#i was Not emotionally ready to have this expense but shes starting to get worse and worse | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

weltraum-vaquero · 9 months

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You could have it all (my empire of dirt)

3. when the last light warms the rocks (and the rattlesnakes unfold)

[Chapter 1] ↠ [Chapter 2] ↠ [Chapter 3] ↠ [Chapter 4] ↠ [Chapter 5] (coming soon)

[AO3 link]

Western AU

18+

Jayce Talis x GN AFAB Reader

Word count: 17.5k+

Synopsis: Jayce’s relationship with you changes — for the better, and for the worse.

Tags/warnings: cowboys in love, anal fingering, Jayce being head over heels but also an anxious mess, angst, crying after sex, reader being emotionally constipated

Notes: Hi. This is what I've been pouring my heart and soul into for the past 6 months. Rest assured that we've still got a long way to go, and that this is NOT the final chapter of this fic. We're only about halfway there. Strap in, strap on, and get ready for porn town, and also pain town. As always, a huge thanks to @valaruakars and @heraldeez for helping me polish this bad boy. It wouldn't be here without you :].

“What has got you smiling through the meatloaf you usually despise so deeply, Jayce?”

Swallowing an unchewed bite of the meatloaf he usually despises so deeply, Jayce straightens up in his chair, glancing Cassandra’s way. The sound his throat makes when he swallows is almost cartoonish — he wants to curl in on himself then and there. Instead, he clears his throat, his smile now long gone.

She watches him intently, like a cat on the prowl, while she awaits her prey — his reply.

“I wasn’t—“ Jayce manages a nervous, dumb little laugh. He’s screwed. “I mean… was I? I don’t think I was.”

“I think you mean who’s got him smiling,” Cait chimes in. As she shifts in her seat, Jayce realizes she’s tucked her legs under her chair specifically so that they’d be far out of his kicking range.

God, he hates when she does this.

“Oh?” Cassandra’s brows raise with interest, and she sets her fork down on the fine china gracefully before her gaze rests on him, icy blue and downright relentless. “Is that so?”

His stomach seems to physically sink while he scrambles for words and finds none. Bounty hunter, protector, hardened outdoorsman, and yet both of the Kiramman women can outdo him in a handful of sentences or less.

Tobias gives him a sympathetic smile, like he pities him already, and like he knows what he’s about to go through all too well.

Being at the mercy of Kiramman women does evoke a certain sense of camaraderie.

“I, uh–” Jayce clears his throat to stall for time; he reaches for the wine glass he hadn’t touched throughout the whole dinner so far. “Sort of.”

“It would be wonderful to meet them sometime,” Cassandra says.

Jayce has never taken a bigger gulp of anything in his whole life than this godawful wine. Caitlyn muffles a laugh into her napkin.

It tastes horrendous. He still fails to understand what exactly Cassandra loves about this expensive, bitter vintage and hates about the sweet cheap bottles he buys at the general store. He swallows it down even though it scratches at his throat and weighs heavy on his tongue. He realizes that all his stalling counted for nothing, because he still has no idea what to say.

“I’m not, uhm–”

“Look at him, he’s redder than a steamed lobster. Let the poor boy be,” Mr Kiramman interrupts. He tops up his wife’s wine glass — a peace offering of sorts, before he claps his hand on Jayce’s shoulder. “I’m happy for you, Jayce ”

“We all are.” Cassandra pauses briefly, and though her voice has gone soft, Jayce can feel her scrutiny weighing down on him. She’d love to know more, he can tell, but much like her daughter, she knows that information takes patience to obtain. Unfortunately for him, she has it in spades. “As a matter of fact, Tobias and I were starting to wonder how much longer bounty hunting and tinkering with guns would keep you busy.”

“Oh.” Jayce swallows thickly. “I-I’m still… very much focused on my job. This is, really, it’s nothing… serious,” he lies.

Because it is, now.

Has been for longer than he’d like to admit. He’s been hung up and restless and devoted, even while he was still waiting for you to return to Piltover for your tent.

(And for him, god, hopefully for him too.)

He’d ridden up to that spot under that weeping willow, and spent the afternoon waiting and wondering and ignoring the leaden feeling in his stomach that maybe you wouldn't show. What’s an outlaw’s promise worth, after all?

But you had.

He’d spotted you, possibly before you’d even spotted him from under the drooping branches. Your hand had clutched tight at the strap of your rifle, ready to unshoulder it, while you’d been cautiously approaching the riverside.

It was only then he’d realized how much of your previously held power you’d relinquished simply by returning.

There were ways he could have used this against you — ways he could’ve set up an ambush. A few of Marcus’ men tucked under the ridge you’d pushed him off of, another one perched up on a tree in the not so distant forest with a scoping rifle, and you’d have been done for.

And Jayce had wondered how naïve, how trusting and gullible and utterly unaware he had to be, to not have had that thought cross his mind even once until now.

But that lasted just until you spotted him, and your hand had fallen loosely from the strap of your rifle to your hip.

You’d still approached slowly, not skittish in any way, but merely cautious. You’d tried to be subtle when you had briefly glanced towardthe riverbank (in the search of footprints that didn’t belong to him, Jayce could only assume), then met his gaze with sinking shoulders and an unclenching jaw.

He’d not been sure if he should’ve felt insulted that you’d thought he’d have used this opportunity to catch you, or flattered at the fact that you’d still taken a chance on him and returned anyway.

There wasn’t much to see much of your face, not until you’d raised your chin and met his gaze, one brow quirked expectantly, an amused little smile growing ever wider as you’d watched and waited. Waited for him, he’d realized, nearly choking on his spit. All the words inside his head had seemed to form a sticky, stupid mass he hadn’t been able pluck anything coherent out of.

“I, uh, hello.” Jayce had swallowed thickly, awkwardly, before he realized he’d curled in on himself, and rushed to straighten out his posture. If your growing smile had been anything to go by, you’d noticed. But you had the decency to not point it out — or maybe you were saving it for later.

“Howdy.” You’d cleared your throat, and though the way you’d set your hand on your hip could have seemed relaxed, practiced, Jayce could tell you were practically gripping it with how the leather of your black glove creased deep with the pressure. Your posture had seemed unusually… stiff.

“I, uh…brought your tent.” Jayce had gestured to the gear tucked under his arm, before mentally cursing himself for being such a conversationalist.

“Thank you kindly,” you’d replied, significantly less suave than you’d been the last night he’d seen you, yet significantly suaver than anything he could ever muster up. Reluctantly, you’d shifted your weight off one foot onto the other before you’d looked at him with a small, but still oh-so-winning smile and told him: “I’ve brought you something, too.”

Jayce had found the amorphous mass of words to have tangled and turned even stickier, just like his throat, tight with surprise, anticipation and anxiety.

You’d brought him something?

You’d thought of him, in the weeks you’d spent apart, you’d picked something out for him, you’d–

You’d likely done this just to get him into your bed. Well, sleeping bag, probably, but there had been no other plausible explanation, had there? You’d never seemed the kind of person to pay mind to such… sentimental matters, unless there was something to gain.

If Caitlyn would’ve been there with him, she would’ve told him to give you your gear and leave. And perhaps he should’ve brought her, to keep him from doing something as stupid as accepting a gift from an outlaw, but he hadn’t.

“Here,” you’d encouraged, stepping closer and holding it out to him. “I hope it suits you just as much as I thought it would.”

And how could he have said no to that?

Jayce’s hands had almost been shaking when he’d taken it from you, driven only by willful ignorance and curiosity as he slowly cupped his hands around the fabric you’d dropped in them, swallowing though his mouth had gone dry the moment the weight pressed against his palms.

He’d risked a glance back at you and had found not malicious expectancy, didn’t find you looking at him like he was prey about to fall into your trap, but with genuine excitement.

So Jayce had pushed the foreboding feelings to the back of his head and then pushed the fabric in his hands apart with his thumbs to peek at what was wrapped within.

A pendant. Dark golden gemstone, no bigger than the tip of his index, wrapped in delicate wire to hang onto a leather cord just long enough to reach around his neck.

“The woman that sold me this,” you’d told him, “didn’t speak a word of English. But I saw this pretty little thing with the rest of her wares, I knew I had to have it. All golden and pretty, it looked just like your eyes shining by the campfire that last night I saw you. And when I pointed at it and asked what it was, do you know what she told me?”

Jayce had taken it from the fabric to inspect it in a shaky hand, half-confident in what he could still remember from all the books on gemstones he’d consumed in his youth.

And it had looked… like citrine, most likely. It was common enough to be readily available and not cost too much, and he knew for a fact it couldn’t be amber after he pressed his fingernail against it and found it to be rigid.

Jayce’s heart plunged all the way into his stomach then bounced back up into his throat with excitement when he realized — could this be Topaz?

No. Considering its price range, absolutely not. It was not cheap or even readily available gemstone, especially not in a shade this dark. It had to be citrine. Most definitely.

“Topacio,” you’d answered, like you’d followed every step of his thought process and were eager to turn it all belly-up with just one word.

“I, wh— Topaz?” Jayce had blurted, feeling very much like you’d cracked his skull open and peeked at his thoughts. The prospect of having been gifted something so rare and expensive — it… well, he had liked to consider himself a man above materialism, to believe himself not so easily swayed by an expensive little gift, because it wasn’t like he lacked the money to buy himself pretty gemstones, it was just…

Different when you did it.

“What do you think?”

He hadn’t dared saying it, but he’d remembered that first night at the saloon, when you’d set your eyes on him and figured out everything he needed and wanted to hear with just one glance.

Didn’t dare telling you it had felt like you’d been there, when his mother had put her knobby, laundry-soap-cracked hands over his and thunked the heavy mineralogy book shut and told him that there were other things, more important things, that needed his focus. That this useless passion was not something he could indulge in right now, with his father gone so soon. Not with so many new responsibilities waiting to lay heavy on the shoulders of the new man of the house.

He hadn’t let go right away. Had still fallen asleep on his books after a day spent shoveling shit and herding cattle and unearthing vegetables and shooting practice. But it had become increasingly obvious over the years that all his gemstones and books best belonged under his bed in his childhood home.

You’d found and pulled them out — though metaphorically — without the slightest idea they even existed in the first place.

Jayce had been downright terrified of how little you knew about him, and yet how much you’d already seemed to understand.

“I can’t accept this,” he’d said, though he wanted nothing more than to stroke his thumb over the uneven ridges of the gemstone in his hand over and over until they were etched into his fingertips. “I— this must’ve cost quite a pretty penny.”

You’d winked.

“Not nearly as pretty as you.” Hadn’t given him the chance to insist before you changed the subject. “‘S your stallion’s name, too, ain’t it?”

And Jayce hadn’t quite fathomed that such a detail mattered to you enough to not only recall, but bring up.

“Yes,” Jayce had confirmed, overwhelmed with a passion he’d long buried and forgotten because it just wasn’t something he could afford to indulge in, now reawakened by you. “I didn’t… Didn’t think you’d remember. It’s been a few weeks.”

You’d offered up a smile unlike your usual ones. It was warmer, more genuine, but didn’t lack an ounce of your usual smugness.

“I did say I would be missing you fondly, didn’t I?”

You say it like it’s plain and simple. Like Jayce could’ve easily anticipated you buying this for him, regardless of the price — because topaz is by miles pricier than citrine — all because it had reminded you of his eyes.

Over the past weeks, he’d held and stared at and touched each and every curved letter in the note you’d left him, like it meant touching you, seeing you. But he’d be lying if he said it hadn’t crossed his mind that you might’ve lied when you said you would be missing him just to get another fuck out of him when you’d be returning.

(He’d be lying if he said he didn’t think about letting you.)

“I just–” You’d shrugged, suddenly stumbling in the sweet talk that used to come so enviously easily to you. Not that it had been obvious. It never was, not when it came to you; he’d suspected you’d long outgrown anything more insecure than faltering in your words. “I knew it had to be yours. Do you like it?”

To have you looking for reassurance had made his face run hot and his chest run hotter. His throat had started to close and — oh, those were tears clouding his vision, of course they were. He’d rushed to push them down with a thorough exhale, but of course his throat had started whistling with its growing tightness. Perfect.

“Yes,” Jayce had spoken through the tears he hadn’t yet managed to swallow wholly. “Yes. Will— help me put it on?”

“Of course.”

You’d rushed to, literally. Had closed what little space there was between the two of you in the blink of an eye, hands coming up to tie both strings behind his neck, forearms resting against his shoulders in something that desperately wanted to be a hug, but didn’t dare to.

And you’d been quick to finish, too. Nimble hands had tied a sturdy knot before you’d retreated, hands lingering on his shoulders, running down his arms, barely ghosting over his palms before you stepped back.

The gemstone had laid heavy and cold against his collarbone, like a promise.

“I can’t thank you enough,” Jayce had said. “It’s— it’s wonderful.”

Possibly the most wonderful gift he’d ever gotten.

And how much sadder that thought would’ve sounded had it left the confines of his brain. The most meaningful gift he’d ever received — coming from an outlaw who’d fucked and tricked him not once but twice. Laughable, pathetic, but most of all simply sad.

He’d spent the rest of the night worrying when you’d demand something in return for your gift, because he’d been well aware keeping and returning a tent could not compare to a gemstone so pricey.

But you hadn’t. You’d left it at that. Had spent the rest of the night simply talking to him, telling him of little things that had happened to you in your weeks away, and he’d clung onto every word, had offered some of his own, which had been revered equally.

That was that. You hadn’t kissed him, hadn’t touched more than what you had when you’d put the necklace on him. Once dawn had broken through the clouds and he’d caught himself yawning through his sentences, you’d dragged yourself up to your feet. And you’d told him that you’d best get going, you had places to be by next week, places he hadn’t dared asking about. If this was going to be the last time he’d see you, Jayce had figured you might as well linger in his memory fondly, and that he’d rather not worry about who you’d rob and where you’d strike next.

This — you bathed in the early morning light — would have been a much nicer way to remember you. The outlaw who fucked him once, fooled him twice, and treated him fairly, gently at the very end in spite of it all.

But you’d said, right after you’d swung your leg over your stallion’s back and Jayce had started staring at the tips of his boots to hide budding tears, that you would be passing through Piltover again in a few weeks' time. Had told him you’d be here, shall he want to see you.

And then you’d left.

He’d spent the whole night and the following week holding back tears whenever he’d remembered the pendant – which had been often, given how unfamiliar it felt, hanging above his collarbone, steadily soaking up his body’s ecstatic heat. A new part of him now, a constant reminder of you.

And that you’d be coming back.

By the third time you’d stopped by to see him – and Jayce had started suspecting you were taking unnecessary detours specifically to pass through Piltover – you’d started sending letters. Small things – just a few affectionate words, pressed leaves or petals (or sea glass, when you’d spent some weeks in Bilgewater). But you hadn’t kissed him for months on end. Not once in all the times you’d come to visit him.

He’d had to ask for it.

Even though your nose had been nudging his after he’d leaned in with laughter from a particularly corny joke of yours, Jayce had to close his eyes to gather his courage and swallow his beating heart before he could get out the words, just a mere whisper: “Please kiss me.”

They’d weighed so heavy for a moment; he’d wondered why he’d had to ask in the first place, when you’d been so brazen when you first met him. Did you not want to anymore, or had you just been waiting for him to ask?

You’d confirmed the latter when you’d dived into it like you’d restrained yourself for months. You’d licked into his mouth, starved, had sucked on his lips and charted out the taste and texture of his tongue like it was something to be savored. Like you’d been aching to rediscover it – rediscover him, but do it properly this time.

Which you had.

One thing had lead to another, touches had lingered, kisses had dipped lower, teeth had scraped sensitive skin, lips had followed suit to soothe. And your lips always soothed, always known where to latch on and how to coax him right where you wanted him – panting and spent and boneless and wrung absolutely dry–

Jayce startles when Cassandra clears her throat and leans in her seat with a knowing smile.

“Well, if it does get… serious, I simply hope that special someone won’t distract you from your duties – you’re still in your prime, you know. Retiring now would be a shame.” She smiles over the rim of her wine glass.

Jayce can only nod, although the seed has been planted.

“It would be,” he agrees, but the thought of settling down with you lingers in his mind from then on, and grows stronger every time he wakes up next to you, knowing you will have to bid your goodbyes come noon.

It’s during one of those late mornings after a long night spent with you that it dawns on him. He wants to taste your kiss – still bitter from sleep and coffee – every single morning for the rest of his life. He wants to hold you every night before he drifts off to sleep, wants to cook every meal with two people in mind, and wants your scents to mingle until they become indistinguishable, present in every room of the house, unidentifiable to either of you.

He wants to spend his life with you.

And he’s downright terrified of asking for that.

–

“This better be worth it, darlin’.”

“Have I ever let you down before?” He says it in a light tone, like he knows the answer to it without needing to hear it, and yet he finds his own shoulders slouching and gaze dropping to the tips of his boots and the tree roots below them.

It’s a question he’d rather not know the genuine answer to. It worries him more than he’d like to admit that one day, without warning, you will stop returning to Piltover. Stop replying to his letters. That he won’t even know where to send them, because you never stay in one place for too long, and you always have to tell him which post office to send them to before you go, or in a letter you send his way first.

He shouldn’t be having those thoughts, not when you’ve been accommodating him these past months, with the number of your visits steadily increasing, and your letters becoming more frequent. There is nothing to worry about, there should be nothing to worry about, especially not right now.

He chooses to draw in a steadying breath and chase those thoughts from his mind, which is made easy when you catch up to him and brush your gloved hand against his.

“Never,” you reply. He wants to believe that.

“Besides,” Jayce changes the subject, “if you could endure the ride from Bandle City all the way back here, you can endure a short hike, can’t you?”

“How short are we talkin’?” you ask. Your pinky threads around his index, and when you lean in, your voice is warm, leaves him shivering with the first brush of your cheek against his own. Your breath is humid and warm at his earlobe and your voice reverberates in the nerves of his spine, leaving his brain a pliant mush. “Because I’ve got something of my own planned for you, too.”

You’re sporting a grin that’s practically dripping with desire to consume when you pull away; reminiscent, although only briefly, of the first night you’d spent together all those months ago. He knows you’re not that same person anymore – not towards him, at least. He doesn’t know how you make a living outside of Piltover these days, and frankly he’d rather not think about it.

It shouldn’t matter. You’re— you’re not harming him, or the Kirammans, or anyone else in Piltover, for that matter, and that’s as far as his duty extends anyway. It should be easy to ignore that part of you when you’re here, with him. What you do and who you are outside of your relationship should be packed into a box and shoved away like his embarrassing rock collection from when he was fourteen. Out of sight, out of mind.

Except for when he’s listening to the sounds of the night and staring at the high ceiling of his room in the Kiramman estate or at the inside of his tent and wondering whose blood you might have on your hands at that moment. When he kisses and sucks on the fingers of those same hands, when he shivers at their touch, Jayce wonders how much of that blood has rubbed off on him.

And yet all that blood becomes trivial when your hand, metaphorically bloodied as it is, squeezes his own, and he finds himself quite content with the warmth.

“Oh, ain’t this the place that pretty little Pilt offshoot flows through?” You ask, focused little frown on your face. Once Jayce manages to stop listening to his beating heart (and self-doubt), he realizes you must have picked up on the faint sound of the river nearby.

“It is,” and it hits him now that there’s a good chance his surprise might fall flat if— “you’ve been here before?”

You shake your head. Thank god.

“Much further upstream,” you clarify, “though it’s perfect. We’ll need to take a quick dip tonight.”

“We will?” Jayce questions, head tilting with confusion. Oh, god, he doesn’t— sure, he’s been working up a slight sweat riding out and about through the morning and noon heat, sure, but he bathed just last night, it can’t be that bad.

“To properly enjoy my present for you, we’ll probably have to, yes.”

Oh.

Which opens up about another ten questions and piques his curiosity with a confusing mix of anxiety and anticipation. Your expression is as impenetrably smug as always; a practiced poker face he’s more than envious of. Jayce settles for finding out the answers later, and gives your hand a squeeze instead.

You reply with a squeeze of your own, walking with him in silence until you stop in your tracks, eyes wide, and he realizes that his plan for this rendezvous did not fail him.

You’re bolting like a freshly shot bullet, hand gripping his wrist tight as you drag him with you until he regains his footing and keeps pace.

You don’t stop until you make it to the edge of the forest, field of bluebells is laid out in front of you, as far as the eye can see, blue as the late afternoon sky, dense enough to blur the line of the horizon and make it seem like there is no limit between the very ground you’re standing on and the vastness above. Just as he remembers.

Now, for the second doubt he’d had about tonight — will it disappoint?

“Is this what you wanted to show me?” You ask, and for a moment he tries to sniff out any kind of concealed let-down between your words, although he knows he’s vastly untrained for that.

“Yeah,” he says, cautious. Careful. Resists the urge to ask if you like it here, or if you think it’s boring. In retrospect, he should’ve come up with something better. Maybe he should’ve brought his six-string to play you a song, or his gramophone to teach you another high society dance for you to make fun of, maybe he should’ve just bit the bullet and rented a boat for a ride down Pilt.

In retrospect, the idea of taking you — seasoned outlaw, well-traveled saddle tramp — on a picnic to a flower field is just bound to fall flat.

You notice. Jayce is not one for monosyllabic replies unless he’s anxious.

“It’s gorgeous, sweetheart,” you assure, because you know he has an affinity for that word by now.

Oh. Maybe he’d been too quick to jump to conclusions.

The tension fades from his shoulders, and Jayce gently twists his wrist out of your grip, until his hand slides into yours and you intertwine your fingers. You crouch down to pick one of the blue flowers at your feet, inspecting it for a moment, before your face turns smug. Not the teasing kind; rather the kind that seeks to diffuse and reassure through humor. “Aw, did you bring me here to make me flip bluebells with you?”

“I— uh… no.” Jayce frowns, though his curiosity is piqued. “Why would we do that?”

“Oh, come on, there ain’t no way you didn’t do that with other kids way back when you was little.”

Jayce resists the urge to tell you that there were not a lot of friends to speak of, in his childhood (or even now, really. It’s not like that department has seen a vast improvement once he’s hit adulthood, all things considered). An unfortunate combination between the remoteness of his childhood home and the simple fact that he’d just been awkward as hell.

Still is, Jayce realizes when you stare at him expectantly, a little confused with his prolonged silence.

“Uh, show me,” he says instead.

“Well,” you begin, plucking a bluebell off the stem of the flower, “it’s simple. Not so different from loves me, loves me not, really. You just flip a bluebell inside out, like so. If it don’t rip, it’s supposed to mean you’ll, uh, what was it? Win the one you love over, I believe.”

Jayce huffs as he glances down at the flipped flower in your hands, which you proudly present a moment later.

He can’t hold back a smile before he looks back up to you, and recognizes the hunger you’re watching him with instantly. Ravenous, just waiting for approval. An approval he’s itching to give. “I’d say that’s gone pretty well.”

You slide your index under his chin as you lean in, and tuck what remains of the flower behind his ear with the other. Your lips brush his own with your words, dripping down his spine and clinging at his lower belly sweet and warm like molten honey.

“I’d say so, too.”

—

“Lower your head for me.”

Jayce eagerly complies, closes his eyes while you wrap the string of braided flowers around the crown of his head, and find that it’s still too short.

“One more should do it,” you mumble. “Maybe two.”

“Take your time, we’ve got plenty of it.” And maybe that’s only half the truth; the other being the fact that there is something he just loves about watching you work — intense, focused, silent. To emphasize his point, he leans back on his elbows, briefly regretful about all the flowers he’s crushed under his forearms. When you don’t offer up a reply, he glances back to you, questioning. “Don’t we?”

There’s been times when you’d promised you’d stay, only to leave after one night or less. And it’s been months since that’s last happened, sure, but he can’t help the uncertainty.

“We do. But you’d wish I wouldn’t take my time if you knew what I had in store for you.” You glance up at him from under the rim of your hat, wink at him so briefly he wonders if he’s imagined it, before you switch your focus back to your work in progress.

Tease.

Curious, Jayce turns to flop on his stomach to be granted a better glimpse of your expression, but finds it as mischievously indecipherable as ever. So he does what he’s realized he does best: glances up at you with a convincing little smile and makes sure to bat his lashes the way you like.

“Can I at least get a little hint?”

Your mean smile answers before you do.

“Nah. Patience, sweetheart,” you coo, in all your teasing hypocrisy. Your hand finds the back of his head a moment later, scratches gently at his nape before easing his head to rest on your thigh. And Jayce can’t find it in him to refute, not when he gets to rub his clean shaven cheek against the coarse material of your jeans and bask in your scent like a cat in the afternoon sun. He’s quite content to simply watch your hands work away and your frown return when the flowers don’t cooperate with what you have in mind.

Your handiwork is sloppy, stems braided together messily, but when you flip the chain right side up, there’s just the smallest hint at the mess below. The twined, tangled stems hide well enough behind the blue flowers. Not that it matters — he’d wear it even if it were horrendously ugly, just because you’d made it. Because you’d told him less than ten minutes ago that there was something about his skin and his eyes that simply harmonized with the vivid blue you’d tucked behind his ear, and you’d asked him if he knew how to make a flower crown, and if he could show you.

Jayce knows that sort of… tenderness doesn’t come easily to you. So he treasures it when it does come his way — even like this, in crumbs. He clings to them, because without those, he has nothing of substance.

You’re yet to say those three words he’s all too eager to blurt with every opportunity and has to bite down on before they leave his mouth. He’s said them before, three times. Right after you’d made him cum for the first time since… well, since things had become serious. Another time, in a letter. And a third, with his head on your lap while you’d hummed songs from your home region to him.

You’d never said it back. Had always rushed to distract him with a kiss or saccharine words, neither as sweet as reciprocation, and he’d made do with just that at the time.

When you flip the crown to check the other side, one of the blooms drops to your lap, so close to Jayce’s face he sees it doubled. He carefully plucks it off your jeans with two fingers, gives his gentlest attempt at flipping over.

And tries to ignore how it rips.

Swallowing an unwanted and unwarranted knot in his throat, he flicks it into the grass.

Whatever. Whatever.

“This should do.” Jayce turns to look your way instead of depressively where the ripped bloom disappeared in a sea of blue and green. “Sit up?”

Frankly, he’d rather keep seeking comfort in the warmth positively radiating off of you, but above all that, Jayce wants to please. So he raises his head up off your lap, but doesn’t turn over to sit, just leans on his elbows, pressing his hips into the ground to raise his head to a comfortable height for you.

You’re quick to tie the flower crown around his head securely. Before Jayce gets to ask how it looks, he finds two hands cupping his face on either side, raising it until your lips brush his.

He hums with delight at the taste of your tongue, but doesn’t get the chance to revel in how you suckle at his bottom lip, because you move on dizzyingly fast. To the corner of lips, to the apple of his cheek, to his closed eyelids, and finally, to the spot between his brows.

“Gorgeous,” you whisper, and he finds himself pressing his face into your hands, into your lips, desperate for more. More warmth, more praise, more love. The next of your words are squished against his forehead, but not lost on him regardless. “My pretty flower princess.”

Choking on his own heart and surprise, he pulls back just enough to glance up at you. The word’s still ringing in his head, new and strange, and before he knows it, he’s blurting it out as if to taste it.

“Princess?” Jayce’s voice pitches up embarrassingly high with uncertainty at the end of his question. There’s the impulse to hide his blush beneath your palms, still cradling his cheeks, but judging by how your thumb rubs at them suddenly, you’ve picked up on the heat already.

“Yeah.” You laugh is the kind that diffuses and soothes, and when you ask, you do so genuinely: “Too much?”

And Jayce finds he feels the opposite.

“I wouldn’t… mind hearing it again.”

Your expression goes from uncertain to devious stomach-flippingly fast. “You will,” you promise, sealing it with one final kiss that lingers and nibbles at his bottom lip. Not enough to leave him dazed, more than enough to leave him wanting. “I believe my surprise might help with that.”

Your surprise. He’d pushed that notion to the back of his head to avoid dying of curiosity, but it becomes irresistible when you dangle it in front of him like that.

“How?”

The look you shoot him tells him he’ll have to bite through a lot more impatience before he gets the sweet relief of knowledge.

At this rate, he’s going to explode. God, he’s going to explode.

“We should bathe first,” you decide, hands running down his face, his neck, stopping at his shoulders, where they give a pat-and-squeeze at his deltoid. Though Jayce still burns with curiosity, there’s no part of him that minds stepping into a cold river with you and being forced to rub against you for warmth while you wash his back. “Did you bring your city boy soap, or are we using mine today?”

Jayce frowns. “What’s wrong with my lavender soap?”

“Nothing wrong with it, city boy.”

—

He hasn’t got the slightest clue how, but Jayce’s skin is set on fire with anticipation in spite of being dripping goddamn wet while he watches you sort through your satchel.

How you can make even that painfully erotic (though, you are naked and sopping wet yourself, so there’s a definitive advantage) is beyond him, but he’s not about to complain if he gets to watch your hardened nipples and perfect ass and what’s left of the water you’d left minutes ago still dripping down between your muscles. He’s holding his hat atop his slowly hardening cock — which might’ve gone harder even sooner, if it hadn’t been for the positively freezing river and the chilly summer night wind.

Waiting, he shifts his weight from one foot on the other, making an awkward step to the side when his balls stick to the inside of his left thigh. Which is the wrong move, apparently, because next thing he knows there’s the edge of a rock under his foot, making his entire frame wobble with it. He winces, barely remembering to not drop the hat, then looks your way to check if you’ve noticed – and you have. You look at him briefly, questioningly, but he waves you off, so you continue pawing through your bag, and he goes back to waiting dutifully.

“Come here.” Your voice is overflowing with barely masked excitement as you’re slowly pulling something out of your bag. Jayce nearly makes a run for it.

Whatever surprise you’ve brought him will not disappoint — not only because he will love almost anything you’d give him, but because you have him figured out more thoroughly than he has himself figured out. He trusts your choice, whatever it is.

Even if it’s…

“Leather… straps?”

You nod, glance up at him through your wet lashes, before you take them — four leather hoops bound together by one triangular piece, adorned with some kind of… ring.

Jayce feels stupid for briefly assuming it might be some sort of strange belt.

“Not just any kind of straps,” you say, spreading the hoops with your hands. Almost giddy with excitement, you demonstratively hold his… gift over your hips. Visual aid aside, he still cannot, for the life of him, figure out what it’s supposed to be.

“These,” you say, pointing at the first set of leather straps, “would go over here,” your index traces above the notch of your pelvic bone. “And these, down here,” you point at the second set, then around your thighs, under the swell of your ass.

And Jayce still has no idea what the hell that’s supposed to do. But his cock twitches with interest, so he can’t help but feel like he’ll definitely be into whatever that is.

“And, uh, what…” He clears his throat, desperately trying to understand what this sort of…harness is supposed to even do. The center piece seems like it would settle right above his cock, which, frankly, seems uncomfortable.

Maybe that’s the point?

Or maybe he’s just being a sad, horny pervert because this is the first time you’ve come to see him this month, and just minutes ago, your naked bodies were smushed against each other while he tried to not be desperate and focus on lathering himself in soap, had tried to focus on not grinding himself off on your thigh like a stupid mutt when your fingers had dipped between his asscheeks and rubbed at his hole—

Holy shit.

As if you’d figured out that the cogs in his head had finally, finally turned enough to generate one coherent thought, you grin up at him, set the leather straps down, before you pick up a piece of linen that is obviously wrapped around… something.

“They hold this in place.” You’re eager when you unwrap it, stepping closer to sate his curiosity as he leans in to peek at what’s in your hands.

Wood, most certainly, but it’s shaped… like a cock. Has roughly the size of it, too, while it seems to be smooth and lacquered, flaring at the base.

A glance back to the harness — to the circle on the main piece, to the smaller, daintier straps he realizes are obviously meant to secure the circle into place, it… it has to be—

“Go ahead,” you encourage, holding out the leather for him to take.

So he does, gingerly lifts it from your hands, and finds that the leather is soft, malleable, but undoubtedly sturdy — of very good quality. The smaller loops that hold the circle flush to the triangular plate of leather come undone with a little bit of fidgeting, and Jayce looks to the cock one last time, to confirm his burning suspicion (and hopes). The ring was definitely made to hold the cock in place. But what for? He has— it’s not like he has any need to wear this. Sure, he knows his size is not the most impressive there is, but, surely, this isn’t… it has to be… for you.

