#at least some people around me are sane but this has just really been a wake up call | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

fushiguho · 3 months

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All Mine ☆ Miguel O'Hara

☆ WORD COUNT – 6.3k ☆ SYNOPSIS – Miguel O’Hara has always been a jealous man, one with very strong feelings toward those he loves, so you really can’t be surprised when he’s hell bent on proving to you just how much of a jealous man he can be, can you? ☆ CONTENT WARNINGS – Miguel is FERAL and possessive, breeding

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“Thank you.” You gently smiled, taking the warm plate from the waiter's hands before placing it before you.

God, the smell was salivating, intoxicating even. Fresh salisbury steak topped with chives and parsley, paired with the fluffiest mashed potatoes you had ever seen.

“Anything for a pretty lady.” He responded, voice riddled in nothing but amourism. “Anything else for the table?” He finished, taking his lingering gaze off of you and directing it toward the dark-haired man beside you.

Miguel shook his head quickly, “You’ve done enough. Thank you.” he feignedly smiled, his lips tight, pressed into the thinnest line.

Miguel was never one to react. He liked to think of himself as a reserved man, one of reticent emotions, quiet, civil. Though he was all of these things and more, he couldn’t rid the thought that other men have imagined themselves with you– inside of you. God, the mere thought of it made him sick to his stomach.

There was a small part of him that wished the worst to any man that looked in your general direction. He would be lying to himself if he said the thought of killing a man for you had never crossed his mind, that being the more dishonorable part of him of course. However, he would never hurt anyone over a quick, meaningless glance, though it was tempting.

The only thought that kept his homicidal tendencies at bay was the fact that those men will never see you in the ways he does. They’ll never get the chance, not if Miguel is around at least. He would never allow it. Not even over his dead body.

They’ll never see your bare body sprawled out before them, or how your mouth falls open and stays wide at the feeling of his hands caressing your body, or even how your cunt glistens in the faintest light from the simplest touch. They will never see those parts of you and that’s what kept Miguel sane.

All they’ll ever get from you is a fictitious smile, one of basic human decency and societal mannerism, a small giggle maybe , only if you’re feeling generous. Other than that, there’s nothing more to give, and certainly not to some child disguised as a waiter.

The poor fork in his hand was pleading for dear mercy with the way he was gripping it. Knuckles nearly turning a pale white at the sheer amount of pressure he was exerting. If you weren’t mistaken, you could have sworn you saw the metal bending.

“Miguel?” You questioned, your smaller hand reaching for his clenched fist.

“Pretty lady.” He scoffed to himself, mocking the waiter’s so-called compliment from earlier before taking the gasping fork and mercilessly shoving it into a piece of steak on his plate.

“Oh, Miguel.” You smiled sweetly, voice soft as you reached a hand from under the table to place it on his thigh, squeezing gently. “Don’t get so worked up. He’s a child, baby. No more than nineteen I assume.”

“That’s not the point, hermosa.” He sighed, “I don’t care how young or old he is–him or anyone else as a matter of fact. I just don’t want another man looking at what’s mine.” He reminded, a small hint of discontent lacing is words.

You leaned forward to press your lips to his cheek, planting a warm kiss to the skin before dragging your lips up to his ear. You kissed there too, leaving behind a wet path in your wake.

“Well, they don’t get to see me like you do, do they?” You too reminded, your voice warm and inviting and directly in his ear.

Miguel shook his head lightly, subconsciously craning his head in the opposite direction, granting you more access to the sensitive flesh of his neck. God , he would take you right here if you’d let him, in front of all these innocent people too.

He could feel himself straining against the fabric of his trousers, growing harder and harder by the fucking second. It never took much for him to get like this. If he were being completely honest, he was a goner as soon as you put your hand on his thigh.

Slowly, you began to move your hand along the length of his thigh, careful not to cause too much of a distraction to those around you, though there weren’t many. The restaurant was practically empty excluding the older couple in the far corner who realistically couldn’t see beyond their own table, and the occasional pass of a busy server.

You could hear Miguel suck in a tight breath as you neared the tent in his trousers, but stopping once you’ve gotten too close.

“They don’t get to hear me either… my moans, whimpers. Only you, baby.” You continued. “Only you can hear me, see me, touch me.” You purred, voice low and tantalizing as you hummed in his ear, hand still working at his tensing thigh.

And he knew all of this of course, he just loved it when you gave him a little reminder from time to time. Nothing wrong with a little reassurance, right?

Miguel remained silent, afraid replying with anything would result in the two of you fucking eachother right on this goddamned table. He needed you–needed to fuck you, be inside of you, show you that no one else could possibly fuck you like he could.

“Come on.” He muttered suddenly, practically yanking you up from where you sat.

Miguel said nothing as he stuffed a hand into the back pocket of his trousers, retrieving his wallet before pulling out several bills and nearly slamming them on the table. He grabbed your purse from the chair beside you, slinging over his shoulder before taking you by the hand, leading you out of the restaurant.

“I didn’t finish my steak.” You huffed as you quickly followed your husband to his blacked-out Ashton Martin.

“We’ll come back tomorrow.” He spoke quickly as the two of you approached the passenger’s side of the vehicle. He was then opening the door for you before helping you duck to get inside of the lowrider.

Miguel was soon closing the door and quickly walking around to the driver's side before opening the door and throwing himself into the seat, hurriedly starting up the car and shifting the gears.

The car ride home was the longest twenty minutes of your life–between the lingering glances, his hand creeping higher up your thigh, and the thickening sexual tension in the atmosphere, you would much rather have been dead.

Miguel was fiddling to unlock the front door with a blind hand as his lips were slotted against yours, his tongue already pushing itself inside of your mouth. He’d much rather struggle for an extra minute to open the door than pull away from you for even a second.

Eventually, the door was pushed open and the two of you stumbled inside of the dark house, lips still pressed to one another. His keys were dropping to the floor with a thud, then so was your purse, your jacket, his wallet, and soon, your heels were slipping off too.

“Take this off.” Miguel muttered, referring to the over priced dress that hugged your body a little too perfectly. Almost immediately, one of his hands were reaching behind you in an attempt to find the dresses’ zipper before hurriedly tugging at the small piece of metal.

“Careful. I like this dress.” You warned, smiling at his eagerness.

“I know, baby. I bought it.” He reminded as he pulled the zipper down until it reached the waistband of your sheer underwear. “I can always buy you a new one.” He finished before quickly pulling the straps down your shoulders, allowing you to shimmy your way out of the fabric.

It wasn’t long before his lips were back on yours, his tongue delving into your mouth once again. He couldn’t get enough of your mouth and after that stunt you pulled in the restaurant, his only intentions were to fuck you into a whining, sobbing mess.

“You’re so beautiful, amor.” He exhaled, the tips of his fingers roaming your almost bare body. “And all mine.”

He dragged rough, calloused hands down your waist before meeting the curve of your hips. He squeezed gently, savoring the feeling of you beneath his fingertips before dragging his hands down a little further, cupping the fat of your ass.

“Tell me.” He spoke, pulling away to steal a glimpse of your swollen lips. “Tell me you’re mine, please?”

“I’m yours.” You responded, voice sweet and honeyed. “All yours, baby. You own me.” You moaned as he leaned forward, connecting his lips to your neck.

“Say it again.” He whispered, his voice warm and desperate.

“You own me.” You breathed as you craned your neck to the side, granting him more access to the flesh.

He hummed in agreement, lips still pressed to your skin, surely leaving several marks you’d discover in the morning. You could feel the graze of his cuspids as he dragged them along your throat. The slight pinch of him sinking his teeth into you forced a gasp past your lips.

With both hands, Miguel was slipping them just below the curve of your ass and gripping the back of your thighs. He was soon pulling you forward, silently beckoning you to jump to which you did. He was then wrapping your legs around his waist before blindly walking toward the dimly lit living room.

Miguel sat on the couch with your legs tightly wrapped around his waist. God, the heat was palpable. You could feel the growing need, the desperation, the hunger . The look in his eyes had your core aching with desire.

You have never seen Miguel like this–so feral and possessive, but you’d be lying if you said it didn’t have your cunt leaking with arousal. There’s just something about the carnality of it all, the want .

“Mmm, so fuckin’ pretty.” He hummed as he was taking your face in his hand, his palm resting on your warm cheek, “My pretty baby.”

You leaned into his touch, relaxing in his hand as he grazed his thumb along your skin, inching closer and closer to your bottom lip. Miguel was slow as he slid the pad of his thumb along your lip, the slickness of your saliva coating it.

Soon, he was pushing it past your lips and into your mouth. You allowed him to explore the wet cavity, his thumb rubbing against your tongue, teeth, inner cheek, hell, all of it. He even pushed it to the back of your throat, forcing a small gag from you to which he smiled admirably.

Miguel was pulling his finger out of your mouth only to put it in his, cleaning your saliva with his own. Your lips parted as you watched him lick and suck at his thumb, humming in satisfaction as he tasted you. He loved all you, he just couldn't get enough.

“Always taste so good.” He muttered as he leaned forward, pushing his lips against yours, “Need more.”

He wasn’t shy as he kissed you hungrily, his lips moving with nothing but urgency. You kissed him back, matching his fervor, your nose pushing against his as you pant into his mouth.

His lips were so sweet, so warm and delicious. You could taste the lingering red wine on his tongue from dinner, the saccharine twinge of aged grapes and honey, fuck, it was intoxicating. Not to mention the growing passion in his hurried movements.

His hands were gripping your hips, palms splayed along your skin, fingers digging into the sensitive flesh. There is no doubt in your mind that there would be crescent-shaped indents for you to admire later.

He was pushing your hips against him, rocking you back and forth along his growing erection, the friction making you dizzy. You could feel the nudge of his cock against your clothed cunt, your poor walls fluttering around nothing in response.

A gasp left your lips at the feeling of him bucking his hips forward, firmly pressing himself against the lace of your underwear. And God, how you were so wet and bothered. Miguel fucking loved it. He swore he could feel your wetness seeping through the fabric of his trousers.

You couldn’t help the whiny moans that tumbled past your lips and into his mouth. Plead after plead fell from your tongue, begging him for more, more, more. Your voice went straight to his cock as he swallowed your saccharine whimpers.

You could feel the graze of his tongue along your bottom lip, silently begging for more to which you obliged, granting him access to your sweet mouth. You allowed him to taste you from the inside, desperate to feel him explore your mouth. Even the subtle exchange of saliva had your heart slamming against your chest.

The sheer need was nothing but pathetic–desperate grinding, sultry moans, sloppy kissing, his tongue lapping and sliding against yours, his hands pulling you over his cock, fuck . It was almost too much for your poor brain to handle.

You were nearly falling apart atop him, your entire being melting into the palms of his hands for him to mold and to shape you into something of his own creation. You loved how he effortlessly turned you into a puddle of nothingness, handcrafted into his perfect little slut, his favorite slut.

“Mierda, you make me so hard, baby, fuck.” He moaned, lips still pressed to yours, “You feel it?” He hummed as he bucked his hips once again, pushing himself deeper into you.

You whined in response, that’s all you could do. It was absolute torture, complete agony. You could do nothing but sit prettily in his lap as he took control of your body, turning you into an utter mess atop him.

“You want it?” His hand was moving from your hip to slip past the waistband of your thin underwear before running his fingers through your dripping folds, collecting your arousal on the pads of his fingers.

“Yes.” You choked as you subconsciously rolled your hips against the palm of his hand. “Fuck, yes.”

“Yeah?” He hummed, his middle and ring fingers pushing themselves inside of you, desperate to feel your wet walls wrapping around them.

You nodded as you rolled your head back, lips parted and wet, silently begging for just a little more. He was slowly pulling his fingers out of you, only to push them inside once again, quickly picking up a steady pace that had your mind falling blank.

You couldn’t help the subtle movement of your body as you rocked your hips against his fingers, nearly riding his hand like the desperate woman you are. You were insatiable as you leaned forward, placing your hands on his shoulders in order to press yourself further down onto his fingers.

You were fucking beautiful, he thought. Nothing compared to your beauty, not the prettiest flower, the brightest sunset, or even the bluest ocean. Nothing in his mind even came close to you. He’d be lying if he said you weren't the prettiest thing he had ever seen.

Who could blame him? Look at you. The expression on your face was peerless, your blown-out pupils, parted lips, furrowed eyebrows, flushed cheeks, fuck , all of it had Miguel in a trance. Not to mention the way you were fucking his fingers like you would his cock.

“More.” You panted, “I need more.”

“Paciencia, princesa.” He drawled as he pulled his fingers out of you before bringing his hand toward his face, shoving his fingers into his mouth, tasting you like before. He was humming and groaning in satisfaction as he licked you clean off of his hands like a man starved.

“I’ll give you what you want.” He was then lifting you off of him to lay you on the couch before standing to his feet.

You laid there impatiently, your bottom lip tucked between your teeth, watching like a hawk as he undressed himself before you. You watched as he undid the clasp of his belt, pulling the dark leather through the loops of his trousers, dropping it to the floor with a clank.

You couldn’t help the hand that snaked down your body, eager to relieve the gnawing ache between your thighs. Your sweet fingers worked slowly at your cunt, rubbing small, tight circles through the fabric of your underwear, wanton moans falling from your mouth as you kept your gaze steady on his.

Miguel shook his head in disbelief, “Do you have any idea what you do to me?” He sighed.

You smiled in response, nodding knowingly as a devilish grin tugging at the corners of your lips. With your other hand, you were pushing the wet fabric out of your way to expose your glistening cunt to him before dipping two fingers inside of your leaking hole.

“Fuck, amor.” He cursed.

With his eyes boring holes into your own, he was unzipping his pants before pulling them down his hips, allowing the fabric to pool around his feet before kicking the garment away.

Looking at the bulge hidden beneath his briefs had you subconsciously pushing your thighs together. You couldn’t wait to have him inside of you, in fact, there wasn’t anything you craved more in that moment.

He was reaching for the hem of his shirt, crossing his wrists over one another before yanking the fabric up his torso and over his head, dropping to the floor, adding to the ever-growing pile of clothing. As he was beginning to take off his maroon briefs, he was kneeling on the couch before you, eyes filled with nothing but hunger.

You felt like prey under his gaze, as if you had been running from him for so long, and he finally caught up to you and is as starved as ever. God, he was going to devour you, eat you up and swallow you whole and couldn’t be anymore more excited.

With two hands, Miguel was reaching forward to pull your sopping underwear down your legs, tossing them aside. He was then sitting you up to undo the clasp of your bra before pulling the straps down your shoulders, also tossing the garment somewhere you’d realistically never find again.

Miguel was soon situating himself between your thighs, pushing your legs on either side of his hips, the heat of his body radiating onto yours. He always looked so big like this as his body towered over yours. His beaming figure always made you nervous. Your pretty pussy glistened in the dim lighting of the living room, swollen and aching, ready for anything he’s willing to give.

Silently, Miguel drank you up as his gaze tore you apart. His usual brown eyes now glimmer a faint red as he dragged them along your pretty little body. It’s like he couldn’t decide what he wanted to do with you. His sharp eyes flitted from your kiss-swollen lips, to your throat, down to the juncture where you both meet.

He thought you looked absolutely beautiful lying beneath him–your beautiful breasts on display for him, nipples growing hard in arousal, your pretty waist and the curve of your hips. All of it had his cock twitching like no other. He could almost cum to the sight of your bare body alone.

His cock sat so eagerly between your thighs, begging for something, anything . The poor head was leaking with precum, weeping tears of desperation, aching to feel the pressure of your slick walls around it. And how it stood so impatiently, so hopeful, hungry . It was going to split you open and Miguel would make sure of it.

With his cock in his hand, he dragged the head of it along your slit, collecting your essence on the tip, creating the sinful mixture of arousal. He pushed himself against your clit, prodding the tip against the sensitive bud with increasing pressure.

The moans that fell from your lips were nothing but needy–sultry whines and little gasps of air as he continued to tease your cunt had you sounding like a broken record.

Miguel groaned in response to your pretty little sounds, his voice that low and guttural. There was nothing he loved more than your sweet voice, especially when you get all needy and whiny like this.

“This pussy is all mine.” He muttered as his hand was reaching down to play with your slick cunt, picking up where you left off.

You nodded in agreement, pursing your lips together at the feeling of him pressing the pad of his thumb against your clit, tracing slow circles around the bud. He was soon dragging his fingers down to dip them inside of you, admiring the way you took him in so easily.

Of course you appreciated the time he took to prepare you, but you couldn’t stand the torment of it. It was absolute torture laying there, watching him take his sweet time, making sure you’re all stretched out for his cock, but quite frankly, you were growing impatient.

“Miggyyy.” You whined, your hips bucking forward in a vein attempt to get more out of his teasing hand.

He only laughed at your desperation, a small chuckle, one from the depths of his chest, one that had you completely spiraling. You could feel his voice in the pit of your stomach, his tone like kindle to an ever-growing flame.

“Tell me you want it then.” He was taking his cock in his hand like before, prodding it lazily against your sloppy hole, “Tell me you need me and only me.”

“I need you, baby, you know I do.” You cried, voice wavered and needy, “I need you to fuck me, please. Please?”

Your pride was long gone, swept away and blown out of the window. You’d beg for him for as long as he’d want you to, just as long as he’d turn you into a cum-drunk slut by the end of it. The only thing that plagued your mind was the thought of being stuffed full of him. The thought alone had you on the verge of tears.

Miguel didn’t need much convincing if any at all, he just loved when you get like this, all needy and desperate. He couldn’t ignore the painful throb of his cock as it laid against your cunt, his aching balls round and full of cum, eager to fill you up in the most sinful way.

“Gonna let me fuck you, cariño, hm? Is that what you want?” He hummed as he was beginning to line himself up with your dripping heat, his eyes still following yours. “Gonna let me show you how much I love this pussy?”

You nodded eagerly, desperate to take anything he’s willing to give like the good girl he knows you are. The swarming excitement you felt as you impatiently waited for him to slip himself inside of you had you whining in restless anticipation.

You released a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, “Show me.”

It was sudden, warm, and well fucking worth the wait. The stretch of his cock as he slowly pushed himself inside of you is something that would never grow old–the longing, the burn, the relief . It was all too much, you could almost cry.

The shared gasp as he pushed past the brief resistance of your walls was like oxygen to a rampant flame. As he bottomed out, heavy balls kissing the fat of your ass, there’s a soft cry of his name that feels like cold water dripping down his searing skin.

“Oh my… fuck.” It was quiet, more to himself if anything, but God, did you hear it.

With a slack jaw, Miguel pulled out slowly, admiring the shiny layer of arousal you left behind. He was slow as he pushed himself back inside of you, afraid moving too quickly would have him cumming far too soon.

It lasted for a while too–the slow, ponderous pace. You were nothing but impatient as you pushed your hips forward, desperate whines falling from your lips like some insatiable dog.

Obeying your silent pleads, Miguel drew his hips back on final time before sitting up on his knees, readjusting himself. He was then leaning forward to push his lips against yours while shoving himself inside of you, picking up a merciless pace.

His lips were like water to a fire as he fucked you into a whimpering mess. The tenderness of his kisses in contrast to the harsh thrust of his hips had your mind going hazy. You could hardly keep up as you laid before him, taking everything like his good little girl.

“Mine.” He muttered, lips still slotted against yours, “You're all mine.”

You let a moan fall from your mouth in agreement. Miguel swallowed all of your pretty sounds, loving and cherishing them. Your voice was his favorite melody, like the random major note in minor songs.

As he pulled away from you, you couldn’t help but to lift your head up, chasing his fleeting lips. Your frown was short lived as it was soon turned into gasps of pleasure at the feeling of him trailing wet, openmouthed kisses down your throat.

His lips were warm and soft as he pressed them to the tight flesh of your neck, licking and nipping at the sensitive skin. There was not a doubt in your mind that he was leaving behind the prettiest marks for him to admire later.

He was eventually dragging his tongue down your neck and along your collarbone, leaving the shiniest trail of saliva in his wake. His lips were like hot metal, branding you, marking you with his touch so that the thought of having you wouldn’t even cross another man’s mind.

“Mine.” It was almost a growl.

He was hovering your chest, lips brushing the space between your breasts, nose pressed to your sweet skin. You could feel the warmth of his breath as it fanned your chest with every exhale.

His gaze never left yours as he lowered his face, his lips now pressed to the valley between your breasts. He left kiss after kiss, moving between both of your tits with increasing keenness. The feeling of him slipping one of your nipples into his mouth is what had your back arching up off the couch.

Both of his hands were sliding up your waist to take your breasts into his palms, kneading and groping them, rolling your nipples between his fingers. He was eventually pushing the fat of your tits together before stuffing his face into them.

