#good intentions

[free-my-mindd]

Stay away from me if you don’t have good intentions….

#daily readings #good intentions #choose peace #mental health

[elliottkay]

Hi, I’m Elliott, and writing smut changed my life.

I also write military sci-fi and fantasy and D&D shitposts, but this is about the smut. I promise it won’t get weird. Much.

In 2010, I was scraping by as a substitute teacher and things were not great at home. I had only written gamer fic for friends, my aspiring mil sci-fi novel was stuck, and I needed some sort of escape… and I thought, “Well, I like sexy stories, and Literotica is free, and…”

My story was a feel-good adventure about a college guy with a heart of gold, a jaded demon weary of evil, and Heaven's hottest mess. It was silly. It was sexy. It was polyamorous, warm, and irreverent, and Literotica loved it: high ranking, tons of comments, and holy shit am I getting positive feedback from the internet?

So it became my first book:

…and that book plugged some holes in my life. It didn’t get me out of subbing, but it filled the financial gap, and it picked me up after a break-up. More importantly, it gave me an audience. When I published Poor Man’s Fight, I already had readers, and that led to more readers… many of whom then picked up Good Intentions and loved that, too, though some had the shocking experience of “Oh my god, it’s full of butts!”

If you’ve read this far, it’s probably time for the content warning. I’m a big believer in these, for serious reasons and, um… less serious.

WARNING: “Good Intentions” contains violence, explicit sex, nudity, inappropriate use of church property, portrayals of beings divine and demonic bearing little or no resemblance to established religion or mythology, trespassing, bad language, sacrilege, blasphemy, attempted murder, arguable murder, divinely mandated murder, justifiable murder, filthy murder, sexual promiscuity, kidnapping, attempted rape (which is never comedy), immolation of said attempted rapists, persistent disrespect for vampires (which is always comedy), arson, dead animals, desecrated graves, gang activity, theft, assault and battery, panties, misuse of the 911 system, fantasy depictions of sorcery and witchcraft, multiple references to various matters of fandom, questionable interrogation tactics, cell phone abuse, reckless driving, even more explicit sexuality, illegal use of firearms within city limits, polyamory, abuse of authority, hit and run driving, destruction of private property, underage drinking, disturbances of the peace, disorderly conduct, internet harassment, bearers of false witness, mayhem, dismemberment, falsification of records, tax evasion, bad study habits, and an uncomfortably sexy mother.

…and that’s just the first book.

They've all got those warnings. Even the short story collections.

Credit to the incredible @leemoyer for all my book covers, and for teaching me so much about this biz. And while he's not on the book covers, I've gotta share the other central protagonist as illustrated by the awesome @juliedillon:

...yeah, Alex gets into some shit.

If you're looking for protagonists who really communicate, if you want polyamory instead of love triangles, and if you hate when steamy scenes fade to black, I've got you covered.

If you’ve read this far and you’re interested, or even if you just want to see more content warnings, please give my stuff a look on Amazon (including Kindle Unlimited) or on Audible where they’re narrated by Tess Irondale. Give her a listen and you’d be happy to hear her read just about anything.

#books #bookcovers #good intentions #urban fantasy #polyamory #extremely thorough content warnings

[somedaylazysomeday]

Good Intentions Part Nineteen

Another event, another fancy outfit, and a surprise.

Silco x fem!reader

Rating: Explicit. Minors, please do not interact.

Word Count: 4,800

Warnings: Ongoing references to sex as a form of payment, references to poverty, mentions of pollution and addiction, mentions of alcohol, fingering, unprotected sex, intercrural sex

Previous | Next | Masterlist

---

There were many parts about running a charitable outreach that surprised you. From the sheer amount of paperwork to the fact that too many donations could be a bad thing, this life was full of unexpected twists. 

The twist that occupied your mind the most at the current moment was how you were expected to have outfits for formal occasions. A lot of your life was spent doing dirty work or cleaning up messes - literal and figurative. That didn’t translate well to high heels and tailored outfits. 

But special occasions required appropriate outfits, and the grand opening of Jazper’s apartment complex was a very special occasion indeed.

The complex - one Jazper had named Stonesea - was beautiful. You had toured the apartments and found them spacious and well-designed. There were rooms for meetings and community gatherings both inside the building and out, on screened-in balconies overlooking the Lanes. 

The massive structure was built in a square, surrounding a protected courtyard. Jazper had explained that he brought in a botanist from Piltover to design the courtyard's gardens. They had worked together to curate a selection of plants that purified the air and dirt without requiring a lot of sunlight. 

The majority of the day’s celebration was to take place in that courtyard. At the moment, the crowd was standing outside of Stonesea, waiting for Jazper to cut the ribbon bound across the front entrance. But when everyone did enter, the courtyard was stocked and staffed, ready to serve a light lunch to all invitees and new residents. 

At first, you had been wary, concerned that the people there would close themselves away and become a shut-in society, frightened of the Undercity outside. But Jazper had considered that as well. One day a week, on a rotating day, local shop owners would be invited into the courtyard for a small specialty market. Or on days when the air was clean, they could hold the market on the street outside. 

Not every apartment had been filled, but the building was rapidly working toward full occupancy. Many of the residents were people who had either been through the Haven or knew people who had been. All of them were aware that there was a zero-tolerance policy toward Shimmer possession or use inside Stonesea. 

You and Jazper both knew that the Shimmer ban was unlikely to be enforced. There wasn’t much he could do about a resident using Shimmer, not unless they damaged the property or harmed another resident. But it was the appearance of the ban that was the most important. 

A year ago, openly refusing to allow anyone to use Shimmer on the property would be seen as an act of outright aggression against Silco. Stonesea would have been avoided by anyone with half a brain, fearing the repercussions that the chem baron would bring down on Jazper and his business. 

The Undercity was changing, though. You had to admit that Silco had played the game masterfully. Most of the work had been done by you and others like you, but he was seen as indulging the small neighborhood around the Haven, and even people who worked for him thought Silco only let you continue your work because the futility of it amused him. 

In any case, residents seemed to take their promise to avoid Shimmer seriously. And that, more than anything, gave you hope. If enough people made a pact to keep Stonesea Shimmer-free, it would reduce the chances of anyone bringing the drug in. If there were enough people who decided to keep Shimmer use out of the neighborhood, maybe it could stand even without Silco’s manipulation of the drug market. 

Not that you had any plans of ending your deal. No, Silco had dropped several hints that your deal would not be broken without bloodshed and death. That probably should have bothered you more, but all you could really think about was that you had an excuse to keep being around him. 

And that bothered you. 

You let yourself be distracted from your snarled thoughts by a technician walking across the front of Stonesea and testing the microphone that had been set up there. Electronics tended to suffer in the Undercity’s atmosphere, but it seemed to be working when he beckoned across the space. 

Jazper half-jogged over to the microphone and was met with a smattering of applause. You cheered as loud as you could, and were rewarded with a beaming smile from him. “Hello, everyone! Thanks for coming to the grand opening of Stonesea. I’ve had the pleasure of opening several buildings, but this is the first one I’ve made in– in this area.” 

You grimaced at the slip - Piltover architects, like anything else from Piltover - weren’t especially welcomed in the Undercity. But no one seemed to take offense, letting Jazper continue his speech. 

“I hope to bring comforts and useful amenities to the people who choose to make Stonesea their home,” Jazper continued. “And I hope to be as helpful to the neighborhood as you all have been to me. I will proudly say that this is the most excited I’ve been about an apartment complex since my first one. I can’t wait to show you all what we’ve been working on.” 

Jazper accepted an oversized pair of scissors from the same technician who had set up the microphone. “Welcome to Stonesea.” 

He sliced through the ribbon in a decisive snip, gesturing people inside before the halves had fluttered to a rest against the sides of the entranceway. The technician scarcely managed to snatch the microphone and stand out of the way before people began to pour into the building. 

You let the rest of the crowd go first. You had seen Stonesea in various stages of being built and finished, so it only seemed right to let other people see it before you did. When you trailed in at the back of the group, you couldn’t help but smile. The courtyard looked stunning, of course. It always did. The air felt fresher, though you were mostly certain that was a trick of the mind. 

No, you couldn’t help melting a bit at the reaction of the Undercity residents. The crowd had been made up of local business owners and a few of Jazper’s associates, but it also held a considerable number of ordinary people. Some of them were the future Stonesea residents, but others had heard the promise of a free lunch or were simply curious. They stared around in open-mouthed awe, more than one stroking the leaves of the foliage with something approaching reverence. 

Jazper told you that Stonesea was designed at roughly the same level of decoration as his Piltover apartment complexes were, just with different materials to lower cost and protect against the dangerous air of the Lanes. But as far as the residents were concerned, it could be the finest place they had ever been, on par with a Piltover mansion. 

It reminded you what you were working toward, and you were filled with a quiet contentment as you wandered around talking to people. 

When Jazper tapped you on the shoulder, you turned around and immediately offered your beaming congratulations. “It’s perfect, Jazper! I’ve already heard half a dozen people talk about applying to live here. With the amenities and the rent cap, you’ve built the perfect place for the Lanes.” 

“Thank you, thank you,” Jazper said, offering a playful half-bow. “But maybe you should save some of those congratulations for yourself. Or at least for both of us.” 

“I’m… sorry?” you asked, at a loss for what that could mean. 

“If you’ll follow me to the Innovation meeting room?” Jazper requested, holding out an arm as he indicated for you to lead the way. 

Fortunately, you knew Stonesea’s layout well enough to do exactly that. You arrived at the meeting room in record time - your eagerness to know what Jazper had meant made you walk even faster than usual. 

When you were in the room with the door closed behind you, Jazper turned to you with boyish excitement. “Do you know where you’re standing right now?” 

You tilted your head slightly. “The Innovation meeting room.” 

“No! Well, yes, but the important thing is what will be happening here in only a month.” Jazper’s eyes sparkled as you leaned in as if to encourage him. “In one month, Stonesea will host the very first meeting of the Undercity Innovation Committee, right here in the Innovation room.” 

“The Undercity Innovation Committee?” you repeated slowly, trying to guess at the purpose behind the too-pleasant name. “What is that?” 

“That is a group of like-minded business owners who are finally becoming aware of the untapped market of the Undercity,” Jazper told you. “Limited to those who have businesses or organizations in the Undercity and operate them with an eye toward improving the lives of Undercity citizens.” 

“Those will be small meetings,” you said with a smirk. It disappeared when Jazper’s grin widened. “Unless-?” 

“Yes!” Jazper was positively beaming. “After seeing how fast Stonesea filled and the tax breaks the city gave us for building here, I have a few colleagues who have bought buildings in the Lanes. They’re all set to break ground on new businesses within the next month.” 

Your jaw was starting to ache with the breadth of your smile. “That’s- Jazper, that’s incredible! What kind of businesses?” 

“They span a few different industries,” he explained. “One will be a grocer, hiring people for shipping, transport, and store staffing. There will be another apartment complex mirroring Stonesea’s business model, which will offer housing and train staff. A mechanic’s shop, looking to train a group of apprentices on repairing most common appliances and sending them to fix things across both cities-” 

You laughed loudly enough to interrupt Jazper, but he didn’t seem to mind. “That will be… I can’t even begin to think about how many lives that will change. Jazper! I don’t want to get too eager, but it’s starting to feel like we can really do this! We can change the Undercity!” 

“I know,” he said, resting a hand on your shoulder. “I’m trying not to get excited too soon, but it finally seems like we’re getting somewhere. It’s exciting! And, of course, everyone wants for you to be part of the Undercity Innovation Committee.” 

“Me?” you asked, trying to blink away the tears that rose. “The Haven isn’t a business, not really…” 

“But it’s what started all of this,” Jazper countered. “Having proof that there were some Undercity citizens not addicted to Shimmer was what gave me the confidence to start working on Stonesea. If anyone deserves a place on the committee, it’s you.” 

You nodded shakily, not trusting your voice enough to say anything aloud. Jazper seemed to understand, offering a sympathetic smile and nodding toward the door. “Come on, let's go enjoy the party.” 

And you did, eating and chatting and basking in the growing feeling of community until you had to leave. Unfortunately, your next meeting with Silco had fallen on that day. 

If you were being honest, that made you slightly nervous. If you and Jazper could sense the tide turning against a Shimmer-obsessed society, surely Silco could, too. He had told you openly that his funding came from sources other than Shimmer sales, but you suspected that he couldn't be happy about the changes. 

Still, he would be even less happy if you missed your appointment, so you made your way to The Last Drop in the early afternoon. The building was as empty as you had expected it to be, and you went directly upstairs to Silco's office. 

