#I think he would be the silent smoldering type with a heart of gold

[rainbowratsstuff]

can you do a tugger and munkustrap fusion?

Sorry this took so long but I got around to it at last!

It's a lot I know but its fun drawing ^^

[thegreatestofheck]

Ocean and Alcohol Pt. 12 ✘JJ Maybank✘

part one! part two! part three! part four! part five! part six! part seven! part eight! part nine! part ten! part eleven!

(gif not mine. All credit to rudypankow!)

Word count - 5522 Warnings - Swearing, underage drinking Synopsis - The Pogues have internal issues in regards to a new member joining. But John B comes up with a clever idea on how to smooth things over.  Taglist -  @bitterbethany​​​​​  @lovelymaybankk​​​​​  @ilymarkchan​​​​​  @downbytheouterbanks​​​​​  @clearcolourlessglass​​​​​  @obxwriterfan​​​​​  @tangledinsparkles​​​ ​​ @chill-sushi​​​ @summerintheobx​ @kiarasgold​ A/N - Thank you all for the love I got on the last chapter. It was truly astounding. I’ll admit that this chapter wasn’t my absolute favorite, but it was important that I carried on with the story. After rereading some of the earlier chapters, I decided that I needed a chapter that wasn’t about the plot and was just JJ and Ellie hanging out, so that’s what the next chapter is going to be. Fluff and maybe a little bit of angst, but mostly fluff. I hope you can enjoy this chapter for now, though! Thank you all again for the love and support. Stay safe, stay healthy, stay groovy out there ladies, gentlement, and all the rest of you wonderful folk! 

***

The cool breeze ruffled your hair, goosebumps prickling your skin. JJ’s white collared shirt he had worn to the party was draped over your shoulders. He sat next to you, so close that you could feel the warmth radiating off of him. With your adrenaline from the night fading fast, a rather large rock of fear dropped into your stomach. You couldn’t imagine what kind of storm your father was raging back at home. Shutting your eyes, you prayed silently that Kid had the smarts to stay out of his way. 

“So, like, my dad’s already going to kill me,” Pope said as John B stoked the fire. “What’s this mandatory meeting about?” 

JJ looked up to John B, who pointed finger guns at him. 

“Might as well tell him, man,” JJ said, the barest hint of a smile on his face. “Before we’re gaffed.” 

Kie turned to look at John B slowly, a look of worry on her face. 

“Ready for this?” John B asked. You nodded your head eagerly. It had to be about the gold. There was nothing else that was so important. 

“Uh, yeah,” Kie said, eyes widening. 

“So, the gold went down with the Royal Merchant,” John B started, as if telling the beginning of a long ghost story. Your heart started to pound as if it was. Pope sighed and rolled his eyes. 

“Here we go again with this,” he said, leaning back. 

“Hold on,” JJ said, “Hear him out, alright?”

Pope looked away from JJ toward John B, who had a finger to his smiling lips. He was really enjoying this whole story-telling thing. If both him and JJ were this excited, it must be a real lead. 

“It’s been here the whole time,” John B said. You scowled, your eyes narrowing as you gazed into the fire. John B looked around, letting his words settle in. “It’s on the island.” 

You sucked in a sharp intake of breath, a smile starting to widen across your lips. 

“Are you serious?” Kie asked, glancing between JJ and John B, as if one of them was going to jump up and say ‘sike!’ But neither of them did. “Oh, my god!”

“I’d like to voice my skepticism,” Pope said, leaning his elbows against his knees. 

“I’m sure you would, Pope,” John B said as he stood. You rolled your eyes at him. JJ threw a stick into the fire. “But can I please present my evidence, sir?” 

“Proceed.” Pope waved his hand in a mocking manner. 

You watched, eyes wide with merriment and a grin on your face, as John B presented his so called evidence. He spoke of Denmark Tanny, the slave who freed himself with the Royal Merchant gold, about the letter he left to his son. He told the circle about Tannyhill, the plantation that Denmark Tanny bought and how he freed slaves and got richer from his rice production. You weren’t surprised when John B told everyone that Tanny was killed, but it still made you sad. All the good he had done in his life, only to be murdered. 

“Harvest the wheat in parcel nine near the water,” John B said. “Except, there’s no wheat.” 

Your mind was swimming. It was so much to take in, so much that you didn’t really understand. 

“So, wheat is a code for gold?” you asked, squeezing your eyes shut in an attempt to understand. 

“Look at this,” John B took the two papers he had handed out and held them up. One was a picture of the gold with the wheat symbol stamped on the top. The other was the letter with the same wheat symbol on the bottom. Your heart started to soar. Kie laughed, her mouth falling open with glee. 

“Holy shit,” Pope breathed, looking at the pictures closer. 

“All we need is the original survey map of the property,” John B said, pacing back and forth in front of the fire. “And we’ve found the gold!” 

You covered your face with your hands to keep from screaming with joy. You had a chance after all, the chance to get Kid safe. 

“Okay,” Pope said, looking up. “This might have a small chance of being actually true.” 

JJ stood and walked around Pope and the fire toward John B.

“Dude, it’s like King Tut,” he said. 

“I am a genius,” John B just before JJ engulfed him in a hug. “Hello! Fire. You’re near the fire, you’re gonna burn.” 

“I’m so proud of you right now,” JJ said, pulling away. 

“Thank you,” John B breathed. 

Everything seemed to be going fine until Pope asked for the plan and then John B made the mistake of mentioning Sarah Cameron. You were excited to hear her name mentioned, but Kie was less so. 

“Why Sarah?” She asked. 

“Well, see, we, um-” The throne that John B had just been so gracefully sitting on seconds ago had now toppled over and he was fumbling. 

“This is gonna be good,” JJ mused, looking at his fingers. You watched rather uncomfortably as John B tried to explain to Kie what exactly had happened, how Sarah had helped. He may have almost convinced her that it was innocent, until JJ piped back up. “He was mackin’ on her.” 

You dropped your head into your hands. 

“Really helpful,” you said, shaking your head. 

“I wasn’t macking.” 

“You were totally macking Sarah Cameron.” 

“I really don’t think you’re helping here, JJ,” you said, cringing as you looked back up. He just shrugged. 

“I wasn’t macking on her,” John B protested, still trying to defend his innocence. “I was using her for access, okay?” 

You could see the lie in his face, but that still didn’t help the ache in your chest. You remembered when JJ gave the note to Sarah. John B must have been Vlad. The smile on her face when she saw who it was from had been real joy. If John B really had been playing her, Sarah had no idea. The thought of it made your stomach squeeze. 

Kie and John B continued to argue about Sarah while you kept your chin in your hands. You had no idea why Kie hated Sarah so much, but after knowing Kie, there must be a good reason. But also knowing Sarah, you weren’t sure what she could possibly do to make someone so levelheaded as Kie despise her. 

“Look, you guys know me!” John B said, looking around at the circle of friends. “Do I look like the type of guy to fall for Sarah Cameron.” 

You nodded your head a few times, glancing up at him. 

“Do you want us to answer that or-” Pope started. 

“You don’t know her yet. But I do,” Kie said, desperation clear in her voice. “You can’t trust her.” 

“Her brother beat me in the back with a golf club,” Pope said as he stared at the fire. You pointed at him, agreeing non-verbally.

“Rafe and Sarah are two different human beings,” John B said. 

“What did she do to you, exactly?” JJ asked Kie. That got her fired up more than she was already. 

“She’s like a spitting cobra,” Kie said, using her hands for dramatic effect. “First she blinds you and then-”

“This is a bad analogy,” Pope told her. 

“Listen to me!” Kie yelled, her voice breaking. “Whatever we get, she’s going to try and take.” 

You didn’t know if you could believe that. For years, Sarah was the closest person to you. She had been nothing but kind. She even invited you to her birthday party once. 

But John B wasn’t taking no for an answer. He had you all in the van less than five minutes later, Kie still smoldering with anger. 

When John B pulled to a stop at the Hawk’s Nest, JJ and Pope pulled the door open. 

“I think I’m going to go alone,” John B told you guys, turning around from the front seat. He looked at Kie, still hoping to convince her he was doing the right thing. But she just gave him the longest, most exaggerated eye roll. 

Thunder rumbled outside. You pulled the button up tighter around you, a chill running up your spine. You loved storms, the static in the air, the rain and the wind, the flashes of lightning. But this storm felt different. Like a warning. 

“I don’t think you should go alone,” you said, looking out the open van door to the storm out over the sea. 

“Why?” 

“I dunno. A bad feeling, I guess.” 

A bad feeling wasn’t enough to keep John B from leaving, it seemed. 

“I don’t see why we’re involving her at all,” Kie said as she leaned back against the van, arms crossed. 

“We’re not involving her, Kie,” John B protested, clearly tired of having the same conversation. “It’s just like a business meeting...thing.” 

“Promise me nothing’s happening between you two,” Kie said. 

“Nothing’s happening!” 

You and JJ looked at each other, rolling your eyes in sync. Maybe you and JJ had different ideas about what was happening between the two of them, but you both knew that something was going on. You just weren’t entirely sure why John B was being so stingy about it. 

“Dude, she’s gonna get inside you’re head,” Kie said, narrowing her eyes. Her mom voice was coming out again. Part of it was concern for her best friend, but the other part of it was obvious disdain for Sarah. This time, John B looked her dead in the eyes. 

“I promise.” 

“That was believable,” JJ said as you cringed. John B just really needed to come out and say it. It would make things a thousand times better than lying continually.

“A hundred percent believable,” Pope echoed. 

“Just go,” you said to John B. “It’s gonna start pouring soon.” 

“We’ll just sit here,” Pope said with a sigh as John B stepped out of the car. “In this hot ass car...while it’s lightning.” 

Kie was less than pleased. 

“Is it lightning or lightninging?” You asked, fiddling with the frayed edges of your dress. 

“I think it’s lightning,” Pope said. 

“But then it’s a verb and a noun. That doesn’t make sense.” 

“That’s just the way it is, Elm.” 

