#he's going to look like captain hook now for the rest of his life right?

[yawnderu]

ANGEL — John Price x Reader x Simon Riley

WC: 6,048 | Part I

Deep down, you knew Simon's way of telling you it's over between you was the moment he gave you his captain's number. Every single message you left Simon was left unanswered, not even opened most of the time, leaving you hoping that perhaps he was simply busy with his missions.

His deployments are oftentimes stressful from what you saw every time he came back home to you, yet you stopped convincing yourself everything was alright after 7 weeks of no contact. Simon Riley is not a coward— not unless it comes to feelings. You're too good for someone like him, someone who could drop dead at any moment, whose only achievements come from killing, forever tainting his hands with blood he can't seem to wash off no matter how many long showers he takes.

He rationalized for months, thought about it— thought about leaving you, too. Yet that lost puppy look of pure trust you gave him every single time he fucked into you, pretty moans leaving your parted lips and soft hands exploring his clothed body, desperately wanting to feel his bare skin against yours, something he never had the heart to give you. Too tainted, too scarred, too ugly. So like a broken man wanting to keep you safe, he did the best with what he had, leaving his captain's number on your night table the moment he was done cumming.

Over 2 months later, Simon still remembers the feeling of your warm skin beneath his lips, the look of pure vulnerability and love plastered on your face, so angelic and pretty, a sheer contrast to the nervousness on his, despite how natural it was to treat you with a tenderness he's never had with anyone in his entire life.

“He fell from a helicopter?” Crinkled eyes meet yours from across the table, taking a sip of his drink before letting out a dry chuckle, nodding his head.

“Aye, hangin' from a bloody rope. Had me scared, thinkin' I lost my Sergeant.” John said with a grin, his gaze softening at the way you were listening so intently, your full attention on him no matter how boring he thought his stories were.

“Is he scared of getting into helicopters again?” You lean a bit closer to him, your chin resting on your hand as you look up at him. From this angle, you're able to admire John's features from up-close. Every single grey hair adorning his beard, his crow's feet, the tiny beauty mark on his nose, the tiny spots on his face, likely gotten from spending a long time under the sun as a soldier from a young age.

“Of course. Took him a while to trust our pilots again, now he always double checks his gear's on right.” Price always pays attention to detail, the way your pupils dilate the longer you stare at him don't go unnoticed in the slightest. He asks a passing waitress for a check, not even giving you a second to offer to pay for your half before his card is already in her hands, going away to charge him for the dinner and drinks.

“And how's… what was his name again? Soap?” He smirks at the mild confusion when using Johnny's callsign, likely assuming it's simply a sex innuendo.

“Soap, yeah. He's a good kid, kind o' like the son I never had.” That gets your attention, looking away for a second to hold back a small smirk before looking back up at him, eyebrows raised.

“You don't have children?” That earns a small chuckle out of him, shaking his head at the question. He gave the waitress a small smile as she came back with his card, pocketing it and getting up from his chair, offering his arm up to you. There's no hesitation as you hook your arm with his, walking to his car.

“Never had girlfriends after joining the SAS. Became a captain at a young age, too.” He looks down at you as you walk, admiring your pretty features, secretly wondering how Simon could have fucked up that badly— how he let such a lovely and sweet girl go. He opens the car door for you, even going as far as to help you put on your seatbelt, letting you have a whiff at his woody cologne, the smell of smoke from cigars mixing in.

“What about you? Any children?” He asks teasingly, shooting you a playful grin before starting the car, blue eyes fully focused on the road. Unlike Simon, Price knows how to drive well, making you feel safe while on the road.

“Hell no. I've been… thinking about it, but men my age were never interested in that.” Even if he was much older, Simon was never even an option. Too emotionally unavailable, too fucked up to even consider having children.

“Part of the reason I like older men.” Your voice is smooth and even, a sheer contrast to the slight knot of nervousness tightening in your stomach, only coming undone when you hear his amused laugh.

Price's calloused palm rests on the gear shift before daring to move it over to your thigh, running up and done slowly, trying to heat up your cold skin rather than doing it to be a pervert, yet your body still reacts to his touch, warmth pooling on your lower stomach.

“Really, sweetheart?” Price isn't stupid in the slightest, yet unlike Simon, his actions aren't malicious. He simply wants to see you squirm, finding pure amusement in the laugh you both share and the playful slap you give to his arm.

“Stop using your charm on me.” You scold jokingly, unable to hide the big grin taking over your pretty face.

“I'm charming now, eh?” His grip tightens on your inner thigh, applying just enough pressure to tease you.

“According to Simon, you always have.” That makes one of his thick eyebrows raise questioningly, his lips pulling into an amused smile.

“I've known him for a long time, y'know? Back when we I was an LT.” He can't help but allow his mind to go back into the past as he drives, images of the eager Simon Riley, a broken man who simply wanted to change the world, who always helped without even asking for much in return.

“Has be always been… like that?” You ask after a few seconds of silence, allowing yourself to be the cat curiosity killed.

“No.” The Simon Riley he met was not similar to Ghost in the slightest.

“He was 'round 19 when I met him. Better than any recruits I've seen.” Yet still teased by his mates for being an apprentice butcher in the past, for being so rigid and basing his entire life on discipline, unlike the many other young soldiers who have since passed.

“I bet. He has that certain look on him, you know? The eyes. I wouldn't want to mess with him.” Price lets out a dry chuckle, nodding his head in agreement. Part of him is glad that he's been working with Simon because it seems that to know more about you, he needs to know about Simon as well.

“We're here, doll.” He parks the car, getting out of his seat and opening the door for you, his calloused hand resting on your lower back, guiding you to your house. You can feel the warmth from his hand spreading all over your body, soothing rubs up and down your back as you walk.

“Would you like a cuppa?” Mirth dances in his eyes at the audacity, already knowing your intentions, and yet.

“Of course.” Price follows after you, part of him growing excited by whatever you have in mind. Your slightly shaky hands fiddle with the keys before you're able to open the door, secretly thankful that you cleaned up your mess earlier in the day.

“What tea would you like?” You ask, turning around just in time to see Price finishing the once-over he was giving you.

“This isn't about tea, is it, darlin'?” He asks with a knowing smile, his jacket slipping out of his shoulders now that you're both inside the house. Blown pupils stare back at him, taking your time to admire the strong body hugged by his tight black shirt. You can see his bulging muscles, broad shoulders fully relaxed as he steps forward, towering over you. A monument of sorts when you're small.

“If I'm lucky, I hope not.” Your breathy voice was all Price needed as reassurance. His lips crash against yours, warm hands gripping your waist tight enough for you to feel the warmth spreading all over your lower body. The smell and taste of cigar smoke overwhelms your senses, too enthralled by the feeling of his tongue wrapping around yours, a small moan leaving your lips the moment his hand trails down to your ass, groping you with care, as if you're made of glass.

“How far do you wanna go?” His forehead leans against yours as his blown pupils stare back at you, his chest rising up and down with each breath.

“As far as you want to.” A small yelp leaves your lips when he lifts you in his arms, your legs instantly wrapping around his strong, muscular waist.

“Bedroom's there.” You don't even need to point— Price can see the open door, so enticing and tempting, allowing your small giggle to consume his whole soul like a siren's song. With carefulness that contrasts the brutality he uses as a soldier, Price sets you down in bed, strong arms on each side of your head, caging you in.

Your breaths mingle together as he leans down to kiss you again, warm tongues wrapping around the other, using his knee to spread your legs enough for his burly body to fit, subtly grinding against your clothed cunt.

“Been wantin' to do this for a long while.” Ever since Simon showed him your profile picture on WhatsApp, introducing you as a friend in need. He wouldn't dare confess it to anyone, not with the way his calloused hand rubbed his cock until it almost hurt, using your pretty face as a relief from the stress of war.

“Pretty fuckin' girl.” He praised, dragging a giggle out of you the moment his beard started tickling your neck, gentle kisses planted all over your warm, sensitive skin, his tongue darting past his lips to give your neck a tantalizing lick.

He can feel your hands exploring his strong body, his muscles bulging and tensing up beneath your soft palms. He only breaks apart the moment your hands go to the hem of his shirt, helping you pull it off of his body, the piece of clothing discarded on the floor.

“God…” Your whisper holds nothing but pure admiration, catching hints of his strong, muscular body, dark hair covering most of it. Your hand drifts up to his torso, caressing his surprisingly soft skin, not minding the scars you can feel beneath your hand. Price has been shot, stabbed, tortured, left for dead— his body acting as a keepsake of every mission gone wrong.

His gaze is soft as he stares down at you, holding a tenderness unlike a man like him, so naturally gentle and willing to show it without the walls guarding his heart— unlike Simon. His calloused hand rubs your thigh before drifting up to the hem of your blouse, carefully pushing it up and removing it with your help.

“Pretty girl.” His back bends slightly as his gentle lips now go to your bare stomach, planting a rapid-fire of kisses all over the soft skin, descending with each passing second, lifting your skin up to reveal your clothed cunt.

“I'll take care of you.” And he means every single word. Captain Price is a bad man, a bad man with a high kill-count and multiple war crimes to his name, yet John Price is a different story— caring and loving, so willing to fix something he didn't even break.

His eyes close the moment his lips connect to your mound, tongue darting out to get a taste at all he's been craving the moment he saw you. He lets out a small groan as the taste of your slickness overwhelms his senses, his hands roaming up and down your waist, daring to sneak past your bra, finally getting a good feel at your tits.

John is a starved man. A starved man whose only salvation is you, looking so pretty and sweet, panties wet with a mix of his saliva and your own slick. He's careful and gentle, pulling down your panties with both hands and dropping them on the floor, his breath catching in his throat when his gaze drifts down to your pussy, glistening under the light of your bedroom.

He doesn't waste any time, lowering himself again between your legs, licking a trail from your tight hole, to your swollen clit. Your legs try to close out of instinct, a whiny moan making its way out of your lips at the sensation of his beard against your cunt.

“Open your legs, love.” He whispered, running his thumb over your hard bud.

“Let daddy taste you.” He kisses your inner thigh before diving back in, licking and sucking on your clit, trying his best to make you feel good. Your moans are too pretty, your cunt too sweet, and Price can feel himself starting to lose control. His cock throbbed, his own desire growing stronger by the second, focusing solely on your pleasure.

“That's my good girl.” He whispered against your skin, sliding two thick fingers inside you. You're soaking wet yet still so tight, only making his desire grow, desperately needing to be inside you. Your whiny moans fuel him, his warm tongue flickering against your hardened clit faster and faster, mixing in with his sucking, his thick fingers curling inside your needy cunt.

Your hands run through his short hair, pulling at it softly to release some of the pleasure building in, the familiar knot in your stomach tightening up with each lick. Your chest rises up and down with each long, labored breath, muscles tensing up as the knot in your stomach finally comes undone, pushing his face closer to your cunt as his fingers move in and out, dragging out your orgasm.

He pulls his fingers out of you slowly, his blue eyes connecting with yours as he licks his fingers clean from your cum, your heart thudding loudly inside your chest.

“Fuck me.” That breathy whisper was all he needed, getting up only to slip out of his pants and boxers, his dick standing proudly. Despite being uncircumcised, you can see his dark pink tip, leaking precum like a broken faucet. Now that he's standing, he takes his time to admire your bare body, his blue eyes going to your tits when you take off your bra.

“Tell me if you want me to stop, yeah?” The option is always there, and he wants you to know. His knees sink into the mattress as he supports his body on top of yours with one hand, lining his hard cock with your entrance, pausing for a moment.

“Let me love you.” He whispered hoarsely, slipping into you gently despite his primal instincts telling him otherwise. He lets out a loud groan the moment your tight walls grip his throbbing cock, his face finding shelter on the crook of your neck. A small hiss makes its way out of your lips as your legs wrap on his hips, pushing him closer and deeper, allowing him to finally bottom out.

“Bloody hell— you're so tight.” He moans out, his thrusts growing faster as you get used to his thickness. He looks down at you, his eyes filled with desire and adoration, longing dancing within. John's lips part as he feels your long nails dragging down his back, driving him crazy with pure need.

“I'm close.” He whispers out, his hips ramming against you with increasing urgency, reaching out to caress one of your soft tits. He plants open-mouthed kisses all over your neck and chest, his breath warm against your sweaty skin.

“Cum inside.” John's eyes widen at your words, his dominant nature taking over as his hands go down to grip your hips firmly in place, the overwhelming desire and pleasure clouding his judgement, drowning out any concerns. His thrusts are deep and powerful, making you his with an unyielding force.

As he loses himself in the heat of the moment, John's muscles tense up, the familiar feeling of pure heat pooling up within him, slamming himself as deep inside you as he can before his cock starts throbbing, shooting ropes of cum with each pulse. His breath is heavy as he slowly pulls out of you, his gaze fixated on the mess of mixed fluids that coats your pretty cunt.

“My pretty girl.” He whispers out, burly arms wrapping around your body, pulling you closer to his hairy chest, allowing you to hear his fast-beating heart. His lips are gentle against your forehead, wanting nothing more than to relax with you after the intense love-making. His actions are nothing short of genuinely caring and loving, wanting to give you good aftercare, all thoughts of Simon finally out of your head.

“Want me to run you a bath?” Price asks in a whisper, planting one last kiss on your forehead before looking down, just to see your chest moving up and down slowly, eyes closed and lips slightly parted, pulling you closer to his warm, naked body so you can sleep better, deciding to get some well-deserved rest as well.

The smell of eggs and tea is what you woke up to in the morning, rubbing your eyes with the back of your hand. The feeling of large fabric keeping your body warm makes you look down, just realizing that John put his large shirt on your body when you were sleeping, a small smile pulling at the corners of your lips as you get up from bed, making your way to the kitchen.

“Good mornin'.” John turns around for a second, blue eyes lighting up when he's greeted by a big smile and his shirt dwarfing your body, giving you a small wink before he's back to finishing your breakfast. You take your time to admire him, so naturally handsome and masculine, his hairy, strong body only having his boxers on.

“Thanks, daddy.” You quip teasingly as he hands you the plate, a small squeal leaving your lips when he starts to chase you around the house, shared laughs ringing around.

Dating John is a sheer contrast to any expectations you had when you first got into the relationship. Despite the fact that he's often away during missions, he has scheduled delivers for flowers and your favorite foods, calling with you the moment he's available.

“What are you doin'?” Price asks with a small smirk, his gaze softening the moment his eyes meet yours, your cheek resting on his strong thigh while he was trying to complete a report. His hand goes to your head out of pure muscle memory, giving your scalp a soft massage.

“I like you from this angle.” He lets out a small chuckle, moving his leg to make your position more comfortable as you nuzzle his leg, your chin now resting on it as you adjust your knees on the floor.

“You like me in every angle.” A grin spreads on his face, his calloused hand running down the length of your hair before resting on your back, massaging the muscles tenderly.

“True, but specially from this one.” The cheeky smile you throw his way does nothing other than to distract him further from his report of the latest mission, cupping your cheek to examine your pretty features better under the light of the room, mirth dancing in his blue eyes.

“You're clingier than my shadow.” He teases, leaning forward until his lips meet yours in an affectionate kiss, not bothered by your clinginess in the slightest. He breaks away just to give your forehead a tender kiss, staring down at you lovingly. The look of pure trust and love your eyes hold drags him back to one of the many late night conversations with Simon back at base.

“Y'like her?” Simon finally dares to ask, ignoring the growing pain on his lower stomach at the idea of you dating John, even if it was Simon's idea.

“Do you?” Price quips, already knowing the reply. There's been more than one occasion where he saw Simon stare at your WhatsApp profile picture, even if your number was deleted— he still keeps your messages, using it as an odd way of finding comfort despite the growing self-loathing from hurting you.

“You know I don't do that.” There's hints of regret spilling along Simon's deep voice, his bare fingers drumming on the cup of tea on his hand.

“Do what?” He already knows the answer, and yet.

“Love. 'M gonna get the poor girl killed.” Memories of Christmas haunt him even years later, his mind momentarily taken back to coming home just to find his entire family dead. All that blood, yet all his shattered mind was able to do was laugh even as he held a gun to his mouth.

“She'll be fine, Simon. The girl knows how to handle herself. Hell, I'm getting her a better security system soon, too.” Despite being in a committed relationship with you, John knows Simon well enough to know he still likes you, in his own way. He's seen Simon break down, seen the worst and the best of him, and eventually got to see the way he built himself back up, coming back to the SAS as Ghost.

“Wha'? You want me to date her, too?” Even if he asked it as a joke, Price's silence and the subtle shrug of his shoulders speaks louder than words.

“I know what you've been through, son. Think about it, you mean a lot to the bird.” John empties the rest of his tea down the sink, giving Simon one last pat on the shoulder before walking out of the room, leaving him alone with his thoughts.

“I'll go get it.” John is brought back to reality with the soft knocks on the entrance door, tilting his head up as you plant a kiss on his cheek. You make your way up to the door, your heart beating inside your chest when you look through the peephole, a familiar pair of dead brown eyes staring back. There's slight hesitation as your hand goes to the doorknob, resting there for a few seconds before you decide to open the door.

“Simon?” Despite the dark hoodie over his head, you can tell he hasn't been doing well, his skin looking more pale than usual, dark eyebags making him resemble more a raccoon than a man.

“'M sorry.” He mutters, hands deep inside the pockets of his jacket, lowering his gaze with nothing but pure shame.

“That's it?” Your guarded tone makes a part of him feel proud that you're not a doormat anymore.

“No. I'm sorry for… ignoring you, and for being a cunt.” His gaze finally meets yours. You can see the shame, the regret, and the pain.

“I was scared.” I wish I could tell you I survive out there because I don't want to leave you yet. Your lips part, though you decide to be quiet for now.

“I don't know if I'll ever be able to tell you why this shite happened.” Despite the way his hands are fidgeting inside his pockets, he's trying his best to be as honest as possible while avoiding dumping his trauma on you.

“That's bollocks, mate.” Price's voice almost scares the soul out of you, turning around to shoot him an exasperated look. For a man his size, he moves with surprising quietness. You can feel his burly arms wrap around your lower body, bringing you closer to him.

“Give 'er a proper apology.” Despite the hesitation Simon feels, the space Price left open for him is all he needs. You can feel another pair of arms wrapping around your body, the familiar scent of cheap fags and gun powder hitting your nose, bringing you back to all those nights you shared.

It's an awkward hug, a mess of limbs and warmth that you finally decide to take in, your arms wrapping around Simon's narrow waist, bringing his body closer to you despite the way his muscles tense up at the sudden contact. You can feel him relax with your touch, his cheek resting against the top of your head.

“'M sorry.” He repeats in a whisper, his cold face finding shelter on the warm crook of your neck, the urge to kiss you again growing stronger by the second, though he remains respectful. You can feel John's cock starting to harden against your ass, making you look up and give him a confused look. His hand goes up to grip your jaw softly, his lips crashing against yours as he starts to subtly grind against you, only making the confusion grow.

Simon's hold on your body tightens, the familiar sensation of his lips against your neck drags a small moan out of you, muffled in John's mouth. His tongue wraps around yours, your breathing growing more labored by the second, soft hands curling on Simon's muscular back, barely able to hear the door closing until you decide to break away from the kisses.

“What's going on?” The nervous laugh that leaves your lips is only met by a reassuring look coming from Price, his calloused hand running up and down your side.

“Part o' the apology you deserve, love.” You don't even have time to answer— not when Simon's rough lips meet yours, the kiss nothing but a pure display of love and affection. Even a ghost can be a lovely thing when you want it to be.

You can feel John's calloused hands drift down to the pajama shorts you're wearing, sneaking a few squeezes on your ass before his hand sneaks past your panties, using two of his fingers to feel your wet cunt, spreading your slick all over. His lips are now busy on your pretty neck, licking and sucking freely, not caring about any love bites he leaves— he knows you don't mind either.

You can hear his hard breathing against your tender skin, your tongue dancing with Simon's, hands desperately sneaking under his shirt, groping his hard, defined muscles. You can feel the bulging scar on his ribs, caressing it with extra care just to show him every single part of his heavily scarred body is loved.

“I missed you.” Simon breaks away from the kiss only to whisper that in your ear, his rough hand already going up to your tit, squeezing the soft fat while all you can do is moan, the combined sensations of the strong men touching you does nothing but drive you closer to the edge, your wet walls tightening around John's fingers, forcing you to squeeze Simon's bicep to release some of the tension.

“Fuck, daddy—” Simon's breath hitches at your words despite knowing you're talking to John, his own cock throbbing at the slight whine in your tone. His hands go to your waist, holding you up as your eyes finally shut, your forehead resting on Simon's chest as John's fingers move faster and deeper inside you, lazily rubbing your clit with his thumb. Your knees start to buck, more whiny and louder moans leaving your lips as you cum all over his fingers, nails digging into Simon's arm.

“That's a good girl.” Price praises in a breathy whisper, delicately pulling his fingers out of your pulsating cunt, taking a second to admire the way his fingers glisten with your slick.

“Taste her.” Simon is a man with no shame. No shame at all, making eye contact with you as he starts to suck his captain's fingers, putting them in his mouth just to taste more of your sweet slick. The hungry wolf is reduced to a starving dog, a small groan leaving his lips the moment your taste is all over his tongue.

He pulls John's fingers out of his mouth once he finishes licking them clean, your mouth opening ajar when Simon's lips crash against his, your heart beating loudly inside your chest as you watch them kiss. You can see their tongues dancing together, sharing your sweet taste in a passionate kiss, Simon's grip tightening around your waist.

They break away after a few seconds, looking up just to be met by Simon's cheeky smirk. He pushes you further into the house, fingers intertwining with yours as he walks into the bedroom like he owns the place, yet in reality, it's simply something he's done way more times than he can count.

“Pretty fuckin' girl.” His hold is all but gentle as he lays down in bed, pulling you on his lap, allowing you to feel the way his hard cock bulges on his jeans, calloused hands going to your ass to make you grind against him, whiny moans leaving your lips at the friction against your sensitive cunt.

You can hear a zipper going down behind you, only making the excitement grow at the idea of seeing your boyfriend's bare body again— no matter how many times you've seen it already. Price's knees sink on the mattress, burly arms wrapping around your waist, grabbing one of your hands just to guide it to his hard cock. Your hands wrap around it, starting to rub him up and down slowly until his fingers join yours, speeding up the movement.

“Tell me you wanna fuck him.” His voice is a whispered command, a dominance you've never heard before— and one Simon has heard too many times during missions.

“I wanna fuck Simon.” You confess, your back pressing against John's strong, hairy chest as you jack him off, your soft palm rubbing against his sensitive tip, dragging a small grunt out of him as you smear his precum all over his throbbing cock. His free hand goes to your back, pushing you down against Simon as you let go of his cock with a small whine of protest.

Simon is desperate and needy— that much you can tell by the way he removes his clothes with an eagerness you've never seen before. You take your time to admire his strong body, pale skin tattered by scars, yet looking so alluring. You adjust your position as he tries to remove his pants, exchanging a small laugh at the awkward position you're in.

He looks more relaxed and honest than you've ever seen, his eyes crinkling as you're getting your shorts and panties pulled down by Price, finally resting your naked body on top of his. It's a new change of pace for both of you— Simon doesn't like to give up control, doesn't enjoy being dominated, it's too personal and vulnerable, yet for you? He's willing to try anything.

“Show him how you much you missed him.” John's soft command makes you nod your head, looking over your shoulder just to feel his lips against your back, his hand coming up to your jaw to turn your face back to Simon. Simon's calloused hand goes down to his throbbing, veiny cock, waiting until you lift your hips up to line himself up to your cunt, a low groan leaving his lips as your tight walls wrap around him, your back arching once he bottoms out.

“Fuck, Simon…” Your face rests against the crook of his neck, planting kisses all over his warm skin as he starts to fuck into you, the wet sounds of your sopping cunt and needy moans filling the room.

Simon's eyes are closed, fully taking in the sensation of finally having your naked body on his after so many months apart. His hands explore your body with familiarity, bringing one of your hands up to his face to make you cup his cheek, gentle kisses planted over and over on your thumb.

You're too far gone to notice John coming up from behind you, keeping you against Simon's body while his free hand rubs the lube all over his veiny cock, a small smirk pulling on the corners of his lips at how much you're both enjoying each other. You're dragged back to reality when you feel his tip pressing against your tight cunt, already full with Simon's cock.

“It's not going to—” Price pacifies you with another kiss on your bare, sweaty back, slowly pushing in.

“I'll make it fit.” He reassures, a deep moan leaving his lips once he manages to slip his thick tip inside you, giving you time to adjust to the sensation before slowly pushing the rest of his cock inside you, pausing once he bottoms out to give you a well-deserved break.

“Fuckin' hell.” Simon groans out, his face scrunching up at how much tighter your cunt feels now that you have two cocks inside you. His short nails lightly dig into your skin, already feeling so close to the edge despite the fact you're just getting started.

You let out a short exhale once they both start moving, cocks rubbing together inside your tight walls, the sensation of being stretched this much starting to feel better by the second, every single nerve inside your cunt being stimulated. You pull Simon for another kiss, feeling his hand coming up to the back of your head just to pull you closer, wanting to feel more of your tiny tongue licking his.

You're a mess of limbs— sweaty bodies colliding, feeling their muscles tightening up around your soft, smaller body. Simon's moans are muffled by your lips, not letting you pull away from the kiss in slight embarrassment at letting you hear the neediness seeping out of his tone.

Their hips move in a relentless rhythm, each thrust sending waves of pleasure coursing through your veins, forcing your back to arch, only giving them a better angle to fuck into you. Price's hands go up to your soft tits, squeezing and groping as he moves faster and deeper inside you, his breath hot against your ear.

“I'm… I'm gonna cum.” You manage to whisper between moans, muffled once again by Simon's rough lips. The overwhelming sensations build within you, the familiar sensation of your muscles tensing up and fingers tingling starts to grow stronger by the second, the intensity of your connection with both men driving you over the edge.

The sensation of one of their cocks hitting your cervix over and over makes you whine softly, muscles tensing up as they sandwich your bodies between them, finally letting go, your orgasm washing over you as your walls wrap tighter around their cocks, your fingers digging into Simon's skin. It doesn't take long for them to follow after you, fucking into you as deep as they can as they release a thick load into you, cocks pulsating with each rope they shoot.

They remain buried inside you for a moment, chests heaving as they try to catch their breaths. Price is the first one to pull out, watching as their combined cum seeps out of your spent pussy before he lays down next to Simon, your warm body being pulled to the side as Simon lays on his side, his cock still buried inside you even while he's softening.

“I love you.” He finally confesses, tired eyes meeting yours for a second before shutting again as Price embraces you from behind. Your leg is resting over Simon's body, making the position a lot more comfortable as you bring his face closer to your chest.

“I love you too. Both of you.” You whisper, tiredness slowly taking over your body, not even realizing that Simon is already asleep, his face buried on your soft tits. Price lets out a small chuckle, planting gentle kisses all over your warm back, his hands lightly gripping your stomach as a way to let you know he loves you, too.

[samiramohann]

would've been you (should've been me)

just a little something I wrote based off of this post and my own tags. based off of the flashback from 8x16.

They stop at the hospital on the way back to the firehouse. Parked outside behind the 118's ambulance, Bobby tells them he'll be a minute before he ducks inside.

They all knew he was going to talk to the mother from the house fire.

So they wait.

10 minutes later, their captain had emerged from the hospital doors. No one commented on the tear tracks that had cut through the soot on his face and hastily wiped from his cheeks. The call had been hard. And no one pointed and laughed at the 118 anymore if your emotions got away from you.

