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sunni-stuff · 3 months ago

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Part 1 This is part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

With the train ride now over, the sergeants ran, scouring the market for two familiar faces. Their footsteps in sync, crunching delicate mounds of white snow. Soap broke through the crowd first, then Gaz and Gary were right with him.

“Where the hell are they?” Gaz pants out, his breaths misting in the cold air.

“You said the marketplace,” Soap huffs.

“Yeah, I said the marketplace, but it's not like I know exactly where they went!” Gaz snaps back.

While the two sergeants bicker, Roach quietly breaks away, scanning the area until he spots the familiar figures they’d been hunting for. Price and Ghost stand outside a cigar shop, deep in conversation. The satisfied grin on Price's face tells Roach everything—he got what he was after.

“They’re over there!” Roach exclaims, snapping his partners out of their lovers' quarrel.

Gaz and Soap go silent, their eyes following Roach’s line of sight until they, too, spot their Lieutenant and Captain.

In a heartbeat, the three of them are sprinting toward their unsuspecting targets. Soap grins like a madman, practically buzzing with mischief, while Gaz shakes his head, both amused and slightly wary of what might unfold. Roach, meanwhile, is simply thrilled to be along for the ride.

They skid to a stop right in front of the two men, chests heaving as they catch their breath in the biting winter air.

“The hell is wrong with you lot?” Price’s voice cuts through, laced with a mix of annoyance and bemusement as he shifts his attention from Ghost to the winded sergeants.

Ghost, arms crossed, eyes them with quiet scrutiny. His winter coat does little to conceal his bulky frame, a silent reminder of his imposing presence as he stands beside Price.

Price and Ghost waited for an explanation, knowing well everytime those three got together, they were definitely up to no good.

Like how they put semi-permanent green dye in Ghost's shampoo for Halloween.

“We… we saw. A kid with your face,” Gaz manages, still catching his breath, pointing straight at Ghost.

Ghost raises a brow, baffled. A kid with his face? What the hell did that mean? Did they think he looked like a baby?

Soap huffs in mock disappointment, shooting a playful glare at Gaz. “Oi, I wanted to say it!”

Predictably, the two dive into another back-and-forth. Gaz isn’t one to shout, but Soap has a talent for riling anyone up.

Price lets their little show go on for only a moment before his stern voice cuts in, slicing through their bickering. “One of you properly explain, or you'll be walking back to base.”

Roach steps up, eager to clarify. “There’s a kid, probably about two, and she looks exactly like the Lt. Scowl, glare, and all!”

Price and Ghost pause, their expressions twisting as they both try—and fail—to imagine a little girl with Simon’s permanent scowl.

Price shudders, shaking the thought from his head. “That is not a face a kid should have.”

“That’s exactly what I said,” Gaz chimes in, nodding emphatically.

Ghost throws him an offended look, his usually hardened eyes showing a glimmer of hurt. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing!” they all exclaim in unison, even Price, who quickly averts his gaze as Ghost’s glare narrows on him.

Ghost huffs, then crosses his arms. “Did you take a picture?”

Soap snorts, leaning against the wall with a smirk. “Aye, right, 'cause that wouldnae be creepy at all.”

Ghost stares daggers Into Soap, rolling his eyes and pushing himself off the wall. “Okay, then where is she?”

The three stooges lead the charge once again, this time with their Captain and Lieutenant in tow. They weave through the crowd toward the train park, where Soap eagerly scans for the woman and kid he’d spotted earlier. But the line they were in is empty, the pair nowhere to be found.

“Shite. I think they’re gone,” Soap mutters, his Scottish accent thickening in his frustration, the words rolling out with a clipped bite.

“So the imaginary woman and kid don’t actually exist,” Ghost deadpans, unimpressed.

“They exist!” Gaz insists, voice edging on exasperation.

“Sure,” Ghost replies, his tone flat and thoroughly unconvinced.

Roach snickers, then glances over at Price—only to see him staring slack-jawed through the window of a nearby café, his cigar dangling from his mouth, forgotten.

“Cap?” Roach says, touching the older man’s shoulder.

Price doesn’t look away, nodding toward the café. “Found them.”

Everyone turns toward the café, eyes landing on you and Adira. The little girl is happily weaving between your legs, her tiny hands gripping your coat as she entertains herself, all while you order hot chocolates to fend off the winter chill. A soft smile touches your lips as you watch her play, blissfully unaware of the audience gathering just outside.

The barista, with a warm smile, hands over two cups, one with a little extra marshmallows for Adira, her voice bright as she wishes you both a merry Christmas. You take the cups with a grateful nod, handing one to Adira. She immediately takes her drink, sipping eagerly, her small feet bouncing on her heels from the sugar rush.

“Yummy?” You ask, glancing down at her with a soft smile, a wave of motherly pride swelling in your chest as you watch her delight in the simple joy of her drink.

Adira nods eagerly, her eyes lighting up as she pulls away from her straw with a satisfied sigh. “Yummy.”

With a soft chuckle, you both leave the warmth of the shop, stepping out into the crisp air. Hand in hand, you walk back toward the park, the world around you feeling peaceful despite the cold. As you reach the crosswalk, you stop, waiting for the light to turn. Adira looks up at you, her little face filled with contentment as she swings your joined hands back and forth, her sugary energy still buzzing.

Across the way, the team stood frozen, unable to look away from the scene unfolding before them. Everyone but Ghost was struck by how much Adira looked like him—her features unmistakably mirroring his, save for the color of her hair and skin. The resemblance was uncanny, and for a brief moment, it felt like the world had stopped around them.

“She looks nothing like me,” Ghost stated plainly, his voice cutting through the stillness as though it were fact. His expression was unmoving, a wall of stubbornness in his eyes. He was ready to die on that hill.

Then, as fate would have it, a woman walking her dog passed by, and Adira’s cherub-like face hardened into a cold, calculating stare. It was subtle, but unmistakable.

“Nevermind,” Ghost muttered, his earlier conviction faltering as he watched her shift before his eyes.

“So… you’ve been having fun these past years?” Roach asked, his gaze flicking between Adira and Ghost, curiosity getting the better of him.

“Not that I know of,” Ghost grunted, his eyes still locked on you and Adira, a mix of unease and something else flickering across his face. He couldn’t pull himself away.

“Let’s get closer,” Price commanded, already making his move. Soap and Roach exchanged a shrug, falling in line without hesitation.

“Excuse me?” Gaz sputtered, though his body had already begun moving before his brain could catch up, unable to defy the Captain’s order.

Ghost fell silent, teeth gritted. This wasn’t a situation he was used to, especially not one where he was forced to go in blind. He stood stiffly at the crosswalk, trying to hide his glances, his focus split between the team and you.

Soap ended up the closest, standing just next to Adira. The little girl paused, her big, doe-like eyes lifting from her drink to catch sight of him. The recognition was instant. Her lips pursed into a small line, and her gaze grew heavy with annoyance.

“Ugee…” she whispered, scooting closer to you.

Soap froze, his mind stuttering for a moment. Did she just—? Did she call me ugly?

Gaz, standing behind him, couldn’t contain himself. A muffled laugh broke through as Soap turned to look at the others, wide-eyed and speechless, completely taken aback.

“Do ye lot think I'm ugly?” Soap asked, his voice thick with disbelief, clearly thrown off by the little girl's words.

“Not the time, Mctavish,” Price said, a tiny laugh tugging at the corner of his lips despite the situation.

The streetlight flickered green, signaling it was time to move. You adjusted yourself, ready to cross the street. Each member of the team started mentally preparing, unsure of how—or even if—they should approach you. Ghost, however, was the first to make a move, determined to intercept you. But Soap, ever the opportunist, beat him to it.

Ghost wasn’t exactly subtle, and having him try anything would probably send you running in the opposite direction.

“Excuse me, aren’t you the lady from the train?” Soap called out, his voice light, though his intentions were clear.

You paused at his interruption, recognition flickering in your eyes. You remembered the man who bumped into you earlier. “Yes? Is something the matter?”

“Do you happen to know where I could find Leslies?” Soap asked, a hint of uncertainty creeping into his voice, though he tried to mask it.

“The pub?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes,” Soap confirmed, his face lighting up with a mix of relief and surprise at your easy response.

You look around for a moment, trying to remember and see the street names of your current location. “Uh…it should be about a couple blocks south from here. They have a big sign, you can't miss it.”

Thank God for Soap, because that one question was all he needed to keep you trapped in a conversation, his charm working its magic as you giggled and chatted away easily, the awkwardness of the situation melting away.

Meanwhile, Ghost’s attention shifted to Adira. He looked down at her, and she, almost instinctively, looked up at him. Their eyes locked in a silent staring contest, each of them studying the other. The intensity in their gaze was undeniable, both sets of eyes reflecting the same quiet, unwavering strength. It was like looking in a mirror—a mirror that mirrored back his own hardened stare and no-nonsense attitude.

Adira was, quite literally, his mini me. The resemblance was impossible to ignore.

“How old are you?” Ghost asked bluntly, his voice low as he kneeled down to Adira’s height, his gaze intense but trying to soften.

Adira paused for a moment, glancing up at you for help, but you were still caught up in conversation with Soap. She turned her focus back to Ghost, her small fingers fidgeting with the hem of her coat as she murmured shyly, “Two…”

She was two. Two. Ghost’s mind raced, trying to piece together the details, but nothing clicked. Nearly three years ago… what had he done three years ago? He kept everything categorized, stored in his mind like a well-organized file system, but this was something that didn’t fit.

Then, Soap’s voice broke through his thoughts.

“You don’t seem like the type of lass to frequent Leslies.”

You giggled, a soft blush creeping up your cheeks at Soap’s question. He wasn’t wrong… at least, not entirely. “I’ve only been to Leslie’s once, and, well… it’s how I ended up with my little blessing.” You glanced down at Adira, the warmth of your smile radiating as you spoke.

Everything shattered in that moment. Ghost’s stomach twisted painfully, his heart skipping a beat as the realization slammed into him like a freight train. Leslie's. Almost three years ago, during that stupid holiday.

His mind began to piece it together, the hazy memories from that night slowly coming into focus. He remembered the bar, the laughter, the way you had caught his attention. You were easy on the eyes, easy to make laugh, and most importantly—unlike everyone else. You didn’t ask questions, didn’t pry, you just let him lead, let him slip into the night with no strings attached.

But now, as he looked at Adira, everything fell into place. The way she stared at him, those familiar eyes, the resemblance he couldn’t ignore. His breath hitched, and the weight of the truth crushed him—she was his daughter.

A knot formed in his throat as he tried to process the fact. Adira. His daughter. The little girl standing before him was his flesh and blood, the result of a moment he'd long since buried in the depths of his mind.

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Taglist: @auradaniela98-blog-blog @cumsluut @unstqblecvrses @moraxnomora @serafina-nyx @sage-burrow @skylarmitchell @xx-wal1flower-xx @n-y-x04 @gluttonybiscuits @imahugenerdlol @wehrgabriel @blackhawkfanatic @tazuduck @soxocs @jingyuansspouse @cutiecusp @sleepyoriana @forgottensomewhere @puppylikethedog @spongelistener @caged-birdies-blog @bubblegirll26 @misscaller06 @fuckbananas03 @watu2ka @yukisdelusional @redroserabbit

#simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley #ghost x you #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #Singlemom!Reader #sunshine-sunni

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steampunktendencies · 7 months ago

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This 19th-century multi-tool from Germany has 100 different blades and a .22-caliber five-shot revolver.

This knife could be described as the Mother of all Swiss Army knives. If you count the miniatures inside the tortoise shell handle covers, it has 100 “blades.” They include pocket knife blades of every style imaginable, a serrated blade, two dagger blades, several different types of shears and scissors, an auger, a corkscrew, two saws, a lancet, button hook, cigar cutter, tuning fork, pens and mechanical pencils, mirror, straight razor, and a functional .22-caliber five-shot pinfire revolver. The one modern convenience it doesn’t seem to have is a bottle opener, but the bottle cap as we know it wasn’t invented until 1892. Source : National Museum of American History

#19th century #design #victorian era #Steampunk tendencies #Blades

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soreconom · 2 months ago

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🖤Sevika HCs🖤

just random sevika hcs. broken up into categories for general, romantic, and nsfw headcanons respectively.

i didn’t try very hard while writing this, so my writing is probably subpar here but…yolo.

im in love with sevika so i add to this like every day …

men dni. minors dni. men dni. minors dni.

safe for enby lesbians. ♥️

general

* raging butch lesbian 🧡🤍🩷.

* her place is messy but in an organized chaos sort of way.

* she smells like cigar smoke (in a good way), leather, peppery mahogany, and a hint of something sweet.

* collects bottle caps. i can’t explain it, i just have a feeling she would!!

* extremely interested in Zaun’s history. she wont go into a full rant about it but she’ll drop interesting facts about it occasionally.

* has very, very cool, gay aunt vibes!!!

* cat person. just imagine her carrying a sweet little kitty with a sweet little smile on her face.

* actually an excellent cook.

* snores… hacks in the morning like a dad.

* before she lost her dominant arm, her hand writing was neat, very bold, and she wrote exclusively in all caps. she’s relearning her penmanship now.

* very heavy handed.

* completely quit smoking after she got a spot in piltover’s council and hardly drinks anymore.

* her carabiner is on the left side. she keeps the basics on it, so just her keys and one or two old key chains she has.

* in a modern au she would be into classic cars and the process of restoring them. her dream car is a 1970 mustang boss.

* on the topic of vehicles i can see her as a biker too. like, imagine seeing her taking off that helmet … swoon! imagine being her backpack … SWOON AGAIN!!!

romantic

* i feel like she doesn’t do romance very often, if at all. so you are one lucky ducky!

* it’s a lot for her to get used to so things develop slowly. patience is key here. she isn’t used to having someone really care about her, let alone love her.

* she’s pretty standoffish and awkward in the beginning. some might say stilted. she never really saw herself having a partner.

* just be patient with her and let her come to you.

* loves hugging you from behind

* if you’re with her at the last drop, she has her arm around you constantly. if it’s not that, she’s having you sit on her lap.

* she isn’t the jealous type at all. she knows that if you’re with her, if she choses you, she has nothing to worry about. if your loyalty to her falters, you’ve got a big storm coming.

* while she isn’t jealous, oh, boy, is she possessive. very big difference between those two. she’s also fiercly protective.

* got a creep flirting with you at the bar? she lets it be known that you are taken very quickly. is at your side in a second flat, arm wrapping around you all while staring daggers at the perpetrator.

* this woman is a capital F Flirt. will talk you up one side and down the other like it’s nothing. if you’re just someone she happens to lock eyes with at the bar, you guys could go back and forth with flirting and banter.

* BUT if you and sev have been together for a bit flirting can get her flustered from time to time. you know *just* what to say to her to make her short circuit a little bit. no one can get under her skin the way you can. /pos

* calls you baby. if you’re a femme, she calls you her femme. also fond of calling you “pretty baby”.

* surprisingly soft lips.

* kissing her feels like a dream. slow and sweet and sensual. complete with a warm hand on the side of your face or settled on your hip.

* sevika prefers a partner who can take care of themselves. after all, she’s a busy woman and she can’t always come to your rescue.

* her giving love language is acts is service. need something fixed? in classic butch fashion, she’s absolutely got you covered. do you drink coffee or tea in the morning? she’s got a cup ready for you in the morning, *just* the way you like it. she’ll do anything for you when she’s got the time.

* her receiving love language? words of affirmation. she likes to know that you think she’s *good*. that she’s doing a good job and that you see that.

* loves having her hair played with and her scalp massaged. if you have long nails it’s like a dream for her.

* would be so fucking whipped for you. you’re on her mind all the time. smiles when little things make her think of you. memorizes every little detail about you every chance she gets.

* actions over words. don’t expect crazy love letters or monologues about how much you mean to her. she shows how much she loves and cares for you almost entirely through actions.

* most likely wakes up before you and sits there for a little bit just to memorize every tiny little feature about your face. she never wants to forget what you look like.

* she doesn’t have a type. like, at all.

nsfw

* stone top. there. i said it. no questions. no ifs, ands, or buts.

* nipple piercings 🙈.

* oh, she is eating that thang. this woman is a munch. she would know just how to lick or suck you to make you come before you know it. it’s a very personalized experience.

* she learns you inside and out. knows every. little. thing that makes you tick.

* vocal. like, as in, she talks. she’s dirty about it too. all “oh, yeah? you like that baby?”, “be good for me, i know you can take it”, “mmm, taste so fuckin’ good for me” or “i know what’s good for you, now fucking take it”. she talks you through it every time.

* kisses it after she eats it. :)

* weewooweewoo WE GOT A MAN HANDLER OVER HERE!!!! she will move you every which way, any way she needs you to be. if you’re flexible, she absolutely has fun with that.

* has a collection of straps. different strokes for different folks, am i right?

* will sex you with sensual r&b playing in the background.

* touching on one of her receiving love languages being words of affirmation …

* she loves to be praised.

* it’s something she would never explicitly ask you to do. it’s a subtle thing.

* it’s in the way she short circuits when you tell her how good she’s doing, how good she makes you feel. you can tell she likes that, knowing that she is good for you, in the way her hands tremble or her hips stutter or, if she’s going down on you, the way her eyes go soft.

