#and i Like that i have a few projects i can do

[emi-matchu]

I like and agree with this, and also one modifier I'll add is like

if part of your answer is "I want to waste less time scrolling or whatever", that's probably a good idea! the thing about it is that it's a serious project

it won't happen by means of just willpower and yelling at yourself when you "fail"; it'll happen by analyzing the contributing factors that have you falling into that coping mechanism on the regular, and working to address them

Idk I think it's definitely important to recognize that doomscrolling is often not a choice as such, to stop shaming ourselves for not just trivially being "better"; but also that it's often not just some untouchably disabling force of nature bigger than our own power to change, and we can actually treat it as part of our own lives as something to choose to shape

It's good to give ourselves permission to do less! and that's a lot of what I needed to hear the past few years. but now I'm in a life moment where doing less has gotten me about as far as it'll go, and what I need now is to trust myself to solve the puzzle of what's holding me back from doing more, and change it.

I of course do not know everyone's life or what is or isn't possible for them… I just know that, for a long time, I was wrong about what's possible for me.

And it's been going well 🌻

Remember that if you want to do more of something, you have to do less of something else. It's that time of year where people set goals for the new year and they have plans and hopes and it's always focusing on what they want to do more of. More studying, more exercise, more crafting, more socialising, more making things from scratch. Okay, great. What are you going to do less of in order to have the time and energy to do more of those things you really want to do?

[anemoiashifts]

what your s/o thinks about you !

+ your relationship

choose a painting above.

💌

disclaimer !! please don’t force messages to fit. i do a ton of readings & im sure if this one doesn’t fit, you will find one eventually that resonates. this is just a general reading :) ! ps this is also primarily for people who have not shifted yet but that doesn’t mean people who have shifted can’t get some insight on how their s/o feels about them !

sorry this reading is so late. i was on top of my game by posting this on the first of the month for a while. anywho ! happy late valentine’s day. may you consume all the gourmet chocolate & watch all the cheesy 2000’s strait to dvd romance movies you can find. sending you all a virtual bouquet of flowers. rose ? tulips ? your choice.

────୨ৎ────

🕊️ | dear pile one,

quite honestly based on the cards i pulled, your s/o puts you on a pedestal more then anything. they love that analytical, take nothing at face value aspect of you. while they celebrate it, they see it can become your detriment too. overthinking your every action, going “frame by frame” in life, can be tiring. you have a tendency to keep stuff in to appease others & not rock the boat, which they pick up on more then you think they do. this is someone intuitive & can sense your emotional wellbeing as if it was sentient. they want you to come to them. a caregiver at heart, wanting to soothe any insecurity or worry that floats around in the back of your head. while they may be awkward & stiff with their approach, they mean well despite struggle to execute the touchy-feely aspect to your relationship. they’re not as open as you are when it comes to emotions or trusting others. they’ve been burned in the past & for some of you that could mean literally. they’re the silent, sitting in a dark corner, the people watching type. they appreciate your input & how you always seem to open their eyes to new perspectives that they’d never come up with themselves which pulls them out of their funk.

the both of you make up a wing of a phoenix, always rising from the ashes of whatever hardship you may be facing together. the two of you are riddled with self doubts at times, teaching each other how to heal from trauma or let things go once & for all.

in summary with a few extra details ? they love you. like i said they see you as this light which they are not worthy of. with these last two cards & pure vibes im getting the picture that they had this perfectly curated “cool” aesthetic image to anyone looking in on them & when you came around that was shattered, leaving them vulnerable & scrambling to put the pieces back with old chewing gum & popsicle sticks. this person has a tendency to be secretive. never sneaky. not like hiding their phone screen or anything. more like not telling you things to upkeep that image they so desperately want for themselves. could be all smokes & mirrors to hide what’s really going on or maybe they just want you to think highly of them, the same way they think of you.

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊��.

🐩 | dear pile two,

they like to keep it light with you. it’s giving cat & mouse. on & off but you always end up together. a class project, a seating arrangement. you just look good together, aesthetically.

this person likes to pretend they’re nonchalant & don’t care as much as they really do. unlike pile one, they feel like they have nothing to hide from you. you’re both open books with one another. you have been to the depths of hell & the highest of heavens together. it.

they can get a little short & irritated. nothing a throwing a table lamp at a wall won’t fix, usually. not the best of methods to let out some steam but know none of that is directed at you. anger issues are very much present within this person. why this is relevant is because it impacts your relationship more then this person will ever admit. they have a vision, having carefully crafted a plan before you came into the picture & now that you’ve stumbled into their life it’s setting everything ablaze. a workaholic who is now scrambling carefully combing through their prospects & goals to make accommodations in the margins for your presence & that scares them sometimes. at times embarrassed that you have this imaginary grip on every aspect of their life. they want to buy a new car ? what’s your favorite color ? they’re hungry ? they’ll stop at your favorite place as an excuse to bring you your favorite dessert. they somehow hold everything together really well considering the unnecessary stress they put on themselves.

expect late nights & going to bed alone. when morning comes, arising with a bouquet of flowers being delicately placed on your bedside table with a handwritten note. chances are they’re probably in the kitchen doing the dishes you were to lazy to do the night prior. their love langue is very much acts of service. they really really do care. going to the ends of the earth to bring you your simplest of desires. weather that be leonardo da vinci's "salvator mundi” or a pair of shoes you saw in a vintage fashion magazine yesterday. it will show up perfectly perched on your bed on a random tuesday as a just because.

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚.

🐇 | dear pile three,

deep, intense spiritual connection. literal fireworks erupt when you first locked eyes with them. you’re in tune with others emotions & can physically feel what the other feels. you’ve spent past lives together. very high school cheerleader x football player in a 90’s romcom. a slight delay in actually dating or tying the knot. the whole friends to lovers pipeline may be in the cards for you. at the very least, a slow burn type romance.

you two could’ve met traveling. maybe that’s something they do for work ? nonetheless, they seem very artistic. having a sketch book filled with drawings of you & your favorite things. a secret poet who writes poems about you & puts little hearts around your name like a lovesick school girl. a photographer who takes your photograph when you least expect it. not in a creepy way. they just like to look at you. except them to pick you up little things off the ground and present them to you like a small child. they like collecting rocks & see a really shiny one on the ground ? congratulations you are now a proud shiny rock owner ! they’re very sentimental & thoughtful like that. someone who has a little box of every item you’ve ever given them no matter how minuscule. you’re their home, which could’ve been something they’ve never had before & neglected to even think about before they ever met you. somethings does tells me they’re a little bit of an age gap. if not in the literal sense, one of you may be more mature then the other. an “old soul”. this could go for any aspect in your relationship. sense of humor, how petty they (or you) could be, interests, tastes.

the love talking to you. loveeeee talking in general. about things that interest them, about things that interest you, the news, a new book they read. a very curious mind of which they enjoy sharing with you. i mean like up until four in the morning talking to you in bed all while still under the impression that it’s nine o’clock at night. time absolutely flies when it comes to spending time with each other. most importantly ? they listen. really well. like their memory is pretty much photographic. said your favorite food was chocolate covered strawberries one time two years ago ? your fridge will never not have chocolate covered strawberries in it again for the rest of your life.

────୨ৎ────

[nanamisgirly]

imagine nerd!Choso, you both are in the same degree. he didn't really noticed you at first but, for some unknown reasons, he kept bumping into you— wether in the hallway or you'd be few rows in front of him during lectures. And just like that, he developed an obsession toward you. and might god forgive him, but he couldn't help jerking off his cock at the thought of his length disappearing between your lips, eyes flickering up at him with a teasing glint. he was kind of sad you didn't even know he existed :/

but how lucky! in one of your lesson, the teacher assigned a partnered project. and fortunately, the duo were made with a randomized system!! Choso did not think twice, with some quick manipulation on his computer, he paired himself…with you! almost too easy

on your side tho, you had never heard the name Choso before. So when you reached out to set up a time for the project, you didn't expect much of it. But now…sitting across from him…his wide figure looming over the table, inked arms straining against the ridiculous tightness of his shirt…that was another story. How hadn't you noticed such a pretty face?? sharp eyes lined with kohl, two messy buns with some rebellious strands framing his beautiful features, and perfect dark purple painted nails tapping against the table. ‘am i blind or sum?’ you wondered. 

nerd!Choso was originally awkward with social interaction but more so when it came to you. He clears his throat "I- uh," he started, voice trembling "f-for the work, would you like t-t- to…" his cheeks flushed an adorable pink as you stared at him, giving him time to formule his thoughts ‘such a cute boy’ you mused.

"we can do it at my home!" he suddenly blurted out, words rushed, as if the poor man hadn’t said it now, he never would have :( "i- i mean, t-the assignment! o-of course..." he was so embarrassed of himself, his hands nervously cupping his warm milk chocolate "if— if you want to.." his eyes darted anywhere but yours, unable to hold your gaze. not when you were looking so intently, like you were seeing right through him. because what if you had some superpowers, the kind to read his horny thoughts, the kind to know exactly how many times he fucked his fist to the image of your pretty mouth stuffed full of his aching cock. catastrophe!!!!

nerd!Choso was blushing furiously, messier, stuttering over his words more than usual when you were unconditionally giving your best to give the man a gooood ride. “p-p-please” he whined, voice breaking. You leaned in, your breath warm against his ear “tell me, my pretty shy boy…what are you begging for, hmm? use your words, pretty". 

choso's hands gripped your thighs like a lifeline, fingers digging into your skin. “y-you— mngh, it's— it's too good. i can't last— i— please,” he choked out, eyes glossy as you slammed your hips down harder. His happy trail rubbed against your clit with every grind. the friction giving you as much pleasure as him.

“preeetty boy," you cooed, trying to maintain your composure despite having his fat dick stretching you enough to see stars. “is this what you've been thinking about the whole year? me riding you? or even better,” your mouth went for his neck, licking softly, contrasting with the pulsing grip of your cunt, milking his cock. "touching yourself to the thought of my glossy lips wrapped around your pathetically big dick ?" your voice was so sensual "tell me, tell me and i'll give you what you want” that man was moaning, the sluttiest moans escaping his throat. in response, your walls clenched harder, trying to suck him in even deeper at this point. “i— i was— i mean, i- fuckfuckfuck" choso were sur he lost the ability to form a simple sentence, his head falling back as he felt his tip kissing your cervix. but he tried his best to continue "i— i was…pumping my— my cock at the- mngh, thought o-of you..t-takin' me…d-d-deep,” poor boy was losing his mind. You've never seen a man being that pussy drunk, so openly lost into you, that was addicting.

your fingers trailed over his inked pecs, moving along the curves of his tattoos making their way to his nipples, and you pinched. not too rough to hurt but enough to send jolts of pleasure through his body. “look at this good boy," you sighed, feeling choso throbbing inside you. "earned the right to cum inside me… would you like that?”. 

you loved teasing him. he was a total whimpering, fucked out mess beneath you. ‘so cute’

nerd!Choso was as sur as the sky is blue that you had superpowers, somehow. and you both sur as well scored a beautiful A on the assignment.

(*ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ꕤ*.ﾟ

[unteriors]

With all due love and respect, most of the interiors you're showing from Piedmont are old (1950s-60s) country houses. Not exactly what I'd think of in terms of real estate neocapitalist dystopia hell. Many of those houses would be absolutely fine with a bit of work. It's definitely a tragic consequence of capitalism that nobody is buying them tho, for sure.

I understand where you're coming from. There are a few things here that irk me a little though - occasionally I'll receive some feedback that touches on similar themes. To start, I'm not really that motivated by titles when it comes to creative projects. There are things in the world, in my own life, in what I see around me, that I find interesting or disturbing or which I have anxieties about, and I put time into exploring them. Almost by accident I've amassed an enormous amount of imagery culled from real estate listings on my PC. I can explain the motivations and ideas behind it, but I'm not very good at wrapping everything up in a neat bow. I've come across a similar thing for another blog I've had for much longer, where people in its audience (or friends and family) would often message me saying that this particular image isn't really an Unplace, and the ambiguity of the title ends up narrowing their perception of the scope of the project (and makes it seem much more superficial - for a similar reason I'm not keen on the concept of liminal spaces, or the word liminal generally). With this blog, I made a conscious decision to use a title that would be broad enough to ward off attempts to pigeonhole it into specific, surface-level interpretations, which would sort of work against and challenge itself (and the viewer).

When I was in art school I was keen on the idea of antimarketing, which extends to branding. Advertising (increasingly over the past half-century) has a way of corroding depth and reducing substance to easily-accessible content guided by broadly-accepted conventions around social norms. I feel like it should only be a thing you deal with yourself as much as you have to, and I try to deadvertise the things I do as much as I can. I feel like these images deadvertise places. I look for real estate imagery which, on the direct, immediate level of their intended purpose, fail miserably (i.e., I do not want to buy this house. I sense lead paint, asbestos. This house may contain a corpse. Stay away). On a secondary level, in addition to selling a product, advertising often sells an idea about the world. With real estate imagery, the idea is much like the one this ask represents these houses as - a way of looking at housing that reduces it to an investment, which views older houses in a state of disrepair as something to be renovated and resold for a profit. This feels particularly myopic and inappropriate when it comes to Italy, a part of the world I've spent time in (though not Piedmont), which has layers and layers of history and human misery in every lived (and abandoned) surface, and which was hit hard by the twentieth century and still seems to be falling apart in many ways. As you pointed out, it's a consequence of the economic system that's currently oppressing Italy (involving years of austerity forced upon it by waves of neoliberal administrations, including within the country and in EU economic policy, against a backdrop of corruption and aggressive anticommunism that the US played a role in) that it has an issue with housing vacancy sitting comfortably alongside the same housing crisis most of us are experiencing (this article goes into a lot of detail about it).

There's the more technical question of how much work would be needed to rehabilitate these places and make them livable - I know in Australia houses that are only fifty or sixty years old often require specialised work by contractors (which our propaganda system that promotes DIY culture and house flipping tends to gloss over). And then, who would put the effort into renovating these places and then living in them? There are parts of Italy with very high unemployment rates, particularly among young people, where people have been leaving for generations. I guess, if someone from a richer country uses the exchange rate to buy and do up a rundown house in a village somewhere and pumps money into the local economy, there are some good sides to that. But I can't get away from the idea that, in our current system, renovating an older house - fixing it up - has the cumulative effect of pricing more people out of housing. I felt bad even about buying a house in my own country - more mortgages mean higher house prices, ultimately. The rot in the economic superstructure feeds into our artistic and conceptual understanding of housing. That creates tensions, between the real, deeper, historically and culturally rich, lived experience of a house, and the fake, greige, airbrushed, negatively-geared, embalmed home-as-investment that's sold to us, and I find those cracks in the surface (peeling paint, if you will) interesting.

This may be getting close to paranoia, but there's also a phenomenon where, if you say anything too negative and controversial, you come to expect that some people will instinctively react by mocking it. This is something I feel instinctively (again, maybe the answer to this lies more in therapy than in looking at the outside world). Often without evidence of their own to demonstrate why what you have said is wrong. It reminds me of a reddit post I saw floating around on tumblr a few years ago, about how the attitude to the world you see in South Park is that, if you complain too much about something (i.e. if you point out that something is wrong), and you demonstrate that you care about that without hiding behind irony, that makes you the problem. You find this all through pop culture from a certain time period (the Simpsons could be just as bad, I also come across this attitude in contemporary art - the laugh react on Facebook feels like its late-stage distillation). It's hard to tell how much people are encoded by it, or if it provides a framework for seeing the world and handling moral issues for people who already held these attitudes. I named this blog Neoliberal Capitalist Real Estate Dystopia Hellscape to weed out those those attitudes and make the people who would ordinarily express them self-conscious. It's getting harder and harder for people to deny that it's not an accurate description, the middle-class psychological bubble has been getting harder to keep insulated for some time now.