His tongue was quickly slipping past his lips to lick at the flesh, leaving a messy trail of saliva along each of your breasts. He hummed in satisfaction while he kissed and nipped at you, savoring the taste of you on his tongue.

Every breath, every groan, and every whimper that left his lips was absorbed into your skin, his sounds sending vibrations throughout your body. God, he loved all of you and your breasts were no exception.

“These are mine.” He breathed, lips still pressed to the fat of your chest.

You sucked in a tight breath, eyebrows furrowing at the feeling of his warm tongue gliding along your skin. You could only feel yourself growing wetter as he devoured your tits like it’s the last meal he’d ever have.

You could hardly register him pulling out of you to kneel on the floor in front of the couch. He was quickly pulling you toward his face by your hips, draping your legs over his shoulders. He was soon stuffing his face between your legs, licking a long strip up your slit.

“Mig–fuck, it’s too much.” You whined, your hips stuttering against his face.

Miguel shook his head as he began to wrap his lips around your clit, sucking on the sensitive bud with growing fervor. It’s his pussy anyway, he can do whatever he wants with what’s his.

Two hands were flying up to card through his hair, your fingers harshly gripping the roots. You were nothing but greedy as you pulled him impossibly closer, shamelessly grinding your cunt against his face.

Miguel would be one hell of a liar if he said the feeling of you tugging at his hair didn’t have his cock throbbing between his legs. The drip of precum from the tip of his wet cock was creating the most sinful pool of arousal on the carpet.

There was absolutely nothing in the world that made Miguel harder than eating you out, especially when you’d use him for your own pleasure. The taste of your pussy on his tongue was intoxicating, he could feel himself growing drunk from your saccharine flavor.

Moan after moan fell from your lips as he pushed you closer and closer to an inevitable orgasm. You rolled your hips against his tongue, back arching up off the couch at every sudden flick of the wet muscle.

“My pretty pussy.” He was running his tongue through your cunt, “So pretty n’ wet for me, fuck.” He moaned.

He just couldn’t get enough of you, so when he pushes your thighs apart, pinning them to the cushion of the couch in order to see more of your cunt, you really can’t be surprised, can you?

Miguel was backing away slightly to steal a glimpse of your pussy. He loved the way it glistened in a mixture of saliva and arousal. He even loved the faint pulse of your dripping hole as it fluttered around nothing, silently begging him to do something, anything . Though he loved it all, it still wasn’t enough, not nearly as messy as he would like.

Miguel was gathering saliva in his mouth, allowing it to pool behind on the tip of his tongue before puckering his lips and spitting it onto your cunt. He was then smearing himself all over you, fingers gliding between your folds and dipping inside of you. He even took it upon himself to smear it between the slit of your ass.

“Miggy, fuck.” You gasped as you felt the cool, unforgiving air of the living room kiss your cunt.

He could almost cum at this salacious sight of you–your wet, little cunt on display for him, chest heaving with arousal, your furrowed eyebrows and blushed cheeks, fuck, Miguel was fighting the urge to release himself all over the fucking carpet.

He was muttering profanities under his breath as he was beginning to push himself up from the floor in order to kneel on the couch like before. It wasn’t long because he was pulling you toward him to hover over you, his warm gaze eating you up like you’d disappear if he were to take his eyes off of you.

“M’gonna fuck you until you cum all over me, baby. You want that?” He hummed as he was beginning to push himself inside of you like before. “Want me to make you cum?”

You nodded blankly, grimacing at the sound of your sopping cunt taking him in with such greediness. The sound was obscene as he picked up his pace–lewd squelching combined with skin against skin had your stomach aching with the need to cum.

“God, you’re my good fuckin’ girl.” He moaned, his head dipping down to rest within the crook of your neck, “All mine… no one else’s, you hear me?” His lips pressed to your throat.

“Y-yours… m’yours.” You whimpered, rolling your head back to give him more access to your skin.

“Again.” He whispered.

“Fuck, I’m yours, Miguel, all yours.” You cried, your voice sweet like honey in his ears, “All of me belongs to you, okay?” Your hands were coming up to rest on his cheeks, palms warm and inviting.

He could only groan in response before nodding his head in approval. You were right. All of you belonged to him–your heart, your body, your soul . You weren’t ashamed to admit it either. Being his is what you’re most proud of. He’s the greatest prize in your eyes as you are in his eyes.

Your reassurance is all he ever needs. Hearing your sweet reminders from time to time is what keeps Miguel sane. He would spiral if it weren’t for your constant words of affirmation. They always turn him into a sappy mess and whenever you’d tell him how much you love and appreciate him, he always seems to melt, so that’s what you did.

“I love you, baby… so much.” You whispered as you pulled him close for a sloppy kiss, “Always been so good to me.”

His hips stuttered at your words, thrusts growing messy and haphazard as he hastily kissed you back.“Te amo mucho, cariño.”

That winding coil in the pit of your stomach, begging to be released only grew tighter and tighter. You could feel the pulse of your walls around his cock, silently warning him of the impending orgasm.

“You gonna cum?” He cooed as he was bringing a hand down to play with your clit, tracing small, tight circles around the sensitive bud, encouraging your looming orgasm.

You squeaked a small mhm in response, eyes falling shut as you felt your orgasm creeping up your neck. His voice only pushed you further. It was way too soon but you couldn’t help it. He was sending you so far, stringing you along so thin, beckoning you to cum all over him and it was fucking working.

“Cum for me, my pretty baby, c’mon.” He encouraged, “Cum for me like I know you want to.”

It happened all too fast. Your poor brain couldn't register the orgasm that coursed through you. The feeling of your abdomen tightening and the fluttering of your soft walls around his cock made it nearly impossible for you to breathe. Your head fell empty as your long awaited orgasm finally took over your limp body, leaving you a whimpering, stuttering mess. That feeling would always be unmatched.

“Fuck, that’s it. Oh my God, mira que hermosa eres.” He was leaning down to kiss you again, fucking you through your orgasm as he desperately chased his own.

As he continued you fuck you, the force of his thrusts had your cum leaking out of you and onto the couch, creating the messiest little puddle beneath you. He could feel his own stomach tightening as his cock twitched inside of you, beads of precum leaking into your cunt.

"Oh, f-fuck, you make me wanna cum so bad, baby." Miguel stuttered as his head fell back to face the ceiling. “Please, can I cum inside? Please- fuck , cariño, please?” He begged.

You nodded eagerly, desperate to feel his warm cum inside of you, you’d do anything for it. “I need it… need your cum–want your babies, Miggy.”

“Fuck, don’t say that, hermosa.” He whined.

You shook your head, “I need it, make me yours… wanna show everyone m’yours.” You whispered.

Miguel didn’t need much convincing at all. He’d be lying to himself if he said the thought of fucking a baby into you has never crossed his mind. It’d be the unparalleled way in making sure everyone knows who exactly you belong to. Far more efficient than a simple love bite that’d eventually fade with time. He craved something a little more permanent. And what better way is there than to get you all round and plump with his child? The thought alone had him on the brink of cumming.

“God, you want it, don’t you?” He was bringing a hand down to rest on your cheek, “You want me to fuck a baby in you? Get you fuckin’ pregnant?”

You nodded frantically. There was nothing you needed more in that moment.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck–okay, baby. Whatever you want, I’ll give it to you.” He moaned.

His whiny moans soon turned into broken ones, each of them interrupted with a dog-like pant. His chest heaved as he felt his lower stomach beginning to tighten with a tension that was mere seconds away from snapping. Eventually, that winding coil in the pit of his stomach broke, releasing itself in several spurts of milky-white cum, coating your walls in his thick seed.

“Gonna make you a mommy, fuck.” He whined as he continued to fuck you through his orgasm, ensuring that his cum was nice and deep inside of you.

He stayed still for a while, cock buried inside of you, his cum leaking from your cunt. Truthfully, he didn’t want to move, he wanted to stay inside of you until the end of time, all warm and happy. God, it was hot, too hot. And the proximity of his body to yours didn’t make it any better, but you wouldn't trade it for a goddamned thing.

His forehead was pressed to yours, breath fanning your lips as he held himself above you. All that could be heard was the shared erratic breaths as you tried to calm each other's heartbeats. Though he had to will himself to, he was eventually pulling out of you to lay beside you on the couch, stuffing himself into the small space between you and the backrest.

Miguel pulled you impossibly closer as a hand slipped between your thighs. You could feel his fingers gliding through your slit before dipping inside of you, stuffing his leaking cum back inside of you. He only shushed you as you whined his name, telling you that he doesn't want any of his cum going to waste.

When he was satisfied, he began kissing your neck softly as he dragged his fingers along your body, tracing sweet little shapes against the warm skin. It was quiet for a while, a comfortable quiet. The two of you laid still, basking in the scent of each other, mentally adding this moment to the arbitrary file cabinet in the back of your minds.

Miguel finally spoke, breaking the comforting silence, “Please tell me I can take our baby on missions with me.”

“Absolutely not.”

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*: ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ

Hey, you! Did you like this? Click here for more!

#miguel fanfic #miguel 2099 #miguel x reader #miguel o'hara #atsv miguel #miguel spiderverse #miguel spiderman #spiderman 2099 #across the spiderverse

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seresinhangmanjake · 7 months

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The One I Want: Part 15

Jake "Hangman" Seresin x plus size!reader

Summary: You’re new in town and some guy named Jake is about to be your roommate. Being skeptical of new people keeps you lonely and uninterested in any entanglements, but Jake is desperate to change that.

Notes/Warnings: cursing, emotional stuff and vulnerability, fluff, angst, inaccurate navy stuff, typos for sure (fr didn't proofread tonight)

Words: 3537

The One I Want Masterlist

---

“He really didn’t call last night?” Millie finally asks. She’s been watching you out of the corner of her eye for the better half of an hour, sitting in a plastic chair on the opposite side of the gift shop’s counter as she unconvincingly flips through the pages of a bridal magazine.

The stack Millie brought to your work was an attempt to distract you so you would have something to think about other than Jake, but you’ve done nothing other than stare at the same wedding dress on the same page since Millie arrived. You can’t even say it’s a nice dress that would compliment your friend’s figure, so you’re about as useless as they come for a Maid of Honor. Dresses, flowers, bachelorette parties—it all sits nestled in the back of your mind, and you’d feel horrible for not taking the details of the wedding more seriously, but right now you’re not alone in using it as a distraction from missing the men in your lives.

At least Millie has received some reassurance. Rooster has taken every opportunity to call her, to comfort her, to express his love. But Jake? Nothing. The most you’ve gotten is a “He’s fine, just a bit drawn into himself lately. Got a lot on his mind,” from Millie who reported that information secondhand from her fiance.

That Jake has put you in a place of questioning is a blow to your heart, but in an effort to stay sane, you haven’t allowed yourself to create potential explanations for him in your head. He’ll reach out eventually, and when he does, you trust he’ll give you all the answers you need.

But for now, you shake your head.

“What is wrong with that boy?” Millie huffs, leaning back in her chair. “I was hopin’ he’d make up for his lack of calls with a beautiful handwritten letter confessin’ his love, but good lord.”

“He already told me he loves me.”

The magazine drops onto her lap. Her jaw practically unhinges. “How are you just tellin’ me this now?” she asks. “What did you say?”

Running your fingers through your hair, you close your magazine and shove it aside. “He didn’t let me say anything,” you tell her, relief washing over you at finally letting it out. “It was over the phone as they were leaving, and he hung up before I could get two words in.”

Millie sighs. “Oh, Honey.” She sits up and scoots the chair as close to the counter as possible so she can easier wrap your hand in hers.

“You know–” she begins, but then pauses as she rethinks, “Or, well, maybe you don’t know—but you should know Jake doesn’t throw that word around lightly. I haven’t known him as long as the others, but I do know that you were a total game-changer. He told all of us that from the moment he saw you he was a goner.”

Heat floods your cheeks at hearing the words he once told you. You’ve believed him to be genuine for a long time, but it’s incredibly fulfilling to know he felt strongly enough to tell his friends before you were willing to consider your own feelings for him.

Being honest with yourself, you weren’t in the same place the first time you saw Jake. You thought he was beautiful and magnetic, and being that beautiful and magnetic, you were convinced he was going to be just as troublesome. There was no room in your mind to consider yourself a goner. Your shields were unbreakable. But now, when you replay the last few months of your life—replay the first time you really took him in, the first time his fingers touched yours—you can acknowledge that in choosing to stay here, the feelings you’ve developed for him were inevitable. Goner for goner—it just took you a moment to catch up.

Millie grins at the red tinge you can’t conceal. “He’s been Mr. Game Changer himself, hmm?”

Shooting her a look before playfully rolling your eyes, you say, “Don’t tease me about things you already know, Millie.”

“The next time he calls, do you want me to tell Bradley to knock some sense back into that pretty, blond head?”

You chuckle. “No, it’s ok,” you say. “Jake was patient with me. It’s my turn to be patient with him. He’ll come through.”

“I’m sure it'll be soon. For you, he’d–” Millie’s eyes flick just past your head. “Oh, fuck no,” she mutters as the store’s door swings open and closes from behind you. “We don’t accept trash here. Please take yourself out,” Millie sasses, making you turn in your chair.

Brit doesn’t acknowledge the tiny redhead. Her dark eyes are darts, so focused on you she hardly blinks. For some reason, though, you don’t sense the animosity you did the last time she brought herself around.

“It’s been a while,” she says to you.

Millie scoffs. “Not long enough.”

As much as you want to, you don’t feed into your friend’s comments. Defending you is appreciated, but you have a feeling that poking at the blonde will delay her departure, and Brit doesn’t need to be in your life and space any longer than you desire to be in hers.

“What can I do for you?” you ask.

“I came here to say something.”

“We don’t have a good track record there.”

With arms crossed, Brit rolls her eyes. “Right, well…I was pissed.”

Millie mimics Brit’s behavior; arm-crossing, eye-rolling, and attitude included. “Award-winnin’ excuse, honey.”

“Can't you scram?”

“Can and will are two different things.”

Your eyes move to Millie. The fire within her is too powerful to die out against the challenge before her, and you’re positive the two could go on for hours if you let them, neither willing to back down. But you want Brit to get on with it. Surely she knows after her last failure that she’s unable to affect you or Jake and the plans you have with one another, all of which do not include her. So what else is there for her to bother you with?

“Millie, it’s ok,” you say, snapping the tense band of their stare-off.

Her face softens when she looks at you. Words don’t have to be exchanged for her to understand what you’re asking of her. She stands and walks to Brit with a pointed finger. “I’m gonna be watchin’ you through the window like a stalker the entire time.”

After stepping outside, she immediately turns to face the window, just as promised.

You stand as well and brace yourself against the wall, keeping the barrier of the counter between you. “I’d love to get this over with, so what do you want to say?”

Brit takes her time, running her fingernail over the packets of gum in their display before she decides to take a seat in the vacant chair. With her legs crossed, her hands clasp in her lap. “I don’t know if you are aware, but Jake dropped by for a nice little visit a couple of days before he left,” she shares with you. Then she sighs as if bored. “He said some things. A lot of things. Bared his soul and all that shit. It was rather dramatic.”

While shocked, you suppose you don’t need a million guesses to figure out why he would go to her before leaving you. He expressed his concerns weeks ago, and no matter how fiercely you tried to reassure him, you couldn’t snuff it out completely. You could always see it in his eyes—a dimmed but persistent flickering of worry.

Brit yanks you from your thoughts. “You’re not ever going to let him go, are you,” she says.

“No.”

“Yea…” She runs her tongue over her teeth, making that squelching sound you had hoped to never hear again. “He’s not going to let you go, either. He made that clear.”

You get that feeling again—that deep fulfillment from being with Jake. You could’ve lived your whole life and the adventures that come with it—from marriage to children to grandchildren, if that is what you and Jake choose—completely unaware of him working behind the scenes to protect and defend and love you.

It seems silly to not have realized before, but you’re so new to this kind of love that inexperience has you approaching it in a fairly straightforward manner. You don’t hide your emotions or actions from Jake anymore. You’re sad, you cry, he comforts you. You’re mad, you yell, he calms you. You’re happy, you smile, and he smiles right with you. And you’ve done the same for him. Open and honest and, as you once agreed, hearts bare.

You would do anything for Jake, and he for you, but you never considered that his affection extended past what you see. Not because it shouldn’t; that’s what love is, you know that. But the love of your past was hollow, very out of sight out of mind on their end; a disconnection that those men used to boost their egos by making fun of you to their friends or flirting with other women when you weren’t around.

Unless taught differently, a person only knows what they've known. So the idea of Jake going above and beyond in that way simply never crossed your mind.

“At first, I hated him for it,” Brit says, suspiciously even-toned. “Showing up at my door, desperately trying to appeal to god knows what while he repeatedly reminds me that he won’t be with me because he’s in love with you. I mean, can you believe the fucking audacity of a man to do that to a woman?”

You can, because you know hurt and embarrassment inside and out, and up and down. Without the context of their situation—were it any other man spouting off to any other woman—you could find it in yourself to feel sympathy as easily as you find your next breath. But Brit deserves the treatment she’s describing; not for the sake of cruelly getting even after the harassment she doled out, but because she needs to hear the truth of the matter from Jake’s lips. She’s in the wrong, what she has done is unacceptable, and perhaps most importantly: you are not the reason Jake doesn’t want to be with her. Whether she eventually accepts that truth or not is another thing entirely.

“I’ve spent these weeks hating him more than I thought possible,” she says.

You shake your head. “Brit, I don’t understand where this is going, and to be honest, I’m–”

“You once asked me if I was tired,” she interrupts you, her tone raising to overlap yours. It succeeds in silencing you. “Well, I’m tired.”

If you could find your voice, you don’t know what you would do with it. When she cornered you in the Hard Deck’s bathroom with a plethora of insults and threats, you shot back at her with few words and a final question. But considering her lack of self-reflection, it wasn’t a question you imagined she might one day reassess.

Brit rises and straightens out her top. She gives you one final look. “So, now you know.”

Then she exits the store and disappears around the other side of the building where the sidewalk meets the street.

“What the actual fuck was that about?” Millie asks, returning to your side.

You’re still staring at the spot where she vanished. “I’ll believe it when I see it,” you start, then swallow, “But I think she’s done with us.”

—

You love all of the things that still smell like Jake. The sheets, the pillow, the interior of his truck, the kitchen because that’s the first place he’d go after putting cologne on in the morning. He lingers everywhere, and when you close your eyes, you can trick yourself into believing he’s right beside you. But after a while of sitting around the scent with your eyes closed, the illusion dissipates. If Jake was actually near you, only so much time would pass before he’d begin touching and kissing and whispering sweet things in your ear.

“You know I can’t help myself,” he’d say. And without him here, you can’t convince the scene to play out.

It’s like a bad dream that doesn’t lose its power over you even after you wake. It’s still in your brain, in the race of your heart, in the heavy gasps from your lungs. Dreams you often have that, even when sweet and beautiful, aren’t. If they’re not full of horrible images that leave you shaking in bed, they’re reminders of good times with Jake, and it’s the good times that ache the most when they’re over.

Tonight, though, it’s not the dreams that shoot you awake. It’s the ring of your phone from an unknown number.

When Jake first left, every unknown number that popped up on your screen jolted an electric shock through your body. But after so many telemarketers and automated calls from the apartment building updating you on temporary changes to office hours, you stopped expecting anything else.

Grabbing your phone, you slam the tip of your finger onto the little green circle and lift it to your ear. “Seriously, calling in the middle of the night is so messed up! I told you to take me off your list!”

“What list?”

Your eyes widen, and every scrap of half-asleep grumpiness falls away at the sound of his voice. “J-Jake?”

“Hey, beautiful…”

He sounds as tired as you are, but you can practically feel the smile on his face. You’re sure it’s a weak smile, all he can muster due to the exhaustion, but it’s there and it’s for you.

Your vision blurs and you blink and fat droplets soak into his comforter. You rub your thumb over the damp circles. “I should slap you,” you say, your nose already becoming stuffy from your tears.

“Oh, you should do much worse than that,” he replies. You lightly chuckle, so he lightly chuckles, then silence holds until he sighs. “I’m so sorry. I miss you so damn much.”

“So much you didn’t want to call before now? It's been a long time, Jake.”

“I did want to call,” he tells you. “And I could have—I should have—but I just…I freaked out a bit.”

“Why?”

Jake sighs again, and he must’ve pulled the phone away from his face because there’s a muttering so faint you can barely hear it. But then loudly and clearly, he says, “Because I fucked up, beautiful, and I’m embarrassed. You deserved better.”

Your mouth goes dry.

Fucked up. Fucked. Up.