* she will fuck you senseless and then be so, so sweet on you after. makes sure you’re taken care of, that there’s something for you to drink, has towels ready for you incase you don’t feel like showering for a while after you finish. seriously, it’s like two different people.

okay thats it. i am obsessed with this woman and just wanted to share some headcanons i had for her while i finish up a fic i’m trying to write🎠.

cant believe my first writing here was some random hcs but whatever!!!

requests currently open for multiple fandoms, including arcane :).

dividers by cafekitsune

#sevika #sevika x reader #sevika x fem reader #sevika x female reader #sevika x gn reader #sevika x nonbinary reader #arcane x reader #sevika arcane #arcane x gn reader #arcane x female reader

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societyfolklore · 1 month ago

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Under His Skin

Title: Under His Skin (Prompts - here, take my jacket)

Pairing: Agent!Bucky Barnes x Agent!Female Reader

Summary: When a mission requires you to charm a wealthy arms dealer to secure critical intel, Bucky’s jealousy boils over as the target gets too close for comfort. After pulling you out of the mission and draping his jacket over your shoulders, he confronts you at the safe house. The result? An explosive night fuelled by pent-up desire and possessiveness.

Word Count: 4.4k

Warnings: /Warnings // Explicit Content // 18+, Minors DNI, smut, possessive behavior, fingering, Unprotected sex...

A/N: Another entry for @the-slumberpartyDecember daze challenge – Day 26)

The gala was in full swing, the hum of conversation and clinking glasses filling the grand ballroom. Soft golden light poured from intricate chandeliers overhead, casting a warm glow across the polished marble floors. The air was heavy with the mingled scents of expensive perfume, champagne, and the faint bite of cigar smoke drifting in from the balcony. A string quartet played in the corner, their lilting melody weaving through the chatter of the well-dressed crowd. The atmosphere was elegant, but the undercurrent of tension was palpable, the kind that came with secrets exchanged under the guise of pleasantries. You glided through the crowd with practiced ease, your lips curved in a polite smile as you balanced a champagne flute in one hand. The sleek, black dress you wore was as much a weapon as the dagger strapped to your thigh, designed to capture attention and hold it. It worked-too well.

Across the room, Bucky Barnes stood at the bar, nursing a drink that he hadn’t touched. His sharp blue eyes tracked your every move, frustration simmering beneath the surface. He hated the way the target’s hand lingered too long on your bare skin, the way your laugh-forced, but still intoxicating-filled the room. Jealousy coiled in his chest like a viper, striking at his composure each time the man leaned closer to you.

Bucky’s grip on the glass tightened, the faint creak of his metal hand going unnoticed by the guest around him. He knew it was part of the mission, knew you were only doing your job, but the sight of another man touching you, smiling at you like he had a right to, made something primal rise within him. It wasn’t just jealousy-it was protectiveness, a possessive edge he hadn’t felt this sharply in years. And he didn’t trust himself to look away. His sharp blue eyes tracked your every move, his jaw tight as he watched you laugh softly at something the target said.

“Barnes, you’re supposed to be watching for threats, not burning holes through the back of her dress,” Sam’s voice crackled in his earpiece, laced with amusement.

Bucky ignored him, his grip tightening on the glass in his hand. He could see the way the arms dealer’s gaze lingered too long on you, the way his hand brushed against your bare shoulder as he leaned in to speak. Something dark and possessive coiled in Bucky’s chest, and he had to remind himself to unclench his jaw.

You were doing your job, just like you’d done a hundred times before. But this time, it felt different. He couldn’t shake the anger bubbling just beneath the surface, couldn’t stand the sight of that man’s hand on you.

“Bucky, focus,” Sam’s voice cut in again, sharper this time. “She’s got this.”

But Bucky wasn’t sure he did.

You kept your smile firmly in place as the target, a smug, overly confident arms dealer named Viktor, leaned closer, his cologne an overwhelming blend of sharp citrus and musk that clung to the air like a cloud. His blonde, slicked-back hair gleamed under the ballroom lights, and his tailored suit fit just a little too perfectly, as if he wanted to remind everyone in the room of his wealth. His mannerisms were no better-a smirk that never quite reached his cold, calculating eyes, and a habit of letting his fingers linger a moment too long whenever he touched someone. He exuded arrogance, the kind that made your stomach churn, but you kept your expression neutral, your charm carefully calibrated. “You are a rare gem, aren’t you?” he said, his fingers brushing against your lower back.

It took everything in you not to recoil. Instead, you tilted your head, letting out a soft laugh as you subtly slid the small flash drive into the hidden compartment of your clutch. “You’re too kind,” you replied smoothly, your voice dripping with false charm.

“Perhaps you’ll allow me to escort you out later?” Viktor asked, his hand lingering far too long.

Before you could respond, a shadow fell over you both. You glanced up to find Bucky standing there, his expression cold and unreadable, though his eyes burned with barely restrained anger.

“And who is this?” Viktor asked, straightening, though his hand remained on your waist.

Bucky’s gaze flicked to the man’s hand, his lips pressing into a thin line. “We’re done here,” he said, his voice low and commanding.

You opened your mouth to protest, but the look in his eyes silenced you. Viktor’s smile faltered under Bucky’s intense stare, and he finally dropped his hand from your waist.

Bucky’s hand came to rest on your arm, firm but not rough, as he guided you away. You didn’t look back.

Outside, the night air was frigid, a sharp contrast to the warmth of the ballroom. You shivered as the cold seeped through the thin fabric of your dress. Without a word, Bucky shrugged off his suit jacket and draped it over your shoulders, his movements deliberate but charged with tension. His fingers lingered for a moment as he adjusted the collar, the warmth of his touch seeping through the leather. His jaw was tight, and his gaze flicked to yours, intense and unreadable, before shifting back to the street. It wasn’t just an act of kindness; it felt like a silent claim, one that left your heart racing and your thoughts scattered. It was warm, carrying his scent-clean and earthy with a hint of gun oil.

“Bucky…” you started, but he cut you off.

“Not here,” he muttered, his voice tight. “Let’s go.”

The ride to the safe house was silent, tension crackling in the air between you. Bucky’s knuckles were white as he gripped the steering wheel, his jaw set in a hard line. You stared out the window, trying to ignore the way your heart raced, the heat of his jacket a constant reminder of how close he’d been.

The moment the door to the safe house shut behind you, the dam broke. Bucky’s pacing was immediate, his boots thudding against the wooden floor with a rhythm that mirrored the storm brewing inside him. His metal hand flexed and released in a steady, almost mechanical motion, but his flesh hand betrayed his agitation as it raked through his hair, leaving it wild and dishevelled. His jaw worked furiously, the muscles tensing and releasing as if he were biting back words too sharp to speak aloud.

Each turn he made across the room seemed more restless than the last, his movements like a predator caged too long. His eyes, sharp and blazing with an intensity that made your stomach twist, kept darting to you and then away, as though he couldn’t bear to look at you for too long. When he finally stopped and turned to face you, his shoulders squared and his chest heaving with controlled breaths, you could feel the air in the room shift. The storm inside him was no longer contained.

Bucky’s pacing was immediate, his boots thudding against the wooden floor as his metal hand flexed and released, frustration etched into every tense line of his body. When he finally turned to face you, his blue eyes were blazing.

“What the hell was that back there?” he demanded, his voice low but vibrating with barely restrained anger. “Letting him touch you like that?”

“What do you mean ‘letting him’?” you shot back, your voice rising. “It was a mission, Bucky. I didn’t have a choice.”

“Didn’t have a choice?” he echoed, stepping closer, his tone incredulous. “You could have moved his hand. You could have stepped away. But you didn’t.”

“And blow my cover? Are you out of your mind?” you snapped, frustration mounting. “What would you have had me do, Barnes? Start a fight in the middle of the gala?”

His jaw clenched, and he took another step forward, his presence overwhelming. “This isn’t about the mission,” he growled, his voice low and dangerous. “This is about him thinking he could put his hands on you. Thinking he could touch what doesn’t belong to him.”

You blinked, his words catching you off guard. “What doesn’t belong to him?” you repeated, your voice softer now but tinged with confusion. “What are you going on about?”

His eyes blazed as he leaned in, his face inches from yours. “You,” he said, the single word filled with a possessiveness that sent heat coursing through you. “You don’t belong to him.”

“Do you hear yourself? Of course, I don’t belong to him! He’s the target. Why are you acting like this? What’s gotten into you?” you snapped, your voice a mix of anger and disbelief.

Bucky’s hand pressed firmly against the wall beside your head, caging you in, his gaze darkening further. “Because the thought of him putting his hands on you, talking to you like that, makes me see red. You don’t get it, do you?” His voice was low, almost a growl, the tension radiating off him in waves.

“Get what, Bucky?” you asked, your voice trembling now, more from the intensity in his eyes than fear. “This isn’t about the mission anymore, is it?”

“Damn right it isn’t,” he snapped, his jaw tightening as his fingers grazed your waist, holding you in place. “He doesn’t deserve to even look at you, let alone touch you. You’re mine, and no one else gets that right.”

Your breath hitched, the heat of his words igniting something deep within you. “Yours?” you repeated, the word barely a whisper.

“Say it,” Bucky demanded, his voice rough, his gaze locking with yours. “Say you’re mine.”

Your breath caught as his metal hand braced against the wall beside your head, his eyes staring right into you, a shiver down your spine that had nothing to do with fear. His other hand gripped your waist, the heat of his touch burning through the thin fabric of your dress. You could feel the tension radiating off him, his body close enough that his chest almost brushed yours. The scent of his cologne surrounded you, intoxicating and grounding all at once. Your pulse quickened, the magnetic pull of his presence making it impossible to focus on anything but the way his fingers tightened against your side, anchoring you to the moment. “Bucky…” you started, but the intensity in his gaze stole the words from your lips as he shifted closer this time pushing his chest into yours.

“Say it Doll,” he murmured, his lips inches from yours. “Say you’re mine.”

Your heart pounded in your chest, the air thick with tension. “What are you-”

"Say it!" The growl that came from him shook you.

"-Yours." you whispered, the confession tumbling out before you could stop it.

His lips crashed against yours, the kiss fierce and demanding. His hands roamed your body, pulling you flush against him as he deepened the kiss, his metal fingers cool against your skin. You moaned softly as his mouth moved to your neck, his teeth grazing your pulse point.

“God, you have no idea what you do to me,” he murmured, his voice rough and reverent. His hands found the slit in your dress, sliding up your thigh as he pressed you harder against the wall.

“Bucky, please…” you gasped, your nails digging into his shoulders.

He paused, his hand sliding further up your thigh, his lips brushing against your ear. “Only I get to feel you like this,” he rasped, his tone possessive and unrelenting. “Only I get to hear those noises, little whines and whimpers your going to make. He could never make you fall apart the way I can. You’re mine, and I’m going to make sure you never forget it.”

“Tell me what you need, Doll,” he growled, his lips trailing down to your collarbone. “I’ll give you anything. 'Long as mine and I'll give ya whatever you want." His movements were swift and deliberate, the dress slipping from your shoulders as his hands explored every inch of you. The rest of the world faded away, leaving only the heat of his body and the fire in his touch.

"Touch me."

"That's my girl,” he murmured, his voice thick with need.

His metal hand slid down your body, finding the slit of your dress and pushing it aside with a deliberate slowness that left your skin tingling. His flesh hand followed, warm and firm, gripping your thigh as he pressed his body even closer to yours. “You’re mine, Doll,” he murmured, his voice a low growl that sent a shiver through you. His blue eyes burned with a feral intensity as his fingers tightened on your waist. “No one’s ever going to make you feel like I can, not anyone. Especially not that sleaze from tonight. The way he looked at you-he couldn’t even imagine touching you like this.”

You gasped as his fingers brushed over your core, the pressure just enough to tease but not satisfy. “Bucky...” you whimpered, your hips moving instinctively toward his hand.

“That’s it,” he rasped, his lips brushing against your ear. “Only I get these sounds from you, bet your going to sing like little nightingale aren't ya sweetheart? Going to let me touch ya and you'll sing so pretty.”

His fingers slipped beneath your panties, finding you already slick and ready for him. He groaned at the sensation, the feel of your wetness on his fingers making a part of him burn. Bucky lips trailing down your neck as his fingers began to move in slow, deliberate circles that left you trembling against the wall. Making a mess of you between your folds. “Not no bodies, just mine.” his voice harsh, demanding in your ear as his breath hot against your skin.

You couldn’t stop the moan that escaped you, your head falling back against the wall as his touch sent waves of pleasure coursing through you. His metal hand gripped your waist, steadying you as his other hand worked you closer to the edge.

“Say it,” he demanded, his tone rough and possessive. His blue eyes bore into yours with a ferocity that made your breath catch. “Tell me nobody else could ever touch you like this. Tell me nobody else will ever have you.”

Your heart pounded as his words sank in, a mix of raw vulnerability and searing intensity in his voice. Part of you wanted to push back, to challenge the claim he was staking on you, but the way his hands gripped you-firm, unyielding-sent a thrill coursing through you that you couldn’t deny.

“Bucky…” you whispered, your voice trembling with a mixture of desire and trepidation.

“Say it,” he growled again, his lips brushing against your ear, his breath hot and unrelenting. “Say you’re mine. That no one else will ever make you feel like this., this pussy mine now..”

“Yours,” you gasped, the word slipping from your lips like a confession. “Noone else. Just you.”

A satisfied growl rumbled deep in his chest, and the tension in his body eased slightly, though the fire in his gaze burned brighter than ever. “That’s my girl,” he murmured, his tone low and reverent, as though the words had solidified something unshakable between you.

“No one..” you gasped, the words spilling out as your body trembled under his touch. “Fuck.”

“Damn right you no one but mine,” he growled, his pace quickening as he pushed you closer and closer to release. “No one else fucking gets this, you hear me. No one else gets you.”

When you finally shattered, his name was a cry on your lips, your body arching against his as the pleasure consumed you. His hand slowed, drawing out every last wave before he pulled you against him, his lips finding yours in a kiss that was just as fierce as the moment before.

“Bed,” he muttered against your lips, lifting you effortlessly into his arms, his voice a low growl that sent shivers down your spine. The dominance in his tone left no room for argument, his arms cradling you as though you weighed nothing. His blue eyes bore into yours, dark with a hunger that was as urgent as it was unrelenting. “You’re not done yet, Doll. Not even close. I’m going to make sure you know exactly who you belong to now.”

He carried you to the bed, laying you down gently before hovering over you, his blue eyes dark with promise. “Let me show you just how much you’re mine.”

His hands were on you immediately, sliding down the curve of your sides with a deliberate slowness that left your skin prickling with anticipation. He leaned down, his lips brushing over your collarbone, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. “No one else gets to touch you like this,” he murmured against your skin, his voice a rough promise. “No one else gets to hear the sounds you make when I touch you, get to here that sweet pussy gush.”

His hands roamed lower, tracing every inch of you, as if memorizing the map of your body. He shifted slightly, pressing a kiss just above the swell of your breasts before his fingers trailed lower, teasing the waistband of your panties. “God, Doll,” he muttered, his lips curving into a faint smirk as he felt the way your hips arched into his touch.

Bucky's fingers dipped beneath the still soaked fabric, digits playing in the mess he'd made of you. He groaned, the sound low and guttural, as his eyes flicked up to meet yours. “Only me,” he rasped, his fingers beginning to move in slow, torturous circles. “Only I get to make you feel like this. Everyone else gets to dream of touching you the way I do.”

You gasped, your hands clutching at his shoulders as he worked you closer to the edge again your voice getting higher in pitch. Bucky quickened his pace, the pressure of his fingers coaxing more moans from your lips that made his smirk deepen. “That’s it,” he growled, his voice thick with possessive pride. “That’s my girl. Let me hear you.” Your desperate little noises were music to him.

“Bucky,” you cried out, his name falling from your lips like a plea as your body trembled beneath him. His free hand slid to your thigh, holding you steady as the tension in your body built higher and higher.

"Look at you," he muttered, his voice rough with desire. "All mine. Viktor couldn’t dream of making you look like this. Couldn’t dream of touching you the way I do."

“Nah nah, come on Doll,” he commanded, his tone leaving no room for argument. His blue eyes bore into yours, their intensity grounding you as your release shattered through you. “That’s it,” he murmured, his voice softening as he worked you through the waves of pleasure the gasping noises mixing with his own pleased groans. “Only me. Only ever me.”

Pulling his hand away, Bucky leaned back slightly, his eyes raking over you with a feral hunger that made your breath catch. Slowly, methodically, he began to remove his clothes, each piece falling to the floor as his gaze never left your trembling, flushed form. The sight of you sprawled out before him, your body glistening and your chest heaving as you came down from the high he’d just given you, made his lips curl into a dangerous smirk.

His metal hand traced the edge of your thigh, sending a shiver through your still-sensitive body. He reached forward, his fingers brushing against your swollen cunt, teasing you as he whispered, "This? She's mine. Every sound you make, every way your body responds-it’s all for me. No one else gets this."

You whimpered as his touch lingered, your hips arching instinctively toward him. His smirk deepened as he slid his fingers back to your entrance, watching as your body clenched around nothing in anticipation. "God, Doll," he murmured, his voice thick with need. "You’re already so ready for me, she's just aching for me."

He moved to hover over you, the heat of his bare skin pressing against yours as he caged you in, his body blocking out the rest of the world. "I’m going to make you forget everything but me," he growled, his lips brushing against your ear. "Forget the name of anyone before me, hell forget your own name now Doll."

Your hands found their way to his back, your nails dragging down his skin as he adjusted himself, the weight and heat of him igniting a fire in you all over again. "Bucky... please," you whispered, your voice trembling with anticipation.

His mouth captured yours in a searing kiss, his body pressing flush against you as he began to move. "That’s my girl," he groaned against your lips. "Let me hear you, Doll. Let me hear how much you’re mine."

You felt him push at your entrance his mouth moving to your ear. "Only talking you do now is to ask for more."

As Bucky's mouth moved to your ear, his hot breath sent shivers down your spine. "You're going to take every inch of me, Doll," he whispered, his voice low and husky. "You're going to take it all, and you're going to beg for more."