[tifaria]

"Put the shelf under the thing" has been a HUGE game changer for me. I have a couple of rolling carts that I use for art/crafts/projects I want easy access to, and it’s made cleaning up so much better. I also got a few small, like 3 gallon sized trash cans to scatter around so that I never have an excuse not to throw something out.

Next up, purging things I no longer want or need, but that may have to wait until I have time off at spring break. Wanted to do it this weekend but I’m down with a respiratory/sinus infection.

adhd is fun bc everything I got taught is backwards

a good day makes good sleep

starting with a lil treat gets the work done

More things to do is less overwhelming

don’t make a plan just get in there

you’ll never take good care of what you don’t like so throw it out (this one is my favorite bc it’s easy to see what you don’t like)

[spr1ngtweaks]

ℍ𝕒𝕣𝕝𝕖𝕪 𝕊𝕒𝕨𝕪𝕖𝕣/𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝔻𝕠𝕔𝕥𝕠𝕣 𝕙𝕖𝕒𝕕𝕔𝕒𝕟𝕠𝕟𝕤 (ℙ𝕣𝕖 -“𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝔻𝕠𝕔𝕥𝕠𝕣” 𝕍ℍ𝕊 𝕋𝕒𝕡𝕖 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕖𝕧𝕖𝕣𝕪𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕘)

/ Note: most of this is just my headcanon of Harley before the "event" happened, it won't be 100% canon and might be ooc. I'm just writing for fun, please don't come to me. ;-; My grammar pretty shitty bc Eng is not my first language/

🖤 The relationship between you and Harley – from colleagues to accomplices (First meet):

You meet Harley Sawyer when he was still an ambitious scientist at Playtime Co., before everything went crazy. He is a genius, but he has a strange obsession with his experiments—a man who does not accept conventional ethical boundaries. You are a colleague, or perhaps an outsider inadvertently drawn into his life. You are one of the few people who don't completely hate Harley, or at least don't show it openly.

When everything gradually crosses the boundaries of morality Gradually, you witness Harley's inhumane experiments and find yourself torn between right and wrong. But instead of leaving, you are captivated by his vision – the idea of transcending the limits of death, recreating life. You might have tried to stop him at first but then realized he was right in some way, and you started supporting him. The first time between the two could happen in a moment when Harley is no longer a cold and indifferent scientist. Maybe it was a late night in the lab, when he sat back with tired eyes but still gleaming with excitement over a new discovery. You bring him a cup of coffee, teasing him that he's working too hard.

He looked at you, his sharp eyes but with something wavering. "If I succeed... if I can make humanity greater, then everything will change. Do you believe me?"

You can respond in two ways: One is to empathize, the other is to warn him about the dangerous line. But no matter what, that was the moment Harley realized you were not just an observer—you were the only one who truly saw him, not just as a madman but as a human being.

💉 How Harley Sawyer expresses affection:

Harley Sawyer is a genius but emotionally twisted. He doesn't love the way normal people love—instead, he observes, analyzes, and possesses.

1. His feelings are like an experiment:

He is not the type of person to express affection through hugs or gentle words. Instead, he tends to observe the other person like a scientific study—he notes how you frown when displeased, how you smile when satisfied, and he experiments to see how you will react to his actions.

Maybe he quietly places a cup of tea just the way you like it on your desk, but he never says that he cares about you. If you ask, he might just shrug and say, "I don't want to hear your whining about lacking caffeine."

Or if he really likes you, he won't say it out loud, but instead, he will secretly monitor you at work, check if you are injured, and even remove people he thinks have a "bad influence" on you.

2. Possession, possession, and POSSESSION :

When in love, Harley doesn't express it with affectionate words, but with possessiveness. He doesn't like to share, and he might not realize it right away, but he doesn't want anyone else to get too close to you.

He doesn't openly show jealousy, but if he sees you being intimate with someone else, his gaze will darken.

If someone crosses the line with you, they might disappear from the project or get fired the next day.

When he talks to you, he tends to invade your personal space to the point where you can feel his breath on your skin.

Harley wants to possess, but at the same time, he wants you to come to him willingly. That makes the relationship with him a dangerous game between control and seduction.

The first time for the two of you could happen right in the laboratory, amidst the cold light of the screen and the unfinished experiment sketches. A hurried kiss, a hesitant touch, as if both were standing on the brink of something irreversible. Maybe it was a truly tender moment for Harley—or perhaps he was still a bit obsessed, almost wanting to hold you as part of his own "experiment."

But no matter what, it will be a storm of passion, danger, and something painful knowing that his path might lead him away from you forever.

3. He loves in the way of someone who doesn't know how to love.

He may not understand his own feelings, but once he decides that you "belong to him," there is no turning back.

A touch of his hand could be a test, as if he were checking whether your skin is cold or if your heart beats faster when he gets closer. A kiss from him might lack tenderness, instead being exploratory, as if he were testing your reaction.

If you intend to leave him, he won't beg—instead, he will find a way to make you unable to leave, whether through words, psychological manipulation, or something darker...

Harley doesn't love in the way of "needing you to live," but in the way of "if I don't have you, no one else can have you."

🔪 Harley Sawyer's sexual orientation:

I see he has tendencies towards demisexual or greysexual, but in the way of a controlling and calculating person.

📌 Demisexual (only has desire when there is a true emotional connection)

He is not the kind of person who is immediately attracted by someone's appearance. He doesn't care about so-called "one-night stands" or superficial charm.

If he is interested in someone sexually, it's not just because of desire, but also because he wants to control them.

📌 Tendency to be "Possessive & Dominant" in relationships:

In a relationship, he will be the one in complete control, not the type who likes to be led or passionately pursue someone. If there is an intimate scene, he might not hesitate to use words to influence or even manipulate psychologically, controlling the other person's reactions.

📌 Not too concerned about the other person's gender:

I don't think Harley is only attracted to a certain gender. For him, what matters more is whether you can stimulate his mind. If you make him curious, if you make him feel he can control or be attracted in some way, he will keep an eye on you.

He can experience attraction with anyone, but that doesn't mean he is easily swayed.

[venomhoundfanworks]

Hazbin Hotel - First "I Love You"s

Happy Valentines Day, all~ I wanted to make a special post for today. So here are short stories about the first time you exchanged I love you with Lucifer, Vox, and Alastor

CASUAL REMINDER: What was supposed to be the Angel Dust part in this post got too long because I have no self control. Its now its own story >>over yonder<<

Contents/WARNINGS: Gender neutral reader; allusions to heartbreak, cheating, abuse, just lots of past bad stuff; but its all in the past, this content is fluff and feels; Lucifer has a panic attack in his part cause he needs therapy Cavity content and brainrot below the cut ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

Lucifer ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡

Lucifer knew the words. Of course he did. After all, he was a married man. Obviously. But… They seemed to carry so much more weight now then they ever did before. Ever since Lilith left. Now they felt much more like a burden then something to celebrate. Perhaps he was idealistic, if not naïve before. But just the thought of love had made him giddy. It always held the promise of endless laughter, dancing under stars, and countless ever afters.

But now? Now, thinking of love scared him. It made his heart clench and the cold weight of dread harden in his chest. Lucifer’s mind would always go to that horrible moment when he realized Lilith was gone. That she wasn't coming back. Now, love just seemed like a promise of pain. A promise to leave in the end.

However, if there is one thing Lucifer can reliably do, its ignore a problem. Its his special talent to be able to simply not register any smoke or embers until its an all-engulfing, burning blaze.

With how close the two of you were getting, Lucifer should have seen the signs. He should have noticed the warmth that stained his face, the excitement that burned in his stomach to the point of making him sick, as well as the pure sense of comfort and affection that welled up in his chest. He should have done alot of things. But instead, every thought, every notion Lucifer got that there is more, that there is something beautiful blossoming between you two is thrown to the wayside. Buried deep, to be dealt with later.

Until it can’t be dealt with later. Until it bursts out in a way only Lucifer can manage to do; on complete accident.

Neither of you remember how the conversation started, or honestly, the majority of what was said. You were folding what felt like endless paper crafts for Charlie. All while Lucifer rambled to you about his latest duck related project. He fiddled and spun one of said ducks in his hands, using it as a fidget toy while he spoke. Lucifer did… attempt to help you when he found you. But you correctly assessed that he would be much more of a detriment then an asset with his mind so focused elsewhere. So here you two were; him passionately talking your ear off while you did the delicate work he couldn’t.

When it happened, it was sudden. Lucifer had just bounced up to leave when the words tumbled out of his mouth before he could catch them; “That sounds great! I love you, Duckie~”

Just like that, it was like a live bomb had been dropped between you two. Time itself seemed to stop and both of you remained completely still. Lucifer’s heart pounded; blood rushing so fast it was deafening. His hands trembled. He could already feel overwhelmed tears pricking at his eyes and fogging up his vision. He could feel his lungs burning for air while he fought to keep his breathing steady. He wanted to run. He wanted to hide in his room and cry. He wanted to turn to you and try and explain and beg you not to leave him…

But instead Lucifer just stood there. Frozen. Paralyzed in fear that he had just broken whatever you two had going. That he had ruined his only chance at a fresh start like he ruins everything else-

“Do you mean that?”

Your gentle words broke through Lucifer’s rapid spiral and put a harsh stop to any further thoughts in his head. He simply blinked dumbly a few times. A subconscious attempt to get rid of the excess wetness in his eyes. “W-w-what?”

“Do you…” Lucifer could hear the trembling in your soft voice. The hesitance in your breathe as you held it for a moment to try and gather yourself before finishing, “…really love me?”

At that, Lucifer finally found it in himself to turn around and look at you. In your eyes he saw the exact same fear that he had. Fear of the future. Fear of pain. Fear of the inevitable.

For the first time in forever, Lucifer felt understood. For the first time, Lucifer felt that something for him might turn out okay after all.

“Yes. I love you so much.”

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

Vox ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡

Vox had certainly thought about the words. He had said them to you in his head countless times. But he had yet to work up the courage to actually say them to you outloud. Everytime Vox was sure it was going to happen, they would always end up catching in his throat. Then his thoughts would start racing, his fans suddenly whirring trying to keep him from overheating, and the words would end up dying before he could get his shit together.

What if he was moving too fast? The last thing he wanted to do was jump the gun. Especially when it came to you. What if he says it too soon, coming off desperate and scaring you off? Or worse, what if he got the timing wrong? What if those words, those ever important words, came out at the worst possible moment? Vox was well aware that his own lightness and euphoria could be blinding him to your mental state. What if he was reading the entire situation wrong?

What if… you just didn’t feel the same?

That was the notion that ended it. Ended any attempt or thoughts Vox possibly had of confessing. Vox was pretty sure he couldn't handle another heartbreak. Another rejection. So he kept the words to himself and settled for whatever it was you had now. Your current “relationship” was better then the possible alternative. So he would settle. Vox told himself he was okay with whatever scraps he got like he always did.

You had gracelessly fallen asleep on Vox one evening; the movie marathon he had coaxed you into losing the battle with your sleep deprived self. When Vox noticed your body relax against him as you fell asleep, he couldn't help but chuckle lovingly. It was cute and… sweet that you trusted him like this. Enough to fall asleep on him like something out of a stupid teen romance.

Vox hummed to himself and playfully rolled his eyes, shifting around so you could sleep more comfortably on his chest. He held you close, his claws gently petting you and his heart beating a little too loudly in his own head for his liking. Despite how much he complained, in whatever poor attempts he did to keep up his bravado, Vox would be lying if he said he didn’t love moments like this. Moments where you two were just something from a stupid romance.

Vox continued his humming, but now with more purpose. It was as if he was trying to sooth you. To lull you into a deeper sleep. He gently pressed his screen against the top of your head in a makeshift kiss. The words escaped his mouth before he could consciously register them; a gentle “I love you.” It just felt… right in that moment. For once, he wasn't panicking internally or overheating with dread at your possible response. Everything was calm. Quiet. Besides, it wasn't like you were even awake to hear him anyway…

“…I love you too.”

Vox immediately went silent and every muscle in his body tensed. He wasn't fully sure he heard you right at first. That is, if he didn't outright hallucinate it. Your words were groggy, partially slurred; clearly having responded to him in your sleep.

But did that fact really matter? You had said it to him. You said the words back. So you must have loved him on some level, right? Vox could feel himself trembling as his grip on you tightened protectively, as if you were at threat of being taken away from him in that very moment. As if you might just slip away through his fingers like a gust of wind. Vox pulls your sleeping form ever closer, curling around you, desperate to be as close as he can possibly be.

He swears from that moment on, that he is never going to let you go.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

Alastor ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡

Alastor had… honestly never really thought about those words. Or even what best describes his own feelings for you for that matter. He simply acknowledged that, yes, he did feel some sort of… “affection” towards you. So “affection” was what he called it. It didn’t matter what it actually was. You seemed to return it. You let him express his feelings how he wished. Things between you two seemed to be going swell. So… was there really a need to name it?

Alastor certainly didn't think so. Perhaps it was just in his roots to not give something like that a name. A name acknowledges it. Gives it shape. Gives it power. A name makes something tangible. Turns the ethereal into something to be wielded. Either for, or against you. But that was the risk you accepted when you played with fire. That its flame could scorch you and leave you just as charred as those you hoped to use it against.

It was early. Dreadfully early. But Alastor was wide awake and in the Hotel kitchen preparing the residential breakfast. Already singing and humming to himself like it wasn't too early for even the birds. Your footsteps were weighted with sleep as you meandered your way towards the kitchen. Alastor’s only acknowledgment of you was the flick of his ears when you stomped particularly loud.

You lethargically pulled out one of the dining chairs, unintentionally dragging one of its legs against the floor and making a horrid squeal. Most people would have been terrified at the sight of the radio demon visibly recoiling at the sound; his ears flattening back as he shot you a look over his shoulder. But you were not most people.

Instead, you settled yourself. Your head leaning sleepily against your arms on the table while the radio demon simply stared, motionless at you.

“Dear.” Alastor only spoke when you started staring back. Unabashedly meeting his unwavering eyes with your own. His voice crackled with static. “You-are aware of how early it is, aren't you?”

You gave an affirming hum. “Are you?”

Alastor visibly retracted himself, slowly turning back to his work despite his ears remaining pinned back. He… didn’t actually have a response for that. You both knew he had no business being here at this hour. Especially since his only reason for being the Hotel’s chef at all was some misplaced sense of culinary pride.

So Alastor resigned himself and silently continued. Slowly relaxing once again into his normal rhythm as you watched from the table. Your eyes tracing his every movement like he was a show in and of himself. Looking at him like he was a work of art.

“Al?”

Alastor simply made an acknowledging sound at your inquiry. Letting you know that he had heard you, but most of his attention was still on preparing the Hotel’s breakfast.

“I love you.”

It wasn't a groundbreaking declaration. Something yelled in a moment of despair and desperation as if the earth itself was being ripped out from under you. The ground certainly wasn't breaking apart at your words now. No. This was just a simple acknowledgment. A voicing of fact.

Perhaps that reverence was what gave Alastor pause. Made him actually consider the notion.

Love. Was that what this was? Was that this tightness, this need he had deep in his chest? Was that the name of this longing, this warmth he felt whenever you were too wonderfully close or pulled away too far? Was this… fondness, this comfort he had in moments like these… what love was?

