#and then she IMMEDIATELY is like WAIT NO TOO MUCH

[hexescore]

oh and by the way, i love you.

♡ ◞ includes: caitlyn, ekko, jayce, jinx, mel, sevika, viktor, vi.

☆ ◞ summary: first 'i love you's with (character)!

△ ◞ warnings: gn! reader. pre-established relationship (caitlyn, jinx, mel, viktor). friends-to-lovers (ekko, jayce, sevika, vi).

CAITLYN KIRAMMAN

It's quiet, the early morning blessing you both with a peaceful silence that allows you two to truly appreciate the sight in front of you— each other. Caitlyn enjoys moments like this, waking up with you, getting to see the way the rising sun filters through her curtains to cast a golden glow across your skin.

Her hand, which is in yours, gives a gentle squeeze. You give her a sleepy smile, and she chuckles as she leans in to press a quick peck to your lips, and then another, and another, before you're both shuffling together, closer. Legs and arms entangled, a slowness in you both knowing that neither of you have to leave anytime soon.

"You know," She whispers, her eyes shut. She had imagined how she'd say this a million times, wondered when it'd be the right time, but Caitlyn quickly realizes that perhaps the right time is the time she makes to say it. So she makes the time. "I love you."

Your heart skips a beat, and you pull away to look at her. Her eyes open, and you can see the panic flashing in her eyes- was it too soon? did she get confused? had she-

"I love you, too." Her tense form immediately relaxes again, and she buries her head into your neck, shaking her head as she lets out a breathless laugh. You laugh along with her, both of you feeling nerves and excitement at those words.

"Don't scare me like that," she whines against your skin. Indulging this rare side of Caitlyn, you gently pat her back, cooing at her.

"'m sorry, 'm sorry, won't happen again." You'll definitely respond faster next time!

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

EKKO

Ekko had been acting quite strange as of late, and had you been any less keen you'd just assume he was busy- but this was different, he was most definitely avoiding you! Which is why you devised a plan to corner him and get to the bottom of this whole situation.

It was like any other day, except you had been lying in wait. Waiting, and waiting, until he was finally alone. You continued to follow him to a secluded area. "Ekko." He tensed up, but recovered quickly as he turned to glance at you.

"Oh, uh, hey, what's up?" Was he serious? You cross your arms over your chest, giving him a pointed look. Ekko's guilty conscious is clear as day when it comes to you, from the way his Adam's apple bobs to the way his fist clench and unclench. You frown.

"Ekko..." He doesn't say anything. "Alright, I'll ask it. Why have you been avoiding me?" He falters, looking ashamed. He knew it was wrong to avoid you, but when he came to realize how intense his emotions were for you it freaked him out. He hadn't... He didn't mean to... well, fall in love, during such a time.

The silence is heavy, and you debate just leaving, before Ekko clears his throat. "There are things that I've been meaning to tell ya... I'm just having a hard time finding the words..." He scratches the back of his neck.

"Like?" You press, needing to know what has been so hard to say that he's been avoiding you.

"Like... I love you?"

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

JAYCE TALIS

"Jayce? What are you doing?" Jayce, with his hand respectfully on your lower back, guides you away from the boring and artificial conversations of Piltover's finest. He excuses you both, much to your dismay. "Where are you taking me?"

"Somewhere private," He says through a tense smile. You soon find yourself down the hall, away from the party but still able to hear it's chatter. It seems Jayce hadn't prepared for what comes after he got you away from those flirty elites.

"Well?" You ask, head tilted in a questioning way. "Are you going to explain why you so rudely pulled me away? I was about to get some nice funding for your-" Jayce cuts you off, desperation rolling off of him in waves.

"Because I love you," He says, "And I can't stand to see them look at you, touch you-" He stops to take a deep breath before he gets himself too worked up. "Look, I know... I know you probably don't feel the same, and I understand if you don't, but-"

"Jayce," You call once, and like an obedient dog he stops everything he's doing. Instead he waits, hanging on to your words. Your arms wrap around his neck, and you pull him into a kiss. It's needy, filled with want and love and passion. Until you can't breath, you wait until you can't breathe to pull away, and look him in the eyes.

"I love you."

For the first time that night, Jayce's lips curl into a genuine smile. It's so bright and warm you get weak in the knees and butterflies in your stomach.

"Can we ditch the party now?"

"Oh definitely."

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

JINX

"Wrench!" Jinx calls dramatically, hand stuck out and awaiting her tool- which you promptly hand to her, repeating her words 'wrench.' She giggles as she grasps the wrench and twists a few bolts on her latest invention.

When she finishes, she takes in inhale of breath, ready to shout the next tool she needs, but already in her hand is a can of spray paint. She blinks a few times- how did you know? She grins, looking back at you, before looking at the can of spray paint.

"This is why I love you, ya know that?" She says, not really processing the words until you say them back to her.

"You... You love me?" The shock is evident in your voice. It's not that Jinx hasn't shown her love, her affections, for you, but this is the first time she's vocalized them and it has your heart hammering in your chest. She blinks a few times, lifting her goggles to rest on top her head.

"I did say that, didn't I?" She says, more to herself than to you. She then looks you in the eyes, that sparkle in them has your throat tightening up. "Yeah, I love you." You try to speak, truly, but you can't get a word out. "Jeez, is it that surprising, thought it was obvious?"

"No, it's just-" You finally manage to speak. Actually, you finally manage to get a good look at her. Her cheeks are a little flushed, she's fiddling with her tools, she's nervous- she's vulnerable- and you feel a protective instinct come on. "I love you, too- I really, really love you."

She laughs nervously, turning away from you. That's enough emotional vulnerability she's willing to share today. "Yeah, yeah, let's not get too mushy, 'kay?" You don't push it, instead nodding along. "Uh, anyways... Hand me that wrench again...!"

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

MEL MEDARDA

"You don't have to say it back," Mel Medarda has always been diplomatic, even in your relationship. She's also always been rather guarded, keeping all her cards close to her chest- but she allows you from time-to-time to catch a peak behind her walls. "I just wanted to let you know. I... I love you."

Undoubtedly, you love her back. You've loved her from the moment she smiled at you- Mel was hard not to love. Which is why you're having a hard time responding, because how could you even possibly begin to explain just how much you love her?

Mel begins to grow withdrawn, those small anxieties nipping away at her mind. Did you not feel the same way? Had she embarrassed herself with her little display? Did she ruin this relationship in one phrase? She takes a step away from you, wondering if she should take her leave.

Thankfully before than can happen, you've caught her wrist and meet her eyes.

"I love you, too." A breath of relief leaves you both. "Mel, I... I can't even begin to explain, I mean, it's just that you... god, you, you definitely deserve a better response than this mess but, I mean it, truly. I love you. I've loved you since the moment I saw you. I'll always- I'll always love you."

"Darling..." Mel started to feel flustered, your earnest rambling getting her cool and collected persona to crack a little. "I get it."

"Right, sorr-" Before you can apologize for your cute, anxious rambling, Mel shuts you up with a kiss. Something that symbolizes that you both understand just how much you both mean to each other.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

SEVIKA

Sevika can't help but crack a smile at your antics sometimes. She's watching you with a close eye as you dance in an exaggerated way, being goofy in a way that's so very rare in the undercity. She shakes her head as you sit in the seat across from her, wiggling your brows. "Dance with me?"

"Not a chance in hell." She snorts, "How you made me fall in love with you is still beyond me." Sevika takes a drink, not noticing what she said. You, on the other hand, have gone still. "What's wrong with you now?" She asks, already exasperated.

"You love me?"

"What're you-... Shit." She definitely didn't mean to say that, but now that it's out there, she might as well commit. She downs the rest of her drink, clears her throat, and looks away from you.

"And if I do? Would that be a problem?"

"Not at all- I love you, too!" Your enthusiasm has her taken aback once more. She looks at you incredulously, searching your face for any sign of lying or messing with her. She finds nothing but genuine love. Shit, shit, shit. Sevika was so totally unsure on how to handle this.

"You love me, huh?" When you nod, eagerly, Sevika bites her cheek. Well... She supposes if it's you, she could try and give it a shot. "I guess, yeah, I do love you... so... what're we gonna do about that?"

You had a few ideas.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

VIKTOR

"Yes, yes, I understand." Viktor says as he wraps the scarf you gifted him around his neck. "I'll be back tonight for dinner, not to worry." You don't really believe him when he says that, still you help him zip up his winter coat.

"If you're not," You say, taking a step closer, your lips hovering over his. "I'll personally drag you back here." Your lips meet his and he hums into the kiss, pulling away with a small smile.

"I'll be here." You just hum dismissively. You'll believe when you see it. He rolls his eyes at your sass, opening the door and stepping out. "Alright, I'll see you then. Goodbye, I love you." He closes the door, and just as quickly he's trying to pry it back open.

You're laughing your ass off on the other side of the door whilst Viktor's ears turn red. "Dear, please, open the door, I forgot my keys... and I need to say those words properly..." he groans, his head resting against the door. After a few seconds, the clicks unlock and it opens to reveal you, tears in your eyes from laughing.

"This is not funny."

"It's a little funny." You tease, handing Viktor his keys. "I lov-"

"Wait," He halts you. "Let me... Let me say it properly." His blush moves from his ears to his cheeks. He takes your hand and presses a sweet kiss to it, looking up at you through his lashes. "I love you."

"I love you, too, Viktor."

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

VI

You're patching her up after a particularly brutal beating. Her job, these missions, can get pretty violent, and it's always up to you to heal her wounds. 'I don't trust any other doctor,' she explains before you inform her that you are not a doctor. Despite that she still finds you after every fight she gets herself in.

You sigh, cleaning a nasty cut on her face. "You've got to be more careful." You tsk, reveling in the way she hisses at the disinfectant. It's what she deserves after scaring you to death all these times.

"Worried 'bout my pretty face?" You scoff, rolling your eyes at her.

"More like your brain- I'm afraid you can't afford to lose anymore braincells." She laughs at your snark. She likes that about you, likes everything about you, actually. Her hands find your waist, pulling you closer to her. You huff, pulling back to get a better look at her wounds.

"Hey," Vi calls, and you just hum in response. "I love you." You freeze, before looking down at her with wide eyes.

"Did you actually get brain damage-" She bites back another laugh, shaking her head. "Vi...?"

"I love you. Have for a while, so no, this isn't a brain damage confession." Oh. You falter for a second, hands shaky as you finish placing the band-aid on her cheek.

"If you're messing with me-"

"I'm not." She insists, earnest in her affections. "So... Do you-"

"Yes." You mumble, turning your face to hide it from her. "I... Love you, too, Violet."

[witchofhistory]

It was Titus that told them something was wrong. The two dogs had moved to a quieter room to map instead of struggling through the humans that were acting loud and obnoxious over Family Game Night, despite doing this once a month for years. It wasn’t like the scores changed much anyway. 

Tim and Jason were kickass together at Trivial Pursuit, so that was a no-go, Charades and Monopoly had been banned since before Steph came into the family, so it was almost entirely games of luck and betting games. Cass was always the dealer to keep everyone in check and Dick was her check since he was the only one to really be able to catch her in a lie. 

Not that she did, it was obvious she was having too much fun to ruin the game by cheating. 

“Get the dice! Get the dice!” Tim screamed as Steph dove for the dice that had rolled off the table, fighting off  Damian’s attempts to get to them first. The two wrestled as Steph reached out,  snatching the dice that had fallen off the table and under the couch. Tim cheered as he caught them, meaning it was his team’s turn and Damian/Bruce had lost the right to theirs. 

Damian pouted as he glared at Bruce. “You are too old to be effective.” 

Bruce rolled his eyes, having heard far worse starting when he took in Dick at only twenty two and was promptly informed he was an old man for his back cracking habit when he stood up. “Thank you for that assessment.” 

The others giggled at his face and Dick felt his chest warm at the fact that they were mostly all here. At least Bruce’s official kids were, it had to be world ending to get the extended crew here. Babs rarely left her tower at night, preferring to stay on coms with Bluebird, Batwoman, Batwing, and Gotham Girl, who were currently filling in to give the rest of them a night off. Huntress might show up at some point, if only to spread chaos since Batman wasn’t around to stop her (or give her the disappointed dad state). 

All of that was ruined by panicked barking as Tiitus skidded into the room, scratching the hardwoods with his nails as he struggled to control paws too big for his body. He yelped as he slammed into the couch, but quickly shook himself off and grabbed Bruce’s sleeve between his teeth. 

“Titus!” Damian chastised. “Let go.” 

The great dane completely ignored him and started tugging Bruce out of the room, forcing the  rest of them to follow him all the way to a sitting room where Ace was sprawled over his dog bed. Immediately it was clear there was something wrong. 

Ace always sat up when they came into a room, if only to check them over and go back to sleep afterwards, but he barely so much as twitched his ears towards them. He whined once he caught sight of them. 

Dick walked over to  him slowly while Bruce and Damian tried to calm Titus, who was still keeping Bruce’s sleeve captive. “Hi buddy, what’s going on?” He slowly reached out a hand to pet Ace’s ears, flinching back when he felt like muscle spasm under his hand. Even with all his training, it was hard to keep himself calm when that was his boy . His buddy. “Bruce? I think we need to go to the vet.” He tried to keep his voice even so the kids didn’t panic. 

It was a bit of a blur after that, stuffing all of them into the minivan while he and Jason held Ace in the trunk to keep him from getting jostled around too much. He was barely moving, and only his right side. 

There was barely any time between the house and the waiting room. All of his siblings  tried to keep a hand on Ace, petting gently and speaking soft whispers to tell him it was going to be okay. Ace, despite whatever had happened, kept trying to look at them and lean into their hands. Dick  held back a sob as he realized his boy was still trying to comfort them, to tell them it was going to  be okay as much as they were trying to comfort him. 

“Ace is going to be okay, right?” Steph asked quietly, even though they all knew he was old. Most German Shepherds usually only lived to thirteen, let alone the seventeen he was now with all of their night work. 

Damian responded before he could. “tt. Of course. He is strong.” 

Dick reached out his free hand to run a hand through Damian's hair, both to soothe his brother and to give himself something to do. “The vets are going to do everything they can to help him.” 

Bruce came back from talking to the tech at the front desk and knelt on the floor between Duke and Cass, letting them lean on him while he bent forward to press kisses between Ace’s ears. “Hey buddy, they'll see you in just a few minutes. They have to prep the room and then they're going to help you, okay?” 

Part of Dick was bitter that this was the softest he had seen Bruce in years, but he also knew it had been yeast since there were scared little kids or animals that needed comfort from him. Batman had moved away from rescuing kidnapping victims and instead focused on taking on the hard hitters, putting himself in danger before ever letting his kids take part. The rest of him was glad that if this was it, Ace at least got to see Bruce like he was when they were little one more time. 

They couldn't let everyone go in the room because there wasn't enough space for them, it would be a fire hazard. Without the ability to put all of their  focus on Ace in front of them, they all ended up pacing or playing  on their phones to distract themselves from what was happening. Dick glanced over at Tim who he was pretty sure was running a complete takeover of one of Luther’s subsidiaries on one phone and was playing Royal Match on the other. “How’s it going, Timmy?” 

“I still need to shoot all the ducks.” 

Dick raised an eyebrow at that. “And Luther?” 

“Too easy, I needed something more frustrating to focus on.” “Okay then.” Dick decided to focus on a different sibling for the time being. 

They all perked up when the Vet Tech came out, but it was obvious it wasn’t good news from the get go. They had on a similar face to the ones they themselves wore when talking to victims. They kept their body language open and relaxed, and kept their hands facing slightly sideways. They were even leaning forward slightly like they were trying to look less intimidating. “After much discussion, Mr.Wayne and the doctor have decided it’s best to put Ace to sleep.” 

Someone choked on a sob. It might have been Dick. 

“You can go in pairs to say your goodbyes.” 

Dick didn’t realize there was anything wrong with Damian until they got home. He wasn’t crying like Duke or the girls (or Dick, even if he tried to hide it), he wasn’t angry like Jason, or focused on Bruce like Tim. He didn’t expect him to be emotional in public, he tried to avoid drawing attention to himself nowadays if  he wasn’t able to put on the ‘perfect Wayne’ persona. 

And when they got inside, Bruce almost immediately got a message on his League communicator. He froze in the doorway as they put Ace’s box of ashes on the mantle, where it would stay until they could bury him properly. “Fuck.” He ran a hand through his hair, looking the most disheveled that Dick had seen  him in months. “I have to go, I am specifically requested by one of the delegations we’re trying to create a treaty with and they won’t start without me. I will try to reschedule when I get there or end it early.” 

Have to? Cass signed even as she walked over to hug him goodbye. 

“We will be fine in your absence, Father,” Damian said. He was in his favorite chair, pulling out a sketchbook from the side pocket attached to the arm. “You may go to your meeting, the others will calm down soon and your coddiling is unnecessary.” 

Bruce frowned, but another notification reminded him of how little time he had. He looked to Dick instead, like he always did, to figure out what was happening and take care of it. “I love you all.” It was stilted, but still far more than Dick expected honestly. Cass got a kiss to her forehead, Dick a pat on the shoulder, and then he was gone. 

There was silence for a few minutes as everyone settled into more comfortable positions, the girls cuddling on the couch and Tim sprawling on the floor, leaning on their legs. Duke sat in the other armchair by himself, while Jason just continued his pacing. 

Dick hoped that he would have time to talk to Damian before the fighting started, but just as he moved to pull his youngest brother away, Jason stopped. 

“I don't know why you're such an asshole, brat,” he snarled over at Damien who didn't even so much as look up at him. “Even Mr. Emotional Constipation himself is feeling sad. I thought you were all about animals.” 

“And I thought you had some decorum but clearly I was mistaken. This will pass and then we can forget all about it.” 

That got everyone’s attention as Jason reeled back like he’d been slapped. He pulled the sketchbook out of Damien's hands, and dragged the kid out of his seat. “The fuck you just say?”

Damian glared at him, trying to get his sketchbook back. “What's done is done, it's not like there is anything we can do to fix it. He's asleep.” 

Jason turned a furious shade of red, but Steph cut him off before he could blow up anymore. “What?” She narrowed her eyes at Damian like she was seeing something the rest of them weren't, showing off the detective skills she pretended she didn't have after her short stunt as Robin. “What do you mean he’s asleep?” 

“The fuck it matter?” 

“Shut up,” Dick snapped, a terrible thought worming its way into his brain. This was his Batgirl, if she thought this was something…God, he didn't want her to be right. 

Damian tensed his muscles like he wanted to shuffle, but didn’t believe it was allowed. It made something sharp appear in Dick’s side despite the swirling mix of sadness and grief, knowing that they were scaring him enough that he was trying to de-escalate. “He’s in a comatose state so he can heal. He’ll be fine once he wakes up.” 

The entire room seemed to freeze as one after another his siblings were hit by the frying pan that was that statement. 

Tim was the first to break and choked out a soft, “what?” 

“The vet said that they put him to sleep,” Damian said in that tone of voice he used when he thought they were being particularly stupid, when he was sure he was right and refused to believe anything else.  

And it hit Dick, not for the first time, that his little brother was ten. He was a child whose first language wasn’t English, who struggled with some of the idioms like any other non-native speaker, and he was ten . Even if he was the smartest ten year old that Dick had ever met, even if he was brilliant at picking up clues, he sometimes didn’t want to see what was right in front of him. Sometimes he didn’t know enough to understand. 

Steph choked on a sob that might have also been a laugh as she turned into Cass’ side and announced, “nope! I can not do this right now.” 

It really wasn’t her job anyway. Not when she refused to be adopted for reasons he was going to pretend not to know until someone told him, not when she wasn’t the oldest. Because it was his job, as the oldest, to take on their burdens. To take care of them and explain things they didn’t understand. Even when they were hard and made his throat feel like he was gargling glass. 

“I do not understand.” Damian looked at him with wide eyes, clearly trying to figure out what  he missed. “Ace might not be optimal when he awakens, but—” 

Dick dropped to his knees in front of his baby brother with the force of a prayer. “Damian, when an animal is put to sleep, it doesn’t mean that they are put in a medical coma like a human. It means that they’re…put down.” 

Damian shook his head aggressively as he shoved away the hands that Dick tried to hug him with. “That’s not true! Ace is a good dog, he did nothing wrong. He is injured! If they just help him, he will get better and he can be Bat-Hound again!” When Dick started to try saying something again, he was barreled over by Damian shoving Dick backwards and backing up. “No! He can get better! Father would not terminate one of us because of an injury, why would he terminate Ace?” 

Jason shifted uncomfortably but tried  to step forward to help, which was appreciated even if it wasn’t necessary. “Baby Bat, it’s not like that.” 

There was a moment when Dick thought maybe Damian understood, but the tears welling up in his eyes and the resignation on his face did not bode well. “They’ve already killed him, haven’t they?” He looked over at the box on the table, his mouth forming a little “o” as it finally hit him what had happened. “I understand now.” 

Dick hummed as he repositioned his knees from the sitting position he’d fixed himself into. “Do you want a hug, baby? I know it’s hard when stuff like this happens, it’s always hard to lose an animal. We love them so much and…” 

Damian shook his head again. His eyes had dried, but the expression on his face was more blank than anything else. Like all the emotion had been pulled out of him. “Ace is dead. I have to go.” 

“What do you mean?” Dick didn’t even have a chance to blink before his little brother was just gone. He swore as he tried calling for his youngest brother, but there was no response and only the eerie silence of grief hanging in the air. “We have to find him, before he hurts himself or panics or, I don’t even know!” 

Cass appeared in front of him and offered a hand that he took gratefully. Once he was standing, she started signing that she would go look in the barn. Steph followed after her, which was probably a good idea. Safety in numbers. Duke and Jason offered to look in the library, while Tim said he would find Alfred and check with him to see if Damian had gone to the kitchen to hide. 

Which left Dick. Honestly, it was probably better that he wasn’t with one of his siblings for the first time since the Vet had told them there was nothing they could do. It  made it easier to take his grief over Ace, over lost nights cuddling in a bed that still felt too big for a kid who used to share with his parents and then more often than not found a friend’s bed to slip into when he could. Over training together and learning together and giving each other looks when Bruce was being stupid again . Ace was his first brother, even if he felt a little silly saying that about a dog. 

But his grief wasn’t  important, not in the face of keeping his siblings together enough that they could heal. Not in the face of Damian potentially running. With the others running around, Damian would either stay in his room or head down to the cave to become Robin and take his anger out on the criminals of Gotham. Like father, like son. 

What he wasn’t prepared for was Damian to completely ignore the locker rooms he was guarding and to head straight for the Zeta in full gear, with the Watchtower codes. He quickly texted the Sibling Chat what happened as he threw on a domino, not bothering to put on his uniform despite knowing he’d wished he had later, and chased after the baby of the family. 

Would he yell at Bruce for leaving them alone? 

Would Damian try to convince Bruce to use the Pits and bring Ace back? Did the Pits even work on ashes? 

Dick skidded to a stop in front of the meeting room and froze in the open doorway as he heard his littlest brother, his littlest sibling , say the most heartbreaking thing he had ever heard. 

“You believe you have disappointed me.” Bruce looked confused, like he was trying to think through a fog. Ace was affecting him enough that his Batman persona was slipping away, leaving only their dad behind. 

“Yes.” 

“Why?” 

Damian’s voice cracked as he carefully said, “I have been informed that Ace was terminated as a punishment for my behavior.”

Before Dick could even move, Bruce was removing the cowl and whatever remained of Batman to pull Damian closer in a loose hug. “Oh, no, sweetheart, that’s not true. What makes you think that? It’s not your fault.” 

