#viktor voice Function Over Form

[viktor-leagueoflegends]

This is a work in progress but here's a list of all the creators currently catalogued on the archive and their alternate handles; haven't started on consolidating tags to their main handle but that's a goal.

Sheet 2 also has all alternate universes currently catalogued, I've started adding the catch-all "au" tag to them but am not done yet. Both sheets have links that click to the posts tagged on the archive.

[cenfitto]

ok heres the one where there are two jayces in the battlecast universe (homunculus copy) (guard dog) (has resistance jayce's stolen eye)

++

[boobav]

!season 1

Viktor is, you've clearly observed, insecure of himself.

Quite valiantly, due to some looming social norm or personal feeling, he tries to hide it. But in moments like these, such an act becomes impossible. Try as he might, desperately at times, when he's pressed against you in the warm water, your fingers over his skin, your fingers in his hair, his failure is palpable.

"Are you okay?" You murmur into the nape of his neck, his back against your chest. The water threatens with gentle churns to spill over the bathtub.

He turns his head to press a kiss against your wrist.

"More than," he says, voice quiet but firm, "I just feel, sometimes," and he hums, as though forming an adequate description of his emotions were the hardest task on the planet. Viktor, your genius scientist, hesitant not to innovate, to change the world with his research, no. He's hesitant only to make sure he says the right thing to you.

"Like I'm too good for you?" You ask, catching his eye. By the gentle look you know that's what he means. He faces away again, nods in a vaguely ashamed way.

How, you've always wondered, can you truly change someone's perspective? When words don't seem to persuade, when actions bring only fleeting relief, what can you do?

"It's irrational, I know, some... flaw of the mind. You don't need to keep reassuring my senselessness." He leans into your touch, takes your free hand into his, soap suds bubbling between your fingers.

"Sometimes you talk about yourself like you're a machine, you know." You muse. He gives a half-hearted laugh.

"Not a well functioning one."

Are words or actions worth more in this game of convincing? Does he feel it deeper when you press your lips into his hair, or when you mumble compliments and honeysuckle words into his ear? He shivers either way.

It's a long game, you know. It's taken months to even reach this stage, where the self-deprication is a rarity, not the norm. Maybe it'll take his whole life before he can accept every part of himself like you can, before he can truly see himself through your eyes, gleaming and gem-speckled as they are.

You free your hand from his, reach up instead to knead shampoo into his thick hair. He responds with a sigh and sinks somehow further against you, the water falling slowly to a more lukewarm temperature. You're not sure how long the two of you have been in here, talking quietly about very little, exchanging words that'll disappear forever with the water. But you really can't find it in you to care.

There's work to be done, errands to run. Errands that should've been run a week ago. This ceremony, this meditation makes all of it null. For where else would you want to be? Where else exists besides here, this room, this moment, static in the cooling water with the embodiment of perfection.

When you tell it to him, as you so often do, when you tell him that he's perfect, he can't believe you. The first time you ever said it, peering into his eyes as if they held some secret treasure within, he thought you were joking. He'd laughed, more out of obligation than actual humour, but your expression remained still. Sincere. To say he was moved would be a wildly inadequate explanation. What he felt in his chest that night was something otherworldly, something without a name. He's come now to associate it simply with yours.

You run water through his hair, rinse out the shampoo as he lies pliant in your hands. He insists you use your soaps in his hair, some floral-scented collection you've used for who knows how long, because the smell reminds him of you.

There's no point in overthinking it, you suppose. No point in trying to map out and organise moods, emotions. No point in trying to turn a gentle human experience into something clinical, something without humanity.

That swirling, omnipresent yet transient concept of humanity. You simply must cradle it within your own. You press your lips into his wet hair, whisper words made of ginger and lavender into his ear. Because at the end of the day, you're human. You're in love. And sometimes, that's all that matters.

[lizzy019]

НИКТО Personality Analysis

-> Information Given

Some form of dissociation disorder

Tortured by Zakhaev, leaving heavy scarring and forcing him to wear a mask to avoid ridicule, fear from others, and shunning by society

Age is in the range of late 20s to mid 30s, not confirmed yet

-> Theories

Nikto says "us" a lot in his voicelines, and in his description it only says he has ACUTE DISSOCIATIVE DISORDER, which is when you zone out and fall into a heavy state of haziness and confusion for a short period of time before regaining focus. However, DISSOCIATIVE IDENTITY DISORDER is all about dissociating for however long, the range is limitless, and another identity will take over while you're spaced out. Therefore, this is why I believe Nikto had DID and not ADD.

Nikto has this animation where he's supposedly showing that he'll slit your throat in a very oddly realistic manner. What pressure to use and how he'd end off your head. I believe he's witnessed and first handedly experienced this when Zakhaev tortured him, and he began doing it while in the military. Why? Nikto has a very gruff, harsh tone, but it's only when he's yelling and putting too much pressure to his vocal cords. I believe he has a scar on his neck, maybe a bit too close to his esophagus and lower chin that didn't heal properly and affected how he projected his voice.

Now, Nikto has one voice line that goes, "I hear enough voices, I don't need another!" Referring back to my first theory, I believe Nikto also has very short patience and all of his alters do as well. His whole personality is built off of acting fast, doing as instructed, and constantly going. You never see Nikto stop. I believe this voiceline is a very strong giveaway to a part of Nikto's personality on how he functions. It also shows how his temper is kind of wonky.

-> Personality Scan-over

Nikto is presumed as a very harsh Russian man, brutalized by his captor Zakhaev and taken advantage of when he was at his absolute lowest. This has caused major issues with trust, abandonment, and self-love. Nikto struggles with expressing himself, often resulting in violence and anger as heard in his voicelines.

He typically doesn't like speaking to people, only his fellow military personnel, but even then it isn't guaranteed. Nikto is a very self-sufficient person, he's head-on about lots of things and isn't scared to take charge when need be. His main frustration is when people don't listen to him, he already lacks control mentally with all his alters.

Nikto is the type of person who struggles with letting people into his life, or into his head in general. He's reserved, too reserved. He doesn't like letting people in, and who could blame him with all that he's suffered?

But if you do manage to break down his barriers, expect tough love and lots of strange surprises. He'll become more protective of you in a physical sense, not caring too much about you emotionally. If you've brought him comfort in any way, shape or form, he will tell himself how much he cannot lose that solace you bring him.

Nikto is cold, and typically isn't good in relationships. In his voicelines, he's very aggressive and doesn't show any sympathy, much less many manners. The occasional "spasibo" (thanks in Russian) and that's all. It'd be hard to be dependent on him when he's just more independent than you'd expect.

-> Background Theories

True Name: Igor "Nikto" Vasilyevich Yurievich

Age: 33 or 34

Born in: Siberia, Russia

Family: No mother, no siblings

-> Summary

Nikto is a Russian soldier who fights in the private military dubbed "KorTac", an elite group of military personnel who fight alongside other military units to achieve a shared goal.

Nikto is a torture victim survivor, captured my Viktor Zakhaev and ending up with some severe scarring to his lower face and neck. This is why he hides his face with a mask, and also covers his whole body in dark clothing.

Nikto is an individual who struggles with a dissociative disorder, causing some of his work to be a bit half-done, not purposefully however. His lack of control due to his disorder brings him only disadvantages, making him stop mid-fight and inevitably making him an easy target.

Regardless of this, Nikto has proved himself to be a worthy soldier on the battlefield, exceeding many expectations and climbing the ranks cleanly and efficiently. His character is the embodiment of determination and dedication despite everything going wrong much to his dismay.

[mids-writing-blog]

Chapter 6: Betrayal and Vengeance

As the host began explaining the plan, we shift our attention over to the royal guard, who continued their search through the forest. As the army traversed the grounds, Red Robin stomped through the dirt, speaking semi-quietly.

ROBIN: You know, we didn’t have to go through this mess, we could’ve walked the normal, laid out path, now my boots are all muddy.

Muchacha rolled her eyes, turning to Nico as she spoke with a low tone, her voice deep and menacing.

MUCHACHA: Look, I couldn’t give less of a damn about your comfort. So why don’t you be a good birdie, chew on a kilo of seeds and stop complaining. ‘Kay?

She shot away. Robin scoffed, moving his mask off and showing off some sort of scars around his right eye, exactly where Muchacha shattered it all those years ago as he mischievously grinned.

ROBIN: I’m getting the impression that you’re embarrassed of me. 

MUCHACHA: I’m not going through this because I want to work with you again, it's because I got people to protect and mistakes to correct, so if you value having a full set of ribs, shut it.

She hissed at Robin, who smiled and chuckled throughout her threats.

ROBIN: Oh, I get it… you’re jealous. There can’t be another explanation, you’re jealous that I actually have a functional family dynamic.

Amara took a deep breath, exhaling deeply at his response. She knew he was right, but didn’t admit it.

MUCHACHA: You know what my problem is? It's you. All of you, from your horrible fashion sense, to your voice, to your stupid jokes that no one finds funny. You have no redeeming quality. You’re nothing more than a sad excuse of a human being and an outworlder.

Robin scoffed, looking up at her as he countered with a tone laced with malice.

ROBIN: Well that’s rich coming from you, cause you know what you are? You’re a big, steaming, freaking ball of pure fury. I don’t mind that you’re sad or angry or anything, but if your anger jeopardizes this mission or my kid, I swear to god…

MUCHACHA (clutching her fist): One more word, and I’ll put your head through a tree…

ROBIN (holding his dagger’s hilts): Try me…

Before the two could fight, Melisa stepped between them. 

MELISA: LISTEN, you two! I don’t care if you two want to kill or kiss each other, but please do it AFTER my kid’s safe! I’ll be happy if you two can manage that.

ROBIN: Please, we aren’t children.

Melisa scoffed, walking ahead with some guards on each of her sides.

MUCHACHA (whispering): Eat shit and die.

ROBIN (whispering): Yes, fuck you.

The happy band continues to march through the forest, only stopping for food and water. Meanwhile, Breeze, along with Nitara and Havik dragged Viktor’s stiff body across the ground. Viktor appeared unconscious, his feet dragging across the floor. Breeze then spoke, the authority in her voice very noticeable as she turned to the others.

BREZE: Keep in mind, we need him unharmed.

Havik and Nitara nodded, proceeding to drag the prodege slightly more above the ground. As they stepped before Damashi’s tower. They entered, climbing up and staring down their benefactor.

DAMASHI: It shouldn’t come as a surprise, but it's good to see you bring the boy back in one piece.

BREEZE: We’re the best there is at what we do.

he wind-borne fugitive stepped forward, hauling Viktor’s limp form with almost exaggerated care. Havik and Nitara flanked Breeze, their expressions each a unique cocktail of boredom, irritation, and thinly veiled disdain for their employer. Damashi slid his finger along the edge of his spellbook, the glyphs on it pulsing softly as he spoke.

DAMASHI: You have done well. The promised payments shall be rendered, as is only proper. But first, the principal matter: the parasite must be removed.

Breeze shot an unimpressed look at the sorcerer-turned-benefactor. Even as Viktor hung between consciousness and oblivion, Enenra slithered beneath his jacket, peering warily at Damashi.

BREEZE: Oh I’m certain you’ll have the demon. Every single bit of it.

The benefactor raised an eyebrow. The moment that Jay crashed through the window, Damashi turned quickly, which allowed Enenra to grab the sorcerer and pin him against a wall by surprise.

DAMASHI: Aargh!

Enenra then shielded Viktor’s body, leaving half of his face open for the two to speak in unison.

VIKTOR/ENENRA: Hope you’re ready for the beating of a lifetime.

The symbiotic pair then threw him onto the center of the room, as Nitara, Havik, Jay and Breeze surrounded the sorcerer.

DAMASHI: So, it’s treason, eh? Very well.

Damashi lifted his arms up high, sending fire up from the ground which our protagonists quickly dodged. At this point, you’d expect some big moment where Damashi is able to fight them all at once. And if thats what you were expecting… you could not be more incorrect.

From Breeze’s wind, to Nitara’s claws, to Jay’s improvised attack and Havik hitting the sorcerer with his torn off limbs, Viktor and Enenra leaned against the wall, watching the former benefactor get jumped by everyone in the room.

VIKTOR: Should we do something or…

ENENRA: Nah, let them have their fun.

With a wind-forced punch to the chest, Breeze knocked the sorcerer to the ground. His ornate earrings began to flash as he sat up on his knee, wiping the blood off his lips. The symbiotic demon took notice of this, so did his host.

ENENRA: You saw that, right?

VIKTOR (in a disgusted tone): We gotta rip those earrings off him…

ENENRA: Wow, your idea is even better than mine!

VIKTOR: Wait what–

Enenra then took full control, dashing towards the benefactor and pinning him to the floor. At that moment, the room went silent, as Enenra violently ripped the jewelry off of the benefactor’s ears. As Damashi yelled out in pain, the demon took the earrings and threw them in its mouth, chewing them up and lifting the sorcerer by the neck.

ENENRA: What now, pretty boy? Huh…?

The demon’s expression shifted from malicious intent to genuine confusion as Damashi’s body began to distort. In a flash of light, the demon flinched, releasing the sorcerer. A bright flash of light emanated from the tower, shining like the beacon of a lighthouse from the middle of the forest.

Once everyone stopped shielding their eyes, out from the flash of light emerged not Damashi, but a familiar face. Or should I say… two?

HAVIK (bewildered): Shang Tsung…

NITARA (furious): Quan Chi…

JAY (confused): What the hell?

VIKTOR (to Enenra): Hey, what was your plan before I said mine?

ENENRA (ignoring Viktor): What the Hell are you two doing here? Where is Damashi?!

Shang Tsung then chuckled, standing up as he spoke in his typical cryptic and zesty manner.

SHANG TSUNG: I suppose… you could say… we were Damashi.

Everyone in the room stood on edge and prepared to fight. Quan Chi then took center stage as he spoke in his own, eerie and menacing way.

QUAN CHI: Those earrings that Damashi wore, were one’s created by the Telerians. They allowed Shang Tsung and I to become one. Even fuse our knowledge, skills and powers into one sentience. 

The host then took over as he spoke.

VIKTOR: So you became a non-toxic Malachite.

The sorcerers then stood side by side as they prepared for their next move.

SHANG TSUNG: I know not what you mean. And frankly, I do not care. Quan Chi?

Before the necromancer could portal them out of there, Enenra grabbed them both and tossed them away. Enenra clutched his teeth,sharpening his claws against the stone floor. 

Then at that moment, Havik, Jay and Breeze prepared to attack Shang Tsung, and Quan Chi summoned demons to assist them. All the while, Enenra and Nitara slashed and crushed demons as they attempted to get to Quan Chi. The symbiotic duo grab a demon from their right and tossed it at the necromancer’s general direction. The demon missed, but it was the perfect distraction for Enenra to close the distance and do a command grab, throwing the necromancer into a support beam, allowing the Vaeternian and Symbiotic demon to approach him menacingly.

ENENRA & NITARA: Now, to get my revenge.

The two looked at one another almost confused, before shooting back at the necromancer. Meanwhile, Breeze redirected all of Shang Tsung’s attacks with her wind manipulation. That gave enough time for Havik and Jay to throw rocks at Shang Tsung. As he was distracted, the wind-born fugitive kicked the sorcerer into the wall beside Quan Chi. The two sorcerers stand up, but before they can come up with something to say, the tower began to collapse. Viktor looked around, taking notice first with the others soon to follow.

JAY: Ruh-roh…

BREEZE: Oh, no…

VIKTOR: ffffffFUCK!

Then, with no warning, the deadly alliance attempted to portal away. Quan Chi opened the portal, Shang Tsung fell through, but Quan Chi’s forearm was grabbed by Enenra.

ENENRA: I’ll make you PAY for what you did to–

Before Enenra could finish, the portal closes, and all that remains on their end is a severed hand, dripping with blood. Before they can say anything else, Enenra grabbed everyone and jumped through a window (you could've gone through the one that was already broken but whatever), sliding down the tower as it collapsed. Enenra shielded everyone with his shifting tendrils from the debris. As the chaos calmed down, Enenra looked at the severed hand he held. As he retracted into Viktor, who was grossed out and dropped the hand.

NITARA: You… saved us?

VIKTOR: Well, we couldn’t just let you all die.

ENENRA (from behind Viktor’s shoulder): Indeed. We’re like a big family!

VIKTOR: You’re using that term very loosely, man.

ENENRA: That's what you think.

Viktor shoved the demon in his jacket, shutting him up finally. Breeze giggled, Jay laughed uncontrollably as they leaned against Havik, who patted their head.

HAVIK: Your courage is something to behold, young one.

Viktor scoffed, looking away briefly.

VIKTOR: Oh stop, you’re makin’ me blush…

Before anything more could be said, loud footsteps were heard from the other side of the collapsed tower, accompanied by a loud female voice. 

VIKTOR (assertively): Shh! Just be cool, be cool, I'll check it out…

Enenra climbed up the ruins, looking down to the commotion on the other side, taking notice of a squad of 20-ish soldiers below. General Amara, drawing her sword, stepped before the guards and gazed up to the demon that stood atop the ruins. As he glared the demon dead in the eyes, Melisa and Nico stepped forward, pushing her sword down as the symbiotic demon jumped down, carefully making its way down the ruins before standing before it revealed itself to be Viktor. Melisa smiled, tears flowing down her tears as she quietly gasped for air.

