#I literally felt nothing when it was over!

[ceesimz]

chasing a ghost

exactly what you run from, you end up chasing. (angst -> happy ending)

tw- mentions internalised homophobia. it's not intense, but the story is based around it. it has a happy ending though, of course!

Everyone always says your first love sticks with you throughout your whole life. And for you, those words were a haunting truth you could never shake.

No matter how far you went, no matter how many years passed. It still rung true. Your worst fear was that it always would.

The last ten years of your life had been all over the place– literally. After the breakup, you took a gap year, because the pain after it was that intense you felt you had no other option. So, you decided to travel the world with nothing but the bag on your back, looking for an answer to your life that made such a pain worth it– not knowing the thing you were chasing was the exact thing you were running from.

You started in Spain, in Barce- in the city where you fell in love. Though, you haven't returned since you left. 

University was fun, you enjoyed it more than you thought you would. Even more so when you met the love of y- your first love. She was shy, at first. But you caught glimpses of her when she was with her friends in the study hall, when she’d come out of her shell and say something that would have them all laughing until they were shushed. When she would smile so brightly you swore the lights dimmed and a spotlight shone on her, or when she’d always wait behind for the last person in the group to tidy their stuff as the others raced off to wherever they were going next. 

You studied her from afar for weeks, spending more time doing that than studying your actual course, but it paid off when you accidentally, not-so-accidentally, bumped into her one time as she rushed from one lecture hall to the other, and the… football under her arm went tumbling down the hallway. 

A football? You remembered thinking then. Why would someone bring a football to their lecture?

“A football?” You scrunched your nose as you turned to watch the neon orange thing roll out of sight.

“Oh, s-sí. I know it is weird.” She chuckled nervously, her hand rubbing the back of her neck as her eyes darted all over your face, the football the last thing on her mind. “I have training after my next lecture. For football.”

“Well, I think you’re going to be late to your next lecture if you want to get your ball back.” You told her in amusement, hearing the commotion of a group of boys jeering over the sight of such a miraculous object appearing in front of them. 

Alexia’s eyes went wide, jumping off her train of thought and back down onto solid ground, where the aforementioned group of people, that resembled entertained cavemen watching a fire or gorillas cheering at their next meal, still had her beloved ball.

“No! I need that back!” She ran ahead, before halting a moment later when she heard your laugh behind her. So she turned back around, jogged over to you, stumbling over the cartoon love hearts swirling around her mind as she tried to find the words to say, then giggled sheepishly at herself. “Sorry for running into you. I will hopefully see you around.”

“See you around.” You replied, though she was already chasing after her prized possession before you got a chance to say it. The feeling you got after hearing her say ‘hopefully’ was a little embarrassing, but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t love it.

And fortunately for you, you did see her around, quite often actually to the point where you weren’t sure if it was actually a coincidence or not. At one point, it was like the two of you unknowingly formed a routine; you would finish your first lecture at 11:30am, walk as fast as you could over to the other building where your 12pm lecture was and wait for her to arrive for her 11:45 lecture. She would arrive five minutes before she had to go in, and you’d spend that time talking together, laughing, teasing, checking in with each other, until she had to leave. Even still, she would wait until the last second before she’d be classed as late to go in, just so she could talk to you. 

Then, it progressed to meeting her for study sessions together in the library. One day, your friends on your course were somehow all off sick, and her friends were apparently not important to her when she knew you would be alone. So, without too much of a fuss, she quietly and nervously invited you to study with her, where you both spent the whole time trying to study but were actually just too excited about being together one-on-one with nobody else around to get anything done. No chaos of the corridor, no boys trying to take her football, no friends to tease you. The whole time, however, that damn football was there with you, positioned at her feet under the table as she messed with it throughout the duration of the session. 

It was there that you realised studying and education wasn’t her best skill; she was smart, very smart, her mind just seemed a million miles away everytime. All too often you’d have to tell her to concentrate when she had spent too long looking out the window at the football pitch, or you’d quietly scold her for trying to do kick-ups in the library or whenever she tried to nutmeg you when you just wanted to get through the week’s reading assignment. She never cared for grades or essays or quizzes, all she wanted was to play football.

That meant it wasn’t such a surprise to you when, on a random day after the Christmas break, she rushed in to meet you at your infamous spot outside what should have been her 11:45 lecture and, when you told her off for how she was about to be late, she smiled a smug grin and shrugged you off. Then she told you she had dropped out of University like it was nothing, before spinning you around and demanding she walked you to your lecture. She didn’t give you time to scold her like you often did, because she tugged you out of the way of people in the corridor outside the door to your lecture and kissed you, for the first time, out of nowhere, only for her to pull away and kiss your cheek in goodbye as she gently ushered you towards the door. 

You had to thank whatever god was up there that that particular lecture wasn’t too important because you don’t remember a thing about it. All you could think about throughout was the way she had pulled you in, wrapped her arms around your waist, and leaned down to kiss you with such tenderness yet such confidence that you weren’t sure you could ever be the same person again afterwards. For something so small, you felt it changed you, and though it might have been just a kiss, it opened a door for you to a version of yourself you didn’t know existed. 

After that day, you walked around with your head held high, sometimes uncertain if you were walking or skipping since you felt that much joy. You couldn’t view the world around you as ordinary anymore, everything around you seemed more vivid, the smaller things felt more significant and the bigger things less important. That kiss was a spark that ignited something… profound; changing not just your relationship with her, but who you were as a person.

You were on cloud nine with her, the kind of happiness that felt never-ending and all-consuming. That reassured you, especially in moments where you two bickered or felt a little distant as she travelled for football. You were almost certain it’d go on forever.

Every glance, every touch, every word between you, they were all things you cherished. The relationship was something sacred, just for the two of you, and you could have sworn it made your heart soar far from your chest. More often than not, you felt invincible in her company. For the first time in your life, love wasn’t a distant daydream or a wish for the future, it was something real, something that was undeniably yours that no one could take from you. No one but yourself.

Your relationship with her grew and grew, until a year of stolen kisses in the private of your rooms, a year of pinkies linked under dinner tables whilst out with your friends, a year of being just friends to everyone else but the loves of your lives to each other, a year of complete and unconditional love passed without you realising. 

“Ale, where the hell are you taking me?” You giggled, two cold hands covering your eyes as you were led somewhere by your silent girlfriend. Not that you could see, there was a huge grin on her face as she guided you to a place she had been desperate to take you ever since she met you.

“You will find out. Two more seconds, then you see.” It was all going smoothly until she led you a bit too far and you walked head first into… a gate? “Oops, lo siento, mi amor. I did not mean to, I couldn’t see how close we were, your head was in my way.”

“My head was in your way? You i- you’re the one covering my eyes! Pendeja.” You muttered, but then she lifted her hands off your face and you were met with… a football pitch. “Are you kidding me?”

“Happy one year anniversary.” Alexia smiled brightly, not at all phased by the unimpressed look on your face. “You are going to play football with me.”

“Am I really.” You scoffed, taking in the sight of the miserably grey sky and the aftermath of the morning’s rain in the form of a repulsively muddy field.

“You will. What’s that saying? Something… something about, ah, el sentido del humor?” She mumbled, waving one of her hands in the air like the wind would blow the words to her mind as she opened the gate with the other.

“You want me to humour you?” You turned back to her, desperately suppressing a smile at the way her eyes widened and she clapped her hands when you gave her the right turn of phrase.

“Eso mismo! It will be fun, come on.” 

“It’s not even our one year yet, you’re early.” You crossed your arms over your chest in one last show of defiance, when as a matter of fact, you were convinced the minute you saw the excitement on her face.

“I know but it is a year since I kissed you and that’s what started everything.” The brunette girl shrugged, tucking her hands in the pockets of her joggers.

“I think what started everything was me bumping into you when you were running.” Her jaw dropped in a very comedic way then.

“So you did do it on purpose! I knew it!” She exclaimed, walking closer and jabbing an accusing finger into your chest. You stepped backwards and laughed as she shuffled yet closer, moving into your space and pulling you into her for a hug. It was only brief and when she leaned back, her arms still around you, she shook her head in disbelief at your past antics, before softening. “Well, I did think about that date too, but I had a game that day and you had an important presentation so… I decided to do it today.”

You smiled in spite of yourself and left a kiss on her chin.

“And you thought bringing me to play football on a muddy field in the middle of winter was a good idea?” She smirked and nodded, clearly confident in her abilities to convince you.

“I have always wanted you to play it with me but you always say no. But I think, since I was the one that kissed you in the beginning, you should do this for me.” You rolled your eyes and she grinned at you as you did so, her thumbs drawing circles where they’d slipped under your jumper on your hips. “I bought you boots and everything! Also a shirt with your name on it but my number, but it is too cold for that so I left it at home. And, if you do this with me, we can have a shower together after and I wash your hair and give you a massage.”

“I was going to agree anyway but sure, I’ll take that deal.” You told her a moment later after some faux consideration, to which she clicked her tongue in response and lifted you up over her shoulder. “Oh, well, what a lovely view I have here of your- ow!”

But the magic wore off, and the whispers started.

Not from anyone else, from yourself. At first, you ignored them, turning your nose up at them and shrugging them off, thinking they were stupid because of how right it felt to be in her arms. But they were insistent, determined to make an imprint on you and the love you wanted to give. Eventually they did. And the secrecy of your relationship began to feel like a double-edged sword that cut deeper with every passing day. You needed help, needed someone to stop the barrage of insecurities that you never wanted to face, never imagined you’d have to. But it felt like a life and death matter, keeping it a secret. You believed you had no other choice. And voicing these anxieties to her, the very subject of the situation, wasn’t even an option in your mind.

You told yourself it was safer to keep it a secret, to make sure your love was safe from the cruelty of the world and its society, yet with each lie you told and each delusion you convinced yourself of, a piece of your identity was chipped away. She had a front-row seat to every part of you that slipped out of her grasp.

At some point, you even stopped recognising the person you saw in the mirror. What was once a reflection of somebody in love, brimming with hope and excitement for not only the future but for every moment you spent in the present with your girlfriend, soon turned into someone cautious, afraid, who constantly looked over their shoulder. The fear consumed you until it was hard to breathe. And in turn, you found yourself pulling away from others because you couldn’t bear lying to them any longer, whilst also not possessing the strength to tell them the truth. 

If anyone asked that past version of you why you did it, you’d tell them it was to protect both her and yourself. In reality, you knew that was such a pathetic lie. It couldn't even be called an excuse. 

Something that once brought you more fulfillment and happiness than anything else in your life soon felt like a cinder brick chained to your leg, like stones and gravel in your pockets, dragging you down until you were drowning from the expectations you thought were put on you by the world, when they really just your own.

Alexi- she grew antsy and uneasy. You begged to keep it under wraps for just a few more weeks. 

She wanted to tell people; she might have been shy at first glance, but she was the kind of person whose love demanded to be seen, she didn’t survive by keeping it contained to the shadows. Every time she looked at you, her feelings for you were written all over her face – the joy, the pride, the desperation to share her love for you with everyone that mattered. To her, you were something worth sharing with the world. She dreamed of the day she could introduce who you really were to her with her family, her friends, with anyone that would listen.

Initially, she understood why you were hesitant. Like you’d always told her, she was smart. She knew why you were reluctant to tell people, she just had no idea how deep that ‘reluctance’ ran. One of your favourite traits of hers ended up being the beginning of the end; she was exceptionally good at reading people and figuring out what was happening before it had even happened. She saw the way you shrank into yourself when people looked your way, how you would purposely lower your voice when talking about the pair of you. She tried to be patient, but it wasn’t easy. 

Each time she caught herself smiling at you in public, the same smile that made you blush because you could see and feel her love for you, she knew she had to suppress it for your sake. That caused an ache to grow in her chest, the fact she had to dim her own light to quell your worries. Because it wasn’t just the secrecy that hurt, it was the feeling that she wasn’t allowed to love you as wholeheartedly as she wanted to.

Weeks turned into months and she tried to give you your space to work it through, but soon enough she felt like she was in a relationship with a ghost. A shell of a person. And in all honesty, to her, it felt like rejection, even though she knew that wasn’t your intention. However, her assurance in that began to falter. She began to wonder if her love wasn’t enough, if she wasn’t enough. She prided herself on being someone that was confident and sure, but the longer she spent feeling like a bird in a cage, she found herself questioning everything.

Why couldn’t you see what she saw? That your love was worth the risk?

There were more nights than she could count where she spent hours laying awake, the darkness doing little to calm her racing mind. Most of the time, you were sleeping beside her, either cuddled to her side or facing away from her. The times you chose to snuggle up to her were the worst nights, where she didn’t get an ounce of sleep as it was like she could almost feel the fear radiating off of you. It reached a point where she felt trapped between wanting to honour your insecurities and needing to honour her own heart. The longer you rejected the idea of telling people, the more she felt like a secret, something to be hidden rather than openly cherished. 

Though she never wanted to make you feel guilty, there was a loneliness that settled inside of her, and there was a growing distance she felt from you that she had no idea how to bridge without it inevitably ending in one thing.

She never stopped loving you for a second, how could she? But the weight of carrying that love alone eventually became unbearable. As much as she tried to resist that, it was there anyway. It soon led to her feeling like she was losing the person she wanted to be, someone that wanted their love to be visible, that wanted to celebrate it with the people she valued most in her life. So she made a choice.

After that, you couldn’t stay in Barcelona. You couldn't stomach the place any longer when every street corner and every park and every restaurant solely served as a reminder of the good memories that were a thing of the past. Even saying the name of the city sent your head and your heart to a dark place. So did saying her name. 

Back then, you couldn’t figure out who you were; torn between the person you wanted to be and the person you thought you had to be. So you went travelling, to immerse yourself in any and all cultures, to meet new people, to try new things, in the hopes of finding yourself again.

Except, every single word that was exchanged in that final conversation still echoed in your mind no matter where you went.

You sat in cafes halfway across the world and saw her in the steam from your coffee that just so happened to be the same one she used to have every morning. You flew over countless countries and saw her in every stadium you passed by. You saw her in every blade of grass, in every speck of sand, in every sunrise and sunset, before you had to remind yourself that she wasn’t yours to think about anymore.

It had been years, almost a decade, since your first kiss with her, and you could still vividly remember how it played out, how the warmth and the softness of her lips caught you off guard, how she smirked at you after kissing your cheek in goodbye before sending you into your lecture. That spontaneous moment – well, spontaneous for you, for her it had been precariously planned – was some kind of cruel foreshadow that haunted you; it had happened in public, the pair of you could have been open from the very start, the irony of it had never been lost on you. Perhaps the warning signs might have been there from the start. 

“Our first kiss was in public, it was in front of so many people, but now I can’t even smile at you too much when we’re out together.”

“Don’t say that. You’re the one that initiated our first kiss in public, I didn’t.”

“So, what, you would change how it happened?”

“M… maybe, yeah.”

You knew, as soon as you said that last thing, the relationship was over. To this day you still don’t know why you said it, you wouldn’t change a thing about the relationship or her as a person. It was just another example of you being too terrified to be honest with who you were. 

By the time you accepted that it was okay to be who you were, there was only one person you wanted. But by then, that ship had long sailed. You didn’t want anyone, you wanted her. Forcing yourself to believe otherwise felt like carving out a part of your heart. It was almost as hard as having to hear her break up with you over a fear you didn’t even know you had until she ran into your life. As a result, she was long gone, and you didn’t even blame her.

Eventually, you managed to persuade yourself you didn’t want her. It was better that way. And though you weren’t quite whole, you did find yourself through travelling. It just… you still felt like something was missing.

—

Dropping out of University wasn’t ideal, but like most other people that did the same thing, you saw too much beauty in the world on your gap year to be restrained to a 9-5 for the rest of your life. You were fortunate enough to find a company that allowed you to pick up odd jobs here and there of your choosing, in any country of your choosing. It was a dream, you felt free when you weren't ruminating on the events that led you to this point.

Each city you visited became a second home for however long you spent there, though every fleeting connection you made with their locals was a futile attempt to paint over the memories from your past. Nothing could fill the void left behind, but still, you jumped from country to country, telling yourself that planes and hotels and hole-in-the-wall bars were the places you were supposed to be. 

Finding yourself walking home from the closest corner shop to your hotel at the dead of night past one of Sydney’s most well-known clubs, only to stumble across her standing outside its entrance, was the most suffocated and trapped you had felt since the days after you saw her last– nine years ago.

You stopped in your tracks some distance away from her, your eyes locking with hers as she froze, body going rigid at the sight of you. Nothing could have prepared you to see her that night, you really weren’t ready to see her again at all especially with zero warning. Sure, you dreamt of seeing her again, of being back in each other’s lives like no time had passed at all, but actually seeing her was a whole different story. 

You didn’t know what to do.

“I never thought I would see you again.” Alexia, with pink hair and an unnecessarily large gold medal around her neck, stated first. “Qué coño haces aquí?”

The viciousness of her voice caught you off-guard, because throughout your whole relationship including the ending argument, she had never once sounded like that. Though, nine years had passed, maybe she had changed. For the worst.

So, you walked right past her, not in the mood to entertain a fight with an ex. 

“I was talking to you.” She called after you, sounding somewhat shocked you had the audacity to walk past her like she was nothing more than a stranger. But, in this state, she was. It seemed the years had hardened her into someone that was just a stranger. 

“Maybe I don’t want to talk to you.” You fired back as you continued to walk, and you thought that was that. But then you heard the breaking of glass as Alexia dropped her bottle of beer into the nearest bin and followed you.

“You know, it is the least I deserve after how you treated me back then.” She knew exactly the right thing to say to get you to react.

“If you had half a brain and any sense of sympathy, you would know I didn’t do any of it to hurt you.” You fought back, turning to face her and wanting nothing more than to slap the triumphant smirk off of her face. 

“Now that is a lie. How would that make it okay? That the person I love didn’t love me enough to let me tell my family at least?” 

Almost a decade’s worth of anger was being unleashed on you and there was nothing you could do to stop it. You knew you deserved it, but were too riled up in the moment to sit there and take it. So you retaliated, because the woman in front of you was being selfish and too big-headed to see why you did it, and if she still didn’t understand after nine years, it was her own fault.

“Of course I loved you enough, I loved you more than I could ever say. Have you, on the off chance, ever heard of something called anxiety? Ever heard of a thing called fear, and depression, or even just mental health overall?”

When Alexia won her first Champion’s League, you purposely went out of your way to ignore the news, because it seemed after that title her name was never out of it. So, even though her face was all over the newspapers during the summer you spent in London, detailing the severity of her injury and what that meant for Spain’s chances, you didn’t know a thing about it. 

You matched her immaturity, completely unaware of the fact she had just spent the best part of a year out of playing action, during which she had so desperately wished she had you by her side to help her through one of the worst moments of her life. In the first couple months, she had been forced to see a therapist, she had been diagnosed with depression, and what she learnt in those sessions was that all the mental pain she felt then came circling right back to you.

Alexia had thrown herself into football after breaking up with you, seeking refuge in the one thing that had never let her down all her life. But then she tore her ACL, and it had let her down, and suddenly the emptiness of her bed and her chest was the only thing on her mind. There were days where she never left the house, where she didn’t do her stretches, didn’t get up from the sofa to keep her leg moving. There were days where all she thought about was you, and how different things might have been if the two of you weren’t so young back then.

Maybe if she was more patient, you two would have made it, and her gruelling rehab wouldn’t have been so challenging. But she was on her own, she had no one to wake up for in the morning, no shoulder to cry on, no one to reassure her in the middle of the night when she couldn’t sleep that she’d get through this. She just had to get on with it. 

So to see you stood in front of her only mere months after she'd made her return, despite winning the biggest title of her career, it was like she’d finally woken up from the numb headspace she’d been in since the pop in her knee the summer before. Only, the words that came out of her mouth weren’t her true feelings. She had no idea where they were coming from, but they were out before she could stop them. And then it was too late to go back on her words, because by the time she regretted them, you hit back with accusations that stoked the fire that had been extinguished by her progress in therapy. She reverted back to how she felt before her injury, when she still loathed you with every fibre of being, and let out every ounce of pain and fury she had carried with her for years.

However, after you said that, the Barcelona captain came up empty for a reply.

“Times have changed. Things were different then.” You continued on, and it was obvious that too long had passed in the way you couldn't read her face anymore. You completely missed the sorrow and regret on her face, and instead took it for disdain.

“I kno-”

“You don't know a thing.” You laughed maliciously. “You have no idea how I felt or what was going on in my mind. All you did was blame me and run away.”

Just as Alexia had gone to apologise and go back on everything she said, you took things a step further. You were disappointed in yourself for it, but you felt there was no other option but to meet her anger and one-up her, to fight for the last laugh. It was so wrong to address each other in such ways, you both recognised that. Not that it stopped either of you.

“I did not run away, you did. You haven't come home since we broke up and I think that says it all, no?”

“There is no home for me in Barcelona anymore.” Alexia physically recoiled at your statement, and you saw it. You saw the guilt slip away from her eyes and the anger return to them. But it was too late to do anything.

“Well, it looks like it was worth it for the both of us, the breakup. You got to travel and I have the best medal I could get around my neck.” 

Your eyes flicked down to the medal and you read the words on it – Women’s World Cup. It was her biggest dream, you remembered countless times she’d be with you, her eyes with that far away look she often got and a dreamy smile on her face as she thought of her future and all she knew she could achieve, as long as the world and the sport allowed her.

“What are you thinking about?” You asked her one night as you wandered into your bedroom to see her lay in  bed, hands rested under her head as she stared at the ceiling. 

“Football.” She murmured, eyes unmoving, like her entire future was projected on the ceiling in some kind of montage, flickers of trophies and awards passing on by.

“How romantic.” You scoffed, getting into bed beside her and immediately moving to rest your head on her chest with one leg swung across her thighs. “What about football?”

“I am just… excited. There is so much to look forward to.” She whispered in awe, a smile on her face so intense it creased into the corners of her eyes. The sight of it had you smiling too.

“There is.” You sighed contently, before lifting your head up to look at her, and she looked down. “You’ll do such amazing things, Ale. I know you will.”

Somehow, her face softened, and she let out a disbelieving breath as she turned her gaze back to the damn ceiling.

“I hope so.” The midfielder said quietly, as if it was a jinx to speak any louder.

“You will. But you can’t forget me along the way. I want all your medals hung up in our house when we’re older.” Alexia chuckled gently at that, and she leaned down to kiss the top of your head.

“You can have all my medals, you will be right there with me. Me, you, our families. Maybe a family of our own.”

The memory seemed to jump to your minds at the same time, judging by how you met each other’s eyes a moment after you initially looked at the now taunting object that glimmered under the street lamps and city lights around. Her past promise, which had seemed so… eternal and meaningful in that moment, was hardly recognisable. The eyes you stared at weren’t the same either. They were cold and antagonistic, far from the warmth that was once there, the warmth that drew you in in the first place.

It was that revelation that allowed you to continue this animosity.

“Oh yeah? Good for you. I���m sure you and your gold medal will make great kids together.”

“Fuck you. I don’t even know who you are anymore.” 

Alexia knew she’d won with that one; she turned around with a shake of her head and headed back to the club whilst you were rooted to the spot, wondering how everything could go so wrong in a matter of minutes. 

You don’t know who you are either. 

—

That day, in Australia, it wrecked you. Wholly and completely.

It was the nail in the coffin that was your sense of self, because if the one person that never left your thoughts for even a day thought of you like that, then you were lost. Truly lost. 

For nine years, whether you knew it or not, you’d been waiting every day to turn a corner and see her standing there. You imagined walking up to her, tears in your eyes and a smile on your face, an expression she reflected when she opened her arms for you to step into. You’d had her hugs for a year, you’d memorised them well, nine years couldn’t erase that and neither could a lifetime. You would always remember the strength she hugged you with and how secure they made you feel in everything. In yourself, in your life, in your love. But to have that same person tell you they don’t recognise you was an unfathomable heartbreak.

No matter where you went in the time after that, the pain never went away. Ever since you realised you’d never be who you was when you were with Alexia, no matter how many places you travelled or how many people you met, how many jobs you did or how many degrees you could get, you wouldn’t feel as settled and happy without her. And, in fact, with time, the ache in your heart only grew. It ached and groaned in your hollow chest as you dragged it around the world when it called for one place and one place only. Or rather, one person.

But said person had made their dislike clear to you. So that option was more unlikely than it’d ever been before. 

Not impossible, however. 

Because Alexia couldn’t hate herself more for saying so many lies. For being so disgraceful in how she presented herself to someone she still thought so highly of. Most importantly, for making that person think otherwise about her opinion of them.

In the years after she saw you last, when she walked out of your apartment to the sound of your cries behind her, she’d subconsciously searched for you in every person she met. Any habit they had, any slight familiarity in appearance even if it was one freckle in the same place, any similar interests. It was wrong and she knew it was, when she looked back. All the people she hurt, the people who thought they had a chance with her against the idolised version of her first love in her mind, they didn’t deserve her. And after Sydney, she didn’t deserve you either.

When she said those vile things to you, she hoped she would feel some kind of… closure from it. Some kind of catharsis in the fact she could finally close the chapter of her life that had you on her mind all the time. Instead there was just a deep and gnawing disappointment that followed her everywhere she went. From her bed, to training, to her mother’s house – especially her mother’s house, for the wise woman always loved to remind her of what she’d lost – and even to her games as she lined up in the tunnel beforehand.

Her disappointment towards you had dissolved years ago, this disappointment was entirely aimed at herself. She hated how she had let her anger, that she didn’t even feel anymore, overshadow the love that had once defined the both of you. It still did, just in a different and entirely soul-crushing way. The love clung to her heart like a wound that refused to heal, even after all these years.

Ever since she made the hardest decision she had ever had to make, cutting you out of her life, she had spent so much time moving forwards, pushing herself to be stronger, to achieve more, hoping it would erase the memory of you and numb the pain she felt. That failed, however. The only thing she failed at. Seeing you again had broken the dam that stored all her feelings for you and let them flood her mind again. She felt more broken after that confrontation than she had in a long time.

Alexia hadn’t blamed you for some time, and she wasn’t sure why, the second you were in front of her, that she acted like she did. Nobody compared to you and nobody ever would. The fact she made such a horrible comment, one her aggravated self knew would hurt you, did irrevocable things to her view of herself. She never thought she could stoop so low, but she did. She didn’t know how to come back from it.

The version of you she saw that day, the version of you she knew didn’t exist and was only a retaliation to her own hostility, was not the version that stuck in her head the months after that. It was the person she fell in love with when she was only twenty. And it was that version she got when she was getting led out of a bar in Paris, a year after the World Cup, this time with no medal to her name, just a missed penalty.

It was the exact same setup a year onwards, but things were so much different. For starters, you weren’t in Paris for work, you were on a break, and of course the one city in the world you ran to for respite was the same one she was in. However, the sight of two members of security walking out of a bar behind the star you knew Alexia as now was enough concern in itself for you to abandon your friends, who had no idea who the blonde was both as a celebrity and a person of the past to you. Your nerves were fried and you were reluctant to speak to her again, but as soon as you got within two feet of her, you grimaced at how the smell of alcohol radiated off her and knew instantly it was the right thing to do.

“I’ll take her, sorry for… whatever she’s done.” You said to the workers, who rolled their eyes and left you with the drunken mess she was.

“No, you don’t have to take me. You d-don’t deserve to. N-not me.” 

Her words were slurred and there was an overwhelming amount of emotion in her voice. The state of her combined with those two things was enough to convince you this time around with her would be different. Different in what way, you weren’t sure. But she could hardly walk on her own, you couldn’t leave anyone in this way, nevermind someone like her who… still meant so much to you.

“Come on, I’ll take you back to where you’re staying, make sure you get there safe.” You had to be sensible then, and focusing on the softness of her skin when you lifted her arm up around your shoulders and held onto her hand was not sensible. “Do you know your hotel?”

