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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 10 months ago

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Napoleonville [Chapter 7: The House Of Cards]

Series Summary: The year is 1988. The town is Napoleonville, Louisiana. You are a small business owner in need of some stress relief. Aemond is a stranger with a taste for domination. But as his secrets are revealed, this casual arrangement becomes something more volatile than either of you could have ever imagined.

Chapter Warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), dom/sub dynamics, smoking, drinking, drugs, infidelity, kids, parenthood, bodily injury, ANGST!!!!!!

Word Count: 5.8k.

Link to chapter list (and all my writing): HERE.

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Under blue light like the gleam of sapphires, Aemond is standing shirtless at his bathroom sink and cleaning blood and grime from his face with a wet washcloth that has turned from white to a muddy maroon. His missing left eye is angled towards you; his scar looks black beneath the cobalt glow. He’s gingerly manipulating his eyelids so he can wipe away the filth, leaning in close to the mirror. Then his hands begin to shake and he throws the washcloth to the dark tile floor. The walls are painted like Van Gogh’s Starry Night; you remember learning about it in your 8th grade art class. The bathtub is deep, spacious. You think of Aemond filling it and sinking into the water with you, misty with soap and steam. You wonder how long it will be until Christabel is lolling in this tub, clean before she ever touched the water: no scars, no history, blue blood and pure fantasies.

He hears when the floorboards creak under your bare feet. He turns his face so he can see you, an intruder lurking in the doorway of his bedroom, soaked clothes beneath the warm, dry, smoke-smelling Marlboro jacket he gave you. “Get out.”

“Aemond, let me help—”

“Get the fuck out.”

But he hasn’t said the right word, and you both know it. He hasn’t told you to stop. You go to him and ignore it when he tries to push you away, when he tries to yank his hands away from yours.

“Don’t touch me—!”

But you aren’t trying to grab him. You’re trying to give yourself to him. You force your wrists into his grasp and then he understands, then he feels the desperate hunger flare up in him like a lighter flicked to life.

His fingers tighten; he drags you closer. Then he says, low and husky: “I’m in charge now.”

“I know, I know. I want you to be.”

“You’re going to do exactly what I tell you to.”

“Yes,” you whisper, perfect obedience, helpless need. You gaze up into his glinting, savage right eye. You do not allow yourself to glance at the empty socket of the left. That would be disastrous, ruinous, an irredeemable betrayal.

Aemond takes you to his bed: thick wooden bedposts and a navy blue velvet canopy swimming with koi fish built of silver stars, celestial fins and constellation tails. He tears off the Marlboro jacket, your drenched Pepsi t-shirt, your simple cotton bra. “Don’t move,” he growls, and momentarily leaves you. Moonlight streams in through the stained glass windows of fractured, kaleidoscopic blue. Goosebumps rise on your bare skin. You can hear the friction of a drawer opening and then closing again. Aemond returns. Every move of his hands is rough, insistent. You don’t care if he hurts you, if he scrapes or bruises you. You wish he could bruise you down to the bone, stay trapped there in an indigo pool too deep for anyone to cut out, remind you of his closeness with every ache, never leave you.

Aemond clicks a handcuff around your right wrist; not a silk scarf, not the weight of his own hands, but cold metal that he tightens until it bites into your flesh. You should tell him to loosen it, but you don’t. You want to help Aemond. You want him to keep going; you want him to touch you until you forget about Jade Dragon Energy, Lake Verret, The Last Desire, Christabel.

He loops the short chain around one of the posts at the foot of the canopy bed and then fastens your left wrist as well. The handcuffs are secured in an indentation between ornate carvings of the sun and the moon; you cannot slide them up or down more than a few inches. Your arms are trapped above your head. You are facing the bed—the one he’ll soon be sharing with Christabel—and cannot turn around. Behind you, you can hear Aemond unzipping his jeans that are still dripping with brackish lake water. Now he’s yanking off your shorts and panties, so hurriedly you almost trip when he wrenches them past your ankles. Aemond kicks your feet apart—farther, farther—and then pushes you down until your back is bent as low as possible. You moan, just as much in pain as ravenous anticipation: your wrists burn, your shoulders stretch until you can imagine them splitting open and spilling blood like a river, knots of ivory bone peeking through the gore.

He’s touching you, but it doesn’t feel like much. He’s saying things, but you can’t hear him over the hurricane raging in your skull, thrashing waves of fear, dread, agony, heartache.

Has he brought other women here? Who will distract him when he’s done with me?

Aemond’s hips are braced against yours, his fingers are between your legs. He’s making you wet, but you know you aren’t ready. Inside, you are tense, uneasy, unable to surrender yourself to him. You close your eyes and try to remember what it was like the first time you were together, or the second, or the third time in the back of his Audi Quattro. Those memories feel so far away now, like they happened a hundred years ago or in a different galaxy or at the bottom of the ocean. Aemond’s teeth nip territorially at your throat. He’s tearing open a condom wrapper.

He’s not mine, he’s not mine, he’ll never be mine.

Now he’s forcing his way into you, and he has no way of knowing that it feels like gasoline on a fire, like scissors and knives, like the first time Willis convinced you to sleep with him again after Cadi was born. And Aemond is so big that the discomfort doesn’t fade into a vaguely unpleasant numbness but swells like gales as a storm rolls in. You’re facing away from him, so Aemond can’t see when you wince or squeeze your eyes shut. You don’t try to slow his rhythm, you don’t ask him to be more gentle, you don’t tell him to stop. You want to help him and he needs this, even if he doesn’t need you.

Aemond twists your hair in his fist and tugs your head back, and when you whimper he mistakes it for kindling passion, for something approaching euphoria. His thrusts are hammering, merciless. He’s panting as he battles against his own climax. And he’s beginning to get impatient, too; his fingers stroke you relentlessly, when you glance back at him his brow is creased with thinly-veiled frustration, confusion, disappointment.

I have to finish, you realize, horrified. If I don’t, he’s going to think it’s because of him, his face, his eye, his weakness, his unworthiness.

You’re nowhere close to finishing. You know you won’t be able to; there’s too much pain in your body, too much torment in your mind.

I’ve faked it plenty of times before, on other nights with other men. I can fake it again.

You breathe in gasps, you moan, you beg, you arch your back, and then—

Aemond strikes the bedpost with an open palm, hard and loud enough to make you yelp. He hisses through your hair, fever-red, hateful: “Don’t fucking lie to me.”

“Aemond, it’s not you, it’s not your fault, it’s me, I’m so sorry, I’m just—”

“I want you out.” He disentangles himself from you, snaps off the condom, snatches a set of tiny keys off the floor where he must have left them.

“Don’t do this,” you plead as he unlocks the handcuffs, cold rattling metal. “Don’t make this about something it isn’t. Aemond? Aemond, please, it’s my fault—”

“Get out,” he says, stepping away from you. “Right now. Go.”

You reach for him, your fingertips settling on his bare chest, damp with sweat and still tarnished with the ancient silt of Lake Verret, with streaks of his own blood. “Aemond, listen to me—”

“Stop!” he roars, and your hands fall away. He points to the door that leads to the hallway. “Get out. Get the fuck out. Find someone else. I’m done.”

“What? No!”

He picks up your denim shorts and hurls them at you, then your Pepsi t-shirt and bra and panties. You fumble to catch them, and as your hands are occupied Aemond leans in close, grabs your face roughly by the jaw, forces you to look at him. The gory void of his left eye socket is close enough that you can see the flecks of dark grit from the lake that he will have to wash out of it. And you flinch—not at the wound itself, but for the child who was once maimed—and now you’ve proved him right.

Something flashes across Aemond’s scarred face, so animalistic in its mindless fury that for a sliver of a second you actually think he might hit you. Then he turns away without a word, walks into the bathroom, slams the door shut. As you pull on your clothes, you can hear his knuckles striking the mirror with sick thumps until it shatters. You bolt from the bedroom, through the hallway, down the staircase, surrounded by portraits of blonde strangers with foreign names, and whatever world they lived in wasn’t yours. Their world was made of gold and marble, contracts and lineage, chandeliers and champagne and coins sticky with some anonymous worker’s blood, and it was beautiful but it was cold, hollow, lonely, everything that would have made them human peeled away like a snake’s skin. You don’t belong here. You will never belong here. Your world is sloping floors and cracked paint and sun and salt and struggle, but it is real.

In the grand foyer, Vhagar is guarding the front door. The blue merle Great Dane bares her teeth as you approach. There is a rumble from low in her chest, a ferocity in her reptilian green-gold eyes.

“I really can’t deal with you right now,” you say, voice breaking as tears spill down your cheeks.

Vhagar trots towards you and you look around for a rescuer, Alicent or Criston or Daeron; but the house is hushed and still. You recall how Alicent once shoved Vhagar’s face away to fend her off. You don’t feel brave enough to attempt that.

“No!” you try instead. “Bad dog! Go terrorize someone else!”

The Great Dane snarls, ropy strands of drool dribbling from her jowls, and you fall silent. Vhagar sniffs at your ankles and then your fingers as you stand frozen. She seems to discover something that intrigues her. I smell like Aemond, you think, and almost start crying again. For the second time, your eyes search for a champion and find none. The dog nudges your right hand with her muzzle, licks at your palm, and then—bizarrely, shockingly—pushes her head under it and blinks up at you expectantly.

“What?” you say, confounded. Vhagar waits, suddenly cordial. Her long tail swishes; her floppy ears hang limp and relaxed. She doesn’t leave until you pet the top of her colossal head—once, twice, three times—and then she stalks off into the shadows of the kitchen. You hurry to the front door before Vhagar can return to second-guess your newfound alliance.

You step out onto the front porch, white paint and towering columns, lightning bugs and screeching cicadas. It is only when you survey the flock of Audis, Porsches, Alfa Romeos, and Lexuses in the cobblestone driveway that you remember you didn’t drive yourself here.

“Goddammit.” Then you catch a whiff of marijuana.

You turn to your left. Aegon is slumped in a rocking chair and smoking a joint. He has just showered. His long hair is wet and messy; he wears a tie-dye tank top, purple gym shorts, and neon yellow flip flops. Sunfyre is curled up in his lap. “You need a ride, cake lady?”

“Not from you.”

“It’s just weed. Weed isn’t a drug.”

“The Reagan administration would disagree.”

He rolls his eyes. “Those miserable fascists. They’d outlaw orgasms and ice cream if they could.” He slips his car keys out of his shorts pocket and spins them around with his index finger. “Come on. Let’s go for a drive.”

Aegon’s Porsche 911 has a custom paint job, glittering gold with pale pink accents. It’s even smaller than Aemond’s Audi; the back seats are impossibly tiny, and in any case they are filled to the windows with empty McDonald’s cups, Taco Bell bags, and Popeyes boxes.

“Here, hold him,” Aegon says, and tosses the ferret to where you sit in the passenger seat. The weasel-like creature scrabbles over your thighs, circling, burrowing, making some deranged gleeful sound halfway between a clicking and a chuckle.

“Um…?!”

“It’s fine, it’s fine, he’ll settle down.” Aegon starts the car and pitches the remains of his joint out the open window. “Where do you live?”

The directions are simple, a straight shot east on Route 401. But it’s going to be a long ride. Aegon is only driving 15 miles per hour.

“So,” he says, noting your bloodshot eyes and dazed preoccupation. “It didn’t go well. With Aemond, I mean.”

“I don’t want to talk about him.”

“Sure you do.”

You stare out your window, night wind in your hair and your lungs, stinging in your watery eyes. The southern live oaks—vague, monstrous shapes with branches like prehistoric claws—block out much of the moon, the stars. Distractedly, you rest a hand on Sunfyre’s small, furry back. “What happened to his face?” And then, remembering what Aegon told Viserys in the foyer: “What’s the North Sea?”

“It’s on the east coast of the U.K. It starts down by France and the Netherlands and goes all the way up to Norway. Jade Dragon has a bunch of North Sea rigs. I don’t know if you’ve ever seen offshore oil rigs, maybe on the news or something?”

“I haven’t.” When you look down at your wrists, beneath the dim silvery moonlight you can still see the indentations that the handcuffs left in your flesh.

“Well they’re fucking terrifying. You’re on a metal platform in the middle of the goddamn ocean, and the waves are smacking into it, and the whole rig is lurching back and forth. You’re standing maybe 200 feet above sea level. From that height, the water’s like concrete. If a man falls off, they never find the body. The sharks eat him, or the waves rip him apart, or if his gear is heavy enough he just sinks to the bottom and implodes like a crushed can when the pressure gets too strong. I hate those things. I hate them. And of course Viserys was always trying to drag me along when he’d fly up there to inspect the company property. Gotta parade the heir around. Gotta turn me into a real man somehow. I’d be doing lines in the helicopter the whole way there, trying to work up the nerve to step out onto the deck when we landed.” Aegon gives you a wry smirk, shadowy beneath the obstructed moonlight. “This was before Viserys gave up on me.”

“Aemond lost his eye on an oil rig?”

“Yeah,” Aegon says. “He was young, eight or nine, something like that. And he begged our father to take him with us. Can you believe that? I’m hiding under the dining room table and Aemond is clawing at Viserys’ feet, promising he can handle it. So Viserys says okay, fine, Aemond can come too. Mum and Criston didn’t want Aemond to go, Helaena didn’t like it, hell, even Otto thought it was too dangerous. But Viserys is God in the Targaryen family religion, so Aemond got to go to the North Sea.”

You’re watching Aegon, eyes wide, heart pounding, appalled. He was a little kid. He wasn’t even Cadi’s age. “Viserys didn’t protect him?”

“Oh yeah, at first he did. He was showing Aemond off to everyone—Look at my son! So brave, so clever!—and meanwhile I’m lying on the floor of the helicopter having a panic attack, I can’t stop thinking I’m about to go plummeting into the ocean, and Criston is kneeling beside me trying to strap an oxygen mask onto my face.” Aegon sighs, gazing at the yellow lines of Route 401. “And then Viserys got to chatting with some of the engineers and forgot all about Aemond. Aemond who? The middle son, the forgotten son, the runt, the backup plan. And Aemond started exploring, poking around in the wrong places, and he ended up watching some of the workers spinning chain, which is how they connect drill pipes together. A chain snapped. It hit Aemond in the face, fractured his skull, and basically liquified his eye upon impact. He was in a coma for two weeks. We all thought he was going to die. But he lived, and Viserys…that bastard was nowhere to be found while Aemond was lying half-dead in Moorfields Hospital. But the day Aemond woke up, you better believe our father waltzed into the room with balloons and Cadbury bars, gushing about how happy he was that Aemond was alright, how proud he was, how relieved. Within a month he was indifferent again. But Aemond’s been chasing that feeling ever since. Being wanted. Being seen.”

“Why do any of you do it?” you ask, nauseous with despair. “Why do you destroy yourselves for Viserys? Why do you listen to him, why don’t you leave?”

“I can’t leave,” Aegon says, stunned. “Do I look employable to you? I’d end up living in the woods with the paranoid schizophrenics.”

“But you’d be free.”

“I don’t want to be free,” Aegon replies. “Freedom? That scares the hell out of me. I don’t know who I am without my family. I don’t have the first fucking clue. I don’t want to be a Targaryen, but I am a Targaryen, you know? And there’s no going back. That’s my gravity. That’s everything I am. Trying to imagine a life without Aemond, Helaena, Daeron, Criston, Alicent, even Otto, even Viserys? I wouldn’t exist. I would blink out of existence like the Big Bang in reverse. They’re my bones, I’m just what grows around them. I’m a jellyfish, I’m a tangle of guts and arteries.”

You stare at Aegon as faint ribbons of moonlight stream in through the open windows, voice choked, tears falling onto Sunfyre’s sand-colored fur. “I don’t know how to help Aemond.”

“Yes you do.” Aegon smiles. “Give him what he wants.”

“I think he’s done with me now.”

“No, no way,” Aegon says. “What did he do, freak out and yell at you? Break things, tell you to fuck off? That happens sometimes. He doesn’t mean it. He’ll be back on your doorstep in a week.”

“He always has to have a girl. But that girl doesn’t have to be me.”

Aegon laughs, his blonde hair flying in the wind. “New girl, new rules. You ruined him.”

“What?”

Aegon grins. “He’s in love with you.”

You pet Sunfyre with one hand while you swipe tears from your cheeks with the other, sniffling, shaking your head. “I can’t be his mistress. It will kill me.” I want more than that. I want all of him.

“You’ll get used to it,” Aegon says encouragingly. “Criston did. Camilla did.”

“Please shut up about Camilla Parker Bowles.” You point as the mouth of your short gravel driveway comes into view. “That’s it. We’re here.”

Inside, the house is dark and quiet and cold; you were in such a rush to meet Willis and help Aemond find his ever-errant brother that you accidentally left the air conditioner on all day. You shut off the whirring machine in the kitchen window—Aemond put that there, he did it for me—and then turn on the little pink Panasonic boombox so it feels like someone else is here. Roxette’s Listen To Your Heart plucks mournfully from the speakers.

You draw yourself a bath, descend into the hot water, scrub Aemond off of you. The walls are adorned with no Van Gogh’s Starry Night, no stately portraits, no grandeur or glitter or marble or gold. They are only a pale, listless blue lined with thin cracks through the paint like the sinking house’s veins.

~~~~~~~~~~

Seven sunsets, six dusks, and then it is Friday all over again. You help Amir close up the bakery and then crawl into bed: head pounding, room spinning, that endless late-afternoon light of the summer flooding in through the window blinds. You unplug the phone on the nightstand and nestle into the pillows, hiding your face from the world. Cadi is fine, she’s blissfully playing her Nintendo and she knows there’s some of Amir’s leftover ribs and rice in the refrigerator. She doesn’t need you, and this will only become more true with each passing year. There was a time when you yearned for Cadi to become more independent. Now you’re beginning to see the horror in it, that bittersweetness that parents always talk about.

One day she’ll be gone. And she’ll get to choose whether she ever comes back.

No one has ever chosen you. It seems unwise to assume there will be exceptions to the rule.

You doze off for a while. There are distant noises you try to ignore: the kitchen phone ringing, the humming of the air conditioner, the drone of the microwave, the Super Mario Bros. theme. When you wake, it is because you hear the bedroom door creaking open. Through blinking, bleary eyes, you see Aemond’s silhouette in the doorway. You know it’s him; you would know even if he wasn’t wearing his familiar Marlboro jacket and red Converses and teal duffle bag slung over one shoulder. You would know him anywhere.

You say, unsure if you’re more angry or depressed: “I thought you were done.”

He ignores this. He has two eyes again, one real and one a lie, and this seems to be becoming a recurring theme in his life. “I called. Cadi said you were sick.”

“It’s just a headache. I’ll be fine.”

“Do you get them a lot?”

“Yeah.” When I’m stressed. When I’m sad.

There’s a palm on your forehead, cool and gentle, feeling for fever. “Have you taken anything for it?”

“Nothing ever works.”

You recoil from the thud of the duffle bag against the sloping wooden floor; every sound is too loud. You have your eyes pinched shut, but you can hear Aemond unzipping the bag and then opening some sort of container. “Try this,” he says, pushing a pill between your lips. “They knock out my nerve pain when it flares up.” Then he passes you the glass of sweet tea you left on your nightstand. You sit up to swallow the pill and collapse back onto the bed. The wildflower-patterned duvet covers you up to your chest. You moan softly, touching your fingertips to your temple.

There are small thumps as Aemond quietly kicks off his Converses, and then his weight settles onto the mattress. He waits to see if you’ll tell him to stop. You don’t. He folds around you, blood and bones and muscle and warmth. His lips brush against the shell of your ear. One of his hands interlaces with yours and settles on your waist. You inhale his smoke, his cologne, his strange intermittent tenderness. He murmurs: “I’m sorry I’m doing this to you.”

“I wish I could stop,” you answer through a thick fog.

“Stop what?”

“Wishing it was possible. Wishing we were different people.”

Aemond doesn’t reply. Perhaps there’s nothing more to say. Within minutes, you are unconscious again.

When your eyes flutter open—painless, glass-clear—the room is dark and you are alone. The flashing red numbers on your alarm clock read 10:14 p.m.

“What?!” you gasp, scrambling out of bed. You rarely nap, and never for that long.

You hurry to Cadi’s room, expecting to find her bored or irritated or prepared to launch a formal complaint. Instead, she and Aemond are sitting on the floor and watching Ferris Bueller’s Day Off; Ferris is currently singing Twist And Shout on top of a parade float. There are several Pizza Hut boxes scattered around them; Cadi is eating a slice of pepperoni and mushroom. She and Aemond are mid-conversation. She is asking him as you walk in: “Wow, so Bobbi was on the news and everything?”

“He sure was. But they made him sit in this glass box because the CBS Evening News staff were so scared of AIDS they wouldn’t go anywhere near him, not even to wire him up with a microphone.”

“That’s totally bogus.”

“Yeah. Yeah it is.”

“How old was he when he died?”

“Thirty-two.”

“Really?” Cadi says, alarmed. “Grownups can die that young?”

“Sure. It’s rare, but it happens.”

Cadi looks to where you stand in the doorway. “Mom, aren’t you like thirty?”

“Almost. I’m a few years away from it.”

“Still,” Cadi says; and you witness something unfold on her face that you can’t remember seeing since she was a toddler. She is shocked, she is afraid. Her eyes shimmer; she’s forgotten all about her pizza. Aemond is watching her, realizing he’s made her aware of something that didn’t exist in her mind before.

“Oh no, love, I didn’t mean to scare you,” Aemond tells Cadi, resting a hand on her tiny shoulder. “Bobbi Campbell had a very serious disease, he wasn’t your average person. Most grownups live a long time. Your mum is going to live to be a hundred, okay? Maybe even a hundred and ten. Maybe even a hundred and twenty. It depends on how many cupcakes she eats.”

“Okay,” Cadi says, somewhat pacified but still shaken up.

“Do you want any pizza?” Aemond asks you. “We got cheese, pepperoni and mushroom, and supreme.”

“No, I’m not really hungry, thanks though.”

“Are you feeling better?”

“I am. What did you give me?”

Aemond smiles. “Percocet.”

Your eyebrows shoot up. “No wonder it worked so well.”

“I left a bottle with about ten pills in your bathroom cabinet. But don’t start liking it too much. You’ll end up like Aegon.” He staggers to his feet.

“You’re leaving?” Cadi asks, openly disappointed.

“It had to happen sooner or later. It’s long past your bedtime. And I don’t live here. You couldn’t pay me to either, not with that dinosaur that lives in your front yard. I’m in fear for my life every time I visit.”

“The gator wouldn’t hurt you,” Cadi objects. “She’s too small. She’s just a baby. Next time, can you bring Gremlins?”

“Sure. I think I’ve got that VHS. Daeron might have borrowed it.” Aemond gives Cadi’s hair an affectionate ruffle and she tolerates this, something you would not have believed was possible. “I’m going to go talk to your mum for a few minutes and then head out, alright?”

“Okay. Goodnight.”

“Cheers, love.” Then Aemond follows you to the kitchen.

You pour yourself a fresh glass of sweet tea as Aemond helps himself to a snickerdoodle cupcake from one of the cake plates on the kitchen table. He licks off the frosting as he gazes at you, and you try not to feel anything. “You didn’t have to stay.”

“I know. I wanted to.” His right eye flicks down to the copy of the Bayou Journal that lies on the counter. The headline proclaims: Early tests reveal increased salinity of Lake Verret; breach of underground salt dome is suspected. “I’m sorry about that,” Aemond says awkwardly.

“Sorry about what? Ruining our lake?”

“Well, it’s not ruined, technically. It’s just…salty.”

“Aemond, almost all of the fish are going to die.”

“Will the alligators die too?” he asks hopefully.

“No. They won’t.”

“Oh.” He takes an evasive bite of his cupcake then changes the subject. “Come to my house tomorrow. After Willis picks up Cadi.”

“We’ve had this conversation before.”

“Yes, and now we’re having it again.”

“I don’t think this situation is good for either of us,” you say, but with pitifully little conviction.

Aemond places his snickerdoodle cupcake on the counter and steps towards you. And for a moment you think he’s going to order you, to command you, and you know if he does you’ll obey. But that’s not what Aemond is doing. He cradles your face in his hands and kisses you deeply, unexpectedly, without any roughness to it. Then he touches his forehead to yours as he whispers: “I was wrong. I shouldn’t have done that. I was wrong, I was wrong. I was fucked up. But I’m better now.”

“Why did you jump into the water for me?”

“Come over tomorrow,” he pleads again without answering you.

“Aemond…I don’t think I can.” I think this is destroying me. I think it’s flaying me alive, carving me away piece by piece.

“I don’t have to fuck you. I don’t even have to touch you. I just want you to be there.”

“Can I bring a friend?”

This catches Aemond off-guard. “Amir?”

“Have you not yet memorized my long, long, long list of friends?”

“Of course you can bring Amir,” Aemond says. “He’s always welcome. The only reason I haven’t invited Cadi is because Aegon leaves coke all over the house and I don’t think a kid should be exposed to that.”

“Yeah, I mean obviously I agree.”

Aemond kisses you again, a swift parting token, kind and weightless. “Bye, Cupcake. See you tomorrow.” He wolfs down the last of the snickerdoodle cupcake, grabs his teal duffle bag from the living room couch and is gone, the off-kilter front porch steps groaning under his Converses. You stand in the kitchen sipping your sweet tea for a while, listening to the air conditioner purring and the cicadas shrieking and the long-eared owl hooting as it swoops for prey. Then you begin pulling bowls and baking pans out of the cabinets.

Cadi appears, helps herself to a beignet, and turns on the little pink boombox on the kitchen counter. “Hey Mom, listen, it’s your favorite song!” She cranks up the volume: Heaven Is A Place On Earth.

You force a smile. “Yeah, it is.”

And you wait until Cadi dashes off to the bathroom to take her shower before you change the station.