“Alastor?”

He didnt notice he had slowly stopped what he was doing. So lost in thought that he had ceased all motion. Alastor looked back at you and affectionately chuckled when he saw the concerned look in your eyes. He found himself with a genuine smile for once. Not the usual grin that he plastered on, the one that could easily find itself more on the side of a snarl then a grin. But a real smile that reached his eyes.

“I’m fine, Love. Just thinking is all.”

If this was what love was, then he could certainly learn to live with it.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

AN: Happy Valentines day everyone! I hope ya'll find real love and happiness while I'm over here gargling my fictional men (˵˘ ³˘˵) (Also tag which type of love/way of saying 'I love you' you are; I'm Luci ◉〰◉)

LINKS AND FURTHER READING ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡

My Masterlist for my Other Work: >>HERE<<

The Angel Dust Section: >>HERE<<

AO3 Archive Link: >>HERE<<

Ngl, Vox's section was inspired by the strange like... silent agreement that alot of people have that Vox definitely tells you he loves you while your sleeping. Ive noticed a bunch of people have him do that in their fics and its just funny to me that so many people have come to the same conclusion.

One such fic is this adorable little drabble over >>HERE<< by @voxisdaddy

There is a super cute post about trying (and failing) to cook for Alastor and Lucifer and them having to step in to help you by @alastor-x-reader-stories over >>HERE<<

ALSO HAVE THIS STUUUPIDDD-- fic that I actually almost had a panic attack over because I couldn't find it and I thought it got deleted-ANYWAY. Its by @girlboypersonthingy and its a wonderful fic about Lucifer desperately pining over the reader and I reread it ALOT its over >>HERE<<

[iheartlnfour]

always been you | lh43

pairing: luke hughes x fem!reader

summary: just friends who finally stop being in denial

warnings: use of y/n, kissing, fluffy romance, not proofread.

a/n: my first real post on tumblrrrr yayyy !! hope u like it <3

ꫂ ၴႅၴ

i don’t remember a time in my life without luke hughes.

some of my earliest memories are of him—messy-haired and wild, running through the backyard, grass stains on his knees, hand wrapped tightly around mine as we chased fireflies in the summer heat. he was always there. through every scraped knee, every school project, every hockey game where i cheered too loudly in the stands.

and somewhere along the way, he became more than just luke.

but i never let myself think about it too much.

because he was my best friend first. and you don’t fall in love with your best friend. even if maybe, just maybe, you already have.

ꫂ ၴႅၴ

“you’re late,” luke grumbled as i slid into the passenger seat of his car.

i rolled my eyes, shoving his arm playfully. “relax. you’re not gonna be late to practice.”

luke sighed dramatically, putting the car in drive. “that’s not the point. you’re always late.”

i grinned. “yeah? and you always wait for me anyway.”

he didn’t respond.

instead, he just drummed his fingers against the steering wheel, eyes focused on the road. he had that look again—the one where he wanted to say something but wouldn’t.

i knew luke like the back of my hand, but sometimes, he was impossible to read.

and right now? he was a locked book.

“spit it out,” i finally said.

luke blinked. “what?”

“you’re thinking about something.”

“i’m always thinking about something.”

i shot him a look. “luke.”

he let out a breath, shaking his head. “it’s nothing.”

i didn’t believe him, but i let it go.

for now.

ꫂ ၴႅၴ

jack and quinn have always been like my older brothers. they were just as much a part of my life as luke was—teasing me, protecting me, making fun of me every chance they got.

so, when jack pulled me aside after dinner one night, his expression unusually serious, i knew something was up.

“what’s going on?” i asked.

jack hesitated. “you and luke.” i frowned. “what about us?”

jack gave me a look. “come on, y/n.”

i crossed my arms, shifting uncomfortably. “there is no me and luke.”

jack scoffed. “yeah, okay. tell that to him.”

my stomach twisted. “jack…”

“you really don’t see it, do you?” jack asked, shaking his head. “he’s been in love with you since we were kids.”

my breath caught in my throat. that wasn’t true. it couldn’t be.

luke was my best friend.

if he felt that way… i would know. right?

but then, flashes of him filled my mind. the way his hand always found mine in a crowded room. the way he looked at me when he thought i wasn’t paying attention. the way he held on just a second too long whenever we hugged.

maybe jack was right. maybe i just didn’t want to see it.

ꫂ ၴႅၴ

a few nights later, i found luke sitting alone on the dock behind his house, staring at the lake.

i sat beside him, nudging his shoulder. “penny for your thoughts?”

luke huffed out a laugh, but it wasn’t his usual one. it was softer. more hesitant.

“you ever feel like… something’s right in front of you, but you’re too scared to reach for it?” he asked.

i swallowed. “yeah.”

luke turned to me then, his blue eyes searching mine. “jack talked to you.”

it wasn’t a question.

i nodded.

he let out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “of course, he did.”

“luke…”

he didn’t let me finish.

instead, he reached for my hand—something he had done a million times before, but this time, it felt different. more.

“i’ve loved you for as long as i can remember,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “and i know you might not feel the same, but i can’t keep pretending i don’t.”

my heart pounded against my ribs.

because i did feel the same. i always had.

so, instead of answering, i did the only thing that made sense.

i kissed him and it felt like coming home.

[ac1dmeow]

can you write a meet cute with au!powder??

powder x female reader

cw: fluff, non-established relationship, wlw content

the sun was shining, the air was warm, and you couldn’t have felt more content while walking down the bustling street of chatting townies. with your box of new supplies in your arms that you’ve been so excited to acquire, your day couldn’t be bothered even if someone tried.

POOM!

suddenly you’re on your butt on the cement. books and gadgets lay around you haphazardly, a few cogs rolling in random directions. then you’re hearing a raspy feminine voice panic above you,

“oh! i am so sorry! please, let me help you!”

a girl seemingly you’re age bends down to your level, and you’re met with a rather pretty view. all lanky limbs and blue hair tied up into two buns on her head, and choppy bangs lining her forehead that are oddly endearing.

you’re gaping for a moment before you realize, and shake your head. “nah, it’s nothing.” you bite your lip nervously while you help the stranger gather your stuff back into your flimsy cardboard box.

before you can even grab it yourself, the girl is hoisting the box into her arms as she stands. you immediately follow after, not sure what to say.

“you got an interesting lot, here. do you attend the academy?” she asks you curiously. then she seems to remember that she’s still holding your stuff and hands it back over to you. your arms suddenly feel like they’re made of jello.

“uh-huh.” you say.

“well that’s a fun coincidence. so do i!” the blue haired girl chirps. “the name’s powder.”

she’s holding out her hand for you to shake. and you just stare at it for a few seconds.

“oh no way!” you finally manage to respond. you almost fumble your box when you reach out to grab her hand. it feels warm and inviting—it makes you wonder how it would feel to have her arms around you. gosh, chill out.

“cute name. i’m y/n.” you nearly surprise yourself with the sly flirt. and it could be wishful thinking but you swear you see powder’s cheeks darken, and it makes you automatically smile.

“uhh haha, thanks!” she chuckles. a beat of silence passes where you watch her fix a strand of blue hair out of place. and that’s when you notice the streak of pink. how much more intriguing can this girl get?!

“where were you off to?”

powder’s question makes your heart leap. you swear your whole body lights up and you have to stop yourself from bouncing on your toes excitedly.

“to my dorm actually. i have a project i have to set up…” you realize it sounds like you’re turning down a possible invitation to hangout with powder. but then you realize she hadn’t actually asked for anything of the sort and she could actually just be curious about what the hell you were doing with a box of random scraps and books.

powder’s mouth opens to speak when suddenly a gruff voice from beside you makes both of your heads whip around.

“OI! get out of the middle of the road, wouldja!? folks got places to be ya know.”

both of you step to the side away from a mean looking old man like he’s the plague, unkept and frail leaning on a cane as he mumbles profanities and insults under her breath as he wobbles past.

“would you wanna exchange dorm numbers? maybe one of us can stop by and we can hangout sometime.” powder suggests calmly as if that didn’t happen.

you whip your head back around to face her. it takes you a moment to fully grasp what she said.

oh. my. god. a pretty girl just asked to hangout. she’s actually interested in you romantically. is this really happening!? oh-em-gee, oh-em-gee, oh-em-gee—

“yeah for sure! i’m 606 on the sixth floor!” your words are rushed and adrenaline-filled and you hope to whatever is out there that this girl can’t tell how ecstatic you feel right now. you hug the box tighter to your chest.

“oh hey, i’m just on the other end of the hall!” powder exclaims. “i’m in 624. gee, no wonder i haven’t seen you around yet. although, i’m also kinda surprised.” she snorts.

your head tilts. “so am i…”

another beat passes.

powder smirks and stands up straight. “i’ll let you go now. don’t wanna hold you up for too long—gotta get a head start on that project, amirite!?”

she begins to walk the opposite way you were heading, and your gaze follows her as she too seems to keep looking at you.

“you better show me that project once it’s finished! i have plans of seeing it.”

you giggle. your box nearly falls out of your arms again when a random bumps into you but you can barely pay any mind.

“i’ll make sure of it!” you shout. and then both of you are lost amongst the crowd once more.

-

a/n: sooo.. happy valentine’s day ? 😀

[obeymeluv]

In Your Defense [PT 3 - Ignihyde]

You decide to work at Sam's for Valentine's Day and your crush just happens to hear a customer hitting on you. If they get arrested, can you be their alibi?

AKA: This person has a death wish and you find out your crush might be jealous?

Note: Each one is random and some will be longer than others. If I made everyone the same length this thing would be MASSIVE and I would probably die.

Not proofread because of the length.

Whatever part Ortho is in will be platonic, obvs.

Happy V-day!

**Need to go to bed for work tomorrow so Diasomnia will be on my next day off. Can't stay up long enough to squeeze it in**

If there was one thing Idia hated, it was going out in public. He hated how the sun burned his eyes, all the bugs flying around, the way people looked at his hair, and almost had a heart attack at the idea that he'd have to talk to people.

Major bummer. 0/10, don't recommend.

But he'd suck it up and soldier on because the call of sweets was too tempting to resist. The trek to Sam's isn't the longest from Ignihyde but it's enough to make him pace himself.

Yeah, he's not really an outside person. Or a physical activity person outside of dancing to Premo or working on his projects.

He briefly wonders if Ortho put Sam up to this as he finds his second wind and ascends the hill. Who has a bomb sweets sale and DOESN'T ALLOW ONLINE PURCHASES?! WHY WERE THE DISCOUNTS IN-PERSON ONLY?

Idia breaths a sigh of relief and fixes his hoodie before mustering up his courage and opening the door. He's throwing himself into the proverbial lion's den, into an introvert's worst nightmare!

The noise and people are almost too much but he distracts himself with all the pink and red. Mercifully, the candy is spread out around the store so he doesn't have to stay in the sea of people. Idia doesn't discriminate when it comes to sweets; he gets soft cake rolls, pixie sticks, little donuts, a few chocolate bars, and a couple of limited edition dessert drinks. He's secretly glad Sam's regular stock didn't take a hit because of the holiday; his snack stash needs replenishing. Packs of ramen and little things of convenience bury his sweets stash but he's careful not to crush anything.

He can almost hear Ortho nagging him to get something green or slightly healthy. If he doesn't, Ortho will be mad at him for a week. It becomes a battle of wits between the Shroud brothers and Ortho is the king of juvenile inconveniences. Idia has learned the hard way; Ortho resets his alarms, throttles his wi-fi, messes with his lights, takes apart his tablet or takes it off charge in the middle of the night, and just about anything else he can think of.

Idia begrudgingly puts some green smoothies in his basket. Along with some pudding cups.

Satisfied with his raid, he waits in line. He's chanting to himself the whole time: just walk, don't make eye contact! Just walk, don't make eye contact! The line stalls enough for someone to bump into him and he panics, stumbling forward into the person in front of him. His hair flickers and flares a little in his panic.

People give him space and he babbles a quick apology. He pulls his hoodie up over his hair but it doesn't hide everything. It makes him feel safe, though. He relaxes a little.

Then, he hears it.

HOW MUCH DO YOU COST?!

Oof. MAXIMUM cringe. NO ONE on campus has a charisma stat high enough to make THAT work! Except Kingscholar and Schoenheit, maybe.

It gets worse when he realizes someone said that TO YOU.

OH NO! HE HAS COMPETITION!

The tactic looks like it failed, though, so he's comforted. You wouldn't go for something so cheap and cheesy! This guy looks like a D-level tank AT BEST. You're an SSR easy. D-levels and SSR's don't go together!

He's an SSR when it comes to stealth and technical skill so maybe one day you guys can link up or whatever. Your choice. The tips of his hair turn pink and he blows on the closest strand to mute the color.

The guy is doubling down. "You're rolling a one, pleb. A hard one." Idia whispers to himself.

"You say somethin', Shroud?" the guy turns to him.

FUCK, HE KNOWS HIS NAME?!

Idia's hair roars to life with surprise. He yanks the hoodie down before the fabric singes and crisps. His strands are wild, untamed, and yellow. His instinct is to stutter and deny it, to backtrack, but your eyes are just shy of pleading and it makes him swallow the word soup.

"I-I said you're rolling a hard one. Y-You're failing!" Idia doesn't know if he's going to faint first or if his legs will give out. His heart might go first.

The guy clearly doesn't get the reference. The brain is buffering and the lag is too great. He shakes his head with a sharp, toothy smile, unable to help himself. Dumb normie, Idia gives a breathy chuckle. Idia has that unfortunate condition where his face talks for him and it must've said some shit because the tank is now laser-focused on him.

You're over the counter before he can process anything, grabbing the guy by the back of his shirt and telling him to leave. The guy just jerks his shoulders and stays the course. Idia sees you get ripped over the counter and tumble to the floor. You recover decently and grab the closest thing to you but something about the sound of your body hitting the floor sends him into a rage he'd only felt in online arguments.

It feels like his veins are burning. He can tell by the size of his shadow and the light dancing across the floor that his hair is long and ferociously orange. Raging orange. Lethal orange.

"Caution," Idia manages somehow through his rage. "C-Contents are hot." he knows he has to stay put. If he approaches the guy he will LITERALLY catch on fire. It's not a bad idea, and he can see the gears spinning in the guy's head. He's wondering if Idia's going to do it or if he has enough time to hit the door.

The guy chooses the door.

It takes several minutes for Idia to calm down. His hair seems to shrink as he deflates into his usual quiet mannerisms. It's shorter than normal! "Used up all my fuel," Idia complains as he drags himself to the counter. "Need calories." he melts pitifully into the counter.

"You need to buy what you burned, too." Sam points to the singed chips and snacks. He already has a few packs that are beyond saving in his arms. Idia realizes the shop is basically empty now and finds the energy to blush. Pink cheeks look really cute against his blue hair!

"Does this mean I'm done for the day?"

"Yes." Sam looks at you. He's not mad or disappointed, but he means you're done. "I think you're a bit of a fire hazard." he teases.

You both blush.

None of this was in his decision tree! WHAT DOES HE DO?

"You, uh, you want to come by Ignihyde and, um, watch some stuff? You don't have to if you don't want to, of course. I just, you know, since it was my fault and all--"

"Is that a nat twenty in the wild? I think I have to now!" you joke.

"You get that?" Idia's mouth hangs open in surprise.

"It might have different names but I think it's the same thing in my world." you shrug. He's so down to discuss games from another dimension!

A nat twenty indeed!