"Mine," Bucky growled, before his hips snapping forward as he buried himself deep inside you. "Told you -This. Is. Mine.Now." His words met with hard thrusts. "Every inch hot wet inch of her. Fucking. Mine. Now.."

He pushed down into you, sinking himself, feeding inches at a slow, torturous pace.

"Oh, god," you whimpered, your hands digging into his back as he filled you up.

You felt his hands on your hips, holding you in place as he started to move, pulling his hips back so you felt every vein, and he felt every ridge of you. Before he thrust back with force. "You like that, don't you?" he whispered, his lips brushing against your ear. "You like being fucked like your owned?"

Bucky's hands tightened on your hips, his fingers digging deep into your skin. "I'm going to make you love it even more," he growled, his hips snapping forward with a fierce, brutal pace as he found a possessive rhythm "I'm going to make you scream my name, Doll. I'm going to make you beg for more."

You nodded, your eyes closed as you let the sensations wash over you.

"Yes, yes." you whispered, your voice trembling with need.

You felt his mouth on your neck, his teeth biting down as he marked you as his own. "You're mine," he whispered, his voice low and husky. "You'll never be anyone else's. You'll never want anyone else inside you, because you're mine, Doll. All mine."

As he spoke, his hips moved faster, his cock pounding into you at relentless pace. You felt your body start to build, the sensations coiling tight as you approached the edge.

"Please, Bucky," you whispered, your voice trembling with need, and like he'd told you you'd ask the word came "-more."

Bucky's hands tightened on your hips, his fingers digging deep into your skin. "You'll get more," he growled, his hips snapping forward with a fierce, brutal pace. "You'll get everything you need, Doll. Because you're mine, and I'll give you everything you want."

As he spoke, his mouth moved to your ear, his hot breath sending shivers down your spine. "Now, ask me for more," he whispered, his voice low and husky. "Ask me to fuck you harder, Doll. Ask me to make you come."

You felt your voice rise up, a desperate, pleading cry. "FUCK! Please wanna cum" The words tumbled out of you, a raw, unbridled expression of your need.

Bucky's response was immediate, his hips surging forward with a fierce, animalistic intensity. His cock pounded into you, each stroke a brutal, merciless claim of ownership. You felt your body begin to shatter, the tension building to a fever pitch as he fucked you with every ounce of strength he possessed.

"Fuck doll!" he growled, his voice a low, savage snarl. "My girl!"

The words were a spark to dry tinder, and your body erupted into flames. You felt yourself come apart, your orgasm a screaming, thrashing, utterly helpless thing. Bucky's grip tightened, his arms crushing you against him as he buried his face in your neck. His own release followed, a hot, pulsing flood that filled you to the brim. You felt his body shudder, his muscles locking up as he came, his cock still surging into you with a frantic, possessive intensity.

You were completely, utterly his. Every touch, every kiss, was a declaration, a promise that you were his and his alone. You felt your heart, your soul, your very identity become tangled up in his, until you couldn't tell where you ended and he began.

As the storm subsided, leaving you trembling and gasping in his arms, you knew that you would never be the same. Afterward, as the adrenaline faded and the room fell silent, Bucky pulled you close, his arms wrapping securely around you. His metal arm was cool against your back, a stark contrast to the warmth radiating from his body. The steady rhythm of his breathing began to calm your own, your head resting on his chest where you could hear the faint, reassuring thrum of his heartbeat. Neither of you spoke for a long moment, the silence heavy with unspoken emotions.

He finally broke it, his voice rough but soft. “I couldn’t stand it. Seeing him touch you. Seeing you smile at him, even if it wasn’t real. It drove me crazy.”

You tilted your head up to look at him, your fingers tracing gentle patterns over the faint stubble on his jaw. “It was just the mission, Bucky. You know that, right?”

His blue eyes met yours, the raw vulnerability there making your chest tighten. “I know,” he admitted, his lips brushing against your temple. “But it doesn’t mean it hurt any less.”

You pressed a soft kiss to his jawline, your voice a whisper. “I’m here now. With you.”

His grip tightened slightly, as if afraid to let go. “You’re mine, Doll. Always.”

And in the quiet stillness of the bedroom in the safehouse, you felt the truth of his words settle over you like a promise-one you knew he would never break. His lips brushed against your temple as he murmured, “You’re mine, Doll. Always.”

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yru3xme · 18 days ago

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hwang jun-ho x detectivepartner!reader

working with your partner, who you are deeply in love with despite not realizing, took a turn towards witnessing the murder of many innocent lives, and evil lives looking down on them through a large, cinema screen, as if watching a funny movie.

The aroma of smocked cigars and strong alcohol filled the room of V.I.Ps, the mask placed on your face making the whole situation even more suffocating as you were forced to serve the wealthy, old american men, and your sly eyes glancing to hwang jun-ho from time to time, and he does the same as well through his own mask.

This all started from the search of jun-ho’s older brother, and he found some kind of card in his apartment with a circle, triangle and square. As his partner in the detective business, and long-lasting friend, you wanted to do all you could to help him with his investigation on both the illegal scenery and his brother. You both came onto the ship from the car they take you with, pretended to have been under the effects of the smoke, and took down two guards to take their uniforms, and that’s how you made it through. You tried to act tough, forcing yourself to not make a single sound and just keep on going, but there was this off feeling about the front man that you couldn’t exactly express. And now, because of those odd feelings, you and jun-ho were serving the V.I.Ps for separate reasons. Jun-ho wanted to see the games and if his brother is there, while you, on the other hand, had your eyes on the front man.

The V.I.Ps couldn’t have been more disgusting to you. They betted on which one of the players would win, they made real life people act as statues for them, all painted and naked, leaning and admiring them as if they were a piece of art, they made sexual jokes, especially that fat one jun-ho was serving, and you couldn’t help but keep an eye on him as well.

You noticed the lustful gazes the V.I.P made towards jun-ho, purposefully asking for more drinks just to get a closer look at him, doing all yet knowing the clear age difference and how uncomfortable he is. ‘It’s all part of the job’, you thought to yourself, resisting the urge to murder every single one of these assholes, starting with the fat one.

As you were serving one of the V.I.Ps, you secretly overheard the conversation between jun-ho and the V.I.P he is serving, how that man ‘likes his eyes’ and how he wants to see his face, and for somewhat reason you didn’t know about, jun-ho told him to take it to a more private location, which made your eyes pop out, watching them both stand up holding each other’s hands.

“hey, you all have fun,” the V.I.P stated, the other men looking towards his direction including you, practically glaring daggers into his skull. “I’m going off… for a different kind of fun.”

That comment alone made your eyes widen even more, what makes you even more sick is the reaction from the other men, laughter and teasing.

“Mmm, the real 69, huh?” One of the men purrs with playfulness as your eyes dart to jun-ho, communicating with your eyes of how this is a stupid idea and how he wouldn’t know what the man could do. Even hinting the sense of worry, yet he responds with a slight gesture of his hand, saying he’ll be okay, and after a couple seconds, they disappeared from your sight, and fear and anxiety spread through every corner, every vein, every particle of your body. You were completely out of your person until you hear the commanding tone of yet another V.I.P.

“hey! woman! are you deaf?” he says, immediately snapping you back into reality as you turn your head to face the culprit of the annoying voice. “I said, c’mere and give me a refill. jesus christ, these foreigners, man.” he complains with a scoff as your eyes go back to the previous glare, reluctantly walking towards the seated man and bringing up the bottle of whiskey from the tray to refill his cup. He noticed your look of unease, even though you were wearing a mask. He could see it in your eyes, and it amused him, amused him so much it made a dark chuckle escape from his lips.

“awe,” he said with mock sympathy. “was that your little boyfriend? don’t worry, the old gramps won’t hurt him. Maybe a slight sore throat, but nothing much.” he laughs straight to your face, along with the others, as he turns back to the large screen and watching the players fight for their lives. It made your heart feel heavy, and a reason for that would be your worry for jun-ho, begging to whatever god there is that he is okay, but also for being left alone in this room of torture with men that could do unimaginable things.

#wi ha joon #hwang jun ho #hwang jun ho x reader #Squid game #short #I promise that this series with hwang jun ho x partner!reader will continue. It’s just short stories #but if you would like me to continue #That I can 😁#Squid game season 1 #PLEASE REQUEST!!

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giuliettagaltieri · 7 months ago

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One of Them

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x Lovesick!Reader

Chapter Synopsis: Rafe, middle name: SIMP, Cameron, at your service

Warning: None

Word Count: 1196

Ficlet from Lovesick Little Thing

As young men of Outer Banks are to inherit the family names of their fathers, to become the sole proprietor of their multi-million businesses, possibly run for office, to someday become the leaders and catalyst of change, they made sure to become acquainted with each other and to never fail to attend the meeting they hold in a random house they elect every first Friday night of the month. And there was only one single rule that none of them can ever break. No girls allowed.

It started with their fear of cooties, and then their fear of hormonal mood swings of budding women, and none of them got over it as they grew older. It was the leader of the pack, Rafe Cameron, who came up with the stupid idea. He was so strict with it that he threatened to kick out anyone who tries to bring a chick to these meetings.

They were to wear formal clothing, completed with ties, polished shoes, and crisp suits like the fine gentlemen that they are. Anybody who fails to come in the expected outfit shall be refused a seat at the table.

Imagine the look of surprise when they arrive in Tanneyhill with you sleeping snugly, cuddling with Rafe, who is dressed in linen pants and opened button down shirt, with his bare feet visible for everybody to see!

They all halted their steps. Eyes wide and questioning as they look at you and then at Rafe and is that a plushie tucked under his arm?

All of them stood by the doorway, some struggling to stick their heads in to see what’s holding everybody up.

“Is the monthly meeting canceled?” Somebody asks and Rafe rolls his eyes.

“You guys coming in or what?” Rafe snaps, making you stir in your sleep but Rafe puts a hand behind your head to let you rest against his arm again. You hook a leg over his and as soon as you’re knocked out, Rafe turns to the huddled men over the doorway. If it isn’t for Topper, nobody would have dared to cross the threshold.

It was uncomfortable for them. There was music playing but they didn’t have the usual Vivaldi and Paganini that boomed around the room. It was some stupid lullaby that Kelce played, because Rafe would have their heads rolling if they dared to disturb your sleep.

They weren’t used to the usual hushed way of talking but Rafe glared daggers at anyone who wasn’t whispering. Nobody played billiards or cards in fear that they might get too excited and wake you up.

But like a good host, Rafe let them drink Tanneyhill’s stash of alcohol.

Problem was he made Topper and Kelce the fucking baristas. No more than two crystal glasses of the vintage liquor.

When you finally stirred awake, they were relieved, finally they could get the party started.

Or so they thought.

You were suddenly craving fries and sundae.

Rafe had to go.

Of course, you felt bad, and even insisted that you go alone. His guests nodded at Rafe, hoping he’ll listen. As much of an asshole Rafe is, they didn’t feel like partying without him.

But everything you say goes over his head as he gathers his keys and wallet.

You were still talking when he put a hand on the small of your back, you were looking at his guests apologetically and the jackass didn’t even spare them a glance.

“What an asshole.” Somebody in the crowd murmurs sadly and all of them nod in agreement, the dampened mood worsening. “I even brought his favorite cigar.”

Kelce glances at Topper and they sigh in unison. They’ll have to excuse Rafe. He has been without your attention for a while, he just had to hog you for himself.

“Rafe, that wasn’t so nice. You are hosting the party, you should stay behind.” You refuse to get inside his car and he looks at you blankly while he keeps the door open for you. “I can go to the diner by myself.”

Rafe rolls his eyes and before you can say anything else, he is lifting you up on the passenger seat. You talk his ear off, lecturing him as he works on fastening your seatbelt for you.

“You will leave a bad impression.” You fume, cheeks slightly bubbled, and he sighs, bowing his head before glancing at you, his corded arms are gripping the sides of your seat, trapping you in. The atmosphere suddenly grew thick, making your voice die in your throat.

Gulping, you shut your mouth and averted his gaze.

“You done?” He spoke lowly.

Not able to find your voice, you just nodded at him, eyes busy studying the gems on your watch. Rafe nods back and heads over to the driver’s seat. He looks at you one last time before revving up the car, roaring the engine just the way you hated before speeding off.

You weren’t talking to him and Rafe decides to leave you for now. But he does place a warm hand over your knee to let you know he’s willing to talk as soon as you are.

The trees are getting pretty boring, so are the enormous mansions in your neighborhood.

“Should we get them burgers?” You spoke softly, nimble hands playing with the seatbelt. You eye his pretty hands and reach for it but he had to move the gear shift. A pout formed on your lips but Rafe places his hand on your bare thigh now. His grip makes your heart beat uncontrollably.

“If you want, baby.” He says while he rides his hands upwards.

His hands were getting dangerously close to your heat that you had to clear your throat. Rafe grins and lowers his hand back to your midthigh. He doesn’t make a comment when he hears you breathe out a sigh of relief.

The downturned faces of Rafe’s guests brighten up at the sight of you and the bags and bags and bags of burgers you insisted on carrying just for them.

Rafe saunters behind you, face passive as he twirls his keys on his finger. Rafe’s eyes are trailed on the back of your thighs as you pass around the burgers to the now grinning men.

They didn’t like your intrusion at first but you got Rafe wrapped around your finger and they can for sure use that to their advantage.

“Oh man, I’d love to have something sweet after this.” Somebody sighs as he looks at his burger. You perk up at that.

“Should I get Rafe to order dessert for all of us?” You wonder out loud, a chorus of cheers echoes around the room and Kelce taps Rafe’s shoulders in sympathy as the latter groans but fishes his phone out of his pocket anyway.

Topper swings an arm over Rafe’s shoulder. “Yeah, you definitely should, Y/N. Tell him to get us those overpriced cookies they sell on the other side of the island.”

Rafe accidentally jabs an elbow on Topper’s rib but as soon as you heard, your eyes lit up and Rafe knew he just had to do it.

“Anything for my girl.”

Lovesick Little Thing • Coming Soon

#rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron #outer banks #outerbanks rafe #drew starkey x y/n #drew starkey x reader #drew starkey x you #drew starkey #rafe imagine #rafe outer banks #rafe x reader #lovesick!reader

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deadtired-highkeyenergetic · 2 months ago

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In Every Universe

Well. S2EP7 huh. What a ride. Went back to rewatch parts of it while researching for this fic and man, does it still hit as hard as ever. I suppose the sad Arcane playlist didn't help either.

Right, here it is, the longest piece I've ever written in all my years of fanfiction writing. I'm so glad Arcane existed, for all its flaws I still love the series with my whole heart and especially a certain one-eyed war criminal underground drug lord.

Playlist I listened to while writing this:

Spoilers for Arcane Season 2 Episode 7 ahead

One moment you're face to face with the arcane itself, and the next you're staring at a wooden ceiling that's somehow familiar and unfamiliar at the same time. There's something warm next to you and your confused mind registers the weight of something on your chest.

Your first instinct is to quickly free yourself, to put some distance between you and the possibly harmful object, so you lash out at it, rolling off the bed. A rather familiar sounding yelp of pain comes from your left, but your disoriented mind can't remember why it sounds so familiar.

"Easy there, love," a voice groans. Your breath catches in your throat when the figure the voice belongs to sleepily sits up, rubbing his eye.

Silco?

You shake your head. This can't be, he's dead, you've seen his body, you know for certain he's dead, but then why are you seeing this? An illusion? A trick of the mind? Hallucinations?

Your mind races through the possibilities, each more absurd than the last. 'Silco' slides off the bed, carefully approaching you as he should and you properly take in his appearance. Gone is his orange and black eye, instead white surrounds a pale yellow iris. His features are softer, sea-foam coloured eye filled with a level of concern and worry you've only seen him show before he became The Eye of Zaun.

"Love?" His voice snaps you out of your thoughts.

You narrow your eyes at him, muscles tensing. "If this is an illusion, it's a terrible one considering you can't even replicate Silco properly."

"What are you talking about, love? The last I checked, I wasn't an illusion," 'Silco' tilts his head in confusion and raises his hands in surrender. "I mean you no harm, love."

Your hands clench into fists. His words may not contain any lies you can detect but you know better than to let down your guard in unfamiliar territory. You shift your foot and lunge at him, tackling 'Silco' to the ground with a snarl. His eye widens but just like the Silco you know, he quickly regains his signature calm and throws you off.

"I don't want to hurt you, love, but you're not giving me much of a choice with that attitude of yours." 'Silco' huffs. His palms remain open but you can see his muscles tense slightly. You continue your barrage of attacks, and he counters them all with practiced ease, as though he's seen those moves a thousand times before.

The both of you dance until you gain the upper hand by pulling out a move that catches him off guard and pin him to the ground. Your hand slips to where you know he hides a dagger but your fingers find nothing, to your surprise. Taking advantage of that moment, 'Silco' rolls out from under you, panting.

"Now now, love. I know we're married but still, warn me before you start feeling me up." He flashes you a cheeky grin, something he hasn't done in a long time and leaves you even more confused. Something isn't adding up, he's both the Silco you know and isn't. He knows your fighting moves, knows how to counter them which proves that he is the Silco you know and he smells like the Silco you know — cigar ash and scotch. However his left eye is different and he doesn't carry Vander's dagger on him at all times. Wait did he say the two of you are married?

"Married?" You echo.

"Don't tell me you lost your memory," he frowns. "You're acting weird today, love, what has gotten into you?"

"You're the weird one!" You spit back. There's no sensible explanation for any of this…unless…

"Everything alright in there? I know I told you two to turn things down especially at night, some of us need to sleep." Yet another familiar voice sounds from outside the door.

