#toast.writes

Often, far too often, you would conglomerate with your friends after a long day, enjoying social drinks and jovially laughing any cares away. You shined. You rivaled all bodies that shone in the sky–so radiant, ebullient, and full–how could he have not watched for all this time? All of nature encircles their existences around the luminaries bound around the earth, and you–who shone brightest–were at its center.

He too would enjoy a relaxing drink after his own long day, a ritual of sorts to begin his communion in basking in you from afar. To drink his drink was a promise; he held a promise that one day the taste of you would be dancing on his tongue, so saccharine-sweet and satisfying, hazily teetering him closer to a euphoria unknown. Once in a while, you’d make eye contact. And so generous you were, so generous you always were when you’d offer a smile every time.

Another drink. Another promise.

At times he would bring his own bric-a-brac to mind at his table so as to not alarm you. After all, with patience came subtlety, a vestibule inseparable to his primary house of virtues. And in this house he worshiped you for well over a year. He committed himself to his routine since he first laid eyes on you–gravity and destiny inescapable from a beauty that rivaled even the stars.

Today, he drank his final glass of promises. His back left pocket burned, seared, singed through the very fabric of his pants in urgency of his self-ordained inhibition to come to its end. In it was the crumbling of his house of patience. In it was a scorched earth tactic to raze all he was and begin anew with you emerging from its ashes. As a sign to swallow his final oath to himself and you, you made eye contact with him–and more of the same. A familiar smile, a familiar wave–and inside him, a familiar rush overwhelming every nerve in his being.

Your friends waved you off in the next moment, leaving you alone after some charming and laugh-filled goodbyes. How lucky they were to have you. How lucky he would be soon.

He raised himself from his table to return to the counter, ordering two drinks for the first time, and turned back to you to ensure his waiting had merited its value. You looked down to your phone, he could tell, mindlessly enjoying some time to decompress from the daily gossip. He smiled.

The bartender placed the two drinks on the counter, and he thanked them politely, as he always did–manners must coexist with patience, after all. Briefly, he stopped at his table, and he observed the drink that would be yours. One swift motion of gentle tampering ensured the fate of your drink. Of you.

Surely you’d never know. Surely you’d forgive him. A penitent man like him would repent under you for every day for the rest of your life, as he’d never do anything to wring you misery. He worshiped you, after all–this was just a vessel to finally show you.

Finally.

Finally.

The word echoed in his mind with each step forward.

And finally, there was you.

“Still here, huh?”

His greeting was gentle, comfortable, he hoped to rival the gravity of the warmth you reflected. You looked up, blinking a few times before a wince of familiarity rang in your features. You smiled.

An invitation.

“Guess we both are.”

“Still have energy for a little more company? I always see you and–”

“Yeah, I do. And I see you too.”

Before the both of you could speak again, you both shyly laughed, and he sat in front of you, placing the drinks on the table. He clicked his tongue, mindfully placing your fate before you–a prayer on his tongue.

“Let me keep you company then,” he insisted, eyes glassy with his silent plea. You curled your lips playfully as you took your first sip of your drink.

“I suppose I’ll let you.”

His eyes followed the glass to your lips, and he finally felt himself smile with satisfaction. He leaned back in his chair.

That you will.

–

His fervor was relentless. With each snap of his hips he made new promises, new oaths to you, his beloved, so perfectly folded under him with generous and gorgeous flesh soft against his own–he promised to repent for his primal selfishness in the handling of your perfect body. But fuck–the way your lips so drunkenly slobbered around his thumb in your mouth, glassy, heated eyes rolled back into your head with mascara long since ruined since he began his debauchery, it was now that worship truly began, and he was a penitent man.

Your entire body was searing hot against his own with forced zeal he wrought to you from a bottle, but the results were undeniable. You had soaked his eager length again and again as he laid explosive love to you like he would die if he didn’t, and your body begged for more, just as he planned. He placed yet another soft bite on your ample breast swaying under him before pulling away to observe his work. You were covered. A living shrine, a temple breathing and writhing under him–covered by his devotion. And for the fourth time, you would be filled.

Another promise, he hoped, would take fruit.

“So fucking perfect,” he cooed sweetly, a poisonously sweet love possessing his body to burrowing his length into you to the hilt as he finished again, “So perfect around me, so fucking hot and wet–”

You, at the mercy of inorganic, potent lust, cooed back–incoherent and insatiable. He only nodded, removing his thumb to kiss you into his bed for yet another time. He pulled out and observed you. So painfully cockdrunk, so woefully lost to sin, exactly how he wanted you. Undone. Wet. Desperate. As he pulled out again, he hear you whine and buck and he gently shushed you with his finger, placing his greedy, erect cock on your hungry clit to rub it gently. He cooed again to soothe you. A gesture of his selfish love.

“I love you,” he sang, “Love you so, so so much–love of my life.”

He kept rubbing, his own pupils blown wide with his madness, leaning close to you. You didn’t care. You had long forsaken sight to chasing high after high since the first release, and your body was still on fire. He felt it. He felt your soft body arch against him as his stimulation wrought the beginning of another gorgeous, wet crescendo from between thighs so thick and delicious, and he grinned wide.

“Do you want to cum, my love?” he asked, slowing down his tormentous rubbing. You whined under him.

The answer was clear. But who was a man to deny the sweet sound of his own god begging for him?

“It hurts waiting, doesn’t it, Beauty?”

You nodded, whining louder.

He smiled, his temperance bearing fruit at last at its end after hours, months, and a year of waiting–his grin wicked, he leaned in to place a hypocritically chaste kiss to your forehead.

“I’ll let you finish if you can make me a promise,” he cooed into your ear, placing a kiss just on the shell. 

He felt you nod, pleading for any release of this heat.

“Do you promise to marry me? Marry me and be a good mommy to my babies?”

An unexpected pause under him–even in your altered state, it was a big ask, but he could still feel his leverage, and he rubbed hard again to take advantage. He waited long enough, and he was going to get was he waited for. No matter how hard he’d have to tempt you. Bait you.

You were right here.

“You’re already so full, baby–taking so much of me like you were meant to–”

You let out a pained gasp, edged so close to another high as he stopped again, and he rolled his hips to further torment you. You whimpered, low and pathetic, and all he could gauge after wave and wave of the edging was how hot your body seared in its heat. He knew eventually you had to give. And he knew in a game of waiting, he would win.

He will win.

“I know you need to,” he teased, his voice lowering, “you can feel how much it burns–”

“Please–”

Finally, a word from you, a white flag to beg for your reprieve.