They ride back to the station in silence, and the cab of the engine is filled with a tension that has the hairs on the back of Tommy's neck standing on end.

When they finally pull in, Bobby is first out. Hen and Howie share a look as their captain tosses his gear into his locker, his helmet bouncing off the metal and falling to the concrete, forgotten as it's owner walks away.

Everyone else climbs out after a few seconds and sets their gear back into place, eyeing the crumpled turnouts on the ground. Tommy sighs.

"I'll get them." He calls out to the others, hopping down from the cab. "You guys go get washed up."

Everyone nods before they head off, and Tommy sets his own stuff to the side before going to pick up Bobby's things. He hangs the turnout coat on the hook, with the Captain's helmet laid to rest on top of it. He checks to make sure nothing was damaged on the tanks and mask before he stores those, too. He makes a mental note to check the oxygen levels, and then he shrugs out of his own turnouts and stores them away until they're needed again.

Once he's done, he contemplates heading towards the showers. Scrubbing the soot from his skin sounds like a really great idea right about now, but he feels restless. So he heads for the roof access instead, hopes the cool night air will clear his head.

When he gets to the access door, it's propped open, meaning someone is already out there, and he wonders if Robinson is sneaking a smoke or three as he pushes the door open and steps out.

He's met with the sight of their captain instead, hands planted on the ledge, eyes set on the street below. His body stiffens when he hears the door and suddenly his eyes are on Tommy and Tommy freezes.

"I, uh, sorry Cap. I didn't think anyone would be up here."

Bobby's eyes are full of grief and a rage that makes Tommy's stomach twist.

"What do you want, Kinard?"

The words are clipped as Bobby turns away from him, looking back down to the passing cars below them.

"I doesn't matter now. I don't want to bother you. I'll just go back and-"

Tommy cuts himself off when Bobby pushes away from the ledge and turns toward him fully.

"It's fine. I need to go do paperwork anyway."

Bobby crosses the roof, and Tommy steps aside, pulling the door open for the other man as he reaches it. Bobby stares at it for a second before he heads inside.

"Oh, uh, don't worry about your gear." Tommy calls after him. "I'll make sure your oxygen tanks are full when I head back in."

Bobby stops, his foot falling heavily onto the next stair.

"I didn't ask you to do that, Kinard. Just like I didn't ask you to stop me from reaching that crib."

Tommy's eyebrows knit in confusion.

"I know you wanted to rescue that baby, Cap. I did as well but you would have gone through the floor with him. You could have died, too."

Tommy sees Bobby's jaw tick, like he's angry that that exact scenario didn't play out.

"You're right, Tommy. But I gladly would have given my life so that a mother wouldn't have to be grieving the loss of her little boy tonight."

And with that, Bobby continues downstairs until Tommy hears the inner door to the stairwell open and close again.

Bobby's words play through his head as he stumbles away from the door, dropping down into one of the folding chairs they keep on the roof. He sinks into the uncomfortable plastic, arms coming up to wrap around himself like a hug.

There is a chill that has settled over his bones, and it isn't from the light breeze blowing across his exposed arms.

Tommy was able to save his captain, and that should feel good, and it had for a brief moment. But now it just feels like he's messed up.

Like Bobby wanted Tommy to let him fall.

Tommy wants to chalk it up to the emotions of the call. They lost a kid. Everyone involved is going to have to live with that for the rest of their lives. The 118 haven't experienced a lose like this since Bobby took over as captain.

Tommy sighs, runs a hand down his face. it comes away covered in soot, and he cringes, wiping it on his pants.

A few hours later, after he came down from the roof, had a shower, and checked both his and Bobby's oxygen tanks, he heads upstairs to grab a drink. As he reaches the top of the stairs, Bobby steps out of his office. Tommy stops where he is, watches Bobby as he crosses over to the coffee maker, and grabs one mug for coffee and then another. He fills them both up and sets one down across from him on the counter. Nodding towards it, Tommy takes the invitation and crosses the room, hoping onto the stool and pulling the cup towards him. They don't say anything to each other as they drink, and he's not sure if that's a good thing or a bad thing.

Every so often, Tommy will shoot Bobby a glance, and their eyes will meet before Tommy flicks his away quickly. Before long, both mugs are empty, and Tommy watches as Bobby fills his again before he starts back towards his office.

Tommy doesn't make a move to get up. He just stares down into his own empty mug until Bobby calls his name. Tommy turns to look at his captain, who has stopped just outside his office door.

"You did good tonight, Kinard." Bobby pauses, glances at the clock. "It's late. Make sure you get some sleep, Tommy."

Tommy blinks and hesitates before nodding.

"Yeah. You too, cap."

Bobby nods once, and then he's gone. Blocked from Tommy's view as the door clicks shut behind him.

Things feel back to the way they were before the call. The coldness that had come from his captain seems to have gone, replaced by the same man he's gotten to know these past few months.

And the cold stays away on their next call. And the many calls that come after that. They continue to work flawlessly together as a team under Bobby Nash's leadership. He praises them for their work and offers corrections and advice when needed. He cooks dinner, often asking for assistance from one of the others. When Tommy is called on, it's friendly between them. They go over the day, Bobby asks about the car Tommy's been trying to fix up. It's nice.

A few months later, after Tommy transfers to Harbor, Bobby catches him by his truck at the end of his last shift with them.

"We're gonna miss having you around, Kinard."

"I'm gonna miss you guys, too. But if you ever need a helicopter for anything, give me a call. I'll be there."

It makes Bobby smile and before Tommy knows it, he's grabbing Tommy's shoulder and pulling him in for a hug. They hold onto each other for a couple of seconds before Bobby is stepping away, his hand still resting on the younger man's shoulder.

"You're gonna do great things, Tommy Kinard. It's been an honor working with you."

Tommy nods, throat tight. Bobby gives his shoulder one last squeeze before he's pulling his hand away and heading back toward the doors. Tommy watches him go until he is completely out of sight.

And still Tommy stands there, staring at his old house. He stares for a few minutes before he's pulling his phone out, going to the group chat him, Howie and Hen set up.

"Watch out for Cap for me, yeah?"

Howie sends back about 10 thumbs up emojis.

"Always." Is Hen reply. And it comforts Tommy to know his team will always have each other's backs.

He just hopes he'll still be able to have theirs all the way from Harbor.

He's going to try like hell to make sure he does.

[amathslutsguidetofandom]

Don't Do That To Me - 1

PAIRINGS: Captain John Price x Techie!Reader

SUMMARY: What happens when your recklessness almost costs you your life? Will John regret putting an end to your "hush-hush" relationship? Will he even care?

WARNINGS: A pinch of angst, inaccuracies of military operations, inaccuracies of hacking, and John being a silent simp.

WORD COUNT: 2,252 (Yeah, it's a lot for me 😅)

*not proof-read*

ENJOY!

You take off your vest and put it on the 7-year-old boy who trembles in fear. Your hand itching to take a hold of the gun that’s pocketed in your thigh holster, you turn to look at Soap and Gaz as they do the rest of the sweep of the warehouse.

You look back at the boy and place a hand on his shoulder, “You are ok, we will get you out.” He nods shakily at your statement, and his mother wraps her arms around him tighter as they huddle near the window.

You get up from your crouch position and walk over to Gaz, who has just entered the room. “Found it?” you ask hopefully to which Gaz nods. “You’re lucky it’s a portable one,” he replies and hands you the Toughbook. Your eyes widen as you take it immediately and place it on the nearby desk and you flip it open and start typing away.

Your fingers work mindlessly as you concentrate hard.

You hear Soap talk to Gaz regarding something about communications being jammed, you don’t remember when Soap walked in.

“Guys, wait, this Toughbook controls some satellite connections within, like, a three-mile radius,” you stop and turn and look at the two sergeants.

Soap walks forward and leans over your shoulder to get a better look at your screen, “Looks like gibberish to me, bonnie.” You huff slightly and turn back to the toughbook, “I can try to reconnect the comms back to Captain, I just need-,”

“Go ahead,” Gaz says while looking at the hostages. You hear him walking to stand on the other side of you, “why did you give up your vest.”

It’s not a question, it’s a statement.

A statement to you stupidity.

You, yourself, wouldn’t call it ‘stupidity’ per se.

You would call it your everlasting kindness.

Even though that boy’s father may have info on some plans that maybe the solid scheme to breaking out Makarov, the boy is still a child. A child shouldn’t be harmed for what his father has committed.

You tell your whole pity story to Gaz, and he just rolls his eyes and mutters something like “reason why you’re a techie and not a soldier”.

You roll your own eyes and elbow his thigh.

You type for a while longer until you’re so sure that your work was right and click “Enter”.

***

John hears the static come through and he sits straighter in his chair, so does Ghost. “Team?” he says into the mic in front of him.

“Hear you loud and clear, Captain.” Your voice pulls through and he almost sighs in relief.

Almost

“Copy, Sergeant.” He sinks back into his chair and listens as Soap gives in the summary of what has happened and the hostages, they have in their keeps.

John and Simon are stationed at base, by Laswell’s orders, to stay put and help the team through comms. So, they both, along with Laswell and other military grade personnel, sit in the meeting room looking at the various screens hooked on the wall.

John’s focus was primarily on his own Toughbook as he sees the intel you’re sending over from your side.

For him it feels like yesterday.

Yesterday, when he held you in his arms.

Yesterday, when he kissed you senseless.

Yesterday, when you said you loved him.

Yesterday, when he fucked you good and held you while your slept in each other’s arms.

Yesterday, when you both argued about the fact your relationship was a secret.

Yesterday, when you stopped talking to him.

He hated himself for trying to put an end to what you both had. He tried to wish you luck before the OP but Soap told him that you didn’t want to talk to Price, something about “getting her head straight and in focus.”

Now, you’re on the field, your fingers smacking on some keyboard of some Toughbook and send him the intel on whatever you can get your hands on.

His eyes caught something on one of the screens.

One of the techie’s has somehow managed to get a street camera that’s angled to the window of the warehouse you, Soap and Gaz are currently in.

“Sergeant’s, we got eyes on the hostage, through a window. Over,” Laswell’s says into the table mic.

A second later Soap’s face pops on the screen, and John’s brow’s twitch.

You’re in there, somewhere.

He straightens his face again; he can’t let the board know that he was (ex-)fucking the most talented Technical Sergeant he’s ever had to work with.

Soap and Laswell converse over the comms, but John’s eyes are focused on the screen as he see’s Soap step away from the window.

Then he sees it…The red dot

***

You finalise you’re typing and see the loading bar as it slowly increases per second.

“Laswell, the data is slowly being transferred over to your database, over.” You press on to the comms as you convey your message to your Chief Officer.

You turn around to see the child and his mother again.

And that when you spot it…The red dot.

“Shit, kill the lights,” you whisper-yell to Gaz. Gaz furrows his eyebrows at your words and the way you crouch. You nod at the mother, at the one, then two, then three red dots appear on her body.

Snipers

You hear Gaz and Soap swear and get their guns ready, and one of them shuts the lights off.

“Laswell, we got a situation here.” You hear Soap’s static words through the earpiece.

Gaz tells you and Soap to stay put as he exits the room. You hear Laswell and John swear. Firstly, your heart stutters at John’s voice (but you quickly push that feeling aside). Secondly, you turn to see the son witness what’s on his mother’s body and soon screams.

“Hey, buddy. Eyes on me,” you cringe first at his shrill tone, then you whisper and calmly wave him over. He shook his head, but you’re assuming his mother knew what was happening and slowly convinced him to come towards you.

When he reaches you, you tighten your vest on him and give him a reassuring look.

Soon there’s some static and a new voice is heard, a distorted voice with a bit of an Arabic accent.

“Hand us the boy.”

You look at Soap, and he looks at you.

“Hand us the boy, and no one gets hurt.”

You go to click on your comms, and Soap stops you as he shakes his head.

“Let me,” you whisper back, Soap sighs and let’s go of your wrist shaking his head because he knows that he can’t stop you.

You nod and click and hold onto your comms button, “You’d willingly hurt your wife?” You look back at the woman, she clutches onto her hijab as she silently mutters her prayers.

“No questions, just hand us the boy. We won’t kill you if you do,” the voice replies.

***

John clenches his jaw as he hears the voice threaten you.

He hates that you are in this situation, he hates the fact he can’t be there to actually see what or how you are doing.

***

“Look, to whoever this is, there’s no way we are returning the boy. And there is no way you are killing his mother,” you say sternly into the comms.

Soap paces with his grip on his rifle tight as ever, he listens as you talk into the comms and make sure the voice on the other side is aware that you are not giving up.

You rub at your forehead as you sit on the floor and share a look of sympathy with the woman whose life is on the line.

***

Thirty-Five minutes.

That’s how long it has been since the start of their incident.

“What’s the plan, Cap,” Ghost’s rough voice breaks John out of reverie.

He turns slightly to face the man in the skull mask, “can’t really say without being there. If only-.”

Laswell cuts him off.

“No John, I was never gonna let you go on the operation. I knew the beef you have with the kid’s father. You would let you anger blind you,” she says in her boss voice.

He opens his mouth to say something, but she raises her hand to silence him. “Maybe not by lot, but at least by a little bit John.”

He keeps quiet at that.

Because he knows that its true.

He also knowns that if something to you, he will never forgive himself, and hunt down the person behind the distorted voice.

He grumbles as he crosses his arms as he eyes the screen of the live camera footage.

***

“What are we going to do,” Soap says as he stays vigilant. You are not physically vigilant you’re stuck in the middle as you rub your temples, your mind being the extremely vigilant one.

“We have to make a distraction, also where the hell is Gaz-?” Your voice gets cut off but the distorted voice again.

“Time’s up, shot’s being taken,” the static breaks through your earpiece and your heart drops.

Soap looks at you and you look at Soap with your eyes widening.

“No!” you yell and run to the window and push the woman aside and take her place instead, the red dots now covering your form.

***

The voice cuts through the speakers and the words make John become alert.

The meaning behind them, makes everyone in the board room sit straighter and murmurs go around the room.

Then his heart drops.

He sees you push the woman away and stand in front of the window yourself.

The first time he sees you after a long time, is when your life is at risk.

He stands up abruptly, and while he moves to the screen, his throat closing as he sees the red dots being aimed at your head.

“Laswell, act now,” he turns and dips his head as his voice drops an octave.

Laswell sees the seriousness in his face and begins to throw out orders, and people start running around.

John, however, stays put.

He watches your face, the face he’d caresses every night when you spend the nights in one another’s bed.

“Don’t do that, princess,” he mutters to himself as he feels his headache at the pressure in him.

***

You hand slightly trembles as you make eye contact with the street camera Laswell was talking about.

You breathe out shakily.

“The hell you’re doin’, Lass,” Soap whisper yells at you.

You ignore him and press on the comms, “you have me now.”

The distorted voice fills the caves of your mind as it chuckles, “even better.”

The sound of the gunshot rents the air

***

“No,” John mutters as his breath gets caught in his chest and walks closer to the screen as he hears the gunshot too.

He’s breathing becomes laboured.

A few seconds later, there’s static through the comms.

“Hostile eliminated, I repeat, Hostile eliminated,” Gaz voice pours in through the speakers.

Never in his life, has John let out the biggest sigh of relief.

***

You hear Gaz’s word through the plastic in your ear and start laughing, you laugh at the thought of losing your life a second ago.

“Gaz, you fucker, I don’t know whether to kiss you or kill you,” you let your voice take over the comms.

***

It’s been half a day since Gaz took down the person behind the distorted voice.

Turns out the voice belongs to the best friend of the main man you wanted info on, but thanks to Gaz, you don’t have to worry about much in the moment.

The helicopter touches down so cleanly it takes you out of your train of thought.

Soap pats you knee and gives a friendly smile before hopping out, and you do the same.

The duffle bag digs into your shoulder as you tap away at your phone, recollecting every single aspect of the mission. It’s your thing, to nitpick a mission after you’re done with it.

You finally look up and make eye contact with a specific pair of cold blue eyes.

You stutter in your step as you watch him take off the familiar boonie at the sight of you. You nod at him in politeness (as much politeness could be covered in a sergeant and captain relationship) before turning and walking away.

***

You body just sinks into the sofa, and you sigh.

“Yup, definitely needed this,” you adjust the strap of your tank top and tug at the hem of your shorts to prevent the incoming wedgie.

You grab your bucket of ice cream and spoon off from your coffee table and resume the show you mindless put on.

But before you could press play, there’s a knock on your apartment door.

You groan at feeling off your relaxation being taken away at the last moment.

You set your things on the table again and get up to walk to your front door.

At this point you want to tell the person to ‘piss off’, and that is the plan when you open the door.

But when you open door, there are no words coming from you.

The 6 foot something man stands with his head dipped and his eyes solemn on you, the bouquet of your favourite tulips in his hands don’t even hold your attention.

It was his eyes.

The eyes that belonged to John Price.

🎀🎀🎀

Hey Lovelies!

Here we are babygirls, the first fic for my delicious and yummy man, John Price.

Legit was inspired by that one scene in Scandal, legit Tom Goldwyn is so hot like a DILF 😌.

Also, don't mind the diabolical amount of mistakes, this is a result of my doom-scrolling and a bit of late-night urge for productivity.

Lemme know if you wanna be tagged!

Also....

Lemme know what y'all think!

Stay Coquette-y,

Anya 🫶🏽🕊️🎀

[jjkamochoso]

Pt. 2 of Imagine… Soshiro Hoshina Finding You on the Brink of Death

Angst, Fluff

Soshiro Hoshina x gn!reader

Warnings: mentions of hospital setting/devices

You can find the all angst ridden part 1 here!

One week.

That was how long it had been since Soshiro had seen your alluring (e/c) eyes, heard your infectious laugh, blushed at your gentlest smile reserved just for him. The past 7 days of you in a coma after almost becoming a kaiju meal had been devastating for him and the rest of your teammates. You had many visitors over the hours you lied completely still on your hospital bed, but you weren’t the only unmoving person in your room. Soshiro had rarely moved an inch from your side, only getting up to go to the bathroom. He couldn’t remove himself from his seat next to your fragile body in case you woke up; he couldn’t bear the thought of you being alone in such a vulnerable state anyway.

“They’re under the best care here, Hoshina. Go get some rest,” Captain Ashiro had told him on day 3, when Soshiro was sporting dark circles under his eyes from lack of sleep. He respectfully refused, and Mina knew better than to fight with him right now—he was as stubborn as he was talented with his swords. Every time the nurses came in to check your vitals, they looked upon him and his sad state of being with sorrow, feeling awful to see the man in such despair. They had taken it upon themselves to deliver meals for him since they all knew he wasn’t leaving to eat. Even if most of the time the tray sat untouched, they took it as a win when a pudding or fruit cup disappeared.

Day 5 was the hardest for Soshiro. By that point, he was delirious from staying up practically all night in case you needed something. His typed reports stopped making sense, his brain nowhere near as sharp as usual due to the fog of grief that had settled in his mind. The steady beeps of your life support machine haunted his every waking moment, a perfect symphony of the anguish he couldn’t escape. Thankfully, Kafka had heard about his vice captain’s condition and visited that night, offering to take over Soshiro’s watch in case you woke up. Soshiro was extremely reluctant at first, but he knew that you and Hibino were close; he also trusted the kind hearted man enough to know he’d be there for you in case something happened. With strong hesitation, Soshiro left your sight for the first time in 96 hours, heading to the shower. No matter how hard he scrubbed, he couldn’t wash away the feelings of guilt he harbored over your injuries.

If only I was faster, stronger… I could’ve been there sooner. Stopped the kaiju from ever sinking its disgusting teeth into you. What kind of vice captain am I? What kind of… person am I? How could I ever expect them to love me back if I can’t succeed in my one job of protecting them?

He let his tears fall freely, mixing in with the water from the shower head.

Day 7 was the point where Soshiro was just… there. He barely felt anything anymore, whether it was exhaustion, anguish, or anything else. He sat next to you like normal, gazing at your chest as it sank and rose with shallow breaths, but his eyes were glazed over in a manner reminiscent of a man without hope. The doctors didn’t have an estimated time for you to wake up. With injuries as extensive as yours, there was no telling when your body would be ready to start running on its own again. Soshiro didn’t know how to process that news; he liked seeing tangible results, and the fact that you had been hooked up to all these damn machines for so long and nothing had changed? It was pure torture to him. He found himself inching closer to you, if that were even possible, and he took hold of your hand with the softest of touches.

“I miss ya, y/n,” he whispered, bringing your hand to his lips. He was careful to not disrupt the IV as he laid a gentle kiss on your cold skin, savoring the sensation of doing what had wanted to do since he first met you all those years ago.

“Remember the promise we made to each other when we were young and dumb? Now we’re old and dumb,” he chuckled humorlessly, “and you still have to keep up your end of the bargain. You have to survive. I can’t lose you.”

He took in a deep, shaky breath. “I can’t lose you because I’m in love with you.”

It was like the world was playing a cruel joke on him—he finally garnered the courage to admit he had fallen in love, but the object of his affections wasn’t able to hear it. He let his head hang in misery as he kept your hand close to his face, eventually placing it against his cheek. He closed his eyes, wishing with all his might that you would wake up. If you died… he wouldn’t know how to move on from such a devastating blow. He knew this macabre scenario had a high probability of happening in this career field you two chose, but he always had faith in his and your abilities to stay alive. To say that faith had been shaken was the understatement of the century.

“Y/n, please. I can’t do this alone. I need ya back with me. You gotta keep fighting.”

Soshiro went to place your hand back on the bed when he swore he felt your fingers move against his own. His eyes widened in surprise as his heart started slamming against his rib cage. Was that real or just his imagination?

It happened again.

And your eyes opened.

He slammed on the call button, informing the nurses of your awakening before turning his attention back to you.

“So-soshiro,” you tried to say, but your throat couldn’t form any words.

“Shh, don’t say anything, darling, I’m right here. Always have been, always will be.”

A grin swirled with anxiety and relief was present on his lips as he looked at you.

After a few hours of tests, doctors checking up on you, and small moments to collect your thoughts, you were finally able to form coherent sentences.

“You sat here the whole time? Now I feel bad,” you said, a small frown gracing your features.

“Don’t feel bad. I didn’t want you to be alone, that’s all,” Soshiro told you, nervously scratching at the back of his neck. “Did you… happen to hear anything I was saying before you woke up?”

“What, like how we’re old and dumb and that you’re in love with me?” you said, trying your best not to laugh at his shocked expression.

“Huh? You actually did hear me? I thought that only happened in movies!” he whined, his cheeks tinged with red.

“No reason to be embarrassed, Soshiro. I didn’t know how to tell you but I’m in love with you, too. I have been for a very long time.”

Soshiro was looking upon you like you had descended directly from the heavens, his eyes gleaming with unbridled joy as his fingertips danced over your arm, tracing shapes in an intimate, comforting manner.

“I‘ve been so worried about ya, sweetheart, but now that you’re back with me, it’s like I can breathe again.”

You relished in the calm quiet of the room, basking in Soshiro’s loving presence. He was exactly the driving force behind you willing your body to wake up. You could never leave him to walk this world alone.

“I also felt you kissing my hand,” you said after a long bout of silence. “That was very sweet of you.”

“Guess all I had to do was give ya true love’s kiss to wake up?” he joked, his little fangs peeking out of his lazy grin.

“I’m looking forward to my real kiss when I get out of the hospital,” you replied, attempting to wink at him.

He leaned his face over yours, his breath leaving goosebumps in its wake. “If you want, I can give you a preview of it right now.”

You felt your pulse quicken and apparently so did the heart rate monitor you were hooked up to; the machine started beeping, alerting that your numbers were abnormal.

Soshiro kissed your forehead before sitting down again, smirking. “Do I make ya nervous?”

Now it was your turn to blush. “Watch it Hoshina, or I’ll have you admitted into the bed next to me.”

Soshiro burst out in his trademark laugh, grabbing at his stomach and wiping away the tears forming in his eyes. You could be given all the medicine known to man but nothing could make you feel better than the promise of being loved by the easily amused violet haired man who will never leave your side.

[hockeybabe]

Shoot Your Shot | M. Knies

Not my gif

Pairings: Matthew Knies x f!reader

Summary: Matthew has had a crush on you and just can’t refuse you.

Warnings: slight smut, Matthew can’t resist his crush, fingering, swearing, dirty talk, praising, finger sucking?

Word count: 1.5k

Note: ngl after I saw this gif, I knew I had to write smth for it. Also I went to a leaf game!!!! I GOT TO SEE CAPTAIN QUINN!

“Just come to the game.” You heard for the third time this day. You worked at a local coffee shop that wasn’t far from Scotiabank Arena, where the Leafs played. Your most regular customer, Matthew Knies, was always asking you to come to his game. You were a hockey fan but never went to games, thanks to your boss.

“That’s really nice, Matt, but I’m working.” You said, cupping the lid of a drink. Matthew groaned, leaning his arms against the counter, and walked away to find a booth. You called the name on the receipt, handing the person their drink. “Sally, I’m on break.” You told your co-worker as you put your apron up on the hook.

“You can’t be mad at me.” You said, walking up to the booth and taking a seat right across from him, folding your hands over the other. “I’m not.” He grumbled, not looking at you. You rolled your eyes. “Look at me.” You ordered him, and he did so reluctantly. “I’ll be watching from there.” You pointed at the TV that was displayed in the corner of the shop.

“It’s not the same, Y/N. I’ve wanted you to go forever. Just ask your boss.” He begs. You knew Matthew’s name had popularity, and your boss would never believe you if he weren’t there in person. "Look, I try all the time. It’s not worth it.” You said getting frustrated and walked away to start your shift again.

Matthew always had a soft spot for you and couldn’t stand to see you upset, especially at him. What he didn’t tell you was that he already talked to your boss and got you a ticket to the game right at the glass. But now he was scared you wouldn’t show when he went for pre-skate, and it would crush him.

Matthew looked down at the watch on his wrist, noticing he had to make his way to the rink. “I’ll see you y/n.” He said leaving money along with the ticket to the game. You watched him leave as a soft sigh left your lips. Liking Matthew wasn’t something you wanted, but you couldn’t help it. You knew he liked you, but being with a hockey player isn’t the easiest thing to do.

You had seen some hockey players girlfriends get attacked on Instagram for being in love, but you couldn’t deny the honest attraction you had for Matthew. He was everything you ever wanted in a guy. You walked over to the booth he was at and picked up his cup, noticing the money along with a strip of paper with the leafs logo on it.

You put the cash and paper in your apron pocket before putting the mug in the dish area. You walked over to Sally and leaned against the counter, noticing Matthew had left you a ticket to tonight’s game against Vancouver. “What’s that, y/n/n?” Sally asked. You lifted the ticket up and showed her. “Someone’s got a crush.” You heard it from behind.

You turned around and saw your boss with her arms crossed. You sucked in a breath and said, "It doesn’t matter. I’ve got work.” You said it in a low voice, not wanting to piss your boss off. “Y/n, go to the game. I already talked to the boy and the rest of his team. I’ll tell you they’re persistent.” Your mouth fell slightly at her words. “They were here?” You asked. “Oh yeah, all of them. All because that one rookie likes you.”

You couldn’t help but smile. “You are going, right?” Your boss asked, walking closer. “I’m mean, yeah, but who’s going to run-" “It’ll be closed for the night.” Your boss cut you off. Another thing your boss shocked you with was that she never closed the cafe unless something was wrong in her life. Whatever the team said to her, it must’ve changed her.