Vander?

"Everything's fine, and don't worry you'll be getting the sleep you need every night," 'Silco' drawls before turning back to you. You stare wide-eyed at the door, throat tightening as emotions threaten to overwhelm you. Flashes of your past with the two brothers race through your mind, Vander's easy smile and comforting presence, Silco's sharp wit and seeming indifference towards you and Vander, your laughter and love for them both. A tear slides down your cheek and you bolt from the room, racing down the stairs you know so well and out the bar, only to be met with a city you don't recognise.

Zaun is lit up, the sun shining down on both cities as Zaunites and Piltovians alike walk past you, chatting away. The streets bustle as hawkers call out their wares and golden light shines upon the Bridge of Progress which is further littered with shops instead of blockades and enforcers. Everywhere you look, buildings stand tall and proud, colour decorates the dirty grey city you knew and your heart shatters.

This…is this what could have been?

Your vision blurs from the tears pouring down your face as it hits you. This is an alternate reality, there's no other explanation. A reality where Zaun becomes independent, co-existing as equals with Piltover. A reality where Silco and Vander's dream comes true.

You stand in the middle of the street with tear streaks on your cheeks, eyes puffy and feel so lost until someone drapes something over your shoulders. It's warm, whatever it is, and smells nice.

"I'm right here." Arms gently guide you to rest your head on a familiar shoulder. "Take all the time you need."

You're not sure why but that's all it takes for the dam to break and you find yourself sobbing hard into his shoulder. His arms wrap around you, pulling you closer and you feel his lips press against the top of your head. You hug him tightly, mind still screaming that this is all a dream, but if this is really just all a dream, you don't want to wake up.

Once you've calmed down, you lift your head and Silco smiles softly at you. "Shall we go home?"

You hum in agreement, letting him lead you back to The Last Drop. You can feel his hand resting on the small of your back, his shoulder brushing against yours and lean into the touch, grateful for the support. He feels the same as the Silco you know, and if you close your eyes, you're back there again, before the incident at the bridge, before you were forced to choose between Silco and Vander.

When you enter The Last Drop, 'Vander' slides a glass of your favourite drink towards you while 'Silco' takes a seat next to you.

"Nothing for me?" 'Silco' teases. 'Vander' laughs, but slides him a glass of scotch anyways. 'Silco' takes a sip before placing the cup between the two of you, gently resting his hand on your forearm. You cautiously place your own hand on top of his, it fits the same way as your Silco's hand does, but your Silco is dead and this Silco is alive. Then again your Vander is dead and this Vander is alive.

You sniff the drink in front of you, eyeing it warily. 'Silco' snorts, lifting the glass to his lips and takes a mouthful. "See? Not poisoned. What has gotten into you today?"

You frown, tapping your finger on the counter top as you think of a way to broach this topic. How were you going to explain that somehow, you had been transported into your body from an alternate universe? There was also the nagging question of where Ekko, Heimerdinger and Jayce were, if they were even in this universe as well. You heave a sigh, looking into sea foam and grey eyes.

"Just a nightmare." You can't tell them anything, and doubt they'll believe you anyways. 'Silco' narrows his eyes but 'Vander' places a hand on his shoulder, giving it a squeeze. 'Silco' scowls but relents and leaves you alone for the rest of the day, which you spend exploring this alternate reality.

Turns out, this is the reality in which Vi died in the explosion. 'Vander' has different tattoos, but he still betrayed 'Silco' and tried to kill him. How the two made up, well for whatever reason the two seemed adamant about keeping it quiet, but it made your heart ache for what could have been back in your universe.

That night, you can't sleep. Your mind is racing, going through everything you've learnt today. In the dark, you can see 'Silco' peacefully slumbering on his right side, an arm draped over your waist. His chest gently rises and falls with each breath he takes, his face buried into your chest. He looks completely different from your Silco when he sleeps, his dark brown hair tousled, facial muscles relaxed and lips curved into what looks like a smile. Your Silco never slept on his right side, always preferring to sleep on his left side with a dagger clutched under the pillow.

'Silco' mumbles something, stirring slightly and you shift, only for him to blindly grasp for your arm so that he can bury himself further into your chest, bringing a small smile to your face. It's been so long since you've shared your bed with another, maybe you can indulge him just this once. It wouldn't hurt…right?

You run your fingers through his hair, remembering the times where you'd comb his hair for him, gently pressing kisses to his scarred cheek until he told you he had a meeting to attend and then you'd kiss him on the lips for good luck before letting him go. 'Silco' purrs softly, nuzzling into you and holds you closer, a free heater on this cool night.

You miss this. You miss hugging your lover like it's your last moment in this world, you miss his touch, his warmth. You miss the way he holds you tightly when he's feeling down, the feeling of his forehead pressing against yours, the electricity that crackles in the air when his fingers linger on your hand longer than it needs to as he passes you his cigar. You miss the way he makes your heart race from all the small smiles he sends your way during a meeting with the chem-barons, the way he makes you stifle a laugh when he rolls his eye at their bickering, but most of all the way he holds your hand. Your palms have always slotted into each other's like puzzle pieces, made perfectly for one another.

This 'Silco' is the same, yet different, and despite all his faults, you've always loved your Silco. It's why you chose to side with him over Vander, why you walked down the path towards hell with him despite knowing where it led. You knew that given the choice again, you would always choose him over everything else, and if that made you loyal to him to a fault, so be it.

Still, you wonder if you could've steered him towards the path this 'Silco' took. Would you have been able to nudge him towards forgiveness, leaving his hatred and vengeance behind for the shared dream of Zaun? You shake your head, what's past is past, there's no changing it. The only thing you can do now it look forward, and push on ahead, as you know your Silco would want you to, but doing so is so much harder than knowing it.

I love you, the words you were never able to say to him. The both of you always knew how the other felt, but neither of you ever verbalised it. You trace 'Silco's' scars, wondering if this version of you ever uttered those words to him.

"Can't sleep, love?" He mumbles, rolling over so that he can see you.

"It's just…been a long day."

He hums, and then pulls you into a hug, resting his chin on the top of your head. Rubbing gentle circles on your back, he nuzzles your hair. "Then you better get as much rest as you can. I'll be here when you wake up."

Tears begin to fill your eyes again but you squeeze them shut, willing the grief away. If this is a dream, you want it to continue on forever. You don't want to wake up, you don't want to lose Silco and Vander again.

But you still wake up.

Because you have to.

On your second day, you learn that Ekko and Powder are preparing for a competition.

"Ekko?"

"Y/N?"

"Are you —"

"Do you know where we can talk in private?"

You've never been so relieved to hear that.

You learn that Ekko and Heimerdinger have met up, and that Jayce is nowhere to be found. Ekko has a theory that recreating what brought all three of you to this universe in the first place might be able to send you all back home, and he's been trying to do just that the past few days.

"Home," you echo, staring at the bustling city below.

"You…don't want to go back?"

"Do you?" Your question catches him off guard and he pauses, looking at the ground.

"I…I don't know."

"You and Powder, right?" You give him a knowing look and he looks away, embarrassed. "I know the feeling."

He raises an eyebrow but you press on, ignoring the inquisitive look he sends your way. "This world…this universe, it's everything we've wanted. Well, almost everything. Looking at all this, I don't know if I want to go back. Do I want to throw it all away just to go back to bloodshed, chaos and war?"

"We have people back home who need us."

Sevika.

Jinx.

Their faces flash in your mind and your throat constricts.

"We can't just abandon them, as much as we prefer this world." Ekko's eyes are hard. "We have to go back."

It's hurting him to say this, but he's saying it anyways because he knows it's right. You look back at the bright city of Zaun and sigh. Ekko speaks the cold hard truth, but you're torn. Going back means confronting the reality that Vander, and more importantly Silco, are forever lost to you, that Zaun is still struggling in the fight against Piltover, that you have to fight every day to survive, but going back also means reuniting with your closest friend Sevika, your adopted daughter Jinx, and you know they need you as much as you need them.

"I've made my mind up," Ekko turns to leave. "Let me know when you've made yours up. In the meantime, I'll be working on my theory with Heimerdinger."

"…thanks."

"Never thought I'd hear you thank me."

"Well, I never thought I'd end up in an alternate universe, so there."

Ekko snorts and leaves you alone with your thoughts. He's right, it seems this alternate universe is starting to influence you, in a good way from the looks of it. You huff in amusement, letting yourself smile and look out at the silhouette of Piltover in the distance. You owed it to your Silco to see his dream of an equal Zaun and Piltover, and the only way to do that was to go home.

"You doing alright?" You turn to see 'Vander' standing behind you.

"Well, that depends really. Are you talking physically, emotionally or mentally?"

"Even if he doesn't act like it, Silco's worried about you. He's been asking me to talk to you since you won't tell him what's going on."

"Aren't you supposed to keep that last part a secret?" You chuckle. He shrugs, moving over to stand next to you.

"Well, it's out of the bag now, he can't do anything about that. So, are you going to tell me if everything's alright or am I going to have to pry it out of you with alcohol?"

"Hmph." You take a seat and he follows, carefully watching your every move. "If you had to choose between being with the one you love and saving Zaun, which would you pick?"

"I would save Zaun." You blink at him, surprised at the lack of hesitation in his answer. You knew which option he would choose, but the speed at which he gave his answer was unexpected.

"If there's anything I've learnt from all these years, it's that the ones we love are never truly gone. They are right here." He places a hand over his heart. "Felicia, Vi, everyone we've lost, they're kept alive by our memories, our feelings, our thoughts, and are always with us."

"You always know what to say," you huff, choking back the tears. "Never missed a beat, not even once."

"You can always talk to us, little dove. We're always here for you, Silco and I." You throw yourself into Vander's arms, hugging him tightly. He wraps his arms around you in turn, holding you securely in his warm embrace.

Little dove. You never thought you'd hear that nickname again. The dove had died the day you chose to follow Silco down the path towards hell, you still remember the looks of sorrow Vander had given you as you turned your back on him, hate filling your eyes. You'd been angry at him for what he did to Silco, hurled words you wish you could take back, screamed then cried, wrapped in Silco's cold embrace as he whispered of the revenge the both of you would take on Vander.

And you never got the chance to apologise.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," you wail, clutching at his sleeves. "I should never have said any of that, I shouldn't have cursed you, I take it all back, I take it all back."

"I've already long forgiven you." His words are enough to make you break, screaming out your grief over what you've lost forever. You cry and cry, letting out all your regret, the bottled up emotions finally spilling out after years of containing them for the sake of staying strong. Your nails dig into his arms, gripping onto him for support as your body wracks with every cry. The world around you blurs from the tears and you feel your knees buckle but a pair of strong arms catch you.

"I've got you."

Your body squeezes out one last sob before it collapses, unable to bear the weight of it all anymore.

If only I had your back the same way you always had mine.

When you next open your eyes, you're back on your shared bed with 'Silco', with a singular sea foam coloured eye watching you. He shifts, moving closer to you and gently cups your cheek, thumb gliding over your skin.

"I'm sorry," you whisper. "I thought following you into hell was the best thing I could do for you, but it wasn't. I should have said something, done something to stop you from destroying yourself, cleared your vision when it became clouded, but I was too weak to. I didn't want to lose you, not after losing everything else."

He presses a kiss to your forehead. "I'm right here, just as I promised."

That's right, how could you have forgotten? Promises whispered in the dead of night, huddled on the rooftop under a single coat, lips locking as fingers intertwined, foreheads pressed against each other, time freezing in that moment, the world condensed to just the both of you.

Stay by my side, always?

Always.

Moments clouded by the haze of anger, vengeance and hatred slowly begin to reveal themselves, memories buried the day you turned your back on Vander flooding back into your head. A warm hug, a hand ruffling your hair, deep laughter, the clink of glasses raised in toast to a new future, music playing in the background, a pen nib scratching on paper, hands brushing against one another sending tingles up your spine, a shy smile, lying on the rooftop looking up at nothing, dreaming of a better future.

"Stay, please."

"I'm not going anywhere, love. You're stuck with me forever."

You feel the bed dip as he moves to lie down next to you, slipping his hand into yours. Looking into his eye, you see a glimmer that your Silco lost along with his left eye, a quiet look of adoration, of endless love and you lean in, feeling his soft lips, tasting the scotch he loves to drink.

It feels wrong, this is not your Silco, but just for the moment you let yourself drift away, kissing him deeper, pouring all your love and regret into the act. He kisses back fervently, hungrily devouring you, eye closed as time comes to a stop around the both of you.

"I miss you," you breathe, lips parting. "I miss you so much."

"It's only been half a day."

"Shut up."

"Make me." You slam your lips against his once more, savouring the taste of him, fingers tangled in his hair. He pulls you closer, greedily devouring you. One hand rests on the back of your neck while the other rests on your back as he kisses you like there's no tomorrow. Maybe there is no tomorrow, maybe you have to go back to your universe tonight but right now, all you can think about is how much you've missed this.

Your lips finally part as you gasp for air, lost in the bliss of the moment. You feel his hands cup your cheeks, his forehead pressing against yours as you both bask in each other's presence. He's so warm, nothing like the body you cradled months ago as your world shattered, wails ripped from your throat. His touch is gentle, calloused fingers ghosting over your skin as he holds you like you're the most precious thing in the world.

It's nice, living in this universe where everyone you love is alive and well, where you're happily married to the man you've devoted your life to, but you know you don't belong. Your hands are stained with blood that you can never wash off, Shimmer taints the blood in your veins and your heart is broken beyond repair. In this world of peace, of wholeness, you will never find a place. It's made for the you of this universe, the you who still remembers how to live in a time of peace, who doesn't jump at every shadow believing it to be a threat.

You breathe in deeply, basking in his comforting presence. He still smells of cigar ash and scotch, but it's less sharp. You reach up, placing your hands on top of his and close your eyes. Like this, it's almost as if your Silco is the one cradling your face and you feel a silent tear slide down your cheek.

Damn, you've been crying a lot since you arrived in this universe.

He moves a hand to wipe the tear away, pressing a kiss to the tip of your nose. As he pulls back, his lips curve into a smile and you mentally save the image. You never imagined he could be capable of such levels of love after Vander's betrayal but here he was, having forgiven Vander, having the courage to marry you openly, having the courage to wear his wedding ring on his finger. He was so much stronger than you thought, and you feel bad for doubting him.

I never thought I'd see you smile like that again, even if it's you in another universe. The thought rings in your head and you can't help but let a chuckle slip. The first genuine laugh you've made since arriving in this universe.

"And what's suddenly so funny?" He does his signature head tilt, mockingly glaring at you. It seems some habits remain the same in every universe.

"Nothing," you hum, heart feeling lighter. It's like a weight has been lifted from your chest, and you feel free. You take in his features, remembering every line on your Silco's face, remembering the shape of his scar, remembering his touch, remembering the way he would kiss you, but these memories no longer choke you, no longer crush you under their weight. Instead, they're cast in a radiant glow, preserved in your heart.

He snorts in disbelief but doesn't press it further, choosing to cuddle under the blanket with you. Your fingers thread through his hair, the rhythm slowly lulling him to sleep and soon he's drifted off, allowing you to untangle yourself from him and slip out.

You head to the rooftop, breathing in the cool night air and watch the lights of the city below twinkle. Gone are the bright and aggressive neon lights of the Zaun you're familiar with, replaced with the soft glow of white lights.

It's beautiful. A different kind of beauty, but still as beautiful as the Zaun you know and love. The night breeze whispers in your ear, carrying the hums of the city's nightlife. You lie down on the cold hard floor, reaching up at the sky with one hand and wonder if you will ever be able to grasp the dream of an independent Zaun for your universe.

"Is the bed not comfortable enough for you?" 'Silco' sits down next to your head, leaning back on his palms.

"Nice to see you too." You've never really registered the fact that he doesn't hide his scars in this universe, but under the night lights, the ridges of his scar stand out, drawing your attention to them. He hums, looking out at the sprawling city.

"Do you think we fall in love in every universe?" You blurt out.

He looks over at you, raising an eyebrow. "Feeling sentimental all of a sudden?"

"Just thinking about it."

He hums, deep in thought. "I would like to believe so."

You smile. "Yeah, me too."

As the night goes by, you feel your eyes start to close. It's so tiring, sorting through your bottled up emotions, but as you look up to see 'Silco' smiling, you decide that maybe it's not so bad if it means you get to see him at peace.

The next few days pass by in a blur. You help 'Vander' prepare The Last Drop for the upcoming Innovator's Competition celebration, hanging up the decorations and drop by Ekko's place for updates on the machine. You do what you can to help Ekko, Powder and Heimerdinger out but amidst geniuses, you can only do so much. Still, as the machine comes closer and closer to completion, trepidation creeps in.

Are you really going to throw it all away just to go home?

On the day of the celebration, you take the chance to explore the city a little more, wanting to take in more of the sights before you return to your universe. 'Silco' offers to accompany you but you turn him down, telling him that it would just be a quick in and out. You see his expression falter for just a split second but he lets you go. You thank him, pressing a quick peck on his scarred cheek before slipping out the door, into the familiar yet unfamiliar streets of Zaun.

You wander around aimlessly, wondering if your Zaun will ever reach the same level of prosperity and peace. Children play in the water fountain, laughing as they splash about without a care in the world. Friends stand around, chatting away as if they have all the time in the world. You feel like a stranger here, used to the dark grey and the shadows that make up your Zaun.

