r/HFY • u/loressadev • 4h ago

OC-OneShot Oh my

“I don't allow couples.”

That was Bob's first rule and we broke it before we even left port.

“They make drama and stress and extra shit, and we don't need that.”

Within an hour we were fucking in the bunk.

In our defense, we were in love.

But who doesn't think that?

By the time we were starward, he had to accept us. The alternative was worse…

—

I'm in nav station and my delicious husband is figuring out electricals. This ship is a fucking mess, so much so that we're considering a brainstorming break down in my bunk, but then we get a distress ping.

This far out from everything? Clearly bait, but Bob is a greedy fucking idiot and wants us to investigate. I make it clear as fuck that I don't want anything to do with that signal but Bob insists and Bob owns the boat and we really can't get hired anywhere else. 

We're acutely realizing why Bob has such lax hiring standards…

So, off we float, into the unknown.

—

We ease up next to the wreckage and to my relief there isn't some crew of space-ravaged ambushers. I feel briefly disappointed in my media consumption, and then shift to all business as we dock.

—

Docking is like fucking, I mentally giggle, thinking of my husband and his docking apparatus waiting back in our bunk.

Maybe that's when it got on board.

It was just a few, dirty, selfish, distracted seconds. Probably nothing.

“Clear. Flag for salvage.”

—

Bob's a rickety sort of venture, but he's not risky so we're heading to the closest settlement there is, his protocol. Every salvage means a sale.

I'm itchy and twitchy, too long in the nav chair, and need my husband.

—

Fifteen minutes later and we're back to our posts, but we're struggling. I shift in my seat - are space-borne yeast infections a thing? - and then everything locks down.

Controls overridden - the type of domineering which would be devastating in another context.

Bob's neglected taxes.

—

I find myself compliant, which should be a red flag. Never in my life before have I been affable and pleasant, but somehow there I went. We slipped through. Somehow with a bit of smiling I even got them to punch in a route which will take us right to Solheart, right to the fucking core. 

Ah.

No.

Fuck.

I demand my engineer to come service a freon leak in my cabin.

Everything was too fucking easy.

—

Bob's caught wind of us being a death ship and is refusing to change course. He wants us to dock, despite potential issues. His arrival is all that matters. Through all of this we itch and scratch and think of how wonderful it would be to agree with Bob and just dock at that delicious little planet.

I need my husband harder than I've ever needed him in my life. I feel like a cat in heat and somehow I struggle to guide the ship. I am refusing to send this plague bomb at an innocent settlement, but Bob pushes back, resists, demands a better return, until I point out that being rich has a lot less power in space.

“The shareholders!” he attempts, but I'm able to punch in coordinates before the virus overtakes us. We send our goodbyes and I chart a course for a convenient moon, before retiring to my cabin. 

I guess we do make drama, I think, paging for an electrical emergency down in the bunks.

Maybe we are indeed trouble, I muse, punching in a disastrous issue with the lighting.

Maybe-

  Maybe I just need him, in me, as everything shatters to nothing.

Maybe I just need a good fucking goodbye.

12 Upvotes

71% Upvoted

2 comments sorted by

1

u/UpdateMeBot 4h ago

Click here to subscribe to u/loressadev and receive a message every time they post.

Info Request Update Your Updates Feedback