----

Ortho was doing his best to fill the gaps with whatever Sam's shop had to offer. Idia's grocery order was a little delayed due to the Valentine's holiday so he needed something decent to tide him over. Determined to keep his brother from an early, sodium-induced death, Ortho took it upon himself to shop. He wasn't totally heartless, though, so he'd throw in a few bags of chips to make Idia feel better.

A lot of this chocolate was out of the question! The sugar was through the roof! Then again, Idia was hopelessly addicted to sweets. He's pretty sure his brother broke some kind of record for sugar tolerance.

Equipped with Vil's suggestions and the things he researched, Ortho started hunting for healthy foods. He filled the basket with smoothies, yogurts, dark chocolate, fruit, and protein bars. There should be enough texture and flavor variation there to make Idia happy. Well...relatively.

Ortho floated patiently in line, subtly recording the conversations around him for later playback. Organic human interaction was interesting and would help him improve his algorithms and processes.

It's not like it hurt anything! All of the conversations were innocent and--

WAS SOMEONE TRYING TO MAKE A MOVE ON HIS FRIEND? HIS BESTEST, MOST PRECIOUS FRIEND?! ONLY HIS BIG BROTHER CAN DO THAT!

You may not totally get that he's a techno-organic construct (and not a boy who just really loves pretending to be a robot) but HE GETS that YOU'RE NOT COMFORTABLE AND THAT'S NOT OKAY!

"Excuse me, pardon me," Ortho weaves carefully through the people, playing a little 'wee-woo' alarm through his speaker system.

He floats beside the guy, staring at him with those big gold eyes. Pinching his thumb and pointer finger together turns up the alarm.

The guy is ignoring the alarms! How ridiculous! Is this what Idia means by natural selection and survival of the fittest?

A red light pops out of his shoulder, spinning in place.

HE'S IGNORING THAT, TOO?!

"You're being interrupted!" Ortho glares at him now, tuft of blue hair dancing angrily. "This conversation is clearly inappropriate for the setting and is henceforth terminated!"

"Terminated? Big words for a little boy! Go away, big people are talking!" the guy tries to shoo him away.

"Don't be rude to him!" you snap, "And he's right! The conversation is terminated!"

"Terminated!" Ortho echoes, pumping his fist. "Terminated!" he repeats, laughing when some of the people in line begin to join in and chant 'terminated, terminated!'

The guy leaves without buying anything and Ortho is happy to take his place. He pays for the the snacks. "And here's a sticker for you for being so sweet!" you put a sticker on the back of his hand. It's a heart wearing sunglasses.

Ortho laughs despite himself. One day he'll get Idia to explain it to you in a way you understand. He's surprised nothing like him exists in your world but he's glad to be here with you in Twisted Wonderland.

[cherrycheolkat]

• random slutty thoughts, feat. mingyu •

the valentine’s day / co-worker crush one

mingyu has sat in the cubicle next to yours long enough to know exactly how shitty your ex made valentine’s day last year, plus he knows you definitely haven’t even thought about a valentine’s date since you just accepted a stack of last minute work, because to quote you, “fuck this pretend holiday”

but he really hopes to change your mind

mingyu’s had a crush on you since you started working in his group, maybe before that even when he would just see you in the break room sometimes

at first he thought you were a bit unapproachable, but the longer he sat next to you, the more he realized you were a really good co-worker and friend - you always have great ideas for projects and you don’t make him feel like shit for not knowing every single thing like most people in the group, plus you’re always happy to grab coffee when he wants to complain about how something personal

he was glad when you had offered to exchange phone numbers so he could message you “just whenever” - it took him a week to finally decide what to send - a photo proving that he really uses the name ‘james’ as his ‘coffee order name’ because he was tired of the misspellings and you would not believe him - you had practically cackled at ‘james’

he was surprised when you asked if he had a date that night, “no, i haven’t really been talking to anyone” besides you, he thought

“at least you won’t be stuck here all night, though,” you smiled, leaning towards your computer to read something

he nodded, “yeah, true,” even as he spoke, he started to poke around seeing if there were any assignments he needed to complete (he knew there weren’t)

“wait, actually, sorry - there’s this part i kind of need help with,” you mumbled from your slouched over position

he blushed and scooched his chair over to your side of the barrier, you had already moved so he could see your screen - he was glad that you seemed to always have problems with excel functions

he started tinkering with the spreadsheet while you read some documents next to him - before he realized it, he was ready for dinner

he leaned back, “want to take a break?” it was a totally normal question

you nodded, “yes, please, I’m so tired of looking at this,” you whispered and then stood up to look around the office, “wow, it’s like a horror movie in here - absolutely everyone is gone but us”

he smiled knowing you mean zombie movies, which you proclaim to hate but still seem to know a lot about

“so what were you thinking?” you asked as you sit back down next to him - he notices when your knee bumps his leg

“hm, how bad do you think the waits are across the street?”

“oh fuck, i forgot, couples out in droves, right?”

he nods, watching you scrunch your face as you start checking for reservations close by - it takes a few minutes but you’re suddenly grabbing his sleeve, “oh my god, if we leave right now, we can just make it to a decent place,” you practically drag him along

the ‘decent’ place is actually really nice, way more than he was expecting, but he was glad for once that he was in dress clothes - he actually looked like he was your date

they seated you in one of the open booths, another couple were right next to you - he had started to look at the menu when you nudged him with your foot, he glanced up to see you covertly glance at the other couple - mingyu almost laughed when he saw the girl’s foot was practically buried in the guy’s crotch and moving at a concerning pace

he blushed slightly at the scene and glanced back to you, seeing the dangerous smirk on your face, he suddenly felt the toe of your shoe press gently to his calf - he was quick to slip a warning hand onto your thigh, squeezing gently

“i think we can do better darling,” he whispered

you looked too game, “oh, can we, sweetheart?”

he wasn’t sure what to make of your sugary voice, but he knew you were horribly competitive (both of you, if he were honest, could be a bit scary at company retreats)

he didn’t hesitate to nod, “of course we can,” he answered in a low tone, his thumb tracing circles against your thigh

when the waiter came back, you both ordered drinks, but he noticed quickly when the other couple conspicuously got up at the same time and wandered towards the bathroom

he sipped his wine, “did they really just go to the bathroom?”

you giggle, “they definitely did”

he swirled his glass gently, “okay, so if we go into the men’s room after them, do we just need to be louder?” he was genuinely asking

you laughed behind your hand, “seriously?” you grinned, “it’s not like we get a peleton this time,” you shoot back, voice soft in a way that makes his stomach flutter

“yeah, but,” he wasn’t sure where he was going with this, “they were annoying, why not be, you know,” he shrugged

“be more annoying, my darling, dearest,” you smiled and covered his hand with yours

he flushed but had a sudden thought, “look if we freak them out, i will literally pay for a full weekend at that glamping place you keep ogling,” he was very serious

“oh, okay, no wait, it has to be the one with the hot tub that overlooks the trees,” you were getting serious

he nodded, “i’ll give you my card, book whatever you want,” he was too sincere

he noticed the slight blush blooming across your cheeks, “you know it’s like a couples thing, right?”

“so, you can book for two and go alone, whatever,” in his mind this was completely reasonable to offer a co-worker who he clearly had just a crush on, especially when he hadn’t confessed

he watched you bite your lip lightly, “okay, but shouldn’t we both go? it’s like a group activity,” he flushed, knowing you’re looking at him much too clearly

“just come on or we’ll miss our chance,” he stood, glancing around and walking towards the bathroom

he pushed the door open and was immediately assaulted with sounds, really wet sounds

he caught you as you walked through the door, knowing you would laugh at the sounds, he pressed his hand across your lips and guided you to the stall next to the occupied one, locking the door

you glance at the stall wall, rolling your eyes at the sudden feminine cry of “oh, baby - yeah, just like that”

you lean close to him, “make it good, okay,” you whisper, your hands suddenly ghosting down his chest and stomach

he’s shocked when you ran your hands down the front of his trousers, “fuck, daddy, show me how hard you are,” you say in a breathy voice as your hands press roughly to his hips

he bit his lip hard to avoid laughing in total shock, “that what you want baby girl, my hard cock filling that tight pussy?” he asked, his voice lower than he expected, even though he was leaning down close, whispering against your throat, obviously in character

“mhmm, yes, i want you so badly - i’ve thought about it all day, daddy - i’ve just been sitting, waiting for you, all wet and ready for your cock”

he paused hearing this, his mouth immediately dry, he could feel your hand working him through his pants

he kissed your throat gently, “daddy’s good little girl, just waiting at her desk, hoping to get fucked,” he nipped your earlobe gently, “my naughty little girl,” he whispered as he bit your throat

he was momentarily stunned when you pulled your shirt down enough to expose your tits and your perfect nipples, but he didn’t even think before he dipped down, latching onto one and then the other, hearing your moans, as he licked and sucked “yes, daddy” - “yeah, just like that” - “fuck, i bet you could empty me”

he leaned up, catching your mouth in a soft kiss, he licked into you, tasting you as he pushed up your skirt, his cock was way too hard at the idea of your full tits

he slid his fingers under the hem of your panties, immediately feeling the slick waiting for him, “oh, baby, so wet for me,” he barely broke the kiss to murmur

he watched your face as he plunged his first two fingers inside your hot, wet pussy - you gasped softly, pulling his hair roughly as you did, “yes, daddy, play with me, you’ve kept me waiting so long,” you whimper as he crooked his fingers to hit the soft spongy spot he knew your ex had never been able to find

he had completely forgotten the other couple - all he cared about was the way you were writhing in pleasure in front of him - that and the way your cunt was clenching around him, it was so fucking tight and already dripping

he pressed close, “come for me baby girl, i can feel you holding back, just let go, make a mess for daddy to clean up,” he whispered

you pressed close, “give me one more finger first,” you breathed heavily against his skin

he was happy to slip his third finger in, stretching you and then scissoring you open too, pressing against your tight walls

you moaned loudly, “oh, fuck, yes - daddy, don’t stop, make me feel good”

he wasn’t worried about how loud you were - it was part of the point, but when your pussy suddenly gushed, “fuck,” he breathed, feeling your juices wet his thigh

he held you close as he he still worked his fingers inside your pussy, you yelped as a second orgasm tore through you, a new splash of hot pussy juices running down his thigh as you shivered with pleasure in his arms, grasping blindly for him, needing him to hold you as your orgasm worked through you

“mhmm, daddy, oh, fuck, did i do good?”

he was quick, “yeah, baby, you’re so perfect, so messy and wet for me,” he pressed soft kisses to your cheek, nuzzling close to you

it was obvious that you were more fucked out than either of you expected - he definitely didn’t hear anything from the couple in the other stall, but he wasn’t especially concerned either

he suddenly turned you around, pulling your back to his chest, as he unbuckled his belt and unbuttoned his pants, “still want daddy’s cock, baby girl?”

you nod, “yes, please, use me like a toy, make me yours”

he breathed slowly, lining his cock up with your cunt, he needed to control himself or he would come too fast

he plunged in, pausing to breathe, to feel your slick cunt stretching so wide to take all of him - he listened to your whimpers and soft pleas as you adjusted to being full

but he waited to move - and when he did, he was slow at first, feeling every bit of you squeezing him, wanting him

and when you leaned back, “fuck me daddy, fuck me like you want”

the way you gazed up at him told him everything - that you knew - you already knew exactly how he felt

and so he plunged in, setting a quick pace, not being afraid to snap his hips - he wanted to fuck you raw

and when he felt you clenching and fluttering around him, he pulled you close, holding you tight, and reaching down to work your clit, he gasped at the feeling of your third orgasm, the feeling of your slick against the head of his cock was too much

he came, he clenched his teeth together tightly, moaning low against your skin, his cum filling you, he kept moving, slowly fucking his cum deeper into you

“keep it inside baby,” he demanded, breathless, finally letting you go

you nod with a little smile, “what do i get if i do?”

he laughed softly, shaking his head, and fixed his pants

he helped you fix your clothes, glancing to see how massive your pupils were

he stopped and nuzzled close, feeling nothing but tenderness for you, “want to leave?”

you nodded, holding tight to his lapels, “can we still fuck though?”

he smiled, “mmmh, of course we can baby - we can fuck all you want,” he kissed you softly - he meant every word

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨

a/n: happy v day - if you’re not getting fucked tonight, just think of mingyu ^^ we all know he would do it right …every time

♡ kat

tags: @syluslittlecrows

if you want to be tagged, go [here] my [master list] if you want to read more

[aestheticpearl]

“ BUT I HATE TO THINK ABOUT YOU WITH SOMEBODY ELSE ”

synopsis. leigh isn’t jealous. he doesn’t get jealous.

featuring. leigh (sakuverse)

a/n. if you’re reading this in the future and it’s inaccurate to his character, keep that to yourself i’m going off of a single episode and a prayer here

leigh has honestly confused himself at this point in this stunt of a relationship he has with you. it’s just a normal company picnic with your software company. they wanted their employees to be able to get some fresh air on the job or something like that. regardless, leigh watched for under a shaded tree as you grab some snacks for the both of you from the table they’ve set up on the field.

he’s watching your body language more than anything as you speak to one of the guys in the sales department who clearly doesn’t know how to take a hint. he keeps moving forward as you step back at each advancement, even glancing over to leigh himself to communicate ‘are you seeing this?’ with your eyes. he is unfortunately.

he remains planted under the tree, knowing full well you can very much handle yourself and if you needed help you would ask, but after a certain point it’s not just about how he’s getting impatient with the guy blabbing his whole life story to you, it’s about how he’s trying to make moves on his fake partner. that’s when he knows he has to intervene for appearance sake. at least that’s what he’s telling himself. he ignores the feelings that it stirs out in the pit of his stomach as he stands up and starts walking over to you.

you feel leigh before you see him as he wraps his arm around your waist, a wave of comfort washes over you at the feeling; finally someone that can get you out of this uncomfortable situation without being rude—

“quit hitting on them. they’re my partner.”

nevermind.

you watch the poor guy sputter out a few apologies before stumbling away from the two of you.

“that wasn’t very nice.” you mumble as you place a few veggies on your plate.

“i wasn’t trying to be, mate clearly couldn’t take a hint.” leigh responds, picking a carrot off your plate and munching on it. “you should tell HR about that.”

“what? that my fake boyfriend scared off an employee for trying to shoot his shot?”

“hey what are fake boyfriends for?”

something pulls at both of your heartstrings when you say the word fake, but you both similarly opt to brush it off.

you both walk back to the shaded tree area that leigh has practically claimed for his own and sit down with the snacks in hand.

“so have any bets?”

“sorry?” you look at leigh puzzled.

“any bets on who’s gonna win capture the flag?”

“oh.” you follow his eyes to the scene that unfolds on the field. your coworkers in some kind of team building exercise that they are definitely too old for.

“i’m honestly not too sure.” you enjoy your snacks as you watch the game, absentmindedly offering leigh the same snacks by holding the plate in front of him. he is also is locked on to what you are watching unaware of how couple like you both look right now.

“do you think this is going to effect the weekend project?” you ask, looking back at him.

“yes, but i don’t know if it’ll be in a good way or a bad way. depends on how this ends.” he smiles back at you.

you laugh and lean on him, not evening thinking.

you only realize the mistake when you feeling leigh tense under you and you quickly pull away.

“s-sorry!”

“you don’t have you act like i am hot lava.” you chuckles a bit at you reaction.

“i didn’t want to overstep—”

“i didn’t think you were overstepping.” his eyes flicker over you facial features to try and read your emotions a bit better. you’re panicked and… flustered?