Before you can stop yourself, you catch a glimpse of what the next few moments could turn your life into.

Fucked up. Slept with someone. Sorry. Thought I loved you. Not your fault. You can stay at the apartment until I get back.

Pain, and heartbreak, and tears fatter than the ones you’re currently shedding. Lost trust that will never be found for anyone else. No more confidence. No more self-love. No more vulnerability.

Twelfth new place.

But then he says, “That’s not how I should have told you I love you.”

One sentence. A snap of the fingers and every invading thought is shoved out of your head. You breathe. Shake your head. Swipe your fingers across your cheek to wipe away the first tear brought on by what you thought was about to break your heart.

“It’s not how I wanted to do it,” he continues. “I was going to tell you so many times in the week before I left, but I didn’t know how you were going to react. Then I thought I’d say it at the dock, but Rooster was next to me and Millie was next to you, and no way in hell was I going to have them there the first time I said that to you.

“Before I knew it, we were on the ship and it hit me that I ran out of chances. But I couldn’t go without you knowing, so I didn’t think, I just did it,” he says. “I didn’t realize how fucking lame it was until the next day. I mean, Rooster told Millie on a damn ferris wheel, and Bob…” There's a pause. “Actually, I shouldn't tell you what Bob did for his girl; it shames us all.”

Finally, he takes a breath. “Anyway, after we were gone, whenever I wanted to call you I froze up because I had no idea what you would say and how you would feel. The thought of you being disappointed with me or with something I did–”

“Jake–”

“Especially something like this—it makes me–”

“Jake, I don't care that you told me over the phone,” you manage to slip in between his words.

“Y-You don’t?”

“No, of course not,” you snicker, running the back of your hand under your nose to clear away any snot. “What I care about is that you didn't let me respond,” you tell him. “I care that the only way I've known you're safe has been through Millie.”

This time, Jake’s sigh sounds different; one more of relief than anything. Minutes of talking has anxiety lifting off of both of your shoulders by the pounds. Jake is okay, Jake is safe, Jake still loves you. You’re okay, you’re safe, you’re not so disappointed in him that you didn’t hang up the second you heard his voice.

“Beautiful, if I could kick myself I would.”

“I’m sure you could ask one of the others to do it.”

“Anyone in particular you’d prefer to do the honors?”

You hum. “Javy never skips leg day. I’m sure he’s got a strong swing.”

Jake laughs loud enough for you to jerk your ear away from the speaker. “I’ll surprise him with the good news in the morning,” he says.

There’s a handful of things you could say in response. Cute things. Witty things. Sassy things, like requesting pictures of said kick in the ass as proof. But you don’t say those things. While you’d love to continue on the lighter path of conversation, you have more questions.

“Why didn’t you let me respond?” you ask.

It’s amazing that you can’t see him yet you can feel his shift in attitude. As if in slow motion, you picture each phase of the bright smile disintegrating off his face.

Jake clears his throat. “You want the selfish or the less selfish reason first?”

“In that order is fine.”

“Ok. Selfishly, I didn’t want to hear you say you don’t love me,” he says. “But that wasn’t my first thought. My first thought was that I just needed you to know. I didn’t care if you loved me too, I cared that you knew you were loved.

“It was after it was out of my mouth that I realized you might feel pressured to give me a response, which I also didn’t want for you. Then the selfish part came into play because what if you responded with anything other than that you love me too? Would it have made me stop loving you? No. But it would’ve hurt…badly.”

“You honestly think that I don’t?”

“I don’t know, beautiful.”

You can see his weak smile again, and you can picture how this conversation would go if he were in front of you rather than a thousand miles away. With that smile, he’d hold your hand and brush your hair behind your ear. He’d smooth your tears back into your cheeks with his thumb because he’d hate that they’re there before he pulls you into him to kiss you.

“You’ve been through so much,” he says. “I don’t expect you to be in love with me, but that doesn’t mean it wouldn't hurt to hear you confirm it.”

You cry a little harder for the tears that shouldn’t be shedding; for the uncertainty he’s been feeling; for the questions you’ve been asking yourself over the last couple of months. All unnecessary. All of which could’ve been solved had he given you a chance to respond or called you at his first opportunity.

You empathize with why he didn’t. Jake may be a man who doesn’t throw the ‘love’ word around often, but you’re a woman who has refused to throw it out at all. You protect yourself that way. You maintain some semblance of power by never speaking it aloud to someone who would not reciprocate. You understand what it means to tell someone you love them when you’ve lost those you love, and you’ve refused to do it for that purpose. It’s a risk of facing more loss.

But it’s a risk Jake took that would have instantly proved worth it. You only wish he could have known that at the time.

“Jake, I–”

“Please don’t,” he stops you. “I don’t want you to say anything until I get back. Either way, I mean. If you feel how I do, or, you know…if you don’t. I’d rather not know until I’m with you again.”

“You would rather wait months to know how I feel?”

“Well, that’s the thing, beautiful,” he says. “We might be coming home sooner than expected.”

---

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targaryenrealnessdarling · 1 year

Text

Breaking the Rules

Modern!Aemond x reader | Summary: Aemond was the one who established the rules of your fwb relationship, but can he really follow them? | Word Count: 5.4k~ | Warnings below the cut~

Links to my Taglists: General Taglist | Aemond Targaryen Taglist

Warnings: fwb relationship, fingering, p in v, pussy slapping, dirty talk, degrading, ass slapping, hair pulling, creampie, insinuation of oral (m receiving)

That little slither of time between submitting your dissertation and actually graduating was heaven.

The last student finance payment hit your bank, as well as everyone else’s, and as soon as exams were over, it was time for a party. One last part to send you all off into the big wide world.

Doing a four year course was akin to starting school for the first time, as it seemed everyone around you had done three years instead, graduated a year ahead, and you had to remember people’s names, make new friends and circles, all over again.

At least it was only one year.

There was only one person who had also done a four year course, your bestie, Helaena. Who just so happened to be the reason you met your now fuck-buddy, Aemond, of just over a couple of years.

Truthfully Helaena was the only thing keeping you sane. She was ‘mother’ on night’s out, the one who made the best hangover dippy eggs ever, but also just an all round good friend. Your absolute rock. She’d been supportive, albeit protective, when she’d learned of yours and Aemond’s…unconventional friendship.

Could it be called a friendship, if he wasn’t really friendly?

Not that he was ever mean. He just didn’t have a social bone in his body.

But an absolute freak in the sheets.

For a man so quiet and unsociable, he was surprisingly rough. He craved control, and this obsession didn’t stop in the bedroom either. But you enjoyed that about Aemond. It always felt raw, dangerous, as if he needed it. One flip of the switch and he was in that headspace. And the moment it was over, he’d retreat back into himself and leave soon after.

Helaena was the type of person who could spend all night in the 24-hour Library, head in her books and like it was any other day, have her hair looking pristine, face clear ready for her 8am lecture the next day. You, on the other hand, turned up, but looking considerably worse for wear than your dear friend, a messy bun perched on top of your head, and hefty dark circles under your eyes.

Your lovely, silver-haired friend was sat cross-legged before a floor length mirror, pulling a curling wand through her thick strands of hair, only leaving them long enough to form a loose wave. The phone screen perched on your bed lit up.

“That Aem?” Helaena asks, looking at you in the mirror.

You furrow your brows, “Baela. She’s meeting us there” you answer, typing out the response to her before clicking the phone away, “What are you wearing tonight?”

"Nothing terribly impractical. I'm not impressing anyone" she answers, dusting some highlighter over her cheeks. Not like she needs it, the cheeky sod, she already has amazing bone structure.

"Liar" you smirk, biting your lip, "You know Floris is going to be there and you're purposefully wearing a low cut top"

"Oh my god, leave me alone"

"I'm just pointing out the facts"

You get up and go to your wardrobe, pulling out a floral dress. It's July, so the nights are still bright and it's humid all the time, something short should do the trick.

Part of you wants to wear nothing underneath, just to see how far you can take it. Would Aemond be jealous? He shouldn’t be. He was the one to suggest you two weren’t exclusive, and that if either of you bumped into each other or just felt like it, you’d fuck.

But it's a party with old uni mates, so begrudgingly, you've opted to keep on a lace black thong, one you know gets guys immensely riled up. It's quite entertaining really.

Usually, you’d be disgusted to turn up to Aegon’s house. He was single, and unapologetically filthy. However, when you arrived, you were relieved beyond measure to find that Aegon had employed the use of a cleaner (probably at the behest and payment of their mother) before inviting people over. No used condoms, cigarette butts or lingering weed smell.

Since graduating, Aegon had opted to move into (quite permanently) one of the homes that Viserys had owned on the outskirts of the city. When their dad died, Alicent found no use of such big homes and so rented them out as Airbnbs. You remember Aemond telling you how Aegon was more than happy to just slip in unannounced one day, and that he’d paid for the first month’s rent, but after that had mysteriously stopped. Alicent let him stay anyway, as long as he behaved himself.

Which, of course, he didn’t.

You walked hand in hand with Helaena through the front doors, the bass and sheer loudness of the music audible from even the curb. Aegon had gone all out. Some of his friend’s were graduating as well, so he’d invited everyone. Pretty much half the university by the looks of it. Even though by student standards it was still fairly early, the party was heaving, so much so it was difficult to tell in the low light of the inside who was who.

“There she is!” Aegon’s voice boomed, a cigarette already between his lips and that lazy, dozy look in his eyes. You give Helaena a knowing look. He’s quite clearly been drinking a while.

He makes a show of leaning in to fake kiss his sister on the cheek, “My darling sister and …oh it’s you”

You playfully swat his shoulder, “Shut up”, you raise your eyebrows with a smirk, “Oh, nice to see you respecting the no smoking inside rule”

Aegon merely winked, flashing a smile with all his teeth before being dragged away for shots.

Helaena gasped quietly, “There she is, there she is, there she is”

Floris was on the other side of the room, leaning against a chair with a can of gin and tonic, wearing quite the piece. The effort almost rivalled Helaena’s, and your silver-haired friend was vibrating with excitement.

“Okay okay, deep breaths. Calm the kitty and just go talk to her”

She goes instantly pink, looking quite ethereal against the violet of her eyes, “I can’t just-”

“You can. I have every faith” you say, giving a reassuring smile and pushing a can of g&t in her hands.

Her eyes look nervous and worried in equal measure, “You going to be alright on your own?”

You nod quickly, “I’ll be fine, I’ll badger a Lannister or something”

She smiles anxiously and takes a breath, crossing her fingers. You watch as she crosses the room, dipping her head to Floris’ eyeline to initiate a conversation. She’s so cute, you think as she flushes pink.

With the party in full swing, now several cans deep and a nice buzz, you’ve found yourself ‘engaged’ in a conversation with a Martell, Baela and Rhaena having ventured outside for a smoke. You don’t remember his name, you only know that he smells dizzily of Tom Ford Black Orchid and that he’s giving bedroom eyes.

You say ‘engaged’ in conversation. Martells aren’t exactly known for their conversational skills, so you’re mainly nodding along to whatever he says, hoping that he might show you his bedroom skills associated with the stereotype.

Your phone vibrates and you look at the illuminated screen.

You furrow your eyebrows at his texts. What on earth would he need to talk about? And the unsent text messages are giving horror movie vibes, so with the buzz of the alcohol as well as your disinterest in him (and heightened one in the Martell) you click your phone off and put it back, only to be dragged to the dance floor by your hand.

Ok so he's not the best dancer either. If anything a tiny bit clumsy and mostly just grinding his clothed dick into your ass any chance he gets. But the buzz of the drinks, low lights and loud music drowns out all that. You and Aemond hadn't fucked in forever it felt like, and a woman had needs.

It's not even that you were pissed off at Aemond. The rules were rules, of course. But everything you did was always on his terms, and you felt you couldn't say a single thing about it.

It's not like you were his girlfriend.

You knew he was fucking at least one other girl. Alys Rivers. She was fucking gorgeous, but also quite a bit older. Something about the entire thing felt wrong. Like she might have been grooming him or something. But of course, who were you to judge? He had his own life. Could make his own choices.

He didn't know you weren't fucking anyone else though, things like that you kept close to your chest. The terms were no feelings. You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction that he was the only one you were fucking and for one inescapable reason.

That you’d violated those terms.

So, in the interest of figuratively getting back at him, you smirk up at the Martell and push your ass back against him. His hands on your hips, pulling you back, moving with the best of the music. The dress leaves so little to the imagination that if he ventured merely a few inches lower, he could easily dive between your thighs.

The thought makes your insides clench. And you feel the Martell get hard behind you.

Your head zips up quickly, slightly dizzy, as a flash of white hair passes. At first you think it's Helaena, but there he stands, Aemond, on the other side of the room with a bottle of beer nestled in his grip. His violet eye watches darkly, as you continue to dance with the Martell. He almost looks amused, but frustrated at the same time.

Aemond hates parties. Especially now that he's graduated. So why the fuck is he here?

After rolling your eyes and finishing the song, you decide to not give Aemond the satisfaction of knowing you care enough to ask, instead going to the table to mix yourself another drink. The Martell guys isn't far behind, a hand on your waist.

You can feel his stare at the back of your head, even more so as the Martell’s hand ventures down, over the curve of your ass. One move under the hem, and he’d be touching bare skin. Something about it ignited a spark inside, knowing that he was watching.

Looking over your shoulder, he was watching still.

The fuck is his problem?

Some poor girl was standing at his side, trying to engage in some kind of conversation, which was clearly going well. He wasn’t giving her an inch of attention, and you smirked at her attempts, taking sips of your drink every now and then.

Around you, the party had almost doubled, some people you didn’t even recognise. Aegon’s house would be trashed in the morning, but looking over at the other Targaryen brother, who was happily dancing on the dining table, pouring the contents of his bottle down a girl’s top, he didn’t seem like right now he cared. In the corner, Helaena and Floris sat together, knees touching, looking pink in the faces with alcohol and chatting quietly amongst themselves over the loud music.

You downed your drink, wincing at the alcohol that hadn’t been mixed at the bottom, before whispering to the Martell, “Just going to the toilet”

You give a sigh as you ascend the stairs. Another nice thing about Aegon’s place is that whenever there are parties, going upstairs is a nice breather. Yes the bass still vibrates through the walls, but the bathroom is far enough away that it gives a moment of respite and a chance to sober up.

Which you promptly do once you’ve washed your hands, wiped under your eyes for any runaway mascara in front of the vanity, and take a breath to face the party again. To face him again.

It turns out, you didn’t have to. As soon as the door opens, you gasp and stagger backwards as Aemond firmly wraps his palm around your neck, just as a means of holding, not squeezing. Your back meets the wall with a thud, eyes looking wide up at him in a mixture of confusion and anger. His eyes have more in them, as he stands in front of you, tight lipped and fired up, ready for confrontation as he promptly shuts the door and locks it, setting your heart to a faster rhythm.

“You know, I was going to be nice” is the first thing he says, “But now I think I won’t”

He stares back with conviction with his one good, violet eye, his other a clouded over light blue, with the angry scar that ran through it somehow looking more painful that you’d seen it before. All you knew about it was that he was secretive about how it had happened, and only a handful of people had been told.

You were considered not worthy enough to know clearly.

You can’t deny, this side of Aemond thrills you. But despite the fluttery feeling in your stomach, your expression hardens into a frown.

“The fuck is wrong with you?”

He has the audacity to scoff, his hair, now shoulder length, sways as he moves, fingers flexing against your neck.

“The fuck is wrong with me?” he says, “I don’t think that’s the question we should be asking, is it?”

It occurs to you now that he’d been looking down at you, because now when he rights himself to his proper height, you have to look up at him. You swallow thick, some part of you nervous, and his eye glints when he sees the weakness there.

“I think we should be asking what the fuck you were doing out there” he finishes, low, attempting to be threatening.

You scoff, “Is that what this is about? Me dancing with an empty-headed Martell?”

“I wouldn’t call that dancing”

“And I would say I’m not your fucking girlfriend, Aemond” you bite back, expression hard against his. His mouth forms a line, “We just fuck, remember?”

His tongue hits the inside of his cheek in annoyance. But you’re not backing down.

“Although” you grin, looking him up and down, “We don’t even really do that anymore, do we?”

He takes a sharp breath in, releasing your neck to grip your face and tug you close to him.

But you just laugh, “What’s wrong? Can’t get it up?”

“Fuck you”

“Save that for Alys. See if I care” you hiss, trying to pull out of his grasp harshly.

An annoyingly smirk makes its way to his face, and you have to reaffirm to yourself to be mad at him, “Someone's jealous”

You scoff, “I’m not the jealous one here. You’re the one on my case because a Martell stared at my ass” you counter, his fingers digging into your jaw almost painfully, “I’m the one playing by the rules”

“And what rules are they?”

“The ones you made, dumbass” you argue, attempting to pull your face from his grip, but failing, “You know, not having feelings, being a cold, dead cave of a man who doesn’t want to admit he’s just having sex because he likes being in control”

Aemond’s face right now is unreadable, and he’s so close that you can feel the hot puffs of air that come from him. He’s angry, and you can see it. Something simmering beneath that cold gaze.

Under that though. It’s clear as day. He’s being put on show for his behaviour, in a manner someone nobody has dared to do before. And it is this vulnerability it’s clear he doesn’t enjoy.

His chest inflates large, taking a deep breath in before he speaks. But when he eventually does, it’s a surprisingly quiet whisper.

“I’ve not been with Alys for months”

The admission takes the breath from your lungs, and his fingers loosen somewhat. Moving along your jaw in a gesture too soft from what he was doing before.

“What?”

His face hardens a bit again, “She isn’t around” he admits softly, “It’s just you”

“Aemond-”

“I’ve changed my mind” he says, his his eye darting about your face, taking in your shocked expression, “I don’t like to share”

Your lips part and stay frozen where they are when his other hand squeezes the bare flesh of your thigh under your dress, tugging the skin painfully before venturing up to stroke his two fingers against your clothed pussy, his breath hitching when he feels the wetness already there.

“I’m very disappointed in you” he chastises softly, dipping his head into the crook of yours, running his sharp nose up the side of your neck, making all those little hairs stand on end. You feel like your heart is hammering so hard all the blood feels like jelly in your veins, a hotness creeps up your shoulders, and a pull of arousal tugs at your gut.

His lips part and he bites the skin there, semi-hard, enough to break skin if he really wanted to. You whine with your eyes shutting softly, his fingers drawing mini-circles around your entrance, and it’s difficult to not move your hips to meet his touches.

“You weren’t playing by the rules anyway, were you?” You mewl as his tongue runs over the site where he’d bitten, breath stuck in your throat as his fingers move your underwear aside and collects your slick on his fingers.

Warmth blossoms in your core as his fingers gently massage your bud, “Fuck-Aemond...”

His shirt is bunched in your fist, and you can feel him smiling slightly against your neck. The glint of the chain that peeks out from under the neckline of his shirt catches your eyes for a quick moment. He never took it off. Even when you fucked. Truthfully, it was sort of thrilling, watching it dangle in front of your face whenever he was on top of you, holding your legs up to your shoulders to-

“Were you fucking other people?”

Shit.

Two of his fingers sink all the way in, setting a flame ablaze inside. His breath is hot against your tender skin, his fingers far too effortlessly finding that sweet spot inside and brushing against it, stoking the fire within.

“You were so talkative earlier. What’s wrong, baby?” he asks in a faux sweet voice, not able to hide that shit-eating grin as he fucks you slowly with his fingers, “come on, you can do it”

Your breath feels so thin in your lungs it’s difficult to think, but his teeth bite at you again, as if to reprimand and your body jolts briefly, “Fuck-uh…No-no I wasn’t…”

“Wasn’t what?”

“I-” fuck this guy, “I wasn’t fucking anyone else”

“Hm” he hums low in his chest, pressed right against yours, you can feel it in your own, “I think that was against the rules, wasn’t it?” he asks, adding a third finger into you.

The first genuine moan manages to escape with the addition of his third finger, quiet, but it feeds his ego nonetheless. And he fucks up into you with renewed vigor, his breath coming in hurried pants, as if he cannot function unless he makes you come apart on him. His palm is grazing so hard against your clit with each micro-movement, that it honestly makes it difficult to breathe.

“The rules were we fuck who we want. No feelings” he reiterated, lips against your ear, “You broke the rules first”

“I didn’t-” your voice falls apart as he pushes, the pads of his thick fingers rubbing hard against your g-spot. That feeling returns in a wave of warmth, settling with pressure deep in your core and you squeeze impossibly tight at the incessant stimulation. Aemond groans quietly and low, feeling the soft, silky walls of your pussy clenching around his fingers alone, legs trembling trying to stay standing.