VIKTOR (sighing with a smile): Surprise–

Melisa then at the speed of light dashed forward, forcefully hugging her son tightly.

MELISA: C’mere, you little hellion!

The Red Robin Stepped forward and hugged the two and ruffled the boy’s hair.

ROBIN: Get over here, you silly guy! I almost got my ass beat because of you this morning!

Viktor chuckles as Enenra appears from behind his shoulder. Muchacha watched this happen, lowering her sword and looking down on the ground like a sad puppy as one of her soldiers showed up from behind her.

GENERIC SOLDIER: Ma’am? Are… are you alright?

Amara’s eyes snap open, looking behind her as she replies.

MUCHACHA: Huh? Oh. Yes, I’m fine.

She then approached the family before her, clearing her throat.

MUCHACHA: ahem, If I may interject?

Red Robin then stepped aside, allowing Muchacha to step a bit closer to inspect the boy before her as he stood beside Melisa.

MUCHACHA: You must be this prodigal son I’ve heard so much about from your mother and father.

VIKTOR (jokingly): And you must be my dad’s bloodthirsty ex.

MELISA: That's what I told her!

Viktor hugged his mom even tighter as Muchacha’s eyes turned a blood red as she smiled, attempting to hide her rage.

MUCHACHA: I can tell you’re related…

Rubbing her temples. Muchacha then asked the protege.

MUCHACHA: Viktor, correct? I must know, was there anyone else around what remains of this tower?

VIKTOR: Uhhh…

The boy looked behind himself, basically feeling the nervous tension of the mercenaries behind the tower. He scratched his head, turning back to the general as he spoke in a very honest tone.

VIKTOR: No. Everyone else who was around disappeared. It’s hard to explain, it was a blur. Besides, if anyone was around, they probably, you know…

He pointed to the tower, blowing a raspberry as he clasped his hands together. Muchacha was skeptical, but she was too tired of this shit to investigate.

MUCHACHA (sighing): Very well. Let’s get going.

The army began moving away as the mercs behind the ruins sighed in relief. Nitara, Havik and Jay began to walk away from the site, but Breeze stayed. Jay noticed this, looking back.

JAY: Uh… hey, windbag, you comin’ with?

Breeze tilted her head back, looking at the adventurer behind her before replying.

BREEZE: No. No thank you. I have… ‘responsibilities’ to deal with.

Jay shrugged.

JAY: Hmm. suit yourself.

They vanished behind the wall, leaving Breeze alone at the ruins. She stood there for a few moments, contemplating as she looked over the setting sun, all the while the wind blew past her, not brought by her powers, but rather a cold wind from the north as she sat in the rubble.

[mariacallous]

In early April, Ukraine’s leadership quietly began taking preliminary steps toward holding new elections, presumably in the event of a cease-fire. “We see lots of signs of activity at [some political parties’] headquarters,” Oleksiy Koshel, head of the nongovernmental organization (NGO) Committee of Voters of Ukraine, told Radio Free Europe/Radio Liberty. This includes “advertisements quietly circulating [and] millions of special informational bulletins about party leaders being distributed.”

Ukraine’s president and federal legislature were elected in 2019, and new elections had been scheduled for 2024; local and regional votes were planned to happen this year—and almost surely won’t at a time of war and countrywide martial law. This means that Ukrainians won’t have the opportunity to switch out parliamentary parties that polls show have grown distinctly unpopular. Other restrictions apply, too: like limited freedom to assemble and a ban on military-age males from traveling abroad, among others.

“Sure, democracy means regular voting,” says Olexiy Haran, a political scientist at the National University of Kyiv Mohyla Academy. But he, like the overwhelming majority of Ukrainians, doesn’t believe this should happen while war rages. Ukraine’s political class—and polls show that its population, too—is largely agreed that the lack of security during full-fledged combat and the mass displacement of voters undermine the conditions required for a vigorous campaign and national vote. Moreover, it is in clear violation of its constitution, which forbids elections during martial law.

But Ukraine’s political parties are cautiously stepping up campaign-like activities, even though they aren’t broadcasting it — part of a broader pattern indicating the health of Ukrainian democracy.

Haran, among other scholars, experts, and NGO leaders who spoke with Foreign Policy last week in Ukraine, argued that the country’s democratic culture is surprisingly vital. Democracy in wartime Ukraine functions differently than in peacetime countries that take democracy for granted, they underscored. It primarily takes the form of nongovernmental civic engagement—and such activity has deepened since 2022, despite war-related stress, exhaustion, and the war’s financial burdens. “Given the war, the amount of open discussion and political activism is tremendously impressive,” Haran said.

“You can believe we take democracy very seriously, elections or not,” said Iryna Fedoriv of Holka, an NGO that addresses democracy. “After all, we’re fighting and dying for democracy, so we insist that our voices are heard, at the very least. And we’ve invented ways to make this happen.”

In stark contrast not only to Russia, but also to most Western democracies, Ukraine’s democratic impetus emanates above all from the popular solidarity that burst forth during the Revolution of Dignity in 2014 and its aftermath, when Ukrainians united to depose its pro-Russian president, Viktor Yanukovych, and then in response to the Russian invasions that year and again in 2022.

Over a decade, civil society engagement, social solidarity, and public participation have defined the new Ukraine. It is a country in which citizens have bolstered or taken over fields traditionally covered by the state, including the tackling of corruption, environmental protection, caring for refugees and wounded soldiers, and even providing weaponry for front-line brigades. Moreover, Ukrainian volunteers build drones, train paramedics, cook for the front, counter Russian disinformation, and track Russian war crimes.

The furious public engagement reported in much of the international media with the full invasion has become more organized and structured since 2022, its leaders recognized as prominent representatives of society. Surveys show that trust in the fourth sector is second only to the military—both of which will likely rise to the top when Ukrainians vote again.

One such public figure is Oleksandra Matviichuk, a lawyer who founded the Center for Civil Liberties in 2007, an NGO that catalogues Russian war crimes and in 2022 co-won the Nobel Peace Prize for its human rights work. It is one of several nongovernmental groups that actively does so, and has to date recorded 68,000 war crimes, the most recent stemming from the mistreatment of Ukrainian prisoners of war and Ukrainian citizens in the occupied territories.

“In contrast to its weak governmental institutions, Ukraine’s strength is its incredible human capital,” Matviichuk asserted. “Confronted with authoritarian regimes, ordinary Ukrainians took to the streets and threw them out—twice, and then the war. We’re very much a self-organized society,” she said, ��which stands behind this state now, but we don’t expect it to do everything. Ordinary people have accomplished extraordinary things: as volunteers, donors, recruits, and across civil society. Our political culture is distinctly democratic, despite postponed elections.”

The nongovernmental sector, attuned to Ukrainian society’s shifting needs, is also involved at the policy level: It fills the gaps as they arise and can work together with the state, including at local levels. A recent Chatham House study underscored how ever more independent experts, think tanks, and civil society organizations have arisen to work together with the state to address the mental health crisis. Their number nearly doubled from 2022 to 2024, and NGOs like Krisenchat Ukrainian, Barrier-Free, and the Institute of Traumatherapy participate in assisting with long-term health policies, too.

Where citizens and citizens’ groups have sought more accountability and transparency from the state, they have spoken out through diverse means, not least through “e-petitions,” an electronic means of collective appeal that with a specified number of signatures—usually 25,000—can entreat government authorities, including Ukraine’s president, the parliament, the cabinet of ministers, and local governments. These branches of the government must respond to the appeals—although there is no prerogative that the petition’s cause (there are thousands a year) be rectified to the signatories’ satisfaction.

In 2023, for example, 62 civic groups and independent media called Ukrainian lawmakers on legislation that limited access to open data—for reasons of security, the law’s backers contended. The petition demanded—and eventually won through the president’s veto—the reopening of registries and reporting on all public spending—as measures instrumental to curbing mismanagement and corruption, as well as self-government. Today, according to the Ukrainian government, more than 7 million Ukrainians use open-data products and services every month. Ukraine even considers itself a pioneer in open-data registries and transparent public procurement platforms.

In another instance, in October 2022, at least 25,000 Ukrainians signed a petition insisting upon the removal of the scandal-ridden Oleksandr Tkachenko as minister of culture. Zelensky eventually had Tkachenko replaced.

“What we’re seeing now is that whenever the government cannot reach the citizens in a traditional way,” said digital rights expert Maksym Dvorovyi of Digital Security Lab Ukraine earlier this year, “it’s using technology to make up for the lost connections. And the citizens respond. This is how the public gets to influence the policy makers, even if this influence is limited by the war.”

In contrast to Russia and many of the post-Soviet states, Ukraine’s governance is highly decentralized, the upshot to legislation dating back a decade. It gave mayors and other authorities of nearly 1,500 municipalities substantial power to administer their own affairs and pitch in when Russia invaded again in 2022. Local authorities organized the refugee effort and directed territorial defense units, which won them—and the reforms—broad respect. Perhaps most importantly, according to an OECD report, the towns and cities underpinned their bond with their citizenry and mobilized them to resist the Russian advance.

“In contrast to the federal government, our local governments are fast, unbureaucratic, and close to the people,” said Oleksandr Slobozhan, executive director of the Association of Ukrainian Cities. Moreover, since local elections take place every five years, they remain legitimate into 2025.

Slobozhan and Ukraine’s mayors, like Andriy Sadovyi of the western city of Lviv, are critical of the sparse funding that the municipalities receive, and demand more control over taxation and the territorial units. But there is no better example than Lviv as an urban center that has forged its own way—and with the enthusiastic support of most of its citizenry. Under the maxim “unbroken,” picturesque Lviv is turning itself into Ukraine’s hinterland center for recovery and rehabilitation: complete with a recently renovated St. Luke’s Hospital, state-of-the-art prosthetics sector, advanced physical therapy services, and clinics for psychological treatment.

All of Ukraine’s democrats want elections to happen again soon—as soon as there is peace. Many, like Inna Sovsun, a professor and liberal-minded politician of the party Holos, are wary of an ever more powerful executive, among other shortcomings in Ukraine. She called Ukraine an “imperfect democracy.” But until citizens get the chance to vote it out or confirm its popular legitimacy at the ballot box, Ukraine’s democracy, Sovsun said, “is a lot of people all doing a lot of small things that together add up.”

[yell0wsalt]

finished fic: man of the year

closing out this fic with the last prompt of @jayceweek "lost and founnd"

Relationships: Jayce Talis & Ximena Talis, Jayce Talis & Mel Medarda

Rating: G

Summary: This timeline may not be doomed as once thought

wc: 784

read on AO3 here or below

It felt like coming up for air. The gasp of relief to meet the fluid air and sun’s warmth once more after being shrouded in what Jayce could only recall as darkness and longing for… gods only knew how long.

Medium length grass tickled his cheek and poked the palms of his hands. A rogue sprout graced the tip of his nose reflexively scrunching at the sensation. A sneeze threatened to rise to the surface. Jayce’s body jerked when the sprout moved with the wind just right. Large weathered hands curled into the foliage laid underneath him as a bed. Becoming increasingly aware of the blood running through his veins as a soft hum, he wondered to himself if any of this was real. If he was real anymore. Following the battle for Piltover against Viktor, the Machine Herald, whoever, Jayce recalled holding him close in a blinding burst of light—

And then nothingness.

Now he was alone. Viktor was no longer in his hands. What happened then and after and for how long he was desperate to decipher. When the blood circulating his body finally stabilized with warmth and feeling, he pressed himself to a stand, left leg briefly giving out under the weight.

His joints felt oddly creaky. Movement unfamiliar and dry. Beyond his issues with his leg, the rest of his body yelled at him with disuse.

With his line of sight now stretched, it confirmed his initial presumptions. His eyes squinted against the bright sun beaming down on him. One of his hands met his forehead in an attempt to shield him from the intensity and scope the best direction.

High-rises telling of a city resided in the distance. The silhouette was a little different with several structures broken down where they used to be, but Jayce could ultimately recognize the foundation like any other. So his feet carried him onward. In the direction of Piltover. Or whatever version of Piltover this was post-war.

His clothes were worse for wear and the tread of his shoes ground to filth. Part of him hoped a charitable person would be able to provide information on what’s transpired since. What’s come of the people he once knew and loved.

The streets and buildings of reconstructed Piltover were the same yet very different. Like a wound that finally healed over. Functional in all intents and purposes, but the scar was very much present. What is—or was— Hose Talis was no different.

Coming to the home he once knew and loved was bittersweet. Little was left to carry the House Talis name now marred by the cursed legacy he wrought upon them. A weathered fist rapped against the door. Maybe, just maybe—

A click at the handle then turn.

“…Mijo?” Frail, slender hands trembled, reaching out to cup his face. “Oh… oh my son…” Fingers skimmed Jayce’s features, Ximena’s own eyes wild and searching to validate this was not an illusion. That he wasn’t a ghost sent to torture her until the end of her days.

The corners of Jayce’s eyes crinkled. A fine line between his brows deepened as the fractures in his heart threatened to break underneath his mother’s touch. It had been so long since he last heard her voice and the name of endearment. His eyes stung and vocal cords pulled tight. “Hi… mamá. I’m… I’m home.”

It was like stepping inside an old photograph. The decor was the same, down to the wildflower floral arrangements and dining room table, albeit a bit more worse for wear, down to the food she prepared to warm his belly, the bath that scrubbed away the dirt on his form, and the soft linen bedsheets in which he laid for the night.

All of it was the same.

And yet Jayce could not deny the feeling of his presence uncomfortably disrupting the space he once called home. Like trying to fit into a shirt four sizes too small, he threatened to rip the very seams.

The day after next, Jayce kissed his mother goodbye, a family memento pressed into his hands as a parting gift. It dug into the meat of his palm tighter as he looked out the window of the airship departing Piltover. After speaking with his mother the day before, all he had to go on was the ultimate dissolution of Medarda assets in Piltover and particles of light and gold that led to Noxus.

His free hand palms the wooden interior of the airship. The smooth texture pulling him back to that night, the rest of his heart bleeding in spilled ink.

Perhaps this timeline wasn’t completely done for. He could only hope she would still feel the same.

[hexedevolution]

[ nightmare ] sender wakes receiver up from a nightmare

Huck hummed, the star-pricked night sky seemed to be clear from smog and pollution inside the commune, or his healed eyes could see beyond the norm. His hair ruffled by a gentle breeze, his limbs stretched. Stepped back from his place at the entrance, it was unlikely any newcomers would venture to the commune at night.

Blissful peace had been the norm since he'd met Viktor. As the first of the healed, he had volunteered as the greeter without hesitation. Huck exhaled, an old habit from before, he and the others had quickly discovered the function was no longer needed. Eyes closed, he could sense the Herald - the bright north star who held reality together.

Huck frowned, unsure of who else felt the Herald's distress; without realisation he had bolted and by the Herald's side. Gentle, he knelt and lowered Viktor from his elevated position and moved his physical body into the recovery position, careful not to tug on the arcane tubing connected to his back.

Perhaps another old habit from before; but Herald's life was the single life that mattered. Sat on his knees, he watched Viktor's face twist in distress. He placed a gentle hand on the Herald's shoulder and shook him with care.

'Herald?' Huck asked in a delicate tone. 'Is everything alright?' He let his hands fall into his lap; blue eyes watched as Viktor remained still.

𝑵𝑶𝑵-𝑽𝑬𝑹𝑩𝑨𝑳 𝑨𝑵𝑮𝑺𝑻 𝑷𝑹𝑶𝑴𝑷𝑻𝑺 || Accepting

There had been a sense of peace over the last few months. A small community had formed, and there was a rapid progression to unity. Huts became homes, strangers became allies - aiding and assisting each other to use their best skills to allow all to thrive. With Sky's research to hand - and her voice to guide - Viktor hadn't stayed idle while the others worked. The arcane provided more than he could fathom, and certainly more than simply curing those around him. Soils became rich, seeds became sprouts and water became sanitary.

His work had began to form tales throughout the sumps, as more people came for saving and refuge from the agony they suffered. He was here to grant that. He could sense it all... The pain, the struggle - the endurance of suffering. As he lifted it from each and every one, he himself felt lighter. Exhausted - but content.

Though, the more he spent himself, the longer he needed to meditate to recover. To recharge himself amongst the arcane itself and convene with she that inspired him. Tonight seemed to be different though... Something did not sit well within his mind. The space around him didn't seem to still, as if there were vibrations disrupting everything around him. Visions kept snapping into place like a slap to the mind. Destruction...smoke...blood - everything they were working towards lay in ruin. His people dead, cast across the floor like ragdolls. The boy he had only recently saved, wide-eyed and vacant-

With a gasp, he jolted, finding his vision focused on a familiar face. Huck... his very first saved, and a loyal man to boot. Viktor's breathing regulated fairly quickly as he rose to a kneeling position himself, the tubing seeming to fizzle away as they regressed back, allowing Viktor to pull the 'robe' around his chest and arms once more.

"A terrible vision..." Viktor recalled almost matter of factly, but his expression gave a faint sense of worry. "I cannot tell if it's a warning or a premonition... One I certainly do not wish to pass. I'm unsure what to make of it, I've never encountered something like this before..." Viktor looked Huck in the eyes as he spoke, not one to shy away from the truth. Feigning that he was 'fine' seemed inappropriate in the company of one that has been so open with him. "Did you sense it as well?"