“Well, um, I got to go then.” You said untying your apron and grabbing your personal belongings. “Oh, you almost forgot this.” Your boss said handing you a jersey with the name Knies stitched on the back along with his number. “Now go.” Sally said pushing you to the door. You laughed at them, quickly placed the jersey over your clothes, and headed to the rink.

“Miss y/l/n?” Someone said to you. “Yeah,” you answered. “Please come with me. Mr. Knies asked for me to take you to your spot.” Your brows furrowed in confusion as you followed him. You were walked all the way to a room with a TV with the game on, a bar, couches, and women.

“Y/n, right?” You were greeted by a blonde. You nodded slowly. “Steph, Mitch’s wife.” Your eyes widened in realization. You were in a room with the players girlfriends and wives. “It’s nice to meet you.” You shook her hand as she led you to the balcony to watch the game.

The game was already in motion, and Vancouver had a good offensive game. The Leafs were in the Vancouver zone, and there it was. A Knies goal, you couldn’t help but smile as Matthew pointed up to where you were. “He’s gotta good eye.” Steph says as the others cheer. "Yeah, he does.” Another says. “Aryne.” The woman says. “Matthew lives with me and John.” She says.

You smiled at the woman and continued to watch the game and talk to the other girls. The Leafs ended up winning 5-2. “You’re coming.” Steph said, licking her arm through yours as you made your way to the den and waited for the players.

You felt slightly overwhelmed by the number of people who knew who you were and even by the players coming out and introducing themselves. After John, you watched Matthew stroll out. You felt yourself smiling as your arms crossed over your chest. “Player of the game?” You cocked a brow at his Leafs belt. “Gotta keep it up.” He responded pulling you into a hug.

“We’ll talk about this.” You said this as he pulled you to the parking garage, where his car was. You sat in the passenger seat watching Matthew drive to your apartment, and it was something. You knew he was sneaking glances at you with the number of times he clenched his hands on the wheel, turning his knuckles white as you clenched your thighs together.

You get to your apartment, and you watch Matthew contain himself, shuffling his hands in his pockets and letting out deep sighs. Opening the door, you pull Matthew’s arm toward your bedroom. At the edge of the bed, Matthew turned you around and crashed his lips against yours. Matthew pushed you onto the bed, looming over you.

“Hi beautiful.” He said trailing his finger along your collarbone. You felt a blush rise on your cheeks. “I like your jersey.” He said it with a casual smirk. “I think I like it too.” You responded biting your lip slightly. The tension floated around you two for a while before you grabbed the collar of his shirt and teased him, thinking you would kiss him, but instead you kissed the corner of his mouth.

Matthew bunched up your jersey before kissing you. His hands trailed to your tits as he pinched your nipples and massaged your boobs. You moaned into his mouth, giving his tongue access. You both fought for dominance, with him eventually winning. Matthew trailed kisses to your neck, finding the sweet spot, while he slowly peeled your top layers off and unclasped your bra.

Feeling antsy, you moved your hands down Matthew’s body, putting your semi-cold hands under his shirt and feeling his body. “Fuck.” He hissed into your ear, feeling the coolness of your hands. You whimpered as Matthew grinded into your core. “Off.” You moaned as he kissed down the valley of your breasts to your pant line.

Matthew sat up on his knees, peeling off his shirt, while you admired from below, biting your lip. You started to peel off the rest of your clothes with the help of Matthew until you were both completely bare. Matthew trailed kisses along your things as his finger traced your folds. Your back arched at his touch, and he used his other hand to force your hips down.

“Such a pretty girl.” He mumbled, thrusting one finger in as you moaned. Matthew continued to thrust his finger while using his thumb to play with your clit. “More.” You begged in a muffled voice. Matthew instantly responded, adding a second finger and increasing his pace. You thrashed in your position, using your hands to grip the sheets. “That’s it princess. Let go. Come for me.” You let out a whimper as you fell apart on his fingers.

Matthew trailed his fingers up your body to your lips as you sucked the juices off his fingers. “Jesus baby. You’re so hot.” He smiled while lifting you up, allowing you to straddle him. “You’re hotter.” You said smiling back before kissing him.

[lie-lacdreams]

Thermodynamics and Turmoil (Curly x Reader pt.2)

Hi friends -- I'm putting out the second installment to this quickly to gain some more momentum! Thank you for all of the support so far - I wasn't sure how well this was going to do but I hope you've been enjoying it. If you have any questions about the story so far, pls ask! I love interacting :)

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engineer! reader x Curly TW: vulgar language, mention of thermo transfer theories (EWWWW), and catching feelings (ew pt.2), oh, and the existential dread of unsatisfaction that ambition can bring to your life, leaving you hungry and wanting more Word count ~ 2.0k

“Daisuke, come back here! I’m going to kill you right now!!” A flash of pink passed Curly before halting to a quick stop to hide right behind him.

“Captain, please save me! Aaaah!” Daisuke screamed as he caught sight of (Y/N), who just came around the bend of the hallway hunting him down. 

“What’s going on here?” Curly asked, observing (Y/N’s) disheveled appearance. Her jumpsuit was zipped halfway up to her torso and her hair still looked disheveled from sleep. 

She slowed down to a stop, now embarrassed that she had been caught in such a state by the captain before replying, “This… one over here had the genius idea to turn off my alarm and I slept in three extra hours. Could you please hand him over so I could maim him?” She peered to the side of Curly to narrow her eyes at Daisuke, who let out a shriek and made himself smaller behind the man in front of him. 

“Oh? I had asked him to do that, actually,” he mused. 

“Pardon me?” she straightened.

“You looked so exhausted yesterday, you deserve a few extra hours of rest after giving yourself no breaks. He was just following Captain’s orders.”

“Oh… I see. Uhm, thank you. I guess you’re off the hook then, Dai. Has Swansea got you working on anything right now or do you want to come shadow me? I have to take a look at the pressure in the steam pipes.” she asked the intern. 

“Yes! Let’s go. I wanna hear about what you were up to all of yesterday. Swansea and I like, didn’t see you at all. Will you let me help out today?” He came out from behind Curly and started walking ahead of (Y/N), eager to please and for something to do. 

“Heh, sure. See you around, Captain.” she said a bit sheepishly, trailing behind Daisuke. After a good night’s rest and the initial panic of waking up late, the interaction with Curly finally sunk in for (Y/N). She typically kept her emotions so detached from the crew and her work and it almost horrified her how easily it was for her to open up to him last night in a moment of vulnerability. As much as it made her uncomfortable to realize that she had run her mouth and ranted to him, she woke up with a feeling of relief. Sure, her job was still going to be hard, but knowing that her captain believed in her and was willing to help in any way he could gave her a sense of peace. 

She stopped by some pipes in the corner of the hallway and turned to Daisuke. “Okay, let’s get to work.”

After a few hours of working and (Y/N) explaining Nusselt theory with Daisuke half listening, she finally called for a break. 

“Nerd,” he teased as he stuck his tongue out at her. “How did you even come to like any of this stuff anyway?” They leaned on the wall, sitting on the floor together.

“I don’t know. To be honest, I never really knew what I wanted to do in my undergrad. I just picked chemical engineering because it was kinda interesting but hard and so rewarding when I understood it. Getting my PhD in it after working for a few years just seemed like a natural next step.” She turned to Daisuke. “I know you’re in college now, and everyone is probably asking you the same thing and you’re sick of hearing it but what do you want to do?”

“Hmm, I don’t know,” he started. “I think everyone around me has these expectations that I’ll do something great, and I’m so scared of disappointing them. They say the sky’s the limit and that’s what scares me. I could do anything with my life, so how do I know that whatever I choose won’t be the wrong path?”

“I don’t believe in such a thing as a wrong path,” she responded. “Whatever you choose, you make the best of it and try your hardest. Everything happens for a reason.”

Under his breath, Daisuke laughed. “Man, maybe Anya should hand over the wellbeing check-ins to you. You’re like, so philosophical.”

“Oh God, no. I could never be held responsible for people like that. I’d go mad.” She stood up, dusting off her pants and held a hand to him. “I think we’re pretty much done for the day, believe it or not. Wanna go play some Uno?”

Spending the rest of the day relaxing after the past few days of struggling was refreshing and just what she needed. That night she finally joined the rest of the crew for supper, laughing with Anya about something too far away for Curly to hear. Their little family was complete tonight and it was moments like these that Curly savored. He wished that every moment on the Tulpar could be like this. 

A few days later, Curly was exiting the cockpit and was startled to nearly trip over (Y/N). “I’m so sorry, Captain. I had no idea you were in there.” She looked up from her mess of manuals, a notebook, and trusty abacus, a pencil tucked behind her ear. 

“It’s alright. Are you alright?” He asked.

“Yes, just looking at our fuel today and trying to make the Tulpar cooperate with me.” She furrowed her brows. 

“Need a hand with anything?” He offered, crouching down to look at the paper in her hands. 

“O-Oh, only if you aren’t busy, then yes, I would love some help, actually. But I don’t want to be a burden.”

He shook his head. “Nonsense. The ship’s on autopilot right now and Jimmy will take over for me in fifteen minutes anyway so I’m all yours.”

“Okay,” she flushed. “Thank you, come with me please.” She led him a few paces away. “See this? If you could read me some of the values over here that would be great. This here is the manometer, it measures pressure and over here is the oxidizer. There are a few things I need you to read aloud to me.”

After getting all the information she needed, she bid Curly goodbye and looked around for a place for her to do her calculations. Settling for the couch in the lounge, she got to work when Daisuke plopped down right next to her. 

“Hey, (Y/N),” he started.

“ ‘Sup?” She asked, distracted.

“Fuck, marry, kill: anyone on this ship.” His lips spread into a shit-eating grin. 

“Fuck Curly, marry Anya, kill Jim– wait a minute, what??” She looked up from her notebook. 

Daisuke’s eyes lit up before his face twisted into an expression of evil delight. “Ohohohoo yooo (Y/N) you wanna fuck the captain?”

“No!! Stop that!! You asked me that while I was distracted and not really paying attention. That’s not true.” She swatted at him.

“Sure, but that doesn’t change your answer now, does it? Damn, you answered that shit with no hesitation too!” He shrugged his eyebrows. “Since when did you have the hots for the captain?” 

“Sure, I find him really attractive, okay? I admit it. It’s not that big of a deal. Okay then, what about you?” She crossed her arms, face flushed and flustered. 

Daisuke’s face contorted to one of disgust. “Eww nah I can’t do this! Swansea and Jimmy are just-” he made dry heaving sounds. “You and Anya are like my older sisters, so that’s absolutely not happening. And Curly – okay I agree with you on that one but like, he’s so much older.” he shrugged. 

She let out a ‘harrumph’ before going back to her work. “Doesn’t Swansea have something for you to do, huh?” 

Daisuke shook his head. “I’m just waiting ‘til dinner.” He kept her company on the couch as she worked, playing on his gameboy and trying his best to stay quiet so she could concentrate. Supper was a quiet affair today, with not everyone showing up to eat at the same time. People came and went, in and out of the lounge, eventually going to bed. (Y/N) was still up, now in loose pajama pants and a sweatshirt, criss-crossed on the couch and reading a book in the light of the night time screen. Anya had already gone to bed and so she sat in the lounge so as to not disturb her sleep.

“Hey,” said the captain. “Mind if I join you there?” She smiled up at him before patting a spot next to her on the sofa, inviting him to sit with her. She noticed that he was still in uniform as he sat down, draping an arm over the couch and facing her. 

“You weren’t there at dinner today, did you have a chance to eat?” She asked.

“Hmm? Oh, yeah. Anya brought Jimmy and me dinner. We’re heading straight for a belt of asteroids so we had to do a bit of charting and manual steering to make sure we don’t crash. We should be fine and taken care of now,” he massaged his temples with a hand.

“You look pretty tired, Captain. If you were busy today, you know you didn’t need to help me out, right? Take care of your obligations first.” She looked up at him and the blue glow of the large screen somehow seemed to soften the look in his blue eyes. Dammit, Daisuke, she thought. Admitting the captain was handsome out loud only made her more aware of it. Even with bags under his eyes and the rugged state of his beard, she couldn’t help but blush under his gaze, so she turned to look at the fake moon on the screen. 

“No, I enjoyed helping out today. Ever since you opened up to me, I want to make sure that you have the support that you need. It’s my responsibility, after all.” He followed her gaze to look at the display screen as well.

“Don’t you ever get burnt out juggling all of this? It’s a lot to pile onto just one person, and the company makes it even worse by making things accessible only through you. And in the end, you’re the one who’s responsible for our performance on this trip.” She turned back to him now, concerned. 

“Sometimes, I guess. I started here on a pretty low rung of the ladder, but I always dreamed of doing something greater. The higher and higher I climbed, the more complicated things got, more liabilities were piled on, but I couldn’t help but keep climbing. There’s still something missing from my life, and even if I get to the top, I’m not quite sure if I’ll ever be satisfied.”

(Y/N) paused for a moment to think. “Would you ever leave this line of work to pursue something completely new, even if it meant having to start over from the beginning?”

“Yeah, I think so. I mean, I’ve done it once before, so it isn’t that intimidating to have to do it again.”

She nodded. “That’s very admirable. In a sense, it seems like you know what direction you know you want to go in, even if what you want isn’t clear. I respect you a lot for that, Captain.”

Curly shook his head. “Please, I think we all in one way or another are trying our best out here. We all have responsibilities we have to take care of by being on this ship.” He glanced at her again. “And honestly, you know you can call me Curly, right? Jimmy does it, my friends back on Earth called me that too. At this point we’ve gotten pretty vulnerable with each other over the past few days.”

“Okay, C-urly. Maybe not on duty, but right now it doesn’t sound too bad.” (Y/N) was praying that the glow from the screen concealed her hot and flushed face. After these past few days of getting to know the captain a bit better, it was so easy for feelings to snowball. Brushing the fluttery feeling she had aside, she stood up. “I think I’m going to head to bed now. I hope you’ll do the same, Curly. Thank you for being vulnerable with me.”

After he heard the door shut quietly, he sighed and rubbed a hand over his face, giving the display screen one last look before getting up and going to bed himself.

------------------

Thanks for reading! Give me a few days and I'll be back. Cheers!

[itsfheang]

IRON & EMBER - Chapter 2

[ CH. 1 ][ PLAYLIST ] [ AO3 Link ]

RATING : Mature (Eventually) TAGS : Jayce x Viktor / Post Arcane / Fantasy AU / Mage!Viktor / Knight!Jayce / 7k words / Part 2 of ??

CHAPTER DESCRIPTION : Jayce fills Viktor in on the people they knew in their reality, and what they are up to in this one. They go on a shopping trip to get some clothes made for Viktor by local seamstress, Gwen, then tour the city before a realization hits Viktor like a ton of bricks. 

AUTHOR NOTES : While I do know a good deal of League of Legends lore, I do not claim to be an expert and for the sake of the story I am taking some creative liberties with characters that were not present in arcane. (additional author note at the end)

CHARACTERS : Jayce x Viktor (Arcane), Gwen (League of Legends), Mentions of other Arcane cast.

CHAPTER 2

Viktor awoke to the soft glow of morning filtering through the window. Blinking away the remnants of sleep, he sits up and finds Jayce’s blanket carefully draped over him. A small note on the nightstand catches his eye.

Scribbled in an all too familiar script, Gone to check in with the captain, back soon. Help yourself to anything you want. - J

A small smile tugs at Viktor’s lips as he sets the note aside. Rising to his feet, he stretches slightly before heading out to Jayce’s kitchen. His fingers absently trail along the wooden countertops as he checks the cupboards, finding the expected—plates, cups, and utensils. Opening another cabinet, he finds an assortment of neatly labeled jars filled with tea leaves. His lips quirk in approval as he continues to rummage for the rest of what he needs.

The fire in the hearth has begun to die down, but he spots a small stack of spare logs nearby. Kneeling, he carefully arranges a couple into the embers, prodding the fire back to life. Satisfied with his work, he sets the kettle on the hook above the flames, waiting for the water to boil.

As he waits, Viktor takes the opportunity to examine Jayce’s home in the daylight. It is a cozy abode, humbly decorated yet inviting. Plush rugs soften the wooden floors, and an array of plants are tucked into corners and along the windowsills. It seemed this world’s Jayce had an appreciation for greenery, and his Jayce had come to love it as well. 

Curiosity nudges him to explore further. He wanders down the hallway, noting the layout. Besides the guest room he had occupied, there is a spacious storage closet and a modest washroom. Another door leads to a double set of stairs, likely to an attic and basement. The last door is Jayce’s bedroom. He hesitates for a moment, tempted, but ultimately decides against intruding without permission.

A sudden whistle from the kettle draws him back to the kitchen. He swiftly moves to remove it from the fire, carefully pouring the steaming water over the infuser of tea leaves. The fragrant aroma fills the air as he retrieves the book he had been reading the night before. Wrapping Jayce’s blanket around his shoulders once more, he settles into the couch with his cup of tea, immersing himself in the pages while waiting for Jayce to return.

Viktor has lost track of time and how many cups of tea he's downed by the time he hears the door open and looks up to see Jayce enter. A boyish grin spreads across Jayce's face as he takes in the sight of Viktor, seemingly more relaxed today than he was the night prior.

"Ah, good, you're up! I got stuff for breakfast, and the Captain gave me the week to help you get...uh...readjusted, as I worded it to him."

"You didn’t need to do that, Jayce. Isn't that your income?" Viktor asks, frowning slightly.

Jayce waves away his concern. "Don't even worry about that. I could take a lot more time off than a week and be fine. Plus, you're more important right now." 

Viktor softens at his words, not used to being considered important, but not disliking the idea if it’s Jayce who thinks he is.

He heads to the kitchen with the sack of goods he purchased on his way home. Viktor watches as Jayce pulls out fresh eggs, thick slices of bacon, fruits, and fresh-baked bread, immediately setting to work preparing breakfast. He moves with an easy familiarity, appearing as comfortable in the kitchen as he was in the lab.

"Did you learn to cook here?" Viktor asks curiously, watching him work.

"No," Jayce chuckles. "It may surprise you to know that my mother taught me to cook when I was young. If you ever left the lab, maybe I could have cooked for you now and again," he adds teasingly as he effortlessly prepares the meal.

Viktor continues watching, a smile crossing his face. Seeing this more domestic side of Jayce gives him butterflies. He snaps out of it as Jayce slides a delicious-looking plate of food in front of him.

"Th-thank you," he says, feeling a blush creep up his neck. Hopefully, Jayce hadn’t caught him staring.

They fall back into casual conversation.

"So," Jayce asks, "I'm sure you have a ton of questions. Where do you want to start?"

Viktor wasn’t prepared. Jayce was right—he had so many questions. Start simple. Start simple, he tells himself, calming his sudden nerves.

"Well, you told me about what happened to you. What about those we knew? Mel, Heimerdinger..." He hesitates, remembering the terror he saw in her eyes as she turned to dust before him. "Sky?"

Jayce looks at him with regret. "I’m so sorry about Sky, V. We should have listened to Heimerdinger. But you’ll be pleased to know she is alive here, and doing quite well. She’s an alchemist at the Academy—one of their top healers, in fact."

Viktor’s eyes light up. At least in this world, he hopes she will lead the full and amazing life she deserves. "That does bring me some comfort."

"Most of the people we knew are here in some form. Cait is Knight General—basically in charge of the whole garrison. Vi is a fellow knight too. Powder never became Jinx. She and Vi are quite close. Powder and Ekko are exceedingly bright students at the Academy, from what I could dig up of their records." Jayce chuckles. "Though even in this world, she still has a knack for blowing things up. If anyone is going to push this Piltover forward, it will be those two. Zaun and Piltover have a much better relationship here, it’s not perfect, but those from Zaun have far more opportunities to do great things."

Viktor always knew Jinx—er, Powder—had the potential to do so much more. "And Mel? Heimerdinger?" he asks, wondering why Jayce hadn’t mentioned them first.

Jayce leans back, rubbing the back of his neck. “Mel… well, she’s here too, but she’s not exactly the same as we remember. Since magic is not as prominent here, she never was touched by the arcane. And Heimerdinger—he’s still at the Academy, of course. The old yordle’s a legend in every world, I suppose.” He chuckles, though there’s something contemplative in his expression.

Viktor watches him closely. “What else do you mean by Mel is not the same?”

Jayce sighs, drumming his fingers against the table. “She comes from a different background here. She’s still powerful, still influential, but since she never became an empath her mother had a much easier time molding her, she’s part of Piltover’s council but she is not the same woman we knew.”

“There is still a council in this world?” Viktor asks in surprise.

Jayce nods, leaning back in his chair. “Same council we knew long ago. Heimer, Mel, Salo, Cassandra... the gang’s all here, still running things.” A wry smirk tugs at his lips. “No Jinx to ruin their parade.”

Viktor considers the implications of this. The council had once wielded unchecked power, their decisions shaping the rise and fall of industries, lives. Their influence had been both a guiding force and a dangerous weapon. Would it be different in this world?

“Thankfully,” Jayce continues, “without things like airships and Hextech to capitalize on, they’re far less ruthless than the versions we knew.” He pauses before adding with a chuckle, “Well… besides Mel. She wants to turn Piltover into Noxus 2.0.”

Viktor raises a brow. “That does not sound pleasing.”

Jayce lets out a tired sigh. “Yeah. She's as ambitious as ever. The only difference is that now she supports Noxus' ambitions instead of Piltover’s.”

Viktor hums in thought, drumming his fingers against the rim of his cup. “And the rest of the council?”

Rubbing his jaw. “The dynamic hasn’t changed much. Heimerdinger still tries to be the moral compass, but he’s outnumbered. Cassandra plays politics, Salo and Torman are still opportunists. Shoola and Iridius are generally level headed if not overly cautious” He exhales slowly.

Viktor watches him closely. “And you? Where do you stand in all of this?”

He watches as Jayce rolls his shoulders, forcing an easy grin. “I keep my head down and do my job as a knight. No desire for a role on the council again.”

Viktor narrows his eyes. “That does not sound like the Jayce I knew.”

Jayce lets out a short laugh, but there’s no real amusement in it. “Yeah, well… things changed. Priorities changed.” He reaches across the table, his fingers resting lightly on Viktor’s arm. “My focus became finding you. Piltover could burn if it meant I’d find my way to you again.”

Viktor feels warmth creeping up his neck again at Jayce’s touch and the confession. It’s not the first time since waking that Jayce has made it clear Viktor is his priority, and yet, Viktor finds he may never quite adjust to hearing it. He swallows, forcing his voice to remain steady. “Well, now that you found me, what is the priority now?”

Jayce hums in thought, his thumb absently brushing against Viktor’s arm. He still hasn’t moved his hand. Viktor pretends not to notice how much he likes the gentle gesture. “Well, we do need to stop at my tailor, and I’d like to give you a proper tour. But I guess, most importantly, making sure you’re okay.”

Viktor is caught off guard. “Wh-what do you mean? I’m alive. I’m okay, aren’t I?”

Jayce gives him a pointed look, one brow raised in skepticism. “Viktor. You thought you were dead. You woke up in a world that is almost your own but isn’t. The only person here who really knows you is the man who—" Jayce hesitates, but only briefly, "—who tried to kill you. And then thought he died with you after you turned into an arcane primal force that nearly tore the world apart.” He exhales slowly. “I’d say that’s a lot to cope with.”

Viktor looks down at his mug, unable to argue with any of that. His fingers tighten around the ceramic as he studies his own hands—the faint, shifting hues of purple and gold still lingering beneath his skin. Everything had changed so suddenly, so drastically. But what unsettled him most was what he hadn’t been able to put into words, the thing that had been gnawing at him from the moment he woke.

The arcane had not abandoned him.

It was weaker, fainter, but not gone. And it felt different—more untamed, unshaped by human hands. Something primal and raw.

He lifts his gaze back to Jayce, taking in the concern knitted between his brows. The trust in his eyes. The quiet devotion Viktor still wasn’t sure he deserved. Jayce had never needed a hammer to break him down—he was doing it now, brick by brick, just by being here.

“I—” Viktor hesitates, but then he feels the faintest squeeze on his arm, calming him.

“I still feel it,” he finally admits. “The arcane. It’s weaker, but… different. Not like what we created with the Hexcore. This feels…” He searches for the right word, rolling it over in his mind before settling on, “…ancient.”

Jayce's fingers twitch slightly against Viktor’s arm before he finally pulls his hand away, running it through his hair instead. He exhales sharply, his jaw tightening for a moment as if holding back whatever immediate thought crossed his mind.

“Ancient?” he repeats, voice measured but laced with concern. His brows knit together as he leans back slightly, studying Viktor like he’s trying to see beneath his skin, past the surface, to whatever it is Viktor feels. “How do you mean?”

Viktor flexes his fingers, “It is not the same as before. Not the refined energy we channeled into the Hex gemstones, nor the volatile force of the Hexcore.” He hesitates, weighing his words carefully. “This feels…as though it has been waiting.”

Jayce’s frown deepens. “Waiting for what?”

Viktor shakes his head. “I do not know.”

For a long moment, Jayce says nothing. He just watches Viktor, his fingers drumming absently against the table. Viktor knows that look—it’s the same one Jayce always got when working through a problem, when he was connecting dots that others hadn’t yet seen.

Then Jayce shifts in his seat, crossing his arms. “Does it hurt?”

The question catches Viktor off guard. His first instinct is to say no. But he stops himself before the lie can take shape. It does not hurt in the way the Hexcore once had—it is not a clawing, consuming force, not a hunger gnawing at his insides. But there is something else, something just beneath the surface.

“It… pulls,” he admits slowly. “Like a current in the ocean, always there, waiting for me to follow.”

Jayce looks troubled by that. His fingers drum once more against the wooden table before he abruptly pushes himself up from his chair. He paces a short path across the kitchen, running a hand over his jaw.

“That’s—” he stops, lets out a short breath, then turns back to Viktor. “That’s a lot. A lot for you, a lot for me to process.” He laughs, but it’s hollow. “Hell, V, you’ve been awake for barely a day and we’re already talking about ancient, primal magic?”

Viktor tilts his head. “Would you prefer we discuss the weather instead?”

Jayce huffs a laugh, shaking his head. “No. I just—” He exhales, rubbing at the back of his neck. “I don’t know what this means for you. Or what it means for Piltover.”

Viktor watches him closely. “You are afraid.”

Jayce sighs. “Not of you,” he says, firm and immediate. “Never of you.”

He leans forward again, bracing his hands on the table, close enough that Viktor can see the worry etched in his features. “But I am afraid of what they’ll do if they find out.”

Viktor doesn’t need to ask who he means. The Council. The same people who in their world had feared magic, feared the idea of Hextech, who tried to control it the moment they understood its power. If they learned that Viktor was connected to something older, something raw and untamed…

“They will want to study it,” Viktor murmurs.

Jayce nods grimly. “Or worse.”

The room falls into a heavy silence, the weight of unspoken possibilities pressing between them.

Then, softer, Jayce adds, “I’m glad I took the week off. It’s no longer just to help you adjust, Viktor. I need time to figure out how to keep you safe.”

Viktor looks at him, truly looks at him. Jayce, who had spent years trying to fix what was broken, who had lost nearly everything in his search for answers. And yet, his first instinct was still to protect.

The warmth from earlier creeps back into Viktor’s chest, unsettling in its own way. He looks away, back down at his hands. “I see.”