She rattled off some more drunk nonsense until you managed to pick out the name of a hotel in her words as you wrapped your arm around her waist to steady her. Fortunately, it wasn’t too far from where you were. And despite her current state, she was unnervingly silent on the walk there. It wasn’t until you made it to the hotel lobby you chanced a look at her and saw a steady stream of tears down her face. 

When you saw her like that then, it didn’t matter how many years had passed. It upset you to see her cry then as much as it did when you used to be the one she went to in these cases. Yet, in this scenario, you weren’t that person and you didn’t know how to deal with that.

“Hey, do you have your card on you, Ale?” The nickname slipped out of you, and it was a bad move, judging by the cries that came out of her afterwards. “Okay, alright.”

Since you couldn’t get much out of her, you dragged her over to the reception desk, and it took little convincing for them to hand over a spare keycard considering the sobbing mess that Alexia was.

The whole walk to the elevator, you felt helpless as her shoulders shook, torn between wanting to say something and thinking it was best to stay quiet for the time being since you knew you were probably part of the reason she was like she was. The ride up to her floor was even worse; all you could do was stand there, arm around her and hand in hand, listening to the pain pouring out of her. It sent you spiralling, almost, thinking of the years apart where she’d been like this with no one to help her like you were now.

All you wanted to do was wipe away her tears, to embrace her, to tell her everything was okay. But that was entirely unrealistic, because you had no idea where you stood with her and telling someone in her state that everything was okay was entirely meaningless. Seeing her so vulnerable and so wrecked was a reminder of exactly how much she meant to you. 

So, it was in that elevator, you made a split-second decision; from that moment on, you were going to do anything to fix this ridge between you. You had her a year ago but royally screwed up your chance. You had her ten years ago and screwed up that chance too. You weren’t about to let history repeat itself for the third time.

“Here we go, you sit down here, okay? I’ll be back in a minute.” You carefully urged her to sit on the armchair in her room, and she did, but only for about a second. When she saw you walk away from her, she shot up out of her chair, mumbling some rushed Spanish you couldn’t quite make out as she tried to follow wherever you were going. “I’m just getting you some water from the fridge.”

“Don’t go.” She sighed heavily, her eyelids drooping slightly from the alcohol in her system mixed with the overload of emotions from the day she’d had. She sounded wrecked when she spoke, and she looked at you with a desperation that made your heart stop. “Please don’t go. Not… not again.”

You nodded reassuringly, heading back over to her and tentatively taking hold of one of her hands. She immediately brought it up to her lips and kissed your knuckles, some more tears making their way out.

“I’m not going anywhere. Not right now.” You told her quietly, watching as she closed her eyes, maybe in relief, before she slumped back down into the chair. Her head fell back and you heard some more cries from her, but she seemed to be making as much an effort as she could to stifle them. That was perhaps more heartbreaking than the sound of her sobs. “Here you go. Drink some water.”

With shaking hands, she managed to get the bottle open after a few tries, and you sat on the edge of the bed across from her. Some minutes passed by as you gazed at her and she calmed down, and weirdly, it didn’t feel uncomfortable or charged with vitriol like it did last time. Things seemed to be… in the past. Of course, all the emotions and feelings were still there, both of you could sense the elephant in the room and you didn’t dance around it for too long before one of you spoke.

“How… how did we end up like this.” Alexia mumbled. You didn’t have an answer for her. There was too much to say but it didn’t feel like anything could cover it.

“I don’t know.” You whispered back. The blonde tore her eyes away from the label of the water bottle that she messed with and met your gaze. The concerned look on your face made her smile, just for a second. “I really don’t know.”

“I want you to know that I am sorry. For my part in everything.” She rushed out like she was afraid of your reaction, her attention back on the water bottle she’d gotten through half of already.

The apology caught you by surprise. You weren’t sure what you were expecting but it wasn’t that.

“I’m sorry too.” You replied some time after. 

It also caught Alexia by surprise as well, if the way her head snapped up at you and her eyebrows raised and her eyes widened was anything to go by. You smiled shyly at her, only for the hopeful glint in her eyes to cause your breath to hitch in your throat. It was the first time in… well, the first time ever, that you felt this rift could be fixed. She seemed to want the same thing, and you hoped to god that the alcohol in her system wasn’t affecting her clarity.

“Why did you come here? At the bar, why did you help me?” She wondered, her eyebrows pinched together then, seemingly confused.

“Because no matter what’s happened between us, I couldn’t leave you like that. You seemed like you needed help.” You answered initially, before pausing for a second. Alexia nodded for you to continue. “What happened today, Ale? For you to get like this?”

The midfielder huffed, fidgeting in her seat and blinking away yet more tears that tried to fight their way out.

“I… there is a lot on my mind. Has been for a while. And my team, Spain, we were playing an important game today. For an Olympic medal. I…” She frowned, turning her head so that you couldn’t see her face. She seemed ashamed of herself when she spoke again. “I missed a penalty that would have made us level, it would have given us a chance and I… I missed it.”

The bottle dropped to the floor as she covered her face with her hands, her chest heaving as she leaned forwards to rest her elbows on her knees, shoulders shaking again like they did earlier. The sobs leaving her, much like before, were difficult to hear because they sounded like they’d been repressed for far longer than a few hours. Before you could react, though, she was talking again.

“I have missed so many big chances. I missed today. I missed last year with you. I messed up my knee twice. I messed up with you when I broke up with you. I can’t… do anything right.”

As soon as she finished, you were up from your seat and heading over to kneel in front of her. You gently pulled her hands from her face and wrapped your arms around her, encouraging her to do the same as she leaned her forehead against your shoulder. And for a while, the two of you stayed like that. Alexia cried and cried until she exhausted herself, you weren’t sure how long she went on, but you weren’t going to stop her at any point. She needed that more than anything else.

Until she pulled back suddenly and put her hands on your cheeks, cradling them tenderly and stroking her thumbs across your cheekbones. You weren’t expecting it, but… you didn’t stop it either. Even when she leaned down and pressed her forehead against yours.

“So much time has gone by. I haven’t forgotten you, cariño, I told you I never would.” She said, her voice hoarse and hardly there. “I never forgot you, never will.”

You wanted to tell her how you felt, wanted to tell her that hearing her say that was the best thing you’d heard in ten years, wanted to tell her you still loved her. But the time wasn’t right.

“Thank you.” You decided to say, and you saw how her face fell, before she quickly disguised her disappointment and gave a tight-lipped smile instead. “You’re exhausted, Ale. You should go to bed, get some rest. Sleep this off.”

“What will you do?” The fear and the anxiety in her tone then, you knew all too well. It was exactly what you felt back then and the resemblance gave you goosebumps. How things had changed.

“I’ll stay for a little while. As long as you get in bed and try to rest.” 

Thankfully, she did as you said, and no more than ten minutes later, the blonde was under the covers with only the small bedside lamp on so that you could see. She lay on her stomach facing away from where you sat against the headboard beside her, finally having a second to think for yourself and process all that had happened. The thing you landed on first, the main feeling you could identify, was how overwhelmed you felt. You couldn’t think clearly when she was in bed next to you. 

When you thought she was asleep, her breathing even and quiet compared to how she was before when she was worked up, you took a chance and leaned down to leave a kiss on her shoulder. It seemingly went off without a hitch, so with tears of your own forming, you quietly got off the bed and headed towards the door.

“You leaving?” Alexia asked in a half-asleep mumble. When you paused with your hand on the handle, she waited a minute before carrying on. “It’s okay. See you around. Hopefully.” 

—

It was inevitable that you’d end up back here. Back in the city you met her.

After she’d said that phrase to you, the same phrase that really started it all, you knew it was only a matter of time before you saw her again. Because that time in Paris, it had been different. 

If someone asked you why, you would say you weren’t sure. It was a gut feeling, not a certainty. The same gut feeling that took you around the world even though it seemed nothing ever truly surmounted from it. However, in the end, something had. It led you back to Alexia.

After you closed the door to her hotel room behind her once you left, you leaned back against it and put a hand over your mouth to cover your own cries that forced their way out. She was right behind you in the room, she could probably hear you, but you didn’t care. She had apologised and told you she hadn’t forgotten about you. Those two things meant so much more than they seemed to on the surface. 

As you walked down the familiar streets of Barcelona, the past ten years flashed by in a similar way to how people thought your life flashed by before the end. All the anguish, the resentment, the guilt and regret, they strolled right on by. You ignored them and focused on the good. Albeit, there wasn’t much of that, but enough that you felt sure in what you were about to do. This wasn’t the end, this was the beginning again. This was one door closing and another one opening as you entered a cafe you knew like the back of your hand, even a decade on.

She was sat at the same table you always used to sit at. A booth by the window in the back corner. Closed off enough from the other customers with a view of the streets you both walked together in the past. Her hand in yours, hidden in the pocket of her coat. 

Her back was to you as went over, so by the time you got there and went to sit down, she was flustered, standing up out of nerves yet unsure of how to greet you. To put her at ease, you giggled softly, then sat down across from her. She let out a relieved sigh before crossing her arms on the table and taking in the sight of you in front of her. It was the first time she properly had the chance. 

You looked older, ten years had passed so of course you did, but nothing about you had changed that much. You were still the same person she fell in love with and that’s all that mattered to her.

“Hi.” You finally said. 

“Hi.” She replied.

The pair of you shared tearful smiles and one of Alexia’s hands drifted across the table to take one of yours. With her in front of you, the same girl you bumped into at University, and her hand, that was slightly weathered by the years of sports, holding yours, it felt like no time had passed at all.

—

shamelessly inspired by tyler the creator! i had the majority of this done until that anon decided to drop by last night and then that kinda put me off this one but it's whatever! i know this was a bit of a heavy read so i thank you for sticking with it and i hope it was enjoyable nevertheless <3

[mariasont]

A Pen For Your Thoughts - A.H.

a/n: hi besties, this literally took my five hundred years but i love it so it was worth it <3 i just love these two soo much

masterlist

summary: 5 times hotch found himself unexpectedly drawn to bimbo!assistant!reader before they were together and 1 time when they finally were

pairings: aaron hotchner x bimbo!assistant!reader

warnings: just a whole bunch of fluff, fem!reader, aaron being a straight up simp, pining, 5 and 1

wc: 7.3k

Aaron Hotchner's steps slowed before he realized why.

The first flicker came in the form of a colorful blur in his peripheral vision. He might have ignored it—probably should have—but the movement tugged at his attention like a reflex. Without thinking, he glanced over his shoulder.

Big mistake.

You were seated in one of the stiff, fabric-covered chairs that lined the hallway outside HR, and he felt as though someone had hit pause on his mind. Your legs, crossed at the knee, seemed endless, every line perfectly sculpted. Your hair spilled over your shoulders in perfect waves that looked effortless but undoubtedly weren't, and your lips--gods, your lips--pulled at his focus like gravity.

It wasn't unusual to see someone unfamiliar on this floor, and most strangers barely recognized. But it was unusual to see someone who looked like they'd stepped out of a magazine shoot—as if the universe had dropped someone out of a dream into the most mundane place imaginable.

Aaron had seen beautiful women before--countless ones, in fact, across years of cases and courtrooms and the occasional social outing. But you? You looked like you had walked out of another world completely (one completely out of his league), all shimmer and gloss. The kind of stunning that made it hard to look away--or to think clearly.

Aaron knew he should have kept walking. He didn't have time to for this, whatever this was. But then you shifted, the smooth, unhurried motion of uncrossing your legs pulling his gaze like a thread he couldn't snap. His eyes betrayed him, flicking back to you before he could reel himself in. He hated that he looked, hated the lack of control in the moment—but most of all, he hated how much he wanted to look again.

There seemed to be nothing accidental about you. From the way there was not a single hair out of place, to the unbroken line of your posture, it all felt... intentional, like you'd been crafted with care by someone who didn't believe in flaws.

Aaron felt a twist of discomfort in his chest, something about you left him off-balance, and he didn't like it.

When your eyes lifted to meet his, Aaron felt the shift immediately. The tightness in his chest changed, became something warmer, something less familiar and far more dangerous. 

Your gaze was steady, curious, and completely unaware of the way it held him in place. He wasn’t used to being the one caught—being the one struggling to pull himself free from a moment that had stretched too long—but here he was, unable to look away.

Somewhere in the background, computers hummed and printers sputtered out pages, but none of it mattered. The world around him felt muted, stripped down to only you. You tilted your head slightly, that faint curve of your lips threatening to pull a smile from him in return—something he hadn’t done in a place like this for longer than he cared to remember.

Aaron blinked, hard, tearing his gaze away finally like a man breaking free from a spell. He resumed his stride with sharpness he didn't necessarily feel. Focus, he told himself, jaw tightening as though the word alone could erase the lingering pull in his chest. 

He had far more pressing matters to deal with than... whatever that had been. He told himself it didn’t matter, even as a faint ache settled somewhere deep in his ribcage at the lie.

But as he passed you, a faint, unexpected sound followed him.

"Excuse me--uh, sir?"

He turned slowly, his gaze landing on you a few feet away. You stood there with a pen in your hand, arm outstretched, as though you were offering him the world's most valuable artifact.

Seeing you up close was worse—or maybe better, he wasn’t sure. The graceful slope of your jaw, the delicate shape of your lips, and the faint light in your eyes that seemed almost too perfect—it was too much. He thought, briefly, about stepping back, as though more space could dull the effect you had on him.

"You dropped this," you said brightly, like you were genuinely pleased to hand it back to him.

Your smile was brilliant, almost too much in its sincerity, and it caught Aaron off guard. It clashed so completely with the hard lines of his own expression—the squared shoulders, the set jaw, the seriousness he wore like a second skin.

He frowned slightly, glancing at what was in your hands: a pen.

"That's not mine."

"Oh." Your expression faltered, but only for a second. Then you shrugged, your smile back in place. "Well, it was on the floor, and you were walking by, so... I figured it had to be yours."

"It's not," he repeated, his tone more clipped than he intended.

He didn't mean to be rude, really he didn't, but the interaction felt dangerous—like stepping to close to the edge of a cliff and daring to look down. If he let himself give you even an inch, he knew he’d risk losing his footing completely.

"Right." You nodded, not in the least bit deterred. "But, I mean, it could've been. You look like the kind of guy who always has a pen. You sure you don't want it? Just in case?"

You twirled it once between your fingers before holding it out again.

For a second, he almost walked away. It would've been the logical thing to do—move on, let the moment slip into irrelevance. But something about the way you stood there, head tilted like you were sizing him up, your lips twitching with barely-contained amusement, made him pause. The whole exchange was absurd, and yet, he couldn't quite bring himself to end it.

With a resigned sigh, he reached out and took the pen. His fingers brushed against yours for the briefest second, a fleeting touch that felt entirely too noticeable.

"Thanks," he murmured, his voice rough, as though the single word had taken more effort than it should have.

"No problem! Good pens always find good people. Or, like, maybe the other way around?"

You laughed softly, the sound light and unselfconscious, like you hadn't just made one of the most absurd statements he'd ever heard.

"Anyway, it's yours now. Fate or whatever."

Hotch blinked, unsure whether to laugh, respond, or simply walk away. "I'll, uh, keep that in mind."

Before he could decide what to do next, you gave a quick, cheerful wave, the motion fluid and natural, as though it required no thought at all. Turning on your heel, you moved back to your seat with an easy stride, settling in as though nothing had happened. Your legs crossed neatly as you opened the glittery notebook, your attention shifting back to it without hesitation, leaving him standing there like a man caught in the middle of something he didn’t understand.

Aaron forced himself to resume walking, the pen clutched in his hand as though he might actually use it. He had a drawer full of pens—good ones, expensive ones, and this one wasn't even his. Still, as he rounded the corner to his office, he felt his grip tighten on this particular one.

Aaron shut the door behind him with more force than necessary, the sound reverberating in the otherwise quiet office. The pen—your pen—landed on his desk with a clatter far louder than it had any right to be.

He stood there for a moment, his hands braced against the edge of his desk, his breath coming heavier than he wanted to admit. Unusual.

Sliding into his chair, he opened the first file and scanned its contents, letting the familiar details of a case seep into his mind. A triple homicide in Phoenix. Victims were a family of four—father, mother, two children. The youngest, a boy, survived. Age seven.

He wrote a note in the margin, flipped the page, and tried to ignore the memory of your voice.

His fingers tightened around the pen he'd grabbed from his desk—not the one you'd handed him, which still sat untouched where he'd tossed it earlier. He stared at the file, his handwriting blurring slightly, jagged and uneven in a way that irritated him.

Victimology. Unsub profile. Possible geographic location. He moved carefully through the pages, his mind grasping onto the structured familiarity like it was all he had left.

By the time he reached the third file, he felt a flicker of relief. Routine. Structure. This was his element.

And then his mind betrayed him.

The memory of pink heels, a short skirt, and soft lips that he wouldn't mind—

Aaron scrubbed a hand over his face, muttering a curse under his breath. This wasn't like him—he was better than this. Or at least, he liked to think he was. He didn't get distracted. Not by anyone.

Certainly not by a bright-eyed woman who looked like she'd stepped out of some sparkly alternate reality.

He exhaled sharply, shaking his head as though it somehow might clear the intrusive thought. Gripping the file tighter, he buried himself back in the details, his jaw clenched with the effort of willing himself to focus.

An hour slipped by, then another. He busied himself in his tasks, methodically combing through reports and notes until the details blurred together in a haze of ink and paper.

Just as his mind began to clear, a sharp knock at the door cut through his concentration, pulling him abruptly from his thoughts.

"Come in," he called, setting down his pen and leaning back in his chair, already bracing himself for whatever new interruption was about to derail his morning.

The woman he recognized as the head of HR stepped inside. She carried a folder under her arm, expression brisk as ever, and Aaron felt the slightest prickle of irritation at the disruption.

"Agent Hotchner, I wanted to introduce you to your new assistant," she said without preamble, gesturing toward the door.

His brows knit together. "My assistant?"

"Yes, we finalized the selection process this morning," she said, stepping aside. "I thought it would be best for you to meet her in person."

Aaron's stomach dropped. He'd completely forgotten about the interviews for the assistant position—Strauss had been pushing him for weeks to fill the role, but it had fallen so far down his priority list he hadn't given it a second thought.

And now, as you stepped into his office, notebook in hand and that same bright smile lighting up your face, Aaron felt the sharp pang of realization: he was doomed.

"Hi again!" you chirped, offering a little wave. "Guess I'll be seeing a lot more of you!"

He blinked, trying to keep his reaction in check, though disbelief and a hint of dread churned just beneath the surface. You were his assistant? This had to be some sort of test—Strauss’s latest ploy to see if he could remain composed under the most absurd circumstances. Or perhaps the bureau had finally decided that sending someone like you—someone who looked like you—was the surest way to undermine him, to make him throw in the towel.

He wasn't sure the motive, but he was sure he did not like it.

The HR representative gave a curt nod. "She'll be handling your schedule, communications, and general support tasks. Her credentials are impressive, and I think you'll find her capable and efficient."

Aaron forced a polite smile. "I'm sure."

His voice was even, but internally he was so certain that you could never be of help, that he'd never be able to focus again with you around 24/7.

You beamed, seemingly oblivious to his hesitation, which he couldn't figure out if he preferred or not.

The HR representative cleared her throat. "I'll leave you to it, then. She's officially on the clock as of this morning."

With that, she left, the door clicking shut behind her, leaving Aaron. By himself. With you. The gods hated him. That was the only logical explanation.

For a moment, silence hung in the air.

You tilted your head, studying him with a curious smile. "So, what's first on the agenda, boss?"

Aaron let out a measured breath, his thoughts already spiraling into contingency plans. Logically, he couldn’t fault your qualifications—your resume likely backed the bureau’s decision, and they didn’t make careless hires. But logic couldn’t compete with instinct, and instinct told him that having you around wasn’t plausible. Not for him.

"We'll start with familiarizing you with the basics," he said, his tone clipped but professional. "My schedule, ongoing cases, and departmental protocols. After that, I'll assign tasks as needed."

Despite his words, he was already combing through ways he could reverse the situation. Could he request a reassignment? Shift your duties elsewhere?

You nodded enthusiastically, flipping open your notebook. "Got it! Basics first. This is gonna be great—I can feel it."

He pressed his lips into a thin line, glancing at the pen still sitting on the corner of his desk. The one you'd given him.

--

The filing cabinet gleamed mockingly at Aaron Hotchner from across the office. Or maybe it was the glitter that gleamed. Yes, definitely the glitter.

He squinted at it, half-hoping that prolonged focus might transform it back into his carefully maintained filing system. No such luck. Pink and purple labels seemed to mock him from the distance, each one emblazoned in a font that could only be described as aggressively cheerful. Post-it notes stuck out at sharp angles like rogue confetti, and—God help him—there was definitely a smiley face in the corner of one drawer.

Aaron crossed his arms, his jaw clenching as he drew in a slow breath through his nose. He wasn't a man prone to dramatics, but at that moment, the cabinet might as well have had a neon sign reading crazy flashing above it.

 He'd been meticulous about keeping things orderly since day one at the BAU. His filing system had been straightforward, functional, and--most importantly--serious. And now it looked...

Well, it looked like you had gotten involved.

You had been his assistant for just over three weeks now--twenty-four days, to be exact. Not that he was counting. Aaron still wasn't sure if the role suited you--or if you were bending the role to suit yourself.

He had no intention of snapping, no matter how tempting it was to question your sanity, but with a final glance at the glittery atrocity in his filing cabinet, he rose from his desk. 

"Is there a reason," he said, voice calm albeit clipped, "why my filing system looks like it's been vandalized by a kindergarten art class?"

You popped your head up from the other side of the office, face brightening instantly. In true form, you didn't look even slightly apologetic. Instead, you grinned, holding up a stack of color-coded sticky notes like you'd just won an award.

"Oh, you noticed!"

"It's hard not to," Aaron replied dryly, gesturing toward the cabinet that now sparkled like a disco ball under the overhead lights. "What exactly am I looking at?"

You practically skipped over to him, the soft swish of your skirt catching his attention for just a second too long.

"It's called innovation. I color-coded everything—pink for cold cases, blue for active ones, purple for solved. Oh, and the glitter? That's to, you know, boost morale."

Aaron schooled his expression. "Love isn't the word I'd use."

Aaron stared at you, then at the glittery disaster. "Morale."

"Yep! Morale," you said, nodding. "It's proven that bright colors make people happier and more productive. Or... at least, I think I read that somewhere."

Aaron opened his mouth, then closed it again, momentarily at a loss. He'd been managing this filing system for years without so much as a single misplaced folder. Efficient. Logical. And now, his cabinets looked like they'd been hit by a craft store tornado.

He pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling slowly. "Let me get this straight. You reorganized my filing system—without asking—and added glitter. For morale."

"And to make your life easier," you said with a grin. "You're welcome."

Aaron opened his mouth, but you weren't done.

"Also," you added, holding up a small floral notebook, "I wrote a guide for the system! Just in case anyone gets confused."

He blinked, unsure where to even begin.

'You added a guide?"

You nodded enthusiastically, twirling a pen with a little gem on the end between your fingers. "Uh-huh! You never know—someone might need it. I made it super clear, though, so even Derek can figure it out."

"You're saying Morgan needs help with file tabs?"

"Well," you said with a grin, "he's very action-oriented. This system's a little more... delicate."

Aaron stared at you, his expression giving nothing away. "Right. Delicate."

"It's perfect, isn't it?" you said, oblivious to his tone as you turned back to the cabinet and pulled out a folder. "See? You need a case file—bam! There it is. No digging, no hunting. Easy peasy, lemon squeezy."

He wanted to be irritated. Really, he did. But to his growing dismay, the system actually worked.

"It's... functional," he admitted reluctantly.

Your eyes widened, and you pressed a hand to your chest as if he'd just handed you the world's most heartfelt compliment. "Hotch! That's, like, the nicest thing you've ever said to me!"

"I wouldn't go that far," he said dryly, though the corners of his mouth twitched slightly.

You gasped dramatically, leaning against the cabinet with a grin. "I'll take it! Oh, this is the best day ever. I can't wait to tell Garcia. She's gonna lose her mind."

Aaron sighed, running a hand down his face. "Please don't."

"No promises!"

He shook his head, turning sharply toward his desk, as if reclaiming his focus were as simple as shifting direction. His hand moved automatically, landing squarely on the case file he’d been working on earlier. No fumbling. No sorting.

Aaron glanced at the filing cabinet again.

It was efficient. He hated that it was efficient.

And you—standing there with your floral tape and sparkly folders, looking so impossibly pleased with yourself—made it impossible for him to argue. He didn’t have the heart for it.

--

From his desk, Aaron glanced toward you. You were seated at your usual your spot, head bent over a stack of case files, highlighting passages with a bright pink marker. You were bathed in a warm light, and for once, you weren't humming under your breath or tapping your nails on the desk.

Aaron leaned back in his chair, watching as you quietly worked. Your hair was pulled back into a loose ponytail, a few strands framing your face, and your usual heels had been kicked off, leaving you in a pair of fluffy socks with little bows at the ankles. On the corner of your desk sat your water bottle, the words Sparkle Like You Mean It emblazoned across the side in bold script.

Aaron frowned slightly, returning his gaze to the papers in front of him, though his focus remained divided. You'd stayed late before, of course, but always with your usual energy--talking a mile a minute, asking endless questions, or filling the silence with offhanded comments. But this quieter version of you felt unfamiliar, and though Aaron knew he shouldn't, he found himself wondering why.

He cleared his throat. "You didn't have to stay this late."

You glanced up, startled, as if you'd forgotten he was there. Then you smiled, soft and easy. "It's not big deal. Besides, it's not like I have anything better to do."

Aaron raised a brow. "No plans to color-code your closet or reorganize your pantry?"

Your smile widened just a little, but the teasing edge he expected wasn't there. 

"Already did that last weekend," you said lightly, returning to your files. "I figured this was a better use of my time." Better use of your time. The words seemed to hang in the air, unexpected and uncharacteristically serious.

He watched as you flipped to another page, carefully highlighting a section and jotting a note in the margin. Pink folders were stacked neatly beside you, each labeled in your unmistakable handwriting--looping, bubbly, with tiny hearts dotting every "i". The sight should have annoyed him. Should have.

Aaron wasn't sure how long he watched you before you looked up again, catching his gaze.

"What?" you asked, tilting your head, a faint smile playing at your lips.

"Nothing," he said, clearing his throat and looking back down at his file.

Silence settled between you again, the kind of quiet that felt heavy but not unpleasant. He could hear the faint swish of your marker against the page, the creak of his chair, and the soft sound of your breathing. And, without meaning to, Aaron found himself listening more closely than he should have.

The clock on the wall ticked past midnight by the time Aaron closed the last of his files. He rubbed a hand over his face, exhaustion beginning to set in. When he glanced up, he noticed you stifling a yawn, your shoulders slumping slightly as you stretched your arms over your head.

"You should go home," he said, his voice softer than usual.

You blinked, as if surprised by his tone, then shook your head. "Not yet. I'm almost done."

Aaron frowned. "You've done more than enough for one night. I'll finish the rest."

"No way," you said, a spark of your usual energy creeping back into your voice. "I said I'd help, and I'm gonna help. I mean, unless you're saying you don't trust me with this, boss?"

The corner of Aaron's mouth twitched. "That's not what I said."

"Good," you replied, sitting a little straighter and brushing a strand of hair behind your ear.

He sighed, standing and crossing the room to your desk. As he approached, he noticed how quickly you shifted, as though trying to regain your usual poise.

"At least let me walk you to your car when you're done," he said, his tone low but firm.

You glanced up at him, and for a moment, something soft flickered in your expression. Then you smiled, teasing but lighter than usual. "What, are you afraid I'm going to trip over my own two feet in the parking lot?"

He regarded you for a moment, his face unreadable. Then, with a faint twitch of his lips, he replied, "It's not entirely out of the question."

You laughed, pushing your chair back as you gathered your things. "Well, I guess it's good to have an FBI escort. You never know when the sidewalks might strike."