~~~~~~~~~~

“What the…?” Amir squints at Sunfyre, who is floating by himself on a neon green inflatable raft in the middle of the swimming pool. “What the fuck is that? A Chernobyl hamster?”

You laugh. You’re wearing denim shorts and an unceremonious white t-shirt over your swimsuit, Kmart sneakers, hair assailed by wind and humidity, a tiny bouquet of wildflowers that Amir picked for you tucked into your back pocket. “It’s a ferret.”

“It’s a freak of nature. This is how you know the Bible isn’t real, why would Noah have let that mutant on the Ark?”

“Oh, my very favorite Napoleonville residents!” Alicent calls, beckoning you and Amir over to where she, Criston, and Daeron are gathered around a dark green beach towel littered with playing cards, gambling chips, strawberry daiquiris, and Marlboro cigarettes. Apparently, they run in the family. Alicent puffs anxiously on one, rings gleaming on her elegant fingers. “Come play with us. Do you have good poker faces?”

“I certainly hope so,” Amir replies as he pushes his tortoiseshell glasses up the bridge of his nose. He’s wearing swim trunks patterned with bright, multicolored geometric shapes. “I suspect we can’t afford to lose.”

“Can’t afford to lose,” Daeron’s blue macaw squawks from where she is perched on a nearby lounge chair, and Amir gapes at it, startled.

“Quiet, Tessarion,” Daeron soothes the bird.

“If you incur any debts, Aemond can pay them.” Alicent smiles warmly, then takes notice of the two white bakery boxes you’re carrying. “Have you brought us more of your scrumptiously authentic Southern desserts? I’ve been raving about them to all my friends back home in London. I ring them and they’re mesmerized by the notion of hummingbird cake and sweet tea. They’re even having their own kitchen staff try to replicate them.”

How antebellum. “It’s nothing too special. Just a blueberry custard pie. And some Cap’n Crunch Treats for Aegon.”

“Wonderful!” Alicent chimes. “Criston? You must get us plates and silverware immediately. We must sample this new delicacy straight away.”

Criston dutifully rises and disappears into the house they call The Last Desire. Helaena—with her chameleon Dreamfyre clinging to her shoulder—is absorbed in a conversation with Otto as they wade in the shallow end of the pool. Aegon has fallen asleep on a lounge chair and is snoring loudly; the boombox beside him is playing She Blinded Me With Science. Aegon is turning lobster red beneath the sun, but no one has bothered to wake him up. Before you can do it, Aemond walks through the French doors of the living room and out onto the cobblestones, wearing his black swim trunks. He beams when he sees you, then kicks Aegon’s chair as hard as he can.

“What?!” Aegon shouts as he jolts awake. “What happened? What’s wrong?”

“You fell asleep and you look like a Twizzler.”

“A chunky Twizzler,” Daeron adds.

“You want a palm reading?” Aegon asks. He grabs Aemond’s hand and flips it over. “It says you’re a bitch.”

“Aemond, phone for you,” Criston says as he breezes out of the house holding a stack of plates, forks, and knives. “I left it off the hook in the kitchen.”

“Thanks. Got it.” Then Aemond tells you: “I’ll be back in five minutes.”

When he vanishes, you and Amir join the poker game. Aegon splashes into the pool to grab Sunfyre, collects his bakery box of Cap’n Crunch Treats, and then pads into the house to presumably slather himself in Noxzema. Criston cuts everyone a slice of blueberry custard pie, which Alicent raves about. You can’t bear to have Criston inconvenienced once again to prepare daiquiris for you and Amir; before Alicent can think of it, you jog to the kitchen to grab two cans of Pepsi from the fridge. But just as you reach the doorway, Aemond’s voice stops you. It isn’t a phone call about the rigs or the stock market. It isn’t family, it isn’t friends.

“Yes, dearest,” Aemond is saying, and you peek into the kitchen to get a better look. He’s got the handset of a blue phone to his ear and is turned away from you. His back is straight and rigid; his voice is steady but dispassionate. “Right. I understand. Yes, completely. Don’t be ridiculous, of course I miss you. All the time. Yes, and we’ll discuss it then. I can’t wait either. I’ll see you soon. Yes, yes. And you as well. Cheers, darling.” There is a pause. “I love you too.”

Aemond hangs up the phone, sighs deeply, rubs his scarred forehead. You slip away before he knows you’re there.

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen #aemond x you #aemond #aemond x reader #aemond fanfiction #aemond targaryen x you

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marrkopolo · 6 months ago

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A Wise Man Once Said

Precious lost its ring in the scrap yard with no metal detector the lavender pussywillows hide the trolls

Hong Kong wheel of fate UW spinned it first Knights of Templar slaughtered at a mass concert of bloody crimson tide

Tithe on a full moon for 2x the glee The crash of waves against the rocks, like bodies slapping against each other during sex blood shooting through veins Hot heat, sticky, in Iceland together I too, know of these lands

Tax season says the King! blue knots on a tent red food buckets hung like death #four crosses in a foreign land alone is no place to exist

An underwater welder lying on the blue tarp, is like a union of troops led by a zebra.

Flying flags at Disney welcome to the world of water failed regret, emptiness and betrayal tattered flags get left to rot sew it in with the others together and the quilt becomes strong and scintillating

Crush you with your own history headless horseman and halo hair dark horse donuts This is as good as it gets!

Red-lipped lipstick cracked porcelain face You can't hold a candle to this

King of the Hill My pool stick is clean now true Kings swim in the swimming pool together King of the Hill Jack of Spades went with the stolen crown and robots learn to volunteer.

Pledge to a sanitizer salute to a gong beat your chest it's loud and strong Love at first sight or sounds like a good idea Wisdom of the crowd or individual motivation?

A rabbi with the yachts Fortified lamps sees all UFOs, telekinesis and even explosive lingerie. One denarius for a days work Why they get more? Stand while another sits. Then switch roles and you'll see why.

What sees with three eyes? The melatonin-like parental bond, third eye awoken, Moksha.

Insane Luke has a scar red dots that kill. Baldie takes biosphere crown the bald animal is cutting loose again Is doraphilia still fun to you?

I attempt to transform but the tea is too strong my hands have small heart Lying down a tiny raindrop falls into my ear swirling into the cochlea My whole world has changed!

Eczema stealing make-up twice North Face go north Racks of weapons are not enough this time

My mask is old but gold bars had paved my fortunate path …a fortunate path(whispering)

Tik Tok vault one exit is enough The eagle has docked into spray-painted madness. Not to fret I hear a falcon cry Jump when the law is bent it will help you fly

Six shooter Six pack 3 sewers 3 fires Twin-spirit 1 spacesuit

Mountain top king of the hill climb Nepal Hajj pilgrimage princess climbs like a pirate piggyback down the wedding aisle

Opposites attract

One fell to its doom down the abyssal void towards the bottom and a ghost ship lost in the Bermuda Triangle with Pandoras Box Lazarus

Gunpowder in shoes Footprints in the sand Jesus did not tap

Short and tall fat and thin Lookalikes Soundalikes Smellalikes the hunt of touch and taste What double currencies create the ultimate Yin Yang effect? AI said to cure pride and competition, exchange abacus rubik-cubed calculators instead of cash.

Echoes and reverberation voices become lightning WATTS= AMPS X VOLTS

Float your payloads into the troposphere with skinny vertical structures of contained saltwater Heat a planet with a satellite asteroid belt

A call for help QR codes morse code gun flare smoke signal what are your coordinates? R-E-B-O-R-N

Some ancients say gunpowder only made flee then gun made to kill Oil spills from bronze age to silicon chips flood the market cut the mall castle cake in half Zangief on a segway You win.Perfect.

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atzaurora · 5 months ago

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수영하다-𝒔𝒘𝒊𝒎

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

sᥙᥒsᥱ𝗍 һᥲrm᥆ᥒіᥱs

this is —> 𝒇𝒍𝒖𝒇𝒇 𝒗𝒆𝒓. | 𝒔𝒎𝒖𝒕 𝒗𝒆𝒓.

𝒎𝒆𝒎𝒃𝒆𝒓: Wooyoung

𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈: fem!reader x wooyoung

𝒕𝒚𝒑𝒆: imagine (fluff)

𝒓𝒆𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒑: dating

.ᐟ.ᐟ𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔.ᐟ.ᐟ: none

𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚: The heat was almost unbearable so Wooyoung and you go cool off in the pool, watching the sun set and the night break in.

𝒘/𝒄: 1.125

𝒂/𝒏: you all voted SO HERE IT IS!! >.< hope y'all enjoy this one! feel free to request anything or give feedback!

here's my 𝒎𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕!

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

On the sweltering afternoon of a typical summer's day, the heat clung to everything like a stubborn lover refusing to let go. The sun blazed down on the concrete jungle, turning the buildings into ovens and the streets into rivers of molten tar. Inside your apartment, the air conditioner hummed a sweet but futile melody, fighting a losing battle against the relentless heat. You looked at Wooyoung with pleading eyes, your skin sticky with sweat and your heart racing from the oppressive warmth. He grinned back at you, a mischievous spark lighting up his eyes. "You know what we need?" he said, already knowing the answer.

Without waiting for a response, Wooyoung jumped to his feet, his energy a stark contrast to the lethargy that had taken hold of you. "The pool!" he exclaimed, as if it was the most brilliant idea anyone had ever had. You couldn't argue with his enthusiasm, even if the thought of moving felt like wading through a sea of molasses. He grabbed your hand and pulled you to your feet, his grip firm but gentle. "Come on, my love," he said, using the sweet nickname that never failed to make your cheeks flush. "Let's go cool off."

You allowed him to lead you through the apartment, the cold tiles a welcome relief underfoot. In the bedroom, you both rummaged through the wardrobe for your swimsuits, the anticipation of the cool water making you feel a little more alive. Wooyoung pulled out a dark blue trunk and your favourite bikini, tossing it towards you. You caught it with a laugh, quickly disappearing in the bathroom to get changed.

Once changed, you stepped out into the hallway, and Wooyoung grabbed a couple of towels from the closet. The moment you stepped into the yard, the heat slapped you in the face like a wet towel. The pool shimmered like a mirage, a beacon of hope in the sea of heat. "Race you!" Wooyoung shouted, already sprinting towards the water. You rolled your eyes but couldn't resist the challenge, chasing after him with a laugh. As he reached the pool's edge, he turned and dove in. You watched the water ripple as he disappeared beneath the surface, your heart skipping a beat. Taking a deep breath, you followed suit, the coolness enveloping you like a refreshing embrace.

When you surfaced, you saw Wooyoung waiting for you, his hair plastered to his forehead and a cheeky grin on his face. He swam over, and before you could react, splashed water at you, the droplets rolling down your skin. "You little—!" you squealed, splashing back. The playful fight escalated, with water flying in every direction. You giggled as he tried to dunk you, his strong arms wrapping around your waist as he playfully tugged you under. Each time you resurfaced, he'd be there, ready with a splash or a tickle, his eyes alight with joy.

The fight went on for a little longer until you eventually decided you had enough. You told Wooyoung you were gonna swim for a bit. He nodded, swimming around a bit as well. You swam your laps, the heat seeming to fade away by the water wrapped around you.

As the sun dipped lower in the sky, painting the horizon with strokes of orange and pink, the water's temperature became more tolerable. You swam over to Wooyoung, wrapping your arms around his neck as he held you close. The water gently lapped at your skin, and the tension of the day melted away. "Thank you for this," you whispered, nuzzling your nose against his cheek. "Anything for you, sweetheart," he murmured back, his voice low and soothing. His thumb traced gentle circles on your back, sending shivers down your spine.

Eventually, the light grew soft, the shadows stretching out like fingers reaching for the water's edge. Wooyoung took your hand and guided you to the side of the pool. He hoisted himself out with a graceful pull, water cascading down his muscular frame. He turned to you, his eyes warm and affectionate, before reaching down to help you out. As you stepped onto the cool tiles, he wrapped you in one of the towels, his embrace tight and secure. You leaned into him, the warmth of his body a comforting contrast to the cool fabric. He leaned down and kissed your forehead, a gesture so tender it made your heart ache. "You're the best," you murmured, your eyes fluttering shut.

Wooyoung's grip tightened, and he pulled you closer, his damp chest pressing against yours. He tilted your chin up and captured your lips in a gentle kiss that seemed to hold the promise of a thousand more. The sound of your laughter mingled with the distant chirping of crickets, creating a symphony of happiness. As the kiss deepened, you felt your worries drift away like leaves on a breeze, leaving only the warmth of his love surrounding you.

The sun had almost disappeared, casting the world in a soft glow that bathed the two of you in a warm, golden light. You broke the kiss, smiling up at him, your eyes sparkling with happiness. "Let's watch the sunset," you suggested, your voice barely a whisper. He nodded, and together you sat on the edge of the pool, your legs dangling in the water. He pulled you closer, and you nestled into his side, feeling the steady beat of his heart.

Wooyoung kissed your forehead again, his arm around your shoulder, holding you close. The air was still, the only movement the occasional ripple in the pool caused by the setting sun's reflection. You watched as the fiery orb dipped below the horizon, painting the sky with a palette of fiery reds and purples. The warmth of his body and the coolness of the evening air created a perfect harmony, a moment so perfect it felt like it could last forever.

As the stars began to peek out from behind the curtain of night, you turned to Wooyoung, the smile on your face mirrored in his eyes. "I love you," you said, the words slipping out as naturally as the moon rising in the sky. His smile grew, and he leaned in, pressing his lips to yours in a soft, lingering kiss that seemed to hold all the love in the universe. When you pulled away, he whispered, "I love you too, darling," and the sound of his voice was so soft it could make you melt right on the spot.

The night grew cooler, and you shivered slightly. Wooyoung noticed and stood, lifting you into his arms as if you weighed nothing at all. He carried you back to the apartment, the water from your bodies leaving a trail.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

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pacific-rimbaud · 5 months ago

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I think it's hilarious that my parents had my older sister and me fly from Seattle to Florida by ourselves to visit my grandparents from the time we were like . . . 6 and 8. At least once we had a layover with a transfer and some guy drove us from gate to gate in a caddy. We had coloring books and Yahtzee and in-flight movies and the flight attendants fed everyone little microwave meals plus snacks and ginger ale and at the other end of the journey there was a swimming pool and colored titanium dioxide sunscreen to paint on your face and water spouts over the dark blue ocean and jumbled souvenir shops with badly printed porcelain thimbles and Frogmore Stew and weird thick grass and dark rides and boat rides and small green lizards and hush puppies and rainandlightning and gallons and gallons of cold sweet tea. Anyway it was awesome, 10/10 more children should be benevolently shipped across continents without parental supervision.

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sluttygallavich · 6 months ago

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Galladrabbles: muscle

Getting something in just under the wire after a stupid, crazy week. This week's @galladrabbles is based on the prompt "muscle" from @blue-disco-lights. <3

_________________________

Mickey takes in the dark freckles of Ian’s sun-kissed shoulders. The wide planes of his back. All the new muscles that ripple beneath his skin from a summer swimming laps in the pool.

Mickey’s eyes travel lower, appreciating the taper of Ian's waist, the sweet dimples just above his ass, the way his own cock looks pumping into Ian’s hole.

He thought the thrill of fucking out on their balcony would be what got him off, but it’s the view of his husband from behind that has him moaning and pulling out to paint that sculpted back a minute later.

#bottom!ian and his beautiful back deserve some love #galladrabbles #smut #gallavich #ian x mickey #ian gallagher #mickey milkovich #shameless #fanfic #smutty drabbles

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moutainrusing · 4 months ago

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summer

680 words, no warnings, @dorlenemicroficprompts

Summer, sunshine, surfing.

Boards in hand, Marlene, James and Peter sprinted towards the sea, before paddling into the ocean, saltwater shining across their skin.

“My wave,” Marlene gestured smugly at an oncoming wave.

“Fuck you, I wanted that,” James pouted, moping as he gave Marlene the right of way. Peter shook his head fondly, idly lying on his board as it bobbed up and down.

Marlene laughed, paddling towards the wave, leaping to her feet as it propelled her forward, carving a path through the water.

“Jump, jump, jump!” James was cheering.

“Twist!” Peter yelled, hands cupped around his mouth.

Marlene grabbed the front of her board, pushing upwards as she turned in the air, landing back onto the wave somewhat gracefully.

“Yeah!” James whooped.

Marlene fell. “Ah, shit, shit shit.”

“Marlene?” James paddled up to her.

“Are you okay?” Peter followed behind her.

“Yeah, fine, just…” she pointed lamely towards a cave jutting out of the shoreline a couple miles away. “Did you see that?”

“The cave?” James frowned.

“What about it?” Peter asked.

“It was… glowing?” Marlene shrugged helplessly.

Peter eyed her sceptically. “You don’t sound sure about that.”

James just grinned, “Well, we could always explore it anyway. It’s an interesting cave.” With that, he began paddling towards it.

Rolling his eyes, Peter followed. Marlene snorted at them in amusement, before catching another glimmer. Half-way between her and the cave, now.

Silvery purple, speckled shimmers brighter than sunlight in an oval on the water’s surface. Now closer towards her. Now next to her. She skimmed her fingers through it.

When she pulled her hand out, it was covered in plum-coloured smudges, like touching paint that was almost dry, but not quite. It glittered. The oval stretched, swirling around her board to become a circle, a rotating wheel shape. She slid off her board, pushing it towards the coast, before dunking her head underwater.

Where she was blinded. She blinked, lifting her head out, then under, then out, under, trying to get her pupils to adjust. Under; the light was less intense for her now, and she could see again, blue waters mixed with brown sand. If she looked deeper than that, she thought she saw a person. Lifting her head out, she took a huge gulp of air, before plunging as far down as she could go, swimming and swimming until the same blue-purple was shimmering at her, more saturated now. Separated into scales, a fish tail. With a human’s upper body. Marlene kicked back up to the surface, gasping for not only air, but out of sheer shock.

A face emerged beside her, and Marlene blinked rapidly. Blinded. The mermaid?! Mermaid.

Mermaid. The mermaid (mermaid!) had dark skin, cheeks tinted blue-purple; everything about her was blue-purple. True creature of the sea, really. Her hair was dark turquoise seaweed tied in dreadlocks, wine-coloured shells beaded into each braid, her eyes were a deep, dark marine blue, almost black, and her teeth weren’t white, they were faintly lilac.

Marlene could see them very clearly, because the mermaid was grinning at her. “Regulus told me not to talk to you, but while he was rambling about the dangers of humans, I came to tell you that I really loved your surfing. When you fell was my favourite bit.”

Marlene reeled back. “Excuse me?”

“It was very funny,” the mermaid nodded sagely. Her eyes widened, “Shit, Reg’s calling me. I gotta go, but we can talk more later. Just shout ‘Dorcas,’ into the sea, and I’ll be here.” She looked at Marlene expectantly.

“…Will do.”

Dorcas beamed, diving back, glimmer streaking rapidly towards the cave.

Marlene was cluelessly left to her own devices, pondering her sanity. She didn’t know how much time had passed before James was back and shouting, “I met the most beautiful person today! His name’s Regulus, and he kept glaring at me! He was in this pool inside the cave, and he wouldn’t come out, kept telling me to fuck off and muttering about someone called Dorcas—”

Marlene hadn’t imagined it, then. She smiled involuntarily. Dorcas.

#marauders #microfiction #dorlene #marlene mckinnon #dorcas meadowes #james potter #peter pettigrew #dorlene fic #dorlene microfic #dorcas x marlene #mermaids #jegulus #regulus black #dorcas and regulus #james x regulus

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blackdollette · 10 months ago

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OFF TO THE RACES. - kappa

✩♬.ᐟ now playing: off to the races. - born to die: paradise

⊹₊⋆ synopsis: my old man is a bad man...