Jayce studies him for a moment longer, then claps his hands together with forced enthusiasm. “Right. Well, heavy conversations during breakfast can’t be good for digestion. Eat up. We have a city to explore, and you need new clothes before people start thinking I kidnapped you.”

Viktor huffs a quiet laugh, shaking his head. The conversation isn’t over—not by a long shot—but for now, he allows the shift, lets the tension ease.

There would be time to unravel the implications of his connection to the arcane and what he was possibly capable of. For now, he would let Jayce distract him. Just for a little while.

They finish their meal in content quiet. It turns out Jayce is actually a fantastic cook, and Viktor finds himself looking forward to more of his meals. He had never placed much thought into food before—so often, it had been an afterthought, something consumed in hurried bites between long hours in the lab. But here, with Jayce, it feels different. Something to savor.

When they finish, Viktor insists on helping clean up, despite Jayce’s protests that he’s a guest. They move easily around each other in the kitchen, Jayce washing the dishes while Viktor dries them, stacking them neatly back into the cupboards. It’s a simple, domestic routine, but Viktor finds a quiet satisfaction in it, it’s something tangible amidst the overwhelming strangeness of his new reality.

Afterward, Jayce sets about trying to find Viktor something more suitable to wear. The process is… less than smooth.

Jayce tosses him a sweater first, thick and warm, but the moment Viktor pulls it over his head, it nearly swallows him whole. The sleeves hang well past his hands, and the hem drapes nearly to his knees. He flaps his arms, the extra fabric flopping comically.

Jayce snorts, leaning against his dresser. “Okay, that might be a little big.”

“A little?” Viktor deadpans, staring at his own sleeve-covered hands. “Jayce, I look like a child wearing his father’s clothing.”

Jayce hums in thought. “You know, it’s kind of cute.”

Viktor pulls the sweater off with an exasperated sigh and throws it at Jayce’s face. “Find something else before I freeze to death.”

Jayce laughs as he peels the sweater off his head, tossing it aside before digging into the dresser again. He pulls out another shirt—this one a simple button-up. Viktor slides it on, relieved that at least the fit isn’t as disastrous. The sleeves are still too long, but rolling them up to his elbows fixes that well enough.

Jayce, ever the menace, nods in approval. “Okay, now you just look like you walked out of one of those novels you read.”

Viktor huffs, adjusting the cuffs. “Better than an orphaned waif, I suppose.”

Jayce grins. “I don’t know, the ‘tragic, windswept genius’ look works for you.”

Viktor rolls his eyes. “You are enjoying this far too much.”

“Can you blame me? It’s not every day I get to play dress-up with you.”

Viktor ignores that comment entirely and sets about wrapping the excess fabric into a sash Jayce provides, at least making the fit more manageable. 

Jayce steps back, crossing his arms as he surveys the finished look. “Not bad. You could almost pass as a respectable citizen.”

Viktor raises a skeptical brow. “Almost?”

Jayce smirks. “I mean, you still look like you’re about to deliver some ominous monologue about the dangers of unchecked ambition.”

Viktor places a hand over his chest in mock offense. “How dare you. My monologues are never ominous.”

Jayce just gives him a look.

Viktor sighs, finishing the last of his adjustments. “Are we done?”

“Just need shoes.” Jayce kneels, digging around until he finds something suitable. He holds up a pair of boots first, then eyes Viktor’s slim frame and shakes his head before swapping them out for a pair of slip-ons. “Try these.”

Viktor steps into them, relieved to find they fit well enough. Jayce stays crouched, resting his arms on his knees as he studies him again, something softer in his expression now.

“You look good,” he says, quieter this time.

Viktor feels warmth creep up his neck, suddenly very aware of how closely they’re standing. He clears his throat, brushing his hands over his sleeves. “Yes, well, considering the alternatives, I will take what I can get.”

Jayce grins but doesn’t argue. “Alright, let’s get going. We’ve got a whole city to explore.”

As they step out of the house, Viktor glances once more at the cozy space Jayce calls home. He hadn’t expected to feel comfortable anywhere in this world. And yet, somehow, he does.

Maybe it isn’t the place at all. Maybe it’s the person in it.

The streets of Piltover bustle with morning activity as Jayce and Viktor make their way through the city. It’s both familiar and unfamiliar—buildings in the same places but constructed differently, people dressed in styles reminiscent of what Viktor remembers but with subtle, unfamiliar details. The air is crisp, laced with the scent of fresh bread from a nearby bakery and the faint metallic tang of worked steel from the smithy down the street.

Jayce walks beside him with an easy confidence, offering a reassuring presence as Viktor navigates this strange-yet-familiar world. He catches a few people offering them polite nods or greetings, some even calling Jayce by name. It seems, much like before, Jayce is well-known here.

“You’re quite the local celebrity,” Viktor muses as they weave through the crowd.

Jayce chuckles. “Not really. I just do a lot of work around town. Engineering, repairs, that sort of thing. Helps getting to know people.”

“Mm. And here I thought you were simply charming your way through life.”

Jayce shoots him a grin. “That too.”

They arrive at the tailor’s shop, a quaint yet refined boutique tucked between a bookshop and an apothecary. The sign above the door reads Hallowed & Co. Fine Tailoring. The moment they step inside, the scent of linen, wool, and polished wood surrounds them. Bolts of rich fabric line the walls, neatly organized by color and material, and mannequins display expertly crafted coats and waistcoats.

A young woman emerges from behind a curtain, adjusting the lace cuffs of her blouse. She’s dressed in layers of ruffled fabric, her ensemble meticulously coordinated in deep blues and blacks, accented with delicate silver embroidery. Her long azure-blue hair is tied back with black ribbons, and when she sees them, her face lights up with a delighted smile.

“Jayce Talis! You’re in need of my services again?” she teases, resting a hand on her hip. “Did you already manage to get grease on the last outfit you ordered?”

Jayce lets out a good-natured laugh. “Not this time, Gwen. It’s actually Viktor who needs your help. We need to get him a full wardrobe.”

Gwen’s sharp eyes flick to Viktor, scanning him with an appraising gaze before clasping her hands together. “Oh, what a wonderful canvas to work with!” she exclaims. “And you’ve got the perfect frame for something refined. Tell me, Viktor, do you have a preference, or shall I simply dress you as I see fit?”

Viktor, mildly taken aback by her enthusiasm, clears his throat. “I prefer a structured, practical style? I think? I don’t really know fashion all that well.” 

Gwen beams. “Oh, that’s not a problem. We will figure out what works for you together.” She gestures toward a fitting area. “Come, let’s get your measurements.”

Jayce claps Viktor on the shoulder. “Have fun with that. I’ll be over here looking at fabrics.”

Viktor shoots him a flat look but steps forward as Gwen retrieves her measuring tape. She works quickly and efficiently, jotting down notes in a little leather book while occasionally humming to herself.

“You carry yourself like a man who prefers deep, understated tones,” she muses, glancing up at him. “Charcoal, navy, emerald, perhaps a rich aubergine?”

Viktor nods in approval. “I favor subtlety.”

Jayce, from across the shop, holds up a bright ruby fabric. “What about this? You’d look good in red.”

Viktor eyes it for a moment before shaking his head. “Too bold.”

Jayce snorts, muttering, “Still allergic to standing out, huh?”

Gwen grins. “A more classic palette it is.” She turns, sifting through a collection of swatches before pulling a few options. “This midnight blue with silver threading would make for a stunning waistcoat. Or, if you want something a little warmer, this forest green wool is both stylish and practical.”

Viktor considers them before selecting the navy. “This.”

Gwen nods approvingly. “Excellent choice.”

Jayce, meanwhile, has found his way to the sleepwear selection. He picks up a luxurious-looking robe, deep maroon with gold embroidery along the sleeves, and holds it up. “What about this? You could look regal while sipping your evening tea.”

Viktor barely spares it a glance. “I am not a prince, Jayce.”

Jayce smirks. “You could be.”

Gwen giggles.

Viktor huffs, but there’s a faint hint of amusement in his expression.

They move on to selecting casual wear—linen shirts with subtle detailing, lighter vests for layering, and well-fitted trousers that wouldn’t restrict movement. Gwen sketches quickly, making notes of embroidery details and fabric textures.

Finally, they reach the topic of shoes. Viktor selects a few pairs of finely crafted leather boots—one set for everyday wear, another more formal, and a simple pair for lounging at home.

By the time they are finished, Jayce is leaning lazily against the counter, arms crossed, watching with an easy grin. “See? That wasn’t so bad.”

“I suppose not,” Viktor concedes. 

Jayce glances at Gwen, who is finalizing the order. “How long will the work take?”

“Given the urgency, I can have the essentials ready within three days. The more intricate pieces may take a week. But given your current predicament,” she gestures to his current attire. I have some premade outfits that should fit you better that I can send you with now if you’d like.”

Jayce nods. “Perfect. Just send the bill to me.”

Viktor frowns. “Jayce—”

“No arguments,” Jayce interrupts, giving Viktor a steady look. “Consider it a gift. You deserve to be comfortable here.”

Viktor exhales deeply, a mix of resignation and gratitude mingling in his chest. He realizes, with a sinking certainty, that he has no way to pay for the clothing himself. Instead, he watches as Jayce leans in to speak with Gwen, who is busily finalizing the details of the order.

Gwen nods curtly and disappears into the back of the shop. Minutes later, she reemerges carrying two carefully folded outfits. The stack is neat and precise—an ensemble that hints at Viktor’s refined taste—with a pair of leather boots. Gwen’s eyes sparkle with pride as she holds out the neatly stacked bundle. 

“There’s a changing room over there if you’d like to try them on, I can make any minor adjustments you might need.” She gestures to a door to their left. “These should hold you over until I can have the basics made to fit you perfectly,” she announces, her tone warm and confident.

Viktor runs his fingers lightly over the fabric as he accepts the clothing, feeling the texture promise both comfort and a touch of elegance he hadn’t appreciated before. The gesture, so unburdened by transaction or obligation, speaks volumes about Jayce’s care—and perhaps about the new life Viktor is slowly beginning to accept.

Jayce catches Viktor’s eye, his own smile softening. “You’ll look sharp, V. I don’t want you to feel out of place.”

Viktor manages a small nod, a silent acknowledgment of the gift—and of Jayce’s unwavering support. 

Viktor thanks Gwen with a nod and slips into the changing room, the door closing softly behind him. In the quiet space, he unfolds the neatly stacked bundle on a small table and examines the garments with a measured eye. One outfit, in particular, catches his attention. He runs his fingers over the fabric: a deep, elegant navy blue corset-style vest that promises a structured, dignified silhouette; beneath it, a deep maroon button-up shirt exudes warmth and subtle flair; paired with high waisted black trousers, the ensemble speaks of understated sophistication.

The maroon shirt slips on effortlessly, and as he pulls the trousers up, he is pleasantly surprised—they fit him perfectly without a need for adjustments. He carefully dons the vest, noticing immediately how it hugs his frame in all the right places. In the mirror, the reflection that meets him is both striking and refined—a man reborn in style, his features set with determination and a hint of vulnerability.

After a few moments of quiet self-reflection, Viktor steps out of the changing room. In the soft light of the boutique, he stands before Gwen and Jayce, who are waiting expectantly. Gwen offers an excited smile and a satisfied nod, her eyes gleaming with professional pride.

But it is Jayce's reaction that stops Viktor in his tracks. Jayce, usually so composed and confident, appears utterly entranced. His eyes widen as he takes in the sight of Viktor in the elegant attire. A blush tints Jayce’s cheeks, and he fumbles for a moment as if caught off guard by a revelation he hadn’t anticipated. For a heartbeat, the world seems to still, and Viktor senses an unfamiliar vulnerability in Jayce—a quiet bashfulness that softens the hard edges of his usual demeanor.

“You… you look remarkable,” Jayce stammers, his voice lower and more hesitant than usual. He avoids Viktor’s gaze for a moment before managing a small, sincere smile. “I—I don’t think I’ve ever seen you look so…elegant.”

Viktor arches an eyebrow, a faint smile tugging at his lips as he studies Jayce’s reaction. “Thank you,” Viktor replies quietly, his voice carrying both gratitude and a touch of irony. “I suppose change isn’t so bad after all.”

Jayce’s bashful smile lingers as he steps closer, his hand resting on Viktor’s shoulder in an all too familiar manner. “No, not at all,” he murmurs. “In fact, I’m rather… excited…about the idea of change.”

Gwen breaks their momentary trance with a polite cough, drawing both Viktor and Jayce back to the present. Jayce flushes, quickly apologizing. “I’m sorry,” he says, glancing at Gwen with genuine gratitude. “Thank you again, Gwen.” He gathers the other outfit for Viktor, handing it over for her to wrap up.

Gwen smiles warmly as she safely packs the second outfit for Jayce. “Of course, Jayce. It was my pleasure.”

After saying farewell, Jayce and Viktor step back out onto the street. Jayce once again offers Viktor his arm. The gesture, while becoming as natural as breathing, causes Jayce to make a mental note to construct a new cane for Viktor—one that will perfectly match his new look. “Guess now I’m the one making you look bad,” he teases, his tone light as he grins.

Viktor raises an eyebrow in playful reproach. “I don’t think that could ever be possible,” he blurts before he realizes what he was saying, catching himself and looking away. Dressed in a form-fitted tunic and slacks, complemented by a dashing overcoat, the idea of Jayce making anyone look bad was unthinkable. 

Together, they meander through town at a leisurely pace. Jayce points out various places and sights—a bustling market square, a quiet garden tucked between cobbled streets, even a fountain whose waters catch the afternoon light just right.

Viktor can’t help but smile as he watches Jayce in this world. Here, in these streets filled with simple pleasures and genuine conversation, Jayce seems so undeniably happy—a stark contrast to the relentless urgency they once both carried. For a long time, they had been consumed by their efforts to harness magic, to reshape the world according to their ideals, and in the process, they’d clearly forgotten how magical the world already was.

They finally reach a beautiful park in the heart of the city—a lush oasis where a wide river meanders through the city, its gentle current sparkling under the afternoon sun. As they step onto the manicured lawns, Viktor’s eyes light up with a distant, bittersweet recognition. The park’s winding paths and the river’s steady flow remind him of his childhood: of afternoons spent near the water testing his mechanical boats, marveling at how the current danced around his creations.

For a moment, Viktor is lost in the reverie of those bygone days. Then, in a flash of sudden clarity, his eyes widen and he blurts out, “Rio!”

Jayce, startled by the unexpected outburst, jumps aside as Viktor whirls to face him. “Jayce, in the year that you were here, was there any trace of shimmer?”

Jayce furrows his brow in confusion. “Shimmer? N-no…actually, no. Shimmer never seems to have been invented here. Why?”

Viktor grins widely, a wild light in his eyes. Without thinking, he nearly leaps forward, throwing his arms around Jayce in a tight, exuberant embrace. “We need to go to Zaun. I need to find her—” He catches himself mid-hug, quickly disentangling his arms as he realizes the precariousness of his position.

Jayce, still visibly confused and now trying to steady his racing heart, “Zaun? I mean, that’s no problem, but who exactly are we looking for?”

Viktor’s grin grows even more determined as he steps back, his eyes shining with a child-like excitement and urgency. “Rio. A man named Singed used her in his creation of shimmer. If shimmer was never invented here, then she might still be alive, somewhere down in Zaun. I have to find her.”

For a long moment, the only sound is the gentle murmur of the river and the rustle of leaves in the breeze. The weight of Viktor’s realization hangs between them, charged with memories and possibilities. Jayce studies Viktor’s fervent expression, caught between confusion and adoration. The sight of Viktor so expressively happy makes him feel as though his knees might buckle beneath him. He doesn’t know who—or what—Rio is, but if she can make Viktor this happy, then he would turn the entire city upside down to find her for him.

Jayce clears his throat softly, his voice uncharacteristically hesitant. “Viktor… you’re really serious about this, aren’t you?” His eyes search Viktor’s face for any sign of doubt, finding none—only the unyielding determination of a man set on a course he must follow.

Viktor nods, his gaze fixed on the shimmering water. “Absolutely. Rio isn’t just a piece of my past. She’s a part of me, she brought me joy as a child but Singed used her. Distorted her. Turned a creature of beauty into something twisted for his own gains.” His voice trembles with a mix of hope and anger as his memories of his time with Singed flooded his mind.

Jayce steps closer, his arm instinctively slipping around Viktor’s shoulder as they turn their attention back to the river before them. “Then we’ll find her,” he says, his tone firm yet gentle. “I’m with you every step of the way.”

For a moment, Viktor’s eyes glisten with unshed tears—an amalgamation of relief, gratitude, and a rekindled sense of purpose. He glances at Jayce, the unspoken feelings for him with every heartbeat. “Thank you, Jayce. I—I know this isn’t going to be easy, she’s a rare creature. But Singed had built his lab around her habitat, so it’s a place to start. I need to see her happy and free.”

Jayce’s smile is soft but resolute. “Tonight, we rest and gather what we need. Tomorrow we will start searching.” His words, though simple, resound with a sincere commitment that touches Viktor deeply.

As the river continues its quiet song and the park’s natural beauty wraps around them like a soothing embrace, Viktor and Jayce stand side by side. A journey into the depths of Zaun, into memories long buried. Shimmer had been the start of what had torn them apart and now, perhaps, finding Rio could be the start to bringing them fully back together.

In that moment, with the afternoon sun gilding the water and casting long shadows among the trees, Viktor glances down at his stained hands. He still feels the fear of the unknown, of not knowing what he is capable of, but with Jayce at his side again it doesn’t feel so all consuming. 

They continue their tour, Viktor buoyed by the newfound hope that Rio could be out there somewhere. His spirits are noticeably higher as the afternoon wanes. With the sun beginning its slow descent, Jayce suggests they head back to his home—but not before a detour to a quaint restaurant with a lovely outdoor patio.

The restaurant exudes a relaxed charm: warm, glowing lanterns, ivy creeping along the stone walls, and smaller lanterns casting a gentle glow over the tables. Seated under a pergola draped in flowering vines, they place their orders and settle into a comfortable conversation as they wait for dinner to arrive.

After a few moments of quiet conversation and the soft clink of cutlery in the background, Jayce turns to Viktor with genuine curiosity. “So, tell me more about Rio,” he says, his tone both inquisitive and supportive.

Viktor’s eyes light up as he begins to explain. “Rio is unlike anything I’ve ever encountered—she’s a rare mutation of a Waverider.” He leans in slightly, as if sharing a secret. “Waveriders are normally found around in the Guardian Sea, near Bilgewater. But somehow, Rio ended up in caves in the upper levels of Zaun, where the water from Piltover flows through.”

Jayce nods, listening intently as Viktor continues. “What makes her extraordinary is her regenerative abilities. She can heal herself at an astonishing rate. Singed saw that potential and exploited it in his relentless efforts to defy death. In his desperate bid to create something that would stave off death—he harnessed her regenerative power. That, in turn, gave birth to shimmer, and Rio’s unfortunate downfall.”

Jayce’s eyes widen in surprise, his mind racing with the implications of Viktor’s words. “So, shimmer…it’s tied to her, to this mutation?” he asks softly.

Viktor nods. “Exactly, and if shimmer never took hold here, that means Rio might still be out there, untouched by the ambitions of those who would misuse her gift.”

As their meals arrive, the rich aromas of freshly prepared food mingled with the evening air. Their conversation resumed as they broke into their second bottle of wine, the mellow notes of red filling the space between each sip. Between bites of their meals, Viktor leans forward, his eyes alight with determined speculation.

“Tracking her down,” he begins, “won’t be easy. Despite her large size, Rio’s a herbivore. I’m thinking if we can get the right fruits and vegetables—something irresistible—we might lure her out of hiding.” He gestures animatedly, nearly toppling his glass in his excitement.

Jayce nods thoughtfully, his gaze flickering between Viktor and his half-full glass. “So we’d set up a sort of… bait?” he asks. “Some kind of feeding station?”

“Exactly,” Viktor replies, warming to the idea. “It won’t be foolproof, but it might just work, if she managed to find her way into those caves in this world too, that is.”

As their conversation drifts between plans and theories, their laughter mingles with the soft murmur of the restaurant. Eventually, as the meal winds down, Jayce signals the waiter and settles the bill, thanking him with a courteous nod. Viktor, a bit more flushed from the wine than before, stands abruptly—and wobbles.

Jayce is quick to react, steadying Viktor with a firm hand on his lower back while chuckling. “Easy there, V. Don’t want you falling over.”

They leave the restaurant, both men it turns out are a bit unsteady on their feet, and they find themselves laughing at each other's missteps. When they finally reach Jayce’s home, the evening’s fatigue mingles with their lingering mirth. Jayce fumbles for the oil lamps, his fingers clumsy in the dim light, while Viktor struggles to haul fresh logs into the fireplace. After a few humorous stumbles and gentle teasing, Viktor manages to coax the fire back to life and finally collapses onto the couch with a contented sigh. A few moments later, Jayce joins him, stretching and releasing a long, weary sigh.

Now, with the sun nearly set and most of the illumination coming from the flickering oil lamps and the steady glow of the hearth, a chill begins to seep into the room. Even with the fire burning, Viktor shivers slightly. Jayce notices immediately, sliding his arm around Viktor and pulling him closer.

For a moment, Viktor tenses at the unexpected embrace, but then the warmth—both physical and emotional—slowly relaxes him. They settle into a comfortable silence together, watching as the sun sinks lower through the bay window. Outside, lamplighters begin their nightly rounds, and one by one, the street’s oil lamps flicker to life.

Perhaps it was the wine, or perhaps Viktor was simply feeling brave, but as he leaned into Jayce he took a chance at resting his head softly on his shoulder. He allowed himself to dream. He wished this quiet, tender moment could be his life every day, even if he knew there was still so much to unravel. Closing his eyes, he surrendered to the comfort of the present.

AUTHOR NOTE: I took a few creative liberties with Rio. In the show Singed claims to have “cultivated” her mutation, but in League Lore, Pixiemanders are a naturally occurring mutation of the Waverider species, so in this, Rio is a naturally mutated Pixiemander. I also interpreted the fact she was dying as something caused by Singed’s experiments, so no experiments, no dying Rio. I want a happy ending for our girl mkay? <3

[adamsprrlsh]

completely redid my jeremy playlist post-tgr and now it is so painstakingly curated it basically has a three act structure (I'm actually super proud of it I think it's neat)

↓ (vaguely justifying all my choices under the cut) ↓

act one

wonderland - taylor swift (high school, jeremy and leo)

➵ didn't it all seem new and exciting? / I felt your arms twisting around me / I should've slept with one eye open at night

brutal - olivia rodrigo (high school)

➵ they say these are the golden years / but I wish I could disappear / ego crush is so severe / god, it's brutal out here

perfect places - lorde (high school)

➵ all the nights spent off our faces / trying to find these perfect places / what the fuck are perfect places anyway?

gods & monsters - lana del rey (high school, pre-banquet USC)

➵ I was an angel, living in the garden of evil / screwed up, scared, doing anything that I needed

white glove - dove cameron (high school, pre-banquet USC)

➵ snow on the floor, honey, I can't see straight / hands on the door, tryna break in, earthquake

fantastic - king princess (sex as a coping mechanism)

➵ you believe that I'm in pain, help me disassociate / I just wanna be a good passenger / I'm feeling fantastic, I'm fucking fantastic

i wanna be your slave - måneskin (hook-ups and guilt)

➵ and if you want to use me, I could be your puppet / 'cause I'm the devil who's searching for redemption

someone new - hozier (hook-ups)

➵ the art of scraping through / some like to imagine / the dark caress of someone else, I guess any thrill will do

good old-fashioned lover boy - queen (hook-ups)

➵ ooh, love, ooh, loverboy / what you doing tonight? / hey, boy

kiss me again - pale waves (hook-ups)

➵ it's going nowhere / it's just for tonight, somehow I don't care / no, I don't mind

fainted love - conan gray (hook-ups)

➵ and you said / "you got it? we're nothing / I'm the worst if you want it"

bad idea right? - olivia rodrigo (jeremy and leo)

➵ yes I know that he's my ex, but can't two people reconnect? / I only see him as a friend / I just tripped and fell into his bed

bad child - tones and i (family dynamics)

➵ my family always said I was the bad child / throwing me away into the bad pile / all my life been putting on a fake smile

anti-hero - taylor swift (family dynamics, blame and guilt)

➵ it's me, hi, I'm the problem, it's me / at tea time, everybody agrees / I'll stare directly at the sun but never in the mirror

the family jewels - marina (family dynamics)

➵ typical of me to put us all to shame / welcome to the family jewels / coal to diamond, sold to fools

act two

this is me trying - taylor swift (guilt and shame, post-banquet)

➵ they told me all of my cages were mental / so I got wasted like all my potential

chemtrails - lizzy mcalpine (jeremy and noah)

➵ sometimes when I shout, it feels like no one hears it / and there are some days when I think that, somewhere, you're watching / as I grow up without you

mama - lø spirit (jeremy and mathilda, courtesy of nora)

➵ you took my voice like I owed it to you / buried the boy that I still hold on to / take the rest of me, why don't you?

the grudge - olivia rodrigo (family dynamics)

➵ yeah, I'm so tough when I'm alone, and I make you feel so guilty / and I fantasize about a time you're a little fucking sorry

love me now or lose me later - kygo, matt hansen (jeremy and mathilda, courtesy of nora)

➵ feels like I'm just gasping for air / looking for a sign that you care / if you don't love me now, love me now, you'll lose me later

i am - tom walker (fake smiles and repression, courtesy of nora)

➵ if I mask my demeanor, is it all just a lie? / oh, I've had some dark, dark days / but the face I wear exists in the light

i can do it with a broken heart - taylor swift (fake smiles and repression)

➵ 'cause I'm a real tough kid, I can handle my shit / they said "babe, you gotta fake it til you make it" and I did

don't judge me - janelle monáe (feeling unreal)

➵ even though you tell me you love me / I'm afraid that you just love my disguise

growing sideways - noah kahan (feeling unreal, depression)

➵ I'm terrified that I might never have met me / oh, if my engine works perfect on empty, I guess I'll drive

two - sleeping at last (care for others, self-neglect, jeremy and jean)

➵ I know exactly how the rule goes: put my mask on first / no, I don't want to talk about myself, tell me where it hurts

vienna - billy joel (acceptance and healing)

➵ slow down, you're doing fine / you can't be everything you wanna be before your time

you're on your own, kid - taylor swift (acceptance and healing)

➵ 'cause there were pages turned with the bridges burned / everything you lose is a step you take

i wanna get better - bleachers (acceptance and healing)

➵ so now I'm standing on the overpass, screaming at the cars / "hey, I wanna get better"

act three

chosen family - rina sawayama (jeremy, cat, laila, and jean)

➵ we don't need to share genes or a surname / you are, you are my chosen family

true blue - boygenius (jeremy, cat, laila, and jean)

➵ and it feels good to be known so well / I can't hide from you like I hide from myself

count on me - bruno mars (jeremy and laila, courtesy of nora)

➵ you'll always have my shoulder when you cry / I'll never let go, never say goodbye

i'm only me when i'm with you - taylor swift (jeremy and laila)

➵ and I don't try to hide my tears / my secrets or my deepest fears / through it all, nobody gets me like you do

new romantics - taylor swift (the floozies)

➵ we are too busy dancing to get knocked off our feet / baby, we're the new romantics / the best people in life are free

i know a place - muna (the floozies and jean)

