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ja3hwa · 9 months

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♡ 𝐇𝐮𝐫𝐭𝐬 𝐋𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐇𝐞𝐥𝐥 | 𝐀𝐥𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐄𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 ♡

【Synopsis】 : It's been so long since you've seen your boys. And when the youngest comes knocking on your door, the new life you had only just managed to build comes crashing down.

『Word count』 : 4.8k

-> Genre: Mafia au. Angst. Fluff.

Pairing: Mob Boss!Ot8 Ateez x Reader

[Warnings] : lots of heart ache. The reader is beside herself a lot. Blood. Gore. Death. Torture. Reader gets kidnapped. Tears. Hugging. Lots of cry. Grovelling (we stan a good grovel). And yeah, lots of angst but fluffy at the end. Kissing. Mingi got a dirty mind. Whoops.

Note: uh, so hi. Ahha It's been a while... I finally decided to actually finish the alt ending of this fic. I've had people ask for more, and I honestly forgot about it. But then i saw someone send in THIS request, and it made me want to finish this. So this can be read as a stand-alone. But if you want to read part 1 and the other ending. Go ahead, otherwise enjoyyyyy ♡

Part one | Other Ending

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You were alone. Wandering through life with nothing to hold onto. You were going underwater, and no one was around to help you above the heavy waves. You were numb. Heartbreak ridding you of happiness… Or so you thought.

Through a bottle or two... Maybe three or four. You found at the end of it. You were just as unhappy as you were before you took the first sip. You needed a change. A change of scenery. A change of personality. A completely new life. So there you were two towns over. Maybe not a whole country away from the old you, but this was just as good. A new apartment. New job. Architectural design. You enjoyed it, so dearly. It became something that kept you going. That kept you waking up. You were fighting for a glimpse of happiness in mornings that were still hard, and nights were just as restless as ever.

You were alone. Yes. But you tried.

It's been two whole years. You think you’d forgotten everything by now. But the biggest, deepest pain didn’t seem to heal as quickly as everyone says it does. Fucking Liars…

You were having a break from your long hours of sketching a new mansion floor plan, a private owner wanted it done within the week and for a heavy price and as much as it was a distraction you couldn't help but think how the design the private buyer seemed to want a floor plan that resembled something that one of your old lovers would have loved. The vintage vibe with a green and gold theme matched Mingi and Yunho perfectly. Your brain almost thought maybe they were the private buyer. But why would they go to you after what you had ‘apparently done’ to them? Before you could dwell on the idea anymore, the sound of your doorbell broke your gaze from the large sketch in front of you.

You question why someone would be visiting you at this hour, given that most of your clients would email you beforehand and your ‘friends’ would text. So, who could possibly be at your door? Your heart thumped strangely as if your body knew who was beyond the large oak before you. A ball started to form at the base of your throat. Was this anxiousness you were feeling? Gripping the silver handle, you creek the door open slowly, and when your gaze met the other person you feel your heart stop.

“Hi…”

You looked at the man with a dumbfounded expression, tilting your head in confusion. Hi? After all these years, hi is what he starts with. What does he take you for? A hopeless woman needing a man to catch her when she falls?

You go to shut the door without a second thought, but he catches it in his strong arms. The same arms that used to hold you. Shield you from all the danger―no stop you didn’t need them when you were completely broken and you most certainly don’t need them now.

“Please let me explain. Honey, I just…” He was scrambling to find his words, his breath catching his throat like he was running a marathon prior to this interaction. “I wanted to see you…tell you.”

“I don’t want to hear it, Jongho.” You finally spoke, silently yelling at yourself for sounding so shaky in your voice when you wanted to be mad, tone-deaf, blunt. But here you are, wanting to cry cause of the anger surging through you. Why must you always cry when you get mad. “You don’t get to come here after almost two fucking years, call me honey and tell me how much you miss me and think I’ll just fall back into your arms as if nothing happened.”

“T-that’s not what I want nor expect from you. I just want―I don’t care what you want. Now get off my porch.” You cut him off, slamming the door in his face before breaking down the minute you heard the latch click. Your legs buckle, sliding down the door before your knees hit the ground, sobbing into your hands. Your heart was breaking all over again, just like the night you left. You wanted nothing more than to run after him, beg him to hold you. But you couldn’t. They hurt you so much. How do you even begin to forgive them for what happened all those years ago?

Through the next months, you kept receiving letters, flowers, and gift boxes. Even teddy bears. Why would they give you teddy bears? You think they would have known you from being with them for so long. Throwing yet another soft plush toy on the ever-growing pile that sat in your office. You were beginning to become sick of it. You thought after you yelled at Jongho, he and the others would have gotten the hint, but you guess being dumped by eight mob bosses wasn’t as easy as you thought.

Sighing, you click your tongue, looking at the stack of letters you have yet to burn. You can’t even be bothered to open them, not wanting to even listen to anything they might have to say. But another part of you was curious. Maybe one letter couldn’t hurt, right? Reaching for the one on the top, your fingers grasp the small paper. It’s rough against your skin. Like the paper was made from a poor-quality tree. Odd? Why would your ex-lovers gift you such cheap gifts? Not that you were expecting high-priced gifts, but they had enough money to buy half the world, so you think them getting something with a heavier price tag wouldn’t matter. Something wasn’t right. Something wasn’t adding up.

But before you could think of anything else, a loud, almost anger-filled knock comes from the front door. Your body was suddenly on high alert. Goosebumps erode all over your skin as a sickening feeling clouds your head. Grabbing your letter opener―just in case―you walk slowly towards the noise. Thoughts ran through your head in time with the beats of your racing heart. You knew walking towards the suspicious noise was a bad idea, but what else could you do? Whoever was there would know you were home by the lights being on or how your car is parked in the driveway. You couldn’t just pretend you weren’t home, no matter how hard you wanted to try.

Your fingers graze the door handle, feeling your breath hitch. You twist it slowly until you hear the creek of the door hinges swing inwards. You brace yourself for whoever it was, but what you are met with confused you. The porch was empty?

No one in sight…

But you certainly heard a loud knock. You were going crazy… were you? You huff, straightening up, feeling relief wash over you. Maybe it was some kids pranking the neighbours again, and you were their target for the day. Who knows. You click the door closed, but you lock it this time because even though you see no threat, you wanted to be sure. Entering your office again you walk over to the letters in order to continue what you were doing but when your eyes gaze over the pieces of paper you notice the one you were going to open wasn’t on the table. Where did you go? You thought, placing the letter opener on the table so you could place your hand on the edge of the oak desk so you could look under it. You looked everywhere and couldn’t seem to find it. It was like it had vanished. But…was that a flash? Something caught your eye.

Looking at the teddy bears, you see the letter sitting in the lap of one of the plushies. Tilting your head you notice a little red flash like as if there was a recor―Your eyes snap open stumbling back slightly before turning to run but your body is met with a very broad object and then before you can get any baring on what or who was in behind of you, everything went black.

It was like the world was spinning, your head pinging with an aching pain from the left side of your skull. You tried to open your eyes and look around, but you quickly figured out you were blindfolded and bound to what seemed to be a chair. Typical. Why is it that whenever someone gets kidnapped, they get tied to an old wooden chair? Why couldn’t it be a couch or one of those soft deck chairs? You could hear some scampering around you, three, maybe four people had entered the room you were in. You can smell their shitty cheap cologne that they most likely think bend women at the knees. You knew what kind of people they were before even seeing them.

“Well well. Looks like my men have caught a pretty mouse of us to play with.” The heavy voice echoed around the room, hinting to you that you were most likely in an open area. A warehouse, maybe? “You are gonna be my ticket to freedom songbird.”

You had to cringe at the pet name that fell from his lips. The name you were known as in the mafia world. More specifically, Ateez’s Songbird. You tried to sit still, hoping to show a fraudulent sense of confidence, but in reality, you were petrified. You no longer had the eight men you loved dearly to save you. Then again, you had no one to save you. Most of your friends lived out of town and wouldn’t even come to the rescue if you begged. You were alone with these men. Blindfolded and at their will. The man you assume was talking before lifted your blindfold off, seeing your eyes suddenly gaze upon the piercing light from the headlamp above you. You can see your suspicions were correct, four men ranging from sizable jock build to more lean ones but in the end, they were all ghastly, staring you down as if you were nothing more than a piece of meat.

“I want to know where Ateez is….” The grunt that escaped from the immoral male smelled of booze and low-quality cigars. His eyes were painted his redness, as if he hadn't slept in days, weeks even. He was boarding insanity at this rate by his expression. “Well come on, I know you know where they are, and to be blunt, I need them dead. You know business and all.” He rambles, walking around your figure while you sit there listening to his utter bullshit. His words remind you of when a villain in the story starts blabbering to the captor about how they needed to defeat the hero in order to take over the world. But in this case, both sides are just as villainous as each other, and the “world” that’s referenced is stocks… weapons, contraband, drugs, money. The list goes on and on.

“Why are you so quiet, Songbird? Protecting your lovers?”

Now that one made you laugh, shaking your head in annoyance. Argh, what you would give to be home with a strong whiskey in hand right now. Your reaction sent a shocked expression to the disgusting man's face. He expected you to plea, beg for him to not hurt Ateez, to not hurt the loves of your life and yet here you sit, laughing right in his face like he had just said the most entertaining thing to you.

“I don’t know where they are.” You finally spoke, a sadistic smile painted your face. To never backed down from his gaze, almost trying to intimidate him with your blazed stare. “Why would I know, or care where they are? They don’t care about me.”

His paced. Fuck. He thought. Did his men really just kidnap you for no reason? He was going to shoot someone for this. He began to sweat, you were his only hope of getting the men he hates, attention. And now you were useless. His hand raked through his hair, coming down to scratch the stubble on his chin. What is he going to do with you now? Looking back at you his eyes slid down your body from head to toe, as if he was a predator sizing up his prey. You felt a sudden uneasiness. Maybe telling the man that held your life in his hand you were useless, wasn’t your greatest idea.

He moved away, whispering to one of his men before he sent him off, turning back to you straight after. He stepped one foot in front of the other in a slow and formed way, as if he had come up with the best plan in history. His devious smile brought a lump in your throat and the way he leaned down in front of you, placing both hands on the chair arms so he was face to face with you. “Well, little dove. We can find other uses for you, hmm?”

An idea popped into your head, and maybe it was your hotheadedness or your sheer stubbornness to do things out of spite. Bringing your body back slacked against the chair frame, you watched as his smirk grew, thinking he had finally managed to scare you, but before he could react, you whipped your head forward. Your forehead smashes against his nose with a sickening crack, and a blood-curtailing scream follows. The man gripped his nose with a sharp hiss. You could see blood pouring down like a waterfall from his nose, spilling all over his clothes and floor. Your blurred vision and ache in your skull doesn’t last long as you shake your head. You can see his men crowding around him to see if he is okay.

“Bitch!” He swore, standing up straight from his crouched position to stomp over to you and slap you clean in your face, making you and the chair fall over, smacking your side against the concrete. You can feel your wrist twist before popping out of place from the impact. Your elbow scraped against the harsh floor along with your arm, making you feel the sensation of your blood escaping through the broken skin. A cut on the top of your head also spilled some blood onto the floor making a headache begin to form. Maybe this wasn’t your best idea.

“Get the kit. I wanna teach this whore a lesson.” He spat out some blood that spilled into his mouth from his nose.

“whore? I thought it was bitch? Or as it little dove?” you need to shut your mouth but you choose to keep pushing his buttons. Idiot. He kicked you square in the gut making you hitch your breath before almost coughing up a lung at the pain. Your watered eyes could now barely see as you tried to blink the tears away. You spot out the corner of your eye a bag of what you could only guess, torture tools. Great, now you really fucked up.

You had passed out at least two or three times, and every time, you were woken up by ice-cold water to the face. The temperature of the water stung your opened wounds and burned at your hot red flesh. Time was absent to you, not knowing how long you’d been sitting, tied to the comfortable chair. God, your limbs were gonna ache once you were able to get out. that’s if you get out.

Maybe you will die here. The irony. Dying in a place of crime in a life of anguish when you so desperately tried to run from it. To try so hard to clean up and forget the darkness that lingered in your past. But in truth, you missed. As sicken as it sounded. You missed the violence, the thrill, the wealth and power. You missed being feared by your enemies and adored by your lovers. Call you sadistic for finding nostalgia in torture, but it was true. Even if you were the one who was currently being hurt, you couldn’t help but smile weakly.

“I found her!!” A muffled voice and sounds of gunshots echoed around you. But you were so dazed you couldn’t seem to pinpoint the noise. Your eyes were fuzzed, and blood tainted your view. Everything was happening so fast until you saw the stillness.

“Y-yuyu?” Your eyes glossed, seeing a blurred figure that resembled Yunho. But it couldn’t be him, could it? You must be dreaming, finally getting ready to leave this plane, but why would your guardian angel look like Yunho?

“I’ve got you, baby. Hold on.” You had already passed out for the final time before you would hear another word slip from your ex-lover's mouth. His rough hands gripped the rope that bounded your hands, cutting it away with his pocket knife. He snaked his arm under your legs and on your lower back, picking you up from the old wooden chair with ease. Your blood had pooled on the floor and now trailed behind Yunho as he jogged with you in his arms. His suit was now tainted red from you, but he couldn’t care less. The only thing on his mind was getting you to safety and maybe killing some assholes along the way.

To say you couldn’t explain the pain surging through your body was correct. You had never experienced such torture before, and man, you were definitely regretting some of the stupid shit you had said to the low-life mob boss earlier. Your vision was still so blurred, and your head was ringing. You could faintly see a bedside with a clock on it. But the face was dark like it was unplugged. You know this place. You remembered the smell of vanilla and pine. You remembered the dark spruce bed frame and emerald forest green bed sheets. You weren’t thinking when you started to snuggle into the bedding, inhaling the comforting scent.

You missed his smell. You missed being in this bed. God, you didn’t realize how much you missed them. You wanted to be strong. You didn’t want them, didn’t want to forgive them. But the comfort…. tears were falling from your cheeks onto the silk pillow. You were sobbing, and your mind was beside itself. One part screaming at you, telling you to suck it up and leave. But on the other side, you were so tired. So, so…tired…. and all you wanted was your boys.

“Sugar…” You froze, hearing the man that belonged to the bedroom. His deep voice, velvet and smooth. You could hear a crack in it like he had been in tears prior. You didn’t move, frozen with fear, because you knew if you looked at him in those beautiful brown eyes, you would be done for. “Baby, are you awake?”

He knew you were, but he didn’t want to approach you without knowing if it was okay. He knew by the way you looked at them last time you saw them that you had feared them. Something he never wanted to see in your beautiful innocent gaze. Torment that he and the others caused. He would never forgive himself, so he understood if you never did either. “I want to go home…”

You didn’t know what else to say. So god damned scared to stay cause if you did, you might not leave. And you couldn’t do that. What they put you through. You couldn’t possibly begin a relationship with them again… right? “Mingi, please take me home…” you felt so small calling for him, you didn’t want to be surrounded by his scent but at the same time, you didn’t so much as budge from the covers. You didn’t want him to be near you, but yet when he sat down on the edge of the bed, your body was screaming to be held by him. Everything was so messed up. Why did it have to end up like this? Why was this your ending with them?

Mingi couldn’t find his wording, his hand coming up to your covered shoulders, putting a firm but gentle touch on it. He wanted nothing more than to hold you, kiss you. Make love to you while repeating how sorry he was over and over while he caused you to come over and over. “I missed you…” His voice cracked. “We all have…” better now than never to explain himself, right? “After the first couple of weeks, we found out that those pictures were faked. A way to manipulate us into crumbling our empire. They thought if they could put us all at each other's throats. I guess they won…”

“How did you find they were fake?” You asked in a whisper, keeping your face covered with the bed sheet.

“Another anonymous tip went off that San was ‘sneaking’ around with some guy. But Wooyoung was quick to debunk it cause San was with him that whole week. So we quickly found out that this was a ploy to rip us all apart… which worked.” Mingi regretted every word he spoke. They managed to find out San was innocent quicker than you. San was lucky he had an alibi, though unlike you, that was away without their knowledge, just trying to buy a gift for your anniversary... god, they were so stupid...

“It...Worked?” You were confused about that since it only caused you to leave. From your knowledge, the boys were all still together? Mingi sighed, standing up, which caused you to peek out from your hiding spot to see him pouring a whiskey from the small bar in the corner of the room. Before downing the amber-coloured liquor.

“Seonghwa and Hongjoong became obsessed with work. They’ve become biter…” He took another shot of the harsh liquor. “Cruel… The number of people they’ve put in the dungeons just from looking in their direction wrong.”

You felt sick, flashes of them yelling at you, cursing you. The image of them with that anger plus a gun. You felt sorry for any of the suckers that were unlucky enough to gaze at them wrong. You tangled your fingers into the soft sheets, playing with the velvet fabric. You note how the hand that had popped out earlier was still slightly swollen and numb, making you barely able to feel the fabric on your right fingertips. “W-What about the others…”

“Jongho spent most of his time looking for you. Spying on you. Seeing all the achievements you have made.” He sounded proud of you for a moment like he sought knowledge of your life from the youngest. “Yeosang drove himself into his computer work, taking on small tasks in the outer parts of the city. If we hadn’t said we brought you home, he would have still been hiding somewhere.” He flicked his hand in the air, scoffing slightly.

“San and Wooyoung changed the most when you left. They became lost without you, distant… different. Like the sunshine was ripped from their life, and darkness consumed them.”

He took a seat at the end of the bed again. You had sat up, crossing your legs, eyeing his figure. He has gotten bigger than the last time you’ve seen him. He’s bulked up, and from what your memory could recall, Yunho was bigger as well. The way his arms felt being around you as he carried you to safety were definitely bulkier. “And what about you? Yunho?”

He huffed, glancing up at you. His hand was so close to your covered legs. So close yet so far. “Yunho and I are…fine. We missed you.”

You knew fine meant they were both struggling just as much as the others. You shifted, moving a little closer to him. Your heart was still aching, but your body was craving to feel some warmth. and at this point, you were so tired. Tired of fighting, tired of running. Tired of anyone telling you who or how to live your life? who cares if you run back to your exes? Who cared if you decided you move back with them? It’s not like you have friends or family that would tell you otherwise. All you had was them. Eight cruel mob bosses who would do anything for you and who were scared when they thought you had betrayed them. “I missed you too.”

His wide, glossy eyes snapped to yours. Like he had just heard someone spill the secret to life itself. His mouth went dry, a lump forming in his throat. He didn’t know what to say. He wanted to spill his guts about how much he missed your smile and missed your laugh. Missed the way you would tease him for being too clingy, but yet you were just as clingy in the next breath. He missed the way your body would melt against his on cold nights, searching for warmth. Or how you would fit so perfectly around his….

“Min…You mind is wondering…” You knew his tells, and you knew he was sinking into his mind.

“I uh…I’m just trying to find the words to say I’m sorry without it sounding like it was an excuse.”

“I believe you’re sorry, mingi. I believe you are all sorry. It doesn’t change or fix what happened. And it’s going to take time for me to trust you all again. But…” You leaned over, placing your hand on his shaking thigh. “I do forgive you.”

He broke.

“We don’t deserve your forgiveness. We don’t deserve you…” Tears were falling down his red cheeks, making you jump to wipe each one away without a second thought. You hadn’t realized how close you were until you noted the smell of the whiskey on his breath and the warmth of his body radiating to yours.

“You might not deserve me. But who is here to tell me to stay away…” he gave you a smile. You didn’t want to forgive him or the others fully per se, but you did want this push-and-pull game. This cruel twisted game of forbidden love.

“The others are going to want to see you…” He spoke cautiously, afraid you might recoil away from him if he spoke too loudly. You just sighed, lowering your hands into your lap once again, sitting back. You could feel your wounds with every movement, but it wasn’t as painful as before. They must have given you some painkillers prior to when you were passed out. You were about to speak when a sudden thud was heard, quickly followed by a bunch of hushed whispers. You couldn’t help but smirk at the childishness, for angry mafia kings they sure know how to act like goofballs.

“They’re outside aren’t they?” You cocked your brow, giving Mingi a simple straight expression. He just rubbed the back of his neck with a small whisper of, ‘Sorry.’

You rolled your eyes, telling him to let them in. Your heart might have been racing faster than a race car, but you tried to hide the growing anxiousness with a plain expression. You were going to hear them all out. You were going to hug San and Wooyoung as they sobbed on the end of your bed with mumblers of ‘I’m sorry.’ over and over again. You were going to give Yeosang a knowing look, so he knew that his silence was accepted and that you weren’t mad. You were going to thank Yunho for saving you, and he was going to kiss your palm as you held his cheek briefly.

And you were going to cry.

Sob at how Hongjoong sat on his knees, grovelling for your forgiveness and pleading how he was so messed up for not believing you. You’d all cry seeing the leader so vulnerable. And Seonghwa. Your darling, hwa… you would see such sorrow in his eyes. But you would let him kiss your cheek, hold you for a moment. Let him have you for a moment while you get your mind into check.

This was not a redemption. This was not forgetting. But a new chance.

Not a new chapter but a new book entirely.

You were going to grow, do your own thing. Be with them while you find yourself. And maybe, just maybe. You’d take Jongho’s offer all those years ago…and finally say yes…

— ♡

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copperbadge · 5 months

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Lately, it's felt like every time I've started to work on writing, I'll just be getting into the rhythm of it when I get interrupted, either by work or the cats or because the time I'd booked in the library study room is up (you can only do two hours at a time, and only four hours a week total). It was getting to the point where I kept re-reading the same chapter or so of previous work but never managing to add to it.

So I tried an experiment this past weekend -- I found a really cheap rate on a local hotel room, and on Friday I took an overnight bag and a very old laptop with limited processing power and checked into a room about a mile from home for a quasi "staycation". I unpacked and had a quiet night on Friday, as prelude to working Saturday-Sunday. The idea was to write uninterrupted by other people, pets, the presence of all my Stuff around me at home, et cetera.

I had snacks but I also bought meals out, which was nice; I don't often order in or buy out when I'm at home. The way I set up was that I would do fifty minutes of writing with do-not-disturb engaged on my phone and then ten minutes of checking email, texts, etc. since often what pulls me out of writing is a text or an email that needs answering, or the anxiety that I'm missing one that would. If I set it so that every hour I check, well, nobody's going to die if something doesn't get answered in an hour, so the anxiety isn't there, and neither is the distraction. (I found a nice app for this, review later depending on how functional it continues to be for me, but it's a like $4 app called Forest.)

It worked pretty well -- writing for an uninterrupted hour, as long as I know what I'm working on, is very functional for me. I average about two thousand words, that way, though there is a limit to the number of hours I can put in. I ended up doing two hours in the morning and one hour in the afternoon, then switched from fiction writing to clearing out my tumblr drafts and some correspondence for the fourth hour. So it went something like

Go out and get breakfast, bring back and eat in room

Change into lounging clothes and do two one-hour sessions

Go out and get lunch, eat lunch out

Bit of a rest break back in the room

Two one-hour sessions, one of writing; when tired, switch to something that requires less creativity

Go out and get dinner, bring back and eat in room

And then in the evening the plan was to watch movies or catch up on reading, but I ended up being mentally weary, so instead I did some simple tarot reading. It was less divination or even meditation than just messing around, keeping the creativity stimulated; I did a couple of Creative Writing spreads, some very brief divination spreads (I nicked a nice three-card spread here that I mentally call He To Hecuba, and just used it in general rather than for a specific question) and then invented a spread when I was starting to get irritated that the same like, five cards kept coming up, more on this in its own post.

Sunday I did one more writing session but it was less successful, I think partly because what I was writing required a lot of research and partly because the previous day I'd dumped eight thousand words into the file. (Research took longer because I brought the most garbage laptop known to man, and the browsers crash if you try to open Google Maps, but in other ways it was ideal since there wasn't much I could do on it other than write.) But I had a good breakfast, got some rest, packed up easily enough, and headed home just ahead of the rain storm.

I don't think it's something I'll be able to do in that format especially often, since the deal I got on the hotel was an anomaly and Chicago lodging, even just AirBNB stuff, is stupid expensive. But in addition to helping get some work done it was a nice break, so I'm going to look into ways I could swing it on a perhaps monthly basis, or some other way to cheaply spend an entire day alone with decent access to a bathroom/snacks and a way to come and go easily. I've looked into coworking spaces before but they tend to be prohibitively expensive and don't really have the setup I'd prefer; there's a hostel on the north side with private rooms that I might try out but it doesn't seem significantly cheaper than a hotel. I might just have to pick one weekend a month and watch last-minute hotel price cuts where they simply want to fill a room for a day or two.

Anyway, functionally I wrote almost a fifth of a novel this weekend, and one that I wasn't feeling super on fire about; I'm feeling much better about it now that I've got some established plot going and I feel like I "know" the newer characters a bit better. (Also I'm enjoying writing Simon as someone who is absolutely entranced by his love interest and clueless that what he's feeling isn't mild antipathy because they met while fighting over ricotta.) So it was a big help, although if I were to put a budget line item in the Extribulum Press ledger for "writing staycation" it would wipe out my royalties surplus very quickly.