“Will you… be the one wearing this?”

You nod.

“Unless there’s anyone else you’d like to fuck you full of wooden dick, yes.”

Jayce is not proud of how he chokes on his spit.

Or of how you have to pat the space between his shoulder blades while he tries to calm himself down and straighten himself back up, before he realizes it’s quite difficult to hold your gaze now.

“How did you know?”

Your smile grows wide now, cracks into a self-satisfied little grin. Damn you. Goddamn you; you have him figured out down to his barest, most depraved thoughts. Have had him figured out since you’d first set eyes on him, in that saloon.

“When… I was touching you one night a few weeks ago, you said you would like it if I… were the one who fucked you. You told me you wanted me to take you. Do you remember?”

There’s nobody on this big, green earth who gets him the way you do. Jayce wonders if he’s dreaming, because there’s no—

There’s no way a thing like this even exists. This has to be some conjuring up of his imagination, a product of his naked, shameful, deluded desire. There just isn’t any way that someone not only made a cock you could fuck him with, but that you’d found and bought it.

You grab his shaky hand, bring it up next to the one that’s still clutching the linen around the wooden cock. “This — along with that harness I just showed you — would let me do that. If you still wanted me to.”

If he still wanted to? Like he hadn’t fantasized about… your fingers massaging at his insides, about you doing to him what only he can do to you, like he hadn’t spent months suppressing those thoughts and only had one slip through, once. Like he hadn’t rushed to sweep it under a rug of shame, even then, when you’d looked at him with invigorated interest. And yet you’d caught onto it, you’d found and bought this thing which he had never fathomed could even exist. And you’re asking him if he wants to, like the answer isn’t fucking obvious.

“Would you?” You ask again, in a rare moment of uncertainty caused by his prolonged, panicked, delighted, disbelieving silence. “Want me to? We don’t have to, Jayce, if it’s not—”

“I would— yes.” He realizes he sounds uncertain. Which he’s— he’s not. He wants this, god, he still has to wrap his head around the fact that it’s even possible. But there is not a chance he’s turning down you fucking him. “I would love… for you to be inside me. I’ve wanted you to for… so long, now.” He says, glancing down at the wooden cock with reluctant eyes.

He lifts his hand, but he lacks the courage to just… reach out and take it. So his hand awkwardly hovers between your chests, fingers clenching and unclenching like he’s preparing himself to touch the hot end of a branding iron and not a piece of wood.

“Go on,” you encourage, and he realizes there is no challenge to brave through. But there are discoveries to be made, and he does not shy away from those.

Slowly, he wraps his hand around the linen, fingers dipping the give of it until they prod at the hardness of the wood.

It’s not heavy. And when he strokes his thumb over the lacquered part that peeks out from the fabric, he realizes it’s smooth to the touch in a silky way, that it doesn't catch on his skin. Like it was made to feel pleasant — which it is.

“It’s just— god. How did you even— where did you find— how—“

You laugh, but it’s not mocking. It’s delighted, the sweet and light kind of giggle that used to be rare from you, but which has grown so abundant over these past few months that it makes his heart full.

“I’m glad you like it.” You say, lean in to kiss his cheek, and along with his brain, his heart seems to burst, too. “It was a bit of a hassle to find a well-made one. I wanted something proper. Well-sanded wood, quality lacquer, comfortable leather. I did have to do some shopping around, but…” You shrug like you’re stating a simple truth. “Only the best for you.”

How is he supposed to not swoon at that? How is he supposed to not sit in a puddle of his own overjoyed tears while he sobs about how much he loves you?

“Here,” you thankfully interrupt his thoughts — and his oncoming tears.

Jayce gulps when you slide the wood out of the linen, realizing that it’s— well, it’s not necessarily an intimidating size in and of itself, but… it is intimidating for a first attempt.

You must’ve caught on, because your hand is at the hollow of his cheek, stroking slowly, gently.

“I remember you told me you hadn’t done this before,” you don’t say it like it’s a fact or an observation, but rather, reassurance. “Way back then, when you’d mentioned wanting me to fuck you that night. Have you, since then?”

Jayce shakes his head, shaken with the question. He wonders how you ask it so easily, like he’d let just about anyone touch him the way you do.

“You know there’s no one else I’d—“

“I know,” you interrupt. “I meant, by yourself. Have you… fingered yourself, since then?”

Ah. Of course that’s what you’d meant.

Jayce swallows thickly. “I wanted to,” he admits. “Often. But I— I always wanted to let you… do it to me, first.”

The way you stop breathing briefly, then rush to fill your lungs with a shaky inhale through your nose tells him all he needs to know.

“I would love to be the first one to do this to you,” you say, and though your words are paced, your voice comes out dry, elated. “Even if it’s just with my fingers. We don’t have to use the cock tonight.”

And he’s not sure what to say, because on one hand, he wants you to fuck him into the dirt right here and now, but on the other, he’d be lying if he said the prospect of it didn’t scare him a bit.

“We should start slow, work you up to it,” you add, seemingly having read his mind, “until you feel ready — be that tonight or in a month.”

“Okay,” he says, sucking in a tense breath. That sounds good. Just a taste for now, more to look forward to later. He’s sold. Has been already, if he’s honest, but your reassurance seals the deal. “Okay. I’d like that.”

“Now?”

“Now. Please.”

You grin, sliding a hand over the back of his head to pull him close, closer than before, to press an ecstatic kiss at the corner of his lips. “God, you’re more excited for this than I’d ever dreamt you’d be. Fucking perfect, that’s what you are.”

Jayce bites back on the urge to say he loves you — he doesn’t want to risk ruining anything with it, not right now. It’d be stupid to spoil this moment, just because he can’t swallow his feelings and because you’re probably going to resort to some method of not reciprocating them the way he wants them to be reciprocated. It’s fine. It doesn’t matter.

He resorts to letting you settle him down on the bedroll, and briefly prays it won’t rain tonight. Neither of you have bothered setting up a tent.

Your other hand slides up his leg, to the middle of his thigh, where it pushes gently. Though he hasn’t felt this tense since the first time you’d stripped him naked all those months ago, it comes more easily to follow your commands, silent as they are now.

You must’ve figured your words would be much better spent on coos of reassurance or smug purrs; and you’d been right. Right now, though, there is no room for the latter, and you can tell. He knows, which is why he lets his legs fall open for you to crawl between them, even though he’s so nervous he can feel his heart pounding all the way up to the bottom of his Adam’s apple with every anxious beat.

“Easy, princess,” you repeat the nickname half-jokingly; though it does tremendous things for his confidence. And for his dick. “I just wanna make you feel good.”

It’s not that Jayce needs reminding that the person settling between his legs and petting his thighs is the very same one who hugs him in cold rivers and braids him flower crowns. But it still helps.

“Yeah, I know,” he says, burying his nose in your hair and inhaling the familiar scent of you. Jayce only realizes his legs have fallen open further apart when you give a little laugh. He doesn’t get to bask in it, not when you muffle it against the side of his neck, where his pulse hammers hard, quick, and icy-hot.

You put your weight into seaming your body against his, focusing not on his pulsing half-hard cock tucked between the two of you, but on covering as much of his skin with your own as your anatomy allows. Jayce lets you use your weight to guide him until he’s pressed into the bedroll, delightfully crushed between you and the ground below.

At your mercy is a wonderful place to be.

“That's it, lay all the way back for me,” you breathe into the skin below his jaw. Jayce suppresses a shiver, badly. The hand you dont brace beside his head for support comes brushing at his naked back, like you’re trying to soothe him, while your tongue does the very opposite — drawing circles into his pulse point that shoot down his spine like electricity.

Your hand slips further down his spine to cup at his ass, then under his thigh, the callused skin of your fingers catching against his own, dry with the thoroughness of the soap you’d used. And Jayce realizes there might be a problem. A big one.

“I, uh—“ he swallows nervously, squirms under your weight and hand. “There’s no— don’t you, I mean, shouldn’t we use… oil?”

He can feel your grin at his neck, sharp teeth pricking his pulse point.

“Did you really think I’d flip Runeterra upside down to find a cock to fuck you with but forget to bring oil, Jayce?”

Oh.

Jayce can’t help a smile, winding one thick arm around your shoulders. He doesn’t know why he’s ever doubted you. You, always so thoughtful of his wants, always so thorough when it comes to him, to his pleasure, so gentle and passionate and perfect—

He can’t help it, that you pull away so fast it leaves him dazed and confused and empty, and that his knee jerk reaction is to whine about it. But once Jayce cracks his eyes open and sees you’ve tucked your hand into your satchel with a searching expression, he understands.

You notice, though, how he suffers for the momentary loss.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you say, even though it’s obvious. And it helps, even though it’s obvious.

You uncork the bottle of oil differently than how you uncork bottles of moonshine. You don’t thumb at the wood til it’s sent flying; you pluck at it carefully, set it somewhere to the side, before you position your hand above his cock and pour.

Whatever oil comes dripping off your palm trickles down onto his dick, and though he twitches for it and for more, you choose not to comment on it. He has to resist grabbing his cock and fucking into his fist just from this – from being ignored. Something, Jayce thinks, is most definitely wrong with him.

You set the bottle somewhere near where you’d put the cork, then slide your dry hand under his knee, easing it up onto your shoulder. Pliant, soft, Jayce simply lets you, his breath catching with excitement.

He’s never felt more spread open and vulnerable than now, and mind you, you’ve spread his legs quite a few times now. He’s felt the cold air, has felt your tongue lapping at his taint, has felt your hands, squeezing at his thighs and forcing them apart after he’d come once already and was writhing with the post orgasm pleasure-pain. But knowing what’s to come now — it’s different, new, has him tensing.

You notice.

“I’m just gonna touch you for now.” Your voice comes out less methodical, more soft when you speak again, breath tickling the curls on his inner thigh. A kind kiss pressed to the meat of it follows your reassurance, reinforces it enough for Jayce to rush to obey your following command. “Relax. You know I’d never hurt you, sweetheart.”

Attempting to sync his breath to your own, Jayce finds himself at a lack of air when your fingers prod at his taint, smearing it with oil. You work off the pleasurable and familiar, circling his perineum in a way that draws out sparks — the kind that burns into an easy, comfortable heat in his stomach. Jayce finds his hips tilting up to meet more of your touch.

“There you are, good boy, so eager for me,” you breathe. Thumb still rubbing circles at his taint, your other slick fingers dip lower, lower, until Jayce chokes on his own breath because he has to focus on not kicking out the leg on your shoulder with surprise.

“Hey, look at me,” you breathe, not a command but a gentle instruction. He does, and you meet his gaze with reverence, the kind that tells him he’s in good hands — in your hands. “Keep looking. I want to see your face, sweetheart, want to hear you when I touch you.”

Jayce nods, hands clutching at the bedroll while your fingers slide back down again. You rub in slow, careful circles at his rim, cooing with delight when he makes a barely-contained little noise. He’s fantasized about your touch… there. Had maybe let one of his hands drift there, sometimes, while he rubbed himself into completion, but he’d lacked the courage to… well, to do what you’re about to do.

“How does it feel?” You ask.

“Mm-hm,” he stammers stupidly. “Yes, good. Mh-more, please.”

The heel of your palm grinds against his taint while your middle and index finger rub at his slick hole, and Jayce’s hips tilt for it. Whatever touching he’d attempted there, he’d done shyly, just barely, hadn’t– hadn’t focused on it like you do now, and it’s different. It’s not the thing he does to himself when he’s teetering over the edge to push himself into completion, not the usual spark of electric warmth up his spine, no, it’s ebbing with tension in his tummy, the unfamiliar but pleasant kind that has him squeezing his eyes shut and muscles clenching. Your expression shifts from focus to interest, and your smile is wicked with your new discovery. “Aw, you like that, don’t you?”

“Y-yes,” he replies, “feels— s-so good when you touch me, baby.”

And to encourage you to do so, Jayce grabs the leg that isn’t on your shoulder and hugs it tight against his chest.

The way your breath catches, your eyes go wide, fixated on him – you look like you’re about to faint. Only for a second, because the next, you’re moaning and biting his thigh hard enough to leave the red imprints of your teeth, all the way back to your molars, like you want to devour him. When you’re pulling away from his saliva-matted fuzzy thighs with a string of spit, you lick your lips hungrily.

“God, you’re so perfect, princess,” you groan, “so delicate and pretty, presenting your hole like you’re begging me to fuckin’… ruin you.”

It makes him shiver, your words reverberate up his spine, in his brain, then shoot all the way down to his cock again. Jayce feels himself dripping, doesn’t even need to look down at himself to feel the tingle of a drop of precum dripping off his cockhead and onto his tummy.

You do, though, mesmerized and utterly fucking ravenous.

“You’ve been aching to hear that, haven’t you?”

Damn you for reading him so well. For knowing exactly what he needs to be told.

“Yes. Please do it, please fuck me… full,” he says, like his body hasn’t been screaming it at you. Almost as if to bask in his words, in how he yearns for you, you stop, breathing him in, before you speak.

“I will, baby, you’re so fucking leaky for it, leaky for me.” Your fingers don't grant reprieve, tips circling at his hole and palm rubbing at his perineum. “I can’t believe this is all it takes. What’ll you do when I finally fuck you open on my fingers, sweetheart? Are you gonna cum then and there?”

As you say it, your index dips just so, tip hooking into his hole to rub at the inside of his rim, massaging him open. He finds his body acting on its own accord, pulsing around what little you’ve fed into him as if to say more, please. You don’t give it to him yet.

Jayce sucks in a shallow breath that comes out shaky, slow.

“I can feel you clenching,” you say, and it’s obvious how your gentleness is slipping, replaced with ecstatic obsession, “like it’s trying to pull my fingers inside, holy fuck. Tell me when I can fill you up—”

“More oil,” Jayce rasps, even though he doesn’t necessarily feel the need for it; just in case. As much as he wants this, he also just wants to avoid any unnecessary pain – at least for now. You comply, gently pulling at his rim with your fingertip, and pour the oil straight into him and—

He finds himself clenching his eyes shut and wincing, trying not to focus on how weird it feels, cold and slippery and just seeping up into what feels like his guts.

Definitely not his favorite part.

Your finger retracts, slick hand resting on his asscheek and squeezing absentmindedly. Worried, almost, you focus on his face, and Jayce swears he can feel himself melting under the attention a little bit. “Everythin’ alright?”

“Yeah. Just felt a little weird — uh, cold. Sorry. You can— you can go ahead.”

He must not have sounded very convincing, because your frown deepens. “We can always stop for a bit — or altogether. Jayce, you know that.”

And he does, by now, truly, but— “That’s the last thing I wanna do right now.”

You go silent for a moment, awe-struck.

Then there’s a near painful stretch at the back of his thighs as you lean over him aggressively, pressing both his knees to his pecs. You brace one hand beside his head on the ground, while the other, now tucked between your bodies, still works his slick rim slowly, gently.

Your lips press at his collarbone feverishly, your breath comes out hot against his neck, like he’s struck something inside of you that made your restraint crack. You inhale at his neck, shivering with a moan that makes him feel much like a delightful meal about to be devoured.

“I want to make you cum until you go dry,” your voice comes out wrecked, breathless, “until there’s nothing you can give me anymore.”

Jayce feels his entire spine rattle with your words. All he manages is a punched out whine, and he wishes he could hug you, if it weren’t for his thighs being in the way. He settles for clenching around your fingertip, tilting his hips into your palm, swallowing a mouthful of saliva before he speaks, heated and raspy.

“Please, please.”

“Tell me,” you say, voice shaky with adoration and excitement, “if it hurts, or you need me to go slower, or— anything. Anything.”

And, well, since you said anything…

“Kiss me.”

It’s near terrifying, how voraciously you dive for it, not quite hitting the mark with your rabid enthusiasm; kissing and licking at the corner of his lips before Jayce turns his head to accommodate you. You take his demand seriously, deliver what you’ve denied so far. And you deliver it tenfold, tongue tracing over his teeth, sucking at his lips, before Jayce remembers he can do more than just breathlessly sit and take what you’re giving and smooths his tongue against yours, earning himself a salacious moan.

“Mmf, you taste so good,” you mumble against his lips, and though he angles his head to chase another kiss, you’re long gone, nipping at his jaw and neck while you talk. “Can’t wait to open you up on both ends, stuff you… stuff you fuckin’ full of everything I can give you. Fingers, tongue, cock, anything, sweetheart, anything you want.”

Jayce briefly wonders what the fuck is wrong with him when he finds himself wanting that — being full of you — along with being suffocated by you. He wants you everywhere; inside, outside, taking, stifling, enveloping, swallowing. You, all of you—

“Need all of it,” he says, because he’s afraid of even trying to verbalize the rest of his blurry, foggy thoughts.

“Yeah?” Your index and middle finger both dip into just his rim — he finds himself clenching around the intrusion, shivering when you scissor them apart and tug him open. “Now?”

He nods. Begs for it, too.

“Okay,” you say, almost as if to calm yourself down, too. You breathe in, deep, before your weight lifts off him, and he finds you sitting back on your knees, both his thighs resting on either of your shoulders loosely, boneless. Jayce tries not to be disappointed with the loss of contact, with how cold and plain the air he breathes in suddenly feels without your scent thickening in every inhale, without you pressed against his body.

The other hand, the one you’d used to brace yourself against the ground before, now grabs a firm handful of his asscheek and spreads.

The way you positively purr with delight has him squirming.

“Oh, look at you, so pink and pretty,” you croon, eyes lidded and fixated on where his rim flutters around your warm fingers. “I’m gonna start pushing in, yeah? If it hurts, tell me.”

You don’t start until Jayce gives an affirmative hum, and even then, it takes him a second to realize that you’ve started pushing in. Your fingers don’t relent in massaging at his walls, and it’s enjoyable enough to be distracting until they must have sunk in down to maybe the first half.

Although you go slow, painstakingly slow, the intrusion is palpable now. Jayce finds himself clenching around it, gripping your slick fingers, while he comes to grips with the new sensation of something inside him. He knows it’s small, realistically, it is just two fingers, after all, but he can’t shake the feeling of it feeling like it’s much deeper, almost touching at the back of his bellybutton, which is– it’s stupid. He’s just being paranoid, he knows he is.

That’s when it pinches, just barely, an amount of pain that Jayce would shrug off, normally, but now it’s… inside him and it’s different and he finds himself wanting to close his legs and tilting his hips away and—

“Hey, hey, breathe.” You inhale audibly, demonstratively, and Jayce instinctively follows you, your pace, slow and deep. That helps; the thoroughness of the inhale, the fact that all he has to do is focus on your lead and let his lungs go full, then empty. The pain subsides, but the unfamiliar sensation of having something inside him doesn’t, and he hates that it overpowers the pleasure he’d so been looking forward to. “Good,” you assure. “Don’t forget to breathe, sweetheart. How does it feel?”

You haven’t pushed in all the way, Jayce can tell, because your palm hasn’t settled against his taint yet. Your fingers don’t move — not into him, not out of him, not apart. You seem content to just wait, and when Jayce opens his eyes to glance your way, he finds you looking at his face already. Focused, but gentle, present, and waiting for an answer.

“Weird. Uuh, not… not the bad kind, but,” he swallows, uncertain, shrugs in the most unsuccessful attempt at nonchalance he’s managed in a long time. “It’s just new.”

“That’s alright, sweetheart.” Soft lips brush at the inside of his thigh with a kiss. “Take your time, ‘n let me know when I can move.”

“Okay.”

There’s a brief moment of silence, and you occupy it by petting at his fuzzy stomach with your free hand, nuzzling his thighs with delighted little hums.

He wishes there could be… more of that. More of you, touching him all over, than just inside him.

“I would—“ he swallows, looking away once he realizes he’s already started saying what’s on his mind. But you cock your head attentively, squeeze at the pudge right above his hips as if to say I’m listening. So he continues. “I would like it if you could… hold me.”

You go silent for a beat, gears visibly turning in your head while you chew on the inside of your cheek. It’s obvious when you do figure out how you want to go about it, and he already burns with the anticipation for more contact, more of you.

“We can arrange that. I’m gonna pull out, okay?” Your warning is appreciated, though Jayce is not exactly sure how to prepare for it — when you do it feels weird, and he doesn’t know how to keep himself from squeezing your fingers on their entire way out. It’s a sensation that tingles all the way up his body, neither pleasant nor unpleasant, but intense and strange enough to leave him squirmy.

Too caught up in the unfamiliarity of it, Jayce doesn’t even notice you settle down next to him, not until your chest is pressed firmly to his shoulder, and your arm slips under the back of his neck, cradling his head.

Fingernails scratch at his scalp, and Jayce can’t do much but watch through dreamy, lidded eyes as you lean over to kiss his hairline.

He’s never felt safer than now. More cherished than now.

“Better, princess?” Your words come out smushed against his hair. Jayce nods gently, as to not knock his skull against your teeth, and suddenly finds himself smiling so hard it hurts his cheeks a little.

“Yes,” he sighs, tucking his face against your neck. There you are. If he could’ve smelled your warmth and scent throughout all of this, he doubts he would’ve needed a reminder to breathe. “Thank you.”

“I’ve got you.” Your still slick hand trails down between his legs again, doesn’t stop to rub at his half-hard cock (though he kind of wishes you would) and instead, prods at his hole once again, rubbing at the rim. “I’m gonna put them back in, okay?”

“Please.”

It’s different this time. The entry is marginally smoother, and when your finger slips back in, just one, then two, the positioning is… better. Jayce can’t figure out what exactly it is that does it for him this time — your warmth, the kisses you press to the side of his face, the heel of your palm pressing to his taint, or your fingers slowly sinking into him, waiting, before you start to draw them out. But you don’t do it all the way this time, you do it purposefully, searchingly, almost. They curl towards his tummy, fingerpads pressing, rubbing, circling—

“Ah-hnn!”

With the first brush of your fingers at some certain spot he had no idea even existed, sparks erupt, and though Jayce doesn’t know where, they prickle all the way across his entire body, licking with heat at his spine and brainstem and stomach and holy fucking shit, you’re doing it again. And again and again and again and you want him gone, you must want him broken and useless and dead if you keep going. How his body is capable of producing, and of holding so, so much… pleasure is beyond him. Beyond his brain, rendered a mess of goo and broken synapses.

“Gh-god, fuck, ah-mmh,” he mewls, mouth falling open the next second. You don’t miss a beat, you never do, licking at the inside of his open mouth while his eyes roll into the back of his head.

“There it is,” you purr, like you aren’t making his brain melt and disintegrate and break and boil just with— with the steady, unrelenting circling of your fingertips. “I’ve got you, sweetheart,” you say, and he believes you. You’ve got him, you always have, always so considerate, everything he’s ever wanted and yearned for in this world is you, and you’re inside him, and it’s too much. “Just let me make you feel good.”

It’s going to break him. He’s sure of it now, the closer you get to rubbing him into completion, and he’s getting closer, closer steadily, he thinks it’ll be the last thing he’ll be feeling. Exploding ecstasy, so vehement that all that’s left of him will be shaky, soulless, brainless, whimpering, useless. He’s terrified and he wants it so, so very badly.

“Don’t— don’t stop,” he sobs, “please don’t stop.”

“I won’t, sweetheart,” you promise, and you could tell him anything right now in that saccharine tone and he’d believe it, he’d take it as gospel. Jayce realizes what he’s saying only after he’s been repeating it over and over and over for god knows how long and holding onto you while he mutters it like they’re the only two words he knows.

Thank you.

Except that they’re not, there’s two more, but by some miracle he has the presence of mind not to blurt them out now.

“You’re gorgeous, princess,” you whisper, kissing at his forehead, then at his shut eyelids once he can’t be bothered to keep them open anymore. The hand that had been scratching at his scalp comes up to cradle his head, keeps him still enough to kiss further — down the bridge of his nose, over his cupid’s bow, before you smooth your mouth over his and swallow his moans like they’re feeding you. Like you want to keep each and every one of them somewhere inside your lungs to cherish forever.

When you pull back, it’s with a wet, pleasant sound. You lick your lips like you’ve savored each and every one of his mewls, before you lean in close to his ear, and shush him.

The mere sound of it floods him with warmth and goosebumps; you’re shushing him. You hold him like he’s fragile, Jayce clings to you like you’re the only thing that’s ever mattered — and you are, you are, and he loves you. He loves you, he loves you, he loves you.

“I— hah, nnnh… I love—“

You lips are back on his in an instant, eating up the only words he wishes you wouldn’t, or at least wishes you could spit them back into his mouth once you’re done chewing on them, wishes you would accept them.

You don’t; but when you pull back and look at him so reverently, Jayce settles for it. It’s enough, it’s entirely enough that you’re doing all this for him, that you’re spoiling him like this, that you’re holding him and kissing him and sucking the tear that pearls down his cheek between your lips. That you’re taking care of him.

It’s enough.

It has to be enough.

“Almost there, sweetheart, ain’t you?”

Jayce nods, wants to tell you so, but finds that he’s entirely incapable of it without moaning like a well-fucked whore.

“I can tell.” Meaningfully, you glance down at his tummy, where he realizes his red, swollen cock has drooled, holy fuck, what looks like an entire puddle of something clearer, runnier than his own cum into the groove of his bellybutton. “Look at you, getting so wet and messy for me.”

Something about the mere fact that his body had reacted like this for you, that you’ve made him leaky, it does something tremendous for his fucked-out brain. It flips a switch that has his dick visibly convulsing, feeling like it’s going to explode with an orgasm that’s built up so high but can’t, won’t tip over in spite of how dangerously it teeters.

The ridge at the underside of his cockhead aches for the slightest touch. Just a brush of something, anything, please, would probably do him in.

But Jayce is nothing, if not obedient, even as his fists clench into the meat of his thighs.

“C-can I— let me touch m-my cock— please. Please.”

You hum, as if deep in thought, though Jayce knows the answer without even looking at you, just based on the mean and playful tone of your sound. You decide, cruelly: “No.”

Jayce gasps for breath, just about ready to debase himself any way you’d want him to, just to reach that unattainable, terrifying high.

“I want you to cum from my fingers inside you, sweetheart.” But you’re gentle. And you love him, you have to, because your tone softens, spoken encouragingly right against his temple, and his skull rattles with your words in spite of their gentleness. “Just a little longer. Try for me, focus on my fingers, focus on how it feels.”

Your hand stops thrusting for a moment, simply rubs at where his prostate swells. “Clench,” you instruct, so he does.

Your grin nips at the corner of his lips while you practically purr at him with delight. “Yeah, that’s exactly it, so warm and soft, pulling me in… you needed this, didn’t you?” Jayce nods, desperately, and thank god, you’re pounding his prostate again, pounding it so hard it fucks all the way up into his emtpy, dumb brain. “Needed to be fucked full. ‘M gonna give you… gonna give you everything you can take, gonna use my fingers and then my cock on you until you shoot nothin’ but blanks for me.”

Jayce’s abdomen goes concave at the very thought of that — of being wrung so dry there’s nothing in him left, of being ruined so thoroughly. Ruined by you.

The pressure behind his cock becomes unbearable; he fears, briefly, that he’s gonna explode with it. But there’s no place for fear when you start fucking him with your fingers in earnest now, pummeling that spot inside with every push, palm settling against his slick taint with wet slaps, over and over and over. All there’s left — all his body can even carry anymore — is pure fucking extasy. The overwhelming kind that renders him so stupid he can’t even moan anymore, simply whining out little ah’s with every hit at his prostate.

It starts at the edges, in spite of what he’s used to. His orgasm was something localized, heat gathered in his tummy, his cock, his balls, but this is something else. It’s not in waves — it’s one big wave, growing, fizzling at his extremities, inching closer and closer to his core, at first just warmth, then heat, then pressure. It overpowers his eardrums with the rush of his own blood, makes the backs of his eyes spot with white even though they’re clenched shut, drowns out the world until there’s nothing left in it but you.

You, kissing him senseless, you, fucking him into oblivion with nothing but your fingers, you, cradling his head. He buries his face against you, doesn’t manage to find a spot that allows it, that isn’t in that awkward, hard place between your collarbone, chest and shoulder, but then your hand is at his face, coaxing him away, and you’re cooing at him.

“No, no, don’t hide from me.” Your breath brushes warm and humid against his cupid’s bow, the tip of your nose grazes his own, your forehead settled against his. “I wanna see you. Let me see you.”

It’s with great difficulty that Jayce manages to open his eyes, and once they’re open that he finds himself gazing deep into your eyes, sharing your mouthful, tasting your breath. You half purr, half gasp with just the sight of him, and it makes his heart full.

“There you are.” Reverent, your palm cups his cheek like you’re holding the only thing that’s ever mattered — him. Tears glisten at your waterline before you swallow them back down, as if the sight of him is too precious to be soiled with their fog. “There you are, oh, gorgeous. Look at me, wanna see you when you cum, Jayce.”

“Y-yes,” he gasps, trying to lick at your lips through his moans, succeeding at just grazing the tip of his tongue over the sharp edge of your upper teeth. Your pace increases, knocks against his prostate with every shove of your wrist. Jayce fights against letting his lashes flutter or his eyes roll back, stares at you with determination while he writhes and mewls and takes everything you’re giving him. “Yes, I— ah, I will, baby, I will, I promise.”

You’ve always loved him, from the moment you’d first set your eyes on him and decided you were going to devour him, you’ve loved him with every letter, loved him with every flower you’d braided into his long forgotten crown, loved him with every push and pull of pleasure you’d spoiled him with. You’re holding and fucking and kissing and cherishing him, you love him, he knows it, in how your lips ghost over his cheeks and in how you whisper lovesick nothings to him, you love him, you love him, you love him.

Just the thought of it, reinforced by the way you hold him, the way you make his body bend to your will like he’s glowing hot glass molding into whatever you want, hot iron being hammered into what you need, he’s always been yours, just waiting to he claimed, remade into what he was meant to be.

He loves you.

The sound he makes is embarrassingly high, feminine almost, though he finds himself quite content with it, rather than ashamed. You kiss the front of his throat like you’re thankful for it.

“I think I’m-mh…”

“I know, baby boy, I know.” And he believes you. How could anyone else know how ruined he is, except for the one person tearing him apart. He feels himself go taut like a bowstring, feels the muscles at the root of his cock flex and twitch until they’re painfully rigid. “Let go.”

So he does.

And it’s like diving underwater. There’s not much he remembers — except for the pleasure that swallows him and seems to chew through him like he’s nothing but meat, that spits him out reborn. He remembers the pressure, blooming behind his eyelids, exploding in the rest of him, remembers the soreness in his throat, but doesn’t remember his sounds, doesn’t remember how he ends up holding onto your arm for dear life, doesn’t remember when hot tears started spilling down his cheeks.

He remembers your chuckle — the first thing he hears once his muscles go limp and useless and his hearing returns. He swallows a mouthful of thick saliva, but breathing doesn’t feel any easier. Jayce wonders if it ever will again, when the reminder of how good it felt to go breathless for you is soaked in his lungs now. Why would he ever want to breathe comfortably anymore, when he could let you wring it out of him instead until he’s left gasping for it?

“Oh, look at you.” Jayce finds that’s the last thing he wants to do, when he could be looking at you instead. He inhales another cold lungful, forcing his eyes open even though they’re heavier than anything he’s had to carry in a long time. “My pretty boy. The prettiest.”

He squeezes your hand, wants to say something, anything, but with his brain drained of thoughts and his vocal chords used and raw like his prostate, there’s little he can say.

“That was so good, Jayce, so very good. I knew you could cum for me, but… this is more than I could have asked for.” Your thumb (of the hand you’d used to support his head) comes to swipe at his chin. “You messy little thing,” you joke, bringing your finger, now slick, up to your lips to suck it clean. “Shot your load all the way up to here. Not to mention you’ve been leaking for me all over yourself, you’re unbelievable.”

So that’s where his brain went.

“Wha… huh, I…I did?”

In disbelief, he looks down at himself, and can’t believe the sight below. Cum streaks his collarbone, his chest, pools of it across his stomach, matted into his dark body hair. The first thing — the only thing — he can do is laugh in disbelief.

“I’ve never… not this much,” he confesses with a raspy voice, “not even in two loads. Jesus. Jesus Christ.”

“Tends to happen with this kind of… stimulation,” you assure, drinking in the sight of him before you continue. “God, you look good enough to eat, all covered in it.” You gently knock your fingers against his prostate, and his entire being both sings and recoils with it, and you’re gigglimg when he writhes and shivers and his cock drools out even more, somehow. It feels good just as much as it feels ruining. Jayce considers asking for more before you say, “I’m gonna take ‘em out, alright?”