“relax okay? i just wasn’t expecting it, i don’t mind though, it is pretty chilly today.” he opens his arm for you to move into, which you do eventually with some hesitation.

he’s warm and somehow comforting. you remind yourself that this isn’t something that’s real, it’s just an act that you both have to keep up with and he seems to be better at remembering that appearances need to be maintained. you secretly pray that he doesn’t notice the flustered state he as been putting you in by doing this.

“you’re warm.”

oops.

he chuckles.

“thank you.”

“i d-didn’t mean to say that.”

“but you did.” he smiles. “which means you meant it~”

you roll your eyes at him and genuinely reconsider your feels for a spilt second in that moment.

new character rahhhhhh. i’m just hoping to get pulled out of this writing slump cause i’m lowkey starting to lose interest in this. the hyperfixation isn’t fixating. happy valentine’s day btw 🤍

.love always<3 pearl

.masterlist

[freeluigihesbae]

𝓫𝓾𝓽𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓯𝓵𝓲𝓮𝓼 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓭𝓮𝓮𝓻 𝓮𝔂𝓮𝓼 - 𝓹𝓪𝓻𝓽 5

(1,200 words)

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4

summary:

luigi fell in love with you for those sparkling eyes where his dreams of falling in love first came true. but how did it happen?

𝗍𝗐: 𝖺𝗇𝗀𝗌𝗍

~

"Hey, watch your step." You're walking, sniffling as you drag your barely wrapped homecoming dress in the store's bag, before you find yourself stumbling. The rain is pouring down, making your clothes feel heavier as you're still walking and outside for god knows how long. Your ankle folds outward because of the raised sidewalk, prompting a foreign hand to grab your shoulder.

You turn around, reeling yourself in before you look into a new set of eyes. They look familiar, but you just can't seem to place them. Hazel and almond-shaped eyes consume your thoughts. Your eyes go wide.

"Andrew. Jesus-" You mutter before placing your hand to your forehead, blinking slowly as your temperature is concerningly high. Andrew immediately steps forward, grabbing both shoulders before bending his head down.

"I'm really concerned about you. I tried to reach out to you about our class project since morning and I didn't hear an answ-HEY!" He yells, catching you in his arms as you pant. This is not going the way you want it to. You groan in discomfort, grabbing Andrew's shoulder for support.

"I really hate to do this, but does it matter to you if I carry you? Your cast isn't making this any better?" He's bending his knees, cautious to keep you barely upright without touching in places he shouldn't afraid of taking the step. You nearly roll your eyes in annoyance whilst wanting to break down and sob.

"Need to get rid of this stupid dress." You whisper in a broken voice and Andrew nods, but doesn't change his position. "Can I-" "Yes, Andrew. Or let me go. Drop me like every- everyone in my life has been doing so far." Your words have a harsh bite to them but he pays no heed, only nodding his head in haste as he picks you up bridal style, heaving the soaked dress over his shoulder. You wrap your hands around his neck and bury your face into his shoulder, utterly ruined and feeling feverish.

Andrew looks down at you, gulping. He didn't think you were in such a bad state, but now its his job to take care of you.

"Dress." You let tears escape from your eyes and to your dismay, Andrew doesn't listen.

"You're more important than the dress. You're burning up. I'm taking you back to your apartment." He smiles a bit when he watches you head tip back in frustration. You give an unpleasant expression before letting your head fall forward, letting the small jumps that come with every step lull the discomfort away.

The rain is still pouring, but it's not so bad with Andrew carrying you as his head is now taking most of the droplets with the exception of a few streams of water falling onto your poorly made jacket.

You both walk through the treacherous for who-knows-how-long before he's stopping in front of your door, the familiar lack of paint and rattling door-knob piquing your interest as you try to pay attention.

"Where are we?" You shake your head as the details of your own apartment seem vaguely reminiscent of a place you think you live in.

"How long were you out in the rain?" Andrew is now looking at down at you and for the first time, you look directly into his eyes and gasp.

It shouldn't be Andrew holding you, it should be Luigi.

Suddenly, the memories of what happened come crashing down like the already pouring rain tries to flood your vision and judgement, making your breathing pick up. You help yourself onto the ground, stumbling and taking a few steps back before using the door to keep yourself up.

"Hey stop-" "No, no I-I-I-" You stumble over your words, trying to put distance between the two of you.

"What are you doing?" A new voice makes both of your heads turn and to your absolute horror, there he is. The man of your dreams and the root of your problems.

Luigi Mangione.

Of course, he isn't empty-handed. He's soaked, drenched in the rain, holding a bouquet of flowers and a neatly folded and closed up bag, tissue paper that once had structure now ripping from the weight of the water. You realize he's likely witnessed the entire thing and the thought itself makes you nearly pass out because it's getting across the wrong idea.

Andrew stands frozen, realizing something is going on and before he knows it, he's trying to get away from the situation.

"Just um-" Andrew starts speaking and Luigi takes a step closer, not interrupting.

"Take care." Andrew looks into your eyes before glancing and Luigi and scurrying away, giving a short glance back and making his way back.

You're still stuck in the corner, replaying every single moment that has happened so far and realizing this might screw your day even worse.

Your legs are shaking though, weak from pain and against your will, you slide down the wall, whimpering from helplessness as pain shoots through your broken leg.

You realize you forgot your meds for the day.

You hear a crunching of paper and a drop of something, as hands come around to hug you but as though it's instinct, you push Luigi away.

"D-Don't touch me." You sigh out but his hands don't move, making you push him. "Fuckin' worming your way back in after insulting me like this shit isn't happening to both of us." You laugh breathlessly, feeling shaky hands retracting from your frame. Despite your wishes, his body is still close.

"I-I'm sorry that's why I came over and then I saw that guy holding you and I thought you lost everything and forgot what we h-" "Really?" You tilt your head up to look at Luigi, crying as the words start flooding into your thoughts and within seconds, you're sending them flying into his face.

"W-What?" Luigi asks and you answer.

"Must feel like shit when someone you l-care about pushes you away." You laugh sardonically, swallowing the cold droplets the slip past your lips while watching Luigi eat away at himself.

"Some stupid fuckin' crush and it hasn't even been a week but I-I'm in so much pain and you push me away like I'm not going through stuff too. You think this is easy for me? You think I'm wanting this right now? Because I'll tell you right now, it's not. I'm not sure a degree at Penn would help you understand-" You cough before saying the last of your words and standing up to unlock your door.

"I just don't want to talk to you. I don't want your flowers. I don't want-" You hesitate, ready to say the word 'you' but stopping because that could shatter his heart. It could break the fibers of who he is and you know you're both stupid.

Why make this worse?

You swallow hard, turning your back to him and opening the door.

"I need to be alone. Alone like you left me earlier." You cock your head to the side before walking inside and slamming the door closed, quietly sobbing before regretting it all, the pain worsening as you think about his likely crestfallen expression.

~

if you want to join the taglist, please comment on my PINNED blog post!

taglist: @madkohi @iinfinitelimits-blog-blog @nosebeers @lorelaisg1lmore @poohkie90 @chariytz @alotofsomething

~

author's note: i'm sorry this chapter is so short. i had to write some angst because i'm not feeling well so this was a quick way to cope. this will be a lil longer than expected but enjoy!

[wallysgirl57]

For The Longest Time - Wally Clark x Reader

In which Wally convinces everyone to help with an anniversary present for Y/N.

The Longest Time - Billy Joel

Requests are open (Please send them in)

Warnings: cussing? fluff, mentions of death?

(slight AU! where Mr Martin and Janet didn't do all that and instead crossed over, Maddie was killed by Mr Anderson.)

Wally had been a bit distant for the last few weeks. Everyone had for that matter. Rhonda didn't come to the last few girl's nights, which you had attributed to her newfound friendship with Quinn. Charley was suddenly busy with Yuri, which you could not be happier about.

Maddie was normally distant anyways, so it wasn't a massive shock, but Wally had never been this distant in the 20 years you'd known him. Hell, he'd called dibs on being your guide when you died and practically refused to leave your side until Maddie got here. You'd assumed that he had finally chosen her, remembering you had never made whatever you two were official.

You tried to not think about it, not wanting to heighten any emotions any more than they already were. You made your way to the gym, hopeful to throw basketballs at the windows for a while since there wasn't any meetings that day. You were shocked, however, to find it locked with a note taped to the outside, "Ghost Project in Progress Do Not Enter"

"Are you shitting me?" you asked to nobody in particular, deciding to make your way to the football field instead. Golf clubs to the vending machines seemed a little more therapeutic anyways.

You make it almost all the way to the storage shed when you are intercepted by Maddie.

"Hey, can I talk to you about something?" She asked.

"Yeah, what's up? And can we have this conversation while destroying things? That's kinda what I came out here for." You ask in return.

"About that. I kind of need you to come with me," She replied.

You let your head fall back with an exaggerated groan, shoulders dropping heavily.

"Okay, fine." You huffed, letting her pull you back towards the gym.

"I was just here," You whined at her.

"Will you just follow me and listen please?" She asked in more of a huff than you had.

She leads you to the stage, sitting you down in the only chair in the "audience" and moving to go behind the curtain.

"What is this?" you whispered to yourself in a mix of confusion and excitement.

You saw the curtain open up, revealing Wally Clark, front and center, in a tuxedo he must have found in the theatre department. You notice the stage is filled with ghosts behind him, all similarly dressed, in black like a show choir. You chuckled to yourself reminiscing in your living days.

You had been the alto in your show choir at Split River in 2002, unfortunately, you had been horrendously allergic to the throat lozenge that your teacher got in Europe and died right before your performance, landing you a nice spot in the afterlife support group.

You focused back on the stage, now seeing Maddie in a black polka dot dress, looking like she would rather be anywhere else, but the look on her face said otherwise, a sly smile creeping on her face as she noticed you looking at her.

"Whoa-oh-oh for the longest time" The ensemble (Rhonda, Charley, Yuri, Maddie, and Quinn) began, making your eyes light up.

"Whoa-oh-oh for the longest-" they continued.

"If you said goodbye to me tonight, there would still be music left to write." Wally began, visibly nervous, his voice much smoother than you expected it to be, "What else could I do? I'm so inspired by you, that hasn't happened for the longest time."

His eyes finally landing on you before the next line, "Once I though my innocence was gone. Now I know that happiness goes on. That's where you found me when you put your arms around me, I haven't been there for the longest time"

You could feel your cheeks burning, a combination of the blood rushing to your face at the attention and the stretch of your lips into the biggest grin you think you have ever had.

Maddie, Rhonda, and Quinn step forward for the next part, "Whoa-oh-oh for the longest time, Whoa-oh-oh for the longest-" Before stepping back for Wally to come in.

"I'm that voice you're hearing in the hall, and the greatest miracle of all is how I need you and how you needed me too, that hasn't happened in the longest time."

You could feel the tears starting, partly because you were just amazed that he would do something like this, but mainly because this was the song you never got to perform and had never told anyone. Hearing it in this context gave it such a better meaning.

"Maybe this won't last very long, but you feel so right, and I could be wrong, maybe I've been hoping too hard, but I've gone this far and it's more than I hoped for." He took a step closer to you, nearing the edge of the stage to sing more directly to you.

"Who knows how much further we'll go on, maybe I'll be sorry when you're gone, I'll take my chances, I forgot how nice romance is, I haven't been there for the longest time." He took another step and jumps from the stage to stand in front of you.

"I had second thoughts at the start, I said to myself 'hold on to your heart'. Now I know the woman that you are, you're wonderful so far and it's more than I hoped for." He moved to take your hand, fully meaning the next part.

"I don't care what consequence it brings; I have been a fool for lesser things. I want you so bad, I think you ought to know that I intend to hold you for the longest time."

"Whoa-oh-oh for the longest time, Whoa-oh-oh for the longest time..." The group finished, some choosing to fade out (Yuri and Charley) while others chose to end it at that (Rhonda).

Wally's eyes never left yours, searching for something. You were sure that anyone who looked at you at this moment would see a girl in love, smitten, head over heels, but to Wally, he had no idea what was going on in that pretty little brain of yours.

The silence between you finally being broken by your query, "How the hell did you get Rhonda to agree to be a backup singer?"

"Really? I pour my heart and soul out to you and that's what you're questioning?" He grabbed your face, fake exasperation drenching his.

"Wally, I have been hopelessly in love with you for the last 20 years. I'm glad you finally came around." You said, voice dripping with love.

"'Finally came around'? That was an anniversary present, darlin'" He said, genuinely confused, "You're supposed to go big for the milestone ones."

Your eyes searched his, looking for some sign that he was joking just then.

"Wally, as much as I thoroughly enjoyed that, you never asked me to be your girlfriend. I fully thought you were just a flirty dude and accepted that." You replied gently, placing a hand on his face.

"Oh, well that's my bad, totally forgot about that part. I meant to do that like 20 years ago. That makes a lot of sense now actually, Rhonda always made jokes about me being single for so long, I never really thought about it. Well in lieu of the last 20 years," He gets down on one knee, "Y/N Y/L/N, will you make me the happiest ghost at Split River and be my girlfriend? And also consider the last 20 years prior relationship experience, ya know, since I forgot and all"

You laughed at his proposal parody, and took his face in your hands once more, "Wally Clark, nothing would make me happier than to be your girlfriend of 20 years. But for real, how'd you get Rhonda to do that?"

Requests are open! I am obsessed with Wally rn and very sad at the lack of fics

[loves-alibi]

skyglow - prologue

pairing: ex-partner!simon riley x detective!reader summary: The 141 responds to a hostage call from an android. wordcount: 4.0k warnings: death, murder, murder of a child (the murder is not described), blood, vomit, injury, f!reader

series masterlist

November 04, 2177

Metropolitan Police are the first to the scene. Holotape has been set up around the townhouse, its projections flickering in the heavy rain.

"Are they already inside?" You ask.

Simon grunts, "No. The 'droid's waiting."

Simon lazily points to the front garden where— lo and behold —the family android is waiting, rain pouring down its still frame. The android is the one that called the police. It had reported a hostage situation. That was about fifteen minutes ago. You and Simon were finishing up a nearby call when the report came in. Now you'd just have to wait for the rest of the 141 to show up.

There's a knock on the passenger side window. Your head snaps over to see a cop, a few years older than you, chewing at his lip impatiently. He nearly jumps out of his skin when the tinted window rolls down to reveal Simon, inches from the poor guy's face. Who could blame him? Simon's not exactly the friendliest looking fellow. After working with him for three years and being his friend for just as long, it's still hard not to let your nerves get the best of you at the sight of his famous scowl.

"What?" Simon barks.

"'Droid's not lettin' us in," the cop says, voice raised to be heard over the constant pitter patter, "Says it 'as to consult with you first."

Simon nods and rolls the window back up. "Do we wait?"

You shake your head, "Let's talk to the android, get a head start."

Simon follows your lead. The crowd of cops part as they see you approaching, you'd like to think it's because they respect your position, but the way their eyes flicker above your head says otherwise. Through the thinning crowd you see the holotape, and before it an indignant-looking rookie. She stops you from crossing it with a hand on your chest. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Simon tense, his hands flexing by his sides.

"Only authorized personnel past this point, ma'am," she says, a self-congratulatory grin on her face.

"Oi," Simon draws her attention. In his hand is his badge. "We are the authorized personnel."

The kid looks like she doesn't know whether to shit herself or geek out. Unfortunately, she decides on the latter. Follows you and Simon through the holotape, she says,"The 141, right? It is an honor to meet you. I-I'd love to do what you all do one day. Do you have any advice?"