#writing #shivadhverse

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shinynewboots · 6 months

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Just a Taste: Part 2 Adam x afab!reader

AN: Hello friends! Here is my long-awaited sequel to Just a Taste! This took me a second to write due to writer's block and just being unsure of what direction I wanted to take so I hope y'all enjoy! Only like the third time I've ever written smut so let me know your thoughts!

2.2k words

Warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, smut, dub-con if you squint, fingering, oral sex (reader receiving), Adam is bad at talking about his emotions, porn without plot

Tags: @kaces-mind @jiyuukaze @lousypotatoes

Adam did not return for 3 days.

Worried was an understatement. You had scoured your neighborhood for hours trying to find the fallen angel who had left you hot and bothered. Truthfully, he had hurt your feelings. You couldn't tell if it was the sting of rejection or the humiliation of the state you were left in that bothered you more.

Though you would never admit to Adam, you did finish what he started. You rubbed circles around your clit slowly at first but faster and faster with half-lidded eyes, imagining Adam's fingers between your folds. You imagined his self-satisfied smirk as you spent yourself on your fingers. That fucking asshole.

You came with his name on your lips (or rather you came cursing his name, more appropriately).

You tried to distract yourself. He was a grown man and if he wanted to be an idiot so be it. Who were you to stop him? He had a key, if he wanted to come back he could.

You settled for bed, throwing on an oversized t-shirt and pink panties. Sleep didn't come quickly for you, as your mind drifted to Adam, just as it did almost every night since he left.

You couldn't necessarily figure out what you had done wrong. You weren't particularly religious or spiritual when you were alive so this odd guilt he seemed to feel confused you. And for him to have the audacity to blame whatever indiscretions of his on you? Fucking asshole.

A piece of you hoped he was safe. Another piece of you hoped he had gotten the shit beat out of him, at least a little bit.

You finally drifted to sleep, your body snuggled around your pillow. Your apartment was hot, as were most nights in hell, so you slept with the fan on, over the covers, with your shirt bunched up around your stomach.

Just as sleep was about to take you, your mind hazy and slow, you heard the noise of the front door knob twisting and the door opening.

Adam?

You rolled in bed, contemplating meeting him to express your worry and relief. The petty side of you, which won out in the end, decided to stay in bed and greet him in the morning. He did not deserve your concern or relief.

You settled back down and tried to turn your mind off. The sound of footprints pacing the apartment played like white noise in your mind. He could suffer a little longer. You began to drift softly with the footsteps until you noticed them getting closer to your bedroom door.

You heard the door open and the footsteps enter your room. You tried to regulate your breathing. You did not want to have this conversation right now. You couldn't. You closed your eyes tighter and hoped he would get the hint.

The footsteps got closer until they stopped beside your bed and you felt a dip in the mattress where Adam had sat at the edge of your bed. His breathing was deep and you could smell the fruity aromatic scent of one of his favorite wines. Still, you chose to feign sleep.

A large hand touched your thigh, thumb making soft motions against your skin. Despite the heat of the room, you could feel goosebumps form beneath his touch.

"This place fucks with my head," Adam whispered, putting a firmer grip on your thigh. Your pulse quickened. "The longer I'm here, the farther away from heaven I get."

His hand traveled farther up your thigh and you felt your breathing stop. He was so close to your core. So close to discovering how wet you were even from the small morsel of touch he gave you. "And then you sit there like a temptress pulling me further into hell. Fucking despicable."

He laughed without humor.

You shot up from your faked slumber and glared at him. "You fucking left me. Do you know embarrassing that is?"

He gave you a crooked grin. "No, Y/N, you want to know what's fucking embarrassing? How much I just wanted to taste you and figure out if you really were as fucking delectable as that first apple I bit into."

His hand traveled to the edge of your panties and played with the elastic, his touch just barely there. You could do nothing but watch his finger in morbid fascination. Your clit ached to be touched. A heat was rising in your belly at his soft touches.

"Do it then, bastard." You bit out, bitterness striking at him from your tongue. "Or just leave already."

Adam's eyes darkened and suddenly a finger had plunged between your panties and skin and had found your wet folds. You moaned involuntarily, frustrated that you were folding for him once again so easily.

"Already so wet for me, Y/N?" He asked, running lazy circles around your clitoris. You felt your back arch at his touch, the t-shirt you were wearing coming up over your breasts to reveal them completely. That caught his attention, as his hand free reached out and pinched one of your nipples. You bit back a moan, feeling the coppery taste of blood pooling in your mouth.

His finger moved from your clit to the introitus, running even circles along the edge before pushing his finger completely into you. A moan escaped as you felt yourself become completely vulnerable under his touch. He studied you with his golden eyes full of curiosity and hunger.

He pulled his finger from your core, the entire digit coated in your desire. He removed his hand from your breast and used it to pull your chin towards him so that your gaze was focused completely on his face.

He licked his finger slowly, starting at the base near the palm and up towards the tip. His face was contorted into pleasure, like a starving man might savor a last meal.

"So fucking sweet, Y/N. Just like I thought."

You lay there, heart pounding at the sight of this fallen angel tasting you. Adam still sat of the edge of the bed and looked at you with a mischievous grin. In one quick motion, he pulled the panties from your body, leaving you almost completely bare aside from your bunched-up t-shirt. He brought your panties to his nose and inhaled deeply.

"So fucking tempting, Y/N." He whispered his golden eyes wild with desire. He adjusted himself so that he was completely on the bed, still fully clothed and threw your panties to the ground. He lay on his stomach, his head dangerously close to your cunt. Both hands moved so that they each gripped your thighs tightly.

He leaned his head closer to you, his tongue popping out of his mouth to taste you again. He licked up from your entrance, your desire flowing freely, towards your clit where he lapped at your bud.

Goosebumps spread across your body as you arched your back in ecstasy. You couldn't suppress the moan that shook your entire body. Your hands found their way into Adam's hair, gripping at the soft locks hard.

This must have pleased him because he began to suck on your clitoris, slowly at first and then faster and faster, building a constant tempo that your body reacted strongly to.

"Fuck," You groaned. Adam continued on until you felt as though would burst.

"Adam," You moaned, so close to the edge. And then he removed his mouth from your aching clitoris. Your cunt pulsated with desire and heat, begging to be touched. Pleading.

"Adam please, don't leave me again," You pleaded, aware of how desperate you sounded. You were so close. Your body burned with desire and was hyperaware of his touches and heat.

He looked up at you, mouth glistening with a mixture of your juices and his saliva. "How could I leave when I know just how good you taste?"

Adam began to lick up your body, tongue moving slowly from your core to your belly to your chest. He now hovered over you as he licked up your neck, paying special attention to the pulse point at the base of your neck.

"Adam please touch me," You plead once more. Adam chuckled into your ear.

"Desperate little bitch, huh?" His words sent shivers down your spine as he sucked on your earlobe. He was so close and yet you needed him closer. Growing bold, you decided to try something.

Using all your weight, you moved your leg so that it caught him off balance, rolling him on his back into the center of the bed. You followed suit and found yourself straddling him, your hands pressing into his chest. You threw your shirt off, leaving yourself bare before him. A look of shock crossed his features followed by a smirk.

You began to grind against him, vaguely aware that you were leaving wet stains on his pants. Adam recovered from the shock and gripped your waist with his hands. You could feel your orgasm begin to build back up again as your clitoris made contact with the bulge of his penis. You moaned at the contact, the friction pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

You arched back, your breast pointed towards the ceiling, and your hands now finding themselves gripping onto Adam's thighs as you used his penis as your own personal sex toy. He moaned at the contact, the bulge in his pants growing even larger. You were so close. Almost over the edge.

"Come for me, Y/N." He asked, his voice low as he watched you use him for your own desire. Fucking shit, he had never seen a more beautiful sight.

That was all it took for your body to begin to shake as you hit your peak. You felt your body try and go limp as the explosions began to wane. Your breathing began to slow and you felt a wave of tiredness come over you. You tried to move off of Adam and tried to formulate a lame excuse for your actions in your head. Yet, he still had not released your hips. You tried to pull yourself free, but he gripped your sides tighter.

"I think you can cum at least one more time." He said, looking up at you with shining golden eyes. You shoot him a wry grin, already feeling more energized.

You pulled at his pants until he lifted his core to remove them from his body. He grabbed at his shirt and pulled it from behind his head to reveal his soft body. A trail of dark hair started at this belly button down to the dark curls of his pubic region. Multiple scars marred his abdomen, where he was stabbed by the one-eyed gremlin.

His cock was hard beneath you, rubbing against your clit most temptingly. You rubbed your already swollen vulva against his shaft, feeling it engorge with every move of your body.

"Fucking tease," He moaned out, gripping your hips to push you down harder against his body. Precum dripped from his tip, mixing with your juices. You rocked harder against him, already feeling another orgasm trying to form in your body.

Adam bucked up his hips, his face contorting into pleasure. He lifted you up from his body with all of his strength and pulled you back down so that you were impaled by his cock.

"Fuck," You cried out, tears welling in your eyes at the sensation of being filled to the brim by the fallen angel. He fits you perfectly, his cock pulsating against your walls. He begins to buck his hips into you as your ride him as though your life depended upon it. He moved a hand so that his thumb made contact with your clit, rubbing hard circles against it.

The sensation was too much and yet not enough. You could feel that ball in core grow tighter and tighter. Winding against itself until—

"Adam, I'm about to —"

"Cum for me, Y/N," He groaned out. Thrusting faster into your body. All at once that ball in your core unraveled and you screamed out in pleasure as waves overcame your every sensation. Adam gave one last thrust and came inside you, his seed shooting into your core.

You sat there for a few minutes, the waves of pleasure slowly tapering off as the scene before you became clear. Heat rose to your cheeks as you realized what you had just done. You felt Adam grow softer inside you and so you dismounted his hips and sat beside him, feeling his seed leak from your cunt.

Adam breathed heavily, his eyes half-lidded. A yawn escaped his mouth.

"Um so we have to talk about this, " You started timidly. Adam yawned again and pulled your waist so that you lay beside him. He snuggled against you, your ass matching perfectly with his softening cock.

"Adam," You tried again. His arm snaked around you and grabbed onto one of your breasts.

"Nah, fuck that Y/N. We could talk or we could go to sleep and wake up tomorrow with morning sex and breakfast." He said sleepily. You weren't in the mood to argue and you couldn't deny that being held as you slept, especially by Adam, sounded like the closest thing to heaven you could get in this godforsaken place.

You made an affirmative noise and snuggled in closer to his warm body, all too aware of the cum leaking from between your legs. Yeah, maybe you could just talk in the morning.

#hazbin hotel reader #hazbin hotel fanfiction #hazbin hotel adam #hazbin hotel fandom #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel adam x reader #adam x reader #hazbin adam x reader #hazbin hotel adam imagine #adam imagine

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factual-fantasy · 5 months

Text

28 Asks! :DD Thank you!! :}} 🛒

@raven-bearden-the-interviewer42

She met Seafoam when she rescued his ship from a great storm out at sea. :00

She brought the ship to safety and the next morning Seafoam crawls out into the deck and pulls himself over the railing to look around. All bruised and cracked from being thrown about the ship all night <XDD

That's when their eyes meet.. she tells Seafoam the story of how she saved his ship. And Seafoam is endlessly grateful! He was so kind and genuine.. 💞

@starz-nova

XDD Thank you!! :DD I'm glad you like it! :}}

@holly-opal (Link in ask)

I have not, but I know of it! :00 A friend of mine loves it and has recommended it to me. I've always considered reading it but never got around to it <XDD

A lot of people commented that he looks a lot like Davy Jones from Pirates of the Caribbean, so I imagine yes! <XDD

He might be happy to find someone that looks similar to him! :DD Though he probably wouldn't approach her.

If he saw someone like that, it'd be on shore. And if he's on shore? He's with his crew. Which means he's got a lot of people too keep track of and protect- he has no time to get distracted by interesting ladies! XDD

@sussyhahag

Man I've put one some weight-- XDD

But thank you! I'm sure Grim and "Gengar me" would be great friends :}}}

@beryl-shade

I could! :DD Maybe he'd be another pirate, they could call him "Tack" for short! :}}

While I imagine she'd love to help out in that way, I imagine Seafoam tends to his own laundry XD

@neo-metalscottic (Gerald's one year in question)

Thank you so much!! :DD The other comic is almost done and I'm hoping to post it soon! I've just had a few rough days with my health so Its not coming out as fast as I'd hope.. 😅 That, and I've been a bit mentally preoccupied daydreaming about web comic ideas.. 😞

As for Morton, I think his skin color will be a simple case of melanism! Nothing too crazy or magical there! <XDD As for his name and how he talks, I think its a reasonable idea that he would be named after a previous king! :0 Perhaps a previous king who had melanism as well..? 👀 Who knows XD

Though with his voice, I cant imagine him talking all "hulk" like. Since he's a part of the royal family he would have access to only the best education and speech therapy (if needed-). So the likelihood of any of the Koopalings having speech problems or talking "hulk" like would be low 😅 though that's not to say that out of all his siblings, he leans towards that type of speech the most! :00

As for Kammy and Kamek, she's not nearly as old as him. I was thinking Kamek is hundreds of years old, while Kammy is the Koopa equivalent of like... 60-70? She was brought into the koopa palace to be a nanny/maid. Her power is different from Kamek's, though I haven't figured out all the specifics yet.. I guess it can be said that when it comes to magic, they both studied and mastered different things.

Now if she ever faced Kamek in combat? He would flatten her. There is no Magikoopa alive today that can compare to Kamek's power..

...Doesn't mean she's afraid to get on his nerves though XDD She loves to mess with him, knowing that he's not allowed to hurt her.🤪

And lastly, its interesting to hear about the Vehicons getting some more originality! :00 My favorite out of those 3 would have to be the red one :}}

AWE! Thank you so much!! :DD I'm honored!! :}}}

@unicornfpotatoesdir

Nah, he's always gonna be littol! XDD And thank you!! :}}

@milk-powrit

My first instinct was no.. since Jangles is like 2.5-3 feet tall and I always imagined sans to be 4.5-5 feet tall. But google says sans 2 feet tall??? XDD If we're going by Googles standards then yeah Jangles is taller- but my heart dont want to believe he's that short 🤣💀

As for the 20k post, Jangles wasn't holding anything other than Gerald.. so I assume you meant this post..? <:0 If so, its a granola bar! Its been most if my diet recently so I imagine I had a few extra lying around for Jangles <XDD

@snailfen

So far I really like it!! :DD Better than Sword and Shield imo that's for sure <XDD

I do not. <:/ But you can find all my Pokémon stuff under #pokemon scarlet and violet or #pokemon in my blogs search bar! <:D

@lathan-chillyfilm

Funky lookin guy, I like him! XDD

@tallchest13-blog

*Cici tugs at my arm

"......so you gonna drink that-" XDD Thank you!

Thank you so much!! :DD I've got my hopes back up recently, hoping I'm over all this soon! :}} 🤞🤞

@yourstrulylightstar283

Awe, thank you!! :}}}

Oh yeah, after the wars all said and done? I'm sure he's pull back on that extreme and get some repairs done 🥺

@mimiocto

You know to be honest, Grim is very dangerous becuase his brother is a Sylveon. XDD If I remember correctly, V is higher level than Grim in the game. Dragon types better watch out! XDD

Oh hey! I've seen that guy around! I used to think he was Shockwave <XDD And he appears to be an Autobot?? With how Chaotic he is in fanart I thought he was a Decepticon-💀

But anyways- yes! With the fanart I've seen of him, I think him and Bash would be great friends XDD

@artblock200322022

Thank you! I'm glad you liked those comics! :DD

Though at the moment, I don't have plans to jump back into that fandom anytime soon. <:/ I've have some uncomfortable experiences with the Octonauts fandom recently so I'm taking a bit of a break for now-

@bee-the-inevitable-death

I don't see a reason to go through the effort to maintain an account on another website. <:0 I have all my inside jokes, my follower celebrations and all my followers right here in one place! Its much nicer :}

Awe! Thank you so much!! :DDD I'm glad :}}}}

@pink088

Nah its fiiiiine dw! As long as I have the bandages on the blood will stay in my hands surly :}} but thank you for the tea! :D

(Referencing this post)

XDD Are we sure it wasn't [M]ango?

Daaannngg.... Homestuck is way bigger than I thought-

@snailshard

That looks beautiful!! :DD And thank you! :}}

#my response #cookie run #cookie run kingdom #cookie run ocs #my ocs #factual fam #super mario bros #pokemon scarlet and violet #gengar #sylveon

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lullabyes22-blog · 7 months

Text

Snippet - Jayce Goes Sleuthing - Forward, but Never Forget/XOXO

In the wake of Vi's departure, and Viktor's defection, Jayce's life falls apart.

Forward but Never Forget/XOXO

"Consider carefully. The Man of Tomorrow, Piltover's brightest mind, would look pretty dim in a prison jumpsuit."

Snippet:

Caitlyn—

I got your message this morning. I'm sorry it's taken so long to write. It's been a crazy couple of weeks. Not sure where to begin, so I guess I'll start with the most important thing:

I've resigned from the Council.

As of last week, I'm no longer a Councilor. Just a regular citizen. I know the news isn't official yet. There will be a special announcement later this week. It's pretty short-notice. I'm sure the media will have a field day.

Your Mother knows; I'm surprised she didn't tell you. Then again, the Council's been busy scrambling to find a replacement for Professor Heimerdinger. They've been hogtied in a bunch of other issues since Zaun's independence, too. There's been nothing but emergency sessions with the Zaunite Cabinet. So it's possible she didn't get a chance.

The motion for me to step down was unanimous. It's the right choice, and I'm at peace with it.

I'm sorry to hear about yours and Violet's split. It sounds like the two of you had a good thing going. She and I didn't really see eye to eye. But you seemed to care for her a lot. I had no idea there was a Peacekeeper Exchange Initiative happening—or that she'd been reassigned to Zaun. I saw no preliminary memos on the matter. If I had, maybe I could've done something to prevent it.

Then again, I've been so distracted lately. It wouldn't have surprised me if a hundred things slipped under my radar.

I understand you're concerned for her safety. Near as my old contacts in the Council can tell me, her transfer has been approved. They've already conducted the ceremonial swearing-in, and the inaugural Peacekeeper Exchange Initiative has officially begun. They've been granted interim residency until the next rotation, six months from now.

There's not much that can be done to stop it. At least, not in the legal sense. My authority to intervene has run its course. And if the Council's being tightlipped, then Silco's people are pathologically silent. The details of Violet's reassignment—where she'll stay, her duties, her work schedule—is all being kept private.

I'm sorry, Cait. You're the last person who deserves this kind of heartbreak.

You've asked me to confront Mel. To convince her to stop Vi's transfer, or pull the plug on the whole project.

Sadly, I can't do either of those things.

Mel and I are no longer together. It was a mutual decision. She's no longer my mentor, and I'm no longer her protégé. She's made her position on forging diplomatic ties with Zaun's First Chancellor clear. I've made equally clear my distaste on trying to spin blood money into gold. We're both determined to follow through, and I don't see a way of changing that.

Guess it's heartbreaks all around, huh?

Maybe it's necessary. Maybe we're supposed to hurt so we can grow. I think I've gotten a little too comfortable in my cushy Council chair. It's high time I got back to the grind. I wanted to build a better world. That means I need to put the work in at HexCorp to make it happen.

We'll get through this, Cait. You and me. Let's meet up once things have calmed down. I miss our talks. I need some sane company after weeks of listening to politicians bicker.

If there's anything I can do, please let me know.

Fondly,

Jayce

Cait—

Viktor's gone.

He's been missing since last Wednesday. The reason the Enforcers haven't been informed yet is because the Council is keeping it under wraps. But they've alerted the Wardens, and they're conducting a private investigation. Viktor's notes are gone from the lab. His apartment has been ransacked. All the Hex-tech prototypes are missing.

So is the Hexcore.

I'm worried. Not because the Hexcore could be turned into a weapon of mass destruction. Viktor's been under a great deal of strain. He's not well. I don't want him getting hurt. The fact that all his research has been taken—it makes no sense. He could've been abducted, but there's no ransom note. None of his assistants noticed any signs of foul play.

There's also been no sightings of Sky Young. Or any traces of her remains.

Cait—I don't want to add to your troubles. But I don't know who else to share this with. I trust you. I value your insight.

And the truth is, I'm a little scared.

The Wardens are suggesting Viktor's gone rogue. More than that. They're speculating that he may be linked to Sky's disappearance. Their inquisitor told me that his behavior during their last interrogation was erratic. That he'd showed signs of paranoia. That he'd withheld key details about Sky's last hours, and lied about the last time he'd seen her.

They're considering the possibility that Viktor was involved in her disappearance.

Cait—I think it's bullshit. Viktor wouldn't harm a fly. He's one of the gentlest souls I've ever known. He's dedicated his life to serving Piltover, and making it a better place. And he’s known Sky since they were children. I never saw anything but respect between them. Her disappearance hit him hard. I was with him when the preliminary investigation was being conducted.

I can tell you: he wasn't faking his grief.

Something else is going on. I don't know what.

But I'm going to find out.

In the meantime, I'm sorry I can't be of more help with tracking down Violet. I don't have any pull with the Wardens, or Silco's administration. And my contacts on the Council won't talk. Try reaching out to your mother. She's the only one I know who can reasonably intervene. At the very least, she can get her sources to conduct a quiet search.

I know it's not the solution you wanted. I know the stakes are high.

I just want you to know you're not alone.

Warm regards,

Jayce

Caitlyn—

It's late, and I know you're probably sleeping. Still, I had to write. Something happened tonight.

The Wardens found Viktor.

He's been located in Zaun. Specifically, at the headquarters of First Chancellor Silco. They're claiming he's defected. What's more, they're stating that he's in collaboration with a notorious chemist, formerly known as Colin Reveck, but currently known as "Singed." The doctor has a record for performing unethical experiments.

He's also rumored to be responsible for the creation of Shimmer.

The Wardens received clearance to access Viktor's medical records. They found traces of Shimmer in his blood samples. Apparently, Viktor's been on the drug for months. He's been hiding the side-effects. There is evidence that he's been taking massive doses. It's been compromising his mind.

And now, according to the Wardens, he's a wanted fugitive.

Sky Young's DNA has been found on his personal belongings.

I can't believe it, Cait. This isn't the man I know. Viktor would never harm Sky. Never. And with his medical condition, he'd be too weak to physically attack her. As for the Shimmer—he's always been adamant about never touching drugs. Or stimulants of any kind. One cup of caffeine was enough to get him buzzed.

He wouldn't take that poison, even in his darkest hours.

Something isn't adding up.

The Council are currently in talks with Zaun's Cabinet. They're demanding that Viktor and the Hexcore be handed over. The Wardens are pushing for extradition. Mel has been trying—unsuccessfully—to reach First Chancellor Silco. He's been unavailable since last afternoon.

This is bad.

I've got a sinking feeling. Viktor's research—the Hexcore—it's the key to unlocking a whole stratum of potential weaponry. The fact that he's now in Zaun, under Silco’s aegis, isn't a coincidence. Silco's notoriously secretive, but we know that he has an extensive network of spies and informants. If he saw a chance to use Viktor's illness against him, and profit off his genius, he'd seize it without a second thought.

That's exactly what I think is happening.

Viktor's not a criminal. And he didn't disappear of his own volition. Silco must've had a hand in it.

I'm going to figure out how.

Take care of yourself, okay? Please. I've already lost my brother. I can't lose my best friend too.

Be safe. I'll keep in touch.

Jayce

Cait—

Sorry I took off so early yesterday. There was no time. The Council had an emergency meeting with HexCorp, and I was summoned as its representative.

Things have escalated. Zaun's Cabinet has denied extradition. They claim that Viktor's entry into Zaun was perfectly legal. What's more, they state that the Hexcore, as one of Viktor's primary inventions, is his to take wherever he chooses. They even claim that the Hexcore is a prototype and, therefore, not an official piece of HexCorp's patented technology.

I'd expected the Council to push back. Instead—and I can't believe I'm writing this—they've acquiesced.

I was speechless.

The Council's position is that, as a scientist, Viktor has a right to his intellectual property. I argued that we'd both worked on the Hexcore as a team. Therefore, it was ours. They pointed to our original patent agreement, and the fine print that gives us equal, but not joint, ownership. They also reminded me that, as Viktor was from the Fissures, he was legally a foreigner under Piltover's laws.

I remember, during my tenure as a Councilor, pushing for months to get that stupid provision removed, and having my proposal shot down.

Now it's bit the entire city in the ass.

Cait—I'm ashamed to say it. But I lost my temper. In the middle of the meeting, I slammed my fist on the table and demanded to know why the hell they were backing down. Didn't we have the resources, and the right, to protect those who'd served us? Even if Viktor had exited under a cloud, didn't his deteriorating health and the danger the Hexcore posed justify both their retrieval?

Why, I wanted to know, weren't they summoning Silco here to account for his actions? Why weren't they threatening his administration with military force if he refused to cooperate? Didn't he owe us an explanation as to how our greatest innovator had come into contact with him?