➵ if you want to go out dancing / I know a place, I know a place we can go / where everyone gonna lay down their weapon

best day of my life - american authors (joy! finally, courtesy of nora)

➵ i'm never gonna give it up, no / please don't wake me now / this is gonna be the best day of my life

gorgeous - taylor swift (jeremy and jean's mutual attraction era)

➵ if you've got a girlfriend, I'm jealous of her / but if you're single, it's honestly worse / 'cause you're so gorgeous it actually hurts

solar power - lorde (happy beach days, jeremy and jean)

➵ my cheeks in high colour, overripe peaches / no shirt, no shoes, only my features / my boy behind me, he's taking pictures

inconsolable - katie gavin (jeremy and jean)

➵ we're from a long line of people we'd describe as inconsolable / we don't know how to be helped

stargazing - myles smith (jeremy and jean, courtesy of nora)

➵ looking in your eyes, I see my whole life / they say you know it when you know it, and I know

so american - olivia rodrigo (jeremy and jean)

➵ and he laughs at all my jokes / and he says I'm so american / oh, god it's just not fair of him to make me feel this much

carry you home - alex warren (jeremy and jean, courtesy of nora)

➵ we were california dreaming / our whole life fit in that car / didn't have a bed to sleep in / but we kept each other warm under a ceiling full of stars

new year's day - taylor swift (jeremy and jean)

➵ don't read the last page, but I stay / when it's hard or it's wrong or we're making mistakes / I want your midnights / but I'll be cleaning up bottles with you on new year's day

fin! (until tsc3 comes out and I go crazy on it again ig (or I just listen to a new song while thinking about him too hard and have to add it))

[roosterr]

Do you have any specific headcanons for Nik?❤️

i'm so glad you asked anon, of COURSE I DO!!! >:) here is a random collection of headcanons for our beloved pilot, i hope you enjoy <3

let's start with the obvious; this man is a humongous flirt, and he is BOLD, if he likes you, you will know about it. he wants to see you a flustered mess because of him, he will take literally ANY opportunity to call you beautiful/handsome etc. just to revel in the way it effects you. and if you flirt right back? perfect, the two of you could go back and forth for HOURS (if yk what i mean ;))

leading on from this, i think he's a very open person, he will say what he's thinking and feeling with no reservations. he doesn't embarrass easily, so some of the things he'll say to you may have others groaning and telling the two of you to get a room, but he'll just wrap an arm around you and grin, "no complaints from you though, right милая?"

when the two of you are alone, he's the softest man on planet earth. i hope you like cuddling, because he LOVES it, when you're relaxing he'll rest your head on his shoulder or his chest, his arm securely around your shoulders. you cannot escape once he has you in his grasp.

on the topic of love languages, i picture him being an acts of service and physical touch kind of guy. he loves doing things for you, from getting you a glass of water when you ask to carrying around extra ammo for you, he will do it all. and as previously mentioned, he adores having any kind of physical contact with you, even if it's something as small as hooking your pinkies together. truly the perfect man.

he's very protective of the people he loves, the same way he loves his country and would do anything to protect it. he will put himself between you and any danger, make you walk on the inside of the sidewalk, walk you home or to your car when it gets dark out, the whole nine yards

this man can and will throw hands for you. look, it's no secret that his moral code is less than pristine, he kidnapped a mans wife and son for gods sake, he's more than willing to fight for you.

he's a captain - it's technically a hc since his wiki doesn't say his rank anywhere, but since he's around the same age as price (technically another hc), and he's the leader of chimera, i'm taking the liberty of assuming.

ass man. no i will not elaborate.

i know in my heart that this man does NOT take good care of his hair. he uses 73 in 1 shampoo and somehow still has the most luscious hair of all time. it doesn't make any sense and i am mad about it.

he has an absurdly good memory. you mentioned a food you really like once in an offhand comment 7 months ago? he buys it for you every time he passes a place that sells it. you mention a family birthday party you recently attended, he looks you in the eyes and goes "your mothers cousins sons kid? how old are they now, 9?"

in the same vein, literally human gps, like this mans has never and will never be lost in his entire life. you could drop him in the middle of the wilderness and he'd find his way back in time for dinner

at the risk of being slightly contradictory, i think that when he's off duty or on leave just living life as a civilian, he's actually a pretty introverted guy. something about being in his element, doing what he knows best in the heat of battle just brings out a different side of him; and of course he's a captain, so when he's at work he gives people orders and becomes the perfect leader. but when he's at home he's quieter and keeps more to himself - no matter where you are though, in the middle of an active warzone or just chilling in your home, he always showers you with as much love as he can.

[darth-mortem]

This is a small background of what's happening in this fic.

Fluff, 721 words.

“I'll help ye!” Ghost heard Soap's cheerful voice and looked around, lowering the knife.

Johnny stood in the doorway, smiling his shiny smile, and his eyes radiated so much love that Simon involuntarily stared at him and forgot to answer. Dressed in shorts and one of Ghost's black T-shirts, Soap looked like he had just gotten out of bed. However, it could be true: he was still weak from his injury and tired quickly.

“No need to, sweetheart.” Simon finally spoke up. “We agreed that you would go to the store and I would cook. You should get some rest.”

He tried to make his voice sound soft and gentle, but he could tell by the way Johnny's expression changed that something was wrong. This was all hard for Riley, who had spent most of his life in the military with occasional breaks for hell like the one Roba had given him. He preferred living on military bases, and when he and Johnny rented this apartment, all of Ghost's belongings fit into a small bag. And Simon could never have imagined that civilian life, even with someone you love with all your heart, would be so difficult.

“What's wrong?” He asked quietly and somehow helplessly, and Johnny immediately stopped pouting and came closer.

“We need to do something together.” He said, taking Ghost's hand. “All of this that's happening now is a test drive for our future, when we retire, get married, and become a real family. All families do things together; it’s called ‘tradition’, ye know?”

“We watch movies together on Thursdays.” Simon said, bowing his head.

“That's not it!” Johnny argued. “We do a lot of things together, but it's all recreation, and I'm talking about housework. Ye do everything by yourself; ye clean, wash the car, do the laundry, cook... If ye didn't hate being around people so much, ye'd go to the store by yourself too!”

“I was just trying to take care of you.” Ghost pursed his lips and turned away to the kitchen table where he was slicing meat; in that moment, he was really regretting agreeing to be at home without a mask.

“I know, luv.” Soap looked at his back sadly. “If ye hadn't taken a leave to be with me, I would never have been able to handle it. But I'm feeling better now, and I want to take care of ye too. Otherwise, ye're going to come back to the base so tired that Price is going to fly here himself to ask me personally what I did to ye.”

The knife stopped moving, tapping the board. Simon washed it, wiped it down, and put it back before turning to Johnny again.

“I would have stayed with you for the rest of your recovery.” He said.

“I know ye would.” Soap nodded. “But the boys need ye, too.”

Ghost sighed but quickly shook off the sad thoughts because they still had plenty of time. Of course, the command was not happy that the lieutenant had decided to take all the leave he had stubbornly ignored for at least seven years, but Captain Price sided with him, arguing that Sergeant MacTavish needed to be cared for while rehabilitating from a serious injury. Of course, Soap could have gone to his parents' house, but it was too far from the hospital, and the eldest daughter and her children were staying at MacTavish’s family home, which would not have been conducive to the peace and quiet the doctors recommended.

“All right, then.” Finally, Ghost said, taking the second apron off the hook and handing it to Soap. “Put it on, take three medium-sized onions, and start cutting.”

“Oh no, not the onions!” Johnny rolled his eyes tragically, tying the apron.

“No arguments, Sergeant.” Riley cut off and reached for the meat mallet. “It's Tuesday, right?”

“Aye, Lt.” MacTavish took out an onion and began peeling it, standing next to Ghost.

“So on Thursdays we watch a movie.” Simon tossed the hammer and caught it by the handle. “And on Tuesdays we cook together.”

Johnny smiled happily, and Ghost couldn't help but smile as well. He began to pound away at the meat, thinking that Soap was right: of course, and if they were going to be a family, they should have some family traditions.

[twisting-echo]

So, you're the local Mirrorverse shipping blog, Any thoughts on Hook, or The Beast, or Anna? I'm getting back into it to finish the plot before it's gone, but that sure has me thinking about this goofy little game and all the fun interactions it had the possibility for.

I see my reputation has finally caught up with me, hehe. >:3

Hello! Yes, I am your friendly neighborhood Mirrorverse shipping blog. Thank you for noticing~

Anywhoodle, what do I think of Captain James Bartholomew Hook, AKA the Vainglorious Vengeful Swordsman?!

Well, despite the fact that his tiny waist and hourglass figure make my knees weak. His prominent, sharply defined chin that juts forward with a hint of arrogance. His face is a portrait of cunning with high cheekbones and a perpetual smirk. Luxurious, jet-black curls cascade down to his shoulders, always impeccably styled. His thick, arched eyebrows convey a constant look of mischievous plotting. And finally, his mustache is a thin, curling work of art, highlighting his sophisticated yet sinister demeanor. Not to mention how proud I am of him for getting over his fear of crocodiles—I think he's DROP-DEAD GORGEOUS! Who doesn't love a man in heels?! 😍😭💖

Now, where was I going with this? Oh, yeah! Who do I ship him with?

Okay, I ship Hook with Jafar, Hades, Gaston, Maleficent, Ursula, Cruella, the Evil Queen, Tinker Bell, and finally Aurora/Briar Rose.

Hook and Aurora are my current OTP based on my mood right now because I love to imagine Aurora wrapping her elegant arm around his delicate, womanly waist and pulling him close as she uses her mighty faerie shield to protect them both from the Fractured. Aurora is a wrecking ball with rose-shaped bangs and a flowy dress that makes his knees weak~

Hook's the only one who consciously remembers to call Aurora by her preferred name, Briar Rose. Mickey and the other guardians slip up constantly, but she's too polite to say anything and appreciates that Hook always remembers. He often engages in chivalrous acts, like offering his hand to help her down a step or draping his crocodile skin coat over her shoulders when it's cold. He likes to play his piano for her and grows daffodils (a headcanon inspired by Shrek 3). And guess whose hair is the same color as daffodils? 👀

Now what do I think of Prince Adam of France, AKA The Beast and the Knight-Errant of the Enchanted Wood? First off, this beastly beauty is looking sharp in his family armor! Puns fully intended! I love that his armor is a family heirloom, with that rose emblem is on his breastplate and cape. You know, I always liked Beast/Adam's human form, but Disney Mirrorverse made me LOVE his human form! Look at him; he's like Edmond Dantès from Manga Classics: The Count of Monte Cristo by Alexandre Dumas, Jareth the Goblin King, Howl Jenkins Pendragon, and Adrian Țepeș/Alucard all wrapped up into one! Seeing a grief-stricken, half-formed beast is something I never knew I needed in my life! Oh yeah, knighthood and that battle axe look gewd on him.

Okie dokie, I ship this beastie boy with Belle, Gaston, Aurora, Snow White, Ariel, Jasmine, Tiana, Cinderella, Aladdin, Hercules, Kuzco, and my fave, Elsa.

I love him with Hercules because Herc is just so sweet and soft to him. But... Beast and Elsa are my OTP because my friend @frie-ice brought the "Beast of Intentions" Disney Mirrorverse event to my attention and lost my mind. I ship them because they're both social outcasts who were ashamed of who they are and thus shut themselves off from the rest of the world. But I love to imagine that they take comfort in and identify with each other over their shared experiences of isolation and self-discovery. Beast, with his struggle to accept his monstrous form, and Elsa, with her fear of her uncontrollable powers, found solace in one another's understanding and empathy. Together, they learn to embrace their true selves, heal from their past wounds, and discover the beauty in their unique qualities~

Now what do I think of Queen Anna, AKA the Ward of Arendelle?! I love this little ray of sunshine right down to her perfectly coiffed hair bun, elegantly accented by the striking white streak that runs through it. Her armor is nothing short of magnificent! Encrusted with troll crystals, embodying the enchanted protection she wields! The Joan of Arc-esque design symbolizes her bravery and leadership, with intricate detailing that showcases both strength and grace~

She is my favorite melee guardian to use because of her special ability called Elemental Surge. This ability is fantastic because it wrecks everyone within her circle, unlike Hercules and Snow White's abilities, which are limited to one enemy. Anna has carried me through this game and was my strongest melee guardian until I got a duplicate Snow White crystal that unlocked her fifth astral rating/level.

I ship this sunspot with Merida, Ariel, Cinderella, Belle, Moana, Jasmine, Elizabeth Swan, Rapunzel, Aladdin, Hades, Aurora, Mulan, Ian Lightfoot, Snow White, Tiana, Kuzco, and finally, Sheriff Woody Pride. Anna just has that personality type that makes her very shippable.

Despite Anna and Buzz Lightyear being in the Hopeful Heroism Disney Mirrorverse Event together, they see each other only as friends. Meanwhile, Woody is a rugged, heavy-hitting cowboy who secretly crushes on Anna... hard! He gets all flustered and stutters around her like he did with Bo Peep from his source world. Anna, ever the warm and welcoming soul, remains oblivious to Woody's feelings, treating him with the same kindness and camaraderie she shows every guardian. Woody's heart races every time she smiles at him, and he's constantly torn between his duty as a sheriff and his burgeoning feelings for her. He’ll throw hands at any and all Fractured to protect her and often lets Anna wear his hat, a gesture of his deep affection and trust. The two share a unique bond, sometimes even finishing each other's sandwiches~

This game has truly provided a canvas for me to think of so many imaginative scenarios and relationships. There’s a lot of fun and potential in exploring these characters’ dynamics because, since their source worlds have changed, maybe that means their romantic and platonic relationships can change too. For instance, we know that Belle and Beast end up together in their source world, but ever since two blazing stars, one light and one dark, collided, their destinies have shifted. This opens up new possibilities for who they could become and who they might connect with. So maybe Belle might find herself attracted to a big, blue, compassionate, and caring guy like Sulley. 😳👉👈

Anywhoodle, sorry for the long info dump/rambling. I genuinely loved answering this! It’s great to hear you’re diving back into it. Disney Mirrorverse has always been such a delightful and quirky game. If you ever want to chat about your favorite moments or characters, I'm all ears!

[applepiesupreme]

American Apple Pie

Pairing: Low/Mid Honor Arthur Morgan and female OC.

Rating: Explicit

Summary: Savigne Ricci is a temporary guest at the Van der Linde camp. Her path crosses with the enforcer of the gang, Arthur Morgan, and despite their differences, a relationship develops between them. Whole lot of smut and fluff, slow burn-ish.

Chapter 40

AO3 link:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/54945853/chapters/154132942

Standing here and looking out at the vastness of blue, it felt like there was nothing but water in the world; the memories of land dwarfed by its sheer size and volume. His previous struggles and aspirations, his fears and hopes dismal, small, insignificant. Life was a fleeting dream and at the end of it, all that you were allowed to stuff into your pockets, all that remained with you was moments of pleasure. Warm sunlight dancing on your belly through a tent flap. The taste of peaches. A glorious dawn, unfurling in a blaze. The heat of the campfire between your fingers when snow was building around you. A child’s eager eyes as they watched you hook up a worm. The hurried muscles of your horse in full gallop between your legs. The feeling of her wet cheek on his shoulder when she was slumped in his lap in warm water. The rest of it…pointless, used up, empty - just miles and miles of dusty road that led you to these little treasures.

It was impossible to stand at this banister day after day and not think of the sea monsters in Savigne’s book. And that thought inevitably led him to the morning at Clemens Point when she had served pancakes and Hosea and Jack had foolishly tried to outeat him. Afterwards she had sat reading to Jack and he remembered sitting behind them at the table, cleaning his gun. He remembered the sharp scent of the cleaning fluid. The quietness of the Sunday morning, interspersed with the cry of gulls. The slant of her eyes when she looked at him over her shoulder. That reddish tint in her hair when the sun hit it. If only he could go back to right then. And do everything differently. Before Ecco. Before that stupid fight they had about Abigail. Before the disastrous bank job. And before Hosea’s loss.

But…wasn’t that moment in time also before the better things that followed? Before the pact in the Bayou that had made his heart sing? Possibly before the child? Two things that were precious to him and two things he would never want undone no matter what the reward. In light of these, he thought Hosea would understand and maybe even approve of his reluctance to revert time.

The captain and the crew were amicable but distant. His gang mates, sullen and angry. Once or twice the issue of Fussar and the offered money brewed up but Arthur faced it with the same stoicism he had that day at the beach. When pressed, he told them Fussar couldn’t be trusted, he was a seasoned liar. Maybe there was money, maybe there wasn’t; maybe he would have shared it or maybe he would have tricked them and led them on a wild goose chase. All of it, hogwash. Truth was, he had wanted to keep his word. Why? Why does a man do anything? Because. Maybe because he had felt he had to honor Hosea, do something right by him as a show of gratitude. Maybe because he had sworn to himself that he would try to be a better man for Savigne. Maybe he had felt indebted to Hercule because of Micah. Maybe it was the secret, inexplicable shame he had felt when he thought how a kid that wasn't even born yet would think of him. It didn't matter, he had chosen as he had and he had no regrets. They weren’t satisfied with his answer but there was nothing to be done about it now, so they swallowed their anger and kept their arguments. 

Dutch barely talked to him. In twenty-two years, Arthur had made plenty of decisions that Dutch had disagreed with. But when push came to shove, he had always stood by Arthur, had defended him to others. Not anymore. What made this one apparently unforgivable was that it had been done with an audience. It was one thing to act within Dutch’s benediction and quite another to rebel against his person and call his leadership into question. The cardinal sin. There was no denying that both of them were men of a jealous and possessive nature. But their distinctions were stark: Arthur knew his possessiveness and jealousy was because of the scarcity of things that had belonged to him and him alone. Dutch’s jealousy, on the contrary, was because he was used to owning things and he couldn’t fathom ever going without them.

So now their once seamless bond was pockmarked with mistrust and hurt. That surprised him none. In hindsight, the course of their relationship had been leading to this point for a long time. The things that happened at Blackwater. Micah's rise in the gang despite Arthur's objections and inhibitions. Dutch's unwillingness to accept that the country had changed, his downright rejection of reality. Then the killing blow of Savigne's addition to an already strained relationship. A blind fortune teller could have told you that this bond had been limping and looking for an alley to die in for the better part of a year now. So no, no surprise there.

What did surprise him, however, was how little he cared. Here he was, at odds with a man who had practically been a father to him, and yet he was taking it as nothing more than the inevitability of growing pains. Once, not even that long ago, life without the gang and without Dutch would have been unthinkable. Now it felt natural and right because it was simply his turn to be a father, his turn to launch his own pack.

In his shirt pocket, a small folded piece of paper rattling with dark pellets of seeds.

“You already got everything a man needs,” Hercule squeezed it into his hand. “And this is all I have. Take it.” “What is it?” “Night blooming Jasmine. From my mother’s garden.” He grunted his thanks. He wasn’t a sentimental man but he liked flowers. Still kept his mother's flower to this day by his bed. Besides, when a man gave you something precious to him, you took it with the respect it deserved. “For luck?” “Good days, for luck. And to remember home.” The black man shrugged with a grin. “Bad days, so it can bud wherever I fall. Something pretty to leave the world.” Arthur chuckled at the concept. “It's no regular jasmine, patron!" was the proud addition. "Family heirloom, gonna smell for miles! You plant it your garden. Good days, it's gonna make your woman happy. Be the envy of town.” “Bad days?” was his amused question. Hercule smiled. “Bad days - and may there be few - hope it makes you think of me. Guarma. And what you did for us here.”

He had left America with bars of gold and was returning with flower seeds. If that wasn't life telling you your outlaw days were over, he didn't know what was. 

First the coastline appeared like a solidifying dream as the day turned from purple to blue. Arthur felt a flutter in his heart. For all the complaining and cursing he did, he had missed his homeland. The grass, turns out, was not greener elsewhere. Then the distant haze of Saint Denis crept up, that city he had hated profusely and now couldn’t wait to see again. The captain’s quoted date meant they had been gone for five weeks. An absurd amount of time. Unthinkable things could happen in five weeks. For all he knew there was no more gang and everything was in the wind. And what if Savigne had moved states to have the child in private and hadn’t shared her plans with anyone? If she hadn’t told Luther or Sadie, the odds of tracking her were terrifyingly small.

Dutch decided that they would split up and he would check for mail at a post office while Arthur would ride out to Shady Belle. He was fine with this as he had always been a man of action and felt the urge to move, to look and to find. The morning he arrived back was chilly and silent. He was rowed to land where he came upon an unattended horse and took it as a good sign. He led her quietly away before he climbed up and turned her south. The horse was a small thoroughbred but eager to run and he let her run to her heart’s desire as they arced around Saint Denis to head to Shady Belle. His heart thundered in tandem with the hooves in expectation what he would find.

He tied the horse to a tree not far from the mansion and crept closer on foot, cautious. But as soon as he had sneaked close enough, he knew it was deserted - he could feel it. Not only deserted, but deserted a while ago. He walked into the mansion, head whipping left and right, both cautious of traps and wary of missing any clues. The gang had left in a hurry, that was obvious, probably soon after the robbery had gone sideways. The letter on the table was clean and sharp and stood out among the other dilapidated items. He quickly read through it and stuffed it into his pockets. Maybe the Pinkertons had found it and had made their own deductions, or maybe it had been placed here after things had calmed down and Pinkertons hadn't come back this way again. Either way, he wasn’t going to leave it behind to be discovered. So Sadie had moved them to Lakay. Clever woman. More and more he thought that the only good call in this colossal ball of failure had been to leave the lead to her.

He left the mansion and marched back towards his horse, but then stopped midway and his head swiveled towards where his old tent used to be. After a moment's hesitation, he surrendered to the temptation and headed over.

The tent was gone, of course. By the looks of it, undone in a hurry. The wagon and the fabric were removed, but the pillars still stood there, tilted and crooked, reaching for the sky. He walked around, touching the emptied crates, running his hands around the pillars and inspecting the imprints of the furniture, faded now, but still there. A little further, the second clay oven and the ice box. 

A surge of missing came over him. In the quiet solitude of the morning hours, without another soul for miles, the depths of his foolishness felt enormous. He walked around between those crooked columns and felt irredeemably stupid. All a man could ever want had been right here. Handed to him on a silver platter. And he had walked away from it. For fucking money. He had pettily slept on a bedroll and then had walked out to leave it behind. As if good fortune grew on trees and he could pluck another whenever he felt like it. Why? His god damn pride, that’s why. Bent out of shape because she had kept secrets from him when he should have focused on why she kept them and marveled at her love for him. Stupid, just hopelessly stupid.

Dropped the ball. Again, he thought as despair took hold in his heart. Fucking clumsy fool. Yer hands shaky and yer heart weak, yer always gonna drop that damn ball, ain't ya? Deep in his gut, that old habit to just wander off and wallow in self pity reared its head, whispering the usual things.

Pick it the damn back up then, Hosea growled in his head. His eyes shifted to the spot they had sat and talked, what felt like years ago now. A long while later he rolled his shoulders and nodded imperceptibly. Alright, old man, he thought. Here I go.

He rode around the swamp for hours and the dull winter sun was over its high point by the time he took an untested fork in the road and Charles quietly slipped out from his hidden spot. Arthur reared his horse in surprise, then grinned like a fool and jumped down to walk up to the other man.

“Knew you would return,” Charles said as he stepped closer. His eyes were dancing with laughter when he extended his hand. Arthur coughed a huff of joy as he mirrored the clasp on his forearm. The five weeks suddenly felt like five years.

“I didn’t,” was his stammer of a half chuckle.

"Welcome back, big guy," was the soft response, accompanied by the grip of a shoulder. Charles gave him a head to toe. "We missed you."

"Glad you made it outta them docks," Arthur breathed, overcome with emotion at seeing a familiar face again. "Given what happened after, ya made the smart choice, tell ya that."

Charles smiled. "That's why I made it." Arthur huffed in amusement and followed Charles' head jab. "Little further down this path. Go on."

Frost danced in his spot when he arrived and he walked over to pet him and coo to him, his heart thrumming with elation. People started trickling out of the hut and running over. The women embraced him and the men did, too. He had long history with some of these folks, but rarely had the reaction been this intimate and rarely had he allowed it. 

Sadie strolled over last, the grin on her face impossibly wide. She embraced him too, smacked him on the shoulder, then embraced him again. 

“You fool! Fuckin’ dumb fool,” she hissed in his ear. 

He nodded into her neck. “Fair.”

She slung off his satchel and pushed it at him, “Glad ‘m rid of this shit.”

It surprised him that she still had it instead of Savigne, but he accepted it. Questions erupted about what happened and where the others were, but he hardly heard them as his eyes scanned the camp. 

“Where is she?”

“She workin’. She be back soon.” Sadie answered.

He sighed with relief. So she had remained with the gang. A third electrifying shock of relief ran through his nerves. His luck held.

“She okay?”

Sadie gripped his arm and led him towards the cabin. “Oh sure. She okay enough to bite your head off, if that's what yer askin'. Come sugar, have some food and water. You look like you need it.”

His steps faltered. The urge to find her, to see her was overwhelming. "I gotta..."

“You don’ wanna ambush her at work. Plenty of knives in a kitchen.”

He scoffed, wiping his palms over his sunburned face. “That bad, huh?”

“Mister Morgan,” Sadie sighed, dragging him on, “Was me, I would carve your heart out.”

They shooed him into the cabin like a flock of hen and pushed a chair under him and put a glass of cool water into his hand. Questions bubbled up again and he tried to answer to the best of his ability, dazed and distracted with relief and happiness. At some point a bowl of stew was placed in his lap and he gulped it down, marveling at how good it tasted. While he ate they told him their story. How they had rushed out of Shady Belle. Weathered the news of the men’s demise. Broke out John.

At long last he said he needed a moment, took his coffee and cigarettes and stepped out to walk to his wagon. He was dismayed to see the state of it and his optimism faltered a bit as he inspected its condition. The only pieces of furniture were the two chairs and the table. They sat a bit crooked in the mud. On the table, an old newspaper that reported the sinking of the ship. His mouth went dry. He sensed that she hadn’t been well and the child was just a small part of it.

He climbed up the wagon - the crates stood haphazardly lidded, rummaged through and just left there. It disturbed him that she had been living here for over five weeks like this. The Savigne he knew couldn’t sleep if a corner of a picture wasn’t aligned with the rest. She used to twitch when the crates sat out of order. He jumped down and came around to the bed. The tent flap was bunched up, swaying limply and the sheets looked dirty and worn.

“Why she been livin’ like this?” he asked when Sadie approached.

“What d’ya mean why? She been upset.”

“I know that, but she be less upset if the tent was clean.”

“She didn’ care to clean it,” was the shrug.

He palmed his mouth, fingers rubbing his beard. He came to stand by the table again and looked down at the article in the newspaper. It bothered him that this was the only item on the table, aged from being re-read. 

“She was sick, wasn’ she?” he asked, eyes meeting hers. “Like before.”

Sadie nodded.

Arthur straightened and looked about. “Should have tol’ me,” he said at last.

“‘Bout?”

“The child.” Sadie’s eyebrows went up and she gave him a long head to toe, as if she wondered how he put it together.

“Did. Best I could.”

“Nah,” he shook his head, fixing her with his gaze. “Should have said it as is.”

Sadie snorted. “Right before a job? No sir!”

“Wouldn’ been a job if ya said somethin’. Not for me.”

