thoughts into words, “The way life grows around you, I guess. Your ship, your crew, me, you make us all flowers. Like you’re the sun and the rain and the soil too, and fuck I’m muddling the metaphor up now, aren’t I? Shouldn’t have tried.”
Stede laughs. “No, that’s very sweet. I see where you were going,” he sighs, long and tired, leans back into the mast, “But I’m afraid to say I am just a flawed man like any other. A man who’s made mistakes, and hopes to maybe make up for some of them, if you’d have me.”
Ed pauses, pretending to think. Yes, I very much would, in every way.
Aloud, he says, “Well, if you were serious about sticking around, I might just have a spot for you on my crew. Been meaning to take on more members lately.”
“How generous of you,” coos Stede. “Will I need a leather jacket to match the uniform?”
And isn’t that a tantalising thought.
They talk and it’s easy and light, free hands entwined and Stede leaning his head against Ed’s shoulder. They turn their gazes to the horizon, watching in awe as the sun sets in earnest through the railing of the ship, bathing everything in brilliant hues of orange and yellow.
When the cool of night starts to creep in, Stede leans up to kiss him again, and it’s everything Ed ever wanted. He kisses sweet and steady, until Edward Teach slowly starts to think that maybe he could be a beautiful thing after all, if Stede Bonnet could rise from the grave to tell him as such.
-
True story, I’m tired right now because I keep staying up into the wee hours of the morning reading blackbonnet fics bc I am apparently still the same feral fool I was as a teenager.
Also also also I got the breakup robe fabric so I’m gonna do a stede cosplay for a con in December im so excited!!!!
This turned out surprisingly sweet and nice (if a little angsty), considering how much gentlebeard porn I’ve been consuming lately. Don’t judge me, you’re doing the same.
Title from The Crane Wives 'Never Love An Anchor' bc there's an ofmd animatic for it and i love the song now.
#ofmd#our flag means death#blackbonnet#gentlepirate#ofmd fanfiction#stede bonnet#edward teach#G writes#this took fucking weeks to get out please take it from me
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I hope one day we can forgive each other for not being what we wanted each other to be
Kriti G.
#Kriti G.#motivation#quotes#poetry#literature#relationship quotes#writing#original#words#love#relationship#thoughts#lit#prose#spilled ink#inspiring quotes#life quotes#quoteoftheday#love quotes#poem#aesthetic
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Aches and Adoration // Part 3
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4
Summary: It’s been a few years since you became a member of Dauntless and you want to brush up on your fighting skills. Getting Eric to help you was probably not your best idea.
Warnings: Explicit language, violence and injury, fem!reader
Word Count: 1.4k
Taglist: @ask-the-inserts @not-the-teen-witch @danthegirl99
The layout of the leader’s room matched you own but the space itself was larger despite Eric’s minimalistic style. You compared the kitchen to your own, where yours was littered with appliances, cookbooks and ingredients the only things you could see in Eric’s were a coffee machine and a small, heaped fruit bowl. You let your eyes flit across the living room to his bookshelves, overflowing with an unexpected variety of texts. You didn’t have him down as a voracious reader but he had proven you wrong before. While you had been studying his space he had collapsed onto the couch with a grunt, the motion clearly upsetting his sore ribs.
“Ice?” You questioned, tilting your head towards the kitchen. He gave an almost imperceptible nod and you stepped lightly towards his freezer, suddenly feeling uncomfortable in his private space. You rifled around in the draws and grabbed a bag of ice and a towel from the side before returning to the couch. Intending to just hand the ice to Eric you were shocked into silence when he began to lift the hem of his vest, drawing your attention to his red-raw knuckles. You sucked in a breath at the sight of his fluttering abs as he struggled to breathe through the pain across his ribs. Gently lowering the cool ice-filled towel to the developing bruise you tried to keep your gaze steadily on the arm of the couch, hoping that you could fight down the blush rising to your cheeks. Maybe you should have grabbed some ice for yourself, because you felt as though you were on fire and you weren’t even directly touching Eric’s skin.