***

You sighed, looking back out the window. Yeah, you had a really bad feeling about this. 

“I told him not to go!” Kie paced back and forth, the bottom of her dress sweeping past your feet. 

“You act like it was Sarah who pushed him,” you grumbled, legs bouncing beneath you. 

The four of you sat outside of John B’s hospital room as you waited to hear from the doctor any news. Kie hadn’t stopped pacing. Pope hadn’t looked up from the floor. JJ hadn’t taken his hand out of yours. He wanted to kill Topper and part of him knew that if he left you, he might do just that. Even when he squeezed too hard, you didn’t let go. Since seeing John B unconscious on the ground, JJ had barely said a word. You couldn’t imagine what it might be like to see the person you care about most in the world in that position. You tried not to think about how you would feel if it was Kid. 

Sarah was inside the hospital room, sitting on the edge of his bed, holding his hand in hers. After hearing everything that John B had said about using her, you couldn’t help but feel horrible. You should tell her so she wouldn’t have to find out the hard way. But you also barely believed John B when he said it. 

“I’m gonna kill Topper,” JJ ground out through his teeth. You hid a grimace as he squeezed your hand even tighter. The two of you kept your heads down when doctors passed, not really wanting questions about the bruises and cuts. 

You wanted to kill Topper just as much. It was his fault you were in the current condition, after all, and now he had shoved your friend off a building. You couldn’t believe it, but you were almost starting to hate him more than Rafe. 

Of course, you didn’t say that. JJ needed someone to keep him out of trouble, not throw him deeper into it. 

Sarah emerged from the room, arms wrapped tightly around herself. Kie rolled her eyes and turned her back, JJ standing and dragging you up with him. 

“They said…” She cleared her throat before lifting her head higher. “They said that it’s just a concussion and a fractured wrist. He’s going to be fine.” 

There was a collective sigh of relief. You felt JJ’s grip loosen just ever so slightly. 

“What about DCS?” Pope asked, finally lifting his head. “They know he’s here. They’ll take him away.” 

Sarah shook her head slowly, biting her lower lip. 

“I talked to my dad. He’s willing to be John B’s legal guardian.”

That was a bombshell that you weren’t expecting. Your mouth fell open and you glanced over at JJ, whose eyes widened. 

“Wait, like, live with you?” Kie asked, accusation heavy in her tone. Sarah nodded her head a few times. 

“Yeah.” 

“Great. That’s just great,” JJ scoffed, pulling his hand out of yours. He turned around, messing with his hat. You walked over to Sarah and pulled her into a hug. She was hesitant to reciprocate it, but eventually, she wrapped her arms around your waist. 

“Thank you,” you whispered. All she did was nod, sniffling. 

“We should go,” Pope said finally. You let your arms fall from around Sarah. She wiped a quick tear away and turned back toward the hospital room. 

“Where do we go?” You asked, turning toward them with your hands on your hips. “I don’t think any of us can go home right now.” 

“We can go to the Wreck?” Kie suggested. “There are some spare clothes there than we can change into. Get some food. Wait for John B to wake up.” 

“Maybe we should crash at the Chateau first,” Pope said, rubbing his palms against his shorts. “I’m beat and I need to sleep.” 

“I second that,” JJ said, lifting his hand. When Kie looked at you, all you did was nod your head. You hadn’t realized how tired you were until they mentioned sleep. It had been a long, exhausting day and you somehow knew that the next few days weren’t going to be any easier. 

***

“You two do anything funny,” Pope warned, pointing a finger at you and JJ. “I’m setting your bed on fire.” 

You found the energy to smile as you dropped into the bed. 

“Aye, aye,” JJ said with a mock salute. He fell, face first, against the bed beside you, his arm flopping over your stomach. Kie shook her head as she walked into John B’s room. Pope disappeared down the hall. 

It was too hot for blankets. You kicked them onto the floor with a huff as JJ threw his shirt at the wall. You could feel JJ start to pull at the bottom of your dress. 

“What are you doing?” You asked him, glaring. He shrugged. 

“It’s hot in here. Just want you to be comfortable.” 

You shook him off, rolling onto your side. 

“You heard what Pope said. I don’t want to be responsible for John B’s house burning down. JJ sighed and kissed your shoulder before flopping back against the pillows. 

Your eyes fluttered, already half asleep. Something kept you awake. A few minutes past before you saw something large skittle across the floor. It didn’t take long for you to realize what it was. 

“JJ,” you mumbled. When he didn’t respond, you tried again a little louder. “JJ.” 

“Hmm?” He was more asleep than you had been. 

“There’s a big old heckin’ spider on the floor,” you said, limply pointing at the spider. JJ sat up and looked down at you with a partial smile. 

“What happened to your sailor’s mouth?” He asked. You turned to look at him with half open eyes. 

“JJ,” you said. “There’s a big old fucking spider on the floor.” 

He clucked his tongue, smile widening. 

“Atta girl.” 

He slid off the bed, tiptoeing to the other side. He walked over to his shoes, but you held out a hand for him to stop. 

“Don’t kill it though,” you asked, your voice whinier than you wanted it to be. 

“Sure.” JJ disappeared into the kitchen and came back with a large cup. You nodded your head against your pillow. You watched, vision blurry from a desire to sleep, as JJ scooped the spider into the cup and carried it outside. 

“Thank you,” you mused as he lay back down beside you. Instead of answering, he lay on his stomach beside you, his head resting against your shoulder, arm laying across your back. Despite the added heat from his body, you couldn’t have been more comfortable. 

You fell asleep with a smile on your face. 

***

Arriving at the Wreck, you couldn’t be happier at the smell of food or the prospect of a new set of clothes. 

“I’m burning this dress,” you grumbled as Kie helped you shimmy out of it. She was unusually quiet. “Are you okay?” 

She shrugged her shoulders. 

“I’m sure John B is going to be fine,” you said with a smile. “He’ll meet us here.” 

“Yeah, I’m sure John B is doing just fine.” Kie turned around so you could help her unzip her dress. 

“What did happen between you and Sarah anyway?” Kie tensed. “It’s just us girls, right? You can trust me, Kie.” 

“Yeah? I thought I could trust her, too.” You were tempted not to push further, but then Kie sighed, pulling a tank top over her head. “We were best friends once. And then she stabbed me in the back, turned everyone at school against me.” 

Your stomach dropped. Even though you couldn’t imagine Sarah doing anything like that, you couldn’t not believe Kie and the grief on her face. 

“Kie, I’m so sorry.” 

“That’s why I didn’t want John B to go. It’s clear he likes her and I just don’t want him to get his heartbroken.” 

You nodded your head. That made more sense to you than an impersonal vendetta. There was a knock on the bathroom door. 

“What are you guys doing in there?” Pope called through the door. 

“Anything I can watch?” JJ asked. You could hear his smile in his voice.

You looked at Kie with a sigh. 

“Why do I like him?” 

Kie shrugged her shoulders, but there was a hint of an almost smile on her face. You shook your head and opened the door. 

“Surprise,” Kie said. “We were just changing you perv.” 

John B showed up a few minutes later and the smile that had graced Kie’s lips was gone.

“So, do you have a membership card?” Pope asked, tucking his hands behind his head. You helped Kie pass out a few drinks as John B sat down. 

“I don’t know, Pope.” You could tell he was exhausted.

“Does it come with a free sweater vest or do you have to buy one on your own?” 

You scowled to yourself, sitting at one of the open chairs. JJ leaned his hands on the back of your chair. 

“Look, you promised,” Kie said, staring down at John B. “You said you weren’t with her.” 

Even though you understood Kie’s concern, you weren’t sure why they weren’t happier for him. He got around the foster system, wasn’t that a good thing? Maybe since you were the only other one at risk of the foster system, you were the only one who really understood how terrifying the idea could be. 

“Bro, just own it,” JJ said, taking a sip from his cup. 

“If you want to hang out with her, that’s fine. But I’m letting you know now, I’m doing anything with her,” Kie said. You let out a heavy sigh. 

“Do you guys see her here?” John B asked. “No? Right. A little focus would be fantastic.” 

The switch was almost instant. John B pulled out the map, the conversation switching from Sarah. 

Thirty minutes later, you were sitting at the remains of Battery Jasper, staring out at the ocean. Pope had the map spread out across the wall. You leaned in close to get a good look. 

“Parcel 9,” you said, pointing at it. 

“Right, so it’s northeast of here,” he said and you nodded your head. 

“Somewhere over that way.” Kie pointed out over the land. 

“That’s not Tannyhill, that’s a subdivision,” JJ said with a shake of his head. 

“Tannyhill used to be the entire island.” 

“We need another marker,” Kie said, walking over. 

“What about that?” You pointed a thick line right in front of Parcel 9. 

“That’s a wall,” Pope said. “Perfect, Elm.” 

Back on the road, Pope sat in the front of the seat with the map. He navigated for John B. You felt your pulse spike. You were actually doing this. And it might actually work. 

But then you pulled up to the Craine House and your heart sank. You remembered the story that JJ had told Kid about Mrs. Craine and her husband. You felt sick to your stomach as the five of you hopped over the wall. Barely listening as JJ retold the story he learned from Hollis, you looked behind every tree as if expecting to see the old lady jump out and chop your head off. 

Chills ran up and down your arms as JJ recounted the story. 

“JJ, stop it. You’re freaking me out,” you said, peering behind another tree. 

“You’re so full of shit,” John B laughed. 

Pope asked a few more questions, feeding into JJ’s story. You stood closer to Kie, who clearly didn’t believe anything JJ was saying. John B rolled his eyes and started to walk away. 

“Dude, wait!” JJ called after him. 

“What?” John B snapped, turning back around. 

“You sure you wanna do this? She’s an ax murderer. You got a cast on.” 

“I don’t give a shit if she’s an ax murderer, okay?” 

“I do,” you piped in. “Just a little bit.” 

“I got nothing to lose,” John B continued as if you said nothing. “You coming or what?” 

Kie was the first to follow him and Pope went after her, but JJ stayed back, scratching his arm. 