Walking past a bakery, the smell of freshly baked bread fills your nose, bringing you back to the time when you had jumped into Silco's arms, laughing as you clutched a bag of fresh bread stolen from a Piltovian bakery, yelling at him to run before the enforcers could catch up. He had stood there for a moment, cheeks flushed before realising what you just said and took off running, gripping tightly onto your arm. You remember the adrenaline that had coursed through your veins, the loud and freeing laughter that rang through the air, the way you had breathlessly pinned him against the wall, kissing him for the first time as enforcers walked past the both of you, the bag of bread pressed between your bodies. You remember his flustered expression as you broke the kiss, adrenaline fading, his conflicted look before he pulled you in for another kiss, this time deeper.

You buy a bun just for old times' sake, tearing off a chunk. It's pretty good, although not as good as the one you stole. You had shared the stolen bread with Silco, cheekily taking a bite from his loaf and scarpering off before he could do the same to yours, his footsteps and shouts getting louder as he gained on you. He had taken his revenge that day, taking a bite from your loaf before flicking you on the forehead, grumbling about how you made him run so much.

You'd only laughed, ribbing him with your elbow before plopping onto your usual bar stool, eyes shining while he took out his notebook with a sigh, still nibbling on his bread and continued calculating The Last Drop's finances. Vander had shook his head in amusement once he found out what was going on, teasing Silco about getting married to you which caused Silco to bury himself further into his notebook, but neither you nor Vander missed the way the tips of his ears turned red.

The bread that day had tasted sweeter than usual, and back then you had chalked it up to a difference in baking but now that you think about it, it was probably because you were sharing it with Silco. You smile, taking another bite of your bread and continue your aimless journey, watching as the city moves all around you, going about their day.

A particular store catches your attention, the jewellery on display glinting in the light and you make your way over, still munching on your bread. Rings, bracelets, piercings and necklaces fill the counter, but a ring in particular catches your attention. It's a simple silver band on the surface, but you recognise the markings carved into it.

"You've got good taste. That ring's special, carved with archaic runes that are said to preserve the feelings of the gifter." The shopkeeper pushes the box in which the ring sits closer to you.

"So I've heard." You trace the runes, remembering the first time you laid eyes on this ring.

It had been during one of your little adventures into Piltover and a particularly fancy box had caught your eye. Making sure no one was looking, your nimble fingers had swiped the box and you disappeared into the shadows, curious about what lay within. Upon opening the box, you were disappointed by the sight that greeted you. It was a simple silver ring, with nothing of note until you looked closer. Something was carved into the metal, patterns that looked like runes. Now that was a ring worth selling. You had pocketed it, wondering how high you could sell it for until you overheard someone talking about proposing to their girlfriend with a ring amidst a flower field.

A romantic gesture huh. You had slipped the ring out again, looking it over. Would Silco appreciate such a gesture? Marriages were few and far between in Zaun, it was something few could even think about, and fewer chose to go with it. You didn't need marriage to know how Silco felt about you, it was as clear as day to those whom you wanted to know about it and that was more than enough for the both of you. Still, it would make a nice gift, so you had pocketed the ring and headed towards The Last Drop where your proposal had gone terribly unromantic.

You let slip a quiet chuckle as you recall that night, hand reaching for the ring hanging around the chain on your neck and tucked underneath your shirt only to grasp at nothing. Oh…right…this version of you never proposed to Silco via that ring so instead he had proposed to you with a different ring that this version of you wore on your ring finger. You fiddle with the ring on your finger, thanking the shopkeeper for her time before heading back to The Last Drop. It is almost time for the celebration, and you want dibs on the first bottle of alcohol opened.

The walk back feels strangely melancholic, maybe it's the colour the setting sun bathes the city in, maybe it's the thought of needing to leave this city behind when you go back to your universe since the machine is so close to completion, but you purposely walk slower than normal. Your fingers brush along the walls of buildings, run over the stone the water fountains are made from, and gently rest on the cooling metal of the benches.

How will you bid farewell to this universe's Silco? You sit on one of the benches, looking up at the sky, lost in thought. Your heart still yearns for Silco, but you also know that you have a responsibility to Jinx and Sevika, both of whom are in your home universe.

"Penny for your thoughts?" You look to your left as Heimerdinger climbs onto the bench, taking a seat next to you.

"No thanks." You turn your gaze back to the sky, arms draped over the bench's backrest.

"I must admit, I don't know what's troubling you, but I do know when someone's carrying a heavy burden." He follows your gaze, looking up at the sky. "And the burden you bear is a terribly heavy one."

"What do you know of carrying heavy burdens?"

"I know that it's heavier when carried alone, and that the bearer tends to think they're alone when in reality they aren't."

You laugh, "your kind live long lives, don't they?"

"Indeed we do."

"Do you have any regrets then?"

"Oh, plenty, but I've learnt to move on from them. No one doesn't have regrets, what defines us is how we deal with them. Some let their regrets consume them and wallow in self-pity, others rise above their regrets and learn from them. The question is how will you deal with yours?" Heimerdinger looks at you.

"I've been ignoring mine, pretending that they don't exist, but I've been forced to confront them here. I know I can't turn back time to fix my mistakes, I know they can never be fixed, but this — this universe, in this universe my regrets don't exist. I can be free of my regrets here, and yet, I have a duty to those from our universe. I have friends, other family, people to lead. I can't just abandon them, but I don't want to lose this paradise either." You heave a deep sigh, closing your eyes. "I don't know if I can lose the one I love for the second time."

"I admire your strength, it's a kind few possess. To still consider duty when it means losing someone you love again, it's a testament to who you are. I cannot claim to understand how you feel, but I have heard that we only ever truly lose someone when we forget them."

"Hmph. Vander." You snort. "Everywhere I go, he still influences the people around him."

"He must be quite the fellow."

"He is. The Hound of Zaun, people called him. Yet he's the gentlest and kindest person I know. And I let him die." Your words fade into a whisper. "All because I wasn't strong enough to steer the one I loved away from the path of destruction."

"You aren't the only one who has stood by and watched as someone they cared about destroyed themself." Heimerdinger bows his head. "I failed my pupil, and not a day goes by where I wonder if I should have done more back then, but I believe I did what I could. With hindsight as my teacher, I learn not to repeat that mistake so that I won't regret it again. I know you have the strength to do the same."

"Such optimism."

"I only speak the truth. Now then, I must go back to the lab and continue working on our way home. Enjoy yourself at the party, time is precious especially when we only have so much of it left."

"Enjoy myself huh. I suppose I can try." You stand up, stretching your limbs. "I doubt there'll be another party any time soon."

The party that takes place that night is nothing like you've ever experienced before. The floor is abuzz with excited young inventors showing off their latest fancy gadgets, alcohol exchanging hands as friends and lovers alike chat the night away, all the while you hang behind the counter, watching the scene unfold.

"Finally acting your age?" 'Benzo' laughs boisterously, slapping you on the back.

"Could say the same about you," you retort, taking a sip from your glass. 'Silco' had left earlier to mingle with other people, but you weren't exactly in the mood to form more relationships you knew were going to end soon. 'Vander' remained behind the bar counter to serve drinks and in the beginning you tried to help him, but you soon began trying each drink that was opened, much to his amusement and he 'fired' you from your job.

"Go out there and have fun, I've got it covered here." He had shooed you away but all you did was move a couple of steps before stopping, refusing to move any further. 'Vander' had sighed but had let you remain there, and still you remain at your spot, even after 'Silco' has long disappeared into the crowd.

Ekko meets your gaze and leans in, "so, what's your answer?"

"I…I need more time to think." You swallow, glancing at where you last saw 'Silco'.

"You don't have much more time." His eyebrows furrow.

"I know. I just…need to sort some things out first, get rid of the monsters of my past that kind of thing," you joke but Ekko doesn't laugh along.

"Tonight, once the party dies down, come with me to the lab. Heimerdinger said he wants to discuss something with us."

"Sure." With that out of the way, you turn to go and find 'Silco'. He at least needed to know that you would be disappearing tonight. Your heart thunders in your chest, anxiety surfacing as you struggle to think of what to say to him. You can't exactly tell him that you're from an alternate universe and might be going back to your universe soon, that would be insane.

You watch as 'Silco' makes his way over to 'Vander', surprised when he slips an arm around your waist and basically hauls you over as well with a smile.

"So, there's a chance for us yet." He places a hand on 'Vander's' shoulder, looking up at the bigger man. He presses a kiss to your forehead, chuckling, "we'll finally get the rest we deserve, love. Aren't you excited?"

Ekko gapes at you, the pieces finally falling into place. "You —"

"The monsters of my past," you smile sadly at him, letting out a deep breath. "You're not the only one."

Ekko shakes his head but you can tell, he understands. You and Silco, your destinies intertwined no matter the universe. I'm sorry, he mouths. 'Vander' pours a drink for 'Silco' who looks at Ekko with a fondness you've never seen before, a mixture of pride and sass.

"Didn't think I'd miss your big day, did you?" 'Silco' smirks.

"Didn't you try to kill him?" Ekko blurts out and you feel 'Silco's' grip on you tighten. You place your hand on his, thumb brushing over the back of his palm and he shoots you a look of gratitude, taking the glass from 'Vander'.

"The greatest thing we can do in life is find the power to forgive." He raises the glass in toast to 'Vander', gaze softening as he turns to you, taking a sip from his glass before handing the rest to you. "Don't get too drunk, love. I'd rather not have to haul you off to bed later."

"I'm not a child," you pout and 'Silco' laughs, nuzzling into your hair. Ekko chuckles, taking a sip from his drink when suddenly, the lights go out and streamers fall from the ceiling. Powder walks in, turning every head within her vicinity. You watch as Ekko steps forward, taking her hand and begins to dance. Their bodies sway to the beat, moving in sync and the crowd moves to make space for the couple. More begin to dance, twirling upon the dance floor as the music picks up and you can't help but watch, wondering what it's like to feel so free.

"May I?" A voice murmurs in your ear and you look down to find a hand extended towards you. 'Silco' smiles encouragingly and you slip your hand into his.

"I've never —"

"Just follow my lead and trust me."

"Don't you go letting me down, you hear?"

"Have I ever?" He pulls you in, pressing a deep kiss to your lips before spinning you around. Soon, you find yourself led by the music and 'Silco's' gentle guidance, your feet gliding over the dance floor. You feel light as a feather, a big smile gracing your features, eyes focused only on 'Silco' whose gaze remains fixed on you. His fingertips ghost over your skin, sending shivers up your spine and you lean in, lips mere inches away from his before you pull away. You can't recall the last time you felt so alive. The air is electrifying, your lungs gasping for air as 'Silco' pulls you in for another kiss, his arms wrapping themselves around you.

Dawn will come, you know, and the night will be over, but while it lasts, you will squeeze it for every drop of enjoyment it has to offer. You inhale his scent, the cigar ash drowned out by the alcohol he's drunk and capture his lips in a fervent kiss. You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer and he indulges you, savouring the taste of your wine-tainted lips.

"I love you," he whispers. "Always, and forevermore."

You open your mouth to say the words you never got to say to your Silco but they get stuck in your throat. You struggle to say something back, emotions threatening to overwhelm you.

"Yeah," you finally manage to breathe out. "I know."

His gaze softens, thumb running over your cheek and you almost don't tell him of your plan to visit the lab tonight but you catch a glimpse of Ekko leaving the party and steel yourself. You have to, this is not your world, as much as you wish it were. You can't keep running away, if Silco can find a way to forgive Vander, you can find a way to forgive yourself.

"Silco?" The word feels foreign on your tongue.

"Yes, love?"

"I need to leave."

"Leave?" He echoes, confused.

"I…Ekko asked me to help him with the finishing touches of his Z-Drive." The excuse is flimsy but 'Silco' buys it anyways. His touch lingers just for a little longer but he lets you go, gently pushing you towards the exit.

"Then you better get going, or the boy wonder is going to need to pull an all-nighter again."

You blink and then smile sadly at him. "Before…I forget. I want — I want to thank you." Grief bubbles to the surface again and you swallow hard. "For everything. Whether you know it or not, you — you've done so much for me. You mean the world to me, you're my everything and — and I don't know what I'd do without you, but I have to try. For your sake and mine. I can't just keep wallowing in despair, grieve as the world moves on around me, I have to move on, keep going one step at a time, because you'd want me to."

Tears prick the corners of your eyes and you whirl around, quickly fleeing as tears flow down your face freely, blurring your vision. You hear 'Silco' call out to you but his voice is muffled by the blood roaring in your ears and the pattering of your shoes against the ground as you run, run and run until you reach the lab.

Ekko and Heimerdinger turn to face you, concern written all over their faces as you harshly wipe away the tears, sniffing.

"So, what's the update?" Your voice wavers.

"Good news! The machine is ready!" Heimerdinger chirps.

"I see. Good thing I've laid the monsters to rest then." You take a deep breath, stepping into the machine with Ekko. "Time to go home."

As the machine comes to life, the arcane begins to whirl around you, howling. This is it, no more going back, no more running away, no more chasing the past. You watch as Heimerdinger connects the power cables, your limbs going numb as he disappears into thin air. Your alternate self's body and Ekko's appear on the floor, unconscious as Powder and 'Silco' run in, eyes wide.

You watch as 'Silco' hugs your alternate self's body to his chest, then looks up at your real body floating inside the sphere. Your gazes connect for the final time and you feel your heart ache. You want to reach out to him, feel his skin on yours one last time, taste his lips one last time, hold him one last time but you know you can't. Your Silco is gone, physically, and there's no bringing him back. So instead you mouth the words you've always wanted to say, trusting that your Silco will hear it anyways from wherever he is in the afterlife, if there even is one.

I love you.

And the arcane snaps everything to black.

#arcane #arcane x reader #arcane season 2 #arcane season 2 act 2 spoilers #arcane season 2 spoilers #arcane silco #silco x reader #arcane season 2 episode 7 spoilers #arcane s2ep7 broke me #where do i claim my therapy reimbursement for arcane?#my little meow meow silco #silco angst #some fluff involved but mainly angst #i came only to serve angst in this fic #silco

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sunnysidevans · 30 days ago

Text

Casual - L.Howlett

to you things were more, to logan it was only casual.

warnings: 18+, mentions of sexual themes, that's mostly it.

“So, what’s going on between you and (y/n)”

You stop at the mention of your name. Storm is sipping her coffee as Logan gruffs, pouring his own cup. “Nothing, it’s casual” he shrugs as you watch him turn around to face her.

“It doesn’t seem casual” She notes as he shrugs, sipping his piping hot cup of black coffee. “It is” you can’t help but bite back the tears lingering in your waterline, taking a deep breath.

“I missed you so much” his lips are heavy against your own as he backs you through the bedroom door, his hands on your skin, lighting a fire through you. “Missed you” you breath, fingers tangled in his hair as he hoists you up and your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist.

His scruff was an almost enjoyable burn against your skin, the last few days of the mission preventing him from shaving. Your back arched off the sheets as he grins from between your thighs, growling.

The sheets were tangled around your legs, as you drew soft shapes on his chest as he took another drag of his cigar. “Really did miss ya bub” he mumbles around it, fingers twirling a piece of your hair gently. “How was the mission” you adjust against the sheets, chin resting on his peck as he grinned. “A mission” he shrugs looking down at you with a smirk. “How was the mansion?” he questions as you shrug, rolling over onto your back, “the mansion” you smirk.

He smiles, leaning over you, cigar in one hand as he cups your cheek with the other, smirk on his lip. “But it wasn't the same without me huh?” he questions, leaning down to leave a peck on your lips, you find yourself chasing his lips. “Hmm” you question with a smirk as he leans down to your lips again. You can’t help but giggle against his lips, tugging on his bottom lip with a smirk. “Maybe”.

You are quick to move away from the kitchen, “Sorry professor” you mumble, quick to move past him and up the stairs. Charles goes to question you but turns his attention to Logan and Storm. “What is wrong with (y/n)?” he questions as Storm shrugs and Logan gruffs into his coffee, brows furrowed. “I’m not sure” Storm notes, eyes shooting daggers into Logan as she looks back at Charles.

You shut the door quickly, sliding down the backside of it and pulling your knees to your chest.

Casual.

That's all the last few months have been to Logan yet to you it was much more. How could you be so naive into thinking a man like Logan wanted more than casual?

You sniffle, wiping your cheeks with the sleeve of your sweatshirt.

Dusk had fallen over the mansion by the time Logan knocks gently on the bedroom door and pushes his way though, tucked into your bed with your back to him, eyes puffy you ignore his presence.

“Hey sweet girl, I haven’t seen you all day” he whispers, making his way to the bed, climbing in behind you slowly. “I’m not in the mood tonight lo” you whisper, shrugging his hand off your shoulder gently. “Hey” he notices the change in your voice, “what is it?” he asks, sitting up as you shake your head. “Nothing, training with jean just got the best of me today” you lied through your teeth. You knew he would catch on eventually.

“Wondered if I'd find you out here” Logan grins, walking out to the garden of the Mansion where you sat with your book and a blanket. You look up from the book, adjusting your glasses with a smile, eyes falling to the take out bag in his hand.

“Got some time for me?” he questions holding the bag up with a smirk. You nod, patting the spot beside you and holding the blanket up. “C’mon Lo” you smile as he sits down beside you, adjusting the blanket around you. “Oh! Fries!” you squeal, reaching over to grab a crispy fry, munching on it happily. “You know me so well Lo” he grins, eating his own burger, “course I do bub” he smiles over at you and then looks back out at the garden.

This was all your doing, your mutation was to grow and manipulate plants. He enjoyed the comfortable silence.

Logan makes his way down the steps. He left you there tucked into bed but his heart ached. It was not like you to even not want to be in his presence. He notices Jean make her way to the study. “Jeanie” he jogs to catch up with her as she turns to him, smiling.