“You’re a terrible teacher, you know that?” You whispered as you lowered yourself to crouch by his side.
“How so?” He grunted through clenched teeth and you couldn’t tell if his injury or the cold bothered him more.
“Aren’t you supposed to set a good example? He totally tapped out and you ignored it.” You ventured a glance up at his face and noted the confused quirk of his lips.
“You didn’t get that luxury from him.” Eric mumbled, and you realised then that his attack on Thelonious had been entirely for your benefit. Revenge on your behalf.
“Oh,” you shyly returned your attention to his ribs, “thank you, Eric.”
A muffled “didn’t do it for you” was all you got in response and it caused your lips to pull up in a knowing smile at the blatant lie.
You removed the bag of ice and brazenly ran your hand over the purpling skin, checking for any further wounds, your thumb caressed the ridges of muscle and pale flesh and your brows pinched in concern. Eric sucked in a harsh breath above you and you withdrew your hand so swiftly you almost hit yourself in the chest.
“Sorry.” You muttered sheepishly. “Give me your hands?” Eric stared down at you, sat delicately on your knees next to his stretched out legs, and pulled a face of disgust. You rolled your eyes, fully aware that he was embarrassed by your touch. “They’re all cracked and covered in blood Eric, c’mon, please?”
His hands landed gracelessly on his knees and you lifted his large palm softly into your own so that you could wipe at the scrapes with the dampened towel. You noticed him fisting his neglected hand into the fabric of his cargos and pretended to ignore the almost imperceptible shake of the hand you were currently working on. Was Eric nervous? No, he was clearly just trying to hide his pain, you reasoned, wiping his knuckles even more gently and moving up to sit beside him on the couch. Your knee lightly bumped into his muscled thigh and you shifted to put some distance between you since he didn’t seem to be enjoying the contact of your hands on his and you didn’t want to test his patience.
You had almost finished cleaning both hands of blood when you felt his thigh press back against your knee, filling the space, protesting the distance you had created. It was surprisingly soothing and a stark contrast to your usual bodily contact during training. It almost made you gasp but you both remained silent, not daring to acknowledge the lingering touch and the tension that was beginning to build. Feeling emboldened, you sat up on your knees to reach across Eric’s lap and check on the bruising of his ribs, his eyes level with your throat as you wiped away the wayward drips of freezing water from his exposed stomach, the muscles trembling beneath your touch. You were distractedly balling up the towel in your fists and preparing to move back to your side of the couch when you felt the dampness of lips at the base of your neck and a thank you murmured into your smooth skin. The pleasure of his warmth against your own had you releasing a soft moan before you came back to yourself.
You felt yourself tense, your eyes flew open and you fell backwards into the armrest, almost winding yourself in the process. You directed your wide-eyed stare towards your leader and the thunderous expression that marred his handsome features sent a wave of fear through you.
“Shit Eric, I’m sorry-” Any chance to explain yourself was crushed by Eric shooting up without even a twinge of pain and marching towards the door.
“Leave.”
You gaped at him for a second before his deepening scowl had you following his orders, looking around the room in shocked desperation. You turned to face him at the entrance with pleading, watery eyes.
“Eric, I-”
The door slammed in your face.
~~~
Saturday was typically a rest day but you often took up residence in the training room to practice your weapons handling so that you weren’t completely idle. Today, however, you fully intended to stay in your room and mope. You had barely slept and had been plagued by the phantom sensation of Eric’s pouty lips against the base of your throat, the memory of his face as you practically leapt across the room to get away from him taunting you every time you closed your eyes. You had just gotten comfortable with a book when a knock sounded from your door. A spark of hope lit up in your chest at the prospect of it being Eric standing out there in the corridor and you padded your way across the room, aiming for nonchalance but not being able to contain your small smile.
“Will?”