He’s not so sure how to feel about the prospect of emptiness, now that he’s realized just how good being full can be. But he doesn’t get to worry about it long. Slow, reverent, you pull out your fingers, ghost them up his perineum, smearing his cum over himself, watching the swirls of your own fingers raptly. “Beautiful. If I could keep you like this forever, all to myself, I would.”

He shivers with your words. “I’d let you.”

“I know,” you purr, licking up his torso, lapping up his cum. He watches you intently, mouth already watering at the prospect of what he already knows you’ll do – either spit his spend into his mouth, or feed it to him with a kiss.

It’s with delight that he accepts the latter as you brace one hand beside his head, licking at the seam of his lips just halfway before he eagerly parts them, and lets you lick into his mouth with a groan. One wobbly, orgasm-numb arm raises to wrap around your shoulders, pulling you close like he needs it. And he does, especially now, after the new experience, Jayce finds comfort in the familiar. He lets you massage your tongue against his until he’s somehow even more lightheaded, drunk off the lack of oxygen, and follows your kiss even as you pull back.

“I’ll be right back,” you whisper against his mouth, cupping at his cheek to ease him away.

Still, you press one last peck to his lips before you stand, taking a rag with you, trotting down to the riverside. Jayce is content to simply watch you crouch beside the water, smile when he sees you wobbling and wincing when you step on the gravel at the riverside.

And it’s only now that your warmth is gone that Jayce realizes just how cold the night is, now that you’re not whispering to him when he realizes how loud the crickets are. And it’s now that you’re not at his side when he realizes how drained he is, in every sense of the word. It’s the good kind of exhausted, though. The kind that’ll knock him out quick and easy the moment you get back beside him.

He closes his eyes and savors it, boneless and happy. The crickets chirping away, the rush of the river, the gravel under your steps, getting louder, closer.

“This’ll be a little cold,” you warn once you’ve reached his side, kneeling beside him on the bedroll. It doesn’t really help – Jayce still flinches and sucks in a breath with the first contact, feels all the content exhaustion practically jump out of his muscles.

“Aw, sorry, princess.” You grin as you run the rag down his heated, sticky tits, down his tummy. “Let me kiss it better?”

Jayce hums, and, a moment’s consideration later, pushes himself up on his elbows and presents himself in the hopes of egging you on. With a laugh, he wiggles his eyebrows at you. The laugh he earns is priceless. “If you insist.”

You spend minutes like that. Indulging in the cold wetness of his now clean skin, the fluttering of his muscles under your lips. Sucking at licking at his nipples, lavishing his tummy and sensitive hips with attention until you’ve had your fill.

And then you settle beside him, brushing your hand through his damp hair, over the scar at his cheekbone, as if he himself is something utterly delectable to look at, to touch, to love.

“You were wonderful,” you tell him. “I wish you could’ve seen yourself when you came, sweetheart. So bright, I coulda sworn the stars paled for you.”

Jayce doesn’t want to choke on fresh tears. He doesn’t want to be too much, doesn’t want to bury his head in your chest and let you coo at him, doesn’t want to say he loves you. But he aches with it, it’s bubbling out of him.

“Oh, don’t cry, Jayce.”

He sobs, and the only thing he can think of doing is hiding his face against the heat of your chest.

“I’m sorry,” he says. And he is — sorry for the tears he’s wiping on your skin, sorry for the way he’s reacting to your words, sorry for what he’s about to say. “I didn’t mean to.”

“You sweet thing. Don’t be.” Your hand cups at the back of his head, pulls him impossibly closer, while you kiss the top of his head. “There is nothing in this world you oughta be sorry for.”

He wants to believe you’ve read his mind. Wants to believe you know what he means, because you always do, you know him so intimately he sometimes wonder if you don’t crack his skull open to peek inside every so often. And maybe you mean it, maybe you do mean it, that he shouldn’t be sorry he loves you so vehemently when you’re not there yet.

Maybe now you will be.

“I love you,” he mutters, a fourth in all these months he’s been seeing you, but no less truthful than the three previous times. You kiss at the top of his head again, squeeze him tight.

But you’re wordless.

Fuck, you’re wordless, and he’s been too much again, when things had been just right so shortly before.

All in due time, he rationalizes, swallowing his disappointment like bitter medicine. You’ve waited on him, too, in other ways. Waited for him to decide when and if you would ever get to kiss or touch him like this again, waited for him to grow comfortable with you, waited until your touch was associated with comfort just as much as it was with excitement. Maybe it was only fair that he had to do some waiting now, too, Jayce thinks while he lets you lick between his lips and brush his tongue with your own.

He pulls back soon enough, doesn’t quite feel like letting you kiss him after… that.

“Do you, um,” he swallows his disappointment, tries to mimic your characteristic, gentle smoothness. “Do you want me to do something for you, too?”

You shake your head. “Trust me, sweetheart, getting to be the first one to fuck your ass is enough to think about for the rest of my days. I could die happily now, but—“ you glance to where the wooden cock and strap lay, forgotten for tonight, “we have more to look forward to. Don’t we?”

And that’s enough to stifle the pit in his chest, for now. Jayce grins, pulls you into another kiss, one that he eases out of once his breath comes out short, letting his head fall against your chest. You’re right. You do. And you’re not going anywhere.

“How much longer will you be staying?” He asks, trying to make a mental estimate of how much… getting used to this it’d take him until you can actually use the cock you’ve bought.

The way you go tense, not visibly, but palpably, your chest going rigid with a held breath under his cheek—

Oh, no.

Your silence answers for you. He can hear it reverberate in your chest, how you swallow then sigh. He knows what you’re going to say before you even say it — but that doesn’t make it sting any less.

“I’ll have to leave by Wednesday evening. I’m sorry, sweetheart, I am.” You sigh. He thinks you’re going to leave it at that — it’s a silent pact by now, the fact that you don’t talk about your jobs, the fact that he doesn’t talk about his.

It’s obvious that you hesitate, that you dread the silence. You play with his hair nervously now, focused on distracting yourself rather than making it pleasurable for him, unlike the way you usually touch him. Jayce listens to your heartbeat, how it speeds up, before he loses track of it as your voice covers it up so suddenly he almost startles.

“There’s this job — a big one, in Ionia. I have to make it.”

Jayce lifts his head from the safety of your arms, looks to your face, but finds nothing other than the warm underside of your jaw. You’re looking away, he feels your throat bob under his cheekbone when you swallow.

He’s not sure he wants to know, but… you’re letting him in, and that, in and of itself, means more to him than anything else, so he hums, to let you know he’s listening. Even though he wishes he wouldn’t.

You find the resolve to continue.

“If I pull it off right — and I should, because the people I’m working with, they know what they’re doing, I know them, and it’s… it’ll be huge. Jayce, I could live comfortably for months.”

The way you talk about it so longingly, it emboldens him. Stupidly. He’d decided, somewhere in the back of his head, that he wouldn’t bring it up, not tonight. But he can’t, not that he now knows you want it. That you long for the idea of comfort, of not having to spend your days worrying about where you’ll sleep next, what you’ll eat.

Because he can change that for you. He wants to change that for you — and the only missing piece is you.

“I… have a better idea.” His voice is already weak and hushed; the fact that it’s muffled against your skin doesn’t help. Your arms around him slacken just enough so you can pull away, and look at him now, properly.

God, he’s doing this.

Alright. He’s doing this.

“A way you could live comfortably… for years,” Jayce continues. “For as long as you want to.”

First, you laugh in disbelief. A short little snort, like you think he’s made an attempt at a bad joke, but then you glance down at him, intrigued and confused all at once.

“What?”

Oh, god. No backing out now.

As he looks back at you, Jayce wonders, briefly, if what he’s going to ask you has even crossed your mind.

He swallows thickly, can’t stomach to look you in the eye when he blurts out the rest of it. “Before I became a bounty hunter, my parents… we had a cattle farm — a big ranch, it’s not… it’s not too far from here. Just a little further downstream. It’s abandoned now.”

Your brows shoot up, clearly surprised with the implication, before they furrow, confused. You’re either hiding from his implication because it scares you, or because you want to hear him say it. “What about it?”

You want to hear it.

Fine. He can say it.

He’s going to say it. If there’s even a chance at a future with you, even if it involves a gamble (and Jayce has always fucking sucked at poker, if he’s being honest), he’s going all in.

“I’ve been thinking that we could…” Jayce’s voice falters, but he presses on, even though it’s shaking, barely above a whisper. “Over the years I’ve worked for the Kirammans as a bodyguard, and for all the bounties I’ve brought in at the sheriff’s, I’ve saved up… enough to sustain two people for… a decade, probably. Possibly even more, maybe even… the rest of our lives, if I go back to herding cattle, if we… if we grow our own produce. The land there is… very fertile, perfect for it, and it’s desolate, really, we could… if you wanted to…”

You’re silent for a beat. He internally begs for a yes, a nod, even a stinging little ‘I’ll think about it’. Anything but a no.

“What?”

There’s fear, actual, genuine fear that flashes in your eyes before you regain yourself. You’ve even pulled away as he’d been saying it, the hand at the back of his head had fallen to his shoulder, and there’s a slight tremor to it now.

And then you laugh, the meek and nervous kind that he’s only ever really heard from himself, never from you.

“Jayce, I…”

You don’t even look him in the eye.

It’s the desperate thing to do, he knows it is, but he reaches out for your face, slides his index under your chin, as if to beg, please look at me. You grab his wrist before he gets to.

“It’s very remote,” he tries again, like that’s going to change anything, “if that’s what you’re worried about. It’s the last place anyone would expect you to be.”

You shake your head. And he forces your grip, until he does get to touch your face and cup your cheek, but you’re still not looking at him. You’re still not fucking looking at him.

“You’d be… you’d be safe.” His thumb rubs at the dip of your cheekbone as if to remind you, I love you, as if to beg you to give him a chance. Let him make it good for you, please. “I’d make sure of it. You wouldn’t have to run anymore. I could— take care of you. Of us. You could take care of me, we could, we could…”

But it’s all for nothing when you stare off into the distance, cold and wordless and Jayce can feel his windpipe being tied into a deft knot that’s not coming undone anytime soon.

“Please.” He hates how desperate he sounds, how downright fucking pathetic — begging to be loved. Begging you to love him, or to let yourself be loved at the very least. If you won’t give him what he needs, let him at least give you what he’s overflowing with so abundantly.

It feels like fucking forever until you speak again.

“I can’t do that.” Your thumb rubs a circle at his arm, like that’s going to dampen the blow of some of the most hurtful words he’s had to hear. “I’m not made for this kind of life. You know that.”

“I still thought you might try. I thought I was— I thought we were—” He sighs again, but it sounds significantly less like a sigh and more like a whimper as it passes through the knot in his throat and past his quivering vocal chords.

Jayce swallows back tears that still overflow in spite of it all. He looks down as he lets his hand fall from your cheek and instead wipes at the annoying tear that’s rolling down his face.

He understands, then.

You’ve been avoiding his love down for months, and he’d been a fucking idiot to think that would change now. He’d been a fucking idiot to think you would change now, just because he’d let you be the first person to finger him open and just because you’d talked sweet about it.

Had you even meant it?

“Jayce,” you say, in a way that’s both soft — laden with pity, and chastising all at once, like it’s his fault for thinking you’d even want this. “It’s not about trying. You can’t just ask me to leave everything I know behind for, for—“

“For me?”

Jayce freezes with his own question, and realizes that, above all else, he’s scared of your answer.

You don’t deny it. That hurts more than anything you could’ve hurled at him. He’s not enough for you, and you didn’t even need to say it to make it ring in his head loud and clear.

“Jayce, that’s not what this is about…” You try.

Not what this is about his ass. He’s not stupid.

You don’t want him. Not like this. You want him when he’s pliant and stupid and horny, you don’t want him when he’s thinking of more. You don’t want him when he’s in love. You don’t want him when he lays his heart and the rest of what he has at your feet.

“Forget it,” he spits. “It was such a stupid thing to ask. Such a stupid thing to think you’d even want to.”

It aches how it makes him so briefly hopeful, how it’s almost a balm on his pain and still making it hurt tenfold, when your eyes go wide, flashing with the very real fear of losing him.

You do care about him, in some halfhearted way. But just not enough, Jayce realizes. He’d been clinging to just the crumbs of it, the taste of your affection, hoping there’d be more, someday, some way, somehow. But there never was. Never would be.

Are you even capable of something as devoted, as genuine as loving? Were you ever?

“It’s not that I don’t want to,” you try to rectify.

He never thought you’d had the audacity to lie to his face again. But you did.

“It’s just that you don’t love me.” He bites back, hoping so very desperately for a rebuttal. A genuine, tear filled but oh, Jayce, I do, I love you, I could just never work up the courage to tell you, but there’s none of that. There’s none of that. Never was. Everything he’s ever thought there was had been in his head. He’d been aching to be loved so bad he’d conjured it up in his imagination. God, he’s pathetic.

“Jayce, I— When have I said I don’t love you?”

“When have you ever said you do?”

And you can’t argue with that. You can’t say it, not even now, when he looks at you for a beat, clinging to some deluded hope.

Of course you don’t.

God, he’s fucking stupid.

Jayce bows his head, standing abruptly. He kicks pebbles into the campfire, doesn’t look at you even when you call out his name. He picks up his clothes, slipping on his pants, not bothering to button his shirt, slapping on his hat.

You call out his name a few times. He doesn’t register it. Doesn’t want to. The same way you don’t want him, not when he asks for more than sex and a few letters every month, not when he asks for more. He struggles to breathe through his tears without wheezing, and he manages, he manages even as he shoves his feet into his boots, he managed like a fucking champ even while he turns to leave.

But when you call him sweetheart, it bounces around in his brain like a punch straight to the eye socket.

Jayce looks to you for a moment, searching, through the warm fog of his tears, for your face, searching for some truth on it.

Had you ever even meant it, calling him that? Had he ever even been something as precious as a sweetheart to you? Or had it just been another way to keep him under your boot, buttered up with just enough affection to keep him eager and dumb? Just another way to get in his pants?

“Sweetheart,” you try again, because of course you’ve realized it’s worked in making him stall, making him falter, worked in getting through to him, “please.”

Fucking liar.

“Don’t call me that.” He wishes there were less hurt and more venom in his voice. But how could there be anything but hurt as he’s trying to hide his hot, bitter tears under the brim of his hat? When the campfire smoke stings in his eyes, his lungs, or is it his chest aching with the realization that all the love he’d basked in had been his depraved delusion and a part of your toying with him concocted into something dizzying enough to make him think he’d been loved.

God, he’s fucking stupid.

The entirety of his body recoils as you approach, like a spooked animal looking for a way out. And he nearly does it, nearly makes a run for the trees, but then your fingers are wrapping around his wrist, holding firm.

How dare you?

“Please, don’t hide from me. Look at me, Jayce, let me see you. Talk to me.”

How fucking dare you use the echo of the words he’d swallowed up like honey mere minutes ago? It’s a potent weapon, because it nearly has him sobbing then and there, to think where you’d had him less than an hour ago, all vulnerable and eager and yours. And now you have the gall to act like you’re in any position to tell him what to do. Like you have the right to touch him.

His wrist seems to burn, just the way it had the morning after he’d rubbed it raw against the rope in the bed you’d shared, where you’d left him robbed of dignity, robbed of affection.

Just like now.

You’d never changed your intentions. You’d just changed your methods.

“Don’t touch me.” And oh, there it is, the venom that’s been boiling surfacing. It feels so satisfying in some wrong, horrid way, amidst all of the pain, to spit it out at you. He rips his hand from your grasp. “Don’t fucking touch me.”

This is the first time it truly gets to you, the realty of the situation. You’d been scared, yes, but now, the corners of your mouth twitch downward, and that squint — he knows that squint. Not on you, but on himself, the attempt to hold back tears.

“You’re being unfair.”

You’ve never sounded this meek.

It doesn’t suit you.

“I’m being unfair?” Jayce’s blood boils with the accusation. “I’m being unfair, for letting you get away scot free after everything you did, for loving you, for offering you a home, for offering to give up everything so we could— sure, I’m being unfair.”

“That’s not what I meant.” You don’t scream it, you don’t grit it out through tears. You say it like an afterthought, like it doesn’t even matter anymore.

And you’re right, it doesn’t matter anymore.

He would have given you everything. All you had to do was take it, and you couldn’t even do that. It makes him want to scream.

You don’t say anything. Not that Jayce thinks there even would be anything on this green earth you could say that could make him change his mind now. There’s nothing else for him here. Never was, except for a waste of his love, his time, his hope.

He swallows his heartful of tears when he looks you dead in the eye.

“Don’t write me any letters.” He decides, and he means it. The tone he takes on is familiar, he’s used it countless of times on his bounties, but never on you, and that alone makes it fit like a glove that’s one size too small and won’t bend around the fingers. But he uses it regardless, heavyhandedly, hoping it fucking hurts you just as much as it hurts him. “If you come back to Piltover, I am having you arrested, one way or another.”

He hates that he doesn’t even believe himself. But he turns away, because even though leaving you behind is the last thing he wants to do, it’s the one thing he owes himself.

#jayce talis #jayce arcane #arcane jayce #jayce talis x reader #reader insert #my writing #you could have it all (my empire of dirt)#cowboy AU #western AU

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adorerdraco · 4 years

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I’m Here ✧ Draco x Reader

Request: Hi, so I’m not sure if you’re taking these kinds of fics for Draco, but I’ve been feeling really down lately, and I was wondering if you could write a one shot or a scenario where the reader has been having a really bad day/week and Draco comforts them? And maybe Draco lays the reader on his chest and he hums a small tune to make the reader feel better? You can ignore this if it’s an issue, but I’d really appreciate it. I love all of your fics btw! They make me really happy <3

Warnings: none bc mostly fluff, some tears, super soft!draco

Words: 1.9K

A/N: i saw this and had to do it effective immediately bc i am feeling the exact same wayyy so this was really nice to think about ;( thank you so much for requesting this and for reading my stuff and i’m so glad i can help in a way <3 i’m sending you nothing but peace, love, and light !!! but i really hope this is gooood <3 do not own gif

Life was punishing you, you thought. It had to be. Because there was no way how in the span of a week everything in your day-to-day life had gone from okay to borderline catastrophic. It was as if every situation you were in was taking its form in the worst case possible scenario and all you could do was watch hopelessly as things continuously got worse sprinkled with small misfortunes in between.

It started on a regular Monday morning, sitting down for breakfast in the Great Hall with blissful ignorance. Halfway through eating your toast, your owl had come in through the open large glass windows and dropped a letter onto your plate from home that left you some very unfortunate news and had set forth a ripple effect that began making everything else go downhill as your days progressed. By the end of the school week, you had managed to blow up a potion, lose house points because of said potion when it splashed onto some people and had some physically altering effects, tripped over your footing and fell in the middle of a crowded corridor, failed a surprise quiz, forgot to turn in an essay, got into an argument with a friend, accidentally slept in and missed a morning class, and took a trip to the hospital wing for a migraine that didn’t want to leave you alone. You could’ve sworn you had somehow been thrown into purgatory, or limbo, or something outer-worldly.

“Are you alright?” Draco had asked you right after breakfast that Monday morning as he was walking you to your first class. “What was in the letter your owl gave you? You look worried.”

“It was nothing,” you dismissed quickly, trying to put on a half-hearted smile while you spoke to make it more convincing. “I’m fine, just tired.”

It was the beginning of the week, and he did keep you up late the night before when you were sneaking around together, so he just shook his head up and down and took your excuse even though he felt like there was more to it than you were letting on. But as the days went on, he was becoming more observant of the way you were acting and even looking. He didn’t like that every morning he saw the shadows under your eyes get deeper and darker, and he didn’t like how you would close your eyes in pain when you would groan about your headache. He also didn’t like the way he hadn’t seen you truly smile or laugh all week even when he tried countless times to amuse you or cheer you up. But what he didn’t like most of all was that he felt like there was nothing he could do.

On Wednesday afternoon, he tried asking you again. You were sitting in the Quad with him on a bench and he was telling you a story from earlier in the day about how he had ‘accidentally’ tripped this Gryffindor boy and got Snape to take away house points from him that he thought for sure would you make laugh or perhaps give him a disapproving redirection, but when he glanced up to see your reaction, he noticed you weren’t even listening, to begin with. You had been staring down at your shoes and the way they lined up against the cracks in the pavement, kicking around some gravel as your mind was running a million thoughts per second.

“Love?” He said to you softly. You looked up at him swiftly with a quiet questioning hum, e/c eyes widened slightly from being ripped away from your thoughts suddenly. “You know if something’s bothering you, you can talk to me.”

“I know,” you nodded warmly. “I’m okay, Dray. I’m honestly just tired.”

And you were telling the truth, in a sense. You really were tired; physically, mentally, emotionally.

He frowned, dissatisfied with your answer. “Right, well if anything at all comes up, I’m here.”

From then on, Draco took it upon himself to try and increase his affections and compliments. He would hug you a little tighter, kiss you a little longer, whisper sweet little nothings into your ear before he left you for class. You felt a little bad lying to him, withholding the truth from him, and you saw the concern in his light gray’s when you’d meet him in the mornings and for the rest of the day, but it only made you feel a tad bit worse. You were starting to feel guilty for the way he was worrying, feeling like you were dragging him down into the dumps with you and raining on his usual carefree parades.

On Friday morning, you didn’t meet him for breakfast and you were out of the Great Hall faster than he could catch you. He felt like a stalker when he walked by your class, peeking his head in to see if you were there and well. He spotted you sitting at your desk, hunched over your unopened books with a grimace on your face and your head in your hands. He wanted to go in and whisk you away to somewhere far and quiet, but the Professor had caught him by the door and sent him on his way before he could even think of doing anything of the sort.

You felt the day had gone by extremely slow, relative to how the week was moving and also impossibly dismal. You were counting down the minutes until the end of the school day, ready to run to your dorm right after your last class and bury yourself deep into your duvet and pillows for the rest of the weekend.

Head still pounding, you trudged over to your final class, stopping outside the doors when you saw a small group of your housemates standing around with unnerved expressions as they passed each other papers and spoke in hushed tensed tones.

“I studied all night but my friend took the test earlier and she told me during lunch that it had stuff on it that wasn’t even in the reading!” You heard one exclaim in distress.

“We have a test?” You accidentally said aloud and a pair of eyes turned to look at you confusingly.

“Yeah? Professor’s been telling us all week.”

A scoff of disbelief escaped your lips, an overwhelming sense of defeat washing over you as you turned briskly on your heel and in the opposite direction of your classroom. Tears started pricking at your eyes, you felt the stinging of them wanting to be released but you refused to let them all out in the open and especially in front of people who were still taking their time to head to their classes.

You were making a beeline towards your common room, blinking rapidly to try and clear your vision that was quickly pooling with unshed tears while trying to steady your breathing in another failed attempt to calm yourself. You were nearly there, you could tell by the paintings and doors that you passed by and the black stain splattered on the floor you saw every day on your way to the dorms from someone’s dropped ink bottle that Filch hasn’t been able to get rid of.

Almost there, you kept repeatedly reminding yourself.

All hope of solace was gone when you didn’t notice the body you had unknowingly crashed into. All you felt were strong hands around your biceps, holding you in place from toppling backward and the very familiar scent of expensive cologne and mint.

“Y/N? Why aren’t you in class?” You looked up at the platinum blond sadly, his worried eyes searching yours with such care that it pushed you over the edge.

You didn’t answer him and instead wrapped your arms tightly around Draco’s middle, burying your face deep into his robes and letting out quiet and frail weeps that broke his heart. He held you tightly, pressing kisses to the top of your head and muttering soft “I’m here’s” into your hair. You stayed in his embrace for a few minutes, letting your tears freely fall into his vest with a sense of relief that only he was able to give you at this point in time.

“I’m sorry I cried on you,” you choked out when you pulled away from him, desperately wiping away at your eyes with the back of your sleeve.

“You don’t ever have to apologize for that,” he said quickly. He brought his hand up to your face, his thumb swiping delicately over a stray tear that was sitting on your jaw while you closed your eyes in comfort. “Do you want to go back to my room? I can set you up really nicely and we can talk if you’d like?”

“Yes please, I’d like that a lot.”

Draco interlocked your fingers with his, bringing the pair up to his lips with a warm kiss on the back of your hand before walking the two of you over to the entrance of the Slytherin common room. It was empty when you walked in, not a soul in sight since everyone was still in class and it made it much easier for him to sneak you into his singular Prefect room you were now extremely grateful he had. He watched contently when you shed off your robes and kicked off your shoes and immediately slipped into one of his dark green jumpers that fit you big.

You were perched on the edge of his bed, his scent from his sweater engulfing you and doing a much better job of calming you down than you wanted to admit. He followed in your footsteps and changed into something comfier and when he finally sat beside you with his hand falling over yours as an encouragement to talk - you did. You vented to him all about the letter from home, the migraine, your classes, the argument between you and your friend, and everything else that came to mind.

“And I feel bad for ignoring you and not telling you all this before but I didn’t want to burden you,” you finished with sniffles, gazing up at him with a gloomy expression.

“Y/N, I love you, and nothing you say to me is a burden,” he frowned slightly, “when I tell you I’m here, I mean it, for anything. You’re so important to me and it kills me to see you upset.”

In a careful movement, he had scooted towards you and affectionately cupped your face before placing a loving kiss on your forehead and murmured to you, “don’t ever hesitate to come to me.”

You let him pull you under his covers, draping his large duvet over your entangled bodies with your head resting right above his chest, the steady beatings of his heart instantly sending you into a much-needed peace. His chin was rested right atop your head and you felt his fingers run up and down your arm soothingly while he thought.

“Is there anything else I can do to make you feel better?” He asked quietly.

“Can you help me fall asleep?” you muttered, closing your eyes gently when his hand smoothed over the back of your hair. You felt him nod against your head and after a small moment silence, you heard him begin to hum the faint tune of your favorite song.

You lied there in bliss, enjoying the way his chest was vibrating against your ear and the way his fingers were playing with the ends of your hair, curling the strands around his fingers and then moving upwards to massage your scalp. And for a minute, everything was finally okay again as you drifted off into a peaceful sleep, a full heart and with your love calmly lulling you away with a soft and now distant humming.

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tumbling-darkling · 3 years

Text

Miraculous Ghosts

Danny and friends visit Paris and come across trouble, as well as the cities local superheroes.

Lately, Hawkmoth has been recycling villains. There are only so many people in Paris and not everyone gets emotionally vulnerable strongly enough or long enough to be akumatized. Those that do, and commonly like Mr. Pidgeon, usually had a certain fixation that was easy to exploit. The thing was, both Marienette and Chat Noir already knew their weakness, the items that would most likely get akumatized, the whole schtick. So the battles were really fast and easy.

A new face always had to be met with caution, the lack of knowledge regarding the person was dangerous and if the pair wasn’t careful, they could end up losing the battle. And their Miraculous.

With the start of summer came tourist season, and tourists could be victims of akumatization. Which seemed to be the case within the first week. 3 villains, all new faces, but the pair had gotten lucky with the similar powers that the heroes had faced before and the three were all defeated in a timely manner.

There was a short week of nothing happening.

And then all hell broke loose.

—————————————————————

Marienette knew the start of the tourist season had begun just based on the filled streets of strange faces, sunglasses, cameras, and the use of foreign languages. This also was noticed based on how busy her parents' shop had become, and how rarely she was managing to escape outside to enjoy some of summer's freedom. The good thing was she was able to brush up on some of her English, since the tourists usually spoke the common American language and the experience was always welcome to help boost her grades in the upcoming year. Even if it was a few months away.

She’d figured out the best way to sneak off during any attacks was to ‘use the bathroom’ or ‘accidently’ make a mess and excuse herself to clean up. It had worked during the first week and she didn’t have to do anything the past week since Hawkmoth seemed to take a break. She finished serving a young pair of Americans, a tall girl with orange hair, and a lanky boy nearly the same height with raven black hair.

She had to admit, some Americans had a certain charm, but the bustle of the kitchen quickly caught her attention as she was back to serving the next person in line.

Just as Chloe waltzed in, basically knocking the american boy over as she strutted to the front of the line, causing people to cast glares in her direction. The boy hissed when he fell, the American girl offering to help him up in English as he shook his head and stood up, dusting himself off as Marienette went to deal with the walking form of pure rich privilege. “Urg, Dupain-Cheng’s dingy little cafe? Of course she works here, it just smells like burnt bread.” She huffed.

Marienette bristled, but put on her customer service smile, noticing the poor Americans victim to Chloe leaving the shop. She was hoping to offer them a replacement after dealing with Chloe but it was a little late now. “Ma’am, unless you are here to pick up an order, you will have to wait in line like everyone else.” She strained.

“Ma’am? I am Chloe Dubois! I don’t need to wait in line like some sort of peasant! Just give me whatever you didn’t make.”

Marienette had to swallow down any returning insults and put down one of their most expensive items, handing it over with a clearly strained smile, “have a nice day.”

Chloe huffed with her baked goods in hand but left as soon as she appeared, allowing Marienette some relief. Very little damage. A little annoyance but nothing worthy of an akuma-.

An explosion was heard from outside, and Marienette groaned internally.

She just had to jinx it.

—————————————————————

Ladybug dove off to the side as the villain shot out a ray of white, plasma-like energy. Adrien, fighting as Chat Noir, and his partner were having a hell of a time with this dude. He spotted the chaos on the news, the villain calling himself ‘Black Hole’ and giving his poor Lady a hard time. When he finally arrived on the scene, he wasn’t able to do much either.

The villain was basically a godly powerhouse, floating in the air, shooting burning rays of heated plasma, or even ice! Ice and plasma! Sometimes he MIXED the two beams to create an even WORSE beam! Whenever either of the heroes got close enough to land a hit, their punches and kicks would go right through him. Then he would DISAPPEAR. REAPPEARING AND LANDING ANOTHER HEAVY BLOW. He would fly around like gravity was non-existent, and these abilities didn’t stop there. Every so often, he would yank out this thermos looking thing and shoot out these wormholes. Or… possibly black holes. Calling them black holes felt wrong though… since they glowed green and swirled before disappearing after a few moments.

The villain's outfit was a change of pace too. It was impossible to figure out his age since he was completely covered in a thick fabric material that reminded him of space suits. Yet looked a lot less bulky than actual space suits, thin yet sturdy metal covered his forearms, and formed a backpack that was attached by a wide metal collar that spread to his collarbone and slightly covered his shoulders, as well as a metal strap that wrapped around right under his chest. A plated, metal belt circled his waist with a clip for the green black hole thermos, and thigh high boots with a similar fabric to his suit covered most of his legs, thick plastic looking platform soles attached at the feet. Black bands wrapped around the ankles of the boots. A helmet covered his entire face, a metal frame covering the bottom half like a muzzle while the top was a tinted glass dome following the shape of his head, the inside of it entirely black except for the eerie glow of a single, left eye. The helmet had a tube on the back of the helmet that connected to his backpack, but neither he or Ladybug could figure out if it was essential or for decoration. His entire colouring was monotone, much bleaker than their previous villains. His suit was black, the boots, forearm cuffs, belt, backpack and collar were all a middle shade of grey, the only flash of colour being the glow of the single toxic green eye amongst the darkness of the helmet.

The dude was disturbing. He didn’t make any sound, in fact he seemed to ABSORB the sound around him. Like they were in space.

Paris was getting destroyed more and more by the second and the two didn’t know what to do. The Lady’s lucky charm turned into a thermos, which she didn’t have a clue how to use in the situation in front of them. Maybe it was a hint? A clue about soup? Or getting the villains thermos?

The problem with the last idea was that neither he or Ladybug could TOUCH this villain. And each of them were getting worse and worse for wear by the second. He could tell Ladybug was getting ready to get some sort of help, but who could make something untouchable… touchable? Chat even tried to use cataclysm on the villain's thermos while Ladybug had distracted him, but he twisted at the last moments and grabbed Chat's hand, draining cataclysm before he tossed him aside like it was nothing.