“Hello, pet,” was the greeting you received. Other than the nickname, it was as mildly pleasant as you would have expected with any business associate, and it put you more at ease.

“Hello,” you greeted in return. After a moment observing his desk, you asked, “Paperwork?” 

Silco glanced from you to the haphazard scatter of papers across his desk. A wry look crossed his face. “Indeed. It is never ending, as you well know.” 

You nodded in commiseration, though you were seized by a sense of strangeness. You and Silco did many things together, but exchanging pleasantries was not among them. 

“Fortunately, I have far more pleasant activities with which to distract myself,” Silco said, replacing his pen in its holder. “You're looking well, my little philanthropist. Special occasion?” 

You had changed out of your celebration outfit, but he could apparently still see the care you had taken with your appearance that morning. You lifted one shoulder in a shrug you hoped came off as carefree. “Just trying something different.” 

He gave an enigmatic hum at that, but didn't reply. Instead, he swiveled in his chair, looking up at the window behind his desk. “Join me.” 

It was a request rather than an order, and that enticed you to comply from sheer curiosity. When you got to the window, standing beside his chair, you didn’t see anything you hadn’t expected to. The street outside held a few people, but not many. The neon signs across the way were unlit, and the gray stone of the Undercity stretched away in every direction. 

But the look on Silco’s face was almost blissful, so you looked again. 

The people on the street weren’t rushing nervously, they were greeting each other and falling into occasional conversations. The signs were dark because the sky was lighter than it typically was, murky sunlight illuminating the Lanes. From The Last Drop, you could see a lot of the surrounding neighborhood and were struck by the idea of Silco’s watchful eye keeping guard on his people. 

“It’s wonderful,” you admitted, surprised that you honestly thought it was. 

“It is,” Silco agreed. “I wish everyone could see Zaun as I do. As we do. I well remember our conversation about it being unfinished. We have far to travel if we are to build the Zaun our people deserve, but I believe it is important to appreciate the wonderful moments.”

“Our people?” you repeated before you could fight the question back. 

Silco gave you a sidelong look, seeming more than a little amused by your question. “Yes, our people. Do you think I have missed the work you have done for Zaun?” 

Guilt twisted in your stomach. “I don’t-”

“And I am hardly the only one to see it,” Silco interrupted. “Is that not why Jazper invited you to the grand opening of his venture?” 

“Stonesea is close to the Haven,” you pointed out. “It would be awkward if he didn’t invite me.” 

“Perhaps,” he agreed, shifting his weight. That tiny motion closed the gap between you, pressing his arm against yours. “But he shared the news of Zaun’s upcoming growth with you. Surely that implies more than a professional courtesy.” 

You turned to him, eyebrows flying upward. “You know?” 

Silco smiled. “Of course. I know every important development in Zaun, and especially those that impact this neighborhood. Did you think I would overlook it?” 

“I- You never-” You took a quick breath the reset your snarled thoughts. “I was unaware you were so well-informed.”

He chuckled. “Then your subtlety was an attempt to hide the new businesses coming to the Lanes? My dear, you are vastly entertaining when you underestimate me.” 

You rolled your eyes. “Yet I consistently underestimate your ego.” 

“Mmm, foolish,” Silco agreed, leaning over to nose along the line of your jaw. It made you shiver, but he only pressed closer. “An ego fit for a king. You would do well to keep up.” 

Your mouth opened and you started to ask how he meant it - was Silco telling you to remember that his ego was a force to be reckoned with, or did he want you to grow a similar ego? - but his lips pressed to the side of your neck, followed by the sharp sting of his teeth. With your mouth already open, you had no hope of containing the gasp that escaped you. 

Silco’s mouth stayed on your neck even as he began to nudge you, guiding you steadily toward the window. You went willingly enough, letting his pose you with your hands braced against the window - one on the frame and the other on the window itself. When he had you where he wanted you, he turned his attention to other things, stripping you of your clothing with quick, efficient movements. 

“Look at it, pet,” Silco purred in your ear. He pressed himself to your back, and you could feel every bit of him against your bare curves. His hands slipped around you, one cradling your breast while the other worked steadily down your stomach and toward your mound. “Look at Zaun. We have far to go, but look what we have built so far.” 

“I’m not sure-” 

That was as far as you got before Silco’s fingers delved between your legs, parting your folds and stroking between them with steady, inexorable motions. You gaped at the window, staring blankly at the street beyond the glass panes as your world narrowed to one of feelings rather than sight. 

“No matter,” Silco continued. “I am certain enough for the both of us.” 

You had lost the thread of the conversation, but you didn’t mind - especially when one of Silco’s long fingers steadily worked its way inside of you. His thumb strummed at your clit, his other hand playing between your breasts as you tried to guess at where the sensations would stem from next. It was difficult, which kept you poised on the edge of uncertainty. All you could do was feel. 

There was no way to track the passing time, but you were grinding against Silco’s hand by the time he finally drew away from you. If he had told you that you were dripping onto the floor, you wouldn’t have been surprised. 

You whined as his hands disappeared from you entirely. Silco tutted behind you. “Patience, lovely, patience. Take in the wonders of Zaun from your vantage point while you wait. I will not be long.”

The glass panes of the window were fogged, outlining the shape of your palm and spread fingers. “Silco, please. Whatever you’re doing, hurry.” 

“‘Whatever I am doing’,” Silco repeated, tone full of teasing that you were too keyed-up to appreciate. “With minor effort, I am certain you could work out what I am doing.”

It was true - you could hear the rustle of clothing and myriad other sounds of a person getting undressed. “I was commenting on how long it’s taking. Even you don’t have that many buttons on your clothes.” 

Silco chuckled. “Untrue. I have articles of clothing with more fastenings than you could imagine. I simply did not realize that ease of access would be such a vital part of choosing my outfit for the day.” 

“Never-” You had to stop and swallow before your tongue would cooperate enough to form words. “Never thought I would be able to accuse you of not planning ahead.”

Silco hummed at that. “You must rob me of my ability to think clearly.” 

You would have rolled your eyes at the overly complimentary nature of that comment, but Silco plastered himself against your back. His pelvis pressed flush against your ass. You could feel his length pressing against you, perfectly aligned with you.

Whatever he said, it was obvious that Silco was the one who kept you from thinking clearly, not the other way around. 

You canted your hips and pressed yourself backward toward him. With the angle you had chosen, he could feel every drop that his earlier ministrations had wreaked on you. 

Silco's jaw clenched - you could hear his teeth clicking together beside your ear. You grinned as you amended your earlier opinion - maybe you and Silco wrecked each other's concentration. That made you feel better, even if it seemed bad for the safety of the Undercity. 

“Are you ready, pet?” Silco asked, his voice filled with more grit than you could remember hearing it hold. 

You laughed, glancing back over your shoulder to find him looking almost irritated. “Are you serious? Can you not feel the answer?” 

“My good manners are wasted on you,” Silco lamented. 

Your mouth was opening around a sarcastic reply when Silco pulled his hips back the slightest bit. The small movement notched the head of him at your entrance, and he thrust forward in the next second. He rammed into you at top speed, not giving you any chance of adjusting to the intrusion. 

With your lips already parted, you had no chance of holding back the desperate sound that he pushed out of you. It bounced off the window, echoing back loud and strangely flat. You could clearly hear Silco’s chuckle, likely because he was standing with the sharp point of his chin hooked over your shoulder. 

“Good girl, letting me hear you so clearly,” he commented. “I think we can keep it going, hmm?” 

The instant his hands closed around your hips, Silco was pushing further into you. Your stance widened, both to keep your balance and to give him better access to you. It would have been easier to lean forward into the window - that would have left him plenty of space. But with the way his grip was biting into your skin, you had a feeling he wasn’t going to let you go that far. 

A cruel little punch of his hips made him bottom out inside of you, and you felt the length of him buried in your heat so deeply that you would almost swear he was a part of you. 

You gasped, pulling one hand away from the window grame. Your intention had been to place it against your lower belly, to see if you could feel him from outside of your body. Before you could pull away from the frame, Silco’s hand lashed out, grabbing yours and pressing it back where it had been.

“Stay still,” he ordered, voice like velvet. “You are utter perfection here, like this.” 

You nodded, but he didn’t move his hand. Instead, it stayed covering yours as he began to move. That first time he withdrew from the depths of you sent shivers over your entire body, and your eyes fluttered shut with the feeling. 

“I know, pet - it is overwhelming.” Silco kissed the side of your neck, the quick flash of his tongue against your skin making you suck in a breath. “Yet I cannot help but admire the view.” 

You managed to open your eyes just enough to see the window in front of you beyond the reflections of Silco’s office. It was an enthralling view…. But you also realized that the gray light falling through the glass panes illuminated your body, gilding it enough to be visible from Silco’s perspective. 

Even as you watched, Silco moved his hand from your hip, stroking it downward from between your breasts to the apex of your thighs. He parted you deftly as you watched breathlessly in the reflection of the scene. He found your clit with ease, giving it a leisurely stroke as your head tipped back to rest on his shoulder.

When those fingers left you, they simply drifted backward to tease along your folds. The stimulation there was nice, but the pleasure was muted and tickling. It was only when you shifted your weight unhappily that you realized Silco was teasing the base of his own cock. 

The selfishness of that should have irritated you - or at least exasperated you - but you found it intensely compelling instead. To be used for his pleasure was a humbling thing, but you found that your walls gripped him a little tighter. 

Silco hissed at the contraction of your body around him. “Are you close, dearest?” 

You thought about that for a moment. You were, in fact, so you nodded, leaving the rest of the explanation to fade into the recesses of your pleasure-soaked brain. 

“Good.” Silco’s voice was slightly unsteady, and you didn’t think it was due only to the harsh desperation of his thrusting. “Let’s get you over the edge.” 

His fingertips teased back up, traveling over folds and tracing the lips of you until he found that utterly devastating cluster of nerves. Rather than continue his teasing, Silco stroked your clit mercilessly. You were left gasping and twisting in his arms, sobbing out your pleasure before you even knew that your orgasm was getting closer. 

Silco continued to push in and out of you, his fingers toying with your clit until you were standing slack in his arms. When he did release you, it was only to alter your stance until your feet were closer together. A few strokes in your sensitive channel, then he withdrew with a sharp groan. 

It took a moment to process what he was doing, but you eventually caught on - Silco was pressing his throbbing length in the scant gap he had created between your thighs. 

He fucked into that tight space furiously, tipping you forward with it. Your hands against the window and his arm looped around your waist were the only things keeping you standing when he grunted, thrusting forward with all of his strength. 

Hot cum dripped down your inner thighs a moment later, and you could only be grateful that Silco had removed your pants entirely instead of leaving them to shackle your ankles. 

You slumped against the window, uncaring at the moment that you were naked as you stood watching the not-empty street. You had long since noticed that everyone was too scared of Silco to stare up at his window, so there was a reasonable chance for privacy. In any case, there were good odds that you wouldn’t make it anywhere else in the office. Even the thick slide of Silco’s softening cock out from between your thighs left your knees trembling. 

“Give me a moment to catch my breath and I’ll help you clean up.” 

The offer made you feel a little better - at least you weren’t the only one who had been affected by your session. 

By the time your heart rate and breathing had slowed to a normal pace, a soft handkerchief was smoothing wetness from the insides of your thighs. You were still facing away from Silco, which was the only reason you managed to force the question from your lips: 

“How much of that did you mean?” 

Silco didn’t ask you to elaborate. Instead, the silence turned thoughtful as he wiped the last traces of himself from your skin. “I’ve never considered myself royalty. A leader of Zaun, perhaps, but nothing so authoritarian as a king.” 

“Glad to hear it.” You glanced around, quickly locating your clothes in a neat little stack. 

With a chuckle, Silco asked, “And what does that mean, pet? You think I would be a poor king?” 

“I don’t think Zaun needs a king.” You stopped short, startled at how natural that had felt to say. When had you started thinking of the Undercity as ‘Zaun’? Or was that true at all? It could have been a slip after hearing Silco say it so often. More importantly, when did you start thinking about what would be best for a potential country that didn’t yet exist - that might never exist?

Silco hummed understandingly. “And that is why I believe you could also be another leader for Zaun. You have shown a remarkable understanding for what she needs.” 

“I don’t agree with that,” you told him, dressing yourself with motions that felt stiff and unnatural. 