“Don’t seem too disappointed.” Your friends eyes were alight with mirth at your failure to hide your dissatisfaction. “I just came by to ask if you wanted to join me on my run? Christina was saying how your endurance needs some work.”
“That snake.” You scrunched up your nose, but laughter bubbled out of you at the thought of Christina imploring Will to get you to work out. It was your rest day, but a light jog couldn’t hurt. You pulled Will into your apartment by his sleeve and abandoned him in your living room so you could go and change into some proper clothes without leaving him standing in the corridor.
You were pulling your sports bra over your head when you heard your front door close heavily. Grabbing your running shoes you stepped back into your living room to find that your sweet brunette friend had been replaced by the imposing blond leader you hadn’t been prepared to see.
“Where’s Will?” In your confusion, you had completely forgotten the previous nights dismissal, but you were quickly reminded of it as your eyes landed upon Eric’s tongue, flicking out to moisten his reddened lips. It looked as though he had been chewing on them, they seemed sore and you so desperately wanted to soothe them. His eyes were firmly planted on your chest since it was not particularly well hidden in your current attire.
“I don’t want him sabotaging my hard work.” He pulled his gaze up to your face, registering the look of uncertainty in your eyes, the tips of his ears turning a dark shade of pink.
“I take it the light jog I had planned in now going to be a brutal sprint around the city?” You cocked your hip and crossed your arms, subtly lifting your chest in defiance.
“Of course.” He grinned at you wolfishly, any hint of last nights rage disappearing with a smirk.
#eric coulter#eric divergent#eric coulter x reader#x reader#eric coulter x you#x you#divergent#fluff#jai courtney#enemies to lovers#fem!reader#mentor/mentee#smut#g writes#slow burn
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Chapter One: In the Dead of Night
Vladimir Makarov x Reader
The Long Road Masterlist
Summary: Soon after your fiance's murder you find yourself diving face first into enacting a plan to avenge his death. Regardless of your friend's approval, your wellbeing, livelihood, or future, you find yourself in it for the long-con.
Words: 2.2k
Warnings: Violence, Guns, Death, Major MW3 Spoiler, Main Character Death, Grief, Loss, Angst, Anger, Hatred, Revenge, Dark Themes,
A/N: This is... sooooo self-indulgent and utterly crack, tbh. I'd thought it up a while ago and keep thinking about it. I kept trying to think of a way to make it realistic, but... I just feel like there is no way of doing that, so I'm just gonna write it. However it goes, it goes. Also fyi I am using google translate so I really hope it's coming out okay. I do speak Russian, but only Duolingo tiny bit. divider by @saradika
You were prepared for this, you knew it was bound to happen one day, you just didn't know when that day would be. It only looks like, now, it's finally come. As you sit at the counter, stirring the bowl of oatmeal you'd just made and are trying your best to get to cool down, you can't help but think about the man currently in the other room.
You'd expected an entrance something akin to that of a Mission Impossible movie: a loud boom, doors knocked down, guns blazing, venomous words shouted in a language you've hardly begun to understand despite the tedious month of learning to the best of your abilities. Thunder cracks in the distance, rattling the windowpane in the next room; you don't know when the heavy downpour started, but it hasn't given any sign of yield since his arrival only a half hour ago now. Part of you can't help but think back to the myths and legends your husband... husband--your fiance--you remind yourself, mentally scolding as this isn't the first, and you doubt it's the last time you're going to mentally interchange the two words. Part of you can't help but think back to the myths and legends your fiance used to tell you.
The rain reminds you of the the way the Vikings would personify the Norse Gods to Earthly elements. Sure, you know some of the comics, like Thor, and Loki... but nevertheless, with your upbringing, the heavy pounding of the rain against the tin roof and the approaching thunder only makes your thoughts drift back to him. Johnny.