He stepped aside, letting you pass, and followed as you made your way into the hall. You cradled the papers to your chest, your ponytail swaying gently with each step. A strange, nameless feeling pressed at the edges of his mind.

"You know," you said as you pressed the elevator button, glancing at him with a grin, "I think you're starting to like me, Boss Man."

He raised an eyebrow. "Starting to?"

You laughed, the corners of your eyes crinkling as your grin widened. "Oh, so it’s official then. We’re besties."

Aaron waited until the elevator doors opened, stepping inside before glancing at you. With a small smirk, he said, "If that’s what you want to call it."

--

Aaron's pen stilled in his hand, the soft scratch of it against paper replaced by the voices rising behind him. He didn't react immediately—he rarely did. Years of leadership had taught him the value of restraint.

But then he heard it.

"Damn," one officer muttered, the smirk practically audible in his voice. "If that's what the FBI's hiring, sign me up."

His colleague snorted. "She might not know how to handle evidence, but she's definitely handling that skirt."

Aaron's shoulders stiffened. His eyes stayed on the profile in front of him, even as the words began to blur. His fingers curled tightly around the pen, the slight tremor in his grip betraying the simmer of irritation he fought to contain. Normally, he could ignore the noise, let it slide off his back, but the sound of their laughter grated against him, making his jaw clench.

"Wonder if her job description includes anything extra," another voice chimed in.

"Bet the boss has her bending over files all day. Lucky bastard."

Aaron's head lifted slightly, his sharp gaze flicking to you. You were still focused on the corkboard, entirely oblivious to the attention you were drawing. Your fingers tugged at a pinned map, your heels lifting off the ground as you reached higher, and the hem of your skirt crept up just enough to draw another low whistle from one of the men.

Aaron set his pen down carefully, his fingers flexing against the table.

"If she reaches any further, I'm gonna owe her dinner," one of them added, his laugh rumbling through the room.

Aaron's chest tightened, heat rising uncomfortably in his veins. He could feel the pulse in his temple, his irritation mounting with each word.

"I don't doubt she's great at after-hours work."

Aaron didn't hesitate, stepping forward with quiet, calculated purpose. The officers’ laughter sputtered and died as they registered his approach, their bodies stiffening in response. 

He stopped just close enough to unsettle, positioning himself squarely in their line of sight. His broad shoulders blocked their view of you entirely, his gaze cold and unflinching—a silent warning that left no room for misinterpretation.

He stood there for a beat too long, letting the tension grow. The officers shifted awkwardly under the weight of his stare.

"Hotch?"

Aaron turned, his expression easing as his eyes met yours. You stood by the corkboard, one hand absently adjusting a pin, your head tilted in question.

"Everything okay?" you asked, your brows knitting slightly.

"Fine," he said, his tone smoothing out as he addressed you. "Are you finished?"

You glanced at the board, tilting your head before stepping back to inspect your work. "Almost. Just need to add one more report. Be right back."

You gave him a quick smile before heading toward the other side of the room, your heels clicking softly against the floor. Aaron's gaze followed you briefly before returning to the officers in front of him.

They shifted awkwardly under his unrelenting stare, their earlier smugness dissolving into unease.

Aaron's voice was quiet, almost too quiet. "If you have time to make inappropriate comments, I assume your reports are finished and flawless."

One of the officers opened his mouth, but Aaron held up a hand, silencing him before a single word could escape.

"I don't tolerate disrespect on my team. If you feel the need to revisit what professionalism looks like, I'm sure your supervisor will be happy to help."

"Yes, sir," the first man mumbled, his face burning.

"Understood," the second added quickly.

Aaron stood there for a moment longer, his jaw tight as he exhaled slowly. With a sharp pivot, he returned to the table, his expression composed once more as he resumed his place at the head of the team.

A few minutes later, you appeared beside him again, balancing another stack of papers. His gaze flicked to you almost instinctively, his expression softening before he even realized it. The shift was subtle, natural—something he didn’t let himself dwell on.

--

The knock at Aaron's door was sharp, urgent, and loud enough to pull him from the lull he was trying to fight against by pouring water into the coffee maker.

He crossed the room in three long strides, his body reacting on instinct before his thoughts could catch up. A million scenarios flashed through his mind, each one worse than the last—someone hurt, an emergency. By the time he reached the door, his hand on the knob, his breath felt tight.

What he didn't expect was you.

You stood in the hallway, frozen in place, your hand still half-raised from knocking. Your sweatshirt hung loosely off one shoulder, the hem unevenly bunched, and your sock-covered feet shuffled against the carpet like you were contemplating bolting. But it wasn't just your disheveled appearance that hit him like a freight train.

It was your eyes.

Tears hovered on your lashes, catching the hallway light like fragile drops of glass, ready to fall at any moment. Your lips parted, trembling slightly as though forming words that never came.

Your lips parted as if to speak, but no words came, and the sight of you--glassy eyes, unshed tears bubbling as if they were waiting for permission to fall--hit him like a gut punch. The look in your eyes—raw and exposed, holding back a flood of emotions—struck him with a force that knocked the air from his lungs.

For a moment, all Aaron could do was stare. His mind raced, scanning your face for clues, cataloging your every movement like a case profile.

Aaron had spent the entire day watching you more closely than he cared to admit. He hadn't said anything—hadn't wanted to overwhelm you—but this had been your first real exposure to the kind of cases the BAU handled. You’d tried to bury your discomfort under a sunny smile, but he’d seen it anyway—the way you avoided looking at the crime scene photos, the nervous energy in your hands when someone mentioned the unsub.

He'd seen it all, and now, standing in front of you, the weight of his worry hit him full force.

"Are you okay?" His voice was sharper than he intended, but he couldn't stop the questions from spilling out. "Are you hurt? Did something happen?"

Your lips parted, but no sound came out at first. You shook your head quickly, your hands twisting in the hem of your sweatshirt. 

"No—I'm fine," you said, though your trembling voice and red-rimmed eyes told a different story. "I just—I couldn't sleep."

Aaron’s jaw tightened, his gaze sweeping over you once more, lingering on your tear-streaked eyes and the way your shoulders curled inward, as though shielding yourself from an invisible blow. His mind raced, unwilling to accept your answer at face value.

He opened the door wider, stepping aside. 

"Come in," he said firmly, his voice low but steady.

You hesitated for a moment before stepping inside, your movements slow and uncertain. 

The door clicked shut behind you as Aaron turned, his focus still trained on you. You stood frozen in the center of the room, arms wrapped tightly around yourself, your fingers nervously twisting the hem of your sweatshirt. Tears clung stubbornly to your lashes, and for one heart-stopping moment, Aaron forgot how to breathe.

"What's going on?" he asked, his tone softer now but no less serious.

You glanced at him, your lip trembling as you struggled to find the words. Finally, you let out a shaky breath, your voice cracking as you spoke. "I can't stop thinking about the unsub. About what he did. I just... It's like.... it's haunting me."

Aaron stayed rooted in place, his hands curling into loose fists at his sides as he forced himself to speak evenly. 

"It's hard to turn it off," he said. "Especially the first time. I know."

"All those people," you continued, your gaze dropping to the floor. "And he didn't care. Not even a little. He just—he just did it, like it didn't even matter. How can someone be like that? How can someone be so... empty?"

Aaron stayed quiet for a moment, watching as your gaze stayed fixed on the floor. He recognized that look—the hollow kind of disbelief that came with trying to reconcile the worst parts of humanity. He'd seen it in new agents, in victims, even in himself. And now he saw it in you.

"People like him don't think the way we do," he said finally, his voice calm but firm. "You can't make sense of it because it doesn't make sense. You're not supposed to understand someone like that."

You looked up at him, your brows knitting together as you searched his face. 

"But why?" you asked, your voice cracking again. "Why would someone want to hurt people like that? Just for... for no reason?"

Aaron exhaled softly, his hands resting on his hips as he glanced away for a moment. It wasn't an easy answer—not one he could sum up in a way that would make this any less awful for you.

"People like him don't think the way we do," he said, choosing his words carefully. "To him, it's not about right or wrong. It's about control. Power. That's all he understands. It's not something you can rationalize."

Your arms tightened around yourself, and you looked away, your teeth worrying your bottom lip. 

"I just keep thinking about everything they went through—all those people. Like, I can't stop picturing it, and it's just... it's too much." You exhaled shakily, your voice trembling. "I know this is your world, but it's... it's really awful."

Aaron stepped closer. 

"It's your first case," he said. "And it's normal to feel overwhelmed by it. This kind of work—it takes a toll. On everyone."

You let out a shaky laugh, swiping at your eyes with the sleeve of your sweatshirt. "Do you ever get used to it?"

Aaron paused, considering the question. 

"You learn how to handle it," he said finally. "You focus on what you can control. On what you can do to stop it."

Your nod was faint, tentative, and the tension in your shoulders didn’t ease, not completely.  He’d pieced others back together before, often without a second thought, but with you, the need to protect and steady you felt far more personal.

"You should try to get some sleep."

"I don't want to go back to my room," you said suddenly, the words tumbling out before you could stop them.

He froze, his back to you as he processed what you'd just said. When he turned, you were staring at him, wide-eyed and wringing your hands.

"Not in your bed!" you added hastily, gesturing toward the spare bed in the corner of the room. "I mean—not with you. Just, like, over there. In the other bed. So I'm not alone. You know, because... nightmares."

You pressed your lips together as you continued. "Don't worry, I'm not making some grand declaration of love or trying to seduce you or anything. Promise."

Aaron's lips twitched faintly, but the humor didn't quite reach his eyes. He took in the way your breathing hitched, your hands still at your sides, fingers clenching and unclenching as if searching for something to hold onto. He could see it—how hard you were trying to smooth over the cracks, trying to make the moment lighter than it was.

He hesitated, his thoughts swirling. Having you in the room—spare bed or not—introduced complexities he wasn’t ready to address. His gaze flicked to the empty bed and then back to you, taking in the way you shifted nervously under his silence.

Aaron raised a brow, his tone wry but gentle. "Well, I guess I'll have to cancel the champagne and roses."

Your laugh came quickly, a little more genuine this time. "Okay, now you're just mocking me."

His expression softened, and he gestured toward the spare bed. "Stay as long as you need. It's fine."

"Thanks, boss," you said, standing and moving toward the spare bed. "Promise I won't snore—or, if I do, I'll deny it forever."

Aaron didn't answer right away. He followed you to the bedside, crouching down until you were eye level.

"If you need anything," he said, his voice low, "wake me up. Understood?"

Your smile wavered for a second before you nodded. "Okay."

He stayed there for a beat longer, his gaze searching yours, before standing. When he finally stepped back, you had already drawn the blanket around yourself. Without a second thought, he leaned down and adjusted the corner over your shoulder, his hand lingering for the briefest moment before he straightened.

As he settled into his own bed, he glanced over at you one last time, taking in the way your lashes fluttered against your cheeks as you drifted closer to sleep.

It wasn't in his nature to dwell—not on things he couldn't change. But as he stared at the ceiling, the image of your tearful expression stayed with him. He'd seen it coming, the way this case had worn on you, and he'd worried all day about how it would hit you when things finally went quiet.

Aaron exhaled softly, rolling onto his back as he closed his eyes. This job didn't leave room for many absolutes, but he was certain of one thing: he'd make sure you never felt that way again.

--

Aaron sat at the far end of the table, his customary spot for team dinners, where he could watch over everyone without drawing much attention to himself. Usually, his gaze moved easily from one teammate to the next, but tonight, it kept circling back to you.

You were seated next to him, close enough that he could catch the faintest hint of your perfume, something light and sweet that lingered every time you shifted in your chair. The warm lighting of the restaurant cast a soft glow on your skin, highlighting the curve of your jaw when you laughed, the way your lips curved upward with such natural ease that it felt like a magnet for his attention.

He'd spent much of the evening trying to appear unaffected, keeping his gaze on the table or his plate or even his wine glass when he felt himself watching you for too long. But you weren't making it easy.

"Hotch, you have to try this," you said, holding out your fork, a small piece of bruschetta balanced precariously on the edge. "It's amazing."

"I'm fine," he replied automatically, though his lips twitched slightly as he glanced at you.

You rolled your eyes, leaning just a fraction closer. "You're always fine. Live a little—this is life-changing bruschetta."

The team chuckled softly, but Aaron barely noticed. 

He sighed quietly, relenting, and took the offered bite. The warmth of your fingers brushed his when you handed him the fork, and he swallowed quickly. The bruschetta tasted fine—probably great, even—but the flavor barely registered.

"Well?" you prompted, your head tilting slightly as you watched him expectantly.

"It's good," he said, his voice even, though he felt anything but.

You grinned, satisfied, and turned back to your plate, your shoulder brushing his in the process. The touch lingered for a second too long—or maybe it didn't, but it still sent a wave of heat up his spine.

Aaron reached for his water glass, more to ground himself than anything else, and found your hand there first. Your fingers bumped his as you pulled back, your eyes darting to his with a flicker of apology that melted into something softer.

"Sorry," you murmured lightly, though the smile curving your lips made it clear you were anything but.

He shook his head slightly, his chest tightening in a way he couldn't fully explain. How had this happened? How had you, so unapologetically bright and warm, managed to work your way into his life so seamlessly that he now couldn't imagine it without you?

Across the table, Emily made a comment about the case, and you chimed in, your voice as animated as ever. Aaron listened, though his attention strayed to the way you gestured when you spoke, the soft movement of your hands, the way your lips curved when you made a point.

"This place is so cute," you said brightly, glancing around at the rustic décor. "I mean, it's no Olive Garden, but still, it's got charm."

Across the table, Derek snorted, folding his arms. "Olive Garden? That's your gold standard for Italian food?"

You gave him an incredulous look. "Are you saying unlimited breadsticks and salad aren't the peak of dining luxury?"

Emily raised her glass with a smirk. "I feel like we're learning a lot about you tonight."

A laugh bubbled out of you when Emily made a dry joke, and Aaron couldn't help but feel the corners of his own mouth lift in response. He glanced away quickly, hoping no one noticed, but when his eyes drifted back to you, you were already looking at him.

Your smile softened, your gaze lingering on his for a moment longer than it should have. Aaron cleared his throat, shifting in his seat as his hand brushed against yours under the table.

The light pressure of your fingers against his was brief but intentional, and Aaron's chest tightened as he realized how quickly he was starting to crave these small moments—moments that, not long ago, he would have never allowed himself to have.

You didn't pull away immediately, your fingertips grazing his before the noise of the team pulled you back to the conversation. It was subtle, so subtle that the others might have missed it entirely, but JJ didn't. She raised a brow, her gaze flicking between the two of you.

"So," JJ said, her tone casual but edged with curiosity. "How long has this been going on?"

Your hand froze mid-reach for the butter, and you glanced at her with wide eyes. "What's been going on?"

Spencer Reid tilted his head, his gaze narrowing as he studied you and Aaron. "You and Hotch."

Your eyes darted to Aaron, who had straightened slightly in his seat. He didn't look uncomfortable, but there was a flicker of something in his expression—something softer than his usual stoicism.

"Depends," you said, flashing a teasing smile. "How long do you think it's been?"

Derek leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest as he chuckled. "Oh, you're good. Deflecting like a pro."

"It's not deflecting," you said, feigning offense. "It's a legitimate question."

Aaron sighed quietly, setting his glass down with a soft clink. "It's been a few months."

The table fell silent for a moment.

"A few months?" Emily repeated, her brow arching. "And you didn't think to mention it?"

"It's not like we were hiding it," you said quickly, glancing at Aaron. "Right?"

"We just weren't announcing it."

"Well, it's about damn time," Derek said, breaking the silence with a wide grin. "Seriously, Hotch. I was starting to think you didn't have it in you."

Aaron gave him a look, though the faint twitch of his lips betrayed his amusement. "It's not up for discussion, Morgan."

"Noted," Derek said, his grin unrelenting.

You leaned closer to Aaron, your shoulder brushing his as you lowered your voice. "Think we'll ever live this down?"

"Doubtful."

The conversation shifted, the focus moving to Spencer's latest trivia tangent and JJ's plans for an upcoming weekend with her family. But as the night wore on, Aaron found himself more at ease than he'd expected.

At one point, you leaned over to steal a bite of his pasta, and he let you, his lips twitching into a faint smile when you made a show of how much better his dish was than yours.

By the end of the evening, as the team trickled out of the restaurant one by one, Aaron found himself standing beside you near the entrance, his hand resting lightly on the small of your back.

"That wasn't so bad," you said, tilting your head up to look at him.

"No," he agreed, his voice quiet. "It wasn't."

You smiled, leaning slightly into his touch. "See? Told you they'd be fine with it."

He huffed softly, shaking his head. "I think Morgan's already planning his next round of questions."

"Probably," you admitted with a laugh. "But, hey, it's progress. You smiled twice tonight."

His lips twitched slightly, though he shook his head in mock exasperation. "Twice, huh? You're keeping count now?"

"Absolutely," you teased, leaning a little closer. "I'm very goal-oriented, you know. Almost got a smile out of you with my pen trick, too, but you were a little too busy that day."

Aaron frowned slightly, his brow furrowing. "Pen trick?"

"Oh, come on, Hotch," you said, rolling your eyes with a grin. "That was my totally genius plan to get you to notice me. Thought maybe you'd smile, maybe even flirt back, but no—you shut me down with the whole, that's not mine. Absolutely brutal."

His frown deepened as he stared at you, trying to process your words. "You planned that?"

"Obviously," you replied. "I saw you walking by all serious and handsome, and I thought, why not? Of course, I didn't realize I was interviewing to be your assistant. That kind of killed the whole plan."

He tilted his head, his lips twitching into a faint smirk. "Killed it how?"

"Well," you said, giving him an exaggerated shrug, "if I'd known you were the guy in charge, I would've worn something with more cleavage. Really sell it, you know?"

Aaron stared at you for a moment, then leaned in slightly, his voice low and dry. "There's still time to test that theory."

You gasped, swatting at him as your laughter bubbled up. "Aaron Hotchner, are you flirting with me?"

"I don't know," he replied smoothly, his lips twitching into an almost-smile. "Did it work?"

You looped your arm through his, your grin softening into something fonder. "A little late for flirting now, boss. You've already got me."

"Good to know."

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[nomie-11]

Vi x Reader - Piltover's Princess Part 2

masterlist! | part 1

The first time Vi had gotten you alone, she was unreasonably happy. Everytime the two of you had been together before this it had been on your turf, under your circumstances, with your people surrounding you, and Caitlyn had always tagged along. 

You had even let Vi play dress up—something that you never did, not even for your sweetheart of a mother—and let her pick out some casual clothing for you to wear. And she thought you looked absolutely adorable in the plain brown leather jacket and black pants she had picked for you, even if you shifted uncomfortably in the plain clothes. 

“Vi, I feel like I’m wearing a costume,” You said flatly, tugging at your sleeve as you stood in front of her, the fancy decor of your bedroom suddenly feeling foreign and unfamiliar in your new attire. “I look ridiculous.” 

“You look adorable, princess,” she corrected, a wide grin on her face. “Ready to conquer Zaun?” 

With a sharp, yet endearingly deep breath, you nodded, stealing your expression. “As ready as I’ll ever be.” 

—------------------------------

You were not ready. 

Zaun was an entirely different world from Piltover. The air was thicker, darker, and the streets were damp and uneven as you dutifully walked next to Vi. Even the way you walked made you stick out like a sore thumb, your strides too long, your head held too high. You looked every bit the royalty you were painted to be, even when you wanted nothing more than to become Vi’s shadow. 

“There’s so much I have to show you,” Vi rambled, her eyes bright with excitement as you turned another corner. “You have to try my favorite food ever—oh, you’re going to love Zaun style street food! And I have to take you to The Last Drop—you need to meet Powder and Ekko! And then we need to watch the skyline after the sun goes down from the rooftops, there’s firelights everywhere, and Piltover looks beautiful from Zaun’s rooftops! And–”

You stumbled on a loose cobblestone, the toe of your worn boots catching on the edge of the stone before you could resituate yourself, and you felt yourself falling with a small yelp. 

Vi reacted instantly, her reflexes sharp as ever. Before you could hit the ground, her strong arms were around you, steadying you effortlessly. 

“Whoa, easy there, princess,” Vi said, her voice filled with concern, but her ears pink. “You okay?”

You looked up at her, cheeks flushing. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just… not used to these streets.” You straightened yourself, brushing imaginary dust off your pants, trying to calm the blush that covered your face. 

Vi laughed, a warm and genuine sound that made your heart flutter. “Guess we gotta get you some Zaun-proof boots next time, huh?”

You gave her a small smile, grateful for her attempt to lighten the moment. “Maybe. Or you could just catch me every time I fall.”

For a second, Vi wished she dragged Caitlyn along as well, because now there was no one to cover for her as she stumbled over her words—her mouth caught somewhere between “of course I’ll catch you,” and “please marry me.”

————————————

The stand that Vi brought you to for food was… interesting, to say the least. 

“We need to have the seafood skewers. Oh! And we need the tentacle stew—and you have to try grilled Zaun-style fish heads!” She rambled as you approached a stand with a huge blue fish-man behind the counter. 

The vendor, a hulking figure with vibrant scales and a grin that revealed jagged teeth, greeted Vi with a hearty laugh. 

“Well, well, well, if it ain’t Vi! Who’s the fancy friend?” He teased, his eyes flickering to you. 

You swallowed nervously, feeling like you were out of your depth—quite literally. 

“This is Y/n,” Vi said proudly, nudging you forward. “Piltover’s finest—and she’s here to try real Zaun food.” 

The vendor laughed again. “Piltover royalty, huh? You sure you can handle our flavors, princess?” 

You straightened your shoulders, determined not to let the teasing get to you. “I can handle it,” you said with as much confidence as you could muster. 

Vi smirked, clearly amused by your defiance. “We’ll take two skewers, a bowl of stew, and—uh—one fish head.” She grinned at your flushing face. “Start small.” 

As you waited for your food, Vi leaned against the counter, casually talking to the vendor about Zaun gossip. You listened, marveling at how comfortable she was in this world that felt so chaotic to you.

When the food arrived, the smell was… overwhelming. The skewers glistened with an oily sauce, and the stew was bubbling with chunks of blue fish meat. Then there was the fish head, its glassy eyes staring right at you. 

“Ready to dig in?” Vi asked with a grin, holding out a skewer. 

You hesitated, staring at the fish head like it might come back to life. “Do I… eat the eyes?” 

Vi burst out laughing, nearly doubling over as a light blush covered your cheeks. “Only if you’re brave enough!”

You shot her a mock glare, grabbing a skewer instead. You took a cautious bite—and to your surprise, it was delicious. Smoky, salty, with a tangy kick that lingered on your tongue. It was incredible. 

“That’s… amazing!” You beamed, your eyes lighting up as you eagerly went for another bite. 

Vi froze for a moment, staring at you with a mixture of disbelief and adoration. “You… think so?” she asked, her voice unusually soft. 

You nodded enthusiastically, savoring the flavors. “I’ve never tasted anything like this before. It’s so different—but in a good way!”

Vi’s heart did a little flip at your excitement. The way your eyes sparkled, the way your lips curved into that radiant smile, the way you hummed in delight at every bite—it was too much for her to handle. You were too much. 

“Y-you’ve got, uh, sauce on your cheek,” Vi stammered, her usual confidence crumbling as she gestured vaguely at your face. 

You blinked, then tried to wipe it away, missing the splotch entirely. “Here?” 

“No, uh, lower… wait, here, let me—” Vi reached out with a napkin, gently brushing it against your cheek. She was so close now, her face inches from yours, and she could feel her ears heating up as her eyes locked onto yours. 

Your cheeks flushed as you felt the warmth of her hand so near, her punk hair catching the dim light of the streetlamps. You weren’t sure if it was the slightly spicy food or Vi’s proximity, but your heart was racing. “Thanks,” you murmured, your voice softer than you intended. 

Vi quickly stepped back, the napkin crumpled in her hand as she tried to collect herself. “N-no problem. Just—uh—looking out for you, princess,” she said, her tone uneven. 

You couldn’t help but smile at her flustered state. “You’re adorable when you’re nervous, Vi,” you teased, leaning slightly closer. 

Vi’s brain fumbled for a moment. Her tough exterior cracked completely as she stumbled over her words, her face growing redder by the second. “I’m not—! I mean, you’re—! Ugh, why are you like this?” she groaned, burying her face in her hands for a moment before peeking out with a sheepish grin. 

You laughed, the sound ringing clear and light in the crowded streets of Zaun. “Maybe I just like seeing you flustered,” you said with a playful wink, savoring the familiar sight of pink dusting Vi’s cheeks. 

Vi shook her head, a smile tugging at her lips. “You’re impossible, princess.”

—-------------------------------------------------

After the meal, Vi led you further into Zaun, the streets bustling with a lively energy that seemed to pulse through every corner. The closer you got to The Last Drop, the more you noticed how the atmosphere shifted. It wasn’t chaotic or oppressive like you had feared; instead, there was an undeniable sense of community. Neon signs blinked overhead, casting colorful glows on the groups of people gathered around makeshift stalls and street performers. Children darted through the sparse crowd, their laughter echoing off the dark brick walls. 

“You’re going to love this place,” Vi said, glancing back at you with a grin. “It’s basically my home. Vander and Silco turned it into something really special—a real hub for the Lanes.” 

You could see the pride in her expression as you approached the large, well-worn building. The Last Drop’s sign hung prominently, now accompanied by a glowing neon art that gave it an almost welcoming feel. The faint hum of music and laughter spilled into the streets, and you felt your earlier nervousness start to melt away. 

Vi pushed the door open, the scent of aged wood and spiced drinks greeting you. Inside, the place was alive. Tables were filled with Zaunites of all ages, sharing food, playing games, or simply chatting. A small stage in the corner featured a group of musicians, their melodies blending seamlessly with the clinking of glasses and friendly chatter. 

“Vi!” an unfamiliar voice called out, and you turned to see a young woman with bright blue hair bounding toward you. Her grin wide and sparkling eyes were impossible to miss. She had the cutest twin buns in her hair, and a streak of pink contrasting beautifully with the almost neon blue of the rest of her hair. 

“Hey, Pow!” Vi replied, catching her in a quick hug before gesturing toward you. “This is Y/n.” 

Powder’s eyes lit up as she gave you a quick one over. “So you’re the fancy Piltover princess. Vi’s been talking about you nonstop. Welcome to our world!”

You felt your cheeks warm at Powder’s words, glancing at Vi, who was suddenly avoiding your gaze with a sheepish grin. “It’s nice to meet you,” you said, offering a small smile. 

Powder grabbed your hand, practically dragging you deeper into the room. “Come on, you’ve got to meet Vander—oh! And Ekko! You have so many people to meet!”

Vi trailed behind, chuckling at Powder’s enthusiasm. “Easy, Powder, let her breathe.” 

But there was no stopping her. Before you knew it, you were standing in front of Vander, the man who seemed to exude both strength and kindness. His arms were crossed over his chest, but his expression softened when he saw you. 

“So you’re the one Vi’s been sneaking off to Piltover for,” Vander said, his voice deep but warm. “Welcome to Zaun. You must be something special to get her to bring you here. Vi’s always talking about how she and Caitlyn are always running into you, it’s nice to know she has more than one friend.” 

Your cheeks burned as you glanced at Vi, whose ears had turned a bright shade of pink. She scratched the back of her neck, her usual confidence nowhere to be found. 

“Uh, yeah. Cait and I have run into her a few times,” Vi mumbled, avoiding eye contact with Vander. 

Vander smirked knowingly, but didn’t press further. “Well, any ‘friend’ of Vi’s is welcome here. Make yourself at home.” 

Before you could respond, Powder grabbed your hand again, tugging you toward a smaller table in the corner where a boy a few years younger than you with bright, curious eyes sat hunched over a complex-looking device. 

“Ekko! Look who Vi brought!” Powder exclaimed, plopping down beside him and resting her head on his arm, before gesturing toward you with a flourish. “This is Y/n Talis. She’s from Piltover, and she’s super fancy!”