Another blast of plasma sent the two tumbling away from each other, and then a blast of ice caught Chat off guard. Cold shot up his arm as his muscles convulsed, a scream caught in his throat as the ice trapped his arm in such a tight and sturdy prison. He twisted to try and use his free arm to claw the other out of the ice, a shadow in the corner of his vision causing him to twist and jolt in surprise as the villain stood right in front of him. The glowing green eye was cold as it bore into him, and the villain grew closer and closer, drifting off the ground and absorbing every noise around him, the air around them dropping to freezing temperatures. Chats breath formed in front of him as gasps, panic clear in the quick breaths, fear intensifying as the only thing he could hear was his own heartbeat and blood roaring through his veins.

The villain's hand shot out and grabbed his free one- the one with his miraculous.

Chat heard Ladybug cry out as the villain gripped onto the ring, a quick glance showing she too was trapped.

That she was next.

Chat tried to keep his fingers curled, but he was battered and weak, and the villain hadn’t even broken a sweat during their fight. Prying open his fingers was easy, the ring vulnerable. This was it. He used cataclysm too soon and now he was powerless. He couldn’t escape. He couldn’t save anyone. He was a failure. This was the end of Paris.

They lost.

—————————————————————

Fucking. Vlad.

This entire trip had Danny on edge and it was all because of Vlad.

At first, he thought maybe, for once, Vlad wasn’t being a piece of shit when offering the family a fully paid trip to France for two weeks. He was suspicious. He probably just wanted the family out of town to do some shady shit. But a two week trip to France wasn’t the WORST thing a man could do. Especially in comparison to kidnapping and cloning.

But then his parents got sick. A common flu. Right before the trip. And they wanted Jazz and him to experience Paris. Then Vlad offered to be a chaperone.

It was all a play to get Danny alone for two weeks and try and manipulate him.

He did manage to get Tucker and Sam to tag along, something about friends being his family and the two unused tickets his parents left behind. But Vlad knew how to separate the group. How to corner Danny at the worst moments and whisper annoying remarks in his ear as he tried to get away.

He survived a week. He only had one more week to go. Tucker and Sam were off checking out some places for lunch while Jazz and Danny went to pick up sweets for everyone to share after their meal.

Vlad was off doing who knew what so Danny had put him to the back of his mind.

The cafe they found was… well it smelled incredible. There were so many baked goods on display and the air was filled with the warm and sweet smell of the goodies. He let Jazz do most of the talking, she wanted to practice her French and Danny had recently discovered that being dubbed the ghost king meant that now he had a natural grasp on all verbal languages, including the dead ones. This meant his speech in French was almost flawless, and his understanding was like he was listening to someone speak English. He couldn’t read other languages though, just speak them. He was told though by a few locals he had an odd accent. It wasn’t an american one, just… odd.

So Jazz ordered the treats and the pair was headed out to meet Danny’s friends.

Then some blonde girl with way too much make-up basically knocked him to the ground, not even sending him a glance that indicated she knew what she did. It was annoying, but he dealt with bullies on a daily basis back at Amity Park. Well… used to. But he knew better than to waste any thought on some jerk like her. He sadly looked at the ruined cat paw shaped cookies, the icing ruined and the cookies crushed under his weight when he fell.

Standing up with the help of Jazz, they left the shop as Danny insisted on finding somewhere to wash off the icing stuck to his shirt. He liked this shirt too… he hoped it wouldn’t stain too badly. It was better than ectoplasm at least, that stuff needed to be burned out, there was no such thing as washing out ectoplasm.

Jazz asked to help, but Danny brushed her off, telling her he could easily clean himself off by himself.

And then Vlad chose that moment to corner him.

—————————————————————

“Hello Daniel.”

Danny splashed water wildly as he spun around to glare at the older Halfa, hissing out an ‘Ancients!’ in surprise. “What the hell, Vlad?” He spat, “sneaking up on a kid in the bathroom? I should just call the police and tell them about all that stalking you like to do.”

“Aren’t you tired of this childish game?” He hummed.

“Not really, seeing as I’m a child and I love games,” Danny sneered.

“I’m older, more experienced, and stronger. I am also patient, little badger. And it’s easy to wear you down. By the end of this trip, you are going to be begging to be my-.”

“Son? Pet? Little slave that does everything you ask? Sorry, Vladdy, but I ain’t the type to listen to crazy fruit loops. How about you go enjoy the company of your French rich friends like that Agreste dude instead of stalking me and trying to get with my mom and kill my dad. Might do you some good to make more friends than just your cat.”

“Oh Daniel, you throw your petty insults but I know ways to break you even further. You know, a lot of accidents happen in Paris. Terrible things.”

Danny felt his eyes flash as he spun on his heel, “listen to me, if you even consider-!”

“Not to mention your brand new ghostly responsibilities as… the ghost king? Imagine that. A child as the king. You don’t even know everything about ghosts.”

“Neither do you!” Danny spat.

“Oh but I know so much more. And I could easily teach you-.”

“Just shut up!”

“When you mess up, when the ghost zone begins to fall apart, you will wish you took my offer, but I may not be as forgiving when that happens.”

“I said shut up!”

“And we both know the moment the ghost zone falls apart, so will this world. All because a boy became king and didn’t take help he was so graciously offered.”

“SHUT THE HELL UP!”

Something inside him shifted, and Danny suddenly felt his mind cloud, a deep voice echoed his mind.

“A cruel man harassing a young teen that wants nothing to do with him. A shame when someone can’t take a hint.

Black Hole. I am Hawkmoth. I can give you the power to show this old man that he never should consider looking in your direction ever again.

All I ask is for Ladybug and Chat Noir’s miraculous. Do this for me, and Vlad Masters will never be an issue for you ever again.”

Danny’s clouded mind and building rage smirked at the offer, his voice echoing as he glanced up at Vlad who was giving him a confused look. “Yes, Hawkmoth.”

Darkness engulfed him and then his memory began to fail him.

—————————————————————

A boomerang slammed into Black Hole’s head, causing it to jerk to the side and a small crack formed on the glass that was hit. The metal boomerang dropped to the ground and Black Hole slowly looked down at it as a robotic voice cried out from it, “ghost detected!” And then a recorded voice spouted out, “take that, spook!”

Black Hole’s head slightly tilted at the noise it made, a hand subconsciously rubbing the crack it left behind. Then he twisted his gaze back to Chat Noir, going back to taking the hero’s miraculous.

Then a shout came from behind Black Hole and Chat caught the eyes of a teenage girl yelling and holding a bat over her head. Black Hole twisted, his body turning that transparent look whenever Chat or Ladybug had tried to hit him before, and Chat knew that it was useless. “No! Stop! Get out of here-!” He screamed at the citizen, but stopped when the bat connected with the villain's head and sent him flying into a wall.

Chat was at a loss for words for once in his life, watching the villain slowly pry himself from the wall from being hit by a baseball bat when he and Lady couldn’t land a single hit. He looked back at the citizen and shrieked as she raised the bat above her head and swung down at him, flinching and squeezing his eyes shut. She hit something, causing it to shatter and then- his hand was free!

He opened his eyes and looked at his hand in awe and then back at the girl, “who the heck are you?”

She huffed, dropping the bat casually on her shoulder, “Sam Manson. Friend of the idiot that didn’t do his research before taking a trip here. I’m surprised this didn’t happen earlier.”

Chat blinked, “you- you know that’s your friend? And knew this would happen?”

Sam shrugged, “the booo-merang is never wrong. And yeah, my friend there is not exactly the most emotionally stable person on the planet. Sorry it took us a while to get here. You guys really do move fast.”

Chat just opened and closed his mouth a few times, then yelled as she suddenly swung the bat again and smacked the villain in the gut as he got close during their exchange, knocking him sideways but not down like the first time. Black Hole turned again, making a snarling sound before he was blasted by some sort of green ray and sent flying sideways, rolling along the pavement before smashing into a car. Another teen jogged over with Ladybug behind him, dropping his hands to his knees as he wheezed, “I have ran… way too much for this to be considered a vacation.”

“M’Lady-, what is going on?” Chat asked.

“This is Tucker, and his friend Sam, and they know how to help,” Ladybug quickly explained, glancing back at Black Hole. “We need to draw his attention and get that thermos off of him, then Sam and Tucker can use this,” she held up the thermos from her lucky charm, “and we can get his akuma.”

“Akuma is in the thermos, knock it off,” Chat summarized. He heard his miraculous beeping, a sign he was close to his limit.

“Let’s end this fast.”

—————————————————————

Ladybug held the booo-merang in one hand as the two teens and Chat drew Black Hole’s attention, the teens equipped with weapons that seemed to get past some of Black Holes abilities.

She narrowed her gaze, waiting for the perfect moment, then threw the weapon, watching it arch in the air then knock the thermos off of the villain's waist. The thermos clattered to the ground and drew his attention, he quickly twisted and dove to try and retrieve it, which was when a bright beam erupted from the polka dot thermos Ladybug had given the teens. The beam caught the villain's legs and he was tugged back, his form pulling towards it like taffy as he twisted and a horrid scream of anger burst from him. He tried to escape it, flailing and reaching for anything to hang on to, but in a matter of seconds he was pulled into the canister and Sam slammed the lid shut. The screaming stopped and Ladybug made her way over to Black Hole’s thermos, stomping on it and crushing it, releasing the Akuma hidden inside. With a flick of her wrist her lucky charm turned back into its original form, dumping Black Hole onto the street, then the butterfly was caught and purified, and another click of her miraculous, she let the little bug flutter away harmlessly. With a shout, ‘Miraculous Ladybug!’, everything around them was engulfed in black and red as the damages were undone around them.

At last, the villain's form was released of Hawkmoth's influence and it left a lanky teen laying on the street. He slowly sat up with a groan and a hand to his head and she then realized it was the same teen as from the shop. So once again, this was Chloe’s fault. She turned her attention to the two teens that helped her, noticing Chat let out a hasty farewell and thanks and disappeared around a corner. “Thank you, both of you. Without your help… well, without your help we may have lost that battle. But how in the world did you do that?”

“What the fuck just happened?” The teen groaned, “I feel like the booo-merang smacked me in the head like… fifty times.”

“That’s because I may have smacked you a few times with the fenton creep stick,” Sam shrugged as she helped her friend up who gave her wide eyes in return.

“You fucking what?”

Tucker took a step forward to answer Ladybug’s question, “let's just say back in our town, we have very specific supervillains that have abilities that make it hard for regular attacks to land. So we have specialized gear. Sam and I did a bit of research before heading here and figured if any of us got Akumatized, we may reflect some of those traits.”

“I… see…” Ladybug hummed, “and where did you say you were all from?” The three cast a few glances between each other, but before any of them could answer, her miraculous beeped angrily as she quickly realized she was out of time. “Thank you again for your help, if we could meet again to exchange some of that tech to make sure this never happens again-,” she quickly tried to set up a meet up before Sam held up a hand.

“This won’t happen again. A lot of what happened here is very unique to Amity, so once we finish our vacation, you won’t see this kind of thing ever again.”

Ladybug only had more questions but the angry beeping only forced her to nod and bid a quick farewell before getting out of sight to let Tiki take a rest. Marienette held out a few macaroons for Tiki as her thoughts swirled in her head. The questions about the odd American trio and how they knew how to deal with a villain as unique as Black Hole.

She may be able to corner them later. They did say they had to ‘finish their vacation.’

And in the meantime, it was time to do some research on this place called ‘Amity’.

—————————————————————

Danny didn’t remember a lot of what happened while he was the villain, Black Hole. It was like a dream, he kinda remembered the feeling, vague details, but nothing specific.

What he wished he remembered was whatever he did to Vlad. He must have done something because his memories cut out right after Vlad harassed him in the bathroom and after the event, the froot loop avoided him during the entire trip. Even refused to make eye contact!

What he would give just for a few seconds of that memory! Or for someone to have recorded it!

For now though he got to reap the rewards, flashing his eyes green when Vlad would glance over and causing the man to flinch. Oh man, he was going to abuse this newfound intimidation ability till the bitter end.

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dangermousie · 2 years

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CFC 175

1. I find it so interesting than XQC realizes the story about him and HY banging in the pavillion is going to spread like a wild fire and everyone is going to assume he’s at fault because he’s older and poorer so he lured He Yu in and HE DOES NOT GIVE A FUCK!!! Because he’s mission oriented and also because he’s given up on himself. The only things that can make him distraught have to do with He Yu because he is emotionally vulnerable with him and human with him. (And I suppose XX but she hasn’t been a cause for concern lately.) He does not care about strangers’ opprobrium. It’s both tragic - because the reason he doesn’t care is in part because he expects nothing for himself from the world (though also he’s naturally tough) and good because if/when he decides he’s ready to be with He Yu, the fact that tongues will wag like flags in a hurricane would give him no pause.

2. The Weis are so sane and awesome and I love them. They figured out the aphrodisiacs and realized the plot was targeting Wei Dongheng as part of it. But someone gave him sleeping pills. Clearly that was Anthony, mucking with momster’s plans and there are so many things about this that get my brain spinning. Why? Is Anthony just an agent of chaos liking to muck with things? If he was driven just by the desire to humiliate XQC then he could just let events proceed. If he wanted to protect XQC (which he clearly doesn’t he almost got him and HY murdered on set), he would have scuppered the plot some other way. Did he want to protect WDH? Does he want HY and XQC to have that fling? But why? Once again, for kicks? Does org actually want XQC and HY to stick together despite what momster thinks?

3. The fact that XQC is capable of calmly leading his sister down the isle after what happened in a room full of people who saw him in that pavillion is a demonstration of iron will. I love him.

4. Second bro Wei, you are not straight. Unless XQC is so devastating he can even turn straight men gay heeeee. Because Er-ge was drooling and there is at least one young master who totally gets why younger and rich He Yu would go feral over XQC. XQC could make bank as a very exclusive and expensive male prostitute to these rich young masters at this rate - there are at least three salivating over him.

5. Chen Man!!! The fuck!!! So gross. It really makes me think of Shi Mei in 2ha, in that scene where he has CWN and complains about how dare Mo Ran have him when he should be Shi Mei’s as if CWN is a thing to be passed around to owners and his objection is not “shizun, Mo Ran forced you, that’s awful!” but “it should have been me!” and his interest in consent is nonexistent because he doesn’t view CWN as a human being who provides said consent (it’s a whole other point how Shi Mei, whose people have been dehumanized, turned it around and dehumanized everyone himself.) Chen Man, even before he hears that He Yu didn’t force XQC in the pavillion (and thinks XQC is bi and his earlier comments he was straight are wrong) locks the door. He was thinking of doing bad things from the start! Even his “I can hide you from He Yu” offer is shot through with this sickly possessive excitement of hiding a treasure he found and keeping it for himself, not helping out a human being. He dehumanizes XQC into a possession he can claim. Even at his worst - and I am not going to claim what He Yu did back when wasn’t horrific and his actions were way worse than anything Chen Man had done - He Yu (who unlike Chen Man has at least the factors of being seriously mentally ill AND brought up by wolves) has never treated XQC as a thing - he hated him and wanted to hurt and humiliate him for things he thought he did to He Yu and then he was desperate for him and lonely for him and all of this is predicated on seeing XQC as a person, even if a person you want to break. None of this is seeing him just as an object to project on.

And then he forces a kiss! After he locks the door! After he seems to say that XQC is like a lost $20 - whoever sees it first gets to claim it, after he knows XQC didn’t want to be with HY and had PTSD over it (he doesn’t know a lot of that speech in the dorm was a lie so he should treat it as true), after he should have thought that XQC would never voluntarily sleep with anyone in public during his sister’s wedding so it’s not as if he’s rocking out as part of a midlife crisis. This is just so terrible and sick and pls come sit in a corner with other Meatbun “seems nice and gentle but is a bugfuck psycho” characters. I hate you. I hope XQC smacks the shit out of you but he’s exhausted and really, it’s one more thing for him to deal with and ugh.

6. That mini theater was hilarious tho hahaha.

#cnovel #meatbun doesn't eat meat #case file compendium

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jonsa101 · 3 years

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Max Goodwin and Randall Pearson: The Well-Meaning, Incredibly Self-Centered Leading Men We’ve Grown to Love.

Hey fam! Like I said, I’ve been writing a ton of meta lately and this is another one that’s just been sitting in my drafts. It’s basically a This Is Us and a New Amsterdam meta which is something I haven’t done before but something I want do more of. In my Game of Thrones days I used to write a lot of meta about shows and characters that had similarities so this is fun for me. I hope y’all enjoy this. ALSO THIS HAS SPOILERS FOR BOTH SHOWS!!!!!!!

Without a doubt the two most popular shows on NBC is This is Us and New Amsterdam. And what’s not to love? They’re both emotionally driven, heartfelt, shows that focus on incredibly deep and complex topics. Though one show focuses on family dynamics and the other focuses on the healthcare system, these shows are very similar in more ways than one. Case in point, Max Goodwin and Randall Pearson. The more I watch these two shows, the more I realize how these two characters are so alike!!! These two men are kind-hearted, well intentioned, individuals who genuinely want to make some sort of positive difference. They are incredibly ambitious and always have “bright ideas” and “goals” they want to accomplish and somehow they’re able to meet those goals without ever having to sacrifice their wants and needs. By every definition these men are the “main characters” or the ultimate “protagonists.” These are the folks that we are supposed to root for. At the same time, though these men have many traits to be admired, when you truly look at it both of them can be incredibly self centered and selfish especially when it pertains to their romantic partners and love interests. No matter how appealing you make these characters out to be these men clearly fall under the Behind Every Great Man trope.

The Behind Every Great Man trope has been used countless of times throughout Cinema and TV History that I’m sure that I don’t even have to explain it to you but for the sake of this meta this is how it’s defined.

“Behind Every Great Man...stands an even greater woman! Or in about a hundred variations is a Stock Phrase referring to how people rarely achieve greatness without support structures that go generally unappreciated, and said support structure is a traditionally female role via being the wife, mother, or sometimes another relation. This trope is specifically about a man who is credited with something important, but owes much of his success to the woman in his life.”

This trope usually has a negative connotation (and rightfully so) because the man who often benefits from this is an asshole and unworthy of this type of support!

For example:

Oliva and Fitz

Cristina Yang and Burke

Cookie and Lucious

Ghost and Tasha

There are countless others but these are a few of the couples that come to mind for me. Randall and Max aren’t comparable to any of these men that are listed above but they are still operating under the same trope. It just looks nicer because Max and Randall are inherently good and inspirational. They are the heroes of the story. I would even argue and say that both men fall under the Chronic Hero Syndrome trope which is defined as

“Chronic Hero Syndrome is an "affliction" of cleaner heroes where for them, every wrong within earshot must be righted, and everyone in need must be helped, preferably by Our Hero themself. While certainly admirable, this may have a few negative side-effects on the hero and those around them. Such heroes could wear themselves out in their attempts to help everyone or become distraught and blame themselves for the one time that they're unable to save the day. Spending so much time and effort saving everyone else can also put a strain on the hero's personal or dating life.”

Just because Max and Randall have these incredibly inspiring aspirations, is it fair that their wives and love interests are always expected to rise to the occasion and support them. Is it ok for their partners to continuously sacrifice their wants and needs because they love these men?

Let’s dive into it.

Truth be told, Beth Pearson, Helen Sharpe and Georgia Goodwin had to endure a GREAT DEAL to emotionally support the dreams and aspirations of these men while sacrificing so much of themselves in the process. In media we often see women sacrificing so much of their wants and needs out of love for these male leads and rarely do men do the same thing for their romantic partners and love interests. All three of these women clearly fall under the Act of True Love trope defined as

“The Act of True Love proves beyond doubt that you are ready to put your loved one's interests before your own, that you are truly loyal and devoted to them. Usually this involves a sacrifice on your part, at the very least a considerable effort and/or a great risk. The action must be motivated, not by morals or principle or expectation of future reward, but by sheer personal affection.When your beloved is in dire need of your help, or in great danger, and you do something, at great expense to yourself, for the sake of their safety, their welfare, or their happiness, thus proving beyond any doubt that you put their interest ahead of yours.”

Over the past few seasons we have seen all three of these women truly live up to this trope without any true consequences or accountability from the men they’re making all these sacrifices for. For example, in Beth and Randall’s marriage, how many times did Randall spring an idea on Beth without truly talking to her or considering her wants first? Everyone thinks these two are an ideal couple but she has endured A LOT for Randall.

Randall has spontaneously quit his job, moved his dying biological dad into their home, bought his biological dad’s old apartment building, fostered and adopted a child and also ran for city councilman outside of his district. In all of these decisions, Randall “consulted” Beth about it but at the same time didn’t really consult her. In a way there has always been this expectation of Beth to just go along for the ride with what Randall wants. Is anyone else exhausted from reading that list?! That’s a lot for partner to endure and lovingly support. But Beth has endured and has been Randall’s rock through it all!!! What worries me is that the one time Beth spoke out about her wants and needs of pursuing dance again, he couldn’t match the same energy she was giving him and eventually it led to world war three between them. Though things are looking up in their relationship and he’s starting to support her more, has Randall nearly given to Beth as much as she’s given to him? Absolutely not!

Similar to Randall, Max also had a wife who was a dancer. in fact, she was a prima ballerina. Unlike Randall and Beth, Max relationship with Georgia was rocky from the start. When we were first introduced to them Max and Georgia were separated and rightfully so. Georgia was never Max’s first priority. The hospital always came first in their relationship. He couldn’t even dedicate a full night to her for their proposal. In order to “save” their marriage they decide to have a baby and they both committed to taking a step back in their careers in order to do so. The problem was Max didn’t keep his side of their commitment and took a job to become the medical director at the biggest public hospital in the U.S. She gave up her career to start a family and he totally and completely betrayed her trust. So throughout season one we see them trying to rebuild their marriage but even in the midst of trying to rebuild a marriage based on trust and mutual respect Max still keeps things from Georgia. For several episodes he didn’t tell her that he had advance stages of throat cancer. He only told her when Georgia asked him to move back home. That’s fucked up! Then throughout their pregnancy he was never fully there for Georgia because he was either to preoccupied with the hospital or himself. At the end of it all, Georgia died tragically at the beginning of season two and really had nothing to show for it in her relationship with Max other than her daughter Luna.

Now let’s bring Helen Sharpe into the fold. While all of this stuff was going on with Max and his wife in season one, Max was developing a deep friendship, borderline emotional affair with Helen. Their relationship started out with Helen being his oncologist. As the new Medical Director of New Amsterdam, he swore Helen to secrecy about his diagnosis so that he could still run the hospital. Through that secrecy they eventually formed a deep bond but as his cancer got worse his secret was let out of the bag. He realistically needed someone to step up and run the hospital when he was going through chemo and though Helen already had commitments she stepped up and became his deputy medical director. Somewhere along the lines Max and Helen started developing feelings for each other. As Helen becomes aware of those feelings, she made a choice and decides to remove herself as Max’s doctor. He BITCHES about it but eventually accepts the boundary she’s clearly trying to set. Mind you, as this is unfolding, like Max, Helen is also in a new relationship with her boyfriend Panthaki. As Max’s cancer seems to be getting worse with his new doctor, she goes back on her boundary and decides to be his doctor again. This pisses her boyfriend off because he could already peep the vibe between them and he breaks up with her. When we get into season two, Max’s wife died and Helen set him up in a clinical trail (with a doctor she previously fired) that’s helping his cancer. Unbeknownst to Max, this doctor ends up holding his life saving treatment plan over Helen’s head and in order for his treatment to continue she gives this doctor half of her department!

Helen has sacrificed a lot for Max and now in season three she’s finally prioritizing her current wants and needs first! Like Randall, Max is starting to turn a page and is starting to support Helen and truly listen to the wants and needs that she has. All of this is good but my question is did any of these women have to sacrifice so much for the men in their lives to get a clue?

Why is it that this is a trope we see in media time and time and time again? Even if these men are good, why don’t we still keep these male characters accountable when they put their significant others in these situations that are clearly not fair? I’ve watched countless tv shows and I’ve seen a lot of tv couples but I think I have only come across one couple where the male counterpart has selflessly loved his significant other and has always put her needs above his own.

That character my friend is none other than PACEY WITTER

I might be mistaken but I think Joey and Pacey are the most popular ship in tv history and honestly, rightfully so! This is only example I can think of where the male in the relationship so willingly puts the wants and needs of his partner first. It is a completely selfless and sacrificial love. He never wants to hold her back and he never asks her to compromise her wants or needs for him. That’s why I think so many women love Pacey because in a sea of TV relationships, Pacey Witter is a fucking unicorn.

So to wrap this up does this mean that I hate Randall Pearson or Max Goodwin? No! I adore them. I love both of their characters so much. I just think that when we see the media continuously play out the sacrificial wife/love interest for the sake of their male counterparts, it should be called out. I’m all about sacrificial and selfless love but it should come from both sides.❤️❤️❤️

Anyway I hope y’all enjoy this! As always my DMs are opening here or on Twitter @oyindaodewale

#new amsterdam #sharpwin #This Is US #max goodwin #helen sharpe #randall pearson #beth pearson #georgia goodwin #pacey witter #joey x pacey #new amsterdam meta

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thelukesalvez · 4 years

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Luke Alvez x Reader: Our Place

Description: You ask Luke to sign the divorce papers, but he decides to try one last time.

Tagged: @ssaic-jareau , @alvezstan , @lcvischmitt , @ogmilkis , @ssa-morgan, @akimagies, @zhangyixingxing1 , @pinkdiamond1016 , @yourwonderbelle , @rachelxwayne , @sc4rletw1tch , @ellvswriting

Word count: 3k

Warnings: Angst

The two of you had made a promise. For better or for worse- til death do us part. And now that he thought about it, maybe you’d kept that promise. After all, he was feeling like he was dead inside. He didn’t know if he was a helpless romantic or if he was just too stubborn to break that promise.

Or if he just couldn’t bear the idea of losing the love of his life.

...

“You’re not going to meet your wife at a club, so just relax,” Matt had said close to his ear, patting his shoulder in a condescending manner. They sat at the bar of the club, and Matt was trying to lighten Luke’s mood. “But you can get laid, which really is our only goal here.”

He guessed that Matt was right- but that didn’t take his attention away from the girl sitting at the end of the bar.

“You’re not helping, Matt,” Luke had replied, trying to look nonchalant while the most gorgeous girl he’d seen in his entire life glanced at him.

“Actually, I am.” Matt tilted his chin not so subtly towards the girl.

When Luke looked up, the girl was smiling at him. She tips the clear drink in her hand towards him, like a salute of some sorts. Luke blinked, confused, and looked back at Matt.

A stuttered “What?” was the only thing he could say.

After an eye roll followed by a long-suffering sigh, Matt smirked, “I told the barman to give that girl a drink and say it was from you.”

“You what?” Luke gasped.

“You’re welcome,” Matt said, patting his shoulder again. “Now go talk with her, or you'll look like a dick.”

“I hate you,” Luke mumbled, but Matt couldn’t hear him as he got up to walk away.

It wasn’t the first time Matt had embarrassed Luke ― or pushed him in the right direction, in his own words ― at a club. The thing was that Luke wasn’t the most confident man to exist when it came to girls. But he always tries hard, and he’s gotten really good at pretending. So, he finished his beer in two deep swallows and walked towards the girl, acting like liquid courage was a thing.

The girl stared at Luke with a small, almost shy smile while he walked towards her.

With a grin, Luke came closer and said, “Hi, I’m Luke.” He knew his chat up line was lame, but he was a polite person and he thought it was only right to introduce himself first. “Sorry if I overstepped,” he added, and looked at the just emptied glass of alcohol.

“I’m Y/N.” Even her voice was beautiful.

Luke smiled. “I don’t know-” he sputtered, rubbing the back of his neck. “Would you wanna dance or something?”

“Not really,” you had laughed, cringing a little. Instantly, Luke’s shoulders deflated, and opened his mouth to apologize again for bothering you, when you quickly added, “But you can sit, and buy me another drink.”

...

In the end, Matt was wrong. Well, partially wrong at least, because Luke did get laid that night ― but he also found his wife.

Luke wasn’t sure why he walked to the park that he and you had gone for your first official date. At the time, you had called it a ‘dog date’, because you used the excuse of taking your dogs to play at the park to see each other again. There was a river there and you sat while Roxy and your dog played in the water.

The two of you kept going there with your dogs until you decided to officially make this into something it already was.

Luke had asked you to marry him there, too ― with an expensive ring and kneeling and flowers and a bleeding sunset pouring across the sky from above.

“What is it about this place?” Luke had beamed at you, admiring the ring on your finger with the backdrop of the flowing river.

You had smiled, standing on your tiptoes to plant a kiss on his lips. “It’s our place,” you said, claiming the spot proudly.

“Our perfect place,” Luke confirmed.

You had gone there for your anniversary the next year as well. And then again the year after that.

The year after that though, was when everything started to crumble.

...

“It’s our anniversary, Luke. Don’t you remember? ” you hissed angrily on the phone, and okay, Luke knew he promised he’d be there- but work had gotten in the way.

“You know I want to be there- but this case just came in. We can celebrate next week,” he said, apologetically, trying to make things better.

You had plans to go to the river again, but Luke’s work was demanding. For the most part, you accepted that and supported him, but Luke could see that you weren't happy. Luke spent too much time at work ― and when he was at home, he was too tired to do anything besides sleep.

“Or you could tell your boss that it’s our anniversary and come meet me at the river,” you snapped back.

“You’re already there?” Luke asked, surprised. He looked at the clock and saw he had an hour before the time you had agreed to meet. Then, he understood. You were already there because you must have planned something special, which meant you were getting something ready. “Baby, I’m sorry-”

“Don’t be sorry. Just be here, ” you said, sighing tiredly.

“I’m already on the jet,” Luke sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “I called you now so I could catch you at home.”

You were quiet and Luke didn’t know what to say.

“Okay, ” you finally said, after a minute of silence, which startled Luke.

“I swear, as soon as I get home from this case, I’ll set aside some time and we can have a special night- just you and me,” Luke said. The defeat in your voice, paired with the easy acceptance made his skin crawl, and he should be thankful, but something felt off.

“Okay,” you said again. “Have a safe trip.” You hung up before Luke could say anything else.

...

Luke thought that walking in the park would be good for him- like closure of sorts. But he guessed wrong. All it did was make the manilla folder with the divorce papers inside feel heavier in his hands. As he sat on the familiar bench, the packet clutched tightly between his grasp, he couldn’t help the tears glistening in his eyes. He wanted to tear them to shreds, throw the remnants into the river, watch them wash away and disintegrate into nothingness- he wanted to do anything but sign them.

The worst part was that Luke couldn’t sit here and wonder where it all went wrong. He couldn’t claim his innocence and plead that he did nothing wrong. He knew what he did. He knew what he didn’t do. What he didn’t know was when you decided to give up.

...

“Luke, you said you’d make time for us-” you said, and you didn’t sound angry, just really, really tired.

Luke had learned that he couldn’t schedule a date ahead of time, because he could never predict when the team would have a case and he’d have to be whisked away to some other part of the country. So he decided that he would just ask you to go out spontaneously and try to do this at least a few times a month.

The thing is, when he gets home he’s drained. Physically and emotionally exhausted, and he couldn’t even think about going out.

“I know, I’m working on it,” Luke said, from where he had collapsed on the couch.

You had mumbled something under your breath that Luke didn’t quite catch.

“What was that?” Luke had asked.

“Nothing.” You sighed and sat by his side on the couch, leaning into him.

Luke frowned. “I can’t understand you when you mumble. How can I stop doing what bothers you if you don’t tell me?”

“Because I have told you, Luke. More times than I can even count. I’m married, but it feels like I don’t have a husband.” You snapped, leaning away from Luke’s side.

“Babe, you know I can’t just not go to work,” Luke frowned.

“Actually, you can. You could quit that job and maybe find one that doesn’t keep you there eighteen hours a day,” you said.

Luke was shocked. “This is my dream job-I can’t just quit it.”

“You can, you just don’t want to.”

“We’re not having this fight. I don’t want to fight about it again,” Luke said, and got up from the couch.

“You used to apologize when you were wrong,” you mumbled, crossing your arms tightly.

“Yeah. I would, if I was wrong.”

No one says anything for a while, and for a second, Luke can see that your anger and hardened features give way to a look of hurt. A tear slips down your face before you can wipe it away.

“Why did you stop trying?” You whisper, your voice trembling.

Luke hates himself for making you cry and tremble and hurt. He’s stunned and can’t come up with an answer soon enough.

His silence is enough of an answer for you, though. And with that, you went to the bedroom.

...