It was Mel who answered. She explained that Silco's administration is a sovereign entity. We don't have the authority to demand an audience, nor the leverage to force his cooperation. We're not even legally bound to warn him. Zaun's Cabinet has the right to act independently of our influence. And, as for Silco's personal agenda, that is beyond the Council's purview. He's not obliged to share his secrets. It's his prerogative, not ours.

In other words, we don't have a leg to stand on.

I was so mad. So mad. I couldn't believe it. I couldn't believe them. It was the same shit I'd had to deal with when I'd first been nominated as Councilor. Except that time, it was the bureaucracy that was hamstringing me. This time, it's the people who I worked with. People who swore to protect our citizens. Who pledged to defend Piltover's principles.

And who are now acting like cowards, unwilling to do what's necessary.

I called them on it. In front of the entire assembly. I asked them where their courage had gone. Why they weren't fighting. Why they weren't even trying. Was this what Piltover was going to become? A society that allowed its greatest minds to be suborned? What the hell were they planning to do when the next inventor came under Silco's spell? Were they going to give up then, too?

The meeting ended shortly afterwards.

Mel tried to catch me in the hallway, but I was having none of it. She cornered me by the stairs. She wanted to know if I'd reconsider resigning. If we could talk.

I'll admit I was tempted. I haven't seen her since our split, and it's been hard. I miss her. It'd be nice to just hold her, even for a few minutes. To feel sane again. Safe. I know we can't rekindle things. Not with her position, and mine. But a hug, a kiss, some conversation...anything would've been good.

I turned her down.

I said we had nothing to discuss. That she'd made her position clear, and it was not one I agreed with. I asked her what the point of continuing the conversation was if we couldn't agree on the most fundamental matters. If we'd end up arguing over the same things again. I didn't have time for it. My focus had to be on Viktor. On finding a way to bring him home. And if she wasn't willing to help, then we had nothing else to talk about.

She told me I was being foolish. That I'd let my emotions blind me. That my stubbornness was going to be the death of me.

I told her I was fine with that. Because the alternative would be dying inside. That I wasn't willing to let Silco's take everything from me.

Especially not Viktor.

Cait, let's meet. Soon. We've got a lot to discuss. And I can't do this alone.

Jayce.

Cait—

This is going to be a quick one.

The Council and Zaun's Cabinet have arranged a summit. It's slated for next week. Silco is going to attend. We'll be discussing the terms for Viktor's return, and the repatriation of the Hexcore. Mel has been working to make it happen. It's the first sign of progress. It gives me hope. And it's a chance for me to confront Silco directly.

I'm not going to rest until Viktor's back where he belongs.

I'll ask Silco about Violet. I'll corner him in private, if I have to. I'm not sure how the two of them are connected. If they are, at all. But it can't hurt. And the more I can get him talking, the more opportunities I'll have to figure out what the hell is really going on. What he wants. And why.

I'll send a follow-up letter once I've got more information.

Stay strong. And, whatever happens, please don't lose faith. Piltover needs your courage. So do I.

Jayce.

Caitlyn,

I'm so sorry. I need to vent. Too much has happened.

Viktor's staying in Zaun.

So is the Hexcore.

Negotiations fell through. I don't know why. Silco showed up, and he was civil. More than that, actually. He was polite. He shook hands. He thanked the Council for reaching out, and expressed his appreciation at their willingness to compromise. He'd brought along his Deputy and a few members his Cabinet. They were well-dressed, professional. I was impressed. I was relieved. I'd come prepared to do battle, but he seemed determined to cooperate.

Then it all went to shit.

Cait, I can't explain it. But the whole thing felt... staged. Like Silco already knew how it was going to end. Like the Council had already signed off on some private deal, and were simply going through the motions. Mel opened with the usual pleasantries. She asked Silco about his health. His administration. His relationship with Zaun's citizens.

The latter question was a nod to me. A subtle signal that she was leaving the floor open for me to address him.

I did. I'd been preparing for weeks. I'd even gone over my questions with some of the other Councilors. They'd all agreed that the issue had to be addressed. If the Council was serious about building diplomatic ties, and creating a sustainable rapport with Zaun, then Silco's conduct had to be taken seriously. And he couldn't be given an inch.

He needed to be confronted.

So, as soon as the pleasantries were finished, I asked him what his plans were for the Hexcore. For the Peacekeeper Exchange Initiative. Why, if he was a man of the people, was he taking a magical relic that was potentially volatile out of our control? How was it serving his citizens, or the people who'd been entrusted to his care? How was it serving his principles?

And, most importantly, where the hell was Viktor, and what the hell was his game?

Silco smiled.

The bastard actually smiled.

Then he showed me a letter, in Viktor's handwriting, addressed to the Council. It stated that, because of his deteriorating health, he'd chosen to relocate back home. He wrote that there was only so much treatment the doctors at Piltover could provide. Eventually, he'd need more intensive care. And, as a Zaunite, he was entitled access to the physician of his choosing.

His physician was Colin Reveck.

Singed.

Apparently, if Viktor's letter was to be believed, Singed had known Viktor for years. As a chemist, he had a keen understanding of the disease affecting Viktor's lungs. And he'd been working with him on an experimental treatment. That was the reason Shimmer was in Viktor's bloodstream.

It was an integral part of the therapy. Without it, he'd have died long ago.

Silco also presented records of his conversations with Viktor, during which Viktor had confessed to feeling ostracized in Piltover. To having been made to feel bypassed, not only by the Council, but by his own peers.

By me.

Sky's disappearance had hit him hard, and the strain of maintaining his career and his health had left him emotionally depleted. He'd been forced to make a choice, and he'd chosen life.

He'd chosen Zaun.

I demanded proof. I said there was no way Viktor would write a letter like that. That there was no way he'd willingly choose to work with someone like Singed. He'd always despised putting morality aside for progress. He'd never approved of using animals as test subjects. Or people. I accused Silco of lying. Of blackmailing Viktor, or worse.

Silco showed me a photo.

I'll spare you the worse details. It was Viktor, yes. Definitely him. But the man in the picture looked nothing like my friend. He was... augmented. All over. He had metal plates across his face. There are mechanical appendages in place of his hands. There's gears, and cogs, and wires, on his torso. His throat is encased in a tube, and there is an equalizer outfitted to his chest.

Even his eyes are different. They're no longer his natural color. They're yellow and black. Like hazard lights.

And they glow.

Cait, it was like something out of a nightmare. He looked—he looked like an automaton. Like a cyborg. It wasn't a person anymore. It was a machine. Something created by a mad scientist, and brought to life by evil sorcery.

The timestamp on the photo was two weeks ago. When Viktor was first reported missing. That meant that, between then and now, Viktor had undergone a terrible transformation.

He'd become something inhuman.

Cait, I've known Viktor for years. I've known him better than anyone. But right then, I didn't recognize him. Not even a little bit. And, when I looked up at Silco, I saw him watching me. Watching the horror in my face. Smiling.

Smiling like the Devil himself.

I could've hit him. I would've hit him. Right then and there. But the Councilors intervened. Their security pulled me back. Mel tried to talk me down, but I was too furious. I couldn't believe what I'd seen. I couldn't believe he'd had the nerve to show it. To shove it in our faces. I couldn't believe the Viktor he'd shown me was real.

But it was.

The photograph's been vetted. It's the real deal. So is Viktor's signature. His handwriting hasn't changed. It's been matched to several official documents. His letter, which was accompanied by a medical report from Singed, has also been examined. And, while we've been unable to corroborate its contents, the letter itself has passed a rigorous authenticity test.

Viktor is alive.

And he's staying in Zaun. Under Silco's care.

He's been provided an apartment, a generous stipend, and a state-of-the-art lab. He's been placed in charge of an expanding Hex and chem-tech research division, and given a team of assistants. He's been granted unrestricted access to Zaun's medical facilities for his treatment, and all the resources necessary to conduct his experiments.

All of which are in collaboration with Singed.

There's nothing we can do, Cait. Absolutely nothing. Silco's got him locked in a golden cage. He's using Viktor's genius to advance his agenda, and the fact that he's been augmented is proof that he's not above forcing him into compliance.

Viktor's a casualty. And we're the ones who lost him.

It's all my fault.

They've scheduled a forty-five-minute recess. We'll take a break, then resume for the next session. After that, there'll be a dinner. And more discussions. I can't. I just can't. This is all wrong. Everything. My best friend is gone. Mel and I are no longer together. And the Council. They've failed. Failed us. Failed the city. Failed Viktor.

And something tells me it's going to get a whole lot worse.

Cait, please be patient. I still need to ask Silco about Violet. And I'll do everything I can. You have my word.

Jayce.

Cait—

The summit's over. Silco and his people have left.

And good riddance. I never want to see his rotten face again.

Cait, the whole thing was a sham. A total sham. From beginning to end. Nothing meaningful came out of the meetings. Silco didn't answer a single question. The Council wouldn't hold him to account. Instead, they started discussing the crisis as if it was a business merger. As if it was some kind of deal to be brokered, and a mutually beneficial arrangement to be made.

Silco had the gall to suggest a compromise. He said that Viktor, as a Zaunite, should be allowed to continue his research on the Hexcore. In return, the Council will be permitted to oversee his future Hextech projects. Both cities will collaborate to conduct a monthly audit via a joint Oversight Committee. They'd guarantee a set number of patents, and a share of the profits, and even provide funding for further innovations.

I argued that this was unacceptable. It would give the Council no actual leverage, and would only make them complicit in Viktor's subjugation. That they'd be signing a blank check. And that, by working with Silco, we'd be condoning his crimes.

The Council said nothing. They didn't support me. They didn't even try.

Mel agreed with Silco.

I couldn't believe it. I still can't believe it, Cait. She sided with him. With him!

She said the Council had to think long-term, and that, if we wanted peace, we needed to start acting like the world leaders we claimed to be. She pointed to the economic benefits, and the opportunities the new alliance could create. She reminded everyone that Viktor was a free man, and that he was the one who'd made the decision.

As far as she was concerned, it was his right.

I was outraged. I told her this wasn't the time for political theater or corporate speak. This was a human being's life we were talking about. And Viktor wasn't free. He was a hostage. If the Council really wanted to serve their citizens, they'd stand up to Silco. They'd demand the repatriation of the Hexcore. Then they'd demand Viktor's release.

And they'd use every means possible to get him back.

Then Silco dropped a bombshell.

He said, as thanks for the Council's cooperation in facilitating Viktor's "return" to Zaun, he'd make a gesture of goodwill. He'd draft legislation to outlaw the production of Shimmer as a narcotic, and to ban its distribution for recreational purposes. And, to prove his intentions were sincere, he'd have the new law approved by a vote, and the legislation made public. Only medicinal uses, he stressed, would remain legal.

The Council, he went on to suggest, could enact a blanket embargo on Shimmer's importation. Points of entry would be monitored, and Piltover would take steps to crack down on illegal trafficking. It would send a message to Piltover's allies, that Zaun was serious about pursuing the path of legitimacy. And that its partnership with Piltover was a symbol of that intent.

I was shocked.

So was Mel. And the rest of the Council. This wasn't what anyone had been expecting. This wasn't the Silco we'd known. He was offering to put himself in our debt. To cut ties with the illegal drug trade, and to allow the Council the opportunity to enforce sanctions against bad actors.

It was a major concession. It would effectively eliminate a key revenue stream in Silco's operation, and cripple the underworld's most valuable market.

Cait, I'll admit it.

I didn't see the trap until it was too late.

Silco doesn't need to distribute Shimmer within his city anymore. Because he's got the Hexcore. And it's capable of making breakthroughs in science and magic, beyond anything we've ever known. He's got some of the world's greatest innovators under his thumb. The only limits are their imaginations.

With the fruits of their labor—and the Council's backing—investors will flock to Zaun. Capital will pour in. The city will grow. Its economy will flourish.

No drugs needed.

I was the only one who spoke out against it. I felt like a complete jerk. But I had to state my case. I argued that the Council had to consider the risks. That we couldn't trust Silco, no matter how immaculately he dressed up his proposal. Who was to say he wouldn't take the Council's investment and put it into other ventures? What if he began funneling the investors' coin, and used it to finance bioweapons? What if he turned Zaun into an armory, right under Piltover's feet?

And, even if he did give up the drug trade, what about his human trafficking? His smuggling? The brothels, and the illegal casinos, and the underground fighting pits?

What about his ties to organized crime?

The Council dismissed my concerns.

They were eager. Eager to shake hands. Eager to sign on the dotted line. Eager to move forward.

The deal, Mel explained, would be the cornerstone of a lasting relationship between Zaun and Piltover. The Council's approval was vital. It would lend a stamp of legitimacy to Zaun's new order. And, she stated, it was the only way to avoid future conflict.

I was disgusted.

She was trying to sell the summit as a success. Like we hadn't given up a critical piece of our national defense, and put it into the hands of a foreign dictator. Like Silco hadn't blackmailed Viktor, or taken advantage of his illness, or exploited his vulnerability. Like he wasn't an abusive tyrant who ruled by fear, and murdered in cold blood.

Like he hadn't just gotten away with everything.

Cait, I can't tell you what happened. I don't have the words. I was angry. So, so angry. And disappointed. With the Council. With Mel. With myself. I couldn't stand to be there a moment longer.

So I walked out.

After the summit, I waited to catch Silco in the lobby. He was heading towards his limo. There were no security personnel. Just him and his Deputy Chancellor and a blackguard. He was smoking a cigar, and strolling like a man with all the time in the world.

I didn't say a word. I didn't hesitate. I grabbed him and pinned him against the wall.

I told him he had a choice. Either he could hand over Viktor and the Hexcore, or I'd beat the truth out of him.

The bastard smiled. He smiled at me.

Then he said, "Pet."

Someone grabbed me from behind. An arm went around my throat. A hand wrenched my elbow behind my back. I struggled, but couldn't break free. The grip was like iron. I half-turned, expecting to see Silco's Deputy. It was the blackguard.

Cait...

It was Violet.

She was in a full-on bodyguard get-up. Black suit. Black shirt. Black visor. Black boots. Her was cropped short, and she'd gained muscle. She looked lean, and hard, and strong.

Like a soldier.

She didn't say a word. She kept me in a sleeper hold, until the Deputy arrived with security. I don't know how many Councilors saw me in that position. I don't know what they must've been thinking, or what they must’ve been saying.

I was seeing stars. I was dizzy. I could barely breathe.

Then Silco said, "Drop him."

Violet obeyed.

When I came to, I was on my knees. My neck hurt. My arm hurt. My head was pounding. It was hard to focus. Then two steel-tipped boots materialized in my line of sight. I looked up, and there was Silco, staring down at me.

He was calm. Collected. Completely at ease.

"You'll have to forgive her," he said. "She's still being trained."

Cait, he knew.

He knew I'd ask him about Violet. He knew you'd placed inquiries looking for her. He knew we were concerned for her wellbeing.

So he'd had her accompany him to the summit, as a deliberate provocation.

He was taunting us both.

"I'd advise you, as a personal favor, to not try this again," he said. "If you do, you may find the outcome... less forgiving."

I told him to go fuck himself.

I think he smiled. It's hard to remember.

With a fingertip, he gestured Violet over. She came. I'll never forget that. The way she obeyed. Without hesitation. Without question. Not once did she acknowledge my presence. I still remember when I'd drop by for tea sometimes at your flat, and she'd scowl when she saw me. Or roll her eyes. Or say, "Oh, look. Pretty-Boy's here."

There was none of that. Nothing. Just total silence.

Total obedience.

Then Silco took her by the chin.

"There's a good girl," he said, and stroked her cheek.

It made my skin crawl.

I told myself it was because of Silco. Since the Siege, I'd been looking into his past, and there's enough material in the dossiers to turn your blood to icewater. I can't imagine the psychic price of serving that monster. I can't even imagine the pressure of being a blackguard at his beck-and-call.

I told myself it was the thought of Violet at his mercy, night after night. I told myself it was because she'd lost her autonomy. That she was trapped. That she was under duress.

I told myself that's why my gut was churning.

I'm sorry, Cait.

That's not the truth.

The truth is, I wasn't scared of Silco.

I was scared of Violet.

No—I was terrified.

Cait—there was a look in her eyes. I don't know how to describe it. A coldness, almost. Like she wasn't seeing me, or the Deputy, or anyone. Only Silco. She didn't flinch when he touched her. She didn't even blink. She was completely unmoved. Like a soldier on the parade ground.

Like a weapon waiting to open fire.

The limo pulled up. Silco and his Deputy got inside. I remember Vi holding the door open for them. And I remember her turning, one last time, to look at me.

There was nothing in her face. No emotion. No recognition. No regret.

Just empty.

Then she got inside, and the door swung shut. They drove off.

I haven't been able to stop thinking about it. Cait, it's all I can think about. How different she looks. How hard she seems. And that stare. That terrifying, horrible stare.

What the hell did Silco do to her?

Cait, I'm coming to visit. We have a lot to talk about.

Jayce

Cait—

I have news.

Big news.

After I left your flat, I went straight home. A courier had just dropped a missive off at my place.

It was from the Wardens.

Their theory on Viktor being responsible for Sky's disappearance is crumbling. Despite their suspicions that Viktor was the last man to see her, their investigation has been unable to locate a single shred of evidence.

Viktor's laboratory is clean. No fingerprints, no signs of foul play, no indication of a struggle. Even the cameras, which the Wardens have accessed using a subpoena, showed no signs of her leaving with him. Her clothes, and belongings, were still inside the building. And her bike was still parked outside.

They're still not sure how she vanished. It's like she was swallowed up by a black hole.

As for the DNA—a secondary lab test revealed it was a mistake. Just a case of cross-contamination. They'd mistaken an old sample from a previous search in Sky's apartment. The report had gotten mixed up with Viktor's case file. The mistake had been made by an intern, who'd mislabeled a sample, and the senior investigators had simply repeated the error.

All in all, it was a complete botch-up.

The evidence is circumstantial. There's nothing that implicates Viktor.

For now, they've dropped charges.

I should be thankful. I know Viktor hasn't committed any crimes, and there's no concrete evidence of his guilt. It was a stretch to accuse him of involvement in Sky's disappearance.

But now there's a nagging doubt in the back of my mind. The timing's too convenient. First the Council caves to Zaun, and lets Viktor remain as Silco's prisoner. Now the Wardens have decided, of their own accord, not to press charges.

It makes no sense.

Worse, my own mind's playing tricks on me. I keep replaying the night Sky was reported missing. How distraught Viktor was. How he could barely speak. Barely look at me. He was a wreck, and I believed his distress was sincere. I'd told the Wardens, time and again, that there was no way Viktor had done anything to harm Sky.

I'd vouched for him.

Now, though...now, I'm not so sure.

The thing is, we still don't have all the facts from that night. Sky was last seen exiting her office at eight o' clock. The cameras see her walking down the main corridor. Then, at nine thirty, her assistant goes in to check on her, and finds her gone. Her bike's still there. Her street clothes are still on the rack. All her possessions are still inside.

But no Sky.

Where the hell did she go?

The cameras don't show her exiting the building. Which means she must still be in there. Except there's no trace of her. None.

Then it hit me.

The Hex-lab—mine and Viktor's workspace—had no cameras. A security camera had been installed, but Viktor had requested it be removed. He'd said, and I quote, "We are scientists. Our work necessitates a degree of privacy." It was part of our terms with the Council, and an addendum to our patent agreement. The lab would be kept off-limits, except to those involved with the project.

Viktor, Sky, and I were the only one who had the keycard.

And Viktor was the only person in the lab that night.

Caitlyn—I'm worried. It's possible I've made a terrible mistake. I've been so fixated on finding Viktor, I haven't stopped to ask myself why. Why would Viktor disappear without a word? Why would he take all his notes, abandon his post, and go into hiding? Why wouldn't he ask me for help? Or at least leave a note?

I've been thinking—what if he doesn't want to be found?

What if something bad happened between him and Sky? Something so terrible, he had no choice but to run?

Cait, please—help me figure this out.

Your friend,

Jayce.

Cait,

I had a fight with Mel.

I'm ashamed to say it. To be honest, it's embarrassing. I've never raised my voice at her before. Or sworn at her. Or, frankly, behaved like such a prick.

Here's what happened.

After my talk with you, I went straight to her penthouse. I was in a bad place. I'd hit the bar—awful idea, I know—and then gone for a walk. It was raining. I ended up in one of the city's parks. It's near her place. I sat on a bench and tried to get my thoughts together. Everything—why Viktor could've left, why Sky might've disappeared, why the Council were so willing to negotiate with Silco—was running through my head.

I just wanted to talk. I wanted a friend. I wanted her.

Cait—you told me how hard it's been since Violet left. How much you've been hurting. Not the everyday stuff. I know about that. But it's the other things, too. Like how you don't feel like yourself anymore. Like there's something hollow in you, that only she can fill. And nights are the worst. You miss the closeness. You miss the warmth.

And, Gods help me, the sex.

That's the part I miss the most. I can't tell you how many times I've woken up at night, dreaming about Mel, and I've had to stop myself from calling her up at four o'clock in the morning.

It's hard, Cait. Being apart. It's really hard.

I know how you feel. So you'll understand perfectly why I went to see Mel. I know we broke things off. I know it was my decision. And, no, I didn't expect us to pick up where we'd left off.

I just wanted someone to talk to.

Before I knew it, I was at her penthouse. I was soaked, and cold, and drunk. It was the middle of the night. But the doorman recognized me. He let me in, and called ahead to let her know.

She was waiting for me.

I'll never forget how she looked, Cait. She was wearing a silk robe. One of my favorites: all white lace and gold brocade. Her hair was loose, and it smelled like hyacinths. You know, I've never told you this, but I used to comb Mel's hair before bed. I wasn't very good at it. Sometimes I'd end up pulling too hard. But she'd smile, each time, and show me the trick to gently working through the knots. She'd kiss my hands. Then she'd kiss me.

Then—

Well, I think you know.

Seeing her again. Seeing her so soft, and warm, and lovely. It took my breath away.

It took everything.

Cait, I'm not going to lie. We ended up in bed. She said she'd missed me. And, damn it, I'd missed her. So much.

So very, very much.

I can't say I don't love her. How can I not? She's smart, and gorgeous, and funny. She's passionate. She's fearless. And I admire her. She has a way of commanding a room, but also of making every single person feel heard. She makes me feel heard. When I talk to her, I feel like I can say anything. Do anything. Be anything.

I needed that. I needed her.

She felt the same.

It was beautiful. Intimate. Wonderful. Sure at first, we were both a little awkward, and clumsy, and I'd forgotten to shave the past few days. But, after a few minutes, we were like two people who'd never left each other. Two people who'd never been apart.

Two people in love.

When we finished, we held each other. Then she kissed my cheek, and whispered in my ear, "Jayce, darling... you're home."

And, Cait, it felt like it. Like I'd finally come home.

It's not until after I'd showered, and was heading back into the bedroom, that the doubts crept in. Those nagging little doubts. Things I'd pushed down. Things I didn't want to confront. Like how the Council and Silco seemed to be on the same page in advance. Like how they were giving him carte blanche to exploit a man's genius, and use it for their own gains.

Like how Mel, out of everyone, seemed to know exactly what Silco was thinking.

Like she was expecting it.

I slipped back into bed with Mel, and I held her. Still, the questions came in my head. They came quietly, at first. Softly. Then, as the silence between us grew, they began to gain volume. Until I was sure she could hear them too.

Then I asked her the question.

"Why didn't you fight?"

At first, she pretended not to understand. So I said it again, louder.

"Why didn't you fight, Mel? Why didn't the Council?"

She turned. She was looking at me. Searching my face.

"You had a chance," I told her. "You could've fought for Viktor. You could've fought for me. Why didn't you?"

There was a long silence.

"I didn't have a choice," she said.

"Bullshit."

"It's the truth. I didn't. Jayce—you don't understand. There's more at stake than just the Hexcore. It's a small piece of a bigger issue. That issue being—how can we maintain our peace with Zaun. You have to understand. It's not only about your friend."

"Viktor. His name is Viktor."

"Viktor, yes. But we need to think of the whole picture. It's not just him. It's our trade agreements. It's our economic stability. It's our reputation as a city. As the City of Progress."

"So it's not important, what's happening to him. Because he's not a Piltovan, he's expendable."

"That's not what I'm saying. Please. Don't twist my words."

"Then what are you saying?"

"I'm saying that a single man, or his personal rights, cannot eclipse the good of a city. You've been obsessed. You've been chasing shadows, instead of addressing the real problems."

"Like the Council selling out their best innovator to a dictator."

For the first time, her eyes disconnected from mine. "He isn't a dictator."

"Isn't he? What do you call someone who murders his way to the top, and uses his power to enslave his citizens?"

"We've held discussions, Silco and I. He wants prosperity for his city. Freedom for his people. I want the same for ours. To achieve that, we must compromise on certain issues. He's no model of merciful leadership, I grant you. But he's a pragmatic man. A visionary. Someone who can bring lasting change."

"He's a monster."

"Jayce. Darling. Your anger blinds you. I know he's committed terrible crimes. And yes, we've made deals that neither of us is pleased with. But, in the end, the outcome is worth the price. Our cities will grow together. We'll create a lasting, sustainable peace."

"At the cost of my best friend'."

"Viktor chose to leave. It's his right."

"Only because he had no choice. He couldn't stay in Piltover. Not with the Wardens falsely accusing him."