“Yes–Yes–Please, just let me cum–please, it hurts, it burns, I need it, I need you–”

Happy to oblige, he finally inserted himself back inside of you, giving himself his own sense of relief and using his fingers to rub you to another delicious climax, all for him to savor. To savor again, and again, and again.

Surely you would forgive him. Sometime down the line.

He could wait.

----

Characters: Koushi Sugawara (Haikyuu!!), Thoma (Genshin Impact), Kento Nanami (Jujutsu Kaisen), Larry (Pokemon), Jumin Han (Mystic Messenger), Or imagine your own!

NSFW Tags: Cunnilingus, Squirting, Domesticity Kink, Breeding Kink Implied.

⋆ ʜᴏɴᴇʏᴍᴏᴏɴ ʙʟᴜᴇꜱ ⋆

“Holdin’ this chair for anyone?”

It was inevitable someone, sooner or later, interrupted your poolside appointment with meditation. Your generously boozy mai tai gently cradled you to a comfortable sleep under the Alola sun as your equally comforting lounge chair kept you company on your first full day at the Hano Grand Resort, as you flew in sometime yesterday afternoon. You felt yourself sigh involuntarily at being woken up from a peaceful, dreamless nap to stir awake. A silhouette blocked the sun before you could even reach a hand up to shield your eyes from the cloudless summer day. A silhouette indeed—Tall-ish. Male. Still too bright behind him to gather more information.

“Which chair?” you mustered out with a tired, hoarse voice. You noticed the silhouette gesture vaguely to his right. Your left.

Not that it mattered.

“This one,” he answered, “Would you rather me take the other one? I’m cool with that.”

You gave a nonchalant wave before you could reach for your half-full, sun-warmed mai tai.

“Doesn’t make a difference. Take them both if you need.”

He scoffed, sitting on the original chair offered to your left. You didn’t bother to look. Men have only proven to be a waste of your time lately. What good would looking do to save a canceled honeymoon? A canceled wedding?

It did flare a grating, irate sensation in the pit of your stomach to have your much-needed alone time interrupted so suddenly.

“No difference, huh?”

You rolled your eyes at his rather smarmy response. If he was going to bother your sacred pool time, you may find yourself opting for the overpriced cabana after all.

“Aren’t you taking the chair?” you asked.

“Nah. Yeah. Yes and no. I’m sitting here.”

“Nowhere else to sit?” you pried further, disapproval making itself known in your voice.

“More families are coming out to the poolside and bein’ annoying. Kinda wanna drink in peace and take a seat next to another adult before I’m stuck next to a crying baby or something.”

“You could try someone else.”

You heard him scoff again.

“Thought it didn’t make a difference.”

“It doesn’t.”

“You’re sure not acting that way.”

His insistence on being a bother was enough to force you to spare him a glance, and you suddenly wished you hadn’t. A tall-ish glass of water laid beside you–the very last sort of thing you wanted to see–fluffed and styled hair with an attitude that matched his tone, big, brown eyes half-lidded from the heavy, warm rush given to him by the iced drink in his hand—you realized you were faced with a small challenge. The permanent smirk on his lips was a blind spot for the first round of your avoidance of all temptations.

Perhaps confrontation was the better option for the likes of him, charming brown eyes and all.

“It doesn’t,” you repeated with finality, meeting his gaze in return.

He took a calculated sip of his drink, his eyebrow piqued in more interest than you noticed (or wanted to notice) before. You suddenly became aware of how much of yourself was exposed in your darling little two piece, how much of yourself may be spilling out where the strings held your generous curves tightest, and how much of you the prying man to your left drank in per moment. He looked mischievous, as if he always knew more than everyone else around, but you weren’t in the mood to fold for even his games. Additionally, he looked familiar, but vaguely so–you weren’t the most in tune with the prestigious battle scene, but it wasn’t uncommon for high-tier trainers to make it to Alola.

You turned back to ring the side button of your chair to call the cocktail waiter. It was time for your refill. After seeing your Rotom phone light up to confirm your second order, you were left to be held conversational hostage with the man beside you.

“You’re single.”

His voice, ever a sharpened knife against rigid silence, cut through the air without mercy.

“I beg your pardon?” you asked, not even sparing him a glance before laying back to close your eyes.

“You’re too stand-offish to be married,” he commented further.

With full offense laid bare on your features, you shot him a glare. He remained impish behind his glass.

“Can you leave me alone?” you demanded. He set his glass down.

“Just making conversation.”

“Most people ask about the weather, or their jobs,” you ranted, “or anything else. What–are you drunk? Or just really annoying?”

You finally got a change of expression out of him–eyebrows raised in surprise at you baring your teeth. He silently reached for his drink once more to take a sip, either to soothe or for courage, but he wasn’t backing away yet. If you weren’t so comfortable in your chair and waiting for your second cocktail to be delivered, you’d have moved already.

“Doesn’t make a difference,” he finally spoke, “this chair, that chair, drunk or annoying–maybe I’m both. Sure not drunk enough, if you ask me.”

His odd self-deprecation got a hefty sneer out of you.

“You must be single too, then.”

“And how’d you surmise that?”

“I can’t imagine anyone willing to deal with this. With you.”

A grin returned to his face–charming, lopsided, dimpled only on one side–it filled you with rage.

“Anyone, huh? You’re still here.”

You flashed your Rotom phone screen to him in retaliation. No way you’d let his pride win.

“I’m waiting for my drink. They’re supposed to bring it to my chair.”

“I knew it. Single. Nobody’s bringin’ your drinks out for you.”

“You’re quite stuck on that.”

“Well, maybe I sat here for more than one reason.”

An exasperated sigh left the back of your throat. He was merciless. It wasn’t often you warranted attention (wanted or not) from anyone in this sort of nature, especially not in the physical likes of him, so interactions of this sort left you wary at the minimum. Considering your last year, you were all the more hostile toward men in particular. All you knew was they could suck you and your darling Pokémon in, absorb all of your life and time until there was nothing left, and leave you with nothing left once they’re bored. Savings account botched, Pokémon missing, and an entire wedding to call quits.

In all fairness to your friends and family, nobody saw it coming. Yet, you still felt stupid for allowing yourself to love so blindly. You felt too stupid to feel deserving of grieving. You felt stupid for trying to ignore how even in the last two years where affection used to be, there was dissonance and distance. He didn’t touch you anymore. He didn’t greet you when you came home anymore.

Begging him to propose to you was stupid. You were the stupid one.

Stupid like the man you were forced to entertain at this very moment.

“So why are you here alone then? Nobody can bear to be around you?” you asked with an accusatory tone. He could only laugh, a melodic, sharp, bitter sound–like being too close to an amplifier boasting an electric guitar solo.