“Perhaps not,” he conceded, “but that doesn’t mean it is untrue. You care for Zaun - it is evident in how you care for her people at their most desperate. In our first session, you argued with a dangerous man to help a random addict living on the street. If I am not mistaken, you offered him your own lunch.” 

“Maybe I just knew I didn’t like you.” You tossed the insult out with bated breath, but Silco only smirked. 

“You had not yet seen me. You simply could not bear the idea of leaving someone homeless and helpless, at the mercy of the streets.” His smirk softened into something that was almost a smile. “Do not be offended, pet. It was a sign of your dedication to the people of Zaun, proven later when you made a deal with me on their behalf.” 

It wasn’t quite an accurate portrayal of events, but you didn’t want to argue with him. Not when he was implying that your meeting and eventual deal had been on purpose. Besides, you were fully dressed and had other places to be. 

Well, you didn’t, but you would find or invent them. 

“Speaking of our deal,” you redirected, “I’ll see you in two weeks.” 

“Of course, pet,” Silco agreed, inclining his head. “As always, I look forward to it.”

---

Author's Note - And we're back! Thank you all for your patience during my Fanfic February hiatus.

Good news: I reread this story from the beginning and was able to plot out the rest of it. I know myself well enough not to reveal my estimate of how many chapters are left because then I'll write dramatically too much and mess up my count. Suffice it to say that we still have plenty of story left, but I hope to post a chapter a month until it's over. No more hiatuses.

As always, I would adore your feedback. Thank you for reading and I'll see you next month!

#good intentions #good intentions fic #arcane netflix #arcane 2021 #arcane silco #silco #silco x reader #silco x you #reader #reader insert #reader insert fanfiction #reader insert fic #lemon #spicy #not suitable for minors

[moonshine-nightlight]

Nothing's Wrong with Dale - Part Twenty-Eight

It’s been a week, but you’re fairly certain your fiancé accidentally got himself replaced by an eldritch being from the Depths. Deciding  that he’s certainly not worse than your original fiancé, you endeavor to keep the engagement and his new non-human state to yourself.

However, this might prove harder than you originally thought.

Fantasy, arranged marriage, malemonsterxfemalereader, M/F

AO3: Nothing’s Wrong with Dale Chapter 28

[Part One][Part Two] [Part Three] [Part Four] [Part Five] [Part Six] [Part Seven] [Part Seven.5][Part Eight] [Part Nine] [Part Ten]  [Part Eleven] [Part Twelve]  [Part Thirteen] [Part Fourteen] [Part Fifteen] [Part Sixteen] [Part Seventeen] [Part Eighteen] [Part Nineteen] [Part Twenty] [Part Twenty-One] [Part Twenty-Two][Part Twenty-Three] [Part Twenty-Four][Part Twenty-Five] [Part Twenty-Six] [Part Twenty-Seven] Part Twenty-Eight [Part Twenty-Nine] [Part Thirty] [Part Thirty-One] [Part Thirty-Two] [Part Thirty-Three] [Part Thirty-Four]

If you had thought that the relatively good note that last gala in Connton ended on was a sign of things to come, you would have been wrong. Despite his more jovial turn at the end of the night, Dale’s melancholy in the garden persisted far more than that last mood. If anything he’d been more distant, with hints of a frustrated temper that worries you in its reminder of the man you’d no longer thought you’d have to deal with. You can’t tell what is causing the mood, though you know of many potential culprits. 

It could be the investigation. Early the last morning in Connton, you’d seen Dale conversing in the stable loft with a pair of rough-looking folks. From their serious, almost sharp demeanor, and their nondescript brown clothing, everything about them screamed mercenaries. Dale was crouched in the shadows and you almost didn’t recognize him. In fact, you were fairly certain you weren’t supposed to be able to as nothing of his physical features were discernible beyond the vague outline of a person, but his eyes were glowing bright blue with white pupils. The way they had reflected briefly with the light of the single swinging lantern had made you think they belong to a cat at first. The mercenaries certainly looked respectful of his obvious inhuman appearance. When Dale was playing his own contractor, he must be pretending to have demonic enhancements. 

You don’t think they noticed you—you hurried on your way quickly enough—having only been up this early to accept the box of herbal ingredients you’d ordered from a local shop. Still, it worried you because the mercenary angle of the investigation wasn’t expected to move forward quickly enough for them to need to meet again so soon. Not that you’d had a chance to speak with Dale about it, or could admit to what you saw in mixed company. 

Between the trip back to the Northridge estate, settling back into the estate, and then preparations for the wedding, you’d not had a single moment alone with him. One of his grandparents was always present. They spoke only of wedding matters in the company of others and pressed him for updates on the investigation when alone, which he refused to grant. This left you without any new notes on the situation either.

Dinner the last couple nights had been pleasant, with Dale spending an acceptable amount of time with family. However, nearly all wedding guests had arrived by now–with no sign of Great Aunt Deborah to the Northridges’ collective relief. Dale had elected to spend the majority of his socializing with the friends with which he’d traveled abroad. Even if it did result in him getting rather more drunk than he usually had.

You take a sip of your own wine and gently chide yourself that he isn’t that bad—and certainly not as bad as some of the others. However, you want to spend that time with him. You want another private walk in the garden. You want his hand in yours. You want his support with your family—who you were weathering, but primarily on your own. It still irks you to have talked more with his relatives and your own than with him or even much with his friends these past nights. He’d given cursory introductions, but seemed intent on socializing with them without you. 

Perhaps he knows you’d not get along. Perhaps he is trying to afford you more time to speak with your family, to reestablish yourself as an adult with them. You’d thought you’d made your appreciation of his support clear, but maybe he just thought you only needed him to smooth over the beginnings of conversations and not throughout? Perhaps he is attempting to gather information for the investigations on either Eastmont or the Heiress. Maybe he’s trying to verify the people he excluded from the list were proper. If these friends of the original Dale are more likely to open up with only their old friend and not his new, wallflower fiance, is that so unreasonable?

Dale hasn’t discussed any of this with you and you hate how your mind jumps to the conclusion that he’s avoiding you when it’s as likely that he was simply too busy to take the time. Because that guess is too close to your other fears. That perhaps he has made other plans. That maybe getting back into the world of demonic mercenaries is tempting. Or maybe he can see now that noble life came with its own dangers. Or all the pretending was making him realize he’d be playacting as Lord Dale for the rest of his time here and he isn’t sure he wants that anymore.

A body bumps into your own, startling you out of your reverie and your spiraling thoughts. A baron you barely recognize says, “My apologies,” as he hurries over to catch a servant’s attention. You sigh as you finish your own glass of wine and look for something lighter to drink for the rest of the evening. If you’re already this nervous, with so many anxious thoughts tumbling around in your mind, the clearer you can think the better.

Grandmother had left for the evening, with your blessing and thoughts on one of the dessert dishes for the chef you’d hired for the wedding. Your mother had followed her. Your father had retired early with the grandchildren. Callalily and her husband had been with some of Dale’s more distant relatives all day because Callalily could and would find a way to expand her social network anywhere.

You’d better join Marigold, her husband, and the artistic circle they had accrued before Douglas charitably drew you into his circle of military compatriots. You’d sacrificed last night to that group, wanting to see the sibling you knew the least—and you think it had been worth it—but your lack of personal experience often left you feeling like an outsider or plain confused. With the way your mind is intent on gnawing at itself this evening, you’d best avoid them. Unless you see Dale join them of course—he’d made a few comments when he was there last night that worried you in the attention they received.

At this rate you were going to leave your wedding only to immediately fall asleep for a week. But until then, where is Marigold? Had she gone to inspect the gardens and the statues within? The sun was setting, but there was still plenty to see by for all the servants would start lighting the torches soon. Accepting a glass of iced tea, you walk along the side of the room with doors out to the gardens, trying to see if any groups are out there.

You think you might have spotted a handful of people in a courtyard, when a hand on your arms startles you. You turn abruptly enough to have to adjust your grip on your glass to keep from spilling only to find Callalily.

Before you can say anything, she links arms with you and begins to walk away from glass doors outside. “I have been meaning to speak with you,” she leans in closer to add, “in private.”

“Oh?” You furrow your brow, but gesture her into the nearby alcove, decorative screens blocking most of the view into the great hall. This unoccupied musician storage room is as close to a separate room as you are going to find without leaving the area entirely. Is Mother doing something again? Has one of Callalily’s children broken a vase? She has been alluding to her and your other married siblings giving you some sort of advice which could be nice, but where are the others? And is a dinner in the great hall with so many people around truly the time for such a thing?

“Yes,” Callalily replies, glancing around, before adding, “about your fiance.”

Ice shoots through your veins. Has she seen something? Did he do something in front of her? Callalily was clever and sharp, able to pick up on nuances others missed with ease, not to mention her memory. Why hadn’t you thought of it before? Simply because no one in Dale’s family hadn’t noticed enough discrepancies to make them suspicious, beyond Grandfather’s now put-to-bed worries about you, did not mean no one would. You swallow. “What about Lord Dale?”

“Are you certain…” Callalily begins before stopping. Callalily never pauses like that, as if she is hesitating. You rack your mind for any time that she might have been alone with Dale and seen something you cannot explain away—that she has not already dismissed as a trick of the eye. However, she doesn’t look frightened, merely apprehensive. Has Dale made some other sort of mistake? “I am aware that you are looking forward to marriage and your independence from our parents. However, is there a possibility you might be acting with some rash or willful blindness regarding the betrothed you’ve chosen?”

You need a minute to parse what she’s said, it's so far from what you were expecting. It sounds as if she knows nothing of his true nature instead she’s suggesting... When you finally comprehend her words without your fears overshadowing them, you blink in shock. “Excuse me? Are you suggesting I choose a different fiance? You believe I should sever my engagement?”

Instead of immediately correcting you, she only looks apologetic. “I am only saying that this will affect the rest of your life and it’s important—”

“—Important I give the decision a due amount of thought?” you finish for her, parroting back her words from when she questioned your choice of school and later questioned focusing your studies on administration rather than medicine despite always attempting to impart upon you the importance of making your own choice free from others influences. “I cannot—.” You can’t believe she would ask you something like this, that she would still doubt your ability to make decisions for yourself. And to ask this now, of all times. “I do not know what is worse, that you think I have not already done so or that you think I’m fickle enough to change my mind three days before the wedding.”

“That’s not what I am saying!” she protests.

You’ve always given her the benefit of the doubt, that she worries about you and only wants what’s best for you. This is so far beyond that. Angry frustration fills every line of your body as you resist the urge to throw your hands in the air. You take a deep breath and say, with as little emotion as possible and as much fake patience as you can muster, “Then what are you saying?”

Callalily falters for a split second before straightening her spine with renewed confidence. “If new information comes to light, then it is necessary to change one’s course of action. There are always legitimate reasons to delay or reconsider important decisions. You are allowed to change your mind.” Her voice gentles at the end and you hate it more than you did the self-righteousness of the beginning. And at the heart of it, all she is saying, in more general words, is exactly what she claimed not to be saying. 

You take a deep breath. “I am allowed such a choice. You are not wrong that such a thing is possible. But you are still advocating that I break my betrothal, or at least my wedding date.” You pause, to give her the chance to dispute you, but she keeps her lips pressed together. “Do not act as though doing so would not have far-reaching consequences. Do not act as though I shall do so on the word or suggestion of one other person, no matter how I care for you.” Your stern voice breaks, no matter your attempt to keep up the facade. “I do not understand why you are proposing such a course of action. Has something happened, Callalily? Why are you saying this to me?”

“He does not seem trustworthy,” Callalily says urgently, stepping closer. “The rumors that I’ve heard just since coming here have me concerned. He does not seem worthy of your hand.” That should be flattering to hear, that she thinks so highly of you, and in a manner it is, but it also fills you with worry about what she has heard, what secrets she might be edging around. Simultaneously, you’re embarrassed that she thinks you so ignorant as to not have known any of this yourself. “I’m starting to doubt why Mother and Father even entertained the notion of an engagement with Lord Dale. He is not right for you.”

You don’t even know what to say in the face of such vague accusations. The comment regarding your parents is both surprising and not. Callalily’s faith in your parents decisions always corresponds with if they are in concert with her own—if they agree, it is because they are intelligent, logical parents worthy of respect and if they do not… You’ve no idea what rumors she might have heard otherwise, and her concerns might be more valid with the original Dale, but even in that case, you had committed to this course of action and she’d not have swayed you then, at least, you hope not. “Well, I appreciate your concern, sister,” you try to politely brush her off because the worst thing is when she digs her heels in, “however it is unnecessary in this instance. So let us return—”

“Do not “sister” me,” she hisses. You wince, perhaps you overstepped with your more casual dismissal. “My concerns are valid. You’ve not even heard them out.”