“You want me to walk behind you?” You teased, walking up to him with a smile. He looked around. 

“We’ll go together,” he said, taking your hand. You were glad for it. You didn’t really want to walk behind him, afraid that the crazy murderer lady would creep up behind you and cut your head off, but if JJ asked, you would have. His hand in yours made the fear fade. 

You snuck through the tall grass behind Pope until John B called for you to stop. 

“You scared, JJ?” Kie asked with a playful grin, looking down at your interlocked hands. 

“I was,” you said, squeezing his hand once. “Call me crazy, but talking about ax murderers doesn’t entirely make me feel safe.” 

“Fair point.” 

“Okay,” John B interjected. “Here’s the plan. We need to look for the wheat near the water like it said in Denmark’s letter.” 

“What kind of water?” Pope asked. “Like...pond water?” 

“Bong water?” JJ suggested with a laugh. Both Kie and Pope turned to look at JJ, eyebrows raised. You closed your eyes, breathing steadily through your nose. 

“No, it just said look for water, okay?” 

“That’s the shittiest secret message ever,” Kie said as she started to walk toward the house. 

“You wanna complain a little more, Kie?” John B asked after her. “Nobody said it would be easy.” 

“I’ll search the northeast, you guys search the northwest quadrant,” Pope said. 

“The decapitation quadrant?” JJ asked as Pope walked away. You let out a deep sigh. This was going to be a long day. 

***

There was little to do as John B and Kie slapped skeeters off of each other. All you could really find to do was lean up against the wall and swat bugs away from you. 

“Can we leave?” JJ asked, looking around the small basement. 

“Don’t you think it’s weird there are so many bugs?” Pope asked you. You pinched your eyebrows together, but then nodded her head slowly. 

“There aren’t usually so many, unless they’re by-”

“Water.” 

Realization hit suddenly. You pushed yourself off the wall and walked over to where Pope was, eyes scanning the floorboards. Flashlight scanning the floor, you froze when you heard the ground beneath Pope creak. He looked up at you and you felt your lips twinge upward. You shuffled a few of the broken pieces of wood out of his way as Pope plucked a small rock off the ground and crouched down. You knelt beside him. 

“Hey, I think I found Mrs. Craine’s voodoo doll,” JJ said. Kie and John B continued to slap each other. 

Pope took the rock in his hand and dropped it through the floorboards. You waited, straining your ear. You heard the splash and a grin spread across your face. The same smile grew on Pope’s face as he looked up at you.

“The water,” you breathed. He nodded and the two of you started to move the rest of the junk. 

“Hey, guys!” Pope whispered. 

“Hey, Pope,” JJ replied. 

Kie shushed the two of you, turning away from John B. 

“Hey, help us move this,” Pope said, standing straight. He grabbed John B’s arm. “We need to move this.” 

“Okay.” John B lifted his hands. “Just...quietly.” 

With all of the hands working together to move the trash, it went a lot faster. Then, moving the boards, you found yourself staring down into a deep well. 

“Well, well, well,” Pope said. You almost laughed. 

“They built this part of the house right over it,” Kie said, squatting down. 

“This is where she hid the bodies.” JJ stared into the well. You shook your head. 

“Dude, c’mon.” Pope tapped his fist against JJ’s arm. 

“No, I’m dead serious.” 

“Yeah, you will be dead if you don’t stop talking about Mrs. Craine,” you said, nodding toward the well. 

“She probably doesn’t even know it’s here,” Kie added, shining her flashlight into the well. It was too deep to really see anything. 

“So, we found water,” Pope said, turning the attention back to the object at hand. 

“We’re gonna need a really big rope.” 

***

Once you got back to the Chateau, your nerves abuzz with excitement, John B took off on some unknown trip (but you guessed that it had something to do with Sarah). You elected yourself to go and pick up some groceries. 

In doing so, you managed to miss the entire Kie vs. John B and Sarah debacle. You walked up to the Chateau, bags hanging off of your arms, a smile still on your face. You had found the water where the “wheat” was. The gold was right there. All you had to do was get down a really deep well and find it. No biggie, right? 

But then you saw JJ and John B sitting in the kitchen. Glancing around, the skip in your step slowing and your smile fading, you saw Pope and Kie down by the docks. Something about the separation didn’t feel right to you. 

“What did you two do?” You asked as you walked inside, setting the groceries on the counter. 

“Wasn’t me,” JJ said, putting his hands in the air. 

“I tried to pull Sarah in but Kie wasn’t too fond of that idea,” John B said, hanging his head. 

“And by ‘not too fond’ he means that Kie wants him to choose between the two of them, but he won’t.” 

You pursed your lips and started to unpack the bags. 

“That’s not really a fair ultimatum,” you said, tossing JJ a bag of fresh bread. 

Pope walked back in with a deep sigh. 

“What’d she say?” John B asked.

“That you’re an idiot.” 

You wished that you could shrink away from this entire conversation. It felt like a Pogue thing. The boys argued back and forth for a moment as you passed out apples and set out some grapes. Maybe they were all just hungry. If they just ate….

“I’ve got a plan,” John B said, which pulled your attention back. “And you three are going to help me out.” 

***

You were assigned to Kie duty with Pope. It felt wrong to be lying to her about what was really going on, but you knew that it was for good reason. Hopefully, she would understand that, too. 

“Can’t you guys do anything without me?” Kie asked as you pulled up to the boat. The sun had slowly started to set, getting closer to the horizon. 

“Definitely not,” you breathed as Pope pulled up to the HMS Pogue. You leaned back against the side of the boat while Kie climbed into the Pogue. As soon as she was off, Pope turned his small boat around. 

“They’re going to kill us,” you said, squinting your eyes against the heavy glare of the sun. 

“Most definitely,” Pope agreed. 

You sat up when you heard the sound of hollering and two large splashes. Running to the front of your small boat, you offered your hand to the boys as they neared. 

By the time they were back on, Sarah and Kie were both leaning off the edge of the Pogue, shouting. You grimaced and gave a wave. 

“Get your assess back here!” Kie called. 

“Can’t. Not until you two figure things out!” John B said. 

“I will kill every single one of you!” 

“Don’t let her mean words scare you,” JJ whispered, grinning like an idiot. 

“You can’t just leave!” Sarah cried. 

“There’s food in the cabin and JJ rolled a blunt,” John B said, waving his hand. 

“Hydroponic!” 

The boat started to splutter away, leaving Sarah and Kie behind. 

“Love you guys!” John B called one last time. JJ gave a whooping laugh. 

As you made your way back toward shore, you wondered if this was really going to work. After all, Kie was probably the most stubborn person you had ever met and if she was dead set on something, she wasn’t about to let it go. Then again, the boys did know her better than you did. 

“So, what now?” You asked. 

“Now we wait until morning,” John B said. By the grin on his face, he looked rather pleased with himself. 

“What do we do until then?” 

“I could think of a couple of things…” 

“Really, JJ?” Pope rolled his eyes. “In front of my boat?” 

JJ shrugged, leaning back as he draped an arm around your waist. 

“If you wanted,” John B said, fiddling with his fingers. “Pope and I could get out of the house if-”

“God, John B,” you cringed, covering your eyes with your hands. 

“I mean, you’ve….” John B waved his hand through the air. You felt your cheeks burn hot. Once again, you wanted to be anywhere but here. 

“Is this what you boys talk about on a daily basis?” You asked. 

“Only sometimes,” Pope told you, not taking his eyes off of the water in front of them. 

“No, John B,” JJ said. “It hasn’t really come up.” 

“It hasn’t come up?” John B scoffed. “Why don’t I believe you?” 

“Ellie isn’t a fan of sex.” JJ shrugged. You turned to look at him, eyes wide. This wasn’t really a conversation you wanted to have right now. “I can’t push her.” 

“JJ,” you said quietly, trying to smile. “Please stop talking.” 

“You don’t like sex?” John B asked, somehow surprised. You turned to look at him, trying to keep your smile, but it was obviously forced. 

“Not really, no,” you told him. 

“Any particular reason or-” 

You almost considered telling them. There weren’t supposed to be secrets among you, but this was a secret that could cost you your life. If the beating you got from your dad was just after he found out that you had been sneaking around, there was no telling what he would do if he found out that you told them what he had done to you. 

You shook your head. 

“Just not a fan.” 

“Hey, you know what?” John B said, handing you a beer. “That’s valid.” 

You felt yourself give a real smile as you accepted it. You popped it open a took a long drink, feeling the familiar taste on your tongue. In recent weeks, you found that that feeling of calm it brought you could be found somewhere else. 

You put your head on JJ’s shoulder, letting your eyes close. The wind drowned out the cries of Kie and Sarah, rapidly disappearing behind the small boat. 

With the alcohol in your system and the smell of the ocean filling your nostrils, the craziness of the world didn’t seem to be able to touch you. 

[alkalinesims]

Submission for @everfallsims Double Shot at Love Challenge.

Maverick J. Fox, 27

TRAITS: Self-assured, family-oriented, jealous

NATAL PLACEMENTS: Sun in Sagittarius, Moon in Scorpio, Rising Virgo

HOME & LOCATION: Brindleton Bay & San Myshuno

OCCUPATION: Freelance programmer

Maverick is the epitome of the strong, silent type. He is as his name describes; an unorthodox and independent thinker. His private, cool exterior encompasses a smoldering heart just yearning for love. Despite trust issues from his past and a string of failed situation-ships, Maverick is ready to give it another chance. He knows who he is, and there isn’t anything that can stop him from finding his soulmate. Fear not, though he may look the part of the “bad boy” Maverick has a heart of gold... once you get past the jealous streak, guards, pad locks, and steel doors. I promise.

The stunning Parrish sisters haven’t made Maverick’s choice easy, but he thinks he’s a little more interested in fellow middle child Evani. But who knows what could happen..

Private download.

Click below to find out more.