Ekko looked up, his face lighting up with a mix of excitement and curiosity. “Talis? As in Jayce Talis? What brings you down to Zaun?” 

You hesitated for a moment, still adjusting to the whirlwind pace of the evening. “Vi’s been telling me a lot about Zaun. I wanted to see it for myself—and meet the people who make it so special.” You gestured toward the intricate device on the table. “And from the looks of it, you’re one of those people.” 

Ekko’s grin widened, and he turned the device toward you. “This? It’s a prototype I’m working on. Powder’s been helping me with the mechanics. We’re going to enter it in the Youth Innovator’s Competition in a few weeks.” 

Your eyes widened in recognition. “I know that competition! I mean, you obviously know my brother, but he and his partner won it a few years ago! Their invention changed everything for Piltoverr—if you’re entering, I’m sure your invention will be just as amazing.”

Powder’s eyes sparkled with excitement. “What were their inventions like up close? Are they cool? Do they glow?” 

You smiled, the memories flooding back. “Super cool. Watching them work was inspiring—they poured their hearts into it. And you should do the same. Keep going, even when it feels impossible. I know you’ll create something amazing.” 

Ekko and Powder exchanged a glance, their excitement palpable. “Thanks, Y/n,” Ekko said earnestly. “That means a lot.”

Vi, who had been leaning against a nearby pillar, watched the scene unfold with a soft, almost awestruck expression. The way you spoke, so encouraging and genuine, made her chest ache in a way she couldn’t quite put into words. 

“Okay, that’s it,” she muttered under her breath, crossing her arms. “I’m marrying her.” 

Powder, who had somehow overheard, turned to Vi with a mischievous grin. “What was that, Vi?”

Vi’s eyes widened, her face turning beet red. “Nothing! Mind your business, Powder!” she snapped, though there was no real heat in her voice. 

Powder cackled, leaning over to whisper something to Ekko, who grinned and gave Vi a knowing look. 

Vi just sighed, burying her face in her hands, wishing she could both disappear and live in this moment forever. 

—-------------------------------------------------

By the time the night was winding down, you found yourself walking alongside Vi through the quieter streets of Zaun. The energy of The Last Drop had been exhilarating but exhausting, and now the world seemed softer, the glowing lights casting a warm glow on the damp cobblestones. 

Vi had insisted on showing you the skyline from the rooftop of The Last Drop before the evening ended. You’d hesitated, looking up at the daunting climb, but her enthusiasm was infectious, and you reluctantly agreed. 

“Come on, princess,” she teased, holding her hand out to you. “I’ll be your guide. Trust me.” 

“I do trust you,” you said softly, slipping your hand into hers. 

The climb was not a s graceful as you might’ve hoped. Vi scrambled up effortlessly, her movements fluid and confident. You, on the other hand, struggled to find footing, your amrs trembling as you pulled yourself up the uneven surfaces. 

“Y/n, you good back there?” Vi called, peeking over the edge of the ledge she’d just scaled. 

“Do I look like I’m good?” you huffed, glaring up at her. 

Vi chuckled, her grin wide as she reached down to offer her hand. “Come on. I’ve got you.” 

With her help, you managed the last stretch, panting slightly as you collapsed onto the rooftop. “How do you do this so easily?” 

“Practice,” she replied, sitting beside you and brushing a stray strand of hair from her face. “You’re not so bad for a first-timer, though.” 

You rolled your eyes but smiled despite yourself. “Glad I didn’t embarrass myself completely.” 

“You could never embarrass yourself,” Vi said, her voice softer now. 

You turned to respond but stopped when you caught the look in her eyes—something tender and unguarded. Your heart skipped a beat, and you quickly glanced away, focusing on the skyline instead. 

And what a view it was. 

Piltover stretched out before you, its golden lights shimmering like stars against the dark sky. The faint glow of Zaun’s neon signs framed the edges of the scene, creating a contrast that was both striking and beautiful. 

“Wow,” you breathed, your voice barely above a whisper. “It’s so beautiful.” 

“Yeah,” Vi murmured, her gaze fixed not on the skyline but on you. 

The weight of her stare made you glance back at her. “You’re not even looking at the view,” you pointed out with a small, nervous laugh. 

Vi blinked, startled, and quickly turned her head. “I was—uh, I mean, I am! It’s great! Amazing view! Totally worth the climb!”

You bit your lip, suppressing a smile. Her usual confidence was gone, replaced by an awkwardness that you found utterly endearing. She rubbed the back of her neck, her ears tinged pink, and you realized just how close you were sitting. 

The space between you felt charged, electric. 

“Vi,” you said softly, drawing her attention back to you.

“Y-yeah?” 

“Kiss me.” 

Before she could overthink it, she leaned in, her lips brushing yours in a kiss that was tentative but undeniably warm. For a moment, Vi froze completely, her mind blanking, but then she leaned into the kiss, her hand coming up to cradle your cheek gently. 

When you finally pulled back, her wide eyes met yours, her lips parted in disbelief. “I—uh—wow. I didn’t see that coming,” she admitted, her voice unsteady. 

You smiled, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “You talk a lot, you know that?” 

“Yeah. Sorry, I just—”

You leaned in again, cutting her off with another kiss, this one deeper and more confident. Her arms circled around you instinctively, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you. 

When you finally broke apart, Vi rested her forehead against yours, a dazed smile on her face. “So, did Piltover’s princess like Zaun?” 

“Oh, she loved it.”

-------

If you enjoyed this one shot, please check out my other series!

asked to be tagged: @lipglosskxsses

[cjlouwho]

Trust

Yesterday, you guys voted on this poll and decided that Buck and Tommy should have an argument over trust. Here is that argument:

“You don't trust me.”

“Evan, I-”

“I can't believe it,” he huffed, shaking his head. “After all this time y- you don't trust me.”

“I never said that, Evan. You're not listening to me.”

“I told you it was a mistake. Told you he misheard me and once I pushed him away he was embarrassed and very apologetic about it.”

“I still shouldn't have heard it from him!” Tommy exclaimed, his tone causing Buck to step back in surprise. In their three years together he'd only heard Tommy raise his voice one other time, and that was when he was kicking his own dad out of their home.

“I told you, Tommy, I didn't see a real reason to tell you. Vinny's new to your station, he came to the bar late, and he didn't know we were together. We were talking about dung beetles and then he asked if he could kiss me. I said 'I've got a boyfriend' but he thought I said-”

“'If you'll be my boyfriend', I know the story, Evan. I heard it from Vinny while we were in the sky! Nearly crashed the damn bird!” Tommy ran a hand over his face. “You really didn't think, for a second, that maybe you should have told me about this?”

“N- Not really. It didn't mean anything. I want- wanted to protect you.”

“Ha!” Tommy laughed bitterly. “Protect me? Why do I need protection, Evan? I'm not a delicate flower. If you would have told me, I wouldn't have been caught off guard and then grounded for the rest of my shift. I could have talked to Vinny about it right as work started so he didn't go five hours thinking I was playing a psychological game with him!”

“I don't really know what you want from me, Tommy! I told you I was trying to do the right thing. I didn't cheat on you, it was a misunderstanding. You're blowing everything out of proportion and making i- it seem like I just hide stuff from you.”

“Can you blame me?!” Tommy asked. “You literally just said you wanted to protect me! So yeah, I do wonder what else you've hidden from me while using protection as an excuse.”

“There's nothing!” Buck yelled, tossing his hands up in the air. “God, this is going nowhere!”

“You're right about that.” Tommy walked over to the kitchen counter and picked up his keys.

“W- Wait, where are you-”

“I'm just going to the garage, Evan. I need a minute to think.”

“We made a promise to never walk away from an argument, Tommy!”

“You broke that promise the night we made it!” Tommy reminded him, walking down the hall and slamming the garage door shut behind him.

*****

When Tommy walked back into the house he was overwhelmed by the scent of sweetness coming from the kitchen. He entered the room slowly.

“You're baking,” he said, his voice calm and measured.

Buck shrugged. Didn't even bother to look up from the measuring cup he was filling with flour. “Force of habit.”

“I didn't leave, Evan,” Tommy said, upset to know just how nervous Buck had to be to resort to baking. Even all these years later, baking was reserved for when he felt like his world was falling apart. “I just needed a minute.”

“Two hours,” Buck corrected. “You were out there for two hours. I heard your truck start and I didn't...” His voice trailed off as he set the nearly empty container of flour on the counter.

“I was working on my engine,” Tommy explained. “Truck's been s-”

“Slow to start this week,” Buck finished with a nod. “I remember.”

Tommy walked around the counter to get closer to Buck. He placed a gentle finger under his chin and guided Buck to look up at him. “It was never about me not trusting you, Evan,” he explained. “I know you didn't want him to kiss you; he told me that. I just wish I would've heard it from you. I was caught off guard. You're my partner. I should have heard it from you.”

Buck's eyes glistened as he stared at Tommy. Tommy could see he'd been crying. It broke his heart. “I know,” he conceded. “I should have told you. I just- I didn't want work to be awkward.”

“Oh, it's definitely awkward,” Tommy replied, which got a brief smile out of Buck. It felt like a victory.

“I thought I was doing the right thing,” Buck said. His voice was quiet, still a bit unsure. “And I'm not hiding things from you.”

“I know,” Tommy assured him with a nod. “I know. I overreacted. I'm sorry.”

“I'm sorry too.”

They leaned in for a kiss at the same time, Buck closing his eyes and breathing a sigh of relief.

When Tommy pulled away, he kept Buck close, wrapping his arms around his waist. “It's a shame you can never be around anyone at the 217 ever again though,” he informed Buck playfully.

Buck's eyebrows furrowed. “What are you talking about?”

“Well, there was Lucy, me, and then Vinny. It's like you're a drug to that station. Everyone wants a bite of Evan.”

“Hate to break it to them,” Buck replied, his arms draping over Tommy's shoulders, “but you're the only one who gets a bite of Evan.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm.”

“Not even Franks?”

“Isn't he the oldest firefighter in the LAFD?”

“Hes is,” Tommy confirmed. He pressed a chaste kiss to Buck's lips. “I know you like them older.”

“Hm,” Buck hummed, pretending to think it over. “No, sorry. You're stuck with me.”

Tommy smiled. “Good. I love you, Evan.”

“I love you too.”

After one more kiss, they let each other go. “So, the baking can be done now?” Tommy asked.

“Baking can be done. I was gonna make those caramel crunch cookies you love so much though.”

Tommy perked up at that. “Should we fight about something else so you'll still make them?”

Buck snorted out a laugh. “Get a new container of sugar from the pantry,” he ordered. “You can help.”

[danikamariewrites]

hello hi may I please request more ddlg cassian content 👉👈 maybe with reader being grumpy bc of her cycle & cassian coming home & just being like "ok drop the attitude, I'm gonna take care of you now" & calming her down?? (totally not self indulgent LOL) thank u PS I love ur blog & ur writing keep up the good work!!! 🩷🩷🩷

Brat Girl Problems

Ddlg!Cassian x reader

Notes: Hi anon! You literally read my mind because I’m writing more headcanons for him since I’ve missed writing this for Cass. I have a ddlg period fic here (not surprising lol). I can relate to you this week because this has not been my week for many reasons including my period 🫠

Thank you for your kind words. I hope you like it!

Warnings: ddlg relationship, bratty!reader, period talk

Nothing felt right today.

Your clothes didn’t fit right, there was nothing you wanted to eat in the house, and Cassian had been gone all day. On top of all that your cycle began today. And it was only 11 am! How could things get worse?

When a cramp hit or pain spliced through your head tears spilled from your eyes. Cassian was supposed to be here to take care of you. He was supposed to know this was going to happen without you telling him.

You had sent all your feelings down the mating bond to no response from your mate. It made you angry. You felt like Cassian was ignoring you, making you angry on top of all your other emotions.

You were staring to get overwhelmed. Meaning you were about to snap. Letting out an angry huff another debilitating cramp hits you. You let out a scream, pulling on your hair and throwing yourself down on the couch.

And just when you thought you couldn’t get more annoyed the front door opened. “Hello,” Cassian called out far too casually for you. And no sweet sentiments? None of your nicknames?

Anger forced you to go greet your mate. The smile on Cassian’s face deepened your scowl. Cassian opens his arms for you, but all you do in response is huff and cross yours over your chest.

Cassian tilts his head in confusion. “Sweet pea, what’s wrong?” “What’s? Wrong?” You repeat through gritted teeth, still fighting that cramp. “Everything is wrong! And I’m mad!” You let out a small huff, turning on your heel.

Cassian followed you all the way to the bedroom. He hoped you would acknowledge him following you. The male wasn’t exactly quiet. Before you could slam the bathroom door in his face he gently grabbed your shoulders, turning you to face him.

“I’m going to ask one more time, what is wrong?” Staring up into his soft hazel eyes the concern on his face mixed with your pain broke the dam. Your bottom lip quivered as you burst into tears.

“I hate all of my clothes today, I’m so uncomfortable in everything and I’m hungry and you weren’t here! My cycle started today and you were supposed to be here!” Cassian pulls you into his chest, smoothing down your hair. “Oh sweet girl. I’m so sorry. I thought it was going to happen tomorrow.”

You push away from him. A deep frown still on your face. “You should’ve known.” You snip. Cassian pulls you back to him as you sob more and continue your rant. Your mate soothes you, rubbing your back and playing with your hair. When you finally run out of words Cassian gently holding the back of your neck, firing you to look up at him. “Hey,” his tone commanding and gentle all at once has your frown gone. “Enough of this. No more attitude ok?” Cassian nods his head and you start to nod along with him. “I’m here now and I’m going to take care of everything.”

“Promise daddy?” Cassian presses a soft kiss to your forehead. “Pinky promise, sweet girl.”

When Cassian says he’ll take care of everything he means it. It’s nothing but princess treatment when it comes to his sweet girl. He drew you a bath making sure to massage your shoulders and back.

He gave you his shirt along with your favorite sweatpants. You cuddled up to your mate as he massaged your stomach to help your cramps, pressing kisses to the back of your head. Once you fall asleep Cassian sneaks out to make your favorite snack.

When he comes back you’re wide awake waiting for him. Your eyes light up at the sight of food. “Thank you daddy.” You smile as you eat. “Of course, sweet girl.” You hug him tight, pressing soft kisses to his neck.

[jaggedamethyst]

clandestine

viktor (arcane) x stripper f!reader

pairing: viktor (arcane) x f!reader

content: 18+ minors dni, not thigh but lap riding, strip club obviously, some cursing, porn some plot idk, established relationship, secret relationship, not proofread

notes: i am not personally a stripper, but I have somehow seen a lot of movies and youtube vloggers explaining the culture and mindset they have…about doing this to get them to a next phase of their life. some people may not feel that way at all, and just do it to feel empowered….or literally just because its a job. no reason is more valued than the other, and I hope I did this justice because I have the utmost respect for every job. please let me know if anything isn’t hitting the way it should in that regard and i will make the edits <3

also, not an au… this was kinda inspired by lest. idk if it was ever confirmed, but the character kinda reads to me as a sex worker and I do love that. normalize including those stories in media.

word count: 2.1k

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Stepping into the building always felt particularly specific for Viktor. The music was melodic but slightly too loud. Flashing lights almost always sent him off balance, leaning into his cane. A vibration pulsed—bouncing off every wall hard enough to make him physically swat the feeling away with his head. Yet, whenever he’d find his seat and glance across the room—all of it faded away.

Had there not been a physical spotlight, Viktor could still find you a mile away. He was completely entranced, mesmerized by the way you moved—even more so by the fact that it was an act. You were sweet, saccharine even, and you never showed it. That side was all for him. Only him.

When you were at the club, there was a veil over you—projecting a unique exterior. Dancing allowed you to disconnect and channel an identity you didn’t in everyday life. Often, you were misunderstood. Even more common was for you to be ignored—it wasn’t like that at work. You were respected and held at the same regard as everyone else. There were rules, and everyone followed them. You were an equal and you appreciated that.

Regardless of that feeling on stage, the money was also damn good. You grew up in the Undercity and you knew what it was like to have nothing. This fact was something you and Viktor bonded over initially. Later, both of your intellect and fondness for academics. He empathized, too, with you having no family…even more the fact that you started this venture to pay for your studies. That’s how the two of you found yourself dating. There was an unwavering kindness about Viktor, you loved that. The secrecy made every interaction all the more interesting, especially in the confines of the Piltover club.

The shift started like any other. You were on stage, moving to the rhythm of your song, Lest in your peripheral. You’d often recall how she was the first person to make you feel truly comfortable. She’d linger during your sets, calling security when needed, even speaking up for you when she realized you couldn’t. Lest gave you the push to take control, and the money really showed it.

You glanced down a bit, seeing some of your money get swept to the side. Lest had your labeled basket in her hands, grabbing some out of the way for you. In that split second, you saw a glint toward the back corner. You smirked, seeing your boyfriend spread on a chair—observing you through low eyes. You sped your tempo up, the stage now cleared enough for you.

Viktor noticed your arched a brow and stifled a chuckle. As you picked up the pace, he leaned back more comfortably in the chair. A hand held onto his cane, knuckles paling at the forceful grip. His other hand rested on the chair. His legs spread entirely, something he knew you loved. He was locked in, eyes roaming over every inch of your body as you danced. Your back was to him, then, ass shaking seductively in a way he’d always appreciated. You bent simultaneously, making a show of your legs before dropping into a split. You rolled your neck, looking toward Viktor. He watched your hand trace over your leg before tapping on it twice with a smile.

You’d definitely seen him back there.

Lest gave a knowing smirk, nodding over her shoulder “I see you spotted your regular.”

“Sure did.” You laughed at that, swinging your legs around. “It’s gonna be a fun night.”

“Oh I can tell.”

Lest didn’t know the two of you were dating, nobody did. That was the allure. Viktor could be the “regular” who showed up and dotted on you while you played the helpless stripper who so desperately needed his money. Neither were true, except that Viktor did love to spend his money on you.

Lest spoke up again, “You should head back there, before he gets restless…you know how they are.”

You moved to stand, doing a final spin and wave to the audience. “You’re right…can’t miss out on the money.”

“Exactly.” You moved to help add the rest of your money to the basket, Lest gripping it for dear life. “I’ll put this in the usual spot. We can do count after you rake in the big bucks.”

You high-fived Lest, watching as she turned immediately. You turned away, too, knowing that the chance of any of your money being taken was close to zero. You’d trust her with your life—so much so that you often debated telling her more about yourself outside of the club. Part of you figured she knew about your relationship and just played along. The thought of that made you love her friendship even more.

There was a drag in your step. You purposely made your strides slow as you inched toward the corner Viktor had chosen for tonight. His eyes had yet to leave you, but his free hand circled the arm rest. He was pent up, which was perfect, you thought.

He watched as you finally reached him, standing over his seated figure with your hands on your hips. You spoke first, yelling a bit over the music. “Funny seeing you here.”

He played along, eyes raking over your body. “I frequent here relatively often, do I not?”

You shrugged, looking away, “One could say that.”

He smiled, moving to stand up. You were a bit shorter than him, but slightly taller now thanks to your heels. He glanced down at them in adoration, loving the feeling of looking up at you. “You were stellar, love.”

You raised your head, flicking your hair. “Thank you, baby.” Your eyes lingered on one another, the genuine feeling of affection sitting between you both. Leaning down to whisper in his ear, you broke that sweet feeling. You played to his true intention; you knew why he was here. “Wanna go somewhere more private?” You let your lips linger for a second, hands coming up to rub his neck and behind his ears with your thumbs. “I know a place.”

He watched you pull back, looking up through his lashes. The smile on your face absolutely melted him. He reached down, slowly searching his pocket. He flipped up a bill that was settled between two fingers. “Lead the way.”

You plucked the money from him and grasped his now empty hand. The exchange had its own unspoken rules—Viktor would always pay, you would let him. The inherently degrading nature never found its way to your relationship but was instead a way to keep up appearances. For Viktor, it was yet another way to show his love for you. He’d give it all if he could—you deserved it.

He followed you, stalking behind your enticing figure. You’d shift every so often, your reflection moving with the tone of the lights. The sound reverberated off of you both, pulsing between your interlocked fingers. The bass slowly faded as you walked down the long hallway, even more so as you entered the secluded room.

The lights were low, a quiet music lulling in the room. Candles lit the area and added a hint of vanilla to the air Viktor appreciated—it smelled like you. He closed his eyes at the thought, enveloped by the scent and feeling of your skin on his palm. You glanced up, observing that the light on the cameras had been switched off. You huffed gratefully, knowing you had to thank Lest again later.

Viktor felt the pull of your hands and mindlessly followed until his back met the couch. He cleared his throat, looking over to you beside him. “So,” he paused, “How was your day?”

“Do you actually want to know how my day was?” You pursed your lips, sarcasm riddled all over them. “Or are you just indulging me so you seem like a gentleman?”

Viktor was frazzled at that, “What? No…” He brushed a hand to move his hair out of his face, “No! I would like to know-“

A kiss to his cheek interrupted him, “I know.” You nodded slowly. “But you should just ask for what you really want…I’m a busy woman after all.”

The flicker in his eye was one you genuinely loved—the switch from caring boyfriend to infatuated client.

“And what is it you think I want?” A hand brushed over your cheek, his thumb slowly finding its way to your lips. He looked down, rubbing his fingers across your skin.

You reached down, then, a hand firmly landing on his thigh. You maintained eye contact as you spoke—sliding a hand further up his leg. “I think I have a pretty good idea…”

“Is that so?” Viktor leaned back further to adjust his lap and purposely push his hardened length into your palm.

The two of you leaned in closer, the pull of each other undeniable. Slowly, your lips collided. There was an urgency, yet neither of you acted on it—an attempt to savor the moment. You maneuvered then, lips still connected. Viktor hummed against your mouth—a sound that left you smiling as you pushed a leg over his lap.

The once soft push of your lips together was now bordering on frantic. Every so often, Viktor would move to pull and suck on one of your lips—urging you on. You were lost in the motion—in him. Your hands snaked up the back of his neck and tangled with the hair at the base of his neck. With a forceful tug, you pulled him back. He was looking at you now, face flushed and lips completely swollen and glistening. Looking at him this way already had your underwear dampening. You refused to break eye contact, lowering yourself just on top of Viktor. Sucking in a breath, he tilted his head back—leaning into the couch cushion.

You began to circle your hips. The friction of the restrained material had you feral. “Fuck…” You continued, slowly circling and moving up and down his erection. “Fuck, Viktor.”

He matched you motion suddenly, circling his hips up into you. The motion had your insides pulsing. You couldn’t keep up the act, leaning down into the warmth of his neck. You felt him kiss and suck on your neck. He trailed kisses up and around your ear—moving around your hairline. His hands found your back, pulling you into him even more. Erratic breaths filled the room. All that was missing, you thought, were the lewd sounds of slapping you so desired. You’d give anything to be fully naked right now, letting him work all over you. But there was no time. The thought only spurred you on.

He spoke suddenly, “I needed this.”

“I know,” You push and pull into him faster, “Me too.”

The fabric barrier between the two of you was soaked now, a mixture of both of you. You slid back a bit, arms length distance away from Viktor. His mouth was agape from the lack of sensation, but quickly lost any will to argue when you began to swirl on his tip. He was always so sensitive there—and you were close. The rubbing on your clit had your breath shallow, your motions less rhythmic. He noticed, grabbing your waist to guide you to a speed that had both of your eyes rolling back.

“I’m close….”

Viktor pulled you into a kiss and mumbled into your mouth. “I am too.”

With a few more pumps against each other, you were finishing all over each other’s clothes. You accidentally broke the kiss, gasping for the breath that escaped you at the burning sensation in your body. Viktor didn’t stop, though, pulling you in impossibly closer. He worked the both of you through, choking out a whine as he shot out ropes into his pants.

The two of you sat there, embracing each other for a while. The feeling of each other was enough in the moment—drowning out the sensory overload of the club. Your finger tips traced over his features. You smoothed over his brows, the moles by his eye and lip, the divets in his cheekbones. He was entirely mesmerized by you—a devotion all over his face.

Light taps at the door broke the moment. You knew it would be Lest; she’d often drop by when you took a bit longer than management would like for just one customer. Opening the door a crack, you saw a pile there—a change of clothes for you and a smaller hand towel. You scooped them up quickly, moving back into the room.

Viktor was still watching you, a hand finding its way back to his cane. His grasp wasn’t as tight as before, you smiled to yourself at that.

You stripped quickly, moving to clean yourself and change your clothes. “Missed you today.”

Viktor pushed himself forward in the seat. “And I, you.” He staggered over to you, a hand pushing in and out of his pocket. He held up a bill again, “We should do this again sometime.”

A small chuckle escaped you. “Sure, baby.” You pecked a kiss on his cheek as he walked by you. “I’ll see you at home.”

[zerocoded]

summary: when caleb appears at your front door on a random thursday night after faking his death for weeks, you can't help but want to punch him straight in the knees. lucky for you, you do just that.

authors note: again, i'm in search of the author of this drawing so i can properly credit so pls let me know if you've seen this before. ANYWAYS, the caleb post i've been daydreaming about the last two days is finally here. CALEB GIRLIES I GOT YOU. let's hold each other's hands until the 22nd comes. i hope i succeed in portraying a real mc bc i'm tired of seeing us being just happy when seeing caleb for the first time when BRO DECEIVED US and played with our emotions like that. without further bs, live laugh love caleb.

warnings: SLIGHT yandere!caleb • gaslighting and manipulation • sfw content • bad writing lol, be warned! • depressive thoughts • reader is on her grieving period • work exhaustion • mental illness mentioned • minor injury • manhandling and pining • height & size difference • caleb literally invades our home • fighting bc reader is a badass and tolerates no bitches • mc bites caleb's hands lol • others LI mentioned • one kissy scene hehe • caleb screams at mc once (boo) • ANGST Y'ALL!

word count: 6.1k

your apartment was silent, except for the faint hum of the city outside. tossing your jacket onto the back of the couch, you leaned against the wall, exhaling shakily. the weight of the day pressed down on you like a vice, your fingers brushing the edge of the message from linkon city hall still lying unopened on the counter.

confirmation of deceased: caleb. adoptive grandmother, dr. josephine. cause of death: explosion – classified incident.

you hadn’t needed to open it. the words were already carved into your memory, and the weight of them had crushed you all day. it didn’t matter that the explosion was months ago—seeing their names on an official report felt like losing them all over again.

you pushed away from the counter, willing your mind to focus on anything else. the hunter uniform hugged your frame perfectly, as it always had, and your reflection in the glass windows of your living room showed how tired you looked.

did anyone notice how wrecked you felt? you wondered if tara had gossiped to the other hunters about your predicament, and if she had left you alone because she somehow understood the weight of what had happened to you.

the message was awful. being asked to confirm the deaths of your loved ones had thrown you into a depressive spiral you hadn’t felt in days after returning from the N109 zone. your troublesome heart sometimes made you feel like you shouldn’t have even been born. when you trauma-dumped this on rafayel a few days ago, he had almost hit you with his paint brush, the words coming out of your mouth too much for him to process. the painter was pissed that you could think of yourself like that.

but that was how you felt—unworthy of being alive, because the person who raised you had been brutally killed.

why not me? you wondered.

linkon city was adorned with shiny skyscrapers, and your privileged view of the city made you feel even smaller, your grievance nothing more than a joke to the world outside of your apartment. knowing you’d have to show up to work again tomorrow added to the weight pressing down on your shoulders from choosing to be a deepspace hunter.

these last few weeks, you had questioned why you chose this job in the first place. since coming back from onychinus and befriending sylus of all people, you’d been thinking about your life decisions more frequently. sylus made you question every little thing you had once thought was a virtue, which now seemed like selfishness in disguise.

the man was good at disturbing your thoughts and making you feel things that put you on the spot.

you became a deepspace hunter because you were selfish. you wanted to make a difference, like the people you grew up with had made.

you wanted to be smart like zayne and attentive like josephine. you wanted to be helpful like caleb and as notorious as your other anhaunsen classmates. you wanted to do anything to escape the feeling you’d had since birth—uselessness.

as you sank deep into the living room cushions and exhaled heavily into the lonely air of your apartment, your phone buzzed with a text from zayne.

fate was joking with you today.

are you okay?, it read.

his worry made your heart flutter a little before sadness took over your entire form again.

you didn’t have the heart to respond. lying required more strength than you had in that moment, so you tossed your phone onto the center table and ignored him.

i’m sorry, zayne, i wish i was stronger for you.

your stomach rumbled, and your ribs ached. earlier in the evening, you had let a wanderer get too close before killing it, distracted as you were. the mistake had left you with a swollen rib and a deep sense of shame. you’d promised to take care of it when you got home, but right now, all you could do was discard a few of your sharp weapons onto the floor before dozing off on the couch.

you’d probably hate yourself in the morning for sleeping with these tight boots on.

for you, the hardest part wasn’t the silence left behind. it wasn’t the way the world seemed to keep spinning while yours had shattered. the hardest part was feeling like you needed to smile, to nod politely when people said, “stay strong,” as if strength could stitch together the pieces of your broken heart.

the hardest part was the way people looked at you, expecting you to move forward, to let the memories be enough. but how could you, when the smell of smoke still haunted your nightmares, when you could still hear caleb’s laughter drowned by the deafening roar of the explosion? how could you heal when your soul was still bleeding, the wounds too fresh, the pain still pouring out with every breath you tried to take?

how could you move forward when you still couldn’t clench your fists as strong as you were accustomed to because you were thrown into the air and broke both of them at the incident?

you wondered if it would ever be enough, and if someday you’d find out who was responsible for all of this pain.

the kitchen candles were the only light in the room when you heard the doorbell ring. sharp and sudden, it cut through the haze and fought off your sleepiness in a second, your hunter’s bells ringing warningly.

your heart jumped, and your hand instinctively went to your side where your pistol usually rested, only to find it absent. you’d left it in your locker at the deepspace headquarters, thinking you wouldn’t need it tonight.

the bell rang again, more insistent this time.