✮⋆˙ [tags] @faesucksass @lustkillers @mayathepsychic1999 @josibunn @si1nful-symph0ny @livingdead-materialgirl @iiheartsai @vanlisbon @oliviah-25 @lankysimp @livingdead-reilly @yungbloodsuxca

female!reader x kappa

word count: 846

contents: house invasion, mention of drugs, alcohol consumption, fingering, slightly toxic relationship, a little manipulation, praise

a cult leader, robber, and a killer. you couldn’t deny that he was a bad man, but it didn’t matter when he shattered the glass window of your house, gazing at you in the dark like a predator watching its prey, taking hold of your hand and your heart in a single grasp. he quickly was able to weave himself into your life, causing you to become just as corrupt as he was, spoiled and materialistic. but he loved you more and more each day with every beat of his cocaine heart.

he watched you swimming in your glimmering pool, discarding each piece of your soaking wet bikini one by one until you were stripped bare for him. you trailed your hands down your dripping body, fingernails painted the shade of deep red that always had an effect on him. he whistled you over to him, pulling you onto his lap with his fingers shoved inside your mouth as he rubbed slow circles onto your hard pearl, swigging from a bottle of vintage champagne as your cum glistened on his fingers.

he called you his good little bunny, and you did whatever he asked of you without questions. and he repaid your obedience by spoiling you with an endless supply of wealth, giving you whatever you wanted with the snap of his fingers.

he sped down the highway in his van, you sitting pretty in the passenger seat with your bare feet resting in his lap. you sipped from a bottle of golden rum, watching the scenery go by as you got completely wasted in his presence. he saw you as a wild little flame, and he was the fuel. you felt he was the only man who could deal with you. you were imprisoned by your addiction to him, knowing that you could never get out.

kappa was a timeless being. you’d believe whether or not he said he was 30 or 300 years old. he was as tough as nails, but as sweet as blood-red jam. as addictive as he was, you knew he couldn’t be good for you. but he was exactly what your tar-black soul had been craving all your life. that’s what he told you, anyway. he constantly reminds you that if it weren’t for him, you’d still be living your old, broke-down lifestyle and that you owed him everything you had. and without a second thought, you gave it to him.

he took you to the most high-brow hotels in the country, especially because he couldn’t stay in the same town for a long time without attracting the wrong attention. you didn’t mind always being on the run or the police chases. if anything, it made you admire him even more. he made sure you were dressed to the nines for every occasion. he loved having his girl looking good at all times, even though you were becoming a complete mess as a result of this lifestyle.

you loved him to death, but you knew that you were going down. getting into all sorts of trouble on a daily basis. getting tangled up in crimes and even needing to get bailed by him from time to time. but you’d simply give him that innocent little smile and be in the clear again. you couldn’t stop your reckless behaviour, but you didn’t much care to anyway.

you watched the red and blue lights flashing one night, watching as your old man got taken away right in front of you. you cried and cried as you realized that you were all alone again. it had been long since he wasn’t right at your side, and you were helpless. you prayed for many hours that night, begging that he would come back to you. you weren’t afraid to say that you would die without him. after all, who else would put up with you this way? you needed him, he was the air you breathed and you couldn’t afford to leave him now. they would all rue the day that you were alone without him. on that same night, you lay in your bed, crying to the gods that they should release him. your prayers were interrupted by the sound of that same glass window shattering, and there he was, right at your fingertips once again. he took you into his arms, holding you as you sobbed into his chest. he looked down at you, a cigar hanging from his lips as he said, “i don’t think i’ve ever seen you look this beautiful, hon…”

he was back, and worse than ever. you and him raced all over town, raising hell wherever you went. with a toss of his hair, you were all over him again. following his every command and being a good little pet just for him. and you knew he got a sick thrill from it all. he was crazy, but you would love him forever, guaranteed. and you were committed to following him until the day you died.

you were fully convinced that he was your one true love.

author's note: i like this one 🤭

#Spotify #kappa x reader #kappa black mirror #kappa smut #rory culkin kappa #rory culkin smut #rory culkin #born to die #off to the races #black mirror #smut #lana del ray #lana del rey #lana del ray aesthetic #lana del ray aka lizzy grant #ldr aesthetic #ldr lyrics #born to die paradise edition #444rockstargf

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ja3hwa · 2 years ago

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Jongho | Blue Lagoon

「Synopsis」 : You head out to sea in hopes the storm hadn't hurt your lovers. But what you are met with was more than expected.

「Word count」 : 2.0k

-> Genre: Smut. Fluff. Fantasy. Adventure.

Paring: Vampire!Pirate!Jongho x Siren!Reader

[Warnings] : Swearing. Pet name. Blood. Bodily fluids. Blood drinking. Sir kink. Blowjob. Throat fucking. Dirty talk. Nudity (Sexual & Non-Sexual). Let me know If I missed anything.

<- Previous Part | M.list | Next Part ->

The cave was warm compared to the freezing storm out at sea. Yunho gave the all-clear when he jumped from the deck to the sand bank. He made sure the anchor was set so they wouldn’t float away, also giving the grounds around them a once over just in case something else decided to pick the same cave as a place of refuge from the hell-bent storm. Wooyoung shouted about getting dinner started making everyone head for the lower deck, sensing their stomachs empty and in need of Wooyoung’s cooking.

Jongho however stayed on the stern deck, looking out to the waterfall that had an opening in the cave roof, making some rain pour in with a loud trickle. He noticed little lagoon pockets, most of them looked shallow but he knew all too well that they were indefinitely deep, making a cave system right beneath their feet. Some blue glowworms gathered on the wet roof, lighting up the cave, making him suddenly see a shadow out of the corner of his eye. He turns and stood up from his slouched position on the railing, trying to get a better look at the figure in one of the small lagoon pools. Maybe it was something to fear or something that could harm the ship, but he suddenly saw a light mixer of colour painted on a long and elegant tail. He knew exactly what he was looking at and it made his heart skip a beat.

The sea was calming around your body. It’s quiet and peaceful compared to the world above. You took a large inhale, letting the gills on the side of your neck filter the water inside your system. It was comfortable, familiar. You missed being underwater, but you loved the surface world as well. You missed your tail every day, but not as much as you liked your legs. It was lonely in the sea. Being an outcast from your home because of your special ability. Being a shifter. A rare form of Siren, a mermaid crossbreed. In other words, an abomination. Something that shouldn’t exist, but I guess your parents didn’t get the memo about that.

You navigate the ocean with ease following the scent of the destiny―the ship Yeosang was aboard―. The smell of wet dark spruce, a hint of honey and chard coal, the scent you loved whenever you stood on the deck of the beautiful vessel. You look up to the break where the water meets the opened air, seeing rain dancing on the face of the big blue. It’s getting heavier, you thought, worried the boys might be in trouble, but when you spot teal blue light bubbles, you knew there is a cave system nearby. Maybe they took their ship into a cave?

Swimming through the small crevasse you try your best not to get your large tail suck. But luckily you were just able to wiggle yourself through. You see thousands of lights from glowworms in your blurred view. The surface. Your hands are the first to exit the water feeling the warm air on your cold fingertips. You close your eyes cutting through the water's face before taking a sharp breath of oxygen in, feeling your lung fill with air as your gills close and seal up against your skin from the loss of water around them.

You open your eyes, looking around the large structure, rubbing your eyes in order to clear your vision. A skip in your heart makes your worried nerves finally calm down, seeing the ship sitting out of the storm. Safe. Placing your arms on either side of the lagoon pocket trying to pull yourself up and after a small attempt you got up, twisting your body so your butt could sit on the ledge. You look around the large hollowed rock structure, suddenly grazing on a figure heading in your direction.

“Shit.” You flopped your tail out of the water, placing a hand on your chest before whispering an enchantment allowing you to shift from your tail to your human legs. You prepared to try and explain to whoever was heading your way why you were naked in a cave but before any excuses come to mind a sigh left your lungs as you spot who it was. “Jongho…”

“Hey there Honey. I thought it was you.” His soft voice and kind smile made your heart flutter. He knelled down to your sitting form not dropping his graze from your face. Such a gentleman. He opens a satchel that rests on the side of his hip, pulling out some clothes for you to dress in. He spoke of keeping clothing for you in the past once you told him about you being a shifter. You found it sweet that he and Yeosang were wanting to care for you so much. You always felt love with their protection.

You take the long shirt from the kind male, smiling with a small thank you leaving your lips. Pulling the cloth over your head to take notice that he finally dropped his view, looking at all of you now that you are covered. He let out a gulp as if he wanted to say something. But he couldn’t seem to find the right words.

“You okay Jong?” You tried to get up so you could stand with him but your legs wobbled and your knees buckled making you fall forward. Luckily Jongho caught you.

“Careful honey. Don’t want ya hurtin’ yourself.” He chuckled wrapping his arms around your soft waist, his fingers diving into your plump skin with care. His face was suddenly inches from yours, feeling his heart rate spike from the distance. Time froze as his red eyes glowed while they gaze into your teal ones. You lent in closer, hoping he would seal his lips against yours but he pulls away instead.

“Why are you here Sweetheart?” he whispers, making you let out a huff while rolling your eyes slightly.

“The storm… I wanted to….” You felt a lump in your throat overthinking basically setting you up for failure but yet here you are. Wanting to make sure he was safe. That they were all safe. Jongho gave a small kiss on your forehead, closing his eyes for a moment, taking in your scent that has lingering hints of sea salt.

“I get it…” His lips trail down from your forehead, the crease of your eye, cheeks, jaw and neck. You took a sharp inhale, letting your fingers slip into his belt loops to pull him closer to you. He placed open mouth kisses down your neck until he finds the right spot making you groan softly. A hunger was brewing in his gut, letting his fangs graze your jugular.

“Are you going to bite me, sir?” You teased suddenly feeling your head starting to spin. He just chuckled in response, licking a long strip up your neck before letting his fangs pierce your flesh. You let out a gasp, hands flying to his chest, scrunching the fabric of his blouse. Your blood trickles into his mouth letting him taste the sweet iron twang on his tongue. You felt lightheaded, trying your hardest to keep your body upright. He finally breaks his fangs from your skin. He watched the blood spill out of your neck, dripping down to your collarbone. Fuck, you are so beautiful when covered in blood.

“Baby…” He went to speak but you wasted no time in pushing him against the large flat rocks that lay beside the lagoon pools, making him lean back with a widen stance of his legs. You grinned while you watched him wipe your blood off his chin. You drop to your knees stalking over to your lover. He watched you with a sly smirk, feeling his cock twitch at your excitement. You really got horny from him drinking from you? Yes… You pull down his briefs and took his cock out quickly. Wasting no time in giving him a lick from his base to tip, flicking your tongue on his slit. Jongho let out a soft moan from your action. You lick him like that for a moment, getting him wet and sloppy. You wrap your hands around him and started jacking him off at full-speed. The filthy sounds of him getting wet and you pumping him echoes in the one side of the cave. The feeling made him close his eyes for a moment to just get lost in the pleasure before they popped open when you swallowed him.

“Honey─” He gasps, his hands flying to your head instinctively. His fingers curl as he felt your head move up and down at a quickened pace. He hums deep in his chest making you dig your nails into his thick thighs before pulling off him with a pop.

“Jongho please,” you moaned. “Can you please..use me.” You pressed kisses all over his cock, occasionally licking it from base to tip. Jongho cursed under his breath and took a hold of your head with both hands. You hum excitedly while he sighed deeply, looking at you as you open your mouth as your permission.

“Damn,” he whispers and with one more low curse, he slid himself in your mouth. Your throat muscles immediately hugged his hard cock tightly, and he felt them moving as you swallowed. He groans, hips moving back and forth slowly at first, giving you some time to adjust, but after a small tap on his thigh that he could translate as a go-ahead he picked up his pace. Soon, he was fucking your throat at a pace that could count as fast,

“You want me to use you, huh?” He rasped. His breath was coming out in pants. You swallowed and hummed around him. “Alright, baby, here it comes.” He tightened his hold on your head and thrusts in. He could feel you struggle a little, throat muscles spazaming and after a couple more seconds of having you there, he pulls your head off, and you gasps wetly and loudly. Your face was a mess, but holy shit did it turn on Jongho more than he ever got before…

“You look so ruined, Fuuck,” he curses. You moan and bent your head to take him in your mouth again, making him thrust in and out of you a couple more times before keeping himself buried there for a moment. He felt you gag softly, nails digging into his thighs, but he didn’t pull out, didn’t move, he just kept your head on his cock. The gagging intensified a bit, the spasms of your muscles following. Just when you dug your nails painfully deep, he pulls out. The gasp you let out was louder than the first one.

“Sir, shit,” you whispered. Your voice, horses and your face was painted with tears. Jongho clenched his jaw and buried himself deep in your throat making you moan when he did. Immediately, you start to swallow around him as you snake a hand to grasp his balls. He gasps when he felt the tight grip you had on them, doubling over, but not pulling out this time for a breather. You fondle his balls, holding them tightly, pulling on them and swallowed around his cock. You heard a strong thud before Jongho let out a punch sound and a choked moan, and he came down your throat. When he finally pulled out, he watches a string of saliva follow, connecting your mouth and his dick together.

“Holy shit,” he pants, breathless. You just smile making his heart flutter. “You’re gonna be the death of me.” he laid down on his back, letting the cold rock cool his body temperature.

“You love me.” You giggle using the lagoon water to wash your face and neck, letting the salty water tend to your wound.

“Of course I do.” He replies.

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andrecoatings · 2 years ago

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sunshinescribes · 2 years ago

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Only Love Can Hurt Like This - 4

Part 4 of Continuum (FINALE)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Pairing: Namor x Black Fem!Reader

Rating: EXPLICIT

Warnings: Blowjob, Makeup Sex, Breeding Kink (if ya squint), Fluff

There is a saying your elders often whispered to the curious and naive youth in your village: Love is a despot who spares no one.

The same words had been spoken to you when you were just a child on the cusp of adolescence, with curious, lingering eyes as you beheld the boys in your village who had once been tiny and awkward, now tall and thickset, with unrecognizably deep voices.

You hadn’t understood what it meant back then, but you certainly understood it now, as the sea separated you from the one person you desired most.

You had believed that your heartache would mend and that your decision—the right decision—to put the needs of your country over your own desires would bring you relief. You hadn’t expected it to be immediate, but you had expected it—that same ease and warmth that you had felt when you confessed your love for Namor to your king.

Anguish was your only companion, and try as you might, you could not be free of it.

When you lay in bed at night, your mind would wander back to nights spent with Namor, breathless and drunk on the feel of him—his tongue, his fingers, so attuned to your pleasure in a way you had not known before him. He would whisper filth and encouragements in your ear—against your warm skin—as he brought you to the height of your ecstasy.

The memories made the ache in your chest metastasize, making your bed feel cold and empty. You could lie to yourself and say you only missed the mind-shattering sex, but it was more than that. You missed the moments after, the comfortable silence as he held you close—your inquiries about the parts of Talokan you hadn’t seen. The things he missed most when he was away—and in turn, he would ask similar questions, holding onto every word you spoke until time slipped away from you both and the morning sun peaked over the horizon.

You could not stand to reminisce, contemplating what you had lost. You had taken to sleeping on your couch—a simple remedy—but then came the dreams dripping in honey.

You, decorated in jade and sheer fabric that pooled at your feet. Your hand absentmindedly stroked your stomach as you stared at the ornately dressed god-king before you. His fingers moved expertly with a brush as he added a quick stroke of blue paint to another one of his murals. You hissed as you felt the lightning-quick twist in your stomach—a familiar feeling these past couple of months. Namor turned, quickly setting his brush aside before coming to your side. His voice was low and comforting as he placed a warm hand over your stomach.

"You should be resting," he whispered, concern swimming in those dark eyes of his as they flitted over your features, searching for a hint of any lingering discomfort. Finding none, he rested his pointed ear against your abdomen.

You smiled at him, threading your fingers through his dark tresses. He hummed appreciatively, his eyes fluttering closed as you continued.

"I am fine," you insisted, before turning your gaze to the mural Namor had been working on. "Besides, how can I rest when you finally allow me to watch you paint?"

"I have not denied you the pleasure."

"No," you sighed, "but you always work on them when I’m asleep."

Namor turned his head, his dark eyes opening to gaze up at you. They were impossibly soft, as if to him you held the moon, and how uncharacteristic it was of the man you had once known—the arrogant god-king you had despised a year ago.

"Rest, and I will continue when you wake." He placed a kiss on your clothed stomach before whispering a string of words in his native tongue that your ears could not pick up. "You need your strength, my love, as does our child."

You woke from your dream with a start, blinking away tears as you slowly took in the darkness of your home. The dream had seemed so real that you could feel the lingering warmth of Namor’s hand—the scent of salt and agave.

Your heart wept for that dream—for the future you would now never have—and you prayed to Bast as sunlight filtered through your window.

I did the right thing. Let my heart heal. Do not allow me to suffer.

If Bast had heard your plea, she failed to take pity on you.

The days came and went, and you were plagued with honeyed fantasies that left you wanting. No, your heartache had not subsided; it festered and spread into every part of you, deep to the marrow.

If Namor haunted your dreams, then you would evade sleep as best you could. Late nights and caffeine became your new norm, and how bleary you grew running on a couple hours of sleep—how juvenile and nonsensical your mistakes tended to be when you worked on reports for your king, or how heavy your eyes would feel during council meetings— You were ashamed to know that on occasion you fell asleep with your cheek resting against your palm, and after a moment of sweet silence, you would abruptly be awoken by your shifting elbow or the soft tap on your shoulder—usually T’Kawe, but sometimes your king.

Such was the occurrence today.

You whispered your apologies, but you could see the unease in M’Baku’s face as his dark eyes inspected you.

If you looked half as tired as you felt, you could only imagine what a sight you must have been.

The meeting concluded soon after with little issue. As tribe leaders lifted from their seats and filtered out of the throne room, M’Baku took to your side with deftness that surprised you.

"Are you unwell?" M’Baku questioned, his eyes sweeping over your face one more time as if to confirm his suspicions.

"No." A lie, but you were certain your king’s concern did not extend to the matters of the heart.

"You have been tired lately. Unequipped…" M’Baku lifted his fingers to thread through his peppered beard. His eyes fell to the ground as he contemplated. "Take a few days to yourself."

You opened your mouth to protest, but M’Baku held up his hand before the words could escape your lips.

"We will not debate this. I need you well, and clearly you are not."

You bit the inside of your cheek, frustration and grief eating away at you. If only your king knew that being alone with your thoughts was the last thing you needed—that the respite he wished for you would not bring the relief he expected.

Instead of returning home as M’Baku had encouraged, you made your way through the busy markets of Birnin Zana. You slipped past colorful stalls and smiled at familiar merchants that flashed their wares enticingly—necklaces made of bone and brass, golden cuffs that glinted and gleamed, intricate beaded chokers. You couldn’t help but wonder if there was a jeweler in Wakanda who worked with jade.

Shaking the thought away, you made your way towards the heavenly scent of sizzling meat and cinnamon. Braised lamb stew was a favorite of yours; the fatty meat was always so moist and tender. The rich broth was like a balm to your tortured soul, taking you back to your younger days in your village, free of worry, full of love, and strong enough to choke.

You spent your first day of rest like this, holding on to the familiarity of your homeland while also feeling as if you were wading through water, lost.

The second day wasn’t nearly as eventful as the first. You called T’Kawe through your kimoyo beads, hoping he wasn’t aware of your mandated rest. Your hope shattered when he didn’t pick up, and you didn’t even waste time trying to get in contact with Agent Ross. If T’Kawe hadn’t gotten to him first about your current situation, M’Baku certainly had.

The rest of your day was a blur. You wandered through your home with the simple task of keeping yourself as busy as you possibly could. You cleaned and rearranged your furniture until your living room became unrecognizable, and you contemplated painting your bedroom walls.

Sleep had come to you easily that night, but your dreams were still haunted by beautiful fantasies.

The third day, you sat on your couch, legs tucked close to your body, as you tried to drown out your thoughts and the world around you as you flipped through several Wakandan stations on your television. You had thought about returning to the markets, but the sudden onslaught of heavy raindrops and strong wind deterred you.

You would return to the palace tomorrow, whether M’Baku liked it or not, his good intentions be damned. If he wanted to know what ailed you, then you would tell him plainly. Your heart was broken, shattered into a million tiny pieces that you couldn’t possibly hope to put back together. Where would you even start?

You were homesick, but for a person instead of a place. There was no remedy for that.

A sudden knock ripped you from your reverie. You glanced at your door curiously before lifting from your couch. It couldn’t be M’Baku, far too busy with his duties to venture this far from the Golden City, and he wouldn’t need to. You were always a call away. T’Kawe seemed optimal, but you hadn’t heard from him since the day M’Baku declared your repose.

It could be your friends, but the weather was less than ideal for excursions, and they had lives as busy as yours—perhaps even more so.

You pulled your door open, still wondering who stood on the other side.

You froze the second your eyes caught a glimpse of brown skin and umber eyes. You blinked, stunned, as you took in the image of Namor standing before you, raindrops catching in his thick lashes, trickling down the curve of his jaw, and trailing a path down the expanse of his exposed chest.

"Why?" Your voice shook, your eyes already burning with tears as you pushed past Namor, your attention now turned towards the gray sky. "Why are you torturing me?"

The Xhosa you spoke was quick—desperate even—as you squinted skyward, glaring at dark clouds as if your rage would compel Bast to finally look upon you.

"Is this my punishment? To be haunted in dreams and while awake?"

Your only answer was the howling wind. It was so loud, you nearly missed the call of your name.

You turned, the rain long forgotten, as you glanced at Namor. His dark brows were drawn close, and you could see the concern swimming in his eyes. It took you back to that fateful day on the balcony of the royal palace, where he had opened his heart to you and asked you to share it with him.

"You aren’t here," you whispered, more to yourself than to him.

You had seen your own pain reflected in his eyes the night you chose your duty over your heart. You knew he was a man of his word, and he had been painfully clear when he offered his ultimatum.

I will not return again. Not to you.

You started to walk past this illusion of Namor before you felt calloused fingers catch your wrist. His hold was light enough that you could easily pull away, and yet the warmth of his touch anchored you.

"I am no trick of your gods." His brown eyes held you unwaveringly. "I am here."

You blinked up at him dumbly. The uncertainty you felt must have shown in your expression, because Namor lifted your hand to his mouth. His plush lips brush against the tips of your fingers.

You felt a lump form in your throat as you watched him. Wet strands clung to his forehead, making him look younger, as rain continued to trickle down his handsome face and catch in his lashes and Balbo beard.

Wordlessly, you lead him back to your home, retreating from the growing tempest.

Your mind was racing with questions, and while joy bloomed in your heart at the sight of Namor, anxiety also lingered as you thought of your king.

You leaned against your couch, your fingers absentmindedly running across the velvety fabric as if trying to rid them of the lingering heat of Namor’s lips. Your eyes flitted from him to the couch as you tried to school your emotions as best you could.

"You said you wouldn’t come back."

Namor nodded. "Yes."

"And yet here you are. Why?" You meant for the question to sound more accusatory than curious, but you couldn’t help it. You needed to know what could possibly compel him to go back on his word.

"Because you linger. In Talokan. In my heart. There is no place I can go where I am free of you."

Namor stepped towards you, and although you knew keeping your distance would make it easier to turn him away, you desperately wanted him close. You wanted the warmth of his lips and powerful hands, the only remedy for your affliction. Even if it was only for a moment, it would be enough.

"Still, I would have endured it. You had made your choice."

You lifted your eyes to meet his gaze. Your breath caught as your heart hammered in your chest.

"What changed your mind?"

"Your king."

You noticed the subtle curl of his lips as your brows furrowed. Your mind raced as you struggled to figure out when. There had been no scheduled diplomatic meetings, and you knew Namor was not one to be summoned abruptly.

"He came to Talokan." You hardly believed the words as they passed your lips.

"He did. I will admit, I was angry." His mouth twisted into a frown as he recounted the events that unfolded. "You were not by my side, and I blamed him for it... but then your king spoke of you. Of how miserable you seemed, and how he felt responsible for it."

You were rendered speechless, imagining M’Baku standing before Namor for your sake. You hadn’t thought you had been so obvious—thought M’Baku had truly believed you were simply sick. You had underestimated his perceptiveness.

What more had your king said? What had both given?

"And?"

"We came to an agreement," he whispered.

Namor lifted his hand to cup your cheek, thumbing your bottom lip as his own pulled into a soft smile that nearly forced the air from your lungs.

"A stronger alliance through the union of Wakanda’s ambassador and Talokan’s king"

Your mind was reeling. Wakanda had no ambassador. There had never truly been a need for one when your homeland was safe and hidden from the outside world, seen as nothing more than a third-world country that few cast their sights on. Wakanda had no ambassador after the truth had been revealed to the world, and your homeland found that there were no allies deserving or needed.

But so much had changed since then—since Namor and his people had come from the depths of the ocean.

"If it is what you want," Namor added with a hint of hope in his voice.

"It seems an unfair trade," you contended.

Political alliances through marriage were common, but you couldn’t think of one such as this. It would surely raise a few

Namor tsked, his lips pulling into a playful frown as he tipped your face closer to his.

"Anyone who disagrees would have to reason with both me and your king."

"An impossible task," you joked.

Namor laughed. That deep, hearty laugh that made your heart sing You couldn’t help but smile—Bast, it felt so good to smile. You felt like the sun had made its home in your chest, filling you with an all-soothing warmth.

It was only undone by his soft and languid lips, as if to remember the taste of you—the way you both fit so well. Your hand trailed up his neck, digging into the dark, damp curls at the nape of his neck as you pulled Namor closer.