“Logan” she nods as he tilts his head, “you went a little hard on (y/n) today?” he questions as she furrows her brows. “I didn’t train with her today, I actually hadn’t seen her all day” she notes as he nods slowly. “Why Logan?” he shakes his head with furrowed brows.

“I don’t know” he mumbles, “she seems off” he looks up at her as she shrugs, “maybe she’s home sick” he nods, biting his lip.

You squeal as Logan tosses the bra off your shoulders with a smirk, giggling as you attempt to go and pick it up. He catches your waist, quick to lay you back on the bed with a bounce. “This is staying right here, with me” he whispers, hovering over you, “What?! That’s my favorite bra!” you laugh as he shakes his head, “to bad” he smirks, lips hovering over yours. “Mine now” he connects your lips with a growl. You moan against his, pulling his body closer with your thighs.

Three days you have brushed Logan off. You barely looked his way and he needed to know why. “Jeanie” he grumbles, making his way into her classroom, sulking. “Logan” Scott looks at him from his position against the desk, arms crossed. “Summers” he grumbles with an eye roll as Jean looks at him. “What is it logan?” she questions as he sighs. “Can you read her mind or something?” he questions as she chuckles. “That would be invading her privacy Logan” he sighs, “she won’t even talk to me” he sighs, shaking his head.

“Try again, don’t give up on her” She encourages as he sighs, running a hand over his face and making his way to your room for the fourth day. He knocks and to his surprise you open the door.

“(y/n)” he can’t help hiding his shock. “Logan” you are shocked as well, thinking he caught on by now. “Can I come in?” he asks as you sigh, opening the door for him to make his way through. “Why have you been avoiding me?” he jumps right to the point after the door closes, you sigh and bite your lip. Turning to face him you cross your arms over your chest. “I haven’t been” you state as he shakes his head, “you lied to me and have been avoiding me” he grumbles.

“You don’t have to know everything Logan” you defend as his eyes narrow. “What does that mean? That's how this works” he motions between the two of you.

“I’m just keeping things casual, Logan”.

a/n: this was meant to be a blurb... uh, got a lil longer than that but uh its been in the ol knoggin for a while so here ya go! thank you chappel roan for the inspo !!!!!!

#logan howlet x reader #logan howlett #logan howlett fluff #logan howlett drabble #x men logan howlett #logan wolverine

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taking-thyme · 1 year ago

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🌅 Lucifer Deity Guide 🌅

Note: This is inspired by both my own experiences with Lucifer and the information I read on @scarletarosa's blog and her devotional guide to him. Please go read that one too!!

The divine rebel, Lucifer is the light of truth and divine wisdom; an ancient light which shines through the darkness, representing illumination. He is the driving force of innovation, liberation and transformation. According to Scarletarosa, who actively works with Lucifer and was told this by him, he was the first-born god of the Universe created by the supreme deity, the Source. He is so incredibly ancient and beautiful. Lilith was created to be his counterpart, the Queen of Heaven. However, Jehovah took the throne of heaven from Lucifer and cast him and his followers into hell. Most of them lost their connection to heaven and their energy became dark and intense. Jehovah claimed the throne of heaven and set himself up as the one true god, manipulating humans into betraying their original deities. Thus, Lucifer became the King of Hell and has been scorned by Christians for millenia.

God of: Illumination, Light, Darkness, Change, Rebirth, Challenges, Innovation, Logic, Truth, Knowledge, Wisdom, Strategy, Persuasion, Revolution, Luxury, Pleasure, Freedom, The Arts and The Morning Star (“Morning Star” is another name for the planet Venus)

Symbols: Sigil of Lucifer, The Morning Star, Violins and Fiddles (instruments traditionally associated with him)

Plants and Trees: Rose, Belladonna, Mulberry, Patchouli, Myrrh, Min, Tobacco, Marigold, Lilies, Hyacinth, Sage

Crystals: Amethyst, Black Obsidian, Onyx, Garnet, Selenite, Rose Quartz

Animals: Black Animals in general, Dragons, Snakes, Owls, Eagles, Ravens, Crows, Rams, Foxes, Pigs, Bats, Rats, Moths, Swans

Incense: Rose, Frankincense, Patchouli, Myrrh

Colors: Black, Red, Silver, Emerald Green, Gold

Tarot: The Devil

Planets: The Morning Star, Venus

Day: Monday and Friday

Consort: Lilith

Children: Naema, Aetherea and many others

How was he traditionally worshipped?

There is not much to say about how Lucifer was historically worshiped seeing as he wasn’t worshiped at all for a large chunk of human history. He seems to have been worked with in some capacity according to the Gesta Treverorum, written in 1231, which is where we first see the term Luciferian being used to refer to his worship. This was by a woman named Lucardis for a religious circle, who was said to lament to Lucifer in private and prayed to him. However, the term Luciferians was later applied to basically any groups Christians didn’t like and wanted to fight, as one might expect. However, the modern Luciferian movement also sheds light on how Lucifer is worshiped. For Luciferians, enlightenment is the ultimate goal. Their basic principles highlight truth, freedom of will and fulfilling one’s ultimate potential, and encourage the same in all of us. Traditional dogma is shunned because Luciferians believe that humans do not need deities or the threat of eternal punishment to know what is good and the right thing to do. All ideas are to be tested before being accepted, and even then one should remain critical because knowledge is fluid and ever-changing. Regardless of whether Luciferians view Lucifer as a deity or an archetype, he is a representation of ultimate illumination and exploration in the name of personal growth.

Epithets

Phanes

The Morning Star

Light-bringer

The First-born

Prince of Darkness

Son of Morning

The Glory of Morning

Lord of the Lunar Sphere

The First Light

Offerings

Red Wine, Whiskey (especially Jack Daniels), Champagne, Pomegranate Juice, Black Tea (especially earl grey), Chocolate (especially dark chocolate), Cooked Goat Meat, Venison, Apples, Pomegranates, Honey, Good Quality Cigars, Tobacco, Daggers and Swords, Silver Rings, Emeralds and Emerald Jewelry, Goat Horns, Black Feathers, Seductive Colognes, Red Roses, Dead Roses, Crow Skulls, Bone Dice, Devotional Poetry and Artwork, Classical Music (especially violin)

Devotional Acts

Acts of self-improvement, spiritual awakening and evolution, knowledge-seeking and dedication to spirituality ; Shadow Work ; Working to overcome your ego to become wiser ; Defending those in need ; Working to better yourself without being too self critical ; Fighting against tyranny and bigotry whenever you encounter it

Altar Decorations

Black or Red Candles, Snake and Dragon Figurines, His sigil, Roses, Fancy Chess Boards and Playing Cards, Silver Jewlery and ornaments, Black feathers, Goat horns

Appearance

For me Lucifer usually appears as a tall light-skinned man with long fiery red hair (so red it looks like it’s been dyed), a sophisticated face with a killer jawline, passionate eyes and dressed in a fancy black suit. From all my experiences with him and what I’ve heard from other followers, it seems Lucifer and most demons dress in full suits and tuxedos.

Personality

Lucifer is nothing if not charming. He’s a protector first and foremost - one that always works to help you better yourself, but a protector nonetheless. He feels like a protective older brother taking care of you while your parents are away. He is a very complex entity, deeply wise and eloquent. He is more serious than one might expect for a demon given their popular depictions in our culture as chaotic forces of evil, but Lucifer is full of courage and love. I often feel him with me even when I’m not doing things related to him. He is proud of his follower’s accomplishments and congratulates them on a job well done, though he also reminds them that the job is never truly over. Growth is constant. Lucifer is the epitome of growth, blunt and gentle at the same time, telling you what you need to do and giving you space to figure out how to do it.

Lucifer values resilience, the pursuit of self-betterment, intellectualism, courage, open-mindedness and responsibility in individuals and wants to see his followers develop these qualities. He is constantly rooting for you to reach your full potential. He won’t hold your hand the entire way, but he will help you take steps in the right direction. Lucifer, like all deities, is different for everyone and will adjust his approach depending on your needs.

^ The Sigil of Lucifer

#deity work #witchblr #witch tips #spirit work #lucifer deity #lucifer devotee #luciferian #luciferian witch #lucifer morningstar

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allthemeniveloved · 27 days ago

Text

Devil

Summary: After she fails to rob him, John Marston finally meets his match.

wc: 5.3k

ao3 link

Warnings: 18+, mdni, low honor John Marston x mean female stubborn pickpocket oc, cocky bastard JM, horrendous pickup lines, dubious consent, oral (m receiving), slight exhibitionism, no abigail or jack

a/n: Trying out third person POV! I had a lot of fun writing this one! <3

The saloon in Rhodes was bustling, its warm lamplight casting long, dancing shadows across the scuffed wooden floors. A haze of cigar smoke hung thick in the air, mingling with the steady hum of conversation, bursts of laughter, and the occasional crash of a glass. In the back corner of the room, the scrape of chairs and the slap of playing cards punctuated the scene.

John Marston leaned back in his chair, a cocky grin stretching across his face as he lazily swirled a tumbler of whiskey in one hand. His other hand rested on his knee, tapping in time with the saloon’s off-key piano. Across from him, Arthur studied his cards with a nonchalant frown, a half-empty beer beside him. To Arthur’s right, Charles calmly lit a cigar, the smoke curling lazily around his head. Sean MacGuire, perched at the far end of the table, was currently ignoring his own hand in favor of loudly heckling a drunk who had collapsed in the corner.

“Come on, ya sack o’ shite!” Sean hollered, slapping the table. “Get up an’ show us yer dancin’ moves again! I’m tellin’ ya, boys, the man’s got the grace of a drunk mule.”

Arthur snorted. “Least he’s got some moves, which is more than I can say for you.”

“Oi, I’ve got moves,” Sean protested, slapping his chest. “Just ask the ladies.”

“The ladies?” John drawled, eyebrows arching in mock surprise. “You sure you didn’t mean the goats?”

The table burst into laughter, Sean glaring daggers at John. “Oh, you can shut yer trap, Marston. I’ll have you know, the ladies love me.”

“Yeah, when you keep your mouth shut,” Arthur added, smirking as he threw a couple of coins into the pot. “Raise.”

Sean leaned forward, grinning wickedly. “Oh, you’re just jealous I’ve got more charm in me pinkie finger than you’ve got in that whole sorry body o’ yours.”

“Sean,” Charles said evenly, his tone deadpan, “you’ve got the charm of a rattlesnake on a bad day.”

“’Tis slander, I tell ya!” Sean thumped the table, earning a warning glance from the bartender. “Pure jealousy, all of ya. But enough of yer yammerin’. I’m in too.” He tossed in his coins with a flourish. “Let’s see what ya got, Morgan.”

Arthur rolled his eyes but played along, laying his cards on the table. “Three of a kind.”

Sean groaned, slumping back in his chair. “Of course! What about you, Charles?”

Charles calmly placed his cards down—two pair. Sean perked up. “Ha! Finally, some justice. What about you, Marston?”

John grinned like the cat that got the cream. “Read ‘em and weep, boys.” He flipped over his hand—straight flush.

“Damn it!” Arthur muttered, tossing his cards down in disgust. “You’ve been smug all night. You’re cheatin’, aren’t ya?”

“Cheatin’?” John said with an exaggerated gasp, his grin only widening. “Arthur, I’m hurt. You think I’d cheat my closest friends out of their hard-earned cash?”

“Yes,” Arthur, Sean, and Charles said in unison.

John chuckled, leaning back in his chair and stretching. “Well, you can think what you want, but I’m just lucky tonight, is all.”

“Lucky, my arse,” Sean muttered. “I swear, you’ve got horseshoes shoved up where the sun don’t shine.”

“Maybe,” John replied with a wink, pocketing the pot.

“What’re you so happy about, Marston?” Arthur drawled, shaking his head as he reached for his beer.

John shrugged, swirling his whiskey lazily. “Just enjoyin’ myself. Ain’t a crime, is it?”

“Not yet,” Arthur muttered, though the faintest smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

As the group’s banter continued, no one noticed the elegant figure slinking through the crowd. She moved like a shadow, her dark hair pulled back beneath a wide-brimmed hat. Her gown, though simple, was impeccably tailored, hugging her figure in all the right places. But it wasn’t her appearance that drew attention—oh no. It was her sharp eyes, like polished obsidian, scanning the room for an opportunity.

And she found it.

The loud-mouthed cowboy in the corner, leaning back in his chair like he owned the place, was an easy mark. The flash of his belt buckle and the bulge in his coat pocket told her he had more than enough to spare. He was clearly drunk—arrogance practically radiated off him in waves.

Perfect.

She made her way across the room, her steps light and deliberate. As she passed behind his chair, her fingers worked deftly, slipping into his coat pocket with practiced ease. She almost had it—a roll of cash tucked neatly inside. But just as she began to pull away, a rough hand shot out, grabbing her wrist.

“Well, well,” drawled a voice, tinged with amusement. “What have we got here?”

She froze, but only for a moment. When she turned to face him, her expression was calm, her lips curling into a sardonic smile. His hazel eyes met hers, glinting with mischief.

“Let go of me,” she said, her voice smooth as honey but sharp as a blade.

John didn’t budge. Instead, he leaned closer, the scent of whiskey and leather rolling off him in waves. “You’re quick, I’ll give you that. But not quick enough.”

Arthur glanced up from his beer, raising an eyebrow. “What’s goin’ on?”

“Lady here was tryin’ to relieve me of my hard-earned money,” John said, holding her wrist aloft for emphasis. He didn’t sound angry—if anything, he sounded impressed.

She rolled her eyes. “Hard-earned? From the looks of you, I doubt you’ve done an honest day’s work in your life.”

That earned a laugh from Sean, who slammed his hand on the table. “Oh, I like her!”

John smirked, releasing her wrist but not taking his eyes off her. “Feisty, huh? I like that. But if you wanted some cash, sweetheart, all you had to do was ask.”

She scoffed, brushing off his remark. “Spare me the charm, cowboy. I’ve heard better lines from drunks passed out in the gutter.”

That only seemed to amuse him more. He leaned back in his chair again, watching her with an almost predatory grin. “You’ve got some nerve, I’ll give you that.”

She straightened her hat, giving him a withering look. “And you’ve got more money than sense. Lucky for you, I’m in a good mood tonight.”

“Oh, you’re doin’ me a favor, are you?” John’s grin widened. “Well, ain’t that kind of you.”

She ignored him, turning on her heel to leave, but his voice stopped her in her tracks.

“Wait a second, darlin’. Least let me buy you a drink. Call it a peace offering.”

She turned back, raising an eyebrow. “I’m not interested.”

“Not interested in free whiskey?” John feigned a wounded expression, placing a hand over his heart. “Now that’s just cruel.”

She crossed her arms, her gaze unwavering. “I’m not interested in you, cowboy. Keep your drink—and your money.”

The table erupted in laughter, with Sean nearly falling out of his chair. Even Arthur chuckled, shaking his head.

But John wasn’t deterred. If anything, her sharp tongue only seemed to spur him on. “You’re a tough one, ain’t ya? I like a challenge.”

“Good luck, then,” she said coolly, before disappearing into the crowd.

But John Marston wasn’t one to give up so easily.

John watched her as she disappeared into the throng of saloon-goers, her hat tilted just enough to conceal the sharp glint in her eyes. She walked with a confidence that caught his attention, her hips swaying in a rhythm that seemed deliberate, a silent declaration of triumph despite the failed pickpocketing attempt.

Arthur’s voice broke his focus. “Let it go, John. She’s not interested.”

“Since when do I take advice from you about women?” John shot back, smirking as he tossed back the rest of his drink. “She’s just playin’ hard to get.”

“Hard to get?” Sean barked a laugh, wiping tears from his eyes from the lingering hilarity. “She damn near gutted you with that tongue of hers, and you’re callin’ it playin’?”

“She’s a challenge,” John said, his grin widening. “And I like challenges.”

“Challenges like tryin’ to stay upright after your fifth whiskey?” Arthur muttered, tipping his bottle in John’s direction.

Charles chuckled softly, shaking his head. “You’re gonna regret this, John.”

“Regret?” John leaned back in his chair, stretching his arms. “I don’t regret nothin’. I’ve got charm. She’ll come around.”

“You’ve got something, all right,” Arthur muttered. “A death wish, maybe.”

John ignored him, standing up and dusting off his coat. He grabbed his hat and planted it firmly on his head, the cocky gleam in his hazel eyes unwavering. “Y’all enjoy your game. I’ve got some business to attend to.”

“Yeah, sure. Go on,” Sean said, waving him off. “But don’t come cryin’ to us when she slaps that smug grin off your face.”

“She won’t slap me,” John said confidently. “She might kiss me, though.”

“Get outta here,” Arthur grunted, waving him off as John sauntered toward the bar.

The crowd parted slightly as John moved through, his eyes scanning the room for her. It didn’t take long. She was leaning casually against the bar, her elbow resting on the wooden surface as she nursed a glass of something dark. Her expression was cool, disinterested, but her sharp gaze flickered across the room, cataloging every detail like a predator stalking prey. She had clearly noticed him before he even reached her, though she didn’t turn to acknowledge him.

“Fancy meetin’ you here,” John said, sliding up beside her with a grin that could rival the devil’s own.

She didn’t even glance his way. “The saloon isn’t exactly exclusive, cowboy.”

He chuckled, tipping his hat back slightly as he leaned an elbow on the bar. “Well, I figured you’d be long gone after your little… failed venture.”

Her lips quirked, but it wasn’t a smile. “You’re awfully smug for someone who almost got robbed.”

“Almost,” he repeated, emphasizing the word. “Key word there, sweetheart. You didn’t get away with it.”

She finally turned her head, her dark eyes meeting his with a cool defiance. “You sound proud, but let me guess—you’d have handed over that money if I batted my lashes at you.”