“You think I didn’t see it?” he asks in accusation, voice hard and stern, “You’re a smart girl and yet-” his other hand holds you around your waist, pulling you towards him as your body trembles, a white-hot, blazing orgasm making its way devastatingly through your core. His fingers never letting up their pace, “-you’re acting like a stupid little slut right now. All wet for me”

The degrading manner of his words and the pleasurable assault of his fingers prolong your orgasm, fading into your limbs with a dull buzz. But one that doesn’t last long. His fingers pull out of you, covered entirely by your arousal, and he presses them against your lips, groaning as your mouth accepts them and licks his digits clean. It’s so erotic you hum around his fingers, looking up at him through your eyelashes and smirking with pride once he pulls them away.

He doesn’t look any less stressed out. If anything he looks more pent up.

“I can’t stand you”

Your lips part in surprise, a quiet mewl escapes and a pained pleasurable jolt running through you when Aemond practically rips your underwear down your legs and delivers a hard firm slap to your wet heat.

“Aemond-” you start as his hands curl around your nape, pushing you harshly down over the vanity of the sink. You can feel him pressing behind you, your hips digging painfully into the porcelain, and feeling utterly exposed in your sundress now that he’s pocketed your underwear.

He flips the bottom of your sundress over your back, his palm meeting the flesh of your ass with a loud slap, making you whine as your cheek is pressed to the porcelain. It hurts, but you can’t help but feel that familiar throb of arousal in your core as it clenches around nothing. Your skin blooms in anticipation as you look back over your shoulder, hearing the clinking of his belt. You can’t help but smirk at how quickly he pulls his cock out, the angry red tip poking out through his fist as he strokes himself to full hardness.

“Don’t fucking look at me” his fingers thread into your hair at the crown and grip hard, pushing your head back down, pressing his erection against your slit and teasing you slowly.

You moan softly, moving your hips back to seek more friction, which earns several more hard slaps to your already tender ass in discipline, each followed by a desperate whine that falls effortlessly from your mouth. He almost gently soothes the angered skin with his palms after, clearly happy with the colour he’d made. He’d always been rough when it came to sex, yes, but this felt so much more exciting.

“You think you deserve it, hm?” he asks, barely pushing the head between your slick folds, parting them only slightly. It all feels so sensitive it almost hurts. What you’d give for him to just fuck you already is honestly pathetic.

“Please-” you say quietly, moving your hips towards him, even if it means he’ll punish you again.

He chuckled darkly, leaning over to pull your head up, your eyes meeting his gaze in the mirror. You look a bit of a mess, with mascara smudged at the sides, the waves you’d put in your hair slightly frizzy and cheeks flushed a dark pink. And as much as Aemond likes to put on the persona of control, his cheeks are just as flushed, as desperate for this as you are.

“Look how pathetic you look right now” he grins, his hand moving to your front to tug the dress over your front, a low growl forming in his throat when he finds no bra underneath. He palms your breast, teasing the hardened bud between his fingers and the feeling sends a cold tingle through your body.

“Beg for it” he whispers, mouth next to your ear. But all coherent thought is gone when the head of his cock runs down your slit, over your entrance and slaps it mockingly against your clit, the throb from the previous release still lingers and it sends shots of fire in your belly.

“Come on, baby”

“Please- fuck me” you breathe, so desperate that it sounds borderline cringeworthy to say. But you cannot bring yourself to care.

He grins. That was easy.

Your lips part in a gasp as his length slowly splits you open, stretching your pussy onto his cock. He knows what he’s doing and takes his time, allowing you to feel every vein, every ridge, even the way the tip tucks into that sensitive rough patch inside, your back arching with the electricity it gives you. It surprises you everytime, just how full you feel when Aemond fucks you. He is long and thick, able to fill you in a way that you’d never been able to find in a guy. And fuck did he know how to use it.

"Gods, tightest little pussy I've ever had…" he moans quietly.

Your body and jaw slackens as he pulls out and snaps his hips back against you to slam inside, a choked moan falling from your lips. His hand moves to your jaw, keeping your gaze in the mirror to look at him as he fucks you slowly at first, watching how your ass bounces with every push of himself inside. His head is buried near your neck, breath hot against your skin,

“You like that, huh” he breathes against you, hearing the strain evident in his voice. Your voice is useless right now, only able to make a few soft sounds of pleasure, “like it when I fuck you?”

Only a struggled moan comes out, and you catch your lips between your teeth, hyper-aware that you’re still fucking in a bathroom at a party.

"No need to be shy. It's just you and me" he utters against your skin, “Let me hear you. Or have I fucked you dumb again”

He punctuates his demand by pushing you forward harder, the porcelain digging into your hip bones and spreading your ass cheeks so that he can somehow get deeper. And he makes a grunt of displeasure when he doesn’t get the reaction he wanted. So instead he grabs the flesh of your calf and bends it high over the counter, spreading you impossibly wider.

It’s unconscious the way your mouth opens now, releasing your lips from your teeth as you moan helplessly, feeling the way his cock bullies your sweet spot, the way his flesh hits yours with every wet smack.

“Are these sounds just for me?”

“Yes…yes…” You chant almost imperceptibly.

“And it’ll only be me” he grunts, “do you understand? You’re mine”

You nod quickly. The pleasure is so overwhelming that you’ll agree to just about anything right now. Your core winds so tight, it feels like a fist is curling inside you and Aemond fucking you is just accelerating it.

“Say it” he demands, pressing your body against the vanity, his cock punishing your insides faster and harder. With each thrust comes the hard thud of the furniture against the wall, which you hope that the bass of the music downstairs covers enough.

“Yours…I’m yours…” your voice sounds almost pitiful. Every bit of you just desperate for that final reprieve.

Aemond grins against your skin, “Good girl…” he coos, his lips finding purchase on your neck and biting down, grunting into your skin at the way your pussy tightens around him as your second, more powerful orgasm echoes throughout your body.

"Shit- couldn't have any other pussy-oh fuck-you're perfect, baby" he coos next to you, the term of endearment making warmth creep into your chest.

It has Aemond fuck into you desperately, prolonging your seemingly never-ending pleasure into a long stream of fucked-out moans and breaths. With one final slam of his hips against your ass, his grip so tight it’s almost painful, you feel the warmth of his cum paint your walls. His cock twitches, trying to stuff as much of him inside you as is physically possible. Thank the gods for IUDs.

“Fuck-”

Both of your breathing is equally heavy, his hot against your shoulder. You can feel the intensity of it through his chest as it’s pressed against your back. His cock softens inside the longer you two remain in this position, until his hips leave you and he pulls himself out with an almost pained sigh.

Gulping air back into your lungs, your legs shakily meet the ground, tiredly pulling your dress back over your ass and bracing the sink, feeling the pleasant sting at your hips where they’d continued to meet the furniture.

His gaze meets yours in the mirror as he tucks himself away, looking somewhat flushes and uncharacteristically soft, especially after the way he’d just fucked you.

It’s so quiet, it’s like whoever speaks first, loses.

“I meant it” he says, somewhat breathily as he too gains grasps his energy, “I’ve not seen Alys in months”

You turn around to see him properly, half sitting against the vanity, feeling the soft throb of your heartbeat through your core still.

“Why?”

Aemond looks almost bashful, his cheeks still pink from the force of your little tryst just now combined with the way he nervously licks his lips.

“Because I’m the one who broke the rules first”

You furrow your brows, “What do you mean, Aemond?”

He swallows thickly, making a point of looking right at you.

“I caught feelings and…” he pauses, searching his mind for the rest of the sentence, “...didn’t want to scare you off”

Your lips remain frozen, parted. Your eyes flit about his face and he raises his arms, as if annoyed he’d even told you.

“I’ve never had this before”

“Had what?”

“Had this” he gestures between you both, “It’s never been like this with anyone else” he admits, his voice withering away at the end, “and I’m just fucking shitty at showing it, I know-”

“Aemond” you step forward to cup his face, halting his irritation in its tracks. Your thumb runs over the scar on his face, gaze on his eyes entirely, “you don’t need to explain yourself to me” you say softly.

"But I do" he argues, without that sternness to his voice now, but rather so quiet it's almost a whisper, "I didn't want to fuck things up. Because I always do"

You shake your head once, "What do you want? From this?"

"I want you" he says almost immediately, swallowing his saliva with anxiety, "and I want you to be mine…"

You laugh at his sweetness, he's never been like this, "I already said I was yours, remember?"

Your hands wrap around his shoulders, chests touching, "Think I always was"

The first genuine smile you ever see from Aemond Targaryen, is when you tell him this. It looks good on him. The way his eyes crinkle up is just too charming to resist.

Before he can say anything, you lean up on your tiptoes and kiss him, fingers running through the hair at the nape of his neck, tracing over the silver chain. You hum in delight when you feel him shiver at the touch.

Kissing him as softly as this, your lips parting for each other to slowly consummate this budding relationship, it feels like you're meeting each other for the first time. Feels so intimate, like you're the only people that exist right now, despite the thump of the party downstairs.

You both pour everything you feel into the soft caresses of your lips and tongues, trying to make him feel as loved as you think he deserves.

He smiles bashfully when you break, fiddling with the hem of your dress.

"This was a good touch" he says jokingly, "was it for me?"

You laugh, "It might have been"

"Cheeky little minx" he replies, pressing a soft, tender kiss once more to your lips. It feels so right, you want to hit yourself for not addressing this sooner. It feels nice to have your heart so full like this.

Aemond grasps your hand in his large one and goes to unlock the door. A motion you stop immediately, pushing him by his chest.

"Um, what are you doing?" You ask, a teasing smile on your face.

A moment of panic passes his face and it makes you want to laugh. His eyes wide and mouth open, wondering what he's done wrong.

"Getting back - to the party?..."

You shake your head, your palm running over the prominent bulge in his jeans.

"Not with this you're not" you smirk, "was all this just from kissing me?"

He bites his lip, trying to hide his grin and the way he visibly flushes from your hand on his erection.

"...Maybe"

"Maybe?"

"Maybe" he grins.

Your hands go to his belt once again, making light work of it. Aemond groans breathily as your hand encircles his length, giving him a few languid pumps that are just painfully too slow.

You smile through your eyelashes as you sink to your knees, feeling yourself become aroused just at the sight of him like this, all vulnerable and at your mercy.

With his cock heavy in your palm, you press your lips to the base, making your way slowly with your tongue to the top, tracing the vein there on the underside. His musky scent, smelling of sex and sweat envelops the air around you.

"Let me take care of you first" you grin, watching his eyes crinkle as he smiles.

Perhaps rules were made to be broken.

dividers by @firefly-graphics

General Taglist: @risefallrise @valeskafics @theoneeyedprince @thelittleswanao3 @hb8301

Aemond Taglist: @m00n5t0n3 @boofy1998 @merakiaes @hanihoney88 @let-love-bleeds-red @bellaisasleep @watercolorskyy @heavenley1927 @ryswritingrecord @partypoison00 @gaeela-6 @saeselkie @padfooteyes @introverbatim @queenofshinigamis @thatkingofgirl @ryswritingrecord @dahlias-and-marigolds @triscy

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iouinotes · 8 months

Text

Heroic Betrayal | Luke Castellan (part 1)

SPOILER FOR THE PERCY JACKSON AND THE OLYMPIANS SERIES AND THE BOOKS

pairing: Luke Castellan x female!reader

show: Percy Jackson and the Olympians

warnings: dark!character, betrayal, implied sexual content, heavy angst, kidnapping

word count: 5,8k

summary: When Luke switches to the dark side, he tries everything possible to win you for him.

a/n: so as the show comes to an end (dont cry dont cry dont cry), I thought I would finally post this :)))

read part 2 here

"I'll find you!" his voice echoes through the forest, my laughter much louder than I intend to. But that´s just how it always goes. It's our own little tradition.

Every year when the camp starts again and we meet after the holidays passed, we play hide and seek in the dangerous forest of the half-blood camp. The creatures usually don't come across our path, in recent years it has rarely happened, that we actually had to defend ourselves against them.

Once it was an angry dryad, who threw branches at me (she had a crush on Luke and wanted revenge, but since I could understand her feelings and felt sad for her, we sorted it out).

Another time we were spotted by some camp members, who made fun of us, but Luke must have said something to them later, because we haven't been bothered by these troublemakers since.

It is always the same pattern, but each time there is still something special about it. We have grown, became more mature (I think), and have more and more experience about the struggles in life.

So being able to just let go for a few moments and being completely alone with him is probably the best thing to keep myself sane (even if he drives me a little bit crazy with the love I hold for him).

But a lot has changed recently.

It all started when rumors spread, that Zeus' lightning bolt had been stolen by Poseidon's son. And then the most supportive, bravest, sassy kid in the world showed up here. Percy Jackson. Ever since I met him, even though it's not his fault, there's been war going on. The gods are angry, the monster attacks became worse and again, rumors about the oldest, most powerful titan Kronos reached the camp.

It scared and frightened many people, including me. That's why we've been training harder and stay awake, even when the stars are shining, so that we can prepare for any catastrophe. To be able to fight.

My mother is the goddess Demeter, my father a simple man. I adore them both, even though my mother isn't one of my closest contacts. But I never really held that against her, because at least she decided to acknowledge me as her daughter. After all, it's a privilege that not everyone gets. My siblings and friends at camp are important to me, but the world is changing and so is everything around it.

The only stability I have left is my boyfriend Luke.

If I had to rely on one person in the whole world (and by that I also mean the underworld), it would be him.

He's been my best friend since I arrived at this camp. We've been together through ups and downs, I know every side of him and he knows everything about me too. Many of the people here are like blank pages to me, but not him. He is like my favorite book, that lays open to me and allows me to read each letter individually. Just as I know every of his dreams, every secret, every truth and every lie. He is my protector, my hero in every dark night and every bright day. Without him, I don't even know who I am. He is a part of me and my heart wouldn't be whole without him.

I watched him grow up. From the small, thin boy whose eyes hid so much pain and sadness to the strong, soulful leader he is today.

His beauty cannot be influenced by anything, he is like my very own sun, without him I could not survive.

I wouldn't want it any other way though.

Now, I'm hiding behind a tree with my back pressed against the bark and I am able to hear the cracking and swinging of the branches.

I smile so wide, that my cheeks start to hurt, when I hear his voice calling. My heart is beating in my throat, but it's not just the adrenaline of not getting caught. It's because of my love for him, which is so strong that sometimes I'm afraid of it. But only in the moments when I realize that nothing, but him is my biggest flaw. I think I would do anything for him.

Then I concentrate again and listen to the sounds around me. But his voice has fallen silent and I don't hear his footsteps anymore.

My eyebrows furrow, confused I try to look around the tree and search for an orange t-shirt. Likely together with his slim body, biceps, beautiful face and wonderful personality.

But when I want to withdraw again, it's already too late. A branch breaks behind me and before I can move I'm pushed against the tree from behind.

I immediately feel his body against mine, hear the laughter in his voice and listen to his strained breathing. His hands wrap around my body and turn me towards him, so that we are now face to face.

He's taller than me and as I look up, I feel the familiar fluttering feeling in my chest. I am so in love with him.

He grins triumphantly at me and I lean against the tree, smiling kindly.

"Found you, princess." The light reflects in his brown eyes and some of his curls are laying wildly on his head. He looks like an angel.

"I made it easy for you." My voice teases him and when he leans in so close to me, that our lips almost touch, I forget how to think properly. A habit I can't change. He's just so captivating.

"Yeah? You think I wouldn't have found you otherwise? Funny. I remember that in the last few years, I always was the winner of our little game." His lips brush mine, I want nothing more than to kiss him. But he knows that, which is why he slowly pulls back, when I start to lean forward.

When I want to complain, he puts his hand around my waist and pulls me into his chest. My knees almost give out, I feel so intoxicated by his presence.

"I-I wanted you to find me." My voice whispers quietly.

His eyebrows rise in mock surprise.

"Then I guess, I can claim my prize without feeling bad." In the next second, his lips are on mine and I'm unable to do anything, other than kissing him back. I wrap my arms around his neck and enjoy the warmth that radiates from him. He sets my heart on fire.

While pushing me against the tree, I've completely forgotten about, he lets his hands wrap possessively around my waist. Digging his nails into my hips, to keep me grounded. Otherwise, I would probably get lost in those sensations.

Luke kisses in a way, like it's the last time he'll have the chance. (As if I would ever want to keep him from doing that).

He's passionate, my body feels like it's on fire and the heat inside me feels so good, that I want more. I can never get enough of him and he knows it. He grins against my lips, but he doesn't break the kiss. I think he secretely loves knowing how much he can mess with me, with just a few kisses.

My hands find his hair and pull him closer to me, our chests touch and his breathing mingles with mine.

It is wonderful and so precious, I would refuse any gift from the gods just to be close to him.

When he pulls away from me, our bodies are still close. My eyes open and look dreamily into his, our gazes reflect a familiarity and love that is like nothing I have ever experienced.

He smiles at me, pushes a stray strand of hair behind my ear and leans himself against me. His fingers stroke the exposed skin of my pulled-up shirt.

"I've missed you." If my heart hasn't melted before, it has now. I give him a kiss on the cheek and hug him, we stand in our embrace for a moment. Enjoying each other's closeness, the calm feeling until the next chaotic situation happens.

"Now we are together again. Only that matters." It's quiet around us and when I close my eyes for the second time, I hear his fast heartbeat. I have to supress a smile.

The wind is the only thing I hear until his voice breaks the silence.

"Something will happen soon. Something big." The peaceful atmosphere is threatened by his words and when I look at his face again, I see his worried eyes.

I sigh, but then nod to agree with him. "I thought about that too, it feels different. Like something is coming our way, that we can't control."

His fingers stroke my cheek and for a moment, his face holds an expression, that I can't understand. It resembles regret.

But before I can ask him about it, he smiles tenderly at me again.

"Nothing will separate us. The world is just a game. It's a matter of time and making the right moves." That is his motto. But I'm not always convinced of this. Even though I trust him to do the right thing.

"I'm just worried we'll get seperated, you know? Evil can be sneaky and traitors always exist. You never know who you can trust." Something I said must have really bothered him, because he looks like I just stabbed him.

This time I ask him about it.

"What's on your mind? You can tell me. Two people who worry about something are better, than one who is alone with it." I take his hand and stroke his skin, it feels cold even though we have summer.

"Nothing, just- I don't want to lose you. I couldn't be here without you. I need you. I mean...I-I love you. You know that I would do anything to keep us together, right?"

His words surprise me. I know he loves me. I can sense that, everyone probably does. But he has never worn his heart on his sleeve and the three magical words only come out of his mouth on special occasions. The fact that he's telling me now surprises me.

"Of course. I trust you. We will survive together, I know that. Are you worried because of the rumors about the Titan King?" This topic is always very critical and he usually doesn't like to talk about it, but this time I decide to address it directly.

"He will come. I just want you to be safe, when it happens." He sounds so confident it gives me goosebumps.

"Perhaps. His followers will definitely try. But love is stronger than anything else. Especially our love. We will get through it." He doesn't look convinced, so I turn his face towards mine and kiss him.

My voice sounds soft, when I speak again.

"Luke, I love you. I could never leave you. Not even the King of the Underworld will be able to keep us apart. I promised to be by your side in every moment of our lives. You are my soul and without it I am damned."

This seems to reassure him, but I feel like he's not telling me something of great importance. But I don't want to push him, I know he will tell me when the time comes.

He always does.

⚔️⚔️⚔️⚔️

As the day comes to an end, I say goodnight to my siblings and report for my night watch duty. The situation has been a lot more worse the recent weeks. Kronos exists, my worst fear was confirmed. And he is building an army, that is so strong that it will be difficult to fight against it. But what I'm really worried about are the rumors about our people, who have also joined his cause.

Nobody knows who, the spies have been hiding ever since. I've never felt like I was paying more attention to my words than I am now. The only person I don't have to hold back to is Luke.

But even with him I notice the effects of the bad news. The circles under his eyes are darker than ever and his nerves are so frayed, that every little thing makes him want to explode. His temper is hanging by a thread, that is increasingly threatening to break. And I'm trying everything to prevent this.

No matter if I try it by making him laugh (which has become difficult), massaging his tense shoulders, trying to kiss him to the point of forgetfulness (usually it's the other way around) or when he takes out his frustration by burying himself deep inside me. With every thrust of his hips, I feel him relax, his hand so tight around my body as if I would run away, if he didn't hold me close enough.

He's changing and I'm trying my best to maintain his good sides. That he doesn't completely lose himself in his responsibilities and the pressure, that he has, because he is a member of the camp council.

Besides, I can't complain, when he fucks me until I can't breathe aynmore and I block out everything around me. When he comes, he whispers the sweetest things in my ear. Even if sometimes they sound so protective, that I could almost come from his voice alone.