“Just about,” he answered nonchalantly, “came with my friends for the Battle Tree on Poni Island. They’re not really big talkers.”

“You could learn from them.”

“Everyone seems to say that.”

You felt an involuntary laugh escape you, but you cut yourself off before you could give him any further gratification.

“So they’re staying with you?”

“Pssh, hell no. They’re weirdos. They like to rough it and do campsites or whatever. Not me–if I make the money to stay at a five-star resort in Alola, that’s what I’m gonna do. The hell do I look like, a fucking bonehead?”

“Well–”

“Don’t answer that.”

After he alleviated you of his rather offensive onslaught and allowed himself to personably chat, you found his loquaciousness to be good company more moments than not. The poolside filled up pretty quickly as he said with other couples, families, and their Pokémon taking the rest of the seats, so you found yourself content to take your drink and remain next to the ‘friendly’ (a generous description) stranger. It certainly beat having to confront the same small talk around couplehood and families that came with that sort of crowd. You couldn’t bring yourself to bear it.

“So,” he started, fingers tracing the rim of his lowball glass. His second refill looked dangerously empty. You cocked your head to the side, head feeling warm and light from your nursing of your second mai tai.

“What’s up?”

“Can I now ask why you’re here alone? Alola isn’t the sorta place people go to by themselves.”

You could only muster a half-smile.

“It’s a long story. Well–the context is long, but the reason is actually pretty short.”

“I got time. All day, actually. I like to finish all my training in the morning and have the rest of the day, so.”

He adjusted himself in his lounge chair to focus entirely on you, sunglasses resting on the bridge of his nose. When did he put those on? When was the sun not as hot nor high as before?

“Well,” you began, making a vague storytelling gesture with your hands, “I…”

Hazy memories of the last few years made themselves known in your eyes, but the rose gold filter that once covered the reels of a past love had long since faded into grey. It wasn’t fun to recall anymore, hell, it wasn’t even worth recounting for pity–how could you possibly begin? How could you find the words?

“I…”

“You…?” he encouraged, making a rolling gesture with his hand to get you going, “are here for work? Vlogger?”

“Hah–No, I couldn’t be that lucky.”

“Prestigious Pokémon trainer? Battle Tree? Island Trial?”

You snorted, shaking your head.

“No. Not even close.”

“Are you going to keep making me guess? I’ll keep goin’ if there’s a nice prize at the end.”

You weren’t sure if it was the booze, the heat, his looks, or his persistence that lowered your guard down more than you would have liked, but you did feel yourself smile at his rather implicative suggestion. You met his eyes again, and his brow raised again with interest. He shrugged while talking further.

“I mean, look, I’m having fun. But you’re quite private. It’s hard to say I like you if I don’t know anything about you. Other than you don’t like jackassery, you seem pretty intelligent, you’re a hard worker–and I do like looking at you quite a bit.”

“Shut up,” you hushed out with a modest laugh, “I don’t know that much about you either. Other than you are here with your friends, you came for the Battle Tree–so you’re a very strong trainer–you’re a chatterbox, and you’re very forward.”

“I know what I like, and I get what I want. Consider my principles… simple.”

That got a roll of your eyes out of you, and his wink certainly didn’t help. He finally sat up to assert full interest, if not in his implications, then just in you, and cocked his head to the side.

“So do I keep guessing? I have an Alakazam, y’know. He could just mind-read you and give me the answer. I think. I suppose it’s up to him if he wants to help me cheat.”

You paused before you could even meditate on an answer. It wasn’t in your nature to just entertain a stranger so suddenly, but what the hell. Words still escaped you regarding your ringless finger, no matter how hard your therapist tried to work on getting any verbal reflection out of you. The internal looseness and warmth from your drinks and the stifling humidity may have left you more vulnerable than you would have liked to admit.

“What if I didn’t tell you?”

“C’mon–”

“What if I showed you instead?”

That shut him up fast. His bravado stuttered into small bouts of sheepishness as he clunkily moved his glasses up to his forehead. A flush of rose spread across his cheeks that proudly displayed a boastful smirk not just hours ago, causing you to grin at the sight. You hated men–you were sure of it, so positive–but it felt so good to make one so cocky so nervous.

“Wow, not the response I expected,” you teased, now purposely laying in a more compromising position that flaunted the tightness of your scanty bikini–confidence oozed out of your singsong tone, “are you shy?”

He chortled, rubbing his nose.

“Psh–wha? No, of course not! You’re just so–”

His breathing hitched as you sat up to meet him eye-to-eye, and you raised a brow. It was rare you were the kind of woman to render a man like this speechless, so you figured it didn’t hurt to revel. Or rub it in. Maybe you were a bit of a sadist.

“So what?”

“So–” he swallowed, “I dunno if I wanna use all the words I wanna say, uh, until–”

Oh, presumptuous.

“Until what? We’re in my room?” you confronted further, not hiding any inkling of blatant teasing.

He could only nod, his face a vivid scarlet. You looked him up and down–just to torment him all the more–and made sure he watched you doing that. You were even careful to linger your gaze longest on his half-open button down and quickly tightening trunks. So bashful like this from your control—he was very, very cute. Or was that the alcohol talking?

“Well then. Let’s go.”

Little did he know you were only going to give him the worst buzzkill ever once he pieced together exactly what you were doing in Alola all by your lonesome.

It was a swift walk back to your stay, though it never hurt to marvel at the Hano Grand Resort’s relaxing atmosphere. The warm-tinted wooden planks across the lobby added to a rustic comfort that only elevated the feeling of luxury. Even the smell of scattered plants and thoughtfully-arranged trees only filled the resort with the feeling of untouched bliss from the rest of the world. How nice it would have been to enjoy this on your original terms.

If you didn’t have this handsome stranger beside you, you would have felt like you were in a five-star torture chamber.

“Out back,” you gently instructed him, leading out the back halls to the line of bungalows that stood adjacent to the golf course. Colorful rows of tropical flowers and plants proudly decorated the sidewalk trim leading up to your romantic prison cell, as your bungalow–naturally–was the one at the very end of the trail, secluded from the others. Your stranger let out a dry laugh, resting his hands on his hips.

“Man, you gotta walk all the way back here to where you’re staying? I love the privacy, no doubt, but–”

His eyes wandered from you to the artfully-crafted wooden sign in front of the door, and he froze. You only nodded solemnly. He turned back to you.

“I–Are you joking?”

“I’m not.”

His face twisted with something resembling anger as he began to scowl at you.

“I thought you were single–”

“I am.”

He paused, soaking in what you may be implying, and turned back to the sign.

“But this is the Honeymoon Bungalow.”