"Jayce—" A shadow fell across her face. "Please. Stop. This isn't getting us anywhere. Can't you see that? If you keep on fighting, you're only going to make things worse."

"Worse for who? The Council?"

"For Viktor. And... for you."

There was something in her eyes. Something... dark. Almost desperate.

"Please, Jayce. You need to trust me. I have your best interests at heart. I've been working to protect you. You've no idea the things I've—" She cut herself off.

I asked her what she was talking about. I asked her what the hell was going on.

That's when she told me.

Cait, the Warden's investigation? Mel is the one who called it off. Not because of inconclusive evidence. Not because of the waste of resources. Not because the security camera footage was inconclusive.

She called it off, because the Wardens had irrefutable proof that Viktor had killed Sky.

It wasn't just the fact that he was the last man to see Sky alive. Or the fact that she was last seen near the corridor to the Hex-lab.

It was the fact that, in the lab itself, they found Sky.

Or rather, her bone dust.

It was everywhere. Motes of it, on the floor. On the chairs. On the workbench. Someone had tried to clean it up, but not thoroughly. Not enough to remove the residue. And the forensics team had been able to confirm, using chemical analysis, that the samples were mixed with Viktor's DNA.

His, and no one else's.

The Wardens were set to launch an arrest warrant. Then Mel had intervened.

"It would've been a disaster," she told me. "A disaster for him. A disaster for Zaun. And for us. I had no choice, Jayce. None."

I was shocked. My brain couldn't comprehend what she was saying. It was impossible. Viktor wasn't a murderer. He couldn't be. He just couldn't.

I asked her if Silco knew.

She admitted that he did. He was the one, in fact, who'd tipped the Wardens off. Apparently, a remark Viktor had made during a conversation with his Deputy Chancellor had caught Silco's attention. He'd sent a blackguard to Viktor's lab, on the pretext of collecting leftover notes. During a search, the blackguard found traces of bone dust. He collected the sample and turned it over to the Wardens.

There were no signs of tampering. The evidence was months old. And it was damning.

"I can't believe this." I whispered.

Mel put her arms around me. She held me tight.

"Jayce," she said. "I'm sorry. Silco and I—we decided that the best thing would be for Viktor to remain in Zaun. For the charges to be dropped. So long as he confines his work to the Fissures, he'll have complete freedom. But should he return to Piltover..."

She didn't finish.

She didn't need to.

Cait, the Council and Silco. They've conspired against Viktor. Against both of us. They're letting him remain in Zaun, so that he can continue his research on the Hexcore. But, should he return, he'll be arrested.

And I'll be forced to testify.

It was too much. The idea that my best friend could be a killer. The fact that Mel knew. That she'd been complicit. The betrayal, by the Council, who'd gone along with it all. The duplicity. The corruption.

It was just too much.

I couldn't stop myself. I lost control. I leapt out of bed. I shouted. I called her a liar. I asked her how she could do it. How she could let him stay, and put him in danger. How she could be so calculating. So cold.

So much like... Silco.

She didn't answer. She was crying. I've never seen Mel cry. Never.

And, Gods help me, I didn't care.

Cait, I stormed out of her flat. I left her there, in tears.

I can't go back. I can't forgive her. I can't forgive myself.

I'm writing you now from a bar. It's three o' clock in the morning. I can't go home. I can't bear to sleep. I can't stop thinking. About the summit. About Mel. About Viktor.

About the future.

Cait, please help.

I'm lost.

Jayce

Jayce—

Destroy this message the minute you read it. You're being monitored.

Your apartment is being watched.

Your office, too.

I know, because so is mine.

Silco knows you're trying to make contact with Viktor. He knows I'm trying to reach out to Vi. The only reason he's permitted you to communicate with me is to bait a trap. I've gone back and deleted every missive I've written to you. Do the same. You need to watch your back. If the Wardens find out you've been trying to make contact with a suspected killer, it's not just your career.

It's your freedom.

You're a private citizen now. They won't hesitate to arrest you. And I won't be able to stop them.

Jayce, this is serious.

You're a hero. You're the face of Hextech. You've changed the world. You can't afford to throw it away. If you get caught, it'll be catastrophic.

Please. I'm begging you. You have to stop.

We can't contact each other via missive. Not until I can figure a way out of this.

Caitlyn

Caitlyn,

Don't worry. I won't put you in danger. I've found a workaround. I've created a secure channel, which will allow us to correspond without being intercepted. I've also modified the pneumatic tubes. It will take some time, but I can rig a system, which will ensure the messages are delivered directly to your desk.

I need a favor.

Your department has access to the Warden's database. How high is your clearance? Can you get access to their records on Sky? I'd like to have a look at their files.

I'll explain when I see you.

Jayce

Jayce,

I got in.

Here are the files.

Hurry. I don't know how long the clearance will last.

Cait

Cait—

Thank you.

This is incredible. You're amazing.

I've been reading through the records. It's difficult, because a lot of stuff has been redacted. But I've managed to piece together the timeline of Sky's disappearance. It's hard to believe, but the case has been open since the day she went missing. It's bigger than the Wardens let on to the Council.

There's more here than I expected.

According to the records, the Wardens were already investigating Viktor. He'd been placed on their Watch List, under suspicion of having ties with the Undercity's chemists. It was a flimsy pretext, and he wasn't a suspect. Just a person of interest.

They were tracking his movements, to see if he had any known associates belowground.

Then Sky was killed.

By now, I know she was killed. It's hard to watch. There's security footage, from the night she went missing. It's in black-and-white, and it's grainy. You can see Sky, exiting her office, and walking down the main hall. She's still in her lab coat, with her notes under her arm. Her hair's up, but her ponytail's slipping. She's got a smile on her face, and a spring in her step.

It's strange, Cait. But I can tell, even though she's just a shadow on the screen… she's happy.

She's going to see Viktor.

I know she's going to see Viktor, because the security cameras are tracking her movements. And they show her walking down the main hallway, past my office, and into the stairwell. From there, she goes to the third floor. The cameras lose her there. There's no coverage inside the Hex-lab.

It has no cameras, remember.

But something happens six minutes later. There's a—a fluctuation, almost. In the video. The image blurs. It's like the camera's glitching.

Except it's not the camera.

Cait, I've seen that fluctuation before.

It's a Hex-field.

I can tell because, while the image distorts, the edges of the hallway remain sharp. Which means the field's expanding outward, in a dome pattern, from a central source. The source, in question, is the Hexcore.

It's been activated.

I've checked the timeline. The hex-field is only active for a few seconds. Then it's gone.

But Sky never returns.

I've been over the footage a hundred times. And the conclusion's always the same.

Sky entered the lab. She met Viktor. Then he killed her.

Why, I can't say. Maybe it was an accident. Maybe it was something else. The point is, her remains were never found. Only traces of her bones.

I've got to find him, Cait. I've got to talk to him.

I've got to understand what happened.

Jayce

Cait—

It's a trap.

You were right.

I did something stupid. I didn't think. I took a risk, and it's backfired.

I went into Zaun. I had no formal dispensation; no notarized travel pass; no clearance from the Council. I was, effectively, trespassing on foreign soil.

I didn't care.

I was going to find Viktor. I needed answers on what had happened. I wasn't going to let him stay down there, hiding from what he'd done. I was going to make him tell the truth. Then, maybe, we could figure out how to fix this mess.

So, in the middle of the night, I armed myself with my hammer. I went down to the harbor. I was careful to avoid the usual checkpoints you'd told me about. I headed for a small, out-of-the-way pier, where the patrols were less frequent. I'd borrowed a friend's boat. It was small, and not the fastest, but it's quiet. I managed to sneak past the harbor's first buoys.

Then, I crossed the border.

Zaun's different now.

I remember the last time I was in the Fissures to get supplies. Back before the Siege. It was rundown. It was rancid. The streets were in disrepair. The people were sullen. There was poverty and sickness, and a sense of despair.

Things have changed.

The Promenade's undergone a transformation. It's like a state-of-the-art motherboard framed in multicolored neon. They've repaired the streets, and the buildings are lit up like stars. They're clean. Pristine. Even the air smells different. Less acrid.

It's almost... pleasant.

It was late, but the shops were open. The crowds were out in full-force. They were mingling in the plazas, drinking at the bars, dancing in the squares. I passed an upscale club, and there was a line snaking all the way around the block. There were people of all classes and creeds, and they were dressed up, and celebrating.

Like it was a holiday.

I couldn't believe it. After everything that monster's done, the people of Zaun are out, and living it up, like it's the greatest carnival in the world. Like they're grateful. Grateful to have Silco in charge.

Cait, it's surreal.

It's as if, after years of fear, they're finally free. Not only free from Piltover's control—from its judgment, its oppression, its prejudice. It's like they're free in their souls. They're happy. Joyous.

But I can't shake the feeling that they're in a trance. As if, with the bright lights and poppy colors, Silco is hypnotizing them. He'd holding them in thrall, so they'll worship him, and not notice the bodies he's left in his wake.

That's how I felt, walking through the Promenade. Like I was following a parade of automatons, fueled on sensory ecstasy.

I tried talking to a few passersby, and they seemed nice. Friendly.

Some of them, too friendly.

I'm not sure how, but they knew I was a Topsider. A couple of them offered to give me directions. Others were eager to buy me drinks. A few asked if I'd like a dance.

One thing's for certain: they're much more welcoming now. Like, now that Zaun's nearabouts Piltover's equal, bygones can be bygones, and no one cares about a bit of old history.

I wasn't there to debate history, though. I was there to find Viktor.

I asked a few of the locals if they'd heard of him. It didn't seem to ring any bells, though a few said he sounded familiar. Then I mentioned he'd worked on Hex-tech, and a chorus rose up.

"Oh! The Machinist!"

That's what they call him in Zaun. They've forgotten his name. Or maybe they don't care.

What matters is that he's terraforming the urban landscape. Changing the city. Bringing the Fissures up to par. Creating a new Zaun, and building it up from ground-zero

I was shocked. He's already begun work? It's only been a few weeks.

But it's true. Apparently, Silco has put him in charge of a full-scale revitalization project. He's using the Hexcore to create new infrastructural designs. Changing the way the city is laid out, and making the Fissures over from a mud-hole into a metropolis. He has a whole team of engineers, and an entourage of blackguards. Every week, they're working on a new layer of the city.

A fresh coat of paint, if you will.

This week, they were overhauling the turbines. The next, the power grid. The one after that, the sewage system. By the time the Expo's begun, Zaun will be a chromed-up paradise.

And Silco will be lauded as its liberator.

The irony.

I was told he'd be working on the turbines this week, and to head toward the eastside. So, that's where I went.

The zone was a hive of activity. Tremors from power-drills under my feet; sparks from welding torches in the air; bodies swarming over scaffoldings. It looked like a small army had been drafted, and was working their hands to the bone. The entire sector had been cordoned off.

The turbines stood on platforms, towering over the street. They were colossal works-in-progress: rivets the size of hubcaps, steel girders dense as concrete blocks, pistons the width of my chest. They were astonishing, Cait. The scale of them was unreal. Their alloy-shelled interiors seemed to be a combination of metallurgical compounds and Fissure-seam crystals, the two meshed together into a seamless matrix with a shimmery-green tint.

There were runes, too.

Hex-runes.

They were inscribed all over the turbines. And, judging by the way the technicians were treating them, they weren't simply decorative. They were a critical component of the new design.

I'd never seen anything like it.

I couldn't help but admire Viktor's work. He'd done all this in less than a month. Except it wasn't just him. Here and there, I saw a familiar monkey motif scrawled into the blueprints, or decorating the turbine's frame.

It was Jinx's signature.

It hit me, then, like a gut punch. Viktor hadn't done this alone. Jinx was collaborating with him. Her notes were scattered throughout the designs. This wasn't a solitary operation with a spur-of-the-moment breakthrough. This was a joint venture, between two rogue agents. One that must have been in the works for months.

Or longer.

I felt a chill go down my spine.

Silco had likely planned this—this coup—from the moment of the Peace Treaty.

And there was no telling what he had planned next.

Cait, I had to stop him. I had to find Viktor.

I asked a few technicians if they'd seen him. I was directed to the south end. I didn't have a plan. All I knew was that I had to find him. Confront him. Demand an explanation.

Then I saw him.

He stood in the middle of the mayhem, directing the crew. At first glance, he seemed the same. Same height. Same build. Same accent. But that was a trick of the eye. Like my memory was a distorting medium, and my mind had supplanted an old image onto a new reality.

Because, when he turned, it was like he'd been replaced by someone else.

Someone I barely recognized.

He seemed taller, somehow. His movements were more fluid; his stiffness less pronounced. He didn't walk. He glided. The balls of his feet seemed to float a bare millimeter above the ground, as if the air itself was propelling him forward. And the way he carried himself, with such confident assurance—it was like his world had expanded, in the span of a few weeks, from a sickbed to a stage.

That's when I noticed his cane was different.

It wasn't the ergonomic model he'd designed for himself, as his mobility declined. This was a prong-tipped rod, polished black, with a barb at the base. Like a javelin. It was a definite case of function over form. No aesthetic appeal. No concession to comfort.

Just a weapon.

But, Cait, that's not what unnerved me the most.

That was Viktor himself.

Because he wasn't Viktor. He was some unnervingly close approximation dressed in patches of Viktor's skin, with steel seams running through the missing spots. His skull, torso and limbs are half-cybernetic. The right leg—the one that 'never behaved' as he'd sometimes put it—has been replaced with a mechanical prosthesis. It's got a titanium exoskeleton, and a carbon-fiber frame, and a hydraulic heel. The knee's a ball joint. The thigh's an articulated piston. It's like a work of art. The most horrifying work of art you could imagine.

But it's not just his leg.

His right hand—the one he'd taken to wearing a glove on—is now a four-fingered steel claw. It's hinged at the wrist, and the phalanges are articulated, and the palm's been fitted with a projectile port.

I know, because I watched him fire it.

It was a blackguard, one of the many onsite. The guy was being a dick. He was bullying some of the workers, and shouting at them, and generally harassing everyone within earshot.

Then Viktor walked up, and calmly ordered him to stand down.

The blackguard laughed.

Viktor didn't hesitate. He didn't say a word. He lifted a hand. The steel palm opened, and the projectile port spun, and the muzzle flared, and a blast of hot green light shot out, and blasted a hole straight through the guy's sleeve. It must have singed his skin, too, because the blackguard let out a howl.

Then he fell to his knees, groveling apologies.

Viktor, with terse instructions to the rest of the crew, turned, and left.

I couldn't believe it.

He'd shot at a man.

Without flinching. Without pausing to consider the consequences. Without even acknowledging the guy's pain.

He'd changed, Cait.

The Viktor I knew was gentle. He had a self-effacing slouch, an earnest smile, and an uncanny ability to see the best in people. He was always questioning, always second-guessing, always willing to learn.

This man was nothing like that.

This man was... hard.

As if the softness had been drained from him.

Just like Violet.

As he strode off, I was able to catch strains of conversation. Cait—his voice has changed completely. He's got an equalizer attached to his mouth, which runs on a small internal pump, and has an integrated voice modulator. It's the reason his accent's less pronounced. His tone's deeper, too. It's more authoritative. More commanding.

Less human.

The rest of his face is the same as the photograph. There are sensors on his cheeks, and his jaw is augmented with a cybernetic clamp. Then there's the eyes. The sockets are lined with a copper alloy, and the lenses are bionic. No pupils; no sclera. Just two reflective orbs with a glowing core.

Golden and black. Like looking into a pair of glowing embers.

Except they're cold.

I followed him. He wasn't going far. There was a trailer nearby, where blueprints were spread out over a makeshift table. He stepped inside. I'd expected to see Jinx. I was sure she'd be there. After all, she was collaborating with him. She'd drawn up half the diagrams, and, by the looks of things, had helped him implement them, too.

But the trailer was empty.

Viktor was alone.

Then I realized Viktor knew I was there.

"Jayce," he said, without turning around. "You are trespassing."

His voice, even through the equalizer, was the same.

Except it wasn't.

It was cold, too.

"Viktor," I said. "We need to talk."

He still didn't turn. "If the blackguards find you, they will arrest you. And, should they do so, I cannot guarantee your safety."

"I don't care."

"You should."

"I know what happened to Sky."

There was a prolonged silence punctuated by the distant sound of power tools. Then, very slowly, he turned. Our eyes met, and even though every muscle and nerve ending in my body fought it, I couldn't stop myself from flinching at the totality of his transformation.

At the eerieness of it.

"Sky," he said, at last, "is gone"

"I know. She's dead. The Wardens found her bone-dust in your lab. You killed her."

"Jayce, you don't understand."

"Then explain it to me."

"I didn't kill her. Not in the way you think."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean? Viktor, you were the last person to see her alive. She was last seen near the Hex-lab. There are traces of her DNA mixed in with your own. What the fuck am I supposed to think?"

He said nothing. His breathing rasped like an iron file through the air. It was a strange, grating sound. His lungs, I understood, had been augmented, too. The extent of the mechanization, in such short a time-frame, couldn't be man-made.

Then I understood.

"Magic," I said.

He didn't answer.

"That's what happened, didn't it? You were using the Hexcore's magic. Not on tools. On yourself. And you didn't want anyone to know."

Still he said nothing.

"But it went wrong, didn't it? The Hexcore did something to her. She was in the lab, and something happened, and she got hurt. Badly. So badly that you had to dispose of her. And you thought, if you were careful, no one would ever find out. That you'd get away with it."

"Jayce—"

"Is that why you left? Because you were afraid of being caught? Dammit, Viktor, answer me!"

He looked at me, and the stare was preternaturally calm. But I could feel an intense heat cooking the air around him. He didn't raise his voice, or gesticulate, or make any move against me.

He kept on staring.

"Jayce," he said at last, "before I left Piltover, I was working on a theory. One involving the Hexcore. I had discovered that, with the right runic sequence, it was possible to channel its subatomic energies into living flesh. Through an organic compound as the catalyst, and the correct sequence as a stabilizer, the Hexcore's powers would no longer be tied to its physical matrix. We'd use it to augment living things. Restore damaged muscle. Heal sick tissue. Repair a faulty organ. Even..."

"What?"

"Prolong life."

Dazed, I shook my head. "Viktor, that's impossible. That level of transfiguration—"

"Can be achieved. All that's necessary is for the Hexcore to sustain the right frequency, at the correct resonance. A harmonic pattern, if you will."

"We tried, remember? We tried, with plants and fungi. We couldn't even manage to make a weed grow. The results crumbled, or rotted, or—"

"—died. Yes." His breath shivered like a metal grate in a storm. "That is because the runic sequence is incomplete. To channel the Hexcore's power, a keystone rune is needed. Something to anchor the harmonics. Act as the focus. Without it—"

"Viktor, please. You're not making any sense—"

"I was trying to extend life, Jayce!"

For the first time, the flat dial tone of his voice shifted. I heard, subaudible but discernible, a quaver of grief.

"Extend life," he whispered. "Not take it."

It took a moment for the meaning to sink in. My breath came hot, nauseous. "You messed up. Didn't you?"

"Jayce—"

"You screwed up. Something went wrong. You did something to Sky. You killed her."

He gave a single jerky nod.

My guts turned over. The fear had been replaced with disgust. With anger. I couldn't stand to look at him. To see what he'd done.

What he'd become.

"Where's her body?" I demanded.

"It's gone."

"Gone? Gone where?"

He rubbed his jaw, the bones grinding side-to-side. It was old gesture. The one he'd make, whenever he was uncomfortable. Or guilty.

"It was consumed."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"Jayce, please. You must believe me. I—I did not intend for her to die. I did not even realize she was there until after—"

"After?"

The glow in his bionic eyes dimmed. "The Hexcore, when it opened, created a feedback loop. The catalyst in my blood was to be the sensor, absorbing the concentration of the energy's signals. The runes on my body were the integrating centers, the medium through which the feedback would be channelled. But—but there was not enough of one to balance the other."

I understood. "The Shimmer. That's why it was in your bloodstream. It interacts with the Hexcore's harmonics. Instead of destabilizing the resonance, it amplifies the feedback. It's what allows you to maintain a stable connection."

"Yes."

"And the runes. They're not for stabilization. They're for augmentation. For transmutation."

"Yes."

"And Sky? Where did she fit into all this?"

A strange darkness filmed Viktor's bionic eyes. "She was not meant to be there. I should have—should have locked the door. Should have—but no, I did not think. It was too much, the moment. The chance, too great. If it had worked—" He broke off. His head drooped, slowly, as if his neck was made of wires stretched too taut. "She was there. The Hexcore's field was activated. It took her."

"Took her."

"Blindly. As a mouth takes in food. She was trying to pull me away. She was saying my name. Viktor. Viktor. She did not understand." His cybernetic fingers flexed around his cane. "I could not stop it. Could not shut down the Hexcore. The energy—it was too strong. Too much."

"You're saying the Hexcore absorbed her?"

"Her flesh. Then her bones. Then her essence. Until nothing remained." His chest vibrated, like an engine winding down. "Nothing but dust."

A cold fist gripped my heart. I thought of the security footage. The fluctuation, and the blur. It hadn't been a camera glitch.

It had been the Hexcore.

"Viktor," I breathed. "My Gods."

His head remained bowed.

"This is why, isn't it? Why you asked me to destroy the Hexcore. You knew, then. Knew how powerful it was. How dangerous. You wanted me to shut it down."

"Destroy it," he whispered. "Yes. But that was before—"

"Before, what?"

"Sky. In her notes. She'd left me a—a message. Only, it was never intended for my eyes." He unstuck his jaw with effort, as if his teeth were glued together. As if the words themselves were too heavy to shape. "Sky was working on a project. One I'd encouraged. Every week, she would show me her findings. I would provide suggestions, or offer assistance, as needed. She was a brilliant researcher, Jayce. And unlike myself... she never forgot her roots."

I swallowed. It was hard, around the knot in my throat. "What—what was her project?"

"Life." The word was soft, almost reverent. "Here, in Zaun. She'd designed blueprints for a Hex-filtration plant. Something to purify the water. Sewage removal. Runoff collection. All to make the streets where she—where we both—grew up, safer. A habitable home for the people who needed it most."

"And now... you're building it."

"Yes."

"With Silco's blood money."

He lifted his head. The contours of his expression iced over; robotic, remote. "The blood money is the Council's. Silco is only the siphon."

"What—?"

"Or do you not hold the Councilors complicit in the Undercity's degradation?"

"That's not—"

"Not the same?" Something in his bionic eyes crackled. It could've been anger, or amusement, or a thousand other emotions, and I wouldn't have known the difference. "Tell me, Jayce. Why are you here?"

I was taken aback. "Because—because I needed to know the truth."

"You know the truth." The last humanity dissolved out of his voice, leaving a mechanical buzz. "You wanted to hold me accountable."

"If you'd killed Sky—"

"You've killed too, Jayce."

A stone lodged in my chest. It was cold. It was hard.

It was the truth.

Cait—only you, Violet and Mel know what I did. That night, at Silco's Shimmer factory. The boy caught in the crossfire. The boy who'd died because of my recklessness. I've lived with the memory of his face ever since. It's haunted me. Night and day. No matter how much I've tried to justify it. No matter how many good deeds I've done.

The fact is, I took a life.

And Viktor knew.

For so long, I'd kept it from him, out of shame but also fear. The fear of him judging me, as no different from the other Topsiders. The same ones who'd mistreated him as a boy; who'd buried his city under their refuse and left the people to rot. I was afraid, Cait, of him hating me. Of him realizing how little I deserved his friendship.

And now he did.

Silco, I thought, icy splinters of rage in my gut. He knew too.

He knew—and he'd used the knowledge to turn Viktor against me.

"Viktor," I began.

"Jayce." His voice was dead as the grave. "Do not."

"Look, please, I—"

"You should not have come. Your presence will be construed as hostile. There will be consequences."

"Then let's leave. Come back with me. I can protect you. The Council, they'll—"

"Forgive me?" His lips approximated a smile. "No. That, I think, will not happen."

"You can't stay here. Not under Silco's thumb. He's using you, Viktor. Using the Hexcore. You can't trust him. Can't you see?"

"I can. You cannot."

"Viktor—"

"I cannot return to Piltover, Jayce. My mistakes have made it impossible. I understand that." The mechanical ruthlessness returned to his voice. "You, in turn, must understand. I will not return, because of your own."

My entire axis tilted. I couldn't believe my ears. I was reeling.

"You—you don't mean that."

"I do."

"You'd really choose Silco, over Piltover?"

"I choose neither."

"But—HexCorp. Our research. Me. Us."

"I am sorry, Jayce."

And for the barest moment, the briefest heartbeat, his bionic eyes seemed wetly sheened. As if he was still human.

Then it was gone.

His cane tapped, twice.

A heartbeat later, blackguards melted from the darkest corners.

I counted four. They'd been posted all around. In the shadows.

Waiting for him to give the signal.

I knew, then, that I'd been set up.

Silco had goaded me into coming. He'd known I'd confront Viktor, and Viktor would reveal what had happened to Sky. Then the blackguards would appear, and there'd be arrest warrants. Public censure. Tarnished reputations.

All the while, Viktor would remain in Zaun, free to pursue his work.