It was telling that even as Damian started to tremble, he let Bruce hold him. “Ahki said you did not terminate him because of something Ace did, which means it must have been something I have done. There was no other reason for you to deny him treatment for his injuries!” 

Oh, Jay is going to be so smug Damian called him Ahki when he hears about this . It wasn;t really an appropriate thought, but it was the only one that came to mind in the face of Damian believing they blamed him for Ace. 

Bruce brushed the hood away from Damian’s face and cupped his cheek gently, holding the little boy like he was the most precious thing in the world. Dick remembered what it felt  like to be held like that, to be small enough that Bruce wanted to protect you from the world. “Ace was seventeen. Dogs of  his size usually only live to about thirteen or fourteen years of age, and yet he stayed with us long enough to meet you. I am very grateful he did.” He took a deep breath and held it, then sighed. “Ace was not terminated. He was put down after his seizure caused his left side to be completely paralyzed. He was in pain and there was nothing they could do to help him. If they had tried, he would have died on the table instead of with me holding him.”  

“You are not angry with me. It was not my error that led to this?” Damian’s voice cracked sharply as he pressed his lips together to try and keep control of himself. “Ba--  Baba? You will not have Titus killed?”

Dick couldn’t take it anymore. Hearing Damian call Bruce something other than Father, let alone something as childish as Baba, for the first time broke whatever restraints kept him rooted to the spot. He ran over to his brother and dad, crouching next to Damian and leaning on Bruce’s chair despite how it dug into his side.

Bruce didn’t take his eyes off of Damian, but he did move a hand to rest on Dick’s shoulder. “No, Robin. It was just old age; Ace isn't suffering and I would never hurt or kill one of your treasured friends. Even to make a point. Batman doesn’t kill and Bruce Wayne doesn't either.” 

The dam broke as Damian hiccuped out a sob, burying himself in Bruce’s arms as he apologized for his weakness, “I’m sorry Baba,” and choked on anything else. 

Dick moved to pull Damian away, an offer to bring him back home on the tip of his tongue before Bruce could push either of them away, but instead he was pulled up into one of his dad’s all encompassing hugs. His dad had arms that were big enough to wrap around them both, and the cape shielded them from view as it created a cocoon of safety that Dick just couldn’t stop himself from burrowing into. He curled a hand through Damian’s hair protectively and for the first time all day, let himself cry. The tears pooled in his mask and the snot made his nose hurt, but that was a problem for Other Dick. The Dick that had to be strong. 

And right now? That guy was the least of Dick’s worries. 

Without even moving to let them go, Bruce swept up Damian  to sit on his hip as he stood and pulled Dick more firmly under arm to hide in his side. “I will be returning home. Do not call me until I reach out.” 

It might have been Batman who entered the Watchtower, but it was Bruce who left. Who kept a hand on the back of Dick’s head like he used to when Dick was too short for Bruce to comfortably put a hand on his shoulder. 

Damien not knowing that dogs only live 10-16 years

A family pet passed away recently so I decided to funnel my sadness into Damien.

Give me a Damien who had never been allowed animals in the League and if they were discovered, Ra's forced him to kill them or give them away depending on what kind of animal it was.

Give me a Damien who in the back of his head knows animals don't live forever but doesn't understand how old Ace is when he gets there.

And this boy gets so attached to animals.

Give me a Damien who doesn't understand what happened when Titus brings him to Ace, who passed away in his sleep. Who believes someone killed one of their dogs.

And he's angry first, because that's safer, and he's freaking out and trying to figure out who did it and why when Dick finds him. And they bring Ace to the vet and the Vet says he was just old. Dick tries so hard to be comforting and is doing his best but that's his childhood dog right there.

Give me a Damien who suits up and interrupts a Watchtower Meeting to demand Batman get the JLD to bring Ace back. And he's trying so hard to be angry.

But this boy is 10.

And when Bruce, not Batman, offers him a hug, he breaks down right then and there and starts sobbing and asking why Ace had to die. Wasn't he good? He was trying so hard, he thought he was doing better.

And Bruce is wiping at his tears and telling him he was good, it wasn't his fault. Ace was old, very old for a big dog. He was almost 17.

Give me a Bruce who excuses himself from the meeting and picks Damien up to bring him home, to cuddle his kids and to cry in peace.

[sailorluna15]

what about pitfighter vi who wants nothing to do with virgins because she thinks they get too attached, and then reader is a virgin but vi really wants to fuck her anyway

"Come on, you're telling me you like used goods?"

Vi rolls her eyes and takes a swig of her beer.

"It's not used goods. I like a woman who knows what she likes and doesn't get too attached. Virgins get one taste of you and fall in love. I'm looking to fuck, not get married."

"You're thinking about it too much! It's kinda fun when they get attached. They're like little puppies."

"Nah, I'd rather stay away from that shit. I don't got time for the puppy attachment bullshit. I'm good.

That's how Vi felt until she met you.

Vi walks into the club and scans around for a nice piece of ass. She walks further into the club and sits at the bar. Waving the bartender down, he slides her a drink that she knocks back in a second.

She looks around again and spots you. Immediately, she knows who she wants to fuck tonight.

When she sees you, you're spinning upside down, naked, with your legs split in the air. Your bikini top, G-string, and dollar bills lay thrown across the stage as you dance. You look mesmerizing and delectable.

Vi walks over to the host and requests a lap dance from you.

After you finish your set, the host tells you Vi wants you. She points to the room Vi's waiting for you in and wishes you good luck.

You stalk towards the room and open the door with a smile.

"Hello, Vi?"

She nods and stares at you like a predator checking out its prey.

"Thank you for booking a dance with me. Do you want anything to drink before we get started? I wanna make sure you're comfortable." You say flirtatiously.

She shakes her head no and allows you to begin the dance. It feels like the entire world has disappeared as your bend over and shake your ass in her face.

When you turn back around to grind against her again, your faces come so close that your noses touch. The energy between you two is magnetic. As you two continue to breathe each other in, a knock comes to the door, signaling the end of the dance.

"I guess times up, huh?" Vi whispers.

"Yeah."

Silence passes by before you speak.

"My shift is over in 10 minutes if you wanna take this to my place.

Vi contemplates your offer, before agreeing.

"I'll be at the bar waiting."

A small smile graces your face as you both leave the room.

The host approaches you with a knowing look.

"Did little Ms. Emo Girl enjoy her lap dance?"

"Very much so. We're about to take it to my apartment." You say sweetly.

With a loud laugh, the host says, "Okay, girl, get you some! I want to hear all about it tomorrow."

"Oh, trust me, you will!"

You both wave your goodbyes as you walk to Vi and leave the club with her.

The air is filled with anticipation as you both make your way to your apartment.

Finally, enter your apartment and immediately jump on each other's bones.

Vi kisses and sucks on your neck as moans flow out of your mouth.

She quickly drops to her knees, removes your panties, and immediately starts to devour your pussy.

Loud groans fill the air as she sucks on your clit and sticks her tongue in your pussy. She sticks two fingers into your pussy and fingers you as she continues to eat you out. Vi stands up and leads you to the bedroom. She manhandles you onto the bed and starts to unbuckle her pants.

"Wait...wait." You plead as you put your hands on her belt buckle.

"I've...I've never done this before."

Vi laughs in disbelief and says, "You joking, right?"

You avoid her eyes and shrug your shoulders.

"Oh my God, you're serious. You're a fucking virgin."

"It's not my fault! I've...I don't get out much."

"You're literally a fucking stripper! How are you still a virgin?!" Vi exclaims.

"Me being a dancer has nothing to do with having sex or my virginity! It's a job just like any other and has nothing to do with my personal life." You say defiantly as you lean back on your hands.

"You know what? I don't even fucking care. I just wanna fuck. You take strap or what?" Vi asks with a raised brow.

"I mean, I...I guess. I've always wanted to try it." You whisper out shyly.

With a hum, Vi drops her pants and underwear simultaneously, revealing a thick 8-inch purple dildo attached to the strap.

"Is that gonna fit?" You question nervously.

"We'll find out in a few seconds, won't we? You got lube?" Vi responds

"It's in the first drawer."

Vi leans over, opens the drawer, and grabs the lube. She squirts it on the dildo and lines herself up with your pussy.

"You ready?"

You nod and relax as Vi slides inside you.

"Fuck." You breathe out.

Vi slowly fucks you until she feels you get comfortable.

"Go faster."

Vi smiles and quickens her pace. She lifts your legs, presses them to your chest, and fucking you deep into the mattress.

Moans, groans, and curses fill the air as Vi takes your virginity.

"Damn, your pussy's so tight. You wanted this bad, huh. Fucking whore."

"I'm a whore." You whine out as you clutch Vi's arms.

You feel a sting on both of your asscheeks as Vi delivers a slap to them.

"I love a girl who knows what she is."

Vi begins to rub little circles on your clit as she drives her hips faster into you.

"Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! I'm gonna cum!"

"Go ahead and cum. Cum on my dick." Vi grunts out.

One, two, three thrusts, and you unravel. Your body shakes as ecstasy overcomes you.

"Oh my God, I've never come like that in my life." You say with a heavy breath.

Vi chuckles as she removes the strap from you and helps you clean up.

After she helps you clean up, she heads towards the door. You quickly chase after her.

"Wait!"

Vi turns around with a raised eyebrow and an expectant face.

"What's your number? I wanna do this again sometime."

"555-876-0982. Don't expect a relationship, though. I'm strictly here to fuck."

You quickly write the number down and nod your head in agreement.

"Yeah, no, no, no. I want the same strictly fucking. No strings attached."

With a low 'mhmm,' Vi walks out of your apartment and heads home.

"What a fucking woman."

[makeitmakesomesense]

The Competition

Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Word Count: 3.3k

A/N: Day 8: I've merged a lovely request from a lovely friend with the @taylorswiftmicrofic prompt for the 8th of January, which is 'daylight'.

.

There is no point trying to be second best. 

You’ve lived by that motto your whole life. You know it’s served you well because your life has been going exactly like you hoped. You’ve been recruited into the latest Shield training class. 

This is just another opportunity for you to excel in. You don’t let yourself consider another option. You stand in the training room with the other agents, waiting for your first lesson to start. You can’t help sizing up the others. You watch their movements and try to assess their fitness, their likely agility. You listen to their conversations and try to assess their intelligence too. 

You are smarter. You are fitter. You are faster. You stretch your arms in anticipation. Someone will be the best recruit and it will be you. 

A final trainee enters. 

You try to figure her out immediately. Her eyes are roaming the room, not quite nervous but not confident either. She’s not that tall. Her red hair is tied back in perfect dutch braids. It makes her look like a child.

You dismiss her readily. Your focus returns to another recruit, whose muscles are flexing obviously with the smallest movement. You bite your lip trying to determine if their muscle density will affect their agility. 

Your eyes glance briefly back to the new girl. She is staring at the same recruit. Her fingers tap thoughtfully against her thigh. 

She is the only one other than you not engaging in small talk. Instead, her gaze scans the sea of people, just like you.

You take another more considered look at her. She’s fit, much more than you’d noticed at first. The kind of fitness that’s built for agility as much as strength. 

Her eyes turn to you. The sudden, sharp green stare makes you certain that she’s intelligent too. You can feel her reading you, as her eyes shamelessly roam over your body.

After a moment, the girl’s lips draw back over her teeth and she smiles. There’s a feral confidence to it. It puts you on edge. You smirk back and pretend not to be intimidated.

The trainer enters at last and the group of recruits become eager and pathetic in front of a clear leader. You hang back, listening quietly. You make sure to keep the other girl in your sights. 

The trainer asks you all to introduce yourselves. 

‘First names for now.’ She directs with a smile. ‘We’re not agents yet.’

The girl is called Natasha R. 

There are two Natashas in this group of recruits. You almost feel bad for Natasha M. You can already predict that she will be known as ‘the other Natasha’ after today.

The trainer begins with a speech about comradery, about finding your people. You watch Natasha’s expression shift to boredom. She taps impatiently against her thigh. You try not to smirk obviously. 

The trainer suggests that everyone partners up. You’ve all had basic sparring training before today. This is a chance to see how you compare to your peers. 

Your eyes meet Natasha’s before the trainer has finished speaking. She flashes the feral smile back at you. Adrenaline begins to flood your body as you move to the nearest training mat and try to ready yourself.

Natasha slams you against the mat before you’ve had time to think about reacting. The air is thrown from your chest. You try not to look as disoriented as you feel, as you roll back to your feet. 

‘Excellent work, Natasha’ The trainer shouts from the other side of the room. You watch Natasha M. look up hopefully, before her face caves with disappointment. You let yourself prickle with the indignity of being second best. 

You huff a breath and ready yourself for another sparring round. You are back on the floor before you’ve had a chance to blink.

.

Natasha slams you against the training mat for the thousandth time. 

You glare at her, chest heaving desperately. Your face is sticky with heat and sweat. Natasha grins smugly. Her dutch braids are still perfect. She doesn’t offer you a hand up.

You hate her. You actually loathe her. 

You are seething with bitter fury by the time you get to the cafeteria. You stand in the line for lunch food thinking about the first person to ever stand between you and being the best at something. You try to recall each brief moment before she knocked you to the ground. You try to assess her fighting style. What you could have done differently. 

You lift your plastic tray and walk to the communal table that is almost entirely populated by the other recruits from your class. You sit at one end and take an angry bite of your apple.

Natasha is sitting at the other end. She’s surrounded by the eager recruits. They’re asking her questions, unphased by her cool tone and indirect answers. It’s pathetic. You crunch your apple again. They always cling to a new leader. Natasha’s calm gaze meets yours. She smirks and you know she can tell that you’re jealous. You clench your jaw and glare angrily back. You hope she can hear the Fuck You echoing in your mind. 

The amusement in her eyes tells you that she can. 

.

You spend a month getting your ass kicked. 

That isn’t strictly true. 

You are excelling in some areas.

Noone is more loyal to the fitness regime. Noone is more committed to learning how to fight better. Noone is putting more time in at weapons practice. 

You are doing very well at trying hard.

Natasha is barely trying and she is easily better than you. She makes the class look like complete amateurs.

You do the only thing you know how to do; you try harder. 

What stings more than the rest, is the special treatment that Natasha seems to get. 

The first time you see her and Hawkeye interact, you don’t actually believe your own eyes. She’s a new recruit. Agent Barton is calling her ‘Tasha!’ and giving her a half hug as he walks past your table with his own tray of food. 

Natasha M. looks so despondent when she hears the nickname that you wonder if she’s going to drop out soon.

Natasha only rolls her eyes and makes a biting comment about his choice of lunchtime food. The other recruits tense up for a moment until Agent Barton’s barking laugh catches them all off guard again. 

You watch Natasha from your usual place at the far end of the table. It is the first time you have ever seen her uncertain. 

You decide she is probably dating Agent Barton. It must be a secret they’re trying to keep. He’s not a direct superior so there’s nothing officially wrong with it. It just doesn’t look good. Not for a new recruit. 

Natasha tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear. Her eyes glance back over to Agent Barton’s table on the other side of the room. 

You pretend you don’t feel jealous.

.

In the earliest hours of the morning, you go to the gym. 

You do this sometimes, it’s a good time to know you’ll be alone. To put in some earphones and forget everything except your heart pounding and your limbs aching. 

You are not alone. 

Natasha is already in the large room. She’s wearing a black sports bra and shorts. She is running like a gazelle on a treadmill, her back is to you.

You let the heavy door slam itself shut, just to watch her flinch. 

She switches the machine off as she turns around, her glare already fixed in place. 

Your chest seizes when you realise that she has obviously been crying. You stare at her stupidly. 

‘What do you want?’ Natasha spits through clenched teeth. Her cheeks are flushed red. You can’t tell if it’s the exertion or something else. 

You feel like you’ve caught an apex predator in a moment of weakness. You can tell she feels cornered, vulnerable. The urge to win tempers into something different. You don’t want to see Natasha’s weakness, you just want to be better than her best. 

‘I bet I can run faster than you.’ You gloat loudly and begin to walk towards her. 

Natasha’s expression shutters with sharp relief, then she gives you her most savage smile. She nods to the treadmill beside her.

You have never run faster or farther. You will not let yourself lose this race. You have been training too hard. By the time the first rays of daylight are streaming into the room, you are still neck and neck with Natasha. 

She is the first to quit. She switches off her machine without a word and turns to leave. She gives you the middle finger as you breathlessly huff a victorious laugh.

.

That day, on the training mats, you sense Natasha moving more obviously as you begin to spar. She wins every time, of course. But later, when you stand in the line for the cafeteria, you realise that you have begun to understand her fighting technique. 

They have run out of apples today in the cafeteria and you barely notice, too lost in your own thoughts.

You sit down at your usual end of the table. Your gaze snaps up when someone whistles. 

Natasha’s smirk is tiny. Everything about her seems playful. She takes an extra apple from her tray and throws it gracefully. You feel the eyes of the other recruits follow its arcing trajectory, right into your hands.

After weapons training that afternoon, Natasha catches your arm in the hallway. 

‘Do you spend every night running your ass off, just to keep up with me?’ She teases snarkily.

You roll your eyes, hating the way you have started to like her. 

‘No. Not every night.’ You answer deadpan.

‘Good, so you’ll be free tonight.’ Natasha says simply. She tells you the number of her room. Then, she gives you a pleased smile. With her perfect braids, she becomes the picture of innocence. 

‘Those braids make you look like a child.’ You snap at her, pulling your arm out of her hold. 

You hear her laugh behind you and smile to yourself. 

.

You arrive at her door that night. You knock twice before the door swings open. 

Natasha is not the girl you have known before. 

Her loose red hair holds the obvious kinks from her recent braids. She looks tired, the simple fatigue of surviving a busy day on very little sleep. She’s wearing an oversized tourist t-shirt that you presume is covering shorts. 

‘Wow.’ You tell her bitingly. ‘You look like shit.’

Natasha laughs loudly and lets you in. 

She offers you a beer and you take it as you sit on the edge of her bed. She sits beside you, clinks her bottle with yours and takes an absentminded swig. You marvel silently as you realise that she is still drinking alcohol regularly and outperforming all of you so easily. 

Her shoulder bumps yours uncaringly as she brings one leg up to her chest and casually hugs her knee. Your eyes skim the perfectly toned muscles without meaning to. Natasha’s gaze flicks to you and she smirks knowingly.

‘Keep it together.’ She chastises teasingly. You grin back. 

‘I will.’ You promise readily. ‘I’m here to find out all your secrets.’

Natasha’s mouth presses together and for a moment she looks deadly serious. Then she raises her eyebrow and grins back. 

‘What do you want to know?’

She tells you a lot of things. Raised in a competitive household, with no allowance for failure. She talks about sisters, plural. She’d always naturally excelled but she also never stopped pushing herself. Her words skim lightly over concepts like discipline and punishment. You understand the implication.

You don’t feel pity, only respect. She did everything to be the best. 

You tell her the words that you’ve lived by since childhood.

There is no point trying to be second best. 

Natasha’s sudden gaze burns with the recognition that you might really understand what she means.

‘Exactly.’ She breathes, and then she laughs again. She looks down and her fingers brush over your forever-calloused knuckles. 

‘Exactly.’ She whispers again. 

.

After that, the world is hung on a different axis. 

You are the final convert to the Natasha fan club. You think you might be the only member she cares about. The competitive edge is always there between you, but now it’s decidedly friendly. Every smile between you is playful. Every sharp comment is teasing. 

You go back to her room again a few nights later. 

She tells you a little about Clint, nothing more than a friend of a friend who’d recommended her to the Shield training programme. But mainly, she asks a lot about you. You find yourself admitting things you’ve never said aloud before.

When the night ends, she leans forward and kisses your cheek. She plays it like it’s a natural end to the night and you don’t let yourself react. Not until you’re back in your own room, touching your warm cheek and wondering if it could mean the things you have begun to hope for.

.

There is an inevitable rule about trying to keep a secret in an espionage organization. Either no-one knows or everyone does.

Natasha M is the one who tells you. She has that red flush on her cheeks that reveals how pleased she is with her secret. She whispers it excitedly to a group of you as you make your way to the training room.

‘Natasha Romanoff. The Black Widow. Mysterious and Lethal Assassin. Product of the Red Room. Missing, Presumed Dead.’

She pauses as she hammers home her point. 

‘It’s her.’

Your world implodes.

You stand in the training room with the rest of the recruits. Your skin is prickling with a feeling that you don’t recognise. A betrayal unlike anything you could have imagined. The others are nervous and chattering. You can feel them looking in anticipation at you. Natasha’s undeniable favourite. 

Some of them clearly thought you might have known her secret. They don’t anymore.

Natasha walks into the training room. She is flanked on her left by Agent Barton.

You realise that he is not an old friend. He is the agent that captured her. 

You feel a sudden rage like you have never felt before.

You pull away from the crowd, ready for a fight that you know you can’t win. 

You start spitting insults before you reach her. You call her a traitor and a liar. You only feel angrier when you watch her purposefully neutral gaze brush over you.  

You rush forward and are stopped by Agent Barton’s arm as it catches you by the waist and pulls you resolutely towards the door.

‘Don’t do this.’ He warns quietly as you shout things you never thought you’d say. ‘We’re her family.’

‘Oh please.’ You yell back, hurling your final words at Natasha, as you fight his grip. ‘She has a family. She’s a widow.’

.

You are excused from training. Agent Barton leaves you in disgust, sitting in an empty classroom where they occasionally teach the theory behind different fighting styles.

.

You go to the cafeteria at the usual time and take your usual tray over to your usual group. They welcome you with a support that you’ve never felt before. You realise suddenly that your enraged episode earlier has only impressed the other recruits.

You don’t need to guess who is missing from the table, you follow their pointed glares easily. Natasha sits alone at another table. Her face is perfectly neutral. She crunches on an apple. Your jaw tightens.

You take a seat with the usual group and try not to think about the way your gut is twisting. The other recruits tell you all the latest rumours. About what the Red Room does to create their monsters. The famous crimes against Shield operatives committed by the Black Widow. A haphazard list of her likely kills that is growing by the hour. 

You think about their stories. You think about the things Natasha told you that first night in her room. Competition, discipline, punishment. 

Agent Barton’s words about family get caught in your head. 

Natasha stands and leaves the cafeteria. She doesn’t falter at the muttered insults that she must be able to hear. Her face is schooled into a perfect facade of calm. At last, her eyes meet yours, and you see the smallest crack.

You push away the tray with your half-eaten meal. 

A person beside you snickers and you catch the end of a snide comment. You grip the edge of the plastic tray and feel a familiar anger inside you. You look around the table. Natasha M smiles eagerly back. She leans forward with another joke to share. 

You push away from the table and get to your feet. They are eager and they are pathetic. You don’t want to be their next  leader.  

.

You knock once on Natasha’s door. She doesn’t open it. 

You knock again. There is only silence.

You go to the gym.

She’s there, of course, running so fast that her legs are blurred. You wonder if they’ve checked her speed against the land mammal record.

You let the heavy door slam behind you, just so she’ll know you’re there.

Natasha turns off the treadmill and comes to a stop. She doesn’t turn around. You can tell that she knows it’s you. 

You walk over and watch the tension rolling out of her. She is gripping the bar on the treadmill. You look at her knuckles, calloused from a lifetime of effort. 

You are just like her. 

Her shoulders curve as she leans forward, crying silently. 

Your jaw tightens. 

You hate seeing Natasha’s weakness. You cannot tolerate a world where she is not the best. 

Carefully, you reach out and press your hand to her back. You can feel the bumps of her spine against your palm. Her chest heaves with silent sobs. 