“It is.”

“And you’re here…?”

“Alone.”

His anger became vague confusion, but you stood in front of him to open the door, and gestured for him to look inside.

“I promise, it’s just me. You can see for yourself.”

Wary, your stranger gave you a glance of concern, but he walked inside anyhow, being the first to confront your ghosts with you.

Your bungalow had little trace of you even using it, as your bed was already made–opulent white comforters ordained with lacy white pillows and topped with enough rose petals to make an entire season’s worth of arts and crafts projects. Your suitcases sat on the rack by the closet, half-zipped, hardly used, and hardly unpacked. The closet opened to two silk robes, both white, both etched with a last name after the Mrs. and Mr. monikers on the back. Your stranger pulled one off the hook and read the back before looking up at you.

“This doesn’t look worn at all; it’s yours?”

“No. It’s not,” you answered adamantly, arms folded over your chest. His brow furrowed.

“It’s in your closet.”

“But that’s not my name,” you insisted. He looked around the room a final time as everything registered in his mind at once, and he hung your robe up again. You could see the sad flash in his eye, the one everyone else gave you on the day you were supposed to get married, as he finally surmised why every romantic artifact in your lovely bungalow remained untouched. The unkempt roses, the real champagne sitting idly unopened in an ice bucket, the jacuzzi with the bath set for two still wrapped with a bow–the nail in the coffin being a small hotel waste bin he could see in the corner of his eye filled with printed photos of you and someone else. Many of them torn. Some of them wrinkled.

“I’m so sorry,” he apologized, closing your closet, “this… yeah, this totally sucks. I get why you had a hard time telling me.”

You could only offer a shrug, ignoring the shaking your grieving racked you with.

“Nothing to apologize for. Sorry I dragged you into this.”

He shook his head.

“No, no. I wanted to know. But most people would cancel their honeymoon trip if the groom gets cold feet, y’know. Why–well.”

He gestured to the room around the both of you.

“Why stick with it?”

“It was too short notice to change my PTO days with my work,” you explained, rubbing your arm, “these days off were already registered with this pay period and–cancellation fees with the Resort, all the plans we had set for two weeks–it was too much. I figured I might as well come and… vacation, I guess.”

He sat on the bed, listening.

“And maybe I deserve some sort of punishment. Who knows. I think he fell out of love with me years ago and couldn’t say. I was never his type in the first place.”

You shook your head.

“That’s neither here nor there. Regardless, I’m here alone, doing all our original plans… alone. Still mentally preparing myself for showing up to our romantic wine tasting in two days with just myself. That’ll be a real laugh.”

His eyes averted from you to the bucket holding the unopened champagne and a grin grew on his features just as before.

“Well. You haven’t even begun to do everything, so why don’t we open that bottle and get started on that? Let’s pregame that wine tasting, yeah?”

The champagne didn’t sound so bad at the prospect of sharing it with someone.

“I suppose we could do that.”

You grabbed the bucket and glasses for your company, and sat on the bed alongside him. He offered to open the bottle for you, and poured your glasses accordingly before raising a toast.

“Cheers–”

You snorted.

“To what, exactly?”

He smiled.

“To you bravely avoiding having an ugly last name. I read that robe. Sheesh, sweetheart. You dodged a bullet.”

You laughed again, clanking your glass with his and taking a sip. He mirrored your movement before speaking again, swirling the bubbly in his glass with a triumphant return of his bravado.

“Just so you know, my last name is pretty good. I think you’d prefer having that one instead.”

“Oh?” you nearly coughed at his boldness, “and what name is that?”

He sipped again.

“Oak.”

You felt yourself freeze in position, eyes wide with disbelief at first, but a nervous laugh emanating from your lips interrupted your fright-or-flight reaction.

“I–what?”

You scoffed, taking a generous gulp of the wine before ensuring you heard correctly.

“I’m sorry. Did you say–Oak. Like, like the professor?” you pried, voice raising, “That’s a coincidence, right?”

He smiled wider, sipping again as now you were the nervous mess in his trap. You hoped it was a coincidence. You hoped you hadn’t laid yourself emotionally bare to one of the greatest Pokémon-handling bloodlines to ever exist on the face of the earth. Suddenly, his familiarity in appearance sat like a dense rock at the pit of your stomach.

You almost didn’t want him to answer. But answer, he did.

“Professor? You don't mean Gramps, do ya?” he answered casually.

“No way.”

You set your glass down on the floor to bury your face in your hands. You didn’t want to be right.

“Oh my god. You’re Blue Oak.”

“At your service, sweetheart.”

You could only admonish yourself for not recognizing him sooner. Even people who didn’t engage with any battle knowledge had some idea of who the Oak family were, as Professor Oak was one of the most prestigious researchers of Pokémon in the world. His work is quoted and used as gospel concerning all Pokémon matters, and the reputation of his grandson–though not as monumental–was still not unheard of. He surely traveled to your region to engage in high-tier battling, and upon looking at his face, you swore you’d seen it on a promotional commercial or sponsor banner before.

Humiliating. You had one of the strongest Pokémon trainers in the world in your sad, hollow, Honeymoon Bungalow.

You were drinking with him. You drank and blatantly flirted with the Blue Oak for hours.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t even realize–”

Blue waved his hand in a dismissive manner, pursing his lip.

“Nah, don’t even worry about it. It’s honestly better this way. I like a good ego stroke, but I don’t want my reputation doin’ my work for me.”

“But I totally just–” you rocked your head back with exasperation, “–god, I just sucked you into my pity party. Do you even have time for this?”

“Hey, it was me who said I had all day, remember? And that’s still true. And y’know what else is still true? The day is young, and we still have more to drink,” he encouraged, topping off his own glass, “after all. You didn’t suck me into a pity party. You full-on seduced me back at the pool. I can truthfully inform you that I was a very happy camper walking back here with you, sweetheart. Fuck, you laying down in that swimsuit? Worked wonders.”

You picked up your glass, a bashful warmth spread across your face at his comment.

“Sorry about that bait-and-switch, regardless. Still feeling seduced?”

“Still seduced? I’m sitting here offering you my last name. The Oak bloodline doesn’t make itself, y’know. It takes two to tango.”

You modestly laughed behind your glass, crawling closer to him on your bed.

“I dunno if I’m in the right state of mind to think about taking another name, let alone continuing such a prestigious bloodline.”

Yet…

“But… maybe I could entertain giving you a chance.”

Judging by the way his brows suddenly raised, the offer of a challenge left him more than enticed. He took a sip of his wine before placing his glass on the floor beside the bed.

“A chance is all I need.”

Focused brown eyes looked you up and down.