Simon sends you a cheeky grin. Are you gonna do it or should I?

She continues, "I mean, unless there are openings now. If so, I'd love to put my name—"

"Listen," you interrupt, "Now isn't the time."

She stares at you for a moment, waiting for you to keep talking. The kid is determined, you'll give her that. It takes a good thirty seconds for her to realize that you're dismissing her, and she retreats, tail tucked firmly between her legs.

"Were you like that when you were a rookie?" Simon muses.

"God, I hope not."

The android greets you and Simon with a polite nod. As it turns to you, you pause. Half of its jaw hangs off of its hinges. Shot off, if you had to guess by the subtle melting of the plastic around the damage. Whoever is inside is armed, though not well. Any well-respected gun is a dual-chamber, one holding specialized ammunition for androids, and the other holding normal rounds. While the android-specific ammunition can kill humans, the far-cheaper ammunition for humans can only partially damage androids. The android must have been shot with normal rounds if it was damaged so little.

It's a household unit, that much you can tell by its plain uniform. It's one of the more popular models, male in appearance with a young, pleasant face and bright blue eyes to compliment its dark, perfectly combed hair. At least, its hair is normally perfect. Its synthetic style is currently reduced to a wet mop, not that the android minds.

"Good evening, officers," the android greets. "I presume you're the specialists I am meant to speak with."

"We are," you nod to the open door of the house, just a few feet away. "What's going on?"

"At approximately 1900, Mr. Sterling locked himself, his wife, and son in the furnace room, located in the basement of the house. He has stated his intent to harm."

"He's the one that shot you?"

The android nods, "He has a pistol, I could provide the make, model, and year manufactured if—"

"No need," you turn to Simon, "Go tell them he's got a kid in there." Simon nods and heads back to where the officers have crowded around the holotape. "Has he listed conditions?"

"I am unaware of any."

"Any reason why he'd do this? Drugs?"

"Mr. Sterling does not partake in prohibited substances."

"Nothing?"

"As I said—"

"No coke, alcohol, blink?"

Androids don't take offense. They can't. It's not within their programming to feel anything that isn't the cold indifference of their code. However, as the android before you cocks its head, you think you've finally cracked the code on how to piss one off. "As I said, Mr. Sterling doesn't partake in prohibited substances."

A heavy hand lands on your shoulder. You don't flinch. "Price and the others are delayed. Heavy traffic."

"Can't they fly?"

The android responds before Simon can. "London traffic regulations prohibits motor air travel if rain conditions surpass 3.8 millimeters per hour, and—" The android pauses, its head tilting as it calculates, "We are currently experiencing rain of 4.7 millimeters per hour."

"Thanks, genius." You sigh. "We have all we need from you. You're dismissed. Sergeant Garrick is going to download your data once he gets here."

The android nods. It knows what you actually mean– that it'll be checked for cracks. That's Kyle Garrick's specialty— programming. Every case, he checks the involved androids' coding for possible cracks. Ideally, he would be here checking the android before you and Simon head in. Though, as the android walks away, its face blanking as it enters idling mode, you fear that's not possible.

You turn back to Simon. He's a mess, hair matted to his face and water clumping his eyelashes together. You can't imagine you look much better. Over his shoulder, you see the expectant eyes of overeager officers.

"We can't wait for them." You pull your watch to your mouth and utter into it, "Price."

After a moment, the watch crackles and from it emits a deep voice, "Go for Price."

"It's a hostage situation. Sterling's armed and with his wife and son. No clear motive. Possibly a mental crisis. Permission to proceed?"

There's silence on the other line. Then: "With caution, lieutenant."

"Copy that." With a hand on the watch, you end the call.

The townhouse looks like any other. While it's unfamiliar to the average London resident living in the residential high-rises, work has granted you the privilege to glimpse into the past. Few residential districts of London were able to be preserved over the last century. While London's climate-adaptation efforts were hailed by the rest of the world, the city is a shadow of the images painted of it in history books. Only the buildings deemed most culturally significant were saved from rising sea levels, with the rest being built over and forgotten by the masses. Mr. and Mrs. Sterling must pull in some major cash to afford a home in a coveted intact neighborhood.

Inside is even more impressive. The Sterlings' home has a warmth to it you long to find in your own flat. Christ, you take a deep breath through your nose. The air even smells like freshly baked bread. You could get used to a place like this. Unfortunately, there's a job to do.

Sweeping the floor turns out to be useless. All that's found are signs of a loving home, albeit a neat home. The android already said that the Sterlings were in the basement. Still, something tells you to sweep this place closely.

"There's nothing," Simon says, as though he's reading your thoughts. He places a picture of the family back on the bookshelf across the far wall.

"I know," you say. "Doesn't feel right, though. I mean… Sterling just snaps?"

Simon shrugs, head tilting towards the basement door, closed and begging to be explored. "We could ask him ourselves."

You take one last, long look at the living space. It disturbs you, thinking about how quickly Sterling was throwing his life away. What had happened? You reach for the doorknob, eyes still scanning the room, when fingers dig into the flesh of your wrist.

Simon juts his chin to the doorknob, mere millimeters from your fingertips. "Look," he utters.

On the doorknob is a smudge of pink, recognizable in an instant to any Londoner. "Blink," you sigh. "The 'droid said Sterling was clean."

Simon lets go with a shrug. He runs his fingers through the powder. It's stark against his alabaster skin. "New development, maybe. Did it mention any possible stressors? Lay-offs? Affairs?"

You shake you head. "Doesn't matter. Now we have an unstable perp."

Blink perps are always the most difficult to work with, often disoriented and confused. While blink provides users a feeling of euphoria, it comes at the cost of temporary short-term memory loss. In high energy clubs, it's a godsend. Partiers love the euphoria and the temporary ability to not have to worry about life. Out of the club though, it's a headache for you. Blink perps are more stressed, which leads to instability, which leads to violence. If Sterling was using blink for the first time, there's not telling what he'll do.

Not much is visible in the basement, but you peek a strip of light poking out from under what looks like a door. You glance at Simon over your shoulder. He nods and follows you down the stairs, steps as light as possible. From behind, you hear the sound of fabric rustling, then the click of metal. You pull out your own gun.

Pressing your ear to the door, you hear nothing. You reach for the doorknob, but before your fingers brush the cool metal, a harsh voice calls from the other side: "Don't bother! It's locked."

Simon is staring at you, head cocked to the side. You lift a finger up from your gun. I got this.

"Mr. Sterling, is everything alright? Your android is worried. It sent me to check up on you."

In the moment it takes for him to answer, a sniffle fills the air. A sense of relief washes over you. It seems he hasn't harmed his family just yet. Who knows for how long though.

"Can you unlock the door?"

More silence, then: "Why?"

"I want to help you," you smile, hoping that it makes you at least sound cheery. The truth is, your heart is beating faster than you'd like to admit. "I can't do that with the door closed."

Sterling goes quiet. You count the seconds. One… two… three… ten… twenty. Simon sighs, "We can't wait."

Your head snaps to Simon as you plaster a hand to his face. Simon looks confused for a moment, before his eyes also widen. As he stiffens, your hand remains pressed against his mouth, stubble ticking the sensitive skin of your palm. All you can do is pray that Sterling didn't hear Simon, or that if he did, he's too high to realize that he's outnumbered.

"You're not alone." Harsh. Accusatory. Aggressive. Well, shit. Your heart pounds in your chest. "You didn't say you weren't alone."

The door against your cheek thuds. Simon pulls your hand away. You jump back and cringe as behind the door, the sound of feet pacing across the floor becomes evident.

"Mr. Sterling," you keep your tone light, "I need you to stay calm."

"Calm? I'm calm! I'm very, very calm." The pacing picks up.

Simon leans into you. His breath fans across the skin of your neck, "What are we doing here?" He speaks softly, like he hadn't already compromised the safety of those hostages.

"Mr. Sterling, could— could I come in?" More silence. You place your gun in Simon's hand. He's looking at you like you've grown a second head. "I'm unarmed. My partner's gonna stay out here. I just want to talk."

Blood rushes in your ears, making it near-impossible to hear through the door. Nothing. Though, you suppose that's better than the pacing. It means Sterling's thinking, which means he's not hurting anyone.

You count again. One… two… three… four…

"O-okay." Bingo. "But just you! And no gun!"

"Just me. And no gun," you repeat. "I'm right outside the door. Could you let me in?"

"Where's the other guy?"

You glance at Simon, just a few feet back and scowling like a petulant child. Unfortunately for him, you're just as stubborn and you outrank him. He has no choice but to retreat to the stairs at the far end of the room, but not before taking your gun off of your hands. You nod at Simon once more in reassurance. His finger twitches on the grip of your pistol, though he makes no move to stop you.

"He's at the other end of the room, Mr. Sterling."

Silence. Only the sounds of your breathing and the shuffle of Simon's clothes as he shifts his weight from one foot to the other, then—

They're tucked into the corner of the room— mother and son huddled as close as humanly possible. Their sniffles are clearer now that the door's open, now that you're inside.

Sterling is the perfect image of a loving husband and father. Well-dressed, unassuming, and spectacled. You wouldn't look twice if you saw him on the street. Except, behind his glasses are eyes as wild as a caged animal.

"Hi, there," you smile at him despite the gun pointed square at your chest. Even with your bulletproof vest, a shot this close would not be pretty.

"You're a cop," Sterling accuses, his tone sharp, more angry than afraid.

"I work with androids," a truth by omission. "Yours called us to make sure that you were okay."

Multiple sets of footsteps thud through the door. The rest of the 141, you assume, confirmed by the familiar sets of voices that follow.

"What the hell is that?"

Sterling jabs his gun in your direction. From the corner of the room, his wife whimpers, "Oh God."

A mistake. The gun goes from you to her. Your eyes follow the direction of his aim, and fuck. Mrs. Sterling is draping herself over her son, her body trembling as she stares down the barrel of her husband's gun. The sight makes you queasy, but you suppress the feeling. There's no time for that.

"Honey," she pleads, "Put the—"

"Can you shut the fuck up?" Sterling takes a step in their direction. You follow frantically, and the gun bounces to you for a moment, but goes right back to Mrs. Sterling. "I need to—"

There's a commotion outside, louder voices. Price and Simon arguing. Their voices grow in volume until they're right against the door. Someone pounds on the door. Sterling glares at you.

"I thought your friend was gonna stay back," Sterling spits. "You lied."

You shake your head instinctively, "No, I never lied to—"

He lunges at you. Something hard slams against your temple, and the world goes black.

*****

Time is a fickle thing. Even more fickle when you've had consciousness ripped away from you. It feels like you've been laying on the ground for eons. Consciousness comes back to you in parts. First comes the recognition that you're alive— awake. Then the remembrance that you were knocked out. Finally your senses.

The shock of the cold floor is the first thing you notice. Then the painthat comes from being pistol whipped. Then the silence— that's what prompts your movement. It's tough. Your limbs don't want to listen to you, and when you try to push yourself up, your hands slip on something slick.

A deep voice curses, then softly calls your name. You pay no mind to it though, as you slowly manage to push yourself up to sitting. It takes a great deal of effort, and your head pounds the whole way up, but you manage. And—

"Oh shit." You mutter. The words tumble clumsily over your lazy tongue. Your sluggishness is as syrupy as the pool of blood that you sit in, coating your hands, your arms, torso, and— fuck —even the side of your face.

Someone calls your voice again. John Price, you dully realize as he appears in the corner of your vision.

"Whose…" you start, "Whose— oh."

It's funny how the body can process things before the mind. It's a primal instinct from the days where the two-legged beings we call humans were more beast than civil. They're helpful, necessary even. A child's cry. Fear of snakes. Fight-or-flight. Act first, then think. What that means for you, in this damp and cold basement, is that vomit, angrily acidic, bubbles up and out onto the floor before you can even process that there are not one, not two, but three motionless bodies before you, oozing blood into the very puddle which you are resting in.

Mr. Sterling— or what's left of him —is closest to you. His eyes are still open, glassy in the way that fresh corpses are, when you could easily mistake them for alive. There's no mistaking Sterling though, not with the bullet hole smack dab in the middle of his forehead.

You quickly fix your eyes back on the floor. A mistake. It's not just blood anymore, but a sickening combination of blood and half-digested mush.

"I—uhm… gonna…" You gag. For an awful moment, it seems as though you're going to vomit again. "…outside." You gasp finally.

John says your name again, softer. He places his hands on your back, keeping you planted on the ground. The ground covered in blood. The blood of Mr. Sterling, and his wife and son who he—

John tilts your head with a soft hand on your chin. You're looking at him now. His face is soft, so soft. You never thought he could look so demure. It does little to ease the ache in your chest. "Come help," he says to someone you can't see. John stands you up and moves you to another set of hands.

Simon. You recognize him by touch alone, soft, but undercut by the natural brutishness that a man like him could never escape.

He leads you up the stairs and back into the main floor of the house where a baker's dozen cops are searching. They freeze at the sound of the door creaking open. They do little to conceal their shock. While you can't see yourself, you don't exactly blame them. The right half of your face itches where the Sterlings' blood has tried into a tacky sludge. The rest of your body isn't fairing much better, blood and bile cover more of you than not.

You stop at the top of the stairs, eyes moving lazily from one officer to the next. As your eyes leave each one, it's like a spell breaks, and they go right back to whatever work they were doing, or they at least pretendto. You envy their nonchalance as much as you hate it.

The rookie's there too, the last one whose eyes you lock, but unlike the others you hold her gaze. Her mouth hangs wide open, and the evidence bag in her hand is entirely forgotten as she stares at you like some sort of sideshow attraction.

"So," you say. Her eyes widen. "You still want my advice?"

Simon pulls you away before she could stutter out an answer. "Come on," he coos, "Let's get some air, yeah?"

The air in question is cold, wet, and altogether not very pleasing. Simon sits you on the front steps of the house, on the side so officers can mill in and out as they please. He lowers himself down next to you, gently putting an arm around your shoulders. The half-hug is nice. Simon traces gentle circles on your shoulder. The feel of his fingertips is muddled by the many layers you don to keep warm, though it still soothes. You could easily lose yourself, but the stench of blood keeps you grounded. Keeps your heart aching and the tears flowing.

A gentle ding, pulls you to focus. Instead, Simon shuffles next to you. "Commissioner," he grumbles, holding his watch to his mouth.

"Price says you can answer—"

"One moment, sir," Simon covers the watch and gives you an apologetic look. "I'll be inside. Get me if… you know."

Without Simon, there's nothing to ward away your thoughts— your memories of what just occurred. That damp basement. The family in the corner. Of waking up in a pool of blood— their blood, still coating your entire body, soaking your clothes and skin and bones.

You vomit again, on the well-trimmed but muddy lawn of the Sterlings.

Between heaves, the sound of squelching footsteps approaches. "Lieutenant," a monotonous voice says. Great. The last think you want to deal with is the 'droid. "Do you need assistance?"

"No," you spit.

"Are you certain? I can provide medications to relieve any nausea. Or perhaps a sedative for emotional distress."

Distress. You tilt your head up to look at the android. It's squatting in front of you, perfectly stable on the uneven ground. The android's face is just as calm and cool as it had been earlier. It must know what happened, everyone knows. But it's an android. It doesn't— can't be affected by grief in the same way. It simply compartmentalizes it. The android's brain— processor —just takes whatever horrors it sees and converts it to ones and zeroes, letting it sit and rot in its memory unit until the android inevitably ends up in the landfill or nicked by some Old London junker.

You can't say you don't envy it. What would it be like to not have to feel? To care?