When he whispers to me how good I am for him or how much he loves being able to have such a power over me like that - maybe it should scare me, but I trust him like no one else.

My mind concentrated his best for my shift, but when I finally go to bed after quiet some time, my eyes quickly close.

Looking back, I wish I had never let myself sleep that night.

Because, when I close my eyes I see waves. Hear the seagulls screaming in the sky, the fish swimming in the water and the distant cries of strangers.

It's all unusual and the bright light would blind me, if I didn't avert my gaze. And as soon as I do it, I see a ship. It's huge, rust shimmers in the sunrays, the anchor shows that it's been in the same place for a while now.

I feel something pulling me towards it, pushing and burning in my chest, leaving me with a tremor that I can feel, even in my deep sleep.

As I flit through the window like a ghost, I feel paralyzed. My blood freezes, I want to disappear immediately and in my mind I scream at myself to wake up.

But it's no use, whatever is here, someone decided that I have to see it. Only then, my wish will be fulfilled and I can wake up. So, I hide in a corner, there are scratched picture frames above me and broken glass is scattered on the floor. The monsters that loudly crush the glass ahead of me seem unstoppable.

I tremble as I look at at least seven dracaenae, several shaggy hellhounds and set my eyes on gigantes, that take up almost the entire room.

But that is nothing compared to the terror, that grips me when I see my classmates. My friends. People I trusted, who I fought alongside, for who I cared about. People I would have sacrificed myself for. They all betrayed me. And I feel close to tears. When I want to turn away, I hear a voice that almost brings me to my knees.

It's Luke.

My faithful and caring protector, my heroic love. Someone, to which I had dedicated everything. He was my life, with every single breath I took. The motivation behind my every action. The reason I wanted to survive in this cruel world. He was everything I had and everything I will ever have and in that moment it was abruptly taken from me.

I didn't have the strength to concentrate, it was as if every fiber of my body was on fire, triggered by the torment of my suffering heart. Seeing him like that, in black armor, Kronos' silver mark glittering around his neck, instead of his colorful necklace. A stoic, hostile expression on his face, his hands gripping his sword, it all hurt too much to watch.

And as I sank to the floor and covered my eyes with my hands, I was still forced to listen. I couldn't understand why he was saying such things.

"With every day he becomes stronger, with every participation in our army, we become stronger. Everything is planned, the camp is weak. Just like all of its residents. The surprise is on our side, because we will show no mercy. We will kill anyone, who does not confess to us. Do you hear me? No hostages will be taken. Only Hades population will be expanded."

The screams around me are so loud, so angry and horrific that I feel tears running down my cheeks.

I don't want to see any of that. The person infront of me is not my Luke.

A kind of fog creeps around me and I feel cold, it seems too late to forget it now. When I notice the golden coffin and Lukes hunched posture, the scar on the side of his face, I realize he is praying to him.

To the fall of Olympus. Kronos.

I want to cry, to scream, to be angry - but I just feel like every part of my heart is breaking and will never be whole again. Luke will never again be the one to heal it.

My consciousness leaves the ship until I finally wake up, but I can't move at first. I feel lost, my muscles are stiff and after a few seconds I notice that I'm shaking. But it's not because I'm cold, the summer air is wafting in the air.

Such dreams are rare, but are like the own scary predictions of the future.

And then it comes all back so me, the memories, that have just turned my whole life upside down. Traitor. The word appears in my mind, I feel like I almost can't breathe. And then there is a finger on my cheek, gently stroking the skin and my chest immediately becomes warm.

I know this gesture.

When I open my eyes, I see his loving eyes and the smile that covers his mouth makes my heart clench in sorrow.

It was just a nightmare. Luke would never betray me.

But the whispers in my head say otherwise.

As we continue to look at each other in silent, I notice his furrowed eyebrows.

"What's wrong, my love? Did you have a nightmare? You look scared. Don't be afraid, I'm here. I will always protect you." His voice is so calm, so usual loving and it makes the butterflies in my stomach fly around like crazy.

He is so beautiful.

As he briefly turns his head to tighten the blanket around me, I see his side profile and the scar. Reminders of my dream crash onto me like a lightning strike from Zeus himself.

I sat up abruptly. Luke is a servant of our enemy. How could I ignore that? I feel like I'm almost starting to hyperventilate. The thought, this nightmare, Luke's appearance, this evil feeling - it makes me sick. And I'm suddenly so afraid, more than I have ever been in my life. But I can't tell if it's the fact that I just found out he joined Cronos' army or that he broke my heart doing so.

I see him tense, my panic seems to be affecting him too.

My thoughts are so confusing, I don't know what to do, I have to tell someone. I have to-

His hands find their way to my cheeks, cupping them gently to direct his gaze towards himself. I would have preferred not to look at him, but I have no choice. His eyes search mine.

Then, as if the weight of Atlas punishment was put on his shoulders, he lowers them. His lips tremble slightly and his eyes look at me, as if I am the most valuable thing in the world and he is about to lose it.

"You know it." He doesn't have to say what he means by that. We both know.

I want to break away from him, but he won't let me. He's always been much stronger.

But everything still feels so different, light surrounds us and I can't really feel my body.

"Listen to me, please. I can explain it. Please-" The world goes silent, before he can finish his sentence.

It is too much.

I stifle a scream. I want to jump out of bed, but his hands hold me close. I only manage to fall to the ground, breathing heavily, but his arms are much stronger and I'm still weakened by my dream. He trys to hold me in a position, so that his back hugs me. His hands grab mine and one of them covers my mouth to silence me, when I want to scream for help.

With any other person, I would have known what to do. With anyone but him, I could have defended myself without any problems. But it wasn't just anyone and what he had done to me, the betrayal he had committed, was nothing I could handle.

I tried to wriggle out of his grip, to kick him, but the more I cried and the more hysterical I became, the easier it was for him to have control over me.

And for the first time, it scared me.

"Please calm down, I have to explain it to you- you have to know, that I never wanted to deceive you, please-" I notice how his voice is failing and he has to pull himself together, to not to lose his composure.

When I shake his hand away and want to yell again, he grabs my neck with such a warning force, that no sound escapes me.

I tremble in his hold. Tears stream down my cheeks and I literally feel my heart breaking.

Then he starts whispering in my ear and his grip feels like a tragic prison.

"Nobody can know. I never wanted you to find out. Not until I convinced you, that it is the right thing to join him. Because he will win, sweetheart. I want us to win by his side." His voice sounds so confident and at the same time, as if he was a completely different person.

Tears continue running down my face and he slightly let's go of me, so he can comfort me.

"If you would just listen to me, you will understand my actions. Please, just listen to me-" but the world blurs infront of my eyes and I am only able to whisper three words, before darkness surrounds me.

"You betrayed me."

⚔️⚔️⚔️⚔️

When I wake up, my head hurts so much, that it takes me several minutes to open my eyes. When I finally do it, I almost have a heart attack.

I recognize the similarity of this room from my dream. When I stand up, I run to the round window and look out, being only able to see the blue sea. Feeling empty and alone.

When I want to step out the door, I expect it to be locked. But instead the handle turns and I step out of the room. I'm so surprised about that, that I'm acting without thinking twice.

As I walk around the next corner, the deck creaks and I see an ugly creature in front of me, that makes every instinct to escape kick in.

I run in the other direction, but every turn makes me more desperate and, without any consideration, I run into the hall, I was so afraid of.

It is filled with all kinds of ciders, and I also see the figures of my classmates, wounded and unhappy.

It's all so overwhelming, that I dont even see him standing on the podium, in the first place.

But as the monsters try to grab me, his voice echoes through the room with an affable authority.

"Nobody touches her. You hear me? Nobody. She is under my protection." I almost freeze into a stature, as he comes towards me and I have no way of avoiding him. No weapon is within my reach, his eyes notice my growing panic.

"Everyone leaves the room. Now." Nobody discusses it, even if some roll their eyes or quietly protest. His authority is unquestioned, it sends a cold shiver down my spine.

When the last doors slam shut, we stand a few meters opposite each other.

"The doors are guarded." It's the first thing he says.

When he tries to approach me, I lose my nerves and run to the corner with the broken glass, that I saw in my dream. I take them in my hands.

I see his eyes widen and he stops in his tracks.

"You- you want to fight me?" He actually sounds surprised and sad. Like I was the one who betrayed him and not the other way around.

"Don't come any closer. I may not have been able to do anything last time, but if you take one step closer then-" I don't know what to say. In no scenario did I ever think, I would have to threaten him.

But despite my warning, he comes towards me with his hands raised, the panic within me so palpable, that I can feel every muscle in my body.

I dodge, when he is only a few meters in front of me. Right into the next corner. As far away from him as possible.

"Princess, you can't keep me away forever. I've always loved that about you. You need me as much as you need to breathe."

It's supposed to sound sweet, but his words make me feel sick

"I'd rather suffocate." He didn't expect that. My words hit him so unexpectedly that he is almost speechless. Almost.

"I won't hurt you. You just have to let me get to you and I'll show you everything. You will understand, believe me." He really thinks, I'll just stay by his side and let him explain.

"Are you crazy? You're a traitor, Luke. You- you betrayed everyone. You betrayed me. How could you do this?" I suppress my tears, because that's exactly what he's waiting for. That my defense becomes weaker. I can't allow this.

"You dont understand. I always told you I would protect you. And I can only do that, if I'm on the winning side. And I am now. We are." His eyes flash with a craziness that makes me tremble. I don't recognize him.

"Why are you acting this way? You are doing the wrong thing - you give up everything. You're giving up on us." Tears leave my eyes and I see him take a few steps in my direction.

"I'm doing the right thing for us. You'll see. You just have to trust me, please. You know I always win. With the power he gives me, I will be invincible. You don't have to worry about one of us dying in this war anymore." I can't move, even if I wanted to, I wouldn't have a way out now. He's too close.

"You are wrong. I would rather die in this war than join this monster and his deceitful army." The shards in my hand hurt, but I don't let them go. They're the only thing I can use to defend myself.

"You would leave me?" His eyes are staring into my soul.

"Would you fight me?" Every word is more intimidating.

"Would you stop loving me?" His words are like his own shards, leaving deep wounds in my heart.

He's standing right in front of me now, looking at me like I'm fragile.

Then he whispers "Would you kill me?"

In the next second, he suddenly has my hands in his, making me drop the glass. Be is only a few centimeters away from me now, his eyes are looking into my own.

"Would you, princess? Then show me." Suddenly he does something, I would have never expected. He takes out his sword and puts it in my hands.

His own hands go behind his back, his eyes tempting me. I feel all the blood in my body drain.

"Do it. I can't live in a world, where you don't love me anymore. In which you are no longer by my side. I am yours. That will never change, just like my love for you."

I can barely hold the sword, it's so wobbly in my hands. He stands in front of me and gives me every chance to defeat him. But I can't move.

It's quiet for a moment, then I see new hope in his eyes and when he speaks again, the tone of his voice melts my heart.

"What did you say a few months ago, you would always let me win? Let's win together this time. Please, just listen to me." His hand strokes my cheek. Wipes away the tears.

Then he drops his hand and grasps his sword, letting it fall to the ground.

He takes my hand instead.

"Follow me." He pulls me behind him, closer and closer to the golden coffin, it's like I'm in a trance, but when I finally feel the cold aura of something cruel, I'm able to think clearly again.

"No-" I don't want to be one step closer to this thing.

He turns around so quickly, that I can only slap his cheek, before he grabs me again.

"That was for kidnapping me. Let me go now!" I want to avoid his grasp. But again he does something I don't expect.

He holds me still, catches my gaze and then, kisses me so gently that the feeling alone makes me almost completely defenseless. His hands cup my cheeks, grip my hair, hold my body.

This is probably his worst trick. I've never been able to resist one of his kisses. And he knows that. He uses it against me.

Then he murmurs words against my lips, that barely reach my ears.

My heart is pounding in my throat.

"You feel this? We belong together. It is not written anywhere on which side we need to be. As long as we are together." His fingers stroke my lower lip, his figure towers over me and for a moment my surroundings fade. It's almost like always.

But he's not wearing his orange t-shirt, his expression isn't relaxed, and I don't hear any insults from the camp members in the distance.

"You're manipulating me." I am powerless against him. I thought we were on the same team, that no one had more power over the other one. But I was so wrong.

His eyebrows furrow again, and when his hands try to pull me against him, I hit his chest, without thinking, with the only piece of glass I hid in my pocket. But unlike I expected, nothing happens. The shard bounces off his skin and falls loudly to the ground. I can only stare at him in disbelief.

"How-" He just looks at me worried, no anger is visible in his eyes.

"You can't hurt me. I have the curse of Achilles upon me." I suddenly become aware of the effect the lake Styx in the underworld hast and I almost fall to the ground at the realization, my knees weaken.

"That was a test earlier. You wanted to see if I would kill you-" my voice fails.

He just looks at me sadly and smiles in regret. My heart becomes heavy.

"And I knew you wouldn't hurt me on purpose. You would never hurt someone you love. Not if you'd kill me in the process." What can I do? He knows me better than anyone, he can see right through my every thought.

"I can't do this, Luke. I-I can't be together with you, if you are like this." I'm serious, but he doesn't believe me.

"That's what you think, but it's a lie. The sooner you admit it to yourself, the more pain you avoid. Our souls are linked together, without me you are not able to live. I know, that you will continue to love me, no matter what I decide to do. That's how much you love me. You would rather die than not loving me."

I can't listen to him. I can't.

But his eyes are like all the promises in the world. He is my world. How could I ever forget that?

"Please come back with me, Luke. I-I won't tell anyone, but please. Let's go, let's forget everything, please-" I cant deal with this anymore. It's like he's draining all the energy out of me. More with every word, that leaves his lips.

"I can not do that. It will stay the way it is now. Don't fight against me, fight with me. You are so smart and loyal, you will be convinced. He will show you." His eyes now flash with something that frightens me. I see his hunger for power, something that has always been dormant within him.

"Luke, the only thing I ever really wanted was you. No power, no war, no prosperity. Only you. But I'm about to lose you. Don´t do this to me, I beg you." My hands find his face, stroke the skin and I look into his eyes. But they are no longer the same ones I fell in love with.

I never thought he would love having power more than he loves me. It breaks my heart.

"I have decided. Nothing will change about that. Not even your pleadings. I'm sorry." His eyes reflect my desperation.

"What's holding you back? All you need is me." He says it so confident, that I almost wonder, why I don´t agree with him.

But my conscience has always been my greatest strength.

"I won't betray them. I couldn't live with myself, if I did." He takes a step back.

"But you could live without me? You would rather be by Jackson's side than mine?" His words hurt me. But he speaks the truth.

"I love you Luke, more than I ever thought was possible. But just as you put power before me, I put loyalty first. And I'm not sorry about that."

Frustration finally seeps through his perfect facade. I wonder how long he's been playing with me. The thought of it makes everything inside me tighten.

"I am not letting you go. Our fate is set. You will recognize it too and when that happens, you will be on my side."

His conviction frightens me, but this time it doesn't freeze me into a statue. Now, I'm running away.

And luckely, he didn't expect that.

For a few minutes now I've noticed one of the windows, that doesn't look very stable. I just have to jump against it to open it.

"NO!" Luke's voice echoes across the room, loud and warning, but it doesn't stop me. Before he can catch up with me, I jump towards the window, my shoulder hurts, but I was right, it breaks.

But I didn't think about the height difference and I realize it might be too late to do something about it now.

As I try to hold on to the wall outside, two thoughts repeat in my mind.

Either I die or I'm trapped.

Then I hear Luke's voice. He sounds desperate and at the same time angry, like I have never heard him before.

The wall is slippery and it takes every bit of strength in me not to fall, I know it would be my death. I hold on to the broken wall.

"She is outside. Get her back, NOW!" My muscles hurt and I don't know what to do. Then I hear the loud beating of wings. Before I can see who it is, I hear Percy's quiet voice. I feel like crying.

"Drop down, I've got you." I have to trust him. So, I let myself fall without thinking.

Then I feel myself landing on something soft, I hold on to it and my knuckles turn white.

The screams and shouts of the monsters make me tremble, I just want to get out of here. Even if it means, that I perhaps will never see Luke again.

"Come on, now. They'll be here soon." As the wings of the Pegasus move towards the sky, towards freedom, I let the tears fall. The wind is beating around my ears and I can only see in the corner of my eyes that we are getting closer to the clouds.

"I'll find you!"

Luke's threatening voice is the last thing I remember as I close my eyes from the grief of leaving him.

#percy jackon and the olympians #luke castellan #x reader #greek gods #love #betrayal #angst #percy pjo #percy series #annabeth chase #percy jackson

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l-in-the-light · 16 days

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Thanks for your answer 😊🙏 Another question that came to my mind when I read your post about Law liking boys: what do you think about the LawxRobin scenes where he tells her about his "D" (and that he trusts her) and the one after wano victory where they go to underground together?

You're welcome! Also a warning, this is another post replying to multiple asks at once :D

Law x Robin, huh. Sure, let's elaborate on it, but just so you know, my view on them differs greatly from how fandom tends to see their Wano interactions. I spent a lot of time analyzing it in my head (way more than any sane person would) so my initial reaction of "awww so cute he trusts Robin" kinda faded to almost nothing now haha. Just like I stated in that post, I think it was mostly about business. He wanted to know what the D. stands for so he approached the person who was the most likely to know some more information. Sadly, he didn't really gain any new knowledge. As much as I love that scene because it feels like Law is trusting Robin there, I think we shouldn't overestimate it in general. He basically offered a trade (I tell you my hidden name, you tell me something back in exchange - favour for a favour! It's his usual MO with strangers) and I doubt he would do that without any good reason for it. That scene has a different vibe from the one in which he shares about Corazon to Luffy, he's actually opening up and he doesn't expect anything back for it (you can argue he does that so Luffy understands fighting Doflamingo is personal for Law and to leave it up to him, but it's still just for that - so that Luffy understands. It's not a trade). With Robin he seems rather guarded when comparing the two scenes together.

I have my suspicions about their talk there. Law is using veeeery vague words when he claims he shares the info "because he trusts Robin". What he actually says is just this: "omae dakara hanashita" which means literally "I told you because it's you" and you can interpret it any way you like, Robin took it a sign of trust and thanked him, but it's so vague it can also mean something like "I tell this ONLY to you" and that smells of a hidden reason to me. But of course it fits Law's withdrawn personality to not say the words like "trust" straightforwardly, right? But in his scene with Luffy he is kinda openly emotional in contrast - he literally tells him Corazon was the person he loved who gave him his life and that he is deeply indebted to him. Law didn't use many words, but all those words carried emotional weight, unlike the vague phrase he used with Robin. But anyway it wouldn't make sense to say my conspiracy theory here without explaining loose links from Water 7. Also I'm like 50-50 on that and I really think fandom wouldn't want to get spoiled this way in case I'm right.

Their randezvous in the secret chamber doesn't strike me as romantic honestly (I know people love it just because Robin and Law are alone together and oh just few inches from each other, and interpret what Robin says as teasing, but I need more than that for romantic vibes, sorry :D). It basically starts with Robin accusing Law of being a hyena (at least that's how he subjectively felt about that! and she didn't deny) and he gets back at her for it when he shambled only himself to that window (he even keeps his sour face on when she's complaining it's unfair, he doesn't even want to tell her it's a payback haha). Yes, he's that petty. Don't you like it in him? I certainly do, he's so hilarious.

Anyway, the whole scene is just them sharing business together, and it's slightly hinted that Law was kinda eavesdropping on them before he actually joined in, that's why Robin's reaction might have been that strong and a bit hostile. Robin prides herself in being sensitive to people around and their intentions, picking up on the slightest hints other people don't (like she said in Water 7, it's her survival's instinct), but she couldn't sense Law so ofc that would rub her the wrong way. Anime especially did a great job at showing it, with Law appearing out of nowhere exactly when Robin is gonna go down the hidden stairs. A timing a bit too perfect, eh? I wouldn't call Law a hyena (he had perfectly rational reason to be there!), but he sure was so damn sneaky and smooth about it.

Anyway, I guess my point is: those two are very guarded people, both dislike to show a moment of weakness because they know it can result in deadly situation. And they're also both very business-oriented. If there was any scene between Robin and Law that showed them as closer to each other, it would be all the way back in Dressrosa.

