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sagechanoafterdark · 3 months

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Shoot Your Shot, Cupid

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader Word Count: 3,770 Warnings: mature language, unbeata'd, soft Bucky, lets assume Sam set him up for this one, female coded reader, happy ending because we all deserve it, TIME SKIIIIIP, best friend with good intentions that shows up for one job and then disappears, speed dating, one obnoxious man, all the soft feelings.

Hello Kittens, and Happy Valentine's Day. It's been a while since I wrote... well anything and I was working on this for a couple of months but I think it's come all together now. Hope you enjoy it!

This couldn’t get much worse.

Tricked by your best friend.

Nay, betrayed.

By someone you implicitly trusted.

There would be no forgiving this.

Never, not ever.

The dinner and drinks invitation a few days before the start of February was met with trepidation on your part. All Christmas season you’d feigned interest as Mellony, your best friend, thrust every single co-worker, neighbor, and wait staff at you to find you someone to share the holiday with.

You couldn’t blame her. After all, Mellony was blissfully happy with her fiancée and only wanted the same for you.

All that you could forgive.

But this?

This was a complete and utter betrayal.

A deep and unimpressed frown marred your face as Mellony took the sticky name tag off the table with her perfectly manicured nails. Peeling the back with an ear-to-ear grin and pressed it against your chest. “There,” she exclaimed with joy, lacing her fingers together. “Now you’re all set.”

Looking down at the beautifully scrawled letters framed by little hearts you couldn’t help but curl your lip and whine, “Mel, you promised.”

The blond snorted and rolled her enormous puppy dog eyes, “I never promised anything.” Looping her arm through yours she practically began to drag you through the convention center doors and past the sign that sealed your fate.

Cupids Bow Speed Dating Event.

“Yes, you did,” you reaffirmed. Glancing around the room packed full of men and women in a combination of sweaters, suits, and cocktail dresses. “You promised not to try and set me up with anyone again.”

“This is my speed dating event. It doesn’t count.”

“I can assure you it does.”

“Nooooo,” she practically sang, turning around on her heel with that adorable mischievous smile of hers. “I promised that I wouldn’t set you up with anyone I knew. Everyone here was vetted by my team. I don't know any of these people.”

Grumbling she began tugging you towards the stage as intro music began to play softly from the DJ booth. Mellony paused, gripping your hand tight and looking down at you as the DJ introduced her, “Please, stay? I just want you to find someone.”

“Mel,” you hissed with disapproval. “I don’t need to find someone.”

Whether or not she heard you was unclear as the music swelled and Mellony put on her famous razzle dazzle smile and waved at everyone as she took the microphone and the presentation began. Your eyes swung to the crowd of people, more than three dozen people silhouetted against the stage lights and it made you shiver.

This was going to be a disaster.

Twenty minutes later your mind was glazed over with the audacity of men.

With every new ding of the bell, you found yourself becoming more annoyed. The match-making event progressed easily. People were divided into groups based on results from a questionnaire, something you distinctly remember Mel presenting to you as a fun Cosmo quiz, while one group remained seated the others rotated around the room.

By some stroke of luck, you were one of the people destined to sit. But that also meant that total strangers would be coming to your table to chat with you.

In all your years of singledom, you’d thought you’d heard it all. Too fat. Too loud. Too smart. Too opinionated. Those were old hat by now, and you weren’t immune to the bitter words from unimportant people.

“I suppose you’re an attractive woman,” the suit across from you said thoughtfully. His eyes never met yours, instead looking around the room likely for the next victim of his charm. “But I’m not really into your hair color. How would you feel about dying it?”

The question hung in the air as you waited for the man to look back at you. When his beady eyes returned to your face you couldn’t hide the disbelief, waving your hand in the air with an icy finality, “Absolutely not. You can go.”

He didn’t wait. Standing so quickly the chair scraped against the floor as he haughtily walked towards the bar. You couldn’t help but roll your eyes as you pulled out your phone and began to scroll social media waiting for the next bell in fifteen minutes.

Not the wildest thing you’d ever heard, but the gall of some people astounded even you sometimes. This also wasn’t the first event you’d been to that Mel had put on, you’d come to one or two as she’d begun her match-making service so you knew the ins and outs pretty well. But getting the same questions over and over was getting old fast.

What do you do for a living?

Where are you from?

What’s your family like?

What’s your perfect date idea?

BOR-ING!

Just once you’d like someone to ask you a real question, something thoughtful instead of the surface questions you’d find on social media.

You couldn’t believe you wore your favorite dress for this nonsense.

The bell dinged once again and the shadow of a new man sat in front of you.

“Hi.”

“Hello,” you said not looking up from the device in your hand.

“Come here often?”

“To a dating event? No,” the words were flowing out of your mouth easily. Canned responses for canned questions.

There was a heavy pause, “You seem bored.”

“That’s because I am.”

A muted scoff came from the other side of the table, “What would make it more interesting then?”

A long sigh escaped you as you continued scrolling on your phone, “If someone would ask me a question of substance, maybe I would give them a chance for conversation.”

Again a long stretching silence from the other side and you had to resist rolling your eyes.

“Alright,” he rumbled, leaning back against his chair. “Then what’s one gift you always wish you’d gotten, but never did?”

That had your thumb pausing on the endless scrolling you were doing. Finally, your gaze flicked up and your brain stopped working for a brief moment as you took in the disgustingly attractive man sitting your opposite.

Coffee color hair, and a chiseled jaw dotted with a five o’clock shadow would be enough to make even the most choosy of a woman’s breath catch. He was wearing a bulky leather jacket in a building that was pushing 80 degrees, which was odd but not overly strange.

But oddly enough you felt yourself getting drawn in. Not by his cheekbones, the cut of his jaw, the dimple in his chin, or even the semi-scowl he wore.

No, it was his eyes. Bright blue soulful eyes, that sparkled a little as he sat across the table from you. Eyes that told a story all their own and drew you out of your scrolling for the first time that night.

Pursing your lips slightly you thought, “Hmm, I’d have to say it’s a puppy.”

His eyebrow arched slightly, clearly surprised by your answer, “A puppy?”

“Sure,” you said with a slight shrug. “A puppy is something I’ve always wanted but never gotten as a gift from anyone other than myself.”

“What kind of puppy?”

“Oh I don’t have a preferred breed,” you informed, tilting your head a little at the odd conversation. “But as a child, it was what I asked for every year as a present. But I never got one.”

His lips turned up in a half smile and you thought you were going to melt in your seat, “Asking for one every year and not getting one, sounds a little disappointing. Was that just a Christmas thing?”

“Nah,” you laughed a little, fingers picking at a little piece of lint on the edge of your dress. “Christmas, birthdays, Easter didn’t matter. If gifts were being given, it was at the top of my list. Every year I’d be running to the tree and picking up presents, looking for one big enough. It’s a running joke with my friends that I’d marry the first man to give me a puppy for Christmas.”

A brisk laugh escaped him, his lips pulled into a charming smile that had nervous butterflies leap up in your chest. “A puppy for Christmas,” he rumbled thoughtfully. “I’ll have to remember that.”

The response made goosebumps prickle along your skin and you held back a shiver, wetting your suddenly dry lips, “What about you?”

“What about me?”

“What’s a gift you always wanted but didn’t get,” you paused briefly a coy smile stretching your lips.

His smile turned into a smirk as he once again leaned back in his chair, blue eyes darting back and forth over your face as he thought about it. It was going well, your impish smile growing along with his own. That is until his smile began to fall, bright blue gaze darting a little more frantically over your face before he licked his lips and an unexpected tremor sounded in his voice, “I think, I think it was a sled.”

“A sled,” you asked, leaning forward a little in intrigue. “Like a big plastic one with the handles? Oh no, I got it you’re definitely an inflatable snow tube kind of guy.”

A balk of laughter sounded from him, making hidden laugh lines appear at the corner of his eyes as they brightened with your playful banter. “Nah,” he exclaimed, waving a hand. “More like a wood and metal one. It had bright red skis and a wooden seat top. That sled was all I wanted as a kid.”

An amused giggle slipped from you, “I had a wagon kind of like that as a kid, it was a radio flyer.”

His fingers snapped as he pointed at you with a little bit of excitement, “That’s it! A Radio Flyer sled, with a rope handle and foot steering bar. Though I don’t think I’d ever get one now. I’m a little too old to go sledding down a hill.”

“Age is all about perspective.”

He snorted, “Tell that to my driver's license.”

Genuine laughter bubbled up from inside of you as you leaned forward in your seat, a teasing retort on your lips. Before you could speak, Mellony rang her little handbell and people began to switch places again. But your blue-eyed stranger lingered at your table.

“Talk to you again?”

He sounded, hopeful. “Yeah,” you croaked out pathetically. “Talk to you again.”

You watched as he stood from your table and made his way across the room to his next table while another man took his place at your own. A feeling of disappointment swelled as you lost sight of him in the crowd of people, the feeling intensifying as this new man briefly introduced themselves before launching into a long Tinder-level introduction.

Two more men sat at your table, barely holding your interest outside of normal pleasantries before Mel rang her handbell in rapid succession. “Alright everyone that’s the first round,” she called from her place at the podium. “We’re going to break for thirty minutes. There are hors d'oeuvres and refreshments at the bar. Please feel free to mingle!”

The room of people began to stand and mill around as an uproar of chatter began. Your eyes picked out a couple of men from your group, pairing up with others and heading to the bar. Cordial smiles turned into pleasant touches and sweetheart eyes as they went.

The Cupids Bow Dating Event was a success and you couldn’t help but feel the swell of pride for your friend.

“Hey, Sourpuss,” Melody greeted, looping her arm through yours. “You having fun yet?”

Your mind drifted back to your blue-eyed stranger, “A little.”

“Well, I don’t know if you know this. But the point of speed dating is to, you know, find a date. I was watching you, and you gotta talk to more than one person,” she sassed.

Your mouth turned down to a frown for a brief moment, “I talked to someone.”

“Oh yeah? What was his name.”

Your mouth opened and closed a couple of times as you realized quickly you’d never even got Mr. Blue-Eyes name, “Shit.”

“What?”

“I didn’t even get Mr. Blue-Eyes name!”

“It’s Bucky.”

Turning around there stood Mr. Blue-Eyes himself, err… you meant Bucky. There was no doubt your embarrassment showed on your face, but the little nervous laugh that slipped out sealed the deal.

Bucky smiled at you, “That is if it’s me you were talking about?”

Wetting your lips you shifted, suddenly nervous before meeting friendly blue eyes, “Yeah,” you squeaked before clearing your throat. “I mean, yes. I’m sorry I missed your name when we talked.”

He was nodding for a brief moment, his eyes darting over towards the bar before taking a few steps closer to you and leaning down. “There’s a restaurant down the street. They’ve got pretty good sushi. You want to get the hell out of here?”

“Oh, my god yes!” The tips of your ears felt hot as you wished the ground would open up and swallow you whole but Bucky didn’t seem to notice your embarrassment. Instead, he offered up his right arm and you looped yours into it without hesitation.

Melody’s brow shot up out of surprise, “B-but that was only the first round! There are still two more.”

“I don’t think we need a round two,” Bucky said, the same charming smile pulling at the corner of his mouth and making his eyes crinkle.

“Yeah,” you laughed, in a teasing tone. “This round just might go to Cupid after all.”

Three years later.

Lights twinkled in the living room of your apartment, it was god awful early and you’d carefully planned today. Christmas day and you’d been waiting for this moment for two years now. Quickly and quietly you snuck out of the bedroom where Bucky lay wrapped up in the blankets and made your way to the front closet.

It was hard being sneaky when your boyfriend was a super spy. But after a lot of careful planning, misdirections, and a lot of help from Sam, you’d managed to do it and Bucky was none the wiser.

Tiptoeing towards the hall closet that Bucky never used you opened the squeaky hinged door in just the way so it made no noise. Reaching blindly into the black of the closet you felt around, past the dozen unused coats, jackets, scarves, and hats your hand met the back of the closet wall. Sliding quietly until your fingers brushed the cold metal you were looking for.

Jackpot.

Fingers wrapped around your prize as you gave a firm but gentle tug. A pristine, adult-sized, bright red and creamy wood seat Flex Flyer sled emerged complete with an enormous red bow.

Stifling a giggle you set it down.

“What are you doing?”

A shriek tore out of your throat as you jumped what felt like twenty feet in the air.

“James Barnes,” you scolded, heart beating a million miles an hour. “What have I said about sneaking up on me?”

“You were being sneaky first,” he said, brows drawn together as he tried to look around you. “What you hiding doll face?”

“Nothing!” You lied, spreading your arms and legs to hide your surprise gift.

It was at that moment you heard the vibration from Bucky’s phone clutched in his hand, the man tried to not look sheepish as he not so covertly pressed the silence button.

Suspicion immediately filled you, “Bucky? What are you doing?”

“What are you doing?” He shot back, his brow knits in suspicion.

It was a standoff.

The two of you staring each other down in the dark of the hallway in your matching Christmas pajamas. Someone knocking on the front door startled you both before Bucky cursed under his breath, pointing at you, “Don’t follow me.”

His instruction surprised you as he brushed past you in the small hallway. You scoffed under your breath, “You’re in your PJ’s Buck, how far are you going?”

Bucky paused before going around the corner, “I mean it.” There was another soft but hurried knock and he cursed before disappearing.

A tisk of disapproval escaped you, but urgency filled your movements the second he was out of sight. Hands shaking slightly you hurried, pulling the sled out from the closet with as much silence as you could muster before dashing the Christmas tree. Stuffing the sled behind the tree, a few bulbs swinging back and forth as you fumbled to fluff the crumpled bow on Bucky’s surprise.

A cacophony of hushed grumbles and whispers came from the front door, you could have sworn you heard Sam as the door closed with a thunk and the lock turned. In a matter of seconds Bucky was coming around the corner again, an enormous gold box gripped in his hands affixed with a brilliant glittering green bow.

It was clear that Bucky didn’t see you immediately as he juggled the wobbly box and tried to remain quiet as he did so.

“Whatcha, got there?”

Bucky startled, socked feet skidding to a halt just at the corner of the couch as the box wobbled in his hands again. Frustrated and accusatory blue eyes narrowed, “What are you doing in here?” He asked in a hushed whisper.

“What are you doing in here?”

“You better not be shaking presents.”

“Please,” you scoffed. “I’ll have you know I haven’t shaken a present since I was ten. What’s in the box, Jamie?”

Bucky flinched a little, his one weakness was when you called him Jamie. His shoulders sagged a little as his grip on the box tightened, “This was supposed to be a surprise.”