She shrugged and strolled closer. “You was yappin’ it's yer last job. Everyone talkin’ how much gang needs it. Wasn’ gonna pull the pin on it.” He inhaled and sank into the chair. “Said you should switch with me. Said you shouldn’ go. Once you said you gonna, wasn’ gonna put that in yer head.”

She pulled the other chair and flipped it to sit backwards, arms resting on the back of it. “That bein’ said, if I knew what was gonna happen, you bet yer ass would have said that and more.”

He wasn’t happy with her answer, but it was honest and it would have to do. Wasn’t Sadie’s problem that he was deaf and blind, wasn’t Sadie’s fault the job went sideways. Hard pill to swallow, but most truths were.

“She know?”

“She know now,” Sadie grimaced. “Wasn’ easy but she made peace with it. You finally put it together, huh?”

There was a short silence. The swamp around them thrummed and sang through it.

“Had to travel a thousand miles to see it,” he huffed with bitter amusement. “Almost lost it all.”

“Was a rough few weeks,” Sadie sighed. “But coulda been worse. She okay. Baby okay. She workin’ again, think that helps. John helpin’ her fix a place. All you gotta do is swoop in and do right. She’ll come around.”

“What kinda place?”

“Hear it’s a cabin. Close to Saint Denis.”

“Cabin?!”

“There an echo here? Yeah, cabin.”

“Woman…” he growled, trying to suppress the shiver of the past that brushed against him, “…you was gonna let her live in a cabin? With my god damn child?!”

Sadie ignored his rising hackles and the timbre of his voice. “She a grown woman and I ain’t in the business of ropin’ people down. But she wasn’ gonna be alone. John and Abigail offered to stay with.”

This surprised him. He rolled his shoulders and leaned back, giving her a furtive look. “Who talked the idiot into that?”

“He offered on his own. We was as surprised as you when he came back, tellin’ us that’s what’s gonna happen, all cocked up and defensive.” She chuckled to herself. “Fool thought we was gonna put up a fight. Tell you what, never seen Abigail so proud. Thought she was havin’ a stroke.”

He clicked his tongue and grinned despite himself, unable to hide his pleasure at the news. He mused on this development and offered a grunt of approval a minute later.

“Guess he one of them folks who step up when it counts,” she smiled.

“Made him promise,” Arthur crossed his arms, unwilling to heap too much praise. “Course he stepped up.”

Sadie hummed in amusement. “Anyhow,” she changed tracks, “Heard you talkin’ in there ‘bout what happened. Money sank. Now what?”

Arthur ran his tongue over his teeth. “Told you ‘m done after. That don’ gone changed.” His eyes flicked up to her. “Ain’t gonna risk a hair here on out, I got family to think on.”

“Settle down, ‘m on your side,” her palms rose, amused at how territorial he sounded. “But…it’s a bit sad,” she shrugged, looking around. “The mighty Van der Linde gang ends in a swamp? Broke?”

“More than we deserve,” he grimaced. “But we ain’t exactly broke. Dutch sittin’ on all them savings. We share that and walk.”

“That ain’t much.”

He took a while to answer, but placed his elbows on the table and gave her a look. “There’s also Blackwater money. Hundred and fifty grand.”

Sadie whistled softly. “Too bad nobody can retrieve it.”

His eyes lingered on her a while. “I can’t retrieve it. Dutch can’t. Nobody who was there that day can. But…” he leaned forward and dropped his voice, “…you can. Charles can. He was with the gang but wasn' at the job.”

Sadie must have given this some thought because the suggestion didn’t surprise her. “Dutch ain’t gonna tell where it is,” she said at last.

Arthur shrugged. “We convince everyone we walkin’, he gonna have to hand it over. Ain’t his money, belongs to all of us. But if he still won’ do the right thing…I might have a clue where it is.”

“Really?”

“We was fishin’ while back in Clemens Point - me, Dutch and Hosea. Dutch said his mom was buried in Blackwater.” She hummed at this, intrigued, watching him. “Thought that was…interestin'. Was me, would go pay my respects to Missus Van der Linde one nice evenin’.”

She nodded but didn’t say anything for a while. Then: “What happened over there? You good with Dutch and the other two?”

“No,” was Arthur’s flat answer. “Things broke between us. I ain’t celebratin’ but was gonna happen anyway. Moment I promised Savigne we gonna leave, was gonna happen. Dutch says we can leave anytime, our choice, but he don’ mean it. For you maybe, not for me.” He groaned bitterly. “Truth is, a year ago, I felt the same. Never forgave John for leavin’. Walked around urgin’ folks to stay, to hang in. Was such a fool,” he finished with a tinge of disgust.

“Don’ beat yerself up too hard,” she sighed. “This all you knew. You big and burly, but you wasn’ fully grown.”

“Gave up Mary for the gang,” he mused. “Gave up Eliza and my kid. Thought I was bein’ loyal. Steadfast. Stand up guy. Ya know Sadie,” he squinted across the marsh. “I robbed plenty of folks in my life. But think I robbed m’self the most. Aint that somethin’?”

She watched him a long while as he ruminated in silence.

“Way I see it,” she said at last, “all that had to happen so now you can choose differently.”

He smiled a broken smile at her and nodded.

“I asked cause I made sure nobody but me, John and Abigail know where that cabin is. I was you, I do the same.”

This surprised him. “Why?”

Sadie shrugged. “Nobody’s business, that’s one. Pinkertons think you all dead, so they ain’t lookin’ now. But…” she gave him a long, hard stare. “…don’ hurt to be smart.”

“How so?”

“You gotta take yer blinders off. You sure that if they get caught few months down, Bill or Javier wouldn’ sell you out for a deal with the law?”

He mulled this over, surprised by his own blind spot. He had ridden with these people for years, but he had also lost a lot of goodwill with them in Guarma. And even without all that, there was no reason to presume blind allegiance from them.

“Moreover,” Sadie pressed on, “the human heart is dark, boss man. These people love you like a big brother. But love and jealousy go hand in hand. They might be happy for you but they might also resent you for leavin’. Might think you ditchin’ them at their lowest.” He nodded, thoughtful. “So,” Sadie concluded. “Folks here know she with child. They know she movin’ out somewhere. But unlike you, they haven’t grown, haven’t changed, cause most think, hope, this gonna be like Eliza.”

This startled him. How can they think that, he wanted to ask, when they know how much I regretted what happened? When I carried this wound for years now, a gaping hole that drank and drank - drank the whiskey but also drank my misery, my guilt, my anger and still wouldn’t fill?

“They don’ want nothin’ to happen to her, ‘m sure,” Sadie soothed, watching him. “But Savigne called them lazy and entitled and I can’t argue. Thing is…” she sighed, squinting off, “…people all good and generous and nice. Until they served the bill. Might not say it, but in their hearts, they ain’t gonna like this choice you make, so be smart ‘bout what you blab to whom.”

He balked at this. Dutch was one thing, but the gang? Tilly and Grimshaw and Mary Beth?

“Gave these folks my best years. Ya really think they want more?” was his incredulous question.

She gazed at him a long while. Sadie was younger than him in years, but wisdom, turns out, aged differently.

“Course, you fool,” she said gently. “People always want more.”

“I really like that stall you built,” she huddled into her coat and grinned up at him. “Cricket is going to love the roof over his head!”

John shrugged with his signature boyish shyness. A week ago someone got robbed and killed in the Bayou, not that far from camp and ever since, she couldn’t get rid of him. Every day he found an excuse to come pick her up at the edge of the city, claiming he was on his way back from somewhere - hunting or foraging or returning with construction material for the cabin, elaborating some nonsense story as he led Cricket to be tied to the cart next to Old Boy. She knew it was all bullshit but Arthur had given her plenty of practice in how to deal with men who were too proud to - god forbid - care about someone, so she pretended she believed it. And he pretended he believed her believing. So now they did this ridiculous dance and song because the man simply couldn’t say “I worry about you traveling in the Bayou after dark”.

She didn’t mind though, because John didn’t have Arthur’s brusqueness. It was never “Woman, get on the damn cart!”, but “‘M thinkin’ if we take the cart, gonna save us some time. You agree?” She, of course, agreed. He handled her with a caution and clumsy care she didn’t know he was capable of and times like this, she understood what Abigail saw in him. That grim, childish determination to keep his promise was quite cute. She was an only child but wondered if this was how one felt about siblings. 

“Just nailed some boards together…” he rolled his shoulders.

“Well I’m a stickler for doing things the proper way and the boards looked really even,” she praised.

“Wasn’ hard,” his eyes flicked at her, the corner of his lips turning up as the swung the cart into the trail leading to the camp. 

“How?”

“Cut a stick and used it to measure so they the same,” he shifted in his seat.

“That’s genius!” she exclaimed and grinned wider as his shoulders straightened. “See, most people wouldn’t care.”

“Savages!” was his sarcastic huff.

She chuckled and turned to camp and her grin froze on her face as she spotted Arthur Morgan rise from the chair by their wagon. She blinked rapidly with incomprehension and felt her jaw go slack. John pulled the reins and Cricket and Old Boy came to a jostling halt. She turned to him, eyes like saucers. He glanced at her and nodded as if he understood her silent question. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “He there, y’aint dreamin’.”

She turned back and indeed, he was still there, solid. No ghost, no apparition. He had obviously pulled some clothes from the crates in their wagon and had made an effort to clean up and trim his beard. But underneath this he looked distinctly leaner and haggard, the roundness of his shoulders more bony, the carve of his abdomen more obvious. His skin was a color she had never seen on him before, a lot darker. It made the blue of his eyes even more prominent than before. A flash of teeth. The familiarity of that cocky expression knocked the breath out of her.

He flung the cigarette to the ground as a grin crept up his face and settled into his eyes, dancing with blue mirth. His gaze never wavered from her as he stepped around the table and started to walk towards them, his steps loping, confident and swift. She watched, hypnotized by his approach, her mind frozen, unable to process what was happening. Distantly she felt John climb down and walk away, but she couldn’t tear her eyes from Arthur as she flustered between allowing herself to hope or remaining steadfast that it was impossible. Maybe she was hallucinating not just this but the entire day? Maybe that damn roof had indeed collapsed on her head and she was lying under it, unconscious and in the clutch of a lucid dream while the real John was scrambling to dig her out. Time dilated and stretched, then snapped together like a rubber band. She blinked and he was by her side of the cart, reaching up, fingers beckoning. 

“Gonna come down, little bird?” Hearing that gravely voice, that accent again turned her knees into mush. She just sat there and gawked in shock, unable to move a finger and wheeze a word as a jolt went through her stopped heart and it restarted with a vengeance, thudding in her chest and hammering in her ears. 

His grin widened, eyes dancing with joy as if he was proud of himself to have surprised her into speechlessness, as if the prank he had pulled had landed to his satisfaction. A moment later his large hands encircled her waist and she managed to utter a grunt of surprise as she was lifted like a child and pulled down.

She was smacked against his chest, arms coiling around her shoulders to press her in. For all his air of light-hearted ease, the kneading of her flesh, the urgency of his fingers in her hair, that huff of panting in her ear betrayed the intensity of his own emotions. She stood rigid as a board, her head grappling with disbelief while her heart was rushing as if she was falling from a great height.

“Almost didn’ recognize you,” he grinned into her ear. “Ya look damn fine.” The squeeze of her buttocks made her jump and woke her from her daze. She gasped a sob and then another, and then the rest followed as she threw her arms around his back and buried her face into his chest. She hadn’t had laudanum in weeks and yet she distantly wondered if the scent of his skin and the warmth of his body was a trick of her mind. 

“The hell ya been?” he teased, “been waiting for hours.” Smug as if he was proud to trivialize his own disappearance.

“Oh my god!” she cried and wheezed for breath. Her fingers clawed at his back as they danced around each other to avoid getting their feet tangled.

His hands were everywhere, in her hair, pulling on her arms and pressing against her hips, cupping her face and squeezing her shoulders, fingers curling around her flesh and her locks as if he couldn’t contain his excitement.

He smelled of dust and cigarettes and sweat and the ocean and was warm like a stone that had baked under the sun for weeks. She realized that until this moment, she hadn’t believed he had survived. Not really. That unlike the others, she had buried him in her head and in her heart, buried him prematurely under layers of her own problems, well hidden so she wouldn’t have to think of him. Her bewildered mind remembered the article of the shipwreck she had read countless times and she croaked “How?”

“Ship sank,” he sighed. “Got washed up on an island. Then…sailed back.”

“Like Robinson Crusoe?” she blinked up, stupefied.

He barked a cough of laughter, his joy raw and also tinged with disbelief at his own fortune. “No. Had to shoot my way through.”

How can you miss the blue in someone’s eyes? she wondered when she gazed up at him. The next moment he was kissing her. And not a chaste kiss you would expect from him in the middle of camp either, but a full on, unabashed and hungry, hand-cupping-the-back-of-her-head-to-tilt-her-head-to-his-liking kind of kiss. She stumbled back with the force of it but his other hand shot out to pull her back by the hip. Her arms flew around his neck to steady herself and she rose on her toes to kiss him back, hiccuping and sobbing into his mouth.

When he broke it she was breathless and dizzy. His thumb brushed her wet cheek as his eyes danced.

“I thought you were dead,” her lips wobbled as she fisted his lapels. “Five weeks, Arthur! I thought you were fucking dead!”

He cupped the back of her head and pressed her face into his shoulder. “I know, little bird,” he sighed. “‘M sorry.” A long minute passed as she clutched at him with disbelief and he ran his other hand over her back, allowing her to recover from her shock. An overwhelming sense of safety washed over her. A feeling she hadn’t even known she had lost. Something to be found nowhere else but in his arms. She hugged him with all the force she could muster, like he would fly away if she loosened her hold even a little. The Bayou, indifferent to their human drama, just sang on around them and she hugged him tighter still and cried into his shirt. That heartbeat under her cheek was like music to her ears. The choppy waters of her mind churned and slopped, then finally calmed a little  as he caressed her back. A dim memory of someone else doing this to her when she was little crested in her and the feeling of safety inflated her heart bigger and bigger and bigger still - to the point where she felt like she was all heart.

“Ya gonna do yer thing?” he drawled at last when her panting ceased.

“What thing?” she sniffed.

“Yer ‘missed you’ thing?”

She looked up at him with astonishment.

“Cause when you say ‘missed you’,” he drawled, “this time I get to say ‘yeah, been long’.” He chuckled at her expression like a little boy who had discovered the cleverest joke. “Get it? ‘been long’ instead of ‘hasn’t been’…”

She pushed off him and ran her palms over her face, trying to gather her wits. Despite the relatively mild climate of the Bayou, she was trembling like a leaf. He stepped closer and ran his fingers through her hair as if he had forgotten the curve of her locks.

Arthur Morgan, alive. Someone pushed a picture album of the past five weeks under her nose and opened that hefty folder with a creak. Here she was, ugly crying. Here, drinking laudanum. More crying. Here, getting yelled at by the sous chef and trudging away from the pinnacle of her career. Oh look, more crying. Weeks of dirt and muck and croaking frogs. Weeks of pushing a fake ring on her finger and ignoring Susan’s smugness now that she had tumbled back down from the heights she had climbed, right into the same droll job. Weeks of slapping mashed potatoes on a plate and trying to forget the fact that she would never do flambé again. And here, a picture of her buying two dozen handkerchiefs because there was a mountain of crying to be done.

“Unbelievable!” she hissed, removing her hands from her face to glare at him.

“Said ‘m sorry,” he said defensively but the smirk didn’t leave his face.

“Which part?” she growled and smacked his chest which only made him grin wider. “The stupid robbery?” Smack “The part where you fucking disappeared?” Smack “Or the part where you broke up with me?”

His smile faltered at that. “Listen here, I never broke up.”

“You left me,” her eyes welled as he snaked his arms behind her back again. “You left me and you didn’t even care!”

“Nonsense. Yer spinnin’ in yer head again.”

She pushed off his chest. “This is the worst thing anyone has ever done to me!”

“That so?” was the infuriating question.

“Yes! Absolutely!”

He grimaced. “Them O’Driscolls come to mind…”

Savigne made a choking sound in her throat.

“‘M just sayin’!”

The problem with Arthur Morgan was that he was too fast. He avoided her slap like he saw it coming a week ago and immediately closed the distance, fingers brushing against her arms, cupping her shoulders. His eyes dropped to her lips.

“Don’ pout. Ya pout, ‘m gonna kiss ya.”

She wrestled his hands off her. “You horrible man! You think you’re going to show up and I’ll take you back like a fool, don’t you?” She poked a finger in his chest. “You and me - we’re over!” He scoffed like she was being silly and her eyes narrowed. “I’m not interested in your excuses! It’s done. The end. I moved on.”

He clicked his tongue and strolled closer again. “Listen here, I get yer mad. But I didn’ get on that ship knowin’ it was gonna sink…”

“Don’t…fucking…care!” she backed away as he advanced. 

“Survived five weeks of hell. For you. Sailed across the damn ocean. For you.”

Any other time she would marvel how these words were falling so easily from the lips of the man she had to read through grunts and eye flicks. Not today.

“Wouldn’t have to do all that if you had never left!” she seethed.

He stepped up again. His hand shot out quick as a snake to pull her closer by the neck and lean his forehead on hers. “Woman...” she tried to wiggle away but he pressed himself against her. There was a long moment where he looked like he was working himself up to saying something serious and Savigne stilled, wondering if he was done downplaying the situation. If he had more introspection than a ten year old. Then suddenly his hand splayed across her belly, first more tentative, then increasingly confident as he mapped out the bump and loosely cupped it. “…calm down. Ain’t good for the grub.”

She felt the color surge up to her face like a splash of hot water. It must have been quite dramatic from his point of view too, because he blinked at her reaction with alarm and pulled back a little.

“You okay?”

Fuck!…she thought and swayed a little as her legs went weak.

“Savigne?”

“I’m okay,” she lied and moved his hand off her stomach, busying herself with brushing her skirts so she wouldn’t look at him. The heat on her face throbbed like a pulse. Her eyes flicked up to him, then quickly away as she chewed on her lower lip.

On the one hand, someone had done her a huge kindness. Because the worst moments her imagination had conjured up as she lied in her bed late nights, fantasizing a world where he had survived, had to do with the reveal. That was the point his face would fall and his features would twist into anger. Or regret. Or worst of them all - resignation. 

On the other hand, she kind of wished that she could have seen his initial reaction because it would have been more honest and true and now that he had time to process it, she could never be sure. 

He tried to catch her eyes, his mood of jubilation finally dissolving into doubt. “Ya wanna…sit down?”

“I’m fine,” she ran a hand through her hair, trying to be as nonchalant as possible. It was damn hard when you were as red as a beet. “Just tired.”

For all his blundering foolishness, Arthur was thankfully intuitive and sensed that she wasn’t ready for a cavalier conversation in that particular matter. “Course y’are,” he sobered and gently grabbed her arm to lead her to the chairs.

She fell into a chair and he pulled the other one right next to hers and ran his hand over her back again. The camp was suspiciously quiet and empty and she eyed the cabin, wondering if they were all perched by the windows.

“So where were you?” she growled.

“Guarma.”

As if that should mean something.

“Where the hell is that?”

“Island off of-”

“You know what? I don’t care!” She rolled her shoulder to get rid of his hand and he ignored her. “Hope it was worth it! Hope you ate a lot of coconuts and drank whatever the fuck they drink over there and sang songs by the campfire and had a fantastic vacation!”

“Woman, I almost died.”

She shot up, grabbed her chair, moved it a step away, slammed it into the mud and sat back down.

“I also hope everything that crawled on that damn island bit you.”

He cleared his throat and moved his chair next to hers again.

“Now listen here…”

“You called me a scorpion! And fat!”

“The hell? Said yer ass was plush.” He hesitated when her eyes blazed at him. “Was a compliment.”

“You think, you really fucking think you can go rob a bank, a god damn bank, Arthur Morgan, and I will sit here in the mud and take you back?! Like, ‘Good job, welcome back’? Reward you so you can run off and do it again?”

“Ain’t never doin’ that again,” was his quick defense.

Just then the door of the cabin banged open and Uncle strutted out. He made it as far as the steps before hands and arms grabbed him and pulled him back in. The door was banged shut and muffled his protestations.

Her face that had been normalizing colored all over again as she realized they were having a full on fight in the middle of camp. No “young lady” was hollered and nobody came out to remind them that they were not alone. She turned to look at him with narrowed eyes. Arthur seemed to have changed in some surprising and profound ways. The man who used to stiffen at a hug or a kiss on the cheek had openly embraced her, kissed her and didn’t seem to give a damn that they were having a private argument in everyone’s earshot. Either he was too happy to care or his stint offshore had made him more confident, looser, bolder. Probably both.

“I’m going to bed,” she rose.

“Good idea,” he mirrored her.

She stepped away, then whipped back and hissed a quieter “Also, I fucking hate you!” before she marched around the wagon. The short distance didn’t allow her a dramatic exit but she made the best of it. She untied the tent flap and sat on the bed to yank off her boots.

To her amazement, he came to sit next to her and followed suit. Which completely ruined her dramatic exit.

“What are you doing?”

“Going to bed?”

“Here?!”

“This our bed, no?” He ignored her incredulous look.

“The bedroll is in the wagon. There’s room enough back there, you’re welcome to it.”

“I ain’t doin’ that,” he scoffed. “Would be disrespectful.”

“Who the hell said that?”

“You did,” was the response with a cocked eyebrow.

“That was when we were still together!” she hissed and crawled on the bed.

He pulled the flap down and lied behind her.

“And we're not together anymore,” she added, annoyed how her heart thudded not with anger, but foolish contentment.

“The hell gave you that idea?” he shifted closer. 

“I think it dawned on me when I slept on this bed alone for like a week before you left. We broke up and then you left me. I’m single now.”

She felt him inch closer still and an amused “That so?” followed.

He lightly laid a hand on her hip and when no explosion of fury ensued, crept closer still.

“What exactly do you think happens when you abandon someone? They become single. I’m single.”

Despite her annoyance, the exceedingly slow and careful way he arranged himself to lie flush against her put a smile on her face. Her resolve to do something about it quickly drained out of her. God, how she had missed this man! Her heart welled up. It wasn’t easy to push Savigne’s ire down and yet she didn’t even have to try. That warm body lying against her, that hand on her hip and the breath on her neck did it all so effortlessly. You’re pathetic, her inner voice chanted but even that voice sounded merry instead of its usual spiteful timbre.

“In that case, ma’am,” he sighed into her hair, “Wanna go on a date? I’ll take ya to the zoo.”

It took a firm palm on her mouth to keep in the chortle. Unfortunately he picked up on her amusement and her softening temper as his hand grew bolder and traveled around her hip to sit inconspicuously close to her belly. “Ya tryin’ to say yes?” he asked with a grin in his voice.

“Absolutely not.” she managed once she had gulped the laughter down.

“Fine, I’ll throw in a dinner.”

“Wow, a whole dinner!” she pushed away his hand and he placed it on her breast instead.

“I’ll open the door for ya…”

“Jesus, hold the presses!” she rolled a shoulder and the hand glided back down to her bump.

“…pull out yer chair…”

“I’m so fucking mad at you,” she grumbled. He was pressed against her like a second layer of skin and she wished she had bothered to change into her nightgown so she could feel him better, to be closer still. She brushed off his hand again and he caught hers and folded it in a firm but gentle grasp.

“Savigne,” he sighed, inhaling her sent. “‘M gonna fix it.”

She lied there, wrecked with a happiness so enormous, it hurt her chest. Everything that seemed dull and tarnished and hopeless all these last weeks brightened with blinding light. Like someone had thrown the shades aside in her room and all her nightmares, all the demons that tortured her in the dark evaporated. No monsters under her bed or in her closet, that scary figure sitting on the chair watching her all night was just a pile of clothes, the claws tapping against her window was just the tree outside, that whisper she had listened to was just the water in the pipes. The world was warm and safe again and all her fears were smoke.

How could a man simply show up and dispel it all so easily, so effortlessly? Was it magic? Witchcraft? Voodoo?

She made a last attempt to fan the flames of her temper: “This is not the kitchen sink, Arthur!”

“Good. Cause I ain’t got a clue how to fix that.”

It was impossible to fight him when he was in a good mood and despite looking like he had waded through hell, he was in a fabulous mood. Her fire sputtered and dimmed down to embers in his hold.

“Tell ya what," thumb brushing the back of her hand, "you wanna fight, we fight tomorrow.”

They both knew this meant they wouldn’t, because Arthur simply didn’t like fighting and Savigne’s temper was too short lived. That’s why he handled most conflicts between them either with a firm resolution, or complete lack of acknowledgement, confident that they would disintegrate once her ire had passed. Which, embarrassing enough, proved to be true more often than not.

“Fine,” she whispered. His grip on her hand tightened just a smidge. Her eyes misted with a profound sense of gratitude and relief and she curled her fingers to bolster the hold. “We fight tomorrow.”

[emwritesstuff]

DYNAMO | Steve Rogers x Reader | part 5.

HYDRA has made their share of human experiments. You're just one of them. One of the least successful ones. One of the least functional ones. At least your life in the facility gave you a few things: unwavering resilience, cool(ish) superpowers and a great sense of humor. Steve Rogers would strongly disagree with that last one. A single chance encounter with him reluctantly brings you into the Avengers Compound, and you're determined to make his life as miserable as you can. Feeling's mutual.

AO3 | Masterlist | Playlist (coming soon!)

notes: The one where you make a bunch of probably very dumb decisions! This one has 18+ bits, marked by red dividers. MDNI. (warnings: mentions of human experimentation, health related stuff, brainwashing, cursing, smut(!!) ) (5.4K words)

5: OF MOMENTUM

Cap is waiting the second you leave the visiting room. He looks angrier than ever. It’s not like you didn’t see this coming – in fact, you’re actually shocked Fury managed to keep him at bay long enough for you to have a full conversation with Dr. Steiner.

“Before you begin your speech—”

“There is no speech. Start explaining why you went to talk to him. Alone.”

“Because, first of all, I don’t need babysitting, and second—” You round him up, now closer to the door than he is. You’re surprised he’s not actually blocking your path. “he wasn’t going to talk with anyone else! Not even Nat could make him open his mouth.”

And when Natasha fails at interrogation, well. Game’s usually lost.

He follows you along the maze of corridors as you try and find the way out.

“You do realize how this looks, don’t you? Going behind our backs and doing whatever you want is not—” As he says it you turn, getting right into his face and jamming a finger into his chest.

“Don’t you dare imply I’m teaming up with that HYDRA scum.” You hiss. “I don’t do that anymore, I told you. You’re just so used to everyone who doesn’t follow your book being labeled the bad guy that—”

“I didn’t say that. Bu you are putting everyone here in danger by—”

“I’m not! And I’m not on this goddamn madman’s side. I fled from the Brutkasten under a rain of bullets and a snowstorm! I chose to be here. Even though I know I’m ending up at the Raft at some point or another.”

There’s an ache in your chest, like a fishing hook pulling your organs down to the pit of your stomach. Steve Rogers would never trust you. You’d always be just another piece of shit he wants to wipe out from the world.

“You’re not—” Before he can make an empty promise, you walk out the main door and into the open air.

“Rogers, listen to me: I’m making the conscious choice to believe I have friends now – not you – even though I know this is all business. I know what I was part of. I know it now, but I didn’t then. They raised me to think that place was salvation.” You let out a shaky breath, crossing the cement pavement towards the helicopter Fury had arranged to bring you here. Cap’s motorcycle parked right next to it.