The wind blew the folder so hard it almost flew away. Luke tightened his fist to prevent the pages from flying everywhere. There was no comfort or closure for him at this park.

The folder with the divorce papers made sure of that.

...

Luke made his way back home. To the home you two shared- although it barely looked like you lived there anymore. Luke supposed you didn’t. You spent the nights at your sisters house, and he could only assume popping back in during the day, while he was at work. Each night he came home, more and more of your things were missing.

The pen was on the table, and Luke picked it up while he flipped the pages until he found where he was supposed to sign. You had already signed it, and Luke just stared at your signature for a while.

The point of the pen was poised over the line in which Luke should put his signature. His hand was trembling so much that he dropped it, exasperated.

You were right, he stopped trying. Every time you complained, Luke knew you were right, and knew that apologies wouldn’t change anything, so he stopped with the empty promises and instead started to keep quiet.

He chose a job over you, waited until it was too late- when you had already left him. And he accepted that he no longer had the right to ask you to stay.

But that was the thing, wasn’t it? He never really asked you what you wanted, never talked about how you two could find a balance together. You always tried to talk, but Luke would choke on his feelings and wait until he was under so much pressure, he couldn’t even think of what to say. Which only ever made things worse.

Maybe it wasn’t too late to tell you everything he’s realized since you’d left. But you didn’t want to see him right now- Luke doubted that you ever would.

Why did you stop trying?

Your words echo in Luuke’s head and he breathes deeply. You deserve someone who would fight for you, someone who realized your worth and your value. He picked up a clean sheet of paper and started to write.

‘Baby,

I know you don’t want to see me, but please, please- read this.

I’m not good at talking about how I feel, you know that better than anyone. That’s why I decided to write a letter. Because I do feel- even if I can’t talk about it. And you at least deserve to know that. I need to tell you some things, and you might think it’s too late, and maybe it is. But I want you to know- above all else, that I understand. I mean, I understand why you left, and I understand why you don’t want to see me. I hurt you. I know I hurt you- and you’re still hurting.

It has killed me to know that I disappointed you. To know I’m the reason behind your pain. And I am so sorry.

I have been so focused on not breaking the promise we made on our wedding day, that I forgot all the other promises I made to you. The ones I didn’t keep. And because of that, I lost not just my wife, but my best friend too.

There’s some things I should have said to you… The first one is that I don’t want to divorce you- I never wanted you to leave. I didn’t say anything before, because I thought I didn’t have the right to try to stop you from leaving. But me not speaking up made you think I didn’t care. And that’s another thing I didn’t say before, but I’m saying now: I do care. I care and I miss you so much it hurts.

Our home doesn’t have a meaning without you. It’s too big and too empty, and I see your ghost in every room. I can hear you humming in the kitchen when I close my eyes.

Maybe I’m too late, maybe your mind is made up- but I have to say it. I have to let you know I care.

I almost ripped the divorce papers up today, but I didn’t. They’re still here. I haven’t signed them. I will if you want me to. Just not until you read this letter. Because I’m telling you- I don’t want to sign them.

I love you. And I want to see you again, to talk about this face to face. I’ll be at our place tomorrow and I’ll take the divorce papers with me. If you go, we can talk about it. If you don’t go, I’ll sign them.

If, in the end, you don’t want to go, just know that I understand. I understand and I’m sorry and I’ll love you until the day I die.

This is me, trying.

Luke’

...

Luke was anxious. He couldn’t sleep, he couldn’t eat, and he went to the park early in the morning. He knew you wouldn’t arrive early, if you even arrived at all. But Luke didn’t want to just wait around at home.

He sat on your bench, under the tree, looking at the river flowing in front of him.

His phone’s alarm was set to buzz at noon, but it didn’t stop him from looking at the time nonstop. The minutes crawled and he started to sweat. When it buzzed, he jumped and looked at it, his heart pounding in his chest. He started looking around the park frantically, but there was no sign of you. Luke willed himself to calm down- to wait longer.

When fifteen minutes passed, he got up and started to pace. When half an hour passed, he sat again, feeling defeated. You were never late. Which meant you weren’t coming.

His eyes started to burn, but he swallowed hard. Luke sniffed and bowed his head, his sight falling at the damned folder.

With a deep sigh, he picked the folder up and flipped the pages until he found the signature place.

His hands were trembling, but he forced them steady as he pressed the pen to the page and began signing his name. Each line tore deeper and deeper into his heart.

“Luke?”

He heard the soft call from behind, making him jump and turn quickly.

You were standing in the grass, hands buried in your coat pockets as you shivered in the cold. Your cheeks were red and your eyes were puffy, evidence that you’d been crying too. But God, Luke thought you were still the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

“Hey,” he said, still in shock that you had showed up.

“Hi,” you answered.

After an awkward moment of silence, you shuffled your feet and nodded towards the paperwork in Luke’s hands. “Did you sign them?” you ask.

Luke nods, holding the folder up, offering for you to take it.

You sighed and walked closer to him, taking the papers before sitting down by Luke’s side.

“I didn’t think you were coming,” Luke explained. He watched as you stared towards the river.

A weak smile spreads across your face as you sigh. “Neither did I,” you admit.

“But you did,” Luke continues.

You nod, biting your lip. When you turn to him, there are unshed tears glistening in your eyes. “All I ever wanted was for you to try,” you tell him, your voice cracking.

And before Luke can respond, you’re grabbing hold of his face and kissing him firmly. Luke pulled you closer, deepening the kiss quickly, needing you closer, closer, closer. Luke felt you smile against his lips, and for the first time since you’d left, he feels like he can breathe again.

When you finally pull away, breathless, you just look at each other for a moment.

“I am so sorry,” Luke’s voice was soft, but serious. “I am so sorry I made you feel less important than work- because you’re not. It’s just a stupid job, I’ll quit tomorrow if it means I can get even one more minute with you.”

“I forgive you,” you whispered, watching as Luke’s eyes fell shut, like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. You gather his hand in yours and squeeze it gently.

“God, what is it about this place?” you say, lighter now.

Luke smiles and turns his body so that he’s facing the river. “Special place for a special girl.”

You looked up at him, a small smile on your lips before leaning into Luke’s side. You rest your head on his shoulder, letting him wrap an arm around your frame and pull you closer.

“Our place,” you state.

“Our perfect place,” Luke whispered, placing a soft kiss on the top of your head.

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pandajaye · 3 years

Text

steam [one shot]

Characters: Endeavor/Enji Todoroki, OC!Ivy Emaraki-Todoroki, Kid!Shoto Todoroki, Teen!Touya Todoroki

Pairing: Enji Todoroki x Wife!OC!Ivy Emaraki-Todoroki

Fandom: My Hero Academia/Boku No Hero Academia

Warnings: abuse, burning, crying, yelling, name calling, angry male, weak female, melancholy at first

Words: 3,230

Shatter. Everyone usually freezes when they hear that sound. It’s almost frightening. When glass breaks, that could mean that someone could get hurt. It could also mean that someone got or is getting hurt. This time it meant a little of both. Maybe it wasn’t even glass. Maybe it was someone’s heart.

It was raining outside. Most people hate the rain but Ivy liked it. It made her relax. The coolness it gave to the whole world. The water it could give to some little stray puppy or kitten on the street. The softness it gave the earth so that the grass and crops could grow. How generous. Generosity isn’t measured in just quantity necessarily, but also quality. It shows in different aspects. Especially in a person. Ivy loved Enji. Ivy loves Enji. He’s so generous when it comes to gifts and expensive things. It’s all very nice but.... it’s not what she wants from him. She wants him to be generous with his feelings. With his feelings about her. She wanted him to be generous about how he felt about everything. How did he feel about angels? About demons? He works so much. So hard. Even on this day off, he’s still working from home. He says he loves to work but Ivy just doesn’t believe him. She can’t. He needs to be generous to himself. He needs to give himself a break.

“I know you’re busy but I wanted to bring you some tea. I’m not gonna say anything else. I just....” Ivy trailed off. She wasn’t going to say anything else because she knew it’d make him frustrated but she had to say it. “Make sure to take a break, Enji. You need it. You deserve it.” She watched his back for a second as he continued to type. When the clacking of keys stopped, she braced herself for the icy stare she’d get in return for waiting for him to respond. How did Mr. Hellfire even give such a cold stare? One of his most powerful moves is Prominence Burn and yet.... he could still send chills down her spine. In bad and good ways. If only it was the good chill this time.

“Thank you for the tea. Is there anything else?” He looked at her. She looked so scared of him. Maybe that’s good. Maybe that’s what he wants right now. For her to be frightened. Intimidated. Maybe then she’ll leave him alone. To avoid his gaze, she looked down at the floor. Her hands folded and her head down. “I-I was just saying that.. I think you should.. take.... a break-” BOOM. His fist slammed down on his desk. The tea in front of him jumped and became animated with large ripples before calming down. “Dammit, woman. Why can’t you get it through your head? I’m the number one Hero! I can’t simply stop working just because you want some fucking attention.”

This was the only thunder Ivy hated. The way his voice mimicked it. Loud and powerful and scary. It filled her with fear but what he said mad her mad. “I didn’t fucking say do it for me, did I?” A tear quickly dropped to the floor. This was a new reaction. And he didn’t like it one bit. “Excuse me?” He turned in his office chair to face her completely. She must be crazy to speak to him that way. “I said.... I didn’t fucking say do it for me. You work so much. Don’t you think you deserve it?” Enji just glared in silence. He didn’t have time to listen to this. He didn’t care. The world’s going to shit and it’s on his shoulders to protect his country and be the new symbol after All Might.

Through his silence, even if he was still gonna be stubborn, Ivy continued. “And if not for yourself then for your kids. Do you know how they’re doing mentally? Emotionally? You need to take time out of being a hero and be a father.” The flame of his beard started to grow. He was starting to get mad so he turned back to his work and continued to try to ignore her. She understood what he was doing and stayed persistent. She needed to get him to understand what she was doing, what she was trying to help him realize.

“When was the last time you actually sat down and talked with your children? When’s the last time you asked about their new interests or any goals they have or things they might be struggling with?” Enji shrugged. “I know those things about Shoto. I learn about them during training. He’s interested in increasing his aiming accuracy. That’s his goal. That’s what he’s struggling with.” Was he serious? That unhealthy obsession with training a six almost seven year old that still enjoys bedtime stories and being tucked in at night. “No! Not training, Enji! Outside of that. I’m talking about literally anything besides that.” Exactly. Unhealthy. Obsession.

“And what about Touya? He’s your son, too. You can’t just throw him and his feelings away!” “THEN MAYBE HE SHOULD BE BETTER SO THAT I DON’T HAVE TO WASTE TIME ON A FUTURE THAT’S GOING NOWHERE IN THIS WORLD!!” He had snapped and slammed his fists on the table again. How could someone speak that way about their child? It honestly shocked and hurt her to hear it. “....Wow. You may be the new number one but you’re not a god damn symbol, you’re a fucking dumpster fire.” This isn’t good. She needs to stop, she’s only making it worse. “You don’t deserve the title....” Don’t say it. Don’t dare say it. “Toshi does.” She said it. That was a very bad call on her part. “Maybe you shouldn’t continue to speak.” He turned back to her, his entire face a blaze. She looked angry too but it couldn’t compare. “You could never surpass someone with an actual heart. Your promotion by default was no accident. It’s what you deserve because you could never earn it. Hell, you didn’t even earn your wife. YOU HAD TO DAMN BUY HER! AND WHY?! CAUSE YOU WANTED TO BREED WITH HER FOR HER DAMN QUIRK!” He stood, his fists were now on fire. “I told you to stop. Talking.” “Or what? You’re gonna killed me like you killed Rei? Is that what you’re gonna do? Oh ple-” FWOOSH

As soon as those last words fell from her lips, there was a flash of red and orange and yellow. She ducked and turned to see a burn spot on the wall behind her. He had hurled a fireball at her and she barely got out of the way in time. “What.... THE HELL?!” She turned back to see Enji approaching her, another fireball ready to go. “ENJI STOP!” But he didn’t. Instead he threw another one as she rushed out of the way and stumbled into the living room. “STAY THE HELL AWAY FROM ME UNTIL YOU LEARN HOW TO CALM YOUR ASS DOWN!!” Just as Ivy got back onto her feet and took two steps, he tackled her. She shut her eyes and shook her head, she didn’t even wanna look up at him, she was terrified. Her wrists were pinned on either side of her while he straddled her waist. “IT’S YOUR OWN FAULT, YOU QUIRKLESS BITCH! YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND THE PRESSURE ON MY SHOULDERS AND YOU WANNA BE DISRESPECTFUL TOWARDS ME?! WHAT A DISGRACEFUL TRAMP!”

There were tears in her eyes as she struggled. She tried to lift up but he slammed her back down hard. “GET OFF OF ME!! I DON’T WANNA BE HERE!! PLEASE?! YOU’RE HURTING ME!” Her cries didn’t phase him. He didn’t care. Maybe if she had better control of her mouth she wouldn’t be in this position. That’s how he was feeling about the situation. “WHERE THE HELL ELSE WOULD YOU GO?! BACK TO THE STREETS?!”Quickly, Ivy managed to wiggle from underneath him and tried to crawl away but he grabbed the hem of her shorts and pulled her right back down. Her eyes were wide with fear at how much force he used. Or maybe she was just weak? Either way, it frightened her. And his hurtful words only continued to make her feel worse. “YOU’VE GOT NOTHING!! NO ONE IN YOU CORNER BUT ME! YOU THINK ANYONE ELSE COULD LOVE SUCH AN INGRATE LIKE YOU?! YOUR OWN FAMILY DIDN’T WANT YOU, WHAT MAKES YOU THINK ANYONE ELSE WOULD?!” A try at escaping was met with him slamming her back down, pinning one of her arms on her back. She winced at the pain as tears flowed down her face. “YOU BELONG HERE AND YOU BELONG TO ME!!” He took a quick glance at the back of her bare thigh and got a terrible idea. “And I’ll make sure you never forget it....”

Ivy quit struggling and a look of terror washed over her face as well as a wave of terror down her spine. What was he thinking? Suddenly, a searing white pain caused her to cry out. Enji had heated his hand and pressed it into her flesh, branding her with the mark of his hand. “AHHHHHHHHHHHH!! ENJI, STOP IT!!!! LET ME GO!! AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!! YOU’RE HURTING ME, PLEASE, STOP!!!!” Her free hand clawed and pounded the floor beneath them as she yelped and screamed. The pain almost made her nauseous. It was horrible.

When he finally did let up, she used her hands and one leg to crawl away. She struggled a bit before she could stand up on her own, still having to limp. “I DON’T WANNA BE IN A HOUSE WITH A FUCKING ABUSIVE MANIAC!!” Ivy limped out into the courtyard and stood in the rain. It was gonna be hell on high water combing her hair out later but she just needed to be outside right now. She tried to turn and look at the back of her thigh to see the damage but couldn’t manage so she felt the injury. It stung, especially with the rain flowing down her body. It was bad, deep. A scar that would never heal completely was it’s fate.

“GET BACK IN THIS HOUSE, NOW!!” Enji began stomping towards her, still furious. As soon as he stepped into the rain his flame’s began dying down, steam rising from his body. A good method for people when they got extremely angry was to put them under a cold shower and let it distract them from how emotional they were until they felt better. It was working for this angry ball of fire with a man in the center. Just like the steam, his anger left his body. He looked to the sky as it soaked him and made him forget about his current situation. When he looked back down and saw her, he was reminded. Her eyes were wide and energized with pain and upset and fear. Was he going to start again? Should she run? She kept her distance since she was unsure. When he took a step towards her, she backed up. “....shit.” He fucked up. She closed her eyes and looked up to the sky, letting the rain wash over her face.

“I-Ivy.... I’m so sor-” “You feel it, too?” He raised an eyebrow at her. “What?” She sighed, her head falling back as she continued to experience the weather. “The rain, how it feels on your skin.” Ivy looked down at the ground. “Even though it’s bad to get my hair was too often, I still like how the rain feels. It’s calm. And gentle. It can get rough but, right now, it’s okay.” Her gaze shifted up to him. “It didn’t hurt before. But now it stings when.... w-when it touches my leg....” There was a lump of guilt in Enji’s throat that he attempted to swallow away but it was stuck. He looked at the wet ground beneath him in shame for what he’d done to her. “But even though it burns me, Enji.... I still love it.” Now he was the one with a tear going down his face. Not for any pain caused to him, but caused by him. It was that same lump of guilt. It’s like it went into his bloodstream and flowed through his body. “Because water is a necessity. We need it. But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t still hurt and it doesn’t mean that I like the pain. I still stay because I need it.... even if it doesn’t need me.”

They stood there for a few more seconds before Ivy started to limp back inside. Enji reached to help her but she leaned away. He was nice enough to respect that she needed space between them right now. Since it rained and her hair was already wet, Ivy decided to make the rest of today her wash day. Within a few hours, her hair was clean, dry, and twisted so she’d have nice curls for the next day. Usually it took hours but tonight finished right around dinner time and headed to the kitchen to get started. When she entered, there was already a bowl of her favorite dish, King prawn yaki soba, waiting for her. There weren’t even dishes for her to clean. A small, weak smile appeared on her face. He was trying to apologize. Trying to make up for his mistake.

Ivy checked in on Enji. Still working. She decided to not make a big fuss this time and accepted that this was how he found his peace. After she finished dinner and washed her dish, it was time to turn in for the night. A few minutes after she had gotten into bed, Enji came. He was holding a roll of bandages and an ice pack. “If it’s okay with you.... I.... I’d like to tend to your injury. I’m sure you can do it on your own but I want to make sure it’s right so you can sleep well.” He waited to hear a no but got the opposite answer. “Sure.” He walked to her side of the bed and kneeled while she held her leg out for him. It hurt to move but the pain wasn’t too terrible. She just bit her lip to keep from wincing. Really he was quite gentle. He knew his partner had a bad tolerance for pain and really wanted to make sure that the process was painless as possible. When he finished, he kissed her leg and it made her giggle. “That was really sweet. Thanks, hun.” Enji looked up at her before nodding and getting up with a groan. He helped lift her put her leg back up before getting ready for bed himself.

When he did finally come to bed, he tried to be silent but being a giant he was bound to make some noise. But it was sweet that he made an attempt. Their usual set up was really close together but tonight he gave her some distance. When she felt that he wasn’t close to her like normal, she scooted back to be against him and reached backwards to pull his hand to her waist. She spoke quietly through the darkness. “Even though you burn me.... I still love you. I still need you.” That made him smile for a little bit. He still needed to fix what he did and if this would help her feel safe in his arms again then he’d do it. For her. He wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her closer. “I love you, too.”

****

The next day, Touya and Shoto came home. They had spent the weekend with their grandparents to have a break from training and to visit their other brother and sister that Rei’s parents had custody of after her and Enji’s incident. Unfortunately Ivy didn’t get to officially greet them since she had been taking a nap on the couch. She got up early to make snacks for their return and fell asleep waiting. “Mama Ivy? Are you awake?” Her eyes slowly opened and she saw red hair. She jumped and sat up quickly before she realized it was just Shoto. “Oh! Hi! Hi Shoto! Hi....” She yawned and stretched, finally noticing Touya, too. “Hi Touya! How was your guy’s weekend? Did you have fun?” Shoto smiled and bounced excitedly, speaking quickly. “It was sooo fun! We missed you though. Well I don’t know if Touya did but I know I did and I thought about you a lot because I missed you so much-” Ivy hugged him. Tight. “I missed you, too, Sho. Very much.”

There was something about it that seemed off and Touya noticed. He noticed the way she jumped when she first saw Shoto. The bandage on her leg. When he turned to look at Enji, he immediately looked away. He knew something was up. He took a seat next to Ivy and put an arm around her before she put an arm around him too to hug both of the boys. He could feel her trembling. There was a tear on her cheek when she pulled away. “Mom? Why are you crying? Are you okay?” Shoto wiped her face with a frown. “Yeah. I’m okay. Thank you so much.” She calmed herself and gave him a smile. Now it was Touya’s turn to ask questions. “What’s that on your leg? How did you get hurt?” She froze before answering, the smile left and returned like a boomerang. She looked from the wound to Touya. “Well, yesterday it was raining here and I really like the rain so I tried to run outside to play and I slipped on the wet grass and fell. I was so excited I got a little clumsy. Fortunately, your dad was able to help me and fixed me right up!”

Sweet little Shoto giggled and hugged her again. “It’s okay, Mama Ivy. It happens to me sometimes, too! Until you feel better, I’ll be the best helper ever! You can count on me!” He had a giant, innocent grin on his face. Such a good kid. Touya sighed. He didn’t know exactly what happened. But he knew his father was apart of the problem. If only he’d been here to help her. He knows how he gets. Maybe he could’ve stopped him. This wasn’t his place though so he stopped thinking about it for now. He just wanted to sit here, at home, and listen to his baby brother not shut up about their visit to their grandparent’s house.

Enji retreated back to his office to work. But as soon as he turned on the computer he turned it off again. He hadn’t seen his boys in two days. The words ‘You need to take time out of being a hero and be a father’ echoed in his mind. He left his office and went back to the living room and took a seat next to Ivy. “Sorry I had to check something. Tell me about your weekend, I wanna hear, too.” Ivy looked at him. He smiled while he listened to Shoto repeat what he had just told her. This is what she wanted for him. This is what he needed. All it took was taking a break to let off some steam.

#bnha au #endeavor #enji todoroki #bnha #mha #enji x black!reader #enji x reader #endeavor x black!reader #endeavor x reader #enji #touya #dabi #shoto

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ahsokasanity · 3 years

Text

Chapter Eight

A Court of Shadow and Ribbons Missed any Chapters? Go to the pinned post

Notes:

– With credit to song words (only slightly messed with) Melissa Etheridge “Do It Again”

Nessian mating ceremony.

Idisi comes from Nordic mythology around the Valkyries – ours didn’t want to be a replica of the original female warriors, but something new and their own.

Apologies if you’re fitting this in during lunch break (@TrashForAzriel !) It’s a bit longer than normal

Nesta was not nervous on the day. She was already so entwined emotionally with Cassian that it actually seemed a natural progression to confess it in front of a few important friends and family. Some of the training group would be at the service, some could not make the step from the House of Wind to Velaris proper. They had tentatively begun to call themselves Idisi – the name itself made them more a part of the Valkyrie mythology, Nesta grinned to herself as she remembered Gwyn coming to them with the idea “Well, we can’t just keep calling ourselves the training group or Cassian’s defenders.” Although Nesta quite liked the second.

Nesta had stayed at The River House overnight and Cassian, Azriel and Rhys were to fly as many from the library as they could. Mor was going to Windhaven to collect Emerie who would stay the night in Velaris. All of them might end up out on the town. Nesta was wishing for, and dreading that night as the first she would take as Cassian’s mate and the first time she would return to the nightclubs and drinking bars that she had frequented before her recovery. With Cassian by her side, she knew it would be a fun night. The House of Wind had been entitled to them and tonight she would host her friends. The House had promised to care for them all if Nesta was occupied once they got home.

Gwyn had agreed to sing but she was nervous about leaving the library. The last time she did was to support Nesta and they had ended up abducted. She knew the circumstances were entirely different and the River House was so very safe, but it did not stop the butterflies swarming in her gut or the slight vibrato when she did try to speak at breakfast. She’d put on her best prayers robe. It was a pale blue and pleated around the neck to be fastened at the waist with a gold thin rope. He feet were shod in thick leather slippers that would protect her while travelling and walking in the garden.

There were just five of them to attend from the priestesses and being that Azriel and Rhys could winnow, they took Margot, Lorelei, Deirdre and Roslin. Cassian was grinning at Gwyn. “I think that the first Idisi to cut the ribbon with her sword should have no problem getting a ride to MY mating ceremony with her best friend’s mate?”

Gwyn laughed a nervous laugh and pursed her lips. “No, you wouldn’t think so would you” She stepped toward him and stood at his side, offering her arm for him to take. Cassian wrapped one arm around her waist and took her forearm with his other hand. “I’ll hold you and I promise I will not let you fall”

She nodded but closed her eyes. The hand around her hip was firm not punishing and his other hand was gentle on her arm. She told herself over and over. It’s OK, this is Cassian, it’s OK”

“No harm will come to you” Cassian had sensed her thoughts and she tried to look up at him, to give permission for this flight. He grinned down at her

“Don’t have too much fun will you” and launched off the training area into the bright summer sky. Gwyn screeched, not in a scared way she surprised herself, but with exhilaration. Cassian merely flapped harder to get into the slip stream heading up the face of the cliff from the city. As they got into that rising warm air he extended his wings to their widest (Gwyn remembered something that Nesta had told her that night in the library of the House of Wind, about Illyrians wing spans), but she shut down that thought as they began spiralling down, down, so smooth, so free.

The feeling was immense. She had shut herself out of this world for years now and could suddenly see what she might be missing. Yes, High Fae, Illyrians and half breeds like her, could all be cruel to each other. There was also this, flying (she was flying for the Mother’s sake) and heading to a celebration of love of togetherness and she loved her friends. She felt wonderful and alive and impatient to enjoy more.

The garden and lawn of the River House (it should be called the River Palace she thought), looked picture perfect today. Elain had worked hard on getting the flowers to bloom, in the right colour order to suit where Nesta would stand. Rhys had spared no expense in the set up of a pavilion and chairs, with a spread of food for all, once Cassian and Nesta had officially Mated.

Cassian could sense her excitement and a change in her scent from flat out petrified to wonder and a happy nervousness. One more thing that he could do to make her comfortable was to set her down where Mor and Emerie were talking at the outskirts of the party.

“Thank you Cassian” Gwyn stood on her tip toes to peck him on the cheek. “I did not know that it would be like that, so free. I can’t really explain it”

Cassian merely shrugged and replied “You don’t have to. I am glad that you are here, and that Nesta doesn’t have to attempt murder because I scared her friend!” He winked and headed off to Rhys and Azriel who were clucking over baby Nyx.

“Gwynie, oh wow, you are so lucky. How was the flight? It looked so glorious today and you took the slow way down. Oh, I am so jealous” Emerie was at her side and Mor a step behind.

“It’s nice to see you Gwyn” Mor intoned. There was more to that statement than your average greeting. It’s nice to see Gwyn in Velaris, it’s nice to see Gwyn outside the protection of the library. The first time that Mor had met Gwyn, she had just been repeatedly raped and her world was imploding. Mor here, in the sun on this grassy expanse of the river flat was a beautiful sight. Her words were a balm and Gwyn just nodded.

“It is so nice to see you again” she replied, again meaning a lot more than pure greeting.

Emerie took Gwyn’s arm but steered her close to Mor as they seemed to be in the middle of something “Just stay here until you have to sing will you Gwyn?” her friend insisted “I’ll get you a drink and we can applaud from here!”

Mor laughed at that and the two of them returned to talk of fabrics and colours and what Emerie sold in her shop and what Mor wanted to show her from Vallahan that was “like a second skin that shows every curve and highlights every asset” Whatever that meant. Emerie was immersed in the conversation and brought Gwyn in on it every now and then to suggest a colour for her or to ask her opinion. Gwyn was happily edging the topics as she was having more fun watching the others, Cassian being teased by his “brothers”, Feyre taking Nyx away from them before Rhys threw the boy high enough he’d have to learn to fly to get back, and Elain talking with some others whom Gwyn did not recognise. An auburn haired Fae with a mechanical eye. One of the sons of the Autumn Court by the looks. She remembered that Nesta did not like him much but that Feyre and he were on good terms. Elain seemed very quiet. Gwyn understood her shyness.

Emerie whispered to Gwyn “The red headed male is Lucien, Elain’s mate” she just nodded her head and looked their way. There was no explanation necessary, the relationship apparent. That mating was not the happy affair that Nesta and Cassian were celebrating. Elain looked a little more alive when Azriel joined their group, but Az stayed by Lucien’s side and spoke politely to all before moving to seat people around the central point of the yard, an altar and a table.

Gwyn was not at all present, she realised. The small tension of singing while Cassian and Nesta would be preparing and eating food together had been overtaken by the large stressor of being surrounded by people that she did not know. She found a place backing on to a heavily thorned rose bush bursting with red flowers. She felt better having her back protected. Little tremors shot up her spine and across her skin every few minutes and she held one hand in the other so that she could hold herself still. Deep breathing was the only thought that she had, her singing voice would not appreciate having no wind. Emerie touched her arm every now and then, but she was engrossed in the service and in leaning in to Mor’s side to whisper comments.

Gwyn found Emerie leading her toward the centre of the gathering and realised that she had better be ready to perform. A few strong breaths down into her stomach and she found her place, Nesta smiled through some tears as she moved aside to the table with food, Cassian so pleased, the look on his face many of them had never seen before.

Gwyn tried to look over the small crowd, but her gaze snagged on the darkness in one corner. Azriel. He gave her an encouraging nod and she was able to start

The song had originally been a nightclub hit, Nesta had played it for her on the Synphonia. Gwyn had tweaked it a little bit to be more soulful. More like a prayer.

Walked your fire I got a little bit burnt

Hold on tight cause I, I never did learn

You were the one they tried to warn me about

I jumped into your ocean knowing I could never get out

Oh darling it hurts, hurts to be in love

Oh darling it hurts but I do it just because

I walk straight through your mountain

Crawl right under your sea

And if you do not know it by now

You're the only one who does this to me

But I’d do it again

Yes I'd do it again

Even when I'm tired and my feelings are hurt

Never lost desire only made things worse

I hope I'm holding out for something good

Cause we're that combination yeah we're the kind that could

Oh darling it hurts, hurts to be in love

Oh darling it hurts but I do it just because

I walk straight through your mountain

Crawl right under your sea

And if you don't know, know it by now

You're the only one who does this to me

But I'd do it again

She looked up to see Cassian kissing Nesta passionately and smiled to herself. Only to become more self aware as people started to approach her with congratulations and it was hell.

Emerie was making her way to help, with Mor at her side, but Azriel and his shadows dispersed the few gushing admirers with excuses and subtle manoeuvring to suddenly be next to her. He lightly took her arm and guided her into the house and to the summer parlour by the kitchen. He sat her down on the nearest armchair and stepped back toward the door. “Wait Azriel, please” She was surprised to hear her own voice in such a clear request.

Azriel simply turned and stopped. He did not want to be closer to this woman than he already was. She was so beautiful and her singing always seemed to open a door to his emotions. He could not hear her without remembering old forgotten feelings of being held by his mother, of being full, not the furtive being that he had become. It was undoing his resolve, his very footing on the earth.

Gwyn composed herself and looked straight at Az. “Thank you for helping me out of that situation. I didn’t want to be with so many people, but I don’t want to be alone either.”

It took three steps for Azriel to be seated next to her and looking around the room, not at her. He looked at her all of the time. He couldn’t do it now. His chest was thundering. Do not ruin this Az, he thought savagely. This woman has been through hell. Do not overstep

“I have to tell you something Gwyn” he knew once he started he would have to finish this. “I have noticed you wearing a chain at training…”

“Oh well, it’s OK if I shouldn’t wear it, it’s nothing much”

Az swallowed his next words and re-thought where he was going with this. “Really, it’s nothing much?”

Gwyn blushed a little. “Well, I do really like it but it was an anonymous gift and I probably will never know who gave it to me, it shouldn’t be important to me”

Azriel decided then to struggle on. This could not stand. “It was me”

The room was silent. Gwyn’s face went through about fifteen expressions while he watched and waited. She looked sad then like she would yell at him, then pensive, finally she looked at him and spoke. “Why?”

“You are not going to like this, but I am going to tell you the absolute truth. That is all I can promise you” Azriel got out of the chair and started to walk this way and that about the room.

“I bought the jewel and the chain for Elain before Winter Solstice, I know that sounds bad, but please listen” Gwyn was discomforted but not scared. Azriel having feelings for her would be more scary.

“Rhys made me understand that any relationship outside of her being a sister to me was off the table. So Elain and I talked and she is my sister now. She will be making changes and I will support her decisions, but we will not be together”

Gwyn was struck dumb as to how she would feature in this story. How she became a part of this story.

Azriel could tell he was losing her. “After that night when you were training in the dark” She did smile at that “I wanted to give you something that was just appreciative of you”

“Do you think that Elain will see this and be upset?” Gwyn took the rose out of her top and it caught the sun. Azriel held himself together at the sight of Gwyn seated before him, rose between the thumb and forefinger and an absolute innocent look on her face.