“Oh I’m surprised,” you said with a laugh. The mantle clock began to ding for the early morning hour. Five AM came so early now. “Do you want to open our gifts now?”

Bucky pursed his lips, body jerking as the box tried to throw itself from his hands. “I think now is best.”

Butterflies fluttered in your stomach at the prospect of what the box could contain. But your eyes flitted over to the space behind the tree where you’d stuffed Bucky’s surprise and the anxious feeling grew tenfold as you thought about the question you were going to ask him once he’d seen it.

Clearing his throat Bucky nodded towards the Christmas tree and the traditional present opening space. Dutifully you sat down in the chair, eyes darting over behind the tree to where your gift sat. “Um, mine's not wrapped.”

“That’s alright,” he said, setting the box at your feet as it rattled all on its own now that it was on the floor. “Where is mine and we’ll do them on the count of three.”

“Alright,” you agreed, fingers tapping the edges of your box. “Yours is behind the tree.”

You saw his eyes dart over to the tree and then back down to you, “On three.”

“Alright,” you agreed, fingers poised to rip at the bow on top of the gift. “One.”

“Two,” Bucky echoed, taking a step closer to the tree.

“Three!”

Your fingers began tearing at the bow on top of the gift box as it rattled against the floor. Pushing back the loose gold paper and terrible tape job before, POP!

Two of the most adorable brown eyes you’d ever seen stared up at you. You were stunned for a moment, staring down at the cutest little paws and wet nose you’d ever laid your eyes on.

“OHMYGODAPUPPY!!”

The shrieking sob spilled past your lips as you pulled the squirming pup into your arms, its tiny tongue licking and sniffing all over your face and mouth. Tears spilled from your eyes as the little bundle in your arms wiggled, squirmed, and kissed your face everywhere; its bottom wiggling so much they tumbled out of your arms and into your lap.

“Oh my god,” you blubbered, holding the precious little one to you. “Bucky! He’s so cute. Oh, it’s a she. She’s so cute, James. Oh god! Oh my god, I love her so much. I can't—I can’t believe this! This is real right? Do I get to keep her? Bucky?”

Looking up Bucky was angled away from you, the lights of the Christmas tree gleaming off of his arm as he held onto his new sled. His fingers found the tag as he stared at it in the dim lighting.

He sniffled briefly before he began to read, “Roses are red, violets are blue, do me the—the honor—the honor of spending my life with you?”

Teary blue eyes turned towards you as you held the squirming puppy in your arms. “Doll,” he squeaked out with a sniffle as a few tears began to slip. “You…”

Looking up at him from your seat you reached into the side table drawer pulled out a distinctive black ring box and opened it. Inside, a single simple gold band that had Bucky’s breath catching.

“Will you,” you croaked out, clearing your throat a little more and juggling your new bundle of joy in your arms. “Will you marry me, James Buchanan Barns?”

A laugh escaped Bucky as he lowered the sled to the floor, and then himself. Bucky knelt before you, down on one knee, and reached forward towards the little puppy squirming in your arms. His fingers brushed against a tiny piece of string attached to the bow, you’d missed it but he lifted the dangling object for your inspection. A beautiful golden ring with what had to be the most enormous diamond you’d ever seen.

Your shocked watery gaze met Bucky’s impossibly blue eyes, “Only if you say yes too.”

The puppy leaped down from your lap, content to explore their new apartment as you slid down and onto Bucky’s lap. Arms wrapping around his shoulders and kissing him harder than you ever had before. Warmth blossomed in your chest as Bucky’s lips parted briefly with a light moan, kissing one another with dizzying urgency.

Gasping for air the two of you parted briefly, planting pecking kisses against one another lips.

“Is that a yes,” he husked, his hands sliding up and down your back.

“Yes, it’s a yes, Jamie.”

Grinning up at you, Bucky cradled you against him, “I didn’t know if you’d say yes.”

“Of course I’d say yes,” you whispered, holding onto him tightly. “After all, you did get me that puppy I’ve always wanted.”

A laugh escaped Bucky as he held you tightly and buried his face against your chest, his shoulders shaking in what could only be a relief, “Fuck, I love you so much.”

“I love you too, Blue-Eyes.”

END

#bucky barnes x you #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barns x reader #bucky barns x y/n #bucky barns fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #mcu #TFWS #winter soldier #avengers #bucky barnes #marvel

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yongbokology · 1 year

Text

part dos of ‘don’t accidentally beat your dick to your best friend’

part one

black coded reader <3

warnings; smut

an: you asked, i delivered 🧞‍♀️

eren is a mess. a complete utter mess.

after realizing he’s been jerking it to you for the past few months, he becomes a nervous wreck around. oh it was bad.

his first encounter with you after the realization, literally happens the day after.

you were running late for work and your car was currently in the shop so you sent a rather urgent text to him with multiple crying emojis, asking him to take you to work.

without even seeing the message, he begins to panic just seeing your name pop up.

did you somehow use your woman tuition and found out he was fucking himself to you? it plagued eren’s mind for a few seconds, his hands clammy as he grasps his phone.

he lets out a sigh of relief once he reads the message and instantly responds.

‘yeah ofc, see u in a bit’

‘thx ren, you’re the best!’

oh eren feels like shit.

he felt like a pervert. like he wasn’t supposed to see you in your nakedness, pleasuring yourself for thousands to see.

“.. ren, are you okay? you’re awfully quiet today.. i’m sorry if you were busy-”

he immediately shakes his head “no! i wasn’t doing anything. i don’t mind at all.. just a bit distracted is all.” he clears his throat, eyes fixated on the road. not sparing you a single glance.

you stare at the side of his face, picking him apart in your brain. all these years the two of you had the pleasure of knowing each other, you knew eren’s mannerisms, his nervous ticks and more.

something was definitely up.

…

“god not this again. connie could you maybe not be so open about the porn you indulge in.” reiner is fed up with the porn talk, just trying to enjoy this sunday afternoon with his friends.

“okay but bro i’m telling you, this girl is fire. i’d def buy her only fans if she had one.”

eren isn’t too interested in the conversation. his head’s in the clouds. lately he’s been fantasizing about you. a lot actually.

breaking you in half. fucking your brains out in every setting possible. this was new to say the least. before, eren hadn’t had such thoughts about you.

i mean yeah he did sometimes think about what it’d be like if the two of you were together. would the two of you be good partners as you are friends? but he never thought about you in such obscene ways.

it is this next part that has eren almost falling out of his chair.

“[your user]. never heard of her?”

both jean and reiner shake their heads.

eren on the other hand feels his skin run cold, eyes bulging out his head at the username. it was your username.

connie is now pulling out his phone and eren quickly catches on that he is about to pull up your page. with frantic eyes and haste, eren waits for connie to unlock his phone and in the split second that connie rotated his screen towards the three men, eren yanks it from his grasp and dramatically let’s connie’s phone fall face down on the concrete.

“yo what the fuck man?!” connie yells, mouth ajar as he looks between eren and his phone that is definitely not working when he picks it up.

“i-i um. i’m sorry.. it slipped..”

both reiner and jean silently blink, throwing glances at each other.

“oh it fucking slipped? my five year old nephew could put on a better fucking performance.”

“i’m really sorry man. i get paid tomorrow, i’ll pay for it. i swear.”

…

“i really needed this, thanks for hanging out with me ren. karina has been more bitchy than usual.” it was no secret you hated your boss. you often ranted about her to eren, so much so that he hated her as well and doesn’t even know what she looks like.

“of course. you want some more popcorn? bowl’s almost empty.”

you nod and eren gets up from his spot on his bed and retreats to the kitchen to refill the bowl.

you shift your eyes to the tv, ‘bad boys’ currently at it’s thirty minute mark.

you feel a buzz under your butt.

with furrowed brows you shift and pull out eren’s phone that you had no idea you were sitting on.

his phone screen comes to life, him and armin in the background of the notifications that fill the screen.

there were a few from twitter and growing curious as to what eren’s twitter feed looked liked, you unlocked his phone and hit refresh.

your jaw unhinges when you pop up on his screen. fingers knuckle deep in your cunt.

you’re in shock like you literally didn’t film this a few hours ago and hit post. you just weren’t expecting to see yourself on your best friend’s timeline.

you stare at yourself, at first unsure how to react to this knowledge but then the thought of eren touching himself to you skates across your mind and suddenly you’re clenching your thighs, bottom lip caught between your teeth.

the thought arouses you.

eren comes back with the bowl filled to the brim and his smile is wiped off his face once he sees his phone in your hands.

“eren,” you start. your voice is low but sweet. “is there something you want to tell me?”

he sucks in a breath, pupils shaking as you lay the phone on the bed. he sees what you were looking at clear as day.

“y/n.. i-i can explain.”

your plump lips turn upwards into a grin. mischief writes all over them.

“come here.”

it’s a command that has him hesitantly obeying.

he sits down on the bed, farther than where he originally was.

you sigh and close the proximity by climbing into lap, the popcorn bowl being discarded to the side.

eren feels hell fire creeping up his neck. his mouth his dry and he can suddenly hear the thrumming of his blood.

“how many times have you fucked yourself to me. hm?”

his lips tremble. “a few times..” it almost comes out as a mumble.

your smirk widens at his blatant lie.

“oh eren, you and i both know that’s not true.”

you push him until his back is flat on the bed, your thighs on either side of his hips. you splay your hands on his chest and fully plant your clothes pussy on his crotch.

he could literally just cum right then and there.

“you know what i hate more than liars?”

once eren realizes you actually want him to respond he shakes his head.

you lean forward until your lips are grazing against his ear. your tits mushed against his chest.

“i hate disobedient boys,” you lean back up and eren looks dazed. aware but dazed. “are you a disobedient boy eren?”

…

needless to say, he’s not. he listens to your every command which is why he was currently whimpering, hands pressed against his chest, trying his very best not to touch you.

your mouth works wonders on his cock, it weeps in all it’s 8inch glory, precum finding it’s way onto your tongue.

you pull him out of your mouth with a lewd ‘pop’, eyeing eren as you pump his aching length. “you close?”

tears form in eren’s eyes. everything feels fuzzy. his brain is scattered but he still manages to give a slight nod. he looked so fucked out and god what a sight it was.

“you gonna cum for me pretty boy?”

the nickname makes eren whine.

“eren, answer me or you don’t get to cum.” you grit, your free hand taking hold on his throat, clenching your dainty yet powerful fingers around it.

“y-yes! yes. m’gonna c-cum.” he chokes out. his pupils becoming dilated as you speed up your hand around his cock.

you smile at this. “i want you to come in my mouth ‘kay? and you can touch me now.” your mouth is instantly on his cock after finishing your sentence.

eren props himself up on his elbows, the iron grip you still have on his neck combined with you sucking the everlasting life out of him has eren cumming in no time with a cracked moan.

“fuh-fuckkk.” tears are streaming down his face now, jaw unhinged as you lap up the messy head on his cock.

“got anymore for me?” you don’t expect him to answer, instead you squeeze on his balls and one last spurt of cum falls onto your shiny lips.

this has eren falling back flat on his back, panting heavily like he’d just finished running a marathon.

you lick at your lips and hum at the taste of him. salty, as expected but not overbearing.

“you did so good for me ren.” you smile, crawling up beside him. resting a hand on his naked chest.

eren lazily turns his head towards you, his cheeks tear stained. he looks utterly broken and it ignites something within you.

“this stays between us ‘kay?” he nods slowly at that, too tired to speak.

what in the world did he just get himself into?

tag list: @hellavile @animeloverzx @starlightmid @gobblethiskitty

#eren jaeger #eren x reiner #eren x black reader #black coded reader #aot x black reader #aot #shingeki no kyojin #levi x reader #jean x reader #armin x reader #reiner x reader #aot smut #porco galliard

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tteokdoroki · 1 year

Text

𑊡˚+₊🍼✦ — yakuza!bakugou + katsuki bakugou.

૮ ͈>◡< ͈ა warnings — angst, fluff, sfw. bakugou leaves the yakuza for you and it hurts for him to realise how much he loves you. gn!reader.

katsuki bakugou never grovels. he never cries.

he can’t remember the last time he felt tears in his eyes. it must’ve been back when he was a kid, when his parents kicked him out and put him on the street— when the adults in his life failed him time and time again or when he’d gone so long without food he could barely lift a finger let alone keep his eyes open.

“i need an out, boss.” bakugou fights back a sob, head bowed so low that his chest feels tight and blood rushes to the top of his skull. his blood red eyes sting like they’ve been doused with acid rain, his lips quiver faster than he can keep up with— katsuki can’t remember the last time he cried and begged for mercy like this. “can’t go on like this.”

he feels pathetic, more than he ever has in his entire life. much worse than when his boss had taken him into the family, beaten some sense into him and taken a chance on a ruthless kid that ruled the streets with nothing but murder on his mind.

“and why’s that, first lieutenant?” jeanist, the head of the family and the closest thing the blonde has to an old man, asks— seated across from him on the tatami flooring, swaddled in his robes.

katsuki hates this feeling of pain that lodges itself in his chest and blossoms like the sakura trees representing his yakuza family crest. the pain of having to choose what he knows and loves and the love that the future holds for him. he’s not felt pain like this in a long time— emotional, mental pain. physically…he’s been through a lot worse, taken had metal pipes to the head and ribs, stab wounds and bullet wounds galore too. heck, even the yakuza tattoos bound to his wrists ( that seem more like shackles more and more each day ) hurt a fuck tonne.

but nothing is more agonising than seeing the emotional pain katsuki’s inflicted on you.

his knuckles turn white as he grips the fabric covering his knees— grinding his teeth, holding his breath, willing himself not to fucking cry. “i finally got somethin’— someone— damn worth livin’ for,” katsuki spits out, shifting the words around underneath his tongue. bitter and thick as if he’s swallowed a cap full of bleach. “they need me. beg me to come home in one piece. cry when ‘m cut up and bruised, harder when my knuckles bleed.”

“you’re in love,” the old man whispers from in front of him, wistful and wise. katsuki doesn’t speak for a while, he doesn’t have the strength to deny it.

because it’s true, he loves you more than he loves the thrill— the rush of being alive, being a part of this family where no tomorrow is guaranteed. he loves you more and hates the part of him that came home to you beaten and bruised, a bloody pulp so selfishly asking for your help because your hands were soft and you spoke to him softer. katsuki hadn’t seen the tears in your eyes back then, he hadn’t known how much he was hurting you. but when you ask him to make a choice between his family, the yakuza and yourself…

well, the answer is simple. the answer is always you.