“probably xavier,” you muttered, trying to shake off the lingering unease. your neighbor and cute colleague had been away on a special mission as a hunter. his absence had started to feel noticeable in the quiet moments.

you liked spending time with xavier because he seemed to understand you on another level. he never seemed to expect anything from you, which made grieving next to him a little less daunting. you missed his midnight visits and occasional talks about claw machines and stupid wanderers, and you wished he would respond to your texts asking when he was coming back.

you felt like you needed to hear his voice right now.

without thinking much, you unlocked the door, combat boots still on and dark circles framing your usually bright eyes.

“took you long enough—”

the words died on your lips.

it wasn’t xavier.

standing in your doorway, dressed in a pristine daa military uniform, was a man—ridiculously intimidating and strange. he looked at you with judgment and arrogance, making you step back a little and guard more of yourself.

thank god you still had your uniform on and wasn’t wearing some flimsy nightgown. the man seemed to be eating you alive in his head.

before you had the chance to question the stranger’s presence at your door on this random thursday night, he tossed you aside and pressed you against the corridor wall of your kitchen, your breath instantly hitched and your ribs ached from the impact.

your hunter’s awareness triggered instantly, instincts flaring and mind still trying to process what the hell was going on. your hands struggled against his grip, desperately searching for an evol to resonate with. if your mind had already been spiraling out of control before, now you felt like you could fight a thousand wanderers at once and focus on surviving with mere instinct.

you couldn’t scream. his right hand clamped over your mouth, his left gripping both your wrists in front of your chest and preventing you from punching him like you planned to. somehow, this was a professional individual who knew your fighting mannerisms and wrestling tendencies by heart.

with great effort, you managed to bite his hand that was closest to your mouth and heard his pained grunt right after. you swore you heard him cussing before his head raised and his eyes finally met yours.

your heart stopped. the world narrowed to the faint outline of his silhouette as you finally were able to look at his face. his hair was concealed beneath a presumptuous cap, the daa symbol shining bright at its center. black, red, and gold adorned the unknown uniform of the man who handled your body as if it were weightless, plastic.

you thrashed and twisted in his grip until he was forced to pin both your hands above your head, hissing when you managed to land a kick on his right knee. the door clicked shut beside you as he silenced your attempted scream with his hand again.

amethystine eyes stared back at you, thick brows furrowed as your gazes locked. chills ran down your spine. your hunter uniform pressed uncomfortably against the wall, your combat boots barely touching the floor. yet, despite your effort, he towered over you.

you wanted to cry.

the hidden freckles were the first clue your mind was playing tricks on you, the shape of his mouth the second, and his skin tone the third. countless times since the explosion, you’d dreamed of caleb’s touch—more nights than you could count. but as the weight of the day bore down on you, your fighting spirit waned, the initial rush of adrenaline fading as you stared into his eyes.

everything felt cruelly unfair.

his gaze was uncharacteristically hard as he watched you, his bruising grip on your mouth and wrists warming for a moment before you snapped out of your daze.

a smirk made way to his lips and his stupidly manly perfume set itself on your senses. another attempt at kicking him made him press himself further into you, ribs screaming from the pressure. if he noticed your pained expression, he didn’t mention it at all.

“caleb,” you whispered, the name barely audible. your voice cracked, your body frozen in place, your mind unable to reconcile the impossible reality before you.

he didn’t seem to hear you, but his hand left your mouth, his gaze sweeping over your body and his face so close to yours you could count his naturally defined lashes.

the tension between you two shifted as he eyed you closer, curious eyes landing on your pretty figure. he could swear for a moment you wouldn’t recognize him and that thought perturbed his mind for the next few seconds he allowed himself to bask in your beauty.

caleb was familiar with the sight of you in a hunter’s uniform, but never had he seen you looking this wrecked.

so pretty, but so unfairly exhausted, he thought.

in the weeks leading up to the explosion, he’d promised himself he’d never let you get hurt by ever ever again. now, seeing you like this, he wondered if things looked different from your perspective.

would you hate him?

would you hate him for the decisions he made? for the people he deceived and the families he destroyed? for the secrets he exposed so he could be at advantage and fight for you from a more privileged position?

would you hate him for wanting you all to himself and sharing the same fate as him as a human experiment? for wanting to take you to the ever base and expose you to everyone right before killing them? for being the demise of your life but still wanting to keep you as close as possible?

would you still love him after he told you all of the wrongings he did to make things right for you and him?, he wondered.

the look in your eyes told you no, and because of that, his grip on your pinned hands loosened, the silence between you two remaining charged with tension. he saw the exact moment reality crashed down on you. your gaze faltered, and for a moment, you looked like you were going to cry.

he would hate to see you cry because of him, even though deep down he knew how lovely you looked while pouring your eyes out. he have seen it a thousand times before. caleb wanted to make you cry in other circumstances, not right now.

his lips pressed into a forced smile, and your breath hitched as his eyes shone faintly in the dim light of the kitchen candles. though the light wasn’t very effective, the touch of his gloved hand was enough to confirm the truth: this wasn’t a fucking stranger.

caleb felt when you stopped fighting and caved into his touch, scared to death. he let go of your mouth and stared right at your lips.

“no,” you muttered, shaking your head as if to clear a hallucination. your hands remained bound, your feet still searching for the floor. “this can’t be true.”

he tilted his head slightly, his eyes locking onto yours. “it’s me.” his voice was calm, too familiar, too real. too cruel.

your body trembled with his tone, his breath fanning on your cheeks while your eyes scanned his. it felt wrong to say anything at the moment, fear still there in your eyes.

your body snapped into action, reality slamming into you like a tidal wave. you raised your knee, aiming to knock him off balance, desperate to banish the ghost standing in your kitchen.

but the colonel moved faster.

his hand shot out, catching your leg with unnerving precision. before you could react, he hoisted you over his shoulder effortlessly.

you stumbled, panic surging through your veins. your instincts screamed at you to fight, to move, to do something.

“let me go” you demanded, your voice trembling with equal parts fear and fury, punching his back in a futile attempt to stop him. “who are you? who sent you?”

“i came to see you,” he said simply, his voice steady and unnervingly calm. his eyes darted around the apartment, scanning every corner like a predator assessing its prey. “you didn’t think i’d stay away forever, did you?”

why did he sound so smug and heartless? it pissed you off.

realization set heavy on your shoulders—did he... did he fake his own death?

“you’re a fucking asshole.” you didn’t care that this man was more than six feet tall or that he wore a military uniform of all things, you kicked and screamed as much as you could after he threw you onto the couch—the very place you’d landed earlier that evening.

the moment he released you, you inched toward the center table where your spare weapon was stashed.

caleb’s smile faltered, replaced by something darker. his voice dropped, softer but laced with unsettling intensity. “i hope you cooperate from now on, pipsqueak.”

the words sent a chill down your spine.

“who the fuck do you think you are?” you spat, pistol in hand, ready to aim.

his gaze flicked to your movement, and before you could react, he was there. his hand closed around your wrist, pinning it to the couch with a force that made you gasp.

“you’re not going to hurt me, pipsqueak,” he murmured, his tone almost teasing, though the intensity in his purple eyes told a different story. “i’d never hurt you. you know that.”

you struggled against his grip, your heart pounding as fear twisted into anger. “let me go, caleb.”

“not until you listen,” he said, his voice dropping to a whisper. he leaned closer, his breath brushing against your ear. “will you stop fighting and thrashing around? i need to see if you are ready”

“ready for what?” you spat, your voice trembling with rage.

“for us,” he said simply, his tone calm, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

your breath hitched as his words sank in, the weight of them pressing down on you like a storm. “what the hell is ‘us’? you died. i watched you fucking die, asshole.”

he leaned closer, his forehead almost brushing yours, his voice a low whisper. “and i came back—for you.”

the weight of his presence, his words, was suffocating. for a moment, you froze, your mind racing for a way out.

it sounded so intimate, so romantically unsettling having him above you and saying things that made your heart clench. you hoped the hurt in your eyes was visible to the man. you hoped he still had sympathy and felt guilt somewhere underneath that uniform.

caleb stepped back, releasing your wrist but still blocking your path, his expression softening slightly as he examined you. “i need you to be quiet until i can tell you everything.”

“who do you think you are? you filthy liar”. 

caleb’s gaze flickered as your words hung between you, unspoken accusations slicing through the air like shards of glass. he shifted his weight, his broad frame now more a shadow than a presence in the dim room. for a moment, it seemed like he might say something—anything—but instead, he exhaled, a quiet sound that carried the weight of a thousand unspoken apologies.

"you look as pretty as always, princess", his whisper reached your ears and you felt a wave of anger wash over you.

"i don't know what you did to caleb, but right now is not the time for games". you spat the words with disgust.

"you think you know anything?" he asked, voice low but steady. his eyes, catching the faint glow of the candlelight, held yours. he looked scary above you. 

"you think that you are right?," you bit back, the ache in your ribs forgotten under the pressure of the moment. "faking a death isn’t something i take lightly in my books”.

his jaw tightened, the faintest tremor in his hand betraying him as he sighed. the silence stretched again, taut and heavy, before he finally spoke. “trust me to take care of you as i always did, pipsqueak, i just need more cooperation from you this time. i needed to do that so I could've gotten rid of josephine”.

the vulnerability in his voice caught you off guard, stealing whatever biting retort was forming on your tongue. you searched his face, the faint scars etched into his skin, the weariness in his eyes. "what the fuck did you just say?" you said softly, your voice trembling with the effort to keep it steady. 

caleb’s expression shifted as he saw the tense tone of your voice, a flicker of something unreadable passing over his face. regret? anger? it was gone too fast to tell. "i said what i said," he replied, his tone measured, almost calm—too calm. "josephine was a threat. she had to go, and i handled it and you should put this in your mind and move on."

"you handled it?" the words came out as a growl. the disbelief, the rage, the grief—it all boiled over. "you’re talking about the woman who raised me, caleb. who raised you. and you expect me to just—what—trust that you had your reasons? that it’s fine because you handled it?"

you got up from the sofa and watched him tower over you once again, not being afraid to fight him out of your house this time. you took a step further and watched the surprise on his face mix with a hint of mischief.

"you must have lost your mind, who the fuck sent you here? answer me." you asked, your voice sharper now, frustration spilling over.

he stepped closer, the shadow he cast stretching long across the dim room. his voice dropped, soft but firm, the kind of tone that brooked no argument. "the sooner you accept the truth, the easier all of this will turn out for you. josephine was a loose thread that could put you at harm and, trust me, i won’t let anything or anyone put you at risk."

"shut up," you snapped, your hands shaking as they clenched into fists. "don’t you dare put this on her. don’t you dare tell me you did this for me." you pushed past him, pacing to the other side of the room as if distance could lessen the fury building inside you. "you’re out of your fucking mind if you think i’m going anywhere with you. you—i mourned you, caleb".

caleb turned, his movements slow and deliberate, his gaze locking onto yours. "you don’t have a choice," he said simply. "if you want a chance of surviving, you’ll accompany me to the farspace fleet so you can prove to me that you are not a threat, this isn’t a quest, Y/N.”

"stop acting like you’re my savior," you shouted, spinning to face him. "you lied to me, faked your death, and now you show up here, in my home, telling me what to do? you’ve lost the right to give me orders, caleb. i don’t have to prove you shit"

his eyes narrowed, and for a moment, something like frustration flashed across his face. "you’re impossible," he muttered, more to himself than to you. “don’t make me take you by force, princess, this is already hard enough for me”.

his presence felt heavier now, more intimidating and more overwhelming. “hear me out on this one, pipsqueak, you do as i say and we can have a nice chat. there’s more than one pair of eyes observing you in this room, can’t you see? you do what you’re told and you don’t cause any trouble, this is my final warning”.

caleb’s gaze didn’t waver, feelings too strong for him to back down.

“you think i trust you wholeheartedly as well? don’t you think i know about what you’re capable to do, what weapon they made you become?”, he questioned, raising more questions about your past to the surface.

you hesitated, your chest heaving as you glared at him, every instinct screaming at you to fight, to run, to do anything but listen.

“you think i don’t know what you’re capable of? you’ve got every right to hate me, but that doesn’t change the fact that you’re in danger and i’m the only one who can keep you alive.”

he stepped closer, his boots echoing softly against the tiled kitchen floor, the flicker of candlelight casting shadows that seemed to stretch and twist with your unease. the space between you vanished with every deliberate step he took, and before you realized it, the cool edge of the counter pressed against your back.

“i came here to get you so i can protect you,” he said, his voice softer now, almost tender, though his eyes burned with something far less kind. “won’t you trust me, pipsqueak?”

you swallowed hard, your ribs aching as the tension tightened around you like a vice. the pain flared again on your right side, but you forced it down, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing your weakness. caleb’s arms came up, caging you between them, his palms braced on the counter on either side of you. his breath was warm against your skin, the faint scent of mossy perfume and something metallic clinging to him.

his amethystine eyes locked onto yours, drawing you in and daring you to look away. “josephine wasn’t innocent,” he murmured, the words deliberate, each one cutting deeper than the last. “she was the only way left they could get to you easily. so i had to get rid of her.”

the shock and fury bubbling in your chest clawed their way to the surface, but before you could lash out, he moved. slowly, deliberately, he raised his hands, his movements calm but weighted with unspoken meaning. his right hand hovered between your bodies as he tugged off his glove, revealing cold, gleaming metal where flesh once was.

your breath hitched, your eyes widening despite yourself. the intricate machinery of his prosthetic glinted dully in the dim light, a jarring contrast to the warmth of his other hand still braced beside you.

“i didn’t get out of there without paying a price,” he continued, his tone dipping lower, the faintest hint of bitterness creeping into his words. “if that makes you feel better.”

the sight of the metal, the weight of his confession, sent your mind reeling. you wanted to stay angry, to hold onto the fury that kept you standing, but the cracks in his armor—the familiar of his voice, the faint tremor in his hand—made it harder to breathe.

“turns out i gave them everything they wanted to have even more control over my body,” he said, his eyes narrowing slightly, studying your reaction like a predator watching prey. “you’re not the only ever victim in this room, princess, don't you see?”

his words hit like a punch to the gut, the nickname twisting something deep inside you. your eyes burned, the sting of unshed tears making your vision blur. compassion clawed its way forward, fighting against the iron grip of your fury.

he leaned closer, his voice softening, wrapping around you like a velvet noose. “don’t you see now? i’m your only way out. only i can make you safe, princess.” his head tilted slightly, his gaze piercing through the layers of anger and fear you’d built around yourself. “why don’t you see it?”

the way he said it—like it was inevitable, like you were foolish for resisting—sent a fresh wave of defiance coursing through you. your fingers twitched at your sides, curling into fists. the tears threatening to spill were not ones of submission but of frustration, of fury that he could twist your pain and vulnerability into leverage.

your hands trembled as you shoved against his chest, trying to create even an inch of space between you. “you’re the danger here, caleb.”

his expression hardened, though the faintest flicker of something else—hurt? regret?—crossed his features. he caught your wrists before you could push him further, his grip firm but not painful, his proximity suffocating.

“i won’t let you go this time,” he said, his voice quieter now, the sharp edge replaced with something closer to desperation. his ears seemed to ignore every red signal your body emitted. “what are you afraid of, pipsqueak? c'mon, it’s me, caleb”.

the charged silence that followed was unbearable, the tension between you a living, breathing thing. the weight of his words, the intensity in his gaze—it all felt too much, too close, and yet not close enough.

“answer me.”, he demanded, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous rasp that sent a shiver down your spine. “you need me, Y/N.”

you wanted to scream, to shove him back, to wipe that look of control and simmering frustration off his face, but the words stuck in your throat. it wasn’t fear keeping you quiet—it was the truth you didn’t want to admit. the truth you couldn’t admit.

“you don’t get to do this,” you managed, your voice cracking under the weight of your emotions. “you don’t get to leave me, fake your death, and then come back like nothing happened. like i’m supposed to just—just fall in line and listen to you.”

his lips parted as if to respond, but no words came out. instead, he exhaled sharply, his jaw clenching as his grip on your wrists loosened ever so slightly. “i didn’t come back for you to listen,” he said, his tone soft but laced with an edge of frustration. “i came back to make sure you survive. with me.”

“you are crazy” you spat, shaking your head as you finally yanked your hands free from his grasp. “i don't know why you changed so much. you call this survival? being hunted, manipulated, dragged into whatever mess you’ve made? that’s not survival, caleb. that’s hell.”

“didn’t you want answers?!” he snaps, his voice cutting through the charged silence like a whip. his tone is sharp, frustration crackling in the air between you. for a moment, you flinched at his tone. “answers about your past, about granny, about the aether core that lives inside of you?”. he motions for your chest and you lean away from him.

caleb throws his daa hat on the floor and runs his gloved hand over his hair, desperation clinging into his actions. a move you were so used to seeing him doing as a teenager now seemed to paint his figure as someone totally different.

“guess what,” he continues, stepping closer, his boots scraping against the floor as the small space between you shrinks to nothing. “i’m the only one who can give you that, princess.”

your back hits the counter again, the cold surface biting through your shirt as his presence looms over you. his hands grip the edge of the counter on either side of you, boxing you in, and his voice drops lower, quieter, but no less intense. “i know you’ve been looking for the truth. don’t pretend you haven’t. every decision you’ve made, every risk you’ve taken, it’s all been for answers.”

the weight of his words pressed down on you, heavy and suffocating, as if the walls of the apartment were closing in. his voice, low and deliberate, carried the kind of certainty that felt like a blade against your resolve. you hated that he knew so much, hated the way his presence seemed to draw out every buried question, every lingering doubt you’d tried so hard to silence.

the truth of it stung more than you wanted to admit. because it was true—wasn’t it? every decision, every desperate move you’d made since josephine’s death had been about finding the missing pieces. about understanding why your life felt like a jigsaw puzzle with crucial parts deliberately torn away.

you grew up with people like zayne and caleb so you’d become the best version of yourself. still, you felt unworthy of everything you have ever achieved.

you were... at loss of words.

your back pressed harder into the counter, the cold seeping through your shirt and grounding you in the moment. you wanted to push him away, to snap back with something that would shatter the arrogance in his voice. but instead, you found yourself staring at him—really staring—seeing the desperation etched into every line of his face. it wasn’t just his words that rattled you; it was the way his shoulders seemed to carry the weight of something far greater than just your shared past.

you noticed the tremor in his hand, the way it lingered too long on the counter’s edge, as if he were holding himself back from reaching for you. the way his eyes, though sharp and unrelenting, flickered with something almost... pleading.

caleb seemed to be holding himself back—as he always did. this time, though, you were not sure if you wanted him to break and consume you or to let you go and forget the two of you. this was the first time in your life where you felt close enough to the truth, close enough to calm the storm of questions in your mind. still, your grip on your ego seemed to be as tight as ever.

everything felt unfair because you were oh so tired. since onychinus, sylus and the aether core your mind has been settle into finding answers of questions that were never asked in the first place. you were running in circles and you dreamed every fucking night about how you missed caleb. how you knew he would guide you into the right path like he always did.

you have always had aching feelings for him and everything he had done to you. you felt the safest next to him.

you need me, he said.

it was a bold statement, a manipulative one, but the worst part was the whisper of doubt it planted in your mind. what if he’s right? what if caleb, with all his possessive behavior, really did have the answers you’d been chasing? could you afford to ignore him—risk losing whatever truth he claimed to hold—just because you didn’t trust him right now? just because his posture changed and his eyes seemed a little darker?

had you the privilege of saying no to him?

you have always been so weak for him, haven't you?

your gaze dropped to his gloved hand, still gripping the counter, then to the hat he’d thrown carelessly onto the floor. there was something raw about the gesture, something that pulled at a part of you you’d long thought buried. it was the same caleb you remembered, the one who’d run his hands through his hair in frustration when things didn’t go his way, but now there was a hardness to him, an edge that made him almost unrecognizable.

he leaned in slightly, his proximity sending a shiver down your spine. caleb’s hands cradled your face with an unsettling gentleness, his thumbs brushing over your cheeks as if to memorize every inch of your skin. his breath, warm and steady, fanned over your face, and the proximity made your pulse race despite every instinct screaming at you to pull away.

“do as i say, princess,” he murmured, his voice a mix of honeyed persuasion and steel. “you know deep down that i’m right.”

you hated how easily he saw through you, how his words made your chest tighten with the weight of unspoken truths. but there was a flicker of something else now—a sliver of curiosity, of reluctant consideration.

you stayed in silence.

“you’re trembling,” he murmured, his voice dipping lower, softer, as if the words were meant for no one but you. “what are you afraid of, princess? me?”.

his breath fanned over your cheek, the tension between you felt alive, electric, as if the air itself buzzed with anticipation. caleb’s hands cradled your face with a deliberate slowness, his fingers grazing your jawline like he was afraid you’d shatter under his touch. his thumbs traced lazy circles just below your cheekbones, sending faint shivers rippling down your spine.

caleb was very meticulous about the way he touched you. his words—carved in desperation just for you. he brushed away the tears you were shedding, breath in synch with yours as if he wanted for you to share your burden with him.

his thumb brushed against your skin, warm and steady, the faintest hint of mint and wood lingering in the space between you. the closeness made your pulse quicken, the steady rhythm in your chest now erratic and impossible to ignore. his forehead almost touched yours, his lips dangerously close but not quite there, as if he were savoring the moment, drawing it out until the anticipation was unbearable.

you gripped his forearms, confused at the needy feeling clawing its way out of your chest, the longing for closeness and safety that your brain always seemed to tie with the body in front of you. the tenderness he reserved only for you made your heart flutter despite the cruel truths and harsh words that had passed between you.

“what are you afraid of, princess?” he murmured again, his voice impossibly soft, like a velvet thread weaving its way into your thoughts. “it’s just me.”

the way he said it—low and intimate, like he was speaking to the deepest parts of you—made your knees weak.

his metal hand slid down from your face, the cool pads of his fingers brushing over the curve of your neck and coming to rest lightly on your shoulder. the weight was grounding, steadying, but it also sent sparks racing across your skin. the meaning behind his touch was at odds with the coldness of his prosthetic; it felt like both a tether and a promise.

you wondered if he was using your evol against you, manipulating your emotions, or if it was just your stupid, traitorous heart making you feel like you were floating.

your breaths came shallow and uneven as the tension between you thickened, palpable and inescapable. his gaze flickered to your lips, the intensity in his eyes making your stomach twist with anticipation. you hated how much you noticed the way he leaned closer, the way his presence filled every inch of the space around you, until there was nothing left but him.

“you don’t have to be scared of me,” he said softly, his lips brushing the words into the air between you. “i’d never hurt you.”

the warmth of his breath sent a shiver down your spine, and before you could think of a reason to stop him, he closed the distance.

his lips pressed against yours, slow and deliberate, giving you every chance to pull away. but you didn’t. the kiss was soft at first, hesitant, like he was waiting for you to decide, waiting to see if you would break the moment or lean into it. and for a heartbeat, you froze, the shock of it rooting you in place.

but the tenderness of his kiss, the way his hand tightened slightly on your shoulder as if to steady himself, drew you in. your fingers curled into his forearms, no longer in protest but in something closer to surrender, the heat of his closeness chasing away the cold air of the room. you felt something stir deep inside you when you felt the dips of his muscles underneath his uniform.

when did he became so big?

the kiss deepened, his lips moving against yours with a mix of urgency and restraint, as though he were holding back a tidal wave of emotion. you felt the shift in him—the desperation, the longing he’d tried to bury under layers of control. it poured out now, raw and unguarded, and it pulled something equally raw from within you.

when he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his breath warm and uneven. his hands stayed where they were, steadying you as much as himself, and for a moment, the silence between you felt heavier than any words could.

“just me,” he whispered again, his voice breaking slightly, as if he needed you to believe it as much as he did.

author's note: want to cry more while reading? listen to remember me by d4vd and tell me that this song doesn't describe mc and caleb perfectly. SORRY FOR THE POOR ENDING, i'll make a part two of this post soon, follow me to get updated when i post or just check my masterpost from time to time :) send me a request • my masterpost

[venuslarkspur]

Personal headcanon of mine that would like to share. Batsis!Reader was personally blessed by Aphrodite when she was little and it's why she can add to her growing harem without much struggle

Cassandra during a family meeting: Do you guys ever wonder how Batsis!Reader can get anyone, no matter the age difference, hero and villain, to hook up/date her?

Jason watching Batsis get flirted on by Roy for like the millionth time: Only god knows Cass. Only God knows.

Meanwhile 5-6 year old Batsis on the Manor's rooftop stargazing with Aphrodite

Aphrodite: You know what? I like you little human. You entertain me, I haven't felt this relaxed and at peace in centuries! And for that, I shall give you my blessing.

Cue Batsis!Reader getting her charisma maxed out and continue skyrocketing even after being maxed out. Also getting a sex drive that lets her sexually keep up with any partner she wanted, basically making her the best hoe out there without a doubt

5-6 year old Batsis: Ok :v

Omg yes, I fw this.

Warning: very minor nsfw but nothing that bad is mentioned, cuss words, mentions of addiction, not proofread.

Like Batsis is semi aware of her talents and charms and also has SOME control over them, but sometimes she can meet some dickheads who try and gain her attention after she’s madeit clear she doesn’t want them.

How some of the JL are charmed

- I feel like Diana is partly aware of this connection between Batsis and Aphrodite and that’s how Diana for the most part hasn’t surrendered to her charm. Diana just loves her for her for the most part.

- John Stewart is unique, he fell in love with Batsis for much more than just her beauty but rather how she conducts herself as a person, these two are my faves.

- Barry Allen pre his marriage with Iris did find Batsis attractive and very charming, though I imagine at this time she’s dating someone else. So nothing becomes of this despite Batsis knowing she could have him if she wanted.

- Zatanna and Batsis have always been flirty with each other, they charm each other quite easily, they are either besties or girlfriends there’s no in between, the two of them and John sometimes throuple as well so take that as you will.