“But more than a chance, do I get to have a name? Can I call you anything other than sweetheart? Or beautiful?”

You looked him over with uninhibited interest–black button-up partially open and suggestive to a lean body underneath, alongside sleek green swim bottoms that looked so easy to remove. Certainly in no ensemble as compromising as yours, but one all the more inviting to a lonely bachelorette. With that, you pulled out your phone, opened your alarm app, and adjusted certain parameters accordingly.

He sat up, his face now inches from yours–his voice curious and low.

“Baby, you ignoring me?”

“Oh no,” you answered, “I’m just setting up the rules for that chance you need.”

Blue laughed.

“Is that so? I like a good challenge. I’m not the kinda guy that backs down easily.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Mhmm,” he equivocated, leaning closer, “Didn’t I tell you? I get what I want.”

You smirked, holding the alarm app in his face as he inched in on you, causing him to jolt back in surprise.

“Now what’s this?” Blue asked. You grinned, pointing at the time you allotted him.

“Five minutes.”

He raised a brow.

“I mean, I see that, but what’s it for?”

You set the phone beside you, leaning back onto your hands.

“Here’s your chance, Blue, but I have conditions. I work hard, but I’m not really one to waste time–god forbid I end up in another Honeymoon Bungalow all by myself–”

You smiled.

“So I want to make sure you won’t waste my time. Make me finish in five minutes.”

Blue’s eyebrows shot to his hairline.

“Finish? You mean finish-finish? In f–five minutes?”

“You can do it, can’t you?”

Quickly, he threw his sunglasses on the floor, nearly tripping over his own words.

“W-well yeah, but if this is a challenge, what exactly are the winning conditions? Can I place them?”

You cocked your head to the side, meditating on entertaining his idea.

“And what, pray tell, would your winning conditions be?”

“That’s easy,” Blue said, “I get to know your name, then I want you to go through all your original Honeymoon reservations, but with moi as your plus one.”

Blue gave you a wink.

“Consider it a Mrs. Oak trial run. Yeah! That’s what I want. I win, I get your first name, and we treat this Honeymoon like it’s ours. Whether you want to renew after these two weeks you’re here in Alola–I’ll leave that up to you.”

He was talking a serious game for his challenge, and a rather big commitment. You were a bit beside yourself with the flattery, though you wouldn’t let it show.

Not unless he won, at least. And five minutes wasn’t a lot of time for your ambitious company.

“Fine,” you relented, “but you only get five minutes. You’re putting a lot on three-hundred seconds.”

“How many times I gotta say it? I get what I want.”

Your eyes met his–the same brown eyes so focused on you that they carried a gravity you couldn’t pull yourself away from. You felt it then; his desire to get what he wants, to achieve, to make things happen–his depths of drive, ambition, lust laid so naked before you with just a look. You saw so quickly how he lived up to the big shoes he had to fill. It was just in his nature.

If he wanted you, no matter how guarded you were, he’d make you his. You saw that promise in his eyes.

“Ready?” was all you could muster, finger on the start button of your app. He crawled to meet you, only inches away.

“I am. Are you, sweetheart?”

You felt something–a festering heat in response to his question, though you thought that in itself was a head start of sorts.

He was growing on you a bit though. You figured just this once you’d let him have it.

“3, 2, 1,” you counted down, then pressed the button.

You didn’t have a second to speak before his lips crashed with yours, selfishly drinking in your taste as he crawled over you. His kisses were delectable with champagne but sloppy–arousingly so with each wet pop he gave your lips. Blue kissed you so aggressively you could have guessed he was a man starved and you were the only meal in miles.

His worship of your now drooling mouth moved from your lips down the side of your face, and he nestled in a sweet spot between your neck and your ear to mark a rapacious, painful bite–a good measure of his stake to claim. His mouth was overwhelming enough to distract you from his hands making good, greedy home on your flesh. He was wedged deep between your legs, enough to press you already into the mattress, and more than enough to grow a hot coil deep in your core. Your arms wrapped around his shoulders to keep him hard at work, and work he fucking did.

A final pornographic, saliva-filled pop from your skin marked the end of him doing work on your jaw and neck, and he offered a lust-drunken grin to you.

“Wish you could see yourself right now. I wanna eat you up all day.”

You could only roll your eyes as he went back to his ‘challenge,’ now putting eager concentration on your heavy, pillowy breasts. He took no time in pulling them from behind the tight fabric of your bikini top, and fondled them with enthusiastic hunger. His calloused thumbs ran over your quickly hardening nipples.

“Fuck,” he mumbled under his breath, “five minutes is fucking cruel when you’re this gorgeous, sweetheart.”

Before any words could leave your mouth, he gently pushed you further down into the mattress. His hands went back to claiming greedy handfuls of your flesh in each palm. Each handful wasn’t enough–even bending down to fill his salivating mouth with your breasts and moaning into your skin wasn’t enough for him, knowing he’d have to part ways with his veneration of each part of you so soon. It ached for you too. For your heart and for an increasingly aching part between your legs–with each suck on the tips of your breasts came a sinful noise from the back of your throat; he laid love to your body already like no man before.

And time wasn’t up yet.

Blue pulled away again, hands clawing and desperate to push your legs back and apart even further, letting out a pathetic moan at seeing you so undone and bunched up beneath him. His left hand pressed against your entrance as only the skimpy swimsuit fabric of your bottoms remained. A damp, impatient stain made itself known to his fingertips as he felt the outline of your inviting lips. You could feel your pussy burn with emptiness at each prod he made.

“Dunno if I can stop after five minutes, baby–” he warned, voice raw and gravely, pulling your bottoms to the side, “–you’re really lookin’ like you can help me out with the Oak bloodline–”

He slid a finger in, watching your face beautifully contort with each stroke, and he slid a second one in with even faster tempo. You could feel your chest tighten–something was beginning to build. Your body’s coil was red-hot and he was tightening it so right inside of you–Blue sank further.

“Good girl, feels so good, doesn’t it, pretty girl?” he cooed, his other hand letting go of groping your thighs and focusing on building you up even faster. First, his middle finger gently prodded at the hood of your clit to test your sensitivity, but hearing you mewl so deliciously, so loud, and all for his greedy ears alone. Blue forwent using his fingers and sucked on your bud himself, giving it the same sloppy worship he laid for your breasts just a minute ago. You tasted divine. With each noise you let out at every notch of your build up, Blue responded just as passionately with an aroused moan of his own, grinding his strained erection in his trunks against the mattress.

Suddenly, you felt that coil snap, and pulses of heat, nerves, and relief shuddered through you as he continued working out each wave out of your body. You couldn’t hear yourself, Blue, anything in the room, or feel anything other than white-hot bliss for full seconds before collapsing back into the slew of pillows on the bed.