Wordlessly, Natasha turns around. She buries herself against your front. You hug her tightly. You can feel her crying harder. Unthinkingly, your fingers trace her perfect braids.

You lead her back to her room when she is no longer crying. Your tight hold of her hand leaves no room for misunderstanding. 

She sits stiffly on her bed and you bring her over a glass of water. She takes it and sips quietly. You can see the hesitation in her side glances.

There is something unfixable now. Some part of the illusion that is gone forever. 

You reach over to Natasha and undo the ends of her braids. Slowly, you unwind them until you can run your fingers easily through her wavy hair. Your fingertips brush her skin and you hear her sigh. 

You move her hair to the side and press a kiss to her bare shoulder. 

You feel the shudder run through her at the touch of your lips. 

She takes your hand and slowly directs it to her breast. You squeeze it automatically and Natasha moans. The glass of water moves to a side table and Natasha’s hand comes to cover your own. She squeezes her own breast harder and then moans louder. 

You smirk as you realise you will have to work harder if you want to be as good as her.

You kiss along her neck, your teeth nipping at her soft skin. Natasha’s hips shift needily on top of the bed and your breath catches. 

Natasha hesitates then. You hear her take a deep breath. Her thumb brushes your calloused knuckles. She doesn’t look at you.

‘Even now?’ She breathes at last.

You close your eyes. Her back is pressing against you. You can smell the sweat on her skin. She is warmth and you are wrapped around her. 

‘There was never any competition.’ You tell her with your lips on her skin.

.

.

Requests are still very welcome for future January fics. More info in the pinned post if you're interested in requesting. <3

.

[meazalykov]

play for the crowd

lauren james x english!influencer!reader : social media + fic

summary: a fake relationship never ends well.. or does it?

warnings: angst, very long chapter

for @pinkyqily + @jackiesunshines

“welcome back to ‘call her daddy,’ babes,” alex starts with her signature grin, leaning closer to the mic. 

“today, we’ve got the it-girl of england sitting across from me. she’s hilarious, she’s fashionable, she’s friends with basically everyone worth knowing—please give it up for y/n!!”

you laugh softly, adjusting your seating in the red fancy chair.

“oh, stop it. you’re hyping me up too much.”

“listen, i only speak the truth on this podcast,” alex replies dramatically, hands gesturing like she’s addressing an audience of thousands. 

“so, let’s just jump right in. your fashion—people are obsessed. i mean, half the girls listening are probably taking notes on your outfit right now as we speak.”

you smile, settling into your seat. 

“i feel like my style is a bit all over the place, to be honest. one day i’ll be in baggy streetwear, the next i’m in a full-on luxury brand look, then i’m in some scandi-inspired minimalism, and before you know it, i’m frolicking in a meadow in a cottagecore dress. i just wear whatever’s cute.”

“so, you’re telling me your closet must look insane.” alex leans forward, clearly intrigued.

“oh, it’s a disaster,” you admit with a laugh. 

“you know when people say, ‘if you can’t see it, you won’t wear it’? yeah, my clothes are in piles. i try to organize, but then i get new stuff, and it’s chaos all over again.”

“and yet you always look put together. how does that even work?”

“magic,” you joke, adjusting your oversized blazer. 

“or maybe just panic dressing.”

alex grins. 

“fair enough. okay, now—this is a call her daddy episode where i am the nosey host, so we have to get into your social life. you’ve got so many famous friends. who’s in your circle? who’s in the inner circle?”

you raise an eyebrow.

“you’re really trying to get the tea, huh?”

“always,” alex says without hesitation. 

“give us something.”

you smirk. 

“well, i’ve got a mix of people, you know? like, models, footballers, actors... it’s a weird little melting pot. i vibe with people who are chill and don’t take life too seriously.”

“what about jude bellingham?” alex’s grin widens, mischief sparkling in her eyes. 

“you’ve been seen with him quite a bit. are we finally getting confirmation here?”

your laugh is immediate, and you shake your head as you roll your eyes playfully. 

“oh my god, no no no absolutely not. jude is not my type at all.”

alex gasps theatrically. 

“wait, hold on. you’re telling me jude bellingham, literal dreamboat that maybe has a million edits of himself, is not your type? do you know how many women would kill for that chance?”

“i’m sure they would,” you reply, still laughing. 

“but, yeah, jude and i are just friends. strictly platonic. in fact, he’s hilarious.”

alex’s eyes narrow in mock suspicion. 

“so, what is your type, then?”

you pause for a moment, knowing the question is loaded. you take a breath, then grin. 

“well, just know that i don’t swing jude’s way.”

alex’s face lights up. 

“ohhh, so you’re into women?” her excitement is palpable.

“yeah,” you say, nodding firmly. 

“i mean, people have speculated for years, so… there you go. confirmed. i like women.”

“iconic,” alex replies, clapping her hands. 

“this is huge!!!! so, do you have a partner? because i feel like everyone’s going to be dying to know now.”

a weight sinks in your chest, but you plaster on a smile. you hate lying, but this is part of the game. 

“i do,” you say carefully, keeping your voice light. 

“but i’m not spilling anything just yet.”

“oh, come on,” alex pleads. 

“not even a little hint?”

you shake your head, laughing softly. 

“nope. but trust me, everyone will know who she is eventually.”

alex groans in mock defeat, throwing her head back. 

“you’re killing me, y/n. absolutely killing me.”

“i gotta keep some mystery, alex,” you tease. 

“otherwise, what’s the fun?”

y/n.l/n

{tagged: yourbsf}

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y/n.l/n hello 2025

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y/nl/nluvr5 SO CUTE

yourbsf ily

ashley_lawrence10 pretty! 🤩

wosofan2719 why are all of the chelsea girls in her likes?? 🫣

user6282 I thought I was the only one who peeped

random12938 after her podcast with alex on friday, I am convinced y/n's girlfriend is known to the public already. you might be onto something since she is already close with english footballers

madelineargy 😍

~view all 2,039 comments~

you’re sitting cross-legged on your plush beige couch, the soft hum of a charli xcx playlist filling the quiet of your london apartment. 

a steaming mug of tea sits on the coffee table, untouched, as you absently scroll through your phone. your eyes flick to the clock—just past noon. you’re waiting on lauren to send over the ticket details for tonight’s chelsea vs. arsenal match, the anticipated london derby.

your stomach twists slightly at the thought. not because of the game—you actually enjoy football. it’s the situation you’ve been thrown into that makes you uneasy. 

a fake relationship. a pr stunt. your team’s bright idea to boost both your profiles. it’s not like you haven’t heard the horror stories: influencer friends venting about staged dates, awkward photoshoots, and scripted chemistry with people they couldn’t stand and hated. 

you swore you’d never do something so fake, yet here you are.

your phone buzzes, snapping you out of your thoughts. it’s a message from lauren.

lauren: hey, just sent your name to the list—tickets will be at will call under 'guest of lj.' fancy title, right?

you smile faintly, typing back.

you: wow, i feel so important. 

you joke. a reply comes almost instantly.

lauren: absolutely. “fake girlfriend to chelsea star.” major clout.

you laugh under your breath, appreciating her humor despite the absurdity of the situation.

you: i can’t lie.. this is all so ridiculous. have you done this kind of thing before?

lauren: nope. first time for me too. i feel like i should apologize in advance if i make this awkward.

you: i was just about to say the same to you. we’ll both be awkward… it’ll balance out.

lauren’s next text takes a second longer to come through.

lauren: for what it’s worth, i know this isn’t ideal. but i promise i’m not a complete nightmare in person like the media can paint me out to be. 

you pause, rereading her message. there’s something about her tone—genuine, almost reassuring. however, you frown at the last part of her message. you have seen the tweets and post that have villainized her about certain situations that have happened between her and other players. you don’t play football, but you understand how intense things can be.

lauren’s genuine personality makes you think that this won’t be as terrible as you’ve been building it up to be.

you: well, if you’re not a nightmare, i guess i can survive one football match. or how ever many as i will need to go to for us. as long as i don’t get smacked with a football in front of your everyone or something.

lauren: if you do, we’ll just blame it on the opposing team.

you laugh again softly, shaking your head. her dry wit feels disarming, and you find yourself a little more curious about meeting her in person. maybe, just maybe, lauren will surprise you.

the cool london air nips at your cheeks as you step out of the car, pulling your brown puffer coat tighter around yourself. the excitement hums through the blue and red crowds gathered outside the chelsea stadium. 

you glance up at the familiar facade, the blue and white banners waving proudly in the breeze. you’ve been here before, more times than you can count, but tonight feels… different.

you make your way through the gates, clutching the ticket lauren organized for you. your name’s on the guest list, which feels oddly official, even though you know it’s all just for show. navigating the stadium is second nature by now—you’ve been here for england matches, screaming alongside the fans, but you’ve never been here for chelsea. 

the thought feels strange, almost disloyal, considering most of your friends are manchester (city and united) fans through and through.

their reactions flash through your mind, the way they nearly lost it when you casually mentioned you were going on a "date" with a chelsea player.

"you’re joking, right? chelsea? you can’t be serious," one had said, barely hiding their disbelief.

"wait, who is it?" another pressed, practically bouncing in their seat. 

"don’t tell me it’s lucy bronze—no, wait, she just transferred here so i don’t think it's her."

you’d shrugged them off, offering nothing but a sly smile. “you’ll find out soon enough,” you’d teased, leaving them to spiral into speculation. you didn’t have the heart—or the nerve—to explain the truth yet. 

not until you’d met lauren in person, not until you knew how this whole fake relationship would pan out.

as you approach the friends and family section, a subtle wave of nervousness rolls over you. this is it—the start of whatever chaotic media circus your teams have orchestrated. you take a deep breath, smoothing the invisible wrinkles on your coat, and step inside.

you wonder if people will question your presence in that section, why you were here by yourself with none of your friends to accompany you. however, you decide to take the next 90 minutes to collect your thoughts while lauren plays her match.

taking your seat, directly where you can see the middle of the pitch, the noise of the crowd fills your ears as you settle. your focus is razor-sharp. your eyes stay locked on lauren as she moves across the pitch with ease, weaving through arsenal's defense like it’s second nature. 

the game already started three minutes ago.. and she’s good…really good. you knew that already, of course, seeing her play live is something else entirely.

you shift in your seat, trying to keep your expression neutral. the plan is simple: be here, watch the match, and appear supportive. it’s harder than you thought to ignore the weight of the cameras that occasionally pan away from the game and land on you instead. 

you know what the headlines will say. you can already picture the tweets that are posting on twitter as your eye move along lauren’s body.

the speculation is what you’re here for. you tap your fingers against the armrest of your seat, trying to drown out the chatter in your head. this is all part of the plan, you remind yourself. 

still, the questions buzzing online are ones you’re not ready to answer. not yet. this isn’t even real after all.

your eyes dart back to lauren. she’s on the ball again, making a sharp run from a sharp pass from lucy that sets up a near-perfect chance. the crowd erupts, and you find yourself caught between genuine admiration for her skill and the uncomfortable reality of why you’re here. with the cameras on you, though, you know better than to let anything too much slip. 

you lean forward slightly, keeping your attention locked on lauren, as though she’s the only thing that matters in the moment.

the game ends with a 2-1 win for chelsea. you stand awkwardly by the fruit stand in the lounge room area, pretending to be invested in the arrangement of grapes and orange slices. the truth is, you feel out of place. 

this isn’t your scene, and it shows. the other friends and family members seem at ease, chatting and laughing like they belong here. you, however, can’t shake the anxiety in your chest. of course, people recognize you—this is england, after all. your face is plastered on magazine covers and social media feeds. here, in this context, you feel more exposed than ever.

you shift your weight from foot to foot, glancing at the clock on the wall. lauren’s team has just wrapped up their post-match debrief, and any minute now, she’ll walk in. the thought doesn’t help your nerves; if anything, it makes them worse. 

you haven’t even met her in person before, yet the entire world will soon think that she’s your girlfriend. the absurdity of it all threatens to make you laugh, but the knot in your stomach keeps you grounded.

you’re about to reach for a piece of pineapple when you feel a light touch on your shoulder. the sensation startles you, and you turn around quickly, almost dropping the toothpick you’re holding.

“i didn’t know you could be so shy, y/n,” lauren says, her tone teasing but warm. she’s standing there, freshly showered, her hair damp and swept back. the post-match attitude has faded, leaving her looking relaxed, but there’s a spark of curiosity in her eyes as she takes you in.

you smile nervously, your fingers fidgeting with the hem of your blazer. 

“well, i’m usually not,” you reply, your voice quieter than you intended. 

“but this is… a little out of my comfort zone.”

lauren’s brows raise slightly, and she steps closer, her presence somehow steadying. 

“really? you, out of your comfort zone? that’s hard to believe.”

you glance down, feeling heat rise to your cheeks. 

“it’s different when it’s not my crowd. football people, you know? i’m more used to influencer events or fashion shows, not… this.”

lauren chuckles softly. 

“well, for what it’s worth, you look like you fit right in. maybe too well. people are already whispering about you.”

“great,” you mutter, trying to keep the sarcasm light but unable to mask your discomfort. 

“exactly what i wanted.”

she tilts her head, studying you for a moment. 

“it’ll die down eventually,” she says, her tone more serious now. 

“but i get it. it’s weird, isn’t it? pretending like this? its going to be worse once we have to tell the media.”

you let out a small laugh, more out of relief that she said it than anything else. 

“weird doesn’t even begin to cover it,” you admit. 

“i mean, we haven’t even met before today, and now the world will think that we’re madly in love. it’s ridiculous.”

lauren nods, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. 

“yeah, it is. but hey, we’re in this together, right?.”

you meet her gaze. she’s genuine, at least, and that’s something. “you’re right,” you say softly, your smile more genuine now. 

“i guess we’ll figure it out.”

she grins, and the moment feels strangely natural despite the layers of pretense surrounding it. then she gestures toward the lounge area where the other players’ families are gathered. 

“come on. let’s get you out of the corner. they’re going to think i’m a terrible girlfriend if i leave you standing here alone.”

you laugh, following her lead, the tension still present but slightly eased by her presence. it’s strange, walking beside her, knowing that the world will see something entirely different from what you feel inside. 

for now, you push that thought aside and focus on surviving the night.

lj10

{tagged: y/n.l/n}

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random28383 IS THAT WHO I THINK IT ISSS??????

y/nl8vr MY BABY ON THE THIRD SLIDE

chelseafcwfan7 I KNEW IT WAS LAUREN THAT WAS DATING Y/N

❤️ *liked by author*

y/n.l/n 😘😘

user91010 oh that's not..

meazalykov ??

user91010 @/meazalykov i did not expect lauren and y/n no shade..

meazalykov well too bad..

lucybronze hard launch era

catarina_macario 😍😍

~view all 10,378 comments~

the days throughout the next few weeks blur together in a haze of carefully curated social media posts and staged interactions. every picture, every story, every comment feels like a chess move, calculated for the public eye. 

by now, the world has accepted the narrative—lauren james and y/n l/n, england’s newest power couple.

behind the scenes, it’s a different story entirely. you and lauren barely talk, only exchanging the occasional text when coordinating your next “public moment.” it’s efficient, professional even, but cold. 

you can’t help but feel the growing weight of the disconnect between the facade you show the world and the reality of your relationship. or lack thereof.

yet, something about lauren lingers in your mind. she’s kind in the brief moments you’ve interacted—genuine, with a subtle humor that catches you off guard. you’ve noticed how her quiet demeanor shifts when she’s irritated, her sharp gaze and tense shoulders mirroring your own tells when you’re frustrated. 

it’s a trait that feels too familiar, like looking into a mirror.

sitting on your couch late one evening, your phone in hand, you scroll mindlessly through instagram. you pause looking at the instagram story you posted with lauren, staring at the image, at the way lauren’s hand rests casually on your back in the mirror picture. you’d both laughed during that shoot. the memory stirs something in your chest—a quiet ache you can’t quite place.

she’s fascinating in a way you didn’t expect. it’s not just her talent on the pitch or her rising fame; it’s the little things. the way her smile softens when she’s genuinely amused. the thoughtful pauses she takes before she speaks. the way she seems to carry a quiet confidence, even in the chaos of the public’s attention. 

you shake your head, exhaling sharply. this is ridiculous, you tell yourself. the truth is, you want to know her… the real her, not the polished version you’ve pieced together through brief interactions and online impressions. 

you open your messages, your thumb hovering over her name. for a moment, you consider texting her something—anything—to start a conversation. however, the thought of overstepping, of complicating an already convoluted situation, keeps you frozen. 

with a sigh, you lock your phone and toss it onto the couch beside you.

whatever this is, whatever it could be, will have to wait. for now, you’ll stick to the plan, no matter how much your thoughts keep drifting back to lauren.

y/n.l/n

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y/n.l/n good evening

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❤️ *liked by author*

lj10 good evening 😍😍

lucybronze its 11:09am..

y/n.l/n again, good evening lucy bronze

lucybronze good evening ig 😒

catarina_macario 🤩

random2728 lj and y/n having a private but not secret relationship 🥰

user72929 LOVE

random2728 there's something off about this..

random10989 wym?

leahwilliamsonn 😍

~view all 4,290 comments~

the bar is calming, music thrumming in the background as laughter and chatter fill the air. the dim lighting casts a warm glow over the group, everyone mingling and sipping on their drinks. 

you’re perched on a stool near the bar, glancing occasionally at lauren, who’s leaning against the counter, chatting easily with one of her teammates, millie. she looks relaxed, her posture casual, but there’s something about the way her eyes flick to you every so often that has your stomach in knots.

“another drink?” her voice cuts through the noise, her tone light but carrying just enough warmth to catch your attention.

you look up at her, a slight smile tugging at your lips.

“are you trying to get me drunk, lauren?”

she smirks, handing you the glass. 

“maybe. or maybe i just want to make sure you’re having a good time.”

you take a sip, feeling the burn of the alcohol mixed with something sweeter—the way she’s looking at you. 

“thanks,” you murmur. 

“but i can return the favor. what are you drinking?”

“water,” she says simply, holding up her glass. 

“staying hydrated.”

you tilt your head, studying her. 

“water? not even one drink? you’re playing it too safe.”

she shrugs, a playful glint in her eyes. 

“someone has to keep an eye on you.”

you laugh, the sound escaping before you can stop it. 

“oh, so now you’re my babysitter?”

“if that’s what you need,” she fires back smoothly, her grin widening.

there’s a moment, a charged pause, where the noise of the bar seems to fade into the background. lauren’s gaze lingers on you, and you feel your cheeks heat under the intensity of it. 

you lean in slightly, emboldened by the drinks and the energy between you.

“careful,” you tease, your voice dropping just enough to match the tension. 

“someone might think you actually care.”

“and what if i do?” she counters, her tone light but her eyes unreadable.

you blink, caught off guard. the banter feels easy, natural, but there’s something underneath it that feels heavier—real. you search her face for a clue, but she keeps her expression steady, a flicker of amusement playing at the corners of her mouth.

“then i’d say you’re doing a great job convincing everyone here,” you say finally, trying to match her confidence, even as your heart races.

her lips curve into a smirk. 

“convincing you, too?”

your breath catches, and for a split second, you don’t know what to say. she watches you, her expression calm but undeniably smug, as though she knows exactly the effect she’s having on you.

“maybe,” you admit, keeping your voice steady despite the way your pulse thunders in your ears.

she chuckles softly, the sound low and intimate, and it leaves you feeling both flustered and unmoored. then, as if sensing the moment tipping into something too real, she pulls back slightly, raising her glass of water in a mock toast.

“to good acting,” she says, her voice light but her eyes holding yours a beat too long.

you clink your glass against hers, your stomach twisting as you try to discern whether she’s teasing or deflecting. 

as the night wears on, you can’t shake the way her words, her gaze, her presence—all of it—lingers in the back of your mind. was it an act? or was there something more beneath the surface? you don’t know, and the uncertainty gets at you in a way you didn’t expect.

your drink—something sweet and forgettable—sits untouched in front of you, the condensation pooling around the glass on the counter. the room feels alive as you watch your surroundings again, as lauren’s teammates and your friends fill the dance floor, laughing, swaying to the music, completely at ease. 

you, however, feel like a misplaced puzzle piece.

you’re here for a purpose, after all—not to let loose, but to be seen. you and lauren were both instructed to attend, to sit in proximity long enough for someone to notice, snap a photo, and post it online. the public needed to see the happy “couple” out and about, living their seemingly charmed lives. 

that was the plan. it always is. however, something about tonight feels off.. or maybe it’s you that feels off. 

your eyes drift to lauren, who’s sitting a few stools away at this point, talking to sjoeke. lauren’s body language is relaxed, her posture casual, and she exudes that effortless charm you’ve come to associate with her. her laugh carries over the music, soft but genuine, and it’s disarming. 

you’ve seen her in a dozen different settings by now—on the pitch, in interviews, even in those staged photoshoots your teams made you do together—but she always carries the same quiet confidence. 

“why do i care so much about her flirting earlier?” the thought hits you suddenly, and you blink, startled by your own realization. you know you shouldn’t care. it’s not like there’s anything real between you two. this is business, nothing more. 

you’re about to take a sip of your drink when movement catches your eye. a brunette woman, her steps uneven and her smile a little too wide, weaves her way through the crowd and makes a beeline for lauren. 

she stops next to her, leaning on the counter for balance before sliding onto the stool beside her. 

at first, you think nothing of it. people approach lauren all the time; it comes with the territory of her being a footballer.. then you notice the way the woman leans in, her body language screaming flirtation. 

even over the music, you catch snippets of her words. 

“i’ve been watching you all night,” the brunette says, her voice slurred but still clear enough to make your chest tighten. 

you force yourself to look away, focusing instead on the condensation trailing down your glass. but your attention snaps back when you hear lauren laugh—a soft, polite chuckle that quickly morphs into something warmer. she’s flirting back. 

it’s subtle, nothing overt, but it’s enough to make your stomach churn.

you grip the edge of your stool, willing yourself to stay calm. this doesn’t matter, you tell yourself. this isn’t real. lauren is a footballer—a brilliant, talented, and undeniably attractive one. of course people are drawn to her. of course she’s going to flirt back.

you remind yourself that you’re just the one her pr team picked for this charade. nothing more. 

the tightness in your chest refuses to go away. watching lauren lean in closer to the brunette, her smile softening, feels like a punch to the gut and worse, it makes you question things you don’t want to question. 

like why you even care in the first place.

the noise of the bar feels suffocating, and before you know it, you’re sliding off the stool and heading toward the bathroom. the music dulls as you push through the door, and the quieter space is a welcome reprieve.

then, your eyes land on zion and amber. 

your two friends are tucked into a corner of the bathroom, lost in their own world. amber’s hands are tangled in zion’s hair, and zion’s lips are pressed firmly against amber’s. they don’t even notice you until the door clicks shut behind you. 

zion pulls back first, her face flushed. “y/n?” she asks, stepping forward. 

“you okay?”

you hesitate, the weight of the night pressing heavily on your chest. you don’t want to talk about it, but the lump in your throat makes it clear that you need to. 

“not really,” you admit, your voice quieter than you intended.

amber straightens, exchanging a quick glance with zion before walking over to you. 

“what’s going on?” she asks, concern evident in her tone.

just like that, everything comes pouring out. the fake relationship, the constant public scrutiny, the pressure to perform for an audience you didn’t ask for. you tell them about the brunette at the bar, how lauren flirted back, and how much it hurt even though it shouldn’t have. when you’re done, you feel a little lighter, but the knot in your chest remains.

zion crosses her arms, her brow furrowed in thought. 