“Fine,” you reply stiffly, trying to hide your fear and weariness with having to defend your choices to the person who most advocates you making them. “Name them. What has you so convinced I should not marry? Has he threatened you? Me? Did you catch him with a lover?” You are careful to name the events least likely to your mind, in order to guarantee her negative response. You know they also give away how fed up you are with having to discuss this, but you find yourself beyond caring at this point. If she wants to do this, it shall be at least as unpleasant for her as it is for you. “Please enlighten me.”

Callalily’s expression vacillates between shocked at your anger and annoyance at your continued downplaying of her worries. “I did not have to stumble upon him with a lover to know he’s taken them before.” You want to point out that many nobles do. That you’d known he had done so. That at least he had been discreet enough that there were no children or even solid evidence of who his lovers were, which is far more than can be said for others. “He’s left a string of them as he traveled and left all dissatisfied with how the affair ended. It appears he prefers to make promises of permanence and position and then break any such vows.” You can believe that of the original Dale. The only reason he had been honest with you in the beginning is because he thought you a guarantee. “Not only to his lovers, but to his proclaimed friends as well. Many were thought to have been guaranteed a position in his household only to have such promises broken with ease.”

That final comment might actually be due to the change in Dale, how you have decided together to choose those deserving of such positions and not simply how politically advantageous bringing in certain people might be. You don’t know how many such promises the original Dale had made, nor how many this Dale has broken. The prospect worries you, could that be why Dale is spending so much time with his friends and why he is in such a tense mood these days? Regardless, you can tell Callalily none of this and so you try hard to keep your expression neutral.

It must be working because Callalily frowns at your lack of response and continues before you can rebut any of her concerns. “Then there are the rumors of his interest and experimentation with the Depths, no matter Northridge’s reputation of staunch opposition.” Your eye must twitch at that, or something else gives away your trepidation with this topic. Callalily’s mouth flattens into a grim smile. “I’ve heard from multiple sources about his study of such subjects and his interest in performing such rituals. Any man who seeks the aid of the Depths, against his family’s wishes and without an obvious need, cannot have good intentions. He falls victim to the lesser vices too: gambling, drinking, spending freely on vanity.”

She holds up a hand and counts off on her fingers, “He’s ambitious, selfish, a liar, and a cheat. He’s not to be trusted or relied upon.” 

You wait a few extra seconds to see if there is more before you reply. “I appreciate your concerns, however—”

“However, you’re not going to listen, are you?” Callalily’s hands are on her hips and she purses her lips together in frustrated dismay. “I thought only Marigold was this hard-headed. I thought you knew better, I thought you couldn’t be swayed by a handsome face or—”

“That is enough,” you snap, unable to keep the words in any longer. “Is this a discussion or a lecture? I have let you voice your concerns and if you’re not satisfied with my acknowledgment, then I’ll take my own turn to speak now.”

“Very well.” Callalily snaps. “Go on, what do you say to this?”

You’ve no idea where to start and decide to simply go through in the order she did. After a sip of your drink, you begin, “Firstly, I did do my own research in my prospective spouse as I of course considered this decision very seriously indeed. While my contacts and methods are not your own, I do have some.” While Callalily’s were likely other nobles, foreign officials and the like, you had grown close with your servants—maids and nursemaids alike who cared for you in your illness and you’d continued the habit at school. If your maid, Martina, hadn’t had to help her family, she’d have come with you to Northridge. She’d truly retired from being lady’s maid when you went off to school. She’d apprenticed under a nurse and completed her training, but had agreed to be your maid once more, if only until you were betrothed.

“Clearly they weren’t skilled,” Callalily cuts in to diagnose, “if they did not return with similar information.”

“They did,” you correct, because that was in their report, “baring I assume any information that’s related to Dale’s activities from the last two months, of course. The difference is my context for such information and my personal experience with him. Beyond that, you’ve never grappled with the choices I have.”

“Excuse me?” she looks offended, pressing a hand to her chest. “I am married. It was a decision I made with Mother and Father, but I was the driving decision maker, not them, not societal pressure, nor anything except my own drive for my future.”

“And that cannot be what I have done,” you cannot help but allow a certain sardonic edge to enter into your voice at her implication, “what I am doing.”

“You—”

“No,” you interrupt, ignoring her startled expression. “I believe it is time you listened to me, properly for once.” You take a deep breath while she waits, eyes a bit wider than before, for you to do so. “You were the second oldest, with intelligence, a talent for language, and more confidence in society than I’ll ever have. And robust health, of course. Your options for marrying, for how to spend your days—your vision—none of those are mine.” You can see she knows you can want different things but that she’s still not facing reality when it comes to your opportunities. You swallow and continue, “Mother and Father did their best to keep word of my ill health minimal, but they did not try so hard when I was young. Not until I was older did they begin to believe I’d live to be an adult who had to worry about marriage prospects. They expected me to die young or at least not to outlive Aunt Katherine’s age.” 

Callalily pales at your statements and rushes to reassure you, “That’s not, no one wanted—”

“I’m not discussing what they wanted,” you reply gently. “I am stating what they believed to be true.” When she still looks as though she will protest, you ask her outright, “Are you going to say they did tell you as much? That I was born in a fragile state, too late in Mother’s life and with the fits just like Father’s little sister. She was twelve when she died.” They had believed you would do the same. No matter how they tried to hide it, you can barely remember a time in your life you did not know that death chased you far harder than it did others, haunting your every spasm. “You should have seen how Father looked at me from eleven ‘til I went three months without a fit, when he could look at me at all.”

Callalily has no notion of how to response. She places a hand on your shoulder, trying for some sort of physical comfort, “I...”

When nothing further escapes her mouth, you try for a smile. “I’m not saying this for pity, Callalily, I’m saying this because you act as though I was not the one who lived through it. As if I was not the one in pain, not the one who was dying. As if I slept through those years.” You’ve never been able to understand that belief. As if, despite certain medicinal efforts, you were in some sort of un-rememberable haze during those times. It was your life, your body. 

You straighten as you proclaim, “Well, I did not. I was very aware. My dreams were not your dreams, but I did have them. As it is, I’ve been quite successful, for a given metric of success as I have achieved most of them by. I can walk across a room without worrying I’m going to hurt myself. I can run and ride and dance.” You remember counting steps and keeping track of days and pushing yourself to grab every tiny chance to live. How hard and easy it had been to achieve some of those goals once you began the upward climb to recovery. “I have been able to leave our country estate and attend to school and participate in galas.” You gesture to the ball beyond you.

“At the school that I wished to attend, even if it wasn’t the one you still believe I should have gone to, I was finally able to dream beyond even that.” It had taken some time, your dreams so distant for so long, that you had felt lost once you were there, life overwhelming in a manner you were unaccustomed to. “I do not want to become a diplomat as you are, or an artist, or a knight. An academic or a physician do not appeal either, although I know you think I should become a doctor.” She had said as much in her letters and in person. You have explained that you enjoy the topic and taking care of yourself, but you do not wish it for a career. She thinks it is Mother’s influencing pushing for a more traditional noble life or your own insecurities and fears holding you back. You simply do not want it.

You’ve tried to persuade her you are not settling or giving in or whatever else she believes. You want her to listen so badly this time as you say, “I spent too much time with Asher in his study. I enjoyed my administration classes too much. I was on an estate too long. My wish is to aid in the running of a fief, even if I’m fifth born. Even if the rumors of my sickness were so persistent that the first few potential suitors I was introduced to thought I’d died years ago. I begged Mother for the extra health reports.” You’d hated them, hated how invasive they were and how skeptical the doctors were. You had feared them telling you the illness would return or that you were unfit to be married. However, in the end, you’d needed their assurances to the contrary nearly as much as your prospects had. “Our parents increased my dowry in response to my wishes.” They had still managed the process and it had been what they were hoping for, to see you follow the most traditional path, but why shouldn’t you have encouraged them when it was in service to your own ends?

Callalily did appear to be listening, or at least she made no further motions to interrupt. You feel bolstered by that and say, “There were others we considered. True, not many, but a handful. I’ve no desire to do the socializing and connection forging a new baron would require,” you begin covering the reasons you turned down the few you’d had even a single conversation with. Perhaps it's disingenuous to mention these who you’d no formal discussion about marriage, but they were people and families that had been tangible enough that you recall your reasons of rejection. “I’ve no desire to shoulder all the administration a collegiate heir would ask. I’ve no desire to raise another’s children, never sure of my own future if they move against me. I might not run as cold as Mother likes to believe, but I do not want to spend months in the snow. I do not want to move somewhere I cannot speak the language fluently.” At the last one, you can’t help but give her a pointed look to remind her that you don’t have her facility with language, to reiterate that you want different things.

You take another deep breath, because now you must discuss Dale—without giving voice to any of the changes that have happened with him. “Lord Dale, even with his concerning reputation at times, did not come with such obstacles. Many take lovers prior to marriage, do you think me ignorant?” You are aware she thought you on the naive side, but you need her to remember that you’ve been an adult for years now and do not require such coddling. “He was discrete with those matters, as I am certain you cannot identify them all. Not to mention, they are liable to spin such affairs to have faults that are his rather than their own.” Callalily reluctantly nods her agreement at that.

At least, having connections with who you did meant you were more confident that she might be in the main point. “I made certain he’d sired no bastard children, through my medical contacts.” You can see she hadn’t considered that you might have such advantages, but you’ve no desire to dwell on this topic. You need to confront her concerns with his personality head on before you lose steam. “He’s on the arrogant side, spoiled to a degree given how his grandparents raised him after his parent’s untimely death,” you quietly acknowledge with a glance to ensure you are still alone in your alcove, before continuing, “but many heirs are. As for gambling, he plays cards, yes, but he has no concerning debts I could find. He’s not violent with his friends nor his servants. He’s not a drunkard, if we’re wanting to discuss vices. Did you truly find anything to support such activities?”

“No,” Callalily admits. “You are correct, there was nothing to obvious excess that I discovered in my minimal investigation. However, his research into concerning topics…” She trails off, obviously allowing you to have the floor back.

You’re grateful she’s letting you, that she seems far more interested in a true discussion than she had originally. It’s still more than you’ve perhaps ever said at one time to her and naturally it is on the most complex topic in your life. “As for his academic interests,” you say carefully, “I’ve spoken with him and am aware of his stance on such matters. He disagrees with the rigidity of his grandparents’ laws and actions. In the manner of many rebellious youth, he had pursued the opposite. Now, he seeks to ensure he knows enough to protect himself and Northridge. He has moved on from his more careless experimentation, to my knowledge.” Whatever else he does now, it cannot be more careless, that’s for certain.

“And the broken oaths?” Callalily asks, sterner and more skeptical after your most recent answer. 

You sigh, wishing you’d had the foresight to realize how this would appear from the outside. “As for certain promises made to his friends, after he discussed them with his grandparents, myself, and the steward, some were retracted due to unsuitability. It is a sign of the better judgment of the study room rather than the rash wishes when traveling and drinking. It is expected, to change one’s mind in light of the advice of trusted advisors, is it not?” you can’t help but add, echoing her original point.

She rolls her eyes, but doesn’t disagree. You’ve provided a rebuttal to the majority of her points, right? You take advantage of her still rather open mood to attempt to state as clearly as you can where you stand. “My desire is to marry Lord Dale and be his lady of Northridge. I’d thank you to respect my decision. It’s already been made.”

She frowns, but it's more thoughtful and resigned than angry or frustrated which you hope is a good sign. “I see. You certainly have an answer for everything, do you not?” She sighs heavily, but you think you hear only defeat in the sound, not her preparing for another fight. “I had no idea you were so aware of how concerning we all found your condition, nor had I thought since your recovery of what else your illness might still cast a pall over. I think you are still—well, I suppose that’s only my view, is it not?”

“I can continue speaking, explain further,” you offer, but your voice gives away how wearing you find the concept. “You might eventually make a point I haven’t considered.”

“No,” she replies, shaking her head and glancing back at the still bustling grand hall. “I’ll not put us both through that. Not here, not now—though anything you want to confide in me, I’d hear,” she offers with a small smile. “I suppose the only question I have left to ask is: has he been treating you well? Not only in public, but in private?”

She’s sincere in her question and you appreciate the feeling of familial support it gives you. You know if you answered to the contrary, she would help you break such an engagement. The prospect makes you feel safer, even if it is unnecessary. “Yes, he has.”