FULL BIO:

Maverick has spent his entire life in a constant state of transformation. Initially, turbulence seemed like it would always be the frequency of home. Growing up in a brutal environment as a child taught him early on, the importance of self-preservation. When he was 7, his brother, sister, and himself were all taken out of their biological parents’ custody. Despite foster care bringing on new challenges, even so young, Maverick knew that it too would pass.

The greatest gifts from his childhood have been the tight-knit relationships with his siblings, an appreciation for family, and the ability to endure any situation with a positive outlook.

“I don’t know how my life would have turned out if we hadn’t been taken from our birth parents. Or if my parents hadn’t adopted me--us.. I just don’t know.”

Life with his adoptive parents was one for the story books. His chosen mother, quite the music lover, spent much of their childhood teaching them all to play some instrument or another. There was always music, day or night. His chosen father instilled in him the importance of hard work and being true to yourself. As an adult, Maverick continues to find peace in casual listening, playing the piano, and tinkering here and there.

Presently, Maverick spends his days working as a freelance programmer. He thrives on his independence as an entrepreneur, and the solitude isn’t bad either. Things can’t be all work and no play of course. In his free-time, Maverick enjoys playing video games, traveling, trying new foods, riding his motorcycle into the sunset, and going out to bars with friends in San Myshuno. Every other weekend is usually reserved for family dinners back in Brindleton Bay. Home is definitely where the heart is.

An ideal date with Maverick might begin with a long ride with her on his motorcycle, playing some pool, or any game really, followed by his favorite: french toast with vanilla ice cream for dessert. 

Ultimately, Maverick is looking for a woman he can trust, someone he can open up to and take care of. Someone who can be another addition to his family. Maybe, one of the Parrish sisters fit that bill.

[notaburgler]

I’m gonna beat you

Fem!reader

Triggers: cursing and sexual themes (at times)

Summary: You work as a waitress at a restaurant along side many of our lovely haikyuu boys. Your goal: get more tips than Oikawa!

You always hated how Oikawa would make off with more tips than you. Yes, he was good looking. Yes, he was charming. YES, he was the senior server at the chain restaurant you both worked at; but you were an attractive, smart, and amazing waitress!

It was a nightly ritual for the servers. After the doors closed and the customers were gone, you’d all sit at the large round table in the middle of the restaurant and count tips. It was a game- who made the most that night? You always came in second. He’d beat you by a landslide. How?!?! You were one of three girls working there, and most nights, you were the only girl. Seiko was the only other female server. She floated between serving and cooking and tonight, she was on cooking duty.

Kiyoko was the hostess, seating patrons and making the rotation fair. She knew of the game all of the servers played, and never picked favorites. But you had to wonder why when large groups crowded the lobby, Oikawa always managed to wrangle them into his section.

Yachi was a nervous wreck around people, but she was efficient and detailed. She did most paperwork and scheduling and helped in the dish pit when it was needed, but begged for staff not to come to her with complaints about the schedule. She’d panic and direct them to the assistant manager Ukai to solved them. She just couldn’t handle the stress. She tried serving one night when staffing was low… never again. It was a complete fuck show. “I’m so sorry… I’m so sorry…” she may as well have changed her name tag to I’m sorry instead of Yachi.

Tonight was no different than any other Saturday night. Being so close to the university filled your pockets quite well on weekends. The only difference about tonight was that you were going to beat Oikawa and get the most tips, you could feel it.

You had the largest section and it was packed full. The head chef on staff, Kuroo, had the hots for you. The bussers were sweet and kept a close eye on all sections, but the flash of a few extra dollars made their eyes pass by yours a bit more often. The stars were aligning for your triumphant victory over that cocky bastard Oikawa. It helped that the new guy had the small section next to Oikawa, and since he was the senior server, he was training.

The new guy was good. This was his first night alone and he seemed to be keeping up. Kyoko made sure to send what she thought would be easy orders his way so he wasn’t overwhelmed. He was a bit stoic though. He didn’t smile much and was pretty straight forward, but the customers seemed to like him and left a few bucks under the centerpiece.

You watched him fumble around a bit, Oikawa having to take a moment to correct him, ignoring his customers waving hand and impatient expression. It was gold. Tonight was the night! You could feel it deep inside of you. And the look Kyoko gave you from the podium up front made you that much more confident you’d destroy that cocky bastard tonight.

The group entering was loud, as most of them were. With a good bar on site and being so close to the dorms and fraternities, you saw quite a few young, drunk men come stumbling in, unable to properly control the volume of their voice. But drunk men meant lowered inhibitions; which meant great tips for the only girl on staff.

“Place us with your hottest server!”

His letterman’s jacket told Kyoko he hadn’t accepted he was no longer a high school football star. “Our hottest server is Oikawa.”

She glanced over, Oikawa smiling and laughing with a table of two older women. He could charm the pants off of anyone. At times, he’d even be able to make straight men question their own sexuality. He really was good at his job, and it drove you up the wall.

The drunk college boy grumbled, “I meant your hottest chick server.”

Kyoko hated these types and her eyes falling back to you, silently asking if you were up for the task showed her clear irritation in them already. You nodded. It was your turn to fill another table, and your pockets were lighter than they should be for how late in the night it was. There was one other table you needed to tend to before them, and you knew you’d need to prepare for all of the remarks about how cute you were and if they could get your number. Even Terushima wasn’t as bad as drunk college guys, and he was relentless.

Luckily, Kyoko was on the receiving end of most of his advancements. And lucky for her, her boyfriend Tanaka put a stop to them as they happened. As the bus boy, he was able to keep an eye on everything that happened throughout the restaurant, even eyes on his precious girlfriend.

You turned your back for one second- ONE SECOND- and Oikawa was already trying to steal your loot right from under you. With a charming smile and his sports knowledge, he lured the large group of drunk men over to his section like a fisher man with a weak catch. But you had something he didn’t: boobs.

With a quick adjustment to your top, you caught the attention of the leader of this pack of hungry wolves and beckoned him back over to the dark side. Nearly floating across the floor, he was led astray from Oikawa's clutches and landed dead center of your target.

“I thought you said you wanted the prettiest server?” A pout on your lips in a playful fashion, “am I not pretty?”

It was sleazy and way below your moral code. But Oikawa would be defeated tonight. You would reign supreme and scream your battle cry upon victory. You would have his head!

“Your the only server worthy of taking our order hot stuff.”

Hot stuff? Was that even a compliment anymore? The demeaning qualities of these delusional pledglings… ugh. You were gonna be in for a long night with this crowd.

You forced the corners of you mouth to curl. You probably looked more like the joker than a woman thrilled to be waiting on such classy lads, but you didn’t really care much. Your mind was wandering over to Oikawa's section where an eruption of laughter caught you off guard. Those women were eating up everything he said, even running their old, wrinkled fingers along his hand with flirtatious eyes.

You couldn’t let that wet paper towel beat you!

“I’ll be back in a bit to get your drinks ordered.” You turned and fled back to the kitchen.

Normally, such low ball tactics weren’t your thing. You preferred to get the job done the honest way. But today… today you’d play dirty.

“Kuroo!” His head darted up at your angelic voice, “I need you.” Words that stopped his heart and made him ascend to the heavens.

“Kuroo!”

He shook himself. Was he daydreaming again?

“What’s up sugar puff?” His nicknames always made you blush, and this time was no different.

After composing yourself, “I’m gonna beat Oikawa tonight.” You clenched your fists and stomped in excitement.

Without thinking, he grabbed the closest item, a broken broom handle, and smiled a wicked smile, “I’ll help.”

Did anyone like Oikawa?

You tried to hide the snicker that forced it's way up your throat, “no no…” his enthusiasm was endearing, but a bit too much. “I mean, I’m gonna get more tips. And you are a master schemer.”

That look. The look on your face made the butterflies in his stomach flutter uncontrollably. He could barely hold himself back from what his desires egged him to do.

“Ok…” he tossed the broom handle and went to work.

“Oh!” His hands grabbed at your shirt, “Kuroo! What the fuck?!?”

****

Oikawa's head turned to the commotion in the dish room. His usual smile faded for a split second, he recognized that voice. There was no doubt that you were up to something, he’d have to pull out the big guns tonight.

He was well aware of your desire to beat him. He never worried too much. He had each customer that sat at his tables wrapped around his finger the second he waltzed up to their seats and spoke. You’d made it abundantly clear that one day you’d make more in tips than him. He figured the sound was just you attempting some low ball move. He wasn’t wrong. He scoffed it off as some inferiority complex and walked off with a smile, his next order was up anyway.

He got to the window to see Bokuto sliding his plates to him, “order up.” His big goofy smile made the bile in Oikawa's stomach rumble upwards.

Bokuto was fun and always the life of the restaurant. Alongside Kuroo, the two were a great team. Kuroo cooking and Bokuto prepping, the food was flawless each and every time. But when Kuroo was on break, and Seiko was nowhere to be seen, Bokuto ran the kitchen, that’s when the chaos ensued.

He was a walking disaster. The only reason he wasn’t constantly in the hospital, or the building was still standing and not a pile of smoldering ash, was because of Kuroo. With a watchful eye, he guided the reckless prep cook into success. But the man burnt water if left unattended.

Oikawa grimaced, “Did you cook this?” Most of what Bokuto dished out was garbage.

“Yup. Specially made, just for your customers.”

Oikawa reluctantly grabbed the dishes and took in a big breath. He repeated over and over to himself, please don’t suck, please don’t suck as he placed the plates in front of each person.

“Enjoy your meal…” he couldn’t even say it with confidence. Bokuto's cooking was like feeding toxic waste to lab rats.

He scurried off, scared of the reactions. He couldn't bear facing them if that owl looking disaster had messed it up.

As he made it to the bar, his eyes caught you leaving the back. Something was different about you this time- something… sexy?

He couldn’t place it. Your hair was the same. Your posture was a bit better than before. Your smile bigger. But given your current table and the patrons staring happily at you, why wouldn’t you smile. Drunk college kids in this town tipped great! Their mommies and daddies paid for everything, and none of them had any concept of what’s too much money. He stared in question, wonder just what the hell happened to make him unable to remove his sight from you. He’d always been attracted to you. This was proven by his countless attempts to ask you out on dates only to be denied with a harsh no.