“y/n,” she says carefully, “are you… catching feelings for lauren?”

the question hangs in the air, heavy and uncomfortable. your first instinct is to deny it, to brush it off as ridiculous. but the truth gnaws at you, undeniable and unrelenting. you don’t say anything, which is answer enough.

amber steps closer, placing a hand on your arm. “look,” she says gently, “you need to figure this out. either you tell her how you feel and end this whole fake thing, or you set some serious boundaries before you get hurt.”

you nod slowly, the reality of her words settling over you like a weight. “yeah,” you murmur. 

“you’re right.”

as you stand there, staring at your reflection in the bathroom mirror, the question lingers in your mind. 

how did i even let this happen?

the days pass in a haze of avoidance and overthinking. 

you bury yourself in work, content for tiktok, and anything else that keeps you busy enough to ignore the fluttering in your chest every time you think of lauren. it’s not hard to avoid her; after all, your only real interactions have been the orchestrated ones... lunches, coffee dates, the occasional walk in the park, all designed to feed the narrative. 

without the need for those, you manage to keep your distance.

your phone buzzes occasionally with texts from lauren. nothing accusatory or probing, just polite questions about when your next outing is or casual jokes about how your pr teams must be getting impatient about when the next outing will be. 

each message makes your stomach twist, the guilt poking at you. she doesn’t deserve to be avoided, but you can’t bring yourself to face her right now.

the bathroom conversation at the bar replays in your head on a loop. amber’s words, “set boundaries or tell her how you feel,” echo louder with each passing day. it feels like you’ve done neither, stuck somewhere in limbo, unsure of what to do. 

all you know is that seeing lauren flirt with someone else hurt more than it should have. and now, it’s painfully clear why.

you caught feelings. 

the realization had hit you like a train that night, leaving you panicked. you’ve spent years building walls around yourself, keeping relationships at arm’s length, unwilling to let anyone in after your last heartbreak. yet here you are, feelings growing for someone who isn’t even truly yours. 

lauren’s face lingers in your mind far more often than you’d like. the chelsea player’s quiet humor, her thoughtfulness, the way her smile lights up when she’s genuinely happy.. it’s all etched into your brain, no matter how much you try to push it away. 

the worst part? you know this is going nowhere. fake relationships don’t magically become real, and even if they did, there’s no guarantee lauren feels the same.

you sit on your couch, scrolling absentmindedly through your phone. the notifications pile up—comments on your latest post, messages from friends, an email from your team about your next public appearance. 

you can’t bring yourself to focus on any of it. all you can think about is how scared you are that you’ve made a mistake, one that’s far too late to undo.

hours later.. around midnight.. you’re curled up on your couch, a soft blanket draped over your legs as you dig into a bowl of rice and chicken. the dim glow of the tv lights up the room, the suspenseful soundtrack of squid game filling the air. 

it’s the perfect distraction, engrossing enough to keep your thoughts at bay, even if just for a little while.

then, a faint knock interrupts the quiet. at first, you assume it’s coming from the show, but when it happens again, you freeze. your eyes flick to the door. you weren’t expecting anyone, and frankly, you’ve been avoiding everyone for the last few days. 

the knocking persists, steady and deliberate, until you reluctantly pause the show and get up.

your heart races as you peek through the peephole. the sight of lauren standing there, hands shoved into the pockets of her hoodie, sends your mind spiraling. 

what is she doing here? how did she get my address?

you open the door slowly, your confusion evident. 

“lauren?” you ask, your voice wary. 

“what are you doing here? how did you even know where i live?”

she offers a small smile, almost sheepish. 

“hey. i asked madeline. hope that’s okay.”

you step aside, letting her in despite your confusion at why she would go so far to ask your mutual friend what your address was. lauren looks around, her eyes landing on the paused screen of squid game. 

“season two?” she asks, nodding toward the tv. 

“is it any good? haven’t had the chance to watch it yet because of training.”

“so far, yeah,” you reply, your tone cautious. 

“like the first season. but… why are you here?”

she turns to face you, her expression soft but serious. 

“i came to talk to you. you’ve been avoiding everyone.. me included.. and it’s not like you. i just want to make sure you’re okay.”

you try to brush it off, waving a hand dismissively. 

“i’m fine. just needed some space, that’s all.”

lauren doesn’t budge. she crosses her arms, tilting her head slightly. 

“come on, y/n. i know something’s wrong. you can’t just disappear like that and expect no one to notice.”

you let out a dry laugh, shaking your head. 

“what does it matter? you probably have a real date to get to or something.”

she frowns, her brows knitting together. 

“what are you talking about? i don’t have a real date. why would you say that?”

your heart pounds in your chest, but you push forward, your voice tinged with frustration. 

“do you have a real partner, lauren? someone you’re seeing while we’re doing this… this fake thing?”

lauren’s confusion deepens. 

“what? no. where is this even coming from?”

the tension boils over, and before you can stop yourself, the words spill out. 

“because it’s driving me insane, lauren! this whole fake relationship thing.. it’s messing with my head. i can’t stop thinking about you, and it’s not just for the cameras or the public or whatever. i caught feelings, okay? within these few months of pretending to be your girlfriend, i somehow…. god, i don’t even know. i like you and i know that’s not part of the plan, so if this makes things too complicated, we can stop. i get it.”

the room goes quiet, your words hanging heavily in the air. lauren’s eyes widen, and for a moment, you brace yourself for rejection. but then her expression shifts… softening into something that looks like relief.

“wait,” she says, stepping closer. 

“are you serious?”

you nod, your heart in your throat. 

“yeah. and if that’s too much, just say the word, and we can call this off. i’ll tell the pr team about the situation myself.”

lauren shakes her head quickly. “no, no. you’re not calling anything off.” her voice is steady, her gaze locked onto yours. 

“if we’re going to stop the fake relationship, it’s only because we’re starting a real one.”

your brows knit together, confusion washing over you. 

“what are you saying?”

she takes a breath, her lips curving into a small, genuine smile. 

“i’m saying that i’ve caught feelings too. you’re kind, funny, and beautiful.. completely yourself no matter the situation. you’re the kind of person who i love spending my time with, even for something as ridiculous as a fake relationship, this has been the best part of my year.”

you stare at her, your brain struggling to catch up. 

“you… like me?”

“yeah,” she says, her smile widening. 

“i like you, y/n. for real, nothing fake.”

the tension in your chest finally loosens, replaced by something warm and overwhelming. 

“so, what do we do now?”

lauren grins, her expression brighter than you’ve ever seen it. 

“first, i’m calling the pr team and telling them we’re done with this fake stuff. after that, we’ll figure it out. together.”

you let out a breathy laugh, relief washing over you. 

“okay. yeah. let’s do that.”

she glances at the tv, her grin turning playful. 

“before that, can we watch the rest of this? i’ve been meaning to start season two.”

you laugh, gesturing to the couch. 

“sure, but you’re sharing my blanket.”

lauren plops down beside you, pulling the blanket over her legs as the two of you settle in. for the first time in weeks, everything feels right.

also real.. 

masterlist

happy very early birthday aj 😆

[echo-riot]

Posting somthing that isn’t sevika???? Unheard of

Anyways-

VI DATING HEADCANONS + a Cute Drabble

Vi is naturally protective of her girl. Whether you’re in Piltover or Zaun, she insists on walking you home, her arm wrapped securely around your waist. If anyone so much as looks at you wrong, she’ll shoot them a death glare—or worse.

Vi is incredibly touchy. She loves holding your hand, resting her chin on your shoulder, or pulling you into a hug from behind. Her love language is physical touch, and she craves that connection constantly.

Vi shows her love through actions. She’ll fix things around your place, bring you your favorite snack, or leave her jacket draped over your shoulders when you’re cold.

Vi loves simple dates—grabbing greasy food from street vendors, exploring Zaun’s markets, or sparring with you just for fun. But she’ll also surprise you with occasional grand gestures, like taking you to a rooftop to watch the city lights.

Vi tries to play it cool, but she’s easily jealous. If someone flirts with you, she’ll wrap an arm around your waist and kiss your temple, making it crystal clear you’re hers

She doesn’t care much about social norms or what others think. If someone makes a snide comment about you, she won’t hesitate to step in, fists clenched and ready to defend you

While she loves teasing, Vi has a soft spot for calling you endearing names when it’s just the two of you—“baby,” “love,” or even a unique nickname tied to an inside joke. She tries out the weirdest nicknames for you too, ranging from “Snuggle Punch” to “Hot Pocket.” The worst part? She says them with complete sincerity. You had to veto “Big Toe”

Vi has exactly three cooking settings: “burnt,” “raw,” and “how is the fire alarm not going off yet?” Every date night she insists she’ll “nail it this time,” and every date night ends with takeout and her swearing vengeance on your oven.

She constantly tries to convince you that chips and energy drinks are a balanced meal. If you so much as suggest eating a vegetable, she’ll dramatically gag and say, “I didn’t survive the Lanes to die of kale poisoning, babe.”

Vi sucks at being low-key when she’s plotting a surprise for you. She’ll come back from shopping with a giant bag, shove it behind her back, and loudly declare, “You didn’t see anything! Nope, definitely not a gift for you in here!”

If you work out together, Vi’s that girlfriend who slaps your back and yells, “ONE MORE REP, BABE!” like she’s training you for the Zaunite Olympics. But the second you spot her doing squats, she’s flexing and asking if you’re checking her out.

She has zero chill when someone flirts with you. She’ll immediately put on her gauntlets (if she has them nearby) or crack her knuckles and stare the poor soul down while saying, “What part of ‘taken’ did you miss, buddy?”

Vi has horrendous taste in movies and insists on watching the cheesiest action flicks with you. She’ll quote every single bad one-liner like it’s gospel and randomly yell, “EXPLOSIONS!” during quiet scenes.

Vi is the queen of spontaneous dumb ideas. “Babe, let’s wrestle.” “Babe, I think we should dye your hair pink.” “Babe, dare me to jump over that fence.” (Spoiler: she’ll do it whether or not you dare her.)

Vi texts like she’s trying to solve a riddle, constantly sending random emojis that make no sense. “🏴‍☠️🥊🔥🦖” somehow translates to, “I’m at the gym, love you, want pizza later?”

Vi snores. Loudly. And if you try to wake her up, she’ll grumble something like, “Shut up, babe. I’m fighting shimmer thugs in my dream.” She also steals all the blankets and leaves you clinging to the corner of the bed like it’s a survival raft.

If she gets the tiniest injury, she’ll act like she’s on her deathbed. “Babe, I think my pinky’s broken. You might need to kiss it better. No, wait, kiss my whole hand. Actually, better make it both hands—just in case.” (Only for you though.)

Vi loves hitting you with the dumbest pickup lines imaginable. “Are you shimmer? ‘Cause you’ve got me addicted, babe.” She’ll then smirk like she’s the smoothest person alive.

————————————————————————____________________________________________

You sat at a table in the corner of The Last Drop, sipping on your drink while Vi sulked dramatically next to you. She had her chin propped on her hand, eyes darting to a group across the room. You followed her gaze to a couple of young women laughing and glancing in your direction.

“Vi, they’re not even looking at me anymore,” you whispered, trying not to laugh.

“Oh, they were looking, alright,” Vi grumbled, narrowing her eyes. “I saw it. That one in the green? She was trying to undress you with her eyes. And not even subtly.”

You rolled your eyes. “They were probably just curious about your big, scary gauntlets. Or the fact that you stomped in here like you own the place.”

“I do own the place when I’m with you,” she said, dead serious. Then she grabbed your hand and laced her fingers through yours. “Look. If anyone tries anything, I’ll break their noses. Just blink twice if I need to go over there.”

“Vi,” you said, squeezing her hand, “no one’s coming over here. And if they do, I can handle myself.”

She glanced at you, clearly skeptical. “Babe, I love you, but you once tripped over your own feet walking to the kitchen.”

You burst out laughing, making her smirk.

“Oh, you think I’m funny?” she teased, leaning closer until her face was inches from yours. “What’s funny is the fact that you can’t stop thinking about me.”

“Oh yeah?” you said, leaning back with a grin. “You’re so cocky. What would you do if I wasn’t thinking about you?”

Vi’s expression turned mock-serious. “I’d probably throw myself into the Hexgate,” she deadpanned. “Start a new life on the other side of the world.”

You snorted. “And then what? Punch your way back to zaun?”

“Damn right,” she said, sitting up straight and puffing out her chest. “No one gets to steal my girl’s attention. Not even a Hexgate.”

Despite her ridiculous antics, her thumb gently traced circles over your hand, grounding you in the little moment you shared. You leaned into her side, your laughter dying into a soft smile.

“You’re an idiot,” you murmured.

“And you’re stuck with me,” she shot back, pressing a quick kiss to your temple.

Yeah, you were stuck with her. But with Vi, life was never boring—and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

[aspenmissing]

ᴀʀᴄᴀɴᴇ: ʀᴇɢʀᴇᴛꜰᴜʟ ᴍᴏᴍᴇɴᴛꜱ

ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴠɪᴋ | ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ | ᴊɪɴx || ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ/ᴀɴɢꜱᴛ-ɪꜱʜ

6115 ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ || ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: ᴀᴄᴄɪᴅᴇɴᴛᴀʟ ʜᴀʀᴍ

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: ᴏᴜʀ ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀꜱ ᴀɴᴅ/ᴏʀ ʏᴏᴜ ᴅᴏ ꜱᴏᴍᴇᴛʜɪɴɢ ʀᴇɢʀᴇᴛꜰᴜʟ. ʜᴏᴡ ᴡɪʟʟ ᴛʜᴇ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ʀᴇꜱᴘᴏɴᴅ.

ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ | ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ | ᴊɪɴx/ᴘᴏᴡᴅᴇʀ

JAYCE

The dim glow of the workshop’s lanterns flickered softly, casting long shadows over the polished metal surfaces of Jayce’s creations. His hands moved with precision, the soft hum of machines and the rhythmic tapping of his tools filling the space as he focused intensely on his latest project. His mind was consumed by his work, as it often was during times of pressure, and for the moment, everything else in his world faded into the background.

Except for one thing: Y/N.

She stood at the entrance to the workshop, watching him in silence. He didn’t even notice her standing there for several moments. The light music that played softly from the small speaker on the corner of his workbench filled the space, but it only highlighted the growing distance between them.

“Jayce…” Y/N finally spoke, her voice tentative, almost hesitant. She hadn’t meant to interrupt, but the silence had stretched on for far too long.

Jayce didn’t look up from his work, his brow furrowed in concentration. “Hmm?” His response was curt, distracted.

Y/N’s heart sank. She had grown accustomed to the intensity of Jayce’s dedication to his research and inventions, but it seemed lately like there was always something pulling him away from her. She stood there, waiting for him to acknowledge her, to invite her into his world like he used to, but nothing came.

“I was thinking… maybe we could spend some time together tonight?” Y/N suggested softly, stepping a little closer to the workbench. Her voice was gentle, not wanting to push him, but wanting to feel that connection again—the one they used to share so effortlessly.

Jayce finally looked up, his eyes tired but focused. He hesitated, glancing back at the project in front of him, then back at Y/N. His expression softened for a brief moment, but then the weight of his responsibilities seemed to pull him back.

“I can’t right now,” he said, his voice quieter than before, almost apologetic. “There’s too much I need to finish. I’m close… so close to figuring it out.”

Y/N nodded, understanding the passion in his voice, but it did little to ease the ache in her chest. She had seen this before—the way Jayce would lose himself in his work, pushing everything else aside until he felt he had done enough. But this time felt different. This time, it wasn’t just his work pulling him away. It was as though he had built an invisible wall between them, one that no amount of pleading or patience could break.

“I get it, Jayce,” Y/N said, trying to keep her voice steady. “But when was the last time we actually spent time together? Just the two of us? It’s been weeks… months, even.”

Jayce looked at her, and for a moment, there was a flicker of guilt in his eyes. But it quickly vanished, replaced by a weariness that seemed to settle deep in his bones. “I don’t have time for that right now, Y/N. I need to focus.”

Y/N felt her stomach twist, a sharp pang of hurt cutting through her. “I’m not asking for much, Jayce. Just… a little of your time. It doesn’t have to be anything big, just—”

“I said I don’t have time!” Jayce interrupted, his voice rising before he could catch himself. He immediately regretted the sharpness, but the damage was done. He saw the hurt flash across Y/N’s face, and something inside him crumbled.

Y/N stood there for a long moment, her lips pressed together tightly as she held back the tears that threatened to spill. She didn’t know what to say anymore. Jayce’s work had always been important to him, but it had never felt like it came before her. But now, in this moment, she wasn’t sure if she was even part of his world anymore. His ambition, his goals, seemed to consume him entirely.

“Fine,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “I get it. I’ll leave you to your work.”

She turned to walk away, but before she could make it to the door, Jayce called out her name.

“Y/N… wait.”

She paused, but didn’t turn around. She didn’t want to see the look in his eyes right now, didn’t want to see the guilt or the frustration. He had already made his choice, and it wasn’t her.

Jayce’s voice softened as he stepped toward her. “I didn’t mean to snap at you. I just… I’m close to something big. You know how important this is to me. I can’t stop now.”

Y/N slowly turned to face him, her arms crossed over her chest as if to protect herself from the weight of his words. “I know, Jayce. I know how important it is. But don’t you see? You’re pushing me away”

Jayce swallowed, the words hitting him harder than he expected. He had always prided himself on his work, but he had never meant to let it overshadow the one person who had stood by him through everything. But now, as he looked at Y/N’s hurt expression, he realized the truth: he had been so focused on proving himself, on achieving greatness, that he had forgotten to nurture the relationship that mattered the most to him.

“I’m sorry,” Jayce said softly, taking a step closer. “I don’t want to push you away. You mean everything to me.”

Y/N shook her head, her eyes filled with unshed tears. “It doesn’t feel like it right now, Jayce.”

The silence stretched between them, thick and heavy. Jayce reached out, gently taking her hand, his thumb brushing over her skin as if trying to convey everything he couldn’t say. “I don’t want to lose you, Y/N. I’m just… afraid I’ll never be enough.”

Y/N’s heart twisted. She could see the vulnerability in his eyes, the fear that had driven him to bury himself in his work. She stepped forward, pulling him into a gentle embrace.

“You’re already enough,” she whispered into his ear. “But you can’t keep pushing me away. I need you too, Jayce. Not just as someone who can fix the world, but as the person you are. The person I love.”

Jayce’s arms tightened around her, the weight of his regret heavy on his chest. He held her close, savouring the feeling of her warmth, but knowing that he had a long way to go to make things right.

“I promise,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “I’ll do better. I’ll make time for us. I swear it.”

And in that moment, Jayce realized that he couldn’t afford to lose her—not for his work, not for his ambitions. Y/N had always been his anchor, and he couldn’t let go of the one person who truly understood him.

It was time to rebuild what had been broken. And he would do whatever it took to make it right.

VIKTOR

Viktor’s lab was a quiet, sterile environment, lit only by the soft glow of arcane machinery and the faint hum of the chemical reactors working in the background. The air always smelled faintly of oil and metal, a testament to the ambitious scientist's unyielding drive to push the boundaries of his experiments. Tonight, however, the atmosphere was different. Tonight, it was filled with an undercurrent of tension as Viktor prepared for his latest, most daring experiment yet.

“Y/N, you don’t have to do this,” Viktor said softly, turning to look at her with a mixture of concern and determination in his eyes. He stood tall despite the cane he leaned on, the weight of his past decisions and ailments making his movements a little slower, but still purposeful. “I can run the experiment alone. It’s too risky.”

Y/N, however, stood resolutely next to him, her hand resting gently on the table where the prototype of the new device sat. It was a marvel of engineering and alchemy, a machine designed to unlock the potential of Hextech technology in ways that had never been done before. She had always admired Viktor’s genius, his drive, and his unflinching pursuit of progress. And while she understood the dangers, she trusted him completely.

“I’m not afraid, Viktor,” she said with a small, reassuring smile. “I want to help. You’ve been working on this for so long, and I’m right here. I trust you.”

Her words seemed to settle some of the unease within Viktor, but a part of him still hesitated. He had always put progress above all else, but with Y/N by his side, it had become more difficult to keep his heart and mind from conflicting. She had become so much more than just an assistant to him, so much more than someone who helped him. She had become his partner, and the thought of risking her well-being gnawed at him in ways he wasn’t used to.

But she was persistent. Her faith in him was unwavering, and with a soft sigh, he nodded. “Alright. But you promise me, if something feels wrong, you’ll stop, yes? Don’t be reckless for my sake.”

Y/N’s smile widened. “I promise.”

The two of them worked together in synchrony. Viktor carefully adjusted the settings on the device, while Y/N followed his instructions to the letter, her focus sharp. The energy in the lab seemed to vibrate with anticipation, as though the world itself was holding its breath, waiting for the experiment to begin.

Viktor’s fingers hovered over the final switch, and he glanced at Y/N one last time. “Are you ready?” he asked.

She nodded. “Let’s do this.”

Viktor flipped the switch.

For a moment, everything was still. The machine hummed to life, its core glowing brightly, and streams of energy surged through the air. Viktor’s heart raced as he watched the device’s progress on the monitors, his breath caught in his chest. But then—just as quickly—something went wrong. A burst of energy erupted from the machine, more intense than he had anticipated. The surge knocked both of them backward.

Y/N lost her footing, her body tumbling toward the ground. Viktor reached out, but his cane slipped in the chaos, and he couldn’t catch her in time. The floor was cold against Y/N’s back as her head hit the hard surface with a sickening thud. The world around her spun in a blur, and a sharp pain flared across her skull.

“Miláčku!” Viktor shouted, his voice laced with panic as he rushed to her side, his cane discarded on the floor. His hands trembled as he cupped her face, his eyes frantic as he checked for any signs of serious injury. (Darling)

Y/N blinked slowly, her vision still blurry, but she tried to focus on his face. “I’m okay, Viktor,” she mumbled, her voice groggy. “Just a little dizzy… nothing serious.”

He breathed a sigh of relief, though his face was still drawn with concern. “I should have never let you do this” he whispered, more to himself than to her. His hands shook as he gently helped her sit up, his voice tight with guilt. “I put you in danger. I... I should’ve been more careful.”

“Viktor,” Y/N whispered, reaching up to place a hand over his. She could feel the tension in his fingertips, the weight of his regret. “This wasn’t your fault. I agreed to help you, remember? I knew the risks. This isn’t on you.”

But Viktor couldn’t shake the overwhelming sense of responsibility he felt for her safety. She had trusted him completely, and in that moment, he realized how much he had taken for granted. His pursuit of science, his desire to change the world, had come at a price. A price that could have cost him the person he cared most about.

JAYVIK

Y/N had always admired the dynamic between Jayce and Viktor—their partnership, their unyielding dedication to their work, and the bond they shared despite their differences. She had tried to be supportive, stepping into their world of Hextech whenever she could, even though she wasn’t a scientist herself.

But tonight, everything had unraveled.

It started with a simple misunderstanding. Jayce had been pacing the workshop, his frustration palpable as he ranted about deadlines, council meetings, and the pressures of Hextech’s growing influence. Viktor, meanwhile, was hunched over his workbench, tools in hand as he adjusted some intricate device with the precision only he could manage.

Y/N had tried to help in her own way. She suggested taking a break, maybe grabbing something to eat, or just stepping away from the lab for a while. But the suggestion was met with resistance. Jayce waved her off, muttering something about needing to stay focused, while Viktor barely acknowledged her, too engrossed in his work to respond.