“Even so, some do not reveal themselves until time passes,” she warns, but you can tell it’s for the sake of it, out of general protectiveness, not doubt in you.

That lets you answer her calmly instead of defensively, “I’m aware. I have contingencies for that outcome, should it occur.” She raises a brow at that, but you’ll not discuss that here. You’ve no notion how she’d see you medicinal protections. “I cannot wait for the clear, perfect, future—I can only grasp what is in front of me.”

“I suppose that is all any of us can do,” she agrees. Then she ventures a more tentative observation, “You have appeared weary and tense over the past few days. I thought he might be the cause.”

You blink in surprise, you hadn’t thought she’d notice. So much for hiding those feelings, you think ruefully. “I’m not one for all these parties and socializing, no matter how I used to long for them. They are more enjoyable in theory, or in moderation.” You smile sheepishly. “Truthfully, I will be pleased after the wedding, when we can stop having them so frequently.”

She smiles back at that admittance. “I see. My apologies, for my presumption. I did not mean to insult you. I was only worried for you.”

“I know.” You place your hand over hers on your shoulder and give it a squeeze. “I thank you for your concern, truly, but please do not broach this topic again,” you plead, eyes darting beyond her once. You try for a casual attitude as you say, “I’ll have no rumors about my wedding being called off, thank you very much.” 

“Of course, of course,” she hurries to reassure you. “Let’s rejoin the others.” You follow her out of the alcove and back towards where the majority of guests are congregated, past a few of the now open doors to the gardens. “I don’t think we’ll stay too late tonight—I’ve far too many letters to write in the morning, but I believe I saw Asher—”

Wherever Callalily might have seen Asher, you don’t find out. A commotion in the courtyard directly outside catches both your attention. In one of the courtyards off the grand hall, a knot of courtiers your own age are gathered. The shouting appears to be coming from one particularly drunk figure if the way they are swaying is any indication. The air has the sudden awkwardness of a group who had been having fun only for the tone to abruptly turn serious and uncomfortable. A small circle of space is forming around him, revealing another figure as well. One you recognize all too well.

“Dale,” you say quietly, immediately changing course. Callalily is only a step behind you as you cross the paving stones to the group. The setting sun and the newly light torches cause light and shadow to dance in the wind and by the heights, you hope that's all that’s causing it.

“…believe what I am hearing with these ears,” the drunk man is saying. He tugs on one of his ears for emphasis even as the other clutches his goblet. He turns to another and asks, “Can you Millie?”

“I heard it as well, Willie,” a woman sounding near as drunk as him replies. “Said he required an individual with a greater range of skills. A person more ree-lie-able.”

Willie scoffs. “For how long have you found me so inconsistent, Dale?”

“Wilhelm,” Dale’s voice is easily heard above the chatter around them. He’s clearly trying for calm reason, which you know won’t work on someone who’s clearly had as much as Wilhelm has, but you’re glad he isn’t upset. “You have had too much of your own gift and—”

“Oh, I beg your pardon,” he gives an exaggerated and very low bow you hope he can’t recover from. Unfortunately, despite a half step to the side, he straightens once more with only a mildly more exaggerated sway than before. “How inconsiderate of me.”

You slip through those forming the loose circle, recognizing them as various members of Dale’s traveling party. You come up on his left and murmur, “Lord Dale,” to warn him of your presence as you slot yourself next to him. You can’t help the hand that skates down his side, checking however briefly that he’s still in one piece and with no shadow tendrils to speak of. “Is everything alright?”

“Yes, sana,” he replies, his dark eyes meeting yours for a second before they fix back on Wilhelm. They’re not even glowing, which is a profound relief, even if this lighting might excuse such a thing more than others. “Everything is fine.” His tone is still light enough, if anything it contains an apology for you having to join him in dealing with this problem.

You relax at his attitude, hoping that this is routine enough that this group won’t think it out of the ordinary. That it can be quickly handled. 

“Is this your doing?” Wilhelm accuses and you look over at him to see him not glaring at Dale any longer, but at you.

You nearly step back in surprise, but Dale’s strong arm wrapping around your back helps you find the support to stay where you are. You’re still not sure what the argument, if there is one, is even about—let alone why he might think you’ve anything to do with it. “Excuse me?” You finally place the name and hesitantly identify him as, “Lord Wilhelm of Aliers, yes?”

“As you rightly must know!” he slurs back before gesturing emphatically with what must be a nearly empty goblet of wine given how careless he’s being with it. “Do not play coy with me!”

You think you were introduced to him the first night you were back on the estate along with the rest of his family, but you’ve not had a true conversation with him. “I do not know—” you try to protest before he cuts you off. 

“Are you manipulating Dale into abandoning his friends?” He takes a step forward and Dale’s grip on your upper arm tightens. “Whispering in his ear until he betrayed his oaths?”

You open your mouth and then shut it, no notion of how to respond. What is he even talking about? Dale answers in your stead, retorting, “There was no oath to betray and you are well aware of that.”

“There might as well have been,” Wilhelm hisses and you finally remember that he had been one of Dales’—original Dale’s—choices for a position in the Northridge household. A training master of some kind until this Dale had reconsidered the intelligence of such a choice. Wilhelm takes another step closer. “How dare you, you meddling little pest.”

“Watch your tongue,” Dale’s voice has lost the mild veneer of humor he previously had. “Apologize to my fiance this instant.”

Before you can try to diffuse the situation as if it might be a misunderstanding, Wilhelm takes another gulp of his drink, which evidently was not yet emptied of its contents, and says, “Not a chance. I want, want an answer.” He draws his sword with a surprisingly clean motion and points its wavering tip at you. Even yards away, you do not appreciate the threat. “Is this your doing? Are you the reason he’s all, all, yeah? Did you convince him to abandon me and give my promised posting to another?”

“I did noth—” you try to protest.

“My betrothed has nothing to do with us or the posting,” Dale interjects, pulling you closer and now with his own sword in hand. You’re aware of the circle of space has grown around you. Wilhelm’s other friends don’t appear particularly inclined to reign him in, most just watching for the skeptical. You think you see two exchange coin. “And you shall apologize for the grievous insult you have paid to us both.”

Wilhelm notices his goblet is empty and that Dale’s own sword is drawn, in that order, causing his scowl to deepen. He shoves his cup into someone’s hand with a brisk order to fetch him another before walking closer to Dale into the growing space around the two arguing nobles and yourself. “Are we going to settle this properly? Or do you not care for such activities these days either? Domestic and cowardly, eh?”

You almost want to laugh at the idea of either of those words describing either Dale, but the tension and possibility of a genuine fight keeps any such more light-hearted responses frozen in your chest. You glance up to see Dale’s darkened expression. You feel the tension in his body as he says, “Do not push me, Wilhelm. I will answer you if you continue to do so and you shall not appreciate the result.”

“No,” Wilhelm cries, “it is you who will regret their actions.” And then he charges at the pair of you. Dale releases you, thrusting his cane into you hands and pushing you behind him in the same motion. You stumble into the steadying hands of his valet as he baits Wilhelm away from the spot you’d been standing. You absent-mindedly thank Mr. Murray for keeping you on your feet after the abrupt motion, but you can’t take your eyes off the fight.

The two circle each other after that charge fails and luckily for you, Wilhelm seems to have forgotten you exist. “There’s no need for this, Wilhelm,” Dale says, obviously still trying to talk his friend out of this fight. Wilhelm doesn’t even seem to hear him. Even drunk he proves to be an expert swordsman as he manages several near blows. You can see why Dale considered him for swordsmaster, despite his obvious weakness for drink. He manages a strike that gets past Dale’s guard. Luckily Dale is able to step back so it does nothing more than cut his vest.

It's obvious he’s unhurt, but you watch as Dale’s whole demeanor focuses, as he finally stops trying to prevent this fight. He’s graceful and controlled compared to Wilhelm’s swaying, fast movements. You can’t help but admire the picture he creates as he moves. You don’t fear he’ll get hurt, only what he might reveal, and surely a single duel such as this is nothing compared to the tournament. If you worry for anyone, it’s Wilhelm as his skill might force Dale to answer back more strongly than he wants to given his friend’s condition. Although, perhaps they are no longer quite that close.

In the end, Dales doesn’t bother trying to best a swordsman of such caliber, even if he’s soused. Dale seizes the first opening he sees and presses in bodily, catching and tilting the sword points to the left and locking hilts. Wilhelm sputters something about a foul while trying to get free only for Dale to send both rapiers clattering to the floor. Unfortunately with it gone from his hand, Wilhelm seems to remember how to use the rest of his body and he kicks out at Dale’s knee. 

“Rotten cheater,” he spits as Dale grunts and tries to stay on his feet. “Why are you—”

Whatever he’s trying to say is cut off by the whole body check Dale gives him, turning his shoulder into Wilhelm’s chest to knock him back. Wilhelm stumbles, trying to stay standing, but Dale follows him. Wilhelm manages to dodge first one punch and then the next, but the third hits him square on the side of the head. His eyes roll back as he drops like a stone.

Someone catches him before he can hit the ground and Dale’s eyes dart around, as if looking for another threat to handle. You finally look away from Dale’s form and notice that the one who caught Wilhelm as he fell wasn’t one of his friends, but your brother, Douglas. In fact, as you look around you, very few of the original group is still present. Callalily’s whispering in the ear of one woman who is being escorted out by Callalily’s husband, who you don’t even recall joining you out here. Callalily walks over to another lingering couple after sending you a wink.

“I apologize for the spectacle,” Dale says to the dwindling group at large. He focuses on Douglas and adds, sounding bewildered at how quickly everything escalated, “He’d been in pleasant spirits earlier.”

“Clearly he ended up deep in the unpleasant ones in the meantime,” Douglas replies with a cheeky grin. “You two,” he looks right at the remaining couple who are currently tending to the drunk woman, “Millie”. They look startled to be addressed while the woman you finally identify as Millian of Sunston pouts at her empty goblet. “Would you be so kind as to guide me to his,” he jostles the still unconscious Wilhelm, “rooms?” Despite that his words are technically a question, Douglas makes it clear there is only one answer he expects. He’s always been rather good at that. Being taller than even Dale helps. “I think it best we aid these two in sleeping the night's events off in peace.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” the woman replies, grateful enough you don’t think she even noticed the implied threat. “My apologies, Dale, for my brother. He—no, no. I apologize profusely for his misbehavior and offer no excuses. We could give none that would be adequate.”

“Peace, Helena,” Dale says, sounding tired. “I should not have encouraged him to enjoy himself so in order to compensate for changing my mind regarding his posting. Regardless, his actions are not your own.”

“Nor yours,” she replies with a self-deprecating smile, “As he has proven himself worthy your reluctance in one foul swoop. I appreciate your understanding his disappointment manifesting itself as it did.”

Dale nods, uninterested in making the night’s ordeal into a longer affair with more obvious recompense as is his right as the challenged noble, the winner of the informal duel, and the owner of this home. For all her feigned confidence, Helena seems relieved at Dale’s easy agreement. You walk over to them, handing Dale his cane back. His eyes are as intent as they ever have been as he looks you over, even though you were not even in the fight. Once secure in your well being, he turns back to Helena. “Please do impress upon him my intolerance of slights aimed at my bethrothed, if not at myself. He’d be wise to apologize.”

“Of course,” Helena reassures him before meeting your eyes. “I beg his pardon and apologize in his stead tonight, my lady. He should never have said what he did and he would never have said them, if not for his overindulgence.”

“I understand and accept your apology,” you reply formally. “We all are aware of how too much fine wine can befuddle the mind and confuse the tongue.”

Millian scoffs at the word ‘confuse’ and Helena and her friend take the opportunity to hustle her away, leading Douglas to sling Wilhelm over his shoulder and follow.

As soon as they are back inside, you notice everyone else in this courtyard has gone as well, only Dale’s valet waits for you within the grand hall’s doorway and Callalily’s district purple and gold dress is evident through the glass window to the right. Grateful you’ve no more audience, you turn to Dale, reaching to trace the cut scored along his vest from Wilhelm’s rapier. “Dale, are you alright? Truly?”

Dale catches your hand in his own larger one. “I’m fine, sana,” Dale says, trying for a smile, but not quite reaching one. 

Your disbelief must show on your face because he wipes his free hand down his face and sighs. “I am only tired, as we have discussed.” His thumb absentmindedly strokes the back of your hand, both comforting you and sending a pleasing tingle down your arm. He looks contrite as he says, “I apologize for instigating such a scene.”