[hexedevolution]

His orange iris' practically glowed against his black sclera. Despite all the enhancements - despite every effort to rip humanity out of himself so he was no longer hindered by it's weight - he looked almost sad.

Why couldn't she understand? What Viktor was offering - it was the most clear, simple and logical answer available. No one else could offer peace like this. Why couldn't she see it as he did? Why did she cling to something that had treated her so poorly and continued to do so?

"I don't understand." Viktor snapped, anger certainly tinting his voice but it was coming from a true source of sadness. "I'm trying to save you. You are acting as if I bring death! I have seen what you've been through, I am trying to save you from suffering even more. I wish to extend that to all. Why are you implying I have selfish intentions? This is not a takeover, this is salvation..."

Jayce... Blitzcrank... Now Student - why didn't anyone understand that he was only trying to save?!

As Student leaned forward, Viktor leaned back. As if worried she would grab or swing at him. His lips part slightly, a quiet contemplation over his face.

"If I am a threat to both Zaun and Piltover... Perhaps that is for the best. As you said, it will unite them against a common enemy. And perhaps Piltover will see how we have suffered..." Viktor replaces the mask. "Function over form...and it seems my true function needs reforming. Perhaps the last monster should be me. It seems this is where we must say goodbye... Xue."

"Viktor, I'm not certain you know as well as I do what I'm actually talking about. I don't mean the chem-barons. They don't see suffering as a way to sharpen yourself, they see it as something that happens to other people. I..." She trails off, scouring his bared face for some note of compassion. Some hint that she's not just talking for no reason.

"I was talking about myself. I have had a hard life, and it took me a long time to start putting the experience it was giving me to work. I have lost, and I've taken, and I've done things I wasn't proud of. Everything that I did, everything that was done to me, created the circumstances for the person I am now. The person who's sitting in front of you and telling you, open-hearted, that this is not going to go the way you think."

Her hands haven't moved from her lap, and though there's a sense of urgency in her tone, it isn't anger that's tightening her voice and sharpening her words. It's worry.

"You could take down the barons. I'm... it will be a while before I'm ready for them, and you could certainly do it quicker than me. But Viktor- you have to know that forcing it onto them is going to send a message. If this is something that's administered against people's will, you won't be seen as a saviour, you'll be a... I don't know, a despot. A dogmatist. A problem."

She leans forward, tone dropping. "Do you know what will unite the two cities more than any political summit or coalition treaty possibly could? Something outside of them that looks like it's going to annihilate both. And you'll know it isn't destruction, and I..." Xue hesitates. Swallows.

"I'll know it isn't destruction. Because... I trust you. I assume that you're still there to trust. But you won't convince them if you extend your hand with a closed fist. You'll be a threat. They'll respond to you as a threat."

[mysticmousecat]

So, You Want To Be A Professor - Part 2 (SFW...mostly)

Sorry this part is a little shorter than my usual parts, I'm still a little sick and I felt like adding the next bit of what's to come to this would make it too long so here we are, stuck in this in between space, anyway, part 3 will be out soon!

Words: 2k

Warnings: Some sexual tension, Viktor being a fucking tease, mentions of masturbation but nothing graphic (Hense the mostly SFW)

You’d never actually been inside the Hextech lab before, you never had a reason to be, but now that you walked through its doors with several of your other classmates that morning you lost your breath at the scale of it, so much larger than your tiny chemistry lab. You took in the sight before you, chalkboards, all covered in two different handwritings, diagrams you couldn’t completely understand and equations that you vaguely recognized from Heimerdinger’s class but were still pretty much gibberish, papers which you assumed to be notes and research papers strewn over tables and desks, complex equipment in various stages of paused use, a pile of what looked to be unfinished prototypes shoved into a corner. There was a large couch against one of the far walls, near a towering window that you assumed was often slept on more than either of these two men’s actual beds. As your eyes cast over the entirety of the room, they landed on something that once again kicked the air right out of you, the image of a very focused, very occupied Viktor, sat in front of a machine built for who knows what, hair mussed from what seemed to be multiple moments of frustratedly carding his fingers through it, protective goggles over his eyes, presumably to shield them from the bright blue light emanating from the machine, which he had his hands up to the wrists buried in as he toyed with cables and the like, the sleeves of his brown striped dress shirt pulled up above his elbows, waistcoat discarded at some point, leaving his tan colored tie to hang freely over his chest. He was sat comfortably on a stool, one leg balanced on the floor while the other perched easily on one of the stool’s lower rungs, he was the picture of a devoted inventor in that moment, and there was something about that image of him that sent heat to your cheeks, put butterflies in your chest, and made it so you couldn’t tear your eyes away. He didn’t even seem to realize there was a crowd watching him work, much of that crowd you might add being a group of girls, intent on ogling him— you weren’t going to count yourself within that group, you were politely admiring, not staring at him the way a wolf stares at a deer.

“Good morning class!” Professor Heimerdinger’s cheery voice ripped you from your downward Viktor spiral. The Yordle walked into the room to stand before his group of students, seemingly ignoring or just not noticing how many of them were trying to mentally undress his former assistant— now that group you will place yourself into. “Welcome to the Hextech lab, where many of the modern conveniences Hextech has provided for us over the years were developed, from thought, to blueprint, to prototype to finished product.”

“This right here,” You jumped slightly at Jayce’s sudden appearance. “Is the original prototype for the Hexgates.” Jayce motioned to the large machine his partner was currently wrist deep in, the same partner who had yet to even raise his head in acknowledgment to the crowd around him. “It was a little dusty and needed some repairs, as evident from Viktor rooting around its insides; but it’s a fully functioning small form Hexgate, intended for testing the transportation of small objects, like fruit, bolts and tools. Its twin is on the other side of the room, which we’ll get to shortly, as soon as Viktor is done.” Almost immediately Viktor pulled his hands from the device, slammed the panel door closed and reached behind him, picking up what looked like a small ball from the table behind him, wasting no time in tossing it up into the air above him and into the circular opening at the top of the machine, a flash of blue light and the ball came hurdling through the twin device on the other side of the room, coasting easily into Jayce’s outstretched hand.

“Fixed it.” Viktor confirmed, pushing the protective goggles off of his face and up into his hair, pulling it back slightly to properly display his face, showing off the angular sharpness of his cheekbones and finally putting his eyes on proper display, where they should be as far as you were concerned. Viktor reached for his cane, propped against the desk behind him, standing up and pulling the goggles off of his head and tossing them onto the desk, letting some of his hair fall back into his face, though he made no move to properly fix it and your fingers twitched with the desire to card them through it and restore some of its neatness. “Now if you are done letting me do all of the work.” Viktor motioned for Jayce to continue while several members of your class giggled at his quip.

Jayce seemed to ignore his partner’s witty banter. “Anyway, for this presentation, we will need a volunteer,” The second the words left his mouth, quiet chattering passed between your classmates at who might be chosen, everyone seeming quite eager to offer themselves up. “Viktor, it will be your choice.” You looked at the students around you, all focused on Viktor as he scanned over the crowd of willing students, seemingly taking his time in picking who he would let volunteer, there were several girls trying to make themselves seem more obvious, moving to the front of the group, obscuring his ability to see you, which you were actually pretty thankful for. You could barely handle being in the same room as Viktor without feeling like you were going to spontaneously combust, how were you supposed to handle being his volunteer and having to do god knows what with him. You subconsciously backed up, trying to bury yourself further within the sea of students around you, hoping if you were quiet enough maybe no one would be the wiser that you were even there, particularly a certain scientist who seemed to quite enjoy a friendly tease.

“Miss (y/l/n).” Viktor’s voice was like a bucket of ice water at that moment, he couldn’t even see you, why was he choosing you? You waited a moment before slowly emerging from the center of the group, making your way past confused girls and boys alike as to why they hadn’t been chosen instead, you were wondering the same question. You imagined you looked a little bit like a frightened deer, but Viktor’s expression was warm and despite the nerves in your chest, managed to ease just a little bit of your apprehension. He extended a hand out to you, which you, albeit hesitantly, took; the second your skin touched his you felt a jolt of electricity down your spine, almost enough to pull your hand away, but you kept firm, and if he noticed your reaction he didn’t mention it, instead he just used his gentle hold on you to pull you closer, leading you to what looked like some kind of control board, levers and tubes and thick cords ornamenting its surface. It wasn’t until you were close enough to him that he could speak without the other students hearing that he did so. “You will be ideal for this.” You remained quiet for a moment before responding.

“Why?” You inquired, he was right behind you and slightly to your side, one hand resting gently over your shoulder, the point of contact almost feeling like a burn, a burn that you didn’t want to stop. You hadn’t gotten up the nerve to look at him yet. With him standing so close you could feel his body heat.

“You’re a chemist.” He stated plainly, like it answered your question perfectly… it did not, you were just as confused, more now actually.

“Elaborate?”

“Well, working with magic is working with the transference of energy,” He started, voice so close to your ear you could feel his breath as he spoke, you tried to swallow down the rock in your throat. “It is a similar concept in Chemistry is it not?” But didn’t engineering also deal with a lot of transference of energy? If anything, an engineer probably would have been better suited as they would have more of a basis in physics. You peered up to look at the man beside you finally, finding his eyes, the expression he wore telling you he was perfectly aware that the explanation he gave was paper thin, what you didn’t understand was why.

You could feel the heavy stares of the class behind you, you imagined several of them were some very unimpressed women disappointed that Viktor hadn’t chosen them, but when he took your hand again and lead it to one of the levers, using his hold on you to manually wrap your fingers around it, nearly covering your hand with his own, the warmth of his touch sending sparks up your arm, then placing his other hand on the top of your back, you couldn’t focus on anything else but his touch, how warm he was, how gentle he was, you were right when you first observed him, his fingers were callused and rough, but they were feather light on your skin. When he pulled his hand away from yours, he let the tips of his fingers glide up your arms just slightly, lighting every single one of your nerves on fire, a touch so light, a touch that you knew the rest of your class couldn’t see, it was a moment just between the two of you. You could hardly focus as he explained the board to you, explained how it affected the prototype Hexgates, you just did as he told you, just hearing his voice in your ear and trying to will your knees not to give out from under you every time he touched you again, so deliberate and delicate, the gentlest touch, hidden from prying eyes and overwhelming every single one of your senses. While physically you were there for the entire presentation, as Jayce explained how energy is transferred from one Hexgate to the other, your mind was on Viktor, and only Viktor, by the time it was done you felt as if you’d run a marathon, trying to catch your breath.

You felt like every touch was burned into your skin as you walked from the lab back to Professor Heimerdinger’s classroom after the presentation, you felt cold without Viktor’s touch on you anymore, without his body heat right next to you, you were stuck between wanting it back and feeling like you wouldn’t be able to handle it if he touched you one more time. That night you sat in your bedroom replaying the event, remembering every touch, every word he practically whispered into your ear, your dreams were no easier, filled with images of Viktor, those fingers on your skin, tracing down your stomach, up your thighs, over your chest and between your legs, you woke up in the middle of the night warm, a thin layer of sweat over your skin and a burning heat in your core, and if your fingers got a little adventurous under your blankets, well that wasn’t something anyone else had to know.

Viktor had to know what he was doing right? You don’t just inflict sensual torture on someone unknowingly, it wasn’t like you were exactly subtle with how it visibly affected you. For a brief moment you entertained the thought that maybe he was as attracted to you as you were to him, but it was quickly thrown from your thoughts, there was no way, right? He probably had no idea what he did to you, he was probably trying to be completely friendly, you were just pent up and touch starved and were reading into it too far. Right? The thoughts came back again, but what if he was attracted to you? What if he knew exactly what he was doing? What if after your moment with him yesterday he’d gone home and sought… relief, the same way you did. The thought of it brought color to your cheeks, thinking about him taking himself in hand at thoughts of you, thinking about it being you to touch him, to wrap around him, to pull those sweet noises you're sure he could make from his lips, replaying every subtle touch the same way you had, it ignited fire in your veins. Well, if he was doing it on purpose, there was one sure fire way to find out.