Feeling dismissed, Y/N’s patience snapped. “You two are going to run yourselves into the ground!” she exclaimed, her voice sharper than she intended. “You’re so obsessed with your inventions that you’re forgetting everything else—including the people who care about you.”

The words hung in the air like a heavy weight, and for a moment, the room fell silent.

Jayce was the first to react, his brow furrowing as he turned to face her. “We’re doing this for everyone, Y/N. For Piltover. For Zaun. You know that.”

“And you think that excuses shutting people out?” Y/N shot back, her frustration bubbling over. She turned to Viktor, who still hadn’t looked up from his work. “And you—do you even realize how much you’ve been pushing yourself? You’re not a machine, Viktor. You need rest too.”

Viktor finally looked up, his golden eyes narrowing slightly. “This work isn’t about convenience, Y/N. It’s about progress. Sacrifices must be made.”

The words stung more than she expected. “Sacrifices?” she repeated, her voice faltering. “Is that all I am to you? A sacrifice?”

Jayce stepped forward, his expression softening as he reached out to her. “Y/N, that’s not what he meant—”

But Y/N pulled away, shaking her head. “I’m trying to help, but it feels like I’m just in the way. Maybe you don’t need me here at all.”

The moment the words left her mouth, she regretted them. Jayce’s face fell, hurt flickering in his eyes, while Viktor’s expression hardened into something unreadable.

“Miláčku…” Viktor began, his tone quieter now, almost pleading. (Darling)

But she was already backing toward the door. “I’ll leave you to your progress,” she muttered, her voice shaking as she turned and walked out of the workshop.

=

As the door clicked shut behind her, the silence in the shared apartment was suffocating. Y/N’s chest felt heavy as she retreated to the guest room, a place she rarely used but tonight felt necessary. She couldn’t face Jayce and Viktor—not after the way she’d lashed out at them.

Lying awake in the unfamiliar bed, Y/N replayed the argument over and over. She’d let her frustration get the better of her, and now all she felt was regret. Jayce and Viktor were trying their best to change the world, balancing immense pressure with their passion for Hextech. Instead of supporting them, she’d only added to their stress.

Eventually, exhaustion claimed her, though her sleep was restless and shallow.

The next morning, the faint scent of something warm and savory roused her. Y/N blinked against the soft light filtering through the curtains, her senses slowly sharpening. It smelled like… eggs? And toast? Was that coffee, too?

Curiosity outweighed her lingering guilt as she slipped out of bed and padded down the hallway toward the kitchen. Her heart clenched at the sight before her.

Jayce was at the stove, his broad shoulders hunched slightly as he flipped something in a pan. Viktor stood beside him, a bit awkward with his movements but focused as he carefully poured coffee into a mug. The kitchen table was already set with plates of food—scrambled eggs, toast, and a small bowl of fruit.

“Morning,” Jayce said, glancing over his shoulder with a sheepish smile. His voice was soft, hesitant. “We, uh, made breakfast.”

Viktor turned to her as well, his golden eyes scanning her face for a reaction. “It’s not perfect,” he said, gesturing to the table, “but we wanted to… apologize. For last night.”

Y/N’s throat tightened, and she had to blink back the sudden sting of tears. “You don’t have to apologize,” she murmured, stepping closer. “I’m the one who—”

“No,” Jayce interrupted gently, turning off the stove and placing the pan on the counter. He faced her fully, his expression earnest. “You were right, Y/N. We’ve been so caught up in our work that we’ve been neglecting everything else. Including you.”

Viktor nodded, his voice quieter but just as sincere. “Your concerns weren’t unwarranted. We… forget sometimes that there’s more to life than progress and deadlines. You were only trying to help.”

Y/N felt a tear slip down her cheek, and she quickly wiped it away, smiling despite herself. “I didn’t mean to make you feel like you weren’t doing enough. I just worry about you two. You’re both so driven, and I don’t want you to burn out.”

Jayce approached her, his arms opening slightly in invitation. “We’ll try to do better. For you. For us.”

Without hesitation, Y/N stepped into his embrace, feeling the tension from the night before melt away. Viktor joined them after a moment, his hand resting lightly on her shoulder. The three of them stood there in the warmth of the kitchen, a quiet understanding passing between them.

When they finally broke apart, Jayce gestured to the table. “Come on, before the food gets cold. Viktor even made coffee.”

Y/N chuckled, taking a seat and letting herself relax as they sat down together. The food wasn’t perfect—Jayce had overcooked the eggs slightly, and Viktor’s toast was a little burnt—but it didn’t matter. What mattered was the effort, the thought behind it.

In that moment, surrounded by the people she cared about most, Y/N realized that no argument, no misunderstanding, could break the bond they shared. Together, they’d figure out how to balance their passions with their lives. And together, they’d always find a way back to each other.

VANDER

The Last Drop was unusually quiet for a change, with the patrons gone and the dim lantern light casting a warm glow over the upstairs room. Y/N and Vander sat at the small table, a nearly empty bottle of whiskey between them. Laughter spilled from their lips as they reminisced about the past, their cheeks flushed from the alcohol they’d both indulged in.

“You’re slurring your words, big guy,” Y/N teased, pointing at Vander with a playful smirk. “Can’t handle your drink anymore?”

Vander let out a hearty laugh, shaking his head as he poured the last bit of whiskey into their glasses. “Says the one who’s giggling like a schoolgirl,” he shot back, his grin widening. “You’ve had just as much as I have.”

They clinked their glasses, the sound ringing out like a toast to their shared camaraderie. Y/N couldn’t remember the last time she’d laughed so much, her sides aching from their banter. But as the whiskey settled into their systems, the laughter turned into something lighter, more carefree.

It was Vander who suggested the tickling match, his mischievous side coming out in a way it rarely did. “Bet you can’t take me down,” he said, leaning back in his chair with a cocky grin.

Y/N narrowed her eyes, rising to the challenge. “Oh, you’re on.”

The playful scuffle started as harmless fun, with Y/N darting around Vander’s large hands, trying to tickle his sides while dodging his counterattacks. Their laughter filled the room as they stumbled around, their movements slightly clumsy from the alcohol.

But then, in one uncoordinated motion, Vander’s hand swung a little too wide, catching Y/N squarely on the nose.

The room seemed to freeze.

Y/N gasped, stumbling back as her hand flew to her face. A warm, wet sensation met her fingertips, and when she pulled her hand away, she saw the telltale red of blood.

“Oh, no,” Vander muttered, his voice low and panicked. The buzz from the whiskey evaporated in an instant, replaced by a wave of guilt and worry. “Sweetheart—”

“I’m fine,” Y/N interrupted, her voice muffled as she pinched her nose to stop the bleeding. But her words didn’t stop Vander from rushing over, his large hands hovering near her face, unsure of what to do without making things worse.

“Let me see,” he insisted, his voice steadier now but still heavy with concern.

Y/N relented, tilting her head back slightly as Vander gently cupped her face, examining her nose with a care that belied his size. “It’s just a bloody nose,” she said, offering him a small smile despite the situation. “No big deal.”

But Vander didn’t smile back. He grabbed a clean cloth from the table and carefully pressed it to her nose, his brow furrowed deeply. “No big deal? I hit you, Y/N,” he said, his voice tight. “That’s a big deal.”

“It was an accident,” Y/N said softly, placing a hand on his arm. “You didn’t mean to, Vander. We were messing around. It happens.”

“Still,” Vander muttered, his jaw clenched. “I should’ve been more careful. I could’ve really hurt you.”

The sight of him so distraught tugged at Y/N’s heart. She reached up, resting her hand on his cheek and forcing him to meet her eyes. “Hey,” she said gently, her voice steady despite the lingering sting in her nose. “I’m okay. Really. Accidents happen. But if it makes you feel better, I’ll let you pamper me for the rest of the night.”

Vander huffed a small laugh, though his eyes were still clouded with guilt. “Pamper you, huh?”

“Yup,” Y/N replied with a grin, her usual humour returning. “I expect a warm drink, a blanket, and maybe a foot rub.”

That finally earned a chuckle from Vander, though it was tinged with a hint of sadness. “You’ve got a deal,” he said, his voice soft.

He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close as they sat back down at the table. “I’m still sorry, Y/N,” he murmured. “You mean too much to me to let something like this happen.”

“I know,” Y/N said, resting her head against his chest. “But you don’t have to beat yourself up over it. I’m not mad, Vander. Just maybe… let’s save the tickle matches for when we’re sober next time.”

Vander let out a low laugh, his grip tightening around her in a protective embrace. “Deal,” he said, his voice warm and full of gratitude.

And as the night went on, the incident became just another memory to laugh about later—a reminder of how much they cared for each other, even when things got a little out of hand.

SILCO

The room was dim, the only light coming from the faint glow of the neon signs outside filtering through the cracked windows. Silco and Y/N stood across from each other, the tension in the air palpable. The weight of their argument pressed down on both of them—words had been thrown like daggers, each cutting deeper than the last.

"You don't understand!" Silco's voice was low, tinged with frustration, but his usual coldness was absent. He was angry, yes, but there was something else—fear, desperation—that lingered beneath his words.

Y/N’s face was flushed with anger, her voice quivering as she retorted, "I understand perfectly, Silco! You think you're the only one who’s sacrificed? The only one who’s had to make hard choices?" Her hands were clenched into fists at her sides. "You’ve built this empire, but what have you really gained? Power? Control? At what cost?"

Silco’s jaw tightened, his fists trembling at his sides. The scorn in her words stung more than he cared to admit. He opened his mouth to respond, but instead, a primal instinct surged through him. He raised his hand, palm open, as if to gesture angrily, but the movement was much too sharp, too quick. It was a motion born out of years of frustration, a gesture that, in his mind, had always been a warning.

But it wasn’t the hand that struck her—his intention never was. It was the movement itself that made Y/N flinch, her body jerking back as if she expected a blow.

The sight of her flinching—of seeing the fear in her eyes—stopped Silco dead in his tracks. The realization hit him like a sledgehammer, his heart sinking into the pit of his stomach. He never meant for it to go this far. He’d raised his hand out of pure instinct, a lifetime of anger and hurt flooding to the surface, but Y/N—Y/N, the one person he allowed into his world—had flinched.

Her eyes were wide, her expression one of shock, her breath catching in her throat as she looked at him. It wasn’t fear of him—he realized that in a split second—but fear of the violence he represented. It was a look he’d seen in so many others throughout his life, but never from Y/N. The thought that he had made her feel this way broke something deep within him.

"Y/N..." Silco’s voice faltered, the anger draining from him. He could feel his heart hammering in his chest as he slowly lowered his hand, the weight of his regret crashing down on him. He hadn’t meant to scare her. He had never meant to make her feel small, weak, or vulnerable in front of him. And yet, that’s exactly what he had done.

She didn’t move, her body tense, as though still bracing herself for something worse. Her wide eyes met his, searching for an explanation that he could not provide, and that broke him even more.

"I didn’t... I didn’t mean it," he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. He took a cautious step toward her, his hands trembling as they hovered in the air, unsure of what to do, how to fix what had just been shattered. "I... I'm sorry. I’m sorry."

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The silence between them felt suffocating, heavy with the realization of what he had almost done. He could see the tear that had formed in the corner of Y/N’s eye, a silent testament to the pain he had caused her.

Before he could say another word, Y/N spoke, her voice barely audible. "You scared me, Silco." Her words were simple, but they cut through him like a blade.

A broken sigh escaped him, and in that moment, all the walls he had built around himself—walls he had so carefully crafted to protect him from weakness—crumbled.

"I never wanted to hurt you," he said, his voice strained with emotion, each word feeling like it came from the very depth of his soul. "I swear to you, I never wanted to make you feel like that."

The cold exterior he had always worn—his calculated control, his ruthless demeanour—began to crack. He couldn’t stand the thought that he had made the one person who mattered to him feel this way. Y/N was more than just someone to him; she was the only person who saw past the monster he’d become. She saw the man beneath the anger, the man who was capable of love—real love, not the twisted, possessive affection he was used to.

Slowly, cautiously, Silco closed the distance between them. His hand reached out, his fingers trembling slightly as they brushed against her arm, then slowly slid around her back, pulling her into him. The warmth of her body, the softness of her skin, sent a wave of guilt and longing through him.

Y/N didn’t pull away. Instead, she rested her head against his chest, her hands gripping the fabric of his jacket as if holding onto something solid, something that still felt like home. She didn’t speak, and neither did he. The only sound in the room was the steady beat of their hearts, somehow in sync, despite the chaos that had just unfolded.

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” he whispered again, his voice hoarse. “I never want you to be afraid of me.”

Y/N's arms wrapped around him, returning the embrace, but this time there was no tension, no fear. Just the rawness of emotion, of two people who had hurt each other, but who could still find solace in each other’s presence.

“I know,” she murmured softly into his chest, the words carrying more weight than anything else. “I know you didn’t mean it.”

For a long moment, neither of them moved. They simply stood there, in each other's arms, finding comfort in the stillness. Silco wasn’t sure if he could undo the hurt he’d caused, but he knew one thing for certain: he would spend every moment of the rest of his life making sure that Y/N never had to flinch again when he raised his hand.

And that, in a strange, painful way, was a promise that broke his heart and rebuilt it at the same time.

POWDER/JINX

The explosion had rocked The Last Drop, sending shockwaves through the tavern as smoke and debris filled the air. No one had been hurt, thankfully, but the mess was impossible to ignore. Y/N had been upstairs in Silco’s private office when she heard the blast, and her heart sank as she rushed downstairs to find Jinx standing in the center of the destruction, looking sheepish but almost proud of her work.

“What did you do?” Y/N’s voice was sharp, the frustration bubbling to the surface. Her eyes scanned the wreckage—the broken tables, the charred walls—and then locked onto Jinx, who was standing there with her arms crossed defensively, a nervous smile on her face.

“I didn’t mean for it to go off like that,” Jinx muttered, her eyes wide with guilt. “I just wanted to... I thought I had it right, but it... I don’t know.”

Y/N didn’t have time for explanations. She grabbed Jinx’s arm roughly, her grip firm as she pulled her away from the wreckage. “We’re going upstairs, now.”

Without another word, Y/N dragged Jinx up the stairs to Silco’s office. The tension between them was thick, and Jinx didn’t resist. It was obvious that she knew she’d messed up, but she didn’t know how to fix it. She didn’t know what to say, either.

Y/N threw open the door to Silco’s office and practically shoved Jinx inside. The office was silent, the only noise being the soft hum of the air and the distant echoes of the tavern downstairs.

Silco, who had been at his desk working, looked up at the commotion. “What’s going on here?” he asked in his usual calm tone, but his eyes flickered with interest as he saw the mess Jinx had caused.

“Jinx almost blew the entire place up!” Y/N snapped, the anger in her voice still raw. She wasn’t sure if it was frustration with Jinx’s recklessness or just the overwhelming fear of what could’ve happened. Either way, she wasn’t backing down.

Jinx shrunk back from the two of them, her usual bravado slipping away. She couldn’t stand being scolded—especially by Y/N, the one person who always showed her care.

“Do you even think before you act?” Y/N’s words cut through the silence like a knife. “What were you thinking, Jinx? You could’ve hurt someone—or worse, hurt yourself!”

Jinx opened her mouth to speak, but the words caught in her throat. Her eyes welled up with tears, her hands trembling. It wasn’t supposed to go this way. She hadn’t meant for the explosion to be so big, hadn’t meant for it to create such a mess. But now she was being yelled at, and Y/N’s disappointment stung more than she could bear.

“I... I didn’t mean to...” Jinx whispered, but her voice was so small it barely registered.

Y/N’s frustration hadn’t dulled, but the sight of Jinx standing there, vulnerable and scared, made her pause. “You’re going to hurt someone if you don’t learn some control, Jinx. This is why I’m so worried about you. You act first and think later, and it’s dangerous.”

Jinx’s lip quivered, and she finally broke down. She didn’t want to cry, but the tears came anyway. “I’m sorry,” she sobbed, her voice trembling with the weight of her emotions. “I didn’t mean to... I just wanted to... I just wanted to do something big. Something that would... matter.”

Y/N’s heart softened, the anger dissipating as quickly as it had come. Jinx wasn’t a bad person—she was a broken one, and Y/N could see that. But the anger was still there, and it felt like there was nothing Y/N could do to fix this in a single moment.

Silco stood from his desk, his expression unreadable as he walked over to Jinx, placing a firm but gentle hand on her shoulder. “You need to understand the consequences of your actions, Jinx. Not everything can be a game. Some things, like what you just did, are dangerous.”

Jinx nodded silently, wiping her tears away with the back of her hand. “I understand,” she whispered, though the words felt hollow. She didn’t know if she really understood, or if she was just trying to make them stop shouting at her.

Y/N let out a long, heavy sigh, the tension leaving her shoulders. She walked over to Jinx and placed a hand on her arm, her voice softer now. “You’re not a bad person, Jinx. But you have to be more careful. You have to think about the people around you, okay? You’re not alone in this.”

Jinx looked up at her, the tears still visible in her eyes. “I don’t wanna mess up anymore... I don’t wanna disappoint you.” Her voice cracked, the weight of the apology heavy on her heart.

Y/N’s heart ached at the words. She reached out, gently cupping Jinx’s face in her hands. “Jinx, you haven’t messed anything up. You’re not a disappointment. You’re just a kid trying to figure it all out. But you can’t keep doing this. You can’t keep putting people at risk.”

Jinx sniffled, looking down at the floor, her fingers clenching and unclenching nervously. “I just wanted to do something... I just wanted to make something explode... I wanted to be... important.”

Y/N sighed, her heart aching for the girl standing before her. “You are important, Jinx. You matter. But making explosions isn’t the only way to prove that. You’ve got so much more to offer. Just... just stop before you make another mistake, okay?”

Jinx nodded slowly, her lip trembling as she wiped her eyes again. She wanted to say something, but the words wouldn’t come.

Y/N’s heart broke a little more as she watched Jinx retreat back to the door. She knew this wasn’t the end, that the girl would need more than just words to change her ways, but it was a start.

Jinx’s sobs echoed in the hallway as she ran from the room, retreating to her bedroom, where she could cry without anyone seeing her weakness. Y/N stood there for a moment, feeling the sharp sting of regret in her chest. Maybe she had been too harsh.

After a moment of hesitation, Y/N quietly followed after her, her footsteps soft as she approached Jinx’s room. She knocked lightly on the door, her voice quieter now. “Jinx?”

There was no response, but she could hear the soft sounds of sobbing from inside. Y/N opened the door slowly, stepping inside. Jinx was sitting on her bed, her back to the door, her arms wrapped around her knees.

Y/N sat down next to her, her voice low and gentle. “Jinx, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

Jinx looked up, her red eyes filled with the hurt that she had been trying to hide. “I just... I don’t want you to be mad at me. I don’t want to be... a burden.”

Y/N pulled her into a tight hug, her hands running through Jinx’s messy hair. “You’re not a burden. I care about you, Jinx. And I just want you to be safe. You don’t have to be perfect. You just have to try.”

Jinx sniffled, clinging to Y/N, her small frame trembling with the weight of her emotions. “I’ll try... I won’t do it again.”

Y/N held her closer, knowing that this wasn’t the end of the journey, but for now, it was enough. She would always be there for Jinx, no matter what explosions she caused or mistakes she made. Because, despite everything, Jinx was family. And Y/N wasn’t going anywhere.

[murderofravens]

THIEF

pairing: the salesman x fem!reader

summary: he looked harmless enough. you should've known you were stealing from the wrong man.

warnings: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, NON CON ELEMENTS but no actual smut, father issues, talks of abusive past (reader ran away from home) physical and verbal abuse, slapping, hitting and all that. age gap because of course, its my fic afterall. he's fucked up. that's it. read at your own risk.

A/N: shoutout to @muntitled for her incredible salesman fics and for inspiring me to start writing again. you're awesome.

the station seems colder today. your eyes twitch as you look around, analysing the people waiting for their next train. a woman sitting on a bench, reading. a few college students who probably are in more debt than you. a homeless man mumbling incoherently to himself while trying to light a match. a group of teenage boys laughing at something on their phone— you make a mental note to stay away from that side, for the sake of your own safety. the lightbulb flickers as you take a seat on the dirty floor, contemplating your options. that woman looks a good enough target— but with the layers of clothes she's got on, you don't believe you'll have any luck with her.

you hear footsteps coming down the stairs. you don't look up, merely focusing your gaze on the floor and pretending to be lost in thought. you've learned it's much easier to get away with pickpocketing if you don't immediately look at the person you're stealing from. something about not looking suspicious. a pair of shiny dress shoes stand by the train tracks— and you allow your gaze to trail up, up, up. this man has some long legs, you think to yourself. a crisp, stoney gray suit, and broad shoulders. a briefcase in hand and a seemingly innocent gaze looking around.

someone financially stable, judging by the expensive watch on his wrist. on first glance, you decide he looks like the kind of man who would be too tired or bored to run after you if he caught you in the act.

he'll be paying for your dinners for atleast a week.

as you stand up casually, you spot your target put on a charming smile and walk over to where the homeless man is warming his hands. you can't hear the conversation because the man's back is turned to you, but you can tell he is trying to advertise something to him. he opens his briefcase, and you catch sight of bundles of cash in it. you feel your heartbeat immediately picking up. your body feels warmer now; imagining a bright future for yourself if you managed to get a hand on the briefcase.

you don't bother eavesdropping in the conversation, you have other priorities. luckily, the woman on the bench was reading with her legs spread forward. you take the opportunity and stumble over her feet, losing your footing and falling forward with a loud cry— crashing right into your target who stumbles forward onto the homeless guy who lets out a string of curses.

"watch where you're fucking going!" he yells, and you're sure the woman behind you called you a fucking nutjob as well.

apologizing profusely, you put on your best sheepish expression and pat your target's back, helping him up. he looks at you strangely, giving you a tight lipped smile, and when you slip out his wallet from his back pocket, he doesn't seem to notice. before you can get a hand on the briefcase, he tugs it back and guides it towards the homeless man, engaging in another conversation with him. you're quick to walk away without another glance, swearing to yourself on your missed opportunity. but you suppose a wallet is better than nothing.

the first thing you do is run out and aim towards a crowded area you can disappear into. you open the wallet and pull out some cash— no identification, no credit cards. just a simple paper card with some symbols on it. it makes you wince. you thought with atleast an address or a name, you could've robbed him, but the universe seems to fucking hate you.

you eat some noodles from a street vendor. it's one of your favourites. in moments like these, you miss home. but you figure that having to steal and feed yourself is better than always having to walk on eggshells around your father— wondering when the next hit might come. or what other aspect of you would he decide to fixate on till you start hating yourself. you were tired of that life. this is okay, you'll deal with it.

it's when you're walking back to that rusty apartment you've started calling home that you feel a strange, prickling sensation on your back. so far, you always wondered if what people said was true— that you can tell when you're being watched. right now, you can feel it— this strange, unsettling fear that something is following you. you abruptly look behind, but there's no one there. you consider taking a short cut— but decide it's the stupidest thing you could do, so you just run home as fast as you can and hope whoever it is, doesn't catch you.

you feel victorious as you open the door to your place. as you step inside, something kicks you in the back of your knees and you yelp before falling forward, right on your face.

"what the fuck!?" you shriek breathlessly, scared out of your mind as you lean on your elbows and try to sit up. there's a haunting shadow blocking your doorway, and you can feel your heart begin to pound nervously as you spot the man from the station.

"you look at home down there," he says calmly, accent heavy in his voice. "rightful place for a thief like you."

your voice is stuck in your throat— eyes wide as you let out sharp, heavy breaths. does he know? how long has he been following you? did he involve the police? what is he going to do?