“It was no more your fault than Lady Helena’s,” you say, aiming to reassure him. You hope he can tell you’re referring to both his handling of the situation tonight and his decision not to give the swordsmaster posting to Wilhelm in the first place.

You think he understands you, some of the tension in his shoulders dissipating. And yet, he still looks more upset than you’d like from the night’s events. He shakes his head lightly. “All the same, my apologies for the trouble I’ve played a hand in causing.”

“Dale, there’s nothing you’ve done that warrants apology,” you say as sincerely as you are able to.

He gives another small smile in function, if not in sentiment, and lets go of your hand. Reluctantly, you pull it back to yourself, unable to reach back out after he’s pulled away. You glance back inside the hall and try for a smile yourself, hoping to get everything back into a more typical mood. “Shall we return?”

“I’m more tired than I expected after that confrontation,” Dale confesses, shoving his hands into his pockets. “If you’ll excuse me, I believe I’ll retire for the night.”

You’re tempted to say that in fact you will not excuse him. You want to demand to know what is weighing so heavily on him these past few days, to shoulder the burden in some way. The most you can likely do is listen to him and he won’t even allow that much. All you need to do is wait three more days, you remind yourself. In three days, you’ll be married and finally alone with each other. You can finally have an honest, private conversation and start your partnership together. You can wait that long. You can. “Of course,” you allow, however reluctantly, “have a restful night.”

A sardonic smile crosses Dale’s face and you think he’s going to make a quip about his tiredness or how much sleep he requires, but then it fades. Do demons get nightmares? Is something else contributing to his exhaustion beyond the galas or the investigation? He looks up at the now dark night sky for a moment before he looks back down at you. He opens his mouth and you think he’s actually going to confide in you. In the end, all he says before walking away is, “I wish the same for you.”

[Part Twenty-Nine]

#my writing #story part #story: nothing's wrong with dale #nothing's wrong with dale #dale #slow burn #monster bf #monster romance #arranged marriage #osha compliant #terato #exophilia #its a long one - the longest one might say #my sister had no opinion about my choice of college and/or major #why do you ask? lol #don't you lov it when people think they know what you want and who you are and what u like better than u do urself? #good intentions #just a bit late #hope theres not too much monologing #hiding in the corner with ur sibling not-yelling at each other #on this 3 days before my wedding #gotta admire a man who can knock out a drunk dude harassing you #douglas also thinks he's funny #chap 2 of 3 brought to you by my week long vacation with all my siblings that just happened #can you tell? #stay tuned for the next chapter with more sibling shenanigans #let me know what you thought!

[myhauntedsalem]

Motivation and Success Spell Jar

Cleanse area and jar

Add Sea Salt to charge

Rosemary for motivation

Sage for Protection

Cinnamon for Good Luck

Ginger for success and motivation

Red pepper flakes to get the job done

Green Adventurine for success

Light yellow candle with intent.

Hold over jar – wax to seal – As you seal jar

Chant:

“Motivation come to me, Inspire me.

Let success blossom within me”

#Motivation and Success Spell Jar #haunted salem #myhauntedsalem #spell #spells #witchcraft #witch #witches #witchblr #witchcore #witchy #witching hour #witch community #witchy things #witchy vibes #witchy stuff #witch stuff #witch aesthetic #witchy aesthetic #witchy style #magick #magic #spellcraft #spellwork #spellcasting #spell jars #good intentions #good ineffable omens #good vibes

[kitdiefly]

☕️

#witchblr #pic from pinterest #witchcraft #beginner witch #witch aesthetic #autumn #witches of tumblr #whimsical #cozy #good intentions #spirituality #pinterest #quotes #tips #witchy tips

[winchestress]

#shes so hot!!! #spnedit #womenofspn #spndaily #supernatural #mary winchester #good intentions #13x14

[theereina]

#inner peace #let go and let god #good intentions #pure heart #soft life #be blessed

[downfalldestiny]

Small choices can change your life in a big way 🐻🤍🍃 !.

#Choices #Life #Move on #healthy choices #downfalldestiny #downfall #life #magic destinations #magical world #magic moments #عشق #Good intentions #Bear #Bears #Nature #Beautiful animals #Animals

[rumeko]

unconditional love

#photography #black and white #ベンチ #bench #善意 #good intentions #Japan

[free-my-mindd]

I like pure and clear intentions.

#text post #my thoughts #good intentions #positiveenergy

[flashhwing]

i don't think justice in canon wants anders to be unhappy. i think he just doesn't know how to keep anders happy

#like a pet owner who didn't do enough research #good intentions #not enough enrichment #dragon age #anders #justice #this has been a post

[wutwutno1]

J nomming a tiny Doll who accidentally shrunk herself during the skirmish between her, J, and Tessa. OMG what if Tessa fed Doll to J??

J doesn't really like Doll.

When J first met Doll with Tessa, J knew there was something off about the little red-eyed drone with purple hair.

Doll came off as aggressive and overconfident. J heard about how Doll methodically killed people for what J believed to be an inefficient and wasteful plan to kill her friend, V. However, as much as J didn't like her, Tessa loved Doll, viewing her as if she was one of her own drones like J, V, and N.

So right now, J was waiting for Doll to come back. It was extra cold this night and it showed on Tessa, who was shivering even through her specialized space suit.

"Bloody hell. It's cold out here, J. We probably should've waited in the ship." Tessa spoke through gritted teeth. J looked over at her while sitting on a post. "Well Doll said she would be back tonight with the key, and to meet her right here. So, I don't see any other option." Tessa sighed and began to pace, trying to keep up her blood flow. "I know that. How are you not freezing J? I thought drones could feel and react to temperature like humans." J smiled as she responded with, "We do, I also just so happen to be constantly overheating, so it kinda cancels out."

A few feet away from the pair came a ball of red lightning, signifying Doll's return. Tessa and J watched on as the lightning dissipated and revealed Doll. However, she was only about the size of J's hand. Doll stood there shocked while Tessa and J watched on agape.

"Что за—?" ("What the—?") Doll began when she was immediately cut off by Tessa, "Oh my god! Doll, you're so cute!"

Tessa reached down and picked up the mini Doll, who squirmed in her hand. "эй! Отпусти меня! Отпусти меня!" ("Hey! Let me go! Let me go!") J looks over Tessa's shoulder at Doll.

"How did this happen?" J questions. "Незначительный просчет." ("Minor miscalculation.") Tessa opens her palm flat, allowing Doll to sit down and breathe more comfortably. Tessa asks, "Doll, did ya get the key?"

"Да, да. У меня дурацкая проблема с ключом." ("Yes yes. I got the stupid key bug thing.") Doll then reaches into her dress and pulls out the keybug, the only problem is that it's much too small.

"Huh. Must've gotten shrunk when she did, ey J?" J nods and looks back at Doll. "Can you unshrink, or something? That bug needs to be normal."

"Думаю, да. Мне просто нужно больше масла для телепортации. А пока я—" ("I think so. I just need more oil to teleport with. Until then I—") Doll then breaks out into a shiver, the abnormaly cold air mixed with her extra small size finally catching up with her. "Боже, как холодно." ("Jeeze, it's cold.") "Oh dear, you poor thing. We'll get you warmed up, right J?" Tessa turned to J, who looked slightly disappointed at the events unfolding. "Of course, boss." Tessa looked down at the borrower-sized drone in her hand and placed a hand on her chin. "Of course, we need to figure out a way how. What to do..."

J began thinking. She didn't like Doll, but Tessa did. So she couldn't do anything to hurt Doll, but this could be her only chance to get revenge on behalf of V. Honestly, she could forgive all of that if Doll didn't do the one thing the workaholic bootlicker J considered unforgivable; messing up her job.

J began to grin, figuring out the perfect punishment while still looking like she was helping. Something that even Tessa could get behind.

"Hey Tessa, I have an idea." J spoke in a sickly sweet voice, however Tessa didn't seem to notice. "Yes, J? What is it?" J sat down on her post, grinning ear to ear. "I'm constantly overheating, right? So I was thinking we could put her inside of me somehow, like..." J paused for a second before snapping her fingers. She placed one hand over her abdomen and pointed at it with the other, "my stomach!" "Подожди, что?" ("Wait, what?")

Tessa barely gave it two thoughts before nodding her head. "Good idea J! Let's do it!" Tessa picked up Doll by the back of her shirt and began to carry her over to J. Doll began to squirm and panic.

"Подожди! Подожди! Не скармливай меня ей! Я не еда! Я не конфета!" ("Wait! Wait! Don't feed me to her! I'm not food! I'm not candy!") "J, can you translate? I don't understand Russian. She seems to be freaking out." J's grin grew wider as she now had full control over the situation.

"Oh, she's just begging for warmth. She only looks scared 'cause she's cold!" Tessa stands about a foot away from J, looking down at her. "Well okay! Open up!" J did as she was told, opening her mouth and sticking her tongue out, giving Tessa and Doll a clear view of the back of her mouth and the top of her throat. "нет! Нет! Остановись!» Остановись!" ("No! No! Stop! Stop!")

Tessa slowly slid the squirming worker drone into J's mouth, the latter closing her mouth behind Doll softly onto Tessa's fingers. Tessa let go of Doll, who began to struggle harder inside J's mouth. Doll's voice muffled to the point of being unintelligible as Tessa slid her fingers out of J's mouth.

"Ew, J!" Tessa squealed playfully, whipping what little saliva got on her glove off.

Inside J's mouth, Doll was freaking out. She squirmed and struggled. Doll clutched onto J's tongue in the hope that it would prevent her from being swallowed. Doll felt her legs get pulled inside J's powerful throat, the tugging slowly pealing Doll off J's tongue.

" Подожди! Остановись!» Выплюнь меня!" ("Wait! Stop! Spit me out!") Doll cried out as her arms let go of J's tongue. She grasped desperately, but with one last gulp, J swallowed Doll whole squirming and fighting all the way down into her stomach.

"Gulp!" Tessa traced Doll's descent down J's throat with her finger until she reached J's chest. "Did you just say gulp, J?" Tessa giggled as J smiled, "Hey, you were the one who deleted gulp.mp3."

Tessa began to laugh audibly when she stood up. "Fair. I wonder how Doll's doing in there." J patted her stomach and grinned, "Oh, she's having the time of her life."

Inside of J, Doll was not having the time of her life. She lay in the soft plush of J's gut, getting churned and pushed with her arms crossed and a pout on her face. Doll couldn't do anything at the moment but take it. She didn't have the oil level to use her Absolute Solver, her squirms and fighting only got absorbed by the thick plush that surrounded J's stomach, and her yelling probably couldn't be heard by Tessa, and even if it could, Tessa still couldn't understand Doll.

Doll was had, and she knew it. Her only choice now was to wait for J to let her out. She knew J wouldn't digest her. She had the key and was the only one who could unshrink it. However, another thought came into her mind. She realized that J's stomach was actually kind of nice. The warmth was perfect, especially after what she had just experienced outside. The churning and the soft contractions of the belly walls worked to massage the stress in her over-tensed joints.

Doll didn't have anything to worry about in J's belly. For the first time in what felt like forever, Doll relaxed.

"Righy-O, J. Let's get back to the ship and warm up. We can get Doll the oil she needs in a bit." Tessa stood up and stretched. She patted her sheath and holster, making sure her weapons were secured, and turned around, only to come face-to-face with an emo worker drone with N and V behind her, all standing in a fight pose.

"Huh—?"

**********************************************

Sorry if my translation is off. I don't speak, nor understand Russian, but I wanted to try to write it in. Any help in fixing translation errors will be much appreciated.

#murder drones #murder noms #vore writing #sfw vore #murder drones doll #g/t vore #murder drones j #murder drones tessa #unwilling prey #unwilling vore #unwilling to willing #soft vore #safe vore #good intentions #bad intentions

[somedaylazysomeday]

Good Intentions Part Twenty

The Haven gets a new donor, Silco wants a side deal.

Rating: Explicit.

Word Count: 4,900

Warnings: Ongoing references to sex as a form of payment, veiled references to organized crime, arguments, oral sex (fem!receiving), unprotected sex, creampie, and blackmail

Previous | Next | Masterlist

---

You did your best not to squint at the men on the other side of the table. Doing so would only make it look like you were suspicious of them. 

You were suspicious of them, of course, but there was no need to be obvious. 

“My apologies, gentlemen,” you said slowly. “I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, but with all of the opportunities available to you, I don’t understand why you are so interested in helping to fund the Haven.”

“It’s complicated.” Jayce Talis, the most famous Piltover inventor in recent history, rubbed at the space between his heavy brows. 