I'd played right into his hands.

"Viktor," I said. "Please. Don't do this."

"Goodbye, Jayce." He turned. "You must not return."

"Viktor—"

"Take him."

Cait, I barely had time to react. The blackguards closed in, and my hammer was out, and the energy pulsed, and I managed to get off a shot, and send two of the men flying back, until—

A blow to the back of my skull.

The ground rose up, and slammed into my face.

The world went dark.

When I woke, I was in a holding cell. A dank, cramped space, with a barred door and a cot, and a bucket in the corner. My head throbbed. My hammer had been confiscated. My wrists were chafed from old shackles.

But, other than that, I was unharmed.

I wasn't sure how long I was kept there. Time passed strangely, in a fog of disorientation. It felt like days, but couldn't have been more than a few hours. Finally, a guard appeared. He escorted me out. We took a lift down to an underground garage, where a limousine was waiting. He shoved me in, and I braced myself for the worst.

Maybe Silco would have me strangled. Maybe they'd put a bullet through my skull. Maybe they'd dump me in the river.

I had a dozen scenarios running through my head. None of them ended well.

None of them came close to reality.

Mel was sitting inside.

Silco had informed her, via a confidential courier, of my entry into Zaun. That I'd gone across the border, unsupervised, armed, with no clearance. That I'd trespassed, and threatened Viktor. And that, in doing so, I'd violated the terms of the Peace Treaty.

Politically, it could've been catastrophic. Months of negotiations—the careful cultivation of trust, the fragile bonds of diplomacy—all put at risk. If Silco had decided to press charges, to use the incident as leverage against Piltover, or retaliation for a perceived slight, the Council would've been hard-pressed to respond.

But he hadn't.

Mel told me, afterward, that the crisis had been resolved behind closed doors. She'd taken the ferry to Zaun, requested a private meeting, and met with Silco in his office. There, after some back-and-forth, she had convinced him to drop the charges. In exchange, the Wardens had agreed to a temporary suspension of my duties at HexCorp. It was, in effect, a forced sabbatical. One I was to spend, for three months, under house-arrest.

During that time, I was forbidden from entering Zaun.

Mel told me all this later. In that moment, sitting beside her in the car, I couldn't bring myself to speak. I was too ashamed—too overwhelmed—to say a word.

We rode in silence.

Cait—I've been such an idiot.

I've gambled high, and I've lost. And because of that, Piltover had nearly lost, too. I'd put myself before my city. Before the safety, the security, the future of our people. I thought of how I'd exploded at Mel, that night in her flat. How I'd left her there, in tears. How I'd jeopardized everything she'd worked so hard to achieve. Everything I'd fought so hard to create.

All because of my own blind, selfish, outsized ego.

All because I thought I could swoop in and save the day.

Gods, what an ass I've been.

Throughout the ride, I kept looking sidelong at Mel. She sat, straight-backed, her hands in her lap, her eyes cast forward. Her dress was pristine, her hair was coiffed, her makeup was impeccable. To the untrained eye, she looked flawless.

I knew her better.

I saw the way her hands were a white-knuckled twist. I saw the subtle quiver of her lower lip. I saw the lavender shadows under her eyes.

The guilt was suffocating.

She'd saved me. She's always saved me. And how have I repaid her? With scorn. With mistrust. With disrespect.

I wanted to fall at her feet. Beg her forgiveness. Tell her how sorry I was, and how stupid I'd been, and how wrong.

I didn't.

Instead, I sat there. Staring at my shoes.

We pulled into her driveway.

"Jayce," she said. "Go. Rest in the guestroom. I'll have the maids send up some tea."

Her tone was polite, but distant. Reserved.

I nodded. "Thanks."

"Jayce?"

I paused, halfway out of the car. "Yes?"

She turned, at last, and met my stare. Her eyes were dark, and sad, and tired.

"I'm glad you're safe," she said simply.

Cait, I couldn't say a word. I could barely breathe. I hesitated for just a second, then pulled her across and into my arms. She embraced me, and as soon as I felt her warmth, smelled her perfume, I couldn't stop myself. The past few weeks—Viktor's departure, the truth of Sky's death, the realization that I'd nearly ruined everything—everything came rushing back.

I broke down.

I was crying, Cait. Crying in her arms. Like a child. She held me. She didn't say anything. Just held me.

I don't deserve her.

I truly don't. But having her close, and knowing she cared, was a lifeline. Since the Siege, it's like I've lost a tiny bit of my reality. My grasp on the world. Every day, it's been a little harder. Then Viktor left, and Sky died, and the pieces of my world started falling apart.

Mel is the one of the few pieces still anchoring me.

I wanted to tell her this, Cait. I wanted to tell her, how much she means to me, and how sorry I was, and how grateful. I wanted to tell her, over and over, that I didn't deserve her, and how, despite it all, I was never going to leave her side.

I didn't, though.

I kissed her.

It wasn't planned. It just... happened. I kissed her. She was still in my arms. We were still in the car. I was still crying.

Then I was kissing her.

She let me, for a little bit. Then she broke, gently, and turned her head. Putting a palm on my chest, she nudged me back.

"No, Jayce."

"Mel..."

"You need to rest. We'll talk, later."

"Mel, I..."

"Later," she said softly.

It wasn't a request.

And so, I let her go. I walked into the penthouse, and was escorted upstairs. But, Cait—it was the loneliest walk of my life. Because I realized why, when I'd kissed her, she'd withdrawn.

Not because it was the wrong time.

Not because I was in shock.

Not because she was mad.

Cait, she's seeing someone else. I can't say how I know. Just that I can sense it. And, the worst part is, I can't blame her. After the way I've treated her—blowing hot, then cold; pushing her away, then pulling her close; accusing her of things she'd never do, then expecting her to help me when the shit hits the fan—it's no surprise she's moved on.

And how can I expect this gorgeous, sophisticated, brilliant woman, with her head screwed on straight, and her heart in the right place, and the courage to speak truth into power, to stick around?

Especially when I'm acting like a spoiled, sulky, immature, selfish asshole.

She's better off.

But not me.

I've fucked up, Cait. I've hurt people. I've hurt my friends. I've endangered Piltover. All because I've been too caught up in myself. Because I've let my pride run wild.

Because, at the end of the day, maybe I'm still just a boy meddling with things I don't understand.

I think it's time that boy grew up.

It's time he made the world a better place.

P.S.

This will be my last correspondence for a little while. I'll be going upcity to my mother's place. I've got a few projects in mind, and if I'm going to be under house-arrest, might as well put my time to good use.

Before I go, though, I want to thank you.

For your support. Your honesty. Your friendship.

For everything.

Cait, you're the best.

Your friend, always,

Jayce

To Jayce Talis, Esq.

Sir,

You will oblige me to ask the following: Are you out of your fucking mind?

First, you attack the First Chancellor in plain view of half the Council. Then, you decide it would be a good idea to traipse across the border, unescorted and armed with Hex-tech, without a notarized travel pass. Then, not satisfied with having broken one law, you have the gall to threaten one of our citizens—our brightest minds—with abduction and bodily harm. Then you injure two blackguards, and thereby put yourself, and the integrity of the Peace Treaty, at risk.

Now, you have the balls to write to me—demanding an audience with the First Chancellor, once your house-arrest has expired.

Your arrogance knows no bounds.

Read carefully, sir. Because I will only say this once:

No.

No, you will not have an audience with the First Chancellor. No, we will not divulge the address of the Machinist, Viktor. No, we will not disclose blackguard Violet's current location. And no, you will not be given leave to enter the Fissures, unsupervised and with your hammer.

That is final.

Your last letter, demanding a 'sit-down' (you have, evidently, been reading too many tabloids) is not only a grave presumption. It is also a threat against the integrity of this office. Your future letters, from here on out, will be marked as "Return to Sender." The prior ones, we've already compiled and forwarded to the Council, who have assured us will investigate.

I trust they will take the proper disciplinary actions.

Janna knows, you deserve a slap on the rear. A hard one.

Given your tenure as a former Councilor, we are prepared to show a degree of leniency. You are a prominent figure in the public eye. We recognize the emotional impact of your mentor, Dr. Heimerdinger's, passing. We also know that you have suffered the loss of Viktor's partnership, and are under intense strain in your private life.

In light of these facts, the First Chancellor has agreed to overlook your invective. We will not press charges, and will not seek punitive action, so long as you cease any and all communication with the First Chancellor. You are also instructed to desist any further inquiries into the whereabouts of the Hexcore.

If you continue to persist in your obstinate line of inquiry, the First Chancellor will no longer be inclined to clemency. You will find yourself facing multiple felony charges, which may carry a term of imprisonment.

Consider carefully.

The Man of Tomorrow, Piltover's brightest mind, would look pretty dim in a prison jumpsuit.

Kindly refrain from further correspondence. Unless it’s in the form of an apology. A similar letter of warning has been forwarded to Enforcer Caitlyn Kiramman. In light of your close personal relationship, we request you relay the message next time you meet.

Regards,

Sevika M.

P.S.

The First Chancellor has also requested we share the following message:

"The boy's letters are charmingly feisty. The girl's, surpassingly eloquent. I am delighted to know that two such exceptional individuals are among our neighbors. My only regret is that they spend more time throwing rocks, and less time building bridges."

"When their aim improves, they will be welcome to visit. Until then, they are advised to keep their distance."

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songbirdseung · 11 months

Text

PS5 / choi yeonjun

The air was heavy with a mix of frustration and disappointment as Choi Yeonjun's girlfriend, Y/N, watched him intently, her gaze fixed on the glowing screen of his PS5 console. She had given it to him as a surprise gift, hoping it would bring them closer together, but instead, it had become a wedge between them.

Yeonjun, once a social and attentive boyfriend, was now spending his free time engrossed in virtual worlds, his eyes glued to the screen, his fingers dancing across the controller. Y/N's invitations to go out or spend time together were often met with excuses of 'just one more game' or 'I'm almost done'.

You loved admiring your lover, seeing the different facial expressions they would make to daily life scenarios, or the sparkle in their eyes when they are invested in something they are so passionate about. But today was not one of those days.

You enjoyed filming (with consent of course) him and fill your gallery with silly videos of him and his reactions to certain things. Like that time, you gifted him a PS5 for just a random appreciation gift. That day he could not stop clinging onto you and thanking you. You have videos of him playing for the first few times and him whining frustratedly. Videos where he would be sweet and endearing to you. You enjoyed rewatching all those videos. But again, today was not one of those days.

Your boyfriend Yeonjun just got back from a world tour and spending his first week break with his family. Now that he's back home with you for the next and last week, you thought he'd spend his time with you. Nope, you were very wrong. When your boyfriend got home, he kissed and hugged you but right after washing up, he goes over to the living room and plays for hours on end, not paying you any attention.

This went on for a couple more days, you did not want to be that kind of girlfriend who nags her boyfriend about playing video games all day and taking away one of his hobbies, but since the week is almost coming to an end, and he'll have to start working again, you were not gonna let this slide no longer. As the days passed, you found yourself growing more frustrated with Yeonjun's constant immersion in his video games. You tried dropping hints, like casually suggesting activities you could do together or expressing how much you missed spending quality time with him. However, it seemed like your words were falling on deaf ears, and his focus remained glued to the virtual world on the screen.

One evening, after a particularly long gaming session, you decided it was time to address the issue directly. Taking a deep breath, you approached Yeonjun and gently said, "Hey, can we talk for a moment?"

He looked at you, slightly distracted but willing to listen. "Sure, what's up?" he replied, pausing his game.

You took a moment to gather your thoughts before expressing your feelings. "I've really missed you, Yeonjun. I understand that you enjoy playing video games, and I've always supported that. But since you've been back, it feels like we haven't had much time together. I was hoping we could make the most of this last week before you go back to work."

Yeonjun sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I know, I know. I've just been really into this game lately, and I guess I lost track of time. I didn't mean to neglect you."

You nodded, appreciating his honesty. "I get it, and I don't want to take away something you enjoy. But I miss us, you know? I miss our conversations, our laughter, and just being close to you."

He looked at you with a hint of remorse in his eyes. "I'm sorry, babe. I didn't realize it was bothering you this much. Let's do something together now. What do you want to do?"

A smile tugged at the corners of your lips. "Anything, as long as it's with you."

He promised you to get of gaming for the rest of the week and hang out with you. You got to finally sleep well after his words, but the next morning you woke up to another nightmare, him on that dang couch with a controller in his hand, playing the games you began to envy and grow a hatred for.

Not wanting to be in the house anymore, you grab the necessities and go out to meet a friend.

You meet her at a random museum that you always wanted to go to, once you meet up, you dont open up on the topic too much and pay attention in viewing the attractions of the art museum. But your friend knows you too well and ask what's wrong.

Eventually, you tell her everything and when you begin to tear up, she offers you both to sit down and hugs your side. "Maybe he just needs time to himself? time to adjust?" She proposes. But you shake your head and sigh "I don't know man, He's just not the same guy I started dating".

Your friend, sensing the depth of your emotions, tightens her hug and nods sympathetically. "I understand it's tough. Relationships go through ups and downs, and people change. Maybe he's just going through a phase, or maybe there's something on his mind that he hasn't shared with you."

You wipe away a stray tear and look at your friend, appreciating her support. "I just feel like I've tried talking to him, you know? I want to understand, but it seems like he's not willing to open up about what's going on with him."

She nods, offering a comforting smile. "Communication is key, but sometimes it takes time for people to open up. Maybe you could give him a little space but let him know you're there when he's ready to talk."

The two of you continue exploring the museum, momentarily shifting your focus from your relationship woes to the captivating art around you. As you move from one exhibit to another, you find solace in the beauty of the paintings and sculptures. However, in the back of your mind, the unease about your relationship lingers.

After spending some time immersed in the art, you and your friend find a quiet bench to sit on. She turns to you, her eyes filled with concern. "Look, I know it's hard, but relationships are a journey. People change, and sometimes they rediscover themselves. Maybe he's just going through a phase, and things will get better. But you also have to prioritize your own happiness and well-being. If this continues to make you unhappy, it might be worth having a serious conversation with him about the future of your relationship."

You sigh, feeling a mix of emotions. "I love him, you know? I just want things to go back to how they were."

She nods, understanding the complexity of emotions involved. "Love is important, but so is your own happiness. It's okay to want things to improve, and it's okay to express your needs in the relationship. Just take it one step at a time, and remember, you deserve to be with someone who makes you happy and values your time together."

As you leave the museum, you carry these words with you, knowing that the path ahead may not be easy, but you're determined to navigate it with honesty and compassion for both yourself and your relationship.

Upon returning home, you find Yeonjun still engrossed in his gaming world. The familiar sound of the controller buttons and the glow of the screen greet you as you enter the living room. A mix of frustration and resignation settles in your chest.

Taking a deep breath, you decide it's time to have that conversation again. This time, you need to express your feelings and concerns more firmly, making it clear that the current state of your relationship is taking a toll on you.

"Yeonjun," you start, your voice steady but determined, "we need to talk."

He looks up from the game, pausing for a moment to give you his attention. "What's up?"

You take a moment, collecting your thoughts before speaking. "I love you, and I want us to be happy together. But the way things have been lately, it's not working for me. I miss the connection we used to have, and I miss feeling like a priority in your life."

Yeonjun sighs, setting the controller aside. "I'm sorry if I've been distant. I didn't mean to make you feel that way."

You continue, "I need to know what's going on. I need to understand if there's something bothering you or if this is a pattern that's going to continue. Because I can't keep feeling like I'm coming second to a video game."

He looks at you, realizing the gravity of the situation. "I didn't mean to hurt you. I guess I got carried away with the games. But you're right; we need to talk about this."

You both sit down, and a sincere conversation unfolds. You express your concerns, and Yeonjun opens up about the pressures he's been feeling, the need for an escape, and how he didn't realize the impact it was having on your relationship.

In the end, you both decide to work on finding a balance. Yeonjun agrees to be more present, and you agree to give him the space he needs, understanding that everyone needs moments of solitude. It's a compromise, a step towards rebuilding what seemed to be slipping away.

As the days pass, you notice positive changes. Yeonjun makes an effort to spend quality time with you, and you both work on rediscovering the aspects of your relationship that brought you together in the first place.

Love, communication, and compromise become the pillars that help you rebuild and strengthen your connection, turning a challenging chapter into an opportunity for growth and understanding.

#txt #tomorrow x together #txt yeonjun #yeonjun #choi yeonjun #yeonjun fluff #yeonjun imagines #yeonjun x reader

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a-writer-on-elm-street · 2 years

Text

Haunted

pairing: brahms x gn!reader

summary: haunted by a terrible past, you find comfort in a lonely man that has been confined to the walls of the house you have begun staying in.

warnings (for the fic as a whole): brahms doll, brahms' little voice, stalking, mentions of past abuse (verbal and physical), mentions of murder, fluff, hurt/comfort, angst (happy ending), smut, somnophilia, slow burn.

specific warnings (for part 1): brahms doll, mentions of murder.

a/n: so i've been thinking about brahms a lot lately which is kinda why i wrote this. this will be multiple parts. i hope you enjoy! also, this takes place after the first movie. the second movie may as well just not exist in my opinion.

word count: 937

A shiver crept up your spine as you stared up at the magnificent house that stood before you, your new home, if you could even call it that. The place had been abandoned for almost a year now. People were too scared to even cross its path after hearing of the horrors that happened here.

A man was killed in this house, and then his killer disappeared, believed to be dead too. And since then, nobody has ever dared to come near this house. Until now.

You were drunk, you were drunk and scared, and you were looking for a quick escape. This house was exactly that. It was cheap and it would be the last place your family would expect you to go. So you put in a deposit and you packed your bags. And now here you were, standing in front of the Heelshire mansion with your suitcase trailing behind you.

You inhaled a shaky breath before finally making your way up to the front door, the keys clutched tightly in your hand. This was your home now, whether you liked it or not.

When you finally got inside, you weren't surprised to see the state of the place. It had been cleaned out shortly after the murders, but judging from the thick sheet of dust that covered it, it had been left untouched ever since. At least you'd have something to keep you occupied for a while, cleaning was always a good distraction.

You locked the door behind you before making your way up the stairs to find a bedroom. It was only four 'o' clock in the afternoon, but if you were being completely honest, you just wanted to go to sleep. You'd deal with everything else in the morning.

The bed was covered in a thick layer of dust but you didn't care, you were too exhausted to give a damn about the state of the bed. So you set your case down by the door and climbed ontop of the mattress, folding yourself into a fetal position before closing your eyes, sleep quickly taking you.

-:-:-:-:-:-:-

Most people would have to be mad to willingly live in a house like this, to even think of calling it home, but you were already finding a strange sense of solace within these dusty old walls. There was something oddly comforting about being here.

You took a shallow breath as you reached up to wipe the sweat away that was beading on your forehead, a sense of relief washing over you as you surveyed your work. You'd spent the better part of this morning dusting every inch of the house, and despite the floors still being a little grimey, you'd done a pretty decent job.

You hadn't showered yet, but you'd been more focused on getting this place clean. And thankfully, the house seemed to contain every item needed except for food. It was clear that no one wanted to return to this place after they cleaned up the crime scene.

And speaking of food, your stomach was beginning to rumble. You had half a mind to just order takeout, but you didn't really want to force a delivery driver to approach this place, not when you had the option to simply buy groceries. You may have found comfort in the house but that didn't mean others did.

-:-:-:-:-:-:-

When you arrived back at the house a couple of hours later, you headed straight for the kitchen, two heavy bags hanging from your fingers. All you could think about was making a ham and cheese sandwich, your stomach growling even louder now as you hurried to put the shopping away.

When everything was safely stored away in the cupboards and the refrigerator, you finally set to work on making your long overdue lunch.

Once you'd finished making the sandwich, you quickly retrieved a bottle of water and proceeded to take them into the living room. But once you entered the room, you stopped dead in your tracks, your breath getting stuck in your throat as you stared at the sight in front of you.

There was a porcelain doll sitting in the armchair. Well that wasn't there earlier. You carefully set your plate and your water down on an end table, and then you advanced towards the doll. Upon closer inspection, you noticed that there was a clipboard on the arm of the chair, and the doll's head was turned towards it. Like it was telling you to take a look.

You picked up the clipboard with shaky hands, your eyes immediately scanning over the sheet of paper clipped onto it. It was a list of rules, and they indicated that this doll's name must've been Brahms. What the hell?

Your attention was quickly dragged away from the clipboard, however, when a bang sounded somewhere from the hall. You spun around, the board still clutched tightly in your hands, as you walked towards the door, your heart beating rapidly in your chest.

"Hello?" Your voice sounded strange when you spoke, reminding you of the fact that you had barely spoken a single word in the past week. You peered around the corner to find the dark hall empty, so where did that bang come from? "Is anyone there?"

There had to be somebody in the house, right? How else would the doll have ended up here?

Finally giving up on calling out to nobody, you turned back around and returned to the doll, your eyes flicking between the rules in your hands and the cold dead stare of the boy. "How did you get here, Brahms?"

[Main Masterlist] [Brahms Masterlist]

#brahms heelshire #brahms heelshire x reader #brahms heelshire fanfic #brahms heelshire oneshot #brahms x reader #brahms heelshire x you #brahms x you #brahms heelshire fluff #brahms heelshire hurt/comfort #brahms heelshire angst #the boy #the boy 2016 #the boy movie #brahms the boy #the boy brahms #slashers #slasher #slasher x reader

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maraschinomerry · 1 year

Note

Hey I would love to have some more george x reader fanfictions, I totally agree that there are not enough around her👀 can you do the sparring prompt 1 and 8 (but instead of hair maybe some clothing that's more revealing than usual?) And friends to lovers and mutual pining and awkwardness and all that🥺 thank you in advance 🩷

How To Stand

Pairings: George Karim x gn!reader

Summary: After losing another fight, George offers to give you some training with your rapier. When things get more intimate than expected, he has to keep you on your feet in a different way.

Content: injury mention, friends to lovers, mutual pining, kissing, fluff

A/N: thank you again for the request and all the love on my other fics!! Sorry it's taken so long to get this one done, work has been super busy 😣 Also this fic has taken me past the 12,500 word mark since I started writing last weekend so thank you to everyone who has requested or read for inspiring me to be creative again, I'm blown away by all the support!

Word count: 2.8k (exactly, which is very satisfying)

You winced at the bite of the antiseptic.

"Sorry," George mumbled, dabbing lightly at the cut on your arm.

Last night's case had led to a nasty run-in with a relic man who turned out to be more proficient with a knife than you were with a rapier. You'd only recently begun your training, to be fair - after running away from home, you'd reunited with your childhood best friend, George Karim. Both of you were talented, and you had nowhere else to go, so despite your lack of experience George had managed to blag you a place in Lockwood & Co. In the weeks since you had joined your skills with Touch and Sight had proved invaluable, but as your injuries continually demonstrated your skills with the blade left much to be desired.

"We really should think about getting you some more training," George half-joked as he carefully applied a dressing to the wound.

"Only if it's from you," you replied.

"Really? Wouldn't you be better off with Lockwood? He's a pro, or even Lucy is better than me."

"Hey," you interrupted, sharper than you meant, "don't sell yourself short! I've seen you in a fight, you're amazing! Besides, you really think I'm not going to be super intimidated trying to learn from Mr 'I beat Quill Kipps in a tournament and framed the article on the staircase'?" You both laughed.

"Fair point. Okay, rest up, it's been a Iong night. We'll start tomorrow afternoon, wear something comfortable."

—

The two of you spent an easy morning together in the library, George with research for the next case and you with your favourite book. Almost in time with the clock in the hallway chiming one, a low rumbling came from the chair opposite you. George had forgotten breakfast again. Quietly, trying not to distract him (though it would take more than a little movement at this point), you snuck out to prepare lunch.

Five minutes later, the familiar scent of tomato soup and cheese toasties had George out of his seat and loitering in the kitchen doorway.

"You're the best," he sighed. Much as he loved his Iranian dishes and the personal time he got preparing them, he secretly loved when you cooked for him. You'd been doing it ever since you two were children - simple things like pizza or your signature toasties to begin with, warming stews or toad in the hole now you were older. Whatever it was, it was always homey and comforting. Kind of like your presence, if he was being honest with himself. Even the most stressful situations were easier to deal with when you were around; he knew you trusted him with your innermost secrets and in turn he could talk to you about anything. Well, almost anything. He wasn't sure he would ever work up the courage to tell you about the way he got butterflies every time you smiled, the way his knees went weak whenever your hand brushed his, the way he almost lost his resolve last week when you wiped a stray crumb off his cheek. If only you'd…

"Hey," you prompted lightly at a very zoned-out George. No use tapping his shoulder or raising your voice when he got like this, it would only startle him, you just had to wait for him to ride it out. After a moment, his eyes slowly refocused.

"Sorry, I was miles away."

"Ah," you smiled, not knowing the effect it had. "Go anywhere nice?"

Incredibly, he thought. "I'll bring you a postcard next time."

Your giggle brightened up the whole room as you set two bowls and a plate down on the table. You weren't sure when you'd started the tradition of your toasties being on a shared plate, but down the line the two of you had realised you ate slightly less and George took the leftovers, so it was easier to put them together in the first place. Somehow he always managed to leave you just the right amount.