taglist

~~~~~~~~~

@staticspouse @cherrys-spice-cabinet @ohgodsimback

@lmaoleafs @lethe-from-hades @straycatgirl69 @venomlized

@59shoukei @bvnnycqfe @roronoarengi @r0ugie @gowonreal

@aprincessforapauper @dreamyjaguar

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

ruined, m | jjk

pairing(s): jungkook x reader

summary: Why is there a mostly shirtless man in your bedroom and why is it Kim Namjoon's, your roommate's, fault? All you want to do is play League of Legends, not be visually attacked by ridiculously attractive Jeon Jungkook as his six friends perform living room karaoke at the top of their very drunk lungs.

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; classic Namjoon ripping clothes; you don't have to know how to play LoL, I explain most of it; smut (fem reader, dirty talk, begging, scratching / marking, nipple play, edging / orgasm denial, handjob, (unintentional?) voyeurism, little bit of cum-eating, choking, cowgirl, cock warming); non-idol!BTS – purple-haired, kind-of-a-brat, sub!Jungkook x gamer, noona, dom!reader, ft OT6 being chaotic in the background XD

@yn-the-reader linked me in this and I was already writing about him. a prophet, maybe? XD

--

“WHY ARE YOU SHIRTLESS?”

You died.

Not literally, but also literally.

“Fuck!”

Now you had thirty-seven seconds of gray screen to figure out why the fuck Jeon Jungkook had busted into your bedroom on this cheerful night with his black dress shirt three-quarters of the way unbuttoned, revealing most of his – oh, sweet Satan, very muscular – pecs and the upper half of his abs. He was holding something in his hands, looking helpless and sad, while you were panic buying Liandry's Anguish and experiencing a special form of anguish yourself.

“Noona, um–”

That’s right, because you were in the middle of a League of Legends game, playing Cassiopeia, the Serpent’s Embrace, also known as half-snake lady or the lamia of the champion roster or a mean version of Monster Musume’s Miia (if you know, you know, and if you don’t, be glad you don’t). Your roommate was having friends over after going drinking. All this was fine and dandy with you, because you were going to spend all night wearing headphones and playing League of Legends, therefore ignoring the outside world, until the outside world came to bother you in the form of Kim Namjoon’s – your roommate’s – mostly shirtless friend Jeon Jungkook.

He wasn’t mostly shirtless most of the time, only right now.

“Noona, Namjoon-hyung ripped my shirt…” Jungkook whimpered hesitantly, chewing on his lip. He looked awkward and distraught despite his long dark purple hair giving him a rather fierce, bad-boy look.

Namjoon was a great roommate. He was smart, conversational, and insightful. A chat with him usually led to an enriching, open-minded perspective. He was relatively clean, considerate, communicative, nonjudgmental, fun to be around, and only set the kitchen on fire twice.

The second time was your fault.

You shouldn’t have let Namjoon in the kitchen the second time.

Also, Namjoon with his friends was a wildly chaotic time. All of his friends, especially drunk, were fucking nuts. Normally, they were probably relatively calm people (maybe not Kim Seokjin or Jung Hoseok, they were very excitable), but together they were a mess. You often wondered how they could function as a group.

Currently, however, you were trying to collect your brain cells as you had mere seconds before respawning onto the platform and were forced to play again. Timing in League of Legends was very important. Seconds can mess up wave management of minions and wave mismanagement can lead to game losses if you weren’t careful. The nuances of the game were often ignored by casual players.

You were, in short, a nerd about it.

“Fucking s-shit, what h-happened?” you sputtered out, turning back to your screen, unable to look at mostly shirtless Jungkook because he was MOSTLY SHIRTLESS. Honestly, he had quite nice pecs, and you should not be thinking about that, but it was incredibly distracting, just like how it used to be distracting when Namjoon was shirtless, but several years of living with him made you accustomed to his impressive pectoral muscles, to the point where you could joke about them with him.

But this was not Namjoon – this was his younger friend Jungkook and you had no idea Jungkook was ripped, mostly because you didn’t pay attention to Namjoon’s friends.

There were too many of them and you were too introverted for that.

“I don’t know, he just grabbed my shirt and it ripped and I managed to find all the buttons, but, but…”

Cassiopeia respawned on the platform and you couldn’t ignore the snake lady any longer. You had to play the game because four random people on your team were counting on you and you couldn’t exactly type, sorry, there’s a hot man in my room with his shirt practically off and I don’t know what to do with my life, so you had to suck it up and play the damn game.

Right-clicking and keeping your eyes only on your computer monitor.

Half-listening to that trembling, silvery voice coming up behind you, making your hairs stand on end even though all he was doing was dumping the tiny buttons on your desk.

Oh, fuck me, you thought to yourself.

“Can you repair it? Please? My mom bought me this shirt and Namjoon-hyung said you can sew, so maybe you can sew them back on? Please?”

“Yes, Jungkook, I can, just not right now, I’m in the middle of a game,” you rambled, suddenly trading damage with the enemy Viktor, trying to avoid the laser from the Machine Herald, swearing under your breath as you stutter-stepped and stunned him, poisoning him quickly enough with your abilities to avoid dying. “I will help you, I just �� fucking shit, get the fuck away from me Udyr, fuck!”

“Wow, you curse a lot, noona. It’s kind of funny.”

“I – fuck– I mean, sometimes, and what are you guys doing out there? It sounds like a deranged cabaret club,” you remarked, ticking your head towards the direction of your bedroom door.

“Karaoke!” Jungkook replied brightly, still standing behind you, why was he standing behind you, it was freaking you out a little, but Ocean Dragon was being taken and a team fight was about to happen, so you had to ignore it and support your teammates in chasing down the enemy support.

Seokjin hit a high note that was so shrill that you heard it through your headphones.

“… Wow, he’s got some lungs on him.”

“Do you wanna join us, noona?”

“I can’t sing.”

“Neither can we.”

“Pretty sure all of you can sing better than I can, even Yoongi and Namjoon. I’m fucking terrible.”

“I’m not that good.”

You barely survived with thirty hit points after that debacle of a team fight, but your team had the dragon and you all were slowly on your way to victory. You pressed the ‘B’ key to return to base, but kept your eyes on the screen, lest Udyr, the Spirit Walker and serial bear stun-slapping enemy jungler, ran your ass down and killed you.

“Jungkook, your voice is absolutely heavenly. Fucking beautiful. I’m sure every human being on Earth would want to be serenaded by you.”

Silence that you didn’t notice was awkward for him because you were too busy letting out a sigh of relief and building your next item, typing quickly to your teammates. You all were about to set up for vision around Baron Nashor, a large purple worm-dragon monster that when killed provided a significant, sometimes game-ending buff.

“R… really?”

“Yeah, and you’re handsome, gorgeous, and hot as hell too, so the whole damn package,” you responded absentmindedly, realizing the enemy were trying to split-push and trade objectives so you sent some pings to your teammate to take care of that as you accompanied the main group to help clear waves of minions.

Heat.

You heard him shift beside you and suddenly his face was next to yours, watching your screen closely.

Side-step, cast your ultimate, cast your Miasma ability to ground the enemies and prevent them from dashing away, switching between auto-attacking and piercing them with Twin Fang, all in the span of a mild freak-out because why was Jungkook so FUCKING close?

“Wow, you’re so good at League.”

“I’m Diamond rank, so not that good, but definitely better than all seven of you combined.”

“Haha, true, we’re all pretty bad,” Jungkook laughed next to your ear and, oh, shit, is warm breath feathered on your neck, why weren’t you wearing a turtleneck or something and not your self-cropped oversized band t-shirt and slinky black leggings, why weren’t you cocooned in layers of clothes, because you were quickly highly aware of how attractive Namjoon’s friends were.

To top it all off, you were in the middle of a game, so you just had to tolerate it and stay calm for the sake of your teammates and your elo.

“Maybe you could teach us and we’ll teach you something in return.”

“You guys don’t even listen to each other, why would I assume you all would listen to me?”

“I’d listen to you, noona.”

Now your team was doing the Baron dance, skirting in and out of vision, daring the other team to make a move, daring each other to make a mistake so the other could capitalize on it, slowly, slowly, watch the waves, watch the minimap. Careful. You could control the situation if you were calm and not too trigger-happy. Tension in your fingers and tension in your neck because your roommate’s friend was right next to your head, observing your every move.

His violet hair brushed your shoulder.

Soft, delicate strands against your skin.

“You’re more experienced, so you would know what to do.”

Your support snap-engaged a fight and you were immediately in the zone, right clicking rapidly, cycling through your abilities, keeping track of the opponents’ spells, determined not to let any of them get away, following your teammate’s calls and not hesitating, because hesitation as death and loss, and you were so close to winning you could taste it, going after it with passionate vigor and a slow-forming grin, seeing and hearing the in-game announcer declaring, QUADRA KILL.

You didn’t kill all five of them because someone took the pentakill from you.

You might have cared about that except your ear exploded into clapping as Jungkook excitedly applauded for you, cheering you on, reminding you that a mostly shirtless man was standing right next to you.

Thanks, Namjoon, you thought sarcastically.

“Wow, you played that so well, dodging the Viktor ult and stunning three people like that–”

You felt your cheeks heat at the compliments, busying yourself with your team killing Baron. You didn’t usually have someone commenting on your games. Your eyes flickered to the small buttons on your desk.

Especially not a mostly shirtless guy.

Mostly shirtless hot guy.

Back to screen, seeing your jungler’s typed instructions, suggesting you all to destroy as many structures as you could and then prepare for the next fight for Ocean Dragon Soul and – oh? Your eyebrows raised as the screen abruptly jerked to the enemy base, the nexus inside exploding into shiny gem-like fragments that became the VICTORY banner.

“They surrendered?” you uttered with surprise, clicking on the CONTINUE button. “Why?”

Your eyes flickered to the kill score.

“Oh, thirty-two to nine… maybe that’s why….”

Your team had the nine deaths and the opponent team had thirty-two so, well, maybe that’s why they surrendered the game.

“Aw, that’s no fun,” Jungkook pouted as you clicked on the damage screen. Second most damage. Okay, you could take that. You were a little distracted.

“So, about your problem–”

You spun around to, ack, realize that, yes, Jungkook’s shirt was still flapped wide open to expose his chest like an unwrapped piece of caramel candy. He seemed to realize it too, making a surprised face and yanking the sides closed, as if you hadn’t gotten a damn eyeful already.

“I can resew the buttons back on, but you should borrow a shirt from Namjoon in the meantime,” you managed to say, clearing your throat. “Because I, ah, can’t really sew it when you’re still wearing the shirt.”

“Oh… Oh, right, yeah.”

Then he started yanking his shirt out of his slacks.

UMMMMMMM.

Usually, you didn’t care about this stuff. Men were men. They had chests. But you had things you liked too. Just like how men like tits and ass, you liked well-built pecs and forearms. Actually, you appreciated a nice ass and thighs too. And cute faces. Fuck, you loved a cute face.

“Uh, Jungkook…”

He looked up, questioningly. Big round brown eyes, his violet bangs framing his chiseled jaw, parted pink lips, the small mole underneath his lower lip looking so, so kissable, quivering slightly.

Fuck, Jungkook had a cute face.

His shirt was very open.

Fuck, his lightly tanned skin.

He was hesitating around a button, his deft fingers flexed, ink black tattoos standing out on his knuckles and the back of his hand. Your legs were slightly spread, thighs flush to your gaming chair. Half a second and Jungkook’s eyes flickered back up to your face, pretending he hadn’t been looking.

You raised your eyebrows.

“Are you really just gonna strip in my room and walk out asking Namjoon for a shirt and hope none of the six guys think anything about it?”

His eyes shifted around your room. Bed with black sheets and black velvet duvet. Television with your gaming consoles. Your collection of character figurines from various games. Your black denim jacket hanging on a hook, covered in monotone patches that you had sewn yourself, mostly occult-themed, skeletons, skulls, cats, ghosts, potions, eyeballs, that kind of thing. Back to your desk.

Your legs.

Really staring at your thighs, hips, and crotch.

Up your torso, your hands, your exposed collarbones.

Your face.

Guarding his expression, testing the waters.

“Maybe,” Jungkook said slowly. His eyes darted away and back, teeth catching his lower lip. “I really am hoping you can fix my shirt.”

You watched his face carefully, the flare of darkness in those brown orbs, a hint of naughtiness, dancing with danger. Jungkook had a mischievous streak. You could tell by the way he interacted with his hyungs, listening but talking back, helping them with things but not without a roll of his eyes or a smart remark added, probably because all his friends were older and he was the youngest. He knew he could get away with it.

In short.

Brat.

“What would you like in return, noona?” Jungkook purred, smile dancing on his lips.

Honorifics were supposed to honor you. Show a sign of respect and all that shit.

All I wanted to do was play video games, you grumbled internally. Not suddenly have a thirst fest for one of Namjoon’s best friends. You narrowed your eyes a little, seeing the smirk on that perfectly shaped mouth. He’s not stopping either.

Outside your room, something fell with a loud crash. Probably Namjoon by the depth of that startled yelp. Everyone else started laughing and a very loud, cheerful melody was blasting from the living room television. Nobody was coming to investigate you and Jungkook.

Yet.

“Turn around and ask for a shirt,” you sighed, waving a hand. “Then take off your shirt in the bathroom and then, only then, do you come back and give me your dress shirt.”

You saw Jungkook frown, not expecting that as your answer.

“Oh. Okay.”

He seemed disappointed, lowering his hands.

The silky fabric of the dress shirt slid off his right shoulder, partly revealing his tattoo sleeve and fully revealing his right collarbone and shoulder.

You sucked in a breath, eyes flickering to it. Then his face. Then back to his body. Fuck. Fuckity fuck. Fuckity fuck fuck fuck. Jungkook jumped, startled by the fallen fabric and reached over to grab the fallen collar. Your hand moved faster than you had time to think. You had good reaction time. It was the gaming obsession.

You slapped his hand down.

Jungkook squeaked, head snapping up, purple hair floating around him, gold chain on his neck glittering as he swallowed hard, Adam’s apple bobbing. Strangely, his chain resembled your sterling silver choker that you were wearing right now, except you also wore another necklace with a circular white gold pendant with your zodiac sign.

Not that anyone was ever close enough to inspect it.

“N-Noona?” he breathed, sounding strangely winded.

Shit.

You hadn’t meant to do that. Your body reacted faster than your head.

Shit.

Fuck, he had a nice body. His pecs. Even had a nice dark nipple – well, he probably had two, but you could only see one at the moment – and it all trimmed down to a slim waist and shapely hips. You could tell because of his tailored black slacks. He had been wearing a blazer earlier in the evening too. It was probably on a chair somewhere in the apartment.

Shit.

What did Jungkook need to look so damn good for?

“Where did you guys go to be dressed like that?”

Yes, you were really just going to interrogate him with his shirt dangling off like that.

Jungkook chewed on his lower lip, the tiny mole underneath bouncing up and down as he spoke. “We went to a fancy hotel rooftop bar to celebrate Yoongi-hyung’s award that he won at the music show for producing that song–”

“Ah, right, Namjoon mentioned that earlier today.” Dress code must have been black tie.

Those dark brown eyes found yours, observing you carefully.

“I would have liked to see you there, noona.”

You stopped staring at the tattoos on his bicep and made eye contact. Fuck. Those eyes. Sparkling with deviousness. Trying to see how far he could push your buttons.

“I wonder what kind of dress would you have worn?” he murmured, musing to himself. “I bet you would have looked hotter than any girl there.” Jungkook smiled, playful and boyish. He wasn’t being sleazy about it. Every word was light and honest. “A tight little black dress? Maybe bright red? Short, because you have incredible legs. It would be a crime not to show them off.” He was only complimenting you. His tone wasn’t trying to be suggestive.

Yet.

You didn’t close your legs. You had nothing to be shy about.

Instead, you leaned back in your gaming chair as if it was a throne, resting your left elbow on the armrest and your chin on two fingers, thighs wide open, and your other hand in between them, fingers curled inward to your inner thigh.

Jungkook’s pink lips curved ever higher, ever more roguish.

“Whatever you would have chosen, you would have looked so, so sexy.”

You ticked your head.

“I know.”

Because you did.

Look here, Jeon Jungkook, I’m here minding my own damn business and you’re here inserting yourself into my life, so if you can’t handle me knowing my self-worth, you can fuck right off.

He reached up and tucked a bit of his purple hair behind his right ear, grinning at you.

“You sure you don’t want anything from me?” he asked, a slight flicker of pink tongue between white teeth. “I can give first and then you can decide whether or not you want to help.”

Honestly, those sultry eyes could stop a heart.

You removed your hand from your chin, tapping the air with those two fingers in a dismissive manner.

“Hm.”

Outside, Kim Taehyung and Jung Hoseok were singing a soulful duet and Park Jimin was hooting at inappropriate moments to ruin the atmosphere as much as possible. That raspy, breathless laugh was Min Yoongi, who was probably doubled over on the floor in his expensive suit. Classic genius music producer of the year behavior right there.

Jungkook tucked his hands in his pockets, shirt sleeve falling down, revealing his blacked-out inner elbow. Mountains with a dark sky. It must have hurt, doing something like that. Still, he did it. For aesthetics?

You heard the smirk rather than seeing it, mostly because you were looking at his body.

“I would look so damn good on you, noona.”

Alright.

You closed your eyes slowly and reopened them to look directly into those dangerous, dangerous eyes.

“Lock the door.”

Not really an order. More of a statement. Jungkook could do it or not, you knew. He couldn’t be coerced to do anything. He did things because he wanted to do them. He was nice because he wanted to be nice. He was childish when he wanted to be childish.

And.

Jungkook was obedient when he wanted to be obedient.

He turned around, went to your bedroom door, and locked it.

Well then.

He came back and stood in front of you. A little closer now.

You cocked an eyebrow. “They’re going to come looking for you.”

Jungkook smiled down at you. “I’m sure they will.”

You frowned, lowering your hand to tap the end of the armrest. “They’re going to think I started this.”

“You kind of did.”

Your eyes narrowed sharply. He grinned, taking a step closer.

“Because it’s not my fault you look so good,” Jungkook breathed, voice deepening, leaning down, your expression unchanging, not pulling back but not encouraging anything either. “Not my fault your body is hotter than a summer. Not my fault your confidence is the biggest turn-on I’ve ever had in my life.”

Your thighs were still as open as his shirt.

Jungkook put his knee in between them.

His dress shirt was basically almost completely off his body now, falling off the left shoulder too and dangling off his forearms, exposed collarbones and shoulders, tan skin taut over muscle. A delicious body line, so fucking close to you that you could feel the heat. You still didn’t do anything. You weren’t going to do anything. You didn’t prompt this. You were simply minding your own business commanding a snake lady to victory, not expecting to get seduced by a mischievous bunny-like smile and a tiny black mole under a cute pout.

“I can’t help myself around you.”