“I do own and operate a relief organization and facilitate certain healthcare treatments, including minimizing the effects of Shimmer withdrawal,” you pointed out mildly. “Maybe, if you explain it slowly, I can follow along.”

One corner of his mouth curved upward, emphasizing the fullness of his lips. He was famously handsome and infamously unavailable, but that was fine. Your tastes ran in other directions. 

His business partner - a man who was known around the Undercity only as Viktor - crossed his arms, slouching back in his seat. You tried not to judge it as a show of poor manners, especially when he straightened his leg with a wince. It was very likely Viktor just needed to adjust positions. Of course, it was equally likely that he didn’t find you very amusing. 

“Make your point, Jayce,” Viktor muttered. “We have important business to take care of at the lab.”

“Yes, the lab,” Jayce said, adding a nod in your direction. “As you may already know, HexTech is doing well. We have made several important advancements and are set to debut more over the next few years. We own the patents to everything outright, so all profits come to us. Piltover has given us a few dozen grants and investments have flooded in. We have plenty of money to pursue the further development of HexTech.” 

You nodded. It all seemed simple to understand so far.

“There is one particular area where HexTech does not excel: outreach.” Viktor interrupted with an impatient look at his now-pouting business partner. “That is why we reached out to you.” 

“Yes, but is there a particular reason you want to support the Haven rather than any other Undercity outreach?” you pressed. Maybe you were a little paranoid, but your recent experiences with Silco had convinced you that being more discerning was probably a smart move. 

Jayce sat forward slightly. “The Haven’s track record is impressive. Your expense justification reports have all shown remarkably low operating costs, your residents have started to find work with other Undercity businesses, and there’s plenty of buzz about the dent you’ve made in the Shimmer trade in your neighborhood.” 

The blood roared in your ears at that. “That’s an overstatement, of course. Drug use waxes and wanes in neighborhoods over time. It’s just coincidence that Shimmer use decreased when the Haven opened.” 

Jayce furrowed his brows, but Viktor looked like you had finally said something interesting. “I assume that is the line one must repeat vehemently if one wants to avoid the attention of the chem barons.” 

“Chem barons?” Jayce repeated, now frowning harder. “They’re a local legend, a convenient shadow government that the people can blame their problems on.”

“Of course,” you agreed. 

Viktor looked darkly amused. “Nothing more than a legend, certainly.” 

“Yeah…” Jayce said slowly, glancing between you and Viktor. “Anyway, we’ve heard about the decreased drug use and we want to support that as much as possible. You and the Haven seem like the best choice to make that happen.”

“How is your security?” Viktor asked abruptly. 

“We have a small team of guards for the exterior of the building,” you said honestly. It probably wouldn’t help anything if you told them exactly who was paying for that small team of guards. “There is almost no Enforcer presence in the Lanes, so we can’t count on a patrol happening at a crucial time.” 

“I can pull a few strings,” Jayce assured you, totally confident. “I have some connections with the Enforcers. Piltover wants to support new development, especially when it isn’t tied to the drug trade. And they’re not going to find anything better than an anti-Shimmer organization with a proven track record.” 

You nodded in acknowledgement of his point, but looked to Viktor. “And you? Do you also think the Haven is a good match for HexTech’s goals?”

Viktor lifted one shoulder in a halfhearted shrug. “I fail to see what impact your outreach could possibly have on the Undercity. The politics are snarled, the people are desperate, and there is too much money to be made from exploitation.” 

That was a harsh assessment, but it was true. Jayce cleared his throat uncomfortably, but Viktor spoke again before the better-mannered of the pair could offer any reassurances. “That being said, I am… reluctantly impressed by what I have heard of your meetings with Silco. There are few willing to argue with him.” 

You stiffened slightly at Viktor’s mention of Silco. Up to that point, you had both pointedly avoided using his name, as evidenced by the way Jayce was glancing between the two of you. 

“I don’t understand,” Jayce admitted. “Who is Silco?” 

“You will find out,” Viktor said, the statement sounding both threatening and utterly inevitable as he stood. “I must return to the lab. Jayce, I agree with whatever choice you make.” 

You watched as Viktor leaned heavily on the cane and left the building. It was situated at the edge of Piltover, just across the bridge from the Undercity. Jayce had assured you multiple times that, if they were not working on time-sensitive experiments at HexTech, they would have been more than willing to meet you in the Undercity. He may have even been telling the truth. 

Jayce was still half-smiling when he looked back at you. “Who is Silco?” 

You got the impression that he would keep pushing until he got an answer, so you chose your words carefully. “He is a… major player in the Undercity. He wants- well, he says he’s working for the good of the people. That’s up for debate.” 

“But what does he do?” Jayce pressed. 

“He’s an industrialist.” You sat very straight on the edge of your chair - not quite standing, but giving the impression that you were ready to leave. “Speaking of helping the Undercity, I need to get back to the Haven. When you’ve made a decision about your outreach, please let me know.” 

“Easy enough,” Jayce said, standing to offer a hand over the table. “HexTech would like to provide funding for the Haven, to be used in whatever way you think is appropriate.” 

You were giddy with excitement, and it rushed through your veins like adrenaline. Somehow, you managed to keep a straight face long enough to thank Jayce and accept the check he filled out for the Haven. It was generous, which made your heart soar. You would be able to help so many people!

The good news put a spring in your step and you were still bouncing as you climbed the stairs to Silco’s office. Thankfully, no one was around so early in the day - you had serious doubts about your ability to look cranky and irritated right then, but you would have been obliged to put on a performance if there were onlookers. 

“You seem cheerful,” Silco noted as you closed the door behind yourself. 

“So far, so good,” you told him, walking over to his desk. “What’s the plan for today?” 

He ignored your question. “Productive morning, I take it?” 

“Very.” 

You peered out through the window. The Last Drop was just barely tall enough for you to catch glimpses of the building projects happening over near the Haven. The mechanic’s shop was well on its way to being completed, the construction crews had broken ground on the second apartment building, and the grocers were taking over an existing building, so they were already in the process of hiring staff. 

As you leaned back, you caught sight of a familiar handprint on the glass and your lower belly tightened with the reminder of how it had gotten there. 

“And how much will HexTech be allotting you?” 

With the casually conversational way Silco asked his question, you didn’t immediately notice that anything was wrong. Your attention was split between the handprint on the window and the ever-increasing needs of your body. At last, awareness filtered through and you froze. 

‘I-” You cleared your throat, giving your best innocent expression as you turned to look at him. “What do you mean?” 

Silco gave an impatient gesture. “Come, pet, we have already discussed that I know all that happens in Zaun.” 

“Nothing happened in Zaun,” you said blandly. 

His answering look was dry. “But a potential alliance between the Haven and HexTech undeniably concerns Zaun and her future. Do me the courtesy of assuming I know of your meeting with the two inventors behind HexTech.”

“Fine,” you agreed, largely because he gave no indication of moving on. “I met with the owners of HexTech.” 

“Thank you,” Silco said, gaze drifting to the window. “And how much has young Talis decided to give the Haven?” 

You paused, uncomfortable with the idea that you needed to place a boundary. You and Silco shouldn’t be close enough to need things like boundaries - the clear divisions between you should have been so obvious as to be implied. “I’m not sharing that information with you.” 

“Why not?” he asked. “If I know the size of their donation, I can exceed it.” 

“I don’t need any more donations at the moment,” you told him. 

Silco’s brows unfurrowed. “Ah, that much? Congratulations. You may rest secure in the knowledge that the sale of your morals has fetched so high a price.” 

You recoiled at the slight before you could stop yourself. A drug lord was going to lecture you about morals? That bothered you. Surely that was the cause of your discomfort. Any other reason would imply that Silco was important enough to you that his opinion mattered. 

“I didn’t have to sacrifice my morals to accept their donation, unlike others the Haven has received in the past,” you told him icily. 

Silco stood abruptly, his chair lurching back with the movement. You held your ground, though it took more effort than you were comfortable with. “My donations served your residents just as well as the ones from HexTech will, and at far more dire a time. Do not act as though I were not there to support you every time you have needed me.” 

You gaped at that. “Because we’re in a deal! Every donation served you just as well as it did me - it increased your leverage over me and the Haven. Convenient, since you need me around for an easy source of sex.” 

He scoffed, looming over you. “Do you truly believe that there are not others who throw themselves at my feet? I receive more offers of easy sex than you would believe possible.” 

“Then why keep me around?” you pressed. 

“Because you are the only one who offers the slightest hint of a challenge!” he snapped, breathing heavily. You had stepped into him rather than away, and he was already so close that your chest and his were nearly touching. You glared at each other from inches away before one or both of you closed the gap separating you.

His mouth was hard and unyielding against yours, disinterested in any hint of refusal. Fortunately, refusing his kiss was the last thing on your mind. The energy of securing the HexTech donation was still crackling through you, and sex was a wonderful outlet. The slight tinge of irritation accompanying it only served to increase the appeal. 

You met him with lips that were already slightly parted, and your tongues were dueling in a moment. Kissing Silco wasn’t entirely unfamiliar to you, but it was still rare enough that you considered it a novel experience. 

Your toes were curling at the slow luxury of his mouth on yours. Silco was rarely in a hurry, even now, when you were apparently taking a break in the middle of a fight. Your interest was only piqued further when he started removing your clothing with rough movements. When he had finished, he pushed you backward as you gasped with shock.

Fortunately, Silco had thought far enough ahead to position you close to his desk. The sensation of your bare ass on the cold surface of the desk was jarring, but you watched Silco eagerly. You were more than willing to brave the temperature difference in order to watch him undress for you. 

To your surprise, Silco lowered himself, fully-dressed, into his throne-like chair. You eyed him, frowning as he took your ankles in his hands. They were placed to either side of his chair, leaving them supported by the arm rests at his sides. It went without saying that your knees were forced open by the position, leaving your core exposed to the air… and to Silco’s gaze.

That mismatched stare was fixed between your legs, studying the most private parts of you as you tried not to squirm. When he reached out to touch your cunt, you felt his fingertips like electric shocks… but he only parted your folds and continued his silent observation. 

Irritation, embarrassment, and need swirled together in you until the pressure pushed words from your mouth. “Silco. What are you doing?” 

“Studying my favorite acquisition,” he replied distantly. Even lost in your own distraction, you could feel the echo of your first time together, in this very situation in this very office, when Silco had said something similar. “And wondering how my pet can be so very unyielding, yet yield so delightfully in other areas.” 

You frowned at him - not that Silco was looking at your face. “Whatever answers you’re looking for, you aren’t going to find them down there.” 

That made him glance upward, a small smile playing around the corner of his mouth. “Perhaps it would be best if you lay back.” 

You complied, though not without rolling your eyes. “If we’re having a repeat of our first session, I hope the sex is more satisfactor- Oh!” 

Without any sort of warning, Silco’s mouth had closed around your clit. You half-lifted back off the surface of his desk, staring down at his face between your legs. You could only hope that your expression was less desperate than you felt, but wicked pleasure filled Silco’s gray-green eye, so you didn’t think that was accurate.

And then he set about making you forget all about expressions and irritations. Silco buried himself between your thighs, teasing you with fingers and lips and tongue and teeth. He nibbled, he stroked, he thrust… He used every hint of weakness he had gathered from you over your time together, recalling every sensation that drove you wild and subjecting you to all of them at once.  

You arched up off the desk so sharply that the muscles in your back and abdomen protested. Your knees tried to close around Silco - either to keep him close or to force him away from you, you weren’t sure which - but his shoulders kept you spread open and subjected to his torment. 

By the time he had pressed three fingers deep inside of you, your body was glistening with sweat. You were panting, your hips trying to both ride him and grind closer to the lips that were wrapped around your clit.

Silco always ate you like he was trying to ruin you for anyone else, but this was more intense than anything you had experienced with him before. You didn’t remember when you had sank your hands into his hair, but it didn’t matter. You were using him only as an anchor; he never moved far enough away for you to need to pull him back. 

At last, he removed himself from you, pulling away almost entirely. The only parts of his body that was touching you were his shoulders, still holding you spread open for him. 

“Silco?” you asked, an edge of desperation clear in your voice. 

“Shh, pet,” he soothed. “I am trying to decide whether you deserve the reward of coming on my tongue.” 

You whined, lifting your hips as if you could convince him to come back. 

“I am less than thrilled by your association with the Piltover business,” Silco admitted slowly. Torturously slowly. “Yet I suppose you may have earned a treat for coming to meet with me anyway. Is that correct?”