—

After lunch, George began the washing up (another tradition, whoever didn't cook would clean) while you went to get ready for your first training session. You weren't particularly sporty, but you did have a gym wear set that you thought would be okay to practise in. Besides, you'd never actually worn it since joining the agency and that was simply not acceptable, you felt far too cute in it to let it sit there gathering dust. Hopefully George would think you looked cute in it too.

No, no, no. You couldn't go down that road. You'd always loved George as a friend, but it wasn't until you reunited and started living together in 35 Portland Row that you really fell for him. All the little quirks that had drawn you to him as a child, that felt like you were looking in a mirror, now made your heart flutter. Even little things like the way he pushed his glasses up was cute and made you fixate on his hands a little too much. One time, you'd tried to be more flirty with him, and the poor boy had seemed so perturbed that you hadn't tried again. Message received.

Heaving a sigh, you redressed the wound on your arm, which was healing nicely, and made your way down to the basement.

—

Your eternally bouncy footsteps echoing down the steps drew George's attention from polishing his rapier. A rapier which he almost dropped straight into his foot, jaw closely following its descent.

The first thing he saw was a pair of brightly coloured trainers. Next came toned calves, on show beneath cropped, tightly-fitting leggings. Above those leggings, which had sculpted themselves round your hips, was the cause of George's lapse in dexterousness: a glimpse of previously unseen bare skin, your stomach, exposed by a loose crop top. Having temporarily forgotten how to breathe, George used the last of his oxygen-fuelled sanity to force his gaze up to meet yours, and you shifted nervously under his scrutiny.

"Will this be okay?" you asked, thinking he was concerned about your ability to fight in it.

"Ye- uh, yes. You look…" Amazing. Radiant. Divine. Unbelievable. Incredible. Hot. "Comfy." What the hell, George, get it together. He frankly wondered how he ever expected you to like him the way he liked you if that was the best he could do.

Nonetheless, you relaxed back into yourself as you beamed at him. "Good, you did say to wear something comfortable."

George smiled back, pleased to know you paid so much attention to his words, before finally taking notice of the fresh dressing peeking out from beneath your short sleeve. As if guided by an invisible force, he moved closer to you, raised fingers ghosting over the bandage.

"Will you be okay working out with this? I don't want to risk reopening the cut." His voice wavered, barely noticeable had he been talking to anyone but you. You responded with a simple nod, trying to disguise the way your voice had caught in your throat and hoping the movement would dislodge it. A flash of realisation crossed his face as your eyes met and he hastily stepped away, the mask of Researcher George descending once more.

"Okay, let's get started. The first thing we need to work on is your stance and grip - although they seem trivial, they are in fact vitally important to your success rate."

—

You spent the next half an hour drilling stances, mimicking the way George held himself and him in turn glancing back to give pointers on how far apart you'd placed your feet or whether you were leaning too far in any direction. Sometimes the pose would call for raised arms and his directions would come out a little fumbled as your top rode further up your stomach. He tried not to let his gaze linger too long. It was more difficult than he expected.

When he was satisfied you’d got the hang of the stances, he announced it was time to fix your grip. You weren't entirely sure what he meant - your grip was firm, knuckles clenched around the hilt.

"Grip isn't about how tightly you hold your rapier, but how effectively," he explained, tone the same as if he were explaining the history of an artefact. "If anything, it should be a little loose to enable you to pivot to meet an unexpected blow. Make it an extension of your arm." He demonstrated, and you watched in mild confusion as he swung it further than the natural movement of his wrist would seem to allow. Then, he turned to try and advise you on how to improve. His head tilted left, then right. He moved round to your left, then right. Your position wasn't bad, per se, but as he compared your hand to his he couldn't for the life of him figure out how to explain what needed adjusting. Perhaps partly due to the lingering thought in the back of his mind about how much he wished it was his hand you were holding instead of the rapier. Willing his brain to cooperate, he flexed his hand to figure out what exactly it was he did to get it how it needed to be. Got it. Sort of.

You watched the gears spinning behind George's eyes as he moved around you, hand shifting occasionally. Eventually he settled almost over your shoulder.

"Do you mind if I…?" He trailed off, miming putting his arms around you.

"Sure." Your response was far quicker than you expected. You prayed he didn't notice. What you noticed was the shaky breath he drew in as he repeated the action around your waist, hands coming to rest over yours. The cold metal of his belt buckle against the exposed skin of your back made you gasp, both from shock and from how close it meant he was.

"Sorry," he murmured.

"It's okay," you returned, beginning to turn but stopping yourself when out of the corner of your eye you were confronted with his face just inches from yours. You'd been in each other's personal space before, hugging when one of you was upset or falling asleep slumped together after particularly gruelling cases. It would be so easy to turn just a little further, to where your noses and lips were level, to… You snapped your focus back to the rapier you were both holding, giving George a clear view of the rosy flush spreading across your cheek. Those fingers that you had fixated on so many times, as they flicked through pages upon pages of research or skimmed over the spines of books in the Archives, now folded over your own and gently nudged them into the correct position. It astounded you, the care he once again took to not cause you any discomfort with his actions. First when he’d dressed your wound, and now this. His thumb had come to rest on the inside of your wrist, and it was only your own knowledge of first aid telling you he would feel his own pulse that kept you from panicking about the way yours was racing beneath it. Subconsciously, you leant into him a little, marvelling at the pressure on your back from the rise and fall of his chest. Your hold on the rapier felt better now, more flexible and somehow stronger for being loosened up. George gave your hands a small squeeze as if to set them in place.

“How does that feel?” His voice ghosted over the shell of your ear, huskier than you’d expected and so, so close. You knew he was talking about the grip, but between his hands still over yours and his body pressed so close, your thoughts got away from you.

You couldn’t help it.

Your knees buckled.

George reacted immediately. His hands never left your body for a second, trying to support you through whatever had just happened, but they slid from your hands up to your elbows and then jumped to a firmer grasp at your waist, twitching involuntarily against the tingle of warm skin.

“Are you okay?” he asked worriedly, moving with one hand gliding over your stomach and the other following across your back until you were facing him. He wanted so badly to be respectful of your boundaries, conscious of how this would look if anyone were to walk in at that moment, but he was far more concerned about keeping you steady with the way you’d almost collapsed against him. Was it exhaustion from the endless string of cases? Blood loss from your injury? Something more major?

“I’m fine, it’s nothi-” The words died in your throat. George was staring at you, his cheeks burning. You were used to him looking at you differently to the rest of the agency, throwing longsuffering glances when Lockwood and Lucy were up to their usual antics or a nostalgic smile when you talked about your childhood together, but this was something altogether different. His lips were slightly parted like he couldn’t quite believe what was happening (neither could you), eyes warm and sparkling with surprise, tenderness, and something else… Hope?

“Please tell me it’s not nothing.” The words fell from his lips quietly and freely as his gaze flickered down for barely a second. His eyes widened a little. “I mean, don’t say you’re fine if you’re not. I want to be sure you’re alright.”

That sparkle in his eyes had dimmed, replaced by a backpedalling into dullness that always came with feared rejection. You’d seen it many times over the years - in his eyes the first time he spoke about being the weirdo of his family, in your own in the hallway mirror when you registered Lockwood’s hesitation about hiring you. But it hadn’t entirely taken him over yet, and you’d be damned if you were going to be the reason it did.

“Is that really what you mean?” you asked softly.

“Yes. No!” His blush darkened and his eyes closed for a beat as he took a deep breath. “What I’m trying to say, I guess, is yes, I mean I want to make sure you’re alright, but no, that’s not what I didn’t want to be nothing. I, um…” He searched your eyes again for any indication that you knew what was coming and didn’t want to hear it, but when all he was met with was genuine expectation and a slight nod of encouragement, he continued. “I like you, you know I do, or we wouldn’t be friends. But I like you, and we’ve never been as close as we were just then, so with all the little things that happened I was trying to figure out if I was reading too much into it or if… if you feel the same.”

An astonished smile tugged at the corners of your mouth as you processed this revelation. The boy you’d been silently pining for all this time, the boy you knew had trouble articulating his feelings when they were too close to his heart, had just told you in no uncertain terms that he reciprocated the feelings he didn’t even know you had. It was too good to be true.

You lifted your hand from his arm and pinched yourself. Ow.

George let out a baffled chuckle. “Okay, what was that all about?”

Your hand didn’t return to his arm; instead it cupped his cheek, thumb grazing his lower lip and pinky curling under his chin. This time he didn’t try to disguise the way his eyes were drawn to your lips as your smile grew.

“Just making sure.”

You rose onto your tiptoes, closing the gap between you. George’s steadying hands continued to do their job, moving to wrap around you and tug you closer to him. Your rapier clattered to the floor, forgotten, as you brought your other hand up to his arm, thumb rubbing across his bicep and ruffling the sleeve of his oversized T-shirt. The kiss was sweet and gentle, a little clumsy, but tinged with the fervor of finally being able to act on the desires you’d been holding back for so long. Everything you’d hoped it would be. Through the haze of euphoria, your brain urged you to concentrate, to remember every little detail, every emotion and impression: the taste of his lips, the warmth of his hands on your bare back, the tickle of his curls as they brushed your forehead, the rush of air as you pulled apart just enough to catch your breath and he grinned against your mouth. But it was okay, you reminded yourself. You doubted you’d ever forget, but even if you did all it would take is for you to kiss him again. So, just in case, you did.

#lockwood & co #george karim x reader #gn!reader #lockwood & co fanfic #george karim #lockwood and co

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furious-rogue-stuff · 1 year

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CONGRATULATIONS!!!! Your trully really deserve it!! So can I request 🗡🥺🐣please?

Sending u love and hugs🫶🏻🫶🏻

My dear friend! I'm sorry for the ridiculous wait on this, but I finally got around to this wonderful prompt. This is my first time writing Pero Tovar, so I hope I've done him justice.

Thanks, as always, to @just-here-for-the-moment for putting up with my ass and beta reading to make sure this wasn't complete trash and smutty enough.

Disclaimer: Written in 2nd person narrative, you can safely assume our heroine and love/lust interest is a Spanish woman, written by a Latina. Here's my philosophy on my writing, for further context.

Rating: Mature/Explicit 🔞

Word Count: 6,500+

🚨Author chooses not to include detailed warnings, but the following: Mentions of marriage, impersonating a soldier, past violence, scars and war wounds, breeding kink, graphic depictions of unprotected sex, and period-accurate tropes.

Yearn

The air outside was crisp with chill, making it all the more pressing for him to traverse the muddy road towards the small cottage. The smoke from the stone chimney signaled you’d started a fire for supper, and the twinkle of candlelight from the condensation-covered window facing outward to the road and frosty meadow beyond told him you’d intended to keep your promise from that morning.

The gnaw of hunger had settled in from the long day of labor, but the ache behind his sternum was one of longing, one he’d been nursing since the day before, and it took precedence over any need to fill his belly. He quickly trotted the steed into the rickety barn he’d yet to get around to patching the holes in the roof of, and once the animal was stabled, he trudged determinedly up to the door of the cottage.

He entered quickly and shut the chill out behind him, dark eyes adjusting to the dim lighting once he furrowed his brow and loped towards the weathered hearth. The steps that led to the loft above, where your marital bed was housed in a snug, insulated nook, were empty, and the table was already set with bread and wine while the savory stew kept warm in the caldero tucked near the fire. Yet, no sign of you.

“…Are you aloft already, condesa?” Pero speaks firmly, so his query can be heard clearly from above.

There is no answer, so he paces towards the steps, senses on high alert now. His instincts bellow for him to retrieve his sword from whence it’s stored, hidden in a nearby trunk, or to at least unsheathe the hidden blade he keeps on his person. He palms the handle of his dagger, tucked in its scabbard at the back of his leather belt underneath his well-worn poncho. His expression becomes stony, scar over his left eye resembling an etching, one that reveals the capacity of brutality suffered and meted out in return.

It's the soft flutter of clothing he hears first before he sees the movement from the shadowed corner that has him pivoting and effortlessly catching you as you leapt out at him from your stealthy ambush spot – the pantry cubby you’d climbed up into and waited for the right moment to pounce.

“Gotcha!” he growls triumphantly as he swings you around with impish delight, making you encircle your arms to hold onto his broad shoulders while you squeal mirthfully whilst your tunic skirts flutter about. “Trying to get the jump on me? Really, tigresita?!”

Not to be foiled completely, you wrap your legs around his hips and toss yourself backwards, creating a momentum that forces him to swing around until he’s able to break both your falls onto the bench you’d improvised using two bales of hay and an old tapestry draping you’d found discarded upstairs.

Pero lands with an exhaled huff, and you victoriously use his distraction to grab his thick wrists and pin his arms above his head.

“Bueno, I’ve bested the great guerrero, the most fearsome man with a blade, who said I was too noisy for my own good to ever get the drop on him, was it?” you’re gloating as you stare sultrily into his sardonic, handsome expression. “Well? Do you yield?”

“You are much too playful for me to try besting, my love, so…” Pero draws in that graveled rumble of his, musing and melodic before he suddenly bucks you off of him and rolls to pin you under him instead. “No, I do not yield.”

You scoff haughtily, arching a smug brow as you chime, “Good, because this is where I wanted to end up anyway.”

“Oh, is that right?” he husks, unable to muster the faux scowl any longer, so he smirks and croons in that bass-filled melodic murmur, one that always sets your nerve endings on fire, as he intensely stares into your eyes. “You wanted to end up on your back and underneath the tired and dirty mercenary-turned-farmhand that’s made you his wife? Well, I should hope so, mi amada.”

You smile enchantingly at him and arch your hips up into his. “It is so, mi marido,” is your silky purr as you lean up and brush your soft lips over his.

Pero grunts approvingly and deepens the kiss, hand cupping your jaw possessively as he plunders the cup of your mouth with his voracious tongue.

Equally as possessive are your hands as they grope and cling to his thick tunic under his poncho before eagerly shoving upwards in order to tug at his undershirt in an attempt to slip beneath to touch his skin. He smells of soil, grain and leather, musky scent heightened by his salty sweat. It makes your head spin with lust, and has arousal cloying from your center. His mouth is warm, and you ache to feel his powerful and overheated body against your bare skin as he presses into you with need.

You are desperate to undress him, and he realizes how much so when you dig your heels into the back of his trousers and groan into his mouth a pleading command.

Breaking the kiss, Pero pants against your gasping mouth before grumbling, “What was that?”

“I said I want you inside me now, Pero,” you airily repeat, the tone of your demand though is softened by your excitement now that he’s pointedly ground his arousal into your tingling center. “Mmm, please—”

“Such a needy little thing, begging so,” he chuckles ruggedly, timbre hitting that octave that has desire beseechingly pulsing in the seat of your core. His dark eyes crinkle as if he can sense how aroused you are, and just as you whine for him to comply, he slips a hand between your bodies and hikes it up the front of your skirts to cup you at the haven of your thighs. “And here I thought you were simply keeping your promise to wait up for me, no matter how late my return from the merchants. But instead, you try to best me into submission so you can have me fill this warm cunt, eh?”

His fingers trace along the crest of your sex before gliding along your warm, wet seam, parting your folds just as his thumb presses into the hood of your clit. “Ah, Pero!” you whimper, hands clutching at his sides and gripping sturdy fabric as you roll your hips, seeking the plunge of his fingers into your sheath. “Please—”

He revels in how desperate you are for him, so he presses his luck by testing how far his depraved desires can muster getting you to that fine line of wanting to give into your urge to be dominated versus having dominion to ensnare him into succumbing to his own needs.

So, he licks your plump bottom lip before grazing his teeth over it licentiously.

At your gasp and jolt against his edging fingers where you ache for them, Pero mutters coolly, “Is that all you can say, condesa? My fierce little noblewoman-turned-warrior can’t use her words when her sweet cunt is touched?”

The way your eyes sharpen is exactly what he wanted just before he plunges two thick fingers inside you.

You moan that glorious sound of pleasure that makes him feel like he’s touched the sun and it’s filled him with grace, and the beatific expression of rapture that comes over your lovely face has him straining in his trousers to replace his fingers with his cock.

But, he persists in this carnal play, and coos, “Look at you, bebita. It’s almost like you’ve yearned for my touch all day—”

“Pero,” you whine when he finger-fucks you slowly while taunting you so. He chuckles at the pleading way you arch up into him, so you dig your nails into the layers until you can feel his solid torso, and hiss, “No me tortures, por favor—”

His musing hum is rich and earthy, and to your aroused senses, it’s like a warm wine hitting your bloodstream. Feeling his broad, strong frame pressed over you, and the teasing prod of his ramrod cock only heightens your need, as does the musky smell of him, the sweat that clings to his skin and the heat of his mouth grazing along your cheek now.

Scenting your hair by nosing into the locks at your temple, Pero laconically rumbles, “I’d never torture you, sweet girl. I just want you to be mi tigresita valiente and admit you’ve been in heat for me, that you’ve been thinking unchaste thoughts all day—”

He feels your molten sheath clench around his fingers at his words, but the defiance is starting to scintillate in your eyes before you snap thinly, “And what sort of filth have you been thinking, husband?”

Pugnaciously, he smirks like a cunning tentador before husking, “Oh, this very thing. Of having my fingers in your warm cunt – making you restless and insolent, desperate to have my cock inside you instead.”

At the indolent pump of his fingers changing to a pleasurable curl that brushes the digits against the nested pleasure point inside you, a gasped mewl falls from your mouth as you writhe up into him.

“I thought about all the ways I’ve given you pleasure, and all the ways I still intend to give you pleasure,” he tells you in that damnable aloof way that makes you burn and melt. “Tell me one naughty little ember that’s kept you hot like this all day, esposa, and I’ll put my mouth on you until you reach bliss on my tongue.”

With a proposition like that? You are turned to clay, features heating from your blush as you confess, “I thought about you, undressed before me, and letting me worship your body with my hands and mouth before getting bare for you so you could make me yours by the fire.”

His fingers pause inside of you and he looks at you with unfettered hunger in his dark eyes.

You expect him to shift up so he could make that fantasy a reality, but instead, he grunts – as if placated, before receding his fingers from you, crawling down your body to bunch up your skirts so he can bury his face between your thighs.

The lascivious swipe of his tongue through your drenched folds has you gasping and hiking your knees up to make room for his broad shoulders, writhing in ecstasy as Pero devours your cunt and rubs his fingers over the hood of your pleasure point. He groans when your thighs squeeze around him, and chuckles against your mound when you bury your fingers into his hair and tug.

The look he shoots up at you from below his brow while he nuzzles shamelessly into the heady curls above your sex makes your pulse spike with exhilaration, and when he shifts your wool-stocking-covered legs further apart for him to angle your pelvis further up to better access your honeyed cunt, you groan imploringly, “Mi amor,” and bite your trembling bottom lip.

It’s exactly what he wanted.

He is unabashed and libidinous with his mouth after he bows his head between your thighs once more, and true to his word, you’re climaxing in minutes on his tongue while you ride his rapacious appendage and grip the thick tufts of dark hair at the crown of his head with one hand whilst moaning blissfully into the back of the other.

The deliriously exquisite feeling that washes over you is divine, and you sigh softly while he laps at your climax and grunts, as if satisfied with your state of euphoria.

So, when you feel cool air between your thighs, your eyes glossily open to stare dazed up at him, confused as he looms over you and grumbles a humored, gloating hum before popping his sullied fingers into his mouth and sucking your slick orgasm off.

He then stands from the makeshift bench and declares, “I want to eat,” before pivoting to lope unhurriedly to the wooden stool nearest the table so he can plunk down on it and scoot it closer to the fireplace to dutifully stir the stew with the ladle.

You’re flabbergasted.

Sitting up on your elbows to gape – comically appalled – at him, you watch as he serves himself a bowl of the savory stew while trying to keep the wry grin from pulling at his full lips. He fails miserably though when he looks over at you with that droll expression on his features before he smiles behind the bowl he raises to his lips. It does little to conceal his goading amusement, and you’re glaring at him now that your wits have returned to you.

Once he’s had a few hearty sips of the flavorful meal, he gruffly drawls, “Come stay warm by the fire, mi amada.”

You decide then that two can play this game.

Straightening your tunic skirts down and squeezing your knees together, you sit on the edge of the improvised bench and start unfastening the corseted vest that keeps your tunic and smock cinched to your form.

“I am already very warm, thank you,” is your blithe lilt as you stand and shed the vest.

Pero turns to watch you with clenched jaw as you remove the dark top tunic, leaving you now in just the green smock and a thin pale linen chemise that teases the shape and ample swell of your breasts. You can feel his eyes on you as you shimmy out of the smock next, leaving you now in just the chemise that hits just above your ankles. The glow from the fireplace hits the light linen and creates a spritely silhouette of your curvy, supple form hidden beneath, and when you hike up the hem just enough to allow you to adjust a wool stocking back up to your knee, you finally look over at him and smile.

“How is the stew?”

“…Come here.”

“Is it not to your liking, my love?”

“…Come here, mujer.”

“Do you prefer mead over wine with it?”

“…I prefer for you to cease teasing me so and come sit with me,” Pero tells you in a guttural croon as he sets his bowl aside on the table and holds his hand out to you in an assertive petition.

You feign meekness as you susurrate, “You said you wanted to eat, though. I am loath to disturb your meal—”

“Come sit on my lap and eat with me already. You’ve made your point,” he yields in a snarky huff, but the smile in his eyes is evident before they crinkle from the appeased smirk that warms his chiseled features when you slyly grin and saunter over to him.

He swoops you into his lap before you’ve completely maneuvered around, and you scoff sassily at him as you loop your arms around his shoulders. He nuzzles into your neck and fondles his big, warm hands along your curves, making you sigh dreamily and lean into him.

“Have you eaten?”

“I was waiting for you.”

“Hm. Next time, you fill your belly first. Don’t wait on my account, ternura.”

“I will, precioso,” you retort affectionately, earning the expected eye roll and dubious snicker from him. “No seas tan gallardo, y come,” is your fussy quip as you grab his bowl, maneuver nimbly in his lap to reach for the ladle and add more stew to it before handing the bowl to him so you can grab a piece of bread and tear a chunk off to add in as well.

He smirks broadly, so much so that his boyish dimple is unearthed from his right cheek. “No seas tan porfiada y come, condesa,” is his dashing counter, putting the bowl into your hands before grabbing the other from the table to serve himself some stew.

You eat together, and you enjoy the warmth of his body as you remain perched on his lap while he leans his back into the wall and gorges himself. He asks where you sourced the meat that’s in the stew, and is proud when you tell him about the rabbit traps you set. You’re resourceful and smart, cunning, yet tender-hearted. It makes something warm and vast expand in his chest, having you be his, and how content you are to belong to him.

Once the ache in his belly is quieted, he licks his lips before wiping the back of his hand across his mouth, eyeing you intensely as you sip from the shared cup of wine.

He belongs to you, too. It stirs blazing desire in him, and fills him with serenity, knowing he’s yours, and how fiercely you made it so.

The longing of before tugs at his heart now as he’s reminded of how you’d sat opposite him the evening prior, balancing the small tyke on your knee as you’d both shared dinner at the farmer’s homestead. The former soldier had settled this land years prior, married, and started a family. Winter had been fast approaching, and after a chance encounter with the man on the road, you’d both accepted the offer to board at the vacant cottage on his land, exchanging labor and help prepping for the winter for room and board.

Pero had watched you while the farmer and his wife chattered about the foodstuffs stored earlier and the barley he’d help transport to the merchant market the following morning, how long the journey there and back would be – ‘M’afraid it’ll take up most of the day’ – all while you’d entertained the little one that had become mesmerized by your smile and the silly faces you made to amuse him.

A heavy desire had settled in his chest, one he couldn’t place, until you’d passed the small toddler over to his mother and offered to pick up the infant that had begun to cry in its woven bassinet. Seeing you hold the wailing baby to your chest and rock it softly as you sat back down and showed the mother how to use the feeding bottle that you’d made out of an old clay pot with a spout you’d improvised in order to supplement her milk with that of the cow’s? How gentle you were once the babe was sated and you could maneuver her in your arms to make sure to burp all the gasses out of the little baby before cradling the sweet infant to sleep?

It had suddenly awakened something in him that made him feel clumsy – out of his depth.

He shakes the reveries off when you hum and offer the cup of wine to him.

“Do you want more?”

His features take on that stoic look, becoming marble as he nods and takes the cup to drain it of the remaining wine.

Thinking he’s become weary from the day now, you take the bowls to be set aside for rinsing in the makeshift dish tub you’d fabricated from an old wine barrel.

Pero watches you hesitate before setting the bowls onto the shelf near you, and then turn back towards him to ask gently, “I have clean water. Would you like me to bathe you?”

His scarred brow cocks up at you, sarcastic as he deadpans, “Would you like me to bathe? Do I smell that bad? Is my stink too odious, condesa?”

Mischievous smile lighting up your features, you feign remorse before shaking your head and chiming, “No, not at all. I happen to like your stink, anyway,” at his amused snort, you continue silkily, “I was just thinking you’d like to feel the warm water over your skin. I heated it over the fire once the stew was ready. It’s tepid now, but still nice.”