What would he think? What would he do? If he knew you were here... Maybe it's the spiritual part of you that never quite left, possibly having been ingrained from your grandparents when you were younger, or an aunt, an uncle of some sort, perhaps... but you think he'd do something silly like this. Come back as a thunderstorm, manifesting himself as something so threatening and dangerous, symbolizing his distress, unhappiness, and worry for you with torrents of rain, yet trying to protect you from the beyond even with lightning. Yet, you know that's impossible, and certainly not the case. Your heart begins to ache once more as you think of him, not wanting to get caught up, again, in the overwhelming grief you hadn't fully let yourself fall into. This is for him, you remind yourself once again.
"What are you giving her?" The voice comes from the doorway, and you're not entirely surprised by the venom in his tone, albeit taken aback. While he's not loud due to the (presumably) resting woman in the next room, you know that the lack of volume doesn't mean he wouldn't yell if the situation were anywhere else.
"What do you mean? This?" You quirk an eyebrow as you continue to stir in the little additives you'd put into the oatmeal: honey, sugar, and a pinch of salt. "It's oatmeal?" You explain, the confusion obvious in your tone as you hold the bowl up a bit, angling it for him to better see. As if the man has never seen oatmeal in his life; the thought would elicit a whirlwind of laughter from you any other time, or, more accurately, if it were any other person... but this was him. Makarov.
Vladimir Makarov: Thirty-six years old; born in Moscow Russia. Commander of Konni; the ultranationalistic private 'military contractor' group.
You'd done what research you could, found what information you had access to, some you didn't. Utilized what connections, resources, and favors were owed to you. Maybe some of them did it out of pity, out of guilt, or some other sense of failure on behalf of the SAS. Regardless, you'd set your plans into action, intent on making your promise to your late fiance come true. You will kill the man before you. It won't be today. No. After all, that'd be too soon, you have to earn his trust first. Only then, after he's comfortable, and settled, will you pursue your slow and agonizing torture.
"Христос," he curses, "she said you're poisoning her," he speaks slowly, a menacing quality to his tone as he unravels the crossed arms from his chest. Anger is evident in his irises as he stalks toward you with each step, eyebrows in a thick and harsh line. "I ask again-"
"The medication? Is that what you're talking about?" You ask. Feeling your own anger continuing to effervesce in your gut, you turn to face him on the stool, sliding from the counter. While he's still a couple feet away, you have to be more than a handful of feet shorter than him. Of that, you're sure. "Because from what I've deduced so far from being here, she bribed the last caretaker to not give her the medication on the agreement that she'd get more time off!"
He shifts his weight onto his left foot, eyes widening ever so imperceptibly, yet he remains quiet, so you continue. "They gave me her medication, told me to give it to her twice a day, so I'm doing that because she's been prescribed that medication. She clearly needs it, as per her doctor's orders. So unless you think the doctor isn't right, then, that's not my problem! I, however, am not surprised if she's telling you that since she obviously didn't even want me here in the first place."
Rounding the counter, you continue about your--at this point it could be considered daily--routine. Hand grasping your cool blue glass of water, you take a few sips while silently studying him. Despite having infiltrated his life and unknowingly (to him, ethically) disposed of his mother's last caretaker, you haven't officially met your late fiance's murderer till tonight.
KILLER
Slaughterer...! You destroyed him... You took him away from me. You're the reason he's gone. All the thoughts continue to run through your head rampantly, and you can't help but turn to face the wall opposite of him. Pretending to be busy with some of the drying dishes, you try to calm yourself. Acting on impulse and emotion will get you nowhere, you know this.
A heavy sigh permeates the silence that'd fallen between you, and there are the following taps of approaching dress shoes against hardwood floors. Quickly turning to make sure he neither invades your personal space nor dares to touch you, you're met with the visage of Makarov slumped at the counter, head in his hands.
You don't speak, you don't know what to say. Silence fills the space between you. Seeing him like this is weird considering all the stories you'd heard about him. Though you suppose even the most evil of men are still that... human. "How long have you worked as a caretaker?" He suddenly questions.