“i’m in love,” katsuki repeats, admitting the truth. to his boss and to himself. he’s always known that he loved you, as clear as day, as true as fact— you make cherry blossoms bloom in his chest when his heart stops just from seeing you. you make his world come to a stop just by looking at him— is if you’ve stopped it’s rotation just so he could spend a little extra time with you. katsuki would die for you, but you’d want him to live for you instead.

and he wants to live for you too, wants to live to see you smile.

“i need an out, boss, please just give me a way out,” bakugou sucks back a sob, breathing uneven and shaky. “i need ya to let me go so i can protect ‘em better, be there for them. put a ring on their finger and keep them safe.”

best jeanist let’s a hand fall to straw blonde locks, patting the lieutenant on the head affectionately. “you’ve done a lot for this family, katsuki. i can’t ask you to stay when all you’ve done is put your life on the line for us.” he says, fond of the boy he raised and the man that he’s become. “be free, look after them. they’re your family now.”

katsuki lets out a relieved, strangled breath of thanks and best jeanist hums.

katsuki bakugou never grovels, he never cries but tonight he does. because when it comes to you his emotions are uncontrollable, strewn all about the place.

even the strongest, most dangerous men fall— and it just so happens that katsuki bakugou, a member of the yakuza, had fallen for you.

#bakugou x reader #bakugou x you #bakugou fluff #bakugou imagine #bakugou drabble #mha x reader #bnha x reader #bakugo x reader #bnha fluff #bnha imagines #✧ ₊˚੭ — writing #tteokdoroki #✧ ₊˚💭੭ — aali just posted

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mr2swap · 2 months

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The great shift: Swap Sindrome 1

In a dimly lit room, I was masturbating with my fingertips in front of a pale white monitor. As I watched the images of boys around the age of high school students lined up on the screen, I fantasized about taking off their clothes and touching their naked bodies.

-ahh, ahh… ahh-

I closed my eyes as I fantasized about the scenes that were still etched in my memory, the memories of my body and my Gymbros in the locker room flooded my mind, At this moment there was nothing erotic about looking at my best friends or touching their oily and muscles to feel The Progress we had made in the gym, but now it was different, I was different.

I continued looking at the photographs that were shown on the Instagram profiles of my former friends, while the desperation and excitement with which I moved My small cock increased more and more.

I kept changing the photos until a photograph of my old body was displayed on the entire screen. I enlarged the photograph just so I could rotate the most erotic parts of my old body. I focused my gaze on the armpits that still had a couple of drops of stinky and sticky sweat running down towards my abdomen.

-FUUUCK! What I wouldn't give to smell those musky holes again-

The shameful and perverted words that came out of my mouth really embarrassed me, but right now I had no control over myself the only thing I wanted was to fantasize about my old hairy armpits, lick his hard biceps and play with his grazed nipples, The memory of the last time I could smell a sweaty t-shirt from my original body made me ejaculate violently, the semen spread across the keyboard of the old computer that was in front of me.

At that moment my head cleared, from one moment to the next the animal instincts that dominated me a few seconds ago immediately disappeared... and then only remorse.

I took a piece of paper that was within my reach and began to clean up the mess that I had caused myself. When I finished cleaning my little cock, I threw the ball of paper into the trash can that was saturated with balls identical to that one in a yellowish color. And they left a disgusting smell in my room.

I stood up, pulled up my pants and slowly walked towards the kitchen, avoiding looking at my fat old face on the relevant surfaces that were in my messy apartment. After doing this, I feel disgusting, but no matter how hard I try to stop thinking about my old life and in my old body.

-The swap syndrome…-

I said quietly trying to justify my depraved obsession with my old life, I had all the symptoms I had read on the internet:

“ Swap syndrome is a disorder characterized by a persistent and overwhelming obsession with a person's past life after experiencing a body swap with another. This syndrome manifests itself when two individuals involuntarily exchange their bodies thanks to the event known as “The great shift.”

People affected by SS experience intense longing and nostalgia for their previous life. They feel a deep disconnection from their new body and struggle to adapt to their new physical identity. Meanwhile, they constantly long to return to their old lives, including their relationships, daily routines, and everyday activities.

Symptoms of SS may include episodes of obsessional love, masturbation, anxiety, depression, and dissociation, as well as a decrease in social and occupational functioning. Affected people may manifest compulsive behaviors related to the search for ways to reverse the body exchange and recover their previous life.“

I've been trapped in the body of this overweight middle-aged man named Hiroshi for two years, and one day I just woke up in a room full of trash and on the other side of the world. It had been a few hours since all this had started So it was easy I searched what was happening on the internet I tried to contact my parents, but none of them responded to me even now I haven't seen my parents after so long, maybe they have They've gotten better bodies and now they're having fun. Or maybe they're in one of the many prisons trapped in the body of some convict, I don't know...

At least they can put me in contact with the Old Hiroshi who was now on the beach in Miami enjoying that new teenage body. At first, we wrote to each other every day, trying to go unnoticed among all the chaos of the world. I had to eat. So I decided. Not to tell anyone that he was actually a 16-year-old American teenager instead of a Japanese man my father's age.

The real Hiroshi helped me adjust to my new life, while I naively believed that this was something that would be resolved in a couple of days. But over time I got used to my new job in a restaurant as a dishwasher, I didn't understand the language very well. , but he didn't need it, the real Hiroshi was a quiet and submissive guy, Very different from what the real Hiroshi is like in his new life, as a popular teenager. That he spends his afternoons tanning on the beach and flirting with beautiful girls.

I used to talk to the real Hiroshi every day, but over time he took longer to respond to the messages, then to look at them and just not respond and over time he started ignoring my calls, now the only thing I know is because of the photographs I uploads to Instagram and social networks of my former friends, I didn't dare tell them the truth, that their former friend was now trapped in the body of a 45 year old obese loser…

I've been saving everything I can to be able to travel back to America and reunite with my old life. Although the salary as a dishwasher is shit, it's better than nothing, but once I'm in front of my old body I don't know if I can control myself... look down and a tiny bulge formed again in my pants from just being in front of my old body.

-Shit….-

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#body swap #male body swap #bodyswap #male transformation #body switch #the great shift

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kenslilove · 8 months

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᯽⸱៰ ͘ ࣭⸰ 𖥔 ͙ࣳ BEEG BEEFY MEN—

A.N. this is a repost (wiff some much needed editing) from my old blog, plus i added in mister souf terano and mister miguel o'hara <33 they deserve to be in a post all about the biggest n the beefiest <3

FT. Bokuto, Taiju, Tengen, Toji, Osamu, Draken, South, Miguel

W. nsfw, MINORS DNI, fem bodied reader, size kink, manhandling, ptv, d/s dynamics, daddy kink, overstimulation, edging, implied age gap for toji’s part, mentions of creampie, slight exhibitionism for Osamu, drool, cute pet names like baby, princess, etc, titles used: daddy, papa, sir, papi

Bokuto:

Bokuto who works out 6 days a week and still runs on the 7th 😔 he’s always working on his muscles, making sure he’s physically fit and always up to par for volleyball. Iwaizumi keeps him on a strict workout regime and he doesn’t mind that, considering it shows results and makes him feel good. You honestly don’t mind the schedule either, because you get to watch him pump bars over his head, muscles contracting and rippling, sweat dripping in beads along his toned chest. He’s a god really, with a build like that, and your eyes can’t help but stayed glued to him. It’s only when he clears his throat that you realize you’ve been caught, cheeks suddenly starting to burn as you snap your eyes away from his abs and up to his face. That smug look of his doesn’t help your embarrassment, making you bite your lip sheepishly. “Enjoyin the view, birdy?” He asks through a grin, and you don’t bother lying, you’ve been caught away so you nod, heart doing a little flip in your chest when he holds a hand out to you. You don’t hesitate to go to his side, allowing his hand to guide your own over the plane of his abs. Your fingertips trace the defined muscles there, despite how they still contract and sweat and you sigh softly, pupils basically in little heart shapes when you look back up at him. “You look so good, Koutarou….”

He’s got you laid out flat on his workout bench, clothes were haphazardly thrown across the padded flooring. Your slips hang open in a silent cry as he looms over you again, chest pressed right up to your back as his cock bullies its way to the hilt back into your gummy walls. His groan right next to your ear is almost overwhelming, his body swallowing you up and taking over all your senses as his hips hump up against your ass, pushing and pulling his cock shallowly in and out of you. When you let out a hiccuping sigh against the leather of the bench he chuckles softly, teeth grazing against your ear. “Liked bein stuffed like this, huh baby? Wanna be stuffed with cum too, don’t you?” You nod because the words don’t form, becoming lost on your tongue and replaced with whines as soon as Bokuto starts rotating his hips. One thick arm manages to slip underneath you and his palm rests open on your tummy, uncaring of the sweat and slick that makes everything a little messier. “Cum f’me.” His words vibrate against your back, his index finger managing to find your clit to add a steady pressure to the pulsing bud. You would have jolted, but you’re trapped beneath him, so all you can do is let out a shaky sob. “Cum f’papa and I’ll give you exactly what you want~”

Taiju:

Taiju is a busy man, running his successful restaurant was a full-time job that took up a lot of his time. And yet despite this, he always made time for his baby. He’d take you along to special events, and business meetings, but especially to suit fittings. You were the one that made him rekindle his relationship with Mitsuya, knowing that he would be the best person for the job in terms of making a suit that would actually fit Taiju’s size and stature. You claimed you went to talk to Mitsuya, which may have been part of the reason, but Taiju knew why you went along to every fitting. You got to see him almost naked, arms outstretched and shoulder blades contracting as Mitsuya took his proper measurements. He watched you through the full-length mirrors that covered the studio walls. How you’d press your thighs together, squirming in the chair you sat in. How your eyes would get glossy when he’d slip the brand new suit jacket on, testing the fit and how it would look perfect on his frame. The best is when he’d pull the suit pants on for the first time and your eyes were literally glued to his butt, lip bitten between your lips almost swollen. Mitsuya would leave the room as Taiju undressed into his normal clothes, and it’s only then that he’d scoff softly, eyes a bit narrowed as he finally catches your attention. “You’re so obvious.” He states, only making you fiddle with the hem of your skirt a bit more as you try to play innocent. “Staring at me like a piece of meat. Bet your panties are soaked through.”

As soon as the two of you got back to your shared home he’d have you pinned against a wall. If you had it your way you would’ve done it in the car, but Taiju wanted to make you wait and teased you the whole drive. Reminder you that only whores get that hot and bothered so easily, held your thigh in his big hand cause he knew it made you melt seeing how he could so easily grip the fat there. He picked you up at this point, your skirt bunched up at your waist and your panties ripped clean off. His hands gripped harshly to the fat of thighs, holding you up against the wall with nothing but strength as he used the force of gravity to fuck up into you. The slap of his hips was wet from how much you were dribbling, his eyes wide and feral as he watched your head lull back against the wall, a bit of drool leaving your lips that were stuck hung in a silent scream. He grins, lips littering sloppy kisses along your neck, uncaring of the marks he left behind. “Pretty lil dumb thing…” he murmurs, grinding his hips so his cock could thoroughly stir your insides. “This is all you think about, isn’t it? Getting fucked open by my big cock?” That caught your attention, nodding your head as your nails leave crescents into his shoulder. You’re mumbling “yes sir, yes Taiju” as his speed suddenly picks up, loving the feeling of your breasts bouncing against his chest. “Such a good girl.”

Tengen:

Tengen knows he’s attractive, he has 4 wives who all adore him, of course, he’s attractive. He also knows very that he’s built like a god, with muscles that bulge just right, flex and make him look even better. Sure, he got this way from hard work and dedication, but it helps too that he’s naturally flashy, with a good style and personality to go with his looks. He knows that people watch him, he knows that people flirt with him, and rather openly. Most of his wives have gotten used to this, but you? You’re a little newer, can’t help but be a bit protective and a lil insecure when it comes to your partner. So when you see two women flirting with him at a festival, something like jealousy flames within your belly. You can’t even help the way you get upset, lips twisting into a pout. It’s when one of the random women has the audacity to put her hand onto his bicep, giving it a squeeze that you lose it. You cling onto him, basically prying him away from their grimy hands and sending them a death glare in the process. The girls got the memo instantly, slinking away with grumbles and pouts of their own. To make matters worse Tengen is oblivious to it all. He was used to this, people hitting on him, but you acting like this? “What’s wrong?” He asks, the amusement in his tone only making you ten times angrier. Rather than explaining yourself you flip him off, an action that only fuels him further to get an answer out of you.

Your back is trembling up against his chest, his fingers so lazily petting at your clit driving you absolutely wild but you can’t do anything about it. Your hands are trapped behind you between your bodies, bound by the silky material of the cord that usually holds his robe together. His cock somehow looks even bigger right now, stuffed within your quivering pussy and stretching it open. His base is covered already in a layer of your sheen that’s been steadily leaking out of you and yet he still hasn’t let you cum. You Yelp from the sudden impact of his finger tips against your swollen numb, fat tears finally spilling from your lashes and onto your hot cheeks. “Why would you ever need to be jealous, pretty? Ever?” He questions you again, fingers going back to slowly rolling your clit. You let out a soft sob, head lulling back into his broad chest as you try to buck your hips along his cock, only for his free hand to keep you firmly in place. “Don’t you know I picked you for a reason? Don’t you know I love you so, so much that I wanted you and only you to join me and the girls in our marriage?” His voice lowers as you start to flutter around his cock again, and his fingers start to speed up, finally. “Won’t ask ya again, tell me, do you know I love you?” You cry out, lips bitten swollen as you tilted your head back enough to meet his gaze. He flashes you a smile, the first one you’ve gotten since the start of this punishment and you whimper, nodding dumbly. “I-I know, I-I know daddy, m’sorry, was bein dumb—“ He shushes you with his lips, finally moving his hips. He bucks them up into you, making your whole body bounce in his lap from the sheer size difference. “Not dumb, never dumb darlin.. ya just forget sometimes…” The knot in your stomach finally snaps as he circles your clit, the squeeze of your pussy making his groan into your open mouth. “Just forget how perfect ya are f’me, that’s all.”