“Depends on how convincing you were,” John admitted, his grin never faltering. “But I’m more interested in you now than I was before.”

“Oh, lucky me.” Her tone dripped with sarcasm. She took a slow sip from her glass, her gaze flickering over him before returning to her drink.

John leaned closer, undeterred. “What’s your name?”

“Not interested,” she said simply, her focus still on the bar.

“Funny name,” He quipped, earning himself the faintest flicker of a smile, though it disappeared as quickly as it came.

John leaned against the bar, his grin unwavering. “Name’s John, in case you were curious.”

“Are you always this annoying, John?” she asked, finally turning to face him fully.

Her retort earned a bark of laughter from John. “You’ve got a real gift, you know that? Not everyone can insult a man so pretty.”

She glanced at him, her eyes narrowing slightly. “Why don’t you find someone else to waste your time on?”

John’s laughter lingered as he leaned a little closer, his elbows resting casually on the bar. “Tell me somethin’, sweetheart,” he drawled, his tone teasing but not unkind. “You always this tough, or am I just lucky tonight?”

She didn’t look at him, but the corner of her mouth twitched—so quickly it might’ve been imagined.

“You mistake stubbornness for luck, cowboy.”

“Oh, it’s luck all right,” he said, tapping the bar with his knuckles again. “No way I’m this lucky twice in one week.”

Her lips pressed into a line, the faintest suggestion of amusement flickering in her dark eyes before she schooled her expression. “You’re too full of yourself.”

“Maybe,” he conceded with a lazy shrug. “But you’re smilin’. Almost.”

Her head turned sharply, her gaze cutting to his. “I am not.”

That earned a crooked grin from John, his hazel eyes sparkling with mischief. “Ain’t no shame in it, darlin’. I’m a funny guy. People tend to like me eventually.”

Her composure faltered just slightly, the faintest huff escaping her lips before she caught herself. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Ridiculously persistent,” he shot back, the grin widening. “But hey, you’re still talkin’ to me, so I must be doin’ somethin’ right.”

She rolled her eyes, finally lifting her drink and taking a slow sip, if only to avoid answering. But John caught it—a split-second softening, a crack in the armor that had him feeling a little too proud of himself.

“See that?” he said, leaning closer again. “You can’t get rid of me. You don’t hate me as much as you want to, do ya?”

Her glass clinked softly against the bar as she set it down with deliberate care. When she turned to him, her eyes had narrowed, her smirk sharp and cutting. “If you’re waiting for me to admit anything, don’t hold your breath. In fact…” She leaned closer now, her voice dropping to a low, dangerous purr. “You might wanna think real hard about how far you push this before I embarrass you in front of the whole saloon.”

John raised his hands in mock surrender, though the grin never left his face. “Careful now, angel. You’re startin’ to sound like you care about my feelings.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” she snapped, though her tone lacked the venom it carried earlier.

“Oh, I don’t need to,” he replied smoothly. “You’re doin’ it for me.”

Her jaw tightened, her nails tapping a sharp rhythm against the wood of the bar. “I’m about five seconds away from throwing this drink in your face.”

John tilted his head, his grin somehow growing even more infuriating. “Go on then. Might cool me off, ‘cause darlin’, you’re hotter than the Lemoyne sun.”

That did it. She huffed sharply, the sound almost a laugh before she quickly bit it back. Her lips pressed together, but the slight color in her cheeks betrayed her.

John’s eyes widened slightly in mock surprise, and he pointed at her triumphantly. “There it is! You’re blushin’! I knew it!”

“I am not!” she snapped, turning her head sharply away.

“You are too,” he teased, laughing now, unbothered by the heat of her glare when she whipped her head back to him. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. It’s cute.”

Her lips parted to retort, but she found herself momentarily speechless. She wasn’t sure if it was his persistence, his nerve, his utterly stupid pick up lines, or the fact that her cheeks really were starting to feel warm. Whatever it was, he’d found a crack, and she hated that he knew it.

Her gaze lingered on him for a beat too long, and she hated herself for the way her pulse quickened. The worst part was, he could probably see it. But she wasn’t going to let him have the last word. Not yet. With a sharp tilt of her chin, she picked up her drink and downed the rest in one go, slamming the glass down before fixing him with an icy stare. “Keep pushing, cowboy. I promise you’ll regret it.”

John only laughed, tipping his hat to her as she stormed off toward the other end of the saloon. But she didn’t miss the way his eyes stayed on her as she walked away.

And damn it all, she hated that she didn’t hate it.

John lingered by the bar for a moment, watching her retreat with a slow shake of his head. She moved with purpose, shoulders stiff and head held high, but the faintest hesitation in her stride told him she knew he was watching. He chuckled under his breath, downed the last of his drink, and turned toward the exit.

“Don’t do it, John,” Arthur called from the poker table, barely glancing up from his hand.

“Let her go, Marston!” Sean chimed in, leaning back in his chair with an exaggerated laugh. “She’s gonna skin you alive.”

“You’ll be lucky to keep your dignity intact,” Charles added evenly, though there was the faintest trace of a smile on his face.

John waved them off with a lazy flick of his hand. “Y’all just keep losin’ your money over there. I’ll be fine.”

He pushed through the saloon doors, the humid night air hitting him like a blanket after the haze of whiskey and cigar smoke inside. The faint clinking of harnesses and the soft murmur of crickets filled the quiet. He didn’t have to look far—she was out back, untying her horse with quick, efficient movements, her head slightly tilted as though she were listening for footsteps.

“Leavin’ so soon?” he drawled, the sound of his boots on the dirt cutting through the stillness.

She froze for half a heartbeat before continuing to untie the reins. “You’re a persistent bastard. I’ll give you that.”

“Gotta be, sweetheart,” he said, walking closer but keeping a casual distance. “Someone like you doesn’t make it easy.”

“Good,” she shot back, her voice steady but lacking the same bite as earlier. “I’d hate to be accused of goin’ soft.”

He grinned, the corners of his mouth twitching like he was trying not to laugh. “Don’t worry, darlin’. ‘Soft’ ain’t the word anyone’d use for you.”

She finished untying her horse and turned to face him, her dark eyes sharp but unreadable in the low light. “You’ve had your fun. Go back to your poker game.”

He took a step closer, his grin softening into something warmer. “Maybe I’m havin’ more fun out here.”

She opened her mouth to fire back, but no words came. For the first time that night, she seemed caught off guard. Her eyes flicked to his face, narrowing slightly as if searching for some crack in his playful facade. But there wasn’t one. He was just… watching her, his hazel eyes steady and open, his grin more genuine than teasing now.

“Well,” she finally managed, her voice quieter than before. “Good for you.”

He was closer now, and his expression was different—less cocky, more… sincere. The shift threw her off balance, and for once she had no witty retort.

John noticed. Oh, he noticed. The faint hesitation in her eyes, the way her lips parted like she was searching for something to say. His grin returned, slow and lazy, and he leaned just a little closer, lowering his voice. “You all outta insults, sweetheart?”

She stiffened, her jaw working as if she were trying to summon some kind of biting reply, but nothing came. Her silence only seemed to embolden him.

“Thought so,” he murmured, his tone rich with amusement. “I gotta say, I kinda like you like this. Quiet suits you.”

That did it. She snapped her head toward him, her glare sharp enough to cut. “Don’t push your luck.”

“Too late,” he said with a wink. “I’m already pushin’ it.”

John’s grin softened, but he didn’t step back. Instead, he took a slow, deliberate step forward, closing the space between them inch by inch. She stiffened immediately, her fingers tightening around the reins of her horse.

“You’re awfully close, cowboy,” she said, her voice steady but edged with warning.

He stopped just short of touching her, his hazel eyes locked onto hers. “Close enough to make you nervous?” he asked, his tone teasing, though there was a new, hushed quality to his voice that made the air between them feel heavier.

Her lips parted, ready to bite back with some sharp retort, but his scent reached her before she could. Tobacco, whiskey, and leather—all laced with the faint, earthy musk of sweat from the long day. She hated how intoxicating it was, how it seemed to settle low in her chest and linger there. She straightened her shoulders, forcing herself to meet his gaze with a defiance she didn’t fully feel.

Before she could respond, he leaned in closer, so close she could feel the warmth of his breath against her cheek. Her heart stuttered against her will, a traitorous little skip that she prayed he couldn’t hear. The tip of his nose nearly grazed her temple as his lips hovered by her ear.

“Oh Angel,” he murmured, his voice a velvet rasp, “I see the way you’re starin’ at me.”

The words rolled over her, slow and deliberate, sending a shiver down her spine that she couldn’t suppress. Goosebumps rose along her arms, a betrayal she hoped the dim light concealed, but she knew he noticed. He didn’t pull back, didn’t gloat—just stayed close enough that the space between them felt unbearably small.

She inhaled sharply, a protest forming on her tongue, but it never made it out. Her body betrayed her again, leaning the faintest bit toward him, caught between wanting to push him away and pulling him closer. Her silence only seemed to spur him on, his lips curving into the faintest smile.

“That’s what I thought,” he whispered, the words brushing against her skin like a touch.

“John,” she managed, her voice barely above a whisper, thick with warning and something dangerously close to surrender.

“Yeah?” he asked, his voice soft but steady, like he was willing to wait forever for whatever she wanted to say.

“Shut up,” she said, but the words were breathless, lacking the bite she wanted them to have.

He grinned, a quiet, self-assured thing that stole the last bit of air from her lungs. And then he closed the distance.

His lips met hers in a kiss that was nothing like the teasing banter they’d exchanged all night. It was raw, desperate, and consuming, his hand coming up to cradle the side of her face as if anchoring himself to her. She froze for half a heartbeat, every nerve in her body alight with shock and something she couldn’t name. And then she kissed him back.

The reins slipped from her fingers as her hands found the front of his shirt, curling into the fabric like it was the only thing keeping her grounded. He pulled her closer, his other hand settling on her waist as the kiss deepened, a slow, heady tangle of lips and breath that made the world tilt. She hated how much she needed it, hated the way her body melted into his, as if she’d been waiting for this all along.

When they finally broke apart, her breath came in shallow, uneven gasps, her forehead resting against his. His eyes were half-lidded, his grin softer now but still insufferable.

“Well,” he said, his voice rough and quiet, “that wasn’t so bad, was it?”

Her glare returned, though it lacked its usual fire. “You’re such a bastard.”

“Maybe,” he admitted, brushing his thumb lightly along her jaw, “but you’re still kissin’ me.”

She shoved him back, though not with as much force as she could’ve. “Don’t get used to it.”

Her lips still tingled from the kiss, the burn of him leaving her aching for something she refused to name. She hated the way her body betrayed her, leaning in before her brain could stop her. And she hated even more that he noticed.

“Oh, darlin’,” he murmured, his voice dipping lower as his hands found her waist, drawing her back in. “You ain’t foolin’ either of us.”

Her resolve crumbled when his lips brushed hers again, softer this time, coaxing rather than demanding. It was slower, deeper, and she leaned into it with a desperation she could no longer fight. Her hands slid upward, curling into the hair at the nape of his neck, pulling him closer, as though she needed him more than air. Her mind raced, grasping for excuses, and the warm haze of the whiskey she’d downed earlier felt like the easiest culprit. It’s just the alcohol, she told herself, trying to ignore the way her hands still clung to him like she didn’t want to let go.

His grip on her waist tightened, his thumbs pressing into the curve of her hips like he was anchoring himself to her. The kiss grew more urgent, a clash of heat and want that left her dizzy, her knees threatening to buckle under the weight of it.

The rough wood of the saloon's exterior pressed against her back as John pushed her against the wall, the impact forcing a soft gasp from her lips. John swallowed the sound, his mouth hot and insistent against hers as he pressed closer, one hand braced against the wall beside her head. The other slid down her side, fingers splaying wide across her hip, his touch searing even through the fabric of her dress. His lips never left hers, the kiss deepening as one of his hands tangled in her hair, knocking her hat askew.

She knew she should push him away, should maintain some semblance of the cool detachment she'd clung to all night. But her body had other ideas. Her fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer as a soft, involuntary moan escaped her lips.

John broke the kiss, his breath coming in ragged pants as he rested his forehead against hers. "God damn, sweetheart," he murmured, his voice rough with desire. "You're somethin' else."

"This doesn't mean anything," she breathed, even as her body arched into his touch.

John's lips curved into that infuriating smirk. "Sure it don't," he drawled, his thumb brushing her lower lip. "You always kiss strangers like that when it don't mean nothin'?"

She couldn't speak, her breath coming in short gasps as she tried to regain her composure. But John wasn't done. His lips trailed along her jaw, then down her neck, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. She tilted her head back, giving him better access, her fingers threading through his hair.

"John," she breathed, barely recognizing her own voice, husky and thick with need.

He hummed against her skin, the vibration sending shivers down her spine. "Say it again," he murmured, his teeth grazing her pulse.

"John," she repeated, louder this time, almost desperate.

He continued his assault on her collarbone as he breathily moaned out, "Tell me to stop," he said, his voice low and rough. "Tell me you don't want this, and I'll walk away right now."

She met his gaze, her dark eyes blazing with a mix of defiance and desire. "Don't you dare stop," she growled, her voice low and husky.

John's grin widened as he expertly unbuckled his gun belt, the leather sliding free with a soft hiss. His belt buckle followed suit, the metal clinking as it came undone. She watched, transfixed, as he let both fall to the ground with a dull thud.

Before he could say another word, she dropped to her knees in front of him, her fingers already working at the buttons of his trousers. John inhaled sharply, his hand coming to rest on the back of her head.

"Well now," he drawled, his voice rough with desire, "ain't this just a sight?”

She silenced John's remark by swiftly freeing his aching and swollen cock from his jeans and taking his length into her mouth. John gasped, his fingers tightening in her hair as she worked him with practiced skill. His cocky demeanor melted away, replaced by soft groans of pleasure. She glanced up, meeting his heated gaze, and felt a thrill of satisfaction at reducing this arrogant cowboy to a quivering mess. John's legs trembled as she took him deeper, his bravado completely forgotten as he surrendered to her ministrations. Though she'd never admit it, she reveled in the power she held over him in this moment, turning the tables on his relentless pursuit.

John couldn’t help but to throw his head back at the feeling of her warm wet mouth hugging his cock. It was a rare kind of victory, sweeter than any pot won at a poker table or any bank robbery gone right. She was sharp and untouchable, fire and steel, and yet here she was—on her knees in front of him with her mouth stuffed full of his cock, gagging on it every time it reached the back of her throat.

And the best part? They both thought that they'd won.

“You’re so fucking pretty like this, darlin’, when you’re not running your goddamn mouth.” He spat out as he began thrusting his hips furiously, but she couldn’t deny his harsh words sent an ache straight to her pussy as she squeezed her thighs together in a horrid attempt to subdue the pressure. She wasn’t the kind of woman who was often put in her place, and only now was she realizing how desperately she craved it.

She doubled her efforts upon hearing his fucked up praise, moving to cup his balls with her hand as she flattened her tongue against his shaft, feeling his member twitch under her tongue. Between her lewd gags and John’s desperate moans and pleas, anyone within 10 feet of the saloon no-doubtedly heard exactly what was going on, and it only drove him that much more insane.

With one last harsh thrust, John’s orgasm ripped through him as he held her head tightly in place, painting her throat with copious amounts of his warm, salty seed. She held intense eye contact with John through his entire climax, her expert tongue swirling around his tip, swallowing every last drop and forcing him to the point of overstimulation.

John let out a string of curses before yanking her off of him by her hair, a string of saliva trailing from her mouth to his cock as John hauled her to her feet. He held her head in his hands, his calloused thumb brushing the drool from the side of her mouth, never breaking their intense gaze.

“Didn’t think I’d crack you, did ya?” he teased, his voice low and edged with playful arrogance, his grin practically daring her to prove him wrong.

She huffed, her hands loosening their grip on his shirt only to shove lightly at his chest again, though there was no force behind it. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet, here we are,” he shot back as he tucked himself back in his trousers before sliding his hand to her hip, his thumb grazing the fabric there in a way that sent a shiver up her spine.

The sound of the saloon doors swinging open cut through the tension, followed by the heavy tread of boots and a familiar burst of laughter.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Sean’s voice rang out, loud and incredulous. “You’ve got to be shittin’ me, Marston!”

Arthur followed close behind, shaking his head with a wry smirk as his gaze landed on John, still standing far too close to her, their flushed faces and tousled appearances telling the whole story.

“You actually pulled it off? Thought for sure she’d have knocked you on your ass by now.”

Charles trailed a few steps behind, crossing his arms with nothing but an amused chuckle.

Her face burned as the men’s laughter echoed through the night, every word making her want to sink into the ground. She glared at them briefly, her lips parting to fire back some cutting remark, but nothing came. The smug grin on John’s face didn’t help matters—if anything, it made it worse.

With an exasperated groan, she gave up the fight entirely and buried her face against his chest, her hands fisting the fabric of his shirt to muffle her mortification. “I hate you,” she muttered, her voice muffled but dripping with frustration. John’s laughter rumbled low in his chest, his arms wrapping around her with infuriating ease. She just muttered a half-hearted curse into his shirt, which only made his grin widen as he held her closer.

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error-notifs · 10 months ago

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LIST OF TERRIBLE EUPHEMISMS I HAVE BEEN BLASTED WITH

Penis

dingaling

peepee

dingus

dongus

shaft

weewee

a 'third leg'

meat stick

squirming meat

'his leaping salmon'

'the crown to his jewels'

Fleshy cigar

Pork Whistle

an utterly destroyed tube of flesh

purple pneumatic drill

an interesting specimen

beige sledgehammer

meaty windmill

shrinky dink

HIS MISTER CUDDLES.