Then, you came back to earth, realizing Blue was hovering above you with dilated eyes, drool on his lips, and warmth in his smile.

“Mrs. Oak, you made quite the mess,” he quipped, holding your phone screen up to you. Your vision returned to focus as you saw the time on your phone.

4:58. 4:59. 5:00.

The alarm sang its little song as it vibrated in Blue’s hand, and you groggily took it from him, still dizzy from the most intense and attentive foreplay you had in years. More than your ex-fiancé ever gave you. All under five minutes.

Blue really did see his challenge through.

Gladly defeated, you gave him a dreamy smile, tossing your phone aside.

“Okay, Mr. Oak, you win, that was–”

You truly didn’t have words as you shook your head in the mess of pillows. He softly chuckled, crawling over you to give you another kiss where words should have been. It was far gentler than before, a kiss laced with romance suited for the bungalow you stayed in. His body now rested against yours fully, really feeling each curve and every soft inch of you.

And you could feel the curve and inches of something else.

“I’m wonderin’ now if you could help me with something,” he whispered, pulling away with a glint in his eye. You raised a brow.

“Yes?”

“First, I need your name.”

Ah, as part of your promise, you remembered. Gingerly, running your fingers through his hair, you entrusted him with your name in the form of whispering it in his ear. He faced you, eyes revitalized aside from his lust-drunkenness with something else.

“Now that suits you,” he complimented, planting another kiss on you, “And I think it goes really good with ‘Oak’ if you ask me.”

You laughed, letting him continue his much slower-paced bout of hickey-making on your skin–you ran your fingers through his hair again.

“Ah–you think so?”

“I know so.”

You felt his hands on your chest again, though this time his grip was soft and intentional with your precious body.

“Now I can really get to love down my wife properly,” he mused.

“You’re very committed to this husband-wife bit.”

“If everything goes right, it won’t be a bit forever,” Blue retorted, giving you another kiss, “but yes. I intend to ride this bit out all the way.”

Subtle.

His second round of foreplay was magical compared to his rather rushed and explosive first round. Granted, you did finish as wagered, but the fact he wound you up so quickly and intensely already left your head spinning with love exhaustion. This more attentive and careful affection he gave–particularly to your breasts, stomach, and thighs, left you so weak and pliable under his magic thumbs and hot mouth. Every handful he fondled of you wasn’t enough for him–as if he had an insatiable hunger to constantly consume and enmesh himself with you. By the time he was down to your thighs, your aching pussy was already so wet again for him to fill. He watched you squirm. He watched you gorgeously writhe under each bite and kiss of your decadent thighs he took until he was finally ready to oblige your begging.

“Blue–please, please–” you felt yourself beg as he grinded himself against you, “‘M sorry, it hurts, I just need you–”

“So gorgeous, begging for me like this,” Blue sang, using one hand to hold your thigh back and the other to palm his erection in his shorts, “You want me to fill up your pretty pussy, Mrs. Oak?”

He was pushing it–the roleplaying of the husband and wife bit, but he won those conditions–and you were desperate in this state. Desperate and dizzy enough to even reach for your lips yourself and shamelessly spread them.

“Yes, honey, could you please–?”

That was enough for him to snap. Blue shuffled out of his trunks the quickest he could and nearly ripped off his black shirt to unveil the rest of him. You shamelessly ogled the man before you with an approving mewl from your lips. He was awfully cute, every bit of him, and as your eyes moved down, you felt another part of you burn with approval. He wasn’t of pornographic girth nor length, but it was more than enough for you. Every inch of him had your heart rate accelerating in unmitigated arousal.

He noticed your staring as he crawled back to you, lining himself up with your pussy. A hazy grin curled on his features at the sight of you so plump and folded open under him, at the sight of you ogling him so eagerly–he couldn’t hide his own arousal.

“Like this cock, sweetheart?”

Blue’s voice was a musical mix of teasing and something else– something coarse and primal. You nodded, whining with each time his head prodded your entrance and teased you.

“Aw, don’t worry baby, it’s all yours now–I–”

He slid himself in, slowly, being as aware as he could with stretching you out–but you could sense his hunger. You could feel each inch fill you so fulfillingly–how full and how relieving it was that he fit inside you so perfectly–and the noise you let out at him bottoming out was nothing less than wanton. Blue grunted in return.

You felt him begin to move, his arms holding your legs above your head–and hell, even with his slow movements, you could feel him in every single part of you. However, When you felt his pace quicken and his hitched breaths become incomprehensible, musical groans was when you could really begin to see stars. The way he filled you again and again burned so good, and with him leaning down for his lips to make home on your own again you may have forgotten why you were so heartbroken and guarded when you met him hours ago.

He shifted himself, now adjusting so he could watch you move under him as he could no longer stop himself from keeping an excruciating pace. His eyes were lidded but unblinking on you. Not a single second was spent not watching how your body writhing so gorgeous under him and his greedy lovemaking.

“Fuck–look at my pretty wife taking cock so good,” he cooed again, his firm grip moving to the fleshiest part of your thigh, “you were made for me, weren’t you pretty girl?”

The words were dizzying in the formerly loveless bungalow–you could only let out a weak moan as he fucked you harder.

“Yeah, yeah you were–shit, shit–’just wanna knock up my yummy fuckin’ wife so bad–”

The weight of the words hadn’t hit you quite yet, at least, not in reality’s terms. But with the way he spoke and felt you–the way he fit inside you and loved you so deeply, something about the concept drove you to tighten up around him. You reached for your breast with one hand and your clit with the other to further coil that tight sensation building up again in your core, and he grinned again.

“Oh? My missus likes the sound o’ that, does she?”

You could feel him press harder against you, his eyes now wide with manic lust.

“Mrs. Oak wants a baby, doesn’t she? Aw, don’t worry, pretty girl–I’d love to–fuck–help with that–you just lay back and play with those pretty tits for me–f–yeah–like that, so good–”

His other hand swatted yours away from your clit so he could play with it himself. You gasped at the firm contact on your sensitive, burning nerves but hell if it didn’t give you a rush. Your core tightened faster and faster at his increasing speed and merciless pace inside of you.

Then release–blinding and intense, but even more satisfying than before–you felt yourself finish with a flush of overwhelming heat overtake your entire body and exiting right where his fingers stroked you out to completion.

“Shit,” he moaned, “You fucking squirted for me? Fuck–” he praised, clenching his other hand’s grip around your thigh. Returning back to earth, you could feel his pace jutting as he felt himself coming to a finish. In your dreamy, pleased state, you felt yourself reach up for him.