He may have felt inclined to take it slow, his patience a marvel at times to you, but you could hardly think of anything besides showing him how much you had missed him—desperately, to the point of madness.

You slowly sank to your knees, eyes fixed on Namor’s face, as your hands caught on the green shorts that did very little to hide the erection pressing against the fitted fabric.

His eyes seemed to get impossibly dark as he blinked down at you, and his voice was rough as he asked, "What are you doing?"

"Apologizing."

You pulled his shorts down the length of his thick legs, giving him a coy look before turning your attention to his impressive length as it bobbed before you, so painfully needy. You wondered if he had tortured himself with memories of you, begrudgingly fisting himself to lust-filled memories with the belief that he could not replace you or have you again.

Namor hissed as you glided your tongue across the head of his dick, slow, and shy, teasing. You repeated the action a few times before he cursed in his mother tongue.

"This does not feel like an apology."

If you weren’t so drunk on the thought of making him unravel before you, you might have rolled your eyes.

So much for patience.

You took his hard length into your mouth, slowly acclimating as drool dribbled down his shaft. You curled your fingers around the base of his pretty dick, tugging his flesh with enough force to make Namor groan as if in pain. You dipped your head, hollowing your cheeks as you continued to take him deeper and pull back up, a sinful rhythm of too much and not enough.

Namor hissed your name, his eyes fluttering shut and his hips rocking despite himself, chasing the heat and slick of your mouth.

"Just like that..." His eyes opened, finding yours. His lips curled into a gorgeous smile as he watched you take him. "So beautiful."

Bast, you could feel the wetness between your thighs, intoxicated by the sight of Namor before you, breaking apart in a way that only you could command. As necessary to him as the sea.

You took Namor as far as you could in your mouth, nearly gagging as you held him there. You cupped his balls, massaging them softly before you grasped them firmly.

Namor choked on your name, and you could feel his dick throbbing in your mouth, ready to release. You moaned around him, wanting his release almost as much as he did, but your desires were whisked from under you as he pulled you off his hard length.

What the hell?

His breaths were labored, and his eyes were still closed before he regained his composure and opened them.

You leaned forward, ready to take him in your mouth again, but Namor cradled your jaw, holding you in place as he tsked lowly.

"If you do that again, I am going to come in your pretty mouth."

You shot him a questioning look that must have looked borderline murderous from the way his lips twitched.

"I have somewhere else in mind." His eyes dipped to your pelvis. Your pussy throbbed, your arousal smearing your thighs as you pulled them close.

It wasn’t fair that he could elicit such reactions with little more than words and hungry glances.

Your legs trembled as you rose to your feet. You were thankful to Namor as he guided you towards your couch with quick kisses and determined fingers. Your shirt was gone by the time he settled against it; your bra was forgotten as he pulled you on top of him. Your shorts and underwear were discarded just as swiftly and nearly ripped off you as Namor’s possessive fingers traveled across your flesh.

"You said you were apologizing." His hand caressed your ass, kneading your flesh, while his other hand skimmed across your stomach. If he just lowered his fingers a little, he could feel the wetness between your thighs—feel where you needed him most. "I want to see how sorry you really are."

You had almost forgotten how cheeky he was and how deliciously wicked he could be when he wanted to make you come undone.

You let out a shaky breath as you lined his wet dick to your entrance, feeling the pulse of your neglected pussy with each passing second.

A curse fell from your lips as you lowered yourself on Namor’s hard length, feeling the familiar stretch as you continued to sink on his dick until he was buried inside of you.

"Missed you," you whined as you began to roll your hips. "So much. So so much."

You would never get tired of how full you always felt with him concealed inside of you. Loved the way your walls hugged him, keeping him where he belonged.

"Missed you so much... I thought I was going fucking crazy."

You draped your arms over his shoulder as you continued to bounce on his dick, your rhythm growing as desperate as you felt.

Namor groaned, gazing up at you with so much desire in his dark eyes.

"Tell me," he insisted.

"I dreamed about you. About us." Your mind flashed back to the dreams that had left you feeling hollow and broken—now possibilities that made your heart dance. Your god-king at your side, loving and tender in ways unknown to outsiders. You, decorated in jade and nurturing new life "About a child I was carrying."

Namor stilled, blinking up at you. You could see the awe dancing in his umber eyes and the ghost of a smile as he regarded you.

"You dreamed... of a child?"

You nodded, remembering how real the dream had felt—the scent of salt and agave, the glittering gold and jade, the warmth of his hand against your swollen stomach.

You could feel him twitch inside of you, and you nearly cried out as his thick fingers brushed against your clit.

"One day." Namor promised, playing with your sensitive "First, I will make you queen."

His other hand dug into the flesh of your ass as a quick string of Mayan spilled from his lips—promises that couldn’t be translated in your dazed mind as Namor lifted his hips, thrusting up into your wet hole with sudden urgency. You tried to meet his powerful thrust, but his pace quickened with each stroke.

"It will be like this. Every day until you are with child."

You rested your forehead against his, mouth agape, as he continued to fuck up into your slick heat. The sound of your flesh meeting, the wetness of your hungry pussy and his dick as it drowned in your juices, was enough to send you over the edge. His words only brought you closer—every filthy promise and sweet encouragement.

"You will be dripping." He hissed, rubbing your nub desperately as your walls clenched him harder—close, so devastatingly close.

"K-K’uk’ulkan…"

"Show me how you will take it. Show me, my queen."

Namor pinched your clit and you were gone, surging over the edge as your pleasure cascaded through you. Your legs shook, your breath caught, and you could have sworn you saw fucking stars as you cried out his name. Namor continued to fuck you through it, incapable of taking his eyes off you as your pretty pussy clenched around his throbbing dick, demanding his release.

He gave one final thrust, burying himself to the hilt as he came with curses spilling from his lips. You held him close as he shuddered through his release, gasping for air as if it had been ripped from his lungs.

Your fingers threaded through the dark tresses of his hair, pushing back the strands that stuck to his forehead as he came down from his high.

He sighed contentedly before leaning back to stare up at you.

"Your king will be expecting us soon."

You hummed, capturing his lips before rolling your lips lazily.

Namor cursed against your lips, and you couldn’t help the laugh that tore from your throat. Your lips tugged into a sensuous smirk as you blinked down at your god-king with mock innocence.

"I’m not done showing you how sorry I am."

A/N: WHEW, this was a long chapter but aye, it’s done! Holy shit, it feels good to finish a series (a first for me)! Thank you all for your comments and words of encouragement. They meant a lot and gave me the push I needed to complete this series! I hope you all enjoyed this story as much as I enjoyed writing it!

TAGLIST: @artaxerxesthegreat @tb-bunnii @daddyslittlevillain

#namor x black reader #namor x reader #namor x you #namor x y/n #namor x fem!reader #kukulkan x reader #kukulkan x you #black!fem!reader #namor smut #namor fic #namor fanfiction #namor imagine

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buckyarchives · 2 years ago

Text

Little Mermaid | Bucky Barnes

summary: a mission gone rogue, and bucky has to depend on you to save him, with the help of a few unlikely friends found in the middle of the atlanic.

8.5k words

warnings: none, bucky's self-loathing

a/n: avatar has taken over my life so now you guys get a deep sea bucky fic where he bonds with dolphins, yes. It's literally pure fluff, I'm sorry I'm weak. I AM TAKING REQUESTS BTW!!!

Read on AO3

“How long has she been in there?”

Bucky glanced down at his watch. “30 minutes, and 25 seconds.”

“You gonna get her out?” Sam scoffed, his voice echoing around the walls of the dome-like room. The water reflected on the two boys, decorating mostly bucky's faces with ripples of the water as the lights lit up the pool.

“Hmm.'' Bucky hummed. Craning his head to look down into the pool, where your blurry figure sat at the bottom. I the peaceful bliss you'd often escape to. “No, she’ll get mad.”

“We leave for the mission later, make sure to tell her to get ready once she gets out,” Sam said, bucky nodded. “She will get out soon, right?”

“Hope so."

Bucky didn't pay Sam even a glance. his eyes trained onto the waters and a slacked jaw. A sweet and blissful smile painted his face, and Sam noticed, smirking to himself.

Sam has known bucky longer, but you sure knew him better. Nonetheless, Sam knew of how impatient Bucky could be, he spent most of his days being a close-to intolerable grumpy asshole– but once it came to you. it was entirely different. Sam would catch bucky sometimes, like now, just sitting next to the pool for hours on end. just waiting like some lost puppy.

Waiting for you to come up from the water for the breath of air you so rarely needed. Only to spare Bucky a quick conversation or just a glance before diving back down. Bucky would make himself comfortable and rid of his shoes and roll up his pants to dip his feet in. but the majority of the time, he'd just watch and wait with the same love-sick smile on his face.

Yeah, love-sick. Everyone knew it, saw it, hell– felt it in the compound. The tension, the sweet glances from across the room, the way Bucky would find any excuse to follow you to bodies of water– despite his distaste for swimming or being wet. The obvious pining between the two of you, almost knew, everyone except for bucky and you. If that was even possible.

If on cue, right as Sam was about to leave. The loud swish and splash of water brought his gaze back to the pool, where you came up from under with your hair slick back and water droplets falling off your nose. Bucky's eyes didn't leave you once.

“Back to dry land, little mermaid?” Sam snarked, you laughed sweetly as you slowly swam towards the edge, right next to bucky. Bringing your arms to rest on the edge, puddles of water pool around your arms and slowly crept towards bucky. But, he didn't even think to scoot away from you.

“Very funny, bird man.” you replied back, turning your head towards bucky. “You still don't want to get in?”

Not missing a beat in the offer, after the first few weeks of noticing the super soldier hanging around the pool whilst you swam. Eventually, You'd started to offer every time he showed up, bucky always said no, but you'd never stopped asking. Apart from you maybe just wanted to share the one thing you cherished just as much as him.

But he always just sat at arm's length and watched you in your element. Bucky would never say it out loud– but it was one of his favorite things to do. Getting distracted in the ripples of the water, losing himself in the soft sound of you doing laps.

Bucky was quick to shake his head, his long brunette hair swayed with the motion. And almost innocent look on his face. “No, I'm okay. We have a mission, anyways.”

You frowned– but were not surprised, slowly pulling yourself out from the water. Dressed only in a dark blue body suit, water dripping rapidly from your limbs. “Really?”

“In 3 hours,” Bucky replied, and you audibly groaned. You wished for another hour of the stillness that lay at the bottom of the pool.

“What's the details?” you padded over to the table, grabbing a towel from the rack and drying yourself off.

Bucky watches intently, not in a creepy way. Adoration, and curiosity is how he liked to explain it. Your abilities and connection with h2o had always been a mystery to him, to everyone, except maybe director Fury. You could control water, that he knew. I mean, bucky was the one to find you washed up on some random Californian beach. Only to find out you had no memory of dry lands.

So, bucky always had half a thought to wonder why you dried yourself off with a towel, him being close to sure you could get it done with a flick of your wrist. shit, he saw you drain every last drop of it from a Hydra agent that had pissed you off.

“Me, you, Bucky, and Steve are going on a recon mission. There's an unidentified island somewhere in the Atlantic.” Sam started, “rumored to be a leftover Hydra base. You and Bucky are going in on the north end, Steve and I will be arriving on the south end.”

“Over waters?” you ask, a slight perk in your voice. Sam and Bucky nod, and you smiled. Even the closeness of your past home lit a fire inside you. Mumbling under your breath, “not so bad, I guess.”

“Yep, and we leave soon so both of you get ready.” Sam said again. Before turning around and leaving you and Bucky alone.

Wrapping the towel fully around your body, shivering from the sudden coolness of the air. Bucky awkwardly shifts on his feet, the slick floor beneath his leather boots squeaking as he attempts not to slip (because he did once and you've never let it go.)

“Don't slip.” you remind him as if you could read his mind. A smirk painted on your lips and bucky’s under his breath.

“If I do, you’re obliged to catch me.” bucky snarks back.

Your head perks up, “oh yeah? Says who?”

Bucky doesn't answer your question, and leaves the teased question unanswered just to annoy you.

“Whatever.” laughing, beaming up at bucky like he was the world. “See you in a few,” you say, walking past the semi-dazed man as bucky's eyes followed you out of the room, the loud door booms as it closes leaving him alone.

Exhaling a shaky breath, settling the fast-paced beat in his chest. His face feels warm despite the chillness of the pool room. Bucky needed to get a wrap of his emotions before this mission, the first one-on-one mission with you. Bucky likes to watch, and observe with a slight adoration in his eyes. Silence is a familiarity between you two. Bucky’s too used to stuttering around in his brain anytime he sees you, silence and short meaningless banter is better– easier.

Bucky trudged up to his room with the thought of you heavy in his head, along with the warmth you bring him.

*****

Steve and Sam had taken off approximately 40 minutes before you and bucky, you went back and forth in the hanger loading all the equipment needed. You soon realize this was the first duo mission with bucky alone, being alone with him wasn't a strange thing but, this was different.

“Take off in 10.” agents Hill reminds you, “this mission shouldn’t be long, we just need you two to check all security and activity on the north side and get out. No jumping to take any risks.'' Maria eyed Bucky, earning a grumble and eye roll at the obvious poke at his reckless behavior involving Hydra assignments. You can understand why.

Bucky headed up the hanger, you went to follow but just before you could, Maria grabbed onto your shoulder. “I’m serious, Y/N. keep him off the ledge, no fighting unless absolutely necessary.”

Nodding, and sending her a reassuring smile. “If he needs someone to keep him out of his head, why not send Steve?” you ask honestly, eyes glancing back towards bucky as he got the jet ready for take off.

“Believe it or not, I think bucky trusts your opinion more than Steve’s nowadays.'' Maria finished, walking off before you could question the meaning of what she said, exactly. Your eyebrows knotted, turning back to the man adjusting his seat at the nose of the jet.

Surely that couldn't be true? You and bucky were close friends, best friends even. But you've only known him for, what? Like seven, or eight months? Steve’s known him his entire life, grew up with him, and shared memories with bucky from before his life went to shit.

A part of you always thought Bucky only lingered around you because he was the one to find you, like it was an insensible responsibility he held above himself. Because he always held himself responsible for things out of his control, too hard on himself. And you were just there, you were the outsider just like him. You valued your friendship and respected him but you've always assumed part of it was just out of pity.

Heading up the hanger and letting it close behind you, the soft sound of the engines starting up as you strapped into the co-pilot's seat. Bucky was always much better at flying these than you. Your eyes glance over to him awkwardly a few times, settling into your seat as lift-off begins, bracing through the small turbulence before you were flying gently in the sky.

“ETA should be about 30 minutes.” bucky said, hands steady on the gears. You nodded in response.

“What do you think will be there?” you ask curiously, mostly to just fill the silence.

Bucky hummed, his icy blue eyes glancing at you. The ones that never fail to leave you breathless, even from the very beginning. “Zero ideas, I hope nothing.”

“Agreed.” you nodded. Bucky's eyes didn’t leave you, and you met him quickly.

You opened your mouth to speak, but the words got lost on your tongue and you, as well, got lost in his gaze.

Seemingly, always having a habit of doing so, from the moment bucky found you on that beach, half alive. The first thing you saw as you opened your eyes was those deep blue eyes that reminded you too much of the only place you've known. From an instant finding comfort in bucky, in his Atlantic blue irises.

As bucky got distracted in your gaze, both of you did. Seconds or minutes could have passed, and the loud noise of fire coming towards you muffled out. That was until it hit you, literally, the loud boom and shake startling you and bringing you both back down to reality.

An instant panic sets in as bucky tried to get control over the jet, the engines are down, GPS is lost and you were declining rapidly. but the shots didn't stop and you were both helplessly freefalling inside the coup.

“Under the seat! The parachutes.” bucky shouted as he desperately tried at the gears. Quickly, turning around to look but it came up empty. You checked your surrounding in a frenzy, every place you think, unable to keep yourself steady as you began ascending towards the water.

You must have tripped as you went for a storage container in search of the parachutes because you fell into warm arms before you could hit your head. Looking towards Bucky as he held you, an obvious set of panicked eyes staring down at you.

“There's none.”

Bucky’s eyebrows knotted, settling you on your feet in front of him. Hands still settling onto your shoulder to keep you steady. “What? What do you mean there's none?”

“There are no parachutes, I checked everywhere,” you yelled over the loud sound of systems beeping as they failed, and your mind as it scattered for a plan B.

“What the fuck!” bucky yelled out of frustration.

Another boom and shake, and you were on the ground. Bucky followed with as he ducked, his arms still wrapped around you, even tighter now. Another shot was fired at you and it was clear whoever was behind the fire really wanted you out of the sky. As the shots hit the sides sliding doors. Bucky held onto you so as not to fall, but that gave you an even better idea.

“Do you trust me?” you shouted, eyes glancing towards the familiar comfort of waters.

“What?”

“Do you trust me?” you shout again, making sure to maintain eye contact as you spoke. Bucky let out a heavy exhale, nodding slowly. His brunette hair whipped around as the harsh winds took over.

“Is this going to be reckless?” bucky asked you, even though he was almost certain of your answer.

You didn’t respond, only grabbed harshly at bucky's hand and dragged him towards the edge. Visible fear showed on bucky’s face, reminding you of how he even got to where he was now.

Bucky wasn't going to lie and say being faced with falling dozens of feet, unsure of survival– didn’t scare the sit out of him. Trying to shake the flashes of the water turning into the snowing alps as he stared down, trying to settle his panic.

A warmth took over him suddenly, as you snuck your hand into his, hoping to comfort him. it did. “Hey, bucky. Just look at me, I promise we’ll be okay. Just trust me.”

Hesitantly, Bucky nodded and kept his eyes on you. Gulping down his nerves as you counted down in your head, cursing to yourself because you were supposed to keep him off the ledge, and here you were– ready to jump off it and dragging him down with you.

“Take a deep breath,” you shouted before harshly grabbing him and hurling both of you over and into a free fall into the water.

Bucky's grasp got tighter around you, and yours around him just before the harsh impact of the ocean submerged you both. The familiar feeling of it filling your lungs and surrounding your body, the dark blue depths– the bliss and peace of it all.

Glancing down at the man in your arms, realizing bucky had gone unconscious.

You really regret not teaching him how to swim like you now.

*****

The gentle whispers of waves filled bucky’s ears, his eyes slowly fluttering open as he took in the bright surroundings. A fresh, salty air filled his nose as he breathed– he could practically taste it on his tongue. bucky's head pounded and made him dizzy. The uncomfortable feeling of wet clothing sticking to his skin makes him cringe, slowly rising his head. Bucky noticed your familiar figure in his line of sight.

“What- what? Where are we?” his lungs and throat burned as he spoke, feeling raw as if he had spent the past hours yelling his lungs out. A feeling all too familiar. Slowly, coming to his senses and he noticed the pure amount of blue that filled his surroundings. “Are we–”

“We’re okay, don’t panic,” you reassured him, noticing your wet hair (as it usually is) and that you were stripped of your tactical suit and now only dressed in a full-body wet suit.

Bucky whipped around, feeling the hard surface under him– what looked like to be rocks? In the middle of the ocean? “Where are we?” looking up to only see water, for miles and miles. Seemingly no land in sight besides whatever he and you reside on now.

“We’re on charlie,” you explain simply, sitting across from him.

“What–” bucky’s words are interrupted by the sudden spray of water in front of his face, getting him all wet again. Shouting as he scrambles away from the blow hole, he screaked. “What the fuck!”

You laugh at bucky, with an aggressive confusion playing out on his face, eyes bulging from his head, as he suddenly realizes what he's on– who he's on. The faint sight of a fin the size of a truck waving through the waters. Bucky begins scattered around in a panic. You noticed, and an exaggerated sigh leaves your lips.

“This is Charlie, he's a blue whale,” you state like it makes any goddamn sense to bucky. “He's my friend.”

“And when were you going to tell me you were friends with a goddamn whale?” bucky asks, still taking in the scary yet– incredible, once-in-a-lifetime sight. Bucky can confidently say he's seen and experienced way too many ‘once in a lifetime’ things, but his history says none of them have been good, or at least resulted in good things. But this, he sat on top of a blue whale in the middle of god knows where sea. Bucky couldn’t comprehend it.

You shrug. “It never came up.”

Scoffing, “it never came up.” bucky mocks you, but with no ill intent. his eyes still darting around the whale's back that you both sat on. The water rose up and down, meeting his legs. Bucky's eyes meet yours again, in comparison to bucky you seemed the calmest person in the world. “Seriously, where are we?”

“Uh.” you inhale, looking around at the vast blue like you'd see any indication of where you were. “Definitely northern Atlantic since that's where we fell. I'd say a couple of miles east of the mid Atlantic ridge. I have backup coming soon to figure out.”

Bucky's head tilts. “You got comms out here?”

In the middle of the Atlantic, on a blue whale after you, both doze into the water. Your coms would have gotta damaged in the fall, and if they did still work– there's no way that wherever you two were it would reach anyone.

“Not that kind of backup”

“Please don't tell me you have an orca whale coming to pick us up.” bucky deadpans, what would be a joke but now he's unsure of everything you can do.

The whale below him lets water out of his blow whole again, almost sounding offended, if that's even possible

A mischievous grin grows slowly as you look at bucky, you mumble quietly “no, they're dolphins”

“Dolphins?”

“Hey!” you try to defend yourself, with bucky narrowing his eyes at you. Either disbelief or genuine shock on his face, maybe both, you couldn't tell. “They'll get us to land and then we can call for real backup and make sure Sam and Steve are okay.”

Bucky blinks once, twice, maybe a third time. Almost in a daze, because how the fuck does he end up in this situation unless he’s died and gone to some weird afterlife. Like his crush is going to make him ride dolphins into the afterlife, and if it wasn't for the uncomfortable feeling of his thick clothes and body armor weighing him down. Or the harsh sun beating down on his neck, he'd be convinced.

Under his breath, he mumbled just loud enough for you to hear. “Fucking little mermaid.”

You giggled at the comment. Sometimes Bucky wonders if you are a siren, because every noise you make sounds like music to his ears, slowly pulling him closer towards you. Bucky shifts uncomfortably as your eyes trail up his body, “are you wearing anything that has any grave importance to you?”

Bucky looks down at his attire, a soaked black leather jacket provided by shield. Kevlar, body armor, and cargo pants full of weapons. “Not really, why?”

“I'm sure it weighing you down.” you say, “I’d recommend taking it off, especially when the dolphins come.”

Buckys pretends that sentence doesn't sound absurd, and hesitantly agrees. Slowly beginning to remove his jacket and vest. “Where’d you get the wetsuit, anyways? Did a squid let you borrow his.” bucky jokes, and you smile fondly. Bucky always liked that he could make you smile and light up so easily. Pride never ceases to spread through his chest.

“I wore it under my uniform, just in case.” your fingers run over the dark blue fabric, “glad i did.”

“Wish you would have given me the memo.” Bucky comments, slowly peeling the fabric that stuck to his skin, and attempting to rip off the vest but he begins to physically struggle. Considering the weird position he's in; bucky's sure that Charlie the whale doesn't enjoy having a 6-foot-something super soldier standing up on his back. But Bucky always felt heavier and much more of a burden than he actually was.

You notice him struggling. “Buck, here, let me help.” you slowly scoot over towards bucky. Your surprisingly warm hand reaches his back to undo the zippers and velcro. A shiver goes down his back, hoping you don't notice the abrupt twitch of his neck when you touch him.

You were one of the few people that walk this earth that bucky would even think to let so close to him, your presence always felt familiar, comfortable to him. You being so close just felt natural. Yet, it didn't subdue the butterflies that fluttered in his stomach or the way heat would rise to his face and tint his ears pink.

“How long was I out?” Bucky asks.