Toji:

Toji, big big Toji who knows very well that most ladies are attracted to him for his size. He likes to go for the little shy ones. The ones that stare at him with innocent eyes, look at him a little longer than they should and always manage to get caught. He’ll send you a wink, sometimes even wave playfully just to get you all the more embarrassed. His favourite type to go for though, as horrible as it is, are the girls his son is always bringing home. It’s a little fucked up, isn’t it? But Toji knows, knows that his son may try his best, but he can’t please a woman like he can, not yet anyway. So as his father, it’s his job to keep Megumi’s girls pleased when he can’t do so himself. He sees it as helping of course, surely the girl will stick with his son longer if she knows she’ll get a treat every time she comes over…

“Skirts shorter than usual…” Toji muses, his eyes lit up in amusement as his fingers brush over the soft pleats found the fabric. His hips are snapping back into your ass again just so your lips hang open, the start of a yelp about to escape had he not shoved the hem of the skirt between your lips. You muffle a whine into the material, fingers curling up against the wall you were currently pressed up against. “Musta wanted me to notice, isn’t that right dollface?” He says between a chuckle, grin getting bigger as he gets a better grip on your hips, making you stick your ass out a bit more and arch your back for him. This angle allows his cock head to smack into your cervix, kissing it with the tip and threatening and to break through. His balls are heavy as they slap against your skin, only adding to the lewd, wet slaps that echo from your cute pussy. He leans closer to your ear, whispering up against the soft flesh when you let out a string of sobs about how you’re gunna cum. “Yea? Gunna cum for daddy are ya?” He laughs when you nod, teeth sinking into your shoulder as one thick hand slides over your hips to tease on your clit, helping you reach your high faster. “Go on, make sure you’re loud enough that your boyfriend knows his daddy is fuckinh you this good.”

Osamu:

Osamu has always been the bulkier of the two twins. His muscles weren’t as lean as Atsumu’, even in their volleyball days. He was built bigger, shoulders more broad, the baby fat on his cheeks remaining longer. Now as an adult his muscles didn’t go away, oh no, he needs them to lift the heavy bags of rice to and from the restaurant, but he has certainly filled out. Shoulders spreading, biceps bulging. A light layer of fat forms over his chest, the muscles underneath just making him look bigger. The tshirts he always wears shows these off, and although he takes no mind to how his body has changed, you certainly have. It makes you drool, when his arms flex as he quickly cuts up vegetables, when he grunts as he lifts a rice bag on his shoulder. The best is when he ties his apron around him, Accentuating just how small his waist still is despite how he’s broadened out. He doesn’t even realize how attractive he is, honestly. You can’t even help yourself when you gawk at him at work, and you certainly can’t help how heat pools between your legs. He starts to really notice when you pout up at him, pretty legs rubbing together in the stool you sit at…

“Couldn’t even wait until we got home.” He’s grumbling his words against your lips, as if he’s not happy to have his tongue exploring every inch of your mouth. “Too fuckin spoiled too wait.” He added, his reprimanding turning into a grunt when your nails run through his hair, scratching lightly over his scalp just the way he likes it. He latches onto your lower lip, suckling it like his favourite treat as his big hands grab at your thighs. He tenderly squeezes the flesh he loves before gripping it, easily hauling you up onto the counter top he was previously making food on. He’s thankful you’re wearing a skirt today, because all it takes is one good tug and your panties are ripped clean off, exposing your dampened lower lips to him and making goosebumps rise on your lips. He clicks his tongue when you start to complain about how those were your favourite pair, one of his palms pressing into your tummy to easily push you back into the cold countertop. “Quit yer bitchin, I’ll get a new pair.” You were about to shoot back, but all your words get lost on your tongue when he spits onto your pussy, two thick fingers locked in and rubbing on your clit. A smirk twitches on his lips, shaking his head as he watches just how easily you come undone for him. He presses a kiss to your hip bone. “That’s it, be a good girl and take what you want, gunna fuck ya real good.”

Draken:

we all know I could go on for hours about draken 😔 I mean do you blame me? He’s huge, the biggest of all his friends in both height and build. He’s always been naturally big, the width of his shoulders sometimes making it hard for him to find proper attire that fits him comfortably. Hence why he settles for tank tops a lot, gives him more space to breath. Would never admit it out loud but he 100% is very aware when you’re checking him out and he LOVES it. Draken doesn’t like to flaunt himself but when you do it it’s different. Makes his cheeks heat up a bit and his cock twitch knowing how damn lucky he is to have someone as pretty as you obessed with him like that. So he’ll let you stare, whether it be while he’s working at the shop, working out, or simply when the two of you are out. He’ll let your eyes linger on him, sometimes he’ll even flex on purpose, holding back laughter when you suck in a sharper breath. He will tease you about it, sometimes of course cause he can’t even help himself. He’ll turn and smirk at you, “like what you see, princess?” Or “my eyes are up here, goofy.” But comments like that always leave you in a huff and he’ll have to chase you after to make up for it. Which is fine, but sometimes, he lets you linger, lets you really stare and get yourself worked up, cause that’s when you’ll pounce him. You have such little patience, and it’s so so amusing to your big boyfriend when you try to drag his ass around to get what you desire from him.

As soon as the two of you had returned home from your date you had dragged Draken to the couch, not even bothering to bring him to the bedroom because it had been far too long and you were craving him already. He had worn that tank top you love so much, with the low-cut arm holes that show off his toned sides and arms. You just couldn’t take it. You needed to have him. Which is how you ended up straddling his lap, needy whines leaving your lips as your fingers desperately tried to unbuckle his belt, simply settling for pawing at his crotch when you couldn’t seem to get it. He’s grinning, holding back little strings of laughter. “Eager huh?” Normally you would have snapped back at a comment like that, but when his fingers finally freed his cock, you simply sighed in contentment, licking your lips at how it stood at attention, leaking so pretty just for you to sit on. You had already discarded your bottoms, lifting yourself on your hunches and easing yourself easily onto his cock. The stretch was always mind-numbing, back arching and goosebumps forming on your thighs as you slowly worked your way over him. The little whimpers, whines, needy noises you made was a melody to Draken’s ears, his hands massaging the supple skin of your thighs as you moved at your own pace. He groaned softly when your pussy started to flutter around him already, your walls being stubborn as usual when first taking him in. “Fuck—“ he gritted out, pupils dilating when you looked at him with teary eyes, lips puffy as you huffed. “Help me, Ken, want all of you.” His hands slid from your thighs to your waist, bearing his teeth in an amused grin as he lifted you up with ease, just enough that his head sat between your walls. He didn’t hesitate when he slammed you back down on his cock, sheathing all the way on his cock, the knock of it up against your cervix making your breath leave you in a gasp. He doesn’t let up from there, using the bruising grip he has on your love handles to bounce you up and down on his cock. “So. Fucking. Needy— and you can’t even take what you want on your own? Really are just a dumb lil baby aren’t you, princess?” You’re sobbing from the brutal pace, head lulling onto his shoulder as he bounces you like you’re nothing. And to him, it’s a simple task, the pleasure of the pretty tight walls milking his cock only making it easier for him to manhandle you. “Fuck—“ he grins, planting his feet so his hips can fuck up into you, further jolting you along his cock. “You just sit pretty, daddy will do all the work—“

Miguel:

Oh Miguel. Mister broody, frustrated Miguel. This man is constantly under pressure, believing he’s carrying the weight of the spiderverse on his shoulders. And ofc he’s doing good (most of the time), but due to his tormented nature Miguel constantly has a weight on his already enormous shoulders. Sometimes he works it off with physical work outs, but his absolute favourite stress reliever is you and your pretty little body. He easy looms over you, has you pinned up against his monitor with both hands planted on it. He reminds Lyla that he’s about to be very busy, and the AI actually can’t help but feel a little bad for you because with all that tension and that 6’9 body…

“M-Miguel!” You squeak, the sound being easily drowned out by the sound of squelching. The wet slaps are emitting from your pussy, that Miguel still hasn’t been able to fit into. He’s worked four orgasms out of you already, two with his fingers and two with his mouth, and yet his cock still gets stuck in your tight, wet walls. He growls low in his throat, sharpened nails popping from his finger tips as he grips your hip even tighter, his other hand hoisting your pudgy thigh up even higher in an attempt at getting a better angle. “Cmon amor, lemme in, hm? Quit being so shy.” His tone is condescending and bordering stern as his hips buck again, another inch or two pushing past tight muscles and making your body jolt in the process. Tears sit fat in your lashes as you look over at him over your shoulder, lower lip wobbling and cheeks a bit bloated in a pout. “S’too big— s’not gunna fit—“ sympathy crosses his features only a moment. You were his baby after all, and despite how horribly he wanted to feel the fluttering of your walls around his whole cock, he also knew just how large he was, and how it wasn’t just a mere stretch. He was practically splitting you open. He bends, chest pressed right up against your back, and he coos against your lips, letting you peck and whimper against the soft flesh. “I know amor, I know corazoncito.. it’s so big.” He grips your jaw, pressing a kiss thats more firm against your lips as a means of grounding you. “But you’re gonna take it, hm? You’re gonna take the whole thing, because daddy’s telling you too.”

South:

MISTER SOUTH 7 FEET TALL TERANO‼️ oh this man is huge in every sense of the word. Bulging muscles, thick veins, huge calves. This man has to get his dress pants custom tailored to fit his legs I just know it! And the same can be said for his piano. We all saw that sketch of South’s room right? He has a grand piano! And baby, he had to get the piano adjusted slightly bc when he sat at it, he didn’t have enough space for his legs!! He’d want to tap down on the peddles and his knees would hit the poor piano! Once it was adjusted though, South played as much as he could. And luckily for him, his pretty little thing loved the sound of his piano just as much as he did. His favourite was when he had you laid across the piano, resting on your side, looking at him with those doe eyes and humming along to whatever tune he played. Yea, how was he supposed to resist?

The sweet melody had turned into something broken, keys slamming and screeching along with your cries of pleasure. “P-Papi!” South’s eyes were lit up with desire, thick hands holding your thighs up and leaving them trembling in the air. South wasn’t cornered with the way your ass was pressing into the keys, he was much more concerned with the way your sweet cunt looked swollen, stretched and splitting as he sheathed his cock within it for the nth time. His dick was coated in your milky white essence, a hefty ring of white frothing at his base and leaky onto the piano keys. Surely it would leave a puddle behind, one that dripped down sleek white keys and onto the black glossy piano legs. South made sure somewhere deep in his pleasure-filled mind he’d remember to take a picture of it. “Gata~” he purrs himself, easily manhandling over thighs over his shoulders. Your legs dangled there, only jolting with the force of his hips slapping up against your ass cheeks. “Taking Papi so well, Porra.. I’ll never get used to how perfect this cunt is, bela menina.” You nod and squeal in response because words can’t seem to form in your mind right now. No no, all you can think of right now is the sweet sting of his length stretching you open much past your limits. He leans down and peppers kisses along your sweet, hardened nipples, while his pace never lets up. He needs to have you squirting all over him and the piano. “Make a mess, pequeno amor, cmon, fazer uma bagunça…” His voice rumbles throughout your chest, and you don’t even realize you’ve reached the peek of euphoria until you soak his abs and the keys in your arousal <33

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sourcherryandsprinkles · 1 year

Note

Can you write something with caddie reader and Rafe going to the country club and booking her as caddie? thankss

Pardon my terrible golf knowledge...

my taglists are here + you can send requests here at any time

—

The written duty of a caddie-girl is to carry the golf bag for the golfer. Although it sounds like an easy job, you are required to have a little golf knowledge…and let your mini skirt do the rest as people who golf at the country club are mostly men.

They won’t mind if you give them the wrong club as long as you giggle when you make a mistake or wear a short enough skirt. It’s pretty degrading and objectifying for women, but rich men give nice tips.

‘’I’m so sorry, Jeff. My alarm didn’t go off and my car wouldn’t start,’’ you explained in a rush to your boss, out of breath from running to the country club. ‘’It won’t happen again, I promise.’’

‘’You’re an hour late, Miss. Y/L/N. Your 9am client is waiting.’’ Jeff raised his eyes from his computer screen, looking at you with disappointment.

Shit. You didn’t think you would have a client so early in the morning.

‘’He specifically requested you for caddie, so save your apologies and excuses for him.’’

It must be Mr. Barclay. You’ve seen him sitting at the country club’s bar two days ago, drinking an old fashioned with a fellow club member. He always requested you as caddie. He said you reminded him of his granddaughter. You didn’t know if you should be flattered or disgusted.

You quickly dropped your personal stuff in your locker and headed to the golf course while rehearsing your apology monologue. It wasn’t in your habits to be late. Hopefully Mr. Barclay will be understanding.

When you got to the course, you searched for a silver fox, but instead you found a tall young man with a snapback and white glove in his right hand.

‘’There you are!’’ he said in exasperation, slinging his golf bag over his shoulder and walking to you.

‘’Rafe?’’

He clicked his tongue and shook his head. ‘’It’s Mr. Cameron for you,’’ he corrected with a shit-eating grin on his stupidly handsome face.

‘’You’re my 9am client?’’

Rafe hummed, his eyes scanning your body and smiling smugly when he saw your small skirt and tight polo. It hugged your curves in all the right places. ‘’Bet you were expecting some rich daddy, uh? I’m sorry to disappoint you.’’ He leaned closer, speaking the next words low enough so only you would hear them. ‘’If you want, you can call me Daddy Rafe.’’

You choked on air. Today was going to be a long day.

‘’Driver, please?’’ Rafe requested, when you arrived at the teeing ground.

You fished the right club from the bag and handed it to Rafe. ‘’Here.’’

‘’Thanks, babydoll.’’ He took the club and moved up to line it with the ball, and swung, his muscles flexing.

You both watched as it flew over a hundred yards in the air. Not bad.

‘’Where’s Topper?’’ you asked. ‘’You usually play with him.’’

‘’Not today. I had other plans.’’ Rafe gave you the club back. ‘’Shall we go find the ball?’’

You spent the next two hours walking along the steep cliffs and hills of the country club's golf course, watching Rafe swinging golf balls and showing off. Unfortunately, you didn’t care much for the sport. You were more interested in staring at Rafe’s muscles flexing and admiring how great his ass looked in those dress shorts.

‘’Want to have a try?’’

‘’Are you sure? I’ve never played golf before.’’

‘’You can do the next tee. I’ll show you how.’’

‘’Golf is more technical than it looks. You don't just swing the ball and hope for the best. There's a lot of factors to think about — the stance, posture, ball placement, and rotation all have to be considered for the perfect swing.’’

‘’First, the grip. Put your left hand at the top of the club and your right hand below the left,’’ Rafe instructed.’’

‘’Good. Now, the position.’’ He situated himself behind you and you tried not to shiver as his hands slowly traveled down your arms until they positioned themselves to cover your own, grasping gently. You could feel goosebumps rise all over your body as you felt his steady breathing on your neck, looking over your shoulder with ease. ‘’Place your feet shoulder width apart and the ball should be inside the line of the big toe of your front foot.’’ He pushed your right heel out with his own foot. ‘’And you gotta bend your upper body from the knees and the knees slightly.’’

So many instructions.

You leaned forward a little while keeping your feet in the right place. ‘’Like that?’’ you asked, not sure if you were positioned correctly.