He’s still following you, looking at you with a heavy frown as you hop inside the transport. “I will not spend the rest of my life atoning for sins I didn’t know I was committing. But if you feel like hating me for it, go ahead. I can’t stop you. You’re Captain-Motherfucking-America, after all.”

You want to laugh at his lack of words. All you needed to get him to stop with his constant nagging was reverse verborrhage and a little oversharing. Who knew.

“But maybe not right now. You’re gonna want to meet me at the conference room when you get back. I got some potentially interesting intel.” You say, finally revealing the SD card between your fingers. “See ya, Cap.”

You slam the helicopter door right into Rogers’ face, slapping the pilot’s seat twice to signal you’re ready for take-off.

You could’ve kept this all under wraps. Could’ve said the conversation with Dr. Steiner was no dice, and opened the contents of the drive alone in your room.

Maybe you should’ve. And yet, something had truly shifted in you. This information had little to no use in your hands, and you’d have to share them with Dr. Banner anyway if you wanted anything to change in regards to your health and your powers.

Which brings you to the conference room, the entire Avengers chorus line sitting around you, waiting expectantly. You’ve already got an empty computer a malware couldn’t get anything from. Plugged the drive in. Entered the password, the obvious one.

7463000195. The same one you have under your sleeve. Easy.

He wants you to see what’s inside.

“Well, what are we waiting for? Fire it up, Sparky.” Tony earns himself a glare, and you’re about to speak when your answer walks in the door. The blonde hair slightly messy from the helmet, but you don’t spare a second glance for further detail.

“Couldn’t have given me a ride on that helicopter?”

“And you’d just leave your bike there?” Rogers shakes his head in defeat, and to celebrate, you do the honors and hit play on the video.

The only content inside the card Steiner had oh so benevolently given you.

It starts with a black screen, a location and a date.

Brutkasten. 24 März 2010.

You’re sitting on a chair inside your bedroom back at the Incubator. Baron Von Strucker is in front of you, watching as doctors and other staff fuss around. You’ve got the classic black HYDRA gear on.

There’s a bed, a small desk and bookcase. Lots of books. An old tube TV. No windows.

The date clicks. “It’s my first solo mission. I was 15 there.”

Fury nods. Steve frowns at you, and Natasha has an empathetic look on her face. You don’t dare notice anyone else.

Namen?

Asset. 7463.

Gut. Mission?

Ziehen.

“Extraction mission. In and out, invade a lab containing a serum for cell regeneration. I never seen it work on anyone when they tested it.” No one’s breathing. All you can see is yours and Strucker’s shapes on the screen now.

Wiederholen: and blood-black nothingness began to spin, a system of cells interlinked within one stem.

15-year-old you repeats dutifully after him. “What’s he doing now?” Sam asks.

You don’t answer. Hands grip your seat tightly. Shocked by the Doctor’s move.

Vernetzt. Vernetzt. Change of momentum with change of time. Noether-Theorem. Hail HYDRA.

Bereit?

You stand in the video, your hands lighting up blue, then your arms and the rest of your body. More power than you can summon now, seemingly without the pain that comes with it. Strucker claps once in satisfaction, and the video ends.

Heads turn in your direction. “That was my programming…Something like Bucky’s—”

You can see the people around shift into a defensive stance, like they’re getting ready for you to explode. You groan. “Not like that. They didn’t need to control me like that.”

It’s true. You did it all willingly. You didn’t know you had other options.

Natasha relaxes, and you could cry of gratitude “What’s it for then? Do you not remember?”

You wish you didn’t remember – but you do. You remember everything, every second, because that’s who you are. You’re sharp; your memory is sharp, your tongue is sharp, the edges of you are all sharp, and they leave you to bleed out whenever you see the numbers branded on your skin.

Covering them feels dishonest. It feels like a lie, so you wear your numbers like you wear everything else: right at the brim of your sleeve and open-faced, bared to the world, and people have to deal with it just as they have to deal with you.

“I do— it’s just… they don’t exactly tell the Assets all the reasons for their methods, you know?”

Fury takes a seat, turning the computer towards himself and playing the video again. “Maybe you could make use of it and find out.”

“No, she’s not doing that.” You sigh, surprisingly thankful fro Rogers, even though his reasons were obviously more about distrust than concern.

“In a controlled environment, of course.”

“Nick.”

You raise a hand when he tries to get Fury to shut the laptop down, getting up and closer to the big screen where the image of you is being mirrored.

It seems so… easy for her. Second-nature, like breathing.

A million questions run through your head, like what went wrong with you after that or why on Earth did Steiner want you to see this. Gave it to you on a silver platter, sure you’d come back to him. How could you harness so much energy at once? And so easily?

Is it the programming?

You access every piece of your memories you can, trying to retrieve an answer. They never told you what the words were for. Always used before missions. A similar ritual after them, during wind down.

During missions you were stellar. Flawless, unlike now. You remember most of it.

The only difference between you two is eight years and the use of the programming. When you fled HYDRA, you decided you were going to keep that part of you locked away forever and never think about it again.

The others behind you are discussing multiple theories when you speak up.

“It’s a fail-safe.” You turn around, hands shaking and bile rising up your throat. “Has to be! They put a fail-safe in me so no one could use my powers but them. The words unlock the rest of my – stuff – and make me function…”

You’re pacing, and Sam gets you to stop by grabbing the back of your t-shirt.

“Perfect, then!” Fury says, tapping his laser pointer on the table. “This solves everything. All of those side effects gone and we get a fully-functioning human taser on our roster.”

“Absolutely not.” Steve is still protesting, but your head is torn between the two choices. You want to stay here and for that you need to be useful. Fully-functioning. You also don’t want to be tied to whatever they put inside you. There’s so much pain interlaced with that.

If you keep using what HYDRA gave you, how are you ever going to be able to say you’re not a part of it anymore?

You don’t want to go back to being an asset. Being dysfunctional gave you character, as ironic as it was, like a chipped vase or a stain over otherwise pristine sheets.

“I’d rather… not do that, yeah.” You swallow, taking a seat again. Picking at your nail beds. Steve nods, and you watch his shoulders sag in slight relief. It’s not as contagious as you wish it would be.

The number of eyes on you makes your skin itch. Fury sends you a message through his one-eyed glaring – S.W.O.R.D will surely have feelings about your refusal to take the quickest route to becoming functional – the price matters too little to them.

Sliding the laptop closer, you remove the SD card after shutting everything down. “I’ll take this to Banner – see if that green brain has any brilliant ideas.” You don’t wait for their permission to leave the room, only halting when Steve calls out your name.

“Training tomorrow. Seven-sharp.” You roll your eyes. Back on schedule. It shouldn’t come as a surprise, seeing that today was a big reminder of how ingrained HYDRA was with your very being. Steve Rogers hates HYDRA. And you, who said with very big words that you weren’t going to be the one to stop him.

You mutually hate Steve Rogers.

Your mood is sourer than the entire sour patch at 7 in the morning. It doesn’t help that Bruce didn’t have any Eureka moments after listening to your theories about your programming. You don’t want to use it and you don’t want to go back to Dr. Steiner, and the feeling of being stuck makes any good spirits you have left in you shrivel and die.

Rogers is sitting at the edge of the fighting rink when you enter the gym, listening to something on his blue iPod. It looks too modern on him, but you have already teased him about carrying a Victrola around last week.

“What’s your soundtrack today? Gregorian chant?” It’s the first genre of music that comes to your head that could be traced back to the middle ages.

“Pink Floyd.” He says, removing the earbuds.

“Wow. Something about Another Brick in The Wall hitting home?”

He scowls and you smirk, but your lips curl back down pretty quickly. “Start warming up, Sparky.”

He hasn’t yet given up on the damn sparring sessions twice a week. You know his game now; he’s trying to get you to submit, so he can mold you into whatever he wants. Into a brick for the Avengers wall.

It’s safe to say you’re more sand and broken glass than you are clay - and today, like most days, you don’t mind the cuts that’ll give to his hands.

You pull a dirty move once you and Rogers have fallen into a rhythm consisting of verbal provocations and physical hits. Asking about his latest TV interview made Cap’s movements stutter. He goes on a lot of them, most go well - his charm and charisma to be credited for that - but some don’t. A lot of people like sharing with Captain America their bullshit opinions on the job only he can do.

You mention the one where he was pressed by the media about Bucky not being locked up and the risks concerning that - if it wasn’t a technical infringement of the Sokovia Accords. When you sense his concentration shift, you kick your heel up to his jaw, a flash of a grin when you hear his teeth clink.

You savor the victory until he catches his breath and gives you a side glance. “If they’re worried about Bucky, imagine what they’ll say when they hear about you.”

You’re hovering over him in an instant, snarling like a feral creature as your fist connects to the same place your heel did then. It’s almost surprising that you land the punch successfully, as if he’d let you. “I’m not a mindless killing machine.”

There’s no meaning behind your words. You never thought of Bucky this way, not after you met him here and he seemed more like a shy forest creature than a highly trained assassin. But in front of Steve Rogers, anything goes.

“I’d still trust the Winter Soldier before I trust you.”

“So being an idiot is also one of your super powers! Was that enhanced with the serum or—” Rogers manages to flip you over on the mat, face down. He presses his full body weight on you, locking one of your arms against your back and the other under you on the mat. His legs tangle with yours, barely allowing you any movement. Your shoulder starts to ache from the position.

“Get off me.” You squirm, huffing the last bit of air that was in your lungs.

“Are you going to calm down?” He gets his answer when you tell him to fuck off, and presses down harder. “I’ve had enough of bad your attitude.”

The way he nearly snarls it against your ear sends a shiver down your spine. The corners of your lips curl up at the aggression, at how he ditches the façade of the perfect, straight-spined soldier only for you. It makes you feel powerful, how you can make the marble crack so you can see the flawed human inside.

“You don’t get to say this crap - that you don’t even mean - just to get a rise out of me. What the hell is wrong with you, huh?” What the hell does he know? You try to kick his legs away, but you’re not even a bit successful. “You’re not like this with anyone else. Why me?”

“‘Cause it’s fun,” You pant, his weight on top of you only getting more overwhelming.

“That’s what you want, isn’t it? To see me lose it,” He drawls, his breath tickling your neck. You squirm again, half because you want to get out of his grasp and half because of something else. “Or maybe you just like it rough…”

The heat of his body makes you feel like you’re being burned alive. You’re completely out of air now, panting helplessly under him. “I can’t…breathe,”

It’s unbearable, even after he lowers the pressure on your shoulders and you can take a deep breath in. He’s still holding you, tight, and you squirm but not to get out of it. The lack of air made your thoughts feel fuzzy.

That’s surely the reason.

Not Steve’s big, warm hand on your hip. His fingers grazing the exposed part of your lower abdomen. “Maybe you want my hand because yours alone isn’t enough.”

“Shut up.”

He chuckles. Cocky, over-confident asshole. You remember you can free the arm that’s under you and try to hit him with it, get back at him for saying that. He takes your meek punch on his bicep, then pins the guilty hand with your other.

Traitorous heat pools between your legs. You hate Steve Rogers. You hate the hand that sneaks under your pants and the way you body arches to make his access easier. You hate how he says, “One word and I’ll stop.”, and you hate how you only bite your lips in response.

Until he slips two fingers into your wetness and a moan escapes. “Damn. I knew you got off on this, dirty girl.”

“Rogers—oh,” He moves skillfully, like he’s not an old man from the 1940’s that clutches his pearls every time someone utters a curse.

But you’re not the only one who’s - although somewhat reluctantly - enjoying yourself. You can feel Steve hardening on your behind and his breath become ragged as he buries his head on the crook of your neck. The realization makes your cheeks heat with both pride and shame. “You’re not much better than me,”

It’s torture how slow he is going. His palm presses against your clit, and you bite back a moan, not ready to give in that easily. Steve is already full of himself as it is. “We’ll see about that.”

You roll your hips in response, earning a groan from him. It makes you chuckle and him curl his fingers inside of you. It’s like a fight, balanced at last.

At least that’s what you tell yourself as he plays you like his favorite instrument. The sounds that he gets from you are wet and unholy. You almost want to turn and admire the focused lines of his brow. Lips pursed in a tight line.

Kissing them would be crossing another.

No, you don’t want to get to that point.

“Look at us. This so… innapropriate. So wrong.” Steve says those words but there is no signs that he intends on stopping the sinful act. Who would’ve thought? You grin, a wild flash of teeth cutting through your flushed face.

“What would everyone think, huh, Cap?”

“No one has to know.”

You can’t help but agree - you don’t even want to think about how mortifying it would be if someone caught you. Not only in the middle of the fighting rink, but at the mercy of Steve Rogers. But it’s off your mind when he speeds up his fingers and pleasure coils on your lower belly.

“Fuck, fuck—” You’re breathless, nails digging on anything you can reach, his large hand and wrist mostly. “Steve.”

“You close, hm?” He whispers condescendingly, and your nearly cry from the humiliation as you nod yes, yes, yes. “Ask for it. Then I might let you finish.”

It’s too much. Your eyes shoot open, and you start struggling again. Now he wants you to beg for it, to fold, to submit, and it’s just too much.

Asshole. Fuck him, fuck him, fuck him.

“No.”

Steve removes his fingers from you, still keeping his hand there as a veiled promise. Or a threat. You have to bite back a whimper at the emptiness.

“Then no deal.” The way his voice is smooth and calm makes you want to growl. “You didn’t think you’ll have it your way, did you?”

His hand releases yours and you finally turn, cunt still pulsating from being so close to your release and having it so cruelly denied. Then, you spot the volume on his sweatpants and tilt your head.

“Doesn’t seem like you have it all under control, Rogers.”

He smirks. His cheeks are flushed, and the sight would be heavenly if it wasn’t so utterly aggravating.

“I was at war for two years. Frozen for seventy.” He stands up, palming himself but acting like nothing out of ordinary is going on. “I know how to wait, sweetheart.”

Your legs feel like jelly, and there’s not much you can do except watch as Steve walks out of the gym. There’s not even enough strength in you to tell him to shove World War II up his ass.

You really, really hate Steve Rogers.

“Hello? Earth to Sparky?”

“Huh?”

“Peter here has been talking to you for like five minutes now, come on. At least answer the kid.”

You blink. This has been happening for a few days now, you being out of it. You wish it could be blamed solely on your last sparring session with Rogers last week - but your powers had been the main source of frustration in your life lately. The little control you have over them comes paired with raging migraines, fatigue, black spots, the whole package. You’ve tagged along on Nat’s mission two days ago, and it almost went badly. You’re basically useless without your abilities working properly; although your stamina and combat skills have improved greatly since moving into the compound, they stilll can’t compare to everyone else’s - and that include the bad guys you’re supposed to be fighting.

So, yes, your head has been heavy with anxiety and your throat tight with some pills you can’t swallow: S.W.O.R.D, HYDRA, and undeniably, Steve Rogers.

“Sorry. What was the question?”

Peter Parker perks up a little. “Oh! No question, Miss Sparkles, I was just saying how cool are the electrical manipulation superpowers, I mean it’s so—”

Sparkles?

“Should see how my brain tries to short-circuit every time I use them. Real cool shit.” You chuckle bitterly, and he blushes and fiddles nervously in his seat. You don’t even need to register Tony pinching the bridge of his nose to feel bad about it. “It’s pretty cool when it works I guess. Fury called me a human taser the other day.”

Tony pauses his tinkering of your suit cuffs and turns around. “Personally I am a fan of Sparky.”

“No way, you need a better name than that!” The mood shifts instantly, like a ray of sun peeking through storm clouds.

“Hey! I’m great with names. And Sparky already stuck so—”

“What do you suggest, Peter?” A second passes while he’s thinking. Then another. “Well?”

“…I’ll think of something.” Peter decides that his time is better spent going back to observing Stark work on your suit, giving some ideas on how to make it better and more functional. Tony completely vetoes giving you access to FRIDAY like they both have, claiming he doesn’t trust you not to change his alarm music to Careless Whisper. It makes you laugh, because that’s actually a great idea.

When they both become focused on their genius thing, you resort to resting your head on your arm and making one of Peter’s dead spider drones move using little sparks from your fingers. You’re almost getting it to turn on when the headache starts.

“Dammit.” You can almost hear Dr. Steiner’s laugh all the way from his cell. It doesn’t help that you accidentally overheard a conversation between Bruce and Tony after they both started researching how to fix you, or at least keep you in one piece. Something about an aneurysm. As if you needed extra confirmation that your brain is trying to explode. They were startled when you walked in, but at least now the whole keep-Sparky-in-the-dark thing is over. It’s why you’re in Tony’s lab, today, why he’s working on giving your suit more precise vital scans, energy measuring and emergency protocols.

A fail-safe of sorts.

You don’t notice as he comes closer and puts a reassuring hand on your shoulder. “We’ll figure it out, Sparks.”

You nod.

Although you can’t help but think that their effort is pointless - and the solution is right in front of you, held by Steiner’s grubby hands and words that resound in Baron Von Strucker’s voice.

It takes you another week and another mission that could’ve gone better for you to make your decision. Although, surprisingly, it’s not one of your bad days that settles it for you - it’s one of Bucky Barnes’.

You’re sulking after the debrief of said subpar mission. For the others, a small success. The hostages were now all being brought into safety and the terrorists neutralized. For you, a power outage that cost precious intel and 20 minutes of Fury’s classic glare on your forehead. It’s not all him, you know that much - he’s got S.W.O.R.D on his tail and your time to prove yourself to them and the United States Goverment seems to be running out.

After the fiasco, you want nothing more than peace and quiet. So when Bucky starts roaring and the sound of furniture being thrown around bursts your little bubble, you let yourself be annoyed for a minute. Then you take the elevator upstairs. Rogers is there, of course - they share the floor, and he’s already got Bucky in a headlock although a bruise seems to be forming on his cheek. You can’t bring yourself to rejoice and you don’t know what to do with yourself, proceeding to hide in a corner after Steve gives you a look and Bruce runs in with a sedative.

You feel bad for Barnes. There weren’t any casualties, except for his own dignity, the aforementioned furniture and a record player - and because you’re not any good with comfort words, you resort to coercing Sam on running to Best Buy for a record player replacement.

There’s no doubt in your mind that if Bucky had a way to switch off the malware HYDRA installed in his mind, he’d be making use of it. You figure you shouldn’t be wasting yours.

When the time for your next mission comes, you already have a game plan ready. Your words have been passed onto a little notepad, but you have the audio of Strucker’s voice at the ready. You took note of whatever you remembered from the old wind down process too, because you’ll need to come off of whatever state you’ll be at by the end.

It’s easy enough. You get into your gear, drag a chair to the center of your bedroom. Your hands are shaking furiously as you put on your earbuds and hit play on the audio. Your heartbeat roars inside your chest as you repeat the words. Until it slows down, all at once, like flicking a switch. You examine your steady hands, the anxiety from a minute ago vanished. In fact, you can’t bring yourself to feel anything, although bewilderment would be precisely what you’d be feeling when you make your hands and arms light up blue, energy flowing through you like a river.

This is good. This is great!

You don’t know why you haven’t done this before. Actually, you know why - you’ve been scared. Scared about what it would do to you, to the last bits of your soul that you’ve been holding on to so tightly ever since you learned what HYDRA wanted to do with the world. Too scared to even imagine the satisfaction on Dr. Steiner’s face. Like he won.

But he didn’t, and you’re not scared.

You’re not happy, either. You’re not… anything.

Not even Steve brings up the feelings he usually does (and that other, new thing). He has one of his eyebrows raised as you walk in and strap yourself down in a single firm motion.

“Good mornin’ to you too, Sparky.”

You know you should be annoyed right now, huffing and puffing. Your eyebrows don’t even pinch at the nickname. “Good morning, Captain.”

Your voice comes out a little too smooth and a little too robotic, but you hope Steve isn’t paying too much attention - even if he is, soon enough Nat and Sam are walking into the Quinjet and his focus on you is diluted.

You don’t feel the need to clap back at his orders and instructions as the jet lands near another HYDRA base. This one isn’t empty, at least of dozen former members have made it into a makeshift HQ. It’s more of a hunting shack than a fortress, and you’re the first to walk down the ramp, fingers already crackling.

Not even the successful mission brings you joy, with secured intel and that same dozen on their way to prison. You took five of them down yourself, only making the lights flicking a little in the process. You don’t feel pride as Fury debriefs your team, a pleased gleam in his eye.

You don’t feel anything at all.

It catches up with you as soon as you sink into an ice bath and repeats your words in reverse order. Now you remember why this process was such a struggle.

You feel like throwing up, like crying, like hitting Steve Rogers square in the jaw; you feel euphoric and proud and terrified. A migraine as a cherry on top. It’s too much.

You try your best to keep quiet.

“Is everything alright, Miss Sparky? Should I call Dr. Banner?”

You’re startled by the disembodied voice. “Fuck, no, FRIDAY. Everything’s… fine, just… go away.”

“I’ve identified sounds of distress. I need a confirmation you are well, please.”

The chattering of your teeth fills the bathroom.

“I’m peachy. Go to your… computer bedroom or whatever. Jesus.”

“Don’t hesitate to call me if you need assistance.”

Blood is roaring in your ears as your heart beats wildly and you breathe in sharp puffs of air. You basically crawl back to your bed, a naked wet mess.

Your bed.

You have a bed for another day. Another week, even.

“Miss Sparky, Tony? Seriously…”

It makes you laugh a little. Then, you cry until you fall asleep.

Two days. Two days of peace. Of wondering if your programming had reset your brain somehow, and you finally evicted Steve Rogers and his hands out of your mind.

Foolish of you think that the repressed feelings all have come and gone that night after the mission.

It hits you like a train, and has you squeezing your thighs together for friction. You try your best to focus on Weekend at Bernie’s for a good 15 minutes, to no avail. It’s like the universe is taking a piss out of you, because everyone else has left the compound for the evening, for a reason or another. Even Bucky. But you know he is home. You’ve seen the bike on the garage, the memory of him on top of it not helping your case. It’s not just because of that fatidical morning that you’re like this - it’s because of the other times, too.

Maybe you want my hand because yours alone isn’t enough.

You let out an irritated groan, kicking the blanket off your legs like a bratty child.

You already know working solo won’t work. You’ve tried. What you need is to get it done, get it - him - out of your system, so you can move on.

Goddamn you, Rogers.

“FRIDAY?” You close your eyes, shaking your head when the AI responds. “Give me Roger’s location. Now.”

“Captain Rogers is currently down at the compound gym. Boxing area.”

Of course he is.

You don’t bother dressing up - the bath robe you’re in will have to do. You don’t even put on shoes, but it doesn’t matter because the way down to the gym is mostly carpet and ceramic.

Do you know what you’re going to do when you get there and face him? No. But you’re fixing this problem here and now. You’re either kicking his ass or… good lord. No matter. You’ve held on long enough, and your torment ends today.

He looks away from the punching bag when you slide the door open, raising his eyebrows as you march up to him.

“Can I help you?”

Yes. You can help by undoing whatever you did to me with those hands, dammit.

He’s panting from his workout, shirt clinging to his body. His eyes roam yours, a bit too exposed now from the knot of your robe loosening up.

“We have… unfinished business.”

Steve smirks. He steps towards you, and he’s so… tall. Overpowering, like looking up at a marble statue in a museum. It takes everything on you not to run away.

No. This ends today. You’re having it your way.

“And what am I supposed to do about that, darlin’?”

Jesus H. Christ.

Get it together.

You’re not sure if you want to punch him in that stupid pretty face or—

“Start by shutting the fuck up, Rogers.”

Or grab him by the collar and slam your lips onto his.

[epilogue-and-prologue]

Treasure - Captain Hook x Reader

Ship: Captain Hook x Reader

Trope: Love at first sight (Smut)

Warnings: Kidnapping, somewhat manhandling, abandon and boredom.

Note: This was nothing short of a challenge. But it was fun, honestly. I got to explore something I never did before with writing for an animated character and not one I would have thought about if I'm being honest. Hope you like it @disney-girl67 :).

The salt in the air lingered, the sun’s heat relentless against your skin, while you were watching people played around in the water. It was becoming traditional by now. At the end of spring, when the pools were opening again, you would always go to the beach. It dated back to a time in high school. That time when you had wanted to run away from adults and teens alike. Just jump in the water and hope it would take you somewhere else.

Your life was blatantly boring. It was a limitless horizon of disappointment and no expectations or responsibilities on your mind. Just a manageable job, and manageable dreams. The sea was long gone. Even so, the tempest it was lighting up in your heart resisted to be extinguished.

“Come on! The water’s warm!”

A wet hand grabbed yours and dragged you down the beach towards the water. Sharon had been a close friend of yours since kindergarten. She was the one who brought you to the beach back in high school. She splashed your face with the lukewarm water and it made you laugh.

“You look like you’ve seen the love of your life die. Tell me. What’s got you in that mood again?

-Always for the dramatics, huh?

-Don’t divert the discussion. Spill the beans.”

Just like the heat, she would not let you go that easily. You loved her for it and - sometimes - could even be grateful for it.

“I… I want to go. Travel. See the world, live on a boat and eat coconuts for a week. I don’t know, okay! I just… I feel lost here.

-Could it be the fact that Carter has dumped you that is influencing this?”

You both walked back to your towels and dropped in a huff.

“No. Well, maybe. I just… He was nice and sweet. I thought it could be enough but he said I didn’t pull my weight in the relationship anymore. He was right, that’s the worst part.

-Hey, if you could not pull it, there must have been a good reason for that and he didn’t dwell on that part did he?”

Your chuckle was drowned by the cries of some passersby, pointing to the horizon. Somehow, a boat - and a big one at that - was entering the bay you were in. Yet, there was no docks for the crew to accost. Oddly, a thrill ran through you when the ship got closer and you could see distinctively a flag with a skull on it. Could this be… a pirate ship? No. There would be no need for a pirates’ ship to come this close to the shore. They would be more interested in the open waters. Right?

“Sharon, what do you think this boat is doing here?

-I have no clue. But I have no intentions of staying to find that out. Let’s get back to the car, okay?”

You felt yourself nod quickly, but while she was gathering her stuff your gaze was drawn back to the shifting silhouette on the horizon. Another thrill ran through you, when Sharon grabbed your hand and all but dragged you towards the parking lot along with the rest of the people there.

Meanwhile, on the boat, the crew was pretty much just as bewildered as you were. “Smee! Smee!

-Y-yes, captain?

-What is this?”

The hook narrowingly missed Smee’s nose, pointing at the shore in front of them.

“I-I don’t know Captain… We followed your instructions to the letter…

Well, you must have followed them wrong, because this does not look like an island and even less like a treasure island does it?!”

Even though he knew deep down the question to be rhetorical, Smee could not help but answer. “No, it doesn’t sir.”

The captain ran a hand down his face, visibly exasperated by his second in command.

“Go and clean the deck with the toothbrush, maybe that’ll teach you exactitude!” Hook reached the upper deck and addressed the rest of his crew in a commanding tone. Even if half of them were still under the influence of rum and half sleeping standing up.

“Everyone to their posts! I want the ship cleaner than it ever was. You can thank Smee for the disaster this treasure hunt is going to be!”

Barely looking behind him, he turned around towards the sea. They were coming closer and there was no sight of a docking area. There were a few silhouettes running away from the beach. Some onlookers who probably got scared at his arrival. Good. His reputation must have followed him to these unknown territories. Hook’s hand reached inside his jacket, retrieving a map, a compass losing its north, and his loyal spyglass. He settled on a makeshift desk he had Smee built for him. As usual the man did a horrid job at it, but he did it and that was better than nothing.