“I, well, I hadn’t thought of that” he shifted to the far wall of the room and looked out over the gathering and smiled at his brother being fed bread by Nesta and laughing with less worry than he had even seen. He didn’t notice Gwyn had got up from her chair and approached him. When he turned back to her she was under his nose and he stepped back hurriedly

She had never felt threatened by Azriel, never nervous in his presence, but his closeness, his casual demeanour. He was not her trainer today. She held out the chain with the rose dangling and handed it to him.

“I think that it was a lovely gesture Azriel”, she liked the sound of his name and wanted to say it more, to moan it. “But, I think that you should take it back. Keep it until you can tell Elain that you found someone that you really want to see wearing it forever.” Azriel held out his hand and accepted the chain, quickly pocketing it with shame written across his downturned face at her words.

“Thank you, for thinking of Elain Gwyn. Five hundred years is not enough time apparently to turn me into a thoughtful male”

Gwyn could not bear the tone of his voice or the hunch of his shoulders. This was not Azriel on the back foot, this was him retreating. She knew the feeling. The self-loathing, the depression. It was not something that she wanted for him.

“Don’t say that. Don’t think that you are not every bit as noble as the best males in Velaris. You are thoughtful and you are kind. Think of all of our friends, our Idisi who are starting to feel, whole again.” She touched his cheek with a shaking hand “Think of me Azriel. I would be dead, and without the training I would be close enough to dead that there is little difference”

His eyes found hers but she stepped back away from him, hand still in the air between them.

“Azriel, would you walk with me in the garden?” She raised her elbow for him to take it, prayed that he would take it. He hesitated only a moment before sliding his arm through hers and they left the parlour then the house.

The party was getting properly started now, Cassian and Nesta had left, but that was no big deal, they would resurface later in the evening and it was the guest’s responsibility to eat, drink and enjoy themselves. It was being accomplished. Mor and Emerie were talking, heads close together by the edge of the crowd. Gwyn saw Elain speaking with Lucien in the company of Feyre and Nyx. That baby certainly garnered attention. Some of the priestess’ saw Gwyn with Azriel and waved them over.

They spoke for a little while, but the overall impression was that they were generally ready to leave. Lorelei and Deirdre had enjoyed perhaps a smidge too much strawberry wine and were giggly enough for the others to worry about their choices over the next few hours. The others had felt pleased and proud to be at the ceremony, but the ongoing music, drinking and laughing was not what they wanted for their first trip out from the library in an age. Azriel went to speak to Rhys, leaving Gwyn with the others with a smile and a nod that he would arrange transport for them.

Emerie found them and spoke to Gwyn “I think I’m going to stay here”, she nodded to Mor. “She has invited me to go out to Velaris to a night Club! I think I’m going to like it. Mor said she’d take me to the House of Wind to the guest suite whenever I wanted to leave.” Emerie’s cheek flushed as she said “I can’t believe she’s here talking to me,…. I really like her” the last quietly and aimed only for Gwyn

“That’s great Em, you seem comfortable today, you look; yourself” Gwyn had noticed the calm stance and the open face while Emerie talked with Mor. She was really at home here.

“I feel amazing Gwynie, not like anything I’ve ever felt before. Free and happy and maybe,…excited” She hugged Gwyn. “Do you want me to ask Mor to winnow you home?, you look tired. Oh, where’s your chain?”

Gwyn looked slightly unsettled “Can I tell you about that later? , it’s alright though” She smiled to show Emerie that she was really fine with the loss and added “Would it be silly of me to ask, could I suggest that Mor help with Deirdre and Lorelei and the others? I’d like to speak to Azriel”

Emerie noted the confidence in Gwyn’s request and the lift of her head. She was sure about this.

“OK, sure. I’ll see what I can do” Emerie squeezed Gwyn’s hand then turned to Mor who was speaking with Lucien now.

Gwyn focused on the rose bushes and wandered around the edge of the revellers. She wasn’t sure what she wanted to talk to Azriel about, but she couldn’t leave him tonight without another word. She wanted to make sure that he was good. That he knew she was a friend. She was happy with her decision to give up the necklace. Even though the thought that it had been from Azriel was thrilling and scary all at once. She had now made a plan that he would find in the future, a need to gift it back to her with emotions attached. She didn’t know why that thought had occurred to her. It was something she could not have imagined before today.

Azriel approached her as if summoned. He was looking down and around, anywhere but her face, so she lifted her hand for him to take and stared him down. “I wanted to ask you, if you wouldn’t mind, could you please fly me home?

Azriel’s shock at the request was covered quickly. What he did know was that Gwyn was asking for physical contact with him. Winnowing only required the slightest touch. A hand or an arm. Flying on the other hand would be body contact on a larger scale. This was her choice. He nodded his head, lost for useful words. He didn’t want to sound like a clumsy novice male. He merely stretched an arm out for her to step into his side.

Gwyn turned to Emerie and Mor who were organising the other Idisi and gave them a smile. Emerie grinned in return and Azriel wrapped her in an embrace that was solid and calming yet her blood pounded and her eyes blinked. She couldn’t remember feeling so safe.

His wings spread and flapped and Azriel bent his knees and sprung into the breeze of the evening. Gwyn found herself tightening her grip around his neck and bringing her face closer to his

“You’re safe” is all he said

Gwyn simply replied “I know”

The trip down with Cassian had been exhilarating and freeing, the flying back required going across Velaris, coming to life with street lights and coloured flashes from the restaurants and dance rooms opening for the night. Gwyn got the feeling that she was missing a lot so she turned her head and took in the marvel of the city, the lights and the sun setting across the ocean. “Oh my goodness, Azriel, it is so beautiful” Azriel smiled and nodded, but he too looked properly at that view re-appreciating what he always knew was there. Trying to see it as Gwyn saw it for the first time brought a wonder to his heart that he had forgotten.

Gwyn looked at his face, and he caught her eyes. It was a charged moment. Azriel composed himself first and looked out to the sea and the river. With his free hand he began to point out landmarks and favourite haunts. From the Rainbow where Feyre went to paint and to teach, to the townhouse in the residential area and of course the sparkling flashing lights of Rita’s – their most frequented nightclub. “I guess I’ll be finding Mor and Emerie and probably the others there later” he smiled to think of what he knew of Mor now and the simmering looks that she and Emerie had been sharing during the ceremony. Only happiness filled him at the thought.

Gwyn was getting comfortable and moved a little in his arms. She squealed as she felt herself slip, but Azriel simply held her tighter and put his other arm under her legs, carrying her through the air like a princess. She surrendered, just for now she told herself, to the warmth and the stillness here in his chest.

Azriel relaxed into the embrace and flew steadily ignoring the thundering of his heart and the closeness of her lithe warrior’s body. The distance was covered all too soon and he stepped onto the roof of the house, jogging a few steps toward the double doors before coming to a halt. He placed her on the ground feet first, before facing her with his arm still around her middle. Gwyn stepped away first and walked backwards toward the entrance. She smiled at him

“Thank you Azriel” She looked down as if remembering where that jewel had rested until this afternoon. “I did really love that chain” She winked, as she had to him once before. This was not a student teacher interaction, this was a suggestion, a question to his searching. He took a step toward her and she held up a hand

“See you at training” and she turned, with every fibre of her being she kept walking toward the library. Willing him to watch her, to make a plan for the future to stop her from walking away. But not today. She was tired, she was wrung out and she did not trust herself to spend any more time with this male. He had opened too many doors within her to be careful of her wellbeing. She needed more time.

Azriel was old. He had bedded women across continents and had held a candle for Mor since he could remember wanting. Gwyn had him questioning any reaction that came to mind. Instead of those he just whispered “You will” He meant more than training tomorrow. He fully intended to show her what a thoughtful, evolved Illyrian male could evoke in a woman. She would not have a straw of fear left for him by the time she came to him ready to accept the necklace as truly hers.

#acotar #Gwynriel #Nessian #acosf #mating ceremony #Elriel #flying #Angsty #No Smut yet

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voiceless-terror · 4 years

Note

Hi ily and I love bothering people with prompts, so I'm requesting "a character who’s so exhausted his hands are trembling, his eyes are dull/unfocused, he’s starting to hallucinate… and his team needs him to stay awake" with Jon and literally anyone at any time (except s5 because it's too emotionally taxing for me to keep up with oop-)

Hello there, Shannon! Here you go! This takes place in Season Two, when all is not great with the Archives team. Hope you like! <3

“And you’re sure this requires all four of us?”

“Yes, Jon,” Elias sighed, his annoyance clear even through the phone. “Believe it or not, I am trying to help you. You’ve managed to alienate almost all of your staff, so perhaps this will do you some good. You seem to enjoy ‘following-up’ these days, unlike in your first months in the position.”

That stung a bit.

It wasn’t his fault someone had died in the Archives, and that someone happened to be his predecessor. It was a natural reaction to feel some paranoia, though he will admit he might have gone a little...overboard, in some of his investigations. Tim certainly thought so. Sasha was her usual cool, aloof self avoiding him as much as possible. Martin was the only one that treated him the same, probably better than he deserved after accusing the man of being a possible murderer. He dragged him out to lunches and hovered in the evenings when Jon stayed late. He was the one who accompanied him to the clinic after his incident with Michael. Jon couldn’t help the ache that went through his chest when he saw Martin still in the lobby, waiting to take him home and fussing over his bandages.

Walking him to his door.

And now Elias, of all people, was deciding to be more ‘hands-on’ after the intervention. The intervention where even Martin held him at arm's length, though he was still the friendliest face in the room. If this meant keeping his job, he would do it.

Though he wasn’t so sure he even liked his job anymore. But Jon kept pushing forward. He needed answers.

Telling his assistants was another story.

He stood in front of them, knowing he looked a mess. He’d seen himself in the mirror this morning after another failed attempt at rest. His hair was a mess, the dark circles under his eyes were turning a lurid purple. He looked waxy and gaunt and nothing he could do now would fix it. So he kept drinking his tepid black coffee and cheap energy drinks; frankly, they were the only thing keeping him going.

Nevertheless, he didn’t exactly inspire confidence.

“Seriously, Jon?” Tim wasn’t fond of using ‘boss’ anymore, not unless he was feeling particularly vicious. “It would be fine with two of us. Me and Martin can go and take shifts. You look like the living dead.”

“Tim,” Martin admonished, shooting him a look. “He’s right, though. You don’t look well, and I don’t think an all-night stake out is what you need right now. I mean, why are we even following up on this? It’s just some ‘vampire’ sighting that’s not going to pan out. Don’t we have more important things to be focusing on?”

“Elias insisted,” Jon tried for apologetic but must have missed the mark, judging by Tim’s narrowing eyes. “I’m- I wouldn’t make you do this, but I’m afraid-”

“Why does Elias even care about this?” Tim interrupted, slamming his drawer shut dramatically. The sound made Jon flinch- that wasn’t hard to do these days. “Did you even try to get out of it?”

“Of course I did,” Jon bristled. “I know- I know the last thing anyone wants to do is spend time with me. This wasn’t my idea-”

“That’s a bit hard to believe, Jon,” Sasha’s voice was mocking, though it remained light and easy. Sasha was always ready with a barb or a joke, mostly at Jon’s expense. “I’d think you’d enjoy this sort of thing- stalking, investigating. Or is that just with your co-workers?”

Tim snickered. Even Martin had a bit of a smile on his face, though he tried to hide it. Jon felt his face flush red.

“That’s not,” Jon began a defense but quickly backtracked, knowing it would be futile. “Elias wanted us to go tomorrow night. It’s about thirty minutes away, so if you don’t mind driving, Tim-”

“Anything for you, boss,” Tim muttered. “If you could try sleeping before then, that would be great. I filled my quota on catching you collapsing on the job.” The words were unnecessarily sharp and hurt Jon more than he cared to admit. He remembered a time when Tim was always around to lend him a hand, conscientious and kind. But he’d gone and ruined that now, hadn't he?

“I’ll be fine,” Jon straightened his back, refusing to meet anyone’s eyes. Tim snorted and turned back to his desk, Sasha did the same. Martin just stood there, giving Jon an appraising eye. It made him feel like he failed an exam or came up short on an examination.

This should be fun.

_______

Sleep eluded him for all but an hour that night. The face that greeted him in the morning looked even more horrific than the day before; Tim wasn’t far off in his assessment. He said as much as Jon entered the office.

“Christ, this is going to be fun,” Tim rolled his eyes and leaned back in his chair as Jon hunched in on himself, defensively clutching his extra-large coffee.

“I did sleep,” he bit out, avoiding the man’s eyes. It was true.

“Sure. Just try taking a fucking nap this afternoon, okay?” The words sounded almost concerned, but Jon knew better. “I’m not listening to you snore in the backseat all night.”

“I’ll try,” Jon grumbled as he exited the room. A sudden sting hit his hand and he hissed; coffee had spilled from the lid of his to-go cup and was now running a scalding stream down his arm. His hand was shaking, a steady and insistent tremor that refused to calm despite his best efforts.

I’ll sleep this afternoon, he promised himself. Something’s gotta give eventually, right?

_______

Jon was wrong. Just my luck.

After two fruitless hours of tossing and turning, he finally gave up, leaving the office to grab a couple of energy drinks that he could hide in his bag. And now he was loaded in the backseat of Tim’s car, his heartbeat erratic and his chest tight. Martin had provided them all with coffee, though he handed Jon his with some reluctance.

“Are you sure you’re okay-”

“For the last time, yes, Martin!” The words came out harsher than he intended and Martin flinched back, avoiding Jon’s eyes as he got into the passenger seat beside Tim. “Don’t yell, Jon,” Tim commanded as he started the car. “God, you always were a right bastard when you’re sleep-deprived.”

“M’ sorry, Martin,” he mumbled to the ground. It was easier to focus on something stationary- whenever he looked out the window, his vision blurred and nausea churned in his stomach. And that’s why you don’t have energy drinks on an empty stomach. Stupid, stupid.

“It’s fine, Jon.” It didn’t feel fine.

By the time they arrived at the park where the supposed sightings took place, it was already dark. Tim had the radio playing softly in the background as he and Martin murmured in the front seats, a low sound Jon couldn’t hear. He wondered if they were talking about him.

Not everything’s about you. He shivered in his seat, drawing his coat tighter around his body. Sasha shot him a glance; she always had the hint of a smile on her lips, cold and calculating. As if Jon’s situation was amusing to her. Maybe it is.

He wished Martin was back here with him. Martin was warm, solid, and steady; Jon craved that, embarrassing as it was. But Martin likely didn’t want to be around him; unsurprising, with how Jon’s behaved.

The steady drone of sound was pleasant, a nice background hum that relaxed him incrementally. The occasional heart palpitations were starting to slow, and Jon felt himself relaxing for the first time in days. It was a sweet, blissful relief- surely a small nap wouldn’t be terrible, just enough to keep him going through the night-

A sharp jab in his side jolted him awake. He shot up with a yelp to find Sasha smirking, her face unreadable. “Don’t sleep on the job, boss.”

“Sorry, sorry,” he whispered, rubbing at his eyes and wishing for just a short reprieve. But the blurriness was worse now and his heart was back to its erratic rhythm- Sasha’s rude awakening had done its job.

“Maybe try looking out the window,” Tim suggested sarcastically. “We are here to do a job, you know. Not so you can zone out and sleep.”

“R-Right.” Jon didn’t mention that nobody else seemed to be doing the same. Still, he focused on the dim light emanating from the one streetlamp in the park. It was just an empty field at the edge of the woods. It would be hard to miss anything.

This went on for an hour, Sasha continually nudging him awake whenever he started to drift off. She was probably doing him a favor- who knows what horrors lurked in his nightmares, and the last thing he needed was to wake up screaming like a lunatic. He imagined word getting round to Elias that he was falling apart, even more unstable than previously thought.

And then something moved out of the corner of his eye- a small, dark shadow was standing in the middle of the park, barely visible by the light of the streetlamp. Jon let out a choked gasp as he leaned forward, hitting the back of Tim’s seat.

“L-Look!” he whispered urgently, pointing ahead. “Someone- someone’s there?”

“Where, Jon?” Sasha’s voice beside him was amused, playful. “I don’t see a thing.”

“Right there!” He insisted, and as if on cue the figure began moving forward, edging closer to the light. “It’s moving!”

“Jon,” Tim started, looking back at him with an inquisitive gaze. His voice was slow and measured. “What are you talking about? There’s nothing there.”

“There is!” He was aware he was begging now, a pathetic plea to just look, it’s right there, can’t you see?

Martin reached a hand to his shoulder, all concern and worry. “Jon, I promise you there’s-”

And that’s when the figure revealed itself, standing clear under the light. It was a woman, tall and sad. Her long hair was pulled back from her face with a headband, and she had round glasses and looked so, so familiar-

Sasha, his mind supplied. That’s not right. Sasha’s right beside him.

Sasha. It was insistent this time. Jon put a shaking hand to the door handle and wrenched it open, practically falling out of the car as the others protested behind him. But he paid them no mind and stumbled forward on weak legs. There were footsteps behind him but it didn’t matter because Sasha’s there Sasha’s there-

And then she was gone.

The park was silent and still, almost serene. And Jon stood under the lamp, his chest heaving and his heart racing until he collapsed in the soft, dewy grass. Sasha was in the car. Sasha wasn’t here. But it doesn’t make sense. He gagged, hands and knees digging into the earth as nothing came up but a small amount of bile and coffee. A hand went to his shoulder but he wrenched it off, a frustrated moan bubbling out of his throat as his eyes filled with tears.

“Sasha was here,” he wailed, no longer caring if he made a scene. “Sasha was here!”

“Jon? Oh fuck, oh God what do we do, something’s wrong-”

“Just pick him up, Martin, get him back in the car!”

Jon was hauled to his feet but his legs were shaky and useless; Martin cursed and scooped him up instead, unbearably gentle. He tugged at Martin’s shirt, desperate for someone to listen. “Sasha,” he hiccupped but Martin just hushed him, squeezing him tighter to his chest.

“Sasha’s in the car, Jon,” He whispered soothingly as Tim opened the car door. “See? Right there!” Sasha, with her wrong smile and her wrong face and her cold, cold hands-

Jon let out a shriek, thrashing and kicking as Martin tried to place him in the backseat by that thing. “No no no,” he cried and tugged at Martin’s jumper. “I don’t want to I don’t want to-”

“Get in the front, Sash,” Tim commanded, something unreadable in his eyes. “He’s not going to stop freaking out until you do. Martin can sit in the back.”

“So fussy,” she said mildly as she opened the door and did as Tim said. “Is he going to be okay?”

Jon could barely follow the conversation as Martin awkwardly crawled into the backseat and tried to maneuver him into his seatbelt. But Jon couldn’t let go because Martin was real and there and the only thing holding him together at the moment.

“Just drive,” Martin’s voice was hard and unlike him, but he squeezed Jon tighter to his chest and that was all he needed to finally give into the darkness at the edge of his vision.

_____

When he next woke he was tucked into a bed- his own, strangely. Light filtered gently into the room and Jon felt like he’d been run over by a truck several times over; every part of him aching and groaning as he attempted to sit up.

“Jon?”

Martin stood in the doorway, the picture of anxiety and worry. “God, I thought you’d never wake!” He hurried over to the side of the bed and placed a hand to his forehead that Jon leaned into. “You don’t feel warm. You’ve been asleep for almost sixteen hours. Are you okay?”

“Define ‘okay,’” Jon croaked, leaning back into the pillows. Sixteen hours but he still felt like hammered shit. “What- what happened? Why am I here?”

“You don’t remember?” Martin’s voice somehow managed to sound more worried. “God, you were- you were really out of it, Jon. Ranting about Sasha- you wouldn’t get near her. I thought we should take you to the hospital but Tim insisted you wouldn’t like that.” Tim was always the one who knew him best. “He had a key so we dropped you off, but I thought someone should stay behind- I mean, is that okay? I don’t want to overstep or anything, but you were really bad and I couldn’t-”

“It’s fine, Martin,” Jon cut him off gently. It was touching, in a way, that Martin would want to look out for him after the fit he apparently threw. “I, uh- thank you, I guess.”

“Really, it’s no problem,” Martin said, leaning back on his heels and fiddling with his hands. “I-I didn’t want to leave you alone, and I didn’t think you’d want to wake up to Tim or Sasha-”

“God,” Jon groaned and slumped over in bed, shame coursing through his veins. ‘“I’ll have to apologize to her tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” Martin agreed, though not unkindly. “But I think she’ll understand. You were exhausted, it’s not like you meant it.” I suppose that’s true, he thought. Just my paranoia out of control.

“I’ll make us some tea. You stay in bed, okay?”

“A-Alright.” Martin turned to leave the room but a thought logged itself in Jon’s brain and he reached a hand out to stop him. “Did you stop anywhere beforehand?” he asked. “Like the institute, o-or maybe Tim’s place?”

“No,” Martin replied, a puzzled look on his face. “Why?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Jon closed his eyes and leaned back into the pillows, feeling utterly drained. “It’s nothing.”

Martin exited the room and Jon tried not to think about the key he gave Tim ages ago, back when they visited each other with some regularity.

And the idea that it was still on his keychain, waiting to be used.

ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27457939

#prompts #my writing #tma #the magnus archives #jonathan sims #tim stoker #not!sasha #martin blackwood #jonmartin #angst #sickfic #whump #postapocalyptic-cryptic

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heartofsnark · 3 years

Text

Can You Feel The Sun? (Chapter Eight): Icarus Falls

Notes: Why, yes, I am posting these relatively quickly. This is the last of a backlog since I’m actively still working on the next chapter, This is a doozy of a chapter, both emotionally and length wise, but I’m rather proud of it, if I’m being honest. I recommend settling in a snack and maybe...just maybe some tissues....

Word Count: 15327

Chapter Warnings: Multiple deaths, violence, gore, grief, angst.

If you haven’t yet, you can read the previous chapter here!~

V and Jackie get into the backseat of the Delamain taxi. White and tan leather interior, despite looking the nicest she ever has in twenty years she still feels like she might stain the white leather. No driver, instead there’s screens and consoles in the back of the seats in front of them. An avatar of a bald man with stark unnaturally white skin and blue lips

“Welcome on board this Delamain service. With Delamain, you leave your problems at the door,” the AI avatar greets them in a robotic voice.

“Son of a bitch! Better fuckin' believe I will!” Jackie yells out, still grinning. V lets out a breath of air meant to sound like a laugh, but the lump in her throat isn’t making it any easier.

“I see no reason why you should be using expletives.”

“Sorry, he gets… excited.” Her voice is tighter than she wants it to be, her leg bouncing now.

“Damn right, I’m excited. Hey, Del, what about that time I wanted to hire you for my cousin's bachelor party, huh?”

“Unfortunately, we do not take on such contracts.”

“Three months I'd been savin' up scratch… Egh, water under the bridge. Hit it, Del!”

“Before we begin our journey, I must verify the identities of all customers. Please proceed to connect your personal links,” the mercs plug their personal links into the console, “Thank you. "Excelsior" package activated.”

Crisp subtitles for Delamain alight along her contacts, more comprehensive than the lip reading tech sometimes gives. Maybe his AI avatar enunciates more properly than a human, she wonders.

“"Excelsior"? Hohoho, this just keeps gettin' better!”

Jackie laughs as the taxi cab starts to drive and V finds herself fiddling with her suit sleeve. It’s perfectly tailored, but she still feels like a kid in dress up. Having to pretend she’s a corpo, having to pretend to be a hearing person. Her bright painted nails seem to clash so much with the persona and she curses herself for not changing the polish. What if they’re caught right away? The corps smelling Heywood and The Badlands on them the second they walk through the door. What if the spoofed SID hack doesn’t work, what if the bot malfunctions… What if, what if, what if; spins around her brain. They can’t fuck this up, there’s no room for mistakes. One disaster will destroy their reputations, hell their entire merc careers. And that's the best case scenario.

When she glances at Jackie there’s no hint of nerves, no hint of reservation or fear, just giddy excitement. Like a kid getting ready to hit up a party.

“What’s got you riled up?” She asks in spoken English, deciding she’ll mostly speak for the ride since Jackie is the only person really here, that way he doesn’t have to look at her the entire time. And maybe she’s also hoping if she talks enough she won’t clam up too bad in Konpeki.

“Hang on, watch this… Delamain! Initiate combat mode!”

She can see the bright red ink of his tattoo peeking from his suit sleeve, eyes drawn to it, and something about that scares her more; a hint of his Valentino roots showing, would it be a literal red flag for Konpeki security.

“My apologies, but you do not appear to be in any sort of imminent danger,” Delamain crushes Jackie’s hopes, a frown replacing his grin.

“Huh… Oh well. Trust me, he'll mow down an army of ‘Saka ninjas if it comes down to it,” Jackie explains to V and she wraps her arms around herself, resisting the desire to bring her legs up into the seat, trying to get her mind off her nerves.

“So, what else is included in Excelsior mode?” V tries signing to the AI, curious if it has translation tech for ASL.

“Comprehensive health coverage, including the handling and disposal of a client's remains should death occur on board,” Delamain responds without hesitation and instantly ruins any chance of her getting her mind off the massive risks within this job.

“Damn. Shit got dark pretty quick,” Jackie comments.

“Dex isn’t skimping though.”

“And thanks to you, we're still gettin' a juicy forty percent.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Excelsior…This is how you wanna cruise into the major leagues…” He says like the job is already done and they’re hitting up an after party…

“Wouldn’t get too excited yet, Jack, doing a job not hitting up a party.” And her words are too sharp, voice too venomous and rough in her throat. She regrets it as soon as they leave her lips, as soon as she’s spoken them into reality, wishing she could swallow them back down. His face drops completely, eyes harsh and she knows she fucked up.

“For real, V…? See me as that shallow?”

“I-”

“Lemme explain somethin' to you, V… My whole life I've spent in this shit around us! And I ain't goin' back!”

“I’m sorry, really, I just… I’m worried and I let my nerves talk for me, I’m sorry.” She quickly tries to smooth it over, those knots in her gut only winding tighter with Jackie mad at her.

“Swear to christ, V, I will never fucking get you,” he says, shaking his head and looking out the window.

“What do you mean?”

“Twenty years old, sitting in the back of a Delamain, on your way to do a job for Dex fuckin’ Deshawn and you can’t even muster a fuckin smile? You fuckin’ know what I’d have done to be where you are right now when I was your age, I was still dreaming of seeing The Afterlife! Took you less than a year to be here, took me ten! And you ain’t even happy about it! Then you act like I’m not takin’ it serious, like I don’t got my fuckin’ head in the game, just cause you can’t appreciate where the fuck you are right now!”

She chews her lip, not sure what to say to him. Guilt coming over her. He’s right, she hasn’t lived in Night City nor been a merc nearly as long. He’s been doing this since he left the Valentinos… For Jackie this has been a lifelong dream, the ultimate goal. She didn’t even consider it a possibility until she met him and now she’s already on her way there. Of course he’s happy, on the precipice of his dreams coming true.

“I’m sorry, really I didn’t mean to piss on your parade.”

“Yet somehow you always do.”

V sighs watching the city pass outside her window for a few more moments, tapping her fingers, that knot feels like a ball of lead now. She wants to claw her skin off, tear and tear away at herself, at her being, and maybe, just maybe she’ll find someone better under the gore. Someone who isn’t such a fucking asshole. Someone who knows how to keep their mouth shut and doesn’t ruin everything for everyone else. She’ll never understand why Jackie puts up with her, why he has for so long. She just doesn’t want to fuck this up. The job, her friendship, the little bit of happiness she’s built. V wrings her hands together, tight enough to hurt and she twists them a little harder, nails digging into the skin. If she can’t find anyone better maybe she’ll just claw away until she’s nothing at all.

She’s already a bundle of nerves over the heist and she can’t stand another moment of the tension hanging thick in the air.

“Did you fuck my wife?” She says in her best imitation of something between an Italian and a Brooklyn accent, watching Jackie’s face, the hint of a smile tugging at it. Tension starting to melt ever so slightly.

“Don’t get me started,” he returns forcing the same cheesy voice.

“Did you fuck my wife?”

“I think you fucked my wife and got me started.”

“I got started cause you fucked my wife.”

“I could trace back the moment I got started it’d definitely be when you fucked my wife!”

“That is unquestionably when I got started!” They’re smiling now, giggling at every other word as they choke on their cheesy jokes. Tension melts away as a weight is being lifted off her chest.

“My records indicate that neither of you are married.”

And they lose it, laughter filling the car at Delamain’s interjection to their stupidity. Its ridiculous and dumb and they sound like children. But, she’s thankful for the moment, the reprieve, where it’s laughter and not nerves tearing at her guts.

A call notification lights up on V’s optic contacts, T-Bug’s avatar and V answers, the runner’s voice coming just a moment later.

“Hey. How's things?”

“Eh,” Jackie answers, “been better, been worse.”

“We’re nearing our destination,” Delamain tells them and V’s throat tightens.

“Listen, set up a direct, encrypted line to guide you through Konpeki. V, ring Jackie now, see if we're in sync. Can't be too careful.”

She puts a call through to Jackie, inteface telling her it’s establishing a secure connection.

“And?” Bug asks, expectantly.

“Got static,” Jackie cringes, “Say somethin', Bug?”

“The greatest crimes issue from a desire for excess and not from necessity."

“Say what now?”

“Yeah, I read you. Not so much your Greek friend, though it was kind of exciting,” Jackie tells her with the ghost of a smile on his lips.

“Could give it some thought, try to understand…? How 'bout you, V?”

“I want more Aristotle!”

“Fuck off, both.”

Jackie and V share a giggle at the runner’s expense, V’s going to miss when Bug goes into retirement. If all works out, even on the brighter side, it may be the last time all three of them work together. But at least Bug will be happy and safe, unlike V or Jackie, this was never her dream or end goal.

“OK, tech checks out, looks like,” T-Bug confirms.

“Será mejor que sí…”

“Stay in touch”

And V just realizes the taxi has stopped moving, through Jackie’s window she can see the front entrance of the hotel. The bright red exterior walls, a worker standing at the ready and those nerves are clawing their way back with a vengeance, tearing up her insides and making her want to bolt, terrified that they’lll be found out as soon as they step foot in. They need to get moving, only way to get through the fear is to take control, do what needs to be done. And hopefully avoid puking in the back of an expensive AI taxi.

“Thank you for choosing the Delamain service. And best of luck. I shall await here for your return.”

“Shit's finally happenin’… “

“Its game time, got any iron left on you, time to put it away,” she tells him, tucking her gun and knife into the center compartment. Jackie following suit. V tugs off her suit jacket and rolls her white sleeves to her elbows, making sure her blades are accessible from the start.

“Alright, Hannah, let’s go.”

V opens the door of the Delamain, greeted by the view in front of the hotel, in the distance she can see the space travel facility, night settled over the water. The hotel has trees and plants out front, trying to sprinkle some nature into the cement and chrome world of Night City. She carries her suit jacket over her shoulder, keeping one hand busy with it, while the other sits in her pocket. Hoping it will keep her from signing if she needs to talk.

“Hold on, lemme grab the Flathead.” Jackie pops the trunk of the taxi and pulls out the case with the bot.

The mercs take the two marble steps up, a vibrant stript of red along the path.There’s long white marble with planters and the name of the hotel inscripted in gold.

“'Member, reservation's in your name… Ramón. You're there to meet Hajime Taki - military tech department rep. Papers are for the Flathead” T-Bug tells them as they get closer to the double doors.

“Welcome to Konpeki Plaza,” a man in a red, black, and gold uniform greets them, bowing his head as they pass by.

There’s a large waiting room, white couches along the sides with monitors displaying documentaries and vases with red hologram plants branching out of them. A security gate divides the waiting room from the front desk, scanners to check each guest for weaponry. Beyond it she can see staff with gold plated skin. All non-security personnel of the hotel are gold plated; receptionists, concierge, bartenders, and the like. A requirement for the job, even staff must match the aesthetic.

“Welcome to Konpeki Plaza. Please come through single file,” The guard tells them as they reach the full body scanner.

“You got it, holm-- uh, ahem, sir,” Jackie stumbles and V screams internally, watching her friend step forward. Blue light crackles along him, like lightning, then it flashes red. Misty’s warning of mean reds, flaring in V’s mind.

“Ahem. Hold on got something,” the guard stops Jackie before he can go any further, “Sir, care to explain why you're bringin’ a combat bot onto Konpeki Plaza premises?”