‘’Bend a bit more.’’ Rafe stepped back with a mischievous smirk, his warmth leaving your back. ‘’More. More.’’ You had a feeling that the position was wrong, but did as told. ‘’Perfect.’’ He swiped his tongue over his lips and hummed, admiring the perfect view of your ass.

‘’And now I swing?’’

‘’Not yet,’’ he said. ‘’I’m enjoying the view.’’

You straightened up immediately, catching what he was doing. ‘’Rafe!’’ you hissed with a glare over your shoulder.

He was laughing smugly. ‘’Can you blame me?’’

‘’Can you guide me again? I lost the position because of you.’’

This time, Rafe won’t make a fool of you. This time, he’ll be the one who gets played.

You took a deep breath as he moved to stand right behind you and resumed the same position he had you in previously. A soft breeze blew and you got a whiff of his expensive cologne. It reminded you of those mornings you had woken up in his bed at Tannyhill, wrapped in his sheets and covered in his scent.

Shaking that thought from your head. Focus.

‘’You’re picking up fast,’’ Rafe encouraged behind you.

‘’Do I?’’ you asked, purposely wiggling your hips against his pelvis.

You heard Rafe inhale sharply in response, his grip on your hands tightening. ‘’If you kept doing stuff like that, I might just have to take you right on the golf field.’’

Please do, you almost let slip.

At the next tee, you ran into Mr. Barclay and one of your co-worker. He was one of the newbies and seemed to be struggling with the golf bag.

‘’Mr. Barclay, hi,’’ you greeted politely. ‘’How’s the course today? We’ve made new additions this year.’’

The older man greeted you back with a smile, then began ranting about how his caddie wasn’t as good as you at the job. ‘’I asked for you at the caddie shack, but I was informed my favorite caddie-girl was already booked.’’

Rafe stepped in, faking an apologetic smile. ‘’That would be because of me. My apology.’’

Mr. Barclay stared you down like you were a piece of meat and then shifted his eyes to Rafe, giving him a ‘lucky you’ kind of look before leaving with his caddie.

‘’Are your other clients all old perverts like him?’’

Most. ‘’He gives me good tips,’’ you said in defense.

Rafe pulled out his wallet, then stared you right in the eyes as he stuffed a crumpled hundred dollar bill inside your bra. ‘’I do too.’’

—

OBX taglist: @moralina @eudximoniakr @toylewestinnyc @rottenstyx @sweeterheartxamerica @jordierama @viridwityy @izzy-laufeyson @kenzi-woycehoski @lilaconner @Katsukis1Wife @hawkegfs @mommyruuetrue @acornacreacure @snownjune @nmedina8611 @slvtherinseeker @slvtherinseeker @poppet05 @1stevelacyfan @illf4iry @withbeautyandrage @maybankslover

All and more taglist: @spiokybirdstarfish @kenqki @liidiaaag @hawkegfs @gillybear17 @areaderinlove @acornacreacure @black-rose-29 @fudge13 @cece05 @rosie-cameron

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron imagine #rafe outer banks #outerbanks rafe #rafe cameron x you #outer banks #outer banks imagine

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sweeneydino · 4 months

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*BIG INHALE* Hi! I’ve been rotating the Spikeangelo au in my brain for a while, and things might get incomprehensible real quick. Not all questions, some just comments... 90% of this is just musing as the train of thought jumps rails and causes massive casualties; no need to answer all if you chose to answer any.

1. The fact that Master Splinter lets Titan live with them BEFORE he knows that he’s a version of Mikey, even after the attempted murder… man will look at a mutated turtle, ask, “Is anyone going to adopt that?” and not wait for an answer.

2. In Turtle Temper, Splinter says, “Spike, chew on your leaf if you are in the mood for a story”. Ronin has a choice here: pest Raph by eating, or troll Splinter by not. What choice would he make?

3. It seems like during the Slash and Destroy episode, Titan already had his outfit. If so… where did he get the clothes? The little turtles don’t really wear anything (and their clothes would be much smaller), so unless Splinter has a secret goth wardrobe, the only thing I can think of is that Raph is Very Optimistic about how tall he’s going to get, and has stockpiled clothes accordingly.

4. A while back you mentioned Titan “chewing [Shredder] out” after Shredder kills Splinter during the Triceraton invasion. The image you drew made it look like a tirade, but the first thing that came to mind for me was… more along the lines of using Shredder as a dog toy.

5. You said that after Slash and Destroy, Titan hides for a while out of shame. When does he rejoin the others? Before the invasion, *during* the invasion, after? Does he join the farmhouse arc, or does he do as canon Slash does and defend NYC while the rest of the turtles are gone?

Ah... there's a very long part six that's just about the ghosts... I don't think I'll be bothering you with that today.

When I see these types of asks, I can never control the squeal that comes out of my mouth. I love detailed analyses about my aus

I also love completing things, so let's do them all!

1) Yep! Idk whats with the Splinters, but if it's turtle-shaped and needs a home, well say no more!

When Spike turned to Titan, Splinter already sensed something off with him, something more familiar than a family pet, but he would never figure out why until their lair is attacked by the kraang at the start of the invasion.

It's hard not to realize that your son's former pet knows moves (and shows a strange amount of wisdom) that you're 90% sure you never taught or shown to any of your sons.

I think he's still upset about the pizza. Or Raph's anger.

3)Dumpster diving?

I'll be honest, I forgot to write it down... So we will stick to this simple solution for now🗿

Okay, well... Shredder ALMOST became a dog toy. Let's just say that (this will totally not be a future comic)

5) He reunites with them after the newtralizer arc! After a little convincing ofc

When the invasion begins, he's with Splinter and Leatherhead, having defended their home and now searching for the turtles. They find Shredder after they exit the sewer, and Titan isn't too pleased to see the old bastard, attacking him in a rage once he hears about Leo's possible "demise."

Unfortunately, when he gains the upper hand, Titan is the one caught off guard and knocked into the machine, crushed by the pipes.

Before Shredder could really begin his usual evil monologue, he becomes distracted with Leatherhead, allowing Splinter to check on Titan and help him out of the pile of metal. Despite the likelihood of having a huge bruise on his ribs, he'd be fine. Even better if he could get rid of all their issues right there in front of him.

The one wrestling an alligator. And somehow winning.

And when he sees that devil in that all too familiar armor toss leatherhead into the pit, he's all too ready to kill him.

Yet he can't. Because He's not the only one wanting to prevent the past from happening again.

Splinter sends him away to find his sons, Titan's brothers - well, sorta - and even if he wants to bring Oroku Saki, the worse pain imaginable, he's more concerned if they are okay.

...

Okay, well, if the rest of them are okay

COUGH COUGH.

He'd find them, with him.

And uh. I think Leo's perfectly fine.

So when they decided to leave for April's farmhouse, he stayed in the city to search for Splinter and the other Mutanimals after leaving Leo with the others.

Maybe he sees himself as a burden.

Then the rest you make up on the way 👍 /j

This was very fun! Maybe I should just write paragraphs or smol little chapters with much more detail and flow🤔

Nah, I'll just draw.

Can't wait for the looooooooooonnngggg part six :D

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revasserium · 1 year

Text

dirty laundry

kageyama; 1,307 words; nsfw, so so nsfw pls dni if ur a minor, reverse cowgirl, jersey!kink, ali roma!kageyama

a/n: i have rotated the thought of kageyama with a jersey!kink in my mind a few more times.

“hah… please… harder…”

kageyama can’t breathe.

he can’t breathe for the sight of you, for the feeling of you (hot, and warm, and tight, and wet — god, so damn wet) dripping down his cock as you slowly pull yourself up, your thighs on either side of his legs, your ass plump, perfect in the palms of his hands —

you peer over your shoulder (that wonderful, kiss-bruised shoulder, your skin smooth and glistening with sweat —), a dark blush high in your cheeks, your eyes glazed over with want and kageyama thinks himself a lost man. the crumple number 9 emblazoned across the back of the jersey currently threatening to slip from your shoulders catches the street light as it streams in from the opened window.

“f-fuck —” kageyama nearly keens as you swirl your hips, his own kicking up into yours, nearly bouncing you off his cock as you hiccup, head tossing back. he digs his fingers into the flesh of your hips, hissing as he forces you back into a semi-coherent rhythm.

“th-there you go — that’s — that’s good —”

it shouldn’t be this hot — seeing you riding him in his old high school jersey, facing away from him towards the mirror propped at the foot of his bed, but then again, he’s always had a thing for you in his clothes. how the sleeves are always too long, how no matter what it is, it always seems to swallow you whole, how the knowledge of your body inside something that is so intrinsically his makes his stomach tense, his mind spin, his cock throb painfully. so painfully.

because it makes him think of being inside you — of fucking you silly with nothing but his jersey on, of pinning you beneath him, your hair splayed out over his sheets, of the color of your skin contrasted against the dark of the material, of his number printed along the ridges of your spine, marking you as his. just his.

“to-tobio — tobio —” your voice is a wreck from how hard he fucked your throat when he first got home to find you, stretched out on his bed, his old jacket slung over your shoulders like an afterthought. it’s cold, you’d said, smiling up at him, smiling that knowing smile because of course you knew. how could you not? how could you have imagined this night going any other direction, when you’d purposefully picked out this jersey of all his jerseys?

“t-turn around — i wan-wanna see you…” he whispers, pulling himself up to wrap his arms around your middle, to press his hands to your stomach, to feel himself pushing up into you, making you keen, your head lolling back onto his shoulders as his name breaks over your lips like prayer.

you’re soft and pliant in his arms as he slowly turns you around, you whining when he briefly pulls his cock from you, the sound making him smirk as he teases at your soaked folds, amusing himself briefly with the thought of edging you till you cry but —

“please tobio — please —”

tonight is not the night, so he nods, letting out a thick moan as he thrusts back into you with a single, fluid motion, letting his fingers dig into the meat of your thighs as he hoists them over his hips. your ankles lock at the base of his spin as you rut up against him, fingers scrabbling at his biceps, begging for more for harder for faster, faster, faster!

he feels your juices slicking down the front of his thighs as he fucks you and he resists the urge to pull out just to bury his face between your thighs for a taste.

“t-tobio — tobio! i-i’m so —”

“hm — ngh —” kageyama drops one hand to the mattress by your face, all coherence gone, stolen from him by the sight of you, so fucked out beneath him, so desperate for release, and yet so helpless to get there. he grins, a hungry, roguish thing as he leans down to press a sloppy kiss to your lips, licking into your mouth, swallowing down the little mewls and moans bubbling up the back of your throat. he feels your closeness, feels it in the way you clench around him, your entire body shuddering as he pounds into you, deep enough to be almost painful, deep enough for you to squirm beneath him even though you know that it’s a futile struggle.

he holds you close, pins you still, “s-so what, hm?”

and he’s not unaffected, you know he isn’t — how could he be? after all this, after the way he’d frozen in the doorway, the way he’d dropped his sports bag, crawled onto the bed and caged you in beneath him, kissed you with a vicious, mounting hunger behind his teeth. he doesn’t like to pretend, so he doesn’t.

“so f-full —”

he lets out a ragged gasp, buries his face in your shoulder as his hips jerk against you, forcing a hand between your bodies to thumb sloppily at your clit, his fingers sliding in the wetness gathered there, unable to find purchase.

“goddamnit — fuck — c-close —” he is breathless, mindless, his whole body buzzing with the pleasure, the warmth, the twist and burn of the familiar tightening coil, but he pulls back to look at you, to find your eyes in the darkness, framed by tear-stained lashes, your pupils blown wide and dark. he sees himself reflected there, sees the way you search his face for the same things he searches for in yours — for a thread, a grounding, anything to hold on to as he finally finds your clit and runs tight circles around it, making you keen in pleasure.

your head tips back, your body drawn taut as you come, and kageyama feels his own orgasm punch through him like a wave, crashing against the jagged edges of his crumbling desires. he groans, gasps, reaches for a breath he knows he will not find and latches onto your lips instead.

you kiss for what feels like centuries.

when you finally break apart, both of you are panting, your bodies more liquid than solid, your thoughts more breath than air. he rolls off you, pulling you into him all the closer, curling you into his chest even as you groan out something incoherent about being too sensitive, about all of this being a mess, about the sheets —

“fuck the sheets,” he murmurs into the back of your neck, unable to muster a full frown as you twist in his arms to face him, his jersey still somehow wrapped around your body, though now it resembles nothing more than very rumpled muffler, twisted around your middle.

“no, don’t fuck the sheets,” you say, crinkling your nose as you nuzzle into his chest, attempting to get comfortable without having to take the jacket off, “we don’t have time to do laundry tomorrow.”

“i could just fuck you again instead,” he says, though the sleepiness eating at his limbs says otherwise.

“do it tomorrow,” you say, your voice already drifting, and then, “i’ll pick a different jersey to wear.”

kageyama laughs, reaching down to tug the blankets up around you both, pressing a kiss into your hairline.

“do the olympic one — that ones nice.”

“why not your ali roma one?”

“cause…”

you pull back slightly to look at his face, and even in the dimness of his room, you can see the blush crawling up his cheeks.

“cause?”

you lean back in, tracing a finger along his lips even as he scowls, fully this time.

“i have a game tomorrow night and… we don’t have time to do laundry tomorrow.”

#kageyama tobio #kageyama tobio smut #haikyuu #haikyuu!!#haikyuu smut #haikyuu scenarios #kageyama tobio x reader #kageyama tobio scenarios #haikyuu imagines #kageyama x reader #ya nasties #haiCUTIES #yall;;;;;;;; this has been a ride. literally and figuratively #once again i prove to myself that i am not the best at writing smut but #i will do it anyways. for the love of jersey!kink kageyama

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sciderman · 3 months

Note

Gwen and Peter are that tacky home decor only a 45+ year old mother would buy that says “bless this mess”. Thank you for opening my eyes to Escape (the pina colada song) I’m a new man now

god bless.. i think the thing i'm so obsessed with with gwen and peter is how outwardly perfect they are and how – on paper, they're so perfect, and everyone can see how perfect they are – and everyone can see how much they love each other. and they know how much they love each other. and they make SO many efforts to make it work – gwen, doing everything she can to get peter out of his shell – peter, even going so far as to try suppressing his powers so he and gwen can live happily (it doesn't work out) - peter fully planning on proposing in attempts to hold onto gwen, despite definitely not being ready for that kind of commitment but knowing he'd do anything to hold onto gwen.

and peter and gwen both look at how perfect they are on paper and are so, so infuriated that it's not actually so perfect. that they're both hiding and peter's disappearing and gwen's confused and angry and spider-man's the enemy and just constant misunderstandings and moments of rotten luck that keep tripping them up from being perfect. always thinking about peter following gwen to england, and ultimately not even getting to be with her there because of stupid spider-man nonsense. peter is SO head over heels for gwen and gwen never gets to learn the extent of it. that peter DID freaking cross an ocean to be with her. but his idiot ass got roped into spider-man shenanigans again.

dramatic irony the couple... they want each other more than anything in the universe but their stupid dramatic asses keep tripping themselves up. i love them so, so much. kissing them.

i was rewatching across the spider-verse and lord knows i'm even rotating the alternate gwen and peter in my mind too

gwen and peter just across multiverses being drawn to each other but doomed to never actually know each other. shut up. lies down. wails to the sky.