“Blue–” you cooed, voice both lilted and coarse, “kiss me.”

You didn’t have to tell him twice.

He leaned down to crash his lips against your own, and slowly rocked into you as you felt a sudden jolt and rush of liquid, sticky warmth inside you where there wasn’t before. You couldn’t care in the moment. You just wanted to be consumed by him and his hunger. Greedy hands and lips made you his in that bed, and made your body their home. Blue could hardly pull himself away from kissing you–let alone pull himself out after countless minutes of being connected to every perfect bit of you.

It was you who stopped first.

“Did that help?” you asked, a coy smile on your face. Blue rested only inches from your face, and gave a kiss to your forehead.

“It did. I’d consider you a cure-all for all my problems at this rate.”

“You’re very sweet.”

“Like a good husband.”

You felt yourself softly smile with a roll of your eyes.

“You really are insistent on milking out that part of the deal.”

“I’m insistent on not only that, but making it stick. Layin’ down with you has made me certain that I’d probably send my Arcanine after anyone alive that intends to fuck you the way I just did.”

You threw a pillow at him with a wider grin on your face.

“You don’t need to be so insane! We just met!”

“Yes I do, what’s mine is mine and mine alone. Now let me help you clean up by running the water in that unused jacuzzi. We have a couple’s bath set we need to see through using.”

The rest of the afternoon faded into the evening—hazy and blurry with recovering soreness and lazing about in a bathtub with someone you met that day. It was odd. It was wonderful. It was sudden and explosive chemistry you hadn’t felt in years. A part of you felt a little scared of how strong the two of you fit so well together considering your recent disappointment, or that you would wake up tomorrow and Blue Oak would treat you as just a stranger, and you were stupid for even thinking that any of this was in earnest.

Worries aside, the evening transition into the night was relaxing. The two of you opted to enjoy dinner at the inclusive steakhouse with your first reservation of the stay, so he momentarily left to allow you and himself to get ready (though he kept giving you, his precious ‘wife,’ too many kisses goodbye.) Your surprise increased tenfold when you opened your bungalow door an hour and a half later as agreed to him dressed in all black, a dashing sleek outfit–and donning two suitcases with him. He looked equally surprised to see you in your finest wear, a dress that was the perfect mix of summery and elegant–it made for a cheeky mix, and your make-up completely done.

“Wow…” he marveled, standing up straight to align with you. You coughed out a nervous laugh.

“Yeah, you too,” you said. Blue gestured to his suitcases behind him.

“Does this get to be part of the deal, or am I doing too much?”

You laughed, though you couldn’t shake that a part of you was a little wary. Even with the hours before in mind, it was still difficult to digest his potent interest. You folded your arms.

“Let’s see how this dinner goes. For now, you can leave them inside.”

He raised a brow.

“Are there guidelines to this win condition, or am I just gonna have to hope I give you the best first date of all time?”

The both of you shared a soft chuckle, perhaps airing out nerves from both of your spirits.

“If it’s any consolation, I want you to do well,” you admitted. Blue rolled his bags in but paused mid-step at your reassurance. He turned back.

“It’s more consolation than you think.”

You locked the door behind you as your date walked you to dinner.

It only took minutes upon arrival that you found yourself sheepishly covering your face when Blue had a rather entertaining argument with the restaurant manager about how the last name reserved was wrong, everything should have been under “Oak,” and he expected a full refund to your card for everything paid so far. Being a powerful and reputable trainer, and now your ‘husband,’ the manager found his argument very convincing. The two of you sat down together, being presented with a glorious vintage of a reserve cabernet sauvignon for your dinner. And the instant the two of you sat down, his second test began.

“I can’t get over it. You’re just beautiful,” he started, slapping his menu down without even beginning to peruse the options, “I don’t wanna minimize anything–and shut me up if I am–”

“Oh? Shutting you up was an option?”

Blue chortled.

“Ha-ha. Funny.”

He pulled his chair up closer and observed you closely.

“I’m just blown away you were left the day before your wedding. I’m sorry to bring up something so painful but–I dunno. I just met you today and I’m near-convinced I’m in love.”

“I’m–very flattered, Blue, really–” you exhaled, reaching for your glass of wine, “but it was my fault too.”

You felt your eyes focus on the wine in your glass.

“I was kidding myself for a long time. He honestly never liked me that much, and I think he felt too afraid to say anything for a long time. And looking back? I don’t think I wanted to see it.”

Warm contact met the top of your hand.

“Well. He’s fucking stupid. I don’t get why if you don’t like something, you can’t just hit the bricks.”

“Yeah,” you nodded, “It would’ve saved me a lot of time, but. But what about you? I know I was giving you a hard time earlier, but–how are you single?”

“How do you mean? You sounded quite curious–” he teased, “I’m gonna take that as a good sign.”

“Don’t flatter yourself too hard. I’m not going off of your reputation here.”

“Ooh, so sassy for a good girl that just begged for me hours ago.”

You urgently looked around the restaurant to ensure nobody heard that; it was enough to get an amused chuckle out of him.

“Blue–!”

“Okay, okay, no dirty talk in public, noted,” he said, taking a sip of his wine, “but to answer your question, I’ve just been… busy? I guess? Honestly, I haven’t looked. Ever.”

“You’ve… never… dated?”

It was him who was embarrassed all of a sudden.

“I guess not. I’ve had a few hookups but nothing worth remembering. Nobody I wanted to introduce to my friends, my Pokémon, the Kanto League–hell, and after that gauntlet, there’s good ol’ Gramps and Daisy. Nothing seemed worth getting a name out of or a second text or anything. And I was busy, so I was cool with it.”

You were scared to ask, but the chaos of the day made you loose-lipped.

“Is that where we’re going to fall?”

“It’s certainly where I don’t want you to be,” he softened his voice, “this is a romantic dinner where we’re getting to know each other. Frankly, whether you want to confront this or not, we’re on a date. Though most people prefer to help embolden bloodlines after the date, not before–”

“Such a tease,” you rolled your eyes. He grinned.

“Yeah, I don’t really have an off button. But it’s that kinda nature that got me where I am.”

“Sounds like a straightforward philosophy.”

“It’s never let me down yet–I just always have an instinct to the things I want–like a gear just kicks in. Dunno. Maybe I have a special kind of intuition–maybe if I were a Pokémon, I’d be a Psychic type.”

You coyly swirled your glass in your hand.

“Okay, Mr. Oak, then what about me? What kind of Pokémon do you think I would be?”