“Arms dealers.” V yells out quickly, hating how forced it sounds, tightening her fingers in her jacket, desperate not to sign on instinct and not realizing she forgot the ‘we’re’ part of her sentence until she finished saying it.

“Excuse me?”

“Ah!” A gold skinned concierge steps over, “You are here to see Taki-san, am I right? Please accept my apologies for the confusion.”

“Pff,” Jackie scoffs as the concierge bows and walks into the lobby, waiting at the front desk.

V steps into the scanner, guard assuring her it will only take a moment. It distorts her vision, crackling it with blue for just a moment. Then the guard tells her to go ahead and she walks forward, meeting Jackie at the desk. A woman with gold skin, black hair all shaved except for the bangs and sidelocks greets them. And V is starting to notice that the Arasaka logo is everywhere, the corp hotel owned by them. On the screens, gold emblazoned on marble planters, and on pamphlets. The hotel and Arasaka logo are clearly one in the same.

“Youkoso. Greetings and welcome to Konpeki Plaza,” she says bowing her head to them and V returns the gesture.

“We’d like to check in,” Jackie says and V sends him a silent thanks for talking. .

“Of course, just a moment, please” the receptionist taps away at a keyboard, “The name on the reservation is…?”

“Victorino.”

“Double room, two adults, one night. Correct?”

“That’s the one,” V tells her, with a tight nod.

“Perfect… I will go ahead and notify Taki-san of your arrival.”

“Shit, no good, not part of the plan. Talk her up, V, stall!” T-Bug yells out over the call and V is once again wanting to scream.

“That, uh, won't be necessary,” she curses herself for stuttering, “We'll go freshen up first, notify him ourselves.”

“But Taki-san is expecting you, no…?”

“Senorita, do you know how long we been traveling? Eighteen hours from New Barcelona. With a delay on Metakey 'cause some cyberpsycho blew himself into bits inside the terminal…”

“Been a nightmare, ugh.”

“Of course, I understand. You will be in the Lapis Lazuli Suite on level forty-two. Oh, one more little formality… Please validate your SID chip.”

“Honor's all yours, Hannah.”

A tablet on the table lights up with a bright blue handprint and she’s reminding of her issue getting into her own apartment. Bug said she put a temporary hack on their SID chip, but there’s an extra twinge of anxiety as V lays her hand down on it. She half expects it to show a senior citizen, to be outed as a fraud and tossed out the door.

“Everything seems to be in order. We wish you a pleasant stay!~”

“Better get goin'.”

V murmurs a thanks, feeling a bit of relief at having that part of this whole thing done. Playing corpo is somehow more stressful to her than the idea of breaking into Yorinobu’s penthouse. She follows behind Jackie. Large marble planters fill the lobby, some with trees that nearly touch the staggeringly high ceiling.

“New Barcelona? Really?” T-Bug comments as V follows Jackie up a short set of marble steps.

“It's called improvisin' - you should try it,” V stares up at a gold framed painting, “Whaddaya think, Hannah"?

“...” V raises an eyebrow at him with a soft noise in her throat.

“Quaint, cozy. Not like the hotel we had in Zurich for that convention.”

“Don't need that, Jack. Enough.”

“What? I’m takin’ this seriously!” Jackie grumbles when T-Bug scolds him.

They take two turns through the lobby, guards passing by talking about dolls being left in rough shape as they near what looks to be a bar in the corner. It's an open pathway inside, the bar illuminated in pink and a gold plated woman stands at a podium bearing Arasaka’s logo. There’s a lit collection of alcohol behind the bar, liquor that costs more than V’s rent, which isn’t a hard feat but still rubs her the wrong way.

“Bar don't look too shabby.”

“We don't do reservations on weekdays, so feel free to grab any available table. Or a couple of stools at the bar if you prefer?” She explains to them, a valley girl accent to her words.

“Could bring Misty here one day. When we, uh… close this deal.”

“Might take a look around.”

The idea of sitting down, if only for a moment, and catching her breath after the close call in the lobby sounds nice. Her nerves are frayed already, she’s never wanted to drink so much on a job before. A quick breather before she has a full blown panic attack.

“Shit,” Jackie curses, “look like some fuckin' travelin' salesman with this case. Go ahead, I’ll go on upstairs.”

V nods, watching Jackie go to the elevator, a part of her feels guilty, but she doesn’t intend to take too long. And it’s not as if she’s made visiting bars on the job a habit before, she can have this one. She rubs a hand over the back of her neck, feeling the chrome indents of her Mantis Blades cooling the skin. Half of the room is a lounge with black couches and slick pink metallic chairs, terrariums built into the walls. The other half is, gold stools and booths before the neon pink bar. Each side is filled with people mingling, dressed in high fashion, people who’ve gambled away more money than she’s ever seen.

“And when I say heads're gonna roll, I don't mean it as a fucking turn of phrase,” a half drunk man slurs his speech at the golden bartender. The stench of whiskey clings heavy to his clothes.

“Had enough guy, don’t you think? You’re making the other customers uncomfortable,” the bartender sends a pointed look towards V, a slight twang in his voice. She was looking for a breather, not conflict.

“Good! 'Cause this affects them, too! It'll slap everyone in the face!”

“What’s that?’ She entertains him, figuring it might get the guy gone sooner.

“You wanna know what a bearer of bad news looks like? What's four hundred yards long, weighs a hundred thousand tons, and is nuclear powered…? The answer's docked in the bay! Hanako Arasaka decided -,” he hiccups, “decided to take a little vacation!

“Big deal.”

“Don't know how big just yet,” her sarcasm doesn’t penetrate the fog of whiskey, “And by the time we do, it'll.. it'll be too late. Screw this. I'm gonna get some sleep…”

With that the man stumbles away, taking the too strong smell of booze with him and the shining bartender turns to her. His shaved hair either red or pink, color distorted in the glowing light.

“Evenin, what can I get you, baby?”

Her nose wrinkles at the term of endearment, “little forward, don’t you think?”

“Suckled it outta my ma's very breast,” he returns, “Fifty percent protein, the other half pure high octane CHOOH2.”

He presses two gilded hands to the bar leaning forward as he regales his story and she can’t help but raise an eyebrow; he’s implying he’s a nomad, but why would he tell her that?

“What?”

“She had wind and dust in her hair, so to speak. Belonged to the Aldecaldos. Before the bombs began fallin'. Her final words? ‘Wherever you go, whatever you do, be yourself, David.’ And so I ended up here. Still no one but myself.”

He’s full of shit, she decides immediately. Maybe her own distrust or her own frustration, nobody with nomad blood would end up here, gold plated and slinging drinks to corpos. At the very fucking least, they wouldn’t act so damn happy about it.

“Lovely story if it wasn’t a crock of shit.”

“Everyone's making something up,” he smirks, “Just like you, baby.”

“Excuse you?” she chokes out, feeling like ice water has been shot through her veins. He’s seen through her, that implication clear, but how? Even regaling to her some fucked up story of being a nomad, like he could smell the dust of the badlands still on her skin.

“Can I getcha somethin'? At the least, water?”

“Bourbon and cherry coke.”

“You got it, baby.”

The repeated use of the pet name earns him a glare, V tapping her fingers against the bar, his story and perceptiveness making her nerves worse. He sets the drink on the table and she downs it with a gulp, alcohol not quite loosening her how she hopes. She sets the glass down and leaves the bar, it may be petty but she doesn’t leave him a tip, frustrated at the idea he could have seen through her.

She jabs the elevator button, tapping her foot as she waits and stares at some painting. Its all abstract bullshit, pretty colors, but she’s not sure she sees much else to them. The golden doors open, the back of the elevator windowed with what looks like foliage inside, maybe it’s just a screen. V steps inside and jabs to her level. And after just a short ride, it stops at her floor.

The doors open and she sees Jackie, looking over one of the art pieces, walking past a desk and concierge to greet him.

“About time,” he says, when he spots her, the pair making a beeline to the suite. They walk past a couple speaking Russian, talking about testing on people, as they find the door.

Jackie opens the door and she gets her first peek of it, stepping in. The furthest wall almost entirely windowed, looking out over the hills. Another expanse dedicated to a terrarium, a large plush bed, white sofas, and a table projecting hologram displays of fish. V tosses her suit jacket off onto the couch.

“Pretty snazzy. Too bad we ain't stayin' the night. Nice choice, Bug.”

“Didn't pick it for snazz. Offers quickest access to the dweller and servers.”

“Sí, sí, me acuerdo,” jackie grumbles as he puts the Flathead case down on a table in front of the terrarium. The little spider bot springs to life the second it’s case is opened.

“Now you fire up the Flathead and find the shaft entrance.”

“Sounds simple enough…”

“Simplicity's sometimes toughest to master,” T-Bug tells her.

“Aurelius? Aristotle? Who's it this time?”

“Yours truly, that one's mine.”

“Go ahead and find the shaft, chica, I’ll get the Flathead running.”

V nods and begins looking around the room, scanning around, finding the shaft after a short moment. A little square panel standing out on the wall next to the terrarium, scanner telling her it’s Flathead compatible.

“Found it.”

“Good. Jackie, how's the Flathead lookin'?” T-Bug asks, he’s put the control shard in one of his neuroports while V was looking for the shaft, eyes now glowing bright white blue.

“All set. Systems’re operational, charge at a hundred…,” a moment passes his expression furrowing as he shakes his head, “Mierda. Little gonk's stuck.”

“Just gonna stand there and look at it? Gonna have to switch to manual control. V, take the control shard from Jackie. Gonna link your Kiroshis to surveillance so you can guide the bot.”

“Why me, Jack’s got full blown optics?” She asks, as he pulls the control shard from his head.

“Yeah, but you got better tech, unlike someone I ain’t run up my tab with Vik. Got last-gen firmware low flow. May be contacts, but you’re working with top notch Kiroshi tech.”

“Plus someone already has some playtime with the bot,” T-Bug outs her and Jackie raises an eyebrow at V, a teasing smile on his lips.

“You played with the bot?”

“Just… give me the shard,” she takes it from Jackie’s hand, “Surveillance cover the whole hotel?”

“Mhm. Even the bedrooms in the suites.”

“Seriously?”

“You'd be surprised what people're willin' to give up to feel secure. Lucky for us, Yorinobu's an exception. Penthouse is dark, no hotel security.’

“Okay, here goes.” V pushes the control shard into the slot, the interface says it’s connecting her, then it glitches and in a moment she’s looking at herself and Jackie through the surveillance camera.

“Patching you through to in-cam view. Might get a little disoriented, but don't freak”

Her vision switches between rooms; a man getting a lap dance from a doll in a dimly room, two men in another hotel room. And then it lands on a third room. A meeting of four people; two Arasaka suits and two faces she vaguely recognizes. The view doesn't shift again and she takes the chance to look closer, talks of losing control of Watson, election season. And it clicks, the mayor of Night City.

“Camera’s set,” V tells Bug, political bullshit isn’t her business, she can see the vague outline of the Flathead creeping into the room. Only slightly visible to her thanks to her connection,

“Get him to the next vent.”

V scans and finds the next vent shaft tucked in the corner of the room, sending the Flathead to it. She watches as it crawls and creeps through the room.

“C’mon little buddy, you got it, yes,” She cheers on the little machine as it skitters across the camera and into the vent.

“It’s a Military grade combat bot, not your pet, V. Patching you into the next cam now.”

The next room appears, more brightly lit with two maids working to clean it. V goes to send the Flathead into the vent but the request is denied, detecting one of the cleaning ladies is too far into it’s path.

“Cleaning crew’s in the way,” V tells Bug, listening to one of the women start drooling over Yorinobu.

“Gotta distract her. Hmm, let's see what's on the subnet…temp control on the terrarium, sic the bot on it.”

V follows the runner’s orders scanning and sending the Flathead onto the temp control. Barely a moment passes before the maid’s notice, freaking out about how expensive it is. The merc takes her chance and sends the bot into the unblocked vent shaft.

“Little guy’s through.”

Next cam flickers into a green tinted maintenance hallway, the bots legs tinkering across the floor. Vent on the other side of the room, V sends it through, smiling as her little buddy makes his way through. And it brings her to a new camera, it looks like where the surveillance feeds lead to. A console and row of screens with a security guard watching them.

“Dweller's just beyond the door. Flathead can jimmy the lock.”

V sends the command, watching it scamper to the door, tendrils working at the lock. But nothing gives away.

“He’s having some trouble, poor feller.”

“Shit… Gotta be another way. Lemme think… Got another cam other side of the door, but it's disabled.’

“Got a CCTV port, might be able to enable it.”

“Go for it.”

The Flathead creeps across the room and jacks into the port, giving V access to the other camera. And V switches her vision to it, the next room looks like a high tech runner’s nest. Two netrunning chairs in deep cooled divots within the room. But only one is in use, a man jacked into the security frame, illuminated in blue, screens running code around him.

“Dweller’s inside.”

“Just as planned.”

“Still don’t get why they only have the one.”

“Decent dweller's as good as a dozen rank-and-file. Lemme graft a demonoid onto your link, you’ll be able to jack the bot directly into the chair and neutralize the runner.”

“Got’cha”

“You'll have to get the Flathead in there first, though.”

“Got another shaft grate,” V finds when she twists the camera’s view, there had to be a vent in the other room, servers lining the walls. Bad ventilation and the entire operation overheats.

“Shaft may link both rooms, looks like. Toggle to the other cam.”

V does so, a moment of scanning and she finds a hidden shaft grate in the floor, “Think I got it.”

“Send the Flathead over there, then toggle over to the second cam.”

She waits until the bot is prying open the vent in the surveillance room, then flickers back over to the runner’s den, eyes on the vent and hoping she didn’t send their tech into the wrong room. A moment passes and she sees her robotic friend creeping his way out.

“Our friend’s inside.”

“Flathead into the chair, V, jack in.”

The bot crawls across the floor and into the netrunner’s cubby, creeping up the chair and scuttling over the man’s body. Deep in the subnet the man doesn’t stir or even notice as the bot hovers over his face and jacks into the chair. And the code across the screen glitches, replaced by a T.

“Holy shit.”

“Whoop! Got him! Love those daemons!” Bug cheers, louder and more excited than V has ever heard her. They did it, the bot is in, T-Bug has access to it all.

“Uh, Flathead buddy stays, right?”

“To keep an eye on the dweller, yeah. Punching into Konpeki’s main net. Go ahead and log out.”

The young merc’s vision starts to glitch and flicker red, her pulling the shard from her head, everything spinning. Lightheaded and her body feels both too light and too heavy. Like she could collapse and float away all at once.

“That's how it's done! How ya feelin'?” Jackie asks, concern lacing his voice.

“Like I’m about to puke on a rug worth more than my car.”

“Bug? How're you doin' on time?” The runner doesn’t respond right away, a moment too long passing.

“Bug?”

“Yeah, yeah, I'm here. Soooo listen, ICE is thicker than I thought. Piercing it'll take a couple hours.”

“A couple hours?! Can't do it any faster?”

“Want my brain to burst into flames? Just siddown and enjoy your snazzy suite.”

“Thanks, I will! V, you take it easy, c’mon rest for a bit.”

V doesn’t need anymore prodding, settling down onto the white sofa, hoping her head will stop spinning and stomach cease churning by the time Bug is done. The merc kicks off her heels and lays across the sofa, softer than her bed. Jackie sitting across on the other side of the table, V brings her hand up to her face, trying to block out the blue light from the holo projector. But catches herself looking at the bracelet Misty gave her, the way the beads catch the light, remembering the name of it.

“Hey, what was our suite’s name again?”

“Lapis lazuli, why?”

“Isn’t that what Misty’s bracelets are? The blue beads with the gold.”

“Oh...yeah, ain’t that some shit, must be a good sign.”

“Maybe… she read your cards before this?”

“Nah, didn’t get a chance, nagged me about mean reds though. What about you, cards in your favor?”

“All I remember is something about a magician and love, blegh.”

“Hehehe,” his laughter is warm and fills the huge room, “telling you, one day you’re gonna be head over heels with some chiccy or mano and you’re not gonna know what to do with yourself.”

“That how it was with you and Misty?”

“Pssh, knew I was crazy about her from day one, took a while to work up the nerve though one day I just told her the truth.”

“That you were in loooove~.”

“More like I’d take a bullet for her, chica.”

“Romantic.”

“Fuck yeah it is, in Night City, that’s worth a billion I love yous.”

“So you say.”

“Keep doing that and you’re gonna rub the finish off Vik’s work,” Jackie tells her and she realizes she’s been rubbing and fiddling with her implants, “be a waste for free work to be ruined.”

“I’m gonna pay him.”

“You give him anything upfront, even a dime?”

“I… gave him a hug…”

“Wow,” Jackie says half laughing and she’s laughing too, “a whole hug for top of the line chrome! Probably wasn’t even a real hug, just your half ass shit!”

“I may have only used one arm.”

“Santa mierda, V, gotta learn to hug people like you mean it.”

“Yes, yes,” she yawns, “blah blah blah, never know which hug will be the last one, blah….”

“Flathead wear you out that bad?”

“Maybe a little…” Her stomach feels better, but her head is still light, fuzzy. And in the plush of the sofa, with Jackie close by, she finds herself drifting away. Eyelids getting heavier with each word, each lull of his voice. She didn’t drink much, but she’s sure the bourbon didn’t help.

“Gonna be a while, might as well catch a cat nap, chica. Though Bug might not like it, haven’t quite managed to get the stick out of her ass.”

“Yeah..maybe…”

The world fades away, a soft fuzzy sleep taking over. Time ticks by around her as she catches a moment, or maybe several, to sleep. Her brain is still a little foggy, but the dizziness is gone by the time she slowly starts to wake back up. A bad case of cottonmouth as she wakes, world filtering back in.

Her suit jacket is tossed over her, a makeshift blanket she didn’t put there, she rolls over to sit, more stable than she was before. The time on the terrarium panel tells her only an hour or two has passed. Jackie’s back is too her, his eyes staring at the window. And she finds herself staring, standing in a suit and basked in the lights of the city view, he’s never seemed so serious.

“Whaddaya think? Why'd he give it all up?” He asks after a moment and she blinks, brain still foggy.

“Who?”

"Yorinobu Arasaka. The good life, I mean. Old news, I know. Just got to thinkin's all. It's like, think… You got everything, right? Eddies, education. Your pops can snap his fingers and turn half the fuckin’ planet into a nuclear wasteland… But instead you're like, ‘Nah, fuck it,’ and whaddaya go do? Start a fuckin' gang! Steel Dragons or some shit! You ghost from your fam, chip some RealSkinn and play gang leader for a few years. For what?!”

She can sense the frustration in every word, feel it every clench of his fingers or swing of his hands. Someone like Yorinobu was handed everything he could ever want; tried to piss it away to play edgerunner, then found himself sucking the silver spoon once again. But, she can’t blame him for wanting out from under his father’s thumb; that alone a feeling she knows too well. Her fingers hover over her wrist, the still branded flesh that Vik saved.

“Maybe...he just wanted out of the system.”

“So then why’d he come back.”

“Tough to ditch the system when the system’s your own family,” V admits, finger still on the mark.

“Black sheep’s still a sheep, eh?”

“Maybe…”

It took her forever to get the nerve to leave, she talked about it constantly, but it wasn’t until her mother’s death, murder, culling. Whatever she’s meant to call it, that she finally was pushed to make that move. Been gone for years now, but… more days than she cares to admit were spent wondering if she ever should have run, if she should crawl back and beg. If a family that hates her is better than no family at all…

“Crawled back on all fours, tail between his legs, fuckin’ cheap ass rebel. Fuckin’ tourist!”

Her nails dig into her skin; insecurities brimming, fear that maybe she’s just as much a fuckin’ tourist. Some black sheep nomad who’ll go running back to her dad, beg for another chance, playing pretend merc when all she’ll ever be is the family burden.

“Tourist or not, he just walked into the lobby. And we are back in biz. Penthouse security is neutralized.”

“Perfecto, let’s start this show.”

And with those words, they’re back in business, the younger merc up on her feet. V grabbing her jacket and following Jackie out of the suite, fiddling with the fabric as she walks, heels clicking across the floor.

“Hey, Bug…” Jackie says after a beat of silence, “were, uh… were you on comms that whole time?”

“Three and a half hours.”

“Eehh… about that stick up the ass…”

“Mean the one up mine?”

“Ehh, slip of the tongue, y'know…”

“I know. Now's your chance to make up to me,” T-Bug tells him as they reach the elevator, Jackie pressing the button.

“This is going pretty smooth right,” he turns to V as they wait, “right?”

“Really are a silver lining type, ain’t ya?” V teases as the doors open and they step into the elevator.

“Hey, when are you gonna wave off that dark cloud hanging over your head? Tellin’ you, it’s downhill from on in.”

She rolls her eyes and hits the button to the penthouse, elevator doors closing and the carriage rumbling, shaking as it ascends. Silence falling over them, only the sound of the elevator. Jackie’s leg shakes and she knows that silence is about to end.

“Ahh, there's the awkward silence. You, uh, wanna hear a joke?”

“Now? Seriously?”

“OK, so why'd the rockerboy's output kick him out of the apartment? ‘Cause he wasn't chippin' in.” Jackie cackles at his own joke and V rolls her eyes, a slight smile on her lips.

“Jesus Christ…”

Bug sounds a moment away from killing him, but thankfully for the older merc’s sake, the elevator comes to a stop. Doors opening up to Yorinobu’s suite. It feel different, seeing it from her own perspective instead of Evelyn’s and outside of a braindance editor. The entire suit feels bigger. A part of her wonders if it’s the height difference between herself and Evelyn, but decides to chalk it up to braindance shit instead.

“Huh… not bad bein' heir to the Arasaka empire. Sure as shit better'n bein' the son of Raúl Welles,” Jackie comments taking in the room.

V turns the corner through the room and a tank catches her eye. A slightly red light illuminating an iguana. It immediately reminds her of the only other iguana she knows, Manny. Come to think of it, his original crate was from Arasaka?

“Hey, Jackie, look!”

“Whoa, another fuckin’ iguana, not as cute as Manny though.”

“Manny’s original crate was marked Arasaka; think he might’ve been Yorinobu’s before we klepped him?”

“Think we stole his iguana and made him get a new one?”

“Maybe?” She gently taps the tank glass, watching the iguana’s tail flick back and forth.

“Guys! Focus! The safe! And make it quick!” Bug yells out, bringing the merc’s back down to earth. V tosses her jacket onto one of the seats in the center, searching around the penthouse. Rain patters outside the windowed walls. They know where the safe is, but how do they get it out of the floor?

“Why, what's the rush?”

“Sig on Yorinobu's gone dark!”

“What is he, a fuckin' sorcerer?”

“Some kinda dead zone's my guess - have him back in a sec. And you do your damn job! Look around for a switch.”

V walks around one of the dividers where Yorinobu’s bed is, the slick metal of a gun catching her eye first and foremost. Black and gray, with purple detailing. She checks it for ammo and finds it loaded then decides it’s hers.

“Looks like Yori left us a little gift,” she laughs, tucking the iron in her waistband. And on the other side of the bed, she finds a little switch. She presses it.

“Bingo, got somethin' ejectin’! C'mere, V!” Jackie calls her over to the corner of the room, heart pounding in her chest.

They’re so close to the finish line, each click of her heels feeling like a step closer. This could actually work. A large black safe has risen out of the floor, a small jack in port and two red lights. Jackie stands on one side of it, the gray rainy day behind him.

“What now, Bug?”

“Jack in your personal and make us rich.”

V plugs her personal link in, leaning one hand against the safe. Jackie leans against it from the other side, foreheads nearly touch as they wait for Bug to work her magic. Just get the chip and walk out, that’s all that’s left. All they need to do. She can’t stand still, itching to cross the finish line, minutes away from the major leagues.

“Gimme two…”

The merc’s interface shows Bug uploading the daemons to crack the case and V watches the number rise. Sixty percent, seventy, seventy-five; each ticking number another shaky breath, a rising beat of her heart, and a chill up her spine. Homestretch, nearly there.

And there’s a hum, V’s focus drawn away from the rising percentage, to the windows. Flying AV whirring through the gray skies, hovering around. She looks to Jackie, hoping somehow he’ll have an explanation, something to help her ignore the way her stomach is starting to drop.

“We got winged visitors… Bug…?” There’s catch in his voice, nerves. Jackie’s scared and she swallows the lump in her throat. His face illuminated in the red flashing lights of the case, mean reds, the words flash in V’s mind.

“Dunno who. But staffs abuzz, all two hundred on their feet, can't keep still…”

Somethings wrong, the hair on the back of her neck stands up, a chill in her she can’t shake. Something is so fucking wrong.

“Can't say I like this, how much longer, T?!”

“Shit. Yorinobu's penthouse bound!”

“What!?”V’s voice cracks, digging her nails into the safe, they’re fucked. They’re so fucked.

“Fuck him!” Jackie slams his hand down, rattling the container, “Open the safe!”

“Almost got it… Done!” The safe opens, revealing a cryo-container within. Bright white light and a fog of ice cold air coming with it. V rips her personal jack out.

“Preem, lets get the fuck out of here!”

“Lemme look to this, eh?” Jackie says, pulling the container out and looking at the little screens across it.

“Relic intact?”

"Bioshard integrity - one hundred percent." Guessin' that's a yes,” Jackie reads off the vitals of the shard, picking up the case.

“Good, let’s delta.”

The pair nearly trip through the center of the penthouse, rushing towards the elevator with Jackie lugging behind the giant cryo-container. So close, so close, so fucking close. An elevator and taxi ride away, then they’ll be at The Afterlife counting their eddies. The homestretch.

“Fuck, too late!” T-Bug yells before V can hit the elevator button, “Yorinobu's about to walk in - find cover!

“Where in the fuck!?” V swings her hands as she yells, they’re so fucking close. She rakes her nails across her face, leaving red angry marks down her skin.

“That pillar- try that!”

“You fuckin' kiddin'?!” Jackie screams as the mercs make a move to the pillar in the center of the penthouse, were she thought servers for the room were kept. The back of it opening up and allowing a tight passageway.

“No! Inside it! Now!”

V slips inside as quickly as she can, Jackie following suit. He holds the cry-container close to his chest. The glass barrier is one way, they can see out, but it can’t be seen in. Still not ideal cover, ideally they’d be outside of the fucking hotel by now. The merc presses her hands to the glass, cursing under her breath.

“We’re in,” she whispers to Bug.

“Which don't solve our problem, T.”

“I fuckin' know our problem's still there! Lemme think for a sec, okay?”

The lights to the penthouse come on, elevator doors opening as Yorinobu strides in. with mechanical monstrosity of a body guard from the BD taking large whirring steps after him. And he seems even bigger now. He’s a cyber giant, one mech hand larger than any part of V.

He’s outlined in red, his eyes staring straight at her, Vik said her new contacts would highlight if enemies saw her.. No, there’s no possible way. The man has barely set a borged-out foot into the room. She meets his gaze head on, swallowing the lump in her throat as she tries to seem braver than she is. On the off chance he may truly know the mercs are there.

“Is that… Is that Adam Smasher?” Jackie whispers and V trusts him to look at her hands as she signs, not wanting to break eye contact with the robotic monstrosity, refusing to show weakness.

“Bodyguard?”

“Worse,” her trust in her friend is well placed, “Night City legend. Bleak motherfuckin' one, too. What's the plan?”

“We stay quiet and we wait.”

A flash of movement makes V finally break the stare down, Yorinobu walks to the middle of the room and stops at the seat across from the table, black fabric strewn across it. He picks it up, regarding it for a moment and her heart drops into her stomach.

V’s jacket. She left her fucking jacket on his chair, like an idiot, she didn’t even have time to consider grabbing it. They’re going to die because she left her fucking jacket out in the open and Adam Smasher is still staring at her.

She half expects Yorinobu to call a sweep of the room, ring security, that he’ll realize the random jacket must be an intruder. But he shakes his head, tosses it aside onto the floor, not giving it another thought. While his body guard Smasher lingers in the corner, robotic eyes staring straight at V, watching the mercs squirm.

“Are they here yet?” Yorinobu asks out loud.

“They approach from the landing pad,” an AI voice responds.

“Fuck are they talking about?” V resists the urge to elbow Jackie, silence has never been more important. One sound too loud and a borged out psycho will rip their heads off. And if her contacts are right, Smasher may just be waiting for the perfect opportunity.

“Nuh-uh, no fucking way…. This isn't happening…!” T-Bug whispers over comms and V sees someone coming down the spiraling stairs, a guard it seems, with another older man following him, “Saburo Arasaka.”

The second man is older, much older than the first. Balding with gray hairs and liver spots across his scalp, glasses perched high upon his nose. Dressed in a mixture of yukata robes over what seems to be slacks and loafers he takes slow measured steps down the stairs. The head capitalist himself, owner of Arasaka.

“The emperor? Yet another asslickin' legend….”

V taps Jackie’s side and puts her finger to her lips, encouraging him to be quiet. The man who led Saburo in starts to walk around the room. He’s older than V or Jackie, but nowhere near Saburo’s age. Long graying dark hair pulled back in a bun, cyberware across his neck coming out from under his black suit.

“I thought I told you not to meddle in my affairs,” Yorinobu speaks in his native tongue, V’s contacts translating and subtitling to English.

“Oh fuck,” Jackie curses as the long haired guard comes to stand in front of them, silver ringed brown eyes starting to scan them.

“Leave us,” Saburo orders and the guard stops scanning, turning to face the corporate leader.

“Arasaka-sama, I still haven't done a full sweep.” The guard turns his back and V can see where part of his hair is shaved, allowing intense cyberware extending beyond his neck and towards his scalp.

“This is my son.”

“Of course. Should I retrieve what we come here to-”

“I will handle it. You may go.”

The long haired guard bows and goes to leave the room, finally Adam Smasher’s gaze on her drops, as the borged freak leaves with the guard through the elevator doors. If they’re here to retrieve something… it’s likely the biochip, which means if they go to get it and see it’s gone… They’re fucked. They’re straight fucked.

“Un-fucking-believable… Saburo Arasaka.” That comment makes V nudge Jackie with her foot, once again begging him to just stay quiet.

“Did you think I wouldn't know it was taken from me?” Saburo asks his son, barely making eye contact as Yorinobu looks through a datapad.

“Actually, I don't think of you at all. Ever. You see, that's your problem. You think the world revolves around you. Arrogant.”

“Yorinobu.”

“Why did you come? To humiliate me? To personally see to it that your son knows his place?”

“"The nail that protrudes from the wall gets hammered…"

“Couldn't think of anything original to say?” Yorinobu yells in exasperation, standing up and pacing around the room. He’s on edge, looking ready to jump out of his skin and V can’t say she has a good feeling about any of this.

“And do you think it ‘original’ to sell our greatest achievement to Westerners - our future to these… barbarians?!”

It’s definitely the biochip Saburo is after, they’re screwed, monumentally screwed. V would laugh if she didn’t feel like dying, of course, of course it all goes to shit.

“Our future? Ours?! You are mistaken. You've only ever cared about yourself… and your sick schemes.” Yorinobu points and swings his limbs, still pacing, every word coiled tight with barely restrained hatred.

“I knew this day would come. That sooner or later your impudence would cross the line,” Saburo is calmer, measured, taking soft steps towards his son, “There is much for which I could forgive you, but for treason - no.”

The two men, father and son now stand in front of the pillar before an audience they don’t know. Stares trained on each other, each hateful, but one furious in it’s spite and the other calm in it’s contempt. Moments pass, no word said, each waiting for the other to light a fuse that will set off the powder keg.

“I'm just glad your mother didn't live to see this. The heart should break but once.”

And it goes off. Saburo’s words are punctuated by Yorinobu’s hands wrapping tightly around the old man’s throat. Yorinobu slams his father back against the pillar, cracking the glass in front of Jackie and busting open Saburo’s head. Blood streaking the shards. And he pulls away and for a moment, as Saburo clutches at his crushed windpipe, Yorinobu seems nearly regretful.

“You shall never have to forgive me for anything again.”

His hands wrap again, choking his father against the pillar. Until Saburo starts to fall limp, Yorinobu bringing him down onto the floor in a lifeless heap. Yorinobu stands over his father. Saburo is dead, killed before the merc’s very eyes at the hands of his own son. Jackie curses and V watches as Yorinobu paces, mind clearly racing before he stands over his father’s corpse again.

“I wish… I wish to put the hotel on lockdown.”