"A few years," you answer, swallowing the anxiety that starts to bubble up in your throat. "I started as a nurse and thought maybe I'd become a doctor, but it was... too much for me, and... not what I wanted to do. I discovered I liked helping people better as a nurse." It's not all lies, in fact, most of it is true. The only thing that meets your admission is silence, and that fact only raises the tension building within the cottage. Wincing at the rumbling outside, the sound does nothing to help the obvious discomfort you're experiencing finally facing him in person.
"And would you say you're good at your job?" He asks, eyes slightly narrowed in questioning as he slowly raises his head from his hands. The intensity of his dark brown eyes scream hostility and a hurt you can't immediately place your fingers on. Yet despite it all you refuse to waiver underneath his gaze.
"Yes. They wouldn't send me all the way out here otherwise. Not with a case like hers, Sir," you reply.
"Then what-" he tests, pronouncing each word clearly, "would you suggest I do?" He asks. There's a slight breathiness to his voice; with the thin windows, you can't help but feel as though the torrents of northern lake air through the meadow with its water.
Eyebrow raising in response, you're honestly shocked he'd ask such a thing. You're a complete stranger! A whirlwind of emotions go through you; excitement, bewilderment, shock, curiosity... you can't get ahead of yourself. With a sigh out, you shake your head. It may come across like disappointment to him, but really, it's to clear your head and collect yourself.
"Look... it's not something anyone wants to hear, bu-"
"Tell me!" He interrupts, demanding.
"But..." you emphasize, considering you were only putting up polite pretenses for show anyhow. "Really, family members do better when they're living with the family, even with caretakers to help. Whether you can't do it because you're busy or have other priorities, I understand."
"But at the end of the day, family members usually pass more quickly estranged like this on their own in a separate house because they feel lonely and like no one comes to visit. Maybe they have no one, or maybe they feel like they have nothing to live for anymore? She said you only visit her once or twice a year, if that... and while you write letters, that sometimes isn't enough for people, unfortunately. If you really want the truth."
Finished while your spiel, you shift your weight to the other foot as you place the finished oatmeal on the tray you reserve for his Mother. While, yes, you may despise him to the end's of the Earth... his Mother didn't do anything besides give birth to him. You accepted that the night you met her. Afraid to take another sip of your water, you stand in waiting, observant as Makarov seems to silently process everything you've said, his eyes shifting back and forth for a moment.
"I'll be back," he declares before sliding from the stool and rounding the corner into the small living space his Mother used to use more frequently. Shoulders sagging, a breath leaves you that you hadn't realized you'd been holding in. Onto your nightly routine with dinner, you attempt to distract yourself from the continuous torment of thunderstorm outside, meanwhile inside you can hear urgent demands in Russian faintly from the next room. It's clear he's on the phone... but with who? His goons, of course... right? Who else? But to kill you? To background check you? Do you need to prepare to flee?
As you stir the pot of soup you've just put on the stove, you can feel yourself start to sweat and panic. In an attempt to switch gears, you finish her dinner. Oatmeal ready, medication on the tray, you grab the lemonade you two had made the day prior and pour a glass for her before getting a steady grip on the tray and taking it down the hall. With a gentle rap of your foot as best you can against the doorframe, you announce your presence.
"Привет, Как вы себя чувствуете?" You ask, knowing the word for 'hi' and having figured out early on with the help of technology to ask how she's feeling.
"лучше теперь, когда он здесь." She responds with a soft but tired smile. It's a good sign that she's sitting up and alert at this time of night too. You don't understand the first part of what she says as she's talking too fast and you also don't have your phone out to capture what she says into your real time translation app, however you can grasp the last part. 'He's here.'
Placing the tray down on her lap, you shake your head and signal behind you with a frown. A second attempt, pointing to her, you give her a thumbs up and a smiling face for a moment, and then do the opposite. With a thumbs down and a sad face, you try again. "как дела?"