"listen, man." you start shakily, sitting up, "i don't know what you're talking about—"

as you try to stand again, his foot comes up and collides with your shoulder, sending you to the floor again, "fuck!—"

he doesn't let you up as you lay against the floor, his shoe painfully digging into your collarbone, "not only did you sabotage my job tonight, but you also stole from me. i don't like thieves—"

"i hadn't eaten in days!" you cry out, a hand coming up to grab onto his leg, eyes pleading with him to have some sympathy. you really try. "i'll— i can pay you back—"

"by stealing from someone else?" he asks, amused.

"no! god—" you let out a choked breath. you're scared out of your damn mind, it's obvious, but more so because the violence and humiliation you're facing now is what you ran away from home to avoid. you don't want this man to violate you. you're tired of being scared. "i can— i can do a job! anything! ill work for you or- or— i'm sorry, please—"

the man takes joy in your cries, it's obvious in the amusement in his eyes. he's enjoying the way you stumble over your words and make a fool of yourself. but after a moment of begging, he pulls his leg back and gives you a moment to breathe. you sit up, choking on heavy breaths, holding onto your shoulder.

"let's play a game."

you look up at him with bloodshot eyes— barely holding back tears. his hand twitches.

you're shaking. this man just had his foot on your shoulder, and he wants to play a game?

when he doesn't get a response from you, he continues, "it's called ddjaki. if you win, i'll give you cash." he opens the briefcase, smiles sinisterly as your eyes land on the object of your desires. "i saw you watching it, back at the station. such a shame your little plan didn't work, no?"

you grit your teeth, looking away from his taunting eyes. "and if i lose?"

"then i get to slap you."

your head snaps up— breathing getting heavy again. is this really what your life has come to? is it really worth it? you're back to square one— perhaps, you could leave your home, but the violence will always follow. the realization of your fate has a tear rolling down your cheek. you really try to sound tough when you gather the courage to speak again. "and why would i do that?"

"because you're desperate," he says calmly, leaning forward to brush the tear away with his thumb. the action has your heart fluttering for just a moment— many men have made you cry, but not one of them have ever wiped the tears. it's stupid. he quirks an eyebrow, settling you with a blank stare that shakes you to your core. "what have you got to lose, anyway?"

he's right, you think. would you rather take a few slaps and then live your life independently? or would you choose to live in fear about when you'd be on the receiving end of your father's wrath again?

you choose the former.

he explains the concept of the game and you get to choose the color of your tile— you pick the red one because it's your favourite color. with as much strength as you can, you try to flip his tile, but it merely jumps and then lands back like it was. it sends your heart plummeting down your stomach.

you know well what's coming next— it's all you've ever known your whole life. you flinch as his hand raises, but he stops midway. you tremble violently, eyeing his palm nervously. he eyes you curiously for a while, before another twisted smile appears on his face.

"you ever get hit before?" he asks, voice taunting. you swallow hard. "boyfriend?" he pushes his hand closer, making you flinch again. "ah, i know— father."

before you can snap at him, his hand collides with your cheek, making you let out a sharp cry. your face twists to the side and you take a deep breath— try to console yourself. it's just a game. he's not doing it out of malice. false promises.

you bite down on your lower lip to avoid calling him a fucking dickhead and telling him to rot.

he just smiles as he goes next. you pray to the gods he doesn't flip your tile— and thankfully, he doesn't. it makes you sigh in relief as he tosses a bundle of cash at your feet. you bend down to pick it up, "oh my god, thank you, thank you—"

he tsks, shaking his head, "game isn't over."

you go another round, and you win. you cheer heartily as you get another bundle of the cash tossed at your feet— and he sighs to himself. suddenly this game seems better.

you try to use your previous technique to flip his tile, and it doesn't work. it earns you another slap. it doesn't get better— you get as many slaps as you do cash. tears roll down your sore cheeks— they're heated and they hurt. you feel faint. only you know how much strength it takes to keep standing. you're sure your face will bruise tomorrow. he doesn't stop until you have half the cash from his briefcase. you can't hold back your sobs— you don't know what you're crying for. the cash, or the slaps? both, perhaps.

"you did good," he says, stepping forward and invading your personal space. his hands are warm as he cups your cheeks, thumbs wiping away the tears. you try to pull your face away, but one warning glare from him has you frozen in place. "look on the bright side, you decided to steal from me today and you earned some money. even if it came with a little beating. but you took it like a good girl, didn't you?"

his words should have you convulsing. you should be kicking him in the balls and hitting him with the nearest object you can find— but you're hypnotized— caught in a trance by his words of praise. against your better judgement, you nod, before shamefully averting your gaze.

he smiles tightly and steps away. adjusts the buttons of his suit jacket and looks around before going to the couch and sitting down. "why don't you go fetch me a glass of water?" he stretches his arms, shoots a provocative smile your way. "all this exercise has me feeling thirsty."

you want to tell him to shove his exercise up your ass and leave, but you decide to do as he said. you're in no position to threaten him. he's much stronger than you, and judging by everything else, much older as well. men like him are not easy to fool. and you really don't want to get hit again.

as you pour him a glass of water, you eye his briefcase again. if you could somehow manage to perhaps weaken him for just a moment— you could get all the cash and maybe run away. you would spike his water but you don't have any drugs. you have to do this the hard way. you pocket a fork and then head back to deliver him his water.

as he drinks, you kneel by his feet, gathering your cash. carefully, you pull out the fork, and with as much strength as you can, slam it down onto the side of his foot.

"you little bitch—" he groans loudly, wincing and throwing his head back and clenching his jaw before splashing the water from the glass on your face. it makes you squeal. before you can attack again, he pulls the fork out and tosses it to the side. your eyes widen and you rush to get it, but he sticks his leg out and you trip and fall on your face again.

a crunchy sound emerges as he steps on your wrist, his shoe digging into the delicate appendage. you let out a shrill cry.

"the one thing i hate more than thieves—" he snickers, looking down at you like you're an insect. he scoffs, twisting his shoe harder, making you choke on a sob, "is a little girl who thinks she's smarter than me."

"fuck you!" you sob, squirming on the ground, "let me go!"

"watch your language with me." he hisses back, narrowing his eyes. he glares before releasing a breathy chuckle, "you are the stupidest girl i have ever met. you were doing so well too. did you really think you could overpower me?"

"you hit me—" she sniffles, groaning in pain as she attempts to yank her hand back, "you hit me and you—"

he interrupts with a taunt, "maybe if you tried acting so smartly with your father, you wouldn't have had to run away from home."

you gasp before letting out another pained whimper, "how did you—"

"it's written on your face." he sighs, exasperated. like he's dealing with a toddler, not a girl who stabbed his leg. "if i let go of your hand, do you promise not to get hostile again?"

you glare at him silently through teary eyes.

"do i have your word?" he says louder, twisting his foot again.

"yes, yes—" you yelp, and with careful thought, he steps back. before you can make a move, he leans down to grab your hair and yanks you up. it makes you hiss in pain. he shoves you towards the couch.

"all this fighting has made me excited," he remarks with a chuckle, crowding you in. your eyes widen and you crawl away from him to the farthest end of the couch. he follows you like a predator, palming the front of his pants, and the realization of whats to follow makes you shake your head, "no- no, please, god—"

"shut the fuck up," he snaps strictly, voice eerily composed. he grabs your head, looks down at you with those black, empty eyes, his free hand carelessly unbuckling his belt. "you didn't think i'd let your little stunt go unpunished, did you?"

"you can do anything else—" you choke out, shaking her head. he yanks your face forward, makes your cheek press against the tent in his pants. you can smell him. you desperately try to latch onto any semblance of comfort you can find. "anything— anything but this, you can even slap me again—"

"hitting you is no fun if you're asking for it," he replies boredly, tugging your head back just enough so your teary eyes blink up at him pathetically. "i want to really rub it in this time. what happens when you mess with men like me."

you want to fight more— you wish you could. you desperately want to, but you feel frozen with shock. this day has turned into a nightmare you couldn't imagine even in the worst possible time. it's like everything you have done till now to avoid horrible, violent men, is laughing at your failure. you blink a few times, as if trying to wake yourself up.

"i've never done this before," your voice cracks as you voice your last attempt at begging for mercy— does he not have a heart?

he pauses and eyes you for a moment, and for a millisecond you think he'll reconsider. but then his mouth twitches, and your heart breaks as soon he pulls his pants down.

"even better."

A/N: this was more psychological and self indulgent that i expected, lol. i'm still not very well versed with smut, so i thought i might put this out before i try. feedback is always appreciated. i love him so much even though he's horrible. i guess that's what them father issues do.

[doiliedaze]

When the morning comes your still mine

Warnings: whistle trained reader, somewhat toxic relationship?? Reader has no will-power I mean immediately goes back into Sevika’s arms, public sex, dark and ooc! Sev, humiliation, Sev is packing and her strap is referred to as cock, degradation (reader is called a bitch and refers to herself as a mindless bimbo), I’m lowkey gaslighting reader too LMAOO

Genre: smut, angst with the little plot I put in here

A/N: inspired by the copious domestic Sevika content I’ve been taking in and pretty little birds by SZA and @wingedcrowpersona

Reader is a stripper!!

───────┈ · ·

Divorce wasn’t something you saw with you and Sevika but it’s your reality.

It was like one morning was different, the arguing didn’t matter, the makeup sex wasn’t working. You still wanted her but you didn’t need her.

You fell back into your old routine; get up, practice, hangout, work, hangout, sleep. Anything that stops you from thinking. Your marriage was lovely till it wasn’t, never agreeing with Silcos influence on your wife.

Music was blaring, lights were flashing and slightly tipsy you didn’t know where you were walking. This plus six inch platform heels caused disaster.

You fell right into her arms.

She was still as beautiful as ever and you know she thought the same about you. You also knew you were trapped.

Her mechanic hand squeezing the small of your back as she helps you up. “You look good” she states as she pops the string of your thong.

Immediately you swat her hand away, “don’t touch me like that.” You state crossing your arms. Vika always teased you whether you liked it or not.

Slowly she almost stalks to you, “is that how you treat your wife?”

“Not my wife anymore that’s how divorce works.”

“Not divorced if you didn’t sign the papers doll.” She said as she cups your face and brings you close. “For one second could you behave? Be my good little wife again?” Instinctively you nod missing how mean she could be, “I could fuck you right here and you’d like that mhm?”

“I’m on the clock!” You whine remembering where you are.

“I’ll pay you” she says flatly as one of her fingers dip into the front of your thong.

“Sevika wait” you gasp and you press yourself closer trying to make sure no one in the club could see you.

You grab her wrist about to deny yourself of pleasure until Sevika let’s out a short loud whistle. You let go of her wrist, stand up straight and look at her with doe eyes.

“Still my bitch I see” she says as she slowly rubs circles on your pretty clit. You can’t help but moan and obey because that’s what Sevika deserves, a mindless bimbo wife.

Legs shaking due to embarrassment and pleasure you step closer to her to balance yourself. Another whistle was let out and you open your legs more, giving her thick finger more access to you.

“I should embarrass you, since you embarrassed me.” She scoffs, “thinking you aren’t mine, my wife.”

You shake your head no but it didn’t really matter. She knew you wanted this, she knows how much you missed her.

Sevika maneuvers you two to a booth, pulling you by your thong strap. She’s seated whilst your standing.

“C’mon dance, entertain me.” She mutters as she lights a cigar blowing it in your direction knowing you hate smoke. Sevika is never this hard on you but you left her, you did this to yourself.

Slowly you dance to the music, touching yourself here and there in the process. Naturally you strip not caring who saw because it was about your wife’s pleasure. Once you were bare she whistles and you sit on her lap. Sevika puts the cigar out and holds your face, smoke escaping her mouth. “I missed you”, her whisper sincere and hurt. “Not as much as I.” You mumble before you softly press your lips against hers.

Her tongue slithers your mouth. She missed how you taste, how you feel so much. How could you deprive this from her?

Your pierced nipples rub against hers and you go to unbuckle her pants. Like a good bitch you wait for the whistle, her wanting to see how patience you could be. Once granted permission you are able to slip her inside with a satisfactory squelch from your dripping cunt.

Her hands were harsh on your hips and your pelvis was burning but none of the mattered as you kissed your wife. Didn’t matter who was watching or if you’d feel shame tomorrow because that’s the effect she has on you.

Both of you desperate for each other are rutting against each other ready to cum. Saliva is dripping from your tongues, hair is frizzy and fucked, both of your moans are loud and desperate.

She just wants her wife back, wants to take care of you again. Fucks you into never thinking about leaving her again.

With one final thrust you shakily cum, and ride your orgasm out together.

“Can I take you home?” She whispers her eyes looking like hurt puppy dogs. “Let’s go home.”

───────┈ · ·

A/N: oh my gosh!! I need to be whistle trained by her!! She’s so hot why isn’t she real (ˊ̥̥̥̥̥ ³ ˋ̥̥̥̥̥)

Taglist: @manfuckthisimout @bambishaven

(Dividers- @dollywons)

[wolvietxt]

ᰔ anesthesia !

↳ logan howlett x fem!reader

the fluorescent lights of the medbay hummed softly, casting a stark glow over the otherwise sterile room. logan paced back and forth outside the door, his boots scuffing against the polished floor. he hated this part - the waiting. the not knowing. his fists clenched and unclenched at his sides, tension coiled in his shoulders like a spring wound too tight.

“she’s gonna be fine, logan,” jean’s voice came from behind him, calm and reassuring. “you know she’s tough.”

he grunted in response, not trusting himself to say anything else. tough or not, you’d gotten hurt. surgery had been necessary after a mission gone sideways, and now you were in there, under anesthesia, while he was stuck out here feeling useless.

when hank finally poked his head out of the medbay, logan stopped mid-stride. “she okay?”

“she’s fine. the procedure went well, but she’s still coming off the anesthesia,” hank said, smiling a little. “you can see her if you want. just don’t expect much sense out of her for a bit.”

logan nodded and pushed past him, his boots heavier than usual as he walked inside. his eyes landed on you immediately. you were sitting up slightly, looking drowsy but very much alive. relief washed over him like a tidal wave, but he masked it with a gruff expression as he crossed his arms.

“what the hell were you thinking out there?” he started, voice low and gravelly. “you can’t just throw yourself into danger like that - ”

“pspspsps,” you interrupted, your eyes zeroing in on him as if he were the most fascinating thing in the world. “kitty. come here, kitty.”

logan froze mid-lecture, his brows furrowing. “what?”

you reached out a wobbly hand toward his head, fingers making the unmistakable beckoning motion people used for cats. “kitty! your hair’s so… fluffy. come here, let me pet you.”

for a moment, he just stared at you, utterly baffled. you were high as a kite, and he had no idea how to handle it. “you’re out of your damn mind,” he muttered, but he didn’t move away when your hand made contact with his hair.

“so soft,” you mumbled, running your fingers through it with clumsy determination. “why didn’t you tell me you’re secretly a big ol’ kitty?”

he huffed, though the corner of his mouth twitched like he was fighting a smile. “i ain’t a cat, darlin’.”

“mhm,” you said, clearly not believing him. your fingers trailed to his sideburns, and you giggled. “the whiskers. so majestic.”

logan’s patience was wearing thin, but not in the usual way. he was more amused than he wanted to admit, but he didn’t want to encourage you. “alright, that’s enough,” he said, gently taking your hand and lowering it back to your lap. “you’re supposed to be resting.”

“you’re supposed to be snuggly,” you countered, blinking up at him with wide, unfocused eyes. “c’mon, kitty. gimme a hug.”

he sighed deeply, muttering something about anesthesia making people loopy, but he leaned in slightly to placate you. you threw your arms around his neck, squeezing as much as your post-surgery state allowed.

“you smell nice,” you murmured into his shoulder. “like… woodsy. and safe. you’re so grumpy all the time, but you’re really sweet. my big, grumpy kitty.”

the words hit him harder than he expected, and he felt his throat tighten. he wasn’t used to being called sweet. most people saw the claws, the temper, the rough exterior. but here you were, high as hell and still managing to say the one thing that could disarm him completely.

he cleared his throat, patting your back awkwardly. “yeah, well, don’t go spreadin’ that around. gotta keep up my reputation.”

you pulled back slightly, your gaze dreamy but sincere. “i won’t tell. promise.” then you tapped your lips with a finger, lowering your voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “but only if you purr for me, kitty.”

logan groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “darlin’, you’re gonna regret all this when you’re sober.”

“nope,” you said, popping the “p.” “i’ll never regret you, logan.”

his chest tightened again, and he looked away, trying to hide the way your words affected him. “you’re impossible,” he muttered, though there was no heat behind it.

“and you’re my favorite kitty,” you replied, your voice softening as your eyelids began to droop. “such a pretty kitty…”

logan stayed by your side as you drifted off, your breathing evening out. he shook his head, a small, fond smile tugging at his lips despite himself.

“damn troublemaker,” he murmured, reaching out to brush a stray hair from your face.

and if he stayed a little longer than necessary, making sure you were comfortable and safe, well, that was nobody’s business but his own.

ᰔ logan howlett : @v3lv3tf0x, @dugiioh, @whxtewolf, @rooroen

@lemoanaid, @correnz, @coocoocachewgotscrewed, @ohmystvrk, @y08h

@lovely-liliacs, @california-boys-and-sun, @omen-keke, @darlingsoulbeautifulthoughts, @seasonofthenerd

@superlegend216, @mikaaki, @withasideofmeg, @samfunko, @aaronhotchnerlover

@qxuanii, @m1cky-y-y, @uncertified-doc, @cryingwta, @pvndomi

@marvelescvpe, @flamin-hot-cheetos, @misscrissfemmefatale, @ltristessedureratoujours, @meadow-field

@hazydespair, @stupid-little-birdie, @urlocallocachica, @person-005, @nestavadavat

@christinamadsen, @zaggprincess2, @lokixryss, @mehjustalasshere, @spktrlvr

taglist form linked in pinned post :3

[shanastoryteller]

They destroy a hundred seals in thirty days, which feels like good progress until Sam realizes even if they can keep up this pace, it’s going to take them nearly two years. “There has to be a faster way to do this.”

“It took three hundred thousand years to set the apocalypse in motion,” Castiel says dryly. “Patience is a virtue.”

“It took a year from first seal to last, don’t exaggerate,” he says, pacing the length of the motel room. Cas may not need things like food and sleep, but Sam is still human at the end of the day.

He’s refusing to touch the virtue bit. No one’s keeping track of those and they both know it.

Cas gives him a bitchy look that Sam tells himself he’s not growing fond of. “Yes. Sixty six seals took a year to open. We’ve destroyed nearly twice that in a month. You are not being reasonable about this.”

Maybe not, but they don’t have time to be. Can’t Cas feel it? Like something’s bearing down on them, hot breath on the back of their necks. If there’s one constant in Sam’s life, it’s that he never gets enough time. He doesn’t see why this should be any different. “What if we killed Lilith? She’s the last one, right? As long as the first seal hasn’t been opened, killing her destroys the seal. If the last one can’t be opened, Lucifer can’t be set free. Right?”

Cas tilts his head to the side. Sam kind of hates how quickly he’s picked that up this time around, but he’s only realizing now that it’s a gesture Cas learned from him, not Dean, and the first go around they hadn’t exactly spent a lot of time together in the beginning. “Likely correct. But even if we could find her, I’m unsure of your capabilities.”

“Fuck you too,” he says without heat. “I killed Azazel. I killed her before. I can do it again.”

“She wanted to be killed, last time,” Cas says. “She knew her death would grant Lucifer’s freedom and she did not fight you with all her strength. Killing Azazel is not killing Lilith. They are different beasts.”

“Wait,” he says, “are you telling me that Lilith is stronger than Azazel?”

Having killed them both, that’s really not what he would have guessed. Which means that Cas is probably right. Damn.

“What is stronger, blood or bone?” he asks. “She is Lucifer’s firstborn. There is power there.”

Great. “I’m more powerful this time,” he points out. Azazel’s blood – Lucifer’s blood – is still buzzing under his skin, not quite as hot and pounding as it was at first swallow, but not fading and sputtering out like Ruby’s blood always had. Something in between, maybe, except those first few drops of blood as a baby hadn’t had any immediate affects either. It’s probably a good thing he won’t live another twenty two years. Who knows what Lucifer’s blood will have done to him by then.

“Yes,” Cas says. “I just don’t know if you’re powerful enough.”

And if he’s not, Lilith won’t even kill him. He needs to be alive for Lucifer to wear, after all. No, whatever she does to him will be much worse.

Sam.

He turns, even though he knows they’re alone. But his name had been so clear.

Sam, please!

He looks around uneasily. “Do you hear that?”

Cas blinks. “No.”

“Seriously?” he demands.

Sam, please, please, I’ll do anything, I’ll give anything, please help me. Help her. Sam –

He moves, not entirely sure what he’s doing, shifting from one place to the other, not entirely sure where he’s going until he arrives.

He’s standing in an empty apartment building, a ghost howling in front of him that looks sort of familiar. What the hell?

“Sam!”

Taking his eyes off the ghost is probably stupid, but he looks behind him anyway and finds Ellen on her knees, tears streaming down her face. Jo is clutched in her arms, skin pale and eyes open and unseeing, bits of plaster in her hair and a gaping hole in the wall behind them.

“Holmes?” he asked incredulously, turning back to the ghost who’s getting steadily closer. Last time they trapped him in the basement and cemented him inside. Last time Sam hadn’t spent years researching how to banish the worst sorts of evil.

The incantation rolls off his tongue easily, half Latin and half something older than that, and Holmes screams as he burns up in whisps of smoke.

“Sam, please,” Ellen begs. “Please. You have to help her.”

How does Ellen even know him? They’ve never met before. Not here. He kneels across from her, heart clenching at Jo’s body. He’s supposed to be making things better, leaving and destroying the seals is supposed to fix things. Except he guesses he and Dean weren’t here to find Jo this time and Ellen got there too late. “She’s dead, Ellen.”

“So?” she asks fiercely. “Jim was dead. Caleb, that girl, Meg. They were all dead. You brought them back.”

He stares. “How do you know that?”

“Please,” she repeats. “She’s all I have left. Please, Sam. I’ll do anything. I’ll give anything. Just bring her back.”

Sam knows that desperation. He’s felt that desperation, those miserable four months when hell tore his brother apart.

But he doesn’t have the same overfull, burning power he had with the taste of Azazel’s blood in the back of his throat.

Ellen, proud, tough Ellen, has tears down her face and begging him.

She lost her husband because of his father. He can try and save her daughter.

He reaches out, gripping the back of Ellen’s neck, and pulls her towards him. She opens his mouth for him, kissing him back without hesitation. He bites her tongue, blood hot and salty, and she doesn’t so much as flinch, doesn’t pause, just holds Jo between them and lets Sam take.

When he pulls back, his mouth is full of blood. He leans down, pressing his lips to Jo’s, letting her mother’s blood slide between her lips and presses his hand against her chest, trying to quicken something in her that will bring her home.

She gasps under him and he pulls back. Her eyes dart around, cheeks flushed, and stutters, “What – who–”

Ellen lets out a sob and clutches Jo to her, letting out a choked litany of scolding that has Jo patting her back and making soothing noises that Sam doubts Ellen hears at all.

He sits back on his ass, rubbing a hand over his face and wondering if anyone will care if he just lays down and takes a nap. Resurrection is exhausting.

“How?” Ellen asks, looking at him with red eyes and a puffy face and so much gratitude he can barely stand it. “There’s nothing special about my blood.”