When he got closer, eavesdropping on your conversation, he saw it. It was your shirt.

You hadn’t changed it. You hadn’t adjusted it, only unbuttoning the top button to show more cleavage, something Seiko did all of the time. But that wasn’t it. It was what lay under either that thin fabric.

Your nipples were protruding out like you had been in the arctic tundra with no protection from the harsh elements. They stood attention and were thrust out slightly by the change in posture.

“Oh really?” He hummed to himself waiting on the drink order, “two can play that game.” His eyes falling to the older women he had been shamelessly flirting with all night.

****

Back and forth and back and forth, both of you attempting to outdo the other. The other waitstaff felt their restaurant was turning into a glorified strip club with the amount of skin showing and bulges resting on the edges of tables.

“Kagayama, Tanaka, Noya.” You curled your finger to draw them close. “I’ll show you my bra strap if you guys spend more time on my tables than Oikawas.”

Like golden retrievers, the three enthusiastically nodded their heads. Kagayama would have done it either way, you knew this. He hated the guy. He had watched him for so long, hoping to one day be taken under his wing and shown how to serve and get the best tips. But Oikawa ignored his request and moved along like the self centered, clogged salt shaker he was.

You took your break, albeit reluctantly, and counted your cash in the back room. Based on the large bulge of money in Oikawa's pocket, you had to have been almost one hundred dollars behind him. How?!?! You had done it all: showing more skin, Kuroo took off your bra and shoved your chest against the freezer door, you flirted and bent over farther to show off the goods. You played nice with the kids and smiled when they broke the glasses. How was he ahead of you?

You passed Oikawa as you came back. He was waiting in the back for a salad. His toe tapped furiously on the ground. Kagayama had been on salad duty for a few weeks and it was working out just fine. The customers loved how beautifully arranged they all were. The lettuce laying perfectly, the toppings strategically placed to allow the color to pop. The dressing- not too much or too little. If only the kid didn't take forever to put it together. When people ordered salads, all of the servers grumbled internally while maintaining a pure smile. It was a task and a half to get it out to them in a timely manner. Kagayama, the perfectionist, would not allow any of his masterpieces to leave without his stamp of approval, even if it meant they would waist for it. And since the person waiting to deliver was Oikawa, he gladly took his time.

When you returned to the floor, your section was bustling. You noted the new guy had helped keep your customers happy while you were gone.

“Thanks.” He was cuter up close.

This was the first time you had really been near him. He normally worked the morning shift to train. But now that you saw him up close, it was a surprise how good looking he was.

He didn’t speak, he only nodded and went back to his tables. He sure was a strange guy though. You hadn’t seen him smile, but his customers always seemed to be happy.

Kuroo summoned you to the window, “Bokuto is cooking all of Oikawa's meals tonight.” That devious smile, “the idiot has to learn somehow.”

Although this was good news, you also knew Bokuto had been improving over the course of the past few months. He had been cooking at home to practice and used you as a test subject for his concoctions. His food was nowhere near as gastronomically astronomical as Kuroos, but he was good enough to pass off as a cook now.

“Thanks.” You grabbed the plate and left.

When you saw Oikawa sneak off to the back, you made your move, quickly dropping off the plate and heading to his section to scan the people.

One table seemed happy, but Bokuto's food showed they were already not thrilled- no need to interfere there. Another table had already placed the tip and were getting up to leave. You weren’t above backhanded tactics to get better tips, but stealing tips from anyone was not your style. The older women… yes! The older women would be perfect. He had been working on them all night.

You weaved through the people and tables. Your eyes glued to your target like a heat seeking missile. “Good evening ladies.” Your smile brought comfort to them, “your server, Oikawa, will be right back. He just has to put some cream on his rash.” You bowed slightly, “is there anything I can get you while you wait for him to put some cream on his large, itchy rash?”

The collective looks spreading across each face was priceless. This young, handsome boy that had been charming them all night long was doing what?

“No thank you dear.” Her sweet voice was a bit shaky. You wondered if it was from age, or from the information they had just gained.

As you left, you saw them getting up and leaving. A quick peek to the table made your cheeks burn in excitement. Only a few measly dollars tossed to the table.

The games got dirtier and dirtier as the night went on: Oikawa spilling spaghetti on your white shirt. You bumped into him “accidentally” a few times forcing him to spill drinks and drop plates. He made comments about your girlfriend and how jealous she was that you flirted with guys at work, and you told a clearly straight man that Oikawa thought he was cute and handed him Oikawa's actual phone number.

You passed by him as he swooned some young college girls and dropped off their food. “Oikawa..” you said in a yell like whisper, “I saw you didn’t wash your hands. Go.” You pointed to the restrooms in the back and raised your brows.

The girls quickly looked down at the plates he had just had his hands all over. “Ladies, it’s just a gag. Our servers are so playful.” He growled his last word as his eyes seeded holes into your sauntering figure heading back to the other side of the restaurant.

An order up for tour section brought you back to the counter of food waiting.

You grabbed your next order and placed it in front of your customer, “anything else?”

Her face contorted as she looked down like you had placed the severed head of her mother in front of her. Once you noticed, you gasped in shock and retrieved it as quickly as possible.

“I’m so sorry!”

A rush order was placed. “Oh! An issue with the food? Kuroo is normally so good.” Oikawa snagged his order, the same order as yours and walked away. The bastard stole your food, switching the plates.

“That son of a bitch.” A snarled rumbled from the pit inside you and coiled around your larynx.

****

The end of the night had finally come. The last customer leaving with a full stomach and a smile. All of the tables were bussed, cleaned, and reset for the next day.

The cooks cleaned the grill, and the bussers did the dishes. You were assigned to vacuum the floor and the new guy, Iwaizumi mopped the hard surface. The bartenders, Tsukishima and Lev stacked clean glasses and counted his tips. No one bothered comparing their tips to them. They beat the wait staff every night- no exceptions.

Now was the moment of truth. You all gathered at the large round table as normal. All servers present. Akaashi, Oikawa, Iwaizumi, Daichi, Atsumu, Matsukawa, Suga, Semi, and you.

Your nerves trembled leaving your hands weak and your brain a bit cloudy. That night was busy and you weren’t so lucky as to have the more cute servers over the down right handsome ones working with you. In all honesty, you’d rather have had Tadashi, Hinata, and Kenma as the other wait staff. They were tipped well, but weren’t the type to flirt or charm. Kenma was the worst, and somehow barely trailed behind you in tips almost every time you worked together.

You saw his stack of cash and that stupid grin pointed right at you. He was such a cocky asshole and all you wanted was to hold his head under water until the bubbles stopped coming up. But instead, you aggressively counted your money.

Once finished, Daichi instructed everyone to write down how much, just like every other night. Of course, anyone could choose not to disclose the number, but the competitive nature and relationship you all shared, it came as no surprise that everyone was eager to win.

The assistant manager, Ukai, although he wouldn’t encourage this type of behavior, totally encouraged this type of behavior. Even the cooks were involved, anxiously waiting to hear who came out on top.

“Alright alright! Everyone be quiet!”

No one was talking. Just light banter while they waited. Their assistant manager was a weird guy, but he was fun and didn’t mind the games they played while on the clock.

Matsukawa started, “two hundred and fifty three dollars.” He smiled. This was a huge number for him.

Atsumu huffed and rolled his eyes. If Osamu has been working that night, the two of them easily would have beat everyone. “Two hundred and seventy eight.” He smirked.

If there was one person everyone hated just as much as Oikawa, it was Atsumu. He was just as cocky and just as much of an asshole. He made your teeth grind when he spoke.

Everyone else outed their numbers: Daichi, Akaashi, Suga. It was a shock that Akaashi didn’t get more. He was so pretty and sweet. Normally women would walk in and practically throw their wallets at him. You guessed tonight was just an off night.

It was time. Oikawas stupid smirk made you shake with rage.

“Three hundred and forty five dollars.” He slammed a pile of cash in front of him to show his earnings.

Instantly you rose to your feet and celebrated. “I did it! I finally beat that deflated volleyball! ” You screamed in celebration, “four hundred and two, you moldy cantaloupe!.”

You cheered. Kuroo coming out from the kitchen to join. The two of you danced to your own little tune, if you could even call what you we’re doing dancing. It looked more like what Beavis and Butthead did when they danced than any actual dance moves.

You turned to him to high five when his lips pressed to yours, “good job.” You blushed.

A clearing throat drew your eyes from Kuroos to the table, “four hundred and twenty two.”

“Huh?” A collective hum of confusion.

“I made four hundred and-“

“We get that!” Oikawa kicked his chair out, “but how? That table of old ladies wouldn’t leave all night.”

Iwaizumi sighed, “Those women are the wives of some crazy rich business men. Their husbands have been out on a business meeting on the other side of the globe for a few days now, so they came here to get out of the house.” He explained.

He rolled his eyes, “They commented on my arms and left me a tip of four hundred dollars. I didn’t even do anything other than wait on their table.”

When he mentioned his arms, and lifted them to show, you understood exactly why those women tipped him so well. The drool practically fell from your mouth seeing the tight muscles twitch as he moved.

“There you have it.” Ukai said getting up, “now go home and relax. And no bullshit tomorrow.” He glared both you and Oikawa down. He put out to many fires that night for his liking.

You glared at Oikawa from Kuroos strong arms, “I still beat you, you overgrown weed.”

[xhuuya]

Chapter 11: Fade Away

Read it on AO3

Sombra leaned her head back against a rare brick wall. It was in part of the city that wasn’t slathered in shiny modifications of future technology; it didn’t hum with an energy that rippled over her skin in waves. It was silent and stable, and it gave her a moment to collect herself as shadows stretched into the narrow alley and her breath plumed in the cold evening air.

I want her to live.

I’m not entirely sure what’s driven me to feel this way, but it has become an indisputable fact.