He grunts as if charmed, then nods and stands to remove the poncho from his shoulders before tossing it over with the rest of your discarded garments. You pleasantly work to maneuver the tub with the clean water across the floor closer to the hearth and end up smiling when he chivalrously comes over and picks it up for you to be set right next to the stool.

“This is poor substitute to the bathhouse, I know—” you begin to chuckle.

“You mean the one you went into while impersonating a soldier? Or the one you snuck into to seduce me?” he counters roguishly as he removes his belt, knife, and tunic next.

“No, travieso. I was meaning the one with the eucalyptus leaves and lovely oils that they put in the bath water – from the place we stopped at in the merchant’s quarter?” you deride playfully as you soak a rag in the tepid water before wringing it out. At his sardonic grunt, you stand and turn to bossily grab the waist of his trousers before yanking at the fastening. “Now, be good, husband, and let me undress you.”

His cock has been filled out since he collapsed onto the bench with you, but at your sultry tone, it throbs in response as it stands ready, arousal outlined prominently against the inseam of his trousers.

You take your time removing the remaining layers of clothes from his torso, then kneel at his feet in order to remove his dirt-caked boots before you finally resume stripping him of his pants.

The glow of the firelight illuminates his tan skin and the myriad of scars that map his body across contours of muscle and vast expanses of flesh. Some are old and worn smooth by time, others are silvery pale and etched, others are a darker olive and raised. He’d once been self-conscious about your gentle, appraising touches – of the doting caresses over the jagged reminders of brutality and pain that had been carved into him by steel blade, arrowhead or iron-made punctures. But now, he yearns for your touch, relishes how you brush your lips over a scar along the curve of his ribcage, and burns with pride at the reverent way you glide the wet rag to scrub the dirt and sweat from his skin.

He's not even bashful about standing in the nude before you while you remain in your chemise.

No, instead his timidness is palliated by the new fixation crossing his mind’s eye. One that’s conjured you in a kaleidoscope fantasy, where you’re standing before him in the same chemise, but instead it is clinging to a rounded little belly while your beautiful smile broadens as you look upon him. How you would look nude and with child, the way you’d react to his erotic touch – one hand between your thighs, with the other caressing your soft womb.

Before he could get carried away with the curiosities – would she taste sweeter between her thighs, would her scent be more ripened on her warmer skin, how sensitive would she be to being touched and kissed – Pero cleared his throat and his mind as best he could in order to guardedly watch you tend to him.

“So, this is what you’d fantasized about?” he murmurs warmly as you lean back on your haunches after crouching down to rinse the rag in the tub and wring it out once more.

The chill is warded away mostly by the fire in the hearth, but truthfully he’s so aroused by you that he’s become even more of a furnace than he is normally. You’re glad for it, loving the extra excuse to touch him and revel in his masculine scent.

“The bathing is a windfall, but yes,” you quip as you stand now so you can scrub up into his underarm and whisper conspiratorially, “Another thing I thought of? Was how gorgeous you look when your face is flushed after I suck your cock until you spill in my mouth—”

“Misericordia, mujer,” Pero exhales in a floored scoff as he pauses your scrubbing and cups his hand at your jaw in order to tilt your brazen smile up to him. “You cannot say such depraved filth to me and remain clothed,” is his raspy taunt as he crowds you against the edge of the table. Your titillated stare has him smirking as he tugs at the neckline of your chemise and orders, “Take this off. Now.”

You plop the rag down into the tub and do as you’re told, undressing before him.

He watches you with his dark, intense eyes, shadow cast by the fireplace shrouding half of his features as you discard the chemise, then your boots, leaving you in only the wool stockings.

You’re about to ruck one down when Pero surprises you by kneeling and doing it for you.

“So, how was your day, aside from the erotic daydreaming?” he’s asking in that melodic baritone as he chucks the stocking over his shoulder before moving to the next one, as if his face isn’t an inch from your womanhood and his gloating stare can’t see the debauched effect he’s having on you.

“It-It was fine. I spent most of it in their root cellar, helping stock the things from the barn,” you stutter as he hums to indicate he’s listening while he tosses the other stocking aside and starts fondling his hands up your supple thighs. “With the little ones clinging at her apron, she needed help milking the cow and feeding the chickens—”

“How were the little piglets today?” he jokes, wry glance up at you clear indication he’s referring to the children rather than the actual piglets from the sow in the barn.

You playfully pinch his shoulder. “Que malo,” is your sardonic giggle before answering, “The baby was needy for milk. But she’s practically tapped after the little one has his fill, so I tried to get him to eat some porridge—”

Pero grunts musingly and brushes a sloppy, open-mouth kiss over your womb. “The little glutton is old enough to eat. La pobrecita will be malnourished if she doesn’t get enough milk,” is his aloof grumble, kissing a path up your body as he slowly stands.

Arousal swoops into your stomach and curls tantalized tingles into your thrumming core.

“I-I know,” is all you can breathe out as he boxes you between him and the table at your back before looming at his full height to stare hungrily at you. “H-Hopefully they can wean him s-soon—”

“You wanted me to fuck you by the fire?”

Your clench hard at that, nipples studding and desire making you wet with anticipation while his broad frame stands so close, yet so far still. You know he’s being cheeky, trying to put you off-kilter to his whims, but you’re tickled more than anything that he’d try.

“I said I wanted you to make me yours by the fire,” you retort with a spritely look in your eyes.

“That’s the same thing, isn’t it?” he says in a contrarian drawl, lips pouting at your snickered response. “Well? How is it not?”

“Because! You can fuck anyone, but you can’t make just anyone yours,” you declare with a logical air, hands gliding up his chest now to loop around his neck so you can slink up against him and his warm, bare body.

“Hmm…makes sense, I suppose,” he judiciously replies before confidently hoisting you up.

You giggle effervescently as he carries you over to the makeshift bench, makes short work of shoving it to be closer to the hearth before laying you onto it and hitching himself between your welcoming thighs.

Pero’s kisses are greedy as he ruts his ramrod shaft between your dripping folds, eager to slicken it in order to spear it into you and make it feel divine for you both. Your hands cling to his muscular back, mouth seeking the warmth of his own for a luscious interlude before you feel him notch the head of his cock at your dimpled entrance.

He’s content to let you pillage his mouth with your tongue before twirling his own against it, desire a stoked fire in his center that he intends to nurture for as long and as many times he can bring you to climax before he’s overcome with his own release.

“Por favor, mi amor, dámelo,” you supplicate in a honey-sweet tone, eyes pleading as your body clings to his strong frame.

He can’t deny you any longer.

His thrust has you arching, pelvis angling up and knees clutching at his sides as he fucks into you to the hilt while you moan his name and he swears in awe at how sensational this feels every time.

“Cristo amado,” he groans as he thrusts into you again, passion boiling over in him at the way you mewl against his jaw approvingly. “Wanted this. Needed it—”

“Oh, Pero,” you exhale as he sets a pounding pace and holds you to him like you are liquid, and in danger of coming apart in his arms. “Want you all the time—”

“Yeah?” he groans, nuzzling your neck to suckle a possessive kiss into your delicate skin before he grits, “Need you, amada—”

“Tell me, husband. Mmm, tell me what you need,” you stammer out as he keeps rocking into you in that toe-curling way that has his cock grinding into the ruinous parts inside your fluttering sheath.

Ardently, he growls, “Need you—need to fill you up, keep you full of me. Want you to be mine—”

You moan in that glorious way again, and it almost drives him over the edge, so he adjusts to loom over you so he can concentrate on your pleasure. To make you reach bliss before he lets his baser, primal desires carry him off.

He keeps pounding into your squelching cunt as he begins suckling on your nipple while he presses the pad of his thumb over the hood of your bundled pleasure point.

It sets you alight, and you wail in overawed pleasure as he plucks you so with his cock, fingers and mouth. “Ah, D-Dios mío—” you cry out when he sucks hard on your pebbled flesh and grinds his wanton pleasure to ignite a scintillating climax to burst free.

You moan as your sheath squeezes around his cock and floods him with your warm orgasm, carried off by the throes of ecstasy he’s unleashed in you.

Punch-drunk from the achievement, Pero moans before he licks a path to the other nipple to toy the tip of his tongue along it until you shiver and whimper from overstimulation when he purses his lips around it.

“Pero,” you whine airily, eyes heavy-lidded as he frees your nipple and leans up to gaze rapaciously at you. He tenderly pets your sweaty hair from your face and traces his thumb along the apple of your cheek before you sigh, “You didn’t do it.”

He frowns, trailing his thumb to your mouth, intending to caress it over your plush lips before you kiss it dotingly. “Didn’t do what?”

You exhale girlishly before cupping your hand to his cheek. “You didn’t fill me,” is your silly reply, eyes warm with mirth and smile affectionate when he grunts and scowls. “And you held back. There was something you wanted to say—”

“There was, but it…” he pauses before shaking his head and scoffing, “I’m still inside you, amada. Let’s forget it—”

“Pero Tovar, are you timid, so suddenly?” you can’t help but razz, smiling slyly at him when he gives you his intimidating glower. “Oh no, that will not work with me, marido. Your nostrils flaring crossly are cute—”

“You are a maddening woman,” he huffs in that gravelly tone, but the amusement is clear in the creasing of his eyes. “I…I have been thinking things I haven’t before. At least that I haven’t ever considered, and, they are clumsy thoughts. I—I’m unused to being unsure, ternura…”

“Unsure about…what?” you ask and lean up to lovingly gaze into his tense stare. When he hesitates, you can’t help jump to conclusions for him, knowing how reticent he is about discussing his feelings. “If it’s about things here? We could always take William up on his offer – go north to visit him in the spring? Or if you’re not content with, well, this,” you gesture to the shabby interior of the cottage, “we could ask to stay in the hut next to the barn? It’s dryer and closer to the work—”

“It’s none of that. Although I haven’t done well enough of a job in that, I know. Not found us much of a life out here…” Pero grouses, but at your frown, he amends, “This is not the life of nobleza. It’s beneath your stature—”

“Fuck my stature,” you scoff and sit up to roll your positions so you can straddle his lap while he gapes up at you. “I’ve told you plenty of times now that my station in life is for me to decide, and I’ve chosen to be happy and free, with you. Now, mi guerrero obstinado, tell me what you’re unsure of, and I shall tell you if you have cause to be unsure.”

He’s still inside you, and the way his cock throbs in your still tingling sheath while he gives you a penetrating look with those dark brown eyes tells you this is something very primordial.

“I want to fill you up, make you full of my seed until your belly is soft and round with my child.”

Your eyes widen in surprise, but your hands caress his chest in a soothing, encouraging way that has Pero shutting his eyes and letting out the breath he’d been holding.

“Our life is not suited for such a…we travel, and such a life would mean settling down,” he tells you firmly before opening his eyes.

He’s disarmed by the fond, radiant look softening your countenance.

“Well, sure, we would need to settle down, but only for a brief time. Until the little one can come along with us on our travels,” you tell him as you idly undulate your pelvis, grinding his pulsing cock along your silken walls before squeezing your sheath around it for good measure while your breasts bounce from how vigorously you begin fucking yourself onto him.

The wind begins to howl outside and seep through certain cracks in the door and window, but neither of you seem to care enough to notice as you sensually grind down on him, hair swaying with the way you lean forward to passionately kiss Pero when he groans and clutches your waist tightly, powerful fingers dimpling your flesh as he starts guiding you to ride him harder.

His breath is ragged as everything starts to spin up between you, his lust and adoration tangling around the incredulous realization that you’re in tune with the clumsy thoughts he confessed.

Still, it scorches something feral and covetous to singe through him as he husks, “You w-want that…? You truly want to be mine—to be with child?”

You moan and plant your palms to his warm, flexing pectorals as you ride him with desperate vigor now, expression beaming with delight.

“There’s nothing I want more,” you declare with genuine enamored satisfaction, albeit pantingly so as you ride him and mewl in pleasure.

Pero is torn asunder by your words as much as by how exquisitely you’re riding him, and he’s so propelled to the precipice of climax and primal need to triumph in it that he effortlessly sits up and manhandles you to flip positions so he can fuck you with passionate zeal and get you there with him just as his cock swells and twitches in imminent release.

“Mi alma, I’ll fuck my seed deep—make it so nothing spills free from you—have you filled full with it, and rejoice once a child is in your womb,” he’s professing against your jaw as he hammers his cock into your fluttering sheath while your heels dig into his lower back and your fingers knead below his shoulder blades, rapturous pleasure engulfing you with every ferally growled word, until he flings you into a blistering orgasm by moaning, “Will keep making you mine even then. Give you everything—keep you pregnant, protect you and our sweet ones—keep you forever—”

You cry out and arch up under him, rapturous sob catching in your throat as you reach a zenith of bliss that has you clinging in enthralled desperation to him, which snaps the tether of control loose from him and spurs his own fierce orgasm.

Pero moans hoarsely against your neck as he spills his climax deep, cock buried to the hilt inside you as he holds you possessively to him and hums soothingly at your loving nuzzles and whispered words of, “Te amo, precioso.”

Huskily, he rumbles, “Te amo y te adoro con todo que tengo, mi alma.”

You sigh wistfully at his words and melt further under him, reveling in the decadent bloom of warmth that diffuses through you.

The crackling of the fire is the only other sound of consequence over the ragged, shallow breaths you’re both trying to steady into calm once more while you come down from the soul-shattering lovemaking.

“Pero...?”

“Hm?”

“Would you still love me if I became plump and had little ones constantly hanging on my skirts?” you whisper meekly, hands languidly caressing along his sweaty back. “And if I even became shit at fighting?”

“That’s impossible, tigresita,” he laconically rumbles against your neck. At your fretful hum, he props himself up in order to loom over you and give you his steely, no-nonsense stare. “I started to love you when I thought you were an awkward, short soldadito, my love. I think it’s safe to say I’ll love every version of you to come,” is his bass-filled retort, sincere affection not dulled by the humor of his tone.

You press your forehead to his, appeased.

He pulls out of your now tender cunt, and avidly watches his seed begin to drip in his wake, so he scoops his fingers to prevent it from spilling further, and pushes the pearly essence back into you.

You shiver and sigh, resting a hand over your womb while you caress his shoulder with the other as you shut your eyes in the moment of blissful tranquility, post-coitus.

“I just hope I make a worthy enough father.”

You don’t mean to snort, but you do. “You will, mi amor. The real concern is whether we’ll be able to muster the stamina to work on the farm chores and fuck like this until you put a baby in me,” is your vivacious chuckle as you hook your arm around his shoulders to guide him back down to lie on top of you while he scoffs irreverently at you.

“I have plenty of stamina, always,” he purrs against your mouth before brushing his lips against it.

“Good. I yearn to be ravished by you daily, after all, so you’ll need it,” is your alluring coo before kissing him amorously.

You only break the kiss to bat your lashes at him before susurrating, “I want you to make me yours again and again, until dawn comes, and then all over again, precioso.”

He chuckles that deep, gravelly laugh before crooning melodically, “As you wish, mi amada.”

_____________________________

Spanish-English Glossary:

Caldero = Cauldron, for cooking over a hot flame

Condesa = Countess; a woman of nobility

Tigresita = Tiger Lilly; little tigress

Bueno = So; also ‘Good’ or ‘Well’

Guerrero = Warrior (male)

Mi amada = My beloved (female)

Mi marido = My husband

Bebita = Little baby (female)

No me tortures, por favor = Don’t torture me, please

Mi tigresita valiente = My valient little tigress

Tentador = Tempter (male)

Esposa = Wife

Mi amor = My love

Mujer = Woman

Ternura = Tenderness; akin to saying ‘sweetheart’

Precioso = Precious (male); gorgeous one

No seas tan gallardo, y come = Don’t be so gallant and eat

No seas tan porfiada y come, condesa = Don’t be so stubborn and eat, countess

Travieso = Naughty/Mischievous boy

Misericordia, mujer - Mercy, woman

Que malo = So bad (male)

La pobrecita = The poor little thing; poor little girl

Por favor, mi amor, dámelo = Please, my love, give it to me

Cristo amado = Christ beloved

Amada = Beloved

Ah, D-Dios mío = Oh, my God

Nobleza = Nobility

Mi guerrero obstinado = My obstinate warrior

Mi alma = My soul; passionate term of endearment that eludes to the profound love someone feels, aka to the soul

Te amo, precioso = I love you, precious boy

Te amo y te adoro con todo que tengo, mi alma = I love and I adore you with all I have, my soul

Soldadito = Little soldier (male)

Thanks for reading! Please consider leaving a comment and sharing your feedback. I would be eternally grateful.

Taglist:

#Pero Tovar #The Great Wall #Pero Tovar x Condesa #Pero Tovar x OFC #roguefury's 400 follower drabble prompts #roguefury's 400 followers drabble prompts #400 followers #400 followers drabble prompt #Pedro Pascal characters

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unclassedguy · 4 months

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Jjk 261 leaks ahead:

Alright I was going to post about this in the morning but I got distracted and needed time to process everything anyways.

I don't usually share my thoughts on the new chapters publicly but I will make an exception now 😔.

Yap incoming

ok, so there were a lot of theories floating around before 261 about if we would actually be getting a gojo comeback or not. Honestly, some people pointed out why gojo reviving might not be the best decision for the story, but I was placing bets on it anyways because I too was pretty bummed by his end and also because my naive self chose to believe it was the most likely choice for gege to make.

However I did try to keep my hopes reasonable, choosing to belive that it could just be a hallucination.

Truthfully, I didn't think it would be Kenjaku. I'd seen the theory that it could be them but I honestly doubted gege would do that. Yet in the depths of my copium filled soul I had always been holding onto the hope that kenjaku would somehow return to the story. When I tell you my secret little stash of cope was as potent as some gojo fans im telling the truth 😭.

I honestly hoped maybe it would be kenjaku, just maybe. This morning I sought out the leaks and you know what I saw? This:

I was DYING. For a second I thought gege had really done, I was in disbelief, I was in shock, I briefly wondered if this was a joke.

AND THEN I WAS SO HAPPY. I was like: Yes! Answers! Yuji-kenjaku interactions! An unexpected twist in the fight! Forget the logistics of how kenjaku ended up in Gojo's body, I was going to trust gege's cooking and enjoy the chapter before taking a step back and critiquing anything.

And then I read that it wasn't kenjaku. It was Yuta using kenjaku's ct.

I didn't want to belive it could be Yuta. Of all the outcome I thought it CANNOT be Yuta. Not possibly. BUT IT WAS. IT WAS YUTA.

I have felt emotional when consuming media before, and sometimes underwhelmed or critical when something didn't rub me the right way, but I'd never understood people who act so utterly devastated by an author's decisions.

I UNDERSTAND NOW.

I've been mourning all day man 😭. My gojo cope, my kenjaku cope, all of it down the drain just like that AND ALL AT ONCE. I genuinely am not sure what about this chapter gas prompted such emotion in me. Am I lobotomized after all? I choose to belive its the sheer shock of this chapters events.

Tbh, I read the rest of the chapter in a bit of a daze and I'd have to go back and look over it again to share any actual thoughts or analysis, but I will says some other things stood out at me about it.

first of all, I don't hate Yuta. He's not my favorite character but I don't hate him and I wish the best to you yuta fans, however yall are feeling. his line about how the others are so worried about becoming monsters, unknowing that they've forced that role onto gojo all this time hit pretty hard for me. And now Yuta is taking on the same role since gojo's gone. He's strong and is not just taking Gojo's body but in a way taking on his position as the 'monster' of the jujutsu world, even if only for the dubious amount of time he had left.

Also the way sukuna just, punches yuji aside 😭. Nahh. The disrespect. He rlly just sees yuta in gojo's body and tosses yuji away. Rlly hope my boy beats him up next chapter and it doesn't become a yuta-one-man-show.

Overall I'm dying, I'm crying, I'm gritting my teeth, I miss kenjaku, I miss gojo, rip yuta 😭

(Please gege give me my wife back. Even just a kenjaku flashback is enough. Gege pls.)

#Sorry for yapping #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #kenjaku #jjk kenjaku #jjk leaks #chapter 261 #jjk chapter 261 #Jjk spoilers #yuji itadori #yuta okkotsu #gojo satoru #sukuna

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startanewdream · 1 year

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#5 - Hate, for April @hinnymicrofic

She is just getting ready for bed when Harry enters their room; she expects a comment about her nightgown, maybe even an appreciative whistle, but Harry remains silent, and when Ginny turns to watch him, she finds the oddest calm expression on his face.

"Harry?"

"Ah?" He sounds only distracted, moving around the room to change clothes without really noticing anything.

She pauses him as he is grabbing his Auror cloaks—it's the middle of the night, he's not on duty.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah, it's—" But his voice fails; he cannot meet her gaze. "Just tired."

"Okay... Any news from work?"

"No."

"How are the kids?"

Now his calm mask breaks for a second, but all Harry says is: "Fine. I tucked them in."

She caresses his arm softly. "Has anything happened?"

Harry stares at her then, lips trembling, looking more frightened that she has seen him in years. "Yeah, it's just—Jamie was upset because he wanted to stay awake longer and—and he said he hates me."

Her expression softens; Harry looks away. "Harry... you know he didn't—"

"He meant it. I could see in his face—"

"He is eight. You are the world to him, I can assure you that none of the kids hate you."

"I don't know," Harry mumbles, accepting her hug now without even seeming to notice it. "I always thought I would be a failure as a father, maybe this was just—"

"This was a young child saying something hurtful without understanding its meaning. Just a tantrum. Did you let him awake after that?"

"N-no. I just turned off the lights and closed the door."

"Good. Look, Mum did plenty of things that annoyed me. But now I know that she only meant well, even when we disagreed, even though I still think I wouldn't make the same choices." She gives him a sad smile. "Do you remember at the beginning of the battle? When I couldn't join the fight?"

He almost chuckles. "I remember you joining anyway."

"Well, before that. I was angry and I was upset and I told Mum that I hated her. She was going to fight, she could have died and yet I was only thinking about myself... and I was sixteen, twice James' age, so I knew exactly what it meant—and it wasn't true anyway. It was just something that I knew would hurt her, because if love is powerful, then so should be hate." She stands on her tiptoes to place a kiss on his cheek. "Jamie loves you; he won't like all your parenting choices—he certainly complains about my every decision—but he will always love you."

"I just—things seemed so easier with Teddy that I thought... I don't know, I thought I could be really good at it."

"Telling your son to go to sleep because he has classes the next morning it not being bad at it, Harry." Ginny smiles softly. "You are a good father, the best our children could have."

"Maybe they deserved someone who actually had a fa—"

"Don't," she says, warninigly. "You got plenty of people in your life that were your family. You are the most loving person I've ever met. You are not broken."

He sighs, pushing them to sit on the bed. His eyes are still closed, as if trying to brand her words on his brain, when there is a knock on the door.

"Come in."

It's James, his expression very sheepilish, his hands behind his back.

"James—you should be in bed," Ginny reminds him.

"I will, Mum, I—" He glances at his father. "Can I talk to Dad?"

She looks at Harry; he nods, and James walks to them, sitting on his father's lap as he hasn't done ever since he was seven (and thus, too old for things like that, he'd claimed).

"Dad?" James' voice is trembling. "I am sorry, I don't hate you. Can you not hate me too?"

Something snaps on Harry's face as he hugs his oldest son. "Oh, Jamie, I don't hate you. I'd never."

"I'm sorry I didn't want to sleep. I wanted to play more."

"You know that if you stay awake, you'll be asleep in class, and then you won't get to play with your friends?"

"Oh." James' eyes are wide. "I hadn't thought... but I'm not sleepy now."

Harry runs his hand through his son's hair affectionately. "How about I tell you a story until you sleep?"

James' eyes sparkle. "With dragons and basilisks?"

"And mermaids. Go to your room, I'll be right there."

James nods, excited, and jumps to his feet. He is on the door when he turns back, runs to give Ginny a kiss on the cheek ("Night, Mum"), then he bolts out of the room.

Ginny looks to Harry; he is smiling, and she knows he will be okay.

"I'll wait awake for you," she promises. "You can tell me a bedtime story as well."

Harry kisses her softly on the lips. "I hope you won't fall asleep then."

#Hinny Microfic #Married Hinny #Hate #sorry for any mistake!