“There’s power in sacrifice,” he says, wincing at the roughness of his voice. “Not a lot. Not enough. But,” he shrugs. He’s spent a lifetime making something out of not enough.

“What did I sacrifice?” she asks. It’s curiosity, nothing more. He can tell that she doesn’t care about the answer, that it really good be anything ant it would still be a bargain well made as far as she’s concerned.

This is how apocalypses are started.

“Nothing I’m going to collect on,” he says tiredly. “But it’s not a trick that works more than once. So be careful, okay?”

That last bit he directs to Jo, who’s just staring at him with huge eyes. “You’re Sam?”

“Yeah,” he says. “How do you know who I am?”

Jo and Ellen share a look, then she says carefully, “I met your brother.”

“How is he?” he asks, almost before she’s finished speaking. “Is he – I mean,” he cuts himself off, grimacing. Sam made out with their possessed father, killed the demon, and left. It’s a real toss up about what messed him up the most. “You shouldn’t hunt on your own,” he says, switching tracks. “You need a partner, one who can show you the ropes if you’re going to keep this up. See if you can talk Dean into it. I think you two will get along.”

Jo swallows. “Uh, okay. You’re not what I expected.”

What had she expected? He’s sure the rumors about him are nothing good, if not outright setting a bounty on his head. Ellen might have been desperate enough to seek him out with Jo dead, but that doesn’t mean anything. He and Dean both ran to demons when they lost the other.

There are footsteps down the hall and he tries to muster a smile for them before he’s leaving, returning to the motel room he’d been in with Cas.

“Where did you go?” he asks.

Getting back here had taken the last bit of energy he had. He flips Cas off and collapses face first into the bed, barely managing to kick of his shoes before he falls asleep.

Dean would have taken them off for him, but Dean isn’t here.

~

When he wakes up twelve hours later, it’s to Cas standing above him and staring.

He groans, rolling over and away from that piercing blue gaze. “Don’t do that.”

“Where did you go?” he asks.

Sam tells him. It doesn’t take long, but his voice is still strained by the end of it.

“You heard her prayers?” Cas asks.

“No,” he says, then frowns. “I don’t know. I guess. Can I do that?”

Cas is learning human expressions one by one. Judgement had come quickly and easily.

Whatever. Apparently he can do that now.

“You said Azazel was a prince of hell,” Sam says. “Does that mean there are more of them?”

“Three,” he says warily. “Why?”

He shrugs. “Think they’d be willing to part with some blood in exchange for their lives?”

Sam’s not going to survive this. He knew that from beginning. It doesn’t really matter he has to do to himself to finish it.

There’s power in sacrifice.

“This is a terrible idea,” Cas says, which isn’t a no.

Apocalypse Never

They help Dad into the cabin, more coherent than he was when they first broke him out, and Sam heads back to the car for their bags, for the Colt, and tries not to think about how everything has gone so quickly to shit. Mom and Jessica’s killer got away, again, but they’re all alive. That’s not nothing, that’s –

The pain hits him so completely and suddenly that he has no chance to brace himself for it. Usually it builds, first prickling pain then greater, but this is something else. It feels like nails are being shoved into his skull, images coming almost too fast for him to follow. He doesn’t realize he’s screaming until it stops, until he comes to with his head in his brother’s lap, Dean’s arms pinning him down and his face white and terrified above him. “Sammy? Sammy, you’re bleeding. What’s wrong?”

His throat is too raw and tight to speak even if he wanted to. He does want to, but he can’t, he can’t say a goddamn thing.

I saved the world for you, he thinks wildly, and I didn’t even get to keep you. How fucked up is that?

~

He doesn’t know if his future self couldn’t send it all back any further, or if he thought that this would give Sam less time to fuck things up.

For a couple terrifying minutes, Sam had taken control of Lucifer. For a couple exhilarating minutes, Sam had the power of an archangel.

That sending the knowledge of the future back four years in the past was the best thing he could think to do with it leaves Sam with a poor opinion of the man he became. Then again, he had saved the world, so. There’s that.

He doesn’t want to think of the him that had fallen into the pit with Lucifer and Michael. He hopes he can save him by making different choices, but maybe he can’t. Alternate universes, or parallel ones, or whatever. Maybe that Sam is damned for good and the best he could do was save a different version of himself, a different version of his brother.

There’s not much point in wondering about it. He’ll never know either way.

It’s memories with no emotions, thank fuck, because just the knowledge of it all is enough to drive him to his knees, to edge him to weeping and whimpering and slitting his wrists if he lets it.

He’s not going to. He has work to do. There will be time to fall apart after, when the world is safe. When Dean is safe.

Dean after Dad had died and given him that ultimatum had been bad enough. Dean after forty years in hell had been nearly unrecognizable.

He wipes the blood from his face, ushers Dean back inside, and tries not to think too hard about what he’s about to do.

Dean figures out it’s Azazel in Dad’s body and they’re pinned to the wall and Sam waits until Azazel is hovering over him, hand next to his head as he tilts his head back and breathes over Sam’s lips. It’s a torture and a powerplay, to let the want in his eyes come out in his father’s face, to make it John’s body that’s pressed so nauseatingly close to his own.

Sam isn’t the same person he was four years ago, ten minutes ago.

Breaking out of Azazel’s hold is easy. He’s using the equivalent of a single finger to keep them down, like pinning down a butterfly, and it's only enough until it isn’t.

He grabs Azazel’s face and pulls him close, hears the beginning of his laughter before Sam seals their mouths together. He’s making a deal here, selling his soul sure as anything, just not with Azazel.

Azazel leans into it, just like Sam knew he would, shoving his tongue in Sam’s mouth and getting off at his instinctive flinch of disgust, of the way Dean’s screaming bloody murder behind him. Azazel hasn’t hurt Dean yet. Sam’s going to make sure he never will.

He bites down hard. Blood fills his mouth and he sucks on his tongue, drinking as much as he can. It doesn't tase like iron, not like it should, instead it's sweet and thick like honey. He thought Azazel would pull back now, but he’s still laughing into Sam’s mouth, even bites the inside of his cheek to add to the blood from his tongue, and he just lets Sam drink his fill. Of course, he doesn’t know what Sam knows. If Sam had done this the first time, the only thing the blood would have done would be to get him high and useless.

It means he gets more than a mouthful, that it’s long minutes of keeping his eyes closed and swallowing and trying not to think too hard about how it’s Dad’s hands on him and Dad’s hard on at his thigh and Dad’s tongue he’s sucking on. He’s already got four years’ worth of nightmares in his head. No need to add more than necessary.

His skin is buzzing, feeling stretched out over him like his body is too big for it suddenly, almost like the aches of growing pains but more electric. Azazel pulls back and licks up the side of his face, leaving blood and spit behind, and breathes into his ear, “If you missed me feeding you, boy, all you had to do was ask.”

Yeah, that’s enough of that.

He shoves Azazel back without moving his hands, hard enough that he stumbles, and he has to move fast, before he gets a smart idea like snapping Dad’s neck or bursting his heart. He raises his hand and he’d settle for an exorcism, but power is lying heavy and thick in his veins. Destroying Lilith nearly killed him and Azazel is more powerful than Lilith and the blood he drank shouldn’t be nearly enough.

But fear sparks in Azazel’s yellow eyes and he starts choking, black smoke leaking from his ears and out his mouth. “How-”

Sam doesn’t let him finish. He remembers killing Samhain, killing Alastair, killing Lilith. He knows what to do.

Azazel dies screaming. Mom and Jessica are avenged. It’s not as satisfying as he thought it’d be.

Dad is on his hands and knees, taking in deep lungfuls of air. Sam knows from experience that being possessed isn’t pleasant.

“Sammy?”

He forces himself to look over, sees his brother approaching him with hands outstretched. The fear hasn’t gone anywhere even with Azazel dead, even with Dad alive, even though he doesn’t have any of the devastating injuries he sustained last time.

He doesn’t have the emotions to go along with the memory of the first time Dean saw him drinking demon blood, but he imagines it was something like this. “I’m sorry.”

“Sammy,” Dean says again, but Dad’s getting to his feet, Dad’s looking at the Colt, and Sam can’t die yet. He still has work to do.

It’s not a conscious thought, not something he actively tries to do, it’s just one minute he’s there in a cabin with his father and brother and the next he’s in the middle of a field, the night air crisp and clear and a million stars shining above him.

He couldn’t do that before.

There’s something wrong, he thinks, because he doesn’t remember what drinking demon blood felt like, but he remembers describing it, and this isn’t right. He should be drained after that, should feel almost normal again, but instead it’s like there are bees pinging around inside him, like there’s molten lava in his veins, like he’s dying.

He’s dying, he realizes suddenly, the power threatening to eat him alive. He looks down at his arms, like he’s expecting to see them crisping up beneath moonlight, but they look normal, like skin. Of course it’s not killing him, no matter what it feels like. He’s Lucifer’s perfect vessel. There’s no power his body can’t contain, none except God’s, maybe, and it looks like he’s long past making house calls.

It won’t kill him, but it hurts like hell, and he can’t think, he needs to burn it off somehow. He’s never had this problem before, not even when he drank all that blood for Lucifer.

He’s standing in Bobby’s living room and he doesn’t understand why until he sees the body on his kitchen table wrapped in a white sheet. He doesn’t know how Bobby got rid of the paramedics, if he’s maybe holding the body for her family, but Sam thinks he knows how to get rid of some of the itching along his skin.

Sam died a lot, in those weeks he and Dean were apart. Lucifer was true to his word. Sam came back every time.

He pulls down the sheet, sees the ways Meg’s face has settled into death in the past day, how decay has started to take hold and left her blue and cold and her skin slack. He leans down, presses a kiss to her cheek, and thinks that this is the least he owes her, for what she endured because of him, for trying to help him even at the bitter end.

She gasps to life beneath him, warmth flooding her skin and air stuttering into her lungs. “Sam?” she asks, fear and confusion and a pain that’s not physical.

Maybe she won’t want to live, considering everything she’s been through, but at least now the choice is hers and not a demon’s. There are footsteps and he turns to see Bobby standing in the doorway, gun pointed to the ground and mouth open in shock. Sam doesn’t have time to worry about it, instead he’s gone, the same burning still clawing its way out of his bones.

Caleb lies slumped in the chair Meg had tied him to, throat slit and eyes empty. Sam puts his hands on his shoulders, presses his lips to his bald head, and feels the moment his heart starts beating again. He sends the ropes falling with barely a thought and he’s gone the moment he hears his first confused groan.

Pastor Jim is laid out in his home, church workers Sam vaguely recognize huddled around him in prayer, his final send off. He’s just glad he got here before they burned him. They start screaming when they see him but he leans down, internally wincing at how Jim’s going to explain his way out of this one, and kisses his forehead, a reversal of the paternal tenderness Jim had shown him as a child.

His chest rises and his eyes open and his eyebrows push together. “Sam, what-“

He doesn’t stick around to hear the end of that question, figures it’s not anything he can answer anyway.

It takes him a long moment of staring out at the snow covered peaks and too close sky and the brilliant sun hitting his face even though it was just the middle of the night for him to place himself, even though it shouldn’t be enough, but he knows where he is even though he shouldn’t.

The air’s too thin and he’s going to give himself altitude sickness if he lingers and he should probably be freezing to death but his blood is still running too hot. Not burning, not like it was before he brought three people back from the dead, but still far from comfortable.

Still. He can’t say he ever thought he’d ever get to see the view from Mt. Everest.

“Castiel,” he says. “It’s Sam Winchester. We need to talk.”

Nothing. Typical.

“I know about God’s plan, about Lucifer and Michael, about my role as his vessel. I know about you, Cas. You’re going to want to hear me out.”

There’s the rustle of wings behind him and he turns to see Cas, younger than he looked before. Jimmy Novak younger than he’d been before. He wonders about that for a moment. He’d half expected Cas to show up as a sherpa rather than nip to America for a vessel, but Cas had kept the shape of Jimmy Novak even after his physical body perished, so maybe there’s a deeper preference there than just convenience.

His face is as cold as their surroundings. “You have strayed from God’s light.”

“Yeah, well, what good has he ever done me?” he asks tiredly. He used to believe. He believed yesterday. He prayed this morning. Even when he met Cas the first time, he believed. “I can’t explain. Can you just read my mind? We don’t have time.”

His eyebrows push together, but Cas has to be curious, otherwise he wouldn’t have said anything. He steps forward and presses two fingers against Sam’s forehead. He doesn’t feel any different, but when Cas lowers his hand, he’s lost his stoicism. Shock, despair, and anger chase themselves across his feature and Sam can’t blame him.

He’s not the only who lost his faith in the future.

“You said there were thousands of seals,” he says. “How many exactly?”

His eyes snap to Sam’s. “What?”

“God loved Lucifer,” he says. “It’s why he imprisoned him rather than destroying him. It’s why he left him a way out. Maybe it’s why he set up the apocalypse in the first place. I don’t know, I don’t care. All I know is that I’m not letting him out, ever. So we’re going to destroy every seal we can.”

Some can’t be undone, like the first one, a righteous man torturing an innocent soul in hell. But there are plenty that can, hopefully enough, hopefully most. If there are less than sixty six seals available, then Lucifer is never getting out of his cage.

“There were originally ten thousand seals,” Cas answers and Sam gets lightheaded for reasons that have nothing to do with thin air. “Only two thousand and thirty four seals are still viable.”

Okay, that’s better. Not great, but better. “Let’s get that number down to sixty five.”

“You are different,” Cas says.

Of course he’s different. His father’s alive. His brother never went to hell. Sam has never known the utter desolation of being completely alone, of grief and guilt so heavy he’s surprised it didn’t break his spine as surely as Jake’s knife in his back. He doesn’t actually remember feeling it, which is no small mercy, but he saw the effects of living with it, which is almost as bed. He'd thought what he’s feeling because of Jessica is as low as he could get. It’s not even close.

He wants to dig up her bones and breathe life into them, but at almost a year dead he thinks that’s beyond even this strange new power. Even like this, he’s failing Jessica one more time.

“Got any ideas?” he asks. “It wasn’t like this before. With the blood.”

He’d drank Ruby nearly dry more than once. It had been a high and then a crash and never did it give him access to this type of power.

“Azazel is – was a prince of hell,” Cas answers.

Sam frowns. “I thought he was king?”

“He was regent,” he corrects, “but to be a prince is separate from being ruler of hell. Lucifer created Lilith from bone, as Adam and Eve were made. The princes were created from his blood. Azazel’s blood is, in a way, Lucifer’s.”

Lucifer’s blood. Sam, his vessel, drinking down Lucifer’s blood, as a baby and now. Except as a baby he’d only had a few drops. He’d consumed a lot more than that back at the cabin.

Demon blood always wore off. The few drops of Azazel’s blood he’d gotten as a baby never had. He probably should have taken that into consideration, but there hadn’t been any time.

“Lucifer is evil but he is not a demon,” Cas continues.

Sam realizes suddenly that he did have power like this once. When he locked away Lucifer inside of him and took his power for his own. It’s not the same, not even close, but it’s similar. “This is what angel blood does?”

“No,” he says. “This is what Archangel Lucifer’s blood does to his perfect vessel. I believe. This has never happened before, so I cannot be certain. You are, as always, one of kind, Sam Winchester.”

It’s not quite a compliment, but it’s not as combative as he remembers Castiel being in the beginning. He’ll take it. “Guess we’ll figure it out together, then. If you’re sticking around to help prevent the apocalypse.”

If he’s not, this is going to be more than difficult. Tracking down all the seals without an angel on his side isn’t going to be impossible, but pretty damn close. And he doesn’t know how much time he has. Hell is going to be pissed about him killing Azazel. Heaven is probably going to take notice once he starts destroying seals so they can never be opened. Not to mention, he’s definitely going to be on hunters’ radar. Even if Dad can keep his mouth shut about him drinking demon blood, which he knows better than to rely on, him bringing back people from the dead is going to spread quickly. He’s going to be hunted at all sides, just like last time.

At least last time he had Dean, even broken, even when he was broken himself. He still had his brother.

But this is the price for saving him. For making sure that Dean is never in the position to kick off the apocalypse in the first place, to make it so Lucifer never again walks the earth even if heaven and hell reincarnate him and Dean and try and start this all over again.

He’s going to be killed for it, he knows, by demons or angels or hunters. But that doesn’t matter much in the grand scheme of things.

“Yes,” Cas says. “It is better for us all if the future you saw never comes to pass. I will help you.”

He grins, clapping Cas on the shoulder, and only laughs at the glare he receives in return. They have to get out of here before the altitude makes him loopy. Maybe it already has.

He’s going to save the world for his brother and he’s not even going to get to keep him.

How fucked up is that?

[nemisuki]

Love the Chef

Crush AU | A short oneshot of the blonde trying to assassinate her through his cooking skills. And it somehow leading to a massive realization - thank god for noodles, laughs and sparks of love?

᧔o᧓ || katsuki bakugo x f!reader, she/her pronouns, no manga spoilers, pure fluff, open ending, aged up to third years, realization moment, reader down bad fr, bkg a softie, silly moments, short oneshot, kdrama coded, mainly reader POV, 850 word count 

“Agh- how could you eat stuff like this?!”

She flinches as the spicy noodles hit the surface of her tongue. The seasoned aroma entering her lungs and creeping its way up.

Causing her eyes to water the more she chews yet this is only her third spoonful.

Y/N wanted to prove him wrong for once.

That she could handle the spice.

But her taste buds went against her wishes.

Immediately understanding she overestimated her own limits - she quickly taps out and pushes the bowl of noodles across the table.

Not wanting to be near that monstrosity he cooked up in the kitchen. He must be psychotic to eat such things, that dish could kill!

“Okay okay you win!” she says, practically sweating as her body begins reacting to the poison known as Bakugos noodles.

Who the hell could eat such spice and not react?!

Accepting her loss, she grabs the glass of milk that the blonde poured out for her earlier.

As if he knew she would lose.

Chugging the cold liquid with urgency, letting it sit in her mouth as a makeshift antidote for the stinging pain on her tongue.

If things couldn’t get worse, it somehow does, as she feels her nose grow runny.

The combination of the spice and her tears - leads to this tragedy of a look on her.

A disappointed pout on her face as she holds the glass that’s now half full.

She doesn’t dare look in his direction.

Not wanting to see the look of triumph on his face, that smug grin that annoys her to bits.

That is until she hears laughter.

A sound so unfamiliar that she peeks in his direction.

She can see the way he holds his stomach - his eyes squinting with delight.

Multiple chuckles exiting his mouth, finding the whole situation amusing.

In an instant, warmth completely overtakes her body.

And she doesn’t know if it’s from the spicy noodles or the sight of him.

She has never seen him laugh this hard till now and is frozen in place, not daring to look away from this bizarre turn of events.

“Hah! I told you idiot, as if you can beat me in a challenge of spice!”

He covers his mouth with his hand, stifling the laughs threatening to escape.

“Y-You look so stupid!” he looks away to not wheeze at the sight of her. The way simple noodles could have her on the verge of a breakdown was peak comedy to him.

She is unable to respond, her mind completely forgetting about the aches of pain on her tongue.

Her eyes fixated on the new sight before her - his enjoyment being the source of her fast heartbeat and heated face.

It was just the two of them in the dining hall of the UA dorms but that's all ruined as she hears the sound of the elevator doors open. Footsteps exiting as whoever it is, begins approaching the lobby.

Without much thinking, she grabs a plastic plate and shields the side profile of his face. Her body moving on pure instinct as if protecting something worth value.

She hides him from passersby who are too engrossed in their private conversations to notice the duo at the table.

And she feels an odd sense of relief.

“What the hell are you doing?” he mumbles, his brows furrowing with confusion, peeking over the plate to see their classmates leaving the building.

Spotting nothing out of the ordinary, he looks back at her with a calculating look. Expecting her to explain the odd reaction that came out of nowhere.

Wait what-

Realization dawns upon her and she can feel the rapid increase of suspense and her jitters.

Why did she do that?

Now embarrassed, she quickly lowers the plate, averting her gaze, “ah I just….”

Thoughts swirl around her mind for a moment but the conclusion remains the same.

She’s glad no one else saw his smile. For some reason, wanting to keep the sight to herself, to relish in this new experience.

Her eyes begin widening as she connects the dots.

Oh.

“Oi you good nerd?” he tilts his head, both eyeing her down and completely oblivious to her inner turmoil.

Her eyes land back on his face, the smile no longer present as he's back to his usual self.

At that moment... Y/N could only wish he’d start smiling again.

"I-I need to blow my nose!"

She practically jumps out of her seat, running to the kitchen, hands pressed against her face.

Heat radiating off her face so intensely that she wondered if she had caught a fever.

The only sensible answer to this whole thing was so simple but nonetheless sudden.

Feeling like a love struck fool, she leaves him ultimately dumbfounded.

Yet in his mind - he's already planning what to cook for her next, secretly enjoying the banter between them.

Assuming the reason for her unexplainable actions is simply from the food he prepared.

He stares at her from afar, the sight of her splashing cold water on her face, has him involuntarily forming a smile at her ridiculous actions.

"What an idiot."

✦ ⎯⎯⋆ ˚｡⋆ ୨ masterlist || taglist || intro || socials ୧⋆ ˚｡⋆⎯⎯ ✦

a/n ||| this small fic is inspired by a scene from the anime 'Sounds of Life' which I highly recommend. It's so underrated and I get sad everytime bc theres no S3! for u guys I included the exact scene below if ur curious (from s2 ep 2) and I love them so much omg. tags ||| @leleyro ໒꒰ྀི ´๑  ̫๑`  ꒱ྀིა

[mysteryshoptls]

SR Riddle Rosehearts - Nightmare Suit Vignette

"Absolutely against the rules!"

[Halloween Town – Alleyway]

Riddle: We lost so much time because of that unexpected mishap. We should finish up the Halloween preparations as quickly as possible.

Jamil: Right. We should begin by checking out how the rest of the town is doing.

Riddle: I agree. While Halloween Town was mired in all that confusion, some other issues may have cropped up.

[Halloween Town – Town Hall]

Riddle: Jamil, take a look at that. The candy that we prepared ahead of time seems to have decreased in number since we last looked…

Jamil: You're right. There should have been overflowing mounds of candy in three baskets. But now, I only see one.

Riddle: Someone may have unintentionally moved it, or some ill-advised malcontent may have stolen it…

Jamil: ――Hm? I feel like I just saw something move out of the corner of my eye…

Riddle: THERE! YOU WON'T ESCAPE ME!!

[chair slams against door]

???: Waah! What's with this chair!?

???: Why'd it just appear in front of us out of nowhere?

Jamil: I see, you used your magic to move the chair to block the exit. Good thinking.

Shock: We can't leave 'cause this chair's in the way!

Shock: It's all 'cause you two were so slow in carrying the candy. You blockheads!

Barrel: I'm not the blockhead, he is.

Lock: She's talking about you!

Riddle: Oh, it's you guys… The troublemaker trio.

Lock/Shock/Barrel: URK!!!

Jamil: There's candy spilling out from the bag they're dragging. They're for sure our culprits.

Riddle: Good thing we captured them before they made off with the candy. There's no place for you three to run now.

Shock: You're so mean, cutting us off from the exit when we're trying to leave!

Riddle: Mean? You seem to be mistaking me for yourselves.

Riddle: No single person can claim all the candy for themselves. It is an unforgivable act to steal it.

Riddle: And just after causing all that chaos in town… Have the three of you not reflected on your actions at all?

Lock: C'mon, we ran around so much earlier that we're so hungry, though.