Just look at the mutual respect they show each other here! Law isn't acting freaked out by Robin's powers (because why would he, right? His powers are also quite peculiar. But I bet that earned him extra sympathy points here. How many times Robin heard it as a child that she's a monster just because she has devil fruit's powers) but also immediately worries about Robin and Usopp's safety instead of his own. Then he sits down to talk with Robin, just so they're more or less on eye-level, that's really considerate of him, especially in such a tense/crisis situation. And at the end of their talk Robin tosses him a "good luck" (in Japanese apparently it's a different phrase, one you say before a battle), and Law says "same to you" which is the closest he ever gets to say something even slightly akin to a greeting in the whole series. Soon afterwards Robin notices the ground shaking and worries for Law, because she knows it's a sign that he's in a tough fight. This is a huge step for Robin to worry about someone she actually suspected of betraying Luffy in Punk Hazard. She was always guarded whenever Law so much as appeared on screen.

This is also a great scene between them. Robin can't understand Law's dedication to Luffy, she clearly thought Law is indeed seeing their cooperation as only business-style alliance, they share a common goal, Law shouldn't feel like he owes anything to Luffy, and so she tries to appeal to Law's sense of reason here. She does it because she's concerned about him, she reacts really strongly to see him defeated (he definitely has her respect for his strength and skills to manage crisis!), and even more concerned when she notices his severed arm. She tries to make him think straight so he takes care of himself firstmost, but it's not for herself that she's saying it: it's for Luffy. I think Robin realized in Punk Hazard already that Luffy is really attached to Law, so of couse she wouldn't want to see Luffy sad if Law loses his life here, especially not after Luffy entrusted Law to her. She must be really taken aback with Law's final answer. I wonder what she might be thinking about Luffy's importance to Law now, because I would say she kinda caught a wind or at least a hint that Law cares more deeply than it seems at first glance.

Honestly every single one of their interactions in Dressrosa is much more meaningful than anything they shared in Wano, where both of them are just honestly clamming up again. I mean, there is no battle going on anymore (they had conversations in Wano before the plan was set into motion and after the battle has ended), and fighting together tends to bring people momentarily closer. But we shouldn't forget that in daily circumenstances Robin will still keep her guard up and so will Law, because trust in an ally in a battle is different than being emotionally open to a friend. They're both smart and they're not gonna pretend that just because Luffy calls Law his friend, that for Robin alliance means friendship as well. This also stays in line with what I believe is quite realistic when two very traumatized people having issues to open up actually meet and interact. Law might know about Ohara from the newspapers desciribing Enies Lobby incident, but I doubt Robin knows about Flevance or would know to connect Law to it in any way (fics often make her almost clairvoyant how she figures him out, but nah, that's just wishful thinking). That shared traumatic experience could bring them closer, but I think for now it's mostly one-sided, because Robin has no way to know.

Damn, I had a lot to say about all of that, haha. I hope you had fun reading about their interactions from a different angle!

Personally, I think Law x Luffy dynamics work better overall.

Law x Robin:

two very traumatized people

both don't open up and keep their guards around strangers

none can cheer the other because they both have pretty gloom personalities

they like cute things

share same or similar sense of humour (though Robin's more morbid)

both very serious

both good listeners and observant

both independant

both like to tease/stress Usopp (they could form a "tormenting Usopp fanclub", they tease him out of affection ofc)

both like their peace and quiet but also to watch other people cause chaos from afar (unless someone provokes Law)

both cling to cheerful people, both remember their mentor's smile

Etc. I think they would be great best buddies in the longer run and understand each other on a special level.

Law x Luffy:

both like to cheer up people (Luffy's the ultimate person to cheer anyone up. And it brings this side of Law to the light of the day too)

both are reckless little shits liking to cause chaos and beat people up for hurting people dear to them, both don't know when to give up

friendship is a serious matter and so is trust for both of them

one constantly smiles outwardly, the other inwardly

they both know the pain of losing their most important person

one is a younger sibling, the other the older sibling personality type

they understand each other without words

take each other seriously (and almost no one takes Luffy seriously)

both are stubborn mules with competetive side

overdedicated to protect others and not care enough about their own wellbeing in the process

remind each other of people they once loved the most and which they lost

In the longer run those two will cover up for the other's weakness and could literally turn the world upside down together while laughing/smirking.

Summing it up, Robin and Law are similar souls, going side by side. Luffy and Law instead have each other's backs, complementing each other. I feel like it's really a matter of preference and I sway towards Luffy x Law, their interactions are just so fun. But I do enjoy Law x Robin, just more as a friendship. Tbh both work as friendships the best and I tend to prefer them this way. I just think the friendship Law and Luffy have going on is something extraordinary on a whole different level. They're behaving with each other in ways they don't really share with others.

I think it would. But it doesn't have to be his biological family for him to be happy, you know. Whether his partner is a woman or a man, whether his own kid or more like picked up and adopted, it would make him happy just the same. He has already his adopted family in his Hearts Pirates and Wolf. He definitely is already part of Strawhats adopted family as well. And who knows to how many other "found families" he can belong from now on! He deserves a family, he actually deserves more than one that he can call his own.

There is lately one scenario I'm especially fond of actually. If Law becomes a Strawhat officially and Bonney will be also adopted in the crew as a sort of "next generation", he would totally act like a father/older sibling towards her. Sure, he would still act annoyed, worry all the time, but deep down he would love every second of it. He could finally be a brother to a kid that reminds him of Lammy. Life denied him that before so it would mean so much for his healing progress if he could reclaim it. I think as a father he would still act a lot like an older sibling actually. The same way Cora-san is also hard to classify, was he an older sibling, a father figure, a younger sibling, a bit of each combined? Anyway, I'm sure Law would try to live up to his caretaker and return the favour to someone else.

No matter how it would happen, yes, having his family, found or biological, would make him happy. I truly believe it's that one thing in his life he truly wants. Of course, once he has one, he would be worrying and afraid of losing them. Perhaps in that case Strawhats would be his best choice; they're very strong people capable of taking care of themselves, so he could perhaps learn to believe in them, that they wouldn't kill themselves off the moment he takes his eyes off of them. He would still worry a lot and protect them, but at least maybe he wouldn't self-explode in the process. He probably still will.

Indeed it has been asked before :) but no worries, I will link you to the answer so you can read all upon that: https://www.tumblr.com/l-in-the-light/760279386040795136 Enjoy! Sadly I don't have any new thoughts regarding that, otherwise I would add some now :3 Maybe just one: it doesn't matter if it's friendship, romantic relationship, the progress would be similar in this case, or at least I believe that.

#one piece #trafalgar law #lawlu #nico robin #luffy #law x robin #family #multiple asks answered at once

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niichanism · 2 months

Text

another throwaway-ish acesabo fic i might finish eventually maybe not. the logic and characterization started bugging me but also this ain't about that. i wanted to write alpha sabo wearing a muzzle while rejection-sensitive omega ace is extremely pissed to be denied kissies

Me in 2014, unenlightened: omegaverse is just a cheap tactic to make stoic blorbos pathetic Me now: I think ace one piece should experience PMS

set ambiguously after marineford but ace lives + nothing huge is going on with the RA

TW: omegaverse, pre-heat pms??? lmao, this one actually isn't that spicy it's just silly summary: ace: what if you helped me with my heat. hahaahaha jk. unless sabo: (malfunctions)

“Another meeting?”

Even Ace is surprised at the sharpness in his voice. It's been jumping out of him these last few weeks. He wants to swallow it back down, this twitchiness, but as Sabo turns his good eye back to him, he tries laughing it off instead.

“Yep.” His brother shrugs, smiling. “Duty calls.” “Hmm.”

Ace had his responsibilities as second division commander, but they so rarely involved paperwork. Everything was hands-on, on the go. Meetings were like rallies or even parties more often than not.

He misses it a lot. It feels wrong to sail under any other flag. But Pops was good at protecting people, and that's something Ace can do. Besides, Sabo is here. Sabo, who still has a way of keeping Ace relatively sane– up until recently, at least. There’s a moment where Sabo catches his withered expression, but neither of them say anything.

Ace falls back on teasing, hand on hip. “I’m just wondering if you ever get to have any fun is all.” “I have plenty of fun, Ace,” Sabo huffs, “especially when you’re around.” “Oh, yeah?” Ace is fairly sure— Sabo must be thinking of the fun they had a few weeks ago.

They’d saved a coastal town from some shitty pirates, which was already a good time in itself. They went to the tavern to drink– the place had good stuff, on the house for good deeds– went back to a good room– it’s actually pretty foggy from there. The emotions remain more than the specifics.

But he remembers riding Sabo stupid. Lighting the lamps so he could see when the sky went dark. And how pretty he looked, panting, his golden hair haloed on the bed. His bruising grip on Ace’s thighs. The sensation of his cock swelling like he could knot Ace outside of a mating cycle. He remembers Sabo’s face, lost in pleasure– growling, even– eyes scrunched tight, the flash of his white fangs in his open mouth.

He remembers thinking that it was so good. In the morning, though, Sabo was gone. He’d left a note on the nearest surface, in a rough scrawl: gone on mission

The total lack of specifics was somehow just like him, so Ace had huffed and climbed back into bed. Half-conscious, he’d searched the sheets for the elusive scent so often trapped beneath Sabo’s stuffy, high-necked outfits. And he tried to pull together soft little shreds of memory from the previous night. He hadn’t meant to ruminate. Just to check. Because no matter how he turned it over in his head, it all still seemed like a dream. And if it had happened, should it have happened at all? They never talked about it. Busy, busy days in the Revolutionary Army. Normal, normal brothers who were still learning each other a year after meeting again. Maybe Ace had made a mistake. All those vivid images were tiny embers that refused to die– for weeks now, he was plagued with curiosity. Then shame.

When they first met again, Sabo hadn’t reacted to his second sex beyond a small, almost comical lift of his brows. Ace had been equally cool about it on the outside, and he held himself to that, but the fact that Sabo was an unclaimed alpha had gotten under his skin.

If he was going to be honest with himself, it was posing a real fucking issue.

Ace had always been on the more impulsive side, but he really thought he smoothed that out– if not in terms of danger, then at least when it came to getting along with people.

Of all people, Sabo should test him the least.

And it sucks because he doesn’t, really. He and Ace still get on well. Better than well. What he's testing are Ace’s instincts. Ace had always been able to ignore them in the past, so their constant pounding in his head had surprising power and he ended up blurting out stupid shit like never before. He hadn't even been that clingy when they were kids. He knew and yet the antsy energy remained, dunking his moods and driving him crazy.

“That’s a relief,” Ace says, throwing him his utmost charming, normal smile. Sabo doesn't seem to take it at face value– figures– but past the semi-concerned twitch of his brow, he manages not to fuss over it for about three seconds.

“I’m glad, too. Are you… is everything good?”

“Everything's good,” Ace assures, a little too quick. The last thing he wants is Sabo looking at him like that. “Go on, don't be late,” he urges good-naturedly, sending him off with a lazy wave. “You just let me know if you need any countries set on fire or anything, yeah?”

Sabo looks like he wants to ask something else, but they have another half-conscious second of conversation with their eyes. Sabo’s face crinkles slowly into a smile, and he leaves, taking part of Ace's peace of mind along with him.

A week later, Ace visits Sabo in his room. “G’morning,” he yawns, hand on the doorframe. Sabo looks up from his desk– coffee in one hand, paper in the other.

“Ace. Good morning. Where have you been?” Sabo asks, casual enough.

Ace closes the door behind him and leans against it, nearly clenching his teeth against the nerves in his gut. “Sphinx,” he replies cheerfully. “To visit Pops and Marco.”

Sabo turns away to set his newspaper down. “I see. How's Marco doing?”

“Good,” Ace replies. “He’s on top of things as usual. I just help out here ‘n there.”

The revolution lets him come and go as long as he's smart about it. Well, Sabo lets him come and go. Most of the world still thinks Portgas D. Ace is dead, and the RA thinks he should keep it that way until it's the right moment for a blaze of glory.

No way that's happening until Ace gets his head screwed on straight again. But it's different when he has to be an omega about it. Show up at Marco’s door like a twitchy stray to ask what the hell his body is doing and how to make it stop. He's got a mind that’s too fond of bad ideas, but this sleep with Sabo or else one is throwing him for a loop.

First of all, stop taking suppressants, Marco had said, way too coolly. You haven't had a mating cycle in– two years now?

Can't I just sleep with people and get it out that way?

Sorry, Ace. You have to pass a heat.

Ace had gone quiet then, stomach dropping through the displeasure of it.

You know, there's ways of making it easier, finding a safe partner…

No, I can handle it. I mean, I'll figure it out. Marco. Thank you.

So there it was. He'd tried to take a vacation from his unreasonable instincts only to find out they had to be confronted.

When he looked at his options, his brain became scrambled eggs. The anger in his heart demanded consolation and so he ended up right at Sabo’s door.

“Want some?” Sabo asks.

It refreshes his attention, and Ace’s eyes fall upon the mug in Sabo’s elegantly gloved hand. That other kind of hunger stokes cinders inside of him. “Nah. Coffee's gross.”

Sabo smiles against the rim of the cup. “Useful, though.”

“How about we get some food in you down at the mess hall, too?”

Sabo raises his eyebrows. “Wouldn't turn that down. Give me a second.”

Ace glances around while the desk gets organized. “I also wanted to ask a favor.”

Sabo pauses where he's just stood up, and looks over, a little too keen for Ace’s liking. “Yeah?”

“See, I was wondering if I could…” he starts– then shakes his head, laughing at himself. He didn't learn to be polite for Sabo. He comes closer and clasps his hand firmly on Sabo’s shoulder, ignoring the low screech of desire that comes with it. “No, let me start over. Will ya lend me some of your clothes?”

He can't help the light pink flush on his own cheeks, but he's genuinely pleased at how Sabo’s face changes.

He does the eyebrow lift thing, and his hazel-eyed stare becomes that much more sharp, like this simple question does what the coffee couldn't. Ace likes that he doesn’t look away. But then, he's also at a loss for words, unspoken or otherwise. If they'd never been separated, if Ace wasn't a tough guy and Sabo wasn't a child soldier, this would be an easy script to follow.

Sabo glances down as if he has to examine what he's already got on. Those tough, tan pants that fall just right and the flouncy undershirt and fitted vest; Ace is vaguely amazed at how well put together he looks when the sun’s not even past the rocky horizon of Baltigo outside.

“Lend you my clothes?” he repeats. “Here I thought you had such a problem with them.”

Well, yeah, they make Sabo look snooty as fuck and they seem as freeing as a straitjacket, but–

“I do, but nesting’s not about fashion, it's about scents.”

“Oh… that's what you mean?”

Now why is Sabo so alarmed, blushing like a village maiden?

“What?” Ace asks, pinning him with an edgy, somewhat challenging look. He crosses his arms, since Sabo looks like he wants to sink into the floorboards. “Why are you so surprised? Did you think I don't nest?”

“Well, no–”

“I nested even when we were kids. It was like the one normal thing I did.”

Sabo laughs haltingly. “I remember. It's just that you insisted it was for Luffy’s sake–”

“Yeah, we thought it might make him less whiny,” Ace reminds him. What a puzzle that had been. Pups raising pups– that Luffy turned out half-decent was a fucking miracle, and maybe Sabo had more of a hand in it than he did. The angel on his shoulder had a lot more sway when it spoke with Sabo’s voice. Makino had loved the idea of their nesting with the clothes she brought, though. Everyone loved Makino, so if she thought it was a good idea, Ace had figured it was. “I guess I just got in the habit, man. You don’t actually have to give me anything, don’t worry about it.” Bless his heart, Sabo doesn’t let this awful feeling in Ace’s stomach take root.

“What? No, Ace, I didn’t say you couldn’t have any,” he says quickly, eyes as wide as a skittish woodland creature’s. “Please take something. It just surprised me. Nobody’s ever asked me before.” Ace sits with that for a few seconds. He shouldn’t feel happy that Sabo was deprived of meaningful pack bonds. But he feels light as air knowing that he’s Sabo’s first here, too. “Okay,” he says, grinning. When he catches sight of Sabo’s awkward, half-grimacing expression in turn, he snickers. “Could’ve just stolen some of your clothes to save us the awkward little chat, huh? You have so many, you wouldn’t have even noticed.” Sabo rubs his face between thumb and fingers, flustered. Another stilted laugh bubbles out of him. “No, I mean, sure, if you need something from me, you can have it,” he says, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. Ace’s smile softens, but it feels like a supernova, a victory. He’s having trouble stripping his eyes away from Sabo, the genuine pleasure on his rosy face. “But I’m glad you asked.” Ace bites the inside of his cheek because he feels like he’s about to start purring and Sabo hasn’t even given him anything yet, hasn’t even touched him. He’s out of joint for sure. “No big deal. Used to nest with Luffy’s clothes, too,” Ace tells him. He wrinkles his nose. “He smells like meat and dirt, though.”

Sabo relaxes. “You love meat and dirt.” “I do,” Ace laughs. “Yeah, Lu smells weird as fuck and I wouldn’t change it for the world. I’ll take your gift too. Much appreciated.” And now that he’s got his consolation prize, Ace yearns to get the fuck out of there. Even if he’s curious about fucking Sabo again– just to check– his upcoming heat is something else. It’s going to be beyond terrible, so much so that he already feels like a sweaty human fireball when it comes to mind, and he honestly doesn’t want to think about it. There’s a reason he hasn’t stopped downing suppressants for two years. Sabo’s clothes and memories of nesting in their treehouse will have to do to ease his fraying nerves. Ace has been through worse, so he should be stronger. He should be stronger. He should pass his heat and then, if possible, have sex with Sabo once more just to get this heavy, cloying attraction out of his system– Ace claps his hands together. “That’s settled, then. Breakfast?”

He needs to do something with his body that isn’t standing here and taking in everything that makes Sabo Sabo. But his brother doesn’t budge or even glance at the door. “When do you need them by?”

“Hm?” “I mean…” Sabo looks to the wall and back. “It’s soon, right? You stopped taking your suppressants.” Ace frowns, and twists his head over to sniff. “Damn, do I smell rank?” “No, no, you’re fine I think, as long as you don’t go anywhere too cramped or hot…” Sabo’s nose twitches; his mouth thins. “Are you going anywhere?” Ace’s eyebrows jump at the sudden steeliness in his voice. He fixes Sabo with a look on the border of teasing and genuine annoyance. “Sabo, have you never been around an omega or something?” “I have,” Sabo says, somewhat irritably. “Just… older ones, or… subordinates…” “Subordinates,” Ace repeats, teasing. “Well, it’s an army here, Ace, not exactly a family,” Sabo sighs, idly massaging one gloved hand with the other. “But now my brother is about to go through a cycle, so shouldn’t I make sure everything is fine? Are you going back to Sphinx for your heat?”

“Kinda thought I’d just stay here and bolt the door.” Sabo studies his face for a few seconds, then relents, throat bobbing. “Okay. Are you going to need… anything else?” “Well,” Ace starts. He puts his hands on his hips, rocks on his feet. “What’re you offering, Sabo?” Sabo swallows again. Ace almost hears it. Shit, it makes him want to pounce. “Oh.” He shows all his teeth. “I’m low maintenance, promise.” Sabo shakes his head, his smile completely lost on his face. Ace’s head gets foggy and hot and his mouth just starts moving.

“T’ tell the truth,” he admits, “it’s… gonna be a tough one to ride out since I haven’t had one for two years– that’s what Marco said. But it’s short notice, don’t really wanna go through the trouble of finding someone I can trust.” Despite knowing how terrible the heat is going to be– and it’s always worse than imagined– he can hardly think of anything that motivates him less than finding a viable partner out of the blue. The thought has worked like a boomerang, just bringing him memories of Sabo’s hands, arms, lips. Something tells him he shouldn’t trouble his brother with his cycle like this. Something else tells him that nothing in the world would be better. Like Sabo his brother and Sabo an alpha could be different things– and they’re not; Sabo is Sabo.

Ace the brother and Ace the omega are different things, though, and by the four fucking seas, he should know to keep it that way. “Are you serious?” Sabo asks. Again with the eyebrows raised way up, his stare both hawkish and disbelieving. Ace’s heart beats like a drum. This is a gamble, he knows. But he’d regret anything less. “Dead serious,” he drawls. Go big or go home, and he’s fearless. He understands very well that he can’t always get his way. Can’t make people want him. He gets that. They do or they don’t. It seemed like Sabo did that first time. In fact, it’s hard to imagine a world where Sabo doesn’t. Kind, loyal, capable, pretty-faced Sabo…

He holds up his hands. “If you don’t wanna, that’s that, but I remember last month– kinda– sorry ‘bout that–” “Don’t be sorry,” Sabo chokes out. Nice of him not to play dumb. Ace nods. “-- it was good! Real good. You’d be helping me out, if you’re up to it.” “Well–” Sabo falters. He shifts his jaw around, looks altogether way too serious, rigid. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea, Ace.” Ace freezes. “Yeah, you’re right,” his mouth says without his permission. Now his heart’s beating in a bad way. Why’d he say that? Sabo never became a pirate. Maybe he’s not built for that up-front, casual kind of thing– “It’s not that I wouldn’t,” Sabo says with that same hasty voice from earlier. Now Ace recognizes that it’s not an endearing fluster, but a quick course correction meant to coddle Ace, and fuuuuck, he really showed his hand at the worst time. “I just think– I’m not very available– I couldn’t be any help–” Again Ace’s hand comes down on Sabo’s shoulder. Maybe a little harder this time. “Sabo,” he says heavily, and sucks a deep breath in through his mouth. Sabo shuts up for the duration of his exhale, too, and then Ace smacks his shoulder a few times, grounding them both. “It’s fine. It’s cool. You’re super busy. It’s only a heat. Just forget it.”