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crestfallercanyon · 5 months

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weekly tag wednesday ☁️

thanks for the tag @mmmichyyy!!! Been a while since I've actually done one of these but I'm always excited to see others tags <3

name: crest

age: late 20s

your time zone: actually currently it's mountain time but that's not typical.

what do you do for work? I'm an attorney.

do you have any pets? yes, I have one cat, he's adorable.

what first drew you to this fandom? admittedly I at first started seeing gifsets, and then I realized they were coming from a beloved mutual @go-catch-a-chickn and I was slowly becoming obsessed and wanted to know more about the show, talked to my sibling who has already seen Shameless too, and then when I finally made the plunge everyone was SO NICE and LOVELY! So while I'm back to being a bit on the fringes (of all things fandom lately, not just Shameless) I do still adore it.

are you a morning person or a night owl? quite genuinely I am both and neither. It really depends on how well I've slept, how much time to myself I feel I've had, or how busy I am.

what are your hobbies? writing, getting back into drawing, video games, hiking, I play an instrument in my community orchestra as well, as well as others.

how tall are you? 5'4ish?

if you could live anywhere in the world, where would you live? I don't know actually -- some days I just want to go back to the midwest, other days I want to live in New York and experience that. I'm pretty happy where I'm at, though.

favorite color? green

favorite book? Oof, favorites are really hard. I don't know if I have a true favorite book, just recency bias lmao. I absolutely loved This is How You Lose the Time War by Amal El-Mohtar and Max Gladstone. However, I will say, I actually reread The Southern Reach trilogy by Jeff Vandermere (particularly the first two books, Annihilation and Authority) fairly often. It is one of the most compelling stories I've read, and every time I reread it I catch a new clue as to what's going on and a new creepy detail.

favorite movie? Steel Magnolias. No other movie makes me laugh and cry as hard as that one does.

favorite fic? there's so many, I've read in so many different fandoms, too, this isn't really quantifiable. That being said, I probably reread Stag and Wolf, Wyvern and Rabbit by deadlifts (Fire Emblem Three Houses Claude/Felix fic) the most. I've also read Ready (Maze Runner Gally/Minho fic) by comebacknow a lot. They're both amazing, I greatly recommend.

favorite musical artist: glass animals and the japanese house. this is also subject to change all the time, but I adore these two for sure.

what is your average screen time so far this week? way too fucking high. I've been easily distracted recently.

what’s the first app you open in the morning? this will date me for sure -- probably snapchat. i've got streaks with friends spanning years, not about to let 'em die.

how long have you been on tumblr? not until around the pandemic area, think 2021? My vibe screams I was on tumblr when I was a preteen, but when I was a kid we only had one computer for the whole house and it was ancient -- which means I never got to use it and had actually never heard of tumblr until after it "died" the first time.

finally (and i know this one is hard) tell me a fun fact about yourself: no one ever expects it, but I'm actually a pretty good dancer, and I love to go salsa dancing.

no pressure tags: @go-catch-a-chickn, @michellemisfit, @jrooc, @callivich, and anyone else who wants to join!

#weekly tag wednesday #wtw #tag games

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kindlystrawberry · 3 months

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20 Questions for Fic Writers

Tagged by @thebeckster, thank you so much!! I love doing these. Sorry this took me so long though, I got distracted by life and then totally forgot until I saw it again in my notes recently asdfasdf.

1. How many works do you have on AO3? 74 total!

2. What’s your total AO3 word count? 476,681 since 2018 :)

3. What fandoms do you write for?

A BIG variety, but my top 5 are: RF4 (by FAR, 38 fics), Good Omens (4), Tales of Series (4), Ace Attorney (4), Samurai Love Ballad (3)

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Good Mornings (Good Omens)

The Space Between (Ace Attorney)

Glass Heart (ROTTMNT)

in your eyes (Ace Attorney)

The Waves (OFMD)

Those are all from the bigger fandoms I've written for, so that checks out! I'm quite proud of those :)

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I try to respond to every one! I'm sure I've missed some but I generally at least try to thank someone for commenting, and I love engaging with people about fandom.

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Uhhh I'll be honest, I write angst SO rarely that I don't really have one that ends angsty. I guess "Bruised" (Lovestruck/Starship Promise) because that's just the most generally angsty fic I've written, but it has a happy ending anyway lol.

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

I write almost exclusively fluff so they're all pretty happy in their endings. If I had to pick a happiest I'd probably say "Seasons" (Good Omens) just because it's so purely fluffy and sweet, and since they're literally immortal it basically promises fluff for the rest of time? Lol.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Nope! The most I've gotten is more like, confusion at a fic but even then it's never really been negative.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Haha... Yes. I think uh *checks notes* 4 times now? It's basically always a character study and also purely just. Fluff and with feelings, etc. etc.

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

Not fully. The most I've done is a bit of a crossover between different games within the same series (so like, two Tales games, or two RF games) but even that is rare.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Don't think so!

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Nope.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Not a full co-write! I've co-plotted a couple though that haven't quite made their way to fruition, and it was tons of fun. I'm also fortunate that whenever I've got writers block I can find a friend to whine to who will usually also give me ideas!

14. What’s your all time favourite ship?

Mmmm this changes depending on what mood I'm in, but consistently I have always particularly loved and gone back to Phoenix/Miles (AA) and Crowley/Aziraphale (Gomens)

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

Ohhhh man. Uh. So mnay. The MOST though would be an unpublished Dylas/Doug kid fic that's still sitting purely in my google docs. I've got 1/5 chapters written and it's like 10k long already lolol. I really, really want to finish that one but uhhh hard to say. Some others are:

Berseria poly-ish fic about fake dating

Doug and Dylas cowboy sequel

Asafure mermaid

Farcille bodyguard/musician AU

16. What are your writing strengths?

I think I'm good at fluff, comedy, and dialogue! I like finding a fun dynamic between characters and really picking at it until I've got it, and then jotting it down!

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Oh lord. I am AWFUL at angst, and awful at writing out longer things. I've tried so many times to write out longer things I've plotted and I just always lose steam/get bored/hate it.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

I think it's great! I love reading it when other people do it. The only language I speak fluently besides English is Spanish, but even so my writing in it isn't the strongest, so I do get a bit self-conscious! Still, I enjoy it.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

In general ever (back in 2013 on Quizzaz lmao) it was The Avengers. As far as AO3, since I started seriously writing again in 2018ish, it was Voltron!

20. Favourite fic you’ve written?

Oooooh, gosh it's hard. I can pick two. It's either "Glass Heart" (ROTTMNT) that I just absolutely poured my heart and soul into! I researched a lot, studied the dynamics and characters a lot (I literally have an analysis section in my document about their fears/wants/needs LOL), tried really hard to make it feel like episodes of the show (which I don't often do!), workshopped ideas with friends, and tried to balance plot/angst/fluff! I think it came out well and I'm proud of it :)

And my other answer is "Knowing You" (RF4) which is a fic that's for literally TWO PEOPLE only (me and Patt) because it's a rarepair on top of a rarepair, but I just like... wrote it SO easily. Those 28k (??) absolutely poured out of my soul and onto the page. I also did stuff I don't normally write (jealousy, angst, mild miscommunication) and I think I was able to resolve it well in the plot of the fic!

Tags: Absolutely zero pressure! And if anyone sees this who wants to do it but didn't get tagged, please feel free to just say I tagged you :) @randomstarmuffin, @punkaraoke, @spinachartichokeditz, @quinniehere, and uh anyone else who wants to I'm sorry I've forgotten people's tumblrs lol

#ben rambling #fanfic #fic writer #mine #tag game

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peskellence · 9 months

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Pairing: RK900/Gavin Reed

Tags: Post Pacifist Ending, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn, Eventual Smut, Angst, Hurt/Comfort

Masterlist

Read on AO3 here:

Summary: A lot has changed since the revolution. Crimes against androids are now punished in the same way as crimes against humans. A reluctant Gavin Reed and his new partner RK900 have been assigned to investigate a string of disturbing murders. Despite the shift in Detroit's social climate, Gavin still holds reservations about whether or not androids are truly alive. Will his developing feelings for 'Nines' be the thing to change this?

Warnings: Graphic Violence, Depression/Self Destructive Behaviour, Eventual Smut

Word Count: 3.8K

Approaching CyberLife Headquarters, Gavin felt his stomach twist unpleasantly. He stared out the window and tried to distract himself with a game he used to play with his dad. On long car trips, he would be tasked to count all of the trees outside as they quickly whizzed by. There were a lot fewer trees in Detroit compared to when he was young, making the task much easier.

"Shall we run through our story again?" A calm voice asked, breaking the heavy silence.

Nines sat rigidly beside him, dressed in a grey pinstripe suit. The clothes had been meticulously pressed and tailored, and its hair expertly styled to cover his LED. The android had shifted the colour to a golden blonde, in stark contrast to its usual brown.

Gavin rubbed the corners of his eyes, removing any traces of sleep, "I've got it." It was hardly a convincing response, as his words were garbled by an ill-suppressed yawn.

The man's lack of enthusiasm had not escaped Nines' attention, as it spent most of their journey scrutinising his bedraggled appearance. In opposition to its own polished stylings, Gavin's attire consisted of a worn pair of jeans and a stained off-white shirt.

"Are you sure?" Nines questioned, stiff posture becoming even more rigid, "I am happy for us to practice again, should you wish."

Gavin said nothing to his companion, but let out another yawn, leaning his cheek against the window. They had done plenty of practice, the android having insisted on an impromptu rehearsal the evening before. It had taken them through a myriad of scenarios, preparing for all conceivable outcomes.

"Stimulants such as coffee can only mask the symptoms of physical and mental exhaustion" The judgemental droning cut through Gavin like a buzzing insect. One that he would have liked nothing more than to swat away "Perhaps we should attempt this operation another time. When you have had sufficient sleep."

"Oh fuck off, Nines. It's your damn fault that I didn't get enough sleep."

This wasn't entirely true, of course. While their rehearsal had meant Gavin had gotten home late, it had little to do with the delay he experienced in going to bed.

The wheels of the car stilled, and the safety locks were deactivated, leaving the doors free to open. "Welp, we're here", he plainly announced, reaching out for the handle, when a sudden grip on his forearm halted his movements.

"Detective Reed", Nines said, its hold firm and eyes sharp with intense focus. "You are experiencing psychological distress. This may impede the success of our current operation. If there is anything I can do to ease your concerns, I wish to help."

"I'm not distressed or concerned, just tired", Gavin insisted, gritting his teeth in frustration.

This was also untrue. Awake until the early morning hours, he had been given plenty of time to sow doubts over their current operation. It was risky, and he had to stay focused at a time when this seemed impossible. Despite his lengthy behavioural record, Gavin valued his job deeply. Single, broke, and in his mid-thirties, he had very little else going for him. Well, that and his -

No, he stopped himself, pausing to catch his breath. Harsh words echoed in his ear. Something that his stepfather had told him shortly after his dad's funeral:

You aren't a girl, and nobody wants to hear you whine like one.

"Let go of my arm before I melt you into Tupperware."

Nines stared at the man sternly, the strength of its grip only increasing, "I had thought our relationship had progressed past the point of petty threats."

"Oh, come on. It's not a threat. I'm joking with you" With a sharp tug, he tried to pull away, but the android refused to budge. "Now, would you -"

Man up, or shut up, before I give you something to cry about.

"I'm fine, okay? Nothing to worry about."

"It is trivial to lie under these circumstances. I am perfectly aware of how you feel."

"Then get out of my head! I already told you I don't need you to fucking psychoanalyse me."

"Is it wrong that I should care for the well-being of my partner?"

Gavin cackled, rolling his eyes at the misguided attempt at sincerity. "Get a fucking grip. Just because I'm starting to tolerate you, it doesn't make us buddies."

Nines' grip slackened, although not enough for Gavin to escape. Its expression turned cold and distant, its tone equally devoid of emotion. "Nonetheless, I would hope that we can discuss this later."

"If I say yes, will you stop trying to rip my arm out of its socket?"

"I should think so."

"Then yes" He threw up his available arm in exasperation. "We can talk later."

Whether or not the android believed him, the statement appeared sufficient to warrant its submission. A strange look of intent lingered in its eyes like it wanted to say something else, but ultimately it decided against it. The grip on Gavin's arm loosened and released, with Nines turning itself away.

It straightened its tie and prepared itself to exit the car. "I trust you not to let your personal matters inhibit our performance today…Gregory."

While its face was turned, Gavin could hear the smirk tugging at its lips. It was clear Nines was taking pleasure in their current rule-breaking, and while still holding reservations, Gavin couldn't help but be charmed by the reckless sense of abandon. With a smile, he responded in kind to the playful address, "Not happening, Rich. I've got this."

Upon entering the Headquarters, it became painfully obvious just how far the company had fallen from grace. Having visited on more occasions than he would have liked, Gavin recalled bustling waiting areas filled with investors and other affluent figures. Service androids would make the rounds, offering drinks as the chattering masses gathered around the wall-mounted screens. Gawking at the polished highlight reels of CyberLife's latest and most impressive innovations. All that remained of any of this were empty seats and blacked-out displays.

"Detective", Nines spoke softly into his ear. It gestured its head towards the desk and to an incredibly bored-looking Receptionist. She was mindlessly scrolling through her phone, making no attempt to appear to be working.

"This is good", the android assured, "She seems unlikely to offer resistance. We should be able to secure the information we need with relative ease."

Gavin shoved his hands into his pockets before taking a deep breath and striding forward. "Come on then, Robocop. Here goes nothing."

"Good morning, madam," Nines chimed as they reached the desk. He smoothed out a curl of his coiffed hair and flashed the young woman a charming smile. "My name is Richard Stern, and this is my partner, Gregory Kane. We wondered if we could have a moment of your time."

The receptionist, who had been smirking quietly at something on her screen, lost any semblance of positivity she may have possessed. Her face dropped into a scowl, vacant brown eyes peering up at them with brimming disdain.

"If you want to talk to someone, there's no one here," she said, voice monotonous and dull. "You'll need to make an appointment with one of my bosses. Requests are taken online."

"I don't think that will be necessary", Nines said, smoothly leaning forward. "I am sure that a bright girl like you is more than capable of assisting us."

She stared at him blankly before returning her attention to her phone. With her free hand, she gestured vaguely towards her monitor. "We don't do sales. If you want to talk to someone, you can email us. If anyone's interested, they'll reply - but probably not."

Realising that the 'pretty boy' charm was failing to win any favours, Gavin decided it was time for a more focused attack. He studied their target closely, trying to catch glimpses of what she was looking at. There were several airbrushed photos of women holding up beauty products and dietary supplements. She was liking them all methodically, flitting between this and her own profile, which boasted similar promotions.

Her username and bio were displayed proudly at the top:

@hannahxxbeauty.19

DM for collabs 💅

"While we're here, Hannah", Gavin began, folding his arms ", we're doing some research for our next social media campaign. Mind if we ask you a question?"

The girl appeared caught off-guard as she stopped scrolling almost immediately. She seemed interested. At the very least, enough to spare a further glance from her phone. "Depends on what you want to ask."

"There's been a lot of buzz lately about androids in the workforce." He tried to keep Hannah engaged as much as possible, pulling out his phone and flashing some opinion polls, "Specifically domestic jobs like cleaners and nannies. A lot of agencies still hire mostly androids, but there's also a lot of pushback saying that this is a 'problematic' bias. What do you think?"

Hannah scowled, her nose wrinkled in disgust. "Domestic androids were slaves until a few months ago. They were made to scrub toilets and look after people's kids - they didn't get a choice. People still want them to do it because they think they'll put up with more shit. So yeah, I'd say it's problematic."

Gavin hummed, tucking his phone away before motioning towards Nines. "That's where we come in."

Following the cue, his partner nodded, reaching into its own pocket and pulling out an authentic-looking business card. The name on the front read 'Conquest Ltd', with their aliases printed neatly at the bottom.

"We are in the process of establishing a new company that specialises in domestic AI", Nines explained, setting the card on the counter for Hannah to look at. "The model is similar to Kamski's design, although with significant changes. Our assistants would be capable of completing both simple and complex domestic tasks but with a significantly reduced range of cognition. A more ethical android, as it were."

Hannah glanced at the card briefly before snorting and pushing it away. "It's still the same kind of exploitation. You're wasting your time - AI is dead."

"If you don't mind me asking, does your smartphone come with a built-in assistant?"

"Well, uh", she stammered at the question, cheeks flushing pink with embarrassment. "Yeah. O-Of course, but that's -"

"As part of our research, we have consulted extensively with Android Rights Organisations, as well as the Department for Android Services", Nines continued, its voice smooth with reassurance. "I can assure you that no code of ethics will be breached in our proposed design."

"Huh...Have you made any prototypes?"

"We would require a small team of engineers with which to get started. Ideally, those with a background in advanced cybernetics."

"And where are you going to find them?"

Nines smiled broadly at this, ready to close in for the kill. "As I said before, a bright girl like you, I'm sure you would be able to help."

Hannah seemed to take a minute to process this, chewing on her thumbnail. She sat in silence until her large eyes slowly began to narrow. Looking back up at Gavin and Nines, it was evident that the air around them had shifted.

"You know, this has been bugging me since you got here", she began, seemingly more focused on Gavin. "You seem like a really weird match for' business partners'. Like, I wouldn't put you together. At all. How exactly did you meet?"

Oh fuck. How did we meet? Did we even talk about that?

College? Yeah, I think that was it. He majored in Economics, and I majored in Marketing. We roomed together for three years.

Gavin felt a sudden, unexpected weight snake around his waist. Before he could even comprehend what was happening, he was drawn towards his companion until seldom an inch of space separated them.

"Truthfully, our partnership extends beyond a business arrangement -

We are together. Romantically."

"Oh," the girl said in surprise, eyes sparkling with intrigue.

Nines' spontaneous attempt at ad-libbing left Gavin more than a little bit shaken. Making things worse was the subtle warmth he could feel accosting his cheek. Synthetic breathing. An impressive detail, no doubt adding to the credibility of the machine's human persona, but one that was causing its captive intense mortification.

There was a moment when he could feel lips grazing the stubble of his cheek. He was terrified that it might kiss him, knowing there wasn't a chance in Hell he would be able to save face if it did.

"Well," Hannah smirked, leaning forward in her chair. While Gavin couldn't see under the desk, he was confident her legs were kicking away. "You two make a cute couple, but there's nothing I can do to help. Sorry."

Nines withdrew its lips to a safe distance, much to his companion's relief. "We understand that we are asking a lot, and we wouldn't want to get you in trouble. Have you worked with CyberLife for long?"

"I interned straight out of High School, been here ever since."

"I trust you've gotten to know everyone quite well?"

"Well yeah, I see them every day" She took a breath before letting out a forlorn sigh. "All the good ones are gone now - they were made redundant a few months back. The only people left are the bitches in admin and the bigwigs upstairs."

"It sounds like you hold your old colleagues in rather high regard", Nines said, voice laced with faux sympathy, "Wouldn't it be wonderful if we could give them a chance to start again?"

"...I don't get what you mean."

"I think you do", Nines placed its fingers on the abandoned business card, sliding it steadily closer to her.

Hannah looked down at her lap. Her brow knitted as she nervously chewed her lip. She was beginning to crack, and Gavin was confident that Nines would be willing to give her the final push they needed. "You really think your idea can work? No joke. You're serious about this?"

"Perhaps it can, perhaps not - but I'm sure your friends would appreciate the opportunity regardless. They have already lost it all. What is there left to lose?"

The receptionist stayed still for a minute, weighing up her options, before jolting to life with a quiet hiss. She busied herself on her computer, refusing to say a word. After a series of frantic clicks, the printer on the far side of the workspace roared to life. She propelled herself towards it on her wheeled office chair, swiftly snatching the document and handing it over.

"This is a list of engineers terminated in the last few months. It has their names and contact numbers. If they want to know how you got their details, they didn't come from me."

"You have our word", Nines agreed, winking to the woman as he took the sheet. "Thank you for your assistance today. Should we require a Personal Assistant in the future, we would be delighted to take you on board."

By the time they had exited the building, the sun had brightened significantly, making way for early morning. Gavin checked his watch and saw that it had just turned 7 o'clock - enough time to get some rest before his shift started.

"Well, I would say that was a success. Beautifully executed, Detective Reed."

"You didn't make it easy", he complained, shielding his eyes from the rising light. "What with that improv shit you pulled."

"I am afraid I don't know what you are referring to."

"Yes, you do. Why the hell did you tell that girl we were together?"

Nines seemed unsure how to answer this. It tilted its head to one side, staring out into the distance. "She was growing suspicious of our intentions, and I wished to distract her."

"Yeah, but why risk it all on something I wasn't prepared for?" Gavin pressed, "I'm not like you. I'm not always going to know how to react. We could have been friends, brothers, or anything else."

"None of which she would have found as compelling."

Gavin shook his head, too tired to comprehend the warped sense of logic. "You know what? Doesn't matter. At least we got what we came for." He went to open the door of the car, but a hand shot out to stop him. Nines slid into position between the detective and the vehicle, creating a barrier.

"What now?" He whined, reaching around his partner and pulling at the handle. "We've got work in three hours, Nines. I want to go home and sleep."

"You assured me that we would discuss what was bothering you" The android pushed back against the door, forcing it to remain closed. "I'm afraid that I must hold you to your word."

"It really doesn't matter, okay? It's stupid. I'm just…" Gavin stopped resisting, allowing his arms to fall limply to his sides. "...I'm worried about my fucking cat. There. Are you happy?"

"Tiffany?" Nines' LED flickered yellow, then briefly to red." For what reason are you concerned? Is she unwell?"

"I don't know. I spoke to the vet, and they seem to think everything is fine, but she's been acting really weird. She won't get out of the damn bath anymore, even when she's hungry. I have to carry her to the kitchen, or she won't eat. Apparently, it's to do with nesting, which means she'll probably have the kittens soon. I'm just scared she'll go into labour when I'm at work or asleep. If something shitty happens to her, I won't be able to forgive myself."

Nines, who had been listening intently, nodded in understanding. "Both stray and domestic cats frequently give birth without assistance. Complications are rare, so I am sure she would manage independently."

"You don't have pets; you don't understand" Gavin rubbed his temple, grunting in frustration. "I just need a break. One night to myself when I don't have to worry about the damn cat."

"Have you spoken with Officer Chen? I am sure she would be happy to help. The two of you seem rather close."

"She's allergic to cats, and Tiff fucking hates her. So no, that's out of the question."

There was a break in the conversation, as Nines appeared to have let its guard down. Seizing the opportunity, Gavin tried to enter the car again but was quickly thwarted.

"I would be able to assist you."

Gavin stared back blankly, wondering if he'd misheard, "You're kidding."

"Unlike you, I do not require rest. I would happily watch Tiffany overnight so you can secure a good night's sleep," It spoke with an air of calm reasoning. "With any luck, this would also help to bolster your work performance."

"Wow, how thoughtful. Guess you really do care, huh?"

Nines took pause at the sarcastic remark, saying nothing. Its temple was illuminated yellow as its facial muscles twitched. It moved slowly from Gavin's path, allowing him to reach the door.

"Appreciate it, but no thanks. I'm a big boy, and I don't need a robo-nanny to tuck me in at night."

Upon arriving home, Gavin promptly collapsed onto his sofa. Having been suitably drained by their early morning excursions, he fell asleep almost immediately, only to be awoken by the fierce vibrations of his phone ringing in his pocket. Grunting, he assumed it must be Nines. Calling to inform him he'd overslept and was now expected at the station. Sluggishly pulling the device to his ear, he pushed 'Accept Call':

"Yeah, dipshit. I'll be there soon. Don't get your wires in a bunch."

"Gavin", A haughty voice greeted, "I hadn't expected you to answer. How considerate."

The detective felt his heart drop. He pulled the phone away from his ear, staring at the caller ID in grim disbelief. Of all the times for him to call, why would he choose now?

"What the fuck do you want," he asked despairingly.

"Charming - We haven't spoken in years, and that's the first thing you have to say? You wound me, little brother."

He prayed that he might still be dreaming. Caught in the grips of some twisted nightmare - but he unfortunately knew better. Seemingly random as the timing appeared, Elijah had never been renowned for his predictability. Known by most of the world as an 'eccentric genius', Gavin often wondered if he was the only person to see his brother for what he was: A pompous, self-entitled lunatic.

"You've got about 30 seconds until I hang up, so you better make them count."

"Very well", Elijah said breezily, unfazed by the hostile reception. "My reason for calling was to enquire why you might be sniffing around at CyberLife Headquarters."

"How did you –" Gavin shot up from the sofa, eyes wide in disbelief.

"Relax, there is no need for concern. One of the receptionists merely mentioned that some men, one bearing a striking resemblance to me, had paid her a visit today."

"Why were you there? You don't even work for CyberLife anymore."

"Maybe so, but I still pay them a visit from time to time" His sibling let out a quiet sigh as if reminiscing better days. "The old girl has grown tired without me. Perhaps I ought to return."

"I'm sure they'd love that. Some ponytailed prick prancing around, telling them how to do their jobs -"

"Back to the point", Elijah interrupted. "I assume your visit today has something to do with the recent android murders?"

Gavin twitched in annoyance, trying to level his breathing. "Police business. Meaning 'Private and Confidential', dickhead."

"So that'll be a yes." A clink of glass could be heard in the background, followed by a simpering female voice. Apparently, at least one of his brother's Chloes had stuck by him after the revolution. For what reason, he did not know. "I must admit, I have been following the stories, and the killer is truly an intriguing character. He is no doubt one of ours. His craft has a level of precision that you would not see anywhere else."

With annoyance escalating to fury, Gavin's thumb hovered over the 'End Call' button. "I don't need your fucking reassurance. I know how to do my job."

"Before you go, there is one more thing…

The RK900."

He stalled, thumb stuck in place. "What did you say?"

"Your partner. I don't think it wise for an android of his model to be working on your current case."

"What's its model got to do with anything?" Gavin demanded, leaning forward in his seat, "And tell me straight, Eli. None of your riddles."

"Should you dance too close to the fire", Elijah trilled cryptically "it will be the android who ends up burned."

Oh, you insufferable prick. He went to hang up the call - but realised that his brother had already done so.

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