With a wave of her hand, she shakes her head now with a chuckle. "хорошо," she responds, lifting the spoon. "мой Володя!"
Whipping your head around, you find him standing there leaning against the doorframe most likely having been observing the two of you. Hopefully not for long... or maybe not at all since she would've said something. "она так просто с тобой разговаривает?" He says to his Mother, walking up to the bed and into her outstretched arms for the hug she craves.
"она не очень хорошо говорит по-русски," she quietly answers, holding him tightly for a moment, rubbing his back before letting go. With a pat on the bed next to her, she looks between the two of you. "My baby," she struggles to pronounce the word, "Vladimir." A proud smile sits upon her lips for a moment as she gestures to him. He smiles at her, too, and you nod.
"Yes, да. I have met your son just briefly. But it is good to officially meet," you tell her, even if you know she doesn't understand all of it. Shifting your gaze, he meets it with animosity. "Vladimir," you repeat.
"My mother tells me you are," he repeats your name, to which you nod, "it's a pleasure to officially meet you. Now that you're both here, I have news."
"News?" The question pops out of your mouth before you can stop it.
"Yes, news. Since you're taking care of my mother, you technically work for me. What you said stuck with me. You're right-" he shifts his speaking from you to his mother. "I've been a bad son to you, Mama. ты собираешься жить со мной." Again, he shifts his focus back to you. "We have to pack. You will both live on my compound from now."
~~~~~~~~
acronyms|translations:
Христос = christ
Привет = hi
Как вы себя чувствуете = how are you feeling
лучше теперь, когда он здесь = better now that he's here.
как дела = how are you
хорошо = good / fine / ok
мой Володя = my voldoya (nickname for vladimir)
она так просто с тобой разговаривает = she speaks to you so simply
она не очень хорошо говорит по-русски = she does not speak very much Russian
да = yes
ты собираешься жить со мной = you're coming to live with me
~~~~~~~~
forever taglist: @ohdamnadam , @safarigirlsp , @jynzandtonic , @moonlightsolo
#vladimir makarov x reader#vladimir makarov#makarov x reader#angst#mw3 spoilers#modern warfare 3 spoilers#mwiii spoilers#tlr#the long road#the long road series#series#g writes#my writing#dark themes#grief#loss#revenge#violence#cod reader insert#mw3 reader insert
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another offering up to the marie/jordan nation. the first part of a little idea that's been nagging my brain. hope y'all enjoy! thoughts, always welcome...
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🌈
🌈 Share something soft/fluffy from your WIP.
Well. There's not much of that yet. I kind of had to search for it a bit but:
Cody heads straight for Rex, grabs the back of his neck, and pulls their helmets together with a sharp crack.
“Steady on, vod,” Cody says.
#g writes#gaeasun answers#not exactly sure how to tag this work but until i had a more solid working title ill go with the current ones initials#MDPK#and yes this is basically softest thing in it so far#which tells you something about it
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idk if y'all are ready for this. . . but keep the tissues nearby
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Pet names - Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw x reader
a/n: idk where this came from but my brain said “fuck the two other things you’re writing, it’s 5 am and you’re writing this” also this is totally not inspired by my last relationship at all like definitely not a moment that happened with me and my ex that i think about to this day because of how cute it was
warnings: none? my shitty writing? fluff???
Bradley laid sprawled out on his bed, watching you with a soft look of adoration painted on his features as you got ready for the night. Everything between you and Bradley was still very new, you two had just admitted you had more than friendly feelings and intentions for one another less than a month ago, and have just decided to be exclusive last week. You placed your bag of essential toiletries back into your tote bag and then finally looked towards the bed and notice a pair of warm brown eyes watching you, a smile and a glint of embarrassment overtook your features as you didn’t realize you had an audience.
“Can I help you, handsome?” You asked as you approached the bed, in response there was an “mmmhmm” that was hummed as Bradley held his arms open for you to curl into.