It was clear to see that the question deeply amused him by the way his features curled into a wide smile–the same lopsided one you first saw by the pool deck when he was first barraging you with his romantic appetite. It was a cheeky, cocky look that suited him–raised eyebrow and all. You didn’t like how much it was growing on you.

“Well at first thinking, I woulda said Dark type,” he began, running his finger thoughtfully around the base of his glass as he spoke, “You’re a minxy, delicious, evil seductress that I seemed to have no effect on when I first bothered you earlier. That’s assuming I’m still a Psychic type, by the way. Which I think I still am. Because the moment I saw you I got that gear-kick feeling. And so far, my instinct’s been treating me real good. Oh–but not as good as you, Beautiful.”

Another eye roll, but a flush of warmth joined your cheeks mid-smile.

“Then spending time with you… I’m going to go with Fire. Not just because you’re smokin’ hot, even though you are–”

“Flattered.”

“But Fire is a really beautiful thing. It’s powerful. My Arcanine is one of the strongest on my team, and I’ve seen the destruction fire can make. But–people only think about how hot and powerful Fire is, and forget all the other stuff. Fire is hot, yeah, but it also provides warmth. Fire is powerful, but it’s also beautiful. People like, gather around Fire–we literally watch it to relax. When Fire is loved and handled the way it deserves, it’s one of the best types out there. One of the best facets of our Earth, actually.”

He pointed a finger at you.

“And I know all about that–I’m the keeper of the Earth badge. But I stand by what I said. You’re gorgeous and comforting–familiar, even. You’re both hot and warm. You’re powerful but safe. You exist amid these things that most people think couldn’t actually coexist, but…”

Blue raised his hands defensively.

“But that’s just my speculation and observation. It does have merit though, as I am always right about everything ever.”

Your ex never spoke about you so intently in the years that you knew him. Nobody ever, no hookup nor talking stage nor serious relationship made you feel remotely as seen as Blue did in under ten hours. Were you especially close to Fire types? Surely you would be now.

“Blue… thank you.”

It was your turn to put your hand on his.

“You answered and then some. I feel really spoiled, honestly.”

“Yeah? Well get used to it.”

Clinking glasses at the table was perfect at the moment, forgetting about yesterday and tomorrow and all their worries were possible just for the night with him to keep you company. Even being his bargain-won pretend wife didn’t feel so pretend when he continuously offered you to try every food he had, even holding the fork for you. It didn’t feel so pretend when he loudly declared excitement at the waiters bringing you both your romantic, honeymoon dessert. It didn’t feel so pretend when other families or couples would congratulate the two of you, and he puffed out his chest to thank them in full stride. And it certainly didn’t feel so pretend when you went to your bungalow together to make sleepy love for one final time, pass out in each other’s arms, and wake to the other’s smile in the morning.

⋆ ᴇᴘɪʟᴏɢᴜᴇ⋆

“You usin’ this chair?”

Your moment of meditative enjoyment of a sunny Alola day was rudely interrupted by a silhouette blocking your view of the sun. You adjusted your sunglasses on the bridge of your nose to gather any more information about the silhouette in question. Tall-ish. Male. Great–your first full day back at the Hano Grand Resort after three years and your precious sun time was being interrupted by some guy.

You were a professional at dealing with such types.

“Take it,” you instructed, waving your hand for him to get on with it. You could see him cock his head to the side.

“Take it? What if I wanted to sit here?”

“I mean, I can’t make you not sit there.”

The man sat down to your left, and you immediately shifted your attention away just to be blatant with your disinterest. A scoffing sound could be heard from him.

“Wow, single women have no idea what they want, do they?”

You let out an unamused cackle in return.

“The hell is that supposed to mean?”

“If you wanted to leave, you would, right? But instead you’re giving me this weird hard-to-get attitude. I mean, I’m kinda into it, you bein’ so sexy n’ all.”

Sneering, you turned to glare the man down.

“I’m not staying here for you. I was already here, and I’m waiting for my drink.”

“But nobody special is bringing it out to you?”

“Leave me alone,” you demanded, going back to looking away, “fucking weirdo.”

“Excuse me b–”

“Do we have a problem?” a third voice intervened, one mischievous and familiar–comforting in its willingness to stir up some attitude, “It looks like you’re bothering this young lady.”

“I’m just making conversation–”

“Ah-ah-ah–” the familiar voice scolded, “not with her, you aren’t. You can go make conversation with anyone else, alright? She doesn’t wanna talk to you.”

You heard your tropical cocktail glass be gently set to the small table to your right, as your drink was lovingly brought to you. The unwanted company quickly jumped from his chair to escalate the situation.

“Who the hell do you think you are to tell me what to do?”

“I’m Blue Oak, asshole–” your husband boasted, getting in the man’s face, “And that woman you’re messing with is my wife. If she doesn’t wanna talk to you, I’m gonna make damn sure you don’t get the time of day.”

Seeing that your beloved loved confrontation and challenge as he always did, you decided to be the voice of reason where he failed. It never hurt to pull him away with an irresistible offer.

You stood up, playing the hardest you could into your coyest self.

“Baby, why don’t we just go rent a cabana? I’d rather spend some private time with you on our Honeymoon.”

You could hear your husband smirk at the other man before wrapping an arm around you and starting to walk away.

“You’re right, sweetheart. Let’s go ahead and do that. I can think of a whole ton of stuff I’d like to take care of privately.”

You felt him openly kiss into your neck–that sweet spot you loved so much before his voice cried out to the unwanted company again.

“Smell ya later–asshole!”

He chuckled back into your skin as you walked completely out of the man’s sight, and you laughed in return.

“You don’t have to be so insane for me, Blue. We’re married for real this time.”

“All the more reason to be,” he explained, “What’s mine is mine is all mine, and fuck sharing with anybody else.”

The two of you paused mid step outside a cabana, and he smiled warmly just for you.

“Especially now that I truly have what I want. For real this time.”

“Does it make a difference?” you asked, running your hands up his shirt, leaning in for a kiss, “I was always yours.”

“It does to me, Mrs. Oak.”

The instant your lips met, your husband coaxed you inside the cabana to enjoy the rest of your honeymoon away from the world.

⋆ ʜᴏɴᴇʏᴍᴏᴏɴ ʙʟᴜᴇꜱ: ᴇɴᴅ ⋆

A/N: Thank you all for reading this far! I hope you enjoyed. Gun to my head I could not tell you why I was able to write this of all things in two days. I have so many other long-form drafts started and saved for other characters and fandoms, but for some reason I had a primal itch to write about Blue? It was fun! Blue (or his anime counterpart, Gary) was one of my first fictional crushes ever—so this felt a little cathartic. Let me know if you’d like to see this archived on ao3 as well!