“Let’s see…”

They had gone to a fairy on Neverland. She had promised him a treasure more valuable than anything he had known before. He only pretended to believe her. Not that she had no credits but he was always wary of the people of Neverland. Such as that tiresome boy. He clenched his teeth and focused on the map once more. Since last night it would not stop moving, the lines and rivers melting together, the seas drowning the coasts. He did not recognize any of the lands and would not be telling anyone any time soon. His mustache twitched before he settled himself, gripping and breaking the edges of Smee’s desk. Horrid work, indeed. He glanced back at the beach and noticed that one of the silhouettes was still there, as if watching - almost waiting - for them to arrive. He grabbed his spyglass and what he saw cut his breath right out of his throat. A woman. Her eyes shining as sea-pearls in the dark, the wind wiping her hair out in a wave, an air about her he did not recognize as being of this world. His mouth ran dry. Never before could he have sworn that his heart was going to beat out of his chest in agony. He had to know her. He had to be with her, to breathe the same air, to make her laugh, oh her laugh had to be extraordinary, and her eyes on him could only be described as hungry, as if she was seeing right through him, past the hook and the bravado and the handsome face. A deep desire took flight inside of him. There would be no return from this. Damn the treasure, damn the promised gold. He had to have you with him.

Before he could give any orders, another young woman grabbed your hand and drove you away. He swore out loud.

“How dare she?”

Licking his lips, he intently followed her movements, knowing deep in him that you did not want to leave. He would have you. You were his and he had to take you before that the other one reached her goal.

“Smee! Find us a docking point! I’m going alone with the craft, this could be dangerous business. You are to remain on the ship and take care of everything. Believe me, if my ship isn’t whole when I come back, you’re losing your head!

-Ye-Yes, captain!”

Poor Smee was panicked, yet Hook could not bring himself to care. He was in love.

* You had already reached the car when you realized your keys had fallen behind on the beach.

“Fuck.

-What’s going on?

-My keys, I… They must have fallen off… I have to go back.”

Sharon gestured to you. “Do you want me to go with you?” She was already on the phone with emergency services, trying to figure out what they could do. It appeared they were as clueless as everyone else on this beach.

“No need. I’ll do it quick.” You ran as fast as you could and reached the beach, already seeing the glint of metal buried in the sand. As you were about to pick it up, you felt a presence. A man, tall, slender and eyes the deepest dark you’d ever seen was looking at you as if he was seeing another human being for the first time. You fell on your back. Somehow, his presence was more surprising than threatening. He was dressed in a historical attire, looking out of place on this 21st century beach. You felt under-dressed, with your bathing suit and a makeshift skirt. His stare was starting to make you feel that. His hand reached out to you, yet your instinct made you recoil. He had a hook. Gleaming in the sunlight, sharp edged. That made you feel more and more threatened. You were heaving, eyes locked with his as in trance. It felt so very bizarre. You knew he would would not hurt you. How you knew that, was a mystery.

“Who are you?”

It seemed to snap him out of his trance. You got up on your feet, finally meeting on equal foot. Or so to speak, the man was really, really tall. Your chest tightened at the thought, bringing you a step closer to the stranger, hypnotized.

“You do not know of me? The great captain Hook? Chaser of treasure and defeater of the Neverland crocodile?! This land is indeed odder than I’d imagined…”

You tried to hide a widening smile. He was weird. You liked it. In a childlike manner, your hand brushed against his cheek, making him go stiff, his whole body almost snapping. You traced his face as if a delicacy, fingertips gracing his features and leaving him breathless. Hook closed his eyes under the sudden care. He was shaking, you could see it. He grabbed your waist and drew you in. So close, you could feel the tension in his shoulders under your palms, the smell of leather and salt and wood hitting you, his fingers digging in your skin in a delicious pain. Before you could process that train of thought, he dipped his head in your neck, close to your ear. His teeth grazed the delicate skin there, in a an almost but not quite kiss. All you heard was “Mine” in his ushered voice, possessive and down right enticing. Then, you were hauled up in a small craft and the shore disappeared in the blink of an eye.

*

Boarding the ship had not been the hardest part.

The hardest part had been to keep the crew at bay.

“Who is this?” “A woman on board? We’re all cursed!” And other expletives you were very willing to forget.

Luckily, night had fallen rather quickly. Hook kept you in his chambers, to keep you safe. He did not want any of his fellow men to attempt anything ungentlemanly. As if kidnapping you was what a gentleman would do in the first place. Although, you had always had a thing for villains.

After the thrill and adrenaline had worn off, the fact that they were pirates - and apparently good ones at that otherwise that kidnapping could have gone very much sideways - hit you like a freight train. The most unbelievable part being the fact that they came from Neverland. Could they really be straight out of the Peter Pan’s book? You would not dare ask the question. If they were, then you were likely never to see those shores again. If they weren’t you were very likely to meet your end in these very same shores. You knew which option you preferred, even if completely unbelievable.

“Milady.”

Hook’s entrance made you jump. He closed the door behind him, after a deep curtsy. He brought food. You hesitated for a minute, before throwing yourself at it. You were starving. Not minding you one bit, the captain walked past you, putting his jacket and hat away. When you finally looked at him, the boat was swaying softly with the waves underneath you, and the man before you was merely covered by a thin shirt and heavy pants. Like that he almost looked harmless. Almost.

“Why did you take me?”

He smirked, toying with his hook. His steps were measured, slow. For each one he took, you took one back. Hence, you found yourself caged against the wooden wall behind you, food completely abandoned. Eyes boring into you, you would not look at him. In doing so, you were subjecting yourself to another kind of sight. The open linen. The beginning of the throat. The Adam’s apple, bobbing as if in anticipation.

The hook was cold against your chin, pushing your face up to meet his. A breath away, he stood his ground, chest to chest, his hand naturally molding itself on your hip. You could not find it in yourself to stop him.

“Don’t you know?”

Every breath you took, every movement you made, he felt. It was intoxicating. And captain Hook was not known for his restraint. He did not wait for your answer. Instead, his lips met your neck, harshly pulling on the skin, surely leaving a purple mark. The pain shot through you, your hand about to push him off when you heard it.

“Mine… All mine.”

His nose nuzzled the side of your face, his hot breath against the shell of your ear. You wanted not to believe him. You wanted not to follow him down that path. It was too late. If you had not wanted him to take you in the first place, you could have jumped and swam back to shore. Yet, it had never even crossed your mind, for you were not afraid with him. You were under a spell. Could it be a spell or just you being bored? Still, you were not willing to break it. You were bewitched. And he called you his. How could you resist that?

So you let him. You let him snap the straps of your bathing suit, one after the other. You let him grab your breast in his hand, the hook grazing down your chest, him sucking on your nipple like a man starving. No words could form in your mouth, only moans and lip bitten cries. Finally, he pulled the remainder of your clothing down your legs. You felt exposed and shy, but willed your legs apart when his hand caressed your inner thighs. His fingertips were spreading goosebumps up and down your body when he stopped.

He tossed his shirt over his head, hunger in his eyes as he sat down on the edge of the bed, and a wide mischievous smile drew on his face. Without breaking eye contact, he spread his legs wide a suave light burning in his eyes. The captain was watching you intently. You were standing still, against the wall, fearing you might fall if you took any step forward. The desire was dampening your skin, leaking through you. He licked his lip and your whole body tensed under his full blown pupils.

“Come here”

It was not a request, but a demand. You yielded easily. Heavy breaths after each step, he drew the hook out at the last one, bringing your wrist and your whole body to him. He pushed a piece of hair out of your face, the cold metal of the hook dragged down the length of your throat to the top of your breasts. The heated skin of his shoulders under your palms was not enough. A whine escaped you. He smirked and chuckled.

“Now, kneel”

You did. You were positively drooling as he undid his pants and threw them somewhere in the room. You could not care less as you were now facing the length of his shaft, the velvety skin already meeting your tongue for you would not wait a minute longer. Hook was taken by surprise, leading him to let out a moan that had you whimper. All too soon he regained control and put his hand behind your head. You took the tip of his dick inside your mouth, easing yourself around him. He would have none of it, putting your mouth to good use and pushing himself deeper down your throat. You could feel yourself getting wetter and wetter with every stroke he pushed in your mouth. Your nose was getting crushed against his pelvis, his hair’s scent imprinting itself in your mind. Despite his resistance to it, he could not help the sinful noises escaping him, the heavy sighs or the marvel in his eyes when he saw how good you could take him.

“Good… Mine…Yes… Yes…Just like…”

Your hands ran from his tone thighs to his ass, looking for a way to hold on to something. The movement made him even harder in your mouth and before any of you could stop, he bottomed out in you. You swallowed it whole, and you could have sworn he twitched when you did. Finally he pulled out, sweat-beads all over his scarred torso, a fond wicked smile across his face. He bunched his shirt in his fist and used it to clean your mouth. You let yourself nuzzle against his hand as he did so. He helped you up before pushing you down on the bed, so hard you yelped.

“What…?

-Shush now little mouse. Let me…”

The words stopped in his throat. He was parting your legs and could already see, smell, and soon feel the luxurious wet mound waiting for him. He gathered some on his tongue and moaned at the taste.

“All of this for me? You shouldn’t have, darling…”

Your back curved into an impossible crescent, he pushed down on your stomach to stop you from writhing so much. But how could you not? His mouth sucking hickeys up the length of your thighs, meeting your clitoris with that much hunger and thirst? You were trashing around well before he finally started licking you. You were shivering in fever as he kept sucking, licking and biting. The coil in you was only growing stronger and stronger with each new touch of his tongue, when he pulled your lips apart with his hook. The new sensation threw you in for a new loop. He applied gentle pressure against your clit, painting the metal with the waters you were delivering him with. Once satisfied he started licking it himself, leaving you plenty of time to catch your breath and ogle him while he did. All the while, not noticing his hand finally coming to rest on your mound, before he pushed two fingers in. The pain was exquisite. He did not move, leaving you to clamp around him in agony, sweating and begging for release.

“Please, please, please fuck me, please I’ll be good, please…

-Well, when it’s asked so nicely…”

The dark tone in his voice made you shiver. He pulled out completely, towering over you. You did not have time to think as he turned you around face first in the mattress, ass up in the air. His patience was running thin, yet he still took the time to squeeze your ass cheeks, tracing invisible lines up and down your skin. All of a sudden, he pushed inside you and your toes curled. From then on, he was relentless, his rhythm merciless and strong, while the echoes of your cries were filling the room. His dick was swallowing all your thoughts and fears, hitting a spot in you you didn’t even knew existed. If this was a dream, it was the best one you’d ever had. Hook sneaked his hand between your thighs to your clitoris, controlling the peaks of pleasure in you still going at you, screaming your pleasure, weakening your voice with each thrusts, all the while keeping you down at his will. Soon enough, your release coated the sheets and his trickled down your thighs. Breathless and high on sex, you let yourself be guided under the covers, the room dampened by the heavy air. Before you could act, a swift salted breeze blew past you, a pleasant chill running through your bones. The captain had opened a small window, letting the outside winds in.

He joined you, his skin scorching hot under your fingers. It did nothing to stop you from touching him. Only then did he asked for your name.

“I shall treasure it with all my heart.”

Only then, as you gave it, did he realize he had missed something. The fairy had never mentioned a physical treasure of gold and jewelries. She had hardly mentioned anything at all if he could recall.

You were his treasure. How he could have missed it, well that was probably - most assuredly - Smee’s fault as usual. He let his palm up your arm and settled on your neck, making you look at him through the haze you were still in.

“Hook…

-James.”

You smiled at him, understanding his meaning immediately. Definitively the best dream. Alas, one which had to end.

“James, I have to go back.

-No, you don’t.

-My friend is waiting for me, she’s probably afraid and…

-No. You won’t go back.”

His tone left no place for question. He pushed a stray lock of hair behind your ear. You wanted to stay. Desperately. Your life was not worth it. It was not worth abandoning something - someone - that felt this good. Reason was telling you to leave. Your heart, to stay. Even if this was indeed a dream, staying in it longer than what was needed could not hurt anyone. You knew it wasn’t, coming to terms with the fact that this was indeed real and alive and there for the taking. You could write letters to Sharon. And your family. They would understand. Hopefully.

A nod was all it took. As if he thought you would refuse again, he let out a not so discreet sigh. For the first time, he called your name. He called your name, silently, hoping you would not disappear. The look of utter awe you gave him was enough. He pushed a little closer, bringing his leg around yours, his lips finally meeting yours. You faced him fully, bringing your body impossibly closer to him. Never before had you felt this kind of connexion to someone. The kiss was heated, barely breathing, exchanging nips on each other’s lip, leaving both of you wanting more.

“What now, Captain?”

He smiled a devilish grin, his hand sneaking behind your head, his thumb caressing your bottom lip. It thrilled you.

“Keep calling me Captain, until you can not speak anymore.”

The order was followed through, to the letter.

[ultimateissuessimp]

Treacherous waters

One shot

Word count: 735

Warnings: Dangerous boat driving? Y/N is basically Captain Jack Sparrow

Who would've thought? A man who loves to sail, calling himself an old timed pirate and a baron. Sounds ridiculous, but that's the truth, especially when they sail together on the open waters, visiting various countries, stargazing while laying on the deck, fighting with the wind that pushed them in all the wrong directions like now.

-Love, if you could, please, pull that rope on the right, near the stairs it would be really amazing! - Y/N shouted over the sound of waves crushing into the ship, instructing Zemo what to do so they could get out of their current situation.

-I'm really trying, Schatz! Not my fault the gravity is pulling me in whichever direction it fucking wants! - Zemo shouted back, holding onto the rope and planting his feet into the deck, pulling hard on the said rope to direct the sail. He only got a loud laugh in response to which he rolled his eyes, but a shadow of a smile started to appear.

-Looks like we're heading straight into the storm! Are you done with the rope?! If so, get your ass over here and hold onto me, it will only be a wild ride from now on! - Y/N yelled out, ushering his boyfriend to himself so he knew where he was while they try to survive the damn storm.

He saw Zemo tie the rope back onto its hook and nearly stumble on the stairs, holding onto the railing for dear life while climbing up and quickly getting to him. He felt his arms wrap around him from the back and his head rest against his shoulder. He grinned before letting out a cheer of excitement as they reached the storm that pushed the waters into many directions, buckets upon buckets of water getting onto the ship, wetting both of them while doing so. He felt his boyfriend shiver slightly from the cold which made him turn his head to the side and kiss his temple, a silent promise of getting them out of it soon enough.

-Did you have to sail right into the fucking storm, Y/N?! Where even are we?! - Zemo shouted over the loudness of the water tumbling into the boat like cannon balls shot from an enemy ships.

-You're at the edge of the map, mate. Here there be monsters! - Y/N responded with a laugh, the booming of the storm as a background noise to his statement.

-Stop quoting fucking Pirates of the Caribbean! - the baron said loudly, careful not to scream right into Y/N's ear, annoyed with the man's humour in such situations.

-Oh come on! Cheer up, lovie! It's not that bad, believe me! This ship has been through worse! - Y/N replied, overly proud at the memories when he sailed alone at that time, going through craziest of weathers.

They've sailed pass the storm, leaving it behind. The only reminder of it being the dark clouds and sound of thunder in the back. The waters they came into being calmer than the ones they've just left but none the less treacherous, neither of their guard coming down quite yet. When they've got far enough that hints of sun started to come through the clouds, only then did they had let out a sigh of relief. Zemo let go of Y/N, but still stayed close enough to him.

-See? Everything is fine now! - Y/N said with a chuckle, a massive cheeky grin on his face as he turned to Helmut.

-For now. Remind me not to sail with you again when there's a massive storm that you know of, okay? - Zemo asked Y/N, looking out into the ocean, noticing a blob on the horizon that could only be described as land that they're getting near to and he was never more thankful than at that moment to see it.

-Oh come on! It wasn't that bad! Now go and bring a bottle of rum, please! - Y/N requested, sending a wink the baron's way and a little kiss.

-We're out of rum, remember? - Zemo said, putting his hands on his hips and tilting his head to the side in the iconic way he always does.

-Why is the rum always gone? - Y/N asked, more himself than his boyfriend, resigned and shook his head as he steered the ship to the port. The storm far forgotten behind them.

[poisonheadcrabsalesman]

Fault Tolerance

Roland POV of the end of Spartan Ops and the beginning of Halo: Escalation. Also posted on ao3

2558 had a rough start, Halsey escaping, Requiem dragged into a sun, said sun exploding. Hopefully the Infinity and her crew would have it easy for the rest of the year. Nothing bad would happen, right?

-

Earth.

Not home to him, but safe, or it was supposed to be.

Australia was directly below his orbit, half obscured by clouds. Swirls of white with deep blues uncovered by invisible winds. The landmass half covered in the sprawling grays of progress and parking lots. A maze of office buildings hid the object of his worries. It wasn't enough to block his scanners, but he'd be told to sit tight and wait.

He hated waiting. He hated the powerlessness of not knowing. His kind were supposed to know, supposed to problem solve, supposed to save the day with a wink and a smile. Back to Earth and everything seemed different now. Everything was different now. Last time he was here, Roland was brand new, eager to get started and ready to jump headfirst into a mission with his new assignment. His new home, the UNSC Infinity, was now his cage floating above Sydney, HIGHCOM Bravo-6, where his captain and commander were being debriefed after the debacle that was the Requiem campaign. 

Sit and wait, oh how it ate at him, especially when recently all he had been doing was running for their lives. Faster and faster, more and more, pouring on the engines and calculations to pull them from the fire. Spreading himself so thin to keep them alive for what was supposedly a reconnoiter mission. Less than a month ago they had arrived at the Forerunner shield world, and then it seemed like everything had gone wrong.

It was only March. Less than 72 hours ago, he and his entire crew were almost pulled into a dying star. He wasn't even 4 full months into service yet! What was going to happen? Was he going to lose his home? Lose his captain? Were they going to take the Infinity away from him or him from her? It was hard not to worry, especially since it was HIGHCOM and especially since the override code had unraveled him at a critical point of the campaign. Halsey had gotten her hooks into him, and now she was gone and he was a potential liability.  

The last time he was this worried was the trial. Iona. Her fate. The precedence she set forth, and his role as her advocate at the end of her life and the beginning of his. Black Box had tried to assuage his fears, and looking back, had been surprisingly hopeful for the future, but their roles as tools was still very much the status quo. Broken or faulty tools went into a box, or worse.

January felt like a lifetime ago, but it had stuck with him. Hard not to, what with having perfect recall and nigh infinite memory and all. What if they audited him? Black Box would be kind, maybe, if he was given the mercy of a peer review. Brand new AI, Forerunner engines grafted on to a human ship, destroyed Forerunner planet, missing evil scientist; he didn't have a lot going in his favor other than he was ready to be pulled off the shelf at the right time and that replacing him would be very, very expensive.

4 weeks ago he'd been excited to let loose and show what he could do, 6 weeks ago, with Iona's trial, he'd been worried but hopeful, 13 weeks ago he'd been ecstatic, new to this world and all of its intricacies and wonder. So much information, so much to do and see! Now with 351 potential weeks remaining, several parts of him worry at the paths that will be taken from him. There's only so much time. A week is an eon and a blink of an eye to his kind.

Fifth generation Volitional AIs were supposed to be top of the line, but what would happen because of this newly revealed weakness? Halsey had tricks that left them vulnerable during the attack. He'd lost crew and been helpless against the tempest of Forerunner influence and the debilitating override.

And now the two most important members of his Command were at the mercy of a board of Admirals baying for blood and a scapegoat.

Roland might wish he was as hopeful as Captain Lasky, but Palmer's pragmatic nature was more akin to his own logic trees. Not doubting, but realistic. You had to be when the numbers came naturally into your thoughts - especially when a thread of himself unhelpfully pulled up the track record of those who pissed off Osman. Not even Hood could protect them forever.

How had it all gone so wrong so fast?

Roland’s left with nothing to do but pace and triple-check…everything. Life support, engines, shielding, electrical, communication, and health systems, all came back green. Operating nominally, just as they were when he checked 10 nanoseconds ago. He circles the systems like a cat unhappy with how the furniture has been moved an inch to the left. He yowls at techs, at Spartans, at crew, for attention and updates. On their health and comfort as well as if they heard anything. He’s tolerated and comforted and swatted away. Roland skulks around Cmdr. Bradley and peeks at his datapad – nothing. He spies on chatty pilots who know the comings and goings. He startles neurotic mission handlers who know less than him. He listens in on conversations in the mess halls, the hangars, the science labs, the engine room, the crew quarters. The palpable relief should be contagious, but he still worries.

His crew reconnects with their loved ones via Waypoint in real time – no delay from lightyears of distance. Their joy is his, but like theirs it is also a fleeting thing. There is always another deployment on the horizon, and on the flagship, that could be tomorrow.

Hours pass.

The hive of activity winds down but never remains dormant for long. One shift ends and another begins; the constant cycle unbroken under his watch. Pelicans and Broadswords and frigates circle like remoras around a shark. They hover around the Infinity's hull and then land or depart. Roland watches them, watches their flight paths and signals strengthen and weaken as they flit around the massive ship. Her titanium hull casts a long shadow until her orbit over Australia crosses the terminator and then night comes. The ships continue on their own schedule - blips of light in the dark as they are not beholden to Earth and her gravity. They operate on military time and there is always work to be done.

Roland shifts his focus away, leaving a few winking eyes to watch the display. None of them have the signals he’s waiting for.

Hours pass.

It’s afternoon shiptime when a signal crosses his consciousness and Roland’s focus drops from unimportant matters to watch one lonely little pelican come home to him. He nearly smothers the dumb AI announcing SIGNAL DETECTED in his rush to check on the pelican’s crew. Pelican radios weren’t that different from Mjolnir when you push yourself.

He does not exaggerate his relief nor does he make any jokes; not with the mood coming off of his captain and commander. Their biosigns are a mess even as their masks are firmly in place. The bickering doesn’t start until they’re out of the hangar and making plans to talk somewhere with fewer eyes and ears. Roland would almost feel offended if he wasn’t oh so aware of the spooks onboard, and he knew there were most likely more ONI operatives that even he wasn’t aware of.

It does frustrate him that they go to the one place on the ship that he has the fewest cameras and holotanks. The atrium is an excellent place for humans to unwind, connect with dirt and plants and other stuff that calms their ape brains, and keep an eye on any unwanted parties approaching their debrief about whatever the hell happened at HIGHCOM.

Commander Palmer was upset but doing her best not to show it. Roland could tell by the clenched jaw and flared nostrils she was trying, but she was frustrated enough that it took her a second to slow her gait so Captain Lasky could catch up. The fact they changed into PT gear to keep up the charade was almost comical, if Roland hadn’t been stressing the entire time they were gone.

“You didn’t need to stretch the facts back there.” The captain says, partially out of breath and nearly too quiet for his mics to pick up. He can lipread with the best of them, but it’s still a challenge. Too many uncertainties. Though he did have plenty of practice staring at Lasky’s face.

“Uh, yes. I did.” The commander retorts. She furrows her brow and turns to make eye contact as they pretend to jog. 

Oh, she is not happy. The brief pause she gives him is punctuated with a look that lets Roland know she’s about to lay into the captain. And in his core, Roland believes that he probably needs it. After watching them work together this long, he’s been able to see how they balance each other out. His opinion might carry some weight, But the commander knew when not to pull her punches. Lasky’s bleeding heart would get him benched - or worse - without Palmer there to knock some sense into him. Didn’t mean that their arguments weren’t messy. Unstoppable force and immovable object, Roland thinks. 

“I don’t know if you noticed, but Osman was painting a target on you they could have seen from the Outer Colonies.” The commander continues.

“Sarah–” He has no chance yet the captain tries and interjects. 

“They pulled Del Rio out of the chair, Tom. And he had 20 years’ experience on you.” She continues on. Palmer is struggling to keep a slow pace, but Lasky is keeping up. “You can’t boy scout your way around those people.” 

Lasky’s frown thins into a pale line at that. Palmer slows her run as they near the end of the path and are closer to potential eavesdroppers– and Roland. 

Palmer isn’t finished either. Whatever happened down there wasn’t pretty and Palmer stretching the truth - lying - on Lasky’s behalf to a panel of Admirals was no small thing. She’s trying to drill her point into the captain’s head as if he’s a too-green IV. “Maybe when you were an XO but not anymore.”

The commander is upset; not mad, but fearful. Sarah Palmer doesn’t like to mince words and she doesn’t care for people lording their intelligence over her, but she's not stupid. She’s loyal to their captain and trying to keep him out of the crosshairs.

It’s just that Captain Lasky follows his gut more than the rules and ends up in them despite her best efforts.

They jog in silence for ten excruciating seconds, finally getting closer to a holotank where Roland doesn’t have to strain to hear or be heard. Now or never, since he’s got an Admiral asking for docking clearance. 

“Captain Lasky?”

“What is it, Roland?” Lasky asks. His voice is flat– tired, not annoyed at the intrusion – or at least not as annoyed as Roland thought he’d be. Maybe because he was using his avatar and grimacing politely when they approached.

Still, Roland’s job is not just delivering information or opening doors, he does try to take care of his captain. Soften the blow of bad news, when he could. He aims for humor despite the fact that Lord Admiral Hood is here, now, instead of back in Sydney. Something that couldn’t have been an email, Roland guesses.

“Hey, Cap. Orbital Command just alerted us to a shuttle inbound. Diplomatic transponder. Don’t suppose you’re expecting anyone for dinner?”

It doesn’t soften the news.

Twenty minutes later, Captain Lasky is meeting Lord Admiral Hood in hangar 11 and Commander Palmer is back in her armor with a snarl on her face. 

She still minds her “pleases” and “thank yous” with Roland while demanding updates every other minute.

“It’s Admiral Hood, Commander. Shouldn’t we be happy?”

“The Brass never make house visits for good reasons, Roland.” She sighs “Hood’s just as bad as Tom.”

Roland doesn’t think he should respond to that so he stays quiet, but keeps his avatar deployed in her office while he checks in with the other parts of himself.

In the hangar, he’s front and center for Captain Lasky’s talk with Hood.

“Admiral Hood. Twice in one day. I’m either very lucky or very unlucky.” Lasky smiles, but it’s a weak thing that doesn’t reach his eyes. It’s somehow sadder than his usual mopey expression when things go wrong.

“A little of both. I’ll fill you in on the way, but you should call upstairs and have your folks start spinning up for departure.” Hood returns with a tight smile of his own and then launches into the details of the plan.

Well…that might not be all bad. Not getting to deal with Halsey and ‘Mdama would be a sore spot for everyone, but at least they’re not grounded. Nothing’s going to happen to him either! No word on Roland’s performance. He feels guilty for his relief when the captain and commander went through an unofficial but really pretty official inquiry. 

But this would go well and they could prove themselves! 2558 was still young! It was only March so plenty of time left for the year to improve.

Peace talks – babysitting emissaries who hated each other's guts and wanted to put a superheated plasma sword through the other’s skull. How hard could it be? He just had to sit and wait in orbit. Roland couldn’t shake the bad feeling buzzing through him. “Jiralhanae” and “Diplomacy” weren’t words usually used in the same sentence. A UNSC Admiral, Captain, the Arbiter, and two Fireteams go down to a planet sounds like a beginning to a bad joke to him.

He was overthinking again. No one knew the location and they had a full contingent of Spartans and a fleet on standby. 

This would be a cakewalk compared to Requiem.

-

Author's note: It was not a cakewalk