What started as a simple test of my skill, almost a game, has become something entirely different.

She clicked her tongue at her continued inability to regulate her racing heart, even with cybernetic enhancements.

I didn’t expect it to hurt this much.

“Sombra.”

The bastardized version of her technology was so obvious she could tell the operative was there before he shimmered into view. It's a bitter taste to swallow her complaints since she doesn’t want her employer to have the technology at all, but there are compromises to make in the delicate process of mutiny, after all.

However, she won't compromise on refusing to answer, simply shifting violet eyes in his general direction and waiting for him to continue.

“It was not authorized for you and the Widowmaker to travel through Geneva.” He pulled a holopad from his pocket and scrolled through some notes, effectively ignoring her to deliver his assessment in the most monotone voice she’d ever heard. She couldn’t help but wonder if the same chemicals used to condition The Widowmaker were used in lesser amounts to destroy feeling in standard soldiers.“You know it’s especially difficult for us to work in the international safe zones, and your current mission is to do recon in Volskaya’s territory.”

She used the chilled breeze that whistled through the alley as an excuse to cross her arms, rubbing her hands over her thick jacket for added effect. “We’re aware.”

He looked up from his notes, his voice finally hinting at the irritation of having to do what he probably believed to be babysitting duty, tapping the stylus against the side of the holopad. “Then you’ll also be aware you’re a good few days travel from your intended location?”

She uncrossed her arms, flexing her fingers to refrain from hitting him. “You’ll have to forgive my transgressions considering I have information that both Dr. Angela Ziegler and Commander Fareeha Amari are in this city.” His befuddled stare made her shrug, waving her hand in a dismissive circle. “But please, let me go get the world’s best assassin so we can do our recon. ”

He seemed to consider a biting response, but thought better of it, tucking the holopad back into a large pocket on his thigh. “Understood, agent, but your supervisors will expect a detailed report on your actions, as I’m sure you’re also aware.”

“As I’ve supplied every month for the last seven years, yes.” She didn’t allow her amusement to show as she tore the data off his device, reading through it even as their meeting continued. It would be so unfortunate when his cloaking device fell away in the middle of the crowd he tried to traverse in a few minutes.

Pobrecito.

- - -

The flight from Geneva to Cairo wasn’t long—four hours was hardly worth noting when it came to travel times—but combined with leaving her closest friend in the custody of some deadly rogue double agents took a heavy toll on Fareeha.

It made her nervous enough just to leave Angela alone, but the information that Sombra had provided and the agreement their party had come to seemed both legitimate and strong. Bringing Talon and those that wished to spur yet another Omnic war to justice was well worth pushing aside personal feelings.

Though being worth it to do, and being easy to do, are very different things.

The hum of the dropship faded out as she thought about Angela, anxious about all that could go wrong with her gone for a week or more. She didn’t even realize when the early morning darkness shifted to the pastel light of sunrise, thin wisps of creamsicle colored clouds whisked away as the engines flipped for the descent into Cairo.

“Commander?”

“Mm?” Fareeha shifted her attention, straightening her posture, adding, “I apologize, I seem to have been absorbed in my own thoughts.”

“We’ve arrived.”

She wondered if these were the type of times that people stepped aside—to gaze off into the sunset, lighting a cigarette under a cupped hand blocking the wind from the sea, absently exhaling smoke from the first drag as the embers smoldered the same color of the sky—doing anything to distract themselves from intrusive thoughts, expecting an answer from no one to a question unasked.

The thought dispersed as the engines shut down, the low whine of their cooling down replacing the audible vibration from the flight. She hadn’t even moved to unbuckle the harness strapped across her chest. Seconds ticked into minutes on the clock in the Raptora’s display, and the few people already standing in front of her waited patiently, silent despite the concern etched on their features. Usually orders would come far faster than this, but no one dared to ask.

“I think,” Fareeha swiped a hand over her face, rubbing at her eyes, dismissing the idea of running away from her responsibilities, “I will postpone the debriefing until later this evening. Meet me in my office at 1700 sharp. Dismissed.”

Years or even just months ago, a later meeting might allude to her desire to bring the team out to a restaurant, to ease the tension that their work could create and to get insight into her soldiers' less professional personas. Now she pressed her palms to her temples as the sound of their boots on the exit ramp faded, and she could feel the heat of tears withheld for too long burning lines over her cheeks before her team was even fully out of sight.

Angela, I hope this is the right thing to do.

- - -

Widow had assumed correctly that Angela would follow her as she moved down the hall towards the same storage room in which the Valkyrie was being kept.

“Widow?” Angela tilted her head, nursing her remaining coffee before it got too cold—not that a temperature existed that she wouldn’t still drink it. “I know it seems serendipitous to bring it up now, but I was reminded for some reason,” Widow said without turning her head, continuing into the room and moving towards the back right corner.  

When Widow placed her palm against part of the wall—Angela marveled at how apparent her cyanosis was contrasted against the plain white surface—pink bands of light cascaded in jagged lines to center at her touch.

“Don’t worry,” she said as the bands of light rippled over her skin, lighting her eyes to a pale rose gold, “the light show is the system that confirms my identity.”

“Well, usually.” Sombra clicked her tongue, the sound echoing around the room also masking the origin of the communication. “This time it’s a little different.”

The fact that Widow couldn’t move her arm wasn’t immediately evident, but the flash of anger in her features made Angela take an involuntary step back.

“Dr. Ziegler,” Sombra said, making Angela bristle at the relatively innocent curiosity in her voice, “would you say your friend here is currently herself?” There was a long pause. Her hesitation must have made her confusion obvious. “That is, do you think the person standing with you right now is more Amelie than the Widowmaker?”

The anger she had seen in Widow’s eyes still reflected in the light, but now it was a thoughtful sort of anger, almost understanding. It was a fire that had burned for a long time, a dormant feeling that swam beneath that gold color, and Angela couldn’t help but think this was not the first time this silent war of attrition had occurred between these two.

“Feel free to do a more in-depth exam to answer. I will need your professional assessment before I release this hold.” “Do you feel it’s truly necessary to restrict her movement in this fashion?” Angela felt silly asking the wall, but at least the light gave her a point of focus to direct the inquiry.

“Would you like the world’s best assassin to have unrestricted movement when it’s possible I’ve tapped her conditioning?”

Angela gasped before she could stop herself, mentally kicking herself when she noticed, but also inadvertently answering the question. When she directed her attention to assessing Widow’s condition, gold eyes followed her movements with an uncanny curiosity. Widow tilted her head, apparently only allowed to move from the neck up—Angela assumed it was more so that she could watch for subtle facial movements rather than for the assassin’s benefit—regarding her with a relaxed expression.  

“Can your condition be activated just like that?” Angela followed the lines of light over Widow’s arm, hesitating with her hands above the skin. “Comprehensive, doctor, if you would.”

Angela swung her head around, as though glaring at the wall would achieve anything. The biting response to not question her medical expertise died in her throat when she realized that her hands were still hesitating. This would be the best opportunity to do a thorough examination of the assassin, but it felt wrong. Restraint was not uncommon in patients that may present a danger to themselves or others, but this was... not Amelie. So why did she still hesitate?

“Are you waiting for her permission?” Was that amusement combined with impatience?

Angela bristled again, directing her response to Widow rather than the wall. “As a medical professional, I have the responsibility to treat my patient as an individual and respect their dignity. My primary concern is care for my patient, above all else.”

The connection muffled Sombra’s muttered response, but Angela could swear there was a bitter comment about a mentor and a broken oath.

“I trust you to work with integrity, doctor,” Widow finally added her input. Angela could swear her shoulders would have sagged if not held up by whatever Sombra was doing.

Her submission did not feel good in any right, but making her stand there and wait any longer felt worse. Angela finally lowered her hands, kneading through the coiled muscles around Widow’s forearm, assessing but also attempting to provide relief for the odd position. She tried not to think about how holding her arm steady like this would be a lot more difficult with a rifle in hand, and that this was probably nothing to her. “A full work-up is going to take more time and equipment than this, I hope you realize.”

“You will have what you need,” Sombra cut in after another buzz of static. “I just need you to tell me our current status before I bring her back.” Angela’s hands froze around Widow’s shoulder, feeling the muscle and joint strength as she moved her hands over the second arm. “I’m sorry. What? ” “Doc, you didn't really think she was suddenly free from Talon just because you showed up.” Widow hadn’t broken eye contact with her once until now, a subtle shift to avoid the incredulous look.

“I don’t have a secure enough connection to give the full details, and I’m likely going to lose my line soon for name dropping like a fool.” Her tsk came across as another blip of static. “To make short work of a long explanation: we’re still on a mission technically. Therefore, I still have to provide monthly detailed reports and also bring the Widowmaker back for her reconditioning.” Whatever argument Angela might have had died when she saw Widow shake her head slightly, the fire she’d seen before completely snuffed. This had been a long process, after all. She would be foolish to think it would suddenly change because she was here. She didn’t even have equipment. The motions of her exam continued on autopilot, starting with pressing against the lymph nodes in her neck,  making mental notes to add to her assessment on a holopad later.

“I’m not entirely certain how to make an adequate assessment of mental levels through physical exam, but based on a quick exam, I don’t have reason to believe I’m in the presence of Talon’s weapon, the Widowmaker.” The soft glance Widow shared with her as she stepped back confirmed that suspicion, but subjective tells like that could not be used for true diagnosis. Considering the severe lack of objectivity made Angela chew at her lip until she tasted copper. “Going to lose my line in a moment, but I’m going to send you an important document Dr. Ziegler.” The fuzz of static crept back into the line as the light faded from Widow’s arm. The wall slid away to reveal an array of weapons, the hardlight flickering to life behind them, making for a dangerous set of silhouettes. “Do be careful, won’t you?”

[eirabach]

All (We) Want

So, in the Writers’ Hub we have quite the selection of opinions on when, where and if Captain Swan have ever done the deed. I took it upon myself to um... bring some of those scenarios to life.