- Hal Jordan was easy work, he was putty the day he met Batsis. This was in the early days when Batsis definitely wanted to piss off Bruce, so why not solidity it by not only sleeping with and dating his colleague but also the colleague he can’t stand the most.

- Yeah the vast majority are just immediately drawn to her beauty and grace. She’s matching all of their freak.

——————

- But if we are talking about Villains, Deathstroke is one of her past; he was an easy bag she didn’t even have to pull out any tricks. But when she gets a bit older and matures more she stops their dynamic immediately.

- For some crack however Batsis has contemplated how funny it would be if she married Ra’s Al Ghul, like Damian having to address her as grandmother? Bruce literally having a seizure if he finds out. This thought is extinguished IMMEDIATELY however. Although she does like a challenge and wonders if her talents on him would work.

——————

This girl struggles to find an end game that truly loves her, she’s had a few who have came and gone but never imagined someone she could call her romantic soulmate (bc we know Dick is her platonic soulmate!!), but if it had to be anyone it would be Roy. They’ve been through so much struggle together that eventually they would work out, Roy gets insecure and wonders if she could do better considering the men and women of her past he’s been podiumed with.

- Batsis had made the mistake of leaving him when they were younger over the pressure getting to her, like Lian coming along, his addiction, Ollie just being a shit mentor for the most part, but Batsis really calms down with her gift if she gets serious (even if she can’t control it 70% of the time), she finally has found something good and will stick to it. Yeah he was a nasty dog when they were teenagers but when they are older he just sees the only one (besides Dinah, Dick and Jason) who stuck by him.

My lord this got sort of angsty but yeah. She’s a girl blessed.

[creatur3featur3]

Who's there?

word count: 3.1k

A/N: maybe I went into too much detail with reader being blind but whatever! not very proud of this but i promised it so, i hope yall enjoy it!

The Undercity had never been kind to anyone, and it certainly wasn’t kind to you.

You had no memory of what it felt like to be loved, not since the day your family decided you weren’t worth the burden. When they pushed you down into this hell, it was as though they had erased your existence.

You were only eight when it happened. A boiling pot of oil tipped over in the kitchen during one of your father’s drunken fits. The pain was unimaginable, searing through your skin and leaving your eyes useless. You screamed, begged for help, but all you got was silence.

By the time the burns healed—if you could call it healing—the damage was done. The scars remained as an ever-present reminder of what you’d lost. Your vision was gone, leaving you in complete darkness. That’s when your parents decided you weren’t worth keeping.

"She's blind. What use could she be to us now?"

That was all it took for them to throw you out. No goodbyes, no second thoughts—just the sound of the hatch to the Undercity slamming shut behind you.

Now, years later, you had carved out a life for yourself in the shadows of the Undercity. It wasn’t much, but it was yours. You navigated the dark alleys and crooked streets with an almost uncanny precision, relying on touch, sound, and scent to guide you. Your other senses had sharpened over time, adapting to fill the void your sight had left behind.

Still, survival was brutal. People didn’t care about your blindness—they saw weakness and an easy target. You’d learned quickly how to defend yourself, whether it was with a blade, a sharp tongue, or sheer stubbornness.

That’s how Sevika found you.

It wasn’t a grand meeting. In fact, you’d bumped into her—literally. You hadn’t heard her coming, distracted by the clamor of a nearby fight. When you stumbled back, muttering apologies, she had been surprisingly calm.

For someone who usually brushed off others like they were dust, Sevika hadn’t treated you like you were fragile. She hadn’t laughed at your blindness or tried to offer you pity. Instead, she’d just said, “You walk like you own the place. I respect that.”

That moment changed everything.

It was strange for others to witness Sevika, the notorious enforcer, laughing or even smiling in someone else’s company. You? You were an enigma to them—a blind girl who somehow got under Sevika’s tough exterior like it was nothing. People whispered about it in the bars, sharing hushed disbelief as they saw her sit with you, her usual scowl softened into something unreadable.

You didn’t have to see her face to know the way her demeanor changed when you were around. It was in the way her voice lost its sharp edge, or how her movements were less calculated, less guarded. You had this way of bringing something out of her that no one else could.

Sevika would never admit it out loud, but she liked having you around. You were blunt in the way you spoke to her, never tiptoeing around her reputation or treating her like some fearsome villain. You joked with her like you’d known her for years, teasing her when she got too grumpy or quiet. And somehow, she never snapped at you for it.

“You really do have a stick up your ass sometimes,” you teased one evening as you sat beside her in her usual corner of the Last Drop. You tilted your head, listening to the sounds of people shuffling past, drinks clinking, and cards being shuffled on nearby tables.

Sevika snorted, her metal arm resting on the back of your chair. “You’re one to talk. You nag me more than anyone I’ve ever met.”

“Someone has to,” you retorted, a small smirk playing on your lips. “Otherwise, you’d go full brooding anti-hero on me.”

A chuckle escaped her, low and warm. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Yeah, but you like it,” you shot back without missing a beat.

And that was the thing—she did.

She liked how you didn’t care about her scars or her reputation, how you called her out when no one else dared to. You didn’t treat her with fear or reverence, and that was rare. It was refreshing.

People often asked her why she kept you around, why she let you talk to her the way you did. Sevika never had an answer that didn’t sound too soft for her own liking. Maybe it was your unwavering resilience. Maybe it was the way you stood your ground despite everything life had thrown at you.

Or maybe, it was just you.

The sound of a glass gently clinking onto the wood in front of you drew your attention, and you tilted your head toward Sevika, raising a brow even though you couldn’t see her expression.

“That’s your fifth one tonight,” you said, your voice laced with mock disapproval.

Sevika chuckled low, the sound rumbling in her chest. “And? You keeping count now?”

“Someone has to,” you shot back, leaning back in your seat with a smirk. “You keep this up, and I’m gonna have to drag your drunk ass home.”

“That’ll be the day,” she retorted, a hint of amusement in her tone. “I think I can handle myself.”

“You say that, but I’m the one who hears you stumble around the apartment,” you quipped, crossing your arms.

Sevika let out a short laugh, shaking her head. “You’ve got some nerve for someone who couldn’t even make it up the fire escape on their own a few months ago.”

“Hey, I’ve got plenty of nerve. It’s my best quality,” you replied with a grin, unfazed by her jab. “But seriously, don’t make me cut you off. I will.”

Sevika’s smirk softened into something almost fond as she glanced over at you. “You’re lucky I don’t mind your backtalk.”

“Lucky? Nah, you love it,” you teased, earning another laugh from her as she picked up the glass again.

“So, what’s tomorrow look like?” you asked, breaking the brief silence between you and Sevika. You rubbed your fingertips against the rough surface of the wooden countertop, focusing on the texture rather than her reaction. “I heard Silco’s got a big shipment coming in. And Jinx—well, she’s definitely keeping him busy…”

Sevika grunted, swirling what was left of her drink before downing it in one go. “Yeah, that kid’s a handful. Keeps things… interesting.”

You chuckled softly, shaking your head. “That’s one way to put it. Bet you’re glad she’s keeping him too busy to breathe down your neck.”

Sevika leaned back in her chair, her metal arm resting heavily on the bar. “It’s a nice change of pace,” she admitted. “But shipments like this? They’re always trouble. More eyes watching, more people trying to make a move. You know how it is.”

“Mm,” you hummed in agreement, your fingers still idly tracing the grooves in the wood. “Let me guess: you’re on babysitting duty again? Keeping the riffraff in line?”

Sevika smirked faintly, her sharp eyes glinting in the dim barlight. “Something like that. You volunteering to help out?”

You snorted, tilting your head toward her. “Me? You think I’d survive five minutes in the middle of one of Silco’s operations?”

She gave a short laugh. “You’ve got more guts than half the people I work with. You’d probably be fine. Besides…” She leaned in slightly, her voice dropping just enough to make it feel more personal. “I wouldn’t let anything happen to you.”

Your heart skipped a beat, but you quickly covered it with a teasing grin. “Careful, Sevika. Almost sounded like you care.”

“Don’t get used to it,” she shot back, though the softness in her tone betrayed her.

"Already am," you hummed back, a soft chuckle escaping your lips as you leaned a little closer to her side of the bar.

Sevika raised an eyebrow but didn’t say anything, the corner of her mouth twitching ever so slightly.

"But seriously," you continued, letting your fingers drum lightly on the wood, "I don’t have much use out there. I’d just get in the way. I don’t know that area like I know the city. You know how it is."

Sevika nodded, her gaze drifting to her empty glass for a moment before returning to you. “Yeah, I know. It’s not exactly the place for… someone like you.”

You tilted your head, curious at the subtle weight in her voice. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

She smirked, pouring herself another drink. “It means you’d probably charm the wrong people and end up in more trouble than you bargained for.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “Sounds about right. Guess I’ll leave the heavy lifting to you, then.”

“Smart choice,” Sevika muttered, taking a sip. After a pause, she added, “You’re not useless, though. Don’t talk like that.”

Her words caught you off guard, and for a moment, you just stared at her, unsure how to respond.

“I’m just saying,” Sevika said, her tone gruff but her eyes softer than usual. “You’ve got your own kind of strengths. And… they’re not nothing.”

The sincerity in her voice sent a warm feeling through your chest. You smiled, even though you knew she couldn’t see it. “Thanks, Sev. I think that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

"And here we go," Sevika sighed, setting her glass down with a lazy smile pulling at her lips, already bracing herself for what was coming.

You leaned forward, chin resting in your palm as you grinned in her direction. “Oh, Sevika,” you cooed dramatically, dragging out her name, “are you finally admitting you’ve got a soft spot for me? This is a monumental occasion!”

She rolled her eyes, but her smile lingered. “Don’t push it, kid.”

“Kid?” you gasped, feigning offense. “Is that how you talk to someone you just called not useless? You’re practically doting on me at this point.”

Sevika chuckled under her breath, shaking her head. “I’m not doting.”

“Oh, no, of course not,” you teased, voice dripping with mock sincerity. “You’re just giving me compliments, looking out for me, and keeping me out of trouble. But doting? Never!”

“You’re unbelievable,” Sevika muttered, but there was no hiding the warmth in her tone.

“And yet, here you are,” you shot back, grinning. “Can’t seem to get enough of me, huh?”

“Yeah, yeah,” she said, waving you off. “You keep telling yourself that.”

You could hear the smirk in her voice, and it made your grin grow wider. “Oh, I will, Sev. I will.”

————————————————————————

You had your own way of getting around the city, sure you couldn't see like everyone else but that gave you an advantage, all your other senses.

Sure you couldn't use your eyes but you could still see, per say.

Think of it like a bat, they use echolocation, you use the same thing- just without the chirps and whatever sounds they make…

Vibrations.

Every step, every sound, every tiny shift in the air painted a map in your mind. You could feel the hum of a generator two streets over, the rattle of loose metal under someone’s boots, the faint tapping of a rat scurrying into a hole.

The city spoke to you, and you listened.

Where others might stumble in the dark, you moved with confidence. You could feel the vibrations of footsteps approaching before anyone turned a corner. The uneven rhythms of dripping water or loose panels were like markers, telling you exactly where you were.

It wasn’t perfect—sometimes you still bumped into things or missed a step—but it was enough to get by. Enough to survive.

And in the Undercity, survival was half the battle.

You’d been making your way through the back alleys, the vibrations beneath your feet familiar, the hum of machinery above grounding you. But then it happened—a shift in the air, a rhythm that didn’t belong. Heavy footsteps. Too many.

You froze for a moment, tilting your head slightly as if listening closer, though you didn’t need to. The vibrations said it all. Four, no… five people. All moving toward you, their steps unsteady but deliberate.

“Hey, little miss,” a gruff voice called, the sound bouncing off the walls. “Ain’t safe for someone like you to be out here all alone.”

You turned slightly, keeping your expression neutral. “I can handle myself, thanks.”

Laughter. It was sharp, jagged, like glass shattering in a quiet room. “Oh, I don’t doubt it,” the voice replied. “But see, we’ve got a problem. This here’s our turf. And you? You look like you’re lost.”

The vibrations grew closer, surrounding you. They were trying to box you in. Your hand instinctively brushed against the metal pipe at your side—a makeshift weapon you always carried. You tightened your grip.

“I’m not lost,” you said calmly. “But you’re about to be.”

Silence for a beat. Then the leader barked out a laugh. “Feisty one, huh? Shame. We could’ve been nice.”

The first swing came fast—a clumsy, overconfident lunge you could feel before it even connected. You ducked easily, using the vibrations to track their movements.

“Big mistake,” you muttered, spinning the pipe in your hand and swinging low. It connected with a satisfying crack, the vibration of impact reverberating up your arm.

But the others weren’t standing idle. Another thug grabbed for you, and though you twisted away, his grip managed to tear your sleeve. You swung back hard, connecting with his ribs, but more footsteps were closing in.

You gritted your teeth. This was going to be a fight.

-

You stood over the last of the thugs, breathing heavily as you wiped a bit of blood from your lip, the adrenaline still surging through you. The alley was littered with bodies—some unconscious, others barely clinging to consciousness. They wouldn’t be bothering anyone for a while.

Your hand rested on the metal pipe, your fingers flexing around the cold steel, as if still gauging whether they were all truly out of commission. You could feel their uneven breathing, the way their pulses had slowed. They were done for now.

With a satisfied smirk, you let the pipe fall to the ground, the sound echoing in the silence of the alley. You had done more than just defend yourself; you’d sent a message.

“You should’ve known better,” you muttered, stepping over one of them as you made your way back toward the exit. Your body ached from the fight, but the satisfaction of taking them down lingered.

You weren’t just some blind girl lost in the city—no, you were a force, and anyone who thought they could take advantage of that was about to learn the hard way.

As you left the alley, you couldn’t help but feel a rush of pride. It had been close, but you’d come out on top. And the next time anyone underestimated you, they’d be in for a surprise.

You walked into Sevika’s place, your movements a little slower now that the adrenaline had started to fade, leaving the aches and bruises to take center stage. Your clothes were torn, blood smeared across your skin, and there was a faint ringing in your ears from the aftermath of the fight. But you weren’t about to let any of that stop you.

Sevika looked up from her chair when she heard the door open, eyes narrowing as she saw the state you were in. “What the hell happened to you?” she asked, voice a mixture of concern and irritation.

You shrugged, trying to act casual, but the way your body winced when you moved betrayed you. “Had a run-in with a couple of thugs in the alley. Nothing I couldn’t handle, though.”

“Jesus,” Sevika muttered, setting down her drink and standing up. “Sit down. Let me take care of you.”

You obeyed without protest, easing yourself into a chair as she gathered the first-aid supplies. “It wasn’t even that bad,” you chuckled, trying to lighten the mood. “They didn’t know what hit ‘em.”

Sevika gave you a skeptical look, her hands moving expertly as she started cleaning the cuts and bruises. “Don’t start acting like this is some kind of joke. You’re lucky you don’t have worse injuries.”

“Hey, I came out on top,” you said with a grin, “I didn’t even need your help.”

Sevika shot you a look, a smile tugging at the corner of her lips despite herself. “I’m still patching you up, aren’t I? Not that I expected you to get into fights, but you really need to be more careful.”

You hummed in acknowledgment, but the smirk never left your face. “I’m not some damsel in distress. I can handle myself.”

Sevika didn’t respond at first, her fingers pausing in their work as if she was thinking carefully about something. “You’re right,” she finally said, voice softer. “But you don’t have to handle everything alone, you know?”

You paused, looking up at her. There was a quiet sincerity in her words, and for a moment, you almost forgot the pain. “I know,” you murmured, voice quieter than before. “But I don’t really have anyone else.”

Sevika’s hands moved again, but there was a gentleness in her touch now that wasn’t there before. “Well, you’ve got me,” she said, the words simple but carrying more weight than either of you were ready to admit.

You didn’t know what to say to that, so you just let her work in silence, letting the calm of her presence wash over you as she finished tending to your wounds.

It was the first time in a long while you felt like maybe you weren’t entirely alone in this city.

As Sevika finished tending to your wounds, you couldn't help but chuckle at how seriously she took it, like she was the one who had been hurt. When she finally stepped back, satisfied with her work, you stood up and stretched.

"Thanks, Cupcake," you teased, your tone light and playful as you gave her a mischievous grin. Without giving her a chance to react, you leaned forward and planted a soft kiss on her forehead.

Her reaction was exactly what you'd hoped for—a slight stiffening, the faintest rise of heat radiating from her- but she didn't pull away. In fact, she seemed almost… fond, if not slightly caught off guard.

"You're something else," she muttered, her voice rough but with a hint of amusement in it. She quickly grabbed her drink and took a swig, clearly trying to cover her embarrassment.

You couldn't help but smirk at how flustered she got. "I know, Cupcake. That's what makes me so charming."

You turned to leave, but before you could get to the door, you paused and turned back to her. "See you around, Sevika."

Her gaze softened slightly, and she gave you a small nod. "Yeah, yeah. Take care of yourself."

With that, you walked out, the city lights greeting you with their familiar soft buzzing of electricity–you stepped back into the streets, your mind running not just from the fight, but from the brief moment of something that felt like… warmth.

you chuckle softly, damn woman.

[anakinstwinklebunny]

Author's note: please indulge in sending me requests 🙏🏻🙏🏻 I miss my fav characters and my nonnies. JOIN THE RABBIT'S FAMILY I SWEAR I DONT BITE JUST KEEP TALKIN' TO ME AND I'LL BE SO HAPPY 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

𝓕𝓛𝓤𝓕𝓕 ❦

────୨ৎ────

You hopped into the speeder beside ANAKIN SKYWALKER with the wildest grin, excited to spend some time with your boyfriend. The engine hummed softly while the vehicle began its smooth ride through the streets of Coruscant. Anakin, as always, was in control, hands confidently gripping the wheel. The soft hum of the speeder beneath you was calming, and you leaned back in the seat, enjoying the wind brushing through your hair

“Nice and easy, huh?” You teased, glancing over at him, a playful smile tugging at your lips.

“Of course,” Anakin replied with that signature smirk, eyes glinting with mischief (which was suspicious already) as he kept his focus on the road ahead. "I'm always careful when it comes to you."

You chuckled, feeling the wind in your hair as you relaxed, the city of Coruscant stretching out below you. But you should've known better than to trust him for even a second behind the wheel.

Without warning, Anakin’s fingers tightened on the controls, and the speeder jerked forward, picking up speed at an alarming rate.

“What the hell, Anakin?” you gasped, eyes widening as the buildings blurred past you faster than necessary. “What are you--?!”

He didn’t answer--of course he didn’t. He was too busy grinning, voice a low chuckle that made your stomach flip. “Hold on tight,” he murmured. “You’re in for a ride.”

And ride you did.

The speeder shot forward like a bolt of electricity, your body slammed back against the seat, the force of his acceleration knocking the breath out of you. Your heart raced, eyes wide as you hold tight on the belt securing your body from literally being injured (or worse)

“Anakin! Slow down!" you Oh my god, we’re gonna crash!” you screamed, clutching the seat as you felt the air grow thick and fast. “Stop! Please!”

But he just laughed.

Loud.

Cocky.

Damned bastard.

His smirk never fluttered as he zoomed through the streets, dodging traffic with perfect skill only he could possess. You could feel the heat of your panic rising, chest heaving as the speed and danger of it all took over. Fingers dug into the armrest, breath quickening as the speeder swerved left and right, your eyes barely keeping together the changing scenery

“We’re gonna die!” you sobbed, gripping the seat tighter as Anakin leaned forward, slamming the speeder into a barrel roll. "Oh my god we are gonna die!" Your stomach lurched as you screamed, hair flying everywhere as the ground turned into sky and then back again.

“Fuck!” you gasped, gasping for air, body constantly twisting in the seat, and yet, Anakin's laughter filled the air, voice low and teasing, like he was absolutely loving every second of this.

“Anakin!” you screamed, grip tightening on the seat as your world flipped and spun, your stomach doing flips of its own. “We’re gonna die!”

You were gasping, heart racing, and Anakin--god, Anakin--was laughing like it was the most fun he’d had in ages. You wanted to scream at him, throw him out of the speeder, but you couldn’t even get the words out, and let's not talk about how your hands were frightened to let go of what they were holding.

“I--” you struggled to catch your breath as you pressed back into the seat. "Anakin, I swear to God--"

He just laughed louder, shifting the speeder into a tighter turn, sending you crashing against the side. “You’re so dramatic,” he teased, smirk never faltering. “Nothing’s gonna happen. Just trust me, princess”

“Please, Ani!” you begged, voice shaky, desperate. “Stop! I can’t breathe!”

“You’re too cute when you’re scared,” Anakin murmured, his voice amused as he flipped the speeder back to its upright position. The city was a blur now, sky above the two of you, clean, stars shining, as he drove the speeder toward an isolated destination.

When he finally, finally stopped, you gasped for air, chest heaving as you looked at him, eyes wide with shock and terror. Your hair was a tangled mess, face flushed from the wild ride, and your hands were still shaking as you tried to calm yourself.

But then--before you could even think your breath--Anakin was leaning over, two fingers lifting your chin “You’re adorable,” he murmured, hand sliding to your cheek, fingers brushing the wild strands of your hair out of your face. “You look so cute all shaken up.”

You glared at him, still trying to catch your breath. “You’re a fucking psychopath,” you muttered, but your voice wavered.

He moved closer, lips brushing against your skin as he whispered, “Worth it" he grinned with proudness "You looked so fucking hot all shaken up like this.”

TAG LIST: @kingdomhate @divineani @haydensprettyprincess @skyguys-princess @catnipaddictt @heartscone @haydensbbg @inneedsoffanfics @jediavengers @literally-izzy @anisluvrgirl @slutforfinnickodair @xhunnybeeex @fuckmyskywalker @gallerygourmet @deceptiive @ysrjune @anakinskwkler @bimbo-baggins17 @cookybananas @emotionallybruisedx @diorvalentina @sevinax @throughparisallthroughrome @aniiuv @ritosparty @ninastyless @lily-strnlo @thesassypadawan @awhhayden @sydkneez @anisangeldust @l1ttle-misssunsh1ne @anakinca

[hypertechnica]

i’m not saying that what Odo did in s6 while the dominion occupied the station WASNT fucked up beyond imagination, but am i the only one who thinks it completely makes sense why it happened (and why Kira forgave him?)

to be clear, i absolutely think the show forgave him too fast - it should have been a full arc on screen, not in a single off screen discussion in a closet. that was a massive writing failure. but! i don’t think that the arc is usalvageable at all.

(CW for discussions of grooming)

from what i knew of the dominion collaborator arc before i watched it, i assumed Odo had taken an active role in betraying the federation basically because he was lonely and horny and prioritized his own feelings over his values. i didn’t see that at all.

Odo’s betrayal lied within his inaction - his refusal to help kira and the resistance when she needed him most, ruining their plans and in the end costing thousands of lives. Kira (and everyone else) had every right to never speak to him again - so why did she?

Odo, to me, seemed completely dissociated the entire time his betrayal took place. where just before he had been talking of wanting to rip out his strong feelings for Kira, he then takes on an eerie apathy towards everything, stating things “used to” matter and that he felt nothing. he doesn’t even know how much time is passing. the crux of this, of course, is the link - Odo stresses that it’s an experience that can’t be compared to anything solids can do. Kira just “doesn’t understand.” that she can’t understand. what is so life changing about linking that makes him do a full 180 on everything he’s ever stood for? it’s basically just goo sex, right? right?

the Voice of the Link (the female changeling but i refuse to call her that because it’s a stupid fucking name) is manipulating him with his desire to link and to experience his culture. but linking is more than a metaphor for sex, it’s quite literally the emotional fusion between beings. the show compares it to sex, yes, but the emotional intimacy of the act transcends humanoid notions of sexuality in a way Odo had never experienced at this level before. the Voice already had power over him. she’d been building his trust and teasing him with hints at their culture for seasons at this point, it wasn’t a huge step to fully let her enter his mind. the Voice wanted Odo to join the Great Link - but she also wanted that minefield to be destroyed. Odo says she didn’t find out about their plans, but was he correct? what are the Voice’s true motives? she says she doesn’t care about the details of the war, that she just wants to be with Odo for companionship - i don’t buy it. she has to know about the resistance. she’s too smart to not have figured it out. it’s two birds with one stone - fully sway Odo to the side of the dominion, and ensure that the minefield is destroyed.

they’d linked before, but never in totality or for that length. she knew he’d be vulnerable to it. that he would lose himself to the overwhelming emotional intensity and melding of their minds. Odo was an extremely young changeling with little to no experience linking, and was thrust into an out of body extremely emotional and sexual experience literally transcending the boundaries of self with a thousand+ year old founder who knows exactly what buttons to press. of course he would lose his sense of self and detach from reality! she’s literally both attacking and assuaging every vulnerability Odo has in an extremely precise manner!

Odo wanted nothing more than to be able to link with another changeling but the power imbalance was too great. he was putty in her hands. it was really uncomfortable to watch and i dare say it was an act of predation rather than “Odo was horny and folded immediately” or “Odo was lonely and prioritized that over his friends.” yes, he was both of those things, but in the context of his relationship with the Voice… good lord. i wouldn’t even be surprised if Odo genuinely didn’t know the extent of the damage he caused until after things were over - he was completely and utterly gone.

it makes no sense for Odo to suddenly abandon his entire moral and value system just because The Link Is Cool and Awesome and i’m Learning About my Culture and then change his mind once more once shit starts hitting the fan. he’s not that gullible. he can’t rip out his feelings! but he can be coaxed into a state of derealized semi consciousness by continuous linking and isolation from others.

by linking with the Voice he lost track of where he ended and she began. his ego had been destroyed. he was nothing, and nothing mattered but the link. the totality of it. his loneliness was amplified by a thousand degrees every time they separated, she knew how to make him feel just right, she knew how to make him lose his independence completely.

but the spark within him, his love that he’d tried to get rid of, the kind that didn’t require becoming nothing but a drop in an ocean, saved him from her. Kira helped him remember himself and what he believed in right before it was too late.

Odo is far from a defendable character in many cases. he’s a very very flawed person. but i would argue this isn’t his worst moment. his extremely authoritarian tendencies and the amoral decisions he’s made while in complete sound mind are honestly more culpable to me than what happened to him in s6. the scale of the disastrous consequences resulting from his betrayal make it way worse obviously, but he was literally getting groomed and NOT in his right mind. he seemed almost drugged to me at points.

so he SHOULD have gotten another arc afterwards explaining all of that in detail instead of “well, he talked it out offscreen with Kira. he’s forgiven now!” BRO HE INDIRECTLY KILLED SO MANY PEOPLE dissociated or not he SHOULD face consequences for that!! make him grapple with it!! make him realize the extent of what happened not only the consequences but the the way he was taken advantage of! its literally existentially terrifying in every way! and of COURSE in that context Kira would forgive him. trust would have to be rebuilt, of course, but it’s one thing to actively put the entire alpha quadrant at risk for some strange, it’s another thing to have your vulnerability taken advantage of and be put into a dissociative state.

tldr: the Voice is a great villain and Odo has never done anything wrong ever in his life

[dreamerwriternstargazer]

Adding onto this, half of the frustration I think regarding the bi-generation is that it is so…. Limited in its consequences and that is classic poor RTD writing - the man’s always been afraid to break rules and open up the potential of a particular concept, often choosing to steer back to a fan indulgent, happy ending. This isn’t inherently a bad thing, but that is why RTD’s big lore choices are often not as criticised as Chibnall’s, because he does something small that doesn’t change the equilibrium of the show, ultimately.