#sci speaks

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lullabyes22-blog · 3 months

Text

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

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

Forward but Never Forget/XOXO

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

Snippet:

Caitlyn—

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

I've resigned from the Council.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Guess it's heartbreaks all around, huh?

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

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

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

Fondly,

Jayce

Cait—

Viktor's gone.

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

So is the Hexcore.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But I'm going to find out.

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

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

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

Warm regards,

Jayce

Caitlyn—

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

The Wardens found Viktor.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Something isn't adding up.

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

This is bad.

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

That's exactly what I think is happening.

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

I'm going to figure out how.

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

Be safe. I'll keep in touch.

Jayce

Cait—

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

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

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

I was speechless.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The meeting ended shortly afterwards.

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

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

I turned her down.

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

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

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

Especially not Viktor.

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

Jayce.

Cait—

This is going to be a quick one.

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

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

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

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

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

Jayce.

Caitlyn,

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

Viktor's staying in Zaun.

So is the Hexcore.

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

Then it all went to shit.

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

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

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

He needed to be confronted.

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

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

Silco smiled.

The bastard actually smiled.

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

His physician was Colin Reveck.

Singed.

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

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

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

By me.

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

He'd chosen Zaun.

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

Silco showed me a photo.

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

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

And they glow.

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

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

He'd become something inhuman.

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

Smiling like the Devil himself.

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

But it was.

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

Viktor is alive.

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

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

All of which are in collaboration with Singed.

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

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

It's all my fault.

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

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

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

Jayce.

Cait—

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mel agreed with Silco.

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

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

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

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

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

Then Silco dropped a bombshell.

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

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

I was shocked.

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

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

Cait, I'll admit it.

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

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

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

No drugs needed.

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

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

What about his ties to organized crime?

The Council dismissed my concerns.

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

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

I was disgusted.

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

Like he hadn't just gotten away with everything.

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

So I walked out.

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

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

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

The bastard smiled. He smiled at me.

Then he said, "Pet."

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

Cait...

It was Violet.

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

Like a soldier.

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

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

Then Silco said, "Drop him."

Violet obeyed.

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

He was calm. Collected. Completely at ease.

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

Cait, he knew.

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

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

He was taunting us both.

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

I told him to go fuck himself.

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

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

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

Total obedience.

Then Silco took her by the chin.

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

It made my skin crawl.

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

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

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

I'm sorry, Cait.

That's not the truth.

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

I was scared of Violet.

No—I was terrified.

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

Like a weapon waiting to open fire.

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

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

Just empty.

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

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

What the hell did Silco do to her?

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

Jayce

Cait—

I have news.

Big news.

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

It was from the Wardens.

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

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

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

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

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

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

For now, they've dropped charges.

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

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

It makes no sense.

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

I'd vouched for him.

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

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

But no Sky.

Where the hell did she go?

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

Then it hit me.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Cait, please—help me figure this out.

Your friend,

Jayce.

Cait,

I had a fight with Mel.

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

Here's what happened.

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

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

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

And, Gods help me, the sex.

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

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

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

I just wanted someone to talk to.

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

She was waiting for me.

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

Then—

Well, I think you know.

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

It took everything.

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

So very, very much.

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

I needed that. I needed her.

She felt the same.

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

Two people in love.

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

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

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

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

Like she was expecting it.

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

Then I asked her the question.

"Why didn't you fight?"

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

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

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

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

There was a long silence.

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

"Bullshit."

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

"Viktor. His name is Viktor."

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

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

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

"Then what are you saying?"

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

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

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

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

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

"He's a monster."

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

"At the cost of my best friend'."

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

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

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

"Worse for who? The Council?"

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

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

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

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

That's when she told me.

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

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

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

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

Or rather, her bone dust.

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

His, and no one else's.

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

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

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

I asked her if Silco knew.

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

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

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

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

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

She didn't finish.

She didn't need to.

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

And I'll be forced to testify.

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

It was just too much.

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

So much like... Silco.

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

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

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

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

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

About the future.

Cait, please help.

I'm lost.

Jayce

Jayce—

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

Your apartment is being watched.

Your office, too.

I know, because so is mine.

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

It's your freedom.

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

Jayce, this is serious.

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

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

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

Caitlyn

Caitlyn,

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

I need a favor.

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

I'll explain when I see you.

Jayce

Jayce,

I got in.

Here are the files.

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

Cait

Cait—

Thank you.

This is incredible. You're amazing.

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

There's more here than I expected.

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

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

Then Sky was killed.

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

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

She's going to see Viktor.

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

It has no cameras, remember.

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

Except it's not the camera.

Cait, I've seen that fluctuation before.

It's a Hex-field.

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

It's been activated.

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

But Sky never returns.

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

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

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

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

I've got to understand what happened.

Jayce

Cait—

It's a trap.

You were right.

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

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

I didn't care.

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

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

Then, I crossed the border.

Zaun's different now.

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

Things have changed.

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

It's almost... pleasant.

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

Like it was a holiday.

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

Cait, it's surreal.

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

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

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

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

Some of them, too friendly.

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

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

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

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

"Oh! The Machinist!"

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

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

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

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

A fresh coat of paint, if you will.

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

And Silco will be lauded as its liberator.

The irony.

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

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

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

There were runes, too.

Hex-runes.

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

I'd never seen anything like it.

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

It was Jinx's signature.

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

Or longer.

I felt a chill go down my spine.

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

And there was no telling what he had planned next.

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

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

Then I saw him.

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

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

Someone I barely recognized.

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

That's when I noticed his cane was different.

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

Just a weapon.

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

That was Viktor himself.

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

But it's not just his leg.

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

I know, because I watched him fire it.

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

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

The blackguard laughed.

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

Then he fell to his knees, groveling apologies.

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

I couldn't believe it.

He'd shot at a man.

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

He'd changed, Cait.

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

This man was nothing like that.

This man was... hard.

As if the softness had been drained from him.

Just like Violet.

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

Less human.

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

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

Except they're cold.

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

But the trailer was empty.

Viktor was alone.

Then I realized Viktor knew I was there.

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

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

Except it wasn't.

It was cold, too.

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

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

"I don't care."

"You should."

"I know what happened to Sky."

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

At the eerieness of it.

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

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

"Jayce, you don't understand."

"Then explain it to me."

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

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

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

Then I understood.

"Magic," I said.

He didn't answer.

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

Still he said nothing.

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

"Jayce—"

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

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

He kept on staring.

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

"What?"

"Prolong life."

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

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

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

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

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

"I was trying to extend life, Jayce!"

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

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

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

"Jayce—"

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

He gave a single jerky nod.

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

What he'd become.

"Where's her body?" I demanded.

"It's gone."

"Gone? Gone where?"

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

"It was consumed."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

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

"After?"

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

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

"Yes."

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

"Yes."

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

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

"Took her."

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

"You're saying the Hexcore absorbed her?"

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

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

It had been the Hexcore.

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

His head remained bowed.

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

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

"Before, what?"

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

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

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

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

"Yes."

"With Silco's blood money."

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

"What—?"

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

"That's not—"

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

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

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

"If you'd killed Sky—"

"You've killed too, Jayce."

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

It was the truth.

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

The fact is, I took a life.

And Viktor knew.

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

And now he did.

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

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

"Viktor," I began.

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

"Look, please, I—"

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

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

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

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

"I can. You cannot."

"Viktor—"

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

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

"You—you don't mean that."

"I do."

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

"I choose neither."

"But—HexCorp. Our research. Me. Us."

"I am sorry, Jayce."

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

Then it was gone.

His cane tapped, twice.

A heartbeat later, blackguards melted from the darkest corners.

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

Waiting for him to give the signal.

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

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

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

I'd played right into his hands.

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

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

"Viktor—"

"Take him."

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

A blow to the back of my skull.

The ground rose up, and slammed into my face.

The world went dark.

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

But, other than that, I was unharmed.

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

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

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

None of them came close to reality.

Mel was sitting inside.

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

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

But he hadn't.

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

During that time, I was forbidden from entering Zaun.

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

We rode in silence.

Cait—I've been such an idiot.

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

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

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

Gods, what an ass I've been.

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

I knew her better.

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

The guilt was suffocating.

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

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

I didn't.

Instead, I sat there. Staring at my shoes.

We pulled into her driveway.

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

Her tone was polite, but distant. Reserved.

I nodded. "Thanks."

"Jayce?"

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

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

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

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

I broke down.

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

I don't deserve her.

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

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

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

I didn't, though.

I kissed her.

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

Then I was kissing her.

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

"No, Jayce."

"Mel..."

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

"Mel, I..."

"Later," she said softly.

It wasn't a request.

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

Not because it was the wrong time.

Not because I was in shock.

Not because she was mad.

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

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

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

She's better off.

But not me.

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

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

I think it's time that boy grew up.

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

P.S.

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

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

For your support. Your honesty. Your friendship.

For everything.

Cait, you're the best.

Your friend, always,

Jayce

To Jayce Talis, Esq.

Sir,

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

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

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

Your arrogance knows no bounds.

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

No.

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

That is final.

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

I trust they will take the proper disciplinary actions.

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

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

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

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

Consider carefully.

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

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

Regards,

Sevika M.

P.S.

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

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

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

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evilwickedme · 11 months

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This wasn't asked for because nobody in their right mind would ask for this but this is a fic rec list of fics I cannot stop rereading

Just started yet another reread of Inimitable Verse by deniigiq and I fully plan on rereading their into the multiverse series which occasionally crosses over also - this is a Spider-Man/team red focused series, think comics canon infused early mcu-spidey since only homecoming had come out for a non substantial amount of time they were working on the series and the daredevil stuff is explicitly tv show AND comics. Also the multiverse series is how I got into Murderdock and therefore how I got into Spider Gwen

Unpretty's Sorrowful And Immaculate Hearts series which is just a loosely interconnected series of DC fics. My personal favorites are Empty Graves, in which Martha Kent keeps killing time travelers trying to kill baby! Clark; any of their clois fics but especially Third Wheel; and Anti-Social, which is a social media fic mostly about Tim and Bruce that made me cry laughing. Catch Bruce trying to get Walmart's employees to unionize. Also shout out to unpretty's only fic with Jason in it, it looks awesome but is tragically incomplete

This particular Reverse Robin AU which put in the work to reverse every single younger generation and is chef's kiss I LOVE this version of Tim he's wild

Both of Shoalsea's fics are in constant rotation for me I talk about Into The Brighter Night all the time in the tags of reblogs and stuff it truly lives in my head rent free. Anyway Tim gets kidnapped by aliens and the batfam have to watch as yj98 saves him and it's angsty and funny and such a good take on what could have been if the new 52 hadn't happened. And Compassion Builds No House is about Tim and Pru from Red Robin. Ugh they're both so good

Speaking of Clois (I did you've just forgotten this by now) brilliant (like a confession) by kathkin (penny-anna on the hellsite) is so fucking good I'm. Okay. Anyway it'll be listed as inspiration if/when I finally post my two person love triangle fic for them

I'm too anxious to catch up on this before it's done but jumble sale chic is hands down the best spideydevil fic series despite and because of the omegaverse

Make A Little Birdhouse In Your Soul is my favorite take on Jason, period, and has a lot of fantastic Damian stuff going on too. It's updating every few weeks still! Sometimes more often! I love you bacondoughnut it's me JustGail the person who will not stop commenting on your fic you're stuck with me forever

I lied above Rumspringa Murderdock is what got me into Murderdock but that series is second place. I found this one while scrolling through the tv show's mattfoggy tag, thinking I was safe

Speaking of Murderdock mattfoggy, The Lawyer All the Wickedness was written early on in spider-gwen's history and so diverges from canon really early in ways that I think are super interesting and creative

Oh also straight on 'til morning by merils (Tumblr url mamawasatesttube) does SUCH a great job unpacking Kon's trauma and building up healthy relationships around him including a budding timkon romance and yeah it makes me sad and happy at the same time

We're getting into poisonivory territory so just trust if you like the pairing and poisonivory is writing it you'll like it. Ok rapidfire

Like A Handprint On My Heart mattfoggy soulmate au with a twist

Will You Still Love Me Tomorrow? Damijon future fic/au. Jon came back from the future when both of them were 19. Demisexual!Damian at its best. Damian's terrified of being abandoned by Jon again and it made my heart hurt

I feel like I've already recommended every JayRoy fic by poisonivory and genuinely I do reread them all, sometimes in order of publication if I'm in a particular mood. Maybe the one I've read most though is I've Got the Feeling You're the Right Thing After All which is about Roy and Jason starting a fwb thing while Roy still harbors old feelings for Dick. Can't see anything going wrong here lmao

Mmm this post is long enough so I'll leave it at just superhero fic for now but I do in fact have the ability to do a whole post just for the Witcher or Leverage so I might do that. Anyway thanks for following me on yet another burst of insanity it will happen again

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strayheartless · 18 days

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Thinking about autistic Riku…

Riku who wasn’t diagnosed until after he became a keyblade master, and that was only because Merlin took one look at him and was like “oh my sweet summer child.”

15yr old Riku at the peak of his masking having actual fits of physical rage in his bedroom that he doesn’t really have an answer for other than “today was hard” that are actually meltdowns. We’re talking throwing things, braking shit, rocking and hair gripping. The whole nine yards.

Riku who struggles comprehending why his friends make plans and then don’t follow them through. Like building the raft. They said they were going to do it, so he was doing it. Why was he the only one taking it seriously?

Riku who’s grasp on humour and sarcasm is good up to a point. Meaning he knows how to do it himself, but if it’s directed at him it takes him a hot second to sus it out. He usually ends up giving actual explanations to people for their sarcasm, even though he’s registered what it was, and then gets told “I was joking”. Which fustrated the hell out of him because he KNEW that!!

Riku who has really bad light sensitivity and it’s part of the reason he keeps his hair long for such a long time. Sometimes he kind of wishes he could have the blindfold back.

Riku who despite purposefully keeping his hair long, spends nearly every day tying it back because it’s too much, then taking it down because that’s too much, then putting it back up and taking it back down until he seriously considers taking a pair of scissors to it.