4.4k of pure smutiness in various forms. Rated M. On ao3 HERE

Credit to @winterbythesea @ofshipsandswans @hencethebravery @dassala and @businesscasualprincess for the situations and @captainwiley and @irishswanff for the sprinting help. Did I say credit? I meant blame.

Also @killiancygnus. Because ily.

1. Neverland

He can feel the weight of her stare on the back of his neck as he turns from the helm, her regard following him as his invisible companion as he moves to go below.

She's been sitting at the bow since sunset, the sky spreading before her like a sea of stars, but her face has never turned towards them, nor has she looked down at the glittering carpet of the ocean below. Her attention has been fixed, wholly and completely, on him.

It makes him nervous in a way he hasn't felt in centuries - her silent perusal combined with the thrill of his newly discovered feelings leaving him quite lightheaded.

He wants her to watch him, but more than that he wants her to want.

He slips a hand into his jacket pocket in search of his flask - anything to soothe his frayed nerves - but he comes up empty.

“Lost something?” she calls, holding his flask between finger and thumb, her lip curled sardonically. “You're not the only pirate around here.”

“You need only have asked, Swan,” he says, shuffling over with hand outstretched. To his surprise she pulls the flask back, holding it close to her chest and watching him with hooded eyes.

“Is that true?” she asks, her voice low.

“Is what true, love?” he asks, snatching for the flask and scowling slightly as she refuses to hand it over.

“That I only have to ask.”

Her gaze flicks down his body as she speaks, then rises to fix on his lips.

Killian swallows hard.

“Maybe you should go below,” he ventures, oddly unnerved at the way she's still focused on him. “Get some rest.”

“You didn't answer my question,” she says, her tongue coming out to wet her lips and gods above but he can already taste her. “Do I only have to ask?”

He draws back slightly, his hand wandering to his belt and his eyebrow lifting. It’s safer this way - this flirtation, this dance - it’s something he’s perfected over centuries. Something he can rely on when his traitorous heart starts pounding out her name.

“Well I don’t know, love,” he says, bravado in every sway of his hips. “Why don’t you try?”

She juts her chin out, shoulders back, body taunt, and he thinks he might have misjudged her.

“I’m tired,” she says. “I’m tired and I don’t want to go below, because below is where my ex is, and my fairytale parents, and the woman who raised my son. My son, who I already lost, and I almost lost him again and if it weren’t - ”

She’s trembling, just a little, her body betraying her even though there’s fire burning behind her eyes, and he almost reaches for her only he’s afraid to be burnt. She set him smoldering in the jungles of Neverland with one kiss and if he touches her now - if he touches her now he’ll be cinders and ashes.

“If it weren’t for you,” she spits from between gritted teeth. “I’d have lost them all.”

“No you wouldn’t,” he shoots back, more certain than he’s ever been. “You wouldn’t have lost them, Swan. You’re a fighter. You’re the Savior. You’ll always win.”

She takes a deep breath, her eyes flitting closed before opening to fix on his.

“Will I?”

“I know it.”

She’s on him in seconds, her lips just as rum-tainted and soft as he remembers, her body just as forceful against his own as she pushes him back against the guardrail, her hands in his hair, at his collar, skimming under his coat.

“I want to forget,” she mutters breathlessly against his jaw as her hands slide lower and lower. “Hook, I want you to make me forget.”

“Here?” He curses himself for the crack in his voice, but they’re flying a fathom above the ocean’s surface and her over-protective father is dozing only feet below them. “Are you quite certain?”

“Didn’t take you for the shy type,” she says, her grin wolflike against his throat. “You said I only had to ask. I’m asking.”

“In that case,” he breathes, gathering his senses enough to pull her body against his own, his hand smoothing over the hot skin of her back before it works its way lower, her skintight breeches falling victim to a pirate’s quest for treasure as he works them over her hips, her sighs more precious than gold. “I am at your service.”

He turns her to face the endless sky, holding her close to his body with his arm while his fingers work to draw ever more delicious sounds from her mouth.

“Look at the stars,” he tells her as her head lolls back against his shoulder. “See how unchangeable they are? They’re fixed, as we are.” He runs kisses down the side of her throat, stopping to suckle lightly at her pulse point and revel in the way her tight walls flutter around him. “We can’t change our pasts, Swan, any more than we can change the stars. Only live with them.”

“You’d know,” she gasps out, grinding down against him as he works her clit with his thumb, her arm coming up to grasp the hairs at the back of his neck.

“Aye,” he twists his fingers, crooking them against that place that he knows will make her fall, and holds her tighter as she buries her cries in the collar of his coat, committing her every sound, her every twitch, to memory because he knows already she’ll never ask again. “That I do.”

--

2. Post CPR

“I’m still mad at you,” she spits as she peels wet leather down his legs, her mouth rough against his pulse point - the throb of his heartbeat simultaneously soothing and enraging her as she scrapes her teeth lower. “Don’t think for a second I’m going to forgive you for this.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he pants as she bites down - hard - on his collarbone, his grunt of pain morphing into a groan as she finally takes him in hand. “This is far preferable to forgiveness anyway.”

She wants to hit him, she realizes as she squeezes him just a little harder than she usually would, wants to scream and shout and drown him herself, but she contents herself with sucking a bruise into the damp skin of his chest, her hand moving in time with the answering jump of his cock.

He sags back slightly against the back of the tree she’s pushed him up against, and she swats at his hand as he tries to pull her closer - the platitudes she can see blooming on his pale kiss-bitten lips not at all what she wants to hear.

“I thought you were dead,” she spits. “I thought you were dead.”

“I know,” he mutters as she releases him, his eyes full and soft and unbearable. “Swan, I’m so sorry, I’m so - ”

She drops to her knees, cuts him off with her tongue, laving one long stripe to the underside of his cock before she’s taking him in - the prickling of tears at the corner of her eyes intensified as she forces him to hit the back of her throat again and again and -

His hand is gentle in her hair, his thumb coming to wipe at a rogue tear on her cheek, as he slows her frantic movements. She chances a glimpse up at him and sees his color high again, his skin flushed neverland red as she swirls her tongue around the head of his cock, his eyelashes fluttering as she takes a breath and sighs against him.

“I’m sorry,” he says as her hand comes up to clutch at his hip, his eyes closing entirely as she laps at the sensitive underside. “I’m sorry.”

“You should be,” she hisses, but there’s no heat in it now, not now the fire within her has been banked only to be relit between her thighs, her free hand reaching to stroke the soft skin between his as she wraps her fingers around the base of his cock while his winds itself into her hair and pushes her infinitesimally closer to where he’s aching for her mouth, solid and straining and alive.

She hears the dull thud of hook piercing wood as she opens her throat and swallows him down, her nose brushing wet curls as she works her other hand between his cheeks, her name a whispered prayer in the cold forest air, and something rises up inside her - something she’d thought lost the moment she’d chosen - chosen him.

He comes with a shout - hot and salty and with his hand tangled in her hair - and when she looks up he’s lost, his face slack as he struggles to hold himself up, and she can’t resist smiling around him before she releases him with a wet pop and a gentle, relieved kiss.

There’s more than one sort of magic, after all.

--

3. Enchanted Forest

She tries to sleep, she really does, curling up on her side on the forest floor with her eyes squeezed shut against the flicker and flare of the fire, but it’s hopeless from the off.

Behind her closed eyelids she watches as her mother burns, the crackling of their campfire a macabre soundtrack to her nightmare, and when she opens them -

When she opens them she sees him.

He sits near to the fire they’ve lit, keeping guard over the sleeping figures of Snow, Ruby, and David on the opposite side of the clearing, and doing a pretty terrible job of pretending not to be looking at her. She knows because she’s doing a pretty terrible job of not watching him.

She’s been doing a pretty terrible job of that since the beanstalk. In this case, practice does not make perfect.

“Are you tired?” she asks on the third occasion she opens her eyes to find him watching her, longing writ large over his face. “I can take over if you want?”

He shakes his head, poking disconsolately at the fire.

“You need your sleep, Swan.”

“Ugh,” she rolls onto her back and folds her arms across her chest. “Tell my body that, then.”

She can feel the weight of his stare change somehow, and when she risks a glance she sees him looking at her with a strange combination of calculation and fear.

“What?”

“I’ve - ” he coughs, clearing his throat, and she quirks an eyebrow at him. “I have an idea to help you sleep. If you’re amenable, that is.”

“You can try,” she scoffs, rolling away so that her back is to the fire. “Give it a shot, I guess.”

“All right,” he says, softer now, and closer. “I will.”

She feels him settle behind her, curling his body around hers and lifting her head so that it’s cushioned on his left arm.

“Cosy,” she says, wriggling slightly so that she’s comfortable - and closer. “Are you going to snuggle me to sleep?”

“Not exactly,” he says, and lowers his lips to her throat.

She half jumps out of her skin at that, but he doesn’t seem dissuaded, running a line of soft kisses from her ear to her collarbone and back until she relaxes against him, her head lolling against his arm as she allows him easier access.

“What are you doing?” she breathes out as his hand creeps over her belly, his palm hot against her breast. He stills, his hand going lax against her, and she arches into his touch. “I didn’t say stop.”

“Was it the running commentary you were after, Swan?” he asks, his scruff teasing the sensitive skin behind her ear. “Or merely a statement of intent?”

“Either. Both,” she says, pressing back against him as he nuzzles against her throat. “Is this a good idea?”

“You need to get a little more specific, love. It feels like a very good idea to me.”

He shifts his hips against her ass, and she almost moans when she feels how hard he is already. She’s been running on adrenaline for what feels like weeks now - thoughts of secret lives and surprise brothers and witches with jealousy issues filling her every waking moment - and it’s left her wound tight as a spring and ready to snap.

She almost had, back on the ship. The taste of the rum on his tongue (not his tongue) and the hard planes of his body (not his body) filling her with the desire to take and have and fuck everything except him and the pleasure he offered. Fuck everything especially him, this man who plays her body like an instrument through fifteen layers of clothing and at least half a gallon of rum.