“Around 5 hours.” bucky audibly winches at the answer, “I kept you above water before I found charlie. Couldn't have you drowning on me.”

“right.”

“Why do you always call me that by the way?” you ask innocently, you had finished taking off bucky's outer layer of clothing. Leaving him in just a sleeveless tank top, showing off his vibranium arm as the sun highlights it making it shimmer. But bucky doesn't turn around and your hands don’t leave his body.

No– your hands tangle in his hair as you pull back the wet strands that stuck to his forehead and neck. Beginning to pull his hair into a small bun, similar to the one he wore in Wakanda when it began to grow too long for bucky to handle.

“What do you mean?”

“You always call me little mermaid, Sam too,” you explain and bucky's lips quirk up slightly in amusement.

“You know, ariel? You've never seen that Disney movie about the mermaid who gives her voice for legs so she can live on land with prince eric?” bucky summarizes the classic Disney movie, kindly leaving out the fact that Sam made him sit down for 2 days straight to catch up on every Disney princess movie

“No, I have not. And I’m not a mermaid.” you wiggle your feet and knees to make a point, bucky eyes crinkled in adoration at your gesture. “See, I have legs.”

“I thought you were one when we first met, you know.” bucky says without a thought, a sudden calmness carries over his body as your hands are still playing with his hair, the soft sound of the ocean whispering. Everything around him seems so still, so quiet and peaceful.

“What?”

“When I saw you washed up on that beach,” bucky explain. “your hair was a wild mess and you had no clothes besides some seaweed wrapped around your body. Despite everything and the circumstance, I thought you looked so beautiful that you couldn't possibly be human. Sam had bets you were a siren”

Before bucky can even stop himself from rattling on, telling you his vulnerable and real thoughts of your first meeting. It's like his brain and mouth couldn't contain this confession, and when he tells you, your hands stop working at his hair and he picks up the slight hitch in your voice as you freeze. You go quiet and bucky suddenly realizes he might have fucked this all up, and the calmness of the ocean can’t stop the sudden anxiety that makes him shake.

Bucky’s scared to face you– can’t turn around, but he has to see your reaction. Just so he knows whether or not to expect you to leave him on the back of a whale in the middle of the Atlantic. Slowly, he does.

“You think I'm beautiful?” was the first thing that came out of your mouth when bucky sees you. Your voice is full of sincere curiosity and wide eyes. Your face feels warm.

Reluctantly, bucky nods. His mouth feels dry as he speaks. “Yeah.”

You smile, an ease spreads through bucky's body and the calm comes back to him.

“You don't look too bad yourself, sarge.” you say, a tease to your voice that makes bucky dizzy. Struggling to bite back the smile on his face.

Before either of you can speak another word, the high-pitched squeal of 3 dolphins jumping and swimming towards you. The water ripples around them, and what bucky can only describe as screaming in delight as they come to greet you.

Your hand dips down in the water with the most gentle and soft touch he's ever seen as you rub their heads. You listen and watch intently as they began to squeal, grunt, and creak. Bucky scoots closer to you and the dolphins as you begin to nod in a sense of understanding.

“They should get us to the shore of Portugal by 2 or 3 am, which is a long ride if you're okay with that.” you turn to bucky to tell him the plan.

“Not like we have a whole lot of options, doll.” bucky scoffs, looking around at his surroundings. “-Wait, can you understand them?”

“Yes,” you turn your attention back to the three dolphins fighting for your affection like little children, bucky finds it weirdly endearing. “Every animal in the ocean has their own unique language. I cannot mimic most of theirs, but you'd be surprised how many sea creatures understand English or other languages. They are a lot smarter than humans”

Bucky can only stare at you in udder astonishment. You– this gorgeous being you seem to be able to do it all, your kindness and caring as taken you a long way in life that bucky will never understand. And here you are before him, communicating with animals and treating them as if they're your family.

One of the dolphins leaves your attention and maneuvers its way toward Bucky, her head pops out of the water, and looks at him. You watch bucky intently as he hesitates to put his hand near her. Looking towards you for reassurance.

“Go on, she won't bite.” you encourage him. Bucky could never disobey you when you look at him like that. So earnest. So patient.

His hand grazes against her head softly, keeping his movement slow so as to not scare off the creature. Bucky’s so used to being feared and everyone flinching in his presence, it’s until the dolphin squeals in delight he realizes these animals don’t know him like the rest of the world. Only judging based on how they perceive him now, you've always said animals are the best judgment of people.

“She likes you,” you say simply. Bucky looks up towards you, in awe, to see your eyes already on him. Slowly, warmth grows to each of your faces as you shy away at the eye contact. “I'm assuming you don't know how to ride a dolphin, and I don't have time to teach you. So you'll ride with me.”

You begin to maneuver yourself into the water, practically diving in if Bucky could think straight at this moment. You disappear for a moment, which leaves Bucky feeling way too alone and vulnerable in the vast openness of the ocean. Knowing there were miles and miles under him of things he'd never seen before, possible threats, and obviously possible allies as he looks at the dolphins in front of him.

Makes Bucky realize how much safety and pure comfort he confides in you. That scares him more than anything, but also makes him feel lighter in the chest. Make his heart beat a little quicker.

Slowly, you arise from the water with your hair all wet again and slick back. You've now planted yourself onto one of the dolphin's backs, gesturing towards the small spot behind you. Assuming it was for him.

Bucky recoils slightly, not out of fear or disgust. He is just hesitant, everything is so crazy and new to him and he's still grasping the fact you have befriended a whale. So wrapped up in his own head he misses the way your face drops, looking down. Insecurity grew through your body.

“You think I'm crazy.” you ask, but it comes out more as a statement, and bucky's brain scrambles to correct you.

“What? No! No– never, I'd never think that of you. Never, y/n.” bucky rattles on, shaking his head. “This is just– so new and scary to me.”

You exhale, “sorry.” you force out a smile, and slide off the dolphin and swim towards him. beginning to walk through what bucky needs to do. “Just get in the water, it's okay– no harm. And she’ll go under you and just lift you, simple and easy. You can do it, promise.”

“Okay,” bucky breathes out shakily. Getting absolutely lost in your gentle encouragement from you, lighting a fire in bucky that makes him feel a little more sure of himself. Yet, still, Bucky hesitates as he slowly lowers himself off the whale and settles himself in the surprisingly warm water. Bucky looks up and sees that he needs to hurry as the sun starts to go down.

“Woah!” Bucky is taken aback when the animal maneuvers herself between bucky’s legs and lifts him up, almost losing his balance as he leans back. Quickly attempting to balance himself on her fin, your hand latches onto his thigh in some sort of assistance. It only makes bucky feel dizzier.

“Good job.” you beam up at him and, bucky warms at the praise, “scoot back a bit, please.”

Bucky obeys and you swiftly lift yourself and settle between his thighs. Bucky’s sure his face is beet red now, with you settling in between him and your back to his chest. His brain practically turns to mush as he has to bring himself back down to earth from the abrupt closeness.

“You sure she can handle both of our weights for that long.” bucky asks, trying to hide the nervousness in his voice.

“Don't like this?” you ask, a vague question, but bucky understands what you mean. “I can-”

“No! No, I'm okay!” no, he's definitely not.

You laugh lightheartedly and bucky swears he must be dead, he can't see your face but he can picture your bright smile and the way your eyes crinkle up at the sides. “Yes, you would be surprised by how strong they are for their size.”

Bucky hums in response, suddenly he's unsure of where to put his hands. Settling on resting them on his thighs, but he's gravely unbalanced like this– especially if he’ll be moving in the water.

“Uh.” your body tenses slightly, “you can– um, just put your arms around me, okay? we’ll be going quite fast and I really don't want to lose you, so get a good grip.”

Hesitantly, bucky wraps his arms securely around your waist. Tight. Your back pressed against his chest, even closer now.

“yeah, like that…” your voice is quiet now, sounding almost flustered.

Your face begins to grow hot, and the tips of your ears turn red. Adjusting yourself, trying not to squirm too much while you sat between bucky's legs. Your more than sure the dolphins can feel the weird sexual tension between the two of you, god– bucky can practically taste it by how strong it is in the air. “Hold on, tight though. I’m serious, if you fall it's your own fault.”

Bucky laughs at the snark in your voice, while knowing you are fully fucking serious. His grip tightens and you attempt to hide the hitch in your breath when he does.

The dolphin begins to swim, speeding away from the whale with her two buddies by her side. Bucky's head turns slightly to see the whale starting to lower itself back into the deep ocean. Utterly astonished by the sight, he must be in a dream.

“You okay?” you check up on bucky. the dolphins bob up and down in the water, conscious of the fact bucky was riding and could not, in fact, breathe under water like you. bucky watched in awe at the ripples of waves behind him. it's so rawly beautiful.

“Yeah, very okay.” bucky replies in an almost dazed sight. You grin in pride. “This is quite therapeutic, actually. Why haven't we done this before.”

The familiar sweet laughter fills bucky’s ears, “I don't know, I'll make time in my schedule to do this later with you.”

Later. With you.

Bucky beams at the statement, excited that there will be a later, and you with him. God– he could shout out in joy. And bucky begins to understand why you spend most of your time at the bottom of the compound pools, or excusing yourself on your free weekends to the coastlines. The pure calm and peace he feels in his body make him dizzy, and it's not all because of you. Bucky feels weightless and an ease he hasn't felt since his childhood. Out here his history is unknown and he is nothing except who he is now, which according to the dolphins. Is a good man.

Bucky feels like a good man for the first time in decades. Out here, just with you.

The slight breeze blows through his damp hair, the warmth radiates off your body. Bucky sees nothing but blue for miles and miles until it meets the horizon and he can still taste the saltiness in the air.

Bucky doesn't remember beginning to slack against your body, dropping his head on your shoulder. He doesn't remember the weight of his eyelids, just for them to eventually close and bucky sure doesn't remember falling asleep, pressed close to your body as he glides through the Atlantic.

But he awakes and the night sky had turned to dark, slowly fluttering his eyes up and rising his head away from the crook of your neck.

Bucky also realizes this is the most he's slept with no nightmares or memories of the soldier plaguing his mind, no– he woke up peacefully. No jolting awake with a dry throat from screaming and muttering Russian phrases under his breath. He wasn't coated with his own sweat from panicking, just the salt water.

He woke up with you in his arms.

“You awake, sleepyhead?” you say, and bucky begins to regain all his senses when he shakes the sleepiness from his body. His arms were still securely wrapped around your waist, and bucky would be dammed if he ever tried to let go.

“I didn't mean to fall asleep.” he says honestly, “sorry.”

“Don't apologize, you slept through most of the ride. We should be close enough to the shoreline soon.” you say, “though you missed some very confused crew ship members.”

“That going to be a problem?” bucky laughs to himself at the thought of a ship full of workers looking down to see a pack of dolphins, only to find two agents sailing across the Atlantic on their backs.

“No.” you laugh. “You snore in your sleep by the way.”

“Shit– I'm sorry.”

“Don't apologize.“ you repeat again, “I'm just glad you're getting some good sleep, and your snores are kinda cute.”

“Shut up.” bucky replies, flustered. But secretly he was glad he’d slept peacefully, with you.

“Hey,” you quietly call to his attention, bucky’s head perks up and he hums in acknowledgment. “Look at the sky, the best view in the world.”

Bucky's head tilts up and his breath gets caught in his throat.

The sky was decorated with the brightest array of stars, shining down on them and lighting up the midnight sky. Bucky can notice a few of the constellations that painted the dark sky. It's one of the most beautiful sights he’s seen in his life and it leaves him breathless.

And then he looks back down at you and can't help be choke up a little.

“Thank you,” Bucky says like it's the easiest thing in the world.

Your eyebrows furrow, your hands still wrapped around the fin in front of you, leaning forward slightly. “Why are you thanking me?”

“I don’t know.” bucky replies honestly. Despite the circumstance, it's easy to ignore them because of the fact he's seen beautiful things today. Felt things he'd never even known of, and all because of you. “I just– I feel good, you make me feel good. You always have, but now, I've never felt like this before, so free and secure.”

Your place one hand on his, gently squeezing it. Bucky wishes he could see the giddy smile on your face as you grow flustered at his words. “I’m happy I make you feel like that, and you make me feel good too. Since the day I met you, I think I found a sense of unexplainable comfort in you.”

Neither you nor Bucky has ever felt this vulnerable with each other, but it's hard to feel any sense of burden out here. Hell– Bucky would learn to live out here and run (or swim, I guess) away with you forever if he could continue to feel like this for the rest of his life.

Bucky also realizes Ariel was a fool for giving that up for a silly prince.

“So, I have a question. Can I ask you a question?” bucky speaks.

“Shoot.”

“You've never been very clear on your, um, abilities.” he starts, “I always thought you could just manipulate water, but it seems to be much more now. So what is it?”

You hum, thinking to yourself. “I don't know, honestly. I can't remember anything except the sea. I know the water was there for me as it always has been, the way of the water is there for us before birth and long after death. It takes, and it gives whatever it wants. It's the most powerful thing on earth and it's all I've known. The ways took a liking to me, it claimed me and it's very protective. I can't control water per se, it just listens to me– obeys most of the time.”

“So you don't remember anything of your life before, did you even have one?” bucky asks sincerely. Genuinely astonished by the information he was receiving, realizing how powerful of a person you were.

Bucky can understand why the water chose you. Considering everything, you were the kindest, most sincere, and most caring person he's met. You have an effect on everyone you've interacted with, you're headstrong and slightly stubborn. But forgiving and understanding, something too forgiving in Bucky's opinion. Always there for him, from the very beginning and even after you began to learn of his past

“I don't think so, but I don't remember being fully conscious when I was in the water. Like a baby in a mother's stomach, and it's like I woke up when I washed up on that beach.”

“I'm sure it was scary,” bucky comments.

You laugh, “very. But you were there, and I always felt a weird pull toward you. Like I'd be safe with you.”

Bucky's breath hitched for the millionth time now, he's lost count. Something– a confession of sorts, a tell of his feelings are on the tip of his tongue. He opens his mouth to speak but it is quickly cut off by the shrill of the dolphins. He looks up and Bucky can barely tell in the dark, but the shores of Portugal stood in front of them. An open, empty beach.

“We’re gonna have to swim from here,” you say. the dolphins begin to slow and the water piles near his legs, rising up to Bucky's waist. “That okay?”

You earn a hum in response, and slowly the dolphin comes to a full stop and floats for a moment. You swiftly maneuver yourself out of bucky's grasp, out of between his thighs, and into the water. Bucky feels entirely too empty and cold, without you're heat and touch– bucky's body feels wrong.

“Come on.” you whisper, “follow me, okay?”

Nodding, Bucky manuvers off the dolphin and drops himself fully into the water. You begin the spew out a plethora of ‘thank yous’ and ‘see you soon’ to the now lone dolphin, she squeaks in joy when you rub her nose and head. Bucky can't help but watch, lovesickness dripping from his face. Before tailing it and leaving you and bucky alone in the water, his boots touch the sand beneath him, the water stopping at his shoulders.

Your hands grab at bucky’s, and suddenly the warmth spread through him again. He grins subconsciously and pulls himself closer to you as you both make your way toward the shore.

Bucky wished for anything more than the bliss calm of the ocean to be ripped from him, these quiet moments where it's just you and him. But he needs to call in, make sure Sam and Steve are okay, and let everyone know that you and he are, in fact, alive.

The feeling of stepping on dry sand comes, and water drips rapidly from both of you as you step out of the crashing waves. A few straggled seaweed dragged from both of your feet, looking like fish out of water. Bucky's partially thankful for the fact it's night and the seemingly touristy beaches are empty, he's unsure of how people would reach seeing you two arise from the water. He can imagine it would be pretty scary.

“There's a 24-hour convenience store down the road, we’ll call in from there,” you explain, bucky nods. He begins to feel the weight and burdens settle low in his stomach and high on his shoulders again. Unaware of the fact his hand was still tucked securely in yours, at least that gave him some sense of comfort as you practically dragged him towards the corner store.

“You think Sam and Steve are okay?” Bucky is afraid to ask, afraid that if he even speaks of their well-being out loud, his horrible suspicions would come true. They didn't have a girl that could beckon for whales and dolphins as bucky did.

You squeeze bucky's hand, bringing him back down from losing himself in his head of worries. “Yeah, Charlie asked the others in the area if there’d been any plane crashes beside us. None of them heard or saw anything, so that's a good sign.”

Bucky can't hold back the chuckle in his throat, you step falter to look up at him. “What's wrong?”

“Nothing.'' Bucky shakes his head, full of adoration as he looks at you, but doesn't leave. “You're just– you're amazing.”

“I try.” you begin to step forward again but bucky tugs you back to your place, a surge of happiness and confidence rushing through his veins.

“No,” he states, and you stop in front of him. Your bodies and faces are incredibly close now. So close bucky can practically feel you're breath on his chin on this cool Portuguese night. “I mean it, you are amazing.”

Bucky states like it’s a fact– and to him, it is. He’s never been so sure of anything in his whole overextended, fucked up life.

You grow flustered at his reassurance, beaming at his validation. Bucky's hand burns in yours, a good burn. One you couldn't– wouldn’t pull away from if you had to. You're sure Bucky's super soldier hearing can pick up your heart racing as he brings his free hand to your face. Gently cradling your cheek in his palm, you lean into it.

“I'm not good with words, doll.” bucky breathes out, like a confession. “Can I kiss you?”

You nod almost instantly, “please,”

Bucky obeys, he was never able to say no to you anyways. Pulling you in so incredibly close and slanting his lips against yours. He can taste the salt on your lips, feeling the entire weight of the ocean in your touch. Bucky feels the calm and stillness of the water as he moves against you, your noses touching. Bucky feels breathless like he might drown. He begins to contemplate if you really are a siren.

Your lips are softer than bucky imagined, he wasn't going to lie to himself and say he's never thought about doing this. The amount of times proximity has been forced upon you two and bucky’s almost thrown out everything and just leaned into your touch. Bucky imagined you’d be a good kisser, but now it's real and it's happening.

The sweet kiss doesn't last too long, they are still two agents on a mission. Bucky pulls away at a painfully slow pace, leaving you to chase after his touch. You two stand breathless, damp, and a little sandy in the middle of a Portugal street. And you realize you wouldn't want it any other way.

Gulping down your nerves, and swiping your tongue across your lips. A nervous smile painted your face, “let's go, we should really call in.”

“Yeah.” bucky repeats, still in a half daze as you two continue towards the only lit store near.

Bells jingle above as bucky swings open the glass door, adjusting to the bright fluorescent lights. Looking towards the counter as a sleepy man hunches over, reading the newspaper. His head perks up toward the two of you, looking at you two as if you grew a second head.

The man speaks up in Portuguese, something you don't understand, but bucky does. Hydra put as many languages in his head as they could, anything for a mission to go smoothly. Walking towards the counter with a squeak in his step as bucky began to ask for a phone.

Grumbling under his breath as the man waddles around in the back, pulling out a flip phone and handing it to bucky as he began to type in the digits. On the other line, “hello, this is Blanca bakery, how may we serve you?” a woman's voice speaks through.

“Baklava” bucky mutters the code word, as the line quiets and clicks to a new one. Tapping his foot impatiently as brown noise plays from the end before it goes silent again.

“Name.” an agent speaks plainly.

Bucky clears his throat, stiffening his back like he would when speaking to someone of authority. “Agent 39, agent 104. James Barnes and y/n”

The line quiets again, and soon a very angry and concerned Maria Hill enters the line. “James, what the hell happened? Are you two okay?”

“We’re alive, I don't have time to explain it over the phone.” bucky starts, glancing towards you as you shift in your spot. “Did Steve and Sam make it?”

“They're okay and back at the compound, I traced the phone, I’m not even going to ask how you got to Portugal.” Maria sighs, “the jets will be out to your location soon, ETA 40 minutes.”

Bucky replies quickly and the line falls silent again. Handing the phone back to the man, he grumbles something under his breath in Portuguese and bucky nods his head in thanks. Turning back to you, taking you hand in hand with no thought, bucky begins to drag you out of the store.

“40 minutes, the beach,” he says, vaguely, but you know what it means. Squeezing his hand gently as he leads you back down to the sand. Not missing the small grin on his face when you do so.

It doesn't take long for you to settle next to Bucky on some random washed-up log, your thighs lining against each other, warming each of you enough. Your head drops on bucky’s shoulder, he relaxes under your touch.

You hum as you grab at bucky's hand, uncurling his finger and setting something in his palm. Bucky looks down in confusion, “what?”

His eyes widen at the sight of the large, shiny pearl in his palm. The moonlight reflected off the milky color, making it shine slightly. It's from you– the ocean, it looks like it belongs in an expensive jewelry shop, a museum, anywhere but bucky’s hand. You smack your lips, “think of it as an offering.”

“Why?” Bucky rolls the pearl around his hand, staring in awe before turning to you.

Your finger nudges at the pearl, feeling it under your skin as you lean closer to bucky’s warmth. “Pearls represent everlasting love, before birth and after death. They represent that fact of the water. I think you deserve that.”

The soft breeze lifts bucky's hair, sending a chill down his spine. His mind sputters for a response as he looks at you, in a daze. Instead, he trades words for a small kiss at the crown of your head. You soak up his touch.

“Thank you.” bucky settles on, “you deserve that too, I hope I can give that to you.”

You beam up at him, before settling close against him again. Letting yourself begin to drift off into sleep on his shoulder with the heavy knowledge of bucky's confession in your head. You're smiling when you fall asleep.

Bucky breaths softly, the calm still present deep in him. Because somehow you've drowned bucky without him realizing it, and he's more than happy to sink deeper as long as he’s with you. You– his calm, his anchor, his pearl, his ocean, his everything. The one who saw him for nothing except the good man he's trying to desperately to be, for you. And the one who constantly proves it to him, showing he is capable of love and all things good. Capable of being himself and at ease, even if it only lies in the middle of the Atlantic on the back of a blue whale. As long as he had you, Bucky would feel that again, feel okay.

As he waited for the jet, he continued to roll the precious pearl around in his hand. Losing himself in the soft sounds of your breath mixed with the peaceful sound of waves crashing against the sand, the taste of your lips and the salty water linger in his mouth.

Bucky knows and understands, that for the first time in 70 years, he’ll be okay.

#bucky x reader #james bucky barnes #bucky fic #james bucky buchanan barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky fluff #winter soldier #sebastian stan #seb stan

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vampp4 · 26 days ago

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"Dance with the waves, move with the sea, let the rhythm of the water set your soul free."

★ Gabby ☆ she/her ★ caramel ☆ ESFJ ★ pianist ☆

★ Likes - Sleep. Painting. Sketching. Flowers. Archicture. Music. Food. Gardens. Pools (I can't swim for shit). My close friends. Astronomy. Rain. Silence.

★ Dislikes - Crowed areas, events. When the door hooks onto my clothes. Being overwhelmed. Bright light. Class presentations. When a person cannot cooperate.

★ music - artemas. Lumi Athena. The weekend. Chris brown. Chrise grey. Lloyd. Oderari. Doja cat. Lee hi. Artic monkeys. SZA. Lil Wayne. Kali Uchis. 6arleyhuman. Rihanna. Enphen. Britney Spears. Lana Del Ray. TisaKorean. The Neighbourhood. Amaarae.

★ Anime - Demon Slayer. JJK. Bleach. Windbreaker. Spirited Away. Howl's Moving Castle. MHA. Hunter x Hunter. Death note. Blue lock. Hellsing. Another. Devilman Crybaby. Chainsaw man. Tokyo Ghoul. Monster. Kakegurui. Black butler. Bingo Strat dogs. The Case Study of Vanitas. The Promised Neverlands.