You usually didn’t say more to Namjoon’s friends than a mere hello, not wanting to bother them with your presence. They were all men after all. You expected them to want bro time or whatever. Also, you were too busy being obsessed with men that didn’t exist in real life to pursue men that did exist in real life.

At least League of Legends had 3D models so no one could say you lived only the 2D lifestyle.

That didn’t mean that you didn’t partake when the dinner laid themselves out to be eaten. They often had to, because you wouldn’t pay attention otherwise.

Purple hair drifted into your vision, surrounding you in a curtain of violet and dark brown eyes, warm exhale and trembling pink lips, trapping you in Jungkook’s gaze, but you refused to relent, keeping your gaze even. Steady breaths to disguise your racing heart.

You kept your hands closed to prevent him from seeing your shaking fingers.

“Every time I see you, I want you to touch me,” he whispered, trying to hide the edge of nervousness by lowering his voice, enticing you to lean in to hear him better because someone was wiping a damn window in the living room outside your door or was that Kim Seokjin laughing?

There was no difference.

Jungkook’s forehead touched yours and you stopped thinking about Seokjin.

“I just want you to feel me up, rip my clothes off, and fuck me until I can’t think straight. Use me, abuse me, wreck me, ruin me,” he shuddered, definitely thinking about it, and one blink and you spied the obvious tent in his pants.

“Maybe I’m a lazy girl,” you finally said, touching your nose to his, inhaling his breath, a little bit of alcohol, a little bit of fruitiness, and that hint of cologne, fresh, clean, and intense. Something else too. Musk, maybe his pheromones or something like that. Whatever it was smelled fucking delicious, just like you. What did your perfume smell like? Spiced fire blended with addictive sweetness.

You shrugged casually.

“Maybe I’m a pillow princess.”

Jungkook chuckled.

“I can tell you’re not.”

You had to smirk.

Of course, you weren’t.

You closed your thighs around his knee and squeezed, raising to your tiptoes. He gasped softly, shivering at the simple touch of your soft thighs pressing around his muscular leg. It was disturbingly noisy out there, but here it was silent, pared down to your breathing and Jungkook’s breathing, mixing together, blazingly hot, closer, closer, doing the careful dance, daring each other to make the move that was so obviously going to happen.

“What are you gonna say when they ask you where you’ve been all this time?” you whispered, avoiding letting your lips brush against his.

“The truth.”

His tongue flickered out and barely touched your lips.

You didn’t make a sound.

Jungkook moaned, the sound drifting into your throat, and you could taste his desire.

“I tripped and fell into your lap.”

Your lips curved into a smirk.

He kissed you.

His hands on the armrests of your rolling chair, pushing it back into your desk, pressing his lips to yours, inhaling deeply, wanting to breathe you, wanting to taste you, wanting you, shivering as you finally touched him with your hands, but this was you, and your first touch wasn’t going to be wasted on a conventional innocent touch.

Your fingers closed in on his rock-hard erection and stroked him through his pants.

Jungkook moaned your name right in your mouth, eyes half-lidded, his violet hair encircling your face as he rolled his hips into your palm, whining deep in his chest.

“Fuck, yes, noona, play with me…”

You flitted your tongue between his lips and he chased it, begging you for more, and yet you continued to tease, light flicks between those soft pillows, nipping at them, even pushing up his lower lip so the tip of your tongue could draw a small heart around that mole, kissing it, so gentle, so delicate. His entire body shook, your hand palming his hardness through his pants, nails scraping against his balls, caressing all of it, acting like you owned it. Jungkook was certainly humping your hand like you did.

“You only want me because I didn’t want you,” you taunted, not bothering to hide your smirk and your slight disapproval.

“That’s not true,” he panted, attempting to get you to touch his chest, pushing you back into your chair, and yet you kept the fingers of your free hand on the cusp of what he wanted, heat close but no contact, causing him to whimper every time your fingernails barely nicked his skin. “I want you because you’re pretty, gorgeous, and hot as hell.”

Hm, that sounded familiar.

“I want you because I love watching you play your favorite games,” he chuckled, kissing the side of your lips, nose to nose. “I want you because I love that little smirk you make when you do something good. I want you because I love that aggressiveness that comes out and how you seem to lose your filter. Shit, it’s so fucking hot when you’re focused. Makes me wanna see your face when you’re pinning me down and having your way with me. Makes me want to obey you and disobey you at the same time, because I want you to reward me and punish me, I just can’t decide, fuck, you make life so hard for me.”

He punctuated hard by violently humping your hand, rattling your desk with his force.

Outside you heard Namjoon yelling “CANNONBALL” and throwing himself onto that giant gray furry beanbag you paid far too much for about six months ago. It was now a household party favorite, due to its massive size and fluffiness. At the moment, it sounded like a pile of six guys in semi-formal clothing was beginning and, instead of watching this heap of hot dudes being constructed, you were making out with the seventh guy’s face and grabbing his dick.

You’ll take this trade.

You felt Jungkook’s hands groping around, undoing his pants and the zipper, trying to get you to touch more, more, desperate for you to be all over him.

“P-Please… please, I don’t know when they’re going to notice…” he pleaded. “You’re so close, so close, ah, I can’t think, please…”

“Shh…” you soothed. “The door is locked.”

Your fingertips finally touched his chest, not disappointed in the slightest when you touched those delicious-looking pecs. They felt just as nice under your palm, his pounding heart and wanton moan vibrating up your arm.

“Aren’t you a needy little brat trying to distract me from my games, hm?”

Your fingertips hooked over the waistband of his boxer briefs.

“You’re going to have to face the consequences, Jungkook.”

You said his name like a delicious sweet about to be eaten, growl in your throat as you yanked down his underwear, capturing his lips, robbing him of his cries as you clawed down his chest, grasping his cock and pumping him, long, complete strokes from base to tip, curling your fingers around his balls, juggling them with your fingers teasingly as he squirmed and groaned. Your free arm shot around his back, digging your nails into his spine, not letting him get away. His black dress shirt was falling, falling to your floor, his bluish-purple hair in your face and his strong hands on your shoulders, sliding down, kneading your breasts through your clothes, whining that you were still wearing a bra – of course, you were, six dudes were coming over and they didn’t need to see your magnificent nipples on display, although clearly one of them wanted to see – and he was trying to get to the hem of your shirt, but you smacked his hands away, building the pressure and speed, pre-cum leaking between your fingers and adding slickness to lessen the dry friction.

Fuck, you could smell him and he smelled so fucking good.

“Noona, please…” Jungkook gasped, hands on the armrests of your chair, tipping his head back at the pleasure, pants at his fucking knees, chest, crotch, thighs on display. “This is… embarrassing…”

He meant him being mostly naked and you being dressed.

You shrugged, acting indifferent. “Not for me.”

He whimpered at your words, so noticeably dominant despite not using an aggressive or commanding tone. Either that or he was very invested in you jacking him off. You suspected it was a combination of the two, considering how eagerly his cock twitched when you answered.

“What should I do, Jungkook? Should I let you cum? Or should I play with you and stop, make you put your clothes back on and walk out there, desperate to be finished off?” you mused aloud, running your nails up his back, not that hard, but he leaned back into it so they sank into him, wordlessly begging you to do it harder, so you did, setting your jaw and scratching at his back, forcing him back into position. His cock throbbed in your hand, pulsating wildly.

Hm, he really loved it, huh.

“P-Please… wanna cum, please don’t be mean…” he gasped, thrusting his hips into your punishingly tight grip.

“Hm, why does it matter? You’ll just run to the bathroom and finish yourself off anyway, right?”

“Want you to do it, please,” he begged, his long hair curling around his jaw, dark purple locks framing the sharpness, lashes fluttering as you rubbed your thumb against the underside of the head, smearing pre-cum over the slit. “Your hand feels so good, so fucking good, better than I thought, please, I need you to touch me or I can’t get off, please…”

You removed your hand.

Jungkook cried out in denied despair, pitch hiking, the sinful sound clearly audible despite the debaucherously loud ruckus outside your bedroom door that included not one, but two people howling like werewolves for some unknown reason. At this point, you were mildly curious.

But you had a job to do.

He grabbed the front of your shirt, almost sobbing with need. Somehow his violet hair was a mess and you hadn’t even touched it. It cascaded over one of his eyes, an indigo curtain, the other chocolate orb shaking and pupil dilated, black prominent in the dark brown.

“Please don’t–”

You shoved two fingers from your right hand into that pleading mouth and raised your left.

He choked, gagging a little on your fingers.

You stuck your tongue out and licked your palm, slathering it with a thick layer of slick saliva.

Jungkook’s eyes widened at the dirty action and then rolled back into his head as you wrapped your hand around his aching cock once more, now covered in saliva, swiftly and fervently jacking him off, hard, fast, tight, nearly choking his cock, pushing his chin up and his chest to your hungry mouth, tongue and teeth and lips, all over those dark nipples hardening under your persistent touch, heedless to his rising moans, so very obvious now what was happening in your bedroom.

It didn’t bother you at all. Jungkook walked in here and asked you to wreck and ruin him, so you did exactly what he asked you to do, leaving harsh bite marks and slippery saliva all over his soft skin, your perfume rubbing off onto his body, coating his chest in your scent and his pulsating thick length with your spit, and he was so fucking hard that you were impressed, feeling his mouth suck on your fingers desperately and wetly, your name a messy garble above your head.

“Fuck, yes, umpf, oh fuck, I’m so close, so close, gonna cum, goona cum for you…!”

“Jungkook?”

You had no idea who called his name through your door, because the next second Jungkook was pitching forward and shooting his cum up your thigh and chest, thick white strings painting your leggings and band t-shirt, soaking into the fabric and creating a sticky mess on your skin, your head lifting in response to his movement to avoid knocking into him, your fingers sliding out of his lips, strings of saliva snapping as they left, and suddenly Jungkook’s face was in your face, his lips on yours in a passionate kiss, rutting into your hand to increase the sensitivity, shoulders and hips flinching, whimpering gratitude and ecstasy into your mouth, his hands in your hair, kissing you deeper, more ravenously, ignoring the questioning voices, lost in the pleasure of his orgasm.

You heard Namjoon say outside your door, “I think he made his move.”

You asshole, at least warn me, you thought irritably.

“You’re so good… so good, exactly what I need… I knew you would be… fuck…”

You thrust your tongue into his lips once and backed off, chuckling as he whined for more.

“Go ask for a shirt.”

Jungkook shook his head rapidly, violet hair flying everywhere. Your hand was still wrapped around his semi-hard cock, his cum dripping onto your wrist. His ears were turning red.

“I can’t… They know something is going on…” he mumbled, scooting closer to you, as if your body heat could somehow mask the fact that you just jacked him off with six of his friends standing outside your bedroom door whispering.

“Maybe you wanted them to know.”

You squeezed his ass and he trembled, clutching your shoulders.

“Easy way to tell them that you want to be owned by me, right?”

You could tell by the way his eyes were darting around rapidly that the thought crossed his mind more than once.

“Jungkook.”

You said it loud enough for a keen ear to hear it if they were really eavesdropping. You looked up at Jungkook, his eyes immediately fixating on yours because of your tone.

In control, not to be questioned.

“Get on your knees.”

Dead silence outside your bedroom.

“B… but…”

His cheeks flushed pink.

You took his chin and pulled him down to your face, murmuring to that mole under his lips, pecking it daintily, almost innocently, his wispy moan drifting over your nose. Your words were barely above a whisper, only for him.

“You made a mess. Clean it up.”

You stroked Jungkook’s chin with your thumb, your other hand tucking his long hair behind his ear.

“I’ll let you sleep in my bed tonight, so be a good boy for me right now and I’ll let you be a bad boy in bed.”

His head tilted and Jungkook whispered your name into your mouth, drenched with desire.

You smirked, stroking his jaw fondly.

He got to his knees, in between your open thighs, leaning forward, subservient eyes on your face as his pink tongue extended, licking at his own cum staining your clothes, eyes closing at your hand on the top of his head, not directing the movement, but reminding him who was in charge here, reminding him with nails in his scalp that he was going to be fucked until he couldn’t think straight.

Used, abused, wrecked, ruined.

-

“I don’t wanna.”

“We both know you do.”

“But I want to fuck you,” Jungkook protested, speaking softly because everyone was sleeping, or at least it seemed that way, not that either you or Jungkook cared, because you were forcing him to his knees on your bed, pushing his torso back, nails digging into his chest, towering over him, his naked body already covered in your bites and scratches, focused on his inner thighs and chest, none on his neck because that’s where he wanted it the most.

And you knew it.

“Noona, please…”

He said please a lot for someone who did not, in fact, want to be pleased, but tortured.

You grabbed him by the chin, cocking an eyebrow.

His hands were behind him, arms shaking as they held him up, shivering delightfully under your petrifying gaze.

“Please what? Hm? Saying please when you come crawling into my room, begging for dirty things with your friends right outside, saying please when you interrupt me and distract me, jeopardizing my chances to win my game?”

You leaned in close, you knowing you were only crafting a scene, him knowing that you didn’t actually care, but Jungkook wanted to hear the words, wanted you to put that malice in your tone to caress his ears, wanted you to cannibalize his sanity and put him in a different headspace, his cock already responding to it, bobbing in the air, purple-red and achingly hard from multiple orgasms, and he still wanted more.

“Saying please so you can say please when you’re under me, helplessly begging me to let you cum?”

You could hear his whines vibrating under your fingertips, pupils blown wide, lower lip trembling, begging you already, such a needy little thing, those lovely brown eyes full of submission, muscles tense with anticipation, every passing second spiraling him into increased frustration, because instead of doing anything, you were only smirking wider and wider, pushing his head back.

“Well? Tell me if you’re a dirty boy or not. Maybe I’ll do what you want.”

His violet hair cascaded to his shoulder blades, his low moan coursing through your fingertips and the heated air of your bedroom.

“Y… Yes, I’m a d-dirty boy…”

“Noona,” you prompted.

Just because you could.

His lips curved into an open smile, two of your fingers hooked over his lower lip, fingertips rubbing his tongue. Your thumb nail pressed into his mole.

“Noona.”

You ripped the condom open with your teeth, which was not advisable unless you were the kind of person that practiced that for hours on end, spending an obscene amount of money on unused condoms to perfect your technique, because nobody wants a broken condom or lube in their teeth. Why would you want to learn such a thing? You were a stickler for details. A perfectionist in perfecting a perfect display of raw dominance.

You spat out the torn corner onto Jungkook’s chest and he whimpered, unashamedly amazed.

Your left hand removed the condom from the package and your right slid out of his mouth and encircled his neck.

You inspected the condom, lazily turning it to the correct position, fingers pressed to the sides of his neck, leaving plenty of space for his trachea between your thumb and forefinger. You didn’t bother looking at his face. Instead, you spread your legs, poised and naked over him and his throbbing cock.

Your right hand started choking him.

Your left hand started rolling the condom down his thick, hard length.

Your name leaked out of his lips in a thin gurgle, his eyes rolling back into his head.

“Say please, Jungkook.”

A sharp, distinct order.

“P… Please…” he gasped out, chest shuddering.

Your hand tightened around his throat and your pussy clenched around his cock as you forced yourself down on him.

“Oh, fuuuuuuuck…”

You didn’t bother asking if he liked it. His vicious fisting of your sheets and trembling body, cries and cock included, told you everything you needed to know. You only watched the color of his cheeks, knowing there were limits to how long you could choke him. Therefore there was no time to be wasted, already starting your favorite pace, rough and hard, filling yourself with that delicious cock built to take your abuse, jaw set, gripping his throat, blood pounding under your fingertips, slapping hips to crotch, heat sparking though your veins, hotter, hotter, your smirk growing more and more smug, tongue tracing your lips as you witnessed Jungkook’s descent into sin, raising his head so he could watch you bounce on his cock with hazed brown orbs, mouth open, tongue lolling out, circulation thinning, purple hair wild around that cute, distressed face.

You let up the pressure on his neck, dark snicker rumbling in your chest.

“This pussy worth it, brat?”

The rush of missing blood into his brain, the suffocating pleasure of your pulsating walls wrapped around his twitching cock, your authoritative growl and merciless words tearing through him – you saw it all taking over Jungkook, forced to respond honestly from pure instinct because there was no time to compile pretty words or a smart comeback.

“Yes, noona, yes, I love it, I love it, this brat fucking loves what you do to him…”

You immediately choked him again and slapped your pussy onto his cock like you were whipping him.

His eyes rolled back and a wild moan tore out of his chest, cut off by your hand.

The bed creaked under you, bearing the weight of your roughness.

“I know you love it,” you snarled, leaning in, fucking him into your bed with vigor, straining his knees, so uncomfortable and so comfortable for him at the same time, pain and pleasure, clearly something he craved and loved from how hard he was. “You said you need me to touch you or you can’t get off.”

You knew that couldn’t be true.

Jungkook probably got off hundreds of times thinking about you, otherwise he wouldn’t be so ecstatic about you violently riding his dick right now.

His teeth sank into his swollen lower lip, staring at you through his lashes, his voice a thin whisper laced with insatiable need.

“I can’t cum without you anymore.”

You removed your hand.

Your hips stopped abruptly, fulling sheathing his cock inside you.

“No!”

His shout was so loud and desperate that you had to conceal your surprise, not expecting the frantic ferocity of his tone, nearly an agonized sob as he grabbed your upper arms in a crushing grip, his indigo locks crashing into his high cheekbones, sticking to his sweaty face and sharp jaw. It took everything in you to stay calm, everything to not give in and let him have what he wanted. Maybe it was stubbornness, maybe it was knowing the role you were playing, maybe it was the sadistic side of you, who the fuck knew, but there was only a beat of hesitation, a second of you staring into those beautiful dark brown eyes, so perfect.

Just perfect.

Perfectly wrecked, willing to do anything in this moment for you to continue.

Before he could utter a peep of a plea, you shook out of his grip and seized his head, crashing his lips onto your neck.

Jungkook bit you.

Instant, searing pain, taking out all his sexual frustration on your neck, sucking at the skin, hot tongue lapping, groaning, moaning, half-crying because you didn’t move. You just sat on his dick and forced his mouth onto your neck, gleefully savoring his despair, closing your eyes and allowing yourself to feel the pleasure, his hands and nails digging into your waist, his teeth latched to the side of your throat, his stiff cock shuddering inside you, your tight heat keeping him hard but not letting him cum, repeatedly squeezing the engorged head brutally, driving him insane.