"Go away," you say. The android doesn't move. "I said go away!"

You throw a punch at the android. A proper right hook to its impervious face. It feels nice, a rewarding thing to do because it forces the damn thing to acknowledge that something is wrong.

Then it feels bad, quite bad. Painful, actually, as your fist slams against the hard plastic casing of the android and the layers of metal mechanisms underneath. During their career, the 141 has often mocked the many poor suckers who believed themselves strong enough to go toe-to-toe with an android. They don't understand how the machines work, how they're built.

Something fractures in your hand. Something important, no doubt, but that's a problem for later, because what you need right now is to curl up on the Sterling's wet lawn and scream. The latter you actually do, releasing a cry so carnal it makes your head spin.

The android doesn't ask if you need any more assistance. It observes you silently for a moment, unable to understand your pain, oblivious to the curse it is to feel. Finally, as though it stored all the data it needs from your outburst, the android nods cordially. "If you need assistance, lieutenant, do not hesitate to ask."

Its white shoes sink into the muddy lawn with each step, but the android moves as though its just any normal London street. Each step stains the canvas material more and more. Watching, you wonder just how long it'll take for the stains to come out.

[aspenmissing]

Hello! I just love reading the things you post! I check your profile all the time to see if you've posted anything new 😅

If you can, could you write a situation where S/O has an overprotective dog, where every time the arcane characters try to have even the slightest contact with S/O, S/O's dog growls, barks or even tries to bite them?

You can do as many characters as you want, but could you put Mel as one of the characters? I love her, and I hardly see her in writing like this.

*That's it, have a great year!

(I apologize if there are any spelling mistakes, English is not my language 😅)

ɢᴜᴀʀᴅ ᴅᴏɢ

ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴠɪᴋ | ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ | ᴍᴇʟ || ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ || 5643 ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ || ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: ɴᴏɴᴇ

ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛ ᴀɴꜱᴡᴇʀ: ʜᴇʟʟᴏ ᴍʏ ᴅᴇᴀʀ! ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴇɴɢʟɪꜱʜ ɪꜱ ᴡᴏɴᴅᴇʀꜰᴜʟ, ʜᴏɴᴇꜱᴛʟʏ ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅɴ'ᴛ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ɴᴏᴛɪᴄᴇᴅ ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ᴅɪᴅɴ'ᴛ ᴛᴇʟʟ ᴍᴇ! ᴀɴᴅ ɪ ᴋɴᴏᴡᴡᴡᴡ, ɴᴏ ᴏɴᴇ ʀᴇᴀʟʟʏ ᴅᴏᴇꜱ ᴍᴇʟ ᴊᴜꜱᴛɪᴄᴇ, ᴀɴᴅ ɪ ᴀᴅᴏʀᴇ ʜᴇʀ. ᴀɴᴅ ɪ ᴅᴏ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏ! <3

ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ | ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ | ᴍᴇʟ

JAYCE

It was a quiet evening in Piltover. The sun had begun its descent beyond the horizon, casting soft hues of orange and gold across the city. Inside Y/N’s apartment, the hum of the city faded into the background as she sat cross-legged on her couch, crochet needles in hand, working on her latest project. Remy, her overprotective dog, lay beside her on the floor, his eyes alert and ears pricked for any sign of disturbance.

It had been a long day, but Y/N found peace in these small moments. She had gotten used to life in Piltover, the noise and bustle, but the comforts of home remained her sanctuary. As she gently threaded the yarn through the needles, she felt a warm sense of contentment. That is, until Remy’s low growl suddenly broke the calm silence.

Y/N paused, looking down at the scruffy terrier. The dog’s eyes were fixed on the door with an intensity that was all too familiar. His ears were flat against his head, and his stance was tense, like a coiled spring ready to strike. The hairs along his back stood on end.

“What is it, Remy?” Y/N asked, her voice soft, but it was clear she already knew the answer. The growl deepened, low and steady, vibrating through the room.

The door creaked open, and a familiar figure stepped through: Jayce. As soon as he entered, Remy’s growl escalated into a sharp bark, loud and insistent. The dog immediately jumped to his feet, tail stiff and hackles raised.

“Remy, no,” Y/N called softly, but her voice carried the authority of years spent with the dog. “It’s just Jayce.”

Jayce froze in his tracks, his hand still on the doorknob as Remy continued to bark, his eyes fixed on him. "Uh... Should I come back later?" Jayce asked, his voice tinged with uncertainty.

Y/N sighed, setting her crochet project aside and standing up. "Sorry, Jayce. He’s... very protective of me. I should’ve warned you."

Remy’s barks grew sharper, and he took a few steps forward, his body rigid with suspicion. He wasn’t going to let anyone near his owner without a thorough assessment, and that included Jayce.

“It’s alright, Remy. You know him,” Y/N said, walking over to the dog and kneeling down to calm him. Remy’s growl softened just a bit, but his eyes never left Jayce.

Jayce slowly approached, his hand outstretched, but the moment his fingers moved even a fraction toward Y/N, Remy lunged forward with a warning snap of his teeth.

“Hey!” Jayce flinched back, his eyes wide as he raised his hands in a defensive gesture. “I’m not going to hurt her, you know!”

Y/N chuckled nervously, standing up and trying to place herself between them. “I told you, Remy is a little... protective. He was the only one who had my back when I first came to Piltover, and he’s been like this ever since.”

Jayce blinked, looking at the dog in a mix of surprise and amusement. "I didn’t think dogs could be so territorial."

“Remy’s not just any dog. He’s a little warrior,” Y/N teased, her voice soft and affectionate as she scratched behind Remy’s ears. He huffed but seemed to settle just a bit, though his eyes never lost their intensity.

“Seems like I’m the one who needs to earn his trust, huh?” Jayce said, crossing his arms with a slight grin. “Well, I guess I can’t say I’m not up for a challenge.”

Y/N shook her head, smiling at him. “It’s not that easy. He’s not going to warm up to you just because you show up and give him a nice smile. You’ve got to work for it.”

Jayce looked skeptical, but he was determined. “What’s the first step?”

“Well,” Y/N began, her eyes twinkling with a hint of mischief, “for starters, he likes food. You might want to try offering him some treats. But be careful—he’s picky about who he accepts them from.”

Jayce raised an eyebrow but nodded. “I can handle that.”

Y/N walked to the small kitchen, retrieving a treat from a jar she kept on the counter. She returned to the living room and crouched down, holding the treat out to Remy. The dog eyed it with suspicion before glancing up at Jayce. After a moment of tense silence, Remy took a tentative step forward, his nose twitching as he sniffed the treat. Still, his body remained coiled and ready to react.

Jayce, watching closely, stayed still, not wanting to provoke him. Slowly, he lowered his hand, palm out but offering no sudden movements.

“Good boy, Remy,” Y/N murmured, her voice steady and calming. “It’s okay.”

After what felt like an eternity, Remy’s nose hovered over the treat, and with a cautious swipe of his tongue, he took it from Y/N’s hand. The dog’s eyes flicked back up to Jayce, a sharp glare still present, but there was a small shift in the air. He wasn’t as hostile as before, though it was clear that trust would need to be earned.

“Nice job, Jayce,” Y/N said with a smile, stepping back to let the dog enjoy the treat. “That’s the first step. You’ve got to show him you’re not a threat.”

Jayce nodded, his confidence growing slightly. “I’m getting the hang of this.”

Y/N smiled at him, but before she could say anything more, Remy let out a sharp bark, followed by a low growl as he moved closer to the couch. His eyes narrowed, and he seemed to be giving Jayce another silent warning.

“Alright, alright,” Y/N laughed softly. “I think he’s still not happy with you being this close. He’s going to need time, but... I think he’s coming around.”

Jayce chuckled softly, though he seemed a little more cautious than before. “I’ve never had a dog so... well, territorial. But I guess I can respect that. I’ll give him his space for now.”

“Thank you,” Y/N said with a grateful smile. “It’s just going to take time. He’s loyal to a fault, but once you’ve earned his trust, he’ll be your best friend. I promise.”

Jayce sat down on the couch a little further from Remy, trying to show that he respected the dog’s boundaries. The moment he did, Remy seemed to settle slightly, though he continued to eye Jayce warily.

=

For the rest of the evening, Jayce kept his distance, content to simply sit near Y/N while Remy kept an ever-watchful eye on him. Every now and then, the dog would glance at Jayce, as if gauging his intentions. Jayce, for his part, remained patient, knowing that this was just the beginning.

It wasn’t long before Remy’s stance began to relax, the tension slowly leaving his small frame. He eventually laid down, curling up beside Y/N’s feet, though his eyes never fully left Jayce. It was progress, small but significant.

Jayce smiled softly to himself, a sense of accomplishment settling over him. He might not have earned Remy’s full trust yet, but he was willing to take it one step at a time.

And as for Y/N? She couldn’t help but smile at the two of them—her overprotective dog and the man who was determined to win him over. She knew it would take time, but somehow, she was confident that the three of them could make this work. After all, even the most unlikely of families could find a way to coexist.

VIKTOR

Viktor had always been somewhat of a patient man. His work at the Academy, his inventions, and even his personal life with Y/N had taught him that patience was key. But today… today was testing that patience to its absolute limits.

He stood in the living room of Y/N's apartment, cane in hand, waiting for her to finish putting away some things in the kitchen. His heart swelled with warmth at the thought of her—of how much she had become his world over the past few months. The early stages of their relationship had been full of discovery, but now, with the idea of spending more time together, Viktor felt an incredible sense of contentment. It wasn’t just the excitement of new love; it was the quiet moments that mattered most—reading together, talking late into the night, and even the routine of everyday life.

As he waited, he admired the little details of her apartment—how it was cozy, lived-in, with warm hues of color that made it feel like home. A place where the twins often played, where they made memories. A place where he could truly be himself. His fingers gently gripped his cane, and a thought crossed his mind: How had he gotten so lucky?

He made his move toward her, cane tapping gently on the ground as he limped over, hoping to surprise her with a kiss on the cheek. Just as he reached her side, he felt it.

A low, guttural growl.

Viktor froze, his brow furrowing. He turned his head slowly to see the culprit—a large German Shepherd, eyes narrowed and body stiff, standing in the doorway of the kitchen. The dog’s fur was raised along its back, and its gaze was locked on him with a fierce intensity.

"Easy there, boy," Viktor said, trying to keep his voice calm and soothing, though there was a hint of confusion in it. "It’s just me."

The German Shepherd, however, was having none of it. He took a step forward, his growl deepening, a warning that his patience was wearing thin.

Y/N, hearing the noise, turned around with a startled look on her face. Her eyebrows furrowed in concern, but then her lips curved upward, apologetic yet exasperated. "Viktor, what did I tell you?" she asked, walking over to see what was going on.

Viktor chuckled awkwardly, attempting to lighten the mood. "I was only coming over to kiss you, love."

But before Y/N could even take a step toward him, the dog darted forward, blocking Viktor’s path entirely. The Shepherd barked sharply, louder than Viktor expected, warning Viktor to stay back. It was an aggressive move, yet there was an underlying protectiveness in the dog’s stance.

Y/N sighed, her hand rubbing the back of her neck, her expression a mixture of frustration and fondness. "I’m so sorry, Viktor. He’s just… protective. You know how he gets."

Viktor’s lips twitched into a half-smile, despite the tension in the air. "I’m starting to understand that, yes."

Y/N moved forward, her voice soft and soothing as she knelt down to calm the dog. "Max, it’s okay. Viktor’s not going to hurt me."

The German Shepherd, named Max, looked at her, still skeptical, but his growl gradually faded into low whines. Max’s eyes flickered between Viktor and Y/N, and after a long, tense moment, he finally stepped aside. However, the dog wasn’t completely convinced yet; his posture remained tense, and his gaze never left Viktor, as if waiting for any sign of danger.

Viktor took a careful step forward, cautiously holding out his hand. He knew better than to rush the situation—Max had to be won over, step by step. "How about this time?" he asked gently, offering the same calm and patient approach he had shown to so many challenges in his life.

Y/N rolled her eyes with a fond smile, clearly amused by the entire situation. She reached for Viktor’s hand, but as soon as she did, Max moved forward again, his tail stiff. With a slight tilt of his head, he grabbed Viktor’s cane in his mouth, yanking it from his hand with alarming force.

Viktor blinked, watching the dog chew on the cane with determined enthusiasm. He wasn’t sure if Max was trying to assert dominance or simply express disapproval. Either way, the dog was treating Viktor’s cane like a chew toy. Viktor’s brow raised in surprise.

"Well, I wasn’t expecting that," Viktor said with a dry chuckle, glancing at Y/N.

Y/N laughed softly, the sound light and sweet, yet tinged with the unmistakable stress of dealing with an overzealous dog. "He’s just making sure you’re safe, Viktor. You’ll have to earn his trust. But maybe… not chewing on your cane."

Viktor sighed in amusement, shaking his head. He bent down slightly to retrieve the cane from Max’s firm grip, carefully prying it free. "I suppose I’ll need a new cane if this keeps up."

Y/N grinned as she gently took Viktor’s hand, guiding him back toward the couch. She planted a quick kiss on his cheek, and with a last glance at Max, she continued. "You have to admit, though, he's dedicated."

Max, now satisfied that Viktor wasn’t a threat, dropped the cane and wagged his tail, but his eyes remained fixed on Viktor. It was almost as if the dog was keeping him under surveillance, still unsure if this human was worthy of Y/N's affection.

Viktor carefully sat down, leaning his chewed cane against the armrest as Y/N joined him. She leaned her head against his shoulder, her warmth comforting against the backdrop of the living room. Max, despite being protective, made a show of sitting on the floor beside them, though his eyes never strayed too far from Viktor.

"You know," Viktor said with a smirk, glancing at the dog, "I think I prefer the challenge of winning over the dog to anything else."

Y/N laughed softly, her breath warm against his skin. "Well, I hope you’re up for a long-term commitment, because Max is going to be a part of this."

Viktor’s heart swelled at the thought. He glanced down at the protective dog by their feet, then back at Y/N, and his expression softened. "Neither am I."

And in that moment, Viktor realized—this, right here, was home. With Y/N, with their little family, and even with Max, who might not be a fan of him yet, but who would come to understand what Viktor already knew: they were in this together, for the long haul.

JAYVIK

The sun hung lazily in the afternoon sky, casting a golden glow over the small park at the edge of Piltover. It was a rare, quiet day—one where Viktor, Y/N, and Jayce could escape the confines of their usual responsibilities. Y/N had suggested a walk, and Viktor had agreed, eager for a break from his work. Jayce had been practically bouncing with energy, more than happy to join, his laughter filling the air as they walked side by side.

Y/N had brought her dog along, as she often did. His name was Ragnar, a large, muscular Rottweiler with a glossy black-and-tan coat and an imposing presence. Though he was usually calm, he had an intense protectiveness when it came to Y/N. His instincts were sharp, and he wasn’t quick to trust anyone—especially if they got too close to his beloved owner.

As they strolled along the path, Viktor leaned heavily on his cane, his other hand resting at his side. His posture was elegant despite the slight limp, and his attention was more on Y/N than anything else. Every now and then, he’d glance over at her with a soft smile, but his focus was often interrupted by Ragnar, who trotted at her side, watching Viktor and Jayce with a keen eye.

Jayce, as always, kept up with an energetic pace, his grin wide as he glanced at Y/N. “So, what exactly makes Ragnar the world’s most overprotective dog, huh? He’s been eyeing me like I’m some kind of threat.”