★ books - The twisted series. Icebreaker. Ghost (An MM Mafia Romance). Dark Escapes. Ink Me Bunny. Not So Thanks in Advance. Say I Do. Passenger Princess. Take me apart. Thieves and Monsters. The darkest corner of the heart. The roommate risk. Pump Two.

• Silly blog for me, moots, and anyone else willing to make friends with me!

my other blog

Moots - @local-giyuu-simp @kokushibosbestie @ateohsixxxx @giyuus-little-helper @muichirolover14 @muichirotokito-122 @stellapuffs @whoistherealme @kitkat-moon @f0rbidd3nlove @toeeeji @darlingminjin

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gumnut-logic · 11 months ago

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A Little Storm

Just a random scene sparked by the thunderstorms rumbling around me at the moment (and most of the afternoon).

Not much, but rambling FishTank that doesn't really go anywhere. I just wanted to write something, I guess.

-o-o-o-

Thunder rumbled and bit into his bones.

Virgil sat high up on one of the trails that looped their jagged island and stared out to sea. In the distance, dark clouds flickered and dumped rain into the ocean. It was quite the spectacle, something that begged to be painted or photographed.

Virgil had already taken several snapshots with his phone. The contrast created by the camera emphasizing the threat in the clouds.

But there was an aspect of the scene imagery could not catch.

Sitting here with gravel digging into his jeans, he could feel the storm.

It wasn’t coming towards Tracy Island, just meandering past, all its violence taken out on the Pacific rather than the scattering of islands along the ridge. Wasn’t even going to hit Raoul – which had been Virgil’s second question to his high in the sky brother, who made a great meteorologist when not otherwise occupied.

Eos was also a great weather girl. Unfortunately, that comparison had been made by Gordon some time ago, along with the lipstick, heels, and appropriate hand actions.

The fact their fish brother hadn’t been able to have a warm shower for several days after that, ended that joke quite abruptly. Eos was ordered out of the Tracy villa computer network and Gordon was told to respect Eos or John would do much worse.

Since John had proven that point on several occasions in the past, Gordon took the survival-of-the-fittest response and apologised to the AI.

Virgil found himself smiling just a little at the thought of his brothers. God, he loved them.

Out on the ocean, lightning struck out in a silent flash, dancing across the water’s surface.

Virgil held his breath.

And the thunder rumbled over him, notes deeper than his ears could process, but his body could feel, vibrating like a tuning fork. He closed his eyes for just a moment, the island beneath, the sky above, and the sound and electricity in the air.

Lightning lit up his eyelids.

His eyes flung open, safety overruling experience. But the storm was still in the distance, the sky above him evening blue except for a scattering of ragged cumulus cloud from the very edge of the thunderhead.

Again, thunder vibrated the air about him and sung in his bones.

The island around him was responding to the weather. Birds squawking in the Pōhutukawa trees on the slopes above and below him. The trees themselves were scattered with red blossoms, waving in the wind stirred up by the turbulence out at sea.

“Ooooh, she’s a beauty.”

Virgil startled. He looked up to find Gordon, of course, standing on the trail behind him.

Without a word, his fish brother folded himself down beside Virgil and let his feet dangle off the edge. “Watcha doin’ up here, big bro? You do realise that you shouldn’t sit on high places in a storm?”

Virgil rolled his eyes. “I’m not going to get struck by lightning this far away.”

Gordon’s lopsided smirk stared out at the ocean. “Oh, I seem to remember a fretting big brother demanding I not swim in the pool in a storm. If I recall correctly, you manhandled me out of said pool and dragged me inside.”

“Gordon, it was a cyclone. You were upset and not thinking clearly.”

“Hey! I was safer in the pool than on the deck! We were nearly blown off the island!”

“Exactly.” All his heavy lifting muscles had been required to get his little brother back inside and safe behind the storm shutters. Both of them had ended up soaked, wind-blasted, and staggering by the time they made it inside – and that was before Scott found out and blasted the both of them to smithereens.

The reason why Gordon had been so stupid was kept from their biggest brother and it had been Virgil who had borne the brunt later than night behind closed doors as he wrangled it from his fish brother and tackled his tears.

Sometimes things were best kept between them.

Not that Virgil wanted to hide things from his big brother. Scott would do anything for any of them at any time. But Virgil felt that he shouldn’t have to field everything all the time.

Virgil was a big brother, too.

The biggest Scott would ever have.

He sighed. A little too maudlin today. Far too maudlin.

The thunder rumbled through him again as if to remind him of its existence.

“Earth to Virgil.”

Apparently, the weather wasn’t alone in that sentiment.

“What do you want, Gordon?”

He felt his brother’s eyes on him, but continued to stare at the passing storm.

“Just checking up on you.”

“I’m fine.”

“Yeah, that’s totally reassuring…not. Why are you out here?”

“Just watching the storm.”

“Uh huh.” His brother turned toward the dark clouds in the distance and for a while, at least, they sat there together in silence, bar the breeze ruffling hair and the thunder beating against his chest.

“It really puts things in perspective doesn’t it.” And yes, Gordon was giving him the side-eye.

“Yeah.” Far beneath, a particularly large wave, churned up by the storm, smashed against the island rocks with a roar.

“But this is only a little storm.”

“Yeah.”

“Pretty spectacular anyway.”

“Yeah.” The word came out more a sigh than language.

Gordon suddenly shifted closer, gravel crunching as he moved, and wrapped an arm around Virgil. His head landed gently on Virgil’s shoulder.

Virgil looked down at the mess of chlorine and sun-bleached hair. “I’m okay, Gords, I promise.”

Gordon didn’t let go. “Eh, can’t a bro hug a bro when he wants to?”

“Are you okay?”

“Just watching a storm with my big brother.” But he didn’t move and Virgil had to turn back to the storm or risk inhaling strawberry blond hair.

There was silence a moment longer before Virgil reached out and wrapped his arm around Gordon and drew him a little closer. He let his head rest against his brother’s as the storm rumbled again in the distance.

It was moving fast to the south, lit up by the evening sun, which was shining gold and pink through the clear sky from the west.

Quietly spectacular.

Until another spark of lightning set off that warning rumble again.

Virgil shivered.

Gordon squeezed a little tighter.

And kept him warm.

-o-o-o-

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #virgil tracy #gordon tracy #fishtank #nuttyfic #rambling nothing

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r0ttenb0gb0dy · 2 months ago

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jack ‘canary’ skalbek — full backstory

this is incredibly self indulgent, but i wanted to get it out of my chest, i guess. it's raw and silly at times but i love it all the same and i hope you do too. ive never posted my writing on tumblr so i really hope it does ok out here heh.

18+ for swearing, canon COD violence, no explicit sex but alluding to further acts, just generally not for minors ! adult topics and characters individual trauma discussed within .

There’s something to be said about the haze of being a teenager in California in the early aughts. The warm, all-over feeling of the sun beating down on tanned, freckled skin. Bruised knees, busted knuckles. Spending every day in a lake or a river, god forbid the chlorine riddled soup of a swimming pool, making the most out of what time is had.

Jack Skalbek was, by all accounts, an average teenager, who did average teenage things. Smoking pot behind the bleachers when he should be in class, watching his marginally more athletic friends throw themselves at gym class like it actually mattered. Football, soccer — whatever it was, he could usually find Keegan and Alex there.

Keegan, a year his senior, and Alex a year older, the closest things he could call his friends. They’d spent much of their childhood daydreams running around town together, iPod plugged into a speaker on the back of one of their bikes, blasting some obnoxiously emo music that all of them indulged in. 2004 lends itself to that aspect, dyed hair and painted nails, one too many chains hanging off of Jack’s wallet.

Alex would never speak of it, but he could see it in little glimpses. Catch the fleeting hand-holds and hushed laughter, that look.

There was no way they weren't feeling something.

They just didn't know what to call it.

Sitting on the roof of Jack’s parent’s house, having climbed up through an access point that certainly wasn't meant to be used by 16 year olds, Keegan and Jack lingered. Long past Alex’s curfew, his need to return home leaves them in each other's presence.

“You decide anything about college yet?” Keegan asked, watching Jack fumble with his lighter in an attempt to light the cigarette between his lips. They tasted awful, and he didn't even like the nicotine buzz, but the ‘deep breathing' exercise was relaxing.

“No — I mean, I still have a year.” Jack huffed, sighing with satisfaction as he got it to light. The burn in his throat was comforting, but his attention was more focused on Keegan. “Did you?”

“Yeah.” Keegan murmured, his voice low and quiet. “I, uh, I was talkin’ to a recruiter downtown the other day.”

“Oh? Is that why you blew off our mall date?”

“It wasn't a date, but yes.” Keegan chuckled, pulling the sleeves of his hoodie down over his hands. Worn from use, he slipped his thumbs through holes in the cuffs, the heather gray fabric fraying at the edges. He felt like he was doing the same thing, some days.

“So, like, what sport? Did you get picked up for football?”

“No, I mean, like — a Marine recruiter.”

“Oh! Yeah, I got that letter too — you actually went and talked to those guys?” Jack snickered, but Keegan was infinitely more serious about it. He had really gone and discussed a future in the military? What future was there in something like that? Brutish violence and bloodshed, all for some rich man’s greed — proxy wars.

“I mean, yeah. Alex came with me. They said I’d be a prime candidate. I’m taking the test soon to see where I place, but they said my grades were high enough that —”

“Slow down.” Jack turned to face the other boy entirely, the warm glow of the setting sun painting him somewhere between coral pink and tangerine. His eyes, though, were still an icy blue. It made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. “You joined?”

“Enlisted.” The dark haired boy shrugged, fixing his gaze on Jack’s. “It’s no big deal, Jackie.”

“It’s a really big deal.”

“It’s not — it's the same as if you told me you were gonna go to art school in New York City.”

“Art school doesn't get me killed.” Jack said softly, almost embarrassed that his qualm with the entire thing was the idea of his person Keegan dying. His cheeks were flushed red, all heated up and uncomfortable. He averted his gaze, but Keegan's hand on his cheek returned him to reality.

“Is that what bothers you about it?”

“It's dangerous, Keegan. Y-You could get shot, or lose a leg, or —”

“I can live without a leg.”

“You're not funny.” Jack groaned, pushing Keegan's hand away only to feel it in his hair this time, fingers laced in-between his long grey-blonde hair. It grounded him, making his thoughts clear up and focus down to just one, very clear idea. “I don't want you to go. I-I thought you had to be 18 to enlist.”

“If I pass all the tests, they’ll make an exception. It’s still a couple months out, I’ll be 18 by the time I get out on deployment.” Keegan said whilst gently brushing through Jack’s hair, a bit tangled from being wet earlier that day, knotted with pool water. “This is somewhere I can make a difference.”

“But why does it have to be you?” Jack replied, having long forgotten his cigarette by now. It was mostly ash, all balanced perfectly at the end. One little twitch of his hand and it all fell off, leaving half an inch of smokable length behind. It didn't matter anymore, though.

“Because if I don't, and I just assume someone else will, nothing’ll ever change.”

“How poetic.” Jack mumbled, closing his eyes as Keegan’s hand drew forward, back to his jaw. Soft, gentle, well intentioned. Better than anyone that Jack could ever pray to fill the gap Keegan would surely leave behind with. It made his heart ache knowing that these nights were fleeting, slipping through his fingers already and Keegan hadn't even passed his exams yet. “Promise that you’ll come back from wherever they send you?”

Keegan bit back the words that came to mind first, acknowledging that he couldn't promise to come back. Men and women die all of the time overseas, and he could likely become one of the many that don’t come home outside of a casket. He looked down at Jack, those soft brown eyes enamored with him, and knew he had to make that impossible promise.

“I’ll come back to you.”

It happened quickly. His exams came up fast and he passed them with flying colors, eviscerating the physical testing all the same. Even with the sword of Damocles above their heads, they continued to share hurried kisses and late nights, begging for a few minutes more from the universe. Fighting the timer with every movement. Pressured by the impending doom, Jack started applying to colleges — it was a year too soon, but if Keegan could weasel his way into the Marine Corps at 17 then he could finesse his way into some pretentious art school.

Flashes in his memory now, images of his acceptance letter and Keegan’s coming just days apart, his call to action a far greater anomaly. He and Alex would be leaving for the opposite side of the country in a matter of weeks, ensuring Jack felt helpless. His best friends, whisked away to die in the middle of the desert.

The night before Keegan needed to be at the airport, to be sworn in and shipped off, he didn't spend a second longer at home than he needed to. He was at Jack’s house the second he finished packing, duffel bags discarded at the front door. Mrs. Skalbek would surely move them and re-fold the messy clothes, probably even press his uniform nicely for the next day — she knew it, too, the way that her boy was enraptured by the Russ kid.

She didn't mind, even if Keegan’s parents did. He was leaving, now, she could at least provide them with a safe home for one more evening.

Keegan half expected Jack to break down in tears, begging for him to change his mind or something, but he didn't. He opened the window of his room instead, letting the salt air in, a gentle breeze cooling the room down. Christmas lights strung from the ceiling the only real illumination save for the fading sunset, casting a pinkish glow over everything. On his desk, a closed sketchbook with about a million drawings of Keegan and Alex, though there was a distinct pattern of a particular set of blue eyes repeating every few pages. Then there was Jack laying on his bed, swallowed whole by the comforter, his sad and tired eyes fixed on Keegan in the doorway.

They skipped the “awkward” part fairly quickly.

No hello or how are you, just straight and to the point. Wrapped up in each other’s arms above the sheets, bodies warm and hazy at the edges, blurring the lines between a tangle of limbs. Jack didn't say a word as he closed his eyes and breathed in the achingly familiar scent of the gold standard of a boy he’d grown to love.

“Don’t get hung up on me, alright?” Keegan asked, sleep laced between his words.

“What’d’you mean?”

“Like…go and do whatever you’re gonna do in LA. Don’t worry about me. I can handle my own.”

“Respectfully, shut the fuck up. I’ll be worried about you until you’re home.”

“M’not gonna change your mind, am I?”

“No.” Jack replied, pulling Keegan in closer. It was much too hot for proximity like this, but neither seemed to care.

“At least make some good memories so we have somethin’ to talk about when I come back.”

Jack hummed in reply and drifted off to sleep against his will, waking up without another body in his bed. In a panic he sat up, making his head spin, but he realized Keegan was just getting dressed. He hadn't left yet. The uniform he wore looked foreign on his frame, a little too big on him, but he looked happy enough in it. Keegan looked up when Jack startled awake, a slight frown on his face.

“Wanted to slip out without wakin' you.”

“You didn't say goodbye.”

“That was the point, Jackie.” Keegan chuckled as he sat on the edge of the bed, lacing his boots up with unpracticed hands. “I didn't wanna make you have to go through a goodbye.”

He was right. Goodbye sounded awful. It took Jack a moment of contemplation before he settled on an alternative, his half asleep brain convincing him it was a great idea.

“I love you.” Jack spoke softly, though confident in those three words. They'd remained an unspoken law thus far, only now being brought into the fabric of reality. They made Keegan stop in his tracks for a split second.

“I love you, too, Jackie.” He replied, his voice a solemn tone. After he finished tying his boots he turned and placed a kiss on Jack’s forehead, rustling his hair up one more time for good measure. “I’ll text you when I get to base. Be safe.”

‘made it 2 base. no phone 4 a few months. alex says hi. xx keegs.’

Jack loved and hated those text updates every single time he received one. They were few and far in-between, but they meant the world. It was all he really had left of Keegan. The following summer, after nearly a year of no real contact, Jack finally got a phone call. He was moving into his dorm at UCLA when his phone started blaring Keegan’s ringtone, setting his mind on high alert. Jack fumbled his phone open, pressing the green answer button as soon as his fingers stopped shaking enough to do so.

“Keegan?”

“Jackie.”

He’s alive.

“Oh, it’s so good to hear your voice. Holy shit.” Jack laughed, tears welling up in the corners of his eyes from the sheer emotional weight. He could hear idle chatter in the background, Alex’s voice included, carrying on about something he didn't quite understand. “How has it been?”

“Listen, I don't have a lot of time. We’re gonna be leaving for Tel Aviv, soon.” Keegan sounded all too serious, some of that warmth and wonder gone from his voice. It’d dropped an octave, too. “S’been good, Jackie. I just wanted to call and talk to you before we hit dirt.”

“Tel Aviv?” Jackie mumbled. “You’re in the middle of the war?”

“Fuckin’ neck deep in it.” Keegan replied quietly. “You made it to LA, right?”

“Didn't know you still got my texts.”

“Of course I do. I just — I don't have time to reply, some days. I don't have a good excuse, either. Just want to make sure you know I meant it, back then. Miss you like hell.”

“S’that your girl?” Someone’s voice called from a distance, earning a huff out of Keegan. “Is she hot?”

“Shut your fuckin’ trap!” He barked back. “Sorry, Jackie. Listen, I — I gotta bounce, I don't know how long we’ll be out here. Be safe for me, okay?”

“I — yeah, of course, K.” Jack stuttered, running a hand back through his hair in a self-soothing manner. Though Keegan hadn't said the words, Jack wanted to make sure that the point got across that he understood. “I love you, too.”

Click.

Radio silence did not begin to describe what followed that phone call. Jack pushed down his anxiety for a long, long while, ignoring all of the news outlets claiming that a civilian hospital in Tel-Aviv had been assaulted and defended by U.S. Marines. That there had been countless casualties, that those men would be honored posthumously with medals and awards. He didn't read a single article out of fear that he would see Keegan Russ or Alex Johnson in the list of names.

College flew by. The war raged on. He didn't hear from Keegan, his family, no one. Even when his mother called, he blew her off, fearing that she was calling to break the news of his untimely death in the Middle East. Birthday after birthday, year after year, and he had not even begun to fill the space in his chest with something real. Uppers and downers, party culture — it was his way of smothering the pain temporarily, far better than anything his psychologist offered him in way of coping.

Deep breathing exercises and journaling didn't bring Keegan back.

Nothing did.

Not drinking, not partying, not kissing strangers in bars — nothing.

The world continued to strife while Jack continued to linger in 2004, the better part of him remaining on the rooftop of his mom’s house. He especially noticed his inability to change with the rest of the world as ‘The Federation of the Americas’ rose to power. News of their rampage spread like wildfire until they, themselves had spread closer and closer to the U.S. Even when their leader was assinated, it didn't stop them.

Tensions were high, tides ebbing and flowing with every passing day, until 2017.

Jack Skalbek had settled into his life in Los Angeles. He had a house that he rented with a few roommates, a cat, a rather nice car — nothing was too awful those days. He could go outside on his porch and rip a bong like his life depended on it, seeing stars in broad daylight, and —

Wait.

Those aren't stars. It’s broad daylight.

Jack blinked a couple of times as he raised his hand over his eyes, shielding out the harsh glow of the sun. There were small pieces of something hurtling towards the earth, like shooting stars, and as they drew closer he knew they weren't small. They were large, flaming chunks of a spacecraft or something — that was the only logical explanation.

People were running. Something was rumbling.

Impact.

The earth split in two, directly through Los Angeles, and all Jack could do was run. He ran like he never had before, stumbling through the literally broken streets with little regard for anything else. His cat, Molly, leapt out into the street (he never quite stopped thanking God for that) and he scooped her up, hauling ass as fast as he could.

He never really stopped running.

Molly learned to stay at his side, mewling as they traversed what remained of Los Angeles for a while, eventually forced up North by the Federation’s invasion. Before he knew it, Jack had found company with a military squad, having been on base whenever ODIN hit. They stuck together in the aftermath, and when they found Jack essentially camping in the wilderness, they picked him up. At least then, he was “camping” with a group of heavily armed, skilled soldiers.

It didn't last long, the ideation that he could just tag along. Before he knew it, Lieutenant Ames had shoved a rifle into his hands.

“You're too tall to be a sniper and too lanky to be close quarters, so you’re gonna scout. Think you can manage that, Skalbek?” Ames asked, watching Jack inspect the rifle. He’d never used a gun before, or held one, but he supposed that now was as good a time as any to learn how. It would likely be the only difference between him living and dying, so it felt important.

A distant memory these days, although a sweet one, Keegan would have been proud of him. He had passable marksmanship, steady artist hands coming in handy for such a task. His lungs were a weakness, but it wasn't exactly commonplace to come upon large quantities of smokable substances in their travels. Stretching a pack of cigarettes became a habit, until he was barely smoking them at all. Once he could hold his breath long enough to get a few shots off, he was good enough.

That was all that mattered. He could protect himself in the wild.

Jack spent years with the same crew of men, calling them brothers. He never grew too close, never squinted to see Keegan’s face in theirs — he didn't think of those blue eyes often those days. It was hard to dream of good things in such a bad place, like a war-torn America, in desperate need of saving.

Jack just prayed that Keegan was alright, wherever he may be, whatever he may be doing. He had to have survived the initial attack in Tel Aviv.

The soldiers would gossip about a team of men that came from Santa Monica, made up of the survivors from Tel Aviv — fifteen men out of sixty that came out on top when up against five hundred Federation attackers. Ghosts, they were called, a supernatural force that somehow overcame the odds.

He believed that men had survived, but he didn't believe that they were so mythical. Though, after so many years of dissidence, some will cling to those little miracles out of desperation.

Hope was a very dangerous thing for anyone to have, let alone some random man from Northern California that barely survived Los Angeles' implosion, but he had it. Even if he would never admit such a thing aloud for fear of it being taken away. Jack spent most of his time from 2017 until 2022 doing the best he could to hold himself together, and eventually in the winter of that year, it came crashing down.

He woke up to gunshots. Loud, quick, violent. Close. Jack startled awake and reached for his rifle, but before he could even aim he felt a firm thunk on the side of his head. Everything hurts, his head ringing until he falls unconscious, and everything goes painfully black.

Jack had never been knocked unconscious before, but he learned quickly that the wake-up was infinitely worse than the go-down. Nothing was worse than realizing he was chained up, though. His hands were cuffed above his head, the distinct taste of copper rich on his tongue as his eyes fluttered.

“Fuck…” Jack breathed, the sound of his lungs almost wet. He’d surely aspirated his own blood, but he couldn't be certain he wasn't waterboarded by the way his lungs felt liquidy. “Hello?”

Mistake.

A Federation soldier joined him in that cell within seconds, and he learned to keep his mouth shut from then on. It went on for a week straight, the torture, getting beat senseless day in and out by Feds just for fun. They’d laugh, dump alcohol on his gaping wounds, break bones like it was a game. One of them took a bat to his knee on the last day of that first week, and he was sure that he would die in that cell.

Cold. Alone. Bloody.

Months went by. Long, arduous. Sometimes he wouldn't see another human being for several days, and then he would be forced to take a beating alongside another of the soldiers from his company. He wasn't sure when he started referring to himself as one of them, as a soldier, but the Feds saw him that way too.

Corporal Skalbek. The punching bag.

Six. Long. Months.

He was happy that he was still alive on occasion, but most days were spent half-conscious and starving for breath. He couldn't even scream anymore. His throat was so terribly dry he was certain that it was only wet from his blood, coating every gulp with the distinct taste of it. If he coughed, it’d sputter out and paint his pale flesh with an array of sanguine specks, blending with the other stains from the physical abuse. Bruises littered his body, alongside gashes and lacerations, marks from where ligatures had dug into his skin.

The handcuffs were always the worst, a little too rusty and worn, sure to give him tetanus if he survived this ordeal. But, in some sort of optimistic turn, he wasn't sure he would survive it.

If Jack closed his eyes, he could almost hear Marines charging the camp, barking orders over gunfire. That, however, was a fantasy, just like the idea of going home was. Well, at least back to the U.S.. LA wasn't home anymore, and he didn't rightly have a place to live since the soldiers he ran with were always moving, but he would be happy to live in an abandoned motel for the rest of his days at this rate.