Insane.

You could feel his lips move, but you muffled his words, pushing his head into your neck.

Please.

Deep inhale, his wonderful scent filling your nose.

Please.

Riding the high that was Jungkook’s desire for you, fingers tangled into violet strands.

Please.

He felt so, so good, spoon-feeding the dom in you with his tiny whimpers and distraught sniffles.

“P… Please…”

You pressed your lips to his hair, murmuring his name sweetly.

“Jungkook.”

No quiver to your tone, only serene calm.

“Noona…”

His hands slid up your back as your hips began to rock, slow, so painfully slow, building the frenzy layer by layer, his hardness swelling inside you, his soft lips pressed to his hickey onto your neck, even more turned on because he knew you let him mark you, he knew in this moment you were his and only his, everything he wanted and more, his hips rising to meet yours, deepening your thrusts, matching your force, burying his face into your skin and your scent, wanting nothing more than your command over his body.

You turned his head, tucking his hair behind one ear, speaking dark whispers into that curve.

“You look the best when on your knees for me, Jungkook.”

He shivered, your name falling sloppily from his lips, drunk from your power and lost in his service.

You let go of his head and grabbed his shoulders instead, putting all of your weight onto him, now letting yourself chase it, chase the orgasm that you had been building for yourself all this time, letting yourself feel Jungkook and feel the full force of the pleasure he gave you, because, yes, of course, you served him first before you, even if it didn’t seem like it.

Because when it came down to it, Jungkook came to you, opening himself petal by petal to show you his vulnerable side, testing the waters, hoping, wishing, praying that maybe, just maybe, you were the kind of person that he was expecting, wanting, needing, and you, knowing how difficult that was because, well, you had made it difficult, only focusing on games and not on those longing eyes that watched you whenever you came into his view.

Eyes that you looked into now.

Half-lidded, glazed over, fucked-out, still honest.

His large hands were still on your waist, holding you to him as you rode him with furious slaps, muscles flexed in his chest and arms, tattoos on his right arm tense and taut from holding this position for so long. He looked so good. Felt so good. Had an amazing cock.

And fuck.

Jungkook had a cute face.

You genuinely smiled.

“I’ll take care of everything,” you drawled, injecting your words with conviction and adoration.

That did it.

His lips parted, low groan emitting from his throat as his head tipped back, purple waterfalling onto his back, thrusting up into you and shooting into the condom with fierce jolts, unable to hold back any longer, his entire length flinching uncontrollably, sweet whimpers at his release, feeling sorry that he didn’t let you cum first, but that didn’t matter, because you rode through it, already there, falling, falling, your sigh like laden smoke as your orgasm slammed into you, welcoming the bolts of cruel pulses flying through you, concentrated onto your core, Jungkook’s moans hiking into pitched ecstasy at the convulsing clenches of his oversensitive, overused cock, arms embracing you tightly, hugging you for dear life, chest to chest, pounding heart against yours.

Your fingers tangled into his hair.

His hand fitted around your head.

Lips to lips and you took care of everything, claiming that mouth as yours, holding him up even though you were the one in his lap, your kiss onto that perfect mole under that pretty pout, cherishing every mumble of your name, lowering him onto your pillows, soft kisses in between. You took care of everything, lifting yourself off him, chuckling as he whined, pawing for you to come back, but you rapped his knuckles and calmed him, removing the condom and cleaning him off gently with a towel, soft kisses in between because he wanted the attention, deliberately not closing his eyes until you crawled back into the bed, tucking the covers around you and him, Jungkook immediately turning and yanking you into his chest, nose against your skin.

“Who’s the pillow princess?” you teased, ruffling his long violet locks.

His lips pressed onto your hickey, his mark on you, and he sighed in content, drifting into sleep.

-

In the morning, you found a pile of five guys in the living room sleeping in various positions on the giant gray furry beanbag and the sofa. Jungkook was in your bed, passed out. The last guy, Min Yoongi, was in Kim Namjoon’s room, sleeping on his bed, because he was a smart man and took advantage of a perfectly good bed that five drunk hooligans undoubtedly forgot about.

You chuckled and rubbed your neck as you brushed your teeth, seeing yourself and the large purple hickey Jungkook had made last night in the bathroom mirror.

You went back to your room after retrieving the sewing basket from the living room, spending the morning calmly stitching the small buttons back onto his black dress shirt as the seven guys in your apartment continued to snore away.

Then you went back to playing League of Legends.

Ah, Cassiopeia, I had an eventful evening, but I have returned to you.

-

drabble morning-after hungover breakfast

--

masterpost

[its-warm-in-here]

Supposed to be Glorious (ch1)

Viktor x gnReader! Mostly my musings about Viktor’s inevitable glorious evolution. Slight AU where he has a more time or his condition is less progressive but still deadly. This is mostly establishing junk. Jumps forward a few months after the end of Act 3. ~2.4k words

It was dark when you returned to Zaun. You were even later getting back home. Piltover was never your favorite place; tensions were always high. But since the attack on the council, traveling between the two cities had become downright hostile. Hextech weapons were appearing left and right at the border, checkpoints had become a regular sight when crossing the bridge, and the Lanes had become a backdrop of yet another bloodbath. Still, you've returned in one piece, a parchment-wrapped package in tow. The result of the trade, which you'd set up as a favor for your surprise house guest. 

The heavy lock opens with a low clunk and you push inside. It’s small, but homey, with just enough curtains to block most of the green glow and violence of the Lanes. Though the dining room has been overtaken and converted into a makeshift laboratory. While it's hardly as grand as the Academy, he has made it functional. The dining room table has been converted into a workbench with Viktor's notes and current projects cluttering the dark surface. 

Before it, slumped over asleep, was the man himself. You set the artificial limb on a book covered service that had previously served as a dining table and approach him. Viktor's lanky form is stretched between the work surface and a chair, face pressed into the crook of one elbow, goggles pushed up into his already messy hair, his narrow face drawn in a harsh expression as if he was deeply focused on something. 

His other arm was extended, his hand resting on the hexcore. He'd been drawing on it nearly daily since returning to the Undercity; this wasn't the first time you'd found him passed out before the pulsing piece of arcane technology. Though it looked more like a floating, fibrous organ than anything hex tech. It was almost alive; you'd seen it twisting, angry, snapping. Right now it seemed sated, only vibrating and quivering under Viktor's long fingers. The flesh there has been... affected by the hex core, more now than when you'd last seen it. His skin was dark, almost purple, with violet lines running through it in place of blood-filled veins. It had spread beyond his wrist and was now approaching his elbow. You grab his crutch from his side and, using the handle, ease his hand from the hex core and onto the desk, his fingers making a metallic clink when they touch the table. You knew better than to touch him while he was still connected to the core. 

Then, in a low voice, you say, "Hey, Vik. Viktor?" A groan escapes him as his expression relaxes and he draws his other hand under his head. A warm squeeze comes over your chest as you grip his shoulder and give him a gentle shake. "Come on, Viktor, you can't sleep down here again." 

Suddenly, Viktor's bolt upright, a page of notes clinging to his cheek. The burst of energy quickly fades though, as he peels the paper off and slumps back in his chair. His eyes dart around the room and back to the hex core. "Did you get the-"

"Prosthetic?" You cut him off, "Yeah." And nod towards the package. "Feels pretty heavy though."

For a moment, he fumbles for the crutch before you place it back into his grasp. "Shouldn't be a problem. I don't need all of it." Viktor breathes for a moment before gripping his crutch and struggling up to his feet. He takes a moment to wipe the last bit of sleep from his eyes and hobbles over to the package. 

Without a word, you slip into the tiny kitchen and pour a glass of water. You take a long drink for yourself before filling another cup and heading back to Viktor. He's already poring over the arm; taking the wrist of the thing and rotating it, checking the full range of motion before moving up to the next joint. It's bulky, with far too much armor plating. It's not only meant as a replacement, but as a weapon. A piece of equipment for Piltover Enforcers. 

"Can you hand me that socket wrench?" 

Instead, you place the glass in his outstretched hand. "Water first. The filter must be working; you can barely taste the runoff today." Viktor looks you hard in the eyes, his mouth is pressed into a thin line, but he takes a small sip of the polluted water.

Returning his glare, you ask, "When did you last eat?"

He huffs, and sits back, arms crossed defiantly over his chest. For a moment, he pauses, recounting his day in thought. "This morning," he says, tentatively. You turn heel, back towards the pantry. "Socket wrench." Then he adds, "Please."

The wrench makes a soft clack when you set it next to him. Viktor catches you with a sideways glance, the stern expression softening in a slight, thankful smile. Ignoring the catch in your throat, you return to the kitchen and swallow it down. There’s not much food left; today was your normal run to the market day, but instead you’d been brokering Viktor’s deal for that arm. You manage to scrounge up the end of a loaf of bread that's on the verge of going stale, a few eggs and the last pad of butter. “Think you can stomach some eggs? Toast maybe?” He mutters something you can't quite make out, speaking more to his latest project than to you. For a moment, you consider the absurdity of having what was essentially breakfast at eleven at night, but decide that Viktor's circadian rhythm is already so out of whack that he won't mind. Half the butter melts easily over the stove and you drop two of the remaining eggs into the pan. 

"Can they be over easy?" he answers, finally. 

"Got it," You grin a bit and expertly flip the eggs, careful not to burst the yolk. Giving them a few seconds longer, you smear the end of the butter on a slice of bread. 

Viktor has pulled the prosthetic to pieces in the short time that it took you to prepare food, but his water is nearly gone--which you take a small amount of pride in--before refilling it and setting it next to him along with the plate. Delicately, you pluck up a particularly shiny silver bauble from the parts. "You're not planning to take your arm off, are you? "

He scoffs, as if the idea would be so outlandish, "Hardly something so dramatic." 

You roll your eyes and drop into the chair across from him, returning the piece to the pile and slide a page of his notes toward you. While Viktor hadn't let you leaf through his journal, he'd yet to say something when you looked over any notes he's left out. Though the page is far from comprehensive, it was obvious that the hex core was a major component of his next plan. What a shock. As if on cue, the core ripples and fluctuates next to him. You let the paper flutter back to the table and give him a hard look. "Tell me what this is for," you tap the bauble again. 

Viktor grabs the steel part and holds it up to the greenish lamp light, pondering the piece in mock fascination, “That looks like it's part of the shoulder,” and places it back. 

“Oh, come on, I risked a lot going to get this. And you won't even tell me why?” you say, annoyance obvious. 

That pulls him from the prosthetic. Viktor blinks at you a moment, amber eyes wide. "I'm going to use it to..." he turns the thought over in his head, “To reinforce this this.” He grips his left forearm. 

“Reinforce?” you repeat, “Like what, it’ll be like a brace?” 

“Sort of,” he shrugs and busies himself with a pair of bronze tweezers. “More like augment.” He has disassembled the elbow joint and pulled back the metal plating to reveal bright blue wiring that he was tugging free. Viktor’s holding something back, that much had been obvious since he’d shown up on your doorstep half dead not even a week ago, with only a few notes and the hexcore under cloak. Disgraced from the academy, unwelcome in Piltover, he had little choice but to return to Zaun.

"Ah!" He motioned for you to join him. The wires had been attached to a small blue square, vibrant lines of gold criss-crossed the surface. Viktor adjusts the lamp again. "Looks to be in good condition." You suppose it was okay. For being so important, you'd thought it would have been bigger or something. Not something that was smaller than the tip of your finger. “Well?”

“Huh?”

“Aren't you going to ask me what it does?” he asks the question so plainly, but you can see the playful  intrigue on his gaunt face. 

 “It’s a conductor, right? Used to channel and throttle hex tech energy to the device. In this case, the prosthetic. "

"Close but not quite,” he launches into full teacher voice, “It can act as a conductor, yes, but this chip is much more. It's been programmed to perform complex equations necessary to harness hex tech. For example," He turns to you, taking your hand in his. Before you can be swept up in the moment, his other taps you on the forehead, snapping you back to his lecture. “When you want to move your arm, you don't really think about it. But your mind is sending signals, telling your arm how to position itself.” He traces two dark fingers, from your temple, down your jaw, to the point where your collar bone meets your shoulder. “They travel from your brain, down your spine and out to your arm. All in an instant. All of the time.” He continues his path along the inside of your bicep. “When you lose a limb,” he clasps his right over the hollow of your elbow. “Those signals have nowhere to go and the brain rewires to compensate." 

You're nodding along, mostly successful in comprehending him, though the ever-present pressure on your wrist reminded you just how close he was threatened to pull your attention. How warm his grip was and how fast your heart was racing. How you could just move a modicum of inches and risk brushing against him. You were grateful for the angle he held your wrist at; any different and he'd have brushed over your thundering pulse. 

"Most prosthetics, you have to retrain your mind," he continues, "anytime you want your arm to do something, you have to think about it, send the signals manually. But with this," he releases your arm to pick up the hex tech chip, "Controlling a new prosthetic is as simple as moving your arm now. Though that's hardly the limit, we-" he cuts himself off, suddenly caught up in the best way to recount his freshly shattered partnership, "I... there are chips many times the size of this one used in the hex gates."

"So, like this?" You let his grip fall for your wrist, hold up your thumbs and pointer fingers up in the approximation of a ten inch square, framing his face, and grin. 

Viktor half chuckles, half chokes on a cough, "A bit bigger than that.” He spreads his arms wide, demonstrating the size of said technology. The stained academy uniform hung awkwardly off his thin frame. He returns your smile before doubling over in his seat, a rough cough racking his body. 

Your grin drops solemnly. It's not like you expected him to trust you with everything; Viktor had been a regular at your mother's clinic, but that was years ago. One day he just stopped showing up. Not uncommon for sickly boys from the Undercity. It was only later, though a mutual friend, that you'd found out he was studying in Piltover. So it wasn't like you were ever close. Instead of pressing him though, you place a palm at the center of his back as if it could steady him though the coughing fit. He sits up, quickly wiping away the bit of blood and clearing his throat in an effort to regain some composure. "Though the ones at the hex gates are a tad more complicated." 

You nod, narrowing your gaze. "Have you been using that tonic I gave you?"

“I did this morning,” he says again, his attention returning once again to the disassembled prosthetic. 

“It’ll do you no good that way. You should be taking it-”

“Every four hours,” he recites and bites back a scoff, “I need my head clear. I’ll take it at bed.”

At that, the weariness of the day sets in, reminding you of just how late it was. "Great, good thing it's bedtime." You nudge his shoulder, trying to goad him into coming along.  

“I think I will be up for a while longer,” he waves away your suggestion. Having found what he wanted, Viktor starts reconnecting some of the parts in his own fashion. You snatch the piece he was reaching for, finally having him meet your exhausted glare. “You can't possibly expect me to relax now,” he pleads, gesturing to the table. You make an annoyed sound, ready to argue, before Viktor quickly adds, “Besides, the stairs seem... daunting.” Even through tired eyes, he’s excited, ambitious, and ready to make his next big step on his project. 

You pinch the bridge of your nose, really not in the mood to push him anymore, “At least eat something.” Viktor nods, flashes that determined smile that makes your heart skip and plucks the bolt from your grasp. A yawn pulls you from your seat and you brush against him as you head upstairs. "I've got an early shift at the clinic tomorrow. Try not to pass out on the table again, hm?"

"I make no such promises." He says, his voice light, before pausing a moment. "Thank you. For this. For everything... I don't think I've said that yet."

His words stop you at the first step. Viktor has already turned away, one hand playing with a stray lock of hair, his attention tuned to the contraption in front of him. "You're.... um, don't mention it." You take another step and the stair creaks. "Good night, Viktor."

[vernyhore]

I saw the devil (in me) - chapter 4

Takemura doesn't believe in ghosts, not really, but a man driven to his limit might believe in just about anything. Trapped in a losing game and consumed by grief, he returns to Night City looking for closure. but ends up finding something much more.

ao3 I chapter 1 I chapter 2 I chapter 3

 As he opened his eyes, the first thing Takemura noticed was that he was no longer lying on a leather chair in the center of the clinic, hooked up to an impossible amount of monitors, a painfully bright surgical lamp hovering over him, blinding him to the point where it wasn’t possible to keep his eyes open even if he wanted to. Instead, Takemura found himself lying on an actual bed, frame creaking with every little movement he made. It was pushed to the side of the garage, away from prying eyes, but still within Viktor’s line of sight. The other man must’ve moved him at some point, though Takemura wouldn't be able to pinpoint when exactly, the brief moments he could recall an unsettling blur in an otherwise blissfully void unconsciousness.

    Misty’s terrified face. Viktor leaning over him, still in that suit he wore to the funeral, bloody smears staining his otherwise perfectly white shirt. The bitter taste of vomit flooding Takemura’s mouth, a pair of strong hands helping him turn to the side so he wouldn't choke. And the cold. An unyielding chill that’d shake him awake every few hours, teeth chattering despite a thick blanket he was covered with. Eventually, it was gone, only to come back in the form of searing hotness, one that made his optics go haywire, spitting glitchy warnings all over his feed before he drifted off again. And Viktor’s hand against his forehead, his skin almost ice cold in comparison with his own.

    In short, Takemura felt like absolute shit. Like he’s been dragged through Night City’s trash dump and back. At least the clinic didn’t seem to him a rocking boat anymore, the soft, neon lights no longer so unpleasantly bright as they were merely a few hours before. It seemed surreal, but it’s not like Takemura didn’t know what to expect. He’s been through cyberware withdrawal in the past, the memory of the last time he ended up in Viktor’s clinic in a less than presentable state still fresh in his mind, but this felt so much worse. In the moments he was lucid enough to form such judgments, Takemura kept telling himself it was his injuries aggravating his symptoms, these two unfortunate circumstances layered on top of each other yet another instance of bad luck that seemed to follow him the moment he stepped foot in Night City for the first time not even a year ago, but he knew well enough it was bullshit. It almost felt as if his body finally found an opportunity to carry out a proper vengeance for the last few months in Takamatsu.