It would be nice, she thinks, just to take what she wants for once. Especially when it’s offered up on a platter like this, Killian rocking his hips against her, his fingers sure and firm as they knead her breast.

(But it’s a soggy, leafy sort of platter, and her not-parents are only feet away, and -

And maybe there are a thousand reasons why she shouldn’t, but maybe she just doesn’t care.)

“You worry too much,” he says, nipping at her pulse point and grinning at the shudder that runs through her in response. “But say the word, and I shall go take a walk and never speak of this again.”

“Don’t believe you,” she says, and places her hand over his, guiding it lower until they reach her skirts and helping him gather the material in his fist.

“Believe it or not,” he says, his voice cracking slightly as she uses both her hands as well as his own to ruck the front of her skirt up to the tops of her thighs. “I do possess a modicum of self-control.”

“Do you really,” she says, turning her head so that she can kiss his jaw, a wicked grin spreading across her face as she guides his hand to where she wants him. “That is a shame.”

“Minx,” he teases, clever fingers making quick work of pushing her panties aside and moving to swallow her moan as he sinks two inside. “Hush now, Swan. You don’t want to get caught out now do you?”

He thumbs a slow circle over her clit as he speaks and she makes some incoherent sound in the back of her throat just loudly enough that Ruby stirs on the other side of the clearing.

“You’re going to have to do better than that,” he breathes against her lips, as he twists his fingers, lifting his thumb away as she swivels her hips, searching for more friction than he seems willing to provide. “Promise me, Swan.”

She nods desperately, straining her neck as she tries to capture his lips with her own.

“Promise,” she mutters softly. “I promise, Killian. Please - ”

She doesn’t need to say anything else, his mouth coming down hard as he changes the angle of his fingers so that she can rock against him, the cold metal of his rings pressing against as he wind her higher and higher, only his tongue in her mouth stopping her crying out as he flicks at her clit, crooking his fingers until she’s squirming against him, her nose pressed to his neck, an elastic band made of desperation and need and please please just there please and -

The band snaps in a silent scream against his sweat slicked throat, and he groans his approval into her hair.

“I win,” she gasps as he strokes her through the aftershocks, her whole body trembling as the cool night air brushes her sensitive flesh. “Told you.”

“Very impressive,” he says, and the strain in his voice remind her that there’s still something very insistent pressed against her ass. “Next time, we’ll try this somewhere a little more private, aye?”

“Next time?” she places her hand on his as the sensations get a little uncomfortable, but doesn’t move to replace her skirts. Instead entwining her fingers with his slick ones, and squeezing. “You’re very sure of yourself.”

“Oh darling,” he says, lifting their joined hands until he can brush a kiss over her knuckles. “I absolutely am.”

--

4. First Date

She lets him walk her home, lets him drape his new jacket over her shoulders and take her hand in his new hand, lets him tell her about the constellations and how she’s more beautiful than all of them, and the whole time she gazes at him with her eyes blown wide with something he daren’t name, her cheeks flushed from the cold.

“We’d best be getting back, love,” he says after they’ve lingered at the docks long enough to set her nipples straining against the dainty fabric of her dress and his self-control tumbling. “Your parents will be worried.”

“Why, because I’m out with a scoundrel?” she asks, her tongue peeking out of the corner of her mouth as she looks up at him through long dark lashes. “Or because they think I might do something about it?”

He tries to laugh, but it dies in his throat as she leans against him, her palms flat against his new, thinner, vest as she lifts her chin to kiss him, her words barely a whisper against his parted lips,

“They ought to be.”

He tries to keep it chaste, tries not to answer the sweep of her tongue with his own, but then she’s sliding her hands down his body and his trousers are becoming more confining by the moment and -

“I don’t pillage and plunder on a first date,” she reminds him as she cups his burgeoning erection in her warm hand.

“So I recall,” he breathes, chasing her kiss as he cants his hips against her hand.

“So you’d better take me home,” she continues, moving to reach under his shirt, her fingernails raking against the skin of his stomach until they catch against the band of his trousers.

“Probably,” he sighs, hardly aware of the way she smiles against his neck as he turns his face to the sky. “But Swan, you’re not making it easy for a man here.”

“Of course,” she continues, her fingertips questing lower until he’s forced to ball his hands into fists at his sides just to resist the urge to ravish her against some filthy dockside warehouse. “A real scoundrel would know I have a fire escape against my bedroom window. And I’m really bad at remembering to lock it.”

He pulls back, surprised.

“Is that so? I thought you had a rule.”

She grins, her eyes bright, lips kiss-bitten, and he wonders what he ever did to deserve this woman looking at him this way.

“I guess I hadn’t been out with you yet.”

--

He almost turns back when he hears the muted tones of her parents from behind the closed door, almost heads back to the Jolly for a flagon of rum and his own two hands. That would be good form, after all. She’s not a conquest, his Emma. Not a woman to be bedded and then left like some shameful little dalliance born of too much drink and not enough thought.

But then he thinks of her face - flushed and pretty - as she offered him a place in her bed, and of the way her eyes had shone as he’d asked for the honor of another ‘date’, and he knows he’ll never be the man who steals that smile from her lips. Not if he can help it.

And anyway, he’s only human.

The fire escape sways slightly under his weight, and he’s glad of the added grip of his newly returned left hand as he swings himself up to the highest window.

She’s left it open slightly, a flutter of gauzy curtain peeking out into the outside world. There’s a slight clatter from inside and a muffled oath, and then he hears her - voice low and sultry in a way he’s not at all used to.

“Are you coming?”

He pushes the window up with both hands, and swings himself into the room with as much dignity as he can manage - which is somewhat less than usual in this realm’s ‘jeans’.

“That is the plan, love,” he starts, grin wide, but then he stops, his whole body simultaneously going slack and roaring to life at the sight before him.

Emma sits against the headboard of her bed, clothed in nothing but the scattered moonlight from the window and waves of her golden hair that has been released from its bonds to cascade around her shoulders and over the swell of her breasts. Her legs are parted, one knee drawn up, so that he can see where she’s bare and pink and already glistening as she bites down on her lower lip and crooks a finger towards him.

“We’ll have to be quiet,” he hears her say, although it’s difficult to concentrate over the sound of his pulse rushing through his ears. “But Elsa snores like a truck so that should cover most of - ”

He can’t hold back a moment longer, her knee finds itself thrown over his shoulder as he dips his head to kiss her, his tongue writing sonnets against her most sensitive spots as she bucks beneath him.

She follows her own advice, only half stifled whimpers escaping her as he brings his hands into play, one spreading her wider while the other teases at her entrance, his own cock straining almost painfully against his zipper as she welcomes him inside.

Her fingers fist in his hair and he ruts helplessly against the floral bedspread, looking up from between her thighs to she her head thrown back, the tendons in her throat stark in the moonlight as she seeks her release and by the gods if she isn’t the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. He tells her as much, whispering his devotion against her as she shudders beneath him, pressing into her her skin with every twist of his fingers, every careful flick of his tongue.

She falls apart, but he’s the one who has fallen.

--

5. Gold’s Cabin

Don’t you know, Emma? It’s you.

He says it like a sinner might at confession,  his voice barely more than a whisper, his words rough as though they’ve been torn from his very soul. Maybe they have, she thinks. Buried beneath centuries of anger and hate and loss, this little spark of hope he’s carried for so long finally being allowed out into the light. Vulnerable. Desperate.

She wishes she was a better person, a better lover. One who could soothe him with words of devotion and comfort, one who could take that little spark and treasure it until it became a blazing fire.

But he’s not the only one with a lifetime of baggage weighing down his soul, and he’s always been braver. His heart has never been a mystery, his words like poetry written just for her.

Well, Emma’s not much good with words.

She’s always been a woman of action.

His clothes are stiff from seawater, and she knows there’s more to the story there than she’s heard so far, and it makes it difficult to work the buttons loose on his vest, her fingers stuttering against his chest as she struggles to release them.

“Emma,” he whispers against her mouth, his hand resting over her own and stilling her attempts. “You don’t have to.”

She pulls back and eyes his vest critically.

“You’ve got a point,” she says. “Hold on.”

She wrinkles her nose in concentration, channeling her magic into her desires just the way Regina had tried to teach her. There’s a rush of warm air between them, and her lips curve into a smile when she sees the results.

The vest is gone, shirt too, and Killian is looking at her with wide, delighted eyes, a hint of a smirk at the corner of his lips.

“Been practicing that one love?”

“Oh,” she says, shrugging her jacket off before pressing her palms against the warm planes of his chest. “You have no idea.”

He laughs, and it sends warmth flooding through her, his hand and hook gentle at her waist as she walks him backward across the room to the small bed in the corner.

“Feel free to practice whenever you like,” he says as the back of his knees hit the side of the bed forcing him to sit and look up at her through long eyelashes as she kneels over him. “I’ve no complaints.”

“Such a fan of my magic,” she sighs and leans down to press her lips to his, removing the rest of the layers between them with a wave of her hand.

He groans into her mouth, his hand coming to rest against her ass as he slides the curve of his hook up the inside of her thigh, the cold metal making her gasp as he runs it along the crease of her hip.

“Every. Part,” he says, punctuating his words with a squeeze of her flesh, the hint of steel against where she’s aching for his touch.

She leans forward, slightly worried that he might catch himself with his own hook if she doesn’t, and takes his face in both her hands.

“I know,” she says, and rests her forehead against his, tries to force the words that won’t come until she’s left half pleading for an understanding. “Killian, I know.”

His smile is a tremulous thing as she takes him in hand, his hook moving to settle against her ribcage as she slides herself against him, his breath catching as she lowers herself down and settles into the burn of him.

“Good,” he exhales, his body melting into her own until they’re so tightly pressed together not even magic can come between them. “Good.”

“I mean it,” she whispers into his ear as she rises and falls, the fire growing brighter with every grind of her hips, his teeth sharp against the juncture of neck and shoulder. “You must know I mean it.”

He smiles against the bruise he’s left behind, and she thinks that maybe – despite everything - he does.