Sabo looks more horrified than placated. Damn. Ace is pushing a smile harder than ever before because what else is there to do? Yeah, he’s pissed, but he’d be a prick to take it out on Sabo.

“Wait, I don't think you understand. It’s not you at all. I just think–” “Yeah, I got it. Not cool of me to spring it on you. Way too short notice. And it’s just a heat,” Ace repeats, also trying to convince himself. His stomach feels like it’s about to mutiny, empty itself of its fat 8am nothing. Like nausea lives there now.

So Sabo doesn’t want him.

That doesn’t even feel entirely true– But Ace is not going to push it. No regrets, but also damn him and his bad ideas. Sabo grabs his arm. “Wait, Ace–”

He feels overstimulated and shrugs Sabo off. It takes a few seconds to even formulate a response around his brain mysteriously exploding with something like starvation pains. Sabo looks somewhat heartbroken for him, which is worse. It’s just a heat. Sabo is his own person, obviously. His own person who could probably have anyone other than Ace, what was he even thinking.

Stalling, Ace ruffles his own hair back into somewhat of a bedhead, and tamps down as hard as possible on what wants to come out. You don’t want me?

Am I causing problems again?

Can you just hold me for a while, please, please– “If you feel like you need someone for it, just–” “Damn, don’t put words in my mouth,” Ace manages. He turns on his heel. “‘M hungry. I want food in my mouth. Let’s go get breakfast, Sabo.”

They sit across from each other for breakfast in the mess hall. If he’s around, Ace eats there even if Sabo doesn’t; like this, he learns the names of all the dour-faced veterans and bushy-tailed idealists, and they also know not to bug him if he lands face first in his plate. That doesn’t happen today. Sabo sits across from him with that disconcerted look, frowning more than Ace has seen him do in a while– it’s irritating– and Ace stuffs his face like they did not have that conversation. Once his stomach is fuller and he feels stronger, strong enough to hold his instincts at arm’s length again, he reasons that it went as well as it could’ve. Of course he had to ask. Was he just not going to ask? Like a coward? And at least now he knows. Yeah, he feels like a popped bubble or a capsized skiff now, strangled by that rejection in a way he hasn’t been for years, but this time it’s just omega stuff kicked up to eleven. That’s why it feels so beyond his control.

He’ll get all his hormones sorted with a heat, and then he’ll stop feeling like Sabo’s lost, horny puppy dog. Awesome plan. He slams his bowl down. Sabo’s been talking to some staffers– he really does have his sexy little gloved fingers in everything all the time– and he glances up at the noise. “... No seconds?” “I said I’d help train some recruits today,” Ace informs him, stacking his tray up. Sabo frowns. “Really?” “Yeah– quit that, stop worrying about me.” Sabo takes a deep breath and rubs his neck. “I’m not…” Ace laughs. “Get better at lying. Look, this isn’t my first rodeo, okay? Won't be so bad. And us, we’re fine.” “Of course we are,” Sabo says, and leaves the but hanging in the air. For now, Ace is fine with that. He whacks Sabo’s shoulder. “See you around?” “Yeah…”

And the back of Ace’s neck tingles, because he feels eyes on him until the moment he leaves the room. * A nice breeze and a few hours of physical exertion do him good, even if he still feels like a time bomb. At least he can make himself useful until pre-heat starts kicking his ass. He does indeed see Sabo around. He’s hard to miss at his height, with his stature, having left the top hat behind on this relatively casual day. And casual though it is, he sees Sabo cross from one end of the compound to the other, passing the training yard, no less than four times in six hours.

Maybe that's not unusual? Except that Sabo stops to look at him every time, arms crossed and not quite focused.

He's not there when the bell for dinner rings, which raises some questions, but Ace pushes it out of mind. He focuses on the roasted turkey and how he's going to have to ask for heat rations from the cook, who he hasn't quite won over just yet. Maybe in the morning when he’s less sleepy.

He's about to pass out in his room when there's a knock at the door and it opens. Huh. A guy has to question the point of knocking, then.

“Ace?”

Sabo closes it behind him with his foot, approaches Ace’s bunk– nest half-made and sadly lacking– and waits for him to stand up before holding out a folded set of clothes. Ace can't help the way he perks up at the gift.

As he reaches for them, Sabo leans in and sniffs. Ace goes still without even meaning to, mechanically closing his hands around fabric.

“You're getting close.”

“Hi to you, too, Sabo.”

Sabo leans back with a frown. “I really think you should stay in until it starts, Ace.”

“How are you? I'm doing fine, thank you for asking.”

“Ace.”

His voice is pinched. Briefly Ace traces the shape of his scar again and sighs.

“I think I've got at least a day or two left ‘til it really sets in and gets, y’know, smelly.”

At age 18 he'd fought off a navy squadron in pre-heat, even, and any pirate in a mile radius knew not to fuck with him. Surely the revolutionary army guys are as disciplined as pirates?

Sabo apparently doesn't think so. His face darkens. It's tough for Ace not to grin, but he tries. He brings the clothes closer to his chest. Sabo's wearing a whole other prissy outfit– so the ones he brought must've been from today. Ace feels itchy with that knowledge.

He remembers practically tearing his brothers’ clothes off of them when they were kids, so brashly insistent on tossing them into bed, and laughs a little. Sabo scolded him then, too.

“I'm not joking, Ace.”

“Obviously not,” Ace says lightly. “I can handle a fever, Sab. You worried about my hot, irresistible pheromones?”

Sabo’s face loosens like a lightning flash before his mouth firms up hard. Ace has the sense he's stepping on something he shouldn't.

“Yes,” he answers, huffs, and rolls his eyes. “You know, a lot of these people haven't mated in years. If it was anyone but you, I’d probably ask you to use the heat rooms in the infirmary.”

That doesn't make him feel special. He scowls.

“Don't really wanna be cooped up in any room at all for long,” he edges out. The worst thing is that he trusts Sabo is looking out for him, in his own needlessly intense way.

“Please?”

Ace catches the inside of his cheek between his molars.

“I'm telling you, ‘s not even pre-heat yet,” he says. His gland hasn't swollen up, there's no miserable heaviness to his groin, and he still has more than enough energy. So much energy he almost feels like he wants to fight.

He's so hopeless sometimes. He sits on the bed just to put some space between them, looks dourly at Sabo.

Sabo's surveying the room. There's a few trinkets, misplaced socks, log pose on the standard issue dresser. He hasn't made a home here, but it's something.

“I still need to get my hands on some water and food for it,” Ace continues, trying the rational angle.

Sabo shakes his head, tic in his jaw. “I'll take care of that,” he says, and his voice is gentle, reassuring. And Sabo always does what he says he'll do, so.

Ace frowns though. He feels fidgety, full of tinder sparks. He rubs at his neck, eyes shut. If he hunkers down now, he's just going to be… alone… for a while. And usually that’s no problem.

It's not like this room is a prison cell, but he learned just how slow a few days can pass when there's no one to talk to. He sends another silent thank you to Jinbei for keeping him somewhat more sane for that, but his friends can't do anything about his heat.

It's just a heat.

Sabo says his name and Ace realizes he doesn't know how long he was staring at his lap just now.

“Ace?” Sabo sounds worried. “You still have your baby snail?”

“…Huh? It's somewhere.”

“Right. So– that's how we’ll–” Sabo gestures, though he seems confused by exactly what he's doing. He pauses, puts his hands on his hips, and smiles. “You just call me on that when your heat starts.”

Ace’s brow twitches. He's not gonna show that side of himself to Sabo just for shits and giggles. Sabo looks at him and cools down, mouth falling open, smacked with some realization.

“Oh. Right. Sorry, are you still–” Again with the gesturing. “I changed my mind about what I said earlier.”

Ace leans back on the bed, incredulous. His arms are taut behind him. Sabo takes in the line of his body, then looks up. Oh, he's serious.

“Changed your mind?”

Sabo nods, all sincere, unflinching eye contact. “Yeah. I can’t just walk around doing business as usual while you're suffering in here. You even told me it was going to be bad. Can't take it lightly.”

Ace hums. Shit, he's getting too used to being saved by his brothers.

Shaking his head, he pats the stack of clothes. “Couldn't have led with that, chief?”

Sabo shrugs, smiling helplessly.

“Will you wait for me?” he asks, voice butter smooth. “I have to get some things ready, and then I’ll be one call away when you feel it coming on.”

“Koala says you never answer your snail.”

Sabo makes a face. “Not fair, she's making generalizations. I can't always answer the snail if I'm sneaking around or fighting–” he takes another breath, pauses. “-- and I won't be– I mean, I'll be right here.”

“So…” Ace looks down. “You want me to hunker down now and just wait for you?”

It seemed like the biggest drag in the fucking world two minutes ago. To himself, at least, he can't deny all the warm, fuzzy feelings dredged up. Sabo also seems happy. They're on the same page again.

“I can bring you some comics tonight?” he offers. Ace laughs.

He's a world-class wanted man who spent years in the Grand Line, and Sabo thinks he still likes comics?

He's not wrong.

“Ehh… just bring me all the papers with stories about Luffy,” he suggests, grinning. The two of them are collecting like crazy. “And the ones about Pops if you got ‘em.”

Sabo smiles. “Okay.”

“Okay.”

Excitement grows inside of him. There’s whole-body relief for the first time in ages. He hates that it's not something he could've accomplished on his own, but– he knows better than that now.

“Thanks, Sabo.”

Sabo nods. “I’ll take good care of you, Ace, I swear.”

Ace’s ears go hot. He chuckles, looking aside. “You don't gotta say shit like that.”

“Well, I mean it–“

Ace crashes back into his bed, sprawled over clothes and extra blankets, head tilting back and eyes shut. “I trust you.”

Sabo walks a little closer into his peripheral vision. All serious-faced again. His chip-toothed, wild brat really grew up into a soldier. “Full disclosure, though,” he starts. “I've never shared a heat with anyone.”

“What a surprise,” Ace says breezily. Haha, looks like he's gonna be Sabo’s first again.

Sabo doesn't even catch the dig for what it is. Ace clears his throat. “You'll be fine. When was your last rut?”

“Uh. Not too long ago, actually.”

Ace looks up at the ceiling, considering that. It means that Sabo’s alpha instincts likely won’t be so intense. Ace isn't sure how he feels about it. He’ll be burning off two years of suppressed heats and also the traumatic stress, according to Marco.

He worries his lip between his teeth, glances over. “Did ya spend it with anyone?”

He doesn't know why he asked that.

Sabo sort of stares into the corner of the bed. “Not… really…”

Ace laughs even though he wants to hit something suddenly. “What does that mean?”

“I mean, I didn't,” Sabo says with more certainty. Ace trusts that– and it's not his business, he reminds himself. Sabo’s free, all they ever wanted. “I didn't share it with anyone. Full disclosure again, I don't like how I get during my ruts.”

Interesting. What does that mean? Ace tongues at the corner of one of his fangs and considers asking.

He sits up, hunched over his knees. “Sabo. You will be fine. If anyone’s gonna embarrass themselves it's me.” Now that he thinks about it, that's pretty likely. His head dips as if the force of gravity hit it all at once, and he rubs the base of his skull. “Sorry. I wouldn't bug you with this if it wasn't… believe me, it's just…”

Something gets caught in his throat.

“No, Ace, you can always ask.” Sabo is fast to sit down next to him. “I want you to ask.”

“Hey…”

“You’re my brother,” Sabo says firmly.

Ace can’t do anything but laugh. That really was one of the best ideas he ever had. He could get half-drunk on it at any time. He lifts his arm for Sabo to cross. Sabo returns the echo of their surprisingly idyllic childhood, then settles back into place, looking rather mindful of… something. That’s the thing with Sabo. He always seems to have a thousand things on his mind, but you can’t guess when or even if they’re going to come up. Ace leans over and nudges his shoulder. “I’d do the same for you if you had a bad cycle,” he swears, “you know that, right? Drop anything to take your knot.”

Sabo’s shoulders shake with his laughter, though it winds down fast and thin. His eyes flit away. “Dude, stop.”

Ace grins, leaning over.

“Huh, maybe it is starting early…” “Ace, I mean it, please,” Sabo coughs into his hand and then stares at Ace so intently that any playfulness snuffs out. “I need to be prepared for your heat, as much as possible.” Ace blinks a few times. There’s an absurd amount of pomp and circumstance around this. It’s embarrassing, humbling– unexpected. He scoots closer and slaps his hand on Sabo’s back, hard. “Don’t treat it like a chore,” he says cheerfully. “You can have fun, too! I trust ya, and I’m not fragile. I’ve been working on my haki, I could probably kick your ass now–” “That’s not what I mean either,” Sabo says, ruefully shaking his head, but he doesn’t elaborate and Ace is getting sleepy. Sabo pats his thigh and stands up, winding an arm back to loosen up. “Alright, I’ll take care of reading material and the food ‘n water. You’ve got the clothes for nesting. Anything else?” “Nope,” Ace says. He said he was low maintenance and he means it. He shoots finger-guns. “Just you and that dick!” Sabo snorts. Ace tracks his movement and finds himself standing up, walking along to the door. Restless, suddenly. “Good night, Ace.” “Night, Sabo.” They stare at each other. Desire comes to life on the tip of Ace’s tongue. His skin prickles with it.

Sabo is helping him. It’s too much to ask for anything else– especially not after all of Ace’s insistence that he didn’t even have his pre-heat yet. This isn’t need. Not his health. It’s just wanting. Inexplicable, childish wanting. Now that he’s going, Ace wants him to stay. With his hands, which touch Ace so easily; and his tough, pretty smile; and his scent, like the high canopies of the forest stretching toward the sun. In this stuttering, overborne moment, for once, Ace is unable to get his head around the feeling they’re sharing. There’s a huff– it could be either of them– and then Sabo nods, turns the knob, and leaves. Ace waves. Stands there, processing. When nobody and nothing else so much as crosses in front of his room in the next few minutes, Ace free falls into his privacy– into that clunky bed that’s so much more agreeable when arranged to soothe his instincts. Sabo’s offerings are washed in his scent. Ace buries his face in them. His heat is going to colossally thrash him this year. Now he’s stuck inside this tiny, sterile room for a while, too. And he is so, so lucky. The longer he has his nose to Sabo’s shirt, the luckier he feels.

It’s unfair of him to want more. -

Sabo comes in the morning with a box of newspapers and a tray of breakfast. He has enough sense to have brought enough for both of them to eat together– they make room to do so on the floor. It’s surprisingly cozy. Ace cheerfully gnaws on toast and downs orange juice while pawing at the pages, eyebrows raised at this or that headline. He always grins whenever he sees “straw hat” emblazoned on the front pages. Sabo has the same enthusiasm, finding Ace first thing to show him whenever something new comes up. It’s been a little while, though. “D’you think he’s okay,” Ace asks, mouth half-full of apple as he holds up one of the more recent ones. Sabo looks up, slurps the rest of a ham slice into his mouth, pauses. “... Of course he is.” “Uhuh.” Another bite. “Why’d you have to stop and think about it?” “He’s a little reckless, isn’t he?” Sabo notes lightly. “But you said yourself that it always works out for him.” He did say that. It does seem a little suspect though. Ace runs his hand back through his hair again, frowning. He knows Luffy is much bigger and stronger than he used to be. He’s reliable, in his own way. His friends will take care of him. All things that Ace has thought to himself any number of times, with increased frequency in the last few weeks. He can’t wait to start walking himself back from the edge.

“Hey, it’s perfectly natural for an older brother to worry,” says Ace. “Sure is. Do you wish he was here?” “Yeah, a little,” Ace admits, since it’s Sabo– then he immediately thinks better of it. “Well. No, he should be out there becoming King of the Pirates, yeah?”

One-handed, he shifts some of the pages aside to find a picture of Luffy– well, a picture of Luffy’s wacky limbs splayed across the sky in some foreign land. How can you not root for him? When he glances up, Sabo’s smiling just the same as he is. “Yeah, of course,” Sabo replies. “You know… you know we can call him, right? Well, call the Sunny to talk to him.” Ace huffs. “What’s he gonna say? It’ll be the same as always. That kid....” He takes a deep breath. “We’ll see him when we see him.” “Alright, well, if I call him I’ll say you’re busy–” “Hey, if you’re gonna call him anyway, that’s different–” Sabo snickers. Ace starts cleaning up, annoyed again that Sabo has to play errand boy for him until his heat starts kicking his ass. “How are you feeling?” Sabo asks, setting the box of newspapers aside. “Fine–” Ace pauses when he feels Sabo’s bare hand on his forehead. He squints at him critically, an incredulous joke on his lips, but again, Sabo’s so intense at random times. It’s less work to just let him tire himself out. “You know,” Ace reminds him, gently lowering his hand, “you can’t really check my temperature ‘cause of the whole–” Sabo almost squawks when Ace makes use of his logia from the shoulders up, torn into red and orange flames licking the still air, then settling back into flesh. Sabo blinks at him, annoyed, while Ace gets his laugh in.

ummmm ur honor i love them. anyway yeah the idea is like. ace in heat is very Not low maintenance and wait. this:

Ace in heat was boldly confrontational, glaring at Sabo like that.

He started up with I’m sorry only to realize that Ace was channeling all that mysterious ire at his mouth– or, no, at the dull, thin bars of the alpha muzzle strapped over it.

“You going to keep the gloves on, too?” Ace asked scathingly.

“Do you want me to?”

“No.”

instead of finishing the rest of this fic can't i just.. RP it or smth...

#acesabo

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salty-croissants · 8 months

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Hey! If your still taking requests, I was wondering if you can do Rayman/Ramon being a father to him and His S/os kids? I can see Rayman being his kids to work, like bring your kid to work day, that would be so cute

Thank you for the request !

I’ve been struggling to get back writing for quite a few days now , had a massive writer’s block phase … I’m really sorry I took so long to get this done ! Hopefully I’ll finish the next request a bit faster ;-;

Anyway , I really enjoyed writing this one : I love the idea of Rayman being a sweetheart to his kids … it brings me joy :,)

Hope it turned out okay !

And again , sorry about the inconvenience ;(

Details : use of gender neutral reader ;

established relationships ;

no warnings needed

Rayman 🧡

Two words : Best Dad .

Rayman has always had a soft spot for children , so now that he has a family with you , the love of his life , he truly feels like the luckiest man alive .

He knows that he can’t be around all the time , but whenever he’s there he wants to be as present as possible and make everyone smile … that’s probably the most important thing for him .

Rayman is more than happy to bring his children along to work when he is allowed to , and the sheer enthusiasm he has when talking to them and answering their questions is surely something to behold …

< Ohh - what is that , Dad ? >

< That is the television production studio , sweetie : it’s the place from where the things I say get filmed and then put on tv .

It’s one of the most important rooms in this building , and the one where I spend more time into . >

< That’s so cool !!

Can we go in there now Dad ? Can we ? Can we ? Can we ? >

< Hehe , alright , let’s go !

Just be careful and stay close to me , okay ? >

< Okay ! >

Rayman isn’t bothered in the slightest by the fact that his coworkers and staff members could see him and his kids , and if anyone has complaints about it ?

Well , he is ready to have an hours long argument with them if necessary , so most people don’t even try to talk about it … at least not out loud .

When he comes back home , despite how tired he may be , Rayman is pretty much always down to see what his children have been up to while he was away :

they crafted something or made a drawing ? He will see it .

They want to tell him all about something cool that happened today ? He will give them his full attention .

< Dad ! Dad look , it’s you ! We made it together ! >

< Wow - that’s such a good drawing you made there ! I love it ! >

Rayman makes sure to keep every little thing they gift him , and sometimes you can find him sitting somewhere , smiling while staring at something they made …

< Aw , is that a new one Ray ? >

< Mhm …

Y’know y/n , sometimes I look at you and our family and I can’t believe how lucky I am to have all this .