    When Takemura first stepped off the AV, a sense of relief washed over him. Finally, he was back home. He made it, carved himself a path back under Arasaka’s wings, the only place he ever truly belonged. The circumstances were different, sure, and he was yet to swallow the disappointment that being dismissed from Saburo-dono’s side was, but everything was back as it should be. At that point, Takemura could still force himself to push the memory of V far back into his mind, convinced that it was her who made the wrong choice, though little did he know it wouldn’t be much longer.

    He refused to acknowledge it, but even before V started haunting his every waking moment, even his favorite foods felt bland to taste, far removed from the richness of flavor he remembered. Then came the memories and guilt that kept him awake at night and copious amounts of coffee to remedy the lost hours of sleep by day, his meals growing smaller and smaller, reduced into a bare minimum necessary to keep him going. He was never a man to refuse a meal, the hunger that plagued his entire childhood burned into his mind, but these days he couldn’t stomach more than a few bites before he felt it lodge down his throat.

    Takemura slowly sat up and almost immediately regretted it, his back protesting the movement after all the hours he spent in one position. He ignored it, running a hand through his hair to pull back the loose strands plastered to his skin. To his mild surprise, he was no longer wearing the suit he left the hotel in, but a stretched out t-shirt and sweatpants, both a bit too loose on his smaller frame. Viktor must’ve changed his clothes at some point, most likely before the blood had a chance to stiffen the material. It didn’t make Takemura feel embarrassed. If anything, he was grateful for the care, but the state he was in certainly made him feel vulnerable, much more so than he’d be willing to admit. Fighting the anxiety rising in his chest, Takemura looked to the side, fully expecting his left arm to no longer be attached to his shoulder, but there it was - heavily bandaged, but still in one piece. He tried moving his fingers and saw them twitch before a warning flash of pain could reach his senses.

    The clinic was quiet, save for a quiet hum of machinery and the sound of a boxing match playing in the background, punching and grunts faded out by a speaker spitting commentary faster than a machine gun spits bullets. All of that was interrupted by a soft creak as Viktor got up from his chair and walked over to Takemura.

    “Good to see you back among the living,” Viktor said, a faint smile on his lips. He was back to wearing his usual blue shirt, sleeves rolled up over his biceps, stethoscope hanging around his neck. He seemed much more at ease than the last time they met, the clinic being his natural environment much more so than the bar, though it did very little to lift the dark circles beneath his eyes. If anything, he looked even more exhausted.

    “How long was I…?” Takemura’s voice came out hoarse and strained, barely audible even for him. As if reading his mind, or, more likely, simply having a decent bedside manner, Viktor handed him a glass of water.

    “Here you go. As for your question, four days, give or take.”

    “And did anyone..?”

   “Did anyone come knockin’ lookin’ for you?” Viktor asked as he grabbed himself a chair and sat beside Takemura. ”Luckily, no. Left me wonderin’ what the hell happened. Somehow I doubt it was the Valentinos you met on a late night stroll, so let me make a wild guess - tough day at work?”

    “You might call it that.”

    “So what, Arasaka is sending their assassins after people for missing a day off work now?” the doctor asked, not much humor in his tone.

    “It wasn’t...exactly that. I apologize, but I would rather not discuss it right now.” Takemura replied but didn’t provide further explanation. To his relief, Viktor didn’t push for it either, at least for now. Before the silence between them could grow any heavier, Takemura added: “If you are worried about troopers bursting through your door, there is no need. If they had not done that already, I believe it means that I...got my point across.”

    “Should’ve seen the other guy, huh?” Viktor asked with a husky laugh.

    A wet sound of a blade piercing the sternum, going right through the aorta. A seasoned Arasaka agent struggling to load a magazine, fear in his eyes as if he had seen the devil himself. A quick cut to the neck of a practically defenseless man, still recovering from the shard’s aftereffects, dead before he had a chance to see what happened to his companions. That’s all it took, it seems.

                                                              ***

    “Since you’re out of the woods, allow me to give you a quick rundown of how it’s lookin’ for you: a gunshot wound to the stomach was a walk in the park compared to the scrap metal that was the wiring in your left hand. I hooked you up with some suitable replacements, should be workin’ just fine if you allow the cuts to properly heal, so take it easy for a while. I took the liberty to go in and tweak your CPU a little, managed to restore some basic interface functions, but I'm afraid all the other implants are a goner.” Viktor said, fingers dancing as he typed on the screen he was holding. “No way for me to reset them, Arasaka tech is way above my pay grade. You probably know that already, which brings me to another matter we should, uh, discuss.” the other man’s expression changed, his brows furrowed in concern clearly evident on his face.

    “Yes?” Takemura’s fingers froze halfway through buttoning the coat Viktor handed him. To his relief, Takemura realized it was his own coat, seemingly fresh from a half-decent laundry service, one that managed not to completely ruin the heavy grade wool. Buttoning it wasn’t easy with only one hand, but whatever was left of his pride made it impossible to ask Viktor for help.

    “I just found it concernin’ that you had such a strong reaction to bein’ cut off from implants, especially since it ain’t your first time. You should have experienced some mild nausea, light oversensitivity, maybe a vicious headache, but your other injuries aside, it knocked you right out for days. I ran quite a few scans when I was treatin’ you but didn’t find much to explain it. How’ve you been feelin’ in the last few months? Eatin’ well? Sleepin’?

    Was there even a point in lying?

    “Not really, no.” Takemura said, unable to look the other man in the eye, fingers slipping as he rushed to fasten the rest of the buttons,

    Viktor hummed and stopped typing away at the small screen he had been holding, letting his hands rest on his lap.

    “Listen, uh, the past few months have been tough on all of us. I’m not good with this sort of stuff, but if you need someone to talk to, I can give you contact info to a great doc.”

    “That will not be necessary, but thank you. I appreciate it.”

    “Alright, but you know, if you need it, don’t hesitate to ask. With the way things turned out, I presume you’ll be staying in Night City for a while?”

    “I’m afraid so. It would be unwise of me to come back to Japan right now.”

    “I know it was supposed to be a short trip, so I don’t presume you came prepared for a longer stay, huh?

    “I have some funds stashed away on a secure account, but it will take me some time to gain access to them. I will pay for your services, of course.”

    “Nah, it’s not my fee I’m concerned about. I don’t want you to roam the streets in the dead of winter, not an eddy to your name. Suppose what I’m askin’ is if you have a place to stay?

    “Not at the moment, no.”

    “Then how about you stay in my place until you figure out what to do next? I’m not there all that much anyway, been spendin’ most nights at the clinic lately. Shame for the place to go unused like this and it seems you need it more than I do.”

    Takemura hesitated. Viktor has already done so much for him, from saving his life to letting him run up a tab on little more than a word. He knew he'd never be able to repay such kindness, but the ripper was right. Before he jumps all the hoops to access the little cash he had stashed away on an account so deeply buried even Arasaka wasn't able to cut him off from it, more than a few days will pass. He still felt weak and even just the thought of spending the night outside was making Takemura miserable. At the same time, he didn’t want to stay in the clinic any longer, knowing that his presence had effectively stopped Viktor from taking up more than a few clients he trusted well enough.

    “Thank you, Viktor,” Takemura said and bowed slightly, as deeply as the stitches would comfortably allow.

    “No problem, really,” the man smiled and handed him a shard. “Just jack it in, it’ll tell you the location and grant access to the building. It’s a few blocks away, you won’t miss it.”

    “See you later, I suppose?”

    “Sure. Go get some rest before you go out to roam the streets and remember, your body ain’t got all the fancy tech to patch you up in no time. Folks like you often seem to forget that. Just take it easy, Takemura.”

    “It’s Goro.”

    “What?”

    “Call me Goro. And I will, do not worry. I have...a lot of things to figure out.”

[thepageofa1000worlds]

Pairing: James Conrad x reader Part 1 · Part 2  · Part 3 · Part 4 · Part 5 · Part 6 ·

Synopsis: After having left thing uncompleted and unresolved with James Conrad 3 years ago, you two find yourself again in the kong island. What happened three years ago with you two? How is it that you got to make part of an expeditionary mission? 

Song: Ólafur Arnalds- So Far

Warnings: it’s a six part mini-series.

A/N: So like the entire thing has been written so long ago but i kinda got discourage because there was a problem with tumblr ( if you put links on the pots then it would not show on the tags) so yeah, i decided to better finish it. 

Words:  2464

      The gas made it difficult to see up ahead, your heart was beating fast and your senses were analyzing every little thing. Now and then you would hear Randa’s camera taking photos close by. Trying to calm down you stopped altogether, looking around you saw James a couple of feet ahead, while Mason was standing down a bone that made a form of an arch. 

    An explosion made you raise your gun defensively, once you became aware that it had been just a gas explosion you lower it. 

    The first time you heard them you didn’t know if it had been only on your head or if it was real. Seeing people around you react to the sound, made you aware that it wasn’t in your head. 

    “RUN” shouted Hank, and he didn’t have to repeat as you run towards Conrad and Mason, hiding after a rock or a bone, it was hard to tell. 

        The first look at the creature through the fog made your eyes go wide, Conrad's hand taking a drip on your hip to pull you closer to him. 

    The sound the creature made was that of cracking glass combined with nails on a chalkboard, but way louder and way awful than any sound you had ever heard. You close your eyes for a moment to try and calm yourself. 

    “ That thing is awful” You whispered.

    “ I told you this damn place was a no, no,” said hank who was hiding in the nearby rock.    

    Conrad release your hip and hold the gun firmer. Turning around you face both of them and Mason’s face reflected the horror in yours. 

    The creature was near your hiding place as you could feel the vibration he’s steps made.  It felt as if an animal was trying to regurgitate something and you weren’t wrong as a skull landed close to the rock you three were hiding in. 

    When the creature move, you crawl closer to the skull that seemed to have something around it. It was the dog tags, with a name on it. A sob escaped you and as quiet as you could, you took the metal chain and then crawling back to where Mason was, you showed to her. 

    “ he’s dead” She whispered, you put the chain on your pocket. 

    “ This was a bad idea,” you said resting your back against the rock. 

    Conrad was looking if the creature was somewhere near. Hearing the footstep of the soldiers made you all rise from behind the rock.

    “ Lets move” shouted Packard. 

    Without much more you tried to keep close to the group, as there was no much more that could be done as all of you were already inside. One thing that had changed was that now many others were terrified and it didn’t help calm you down.

    You saw Randa stop and signalled for him to keep moving, but he pointed to the camera. Tears started to blur your sight as you looked above Randa and saw the creature a couple of feet behind. 

    “ Randa” You whispered voice breaking, tears already spilling from your eyes. Randa raised his head and looked one last time at you. 

    Slivko was the best to react and start shooting at the lizard-like creature. The flash of Randa’s camera making it clear when he had gone through the monster throat. 

    The monster diverted his direction to avoid the shooting but you were there on the ground without moving. 

    “ Y/n” Keep saying, Conrad. “ Weaver” 

    “ Y/n,” she said while shaking your arm, with a long breath you took your gun and point it straight ahead. 

    “ Am fine” you tried saying without your voice cracking and you failed. The flash could be heard still functioning making it easier to know where it was. 

    When the creature appeared, Mason pushed you towards the other side and without doubt, both started running. The gun wasn't going to do anything to that thing. It went straight to the armament Packard had put and with one movement destroyed it, while also eating the man who had been firing.

    As your luck would have it, the creature seemed to have seen you and Mason running, as it was now coming after you two. The shots of the weapons were impossible to ignore, tuning faster you both enter some kind of formation made out of ribs, which the thing started to try to eat through. You heard Packard barking orders and no long after you felt the warmth of the flames brace your skin. Mason helped you get up from the ground and run towards another formation up ahead. 

    To your left an explosion took place. 

    “ Slivko” you heard Conrad scream. “ GAS” 

    Shit broke loose as the toxic gas made the birds that killed Viktor come out of hiding. Your eyes analyzed the floor in search of a weapon bigger than your gun. 

    Soldiers were being picked up from the ground and thrown up in the sky, somewhere even stab by the birds through the chest.  

    You had Mason behind as you were shooting to any bird that came your way, making them fly over both of you. 

    “ Marlow, Sword” You heard Conrad shout. The gas was making it more difficult to breathe and your eyes were filled with tears. 

    “ Dammit,” you said putting the gun down “ out” is all you told Mason, who was looking around. 

    “ Come with me,” Said Mason while pulling you by the arm towards Conrad and Slivko. You saw her take out a lighter and throw it towards the creature. Who burst out in flames, the momentum of the explosion throwing you all back and into the ground. 

    You felt someone heavy fall above you, the pain in your shoulder making itself known once again, making you shout in pain. 

    “ Conrad,” you said while trying to get air into your lungs “ move” trying to get him off of you. Throwing him a little at your side, you noted that none of you had the energy nor the will to move from the ground. “ A warning would have been nice,” You said laughing. Their chuckles made you calm down a little. 

    Raising from where he was, Conrad helped Mason and Slivko out the ground. Then kneeling in front of you he put a hand on your neck and raised your face towards him, there was a little of blood running down the side of your face.

    “ Are you alright? “ He asked, searching for injuries. Other than the cut you seemed to be okay.

    “ I hate this place,” you said looking at his eyes, were you found only worry.

    “ You’re not the only one,” Slivko said. 

    James helped you up and for your surprise put his hand on our neck, trying to make you stop looking around and focus on him.

    “I’m fine, really” You looked at him, with a smile. He let out a sigh and kissed your forehead. “ James, are you okay?” You asked, because of the long time you’ve known each other, you had learned to read many of his expression. He was trembling, his breath shacking and somehow the kiss to your forehead didn’t calm you down, not that you were complaining or anything. You could feel his heart beat, fast against his ribs.

    He let go of you, realizing you had picked up the trembling and his pulse “ Don’t leave my sight” he whispered into your hair, only for you to hear.

     “ Now look colonel, you may outrank me,” Said Hank when all of you were out of that hell hole. “ But I’ve been here a hell of a lot longer, and am telling you that thing that just shreds us was just the first of them” 

    James was helping Slivko walk, Mason and you were nearby seeing Hank up ahead discussing with the colonel.

     and we need to turn back” 

    “ Not as long as Chapman is out there,” Said him in response.

    “ Sorry Colonel Packard” you deliver to James the metal plates and he raised them In the air. “ He’s dead”

    “ That changes nothing “ Was what Packard responded “ we’re still going to that crash site”

    “ What's in that crash site that you want so badly?” Asked Conrad

    “ Guns” he shouted “ Enough to kill it” 

    “ He didn’t kill Chapman” 

    “ But he did kill these men” said Packard raising his hand, on which were multiple dog tags of the man he’d lost. “ My men” 

    “ You can't kill kong colonel, he’s god on this island” Interrupted Hank. “ He’s the only thing keeping those lizard things on the ground” 

    “ We can't kill kong, that other creature,” Said Brooks, “that's the threat” with the new development it didn’t surprise you he wanted kong alive. “ and they are way more down there,” he said signalling to the floor. “ If you take a species natural competition they proliferate out of control” He tried explaining to the colonel.

    “ Then we’ll kill them too after we bring this thing down” 

    “ I can't let you do that colonel” Said Hank drawing the sword. 

    All the men raised their sons towards Hank, while the colonel knocks him to the ground. 

    “ Hold fire” shouted James

    “ This is one war, we are not gonna lose” 

    “ HE’S NUTS, YOU HEAR ME” screamed Hank from the floor. 

    “ Please, you need to listen to us” San was trying too, to make the colonel listen to reason. 

    “You're making a mistake “ Said Brooks, the colonel raised his weapon towards him. Without thinking twice you searched for the gun you still had but you didn’t raise it.

    “ Please put your gun down Packard, “ You said in a calming tone and moving so that your body was in front of the weapon he was holding.

    “ Your lies got my men to kill” he was now pointing at you. 

    It surprised you, he had n't lowered his weapon but pointed at you instead. 

    “ There was no way to know that Kong was out there” You tried to get him to reason.

    “ and your gonna get us all kill” Said Mason putting herself in front of you. 

    “ Not our fight,” Said James, takin Mason by the arm and pulling her behind him.

    “ Who side are you on? captain”

    “ Ok colonel, “ he said.

    After explaining where the helicopter they were searching was, James, signalled back you and your group.

    “ Am gonna take these civilians back to the boat and wait for you there, alright? ” 

    By the face of the colonel, he was thinking if it was a good idea, it took him a little longer to decide to put down the weapon, you could feel the Colonels' eyes on you.

    “ And what about you?” He asked. 

    “ I don’t have military training” you answered, but he huffed as a response.

 “ Am gonna have a conversation with your father, when we go back … Lets go kill this thing?” Said the colonel to his group, who all started walking to the direction that Conrad had signalled.

     You helped Hank to stand up.

    “ You need to stop him,” said him.

    “ You wanna talk with him about It again, he seems to really go for it the first time” Said Mason

    “ He’s losing his grip” 

    “ He lost his grip” You corrected. 

        “ Are you lost? Which way” 

    You’ve been walking for longer than it seemed, you knew Conrad and the way he was behaving let you know that he had lost the track. 

    “ Brooks, calm down,” You said.

    “ Hang On” 

    Something that sounded as a roar broke the silence that had formed. 

    “ Wait here,” Said James, waking ahead. “ I gotta get to higher ground to find the river”  

    “ Hey,” said Mason “am coming too” 

    You saw how Conrad and Mason disappear in the density of the jungle. 

    You’ve been thinking during the walk here, how colonel Packard though of killing kong on his own home. If the group hadn’t thrown the seismic charges then he wouldn’t have killed those men. 