Fantasies of a better life left him feeling warm and fuzzy inside despite the exhaustion gripping his every emotion. He was sure, now, that he was starting to see things that weren't really there. Disturbed cognitive functioning is a symptom of mental deterioration, and with the way his mind was creating custom imagery of Marines coming to save him he had to be close to death at this rate. The deafening sound of gunfire traveled closer down the hallway, echoing off the walls alongside the repetitive drum-beat of bootfalls.

“Clear every room — I want every last one of these boys to survive.” A voice shouted, followed by a few affirmative replies of some kind. Jack perked up, straining the cuffs holding his hands up, aggravating the painful friction wounds. A fresh stream of blood ran down his forearms, warm and wet.

It took a few minutes for him to actually believe that someone was here to rescue him from this hell, but once he did he started fighting his restraints. Trying desperately to make the chains jingle but failing at that as well. The pain in his wrists was too much to simply push through it, and he truthfully couldn't feel the lower half of his body anymore. He tried to push himself up on his knees but they were in pure agony.

It wasn't fair.

They’d never hear him.

When they came to the door of his cell, a pair of eyes appeared in the barred enclosure, glancing the room over. He opened his mouth to speak, to beg for mercy, but once more nothing came out. Jack fought his restraints once again and the eyes lit up. Next thing he knew, the door was wide open and he was sure that this was all some vivid hallucination before his death.

The man looked to be a grim reaper, or a twisted angel of mercy. His eyes were nearly white, they were so blue and he knew right then and there that it was him.

He couldn’t mistake those eyes.

“Hey — look’a’me. You’re gonna be jus’ fine.” The man’s voice was low and gravelly, husky in every sense of the word. He went to whimper his excitement but, well…it came out as a coughing fit, blood coating his dry lips once again. Did he not recognize Jack? Has so much changed? Did he not look like himself anymore? “Don't push yourself.”

Jack huffed and sat patiently as the man, who’s last name was too blurry to read and he knew it anyway, broke the cuffs off his wrists with bolt cutters. It hurt, but it reminded him that this was actually happening and that he was alive still. Air still filled his lungs at a quickened pace, he could still feel the warmth of another person’s flesh on his. The man had gloves on, but there was life in his touch — gripping Jack’s fragile and broken body.

“Can you walk?” He asks. Jack shakes his head rapidly and the man doesn't reply, picking the semi-emaciated other up without hesitation. When they enter the hallway, Jack can see the blurry outlines of other men populating the space, both his soldier friends and Marines. “Merrick! Got the last one — he’s not doing too hot.”

“Exfil’s outside — he’s still breathing?’ ‘Merrick’ called back, a fuzzy figure in the distance.

“Barely. Pulse is thready.” The man holding him barked back to Merrick, leaving Jack wondering if he would die anyways, regardless of being saved. It was getting hard to stay awake now that he knew he wasn't going to be stuck in captivity any longer, his eyelids fighting sleep. He knew he was safe. “Hey — stay awake. Eyes on me.”

Jack suddenly felt his eyes open wide again, fixing on the man holding him. He felt like a teenager all over again, looking up through tired eyes on that last day before he lost his best friends to a war he was now fighting, too.

“There we go…eyes on me. Just a few more minutes.” Focusing on that voice wasn't hard. It had gotten deeper, but it was as familiar as breathing.

It was just a few more, in truth. Jack found himself seated in the back of a Humvee, bleeding all over the fabric interior. His body begged for sleep but his blue-eyed angel kept nudging him awake, occasionally pinching his arm to make sure he felt something enough to keep him awake.

“Stop it. You fall asleep, you die.” He huffed in frustration as Jack dozed off again.

“Don't be such a prick, Keegan. He’s a prisoner of war.” Merrick called from the front passenger seat, gazing back at Jack and his mangled body. A mess of limbs and blood, but with the widest smile he could possibly muster. It was him. In the flesh, breathing right in front of him, holding his hand. “You’re gonna be alright, kid.”

Oh, he would be just fine.

Upon arriving in Fort Santa Monica, he was allowed to rest. Anesthetic sleep was never truly restful, as it was artificial, but it was enough for him to walk in a more lucid state. His vision wasn't blurry, his head was no longer pounding, and he didn't taste blood.

A much better day in Jack’s book by a hundred miles.

He rolled onto his side and overlooked the small med-bay, the typical hustle and bustle of a hospital environment carrying on beyond the curtain. It smelled sterile there, but it was welcome in comparison to the scent of rust and rot. The flat white surface of the curtain was disrupted by a hand, followed by the presence of Keegan fucking Russ.

“Didn't think you'd be awake so soon.” He sort of darts his gaze away from Jack, embarrassed that he’d come to sit with a man that he’d presumed to be unconscious. The trouble, though, really came when Jack went to reply. No noise came out. His throat was sore, but it likely only felt that way because morphine was smothering any real pain he would normally be feeling. He touched at his throat anxiously, fingertips dancing across bandages wrapped around the entirety of his neck. “I can do most of the talking, s’alright. I’d like to know who I’m talking to, though. You know sign language or something?”

Jack rolled his eyes. It definitely made sense for him, a person with functional vocal chords and ears six months ago, to have learned sign language. Keegan chuckled at the display of attitude, not a clue in his mind still that he was who he was.

“Stop me when I say the right letter. A, B, C, D, E, F, G, H, I, J—”

Jack tapped Keegan’s hand. A flash of recognition crossed his face before he continued.

“Okay, J. A—”

Another tap.

“J-A…A, B, C—”

Tap.

“Jack?” Keegan spoke softly. “You — sorry, you kinda look like someone I know. His name was Jack, too. When LA went, he went, too.”

Huh? How had he even heard something like that? How was he so certain that Jack was dead?

“Nevermind. I’m, uh, Sergeant, First Class. Keegan Russ. You in pain or anything, Jack? I’m sure I could get them to sneak you a little extra morphine or something. Maybe a cigarette? Not that you should smoke with your throat torn open, I guess…”

Jack stared up at him. If there was any uncertainty, it was resolved immediately.

“What’s that fuckin’ look for?”

Jack went to speak and he literally squeaked in place of words. God damnit.

“Exactly. Go on, get some sleep. I’ll be around with a better way for you to talk, later.” Keegan said as he left, pulling the curtain shut once again. Instead of throwing a fit because Keegan didn't recognize him, Jack opted for sleep, coiling up on his side as the morphine lulled him into a sense of security, the warmth putting him out like a light.

A man of his word as he always had been, Keegan returned after Jack got some much-needed sleep, food, and water. He looked somewhat disappointed though, taking a seat across from Jack’s bed.

“Does a pen and paper work? I really thought I’d have a more innovative solution to the, uh, no-talking thing but…” Keegan said sheepishly as he snatched the medical clipboard from the side table of Jack’s bed, flipping to a blank sheet of paper before handing it to Jack alongside a pen.

‘It’s fine.’ Jack wrote, turning it to face Keegan. ‘My wrists hurt, though.’

“I figured — Doc said you got some pretty deep lacs. I’ll keep it brief. Your last name?”

‘Skalbek.’

“No it isn't.” Keegan’s expression dropped. “Don't fuck around. Who the fuck told you that?”

Jack furrowed his brow and turned the clipboard around, scribbling out a response as fast as he could before Keegan reasonably flipped out. ‘Do I not look the same?’

“You're not Jackie.”

‘How can I prove it?’

“You can't. Fucking…that's a sick prank, you know that? Whoever the hell told you his name is gettin' gutted.” Keegan stood up and turned to leave, only serving to frustrate Jack more. How did he not recognize him? It would seem that while he was excited to see Keegan again, Keegan was…upset? He licked his lips, dry and cracked as they were, and did the only thing he figured would work.

He whistled.

He whistled the tune to Drowning Lessons by My Chemical Romance. It was cheesy and fucking stupid, but he knew for a fact that Keegan knew it because they’d bought the CD together. They didn’t rip it off of Limewire or Napster, no, they bought the actual disc.

They would listen to that song on repeat, Jack never quite shutting up about the bridge and the melodies of Gerard Way’s gang vocals, and Keegan always said it was easily the best song on the record. He knew that they were never really together, and they never had a song, but if they did it would be that. He whistled until Keegan’s expression softened up, and he pulled his mask up over his head.

Same oceanic blue eyes, same slightly crooked nose, a few more scars. Still Keegan.

“I searched the wreckage at that address he — you sent me.”

Now, it was Jack’s turn for rightful emotional revelations. Keegan still got his texts in 2017? He only texted out of habit, out of a desire to vent every once in a while to nobody, even knowing that Keegan was dead. Being convinced that he was, at least.

“I found a body, I…”

‘Housemate. I had three.’ Jack wrote, urgent this time.

“He was so-so burnt that I…I thought the worst, I guess, I —” Keegan stuttered, his eyes never quite leaving Jack. The gap between them was much too far all of a sudden. “I need a minute.”

‘Take your time.’ Jack wrote back, but Keegan was gone before he could even turn the paper around. He sighed and leaned back into the pillows, closing his eyes once again. He would never know, but Keegan practically bolted outside because he didn't want to crack in front of anyone, let alone Jack. The dark haired man locked himself in a broom closet and covered his mouth with his gloved hand, chest heaving with pure emotion as he panicked. His entire world view was shattered by that one living, breathing man out there.

Keegan Russ was not a man that broke down often. He fought back the urge to feel anything about this for two decades, to let his emotions get the best of him, but there was little he could do to stop it now. Jack was alive, a miracle in it of itself, but he was right there in front of Keegan. Busted and bruised, shattered bones and a scruffy face, but it was Jack.

He always regretted not getting a hold of him once they survived Tel Aviv, but there was little he could do about his mistakes now. They had already been done. Truthfully at the time it didn't seem like such a terrible thing, Keegan always had the hope that he would make it to UCLA to see Jack when the war ended, but it never did. Then, he looked forward to seeing him again when he moved to the outskirts of the city, but when ODIN struck LA…

In his mind, Jack had died. He had already mourned him and their brief respite of time together. The grief was simply something he grew around, letting it become a piece of his past that he could lovingly look back upon. Smile, knowing he gave Jack the best version of himself, untainted by war and violence.

Now what was he?

A killer, hardened by years of killing Federation soldiers indiscriminately, unable to look himself in the mirror on the bad days. The last thing that they never see coming. A ghost.

Jack didn't deserve that.

After all of that time, of burying his first and only semblance of love in the backyard outside next to who he used to be, he was sitting right there. If he opened up the door right in front of himself, he was right out there.

He moved his hand from his mouth once he was sure his breathing had regulated down to normal, taking a couple of shaky and unsure breaths before feeling satisfied. The last thing he needed was for their medic to appear out of nowhere and start prodding Jack again, only to see Keegan visibly shaken by seemingly nothing.

It wasn't Jack's fault that everything panned out the way it did, and if it was anyone’s fault it would be Keegan’s. He left, not the other way around. In fact, his squad was responsible for Tel Aviv, which sparked the following energy crisis, inevitably landing them where they are today. Here. In Santa Monica, perhaps the last safe place close to No Man’s Land.

There were two options.

He could, reasonably, walk away and let the medical staff deal with Jack. This could end right here and now, send him on his way with the survivors of the squad he was found with. Keegan would never have to see him again, never have to let him see this mangled version of himself that he had become.

Alternatively, he could walk back out there and sit back down, and start from the top. A do-over. Pretend that the last twenty or so years weren't so long, own up to his fuckups, and make a new starting point here and now. It would be infinitely more difficult, but Keegan also knew that it was indubitably the right thing to do.

With a few more seconds of silence to think about what he was about to choose, he stood up from the pile of boxes he’d been sitting on in the closet, and then went right back to Jack’s side.

“Sorry.” Keegan said quietly as he re-opened and shut the curtain again, sort of standing at the end of the bed rather than sitting in the chair he had previously been in. He was too full of anxious energy to sit down, having to actively think about not tapping his boot on the tile floor. “I just — you have to understand why this is weird for me.”

‘I thought the same when you unchained me.’ Jack wrote, earning a little sad-puppy look from Keegan. It was much harder to see Jack all beaten up and bruised knowing that it was, in fact, Jack.

“You don't look the same, for the record. I don't know who this badass, battle-worn version of Jackie is.”

‘Me neither.’ Jack shrugged.

“He seems like an alright guy.” Keegan said, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “You’ll have to tell me about him whenever you can talk again, huh?”

‘How about you tell me about this Sergeant Russ guy?’

“Very funny. You need some sleep, y’look like shit, Jack.”

‘Come on. You’d have, like, pretty good bedtime stories.’

Keegan couldn't help it, he laughed at that one, a wide smile on his face. Still the same little spark of attitude that he always had, just with a few more years of bite to them.

“Fine — what’d’you wanna know?”

‘Tel Aviv.’

“Not right now. How about…basic training?”

‘Fine.’

It became a ritual, almost. Every single night without fail, Keegan would return to his side with something he stole from the mess hall and a new story, carrying the conversation enough for the two of them. Beforehand, he had been the quiet one, but Jack had involuntarily taken that role. He told him tales of Task Force: STALKER and the Ghosts. Their adventures through the entirety of the war, how many lives they saved — shit, he even got to hang out with Alex, too, on occasion. Well, Ajax, now.

It also became ritualistic that every single night, without fail, he'd wake up in a cold sweat.

He could only manage to gasp for breath, clutching at his throat as he set the attached heart monitors off time and time again. The ringing noise it made was most insensitive to someone having a panic attack, but it at least actually alerted the medic to his state. Grim, his name was, as in reaper.

It was no comfort to have a medic named after death itself at first, but he learned rather early on that Grim was a saint. He’d show up, mute the monitors and administer anti-anxiety medication, which was in short supply, but useful all the same.

Jack wasn’t terribly embarrassed about it either, he’d survived something traumatic and deserved to feel any way about it that he wanted to, until Keegan witnessed one of those late-night panic attacks. He'd fallen asleep in the chair beside Jack’s bed after a late night of one-sided conversation, barely awakened by the quickened breathing of the man in the bed beside him. Jack had never had panic attacks as a teenager, but the heavy breathing and scared eyes were a dead giveaway. Grim had learned to leave the monitor’s sound off, so it wasn't blaring, but Jack was still gasping for breath. His hands were clasped over his chest, eyes screwed shut as he tried to get his heart to slow down.

He looked over when he saw Keegan jolt awake, his eyes flicking anxiously up and down the other man as his cheeks flushed red. Fully embarrassed of the way the trauma affected him so deeply. It meant he was damaged goods. Discardable for something more favorable, less troubled.

“Y’alright? Should I get Grim?” Keegan asks, genuine concern laced into his words. He was so soft spoken it was almost scary, gruff texture never leaving even at a low volume.

“No.” Jack squeaked out, wincing at the pain. It sounded painful, too, a fragile pitch that wavered for the brief second it was spoken. His hand rubbed at the front of his throat, hoping to smother the pain out.

“Easy, Jackie.” Keegan replied, his brow knit in worry.

“M’fine.” Jack hacked, that wet feeling in his lungs returning in a phantasmal way.

“You're not. Take a deep breath. You’re safe. I’m here.” It was so very grounding, hearing those words spoken aloud. He was safe. He was alive. He was no longer cuffed to a wall in some dank basement.

He was with Keegan again.

Jack heaved a few more anxious breaths out, hand grasping at his chest for purchase until Keegan grabbed it, stopping him from scratching at the bandages constricting his breathing, a bit of a frown hidden beneath his mask. At first, Jack struggled, but he gave in after a few short moments of Keegan’s firm, gloved grasp on his twitching fingers.

“Thanks—” His voice comes out timid in both tone and volume.

“Stop trying to talk. You’re just gonna make it hurt worse.”

“Fuck —” Cough. “— off.”

“Just tryin’ t’help.” Keegan murmured, giving Jack’s hand a gentle squeeze. “You've been having night terrors like that a lot?”

Jack went to reply but bit his tongue, squeezing his hand instead.

“Yes?” squeeze. “Okay — hey, I can work with that. Do you want me to stay?”

Jack didn't reply. He just held Keegan's hand tighter, not letting go for a long, long time.

It was unconventional, this method of communication, but it got the point across. One for yes, two for no became the gold standard, especially when he was able to leave the med-bay and explore a bit. Fort Santa Monica was in no state of beauty, sure, but from what he could see it was a haven. There were refugee camps surrounding the military installments, packed tight with families and off-duty soldiers alike, lining the sandbag ridden streets. It was engineered to be impossible to take, the perfect place to shack up just outside of No Man’s Land.

Jack stood outside once he was cleared to walk again, leaning on a railing that overlooked the dismantled city. He was in a great deal of pain most days, but he’d rather grit his teeth and bare it over scarfing down painkillers. A brace and a dream, he could get just about anything accomplished these days.

“Elias said he wants to talk to you.” Keegan’s voice came as a shock, giving Jack the slightest bit of a scare. He turned on his heels to look up at the other man, brow knit in confusion. “Don't know why, don't ask. C’mon.”

What the hell could STALKER’s Lieutenant even want with him? The Ghosts weren’t exactly arms wide open to anyone in particular. They were brothers forged in blood and dirt, and he certainly was not present during Operation Sand Viper. So, short of kicking him out of the encampment, he had no idea what thee Elias Walker could possibly want.

Nothing bad, surprisingly.

“You must be Jackie Skalbek — pleasure. Elias Walker.” A firm handshake from the older man, setting Jack back a few notches. He felt awkward and terribly small next to such a force of power. Keegan had told him so many stories by now that he was certain Elias was inhuman purely based on skill and drive to do more, do better. Jack nodded a reply and Keegan stood quietly by, waiting for his presence to be necessitated.

“So…you’re the infamous Jack.” Elias smiled. “Keegan didn't shut up about you in…what was it, ‘06?”

“Embarrassing.” Keegan huffed, averting his gaze.

“I gotta say, son, your squad sung some high praises of you. Keegan, too. You’ve got a lotta reputation preceding you.” His squad? The soldiers he’d been shacked up with. They were saying he’d done well? His marksmanship was nothing to scoff at, sure, he had steady hands — but make him a soldier it did not. “I know you’re still taking it easy for now, but…we need warm bodies. Desperately. I’m sure Sergeant Russ filled you in on our work, the things that STALKER is responsible for?”

“Only the good parts, I promise.” Keegan said jokingly, earning a bit of a glare from Elias.

“Point is, if you’re up to the challenge, I could use the hands around here. You’re no Marine, but I betcha I can make one out of you yet.” Elias had a sort of warm smile, a confidence that exuded from every word he spoke, that almost made Jack feel like he could do it. How could he fit into the very rigid spot here, though? The lifestyle was hard and rigorous, made for men with years of experience in the field, not…him. “What's that look for?”

“I —” Jack squeaked. Squeaked! In front of Elias Fucking Walker. Frustrated with his own inability to produce a sound that wasn't equivalent to a hamster, he turned to Keegan. Now, they hadn't tried lip reading, but there wasn't exactly a better way to deal with this.

“He’s — slow the fuck down, Jackie, Jesus — he doesn't think he’s cut out for it.” Keegan roughly translated the quick talking, focused on the irregular way Jack formed certain words, the way he most definitely still had a slight lisp based on the way his tongue caught his front teeth sometimes. His fully grown voice was probably lovely if he could choke out more than two words at a time.

“I have it on pretty good authority that before the Federation got their paws on you, you were the best sniper among that squad of army veterans.”

“That was before the Federation.” Keegan translated once again, a slight sadness to the way he spoke the words. It didn't feel good knowing that he’d taken such a confidence blow from being held hostage — it made sense, though. Nobody comes out of that sort of ordeal without a few loose marbles. “He doesn't want to get someone killed because of his inexperience.”

“I understand that, but you've got a certain…quality. It’s that resilience, Jack. That’s what being a Ghost is.”

It resonated deep in his chest, the way that he spoke of what comprised a Ghost. Surviving against all odds. Coming back from ungodly nightmares and asking the world if that was all it had. Having the guts and courage to do what just be done. When Alex and Keegan enlisted, he knew they had more willpower than he ever would, and he wondered how Elias could possibly see that quality in him.

Scrawny, terrified, shaking, Jack Skalbek.

That was no Ghost. He was no soldier.

“I’m not who you think I am.” Keegan spoke his words once more, shaking his head just a little. “I did what I had to do to survive out there, but that's it.”.

“You can live, not just survive. I just need you to have a little faith in yourself, huh? Those boys you ran with sure have it. There’s a lotta folks out there that can't fight for themselves, that’s why we’re here — you can make that difference for folks. It’s up to you, though, I won't force it. I just know a Ghost when I see one, and I have a real good feeling that you’d be at home with us.”

Home. Home wasn't a place anymore, was it? Not since his home got blasted off the face of the earth by ODIN, not since his family and housemates got —

Then, there was us. The Ghosts. His closest friends from growing up.

Men that he’d spent weeks hearing stories of, the legend of brothers in arms coated in blood and sand, walking corpses. He was not made to do that, let alone the minimal work he’d put in during his travels. Jack realized he was just looking at Elias with shock and awe still, shaking his head to get his thoughts right.

Jack knew that if he took this opportunity, he’d be roped into this war for good. Moreso than if he only stuck around for Keegan’s company. There wouldn't be a way out of it, not that there was now, but he would cement his future if he trained to take up work with STALKER. He swallowed his fear, the anxiety welling in his stomach, and extended a hand to Elias.

“Good.” Elias shook his hand, taking it as the ‘yes’ answer that it was. “Once you're cleared for duty, we'll see how well you do.”

“Y-Yessir.” Jack managed to speak, a slight terror in his eyes that paired well with the confidence that came from actually forcing words out.

This, of course, meant that he was now privileged enough to meet the rest of the Ghosts. He’d met them in passing, trailing around behind Keegan most days like a lost dog, but now they were becoming acquainted. They were few in number compared to normal squads and battalions, but they were a force to be reckoned with.

Ajax was more than thrilled to see Jack again, having a much more overwhelmingly positive reaction to his presence than Keegan had. Saying that ‘I knew you weren’t dead because you’re too stubborn to die.’ It almost felt like the before again, memories flickering back to life in the back of his mind. Synapses that hadn't fired in decades.

Kick was the friendliest by far. He sat down with Jack before any proper training and got him kitted out, thrusting a marksman rifle into his hands before he even had the chance to protest. Boasting American made quality, a magazine that would make Vogue blush, and a scope with dual magnification. The matter of his tactical gear would come later, but Kick was more than satisfied to ramble about the specs of his firearms whilst Jack listened intently. He promised him custom gear and maybe even a mask, one day, but he needed more time.

Torch, Grim — they were well acquainted enough from his time in the medical bay under Grim’s watch, Torch often spending his days down there as well for an extra set of hands. He worked in demolitions, but that didn't mean he didn't have surgically delicate hands to assist when Grim couldn't get to something himself. He was actually the one to remove Jack’s stitches — a painfully long process that was almost, but not quite, as bad as his bones getting shattered in the first place. Grim would occasionally cheer ‘you’re doing great!’ and Jack couldn't be sure if he meant him or Torch.

Merrick, though, he was the tough one to crack. Cold, harsh — but effective. He was a decorated officer, completing the SEAL training at 17 years old with flying colors. Sure, Keegan and Ajax had become Marines at the same age, but that wasn't the same as being a Navy SEAL. It was overachievement to the highest degree, except he wasn't showing off — he was just that good. Jack felt small and insignificant in the presence of a man like him, who could outsmart entire battalions of Feds without much forethought.

He was out of his league, and Merrick knew it from the moment they met.

Sitting in the arsenal, having been gifted his uniform by Kick, but too terrified to put it on, Jack just held it. It was dark gray in color, camouflage and flat black as well, though the vest and accompanying guards were all matte black. They’d given him the standard patches that matched everyone else’s, a STALKER insignia set, but his name was the most jarring one to observe.

Skalbek. Corporal Skalbek.