I heartily believe Tentoo narratively speaking was actually a much more creative and skilful execution of bigeneration than the literal bigeneration was, probably because it was planned out for longer

Yes it really only served the purpose of giving Rose a fairytale ending, but that in itself is rather sweet and poetic, and the mechanics of it make a lot of sense I like the way the hand was brought back to make Tentoo I felt it was one of the few times RTD executed a story in a slightly Moffat-esque manner in that the lore mechanics were transparent even if the conclusion was still fan service

When it comes to The Timeless Child, it’s unpopular because it nukes all the important essence to the Doctor, the fact that he is an Everyman, he is not more important, yes because for the Old Guard it messes with their sense of continuity with the show and they don’t like that, but I think what bothers both sides is the fact that it’s never brought anywhere and never says anything more conclusive than: the Doctor was Special because they were the Start of Everything, it feels borderline Space Jesus-y (which we NEED to stop doing in Doctor Who I’m so over it 💀)

(Also I will acknowledge Flux made a fair attempt at making something more of the Timeless Child and the new potential it brings up in the Doctor’s past, I really enjoyed it, but it still resolves in a dull way and while plenty of conflict is shown for 13 none of it really goes anywhere or has a message to it. Her issues with her adopted “mother” figure could have been fleshed out, the people she used to be and can’t remember could have been written more clearly, but ultimately nothing is SAID with the conflicts there’s nothing conclusive and we don’t learn more about the Doctor or see growth)

This is Chibnall’s issue in a nutshell - he can’t write any sort of conclusion because I believe he really doesn’t know what he’s trying to say, he doesn’t have a clear intent going into a story so even if he sorts out his character writing and dialogue issues, the end result feels disappointing because it feels hollow. Because it IS hollow.

The Timeless Child could have been used to show a great deal of internal conflict with the Doctor, change the character properly in a way that matters, and yes while there’s attempts at showing conflict with 13 I can only attribute that to the strength of the episode writers through Flux and Jodie’s acting. It must be acknowledged that while there are substantial things to read into with Jodie’s Doctor - the fact that she’s so closed off, the fact that she’s constantly trying to be cheerful and never talks about the Timeless Child truths and how they affected her - are all Watsonian readings of the text. The main interesting conflict in 13 is that we consider her so tightly wound because she’s quiet and we deduce straight-laced, ignoring that we only make this of her because Chibnall forgets to write emotions and internal conflict for her. As a result, we are forced to analyse and use the absence of it as a building block for her character in a death of the author manner that has never been necessary for RTD or Moffat, who, though have made some rather big lore changes themselves, have always shown the emotional and practical consequences of it on the Doctor.

In comparison to both RTD and Chibnall, I present to you Moffat - the man who basically batted a lore changing concept every season he ran and I truly feel hit a home run every time

While we can debate over whether Moffat’s better at individual episodes or season long arcs (I would say the latter but primarily in relation to *character arcs*) what is crystal clear is that he is bold enough to introduce something new, and has enough intent to use it to say something substantial about the Doctor or really any other character - he is smart enough to actually break the lore and rebuild it.

The War Doctor is probably the easiest example to cite - a regeneration we never knew! We get insight into the Doctor’s extremely conflicted, extremely grey past, his actions in the Time War, we actually get a proper plot ABOUT the Time War in which we see the conclusion of it. We are changed for knowing about this, but not too much because he uses the conclusion, his classic “there’s always a way out”, to show the character’s growth, to show how he has been changed from 10 to 11, from War to 11, by his companions, to dare to say he won’t repeat his mistakes. Moffat could have shown the Doctors all standing together to destroy Gallifrey and the Daleks again, and there’s still meaning in the fact that they went with War to help him, the fact that they were no longer running away and taking responsibility, but we get the final Doctor (not that we know of it yet), Clara Oswald, demanding that they change things. Considering what she would later become, the other half of the Hybrid, we could almost view this scene then as a reminder of the importance of the companion to the Doctor but also as foreshadowing for Clara’s future - the most healed, most hopeful, most important Doctor who was holding onto the tenant of being the Doctor and reminding the others, almost I feel what 13 should have been to her Timeless Child selves.

Moffat skilfully used one of RTD’s own big lore points, Bad Wolf Girl, as the plot mechanism for how the Doctors are brought back together, while paralleling the story with that of the Zygon face off with UNIT, ultimately bringing us to still another imperfect conclusion - Gallifrey is there, but it needs to be found, unfrozen, the difference is… there’s time enough to save it. Yet this is still perfect because all of these different elements to the anniversary episode - the Zygon invasion, War being a regeneration, Gallifrey’s existence itself - are all utilised again and again for future episodes, hell Gallifrey feeds into another, if slightly less grand, lore shatter of the Hybrid.

RTD throws a net into the pond of the show to catch a specific fish

And Chibnall throws a stone into the pond of the show and forgets that he did it

But Moffat? Moffat throws a stone into the pond (heh) of the show and watches and takes note of every possible ripple.

Bigeneration is just as lore-changing as the Timeless Child. And yet no one shits on it because their precious RTD wrote it. If Chibnall did something like this, y'all would have your pitchforks at the ready. The double standards in this fandom, I swear. RTD is allowed to retcon Doctor Who, but heavens forbid Chibnall even try.

The Doctor is no longer even a parent because of him. David Tennant is a good actor, but I'm tired of people pretending like he's the face of Doctor Who. The whole point of the show is that the Doctor has different faces, and we should love them all—not regress backwards.

We deserved to see the Fourteenth Doctor in Thirteenth's clothes, and not for everything she is to burn up and die. The Fifteenth Doctor deserved his own regeneration scene like every other Doctor, without Fourteenth randomly sticking around because of RTD's inability to let go of the characters he wrote.

At least the Timeless Child added something more to the Doctor's story. Bigeneration took something away: the emotional impact of the Doctor's regeneration - having to say goodbye.

[toasecretsanta]

From @just_snakess for Aquos

“So, what’s been going on at camp?” I asked my children, spearing a sausage on my fork. We were sat at the Apollo table in Camp Half-Blood’s mess hall, enjoying the food after a hard day’s work training. Well, the demigods had been hard at working training. I had been hard at work giving the occasional thumbs up from the sidelines. But I liked to visit Camp Half-Blood often, even when there was nothing in particular that needed some godly input. It was the least I could do, after spending, well, millennia, almost completely ignoring my children. I felt a now-familiar surge of guilt, but pushed it firmly down. Now was not the time. Instead, I continued my questioning.

“News? Gossip? Pranks? Tell me everything.” I waggled my eyebrows suggestively, then regretted it.

Will cracked a small smile at my antics, so I figured it was all worth it. “It’s been surprisingly quiet, actually,” he said.

“It absolutely hasn’t,” Kayla objected. “You know Tanya from Hephaestus? Turns out her epic rivalry with the Aphrodite cabin was all for show, and she’s been dating Chloe for months. The Aphrodite kids can’t decide whether to exile Chloe for not telling them, or hail them both as the greatest forbidden romance of all time.” “And then there’s Chiron’s new initiative,” put in Austin.

As one, the table groaned.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Gracie said miserably, staring down at her plate like she was staring down the barrel of a gun. Oh, wait, demigods don’t use guns. Perhaps the Hephaestus cabin should get on that.

“It’s awful,” Jerry bemoaned. Kayla clapped him on the shoulder in commiseration.

I looked at Will. As head counsellor, he would surely have some sensible and reassuring comment to make to raise his siblings’ spirits. “No, Dad, it really is that bad,” he said, as if he’d read my mind. “It’s to do with Chiron’s new…”

“...mental health initiative,” the whole cabin finished together, with various levels of despair, disgust, and hopelessness in their voices.

I frowned. This seemed like an important parenting moment. “Now, children,” I began. “I know talking about mental health isn’t always comfortable, but as the god of health, you can trust me when I say it’s very important! Whatever Chiron’s got in store for you, I’m sure it’s entirely justified and very helpful.” Oddly, this did not seem to have the cheering effect I’d hoped for. Gracie picked gloomily at her food. The others exchanged commiserating glances with each other.

“In principle, I’d agree with you,” Will said, evidently their designated spokesperson. “But…not this. Anything but this.”

“It can’t be that bad,” I said optimistically, though privately I was beginning to have my doubts. I’d seen my children more enthusiastic about literal wars.

Will grimaced, but didn’t reply. The table fell into a gloomy silence. It seemed I had made a social faux pas, which was unfortunately a surprisingly common occurrence for me. I cast around desperately for another source of conversation, and spied Meg walking with a tray over to the Demeter table.

“Meg! Over here!” I shouted, waving my arms frantically. One thing I’d learned about Meg is that to get her attention, you had to remove the option of plausible deniability that she hadn’t noticed you. She also enjoyed it when I embarrassed myself in public, which made it more likely she would then do what I wanted.

Meg rolled her eyes, but I saw the corner of her mouth upturn in a tiny smile as she corrected course over to our table. This made me feel embarrassingly gooey inside. 

“Sup,” she said as she approached. Meg is very eloquent. It is just one of her many charms. I shuffled along to make room for her on the bench as my kids gave her a muted welcome.

She frowned. “How come you’re all so sad?” “The initiative,” Kayla said gloomily.

Meg mimed throwing up. The table nodded in mournful solidarity.

“So what actually is this initiative?” I asked, which I recognised was not the wisest move socially, but my curiosity was winning out.

As one, the table shuddered.

“We just have to tell him,” Austin said to the rest of the table. “He’ll never rest until he finds out otherwise.” He turned to me with the determination of a hardened warrior once more facing down his worst nightmare. “Chiron is making us each come up with a mental health mantra,” he said.

Gracie clapped her hands over her ears. Will looked vaguely queasy. Meg vibrated with vengeful anger.

“That doesn’t seem so bad!” I said.

“It’s so cheesy,” Kayla said.

“And also useless,” added Yan. Kayla nodded in agreement.

“Mantras are not useless,” I said sternly. “In fact, I had one myself, and it kept me going through all sorts of things!” Gracie wrinkled her nose. “Really?”

“Don’t be rude,” Will scolded, but it didn’t really sound like his heart was in it.

“Wait, tell us what it is, and then we can copy it!” said Jerry.

The table all turned to look at me expectantly. I realised I had backed myself into a corner.

“Ah,” I said, panicking. “Well, the thing is - I really can’t - I’m afraid I’m needed very urgently at Olympus for something very important - I’m sure you understand - bye!” 

And with that, I poofed out of the mess hall and into my bedroom in the sun palace, where I collapsed on my bed and screamed into the pillow. “Something very important? Really, Apollo?” I said to myself. “That was all you could think of?”

*

Some hours later, I rather sheepishly [teleported] back to Camp Half-Blood and lurked hesitantly in the shadows of the woods, unsure of how to [re-introduce] myself after my rather rapid escape earlier. Before I could think of anything good, however, Meg spotted me.

She marched up to me and punched me in the arm, hard.

“Ow!” I protested.

“Dummy,” she said. “Don’t poof away. Just say you don’t want to answer like a normal person.” 

She spoke gruffly, but I was well practised at Meg-interpretation. My heart melted.

“Oh, Meg,” I said, pulling her into a hug. “I’m very sorry for disappearing on you.” She hugged me back. “ ‘S okay,” she said. “You panicked. I get it.” This made me want to hug her even tighter, but I released her before she started to squirm.

“Why’d you panic?” she asked.

“Truthfully? I’m not entirely sure,” I admitted. “I guess I was just a little embarrassed.” “You embarrass yourself all the time, though.” I gasped. “Rude!” But she wasn’t entirely wrong. Why had this particular instance made me freak out so much? “Maybe because I felt put on the spot?” I said out loud. “I mean, my mantra wasn't that bad.” Meg raised an eyebrow.

“It wasn’t!” I protested. “I’ll tell you right now! It went ‘I am beautiful and everyone loves me’, which is pretty standard mantra stuff, for your information!” Meg burst out laughing. I crossed my arms grumpily. “What?” I demanded.

“That was actually your mantra?”

“Yes,” I said defensively. “It…didn’t work very well, in the end.” “I don’t think that’s a very good mantra,” Meg said bluntly. I opened her mouth to snap at her, but something told me this wasn’t just one of her standard insults. She continued, slowly: “I mean, all gods are attractive, so that wouldn’t really make you feel good about yourself. And mantras aren’t meant to be about other people’s opinions. Apparently.” She crossed her arms and looked away, cheeks red.

“Meg,” I said, surprised and touched. “Have you actually been listening to Chiron’s mental health initiative?” She shrugged defensively. “Thought it might be useful for helping the rest of Nero’s kids,” she muttered.

I couldn’t help it, I hugged her again. “That’s very kind, Meg,” I said earnestly once she had scrabbled away from me, cheeks still glowing bright pink.

“Whatever,” she said, but she was smiling. “Anyway, that’s a shitty mantra. You should get a better one.” “Language!” I scolded. “And I don’t even go to this camp, why should I have to think of a mantra?” “I don’t go here either,” Meg pointed out. “Not properly. You spend at least as much time here as me. So if I have to do it, so do you.” “But-” “Shut up,” she told me. “I’m your master. This is an order.” I folded. Secretly I was quite touched by the fact that she still wanted to give me stupid orders, even though I was a god now. “Fine,” I said. “We will make stupid cheesy mantras together. How do we proceed?” 

She shrugged at me disdainfully. I hadn’t known a shrug could be disdainful before I met Meg. “That’s what everyone’s trying to figure out, dummy.”

“Yes,” I said slowly. “A most troubling dilemma.” I paused, drawing on my centuries of godly knowledge, and came up largely blank. “Meg, it pains me to admit it, but this is not my area of expertise. We may require backup.” “Backup?”

I nodded, warming to the idea. “Yes, indeed. I will go forth and seek knowledge on mantras. Surely one of our friends must know something.” Meg looked dubious. “You’ve only got a day left, though. They’re meant to be due tomorrow.”

“And nobody’s done one?” I said incredulously.

“The whole camp has ADHD,” she pointed out.

I nodded, conceding the point. “Have faith,” I told her. “I’m a god! I travel quickly. When I return, I will be the master of mantras! The mantra master! Perhaps I already am? Are they a subsection of poetry? Who’s to say? But regardless, I will return to you soon, dearest Meg.”

I kissed her on the head, then vanished. My quest had begun.

*

My first port of call was the Waystation. Emmy and Jo were some of the wisest people I knew. I felt sure one of them would have advice to offer. But when I appeared in the Grand Hall, the place was largely deserted, save for two familiar faces deep in concentration at one of the anvils under the rose window.

“Lityerses! Leo!” I cried. “It’s good to see you, my friends!” Leo put down the sledgehammer he was wielding and offered me a wan smile. “Hey, Apollo,” he said.

I frowned. “Is this a bad time?” “Well-” Leo began.

“Yes,” Lityerses interrupted. “Calypso broke up with him,” he informed me.

Leo winced. “Dude, you didn’t need to say it so bluntly,” he said, but even that was half-hearted, lacking his usual brimming-over energy.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I know you cared for her a lot.” He shrugged, uncomfortable. “It’s tough for her, rejoining society after so long being on her own. I get that she needs some time to figure herself out without having to worry about anyone else.” “It still sucks,” said Lityerses, with more emotional intelligence than I would’ve expected from a guy once known as the Reaper of Men.

Leo patted him on the shoulder. “Thanks, buddy. Anyways, Apollo, what were you actually here for? Unless it’s because you’re deeply invested in my love life, which would be understandable, if a little creepy, because I am incredibly hot.” He flexed a bicep.

I wasn’t surprised he was changing the subject. Deflecting with humour was a Leo Valdez speciality; even I could tell that much. But I couldn’t fault the guy for not wanting to talk about his breakup 24/7. “I’m actually here on a little quest of my own devising,” I said. “Do either of you know anything about mantras?” Leo let out a genuine laugh. “Okay, that was not what I was expecting. Why are you going on a mantras quest, Apollo?” “Long story,” I said. “Well? Anything?” He shook his head, still smiling. “Sorry, man. Not my thing. Lit, you got anything?” “No,” Lit immediately denied, but there was something shifty about his eyes. 

Leo immediately rounded on him. “Dude, you’re kidding me. You have a mantra?”

“I am an esteemed warrior who has lived for many lifetimes of men,” Lityerses said stiffly. His cheeks were red.

“That’s not a denial!” Leo said gleefully.

“I, for one, would love to hear your mantra, Lityerses,” I put in.

“It’s just Lit,” he said, crossing his arms. “And it’s not really a mantra.” Leo gasped. “He admits it,” he stage-whispered.

“Shut up, Leo,” Lit said. I’d never seen someone flush brighter red in my life. “It’s just something Jo said to me a couple months after I started staying here. That it didn’t matter if people called me Midas’s son or Commodus’s lieutenant or even the Reaper of Men. That I had to decide how I wanted to see myself, and then hold tight to that. Never let it go.” I’d never heard Lit speak so many words in one go before. I was moved by the fact that he'd chosen to share such a personal thing with me.

“Aw, Lit,” Leo said, clearly touched. “I’m telling Jo you said that.” “Don’t you dare,” Lit grumbled. He turned to me. “Hope that was helpful, I guess.”

“Thank you very much,” I said. I wanted to express my gratitude further, but Lit still struck me as a man who wouldn't appreciate the attention. “Those are very wise words indeed. But as nice as this chat has been, I'm afraid I must be on my way. I’m on a tight schedule!”

*

“Brother, I don’t have time for games,” Artemis said to me, arms folded. “We’re finally a step ahead of the fox. I don’t have time to waste.”

“But this is important!” I protested.

Around us, the entire camp of hunters was a flurry of movement as they struck their tents and packed up camp. They were remarkably well-polished. One elbowed me as she walked past carrying a towering pile of weapons, which I graciously chose to believe was accidental.

Artemis looked unimpressed. “You have five minutes. And if the fox gets away again, it’s your fault.”

“What?” I cried. “It’s not my fault you’ve all been on a wild goose chase for years!” “Wild fox chase,” she corrected.

“It’s a figure of speech!” “Is this really how you’re choosing to spend your -” she glanced at her watch - “four remaining minutes?” “Fine,” I said, not at all sulkily.

She looked at me incredulously. “Is that a pout?” “Now who’s wasting time? Anyway, what I wanted to talk to you about was mantras.” “Mantras?” She studied me more closely. “Brother, are you having an identity crisis?” She said it derisively, but there was a hint of genuine worry in her eyes.

“No, no,” I reassured her. “It’s just so I can advise the demigods. Something about Chiron’s new mental health initiative.” I tactically left out my agreement with Meg that I would also have to come up with a mantra.

“Chiron started a mental health initiative?” came an incredulous voice from behind me. I turned to see a young woman with short black hair and a familiar leather jacket. “Guess camp really has changed since my day.” “This does not concern you, Thalia Grace,” Artemis said. “Do not let my brother drag you into this ridiculous conversation.”

“Thalia!” I said, delighted. “I don’t suppose you know anything about mantras?” She snorted. “Nope. Lady Artemis?” Artemis sighed. “Well, I suppose if I must contribute…” She closed her eyes for a moment in thought, then opened them again. “Yes, I do believe I have it.” “Really?” I said suspiciously.

“I go to the trouble of indulging in your foolish games for once, and I am met only with suspicion? You might hurt my feelings, brother.” “Sorry, sorry,” I said hastily. “So what is it?” She gave a small smile, which made me instantly suspicious. “Repeat after me: I, the god Apollo…” I didn’t like where this was going. “I, the god Apollo…” “...pale in comparison to my lovely, talented, and beautiful sister.” She beamed at me. “Do you like it?” 

Thalia gave her a high five.

“Very funny-” I began, but the two of them were already walking away.

“Sorry, brother, must dash!” Artemis called over her shoulder. “We have a fox to catch!”

*

My beloved oracle, Rachel Dare, stared at me contemplatively. “I think I’m getting there,” she informed me, daubing a few more dashes of paint on her easel as she spoke.

“Really?” I said hopefully.

“Mhm.” She put down her brush and scooted over her stool so she could look me in the eyes. “Are you ready to receive my prophetic wisdom?” The suspense was killing me. I nodded eagerly.

“Apollo…” - she looked me dead in the eyes - “...you are Kenough.”

I frowned. “Is that a riddle?” She threw up her hands. “Aren’t you the god of music? Why are you so uncultured? Look, stay here, I’ll get my laptop. I’m about to change your life.

She wasn’t wrong. The Barbie movie was excellent. However, it did not aid my quest.

*

“It turns out that knowledge of mantras is harder to come by than I thought,” I informed my mother as we sat down for our weekly afternoon tea. “Nobody is taking my quest for knowledge seriously. Well, except maybe Lit. I knew I liked him for a reason. But the rest of them are just treating mantras as a joke!”

Leto took a sip of tea, unbothered by my dramatics. “Didn’t you think of them as a joke?” she said, infuriatingly reasonably.

“Well, yes,” I admitted.

She raised an eyebrow.

“...And also I called them stupid and cheesy and useless,” I said. “But they are! No wonder none of the [demigods] have taken this seriously!” “Were Lityerses’ words to you stupid and cheesy and useless?” Leto asked.

“No,” I said. “No, not at all.” “Then clearly some mantras aren’t like that.”

I sighed. “But none of the others will see it that way. Even Lit said that his advice wasn’t really a mantra.” “So clearly people don’t respond well to that word,” Leto reasoned. “Much like you, they associate it with cheesy advice with no real benefit. So stop using it.” My brow creased. “Investigate mantras without investigating mantras?”

“Why not? Just try asking them for a piece of advice, something that someone’s told them, or that they’ve realised themself, that they hold close to their heart.”

“And you think they’ll respond to that?” I said hopefully.

She lifted one shoulder in an elegant shrug. “It’s worth a try. And Apollo, before you go, I’ve got a piece of advice of my own.” She made sure I was listening before she continued. “It doesn’t matter if it’s cheesy if it helps.”

*

My mother, as always, was right.

“There is always happiness in unicorns,” Lavinia told me solemnly. “And in tap dance.”

“We can change things,” Frank said as we gazed out over the reconstruction of New Rome.

“Not even curses last forever,” said Hazel, pressing a small blue sapphire into my hands.

“Just ‘cause I’m half Cherokee doesn’t mean I’m a fount of spiritual knowledge, you know,” said Piper. “But I guess I would say that happiness is still possible.” She squeezed Shel’s hand.

Luguselwa watched Nero’s children replant a new set of seedlings. “It’s not too late,” she said.

“I thought we already had this conversation?” said Artemis. “Honestly, brother. My advice is that you don’t need my advice. You know full well what advice you need to hear. You know better than anyone else. Now stop with this pointless denial and listen to yourself.”

*

When I returned to Camp Half-Blood, it was in chaos. Demigods ran panicked between cabins or else were deep in frantic discussion with friends, some scribbling on scraps of paper, some murmuring under their breaths. 

I eventually found Will out by the strawberry fields, alone save for Nico. “It’s a war out there, Dad,” he said to me, face grim. “Chiron’s officially announced there’s an hour left until the deadline, and then we all have to recite our mantras. Everybody’s going crazy.”

“Are you both ready?” I asked.

Will grimaced. Nico gave me a death stare worthy of the son of Hades.

I raised my hands in surrender. “Only a question!”

“I'm starting to panic about it a little,” Will confessed.

Only now? I wanted to say, but I guessed that comment wouldn't be appreciated. Instead I nodded and said “I've left mine rather to the last minute as well.”

“You're doing one?” Nico said incredulously. “Why?”

I reddened, and Will cut in before I could answer. “Meg bullied him into it,” he said. “If you're ever confused about anything Apollo does, 99% of the time you can blame Meg.”

Nico nodded as if this made sense. I wanted to argue, but I was aware I didn't have much ground to stand on.

“But one thing I am confused about,” Will continued, “is that didn't you already have a mantra, Dad? Why do you need a new one?”

Believe me, dear reader, I wanted to make a bad excuse and disappear to Olympus again. Despite my trials, emotional vulnerability was still not my strong point. But instead, I said “I’m afraid I’m reliably informed that it was, in fact, a shit mantra. Not very emotionally healthy. So I’m giving it a second try.” “Any luck?” Will asked.

I took a moment to consider. “I’ve talked to a lot of different people,” I said. “Many of them told me very wise things. But I think - and I will deny saying this - that my sister was right. It’s something you have to come up with yourself, because deep down, you know what you need to hear.” They both took a moment to take that in, or perhaps they were wondering what in the Hades I was going on about.

Eventually Will said, in a very quiet voice, “But what if I don’t deserve to hear that?” Tears pricked at my eyes, and I gathered him up into a hug. “Of course you deserve to hear it, Will. You’re brave and kind and a fabulous healer, but even if you weren’t any of that, you’re still my son. And my son deserves the world.” Will hid his face in my shoulder for a moment. “Thanks, Dad,” he whispered.

I pressed a kiss into his golden curls, then looked at Nico. “Look after him for me, will you?” I said.

Nico nodded solemnly. “With my life.”

*

But I still had one final visit to make. I found Meg in the stables, brushing down the unicorn I’d gifted her as my return-to-godhood present. She’d taken to horsecare - well, unicorncare - far more easily than I’d expected given her lack of experience, but she seemed to find the same quiet satisfaction in the manual work that she did in gardening.

“You better have some real good mantra knowledge to offer,” she warned me. “I got nothing.”

I sighed and slumped down by a post. “You’re not going to like it,” I said.

She huffed. Apparently that wasn’t even worth a verbal response.

“It’s just gotta be the thing you most want to hear,” I said. “The thing you most wish someone would say to you, but then you’ve got to say it to yourself.” “That’s stupid,” Meg said. Her shoulders were tense. “I don’t want to.” “Neither do I,” I said honestly. “How about I go first, so you can laugh at me?” “You’ve got one?”

I sighed. “Yes, and it’s the cheesiest, stupidest thing in the world, and I don’t believe it when I say it. But if I say it enough times, maybe I’ll start believing it.” Meg looked heartbreakingly fragile. “You go first, then.” I hesitated. The words felt like they were getting stuck in my throat. Trite, a lie, unoriginal, stupidly similar to a stupid quote from the stupid Barbie movie. But I needed to hear them. Not only that, Meg needed to hear them. We both needed me to be vulnerable right now.

“I’m enough,” I said quietly.

Meg blinked, and then launched herself at me in a hug. “I love you,” she said hoarsely.

“I love you too, Meg,” I said, voice cracking.

She shook her head, nose rubbing against my chest. “No, that’s my mantra,” she said. “I love myself. Or whatever.” She sniffed, but I didn’t even care about the cold snot starting to collect on my jumper.

I held her close to me in that quiet stable, just the two of us and a unicorn, and there was not a thing in this world that could have made me let her go.

sorry this is slightly late!! and the formatting may have messed up, the stars are meant to be in the middle of each line. i think i caught all my mistakes but this is very on the last minute so i might have missed some sorry! but it's done!

[luminique]

I read through your entire Lighter zzz tag over the last few days bc the brainrot is real, lol. Thanks for the food, and I have some (potential) brainrot for you in return: Girl Dad lighter

I just know that man is sobbing at every milestone she hits. First steps? He gets misty eyed. First word? Literal tears streaming down his face. Bonus points if baby’s first word is about Lighter, i.e. “papa,” or maybe “song,” but she’s pointing at Lighter in a way that makes it obvious she means “strong” but just can’t say it yet. And Overlord help him when she starts learning to drive.

Also, whether she’s bio, step, or adopted, it makes no difference to him, that’s his baby girl either way!!

Anyway, those are (some of) my thoughts, lol.

i watched a vid of a little kitten imitating a golden retriever that had helped raise the kitten and it reminded me of lighter and i remembered this. girl dad lighter is so real and especially with his character theme video where he’s trying to take care of his comrade’s little sister….. this could be seen as a continuation of some sorts to another post of mine here !!

being a dad isn’t easy, not that he thought it would be. it’s physically demanding with how often he has to get up at night to cradle the baby to sleep, or how much he has to entertain her (he is not raising an ipad kid). what he didn’t consider is how emotional he could become over the course of a few years.

he remembers when she took her first steps. carefully crawling around his room, playing around with her toys but particularly close to a small stool he had. “come here, pretty” lighter’s hands were open for his little girl to crawl over to him. his voice was much sweeter and higher pitched, a change that you only hear when he’s talking to her. he initially thought that it would just be another fun play time but didn’t expect what he saw next.

as her small hands gripped the stool’s legs, she pushed herself up and was able to stand on her two feet. okay okay, nothing too surprising there, he thought. she turned around to him and began to take one step, then another, before tripping and falling down. his eyes widened at the sight, not knowing whether to be happy or be worried as he went over to her, coddling her with reassurance. “does it hurt anywhere? it’s okay, daddy’s here.” he gently wiped away her tears before it clicked in his head.