    This was supposed to be an expedition, maybe find a new species or two at most. Never had it cross your mind that the monster Randa talked about was even real. You had diagnosed him with PSD linked to what had happened to him and that his mind had searched a rational explication, creating a monster. 

    You could stop the colonel from making a big mistake, killing kong wasn’t the solution. After ten minutes of debating whether or not you should, you got to the conclusion that it was better to at least try. Raising from your spot next to Marlow you looked at Brooks. 

    “ I Need your weapon,” You said.

    “ I know that look, what are you going to do?” 

    “ Am going to stop Packard” You said while extending your hand.

    “ But what do you think you’re going to do?” Asked him holding the gun close to his body. “ Am sorry, its because you're my friend that am asking you to stay” 

    “ We were an expedition, we weren’t meant to alter the habitat and woke those things up” You signalled to the jungle, the sun was starting to set. “ Brook please, he’s just like you and me, trying to protect what we care about” you sighed “ I have to at least try”

    “ And what do I tell Conrad,” He said pointing where Conrad had left.

    “ Whatever you want” 

    “ Oh, boy,” say Marlow.

    “ Here,” Said San behind you 

    “ Thanks “ you smiled at her, taking the gun and giving her your backpack.

    “ Please be careful” she smiled back 

    “ Be careful? “ Said brooks too, trying to encourage you but with doubt on his voice. 

    Having the encounter with kong had put things on perspective for Conrad. He was simply trying to protect what was his. After helping Mason down the mountain they both ran towards where you and the others were supposed to be. He was dying to tell you he’d make his mind about helping kong and stopping Packard. 

    “ Don’t shot “ he shouted to Brooks who was pointing at him. 

    “ Tell me man, which way are we going?”  Asked Brooks, tired.

    “ You all back to the boat… is that way,” he said gesturing to his right. “ Wait for us until dawn if we're not back by then, just go” 

    “ Where are you going? “ Asked Marlow

    “ We're going to save kong” reply, Conrad.

    “ Not without me, pal” Said Marlow

    Looking around Conrad searched for you, normally you would encourage him or something of that kind. You weren’t there, with the group.

     “ Where’s y/n?” asked Mason before he could 

    “ That one decided to stop Packard, long ago” Said Marlow. “ I think we better hurry, Churchill” Conrads mouth went dry.

    Mason heard Conrad curse under his breath. 

    Of course, you had decided to take matters into your own hand, Conrad only wished that you would have waited, a little before heading to the jungle. Now he felt eager to know, if you had made it out of the jungle, and if you had, that the colonel had not shot you.

Masterlist

[melodyalanaroster]

Hello Again, Old Friends

“Why do I have to wear this? I was told it was only for formal events.” Nathaniel asked as he slid the suit jacket onto his arms and looked at Alana. “It is only for formal events. Where we’re going, we’ll technically be representing the R.D.R and the Roster family, so I need you to look your best.” She explained as she took the bandages from her arms to reveal intricate floral tattoos. “And why are you dressing like that?” Nathaniel walked over to her and touched her arms. “You’ll see.” Alana smirked.

“Director! Mr. Zaidi! How lovely it is to see the two of you here!” Sybille smiled as she walked up to the two gentlemen. “Ah, hello Sybille.” The Director greeted. “Director? Why am I here?” Rayan asked. “Because, we are representing Anteros Academy and I thought it would be nice to have one of our Art professors here, in case someone here would like to know about the program.” The Director smiled. “Well, that answers my question as to why the two of you are here.” Sybille smiled as she looked around. The gala was being held by the city’s aristocrats. Anyone in the general area who had a form of elite status of good connection was in attendance. “The gala seems to be going well.” The Director commented. “Yes, I’ve heard that members from several prominent families are here. Including the young Chevalier and Mekina heirs.” Sybille remarked. “Chevalier and Mekina?” Rayan asked. “You’ve never heard of them? Their fathers were once the heads of the international group, VTK. I heard that a certain Grim Reaper took the company right out from under Edgard Chevalier’s and Achille Mekina’s noses and passed it to Viktor Chevalier and Severina Mekina.” Sybille explained. “I wonder what caused her to do that.” Rayan pondered. “Edgard shouldn’t have attempted to discredit my family.” a voice called as it approached them. Rayan, Sybille and the Director looked in the direction of the voice to see Alana and Nathaniel standing before them.

“Miss. Roster, Mr. Jacott, I wasn’t expecting to see the two of you at this function.” The Director greeted. “Just as I wasn’t expecting to see staff members from Anteros here.” Alana continued. “Alana, this isn’t your type of thing... What are we doing here?” Nathaniel asked. “You’ll see!” She smiled. “So? Is it safe to assume you won’t be telling us why you two are here?” Rayan asked. “That’s correct. And to answer the question you were pondering with Sybille a couple of minutes ago, it’s because Edgard Chevalier launched a full scale PR assault against my family a couple of years ago in an attempt to draw me out of the shadows. He pissed me off, so I took everything from both him and Mekina. I then set up a meeting with Edgard to find out why he wanted to see me, during the meeting, I used my R.D.R connections to pass the company over to Viktor and Severina... He wasn’t too happy about that.” She clarified. Nathaniel’s eyes grew wide with realization. “Wait, Viktor and Severina... You mean...” He began. Alana turned to him and put her hand on his arm. “Yes, my love. If they weren’t still in school by the time you and I graduated High School, and their fathers weren’t total pricks, you would have met them by now. That means we’ve come here for an event that is long overdue.” Sybille looked at them curiously. “Miss Roster, does that mean you have a personal connection to Mr. Chevalier and Miss Mekina?” “That is a very interesting question. One with an extremely obvious answer.” Alana smirked as she turned to Rayan and the Director. “Well, it was nice seeing you two. But Nathaniel and I must attend to the matter of why we’re here. Have a good evening.” “Have a good evening Miss Roster. See you in class.” Rayan smiled. “Miss Roster, Mr. Jacott, have a lovely evening.” The Director bowed.

“Alana? Why is everyone staring at us?” Nathaniel asked as they wandered around the gala. “Trust me, their eyes are mostly on me. As for why they’re staring... Perhaps it’s because my family’s name is associated with mother’s books, Sam’s military work and my R.D.R legacy... Maybe it’s because my family isn’t, technically, blue blooded and it was mother’s generation that put us in the history books before Sam and I came into play... Possibly, it’s because my mother was friends with Edgard’s late wife, is friends with Mekina’s wife, and Viktor, Severina and I are best friends... Perhaps it’s all of that combined with the fact that I’m committing an “aristocratic fashion faux pas” by coming here dressed like this.” “What do you mean by “aristocratic fashion faux pas”?” “Nathaniel, look at most of the women here. Most of them are clean skinned, fancy jewelry wearing, formal gown clad, debutantes. Most of them are all from old money, whose parents have groomed to fit that “best in show” breed. If they’re married, it was probably an arranged marriage. If they’re not, their marriage as probably already been planned. If they have children, they’re probably looking for a suitable match for them to ensure their family’s security and survival. They’ve stopped partying, they probably don’t listen to good music anymore. They certainly don’t have tattoos... And if they act out, it’s dealt with in ruthless fashion.” “So, what does that have to do with you?” “I am a symbol of the complete opposite of that. I was not raised to be a debutante. My future was not planned for me by my mother. I was allowed to choose my mate on the basis of love. My skin is certainly not clean. Hell, to emphasize that, I put fake tattoos on my arms. Instead of pearls and jewels, I went with my usual choker and gloves. Instead of a designer dress, I went with a custom order from the clothing department of the R.D.R. Instead of heels, I chose boots. Instead of spending time in a hair salon making sure each strand is in the perfect place, I simply sprayed the bottom of my hair black and let it stay down. Not only do I love this look because I think I look good like this, I love it because each and every aspect of it is a giant middle finger to the aristocracy.” Nathaniel looked around, taking in everything Alana had said. She was right, the women were all wearing elegant outfits, but the men were mostly wearing nice suits. “Then why are the men not as formal as the women?” He asked. “That, my love, is because sexism runs rampant in this society. The women are expected to trot around like proper show ponies who are destined to become broodmares for some rich fool, while the men have more freedom. The girls must be pristine, proper, princesses, while the boys can act like idiots, so long as it doesn’t embarrass their families too badly.” “Doesn’t that mean I’m a little overdressed?” “Yes and no. On one hand, you’re classified as an aristocrat by being with me. Hell, I’m sure you’ve heard that around the Tower, people are considering calling you “Lord Nathaniel” simply because I’m “Lady Melody” and you’re my love. On the other hand, you’re still a commoner, but no one will mess with you because I see you as my equal. Because I see you as my equal, I felt it necessary for your outfit to be equally as impressive as mine... And, you do look quite dashing like that.” “My, my, little Melody... Was this just an excuse for you to get me into this outfit?” He smirked. Alana blushed. “Slightly.”

Suddenly as they walked into the Ballroom, Alana could see two familiar figures come into view. “Well, well, well! Look who it is!” She called as they walked up to the two people. “Mels!” the woman cheered as she hugged Alana. “Long time, no see! It’s good to see you old friend.” the man smiled as he hugged Alana. “Viktor, Severina, I’m sure by now you could easily guess who this is... But, I’d like to, finally introduce you to Nathaniel. Nath, love, this is Viktor and Severina.” She beamed. “It’s nice to finally meet you Nathaniel.” Viktor smiled as he shook Nathaniel’s hand. “It’s an honor to meet you, Nathaniel.” Severina cheered as she shook Nathaniel’s hand. “It’s nice to finally meet you two too. Alana’s told me a lot about the two of you.” He smiled. “We’ve heard so much about you too! It’s so nice that our Mels found someone who makes her happy the way you do!” Severina chirped. Nathaniel blushed. “Alana...” Alana smiled. “Come on Nath, you know I talk about you... Of course I’m gonna tell my best friends and my family that you make me happy. Because you do.” She blushed. “Melody? They’re playing a lovely song, may I have this dance?” Viktor asked as he held his hand out to Alana. Nathaniel looked at her, worried. “It’s okay my love, it’s just a dance between friends.” She assured as she took Viktor’s hand and they joined the dance floor.

“Melody... Are you getting better?” Viktor asked as they danced. “Yes. I’m sleeping better, my appetite is back to normal, and I’m a lot happier.” Relief washed over Viktor. “Nathaniel has been helping?” “He’s been the greatest help. We had a few roadblocks... But that was to be expected. They’re over now. He’s training at the Tower to be able to protect me and he knows my conditions.” “I can tell he loves you immensely. He looks at you the way I always have.” “Viktor... You know...” “I know you and I will never be together... I’m just happy that you’ve found someone who loves you as much as I do.” “I love him, very much... And, I’m gonna ask him to come with me when I take off after I graduate.” “Where will you be going?” “Everywhere. I wanna enjoy this world and have one hell of an adventure before I settle down and think about having kids.” “And you want to take Nathaniel with you.” “Of course. Every traveler needs a companion, and he’s been my first and only choice for years.” “I’m glad he makes you feel this way, Mels. You deserve to be happy.”

As they watched Alana and Viktor dance, a conversation sparked up between Severina and Nathaniel. “If you don’t mind me asking, why did Viktor’s father want to see Alana?” “Mels hasn’t told you?” “She just says it pissed her off so she took Edgard and your father out of power.” “It was because Edgard finally saw Mels as someone worthy of Viktor, so he tried to force them into an arranged marriage. He found out that it was Mels who saved Viktor, ultimately finding out that Mels is the Grim Reaper... He thought it would be good for him to have the Grim Reaper as his daughter in law... Not even caring that Mels is a wild card and would never enter into an arrangement like that.” “What happened? Other than the assault on the Roster’s reputation, and Alana’s retribution.” “Edgard attempted to kill Mels. He pulled a gun on her and was going to shoot... However, she remained calm and her calmness disarmed him. She told him what would become of him if he killed her, and even challenged him to pull the trigger. But, he couldn’t.” “Woah.” “Mels has always been the bravest person I’ve ever known, even more courageous than Sam. Viktor and I never expected her to become the Grim Reaper... But we always knew she’d be a formidable force.” “I see what you mean. When I first met her, she was very much an intense whirlwind. She blew in to Sweet Amoris and made everything better... It was dramatic, crazy and a tad unorganized, but it was still fun. Now, she’s very much like like a Thunderbird... A majestic being who brings about storms. All she has to do is walk into a room and she changes everything.” Nathaniel had begun to blush. “It’s easy to tell how much you love her. Everything about your body language explains it.” “Am I that easy to read?” “In this case, it’s definitely a good thing. You are her king. She will fight for you and with you until the bitter end. Just as I know she is your queen and you will fight for her and with her until the universe ceases to exist.” Severina smiled.

When Viktor and Alana walked over to them Alana smiled. “I’m glad to see you two getting along!” “Yeah, Nathaniel and I were just talking about you!” Severina beamed. “I figured.” Alana chuckled. Nathaniel looked at Alana lovingly. “My Melody... May I have a dance?” Alana blushed. “Of course.”

As they watched Alana and Nathaniel enter the dance floor and embrace, Viktor and Severina couldn’t help but watch in awe. Alana was smiling, perfectly happy in the arms of her true love. “What do you think?” Viktor asked Severina. “I like him. He may be troubled, but he loves Mels with every fiber of his existence.” she replied. “I agree, he seems to be a good guy. And, your right, he loves her with everything he has.” He concurred. They began to hear a giggling emanating from the dance floor and saw that it was Alana and Nathaniel making the sound. “Look! Viktor! She’s just like Yvaine from Stardust!” Severina effused. “What do you mean?” Viktor asked. “She’s given her heart to Nathaniel, completely... She’s shining!”

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

Holy crap.... I’ve been planning this for  a while now. And I’m glad I put it in to Alana’s Canon. Alana and Nathaniel look like quite the match in this one, right? Well, I’m not sure when this one takes place, just that it takes place before Alana’s graduation and after Nathaniel’s cartel issue gets solved.

Credit goes to:

Episodelife.com

FNAFfanart67 on DeviantArt

LicyAD on DeviantArt

EMoralsG24 on DeviantArt

@chinomiko

[youremarvelous]

Its not really a ~prompt~ but i Love when you write victor or yuuri calling each other "honey" idk why but that gets me in my feelings

here’s a little thing for you, sweet anon <3

Yuuri doesn’t realize it at first, but not because it isn’t obvious. Abandoning a successful career to travel some four thousand miles at a drunken request and loosely interpreted declaration of love in the form of what amounts to an ice skating cover aren’t the actions of a man who has fallen lightly, but tell that to the pervasive voice in Yuuri’s head particularly adept at picking apart his inherent worthlessness, his crushing mediocrity, his everything with practiced regularity.

The truth sinks in slowly, day by careful day, pebbles of clarity plunking through Yuuri’s perception of himself and Viktor and their relationship, washed on the shore of consciousness.

Viktor is more than wrapped around Yuuri’s little finger. He’s completely and utterly ensnared.

The first time Yuuri really allows himself to notice it coincides with their first night together in St. Petersburg. Yuuri is a puddle in the sheets, thoroughly unraveled by Viktor’s hands, his teeth, his tongue, taking him apart over the course of the last few hours with loving dedication. It’s strange because Yuuri isn’t worth Viktor’s little gasps of pleasure, the reverent gazes, but then the fine lines of his body are melted into Yuuri’s and none of that matters, anyway.

Yuuri’s stomach growls while Viktor is cleaning them. Viktor laughs—the sound of it pitched an octave lower than normal, graveled down by hours spent groaning into Yuuri’s shoulder, suffusing his skin with sweetness. He kisses Yuuri’s stomach, right under his navel. “What can I get you, my love?”

Yuuri isn’t sure if Viktor’s speaking to him or his stomach, so he answers for them both. “I wish we had ice cream.”

He’s expecting Viktor to comment about his diet, maybe wistfully agree if the post-sex afterglow has burned out all sense of reason like it has for Yuuri. Instead, he pets Yuuri’s hair out of his face, leaves to rummage in his dresser for a pair of joggers and a fresh t-shirt.

“I’ll be right back.” Viktor starts to leave, then turns back, kisses Yuuri’s forehead as an afterthought.

Yuuri could stop him. Furthermore, he should.

He doesn’t, because the concept of Viktor Nikiforov, five-time consecutive GPF gold medalist, half-skipping out of the apartment at 3 am to fetch him post-coitus snacks is a jarring pile-up of concepts that he can’t quite parse with reality.  

“Something sweet for my sweet,” Viktor says when he returns. He holds a spoonful of cookie dough dynamo Haagen Dazs to Yuuri’s lips. His favorite, though he’s not sure how Viktor knows that.

Yuuri manages to convince himself it was a fluke later that week when the gauzy light and easy heat of their bedroom (and bathroom and kitchen and front entryway) is stripped away, replaced by language barriers, fluorescents, and falls out of triple axels.

Viktor takes his job as a coach seriously. He doesn’t pull his punches when it comes to criticism. It’s one of the main reasons their work relationship functions as well as it does. Still, it’s jarring to go from the Viktor at the rink, demanding one more run through before lunch, “arms up, wrists loose, tighten your core on the jump,” to the one at home, running Yuuri’s towel through the dryer before he gets out of the shower because he can’t get used to Russian winters.

It’s a power Yuuri isn’t comfortable wielding, one he doesn’t even realize he’s invoking half the time until he makes an offhand comment about something like waking up with a stiff neck over breakfast and finds his pillow replaced by an expensive memory foam version the next night.  

“When I said I missed Kaasan’s katsudon I didn’t mean for him to book us a trip to Japan,” Yuuri stresses to Phichit over Facetime, head bowed in his hand. “How am I supposed to keep up with that?”

Phichit squints. “Are you bragging?”

“No, I’m—”

“No one likes a braggart, Yuuri.”

Yuuri gets it after a few years of marriage, of scraping Viktor’s windshield before work, letting Viktor pick the music in the car even though he could recite Britney Spears’ entire oeuvre from front to back at this point, calling him the occasional pet name despite how awkward it still feels on his tongue.

It’s not about possession and it’s not about control. It’s caring for someone so completely that their needs become your own, loving them so deeply that their happiness is yours.

Yuuri comes home from an early morning trip to the new bakery down the street. He hates being awake before 7 am, he hates that it’s only October and already so cold, and he hates the way the words roll clumsily from his lips when he sits on the edge of the bed and wakes Viktor with a hand in his hair and a, “good morning, honey. I got us breakfast.”

He hates it, but Viktor’s bleary-eyed smile is worth it. Yuuri’s not wrapped around his little finger, but he is tied to his heart—a gold banded reminder when Viktor raises his hand, strokes Yuuri’s cheek with his thumb.

“Again,” Viktor says, sitting up on his elbows. “I was half-asleep the first time.”

“Hurry up, honey,” Yuuri repeats. He wants to be petulant about it, but Viktor is so openly enraptured—slack-mouthed and wide-eyed—that he can’t help but smile. “Breakfast’ll get cold.”

Viktor wraps his arms around Yuuri’s waist and drags him back down to the bed, pressing wet kisses into his neck. “Let it.”  

                                        my yoi drabbles  |  kofi ♡