He wasn't even enlisted — how could he be classified as a Corporal? The soldiers called him one, sure, but it was mostly in a teasing way. Jack thumbed over the embroidery and took a deep breath, deciding it would be better to just get dressed and have an existential crisis later. He had to tape and brace his knee in order to walk for long periods, but he’d grown used to the limp in his gait by now that it didn't bother him much anymore. The return of his voice, though, did bother him.

Even as he strapped his gear into place and laced his boots, every little huff or grunt of exertion felt foreign in his mouth. He didn't know what he was supposed to say for himself, truthfully, so he wasn't comfortable with using his voice. It was impossible to even fathom an explanation for how he ended up here, for what he went through in that cell — so he just didn't.

Instinct always takes over, though.

“You all set, blondie?” Keegan asked, leaning in the doorway of the arsenal. He could see Jack all geared up, but it felt right to ask.

“Yeah. All set.” Jack spoke, unaware that he'd even done so at first. Keegan knew better than to overreact, though, it would likely scare him off. Take that pretty voice away. If he wanted to talk, he could, and Keegan wouldn't apply pressure in any way.

“Good, good…lemme see.” Keegan said as Jack turned to face him, sort of standing awkwardly with his arms down at his sides. He looked lost. Uncomfortable in all of th buckles and straps, like the gear was suffocating the life out of him. “You look suicidal.”

“I’m —” Jack stopped himself, a bit shocked in his expression.

“You were doing great.” Keegan huffed in response, mildly disappointed. “The uniform looks good, though, Jackie.”

Jack rolled his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest, watching Keegan draw in closer across the room. He picked up the other man’s marksman rifle, inspecting it for a moment before handing it back to Jack.

“Needs some dirt on it — lucky for you, we’re just doing recon. Nothing crazy, just gettin’ your boots wet out in the field.” Keegan watched Jack take the rifle back, clicking the carry strap around his neck into place, carefully snapping the scope cover on for travel. He looked nervous, like a kid on his first day of school, only with much more weighing on his chest. It made sense. He hadn’t been sure of himself the entire time Elias was giving him a golden opportunity, so it made sense that confidence wasn't leaking out of his every movement. “Stand up straight, act like you know what you're doing until you do. Merrick prefers his name or his title, not sir, if you decide to talk to him.”

Jack nodded, letting a shaky breath out. He held up a thumbs up, hand trembling ever so slightly, pathetically. Keegan reached out and steadied it.

“You’ll be fine. I’ll be with you.”

Jack turned his hand and held his pinky out, raising a brow. Without much hesitation, just the normal amount from a tough guy, Keegan did the same and interlocked them. He leaned in instinctively and pressed where his mouth would be under the mask to Jack’s knuckles. It was a thing from years ago, something they did to “seal” a promise. Jack was surprised that he remembered, but not upset by any means.

It wasn't a terribly long drive to the recon point. It felt that way because of the deathly silence in the SUV, save for Merrick giving the mission brief. Kick sat in the passenger seat beside their Captain, humming to himself as they flew down the dirt roads, jostling over every bump. Jack kept his eyes on the floor until they arrived at the infil, at which point he and Keegan exited the vehicle. It was fairly heavily wooded, the area well covered and higher than the place they were doing recon on, making it ideal for a sniper’s nest. Jack had a natural sense for that sort of thing, carefully and quietly slinking around the woods before coming to a tall, heavily branched tree. He looked it up and down, sizing it up, then looked at Keegan. He was all searching for a nest, a ways away into the brush.

“You take up high, I’ll go down low?” Keegan asked into the comms for confirmation as he found a comfortable place to get vantage from, half expecting a vocal response from Jack and half expecting a snap or something in reply.

Whistle.

“That works.” Keegan chuckled to himself as he pulled his rifle off his back and nestled into the dirt, mounting the tripod on a hard surface so that he could get a stable view. Meanwhile, Jack climbed up into the large redwood. He struggled at first because of his knee, but eventually he powered through and hoisted himself into straddling a large limb. “Are you in position?”

Whistle.

“Heard that. Merrick, we’re locked. Watchin’ exits.”

“Roger — the place should be empty, but you know how that goes. We’ll clean and clear, then raid for supplies.” Merrick replied, voice a low crackle over the comms, before silence fell over the area. Jack relaxed back against the trunk of the tree as he racked a round in his rifle, sliding the bolt into place as he looked down the scope. It was peaceful, almost, quiet. The idle rustle of birds in the trees and the quiet thrum of the earth breezing past, only occasionally interrupted by the crackle of activity over the radio.

Jack hummed quietly, the soft rumble of his voice in his throat only truly comfortable in a muffled manner, barely making any sound at all. He felt his finger gently sliding over the trigger, not quite squeezing just yet — there was next to no movement ahead, save for Merrick and Kick as they navigated the empty warehouse.

They spent a long while going through the place room by room, combing it through, picking up any usable supplies. Sterile equipment, alcohol, first aid kit materials — all sorts of things. It had been vacant for quite a while, clearly, despite old Federation flags flying above. They’d yet to reoccupy it after their removal, meaning everything inside was up to date and ripe for the taking.

Jack’s gaze traveled around outside, flickering from the warehouse to the dirt road leading up to it, watching a car start to close in. Federation flags. His eyes went wide and he stuttered to speak, nothing quite coming out. Damn anxiety reaching up from the depths of his stomach to choke him out internally, clawing his vocal chords into submission.

Three, rapid fire whistles. High pitched and quiet all at once, ringing out through the comms.

“Movement?” Keegan asked quickly.

One.

“Got it. Watch your backs, boys. How many?” Keegan called.

Five.

“Five tangoes, on their way to your position.”

“He didn't say anything, Keegan. Are you sure you're not hearin’ things?” Kick asked, almost a laugh to his voice when he spoke.

“I’m sure.” Keegan asserted, glancing over through the blur of leaves and trees blocking his view of Jack. He had to be right. A couple of seconds pass and he can see the vehicle for himself, five Federation soldiers climbing out slowly. Stalking their prey. Merrick and Kick. Jack wasn’t scared, though, knowing very well that he only had one shot before they were aware of him.

He let out all of the breath he had been holding in from his lungs, took a deep breath and released it slowly, feeling the unsteadiness slip out of reach.

Bang.

Two down. One shot.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

Jack gave a long, drawn out whistle of satisfaction as he took a new breath in.

“All clear.” Keegan exhaled. “Nice fuckin’ shots, Jackie.”

Pride washed over him all at once. The warm, fuzzy feeling of success seeped into his bones and made him blush all over, a hot feeling in the pit of his stomach.

“We're on our way out now to confirm kills. Meet us down here?” Merrick asked.

“Rog.” Keegan replied, leaving Jack to watch the doors in anticipation. Before he knew it, Keegan had made his way over, looking up at Jack perched in the tree. He rocked back on his heels slightly, taken aback by the way Jack had curled himself up onto a tree limb, nearly wrapped around it as he aimed down sight. His cheek was pressed up against his rifle, keeping him nice and steady.. “Look like a bird up there, y'know that, Jackie?”

Jack sat up straight, a bit surprised. He hadn't been listening at all to his surroundings, sort of zoned out as he watched down his scope. A bird? He prayed that didn’t stick.

“The whistling works. Got my attention real fuckin’ quick.” Keegan extended a hand to Jack, helping him climb down from the tree unceremoniously. He replied with a playful whistle, a smile crossing his expression briefly. After collecting his first 5 confirmed kills as a Ghost, they returned to base in the same car they came in. Quiet, at first, but Merrick broke the silence midway back to HQ.

“Quiet type, huh, Skalbek?” Merrick asked, glancing back in the rear view mirror.

“Leave him be.” Keegan asserted. His voice always seemed to be quiet and soft spoken, but he had a bite to it that showed he meant business. If anything good happened to Keegan while he was gone, it was that voice.

“Didn't mean anything by it. You did great out there, Jack.” Merrick defended himself.

Silently, Jack thumbed over the pristine Federation tags before stuffing them into the pocket on his vest. He didn't like the idea of keeping trophies, but those tags were proof that he could actually do some good here.

It took a long time for him to truly feel that way.

Like, the first time he got to see his own dormitory. It wasn’t anything crazy, just a room with four walls and a bed right down the hallway from the showers, but it was his room with four walls and a bed. Dark, cozy sheets on the mattress, a warm light overhead — his name on the door. Jack actually sort of felt important for once in his life, and he began to understand the draw and appeal of military life. There was one tiny problem with the lone dorm, though.

Even at UCLA, he dormed with someone else. His first apartment had a roommate, and the same man moved with him into their home in Los Angeles with a handful of friends. He had no siblings as a child, but Keegan and Alex were at his house so frequently he may as well have at that point. Being alone did not come easily to Jack.

“Hey — came to drop off your tags.” Keegan knocked at the door, a little whistle coming from inside telling him to enter. When he threw the door open he saw Jack sitting on his bed, legs crossed, just sort of looking lost once again. A recurring theme for the blonde. “Need some decor in here, seriously. It’s abysmal.”

Jack just sort of shrugged, catching his tags mid-air when Keegan threw them, the jingling making him flinch slightly. They had, of course, his name on them. Blood type, affiliation, spot for a call sign if one ever stuck to him. He thumbed over the engraving before undoing the clasp and snapping it back into place around his neck, stuffing it beneath his shirt. It was ice cold, but the metal would warm and warp to him eventually. Become like a second skin, something he couldn't go anywhere without.

“I had something else, too, but — s’up to you if you want it or not. Could always make your own.” Keegan added as he came a bit further into the room, taking a seat on the edge of the bed beside Jack. He reached into his pants pocket and pulled out a piece of black fabric, neatly folded into a little square. When unfolded, Jack could see it was a mask, his very own. It looked similar in pattern to Keegan’s, but noticably neater and cleaner in texture and facial features — across the mouth were two black strips in an X. Maybe a little bit on the nose, but he couldn't complain.

“It’s not great compared to what you could probably do — don't know if you’re still into the whole art thing these days.”

Jack shook his head, turning the mask over a couple of times in his hands before he went to put it on. The fabric was thick, making him uncomfortable at first, but once it was in place he could breathe easily. He looked over at Keegan as if to ask how he looked, the scrunched up wrinkles around the other’s eyes telling him everything he needed to know.

“Little Ghost.” Keegan hummed, ruffling up Jack’s hair in a playful manner. “You’re one of us now, as far as I’m concerned.”

Wide eyes like saucers, just looking up at Keegan with awe, wondering how they'd managed this. Circling back to sitting in Jack’s room, though this time it was less than cozy. Even without the Christmas lights casting a warm glow over everything, though, Keegan was more sure than he ever had been that everything was worth it to end up here.

That summer, July was hot in Santa Monica. The sun bathed the city with regularity, not even letting up in the evening. Though, there seemed to be a brief respite in between months of hardship.

After a particularly good bout of missions, Jack even getting some more confidence in himself (and a call sign, while he was at it) they decided to have a small leisure break. Time for themselves, to breathe in without the threat of being dispatched on a mission looming overhead. Something that many of them hadn't had a chance to do in a long, long while. There often wasn't much remaining time for recreational drinking, but Keegan couldn't lie, there was something about Jack in the doorway of his dorm with two cans of beer that made his heart skip a couple of beats.

Sure, they’d stolen liquor as teenagers and gotten wasted on Jack’s roof. His mom always made sure that they were safe and well looked after when they made those foolish errors, giving them plenty of room to make mistakes and not feel stupid about it.

They had kind of missed out on sharing 21st birthdays, though. Keegan's was a year sooner than Jack’s, so they would've had to wait anyways, but they’d inadvertently waited over a decade. The crack of the pop-taps couldn't come soon enough, and neither could the ensuing burn of alcohol. It was liquid comfort, burning the whole way down and settling in the stomach, leaving every sensation tinged a hazy shade of amber.

Kick, in his endless curiosity, had obtained a camcorder at some rate. They had access to new technology, high quality drones and cameras, and yet he was obsessing over the film grain and scan lines of the older camera. It was probably as old as him, the brand name long scratched off from time and use, but he still boasted it’s American made durability. Pointing it at Jack after a couple of drinks, giggling to himself as he zoomed it in and out.

“Alright, alright — this one��s Jack. We’re still — heh — getting used to him, but this kid?” Kick turned the camera to himself for dramatic effect. “Sharpshooter. I think he could shoot the pimento out of a fucking olive from a hundred meters out.”

“He said that’s pushing it.” Keegan answered for Jack, having taken up that role nicely. They weren't quite at the point of telepathy, but beating ASL into his head was starting to work. Jack picked up usage of it back in college, so a refresher was needed before he could actually use it, but the main problem was teaching it to Keegan. He was impatient and short tempered, but he could learn it for the other's sake.

“Maybe! Maybe it's not! Only way to find out is to try, Jack.” Kick snickered as he turned the camera around again, watching through the viewfinder as Ajax joined Keegan and Jack on the balcony. The sunset over Santa Monica Pier was beautiful, even now, with a fort plopped overtop of it. Ajax took his spot between the two others, throwing his arms around them with a smile.

“Good to have the gang back together.” Ajax hummed, pulling Jack in a bit closer, spilling a little bit of his drink in the process. “Fucking missed you, kid, seriously. You have no idea what it was like dealing with Grumpy over here for 15 years without you.”

“I’m not grumpy.” Keegan huffed. “I’m apathetic.”

“Whatever you say.” Ajax laughed, snatching Keegan’s drink from his hand before disappearing back inside with Kick hot on his heels. It was a mostly empty can anyways, so he wasn't terribly disappointed. Still, he wanted to obtain just one more for the end of the night, grabbing one for Jack as well. Turns out, both of them grew up with quite the tolerance for the stuff despite having exactly zero when they were younger. Keegan’s resilience could be attributed to body mass, but Jack’s was built entirely on whiskey lullabies.

The years of travel were hard on him, a once soft and fearful creature of a boy, now…a man.

Keegan took a moment in the doorway to look at him, really look at him. Wearing sweat-shorts and that blasted knee brace, scars drawing up and down the length of his left leg. His sweatshirt, an increasingly well used and loved camouflage tarp of cloth, swallowing up his lanky frame with ease. Those pretty brown eyes, watching the sun dip beneath the horizon, casting tangerine and coral hues all over him.

It was straight out of a movie, or a memory, he couldn't tell.

What’re you staring at? Jack signed, catching Keegan a bit off guard. He bit at his bottom lip beneath his mask and unhooked one side of it to take a drink from the fresh can.

“You. Just…taking it all in.”

Take your time. I’m here now.

“Got no idea how good it feels to know that you're still kickin’ dirt up, Jackie, I…” Keegan stuttered a bit, an uncommon occurrence for him. He didn't feel that sort of nervousness often, hadn't since he left for basic. Scratch that. He hadn't felt genuinely nervous since Tel Aviv, calling Jack from the back of that plane, hands trembling in fear. This wasn't anything like that, though, this was the butterflies sort of nervousness. Somehow, infinitely more terrifying than getting shot at. “I want to make it up to you, somehow.”

What?

“The last…what, 15 years?”

We're older now. You know that. Can't go back and change what already happened. Jack shrugged, not quite grasping that Keegan meant it. He wanted to repair what damage had been done to whatever extent he could, even if things were vastly different, even if they were entirely different people now.

Whether Jack knew it or not, he still had the combination to Keegan's pad-lock chest, the chasm labeled hollow to keep anything good out. It didn't matter how they got here, what mattered was now Keegan has a shot at actually apologizing. Making right what he had once done wrong. He would regret not reaching out sooner until the day he was dead, but he could do better this time around. This is not the kind of opportunity he could squander.

No way in hell.

“I know. But…I can be the person now that I couldn't be then.” Keegan came closer until he was leaning up against the railing, too, overlooking the pier. If he looked up at the stars long enough, he could almost imagine the floating space trash left behind from ODIN, what didn't enter the atmosphere swirling and churning above their heads. “I’m not saying we pick up where we left off in ‘07, I’m just asking that you hear me out.”

Okay. I’ll bite.

“Plain and simple. We know what happened in-between then and now, but we can just…ignore it.” Keegan inched closer as he spoke, until he was shoulder to shoulder with the shorter man. The cold drink in his hand was all he had to steady himself, shocking his system into continuing to speak. “You know I loved you then and I still do.”

Jack swallowed. Loud. The can in his hand crinkled slightly under the pressure he was holding it with, his mouth dry. He still loved him? He? Stone cold, violence wrought, Keegan fucking Russ still loved him?

He, who hid at Jack’s house from his parents, always thanking Mrs. Skalbek for the place to stay, always denying how often he was there. Hiding the fleeting kisses, never lingering long enough to leave a mark on soft flesh. Lying to himself and his father, always forcing himself into the image of what he thought a man to be, never showing much softness at all.

Only to Jack, only back then, only behind closed doors.

This was a massive, groundbreaking departure from whomever that was back then. It took their semi-permanent separation for Keegan to admit that he loved Jack the first time, it only took a few months this go around. The promise of staying, rather than leaving or coming back, was much more emotionally grounding.

“Was that too much?” Keegan asked after a moment. He seemed on edge about Jack’s reaction, gaze flickering anywhere but on those soft brown eyes, eating him alive.

No. It's just been a long time.

“You probably moved on, like, a few months after I last called, huh?”

Never. Jack sighed softly in reply. There was emotion in the movement of his hands, his eyes portraying all of that sadness well. It was never really over.

Just five words, but those five words carried an unspeakable weight. Keegan stared for only a few seconds, going to speak when Jack continued.

Everything came back to you one way or another. My thesis for my degree was a portfolio full of you. I still texted you every time I needed to talk even if you didn't answer, I needed you. My mom called me every few months and I was so scared that she would tell me you were dead that I just didn't pick up. Everything I did up until the fucking world ended was about you, no matter how fast I ran.

It all spilled out so fast that Jack couldn't even be impressed with himself. His hands stuttered every once in a while on more complex words. The words themselves shocked Keegan, too, but that was secondary. He felt wholly guilty for ever letting himself get so close to Jack back then, because his own feverish dreams of doing something with his life just meant he did that to Jack. Got him hooked and ran, watching it spiral out of hand until he was sure he lost Jack forever. The red string tying them together threatened to be severed by the universe with every knot and fray in its threads.

But it never broke. It never fell lifeless.

He would've thought that Jack married, maybe even squeaked out a kid or two, joined the PTA. Cut his hair short and finally start making art for a living, take his kids to soccer practice — not wake up in the middle of the night missing his highschool boyfriend.

Boyfriend.

Were they ever even that much?

Are you gonna say something or what, K? Jack added, breaking Keegan out of the cyclical nightmare of thoughts in his mind.

“I just didn't…know you felt that way about it.”

You had everything to lose by loving me, and you did it anyway. How could I ever move on from that? He wasn't speaking, but he was feeling every emotion from every word. Jack’s eyes were all welled with tears, a soft gasp escaping with every mouthed syllable. Threatening to spill out, but not quite making a sound.

Keegan knew what Jack meant. He would’ve been kicked out if his father ever caught wind of what Keegan was doing with ‘the no-good Skalbek boy’ down the street. If not for Jack’s mom, they would’ve never gotten as far as they did back then. Even then, it wasn't far. He would’ve been spitting teeth from that fight, if he ever found out, probably dead.

He’d unknowingly shown Jack that someone could love him enough to die for him, and as a consequence he never really learned how to be loved any less.

“You still feel that way?” Keegan asked after a moment of silence, a bit of his inhibition slipping away. Perhaps it was the alcohol, perhaps it was just an old spark flickering back into life.

Always.

“Can I start trying to make up for that lost time, then?”

“Please.” Jack replied out loud, gaze averted out of embarrassment. That didn't last long, though, not with that spark beginning to rage into flames. Nothing could've kept Keegan’s hands off of him, his drink thrust into Jack’s hand so that he could pick him up a little bit easier. Hoisting him up onto the railing of the balcony for balance, strong arms laced around Jack holding him steady. The railing creaked, the drop was far, but neither of them seemed to give a damn.

Hot. Heavy. Hurried, whiplash kisses, hands in hair and lips on teeth. It was not gentle, it was not pretty, it was feverish and raw. Keegan could've made him bleed with sharp canines on his bared neck and he would’ve been quite alright with it.

Even when Kick threw the door open, trailed by Ajax with the camcorder, he couldn't have guessed what was going on outside until he saw it. Under the haze of one flickering light that never quite stays on long enough to catch a clear glimpse, but the camera picking up their meshed bodies nonetheless.

“Get a room, you two! Sheesh!” Ajax laughed, but impressively enough, neither seemed to care.

“Mmmhmm…Can’t hear you.” Keegan murmured against Jack’s lips, earning a snicker from the blonde in his arms, still faithfully holding both of their drinks.

“Talk about making up for lost time.” Ajax joked. Kick all too certain he would get chewed out by Keegan if he drunkenly giggled too, he stayed quiet. As quickly as they came they dipped back inside with Ajax pumping his fist, proclaiming that he always knew.

“This alright, Jack?” Keegan asked, breathless as he took a moment to cool off. Still holding the other man, just leaving some space between them for now. Foolishly, Jack dropped the cans so he could sign, a blush dusting his cheeks as the half-drank liquid spattered on the ground beneath them.

Haven’t been this alright since I don't know when.

“Can't lie to you, I never — you were — ugh, fuckin’ sounds pathetic…” Keegan sucked a breath in shakily and buried his face in the crook of Jack's neck, faint scent of cologne and body wash still attached to him. “Never let anyone get close after you. No-one.”

Touch-starved did not begin to cover it.

He didn't hug, he didn't do physical contact, skin-to-skin was a foreign thing. Jack was probably the last person who touched him with bare hands and he didn't convulse. Ajax was an exception to that rule, but it wasn't like they were snuggling. Pats on the back, pull-ups onto a ledge — those weren't intimate like this. He didn't get intimate.

Jack felt sort of dirty knowing he'd gone and tried to bury the feeling of needing someone he couldn't have in the arms of others, never succeeding, whereas Keegan had done the opposite. Instead of voicing that he only ran his hands through Keegan’s short, scruffy hair, pressing a kiss to the top of his head.

“You think it’s pathetic, don't you?” Keegan sighed, nuzzling into the other man with wandering butterfly kisses, lips ghosting over his main artery.

Two whistles for no.

“Hah! Sure thing, Jackie, sure…” He laughed. “Remind me to never ask you that sorta thing again, ‘cause even your whistles sound sarcastic.”

They weren't, but Jack would let him live in his little bubble. Moments like this were never long enough, and thankfully they got to spend the rest of the night catching up on the important things, previously undiscussed stories of Jack’s life in SoCal. It was good to know that they at least had a chance before things began to kick up once again.

For some reason, things didn't.

It was a pure, mostly calm stalemate.

Sure, they still got sent on patrols. They often made ventures to the No Man’s Land border, overlooking the minefields and traps, wondering what could possibly shift the tides. Piece by piece, some bizarre force of nature allowed them to rebuild what used to be between them.

Some nights that meant they’d climb atop the roof with Keegan's iPod, still functional despite a cracked screen and barely functional UI, and let the world melt away. If only for one night at a time they could pretend to be real people, living some sort of domestic existence in a place far from the halted war. Perhaps, in that distant timeline, they wouldn't even have survived a relationship in their teen years without the hardship they’d suffered.

As far as either was concerned, it made them stronger.

Forced them to learn what it meant to live without the other one. Of course, this meant that they knew how dull and awful life could be when it was empty, and they'd fight a hell of a lot harder to stay now that they'd been threatened with separation once.

Jack was a silent killer, Keegan a mouth full of vicious mockeries. Ghosts. Wisps in the wind. Dead already, living a better afterlife on the other side of the apocalypse. Nothing the Federation could throw their way would hold any weight, of this they were certain.

Until they did, of course.

No good thing lasts forever.

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