I can’t thank you enough for staying with me … I love you , I love you so much ~ >

< I love you too sweetie … I’m so lucky to have you as well ~ >

Ramon 🖤

Saying that Ramon will do anything to keep you and your kids safe is an understatement …

He is ready to throw his life away to ensure that , and that often brings him to make many , many dangerous decisions .

< y/n ? Is … is Dad okay … ? >

< Don’t worry hun , he just needs some rest and he’ll feel better soon …

Still Ram , that’s not an excuse for doing stuff like that .

Please , please promise me you’ll never do it again … >

< I … hnn … I’m sorry … I just - I forget myself sometimes …

I’ll try to be more careful , I promise . >

Ramon’s softer side is especially visible when he is spending time with your children , playing with them …

< Aha ! We got you ! >

< Heh , you got me … >

< And now you’re trapped , forever !! >

< Noo - how could I be so easily defeated ?? >

You can’t help but smile whenever you see your partner like that , at this point only ever smiles when you’re all together : it’s the one thing that keeps him sane .

Since he doesn’t want to make your kids worry about how bad things actually are , with Eden constantly on the hunt for him and his beloved family , Ramon most likely confides to you at night , when his tormented thoughts prevent him from getting some much needed rest …

< y/n … ? >

< Hey love … can’t sleep … ? >

< … yeah …

This is just such a huge mess … I really have no idea how we’re gonna make it through this with those assholes constantly looking for us .

You deserve better … our children deserve better … maybe the both of you should - >

< No . I know what you’re about to say , and I’ll never leave you , no matter what happens .

I know that … things aren’t easy right now , and I honestly have no idea what’s gonna happen next … but I know we’re going to get through this , and we will be happy , all three of us … I promise . >

Your loving words always manage to give Ramon some reassurance , and with a momentary sense of peace he eventually manages to fall asleep in your arms , grateful to have you and your kids by his side .

He will do everything in his power to keep you safe , no matter what it takes .

#captain laserhawk #x reader #rayman x reader #captain lazerhawk rayman #rayman #ramon clh #cl rayman #ramon captain laserhawk #gender neutral reader

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playertwotails · 5 months

Text

Okay so this has been circling around in my head for like two weeks like a fly hitting windows in a sun-room.

So I'm back on my Tails kitsune AU bullshit and I've also recently gotten into Cult of the Lamb so now they've mashed in my brain into a hodgepodged gloop.

And it's all going below the cut if you wanna read my brain worms cause it's long

***Trigger warning for like blood and cults and kidnapping and drugging. Just to give people a heads up (nothing too graphic or detailed but just in case and let me know if you think I missed anything I might need to warn people about)****

Little side note before jumping into this: do not tag as shipping, there is no shipping here it's all platonic and familial. If I see a ship tag I will block you.

Starting off it doesn't matter if Tails is actually a kitsune or not (I personally prefer that yes he is just for the post situation of the gang all being like "okay so what species is Tails actually???" )

I've just had this idea in my head where some cult somewhere is started and they worship kitsune's as godlike entities. They then catch wind of Tails in the news or rumors and their target is now locked.

So this cults leader gets the 'big brain but head actually empty' idea to kidnap Tails like any sane cult leader would.

Now these people somehow stumble ass backwards into kidnapping Tails and keeping him contained. And by keeping him contained they're basically drugging Tails just enough he's conscious but nonreactive. And they basically dress him up and drag him to their ceremonies as more of object than a kid. Tails is hating it and actually scared cause what the hell is wrong with these people let him go home.

Meanwhile Sonic and the gang are all freaking out cause "WHERE IS HE??!!!!" Cause lets be honest kidnapped by a cult was not on any of their bingo cards and at this point they don't know that's what happened, they only know Tails is gone and none of the usual suspects have him.

Rouge starts going through her contacts on the side looking for any crumb of information and gets a lead. And in typical Rouge fashion splits off on her own to look into it. She then comes across the cult and infiltrates their compound.

During her snooping though she overhears the leader of the cult and his subordinates talking about "living forever through the blood of their god's mortal form", sees a statue of a multi-tailed fox and all the red flags are immediately up for her. Internal panic button is smashed. 2 + 2 = fucked up situation.

She's already pressing the "get your asses here" button on her communicator and tears off as quickly but quietly as she can looking for Tails. When she finds him he's in a locked room just laying in bed, all dressed up in a white outfit. Which strange for her to see him just laying there since normally he'd be out and gone long time ago She sees what they've been giving him next to the bed and she's now double pissed off. (I like to think it's at least been over a week Tails has been missing, but if you wanna get really angsty make about 6 months, just as long as Sonic was locked up in Forces).

As gently but quickly as she can she bundles up Tails and carries him cause at this point he's got so much in his system he can't walk or talk, blinking is kinda his only form of communication at the moment. To which Rouge doesn't know what's worse, for Tails to have been asleep for the whole time unaware or to be awake for the whole time and know what's happening.

Tails on the other hand is just so happy to see her and scared that he starts crying. Which is just breaking Rouge's heart to witness as she starts to backtrack out of there with him, with him just silently crying nonstop in her arms.

Unfortunately only about halfway to the exit they discover Tails is gone and the place starts going into lock down with cultist swarming the halls of the place. And even though Rouge is an excellent fighter, she's in close quarters with a kid who can't walk so she's quickly overrun by cultist who tie her up and take Tails back.

The leader then using all of his one brain cell figures she's already signaled to the other's where they are and he knows it's only a matter of time before the fastest thing on the planet busts their door down looking for his little brother.

The leader announces to the group they're moving up the ceremony to now much to Rouge's horror and they drag her along too kicking and screaming cause they don't have time to drop her off in a cell or anything.

Everyone is now in this big ceremony/chapel room that has a big stone table covered in white flowers, that suspiciously is the perfect size for an 8 year old fox to lay down on. And the leader does just that laying Tails on the table.

Rouge is throwing an absolute fit and cursing everyone out cause no way in hell is she gonna let this happen, it's to the point multiple people are having to hold her down even with her tied up cause she's kicking up such a storm of rage.

Meanwhile, Tails is mentally absolutely freaking out in a panic and is terrified out of his mind, especially when the leader brings out a large ornate knife and starts chanting something.

As the leader is finishing up and reeling back his hand with the knife Sonic busts in and sees all of this. Immediately rushing to the table just as the cult leader goes for the downswing.

Sonic just barely catches the knife about an inch from Tails' chest grabbing on to the blade of it and cutting his hand which drips onto Tails.

Now Sonic finally has a moment to process all of this and what exactly is happening and for obvious reasons he is beyond pissed off. He's probably not far off from turning into dark Sonic or it's creeping around the edges of him. And just as he's about to send the cult leader to meet his maker he glances at Tails' face and that's the only reason he doesn't kill the leader right then and there. Cause Sonic thought Tails was asleep but now he notices not only is Tails somewhat awake but tears are streaming down his face.

So Sonic does the next best thing in this situation, knocks out the leader in less than a second and just pulls Tails into a hug off the table and starts just sobbing with Tails in his lap curled up on the floor. Cause the horror of what about happened and the relief Tails is okay and he found him in time hits Sonic all at once.

The rest of the cultists are still frozen cause for Sonic, Tails and the leader all that happened in less than a minute and the group is still catching their bearings of everything that just happened. Which is a good thing cause in that moment everyone else catches up and runs into this whole scene.

From their perspective though they just see Sonic sobbing over a limp Tails with blood on his chest (from Sonic's hand but they don't know that), a guy knocked out (or possibly dead??) next to them, a big stone table that suspiciously looks like an alter also next to them, Rouge who is still cursing up a storm tied up in the corner and held down by like 5 people, and a room full of people in matching robes that look like the guy up near Sonic and Tails.

The rest of the group now splits off with Amy and Knuckles running over to Sonic and Tails, Shadow going for the leader on the ground, Omega going to help Rouge, and the rest of their friends they had helping them splitting off to take care of the rest of the cultists.

From here everything gets resolved, cultists and leader locked up, Tails getting what ever drugs they were giving him out of his system and going home and everyone somewhat going back to their lives. Sonic however does not leave Tails' side for a while and hovers around him which for the first few weeks Tails appreciates cause if he's honest he doesn't want Sonic to be far from him either after everything and really doesn't want to be alone for long. Tails get constant nightmares about the situation and is snuggling with his big brother almost every night. Which is great for Sonic cause he's also getting terrible nightmares from the ordeal and feels better when he wakes up and Tails is right there.

It does get to the point though where after a bit of recovery and time healing the mental scars Tails has to convince Sonic that he can be go back to running around and exploring without Tails right next to him. It takes a lot of convincing and scheduling regular check-ins (like 5x more than they previously had) but Sonic and Tails slowly get somewhat back to their normal lives.

If you wanna get angsty though have it so Sonic is just a second too slow in saving Tails and the fallout from that. (couldn't be me though I'm a hurt/comfort girly at heart, give me the angst but everyone's okayish in the end)

#miles tails prower #tails the fox #tails kitsune au #kitsune au #enjoy my brain worms #this has been eating away at all my other ideas for a while now #feel free to add on if you like just keep me in the loop #i might post the little comic I'm attempting to draw about that one scene at the altar with Sonic grabbing the knife #that scene is so vivid in my head #I've had bad art block and burnout for like 4 years now since coivd hit and my job got STRESSFUL (call center life sucked)#but I'm slowly trying to knock the rust off my skills #a whole art minor I have not used in a while #my drawing skills are like the Tinman in the Wizard of Oz #someone give me some oil so they move again

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crowtheghost · 1 month

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the only problem is the fact that most of the shrimpo ships are GOOD including this one! like, this mf pulling everyone

True true there are a Lot of ships,, I'm a thorough believer in ship whatever you want (as long as it's not problematic), But I never got as invested in other dandy world ships as much. I think in my head it came down to the idea of their interactions.. Excuse me using your ask to rant . _. I'm gonna chatter about Shrimpo and Shelly's personalities and such.

So I think that with most Shrimpo x Toon ships the toon has to have a certain level of tolerance for him, obviously. His personality is aggressive and loud! If the other Toon can't at least look past that They probably would clash. Which is why most ships you see is with nicer toons. Goob, Boxten, Finn, (Those are some examples and there are exceptions to that but you get it) I think that a lot of ships work with Shrimpo because he makes his own problems, the other character has sort of 'I can fix him' (or 'I can match him' or 'I can understand him' etc etc) Which revolves around Shrimpo himself! Its pretty awesome. Then you have Shelly! She is a character with her own struggles, the story has shown how her character has been ignored and she hasn't gotten the spot light as much as she maybe should have. On top of that she is clearly much kinder to others as they sometimes are to her. (Vee for example) And I think this is where my mind realized their potential even just as friends. Shelly and Shrimpo are the most cast out of all the toons. But they also both have their own problems and issues! It becomes less 'one sane character makes the evil character Better' (which I love, don't get me wrong this is NOT a rant on how I dislike the other ships. I love them..) Shelly and Shrimpo can be equally insecure and scared and they can both make each other better. They surprisingly make up for each others faults really well.. Shrimpo can stand up for Shelly, and Shelly can be a side of reason for Shrimpo, as well as being someone kind. Their mutual respect for each other they eventually get allows them both to grow as people and I think that's so cool!! And If I saw them in other ships I'd go insane about them too I think- gjfjdgkh And I'm not gonna go into how Shrimpo never actually states he hates Shelly.. I dunno I'm gooey.. Can't express them how I want to.

#dandy's world #dandys world #shrimpo dandys world #shellfish dandys world #shelly dandys world #shrimpo x shelly #silly artist talks #Yeah #This is just my personal reasons for why I like their ship!#My headcanons go into it a lot too but #yeag

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lullabyes22-blog · 7 months

Text

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

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

Forward but Never Forget/XOXO

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

Snippet:

Caitlyn—

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

I've resigned from the Council.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Guess it's heartbreaks all around, huh?

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

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

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

Fondly,

Jayce

Cait—

Viktor's gone.

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

So is the Hexcore.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But I'm going to find out.

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

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

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

Warm regards,

Jayce

Caitlyn—

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

The Wardens found Viktor.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Something isn't adding up.

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

This is bad.

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

That's exactly what I think is happening.

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

I'm going to figure out how.

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

Be safe. I'll keep in touch.

Jayce

Cait—

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

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

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

I was speechless.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The meeting ended shortly afterwards.

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

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

I turned her down.

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

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

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

Especially not Viktor.

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

Jayce.

Cait—

This is going to be a quick one.

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

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

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

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

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

Jayce.

Caitlyn,

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

Viktor's staying in Zaun.

So is the Hexcore.

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

Then it all went to shit.

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

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

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

He needed to be confronted.

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

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

Silco smiled.

The bastard actually smiled.

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

His physician was Colin Reveck.

Singed.

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

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

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

By me.

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

He'd chosen Zaun.

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

Silco showed me a photo.

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

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

And they glow.

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

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

He'd become something inhuman.

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

Smiling like the Devil himself.

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

But it was.

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

Viktor is alive.

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

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

All of which are in collaboration with Singed.

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

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

It's all my fault.

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

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

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

Jayce.

Cait—

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mel agreed with Silco.

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

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

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

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

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

Then Silco dropped a bombshell.

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

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

I was shocked.

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

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

Cait, I'll admit it.

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

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

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

No drugs needed.

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

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

What about his ties to organized crime?

The Council dismissed my concerns.

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

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

I was disgusted.

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

Like he hadn't just gotten away with everything.

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

So I walked out.

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

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

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

The bastard smiled. He smiled at me.

Then he said, "Pet."

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

Cait...

It was Violet.

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

Like a soldier.

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

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

Then Silco said, "Drop him."

Violet obeyed.

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

He was calm. Collected. Completely at ease.

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

Cait, he knew.

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

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

He was taunting us both.

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

I told him to go fuck himself.

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

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

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

Total obedience.

Then Silco took her by the chin.

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

It made my skin crawl.

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

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

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

I'm sorry, Cait.

That's not the truth.

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

I was scared of Violet.

No—I was terrified.

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

Like a weapon waiting to open fire.

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

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

Just empty.

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

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

What the hell did Silco do to her?

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

Jayce

Cait—

I have news.

Big news.

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

It was from the Wardens.

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

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

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

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

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

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

For now, they've dropped charges.

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

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

It makes no sense.

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

I'd vouched for him.

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

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

But no Sky.

Where the hell did she go?

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

Then it hit me.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Cait, please—help me figure this out.

Your friend,

Jayce.

Cait,

I had a fight with Mel.

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

Here's what happened.

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

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

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

And, Gods help me, the sex.

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

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

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

I just wanted someone to talk to.

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

She was waiting for me.

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

Then—

Well, I think you know.

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

It took everything.

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

So very, very much.

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

I needed that. I needed her.

She felt the same.

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

Two people in love.

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

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

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

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

Like she was expecting it.

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

Then I asked her the question.

"Why didn't you fight?"

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

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

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

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

There was a long silence.

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

"Bullshit."

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

"Viktor. His name is Viktor."

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

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

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

"Then what are you saying?"

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

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

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

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

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

"He's a monster."

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

"At the cost of my best friend'."

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

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

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

"Worse for who? The Council?"

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

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

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

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

That's when she told me.

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

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

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

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

Or rather, her bone dust.

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

His, and no one else's.

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

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

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

I asked her if Silco knew.

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

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

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

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

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

She didn't finish.

She didn't need to.

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

And I'll be forced to testify.

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

It was just too much.

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

So much like... Silco.

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

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

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

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

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

About the future.

Cait, please help.

I'm lost.

Jayce

Jayce—

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

Your apartment is being watched.

Your office, too.

I know, because so is mine.

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

It's your freedom.

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

Jayce, this is serious.

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

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

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

Caitlyn

Caitlyn,

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

I need a favor.

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

I'll explain when I see you.

Jayce

Jayce,

I got in.

Here are the files.

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

Cait

Cait—

Thank you.

This is incredible. You're amazing.

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

There's more here than I expected.

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

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

Then Sky was killed.

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

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

She's going to see Viktor.

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

It has no cameras, remember.

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

Except it's not the camera.

Cait, I've seen that fluctuation before.

It's a Hex-field.

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

It's been activated.

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

But Sky never returns.

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

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

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

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

I've got to understand what happened.

Jayce

Cait—

It's a trap.

You were right.

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

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

I didn't care.

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

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

Then, I crossed the border.

Zaun's different now.

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

Things have changed.

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

It's almost... pleasant.

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

Like it was a holiday.

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

Cait, it's surreal.

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

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

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

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

Some of them, too friendly.

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

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

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

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

"Oh! The Machinist!"

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

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

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

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

A fresh coat of paint, if you will.

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

And Silco will be lauded as its liberator.

The irony.

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

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

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

There were runes, too.

Hex-runes.

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

I'd never seen anything like it.

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

It was Jinx's signature.

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

Or longer.

I felt a chill go down my spine.

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

And there was no telling what he had planned next.

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

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

Then I saw him.

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

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

Someone I barely recognized.

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

That's when I noticed his cane was different.

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

Just a weapon.

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

That was Viktor himself.

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

But it's not just his leg.

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

I know, because I watched him fire it.

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

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

The blackguard laughed.

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

Then he fell to his knees, groveling apologies.

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

I couldn't believe it.

He'd shot at a man.

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

He'd changed, Cait.

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

This man was nothing like that.

This man was... hard.

As if the softness had been drained from him.

Just like Violet.

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

Less human.

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

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

Except they're cold.

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

But the trailer was empty.

Viktor was alone.

Then I realized Viktor knew I was there.

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

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

Except it wasn't.

It was cold, too.

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

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

"I don't care."

"You should."

"I know what happened to Sky."

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

At the eerieness of it.

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

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

"Jayce, you don't understand."

"Then explain it to me."

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

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

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

Then I understood.

"Magic," I said.

He didn't answer.

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

Still he said nothing.

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

"Jayce—"

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

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

He kept on staring.

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

"What?"

"Prolong life."

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

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

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

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

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

"I was trying to extend life, Jayce!"

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

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

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

"Jayce—"

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

He gave a single jerky nod.

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

What he'd become.

"Where's her body?" I demanded.

"It's gone."

"Gone? Gone where?"

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

"It was consumed."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

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

"After?"

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

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

"Yes."

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

"Yes."

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

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

"Took her."

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

"You're saying the Hexcore absorbed her?"

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

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

It had been the Hexcore.

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

His head remained bowed.

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

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

"Before, what?"

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

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

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

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

"Yes."

"With Silco's blood money."

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

"What—?"

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

"That's not—"

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

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

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

"If you'd killed Sky—"

"You've killed too, Jayce."

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

It was the truth.

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

The fact is, I took a life.

And Viktor knew.

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

And now he did.

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

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

"Viktor," I began.

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

"Look, please, I—"

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

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

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

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

"I can. You cannot."

"Viktor—"

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

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

"You—you don't mean that."

"I do."

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

"I choose neither."

"But—HexCorp. Our research. Me. Us."

"I am sorry, Jayce."

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

Then it was gone.

His cane tapped, twice.

A heartbeat later, blackguards melted from the darkest corners.

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

Waiting for him to give the signal.

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

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

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

I'd played right into his hands.

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

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

"Viktor—"

"Take him."

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

A blow to the back of my skull.

The ground rose up, and slammed into my face.

The world went dark.

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

But, other than that, I was unharmed.

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

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

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

None of them came close to reality.

Mel was sitting inside.

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

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

But he hadn't.

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

During that time, I was forbidden from entering Zaun.

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

We rode in silence.

Cait—I've been such an idiot.

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

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

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

Gods, what an ass I've been.

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

I knew her better.

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

The guilt was suffocating.

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

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

I didn't.

Instead, I sat there. Staring at my shoes.

We pulled into her driveway.

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

Her tone was polite, but distant. Reserved.

I nodded. "Thanks."

"Jayce?"

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

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

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

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

I broke down.

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

I don't deserve her.

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

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

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

I didn't, though.

I kissed her.

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

Then I was kissing her.

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

"No, Jayce."

"Mel..."

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

"Mel, I..."

"Later," she said softly.

It wasn't a request.

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

Not because it was the wrong time.

Not because I was in shock.

Not because she was mad.

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

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

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

She's better off.

But not me.

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

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

I think it's time that boy grew up.

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

P.S.

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

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

For your support. Your honesty. Your friendship.

For everything.

Cait, you're the best.

Your friend, always,

Jayce

To Jayce Talis, Esq.

Sir,

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

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

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

Your arrogance knows no bounds.

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

No.

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

That is final.

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

I trust they will take the proper disciplinary actions.

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

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

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

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

Consider carefully.

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

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

Regards,

Sevika M.

P.S.

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

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

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

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