Riku who doesn’t like to be touched unless he’s initiating the touch. Sora is the ONLY exception to that rule, but even then Riku has days when he moves out of Sora’s hold because it’s too much.

Riku who’s special interest is Gummi ships and is VERY happy when they go to see Cid and the RGRC because Cid is the only one that can keep up with his 1000mph rants about mobility blocks and rotation weaponry.

Riku who values silence, and no one can figure out how he deals with Sora’s constant stream of chatter, until he one day moves his hair back to show Mickey the earplugs in his ears. He felt guilty about it for a long time until Sora told him he already knew about the plugs and didn’t mind, he just like being with him.

Riku who likes to play with kairis hair but can’t abide having his own hair touched.

Riku who will usually eat anything but if you give him avocado he will have the biggest sensory ick moment you’ve ever seen. Same goes for mushrooms.

Riku who steadfastly refuses to sleep in fuzzy PJ’s because “no thanks I’d rather be flayed alive, it would be less stressful.”

Riku who, at aged 8, told kairi that if she put that scarf around his neck he would “absolutely start screaming” and then did when she insisted he’d catch cold. Scarfs are demon cloths.

Riku who would rather sit at the back of squalls office in the corner while the other man works, than sit in the science lab with everyone else because Squalls office is quiet and he likes that Squall says what he means.

Riku who ignored his own emotional, physical and sensory needs/wellbeing for months while looking for sora and ended up having a meltdown in front of Mickey and master YenSid.

Riku who now has an app on his Gummiphone that Cid, Squall, Even and Ienzo designed to help him build routine and regulate/track his emotional well-being.

He relies of the breathing exercises game a lot in Quadratum.

Riku who is the reason chip and dale created dark mode in phone settings because nobody could figure out why he barely used his phone until he admitted that it always felt like he was looking into the sun.

Riku who has keyblade related Stims, like tapping the flat of the blade with his nails or messing with the key chain when he’s stressed.

Riku who also has stims such as: flicking his tongue inside his mouth while he’s thinking; twirling strands of his hair incessantly; scrunching his nose; clicking his fingers when he’s distressed; tapping the toe of his boot against the opposite heel when he’s stood still; imperceptible swaying; holding his thumb knuckle gently between his teeth; soft popping noises with his mouth; tapping his palms with the tips of his fingers.

I have more but this is it for now.

#autistic riku #riku headcanon #autistic riku headcanon #KH riku #kingdom hearts #KH sora #radiant garden #rgrc

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rehfan · 1 month

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La Belle Dame avec Merci -- Chapter 5: Time in the Shaft

Eddie Munson x Unpopular!AFAB!fem!Reader

Warnings: 18+ readers only please - minor children DNI! – No Upsidedown; reader is technically a virgin; mutual pining; Eddie has trust issues; emotional hurt/comfort; female masturbation; male masturbation; emotional manipulation; reader is kinda shitty to Eddie; reader gets better; angst; more angst; Eddie’s mom is dead; small act of accidental physical violence; Uncle Wayne is the best;

Tagged: @bluestuesday / @ali-r3n / @winchester-angel / @iletmytittiestitty-russ / @mewchiili / @chaoticgood-munson /

DO NOT POST TO ANY OTHER SITE. My words are mine and mine alone.

Inspired by @/hard-candy-writing ‘s ORIGINAL POST

MASTERPOST LINK – AO3 LINK

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

Once the doors closed, the space was suddenly stifling. You regretted wearing the cardigan sweater you had put on this morning. You moved to open it up with your free hand, but even the few buttons you undid didn’t help. It also didn’t help that Eddie was silently boring holes into your head with his eyes.

“Well,” he said, “you got me where you want me. What now?” He pulled his hand away from yours and crossed his arms defiantly.

“I’m really confused. I know you’re kinda pissed at me for all the using you stuff, but you weren’t this angry two days ago. If anything, you were the opposite. What happened?”

Eddie couldn’t tell you. There was too much to tell. First, there was the conversation with his mom — which you were never going to find out about thankyouverymuch. And then there was pleading with Wayne until the old man relented, shaking a finger at him reminding him that he only gets two days if he’s not actually sick and dying before leaving the house with a slam of the door that night. And then there was all the moping and stress smoking and pacing and vegging out in front of the TV and jerking off to the thought of you and smoking weed on the roof of the trailer to forget his orgasms only to wind up watching the stars in their slow rotation and wondering what you looked like when you slept. And today. Today when he reminded himself of his own monster of a father.

No. He was definitely not telling you about any of that.

“Nothing happened,” Eddie shrugged. “I just got wise to myself is all.”

“And now I can’t even talk to you?” you asked. You needed to understand. You ached for him to understand. You hungered for him to wrap his arms around you, safe and secure, and kiss you again, to help you understand. Was he okay with you existing at all? Could you breathe the air next to him? Would that be permitted? Could you silently live in the knowledge that you were another human being on the planet that he didn’t mind so much?

He didn’t have to be in love with you. He didn’t even have to like you. He just had to not actively hate you. That was all. That was enough.

“You can talk all you like, sweetheart,” he said. Faintly, you heard the strains of guitars, vocals, and the thud of a bass drum from outside the doors. “All I’ve got to do is wait for four songs to roll on by.” Here he backed up to the wall behind him and sat on the floor, one knee up, forearm balanced on his knee. He regarded you with a cocked head and a stony expression. He waved a ringed finger in a slow circle, silently motioning for you to get on with it.

You took a breath. And then another. “Okay. So. Apologies should start with the obvious, so — I’m sorry, Eddie. This whole thing was my idea and it was a royally bad one. I used you for the purposes of getting back at all those assholes. I shouldn’t have done it. I should have considered the consequences. But I was just so fed up, you know?” Eddie didn’t indicate that he sympathized. He continued to simply silently stare you down.

“Okay, so maybe not. You’re always much more eloquent in expressing your frustrations. You just hop up on a cafeteria table and let it all out for the whole school to hear. Possible detention be damned. Me? I’m terrified of detention. I’ve never had it and I don’t want it. So I do other things. Like…” Here you took a pause to actually consider what you had done. The frantic delivery of your apology faded away into a dull realization: “Well… I guess I use people to get what I want.”

You regarded him again. “I never thought of myself as a bad person before, but lately, I’ve noticed that I can be a really bad friend.”

You had been pacing the length of the ample space, talking with your hands, trying to not look over at Eddie at all if you could help it. All your thoughts spilled out of your face and, as your body got to the end of the space, you turned, stalked to the other end and turned, stalked to the other end and turned…. But calling yourself a bad friend had stopped you. Your eyes searched Eddie’s. He was still unmoved. You looked away again, crestfallen. You resumed your pacing.

“I was terrible to you, Eddie. And I’m sorry. I didn’t start off this life intending to be a hateful bitch, but I guess I am.” The words caught in your throat, tight and sore. You swallowed past it hard. “Pathetic too. I mean, what was I hoping to accomplish anyway? I didn’t want to be the popular girl. What do I care what the preppy kids or the jocks think of me? I have a few friends who know me. They know none of those stupid Ice Queen rumors are true.

“I also have my schoolwork. The teachers know I’m a good student….”

Eddie was still staring at you, dark eyes tracking your pacing like he was taking in a tennis match, only something had softened in his glance. It was only a minuscule shift, but you could swear you saw it there. He was almost looking at you like he was listening and really seeing you.

You shook it off. No. You were mistaken. He couldn’t possibly care about the ramblings of a girl who had treated him so shabbily. You were making a hatchet job of this apology but you couldn’t stop the word-avalanche spilling out of your face.

“But somehow, the way I’ve treated you has made me see myself differently. Like I’m not as squeaky clean as I thought I was. That I can be cruel and treat people without mercy. Christ, I never even thanked you.” A choked sob came out of nowhere and you clapped your hand over your mouth to stifle it. It embarrassed you. You didn’t mean to crack like that and the reflexive “I’m sorry” that came out of you had nothing to do with your need to apologize for your behavior, only the humiliation of your momentary weakness. You found the far corner again and faced into it, willing your body not to cry. Not here. Not now. But your body had other ideas. Your shoulders shook with your efforts.

You had been right: Eddie had not only watched you through all of this. He listened. He saw you. And he agreed with most of what you were saying with the notable exceptions of ‘hateful bitch’ (you had never been one of those), pathetic (not a word he would associate with you, even after your admission for the reasons behind the way you treated him and Gareth and Jeff thinking that you were), and ‘…without mercy. Christ, I never even thanked you’.

That one struck a chord.

La belle dame sans merci rang through his head over and over. Without mercy. Without thanks. Without compassion. Without kindness. You could be single-minded, it was true. But you were in no way merciless. You backing off of the whole Sadie Hawkins thing was evidence enough of that.

You were trying hard not to cry and it killed him.

He found his feet and softly came to you as you faced the far corner. Gently, he laid his hands over your upper arms and you started with a gasp, bringing your head up suddenly. “Shhh,” he soothed. “Can’t stand to see a woman cry. Stop that now.”

A flash of his mother crying in her bed came to him. He had to have been only five or so. He remembered his small hand on hers and how she had gripped it as she sobbed. His heart had ached. He couldn’t help her. He didn’t know what to do. He was too little. So he just did what she had done when he was upset. He reached up and stroked her hair, carefully avoiding her swollen eye that was slowly purpling, “Shhhh.” he had told her. “Shhhh. It’ll be alright, momma.”

Eddie wanted to turn you around and kiss you so badly it was a physical ache. All he could do in that moment was rub your arms and hush you just like his mother taught him. Your scent was all around him and he closed his eyes.

“Please forgive me,” you said, your voice thick with tears. You still couldn’t face him. Your brain was spiraling downward into a self-loathing bottomless pit. “I never meant to be so cruel. I really didn’t. I’m so sorry. So sorry.”

He nosed your hair. “Shhh,” he whispered, “just breathe. Just breathe. It’s all going to be okay.” The need to protect you was tangible but he didn’t realize what it was. All he knew was that you needed comforting and he was literally the only one available. If your one of your friends Marie or Gail or anyone else from your gang had been there, he wouldn’t have bothered. He really wouldn’t have. If they had been there it would have meant that you weren’t his problem because you weren’t his. And he wasn’t a girlfriend kind of guy anyway. Women were nothing but trouble. And when they cried…

Case in point: your tears. Jesus, a woman’s tears got to him like nothing else. It was a weakness he fortunately didn’t have to work on much because hardly any woman ever cried in front of him nor was he friendly enough with any of them lately for any girl to want to. Until now. Until you. He nosed your hair and memorized its scent and hated himself for his weakness the entire time.

And yet…he longed for this: for the intimacy of moments like this. The closeness that only could be had through time spent and secrets shared. Time he was not willing to invest because look where it gets you: a broken heart and loneliness all over again. His uncle Wayne was living proof. His mother was dead proof.

So he would comfort you. For now. Just long enough so you would stop crying because Jesus! He couldn’t stand it.

You regained your breathing with only the occasional hiccup, traces of the crying jag fading off. Eddie’s touch grounded you. His words were a balm. It was just what you needed. It felt like forgiveness. Was it? Was this him forgiving you? You turned in his arms.

“Better?” he asked. You wiped a tear away and nodded, not yet trusting your voice. “No more crying, okay?” he said. “Can’t handle it when girls cry. Always makes me feel like—“ he shook his head.

“What?”

“Never mind,” he said. He turned and sat back where he had been.

Silence reigned between you. Only the faint strains of a distant Led Zeppelin song reminded you that you were on a time limit to sort this out. Cosmo was on the other side of the door and would probably play something even longer if you didn’t take care of this mess.

“No,” you said. Your quiet voice was loud in the room. “Go on. Girl’s crying always feels like what?”

“Like emotional blackmail. Like a lie,” he said frankly, gazing hard at you, trying to hit you with the words.

“Why?”

He didn’t want to tell you about Deb Garson, she had been the only other girl to cry in front of him besides his mom. The boys had been playing soccer in the school yard. The ball had been kicked hard, she had stepped in front of it and it hit her in the leg. She had shrieked, cried, and fallen down. Eddie had been closest to her, stupid enough to go to her, to comfort her, and her friends had come up behind him and laughed. Soon Deb was laughing. It had all been a trick to see which of the boys would race to her side first. “See! I told you he had a crush on you, Deb!”

“Ew! Eddie Munson has a crush on me? Ugh! Gross! Disgusting loser!”

Before Deb, a woman’s tears always called for comfort, for understanding. For weeks afterward, the other kids painted him with a brush that meant he was a sensitive sap. Someone to be ridiculed for being weak. And it was all Deb’s fault.

Eddie’s hands became fists and he curled into himself all the more at the memory of her hateful laughter. “It just does,” he said, avoiding your eyes.

“What happened?”

He glared at you now. Good lord, the power that boy held in his eyes. His gaze fairly held you against the wall. “None of your fucking business.”

“Okay. Jesus,” you said and sat opposite him. The interior of the elevator was decorated in framed vintage posters for bands from long ago. Clearly cheap reprints of the originals, but at least it gave you something to read besides the unreadable boy across the way from you. Jefferson Airplane, The Holding Company featuring Janis Joplin, and Jimi Hendrix all surrounded you and you focused your attention on them as you waited for Cosmo to open the doors. After all, you accomplished what you set out to do. The rest was in the hands of one Edward Munson, the unreadable boy, the angry boy, the boy that kissed you once and ran away.

“I liked it, you know,” you said. “Just in case you were wondering.”

“Liked what?”

“Our last kiss,” you said quietly, busying your hands with the buttoning and unbuttoning of the bottom button on your pink cardigan, not really sure why you were ashamed to admit it. “Looking into your eyes like that. You have really pretty eyes.”

He looked at you sullenly. “Thanks,” he said. “But I wasn’t wondering.”

“You really hate me that much, do you?” you asked, bracing yourself. He didn’t answer you. He looked collapsed onto himself, sitting there all hunched over, forearms resting on his bent knees, head bent slightly, as if the dingy floor of the elevator somehow held the secrets of the universe.

“Finally,” he muttered.

“What?”

He raised a finger toward the door and waved it in the air. “Stairway,” he said. “Last song before our freedom is granted.”

“I wonder if he’ll let us go,” you said to no one in particular. Lord knows you couldn’t talk to Eddie.

“He better,” he said.

“He said to fix this,” you said, “Those were his very words: ‘fix this’. I’m willing to fix this. Why aren’t you? I mean, okay, be mad, but don’t hate me. You know I’m just as much of an outcast as you are.”

“Just as much of an outcast, but you used me like all the rest, didn’t you, sweetheart?” he asked, tilting his head.