“wait… you just walked. that’s my girl.” chuckling as tears of joy welled up in his eyes. she didn’t quite understand but she saw his smile and laughed too, her own crying beginning to turn into laughter.

her first words were more of a group effort? ever since lighter became a dad, he hung out less during the sons of calydons night time gatherings around the fire. wanting to prioritize her sleep time and stay indoors at night, however the girls were able to convince him to hang out for a bit. they also wanted to see his little girl more then him but they wouldn’t directly admit it.

with the baby on the overlord’s lap, fascinated by caesar’s mechanical arm, she’s blabbering out nonsensical noises. then all of a sudden “dada” and “papa” comes out of her when she’s looking up at him. “d-did she just say papa…?” all of them turned towards the little girl that was grabbing at caesar’s grey-ish green hair.

“can you say burnice? burn like let’s burn this place down!” “burnice! she is NOT learning your name like that!” as the two blonde haired girls fought over the baby’s attention, lighter gently scooped her up into his arms. her happy babbling continued, calling him “dada” in between the incoherent words.

it felt like a dream come true, having her recognize him as her dad. even if not biologically but the sleepless nights, the many mistakes, the never ending crying. the feeling of pride swelled up inside of him, making even the undefeated champion cry. it’s not much now, but he can already see how proud he’ll be when she grows up surrounded by good family that will shower her with all their love.

[enemiestolovershoe]

Fighting the Truth

Chris Sturniolo x enemy!reader

Summary: Chris and Y/N have fought for years, but after another heated argument, their feelings change, leading to unexpected love and a complicated new beginning.

Words: 4.7k

Warnings: fighting, cursing, drinking, making out, let me know if I missed something

Disclaimer: While the characters in this story are inspired by real people, the events and interactions are purely fictional and not reflective of reality.

You’d known the Sturniolo triplets quite literally since the day you were born. Your moms had met in the hospital, sharing the same room as they brought you and the boys into the world. From that moment on, your lives had been intertwined, your families becoming an unshakable unit.

Growing up, you, Matt, and Nick were inseparable. As soon as you could walk, you were a team: climbing trees, building pillow forts, and getting into all kinds of trouble together. But with Chris, it was different. It had always been different.

Your first argument with him happened when you were barely old enough to form complete sentences. He’d stolen the red crayon from your hand mid-drawing, insisting that he “needed it more,” and from then on, it was like a switch had flipped. If there was something to fight over, you and Chris would find it. Toys, art supplies, video games—nothing was off-limits.

As you grew older, the arguments evolved. What started as petty squabbles turned into full-blown shouting matches. Snarky remarks became cutting insults, and any room you two occupied was guaranteed to become a battleground. Now, at 21, it felt like the fighting had reached a breaking point.

You hated it.

You hated the way Chris could get under your skin with just one look. You hated how you couldn’t stop yourself from snapping back at him, no matter how hard you tried. Most of all, you hated how your constant arguing was starting to strain your friendship with Matt and Nick. The thought of losing them because of your inability to get along with their brother kept you up at night.

You wouldn’t dare tell anyone, but the stress of it all had you crying yourself to sleep more nights than not.

And now, here you were, sitting in an airport at 5 a.m., dreading the hours-long flight to Boston for your dad’s birthday grill party. It was supposed to be a happy occasion—a family celebration. Instead, you were bracing yourself for yetanother long weekend of biting your tongue and avoiding unnecessary fights.

The airport was unusually quiet for 5 a.m., the soft hum of vending machines and the occasional overhead announcement the only sounds breaking the stillness. You sat cross-legged in an uncomfortable plastic chair, scrolling through your phone while Matt and Nick argued over snacks a few seats down. Chris was leaning against a column, staring blankly out the window at the planes on the tarmac.

It wasn’t like him to be this quiet, but you chalked it up to the early hour. No one was particularly chipper at this time of day.

“Okay, so… do I go with the peanut butter crackers or the pretzels?” Nick turned to you, holding up both options. “Help me out here.”

You barely looked up. “The pretzels. Peanut butter crackers are just sad at 5 a.m.”

“Thank you!” Nick grinned, shoving the crackers into Matt’s hand. “You’re officially outvoted, Matt.”

Matt rolled his eyes but couldn’t help smirking. “You’re both tasteless. Peanut butter crackers are elite.”

“Elite in what, choking hazards?” you shot back, earning a laugh from Nick and a mock offended gasp from Matt.

Chris hadn’t said a word, which felt… odd. Normally, he’d have jumped in with some snarky comment by now, and the two of you would be trading barbs before the conversation even had a chance to breathe. You glanced at him out of the corner of your eye, but his expression was unreadable, his arms crossed tightly over his chest.

“Alright, we’re boarding in twenty minutes,” Matt announced, checking his watch. “Everyone got everything? Chargers? Neck pillows? Emotional stability?”

“I left that at home,” you said dryly, tucking your phone into your bag.

“Shocker,” Chris muttered under his breath, just loud enough for you to hear.

There he was.

You shot him a glare, but before you could respond, Nick clapped his hands together. “Okay, truce! No fighting until we land in Boston. That’s the rule.”

“Since when?” you and Chris said in unison, both turning to Nick with identical looks of disbelief.

“Since now,” Nick said firmly. “Matt, back me up here.”

Matt shrugged. “I mean, it’d be nice if we could make it through one trip without you two trying to kill each other.”

“Fine,” you said through gritted teeth, glaring at Chris. “I’m perfectly capable of keeping the peace.”

“Same,” Chris said, matching your tone.

The four of you made your way to the gate as the boarding announcement echoed through the terminal. Chris ended up directly behind you in line, and you could feel his presence like an itch you couldn’t scratch.

When you finally found your row on the plane, you froze.

“No. No, no, no,” Chris groaned, stopping just behind you.

“What?” you asked, turning to face him.

“My seat.” He pointed to the one beside yours, his face twisted in a mix of disbelief and frustration. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“What’s the problem?” Matt asked from across the aisle, already settling into his seat.

Chris gestured dramatically between you and himself. “I’m stuck next to her for a six-hour flight. Six. Hours.”

“Oh, for god’s sake,” you snapped, shoving your bag into the overhead compartment. “Sit down and stop complaining. It’s not like either of us has a choice.”

Chris muttered something under his breath but slid into the seat next to you, his movements stiff and exaggerated as if to emphasize just how put out he was.

Nick leaned over from his seat behind you, grinning. “You two gonna hold hands and sing kumbaya now, or should we prep for turbulence in more ways than one?”

“Shut up, Nick,” you and Chris said at the same time, glaring at him.

“See? You’re already bonding,” Nick said with a laugh, retreating back into his seat.

You sighed heavily, pulling out your AirPods Max and slipping them over your ears. Maybe, just maybe, you could get through this flight without losing your mind.

The flight was tense but manageable. A few arguments broke out between you and Chris, mostly about trivial things like him invading your space or you hogging the armrest.

“Can you stop elbowing me every two seconds?” you hissed, shooting him an annoyed look as he shifted in his seat.

“Maybe if you didn’t claim the entire armrest like it’s your personal property,” Chris shot back.

“It’s called sharing, ever heard of it?”

“Not with you.”

“Children,” Matt interrupted from across the aisle, leaning over. “The flight is almost over. Can we not do this right now?”

You both huffed but fell silent, turning your attention elsewhere.

When the plane finally landed, you exhaled in relief. The four of you grabbed your bags, picked up the rental car, and began the drive to your childhood homes. The plan was to stop at your house first since the party had already begun, and the Sturniolo parents were eager to see you.

In the car, the mood was mostly light. Matt and Nick were recounting funny stories from past flights, trying to keep the energy up. But you couldn’t shake the heaviness in your chest. The constant fighting with Chris was wearing you down more than you wanted to admit. You leaned your head against the window, your eyes unfocused as the scenery blurred past.

Nick, ever perceptive, noticed your quietness and nudged you gently. “Hey, you good? What’s up?”

You shook your head, not trusting yourself to speak. The lump in your throat was already forming.

Unfortunately, Chris caught the interaction. “What now? Lost your voice?” he quipped, his tone laced with irritation.

That was the breaking point.

“Chris, just shut the fuck up once in your life. Please.” Your voice cracked as frustration bubbled over, and the car fell silent.

Matt cleared his throat awkwardly. “Okay, so… uh, let’s put on some music, yeah?” He fiddled with the radio, trying to diffuse the tension.

You stayed silent for the rest of the drive, staring out the window as tears pricked your eyes.

When you arrived at your parents’ house, the party was already in full swing. The smell of grilled food filled the air, and the sound of laughter drifted from the backyard. You plastered on a smile as you greeted your parents, giving your dad a quick hug and wishing him a happy birthday. But the tightness in your chest hadn’t gone away, and the moment you were inside, you excused yourself to the bathroom.

Locking the door behind you, you let the tears fall freely. The combination of exhaustion, frustration, and Chris’s constant jabs was too much to handle. You slid down to the floor, your knees pulled to your chest as you tried to muffle your sobs.

A soft knock at the door startled you. “It’s me, Y/N,” Nick’s voice came through, calm and gentle. “Let me in, please. I know something’s bothering you.”

You hesitated for a moment before sighing deeply and unlocking the door.

Nick opened it slowly, his face falling when he saw you curled up on the floor, tears streaming down your face. “Oh, dear, what’s wrong?” He crouched down and pulled you into a tight hug.

The dam broke.

“I don’t know why Chris hates me so fucking much,” you cried, your voice shaking. “I can’t do this fighting anymore, Nick. I’m so scared I’m going to lose you and Matt, too, if this shit keeps up.”

Nick pulled back slightly, his hands resting on your shoulders. “Y/N, listen to me. You’re not going to lose us, okay? Matt and I—we’re not going anywhere. And as for Chris…” He paused, choosing his words carefully. “I know he can be a pain in the ass, but he doesn’t hate you. He really doesn’t.”

“Sure feels like it,” you muttered, wiping your eyes with the sleeve of your sweater.

Nick gave you a small smile. “You and Chris have been at each other’s throats since we were kids. But there’s more to it than just hating each other. I think you know that, too.”

You shook your head, not wanting to unpack whatever Nick was implying. “I just want it to stop, Nick. I can’t keep doing this.”

“I know.” He pulled you into another hug. “We’ll figure it out, okay? But for now, let’s get you cleaned up and back outside. Your parents missed you, and I’m pretty sure Matt’s already raided the dessert table.”

You let out a weak laugh. “Okay.”

Nick helped you to your feet and handed you a tissue from the counter. “Freshen up, and I’ll meet you out there.”

Once you’d composed yourself, you headed back to the backyard with Nick by your side. The party was in full swing, with neighbors and family chatting around the grill and kids running through the garden.

Chris’s eyes landed on you almost immediately. He noticed your red-rimmed eyes, the way your smile didn’t quite reach your eyes, and the faint tension in your shoulders. For a brief moment, his expression softened, but he didn’t say anything.

The rest of the evening passed in a haze. You had a few glasses of wine to calm your nerves, letting the alcohol take the edge off your emotions. Meanwhile, the triplets stuck to White Claws, Nick and Matt laughing as they attempted to shotgun them.

Chris, however, seemed quieter than usual, his gaze flickering to you now and then as if trying to figure out what was really going on.

The sun was dipping below the horizon, casting a golden glow across the backyard. You were sprawled out on a deck chair, sipping your who-knows-how-many-th glass of wine. The sunset was stunning, painting the sky in hues of orange, pink, and purple, but your focus was starting to blur from the alcohol coursing through your system.

Grill parties like this always had a way of loosening you up, and tonight was no different. The mix of family, nostalgia, and endless wine was a comforting escape from the tension that seemed to follow you and Chris wherever you went.

Nearby, Nick and Matt were sitting at the outdoor table with your parents, sharing stories and laughing loudly. Their contagious giggles drifted through the warm evening air, adding to the lighthearted atmosphere. Chris was off to the side, perched on the armrest of a chair with a half-empty White Claw in hand. He wasn’t completely sober anymore, either; you could tell by the slight sway in his movements and the lazy smirk that seemed permanently etched on his face.

Despite the cheerful scene, everyone had noticed you weren’t quite yourself tonight. Your usual energy was dulled, your laughter softer, and your smiles fleeting. But no one pushed you to explain—they seemed to sense that tonight wasn’t the time.

You tipped back the last sip of your wine, the familiar warmth spreading through your chest. Deciding you needed a refill, you swung your legs off the deck chair and tried to stand. Big mistake.

The world tilted beneath you, and before you could steady yourself, you stumbled forward and fell unceremoniously onto the grass.

A burst of laughter erupted from you as you lay there, and it only grew louder when Chris, of all people, joined in.

“Did you see that?” you managed to wheeze between giggles, pointing at absolutely nothing. “Hahaha, I just—” You dissolved into another fit of laughter.

Chris was laughing, too, his cheeks flushed from the alcohol. “Yeah, you fell over like a wet bag,” he slurred, his words a little too drawn out.

Nick and Matt exchanged wide-eyed glances, clearly bracing for the inevitable argument that usually followed any interaction between you and Chris. But to their surprise—and relief—it didn’t happen.

Instead, you laughed even harder, clutching your stomach. “A wet bag! That’s so—hahaha—accurate!”

Chris chuckled, taking another sip of his drink. “Glad my pain is your entertainment.”

Your mom, who had been watching from the table, raised an eyebrow. “Sweetie, are you okay?” she called, her voice tinged with amusement.

“Mom!” you yelled back, still giggling uncontrollably. “Where’s the wine?”

“In the kitchen, honey, but don’t you think you’ve had enough?” she asked, her concern evident.

You waved her off, stumbling to your feet. “Nah, I want one more, then I’m heading to bed!” You walked over to her, planting a kiss on her cheek before making your way toward the house.

As you crossed the threshold into the kitchen, you tripped over the door’s metal threshold but managed to catch yourself at the last second. “Whoops!” you giggled to yourself, continuing your unsteady journey to the counter where the wine bottles were neatly lined up.

Back outside, Nick frowned as he watched you disappear into the house. “I’m gonna go check on her,” he said, starting to rise from his seat.

Chris stopped him, placing a hand on his arm. “No, let me.”

Nick and Matt both turned to him with raised eyebrows, their expressions a mix of confusion and suspicion.

“You?” Nick asked, his tone dripping with doubt.

“Yes, me.” Chris sighed, running a hand through his hair. “She’s already pissed at me. If you go in there and she thinks you’re babysitting her, she’ll probably be even more upset.”

Nick narrowed his eyes. “Okay, but if you hurt her or upset her even more, I will literally break your face, Christopher.”

“Nicolas!” MaryLou’s voice cut through the tension, scandalized by her son’s words.

“What, Mom?” Nick said defensively, gesturing toward Chris. “They’ve been fighting for twenty years. Twenty. I’m not about to let him go in there and make things worse.”

“Oh, dear god,” your mom muttered, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“Same,” MaryLou agreed, shaking her head as if exhausted by the ongoing saga between you and Chris.

Chris rolled his eyes but didn’t respond to Nick’s threat. Instead, he set his White Claw down on the table and stood, his movements unsteady as he made his way toward the house.

You made your way to the counter where the wine bottles stood neatly arranged. Deciding to skip the usual half-glass rule, you poured your glass completely full, concentrating hard to avoid spilling. The red liquid swirled dangerously close to the rim as you steadied the bottle and placed it back on the counter.

“Perfect,” you muttered, lifting the glass to your lips for a sip. You barely had time to savor it when a voice startled you from behind.

“Hey, can we talk?” Chris’s voice broke the silence.

You jumped, spilling half the glass of wine down the front of your white top. The cold liquid seeped into the fabric, staining it a deep red as it clung to your skin.

“Are you fucking serious right now, Chris?” you snapped, your tone sharp and filled with frustration.

Chris held his hands up in surrender, his expression genuine. “Oh shit, I didn’t mean to scare you! Please don’t be mad. That wasn’t my intention.”

You groaned, setting the now-wine-slick glass on the counter before tugging your shirt over your head. “Why are you even here?” you demanded, moving to the sink to run the stained shirt under water.

Standing there in just your bra and skirt, you didn’t think twice about it. The Sturniolos had seen you in bikinis countless times over the years. This wasn’t any different, right? But Chris, on the other hand, suddenly looked... different. His eyes widened slightly before darting to the side, as if trying to respect your space.

“Uh, I—uh—wanted to talk?” he stammered, clearly nervous now.

“About what?” you asked, your words slurring slightly from the wine, but your tone carried the same sharp edge as before.

Chris shifted uncomfortably, running a hand through his hair. “Can you please just talk to me normally? This is serious.”

You turned to face him, eyebrows raised in disbelief. “Seriously?” you scoffed, rolling your eyes. “Chris, I’ve been trying to have a normal conversation with you for the last ten years, but you always find some way to insult me or start a fight. Every. Single. Time.”

Your voice rose with each word as you grew angrier, slapping the damp shirt onto the counter. Chris opened his mouth to say something, but you cut him off.

“I am so done with this shit,” you continued, your voice trembling slightly as the frustration bubbled over. “I don’t even know what your problem is with me, but I’m sick of it. I don’t want to lose Nick and Matt because you decided, for whatever reason, that you can’t stand me.”

Chris flinched at your words, his jaw tightening, but he stayed quiet.

“Grow a pair of balls and grow up already,” you snapped, your voice shaking now from a mix of anger and suppressed emotions. “I am done here.”

Your last words echoed in the kitchen, hanging heavy in the tense silence that followed. Your outburst was loud enough that you were certain everyone outside had heard it. Even the faint sound of Nick’s laughter had gone quiet.

Chris’s face was unreadable as he took a step closer, his eyes locked on yours. “Fucking shut the fuck up already,” he muttered under his breath.

Before you could even process his words, Chris leaned in, closing the distance between you. His lips crashed against yours in a deep, heated kiss, silencing any retort you might have had.

You pulled back almost instantly, your wide eyes meeting Chris’s. “What the fuck are you doing, Chris?”

Chris’s chest rose and fell as he caught his breath, his gaze intense and unwavering. “The one thing I’ve been too scared to do—and too scared to admit—for the last couple of years.”

Before you could even formulate a response, Chris leaned in again, his lips capturing yours with renewed urgency. This time, you didn’t pull away. You kissed him back, your anger and confusion melting into the background as the warmth of the moment overtook you.

The sound of laughter drifted in from outside, faint through the kitchen walls. It grounded you for a second, reminding you that your family and friends were just outside. But you shoved the thought aside, too lost in the way Chris’s hands held your face like you were something fragile and precious.

Your tongues clashed in a heated rhythm, each of you unwilling to back down, a continuation of your endless battles—but this time, it was something else entirely. Chris’s hand slid down to yours, his fingers intertwining with yours firmly as he stepped back.

“Come with me,” he said, his voice low and breathless.

You didn’t even question it. Nodding slightly, you let him lead you upstairs to your old bedroom. Chris pushed the door open with his free hand before pulling you inside and shutting it behind you.

The second the door clicked shut, Chris was on you again, his hands on your waist as he backed you against the wall. The cool surface of the wall sent a shiver down your spine, but it was nothing compared to the fire in Chris’s kiss.

It felt like hours had passed as you made out, the intensity of it all-consuming you both.

As his fingers brushed the edge of your bra, Chris broke the kiss, his lips hovering inches from yours. His voice was unsteady when he spoke, his breath mingling with yours.

“Do you have any idea what you do to me?” Chris asked, his tone laced with frustration and longing.

You blinked up at him, your thoughts still hazy from the kiss. “I don’t—Chris, what are we even doing? This doesn’t make sense—”

“Doesn’t make sense?” Chris interrupted, his forehead resting against yours. “The only thing that hasn’t made sense is me pretending like I don’t want you. I’ve spent years acting like an idiot, fighting with you just to get your attention. And yeah, I was scared—scared you’d never feel the same.”

Your heart skipped a beat as you processed his words. “So all this time... you’ve been picking fights with me because you—because you liked me?”

“Liked you?” Chris laughed softly, the sound almost self-deprecating. “No, Y/N. I didn’t just like you. I’ve been in love with you for years. I just didn’t know how to handle it.”

You stared at him, speechless, your mind racing to catch up with what he’d just admitted.

“Say something,” Chris murmured, his vulnerability showing through the cracks in his voice.

“I—” Your voice faltered as you searched for the right words. “I don’t know what to say, Chris. I never thought—I mean, I just assumed you hated me.”

Chris’s lips curled into a small, almost sad smile. “Hate you? God, no. I hated that I couldn’t stop thinking about you. I hated that every time you smiled or laughed, it made me want you even more.”

Your breath caught in your throat, your chest tightening as the weight of his confession settled over you. “Chris, I—”

Whatever you were about to say was interrupted by the sound of the door flying open.

You and Chris jumped apart like teenagers caught by a parent, both of you turning to see Matt and Nick standing in the doorway, their eyes wide with shock.

“Okay,” Matt said slowly, breaking the silence. “I did not see that one coming.”

Nick, however, didn’t look as surprised. He crossed his arms over his chest, a smirk playing on his lips. “I did,” he admitted.

“What?” Chris asked, his cheeks flushing.

Nick shrugged. “I mean, after twenty years of you two bickering like an old married couple, it was only a matter of time before something like this happened. Honestly, I’m just glad you didn’t kill each other after that shouting match in the kitchen.”

“Wait, what are you two doing up here, anyway?” you asked, your voice still slightly slurred from the wine.

Nick raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Damn, girl, are you still drunk?”

“Yeah, I’m still drunk,” you admitted, your tone sharp but flustered. “Now answer my question, please.”

Nick leaned casually against the doorframe, a mischievous grin plastered on his face. “Matt and I want to play Mario Kartdownstairs in the living room. Your old Wii is still hooked up,” he explained, his tone light and teasing.

You blinked, your brain struggling to process his words through the haze of wine and adrenaline. “The Wii? That thing still works?”

“Apparently,” Matt chimed in, stepping into view. “We were going through some of the old stuff in the cabinets, and Nick found it. Figured it’d be fun to see if we’ve still got it.”

Nick’s grin widened. “I’m gonna crush all of you, just saying.”

You rolled your eyes, still pressed against the wall as you tried to gather yourself. “Uh, yeah. Sure. Give us five minutes—I need a shirt.” Your voice came out flustered and a little slurred, the weight of the situation catching up to you.

“Good idea,” Nick said with a chuckle, his gaze bouncing between you and Chris. “Wouldn’t want to scare anyone with all that... passion you’ve got going on here.”

Your face burned, and you were about to snap back when Matt clapped his hands together. “Alright, alright, let’s give them a minute. But don’t take too long, or we’re starting without you.”

The two of them turned and disappeared back down the hall, their footsteps fading as they headed toward the stairs.

The moment they were out of earshot, you let out a long breath, your back sliding against the wall until you were sitting on the floor. “Oh my God,” you muttered, burying your face in your hands.

Chris crouched down in front of you, his expression soft but uncertain. “Hey,” he said quietly, reaching out to touch your arm. “Are you okay?”

You peeked at him through your fingers, your emotions a jumble of embarrassment, frustration, and something else you couldn’t quite name. “I don’t know, Chris,” you admitted, your voice muffled. “This is just... a lot.”

Chris nodded, sitting back on his heels. “Yeah. It is. But... I meant everything I said earlier. I know I was an ass—hell, I’ve been an ass for years—but I wasn’t lying about how I feel.”

You dropped your hands, looking up at him with tired eyes. “And you think this”—you gestured between the two of you—“is going to magically fix everything? Chris, we’ve been at each other’s throats since we were kids. I don’t even know how to wrap my head around this.”

“I don’t either,” Chris admitted, his voice quiet but steady. “But I know I want to try. I don’t want to keep fighting with you, Y/N. I’m tired of pretending I don’t care when I do.”

His words hit you harder than you expected, and for a moment, you were too stunned to respond. Finally, you sighed, shaking your head. “Chris... I don’t know.”

Chris reached out, tucking a stray piece of hair behind your ear. “I’ll take ‘I don’t know’ over ‘I hate you’ any day,” he said with a small, hopeful smile.

You couldn’t help but laugh, the sound soft and a little shaky. “Okay,” you said finally. “Let’s just... see where this goes. No promises.”

Chris nodded, his smile growing. “Fair enough.”

Standing up, he extended a hand to help you to your feet. You hesitated, then took it, letting him pull you up. “Now, let’s get you a shirt before Matt and Nick start a full-blown tournament without us.”

You snorted. “Fine. But I’m still drunk, so if I lose, I’m blaming the wine.”

Chris smirked. “Deal.”

Together, the two of you rummaged through your old dresser until you found a shirt. Pulling it on quickly, you tried to ignore the way Chris’s eyes lingered on you for just a moment too long.

“Ready?” he asked, his tone casual but his expression warm.

“Yeah,” you said, brushing past him and heading toward the door. “Let’s go show those idiots who’s boss.”

As you both made your way downstairs, you couldn’t help but feel a strange mix of nervousness and excitement. Things weren’t perfect, but for the first time in years, it felt like you and Chris were on the same page.

And maybe, just maybe, that was enough.

Taglist: @courta13 @sophand4n4

[thegurlwhoisntthere]

I can’t stop thinking about the fire and how everyone, literally everyone, including Blitzø himself, blames Blitzø for causing it because?

No? Tf he didn’t?

Like. Sure, it really seems like he did, from the perspective of the people in the tent, he left and the fire started right from there, they didn’t see the other guy holding the cake. From Blitzø’s perspective, he knocked over the cake with the candles, he started it, that’s on him…

BUT

So many things had to happen prior to that moment to allow that fire to start and more importantly, spread as fucking quickly as it did— to the point where I’m almost certain that if Blitzø had avoided that guy, it would’ve happened anyway.

First of all, this is a fucking circus tent. In hell. A giant piece of fabric draped over a bunch of wood poles, in HELL. This circus canonically houses those fucking fire horses, and I’d bet money that they had fire eaters/dancers, so why in the 7 rings was it able to light up that fast? Simple answer: despite having the money (the circus seems pretty popular) Cash fucking Buckzo cut corners and didn’t make sure shit was fire proof. Unsurprising on every level. It’s a miracle that it wasn’t lit up sooner.

Second, and personally what I believe to be most important, WHY IN THE HELL WAS THAT GUY WALKING WITH OPEN FLAMES IN A FUCKING TENT WHERE LITERALLY ANYONE COULD BUMP INTO HIM AND START A FIRE IN TBE FIRST PLACE??? Y’all wanna blame Blitzø for this? What the fuck would’ve happened when that guy tried to walk through the tent flap by himself with that open flame? Why was nobody there to walk in front and help him make sure NOTHING CAUGHT ON FIRE??? Why were the candles even lit??? Just light them inside???

Just—

Look. I’m not saying that Blitzø isn’t to blame for his actions after the fire. He made the choice the fuck up Verosika’s life, even if it was a trauma response and he has to own up to that. He constantly invades Moxxie’s boundaries and he needs to apologize and stop fucking doing that, but holy shit, give him a fucking brake on this one thing guys.

His reaction that day, stomping off heartbroken because his best friend and crush at the time just gleefully accepted a card from Cash that said “I wish you were my son”, is so fucking justified. If you think that you wouldn’t do that if it happened to you, you’re probably lying to yourself.

He turned around and bumped into someone, maybe shoved them a little, but at the end of the day, these are actions that occur literally everyday, with absolutely zero consequences, that even ignoring everything else I said, I still wouldn’t place the blame of the fire on him and the fact that not one single person in his life felt the same tells me that Blitzø had already been playing scapegoat his entire life prior to that.