What does that mean? What the hell does that mean?

“May I ask why?” The AI secretary asks him.

“Saburo Arasaka has been murdered.”

“Code red initiated. Attention! Code Red has been initiated throughout Konpeki Plaza. Please remain in your rooms and follow all instructions given by staff.”

Oh no, oh fuck no. The lights in the room drop, only bright neon red ones glowing angry in the dark. What the hell is going to happen? What the fuck do they do now? The elevator doors open, Smasher and the long haired guard walking in; the latter rushes and comes to a full stop when he sees Saburo’s corpse.

“What happened?”

“Someone… someone poisoned my father.”

“Poisoned…?”

“Seems so.”

“Yorinobu-san… I doubt…”

Yorinobu glowers at the guard, pushing into his personal space, trying to intimdate him. Trying to make him stop questioning what happened, trying to stop him from looking any closer. Anyone who gets a good look at Saburo’s corpse will see the fingerprints around his neck.

“What is your job, Takemura?”

“I don't follow.”

“It's a simple question. Answer it.”

“To protect the head of the Arasaka family.”

“I do sincerely hope you'll do a better job of executing your duties from now on…”

“Forgive me, Arasaka-sama,” the guard drops his head in shame, “I shall not disappoint.”

Yorinobu turns to leave the suite. The guard, Takemura, follows close behind. And the still red highlighted Smasher follows behind him. The elevator doors close behind them. Jackie and V left alone in the suite again. But what the fuck just happened?

“What the fuck just happened in there?” T-Bug asks, exactly what’s rattling around V’s skull as the pillar back opens again. Jackie and V clambering out.

“Yorinobu just killed Saburo, he fucking choked out his own dad, I didn’t even know you could do that!” V rambles and yells as she turns the corner of the pillar, looking down at Saburo’s corpse. She quickly checks his pockets, stealing some cash and a pair of dog tags off of him.

“What?”

“His own fuckin’ pops.”

“Know what this means?l Security's gonna swarm the place any second. Oh my god, we're so fucked!”

“We need to get the fuck out of here, now!” They can��t just go out the elevator, they’d meet security on the way. They’re beyond fucked. Why the hell did they take this stupid fucking job!?

“Gimme a sec!”

There’s the helipad, but it’s not like they have anything that fucking flies. Think, think, think; she screams in her head to just fucking think, there has to be something, anything.

“We don't have a sec!”

“Okay, got somethin'! Window - now! Releasing the lock! Should see a ladder… Ladder…”

V sees an opening in the large windowed walls, double doors practically made of glass they goes onto the ledge. This has to be in, T-Bug can undo the lock and they’ll slip out.

“Oh fuck.” T-Bugs voice drops and a chill shoots up V’s back, something is wrong.

“Bug!?”

“No, no, no, no - not now…! I’ve been made… “

And panic turns to agony as T-Bug screams, a shrill cry of pain then she’s gone. Connectuon cut and V freezes in place.

Bug is gone, just gone…

Maybe, Konpeki just cut their comms? But the scream rings through V’s mind. She’s heard of how runner’s can die, daemons and quick hacks. Having their entire brain fried, every nerve and neuron set on fire, burned from the inside out... And all that's left to find is a simmering corpse stewing in their own filth. Bug was never meant for that, meant to retire, meant to find peace after years of netrunning. But now…

“Bug.!? Bug!? Can you fuckin’ hear me, Bug please, are you there!?” V calls out, words slurring together. She just needs to hear Bug one more time, and know everything is okay.

And nothing.

“¡Pinche Dios Santo bendito! We lost her, V!”

“They...scorched her...didn’t they…?”

“We… we gotta go, V,” Jackie says, voice cracking as he smacks at V’s shoulder.

Bug’s final hack going through, the window unlocked. V steps out through the window onto the ledge, rain pelting her skin as she rushes around the corner. Bug said there’s a ladder they can use, last thing Bug ever said… There’s no time for mourning, no time to cry, they need to get through this. The ledge narrows around the corner, ride lights outside the hotel window guiding the way, secured against the steel of the hotel. V sees the yellow safety ladder. The merc presses her back to the building, gently side stepping across the narrow ledge, if they just reach the ladder. One wrong step and they’ll plummet.

“You can do it, Jackie… just don't look down,” jackie tries to talk himself up, following V, “ Yep, that's fuckin' high…!”

There’s a whir of engines, an aircraft vehicle buzzing around the outside of the hotel.

“Shit! That Trauma?” Jackie asks and that’s exactly what they need right now, doctors shooting them.

“If they’re here for Saburo, they’re a little late.”

“Just hope they didn't see us! ¡Chingada madre!”

The aircraft carrier flies in close, flashing blinding white light onto the mercs. It sees them, definitely sees them.

“Suspects in violation of security protocols.” The mechanical voice croaks out.

“Time to bail!’ Jackie screams and the aircraft starts to fire, drone automated shooting at them.

The glass around them bursts and V jumps, grabbing Jackie’s hand in her left, she swings her right blade out towards the ladder. It hooks in the bottom rung, creaking in distress as it stops their fall. And there the mercs hang, suspended by a single Mantis Blade and a ladder rung; rain pouring down upon them and a drone still searching for them through the debris. The strain pulls at V’s arm, pain shooting throughout, shoulders ache and left arm pulled tight trying to hold Jackie and the case he holds in his other hand.

If she could pull them up with the blade, maybe they can get to safety. But her muscles already strain, wrought tight with the strength it takes to hold them up. The blade pulling at the inner tissue it’s attached too, never meant to support more weight than the person it’s attached to. Rain and tears sting her eyes as she forces herself to pull with the blade, use it to lift them up.

“V! I can’t hold on!’ Jackie yells out, rain slick hand starting to slip from her own. She digs her nails into his skin, holding him tighter.

“Just a bit more, I can do this!”

Her throat is raw and she doesn’t know how much she believes her own words. Nerves scream in pain as her cyberware pulls at what’s left of her flesh. Muscles cry as forced beyond their capability. She curses beneath her breath, pulling them just a little further up. Immeasurable pain and brute force of will only amounting to the tiniest bit of progress, not even an inch closer to safety. Her blade is pulling further out from her skin, raising up from her arm in a way she knows it shouldn’t.

Every nerve in her arms on fire; blade tugging at flesh and the other nearly pulled from socket under Jackie’s weight. Barely an inch closer to the safety, Jackie slipping from her grip quicker than she can pull, blade lifting from her arm quicker than she can move them. Her teeth sinks into the inside of her cheek, hard enough to bleed as she pushes herself further. Closer, closer, she urges herself.

A bright white light shines across them, illuminating them in the gray night, adding another ache to her eyes. Drone marked Arasaka buzzing around, refinding them within the debris of the destroyed hotel wall. The robotic voice speaking again.

“Violators found.”

And her blade breaks, V’s eye blown wide as they begin to plummet, shock blurs her pain and deafens the world. Slowing it for a moment, only able to stare as metal snaps, tissue tears, and her arm is ripped open. Cyberware tearing out tissue and nerves, viscera left behind.

Then she hits glass, shattering it as gravity slams her through and shock becomes hurt. She hits metal, body bouncing from impact, crying as the air is knocked from her lungs. Her head bashing against something. V clutches her arm, the pain it hitting her as everything else does, blood sticking to her fingers. Each breath hurts, a labored wheeze as bruised lungs strain to work.

V blinks, sitting up slightly, regaining her sense of self now that her fall is broken. Across from her is Jackie and the cryo-case. She looks at her arm, A solid rip from wrist to near elbow, nearly an open hole, metal and moving inner parts of the cyberware mixed with gore. It doesn’t bleed as much as she'd expect, the internal mechanics helping block major bleed out. It hurts, metal now working against raw nerves. But, she’ll live… if this is the worst that happens, she’ll live.

The cryo-case is dented, part of it sparking and part of it splatted with blood. But her eye is drawn to Jackie. A tear in his gut, shrapnel and glass caught him well, bleeding more than her. The white of the button up around his stomach turned scarlet.

“The Relic! ¡Madres! Agh… Oh, this ain't good. Agh…” Jackie curses, each breath pained.

“Jackie, you’re hurt!”

“Worry about me later,” he growls, “check the relic… "Container depressurized. Biochip integrity at ninety-four percent." And fuckin' droppin'! Carajo! Parker! Call her!”

“And tell her what!? We fucked up!?”

“Just do it!”

Evelyn answers after a short ring, her avatar coming across V’s contacts.

“V?! Konpeki's all over the feeds! What the fuck's going on there?”

“Got a problem! Cryo-case is damaged. Biochip's integrity at… Jackie?”

“Eighty-six percent!”

“Eighty-six percent and droppin'!”

“Shit…! OK, listen to me. There's only one thing you can do. One of you's gotta slot the Relic into your neural port!”

“That sounds really dangerous!”

God only knows how this biochip could fuck them up, the relic itself is like putting another personality in your head, seeing ghosts. If this one is even half as fucked up as that, they could be putting themselves in serious danger.

“The longer you wait, the greater the risk we lose it!”

“Well, someone’s got to do it,” Jackie says, voice a rasp, face steadily draining color as he opens the case, “In the name of the Father, Son, and the Holy Spirit - Amen.”

Jackie crosses his body with the pray and pushes the chip into his neural port and V watches his eyes light up for a moment. And he’s quiet for another, a second too long.

“You okay?”

“Dunno… I guess… Don't feel any different.”

“Once you're back, we'll take out the Relic and run a full brain scan and sweep. But you two need to get the fuck out of there first!”

“We’re working on it!”

Jackie and V get back on their feet. He holds his hand to his stomach, trying to press his guts together and she keeps her arm held close to her chest, not putting pressure on it. Jackie calls Delamain.

“Del, we'll be there in a couple. Be ready, got it?”

“Certainly, Mr. Welles.”

“Better be fuckin' certain.”

“We gotta somehow… reach the lobby. Only chance to hit the garage. And we'd best be quick,” Jackie jabs himself with an air hypo, “ Oh-ho, that's the shit… Great… Now let's get outta here.”

“Wait, take your jacket off, use it to keep pressure on your gut, okay? Should help with the bleeding.”

It’s minimal first aid knowledge, she knows. Hold something to a wound to keep it from bleeding out as quickly. But it’s all she can offer, helping Jackie get the jacket off with one hand, so he can press it to his stomach wound. She can move her right hand somewhat, but it hurts and she swears she can see the tendons moving around the metal in the gaping wound her forearm has become. She catches herself wondering if she’ll be able to sign with her right hand again. But, there’s no time for those fears.

She walks down the red lit metal grate, heels nearly catching in it as she turns to a doorway. V leads the way, less injured than Jackie, she pushes the door open. A door lobby with glass banisters and plants, the only light the bright red ones.

“Great… Now let's get outta here,” Jackie says, each word a stressful choking sound to get out.

An AI voice speaks repeatedly over the speakers that Konpeki plaza is in code red, as the mercs work to move quickly and quietly. Catching the murmuring of two guards as they reach a marble staircase, speaking of sweeping the floors and checking the lobby. They creep around the corner and past a desk, seeing the back of the men’s through the glass banister. The only sound the pounding of V’s heart and Jackie’s labored breathing. They watch as the two men separate, enough space for each to grab one.

They move down the last stretch of the stairs, guards talking about evacuating Yorinobu. She lets Jackie take the one closest to them as she moves further to the one at the doorway. V swings her left blade, now her only one, through the man’s gut. Her right arm shoots pain through each nerve, metal inside churching to dispense a blade that no longer exists. She holds back a sound, Jackie’s already choked out the other guard, checking for pockets. Each one armed with a silenced gun. She steals ammo off of them.

They come to another door, each catching their breath. Sweat clinging to V’s brow as they brace themselves for what’s to come next.

“Careful… security likely to be swarmin' outside,” Jackie warns and V nods, words clumping together in her throat as she opens the door.

They stay crouched, spotting more guards as they go. The pair hide behind a planter, V taking a scan of the area, spotting a security camera. Remembering Bug’s lessons, she’s quickly able to shut them off. She’s the one to step back out, leading the way for the first time in months of working together. V needs to get Jackie through this, he’s holding on now, but..

She grabs a guard from behind and snaps their neck, arm twinging in agony at the movement she throws their body aside, clearing a long stretch of hallway for Jackie to follow her down. All light bright red and screens that once showed commercials now flash the words, Code Red. She leaves Jackie to stay hidden behind a counter when she sees another by the doorway, jumping at his back and dropping him just like his coworker.

“Ain't doin' too bad… Just a little further…” Jackie whispers as she drops another guy, her arm screaming at her to stop. But she’ll survive without an arm, if worse comes to worse, she can’t let Jackie get hurt any worse.

They creep through a door, past a desk, hearing a guard yelling out as they sneak and weave through the room. She watches over the top of a planter as the guard walks past them, none the wiser as V creeps around, getting behind him, and taking him down. She can’t risk leaving any behind, leaving one alive and them finding the mercs later. The hotel is huge, a labyrinth of Arasaka guards.

“Engaging hostiles!” A voice booms out, the mercs spotted by a heavily armed Arasaka guard who nearly trips over V.

Fuck, fuck, so much for stealth. Jackie shoots over a counter, trying to stay somewhat protected from the gunfire, while V takes lead, firing Yorinobu’s gun at the men, only dropping behind cover to reload, she blasts. Fuck it, stealth not an option, she’ll turn the whole damn hotel into a blood bath.

The guards drop and V knows she’s been shot, but she’s standing so she moves onward. Through a doorway, three more men open fire as the mercs turn the corner. V blasts a bullet through ones head, Jackie blows the second full of holes.

“One more fucker dead!”

The third is further back behind a glass door and V charges forward, glass open as she fires at the man. Bullets ripping through his chest in a spray of blood before he collapses, red smeared across the marble. If she gets a chance to sleep tonight, she’ll be seeing red in her dreams. The vivid neon lights of the emergency lit hotel, the burgundy uniforms, and the steady spray of it from every shot fired.

Jackie and V go running around a corner, through another glass doorway and slide into side of a marble planter. Taking a moment to breathe, she can hear guards talking. Orders from higher up, panicked yells from the less experienced. She can spot two around the corner, but can’t get a clear shot. She runs to the open doorway, catching one off guard as she slams into his view and rips a blade through his gut.

A full armored worker fires off when he sees it, partially hidden by a linen rack. Another runs in, half hiding behind a planter, firing off around the corner. She presses against a wall between it and a partial doorway, reloading before she looks back through. The less armored man moves around a pillar, peeking from behind cover, and she shoots his head as soon as she sees it, watching him hit the marble.

She struggles to get a clear shot of the third, still hidden behind the rack and so she runs forward, past the rack and coming to a sliding stop behind him. The guard fumbles to swing around when he realizes where she’s landed. Back turned to Jackie now, her friend fires a shot clean through the guard’s head.

The room is cleared for a moment and the elevator is nearby, she runs past a desk, when she sees the button screen. A glowing red off symbol.

“Fuck!”

“Chingo tu madre! It's shut down! What about the other one?” Jackie yells between rattling breaths, she wanted this to be stealthy, didn’t want to put him anymore danger.

She runs, heels clicking against blood streaked marble, nearly tripping over a corpse. Quickly trying to stop herself when another guard springs up behind a desk. Two more swarming the room, one in the heavy almost samurai-like Arasaka armor.

“Orale! Got to plough through them!”

She focuses on the Saka samurai, pulling the trigger again and again, Thankful to have emptied the ammo off every body she’s dropped so far. A bullet catches his throat, a gush of blood as he paints the floor, and she shifts to the other men. A headshot on one, the other already down thanks to Jackie.

V searches their corpses, pocketing ammo and bounce backs, when she finds an access token on the samurai. V thanks any god that may be listening, if they exist and makes a beeline for the elevator at the end of the room.

“Got access,” she breathes out, calling the elevator.

Its doors open and she steps in, the side railing lit that bright red. She waits as Jackie rushes in, he’s still in somewhat decent shape it seems. Not the ideal heist, she thinks as she hits the button, but maybe they can get out of this. Rush Jackie to a ripper, check on T-Bug, collect their eddies, and tonight will be a story to tell later. Remember the Konpeki Heist, how everything that could go wrong did.

“Hah-… agh! Heh, hng…” She can’t tell if he’s laughing or groaning in pain, maybe both. Blood is coating his hands, has he bled through the jacket? No, Jackie’s bulletproof, said it himself a billion times. He’ll be okay, he has to be.

“Jackie…”

“Saburo Arasaka, Hundred and fifty years… and today… of all fuckin' days. That's like… some divine comedy shit… hehehehe… agh.”

And he’s laughing, of course he is, holding his guts together and he laughs, because why would Jackie Welles do anything else. She’s not sure if she’s going to cry or laugh along, if she’s charmed or infuriated by it; is he just still desperately searching for that silver lining or does he genuinely not give a fuck if he flatlines? That idea, the thought, makes her throat tighten. He can’t die, he won’t die, she won’t let him.

“Save your strength, please, we’re not out of the woods yet.”

“What do you think I’m doing!?” She doesn’t miss the frustration, because if he wasn’t so hurt, he’d been the one leading that battle, charging in to take brunt of it all, “Buuut… chill, V. We'll get out alive.”

“I know we will,” she says and wants so desperately to believe.

The elevator reaches the lobby, doors open to more guards, more gunfire. She shoots at one that looks out behind a wall, three more in the main room of the lobby. Jackie slides behind a desk, using it for cover between shots. V takes lead, shooting from around a doorway. Its chaos and mayhem, V blasting the four men. One dropping behind a chair, catching one through the green ferns growing from a planter. Three more Arasaka corpses, splattering blood across marble and the roots of those towering trees. Bullet after bullet, shot after shot, until her ears are ringing and three remain; the mercs and one last guard.

He throws a grenade across the room at them, V shooting it in the air before it can hit them, smoke and fire smoldering across the ceiling. She uses the chance to close the gap and blows his brains out at close range.

Room cleared they rush through the rest of the lobby, finally reaching the elevator that will take them to the garage. V slams the button, calling the elevator. The door opens and she runs inside, expecting Jackie to run in after her. His steps are slowing and he leans against the wall for a moment instead, having to catch a second wind. He’s getting worse, but they’re in the homestretch, they can do this. They can do this, he stumbles through, leaning against the elevator wall.

“Argh… I'm leakin' a little…” His voice a rasp.

The elevator stops at the garage, so close to safety. Doors opening she can already hear the guards and the mercs step out, eye on them, its a swarm of Arasaka. Gunfire rings out alongside the screech of brakes. The Delamain taxis coming to a stop in the center of the garage, it’s doors flinging open.

“I advise that you waste no time in entering the vehicle,” Delamain chirps at them, like this is a normal night.

But she needs no prodding. V grabs Jackie’s hand and runs for the taxi, dragging him through the garage to the open doors. Rather than making him walk around, she shoves Jackie through her side on the right, letting him slide into the left seat before she jumps in; he needs the extra second of protection more than her. The doors shut, bulletproof shields raising as they the taxi is blasted by the guards. They’re safe? Right?

“Welcome back. With Delamain, you leave your problems at the door….”

“DRIVE NOW!”

And Delamain does just that, engines firing up as he rams through the garage door like it’s nothing. She leans forward on the two front seats. As the taxi takes a sharp turn, they’re almost there, almost safe. Jackie wasn’t fucking around about the combat mode.

“Not bad at all.”

“Client feedback noted.”

“How’s the ride looking?”

“Tiptop. Though alas, we are being pursued.”

And then she sees him, Adam Smasher, the borged monster of a former man rushes them. No hesitation, no fear, as he slams his entire body into the car. Shattering glass, gnashing metal, and nearly sending the car to the side; slamming V and Jackie to the right.

“Sweet fuckin’ jesus!”

Jackie curses as V screams, the hell kind of freak is this guy? The car goes back down on its wheels. Adam Smasher on a metal knee, slowing standing up on front of the car.

“Combat mode activated. Please remain calm.”

“Calm!!!????” She yells out as Delamain begins to drive backwards.

“Road block ahead. I kindly request that you brace for impact.”

“¡Oy, mis huevos! Shiiiit!”

The cab takes a turn, rather than driving through Adam Smasher, it goes through another roadway. A row of cars blocking the way and Delamain slams through through without hesitation, taking them through the Night City roads away from the hotel. Jackie is hunched over, bloody hands still pressing the jacket to his gut, the white shirt soaked through with it.

“A hostile enemy aircraft has a lock on us.”

V doesn’t need a word more from the AI taxi, climbing halfway out of the window, she spots the drones flying after them. Three of them. Needing steadier aim, she flips off her hearing aids with a thought, steeling herself as the car weaves through the road and she fires at them. This is Arasaka’s last ditch effor to keep a lock on them, if she can get rid of them, they’re in the clear.

Three shots; first drone goes down sparking as it hits the city streets. Two more kills the second, the metal remains slamming into a streetlamp. And the third goes down with a final shot, smoldering onto the roof of a BD store. She turns her hearing aids back on as she slides into her seat again; they’re gone.

“Hostile aircraft eliminated.”

“Nice work there… Del…”

She shifts to look at Jackie, he has one hand on his stomach, the other braced against the door. V grabs his shoulder with one hand and his leg with the other, practically shaking him.

“We did it, Jackie! We made it!”

“Heh...guess we did…” It’s not the triumphant excited Jackie, she’d expect to hear. His voice still rough, a rattle barely leaving his lungs. Her eyes sting, no, no.

“My medical diagnostics indicate that Mr. Welles’ condition is critical.”

“Critical, what- take us to a fucking ripperdoc, now! Vik’s behind Misty’s shop!”

She reaches to put pressure against the jacket over his wound, hand over his, but the fabric is bled all the way through. Blood sticking to her skin, warmer than Jackie’s skin and he’s looking pale, paler every second. He leans back against the chair, strength starting to leave his body.

“Apologies, but that will not be possible. Our itinerary has been pre-arranged and paid for in advance. I am not at liberty to alter it.”

“Fuck your itinerary and fuck your liberty, just get us to goddamn doctor!”

“It's OK, V… I'll hold out…”

When did his nose start to bleed, when he did he start hacking up blood, red streaking down his nostrils and over his chin. She sucks in a shaky breath, eyes starting to water. No, not Jackie, anyone but him… please. She doesn’t know who she’s begging; maybe god, maybe fate, maybe just anything in this world that will listen.

“Yeah, yeah,” she chokes out, nodding, “you-you just got to hold on, okay? And, and, we’ll hit the major leagues. Only the best jobs, swimming in eddies, just like you always wanted.”

She brings her forehead to his, feeling the cold sweat of his skin, hoping her warmth, touch, her words; anything will keep him alert. The tears flow freely now, wet and hot on her cheeks.

“Mija... you’re gonna be rich, I can feel it…”

“No, we’re gonna be rich, Jackie! You and me, that’s how it’s always been, I-I can’t do it without you, y-you got to stay with me okay! We’ll get back, you can see Misty and your mom, everyone and let them know you made it.”

“Misty… She knew… She always knew…” he breathes out, eyes glassy with a weak smile, “told me not to take this job, why she always got to be right?”

“J-just a little longer, please, Jackie...please,” she begs him, like he can stop it. Like he can put his inside back together, stop the color from draining out of his face, and can just stay with her.

“The biochip…” he holds her shoulder, grasp weak, and takes the chip from his head with the other, “Hold on to it. For me…”

And he slides it into her neuroport, her vision glitching for a moment. She surges forward, wrapping her arms as tightly as she can, burying his head into his chest, crying into him as she clings tightly; wishing she had the strength to just hold him together.

“Please, please, Jackie, I can’t lose you, just a little longer, please,” she sobs into his ashen skin and blood soaked shirt, begging with every slowed beat of his heart.

For a moment his hands graze her back and she waits for a bear hug, for him to squeeze the breath from her lungs and lift her from her seat like he’s done so many times. For him to be Jackie; her best friend, her partner in crimes, her brother, her everything. But his touch is faint, the space between each beat growing further and further. Until his hands fall limp, body slack in her arms, and she knows the next heartbeat will never come.

And she sobs, she holds him and cries out her pain, if only for a moment. No more ‘chicas’, ‘jainas’, or the odd ‘mija’. No more smiles that outshine the sun. No more nagging her to look on the bright side. No more bear hugs or hands the size of her head ruffling through her hair. No more Jackie…. And it’s not fair and it’s not right.

“Mr. Welles has passed. Where shall I take his remains?” A robotic voice asks and she realizes the car is no longer moving.

She forces herself to let him go, one of the hardest things she’ll ever have to do. Pulling away, she sees him, truly lifeless. Bright green eyes now dull with no light behind them, limp hands falling away from her.

“W-what?” She stumbles over the word, brain fogged over with grief.

“The Excelsior package provides for the disposal of passenger remains free of charge. I merely require a destination.”

“I…he-he’d want to be with his family,” she stumbles across her words.

“Mr. Welles' closest blood relative is Guadalupe Alejandra Welles, proprietress of the El Coyote Cojo bar. I will make sure to deliver him safely. Mr. DeShawn awaits you in room number two-oh-four. ”

That’s right… Dex… The chip. The world didn’t stop spinning, only her’s. There’s still a job. And the idea of still going, that there’s a tomorrow beyond today, seems unfathomable. How the hell could she ever move on…

Because Jackie would kill her if she didn’t and she knows that. He’d haunt her for a thousand years and kick her ass every day of it. She looks at the remains, her friend gone, now limp and bleeding across white leather. And knows if he could speak, he’d tell her to get her ass to that hotel room and finish this job, that he and Bug didn’t die just for V to bury herself alongside them. She squeezes his shoulder, presses her forehead to Jackie’s one last time, feeling the cold of his skin.

“See ya in the major leagues, Jack…”

V opens the car door and steps out into the backlot behind the motel. Rain pours down across her bloodied skin, soaking her to the bones, a numb chill clinging to her. Painted across brick is the Night City emblem marks the wall, red graffiti altering its slogan.. The city of broken dreams…

She moves, on autopilot as she makes her way up the stairs and to the back door of the motel, sheltered from the rain once she’s in a trash filled back room. The motel is bathed in the neon red lights, only offset by the white of sign bearing its name, it’s always red. She stumbles up the staircase and then another, past a tv chattering on about Saburo Arasaka.

The merc walks down the gloomy hallway, dark except for warm yellow floor lights, Graffiti covered walls, rain washing down the windows at the end of it. And she reaches room 204, her arm leaden as she knocks.

No response.

“Its V,” she yells out, knocking harder.

The door opens but before she can take another step, Dex’s body guard takes a step out. Large hand blocking her from coming further. He checks the hallway, making sure she wasn’t followed. After a moment, he finally pulls away.

“He waiting.”

The man takes a step back, allowing V into the room. She pushes through a bead curtain and sees Dex, leaning over a TV screen, another cigar between his golden fingers. She clears her throat, hearing the door close behind her.

“WNS… N54… Even the pirate networks… You blowin' up everywhere! And the Jackster? He out in the car?”

“He’s...dead,” her voice breaks, words like thorns in her throat. Having to say it, having to hear it from her own lips…

“Condolences friend,” he tells her, shifting to look at her rather than the tv, “and the relic?”

“Here,” she says, voice a murmur as she taps her neural port.

“Hmm, I was afraid of that…”

“What?!”

She got the fucking relic, everyone is fucking dead, but she got the relic! Everyone died for this fucking chip and now he’s disappointed that she has it!?

“Saburo Arasaka?” Dex paces, smoking his cigar, “Dead…?! You got any notion of the shit you pulled me into?! You offed the fuckin' emperor! His majesty! Anyone with so much as a pinky toe dipped in this mess is as good as dead!’

“I didn’t kill Saburo! I- I-” she stalls, wanting to say she didn’t do anything, but can she say that? Can she act like she didn’t fuck up any of this? Like she has no role in Jackie and Bug’s deaths…

"No shit?l Tell that to the ‘Saka ninjas they send after you!”

“We...we got to leave the city.”

Badlands isn’t the safest for her, but it will be safer with money, she could settle in another city, maybe. She can outrun her family more than Arasaka.

“You don’t say.”

“Call Parker, we close the deal, collect our eddies, and go off the radar.”

“A’ight, settle down,” he sits down on the leather couch, “Gotta be tactical about this. Parker, eddies, then we leave the city limits behind. But first… Your face… got blood all over it. Bathroom's there. Go get yourself cleaned up.”

He points her to the bathroom of the motel and she nods, in no place to argue, she just wants to be on the other side of this mess. To be able to tell herself at least she made it to the major leagues, at least Jackie would be proud of her, even if he isn’t here to see it.

V stumbles into the bathroom, legs wobbling. Everything should hurt, her arm ripped open. Bruises mottling every inch of flesh. But she’s… numb. She works on autopilot, only somewhat aware of the door shutting behind her as she grips the sink, streaking blood across the silver.

Her blood and Jackie’s.

Bile rushes up her throat, stinging as she pukes into the sink, choking and gagging it out. The tears threaten to come again, eyes stinging as he nails dig into the sink. He’s gone, he’s really fucking gone. Her best friend, her brother in everything but blood and name, her rock, and world. The man who took her in, who gave her a goal, a life…

And how’d she repay him?

Watch him die in the back of a Delamain. All her promises to keep him safe, to repay back all the kindness he gave to her. And she couldn’t save him, couldn’t protect him, couldn’t do shit but hold him. Fuckin’ only time she really hugged him with all she had and she doesn’t even know if he could really feel it, if his body was too numb.

If she would have refused the job.

If she had gotten them up the ladder.

If she had been stronger.

If she had been stealthier.

If she had gotten them through the lobby quicker.

If she could have convinced Delamain to get him to a doc.

If she knew better first aid.

If….if… if…

Thoughts spin and whirl through her mind, a thousand reasons why it’s her fault. Why she could have saved him, why she could have done more, why she failed him…

Misty will never take Jackie’s last name and it’s V’s fault. They’ll never have kids, they’ll never buy a home together, he’ll never get to take her to that stupid hotel bar with the annoying waiter.

Senora Welles will be forced to bury her son and it’s V’s fault. She’ll never hold her son again. Never see him smile again. Never see him live out his dream. Never cook his favorite foods for him and nag him not to talk with his mouth full.

Jackie had a future, a family, people who loved him. He was going to marry Misty one day, have kids. Get enough eddies to provide for them and his mom. And now there’s a hole in all of their lives. The world as a whole now worse off without him, her own world destroyed. It should have been her, she knows that, the world would be better off losing her than losing him.

Yet here she is and she’s just supposed to keep moving, supposed to keep breathing, supposed to live a life post Jackie.

When she looks up, she sees her own reflection staring back at her. Red rimmed eyes, swollen from crying and blood splattered across her skin, stuck in the ends of her hair. And she doesn’t know where it’s from, if it’s her own, if it’s Jackie’s, or if it’s from the people she killed tonight. T-Bug and Jackie gone, yet she’s here.

A brilliant talented netrunner is gone. But she’s still here.

The kindest man to walk in Night City is gone. But she’s still here.

She glares at herself, because she has no right to be here and the world has no right to be this cruel. Her fingers clenches, pulling at her damaged nerve endings and she slams her fist into the mirror. Glass shatters and crackles, shards splintering into her knuckles.

V washes the blood from her hands and face, cleaner but still a zombie as she turns to the door. Jackie wanted this for her, one of the only people who ever wanted anything good for her. If only for him, she owes it to him to finish this job. She stumbles to the bathroom door and opens it, stepping out.

Knuckles collide with her head, wracking more pain through an already injured merc, she’s sent sprawling to the ground. She curses and twists around on the floor, not sure she has the energy to stand back up, vision blurring as Dex’s bodyguard stomps on her. Heavy foot colliding with her head. She curses and sputters choking on blood. She twists onto her back, blinking through the pain as Dex’s bodyguard hands him a pistol. The fixer walks closer, standing over her.

“Can't risk it, V,” he says casually, leveling his gun with her head,” ‘Member our first convo?”

“I’ll fucking kill you!” She screams, spitting blood as she stares down the barrel.

“Seems I've chosen the quiet life, after all. No blaze o' glory for me.”

The shot rings out, loud and clear, the world going dark as a bullet rips through the young merc’s head. Blood splatters across the dirty carpet, her body going limp, a final breath gurgling forth as she chokes on her own blood, iron taste clinging in the back of her throat.

Then she’s gone.

#cyberpunk 2077 #cp2077 #silverv #johnny silverhand #jackie welles #female v #aidan becker #aidan v becker #angst

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