“What?” you asked, genuinely puzzled. “Like all the rest? What “rest”?”

“You know, the jocks and party kids who don’t want to actually invite me to party, but need my weed. So I get ushered in the back door and I sit off in a corner somewhere. Granted, I make a buck, but god forbid I go in to chat with one of the ladies. Or maybe grab a beer? Oh no. Completely forbidden.”

He huffed a laugh. “Hell, even the teachers do it! Just this year, Hawkins High’s finest teacher at the school, O’Donnell, had to ask my help to fix her stupid audio/visual issues. Missing cable connector. They wheeled the fucking thing in set up wrong. ‘Course, I made her sweat it out a bit, but what the fuck? She’s never taken it easy on me? Why should I afford her any—“

He was about to say ‘mercy’, but stopped short. He turned his head, sick of the conversation. Sick of feeling like the pawn in someone else’s chess game.

The guilt of your actions washed over you. You didn’t have a defense. Still, you wanted to offer him a bright shining example of selfless love, so you said: “I imagine your mother—“

He pointed a finger at you. “You do NOT get to talk about my mother.”

You made yourself small, curling your feet in, hugging your knees. Even your voice was small. “I only thought she would be the one to love you without condition or agenda. Her and your uncle.”

“My mother took off without me. Multiple times. Last time? She ran off into the fucking snow. Dad tracked her down - again. Only this time, when he saw her walking along the side of the road, he hit the brake, and when he did, the car hit some ice and swerved and—“ Now it was his turn to hug his knees.

“Jesus, Eddie,” you whispered, the walls carrying your voice around to him. “Did she-?” But a shot of his sullen angry eyes over the horizon of his forearms told you everything you needed to know. “I’m so sorry.”

Eddie’s eyes shut tight. Fuck. You weren’t supposed to know she died. That bit of information was secret. It was part of his control over you NOT knowing him. And he just gave it up like a fucking goddamned sap.

“You know what?” He hopped up and started banging the side of his fist on the doors. “Let us the fuck out, Cosmo!” He was yelling at the top of his voice and the sudden noise caused you to clap your hands over your ears. “Come on! All done! Let us the fuck out!” You were fairly certain that he would have pried at the doors with his fingers if it were a regular elevator whose doors met in the middle, but this was a freight elevator and the telescoping door passed over the whole opening left to right. There was nothing to claw at.

“COSMO!” Eddie cried, his voice breaking a little, “I swear to god, that old hippie’s deaf.”

You don’t remember getting to your feet, but you had. You went to him slowly and placed a hand on his shoulder. “You are a miracle, you know.”

He spun on you and you pulled your hand back. “What?” He met your eyes with another glare. For a moment, you lost your breath. He was gloriously angry. Like an avenging angel.

“I mean— I just— The, uh, the fact that all that happened and you’re still as kind as you are? Still as playful? Still imaginative? You know that’s a miracle, right?”

“Leave me alone,” he said.

“Yeah. Sure,” you said, taking a step back.

He turned back to the door and began pounding on it again. Silently, you watched, willing him to forgive you and give you that stupid grin of his. But he didn’t. He just kept on beating at that door, all white knuckles and tense tendons. You were going to have to live with him hating you forever, it seemed.

“You’re going to hurt your hand, Eddie,” you said. He ignored you. Eventually he opened his fist and slapped at the door with the heel of his palm, still shouting, still angry. “Eddie, please.” Now he kicked at the door, a picture of pure rage that only a toddler having a meltdown could have. You knew then, that the anger he was putting into destroying what he could of the steel in front of him had nothing to do with Cosmo or even you. This was something bigger. Something that ran deeper.

“You’re going to hurt yourself! Please, Eddie. Please!” You grabbed his left arm with both of your hands in a feeble attempt to spin him away to look at you, but he was too strong and with his one swift motion to shake you off, you were thrust backward and onto the floor. You had stumbled a few steps before feeling yourself go and so were able to cushion yourself from any real harm, but in the end, you were sprawled along the floor flat on your back, stunned at your current position.

You had cried out when he had shaken you off of him and it had stopped his rage. Instantly, the horror of what he had just done made him sick.

No. No. Nonononononoooo.

He was at your side in an instant hovering over you, hair framing his face, the ends tickling your cheeks, the door, his rage, and the deaf hippie forgotten. “Holy shit! Are you okay? Are you? Jesus fuck. I’m sorry. Christ, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to— I didn’t think— Are you okay? Please say you’re okay. I didn’t—“ his hands hovered around your face, your shoulders, open, pleading. He didn’t know how to touch you, if he was permitted to touch you, the terror taking all his confidence away.

“I’m fine,” you said, “I’m fine. Just a bit shocked, that’s all. You’re really strong.” You sat up slowly and Eddie, who had knelt at your side, now sat on the floor with you, arms open, hand in your hair, the other on your opposite arm, pulling you into his chest to be cuddled and cradled and soothed.

“I’m so sorry,” he repeated, “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry so sorry so sorry. I’m so sorry—“

He rocked you. He was trembling. You could feel the thrum clean through him. “Eddie? Eddie, honey?” You looked up at him. “It was an accident. I know that. You aren’t violent. You’re just upset. It’s okay. It was my fault anyway. I was trying to stop you and I should have just waited for you to calm down, but I didn’t want you to break your hand.” You took one of his hands in yours and kissed the side of it where his fist had met the metal. “You wouldn’t be able to play your guitar if you did.”

Your words were so real, the sound of them so sincere, it broke his heart. Of course he was violent. He knocked you over, hadn’t he? He was just like his father. The realization of it in the moment had ripped him apart. But now you making excuses for his behavior just like his mother used to do with his father. But you were kissing him. Kissing his hands better. No one besides his mother and uncle had ever bothered to heal or protect him. Especially from himself.

He didn’t understand you. All he knew was that receiving your concern didn’t feel natural to him. I don’t deserve—, he thought, his eyes welling with tears. I’m too…angry. I’m too much. I’m too much of a freak. Too much of a monster.

Your lips found his instantly. His stilled in response before eventually slowly melting into your touch. His hand fell from yours to your waist and his other cradled your shoulders as the kiss lingered. You brushed a hand to his cheek, feeling the five o’clock shadow there, letting him hold you and take comfort from you.

His uncle had tried to teach him about grace when he was about twelve. “Grace, when given,” his uncle had said, “is a beautifully divine thing. A real gift from God.”

“But what is it?” he had asked.

“It’s when we don’t allow the flaws of others to stop us from loving them anyway. We love past them. That’s God’s grace. Grace and mercy exist hand in hand.”

Now he thought he understood. Eddie felt nothing but God’s grace in your kiss. It wasn’t a grace he felt he deserved, but it was there for him anyway and he took it gratefully. And when the kiss broke, it was like seeing you for the first time. The scales that covered his eyes, the ones that were made of mistrust, were slowly falling away. They weren’t all gone. That would take time. But they were going.

He kissed you back. He felt you return it.

And there was no one there to trick or fool into thinking that you liked him. You had kissed him because you wanted to. Because you liked it. And he kissed you back. And you hadn’t shied or pushed him away.

Still, a dark voice in his head whispered, the one that always carried his trauma around like an embarrassing photo album to show off all the sordid and ugly memories of past betrayals and lies at the first opportunity to whatever happiness or hope he had harbored about anything. Still, it whispered, she could be playing the long game. You never knew with women.

Your second kiss broke and before you could say anything there was a low rumble and the door slid open with a creak and groan. Cosmo stood there with Jeff, Grant, and Gareth. Cosmo looked positively delighted. The rest of the boys did not.

“Oh for fuck’s sake!” said Gareth.

“I’m not sharing pizza and a listening sesh with the Ice Queen, dude,” said Grant who turned away back toward the sitting area. Jeff silently followed with a shake of his head. Gareth crossed his arms, stood his ground, and glowered, the young angry beardless opposite of Cosmo’s joyful bearded expression.

“I’d better go,” you said softly but you didn’t get up. You wanted to feel his arms around you for just a few seconds more. “I know I won’t see you tomorrow at the dance, but will I see you on Monday?” you asked, stalling for even more time, hoping that he wouldn’t notice that you hadn’t taken your hand from his face.

He did notice. Your hand was warm, but that could also be the heat of his own face with the embarrassment he felt getting caught kissing you by his best friends. And after all they had done for him to get rid of you. Because you were evil. And a user. And manipulative. And beautiful. And lost. And really really sorry.

His confusion bred anger. He released you and stood up. “Leave me alone,” he said and walked past a concerned and disappointed Cosmo. Gareth joined him in his retreat with a hand on his shoulder that you noticed Eddie shook off. “Not a word,” Eddie told him as they joined the other boys.

You sat on the floor of the elevator just watching him go. Was that kiss forgiveness? Was it just him letting you so that you would shut up? It hadn’t felt like either. A hurt settled in your chest and you couldn’t shake it.

Cosmo came to you and offered you a hand up. “I’m so sorry, my dear,” he said, “I think the lad just needs some time. Perhaps if I speak to-“

“No,” you said, patting the hand he put around your shoulders fondly, wanting the pain of Eddie’s attitude not to hurt like it did. You couldn’t tear your eyes from the back of his head as he flopped into the space on the couch you had just occupied. “I don’t want you to do anything else. I wouldn’t want your thing with the boys tonight to crumble into nothing. Just have some pizza, listen to some music, and have a good night.” You held your hand out for him to shake. “I made my apology. His acceptance of it is up to him. Nice to meet you Cosmo. Thanks for trying.”

He shook your hand with a sad smile and you willed yourself not to cry on the drive home. You succeeded and it added to your resolve; he wasn’t going to get any more tears from you and that was that. If he didn’t want to forgive you, that was his problem. Monday at school, you would just go about your day.

As you flopped on your bed, barely making it past your parents’ inspection without having to explain your emotional state, you stared at the ceiling and tried not to torture yourself with all the things you should have said or done that would have made everything all right between you two. After all, you had no idea what you could have done differently. You didn’t know what the secret code was to crack his heart open. And you didn’t know why you even wanted his forgiveness anyway! Weren’t you happier before your stupid idea to kiss him? Weren’t you far more content on your own? Ruling your own little ice kingdom?

You would just have to go back to that. You would just have to forget him and his conspiratorial smirk and his rumbling voice and his smell and his eyes. You would have to forget the cool confidence in his strut through the halls. His warm hands on your hips as you pulled him close to fake yet another kiss.

Nope. No way. You didn’t need that. You didn’t need him. Not at all. He was just another distraction.

All of this and more you said to yourself over and over as you got ready for bed.

“He’s not mine,” you said to the darkness of your room. “He’s not mine and he never was and he never will be.” The tears that streamed out of the corners of your eyes and across your temples into your hair and ears meant nothing, of course. They certainly had nothing to do with the fact that your heart was breaking into a billion pieces.

~080~

Eddie didn’t want any pizza after you left. He sat in your old seat, turning his head into the cushion, trying to capture your scent there. He thought he could detect it, but Grant held a pizza slice under his nose and it was gone. He took it from him with a wan smile, but his heart really wasn’t into the whole vibe that night. Eddie the Bold made a valiant attempt, however, even finding a laugh or two inside himself, enough jolly peaceable emotion to appease the others around him even if Cosmo kept a perspicacious eye on him the whole evening.

“You’re falling in love with her, aren’t you?” he had whispered to him quietly at one point in the evening. Eddie returned a glare that he hoped would melt the polar ice caps and said nothing. Cosmo sighed and settled a friendly hand on his shoulder. “You could do worse, my boy. She clearly cares for you.”

But Eddie didn’t want you to care for him. What could he offer you in return anyway? He mulled over this on his way home. Turning off the engine, he stared at the trailer he called home. Your home was probably large and sturdy; his hadn’t been updated since ‘71. As he went up the stairs, hearing the familiar creak and slap of the screen door as he entered, Eddie was sure your doors didn’t creak or have screen material that needed to be repaired every spring. He was sure your parents would be home when you got there while his lone relative was pulling night shifts so that they could have the essentials. He sat heavily on his bed and looked around. His room was a pit. “Organized chaos” Wayne called it. Yours was probably pretty and pink and frilly. And clean. Probably really clean.

Clean like the smell of your hair.

Eddie lay on his unmade bed and closed his eyes. He wanted to fall into a dreamless slumber, but the image of you in his arms tonight was burned on the inside of his eyelids. The splay of your hair beneath him, the look in your eyes as your hand came to his face. The feel of your mouth against his.

His erection was undeniable. He palmed at it and grunted. Either he could take care of himself now or wait for his hardness to fade. “Goddamnit,” he muttered.

Unfastening his trousers quickly, he licked his palm and reached into his boxers, tugging at his shaft in practiced strokes. He thumbed over his wet slit and moaned your name, picturing that perfect mouth around his tip. He wondered if you would suck his dick or if you thought it was gross. Probably not. But if you did? You’d be a student of the art. Perfect pressure, perfect rhythm. Just like you were using on him now. Your soft warm tongue circling his glans, flicking at his frenulum, your fist grasping and stroking him perfectly. He watched your head bob against him and he held your head gently, not pushing, but loving the feel of your hair, caressing it.

“Oh thank you, baby,” he whispered. “So good to me. Such a good girl. Don’t deserve you.”

You pulled away long enough to whisper back, “You do deserve it, Eddie. You deserve the fucking world. Love you.”

He fell into the feeling, the warmth in his chest, the tightening in his throat, all of it caused by the sight of you fellating him out of sheer love alone. It wasn’t true, it couldn’t be, but he let himself believe it just this once.

He threw himself into the thought of being yours for real. Knowing for sure that you wouldn’t get up and leave him. Knowing he wouldn’t be the butt of some joke the next day at school, an act of cruelty he had foolishly not suspected. Knowing that he could show you real affection and real dedication out loud and in front of everyone with no shame attached. God, would you stay with him? Live with him? Marry him? Fuck, would you have his kid?

His balls tightened. His breathing became stuttered and he braced his feet against the mattress as his back arched. Frantically pumping at his cock, he came and cried out your name.

Catching his breath, he reached up behind his back with one hand and pulled off his shirt, wiping his skin clean with it and tossing it across his room. His messy chaotic room that still looked like a fucking pit.

You weren’t there anymore. The image of you vanished like smoke in the wind once he came. You never would be there either. Eddie honestly couldn’t picture it. Not for real. Why would you be? You'd probably turn tail the moment you saw the outside of his trailer - never mind the inside. And why would he want you there? You were confusing and frustrating and filled with contradictions. He didn’t need that. He didn’t need you. And for the next two days he was going to harden his heart against you. He would avoid you like the fucking plague, no matter what his dick said.

It was going to be a long fucking weekend.

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

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