Y/N laughed softly, adjusting the leash in her hand. “He’s always been this way. Ever since I got him, he’s had this... intense need to look out for me. And sometimes that means getting a little... territorial.”

Viktor, walking just behind them, couldn’t help but chuckle, his cane tapping rhythmically on the pavement. “Territorial seems like an understatement. Ragnar looks like he’d throw the entire city into disarray if anyone even thought about threatening you.”

Ragnar, who had been walking at Y/N’s side, suddenly stiffened and let out a low growl as Viktor drew closer. The sound was enough to make Viktor pause, his eyes flicking down to the dog, whose dark eyes were now fixed on him.

“Viktor,” Y/N warned softly, her voice calm but amused. “He’s just... wary of you. He doesn’t like people getting too close to me unless he’s okay with them.”

Viktor raised an eyebrow, a sly smirk tugging at his lips. “I see. I’ll have to earn Ragnar’s approval before I can even hold your hand, it seems.”

Y/N’s lips curved into a warm smile. “Pretty much. But it’ll come with time, I’m sure. He’s just protective.”

Jayce, sensing an opportunity for a little fun, grinned widely. “Well, I’m not going to let a little thing like a dog stop me.” He reached out toward Y/N, but as his hand neared, Ragnar immediately stepped between them, growling louder, his body tense.

Y/N quickly tugged on the leash, a light laugh escaping her. “Okay, okay. Maybe not yet, Jayce.”

Jayce raised both hands in mock surrender, his grin widening. “What is this—some sort of initiation? Am I going to have to pass Ragnar’s loyalty test to get close to you?”

Viktor chuckled quietly, adjusting his grip on his cane. “It would appear so.”

Y/N shook her head, trying to stifle her laughter. “You two are hopeless. Ragnar just needs to get used to you both. You’re not that bad, I promise.”

With an exaggerated sigh, Jayce crouched down slightly, lowering himself to Ragnar’s level. “Alright, buddy. I’m just here to walk with your owner. No harm meant.” He slowly extended a hand, but Ragnar’s gaze remained fixed on him, the growl never fully disappearing.

Y/N gave Ragnar a gentle but firm command. “Ragnar, stop. It’s okay. You need to trust them.” She turned to Jayce and Viktor, her voice full of affection. “He’s not used to... this. But he’ll come around.”

Jayce stood up again, grinning. “I guess I’ll have to win Ragnar over first, huh?”

Viktor glanced at Y/N, his smile softening. “Looks like we’re both in the doghouse, then.”

VANDER

It was one of those rare days where Y/N had no urgent work to get to, no battles to fight, and no one to protect. She was sprawled across her bed, wrapped in a soft blanket with the kids surrounding her like a cozy barricade. Powder had her feet propped up on Y/N’s lap while Vi and Mylo were sitting cross-legged next to her. Claggor had somehow managed to curl up in the tiniest space at the edge of the bed, practically melting into the blankets.

Thorin, her fiercely protective dog—a large, sleek Doberman Pinscher—was seated at the end of the bed, his piercing brown eyes never leaving the door. His ears were alert, twitching at every small sound that filtered in from outside, but for now, the dog was in a rare moment of calm, perhaps sensing his owner’s need for peace. He had always been attuned to her moods, and today, it seemed, he too was settling in for a lazy, quiet afternoon.

"Don't you dare try to move," Powder teased, a mischievous smile tugging at the corner of her lips as she leaned back against Y/N's side, "I think we all need this."

Y/N chuckled softly, her fingers gently running through Powder’s hair. “I won’t. This is... exactly what I needed.”

The sound of the door creaking open sliced through the warmth of the room, and there stood Vander, leaning casually against the doorframe with a soft grin on his face. His broad shoulders filled the doorway, and his presence filled the room just as much as the light from the afternoon sun. His eyes immediately sought Y/N’s, warmth and affection shining through them. But as soon as he made eye contact with her, Thorin’s head snapped to attention.

The dog’s gaze flicked from Vander’s face to his boots, and then the low growl began to build in his chest. It wasn’t loud at first, more of a warning, but the moment Vander took a step forward, it deepened into a steady, rumbling sound.

“Easy, boy,” Y/N murmured under her breath, but Thorin wasn’t listening. His ears were stiff and forward, his body rigid, and the growl built into a deep, resonant warning that had the hairs on the back of Vander’s neck standing up. His eyes never left the towering figure of the man at the door.

Vander chuckled softly, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “Hey, Y/N. Thought I’d join you all for a moment.”

As soon as his foot crossed the threshold, Thorin rose to his feet with an almost mechanical precision, his eyes narrowing in on Vander’s every move. With a single, sharp bark, the Doberman advanced with purpose, his teeth flashing in a warning that was impossible to ignore.

“No way,” Mylo laughed, nudging Powder who was clearly enjoying the scene. "Looks like Thorin’s not a fan of you today."

Vander froze in place, watching the dog’s every move carefully, his usual calm demeanour not quite as unshakable as usual. “Not a fan, huh?”

Y/N sighed, a soft chuckle escaping her as she sat up slightly. She reached out a hand toward Thorin, her voice calm but firm. “He’s just... protective. I’m his person. He doesn’t take kindly to anyone getting too close.”

Vander nodded, an amused yet understanding expression on his face. “I see. Maybe we need to work on that.”

“I think it’ll take some time,” Y/N replied, her hand still resting near Thorin’s head, but the dog wasn’t moving. His gaze never strayed from Vander, his muscles still taut with suspicion.

Vi, never one to let an opportunity for teasing slip by, grinned widely. "Maybe you should try to pet him, Vander. See if that gets you in his good books."

Y/N glanced over at Vi, her brow raised in playful reprimand. “Vi…”

His grin was wide now, clearly up for the challenge. Slowly, carefully, he took a few cautious steps forward, his eyes flicking from Thorin to Y/N. “Alright, big guy. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

As soon as he moved again, Thorin barked sharply, the sound echoing off the walls of the room. Before Vander could take another step, the dog was up on his feet again, advancing with purpose, every muscle in his body primed for action. The kids, still watching the interaction, burst into laughter as Vander stopped dead in his tracks. He held his hands up in mock surrender, stepping back carefully.

"I think you’ll have to win over Thorin before you get a spot on the bed," Y/N teased, looking over her shoulder at Vander, her eyes twinkling with affectionate amusement.

Vander, however, wasn’t deterred. He chuckled, unbothered by the Doberman’s protective stance. "Looks like it," he grinned, though there was a slight hesitation in his step. “Alright, Thorin. I get it. I’ll wait my turn.”

The kids were still giggling, and Y/N patted the spot next to her with a teasing smile. "You can sit here... just be patient."

Vander didn’t seem to mind. He leaned back against the doorframe, sitting down on the edge of the room and letting the moments pass by. He was content to watch Y/N surrounded by the kids—each of them in their own little world as they joked, laughed, and basked in the warmth of each other’s company. Thorin, once again at the end of the bed, was calm now, though his vigilant eyes still remained trained on Vander, just in case he dared to get any closer.

Vander smiled softly, his heart swelling at the sight of this little family, each of them so full of life. Despite Thorin’s fierce protective instincts, this was a family he’d gladly protect with his life. And if that meant waiting for Thorin’s approval, he’d do so without hesitation. He knew, in time, he’d earn it.

SILCO

It was a quiet evening in the undercity, the kind of night that made the world feel a little smaller. The air was thick with the scent of wet stone, smoke, and the distant sounds of bustling crowds, but inside, the small room felt like a sanctuary from the chaos outside. Silco sat across from Y/N, the candlelight casting a flickering glow across his sharp features, making his eyes gleam with a soft intensity. His fingers idly traced the rim of his glass, the faint clink of ice against glass the only sound accompanying the low hum of conversations in the background. The rest of the world seemed distant, blurred around the edges. All that mattered was the woman sitting in front of him.

Pippin, Y/N's tiny, scruffy dog, was curled up in her lap. The small, wiry-bodied terrier, a Cairn Terrier, was blissfully unaware of the growing tension between Silco and himself. His fur was a bit unkempt, a perfect reflection of his spunky personality. He fit the part of a tough little protector despite his small size, and Silco had already come to understand that very well. Pippin's small but confident stature allowed him to hold his ground like a much larger dog, especially when it came to his beloved owner.

Silco leaned forward slightly, his smirk playing at the corners of his lips, eyes never leaving Y/N's. The flickering candlelight illuminated the curves of her face, her lips almost within reach, and for a moment, he couldn’t help but let his thoughts wander. "You know," he began softly, his voice lower than usual, almost intimate, "I think I’ve grown quite fond of you."

The words hung in the air between them, and he felt a strange satisfaction at the softness in her gaze. But before Y/N could respond, Pippin’s tiny ears perked up. His bright eyes locked onto Silco with an almost uncanny precision, and the protective streak he had for Y/N flared to life.

The dog’s growl rumbled through the room, low and menacing, and he shifted his position, curling tighter around Y/N, as if to shield her. The small creature's body was tense, his stance firm. Silco paused, his eyebrow raised in amusement. "Is that a warning?" he asked, the faintest chuckle escaping his lips as he regarded the dog with a mixture of mock challenge and respect.

Y/N sighed, brushing her hand through Pippin’s fur, trying to calm him down, though it was clear that Pippin’s distrust wasn’t easily quelled. "He’s just... protective," she murmured, her voice apologetic but soft, as if trying to pacify both Silco and the dog at once.

Unfazed, Silco took a step closer, his eyes softening as he reached out, his intention clear. He was hoping to steal a quick, tender peck on Y/N’s cheek, a silent declaration of his affection, but just as he leaned in, Pippin bared his tiny teeth, his growl growing louder, more insistent. The dog, despite his size, seemed absolutely determined to protect Y/N from any threat, no matter how harmless.

Silco halted immediately, his gaze flicking from Y/N to Pippin, and then back again. He couldn’t help but let a smirk slip onto his lips. "Really?" he mused, his voice a quiet, amused drawl. "I’ve been here longer than this little tyrant, you know. I think he knows who’s really in charge."

Y/N couldn’t suppress a laugh, though she quickly bit her lip to hide it, glancing down at Pippin. "He doesn’t seem to care."

Silco leaned back slightly, but his smirk remained. "I was here first," he teased, his eyes glinting with a playful challenge as he looked at Pippin. "He’ll come around. Eventually."

Pippin’s growl softened a little, but the little dog didn’t take his eyes off Silco. He seemed content to remain in his defensive position, as though daring Silco to try and prove his point. Silco shook his head in mock resignation before taking another step closer, this time with deliberate care. He leaned in again, but this time, he made sure to take his time. As his lips brushed against Y/N’s cheek, he murmured against her skin, his breath warm. "If anything," he whispered, his voice quiet but teasing, "I think he just wants to keep you all to himself."

Y/N felt her heart flutter, the warmth of his kiss lingering on her skin as she closed her eyes for a moment, allowing herself to simply enjoy the closeness. A soft smile curled at her lips. "That’s what I’m afraid of," she said with a gentle sigh, her eyes opening to meet his.

Pippin, finally seeming to relax, let out a soft, contented sigh of his own. He curled up once more in Y/N’s lap, his tiny body settling into a peaceful sleep, though his eyes still occasionally flicked toward Silco, ever watchful. Silco, too, relaxed, though he knew he had to earn his place in Y/N’s world. Even if that meant working through the small, overprotective terrier who now claimed a part of her heart.

"Don't worry," Silco whispered, his voice low and sincere as he gazed at Y/N. "I’ll find a way to win him over."

Y/N smiled at him, her fingers running gently through Pippin's fur once more. "You’re gonna need a lot of patience."

Silco chuckled darkly, the sound rich with amusement. "Patience has never been a problem of mine," he murmured, settling back into his chair. "But this little one..." His eyes flicked to Pippin, still curled up peacefully in Y/N's lap. "He's going to be an interesting challenge."

MEL

It was a quiet evening in Piltover, the moon casting soft shadows over the city, and Mel found herself sitting with Y/N in the warmth of her living room. There was a sense of newness in the air between them—an unspoken promise, a blossoming relationship that neither had fully acknowledged yet, but both could feel.

As Y/N relaxed on the couch, Mel couldn't resist the urge to close the distance between them, her gaze softening. She reached out, her fingers brushing Y/N's hand as she took a seat beside her, her movements slow, deliberate.

Before Mel could even attempt to lean in for a kiss, a deep, rumbling growl echoed from across the room.

Mel froze, eyes narrowing at the massive figure that had appeared at her side. A large Rottweiler stood there, its fur bristling, teeth bared in a low snarl. It was staring directly at her, unwavering, as though it had just been waiting for any sign of threat.

Y/N sighed, a hand instinctively reaching out to calm the dog. "And here we go again," she muttered under her breath.

Mel's lips curled into a smirk, undeterred. "Is this how he greets all your visitors?"

"Only those he’s suspicious of," Y/N replied, giving her dog an amused yet tired look. "His name's Diesel. And he’s... overly protective."

"Diesel, huh?" Mel asked, eyes gleaming with mischief. "I think I can handle him."

Y/N raised an eyebrow. "You sure about that?"

Without waiting for a response, Mel met Diesel’s gaze with a steady, intense stare, trying to assert her own dominance, just as she would in any other tense situation. The Rottweiler’s eyes flickered for a moment, but it didn’t back down. Instead, it took a step forward, letting out a sharper growl.

Mel’s lips quirked upwards, a challenge in her eyes. She refused to look away, determined to assert her place beside Y/N.

Diesel’s growl deepened, and then, suddenly, he lunged forward. Mel didn’t flinch; instead, she raised her hand with a commanding motion, as though to say, stay. Diesel paused mid-charge, eyes locked on hers, before he finally stopped, albeit still tense, his teeth visible in the dim light.

Y/N watched, a mixture of surprise and amusement on her face. "Okay, you might actually be able to handle him."

Mel smirked, her victory sweet, but as she turned back to Y/N, she could see the slight shift in Diesel’s posture, and she knew he was still watching. "So... what’s the deal with him? He doesn’t trust me?"

Y/N leaned back, rubbing Diesel’s fur absently, though her attention was on Mel. "He's just... protective. He’s been with me through everything, and he’s not a fan of anyone getting close. Especially someone he doesn't know well."

Mel chuckled, but there was a hint of determination in her voice. "I’ll win him over. I’m not backing down that easily."

As if to punctuate the challenge, Diesel growled again, this time closer to Mel, but Y/N quickly intervened, giving her dog a firm look. "Diesel, enough. Mel’s not going anywhere."

Mel smirked, leaning forward slightly. "Maybe it’s not just Diesel you need to convince."

Y/N met her gaze, eyes softening as she realized what Mel meant. The playful tension in the air shifted into something deeper, more intimate, as Mel moved a fraction of an inch closer.

Before Mel could close the gap, Diesel was back again, his deep voice rumbling in the quiet room, warning her with another low growl. But this time, Mel didn’t back down. She kept her gaze locked with Y/N’s, her presence commanding, making it clear that no matter what Diesel thought, she wasn’t going anywhere.

Y/N finally laughed softly, the tension breaking. "Looks like it’s just the two of you against me," she teased.

Mel’s smirk turned into something more tender, and she leaned in just enough to brush her lips against Y/N’s cheek. "Just the three of us," she whispered, and this time, Diesel didn’t growl—though he did eye Mel suspiciously, as if still trying to figure out if she was a threat.

For now, Y/N could only shake her head, the connection between them undeniable. Even if Diesel was a stubborn protector, Y/N had a feeling Mel wouldn’t be so easily deterred. And, for her part, she was starting to like that about Mel.