Shock: Plus, this is the first time we've seen candy like the ones you guys made, and it look suuuper yummy.

Barrel: There's no way we can wait until Halloween to eat 'em.

Lock/Shock/Barrel: [chomp, chomp] … See, it's sooo good.

Riddle: Wha… How dare you add to your crimes by eating the candy mid-testimony! Absolutely barbaric!

Jamil: They keep doing whatever they want, as if they're not to blame for any of the problems we faced in town earlier… Honestly, I can't help but be a little impressed.

Riddle: If we just leave them be, they may cause another problem sooner or later, so if I'd rather it be off with their heads…

Lock: Huh? Off with whose head?

Barrel: Probably Jack's. 'Cause he can take off his head, can't he?

Shock: Sounds awesome! I thought this guy was just a nagging bore, but he can say some fun stuff, too!

Lock/Shock/Barrel: Let's go! Let's go right now! Let's go take off Jack's head!

Riddle: Silence!! You three misunderstand me. When I say "off with their head," I am not speaking literally.

Lock: Eh, really?

Shock: Boooring, I thought it was gonna be something fun.

Riddle: Sigh… I feel a headache coming along just being around you three.

Jamil: Not only do they not show any signs of remorse, they immediately leap at the chance to start something new… They are completely out of our control.

Riddle: However, if we were to leave these children to their own devices, they may interfere with the Halloween preparations again.

Riddle: If that's the case… Jamil, the two of us should keep an eye on these three.

Riddle: And as the Housewarden of Heartslabyul, I shall ingrain into the children proper discipline!

Jamil: It's fine and dandy that you're raring to go, but you didn't need to drag me into this without asking…

Riddle: Did you say something just now, Jamil?

Jamil: …No, nothing at all.

Riddle: Well, then… Ahem! See here, you three. Listen to me well.

Riddle: From here on out, you will not run around as you please, but will accompany us. Understand?

Lock: Ehhhh! Why'd we have to be with you guys?

Riddle: That is because you all keep breaking the rules.

Riddle: In essence, this is the result of all your mischief. …Now, how do you respond?

Shock: I don't really get it, but whatever! We were bored, anyway, so we can stick with you for a tiiiny bit.

Riddle: Good! Then first, return all the candy you stole back onto the table. As soon as that's done, we'll go survey how the rest of the town is doing.

[Halloween Town – Gate]

Riddle: The first stop is the gate to confirm the state of their decorations… And already it seems that we've found the bats they have decorating it with are crooked.

Riddle: As of this moment, they are at about 160° from the ground. However, they should be kept at 180° parallel to the ground.

Jamil: You really have an eye for the smallest detail. I don't know if I should say it's too much, or what…

Riddle: I will not permit any carelessness that could ruin the perfect Halloween. Besides, adjusting the angle is easily fixed with a quick spell…

Lock: Huh? You want to fix the crooked decorations on the gate?

Shock: Then we can fix it for you… With this ball!

Shock: Hyah!

[throws ball]

Riddle: Ack!? That almost hit me! Why would you ever think to fix something like that by hitting it with a ball!?

Barrel: 'Cause we can't reach the decorations ourselves.

Jamil: Then, you should use a stool or a ladder…

Lock: We thought it'd be faster if we used a ball.

Riddle: Hmm… It seems it will be more difficult than I thought to teach these kids proper discipline.

Riddle: Listen up, you three. You shouldn't throw a ball towards where other people are.

Lock/Shock/Barrel: WHY???

Riddle: Because if it hits someone, it could injure them. It's dangerous.

Shock: But balls are for throwing, though?

Riddle: ...I see, so that's the hang up. If that's the case, we may need to begin with re-learning the definition of a ball.

Riddle: I shall start your lesson with what a ball is, and it's origins. There are many theories as to where it was originated, but at first…

Jamil: YOU'RE STARTING THE LESSON FROM THERE!?

Riddle: …And that is why you should not throw balls. Did you understand all that?

Lock/Shock/Barrel: Yup, totally!

Jamil: Liars, none of you were listening at all!

Riddle: Whether they understood the lesson or not will be apparent with how they conduct themselves from now on.

Riddle: We've finished with confirming the decoration progress. Next, we'll look in on the music…

[scamper, scamper]

Jamil: Big problem, Riddle! Those three are already gone!

Riddle: What!? We only took our eyes off of them for a second… We need to hurry and find them!

Shock: MOVE OUTTA THE WAY! YOU'RE STANDIN' IN THE WAY!!

Jamil: Hm? I hear their voices from behind… WAAH!!

[thud]

Riddle: A bathtub with legs just crashed into Jamil!? Are you alright, Jamil? Any injuries?

Jamil: …I'm fine, it's nothing.

Lock: Seeee, this all happened 'cause you're just standing there all spaced out.

Barrel: Lame-o～

Jamil: Krgh! It's obviously their fault, but they have the nerve to speak like that.

Riddle: What do you three think you're doing, now!?

Shock: What do you mean, what we're thinkin'? We were tired of walking, so we brought something to make it easier to move around.

Lock/Barrel: Yeah, it's our favorite ride!

Riddle: That may be so, but you should take care not to bump into anyone.

Shock: That's why we shouted to move out the way.

Lock: Or are you sayin' Jamil owns this road?

Barrel: You sayin' we're not allowed to use this road or somethin'?

Riddle: Well, no…

Lock/Shock/Barrel: THEN EVERYTHING'S FINE!!

Riddle: EVERYTHING IS NOT FINE!!!

Jamil: Those three don't feel any remorse at all, huh… They're so blatant that it's actually refreshing to deal with.

Riddle: Similar to the ball incident earlier, any actions that may bring harm to anyone else is absolutely against the rules!

Riddle: Furthermore, a bathtub is not something to ride in and use as a mode of transportation.

Shock: Eh, but a bathtub is totally something to ride in.

Lock/Barrel: Yeah, it's our ride!

Riddle: …What? How exactly are bathtubs utilized in this town?

Shock: So, you see, basically…

Riddle: Mhm… Mhm… I see.

Riddle: Which all goes to say that this town approves of bathtubs as transportation?

Shock: Right-o, Riddle. If it wasn't, we totally wouldn't ride in it.

Riddle: I see… My apologies, I was in the wrong on my understanding of bathtubs here. I take it back, you may ride it!!

Jamil: THEY CAN!?!?

Lock/Shock/Barrel: YAY!!!

Lock: Seee, you totally get it.

Riddle: However, you are to ride it with care so as to not injure others. And you are to apologize to Jamil.

Lock/Shock/Barrel: 'Kaaaay. Soooorry, Jamil.

Riddle: Good apology, you three.

Lock: Right, right? We did good!

Jamil: He's just letting them off with that half-done apology…? They don't look like they're sorry at all!!

Shock: Riddle! I totally thought you were just gonna yap at us non-stop, but you're actually a good guy who totally gets us.

Shock: We like you! Join our crew and play with us!

Barrel: Here, we'll even let you in our bathtub, our treat.

Riddle: Eh? No, I'll pass on―

Shock: Let's go, you two! Push Riddle into the bathtub!

Lock/Shock/Barrel: HEAAAAAVE… HO!!!

Riddle: Waaah!!!

Lock/Shock/Barrel: Nyahahahehehe! He's in, he's in! Riddle's riding in the bathtub!

Jamil: Hey, Riddle! You alright!?

Riddle: …Yes, although that shocked me slightly, I am fine.

Riddle: Actually, this bathtub isn't that uncomfortable, either.

Shock: Well, yeah, this bathtub's our pride and joy!

Riddle: I see… From my brief time with you three, I see that you have your own rules you abide by.

Riddle: I suppose I was a little too strict on you. For me to teach you all discipline, I would first need to know more about this town.

Requested by @farfalla049.

[butlervibesonly]

HI GIRL! Omg I love all of your fics and I would love you to write something about Austin arriving from filming, and reader welcomes him at the airport after being separated for so long. She eventually makes some kind welcoming party or smth! PLEASE AND THANK YOU! 💗

𝐹𝑖𝑛𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑦 ℎ𝑜𝑚𝑒 | Austin Butler

• NOTE: Hi and thank u! 🫶🏼 What a wonderful idea and I had so much fun writing this! Also for the rest of y’all; my requests are open and I welcome every idea!

• PAIRING: Austin Butler x female reader

• WARNINGS: like a lot of fluff, and slight flirting in the end

You are at the arrival terminal, watching people pass by. Austin is arriving today after being away for two months, filming. It’s almost impossible for you to say how much you missed him, how much those two months felt lonely without him.

You take a look at the board to see the planes arrivals as you finally see that Austin’s plane has landed. You feel the excitement tingling through your body, can’t wait to hug him tightly again. Standing up from the seat you walk closer for him to notice you.

When people start to walk out with suitcases and bags your heart starts to beat a little faster, knowing you’re about to see Austin soon. You check every single person just to make sure you don’t miss him walking by. And how could you miss your boyfriend passing by?

Your eyes land on him - he’s wearing sweatpants and hoodie. He always wears something comfortable when traveling. When Austin’s eyes find you, his face immediately switches to the biggest smile you have seen. His eyes lights up, sparkling with excitement.

You can't take it anymore and you run towards him. As soon as you’re near you jump into his arms, wrap your legs around his waist, not caring about who's looking at you or who recognizes Austin and you, or not. “Oh baby, I missed you so much.”

Austin breathes out, wrapping his arms around you tightly. You hide your face into the crook of his neck and smell in his cologne. Oh, how you missed that. “I missed you too a lot!” Your fingers caress through his hair, kissing his lips.

“Baby, you had absolutely no idea - I was like tortured being without you.” Austin says, cupping your cheeks as you stand down again. “You tell me that, the house was so empty without you and I felt like the loneliest person alive.” You make Austin smile and he hugs you again.

“Don’t worry, I will not leave you again, not for a long time,” Austin presses a kiss on your lips, so softly and gently. It feels like a heaven to feel his lips kissing you again. He takes your hand in his, grabbing his suitcase. “How was your flight?” you ask, walking towards the entrance of the airport.

“Exhausting! I felt like the time wasn’t even moving as much as I counted every minute until this moment.” he explains, holding your hand more tightly. “Let’s go home now, shall we?”

“Definitely.” you smile at him as you guys walk to the parking lot, where Austin’s car is. He left his car keys to you, so that you can travel while he was gone, and as much as you love driving, you enjoy being his passenger princess.

You give him the keys, and Austin opens the car door for you. “Ma’am,” he gestures and you nod gladly. It’s such a wonderful feeling to have him back. You are used to Austin being away, but two months has been really challenging for both of you. You normally travel to the filmings with Austin but due to your busy schedule you decided to stay at home and wait for him to come back.

“I have a little surprised for you at home.” you say as he starts the engine. “Oh do you?” he smirks. “And what is that little surprise, honey?”

“I won’t tell you! If I do, it wouldn’t be a surprise no more..” you say jokingly, and watch Austin steering the wheel. His hands look so good being all muscular. You missed him way too much. Even tho the both of you FaceTimed each other almost every night, the feeling of going sleep with an empty side beside you was the worst.

“Y’know I missed you that much I was falling asleep hugging your pillow? It smells like you and I couldn’t help.” you say all of sudden and Austin glances at you. A smile appears on his lips. “Sounds like something you would do, honey.”

“But that’s not all. I might or might not stole one of your shirt to sleep in…” you admit shyly. If you love something it’s definitely sleeping in his clothes. You love it since day one actually - when you slept at Austin’s place for the first time before the two of you bought your own house, you forgot your pajamas and he offered you one of his shirts.

“Well, I hope it was not my favorite white one?” Austin raises an eyebrow, his sight on the road again. You chuckle “Umm… Would you be mad if I’ll say yes?”

Austin laughs, his hand landing on your tight. “Of course no! How could I be mad at you?” At that you just smile. As the two of you drive home, enjoying the embrace of each other even in silence.

As Austin pulls up to your home, you bit your lip, trying to contain your excitement. He steps out of the car, opens the door for you again and takes out his suitcase. “Close your eyes, baby,” you say, taking Austin’s hand and he follows you up the path. You unlock the door, taking a deep breath to steady yourself before gently pushing it open.

You slowly lead him to the living room that is joined with kitchen and he opens his eyes. As soon as he notices the balloons, his eyes sparkle with gratitude. “Welcome home, love,” you say softly,

His face lits up, a slow smile spreading as he turns to you, eyes filled with almost tears. “You did all this… for me?”

You nod, your cheeks flushing. “I wanted to make tonight special. You’ve been away for so long, and I’ve missed you like crazy.”

Austin sets his suitcase down and pulls you into a tight embrace, resting his chin on the top of your head. “You didn’t have to… This is perfect. More than perfect, Y/n. Thank you.”

“Wait, there’s more, actually,” you warn him, grinning as you pull away and lead him towards the dining table. “I actually made you your favorite meal, bought some wine…”

Austin laughs lightly, shaking his head in disbelief. “You’ve really thought of everything, haven’t you?”

“Well, you deserve it,” you say, your voice soft. “I know how hard you’ve been working, and I wanted to remind you how much I love you.”

Austin sits down, and you pour the wine to his and your glass. As you prepare the food, Austin follows you with his eyes, his heart melting from the fact he’s finally back home. And home is where you are with him.

“There you go,” you pass him the plate and he looks almost mesmerized. “You know a way to man’s heart, baby.” Austin chuckles and you both start eating.

The night passes in a mix of laughter, food that you made, and quiet, stolen moments. You talked for hours, talking about Austin’s filming, the weight of the distance that separated you melting away with each passing second.

“This is exactly where I want to be,”Austin whispers, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Home. With you.” he takes your hand in his. “But I would still like to enjoy some things I missed so much while being away.”

“And what is that, honey?” you ask, smirking. Austin smiles with the biggest grin. “I want to enjoy you,” he smirks and you know where he is leading to. “I missed you way too much, sweetheart, and now that I have you all for myself, I will not leave it just like that.”

[httpsdana]

I need more stories about Mason Mount. Maybe about him feeling insecure after getting injured again and becoming distant with his close family

Spilled Thoughts~Mason Mount

・❥・prompt list

・❥・masterlist -> part 2

・❥・who I write for

・❥・a/n: masey's bday deserved a fic

y/n turned the tv off as Mason was subbed off with yet another injury. She dropped on the couch with a sigh, the image of her boyfriend’s devastated face plastered in the back of her mind.

She remembered how excited he was in the morning for this match, having his first start after a while. But now 15 minutes through the match, he was down on the pitch.

Two hours later, Mason finally arrived, dropping his bag on the floor and closing the door gently behind him.

She quickly stood up when he entered the living room, his smile weak and his body tense.

“Masey…” she started, but he quickly shook his head, his gaze shifting to the floor.

“Please, just…hold me?” his voice was vulnerable and raw, and she could swear she saw his eyes tearing up.

She nodded, putting her hand out for him to hold. She pulled him down with her on the couch, his head immediately resting on her shoulder and arms around her waist, while she brushed her fingers through the short strands of his hair.

She waited for him to say anything, hoping he would open up and speak about the feelings he has been bottling up in him. But a few minutes later, she felt his weight heavier on her, his breathing more calm and steady.

She looked down at him, how his eyelashes brushed against his cheeks, his lips in a small pout. As she stared at him more, she noticed something. A single tear at the bottom of his cheek. She felt her eyes tearing up as she wiped the tear of his cheek, pressing a faint cheek in the same spot.

“It’ll get better, Masey” she mumbled against his hair, kissing the crown of his head. “I promise”

A few days have passed since Mason’s injury, and he has already started working on his recovery. But he hasn’t been the same since then. He hasn’t been physically distant, quite the opposite actually.

He was always lingering by her side, never pulling away from hugs until she did it first. It just seems like he was keeping too much inside, that he wasn’t speaking much.

y/n didn’t want to pressure him into talking about what’s bothering him, but the phone call from his mom changed that.

“Mason hasn’t called in a while, is everything okay?” Debbie asked, her vice laced with worry.

y/n was surprised. This wasn’t the first time Mason became more reserved after an injury, but it was the first time he was distant to his family, the people he loved the most.

She didn’t want to worry his mom about him and saying she didn’t know the reason behind him closing off so she said, “it’s just with his injury and the recovery he’s been a bit busy, you know?”

“oh…I get it, I was just worried. Take care of him honey” Debbie said, making her smile

“Always. Have a great day” she said before hanging up.

Just as she placed the phone down on the coffee table, the front door opened and Mason appeared.

“Hey handsome” she stepped closer as he took off his shoes. He looked up at her, his smile small but genuine.

“Hey darling” he murmured, leaning closer and pulling her into a hug. She hugged him back tighter, not daring to pull back first.

They stood for a while by the door, in the comfort of each other's arms. When they pulled away, she couldn’t help but let the question slip off her lips.

“Is everything okay?” she asked carefully. Mason’s face twisted in confusion.

“Yeah…why?” he asked slowly. She let out a sigh, reaching over to play with the string of his hoodie.

“Your mom called,” she said, not looking up at him. She felt him take a deep breath before replying, “What did she say?”

“She said that you haven’t talked to her in a while. Why?” she looked up at him, watching how the guiltiness and sadness found their way back to his face. 

She felt her heart crack at his pained expression, her fingers grazing his forehead to smooth away the crease of his frown.

“I just…forgot” he said hesitantly, making her look at him with a knowing look that made him sigh.

“Talk to me, Masey. It’s not just your mom you’re not talking to, your friends, your teammates, even me. You haven’t talked to me properly since your injury. Let me help you baby, you can’t be carrying this weight on your own,” she said gently, trying not to push him too much, but she needed to know what’s wrong.

Mason smiled sadly, before pulling her by her hand to their living room. As they settled on the couch, she waited patiently for him to speak, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze that made him smile for a second.

“It’s just everything you know?” he said in a low voice, his eyes glued at their intertwined hands.

“The fans, the team, the coach, and then the injuries just make it worse. Everyone hates me cause I can’t seem to play two consecutive matches without getting injured. And for some reason my body can’t just fully recover so I can go back to my usual self. I just miss how it was before I was betrayed by my own body. I really just wanted to prove myself that I’m worth this number 7 in United but for some reason everything is going against me” he let out a long sigh as he blurted out all his insecurities and fears.

y/n couldn’t help the tears in her eyes as she listened to his shaky voice talking bad about himself.

“Masey…” she started, making him look at her, his heart dropping at the sight of her tears. “Your body hasn't betrayed you baby. You just haven’t adapted well with this move but that doesn’t mean you’re not worth playing at United. Everyone is excited for you to be back on the field and to show them the real Mason Mount that was once Chelsea’s golden boy. Your time will come sweetheart, you just have to be patient with yourself and work harder to be back stronger than ever. I’m so proud of you and of everything you’ve done. Never forget that” she said, never breaking eye contact with him.

Mason smiled softly, his hand squeezing hers as a way of thanking her.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you” he murmured, his other hand brushing against her cheek gently.

“You’ll never have to know. You’re stuck with me forever Mount” she joked, making him chuckle.

“I love you so much darling. I know I haven’t told you that a lot recently but I really do,” he said with guilt.

“I love you more honey. I know you’re going through a rough time but I’m always gonna be here to help you” she assured him, leaning her face against his hand.

Mason gave her another smile, before lowering his head and capturing her lips in a kiss. A way for him to tell her how grateful he is to have her by his side as his girl and number one supporter.

my taglist: @barcapix @paucubarsisimp @spidybaby @mxryxmfooty @n0vazsq @joaosnovia @ilovebarcaaa @f1lover55 @jajajhaahaha (lmk if you want to be added!!)

[melosliving]

IM OBSESSED WITH UR AARON & KELVIN BLURBS,, PLS KEEP IT UP, UR WRITING IS AMAZINGGG !! ❤️❤️.

just wanted to say thank you for all the love I’ve been receiving ! It means so much to me, may god keep blessing y’all and y´all mamas ! ❤️❤️

aaron pierre & kelvin Harrison jr x actress!reader

Variety’s actors on actors

The bright lights of the studio shone down on the minimalist set, the iconic “Actors on Actors” logo gleaming behind you. The three of you sat in a perfect triangle—aaron on your left, kelvin on your right, and you in the middle, the it girl of the moment. The producers had called it “a meeting of cinematic greatness,” but to you, it felt like two boys scheming to make you look crazy on camera.

“Alright, let’s get started,” kelvin said, leaning back in his chair with a grin that could charm the devil himself. He adjusted the cue cards in his hand, before dramatically clearing his throat “before we get back to the official questions, can we talk about this? Apparently, the streets are saying we are in a poly relationship.”

You laughed, covering your face with your hands. “not this again. The streets are getting out of hand honestly.” Aaron tilted his head, pretending to consider. “Should we tell them the truth?”

Kelvin’s jaw dropped. “Wait, no. we should make this an exclusive, sell this to newspapers or whatever."

“No!” you said quickly, glaring at both of them. “They’re messing with you. There’s no truth to it y’all." Aaron shrugged, his eyes twinkling.

Kelvin looked between you two, narrowing his eyes. “I don’t know. I think our chemistry’s too real...” You shook your head, laughing. “Next question !”

Kelvin, leaned forward with a devilish grin. “Alright, Aaron, this one’s for you : What’s it like working with ❁, and do you ever feel overshadowed by her greatness ?”

Aaron chuckled, his tongue pressing into his cheek. “it’s tough. Really tough. Every time she’s on screen, all I can do is stand there and hope I don’t look like a complete amateur.”

“quit playing, big guy.” you laughed, shaking your head. “He’s lying. Aaron’s the type to come onto set, nail every take in one shot, and still look good while doing it. If anything im the one trying to keep up.”

"See, they’re bickering again !" Kelvin looks at the camera.

“Okay, question for you kel,” you said, tapping your cue card against the armrest. “When you first read the script for your movie waves, did you immediately know you’d take the role, or did someone have to convince you?”

Kelvin smiled, stealing a glance at you before answering. “I think I knew pretty early on. There was this one scene in the script—it was so raw, so vulnerable���it made me feel something I hadn’t felt in a long time. That’s when I knew.”

Aaron leaned closer, resting his chin on his hand. “What scene was it?” You met kelvin’s gaze, your smile softening. “It’s the one where tyler has this kind of massive mental breakdown in front of his parents and he’s trying to go."

"You know, I cried when seeing the film." You say, now a bit blushing since it was a vulnerable moment for you. "The story was so touching and to be able to witness the distress in your eyes from start to end was something I will probably remember forever." You explain, pouring your heart out. Looking back at you, kelvin extended his arms to take your hand in his and kiss it softly. "I appreciate you, a lot." He mumbles against the back of your hand.

aaron looks a you two with softness in his eyes. "Look at them. Never beating the allegations."

“Ok, let’s talk about that final scene in one of your movies, ❁” one person of the crew said, redirecting the discussion. “The one where you’re standing in the rain, and you don’t say a word, but everything you’re feeling is written on your face. How did you prepare for that?”

You blinked, caught off guard by the question “Wow, um... I guess I just thought about all the things I’ve wanted to say but never could. It was about channeling that silence, you know ?”

Aaron nodded, his gaze steady. “And It was beautiful. You were beautiful.”

Kelvin let out a loud cough, breaking the moment. “Alright, Romeo. Save some compliments for the rest of us.”

Aaron smirked but didn’t look away from you. “Can’t help it. She deserves them.”

"This is what I have to deal with everyday y’all.." you say, looking at the camera which is now focused on your pretty face.

"Im not against the idea of a threesome between us though, so hit me up producers. I’m ready." Finishes kelvin, winking.

"Boy you have lost your mind."

@ melosliving 2025