“I liked that, darlin’.” He said, pressing a kiss to the top of your head once you were settled in, head resting on his chest, arm slung around his waste, and legs intertwined with his.
This comment prompted you to lift your head and rest your chin on his chest, confused you quietly spoke “liked what, Bradley?”
“You calling me handsome.” He sheepishly admitted, a pink tinge appearing on his cheeks.
“Awww did the big bad pilot need his ego stroked tonight?” You chuckled, raising a hand to caress his cheek. He leaned into your touch and placed a kiss to your palm, he hesitated for a moment. You could tell he was looking for the right words, so you continued to gently stroke his cheek with your thumb as a token of encouragement. In your time together, you had realized that you both have a habit of getting lost in your thoughts when trying to find the just right thing to say. You’ve found that a comforting squeeze to his thigh, pressing a chaste kiss to your intertwined hands, and little gestures like that help reassure him that you are understand he needs a second and ready to listen.
Your comforting touch made Bradley’s heart swell. “This might sound stupid..” He started but was abruptly cut off as you untangled your legs from his and folded them beneath you, “Bradley Bradshaw, what did we talk about? I don’t want to hear you putting yourself down and that counts.” Both your hands found their way to either side of his face, his hands gently holding your wrists in place as you ghosted your lips over his in a barely-there kiss, “now, Bradley, what did you want to say.” You promoted him quietly.
Before gently removing himself from your grasp, he kissed you, again, conveying a thank you through the gesture. He shifted his body up, leaning against his headboard. “What’s my name to you?” He asked. Your puzzled expression made him backtrack his thoughts “like-you… I-um.” You place your hand on his thigh, squeezing it softly, and then smiling at him when he places his hand on top of yours. “You don’t really call me anything except Bradley and I mean yeah that’s my name but I like it when you say other names, too. Like I call you “darling” because I see the little blush you get and it always makes you smile a bit.”
“Oh.” You say, processing the fact that you never took notice to how he had taken to using pet names for you which, as he had observed correctly, you did enjoy. You always wanted to start throwing a name in causally but you felt so silly, you didn’t want to say one that he didn’t like and ruin a moment or make things awkward. Suddenly you felt a gentle squeeze on your hand that was being held by Bradley’s hand on his thigh. You refocused, bringing your gaze to meet his, “I’m sorry I just didn’t know what to say, I would always get in my head a lot about it. I don’t know what to call you, like you called me darling once and it stuck, I didn’t know if it would be the same with me for you.”
“Well, we can brainstorm”
“Brainstorm pet names for me to call you?”
“Yeah hit me with one!” Bradley smiles, pulling you to sit in his lap now.
You pondered for a second, “Sweetheart?”
“Eh, that can be a backup.” He pecked a kiss to your lips.
“Honey?”
“Not quite.” Another kiss, to your lips and to the tip of your nose.
“Babe?”
“I don’t hate it but don’t love it.”
He pressed two kisses to your lips, this elicited a giggle to erupt from you. You couldn’t believe this right now, you felt so silly yet butterflies were fluttering in your stomach, “baby, I don’t know I’m gonna run out of ideas!”
Kiss. Kiss. Kiss. Kiss.
“Yes!!” Bradley held your face in his hands as he continued to press kiss after kiss to your face and lips. “I am your baby!!!”
“Yeah! Okay!! Bradley!” You couldn’t stop giggling at his antics.
“Sorry, who?” He paused his kiss attack to question.
“Baaabyyyyy” You whined, though, you were smiling so big your cheeks were starting to hurt.
Bradley pressed one more kiss to your lips before pulling back to look at you. “Thank you, darling.”
“Anything for you, baby.”
#okay i actually definitely think i hate this#so this is just gonna live here and i’m not gonna tag it for any real tags#now i’m a little emo#why did i write this lmao#if this sucks please don’t tell me bc that would crush me#rooster x reader#bradley bradshaw x reader#rooster imagine#rooster fluff#bradley bradshaw imagine#top gun imagine#g writes
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