Anal Artillery

Vagina miner.

shlong

cum sword

taco warmer.

vomit rod.

mutton dagger

a squirming shaft

womb broom

taco tickling toy

fully erect rod

clam hammer

Gash. Mallet.

Did you know that world-renowned writer Stephen King once got hit by a car? Just something to consider

deformed tube that was left of his manhood

His big, thick sludge pump

Ravine wrecker

Thrill drill

all that was left was a bit of raw soaked meat

His Old Man Drizzle

Ooze injector

Her slime filled lollipop

Musky man candy

His piss pump

his cure for her pestulince

"Their joy knob"

His slit slamming freight train

Blood sausage.

Gut stick.

Bone horn.

the pulsating slug salter

his jumping jingler

his shiny gold coin

Her squinty blow-pop.

his nope rope

magical girl wand

Vagina

throbbing jazz café

gaping cavern

her wishing well

her animal trap

Unsure

Crotch cannon

Look at my fucking art or so help me god @magical-art-blog

#mod talks #euphemism hell #god.#penis euphemism list

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dreaming-medium · 1 year ago

Text

Animals Without Direction Masterlist

Cover Art by @seochngbin 🤍❤️🖤

Ao3 Link - Latest Update (November 24th) - Chapter Forty-Two

⚔️ Updates every other week ⚔️ Character Descriptions World Map ot8 x reader Stray Kids Fantasy!AU 18+ MDNI

WARNINGS: THIS STORY CONTAINS HEAVY THEMES OF VIOLENCE, GENOCIDE, SEXUAL ASSAULT, HATE CRIMES, AND OTHER SENSITIVE TOPICS.

Tags: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Swordfighting, Magic, Eventual Smut, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Romance, Adventure, Fighting, High Fantast, Slow Burn, Extremely Slow Burn, Plot Heavy

Summary:

“No.” Your voice was stern, your eyes didn’t even look up from the plate in front of you. A healthy helping of roasted potatoes being pushed around by the metal fork in your hand.

“I am offering you a hefty sum of gold,” the man’s voice pleaded with you.

“I am well aware of the amount you offer, but you must think me mad to go anywhere near Miroh.”

“Thrice the amount, then.”

You paused.

Swallowing your mouthful of food, you placed your fork back on the table; tonguing your cheek and shifting on your seat.

Individually, you cracked each knuckle on both hands, your mind reeling.

“Explain the job to me once more.”

Chapter One - Thrice The Amount Chapter Two - Stained Glass Window Chapter Three - Red and Gold Throw Pillows Chapter Four - Sword Sparks Chapter Five - Careful, Merchant Chapter Six - Aye, My Lord Chapter Seven - Decree Chapter Eight - Twenty Laps Chapter Nine - Clear Your Plate Chapter Ten - By First Light Chapter Eleven - Permitted to Die Chapter Twelve - Rest Chapter Thirteen - Jump Chapter Fourteen - Quite Certain Chapter Fifteen - Serendipitously Chapter Sixteen - Make it in Three Chapter Seventeen - Hang in There Chapter Eighteen - Sunshine in the Night Chapter Nineteen - Dance Lessons Chapter Twenty - While Dancing Chapter Twenty One - Mend Chapter Twenty Two - Of Course Chapter Twenty Three - Tea With Sugar Chapter Twenty Four - Dagger Chapter Twenty Five - The Gracious Host Chapter Twenty Six - The Dove Waltz Chapter Twenty Seven - Imported Cigars Chapter Twenty Eight - Use Chapter Twenty-Nine - Between Two Walls Chapter Thirty - Missed You Chapter Thirty-One - Bonfire Chapter Thirty-Two - Music of the World Chapter Thirty-Three - Stay Here Chapter Thirty-Four - Ward Chapter Thirty-Five - Sunset Chapter Thirty-Six - Drums Chapter Thirty-Seven - The Horn of Miroh Chapter Thirty-Eight - Four Hundred and Thirteen Chapter Thirty-Nine - By The Six Chapter Forty - Mortal's Touch Chapter Forty-One - Rescue Mission Chapter Forty-Two - The Stars Missed You

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eyesxxyou · 8 months ago

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𝖕𝖊𝖆𝖗𝖑 𝖔𝖋 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖘𝖊𝖆 🏴‍☠️🐚

| ii. two| rough voice, gentle hands

🐚・・・pirate!Hobie x mute!siren!reader.

𝔠𝔬𝔫𝔱𝔢𝔫𝔱: smoking, blood, fire, mentions of nightmares, crying, treating wounds

↳ ❝ the battle of wanting to be a good person and the fire of revenge ❞

𝔪𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱

Hobie felt as though he was suffocating. Sweat clung to him like a second skin against his flesh. Sleep eluded him every time he so desperately reached for it. The sway of the ship did not comfort him as it usually did. It did not lull him to sleep like being held in his mothers tender arms and rocked slowly into slumber. It did not hum in his ear the tune of his childhood and offer the respite of home.

He stared out of the window beside his bed. The moon was full and partly hidden behind pale clouds. It shone so softly on the calm waters and made it sparkle like silver under the light. His fingers traced imaginary shapes on his tummy to soothe the turbulent thoughts plaguing him. Closing his eyes was not an option. Closing his eyes meant being haunted by the sight of two pearls, white and glassy and dead. He wasn’t sure who they belonged to. You or his mother.

Anxiety ate away at Hobie. It carved pieces of his soul, whittled away at the contours of his being with the intent to leave nothing behind. He trembled as if he were cold but the thin film of sweat layering his body said otherwise. Nights like these were not uncommon. If he wasn’t having a nightmare about his mother, he couldn’t sleep at all. He wasn’t sure which he preferred, if any.

Hobie sat up and sat off of the side of his bed, running his hands down his face with a heavy sigh. He thought of you, of your weeping frame in that cage looking up at him with those haunting eyes. He thought of the way you looked at him, the way you lingered, the way you looked so much like his mother in a way— helpless.

Hobie gripped his sheets and looked out the window once more. It was stifling in his cabin. The air was thick and hot with humidity. He needed fresh air and maybe a cigar to soothe his nerves enough to find some peace in sleep. Ale would be nice, drink himself to sleep so even if he did have a nightmare he wouldn’t remember it. But everyone was asleep below deck and he didn’t want to stumble about in the dark, risking an angry, sleepy crew member cursing at him.

He got up and grabbed a lanturn. He took his time lighting it and placed it carefully on his desk. It cast just enough light to let Hobie look through his desk for a stray cigar he had in one of the drawers. Once he found it, he took the lantern and his cigar and grabbed the dagger he never went without before he left his cabin.

The deck was eerily silent. Every creak of the wood under his boots made him wince. The air was cool, the wind was salty, and the moon shone so brightly that the lantern was mostly unneeded. The Mary Jane swayed softly with the calm water that kissed and caressed her sides and kept everyone in her hull fast asleep except for her captain who made his way towards the side of the ship.

Hobie placed the lantern down on the ledge and took out his cigar. He leaned against the side of the ship, placing the end of the cigar in the small flame encased inside the lantern to light it before taking it between his full lips. He took a drag with the wind, embers burning away at the end. And as the smoke passed between his lips, he let go of the tightness in his shoulders and the knot in his stomach. The smoke was musky and rich and eased Hobie's nerves more than the comfort of any human other than his mother.

His mother, you, his mother, you. He couldn't close his eyes. Eyes, white eyes, pearls hanging off your hips, his mother's corpse, the tremble of your lips, the decaying of her jaw, half her skull exposed.

His fingers gripped the edge of the ship, lip curling. Hobie took another long drag of his cigar and held it in a tight grip between his lips. He shook his head and rubbed his face. Burying his face in the palms of his hands, he groaned loudly with frustration. This was a torture Hobie wished on no one.

Hobie sat there with his face in his hands for a long while, occasionally bringing his cigar to his lips to smoke from it. His head ached, his chest tightened, and he longed for a home that no longer belonged to him.

There was a splash in the water. Swiftly, Hobie took his hands from his face and looked over the side of the ship down into the dark waters below. It must have been a fish, nothing more. He dug the heels of his palms into his eyes until he saw stars behind his lids and then white. Shakily, he took another drag from his cigar and let the smoke tumble from trembling lips.

Another splash. Hobie opened his eyes again and almost dropped his cigar into the water when he saw a head peeking up through the darkness just enough to reveal completely white eyes staring blankly at him.

It was you. Even in the darkness, he knew for certain it was you lurking in the waters, staring at him now with the same eyes that kept him from sleeping. He couldn't quite believe it was you and for a moment thought he was dreaming. This must have all been some elaborate scheme conjured up by his mind, set out to ruin his life and drive him into insanity.

He rubbed his eyes again, pinched his arm, and you were still there. You looked at him with an almost child-like wonder, your head breaching the water a little more to reveal the rest of your face. Water rolled down your cheeks like the tears had before, shimmering under the moonlight like little droplets of pearls.

Hobie looked towards the door that led below deck. It was still quiet. He almost wanted to retrieve Gwen to ensure his mind wasn't making fantasies, to ensure he wasn't dwindling into madness.

He looked back to you, his lip curling with distaste. “Wha’cha doin’ here?”

You stared at him, your head tilted subtly to the side as you waded closer to the ship. Hobie sneered at you. “Are ya daft or sometin'? I let’cha go free. Get outta here.” He waved you off, attempted to shoo you away like one swats away a pest but you remained, moving ever closer to the ship.

You placed a clawed hand against the hull of the ship. Hobie watched in horror as you used your claws to grapple into the wood and climb your way up the side of the ship.

Hobie stumbled back, his hand retrieving his dagger as you climbed onto the ship and placed your feet aboard his deck. You glanced at his knife and trembled, whimpering softly.

Hobie had almost forgotten how ethereal you looked. Memory did your beauty no service. You were something handcrafted, something so meticulously designed it almost made him believe in a higher power. But he couldn’t let your deadly looks make him lose sight of what you really were. A danger.

“What do ya wan’?” He bared his teeth at you, fingers white-kuckling his dagger. His eyes were sharp with caution, shooting up and down your decorated body covered in pearls, seaweed, and shells. Your patches of scales almost twinkled with iridescent light. How could something so gorgeous be capable of such mass destruction and devastation? Nature was a cruel mistress.

“I let ya go. I coulda killed ya but I didn'. Ya gotta death wish or sometin’?”

You were clutching your shoulder; the one that had been injured before. You were shivering, looking so soft and vulnerable. It was clear you needed help. You had only wrapped up your shoulder with seaweed but it was bleeding through with the strenuous task you had just done.

You fell to your knees before him and looked up at him. You were tired and in pain. It would be easy to kill you now and be done with it. No one would know of his sin. You would plague him no longer. He would sleep well at night knowing you would never destroy anyone with your beauty again.

But how could he harm such a defenseless thing? If you wanted to kill him and his crew there were easier ways to do it. No– you were asking for help from him of all people. Maybe you figured that because he had helped you before he’d help you now when you needed it most.

Hobie should kill you. He knows he should. Your kind takes entire ships down indiscriminately, lure innocent people into the ocean to never be seen again or to wash up on shore days later with bleeding ears and whitened eyes. He had every reason in the world to kill you and let you rot out at sea like your victims.

But a softer part of him, the part who took in strays and gave them a home, asked him, ‘Is this who you really are? Killing someone that's so clearly asking for your help? Is that who you want to be?’ The battle of wanting to be a good person and the fire of revenge.

This was not right. Killing those in need of help would make him no better than the sirens he despised so much, no better than you and your kind. Hobie’s lip curled into a scowl. He would help you but that didn’t mean he had to like it. He’d be better than you, better than the whole lot of you.

Hobie took his dagger and shoved it away into his belt at his hips. He raised his hands as if to surrender to you and got down low to show that he was no threat. You watched him slowly approach and something in your eyes told him you were scared. “Look, ‘m no’ gonna hur’cha.” His voice came off a bit abrasive though he tried to be gentle. You whimpered at him as he placed a hand on your shoulder, your lips pulling back to bare your teeth at him.

He backed away a bit. “You wan’ my help or no’?” He bit back at you. “You can go back t’where ya belong if no’.” His eyes were sharp and his lips were pressed, holding back a sneering frown. He made it clear. He did not need to help you, didn’t even want to in some sense. If you didn’t want it, he wouldn’t go out of his way to convince you to accept his help.

Your gaze shifted, you looked away for a moment. You were considering it. Finally, you yielded and stood, allowing Hobie to come close enough to touch you. Your skin was cool to the touch, water droplets clung to you, rolling down the dips and valleys of your body, your decency just barely hidden by coverings of seaweed.

His fingers slid over your skin, over the scales and fins of your forearm. You shivered, trembled so subtly under his warm touch. Your extra appendages were sensitive, his fingertips just barely grazed your fin. You almost tore your arm from his hold, but Hobie took your hand, taking a quick look at your webbed fingers carefully grabbing it. He stood before you, tossing his cigar over the side of the boat and into the water. You looked at him but he never seemed to look at you straight on. He’d catch quick glimpses of your gaze before letting his snap away elsewhere.

“Stay quiet.” Hobie’s voice was firm. “Do ya understand?” He grabbed the lantern from the ledge and held it up between the two of you to get a look at your face. You were pretty. Soft and delicate looking. He always expected sirens to look more…severe, more sharp and lethal-looking. The light reflected off of your eyes and made them glow gold. You nodded wordlessly.

Hobie guided you by your hand and led you below deck into the hold separate from where the rest of the crew slept. The dim fire from the lantern served as your only light in the darkness. It only illuminated the first few steps before you before the darkness swiftly rushed back in, biting at your heels.

He took you to where the few medical supplies they had were stored and brought up crates where you could sit with the lantern while he got bandages and a bottle of whiskey. Hobie placed the lantern down beside the two of you, it’s dim light glowing just enough that he could see your glittering frame.

“How’d ya get this anyway?” He grumbled, reaching out with tender fingers to carefully unwrap the seaweed you had haphazardly tied around the wound. “Harpoon or sometin'?” You nodded slowly, fingers mindlessly twiddling with each other in your lap. Your eyes keenly watched him, traced the contours of his face. Hobie pretended like he didn't feel your gaze grazing his face.

Eyes flicking between your exposed wound—bloodied and irritated by the salt water—and your eyes, tracing the lines of his being with endless bounds of curiosity, he swallowed. He grabbed the bottle of whiskey. “Hold still. And don't bite.” Using his teeth, he popped open the cork of the bottle and poured the liquid inside over the wound.

You flinched away from him, fangs bared just for a moment at the sting. A low growl erupted from your chest somewhat instinctively.

“Growlin’ a’ me will get’cha nowhere.” He set the bottle down and grabbed the strip of cloth he was using as a bandage. Your lips formed into the smallest touch of a pout. You wiggled and writhed away from him. Hobie scoffed. “Gettin’ pouty won' get me either. Now stop movin’. Makin’ this much harder than it needs t’be.”

His voice was rough but his fingers were gentle. He traced over your skin with tender care– bandage in his hand– and began to wrap it tightly around your shoulder. He made you lift your arm a little so he could wrap it under the hinge of your arm. Hobie leaned in close. He was sure to focus his gaze on your wound though he could feel the burning gaze of your pearl eyes on him, lingering.

“Ya got a starin’ problem or sometin’?”

You did not grace him with a response. No shake or nod of your head. You simply stared. You did have a problem.

Hobie finished up wrapping your bandage with a quiet, “there”, and leaned away from you to hopefully get some space and breathe. You sat with your hands on your thighs, staring with wide, bright, white eyes. He was disturbed by you. Your vague allusion to human-ness made him uneasy, the way you stared made him uneasy, you made him uneasy.

“Leave. Ya got whatcha came fo’.”

You did not budge. You sat and stared with your head cocked to the side a little. You almost looked like a puppy, confused, eager, a bit ditzy.

Hobie almost wanted to be endeared. Instead he got annoyed. “Did ya no’ hear me? Go!” He pointed towards the hatch that led up to the deck. “Ya don' belong here ‘n ya know i’.” It was harsh, cutthroat, as if he had taken his dagger and jabbed it through your chest.

Hobie looked at you and could see the beginnings of tears glossing over your eyes. Your full, bottom lip trembled in a way all too familiar to him. Your tears reflecting in the light, tears like the pearls that hung off of your frame. Even if you couldn't sing, you were a siren in your own right. Your tears were your song and could lure even the toughest of sailors to their doom.

Curse you.

“Fine, fine, just– stop cryin’ would’ja? You can stay here fo’ the night but ya in the mornin’. Ya hear?” Rough voice.

You nod vigorously with understanding. You watched tearfully Hobie stand up with the lanturn and take your hand in his. Gentle hands. “Come on, we gotta hide ya. Don't wan’ my crew knowin’ ya here. Yer gonna give ‘em a fright.” He tugged and you stood, stumbling along behind him further below the ship into the hull.

Hobie took you to the room where they kept all the gunpowder and ale and moved a large barrel to the side so you could lay in the corner behind it. He looked around and found a sack of potatoes he summarily dumped out and tore apart so you could use it to cover yourself through the night.

“Don't leave this spot ‘til I come get ya in the mornin’. Understand?”

You nodded and grabbed the sack, looking at it in confusion. You slept underwater or on rocks. You’ve never used anything of the sort in your life. Hobie took it from you and made you lay down before draping it over you. “See, t’keep ya warm.”

Hobie moved the barrel back into place to hide you in case any of his crew came in to grab any ale in the morning. He’d come back for you as soon as day broke over the horizon before anyone woke up to usher you back off the ship and out to where you belong.

He was going to just walk away when something in him made him turn around and tell you, “good night”. Something soft and human. Something sympathetic and understanding.

And you purred a little tune along the same lines.

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