You nodded. 

Silco leaned slightly closer. “You would not break our deal over a single donation from another business, would you?” 

You shook your head. 

Silco came even closer then - still not touching you, but near enough that you could feel every exhale on your damp folds. “Does our deal still stand, pet?” 

You nodded, but Silco shook his head. “I need to hear it in that lovely voice. Tell me, darling: does our deal still stand?”  

“Y-yes,” you stammered, the dryness in your throat making it difficult to speak. “Yes!”

“Ahh…” he mused. “How long will it stand?” 

He watched you with a gaze so sharp you understood instinctively that he would only accept a spoken answer. This one was more challenging; he hadn’t told you what he wanted you to say and thinking was difficult when your brain was soaked in hormones and arousal. 

“Until- ah!” Silco had darted a long lick up your folds - not touching anything firmly enough to throw you over the edge, but still startling. And distracting. “As long as I’m in the Undercity.” 

“Our deal will stand as long as you are in the Undercity,” Silco repeated. You nodded and he looked thoughtful. “I suppose I must offer sufficient incentive for you to stay, then.” 

As if the shock of it removed you from the situation, you noted it dispassionately as he parted you a little more, nestled his nose against your clit, and thrust his stiffened tongue up inside of your heat. 

And then the moment of observation passed. You were thrown back into your body just in time for it to go through an earth-shattering orgasm. Your body arced up off the desk again, muscles spasming so hard that you had the vague sense of Silco holding your hips against the surface so you didn’t throw yourself onto the floor. 

But that was a dim knowledge, far in the background of your thoughts - the vast majority of your brain was caught in a stranglehold of pleasure. How could you be expected to lay still when every bit of you was crackling with such intense energy? You had to move. It was not possible to do anything else. 

At last, Silco removed the live current that was his mouth against your core. He had to struggle against the grip you had on his hair. You weren’t really trying to keep him in place, but your muscles had locked down in the aftermath of your orgasm. 

“How do you feel?” he asked conversationally, when he had freed himself from your grip, losing a few strands of hair in the process. 

“Nnn umm…” Nope, those weren’t words. You tried again. “Needum mint.” 

“Take your time,” Silco invited, relaxing back into his chair. He licked his lips, cleaning the shine of you from them with his tongue. Watching the process made your uncomfortably sensitive body tighten, but you couldn’t tear your gaze away. When he had licked everything he could reach, Silco retrieved a handkerchief and wiped his mouth, chin, and cheeks. 

If you were capable of higher thought at the moment, you might have been embarrassed by how much of a mess you had made on Silco’s face. Fortunately, the brain fog was still too dense, and you just watched him vacantly. 

Rather than rush you into another round, Silco snagged a piece of paper from beside your hip. He lifted it and started to read. From the light that filtered through it from the window behind him, you could see that there were schematics of some kind drawn on the page. They were highly detailed, but something about the writing looked young, like it had been done by someone without fully developed fine motor function. 

And then Silco’s fingers wrapped around your ankle and you stopped thinking about anything else. Especially when those fingers began to play idly against your skin, tapping an unfamiliar rhythm on your anklebone. 

“How much more reading do you need to do?” you gritted out at last. 

Silco glanced up at you instantly, eyebrows raised. “I can stop at any time, pet. I was under the impression that you needed a moment to recover.”

“I have recovered.”

“Why did you not tell me immediately?” Silco asked. 

Despite the censurious words, he lazily tucked the schematics into a desk drawer before he stood. In a moment, he had opened the front of his trousers, pushed aside the layers of fabric, and lined himself up with you. 

There was something almost sweet about the fact that Silco was so hard. He had brought you pleasure without being touched in return, and yet his erection hadn’t flagged while he sat quietly reading for minutes. For all that he was a selfish, manipulative bastard, Silco was surprisingly impacted by the way he affected you. 

Any hints of altruism were shoved aside as Silco plunged inside of you. Rather than hesitating or asking if you were ready, he surged powerfully forward until he was seated as deep inside you as he could be. Your hips shifted to accommodate him and your legs trembled against the arms of his chair as you struggled to surface against the pressure of him stretching your walls. 

Silco’s hands were tight on you. One was wrapped around your hips, providing an anchor point as he began to thrust in and out of you. His other hand was firmly on your ass, half-lifting and half-squeezing as he rolled his hips against you. 

That rolling motion made your lips part for air as you stared up at the ceiling. Silco was big enough to fill you, but something about that motion put pressure against your walls in a way that felt almost cyclical. It was like he was fucking a little circle inside of you every time he pushed in, which meant that you got intermittent pressure against your g-spot. It was magical. 

You tried to lift against him, to counter-thrust and speed things up, but Silco wasn’t having it. His grip was firm enough to hold you utterly still, making sure that all you could do was experience the way he was taking you apart for a second time. 

“Silco, please,” you gasped out. “Faster. Harder. Please.” 

“No,” he denied simply. Silco’s hand momentarily released your hip to grab your wrist instead. He tugged it downward until your fingers were brushing the throbbing place between your legs. “If you want your pleasure, you’ll have to take it.” 

You were tempted to deny him and yourself, if only to prove that he wasn’t in charge of you, but the slight graze of your fingertip over your own clit made you squirm. But if you were going to be responsible for your own orgasm, you were damn well going to make sure that Silco helped.

With some effort, you lifted your legs from where they were still resting on the armrests of Silco’s chair. It took only a moment to wrap them around his waist, and when you tightened them, the pull was strong enough to force Silco forward against you. 

When he had bottomed out inside of you, Silco’s grip shifted upward, pressing against the surface of the desk on either side of your hips to support the shift in his center of balance. His eyes widened, startled as you kept him close. You used your newfound freedom to thrust your hips, moving him and out of your core as you strummed at your clit. 

The resulting sensations were enough to take you sailing over the edge again. This orgasm was less abrupt than the last one, but almost more satisfying because your inner muscles had something to lock down around. 

Dimly, you registered that Silco was trying to withdraw from you, but couldn’t escape the grip of your leg muscles. You only understood his reasoning when his body stiffened, face tightening and growing slack as he reached his own peak. 

Silco’s orgasms tended to be subtler than yours, but even his legendary poker face failed him. His expression tightened, then went slack as his body spasmed in a series of explosive surges. He hissed out a curse that sounded like half a prayer, his lips continuing to move long after he had stopped speaking loud enough for you to hear it. 

Slowly, you let the tension seep from your leg muscles. When your feet were dangling toward the floor once more, Silco eased himself out of you. The first spill of your combined mess seeped directly onto the surface of Silco’s desk, but he cleaned it up and caught the next with the same cloth he had used to wipe his face earlier. 

When Silco was seated in his chair once more, you took the cloth and held it in place as you slid down from the desk. Silco smiled wryly. “I never intend to make such a mess, but you are irresistible. Especially when you’ve wrapped me in those lovely legs. If I must be trapped, I will say that I prefer to be trapped in your embrace.” 

“Flatterer,” you accused gently. 

“It is a lovely benefit when the truth is flattering,” he replied, giving you a look you didn’t quite understand… until he added, “Now, pet, tell me how much I should write for the amount of my next donation check.”

You turned toward him with an irritated huff. “Are you still talking about this? I don’t need an extra donation from you, especially not when your motivation is simply to outdo someone you consider a threat.” 

Silco’s lip curled. “I hardly consider those two boys to be a threat.” 

“Then what is your problem with them supporting the Haven?” 

“I dislike the idea of Piltover gaining a foothold here in Zaun,” Silco explained after a moment of thought. “Even if their influence is only over a small outreach. It could hinder the growth of Zaun’s independence.” 

You bit back the irritation that rose at the Haven being referred to as a small outreach. It was a small outreach, of course, but it was so important in your life. It hurt to be reminded that your work was considered minor to other people. 

“Fine,” you said instead of telling him any of that. “What are our options? I’m not telling you how much they donated.”

“Very well,” Silco said tightly. By all appearances, he was displeased with your insistence, but something about the look in his mismatched gaze gave you the distinct impression that he was getting something he had been angling for all day. “If you will not allow me to match HexTech’s donation amount, I would be willing to overlook their involvement in the Haven…” 

“And what will it cost me?”

“I want to be part of the Undercity Innovation Committee.”

It took a beat for you to remember what that was. “Jazper’s group? No. Absolutely not.” 

Silco watched you in silence. His brow creased and it was like watching a far-away storm building into something catastrophic. 

“I have no control over that,” you expanded. “I can’t risk everything I’ve built - I can’t risk the Haven - to argue for you being part of the meetings.” 

“And I would never ask you to,” Silco assured you smoothly. “I have other resources at play. All I need from you is not to argue against me being on the committee.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “So you don’t need me to fight for you? Just don’t tell them not to let you join?” 

“Yes.” 

It seemed simple. Almost too simple. And yet… it had been a long day. You could use some simplicity. “Fine, I agree to those terms. If someone else brings up the possibility of letting you join the committee, I won’t argue against it.” 

“Perfect.” Silco took the end of your conversation as an opportunity to refasten his clothing, so you started to get dressed as well. 

By the time you had finished, Silco was holding out a slip of paper toward you. You looked from it to his face, unwilling to accept an unknown item from him. He continued to offer it anyway.

“If I understand, your objections were not to me making a donation, but to me trying to make a larger donation than HexTech,” Silco explained. “I do not know how much they donated, but here is my offer.” 

“Silco…” you lamented, arms still folded across your chest. 

He lifted a brow. “If you prefer, I could resume trying to discover the HexTech donation amount…” 

You sighed loudly so there could be no mistaking your irritation as you snatched the check from his hand. You didn’t look at the amount, but the way Silco grinned as you shoved it into your pocket didn’t seem promising.

---

Author's Note - Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed. I'll see you next month with another update!

Quick reminder: this story does take a lot of time and effort to write, edit, and format every month. At this point, we're up to roughly a 200-page book. I appreciate the likes that you guys give me, but reblogging my work is the only way new people can find it. I would really appreciate it if you would reblog not only my fics, but any fics you enjoy!

#good intentions #good intentions fic #arcane netflix #arcane fanfiction #arcane silco #silco #arcane viktor #arcane jayce #viktor #jayce talis #silco x reader #silco x fem!reader #silco x you #reader #reader insert #reader insert fanfic #reader insert fanfiction #reader insert fic #spicy #lemon #not suitable for minors #minors dni

[rtnortherly]

…"I always believed that memory would stay. It'd go on to my people when I died, the happiest thing I could ever give to them. But now…" Arboren squeezes his eyes shut tighter. "If I lose it, it's gone. Forever."

Jace inhales slowly, shallowly.

Arboren holds the moment, stretches it out, and then dredges up the same exhausted resolve that he has been relying on all this time. He straightens, and places both his hands on Jace Loke's shoulders. "I'm sharing it with you. It's not the same. You can't feel it. You can't picture the emerald leaves, or the drops of liquid gold on the surface of the water. You can't smell the mud and the life. Not the way we do. But if it gets stolen from me, then you're the one with the last fragment of it."

#art #digital art #my art #fanart #dos2 #divinity original sin 2 #dos2 fanart #good intentions #dos2 loke #magister loke #jace loke #arboren #dos2 godwoken #happy valentines if you celebrate #this is a scene from the third chapter #and I thought about including text but decided not to in the end #but I added it as a sort of caption #I draw these two so in love but really they have the rockiest start

[myhauntedsalem]

How to Make Black Salt

*Sea Salt

*Black Pepper

*Ash (Fireplace, Sage, Incense, Grill)

*Charcoal

If you want the salt to be for cursing and black magick, add crushed chili seeds or sulfur while stirring ingredients in a counterclockwise motion

If you want salt to be for protection and white magick, add some iron scrapings or ground cinnamon while stirring ingredients in a clockwise motion

Powerful protective charm that absorbs negative energy and curses into itself and will rid you of their harmful influences, sprinkle it around the doors and windows.

To Rid Evil or Negativity from your home, Sprinkle on the floor then sweep it up and out the front door, then off the porch and towards the street.

To Prevent a troublesome person from returning to your home as soon as they leave throw black salt on the porch or sidewalk so they walk across it. Then quickly and vigorously sweep it out to the street while cussing and cursing them. If you are bold throw it at their backs as they are leaving.

#haunted salem #myhauntedsalem #witch #witches #witchcore #witchcraft #witchblr #spirituality #spiritual #spell #Black Salt #witchy #witchy vibes #witch community #witch aesthetic #good intentions #mindfulness #magick #magic #witching hour #spells #spellwork #spellcraft #spellcasting